by Sabrina York
The trailer jerked again and this time, when she nudged him it wasn’t with her elbow. It was with her breast.
Such glory washed through her at the simple, inelegant touch. Her gaze whipped to his face, to see if he’d noticed, and she found his attention on her, and scorching. A muscle in his cheek pulsed, as though he was gritting his teeth. His fingers closed on her shoulder. Breath hissed from between his lips.
She swallowed. “Sorry.” A whisper.
His nostrils flared and he forced a smile. “Oh no, sweet thing,” he murmured. “Don’t be sorry.”
After that, they sat in silence, wrapped in their thoughts, and perhaps each other, as the tractor rumbled along giving the partygoers a tour of the ranch that would be their home for the weekend. Though the men and women around them created a hullabaloo of laughter, dares, and chatter, Hanna barely noticed anything. With each movement of the trailer, she rubbed against him, or he rubbed against her.
Occasionally, their gazes would meet and cling, but then she’d be the one to look away.
Other women, engaged in the excitement of a hayride with hotties, tried to talk to him, to flirt and banter, but when he issued nothing more than polite and reserved replies, they turned their attention to the other hunks on the trailer—which was just fine with Hanna.
Before long, several of the strippers had been encouraged to bare their chests. Even though they were on a moving vehicle, a few of them even deigned to dance. They all seemed inclined to flirt with everyone—Porsche explained that they were all vying for the women’s votes in the Manflesh Auction later that night—but her man? He didn’t seem to be interested in anyone . . . but her.
They seemed to be rapt, in a world of their own, despite the fact that they were surrounded by raunchy strippers and raunchier women. And though they barely shared a word, they shared . . . something. And it was pleasant and warm.
She wanted to steep in it forever.
***
Logan had seen Cody’s ranch before. A hundred times.
He’d intended to skip the hayride . . . until he’d seen her with her friends in the yard. He’d had to step out of the barn—where he’d set up camp in the tack room in the back. He’d had to join the fray.
And now here he was, sitting next to her. This was his chance to connect with her. Talk to her.
A pity he had no idea what to say.
In high school he hadn’t been particularly shy, except around her. And, as a co-owner of a growing business in Dallas, he was rarely ever lost for words.
But here, now, he was barely able to manage a word, much less a conversation.
Still, somehow, their silence was comfortable, comforting even, as the ridiculous tractor chugged along the trail past the shop and the bunkhouse, and into the woods toward the lake.
As teens, he, Cody, and Cade had had more than one clandestine beer fest on the shores of that lake. There was a pavilion there now, with a full bar and an outdoor movie screen. No doubt some of the weekend’s activities would take place here.
The tractor continued through the woods to the field where Logan used to bale hay. As they continued along the border of the property, making a wide loop, he couldn’t help but notice a couple places the fence needed patching. He made a mental note to mention them to Cody, but he doubted his friend would pay any mind.
Cody had made the shift, it seemed, from a full-blooded rancher to a purveyor of parties.
He tried not to snort at the thought. Even though Logan had a business that took a great deal of his time, he also owned a ranch—a working ranch. With cattle and everything. Granted, his hands did most of the day-to-day work, and he had a foreman to oversee it all. But it was a working ranch.
The thought of turning it into a B&B, much less bringing in strippers on the weekend, was ludicrous.
But he couldn’t blame Cody for doing it. He’d saved the ranch from foreclosure. And a man did what he had to do to protect what was his.
The tractor took a corner and the trailer lurched and Hanna bumped into him again. He could tell she was trying to keep her distance, but there wasn’t much room between them. And he certainly didn’t mind when they touched.
Something had happened to her since high school. She’d changed. He could see it in her reserved demeanor, in the tight muscles of her face, in the shadows of her eyes. He wasn’t sure what it was, but some of her sparkle had left her. It gored him deep in his soul; he would give anything to see that carefree smile she’d once flashed so willingly.
He could also tell she wasn’t comfortable on the trailer. Whether it was the wild bacchanal rising on the air, the movement of the vehicles, or his presence at her side, he wasn’t sure. But he certainly hoped it was not the latter.
Just being next to her made him hard. Made that hungry beast inside him lift its head and roar. It had been too long since he’d seen her. His starved soul soaked her in the way a parched desert drinks in a summer rain.
Visions of what he’d like to do to her danced in his head, but he forced them away. He knew Hanna Stevens. Prim. Proper. Perfect. Prom queen. A woman like that would never let him take her the way he wanted—hard, hot, and fast. Down and dirty. Never.
She was a good girl. Always had been. As uptight and vanilla as they came.
It was a damn shame.
Still, he wanted her with a raw need, like a wildfire whipping through his soul.
Oh man. He should have left. He should have just packed up his shit and tossed it in the back of his truck and torn out of there like a spooked filly. But he couldn’t. He just couldn’t.
The opportunity of seeing her again this weekend, even if from afar, even within the parameters he knew she required, was too tempting. He’d been in love with Hanna Stevens all through high school. Fantasized about her nearly every night. All night.
It was annoying, though, the way she made him feel. Even now.
He was hardly that shy, skinny, stuttering kid he’d been in high school, the kid from the wrong side of the tracks who was too dumb to amount to anything much and too weak to hold his own in a fight. He’d worked hard to change that. To become a better man. A man he and his family could be proud of. No, he was a long way from being that kid . . . but just one glance at her and it all came back.
She’d been a cheerleader, the daughter of one of the richest, most powerful men in town. He’d been the son of a dirt-poor farmer’s widow. A high school nobody. She’d never so much as glanced at him. Well, except that one time. And even then, he doubted she’d really seen him. The only words he’d ever spoken to her back then had been lame.
“Are you all right?”
She hadn’t been, and he’d known it, but he’d asked anyway and she’d nodded. But she hadn’t been.
They lurched again and she fell against his side. He closed his arm around her. “Are you all right?” he whispered before he could stop himself. He held back a flinch when he recognized the irony, the familiarity of the words.
She looked up at him. Their gazes locked. Something sizzled. “I’m fine,” she said.
Though he knew it was a lie—again—he nodded. He didn’t loosen his hold and she didn’t move away.
It was a damn shame they took the final turn and made their way back to the barnyard. She was so warm there, so soft, so precious, leaning against him, he hated to let her go. It gratified him that she didn’t seem to want to leave either. As the others stood and filed off the trailer, they remained seated.
A trickle of panic settled in his gut as the trailer emptied. Soon she would stand. Soon they would part. Though it was such a tiny thing, hardly a final farewell, something in his soul howled at the prospect. He couldn’t ignore the urge to speak in that moment. Though why those words passed his lips was a mystery.
Oh, not that he said the words so much as the fact he had the courage to say them.
/> Maybe the desire to keep her close, some ebullient hope, overrode any sense of propriety.
“I’m staying in the barn,” he said in a low rumble as he helped her to her feet.
She blinked at him. “I . . . beg your pardon?”
“I’m staying in the barn. In the tack room. If you . . . you know . . . want to come see me.”
He nearly flinched as the words came out. How stupid. How lame. But she didn’t laugh at him, or sneer. Didn’t slap his face. She merely stared at him for a moment and then nodded.
He was poleaxed by the possibility that she might be considering stopping by. This afternoon? Tonight?
He couldn’t deny a flare of excitement at the thought.
As ridiculous as it was.
***
I’m staying in the barn. In the tack room. If you . . . you know . . . want to come see me.
Holy God. What had he meant?
Had that been an invitation?
It had seemed like one.
A skitter of excitement and trepidation spiraled through Hanna. On the one hand, the thought of them together in the way he probably meant made her knees turn to jelly. On the other, she really wasn’t the kind of woman to meet a man in a barn for a—what? Tryst? Passionate affair? Conversation?
The more she thought about it, the more her mind spun. The more she feared she might become detached from the rigid moorings of her life and surrender to this scalding temptation.
Or, at the very least, she feared she wanted to.
Desperately.
“Well?” Sidney took Hanna’s arm and tugged her back toward the ranch house, though Hanna’s gaze was locked on Logan as he made his way back to the barn. He even looked good walking away.
But then he tossed a glance over his shoulder and tugged on his hat, sending her a smile.
Oh lord. He looked even better like that.
Hell, he just plain looked good.
“Hello? Earth to Hanna.”
“Huh? What?” With great effort, she forced her attention onto her sister. It was annoying that Sidney was grinning smugly.
“What did you think?”
“Of the hayride? It was . . . fine.”
“Not the ride, silly. Him.”
Her heart thumped. “Him?”
“Yeah.” Sidney jabbed a thumb at the barn. “The Silent One.”
Hanna blinked. “The . . . what?”
Amy leaned in and chuckled. “Did you see the way he was looking at her?”
“At who?” Hanna asked.
There was no call for Sidney to smack the back of her head. “You, goofy. He was looking at you.”
“He was sitting next to me.”
“Right.” Amy giggled. She turned to Sidney. “Did you see how close he was sitting?”
“I did,” Porsche chortled. She waggled her brows. “I think he wants you.”
Something hot and liquid sluiced through Hanna’s veins. He wanted her? A shudder racked her.
“It’s a pity you’re engaged. That’s all I have to say.”
Hanna whipped around and stared at her sister. “What?”
Sidney shrugged. “He’s cute. He likes you.”
“He does not like me.”
“He didn’t talk to any of us,” Amy felt compelled to mention. “Not once through the whole ride.”
Porsche tapped her lip and glanced toward the barn. “He looks kind of familiar to me. I wonder if he lives in Dallas.”
Sidney glowered at her. No doubt she wanted him for herself and Porsche was stepping on toes.
But, honestly, the thought of anyone else wanting him made acid churn in Hanna’s belly.
Though she didn’t know why. She had no right to be jealous.
If that was even what it was.
It probably wasn’t.
Hell, he’d barely even spoken to her.
“I’m staying in the barn. In the tack room. If you . . . you know . . . want to come see me.”
“There are plenty of cute men here,” Hanna said, although she did not know why. None of them held a candle to him. Hell, none of them held a lighter to him.
“True,” Sidney said briskly tugging her up the porch steps and into the grand foyer. “And we have the whole weekend to play. What did Cody say was tonight?” she asked, although Hanna was certain she knew the agenda by heart.
Porsche pulled a rumpled schedule from her pocket. “The Hunky Hoedown,” she said. “Now, that should be fun. We should go get ready.”
“Ready?” Hanna blinked. “It’s not till tonight.”
“I know. But we need to pregame.” Porsche caught Hanna’s arm and tugged her toward the ranch house.
“Pregame?” Hanna made a face. “What are we, in the twelfth grade?”
“This weekend we are.” Porsche winked. “I think I mentioned tequila?”
“Excellent!” Sidney crowed and Hanna tried not to grimace. Really, tequila was the last thing she needed.
She wasn’t much of a drinker to begin with, preferring froufrou drinks with plenty of mixer, and with this crowd, tequila tended to come in shot glasses.
The others, however, were enthusiastic and they all tromped up to Hanna’s room, though Porsche made a pit stop in her own room for a bottle of Cuervo. As they waited for her to return, there was chatter about the hayride and the plans for the weekend, but all Hanna could think of was those eyes, peering at her over his shoulder, the tentative quirk of his lips and a whispered invitation.
I’m staying in the barn. In the tack room. If you . . . you know . . . want to come see me.
She couldn’t rein in her imagination as visions of what he could have meant, what he had intended, danced through her mind.
Porsche poked her head into the room and waggled a bottle. “Here we go. Tequila.”
“Ta-kill-ya,” Sidney chortled, and set the glasses on the top of the dresser. “Pour out the shots. Let’s toast to a wild and wicked weekend with hot and steamy hunks . . .” She fluttered her lashes at Hanna. “You know. Hunks who aren’t sticks.”
Hanna poked her tongue out at her sister at the jab at Zack, but it was a playful gesture. She shook her head as Porsche pressed a shot glass into her hand. “I’m not drinking,” she said.
“I’ll have hers,” Amy offered. Amy was generous like that.
“Come on,” Sidney bleated. “Loosen up. It’s s’posed ta be a wild and wicked weekend. How can you be wild and wicked all buttoned up like that?” She waved in the general vicinity of Hanna’s blouse which was, in fact, buttoned up.
“I’m not one of the strippers,” she felt compelled to remind her sister. “I plan to stay buttoned up.”
Amy sidled up to her and said, in something of a wheedling voice, “Come on, Hanna. You know you want to. This is your last crazy fling as an unmarried woman.”
Hanna stifled a laugh. Her last fling? She’d barely had one.
“Soon you’ll be married and—I’m just spitballin’ here,” Amy said with a grin. “But I’m guessing your prim and polite groom won’t approve of you going to strip shows when you’re married.”
Yeah. Probably not.
She thought about Zack’s expression when she’d told him where they were spending this weekend.
Definitely not.
This was it, she realized. Her one last gasp before she became Mrs. Zack Pucey.
Hanna took the glass and tipped it back, but only because the thought of tying herself to Zack—to anyone—sent a dark panic coiling in her belly. She hoped the tequila would kill it.
She grimaced at the taste of the raw liquor, but liked the burn and the warmth spreading through her veins.
The others tossed back theirs as well, with gusty gasps as the fiery brew blazed down their gullets. Amy refilled the glasses, but H
anna held up a hand. “One is enough for me,” she said.
Porsche eyed her glass. “Well, if she’s not going to drink it, I think I should have it.”
“Why would you get it?” Sidney asked.
“Because I am her best friend.”
“Well, I’m her sister.”
“Ladies. Ladies.” Amy, as always, stepped in as the voice of reason. “I’ll drink it.”
“No.” Hanna’s sharp reply seemed to surprise them all. It certainly surprised her. She had no idea from where the change of heart had come. Certainly not the vision of an eternity as Mrs. Zack Pucey. “I’ll drink it.” She picked up her drink, knocking it back with a quick toss. It burned all the way down, precipitating a coughing fit. Sidney slapped her on the back none too gently until it waned, although the slapping did not help in the least.
“Well, now we’re talking,” Amy said in a gust.
Hanna wasn’t a fan of tequila, and probably never would be, but she had to admit, the first drink had sent a warm rivulet coursing through her veins and the second turned it into a rushing river. She liked the fuzziness too, the way it softened the corners on the box that constrained her.
Part of her knew drinking shots of tequila was no solution. It couldn’t fix anything, but it was nice to have a break from her worries, muddled and sodden though it was.
But, to be honest, one thing wasn’t muddled in the least.
That vision. In her head. That smile. That glint in his eye.
The more she thought on it, the more convinced she became that those whispered words had been an invitation.
Would it be so wrong to find out for sure? What did she risk but the humiliation of having been wrong? And what was tequila good for if not muffling humiliation?
A sudden resolution swamped her.
She turned in a rush and headed for the door.
“Where are you going?” Sidney called.
Hanna paused and shot them all a cheery smile. They stared at her like curious meerkats on the savannah. “I’m just going for a walk. I’ll be back.” She glanced at the bottle on the dresser. “Be sure to leave some for me,” she said.
“Ahh!” Amy crowed. “That’s my girl. Have fun.”
