Collared By The Cowboy (Bad Boys)

by Susan Arden

  The body language was all off for his jokester partner. “Hey, sweetheart. Didn’t you tell him your business?” Pen asked, all traces of humor gone from his face.

  “What business?” he snarled.

  What the hell was all this about? Brandon stepped farther from Mia as she pushed away from the wall, untangling their fingers.

  “God.” She groaned, then skittered more than a few inches, moving back as though she was on fire before she finally turned and stared at him, her mouth slightly open, her eyes unblinking.

  His overarching thought was to reach out to her and haul her body against his, then claim her mouth in the kind of kiss that would leave them hungry and breathless. She didn’t say a word, just stood there, her chest heaving, and he wanted to find a cloak to cover her tits, as her cleavage was about to spill over—again.

  He took a step toward her, unable to resist her magnetic pull. “Is he talking about you?”

  “Yeah. I met with Mr. Penrose…last week.” She held up her palms, her eyes wide, and shook her head. Her hair flowed over her shoulders, pure silk teasing him, and really only served as the most seductive frame to a pair of tits he’d ever witnessed.

  “Talk to me,” he whispered as though she were a spooked filly.

  She stared at them, then bolted. He’d been ready all evening for this move and was right beside her, taking wide steps where she could only manage short ones given her tight dress and high heels. He reached out and took hold of her elbow. When she stopped at the end of the hall before the closed door, he put his hand around her thin bicep and gently pulled her back to him. She was a little slip of a thing, and one tug was all it took to stop her.

  “Let me go,” she whispered, without much conviction.

  “Whoa. Just stop a second. Mind explaining what Penrose was talking about? Researcher? What did he mean?”

  Chapter Four

  Brandon’s hot gaze swept downward from her face as if he were studying her or something. Was he actually watching her breathe? Whatever he was doing, his intense glare had her coming apart at the seams.

  “Stop staring at me,” she huffed.

  Hell, maybe her ability to breathe did matter, considering she couldn’t seem to inhale after what they’d done. She’d been pushed up against a wall, encircled by his muscular arms, his body tight to hers. Hands-down, Brandon rubbing his cock over her ass was the best non-fucking sex she’d ever had. She’d actually widened her stance in anticipation of letting him fuck her…in public. The alarm bells buzzed inside her head, as her heartbeat still double-timed in her chest standing next to him. I have lost it. Totally, totally lost it.

  She felt like she’d stepped through the looking glass by entering this hallway. And at some point along the way, she’d sold her soul to the devil…no other way to explain her actions, or the fact that she’d do it again if she didn’t get a grip. Even now, her bones felt liquid and the pulsing heat of mindboggling lust swam low in her belly, in need of release. All she could think about was riding Brandon. The way a wild stallion had to be ridden—rough, wanton, and hard.

  “I want an answer,” he demanded. The points on her arm where his fingers touched her tingled.

  God, he wasn’t the only one.

  It wasn’t Brandon’s question that perturbed her; it was the roiling deep in her belly, the wild pulsations between her legs, and worse, her inability to resist this man. Damn. Damn. Double damn.

  So much for being a professional! He stared down at her and in the red light she noticed his eyes weren’t brown, they were a deep blue that almost flashed violet in the hall lighting. Not helping!

  But hell, if she could look away, or stop him when he pulled her closer, she might have a fighting chance to pull herself together. No such luck. Every cell in her body ached to let him do more than talk to her. How could she help other women overcome their fears if she was flying higher than a kite right now, threatening to crash and burn? She’d let Brandon get to her, so much so that her body hummed and her bones melted. Her wobbly knees would have unhinged if he removed his hands from her. She inhaled a deep, cleansing breath, and braced herself against the door.

  “Brandon,” she exhaled, trying to gather her thoughts. Even now, knowing he was as dangerous as an addictive drug, she was ready to climb on top of him and finish what they’d started. She inhaled his scent, and a shiver skated up her spine.

  “I’m not letting you go without an explanation,” he growled, and she believed him. He had the power to command her. His words and body, his expressions, everything about him delivered her from rational thinking into the world of hot and wild and now.

  Doggone it! Standing next to him, she was a goner if she didn’t reel in her out of control attraction to him. “Please.”

  “Mia, how much of what Pen said is true?” he asked her. A fair question, only she didn’t have the answer.

  Brandon was a cool drink one moment, then he’d work her over with his provocative skills, proving without a doubt he was the best looking specimen of tall, dark, and dangerous she’d ever let grind a massive hard-on against her ass.

  Never had she met a man like Brandon. He was all fire and promised to fulfill her wildest fantasies. Things she’d kept bottled up for years, especially after her boyfriend, Charles “Beau” Humphrey, III—the one she’d expected to pop the question—had dropped the bomb that he’d proposed to his high school sweetheart. The sting was as piercing now as it was two years ago when Beau had calmly informed her that his wife was wearing white down the aisle, not bright red. God, had it really been two years since she’d seen him?

  Back then, stupidly she’d stood there listening to Beau, at first unable to comprehend what he was driving at, until she demanded to know why his old girlfriend was going to be his wife—a woman he’d left and never loved.

  “Love’s got nothing to do with marrying. This is a lifetime contract and her family has connections,” Beau had thrown back at her. “Honeybunch, you just aren’t the marrying kind. You can’t escape what you were meant for.”

  She’d accused him of not making sense and had stormed at Beau, letting her temper get the best of her, and wondering what had come over him and her. They’d never fought like that before. Where had the funny, caring man disappeared to whom she had believed loved her? Gone, apparently. Beau had assured her that he’d be willing to fuck her on the side and went so far as to make her a horrid offer. “I have friends and they already said they like you. And important contacts who are looking for a good time. They’re willing to cut me a deal.”

  “You’d let your friends…” She hadn’t been able to finish the question, seeing the answer in Beau’s eyes.

  “These guys will pay top dollar for a night with you. Show them a good time, and we both win. What you enjoy is hardly suitable for marriage.” He’d shoved her, yanking her hair as if to demonstrate that the kind of things she enjoyed doing in bed, no man wanted his wife to like. She’d shouted at him to stop and from bad, it got worse. After Beau had slapped her face and tore her clothing, she threatened to call the police. “Typical move for a piece of ass. Point proven,” Beau had sneered before she’d pushed him off her. It was the last time she’d seen him.

  Beau Humphrey and his pompous banking family of men married virgins to assure that their wives were suitable. Archaic jerk! Sure, Beau had enjoyed her in bed, but he wasn’t about to ask her kind of woman to be the mother of his children or sit at his parents’ table, or occupy the family pew in church.

  Right now, inside this hallway, under the glowing red light with Brandon, she felt an affinity, as though he was the type of man who wouldn’t judge her. The connection excited and scared her. She’d shied away from dating since her nasty breakup with Beau, preferring to concentrate on her future, something no man could take away.

  Since setting herself free, she’d enrolled in grad school to study human sexuality, and kept her bedroom persona locked away. Only now, she was confused and aroused by Brandon…and als
o in need of graduating.

  Living on her part-time salary as a TA, she barely made enough to cover her expenses. She refused to accept help from her family, preferring to make it on her own. It was too late in the semester to find another project, one that would get her the recognition she’d need to snag a good job in a large city. It was her ticket out of Paris and away from small-minded people.

  If she ran out that door and left the premises, she’d never have a second chance. She faced Brandon and met his stare. “It’s true. That’s what I was doing here.”

  He pushed off from her, releasing his hold on her body, and narrowed his eyes. “For fuck’s sake. Are you telling me this is some sort of game?”

  She crossed her arms over her chest, which under his glare felt all too naked. “Not a game. Never.”

  “But you’re only here to see how things are done…research. Right?”

  “Not exactly. I graduate in May. This is part of my Master’s thesis.” She closed her eyes. This was coming out wrong. “Brandon…”

  “Well sugar, then maybe we should get you fixed up with one of the other studs who can show you a real good time, seeing you only have a matter of months. Why settle for one flavor when, hell girl, you might want to try a ride on every man in the place?” He was being mean for some reason and she stepped forward, unable to keep from defending herself.

  “You’re wrong,” she snapped.

  His eyes roved pointedly over her body. “Don’t think so. I know plenty of women like you.”

  He’d better not be implying she was some sort of tramp. “Don’t you dare pretend you know the littlest thing about me. You don’t even know my whole name!”

  “Doesn’t really matter.” He laughed short and bitterly, taking a step in her direction. “I’m not the one kissing you to see how it feels, just so I can fill out a report.”

  “Oh, so what you do here really means something memorable?” she asked, unable to extinguish the fire taking hold of her temper. She held his gaze and flung, “Silly me, I thought a sex club was just about sex.”

  He took another step toward her, crowding her body with his larger, virile one, and instinctively she stepped back until she was flush with the wall.

  “I guess from your vantage point…it is,” he growled in her face.

  “Don’t waste your Dom tactics on me. I’m not interested. Besides, Sir…isn’t that what you’re called, or is it Master? There’s probably a line at the door just waiting for you to return, Sir.”

  Brandon came up to her, placing his hands on either side of her head, caging her between his sculpted arms. “Since you’re the one keeping score, correct me, but I didn’t hear you complaining. Not when you were watching the windows. Or when I put my hands on your body. Or even when you ground your pretty ass against my cock. Not one damn word about stopping or not being turned on. I know,” he bent his head and whispered against her ear, “that you were about to come in your panties. I bet if I put my finger inside that pussy of yours, it would be wet, warm, and ready to be fucked senseless. So don’t lie to me, little researcher.”

  His words lit a fire in her, and her temper enflamed her from the inside out. She began to shake, growing more and more angry, and her heart thudded in her temples. The space around them felt hotter than an oven as she stared into his face, and wasn’t about to let him have the last word. “I wanted to see down the hall and you weren’t supposed to…it wasn’t my in-ten-tion to like…I didn’t ex-pect…I’m col-lecting infor-ma-tion, dammit!”

  To her horror, her quivering words came out more and more unsteady and she couldn’t finish. Her voice cut off as her thoughts unraveled. She lifted her shaking fingers and swiped a strand of hair behind her ear. God, how she hated her inability to talk when she got upset. Inside her trembling body, a ball of heat began to grow and grow as she stood there, silent and frustrated, glaring up into Brandon’s face.

  He raked his eyes down her body and a wicked smile tugged at his lips. “You saying that’s all you’re after? Well, let’s have at it, then, I thought you were just teasing me. Let me show you how I can go the distance and have you screaming my name in less than ten minutes. If you’re pressed for time, five minutes would work, with the things I know a woman like you would prefer.”

  Now he’d done it! She seethed, so angry even her hair felt on fire. “A woman like me?” she snarled, taking a deep breath as she jerked away from the wall.

  “Yeah. A woman like you.” He bit his bottom lip, his eyes practically feasting on her boobs.

  “I’m. Up. Here.” She jabbed him in the chest, punctuating each word. “You have never encountered anyone like me before. So don’t even pretend you could keep up, cowboy. Whatever you might think you know about me, it’s all wrong.”

  She drove her palms into his chest. It was either that or her hips. No matter, her attempt at a shove was a total joke. Under her hands, the muscular contours of his pecs didn’t yield but flexed, sensually provoking…utterly tempting. They stood frozen for a second, his heart thudding against her palms and their breathing coming in gulps. The heat of his body permeated the space around her and she silently groaned. What in the heck would he look like without that shirt? Shit! Her rogue brain was seriously demented if she couldn’t keep the thread of his insulting words in her grasp.

  “Naw. I think I got it right.” He backed away from her and she let her arms drop until her hands were safely against her sides. He stared down at her, displeasure written all over his face.

  “If there’s one thing I have learned, it’s timing. Mine is for shit and I can see you’re all talk. Probably a damn good skill for research.”

  “Oh, and how would you know?” She glowered up at him.

  “Darlin’, just because I wear a Stetson and cowboy boots, and spend countless hours shoveling manure, don’t make the mistake of thinking I’m your average shit-kicker. I got a college degree same as you, only I didn’t have to kiss anyone to earn it.”

  She gasped, watching him walk away. He turned to tip his hat in her direction and opened the door to step through the hallway entrance. She expected a man with such a biting temper to slam the door, but he didn’t. Her last vision of Brandon was his profile as he shook his gorgeous head. A muscle on the side of his face had twitched. She could see he was attempting to control himself and then like magic, standing against the wall in the dim hall, her therapist brain switched on, prompting her to wonder why this even mattered to a man like him. Wasn’t it all sex and games anyway?

  Chapter Five

  Brandon stretched his arms, testing his sore shoulder. Flexing his muscles, he grimaced from the darts of pain radiating from his neck down to his elbow. He peered out the window in his bedroom at the morning sky. Smoke-colored clouds spanned the distance, greyer than yesterday, and promised falling snow. He lay in bed for several minutes, with no inclination to do much except turnover. Last night, he’d fallen into bed without bothering to get undressed, and now clamped his jaws together, trying to escape the dull ache of a hangover hammering the sides of his head. Coffee. He needed a gallon.

  But that would involve moving. Not gonna happen in this lifetime if he didn’t stop the mental whining. He swore at the sound of blaring music roaring to life from below. Had to be the cleaning crews working, but they weren’t in the habit of boosting the stereo system that loud. He folded an arm over his face and closed his eyes. Just one more night before he was due back in Annona. For once, he was more than happy to face working a stubborn-as-hell horse that had the ability to kick the shit out of him. A vast improvement over a fiery, sass-mouthed woman who, no matter how much he resisted, occupied his thoughts—and as of last night, his dreams. His cock was still hard from imagining he’d fucked her good and rough in this bed. Even now, knowing full well that she was nothing more than a tease, he recognized things had probably gotten out of control in her world. But not in his. Not by a long shot.

  A pounding on his door reverberated in his head. Shit, he’d pr
omised Pen that he’d help with the downstairs maintenance work.

  “You up?” Pen called from the hall. “Shit. Are you alone?”

  “Fuck you!” he bellowed.

  Pen opened the door and laughed. “Oh, hell. You were about to come in your jeans anyway. Just jerk off and stop crying.” He leaned against the jamb. “Or call her.”

  “It’s bad enough I have you to thank for raining on my parade, but don’t tell me who the fuck to call.”

  “You don’t want her card? Fine by me.” Pen sent the card flying and it landed on his chest.

  Brandon glanced down at his shirt and plucked the card off. “Of all the women you let in…promise me you’ll stop agreeing to any pretty face who asks you.”

  “Speaking of members and your text from Sunday, man, I ain’t got a hankering to allow a pair of spoiled girls into this place. It wasn’t me who gave those twins permission to join.”

  He flashed him a look. “Say again?”

  Pen rubbed his forehead. “Wasn’t me. I’m not that far gone. Those girls would tear this place up. I didn’t agree to them coming in here. We need to find out who’s giving out permission for any Joe Schmoe to walk through our front doors.”

  “The cards they handed me are downstairs. The handwriting is so bad I assumed it was yours. But shit, if it wasn’t, we’d better come up with a system to spot a fake club pass.” Brandon yawned, then stretched. “I guess it’s time to get to work.”

  “There’s coffee downstairs, if that will motivate you some.”

  Brandon flinched. “Yeah. I’ll meet you downstairs and be ready to roll after I change.”

  Pen pulled on his hat. “Didn’t want to say anything, but those clothes could stand up and walk after last night.”

  “I don’t remember doing anything out of the ordinary.”