by Maisey Yates
Seriously, everything sounded filthy. She had to get a handle on herself. “Maybe,” she said, “but it depends on if your behavior merits candy.” That didn’t make it better.
“I see. And what, pray tell, does Madison West consider candy-deserving behavior?”
She shrugged, making her way to the fridge and opening it, bending down and opening the crisper drawer. “I don’t know. Not being completely unbearable?”
“Your standards are low.”
“Luckily for you.”
She looked up at him and saw that that had actually elicited what looked to be a genuine grin. The man was a mystery. And she shouldn’t care about that. She should not want to unlock, unravel or otherwise solve him.
The great thing about Christopher was that he was simple. He wasn’t connected to her life in any way. They could come up and have an affair and it would never bleed over to her existence in Copper Ridge. It was the antithesis of everything she had experienced with David. David, who had blown up her entire life, shattered her career ambitions and damaged her good standing in the community.
This thing with Christopher was supposed to be sex. Sex that made nary a ripple in the rest of her life.
Sam would not be rippleless.
The McCormack family was too much a part of the fabric of Copper Ridge. More so in the past year. Sam and his brother, Chase, had done an amazing job of revitalizing their family ranch, and somewhere in all of that Sam had become an in-demand artist. Though he would be the last person to say it. He still showed up right on schedule to do the farrier work at her family ranch. As though he weren’t raking in way more money with his ironwork.
Sam was... Well, he was kind of everywhere. His works of art appearing in restaurants and galleries around town. His person appearing on the family ranch to work on the horses. He was the exact wrong kind of man for her to be fantasizing about.
She should be more gun-shy than this. Actually, she had spent the past decade being more gun-shy than this. It was just that apparently now that she had allowed herself to remember she had sexual feelings, it was difficult for her to turn them off. Especially when she was trapped in a snowstorm with a man for whom the term rock-hard body would be a mere description and not hyperbole.
She produced the salad, then set about to preparing it. Thankfully, it was washed and torn already. So her responsibility literally consisted of dumping it from bag to bowl. That was the kind of cooking she could get behind. Meanwhile, Sam busied himself with preparing two steaks on the stovetop. At some point, he took the pan from the stovetop and transferred it to the oven.
“I didn’t know you had actual cooking technique,” she said, not even pretending to herself that she wasn’t watching the play of his muscles in his forearms as he worked.
Even at the West Ranch, where she always ended up sniping at him if they ever interacted, she tended to linger around him while he did his work with the horses because his arms put on quite a show. She was hardly going to turn away from him now that they were in an enclosed space, with said arms very, very close. And no one else around to witness her ogling.
She just didn’t possess that kind of willpower.
“Well, Madison, I have a lot of eating technique. The two are compatible.”
“Right,” she said, “as you don’t have a wife. Or a girlfriend...” She could have punched her own face for that. It sounded so leading and obvious. As if she cared if he had a woman in his life.
She didn’t. Well, she kind of did. Because honestly, she didn’t even like to ogle men who could be involved with another woman. Once bitten, twice shy. By which she meant once caught in a torrid extramarital affair with a man in good standing in the equestrian community, ten years emotionally scarred.
“No,” he said, tilting his head, the cocky look in his eye doing strange things to her stomach, “I don’t.”
“I don’t have a boyfriend. Not an actual boyfriend.” Oh, good Lord. She was the desperate worst and she hated herself.
“So you keep saying,” he returned. “You really want to make sure I know Christopher isn’t your boyfriend.” She couldn’t ignore the implication in his tone.
“Because he isn’t. Because we’re not... Because we’ve never. This was going to be our first time.” Being forthright and making people uncomfortable with said forthrightness had been a very handy shield for the past decade, but tonight it was really obnoxious.
“Oh really?” He suddenly looked extremely interested.
“Yes,” she responded, keeping her tone crisp, refusing to show him just how off-kilter she felt. “I’m just making dinner conversation.”
“This is the kind of dinner conversation you normally make?”
She arched her brow. “Actually, yes. Shocking people is kind of my modus operandi.”
“I don’t find you that shocking, Madison. I do find it a little bit amusing that you got cock-blocked by a snowbank.”
She nearly choked. “Wine. Do you have wine?” She turned and started rummaging through the nearest cabinet. “Of course you do. You probably have a baguette too. That seems like something an artist would do. Set up here and drink wine and eat a baguette.”
He laughed, a kind of short, dismissive sound. “Hate to disappoint you. But my artistic genius is fueled by Jack.” He reached up, opening the cabinet nearest to his head, and pulled down a bottle of whiskey. “But I’m happy to share that too.”
“You have diet soda?”
“Regular.”
“My, this is a hedonistic experience. I’ll have regular, then.”
“Well, when a woman was expecting sex and doesn’t get it, I suppose regular cola is poor consolation, but it is better than diet.”
“Truer words were never spoken.” She watched him while he set about to making a couple of mixed drinks for them. He handed one to her, and she lifted it in salute before taking a small sip. By then he was taking the steak out of the oven and setting it back on the stovetop.
“Perfect,” he remarked when he cut one of the pieces of meat in half and gauged the color of the interior.
She frowned. “How did I never notice that you aren’t horrible?”
He looked at her, his expression one of mock surprise. “Not horrible? You be careful throwing around compliments like that, missy. A man could get the wrong idea.”
She rolled her eyes. “Right. I just mean, you’re funny.”
“How much of that whiskey have you had?”
“One sip. So it isn’t even that.” She eyeballed the food that he was now putting onto plates. “It might be the steak. I’m not going to lie to you.”
“I’m comfortable with that.”
He carried their plates to the table, and she took the lone bottle of ranch dressing out of the fridge and set it and her drink next to her plate. And then, somehow, she ended up sitting at a very nicely appointed dinner table with Sam McCormack, who was not the man she was supposed to be with tonight.
Maybe it was because of the liquored-up soda. Maybe it was neglected hormones losing their ever-loving minds in the presence of such a fine male specimen. Maybe it was just as simple as want. Maybe there was no justification for it at all. Except that Sam was actually beautiful. And she had always thought so, no matter how much he got under her skin.
That was the honest truth. It was why she found him so off-putting, why she had always found him so off-putting from the moment he had first walked onto the West Ranch property. Because he was the kind of man a woman could make a mistake with. And she had thought she was done making mistakes.
Now she was starting to wonder if a woman was entitled to one every decade.
Her safe mistake, the one who would lift out of her life, hadn’t eventuated. And here in front of her was one that had the potential to be huge. But very, very good.
<
br /> She wasn’t so young anymore. She wasn’t naive at all. When it came right down to it, she was hot for Sam. She had been for a long time.
She’d had so much caution for so long. So much hiding. So much not doing. Well, she was tired of that.
“I was very disappointed about Christopher not making it up here,” she said, just as Sam was putting the last bite of steak into his mouth.
“Sure,” he said.
“Very disappointed.”
“Nobody likes blue balls, Maddy, even if they don’t have testicles.”
She forced a laugh through her constricted throat. “That’s hilarious,” she said.
He looked up at her slowly. “No,” he said, “it wasn’t.”
She let out a long, slow breath. “Okay,” she said, “it wasn’t that funny. But here’s the thing. The reason I was so looking forward to tonight is that I hadn’t had sex with Christopher before. In fact, I haven’t had sex with anyone in ten years. So. Maybe you could help me with that?”
Three
Sam was pretty sure he must be hallucinating. Because there was no way Madison West had just propositioned him. Especially not on the heels of admitting that it had been ten years since she’d had sex.
Hell, he was starting to think that he was the celibacy champion. But clearly, Maddy had him beat. Or she didn’t, because there was no way in hell that she had actually said any of that.
“Are you drunk, Madison?” It was the first thing that came to mind, and it seemed like an important thing to figure out.
“After one Jack Daniel’s and Coke? Absolutely not. I am a West, dammit. We can hold our liquor. I am...reckless, opportunistic and horny. A lot horny. I just... I need this. Sam, do you know what it’s like to go ten years without doing something? It becomes a whole thing. Like, a whole big thing that starts to define you, even if it shouldn’t. And you don’t want anyone to know. Oh, my gosh, can you even imagine if my friends knew that it has been ten years since I have seen an actual...?” She took a deep breath, then forged on. “I’m rambling and I just really need this.”
Sam felt like he had been hit over the head with a metric ton of iron. He had no idea how he was supposed to respond to this—the strangest of all propositions—from a woman who had professed to hate him only a few moments ago.
He had always thought Madison was a snob. A pain in his ass, even if she was a pretty pain in the ass. She was always looming around, looking down her nose at him while he did his work. As though only the aristocracy of Copper Ridge could possibly know how to do the lowly labor he was seeing to. Even if they hadn’t the ability to do it themselves.
The kinds of people who professed to have strengths in “management.” People who didn’t know how to get their hands dirty.
He hated people like that. And he had never been a fan of Madison West.
He, Sam McCormack, should not be interested in taking her up on her offer. No, not in any way. However, Sam McCormack’s dick was way more interested in it than he would’ve liked to admit.
Immediately, he was rock hard thinking about what it would be like to have her delicate, soft hands skimming over him. He had rough hands. Workman’s hands. The kind of hands that a woman like Madison West had probably never felt against her rarefied flesh.
Hell, the fact that it had been ten years since she’d gotten any made that even more likely. And damn if that didn’t turn him on. It was kind of twisted, a little bit sick, but then, it was nothing short of what he expected from himself.
He was a lot of things. Good wasn’t one of them.
Ready to explode after years of repressing his desires, after years of pushing said desire all down and pretending it wasn’t there? He was that.
“I’m not actually sure you want this,” he said, wondering what the hell he was doing. Giving her an out when he wanted to throw her down and make her his.
Maddy stood up, not about to be cowed by him. He should have known that she would take that as a challenge. Maybe he had known that. Maybe it was why he’d said it.
That sounded like him. That sounded a lot more like him than trying to do the honorable thing.
“You don’t know what I want, Sam,” she said, crossing the space between them, swaying her hips just a little bit more than she usually did.
He would be a damn liar if he said that he had never thought about what it might be like to grab hold of those hips and pull Maddy West up against him. To grind his hardness against her soft flesh and make her feel exactly what her snobby-rich-girl mouth did to him.
But just because he’d fantasized about it before, didn’t mean he had ever anticipated doing it. It didn’t mean that he should take her up on it now.
Still, the closer she got to him, the less likely it seemed that he was going to say no.
“I think that after ten years of celibacy a man could make the argument that you don’t know what you want, Madison West.”
Her eyes narrowed, glittering blue diamonds that looked like they could cut a man straight down to the bone. “I’ve always known what I wanted. I may not have always made the best decisions, but I was completely certain that I wanted them. At the time.”
His lips tipped upward. “I’m just going to be another at the time, Maddy. Nothing else.”
“That was the entire point of this weekend. For me to have something that didn’t have consequences. For me to get a little bit of something for myself. Is that so wrong? Do I have to live a passionless existence because I made a mistake once? Am I going to question myself forever? I just need to... I need to rip the Band-Aid off.”
“The Band-Aid?”
“The sex Band-Aid.”
He nodded, pretending that he understood. “Okay.”
“I want this,” she said, her tone confident.
“Are you...suggesting...that I give you...sexual healing?”
She made a scoffing sound. “Don’t make it sound cheesy. This is very serious. I would never joke about my sexual needs.” She let out an exasperated sigh. “I’m doing this wrong. I’m just...”
Suddenly, she launched herself at him, wrapping her arms around his neck and pressing her lips against his. The moment she did it, it was like the strike of a hammer against hot iron. As rigid as he’d been before—in that moment, he bent. And easily.
Staying seated in the chair, he curved himself around Madison, wrapping his arms around her body, sliding his hands over her back, down to the sweet indent of her waist, farther still to the flare of those pretty hips. The hips he had thought about taking hold of so many times before.
There was no hesitation now. None at all. There was only this. Only her. Only the soft, intoxicating taste of her on his tongue. Sugar, Jack Daniel’s and something that was entirely Maddy.
Too rich for his blood. Far too expensive for a man like him. It didn’t matter what he became. Didn’t matter how much money he had in his bank account, he would always be what he was. There was no escaping it. Nobody knew. Not really. Not the various women who had graced his bed over the years, not his brother, Chase.
Nobody knew Sam McCormack.
At least, nobody alive.
Neither, he thought, would Madison West. This wasn’t about knowing anybody. This was just about satisfying a need. And he was simple enough to take her up on that.
He wedged his thigh up between her legs, pressing his palm down on her lower back, encouraging her to flex her hips in time with each stroke of his tongue. Encouraging her to satisfy that ache at the apex of her thighs.
Her head fell back, her skin flushed and satisfaction grabbed him by the throat, gripping him hard and strong. It would’ve surprised him if he hadn’t suspected he was the sort of bastard who would get off on something like this.
Watching this beautiful, classy girl coming undone in
his arms.
She was right. This weekend could be out of time. It could be a moment for them to indulge in things they would never normally allow themselves to have. The kinds of things that he had closed himself off from years ago.
Softness, warmth, touch.
He had denied himself all those things for years. Why not do this now? No one would know. No one would ever have to know. Maddy would see to that. She would never, no chance in hell, admit that she had gotten down and dirty with a man who was essentially a glorified blacksmith.
No way in hell.
That made them both safe. It made this safe. Well, as safe as fire this hot could be.
She bit his lip and he growled, pushing his hands up underneath the hem of her shirt, kissing her deeper as he let his fingertips roam to the line of her elegant spine, then tracing it upward until he found her bra, releasing it with ease, then dragging it and her top up over her head, leaving her naked from the waist up.
“I...” Her face was a bright shade of red. “I...I have lingerie. I wasn’t going to...”
“I don’t give a damn about your lingerie. I just want this.” He lowered his head, sliding his tongue around the perimeter of one of her tightened nipples. “I want your skin.” He closed his lips over that tight bud, sucking it in deep.
“I had a seduction plan,” she said, her voice trembling. He wasn’t entirely sure it was a protest, or even a complaint.
“You don’t plan passion, baby,” he said.
At least, he didn’t. Because if he were thinking clearly, he would be putting her top back on and telling her to go back to her ice-cold cabin, where she would be safe.
“I do,” she said, her teeth chattering in spite of the fact that it was very warm in the kitchen. “I plan everything.”
“Not this. You’re a dirty girl now, Madison West,” he said, sliding his thumb over her damp nipple, moving it in a slow circle until she arched her back and cried out. “You were going to sleep with another man this weekend, and you replaced him so damn easily. With me. Doesn’t even matter to you who you have. As long as you get a little bit. Is that how it is?”
