by Pam Godwin
I won’t get attached.
“You should be scared.” I take a menacing step closer. “I know your weakness.”
“What weakness?” Instead of retreating, she stays with me, circling with my steps and keeping me in front of her.
“One touch, and I know everything there is to know about your turn-ons.”
“How is that a weakness? Unlike you, I’m selective about who I jump into bed with.”
That’s a damn good response. If she weren’t trying to dig up my secrets, I would definitely keep her.
I focus on the challenge in her eyes. “Tell me what you hoped to gain by showing up on my doorstep.”
“I want to offer you a deal.”
“Explain.”
“You need to know what I know, and vice-versa. I give a little. You give a little. Back and forth, until we both have what we want.”
I want to tell her she has nothing I need, but that would be a lie. I need to know what she uncovered about the men we killed. I need to know every detail about her meeting with my dad. I need to hear her breathy pleas when I flog her with a crop, taste her tears when she begs me for release, feel how tight her pussy is when she clamps down on my cock.
“You’re suggesting we use each other.” My gaze dips to her mouth.
“Not in the way you’re implying.” She narrows her eyes. “We need to talk. You know, adult conversation. Ever had one of those with a woman? Without getting an erection?”
I smirk. “My words tend to be more offensive than my erections.”
“That’s good. It’s great, actually. If you’re verbally offensive, it means you’re actually thinking and conveying those thoughts. It’s a symptom of real communication.” She anchors her hands on her hips and stares out at the dark landscape. “We want different things, and we’re going into this on opposite sides. I’m willing to argue with you, make disrespectful claims, and offend you in the pursuit of truth.”
Her pursuit of truth is what scares me. But that’s not the only thing.
Everything she said is self-evident, but I never thought about it in such a succinct and intelligent way. She’s smarter than me, and that scares me the most.
“I came here prepared for the backlash of your anger.” She shifts her eyes back to mine. “I’m not an emotional bleeder or safe-space person.” At the lift of my brow, she clarifies. “I’m not easily offended. I already know you give as good as you get. You won’t hurt my feelings.”
“Did you prepare that speech?”
“I’m kind of winging it as I go.”
I like her even more. She’s authentic and expressive and stimulating, and it has nothing to do with her physical beauty. I could pick her brilliant mind for hours and feel more fulfilled than a night of no-strings sex.
When was the last time a woman engaged me without trying to lock me into marriage?
Conor doesn’t count.
“What do you say?” She juts her chin. “We’ll talk. Exchange information. Then I’ll leave. You’ll never see me again. Do we have a deal?”
I’m focused enough to ensure she doesn’t walk away with anything that could threaten my family. But she’s sharp. Sharp enough to outsmart me.
What she can’t do is physically overpower me.
“You think you have it all figured out.” I drift closer, invading her space.
“I didn’t say that.” A head shorter, she has to tilt her neck back to meet my eyes.
“Did you factor in the possibility that I’m a coldblooded psychopath? Or that I’m bigger than you? Stronger and more aggressive?” I grab her jaw. “You should’ve run when you had the chance.”
“I’m not running.” Her swallow confesses her uncertainty. “But I will scream.”
I lunge for her, catch her around her thighs, and haul her over my shoulder.
“Put me down!” She digs her nails into my back and kicks uselessly in the constriction of my arms. “Help! Help me!”
I live on ten-thousand acres. The only two people within hearing range probably went to bed. Even if Jake and Conor catch the sound of her screams, they won’t interfere.
She struggles against me, wearing out the muscles in her tight little body.
“Give it a rest.” I slam a palm against her ass. Hard.
She chokes on a shriek and elbows the back of my head. “What are you doing?”
“Demonstrating how I communicate.”
“Keep your hands off my—”
I spank her again, and she really starts thrashing.
“This is illegal.” She bounces her fists on my back and bucks up and down like a wild bronco. “I’ll have you arrested for this.”
“In Oklahoma, I have the right to use defensible force against trespassers on my property.” I carry her along the dirt trail that leads to the stable. “You should learn the laws if you’re going to write about a criminal case.”
While I won’t give her anything tangible to use against my family, I intend to offer her a deal she can’t refuse.
If she wants juicy gossip, she’ll have to work for it.
Except I’ll be doing most of the work. The kind of single-minded, well-planned work that peels her open, layer by layer, until I penetrate every inch of her naked core.
It’s a dangerous game, but I have to explore this. Not just the secrets she may or may not hold against me. I need to unravel whatever it is about her that makes me feel like I’m floating on goddamn sunshine.
She pushes her hands against my back, probably watching her car fade into the darkness behind us. “Where are you taking me?”
“To my office.”
“I can walk there on my own. Put me down.”
“No can do, sweetheart.”
“This is bullshit.”
“What you’re smelling is horse shit. The bulls are in the west pasture.”
She makes a frustrated sound in her throat. “How the fuck are you the sperm that won?”
“I can explain it to you, but I can’t understand it for you.”
“I really wish I had more middle fingers right now.” Her arms flap angrily against my back, no doubt flipping me off. “What happens when we arrive at your office?”
“I’ll lay out the terms of our deal.”
I don’t negotiate. I’ll take what I want and give her what she needs, not what she thinks she needs.
Then I’ll send her stubborn ass back to Chicago.
In the stable, I flick on the overhead lights and grab a bundle of rope from the wall. The blond hellcat in my arms gains a second wind, but her clawing and writhing only succeeds in exciting my heart rate.
“There’s only one motel in town, and you haven’t checked in there.” I know the owner, who confirmed this for me this morning. “Where are you staying?”
“Wherever I want.”
“Is this your idea of adult conversation?” I carry her to the support beam at the center of the building.
“There’s nothing adult about this situation.” She pushes and jerks against me. “What are you doing with the rope?”
“I don’t trust you.”
Her muscles tense. “I haven’t done anything to warrant—”
“You stalked me. Got your rocks off while watching me fuck—”
“I did not!”
“—another woman. You pulled a knife on me. Hit my face. Trespassed on my property. And that’s all in the last twenty-four hours.”
“Well, you… You spanked me!”
There will be a lot more of that. I run a hand along the vertical beam, searching for nails, splintered wood, or anything that might hurt her.
A soft whinny drifts from one of the stalls, followed by the stomp of hooves. The horses don’t like the commotion.
“I looked you up.” I knot the rope around her squirming waist. “There are no investigative journalists under the name Maybe Quinn.”
“I write under pen names.” She shoves at the braided restraint. “Get this thing off me.”
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“Tell me the names you use.”
“I’m not telling you shit until you…” She twists in my arms. “Get this…” Her breathing labors, and her body contorts with the effort to free herself. “Off me!”
I lower her to the dirt floor and cinch the rope tight as she finds her footing. She yanks on the binding, and I yank harder, forcing the length of her body against the post.
“Don’t do this.” She seethes. “I told you I won’t run.”
“I told you I don’t trust you.” I quickly lash her to the wooden beam, fighting down her arms and tying them against the support with several wraps around her torso. “How do I know your name is really Maybe Quinn?”
“If I had a fake name, do you think I’d choose Maybe?”
“I like that name. Is it short for something?”
“Maybelline. My mom really loved her makeup.” A wince creases her makeup-free face.
Loved. She must’ve lost her mother.
“If you don’t believe me, check my ID.” Anger returns to her expression. “My purse is in the car.”
“What else will I find in your car? Cameras? Binoculars? Listening devices?”
Her molars smack together, and she looks away.
“I can’t have you roaming my stable, planting bugs, and invading my privacy.” I check the bindings, making sure her circulation isn’t impeded. “This allows me to focus on the conversation instead of where you’re slipping your hands.”
“I don’t have anything on me. I promise.”
“Your promise means nothing. If I release you, I’ll have to strip search you for contraband. Or you can remain where you are and save yourself the humiliation.”
During the tussle to secure her to the post, her dress caught in the rope. The lower half twists and bunches around her thighs, barely covering her panties.
A sheen of perspiration shines across her flushed cheeks. The dress straps hang off her shoulders, and her tits look amazing beneath the thin braless fabric.
Dirt smudges the white flower pattern from our tumble outside, and grass clippings stick out of her tangled hair. She’s a hot mess of untamed beauty.
“Fine,” she mutters under her breath. “I’ll take the rope over your wandering hands.”
By the end of this, she’ll beg for both.
She flares her nostrils, as if reading my mind. “Does this mean you accept my deal?”
“On my terms.” I hold up a finger. “No lies. I prefer silence over dishonesty.”
“Same goes for you.”
“Agreed.” I extend a second finger. “You’ll spend the evenings with me, doing whatever I say, when I say it.”
A gasp parts her lips. “You think I’d sleep with you to get a story?” She bucks against the restraints. “I’m not a whore!”
“No, darlin’.” I lean into her, so close I taste the possibilities on her breath. “You’ll sleep with me because you won’t be able to stop yourself.”
“It must be exhausting.”
“What’s that?”
“Fending off horny women all day and night. I bet you have to use that big stick of yours to beat them away.”
While my inner twelve-year-old appreciates the visual, the grown man in me won’t touch that snarky comment.
“As a show of good faith…” I straighten, giving her some breathing room. “I’ll allow you the first question.”
“Gee, thanks.” She scowls at the rope around her and directs that frown at me. “Why did your father leave the ranch?”
“Jake and I forced him out. He inherited the business from our mother and ran it into near-bankruptcy.” At the crinkle of her brow, I pause. “What?”
“I don’t know. I guess I expected a different answer.”
Like the fact that he tried to have Conor and Lorne killed? If she knows about that, we have a serious problem.
She purses her lips, scrutinizing my carefully guarded expression. “So you’re broke.”
“My father’s broke. Jake has a sound mind for business, and I replaced the ranch hands with a dependable crew. We’re out of the red and will only improve from here.”
None of what I told her is public information, but it won’t hurt if she leaks it. Ranching is a tough business and a strenuous life. Very few make good money at it. We’re the wealthiest landowners in Sandbank, but it’s inherited wealth. Our fortune lies in the oil that runs beneath the pastures.
“My turn.” I angle my head, marking the tension in her shoulders. “You said we weren’t on your radar until recently. Explain how that happened.”
“I was following a lead on a different project, and it led me to your father.”
“What was the lead?”
“Someone you know.”
“Who?”
She stares right at me and pins her lips.
Did she follow the trail of one of my father’s dead cohorts? The answer could mean everything or nothing at all.
It’s her turn again. Since her first question was easy, I bet she aims the next one at my throat.
That can wait.
“We’ve established how the Q&A will go.” I stroll toward the tack room and slip around the corner, raising my voice. “Now I’ll introduce you to the second part of our deal.”
“I didn’t agree to a second part,” she shouts back.
“You will.” I glide my fingers along buckled straps and metal bits and select a leather riding crop.
When I return to her line of sight, she spots the implement in my hand and flattens her back against the post.
“Don’t even think about it.” She flexes her fingers against the restraints.
“Do you know what this is used for?” I amble toward her, tapping the leather tongue against my leg.
“Not another step, Jarret.” She kicks out a foot and grunts against the rope. “I’m not fucking around.”
“The riding crop has many uses. Sherlock Holmes carried one as a weapon. On the ranch, we use them to discipline horses. But when you’re with me…” I pause within striking distance. “This crop will be the liberation of your vagina.”
“Oh my God.” She shakes her head in disbelief. “My vagina does not need to be liberated.”
“That so? When was the last time you had sex?”
A springy blond ringlet hangs in her face, and she blows it away with a huffed growl.
“When?” I press closer. “When was the last time Maybe Quinn spread her legs for a hard cock?”
Wide-eyed silence never felt so thrilling. I whack the crop against her bare thigh.
A sharp breath hisses past her clenched teeth. “Don’t—”
I swat her again, harder this time, landing a nice sting high on her inner thigh.
“You’re going to regret this, you sick, perverted, sick…sicko!” She goes crazy, jerking and thrashing and spitting fire.
All that does is bunch both ends of her dress toward her waist. If she wriggles much more, I’ll have an unhindered view of her nipples. Not that I mind. Except that we’re no longer alone.
The tread of boots sounds behind me, alerting me of Jake’s presence before he steps into my periphery.
“Is this consensual?” His eyes tick between me and the seething ball of fury on the post.
I swat her thigh again, returning her focus to me. “I don’t know.” Stepping up against her, I brace a hand on the pole above her head. “Is it consensual, Maybe? Do we have a deal?”
“This is not what I had in mind.” Her tits jiggle beneath the precarious slide of her dress.
“Yes or no.” I grip her chin. “My brother’s not going to leave until he knows you’re willing. Do you want the story or not?”
Her eyes slide to Jake. “You can go. I’ll deal with your brother.”
I don’t know how she thinks she’ll deal with me, but she wins a gold medal for capturing my undivided attention. Her fighting spirit is a breath of fresh air.
Jake meets my eyes and wings up a brow. “You mi
ght want to bind her—”
A jolt of unholy pain slams into my balls and swallows my guts in fire.
“—legs.”
I double-over, gasping from the kick to my groin. “I’ve got this.”
“I see that.” His footsteps retreat. “Good luck.”
Bracing my hands on my knees, I take a few moments to breathe through the throb between my legs.
When the pain subsides, I straighten and lock onto Maybe’s eyes.
The expression I find on Maybe’s face hits me harder than the foot she nailed against my balls.
Tightness around her mouth, cheeks bloodless and ashen, lashes blinking rapidly—she’s in full panic mode, shaking and terrified as if strangled by the very air around her.
The impulse to reach for her, to comfort her, pulls me toward her with my arm outstretched.
She flinches, sucking in a wheezing gulp. “Don’t hurt me.”
I yank my hand back before making contact. She thinks I’d retaliate because of that kick? It was my fault I let my guard down.
Fucking hell, I’m not an abuser. My chest constricts.
But I am a murderer.
Does she know that? Is that why she fears my reaction?
It doesn’t help that I trussed her up against her will. I’m certain she’s into this kind of play, but it’s too soon. I pushed too hard, too fast, without a foundation of trust.
I fucked up.
“Listen to me.” I lower my face to hers. “I would never hurt you out of anger.”
“I don’t know that.”
“You’re right.” I grip the knot on the rope and loosen her restraints. “Let’s back up and slow down.”
As the rope falls away, her breathing slows.
I check her skin for rub marks and help her straighten the dress. “How long are you in town?”
“Until I have the story.”
My jaw clenches. “Where are you staying?”
She runs her hands over the chaos of curls around her shoulders. “Doesn’t concern you.”
Why is she being so secretive about that?
I believe her about the listening devices, not that it matters. Jake and I don’t discuss anything incriminating in the stable, where our crew could overhear.
