Lauren Read online

  Just at that moment, Luke’s finger wormed beneath her ass and into her folds, dabbling at the mouth of her vagina. Lauren bit her lip. Anger boiled up out of her gut. She looked beautiful, huh?

  “You do, too,” she enthused like a vindictive cheerleader. “Cute boots! They’re made for walking, right?”

  Sorrel staggered as someone knocked into her from behind. Or maybe it was the saccharine bitchiness dripping from Lauren’s tongue.

  Luke barked out a laugh at her sniping. “’Scuse us, Ma’am. Band hasn’t got all night.”

  Luke tipped his hat to Sorrel and turned his back on her, going right back into his grinding two-step, and leaving his hand lewdly buried under the back of her dress. “Cute friend,” he said into her ear.

  “She seduced my fiancé,” Lauren said back.

  “That needs a whiskey,” he proclaimed.

  This time she did two toss-backs with him, and the fire was enough to take her breath for a full minute, then send her into a tear-filled coughing fit for three. He smacked her on the back and she batted him away before he broke a rib. She’d barely rediscovered her windpipe when the stuff took over her knees.

  Luke took her over to the wall, propped her up, and kissed her senseless. Literally. She smelled whiskey, tasted whiskey, and saw the world through a fuzzy golden-whiskey glow. Lauren was reminded of the fact she didn’t drink much anymore. The floor began to bounce and twist in a whiskey flow. His lips were delicious and she tried to eat them.

  “I want you. God-damn woman, I want you. You’re so fucking hot. Firecracker blue, that’s you.” His hands were on her breasts, hips pressing against her mound, his weight flattening her into the wall.

  “Yes,” she wheezed. “Luke, yes. I want to just disappear. Now.”

  He pulled away and fought along the crowd toward the stage. Off to the side was a tight, narrow set of stairs that folded in a crude spiral up into the rafters. He put her in front of him and pushed. She tottered and fell forward, got her balance and managed the first flight. There wasn’t a railing on the outside.

  “I don’t know, Luke . . .” She clung, gasping, as the stairs dove around her.

  He wrapped a steel arm around her ribs and picked her up, carrying her in a rush up the next two flights. They managed the third flight together, and she crawled the last one up into the hayloft.

  Sitting, she panted and looked about. It was warmer up here. Near the stairs was a mess of shelves, bins, and barrels full of tools and junk. Out toward the front of the barn, with the big open square lit up by flickering firelight, was a mound of loose hay.

  Luke helped her up and they waded into it. She laughed as dust puffed up everywhere.

  “Eww! Luke, I’m not sitting in this. It’s prickly and dirty.” She coughed.

  “I got news for you, darlin’. I’ve got plans for that tiny silver ass, and it isn’t going to be planted in alfalfa.” He stomped through the stuff over to the side, grabbed up a square bale bundled with twine and threw it with a thump in front of the opening.

  “Alfalfa?” Lauren sneezed, laughed, and tottered. “Alfalfa? That is so funny! This is alfalfa?” What a silly word that was.

  He yanked on her dress and her breasts bounced free. Groaning, he bent her over his arm and went across them with teeth and tongue. She moaned and pressed him closer, taking his hat and tossing it aside.

  “Hey!” Jerking up to glare at her, he pulled his belt free and undid his pants. “Hands off the hat,” he snarled.

  She raised her hands and wiggled her fingers at him, making antlers out of her ears. “They’re off, aren’t they?” She stuck her tongue out.

  Growling, he took a step up and folded his hands around the hem of her dress. It had already worked pretty high. “I’m so gonna get that ass of yours. And by the way, I like your belt.”

  What belt?

  With one pull her dress was banded around her waist.

  Oh. The dress-belt. All her important bits were bare. Then again, so were his. And it was pointing right at her in demand.

  “Is it private up here?” She belatedly thought to ask. She shrugged out of the little string purse that hung across her chest. “’Cause I brought these.” She shook out a condom.

  “That’s what I’m talking about. Praise the Sweet Savior.” Snatching the square from her, he ripped it open and rolled it on with efficiency.

  She licked her lips. “Tommy really missed out, didn’t he?” The barn pitched from side to side and she laughed.

  He grinned huge. “He sure did. Now get on your knees and let Sweet Luke ride you right.”

  With his hair tousled over his brow and his dark eyes glittering in the dim light, he was a masculine ripple of muscle and sex. Wow. He turned her quite gently and led her closer to the hay bale he’d set in the loft opening. Now she was close enough to see out. The gaslights on posts lit up the sparsely populated hay bales below, and there was a cheerful campfire beyond. People walked to and fro out of the night toward the lodge’s parking lot, but the main roar of voices came from below. They were really high up!

  His tee appeared before her. He laid it down over the top of the bale. Then his hands pressed on her shoulders. She gave in to his demand and knelt on the floor, elbows propped on his shirt. Looking back at him over her shoulder, her breath caught. This was going to be good. Screw Sorrel, Tommy, and all those memories.

  Stretching forward, she bent at the waist and lay down on the warm cotton with a sigh. Her back arched, her knees opened wider, and she pillowed her chin on her arms, gaze on the stars glittering in the black sky. No hint of the mountain skyline remained in the deep dark. She wiggled her ass.

  He fell to his knees behind her, and took hold of her hips. A whole flow of cursing left his mouth, totally at odds with how he very gently began to nudge his erection into her folds. She was soaked, and he slid farther in with every small flex. Her fingers curled into the crunchy hay beneath her fingers. No, alfalfa. The scent fit well with the taste of whiskey in her mouth. He stretched her, pushing her walls wide with his own hard flesh.

  She moaned, trembling as the pleasure spread down her thighs. “So good, Cowboy.”

  His hips pressed tight to her cheeks. He strained against her, fully seated. One hand coasted over the crown of her head, sleeking her hair back. He closed his grip over her shoulder, his other hand still locked on one hip.

  “You ready, darlin’?”

  She rubbed her nipples into the prickling under the T-shirt. The bale was dense beneath her, with no give. “Fuck, yes.”

  The hiss was heartfelt. This was the most crazy, carnal thing. She really wanted it. “Hard, now.”

  He cut loose. With powerful tucks of his thighs, he jammed his hips up, and his grip held her in place. His cock burrowed inside her, a thick intrusion she claimed with each thrust. Framed by the open hayloft awning, the fire glowed down below them like a primal elemental flower.

  Guitars and drums pounded in her ribs. The band downstairs was on their rhythm and it was fast and steady. A gallop, she thought. Pound-pound, pound-pound. The fire wavered, and she pressed herself tight to the bale, loving the bite of the hay in her skin, thrusting her ass out to meet his strikes. This was fun!

  The fire slid again and she closed her eyes. Her tunnel burned and her juices dripped on her thighs. Her breath came hard and fast, harder than after an hour on the elliptical. She clamped her abdomen, straining for the finish. Opening her eyes, the fire sloshed again and she blinked hard. Luke was a powering, cursing whirlwind behind and within.

  And as the front end of the hay bale slid over the outer edge of the hayloft, she figured it out. The fire wasn’t dancing around because of the whiskey. Luke’s strokes were driving them across the floor in the loose hay. They were about four thrusts from falling to their deaths.

  “Luke!” she screamed, clutching the bale uselessl
y, scrambling to stand up against his weight.

  “Oh, fuckin’ Jesus, yes, so goddamn sweet.” He hammered her faster, his body straining up on his knees. Pleasure sizzled through her belly.

  The bale shuddered and another inch slid over the edge. The open ground in front of the barn door spiraled up to meet her dizzy gaze. Several couples stood below, holding beers and laughing. He drove into her again. Her arms struggled to pull the bale in tight, to hold it back from the edge.

  He stabbed even harder into her, and she came, shrieking. Her body sizzled with scalding pleasure. Strands of hay cascaded down.

  The bale had reached its midpoint and pivoted, rocking forward. Her hands clawed at empty air as the bale scraped her in the gut on its way over the edge. Only Luke’s counterweight holding her hips kept her poised at the edge of the loft. Her orgasmic, terrified scream accompanied the raining alfalfa.

  People turned and looked up. The large bale tumbled wildly out from under her. The crowd gasped. People scattered. The bale bounced in a spray of golden strands. Luke’s shirt fluttered down beside it.

  Blood flew through her veins like fireworks, her skin shriveled, and her nipples seemed to point like twin-shooters into the night. She was poised on her knees at the very edge, arms still waving spasmodically, dress a glittering rope around her waist, thighs splayed as Luke groaned long and darkly behind her.

  A dozen gaping faces stared up at her. She viewed them through the peaks of her erect nipples. Her breath sawed. The guitars and drums went thrashingly wild then ended on a crescendo of cymbals. Time stopped.

  One cowboy held up his longneck and shouted, “Hot Damn!”

  Luke wheezed, “Fuuuuck me!”

  She landed hard on her side as he used their connection and his weight to drag them back. One of her feet hung in empty air. For a moment, she lay stunned.

  To applause, a scandalized woman screeched, “Well I never!”

  Her foot seized back like lightning and she scrambled in her best crab-style into the thick, dusty, dirty hay and darkness. With one hand against her heart, she made a choked sound, half laugh, half sob. Her thighs still trembled. From the orgasm or the fright, she didn’t know.

  Luke jumped to his feet. His big belt buckle jangled and then his boots pounded away toward the back of the barn.

  “Luke?” Stirring up the alfalfa made her cough again. She flopped onto her back, still reeling. It was fine to be alive, but the mutual horror of having been seen was already turning her stomach. Something cold seemed caught in her folds.

  A light glowed from the far corner. She sat up.

  “Who’s up here? You young’uns get on over here right this second.”

  Two flashlights lit up the shelves at the top of the stairs. Lauren flew to her knees and got her dress mostly up and down in time. The beams found her spangled dress like a magnet, little silver specks of light spinning across cobwebbed rafters.

  “There she is,” said an excited voice.

  The condom slid out of her, but not before sticky liquid drooled down her inner thigh. She clamped her legs together with a grimace.

  “Hi,” she whispered.

  “Where’s yer fella?” the first voice asked.

  That rat bastard black-hat had left her to the shame of this discovery! “He left,” she sneered.

  “Nice boy.” The voice was now sarcastic.

  “Not really,” Lauren sighed. “But he was sexy.”

  The flashlights zigzagged as they waved her over to the stairs. “You need to come on down and cool off in private, missy. This is a family establishment, and your lewdness is rude.”

  Feeling like she was both filthy and sixteen, Lauren hobbled toward the stairs, now registering how her knees felt like they were scoured with Brillo pads. She managed to lose the condom in private when she snagged her purse.

  Halfway down, she was suddenly aware her eye-catching dress was a really bad idea. The room was only half full now as the bands were changing, an acoustic fiddle band getting ready to play. But every head in the place leaned close together, their eyes hot as they stared at her. She was escorted out a back door, mercifully.

  Sorrel was there, talking to an older man. Lauren cringed inside. He shot her a dirty look and stormed away.

  Sorrel sighed and looked Lauren over. “Was he worth it?”

  “Absolutely not.” She considered. “But we never know until we try.”

  Sorrel’s beautiful auburn hair blew in a faint breeze. She had a sweater on now and Lauren was jealous. The night had dropped the temperature at least twenty degrees.

  “I’ll walk you back to your cabin,” Sorrel offered.

  “No thanks.” Lauren shook her head. Inside, she was melting from embarrassment. Her synapses were still twitching from the orgasm, the whiskey, and the near miss. She was in no mood for company, especially company with a lot of explosive potential. “We’ll catch up tomorrow. After I’ve disguised myself.”

  Sorrel chuckled. “I can bring some dye over. And a hat.”

  Lauren sighed, hunching against the icy air. “I’m sorry about the scene. It was a mistake.”

  “We all make them.” Sorrel kicked at the dirt. “Right?”

  “Right.” Taking a breath, Lauren headed out into the night. She wanted to be alone. And to take a shower.

  “You want me to go after him?”

  “No.” After all, he did save her life. Lauren stepped carefully into the growing darkness away from the barn. “And if you do send that hat, make sure it isn’t black. No more black hats.”

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  “The waterfall sounds great, but I’m really ready for the water right now.” The thought of wedging into a saddle with him made her heart pitter-pat but it also overwhelmed her. He was a stranger, after all.

  She gestured. “Would you like to come in with me? You seem to know the river.”

  “I surely would love to join you, Miss Lauren. This ain’t a river, though. Not like the Missouri or the Yellowstone.”

  It took her a minute to figure out he meant the Missouri, because he said it Mizzureh. “Right. I’ve heard it’s a crick.” She gestured at him. “Do you have a suit?”

  “Not really. I have underwear.”

  She kept her smile in place but inside she gave a big swallow of anticipation.

  “I’m gonna put Wheezy in the corral and come on back. Won’t be but a minute.”

  “I’ll come with you.”

  They walked to a corral near the stables, ignoring the cheers from the bronco demo. As he unsaddled the horse, she petted its soft nose. It wasn’t very interested in her, but when Walt stepped out of the corral, it hung its head over the fence and whickered. He stroked its forehead and murmured to it gently. Awww. Walt was a sweetie. The horse nudged him with a toss of its head, then ambled toward the water trough.

  They headed toward the river, still in comfortable silence. She gestured to her cabin. “Do you want me to grab you a towel?”

  “I’m good, thanks.”

  At the river’s edge, they stopped and looked across the wide ford.

  He pointed to a series of bubbling white areas that appeared where the river narrowed again. “If you have to head out into the river, cut to the side of any boils like those. That way if you fall you don’t get slammed into the rock, just pushed downstream. If you’re on the move, keep your feet up and out ahead of you. Not many snags in this river, but you don’t want to get pinned.”

  She nodded. “Getting pinned does not sound fun.”

  She crouched to undo her sandals, then froze when he touched her shoulder.

  “Don’t take your shoes off yet. Let’s go downstream to the deeper pools.”

  “I was thinking of just walking i
n the water.”

  He shrugged. “I’ll stick to the bank. Fighting the current just means you’re gonna end up dumped eventually. But it’s okay if you want to get wet anyway.”

  Disappointed her idea of an idyllic stroll in the river wasn’t practical, she gestured. “Well, I’ll follow your guidance. So lead on.”

  He set out walking. After a little bit, he said, “I’m surprised.”

  “’Bout what?”

  “That you followed my advice.”

  “’Cause I seem headstrong and stupid?” She laughed at his backhanded insult.

  He chuckled. “’Cause fairies are unpredictable. So, what brings you to Montana?”

  She frowned at the sparkling water, trailing her fingers through the long fluffy grass heads. “History.”

  “Really? Well, Helena probably has the most museums. It’s a bit of a drive.”

  Giggling, she shook her head. “Personal history. Girl drama.”

  He raised a brow and stopped in the shade of a cluster of trees. The grasses were tall around her knees.

  He urged softly, “I’d like to know.”

  Strangely, she felt just fine sharing the painful information with this man. “In college, my fiancé cheated on me with my roommate. Sorrel’s family owned this ranch. I thought she’d moved on when they sold it but I just found out she’s still here. I’m not sure what I’d say to her if I saw her, but I’d like to try to put it behind me. I came here because of good memories, of when she’d talked so much about it and made Cloud Canyon seem so magical. But I didn’t really plan on seeing her.”

  She hadn’t seen her since that black day eight years before.

  “Sorrel?”

  The way he said the name told her he knew her. Her heart sank. They were probably lovers or something. Sorrel had always had excellent taste in guys.

  “So you’re that Lauren. Huh.” He hooked a thumb on his big belt buckle.

  She took a moment to pet the tops of the soft grass tassels before the words burst from her. “What do you know?”