Page 5 of The Biker's Last Rodeo
She’s the journalist that threatens to blow everything I’ve worked for to smithereens. That said, professionalism is going to be difficult considering the current circumstances.
This girl is all curves, soft skin, and a smart mouth. She’s gorgeous, and she doesn’t know how to back off. That’s what makes her dangerous. That’s what makes her… irresistible.
She leaves me with this gross, unwelcome feeling. This ache like I need to know everything about her. Her taste, her touch, the way she feels squirming beneath me.
Take this moment, for example. I’ve forced her onto my bike, yet she holds onto my waist as though she’s chosen the ride. Like she’s curious to see where this goes, which only makes this ache inside of me louder. There’s something about her that reminds me of myself. Maybe it’s the tenacity, the way an idea seems to sink under her skin and take hold without regard for anything outside of that singular focus.
As we head up the mountain, the wind bites, the road coils, and the space between us thins to something volatile. Something I’ve never felt before.
I turn left, and we head up the old dirt road, tires crunching as we wind through the iron gate I had set a few months back. It’s not flashy, but it demands respect and keeps folks from trespassing for the most part, which is something I’ve found to be more and more important as time goes on.
The wind kicks up dust behind us as we pass the front pasture. The grass is dry and gold this time of year, swaying under the weight of the sun. When I bought the place, I thought one day I’d fill it, but the chances of that get slimmer and slimmer as time goes on.
I slow as we crest the last hill, the ranch house coming into view. It’s small, built with timber and stone. The barn looms behind it, its red steel catching the light.
I feel her shift behind me, like she’s taking it all in.
“This it?”
“This is it,” I say, easing the throttle and coasting to a stop near the porch. “Home.”
I kill the engine. The silence that follows is thick, broken only by the ticking of cooling metal and the distant call of a hawk overhead.
She swings her leg off the bike, eyes scanning the land like she’s not sure if she’s impressed or suspicious.
I watch her for a beat. “Still thinking you can run?”
She lifts her chin, a defiant little spark in her light green eyes. “Maybe.”
“I told you the rules, bunny. You break ‘em, you get tied.”
She doesn’t move, doesn’t flinch. She just watches with that fire that makes me want to take her over my knee right now.
“Your choice, girl. You running, or am I showing you inside?”
I pray she asks to go inside.I’m not sure my cock could take tying her up in the round pen.
She stares toward me, her tongue in her cheek and then on her lips. “How long are you keeping me here, cowboy?”
I take a step closer, slow and deliberate, like I’ve got all the time in the world. “Long as it takes.”
She raises a brow. “For what?”
“To decide if you’re a threat,” I pause, letting my eyes drag over her soft curves, slow and unapologetic, “or a distraction.”
“And if I’m both?”
I chuckle, low and rough. “Then we’ve got a problem.”
She doesn’t back down, doesn’t blink. She simply stands there in the middle of my land like she owns the damn place, and maybe that’s what gets under my skin the most. The way she fits here. The way she looks like she was always meant to show up and ruin my peace.
I nod toward the pen. “What’s it gonna be? I’m not one for idle threats.”
She crosses her arms, but there’s a glow of something in her eyes that looks like a challenge. “Tie me up. Something tells me you’d like that as much as I would.”
Fuck.
I stare at her for a beat, letting the silence consume, letting her feel the terrible decision she’s made.
