Page 2 of Ride 'Em Hard
Groaning out loud, to the rabbits for all I know, I hold up my phone and trudge over the dry dust trying to find a stronger signal, knowing I’m ruining the best pair of fake designer shoes I’ll ever own.
Is finding Chase West worth this kind of aggravation? Granted, he’s a box-office wonder, ever since they started casting him in cowboy movies. The 18–24 male demographic loves him, and Chase is one of the few stars that bring women to action films in droves.
How I’ll react if I find Chase is anyone’s guess. I’ll probably turn into a mute puddle if he’s anything like the way he is in the movies. Chase West is beyond gorgeous, with those perfect facial features the camera loves. I’ve never seen a bad shot of him. And he’s most definitelynota pretty boy. There’s an edge to him that scares the hell out of me.
He has a strong jaw that looks amazing coated with stubble, and he’s only thirty-two, so there’s no gray yet. He has a perfectly straight nose and an insanely devilish grin—but his eyes are what get me. They’re deep set, mysterious and deadly at the same time, with thick dark eyelashes. And the color—they’re the deepest green I’ve seen. You’d probably drown in them if you were close enough.
And I won’t even mention his sexy-as-all-get-out raspy growl,orhis sex scenes. Chase has no problem dropping trou in his movies, and man, does he know how to make a woman come—or, at least, act like he does.
Who else can deliver a line like “I like to ride ’em hard and put ’em away wet so they’re ready for me anytime I want ’em”? I almost spit out my mocha macchiato when I first read that line. But I tell you what—Chase Westsellsit, and everyone and their grandma is buying it. I blow down the front of my blouse again and undo a few buttons. I need to find Chase West come hell or high water.
I walk a few paces, hold my phone up again and, praise the Lord, get three bars. “Yay!” I shout into the wild. Now at least I can call my auto insurance company to come get me.
“Stop right where you are.” I jump at a loud male voice coming from somewhere behind me. “I said, don’t fucking move.”
A cold gust shoots up my spine. What the fuck? “Ah, sir.” I slowly crane my neck over my shoulder to get a look. “I’m out of—”
“I said don’t move, and that includes your pussy-pink mouth.”
I snap my head back and stare in front of me, my body breaking out in a cold sweat.Shit.
“Put your hands up.” The deep, low growl sounds like business. This guy isn’t taking no for an answ—
“Hands fucking up!”
I shoot my hands over my head and hear heavy boots grinding in the soil, getting louder and louder. An enormous shadow blocks the sun, and I feel a hulking presence looming behind me. Then a huge hand comes down out of nowhere and snatches the phone from my hand. “I-I...” My chin is trembling so hysterically I can’t form the words. “B-but, I-I need m-my phone.” I blink back tears.
“You should’ve thought of that before you decided to team up with the Johnsons and trespass on my property.” The anger in his voice makes every part of my body shake. I’m going to pee my pants. I can’t calm down enough to think of a plan.
“Who are the Johnsons? I have no idea what you’re talking about.” I wait for his answer, but only hear shuffling behind me. Then I feel the cold metal nose of what I’m praying to God is not a gun poke into my lower back. Fear wraps around me like a straightjacket, and I’m paralyzed. I know I’m not supposed to move my mouth, but it’s the only thing I have some sort of control over. The rest of me is frozen. I have to try something. “P-please don’t k-kill me.”
The hard-metallic object leaves my back. I sigh, shuddering with relief, but my knees start knocking so hard I think I’m going to fall. If I start falling, that means I’m moving and he’ll—
“Turn around.”
I shake in my fake Jimmys and try.
“Slowly.”
Right. I gulp hard. Finding not a drop of moisture in my mouth, I gradually turn.
Jesus, Mary and Joseph.
He’s a beast of a man in person. And he’s pointing a long gun at my chest. I know squat about guns, so I have no idea if it’s sawed off or one of those AK-47s, but I know it could blow a hole right through me. As I take in those thick, rippling muscles encased in a snug short-sleeved black T-shirt, the tats running over his massive biceps, and his tight black jeans, his menacing green eyes stare me down from under the rim of his black hat.
The image is unmistakable.
It’s like Chase West just stepped out of the movie poster forRide ’Em Hardand walked into real life. But this isn’t a movie, and there’s no director here to yell “That’s a take!”
“Mr. West.” I focus on each syllable calmly, keeping my shit together as best I can. At least I know who he is now. “W-we kind of work together,” I explain, all businesslike. “I’m from Vital—”
He shifts his weight from one big boot to the other, then focuses the muzzle on my chest and squints, taking aim. His finger twitches near the trigger. “Yeah. No. Don’t know you, sugar tits.”
Sugar tits? I peek down to where his gun is pointed and see I never rebuttoned my blouse. Chase West is leering at, and pointing a fucking gun at, my cleavage. He can clearly see my black lace bra. But shit, it’s not like I was expecting company, and it’s hotter than hell out here. Forget about the studio, and my script; I’m pissed. No one gets to point a gun at my sugar tits.
“Who do you think you are, Mr. Cowboy Man?” Okay, that was stupid. “Watch your language, Chase West, or I’ll go straight toThe Hollywood Reporterand tell everyone you’re a dick-asshole.”
“So you want my dick in your asshole, is that what you’re saying?” He licks his lips and grins, acting like he knows how goddamn handsome he is. “It wouldn’t be the first time.”
