Last Second Chance (13 page)

“I
bathed them today. Mother Maybelle rolled in the dirt immediately after.” Jesse Ramirez let out an exasperated sigh. “Shadowdancer told me to keep my soapy sponge to my damn self unless I wanted his hoof prints branded across my face.”

Stella Jo laughed for the first time in what felt like an excruciatingly long day. She raised a hand to her eyes and squinted toward where Jesse stood in front of the setting Texas sun. “I’ll see what I can do. Maybe he’ll at least let me rinse him off.”

“Good luck with that.”

After they said their goodbyes, Stella headed into her little bungalow and switched her work clothes for cut-offs and an old, faded oxford shirt. She pulled her riding boots on and tied her hair into a messy bun before heading to the stables. Washing Shadowdancer was going to be quite the event.

Her patience for difficult men was already at its limit for the day as it was.

She had a plan for Shadowdancer, but she was pretty sure he wasn’t going to like it. It involved tying him to his stall so he couldn’t stomp around or rear back on her while she was washing him down.

Now if only she could tie Van Ransom up and make him tell her what went on behind those conflicted stares of his. Sometimes he looked like he wanted to eat her alive, and others he looked like she made him regret
being
alive. But every now and then, like today when she’d told him she’d take that woman off his contact sheet, he looked at her with gratitude in his eyes. Eyes that darkened in a way that sent images of them tangled up in each other straight to the deep recesses of her wildest imagination.

“He’s not going to like that,” the man from her imagination called out as she looped the rope around a slat of Shadowdancer’s stall.

Stella focused on her breathing, hoping he wouldn’t notice how much just his voice alone had rattled her.

“You’re the expert on what he likes?” She had to admit that the dark horse had backed into the farthest possible corner of his stall. Both of them were looking at her like she’d lost her mind. “Since when do you even like horses?”

“I’m a man. I know we don’t like to be tied.”

Now there was a mental image she’d be recalling later.

“Well that’s too bad. I had such big plans for you.” Stella was aiming for teasing, but her words carried the irritation she felt. She wanted to throw her hands up, kick the bucket of soapy water over, and tell Van to do this his damn self. She was tired. She was frustrated. Nash had made her feel defective. He’d tried to reach her, to affect her, and hadn’t been able to because she was a cold fish. A cold, empty fish.

And now a man who sent her insides into a scorching free fall was telling her how to handle the animals she’d dealt with her entire life.

Just as she prepared to fasten Shadowdancer’s bridle, he flattened his ears and stomped a hoof in her direction. She backed up and knocked the bucket over.

“Fuck,” she bit out.

Before she had time to react, Shadowdancer leapt toward her. He wanted her out of the stall, but her legs wouldn’t move fast enough. She was about to be pinned under him. Closing her eyes, she braced for the impact. But it didn’t come.

Instead, she opened her eyes and saw black. A black shirt with faded writing on it. One she’d seen before. The first day they’d met. But this time, she was up even closer because Van Ransom had yanked her from the stall and had her wrapped tightly in his arms.

She took a deep breath, both to calm herself and to inhale his rich, intoxicating scent. Expensive masculine aftershave and the faintest hint of tobacco enveloped her. Raising her head, she met Van’s penetrating stare.

He looked as panicked and turned on as she felt. “I’m sorry. I just… I—”

“Thank you,” she breathed. “I got impatient, pushed him too hard too fast. He still doesn’t trust me.”

Van stared at her. She thought he was about to let her go. But instead of releasing her, he lowered his face until their lips were almost touching. “I don’t think it’s you he doesn’t trust.”

“You don’t?”

He shook his head slowly, very nearly grazing her nose with his. “I think he doesn’t trust himself.”

She was pretty certain they weren’t talking about Shadowdancer anymore. His hands gripped her arms, each finger pressing into her flesh just enough for her to savor the pressure. Her chest heaved as she breathed against him.

“He’s probably afraid he’ll hurt you, afraid he won’t be worthy of that look you give him, that trusting one that says you’ll give him anything he wants or needs—even if it puts you in danger. He knows he doesn’t deserve that. He could never be worthy of that.” His voice was heavy and raw, raking over every inch of her.

“Van.” God, she loved the way his name felt in her mouth, falling into the air from her lips and dancing in the tiny space between them.

“Yeah?” He swallowed hard, seemingly recovering from the panic of witnessing her almost being trampled.

She reached up with her hands and touched his smooth jaw. He’d shaved recently. And she was pretty sure he hadn’t shaved to come help out with the horses.

“You shaved for me?”

A small grin tugged at his masculine mouth. “Perhaps.”

“Tell me what you want. Tell me what you need from me. I’m ready for that list now.”

Eyes the color of the early morning sky began to glow with the heat her invitation provoked. “No, you’re not, Stella Jo. And for that matter, neither am I.”

“Please,” she practically whimpered.

She couldn’t do this anymore, couldn’t handle the constant tension that pulled her so tight she was about to snap in half. Her body craved a release. A release in the form of Van Ransom using what she could imagine were well-acquired skills. All that confidence he carried was a result of more than just musical abilities—she’d bet her paycheck on it.

A low guttural sound rumbled through his chest and escaped his throat. “I came down here to help out with whatever you needed. Let’s focus on that for now.”

I need you.
The thought came unbidden, and she put furious effort into ignoring it.

She sighed her disappointment as he released her. A breeze blew across them and she shivered. Being in Van Ransom’s arms was dangerously addicting. Being out of them left her feeling bereft.

What she needed, apparently, was this mysterious man and anything and everything he could give her. But he was holding out on her, finally listening to words she wished she hadn’t said.

“Okay,” she said softly. The skin-searing shame that blanketed her as he stepped away warmed her considerably. “See if Mother Maybelle will let you wipe her down a bit. She’s dusty.” Stella nodded to some towels nearby, and Van moved over to grab one.

Her face was still flushed from the pathetic scene she’d made, so she kept her head down as she led Shadowdancer to the pasture. When she returned to the stables, she lowered onto all fours and cleaned up her mess. Grabbing the sponge, she did her best to soak up the water that had spilled. With each swipe, she prayed tears wouldn’t fall from her eyes.

A few moments later, she heard the heavy thud of his boots coming toward her.

“Stand up, Cinderella. I’ll take care of that.”

His voice sounded gravelly and almost choked. As if it were taking considerable effort just for him to speak. She looked up and met his wild stare.

“Please get up. I’m trying very hard to behave myself. You on your knees is not helping matters.”

So he does want me then?
Her head swam from the mixed signals he was constantly sending.

Glancing down, she realized that most of her body was drenched. If he wanted her half as much as she wanted him, seeing her in nearly transparent and dripping-wet clothing wasn’t going to help either of them.

Well, screw it. The man had obviously decided nothing was happening between them tonight. If she had to writhe in aching misery, then he could too.

She stood slowly, keeping her eyes on his so she could watch him as he drank her in.

“You’re the devil,” was all he said.

“Perhaps.”

His tongue flicked out to his lips, and she stared openly. “Come here.”

Two words. Two very simple and perfectly commonplace words stripped her of every protective layer she held. Layers she’d built up over the years. Each step she took in his direction rid her of another one. By the time she reached him, she might as well have been stark naked.

A strong hand reached out and gripped her chin. Desire sparked brightly inside of her until flames began to lick at every inch of her body. The heat in his eyes matched the burning blaze encompassing her entire being.

“You. Aren’t. Ready.”

She shook her head violently in an attempt to escape his grasp. Tears stung her eyes. He’d lured her back into his tangled web just to reject her. Again.

His fingers pressed tighter, denting deeper.

“But when you are,” he continued, “I am going to fuck you. And when I do, it’s going to be so deep and thorough that men will be able to smell me on you from miles away. I am going to fuck a path inside of you, a path in which only my dick will fit. Because once I’ve been inside you, you will belong to me. Understood?”

Her knees went weak as her entire body began to tremble.

“Now,” she stammered out. “I want you now.”

T
his woman was going to drive him straight from rehab into the fucking nut house. She made him insane. Certifiably.

Her deliciously intoxicating scent combined with how much of her body he could see through her sopping-wet clothing was a torture that had begun to break him.

Add the whimpered pleas and her finally submitting to her attraction to him? It was a recipe for destruction—his and hers. But instead of matching monogrammed towels, they might as well have gotten it branded on their asses.

“I-I think I already belong to you. That first day, when you ran into me, something…something happened to me.”

Her words annihilated the last of his resolve.

“What happened to you, cowgirl? Tell me. I want to hear it.”

The naked vulnerability she was exuding made his dick even harder than her body against him. He released her chin so that she could look away if she needed to. He half hoped she would. But she didn’t.

“I try to avoid you because I can’t understand the way you make me feel. My mind wants to wrap itself around you, to know you, every part of you. The good, the bad, the ugly, and the terrifying. I want it all.”

Her unadulterated honesty enticed him to share a truth of his own. “I dream of you. I don’t know how or why. But I do. Night after night. It’s the first time my nights haven’t been plagued with nightmares.”

“What do you dream, Van? Tell me. I want to hear it,” she whispered his words back to him softly. When she wrapped her arms around his waist, he didn’t feel ensnared like he did with most women. He didn’t feel trapped. He felt needed. In a way he hadn’t felt since he’d lost Val.

He studied her smooth skin, her perfectly plump and heart-shaped lips, the flecks of gold in her green eyes. “Some of it’s nice, stuff you’d want to hear. Holding you, waking up with you.”

“And the rest?” she prompted.

“The rest is more than you can handle, cowgirl.”

Something brave and dangerous flashed and glinted in her exotic-jewel-colored eyes. “You might be surprised what I can handle.”

Words wouldn’t do it. Verbal warnings were getting him nowhere. So he grabbed her underneath her thighs and lifted. The audible gasp she let out only fueled his determination to show her what she refused to hear. Slamming her against the side of the barn, he thrust the rock-hard ridge of his erection against her.

“This what you want, cowgirl? Make damn sure, because I’m no quitter. Once we pass that point of no return, I don’t care if you beg, plead, or outright cry. There’s no safe word, no taking it back, and no stopping.”

Her lips pressed together, drawing his attention to her mouth once again. “I’ve spent so long avoiding feeling things—pain, pleasure, anything—that sometimes I’m afraid I might be completely…empty inside.” Her confession tore him apart, broke through every barrier he’d built.

“Oh, baby. No. You’re not—”