BuckingHard

Bucking Hard

Darah Lace

All her life, tomboy Bradi Kincaid has wanted two things—a
career as a veterinarian in her hometown of Grayson, Texas…and Mason
Montgomery. Problem is, he’s her best friend and, according to him, she’s “one
of the guys”. Convinced he’ll never see her otherwise, Bradi comes up with a
sure-fire plan to get over Mason—flirt a little, dance a lot and get laid.

What Mason imagines doing to Bradi is just all kinds of wrong.
But the woman on the dance floor isn’t the girl he grew up with. She’s hot and
sexy and turning him on. Him and every other man in the bar. She’s also had too
much to drink and is unaware of the trouble she’s inviting. He does what any
friend would—he steps in, then sets out to teach her a lesson.

But before the sun rises, Mason discovers Bradi has a thing
or two to teach him.

Chapter One

Mason crested the hill overlooking the creek and reined in
Rocky, his favored mount for riding the range. He’d heard the bawling calf a
quarter mile away and figured he’d find it stuck in the mud. He hadn’t expected
to find Bradi Kincaid. In fact if he’d known she’d already ridden to the
rescue, he would have headed the other way.

But here she was not ten feet away, ass in the air, up to
her knees in green slime and mud, her arms around the struggling calf’s neck,
and she still managed to light a fire in his gut. And dammit, that was just all
wrong.

They were best friends, for Christ’s sake. Practically
raised from the cradle together. They’d fished and hunted side by side, ridden drag
to bring up the tail end of cattle drives. And they’d gotten into more trouble
than a switch could whip out of them. She was his best bud, one of the guys.

So why did his dick suddenly become a divining rod every
time she was near?

She wasn’t unattractive. But Bradi was nothing like the
women he preferred. She wasn’t sleek or polished or sophisticated. Her
fingernails were cut close to keep the dirt out instead of long and
meticulously painted to match her outfit. Her dirty blonde hair was either in a
ponytail or a braid, and as far as he knew, had never been streaked, colored or
cut to the latest fashion. And she might carry ChapStick in her front right
pocket to ward off the blistering Texas sun, but that was the extent of her
makeup.

Bradi was Bradi—natural, earthy and blessed with athletic
grace that made ranch work look easy—and more often than not these days left
him wondering what that lithe and flexible body would be like in bed.

“You gonna sit there all day, or are you gonna help me?”

Leaning forward to rest his forearm on the saddle horn and
hopefully hide his growing erection, he tilted his head to one side and smirked
at the picture she made. “I don’t know. You look like you’re doing just fine on
your own.”

She blew wispy bangs out of her green eyes and gave him a
withering glare over her shoulder. “Throw me a rope.”

“Where’s yours?” He looked around for her horse but the only
other animal in sight was a cow waiting for Bradi to rescue her calf. “Wait,
don’t tell me. You were riding Dahlia.”

That damn horse had a habit of leaving Bradi high and—his
gaze wandered over her again—not so dry. Covered in muck, the front of her
faded yellow T-shirt was wet and clung to her breasts. Breasts he’d known she
possessed but never really noticed until two weeks ago. His gaze locked on the
words peeling across the chest. Not that he cared what they said with her
nipples prodding so diligently through her bra.

Mentally castrating himself, Mason sat up and reached for
the coiled rope attached to his saddle. “When are you going to take that
piece-of-shit horse to the glue factory?”

“Just shut up and throw me your rope.”

Ignoring her demand, Mason swung the lasso and sent it
sailing over the calf’s head. He pulled the rope taut, wrapped it around the
saddle horn, and directed his horse to back up. The bull calf cried louder as
the mud slowly relinquished its hold. As soon as the calf’s legs found firm
ground, he dug in, resisting the pull of the rope.

Bradi laughed and reached for the calf just as it wrenched
to one side and kicked. Twisting, she dodged a hind leg, but her feet were
still stuck in the mud and she went to her knees. Another kick and brown sludge
splattered her chest and neck. “Shit.”

Mason chuckled. “Yep, I imagine so.”

Shooting him another scathing glare, she struggled to stand.
“You’re an ass.” Able to finally extract one leg and then the other, she
trudged out of the creek toward the calf. “Give me some slack.”

He signaled his horse forward and Bradi deftly slipped the
rope from the calf’s neck. The bull bolted for its mama and together they
ambled up and over the high bank then disappeared. Looking back at Bradi, Mason
wished he hadn’t.

She’d moved up the creek and knelt in a spot of grass to
wash the mud from her hands. Tight, faded denim hugged her heart-shaped ass and
his hands itched to palm those mounds. She stretched to wet a bandana, causing
the waistband of her jeans to dip lower, and a strip of hot-pink lace played
peek-a-boo between it and her shirt.

His jeans tightened as his cock strained against his fly.
He’d never thought about what kind of underwear Bradi wore—she was naked in his
recent fantasies—but if he had consciously thought about it, he wouldn’t have
figured her for the lace panty type. Last time he’d seen her in her panties, she’d
worn white cotton with a Barbie logo. They’d been six and he’d wanted to brag
about his Ninja Turtle briefs.

As she rose, he looked away to gather the rope. He stowed it
behind him and turned to find her standing beside his horse with her hand out.
Fuck.
She wanted a ride. And god, he wanted to give her one.

“Well?” She thrust her hand higher. “Give me a hand up.”

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
He hadn’t thought this far ahead
when he’d decided to stick around and help, and his brain certainly wasn’t
working now. All he knew was he couldn’t have her sitting behind him, her tits
rubbing his back, legs spread…
Fuck.
“You’re covered with mud.”

“Um, yeah. I kinda noticed that.” She stared up at him with
expectant green eyes. Why hadn’t he ever noticed the flecks of gold or the ring
of black that reminded him of the sun coming through shadowed forest trees? At
his lack of response, her hand fell to her side. “You’re going to make me
walk?”

“I don’t want that shit all over me.” Damn, he felt like an
ass. He
was
an ass. He couldn’t let her walk. He’d just have to survive
the ride home…and make sure it was a short one.

Before he could offer his hand or an apology, her eyes
flashed with anger. And maybe a bit of hurt? “God, Mason, when did you turn
into such a pussy?”

She spun around and the metallic whir of a zipper crawled up
his thighs and into his balls. Lust rose high but panic shifted into overdrive.
“What the hell are you doing?”

“Taking off my clothes so you won’t get dirty.”

Oh, hell no! There was no way— Shit.
She hooked her
thumbs into the waist of her jeans, starting the downward motion that revealed
a hint of one cheek.

“Just get on the damn horse.” He pulled his foot from the
stirrup and stuck out his hand. “But I can’t take you home.” His place was
closer. “I have things to do.”

A long second passed, then the zipper made a return trip up.
His dick jerked in disappointment as she latched on to his hand, shoved her
boot into the stirrup and swung herself onto the horse behind him, mimicking
his irritated tone. “Things to do.”

The warmth of her body seared his back as she settled into
place. His gaze dropped to one side, taking in the slender thigh nestled close
to his. The thought of those long legs wrapped around his waist made his balls
ache. If she had any idea what she was doing to him, she’d be glad to walk
home. Hell, she’d probably run.

But Bradi wasn’t wired that way. He doubted she ever thought
about sex. She’d never dated in high school and she never talked about anyone
in particular at A&M. The only conversation they’d had about sex was
short-lived when he confided his loss of virginity to Katrina Forbes and Bradi
made it clear right away the subject of sex was off-limits.

The odds of her still being a virgin at twenty-five were
slim, but somehow he couldn’t imagine her having sex with anyone.

Anyone but him.

Mason’s hips rolled with every sway of the saddle, and a
different kind of moisture dampened the already-wet crotch of Bradi’s panties.
After years of fantasizing, she finally had him where she wanted him—between
her legs. Too bad he was facing the wrong direction. And had on clothes. And
didn’t know she was of the female persuasion.

He’d be a good mount. She’d heard enough over the years to
be sure of that. Hell, she knew just by watching him walk. The man did more
than walk. He sauntered and swaggered and strutted and… God, with every step
she could imagine that same strong, sure rhythm pounding into her.

Her pussy clenched and she groaned.

“What’s wrong?” His deep voice vibrated from inside his
chest, tingling her taut nipples.

“Nothing.” She leaned into him under the pretext of getting
more comfortable. If she was going to seduce Mason, she couldn’t come at him
like a freight train. “I swear you always ride a bony-ass horse.”

He shook his head, and Bradi let go of the back of the
saddle to reach for the chestnut waves below his hat. Her hand stopped short of
sampling the hair overlapping his collar. She curled her fingers into her palm.

“What are you doing out here anyway?”

Oh, just stalling.
“I needed to talk to you about
something. And since you won’t return any of my calls, I was coming to see you.
That thing does work, doesn’t it?” She patted the cell phone holster on his hip
and laid her hand on his thigh as if it were the most natural place for her hand
to land and that touching him didn’t make her fingertips tingle.

The hard, thick muscle covered in soft, faded denim tensed
beneath her fingers, and Rocky shifted off the trail. Mason corrected him with
a slight nudge with the opposite leg. “I’ve been busy.”

Bradi frowned, but resisted the urge to thrum her fingers on
his thigh. Not exactly the reaction she needed to boost her courage. She hadn’t
actually set out to seduce him today. If she had, she wouldn’t have chosen this
lousy scenario. Finally telling him how she felt about him was the original
plan. But now that she’d thought about it, seducing him first might be easier.
I
love you
might sound better after hot and sweaty sex.

Easier, my ass.
She’d known him all her life and not
once had he ever looked at her as a woman. And maybe she wasn’t when she left
for college seven years ago. But she’d changed.

Away from home, she didn’t have to constantly compete with
the men on the ranch or work twice as hard for their respect and approval. In
the city, and while focusing only on school—well, there were a few
parties—she’d been educated in other ways. She’d learned to embrace her
femininity. Hell, she’d reveled in it. Problem was, she couldn’t be a woman in
Grayson. Every time she came home, she fell right back into old habits and a
lifetime of insecurities.

After a couple of semesters it became “more economical” to
get an apartment near the university instead of commuting. She’d made the
argument of how hard it was to drive back and forth and still find time to
study when in truth, it just got too hard to be one of the guys. Harder still
to watch the parade of women in Mason’s life. It seemed as if one woman slid
out of his bed as another slipped in. And each was like a burr under Bradi’s
saddle.

She’d tried to move on, dated other guys, even pushed
herself to explore sex, hoping a physical connection with another man would
prove her longing for Mason was just a juvenile crush. She’d learned a thing or
two about who she was and what she wanted in a lover. But the ache never
subsided.

So it was now or never. She had a decision to make about her
future, and Mason was the deciding factor. He’d either see her as a woman or he
wouldn’t, and she’d know once and for all that loving Mason Montgomery was a
lost cause.

Resting her chin on his shoulder, she ached to strip away
his shirt and bite the smooth, tanned skin beneath, then oh so slowly lick away
the sting. “Busy, huh? I was beginning to think you were avoiding me.”

“Why would I do that?”

“I don’t know. Ever since I got home, you seem
busy
.”
Laying her cheek against his back, she closed her eyes and inhaled. Sweat,
leather, soap and Mason—damn, she’d missed his scent. She’d missed his
friendship more.

Bradi wiggled closer. Solid muscle resisted the pressure and
flattened her breasts. The seam of her jeans stimulated her swollen clit. Heat
built low in her belly.

She eased her hand higher on his thigh. “Have you heard from
Granddad?”

“Yesterday.”

Setting her fingers at a steady thrum of impatience, she
waited for him to elaborate. His grandfather was in Wyoming, visiting his
brother. At least that’s what her mom had said. Bradi really missed the old man
who’d played grandfather to her and both mom and dad to Mason after his
parents’ death. “Well, how’s he enjoying his stay?”

“Okay, I guess.”

Bradi rolled her eyes. He was never what she’d call
talkative. Neither of them were. But he’d never seemed this reluctant to spare
a few words. “You going to Clay and Lindsey’s engagement party tonight?”
And
are you taking a date?

“Yeah.” He switched the reins to his left hand and propped
his right hand at the crease of his thigh between her hand and her target. His
elbow bumped her arm, knocking her hand away and forcing her withdrawal. “I
want to talk to Bill Shipley. Rumor has it he’s selling off that bull of his
and I want it.”

Blocked but not giving up, Bradi let go of the cantle
completely, placed both hands at his waist and waited for another opening.
“Bill’s selling Mack?” So named because he was built like a semi truck. “Is something
wrong with him? Want me to go check him out before you make an offer?”

“Nah, Doc Harper says he’s healthy. Checked him out last
week. That’s who I heard about it from.” He smiled at her over his shoulder,
melting her with those sultry brown eyes, then suddenly scowled and looked
straight ahead again. “Doc’s excited about getting you settled at the clinic.
He couldn’t stop talking about it.”

“Yeah.” Guilt washed over Bradi, yanking her out of their
comfortable chatter and reminding her how many lives would be affected by her
decision. Since the moment she’d made up her mind to become a veterinarian, Doc
Harper had taken her under his wing and promised that when she was done with
school and ready to intern he’d have a spot for her. And when he retired, he’d
turn over his practice to her. The plan was ideal and her future was set.