Every Second Counts (2 page)

“Wow! Thanks.”

Ms. Simone’s eye definitely twitched that time. “If you would come this way, Ms. Ryder.” She waved toward the metal detector. “Can you manage without the cane? It needs to go on the conveyor.”

“I can manage if you help me a little.” I was several inches taller, and she appeared startled when I happily flung my arm across her shoulders and leaned heavily on her. Truth was, I could walk very well without the cane, but she didn’t know that. Christ, she smelled good. “What’s that perfume you’re wearing?”

“It’s not a perfume. It’s my moisturizer.”

We paused to let a few other people rush through the detector first. I wasn’t in a hurry to leave her company.

“Really? Where’d you get it? I need to buy a Christmas present for my sister.” I, of course, didn’t have a sister.

She hesitated. “Victoria’s Secret.”

I showed her my dimples again. “I love a woman who knows where to shop. What’s the name of the lotion?”

She cleared her throat and mumbled, “Pure Seduction.”

If I’d grinned any bigger, my face would’ve split. “It lives up to its name,” I murmured in her ear before releasing her and hopping through the metal detector.

The alarms chirped in cadence with the happy pulsing of my clit and I obligingly assumed the stance, my arms held out to the side while the security officer moved his wand over my body. It beeped at the old steel plate in my forearm and the new metal pins in my leg.

Ms. Simone raised an elegant eyebrow. Damn, that was sexy. I shrugged and she handed over my cane when it emerged from the scanner. “I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you to come with me for a full body scan.”

Oh, yeah. I would’ve loved a full body scan by her, but I had even bigger plans. I followed her to the new scanner that had been causing such a stir in the media but stopped short of stepping behind the screen.

“I’m afraid I have to refuse.”

“The machine is perfectly safe. You would receive more radiation from—”

“I’m sure I’m way over my limit for the year.” I tapped my cane against my leg again for emphasis. “I’ve had more X-rays in the past two months than most people get their entire lifetime.”

She seemed to consider my point. “Then you’ll have to undergo a body search or we can’t let you board the plane.”

I looked over her shoulder. “A female officer will do it, right?”

“Yes, of course—” She whirled to gaze at the officers currently on duty. All men. She looked at Baby Butch, who flushed and licked her lips. Ms. Simone turned back to me. “I suppose I can do it, since I’m the only qualified female here.”

I sighed dramatically. “Okay, but be gentle with me.”

A sharp look from Ms. Simone cut Baby Butch’s snicker short.

The three of us crowded into a small room and she shut the door. “Could you remove your sweatshirt, please?”

The thick hoodie draped low over my hips and was bulky enough to hide an Uzi. So, it was more than adequate for what I was concealing. When I peeled it off and dropped it to the floor, I was immensely pleased to detect a faint hitch in her breathing.

Her gaze traveled over my tight black racer-back tank, and my nipples came to attention, their salute more than obvious under the thin ribbed cotton. She glanced up and I gave her a sheepish smile and raised my arms for the anticipated grope. It didn’t hurt that the position showed off the defined muscles in my arms and shoulders. I could tell she noticed.

She stepped back and looked into my eyes for a moment before dropping her gaze slowly down my lean torso. I cocked my hips slightly forward when she reached the bulge in my loose Wranglers. Her eyes jerked back up to my face and her expression shifted from amused to hungry. Oh, yeah. I’d read this one right.

She turned to pull two latex gloves from a box on the table. “Go to the supply room and get another box of gloves,” she said to Baby Butch. “We’re running low.”

Baby Butch hesitated, glancing at the sign on the wall that read: T
WO OFFICERS MUST BE PRESENT DURING BODY SEARCHES
.

Taking advantage of Ms. Simone’s apparent fascination with counting the remaining gloves, I jerked my chin in the direction of the door. Baby Butch took the hint and smirked. “Yes, ma’am. I’ll go to the one on Concourse B. It was just restocked.”

We were on Concourse C and I gave her a wink of approval as she made her exit.

“May I call you Claire? I like to be on a first-name basis with the women who feel me up.”

She didn’t answer, but I could see a hint of a smile.

She started with my hair, gently running her fingers over my scalp, then across my shoulders and down my arms. I guess I could’ve been hiding a knife or something explosive under my bare skin. I watched her face and wished she wasn’t wearing gloves. I imagined her hands soft and warm on me.

She stepped closer to search down my back. When she moved to my front, I didn’t even try to suppress the groan as she ran her hands several times up and down, pressing firmly over my hard nipples as required. She blushed an attractive pink.

I felt an answering flush rise up my neck, too, when she knelt and palmed my butt cheeks. I’m sure that little squeeze isn’t standard protocol. Her hands moved quickly down the back and outside of my legs, then slowly up the inside of my thighs. I widened my stance and wondered if she could smell how wet I was.

I looked down to hold her gaze as her knuckles brushed my crotch and bumped against the contraband concealed there.

“Do you have something in your pocket, Ms. Ryder?”

“It’s not in my pocket.” I couldn’t help that my voice had dropped to a low purr. She had that effect on me.

She stood and my clit jumped again as her fingers gripped my waistband and gently tugged upward as though measuring the weight of it.

“It’s a…prosthesis,” I explained. “There’s no metal in it, so the easiest way to get it through security is to wear it. It’s something I enjoy when I find the right person to share it with.”

Her eyes darkened and she palmed the hard ridge, pushing it against my pulsing sex. “I’m afraid I’ll have to confirm what it is, of course.”

I couldn’t stop the spasm that ran through my gut and thrust my pelvis into her hands. “I understand,” I whispered hoarsely.

She slowly lowered my zipper and wrapped her fingers around the dildo’s girth, pumping gently. I closed my eyes and whimpered, thoroughly blowing my smooth act. I’m not sure how she’d turned the tables so easily, but I prayed I wouldn’t embarrass myself by popping off right there. I was so close. I blew out a breath as she withdrew and raised my zipper.

“Seems harmless,” she said, fastening the button on my jeans but keeping her fingers tucked into my waistband.

I struggled against a sudden desire to kiss her, to plunge my tongue past her perfect lips. Instead, I confessed.

“I can guarantee it’s not harmless,” I said. “In fact, it has been known to cause…explosions.”

The back of her hand subtly rubbed against my hard belly.

“Then this…prosthesis…may be something the TSA would like to research more. Do you live in the area, Ms. Ryder?”

“Just leaving. Going to Virginia for the short term. It doesn’t mean I won’t be coming back. Do you live here, Claire?”

She shook her head ruefully. “No. I live in DC. I’m in town for another week to train staff on how to use the new body scanners.” She stepped back, releasing me. “Enjoy your flight.”

I shrugged. “I’m afraid I’ve missed my plane. It could be several days before I can catch another.”

She looked at me, her blue eyes hooded. “I can recommend the hotel just down the road. That’s where I’m staying.”

I leaned so close our lips were almost touching. I could feel her breath on my face. “It sounds perfect, if you’ll have dinner with me after you get off work.”

“I suppose I could. There is that research—”

“And I’ll be happy to assist you.”

Did I mention I’m a professional rider? Sometimes I ride simply for pleasure.

Next up, Marc Ryder, currently in second place. She’ll be throwing a leg over number five-seven-five, Funeral Wagon, for her third and final ride of the day.”

The announcer’s voice rose over the excited yells of the audience and echoed through the sound system of the indoor coliseum.

Sweat trickled down Ryder’s jaw and into her collar. She climbed down the steel bars of the chute and gently brushed her boot against the spine of the two-thousand-pound, solid black bull to let him know she was there. The bull bellowed and threw his body against the sides of the narrow stall, angrily clanging his horns along the metal.

The animal was already lathered with sweat, and its pungent odor combined with the dust of the arena to coat her sinuses and throat. She coughed and spit into the dirt, then breathed it all in again. God, she loved the rodeo—every primal smell, every adrenaline-pumping ride, and every beautiful groupie in tight Wranglers and fancy boots.

“Take your time,” the stock steward said, interrupting her thoughts.

She pulled her Stetson down tight and cocked her head to wink at him. “Piece of cake, Randy.”

He shook his head. “I think this one got up on the wrong side of the barn today, Ryder. We couldn’t even get him in the chute earlier.”

She already knew that. She could be riding Bushwhacker. She had the option to request that this bull be sent back to the barn and the entire lineup shifted forward. But being the only woman in the competition meant that even after four years and earning a top-ten ranking, she still had to prove herself.

“This big guy’s going to put me in the money,” she said.

She was confident this angry black bull with his four-foot span of horns and ominous name could give her the ride she needed to cinch second place, a personal best, and her ticket to the National Rodeo Finals.

“He’s gonna break your neck. Women are supposed to ride horses, not bulls,” Randy muttered.

She wasn’t offended. Randy was one of the few men who gave her the respect she was due on the circuit. His remark was just his awkward way of expressing his frustration at her nonchalance.

He locked eyes with her. “I’m just saying, when you get off this one, you better hightail it outta there ’cause he’s gonna be looking for trouble.”

“That’s the plan.”

She took a deep breath and slid smoothly onto the broad back. This time, the bull went still, tensing like a coiled spring. Her seat was the only part of her jeans not protected by her leather chaps, and the wet heat of the beast’s body soaked through to her skin. She fought the instinct to tighten her legs while she went through her ritual of pulling the bull rope taut, situating her right hand into its handle, and tightly wrapping its braided leather tail around her palm. She used her left hand to pound her gloved fingers into the rosin-coated braid for a firmer grip.

The bull snorted but remained steady as she inched forward until her crotch touched the back of her hand and her legs were securely in front of the bull rope. She took a rubber mouth guard from her pocket and popped it between her teeth.

She stared at the back of the bull’s massive head for a long moment as the noise from the crowd, anticipating the signal for release, reached a deafening crescendo.

A deep breath and she gave a quick nod.

Funeral Wagon leapt out of the gate, twisting and kicking his hind legs high and to the right in a high-scoring sunfish move.

One second.

He crow-hopped hard on his front legs in a jarring effort to throw her forward, then sunfished again in the other direction. It was a trick that could unseat a broad-shouldered man, but, as a woman, her center of gravity was lower and she moved easily with the animal.

Three seconds.

She raked her dulled spurs along the bull’s tough hide for extra points as he bucked through several high kicks.

Four seconds.

He launched into a prolonged bucking spin, but she carefully avoided the temptation to lean too far inside and get “sucked into the well.”

Six seconds.

An abrupt change of direction, then a third sunfish nearly unseated her. Christ, it felt like her shoulder was separating, and the muscles in her forearm were stretched tight enough to snap. Still, she gritted her teeth and tightened her grip.

Seven seconds.

The next few bucks were straight up and down, so she laid back and again worked her spurs.

Eight seconds!

The buzzer sounded loud across the arena as the bull gathered his feet under him for one last mighty heave. She loosened her grip and waited for the right second to jump free. Rather than shifting back when he kicked his heels high into the air, she hunched forward to push off the massive shoulders.

She glanced down to confirm that her hand had slipped free of the bull rope, and when she looked up again, the massive horn-crowned head of Funeral Wagon filled her vision.

She realized her mistake a split second too late.

*

Ryder jerked awake, her heart pounding. She sat up and blinked at her surroundings, then rubbed her clammy, shaking hands along her denim-covered thighs.

She wasn’t in the arena. She wasn’t waking up in a hospital. She was in an airplane. That wasn’t a heart monitor beeping. It was Claire tapping her nails on the armrest as she read her magazine.

She swallowed the nauseating fear that threatened to empty the contents of her stomach and concentrated on taking slow, deep breaths.

Claire glanced up from her magazine. “Good dream, huh? Last time I heard you breathing that hard was, oh, about five hours ago…in the shower, before we had to leave for the airport.”

Ryder licked her dry lips. “Yeah. I was, uh, reliving the shower scene.”

The seatbelt sign flashed on and the stewardess announced their imminent arrival in Richmond, Virginia, so they buckled up and readied to land. Claire turned, her mouth close to Ryder’s ear.

“You certainly turned a boring assignment in Dallas into a week I won’t soon forget.” She nipped Ryder’s earlobe. “Since we’re arriving early, I’ve got about forty-five minutes before I have to board my next flight. I happen to know a nice, secluded spot in this airport for one more good-bye.”