Lassoed By A Dom
Lassoed by a Dom
by
Desiree Holt
Book Seven of the Rawhide Series
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.
Lassoed by a Dom
COPYRIGHT © 2015 by Desiree Holt
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
Contact Information: [email protected]
Cover Art by
Diana Carlile
The Wild Rose Press, Inc.
PO Box 708
Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708
Visit us at www.thewilderroses.com
Publishing History
First Scarlet Rose Edition, 2015
Digital ISBN 978-1-5092-0190-7
Published in the United States of America
Dedication
To my late husband,
always and forever my cowboy.
PRAISE FOR AUTHOR
Desiree Holt
“
Out Of Control
is a gripping thriller that kept me in intense suspense from the very start. I honestly think this is the best erotic romantic suspense that I have read.”
~Romancing the Book, Out of Control
“
Finding Julia
is a memorable and heartrending contemporary romance that lends new meaning to the old saying "love conquers all." If you are a fan of lovers reacquainted and secret-baby themes,
Finding Julia
is one to consider for your TBR.”
~Lea Franczak, USA Today Happy Ever After Blog
“This thriller grabs you from the first paragraph and doesn't let go until the satisfying ending. Espionage coupled with BDSM makes for one titillating ride. Secondary characters enhance the action and add to the suspense.”
~RT Book Reviews, Do you Trust Me
“Ms. Holt dazzled me with descriptions that read like lyrics to a love song. I could taste, feel, and smell everything going on around me as the story and its characters came to life.”
~The Romance Reviews, Coyote Heat
Chapter One
It is just so fucking hot I can’t even think.
Trish Barton sighed, blotted her forehead on her arm, and sucked in a lungful of overheated air. With a sigh, she hung her worn Stetson on her sideview mirror, dug a scrap of elastic from her jeans pocket, and pulled her thick light brown hair back into a ponytail. She couldn’t believe how blistering hot it was in San Antonio for a February, and her clothing stuck to her as if she’d left a sauna only minutes before. She had just wiped down her horse and stabled her with fresh hay and plenty of water. She wished someone would do the same for her. Lifting the Stetson, she used it to fan herself, creating at least a little breeze.
All around her were the sights and sounds of a rodeo getting ready for opening day. The bawling of cattle, the snorting of horses, the mingled scents of animals, humans, and leather. The huge parking area behind the barns and stables was packed with pickups, horse and animal trailers, and large animal transport trucks, all jammed together in a pattern only the people driving them could decipher. And someone’s radio was blaring loud country music.
No, there was no mistaking what was going on. It was the day before the start of the annual San Antonio Stock Show and Rodeo, and there was activity in every area of the complex. This would be the fifteenth year Trish competed in barrel racing in major rodeos, and she was confident she’d rack up another win. Misty, the mare she acquired five years ago when Sampson became too old to hit the times she needed, had been taking her to one win after another, and she was sure this would be no exception.
Like a paintbrush sweeping across her field of vision, the image of a man blew into her mind. She’d only seen him once, at the rodeo in Oklahoma. She couldn’t seem to make herself look away. And seeing was probably the appropriate word because all she’d gotten was the one look at him. She was brushing Misty after the show, and he’d walked into the barn. Something had made her turn at that exact moment, and their eyes met. For a breathless second, she thought he intended to speak to her. Then a group of friends swept into the barn, crowding her. He backed away, and when she could look again, he was gone. But the incredible impact of that one quick visual contact had never left her, the image of him etched in her mind.
The most idiotic part of it was, this man, who had spent less than a minute in her life, had become the object of some very erotic dreams. No matter how much she tried to wipe away the memory, the nights when she was really tired, as soon as she closed her eyes, there he was, in his naked glory, the Master of her imagination. Sometimes when she awoke, she was sure she could still feel the chafing in her wrists from handcuffs, the pressure of knots from the rope he’d tied her with, or a soreness on the cheeks of her ass from his punishment. How crazy was that?
Smiling to herself she wondered if she could run an ad in the paper. Wanted: man in plaid shirt and blue jeans who almost got to talk to me.
Dumb, Trish. Really dumb.
Getting to this point in her rodeo career hadn’t been easy. Ever since her first contest in high school, she had worked hard and sacrificed a lot. But she’d had a single-minded purpose and the support of her family. Now, she nearly had it all. She was favored to win the title at the Nationals for the third time in a row, validating all she’d accomplished, and her family would be there to cheer her on. So, why was it she suddenly felt unsettled? Out of sync? As if there was a hole in her life she’d just stepped into?
Maybe it was the fact that the Doms she spent time with at the private clubs near each stop lately weren’t answering her needs. Up to this point, that was all she’d wanted or needed. For the first time since she’d discovered her submissive nature and her needs, everything was suddenly a little off the mark. Or it might be the two weeks she’d just spent hanging out at her friend CeCe’s ranch, taking a break from the circuit. Sitting on the wide porch, drinking iced tea and looking back on things, she’d begun to wonder if there was more to life than training and competing and taking her pleasure in small doses when she could.
She’d never worried about it before, never given a thought to having a man in her life for anything more than the here and now. But the reaching of her thirty-fifth birthday had made her stop, think, and take a good long look at who, what, and where she was. Was a man what she was missing? She hoped not because fixing that wouldn’t be as easy as it sounded. For one thing, she’d seen too many women on the circuit meet a man, fall for him, and then suddenly they were out of competition, giving up an exciting career. Why would they give up what they’d worked so hard for just because some man came along? Didn’t they have regrets? Even for a moment?
She wanted one that wouldn’t try to put a halter on her except when—
“Hope you’re ready for the reality that this is your last year to take it all.”
She knew that snarky voice all too well. Pain-in-the-ass Lily Kirklin. When Trish turned to face the tall redhead with her usual seven layers of makeup, she made sure to have a smile on her face.
“Well, hello, Lily. Nice to see you, too.” She leaned against her truck, arms folded casually across her chest.
“After this show, the circuit will be done with trash like you.” Lily’s glance flicked over her. “Then whatever will you do with that used up body of yours and your second class horse.”
Trish forced herself to keep smiling. No way was she ever going to give this jealous bitch the satisfaction of getting to her. The battle just got worse every year at every event, when Lily continued to come in second or even third. “I guess if that happens, I’ll be calling you for tips.”
“Get over it, Trish.” Donna Lamson, Lily’s best friend glared at her. “We all know that if you didn’t give the judges on the hand-timed events a little something extra, Lily would be hauling all those trophies and that cash home instead of you.”
Pure anger shot through Trish, raising her body temperature even more. She bit down on her back teeth to keep herself under control. The two women had been making it a steady habit to bait her for the past couple of years. Letting them get to her was the worst thing she could do, but it was really getting old hat. Most competitors on the circuit had a healthy respect for each other, men and women, but these two apparently fell out of a barrel of crap.
She was working on something to say when a musical voice interrupted her.
“Morning, ladies.” Liz Wright, owner of the Lucky L Ranch, looking fresh in a tank top and jeans with her strawberry blonde hair tucked behind her ears, came around the front of her truck. She looked at everyone and grinned. “Trish, can I steal you from your friends here?”
Lily’s mouth curved into a phony smile, and she held out her hand. “Hi, Liz. Remember me? Lily Kirklin? I spoke to you last year about buying one of your horses.”
“Yes, I remember.” Liz shook the woman’s hand briefly, then tucked her own in the pockets of her jeans. “Sorry we couldn’t make the deal.”
Trish swallowed a grin. At the time, Liz had told her she’d never sell a horse to that bitchy broad if she was the only person left on earth. Lily’s cause hadn’t been helped by the pass she made at Liz’s husband, Alex.
“I’m still in the market.” Lily moved forward, doing her best to crowd Trish out of the conversation.
“Unfortunately, I don’t have anything available at the moment that would suit.” She took Trish’s arm. “Sorry, ladies, but we have a lunch date.”
When they were out of hearing, Trish burst into laughter. “God, Liz. You are so magnificent. Did you see the look on her face? On both their faces?”
“Priceless,” Liz agreed. Then her smile disappeared. “But pay attention to what I’m saying, Trish. Be careful around those two. They’re up to no good. When I spotted them with you, I got you out of there as fast as I could.”
“I can handle them,” Trish assured her.
“No one can really handle vipers like that. I know you’re smart and savvy, and you’ve been on the circuit a long time. But watch your back around those two.” She still had her hand on Trish’s elbow, moving them along. “Let’s keep walking until we get far away from them.”
“Duly noted. Now tell me what brought you out here today. Why aren’t you in your air-conditioned barn? It’s hot enough to fry eggs on the sidewalk.”
“Alex had a horse to deliver. Judd Ferrell had his roping horse stabled with us while he did some personal appearances. Alex said he’d bring him over when Judd was ready. I came along for the ride so I could see you.”
“How very kind of you,” Trish grinned. “I’m sure it’s part of the very fat fee the Lucky L gets for its accommodations.”
Liz laughed. “You know it.” She gave Trish a little hug. “Good thing I did. Saved you from those witches.”
“I can take care of them,” Trish protested.
“I know you can. But I like to get my licks in, I can’t stand either of them.”
The two women had met when Trish needed a new horse and she was directed to the Lucky L. Liz and Alex bred cutting horses and also trained barrel racers. The business deal had been the beginning of a great friendship, especially when they discovered they had other interests in common. Interests they carefully guarded.
She and the Wrights had run into each other the following year in Dallas at a private dungeon. Alex and Liz were attending the rodeo, Trish was competing as usual, and they all had guest passes for the night. They’d struck up a conversation again that night, and a friendship had been born. Trish always chuckled to herself at the normal types of conversations that went on in the lounge at bondage clubs where people were often half nude and indulging in covert sexual acts.
“Speaking of lunch, that sounds like a really great idea,” Trish said. “But I’ve been sweating like a pig, cleaning my tack and taking care of Misty this morning.”
“No problem. I’m used to sweat, believe me. We don’t even have to leave the rodeo grounds. Most of the food vendors are set up, and a few of them are inside with air conditioning. I’ll bet we won’t smell worse than any of the other customers.”
Fifteen minutes later, they were seated in a small building set up like an old fashioned saloon. It was dark and cool inside, and Liz found them a corner booth where they could chat quietly, each with a juicy hamburger and a beer.
“You ready for opening night?” Liz asked. “I see they’ve got four barrel racing events this time instead of three. They added one tonight.”