Running Wild (4 page)

“How about I turn around and release your zipper?” She drew one knee up and froze. “I might need some help,” she added.

His hands returned to her waist. “Can you move your leg over the head the next time it dips forward? I’ve got you.”

She nodded, trusting in his hold. The bull reared and she swung her left leg over the top and . . . slid right off the other side. She landed on her hands and knees.

“Shit,” he cursed. And then he was beside her, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her away from the faded blue into the not-so-pure white area. “Before it swings back around,” he added.

She ended up on top of him, her bare chest against his superman-sized muscles. “Sorry. I just really wanted to get you out of your pants,” she said, looking down at him.

“Done.” He gently shifted her onto the mat beside him and reached for the button. She sat up and watched as he stripped off his jeans and boxers. He kicked them aside and unveiled his long, thick cock.

“I want to take you for a ride,” she said, unable to keep a healthy dose of “oh wow” from her voice. She’d only been with one man before. And even though he’d played football like Noah, he’d clearly been an inch or two shorter on all counts.

“Josie.” He weaved his fingers through her hair, curled his upper body up off the mat, and crushed his mouth to hers. There was nothing tentative about his kiss this time. He was taking her, claiming her, demanding everything she had to give.

His other hand slipped beneath her panties, touching her, exploring her.

“Help me get them off,” she murmured, pulling back from his kiss. “My underwear.”

“There’s no rush. We can take our time,” he said, but he helped draw her panties down as she brought her legs closer, one knee on either side of his thigh.

With a few more wiggles and kicks, she won the battle with her panties. She stared down at the amused man beneath her. Noah. The man of her dreams. The guy who always smiled. But this time it was for
her
.

She shifted back. Her bare ass rested on his thigh and she wrapped her hand around his cock. She placed her other hand on his abs. “Do you know what it feels like to have a giant machine rocking beneath you, vibrating just a touch but not enough to do more than tease?”

He let out a low laugh, his eyes darting between her face and her hand, now moving up and down the smooth skin of his erection. She kept her touch light. She didn’t want him to come like this.

“When what you really want, what you’ve wanted for so damn long, is sitting right behind you?” There, she’d said it. She’d admitted that she’d wanted him too. “And knowing that you only have a few hours before the man you never thought would ever take you on a naked bull ride leaves?”

His smile faded and he reached his hand up to cup her face. “I know, Josie. Not about the vibrating, but about the wanting.”

“I’m not waiting, Noah.” She kept her hand wrapped around his cock as she lifted her hips off his leg. She moved forward until she was poised over him, ready to sink onto his oh-wow length. She sank down, feeling him stretch her open, filling her up.

“Jesus, Josie,” he hissed. Then he grabbed her hips and tried to lift her off. “We need a condom.”

“Just pull out,” she said, claiming another inch. She’d expected discomfort, something other than this I-might-come-before-my-clit-even-rubs-against-him feeling. And that had never happened before. “Plus—”

“I can’t risk it. I’m leaving,” he said through clenched teeth.

“—I’m on the pill.” She rocked her hips back and forth as she’d done on the bull, lifting an inch and feeling him slide out before lowering back down.

“You’re sure?” he gasped, his hands holding tight, but no longer trying to stop her.

“Please, Noah, take me for a ride.”

Chapter Five

I
’M GOING TO
picture her breasts every damn time I close my eyes.

Noah couldn’t take his eyes off Josie as she placed her hands flat on his chest, arched her lower back, and began to ride him. Her breasts swung forward and he took it as an invitation. Curling his abs, he caught one sweet, tempting nipple with his mouth and began to suck.

“Oh God, Noah,” she called above him, her words drowning out the sound of the bull still spinning and bucking beside them. Her hips ground into him in earnest—searching, needing, wanting . . .

Sweetheart, I’m going to give you a ride you won’t forget.

He rocked his hips up and off the mat, driving into her. He released her breast, but quickly replaced his lips with his hands. He wanted to see her, watch her face while she came. And he sure as hell wanted to remember this moment.

“Noah. Oh, Noah,” she screamed. His named echoed in the barn as she moved faster and faster, taking him with her. He was so damn close . . . But he couldn’t, not yet. She had to come first. She had to—

“Noah!”

Her body gripped him, convulsing around him as her hips slowed their needy, desperate motions.

“Noah,” she said, her voice shifting from a scream to a near whisper. But she kept her head thrown back, her eyes closed. “Oh God, Noah. I love you.”

No. She couldn’
t.

“Don’t say that, Josie.” Agony rose up to great the pleasure radiating from his very happy dick. But the pleasure won. “Oh fuck . . . you can’t . . .”

He couldn’t hold back. He thrust up into her and gave in to the blinding, mind-numbing sensations, the pure contentment that took hold, making the rest of the world fade away for one beautiful, perfect moment.

And then it came rushing back. Josie Fairmore had said “I love you” while he had his dick buried in her.

He opened his eyes and looked up at her. God, he’d rip out his heart and hand it to her if he could. But he was leaving. And the place he was going, where they would train him to shoot at people instead of paper, to rush into a war he didn’t fully understand—he couldn’t take her heart there.

He needed to say something, to leave her with something. But what could he say to the beautiful woman looking down at him as if her orgasm had sent her tumbling into a pit of sadness?

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“Don’t be. Josie, I’m the one who should apologize. I’m the one . . .”

Who wants to love you, but can’t.

“Noah?” A fist pounded on the side door. “Noah, are you in there?” His best friend’s voice called through the door.

Shit, I hope I locked it.

“Hold on. I’m here,” he called before Dominic tested the handle.

Josie’s eyes widened, but she didn’t move.

“Sweetheart,” he murmured. “I’m sorry.” And yeah, it was becoming clear it was one of many apologies he owed her. He’d wanted to be the one who made sure no one ever hurt her again. Her hero. Not the man who broke her heart. But playing the hero had slipped out of reach this time, beyond his control.

“I need to go,” he said. “I think I locked the door, but—”

“That won’t keep Dom out.” She raised her hips, letting his semi-hard dick slip out as she moved to the mat.

“Yeah.” He got to his feet and started pulling on his clothes. But she didn’t move. “Josie?” he asked, slipping his feet into his shoes.

“I just need a minute,” she said softly, wrapping her arms around her naked legs.

“What are you doing in there?” Dominic called. “Riding that bull alone?”

“What makes you think he’s alone?” Ryan said dryly.

Ah hell.

Noah stepped off the mat. “I’m sorry, Josie,” he murmured, hoping Dominic wouldn’t overhear.

She just stared back at him. “Goodbye, Noah.”

He heard the knob rattle. He’d locked it. But still, Dominic wasn’t stupid. If he’d realized Josie was missing from the party too . . .

“Don’t break the damn thing,” Noah called as he opened it. He stepped out into the night, forcing his friends to move back. He quickly pulled the door closed behind him.

“What’s up?” he asked.

“The party’s dying down,” Ryan said. His friend wasn’t smiling and hell, he looked as if he’d gotten into it with someone. His button-down flannel was untucked from his jeans, and he was off by a button.

And yeah, Noah was too busy wondering what had happened to Ryan to see it coming.

At the last second, he saw a flash of skin near his face. A fist. And then pain shot through his jaw. He reeled back, lost his footing, and landed on his ass in the dirt outside the barn door.

“Zip up your damn fly,” Dominic growled, lowering his fist.

Shit.
He deserved that hit. Maybe another one for the way he’d left Josie naked and in fucking love with him beside the damn bull.

Noah slowly got to his feet, stepped back out of Dominic’s reach, and zipped up his fly.

“I’m not stupid,” Dominic said as he turned and headed back to the fire. “Josie’s been missing from the party for a while.”

“I know. But you should know . . . I care about her,” he said, following him, Ryan falling in at his side.

But I can’t love her. . .

Dominic kept walking toward the bonfire, Lily, and the circle of friends determined to send them off on a high note.

“Doesn’t change the fact that you’re leaving,” Dominic said flatly.

“No.” Noah glanced back at the barn. He should go back in there. He should turn off the damn bull and help her find her dress. And then what? Tell her he was sorry again? He was leaving tomorrow and he might never come back. He couldn’t offer promises because he damn sure couldn’t keep them. “You’re right, it doesn’t change a thing.”

Except Josie.

Yeah, he had a feeling the hurt he’d left behind had cut deep. And he didn’t have a clue how to make that right.

That was on him. But he hoped like hell the pain would fade. She’d find someone else, a man who wasn’t heading for a war zone.

Noah closed his eyes.
If the next guy hurts her
. . .

“One more drink,” Dominic said. “And then that’s it. The party is over. Time to head home and prepare to leave in the morning.”

J
OSIE WATCHED THE
bull spin in slow circles. Her discarded dress waved through the air like a bright white flag. She hadn’t planned for her clothes to end up riding the machine without her. She’d walked into the barn hoping for a kiss, maybe a little more.

But she hadn’t planned on this. She’d never in a million years wish for this ending.

“He left,” she whispered as she sat up. But even if her words had been audible over the constant mechanical hum, there was no one here. He’d walked away.

And yes, her brother had knocked. It was either be caught naked together or find a way to keep Dominic out. She understood that. But when he’d rushed to gather his clothes, mumbling apologies, she’d felt the wound open up. He’d taken a piece of her with him. And she had a horrible feeling it was her heart.

“That’s going to leave a scar,” she told the bull as she pushed off the mat and headed for the controls. She hit the red stop button and then climbed onto the red section to reclaim her clothes.

I’m strong enough to put it behind me. Bury the pain and move forward. I’ve done it before and I’ll do it again.

But that wouldn’t erase the scar.

Dying to know what happens to Josie and Noah?

The rest of their story unfolds in

SERVING TROUBLE

the first full-length novel in Sara Jane Stone’s new Second Shot series!

Five years ago, Josie Fairmore left timber country in search of a bright future. Now she’s back home with a mountain of debt and reeling from a loss that haunts her. Desperate for a job, she turns to the one man she wishes she could avoid. The man who rocked her world one wild night and then walked right out of it.

Former Marine Noah Tager is managing his dad’s bar and holding tight to the feeling that his time overseas led to failure. The members of his small town think he’s a war hero, but after everything he’s witnessed, Noah doesn’t want a pat on the back. The only thing he desires is a second chance with his best friend’s little sister.

Josie’s determined to hold on to her heart and not repeat her mistakes, but when danger arrives on Noah’s doorstep and takes aim at Josie, they just might discover that sometimes love is worth the risk.

Coming March 2016

An Excerpt from

SERVING TROUBLE

“I
DROVE TO
the wrong bar.”

Josie Fairmore stared up at the unlit sign towering above the nearly vacant parking lot, her cell phone pressed to her ear. Nothing changed in Forever, Oregon. Everything from the people to the names of the bars remained the same. The triplets, who had to be over a hundred now, still owned The Three Sisters Café downtown. Every car and truck she’d sped past had the high school football team’s flag mounted on the roof or featured on the bumper. And her father was still the chief of police.

Nothing changed. That was why she’d left for college and never looked back.

Until now.

She’d blown past the Forever town line ten minutes ago. She’d driven straight to the place that promised a rescue from her current hell. And she’d parked under the sign, which appeared determined to prove her wrong.

“Josephine Fairmore, it is ten thirty in the morning,” Daphne said through the phone, her tone oddly stern for the owner of a strip club situated outside the town limits. “The fact that you’re at a bar might be your first mistake.”

Damn. If the owner of The Lost Kitten was her voice of reason, Josie was screwed.

“When did they take the ‘country’ out of Big Buck’s Country Bar?” Josie stared at the letters above the entrance to the town’s oldest bar. She twirled the key to her red Mini, which looked out of place beside the lone monster truck in the lot. She should probably take the car back to the city. The Mini didn’t belong in the land of four-wheelers, pickups, and logging trucks. The red car would miss the parking garage.

But I can’t afford the parking garage anymore. I can’t even pay my rent. Or my bills. . .

“Big Buck gave in three years ago,” Daphne explained, drawing Josie’s attention back to the bar parking lot. “He decided to take Noah’s advice and get rid of the mechanical bull. He wanted to attract the college crowd.”

“He got rid of the bull before I went to college.” And before his son left to join the United States Marine Corps. She should know. She’d ridden the bull at his going away party.

With Noah.

And then she’d ridden Noah.

“Well, Buck made a few more changes,” Daphne said. “He added a new sound system and—”

“He changed the name. I guess that explains why Noah came home.” She glanced at the dark, quiet bar. The hours posted by the door read “Open from noon until the cows come home (or 3am, whichever comes first!)”.

“He served for five years and did two tours in Afghanistan. Stop by The Three Sisters and you’ll get an earful about his heroics,” Daphne said. “But from what I’ve heard, Noah didn’t want to sign up for another five. Not after his grandmother died last year.”

“You’ve seen him?” Josie looked down at her cowboy boots. She hadn’t worn them since that night in Noah’s barn. She’d thought they’d help her land the job at the “country” bar. But now she wished she’d worn her Converse, maybe a pair of heels.

“Yes.”

“At The Lost Kitten?” Why, after all this time, after she never responded to his apologetic letter, would she care if Noah spent his free time watching women strip off their clothes? One wild, stupid, naked night cut short by her big brother didn’t offer a reason for jealousy.

But the fact that I told him I love him? That might.

“No. I bumped into him at the café.” Daphne hesitated. “He didn’t smile. Not once.”

“PTSD?” she asked quietly. She couldn’t imagine walking into a war zone and leaving without long-lasting trauma. The things he probably saw . . .

“Maybe,” Daphne said. “But he’s not jumpy. He just seems pissed off at the world. Elvira was behind the counter that day. She tried to thank him for serving our country after he ordered a burger. He set a ten on the counter and walked out before his food arrived.”

“He left his manners in the Middle East.” Josie stared at the door to Big Buck’s. “Might hurt my chances for getting a job.”

“I think your lack of waitressing or bartending experience will be the nail in the coffin. But if Noah turns you down, you can work here.”

“I’d rather keep my shirt on while I work,” Josie said dryly.

And he won
’t turn me down. He promised to help me.

But that was before he turned into a surly former marine.

“You’d make more without it,” Daphne said. “Or you can tell the hospital, the collection agency—whoever’s coming after you—the truth. You’re broke.”

“I did. They gave me a payment plan and I need to stick to it.” She headed for the door. “I ignored those bills for months. Besides, what kind of mother doesn’t pay her child’s medical bills?”

The kind who buried her son twenty-seven days after he was born.

Daphne didn’t say the words, but Josie knew she was thinking them. Her best friend was the only person in Forever who knew the truth about why she was desperate for a paycheck. If only Daphne had inherited a restaurant or a bookstore—a place with fully clothed employees.

“He has to agree,” Josie added. “I need that money.”

“I know.” Daphne sighed. “And I need to get to work. I have a staff of topless waitresses and dancers who depend on me for their paycheck. Good luck, Josie.”

“Thanks.” She ended the call and slipped her phone into the bag slung over her shoulder alongside her wallet and resume.

She drew a deep breath. But a churning feeling started in her belly, foreboding, threatening. She knew this feeling and she didn’t like it. Something bad always followed.

Her boyfriend headed for the door convinced he was too young for a baby . . . Her water broke too early. . .

She tried the door. Locked, dammit.

Ignoring the warning bells in her head telling her to run to her best friend’s club and offer to serve a topless breakfast, she raised her hand and knocked.

“Hang on a sec,” a deep voice called from the other side. She remembered that sound and could hear the echo of his words from five long years ago, before he’d joined the marines and before she’d gone to college hoping for a brighter future—and found more heartache.

Call, email, or send a letter. Hell, send a carrier pigeon. I don’t care how you get in touch, or where I am.
If you need me, I’ll find a way to help.

He’d meant every word. But people changed. They hardened. They took hits and got back up, leaving their heart beaten and wrecked on the ground.

She glanced down as if the bloody pieces of her broken heart would appear at her feet. Nope. Nothing but cement and her boots. She’d left her heart behind in Portland, dead and buried, thank you very much.

The door opened. She looked up and . . .

Oh my . . . Wow. . .

She’d gained five pounds—well, more than that, but she’d lost the rest. She’d cried for weeks, tears running down her cheeks while she slept, and flooding her eyes when she woke. And it had aged her. There were lines on her face that made her look a lot older than twenty-three.

But Noah . . .

He’d gained five pounds of pure muscle. His tight black T-shirt clung to his biceps. Dark green cargo pants hung low on his hips. And his face . . .

On the drive, she’d tried to trick herself into believing he was just a friend she’d slept with one wild night. She’d made a fool of herself, losing her heart to him then.

Never again.

She’d made a promise to her broken, battered heart and she planned to keep it. She would not fall for Noah this time.

But oh, the temptation . . .

His short blond hair still looked as if he’d just run his hands through it. Stubble, the same color as his hair, covered his jaw. He’d forgotten to shave, or just didn’t give a damn. But his familiar blue eyes left her ready to pass out at his feet from lack of oxygen.

He stared at her, wariness radiating from those blue depths. Five years ago, he’d smiled at her and it had touched his eyes. Not now.

“Josie?” His brow knitted as if he’d had to search his memory for her name. His grip tightened on the door. Was he debating whether to slam it in her face and pretend his mind had been playing tricks on him?

“Hi, Noah.” She placed her right boot in the doorway, determined to follow him inside if he tried to shut her out.

“You’re back,” he said as if putting together the pieces of a puzzle. But still no hint of the warm, welcoming smile he’d worn with an easy-going grace five years ago.

“I guess you didn’t get the carrier pigeon,” she said, forcing a smile.
Please let him remember.
“But I need your help.”

N
OAH STARED AT
the dark-haired beauty. Her white T-shirt hugged her curves, and her cutoff jean shorts sent him on a trip down memory lane. And those boots . . .

The memory of Josephine Fairmore had followed him to hell and back. He’d tried to escape the feel of her full lips, the taste of her mouth, her body pressed up against his . . . and he’d failed. He’d carried every detail of that night in the barn with him to basic training. Right down to her cowgirl boots. He’d dreamed about Josie in a bikini, Josie on the mechanical bull, Josie damn near
anywhere
, while hiking through the Afghan desert. He’d spent years lying in makeshift barracks wanting and wishing for a chance to talk to her while staring into her large green eyes.

And yeah, who was he kidding? His gaze would head south and he’d let himself drink in the sight of her breasts.

He closed his eyes. He’d spent two long deployments hoping for an email, a letter—something from her. He’d wanted confirmation that she was all right. But she never wrote. Not once. She’d reduced him to begging for tidbits from Dominic. Not that her brother had volunteered much more than a
She’s fine. Stay the hell away from her.

But she wasn’t fine.

He opened his eyes.

“You needed help and you sent a pigeon?” He released his grip on the door and rested his forearm against it. “You could have called.”

“I thought it would be better to apply for a job in person,” she said, her voice low and so damn sultry that his dick was on the verge of responding.

Not going to happen.

There were a helluva lot of things beyond his control. His dad’s declining health. His grandmother’s heart failure while he was stationed in Bumblefuck, Afghanistan, fighting two enemies—and one of them should have been on his side. And the fact that the only time he felt calm, in control, and something bordering on happiness, was at the damn shooting range.

Still, he could control his own dick.

But why the hell should I?

He let his gaze drift to her chest, down her hips and down her slim legs. He’d wanted her for five long years and here she was on his doorstep. What was stopping him from pulling her close and starting where they’d left off five years ago? He wasn’t the good guy worried about her big brother’s reactions or her reputation. Not anymore. Nothing he’d done in the past five years had left him feeling heroic. So why start now?

She crossed her arms in front of her chest. And while he appreciated the way her breasts lifted, he raised his gaze to meet hers.

“I’m not hiring,” he lied. Big Buck’s needed a waitress or two, another bartender, and a dishwasher to keep up with the crowds pouring in from the nearby university, desperate to bump and grind to house music. But if she worked here, well hell, then he’d have another reason he shouldn’t touch her. He had a rule about messing around with his female employees. It was bad business. He’d worked too hard to turn Big Buck’s into something to fool around with a waitress or a bartender.

She raised an eyebrow and nodded to the Help Wanted sign he’d put up in the window. “Someone put that up without asking you?”

Shit.

“I recently filled the position,” he said, searching for an excuse that didn’t touch on the truth.

“I’m too late.” She shook her head. “Perfect. I guess I should have gotten up the nerve to come home a few days ago.”

He glanced over her shoulder and saw a red Mini parked beside his truck. It looked like a toy next to his F-250. And apart from the driver’s side, every cubic inch appeared stuffed with bags.

“I thought you liked Portland. Greg from the station said you haven’t been back here in a few years,” he said, knowing he should close the door and end the conversation. If he let her in, if he handed her an application followed by a Big Buck’s apron, he couldn’t touch her. That wasn’t much different from the past five years, or the ones before the going away party, but she hadn’t spent the past decade or so within arm’s reach.

“It didn’t work out,” she said.

“They don’t have jobs up there for someone with a fancy degree? I bet you could do a lot better than serving drinks.”

She blinked and for a second he thought she might turn around and walk away, abandoning her plea for help. “I took a break from school, lost my scholarship, and then dropped out,” she said.

“What?” He stared at her. “Dominic never said—”

“My dad didn’t know I’d quit school until recently. And I don’t think he told Dom,” she said quickly. “My brother has enough to worry about over there. Like not getting killed or . . .”

“Worse,” he supplied. Like losing a limb or a fellow soldier. Yeah, Noah knew plenty of guys who’d lost both. But he’d worried about losing respect for the band of brothers serving with him because they flat out refused to treat the woman busting her ass alongside them with an ounce of decency . . .

Except Dominic would probably have stepped in and saved the woman before she was attacked. Josie’s brother wouldn’t let the situation get beyond his control and then try to pick up the pieces.

“There are worse things than dying out there,” he added, trying to focus on the here and now, not the past he couldn’t change.

“Yes.”

He kept his gaze locked on her face as he stepped back and placed his hand on the door again. He was ready and willing to slam it closed. She could tempt and tease him, but he refused to take his eyes off her face. Hell, he knew better than to play chicken with her breasts. Right now, with the way he wanted her, he’d lose that game.