"Uh. I'm just at Hudson's parents'."
She laughs. "Oh, how torturous. Would you want to meet me for a cocktail? Say, in an hour?"
I check the time. Already nine. But you don't say no to Gianna Milano.
"Yeah. Okay. Text me the address, I'll head there as soon as I'm done here."
"Perfect. I'll see you soon, Harps." A pause. "Oh, and keep this to yourself. I don't need that oaf knowing too much."
"No problem. Bye," I chirp, as if my palms aren't sweating from a phone call.
Great. Now I need an escape plan from my own engagement dinner.
CHAPTER TEN
Ace
I've got a cold beer in one hand, my dick in the other, and the face of a pretty blonde who broke my heart on my mind.
After a day of herding cattle, chasing leads, and trying not to think about the Greek zip-tied in our tack room, all I want is her. I want to chase her, catch her, and fuck her until her voice breaks. I want her scratch marks all over my neck. I want to feel her teeth on my shoulder and hear her say my name the way she used to—breathless, wrecked, like the word Acewas the only one left in her vocabulary.
Fuck.
I rest my head back against the couch and close my eyes. The house is quiet. Just the hum of the refrigerator and the tick of the clock on the wall, and the sound of my own breathing getting heavier.
I swear I can still hear her moans if I think hard enough. The pitch of them. The way they'd climb. The way she'd dig her nails into my back when she was close.
I run my fingers along the bars of my Jacob's ladder. Four rungs. I got to four and decided that was enough, because fuck,throw me off a bull and let it stamp on me before you pierce my dick again. But Harper loved them.Lovedthem. The first time she felt them inside her, her eyes went so wide I thought I'd broken her. Then she smiled. That slow, filthy, beautiful smile. And saiddo that again.
I let my mind drift to the last time. The night before she left. A black mask and a cowboy hat, chasing her through the pitch-black ranch while the stars watched and the whole world shrank down to just the sound of her bare feet on the dirt.
My girl could run fast. And she was sneaky—always cutting corners, making turns I didn't see coming, doubling back through the barn so I'd lose her trail. And when I finally caught her, I shoved her up against the paddock gate, and I fucked her so hard the hinges rattled.
She clawed at me. Bit me. Came so loud and so violently all over my cock that her legs gave out, and I had to hold her up.
That was our thing. Most nights toward the end. Even when we were out—a bar, a party, dinner at my parents'—all I had to do was run my finger along my bottom lip and look at her.
She'd run. And I'd chase. And neither of us would sleep until the sun came up.
If I said on your knees, she'd drop.
I'd wake up with her lips around my dick. Or let her wake me up riding my face. Every damn day with Harper was epic.
And it turns out, all I need is those memories to keep me going. Nobody else fills the hole she left. I've tried. Or at least, I've stood at the edge of trying and couldn't make myself jump.
Nobody.
With a few final strokes, I'm done. I let out a groan and reach for my beer.
Can I really do another forty-plus years of this?
It can't be normal to still be this hung up over a girl six years later. It can't be healthy. But here I am—twenty-seven years old,world-class bull rider, mafia underboss, owner of a beautiful ranch house with nobody in it—jerking off to the ghost of a woman who won't even text me back.
A loud knock at my door nearly makes me spill my beer.
"Fuck," I hiss.
"Fuck."
