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Regardless that she wanted to tape his mouth shut to avoid that smile, heat pooled directly between her thighs as if he had some miraculous on switch. She took a few steps back, while Nash grabbed the bundle of rope from the ground. Bethany was calling out to the crowd, getting two more women up there for the game. Megan couldn’t look away from Nash’s grin as he began working the rope into a lasso. His playful nature was one of the sexiest things about him. And as much as she hated that nothing ever seemed to get to him, she liked it too.
Relationships were weird.
She had to constantly remind herself how he took nothing seriously. All of this was a game to him. She was a game.
Megan needed—no, deserved—to be more.
She told herself that again and again, while Nash settled next to the other cowboys, those gorgeous blue eyes studying her intently.
Off to the side of the men, Bethany lifted one arm high in the air. “Get ready to rope your ladies, cowboys.” A pause. Then she dropped her arm, yelling, “Go.”
Everything happened so fast, it was entirely impossible to take it all in. All Megan knew was one second she stood there, Nash highly amused, as always. The next, the rope came flying in her direction, and Megan took a full step sideways to ensure he lost. Because somehow, she knew if he won this game, he would win her too.
Though the moment her cowboy boot returned to the floor, the rope slid easily over her arms. “Fuck,” she breathed, right as Nash yanked the rope tight. In the blink of an eye, she was pressed against him while he bound her wrists in front of her.
Heady amusement glistened in his eyes when he threw up his hands, declaring himself the winner.
She frowned. “There is no goddamn way you could have anticipated that I would move.”
The heat of his body pressed against her tight. “There is something you keep forgetting, Freckles.”
“Oh, yeah, what’s that?”
His fingers tightened around the bindings on her wrists, a statement all on its own. Slowly, gingerly, he dropped his head into her neck and planted a soft kiss there. “I know you.”
The world up and vanished.
Her eyes shut, and just like that, the bar faded away. It was him and her, and how right this felt between them. She couldn’t ignore the magic they shared, and she shivered wanting things he could deliver on.
She stepped closer . . . needing him . . . wanting him.
He chuckled, his lips brushing against her pulse. “You were wrong.”
She blinked, breaking the spell he put her under. “What?” she breathed.
With the crowd roaring around her, he grinned. “I won a whole lot tonight.”
Chapter 2
Early the following morning, Nash exited the red barn set next to the modest stone farmhouse he’d grown up in. Blackshaw Cattle Company had once been a multimillion-dollar cattle ranch. It would never be that again. Now, the cattle company was a working guest ranch, developed by his eldest brother, Shep, and his girlfriend, Emma. And built by the very hands of Nash’s middle brother, Chase. But this new venture kept the cattle ranch afloat, kept their mother’s personal money safe, and kept all of the Blackshaw employees on staff. It had been necessary since the cattle company had been on the verge of bankruptcy after their father’s passing.
The sky was cloudy with some blue peeking through near the mountains, giving hope for a fine day. Nash ran a hand through his hair before placing his tan-colored Stetson cowboy hat back onto his head. The chestnut horse, Bentley, followed behind him, with his disobedient yellow Labrador, Gus, getting a belly scratch from one of the guests.
Three months ago, Nash wouldn’t have trus
ted the horse he led by the reins around people. Bentley had been abused, and by the fear and distrust that had been displayed, he’d endured a great deal of it.
It took a good solid few weeks of a fight, including Nash eating dirt many times, before Bentley finally caved, realizing he had a pretty sweet life now. Luckily, Nash’s professional bull-riding life had taught him how to fall to avoid injury. Though Nash wasn’t training Bentley for himself. Bentley belonged to Shep’s girl, Emma, who took in abused animals, giving them a safe place to spend their remaining days. Emma wanted to ride Bentley, and Nash had been determined to tame the wild horse as a thank-you for coming up with the guest ranch idea.
Even if he’d tamed Bentley, these rides with the guests gave Bentley the exposure to the world that he desperately needed. Bentley was gaining trust, and Nash needed to trust him before he let Emma on his back.
They owed Emma everything. All her ideas, plus Chase’s building input, filled this guest ranch vision. The comfort station that housed the toilets and showers was across the driveway. Set next to that were the twelve log cabins complete with a firepit and Adirondack chairs. To the right was the recently built corral where the guests tacked up their horses. This group was into their second day of their week at the guest ranch.
All city folk looked awkward, but most of that uneasiness fled by day five.
When Nash reached a couple of women who’d already tacked up, obviously comfortable with horses, he laid on as thick of an old wild west accent as possible and called to them, “Come on, cowgirls, let’s get wrangling up the cattle.”
The two women giggled and made eyes at him. He’d bet money they weren’t there for an adventure. They were there for him. Something he had become used to as a bull rider. The sport had once been his entire world. He’d trained. Hard. He’d risen to the top of the standings by the age of twenty. Sure, over the years, he dipped down in the rankings, but then he trained harder, got stronger, and rose in the standings again. In fact, he was at top of his game at the age of twenty-seven when Bruiser, a nasty bull, changed Nash’s life. In less than five seconds, his dream was over. His spine injury took a year of physiotherapy to recover from, and then the sponsors no longer wanted him.
