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“For sure.”
“Would you like to come over and start sketchin’ after you ride? Or before if you prefer.”
“Yes, absolutely, I’d love to, and Noah, thanks so much. You’ve really cheered me up.”
“I’m glad, and I’m sure we’ll be able to figure this out. Get some sleep and I’ll see you soon.”
But as the call ended, a worried frown creased his forehead. Ellie had been genuinely frightened, and she wasn’t imagining things.
“Dammit, Sherlock,” he muttered, sitting up. “What the hell is goin’ on in that big house?”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
It had been almost an hour earlier, when Ellie was about to turn out the light and go to sleep, when she’d received a surprise visit from Bethany. The Bitch from Hell had knocked on her door carrying a small tray.
“Eleanor, I know it’s late, but I come with a peace offering. A mug of creamy cocoa and a chocolate cupcake from Matilda’s Munchies,” Bethany had declared. “I really want us to get along for your father’s sake.”
Though Ellie had mumbled a thank-you and accepted the tray, she’d felt a chill ripple through her body. Bethany’s dark brown eyes had seemed filled with evil, and the spiky false eyelashes that framed them underscored the woman’s wicked persona.
Closing the door, Ellie moved into the bathroom, poured the hot chocolate down the sink, and crumbled the cake into the toilet.
“You’re as fake as they are,” she had muttered to herself, then locked her door, crawled into bed and turned off her bedside lamp.
But shaken by Bethany’s unexpected appearance, she couldn’t sleep, and a little while later, she’d heard the noises. Her pulse racing, she had called the handsome cowboy.
Now the creepy noises had stopped, and talking with Noah had been reassuring, but she was still unsettled. Slipping from between the sheets, she ambled across to the window and gazed out at the picturesque lake. Puffy clouds tinted with hues of bronze and blue floated past the moon. She suddenly saw the idyllic scene on a canvas, with a winged horse flying in from the East.
“But you won’t be silver like Pegasus,” she breathed, seeing Stetson in her mind’s eye. “You’ll glow with a reddish coat and your flaxen mane will swirl around you.”
Thrilled with the vision, she walked quickly back to bed, lifted a notepad from her nightstand and hastily sketched an outline. A smile crossed her lips, and the dishy, muscled cowboy floated into the forefront of her mind. He was shirtless, and she could easily imagine his washboard stomach.
“I’ll throw you over my shoulder and spank your ass while I’m carryin’ you!”
His threat was one of the sexiest things she’d ever heard.
As it echoed through her head, she moved her hand between her legs, closed her eyes, and pictured him walking towards her with a purposeful stare.
The fantasy took hold.
Grabbing her upper arms, he leaned in to devour her lips in a crushing kiss, then abruptly sat on his couch and jerked her over his knee. With her fingers urgently rubbing her clit, she imagined him peeling down her panties and smoothing his palms over her naked curves. Deeply embarrassed, but more excited than she’d ever been in her life, she held her breath, waiting for the first slap. When she imagined his rough, hard hand landing with a hot sting, her arousal began to build, and she rubbed her sensitive nub with greater fervor.
But without warning her vision changed.
He had her tied to one of the heavy beams in the barn, her arms above her head, and her legs wide apart on either side of a bale of hay. As she stood helpless and at his mercy, he fondled her breasts and tweaked her nipples until she was whimpering with need, then moving his lips to her ear, he told her he’d continue to tease her until she begged for his cock.
Her climax abruptly loomed, and with the salacious scene still dancing through her mind, the spasms seized her. Ripples of divine tingles traveled through her limbs and shuddered though her body… then finally waning, they left her breathless and longing to be engulfed in his arms.
As she came out of the post-orgasmic bliss, she thought back to the odd thumping sounds. Picking up her phone, she played the recording. Though the noises were faint, they hadn’t been a figment of her imagination. But what was the cause? Short of exploring every nook and cranny as they were happening, how could she find out?
An idea popped into her head.
Matt Thompson!
She’d heard the cowboy had once been a marine in the Special Forces and lived at the base of Lone Pine Hill. With his background, perhaps he could shed some light on the mysterious noises.
“Elk Valley is a small community. I bet the local cowboys are all friends,” she muttered. “Maybe Noah could put me in touch with him.”
She would often slip off to her studio late at night, and now wide awake and unable to sleep, she decided to start the canvas of the winged horse with its glowing coat flying above the lake.
