Page 12 of Cowboy's Way

Looking at the room I’m using as my closet, I decide not to overthink my attire—while once again chiding myself for not leaving some of the outrageously expensive dresses from my old life behind. My clothes and shoes are the reason I needed a trailer on my new Jeep the night I left Vegas.

I didn’t give a rat’s ass about any of the obnoxious art, furniture, or other things Tore collected. Both cars were in my name, so I merely signed over his Maserati to one of our neighbors down the street, in exchange for his trailer and no questions.

I’ve kept the second bedroom locked since I moved in, what with all the workmen around, because in a world obsessed with social media, even a roofer from a town this small can probably figure out that even my luggage costs more than they make in a year.

Money was never a problem for Salvatore Ruggiero.

He had more than enough to afford all of his whims, the only thing that eluded him was peace. And when his associates discovered his deepest, darkest secret, his final moments were sheer hell.

His associates overlooked each other’s sins regularly. They, possibly, would have overlooked the fact that he was gay. If the dumbass hadn’t been grooming another one’s son for years and hadn’t been caught balls deep in the kid between courses during the celebration of his eighteenth birthday.

The Five Families had recently elected Tore to take the reins, and I’m sure he would have been great at it, but there’s nothing that man loved more than barely legal cherries. I had thought he had calmed down, having been in a relationship with his bodyguard for the past year or so, but once a dog, always a dog.

Granted, Tore was a jealous one himself. After buying me from my stepfather, he popped my cherry on our wedding night, before explaining what my role in our life would be. Acting as his beard wasn’t nearly as difficult as the fear I lived with—constantly worried he would think I was having sex with any of the men he paraded me around.

As it is, here I am at twenty-five and have had sex a sum total of one time.

Who knows? Maybe a party with a group of bikers will change that.

An alarm rings on my phone, letting me know it’s a quarter past seven. Another habit that’s ingrained in me from my marriage. There would be hell to pay if I wasn’t ready when I was told to be, so I hurry, tossing aside the black T-shirt I was considering and reaching for a red halter top. I grab a pair of five-thousand-dollar open toe, high-heeled, black leather booties and go to put them on in the living room, keeping an eye out for Logan.

Ten minutes later, my phone pings:

You almost ready?

I take a step outside, unable to figure out how I didn’t hear his bike. But he’s nowhere in sight.

I’m outside, I reply.

I’m docked at the river, city girl.

The river! I know there’s a constant flow of boats, but I never considered that’s how we would travel tonight. Looking down at my shoes, I shrug and hope for the best.

Logan lets out a whistle the moment he catches sight of me and the tattoo of my heart increases with both nerves and excitement.

Nerves because it’s been so long since I’ve been free of Tore and excitement at the sight of him, knowing that he likes what he sees.

When I get closer to his boat, his wide smile falters and his eyes narrow.

“Take those shoes off,” he instructs me, and my jaw drops open. “You’ll scuff up the old girl.”

“Oh,” I let the syllable out with a heavy breath, not having considered that.

Since there’s no place to sit, I awkwardly try not to go head over ass into the murky water as I unzip them before I start to wrestle them off my feet.

Logan’s exasperated sigh reaches me just before he easily steps onto the dock and wraps around my back. Thinking that he’s trying to help steady me, I nearly butt heads with him when I lean forward.

Letting out a scream when he swings my legs out from under me with his other arm, I frantically grab onto his cut as he steps down into his boat and places me on a cushioned bench.

“Let’s get these off, now,” his voice is silky smooth, deceptively so as the teasing light in his eyes betrays his amusement at my reaction to how gracefully he got on and off the boat. Kneeling in front of me, he lifts my left foot and slides his hand up to find the top of the zipper. “Damn, if your jeans aren’t as soft as butter.”

Those words are all it takes to make my body melt.

I lean further back and open my thighs with a sigh. I have no idea what I was expecting to happen next, but he drops my foot as he leans forward to kiss me.

This time, I don’t bite him.

Our tongues dance and twine around each other while his hands shift to the button on my jeans. I nearly yell out again when he quickly opens them and tugs on them. Pushing my feet against the bottom of the boat, I lift my ass to help him, surprised when he leaves them near my knees and pulls away from my mouth to dip his head to the junction of my thighs.

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