Page 9 of Wrangled Up

“The place with all the orange cones. I’m the one with the shovel.”

Her grin stretched wide enough to reveal a tiny dimple in her cheek, which reminded him of Tucker. The man had a dimple in his chin that distracted the hell out of Christian, especially when Tucker was in the throes of ecstasy.

Too bad Tucker had broken up with her. If she already had feelings for his friend, she might not be averse to letting Christian in on the action.

For a moment, he drowned in images of her golden skin against Tucker’s cowboy tan, of their hips meeting and parting to a slow beat while Claire opened her lips around Christian’s cock and he succumbed to her warmth.

But Christian wanted to convince his friend to reconsider his relationship with Claire for more reasons than the hot sex Christian might take part in. Tucker needed her. And though she was smiling, an underlying glint of pain in her eyes made Christian’s heart flex.

“You going in there to have a drink?”

“I’m meeting friends,” Claire answered. The fast notes of a Jason Aldean tune blared through the door of The Hellion as it openedand a group of girls vanished into the dark depths. When Christian glanced back at Claire, she was bootscootin’ in the parking lot—a little Baby Bop step that drew even more of his attention to her legs.

She stopped and grinned. “In fact, that’s them. I’ll see ya around, Christian.”

The sound of his name on her lips slowed his pulse. He watched her ass shake all the way to the door. She went inside without a backward glance.

She wasn’t interested in him. It was Tucker she loved. She was just being nice, making conversation. Her smiles didn’t mean more.

Too bad Christian’s body didn’t understand that.

With a throbbing hard-on, he headed toward Tucker’s ranch. His friend had swung by the construction site this morning and shocked Christian with an apology. The warmth that had blossomed in his chest at the harshly spoken words spread through him now.

You’ve got it bad.

Well, even if Tucker would never let Christian close to him, he still got to see hiseight rigid inches in his hand and Tucker’s bright blue eyes, glassy with pleasure. Christian’s dick distended his fly, and he nudged it to give it ease.

It had been two days since their last session with pay-per-view. The thing was, the visuals were background noise. When he and Tucker jacked off together, their gazes were on each other.

By the time he reached the Langley Ranch, he was aching. Throbbing to get into that rustic farmhouse and his cock in hand.

To see Tucker.

Inside, the living room was empty. “Tucker?” he called, heading for the kitchen with the beer. The old-fashioned porcelain sink stood full of dishes and the floors were dusty with mud. But no Tucker.

At the hallway leading to the bedrooms, Christian called Tucker’s name. No answer.

After revolving through the house with the rough wood walls and the stone hearths, he headed back outside into the cooler evening air. He scanned the fencing that housed Boomerang and saw Tucker’s hard form leaning against the fence.

This was a first. Tucker was always ready for Christian, remote in hand, lube on the side table.

But his head was dipped low, so only the back brim of his cowboy hat was up. Christian crossed the porch and drifted down the steps, boots scraping the wood. As he neared, Tucker lifted his head.

“You watching the corn grow again?” Christian asked.

A snort of laughter emerged from his friend. “Asshole.”

“Not as much as you,” he jabbed lightly. Christian braced his forearms on the split-rail fence, shoulder to shoulder with Tucker. The dark scents of pine and man filtered into his senses, causing the knot in his stomach to tighten with want.

“Get the beer this time?”

“It’s already in the fridge.”

“That’s good. I could use one after I discovered how much money it will take to repair the body of my Ram.”

Tucker’s voice was tight with something Christian couldn’t identify. He sent him a sidelong look. The man’s face was in theshadows, but even if he’d been standing in a beam of sunlight, Christian knew his expression would still be inscrutable. He did that—hid behind a mask.

Christian shifted, brushing shoulders with Tucker. A spike of desire sank deep into his groin. “I’m sorry I didn’t stop her before she did that last thousand dollars’ worth of damage.”

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