Page 3 of Ride 'Em Hard
“Yeah. No. Sorry you got your hopes up. Don’t get a hard-on my account.” Oh my God, I can’t believe that came out of my mouth, and give myself an internal high five. Maybe if I act tough, I’ll get out of this in one piece after all. He lowers the gun, and I take a deep a breath. And then suck it right back up again as he approaches me, moving with purpose.
“I don’t know you, sugar, but you sure as hell seem to know a lot about me.” His eyes burn into mine with a mixture of heat and anger, and I don’t know what to do. I take a step back and swing my head around to make a run for it, and he grabs me. His massive hand wraps around my right upper arm. “Maeve put you up to this, didn’t she?”
“I told you—I don’t know the Johnsons, and I don’t know any Maeve either. Now, let go of me!” I try to wiggle out of his hold.
Chase angles his head down, apparently searching my eyes for something. “Then you’re a fucking paparazzi?”
“No! I told you I work for Vital.” I attempt to yank myself away from him, but it’s no use. My arm and the rest of me are staying put. Keeping a firm grasp on me, he props his gun against his thigh and examines my phone. I have a swipe lock on it, so he’s not getting anywhere.
“Out sneaking around taking pictures of me? Did you get a good shot of me fucking the last girl?” He has the audacity to wink. “Yeah, she was a loud one. Her moans would’ve led you right to me.”
What did he just say? Fucking the last girl...? “I wasn’t taking pictures of you,” I snap, and add for good measure, “Guess what? You’re not that important to me.” That seems to set him off, because he’s scowling the mother of all scowls at me now.
“You’ve got a smart mouth on you.” His gaze moves down and locks on my cleavage. “Sugar tits.” He flicks his gaze back to my eyes. “I get a feeling you like to playdirty.”
“What isthatsupposed to mean?” I stare right back him.
“It means, honeypot, I don’t often have the pleasure of spies running around my property in fuck-me stripper heels and short skirts, with their blouses half off. Maybe”—Chase pauses for a nice long movie-star-quality stare that, God help me, hits me straight between the thighs—“you’re here looking for a good time. You don’t have to sneak around, darlin’. All you have to do is ask. I’ll be happy to oblige.”
“You have a fucking hell of a nerve.” I bring my free hand to my blouse, mortified that my own body has turned on me and my nipples are getting hard. I’m so mad my hand is shaking while I feel his eyes burning holes on my boobs. I start fastening the buttons as quickly as I can, fumbling with them one by one.
“Hey,” he says. “I was enjoying the view.”
“It’s a hundred degrees out here,” I sneer at him. “Ever think a girl might just need a little air? Huh? Now let go of my arm. Please.”
Chase seems to consider the request and loosens his grip, but he doesn’t completely let go.
“As I was saying, I was looking for you and—”
“And you fucking found me. Now what are you going to do?” He cocks his head, and a devious expression, one I haven’t seen in the movies, blankets his face. Spurts of adrenaline start pinging through my veins. He lowers his voice to such a nasty growl that my knees start shaking again. “I sure know whatI’d usuallydo with fucking stalkers who trespass on my property.” The threat sends me into some sort of overdrive state. I don’t think of my heart racing, or my body quaking in fear. Every inch of me is telling me it’s get out of Dodge time.
Chase shoves my phone in his pocket and leans down to grab his rifle. When he does, he lets go of his grip on my arm, and I bolt.
Charging over the gravelly terrain, I almost snap my ankle. I kick off my heels. “Help!” I scream, running barefoot over the sharp brush as fast as I can. “Help me!” I’m shouting into the wind, praying against all odds someone will hear me.
“Hey, you’re going to hurt yourself running around like that,” he shouts. But I don’t slow, or pause to turn back to see if he’s following me. I race across the sticky weeds, looking for a house or a barn.
My foot slides over something, and I almost trip. As I try to straighten, my other foot slips, and then the ground suddenly drops out from under me.
“No!” I’m screaming.
Down I go, crashing against cramped dark walls. I frantically grasp out in front of me, praying to grab onto something to stop my fall, but it’s no use. The walls must be made of dirt, because every time I manage to get hold of anything, it crumbles. I fall until I finally hit the bottom and land on my ass.
Crap.
Shaking and trembling, I slowly exhale and probe my shadowy surroundings, trying to compute what the hell just happened. It’s at least twenty degrees cooler down here. I’m in a hole with dirt walls. It’s not too deep, maybe fifteen feet.
I take a deep breath and look up at the pretty blue sky above. I want to cry, but instead rub my forehead to relieve the headache threatening to tear off my skull. I need to devise a master plan and get the fuck out of here. Mr. Movie Star has turned into a psycho.
A trickle of dirt rains down from above. My heart jumps into my throat. I don’t want to, I don’t want to face my pathetic reality, but I force myself to look up.
“Asshole!” I shout, getting a second wind, and scoot back so I can get a better look at him. “You’re nothing but a fuckface with a big gun and no manners.”
Chase removes his hat and rakes a hand through his thick hair. His baritone laugh reverberates down the hole. “Is that any way to speak to the only man who can rescue you, darlin’?”
Blocking the sun, Chase crouches down and leans into the hole, presumably for a better look. Then he has the audacity to grin. “You ready to get out of my well? We weren’t quite finished digging. I could throw you a shovel if you’d rather stay down there and help.”
“You’re a real dick. You know that? As soon as I get out of here, I’m going to every reporter I know who will tell all your fans what a royal asshole you are, and they’ll hate you.”
