Page 8 of Easy Rider
My heart is rapid-firing now. How long is this little expedition supposed to take? Twenty minutes, an hour? Either way, I’m screwed.Let’s hope not literally.
“I saw you working Big Ben earlier,” Stew comments, straightening a pile of papers. “He didn’t seem to be giving you any trouble.”
Ryder stands at the door, blocking the sun, but all the light shining behind him frames his magnificent body. He looks like some kind of cocky cowboy prince. Dangerous dark eyes, chiseled jaw, straight nose, dastardly smile. He surveys the room, his bulging biceps and ropey forearms braced on either side of the door frame. It’s like hewantsme to check him out. And I do. I sure fucking do.
“Big Ben’s a pussycat. Can you imagine driving spurs into him? No wonder the kid got dumped.” Ryder frowns. I’m frickin’ entranced by every move he makes. I’ve never heard him talk about horses before—his confidence is so damn sexy. Ryder catches me staring and sends me another smile. Oh, it’s a naughty one, all right, and filled with so much promise I drop my gaze and start tapping my damn purse again.
I’m trying to keep my wits about me and not gawk at him like a freak. But trying to be indifferent around Ryder is pretty much like dropping a fifty-carat ring in front of an Instagrammer and telling her not to take a picture.
“As usual, the problem was with the rider not the horse. When Mr. Jackson called—”
My eyes drift back to the cowboy prince; there’s just no stopping them.
“He said his son bought a twenty-seven-thousand-dollar thoroughbred that was un-ridable. But hell”—Ryder takes his hat off, and my heart skips as he runs a hand through his rich dark hair before putting it back on—“Mr. Jackson’s son is the beast who needs lessons. He’s off at college somewhere, but I’m sure he’s not learning a damn thing about horses.”
My gaze roams down from his too-good-looking-for-his-own-damn-good face to his snug black tee. Down over his perfectly fitting jeans to his scuffed cowboy boots. And back up his legs to his... those jeans fit him so well, I can see which side he carries his dick on.
Left.I catch myself and quickly shift my focus to his face.
He catches my eye from under the brim of his black hat and slowly breaks into a smile, flashing me his dimples.
Mother of pearl. Busted staring at his dick. What the hell is wrong with me?
I shift my focus to the coffee pot in the corner and try to ignore that my body is now humming with the memory of the way I rode Ryder’s big dick that night.So thick, long, and perfect. And he lasts forever.Heat radiates through my core.And the way he sucked on my clit and made me—
“Okay, I better let you get to it then, before Emma gets too hot.”
My head snaps up to Stew. “Pardon me, Mr. Lutton?” Shit, is it that obvious?
“It’s supposed to get into the high nineties today. Not sure Ryder’s old truck has air-conditioning.”
“Oh, I’ll make sure she’s comfortable, Mr. Lutton. Not to worry. If she gets too hot, I’ll make sure she cools down.” Ryder shoots me a devilish wink.
I am so fucked.
“My apologies, Emma.” Mr. Lutton attempts to stand but sits right back down. “I wish I could be the one to show you around. It really is a splendid piece of property.”
“I know it is, Mr. Lutton. Please don’t worry about anything on my end. Just take care of yourself.”
“Will do. And I appreciate your understanding. Feel free to fill Ryder in on the situation. He can be trusted.”
“Okay, thanks.” I peer up at Ryder, who cocks a brow.
“Ready, Miss Emma?” Ryder pushes off the threshold.
I clutch my purse and inhale a deep breath.
“You’ve got my number, Emma. Call me if you have any questions whatsoever.” Mr. Lutton picks up the receiver again and starts dialing someone.
I’m sure I’ll have a million questions. But they’ll have nothing to do with Flying Hearts Ranch. “Yep. Will do.”
***
RYDER OPENS THE DOORto his truck for me. And my body is throwing conniptions. He’s so fucking built, so drop-dead handsome andmanly. Being in such close proximity is unnerving.
I swallow thickly, edging around him, trying not to brush against him. I’m positive that if our bodies touch, we’ll start a fire. But Ryder’s like a wall. There’s no getting around him without putting effort into it.
It doesn’t help my lonely pussy one bit when I get a whiff of him—God, does he smell delicious, like fresh-cut grass and crisp soap and something forbidden I can’t put my finger on. Whatever it is, it’s making my knees weak.
