Ride Me Dirty Page 3

  Sam's fair brows drew together and I could practically feel the judgment oozing from his skin. “Oh, yeah? Who's going to be in your bed this time?”

  “Don’t give me your bullshit, Sam, about having no-strings sex. She’s just in town for a few days and looking for a good time. She’s from New York. I sat beside her on the plane. Talked with her for awhile. Practically the whole time we were delayed a friend of hers was messaging her, telling her to find a hot cowboy and have some fun.”

  Was that a grin teasing at the edges of Sam’s mouth? “I don’t know how you find them, Jack.”

  “She needs me. Her pussy needs me. I can’t just walk away.” I sat down in the chair opposite my cousin in his big, fancy lawyer’s office and couldn’t keep the happy grin off my face. “One, she’s sexy as hell. Curvy, blond, and strung up so tight she’ll probably pass out the first time I make her come.”

  “I don’t need to know.” Sam was shaking his head now, but there was laughter in his eyes. Which was good to see. He hadn’t quite forgiven me for costing us the woman he wanted us to marry all those years ago, before he left town. Sweet Samantha Connor. She’d been eighteen at the time and everything Sam wanted. What he wanted, I hated: innocent, sweet, dependent. Needy. I’d felt myself suffocating the closer Sam got to proposing. Hell, I'd only been fucking eighteen myself. I’d refused to marry her, she’d cried a river and married the MacPhersons six months later. Sam left town two weeks after the wedding and stayed gone for more than a decade.

  “Hell, cousin. If anyone needs to get laid, it's her.”

  I grinned, thinking of her computer and cell and instant messaging and her full inbox and… hell, the seventeen other things she probably had going through that pretty head of hers. It was amusing to see her so intense and serious. On the plane, I'd had a semi since I first sat down and had to pull out my book to try and cover it. When she'd gotten up to use the lavatory, I'd enjoyed the view of her curvy ass as she walked down the aisle, which had only made me hard as a rock. I'd had to sit there, eyes closed and think about mucking out stalls and root canals to will it away. But when she'd surprised the shit out of me and tried to climb over my lap, I instantly imagined her riding my cock up and down, shifting her hips to get herself off as she fucked me. There was no question she'd felt how hard I was for her as I savored her warm curves beneath my hands, the soft feel of the underside of her breasts, her thighs pressing into mine the instant before she leapt off.

  My cock stirred at the memory alone. Her body… lush and round. Perfect.

  Now Sam’s brows winged up. “Haven't seen that look on your face in awhile. That good, huh?”

  I nodded and grinned, envisioning Catherine's blouse as it strained from her full breasts, her blond curls, the soft weight of her thighs on mine, her surprise at being caught straddling me. “Hell, yeah. That good.”

  Sam leaned forward and picked up a softball he had on his desk and started tossing it up in the air. We were on a summer league through the recreation center, and Sam liked to keep his hands busy. “If she's that good, then she's better than a quick fuck.”

  I shook my head. “I'd be game for more, but she just wants sex. Lots of sex. Needs it, in fact.”

  Sam caught the ball and looked at me, wide eyed. “How the hell did you learn that from the plane? And don’t tell me she actually said that to you.”

  She’d been about to, that's for damn sure, but she’d changed her mind. I’d watched the battle rage behind her expressive blue eyes, and nearly groaned with disappointment when I saw the cool, logical mask she wore drop down to hide her desire. “I peeked at her instant messaging conversation with a girlfriend. She was practically ordered to have a fling. She’s divorced and looking for a good time.”

  Sam narrowed his eyes. “Why would she need a fling? What’s wrong with her? If she’s as hot as you claim, she should have men lined up wherever she’s from.”

  “New York. And nothing’s wrong with her.” She was one perfect little package with curves I itched to hold again. “She's just got a type-A personality focused solely on the corner office. Uptight. Conservative. A lawyer, just like you.”

  “Ah, one of those.” Sam had walked away from a big-time partnership in San Francisco, very similar to the one Catherine so desperately wanted, for the slower paced life in Montana. No more eighty-hour work weeks for him with his private practice.

  “She's wound up tight. Real tight.” I steepled my fingers. “From the IM conversation, I'd say she hasn't gotten any in awhile. If we got our hands on her, she'd probably go off like a rocket.”

  “We?”

  “Yes, we,” I countered. “She's not Samantha and I'm not eighteen anymore. I know what I want now.”

  Sam stiffened. We didn't talk about what happened all those years ago. It was a sore subject. Fuck, it was a huge fucking elephant in the room and it never went away.

  “She wasn't the one for us,” I added, referring to Samantha. “We weren't the men for her. She's married to the MacPhersons. Happy.”

  The town of Bridgewater, Montana was founded on the principals of plural marriage. Two or more men for one woman. Back in the 1880's, when our great-great-great grandfather came to the United States from England, he—along with a few fellow soldiers—established Bridgewater as a safe refuge. They believed in the custom that two men should protect and love a wife. Together.

  I didn't know the full story, but they'd served in the small, now extinct country of Mohamir that followed this custom; men who believed in sharing a woman. Protecting her, cherishing her and loving her in a way that kept her from ever being alone was their sole purpose. If one husband died, she had another to take care of her and any children. While it seemed to many outsiders to be chauvinistic, the lifestyle was designed with the woman in mind, with the woman the center of every family. Those original tenets set by our ancestors still held today. While not everyone in Bridgewater married this way, it was commonplace and understood. Sam and I, we'd grown up with it—we had one mother and two dads—and wanted that kind of marriage for ourselves.

  Sam dropped his feet to the floor with a thud and leaned on his desk. “Jack—”

  “We're grown men. Let's stop acting like pussies about this. It's not about Samantha Connor any more. We were too young. Hell, I was eighteen and shaved once a week.”

  I ran my hand over my jaw, which was covered in a heavy five o'clock shadow. “What did I know about having a wife?”

  “You're ready for one now?” he eyed me closely.

  “I know you left because of the fallout with Samantha and I know why you finally came back—to find The One. It's time we found our bride.”

  He could have found a woman in San Francisco and settled down, married her. But he hadn't. He wanted a Bridgewater marriage. He just hadn't been ready before. Now, he was ready. We just hadn't found the right woman.

  “And you think this woman on the plane is her?”

  “Fuck, yeah. As soon as she straddled my lap on the plane, I knew then she was going to be in my bed. More.”

  His eyes widened. “Do I want to know why she was straddling your lap on a fucking commuter plane?”

  I couldn't help but grin, reliving the sight of Catherine's stunned—yet heated—look. I'd had my hands on her, saw the flare of attraction and desire in her eyes. I wanted her again, on my lap was just fine, but without any clothes between us. I wanted to be able to see what color her nipples were, feel the weight of her breasts in my palms, watch them bounce as she took me for a ride, my cock buried deep in her sweet pussy. Shit.

  I would have her. I knew it the moment I sat down beside her and picked up her clean citrus scent. When her pale eyes met mine, I saw the desire there. I'd felt sucker punched. Lightning strike. Name the cliché. I hadn't wanted a girl this badly since I was a scrawny twelve-year-old. And that hadn’t worked out so well. But Catherine was a full-grown woman with perfect breasts and rounded hips. She was a little thing, but she was all woman. Soft. Curved.
Aroused. Oh, hell yeah. I’d seen that look in a woman’s eyes before. She’d been just as hot for me as I’d been for her. But she’d panicked and shut me down.

  I didn’t know her last name. Hell, I didn’t know much. But Bridgewater County was a tight community and she was coming here. I was sure I could find her.

  I adjusted my cock. Again. Having a semi for the past four hours made it uncomfortable to sit, but thinking about how she could've gotten herself off just riding my thighs on the plane wasn't helping.

  “That makes it even worse. We fuck her, she gets the one night stand that she wants, then goes back to New York,” Sam countered. “The conversation with her friend only proves that she's not going to stay.”

  “Shit, man. You need to chill,” I told him, shaking my head. I told him a thousand times to loosen up and the women would flock to him. Seemed he was even more uptight than the woman on the plane. I kept hoping one would come along and inspire him to unleash the fighter I knew lurked within. No such luck yet.

  He gave me the finger. “You want me to fuck a woman I barely know and walk away? That's not how the Bridgewater way works, jackass. I want a woman between us that we're going to keep. Not fuck and wave farewell.”

  “Start by helping me find her. Talk to her. I'll bet you fifty bucks you’ll take one look and be hard as a fucking rock.”

  He waved his hand toward the door. “I’ll think about it. Now, get the fuck out of my office.”

  “There's only one problem.” I didn't get up as he wanted.

  Sam gave me an impatient look, waiting.

  “Based on that IM alone, she's on the prowl. That means she might choose to fuck some random asshole just to get her jollies. If she wants hot monkey sex—” I held up my hand at Sam’s raised brow. “—Her friend's words, not mine, we just need to ensure we're the men—the only men—to give it to her.”

  Sam sighed, ran a hand over the back of his neck. He wasn’t just two years older, he was bigger than me. Taller and broader, he’d played football in high school and college. He'd wanted off the ranch all his life and I was just thankful he'd returned to Bridgewater to settle. Besides the whole Samantha fiasco, we'd been burned by women who either wanted us for our money—the ranch wasn't small and Sam did extremely well as a lawyer—or, for one night, interested in being in the center of a Kane cousin sandwich.

  But I had a feeling about Catherine, a feeling she would love being taken by two men, love being touched and fucked and kissed by both of us. But convincing the uptight, New York attorney of that? Shit. That was probably going to be more difficult than I wanted to believe, and I would absolutely need Sam’s help. He was the dark, brooding, intense one. I had a feeling Catherine would go for the quiet reserve my cousin offered before she would take a chance on a player like me.

  Sam set the softball back on his desk and frowned. “Fine. I'll help you find Airplane Girl. But right now, I have work to do. Are we finished?”

  I knew when to stop pushing. Until he met Catherine, I wouldn't be able to convince him. She'd be the one to do that.

  I stood to leave and gave him a wave as I walked toward the door. “I know, I know, get the hell out.”

  Now I just had to find Catherine and figure out a way to introduce her to Sam. One look, and I was confident he wouldn't be able to walk away from her. No fucking way. Getting Catherine into bed with both of us was going to be a bit harder, but neither of us ever backed down from a challenge. And what a hot, enticing challenge she was.

  ***

  CATHERINE

  “How long will you be in town?” Cara Smythe asked. I'd found a note with her phone number and the house key tucked beneath the knocker on Uncle Charlie's front door when I arrived.

  She grew up on the property next to his and we'd played together as kids when I would visit. I remembered her with red hair, freckles and a blue bike with streamers on the handlebars. God, I had wanted a bike just like that, but living in New York—and with my parents—didn't allow for one, or a puppy, or running through the sprinklers on a hot July afternoon. I remembered Cara as always smiling and happy, whether we were jumping rope or sneaking around after her older brother and his friends. Her parents were equally likable and I always envied their loving relationship. My parents were the complete opposite—spending Christmas on European cruises instead of in front of the tree—and I remember wishing I could stay in Montana forever. Instead, after the summer when I was twelve, I never went back. Life moved on and Cara was married now and lived in town.

  “I have a ticket for next Wednesday, but if I get things wrapped up sooner, I'll change it.”

  I had stopped in town and picked up a few groceries and coffee so I could survive. Charlie's house was on five acres two miles out of town and I'd figured the cupboards would be bare. I’d figured right.

  It made no sense to stay in a hotel when the house was now mine, at least it was officially once I signed the papers. I wasn't picky about where I slept—I could sleep standing up—and staying here was one less thing I'd had to plan while trying to get out of the city. I stood in the kitchen and it was just as I remembered it. Yellow walls, orange laminate counters and dark wood cabinets. Faux brick linoleum covered the floor. It was like stepping back in time, especially holding the phone that was attached to the wall, cord and all. My cell was charging by the coffee maker, but completely useless without any reception. I had no idea there were places in the US that had no cell service. Sure, the top of a mountain or in the middle of a desert maybe, but I was in Bridgewater County, Montana. It might not be heavily populated, but it was populated. Didn't people want to use cell phones around here?

  “Why would you want to leave early?” she asked.

  I sighed and glanced at the rooster clock over the stove hood. I'd been up thirteen hours and I was feeling it.

  “I've got to get back to work.” Just checking my email while waiting in line at the rental car counter had my blood pressure soaring. Mr. Farber hadn't taken Roberts off my case. That meant the longer I was gone, the less chance of getting it back.

  “No, you don't. I know you lawyer types, working sixty hour weeks.”

  Sixty? Try seventy-five.

  “It's Montana in July,” she continued. “Let's have some fun, like when we were kids.”

  I pulled a loaf of bread and some peanut butter out of the grocery bag.

  “God, Cara, we are so not kids anymore and a bike ride or climbing a tree doesn't do it for me now.”

  “When was the last time you rode a bike?” she countered.

  I thought back. It had probably been her bike with streamers.

  “You're married and I'm… well, I'm a workaholic.”

  Cara laughed through the phone. “The first step is admitting it. That's why I left the note, so you wouldn't stay holed up in that house working. And, being married does not mean the end of fun.” She giggled. “The opposite, in fact.”

  I had an idea where her mind was going and it only made me a little envious. She had a man who made her laugh at just the thought of being with him. As for Chad, the rat bastard, he was a waste of time and brain power.

  “How did you even know I'd be here?” I asked, changing the topic.

  I walked to the fridge, put the milk inside, the phone cord stretching as far as it would go. There wasn't any food in the fridge besides an opened box of baking soda, a bottle of ketchup and five cans of Charlie's favorite generic cola. I wasn't sure if it was because someone cleaned out the perishables or not. I remember Charlie was a horrible cook, so it was possible he didn't keep much.

  “Are you kidding? Everyone knows everything that goes on around here. I'm sorry to hear about Charlie. I liked him a lot. But I'm glad you're back.”

  Yeah, Bridgewater hadn't changed much since I was a kid. The main street was quaint with local shops. I drove past the lawyer's office so I knew where it was, but it was hard to get lost in such a small town. The mountains were to the west so there wasn't even a chance of gettin
g turned around. As I was driving, those going the other way raised one finger on the steering wheel in greeting, stranger or not. It was a Montana thing I'd forgotten, but I liked it. I liked how people were nice, even to those they didn't know. That didn't happen in New York. It was cutthroat and fast paced, no one slowing down enough to wave to anyone else. No one ever looked up from their phone. But in Bridgewater, things were different. Cara, who hadn't seen me in… fifteen years, knew I was back and wanted to connect right away. It was startling for me. Unusual.

  “I'd love to see you. Come out with me tonight.”

  I thought of my meeting for the following morning with Charlie's attorney, plus all the work I had to do for the office. My laptop sat as dead as my phone on the kitchen table. No internet at all. I'd searched for a cable or something, anything to indicate modern technology, but the house phone attached to the wall—with a dang cord—was all I had to connect me to the outside world.

  I might be able to get the details of the sale wrapped up quickly, but not in one meeting. Plus, I had to empty the house, of Charlie's personal effects to be ready for sale. The man had lived in the house for forty years and it showed. I had my work cut out for me. I mentally groaned at adding another to-do to my already overloaded list.

  Besides tackling the house, nothing else would get done here. I had to find a coffee shop or something where I could go online to work. I took vacation days for this week, but that meant nothing. Vacation didn't exist for those wanting to be partner. I still had work to do or Roberts would have all my cases by the time I returned. I could only imagine how my emails were piling up. I went to my cell, checked it for service. None.

  “Okay, sure.”

  Placing the bag of coffee grounds by the coffee maker, I folded the brown grocery bag and wedged it between the fridge and the counter with about twenty others.