The Wicked Horse Boxed Set (+Wicked Bond [5]) Read online

  The Wicked Horse will be a shock to Tenn. It's going to cause some waves. Big, choppy waves.

  But I have to at least start the communication about it and see where he stands.

  Chapter 6

  Callie

  For a man that insisted I be here at the Double J mid-morning to help him, Woolf sure seems to be relaxing a lot. I look over at him sitting at one of the picnic tables set up on the east lawn beside the main house, lazily drinking a beer with his business partner, Bridger Payne. Woolf introduced me to him not long ago, and he's an interesting man.

  He's big. I mean, bigger than Woolf, and Woolf is like a giant. Huge, muscled arms and a massive chest. It's clear he works out seriously. He's a little intimidating because there's something in his eyes that doesn't quite set right with me. Not in a dishonest type of way, but it's more like he knows something about you that maybe even you don't know yourself. Bridger also looks like the type of man who gets whatever he wants, and if it's a challenge to get it, he's going to knock you on your ass while he plows over you for the win.

  What interests me the most about Bridger is actually my reaction to seeing him with Woolf. It's clear that they are more than just business partners. You can tell they're friends. Very close friends. It's the natural way in which they talk with each other; it's in the way in which they laugh together. Hell, I can even see it when they just sit there in silence with each other as they watch all the happenings going on around them.

  I thought their friendship might make me a little bitter, seeing as how my brother used to be Woolf's closest friend, but I found myself actually filled with a peaceful happiness for Woolf that he found someone in whom he could trust and bond like he had with Richard.

  I busy myself at one of the many long tables covered with red checkered cloths and laden with food, starting to place some tinfoil over the bowls of side dishes as the first wave of people have gone through. While Woolf is having this party catered, I feel compelled to do actual work since he's paying me. But so far, he's not given me much to do so I'm trying to act busy.

  I sneak another peek over at the picnic table, and both Woolf and Bridger are looking at me, their heads inclined toward each other. It's clear they're talking about me and a warm flush creeps up my neck. Never taking his eyes off me, Bridger murmurs something to Woolf and the look in Woolf's eyes becomes focused with intensity. His eyes seem to be glittering across the way at me, and his jaw sets in a hard line. He even bites down roughly into his lower lip while Bridger continues to talk quietly to him, all while they are both staring at me.

  I hastily avert my gaze, not able to handle the way Woolf is... eating me up? And what in the hell could Bridger have said to make him look at me like that? It's like he was encouraging him... saying something to incite Woolf. I grab some napkins and start wiping up spills around the serving bowls, my pulse skipping madly for some reason.

  The band Woolf hired starts tuning their instruments, causing my gaze to slide over there. I can see down past them to the branding paddock; the ranch hands are working on a few more calves, but most everything is done for the day. Everyone has plates of food and beers in their hands. People are laughing in celebration for a good, hard day's work and a traditionally important rite of passage for the animals. I can remember coming to the Double J brandings all the time growing up. I'd watch Woolf, Tenn, and Richard help wrestle the calves to the ground, and I wanted to help too but my mother wouldn't let me. It didn't befit a young lady.

  Or so she said.

  The party afterward was always so much fun. Chasing fireflies when the sun set, listing to music and eating homemade ice cream until I was sick. Not much has changed, although I don't intend to overindulge on the ice cream, but I do intend to enjoy the fireworks that will start up probably within the next hour.

  I sneak one more peek over at the picnic tables, curious if Woolf and Bridger are still watching me. I'm not sure what it says about me that I'm actually disappointed they're both gone. I scan my eyes around, but I don't see either of them.

  Sighing, I decide to go ahead and get a plate of food and a beer. My entire day of non-working has actually been quite tiring, and I'd like to get off my feet for a bit. Some barbeque, a little bit of pie, a little fireworks, then I'm heading home for a nice hot bath and maybe a good book.

  *

  As the fireworks start, I loop my purse over my shoulder and make my way toward the makeshift parking area. I drove my father's truck, because even though he's the governor, everyone in Wyoming has a truck and it just felt good to drive it. It made me feel like I was truly back home, and fuck the little BMW convertible Will had bought me to drive around in back in Connecticut. Those days were over.

  I want to make a quick getaway as soon as the show is over, but I can't resist watching the sparkling lights, so I pull the tailgate down on my truck and hop my ass onto it. Just as I shrug the strap of my purse off my arm, the first rocket goes off. I hear the boom first and then the rocket splits apart into a million fragmented blue and white crystals against the night sky. I can't help the exhale of pleasure that escapes over the sight.

  "What are you doing hiding back here?" Woolf says as he hops onto the tailgate beside me.

  Startled, I jump slightly and cast a quick glance at him, but then pin my eyes back to the sky. I don't want to miss a thing.

  "I'm going to head out as soon as the fireworks are over so I figured I'd just sit out here," I tell him as three more rockets go off.

  Boom, boom, boom.

  Three huge flowering displays pulsing outward. Man... these are spectacular and I know Woolf must have paid a fortune for this.

  We sit in silence for a bit watching the show, and I can't help but smile as I hear little kids oohing and aahing over the fireworks. I angle my body to look at Woolf, just briefly to see if he's enjoying this as much as I am, but I'm caught off guard when I find his gaze is settled on me and not the sky.

  I tilt my head at him with a curious smile. "What?"

  He smirks at me... reaches out and grabs the end of one of the pigtail braids I have just barely hanging over each shoulder. Giving it a tug, he says, "Wyoming suits you, Callie."

  I hold his gaze for just a moment, and then turn my face upward again, causing him to let go of my hair. "I'm really glad to be home."

  Woolf bumps his shoulder against mine, vying against the fireworks for my attention. "Are you here to stay?"

  I shrug my shoulders. "Maybe. I need to figure out who Callie Hayes is first."

  "You know who she is," he tells me in gentle admonishment.

  I leave the glow of sparkles behind and turn to look at him again. "You're actually right, Woolf. I do know who she is. What I should have said is that I don't like who Callie Hayes is... what she's become. I need to figure out who I want to be, and I need to make those changes."

  I start to incline my face back upward, but I'm stopped by Woolf's hand grasping my jaw. He holds me in place so I have to look at him. "You don't need to change a damn thing about yourself."

  His voice is soft and soothing, almost as if he's talking to a child. It pisses me off, and I jerk my face away from him. My words are calm but tinged in ice. "You have no idea what I do or don't need. You try living in someone's shadow for years, completely bending and twisting your life to fit his. You try giving up all your dreams to let someone else get theirs. You try to be what everyone expects, even though it tears you up inside. You do all that, Woolf, and tell me you don't become someone you don't like."

  My voice cracks... falters.

  Woolf narrows his eyes at me.

  "I'm so pathetically dull," I say with a quiet but sure voice, "that my fiance can only get his rocks off by having another woman gag and whip him. Try being that person and tell me you won't want to change."

  I expect another admonishment from Woolf. Maybe a snort of disbelief. A look of pity.

  Instead, his hands shoot out and take my face, jerking me toward him. He meets me halfway,
putting his lips against mine and giving me a blistering kiss. Tilting his head, he pushes my mouth open with his own and then his tongue becomes a part of me. His fingers grasp me tightly as he kisses me deeply.

  My head swims in confusion and lust.

  My hands come up to grasp his wrists to hold him to me, afraid he might pull away.

  And he does, but only slightly.

  Only enough to look at me with simmering anger.

  At me?

  "If I ever hear you call yourself 'pathetically dull' again, I'm going to tan your hide," he says and then he kisses me again.

  And holy hell... Woolf Jennings is sitting in the back of my truck with me.

  Kissing me.

  With such force that in this moment, I would do whatever he asked of me.

  I'd give him my soul.

  Most definitely my body.

  Woolf kisses me with all the surety of a man who knows what he wants. He nips at my lower lip, swipes hard at my tongue, and growls into my mouth. His kiss alone moves me so greatly, that I can't help the deep moan I give as my hands snake around his neck.

  His own hands drop to my waist and with an effortless move, he hauls me across the tailgate right onto his lap. No, correction... after maneuvering my legs, he makes me straddle his lap. This is made easy by fact that first, I have no hesitation in accepting this new position, and second, that I wore a flower-patterned dress and my cowboy boots to this shindig.

  The boots clunk down on the truck bed and my skirt rises to mid-thigh, but I don't care. I only care that Woolf wants to not only kiss me, but kiss me while I'm straddling him.

  And then, oh my fucking God... his hands go to my thighs and he pushes me down onto his lap, grinding me onto what is an erection so large I can't even fathom the possibility of it. My breath comes skittering out of my mouth, and I have no control over my body. My hips undulate, causing the most amazing friction between us.

  The fireworks continue to go off with loud booms, followed by hisses and sizzles that periodically light up Woolf's face. Sadly, I realize that once the fireworks end, so to shall this kiss.

  I hope it's a really long show.

  Woolf's hands slide up my thighs, pushing my skirt right along with it. The night air is getting chilly, and I can feel goose bumps breaking out in the wake of his touch. I continue to rub myself on Woolf while his kiss seems to take on an urgent quality. His breathing is harsh, and I can feel tension vibrating off him in waves.

  And then... I almost combust just as loud and bright as the fireworks above us as Woolf fingers the edge of my panties just a brief moment before slipping under. I break the kiss because my head falls backward, seemingly unable to support itself.

  "Oh, God," I moan as his finger brushes against me, causing a shudder to rip through my entire body. "Someone might see us."

  His response?

  He pushes a finger inside of me, and my head snaps up so I can look at him. His eyes burn into me while he pumps his finger in and out. I know what he's thinking... he's thinking about the last time he did this to me. I can see recrimination in his eyes that here we are... once again.

  If I were a smarter woman, I'd scramble off his lap and run for the hills. While this feels amazing and oh so right, I know I'm probably on a one-way street to abandonment when he's finished with me.

  But I think I might rather be selfish instead, so I give a roll of my hips against his hand and a harsh breath hisses out of Woolf.

  "Fuck yeah," he murmurs as one finger becomes two inside of me. I put my hands on his shoulders and use leverage to push myself up and down, counter to his own thrusting.

  I'm stunned to my core when Woolf takes the edge of my dress with his other hand and bunches it up, pulling it to the side. He looks down at what is now an unfettered view of his fingers in my panties... inside of me.

  "Watch, Callie," he commands in a hoarse voice. "Look at you riding my fingers."

  I don't want to look. I'm afraid it might be too much. I'd rather look at the top of Woolf's head, or maybe even sift my fingers through his hair. I rock my hips against him, moving faster and faster. My pulse is hammering madly.

  But then I decide to look because I just can't help myself. I don't want to miss a single thing.

  Letting my gaze slide down, I see Woolf's fingers disappearing and reappearing with shiny slickness, I see the thick ridge of his erection pushing against denim just below, and I watch in utter fascination as he skims his thumb right over my clit and presses down on me hard.

  I scream as my orgasm tears through me, but it's cut off quickly as Woolf releases my dress and grabs me by the back of my head, pulling my face to his. His mouth covers mine, and he sucks down every bit of vocal gratification that comes rushing out of me. My hips buck in a frenzy against his hand, trying to draw out every single bit of pleasure that I can, even as I vaguely realize the fireworks finale is going on right now with resounding booms and the sky lights up like it never has before.

  I finally still my movements, feeling utter exhaustion start to overcome me. Woolf pulls his mouth from me as he removes his hand from my panties. He smoothes my dress down but makes no move to push me off. Instead, he takes one finger and just skims it down my throat. It's wet, and my skin tingles from the touch.

  Woolf raises his eyes to mine, and he quietly reiterates to me the point of his lesson. "Don't ever call yourself 'pathetically dull' again because that was single-handedly the sexiest, most exciting thing I've ever seen in my life."

  I swallow hard and because I know he expects me to obey his words, I give him a nod of acceptance.

  "That's my girl," he says.

  Then he kisses my forehead and lifts me off his lap. When I'm once again seated on my tailgate, Woolf hops off and disappears into the darkness.

  Chapter 7

  Woolf

  It's Monday morning, and I'm late getting into the office. Callie's car is already parked out front of the Double J office, but I expected it would be. She's never less than punctual.

  Unlike me this morning.

  That's called procrastination on my part, but I can't put it off any longer. I have to get the confrontation with Callie out of the way so I can get back on track with my life. My gut churns, wondering what will be in her eyes when I walk in that door.

  Will there be anger over what I did to her? Rejection I didn't stay? Or even worse, hope in her eyes there will be something more?

  Fuck... what in the hell had I been thinking? Finger fucking sweet Callie Hayes out in the open where anyone could have seen. Just the thought of it makes my dick twitch, and I mentally sneer at it to stay the fuck down and away from her.

  And I would have left her alone too had it not been for Bridger and his fucking taunts. I made the mistake of admitting to my best friend in the world who I now could cheerfully kill, that I invited Callie to the branding party to prevent her from going out with Colton. Asshole thought that was hilarious and needled me all day about it.

  When he sat down at the picnic table with me that evening as dusk was settling, he did what Bridger is best at doing.

  He incited lust.

  Pure, white-hot lust within me for Callie.

  Just a few simple words.

  Filthy really.

  "You know what?" he taunted me with a deep, silky voice as we both watched Callie fiddling around at the serving table. "I know you think that girl is too sweet for the likes of you, but I'm telling you, Woolf... look at her spine. It's all in the backbone... the way she holds herself. That girl is built for some raw and dirty fucking. She wants it, too. No wait... it's more than that. She needs it. Yeah, that girl needs it, Woolf."

  Those words right there started my brain obsessing about Callie. Bridger was definitely trying to get a rise out of me, but I couldn't dismiss what he was saying. Bridger is a man who can take one look at a man or a woman and tell you what makes them tick sexually. He knows how to draw out a person's desires. He knows how to break and rebuild. I don't doubt
for a second if he says Callie needs something, she really needs it.

  But Christ... why did I have to be the one to give it to her?

  I've asked myself that over and over again since Saturday night. I chastised myself only to turn around and pat myself on the back. I cursed my weakness and high-fived my spontaneity. I looked in the mirror and told myself I was nothing but danger to Callie, and then smiled at my reflection and told myself I deserved to have her.

  I wasn't lying to her.

  Callie Hayes riding my fingers, her face flushed, biting at her lower lip and then exploding all over me was the sexiest thing I've ever seen. I didn't get an orgasm out of the deal, and yet... it may have been the best sexual experience of my life. I know I certainly had no desire to head over to The Silo afterward. Sort of like the way I've had no desire for anyone else since Callie rolled back into town.

  How is that humanly possible? I have fucked so many beautiful women, done so many filthy things, always pushing the envelope of my sexuality. I've done and seen it all. My sex life is that of a god's.

  And yet... just watching that woman have an orgasm was almost otherworldly to me.

  I think there's a chance I could be permanently and irrevocably fucked in the head.

  Just before opening the door, I take a deep breath.

  Just act cool and casual. Just another day at the office.

  I open the door and brace myself, expecting the worst.

  But Callie isn't at her desk. I sigh with relief and step inside, shutting the door behind me. I figure she's in the bathroom, so I hastily pour a cup of coffee and head into my office where I can shut the door and hide.

  As soon as I enter, I can feel a vibration in the air that tells me something is wrong.

  There Callie stands, hands planted on my desk, head bent down, looking at The Wicked Horse architectural plans. More importantly, at the one for The Silo which I had left lying there on top when I left on Friday, never once thinking about Callie possibly seeing it.