Page 39 of Wild and Wanted

Clay was not sorry that a day of slushing about in muddy yards with cantankerous cattle and irritatingly chipper cowhands had come to an end and he was finally where he’d been wanting to be ever since this time last night – sitting high up on the edge of the loft, his legs dangling over the side, waiting for Stevie.

The rain, which had been relentless all day, had finally stopped as he’d stepped into the shower to wash away mud that had gotten just about everywhere – his hair, his nape, under his nails. And now he was freshly washed and clothed and, surprisingly, nervous as fuck.

How long had it been since he’d been nervous with a woman? A long time. Since his first time, perhaps? As a rookie on the junior circuit, just turned seventeen, brand new to female attention but utterly willing to be shown the ropes by Lucy Watson, two years older and about a decade more knowing both in ways of the rodeo and how to show a woman a good time between the sheets.

She’d taught him well and, God help him, Clay had taken that knowledge and run with it, never looking back. Tonight was different, though. As far as he knew, he’d never been anyone’s first but he still remembered what it had felt like to lose his virginity, how momentous it had felt, how big.

And he felt the gravity of that now deep in his bones.

Not that he was planning any deflowering tonight. But there was no doubt in his mind that he would be Stevie’s first – if that’s what she truly wanted. She was well past the age of consent and old enough to make that decision, and he had no intention of infantilising her if she chose him to be her first.

Man… the mere thought of it had his heart thumping a little harder in his chest.

But that didn’t mean they had to rush into it either. Lucy’s urgings of restraint from that night all those years ago came back to him.

Women like foreplay, Clay. Smart men do, too. Don’t be in such a damn hurry.

He heard the distant noise of a slowly approaching car from behind and his groin tightened. Stevie. She hadn’t chickened out like he thought she might.

She was on her way.

After his shower he’d texted her to drive to the back of the barn, park next to his vehicle and come in through the door he’d unlocked. He hadn’t wanted her walking because it would be muddy and dark when they left but with it still light now, her car parked at the hitching rails would be too visible from the ranch house.

Not that he thought it would be noticed necessarily but if someone was looking they might wonder why Stevie’s car was there and come to investigate, and apart from the fact Clay didn’t want any interruptions, he was pretty sure she didn’t want anybody knowing her business.

He sure as hell didn’t want anyone knowing his.

Not that anyone should care – they were both grown adults. But deep in his bones he knew that his parents had taken Stevie under their wing since her mother’s departure and he didn’t think they’d approve of this kind of… fraternisation.

And he didn’t need that kind of judgement.

Clay listened as the engine noise drew closer then cut out. As the car door opened, then shut. As, directly below him, the door creaked open like the sound of a coffin lid in an old black-and-white horror movie. As the low shuffle of boots scraped against concrete.

‘Clay?’

Her tentative whisper floated up to him, the unmistakeable streak of anticipation husking her voice, roaring through his every cell.

With his eyes well and truly adjusted to the gloom of the barn, Clay spotted the moment the top of her caramel-blonde head came into view and a streak of his own anticipation corkscrewed through his abs. ‘Up here,’ he whispered back as he clicked on the large electronic tealight he’d grabbed as he’d walked out the door.

It was a faint glow in the cavernous space, enough to guide the way but not to be spotted from outside. His ever-vigilant father would be out to investigate any light in the barn.

She turned quickly, her head dropping back to look up, a slight frown creasing her brow before she spotted him. ‘Hey,’ she said, her voice low, a smile replacing the frown.

‘Hey,’ he replied, also smiling. ‘Come on up.’

Scrambling to his feet, Clay strode to the long, wide, sturdy ladder that was fixed in permanent place a few feet away. Leaning over it, he held the tealight for better guidance. It was gratifying to see her lack of hesitation as she strode wordlessly to the ladder and clambered up as if she’d been climbing ladders all her life.

Her haste and the fact she didn’t take her eyes off him as she climbed was a dizzying aphrodisiac. It had only been a day but seeing her now, get closer and closer, it had felt like an age. Every hour away from her a chore of epic proportions.

Clay took a step back as her head levelled with the floor of the loft, offering his hand as she took the last two rungs, the pulse at his wrist leaping as her cool fingers slid over his heated palm. He took another couple of steps back as her feet hit the hay-strewn floorboards, drawing her away from the ladder and the edge and into the loft proper.

‘Hey,’ he said again, their hands still joined, because frankly he was dumbstruck in this moment by the enormity of having her here with him like this.

By her willingness, her eagerness to be here.

And fuck, she was beautiful, the glow from the tealight a halo around the loose fall of her hair. Clay’s cock turned to granite at the sight of her flushed cheeks, her eyes glittering with excitement, her lips parted in anticipation.

‘Hey.’