Page 76 of Wild and Wanted

It had been his mom who had listened to him rant and rail about the abrupt ending of his career and the general shitty unfairness of life as he recovered from his injury and sweated his ass off during his rehab.

His father had talked ranch stuff and had shown Clay how to be a decent, honourable man through example more than words. But, here he was, putting himself out of his comfort zone, which Clay grudgingly admired. Not that he was going to let his father know that when the opportunity to give him shit – more their usual dynamic – had just been presented tied in a neat bow.

‘So we can have another awkward conversation about first flushes?’

His father hooted out a laugh, his hand slapping against the gate. ‘Hey, I don’t promise it’ll be eloquent.’

Clay laughed. He’d take plain spoken any day.

‘Okay.’ His father knocked on the rail twice. ‘My work here is done. See you later.’

Clay nodded and called out, ‘Thanks, Dad,’ as his father disappeared from view and he went back to brushing Electra.

22

CLAY

What followed was the happiest week of Clay’s life since he’d been stomped on by a very angry horse and had his spine smashed to pieces. Possibly the happiest week of his life – ever. It required some creative handling to keep their fling under wraps, to keep up appearances of friendly acquaintances all while itching to touch her and kiss her and talk to her like they did when they were alone in bed together, not like their polite inanities when they were in public.

But it was worth it to go to sleep wrapped around her and wake up with her plastered to his side, her hair spread on his pillows and her scent on his sheets.

And it seemed they were getting away with it. No one appeared to have twigged to their changed relationship. His parents were playing it cool and there were no side-eyes or sly winks from anyone. Mags and Dev hadn’t even questioned it when he and Stevie had both declined another Saturday night at The Corral – him citing the paperwork Mags had given him with background information on her business idea, her citing a Zoom meeting with her agent to discuss the tour kicking off in November.

They both kept up appearances to aid the ruse. Stevie rode with Mags every day and went on whatever trail ride was going as well as spending time in the stables grooming horses. She attended all cookouts – Clay skipped them because attending would have been more suspicious – as well as participated in other ranch-based activities both at the ranch house and in the yards, including the barrel racing and calf-roping demos that were always guest favourites.

Clay had breakfast at the ranch house every morning as usual – dropping Stevie back at her cabin on his way – and did his job the rest of the day, tending to the ranch and the cattle, doing whatever chore presented itself as the most urgent. He drove everyone hard at it too so they could be done quickly, freeing him up to spend time with Stevie.

And when he managed to avoid staying out overnight – something he was always up for – by suggesting to his father that perhaps the cattle could stay another week or so on the very healthy pasture they were on, the guys were happy for the reprieve, backing him 100 per cent.

He even managed to not do something dumb like whistle or laugh too much, although he often caught himself smiling at a memory of Stevie despite the sweat and the dust and the eyes all around him. Like he was right now as they cantered back to the ranch much later than he’d planned.

The day had been long because sometimes cattle were the dumbest beasts on God’s green earth, but the thought of seeing Stevie again had him grinning like a loon and urging his horse to go faster.

As if she’d known he was thinking about her, his phone buzzed in his pocket and Clay grinned as he answered it.

‘Where are you?’ she demanded, sounding miffed and cute before he’d even had a chance to say hello.

He chuckled, loving her impatience. ‘I’m almost back. Probably take me about half an hour to get to you. What are you doing?’

‘I’m lying naked on my bed thinking about you.’

If Stevie had snapped a rubber band against his dick, it could not have reacted faster. He loved how bold she was growing, how confident she was becoming in her newfound sexuality. ‘I’ll be there in twenty.’

He was there in twenty and although she was waiting for him outside, fully dressed – saucy little tease that she was – with her guitar slung over her shoulder, she was naked ten minutes after that. All except for his cowboy hat, which was tipped at a sexy angle as she rode him like the mechanical bull at Joe’s.

He’d been stripping to get in the shower and wash away the layers of sweat and dust but Stevie, already out of her clothes, hadn’t been having any of it. She’d pushed him on the bed and climbed on top of him, snatching a condom from his stash and rolling it on impatiently, before moving over him and sinking herself all the way down on a satisfied gasp he knew was going to live in his dreams for a very long time.

She was like some country nymph, her eyes closed, her mouth parted, her pebbled nipples like pale pink frosting as she found her rhythm in a sinuous kind of undulation. Clay’s heart pounded in his chest, his fingers digging into her hips as he hung on to the tenuous control he had over his balls.

‘God,’ she murmured, her eyes opening on a frown. ‘It’s different doing it like this.’

‘Not working for you?’ Clay asked through a rigid jaw whilst trying to ignore just how very much it was doing it for him.

‘Oh, it feels good.’ She ground a little, her body shuddering at the sensation at the same time it dragged a groan from Clay’s lips. ‘It’s just… I don’t know, not quite the right angle or something.’

She looked sexy as hell naked and obviously aroused – her nipples tight, her cheeks flushed, her pupils large, her pussy gloriously wet – despite the puzzled little V forming between her eyebrows.

He chuckled at her frustration. ‘Here, let me help with that.’ Clay’s hand slid from her hip, trailing to the hot, slick join of their bodies.