Page 1 of Lost Trust

Royce

“You know what I’ve always wanted to try?” I whisper.

Marina cuts me a skeptical look. “What?”

Instead of answering, I take her hand and start pulling her toward the arena.

Marina Kincade is my dream girl.

She’s the cowgirl who’s starred in my fantasies ever since she first rode onto the rodeo scene. I’ll never forget the first time I saw her at The American. Eighteen years old, riding into AT&T Stadium with the poise of a seasoned veteran, like she’d been born for that arena. She made it look effortless.

And damn if that wasn’t sexy as hell.

Now, somehow, I’ve got the attention of the woman I’ve spent years dreaming about.

The night sky sparkles overhead, a blanket of stars stretched from horizon to horizon as she follows me through the gate. Inside, the arena is dark and still, save for the soft scrape of our boots across the dirt and the distant sounds of rodeo staff breaking down for the night.

The familiar scent of damp earth and livestock hangs heavy in the cool air.

I tug her toward the center of the arena before stopping. I shrug out of my flannel and let it fall onto the hard-packed dirt, then lower myself.

Marina stares at me. Then at the dirt. Then back at me.

“No.”

My mouth twitches.

She crosses her arms. “Absolutely not. I’m not rolling around on the dirty arena floor with you, Trust.”

I laugh under my breath, then reach for her waist.

“Royce—”

Before she can finish, I hook an arm around her waist and pull her down into my lap.

She lands astride my thighs, facing me, her hands instinctively settling on my shoulders.

Her gaze flicks toward the entrance.

“Someone could walk in here.”

“The spectators are long gone, and the staff are more interested in getting finished and getting gone than they are in what we’re doing,” I tell her.

My mouth finds her neck, my lips dragging a slow, teasing trail along her skin until they reach her ear.

“What about Axle?” she asks, tilting her head to give me better access. “What if he comes looking for you?”

“He won’t,” I murmur against her skin. “He’s got his own distraction.”

“Is that what I am?” she asks breathlessly. “A distraction?”

“I thought that’s what I am.”

I press a kiss to the pulse point beneath her ear.

“Oh, right,” she murmurs as my teeth catch lightly on her earlobe. “Does that bother you, cowboy?”

“No, ma’am. I don’t mind being the one you use to help you forget.”