Page 12 of Ridin' Free

It was then my stomach relaxed.

It was then I realized I had nothing to worry about.

He understood.

Our one night was simply that—one night.

Not that I should have been surprised. Twister was a grown ass man, not a drama queen. I wasn’t his first one-night stand, either.

Our post-coital chance meeting behind us, I didn’t give it another thought as the night wore on, and he was gone before last call.

I offered to stay and lock up after Mustang kicked out the last few stragglers who remained at two A.M., but he insisted on helping Rodeo and I finish our closing tasks. The extra set of hands ensured we were out the door thirty minutes later.

Rodeo left through the back, like he often did, headed on foot to the clubhouse. Mustang and I left through the front. I waved goodnight as he mounted his hog, digging in my purse for the keys to my Bronco as I headed to the back of the lot.

My step faltered halfway there when I noticed a man standing with his back propped against my driver’s side door.Instinctively, I reached for the handle of my blade—but as I drew closer, I recognized the beard; the tats; the holes in his jeans.

Twister.

Rather than anxious, I felt confused as I closed what distance remained between us. I thought we had an understanding, but it appeared I might have been wrong.

My suspicions were proven correct when I came to a stop and—arms folded across his chest, his booted feet crossed casually at the ankle—Twister looked right at me and asked, “Wanna fuck?”

The question sounded different to my sober ears.

There was an echo which accompanied the inquiry. A faint warning of consequences I neither heard nor considered the other night. Still, I didn’t respond immediately.

The thought of taking him inside of me again wasn’t off-putting in the slightest. I came three times the last I rode this Stallion. It was a fucking record.

Chances were good my inebriated state had something to do with it, but the reminder still made me pause.

Except, one-night stands weren’t repeatable. It was all in the name. To fuck him again would make things complicated, and my life wasn’t complicated. Not so far as I could help it. Not anymore.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” I replied.

He remained perfectly still, but I saw it as his eyes journeyed down my body and back up again before he met my gaze and drawled, “Why not?”

“I’m not lookin’ for a fuck buddy,” I shot back.

This was enough to get him to move. Only, rather than leave me alone, he uncrossed his ankles, straightened, then propped a hand against the top of my Bronco as he leaned toward me and said, “Not your buddy, sparky—but I sure don’t mind bein’ your Stallion.”

I jerked my head back, not at all appreciative of being calledsparky.

Though, that was the least of my problems.

Right then, the wind caught just so, and I got a whiff of him.

Cedar. Amber. Leather.

As his scent filled my nose, my body began to respond, plucking bits and pieces of my memory from the places in my mind where I hid it, awakening a longing I tried to ignore.

Certain it was in my best interest to get him out of my face, I replied snarkily, “What’s wrong? You strike out up at the clubhouse?”

Rather than offense, that smug look of amusement pulled at the corner of his mouth as he smirked at me. “Not once,” he said, leaning a little closer. “But I know the pussy I’m lookin’ for, and it ain’t up there. She’s standin’ right in front of me.”

I rolled my eyes. “Mmhmm,” I muttered dryly. “Well, I’m not a plaything, and I sure as hell will not be seen trailin’ after you up there like some sheep ready for the slaughter.”

“You say yes, we’ll go wherever you wanna go, baby. Hell, you could ride me right here, right now, in the back of this Bronco if you wanted to.”