5. Rachel
Chapter 5
Rachel
M y gaze sweeps across the sprawling acres of Travis’s home. In the distance, horses graze, their tails flicking away flies, near a grove of what I believe are mesquite trees. I know he said his main operation is cattle, but he has quite the herd of horses as well in all sizes and colors. The open sky stretches above me, streaks of pink and orange bleeding into darker blue as the day nears its end. Other than the interaction with his mother this morning, this has been of the best days since I arrived in this little Texas town.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Travis stands with one foot on the lower railing, arms crossed over the top, his voice husky with quiet pride.
“It’s magnificent.”
“This land has been in my family for generations. To me, it only gets better with age.”
“Why aren’t your siblings here? I can’t imagine anybody purposely giving this up.”
“As the oldest, it was common knowledge that the place would pass down to me when my father passed. I’ve always had an interest in the animals and lifestyle, so to me it’s never felt like an obligation. I think that took a load off their shoulders. My brothers like it well enough, but they don’t want to be ranchers. And my baby sister is too interested in fashion and boys right now. Of course, if any of them ever change their mind, there’s always a place for them here. I’m happy to share the workload.”
It’s different here, so removed from the constant hum of the city that used to put me to sleep at night. It took me a few weeks to get used to the quiet of a small town at night. The human drama I thought I craved now seems trivial against utter tranquility. I’m sure it’s not always so peaceful. Maybe today is special. Perhaps the stars aligned just for me today. I don’t care, because this is perfect.
“Never thought I’d find peace like this,” I confess, turning toward him. “But damn, it feels like freedom. Please tell me it’s always like this.”
Travis laughs out loud, his eyes lighting up. “Well, we do have our issues and it’s not an easy life. Some days are downright hard. But I like to think the good out numbers the bad.”
I wince because these new boots are pinching my toes something fierce. My attempt at looking the part suddenly feels silly, and I grit my teeth as I shift my weight, trying to find a position that doesn’t scream, ‘city girl with sore feet.’
“Everything okay?” he asks.
“Fine. Just breaking in these new boots.”
“Come on, let’s sit for a bit.” He gestures toward a nearby bale of hay under an alcove of the barn, and I follow, grateful for any excuse to get off my aching feet.
We sit side by side, and a warm breeze slides across my skin, carrying with it the perfume of wildflowers, earthy scents, and a smell intrinsically linked to Travis. Even his cologne is irresistible. A euphoric blend of leather, sun-warmed skin, and sandalwood. It’s suddenly getting more challenging to remember why this was all supposed to be pretend.
“Let me help you with those boots.” Travis drops to kneel on one knee, his strong hands gently grasping my right calf.
Heat pools in my lower belly. My body sure as hell didn’t get the memo about our fake relationship.
He tugs off one boot, then the other, then my socks, revealing my swollen red feet with pink-tipped toes.
“Better?” His voice is low and growly, almost sensual. His touch lingers, thumbs massaging circles into the arch of my foot, sending a surge of pleasure up my leg to other places.
Jesus H. Christ. The sight of him on his knee, those capable hands on me—it’s like a live wire straight to my core. I bite my lip, trying to keep my breathing steady. This man has no right to look so fucking good while doing something so simple.
“Much.” I breathe out, fighting the urge to lean back and close my eyes. Instead, my eyes are riveted on him, watching how the bright afternoon light plays over his features, crafting shadows that make him look handsome and impossibly tender. There’s this insane desire to stroke the grey streaks in his hair, rub the pad of my finger over his brows, and my thumb across his lower lip.
Every press of his fingers sends sparks of desire shooting through me. I didn’t realize my feet were erotic zones. I want to grab him by that perfectly tousled hair and crush my mouth to his. To hell with the consequences.
Except, I’m not supposed to feel this way. We aren’t supposed to be more than a convenient lie to keep our meddling mothers at bay. Yet, as Travis’s hands work their magic on my sore feet, I start to imagine what else those hands can do—what it would be like to have them explore every inch of my naked skin without pretense or restraint. My body purrs with an arousal that is far too real for our fake relationship.
Fuck. I’m treading on perilous ground here. I wanted to reach out and touch him. To feel the strength of his arms around me. But the memory of bruises and broken promises holds me back. My past shrieks to run, to protect myself. But my traitorous heart? It whispers seductively of taking a chance, of letting Travis in.
There’s suddenly a battle raging inside me, and desire and fear are locked in a heated dance. Travis isn’t Matthew, I know that. But old habits die hard, and mine warn me to keep my distance.
“Travis…” I swallow, unsure of what I want to say but desperate to say something to break this sexual tension between us.
“Yes?” He raises his head until his gaze meets mine, and in that moment, I think we both know. Whatever we’re doing here, whatever game we thought we were playing, the rules have changed.
My body hums with anticipation, every nerve ending on high alert. I can practically taste the electricity crackling in the air. I long to say fuck it and jump him right here on this hay bale. But the sensible me, which has kept me alive and sane, reigns me back. Just barely.
“Shit.” The curse slips past my lips. I imagine sex with Travis would be very hot, unlike any previous experience. I have the distinct feeling he knows his way around a woman’s body.
I feel like I’m holding my breath as he kneads one foot and then the other, his touch setting off fireworks under my skin. Each press of his fingers initiates sparks that threaten to consume me. It’s a struggle to keep my cool.
“Are your feet feeling better?”
“Yes. But… keep rubbing, please.”
What am I thinking? It should be awkward—a man I barely know touching me so gently and with such intimacy. But as his hands rub away the pain of my sore muscles, I find myself leaning into the sensation, my body softening, and a moan threatening. I bite it back before I embarrass myself any further. But every stroke, the perfect amount of pressure he applies, it chips away at all the barriers. God help me; I want nothing more than to stay right here like this forever.
“Good hands,” I manage to utter, my voice husky with more than just relief.
“Part of being a cowboy.” His thumbs press into a particularly tender spot, and my breath hitches.
If cowboys can do this with their hands, sign me up for the next rodeo.
Why did I choose Travis to be my fake boyfriend? Of all the men in Cupid’s Creek, I had to pick the one who makes my heart do backflips, my belly flutter, and my common sense take a vacation. I blame this on Sheila. She got me all riled up on a day when he was in the diner. I also blame my mother for her timing. Couldn’t she wait a few more months, or years, before deciding to visit? I would have had time to develop a better plan.
My mind reels with a blend of pain and pleasure as his hands work over my throbbing feet. The white cowboy boots—Sheila’s foolish suggestion for impressing the great cowboy—sit discarded on the ground. I glance at the ridiculous boots, cursing her advice and vanity.
The warmth from his calloused hands seeps through my skin, inviting arousal to swirl through my body like a Texas twister gathering force. Maybe I have a foot fetish? Or I’m developing one?
“Feels good, huh?” He says it so casually, but the hushed timbre of his voice sends a tingle over my skin and heat pools low in my belly.
“More than good,” I confess, my eyes closed to savor the sensation. “But why’d I have to pick you of all people?”
“Pick me for what?” His hands still, and I sense him watching me.
Crap. Did I say that out loud? I open my eyes, meeting his gaze. The intensity in his nearly knocks the breath right out of me. Warning bells clang in my head. But my heart? It’s doing a happy little jig, urging me to throw caution to the wind.
“You know. This whole pretend thing.”
His gaze is heavy with something unspoken, and that twister intensifies.
“Now I’m here, getting a foot massage that’s making me question every damn decision I’ve made since leaving New York.”
“Even the pretending part?” His voice is a soft drawl, teasing the edge of our strange reality.
“Especially that.”
This relationship is becoming more real by the second, and it scares the hell out of me. I’ve been down this road before, and it nearly broke me. But something about Travis makes me want to risk it all again.
Then I spot her.
Laura Kincaid is standing on the porch, her hawk-like gaze fixed on us, and even though there’s some distance from there to here, I’m certain her eyesight is perfect.
My stomach clenches, and I fight the urge to yank my feet away, knowing it will only make things worse.
He must sense my sudden tension because he raises his head, concern deepening the lines between his eyes. “You okay, Rachel?”
I nod, not trusting my voice. How long has she been watching? The weight of her judgment presses down on me, but it also sparks a thrill of defiance. What if I just let her look? Let her see how attentive her son can be.
When his thumbs dig into my arch, I swallow a moan and heat creeps up my neck. I shouldn’t be enjoying this so damn much, especially not under his mother’s scrutiny.
I watch as she spins on her heel and marches back into the house.
“Travis,” I whisper, “we should stop.”
“Stop?” He pauses, but there’s a glint in his eyes. “Or maybe what you need is for me to not stop at all.”
I intend to remind us both of the boundaries we’d set. But when his lips brush against my calf in a feather-light kiss, every shred of resistance is smashed like dry earth under a cowboy boot. My hand finds its way to his shoulder, gripping hard enough to tell him I’m anything but indifferent to his touch.
“Travis, your...”
The rest of the sentence dies on my lips as he sweeps the edges of my dress aside, bares my spread legs, and presses his mouth to my inner right thigh. Slowly, he travels higher, creating a trail of fire that blazes straight to my pussy. His eyes never leave mine. Dark pools of desire promise things I’ve fantasized about since he kissed me at the festival.
“Rachel,” he murmurs, his voice rough with need.
Travis gets to his feet, the heat from his body enveloping me as he widens my legs to stand between them. Then, he bends down, and his lips are on mine. Soft at first, a tentative question to which my body screams yes. The kiss deepens, turning hungry and urgent. His tongue teases mine, and I moan into his mouth.
Instinct takes over, and I wrap my legs around his waist.
Travis slips his hands under my ass and picks me up and I fling my arms around his neck. He walks inside the barn. The air is musty, the sunlight gone. I hear a horse’s soft snort, and its hoof stomp the stall’s floor.
Travis keeps walking until he has me pressed against a wall or a stall. I don’t know, but I don’t care as long as there’s no splinters. A thrill of pure desire shoots through me. For once, I don’t care about past heartaches or future consequences. All that matters is this moment, this man, this overwhelming rush of passion that I’ve never experienced. Strong and sure, his hands roam down my sides until he grabs me under my thighs and hitches me a little higher until I’m perfectly settled, my feet crossed behind his back, his groin notched against mine.
His kiss brands me with a longing so intense it borders on pain. His hands map my body with a possession that speaks of his own need, fingertips leaving whispers of heat wherever they touch. The thin fabric of our clothing feels too thick, cruel, and an impediment to the skin-on-skin contact we both crave.
I pant when his mouth leaves mine to cut a trail down the column of my throat. “W-what are we doing?”
“Whatever the hell we want,” he growls against my skin, his breath hot, pure liquid fire for my soul.
It’s a free fall into the unknown. As his hands find the hem of my dress, peeling it up inch by torturous inch, I realize I don’t care about sanity. With every brush of his lips, every nip and suckle, I surrender.
The need pulsing between us is like a living thing, wild and untamable. I drive my fingers into his hair, pulling him back to my lips for another searing kiss. His taste is so seductive that it makes me dizzy.
“Please tell me you feel this, too. You want this as much as I do.” Travis whispers, his voice holding a note of urgency that thrums through my veins.
“God, yes,” I admit. “I can’t stop.”
“Then we won’t.”
The cowboy claims my mouth once more with an intensity that leaves no room for thought. Only feeling. Only the soft touch of his tongue and the rough calluses of his hands as they slide under my dress and into my panties so his fingers can brush bare wet skin.
Our breaths mingle, warm, and hot, heavy with lust. I want nothing more than to be marked by him, claimed in a way that resonates deep in my bones. As I cling to him, I discover a truth I can’t deny—sometimes, the body demands what the mind refuses to accept. And I want Travis Kincaid with a fervor that defies all logic, all reason. Regardless of the nightmare I left behind, and my vows to never fall again, I’m ready to risk it all for Travis’s touch.
My fingers clutch his shirt, desperately pulling him into me as if I can somehow meld us together. Our heartbeats sync in a frantic rhythm. Our kisses speak of longing and need, whispering promises of tangled sheets and hushed confessions. It’s thrilling and terrifying all at once. Passion and tenderness collide, but there’s still room for doubt and fear. The urgent desire to explore this thing between us threatens to override every other conscious thought.
My breath stalls when his thumb brushes my cheekbone, the touch laden with unspoken meaning. “Stay with me tonight,” he murmurs, his gaze intense and searching.
My pulse quickens, and every nerve ending comes alive. The pull between us is magnetic and undeniable. Yet a flicker of hesitation sparks in my chest, and I lay one hand over his heart.
“I... we can’t,” I whisper, even as my body betrays my words, and I lean into his touch.
Concern is etched across his forehead. “Why not?”
I swallow past the lump in my throat, struggling to find the right words. “This isn’t... it isn’t supposed to be real.”
His hand cups my face, his thumb tracing my lower lip. “Does this feel fake to you?”
A shaky exhale escapes me. “No,” I admit, my voice barely audible. “It feels more real than anything has in a long time.”
Travis’s expression softens. “Then why fight it?”
My heart races, torn between desire and self-preservation. “I’m scared,” I confess. “What if this changes everything?”
“Maybe it already has,” he says softly, his forehead resting against mine. “Maybe that’s not such a bad thing.”
I close my eyes, feeling the warmth of his touch, his solid presence. When I open them again, I’m drowning in the depths of his gaze, seeing a reflection of my longing mirrored there.
But I draw in a shaky breath and gently push him away.