The Sweetest Taboo (A Modern Vintage Romance)

Chapter 8

Rowan taught me how to ride.

We started in the paddocks. When Clay tried to help teach me, he was asked to fuck off.

I”d gotten to know some of the ranch hands and found that Rowan spent more time with them than he did with the uppity people in the ranch house.

”He”s not like them others,” Sissy, one of the female hands, told me. ”You know, those who come from California and buy a ranch, then get someone else to do the hard work? Hell, no. Rowan does all his own hard work, if you know what I mean.”

”No, I actually don”t,” I said apologetically as I drank some beer. ”I know very little about ranching.”

Sissy guffawed, and when she did, I felt Rowan”s eyes land on me. He was sitting at the other side of the table, but I could feel his presence like he was next to me.

I”d been invited to a bar with the ranch hands to celebrate Eddie”s nearly hundredth birthday, everyone joked. We”d driven in several trucks to Livingston, which was north of the ranch. The town seemed as if it had been plucked right from a Hollywood “Wild West” set, with the Yellowstone River flowing through it, and a picturesque small-town ambiance.

When we walked up to the bar, Bronco”s Rest, I felt like I was indeed on a movie set. It was the go-to spot for local ranch hands after a long day. Its wooden walls with old rodeo posters and photos of local ranching history, creating a rustic, welcoming atmosphere. The bar offered a selection of local beers on tap, and a menu of hearty, home-style meals.

Our table was loaded with beer mugs and foods. The hot wings with blue cheese, fries, fried chicken…. I think pretty much everything on the table, including the coleslaw, was designed to peel off your stomach lining or give you a coronary.

I loved every minute of my small-town bar experience. This is what I”d thought my Montana adventure would be like. Not the froufrou scene of the ranch house, but here with the real people who accepted me without judgment.

”Never thought a Brit would be the type who”d hang with us,” Sissy said, after some time had passed, and I was very much part of the conversations, though sometimes they frowned at my use of British idioms. Rowan stepped in then to translate, to my amusement.

”Why not?” I asked.

”Just…I don”t know.” Sissy shrugged, and I guessed she thought I appeared to be too much of a snob.

”How”re you likin” Montana?” one of the hands asked me.

”Are you moving to Montana, then?” another wanted to know.

”I”m going back to London in a few days.” In five days to be exact. I was happy to head back home. I was also sad to leave all this behind forever. Maybe, someday, I could come back as a tourist, and visit. But I was under no illusion that my friendship with Ace would last. He”d proven himself to be a man without much integrity.

Rowan, on the other hand, didn”t call me a gold-digging whore any longer, but I had a feeling he still thought it. I was careful around him, but my heart, unfortunately, had not been. His kindness had swept off my feet. I knew that affection was my Achilles heel. When you hadn”t had much of it in your life, and you hungered for it, craved it. And when it was given, your mind played tricks on you.

The jukebox at Bronco”s Rest hummed to life with Boot Scootin” Boogie by Brooks Dunn. Its upbeat tempo filled the room with an infectious energy that seemed to pull everyone onto the sawdust-covered dance floor.

Rowan grabbed my hand with a mischievous grin, and soon, we were among the other dancers, our bodies moving in sync with the lively beat. Our dancing was a playful mix of steps and spins, with laughter bubbling between us. It was effortless, and it made me as exhilarated as it did afraid.

”You dance like a dream,” Rowan told me with a laugh as he twirled me.

”You lead well.” I was flushed and happy.

I hadn”t had time to party as a teenager. It was hard to do when I had two jobs and bills to pay all on my own. Beyond a drink at a pub with mates or a movie, I hadn”t had much of a social life. This was the first time I was dancing with a man, instead of with Yasmine on a Saturday night, when we wanted to blow off steam in the privacy of our rooms.

Boot Scootin” Boogiegave way to Chris Stapleton”s Tennessee Whiskey. The change in melody wrapped around us like a soft, velvet night.

Rowan”s hands held my waist, guiding me closer, our steps slowing to match the soulful tune. We swayed gently, the rest of the bar fading into a blur. As we moved as one, I felt an undeniable compatibility, a harmony that extended beyond the dance floor.

”When are you leaving for London?” Rowan asked.

This was the first time since the debacle a couple of weeks ago when he”d found me working with Clay”s shoulder that he”d mentioned anything about me leaving Ledger Ranch.

”This coming Saturday. My flight leaves Billings for Dallas at seven in the morning.”

”You bought your own ticket.” It wasn”t a question, it was a statement.

”Yes.”

”You okay on money for that?”

”Yes.”

He pulled me closer as someone jostled me, and I moaned.

”Fuck, Isha. You make me so hard for you.” His hands were on my ass, cupping me and holding me up so he could rest his erection against the notch in between my legs.

”Rowan, let me go,” I hissed. This was blatantly sexual and was completely out of my wheelhouse.

He grabbed my hand and took me outside the bar, where people were sitting around smoking in coolness the summer night.

He pulled me to the side of the bar, in the dark, where there was no one. I leaned against a wall, and his body covered me, head to toe.

He leaned his forehead against mine.

”I want you.”

”I…I….” I don”t know how to handle this, how to handle you.

He moved his hips against mine, thrusting his hardness against my softness. I was wet for him. I could feel the dampness through my jeans.

”You want me?” he asked, his voice a husky rumble.

I wanted to say yes, so badly, but he was making my alarm bells go off, the same ones that had protected me my whole life.

”Say you want me,” he insisted, his hand streaking up my body to cup my breast over the black camisole blouse I wore.

”Rowan,” I moaned when he squeezed.

”Fuck, you”re a handful.”

I had kissed boys. They”d even touched me. But…this was beyond my experience. This madness of the body was scary.

His lips moved over my face, brushing against my skin, making me tremble.

My hands, which I had been holding at my side, rose of their own volition, and were on his chest, holding onto his soft T-shirt. He moved his thigh between my legs, and he lifted me a little.

”Ride me,” he ordered.

I didn”t know how to. I wanted to tell him. I”d had orgasms, sure, but they were rare. I didn”t know my own body. I didn”t know how to find my own release.

But it appeared my body knew what to do. My hips moved over his thigh, the friction making my nerve endings quake.

”Yeah, baby, drive us both a little crazy.” He put his hands on my buttocks, and moved me up and down over his thigh.

”I can feel how hot you are,” he muttered, his lips setting my face on fire.

I was unraveling, and I didn”t know what I was doing. I held onto him, whimpering. He didn”t stop; he kept pushing me up and down on him. The friction was too much, and suddenly, on a small cry, I fell apart, and my head sank onto his chest.

I felt his hand between us, unzipping his jeans. I heard him unbuckle his belt.

”When was the last time you fucked my brother?” he demanded, his hands cupping me through my jeans.

It was a bucket of cold water thrown at me.

I froze.

He felt it instantly, and his hand stilled.

My hands on his chest were now pushing him away, not holding on to him. I couldn”t believe he”d just asked me that question.

He stepped back from me. I could see his face in the dim light from the front of the building. His sharp cheekbones seemed sharper. His blue eyes were darker. There was a cruel twist to his mouth.

I leaned against the wall for support.

I was going to let my first time be against a wall behind a bar in the middle of nowhere with a man who wanted to know when I’d had sex with his brother last. This was not how I intended to lose my virginity.

”Isha,” he muttered. I dropped my gaze and watched his hands zip up his pants and buckle his belt.

He came close to me, and I flinched, beginning to shake.

”Shh, it”s okay. It”s okay.” He pulled my camisole back down to cover me. He stroked my hair. ”It”s okay. You”re okay.”

He pulled me into a hug and held me, stroking my back.

It took a long minute and then, I began to cry. I didn”t know why, but all the pent-up emotions from the past weeks came crashing down. I couldn”t stop. Me, Isha George, who hardly ever cried, let myself go.

Rowan just held me, murmuring soothingly, telling me I was all right. That everything was okay.

When the storm quieted, I moved away from him, and wiped my tears.

”I”m sorry about that. I can”t believe I just had a crying jag all over you.”

”It”s okay,” he smiled.

”Why did you ask me about Ace?”

His face hardened, and he laughed. It was harsh, deliberately cruel. ”Darlin”, no matter how hot you get me, I”m not putting my dick inside you if my brother”s been there recently. I”m not into sloppy seconds, especially my brother”s.”

I”m an idiot. I”m the biggest, daftest idiot.

”Oh.” I felt bereft and untethered. I looked around, confused. I”d just had my first orgasm with a man, and he was worried about sloppy seconds.

No one had ever made me feel this cheap, this dirty before.

I should”ve left after that incident in the bunkhouse. I shouldn”t have stayed, panting like a bitch in heat, hoping Rowan Ledger would throw me a bone. That”s why I”d stayed, hadn”t I? Because I”d fallen in love with this hard, unyielding man. How had that happened in such a short time? After all these years of taking care of myself, I”d thrown it all away, and for what? A shag against the wall of a bar like a cheap whore?

”Isha, you okay?”

I pulled into myself when he reached out to touch my shoulder. He saw me cower and dropped his hand.

”Come on, you got off and left me holding my dick. I should be the one who”s pissed.” His tone was teasing, but I wasn”t sure if he was joking. Did he expect me to give him an orgasm now?

”Come on, baby, don”t you want to feel me inside you? Fucking you?” he whispered harshly.

”I…I need…I….” I was breathing hard, trying to avoid a panic attack. I used to have them a lot some years ago, after a terrible incident at the home with Yas and me. A counselor had given me tools to manage it.

As I took shallow breaths, I looked around and whispered, ”Wall, truck, stone.”

”What?” Rowan asked, coming closer but paused when I shrank back into the wall.

Identify three sounds.”Music, laughter, and a motorcycle engine.”

Rowan stared at me like I”d lost my mind, but I phased him away, trying to get back to myself. I could hear Yasmine”s voice. Now, move three of your body parts. Come on, Isha, you can do this.

I clenched and unclenched my right fist. Closed my eyes and opened them. And then tapped my foot.

”What the fuck?” I heard Rowan say.

”Three things my body is touching,” I whispered.

He heard me this time, I think because he stopped asking me questions.

”My jeans. The socks in my sneakers. Yasmine”s pendant.” I clutched the heart-shaped pendant that my friend and I had bought together. Both of ours had a photo of each other in it. A way to stay connected forever.

Slowly, I began to breath normally; and not like a freight train careening off the railroad tracks.