Chapter 23
Colton
It takes about fifteen minutes to reach Noah’s location. I was already headed in that direction toward the next clue, but once I got his call, I picked up the pace.
Noah looks up once he hears me, his head on a swivel when he realizes I’m approaching from behind him, not streetside.
“What…in the actual fuck?” he asks, pushing away from the guard rail.
I pull Clementine to a stop, dropping down out of the saddle. “Where are you hurt?”
He gapes at me. “You rode here. On a horse.”
“Wonderful observational skills you’ve got,” I deadpan, stalking his way. “Now where the fuck did you get hurt, Noah? Are you bleeding out? Did you hit your head?”
“What the fuck?” he mutters again.
I slap his forehead once I reach him, and he blinks in shock. “Focus, King. Do I needa get an ambulance out here?”
“Jesus. No,” he says, swatting my hand away when I try to check his pulse. “Fuck, Colton. I thought you’d bring your truck.”
“I was already on Clem when you called. The ranch is a straight shot east from here, and if the next five clues are on the trails like I think they are, I figured I’d get through them much faster on horseback. Now tell me where the fuck you’re hurt before I do a damn strip search.”
He shakes his head, copper eyes wide. “My palm,” he finally answers, holding out his hand. “That’s it. Maybe a bruise on my leg. But I’m fine.”
His hand is streaked in a series of shallow cuts, dirt and blood dried over the surface. I wince, doubling back to grab the small first aid kit I keep in Clementine’s go bag. Noah looks dumbfounded as I walk back his way.
“This is Clementine,” I tell him, opening the small kit. “My horse. Clem, this is that asshole Noah King I was telling you about.”
Noah looks unimpressed, but he doesn’t pull his hand away when I take it between my own.
“Don’t bite my head off,” I tell him, using an alcohol wipe to clean the skin.
He doesn’t even flinch. “What are we gonna do about my bike?”
“We can come back for it later,” I tell him. “After I win this contest.”
Noah scoffs.
I raise an eyebrow, meeting his gaze. “Something to say, Mr. Come Get Me? I certainly don’t need to be dragging you along, you know.”
“Wait… You expect me to ride with you on that horse?” he asks.
“Unless you feel like hanging here for the rest of the afternoon. Your choice.”
I finish cleaning Noah’s hand and apply some antiseptic. He hisses when I wrap a bandage around him tight enough to keep the wound clean.
“ Fuuuck ,” he groans, long and low. “One horse, Colton. You have one horse.”
“And?”
“You don’t see the problem here?”
“Clem can handle it,” I tell him assuredly, closing the first aid kit. I stick it back in the saddle bag, put my foot in the stirrup, and swing onto Clementine’s back. “Coming or what?”
“Jesus Christ,” Noah mumbles, heading my way. “I guess we’re—what? Working together?”
“Guess so,” I say, pulse hopping when Noah grabs hold of the saddle behind my hip, sticks his foot in the stirrup I vacated for him, and hauls himself up. He settles behind the saddle, since there’s no way the two of us can both fit in it. I try not to flush as his heat lines my back, able to convince myself it’s the Montana sun roasting me, not the man who, for whatever reason, called me when he needed help.
That’s not something I’m going to examine.
“Gimme back my stirrup,” I tell him.
He makes a huffing noise and pulls his foot free. I slot mine back in and pull the reins to the left, getting Clementine turned around.
“I saw a box about a mile up ahead,” Noah says. “Pretty sure it’s the next clue.”
I nod, having noted the location on the clue I picked up on my way here.
We’re quiet for a while, Clementine at a brisk walking pace. I don’t dare put her into a trot with Noah riding what equates to bareback.
“What, uh, happened to your bike?” I ask.
“Spun out,” he says. “A tire blew. Rolled over metal, maybe? I couldn’t find anything.”
I hum, acutely aware of Noah’s legs brushing mine. Maybe he was right. This might not have been the best idea, after all.
Probably should have left the bastard behind.
“How’d you know her name is Daphne?” he asks. “You said it before. How’d you know?”
I squirm a little. “Must’ve heard you mention it.”
“Hm.”
“Where, uh, did the name come from?”
Noah is quiet for a second. “It was my mother’s middle name.”
Was .
“Sorry,” I say quietly, my chest tight.
I can feel Noah shrug, his hands resting on my thighs now. When the fuck did they get there?
“It was a long time ago,” he answers.
I nod, chewing my lip as we move along. I don’t know what to say. This is awkward as fuck.
Noah lets out a small breath, perhaps feeling the same. “My ass is gonna pay for this later.”
I snort, frankly having no sympathy for the man.
He leans closer, his chest lining my back and his voice beside my ear. “We could share the saddle.”
“Fuck right off,” I tell him, willing myself not to get a boner. Not right now, for Christ’s sake. “There’s no room.”
He chuckles, his fingers slipping through the rips at the top of my jeans. What the fuck is he doing? “Bet there would be room with you on my lap,” he whispers.
My inhale is sharp, the suggestion in his words impossible to miss. “I swear to God, Noah, I will leave you on the side of this mountain without a single ounce of regret.”
He snorts, leaning back slightly. His fingers don’t leave my thighs.
I glance down at my jeans. At Noah’s fingertips disappearing under the denim, his touch hot against my equally scorched skin.
I’m grateful when we reach the clue box.
Noah lets go of me and slides down off Clementine, grabbing two scrolls from within the box. He closes the lid before getting back behind the saddle.
“It’s another map,” he says, handing me one of the scrolls.
Instead of a dot on the trail like last time, this one is a visual depiction of stairs leading to an overlook, an X placed on top. I recognize the spot, having spent a lot of my youth exploring this land. These are the closest public trails to the ranch, this mountain range visible from the house. The overlook indicated on the map is near Hawk Hollow’s beak, a beautiful view beyond it.
“It’s this way,” I say to Noah, giving Clementine a gentle press of my heel to get moving.
He’s suspiciously quiet behind me, his hands resting on my thighs again, fingertips edged under the fabric of my jeans as if in search of a home.
Clearing my throat, I say, “No one would believe this, you know. The two of us getting along.”
He hums. “If anyone asks, I’ll say you kidnapped me.”
“ Rescued you,” I put in, punching his leg best I can from this position.
He merely snorts. “I do appreciate the pickup, Colton. Not that this is what I expected when I called.”
“Beggars can’t be choosers,” I chide.
“Colt,” he says quietly, his tone of voice putting me on high alert. “I think we both know, out of the two of us, I’m not the beggar.”
I close my eyes and let out a slow breath, wanting so badly to be rankled by his words. Only I can’t muster up the outrage. He makes me want . Even though it’s him . Even as I’m mortified by my own terrible, wrong attraction and the fact that I enjoy begging. Because every time I ask anything of him, Noah gives it to me. He makes me feel good .
Why? Why is he doing this? Why me ?
“Lost your tongue?” Noah asks, his tone softly teasing, his fingers trailing over my thighs again. He damn well knows the effect he has on me, and that pisses me off, too.
Or, at least, it should.
“No,” I say, a surge of perverse courage making me add, “Just wondering when you’re finally going to make use of it.”
Noah goes still apart from the flexing of his fingers. “Is that so?”
Oh, fuck .
That voice.
Part of me wonders what the fuck I’m doing, but it doesn’t stop my words from spilling free.
“You keep threatening to put me on my knees,” I point out, my pulse thrumming wildly as I lead Clementine around a bend in the trail. “But so far, that’s all it is. A threat.”
Noah curses behind me, the sound almost too quiet to pick up. “Oh, little Colt. I don’t make idle threats.”
I shrug, trying to pretend my heart isn’t attempting to beat right out of my chest. I shouldn’t want Noah forcing me to my knees and feeding me his cock. But fuck , I can’t stop thinking about it. I’ve jerked off to the thought more times than I can count.
That and what he might feel like in my ass.
If someone had told me a year ago that I’d be desperate to know what it’s like to be dicked, let alone by the man I’ve hated with a fiery passion for a decade and a half, I’d have laughed. Hard.
I guess desperation makes fools of us all.
I try to drum up some of that fiery hate now. Something to remind me why it’s a bad idea to provoke this man wrapped around my back. But all I feel is frustration that we’re not in his barn right now.
Is this what it feels like when people fall for their captors? Have I been unwittingly ensnared by Noah King?
I let out a sigh as I come to terms with the fact that this isn’t Noah’s fault at all. I can’t blame him, much as I want to. Even before I understood these urges, I couldn’t let it go, could I? I kept pushing, pushing, pushing .
Noah just gave me the tiniest tug to drag me over the edge.
“All right?” the man asks, probably having heard the audible evidence of my internal crisis. Although is crisis the right word? More like awareness.
“Fine,” I mutter.
Nothing like realizing I’ve been subconsciously craving my archnemesis’s dick. Not any guy’s. His . For whatever fucking reason, it’s him and has been from the start.
At least my boner is gone, withered up and died right alongside whatever leftover denial I’d been carrying.
I’m attracted to Noah King.
Want him to do unspeakable things to me.
I get off on this man treating me with kindness under the guise of animosity or whatever it is still thriving between us.
And, maybe most shameful of all, I don’t want it to stop.
Is it so bad? Letting this man I harbor such conflicting emotions for take what he wants from me when all I want is for him to take it, too?
Would anyone understand it? Do I?
“We’re here,” Noah says, cutting through my thoughts.
I nod, pulling Clementine to a stop. This time, we both get down, and I’m grateful for the reprieve from my own head, as well as Noah’s proximity. We ascend the wooden steps, coming to a stop at the overlook built onto the side of the short, yet steep, mountain.
“Wow,” Noah says, looking out over the field full of wildflowers between the shadows of two peaks on either side. The ground is filled with color. A beautiful, undisturbed microcosm.
“The sun hits it just right for a couple hours every day,” I tell him quietly, not wanting to disturb the still air. “It’s why so many flowers are able to grow here.”
“Yeah,” he breathes, staring intently.
My eyes trail down the ink on his arms, and I recall the unfinished metal crown inside his barn. It’d be so easy to ask him about it. The flowers. Why they’re clearly so important to him.
But I can’t get the words to leave my mouth.
I head over to the wooden box nearby and lift the lid. It’s filled with more clues. I pull out two but open one.
“Another location,” I tell Noah.
He lets out a soft sigh before turning from the railing. “We should probably get moving then, huh?”
I nod, even as I want to tell him it’s okay if he’d rather stay a while. But why would I? We’re competing in a time-sensitive competition. Of course we shouldn’t linger.
“Sure,” I say, handing Noah his scroll. “We’re heading north.”
“Lead the way,” he says, following me back down the stairs.
We get atop Clementine, heading in the direction of the next clue. And even though I know I should be grateful I’ll only be stuck on this horse for a short while longer with Noah, I can’t seem to find the expected relief anywhere.