Burn the Breeze (Thornbrush Ranch #2)

Prologue

Lina

one year earlier

He was fucking me—with his eyes. Eyes that were dark and shadowed beneath a black cowboy hat.

The rowdy Saddle Room bar at the Joseph Round-Up pumped classic country music over the inebriated shouts and laughter of the crowd.

The bass reverberated through the soles of my boots, traveling up my bare legs until it settled in my core.

It almost felt like the cowboy who bit at his lip while he watched me was humming right into my cunt.

Thick hands picked up the glass of whiskey off the bartop, bringing it to his lips.

Hands that I could imagine wrapping around my throat.

He sipped, his gaze locked on me. And it felt as if he were sipping me.

“Are we getting a tattoo or what?” Viv asked, nudging my shoulder. Snapping me back to reality.

“You’re seriously going to do that?” Kale Pardy questioned, reaching over me to slam his token on the bar.

“How do ya want it?” the bartender asked.

“Neat,” Kale stated matter-of-factly.

Vivian Kelly—my only barrel racing friend because the rest were competition—was always up to getting trashed with me. Kale was a bull rider from my hometown who often came out to party with us.

“Actually,” I said, eyeing my cowboy on the other side of the bartop, “give that to me.” I held out my hand, and Viv slapped the temporary Saddle Room logo tattoo into my turned-up palm.

“Oh, I see.” Viv smirked, taking in what I was seeing … Mr. Tall, Dark, and Handsome. I wasn’t ashamed to admit I was gawking at the man.

Even among the bustling rodeo crowd, he seemed large.

Wide-set shoulders, corded arms that proved he was used to throwing calves over his shoulders.

I’d let him throw me around. Hell, I wanted him to do more than just throw me around.

A trim, dark beard covered his chiseled jaw.

He looked a lot older than what I typically went for—rugged and edgy.

My heartbeat picked up a notch. I bet he had more experience than any of the boys I’d ever been with.

I’m so sick and tired of playing with boys.

I needed a man. A man who could show me a thing or two, match my energy, and bring all my darkest desires to the surface.

His tongue darted out to lick a droplet of whiskey off his fuckable lips. Oh, how I’d love to be that drop of whiskey.

Neon beer signs on the wall behind him glowed like a beacon, pulling me in with an uncontrollable force. I felt like a moth being drawn to the fire, but I didn’t care if I got burned. I’d let myself burn to ashes just to have that man touch me.

The bartender set Kale’s whiskey on the bar, but before he could even grab it, I snatched it and knocked it back until every last drop slid down my throat.

The burn was so good … coursing down my throat, spreading its warmth to my limbs, my breasts, my belly, and then between my legs, until even my toes tingled in my boots.

“Hey! You fucking serious?” Kale exclaimed, looking aghast with his mouth agape.

I stifled back a giggle, shoving the glass into his chest. “I’m in love, Kale. I needed that, okay?”

I looked back across the bar at my mystery man.

His smoldering eyes were dimmed by the brim of his black cowboy hat—eyes that were luring me in and tracing the swell of my breasts in my tight tank top.

It felt as though he was trailing a finger over my skin, dipping into my cleavage and circling the hardened peaks.

I could feel my heartbeat in my stomach.

His gaze traveled over my long legs as I stepped away from my friends and pushed through the crowd.

I felt as if I were swimming through a current, floating in thin air, moving in slow motion toward him while his eyes continued to devour me.

I stepped into his space, demanding his attention.

All of his attention. The shadows gave way to a handsome face, with dark, chestnut-brown eyes that were warm and full of desire.

A straight, strong nose and full, delicious lips that tipped in a lazy smile.

What I’d give to suck that bottom lip into my mouth.

My heart thrummed as I felt a blush creeping up from my chest to my cheeks.

Oddly enough, his cologne smelled like something I’ve known my whole life. Familiar scents like sandalwood and leather mixed with undertones of cherry hit me like a brick wall. My breath hitched as music pounded in my ears, and everything seemed to fade into the distance.

So is this what love at first fucking sight feels like?

I took a bold step closer, my toes bumping his boots, then another step until I was nearly pressing my body against his.

“You new here, cowboy?” I asked peering up at him, my hand going to his belt buckle to draw him closer. The heat and hardness of this very large man felt so damn good against my soft skin.

“I’ve been around.” His voice was husky and deep, a rasp to it that was fucking sexy, and it weakened my knees. What I wouldn’t do just to hear this man tell me to “beg for it” and “be a good girl” in that voice. I’d be a goner.

I brushed my fingertips down the cold metal of his buckle and over the zipper of his jeans. I could feel the stiff bulge in his pants. Good Lord! This man was packing! I swallowed hard.

Just as the Saddle Room tradition demanded, I wrapped my hand over his dick, gripping it through the denim. A faint smile ghosted over my lips as I claimed him as mine.

He hissed through his teeth, his cock twitching in my grasp. I smirked, feeling powerful and in control. This man was going to be mine all night long.

“I was hoping you could help me with something?” I asked coyly, holding up my other palm with the temporary tattoo.

“Yeah?” His fingertips trailed up my arms, sending shivers in their wake. “Where do you want it?” I brushed my wavy, brown hair off my shoulder and pushed my breasts forward, revealing the top of my cleavage. His gaze followed my movement.

“I was thinking it should go right above my heart.”

His smile grew slightly. A mischievous glint mixed with desire flickered in his dark orbs.

“Well, we’re gonna need to get it wet first.” His voice vibrated through me.

I pressed my tits against his chest, offering myself to him.

He set his hat on the bar beside his drink.

I could smell the smoky sweetness of whiskey on his breath, and I wanted nothing more than to drink him in.

His eyes held mine as he wrapped his large hands around my waist, holding me still while he dipped his head.

I arched my back to give him better access.

His lips brushed against the sensitive skin of my breast, his beard scraping deliciously across the swell.

My lungs sucked in air while his fingers dug into my hips, as if to keep me from floating away.

Slowly, torturously, his tongue swirled along my skin, his mouth opening to suck me in.

God, I hoped this man fucking bruised me.

I hoped he left his mark beneath the tattoo.

His mouth suckled on my skin, drawing me in.

Each pull of his mouth was like a fucking tether to my clit.

Each sweep of his tongue shot waves of electricity directly to my center.

I closed my eyes, the heady buzz of the whiskey making this feel like he was fucking me right here under the hazy, red glow of the neon.

I rocked my hips toward him, his cock bucking into my stomach as my fingers laced themselves in his hair.

I panted, my pussy pulsed. His mouth sucked. I heard him groan, and that was nearly enough to send me over the edge. It felt as if he were sucking me dry—sucking all of the air from my lungs.

“I want you to fuck me,” I managed to breathe out. I couldn’t quite tell if I actually thought it or said it out loud. Everything was blurry, and the only thing I could see straight was Mr. Whiskey Cowboy in front of me.

But I must have said it aloud because he answered with another rock of his hips so I could feel the outline of his hard-on. His tongue darted out to soothe the skin he most likely bruised.

He pulled away, making me frown. Cool air danced across my now damp and sensitive skin, leaving goose bumps.

His eyes found mine, now almost black with need. No longer that sweet, brown color. They were filled with hunger.

I shifted in my boots.

Fuck, I did say it out loud.

He let go of my waist, but he did not peel himself away from me.

Separating the plastic from the tattoo, he pressed it with his palm against my skin.

My chest heaved beneath his hand, which was nearly large enough to cup my whole breast. His deeply tanned skin complemented my golden hue—his rough and calloused, mine soft and supple.

His gaze flicked back to mine, holding me there, piercing into my very soul. All I could hear was our heaving breaths, my blood pumping in my ears, and the subtle hum of the bar disappearing into the distance.

“Come back to my place.”

He didn’t have to ask or demand it. I would have followed him anywhere. He could have led me into the bathroom, and I would have gladly spread my legs for him.

We stumbled into his dark apartment above a workshop.

It was located on a farm on the outskirts of Joseph.

I gripped onto his shirt for dear life, keeping him flush against me.

He tasted so fucking good. I couldn’t get enough.

I was greedy for him. Needing more of him.

My tongue stroked against his, our lips molding together.

If the man fucked the way he kissed, I was going to be in trouble.

The living room was dark, except for the stream of moonlight that came in from the window.

A single couch and coffee table faced a flat-screen TV.

A few boxes were piled against the wall.

Perhaps he just moved here or he was moving?

He pulled at the hem of my shirt, his fingertips dancing across my skin.

“Off. Now,” he growled.