Deceit & Desire (Cowboys of Twisted Creek Ranch #1)
1. Who’s Going to Hurt Who First? – Zoe
Chapter 1
Who’s Going to Hurt Who First?
PLAYLIST: ”HURT” BY JOHNNY CASH
ZOE
The second my plane touched down in Bozeman, all the hair on my arms stood on end, and every cell in my body screamed at me to catch the very next flight back to Miami. Coming back to Montana was never a part of my life plan, but Roman York has always had a real knack for turning my life upside-down and inside out.
Granted, it’s not Roman’s fault my father is sick, but he was the bearer of bad news, and I’m more than willing to shoot the messenger in this case.
The text tone on my phone pinged and my heart leapt up into my throat as I pulled it out of my carry-on bag, a Coach Gotham backpack, and read the message.
Fuckface
Play along, sweetheart. Your father has enemies. They’re watching us, and they don’t need to know why you really came home.
I blinked down at my phone with a scowl.
Zoe
What enemies? Have you lost your damn mind in the last ten years, or is there something else you should have told me when you called to tell me my dad is sick?
I jabbed the “send” button harder than necessary and stuffed my phone back into my backpack. A text tone sounded right behind me, but I brushed it off, trying to stay focused on watching the luggage carousel for my matching duffle bag.
A soft, husky bark of laughter rumbled right by my ear as a pair of powerful arms slid around my waist from behind and pulled me flush against a hard wall of muscle. “Oh, you damn well know I’ve always been crazy about you, baby.”
Everything about this feels like a game of Russian roulette. The only question is this: who’s going to hurt who first this time around?
I’d know that low, gravelly, rumbling voice anywhere. An involuntary hot flush blazed through my treacherous body from the top of my head to the tips of my toes. My heart all but stopped, and I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to fight off a wave of lightheadedness.
“What the fuck, Roman?” I hissed the words through clenched teeth.
I was nothing short of cruel to him the last time we saw each other. Now, it’s been ten years since we’ve spoken or laid eyes on each other, and he’s playing nice? Something is very wrong, and it has to be more than just my dad collapsing and being hospitalized.
Roman’s beard scraped deliciously against the flushed skin of my cheek as he pressed a kiss there, taking his sweet time before he spoke. “I told you already. We’re being watched, and there’s a laundry list of reasons why it’s in your best interest to play along with this little charade, all of which we’ll discuss once we’re alone in the truck.”
“This is a sick joke, right? You’re screwing with me.” I squirmed, trying to tug free of Roman’s grip, but he just held me tighter.
Roman allowed his lips to brush the shell of my ear, probably savoring the opportunity to make me squirm as he whispered, “I wish I could say that’s the case, but it isn’t. If you turn around and hug my neck like you’re happy to see me, you’ll be able to clock two assholes in suits and one off-duty sheriff’s deputy a few yards behind me, all trying their best to look like they’re not watching us, but they are.”
Something about his matter-of-fact tone chilled me to my core like he’d doused my body in ice water. A shiver of apprehension slithered down my spine, raising goose bumps on my arms.
Pasting on a smile, I turned in Roman’s embrace and wound my arms around his neck, doing my best to play the part of a girl in a happy, romantic reunion with someone she’s missed. If I were anyone else, that would probably be true.
I paused, taking a second to take him in, to assess him from a purely analytical standpoint, disregarding our rocky history. From his close-cropped curly black hair to the well-worn tips of his dusty black cowboy boots, Roman was a breathtaking specimen of a rugged, stocky, powerful cowboy. The man practically radiated raw sex appeal.
If things were different between us, I would have to be crazy not to be happy to see him. I know plenty of women who’d fight for the chance to be picked up by a guy like Roman, to be held in his arms just like this.
The thought hit me like a freight train. It hit almost as hard as that old, familiar, magnetic pull between us.
Unfortunately, we are who we are, and I can’t let his sex appeal get under my skin. The last time I was stupid enough to do that, it ended in disaster…in complete and utter devastation, as a matter of fact.
I pushed up on my tip-toes, peeking over Roman’s shoulder and scanning the crowd behind him, searching for the people he claimed were watching us.
Guys in suits? Check.
A pair of them stood four or five yards away. One stood there, hands in pockets, blatantly staring, while the other studied us over the top of a travel brochure.
An off-duty deputy? It took me a little longer to spot him than the suits, but also check. The deputy was trying so hard to look casual, but his haircut, his sharp gaze, and the way he carried himself all screamed cop despite his best efforts not to look like one.
“Shit. You were serious. We’re obviously in trouble, here, and I need you to tell me how bad it really is right this instant.” I gripped the front of Roman’s black button-down shirt in my fists and tried to shake him. He didn’t budge, not even a little bit.
One corner of Roman’s mouth lifted in an amused half smile, but he shook his head, his dark hazel eyes glittering with authority and dominance. “No.”
“No?” I dropped my grip on his shirt and took a half-step back, desperate to put some space between us. I couldn’t think straight with him standing so close to me, radiating heat like a furnace and smelling like coffee and cedar and leather and sin.
Trying to regain some sense of control, I smoothed my silk blouse and straightened my pencil skirt, silently cursing my throbbing feet, still trapped in the same pair of black Louboutin stilettos I wore to the office. I went straight from the office to my apartment to grab clothes, and I was cutting it close enough on my flight time that I didn’t dare take the time to change clothes before I left.
Watching my every move like a hawk, Roman gave me a slow once-over, his smile widening and turning wicked before he spoke again. “No. Just do what I told you and play along, Zoe. A crowded airport terminal is not the place for the discussion we’re about to have.”
I was opening my mouth to argue when he stepped around me toward the luggage carousel.
“That your bag?” He pointed at my Gotham duffle as it rounded the bend to our left.
I nodded. “How’d you guess?”
Roman shrugged, and I couldn’t help staring at the way the muscles of his broad shoulders strained the fabric. “Simple, really. The bag screams money and privilege. It’s fancy and sleek and as black as your heart.”
He could have kicked me in the gut and it wouldn’t have hit me harder than that assessment. My chest tightened, and I struggled to suck down a calming breath. “Excuse me?”
“Did I fucking stutter? You heard me, Zoe. Let’s go.” Roman stepped forward and grabbed my bag with effortless grace, then pivoted and pressed a hand against the small of my back, guiding me toward the exit.
I waited until we were on the sidewalk outside the terminal to cut a sideways glare at him. “I didn’t come back to Montana to play some kind of twisted game with you, Roman. I came here to see my father. Tell me what’s going on.”
After spending the last ten years in sweltering Miami, the higher altitude and dry air of home burned my lungs. It was strange, sucking down gulps of air that weren’t thick and soupy with humidity.
Roman tried and failed to stifle a growl of frustration, shaking his head at me. “You saw the men who are following us. If you don’t stop badgering me to talk about what’s going on before we get back to the truck, I’ve got half a mind to throw you in the deep end and let you take your chances with the suits and the cop. Is that what you want?”
“No!” I sighed, running a hand through my hair in frustration as I scurried to keep up with his long, purposeful strides toward the parking garage. “I just want to know what I’m in for, Roman, and you’re scaring the shit out of me with this close-lipped, cagey behavior.”
Roman pressed his hand into the small of my back, urging me to walk even faster as we hurried toward the parking garage. “That’s the first intelligent thing you’ve said all day. You should be scared, darlin’, because you and I are both in seriously deep shit.”
I gritted my teeth and balled my hands into fists at my sides. “How deep, Roman?”
Roman’s nostrils flared as he huffed out a snort of frustration, then looked away, checking over his shoulder to see if we were still being followed. “Deep enough that there’s a solid chance we might never see the light of day again. There. You happy?”
I crossed my arms, stifling the urge to scream with frustration. “No. What about the news that we’re in way over our heads would make me happy?”
Roman threw me a hard glare, then, his mouth twisting with distaste before he spoke. “You got your way. That usually does it for you. Now, can you please use that brilliant business executive head of yours and have some patience? Let me wait to fill you in on all the facts of the matter in a safe, enclosed environment where we won’t be at risk of incriminating ourselves by discussing what’s going on.”
If he’s worried about us incriminating ourselves, that can only mean one thing: somebody’s poking around, asking questions and looking into our past. Shit, shit, shit.
When I left ten years ago, I left Montana for a reason, and it took me too long to realize I should have listened to that voice in my head that warned me to leave as soon as my plane touched down in Bozeman.
All the blood drained out of my head and the world spun around me like a vomit-inducing, out-of-control carnival ride.
I should have stayed in Miami, sick father or not.
My legs went numb, and I couldn’t feel my feet. I stumbled and would have crashed in a heap on the pavement if not for Roman’s strong arm winding around my waist, holding me upright and all but dragging me the last few steps to the parking garage’s elevator.
Swearing under his breath, Roman jabbed the up button and tapped his foot impatiently as he waited for the elevator. It felt like forever before the doors finally slid open and we stepped inside.
“I need you to keep it together just a little longer, Zoe. We still have an audience.” Roman stroked my back in soothing circles with one hand as he hit the button for the top deck of the parking garage with the other.
I leaned into his side, too exhausted and shaken to reject his comfort, especially when I spotted the off-duty deputy striding purposefully toward the elevator.
“Oh, god, he’s going to try to catch the elevator with us. Hit the door close button, quick, before he can get here,” I murmured the command, keeping my voice low so only Roman could hear me.
In true-to-form Roman fashion, he chose to ignore my orders in favor of doing whatever the hell he pleased.
“Shut up and kiss me.” Roman slid his arms around my waist and backed me up against the elevator wall.
“What?” I stared up at him, shaking my head.
Roman shrugged. “Maybe he’ll think twice about hopping in the elevator with us if we’re making out.”
“Don’t you dare?—”
His lips crashed down on mine in a punishing kiss, cutting off my protest with brutal efficiency. Every bit of good sense I had always seemed to go right out of the window every time I got near Roman York, and this situation was no exception.
Searing, blinding heat flooded my core as Roman’s hands stroked down my spine and settled at the small of my back, pressing me closer to him until I couldn’t tell where I ended and Roman began. I trembled, my control quickly unraveling as I arched against him.
His tongue licked along the seam of my lips, and despite knowing precisely how stupid it was, I opened for him. Just when I thought I couldn’t get any hotter, his tongue stroked against mine, the rhythm coaxing and demanding and hypnotic all at once. My blood threatened to boil in my veins, and I was certain I was going to spontaneously combust at any second.
I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, couldn’t do anything but yield to Roman’s demanding mouth and caressing hands as the deputy stepped into the elevator with us and the doors slid closed, leaving us well and truly trapped.
Trapped in this stupid charade, pretending to be lovers when — in reality — we’re more likely to rip each other’s throats out than both make it to my father’s ranch in one piece.
Trapped in a web of secrets and lies, tangled in the threads of old wounds and fresh problems.
Trapped in a claustrophobic metal box with the enemy.