Chapter 18
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
elena
There’s only a week of cowboy training camp left when we start blocking scenes in the evenings so production can plan the timing and lighting.
Poor Eli. Between training with Willow at the crack of dawn, joining us by lunch time, and now adding in evening blocking, he’s dead on his feet by dinner every night.
We’ve yet to go on a single dinner date to work on our chemistry.
So far, the only thing I feel for him is pity.
Not sure how well that will play out onscreen.
By Thursday evening, he’s walking with a noticeable limp.
“You okay?”
He shrugs it off. “Willow’s horse hates me. Stepped on my foot on purpose this morning. Not for the first time.”
I wince. “Ouch. Maybe have a doctor check it out?”
He waves me off and returns to where Wes and Darren are gesturing wildly for us to join them.
“This is the key scene for season one,” Wes tells us all animatedly. “We’ll shoot over there by the horse arena, get those trees in the background during golden hour.” He holds his hands up like a frame and confers with Darren while Eli and I await instructions.
Within a few minutes, I know exactly what scene this is.
Eli is going to tease me, call me a cute nickname, and then pull me into his arms for a slow dance and our first kiss. Just before his sister calls for a sober ride and interrupts us. Ivy said this wasn’t exactly how it happened, but in this business, changes are always necessary.
Isaac stands off to the side, holding the lead line on the chestnut horse that’s supposed to be in the shot. I’m more aware of him than I should be, but so far no one has called me on it.
“I can film on my phone,” Mikayla offers when Darren says the camera he’d planned to use isn’t charged.
“Fine. Let’s get set. We’re losing daylight, people,” Wes barks before clapping his hands loudly.
I glance up. The clouds are rolling in fast—heavy and gunmetal gray—and the crew’s already muttering about wrapping early.
But Darren waves them off. “We’ll get the shot. It’s one scene. No lightning, no problem.”
Famous last words.
It starts with a rumble.
Low and distant, like a warning whisper echoing through the valley.
Beside me in the arena, Eli is struggling to get the chestnut horse to hold a slow canter down the center line. The scene calls for a romantic dismount and a sweeping embrace, something overly dramatic and full of capital-F Feelings.
My least favorite.
Instead, the horse jerks his head, bucks slightly, and Eli ends up in the grass with an audible “oof.”
I suck in a sharp breath between my teeth. “That looked like it hurt.”
Isaac steps up beside me, arms crossed over his broad chest, eyebrows raised like he definitely told someone this was a bad idea.
“I told him not to wear cologne. Horses need to get used to your natural scent to trust you.”
I try not to laugh but fail miserably. “That’s why they love you? Because you stink?”
He smirks then mutters under his breath, “Don’t recall hearing you complain.”
I lean closer to him. “That’s because the night we met, you had on enough cologne to repel a herd of water buffalo.”
I’m lying. He smelled amazing that night and he smells amazing now. His natural scent does something to my ovaries I try very hard not to notice.
Eli’s already on his feet, brushing off his jeans with a grimace, but his shirt’s muddy, and his dignity is nowhere to be found.
“Eli, you’re done for the day,” the director calls. “We’ll block it with a double, so we don’t lose the light.”
The crew starts murmuring about stand-ins. Kyle is the front-runner but he’s not much better with the horses.
And then Ivy’s voice cuts through the noise like a bell.
“Use Isaac.”
Heads turn.
Mine included.
“What?” I wish everyone wasn’t suddenly staring while Isaac is standing so close we’re nearly touching.
“He’s the right build. Better with horses. And,” she adds pointedly, glancing at the camera, “plenty of chemistry with these two.”
Isaac looks at me, then at the director, who’s sizing him up like a piece of meat.
“You game?” the director asks.
Isaac shrugs. “Long as she is.”
I swallow hard.
I don’t say yes.
I just walk toward the mark in the pasture.
And he follows. Mounts the horse and watches me for his cue.
The clouds burst just as we get set.
It’s not a gentle drizzle. It’s a summer rain—warm, steady, soaking through our clothes in seconds.
I can barely hear the director yell “Action” over the patter, but Isaac meets my gaze with something soft and steady and impossible to fake.
He stops the horse on the mark, dismounts, and strides purposely toward me.
My brain knows this is just for scene blocking. We’re just acting. He’s following the instructions he was given.
But my body just sees this man, the man it knows can give it what it needs like no one else ever has, decimating the space between us.
His hand finds my body, and we start to move.
No lines.
Just instinct.
Just us.
We dance—slow and unhurried—in the middle of the open field like no one’s watching. His fingers press into my waist, warm even through the wet fabric. My fingers curl into his collar. Our feet move like they were always meant to match pace.
The rain streams down his jaw. His wet hair curls a little at the ends. And when he looks at me, it’s as it was the night we met. Raw need breaking through the surface.
He spins and lifts me, pressing his mouth to mine gently in a surprise move I can’t help but return.
Then he dips me even though he’s not supposed to.
“You’re going to ruin the take,” I whisper, even though we’re just blocking scenes.
He smirks. “You ruined me weeks ago.”
I slip on the wet grass, and he catches me but it’s a moment too late and we’re going down. He slows the fall and braces, so I’m lowered to the ground slowly.
The look in his eyes is feral.
And then he kisses me.
God.
He kisses me.
Hard. Deep. Like there’s no one else in the world, like he’s claiming every drop of rain and every second of this moment as ours.
I move his hat out of the way and the smile on his face is blindingly beautiful. Rain drips into my eyes and we both laugh before he kisses me again.
His tongue against mine electrifies every inch of my body, igniting a pulsing need between my thighs.
When we finally break apart, I’m breathless. Boneless.
So turned on I can barely think.
A voice calls out from behind the monitor. Snapping us back to reality.
“Cut!”
We both look up.
Everyone’s staring.
I can’t read the room. Everyone looks…spellbound.
Then Ivy, cool and composed with rain dripping off the brim of her hat, walks up beside the director.
He turns to her. “That was…”
“Unexpected but amazing,” Ivy finishes, crossing her arms. “And if you don’t find a way to use that footage somehow, you’re out of your damn mind.”
The severe weather ends the scene blocking before anyone can question us about our romantic interlude.
People scatter for cover in every direction. Isaac grabs my hand, and we make a beeline to his family’s private stables.
The tack room door slams shut behind us.
I’m dripping wet. In more ways than one.
Panting from the kiss, from sprinting here immediately after. My boots squish. My dress clings to every curve.
Isaac turns the lock, slow and deliberate, like he’s sealing us into another world. Just for a moment. Just for this.
“Jesus,” he mutters, dragging a hand through his soaked hair. “You okay?”
“I think so.” I’m still struggling to catch my breath. From the rain. The kiss. Him.
He steps closer.
“I wasn’t acting out there, spitfire.” He fingers grip my chin then graze my lips. “I’ve been thinking of nothing except this since the moment I woke up in that hotel room alone.”
“Me too,” I admit quietly in the fading light.
His gaze drops to my dress, transparent now, plastered to my body. His jaw tightens, hands flexing at his sides like it’s taking everything in him not to reach for me.
So, I help him out.
I grab his shirt and pull.
It comes off in one wet, heavy motion, landing on the floor with a slap.
“Isaac,” I start, contemplating telling him maybe we shouldn’t do this. Someone could walk in. But before I say another word, he devours me.
His mouth crashes onto mine, all wet heat and rough need. There’s nothing careful about it. Just the way his tongue sweeps over mine and makes me moan, the way he walks me backward until my back hits the wall between two saddle racks.
He lifts me like I weigh nothing and sets me on the low workbench.
I wrap my legs around him, hands clawing at his belt, my lips trailing over his stubbled jaw, down the column of his throat.
“You feel that?” he growls against my skin, rocking his hips into mine. “That’s what you do to me. Every goddamn day.”
“Isaac,” I repeat, and he groans into my mouth.
“Fuck, baby. That’s the one thing I didn’t get that night. You moaning my name while I’m inside you.”
I whimper, loving that he wants this as much as I do. Loving that he calls me baby. No one in my life has ever called me that and I doubt I’d have wanted anyone to. But when this man says it, it feels like fireworks.
“I have a condom in my wallet,” he offers once I’ve freed him from his jeans. “But there are people out there, spitfire. Can you be a good girl and be quiet for me?”
I should stop this.
I should say no, but my need for him is bordering on painful. I nod and watch as he retrieves the condom then rolls the latex sheath onto his solid length.
“I didn’t want to do that scene,” he says, nipping my earlobe. “I knew they’d see what I’ve been trying to hide. But touching you like that? Holding you like I’ve been dying to? I’m not sorry.”
Neither am I.
Not when he shoves my soaked dress over my head and cups my breasts, thumbing the tight peaks through the lace of my bra. Not when he yanks the cup down to take my sensitive flesh into his mouth.
Definitely not when he bends down, throwing my legs over his shoulders and plunges his tongue inside like he’s been dying to taste me again.
Not when I finally feel how desperate he is for me.
Not when he holds my panties to the side and sinks his cock into me like he belongs there.
Because he does.
We don’t talk.
We can’t.
There’s only the slick sound of skin against skin, the creak of leather straps behind us, the smell of horses and hay and sex.
He buries his face in my neck, groaning my name like a prayer as I unravel around him.
And when we both fall over the edge, clinging to each other like the world might end the second we let go, it hits me.
We broke the rules on purpose this time.
“I didn’t realize how badly I needed that,” I admit, still trying to catch my breath.
He grins, still holding me close. “Baby, I have rope, reins, and riding crops at my disposal all day long. Wherever or whenever you need me to please that greedy little pussy, you just say the word.”
I blush and press my face against his chest. “You’re a mess.”
He drags a finger through my slick center. “Says the woman still soaked from coming all over me.”
“This is crazy,” I murmur into his neck.
He leans backward, resting his forehead against mine. “You make me crazy. Every single second since we met.” With that, he kisses me so deeply it’s like I’m lit from within.
My entire life, I’ve carried an all-consuming darkness inside me. The stress of having nothing, of working for every single scrap, of trying to keep my family afloat while never managing to be good enough for them.
The doom cloud of everything I wasn’t shrouding every accomplishment.
But when Isaac Logan touches me, I feel like I’m made up entirely of sparkly stars.