Taming the Heart (Crimson Ridge #3)

Chapter 1

“C ome here, you cocksucking little slut.”

My head whips up from mindlessly scrolling on my phone, jerking on reflex at the sound of the female voice yelling from opposite me on the sidewalk.

Goddamn. I’m in my biggest hoodie, even though it’s seventy-eight out, with my cap pulled as low as possible. The last thing I need is some crazed fan thinking they know anything about me or my life to launch a tirade of obscenities in my face.

I’m in the process of moving back to Crimson Ridge to get away from the city psychos. Not having them running at me yelling weird shit in public just to try and get me reacting a certain way on camera.

My hackles raise, and my teeth clench to match the way my fist wraps around my phone. I cast a furtive glance around to see what the hell is taking Tessa so long.

“ Aghhh . Fuck you. Don’t you dare.”

The voice gets louder, and a series of thudding noises helps me pinpoint where the source of the commotion is originating from.

I’m standing with my ass resting on the hood of my truck. It would be an easy escape to hop in the driver’s side and lock the door, which I’m about two seconds from doing when a waterfall of crap spills down the steps of the art gallery storefront a few paces directly in front of me.

“You motherfucking, cheap whore, piece of shit.”

A whirlwind of long black hair, black jeans, and black boots to match comes into sight, clattering down the flight of stairs while chasing after an explosion of belongings. Whoever this is has their hands full with a to-go coffee in one, a cell phone in the other, as the contents of their handbag—which seems large enough to comfortably contain a small dog—are busy forming a tsunami of personal items down the flight of steps.

The bottom of the world’s largest purse has busted apart, leaving everything inside to imitate a tumbling bag of marbles pouring down the staircase, with her shit busy flying in all directions.

Shoving my phone in my back pocket, I take a couple of steps forward. The least I can do is stop this lady’s stuff from rolling straight out into the street.

“This is what you do to me? After everything? Little bitch.” She’s bent double, trying to trap notebooks and pens and highlighters from skittering down the steps using only her feet. While the useless bag with no ass hangs limply at her side.

I have to bite my tongue not to laugh. She hasn’t even noticed I’m here gathering up as many bits and pieces as I can in an effort to help.

Another quick glance up and down the sidewalk confirms that Crimson Ridge is just as sleepy and unpopulated as ever, so at least there’s no one lurking or watching this all unfold.

Surely, even if someone passed by, they wouldn’t recognize me with my hat pulled low. Or, at the very least, they’d have to get right up close before they made a connection as to why I look vaguely familiar.

Still crouched down, I start gathering up shit like her water bottle, more pens—Jesus, how many pens does one woman need—fluttering receipts that threaten to disappear into the gutter. I quietly tuck as much as I can under one arm.

Darting a glance up, I see that she’s set the coffee down and is busy scooping up items off the stairs, hidden behind a curtain of shiny, dark hair.

I can’t see her face. What I can see, however, is a fantastic ass. Curvy thighs and figure-hugging charcoal denim that makes sexy-as-hell creases just below her waist. A simple black tank skims the high waistband, and holy shit, that’s when I realize my eyes have drifted up. The side profile of an incredible pair of breasts hidden beneath silky fabric leaves my mouth dry and the back of my neck heating instantly.

Fuck.

This is not the time or the place to get busted gaping like a horny teenager at a pretty girl on the main street of Crimson Ridge.

Dropping my eyes, I do a final sweep of the sidewalk, and it seems like I’ve mindlessly gathered up just about everything while down on my haunches. I clear my throat in order to grab her attention, since she’s still muttering obscenities at her handbag beneath her breath and doesn’t seem to have noticed that I’m right here.

I’m preparing to thrust everything into her arms and beat a hasty retreat to hop in my truck, when she seems to finally notice my boots where I’m standing before her. One hand whips up, flicking her loose waves out of the way, and fucking hell… honeyed, dark eyes meet mine.

There’s a flash to them. A spark catches me entirely off guard.

“Oh, Jesus. You saw all of that? What a clusterfuck.” She stands up and dusts her palms on the front of her jeans in the process. There’s no double take, no lingering curiosity. This girl just matter-of-factly tucks her hair behind one ear and huffs out a frustrated breath.

“You ok?” I suddenly remember how to form words.

“Me? I’m fine. This bag, however, is going to be sacrificed on a ritual bonfire at the soonest possible opportunity.” She nudges at it with the pointed toe of her black cowboy boot. They’re cute and suit the all-black look she’s got going on, but aren’t overly girly either. It certainly looks like the couple of inches of heel she’s sporting could stomp on hearts without a second thought.

“Here.” One syllable is about all I can offer. Why am I suddenly tongue-tied?

She meets my eyes again, then drops her gaze down to where I’m still clutching a bundle of items rescued from the exploding handbag situation.

As I hold out my fist, her eyes widen, drawing my gaze to see what she’s reacting to. Immediately, my gut clenches because my first instinct is to consider that maybe she’s recognized me after all…

“Oh, well, aren’t you a real gentleman cowboy.”

My brows scrunch together, a little confused, trying to figure out her meaning.

Clutched in my palm is a small drawstring bag. It’s gold, velvety fabric, and something juts from the top where the strings haven’t been pulled tight. A purple silicone curve peeks out.

“Huh?” Confusion must be etched all over my face. As she arches one eyebrow at me, followed by that pretty mouth of hers tipping into a wicked smirk, my slow-ass fucking brain catches up with the play.

I’m standing on the sidewalk, waving this girl’s vibrator around like a hot dog vendor at a ballpark.

Her wearable vibrator.

The tips of my ears start to singe. What the fuck am I supposed to do? Tuck it neatly back inside the pouch before handing it over like it’s a goddamn credit card to settle the tab while out for dinner?

“Do they not have toys to play with in this little part of the mountains?” Bright flecks of amber glow in amongst the rich ochre of her eyes, which in turn match the deeper, sun-bronzed brown of her skin.

“Cat got your tongue, hot stuff? You know, it’s got ten different speeds and customizable settings. It also does this awesome pattern if you set the mode just right where it really makes your eyes roll back.”

Her head cocks to one side, almost as if she’s daring me to touch it, or not touch it. I don’t fucking know. What I do know is that there is a place beyond the tenth level of hell awaiting me if I get snapped in a compromising position like this.

“Shame really.” Mystery girl makes the decision for me, reaching out to pluck the bag and its contents from my hand. “As much as I’d love to give you a Ted talk about finding a woman’s clit before I’ve even had a drop of caffeine, alas, I’ve got places to be.”

With no more than a shrug and a wink, she tucks the toy away and pulls the side strings to seal up the bag. Not a hint of embarrassment or shame or annoyance at this situation. We could be standing here discussing horse feed for how casual this girl is. She’s entirely unbothered, and I’m rendered speechless. Officially incapable of forming a coherent string of words in her presence.

No hysterical behavior to contend with. No toddler-like tantrums, threats, stomping around, or insisting on calling a publicist on speed dial at the first sign of a minor inconvenience. At the prospect of a public scene that doesn’t fit the carefully crafted persona.

It’s… refreshing. Like settling down in the cool grass, finding relief in the shade after a long afternoon spent in the saddle beneath the baking sun.

“Wow. Really melted your brain there, didn’t I, cowboy?”

I clear my throat. “I don’t need the Ted talk.”

A devastating curl touches her lips as she looks me up and down.

“Sure about that?”

“You betcha.” My skin prickles, and the words come out sounding a whole lot like a grown man growling, even to my own ears.

Mystery girl looks mighty pleased with herself for continuing to get under my skin. Meanwhile, I’m still clutching half her crap, minus the wearable fucking vibrator I’m not gonna be able to stop wondering about now.

Why does she have it in her purse?

Does she use it often?

What does it look like nestled inside her soft pussy?

Christ. Stop. This is not a drill, I need to exit through the emergency doors right this instant.

“Well, since you’re standing there stumped by a vibrator, can you at the very least do a gal a solid and point me in the direction of where I might find myself something to shove all this crap in? Better yet, could you be a country gentleman and duck into the gallery upstairs and see if they’ve maybe got a cardboard box or something?”

She clamps the velvet bag between her teeth, freeing up both hands and proceeds to relieve me of all the things I’m still holding onto. As she steps closer, her scent drips into my awareness, hitting my senses like a dropper from a vial. It doesn’t just gently breeze in, no, the fragrance of wild orange and honeysuckle demands my attention and floods my veins. Just like everything about this girl, it’s not a performance. It’s purely magnetic and sexy, and holy fucking shit, I absolutely cannot be looking at this girl with that bag tucked between her plush lips and its sinfully hot package inside, thinking these thoughts.

Even if I wanted to, I can’t.

Even though I want to.

Clearing my throat like it’s full of rust, I readjust my cap, squeezing the brim. “Wait there.”

Turning on my heel, I duck and look around on reflex. Town is still deserted. There are a couple of older ladies on the opposite side of the street, but they’re busy chatting amongst themselves as they walk. From the other direction, a vehicle draws closer, and I dip my chin. Better to be on the safe side.

My grip wrenches open the back door to my truck, and I fist the duffel sitting on the floor. Upending it without so much as a second look, I let my own things tumble out, then proceed to head back to the far-too-beautiful girl who I am absolutely not looking at in any way.

I’m helping a stranger. This is just me doing a good deed.

Not like I’m desperate to ask her name or find out if she works in town or something insane like that.

“Lovely.” Her eyes roll as I shove the faded canvas into her hands. “Do I get to keep your sweaty gym socks, too?”

“Best I could do. Left my spare designer purse back at the ranch.”

She’s crouched down now, shoving everything in the bag. As I stand there grumbling and trying not to stare at the patch of skin on her spine between the waistband of her jeans and the hem of her top, she hits me with a quirked little smile, plush lips twitching, and my asshole cock gets far too interested in this scene.

A pretty girl with fire in her eyes kneeling in front of me.

I have to cough into my fist and think about the last time I had my nuts nearly crushed during a gnarly ride.

“I’m not gonna find a dirty jockstrap you’ve stuffed in here as a memento, am I?” Her nose scrunches as she efficiently shoves everything in and zips up my duffel. I guess her duffel now.

“No. Maybe just a cock ring, if you’re lucky.” The retort is out of me before I can do anything to stop it. Fuck it, I want this girl to know I’m not boring, I’m not usually so tongue-tied, and I certainly don’t want her thinking I’m a stuffy old country bumpkin.

“Well, if the wearable fits…” Laughing a little, she stands up then slings the strap over her shoulder. With one hand now reacquainted with her coffee, the other shoves her phone into a back pocket, and then she sticks out her palm.

This is the moment, right here, when I could take her hand and shake it and feel how soft her touch might be in contrast to that sharp tongue.

It’s tempting, hovering right there. Urging me on and recklessly goading me into doing the thing I shouldn’t do—the thing I can’t do considering my life and my circumstances—to ask for her name, her phone number.

Her eyes hold mine, flickering for just a second as if a force is tugging her gaze; she’s fighting it as we stand in the middle of the sidewalk with only an arm’s length between us.

Just as I lift my hand, reaching out to take her extended palm, just as I see the split second when her gaze falls to my mouth, another arm snakes through the crook of my elbow.

My fingers curl into a clenched fist, dropping back to my side like a stone.

“Hi, babe. Sorry I took so long.”

I watch as my mystery girl’s eyes bounce rapid-fire taking in the woman glued to my side, flicking down to where her arm threads through, interlinking with mine, before landing with a thud on the spectacular diamond adorning her left ring finger.

Before I can say a word, she plasters on a polite veneer. “Right. Well… thanks for the help. You guys have a good one.” Her smile flashes with a tightness to it, a glance that avoids my eyes, and she whips around on her heel.

All I see is a last flutter of her dark mane and smooth brown skin as she rounds the corner and disappears out of sight with my bag slung over her shoulder.

“Jesus, Tessa. Did you fucking have to?” I wrench my arm away. “ Babe ? Really?”

“Oh, excuse me, Beau Heartford, for doing my job.”

My goddamn sister flutters her eyelashes at me, thinly disguising an eye roll. The extensions I pay for, along with her fabulous salary for being the best damn manager I could have ever hoped for.

Doesn’t change the fact that she’s my baby sister and gets on my every last nerve.

“You don’t have to do that every time, you know.” I hiss, well aware there’s a black cloud forming over my head.

“Oh, shit…” Tessa’s blue-gray eyes, the ones that match my own, widen. “Were you into her? I can go get her number if you want?”

“No. It’s fine. Leave it be.” Shaking my head, I hurl myself into the driver’s seat of my truck. My sister has been running interference for me for just about my entire pro career. Keeping the buckle bunnies and overzealous fans away with her well-oiled routine of flashing that damn rock on her finger and clinging to my arm like an octopus.

“You sure?” She slides into the passenger side, studying the side of my face like she always does.

My teeth grind, and I white-knuckle the steering wheel. Nope. That girl is too young. A PR nightmare waiting to happen. I’m not interested in looking for anything but some peace by finally moving out here, and if that means being on my own, then so be it.

“You done all the shit you need to do?”

“Jeez. Let’s make a stop to get you a coffee or something on our way outta town, because I sure ain’t paid enough to put up with your grumpy ass.”

Tessa’s phone rings, and as she takes the call, I can feel her give the side of my head a glare before cheerily greeting her husband on the other end of the line.

As I pull out into the quiet main street lined with lush trees and flanked by all the quaint goddamn store frontages that make up Crimson Ridge, my head pounds.

Fuck the circumstances I’ve found myself in. Fuck the world and their opinions and their incessant need to demand I be someone I’m not.

I’m going to put all that just happened clear out of my mind.

I have to.

I’m not going to cheat on my wife.