3. Lena
3
LENA
Colt thinks he can break me. Break me like I’m some horse he’s gonna ride in his next rodeo.
He thinks if he barks his orders loud enough and throws hay bales like some overgrown grizzly bear that I’ll go running back to Daddy with tears in my eyes, promising I’ll never be a “bad girl” again.
Well, Colt is wrong.
I may be a city girl, and I may be spoiled, but I’m not weak. Especially not when I’m backed into a corner. Not when every glare he sends my way sets my skin on fire, and not when I catch him sneaking looks at my ass like he’s fighting for his life.
I haul the barn door open with more muscle than grace, already sweaty and sticky from the morning sun and overpowering heat. The stench hits me right away–ripe and tangy. The unmistakable smell of animal poop.
Gross.
But I don’t gag or squeal or moan like some little girl. I march straight into the stall like I was raised on the ranch. No way in hell I’m giving Colt the satisfaction of seeing me upset.
I grab the gloves hanging from the rusty nail by the door and tug them on. The pitchfork leans against the wall, and I take it and make my way to the stall with the sick cow. She groans low and shifts uneasily in her straw. I lean close and whisper under my breath, “Sorry, girl. We’re both stuck here.”
How in the world does Colt have the nerve to talk down to me? It’s like he still thinks I’m thirteen or something and am still trailing around at his heels with my stupid dad-jokes, trying to get him to smile. But I’m not thirteen anymore. I’m eighteen. I’m a woman. And I understand the way he’s looking at me, even if he’s doing his best to hide it.
I used to hope for a smile, but now I think it’s impossible. He grunts, he growls, he snaps. That chiseled jaw of his clenches hard like he’s trying to crack his teeth every time his eyes land on my breasts or my ass.
“Yeah, I see you, Colt!” I mutter as I fork out the wet hay.
And every time I catch him watching me, there’s a fiery heat in those deep blue eyes. Lust and hunger twisted up in one single, sinful gaze. And even though he likes to pretend I’m just a pest he wants to swat, he’s as trapped in this situation as I am.
I start piling the hay into the wheelbarrow, my muscles burning, sweat dripping down my back. Yuck, so disgusting. Where’s the air conditioner, for God’s sake? The boots Colt gave me this morning–two sizes too big–squelch in the filthy mess, while my tank top sticks to me in all the wrong places.
Colt’s a prick. He acts like he hates me and doles out abuse like he’s handing out free lottery tickets.
And yet…I wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world. Because being here means I’m with him.
Colt Ryder.
The man who used to make it his full-time job to ignore me and now can’t go more than ten minutes without barking an order at me or snapping at me for doing something not exactly the way he did it.
I used to follow him around like I was his shadow, dreaming that one day I’d make him crack a smile or he’d reach down and ruffle my hair like he cared about me. My friends all told me it was just a silly crush on a guy who was way too old for me, and they were probably right. But as it turns out, that crush has returned, only a million times stronger.
Now it has teeth and claws and has embedded itself into my heart like a virus that isn’t going away. Now when I look at Colt, I don’t wish for a simple smile or a stolen glance or a kiss like he’s a prince from a fairy tale. Now I dream about his hands snatching me by the hips and being pinned down and ruined.
And if that makes me sick, then so be it. Maybe I should be ashamed, but I’m not. Especially not when he looks at me like he’s having the exact same thoughts as I am.
I try to pretend I’m not watching him work, but I always am. When he squares off to fix a fence post or tosses a sack of feed over his shoulder like it’s nothing, I start to salivate, and my thighs start to tingle. It’s just not fair how handsome he is. He’s like a movie-star cowboy made from sweat and muscle and hard chiseled lines. And when he barks at me, his voice low and rough, I ache in places I didn’t even know could ache.
I should be ashamed when I fantasize about him dragging me behind the barn and punishing me like the brat I am, but I can’t stop myself. If anything, the fact that he’s older and off-limits just intensifies my feelings.
Last night, as I lay beneath my scratchy blanket, I closed my eyes and wondered what it would be like to spread my legs for Colt–to have him growl in my ear, tell me I can’t come unless he says so. I imagined his rough hands tugging my panties down, his jeans just low enough to let his manhood out, and him pounding me with all that force he uses on the ranch.
He’d talk dirty to me…call me trouble…
And I’d beg for more. God, I’m barely holding it together. If these nighttime fantasies continue, I don’t know what’s going to happen.
My thighs are aching from yesterday, my arms are trembling as I work, but I keep on going. I force myself through the pain because I refuse to crumble.
I am more than Colt thinks I am, and I’m gonna show that to him.
I finish the sick cow’s stall and wheel the heavy, stinking wheelbarrow out back and dump the mess where he told me. I’m so gross. I’m filthy and my hair is a major mess, but there’s honestly something thrilling about it. Something rebellious. If any of my friends from the city could see me now, their jaws would be on the floor. And that actually makes me giggle.
Colt’s a few strides away by the fence, tugging on some barbed wire like he’s trying to wrestle a goddamn yeti. He’s not looking at me, but I’d bet dollars-to-donuts that he knows I’m here. His body is a sight to behold as every muscle flexes like he’s on stage at the Mr. Universe competition.
“You done whining in there?” he calls over his shoulder, his voice rough and low.
I roll my eyes so hard they nearly fall out of my skull. “Who was whining? I don’t know what you heard, but I was in there doing my damn job.”
He sets the fencing aside and turns, wiping his brow with a filthy rag from his pocket. His eyes trail down my body, slow and deliberate but punishing at the same time. They’re never soft–his eyes. They’re hard. He looks at me like I’m something dangerous…
And I like it.
“Just barely,” he counters. “And you look like hell.”
What’s this? Is he “negging” me, like those guys on the Internet say you should do when you want to get in a girl’s head?
“Um, you told me to clean out a stall filled with cow poop,” I scoff. “What’d you expect? For me to look like I’m here for a photoshoot?”
His lips twitch–barely. But I see it. Was that almost a smile? Maybe I’m finally getting under his skin.
“To be honest, I thought a city girl like you would be crying in the corner by now,” he says, stepping closer. The gravel crunches under his boots, each of his steps firm and deliberate. “Trying to bribe me to use my phone so you could call your daddy.”
It’s crazy how hot he is, and I don’t mean temperature wise. He’s the absolute essence of masculinity. A male . Just standing here, he makes it seem like the entire world belongs to him.
“Well, sorry to disappoint,” I reply with a fake smile. “I guess I’m just built tougher than you thought.”
He keeps moving in until he’s only a few feet away, then crosses his thick arms over his massive chest. It’s very brief, but his eyes drop to my legs for just a moment–to the sweat gleaming on my thighs. My heart is pounding in my chest.
“You should not be wearing those.” The words grind out of his mouth like iron on iron. “And prancing around like a goddamn–”
He stops short, biting his lower lip like he was about to say something he shouldn’t.
I frown. “Excuse me?”
He motions to my shorts, his eyes narrowing. “ Those . This isn’t Venice Beach. Those are too damned short. You might as well be–”
“Might as well be what?” I cut him off, lifting my chin. “Not wearing anything? Naked?”
He doesn’t answer. His nostrils flare like a bull about to charge. And from the way his eyes are focused on me, I get the feeling he wants to drag me into the barn and bend me over a hay bale.
I may be a virgin, but God, I wish he would.
What a way to lose my V-card. And what a guy to lose it to.
His heavy-lidded, blue eyes scour my body like he owns it. Like he bought and paid for me like I’m one of these ranch animals and now he’s just deciding what he’ll do with me. Well, if he thinks I’m going to cower in fear from him, he’s got another think coming.
I stand up straighter, pushing out my chest so the sun catches my breasts and my tank top clings even tighter to my curves. His gaze is a challenge, but so is mine. I can see right through him now. Every order, every grunt, every name he calls me–it’s all just a cover for what’s really going on.
He wants me. And maybe it’s twisted and wrong, but I’m not that little girl anymore, and I don’t need a sweet city boy that’s gonna treat me nice. I want it real, raw, and rough, just like Colt. And the way he’s looking at me now? There’s nothing sweet about it.
“I’ll wear what I want, thank you very much,” I reply. “So you better just get used to it, mister.”
I turn to go, but Colt snatches me roughly by the arm and pulls me back, his eyes dark and blazing. “Not around me you won’t.”
I gulp hard. My whole body is tingling, like lightning is about to strike. My inner thighs are hot too all of a sudden.
“Why?” I whisper. “You afraid you won’t be able to control yourself?”
For a moment, our eyes are locked to each other. I can hear the sound of his deep, controlled breaths, feel the rough skin of his hands against my arm.
Finally, a muscle twitches in his cheek, and he releases me. “Go inside and take a break, Lena.”
Could it be? He truly does want me and now he wants to get me away from him before he acts on his desires?
“No,” I reply defiantly, moving in even closer. Close enough that I can smell the sweet aroma of his body.
He steps back. “Go and cool off before you say something else you’ll regret.”
I shrug. “I don’t regret anything I’ve said. Or done .” Time to push it. “Not even watching you sweat like that with your sleeves rolled up and your jeans tight on your thighs and butt while you lift up hay bales like they weigh absolutely nothing.”
That ought to do it.
Colt’s fists clench, and his eyes sink to my lips. “Lena…”
God, I absolutely love it when he says my name like that–low and tense like a warning. It’s like he’s trying to hold back and is barely able to.
“Colt?” I breathe back, smiling like a brat.
He leans in, and I close my eyes, preparing myself. This is it. My first kiss.
But that’s when he turns around and storms off, his boots crunching gravel as he goes, putting enormous distance between us in an instant.
My heart sinks as I watch him go, his broad shoulders disappearing around the side of the barn. But I can’t help it as a giggle rises out from my chest.
I got him.
And I may not have any experience with men, but I can bet what he’s going to be doing when he disappears like that–when he’s back in the house by himself, in his bedroom or the shower. He’s going to “calm down” by doing something to put down that hard-on in his pants and try to convince himself he’s not thinking about me.
But I already know the truth.
Colt wants me.
And sooner or later, he’s going to break. And I can’t wait to see what happens when he does.