The minute the commotion over Delon’s ride died down, Hank was ready to leave.
He’d been so busy worrying about Grace that he hadn’t considered how uncomfortable he would feel, and not only from the stares, or the bitter taste of the single beer he’d allowed Korby to buy him, mingled with the hazy memories of his last visit to the Lone Steer.
Falling back into his relationship with Grace had seemed so natural that he had sorely underestimated how much he’d changed. He was so accustomed to solitude that he caught himself retreating from the hubbub into silences that unnerved people who only knew the guy who’d chattered nonstop and would go to any lengths to avoid his own company.
Yeah, it was good to see old friends, but all he really wanted was to be somewhere quiet with Grace. As the team roping ended, he leaned close to her ear. “Wanna go?”
She was headed for the door before he finished asking, and they barely paused to wave to his dad, who was deep in a bullshit session with a couple of other ropers his age, and Bing, who was helping Analise supervise the cash box for the 4-H kids. Outside, the cool night air was a relief after the mind-numbing din and suffocating closeness of the bar. As they walked hand in hand to the far reaches of the parking lot, distorted reflections of the huge, steer-shaped neon sign flickered in every windshield.
“Not feeling as sociable as you thought?” Grace guessed.
He screwed up his face, but his disgust was with the younger Hank who had constantly chased the noise and the crowd. “I think Cole might’ve rubbed off on me.”
“Last I heard, autism isn’t contagious.” She ducked under a rearview mirror as they wove through rows of four-wheel drives, duallys, and flatbeds, a sure sign that the cowboys had come to town. “Maybe you’re just getting old.”
“Feels like it.”
She swung around to face him as they reached her pickup. “That’s not the only reason you wanted to leave.”
It figured Grace would see through him. He tucked her hands between his. “Tonight is the last time Joe and Wyatt will fight bulls together. I assume they’ll make a big fuss at the end, and you know how us Brookmans hate for people to see us cry.”
He said it like a joke, but her eyes were solemn when she freed a hand to lay it against his cheek. She understood that for Hank, this moment was deeply personal. Joe had been his hero, his mentor, and his occasional partner in the arena. To know all of that was coming to an end made Hank’s breastbone feel like it was going to crack.
“I won’t tell.” Grace kissed the corner of his mouth. “Take me home, cowboy.”
By the time the bull riding started, they were settled into the trailer’s massive leather couch in Hank’s favorite TV-viewing position—with Grace propped between his thighs, her head on his shoulder and his arms around her. He hadn’t watched the bull riders in any of the previous nine performances. Tonight, he drank in every jump, every spin, and especially every dodge and feint of the bullfighters. From Joe’s shaggy hair to the gravity-defying spring in his steps, he looked exactly as he had when he’d come bounding into the arena where Hank had first had the unimaginable thrill of working with him. And Wyatt…
Wyatt was ice to Joe’s fire—cool and smooth, always sliding into just the right spot. For the space of those fifteen rides, Hank let himself be swept up in the exhilaration of watching two masters show the world how it was done.
And then it was over. The last whistle blew, the last rider jogged safely away, and the last bull trotted out the catch-pen gate.
The arena went dark. “Ladies and gentlemen,” the announcer intoned. “Tonight marks the end of not one, but two of the greatest careers in bullfighting. It is impossible for me to put into words what these men have meant to the sport of rodeo, so our video crew has put together a highlight reel. If you’ll turn your attention to the big screen…”
The video began to play. God, look at that baby face. Joe at nineteen, nothing but raw talent and grit. And Wyatt, making his debut at the ripe old age of twenty-five.
Shit. Hank was the same age now as Wyatt had been when he worked his first professional show.
Ride after ride, rodeo after rodeo, year after year, they danced and leapt and sometimes limped across the massive screen, until it ended with one final image. Two dusty, sweating men standing face-to-face, exchanging weary but triumphant smiles—warriors congratulating each other on a battle well fought with hands clasped in a high five.
A single spotlight snapped on. Joe and Wyatt met in the middle of the circle for a quick, back-thumping hug, then looped arms over each other’s shoulders to take a bow, and the crowd rose in a thundering ovation. And as the cheers went on, and on, and on, gruff, tough Joe Cassidy tilted his head back to gaze up at the image on the screen with tears creeping down his face.
* * *
Johnny had been annoyed when Bing insisted on driving from Sanchez Trucking to the Lone Steer, grumbling that he’d made it in from the ranch just fine. But she had pointed out that there were likely to be cops loitering around the honky-tonk tonight, and he didn’t need to go getting a ticket for driving while his license was temporarily suspended.
As she parked the pickup beside the Sanchez shop, though, he realized that it played right into his hands. She got out. He got out. They both walked around and met in front of the pickup.
“Well. Thank you for a lovely evening,” she said with only a touch of sarcasm.
Johnny stepped closer, catching his fingers in the pocket of her coat to keep her from backing away. “It’s after midnight, and your coach hasn’t turned into a pumpkin yet.”
“Give it time.” But he caught the flare of her pupils in the orange glow of the security lights.
“That’s all I’m asking from you.” He leaned in and laid his mouth over hers, an easy getting to know you kind of kiss. Her lips parted, but he didn’t accept the invitation, just took one small taste before straightening. “Give it time. And a chance. Cowboy boots suit you a lot better than some flimsy glass slipper anyway.”
And then he let her go, climbing in his pickup and driving away before she could think up a way to ruin this nice, warm glow he had going on.
* * *
Grace yanked out a couple more tissues to snuffle into. Hank had gone into the bathroom to splash cold water on his red-rimmed eyes, while she sank into the couch, momentarily drained.
So much drama had been packed into one night, starting with the bittersweet vindication of walking into the Lone Steer so totally, emphatically with Hank. At first, she’d assumed he was playing it up for her benefit, but as people had lobbed questions at him—where’ve you been, what are you doing with yourself these days—she’d gradually realized that he was reverting to wolf-boy mode, his eyes going dark and cautious and his words clipped.
In this one way, he could no longer go home. Hank wasn’t the life of that party anymore.
She had been more than happy to get out of that bar, but the sheer rush of Delon’s victory compounded by that heart-twisting tribute to Joe and Wyatt had left her vibrating with pent-up emotions. Luckily, she knew the perfect way to blow off some steam.
When Hank came out of the bathroom, she strolled over to him, laced her arms around his neck, and pulled him into a kiss hot enough to curl his hair. When she finally let him take a breath, he smiled down at her through a haze of lust. “Did I mention that you look incredibly hot tonight?”
“You did.” And the blaze of appreciation in his eyes had given her the boost of courage she needed to face the mob at the Lone Steer. Now, she drew a finger down his throat and into the vee of his shirt, pressing the tip against the thud of his heart. “But if you think this outfit looks good on me, you should see it on my bedroom floor.”
He went still for a few accelerated heartbeats. Then he said, “I’ll meet you there.”
They drove separately and collided at her front door, mouths, hands, bodies slamming together with a hunger built of a two-week fast. She jabbed the key blindly at the lock, her vision gone red with lust. Finally she had to give it her full attention, or as much as she could muster while Hank pulled her butt tight against him and let her feel what she did to him.
What he intended to do to her.
They were shedding clothes before she got the door shut. Jackets dropped to the floor, boots were kicked off to thud against the entryway walls. There was a satisfying pop, pop, pop of pearl snaps as she ripped his shirt open. A brief, maddening break in contact as she yanked her shirt over her head and sent it flying, followed by her bra.
They groaned in mutual appreciation as his hands closed over her breasts and they performed a disjointed, circling dance toward the bedroom, pushing denim, cotton, and lace down over hips, digging fingers into bare flesh for balance as they wriggled out of jeans and toed off socks.
They were naked when they sprawled onto the bed, his erection hot and heavy against her thigh. She clutched at him, drawing tight as a bowstring as the need pounded inside her. Now, now, NOW.
He pulled away to reach for her nightstand drawer. When she tried to roll with him, he barred an arm across her chest to hold her off. “Easy, there. I wanna take this one a little slower.”
He tore open the condom with his teeth, centered it, and rolled it down by thrusting into his fist, eyelids lowering in unapologetic enjoyment of his own touch. “I used to imagine being with you when I did this.”
Everything inside her clutched. Dear Lord. No wonder he got turned on when she touched herself. She pushed aside his restraining arm to feather her fingertips down his taut belly, toying with dark, coarse hair while he squeezed and stroked.
His hand flattened over hers, fingers gliding between fingers and slipping their joined hands between her thighs. “Show me what you like best,” he whispered.
Heat flashed over her skin as she guided his fingertips. There. Just…there. And like this. Sensation built and coiled, tightening, tightening, so close but not…quite…her hips shifted restlessly, seeking the exact touch that would make her come unwound.
She hissed in protest when he pulled away instead, and then sucked her breath back in as he pressed her onto her stomach, his words hot as steam in her ear. “I remember what you like, Grace.”
He moved over her, pushing her legs apart and wedging his hips between her thighs until his erection nudged against her. “Okay?”
“Ah…oh!” He pushed into her just enough to make her gasp. Her back arched to give him better access, and her fists clenched in the comforter when he took the hint, filling and stretching her to the limit.
He pried her right hand free and once again guided it between her legs, moving their fingers in slow, tortuous circles, then guiding her back to cup and squeeze him as he gave a guttural groan. “Oh, geezus, yes. Just like that.”
His fingers found her again as he began to move—short, hard strokes that hit all the right places inside her without pulling him out of her reach. Her body clenched around him as he stroked her, and she caressed him until the intensity of all those combined sensations blanked her mind and sheer, animal need took over. Her hips moved in rhythm with his fingers, and she took him deeper, faster.
Oh God. Oh sweet heaven, she was so…so…
She bucked under him, a long, feline moan torn from her throat as her free hand clawed at the comforter, fighting to get a grip as the world dissolved into wave after wave of searing light and heat.
Hank’s breath was harsh against the nape of her neck as she floated back to the surface, his body pressed hot and slick against hers, inside and out. “Doing okay?”
She did some combination of a gurgle and a groan, unable to manufacture words.
He laughed, triumphant, and reared onto his knees, lifting her with him to drive into her again, again, and again, until he made a rough sound, his body going rigid as his climax pulsed inside her.
Then they collapsed onto their sides, boneless and spent. After a few moments, he eased away, taking great care with the condom, she noted with hazy approval. She sprawled on the bed, beyond caring that she was utterly exposed. All her circuits were blown, and she had no desire to bring reality back online.
After a moment, his shadow cut through the light from the door. When she opened an eye, he stood with one elbow braced on the jamb above his head, the other hand propped on a lean hip, gloriously naked and smug as all get-out.
“Did I do permanent damage?” he asked.
“Unhh.” She flopped a leave me be hand at him.
His grin widened, and he strolled over to smack her lightly on the butt. “Crawl under the covers, sweet cheeks. We’ve got most of the day tomorrow, and I’ve saved up a whole list of things I’ve been wanting to do to you again.”
Grace let him gather her close, smiling. She’d always loved a man with a plan.