Stud for Hire (23 page)

“Dad had security cameras installed along the perimeter. They caught everything.”

“You should have been there, Logan.” Ben grinned like a monkey. “It was beauty watching Grant arrest him, cuff him, and stuff him in the backseat of his cruiser.”

“Hey, maybe the security cameras caught that too,” Brandon suggested.

Ben laughed. “I bet they did.” His eyes glimmered. “We should have that transferred to DVD and give it to Logan for his birthday.”

Rafe nodded. “Good idea. But we got you something else too. We had Grant issue a restraining order, just in case Zack slithers out of this.” His gaze lit on Hanna. “He's not allowed within five hundred feet of either of you.”

“He won't slither out of this.” Ben sat back and crossed his arms.

“How can you be so sure?” Hanna asked. Logan understood her concern. Zack was a slithery bastard.

Ben's face broke into a wide grin. “Because, darlin', I play poker with the D.A. and he owes me big.”

Hanna shot Logan a grin. He loved the lightness in her eyes, the quirk of her lips. But that wasn't relief he saw. It was mischief. “So there's an example of how playing poker can really come in handy.”

It was a reference, of course, to the poker game he'd lost to Cody. The bet that had started all this in motion.

He tugged her closer. “I'm happy with the hand I was dealt,” he murmured. And then, as an afterthought, added, “Even though I'm pretty sure Cody cheated.”

***

They left not long after, his brothers, feeling proud of themselves, and excited to head off and tell their parents what they'd accomplished today. They wanted Logan and Hanna to come along, but Logan declined. They'd done all the real work. They deserved the glory.

Besides, he and Hanna had unfinished business.

It didn't take long to finish.

And damn, was it memorable.

The sweetest loving he'd ever known.

Never before had he been so glad he had a four-poster bed. She'd looked stunning, spread out across it. The sight of her, bound to his bed, egging him on with her sultry pout, was burned into his memory forever.

He fully intended to recharge and go at it again as soon as he could, but it might take a while because she'd drained him dry.

In the aftermath of their passion, he held her close, there in his bed, breathing in her scent and soaking in the warmth of her bare skin against his.

He could lie like this forever, he thought. Forever and a day.

“Logan?” Her voice filled the silence, filled his soul.

“Mmm?” He tugged her closer and pressed his lips to her forehead.

“I've been wondering . . . What does the Double H stand for?”

Ah. He was wondering if she would ever ask. His lips curled into a slow, satisfied smile. “My dream.”

“Your dream?” She levered up on her elbow and stared down at him, her features shadowed and smudged by the dark, but he knew them. He knew them by heart.

“The dream I always held close. Now, my miracle.”

She plopped down on his chest on folded arms. Almost close enough to kiss, but not. “What dream is that?”

“Don't you know?”

“No.”

“Hanna's Heart.” He shifted until he loomed over her, then cupped her cheeks and took her lips in a scorching kiss. “It's you, baby. You're all I ever wanted.”

And she always would be. For as long as there was breath in his body.

She would always and ever be his dream. His dream come true. His miracle.

And speaking of miracles, he found, to his surprise, he had, indeed, recharged.

“Are you ready to go again?” he asked.

“Am I,” she sighed. “Am I ever. But I get to choose the game this time.”

“You do?” God, he loved the wicked look in her eye. “And what game would you choose?”

Her lips tweaked. “Stud for Hire.”

He gaped at her. Her smile broadened.

“You'll be my stud for hire. My gigolo. And you have to do everything I ask.”

“E-everything?”

“Mmm.”

Silly girl. Didn't she realize? Didn't she know?

He was, and ever would be, hers to command.

Porsche McCoy hunkered in a darkened corner of the Double Stud party room, rested her chin on her fist, and stared at the disco ball sending shards of color over the writhing crowd, trying very hard to muffle her disgruntlement.

Just how many women was Cody going to dance with before he finally asked her? He whirled by with Sara Worth in his arms, and a laugh on his lips, and the little hairs on her nape prickled.

He always ignored her.

Well, that was untrue. He didn't ignore her as much as treat her like a little sister. An annoying little sister. Patted her on the head, sent her on her way. How frustrating. She was a woman now, full grown and
legal
 . . . not a little kid following him like a besotted puppy.

But still, he avoided her like the plague.

It was probably Ford's fault.

Cody and Ford had been best friends forever and everyone knew how protective her brother was.

But she wasn't a child any longer. It was about time Cody saw that.

Her eyes narrowed as he made his way to the bar for a drink after his raucous dance. As he tipped back his head, his gaze skated the room for another partner. It landed on her. Her heart jumped . . . but then it plummeted when, without so much as the twitch of a lash, he looked away.

Damn it.

She should do something, had to do something, to get him to see her as a woman.

Seduction was definitely an option, but she'd have to be careful. If Ford found out, he'd have a hissy fit.

She glanced at Ford who was sitting with his wife, Crystal, along with Cade and Lisa. The four looked blissfully happy.

She was not sure why that annoyed her as well.

Or she was.

Everyone was getting married. Even Cody's brother, whom they'd all expected to stay single forever on account of the fact that he was so painfully shy around women. But even he had found his soul mate.

A sizzle shot through her veins as Cody's deep voice rumbled through the amps as he called Logan and Hanna up onstage.

She tried not to roll her eyes. But good lord, who had an engagement party at a strip ranch?

Logan and Hanna, apparently, most likely on account of the fact that they'd met again here.

In fact, Hanna had insisted on it.

Probably for this very moment.

With a smirk, Cody sat Hanna in the lone chair on the stage and then turned to Logan. “Are you ready for this?” he asked.

Porsche could see Logan's bright red blush from here.

“No.”

“Too bad,” Cody crowed. He turned to the crowd. “See, folks, it seems that Logan here lost a bet, and he owes Hanna a dance.”

Logan dropped his face into his hands and shook his head.

Hanna, for her part, beamed.

“And not just any old dance, right, honey?” He thrust the mic at Hanna.

“No.”

“Tell us what kind of dance Logan is going to perform.” By his tone, it was clear Cody already knew.

But then, who didn't know? Who couldn't work that out? They were on the stage of a strip ranch after all. You'd have to be completely not paying attention not to know. Indeed, the crowd hooted.

Hanna grabbed the mic and stared up at Logan with her eyes sparkling. “He's gonna give me a lap dance,” she said, and the music cranked up. The crowd went wild when the quintessential stripper music blared out.

Logan began his dance.

Well, it was generous to call it a
dance
. More like an awkward kookaburra mating ritual with his birdlike moves and all, but Hanna seemed to like it.

The audience liked it too. They warbled and hooted and urged him on.

“Brother.” Sidney dropped down at Porsche's side with a huff. “I can't believe they're actually doing that in front of everyone.”

Porsche shot her a smirk. “Your dad seems to be enjoying it.” Indeed, Henry Stevens stood by the stage tossing dollar bills at his soon-to-be son-in-law.

“Doesn't make it any less disturbing.”

“Yeah. I guess.” She sighed. “It'll be over soon.”

“One can hope.”

“Well, it's a nice party,” she said by way of consolation. She knew Sidney had planned the whole thing. Probably as a ploy to spend more time with Cody. It was no secret that Sidney was as crazy for him as Porsche was.

It was a pity the ploy ha
d not worked out, apparently. Sidney hadn't danced with Cody either. In fact, he seemed to be deliberately ignoring them both.

“Thanks,” Sidney said with a huff. Porsche followed her gaze and was not surprised to see it tracking Cody.

“Hey, you two,” Amy said as she sidled into the chair next to Porsche. She took a tentative sip from one of the glasses she held and made a face.

“What are you drinking?” Porsche asked.

“Tequila.” She thrust out the cup. “Want some?”

Porsche peered inside. “How much do you have in there?” The glass was more than half full. Amy was obviously an optimist.

Amy shrugged. “There was a long line at the bar. I figured I should plan ahead.” She set another tumbler on the tabletop. “I brought one for you too.”

“I knew there was a reason I liked you,” Porsche said. She lifted the glass and tipped it back, enjoying the burn. They sat there for a long moment in silence, watching the festivities. Half the town was here. All ages, from old Mr. Wentworth to Missy Kennedy's new baby boy. Of course, there was no sign of the Puceys, which was fine with everyone.

It was a well-known fact that Zack had been convicted of arson and was serving time in Seagoville. It was hardly a life sentence, but Porsche had almost immediately felt the mood in Snake Gully lift when they carted him away.

And, in her mortification, Tibby had made herself scarce.

That was a blessing in itself.

Amy frowned as she shot a look from Sidney's grim expression to Porsche's glower. “You two don't look like you're having a good time.”

“You didn't bring
me
any tequila,” Sidney grumbled.

“Oh, it's a wonderful party,” Porsche muttered at the same time. It would be more wonderful if Cody would notice her. She'd danced with all of Logan's brothers—Rafe and Ben and Brandon—in an attempt to show him how available she was, but he hadn't noticed, as far as she could tell.

“Well,” Amy said. “I am just thrilled for Hanna and Logan. Did you hear he's taking her to Paris for their honeymoon?”

Sidney sighed. “She loves Paris.”

“She loves Logan.”

Porsche forced a smile on her face. It was probably a smile. “Logan is great.”

“He is.”

“I'm glad they found each other.” Why Sidney's smug tone intimated she'd had something to do with it was a mystery.

“Every woman deserves to win her dream man,” Porsche said. Her gaze flicked to Cody. He was her dream man. He always had been. She knew, just knew, that one day he would see her as a woman. And when that happened he would undoubtedly fall madly in love with her and—

“Drool much?”

Porsche whipped around and glared at Sidney. “What?”

“You heard me. I see you staring at him. Honestly, Porsche. Don't tell me you still have the hots for Cody.”

Well, that was the pot calling the kettle horny. “I was not staring at him.” A complete lie, but whatever.

Sidney grunted. “It's okay. If you want him, take him.” Her tone was distant, dismal, bitter.

Porsche blinked. “I wasn't aware I needed your permission.”

“But he'll use you. He'll use you and toss you aside just like he's done each and every time he's had a girlfriend. You know what he's like. Utterly incapable of commitment.” The pain in her expression was excruciating.

Despite their long-term rivalry, Porsche's heart ached for her. Sidney was obviously speaking from experience, which sent a trickle of annoyance and envy and pity through her. It was obvious Sidney didn't realize Cody was
her
man. In consolation, she squeezed Sidney's hand.

It was true. Cody had always played the field. He went through women like a chocolate addict went through a bonbon store.

But it wouldn't be like that with her.

It wouldn't be like that with them.

She was certain of it.

In fact, there was only one problem she had to tackle in her pursuit of Cody Silver.

Getting him to notice her.

She sat back and took in the laughter, the chatter, and the music filling the hall as she plotted her strategy. Her gaze locked on Cody, this time dancing with Logan's sister, balancing Louisa's tiny feet on his.

Yeah. There was only one thing left to do.

She had to seduce Cody Silver.

Then he'd know.

Then he'd see.

They were meant to be together forever.

Keep reading for a special preview of the next Stripped Down novel

COWBOY ON COMMAND

Available October 2016 from InterMix

Porsche McCoy froze. Her heart lurched into her throat and her pulse thrummed as she stared at the enormous bull poised on the crest of the hill. A breeze riffled through the leaves of the oak tree and the grass was green; the sky was a glorious blue, flecked with wispy clouds. Odd, how such a lovely, peaceful scene should send shivers of dread down her spine, but there it was.

She should have known better.

She'd made this trek a hundred times.

Never once had there been a bull in this field.

But she should have known better. She was a country girl, born and raised. Ranching was in her blood, whether she liked it or not.

A couple years in Dallas and she'd completely forgotten all the rules. It was never wise to ride into a pasture on an active ranch without checking it first, but she'd been so anxious to get over to the neighboring property to welcome Cody home, she just hadn't been paying attention.

And now, here she was. Alone and defenseless and facing one of the most dangerous creatures around. A bull during mating season.

She stood as still as she could. Her idiot horse had thrown her to the ground and bounded back home, taking the fence in a magnificent leap. Its frantic whinny had captured the bull's attention, but it hadn't seen her yet.

Oh, why had she worn red?

Well, to capture Cody's attention, of course. She'd read as much in one of those magazines that featured articles on how to win your man.
Males of the species are instinctual beasts and respond to visual cues. Red creates a visceral response evocative of true love and passion.

What idiot had written that? Obviously they'd never been stranded in a field with a rampaging bull.

Well, it wasn't rampaging yet, but it could—and probably would—at any moment.

She held her breath as the bull turned its head and spotted her. It shook its head, gave an outraged snort, and pawed the ground. Her body responded with a twang of humming tension. With dark, empty eyes, it tracked her every twitch.

Could she outrun it? Make it to the fence first?

Her optimism plummeted as she gauged the distance. Of course not.

Damn it all. Why hadn't she called ahead and asked if the field was clear?

The bull took a step toward her, narrowing its eyes as though to get a better look at her. Considering, perhaps, where to gore her first. Her lungs burned, screaming that she take a breath, but she didn't dare. She didn't dare move . . .

A glorious thunder of hooves rose to her left, and the bull turned toward it. Ignoring the gush of relief—it was far too soon for any such nonsense—Porsche followed its gaze and saw a man on a familiar stallion thundering toward her. Though she recognized the horse, the man was a stranger. She hardly cared. He was on the other side of the fence, but he distracted the bull, inciting it to paw the ground at someone else, which was a mercy. Without hesitation, she bolted for the fence line, running for her life. She knew—instinctively—when the bull shifted direction and came after her.

She imagined she could feel its hot breath scorching her neck. She most certainly felt the quiver of the ground at its menacing approach.

The stallion jumped the fence and cut between Porsche and the snorting behemoth. The man, her angel, her savior, grabbed her arm in a painful clench and swept her up behind him, never pausing in his furious ride. As she clambered on and wrapped herself around his waist, he made a quick cut to the right, avoiding a treacherous horn, and then barreled for the fence. As the horse bunched its powerful muscles for the jump, the man said, in a raw voice, “Hang on,” and she did.

Of course she did. She hung on for dear life.

She couldn't help noticing that he was hard and warm—his body was a sturdy, stony landscape—and he had an earthy scent, as though he'd been riding a while, long enough to sweat. It was a delicious smell and it made her head spin.

Or maybe that was their manic ride.

They sailed over the fence in a perfect, lyrical maneuver. It was like flying.

And the release, the splendid relief, the knowledge that she was not going to die—or be maimed, or any of the other horrible fates that had spun through her mind as she stood there frozen, paralyzed with fear—that was like flying too.

And it was all thanks to him.

When he was sure they were safe, that the bull hadn't smashed through the fence in its frenzy to trample her, he brought his horse to a stop. He glanced over his shoulder and down at her and it was then she realized how tall he must be.

She noticed his eyes too, a pale blue ringed with black. And his nose, a long straight blade. And his cheekbones, high and strong.

But for the dark hair and the bristles on his chin, he could have been an angel. Or maybe a fallen one.

Point was, he was very attractive, and when he spoke, in that low rumbly voice, and asked her if she was all right, she made some kind of strangled sound that might have been “fine.” But it might have been something else.

No doubt her bemusement was due to her recent exploit, or the adrenaline still pumping through her veins, or the fact that he was so beautiful her brain had trouble processing such perfection. She was rarely addlepated, but she was definitely addlepated now.

“You sure?” he asked, his brow lifting in a lovely ripple. She stared at it. Fascinating. “Miss?”

“Huh?” Yeah. Hardly her usual quick-witted banter. But she had had a shock. It was totally understandable.

“Are you sure you're all right? He didn't wing you?”

She shook her head.

“You're kind of pale and you're shaking. I'm going to take you to the Silvers' ranch house. You can recover there. Just hold on, okay?”

“Mmm hmm.”

Apparently that was enough for him. He nodded and turned the horse around and held on to her hand as he kicked the horse's flanks. She couldn't help thinking how comforting it was, the feel of his hand on hers. It was hardly a clinch, but it made her feel so safe. She closed her eyes and rested her forehead against his broad back and sent up a prayer of thanks that this man had been there.

There was no doubt in her mind, he had saved her life. At the very least, saved her from some horrible injury.

Perhaps he was an angel after all.

***

Holy God.

It was all Brandon Stewart could do to focus on his seat, to focus on getting this beautiful sprite back to Cade's ranch house without falling off his horse. His mind spun and his body shook with reaction. When he'd seen her, that tiny woman—dressed in brilliant red, of all colors—facing down a two-thousand-pound bull, his heart had stopped.

Horror at the thought of her being mauled had whipped through him and, without thinking, he'd sprung into action. That he—and Cade's prized stallion—could have been gored had never occurred to him. Not until now.

It wasn't the first time he'd reacted without considering the consequences. He'd spent years in the service in dangerous surrounds doing just that, leaping in where angels might fear to tread—and he'd paid the cost.

At least this time, it had only been a bull.

To the best of his knowledge, they rarely exploded.

It was a blessing that he'd been there, in that spot, in that moment, right when she needed him. He liked to believe in fate, that everything happened for a reason. Recent events in his life had tested that philosophy, but hope was still there, a brave shoot clinging to a stony cliff.

Of course, that was probably his errant attraction to her talking.

In the few heartbeats he'd had to assess her, before he'd launched into action, he knew two things. First, she was the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen and he wanted her.

And second, she was way out of his league.

Oh, there had been a time, before Iraq, when he'd been whole, when he would have approached this woman with all confidence of seducing her. And he probably would have. But those days were gone. He didn't seduce women any more. With damn good reason.

Now—as sad as it was—his best bet was to win this gorgeous woman's eternal admiration and appreciation for snatching her from the jaws of death. Or the horns of death. Whatever.

Point was, just because he'd been there in the very moment she needed his help did not mean they were
meant to be,
the way that tiny voice in the back of his head kept whispering. The best he could hope for with a woman like her was the damnable “friend” zone. But he'd take it. Hell, he'd take whatever he could get with her.

While he acknowledged the truth, the reality of his situation, he couldn't help but wish for more. It was probably human nature to wish for more, but it still annoyed him.

It annoyed him that things couldn't go back to the way they'd been before Iraq. That they never would. That was the thing about life. It just kept plodding along, no matter what happened. One incessant step after another.

But a man did have some power. A man had choices. And Brandon was at a crossroads. The path he'd intended to follow for the entirety of his life had been suddenly and irrevocably closed to him with the blast of one IED.

When his Marine Corps buddy, Cade Silver, had invited him to come visit his ranch, just when Brandon was wondering who he was and what he could be without the military, it had seemed like a lifeline. A place to
be
while he found himself again.

And then here, now, he'd spotted
her
.

Had the chance to be a hero again . . .

It seemed positively providential.

And that ceaseless optimism that continued to plague him? It needed to be silenced. He knew better than to think fate would toss him a bone, the opportunity to meet a woman who could accept him as he was. A woman who could love him as he was.

He and fate were hardly on good speaking terms.

But when she'd wrapped her arms around him and clung, it felt so . . . right. It still did.

It seemed to take forever to get back to the barn, probably because of the torment raging though his system at her proximity. He hadn't been this close to a woman for . . . well, longer than he could remember.

He walked Gotham to the mounting block and slipped from the saddle first. He winced when he landed on his bum leg a little wrong, and then reached up to help her down. Not surprisingly, considering the shock she'd had, her legs collapsed beneath her. While he loved the feel of her against him—damn, did she feel good—he was naturally concerned and tightened his hold.

“You okay?” he asked into her hair as she clung to him.

“Mmm hmm.” Such a brave lie.

They stood there while she struggled to find her feet. He rubbed her back in slow arcs that made him ache for more and breathed in her perfume and allowed himself this moment of bliss.

At long last, she looked up at him and that bottomless brown gaze cut through him. Her lips kicked up into a wobbly semblance of a smile and she said, “I swear, I'm usually not a wilting flower.” Ah, he loved the indomitable look in her eye, the proof that, though she'd had a fright, she clung to her insouciance.

He'd met a lot of women in his life—and he'd loved a few—but never had he met someone whose gaze hit him that hard, whose scent made his heart stutter, whose presence made him witless.

It probably wasn't a good thing, the witless part. She didn't seem to be a woman who suffered fools and, for a minute or two there, he just kind of gaped at her. Like with his mouth open and everything. Thankfully she was gracious, and waited for him to respond. “You've, ah, had a shock.”

He continued to support her as he stood back, but her knees wobbled, then folded, so he lifted her into his arms. She gave a squawk, but then settled in, wrapping her arms around his neck.

Eye to eye, like this, he was slammed once again by the intensity of his reaction to her presence. When she smiled impishly, he felt it to his core. “My hero,” she cooed, but in a teasing tone.

She was such a petite thing, it was like carrying a bale of feathers, but his damned leg twinged nonetheless. He sucked in a deep breath and headed for the ranch house.

The house was far too close. Because, he found, now that he had her in his arms, he never wanted to let her go.