Lost Rider (Coming Home #1)

“Why are you here?” I’m proud of the cold note I’ve managed to muster in my voice, even as my insides are already on fire with his presence.

He unfolds his arms, the corded muscles moving beneath his skin with the movement. Lifting one arm, he points at me, confusion painted all over his face. “What just happened? One second you were an open book, givin’ me it all, and then just like that the shutters came down and you’re actin’ like I’m some stranger.”

“You might as well be,” I mumble under my breath.

He takes a step forward, his booted foot coming down with a heavy thud. “That isn’t goin’ to work,” he says, twirling the finger that is still pointed in my direction in my face. “I might be a lot of things, but a stranger ain’t one.”

“You’ve been gone a long time, Maverick. We don’t know each other anymore, so by definition, that would make you a stranger.”

“You make a habit out of opening your legs for people you don’t know?”

I gasp at his harsh words.

“Fuck,” he says with a grunt, taking off his black Stetson and resting it on the stainless steel worktable next to him, his thick raven locks sticking up in a million different directions. “Look, I didn’t come here to fight with you. I apologize for jumping the gate with sarcastic bullshit that you don’t deserve. But we need to talk.”

“Wow, did you practice that little speech in front of your mirror?” I cross my arms and fist my hands at my sides, hiding behind the protective stance.

“Don’t be a bitch, Leighton, it doesn’t suit you.”

My cheeks flame. “You’re right, I’m sorry,” I respond. “Look, it’s been a long day and I just want to go home and crash. Can we just do this another time?”

“I don’t think so. I gave you some time, but I’m done waiting around while you just ignore me. I called, you haven’t responded. I stop by your house, you don’t come to the door. You ran out on me, Leigh, not the other way around, and I want to know why.”

“Are you serious right now?”

He nods, but doesn’t say anything else.

“That night . . . what we did . . . it was a mistake.”

“Wrong.”

I jerk my head back at his forceful and quick denial.

“Oh, no, it was. We were caught up in the emotions of the day. We weren’t thinking clearly and things just got out of hand. From what I’ve heard, you had a lot on your mind before you even crossed over the county line, and when you add in why you were even back, well, it makes sense that you weren’t exactly of sound mind. I let my anger get the better of me and, to be honest, my hurt fueled my actions. We both are guilty of letting our emotions power the lust that brought us together. But now we need to forget about it and move on.”

He’s silent a beat before he throws his head back and lets out a boom of laughter that brings goose bumps to my body. It had been so long since I heard him laugh like this that I was immobile by the sheer beauty of it. The deep rumble vibrating from deep in his chest was causing his whole body to shake with his hilarity.

It was beautiful.

He was beautiful.

And I was in big trouble.





12


MAVERICK


“Run” by Matt Nathanson



I couldn’t even explain to myself how I’d ended up here, in the PieHole kitchen after hours facing the woman who’d rocked my world two weeks ago and then disappeared, but I was done waiting for her to come to me. Just being near her eases that knot of tension that I’ve carried around for longer than I care to admit, telling me that this was the right move for me.

Just like that. Clarity floods my system.

After Quinn left, I’d worked around the barn for a few more hours doing stupid labor that no one wants to do without being told. By the time I left there wasn’t a single stall out of the twenty that were in the main barn that didn’t look perfect. A lot of good the busywork did me, though. I kept replaying the conversation with Quinn over and over.

It wasn’t the first time I felt soul-shaking regret over how I left things with Leighton all those years ago, but it was the first time that I was determined to do something to fix it. To make sure that regret was no longer allowed to cling to me like a parasite that wouldn’t stop sucking its host dry. I was done with regret. However, it wasn’t until I walked in and saw her that I realized I would do just about anything to turn back time. Now I didn’t just want to repair the damage I had inflicted—I needed to more than I’ve ever needed a single damn thing in my life.

Not even my drive to leave town as a teenager had been this strong.

I continue to laugh at her last mouthy bullshit as my eyes roam over her body. Her long legs are bare and the frayed strings from her cutoff shorts just teased at the top of her thighs, the little white strings against her smooth tan skin making it look like silk. She shifts, and those strings dance across her skin and I groan, memories of our night together slamming into my mind. I know what those thighs feel like now. I don’t just have to wonder if they would be as soft as they look while hugging my hips tightly and welcoming my hard thrusting.

Nope. I know exactly what she feels like and it’s fucking branded into my skin.

I have to force my eyes from her legs. It isn’t until I get to the logo of her bakery right above her breasts that I’m able to stop thinking about bending her over the table and getting those legs back around my hips. The heavy fullness of her chest makes the black cotton stretch tight; the flour sprinkled all over the fabric distracts my mind and finally gets me to focus.

She looks like a complete mess.

One hell of a knock-me-on-my-ass beautiful mess.

Thoughts that I’ve missed this for so long fill my mind; the regret I’ve been so determined to stop feeling comes back. I could have had this, but instead I threw it all away because I wasn’t strong enough to stick around.

She gives me a look of absolute impatience and frustration when I finish the slow drag of my eyes up her body. Her looks might have rendered me speechless but it’s this right here, her, that has my heart speeding back up as the feeling of contentment fills my body.

Her blond hair is in a messy ponytail gathered at the top of her head. Her flawless skin is completely free of any traces of makeup. She looks so much like she did ten years ago. Young and full of so much beauty inside of her that it just radiates from her every pore.

The color is high on her cheeks and I can’t tell if it’s from anger, embarrassment, or maybe—hopefully—some arousal. I just know that being around her makes me feel alive for the first time since being forced off the circuit. I don’t feel like there is some big unknown missing in my life. That missing piece I’ve been searching for since I was old enough to start putting it all together.