Rope

By Anastasia Rabiyah

Garrett is determined to win Del over, even if he has to tie her up to convince her he’s what she needs.

When Del meets a handsome cowboy at a guest ranch in Arizona while on a business trip, she has no intention of forming a relationship. She’s come off a bad divorce. Trust is not something she’s willing to give. She likes being in control and the safety of a solitary life.

Garrett is immediately attracted to the dark-haired beauty he finds himself dancing with in the rustic, guest ranch bar. He’s intrigued by her need not to know him and her arduous kiss. Not easily turned down, he follows her back to her room to finish the dance she walked out on.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Purple Sword Publications
• Release date: Apr 10, 2013
• ISBN: 9781612920702

Anastasia Rabiyah

Anastasia writes erotic romance, paranormal erotic romance, and dark fantasy. She often crosses genres in order to follow her muses into the darkness where they seek out destiny in all its forms. She believes in fairies, demons, angels, magic, passion, chocolate, supportive friends, e-books, and writing critique groups. Her deepest desire is to pursue her creative dreams and realize them. Every spare moment she devotes to writing for her haunting muses.

Book preview

Rope

Anastasia Rabiyah

Published by Purple Sword Publications, LLC at Smashwords

This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and events are fictitious in every regard. Any similarities to actual events and persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. Any trademarks, service marks, product names, or named features are assumed to be the property of their respective owners, and are used only for reference. There is no implied endorsement if any of these terms are used. Except for review purposes, the reproduction of this book in whole or part, electronically or mechanically, constitutes a copyright violation.

ROPE

Copyright © 2013 ANASTASIA RABIYAH

ISBN 978-1-61292-070-2

Cover Art Designed By Anastasia Rabiyah

Edited By Shoshana Hurwitz and Sandra Sookoo

Chapter One

The guest ranch was all she’d thought it would be: well-kept, surrounded by desert scrub, and stinking of horses. Del stood up and brushed her bangs out of her eyes. The strands needed a trim, and she contemplated a visit to the spa in the morning. The first meeting of a two-week seminar on lending practices had ended, and she was thirsty. After gathering her notebook and pen, she dropped them in her briefcase and wandered past the other attendees with hardly a backward glance. She was on her own here, the single representative of First Charter Bank, and she liked that just fine. No frivolous parties in rooms to attend. No idle chitchat. Delancey Cray was a woman of business.

Her low heels clicked on the Saltillo tile as she crossed the Southwestern decorated foyer. Even the doors looked rustic with false worm damage etched into their faces and the stain an aged brown. Del pushed past it all, anxious to drink something cold and exotic and get back to her room to wind down. She had no interest in trail rides or the steak fry dinner by the manmade lake. She had no fascination for all the cowboys the other conservative bankers gawked over. The spectacular sunset didn’t pique her curiosity either. She passed by the corral where a few men stood, smoking and talking, their deep voices incoherent against the sounds of the night.

Evenin’, Ma’am, one said.

She turned to see him tip his hat. Good evening, she replied, hardly noticing him, and went on her way.

A ranch was no place for heels. She decided she’d give in and wear boots tomorrow, even jeans. The Arizona heat didn’t suit her style of pantyhose and silk skirts.

A sidewalk crossed the trimmed lawn by which she walked. Music drifted in the air, some rockier version of honky-tonk swing that she tried to ignore. The whole place was too touristy and outdoorsy for her taste. She clipped past a statue of a tortoise, and her shoes thumped on the wooden deck by the main building. Del headed for the little bar at the end, hoping it wouldn’t be busy.

She opened the creaky, wooden door and entered. Dancers sidestepped and moved in unison, their boots clacking as they changed positions. Del squeezed past a group of tourists on her way to the bar. A seat near the dance floor looked like the only spot left. She sat down on the stool and eyed the bartender until he noticed her. He approached in slow motion, a red towel slung over his shoulder and a toothpick dangling from his lips. What can I get ya, Missy?

A margarita. She offered a polite smile.

Want that with salt?

Please.

He nodded and turned to continue mixing her drink. Behind her, the dancers laughed and carried on. She set her bag on the floor and her elbows on the bar, then rested her chin atop her clasped hands. The song ended and soon another one started up, resetting the cycle. The front door slapped against the wall as someone burst in. No one else seemed to notice over the noise, but Del turned and glanced at the man. He stood tall, over six feet, she guessed. He pulled off his black Stetson to hang it by the door. His face looked familiar in a classic way: high cheekbones and a broad forehead. He scanned the room as if searching for someone. His heated gaze caught on her. She felt his surveillance, the measuring look in his eyes. The cowboy started toward the bar, his black eyebrows slanting as he stared at her. The thought of him getting any closer made her uncomfortable. He looked like a bad guy from an old western, rough with his grizzled face and serious mouth.

Hey, Jimmy! he called, and Del turned to see that her drink had arrived.

The bartender waved a casual hello to the cowboy and nodded at her. There ya go, Missy. Wanna keep a tab, or is that it for you tonight?

The cowboy squeezed in between Del and the gentleman sitting next to her. His arm rubbed hers. He smiled a crooked grin.

Uh, I’ll have a tab, she blurted.

Care to dance? the cowboy asked.

Del looked over at the floor. The lights were low and the people hadn’t thinned one bit. Not really my thing, she said, turning back to him.

Maybe a slow dance?

She looked him up and down, noticing his rugged body and the tight way his jeans hugged his legs. It had been a while since she’d slow-danced. Her gaze settled on the curly, black hairs rimming his unbuttoned collar. Del sucked in her lower lip for a moment. It had been a long time since she did much of anything with a man. Maybe.

He shrugged and ordered a beer. She watched him drink as she sipped her sour margarita. What’s your name? he asked.

Del. Yours?

Garrett.

Pleasure to meet you.

Pleasure’s all mine. He drank back half his beer and reached for her hand. Next song, you’re mine, okay?

That depends on the song. His palm felt rough against her wrist. He closed his fingers over her skin, and she wondered what it would feel like to be held down by such a strong man. The stray thought sent a thrill through her body. It’s been way too long. Del let him run his thumb across her skin for a little while, but the sour salt of her margarita made her mouth water for more. She pulled away, slowly so he’d know she wasn’t offended. Del brought the wide-rimmed glass to her lips.

Garrett drank his beer and eyed her over the top of his glass. He guzzled it to the end. Licking his lips, he leaned close. You picky ‘bout the song or the company?

The company looks good to me. She chuckled at herself, a little startled by the flirty comment.

How long you stayin’ at the ranch?

Two weeks. Why?

That ain’t very long. He pursed his lips, returning his face to that stark look he had on when he came in. Guess we better get to know each other pretty quick then.

Oh? Maybe we should just dance and leave it at that. She swirled the