Wild Ride

By Adriana French

Billionaire cowboy Blade Parker will take horses over humans any day. And he sure doesn't take kindly to anyone trying to boss him around. If his business partners think he's going to play nice and listen to that prissy high heeled, short skirt wearing Analisa Dumond, they've sent to snoop on him, they've got another thing coming.

That bossy little hot number is following him around his new ranch, making sure he dots every i and crosses every t is enough to drive any hot-blooded man wild. Have you seen those legs? How is he supposed to concentrate with her around?

The ranch is still under construction, so wait 'till little Miss Priss finds out she's going to have to bunk with him.

Blade has own lessons to teach, and they have nothing to do with business and everything to do with pleasure. She'll need several good long rides in his saddle to learn his cowboy ways.

And when she does, there will be no turning back. That little filly will be driving him wild for the rest of his life.

Saddle up, Sugar. A new breed of cowboy-cavemen is here. They're dirty and filthy rich. Houston Parker is an alpha male to the nth degree and the first cowboy to meet in the Billionaire Cowboys Gone Wild Series. Expect humor, coarse language, graphic and steamy situations, and insta-love.

No cheating and a Happily ever after.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Adriana French
• Release date: Feb 18, 2021
• ISBN: 9798215161944

Book preview

Wild Ride

The Wild Wests Boxed Set

Books 1-4

––––––––

Adriana French

Wild Ride Copyright © 2020 by Adriana French. 

This book is a work of fiction. You have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen.  No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored without express permission. Any resemblance to persons living or dead, or places, events or locations are purely coincidental.

Contents

Ride ‘Em Hard Book One  

Easy Rider Book Two

Long Hard Ride Book Three

Forbidden Ride Book Four

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Ride ‘Em Hard Synopsis

When Montana bad boy Chase West sets his mind on something, he gets it. When he finds Lexi Parker snooping on his ranch, his mind (and everything else) is set on her.

Lexi, sent on a fool’s errand to convince Chase to go back to Hollywood and start filming again, has no idea what she’s in for.

Chase has Lexi so hot and confused she doesn’t know what she wants. And if she did, she’d be too embarrassed to tell him.

Luckily for her, Chase knows exactly what she needs, and he’s going to give her the ride of her life, over and over again.

Saddle up, Sugar. Get ready for a cowboy-caveman. Chase West is an alpha male to the nth degree.  Expect humor, coarse language, graphic and steamy situations, and insta-love.

No cheating and a Happily ever after.

C’mon, let’s ride ‘em hard!

Ride ‘Em Hard ~Chapter One

I don’t fucking believe this.

Noooo! I yell, as if saying it out loud will change the situation. If there were ever a place on God’s green earth where you do not want to run out of gas, this is it. I haven’t seen a living, breathing soul, not even a chicken or a cow, for the last hundred miles.

Reminding myself that I’m trying to have a more positive outlook on life, I check the rearview mirror hoping to find someone behind me, and my heart drops. Nope.

What the hell is super-stud Chase West doing, living out here in the middle of Nowhere, Montana? How is he supposed to be getting all that action the rags are always writing about—the one-on-ones with strangers in barns, the various ménages and all that wild groupie sex—out here?

Where is everyone? Anyone?

And why, for the love of God, didn’t I stop for gas at the last town?

I pull off the two-lane freeway, which is basically the width of my driveway back home in Los Angeles, and drive down the dirt road in front me with no idea where I’m going. My rental coughs and sputters, like it’s giving me its last breath.

I press the gas.

And nothing happens.

I slam one of my new faux Jimmy Choos on the pedal until it hits the floor.

And get nothing, not even a little burp.

Nada.

Under its own momentum—there’s no way I’m touching the brakes—the car slides over a crop of dirt clods for several yards. Fine orange dust sprays up on the windshield, and the old heap gives up the ghost.

Crap, crap, crap. "No!" I pound on the dashboard.

Well, shit.

I stare into the wild blue yonder, over thousands of acres of weeds, blow out a sigh and try to remain the fuck calm. I force my brain not to even touch on the fact that I only have half a bottle of water left and approximately five green M&Ms at the bottom of my purse.

After waiting for the dirty cloud to settle around the car, I unroll my window because now this pile of junk not only doesn’t have gas, it doesn’t have air-conditioning either.

Of course, Vital Studios didn’t give me any kind of budget to rent a decent car for this job. Because I’m on a fool’s mission. I took my boss up on a last-ditch plea, something she threw out to the whole office as a joke.

Yes, I’m that desperate, one of many lowly screenplay readers with their own script they’re trying to sell. Just like me, they’re all hoping someone at the studio with a little pull will read their screenplay, buy it, and make it into a movie. Well, obviously there’s a lot more that goes into getting a movie made, but that’s the gist.

I’ve spent the last two of my twenty-seven years getting my idea down on paper, and it’s damn good. And I should know: I’ve certainly yawned through enough crappy green-lighted scripts to know my screenplay is better than any of them.

So when Chase West, Vital’s only A-lister and number-one money-maker, stormed off the set of Ride ’Em Hard, the execs were frantic to get him back. And when my boss, Charlene St. James, suggested that I could maybe sweet-talk Chase back to Los Angeles, I took her up on the challenge. Charlene was so surprised when I told her I’d go that her face ignored all the Botox injections. Her eyebrows almost hit her hairline, and I clearly saw wrinkles on her forehead. Last Thursday was the first time I ever saw Charlene’s face move.

The mucky-mucks have already tried everything to coerce Chase into starting filming again, but Chase doesn’t care about money and is already countersuing. Apparently, he has enough to bury the studio in court. He also has a reputation for kicking the shit out of people who bother him, so trying to strong-arm Chase is probably out of the question.

But Vital Studios is losing hundreds of thousands every day they’re not filming, and I don’t want my employer to go under. The way the market is, I might not find another job like the one I have now. Why shouldn’t I at least try to help?

Charlene probably doesn’t think I have a shot in hell of getting Chase back to L.A. But she promised she’d move my script to the top of the slush pile if I do, and a deal’s a deal. Last week, this trip sounded like an interesting proposition and a whole lot more productive than sitting at my cubicle in Studio City keeping my fingers crossed.

But shit, it wasn’t supposed to turn out like this.

I check the GPS on my phone, which is running precariously low on juice, and try to find a bar.

Damn it. Holding the phone out the window, I get one bar and check Google for the fifty-millionth time. According to the map, I’m in the right location, but there’s nothing here except weeds, a lot of jagged-rock-covered hills, and snow-topped mountains in the distance.

I’ve been expecting to come across a gigantic mansion for the last thirty-seven miles. I know Chase has a huge spread out here—just one of his many large assets, if you catch my drift—and I thought surely I’d run into his house. I mean, according to the GPS I’m on his property.

I’ve lost the only bar on the phone, so I get out of the sweat box. Outside in the thick, gummy air, I straighten my new black skirt. My blouse is sticking to me like glue, so I take a deep breath and blow air down the front of it and pull the silky, perspiration-drenched fabric away from my skin.

Groaning out loud, to the rabbits for all I know, I hold up my phone and trudge over the dry dust trying to find a stronger signal, knowing I’m ruining the best pair of fake designer shoes I’ll ever own.

Is finding Chase West worth this kind of aggravation? Granted, he’s a box-office wonder, ever since they started casting him in cowboy movies. The 18–24 male demographic loves him, and Chase is one of the few stars that bring women to action films in droves.

How I’ll react if I find Chase is anyone’s guess. I’ll probably turn into a mute puddle if he’s anything like the way he is in the movies. Chase West is beyond gorgeous, with those perfect facial features the camera loves. I’ve never seen a bad shot of him. And he’s most definitely not a pretty boy. There’s an edge to him that scares the hell out of me.

He has a strong jaw that looks amazing coated with stubble, and he’s only thirty-two, so there’s no gray yet. He has a perfectly straight nose and an insanely devilish grin—but his eyes are what get me. They’re deep set, mysterious and deadly at the same time, with thick dark eyelashes. And the color—they’re the deepest green I’ve seen. You’d probably drown in them if you were close enough.

And I won’t even mention his sexy-as-all-get-out raspy growl, or his sex scenes. Chase has no problem dropping trou in his movies, and man, does he know how to make a woman come—or, at least, act like he does.

Who else can deliver a line like I like to ride ’em hard and put ’em away wet so they’re ready for me anytime I want ’em? I almost spit out my mocha macchiato when I first read that line. But I tell you what—Chase West sells it, and everyone and their grandma is buying it. I blow down the front of my blouse again and undo a few buttons. I need to find Chase West come hell or high water.

I walk a few paces, hold my phone up again and, praise the Lord, get three bars. Yay! I shout into the wild. Now at least I can call my auto insurance company to come get me.

Stop right where you are. I jump at a loud male voice coming from somewhere behind me. I said, don’t fucking move.

A cold gust shoots up my spine. What the fuck? Ah, sir. I slowly crane my neck over my shoulder to get a look. I’m out of—

I said don’t move, and that includes your pussy-pink mouth.

I snap my head back and stare in front of me, my body breaking out in a cold sweat. Shit.

Put your hands up. The deep, low growl sounds like business. This guy isn’t taking no for an answ—

Hands fucking up!

I shoot my hands over my head and hear heavy boots grinding in the soil, getting louder and louder. An enormous shadow blocks the sun, and I feel a hulking presence looming behind me. Then a huge hand comes down out of nowhere and snatches the phone from my hand. I-I . . . My chin is trembling so hysterically I can’t form the words. B-but, I-I need m-my phone. I blink back tears.

You should’ve thought of that before you decided to team up with the Johnsons and trespass on my property. The anger in his voice makes every part of my body shake. I’m going to pee my pants. I can’t calm down enough to think of a plan.

Who are the Johnsons? I have no idea what you’re talking about. I wait for his answer, but only hear shuffling behind me. Then I feel the cold metal nose of what I’m praying to God is not a gun poke into my lower back. Fear wraps around me like a straightjacket, and I’m paralyzed. I know I’m not supposed to move my mouth, but it’s the only thing I have some sort of control over. The rest of me is frozen. I have to try something. P-please don’t k-kill me.

The hard-metallic object leaves my back. I sigh, shuddering with relief, but my knees start knocking so hard I think I’m going to fall. If I start falling, that means I’m moving and he’ll—

Turn around.

I shake in my fake Jimmys and try.

"Slowly."

Right. I gulp hard. Finding not a drop of moisture in my mouth, I gradually turn.

Jesus, Mary and Joseph.

He’s a beast of a man in person. And he’s pointing a long gun at my chest. I know squat about guns, so I have no idea if it’s sawed off or one of those AK-47s, but I know it could blow a hole right through me. As I take in those thick, rippling muscles encased in a snug short-sleeved black T-shirt, the tats running over his massive biceps, and his tight black jeans, his menacing green eyes stare me down from under the rim of his black hat.

The image is unmistakable.

It’s like Chase West just stepped out of the movie poster for Ride ’Em Hard and walked into real life. But this isn’t a movie, and there’s no director here to yell That’s a take!

Mr. West. I focus on each syllable calmly, keeping my shit together as best I can. At least I know who he is now. W-we kind of work together, I explain, all businesslike. I’m from Vital—

He shifts his weight from one big boot to the other, then focuses the muzzle on my chest and squints, taking aim. His finger twitches near the trigger. Yeah. No. Don’t know you, sugar tits.

Sugar tits? I peek down to where his gun is pointed and see I never rebuttoned my blouse. Chase West is leering at, and pointing a fucking gun at, my cleavage. He can clearly see my black lace bra. But shit, it’s not like I was expecting company, and it’s hotter than hell out here. Forget about the studio, and my script; I’m pissed. No one gets to point a gun at my sugar tits.

Who do you think you are, Mr. Cowboy Man? Okay, that was stupid. "Watch your language, Chase West, or I’ll go straight to The Hollywood Reporter and tell everyone you’re a dick-asshole."

So you want my dick in your asshole, is that what you’re saying? He licks his lips and grins, acting like he knows how goddamn handsome he is. It wouldn’t be the first time.

Yeah. No. Sorry you got your hopes up. Don’t get a hard-on my account. Oh my God, I can’t believe that came out of my mouth, and give myself an internal high five. Maybe if I act tough, I’ll get out of this in one piece after all. He lowers the gun, and I take a deep a breath. And then suck it right back up again as he approaches me, moving with purpose.

I don’t know you, sugar, but you sure as hell seem to know a lot about me. His eyes burn into mine with a mixture of heat and anger, and I don’t know what to do. I take a step back and swing my head around to make a run for it, and he grabs me. His massive hand wraps around my right upper arm. Maeve put you up to this, didn’t she?

I told you—I don’t know the Johnsons, and I don’t know any Maeve either. Now, let go of me! I try to wiggle out of his hold.

Chase angles his head down, apparently searching my eyes for something. Then you’re a fucking paparazzi?

No! I told you I work for Vital. I attempt to yank myself away from him, but it’s no use. My arm and the rest of me are staying put. Keeping a firm grasp on me, he props his gun against his thigh and examines my phone. I have a swipe lock on it, so he’s not getting anywhere.

Out sneaking around taking pictures of me? Did you get a good shot of me fucking the last girl? He has the audacity to wink. Yeah, she was a loud one. Her moans would’ve led you right to me.

What did he just say? Fucking the last girl . . . ? I wasn’t taking pictures of you, I snap, and add for good measure, Guess what? You’re not that important to me. That seems to set him off, because he’s scowling the mother of all scowls at me now.

You’ve got a smart mouth on you. His gaze moves down and locks on my cleavage. Sugar tits. He flicks his gaze back to my eyes. "I get a feeling you like to play dirty."

"What is that supposed to mean?" I stare right back him.

It means, honeypot, I don’t often have the pleasure of spies running around my property in fuck-me stripper heels and short skirts, with their blouses half off. Maybe—Chase pauses for a nice long movie-star-quality stare that, God help me, hits me straight between the thighs—you’re here looking for a good time. You don’t have to sneak around, darlin’. All you have to do is ask. I’ll be happy to oblige.

You have a fucking hell of a nerve. I bring my free hand to my blouse, mortified that my own body has turned on me and my nipples are getting hard. I’m so mad my hand is shaking while I feel his eyes burning holes on my boobs. I start fastening the buttons as quickly as I can, fumbling with them one by one.

Hey, he says. I was enjoying the view.

It’s a hundred degrees out here, I sneer at him. Ever think a girl might just need a little air? Huh? Now let go of my arm. Please.

Chase seems to consider the request and loosens his grip, but he doesn’t completely let go.

As I was saying, I was looking for you and—

And you fucking found me. Now what are you going to do? He cocks his head, and a devious expression, one I haven’t seen in the movies, blankets his face. Spurts of adrenaline start pinging through my veins. He lowers his voice to such a nasty growl that my knees start shaking again. "I sure know what I’d usually do with fucking stalkers who trespass on my property." The threat sends me into some sort of overdrive state. I don’t think of my heart racing, or my body quaking in fear. Every inch of me is telling me it’s get out of Dodge time.

Chase shoves my phone in his pocket and leans down to grab his rifle. When he does, he lets go of his grip on my arm, and I bolt.

Charging over the gravelly terrain, I almost snap my ankle. I kick off my heels. Help! I scream, running barefoot over the sharp brush as fast as I can. Help me! I’m shouting into the wind, praying against all odds someone will hear me.

Hey, you’re going to hurt yourself running around like that, he shouts. But I don’t slow, or pause to turn back to see if he’s following me. I race across the sticky weeds, looking for a house or a barn.

My foot slides over something, and I almost trip. As I try to straighten, my other foot slips, and then the ground suddenly drops out from under me.

No! I’m screaming.

Down I go, crashing against cramped dark walls. I frantically grasp out in front of me, praying to grab onto something to stop my fall, but it’s no use. The walls must be made of dirt, because every time I manage to get hold of anything, it crumbles. I fall until I finally hit the bottom and land on my ass.

Crap.

Shaking and trembling, I slowly exhale and probe my shadowy surroundings, trying to compute what the hell just happened. It’s at least twenty degrees cooler down here. I’m in a hole with dirt walls. It’s not too deep, maybe fifteen feet.

I take a deep breath and look up at the pretty blue sky above. I want to cry, but instead rub my forehead to relieve the headache threatening to tear off my skull. I need to devise a master plan and get the fuck out of here. Mr. Movie Star has turned into a psycho.

A trickle of dirt rains down from above. My heart jumps into my throat. I don’t want to, I don’t want to face my pathetic reality, but I force myself to look up.

Asshole! I shout, getting a second wind, and scoot back so I can get a better look at him. You’re nothing but a fuckface with a big gun and no manners.

Chase removes his hat and rakes a hand through his thick hair. His baritone laugh reverberates down the hole. Is that any way to speak to the only man who can rescue you, darlin’?

Blocking the sun, Chase crouches down and leans into the hole, presumably for a better look. Then he has the audacity to grin. You ready to get out of my well? We weren’t quite finished digging. I could throw you a shovel if you’d rather stay down there and help.

You’re a real dick. You know that? As soon as I get out of here, I’m going to every reporter I know who will tell all your fans what a royal asshole you are, and they’ll hate you.

A stalker with a filthy mouth. This is getting better by the minute.

My head feels ready to snap off my neck. I told you I’m not a stalker! I work for Vital Studios.

Well, for fuck’s sake, that doesn’t make it any better, darlin’. You could’ve picked that news up in any rag. Chase steps away from the opening and his shadow disappears.

Wait a minute! I have a business card!

He’s back, peering down with that fucking deadly grin, probably deciding whether to save me or use me as bear bait. I straighten the sleeves of my blouse, ignoring the rips and stains, hoping there’s still a chance of keeping this shitshow a professional matter. I’ll be happy to show you my ID as soon as I get out of here.

That so? He tips his hat and looks away. Are you going to tell me your name, stalker?

Lexi Parker.

Well, are you able to stand, Lexi?

Of course I can, I huff. I was just resting after running for my life from a maniac. And if you’re going to help me, I’d appreciate it if you kept your gun in your pocket. As you can see I’m obviously not a threat.

Time will tell, honeypot. Time will tell.

I brace my hands on the ground, shift my weight to stand, and a gut-wrenching pain wallops me, shooting up my leg from my ankle. Great. I reach down and discover that apparently all the bones in the lower section of my right leg are gone. My ankle is practically the size of my thigh, but I can’t see any bruising in this light and give it a little rub.

Yup. Hurts like hell all right. With all the adrenaline ripping through me I hadn’t noticed. Blinking back tears, I peer up, at Chase’s hat-shaded face. It’s my ankle.

He doesn’t utter a word.

I think I hurt my ankle, I shout this time. I can’t stand on it.

And he disappears.

Eyes glued to where he was, I wait a beat for him to come back. Nothing. I shift on the ground, feeling my heart race.

What if critters live here and they come back?

Am I sitting in wolf poop, or coyote . . . ?

How long can a person live without water?

I scream at the top of my lungs, Are you just going to leave me down here? Well that sounded panicky. But being with him is better than being in here where no one will ever find me.

I shrink back in my little hellhole. Leaning against the cool wall, I will myself to settle down and conserve energy. Inhaling deep calming breaths, I take in the musty smells and close my eyes. After a few minutes, I think I hear footsteps. A burst of hope bounces off my soul.

I hold my breath to listen carefully, and a clomp, clomp, clomp of a big guy in boots trekking through dirt and gravel gets louder. I stare up at the opening to freedom above.

Grab hold of this. Chase throws down a rope.

I’m about to bawl from relief when I snatch the thick length. Thank you. Thank you. I thought you left.

Chase is standing tall, looking unfazed. It’s a harness. Slip your feet through the loops until it’s tight around your pretty little ass, and I’ll pull you up.

Really? I decide to ignore the "pretty little ass" comment. Fiddling with the rope, I try to figure out which way is up and how this flimsy device is supposed to hold me.

Just step through the loops and wedge it up your skirt so your ass cheeks are hanging over it. He shoots me a fucking dimple.

Sighing, I steel myself for the oncoming agony. It’s going to hurt like a sonofabitch to step through anything with my right foot, but I have no choice. I slip the loops around my feet and up my legs while I’m still on the ground. Shifting and contorting myself into the least painful position possible, I manage to secure the rope around my thighs and butt. Not exactly the most modest look, and given Chase’s apparent fascination with asses I’m glad he’s above me and won’t get the view up my skirt from below. Chase tightens the slack on the rope.

All in one motion, sugar. Stand and I’ll pull you up.

Gulping a breath, I get ready for the torture and scramble to my feet. Pain sears through me, and in a heartbeat it’s gone. I’m weightless. As Chase effortlessly pulls me up, the rope supports me like he said it would. I use my good leg to inch up the side of the well and claw at the dirt with my fingers, doing anything I can to help.

In minutes, my hands finally reach the surface. I grapple, digging my arms and elbows into the soil, to haul myself up out of the well.

Not so fast, my little stalker. We haven’t checked out your phone yet, Chase bellows, holding me in place, face down, staring at the dirt. He yanks the rope on my backside and lifts me up by my butt.

Hey! I yell, swatting at his leg. This is not cool!

Chase grumbles something under his breath that I can’t lip-read because I’m still facing the ground, and then he lifts me up into his arms like a sack of flour.

What the fuck do you think you’re doing? I yell at the top of my lungs. Put me the hell down!

You literally just told me you busted your ankle. You’re not going to help it by putting weight on it. He’s carrying my purse like a man bag. My keys are in there. I try to wrangle the strap off his muscled shoulder, banging my cheek against his rock-hard chest. I give up on getting hold of my purse strap and go for his hands. He smells like fresh soap and soft leather. He must have showered before he crawled out of his cave this morning. Gritting my teeth, I try to loosen his hold. I’ve had just about enough of your macho man-handling!

Giving up, because he will not let go, I do the next best thing and swing back around and slap the asshole across the face.

Ow! Shit! Chase almost drops me. That fucking hurt!

Well, that’s what you get for treating me like an animal. Now put me down or I’ll slap you again, you freakin’ caveman.

Chapter Two

Little Hot-Pocket Lexi. I’ve got myself a real action hero, here. I believe her story, though. She doesn’t seem like the type to be caught up with the Johnsons. But how does she think she’s going to walk on that messed-up ankle of hers? I laugh, looking down at her perfect body.

She’s squirming in my grip, kicking with everything’s she got, and damn, all that wiggling makes my cock twitch. I throw my head back, avoiding a slap on the jaw, and keep walking.

I can’t remember the last time I held a woman like this, but I’ll tell you what, she didn’t feel as good as Lexi. I was just bullshitting her when I said she could’ve caught me with another stalker. I haven’t been with a woman in a while—too long.

Lexi’s a damn perfect fit in my arms. I get a better grip on her smooth, velvet legs and catch a whiff of a light, girly scent coming off her. Her silky hair tickles my arm, making my cock grow. Fuck. How am I going to deal with her?

You better be taking me to the nearest hospital.

I peek down to check if she’s still glaring at me. She is. But shit, if my breath didn’t just stop for a second when our eyes met.

And where do you think that might be, darlin’? You see any hospitals around here?

Well, no . . .  Her sugary voice makes me harder. Brother, am I out of practice.

And how far do you think you’d get out here, injured? You smell like dinner in more ways than one.

Humph.

What the hell is she doing out here? She works for Vital Studios? One of those studio heads sent a young, unarmed woman out here after me? I wouldn’t put it past them, the fucking morons. Then again, she could be lying. The little honey just drops into my lap and thinks I’m gonna let her go without finding out what she’s up to?

I kick Angel’s pasture gate open a little wider and adjust my grip. Damn. Lexi’s soft legs are so sexy, slick with sweat. I want to move my hand a little higher into those pink lace panties. I’ll bet she’s wet. She gave me an eyeful, bending and reaching up with her phone with her sexy ass wrapped in that skirt, legs in those fucking high heels.

Angel whinnies and tosses her head when she sees us. She went back to her pasture on her own, just like I’d hoped. The sun’s getting low, and I don’t want to be navigating ditches with an injured woman in my care.

You’ve got to be kidding me. Lexi’s squirming starts up again. I wrestle with her, but she’s just a wisp. I’m getting a kick out of seeing how pink her cheeks get when she’s riled up.

Oh, no, no, no. I don’t do horses.

You do now. I pat Angel’s neck. And be careful, I warn Lexi. If Angel thinks you don’t like her, she’ll swing her head around and bite you. Which is a crock of shit, but I’m loving how big Lexi’s eyes get. You ready, Angel baby? She’s still saddled up. I was checking fences when I spotted Lexi’s car, and decided to take my gun and investigate on foot.

Lexi fidgets, pulling at my shirt. I-I don’t know how to ride.

I’ve been doing my best not to peer down and look at those pink rosebud lips, because at less than a foot away I’m tempted to crush them with mine and kiss this girl for all she’s worth just to shut her up.

You don’t have to. I take hold of the rope Lexi wrapped around herself at the well and slide it off her legs in one swoop. As a bonus, I get another peek at her panties in the process.

Thank you. She locks her beautiful chocolate eyes on me, making my blood thicken. What am I, a puppy now?

I look down, keeping my eyes on her. I want to get a good look at her reaction to what I’m about to say.

Getting closer to her ear, I keep my voice low. "I only took the rope off because you’ll need to spread your legs wide to ride." Lexi’s big brown eyes flash, and in that split second, I see in them exactly what I knew I would, excitement. It’s like I found the female version of me.

So I guess riding side-saddle is old-timey movie stuff, now? I’m sure people still ride side-saddle, she says, winding up to punch me again.

Do I need to wrap your wrists? You think you could quit trying to hit me?

I won’t make any promises I can’t keep.

Well here’s a promise, sugar, you swing at me again and I’ll hog-tie you.

Asshole.

I grab her by the waist, reach up for the horn and haul her with me onto the saddle.

And oh hell, this is gonna be some ride with her tight little ass crack bumping up against my swollen cock.

With my arms around her, keeping her safe, I grab the reins and lean down. Her silky hair tickles my cheek as I whisper, Hold on tight, darlin’.

I give Angel the go with my boots. Yah!

And we’re off.

Chapter Three

Where the fuck we’re heading, I have no idea. But I’m not going anywhere else with Chase’s massive arms around me making sure I stay put. His chest is like a brick wall behind me, and I’m doing my best to ignore what’s bumping up against my ass.

It’s like I’m back in the pioneer days. I keep watching for a wagon train that I can flag down for help. But there’s nothing but an occasional dilapidated barn, and hunks of rotting wood dotting the fields. It looks like we’re riding on a yellow ocean.

It’s probably a combination of all the trauma, the sun, and not having anything to eat since breakfast that’s making me feel a little dizzy. But it’s sort of comfortable being up here with Chase. Truth is, my ankle’s killing me. And as much as I hate to admit Chase was right about me riding with him, he was. I wouldn’t get very far out here with an empty gas tank and no cell signal.

I start to nod off, but a hard bounce jolts me awake. Are you going to tell me where we’re going? At least I should know where my psycho kidnapper is taking me.

You trying to get a rise out of me, honeypot? He bends, and his low gravelly voice sounds directly into my ear. Cause it ain’t workin’, he whispers, sending quivers down my spine. "If you want a rise out of me, you’re going to have to do much better than that."

Speaking of getting a rise, do you mind giving me a little space on this saddle? I can feel your dick in me. On me. Gawd, I’m dying. I was thinking about how many women his dick has been in. I didn’t mean to suggest it should be in me. Why am I even thinking about his dick? I probably need to have my head examined along with my ankle. I wish he didn’t smell so good.

Keep talking like that, and you’re going to get more than a rise.

Perv.

Just the way you like it . . .

You have no idea what I like. It’s a feeble response, but what the hell am I supposed to say? This man is messing with my head. I’ve never had anyone talk to me this way, or act this way, or look the way he does. Never been with a man as hot as fuck. And sure as shit, it bugs me. Chase probably does know exactly what I like.

Now, as to where we’re going, he explains, leaning closer so not an inch of my back isn’t touching him. "I can tell you where we’re not going. We are not going back the way we came."

Why not? I’m getting back to my car one way or another.

Darlin’, you have absolutely no idea where you are, do you?

Cow patty central?

When I found you, you were trespassing on my property, but your car is parked on old Maeve Johnson’s land, and if one of her crackhead boys had picked up your scent, they would’ve put you down faster than a horse with a bad leg, if they didn’t roughhouse you first. They’ve got the biggest pot-growing operation in the state. I’m surprised you didn’t get caught in one of their booby traps.

A lightning rod of panic rips down my spine and shoots all the way to my bad ankle. Was I really that close to getting put down? Note to self: Never, ever, under any circumstances drive to the middle of nowhere without knowing where the next gas station is. Am I supposed to thank you for pulling a gun on me and scaring me half to death? You could’ve blown my brains out.

I know how to use a gun. I wouldn’t accidently shoot anyone.

Good to know. You’ll only shoot me if you feel like it. Good talk.

You have a mouth on you, you know that?

I ignore his comment as we make our way up a small hill. When we reach the top, I see a house on the other side, less than a mile away. Is that your place?

No, Doc lives there. He’s retired now, but he’s all we have out here. Medivac seemed overkill for an ankle that isn’t bleeding.

Chase pulls up on the reins, but we’re not at Doc’s house yet.

We’re stopping?

Before we go any further, I need to know why you were out here spying on me.

His tone seems to be a little gentler. I suck in a breath, trying to figure out the best way to respond. I don’t want to get into this again, but I’m too tired to argue. As I’ve already said, I work for Vital Studios.

How come I’ve never seen you?

My heart sinks a bit, not that I should be embarrassed about my job. Because I work in the office, not on set. I sigh. Because I read screenplays in a tiny crappy cubicle all day while I try to sell my own screenplay. I angle up at him to check if he’s listening. Chase meets my gaze. "Charlene St. James will move my script to the top of the pile if I can get you to come back to work on Ride ’Em Hard."

So they did send you. Well, I’m a hotter commodity than I thought.

You are. My heart feels lighter with hope. And your fans love you. If you could just come back to the set, I’m sure Vital will give you whatever you want to make you happy.

Not happening. And I don’t have to explain why to you, he grunts.

But it’s a win-win for you, and your fans will be thrilled. I give him the best perky smile I can muster, but I can see by his blank expression I’m not talking