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  Was that guilt?

  She met his gaze. “He spoke highly of you.”

  Not guilt, embarrassment. Trace nodded. “The old coot liked to play matchmaker.” He grinned, remembering all the times his uncle brought home phone numbers for him.

  Macy smiled. “He was good at it.” She blinked a couple times and grimaced.

  What did that mean? He could ask her, but she already thought he was a rude bastard, snarling at her earlier from the porch like a guard dog. It was his way of covering up the crazy-wild rush of desire he’d felt when he first laid eyes on her. When had he ever reacted this way to a woman? She was pretty damn cute with her shy glances and awkward stares. Sexy with her curvy body and pouty lips. How was he going to keep his hands off her?

  “Were you on his flight out of Houston?” Silas had never left Texas until nine months ago, but Trace didn’t want to go into the reason his uncle took the trip. The pain of loss still floated close to the surface. His uncle had raised him after his parents died. He’d been as close to him as a father.

  “No. This is my first trip to Texas.” She smiled gently, as if sensing his bleak mood. “I do sales, but mostly in the Midwest and Northeast. The company I work for has been talking about expanding into the South and West, but…” She trailed off, as if thinking.

  He bet she was thinking the same thing. If she got down here to Texas occasionally, they could make it a regular thing. Even if she was here after his money, he couldn’t ignore the hot, sexy connection between them. Hell, he didn’t have to marry her. One sizzling night a month he could spend some of his bankroll on her.

  They’d meet in a high-class Houston hotel. He’d pull her to him, hard and fast, and their kisses would be frantic as they ripped the clothes off each other. He’d tell her with desperation choking his voice, “I want you. Now.” He’d pick her up and press her back against the wall. He’d lift her legs and slide into her hot, wet pussy.

  She’d claw his back as he pumped into her, deep and steady, making sure he rubbed her clit with enough finesse to send her over the edge with a scream. Their first rush of lust curbed, they’d fall onto the bed where he’d introduce her to some edgy sex play. Just the basics at first…

  “Trace?” Her eyes held a sly gleam. “You seem to be the one who’s doing the staring now.”

  Aw, shit. He’d clamped his jaw and bared his teeth. His eyes had to be burning with lust. He looked away, struggling to snuff out the flame in his groin, subdue the twitching in his cock as it fought against the denim of his jeans. He wanted her pressed tight to him. Nothing would stop him from trying to make that happen.

  He was getting ahead of himself. She was here about her inheritance. He’d get that out of the way first. If he could get her to sign it over to him, he’d write her a check, and all legal ties would be over. Then he could concentrate on tonight. If he made it a memorable night, he’d start talking her into something ongoing.

  “Let’s head into the barn.” He placed his hand on her lower back as they started walking. It was what gentlemen did, but he felt her tense. She looked up at him. That look, and the powerful surge of desire racing through his veins damn near sidelined him. His own muscles tensed while the overwhelming urge to taste her sweet lips, explore her mouth with his tongue, had him nearly breathless.

  “Why are we going into the barn?”

  “That’s where Spinnin’ Wheel is.”

  “Oh. Okay.” She sounded confused and maybe disappointed? Had she hoped he was inviting her for a hard, fast fuck in a soft bed of hay? Or a slow screw up against the barn wall, tied with a rope? The visuals made his mouth water.

  They stepped into the cool, pungent shade of the barn. Trace stopped next to a stall. “Here he is.”

  Macy looked at the brown and white Paint stallion then at Trace. “This is a horse.”

  He chuckled, “That’s right, it is a horse.” He sobered as it hit him. She had no idea what she’d inherited. “This is your horse.”

  “My horse?” Macy shook her head. Had Trace just said…? She looked at the nameplate on the stall. “Spinning Wheel is a horse?”

  When Silas’ attorney called in January, Macy had been at an airport ready to board a plane. She immediately recalled Silas because she enjoyed talking with the older gentleman on a flight. He showed her Trace’s picture and extolled his virtues. In the months after, Macy was a tiny bit disappointed he never followed through on his promise to introduce them. She’d been far too busy with her job to track down Silas and finagle the introduction.

  She’d scribbled down the things the attorney said, including the words “spinning wheel” and “very valuable,” the address of the ranch, and the name of Silas’ nephew, Trace McGonagall. At his name, and the realization she’d be meeting the man who’d inhabited her dreams for months, excitement started her heart pumping crazily.

  She’d thanked the attorney and hung up, her mind whirling with possibilities. As she settled into her seat on the plane, she re-read her notes. Why would Silas leave her a spinning wheel? A wooden contraption, but what would make it “very valuable?” Was it used at the Alamo? She’d never imagined…

  “I inherited a horse?” She couldn't help the unflattering squeak in her voice. She was in shock.

  Using his index finger on the brim, he tipped his hat back, a perplexed smile on his lips. “You didn’t know, did you? You thought it was a yarn thing.”

  She looked at him with wide eyes. This was too ridiculous. A startled laugh bubbled from her chest.

  He chuckled a few times, leaned back against the stall. Taking a huge breath, he let loose.

  Macy laughed until she had to lean against the stall.

  Between bursts of laughter, he sputtered out “trailer hitch” and “back seat.”

  Spinning Wheel nickered, tossing his head. Another horse echoed the call.

  As she watched Trace, a little part of her heart contracted and connected with his. She longed to touch him, to feel his chest shake with laughter, to share their humor in a more physical way.

  She caught her breath. “I should have gotten a bigger rental car.”

  He hooted and slapped his thigh. His face glowed with joy, his straight, white teeth flashing in the subdued light. He became even more handsome, more irresistible, when he laughed. His chuckles slowed. “I haven’t laughed like this in ages.”

  This whole day was one big ball of delightful karma. Macy’s life was usually routine, structured, and predictable. It had been so long since she felt this happy, this uninhibited.

  “I own a horse.” She looked at the regal head and soft brown eyes of Spinning Wheel. “Can I touch him?”

  Trace wiped his eyes and dealt with the final bursts of laughter rolling from his belly. “You sure can. Put your hand on top of the gate.”

  She set her hand carefully on the wood railing. Spinning Wheel came over and sniffed her. “So, why the confusing name?”

  Trace breathed deeply, but on the exhale, chuckled a couple more times. “He was a rodeo bronc. Started out with some odd French name, but when he’d come out of the gate, he’d spin more than buck. So he got the nickname. And it stuck.” He ran his big hand down the horse’s nose. “Huh, old guy?”

  Not sure if she dare pet the horse yet, Macy asked, “He’s old?”

  “He’s gettin’ up there. But he’s still a damn good stud. Nearly every one of his foals is high-caliber buckin' stock. The mares like him, too.” He stepped behind her, took her hand from the gate, and lifted it to the horse’s nose. “He’s gentle and slow.”

  He wasn’t talking about the horse any longer. His drawl stirred hot desire down low in her core, imagining him taking his time with her, pleasing her with patient licks and decadent touches. Her skin tingled where his palm pressed against her hand, guiding her fingers over Spinning Wheel’s soft nose. When the horse turned, he eased her hand across the side of his neck.

  Trace stood close, not touching anywhere but her hand. She wanted more. A
wave of awareness rushed down her spine. Chills wiggled through her body. As the sun slid below the horizon, the barn darkened around them. Crickets chirruped, welcoming the coming evening.

  Trace put his other hand on the gate, corralling Macy with his arms and chest. His hip bumped her backside then pressed closer. His scent seemed different now, more musky, with a little bit of horse tossed in. She inhaled deeply, trying to draw him closer by sheer will.

  “He likes a little foreplay, too,” Trace continued, his voice dropping low and seductive.

  A tiny sound escaped her lips. This man was irresistible, and she had no desire to resist. “How?” she asked, the question not quite relevant. One by one, her brain cells began snapping off, preparing for the sensual bliss of what was coming next. “What kind of foreplay?”

  “Mmm.” Trace took her hand back from petting the horse and ran his palm up her arm. He did the same on the other side. “Touchin’.” His calloused fingers traced her bare shoulders, along the strap of the halter top. “Your skin is so soft.”

  Every nerve ending jumped and jittered at his touch. She closed her eyes, fully experiencing the contact. Her core hummed with desire and her nipples pebbled with need.

  His palms spread across her bare upper back then down her sides. “You’re so small.” His hands wrapped around her waist, nearly spanning it. “You smell so good…” He pressed his face against her hair and took a deep breath. “Flowers.”

  She wished she could tell him the name of her perfume, wished she could say anything. Her thoughts flowed muzzy and thick, like honey. Inside, her muscles heated and her bones melted. When she leaned back slightly, she found him there behind her, his hard chest touching her back.

  His hands spread to cover her stomach, warming her through her shirt. She prayed, willed his hands to slide upward, to cup her breasts. Her tight nipples tingled with invitation as her head whirled in anticipation.

  He gently turned her to face him, his hands on her shoulders.

  The spin disoriented her and she clutched his arms to steady herself. Forcing her lids open, she saw his eyes, dark and dilated, shining with desire. His face so intense, it rattled a spasm through her, centering its heat in her pussy, convulsing her deep inside, sending moisture streaming from between her lips onto her panties. “Kiss me, Trace.”

  Chapter Three

  Trace could barely restrain himself from grabbing and conquering. She embodied everything he looked for in a woman. Sweet and kind, blushing but sexy, funny and sexy. Yeah, he’d already mentioned sexy, but she was damn sexy.

  It took him a moment of measured breaths to bring himself under control before he kissed her. He didn’t want to take, he wanted to give. To share a kiss, not ravage her. As he inched his lips closer to hers, she wrapped her arms around his neck and closed her eyes. Beautiful. Did he mention beautiful?

  His hands slid down her sides, barely brushing the swell of her breasts, ending up on her back. His lips touched hers. Rocket fire lust shot down his spine. His cock hardened and swelled, his balls tingled, and everything in him begged to rush this, to make a bed in the hay and take her down with him.

  She was precious. Worth taking his time on. He kept the kiss soft, easy, until she sighed and flicked her tongue onto his lips in invitation.

  His tongue explored each crevice of her mouth, tangled with her tongue, sucking it into his mouth to invite her to taste him. Her taste—perfect—like sweet wine. He dug the fingers of one hand in her hair, feeling the silk, loving the thick, heavy texture.

  His hand traveled from her back to her firm, round ass. He pulled her closer and shared her startled inhale as his cock pressed hard into her stomach. Unable to keep himself from testing her sexual tastes, he walked her back a step, pressing her against the gate. He ran his hands up her sides, along her arms, and unlinked them from around his neck. Holding her wrists, he spread her arms to her sides and pinned them to the wood plank.

  Her eyelids fluttered then opened, piercing him with a seductive gaze.

  “Do you like that, Macy?” He spread his feet apart, leaning the full weight of his body against hers. His cock throbbed as it engorged, feeling her heat creep through their clothes to taunt his sensitive flesh.

  “I like…” she whispered, her breath panting in and out.

  Trace tipped his head and spoke quietly in her ear. “What do you like?”

  “I like to be held.”

  He grinned. That was exactly what he wanted to hear. “You like to be…restrained?”

  “Yes.” She turned her face away.

  He leaned back to see her. Her pink cheeks and tightly closed eyes confused him at first. Until he realized she was uncertain of his reaction to her disclosure.

  “Beautiful, you've found the right man.”

  She swung her head and looked at him, her eyes at first relieved, then heating with a tempting, teasing sexuality. “And you? What do you like?”

  Kissing her, he said, “When I have you in my bed…” Another kiss. “You'll know the full intensity of my dominance.”

  She cried out softly, her entire body shivering along his.

  Every cell in his flesh responded, pumped to bursting with desire. He took her mouth, desperate to show her what she did to him. How she made him crazy with the need to bind her and please her with stinging lashes and tight clamps. The kiss turned potent, so intense he forgot where he was, what was happening around him.

  Until the rumbling of the south barn door being closed by one of his ranch hands brought him back to reality. He broke off the kiss and released her, then turned to see Jobe sliding the door shut, his face averted to give them privacy.

  Trace glanced down at Macy. She looked like a woman on the edge of an orgasm. “Think you can walk?”

  Her breath panted through her parted lips. “Give me just a second.” She braced herself against the stall gate, blinking rapidly and swallowing a few times.

  Trace didn’t mind the interruption. Before things got out of hand, he’d been about to suggest they make a run for the ranch house. It took only seconds for them to lose themselves in a wild fever.

  Ache. He physically ached for her, his cock, his balls, his lips. Every inch of his body wanted, needed her. All of her, and all night long. Making her his woman.

  Goddamn, he’d known her less than an hour, but there it was. The matching chemistry he’d been searching for. The perfect storm of lust, fascination, and compatibility. The fourth ingredient was love, but it was far too soon to be talking the “L” word. “Like” was good enough for now. Judging from the conversations they’d shared so far, he did like her.

  He was going for it. His uncle was right—a man didn’t run into a woman like Macy Veralta often.

  In the few seconds it took her to get her legs back under her, he’d mastered his response enough to walk straight. “Come into the house with me.” He looked deep into her eyes, conveying his meaning with his gaze.

  She glanced away then looked up at him with sparkling eyes. Pink color flooded her cheeks. “I’d love to.” She turned and reached for her horse. “Good night, Spinning Wheel. I’ll see you in the morning.” She looked at Trace and grimaced. “I didn’t mean to insinuate I’d be here all night. I made a hotel reservation—”

  He took her hand and tugged her close. “You’ll still be on the ranch in the mornin’, darlin’. You’re not gettin’ away from me that easily.”

  If the ranch hands hadn’t been poking around in the barn, he would have picked her up in his arms and carried her to his home. Right into his bedroom. He bent and pressed a kiss to her lips, slung an arm around her shoulders, and guided her out the open barn door toward his house. Toward his bed and a night of hot, untamed pleasure.

  Macy had made a reservation at a hotel in a local town, about a half hour’s drive from the ranch. She’d much rather spend the night in Trace’s bed. His big, calloused hand gently rubbed her shoulder as he led her toward the house. “Do you need anything from your car?”r />
  She made her smile sassy as she looked up at him. “Can I change back into my sexy sandals?”

  He laughed. “You sure can, darlin’ and I’d like to encourage you to do so.”

  She pulled her purse from the front seat.

  He stopped at the trunk. “Do you have a suitcase?”

  “I do, but I can get it later.” If Trace’s housekeeper was still here, Macy would feel too obvious, carrying in her suitcase. As she dug in her purse for the keys, she remembered what else she had in the trunk. Her sample cases. “Um, I can grab the shoes.”

  He stepped back, a quizzical look on his face.

  She popped the trunk with the key fob and sighed. Actually, this would be a good time to confess everything. She turned to him, a nibble of fear worrying at her stomach. “Trace, I never told you what I do for a living.”

  One eyebrow lifted. “Sales?”

  “Yes. But…” She glanced into the trunk, back at him. “It’s the type of sales I didn’t mention, and I want you to know what I do before we get any… I mean, go any further.” She’d almost said, “get any closer,” but that would be presumptuous.

  “Okay. You’ve got my attention.” He leaned to the left, a mischievous look on his face as he tried to see around her. “What do you sell?”

  “Toys.”

  “Toys? Like dolls and trucks?”

  She couldn’t meet his eye and stared at his shirt. “No.”

  “You don’t mean adult toys, do you?”

  She bit her lip and nodded. “Yes. It’s a long story, but a college friend started the business and needed someone with a marketing degree to—”

  He threw his head back and laughed.

  She smiled, relieved that his reaction wasn’t the “eeew” she’d heard from a few men she’d dated. She understood why they’d found it uncomfortable. One guy even called it sinful. No one found it this humorous. “Why is it so funny?”

  Trace stepped in front of her and slid an arm around her waist, pulling her tight against him. “Macy, you can barely make a move without blushin’. How the hell are you able to sell vibrators to strangers without hyperventilatin’ and passin’ out?”