Under Pressure Page 4

  “Then maybe you should stop.”

  She swallowed and dropped her hands. He swiveled his body, looking at her. His eyes were like green diamonds, and in the left iris, there was a small fleck of brown. He opened his mouth as if to say something, but then snapped it shut. In the next second, he grabbed her around the waist and dragged her against his chest—his chest heaved with each breath. Their mouths met in a frenzy of battling tongues, fingers tugging at clothes, hands exploring exposed skin.

  His hat flew off as she spread her fingers through the silken mass of coal hair.

  Jewels dropped back onto the bed, pulling him along. He stretched his brawny body over hers and she wrapped her legs around his hips, gyrating the apex of her thighs against his bulging zipper. A deep moan rippled past his lips and tickled her mouth.

  Dipping her fingers to the buttons of his shirt, she tugged the material free, hearing seams break as she tore it from his body. Hungrily, she spread her hands over his bare chest, palming the thin layer of crisp hair. She nicked a fingernail across one flat nipple and he groaned.

  Once the shirt was slipped off his arms, she dropped her fingers to the large belt buckle and, with trembling fingers, she ripped at the leather and metal. “Here, darlin’.” He quickly undid the buckle, the metal clanged and echoed, sending a rush of anticipation through the engorged flesh of her core.

  He brought his hand away and she took over, unzipping his jeans, each crisp ping of the teeth of the zipper was a reminder how far she was diving into the pool of no return.

  She couldn’t deny her body burned with need—and that wasn’t a good thing. She wasn’t supposed to feel anything. What the hell was happening to her?

  Her fingers paused at the crotch of his jeans, his erection pulsated against the backs of her knuckles. She was so close to the part off him that could bring her the release that her vibrator hadn’t fulfilled over time.

  Sliding her fingers past the waist of his boxers, she dipped her fingers in and skimmed the tip of his wet head. “Take those jeans off,” she demanded.

  He pulled back, slid off his boots then jeans, and gave them a quick toss. He leaned in and covered her mouth with his. The sandpapery layer of beard was heavenly against her skin. Her core throbbed and ached, and if only she could follow her desire.

  A reminder dinged inside of her head. This man played her sister. Just as he was probably playing her now, but he had no clue she was here to satiate the need for revenge. For her sister, for all women who’ve opened their hearts and had it crushed by a man.

  Lifting her hand to her forehead, she squeezed the area between her brows. The pressure of tension thumped behind her eyes.

  He lifted himself on elbow, his gaze narrowed. “You okay?”

  “I-I suddenly have a headache.”

  “Mixing beer and whiskey can do that sometimes.”

  Or playing a role and failing miserably.

  “Yeah, you’re right. I don’t know what I was thinking. But I can’t do this.”

  “This?” His voice croaked.

  She nibbled the corner of her bottom lip. “I’m feeling ill. Do you mind getting me a glass of water?”

  He blinked. “Sure.” He got up and she stared between her fingers, following his tight ass all the way across the room. And on his way back, she stared again, this time at his coiled abs and the obvious expansion of his plaid boxers. At this point, she didn’t care about propriety. She gawked until he produced the bottle of water.

  Accepting the offering, she uncapped it and took a long drink, sneaking another peek at the tip of his erection sticking out from the elastic band. Yeah, she wouldn’t have been disappointed, not in the slightest.

  He awkwardly shuffled his bare feet. “I guess I should get dressed and head out.”

  “No—please don’t. I don’t want to be alone. Will you hold me?” As much as she regretted it, she liked the thought of him holding her. “I hate being alone when I’m not feeling well.”

  Hesitation crawled across his features until he finally shrugged. “I guess I can stay for a while.” He slid into bed next to her.

  Snuggling closer into his warmth, she laid her head in the crook of his shoulder. His fingers threaded through her hair, combing the tresses and the action was quite comforting. She tilted her chin so that she could look up at him. How could a man with such a rough and tough exterior show such tenderness?

  Possibly, she was making the biggest mistake of her lifetime.

  Or maybe she was lonely and her emotions were discoloring the truth. Yeah, that seemed more likely. She never was good at gauging a man’s character because she always wound up missing the red flags. Em was the same way. If there was a bad boy within a ten-mile radius, they would certainly draw them in.

  Sighing, she closed her eyes and fought hard to maintain resistance.

  This would all be over soon.

  Chapter Four

  SPARK’S NOSE ITCHED. But he couldn’t move his hands to scratch.

  Forcing one eye to a slit, he wasn’t in his room, but still in the motel. Damn. He’d fallen asleep.

  Opening both eyes, he blinked the fuzziness away and lifted his head. His arms were stretched high above his head and his wrists ached. He darted a glimpse above him.

  He was tied to the headboard. Acid gurgled in his stomach. “What the hell!” He gave his hands a jerk, but the rope held them tight. “Fuck!”

  Jerking a glance around the room…there she was…sitting in the chair, her legs crossed and a look of satisfaction covering her pretty features.

  “What the fuck is this?” Now he understood why Ms. Stone had been throwing herself at him. “Talk to me!” he demanded.

  A sticky, tingly sensation brought his gaze lower and on his legs. He squinted. Both legs were covered with some sort of pink, glossy paper. “And what in God’s creation are those?”

  She got up, stood at the end of the bed, a smirk curving her lips. “Wax strips.”

  “Get them off me and let me the hell out of this bed!” he snarled

  “Are you sure you want me to help you with the strips?” One thin brow curved maliciously.

  “Hell yeah!”

  She reached down, grabbed the corner of one strip and pulled.

  “Ow!” he squealed as a fire like none other raced through his leg. Clenching his teeth, he looked at her through narrowed gaze. “What the hell was that for?’

  “You did ask me to help you. So I did.”

  “I’m talking about all of this—the rope, the shit on my legs.” He forced a breath through tight lips.

  Smugly, she crossed her arms. “This is a lesson earned.”

  He popped up a brow. “A lesson? For what?” Bringing his gaze back to his rope twined wrists, he visually examined the headboard. The cord was wrapped around his wrists, fashioned through the five-inch gap into the wooden detail, then pulled back through and tied in a knot. From what he could see, and with another tug, it wasn’t a bad knot.

  “I’m sorry, but I have plans so I must hurry. I won’t spend much time with my explanation. You played my sister. Therefore, I’m showing you what it’s like to be played.”

  He perused his brain, trying to find a clue as to what she was referring too. He came up blank. This had to be a joke! “Lady, the only one of us who is a player and a manipulator is you.” Seeing a flicker of confusion, he chuckled. “Yes, that’s right, Jewels Stone.”

  One brow snapped up and her hands clenched into fists. “So…so, you knew who I was all along?” Her lips thinned. Good thing she didn’t have a weapon, otherwise he’d be dead, he was certain.

  “What? You don’t like being caught at your sordid game? Pot. Kettle. Black.” He gave his arms a jerk and the bed creaked.

  She darted her glance to his bound wrists, but only a mere flash. “Don’t talk or I’ll have to get the tape and cover your mouth.”

  Anger sliced through his gut. Damn, woman! He didn’t doubt for a minute that she’d do as she threate
ned.

  With a cold glance in his direction, she bent and grabbed something. His jeans! She dipped her hand into the back pocket and withdrew his cell. Now what was she doing?

  “Be thankful that I’m not cruel, otherwise I’d leave you tied up here until the cleaning lady came, and considering I rented this room for two days, that’d be a long time to stay bound to the bed. Imagine the laugh the employees here would have.”

  “Letting me go would be the best decision you’ve made, before things got out of hand.”

  “Are you threatening me?” She shook her head. “Tsk, Tsk.”

  “You have a warped mind, don’t you?” Pulling himself up, he heard the wood crack and the springs pop. It wouldn’t take much pressure for him to break the bed, but he’d have no way of getting the rope undone. Apparently, she was thinking the same thing because her eyes widened.

  “Let’s get this over with, shall we?” She came to stand beside the bed. “Who would you like to call to ask for help?”

  “9-1-1,” he grumbled.

  “And imagine the story you’d tell. You were sleeping so hard that a woman tied you to the bed and placed hot wax strips on your legs. That’d be another group finding the humor in this scenario. So, would you like to change your contact person?”

  He hated it, but she was right. How the hell had he slept so soundly. He guessed after being awake for twenty-four hours, he had been tuckered. He’d have a hard time explaining how a big man like him was tied up by a woman who wasn’t even half his size. Some would probably think he was stupid for complaining.

  Hell, he knew he wouldn’t bother with the police anyway. As peeved as she looked, he didn’t feel like his life was in danger.

  “Call Clay Silver. He’s in my contacts.” She clicked through his phone. Thankfully, he didn’t have anything secret. Clay would also get a good laugh from this crazy shit. Usually, his buddy got into messes. A thought made his lungs cease. “Wait.”

  She looked at him over the phone. “Change your mind again?”

  “No. I want to know, what makes you think I’m the cowboy who played your sister?”

  “Spark Ryder. You hang out at Two Step. And don’t even try suggesting that Spark isn’t your name. The bartender pointed you out and I looked at your driver’s license. Nice snapshot, by the way. I think I’ve seen some just like yours on the funniest ID pictures ever taken. Were you having a bad hair day? I also saw your age. I never would have thought my sister would find an older man attractive. Old enough to know better.” She rolled her eyes.

  Every hair on his body lifted as realization broke through him. He wanted to laugh, but this was far from an amusing predicament. “I can explain. I’m not who you think I am.”

  “Like I said, don’t say a word.” She reached down, grabbed one of the strips and ripped it off.

  Spark considered himself a tough guy. He’d ridden five-hundred pound bulls who could toss a rider as easily as a paper doll. He’d served four years in the military, went through boot camp and dangerous conditions in the Middle East without blinking an eye. He could wrestle a cow with his bare hands. But never in his life had tears come to his eyes from physical pain. His rough and tough reputation was taking a hard hit. He doubted his ego would ever be the same—and he was an innocent man.

  Knowing he could face the wrath of a waxing strip again, he needed to clear the air. “I’m not from around here. I’ve only been in town for less than two weeks—”

  “Don’t waste my time.” Her hand moved over the phone and then she held it out. “It’s ringing.”

  Hearing Clay pick up, Spark held Jewels’ gaze. “I need you to come get me. The motel down the road from Two Step. Room 250. And pal, you’re dead meat.”

  She took the phone away and dropped it beside him. “Good. Now I should be on my way.”

  Spark didn’t even bother trying to convince her of his innocence. In good time, she would know the truth. It was best to stay quiet and let her go.

  Keeping his gaze on her, she grabbed a duffel bag and headed to the door. She stopped at the threshold and looked at him. “I can see why my sister fell for the charm. It was only hidden under a couple layers of dust.”

  “I don’t know your sister, but I’d go out on a limb and say you’re the one who fell. I could see the yearning in your eyes, feel the heat in your body and smell the scent of sweet juicy pussy.” He couldn’t help himself.

  With a blank expression, she wriggled her fingers in a goodbye salute and slammed the door behind her.

  Spark brought his gaze up to the headboard. He wrapped his fingers around the thick rope, and putting all of his strength and body weight onto the twine, he heard several cracks before the wood splintered. He fell to the bed, his arms free. Smirking, he looked at the closed door. He had a feeling she made it easy for him and had wanted to carry out a lot more torture, but something changed her mind.

  Looking at his legs, he sighed. Maybe he was wrong. Four strips remained. His gut clenched. How the hell would he get them off?

  He had every right to be angry, but truthfully, he couldn’t be as livid as she deserved. After all, if what Jewels said was true, her sister had been duped, and he above anyone knew what he’d do for those he cared for. When his sister died in a car accident ten years ago, he would have given his life for hers.

  Swallowing the constriction in his throat, he grabbed his jeans from the end of the bed and brought his mouth down on the material. He didn’t want to scream and wake up the entire second floor. He maneuvered his bound hands and picked up an edge of one pink strip.

  He could do this. No problem.

  He remembered Jewels had pulled the strip in one swift tug.

  Damn. He couldn’t wait to get his hands around Clay’s neck!

  Biting down deep, he ripped the strip from his skin.

  After he could breathe again, he lifted the thin ribbon and stared at the hairy side of the paper. Droplets of blood were forming on his skin. Only three more to go. Sweat beaded his brow.

  Fifteen minutes later, the door opened and Clay walked in, confusion on his smooth face. Spark had managed to pull his pants on, but the binding wasn’t budging. “It’s about time, buddy,” he snapped.

  “Looks like you had a wild night, bro.” He laughed.

  “Does the last name Stone ring a bell in that pretty boy head of yours?” His patience had long evaporated, after finally removing every strip of wax. The pain was now a dull ache. All tan left his buddy’s features and a suspicious green surrounded his lips. “Yeah, just what I thought.”

  ~°°°~

  Jewels fluttered one eye open and stretched. She’d come back from the motel, crawled into bed and curled up into a dream of hunky cowboy bound to the bed. She moved and the sheet fell off her body.

  She bet he had nice smooth legs now.

  Laughing, she climbed from bed and gave her dog, Oyster, a scratch on the head. The scraggly-haired sheepdog rewarded her with a tilt of his head and a swipe of his tongue through the air. “I wish you could have been there, Oyster. I showed that evil man how to never treat a woman again.”

  Feeling vindicated, she went to her closet, ready to start her day.

  Oyster growled.

  “What’s wrong, boy?”

  He jumped up and ran out of the room. His barks echoed off the hallway walls.

  Curious, Jewels went to the window and pulled back the curtain. She saw the parked truck at the same time she heard the bang of the driver’s door shutting. Her mouth went dry and her heart skipped a beat. Stepping back, she let the curtain drop back into place.

  Scooting into gear, she ran down the hall, sliding on the freshly waxed floors, and hurried into her father’s office. Unlocking the cabinet, she grabbed the shotgun from the shelf. She didn’t bother checking to see if it was loaded—her father always kept it loaded.

  Racing back into the hall, she darted into Em’s bedroom and yelled, “Wake up. We have trouble.”

  Her sister flo
pped, sending one arm swinging out of the blanket. “No!”

  “Wake up.”

  Em lifted her head. Her strawberry blonde curls were sticking up and frizzled. Rubbing the sleep from her eyes, she wrinkled her nose. “What?” she said through a yawn.

  “Get up. Something’s happened.” Jewels sprinted to the window and peeked through the glass to the driveway. Spark Ryder was standing by the porch steps, his arms crossed over his chest and a frustrated expression on his face. He looked almost scary.

  Running across the room, down the hall, taking the staircase at an unbelievable stride, she threw open the front door—shotgun raised.

  Disbelief shot over Spark’s expression, but he didn’t show an ounce of fear. She’d give him that, although he should know she was capable of following through.

  “I don’t know what drug you’re taking to make you brave enough to step foot on this land, but I suggest you slowly back up and get into your truck. You’re on private property.”

  “With permission.”

  She lowered the barrel of the gun, only slightly. “Who gave you permission?”

  “Your father, Joshua Stone.” His cold eyes were on her, but surprisingly a smile played at the corner of his lips.

  “What are you talking about? My father would never give you authorization to be here, especially after I tell him what you’ve done. You’re nothing but a sack of manipulation, aren’t you?” After only a couple of hours of sleep, she didn’t have the patience to deal with the likes of a cocky cowboy. She’d never have guessed he’d be courageous enough to come here.

  “He already knows. I spoke to Stone an hour ago and explained why I’d be late getting to work on my first day.”

  “Work? Your first day?” She kept the gun steady but she was starting to feel sick to her stomach.

  “Yeah, I’m the new ranch hand. After I told Stone that I was tied up because of a mistaken identity by his daughter Jewels, he wasn’t shocked. This isn’t the first time one of his daughters has caused a ruckus at the sake of a poor innocent man. I hated to disturb him on his vacation with his female friend, but he was very courteous.”