The Cowboy Rode a Harley

183 Pages·2013·0.88 MB·English

by  Arden Susan

The Cowboy Rode a Harley

Susan Arden

Sweet-N-Spicy Tales
The Cowboy Rode A Harley
Series: Bad Boys Don’t Drink the Water, Book 3

Copyright © Susan Arden
Published: August 2013
SWEET-N-SPICY TALES

ISBN-13: 978-1491273982
ISBN-10: 1491273984

The right of Susan Arden to be identified as author of this Work has been
asserted by her in accordance with Sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs
and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in
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Find out more about the author and upcoming books online at
http://www.susanarden.com or Twitter: @romancebysusan Facebook:
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Blog: http://susanarden.blogspot.com

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the
product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance
to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is
entirely coincidental.
Dedication
To Doug Taylor, my best friend and husband.
Motorcycle rider, motocross winner (Diamond Don and Unadilla), my hero
and authority on motorcycle information.

To all the readers who have made this journey with me, thank you.

Sincere thanks and appreciation to Barbara Gibbs
([email protected]) for your incredible proofing of this story.
Allie, for your fab chocolate lasagna recipe, thanks.
And a huge thank you to Auburn Wade for your support and excellent Beta
reading.

The Cowboy Rode a Harley
Book 3 of the Bad Boys Don’t Drink the Water series. This story takes place
approximately two years after Tempted by Trouble (Book 1). This series features
the Evermore Cattle Ranch and the McLemore family. The story began with
Cynthia “Sam” Cainwright and Carolina Rodriguez, two cousins from Miami,
Florida.
Chapter 1
Staring at the frilly canopy overhead, Stephen muttered a solemn, “Damn.” No
point in arguing—he’d tied one on mighty tight last night, and just where in the
hell he had landed was anyone’s guess.
Bright sunlight streamed into the room from a pair of windows decked
out with lacy curtains. He jerked his head away from the glare coming through
the open blinds. The stabbing pain in his head increased with the sharp
movement. He lifted his hand to shield his eyes. His right arm stopped short as a
band of metal tore into his skin.
“What the—?” His wrist was secured three or four inches away from the
brass bed post by a set of metal handcuffs. He tugged, clanking metal against
metal, and the bed squeaked as if in protest. That noise brought back memories.
Shit. Where was he? Gazing around the room again, he affirmed the bed
and room appeared much different in the daylight. Stuffed animals, fluffy
pillows, and a heap of glittery women’s clothing swathed every surface. Christ,
he’d never seen so many feathers, sequins, and beaded textures. He leaned his
head back against the headboard. Stripper came to mind.
Stephen wasn’t bound by his legs to the footboard or posts. Not this time.
His left arm was free and he brought it down, scrubbing his hand over his face.
“For the love of Mary,” he muttered, as bits and pieces of the previous
night continued to float back into his awareness, filling in the gaps.
The memory flared of bending a woman over the railing of the bed, and
her moans evoked a churning in his gut. A far cry from how he’d started out
yesterday, when he’d left his house in search of another evening of drinking and
gambling. A hazardous combination in the world of morning-afters.
Dropping his free arm onto the bed, he encountered a body next to him.
Feet peeked out from under the top of the covers. Stephen lifted the sheet,
darting a glance at woman wearing a pair of dungarees, and vaguely recalled
entering the room with her hours ago. He reached for the woman’s shoulder and
began to shake her into the here and now.
“Lori, wake up,” he said. Nothing. The woman didn’t rustle. He released
the sheet on top of her.
One of them had laid down cash on the bar in some bawdy bet about
going the distance after a line-up of shots. Another messed-up wager. He wasn’t
going to take the bait, only Lori had said this was the last time she’d have
spontaneous sex. Whatever that meant had been lost in the aftermath.
Stephen twisted the handcuff, forcefully snapping it against the rail, but it
was a no-go. He closed his eyes for a second to get his bearings. The memory of
last night dripped back into his awareness: he’d stumbled into this strange room
drunker than drunk. Wasted with a woman and all he’d cared was…nothing
came to mind. At least not at that point.
Today, he just wanted to get free and out of there, put some distance
between himself and a raging hangover. Right about now, he’d sell his soul for a
tall glass of ice-cold water.
Holy. Fuck. Distance. Opening his eyes, he sat upright. Back at the ranch
this very morning, they were laying down yards of fencing and he had a crew
waiting for him. Balls to the wall, this situation needed mending in hurry. His
brother would have nail his hide to the barn wallboard if he didn’t get back to
Evermore to oversee his team.
So far, Stephen had never been late. For all his carousing, his nightlife
was his business and he meant to keep it that way.
He shook Lori again, holding on to her above the covers. “Hey, I need
the key.”
Cussing at first, she responded with slurring gibberish, and then loudly
whined to stop rocking the boat. Christ Almighty, she must still be drunk.
Stephen studied the handcuff binding this wrist. A bright pink bow
caught his eye on the nightstand on the other side of the bed. He spied what
appeared to be a set of silver keys at the end of the ribbon. Small keys, just the
right size to fit the lock on these cuffs.
All he had to do was pluck them off the nightstand. He stretched,
sprawling his arm across the massive mattress, and brushed his hand across a
head of ruby curls. There, on the opposite side of the bed, he stared at the long,
flaming hair belonging to another woman. The redhead lay on the very edge of
the mattress. This was getting seriously messed up. Cuffs and two babes…and
he had no recollection of a sexy threesome.
Stephen moved, and his weight made the mattress dip. Lori groaned, and
then snorted before she flailed her arms. She took up a vast amount of space in
the middle of the bed while the redhead clung to the edge without stirring. Both
women were out of it. Fire and brimstone, and he’d be damned, but he couldn’t
jar free a single memory of the other woman.
Long, curling hair hid her face, shielded her body, and jabbed his
memory. He pulled back suddenly as though her fiery hair singed his skin.
Stephen continued staring at her for a heartbeat, and then without considering,
lightly fingered a silky curl.
Even under the threat of holding up his crew, he was irrevocably drawn
to her. Or really, the question of had he fucked her last night needed an answer.
He moved her hair from her shoulder, tangling his hand in her soft strands. Over
the years, he’d gotten to know a slew of girls with cinnamon-to carrot-colored
hair, but not one possessed hair this soft.
He grimaced as his gaze traveled over her creamy skin and had him
furrowing his brow. Nope, nothing but a big black hole remained in his
recollection. Christ. The skin over his body tightened in his want to remember
her. How much tequila had he consumed, and just what the hell had he done
with her before…shit, this was the first time in a long time that he’d passed out.
The shape of her body spoke of slender limbs and long lines and had him staring.
Hard. Even so, he a drew cavernous blank when it came to her.
This mystery would have to lie. No time to ponder on a wild orgy. Not
when his brother Matt had ideas of how wild ranching could get when any of
them messed up. Stephen, his four brothers, father, uncles, and cousins were
walking around on eggshells when it came to Matt lately. His older brother had
managed the ranch for the last two years with a lackluster sense of humor, and
recently Carolina, his wife, had become pregnant with twins, making Matt’s
temper flare.
Every man at Evermore could take getting gored by a bull, but heaven
help the man whose wife might be in jeopardy. Carolina’s condition had had
Matt twisted in worry for the last month. All anyone had to do was look at Matt
cockeyed and he’d tear the unlucky bastard a new asshole. According to Matt,
giving birth to twins required his fulltime attention in making certain his wife, a
large animal vet, didn’t venture into the cattle pens or horse stalls.
But shit, Stephen admitted, he’d be a lunatic the day he got married and
his wife was going to give birth to his baby. Another reason he had no desire to
inch toward matrimony. That island of insanity didn’t need another inhabitant,
and he’d keep his freedom. Thank you very much.
No, he enjoyed living life free, easy, and unencumbered. Even if it meant
waking up next to two women. Things could be worse, he mused. Oh yeah, tons
worse. He inhaled the scent of flowers, and something smoky like incense,
inciting a current through his body. Steeling his head, he refused to treat the
mysterious woman on the side of the bed as though she was some sort of
challenge. Time was wasting. Stephen rolled over, reaching above Lori, and
purposefully avoided touching the redhead while lunging for the key.
When his arm brushed against the crimson curls, he swore sharply. There
was something irritatingly familiar about that head. The scent in the room came
from her. The fragrance lifted into the air as he neared her hair. Not some cheap,
sweet perfume, but reminiscent of some earthy essence, rich and erotically
tantalizing. For a millisecond, he basked in her sexy aroma. Dammit, he knew
her. Staring down and concentrating on her silky curls, he exhaled in frustration
at his inability to uncover the missing link. He grabbed the key, and sought the
safety on his side of the bed.
Stephen sat back with the key pinched between his fingers. Clenching his
jaw, he noted the redhead wore a t-shirt and her arms were long and slim, yet
defined. No telling what was under the covers.
Irked by an itching curiosity, he had to find out. Lifting the corner of the
sheet, he stared at the opposite side of the bed and frowned. The unknown
woman was narrow but curvy, long-as-hell-legged, and he wracked his brain to
recall those legs wrapped around him. Wide awake at the thought, his dick
hardened. He sure as shit would enjoy remembering those lean limbs thrown
over his shoulders. That filly looked like she’d fallen into bed last night without
bothering to get undressed.
Why was he the only one naked? In bed with two fully-clothed women…
this set the record in strange threesomes. He sucked in a mouthful of air,
annoyed at his inability to place this sexy third wheel.
He swung his own legs off the side of the bed, expecting to feel the ill
effects of too much alcohol. Despite having a machete buried in his head, he was
steady on his feet. The lancing pain to his brain made putting a key into a lock an
act requiring surgical finesse.
Nimbly, he inserted and turned the key, and then caught the cuff as it fell
from his wrist. Only then did he realize how tight the handcuff had been.
Stephen rubbed the numbness from his arm and hand while he stood and looked
around for his clothing. Following a trail of shoes, he strode to the other side of
the bed.
A sharp gasp rose from the mattress. The splitting of his head increased
remarkably. He gripped the brass bedpost and couldn’t keep his eyes from
widening. Stephen’s spine snapped straight. “Gillian, what the heck are you
doing here?”
For crying out loud—the redhead was Haden’s baby sister. Now, this
whole event took on all sorts of crazy undertones. His old friend’s younger sister
watched him with eyes that stared, not at his face, but below. Far below his gaze
and, from what he could tell, she continued to stare at his groin. Color stained
her face, making her green eyes glimmer. His cock was rock hard and stood
straight out from his body. He could hang his shirt from the lead-pipe-appendage
his dick had become. No use trying to cover himself—the damage was done.
But Christ, she didn’t say a word, and at the same time refused to look
away. He had to do something other than bolt.
“Cat’s got your tongue,” Stephen said, then turned, reaching for his
clothes.
She still hadn’t said a word. Her silence spread out in the space around
him, twisting in his gut. He shook his head. Nothing to do but get dressed. And
as quickly as he could under her scrutiny.
Stephen bent down, reaching for his boxers. He glanced over his
shoulder, praying she’d have her eyes closed. Nope. Emerald green shards of
glass stared back. She followed his every movement, even though her gaze kept
flitting back below his waist.
He said the first thing that came to mind. “You should stop watching me
and have a measure of decency.”
Gillian snapped her arms across her chest. Right. That got her attention.
The shit was about to hit the fan—full blast.
“Excuse me,” she hissed, and sat straight up. “Decency. That’s rich
coming from you, Stephen McLemore. Don’t use big words that you’ll trip
over.” Gillian pressed her arms tighter over her chest, pushing her taut, firm
breasts upward, and the sheet fell away from her legs.
He’d been wrong. She wasn’t wearing shorts, but some type of hip-
hugging underpants. Christ, it took his eyes forever to make it up her gorgeous
legs. He enjoyed the journey, returning down her shapely calves, past her slender
ankles, and finally rested on her arched, slender feet that almost extracted a
groan from his mouth. He’d never realized a woman’s two feet could be such a
turn-on. But then, Gillian wasn’t just any woman, he sharply reminded himself.
Never mind Matt—Haden would chop off his dick for touching his little sister.
He struggled mentally, rerunning the evening through his mind,
searching for a glimpse of her in the recesses of his foggy memory. Without
meaning to, his contemplation returned to her toes and he imagined sucking each
one, especially the one with a dainty gold ring encircling her pink-painted toe.
Sexy as any fantasy he’d ever had about a woman. Damn, she looked
good with those underthings hiked way up her legs. His dick twitched, and
mercy if the little minx didn’t drop her gaze to his cock again.
“You keep staring. See something you like?” he asked.
“Not particularly. I just don’t understand what it is that you think you’re
up to, coming around this side of the bed…with that thing.” Gillian’s face went
beet red and her chin trembled.
“Christ, darlin’, I’m only gathering my clothes. I need to get back to the
ranch. What the hell are you doing in this room? Did we…do anything last
night?”
“Are you telling me, you don’t remember who you poked with that
thing? What do you do, just go around putting it into places without any
recollection?”
“Girl, I remember plenty from last night. Just not you.”
“Well, maybe, Mr. Popular, that’s because you and I didn’t do a thing.”
“You watched?”
Gillian screeched, “Are you out of your cotton-picking mind? Why on
earth would I even want to watch you?”
“Because for the last couple of minutes, that’s exactly what you’ve done.
Don’t lie. I can see from your expression, you’re more than curious. I just can’t
wrap my mind around why we might have been involved in a threesome.”
She stared at him with her moist lips parted. If he’d thought she was riled
before, this speechless state where her face had gone pink simply meant she was
gearing up for some huge meltdown. He turned away, stepped into his boxers,
and picked up his jeans. After slipping them on, he peered back at Gillian. She
had her cellphone cradled to her ear.
“Whoa.” He pulled the phone from her hand. “What are you doing that
for?” Close to her, he realized he wanted to do more than take hold of her
cellphone. She stood, coming up next to him. Her pupils were dilated and the
way she held his gaze without speaking took hold of him. Between them
something besides anger boiled.
“Stephen, I was only checking my messages.” The heat from her body
warmed his skin. The fire from her green eyes hadn’t abated; if anything, sparks
continued to spew.
“Give. It. Back.” She grabbed her phone but, for one second, their skin
connected. Sweet Mary, he swore he’d just felt a jolt of some current pass
between them.
“Answer the other question, Gillian.” Their gazes clashed and snapped.
He stared down at her, perplexed about why she suddenly turned him on. All the
way. “Or are you just into looking?”
For his entire life, he’d known Haden. From grade school to high school,
somewhere in the shadows Gillian had just been his buddy’s kid sister. She was
only a bit older than his little sister—somewhere around that smart-mouth
college age—but everything about her said one-hundred-percent woman.
“Jeez, could your head get any larger? How in blue blazes was I
supposed to know you were shacked up with Lori? I don’t do bed checks when I
go to sleep.”
The idea of her tumbling into a strange bed hit him square in his belly.
What type of life did she lead? No, he didn’t like this one bit. “Oh, you just
happened to find your way into this bed by chance?”