Rope Burn: The Boot Knockers Ranch, Book 5 (2 page)

Tabbart allowed an assistant to powder her face and spoke animatedly with a producer on set. Then she came out from behind the counter and spoke to the audience. Talking to a few women in the front row, signing autographs. She seemed genuinely happy to meet her fans.

“Seven minutes till we roll,” someone announced. Tabbart looked up and nodded. Her glance moved over Stowe standing in the shadows.

He stared at her for a long heartbeat, aware of how delicate her features were. Arching brows, small nose that hadn’t been touched by a surgeon’s knife. And those plump lips that had his engine revving.

She drew a breath big enough that her breasts swelled. He flicked his gaze downward, licking over them to her tiny waist. Her hips were obscured by the floaty skirt, but he’d bet his favorite cat-o’-nine-tails whip that her hips were fuller. Her bottom perfect for grabbing and tugging her into his cock.

“Five minutes.”

Good Christ. Had they really been staring at each other for two minutes? He gave her a nod and fingered the brim of his hat. A smile teased the corner of her lips, but she didn’t shine that smile on him.

Someone else claimed her attention and she swung away. In seconds she was positioned behind the counter again, barricaded from him.

For the rest of the taping, he tried to get his hormones under control. Damn, he was like a randy goat, willing to fuck anything within grasp.

That wasn’t exactly true. He looked at the women in the front of the audience. Some more attractive than others. Each and every one of them he could make drop to their knees and pant with need after a few orders. But he didn’t have any desire to try.

Actually, since the sub he’d helped on the ranch, he had felt empty.

Tabbart prepared rice pilaf and then nibbled a bite of mussels in garlic butter, her square white teeth working the edge of the food until his balls clenched. He longed to shove his hands through her thick, shining hair and muss it. To see her undone would be the perfect challenge right now.

As the woman produced a martini glass and a bottle of vodka, he felt a bead of sweat trickle into his shirt collar. She wielded the bottle like a pro, adding a dash of this and that. Hell, he didn’t even know what. All he knew was when she brought the glass to her lips and closed her eyes at the first sip, he needed to get out of there before he embarrassed himself.

And Amelia.

She put her hand on his arm, jerking his attention from the up-close-and-tormenting view of Tabbart’s lips on the monitor.

“I have some things to do after the taping. There might be a few retakes, but I don’t think so. Tabbart did great.”

“She did.”

“Hang out here and we’ll see if I can introduce you to her.”

“Yeah, I’d like that.”

Amelia bobbed out of sight. The filming wrapped up. Tabbart hung out to sign a few autographs in the audience. Then trays of the mussels she’d cooked today revolved through the fans. When Stowe plucked a toothpick-speared appetizer off the tray, he glanced up to find the woman holding the tray staring.

“Thank you,” he rumbled before popping the food in his mouth. Flavors burst on his tongue. God, after several days of canned soup, it tasted like heaven.

“You’re from Australia,” the woman commented.

He chewed and swallowed. “Yep.”

“Say something in Australian.”

He bit off a laugh. How many times had he encountered people who believed he spoke a different language? He conjured his best accent and said, “I believe after several of these, I’d be as full as a centipede’s sock drawer.”

The woman batted her lashes and he chuckled. “I just love a man with an accent.” She moved on, offering someone else a mussel.

He glanced up in time to see Tabbart’s back as she was ushered off the set. He gnawed on the toothpick in the corner of his mouth and waited for his sister to return. Several minutes later she appeared beside him, eyes sparkling.

“I’ve arranged a meeting with Tabbart. Now don’t be nervous. She’s as sweet as pie.”

Those two words couldn’t be uttered together without him thinking of dirty things. He grinned around the toothpick and followed Amelia backstage through a series of hallways.

As they passed a couple of women wearing headsets and holding clipboards, the women stopped talking and snapped their heads around. Amelia groaned and murmured, “I forgot how women act like drooling idiots around you.”

“I can’t help it.”

“Yeah, but you don’t exactly downplay your looks, brother.” She reached for a doorknob and twisted it.

Stowe followed her inside a spacious room painted red. Groups of people clustered, some holding plates of food from the buffet along one wall.

“You must be Amelia’s brother from Down Under.” A young blonde laughed at her own rhyming joke. She stuck her hand right into his, catching his eyes and giving her best impression of a toothpaste ad model.

He shook her hand and spoke with her while Amelia rolled her eyes. He gave the blonde all the attention she craved before two other women angled for him. Pretty soon he was surrounded by ladies.

Amelia reached between them and gripped Stowe’s arm. She tugged. “Excuse us, but I’d like my brother to meet someone.”

He broke free of the knot of teased hair and lipstick. Stowe’s gaze locked on the curvy backside of the TV chef. She stood at the buffet, dumping vodka into martini glasses.

“Tabbart, I’d like you to meet my brother.”

The woman pivoted. Her gaze locked on Stowe and she dribbled some vodka onto the white tablecloth lining the buffet. “Oh.” She settled the bottle on the surface and made a show of drying her hands on a cloth. Avoiding his gaze.

He looked at her closer. Maybe she wasn’t as in control as he’d first believed. Her hands shook and a pretty pink blush coated her cheeks.

He knew how to soothe a jittery woman, especially one he pictured tied spread-eagle on his bed.

He swooped in and removed the cloth from her. After setting it aside, he gathered both of her hands between his and gazed into her eyes.

“I-I’m Tabbart Tracy.” Damn, she sounded like an idiot. Of course he knew who she was. He’d been on set, watching her. Thank God she hadn’t known those espresso-brown eyes were riveted on her the entire time she’d been on camera. It had been hard enough to keep from searching the sidelines for him after that mesmerizing look they’d shared.

The one that had lasted two freaking, toe-curling, panty-soaking minutes.

She dropped her gaze but snapped it right back to him. He was hard to look away from. And his warm, rough hands surrounding hers did more than make her stomach flutter—parts of her body she hadn’t known she had took notice.

“This is my brother, Stowe. He’s visiting for the week,” Amelia spoke up.

“How nice.” It shocked Tabbart she could find her voice. She felt her brain cells melting beneath his gaze. That and her panties. Were they even on her body?

The tall, dark god shifted the toothpick from one corner of his mouth to the other. Delicious creases appeared around his eyes and hard lips.

“From…?” She gaped up at him, the question she’d formulated forgotten.

He smiled and she felt like a sauce left on the stove too long—in danger of scorching.

Amelia jumped in, bless her dear soul. “Stowe is visiting from Texas. Tonight he’s taking me to dinner and a show.”

“How nice,” Tabbart repeated.
Idiot. He must think I can’t say a coherent sentence
. Feeling like a teenager, she cast around for something to say. Isolating herself from men for the past two years hadn’t been a good idea. She’d forgotten how to talk to a good-looking man.

Stowe was beyond handsome, though. He was stunning. The dark pants he wore molded to his muscles, straining over his thighs. She yearned to look at his backside in them. And his shirt buttons pulled across his chest. He was so broad. She felt small next to him. Even Amelia, who was taller than her, seemed dwarfed.

Jet-black hair shadowed his jaw, though she’d bet her first million earned that he’d shaved that morning. How would it feel to skim her fingers over that chiseled jawline?

She yanked her hands from his and couldn’t figure out what to do with them for a minute. She tried to stuff them in her pockets before realizing her skirt didn’t have any. She folded her arms, but that made her look stuck-up and inapproachable. She dropped her arms to her sides.

Amusement crinkled his eyes. He knew how he was affecting her. With looks like his, he must be used to it.

She stared at his mouth, aware of his lips moving. She jolted. Was he speaking to her? And she hadn’t been listening. “I’m sorry, what was that?”

“I loved your show. I must try to watch it once I return home.” He extracted the toothpick from his mouth. “And your mussels were delicious.”

She staunched a shiver at the sexy roll of his words. That accent…God, he could roll his words over her any day. She straightened her shoulders and tried for a smile that didn’t look sappy. “I’m glad you enjoyed them. Please help yourself to more.”

There. A complete sentence.
I can do this.

“Tabbart! You’re needed on set,” someone called from the doorway.

Damn. She flicked her gaze up to Stowe’s, tongue-tied all over again. “Nice to meet.” That sounded odd. Were the words in the right order? She couldn’t think under his attention. He reached out and took her hand again. Her mind was a caved-in quiche.

“I’ll be watching you.”

Was that a promise? Holy Lord, he was going to watch her show. She’d never be able to get in front of the camera again.

“Tabbart!”

She pulled away and turned toward the person calling her. Quivering inside, she took a step and stopped. Her focus fell on the martinis she’d just made. She reached for one and tossed it back.

Behind her, a low, masculine laugh sounded. Her knees threatened to buckle but she forced herself to walk away. At the door she glanced back—and found herself pinned under his dark-eyed gaze.

Chapter Two

“You were totally flirting with her.” Amelia speared some lettuce with her fork and brought it to her mouth.

“Was not. I’m just friendly. You know that.” He’d ordered mussels with garlic butter but they weren’t nearly as good as Tabbart’s.

Amelia spoke around her food. “You’ve been at that…” she lowered her voice, “…sex ranch for so long you don’t realize every move you make is about landing a woman in your bed.”

He gave up on the mussels and set his fork aside. “I had no intention of luring Tabbart to my bed.”

“No? I’ve never seen the poor woman so agitated. She was blushing, for fuck’s sake.”

He tapped his lips in an imitation of their mother. “No coarse words, Amelia.”

She burst out laughing. “You can still imitate her perfectly.”

“Thank goodness. I saved your ass more than once by intercepting phone calls from the school headmaster.” They shared a smile. “It’s good to be with family.”

“It is.” She sighed and abandoned her salad. “I almost don’t want you to go back to Texas in a few days, but on the other hand…my apartment is mighty small.”

“If you’re kicking me out to a hotel, I’m fine with that.”

She shook her head immediately. “No way. You aren’t wasting money on an overpriced hotel when I have a sofa.”

“That’s what I’ve been sleeping on? I thought it was a child’s cot.” It was so small his feet and calves hung off. But waking with a cricked neck was okay by him. He had plush beds on the ranch to sleep in—when he slept, that was.

Amelia reached across the table and pinched the back of his hand. Compared to her, he was very tan. Besides wooing ladies and paddling their asses all day, he worked hard on the ranch. There were always chores and animals needing tending. He loved working with the animals most.

He turned his hand over and twined his fingers with his sister’s. “I’m happy to see you love your job.”

“I do,” she said at once.

As children they’d put on backyard plays. He was always entertaining with jokes or magic tricks while Amelia organized things behind the scenes. It was fitting that she’d chosen this career.

“I love working on the set of
A Taste of Tabbart
. The show has won a ton of awards. Being part of that is huge for me.”

A Taste of Tabbart
. Damn, he was getting worked up again thinking of grabbing that tasty little morsel of a chef and laying an Australian kiss on her—a French kiss but “down under.”

His cock grew engorged and his pants painfully tight. Thankfully the white linen tablecloth hid his depravity. He bit back a grin.

“What about you? I know you love your job, but…you can’t fuck women for a living forever.”

He eyed her. “It’s not just fucking. Women walk off that ranch having better self-esteem or clarity about themselves that will help them build stronger lives.”

“I understand that. I do. But you didn’t come to America with the dream of getting on a stud ranch.”

True. He’d come with very little money, a suitcase stuffed with the few BDSM toys he owned and a desire to get into the bull business. While rodeoing in Australia, he’d had a clear vision about how bulls should be raised to become the best rides for cowboys and the best earners for their owners.

“I still hope that can happen someday.”

“You’re getting older, Stowe. You can’t fulfill these dreams from an old folk’s home.”

He applied pressure to her index finger, bending it upward until she squeaked. He released her hand and laughed. “I’m hardly geriatric, sis. I have time.”

“Yes, but the PBR is at its peak. By the time you raise some bulls and start farming them out to the circuit…”

He held up a hand to stop her. “I take your meaning and I’ll give more thought to it.” On one hand the idea of dumping his job at the Boot Knockers Ranch made his balls shrivel. But the thought of having his own small ranch and raising the biggest, orneriest, nastiest bulls ever seen excited the hell out of him.

Their entrees arrived and he dug into his meal with relish. For several minutes they were quiet.

“I’m sorry if I’ve offended you, Stowe.” Amelia’s dark brown eyes were so similar to his. They both took after their mother, but Stowe had grown as tall and broad as their da.

“You haven’t. Truly. I’m happy to be here with you, even if you’re a nagging witch.”

She rolled her eyes and began to eat again. After that, they discussed family in Australia, cousins and their old aunt who would probably outlive them all. Following dinner they caught a taxi to the theater. As he settled back to enjoy the show, his thoughts kept returning to Amelia’s reminder.

He hadn’t come to America to be the resident Dom on a Texas sex ranch. Maybe his sister was right—it was time to take charge of his dreams. He’d never given up his hopes. The way he followed bull rankings in the Professional Bull Riders spoke of his obsession. But over the years, it was easy to get tangled in everyday life.

Tangled in ropes, sheets…

Thinking about sex brought an image of Tabbart into his mind’s eye. So Amelia had recognized how flustered the woman was too. Having caused her unease stroked his ego. Of course, lots of women reacted to him with blushes and batted lashes. For some reason they didn’t matter. But the TV chef…now she was worth thinking about.

He could conjure a few ways to take her in that set kitchen and was pretty certain he could show her new tips for the ingredients she’d used.

At age eighteen he’d spanked his first woman—a lady he worked with at a local movie theater. She took the money and he made popcorn. She was two years older with more experience, but he’d caught her in the back room and spanked her ass one day after she’d sassed him.

The instinct to Master had driven him to research his kink, and soon he’d found a sex club in the city. He’d spent all his earnings from the part-time job on leather and paddles. He still had the first pair of nipple clamps he’d ever purchased—dainty gold things with chains and a star dangling between them.

He didn’t use them on any of the women at the ranch, though. He kept them hidden away in a velvet box. Why? Maybe he was saving them for someone special.

Not even that submissive who’d gotten under his skin had been special enough, he realized. He’d never even thought about putting a collar on that woman. She’d gotten under his skin but not enough to want to own her.

He refocused on the stage, realizing he’d missed one of his favorite parts of
Calamity Jane
.

Several more times he drifted off in daydreams of owning prime bucking bulls and a little piece of ground to call his own. Probably in Texas—he did love the land.

Once he returned to his job, he’d be too engaged in his duties and the general festivities of the ranch to think much on the topic. And he was on vacation. What better time to daydream?

Tabbart was in a rut. Too many studio hours logged, too little sleep or both were making her grumpy. Even her morning runs hadn’t been providing the endorphin boosts she’d come to crave. Still, she bent to tie her running shoes, too aware of the padding on her hips.

All the females in her family had them—the trademark hips. Some called them breeding hips, but she wasn’t breeding anytime soon.

At this rate, ever.

Her biological clock was ticking, but she lived by a countdown on set.
Five minutes till we roll. In five, you’re on.
Her whole life was lived in increments of time. Even this damn run could only last thirty minutes because she’d have to get home and shower and get to the studio.

She stuffed her earbuds into her ears and her MP3 player in a small pocket on her stretchy pants. Locking the door behind her, she checked her surroundings. Relief settled in her. A good start to the day when fans and photographers weren’t outside her townhouse, having sneaked through the locked gates of her community.

She took off at a slow jog. The day was clear with a pale blue sky. White wisps that couldn’t be called clouds floated by. Rays of sun sparkled on the water of the lake. She jogged to the path circling the man-made water body.

This community was high-end but private. Her neighbors were powerful lawyers or top surgeons. One other person in the community was in the film business, but he didn’t talk to Tabbart.

At first she’d liked the isolation, the peace. But it would be nice to have a friend to run with. Or have dinner with.

Her production assistant Amelia had mentioned going to dinner and a show with her brother.

Stowe.

What an interesting name. A name as strong as the man himself. Not only his muscles revealed strength—his personality seemed forged in stone. He was a man who knew himself and his purpose in life. That was hard to look away from and harder to forget.

She’d been thinking about him for two weeks.

Maybe it was that ripple of awareness she’d felt low in her belly when he looked into her eyes or just plain old fuck-me lust. Either way, the Aussie had plugged himself into her power supply. He’d become part of her system.

She needed to reboot. He lived in Texas and she was too busy for a relationship. She’d spend a full day on set, then have to hit the gym with a personal trainer to help her with her saddlebags.

Pushing harder, she passed the wooden bench where she sometimes sat during a holiday and read a book. Alone with a new novel. No family, no time for them. They lived on the East Coast and she didn’t visit often. But since seeing Amelia and her brother’s mutual affection, Tabbart had been homesick.

Might be time for a vacation.

She mentally flipped through the pages of her planner. When was her next break in production? A few weeks.

As she circled the pond, she thought of vacation destinations. She’d done the lonely beach trip. Too early for skiing, though she did love it. Maybe a quiet weekend along the coast, visiting wineries. She should visit her family, but she needed some new show inspiration, and New England fare was a horse she hadn’t just ridden often—she’d beaten it to death.

Sweat trickled into her eye and she swiped it away. A glance at her watch said she’d better pick up the pace if she was getting that shower.

An hour later, with flat hair and no makeup, she arrived on set. The studio guards kept the paparazzi away, but their camera flashes lit her vision. She didn’t care. She wasn’t embarrassed about not being perfectly coiffed. She was a real person, no matter what the public believed.

Lately there had been a movement in the industry, especially with females. Proudly showing off post-baby poochy bellies or no-makeup selfies. The idea was to be a better role model, showing fans that beauty wasn’t perfect and magazine covers were airbrushed.

Tabbart liked to do her part, but some of it might be laziness. She was sick of hairspray and mascara.

Definitely time for a vacation.

While having her hair blown out, she skimmed today’s meal plan. She was making old-fashioned comfort food. What a good day for it too, especially with thoughts of her family in her mind. She was making Grandma’s meatballs with lamb and veal and a wine sauce always served on a special occasion in her family.

A rap on the door and a soft voice. Tabbart glanced up to see Amelia in the doorway, speaking with another assistant.

Immediately Stowe jumped to mind. She strained to hear, but of course they weren’t talking about Amelia’s brother. He was gone from the city, the set and Tabbart’s life. She couldn’t help but feel a little let down about that. He was the first man she’d felt interest in for too long.

And he’d appreciated her mussels appetizer.

The way he’d chewed that toothpick still warmed her insides. So masculine. Virile.

God, she was a horny woman. She seriously needed to use her sex toys and get over this burning ache for a man she didn’t know. Trouble was, she’d been too busy to even open her nightstand drawer.

She sighed. The next few hours were spent cooking, smiling, beaming into camera three. She signed autographs and fed her guests meatballs. She even ate a few herself, which didn’t always happen. But while she savored the delicious herbs in the meatballs, she thought of Stowe watching her from the shadows.

Between takes, she searched for Amelia. The assistant stood with a cameraman, laughing and talking. Maybe something was blooming between them. Good. She wanted everyone to be happy and in love since she couldn’t.

Wait. Why couldn’t she have fun with a man again? She was young and wanted to be in someone’s spotlight. She wasn’t getting any younger, and her days would never be less full. She either had to make time for what she wanted—needed—in her life, or she’d end up alone.

Before she knew what she was doing, she stood in front of the pair. Amelia’s face blanked. “Tabbart. What can I do for you?”

“Can I just…speak with you a second?” There it was again—that nervous speech had returned. Stowe had been driving her to distraction for weeks and she couldn’t even think of him without getting tongue-tied.

“Of course.” Amelia followed Tabbart to a private corner of the stage.

They faced each other and Amelia waited patiently.

“I don’t know how to raise this subject.”

“Have I done something wrong?”

“No. Oh no. You’re doing fine. Besides, I’m not your boss. I’m sure you do a lovely job.” She placed a hand on the wary woman’s forearm, thinking of her brother and the way the white cotton had stretched over his muscle. She attempted a smile. “I’ve very happy having you support me on set, Amelia.”

She breathed a sigh of relief.

“I’d like to ask you about your brother. The one you introduced me to a few weeks ago.”

“I only have one brother, yes. Stowe.”

“Stowe,” she echoed. “I wondered if…” She met the assistant’s eyes, hoping she wasn’t going to make Tabbart say it.

“You wanted to know more about him.” Smart girl.

“Yes.”

A smile twitched Amelia’s lips upward. “He has that effect on women.”

Tabbart’s heart sank. She had no interest in a womanizer, yet…

“He’s very handsome, yes. But there was something else—”

“The way you looked at each other?”