Strung Up: A Blacktop Cowboys® Novella (5 page)

“Is that how you are now? Assertive?”

He waited a beat to make sure he had my full attention when he said, “Very.”

Fuck. Me. That one word. That determined look proved time hadn’t cooled the red-hot attraction between us.

The head in my pants urged me to step forward, but the head on my shoulders resisted, reminding me that I’d learned the hard way not to make the first move.

“You couldn’t have gotten ugly and bitter after your forced coming out? Let yourself go to hell?” he said lightly.

I laughed. “I’m sorry you’re disappointed.”

“I’m not.” Cres gave me a very thorough once-over. “So not. You still pack one helluva sexual punch, Breck.”

When our gazes clashed again, I said “fuck it” to myself about not making the first move. I inched closer. “Did you come to this open house alone?”

“I rode with Wyn.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

He jammed his hands in the back pockets of his jeans and admitted, “I’m here solo.”

“You’re not involved with anyone?”

“Nope.”

The relief I felt must’ve shown because Cres smirked. “Are you?”

“As you can imagine I’ve developed some serious trust issues, so no.”

“Then I’m glad I came,” he said huskily. “Even if it was too late to take any of the tours.”

I tipped my head toward the arena. “I could show you around the complex if you want.”

“Sure. If you don’t mind stopping at the food tent first. I skipped out on supper.”

“I oughta check in anyway and see if there’s anything I’m supposed to be doin’.”

We started walking, close enough that our shoulders nearly brushed. I’d missed this zing of sexual tension. The spark of attraction that crackled below the surface, ready to ignite at any moment. The silence between us allowed me to hear his rapid breathing and for him to hear mine. I couldn’t help but sneak looks at him. That long, lean body. That strong profile nearly hidden beneath the shadow of his hat. I wanted to reacquaint myself with every hard muscle, tease every soft spot that made him growl and groan, beg and buck.

Cres stopped. His head slowly came up and our eyes connected.

“Wait here for me?” I asked.

For a moment when he hesitated, I thought he’d changed his mind.

“I’ll grab some food. Come find me when you’re done.”

Chapter Three

Cres

I kept my head down, my focus firmly on my boots eating up the dusty ground as I headed toward the smaller tent.

What are you doing, Cres? This isn’t smart.

Maybe it wasn’t, but making plans with Breck didn’t feel wrong.

Probably nothing would happen anyway.

Whatever you want to happen, can happen. Especially with him.

That wasn’t an arguable point, so even my brain didn’t bother to try and counter it.

One thing about Breck Christianson hadn’t changed; the man was hot as hell. That coal black hair. Those piercing blue eyes. That mouth.

Christ that mouth could do me in. Seemed I couldn’t look away from it regardless if Breck was sporting a smile or a sneer. Lust hit me with another one-two punch when I recalled how those full lips alternated between being cushiony soft, skating down my torso, or hard and firm during a breath-stealing kiss. Or a combination of both when he worked my cock over.

It’d been ages since I’d thought about that week I’d spent with him in Denver. After Sutton’s career-ending rodeo injury, he’d been searching for a buyer for his temperamental—but highly prized—horse, Dial. As my brother’s rodeo buddy, Breck had offered to give Dial a trial run and I’d volunteered to take the horse to the stock show.

I hadn’t expected my brother’s big-time rodeo buddy to be into guys.

I really hadn’t expected a charismatic guy who looked like Breck to be into
me
.

Around my twenty-first birthday, I’d accepted my attraction to men wasn’t a phase and that actually made me…gay. By age twenty-four I hadn’t come out of the closet. I’d been cautious with hookups, sticking with blowjobs and hand jobs. I’d fucked a couple of guys and had let a couple fuck me. Pretty straightforward stuff.

Then I’d met Breck.

He’d taken my carnal education to a whole other level. It’d been an eye opener for me, experiencing that kind of deep passion and intimacy with another man. It’d given me hope that someday I’d find that same connection again, but something permanent I could be open about.

The last time I’d seen Breck had been at my brother Sutton’s wedding. He’d shown up with a date—she was trashy and he was testy and surly with everyone. Even my sister-in-law mentioned Breck was quickly running out of friends on the circuit due to his recent attitude and actions.

At the time I’d wondered how much longer he could continue to live the lie. I’d intended to take him aside and try and get him to open up to me, but that night my father had suffered a near-fatal heart attack. And much later that night, I’d ended up with Mick.

My body flushed hot with guilt. I’d never told Mick about Breck. It hadn’t seemed relevant. Breck had been a sexual mentor. That was it. And after Mick and I were a couple, I hadn’t thought about Breck at all.

Maybe that’s why you haven’t told Breck about Mick either.

More guilt kicked in. Telling Breck about the death of my lover and that I’d spent the last two years in a fog would definitely put a damper on tonight’s possibilities. I still wasn’t sure if I could be with another man.

But wouldn’t Breck be the perfect guy to test out that theory on?

“Cres?”

I glanced up and realized London’s sister, Stirling, was standing in front of me. “Hey. Sorry. My mind was elsewhere.” I smiled at her. “I hoped I’d get to see you since I heard you were living in the area and had become a farmer—which I see is a lie because you are not rockin’ the overalls.”

Standoffish Stirling actually hugged me and laughed. “It’s true. I feel like a different person after I tossed off the shackles of corporate America. I’ve gone completely country, back to my roots.”

I gave her bohemian outfit—jeans covered in rhinestones and a sheer, floral top—a quick once-over and whistled. “Overalls or not, farmer looks good on you.” Stirling was one of those tall, willowy Nordic blondes with an icy outer demeanor that scared off most men. She and I had always gotten along great because I wanted nothing from her except friendship.

She kept a hold of my arm and squeezed my biceps. “Ranching has always looked good on you, Creston Grant. Are you sure you’re gay? Because a dude with your looks and physique should definitely reproduce.”

Just then Breck sauntered in on the other side of the tent.

Our eyes met.

Heat from his hungry look rolled through me in a wave of want so strong I had to lock my knees.

Yeah, sweetheart. I am one hundred percent about the dick.

“Have you eaten?” Stirling said. “I got stuck waiting for Liam the Lab Loser to show up and missed the chow line.”

“Actually, I was headed that direction.”

“Let’s dine together.” She looped her arm though mine.

I felt Breck’s eyes on us. I could almost feel his impatience pulsing through the air.

It won’t hurt him to wait a little longer. And it’ll make you seem less desperate.

So I remained fully aware of Breck pacing on the other side of the tent as I loaded up a plate.

However, Stirling was blissfully unaware of the way my pulse jumped every time my gaze connected with Breck’s. Or the coiled tension in every inch of my body as I imagined his rough-skinned hands gripping my ass as I thrust my cock into that Hoover of a mouth of his.

“You are starving,” Stirling said as we sat at an empty picnic table. “You just made a growling noise.”

I forced my gaze away from Breck and concentrated on chatting with London’s little sister. “So who is this Liam guy? And why did you call him a lab loser?”

Stirling sighed and signaled to the bartender closest to us. Immediately a server dropped off two Fat Tire beers.

Handy to be dining with one of the Gradsky princesses.

“I’ve spent the last seven years literally working in the corporate meat market, using my animal science degree to breed better beef cattle on a large-scale commercial level without growth hormones.”

A concept I was familiar with since we didn’t use growth hormones.

“Now I’ve partnered with my brother Macon and we’ve jumped into the organic farming market.”

I said, “What organics are you growing?” even when I already knew.

“Marijuana, man. It’s what all the cool farmers are doing.”

I snorted.

“But seriously, only three quarters of our total acreage will be devoted to pot. The rest is slated for organic vegetable production, concentrating on ‘heritage varieties’ that haven’t been crossbred.”

“I knew that cold, corporate hard-ass persona of yours was totally fake.” I pointed at her with my beer bottle. “I always suspected you secretly wanted to be a professional pothead.”

“Busted.” Stirling smirked at me. “What kind of farmer doesn’t regularly perform quality control tests on their crops?”

“So this Liam dude is in charge of quality control in the lab and he’s blocking your access to product testing?”

“Not hardly. Dr. Liam is my brother’s former client, supposedly a brilliant Ag bio-engineer and our secret weapon in advanced splicing technology. But he lives in his own little bubble. He doesn’t write anything down. He doesn’t follow instructions. He’s conceited. And he’s utterly lacking in any social graces. Lucky me has been tasked with teaching him to be a team player.”

“I take it he’s resistant?”

She rolled her eyes. “He’s a know-it-all jackass with an IQ of like a billion but he is incapable of learning basic clerical duties. He refuses to even try.”

“Did you try getting high with him and see if that mellows him out?”

“Twice. When that didn’t work I even tried to bribe him with a five-hundred-dollar bottle of scotch.” She shook her head. “No go there either.”

“I’m guessing money isn’t a factor since you probably pay him plenty.”

“We pay him a fuck-ton. So that left me with sex as an incentive. I hired this super-sweet, super-smart, super-hot college student with a porn-star mouth and a pair of DD’s.”

For the first time ever, stick-in-the-mud Stirling reminded me of her wilder older sister London. “How’d that go?”

“The woman might as well have been wearing a sackcloth and ashes or a nun’s habit for all the attention he paid to her,” she complained.

I laughed.

“Cres. This is not funny. This is part of what’s holding up production. Neither his formulas nor his gene splicing technique can be a secret from
us
. We need the ability to recreate in case something happened to him.”

Keeping my attention on Breck, I pressed my lips to my bottle of beer and took a big swig, swallowing thickly and making a show of licking my lips when I finished.

His wicked smile promised retribution.

Bring it.

“Cres. Are you even listening to me?” Stirling demanded. “I need your help.”

I refocused after discreetly readjusting the crotch of my jeans. “What can I do? High-grade pot didn’t work, booze didn’t work, dangling a juicy, young coed didn’t work—”

“Maybe because I dangled the wrong
flavor
of juicy coed,” she said. “Maybe he prefers beefcake.”

Now she had my full attention. “Are you suggesting that I—”

“Show up in the lab wearing a pair of running shorts with your bare chest and abs glistening with sweat? Absolutely.”

I choked on my drink of beer.

“I just need you to recheck my gaydar.”

Before I could answer, a tray slammed down on the table.

Stirling’s eyes widened.

A tall, lanky man stood next to me, his posture regal. If he hadn’t worn a lab coat and glasses, I never would’ve guessed him to be an academic. He hit the mark between a hipster and an indie rocker, seriously freakin’ hot in that nerdy way with his dark brown hair secured in a ponytail at the base of his neck.

“I assure you, Miss Gradsky, there is nothing wrong with your gaydar. I am entirely heterosexual.” He turned and pinned me with eyes that reminded me of quicksilver. Then he offered me his hand and tight smile. “Dr. Liam Argent.”

His heavily tattooed hand was smooth and his grip strong. “Cres Grant.”

“Pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr. Grant. And if I had any inclination toward a dalliance on the other side of the fence, so to speak, I’d be more than happy to see you in my lab, half-naked and glistening with sweat.”

“Uh. Thanks?”

Dr. Liam angled forward so he had Stirling’s full attention. “You know my conditions for taking clerical instructions, Miss Gradsky.
You
are the one who has refused to comply with the terms.”

“Because I am not taking dictation as your personal secretary, dickhead,” she retorted.

Yep. That response totally reminded me of London.

“It’s not as if I demanded you wear thigh highs and stilettos with a Catholic schoolgirl outfit as you’re receiving my oral direction,” he said in a silken drawl.

And…I’d heard enough. I had my own sexual tension to deal with. I didn’t need a front row seat to theirs. I stood and mumbled good-bye.

Breck waited for me by the rear exit. “Did you get enough to eat?”

“I guess. Sort of a bizarre dinner conversation so I don’t really remember what I ate.”

He chuckled. “That’s Stirling for you.”

Once we were outside, he briefly placed his hand on the small of my back to guide me. “Let’s start the tour this way.”

Even that single touch caused my stomach to cartwheel.

Blue light glowed from the big top. An electric guitar strummed once. Then twice.

“Sounds like the dance is about to start,” Breck said.

“I didn’t know there was a dance.”

“I don’t think it’ll go late. Most of the guests left as soon as they finished eating.” He walked closer to me. “You ever danced with a guy, Cres?”

“Like gone out two-steppin’? Nah. No clubs that cater to that around here. Gotta go into Denver to find that. What about you?”