One Night Scandal

Two

The cowboy’s voice smoked through her, heating her insides and sending a shiver of awareness over Hannah’s skin.

Did she want a ride?

Her subconscious was going to have way too much fun tormenting her with that image in her dreams tonight. For now, she needed to stop fantasizing about sexy Brock, the rancher who turned her inside out with just a handful of words and a smoldering gaze.

Her legs were still unsteady after whatever it was that had passed between them inside the barn. She’d had meaningful relationships in her past. Men she’d loved. And yet no one had ever given her the sizzling shock to the system that she felt from being around this stranger. Swallowing hard, she braced herself as she turned around to refuse his offer.

“That’s okay. I don’t mind walking.” Her voice was soft and breathless when she needed it to be firm and sure. “I, um, could use the fresh air.”

She could also use a new libido. One that wasn’t quite so susceptible to tall, muscular cowboys. It must be because of all the stress she was under with her sister. She’d latched on to a pleasurable distraction and now she couldn’t quite let go.

Brock folded his arms across his impressive chest. God, his arms were amazing, too. She wanted to skim her hands up the triceps and over his shoulders. Instead, she jammed her restless fingers in the back pockets of her jeans along with her phone.

“You’d probably be fine,” he acknowledged. “You must have walked over here in the dark in the first place, although the moon was higher at that hour, making the path a lot easier to follow than it will be now.”

She had been thinking the same thing since she didn’t remember exactly where she’d broken through the brush to find the barn. Nightfall in this part of Wyoming was nothing like it was in Southern California. Here, there was no ambient light of any kind. Just deep blackness and stars.

“I’ve got my phone,” she argued, although she was beginning to wonder what else might be out there in the wilderness surrounding the ranch lands. She’d heard wolves—or some kind of wild dogs—baying in the distance on the walk over here. “The cabin I’m staying in is just through there.”

She pointed vaguely, trying to see any kind of trail.

“I’m not sure calling someone will do you any good if you meet up with a bear. Or an elk. Or some other wild animal that wasn’t expecting company at this hour.”

She didn’t want to be foolish. So, in spite of the out-of-control attraction, she figured the best thing to do would be to accept the ride and get home as fast as possible.

And put this encounter out of her mind.

“Is your truck nearby?” she asked, peering around the barn. During the shoot, there’d been a couple of golf carts and two trucks parked there.

A smile curved that hard mouth of his. Nodding, he relaxed his arms and walked past her, close enough for her to feel the warmth of his body, close enough for his sleeve to brush hers.

“My horse is right this way.”

“Horse?” Her belly flipped.

Not because she minded riding a horse. Only because it implied a proximity that...

A shiver stole over her skin. Her nerve endings danced in anticipation of touching him. Something her brain knew was a very, very bad idea.

“I—” Her voice wasn’t even there. She licked her lips. Tried again. “I’m not sure—”

“You’ll be fine,” he assured her, holding a hand out for her while he stood next to a dark horse with a glossy coat. “I’ll help you up.” He flipped the ring for her foot so it was easier for her to see. “Step into the stirrup and you’ll be home in no time.”

Her heart pounded a chaotic, fast beat. But stalling wasn’t going to get her home any faster. She understood that much. Willing herself to remain calm, she stabbed the toe of her tennis shoe through the foothold.

Brock’s hands were quick and efficient as he boosted her up onto the saddle. He didn’t linger. But he might as well have been massaging her naked body for how her skin reacted under her clothes. Her thigh tingled. Her waist...

She wanted his hands there again. Before she could gather herself or prepare for more, Brock swung up onto the animal behind her. His chest was against her back. Her hips tucked into the cradle of his lap, his strong thighs bracketing hers.

There was no space. No distance. And it felt so good she couldn’t have spoken if she’d tried. The only thing she didn’t like about it was that she shouldn’t like it so damn much.

But there was no chance to protest now as his arm curled around her waist, his hand bracing her protectively against him while he nudged the animal into motion. Hannah sucked in a gasp at the feel of their bodies moving together. In sync. Rubbing together.

It was the most erotic experience of her life, and she hardly knew the man. Keenly aware of his body, Hannah closed her eyes to try to shut out the feel of him...everywhere. But even that proved dangerous, as her mind vividly supplied even more suggestive details. The scent of him—leather and musky aftershave—drifted around her, the warmth of his body a welcome heat on a summer night that had cooled surprisingly fast after sundown. Searching for a fraction of space, she shifted in the saddle as they galloped through trees. Her movement elicited a sharp intake of breath behind her.

It was the first indication Brock might be feeling some of the wayward attraction, too. She wanted to turn around to face him, to see the expression on his face, but his palm was a firm weight against her belly, his fingers a light graze of warmth along the inside of her hip. The barrier of her leggings didn’t begin to dull the intimacy of the sensation.

She didn’t know how she’d walk away from him at the end of this ride. For that matter, she didn’t know how she’d look him in the eye again after this. It was all so very...

Sensual.

Her heart pounded faster than the horse’s hooves. She told herself it was because of the incredible stress she’d been under. The frustrated tension of seeing her sister suffer and not being able to help. The unbearable strain of working with a man she despised in order to find evidence of his misdeeds.

All that anxiety had shoved her to a breaking point, leaving her with zero reserves now, when tempted with the heady pleasure of a generous, honorable man’s touch. Brock had strode into her world, putting the bully Ventura in his place, and Hannah had been intrigued. Curious. Attracted.

Now, adding to that attraction, the horseback ride tantalized her with needs she normally shoved to the backburner. These were desires she’d ignored easily enough in the past, only indulging them within committed relationships.

Brock’s touch teased her with all the ways she’d gone unfulfilled. Because no man had ever ignited the sort of awareness she felt tonight. As if the slightest increase in pressure from his hands would unleash a tide of passion and desire that would completely sweep her away.

Then, suddenly, her cabin was in sight, the tiny pinprick of light from an upstairs window growing as they neared the small structure. She focused on it like a beacon in a dark sea, telling herself this churn of sensual thought would recede once she arrived there.

When Brock leaned back slightly in the saddle, drawing the horse to a halt, Hannah waited for a break in the seductive spell. But even as Brock swung a leg over the saddle and jumped down to the ground, her nerve endings still danced with awareness. Anticipation.

Glancing at him, she met his gaze for a moment, and that only worsened the heat. He reached up to help her dismount, his hands ready to assist her. And she simply fell into his arms. No thought. No planning. She slid down, her body against his in a way that set her on fire. Then she was reaching for him, wrapping her arms around his neck.

Kissing him.

His lips sealed to hers, his arms banding around her back and waist. She dangled in midair for a moment against him, her breasts pressed to the hard wall of his chest. Flames licked over her skin as their mouths fused, tongues tangling. A mindless need roared through her, a hunger to have more of this. More of him.

When he set her on her feet, he edged back to look at her, his breath coming fast.

She knew it was wise of him to separate them. To break the mesmerizing contact. To give them a moment to think about this. But there in the endless dark, with only the horse and the wind as her witnesses, she couldn’t scavenge any reason to deny herself this heat. This connection. This kind of intense pleasure she’d never experienced before. Perhaps it was the inky blackness of the night that made it feel surreal, like a dream she didn’t want to wake up from.

All Hannah knew was that her body went to his like a magnet drawn to a more powerful one.

A raw sound rose up in his throat as she found his lips and kissed him again. Brock wrapped his hands around her, this time with more intent and purpose. She could feel the difference in how he flexed his fingers against her, the added pressure tantalizing her all the more.

“Hannah.” He breathed her name against her mouth. “Are you sure?”

“Positive.” She gripped his biceps, wanting him inside where she could take his clothes off.

Straightening, she withdrew the keycard for the door from the small hip pocket sewn into her leggings. Her fingers were unsteady as she slid it through the reader.

“I don’t have protection with me, but my house is just through the woods.”

“I have something.” An old habit inspired by a college friend’s pregnancy. A good thing, because she wasn’t willing to wait for him to make a trip to his place.

As she pushed open the door, she knew stepping over the threshold was a point of no return. But she had no reservations about this. It was a moment of pleasure in a year of hell. The only things she felt now were hunger and need, the desire for him so stark she couldn’t begin to account for it. Her gaze met his in the dim light cast by two cast-iron sconces that flanked the stone fireplace mantel.

Extending her hand to him, she threaded her fingers through his. “Please. Come in.”

* * *

Something had happened on that shared horseback ride.

A switch had been thrown. A blaze had started, and there was no putting it out now.

Brock told himself he’d given her every out. Every option of changing her mind. And she’d refused. He couldn’t fight himself and her, too. Not when he’d wanted her from the first moment he’d seen her. Not when the stress of being a McNeill was at an all-time high. He felt like the whole damn world around him was poised to collapse when the blackmailer went public.

How could he refuse a night to forget about that, just for a little while, and lose himself in the promise of what Hannah was offering?

So, stepping into her two-bedroom cabin, he closed and locked the door behind him. Gave himself a moment to try to muster some scrap of restraint, if only to ensure they made it to a bed instead of tearing off their clothes in the middle of the living area.

But Hannah was having none of it. With the same certainty she’d shown when she slid off his horse and into his arms, she came to him now. She wrapped her arms around his neck, pressed herself into him. This time, he didn’t hold back, allowing the full impact of those sweetly feminine curves to work their seductive magic.

Purely potent. Totally intoxicating.

The chemistry was intense, the heat so strong he thought they might combust right there. He cupped her cheek, angling her chin higher to taste her more thoroughly. She tipped off his Stetson, winging it to an empty ladder-back chair near the door. Her ball cap had already fallen away, her silky blond waves tickling his arm, teasing along his skin.

He walked her backward, toward the dark hallway where the bedrooms were. He’d helped build this place with his brothers long ago—now it was a guest residence for visitors. Hannah let herself be led, moving with him, pausing near the kitchen bar long enough to pluck a leather handbag from the counter. She brought it with them into the darkened bedroom.

He flicked the switch by the door that lit a small gas fireplace on one wall opposite the bed, the low flames the only light in the room as he toed the door closed behind them. Hannah had already peeled off her shirt, and the sight of her creamy skin, breasts cradled in blue lace, nearly undid him.

Pulse thrumming hard, he reached for her, needing his hands on her. Her skin was incredibly soft as he drew her to him, the scent of her—something sweet and heady like orange blossoms—making him desperate to taste her. He kissed his way down her neck, searching for the source of the scent, taking his time on the journey to lick along her collarbone, nip her shoulder and ear.

She gripped the hem of his T-shirt and hauled it up his back and over his head. The pace was too fast but the hunger too keen to slow down as they undressed each other, tasting and touching as they unveiled themselves. Her creamy skin was rosy in the firelight, her hair turning from platinum to strawberry blond as it fell along her shoulder. He slid a finger beneath one bra strap, tugging it off, tracing the scalloped edge of lace before the fabric fell away.

She arched into him, the taut, pebbled peaks of her breasts almost close enough to taste. Bending to take her in his mouth, he circled the tip of one and then the other, unfastening the hook to free her and cupping the soft weights in his hands. Her moan was a sexy siren’s song in his ear.

“Please, please, please,” she chanted, one hand on his belt, a fingertip tracing the top edge of the leather.

Grazing his abs. Making him impossibly harder.

Torching all restraint.

She took a condom packet from her purse and put it on the bed. He eyed it before helping her with the belt. Quickly his pants were gone, his boots were gone, boxers gone.

His undressing was faster than hers, since she tangled her feet in the leggings while she watched him disrobe, her attention so damn flattering.

Brock lifted her in his arms, skimming off the scrap of blue lace around her hips before he pulled her down to the white duvet with him. She made soft, sexy sounds of approval in his ear as she speared her fingers into his hair and drew him down to kiss her. Shadows flickered across the bed beside them in the firelight, the need for her—for this—ratcheting higher.

He’d never bedded a woman so fast. Never imagined a night like this where desire smoked away reason and sensual hunger roared with predatory demand. But Hannah was right there with him, her hands shifting lower to smooth down his chest, back up his arms. All the while she urged him faster, whispering soft commands to touch her. Taste her.

He couldn’t get enough of her.

When she placed the condom packet in his hands, he tore it open like a man who’d been deprived for years. He wanted to take his time. See the way she looked when pleasure overtook her.

But this thing—whatever it was between them—was beyond that. It was a fever in the blood, driving hotter and faster with every breath.

Rolling the condom into place, he met her gaze. Her gray eyes watched him, her lips parted as her breath came in fast pants. He captured her mouth, kissing her as he positioned himself between her thighs. Edged his way inside.

He caught her cry of pleasure before she arched her neck and back. Her nails dug into his shoulders, and her body went still at last. When he started to move, he took his time, building the pleasure while she adjusted to him. Her foot pinned his calf for a moment, then slid higher, an ankle hooking around his waist. He gripped her thigh and angled her body. Nearly died of how damn good she felt.

Brock waited, trying like hell to slow down. To temper the need. But then, Hannah breathed in his ear, nipping the lobe and licking his neck just beneath it. Somehow that pushed things higher, and started the banked tension building again. He reached between them to touch her, teasing out the pleasure for her, too.

He could feel that same tension in her. Her head tossed from side to side, the rest of her going still. He kissed her again, taking her lips just as the sweet squeeze of her release gripped him tight.

The spasms went on and on, nudging him over the edge and into oblivion. His shout mingled with her soft cries, a chorus of the most perfect pleasure he’d ever felt.

With a woman he barely knew.

The realization slammed home just as he caught his breath. Just as some form of reason returned. Still, the fact that they didn’t know each other well didn’t take anything away from whatever they’d just experienced. It had been powerful. Passionate.

Incredibly fulfilling even as it made him want her all over again.

In other words, it was pure insanity.

Brock sank into the mattress beside her, rolling her to his side so they lay together before he drew half of the duvet over their bare bodies.

“That was the craziest thing I’ve ever done.” Her words were softened by the wonder in her voice. The amazement. A hint of a smile curved her lips. “I don’t even know your last name.”

A stir of warning prickled along his shoulders. He’d withheld it on purpose, of course. But it didn’t matter now. She certainly hadn’t been trying to get close to him because he was a McNeill. That much had been established.

Besides, as an actress, she had her own path to fame and fortune.

“McNeill.” He glanced over at her, smoothing a long blond wave away from her cheek. “Brock McNeill.”

Something shifted in her eyes. A recognition, yes. But not the speculative, almost greedy kind that he’d sometimes seen over the years.

No. He could have sworn Hannah Ryder all but recoiled. There was the slightest flinch. A fractional crinkle of her smooth brow. A stillness.

As if the name meant something to her, and not in a good way.

He wanted to ask her about it. Or at least, to talk to her and make some sense of what just happened. But she was already sliding away from him.

“I’m so sorry.” She shook her head. “And embarrassed. But I just remembered I have an early call on set tomorrow.” She slipped out from under the duvet, turning to plant her feet on the floor. “I don’t know what I was thinking. But I guess that’s the whole point. I wasn’t really thinking.”

Perhaps her reaction didn’t have anything to do with his name. Maybe she was just feeling the bite of morning-after regret—far too soon. That much, he could understand. The attraction had caught them like a tornado, touching down with fevered intensity.

He put a hand on her shoulder. “I’ll go in a minute,” he assured her. “Is everything okay? Are you all right?”

“I’m fine.” She nodded, not making eye contact. “I’m just... This is completely awkward, right?” Hopping to her feet, she found her shirt and slid it over her head, the dark T-shirt covering her to the tops of her thighs. “Would you mind if we talked tomorrow, when I’ve got my head on straight again?”

Something was off here. Wrong.

He was missing it, but he wasn’t sure what he could accomplish by staying any longer when she was clearly agitated. He understood that. And she wasn’t the only one feeling rattled by what just happened. He just wished he could be sure that the only thing upsetting her was how fast things had escalated between them, and not something connected to his family name. The McNeills already had enough trouble brewing.

“Of course.” Nodding, he scooped his clothes off the floor and started to dress. “I’ll come by the set tomorrow and we’ll talk then.”

She opened her mouth, then snapped it shut again. Nodding, she pulled an afghan off the end of the bed and wrapped it around herself.

“Sure.” She hugged the blanket tighter while he finished dressing. “And, um, thank you for the ride home.”

He couldn’t help a wry chuckle as he stepped into his boots. “I sure as hell hope the ride isn’t what you remember most about this night.” Leaning close to her, he brushed a kiss over her cheek, wanting nothing more than to remind her that what just happened hadn’t been a fluke. But he understood about early wake-up calls. “We’ll definitely be talking more tomorrow. Good night, Hannah.”

Striding out of the bedroom, he retrieved his hat off the chair and dropped it on his head before stepping into the night. If Hannah was hiding something from him—if she had something against the McNeills—he had every intention of finding out.