Rope Burn: The Boot Knockers Ranch, Book 5 (3 page)

Shit. “You noticed?”

“Well, everyone did. There was like a two-minute look, remember?”

God, did she. Heat spiked in her core and her nipples pebbled at the memory of his dark, intense gaze on her. She’d dreamed of it for weeks. Had woken up to it every morning since.

“Yes, I do remember. Maybe that’s why…” Tabbart glanced at her designer heels, then back up at the assistant. “I’d like to keep this between us. And if you don’t want to share his information with me, I totally understand.”

With a flash of white teeth, Amelia reached into her back pocket and whipped out a small pad of paper and a pen. She wrote something on the paper and handed it to Tabbart.

She blinked at the website URL. “What’s this?”

“That’s where you find Stowe. Let me know if you have any more questions, okay?”

“Y-yes. Thank you.” The paper seemed to burn her fingertips. Her breathing came in short staccato bursts. She nodded. “I’d better return to the set.”

Amelia gave her a knowing smile.

During the rest of the taping, Tabbart could barely focus. To hell with ramekins filled with rich mousse. She wanted to get to a computer and look up that website.

She couldn’t get out of wardrobe fast enough. She kicked off her heels and left the clothes in a puddle on the floor. Then she wrapped herself in a silk robe. “I just need a moment,” she said to Mindy.

With phone in hand, she locked herself in the private bathroom. It had a comfortable chair in one corner and smelled of something floral. But her head played with notes of something more masculine—raw. Stowe.

She punched in the URL and tapped her foot while the page loaded.

Her mouth grew dry as she stared down at the screen. A line of men—shirtless, their tanned bodies chiseled. All wearing cowboy hats. Beneath their picture were the words
The Boot Knockers Ranch.

She used her thumbs to enhance the image, making it bigger. One man in that line of gorgeous flesh stuck out to her. His hat was different and he wore black pants—black leather pants.

Her pussy slicked, some inner pulse beginning deep inside. What the hell was happening to her? She’d never experienced this before—either the obsession with a man she’d clapped eyes on twice in her life or her sudden need to find him. But as she looked at Stowe, she got wetter and more turned on.

Whatever primal need he raised in her wanted to be let loose. She was a strong woman who took control of her career. She should take control of her needs as well. She’d call the number on this site and ask for Stowe. Maybe he wouldn’t want to spend time with her, but the way he’d looked at her suggested she might have a chance.

Her gaze traveled over his chiseled jaw and bare chest. A tattoo curled around his pec but she couldn’t make out the detail. Her fingers itched to touch all that warm skin covering steely muscle.

What exactly was the Boot Knockers Ranch, anyway? She flipped open a page and skimmed the description. She sucked in a breath. Sex therapists. The ranch specialized in helping women with sexual disorders.

She pressed her hands to her hot face.

It was time to think up a disorder, because her next vacation destination was firmly fixed in her mind. She was going to the Boot Knockers Ranch for some RR&S—rest, relaxation and Stowe.

Stowe crouched before the big black trunk filled with his whips, paddles, crops and other odds and ends. Every handyman had a tool chest, and Stowe kept his neat. His trade was somewhat darker though.

At the ranch, they always wrapped up the week with a big rodeo and all the Boot Knockers participated. The ladies went wild in the stands, especially when Stowe appeared in his black leather, ass-less chaps.

Yesterday’s rodeo had been the same as all the others. Women cheering, cowboys carrying on. He did his usual act with a group of all-black horses, taming them into different formations. Not unlike what he did with females.
Arch your back. Take this spanking without a noise. If you make a sound, I’ll teach you a lesson you won’t like.

Ladies shuddered and sighed with pleasure under his commands.

He stood and looked around the stage. All the BDSM things would be cleared offstage for tomorrow’s new entertainment—the day when a fresh batch of women descended on the ranch and the cowboys made a show of fighting over them.

His cell vibrated in his back pocket and he whipped it out. Only two people ever texted him—Amelia and the boss man. When he eyed Hugh’s text, he grunted. A summons to the office.

As he headed out of the auditorium where he spent much of his life, he tried to think of a reason Hugh would need to talk to him. He hadn’t been involved in any fights, and his female had left satisfied.

He smirked. She’d be wearing his markings on her backside for several days after returning home, testimony of a job well done.

The door of the auditorium gave an ominous click behind him. The day was overcast, thick with cloud cover. Everything seemed a little duller, from the grass to the red roofs of the bungalows where they stayed with their women of the week. The grounds were empty at this time. After the clients cleared off the ranch, the Boot Knockers retreated to the bunkhouse. Some used the time to catch up on sleep, but there was always a dirty game of poker.

More often than not it ended with several men getting naked, and then things got really rowdy. Most of them had slept with each other, but Stowe had only shared women with a couple of them. And one time he and the other Dom on staff had finished a bottle of whiskey and woken from their deliriums to find they’d not only fucked each other, but they each bore strategic whip marks.

The main office was quiet when he entered. The office girl, Holly, wasn’t at her desk. Of course she’d be off organizing things for tomorrow’s big production.

He opened another door and faced Hugh.

“Stowe. Come and sit,” Hugh rumbled.

He looked around and found Holly already seated and Hugh’s lover and mate, Riggs, perched on the edge of the massive oak desk. Stowe took a seat and looked at Hugh coolly. “Does this have to do with Booker’s toy cupboard again? I didn’t have anything to do with that.”

Booker was the hothead on the ranch. He had a prized collection of dildos, vibrators and every other sex toy under the sun. He was so possessive of his toys that he’d become an almost weekly target of the Boot Knockers’ pranks. Recently someone had replaced all the toys with carrots and cucumbers.

Hugh’s expression hardened. “No, and I narrowly kept those vegetables from going to Cook’s pantry.” His big shoulders moved in a mock shudder. “Anything in that cupboard isn’t going into my soup, no matter how much Booker sterilizes it.”

Riggs chuckled and shot his lover a look from the corner of his eye.

“What then?” For all his patience, Stowe didn’t like to draw things out.
Just say it and be done with it.

Hugh looked to Holly. “We received a phone call last night, Stowe.”

Someone complaining? Not bloody likely. He smirked. “Don’t tell me—the last girl made it as far as the airport and decided to book a second trip.”

“No,” Holly said. “It’s a woman you might know, though.”

He felt his brows pinch together. “Yeah?”

“This woman wants total anonymity. She’s in the public eye and doesn’t want to be recognized.”

“I’ll keep her locked in the auditorium, strapped to my cross. She won’t see the light of day, let alone the other cowboys,” he drawled. From all his years in Texas, he’d married a drawl with his Aussie accent. Women melted over it.

Hugh grunted.

Stowe looked to Holly. “What’s her kink?”

“I don’t know. She refused the application process—bypassed it. The use of her name alone is reason enough to ignore protocol.”

“Okay,” he said slowly. “Who is this woman?”

Hugh pushed a slip of paper across the desk. “She asked for you specifically.”

Stowe leaned forward to peer at the neat letters.

Tabbart Tracy.

He launched to his feet so fast his chair wobbled and almost fell over. His chest was suddenly tight, his throat constricted and his mind oddly blank. Tabbart. From the show. The little vixen he’d met on set and tried to decide whether or not she needed her round little ass warmed by his hand.

Guess he was going to find out.

“Shit,” he muttered.

“You know her.” Hugh’s gaze was eagle sharp. In the past year they’d lost several Boot Knockers who’d become smitten with each other and clients. That included Hugh himself. So it was only natural for him to sound like an ornery bear that Stowe might have something going on behind the scenes with Tabbart.

“She requested me?” he managed, avoiding looking at Hugh.

“Yes,” Holly answered. “How do you know her?”

“I met her on set.”

“You went to a live taping of
A Taste of Tabbart
?” Holly bounced to the edge of her chair, as much of a fangirl as the ones he’d seen in the audience that day.

Head spinning, he gave a nod. But that odd feeling in his chest expanded. She’d hunted him down. His sister never would have offered Stowe’s information. No, Tabbart must have asked.

A crooked smile quirked his lips. “She’s coming tomorrow?”

Oh yeah, she’s coming all right. All over my tongue, my fingers and then my cock. Right after I’ve stuffed the handle of my whip in her pussy and made her scream.

Damn, he hadn’t been so aroused in weeks.

“Yes, she’s arriving by private jet and then a car will bring her as far as the main road. You’ll have to go out and meet her. Bring her back quietly,” Holly said.

Stowe looked at Riggs, then Hugh. They were watching him closely enough he felt the need to explain. “My sister works for her show. When I visited her on my last break, she took me to meet Tabbart.”

“Well, it seems the woman has taken a shine to you,” Riggs said.

Stowe couldn’t let himself be placed under a magnifying glass with Tabbart. If the woman wanted privacy, she’d have it. No rumors would touch her, including among the Boot Knockers.

He lifted a shoulder in a casual shrug. “We only exchanged a few words.” And looks. He also might have gotten into the shower that night and curled his fingers around his thickened cock to thoughts of her lush lips.

His balls clenched tight to his body at the idea that he would soon have her on her knees, parting those pretty lips to accept him into her throat.

“She doesn’t want anyone to discover her identity.” Holly tapped her fingers on her knee.

“That’s going to be hard. She’s known across the country. Most of the females coming here tomorrow probably watch her show,” Hugh said.

“So no taking her to the grub house unless you’re absolutely certain no one will be there. Avoid the places the guys take the ladies. No swimming pool or hot tub,” Riggs added.

That wouldn’t be a problem. He liked privacy too. He wasn’t one to congregate in the hot tub with several naked cowboys and their ladies. No, he liked to keep things intimate. That’s what being a Dom was.

Did Tabbart know what he was? She had to have researched the ranch thoroughly before making this decision, which meant she’d read his profile on the website.

Then she’d booked a week and personally requested him.

Again, that pressure in his chest spread. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t damn flattered.

“I’ll take good care of her. No one will find out who she is.”

“You’ll be flying blind without a file.” Hugh templed his fingers.

“I don’t need words to tell me what a woman wants.” It had only taken him a few moments alone with Tabbart to understand she was thrown off-balance by his presence. Her stuttering attempts at speech, her pinkened cheeks…

Hell, he’d spent too much time analyzing her for the past several weeks. If his guess was correct, she didn’t often have romantic affairs. In her industry, making connections would be difficult, and she was obviously driven in her career. Probably long hours at the studio kept her from meeting men.

Suddenly the challenge excited the hell out of him. He glanced at his watch. “When’s she arriving?”

“Earlier than the others. Seven a.m.,” Holly said.

He fingered the brim of his hat in farewell. “I’ve got it covered.”

“Let us know if you need anything,” Hugh added.

“Will do. And give your lady my congratulations.” He referred to the curvy blonde Riggs and Hugh had fallen in love with.

They exchanged a surprised look. “How did you know? We haven’t made the announcement.”

Stowe jerked his jaw toward the scratchy black-and-white photo pegged to the message board behind Hugh’s desk—an ultrasound printout. “Congrats to the new fathers as well.”

Riggs beamed and Hugh’s smile looked as though it could span Texas. With that, Stowe left the office. Walking across the yard was damn difficult with a hard-on snaking down his thigh.

He stopped and shifted it into a more comfortable position. Why the hell was he hard anyway? He hadn’t pushed his tongue into Tabbart’s mouth or thrown her over the buffet and plowed into her delicious body. He’d held her hands, looked into her eyes. Somehow both actions had edged under his skin.

Knowing she’d continued to think about him long after he’d left LA really did it for him, though. That utter wanting—yearning, burning—those were the roots of BDSM. The desire to please, pleasure and trust in someone. She might not know what she was up against yet, but he had a pretty good idea that by the end of their week together, she’d never be the same.

What if all she wanted was vanilla sex? Straight missionary and no oral? Shit, maybe he’d gotten roped into something he didn’t do.

Since that week with the submissive, he’d been plodding along in a well-worn rut. Yes, Tabbart was shaking his routine, but she wasn’t going to be the woman who’d given everything up to him eagerly.

Still, he loved the way Tabbart presented herself. So confident onstage but uncomfortable in her skin one-on-one. Within twenty-four hours he’d see just how comfy she was on her knees, wearing a collar and wrist and ankle cuffs.

Then it would be time for A Taste of Stowe.