Off to the Races: A Small Town Enemies to Lovers Romance (Gold Rush Ranch Book 1)
Off to the Races: Chapter 19

It’s pushing midnight when we leave the barn and head out into the dark fields. It smells like rain and fresh cut grass, and I can’t see a single star through the clouds overhead. The moon is just a lighter spot in the overcast sky.

I’m tired, but I’m fixating on the tension between Vaughn and me.

Shit is weird.

Maybe I’m not firing on all cylinders, sleeplessness and high levels of stress will do that to a girl, but I am confused.

When I told Vaughn I could kiss him, his whole face and body changed, morphed into someone a lot more dangerous. It had taken me aback. He looked like a predator who was about to have me as his snack. And the worst part is, in that moment, I wanted to be snacked on.

If he wasn’t my boss, that is. I mean, has everyone seen that man in casual clothes? Because it’s pretty much criminal. Fuck suits. Vaughn Harding wears casual clothes like one of those sexy, scruffy Calvin Klein models. Like he’s just rolled out of bed and wants to take you back there with him.

I volunteer as tribute!

Maybe for one night? We could probably handle one night with no complications. We’re both mature adults… Haha. Just kidding. We are not. It would ruin our working relationship, which is often tenuous at best.

I peek at him from under my lashes and admire his masculine profile. He looks mysterious, all dark features set against the blackness of the night. But I also know him well enough to tell he’s simmering, a bit angry, like he could manhandle the hell outta me right now. I like that side of him. Taking control of my body in the rain last night.

He walked that line of power so deftly when he waited for me to come back and kiss him. Such a turn on. My ruined panties were proof of that. And he’s obviously scrambled my brain enough that I did it.

And fuck. Last night was hot. Worth it.

But then his reaction to me today? That was downright dangerous. Doing it again would make things complicated. Much too complicated.

He idolized his grandfather, and this farm was that man’s legacy. His identity is far too tied up in it to let it flounder. This I know. He’d resent me if I were the reason it did. So, I’ll admire him, and his ass, from afar. I lean back a little to take a peek, but black pants in the middle of the night aren’t very effective for creeping.

I settle for his face and nibble hungrily at my lip. It’s a close second in the looks department.

“Billie, you’re staring.” His growl cuts through my musings.

“Yeah. Sorry.” Why even deny it?

He just grunts.

The night is quiet, and our sneakers squelch across the damp grass intermingled with the clip-clop of DD’s feet. He’s so tired. I can feel him lagging behind.

“I’m sorry,” I say again.

“You said that.”

“No, not for staring. Well, I’m sorry for that too, really. But I meant that I’m sorry for whatever I said before that upset you.”

“I’m not upset,” he snarls, shaking his head.

“Oookay,” I mouth silently up to the sky.

After a few beats he adds, “I’m sad.”

Hearing him say that absolutely winds me. Like I’ve fallen off the swing at the park and hitting the ground pushed all the air out of my body. What the fuck am I supposed to do with that? If shit was weird before, now it’s awkward as hell.

Sad? I didn’t want to make him sad. I was being realistic. I honestly didn’t even think I had the power to make Vaughn sad. As his annoying employee, I pick on Vaughn, and he picks back. It’s part of our game, part of our push and pull. And even if I know he’s the type of guy I should steer clear of, I don’t dislike him for it. I wouldn’t be intentionally hurtful or spiteful because of it. He’s just not what I’d choose.

I don’t know what to say to that, so I just reach out, yank at his wrist above where his hand is shoved into his pocket and take his big warm hand in my own. He doesn’t resist. In fact, after a couple minutes his thumb rubs absently across my palm as we walk in silence, sending a wave of goose bumps up my arm that land right on my pebbled nipples.

This is fine.

After setting DD up in his paddock, I walk to the bathroom first thing and catch sight of myself in the mirror there. Wow. Yikes. The yellow in my eyes highlights dark smudges, and my hair looks like the little kid at elementary school who refuses to use a brush. It appears that I have cried off all traces of mascara (Win!), but that win is balanced out by the fact that my entire face is puffy and pink from crying (Lose!).

The good news is that this frightening look is an excellent way to deter Vaughn from whatever has been running through his head since last night. After seeing me in the light, he’s probably already imagining all the fancy well-bred women he can invite on his next date. My raggedy ass just gave him the push he needed.

The thought twists in my sternum. Like that unending throb you feel when you hit your funny bone. Why the fuck do they call it that? There is literally nothing funny about it. Or what I’m feeling right now.

This isn’t funny. It’s fucking insane.

I brace my hands on the counter and take a few deep breaths. I almost feel like I could fall asleep right here. Standing up.

I splash my face with cold water and rub vigorously before heading back out into the living room where Vaughn is waiting. He’s rotated a chair to face out towards DD’s paddock and is sitting quietly facing away from me.

“You could have told me I look like trash.”

“You don’t,” he says.

I mean, yeah. But… harsh.

Walking into his view, I jut my bottom lip out. “This,” I point at myself, gesturing up and down my body, “is really bad.”

He looks over at me, sighs, and closes his eyes. “You look like someone who saved that horse’s life today. That’s what matters. I already know you’re beautiful.”

If his eyes weren’t closed, he would see my mouth hanging open. Does he realize he just called me beautiful out loud? Is he joking or not? I can’t tell anything anymore. Down is up, left is right, and Vaughn Harding thinks I’m beautiful.

He cracks his eyes open a slit, his expression giving away nothing. “Billie, I can almost hear you thinking. Go to bed.”

“Okay,” is all I can muster as I turn and walk up the stairs, stunned. The word beautiful bounces around in my head, weaving between all the twisty lines of confusion.

I shower. And scrub and soap and shave off what feels like two days’ worth of grime and emotions. It does nothing to lessen my confusion, but it makes me so dopey I crawl into bed and fall asleep with my damp towel still wrapped around me.

I startle awake at hearing my screen door close. Whatever time it is, it’s still dark outside. I listen carefully and hear muffled footsteps downstairs. Logically, I know that it’s probably Vaughn, but a seed of doubt lingers. As a woman who lives alone, there is always a level of fear about noises at night.

I drag my legs out of bed and plant my feet on the floor. Creeping towards the stairs, I ditch my towel and wrap myself in my thin black robe to combat the chill that runs down my spine. I peek my head around the corner as I tip toe down the first few stairs.

Relief courses through me at the sight of Vaughn’s dark form sitting in the same chair, illuminated only by the yellow glow of the patio lights. The phone he’s scrolling through illuminates his silhouette. From here, I can see row after row of pictures I recognize of him smiling for the camera, looking painfully handsome, with a beautiful date on his arm. I scrolled through these exact pictures when he cancelled dinner at my place several weeks ago. Different suits, different women, and different events for each one. And if I’m being perfectly honest, I may have looked at them once or twice since. As visual reminders of why I shouldn’t ever think of Vaughn as anything other than my very nice-looking boss.

Being around Vaughn reminds me of window shopping. I’m a woman, and I’d have to be blind to not notice him. But that doesn’t mean I touch him, or uh… try him on?

Yikes. Okay. Different metaphor. I appreciate art all the time, but you don’t catch me rushing in to buy it. I admire it and carry on. Ooh, aah, nice painting! Look at those brush strokes! The colors! Oh, wow, look at the time, I better get going. The end.

The beautiful painting in front of me tilts his head to the side and rests his temple in his palm, elbow wedged against the big cushy armrest of the brown leather chair, and exhales. His shoulders take on an angle I’m not accustomed to, like he’s folding in on himself. A part of me feels like I’m intruding, but the other part of me with very few boundaries doesn’t care. I pad down the rest of the steps, which catches his attention.

He locks his phone quickly and turns to look at me. “Can’t sleep?” he asks, with a tired rasp to his voice.

“I did for a bit. But I heard the door close and got a little freaked out.” I round the corner, giving his shoulder a squeeze on the way past, and lean against the windowsill in front of him.

“I just gave DD some hay and checked on him. Seems like everything is moving well again.” He pauses and inclines his head a tad to show his confusion. “Freaked out how?”

Relief floods through me at his update on DD’s condition. “Like maybe someone was in the house or something.”

“But you knew I was here?”

“I know.” I wave him off. “Sometimes living all alone out here means my imagination runs away with things. That’s why I like having DD outside, for company. My guard horse.” I force out a laugh.

His brow furrows, and his eyes pinch. “I’ll have an alarm system put in for you.”

I roll my eyes. “Vaughn, that’s overkill. I’m fine.”

“I’m doing it, Billie. I don’t want you feeling that way in your own home.”

What a caveman.

We stare at each other, my bitch face versus his. But he gives up earlier than usual, shaking his head and looking away. He seems tense, and after catching him googling himself, I know something must be up. He’s been looking away for an unnatural amount of time, like he’s intentionally avoiding my eyes.

“Vaughn,” I start quietly, “I can tell I struck a nerve earlier. I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings.”

“You didn’t.” His reply is curt.

“Don’t bullshit a bullshitter, Boss Man. I saw you googling yourself.”

He groans and scrubs his face with both hands at my admission. “I will not dignify out of context photographs on the internet with a response. I know what kind of man I am.”

His eyes flit back to me before dropping lower. Super great. Now I’ve hurt and embarrassed one of the proudest men I know.

“Talk to me. We’re friends, remember?”

“No.”

“No? To which one?”

“Both,” he says, settling his gaze back on mine now.

“Both?” I shimmy my shoulders taller, standing to lean against the window frame, trying to shield myself. I don’t want to be offended by what he’s just told me. But I am.

He stares at me with no hint of a joke anywhere. This isn’t our regular ribbing; he’s being very direct right now. And I hate that it’s making my eyes sting. Determined not to cry in front of him, I push off the window frame to move past him. “If we’re not friends, then you don’t need to be here. Go home. I’ll see you at work tomorrow.”

He grabs my wrist before I can escape past him, stopping me in my tracks. Memories of him pinning my wrist above me last night flood my mind.

I shiver, even though all I feel is heat. And when I look down at him, I’m hit with an overwhelming sense of desire. I hoped he wouldn’t notice my physical reaction to his touch, but I know he did. It’s so clear that we’re both burning, and I don’t know how to stop it. The look on his face takes my breath away—it hurts. Makes my chest ache.

Taking in all his hard angles, those intense eyes, I’m rooted to the spot. Frozen.

“I don’t want to talk. We’re not friends.” His words are like a paper cut. They sting, but don’t produce any blood. “What I want is you, straddling me, and I don’t let friends do that.”

He’s still staring at me, holding my wrist, rubbing small circles over my pulse point. All I can hear is my own shallow breathing and the rush of blood in my ears. I have no doubt my pulse is jumping wildly beneath his thumb, dancing to his tune.

“That’s a bad idea, Vaughn,” I rasp out.

“Tell me why.”

“I already did. I gave you a whole list of reasons,” I reply, panic seeping into my voice now. But my body is already moving to stand in front of him, responding in ways that my brain can’t keep up with.

“Billie, I’m not the womanizer you think I am.” He drifts his other hand up the outside of my robe, starting at my knee and landing on my hip. “I go on the, mostly platonic, dates my mother sets up to make her happy. Because I love her, and I know she means well.” He pauses, pinning me with his glare, “And I have no reason not to.”

His meaning hangs in the air between us like bait on a fishing line, shiny and undulating and enthralling. He looks up at me with eyes gone black with intensity. The question dangles between us, and all I can think about is how badly I want to run my hands through his mussed hair. Just one more time. Don’t give him a reason, keep walking.

I step closer to him and ignore the warning voice in my head. I reach out and drag my fingers across the hair at his crown, combing back that one dark curl that always flops onto the same charming spot on his forehead. The one that is always a dead giveaway for what type of day he’s having. The one that always makes him look just disheveled enough to melt my panties.

His eyes never leave mine, that gaze holding so much promise. His hand trails across my hip and only stops where he can palm my ass and pull me closer. That hand travels further down to my upper thigh where he squeezes his fingers. I can feel the tip of each one, wrapped around my leg, pressing into the delicate skin of my inner thigh just below where my panties would be, if I were wearing any.

Those fingers send a jolt of electricity up through my pelvis, and a rush of heat back down. And to make my body completely defy my brain, he leans his beautiful head forward and presses a kiss to that ultra-sensitive spot just below my hip bone and whispers against the thin silk, “Give me a reason, Billie.”

A whimper escapes my lips as he continues kissing me there, dragging his teeth along the bone, making me shudder. My aching body takes over, and before I even realize what I’m doing, I drop to my knees in front of him and pull frantically at the waistband of his joggers. I don’t know much, but I know I want him in my mouth. I want to feel every ridge. I want to take back control, and I want him to lose his.

Firm hands grasp my wrists. “Billie, stop.”

I look up, away from where his very impressive package is straining against his pants, and pull my hands away, scrambling away from him. “I’m sorry.” The reality of what I’d just been trying to do to my boss hits me with full force.

His lips tip up at one side, and he beckons me closer with his hand. “Come here.”

I take a tentative step towards him, and he holds both my wrists again. “Sit,” he says, dipping his chin towards his lap.

I comply, straddling him, exactly how he specified. His clothes are soft against my bare skin as I place one knee on either side of his trim waist.

We fit perfectly.

With both wrists still locked in his hands, I’m unable to adjust myself and the front slit of my robe slowly falls open as I spread my legs around him, not leaving much to the imagination even in the blackness that surrounds us.

He groans, watching intently, eyes smoldering, and tongue darting out to tease the seam of his lips. Seeing him admire my body so openly is dizzying. I can feel the wetness between my legs, and I know he can see it too.

His quads are hard and unrelenting beneath me, but the erection pressing up into my ass is even harder. I grind down, rocking my hips against him, eliciting a growl from deep in his chest. He grabs my hips to stop the motion, and I let my hands come to rest on his pecs, whose solid definition I can feel through his thin t-shirt.

“Fuck,” he says on a shaky breath while staring down at where I’m exposed before lifting his head to look me in the eye again. A look that smolders like hot black coals. Coals I’m probably about to get burnt on.

I bite at my lips nervously. “I’m going to regret this tomorrow.”

“No, Billie.” His hands stroke me. “I’m going to eat that perfect pink pussy and then put you back to bed. And tomorrow? Tomorrow all you’re going to think about is how good you felt with my tongue inside of you.”

Breath hisses through my lips. Holy fuck. I am no virgin, but Vaughn just made my cheeks flame like one. Turned my entire body to flame, really. My brain too, since it seems to have melted into a puddle of poor decisions that I am about to happily roll around in.

Vaughn’s hands slide sensuously up and down my back, leaving a trail of goosebumps and singed nerve endings in their wake. I can barely think. One hand moves up to grip a handful of my hair and he pulls me into a kiss. A kiss I expected to be hot and rough, but it’s soft and searching. He’s masterful, playing my needy body like an instrument he’s perfected over the years. And at this moment, I don’t even care. Why mess around with a bumbling boy when I can play with an expert?

His tongue darts into my mouth. Teasing. Seeking. Asking for more this time, rather than taking. His left hand has slogged its way up my stomach to my breast. His thumb rubs back and forth across my nipple while he grips my hair and explores my mouth.

I surrender, and not a single part of me objects to this right now.

“Say you want it, Billie,” he rumbles against my lips with a nip.

So fucking bossy. Does he have to ruin this by giving me directions?

“Can’t you tell?”

He tugs my hair so that I’m forced to look him in the eye. “No. I want to hear you say it. I want to be sure.”

And with the way he’s looking at me right now, I’d say anything. His eyes are like chocolate fondue. Hot and molten. I want to spread it all over my body and have him lick it off. His hair is wild and his five o’clock shadow gives him that slightly rough look and feel I love.

Not love. Correction, that I’m a big fan of. I like rough Vaughn, more so than polished Vaughn. Actually, I like the dichotomy of his two sides and how quickly he can switch. Do I want it? Fuck yes, I want it.

“I want it.” My body shudders at my admission.

“What do you want?” he muses, with an evil glint in his eye and a knowing smirk on his lips.

I know he’s trying to throw me off balance here. We’re both constantly doing that to each other. I like the challenge, so I bat my eyelashes at him and lean in towards his ear, dragging my teeth along his stubbled jaw as I go. I try to speak low, but it comes out loud in the quiet early morning hours.

“I want your tongue inside of me.” I pick his hand up and drag it down my body, placing it right on the wetness between my legs.

His muscled chest rises and falls now, and his fingers move of their own accord. Exploring my folds, brushing across my clit. “I want you to eat this perfect pink pussy.” Almost instantly, he shoves one finger inside of me. My body bucks as he curls it around to press right into that one spot.

My head falls back, breath rushes out of my lungs. His hard cock presses into my ass as his firm hand coils in my hair, and that strong finger pushes inside of me. The sensations collide. He overwhelms me. My nerve synapses sing. And before I know it, I’m wrapped into him while he grips my ass and carries me up the stairs, taking every second step.

I barely even have enough time to think. What on earth am I doing?