Booted (Trails of Sin 3)

“Lorne, I…” She watches the man speed out of the lot, his taillights glowing red in the darkness. “I can’t.”

“You haven’t been to John’s house.”

“No.” She glares at the empty road. “I’m working on that.”

“He’s not there.”

“What? Are you sure?”

“I went there yesterday.” A crawling sensation itches between my shoulder blades, and I scan the surrounding fields. “Wherever he is, he’s looking for you.”

“I’m sure he is.” She crosses her arms, her beautiful face a picture of stubbornness. “Julep Ranch is the first place he’ll look.”

“He wouldn’t dare step onto my land, but I’d love to see him try.” I point at the truck, a silent order to obey me.

Her eyes hone in on my raised arm, on the necklace that ropes around my wrist. “I’m so sorry I stole…”

Tuning her out, I stride toward the pickup and climb in.

I itch for a drink. A numb haze would make all this go away. My hands clutch the steering wheel and squeeze.

She stares at me through the windshield, her jaw wriggling back and forth. After an eternal minute, her shoulders lift with a sigh. Then she grabs the backpack and joins me.

As I pull out of the parking lot and steer the truck onto the dark street, Raina’s proximity presses against my senses.

Warm femininity teases my nose. The skin on her toned arms lures my gaze. The rasp of her gentle breaths dries my mouth. She’s too damn soft and delicate and all around me, caressing my need for female company and making me uneasy.

I scowl at the road and try to relax the tension in my muscles. “That wasn’t the first time you solicited a man for sex.”

“No.”

“Was John Holsten the first?”

At the edge of my vision, she shakes her head and stares straight ahead, her eyes watering in the glow of passing headlights.

Very few things surprise me anymore, but fuck… Not once did I suspect she’s a prostitute.

I fail to keep the judgment out of my tone. “How many johns have you had in the last twenty-four hours?”

“None. I can’t exactly advertise on the streets around here. So I found a strip club.”

“You dance, too?”

“No, but men go there with one thing on their minds.” She glances at me. “I mean, that’s why you were there.”

My neck tightens. “I don’t have to pay for sex.”

“But it’s easier, right? No attachments. No small talk or expectations beyond a thrust and release.”

If I had a woman wrapped around my cock, I’d give her a lot more than a thrust.

Her seductive brown eyes stroke the side of my face. “I can repay the money I owe you.” She drifts a hand toward my thigh, her voice melting through several octaves. “I can give you relief—”

I capture her wrist in a ruthless grip and shove her away.

She rubs her arm and shoots me an offended look. “You don’t have to be cruel.”

“Don’t try to sell yourself to me again. Just because I’ve been in prison doesn’t mean I’m a walking goddamn hard-on. I know how to take care of myself.”

Jerking off was one of the few ways to pass time in a place where every minute felt like an eternity.

She looks out the window, her chest hitching and falling into the stiff silence.

My attention flicks between the street and the rearview mirror. I don’t know if John has the balls to run me off the road. To get this woman back, I suspect he’ll do anything.

“I get that you’re not interested in me,” she murmurs. “But even the hardest man craves a soft touch.”

Her hands rest on her lap, her fingers slender, with short, unpolished nails. I imagine them gliding up my chest and over my shoulders like feathers, teasing, stroking.

A shiver sweeps through me, and I lock my grip on the steering wheel. “Start talking.”

I want to know about her relationship with John, why she stayed with him for two years, and what she’s been doing for the past twenty-four hours.

I find her eyes, huge, liquid brown, and mesmerizing in the moonlight. Her brows knit together, and I harden my expression.

A swallow jogs in her throat, and she turns her attention to the backpack at her feet. Opening it, she removes my hunting knife and sets it on the seat between us. A water bottle comes next, which she offers to me.

I shake my head and veer onto the highway, scrutinizing every vehicle in my path.

She unscrews the cap and takes a long drink. “After I left your truck in Sandbank, I hitched a ride west. The driver could only take me halfway to John’s house, but I needed to prepare anyway.” She puts the water bottle away and glances at the sheathed weapon beside my hip. “I took the blade in case I ran into trouble hitchhiking. I knew I couldn’t use it against John, because you know what they say. Never take a knife to a gunfight, and John has a lot of guns.”