Trust The Devil (Devil's Riders 3)

"What the hell are you wearing?"

I looked down at myself and back up at him.

"A bikini, silly."

"You are not getting on that horse in that getup."

I cocked my head, smiling at him.

"You're right. I'm going to wash the horse."

His jaw dropped. Literally dropped. Clint looked as shocked as a Sunday School teacher in a brothel. Good. The blasted man was too calm by half. I tossed my hair as I walked away. I realized I liked making him uncomfortable.

"We have to train."

I shook my head.

"No Clint. Today, for just a few hours, I have to work."

Clint

It was bad enough that I had to watch her bouncing around on a horse all day, wondering what she looked like in the altogether. But now- by God- now I didn't have to wonder anymore.

The woman was wearing a Goddamn bikini on that insane body of hers. I felt like I was about to catch fire. I didn't know where to look. I tried to keep my eyes on her boots, but they kept travelling up those long toned legs of hers…

To make it even worse, the damn bikini was red.

It was like waving a red flag at a bull. An extremely frustrated bull who'd had just about enough temptation. This was more than I could take.

Course, I couldn't exactly run off and jump in a cold shower either. I was stuck here, waiting to resume training for the rest of the afternoon.

I sat there in my lawn chair, trying not to stare at the show. Lord knows every man in the entire stable was outside, tongues hanging out. I didn't blame them, but I hoped I didn't look quite so foolish.

Pheonyx looked like pornography in motion. I tried closing my eyes but the image was branded there, all tawny skin and lush curves.

I literally could not shake it.

Shake her.

I moaned, adjusting myself. The woman was going to kill me. But I had a strange feeling I'd be smiling if she did.

Smiling, with a big ole hard on to boot.

She was chatting with the marketing people. Apparently, they liked to do guerilla style shoots a couple times a month for their social media and other viral marketing.

Having an authentic cowgirl in a bikini was a pretty brilliant idea actually. Especially one that looked like Pheonyx.

Who was I kidding?

No one looked like Pheonyx.

She looked better than those air brushed swimsuit models in a magazine! I shook my head, resting it in my hands. I gave into temptation, pulling my brim low so she didn't catch my eye.

But I was done trying to fight the urge to look my fill.

If the woman was going to torture me, I was going to memorize every damn curve. I had a feeling it would come in handy on a cold night…

They started the shoot and I could not look away. Not even to blink. She was wearing a tiny bikini, a straw cowboy hat and fancy boots. She started washing the horse and I nearly spit out my iced tea as the soapy water started sliding over her body.

I could imagine myself over there, my hands holding the sponge. Except instead of washing the horse, I'd be washing her.

Just when I thought I was going to bust a nut right there, it got worse.

Much, much worse.

They turned her and the horse so that she was looking over her shoulder. Her perfect ass was on full display from this angle, as she bent forward and playfully washed the horse. I swallowed hard as suds slid down over the gorgeous round globes and down her thighs.

She smiled at the camera. Then she looked at me, a teasing smile on her face. She knew what she was doing to me, I realized. And she was loving it.

But not to torture me. Or just to do her job as a spokeswoman. No, she had a darker purpose.

A shock ran through me as our eyes locked.

I was caught. Trapped. She'd seen the lust in my eyes, I knew it. But I was shocked as hell when I saw it directed right back at me.

Oh no.

Oh hell no.

That feeling in my gut. It was reflected right back at me in her eyes. It hit me like a sucker punch to the gut.

That was it. I knew I was done for.

It was bad enough with me lusting over her every minute of the day. The season was just getting started. I knew I'd be taking cold showers until the competition in December.

Oh yeah, I wanted her. Bad. Worse than I'd ever wanted a damn thing in my life. By far.

I would resist her as long as I could. Eventually, I expected I'd make an ass of myself. I'd already accepted that was going to happen. She'd reject me for being too old and cranky. I would go away and lick my wounds and try to forget her.