Chasin' Eight (Rough Riders 11)

“As a matter of fact, I won’t allow you to say no, Ava.”

“Be honest, Petra. How elaborate is this party? And what’s the dress code?”

Petra sighed. “Twenty guests. Just appetizers. New York casual. Really, it’s practically a barbecue.”

Ava laughed at the image of stylish, elegant and immaculately coiffed Petra in jeans and a gingham-checked shirt, serving fried chicken.

“Glad I amuse you. Show up any time after seven-thirty. And feel free to bring the gentleman in the hat. Ta.”

The gentleman in the hat might be optional after he got wind of their tabloid appearance.

Almost on cue, the door opened and Chase walked in.

She should be used to his jaw-dropping physique by now. The massive biceps, bulging triceps, thick forearms, bulked up chest, the delts, the quads, the glutes, the eight-pack abs. God she loved his abs. She loved to dip her tongue between the hard ridges of muscle, tracing every work-honed line. Especially after he worked out. Losing herself in the musky, salty taste of his skin.

“What? Do I have pigeon shit on my clothes or something?”

Her eyes snared his. “No. Just admiring the goods. Seeing you half naked…you are a damn beautiful man, Chase.”

“You been hitting the minibar first thing?”

“No. I don’t tell you enough how unbelievably attracted I am to you. Seeing you like that stops me in my tracks.”

“Ava.”

She marched over to him, pulling her three-inch height advantage. “You compliment me all the time. Why can’t I do the same? You think it’s insincere?”

That intense blue gaze never wavered. “No. You ain’t blowing smoke up my chaps just to get into them. I just don’t know what to say. Everything I think of sounds f**king wrong. And I sure as shit don’t want you to think I don’t appreciate it, because I do. So I’m left with saying nothin’ at all.”

As they stared at each other, uncertainty morphed into heat.

Ava bent down and brushed her lips over his ear, waiting for his shiver, because he always shivered—and he didn’t disappoint. She nipped his rigid jaw, loving how his stubble felt on her lips. “I want to suck you off. Right now.” She lowered to her knees and hooked her fingers in the waistband of his stretchy shorts, then yanked them down. She looked up at him and said, “Shirt. Off.”

One tug and it was gone.

She reached between his legs and rolled his balls over her fingers as she suckled the c**k head until he was fully erect.

Chase emitted a sound that Ava understood as more.

And she didn’t tease and tempt. She wanted to drive him to that point of pleasure so hard and fast he didn’t know what hit him. She used her hand. Her tongue. The deep suctioning power of her mouth. She loved she could render him as powerless to her touch as he rendered her.

Chase didn’t touch her roughly until he muttered, “Fuck,” and his shaft tightened. Then his hands gripped her neck, his thumbs pressing to keep her jaw fully open as his hips pumped into her face. Warm spurts hit the back of her throat and flowed over her tongue as she swallowed.

His legs trembled and his harsh breathing sliced the air. He stumbled back and his bare ass landed on the bed. The covers made a whoosh as his upper body fell back and he uttered another, “Christ Almighty.”

Smiling, Ava untied his shoes and slipped them off. The fact Mr. My-Ticklish-Feet-Are-Off-Limits didn’t stir when she removed his socks was an excellent indication of how thoroughly she’d rocked his world.

The bedroom phone rang and she leapt up to get it. “Hello? Oh. Damn. I lost track of time. No, don’t let him leave. Tell him I’ll be down in ten minutes. Or if he prefers, he can park back by the service entrance so he doesn’t have to keep circling the block. Great. Thank you.”

She saved her work and shut down her laptop. She twisted her hair and attached a hairclip. Her clothing choices were dismal, but her shopping excursion would fix that. She threw jeans, a white T-shirt and ballet flats into her bag.

Chase rested on his elbows when she returned to the bedroom to say goodbye.

“This is short notice, but my friend Petra called and she’s having a cocktail party tonight. I told her we’d go. Which works out because I’d already made hair and makeup appointments at my favorite salon.”

“Who’s Petra?”

“An actress I worked with when I started out in LA. Petra aimed her goals much higher than acting and snagged a New York financier who dabbled in the movie production biz as her husband. Arthur is thirty years older, and she’s very New York high society now, but for some reason she’s always kept in touch with me.” Ava slung her bag over her shoulder. “Think about coming to the party with me, okay?”

“Fine. But where you goin’ now?”

“First to a yoga class near my salon. Then to the salon. Then shopping.” She pointed at him. “Don’t give me that lost puppy look, McKay. I believe you said no f**kin’ way when I mentioned shopping yesterday.”

He scowled. “I meant it. Any idea when you’ll be back?”

“I’ll text you.” She made it to the door when she found her back pressed against the wall and Chase’s mouth insistent on hers.

After he’d obliterated every thought from her mind, he released her. “Have fun today, Hollywood, because now I know how much you really love all that time-consuming girly shit.”

It wasn’t until she reached the car that she realized she’d forgotten to tell him about the press situation.

Chase wasn’t uncomfortable being by himself in New York City. He’d been there a half-dozen times, usually with a group, but any place he needed to get to was a taxi ride away.

He showered and dressed, walking away from the hotel into the shops in the East Village until he found food that appealed. Two slices of pizza would hold him for a while. The sun beat down, heating the pavement, reminding him the city smelled like ass. The tiny storefronts fascinated him. Everyone was in a hurry, except for the bums. Another thing he noticed? He wasn’t the shortest man around. Here, his height was average. Maybe even above average.

Much as he hated to admit it, he needed to find something suitable to wear tonight. His clothes were fine for rodeo and travel, but not decent enough for a penthouse cocktail party in New York City.

Once again he was reminded of the differences between them. He didn’t blame her for wanting to return to the lifestyle she’d been born into.