Last Second Chance

Second Chance - 1

Caisey Quinn

For those of you who’ve ever loved someone who was broken. It takes true devotion to give a piece of your soul to someone else.

“Love has no middle term—either it destroys, or it saves.”

-Victor Hugo, Les Misérables

Author's Note

This is the series I never expected to write, much less publish. Addiction has affected my family in so many ways, none of them good. For so long, it was something we hid, shoved, and kicked behind closed doors. It was a battle I felt alone in. Protecting the people I loved from the judging eyes of the perfect world felt like a full-time job and left very little room for anything else.

But I was fortunate enough to find my way out of the darkness. I found a light in writing, in friendship, and in being able to trust. Van’s head is a hard place to be for me, one I was afraid to venture into. But he wouldn’t leave me alone until I told his story. Without the support and encouragement of so many, I never would’ve finished this book.

Throughout my life, I have learned that there are people in this world, sometimes complete strangers even, who, without doing anything other than being themselves, give you the unspoken permission to share the deepest, darkest parts of yourself. People whose eyes won’t go wide or feet won’t begin to walk backward, whose arms continue reaching out, even when you’ve removed your carefully crafted and polished exterior to expose the ugliest, most gruesome truths that live in your soul.

There are so many paths and decisions and unseen gravitational forces that propel us in all directions every passing moment, compounded by the grand and infinitesimal choices we make every day. But sometimes, the vast elements of the universe align for a brief moment in time leading us to the beating hearts of the ones who will be those people for us.

When that happens, when two creatures find in one another this rare and purely unconditional form of love and patience, and a marrow-deep level of understanding, the kind that accepts mistakes, flaws, and garish, gaping wounds that surpass flesh and bone without apology or remorse or expecting a reward other than the same unyielding acceptance, it can only be the result of one simple gift from the universe, or higher power, or the entity on which we choose to build the foundation of our faith...

A miracle.

I am grateful for my miracles—each and every one of you.

If you haven’t found yours yet, stay strong. It is truly darkest before the dawn.

<3 Caisey

Prologue

Falling off a horse for the first time changes you. Stella Jo Chandler knew that better than anyone. After fourteen years of riding without anything more than a minor incident, her faithful thoroughbred, Angel’s Breath, fell at the 75th Annual Kentucky Showmaster’s Showcase, sending them both to the ground in the blink of an eye. Pinned under the massive animal, Stella Jo struggled to stay conscious despite the black spots blurring her vision.

She told herself to breathe, that it was okay. It wasn’t really, though it could’ve been much worse.

Eighteen-year-old Stella’s leg was broken in two places and required pins and multiple surgeries to repair. She was unable to walk for eight weeks, and even when she did, there was a slight limp in her gait that hadn’t been there before. Angel’s Breath had to be put down. Stella hadn’t so much as gotten on a horse since then. Kind of difficult when you lived on a horse ranch. Unless you moved away to college and made up a million excuses about why you could never make it home for the holidays.

The pride of the Chandler family had been wounded irreparably. Dreams of their only daughter bringing home the Triple Crown and one day taking over the family’s sprawling Texas ranch, had died that day in Kentucky. Or at least they did for her.

All that nonsense about getting back on the horse? Bullshit as far as Stella Jo was concerned.

Chapter One

Stella Jo Chandler had just lifted her steaming caramel macchiato to her lips when she heard the steady buzzing of her phone vibrating in her purse. She didn’t even have to look to know it was one of two numbers calling.

It was either her mom calling again to ask whether or not she was moving back home after graduation next week, or Dr. Juan Ramirez, the Director of the Second Chance Ranch calling to see if she had decided to accept his job offer. She knew this because the only two other people who called her—her roommate Tess Bradley and her ex-boyfriend Nash Douglas—were here. Together. Naturally. Because, of all of the Starbucks locations near campus, of course they would pick this one.

It wasn’t like they were sneaking around. And she was the one who’d broken it off with Nash more than a month ago. She just hadn’t expected him to ask her roommate out so soon after. She damn sure hadn’t expected Tess to want to go out with him. And yet, here they were.

When Tess had asked if Stella would be okay with them going out, she’d said that it was fine. Because what right did she have to keep them from hooking up if they wanted to? No right whatsoever. And she didn’t actually miss him exactly. The twinge of hurt and sadness that stabbed her every time she saw them came more from missing being with someone—or at least being wanted by someone. He hadn’t even looked upset when she’d broken it off. More like relieved.

Even though Tess had been discreet about her new relationship with Stella’s ex, it didn’t stop the seemingly mandatory awkward run-ins that occurred from time to time. Fate could be such a conniving bitch.

After tossing the happy couple an obligatory wave and the biggest smile she could manage, Stella leaned down to pull her new iPhone from her designer bag. Both had been given to her as bribes from her mother. Not that they were going to get Candace Chandler what she wanted necessarily, but Stella was a broke college student about to be up to her eyeballs in loan debt. No sense in turning down free goods. She was nothing if not practical.

“Hey, Mama,” she answered.

The woman on the other end responded in kind with a practiced cheerfulness Stella was familiar with. “Well, Estella Josephine Chandler, I’m surprised you could be bothered to answer. How are finals going?”

Stella sipped her tongue-scorching drink. She nodded at her roommate and Nash when they waved to her on their way out, wondering if she was the reason they were taking their coffees to go.

“They’re going. Two down, two to go. I was just settling in to study.” Double majoring in psychology and business at Texas A&M was a heavy load, and Stella was exhausted. Probably wouldn’t have been as tough if she weren’t a perfectionist dead set on graduating magna cum laude.

“Okay, well I won’t keep you,” her mom said evenly. “Just wanted to check in and wish you luck.”

Now there was a bold-faced lie if ever she’d heard one.

“Thanks, Mama. And no, I haven’t made a decision yet. I’m going to Dallas next weekend to meet with Dr. Ramirez and then I’ll let you know something.”

The truth was that she had pretty much made up her mind that—unless the Second Chance Ranch was a disgusting hellhole—she was most likely taking the job. Even after four years away from her family home, she still wasn’t ready to go back. Kind of funny that, whichever option she decided on, both would put her right smack in the middle of a horse ranch. Really wasn’t that surprising since Stella loved horses, she just had no desire to get back on one.

Her mother cleared her throat. “I wasn’t calling to pressure you. Your dad and I love you no matter what you decide. You know that.”

Right, except her mom had clearly just suggested that their love was part of the equation. And her father showed emotion about as well as the broad side of a barn.

Stella sipped her coffee and stared at her open accounting textbook. “Okay. Well, I really need to get back to studying. But, um, is Dad coming to my graduation next weekend?”

The long pause on the other end answered her question. “Stella Jo, you know he’s a busy man. There’s just always so much to do at the ranch and—”

“It’s fine, Mama. I was just wondering.” Stella swallowed more coffee in hopes it would ease the lump going down.

“Love you, hon,” her mother said abruptly. “See you at graduation.”

“Love you, too,” Stella Jo said to the dead air. She set her phone on the table and rubbed her temples.

She could practically see her mom stamping her foot in frustration as she told Stella’s dad that his daughter still hadn’t made up her mind.

That’s how it had always been. If Stella did something good, she was Mama’s girl. But one screw-up and she was her father’s daughter, like he’d passed on some defective DNA. She’d been her father’s daughter a whole lot since giving up riding.

Staring at the numbers in her meticulously organized notes, Stella’s mind wandered. For some reason, Nash had never taken her for coffee. In fact, the only places he’d ever taken her were his messy apartment and a few parties his fraternity brothers had thrown.

Whatever. It didn’t matter now.

After working a few review problems and realizing her drink had gone cold, Stella heard her phone buzzing again. It shimmied across the table before she picked it up. The familiar 817 number flashed on the screen, and she clicked accept.

“Hi, Dr. Ramirez.”

“Good afternoon, Miss Chandler. You’re a hard woman to get ahold of.”

This was true. In more ways than one. “Sorry about that. I’ve just been swamped with finals this week.”

The doctor chuckled. “Oh, how I don’t miss those days. My condolences. But actually, I’m just calling to discuss the opportunity here at SCR. As I mentioned previously, the Board was extremely impressed with your credentials, both your experience growing up on your family’s ranch and your scholastic achievements.”

“Thank you,” Stella said, even though being raised on a horse ranch wasn’t anything she had done on purpose, just luck of the draw when it came to the family she’d been born into. She hadn’t decided yet if it was good luck or bad luck.

The man on the other end of the line cleared his throat. “Yes, well, we’re hoping that when you come for a tour this weekend, you’ll accept our offer and begin work immediately. We have some high-profile clients coming in at the same time, and I believe your skills could be quite beneficial.”

She sipped her now cold coffee. “Um, okay. That’s certainly something to think about. But I don’t have an apartment in Dallas or anything yet. I’m still exploring my options.”

“That’s not a problem, Miss Chandler. We have on-site housing available for our staff. Speaking of your options, I also wanted to discuss with you the stipend provided should you choose to further your education.”

Way to dangle the bait.

Dr. Ramirez almost had her completely hooked. Stella wanted nothing more than to get her master’s degree in either drug or family counseling. Or maybe both, crazy overachiever that she was. But her parents wouldn’t support that career path and she had no idea how she’d afford graduate school on her own.

“I look forward to discussing all of that with you next weekend, Dr. Ramirez. I’ll see you on Friday.”

“Yes, of course. I look forward to it as well. Best of luck on your exams, Miss Chandler.”

Stella thanked him and ended the call. Checking the clock on her phone, she realized it was almost time for her second-to-last final exam. Not even graduated yet and the real world was pulling her in two different directions.

The thing about Second Chance was that it was a dream job in so many ways—working with animals and people who needed her on a sprawling ranch that would have all the comforts of home minus the insane pressure her mom put on her or the cold lack of affection from her daddy. It was just that, after applying for the job of client care coordinator and getting the offer, Stella had done some research. Research she should’ve done before sending in her résumé.

The patients at SCR were referred to as “clients” for a reason. They weren’t regular folks who’d fallen down into a pit of addiction involving drugs or alcohol and were digging their way out. Those were the kinds of people she wanted to help. The Second Chance Ranch referred to patients as clients because it was primarily a celebrity rehab facility known for high-profile residents who checked in because they were suffering from “exhaustion” or some other nonsense and desired the anonymity of a ranch in the middle of nowhere. Because being famous was just so damn tiring. Poor babies.

Stella had no fucks to give about those types. And she damn sure didn’t work her ass off to be some spoiled celebrity’s beck-and-call girl.

But up against going home, where her mom would begin the relentless campaign of getting Stella back on the horse—literally—while her daddy tried to pretend she didn’t exist, it sounded kind of like a dream come true. Or at the very least, a miraculous escape route, regardless of the clientele.

Chapter Two

Fucking hell.

Van Ransom opened his eyes just long enough to wish he hadn’t. His vision was blurred, probably from the skull-hammering headache, and the lighting in wherever he was happened to be bright as shit. Naturally.

Groaning loudly, he threw a heavily inked arm over his face. “Someone turn that fucking shit off.”

“He’s coming to,” a male voice near his head announced.

“No, he’s not. Turn the goddamn lights off and go the fuck away,” he demanded. If there was one good thing about being the lead singer of a well-known band, it was that people did whatever you told them to. Or at least they always had before. Even with his eyes closed, Van knew the lights were still on.

“Mr. Ransom, can you tell me what day it is?” the same voice asked.

If it didn’t require opening his eyes, Van would have glared at the stupid son of a bitch. “No, but I can recommend you buy a motherfucking calendar and stop harassing me before I have your ass fired.”

“Van, wake up. Look at me.” This time, the voice came from near his feet and he recognized it.

“Sid?”

The blurry figure of his manager stood at the foot of…a hospital bed.

What the hell?

“Yeah, it’s me. You’ve been out of it for a few days.”

Jesus. Must’ve been some after-party if he was waking up in the hospital. Again. Usually he woke up to naked women and a huge fucking mess. Sometimes there was vomit involved, but that was just an occupational hazard as far as he was concerned.

But this time, his band, Hostage for Ransom, had been celebrating their freedom from a sadistic record label, aptly named Red Devil Records, which had damn near caused the band to break up. They were also just a few signatures away from signing with a label that actually gave a shit about them and their music, halle-fucking-lujah. So there’d been a lot worth celebrating.

The party had been at a hotel—a nice one that, before he’d made the cover of Rolling Stone, he wouldn’t have been allowed to step foot in. That much he could remember. But that was about all he had.

Sid pressed a button and Van’s bed angled upward.

“Can I get something for this headache? Like ten minutes ago?”

Sid nodded at a man in scrubs on his other side. Oh yeah. The asshole with all the questions. The man shook his head. Like hell.

“Can we have a minute?” Sid asked before Van could go apeshit on the scrub- wearing fucker. The man nodded and left the room.

Still squinting as his eyes adjusted to the light, which someone had mercifully dimmed, he glared at his manager.

“Get me the hell out of here. I don’t have time for this. If I’ve been out for days, aren’t we supposed to be meeting with Epitaph about now?”

Sid raked a hand roughly over his face and stared at Van with bloodshot eyes. “I’m just going to give it to you straight because, frankly, I don’t have the energy for this anymore. The only epitaph you’re gonna land at this rate is an actual one. As in, you are killing yourself. And everyone’s pretty damned sick and tired of watching you self-destruct.”

“That was very moving. Harvard would be so proud. But seriously, can we go now?” Van sat up and yanked out all the needles and tubes attached to him. Alarms began sounding all over the damned place. And fuck, he was going to vomit. And maybe pass out.

Shitty day this was turning out to be.

When he came to again, a young blond woman in dark blue scrubs was leaning over him. Her breasts brushed against him and he groaned with satisfaction. Yes, this was much better than the first time.

“Morning, beautiful. Can I convince you to join me in this bed? It goes up and down.” He knew his breath probably smelled like hell but surely she’d be willing to blow him or something. He was Van fucking Ransom after all.

The girl’s fair skin turned a sexy shade of pink as she pulled back. “Um, I don’t get off until six,” she said barely loud enough for him to hear.

“Well, in that case, why don’t you come by at six so we can both get off?”

Her responding giggle made his cock twitch. Yeah, she’d be back. Before he had time to lay any more game on her, Sid strolled into the room carrying a coffee cup.

“Good, you’re awake.” His manager jerked his head at the sexy nurse, and she shot Van a quick smile before leaving them alone.

Once she was out of the room, Van glared at the man. “Well, thank you very much for the cock block. Remind me to return the favor, asshole.”

Sid rolled his eyes and stepped closer. “Listen to me. You have much bigger problems than missing out on a blowjob.”

Van grinned. Damn, his manager knew him well. “Oh yeah? Like what?”

Sid set his cup on the raised tray next to Van’s bed. “Like the fact that Epitaph has no intentions of signing someone who’s going to cost them more in damages than he’s going to sell in records. And they’ve placed a few stipulations on signing the band.” Sid checked his watch as if he had somewhere more important to be.

“What kind of stipulations?” Van sat up straighter to brace himself for more corporate record label bullshit.

Sid cleared his throat before answering. “Either you successfully complete rehab in a facility of their choosing and agree to let a drug treatment counselor accompany you on all future tours or the deal is history. As in, don’t call them and they won’t call you.” His manager shrugged like this wasn’t the shittiest news since Lynyrd Skynyrd’s plane went down.

Van raked a hand through his thick hair, which was in serious need of washing. “What is wrong with everybody? Can you people not get online and search lead singer in rock band and catch a goddamn clue? This is how it is. I’m not doing anything that all the other guys aren’t. You all treat me like I’m the antichrist for doing a little blow.” He huffed out a breath and considered throwing something. Nothing in reaching distance would make a satisfying enough noise, so he resisted the impulse. Barely.

Sid’s veins throbbed in his bald head—a sure sign that Van was pushing him past his limits as well. In a lot of ways his manager was the closest thing to a father he’d ever known. But he was on the payroll and needed to remember that.

“Don’t bullshit me, son. Do the other guys get messed up from time to time? I’m not an idiot. I know they do. No one’s debating that. But you go at it like an overachiever with a death wish.” Van opened his mouth to interrupt, but Sid held up his hand, signaling him to keep it shut. “A few lines every now and then is ‘a little blow.’ Ten lines or more after a handful of painkillers and a bottle of whatever the hell you were drinking, is a suicide attempt.”

Van tried not to let his fists clench by his sides, but he couldn’t stop them. The needle jammed into the top of his hand pinched hard. Sid didn’t know the details about what had happened with Val, so he couldn’t know how deep that word cut him. Van wanted to throttle him all the same.

And the man wasn’t done. “Tell me honestly. Do you want to die? Is this life so terrible for you? Millions of fans and a platinum album? ’Cause I gotta tell you, a lot of guys would kill to be in your shoes. And if you keep heading down this dark path at the rate you’re going, one of them will be. Soon.”

Pieces of the party came back to Van in flashes. The pills a roadie had slipped him. The eleven-hundred-dollar-bottle of Bourbon. A redhead sucking him off while he’d snorted coke off a glass coffee table in a room full of people. Val would be disgusted by him.

Hell, he was disgusted by him.

Every time this happened, remembering it was like watching a documentary about someone else’s screwed-up life. And he told himself he’d tone it down a notch next time. But in reality it was more like he was constantly trying to one-up himself every other night. Or maybe off himself like Sid suspected.

“We’ve tried the rehab thing. Shit doesn’t take,” he said quietly, still lost in the memories of parties past.

Sid let a hand rest on the rail of Van’s bed. “It might have, if you’d stayed the course. You can’t just bail because someone or something pisses you off or doesn’t go your way.”

Yeah, he was guilty of that. But the robotic drone doctors in rehab didn’t know shit about him yet they pretended to have the answers to all his problems. Who wouldn’t bail?

“So this is it then? No second chances? Epitaph is sending me to rehab and I have to fake my way into a whole new me or else I ruin it for the whole band? That’s some messed-up shit, Sid.”

Now it was the manager’s hand that fisted, clenching the rail tightly as he stared at Van in disbelief.

“You have got to be screwing with me, kid. You’ve had more second chances than any other person on the planet. And as much as I hate to say this to you, if you don’t complete the program this time and get your shit together, Epitaph won’t be the only one washing their hands of you. This is your last second chance, Van. Plain and simple.”

Chapter Three

Whoever the sadistic bastard was that invented stilettos, Stella wanted to knee him in the balls. Hard. Maybe more than once.

An hour into her tour of the Second Chance Ranch, her feet were killing her. She’d worn the gingham shift dress she’d bought from White House Black Market with a smart blazer over it. She’d received her fair share of approving glances from the males on staff as Dr. Ramirez escorted her through the facility. Hellhole it wasn’t.

Stella didn’t even feel like they should be able to call the place a ranch. She’d grown up on a ranch, a nice one even. Ranches included mud and straw and the ever-present stench of horseshit. This place was immaculate with a mahogany welcome desk the size of Texas and flat screen televisions and hardwood floors that shone like glass. She’d seen the infinity pool, and beyond that, expansive pastures dotted with the occasional horse, at the beginning of the tour. The top of the steel stables was visible from behind the enormous mansion-style patient housing facility.

It was everything she could do not to gape in awe at her surroundings. Her heels clicked on the hardwood as Dr. Ramirez walked her through the grand foyer to the glass entrance.

“As I was telling you, many of our physicians and other staff members reside in them until they move into more permanent housing.” He gestured to the area downhill where the staff housing was located.

Right. Because she wasn’t just going to work here, she was going to live here, too. Stella struggled to remain focused on the man giving her the tour as he began detailing the agenda for new employee orientation that would begin first thing Monday morning—if she accepted the job. He handed her two folders and a spiral-bound book thicker than any of her textbooks had ever been. She struggled with the added weight, attempting to shift it to the arm not shouldering her purse, but someone bumped her from behind.

“Oh!” she cried out as the book and folders slipped from her arms and landed on the floor with a loud slap.

Smooth, Stella Jo.

The man who’d bumped her looked up from the slim black cell phone in his hand. Light gray sky at sunrise eyes clouded over as he took her in. She’d never seen anyone like him before. At least not up close and personal like this.

He was tall, looming over her despite the added height of the stilettos, and seconds from committing a felony, judging from the expression he wore. Dark tattoos wrapped around his arms and neck, claiming his otherwise flawless skin. The black T-shirt pulled taut across his broad chest had faded script on it that she couldn’t make out.

She knew one of them should apologize for the collision. But neither did as they were both paralyzed in the gaze of the other.

Dr. Ramirez cleared his throat, snapping her out of her trance.

Jesus. Where was she?

Oh, right. Embarrassing herself horribly in front of her future boss.

Choked laughter escaped her throat as she bent down to retrieve what she’d dropped. The man did the same and she caught a whiff of expensive cologne and liquor. Ah, he was checking in then. Dr. Ramirez leaned down to help, as did the bald guy with the man who’d bumped her.

“Thanks,” she said to all of them as they handed her the papers. Standing upright, she allowed herself one more lingering look at whoever this creature was. His thick brows, straight nose, and square jaw created such perfect lines on his face that she wondered if anyone had ever painted his portrait. If not, they damn well should. She was ready to take up sculpting and erect a shrine in his honor. She could only imagine the muscles that would be underneath his clothes. And despite her best effort not to, imagine she did.

She nearly died of humiliation when he handed her a form that had fallen from her folder and she had to take it from him with a trembling hand. No man had ever had this kind of an effect on her. Clearly she’d been single for too long.

Snap out of it, Chandler.

“Thank you,” she mumbled, averting her eyes and snatching her hand back.

She looked up just in time to see him raising a brow at her. “For slamming into you like a maniac?”

Good Lord, the deep rumble of his voice was sensual music that weakened her knees.

“Um, no, for—”

“Are you all right, Miss Chandler?” Dr. Ramirez broke in.

Was she? No, she sure as hell wasn’t. She was a few missed breaths away from panting or passing out. And lightheaded. And unable to think straight because of the scorching heat burning her up from the inside out. And…wait. What was the question again?

She sucked in a deep breath in an attempt to steady herself. “Yeah. I mean, yes, sir. I’m fine.”

Dr. Ramirez placed a hand on her elbow and steered her to the exit. As they began to walk away, he turned and spoke to the beautiful creature who’d bumped into her.

“Mr. Walker, everything is prepared for your stay. Please let us know if there’s anything we can do to assist in making you more comfortable. If you ask for Celeste Bradshaw at the desk, she’s ready with your paperwork.”

Stella watched as Mr. Walker’s expression darkened from pensive and amused to lethal and pissed off. Either he didn’t want her to know his name or he didn’t want her to know he was a patient. Or he hated Celeste Bradshaw with a vengeance. Stella didn’t know whether to envy the woman he was about to head off to or be worried for her.

Once they were out of hearing distance, Dr. Ramirez stopped walking and turned to her.

“Miss Chandler, I hate to pry, but do you know him?”

“Who?” she asked, playing dumb even though she knew exactly who he was referring to.

“Mr. Ransom.” The doctor regarded her with a suspicious stare. “Or Mr. Walker, as he prefers to be called.”

“No, I don’t. He just startled me is all.” She gripped the materials she carried tighter to avoid fidgeting as the doctor led her to the cabin-style buildings he’d told her were used for housing employees.

“My apologizes. It just seemed like there was…something between the two of you. And as you will learn upon reading the employee handbook, we can’t have you working with any patients—er, clients—that you’ve known previously.” The doctor sighed loudly. “Though I do have ears and I know several of my nurses on staff know full well who he is and are interested in getting to know him intimately. Even if it costs them their jobs.”

A pang of an emotion she didn’t recognize stabbed sharp and deep in Stella’s midsection, but she forced a smile. “Well I can honestly say I’ve never seen him before in my life, nor do I have any interest in getting to know him in any capacity other than as a patient. Um, client.” That distinction was going to be a hard one to get used to.

The older man pulled out a key and regarded her with a genuinely pleased smile. “So you’re accepting the position then?”

Stella nodded, though it felt like her intestines were practicing multiple knot-tying strategies in her stomach.

“Yes, sir. I would like to.”

Because it’s an amazing opportunity, not because of the captivating stranger who just scrambled my brain and my libido.

“Well then, welcome home.” Dr. Ramirez opened a door that led to Stella’s impressive new digs.

It was a studio-style apartment where the small living area, kitchen, dining room, and bedroom were all occupying one cozy space. The only closed-off sections were a closet and a bathroom with an old-fashioned tub and pedestal sink. Still, it was much nicer than the tiny two-bedroom apartment she and Tess had shared off campus. And it was already furnished. She thanked Dr. Ramirez, and he welcomed her to the team before leaving to let her get settled in.

She had a truck full of boxes to unpack and a million forms to fill out before Monday morning. She had to make a very stressful phone call to her mom as well. But at the moment, all she could do was collapse into one of her plush living room chairs and try to recover from whatever the hell had just happened with the mysterious Mr. Walker-Ransom.

Chapter Four

She was the first woman he’d ever hated on sight. Because one look at her and he knew. Knew everything he’d ever done was sick and wrong and made him the kind of man who would never be good enough. But when she looked back at him with those gleaming emerald eyes wide with surprise and darkening with need, none of that mattered. Because he damn sure felt the overwhelming desire to try to be. Like his fucking life depended on it.

Van used the few moments Sid was busy checking him into the Second Chance Ranch, the rehab facility Epitaph had chosen, to try and locate his sanity. And his balls.

If one glance from the woman made him regret his whole life, he hoped he never laid eyes on her again. He’d never had his mind blown before. Not by a woman. Any woman. Not even the ones who got him off so hard he nearly passed out. They were like the drugs and the booze—something to get him through, to drown out the voices and dark shit in his fucked-up head. But this one…Christ almighty, this one was another animal entirely.

The Hispanic doctor had said that he could let them know if he needed anything. He almost told the man that they could just lock him in his room with the brunette with the skin like silk for ninety days and he’d be cured.

Even after she’d turned to leave with the man in the white coat, he couldn’t tear his eyes from her. There was something about the way she moved that was beyond sexy. She walked with a deliberate slowness that had her hips swaying with a hypnotic rhythm that probably had men falling at her feet. Just like he had.

“Let’s go, Mr. Walker,” Sid said, nudging him out of his daze.

After unloading his shit in his room, he decided to walk around the property. The place was huge, and it did have a relaxing vibe to it—minus the sex on legs he’d literally run into upon arriving. She’d amped him up more than all the lines he’d ever done combined.

The folder she’d dropped had NEW EMPLOYEE ORIENTATION PACKET typed on the front cover. So she worked here then—or she would soon.

He knew it probably would not please Epitaph if he screwed a staff member and got kicked out of this place. But damn, he couldn’t get her eyes and her warm vanilla and wildflower scent out of his head. And those legs. Why, oh why, had she been wearing fuck-me heels? It was as if she’d been sent here to torture him.

As if to confirm his theory, when he turned the bend to where the property dropped off into the pastures, there she was. Sitting with her back to him, watching the sun set like a mirage. The orangey-pink hue of the setting sunlight glinted off her body creating an angelic effect that stole his breath.

Backing up so she wouldn’t see him, he stood silently and watched her. She’d changed into jeans and a plain white tank top. Seeing this much of her skin was doing things to him. For the first time in a very long time, he wondered what a woman was thinking.

What had her sitting here all alone, watching the horses graze as the light faded from the sky? Was she happy? Sad? Nervous about the new job? And why the hell did he even care?

He didn’t have a clue what his deal was, but he wished he had a pen because he could write a song about this moment. Maybe a couple of songs. The kind that would make every guy in the band call him a pussy.

When he saw her shoulders shake and heard the light sniffle, he almost turned and ran. She was crying.

Son of a bitch.

Once upon a time, he’d had a sister. She was three years older than him and for the life of him, her crying had always been his undoing. Sure, he’d seen women cry since then. But these were usually high bitches having a bad trip or begging him to pay attention to their crazy asses. Those he’d ignored easily. But his sister had always cried in private, when she thought no one could see or hear. Like this woman was doing.

His brain alerted him that it was time to bail out and go back to his room. Like now. But his body didn’t listen. In a few strides, he’d lessened the gap between them. When he cleared his throat, she jumped. As she struggled to her feet, he reached out a hand without thinking. Then the damnedest thing happened. She took it.

Pulling herself up with his help, she looked into his eyes. And it was just like before. Something he hadn’t known existed inside of him roared to the surface. Something that demanded he try to be a decent man—hell, a good man. Because the guy he’d been so far wasn’t worthy of speaking to her, much less any of the other things he wanted to do to her.

Shit, he was gripping her hand too hard and for too long.

Let go, man.

But she didn’t look upset. She looked like she was about to throw herself into his arms. Well, he was certainly not opposed to that. Even though the thought of actually touching her that way scared him shitless. Most likely, this was wishful thinking and in reality she was seconds away from telling him to get the hell away from her before she called security. His breath came hard and fast, and she looked as lost as he was. Tears glistened in her eyes, and he finally let go of her hand to wipe one from her cheek.

“Rough day?” he asked, surprised at the strained sound of his own voice.

She smiled, but it was forced. He could tell because it didn’t reach her eyes. “Something like that.”

Her tears were still moist on his fingertips. He had the oddest urge to lick them. Taste her sweet pain and then try to figure out how to keep her from ever hurting again.

“I should get back,” he said, jerking his head toward the facility that separated pieces of shit like him from angels like her. Something flashed in her eyes. He thought for a second it was disappointment, because he was obviously so bad-off he was delusional. Maybe he should be in the nut house instead of rehab.

“Yeah, um, me too.” She glanced at the small cabin to her left. Must be where she was staying for now. Van filed that information away for future reference. Trying to form a complete thought while her exposed skin begged to be touched was proving damn near impossible.

“Walk you to your door?” Van flinched at his own words. Apparently his mouth was just working on its own now, flying solo instead of consulting his brain first. It must’ve been the right thing to say though, because her eyes lightened, the stormy shade they’d been clearing, and she grinned at him like he’d made her whole damned day. She didn’t say anything, just bit her full bottom lip and nodded. He held out his arm and she took it. A breeze blew past, wafting her delicious scent to him as they made their way to her door. Together.

Oh fuck.

It all made sense now. He was dead. He’d OD’d and died after the party and this was Heaven. Or maybe it was Hell. Because as far as he could tell, Val wasn’t here. He was probably going to spend eternity wanting this perfect creature he could never have. Well, that was a fitting punishment. Probably could’ve been worse.

“Your name isn’t really Walker, is it?” the demon of desire asked, pulling him from his painful realization.

“No. It’s Ransom.” Guess they don’t have a roster in hell. “I’m in a band and my manager makes me check into these places under a pseudonym. Not that the shit doesn’t always get out anyways.”

“Ah. So why Walker?”

Van laughed, low and deep. “You know, as in Johnnie. It’s my drink of choice so I use it to piss Sid off.”

“Sid?”

“My manager.”

She nodded, but her beautiful face still held traces of confusion. Good Lord she was actually trying to figure him out. He couldn’t imagine why in the world she would want to.

He ran a hand through his hair and tried to explain. “We have an understanding. He tries to turn me into someone I’m not and I keep being the asshole I’ve always been.”

“Interesting.”

“Nah, not really.”

She took a deep breath, probably realizing she’d just wasted five minutes of her life that she could never get back on his sorry ass. “So, Mr. Ransom, can I ask you something?”

“Shoot.”

“Do you think everyone deserves a second chance?” Her eyes clouded up again and he didn’t know if she was asking about him personally or something else entirely.

Glancing from side to side, to remind her of their surroundings, he gave her a sardonic grin. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

She laughed, a light, sweet sound that warmed him in a way he’d never experienced before. “Yeah, good point. Stupid question I guess.”

“You don’t strike me as a woman who asks stupid questions.”

She met his gaze and shrugged, drawing his attention to her smooth shoulder. He clamped his mouth shut so he didn’t add that she struck him as the type of woman who kept everything under control in her day-to-day life and pretended she liked to be on top when in reality she wanted to be broken and made to beg. He had to take a deep breath in an attempt to clear the images from his mind.

“Speaking of questions, any chance you wanna tell me your name? Or I can just call you Beautiful. Either way.” He almost groaned out loud. But she rolled her eyes and smiled. She’d been crying when he found her, and he’d made her laugh and smile. Twice. Not that he was keeping track. Oh, who the fuck was he kidding? Hell yeah he was keeping track.

“It’s Stella. Stella Chandler. My family calls me Stella Jo but, um, I haven’t been home in a while.”

Even her damn name was beautiful. And good God, that sexy Southern drawl was more addicting than any drug had ever been. He could listen to her talk forever. Maybe Hell wouldn’t be so bad after all.

“And where is home, Stella Jo Chandler?” He rocked on his heels as she leaned against the door of her little house.

“It’s here. I mean, not here here, but near here. Shit.”

She shook her head, and he could tell she was embarrassed. But he couldn’t think of much else because her perfect mouth forming the curse word and the flush in her cheeks that followed made him instantly hard. Jesus, he had to get away from her before she noticed.

“A ranch several hours north of here is home, or where my parents live, or whatever. I went to college at Texas A&M and then came straight here so…”

So she only lived a few hours from home and she didn’t go back. Ever? He wondered why. Not that he didn’t understand. He’d grown up in New York and taken off for LA as soon as he could afford a car that would make the drive. He’d never been back either.

Silence stretched out between them, and she glanced back at her door. It was getting dark and he didn’t know the land well enough to get back to where he was supposed to be. Even though leaving her felt like a horrible idea, something told him that whatever was singeing between them wouldn’t last much longer.

“I better get going. It was nice to meet you, Stella Jo.”

He held out a hand and she shook it. When her fingers grazed his palm, he had to square his shoulders to keep from letting a shiver through. “Nice to meet you too, Mr. Walker, um, Mr. Ransom.”

“Van,” he told her with a grin.

“Van,” she repeated softly.

Damn, his name sounded so good in her mouth. Nearly made him as hard as hearing her curse had.

“Goodnight.” Beautiful, he wanted to add but figured it would come off like a lame attempt at a pick-up line and he’d already reached his quota for the evening.

“Goodnight,” she whispered. She smiled and turned her back on him, letting herself into the house and closing the door.

“Sweet dreams, Beautiful,” he said quietly to no one.

Chapter Five

Stella Jo closed her door and leaned against it.

Van Ransom. His name sounded as dangerous as he looked.

He’d caught her in a moment of weakness, reminiscing about home after an excruciating phone call with her mother. And unlike most men, he hadn’t run at the first show of tears. He’d been sweet. Surprisingly gentle. Kind even. And something about him… She couldn’t even explain it to herself. His rough exterior pulled at overpowering urges within her. She’d bet she could smooth out some of those jagged edges. It’d probably be a lot like breaking a horse. But a hell of a lot more fun.

Lying in her new bed later that night while trying her best to fall asleep in unfamiliar surroundings, she succumbed to the desire to learn more about the mysterious man who had taken possession of her thoughts. He’d seemed to have a direct line to her thoughts—and a few other parts of her anatomy.

The new employee manual she’d been reading was sitting on the night table, and under it was the MacBook she’d brought from college. Thankfully the ranch had Wi-Fi that extended to the employee residential area.

Sitting up and turning on the bedside lamp, she fired up the computer. Her generic background greeted her. A nagging thought about how Tess always had a million photos of her friends collaged on her background tugged at her for a second. Ignoring it, she opened the browser and went to her usual search engine. After typing in his name, she waited for the results to load. Mid-yawn she choked on the breath escaping her throat.

The results were in and they were not good. The first article’s title read, “Lead Singer of Hostage for Ransom Collapses. Drugs and Alcohol a Factor.” Okay, well, he was in rehab. She’d expected as much. But as she scrolled down it got worse. So much worse.

According to the headlines, Van Ransom had been in rehab three other times. All three times, he’d been kicked out for one reason or another. He’d punched orderlies and photographers, and he’d even faced assault charges against an unnamed female. Jesus.

And the images. Heaven help her, the images.

A few were tame—tabloid shots of him carrying a cup of coffee, crossing the street, and some seriously hot ones of him and his band. But some wrenched her stomach into a twisted mess of disgust. A cell-phone-quality photo of him being arrested for drunk and disorderly, another of several uniformed officers dragging him from the middle of what looked like a bar fight, and a horrific mug shot.

She clicked on the image of his face from where he was featured on the cover of Rolling Stone. His steely eyes stared up at her and she was lost in him. The tagline read: Van Ransom, Madman or Just Misunderstood?

She had no intentions of finding out. Whatever had happened between them today, that was history. Probably mostly in her imagination anyways. From now on, she’d be strictly professional when it came to all things involving Van Ransom.

Monday morning, Stella had new employee orientation. During the presentation that covered much of what she’d already read in the manual she’d been given, she learned that SCR was also owned and operated by a company called Alliance Health. Alliance had faced some financial difficulty, and a country singer whose name was familiar had backed a complete renovation last year.

After filling out paperwork for health and life insurance, tax purposes, a retirement plan, and stock options, she was feeling like quite the grown up. And she was more than ready for the break for lunch.

The Atrium was a glassed-in café-style enclosure behind the welcome area. Stella purchased a grilled chicken salad and a bottle of water using her shiny new employee badge and seated herself at a back corner table. Several of the new employees in her training session were nurses. Either they’d already known each other or just formed fast friendships. Laughing loudly as they converged on the table beside her, none of them even glanced in her direction.

She wondered how people bonded so quickly. She’d never been so hot at relationships with humans. Animals were another story. They needed you, trusted you unconditionally unless you gave them a reason not to, and never set out to hurt you. Even though, like people, sometime they did. She had the scars to prove it.

“…so hot, bet his dick is pierced.”

“I plan to find out. I’ll report back to y’all. Soon.”

Giggles erupted, and Stella had the odd sensation of warping back in time to high school. The conversation from the table full of nurses spilled over onto her, nearly causing her to choke on her water. They weren’t even trying to be quiet. So much for professionalism.

“Not if I get to him first,” an attractive blonde in black scrubs announced.

Possessive jealousy pinched her nerves. She had an overwhelming feeling of certainty that they were talking about Van. Or maybe she just thought they were talking about him because he’d taken up permanent residence in the back of her mind.

“This seat taken?” A deep male voice startled her out of her thoughts.

Blinking, she looked up, half-expecting to see steel-gray eyes and tattoos. What she actually saw was a blond man in a white coat with a smile fit for a toothpaste commercial.

“Um, no?”

He chuckled softly and lowered himself into the seat across from her. “Dr. Tyler, but you can call me David.” He offered her his hand.

She shook it and smiled. It was kind of nice not to be sitting alone. And she wanted to get to know her colleagues, not shut everyone out like she’d been doing for far too long.

“Nice to meet you. I’m—”

“Stella Chandler, the new patient care coordinator,” he broke in. “Or client care coordinator. Whatever they’re calling themselves these days.”

She bit her lip and gave the doctor an apprehensive shake of her head. “How did you—”

Before she could finish the question, he grinned and gestured to her ID badge. Oh, yeah. Right. That was going to take some getting used to.

“Of course. I’m an idiot.” She laughed nervously, and the man across from her smiled.

With a wink, he eased her anxieties. “Nah, actually I knew because everyone kept talking about a pretty new brunette joining the staff and I knew the moment I saw you that you had to be her.”

Stella’s eyebrows shot up. She couldn’t tell if he was serious, but she had a strict policy about not dating anyone she worked with. A failed relationship would lead to her being miserable—or at the very least, uncomfortable—at work. And if things didn’t work out at SCR, the only other place to go was the absolute last place she wanted to be.

Giving the doctor a smirk she hoped would discourage any more come-ons, she rolled her eyes. “They were probably referring to someone else. But thank you.”

Dr. Tyler opened his mouth to respond, but a sharp squeal from the table next to them interrupted him.

“Oh my God, there he is.” Several of the nurses began whispering and nudging each other as the one who’d squealed pointed across the Atrium.

As if he’d been conjured by the potent combination of the nurses’ running commentary and Stella’s thoughts, Van Ransom stepped into the Atrium with another man. The two of them were joined by a statuesque blond woman in a coat identical to Dr. Tyler’s. Stella watched at they shook hands.

In her periphery, she was aware that the nurses at the nearby table twitching like cats in heat were practically falling out of their chairs to get a good look. Swallowing hard, she forced her eyes away from him.

Her not dating men she worked with was an umbrella policy that definitely included not getting involved with patients slash clients where she worked.

“So how long have you worked at SCR?” she asked, focusing her full attention on the man across from her. Whose name she’d forgotten. Thank God for ID badges.

“Long enough to know that guy won’t make it through the program.” Dr. Tyler jerked his head toward Van. His voice took on a snide tone that made her nerves twist in annoyance.

She took a drink of her water and composed herself before saying something she shouldn’t. “That’s a pretty negative outlook to have. Especially since he just got here. Not a very fair assessment, is it?”

He rolled his light blue eyes. “God, not you too. I expect the ditzy nurses to fawn all over these types, but you actually looked like a girl with a decent head on her shoulders.”

Whoa. Stella felt her blood pressure rising. “Excuse me? Just what the he—um, what is that supposed to mean?”

“It means,” Dr. Tyler began, leaning in toward her, “guys like that don’t come here for actual help. The come here because someone in charge of their career says they have to. Surely you’re smart enough to recognize a thoroughbred loser when you see one.”

The man who’d been kind to her the day before didn’t have a single loser quality about him as far as she’d seen. This one, on the other hand…

Stella’s body ejected out of her seat without her having officially deciding to get up. Her knee bumped the table and it smarted like hell, but sheer adrenaline protected her from the brunt of the pain. “Yes. As a matter of fact, I was raised on a horse ranch, so I do recognize a thoroughbred loser when I see one.” She glared down at Dr. Prettyboy McAsshole.

“Calm down. I didn’t mean to upset you.” He stood and came around to her side of the table, effectively blocking her view of the rest of the room. “Sit back down before you make a scene.”

“Dr. Tyler, I can assure you, the only one making a scene is you. What a shame that someone in charge of helping people who need it is such a judgmental ass,” she hiss-whispered in his face.

As soon as the words left her mouth, his strong hand gripped her upper arm, while the other rested on her lower back. Eyes widening in surprise, she jerked backward in an attempt to free herself from his grasp.

“Get your goddamn hands off her. Now.”

The throaty voice was male. And eerily calm. Now had come out low and with the promise of violence behind it.

Chills shocked her spine and ran clear to her toes at the sound. It must have caught Dr. Tyler off guard too, because he dropped her arm like she’d caught fire. Kind of felt like she might have.

“Van, come on.” The same bald man who’d been with him the day before had a hand on Van’s arm and was doing his best to convince him to back away. Probably a good idea since his eyes had murder in them. They were only getting darker as he advanced in her direction.

It felt like the whole room had stopped to take in the scene. This was the stuff Stella’s nightmares were made of. Every nurse at the table next to them gaped at the show. All they were missing was the popcorn.

“I’m fine. If you’ll excuse me,” she said, edging around both Dr. Tyler and Van on her way out.

Her intention was to leave. Because that was the adult thing to do. Walk away and all that. But those nurses were still staring at Van like he was a piece of meat. So she stopped, and turned, giving them her best Texas pageant princess smile even though she’d never been in a pageant in her life.

“Y’all are gonna catch flies in those big open mouths if you’re not careful.”

And then she hightailed it out of there and back to the conference room where orientation was being held. So she could wait for someone to come fire her in peace.

Chapter Six

“The son of a bitch grabbed her, Sid.” Van paced in his overcrowded room. “What was I supposed to do? Just sit there while he assaulted her?”

“Lower your voice,” his manager commanded. “I get it. I saw. Not that it doesn’t warm my cold, dead heart to see you suddenly turning into some random woman’s knight in shining armor, but you picked a damn fine time to do it. You get kicked out of here Van, and that’s it. No deal. No Epitaph. No band. No me.”

“Yeah, I get it,” he grumbled, dropping heavily onto the couch by his bed. “Just couldn’t find much cause to care at that particular moment.” Because Sid was wrong. She wasn’t some random woman. And apparently he wasn’t the only one who’d noticed. Dr. Aggressive Ass had come very close to getting a special lesson on how to keep his hands to himself. Van had just finished his very first therapy session. It hadn’t gone well and he wasn’t in the mood to see some white coat dickhead pawing the woman he hadn’t been able to get out of his head.

Sid left him alone to stew in his residual anger. If this were real life, instead of this messed-up parallel rehab universe where he actually cared about someone other than himself, he’d get high about now. His body felt weak, drained. The darkness threatened to surface and he craved that feeling of power. The rush from his confrontation in the Atrium was fading, lowering him quickly into the viper pit of hell that was solitude.

Lying down on the couch and throwing his arms over his eyes, he pictured her. Her bright green eyes wide with panic when that asshole grabbed her. The heart-gripping mixture of shock and gratitude that filled them when he stepped in. The fierce growl of her sexy little voice when she snapped at the nurses, who’d been eying him since he’d walked in.

He hadn’t paid much attention to that last part, or he thought he hadn’t. But her voice was clear in his memory. She was jealous.

The realization made his cock punch against his zipper. Fuck, she was so damn beautiful. She’d been wearing a pale pink button-up shirt and a gray skirt that was long enough to be professional but tight enough to have every guy in the room staring at her ass. Him included. Hell, him first and foremost.

He groaned out loud as the image of her naked body sliding over him invaded his mind. She was not the kind of woman he could have. Not the kind of woman who would want anything to do with someone like him. But a man could dream.

And dream he did.

When he finally opened his eyes, the light coming through the blinds was different.

Sun must be setting. Sunset was fast become his least favorite time of day. It meant the darkness was coming. The quiet that allowed his demons to be heard loud and clear.

“Mr. Ransom?” a soft female voice called from the doorway, jerking him completely awake.

His heart slammed into his throat. Was it her? He stood eagerly only to find a petite blonde in black scrubs lingering in his doorway. Clearing his throat, he ran a hand through his hair.

No. Of course it wasn’t. He needed to pull his shit together.

He forced a smile at the blonde. “I used to be,” he said as she closed the door and walked the rest of the way into the room.

She was pretty enough, just no Stella Jo Chandler. Who’d grown up on a horse ranch. Who could probably ride him six ways to Sunday. A groan was building in his chest. His dick was still hard. Fantastic.

Thoughts of Stella made his mouth go dry. He licked his lips and tried to get rid of blondie. “Yeah, um, if this is about insurance or something, my business manager handled that with—”

“Oh. No, Mr. Ransom. This isn’t about insurance.” She smiled seductively as she came around the bed to face him. “My shift just ended, so I wanted to come by and see if you needed anything.”

Ah. He caught her meaning. Anything. Well, this was going to be awkward. Did he even know how to turn a woman down? He’d never had a reason to before. Well, except when he was with Nessa, but she did her thing and he did his. So this would be a first.

“Yeah. Thanks for thinking of me. But I’m all set.”

She kept coming until she was within touching distance. “Looks like there’s at least one thing I could help you with.” Dark eyes pressed into his as she reached out and stroked his dick over his jeans.

Bold little minx, this one.

Her nails scraped the denim and the noise irritated him. She lowered to kneeling and he ached all over, like a bucket of ice water had been thrown on him. And his erection. It would be so much easier if he were high. He could let blondie suck him off and kick her out when he was finished. But he was sober and her dark roots were showing. Her skin was a tanning spray shade of orange. Between that and the nails, she was nothing but artificial. And he was craving real.

Skin a warm shade of golden caramel, natural sun-kissed chestnut hair that fell in waves over delicate shoulders.

“Look, I appreciate—”

His protest was cut off by the sound of the door opening. A nurse giving him a blowjob would probably be an excellent way to get kicked out. Even though he was still zipped up, he knew how it looked.

The green eyes that stared at him from the doorway were exactly the ones he wanted to see—any time other than right that second. Every muscle in his body clenched. The bed blocked her view of his unwelcome visitor. He desperately wanted to kick the girl under it. Or out the window. Whichever.

“Hey, sorry to bother you,” her soft voice purred. “I just wanted to say thank you for earlier. But um, I’ve been briefed on your situation, so maybe in the future you shouldn’t—”

Before Van could stop her, the girl beneath him stood up and glared at Stella. “Yeah, hon, we’re kinda busy here if you don’t mind.”

Her perfect mouth dropped into an O of surprise. Van wanted to hurdle the bed and grab her so he could explain. Hurt filled her eyes. It made him feel good in a sick way and disgusted with himself at the same time. She dropped something that smacked against the floor but didn’t bend down to get it.

“Oh God. Sorry. Carry on,” she said sharply as she turned to leave.

“Stella,” he called out after her, shoving his way past the blonde so he could get around the bed. Those damn nails clawed into his chest as she reached out and grabbed at him.

Stopping to glare at her, he grabbed her wrists and held them tight. “Get the fuck out of my room. And if you ever come back in here for any reason, I will have your ass fired before you hit the door.”

The hurt that filled her eyes when he released her didn’t affect him at all. He practically sprinted out of the room, stopping only to pick up the folder Stella had dropped. But the hallway was empty. No sign of her anywhere.

He knew she’d probably just gotten off work and would most likely head down to her house. Before he could think rationally, his body propelled him in the direction as if he were being pulled.

After arguing with some pain in the ass at the door, he scribbled his name on the sign-out sheet and barreled past the pool toward the staff residences. He caught sight of her just as she was entering her place.

Before he even realized what was happening, he was running. He hadn’t run in years. Not since he was on the track team in high school. Slowing as he neared her door so he wouldn’t be panting like a psycho, he gripped the folder he planned to return to her.

He had no idea what he was going to say. But he had to explain. He couldn’t leave her thinking he would just let some slut blow him like that.

Well, a week ago he would’ve. If he was on something. Which he mostly likely would’ve been. But now, after the way she’d looked at him, he couldn’t go back to that. Couldn’t settle for the cheap substitute when he’d caught a glimpse of the real thing. Damn, he wanted a taste of the real thing, too. Badly. And despite all of his flaws and vices—and there were a lot them—the one thing he was really good at was getting what he wanted.

And what he wanted was her.

Chapter Seven

Stella didn’t know why seeing the blond chick from lunch on her knees for Van pissed her off so much. It just did.

She’d gone to his room to tell him that she appreciated the thought behind what he did at lunch, but Dr. Ramirez had told her of Van’s unique situation. His whole career depended on this stint in rehab being successful. Surprisingly, the director hadn’t wanted to fire her when he’d called her into his office after orientation. He’d just wanted to know if she’d mind helping out with the horses from time to time. Which of course she didn’t mind at all. In fact, she’d been looking forward to it.

When questioned about the incident at lunch, which was already circulating, she’d explained that it was all a simple misunderstanding. Dr. Ramirez had explained that this was Van’s last shot. If he screwed up in any way that prevented him from completing the program, his band, his manager, and his recording label were dumping him out on his ass. Well, not in so many words, but she got the idea.

She’d been touched that he’d risk all that to protect her from some cocky physician. But she wanted to tell him that it wasn’t necessary. She was a big girl and could handle herself. No need to put his whole career in jeopardy.

And then she’d seen the sheer panic on his face when she caught him. He probably thought she was going to rat him out or something. Apparently he risked his whole career for whatever he felt like doing at the moment. She wasn’t anything special, just an idiot for letting herself think otherwise. She cussed her stupid self all the way across the property from the main facility to her place.

But if she was being honest? That voice in her head, the one she always tried so hard to ignore, said that she was upset because it hadn’t been her down on her knees in front of him. Making him come and making him hers.

An unfamiliar pressure built in her stomach and she shoved it aside. She’d promised to feed and check on the horses after each shift since her little bungalow, as she’d taken to calling it, was closest to the stables.

After kicking her heels off hard enough to send them crashing against the wall, she slipped on some socks and her riding boots. She knew she should probably change clothes, but she didn’t feel like it. No one would be at the barn this late in the evening anyways.

After unbuttoning the pink shirt she’d worn to work, she slipped off the pearls her parents had given her for her sweet sixteen. Well, her mom had passed them down to her. Her daddy had barely managed to grunt out a happy birthday. The memory weighed on her already heavy mood. Clad in a cami, a pencil skirt, and perfectly worn in riding boots she hadn’t worn in years, she flung open her front door with the intention of putting any thoughts about Van Ransom straight out of her head.

She might’ve been able to follow through with this plan had he not been standing on her doorstep.

“Stella,” he said softly, eyes flashing as he took in her unusual getup.

She turned away so he wouldn’t see any residual jealousy on her face. “I need to feed the horses, Mr. Walker. Excuse me.” She cut around him, but he followed her to the barn.

“Since when does a client care coordinator’s job include feeding horses?” he asked as he followed her to the stables.

She kept walking and answered without looking at him. “Since they need the extra help and I volunteered.” What business of his was it anyway? And how did he know her official title? Oh yeah—ID badge. Right.

“Listen. Stella, about earlier—”

Whirling around and stopping him in his tracks, she glared with all her might. “Look, you don’t owe me an explanation. And for the record, I’m not going to tell anyone what I saw.”

Van huffed out a breath. “Okay. For the record, what is it you think you saw?”

Yeah, right. Like she was going there. She turned and resumed her brisk walk to the barn. Did he think she was so naïve she didn’t know what a blowjob was?

For the next few minutes, she focused all of her attention on the horses. Dipping the large canisters into the feed barrels and emptying them into each animal’s feeding trough helped to clear her head. Warm gratitude in the eyes of the horses in the stables soothed her. Somewhat.

She stroked a few of their faces and murmured softly, the sting of what had happened with Van swirling with the ache of missing home inside of her. No, she didn’t miss home, exactly. She missed riding. Missed the fearless girl she used to be.

When she was finished, she turned and saw Van leaning in the doorway with his thick tattooed arms folded over his chest.

Taking a deep breath and wiping her dusty feed hands on her skirt, she planted her feet where she stood. “You probably shouldn’t be down here.”

The man watching her with far more interest than she was comfortable with raised a brow but said nothing.

She straightened a saddle resting sideways on a wooden beam. A riding crop had been discarded on the wooden floor and she bent to pick it up. Dr. Ramirez had said that funds for animal care had been low since the renovations and new stables had taken most of the money that had been given by the recent investors. The trainers were mostly volunteers who did what they could. After hanging the riding crop where it belonged, she turned back toward the exit Van was blocking.

She barely resisted the impulse to stamp her foot. “You saw me crying yesterday, you stepped in on an awkward situation today, and I came to thank you, and…” And dammit, this was not a conversation she wanted to have. Her eyes were tricking her into noticing things she didn’t want to. Like the way the thick knot moved in his muscular neck when he swallowed. The way ink-covered veins throbbed in his strained forearms. The way he held his jaw, clenching it, forcing his full lips together. The man had a mighty fine mouth. She could just imagine what it would feel like on hers. In fact, she’d spent more time imagining it than she’d ever admit.

“You came to thank me and what?” he pressed, uncrossing his arms and walking toward her.

For some inexplicable reason, a lump threatened to form in her throat. What the hell was wrong with her today? Maybe she was about to start her period. “And you had company. Sorry to have interrupted.” She smirked hard at him. Her boots scuffed the dirt as she backed up against the wall behind her.

He came right into her personal space, no sign of an apology in his eyes for doing so. Bracing both arms on either side of her head, he pressed his gaze down into hers until she was panting for breath. She was trapped by a tattooed man twice her size. In a place where no one could save her. Scared, she thought. I should be scared. But fear was the furthest thing from her mind.

“I asked you a question. What is it you think you saw?”

She broke out of his gaze and shook her head. “You’re an asshole.”

His right hand pulled back from the wall and gripped her chin, forcing her to face him. “That’s common knowledge, sweetheart. But you still didn’t answer my question.”

Her chest rose and fell between them as she warred with her emotions. Angry and turned on were not two she was used to handling simultaneously. “You were… And she was… Why are you doing this?”

A dangerous heat flashed in his eyes, burning her up from the inside out. “Because I want to hear the thoughts in your dirty mind come out of that pretty mouth. And by the way, my pants were still zipped and I was in the middle of kicking that girl out of my room.”

Emboldened by his admission, Stella squared her shoulders. “So she didn’t suck your dick then?”

His grip on her chin tightened. She might’ve imagined it, but he looked staggered, as if his knees had just gone weak. “No. She didn’t. Because I wouldn’t let her.” Releasing her, he stood up straight.

She exhaled the breath she’d been holding. Her face tingled where he’d touched her. She wanted more. Needed more.

“Well, that was dumb. If some chick wants to give you a conjugal visit in rehab, maybe you should take her up on it.”

He flashed her a sexy grin and stepped right back into her space. “You volunteering?”

“No.”

“Well, that’s too bad then. I don’t want some chick. And you’re not that good at hiding your emotions, beautiful. You snapped on those nurses at lunch and ran out of my room so fast I barely had time to blink. Any particular reason why?” He trailed a finger down her cheek and over her lips.

Instead of an answer, a whimper escaped her throat. A painful throbbing began between her thighs, intense and demanding.

His touch deepened the pain. Her policy was no dating people in her workplace. She certainly wasn’t going to date Van Ransom. Hell, he’d probably never taken a girl on a proper date in his life. But right now, she didn’t care about any of that. She just wanted him to take her up against the back of the barn, hard and fast.

“Stella Jo, you going to answer or do I have torture it out of you?”

The way he said her name, the one she was used to hearing drop only from the lips of family members, made her shiver. She let her head loll back to rest on the wall behind her. “Do your worst. I’ve dealt with animals much bigger than you.”

Leaning in until his nose brushed hers, he let out a soft growl. “You sure as hell better be talking about horses, because if you’re talking about Dr. Dickhead or any other man who’s put his hands on you in a way you didn’t want, they’re fucking dead.”

She grinned and winked at him. “Guess that’s for me to know, darlin’.” Her breath was still coming too fast, but she was gaining confidence. She was having as much of an effect on him as he was on her. A competitive streak she thought she’d buried rose to the surface. “Speaking of guys putting their hands on me, if this is your brand of torture, I’m disappointed.”

Thrusting himself up against her, he growled again. “Baby, my brand of torture involves that riding crop you bent over to pick up. Matter of fact, it involves you being bent over also.”

An audible gasp of surprise escaped her. His threat pulled at something deep inside of her that she didn’t know was there. Something dark and terrifying that she knew she should feel dirty and ashamed of. But she didn’t. Because apparently he wasn’t the only one who was twisted like that.

“Surprised?” he asked with a gleam in his eye.

“That you know what a riding crop is, yeah,” she said, her breathy voice giving her away.

“Don’t be coy. I’ve got your number, babe.” He winked at her and backed off, leaving her bereft. And pissed off about it. He laughed at the petulant expression she felt pulling at her features. “I’m starting to wonder if you even recognize what you want as well as I do.”

“You don’t know a damn thing about me.” She tried to sidestep him but he stepped with her as if he’d anticipated the move.

Backing her up once more, he let his eyes trail down her body briefly. Looking back up, he cocked his head. “Don’t I? Let me guess. Went to college on Daddy’s money, wanted to be on a horse ranch but not the one you grew up on because you’re oh so independent now, and the only orgasms you’ve ever had are the ones you’ve given yourself. Bet those pretty boy frat brother fuckers you dated didn’t have a clue how to please a woman.”

Okay, so maybe he knew a few things. Not that she’d admit it. But she’d gotten an academic scholarship, fuck him very much. “I’ll ask you kindly to watch your language. There’s a lady present.”

His brows lifted as did one corner of his mouth. “Which word offended you, darlin’? Orgasm?”

She couldn’t help but smile in spite of herself. “Not that I don’t appreciate the witty banter and all, but what exactly did you come down here for, Mr. Ransom?”

For a split second, his overconfident expression faltered. He cleared his throat and reached into the back of his jeans. Producing a white folder she’d dropped on her rush to escape the situation in his room, he grinned.

“You dropped this.”

Oh. Right. Taking it from him, she glanced at the label. Her name in bold then below it, smaller, her title. Because she worked here.

Van Ransom was messing with her head, toying with her for whatever reason. Probably because he was bored without all of his groupies around. Talking about riding crops, making her imagine the umpteen levels of inappropriate she’d like to get with him. But the folder snapped her back to reality.

“Thank you for bringing this, Mr. Ransom. Have a good evening.” She forced a tight smile and faked him out, dodging left and then stepping right around him. Walking as fast as possible back to her bungalow, she tried to shake the look he’d given her. Hurt. Confused.

Too bad. He’d have to find someone else to toy with. She couldn’t play this game with him or anyone at SCR. Ever.

Chapter Eight

She’d just shut down on him and walked away. Pretty damn quickly, too. He’d watched every step. Something about the way she walked had caught his eye. Either he was finally stroking out from all the drugs, or she had a slight limp.

Why in God’s name would a twenty-two-year-old, obviously healthy woman have a limp? If that asshole doctor had hurt her in some way, he didn’t even want to think about what he’d do.

While he walked back toward the facility where he currently resided, an idea struck him. One that would put him in close proximity with Stella Jo Chandler on a regular basis.

Once he made it to his room, he smiled to himself. He’d affected her. Somehow all the tattoos and piercings hadn’t mattered to her. Or if they did, she liked them. Because the cold stare she’d been aiming at Dr. Dickhead at lunch said that she wasn’t interested. Loud and clear. So loud, that Van had heard it from across the room. But the look she’d given him in the barn when he’d lost control of his mouth and told her what he wanted to do to her? That look had said that she was definitely interested.

So she could shut down and stomp off or whatever she wanted. But he had ninety days—well, close to it—to make her admit it to herself. To him. Suddenly the mandatory stay that had seemed like a lifetime felt entirely too short.

For the first time in years, he drifted into sleep peacefully. No unwelcome memories. No booze. No pills. Just the image of her in that sexy cowgirl outfit, begging him to be a better man so he’d be worthy of her.

“I overheard some staff members talking about how they need help with the animals. I’d like to volunteer. It’d give me something to keep my mind off…things. Too much time doing nothing drives me nuts,” Van informed his therapist.

Dr. Miranda McLendon furrowed her brow and stared at him as if she could tell that his motives for volunteering were a little less than honorable. Surely she couldn’t know about his infatuation with a certain sexy employee. This was his third counseling session with the good doctor, and it hadn’t gone much better than the first two. Yet, he no longer felt the need to carve a countdown into his arm with a rusty knife. But that had less to do with the actual treatment and more to do with the woman he’d dreamt of the previous night.

“I can check with Dr. Ramirez and see if we can make that happen. Meanwhile, we’ll sign you up for the riding lessons and animal care classes so that you can get familiar with the horses.”

Van swallowed hard. “Uh, no thanks. I’ll pass on the riding lessons.”

Dr. McLendon tilted her head to the side. “But you just said—”

“Look, I want to help out in the stables. Clean up. Fill feed bins. Stack straw bales. I’ll shovel shit or whatever. But getting up on one of those enormous creatures from Hell? I’ll take a pass on that if it’s all the same to you, Doc.”

“I see,” was all she said in response. But the look in her eye was a knowing one, as if he’d shown his cards without realizing it.

He hated how doctors did that. Said two words that meant nothing but made you feel like they knew everything. No one really knew shit about him. And he intended to keep it that way.

Well, for the most part. There was a certain brunette employee he wanted to show a few things about himself. Mainly how hard he could make a woman come if he put his full effort into it. Which he would. Because if he ever got a shot with the mysterious goddess that was Stella Jo Chandler, he’d give her everything he had and then some.

“Have you invited anyone to next week’s family session?” The doctor adjusted her glasses. He wondered if she was piercing his brain with her x-ray doctor vision.

“No, I haven’t.” He could’ve added that he hadn’t because there really wasn’t much family left to invite. His sister had been dead for going on ten years, his mom had crawled off into some gutter and hopefully died, and his dad had never been in the picture. He was pretty sure his mom had never even known who he was. But this woman was a professional. If she wanted to know all this shit, then she’d have to use her skills to pull it out of him. No sense in volunteering all the dark shit the voices in his head constantly told him.

“Do you intend to? Is there someone we could contact for you?” She perched on the edge of her seat. Her legs were long and smooth, and he was a man. He noticed. If he’d met her somewhere else—a coffee shop, a bar, wherever—he probably would’ve been a bit more charming. Worked his broody musician angle to get her likely pink—the same shade of her lipstick—panties off. But here, in this place, even his dick was downtrodden.

“No. And no, thank you.”

She raised her brows and sighed. “Mr. Ransom, it’s my understanding that your career is dependent upon the effectiveness of this treatment program. But I want to be perfectly honest with you.” She paused to slide her thin silver-framed glasses off and rub beneath her eyes. “It’s only as effective as you’ll allow it to be. So if you just shut off or shut down every time I ask about your family, your past, and so on, I don’t think we’ll be making much progress at all.”

Van nodded. “I get that. It’s just… It’s complicated.” He rubbed a hand roughly across the back of his neck. “There’s no right place where I can start. No beginning and no clear-cut ending. There’s no ah-ha moment, Doc. No point where I can just shine the spotlight and say, ‘Here it is, the place where everything went to shit.’” He shrugged. “Sorry.”

Her forehead wrinkled and her lips pressed into a thin line. “There usually isn’t, in my experience.”

“Your professional experience or your personal experience?”

One corner of her mouth lifted slightly. “Both.”

“Well, then. You see my dilemma.”

“You want to know what I actually see?”

Well this was new. In all of his previous encounters with head shrinkers, he’d never had one volunteer to share their actual opinion of him. Usually he just assumed they thought he was a lost cause while they answered questions with questions.

“Sure. What do you see, Doc?”

She pulled in a deep breath and looked at him. Really looked at him. Long and hard. If he were younger and gave a shit, her penetrating stare would’ve made him squirm. But he’d looked the devil and all his demons straight in the face on multiple occasions. A pretty Ph.D. wasn’t about to rattle him.

“I see a man.”

He let out a sarcastic snort. But she continued.

“One who carries things with him that weigh him down. That taunt and torture him. I see walls, thick steel ones, meant to keep everyone from seeing the vulnerable part of him. From slipping into that tiny crevice where someone might actually get in. For fear they might start to mean something to him. And then he’d really be in trouble. Because the man I see has lost everything, is in danger of losing the small semblance of a life he has left, and will do whatever it takes—drinking, drugs, sex, whatever—to keep from feeling the fear and the pain and the loss that he carries.”

Van cleared his throat. “Not bad. You forgot to mention that you have no fucking clue what I’ve lost or stand to lose. And that I should keep a journal to get in touch with my feelings.”

“I take it you’ve heard something similar before?”

“I have.” Maybe not in such exquisite detail, but close.

She set her notebook and pen on a small table beside her chair and sighed. “Let me be clear, Mr. Ransom. This isn’t every other facility you’ve been in. It’s not the traditional twelve-step structure you might have encountered in the past. And if other doctors have failed you, well that’s unfortunate. But we can’t get to know each other until you let go of that, rid yourself of that chip on your shoulder, and be straight with me.”

“So no journaling then?”

She smirked. He kind of liked her. For a doctor, anyways. She was honest, straightforward, and she didn’t give him the impression she’d be writing out her grocery list when and if he actually decided to tell her what had led him here.

“Sorry. It’s really not that type of place. Second Chance Ranch is more about facing the reality of what tempts you, triggers your addictions, and finding ways to build up a resistance to them.”

“I see.” He did his best to mimic her knowing confidence. “And you think you can do all that in ninety days or less?”

“No,” she said, surprising him. “In ninety days or less I think you can do that.”

Chapter Nine

Mucking horse stalls was done by some of the teenage volunteers, thank goodness. Though they didn’t always clean up as well as they could have. Stella Jo peeked into the stables and saw that it could still use some straightening. But she’d have to change clothes first.

After a long day of learning the layout at SCR, where the copy room, breakroom, and bathrooms were, she was exhausted. But she looked forward to the end of her shift for more reasons than just because she was dead on her feet. No matter how her feet ached from traipsing around the facility in four-inch heels, she looked forward to checking in on the horses every evening.

Dr. Ramirez’s son, Jesse, was around her age, and had just finished veterinary school at the University of Texas. He handled a great deal of the animal care. Stella waved goodbye to him as she walked the path to her bungalow. He grinned and waved back.

“They’re good for tonight, Ms. Chandler. See you next week.”

“Thanks, Jesse,” she called out as she unlocked her door. Even if the horses had been fed and exercised, she knew she’d still head over to them after she’d changed. Something about them calmed her. Allowed her to decompress from her stressful first days at her new job.

There was one she felt the need to see each night especially. He was black, solid black, with eyes like a midnight sky. Shadowdancer, the board next to his stall proclaimed. He was beautiful, a retired racer—like her.

The other three were sweet, chuffing at her when she entered each evening and allowing her to pat their noses. But Shadowdancer despised everyone. He wouldn’t even let Jesse get close enough to do anything besides refill his trough. It was him who’d drawn Stella Jo in like a moth to a flame. She felt the pull to him like she felt a pull to a certain client she’d been trying her damnedest not to let run across her mind.

Shadowdancer had darkness in him, much like Van Ransom. Secrets. A past. Something that haunted him.

She always approached him slowly, one small step at a time, not making eye contact until she was close. As if she didn’t notice him and then was pleasantly surprised to see the thousand-pound animal in her midst.

He was so beautiful, so majestic, that he almost seemed unreal. As if he were some ethereal equine figment of her imagination. Sometimes she feared he’d up and disappear, fly off into the night and return to whatever magical world he’d come from. But after she’d exchanged her shift dress for cutoff shorts and a T-shirt, slipped off her Manolos and slid on her riding boots, she made her way to the barn, where Shadowdancer still stood. As usual, he backed into his stall when she entered, hiding from her.

Stella took her time petting and loving on the other three, waiting for him to peek his head out to see what the fuss was about.

When his black snout appeared at the edge of his stall, she took her first step. Softly, so as not to startle him with creaking wooden floorboards. Another step and she could feel his steady breathing as if it were her own. Two more gentle steps and she was beside his stall. A loud huff told her that he knew she was there. He wasn’t thrilled about it, but it sounded like acceptance, so she turned to face him.

Making eye contact had to happen at just the right moment. If she tried too soon, he’d retreat and that would be it for the night. If she waited too long, he’d get impatient, and ignore her completely.

Her heart pounded in her ears as she turned slowly, praying silently that she’d got it right, read him correctly. Glancing over to him, she saw him eyeing her from under thick dark lashes. He exhaled slowly, seemingly thankful that she hadn’t screwed it up this time.

“Hey there, sweet boy,” she said softly. “Want a snack?”

She opened her palm to reveal the apple slices she’d brought. Not breaking eye contact, Shadowdancer angled his head toward her hand and gingerly took the slices. Her heart ached to reach out to him, to tell him that despite whatever, or whomever, had hurt him in his past—he could trust her. But there was no need to rush into things. He clearly needed her to respect his need for space. So she would.

“You know, I had a horse like you once,” she practically whispered as he chewed loudly. “Angel’s Breath.”

The memories of her childhood, of spending every waking second possible in the barn on her parents’ ranch with her horse, came flooding back.

The house she’d grown up in was always cold. Sterile. Her mother was harsh, demanding, and had never been particularly loving or affectionate that Stella Jo could remember. It wasn’t like she’d been abusive or anything. Just driven about Stella Jo’s riding and winning and priming her to take over her family’s ranch one day. Set in old-fashioned ways that often felt like being dressed up like a doll and played with only to be cast aside.

The ranch where her parents lived had been in her mother’s family since the early 1900s and Candace was the first female to take ownership. But since they’d never had a son, she wouldn’t be the last. Her father was avoidant. A man of few words, Hugh Chandler hardly looked at her. A few nods and grunts at the dinner table and messages passed on from her mother were about all he’d ever offered.

The barn had been the complete opposite. It was warm, welcoming, and full of life. Angel’s Breath was her best friend. The one she’d turned to when her parents had nothing to give. No interest in listening to her stories about her day or her dreams. She’d always felt more communicative with horses than with people. People saw with their eyes. Horses saw with their souls.

I am seriously fucked up. The thought flickered across her mind and she shook her head.

A loud breath caused her to jump as Shadowdancer retreated.

“Aw. I’m sorry, buddy. I got lost in my own head for a minute.”

A high-pitched whining sound erupted from him as he reared back. Stella Jo took a step back as well, unsure as to what had upset him. Surely he wasn’t this spooked because she’d shaken her head.

“I think it’s me he’s pissed at,” a deep male voice informed her.

This time, she was the one who nearly reared back as she whirled around. “What are you doing down here?”

“Taking a walk. It’s allowed. Just have to sign out first.”

Van Ransom stood there watching her unapologetically. She was strangely irritated with his unexpected presence. He’d pretty much undone the last twenty minutes of carefully calculated interaction with Shadowdancer, and he’d nearly caused her to pee herself.

“Okay. Well I’m pretty sure there are eighty acres or so of land that belong to this place. Feel free to keep on walking.”

“Ouch. If I had feelings, you would’ve hurt them.” He placed a hand over his heart. Her eyes landed on a small black cross inked just under his thumb. That was odd. He didn’t seem like the religious cross-bearing type. She mentally scolded herself for making the kind of snap judgment her mother would have.

“You don’t have feelings?” Keeping her tone light, she made her way over to the storage stall and began tidying it up in order to relocate her attention elsewhere.

“Nah. Waste of time and energy if you ask me.”

Had she asked him? She wasn’t sure. Being around him sent her thoughts scattering. After stacking the last of the folded riding blankets atop a stack in the corner, she stepped out of the stall.

“If you say so.”

“What about you, beautiful? You have feelings? For something other than horses, I mean.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “My feelings are none of your business, Mr. Ransom.”

He took a step closer and her eyes drank in his broad masculine build. A dark hooded sweatshirt hid his muscles from her, but his jeans were tight enough that she could see powerful thighs straining against the denim. For a brief moment, she wondered what they would feel like against her thighs.

“Bet I could make you feel some things, cowgirl,” he said as if he could read her mind.

She stifled a shiver, but he hadn’t missed it.

“Cold? Here,” he said before she could answer, making quick work of unzipping his sweatshirt and holding it out for her to step into.

She eyed him for several seconds, knowing it would get awkward if she didn’t give in and accept his attempt at chivalry.

“Thanks. Um, it was warmer when I first came out.” She slid her arms through his too long sleeves.

His breath was warm on her neck as he reached around and zipped it for her. “Temperature drops a good bit when the sun goes down.”

“Yeah,” she breathed, unable to come up with a more intelligent response.

“There. You good?”

She turned to face him, expecting him to back up. But he didn’t. Instead he placed his large hands on her arms and rubbed. The temperature had dropped. She could tell by the chill bumps rising on her bare legs. But looking into those hooded eyes of his while his hands were on her had Stella feeling anything but cold. The exact opposite of cold, actually.

“I’m good,” she said softly, forcing herself to back out of his embrace. “I should probably get on back to my—”

“Hey, I really didn’t mean to sneak up on you. I was just walking by and saw you out here alone and…” He cut himself off with a shrug. “Anyways, I just wanted to make sure you were okay. Guess we’ll be seeing a lot more of each other down here.”

“We will?” Stella felt her eyes widen. She’d been doing everything in her power to steer clear of him all week. And they’d still crossed paths a few times—mostly in the Atrium, and now here. Why in the world would she suddenly be seeing even more of him?

“Dr. McLendon, my, uh, whatever she is… She and I talked about my having too much free time on my hands. It makes me kind of nuts not to be doing something. Not exactly like I can play music or get a job or anything. So I’m going to be helping out. Here.”

Oh no. This was not good. Panic began to churn in her stomach. This was her sanctuary. The place she came to relax, to let go of the tension. The last thing she needed in her safe haven was this tatted-up sex-on-a-stick man all in her space. And they’d be alone. Probably a lot. At night.

A few possible solutions came to mind, but they all seemed unnecessarily hurtful. She could tell Dr. Ramirez that Van made her uncomfortable, that she didn’t feel safe being alone with him. It wouldn’t even be a lie exactly. But then her boss might assume Van had done something, which, okay, he kind of had. Though he hadn’t done anything she’d felt threatened by. And she knew the deal. If he didn’t make it through this program, he was done. The last thing she wanted to do was jeopardize his recovery or his career.

His expression was open, almost sad, as he waited for her verbal response while reading the obvious horror on her face.

“Um, wow. Okay. I didn’t know that,” was all she managed.

“You don’t look too excited for the company. I’ll try to stay out of your way,” he bit out.

“It’s not… I mean, it’s not personal. It’s just I like to be, um, alone.”

“You like to be, um, alone? Really?” He glared at her before huffing out a humorless laugh. “That the best you can do? Because if I make you uncomfortable, cowgirl, you can say so.”

Her fists clenched at her sides. “It’s just—”

“And don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone I heard you down here spilling your guts to your four-legged friends. Our secret.”

He smirked at her, and anger, guilt, and bitter regret swirled together inside her chest. She’d hurt him with her response. Hurt this big tough guy who’d said that he didn’t have feelings. And for reasons she didn’t care to analyze, she hated herself for it.

“Don’t be an ass,” she snapped. “I didn’t mean to be rude. In fact, I rarely am rude. You seem to bring out the worst in me.”

“At last. You finally admit I have an effect on you.” He winked.

She became aware of her own erratic breathing and began to measure out careful breaths to keep calm. “Don’t flatter yourself, Mr. Ransom.”

“Can I ask you something, cowgirl? Off the record, of course.”

She raised her eyebrows at the unexpected turn in topic. “Of course.”

“If I fuck you—or rather, when I fuck you, because, let’s face it, we both know you’re just delaying the inevitable here—are you going to keep calling me that?”

Her gasp was audible, but her speech center apparently shut off because words didn’t reach her lips. They just slammed together in her brain as she stormed past him.

“Hold up, cowgirl. Dammit. I’m sorry. Don’t run off and—”

She whirled on him abruptly as he followed her out of the barn. “Let’s get one thing straight right now, Mr. Ransom. The only thing I’m going to call you is delusional. Because clearly you are.”

She poked him hard in the chest and he grabbed her wrist, pulling her to his dangerously enticing body. Stella’s eyes darted around. Now that they were out of the protective shelter of the barn, anyone could see them. She felt complicit in this forbidden interaction. Neither of them needed the prying eyes of her colleagues witnessing this and reporting it to Dr. Ramirez. She hadn’t forgotten the warnings and reminders about inappropriate relations between employees and clients. It would get her immediately fired and Van kicked out. Why he was willing to risk his entire career for a random woman, she couldn’t figure out. But she sure wasn’t willing to risk hers.

“You seem to bring out something in me too, sweetheart. But I shouldn’t have said that, not when you obviously weren’t ready to hear it. And I’m sorry if I upset you.”

“Y-you. You…” Had he upset her? Flustered—she was definitely flustered. He’d confused her. Pulled the world she knew out from under her and thrust things at her she had no clue how to handle. “You make me…”

“Yeah. I can see that,” he said with a tentative smile. “You make me too, cowgirl.”

She rolled her eyes and stood perfectly still as he retrieved a pack of cigarettes and a lighter from the pocket of the shirt of his she was wearing.

“You smoke?” she asked, not making an attempt to hide her disgust. Frowning, she pulled the cigarette from his lips and handed it to him. “Not around me you don’t. Sure you want to help out down at the barn?”

He arched a brow and slid the pack back into his pocket. “Compared to what I was doing a week ago, smoking a cigarette now and then is nothing.”

“Tell that to people in chemo.”

“It really bothers you?” he asked, his face still mere inches from hers.

“It does.” She nodded, maintaining eye contact.

“Then I won’t do it around you. Scout’s honor.”

Stella couldn’t help but smile. “Why do I have the distinct impression that you were never a Boy Scout?”

He grinned in response. “Because I wasn’t. I kicked a few of their asses as a kid though. Does that count?”

She shook her head. “No, it doesn’t.”

Pulling out of his reach, she turned toward her bungalow. Feeling his presence close behind her, she stiffened. “Van,” she whispered without turning back to face him. “Whatever this is… We can’t. You get that, right?”

“Relax, cowgirl. I won’t bite,” he said low in her ear. “Well, that’s not entirely true, but I promise you’ll like it when I do.”

She turned and placed both hands firmly on his chest. “That. That right there. You have to stop that. I’m serious.”

“Because it turns you on and you’re scared you might give in and admit you want me?”

“Because it’s inafreakingproppriate! How do you not see that?”

“Stella Jo, just because I’m me and you’re—”

“No, just stop. Please stop.” She shook her head. “You want me to admit that I’m attracted to you? Fine. I have eyes. I get the appeal. Tattooed bad boy. You certainly have that tortured-soul thing going for you. But I am not one of your damn groupies. Period. I am an employee in a facility that you checked into to get help. Help with a serious problem, not just help getting off. So please. Stop this.”

“Okay,” he said evenly. “Breathe, beautiful. Before you hyperventilate and pass out on me.”

Unable to mask the reaction this interaction was having on her, she did as he said and took a few slow, deep breaths.

“Van,” she said, his name a soft plea on her lips. “This job is important to me. I’m happy here. I feel at home. Wanted. Needed. I never felt that way before. Not in my own home and not with college roommates. I belong here. I want to be here.”

He opened his mouth to speak but she placed a finger against his lips. She tried to ignore the thrill that raced through her at the sensation of touching his lips.

“And you can’t afford to be kicked out for having an indiscretion with an employee. I’m sure there will be women lined up to be with you when you get out of here.”

His smoldering stare almost broke her resolve. But she knew she was right and that they needed to stop this before it went any further. Apparently he knew too because he backed up a step and glanced around.

“But you won’t be in that line, will you?”

Stella closed her eyes briefly to keep him out of her head. “You don’t even know me.”

“Feels like I do,” was all he said.

When she looked up into his face, she was slightly relieved to see that he’d begun surveying the surrounding property. She watched as he shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans and sighed.

“I don’t want to mess this up for you, cowgirl,” he relented, backing up a step. “I’ll behave from now on. Or I’ll try to at least.” With a wink and a small grin, he turned to leave.

“Van,” Stella called out softly, surprising both him and herself. “Um, it’s just…” She waved a hand between them. “You know, there’s a reason they refer to y’all as clients instead of patients here.”

Half turned in her direction, he raised a brow. “I think I’m missing the punch line.”

“You basically pay my salary, Mr. Ransom,” she informed him gently. “What you pay to stay here is pretty much what they use to write my paycheck. So, if anything happened and we…” She couldn’t bring herself to finish. Couldn’t bring herself to voice that not only would she get fired, but that giving in to the pull of her strange curiosity about him would be an awful lot like prostitution. “This isn’t a brothel. Despite what some of the nurses may be willing to do for you.”

There. She’d said it. Laid it out in plain language. Surely he’d understand.

He let out a short humorless laugh and shook his head. “Message received. Have a good night.”

The wounded expression on his face tugged on her emotions. The unfamiliar sensation left her disoriented as he walked away.

For as long as she remembered, she’d kept her feelings at bay. Swallowed the hurt when her mom had treated her like a doll or one of the prized livestock instead of like a person. She’d been numbing herself against the sting of her father’s rejection since she was a child. Had taken her first serious boyfriend’s relief at being done without shedding a single tear. Wished him well when he’d moved on to her roommate without a backward glance.

But for some reason, this near stranger, this man she barely knew, had managed to break through her impenetrable barrier and reach her in a place she kept buried. And worse, she was still wearing his sweatshirt.

Because I’m cold, she told herself.

The stifling realization that this was the reason for more than why she was wearing his shirt kept her up half the night.

Chapter Ten

Van lay in his bed that night trying for the life of him to figure out what it was about her that had him so intrigued.

He tended to find women like Stella Jo Chandler boring. With their five- and ten- year plans and their refusal to step outside the lines. He liked his women a little edgier. Easier. Liked to watch them crawl to him on all fours and beg. He had a feeling that would never be something he’d get to see the beautiful brunette do, except in his fantasies.

His dick twitched as the image flashed in his mind. Despite the temptation, he didn’t take care of himself. Aching for her felt necessary. Restraint was a small price to pay. He didn’t even allow himself to imagine how wet and willing she’d be for him. Nothing his mind could conjure could possibly compare to the real thing.

Her warm, sweet vanilla and honey scent enveloped him as he drifted in and out of consciousness. Dreaming of her—her slow, sensual walk, the small smiles he had to work so hard for, the determination in her eyes that wavered only when he got too close—kept the nightmares at bay.

Pulling himself from an excruciatingly vivid dream involving tasting her, he woke with knowledge he almost wished he could forget.

Stella Jo Chandler was beautiful. And she was intrigued by him. That much was obvious. But as she teased and taunted him in his dreams, he realized how very similar they were.

I belong here. I want to be here.

Her words echoed around him. Distracted by the bruises she was inflicting upon his ego, he’d missed it. Missed the hollow longing in her eyes, the carefully masked loneliness she carried.

I’m happy here. I feel at home. Wanted. Needed. I’ve never felt that way before.

It was the last part that struck the deepest chord. She’d never felt happy, or at home, or needed.

Christ.

He was broken. He knew that. His childhood made the most horrific depictions of Hell look like paradise. The angel who’d rescued him from his living nightmare had abandoned him, shattering him into a million fragmented pieces. That combined with the fame and the drugs had ultimately twisted him into a destructive monster of a man. One who inflicted pain and damage and felt no remorse for it.

He was broken beyond repair, and Stella Jo Chandler was empty inside. The dangerously compelling need to see her, to look into the endless depths of her eyes and confirm what he already knew, almost sent him outside in the middle of the night.

She wouldn’t be able to fix him, and he couldn’t possibly give her the kind of love she needed, but a new brand of torture descended upon his already decimated soul.

He wanted her to try to fix him. And he had no idea how he was going to stop himself from at least attempting to fulfill the lust-drenched need that lingered in her eyes when they were together. Since he’d lost his angel and taken on the world alone, he’d never been denied a single thing he’d wanted. Because when Van Ransom wanted something, he didn’t ask for it.

He took it.

“You don’t look well, Mr. Walker. How have you been sleeping?” Dr. McLendon frowned at him as if she were disappointed.

He settled into the plush chair in her office and shrugged. “I haven’t been. Not much, anyways.”

“Any particular reason why?”

He cleared his throat. “You tell me, Doc.” Feigning nonchalance he did his best not to think of the reason why. His new strategy was to force himself to focus on his recovery—or at least learn how to fake it so that he could get out of here and back on the road with his band.

An empty woman couldn’t fix him and neither could any of these doctors.

“What do you think about when you’re lying there not sleeping?”

He shrugged and gave her the obvious answer. “Getting high. Getting the hell out of here.”

She wrote something down quickly before raising her eyes to meet his. “That all?”

He shrugged again and took a long look around the room. Bookshelves full of thick books, probably about why fuck-ups like him did what they did. Shiny degrees in expensive wooden frames perfectly lined up along the walls. Everything perfect, even, and in its place. He was the one thing that didn’t belong. Just like he didn’t belong in a world with someone as beautiful and graceful as Stella Jo Chandler.

He inhaled and took a moment to appreciate the scent of the leather. Which reminded him of the riding crop and the saddles down at the barn. Which reminded him of Stella Jo Chandler.

His hands tightened on his knees and he returned his gaze to the doctor. Despite the attractive blonde sitting in close proximity, it was a brunette who might as well have been a million miles away who prompted him to speak.

He wouldn’t ruin this for her, this place where she finally felt at home. But he would do his best to let go of some of the darkness he carried so that when he got out of here, he could maybe, just maybe, be worthy of at least getting to know her.

“No, that’s not all,” he said evenly. “When I’m alone, sober, and it’s quiet, I can’t sleep because…because all I can think of is her.”

The office around him ceased to exist—the books and the framed degrees disappearing from his view. The screams and pleas rose in his mind. An unforgiving wind whipped in his ears while heavy metal chains clanked against one another, almost drowning the doctor’s response. He stood on the riverbank, helpless under an overcast sky.

“Her, who? Mr. Ransom? Mr. Ransom, can you hear me?”

He could hear her, but he couldn’t respond. He was unearthing the memory the same way they’d dragged up her body—slowly and steadily, feeling every excruciating moment.

The storm grew in his soul as he met the doctor’s worried eyes.

“The woman I couldn’t save. The one I watched die.”

Dr. McLendon shook her head. “I don’t understand. What woman? There’s no mention of a woman in your chart or in the—”

“There wouldn’t be.” He stared at his hands, clawing his way back to the present. They were trembling so hard it was like they were vibrating. “No one knows about Val. Not my manager, not anyone.”

“Val was your…”

“Sister,” he informed her quietly.

“I see,” she said, setting her notebook aside and relaxing into her chair. “How long ago did she—”

“It’ll be ten years this summer. I was sixteen. It was her nineteenth birthday.”

She nodded. “I don’t want to push you. Just tell me as much as you’re comfortable sharing and stop when you need to.”

She was using kid gloves on him. Maybe he should’ve appreciated that, but for some reason, it only added fuel to his already raging fire.

“As much as I’m comfortable sharing?” He glared at her, standing and spreading his arms wide. “Do I fucking look comfortable to you?”

Her eyes widened but she kept her composure. “Fine. Then tell me what makes you uncomfortable. Push yourself until you can’t. You’re safe here.”

He huffed out a harsh breath. “Safe. Right.” He shook his head and turned to the door. “I can’t do this right now. I’ll destroy this whole fucking room. You’ve got a lot of breakable shit in here, Doc.”

People said that the truth would set him free. Those people were wrong. The truth was that he’d failed the one person who’d protected him, who’d saved him. Lost her in the darkness. And no matter what he did, even if he adopted a dozen children from third- world countries, donated all of his money to charity, and lived the rest of his life as a monk, there was no escaping the truth.

She’d never hurt a soul. She’d been good and perfect and kind. The world had been a better place when she was in it. But now she was gone. And he was here, still damaging and destroying. It was the most fucked-up injustice he knew of.

“Van,” a female voice said so softly he barely heard it. He didn’t know if it was the doctor who’d spoken or the ghost in his head, but he didn’t stop either way. He walked out of her office and right out of the building.

Chapter Eleven

Her first day off since starting her new job and Stella Jo found herself working anyway. She suspected this would be hard to avoid since she lived where she worked.

She’d made a trip to the local bath and bed store and bought a few things for her small place and taken a three-mile jog around the property before giving in and checking on the horses. Well, mostly on Shadowdancer. Van had spooked him the night before, and she wanted to make sure she hadn’t completely lost his trust.

The hollow chill she’d tried to shake off the night before still remained. She hoped some time with the big warm bodies and beating hearts in the stables would help.

Surprisingly, Shadowdancer’s dark, oblong head was poking out of his stall as if he was waiting for her.

“Well hello there, handsome. You still mad at me?” She scooped up a handful of sweet feed from the barrel and offered it to him. He took it readily, keeping his eyes on her as he did.

After she’d loved on him and checked on the others, she wiped her dusty hands on her shorts. Shadowdancer’s saddle sat on the ledge between his stall and the empty one that separated him and Mother Maybelle. Running her hand along the rich, worn leather, she let herself remember for just a little while. What it was like to ride, that moment in the final stretch when it felt like they were one, like she and Angel’s Breath were flying. It was the only time she’d felt truly alive.

“What did you mean when you said you’d never felt wanted before?”

His voice startled her and her hand jerked, knocking the saddle onto the floor. Shadowdancer huffed and snorted beside her.

“God. You scared me. You’ve got to stop sneaking up on me—”

“Tell me what you meant, Stella Jo.”

Her blood warmed from the heat in his tone, purging the bone-chilling cold and making her body feel as if flames were consuming it. She swallowed hard as she righted the saddle and turned to face him. Her breath caught when she saw him. The shirt and jeans he was wearing accented his ample muscles perfectly, but that wasn’t what left her breathless.

His eyes were practically glowing, his fists clenched at his sides, and barely contained rage radiated from where he stood.

“What’s wrong?” She took a tentative step in his direction. “What happened?”

Her words were gasoline on his embers. Sparks flew as they both stepped into the charged space between them.

“She left. She fucking left me. That’s what happened.”

Stella Jo had absolutely no idea what or who he was talking about. But his confession seemed to break him. His head fell forward and a sob racked his broad shoulders. His pain bled into her, pulled her closer to him and she gave him everything she had to give.

“Who left you, Van?” Reaching out gently, just as she had done with Shadowdancer, she allowed her fingertips to stroke the short, dark stubble on his jaw. He was rough where she was smooth, and touching him that way, intimately on his face, sent a shiver through her.

His intense gaze met hers, and they were connected in that moment in a way she’d only ever felt with horses. She didn’t see Van Ransom’s face, his tattoos, or the anger he carried. She looked at him with her heart. And she saw his soul.

It was as dark as the short black hair on his head. Bruised and beautiful.

She had no idea how anyone could ever leave him. She couldn’t have pulled away from him in that moment if her life had depended on it.

Instead of answering her question, he gave a gentle shake of his head.

“Stella.” Her name was a breath, a plea, a confession of a deep-seated need she had no idea if she could fulfill. She was instantly seized with terror. She’d failed her family. Failed to be what they needed. What if she failed him? Couldn’t give him what he needed and made everything worse?

“I don’t know how to do this.” She pulled her hand away, but he grabbed her wrist and yanked her roughly to him.

“What do you know how to do, Stella Jo? Hide down here with the livestock? How’s that working for you?”

Her eyes narrowed. He made her angry. Made her feel things she had no idea how to feel or process. But with his pain still so close to the surface, she couldn’t bring herself to push him away. So she did the only thing she could do. She told him the truth.

“Horses can be broken. You can’t.”

“Can’t I?” He released his hold on her wrist, but neither of them moved. “Feels like I can. Feels like you break me a little more every time I come near you.”

She shook her head. “What do you want from me?”

“I don’t know.” Mercifully, he backed up a step and gave her some space to breathe. The reprieve gave her a second to think logically. “But I do know that five minutes ago I was sitting in a room with a stranger spilling my guts and the only person I actually wanted to talk to was you.”

Logic flew right out of Stella’s grasp. He needed her. It was a heady and addicting sensation. This powerful man with the world at his fingertips needed her. And she didn’t know why or how or what it meant, but she needed him right back.

The ground gave way beneath her as she made her way toward him. “The first step in breaking a horse is gaining its trust,” she whispered. “Can you trust, Van? Could you ever trust me?”

Pulling her in his arms, he rested his forehead on hers and closed his eyes. She took advantage of the moment to admire his long, thick lashes and his raw beauty up close.

“I could try,” he rasped.

“Ahem.” The sound of someone’s throat clearing nearby sent them both backward. “Don’t mind me. I just came by to drop off the feed.”

Every single cell in Stella’s body jolted as if she’d been hit with a live wire while soaking wet. Her face went numb, assaulted by thousands of invisible needles. The fleeting fear that she might be going into shock raced across her mind.

Jesse Ramirez leaned in the entryway. His eyes met Stella’s and he raised a questioning brow but said nothing as he carried feedbags into the storage stall.

“Here. I’ll give you a hand with that,” Van offered, moving away from her.

When they finished, she was standing awkwardly by Shadowdancer.

Jesse thanked Van for the help and turned to face her. “Stella, can I talk to you privately for a moment?”

I am so fired. Fear stole her hold on her center of gravity as she took carefully measured steps toward where his truck was parked. She could feel Van’s steady gaze on her but she didn’t so much as look in his direction. Not that it much mattered now. He’d seen them.

She wasn’t sure if Jesse had the power to fire her, but she knew he would be completely justified in reporting what he’d witnessed to his father, which would almost certainly lead to her termination.

And then… She didn’t even want to think about it. She’d have nothing. Just a cold home to return to with her tail between her legs because she’d screwed up. Her mother had been right. She couldn’t make it on her own.

“What you saw in there… Um, I don’t exactly know what to say about that,” she began.

Jesse’s hazel eyes went wide as he put a hand up between them. “Look, it’s really none of my business. I just wanted to tell you to be careful and make sure that you were okay.”

“I’m fine. And thank you.” She smiled gratefully. “I wish I could say it wasn’t what it looked like, but I don’t know what it looked like. And I don’t exactly know what it was. Maybe it was nothing.”

Jesse gave her a small smile and tipped his cowboy hat. “I’m no expert, darlin’. But I think we both know it was something.”

She nodded, trying her best to ignore her racing pulse. If Jesse hadn’t interrupted them, she had no idea what would’ve happened. But she could guess. And fantasize.

Before her heated imagination ran away with her, she glanced over her shoulder to check that Van was still out of hearing range.

“I know you probably think I’m like all of the other women here, wanting a piece of Mr. Rock Star. But I promise, even though I don’t know what it is exactly… I want you to know it’s not like that.”

Jesse removed his hat and ran his hand along his forehead before replacing it. “Stella, I don’t know you very well. But from what little bit I do know, I already knew that much.” He frowned at her. “Don’t go putting words in my mouth, lady. I’m not one to judge. Believe me.”

Stella Jo eyed him thoughtfully. At first glance, Jesse Ramirez was the perfect specimen. Exactly the kind of man she should be attracted to. But something was…different about him. She heavily suspected that Jesse might be gay. Certain things he did, the gentle way he dealt with the animals for one, in addition to the fact that he wasn’t married, hadn’t mentioned dating anyone, and from what she could tell, hadn’t given anyone other than the horses a second look, made her wonder. His nonjudgmental nature indicated he might’ve been judged unfairly himself a time or two. She hoped not. But it was Texas. Not exactly the ideal mecca of acceptance. He was sweet and kind, and she liked him. Considered him a friend already due to their shared love of animals.

“Jess, I know it’s a lot to ask, but I’d really appreciate if you didn’t say anything to your dad about this. I know fraternizing with the pat—er, clients is against the rules and I love it here. I don’t want to lose my job.”

He frowned at her. “Fraternizing, huh? Is that what the kids are calling it these days?”

She smacked him lightly on the arm. “Stop.”

He grinned widely and then sighed. “Your secret’s safe with me, Stell. I got plenty of my own to deal with. No interest in giving out other people’s.” For a split second, he looked forlorn. But then his grin slid back into place. “Plus I kind of like working with you. You’re the only one Shadowdancer will let near him and I’m grateful for the help.”

Stella smiled warmly. “I’m grateful to be of help.” She winked and thanked him again for not ratting her out.

Once he’d left, she turned back to where Van stood. Their gazes collided, desire warring with apologetic remorse.

“Think he’ll say anything?” Van asked as she approached.

“Say anything about what?”

“We’re back there again? You gonna pretend the last ten minutes just didn’t happen?” Van’s face contorted into a mask of disgust.

“No,” she said, letting her own anger edge her tone. “I just meant all he saw was a hug. And he’s not going to run and tell his dad I hugged you. Jesse’s a decent guy.”

“Agreed. But that was a hell of a hug, Stella Jo. Can I have another one?”

In spite of her frustration at the entire complicated mess, she grinned. “Do you really need one?”

He followed her back into the barn, keeping close behind her as she straightened up blankets that were already plenty straight enough.

“I don’t know what I need. I have no idea what it will take to fix me,” he said, keeping his voice low and intoxicating. “But I have a feeling you’re a part of it.”

Her mouth went instantly dry as she tried to lick her lips. “What if I can’t be what you need, Van? What if I’m not enough? I mean, I don’t even know what happened and we can’t just—”

“Calm down, cowgirl. You’re doing it again.”

She turned to face him. “Doing what?”

“Getting all worked up.”

She threw both of her hands up, startling Shadowdancer. She cast an apologetic glance in his direction. “Well,” she began, purposely lowering her voice. “I’m scared. I’m nervous and afraid and I have no idea what I’m doing.”

Van leaned toward her, resuming their position from before Jesse Ramirez surprised them. “That makes two of us.”

Chapter Twelve

It had taken every ounce of self-control he possessed to walk away from her the night before. To walk her to her door like the gentleman he could never be. But he’d done it. The small inches of progress they’d made would have to tide him over. For now, at least.

After his group session, Dr. McLendon had checked in with him to see if he was okay. He’d reassured her that he was perfectly fine and would try and restrain himself from trashing her office like so many tour buses and hotel rooms before it. But when he walked into the Atrium, where his manager was meeting him for lunch, his determination to behave like an upstanding member of society vanished.

Stella Jo Chandler stood near a table on the edge of the expansive sunlit room. The white shirt she was wearing clung to her skin and was open just enough to draw his eyes to her barely visible but definitely ample cleavage. A skirt that matched her skin tone almost exactly hugged her perfect curves. And damn him straight to the fiery pits of Hell, shiny black stilettos nestled her petite little feet. He’d never been the type to get all hot over something as mundane as feet, but he had a feeling Stella Jo’s would be just as adorably sexy as the rest of her.

The woman was captivating on a level he’d never experienced. She was so many thing—things he didn’t deserve and would never be worthy of. Intelligent, beautiful, alluring. Mysterious at times. Guarded almost always. Which was why when she did open up to him, he lost all control of himself.

But it wasn’t the outfit, or even the heels, that sucker-punched him and left him seething where he stood. It was the fraternity-looking fucker standing with her. Smiling at her, nodding along as she spoke. Van knew he was probably watching her perfectly pouty lips, imagining how they’d feel around his cock.

Or maybe he already knew.

Dude looked awfully familiar with her, but Van didn’t recognize him. Hadn’t seen him around the facility before.

“Over here, Mr. Walker,” his manager called out.

Reluctantly tearing his gaze from where Stella continued chatting with a man he’d already pictured murdering eight different ways, Van made his way over to Sid.

Without bothering with a greeting, he slumped into the chair. His body angled toward the man across from him but his eyes kept wandering over to her. She’d touched his face yesterday. Her gentle caress of his face had felt like sex. Soothing, satisfying, and a sweet taste of how good it would be to let her touch him anywhere she wanted.

“Van,” his manager said, interrupting his thoughts. “That the same woman from last time I was here?”

“What?” He did his best to look confused. Was there any other woman in the room? On the planet? It didn’t feel like it.

“Look, whatever’s going on with you and her, it needs to stop.” Sid’s pale blue eyes narrowed. “This isn’t like the other times. I can’t impress upon you how serious Epitaph is about you completing this program successfully.”

“I get it.”

His manager shook his head and leaned forward. “Do you? Because it looks to me like you’re one wrong blowjob away from flushing everything we’ve worked for right down the—”

“She’s not like that,” Van nearly shouted in the other man’s face. Composing himself, he glanced around. Thankfully no one else had paid much attention to his outburst. “It’s not like that. With her,” he finished with a forced calm he didn’t feel.

“Okay. Good. So then why are you staring over there like another mutt is pissing on your property?”

Van raked a hand through his hair. Hard. “No idea what you’re talking about, Sid. What are you doing here anyway?”

His manager glanced over at Stella before returning his attention to Van. “I’m checking up on you, for one. Somebody’s got to. And your therapist contacted me, said something about family day coming up. You want me to call Nessa?”

Van felt his eyes go wide. “Why in the ever-loving fuck would you call her?”

Sid shrugged. “You were engaged to her, Van. She’s about the closest thing to family you have left.” He rubbed his goatee. “Well, except me. And I care about you, kid, I do. But I’m not sitting through some head-shrinking session for anyone. I didn’t do it for my ex-wife and I’m sure as shit not gonna do it now.”

Propping his elbows on the table, Van glared at Sid with all of his powers of pissed off. “Listen to me. Do not—I repeat, do not—call that crazy bitch. I mean it. The farther she is from me, the better.”

“Okay, relax.” Sid held his hands up. “I won’t call her. But I gave the lady who called her number. So you might want to talk to them.”

Jerking upright so quickly his chair nearly fell backwards, Van felt his blood pressure rising to a dangerous level. A breaking-shit level.

“Thanks a fucking lot, Sid. ’Preciate it.”

He didn’t even glance in Stella Jo’s direction as he stalked out of the Atrium. He had bigger problems to deal with than whether or not the purple Polo-shirt-wearing piece of shit actually meant anything to her.

“She isn’t family,” Van told Dr. McLendon once she’d let him into her office. “We were involved for a while. Then we weren’t. It’s been over for a year, and she’s done nothing since but try and make my life more difficult than it needs to be.”

“Can I ask what happened?”

“What do you mean?” He exhaled in an attempt to alleviate some of the tension from his chest.

Nessa had made his life fucking miserable, even more miserable than usual, in every way possible. He didn’t want to rehash all the shit she’d pulled for a multitude of reasons. But mostly because even the thought of her gave him a migraine.

“I mean, between the two of you. You were involved for a while. Then you weren’t. Why did you stop being involved?”

“Because she was a psychotic bitch.”

The doctor frowned and he felt bad for having snapped at this woman who was only trying to help.

“Sorry.” He shrugged. “I guess you want me to be more specific, huh?”

“It’d help.”

He leaned back on the couch, looked up at the ceiling, and then rubbed his hands over his knees. “She was friends with my… She was a family friend.” Taking a few breaths to steady himself, he focused on the facts, not the emotions tied to them. “We got engaged right after high school and moved to LA together. When the band started to take off, she became…”

He wasn’t sure how to explain it. Vanessa Reeves had always been a bit unstable. Hell, for that matter, so had he. For a while, it was what had made them so perfect for each other. Van and Vanessa. Vanessa and Van. Though he was pretty sure their relationship would most likely have ended in a murder-suicide mystery no one could solve. And that was on a good day. But once the band had hit it big, she’d started to behave like she was downright insane—in more of a literal sense than an exaggerated one. It had been more than even he could handle.

“Difficult,” he finished, though that didn’t cover the half of it.

Dr. McLendon raised a blond eyebrow. “In what way?”

He sighed. “She partied hard. Sometimes even harder than me.” A few blurred images of incidents involving Nessa appeared behind his eyes. “If I didn’t pay enough attention to her or she thought I made eyes at another woman during a show, she’d make a scene. Threaten people, throw herself at another guy—sometimes even one of the guys in my band.”

“That sounds like a volatile situation. How did you deal with it?”

Van met her imploring stare. “Got high. Wasted. Whatever. Blew her off for a while.” He shrugged. “Then some time would pass and she’d come back, saying she was going to off herself if I didn’t take her back.”

It took every single ounce of self-control he had to remain calm. Nessa knew about Val. Knew about the way everything went down and had still used the one thing she knew would hit him where it hurt to get him to forgive her crazy ass.

“I see. I’ll talk to a care coordinator and make sure she isn’t contacted.”

He was thankful that the doctor didn’t ask any additional follow-up questions. Between seeing Stella with some random dude at lunch and Sid dropping the atomic bomb that was Nessa on him, he was done talking. But he did have a burning desire to see a certain care coordinator himself.

Chapter Thirteen

“You are honestly the last person on Earth I expected to see here.” Stella tucked a wayward strand of hair behind her ear as she lowered herself to a table across from her ex-boyfriend. “I mean, not that it’s not nice to see you. I just meant—”

“I know what you meant, Stella.” Nash Douglas grinned at her as he dropped into the other chair. “Trust me I don’t exactly want to be here. Not that it’s not nice to see you too, of course.” He winked and she became oddly uncomfortable.

She hadn’t seen Nash since graduation, where he was smiling and taking pictures with Tess and their families. The way they’d looked together, she’d half-expected him to drop down on one knee and propose in the middle of the ceremony.

But right now, the way he was looking at her was off-putting. His bright blue eyes sparkled mischievously at her from under his carefully styled brown hair. Add that to the way Van had practically stormed out of the Atrium and she was growing more uncomfortable by the minute.

“So, um, what exactly happened? To bring you here, I mean?”

Nash leaned toward her and lowered his voice. “You remember Cain Sellers? His older brother Colton was president of Phi Beta Kappa last year.”

“The one who OD’d?”

Stella hadn’t kept up with Nash’s fraternity brothers, but everyone on campus knew Colt and Cain Sellers. Half of the buildings on campus were named for their family members, a result of copious donations. The infamous brothers had always driven expensive cars, had flocks of girls hanging all over them, and the best parties according to Nash. She’d always been too busy studying to go to any of them, but she heard about them for weeks afterward.

Their senior year, Colton had been found unconscious in a bathroom in an apartment off campus. The rumor was that it was a heroin overdose. He’d lived, but he never returned to school. His younger brother had partied more instead of less—as if he were partying for both of them once his brother was gone.

“Yeah,” Nash answered quietly. “Supposedly Colt came here and got cured after everything went down. So Cain’s parents just checked him in.”

Stella bit her lip. She wasn’t a doctor, but she’d taken enough counseling classes to know that there wasn’t a cure for addiction. Colt Sellers might’ve gotten a handle on it after his stay here, but SCR wasn’t a magical cure because there was no such thing. Not that she wanted to have that debate with Nash Douglas at that particular moment.

“Oh. Well, I hope he gets the help he needs. I’ve only worked here a few weeks, but from what I can tell, it’s a great place.”

Nash nodded. “Yeah. Me too. He’s not a bad guy, just… I don’t know. Sometimes all that money…”

Stella nodded, though having never been particularly wealthy or addicted to any habit-forming substances, she couldn’t really empathize.

“It’s nice of you to visit him. He’s lucky to have such a good friend.” She smiled, but Nash looked slightly embarrassed.

“Uh. Yeah.” He cleared his throat before meeting her eyes. “Actually I agreed to come drop some things off for him because I was hoping to run into you.”

Her eyebrows rose. “You were? Why?” She felt her face flush at her blurted reaction.

Nash grinned. “I’ll try not to take that personally.”

She closed her eyes, annoyed at herself for being so socially impaired when it came to interacting with her fellow human beings. Horses she could handle. Her own species, not so much.

Opening her eyes, she gave him an apologetic smile. “That came out wrong. I was just surprised is all. Mostly it felt like we were avoiding each other after…”

“After I acted like a dick and hooked up with your roommate,” he finished for her.

“That wasn’t what I was going to say at all. I told you and Tess both, it wasn’t my place to tell either of you who you could date. We’re adults. You can date whomever you choose.”

Nash leaned closer, staring intently at her for what felt like entirely too long for comfort. “I chose you, Stella. First. I chose you first. But you didn’t seem to be feeling it.” He shrugged and leaned back, giving her some much needed space.

Stella swallowed hard and did her best to step off the train speeding straight toward Awkwardville. “Um, yeah. I know I was distracted a lot. I just had a lot going on and—”

“And I was too lame to hold your attention?”

She shook her head. “No. God, Nash. It so wasn’t—”

“Please, if you ever cared about me at all, do not say, ‘It wasn’t you, it was me.’ My pride will shrivel up and die. And my dick probably will too.”

She laughed, despite his pained expression. She did her best to console him. “But it was me. I threw myself into studying, into being perfect and making perfect grades. Between being a TA, my internship, and classes, there just wasn’t much left for a relationship. None of that is on you.”

His forehead creased for a moment before he grinned. “Okay, so it was you.”

“It was. It so was.”

“Not to be an ass or anything, but can I ask why you felt like you had to be so perfect all the time? Wasn’t it kind of…”

“Exhausting?” she finished for him. “Yeah, it was. But I’ve always been that way. I don’t really know why.”

Well that wasn’t exactly true. She knew why. It was the same reason she’d raced all those years, the same reason she’d practiced day and night, taken extra riding lessons, and done whatever it took. Every time she ventured into anything—riding, school, work, any of it. She’d tell herself that if she could just get it right, just be the best, be undeniably flawless, her daddy would finally look at her, really look, and tell her he was proud of her. Or maybe even just acknowledge that she existed.

But no matter how pleased her mom was with her riding, her awards, or her grades, her dad had the same response. A passing nod. A grunt that sounded like, “All right.”

She swallowed the painful, jagged lump of rejection that rose in her throat whenever she let herself think about him and focused on the handsome man-boy across from her.

“Nash, if you came here to talk about—”

“I came here to visit Cain. And because I wanted to see you. So I could apologize.”

Stella was confused. “Apologize for what exactly?”

Nash stared down at his hands on the table. When he looked up, his smile was heavy with regret.

“For not trying harder. For not making the kind of effort I should have.” He smirked when he saw what probably looked like detached amusement on her face. “Not that it matters now. But for the record, if I could do it over again, I would’ve been less self-centered, less involved in the Phi Kap stuff, and paid more attention to you, tried to figure out what you needed from me.”

“I don’t understand.” Where in the world was all of this coming from? Why now? Why here? “Did something happen with you and Tess?”

She didn’t keep in touch with her roommate, didn’t really pay attention to her own social media accounts much less anyone else’s, but she figured she’d have seen something if they’d broken up. And she didn’t expect that breaking things off with Tess would send Nash back in her direction. The truth was, she’d never actually needed anything from him. Which may have been why it wasn’t too hard to let go.

“No.” Nash shook his head. “Everything’s good. Tess and I are great. Just…I don’t know. After graduation, starting my big-boy job at my dad’s law firm, I guess I’ve had more time to think about things.” He lifted a shoulder and let it drop. “And sometimes, you run across my mind. The beautiful distracted girl who was mine for a brief moment in time.”

“How poetic.”

Stella’s entire body jolted to life at the low rumble of Van Ransom’s voice from beside her. She and Nash both looked over at the man casting a dark shadow over their table.

“Hate to interrupt you there, Shakespeare. But I need to speak with you, Miss Chandler. Now, please.”

His eyes had darkened enough that she could see her reflection in them. She didn’t want to think about why or how this man did things to her heart and lungs that made her especially aware of them.

“Um, okay. Nash, can you excuse me for just a moment?”

“Sure thing.” He raised an eyebrow but said nothing else as he leaned back in his chair.

She stood, smoothing her skirt and feeling completely off balance as she followed Van over to a secluded corner beside a large plant.

“Mr. Walker,” she began through gritted teeth. “This really isn’t the time for a testosterone showdown. Not that my lunch companion is any of your business, but just so you know, Nash and I—”

“Slow down, cowgirl. Right now, I honestly don’t give a single solitary fuck who you have lunch with.”

“Okay,” she said slowly, trying her best to remain calm despite his harsh words and his livid tone. “I’m sorry I jumped to conclusions. What can I do for you?”

His clenched fists sent his muscles twitching and flexing up his arms. He was even more lethal when he was angry. The heat of his anger pulled at that dormant beast inside her that longed for his attention. For his touch.

Van met her eyes, confidence shining brightly in his own. Clearly she hadn’t done such a great job of not checking him out. “My manager made a mistake. He gave someone here contact information for a woman named Vanessa Reeves. She might be on the list to contact about coming to a family session. It’s vital that she is removed and that no one contacts her or tells her that I’m here.”

Stella nodded. “Got it. Vanessa Reeves. Consider her removed from your contacts.”

Relief smoothed his features visibly. “Thank you.”

“Anything else I can do for you?” Making him feel better filled her with a sense of accomplishment and the offer tumbled from her lips without her even thinking the words.

One side of his mouth lifted and the wicked gleam retuned to his eyes. “That’s a list for another day. Enjoy your lunch.”

With that, he walked away, leaving her gaping at his retreating figure. Frustration boiled to the surface as she made her way back to where Nash was sitting and waiting for her.

“Was that who I think it was?”

Stella didn’t answer. She was still silenced by the shame of having the nerve to think he’d be jealous. He’d stepped in that day with Dr. Tyler because the man had been inappropriate with her. Just because he’d admitted he wanted to sleep with her didn’t mean he cared what she did with anyone else. And she’d jumped to a humiliating and false conclusion just now. But the fact that Van had risked his anonymity to enter the part of the Atrium that wasn’t private, and on visiting day when anyone could see him and announce to the world that he was here, told her that at the very least, he wanted that woman removed from his list more than he valued his privacy. And here she’d thought that urgency had to do with her. Shame heated her face.

“I’m an idiot,” she said absently—unintentionally out loud.

“Huh?” Nash looked at her like she’d completely lost her mind. “No you’re not. Why would you say that?”

She shook her head. “Never mind. Ignore me. I’m… I’m a little off today.”

A low chuckle from across the table surprised her. “Nah, you look okay to me. In fact, I feel like I just caught a glimpse at a side of you I wasn’t supposed to see. The human side.”

“What are you talking about?” Her mouth went instantly dry as she searched her brain for anything that had just happened with Van that might’ve sent the wrong message to bystanders.

Nash paused, smiled knowingly at her, and tilted his head toward the direction Van had gone in. “I used to try to make you mad. Just to get a reaction out of you. Something. Anything. I never could.”

She felt her eyes go wide. “You what?”

“It was dumb. And pointless. I see that now.” A small smile tugged at his lips. “Apparently the lead singer from Hostage for Ransom has much more of an effect on you than I ever could.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Nash. I need to get back to work. But please, do me a favor and don’t mention to anyone that you saw him here.”

Placing her hands on the table, she pushed herself backward and away from the accusations that had hit way too close to home.

“Stella, wait. Hear me out. Please.”

She froze, intrigued by Nash’s powers of observation and also terrified by them. If he’d figured her out in five seconds, how long would it be until everyone else did?

“I didn’t mean to upset you. Well, not just now anyway. The truth is, while it doesn’t do much for my ego, it’s kind of nice to see that someone has finally gotten to you. Frankly, I’m a little jealous.”

Stella shook her head. “I-it’s not like that. He’s a patient, um, a client here. I’d get fired,” she said barely above a whisper.

“Can I be honest with you?”

She nodded.

“I hated that I wasn’t the guy for you and that when I found the girl for me, it hurt you—or it would’ve hurt you if you would’ve let it. What I’m trying to say is, I wish things had happened differently. But what I have with Tess…” For a few seconds, his gaze drifted. Then he shrugged again and met her stare. “Some sins are worth it.”

“I bathed them today. Mother Maybelle rolled in the dirt immediately after.” Jesse Ramirez let out an exasperated sigh. “Shadowdancer told me to keep my soapy sponge to my damn self unless I wanted his hoof prints branded across my face.”

Stella Jo laughed for the first time in what felt like an excruciatingly long day. She raised a hand to her eyes and squinted toward where Jesse stood in front of the setting Texas sun. “I’ll see what I can do. Maybe he’ll at least let me rinse him off.”

“Good luck with that.”

After they said their goodbyes, Stella headed into her little bungalow and switched her work clothes for cut-offs and an old, faded oxford shirt. She pulled her riding boots on and tied her hair into a messy bun before heading to the stables. Washing Shadowdancer was going to be quite the event.

Her patience for difficult men was already at its limit for the day as it was.

She had a plan for Shadowdancer, but she was pretty sure he wasn’t going to like it. It involved tying him to his stall so he couldn’t stomp around or rear back on her while she was washing him down.

Now if only she could tie Van Ransom up and make him tell her what went on behind those conflicted stares of his. Sometimes he looked like he wanted to eat her alive, and others he looked like she made him regret being alive. But every now and then, like today when she’d told him she’d take that woman off his contact sheet, he looked at her with gratitude in his eyes. Eyes that darkened in a way that sent images of them tangled up in each other straight to the deep recesses of her wildest imagination.

“He’s not going to like that,” the man from her imagination called out as she looped the rope around a slat of Shadowdancer’s stall.

Stella focused on her breathing, hoping he wouldn’t notice how much just his voice alone had rattled her.

“You’re the expert on what he likes?” She had to admit that the dark horse had backed into the farthest possible corner of his stall. Both of them were looking at her like she’d lost her mind. “Since when do you even like horses?”

“I’m a man. I know we don’t like to be tied.”

Now there was a mental image she’d be recalling later.

“Well that’s too bad. I had such big plans for you.” Stella was aiming for teasing, but her words carried the irritation she felt. She wanted to throw her hands up, kick the bucket of soapy water over, and tell Van to do this his damn self. She was tired. She was frustrated. Nash had made her feel defective. He’d tried to reach her, to affect her, and hadn’t been able to because she was a cold fish. A cold, empty fish.

And now a man who sent her insides into a scorching free fall was telling her how to handle the animals she’d dealt with her entire life.

Just as she prepared to fasten Shadowdancer’s bridle, he flattened his ears and stomped a hoof in her direction. She backed up and knocked the bucket over.

“Fuck,” she bit out.

Before she had time to react, Shadowdancer leapt toward her. He wanted her out of the stall, but her legs wouldn’t move fast enough. She was about to be pinned under him. Closing her eyes, she braced for the impact. But it didn’t come.

Instead, she opened her eyes and saw black. A black shirt with faded writing on it. One she’d seen before. The first day they’d met. But this time, she was up even closer because Van Ransom had yanked her from the stall and had her wrapped tightly in his arms.

She took a deep breath, both to calm herself and to inhale his rich, intoxicating scent. Expensive masculine aftershave and the faintest hint of tobacco enveloped her. Raising her head, she met Van’s penetrating stare.

He looked as panicked and turned on as she felt. “I’m sorry. I just… I—”

“Thank you,” she breathed. “I got impatient, pushed him too hard too fast. He still doesn’t trust me.”

Van stared at her. She thought he was about to let her go. But instead of releasing her, he lowered his face until their lips were almost touching. “I don’t think it’s you he doesn’t trust.”

“You don’t?”

He shook his head slowly, very nearly grazing her nose with his. “I think he doesn’t trust himself.”

She was pretty certain they weren’t talking about Shadowdancer anymore. His hands gripped her arms, each finger pressing into her flesh just enough for her to savor the pressure. Her chest heaved as she breathed against him.

“He’s probably afraid he’ll hurt you, afraid he won’t be worthy of that look you give him, that trusting one that says you’ll give him anything he wants or needs—even if it puts you in danger. He knows he doesn’t deserve that. He could never be worthy of that.” His voice was heavy and raw, raking over every inch of her.

“Van.” God, she loved the way his name felt in her mouth, falling into the air from her lips and dancing in the tiny space between them.

“Yeah?” He swallowed hard, seemingly recovering from the panic of witnessing her almost being trampled.

She reached up with her hands and touched his smooth jaw. He’d shaved recently. And she was pretty sure he hadn’t shaved to come help out with the horses.

“You shaved for me?”

A small grin tugged at his masculine mouth. “Perhaps.”

“Tell me what you want. Tell me what you need from me. I’m ready for that list now.”

Eyes the color of the early morning sky began to glow with the heat her invitation provoked. “No, you’re not, Stella Jo. And for that matter, neither am I.”

“Please,” she practically whimpered.

She couldn’t do this anymore, couldn’t handle the constant tension that pulled her so tight she was about to snap in half. Her body craved a release. A release in the form of Van Ransom using what she could imagine were well-acquired skills. All that confidence he carried was a result of more than just musical abilities—she’d bet her paycheck on it.

A low guttural sound rumbled through his chest and escaped his throat. “I came down here to help out with whatever you needed. Let’s focus on that for now.”

I need you. The thought came unbidden, and she put furious effort into ignoring it.

She sighed her disappointment as he released her. A breeze blew across them and she shivered. Being in Van Ransom’s arms was dangerously addicting. Being out of them left her feeling bereft.

What she needed, apparently, was this mysterious man and anything and everything he could give her. But he was holding out on her, finally listening to words she wished she hadn’t said.

“Okay,” she said softly. The skin-searing shame that blanketed her as he stepped away warmed her considerably. “See if Mother Maybelle will let you wipe her down a bit. She’s dusty.” Stella nodded to some towels nearby, and Van moved over to grab one.

Her face was still flushed from the pathetic scene she’d made, so she kept her head down as she led Shadowdancer to the pasture. When she returned to the stables, she lowered onto all fours and cleaned up her mess. Grabbing the sponge, she did her best to soak up the water that had spilled. With each swipe, she prayed tears wouldn’t fall from her eyes.

A few moments later, she heard the heavy thud of his boots coming toward her.

“Stand up, Cinderella. I’ll take care of that.”

His voice sounded gravelly and almost choked. As if it were taking considerable effort just for him to speak. She looked up and met his wild stare.

“Please get up. I’m trying very hard to behave myself. You on your knees is not helping matters.”

So he does want me then? Her head swam from the mixed signals he was constantly sending.

Glancing down, she realized that most of her body was drenched. If he wanted her half as much as she wanted him, seeing her in nearly transparent and dripping-wet clothing wasn’t going to help either of them.

Well, screw it. The man had obviously decided nothing was happening between them tonight. If she had to writhe in aching misery, then he could too.

She stood slowly, keeping her eyes on his so she could watch him as he drank her in.

“You’re the devil,” was all he said.

“Perhaps.”

His tongue flicked out to his lips, and she stared openly. “Come here.”

Two words. Two very simple and perfectly commonplace words stripped her of every protective layer she held. Layers she’d built up over the years. Each step she took in his direction rid her of another one. By the time she reached him, she might as well have been stark naked.

A strong hand reached out and gripped her chin. Desire sparked brightly inside of her until flames began to lick at every inch of her body. The heat in his eyes matched the burning blaze encompassing her entire being.

“You. Aren’t. Ready.”

She shook her head violently in an attempt to escape his grasp. Tears stung her eyes. He’d lured her back into his tangled web just to reject her. Again.

His fingers pressed tighter, denting deeper.

“But when you are,” he continued, “I am going to fuck you. And when I do, it’s going to be so deep and thorough that men will be able to smell me on you from miles away. I am going to fuck a path inside of you, a path in which only my dick will fit. Because once I’ve been inside you, you will belong to me. Understood?”

Her knees went weak as her entire body began to tremble.

“Now,” she stammered out. “I want you now.”

Chapter Fourteen

This woman was going to drive him straight from rehab into the fucking nut house. She made him insane. Certifiably.

Her deliciously intoxicating scent combined with how much of her body he could see through her sopping-wet clothing was a torture that had begun to break him.

Add the whimpered pleas and her finally submitting to her attraction to him? It was a recipe for destruction—his and hers. But instead of matching monogrammed towels, they might as well have gotten it branded on their asses.

“I-I think I already belong to you. That first day, when you ran into me, something…something happened to me.”

Her words annihilated the last of his resolve.

“What happened to you, cowgirl? Tell me. I want to hear it.”

The naked vulnerability she was exuding made his dick even harder than her body against him. He released her chin so that she could look away if she needed to. He half hoped she would. But she didn’t.

“I try to avoid you because I can’t understand the way you make me feel. My mind wants to wrap itself around you, to know you, every part of you. The good, the bad, the ugly, and the terrifying. I want it all.”

Her unadulterated honesty enticed him to share a truth of his own. “I dream of you. I don’t know how or why. But I do. Night after night. It’s the first time my nights haven’t been plagued with nightmares.”

“What do you dream, Van? Tell me. I want to hear it,” she whispered his words back to him softly. When she wrapped her arms around his waist, he didn’t feel ensnared like he did with most women. He didn’t feel trapped. He felt needed. In a way he hadn’t felt since he’d lost Val.

He studied her smooth skin, her perfectly plump and heart-shaped lips, the flecks of gold in her green eyes. “Some of it’s nice, stuff you’d want to hear. Holding you, waking up with you.”

“And the rest?” she prompted.

“The rest is more than you can handle, cowgirl.”

Something brave and dangerous flashed and glinted in her exotic-jewel-colored eyes. “You might be surprised what I can handle.”

Words wouldn’t do it. Verbal warnings were getting him nowhere. So he grabbed her underneath her thighs and lifted. The audible gasp she let out only fueled his determination to show her what she refused to hear. Slamming her against the side of the barn, he thrust the rock-hard ridge of his erection against her.

“This what you want, cowgirl? Make damn sure, because I’m no quitter. Once we pass that point of no return, I don’t care if you beg, plead, or outright cry. There’s no safe word, no taking it back, and no stopping.”

Her lips pressed together, drawing his attention to her mouth once again. “I’ve spent so long avoiding feeling things—pain, pleasure, anything—that sometimes I’m afraid I might be completely…empty inside.” Her confession tore him apart, broke through every barrier he’d built.

“Oh, baby. No. You’re not—”

“You make me feel, Van. You’re the first one to ever make me feel. So if you think I can’t handle it, you’re wrong. What you do to me… The way you make me feel…” She stared intently at him for several seconds. “The only thing I’m going to beg or plead for is more.”

Jesus Christ. He sucked in a ragged breath to steady himself.

“I can’t control myself with you,” he admitted quietly. “Not that self-control has ever been my greatest skill, but with you, I have none.”

“I am practically made of self-control. I have enough for both of us.”

With that, she leaned forward and kissed him—softly at first, a gentle brush of her lips against his. Then harder. Hungrier. Pulling and sucking him into her mouth. He felt as if she were devouring him, but he was more than happy to let her.

Due to their equestrian audience, losing himself completely in her was not an option at the moment. Van took control of their kiss, deepening it, lashing his tongue inside her and then dragging it slowly across her lips. He kissed her in the way that he planned to fuck her, deep and deliberate and with a worshipful intensity so fierce he nearly dropped to his knees.

Stella was responsive, so damn responsive it was painful. Her sweet flavor intensified as she opened for him again and again. When she sucked his lower lip into her mouth and barely grazed her teeth against it, he decided he’d give up oxygen, drugs, music, alcohol—all of it—if he could just have this.

“Dear God, you are going to kill me,” he groaned when she began grinding her hips against his. He still held her to his waist, so the seam of her damp shorts stroked roughly against his cock as it strained against his jeans.

“Never,” she mumbled against his lips.

He pulled back, letting out a dark chuckle at the obvious displeasure on her face. His eyes drifted to her full breasts heaving between them. He wanted nothing more than to sink himself into her luscious heat while sucking those perfect swells into his mouth, but damned if he was doing it in a barn with a bunch of horses watching. The old him would’ve just fucked her hard and fast, not caring who saw or if she got hers or not. But something about this woman had him striving to be better. She deserved better. And he had intricate plans for how he was going to take her, and he’d need much more privacy for what he had in store for Stella Jo Chandler.

“How’s that self-control working for you right now, cowgirl?” He smirked at her. “Still got enough for both of us?”

He lowered her gently to the ground as she continued to pout while straightening her clothes. She didn’t meet his gaze as he watched her try and reclaim some sense of dignity. Or maybe her equilibrium. He had no fucking clue where his had gotten off to.

“I don’t know what kind of game you’re playing with me, Mr. Ransom, but I don’t much care for it,” she huffed out.

Van couldn’t stop the smile from spreading across his face. “Oh yeah? Baby, I can promise you, you will enjoy the fuck out of any and all games we ever play.”

Her brows dipped downward but her mouth quirked up, exposing her interest.

“Glare all you want. How wet are you for me right now, Stella Jo?”

Lines appeared in her forehead as she crinkled her nose at him. “Keep playing hot and cold with me and you’ll never find out.”

Van reached out and wrapped an arm around her waist. “Baby, I am always hot for you. I’ve been burning the fuck up since the first time I laid eyes on you.”

Her voice was whisper-soft when she spoke. “We’re past the point of denying ourselves, Van. I think you know that.”

He nodded. “I know.”

He watched as she swallowed hard and her bright eyes round with vulnerability met his. “If we do this and we get caught, I’ll lose my job. But now, after…after that, if we don’t… If you never so much as touch me again, I’m afraid I’ll lose my mind.”

He fought off an idiotic grin. Mother of God. This woman did the strangest things to him. His reactions to her had become uncontrollable and unpredictable.

“That makes me ridiculously happy to hear from your sweet mouth.” He winked at her, but his mind was working overtime. “Listen, after thirty days I get my own private residential suite behind the—”

She opened her mouth to interrupt, but he placed his fingers over her lips. He didn’t know much about love—as in what it would be like to be in love with another human being—but he was pretty sure he was already in love with her mouth. He’d already spent hours upon hours imagining it on his, on his skin, on his cock.

“—main building. And since I’m helping you out down here, you stopping by from time to time to check in wouldn’t raise any red flags. Just as it won’t be too alarming if I’m coming and going in and out of your place every now and then.”

Using the words coming and in and out had been a mistake and his dick was lodging a formal complaint.

She opened her mouth again, and Van heard her arguments in his head before she’d uttered a single syllable.

“I know what you’re going to say,” he began, pressing his fingers firmly against her lips once more. “But we aren’t horny teenagers sneaking in and out of each other’s bedroom windows. We are grown-ass adults who can handle this discreetly.” He knew he sounded desperate, but he felt desperate, dammit. He’d had a taste of her, and there was no limit to what he’d do for more.

Beneath his fingers, Stella Jo smiled. A sight that both froze and warmed his cold, dead heart all at once.

“You have no idea what I was going to say.” She arched a brow, challenging him to argue.

“Okay. Enlighten me, cowgirl.”

Covering his fingers with her soft supple ones and removing them from her mouth, she met his stare. “I was going to say… How much longer until you’ve been here thirty days?”

Chapter Fifteen

I have lost my ever-loving mind.

Stella Jo’s inner voice of logic admonished her over and over as Van walked her to her door. Every step took her in the direction of reason. Of telling him she didn’t know what had come over her. They couldn’t do this. It was risky. Impulsive. Dangerous.

Forbidden.

Nash’s words echoed, flashing in neon red behind her eyes.

“Some sins are worth it.”

And looking over at the beautiful, brooding man beside her, he was the epitome of a sin she’d bet would be more than worth it.

Her entire life, she’d played by the rules. Tried to be perfect. For her mom, her dad, her teachers, her professors. The few boyfriends she’d had, she’d gone along with any plans they had, never complained about last-minute cancellations or hurt feelings. She’d shouldered rejections, breakups, and betrayal with a poker face of stone. She’d smiled. Nodded. Kept her cool. Played it safe in every single aspect of her life.

But when she rubbed a hand up her arm to soothe the prickly bumps that had arisen from the cool air against her damp skin and the man standing on her doorstep reached out and placed both of his arms around her to warm her, playing it safe became a foreign concept. One she no longer had any use for.

“Why me?” she finally whispered, looking up at him as he warmed her in places he probably didn’t even realize.

For a lingering second, he was silent. Gunmetal-gray eyes darkening thoughtfully, a crease appearing between his brows. Full, masculine lips pressed together as his angular jaw tightened.

“What do you see when you look at me, Stella Jo?”

She couldn’t answer immediately, not having expected him to answer her question with a question.

Reaching up, she placed her hands on either side of his face as she had before. Their brief encounters flashed behind her eyes. The way she’d reacted when they’d bumped into each other, literally, the first day. How kind he’d been when he’d found her crying later. Stepping in when Dr. Tyler had been abrasive with her. Spending his nights helping down at the barn instead of getting God knows what kind of sexual favors from the nurses. Even the horses liked him. Despite the cocky demeanor and the tattoos and the brutish way he talked to her, there was gentleness there. She could feel it in the way he touched her, the way he watched her—affectionately. Something protective warring with something possessive.

“I see you,” she said softly. “When I look at you, I see a man capable of so much more than he knows. I see a man who could make me feel things I’ve never felt.” She swallowed the thickening lump in her throat so that she could continue. “I tried so hard to fight it, but I guess I’m not as strong as I thought I was.”

“That’s why you,” he said, leaning down and allowing his nose to nestle against hers. “Because you don’t see money and fame or a singer in a band. Or tattoos or rough edges. Or even how you could use me to get what you want. You see me. And for the record, I think you’re a lot stronger than you give yourself credit for.”

“I-I’m, I’m… We’re…” She shook her head as if she could clear her emotions out of the way long enough to think. Or at least breathe steadily long enough to calm her trembling body. It didn’t work. “I wish you could stay. The night. With me, I mean.”

A mischievous grin began to work its way across his mouth. His warm breath tickled her face. “I know what you meant, cowgirl. I wish I could too.”

“Soon?” She was ready to beg if need be. Somehow every negative consequence of their being together was outweighed by her need for him.

Van took her hands in his and squeezed. “Soon.”

“How?” She glanced around. Even though Jesse was gone for the day, there were other employee residences nearby. If someone saw them in this intimate position, the rumors would run rampant. And if Stella got her way, there’d be truth behind those rumors.

Taking a step back as if he could read her concerned thoughts, Van released her hands and sighed. “I don’t know exactly.” A smirk danced across his lips and heated her to her core. “Well, I know how as far as the technical aspects go. But how as in how the fuck we’ll do this without getting caught…that’s probably going to take some seriously strategic maneuvering.”

Stella’s mind whirled with the many strategic maneuvers she’d like to work out with this man. Her body began to tingle as the idea of him stripping her down and making her scream took hold.

“U-um, okay.” She breathed deeply. “I guess we should work on that then.”

Smoldering warmth radiating from his gaze, he leaned down. “Yeah. We should. And we will. Goodnight, cowgirl.”

Stella bit her lip, wondering what he’d do next. Would he kiss her goodnight? Turn and walk away, leaving her cold and alone on her doorstep?

“Goodnight, Mr. Ransom.” She smiled as he took a step forward, backing her against the door.

“Not yet. But it will be. Soon.” A light kiss on the cheek followed by a shiver-inducing breath against her skin surprised her, sending her heart into an out of rhythm frenzy.

He was rough. He was gentle. He was angry. He was kind.

He was everything.

Everything she wanted, needed, and probably shouldn’t have.

And soon, he would be hers.

“Transcribe them in order, noting all of the date and time information in the file first.”

Stella nodded as a pretty blond therapist handed her a stack of files and a small removable drive.

“Anything else?”

The woman paused thoughtfully and then nodded. “Yes, actually.” She lowered her voice as a nurse passed by. “The contents of these files are extremely privileged, as I’m sure you can imagine. As soon as you’ve documented the pertinent information for the files, proceed to the next one. And make sure this drive stays in your possession until you return it to me. As you know, we have a great deal of high-profile clients that value their privacy.”

Stella nodded again. “Yes, ma’am. Of course. I’ll get this done immediately.”

The woman’s crystal-clear blue eyes widened. “Dear God. Please don’t call me ma’am.”

Stella laughed. “Sorry. Habit.”

“Miranda. Feel free to call me Miranda.”

Stella promised that she would. The doctor thanked her and they parted ways. Just as Stella was exiting the office, pulling the door closed behind her, she accidentally shoulder-checked the man coming in. A familiar thrill ran through her.

“We’ve got to stop meeting like this,” Van said low, nearly in her ear.

Her entire body flushed from the unexpected contact. She hadn’t seen him since he’d left her alone and aching the night before.

“Um, yeah. You’re right. Excuse me, Mr. Walker.” She met his stare, and heat flared in his eyes.

“I don’t know what turns me on more. You saying that I’m right or calling me Mr. Walker.”

Stella glanced around to make sure no one else was in hearing distance. Day one and he was already blowing their cover. She did her best to keep her voice even, nonchalant.

“I could call you Mr. Ransom if you’d prefer.”

“I can think of lots of things I’d like you to call me, cowgirl. But we’ll get to that.”

The confidence in his expression turned her on and pissed her off. So she’d admitted she wanted him. But his writing her off as a foregone conclusion and being so brash about it ruffled her nerves a bit.

“Okay, then. Have a nice day,” she said, stepping quickly around him.

“It’s much nicer now,” he told her with a wink that effectively evaporated her annoyance with him.

Forcing herself not to grin like a giddy schoolgirl, she shook her head and walked away, tossing him a small warning glance with a smile over her shoulder. But the sweltering heat from his gaze on her backside made it difficult to focus for the rest of the day.

After hours of transcribing electronic files to paper ones for Dr. McLendon, Stella was eager to get down to the barn. She wasn’t sure if Van would be helping her that evening, but she damn sure hoped so.

Using her fingerprint to clock out, she wished a good evening to Celeste at the front desk and turned to leave. But what she saw coming their way—blowing toward them in the way a hurricane would—stopped her short.

A wild-looking woman with white-blond hair streaked through with black and deep violet strode purposefully forward on black spike-heeled boots that would’ve caused Stella to break her neck. Her fishnets encased shapely legs that seemed to be a mile long under a black leather miniskirt.

Stella suspected that this exotic creature was checking in. Probably a supermodel or musician. Cursive words Stella couldn’t make out inked up the woman’s slender arms. A diamond stud gleamed from the side of her nose. Her piercing blue eyes were soulful, as if she carried the world’s secrets in them.

Stella couldn’t have explained it if her life depended on it, but something about this woman had her feeling uneasy inside. As if somehow they were linked and didn’t know it. But that was impossible. Stella had never seen this woman before in her life.

“I’m looking for a patient here,” the woman barked at Celeste when she reached the desk. “Van Ransom. He may have checked in as John Walker.”

Jesus. Stella’s world pitched and rolled, the ground suddenly turning to liquid. She held the edge of the desk where she stood.

“Today isn’t a visiting day, I’m afraid,” Celeste informed her, allowing some of the air that had fled from Stella’s lungs to return. “But I can get a message to him that you’ve—”

“I’m his fiancée, and it’s actually urgent that I speak with him.”

Every single word hit Stella with the same force that a punch from him would’ve.

Fiancée? The main lobby spun around her as she forced a smile at both women. She couldn’t stick around and wait to find out if this woman got to see Van. She had no idea how much longer her thin grip on composure would hold.

But as she walked away, Celeste asked the creature what her name was. When the woman answered, Stella stopped in her tracks.

“Vanessa Reeves.”

Van’s voice echoed the name in her head. She was the same person he’d had removed from his list of family contacts. She knew because she’d removed her immediately upon his request.

“Celeste? Can I borrow you for just a second?” Stella called out while jerking her head to the side.

“One moment, Miss Reeves,” Celeste told Van’s unwelcome visitor. Once she’d stepped over to Stella, Stella nodded in the woman’s direction.

“He had her removed from his list of approved visitors. I don’t know who she is or if she’s really his fiancée, but I do know for a fact that he had her removed.”

“Great.” Celeste rolled her caramel-colored eyes and blew auburn bangs out of them. “She looks like the type that will take that news extremely well.”

Stella grimaced in sympathy. “I know. I’m sorry. Want me to page Dr. Ramirez and let him break the news to her?”

Celeste glanced over her shoulder to where Vanessa Reeves stood looking angry and impatient.

“Um, do you mind? I know you just clocked out and I hate to ask—”

“I don’t mind at all.” She told herself it was concern for respecting client wishes that was motivating her actions, but deep down she felt the strange new stir of jealousy that accompanied other women saying his name in that territorial tone.

After she’d used the phone on the front desk to page Dr. Ramirez to the front desk, she aimed what she hoped was a warm smile in Vanessa’s direction. “Our director will be here shortly to speak with you.”

Stella felt as if it were probably time for her to move along now. But Celeste stood so close their shoulders were practically touching, which led her to suspect that the younger girl needed her for moral support. Providing a united front and all that. Vanessa Reeves did have a glare on her face that made her wonder if the woman was considering procuring the sharpest object in reaching distance and stabbing her way through the two of them.

Thankfully Dr. Ramirez appeared before she made a move to act on the thoughts likely brewing behind murderous eyes.

“Yes, ma’am. How can I help you this evening?” he greeted her, nodding at Stella and Celeste as he approached.

“She’s asking to see John Walker,” Celeste informed him.

“I just flew to this Godforsaken place from Los Angeles and I’d like to see my fiancé. Sooner rather than later if that’s all right with you.”

Dr. Ramirez took the electronic tablet from Celeste, the one Stella knew probably had Van’s short list of approved visitors on it. He cleared his throat, glancing at the tablet and then at the woman growing increasingly fidgety by the second. She adjusted and readjusted the multiple metal bangles on her wrist as she waited for Dr. Ramirez to respond.

“I understand. And while I’m sure it’s simply an oversight, your name isn’t on Mr. Walker’s approved list of visitors. And even if it were, this is Wednesday, and visiting day is Sunday. I realize you’ve made quite the long trip. We can provide you with a list of local hotel accommodations if needed.”

Vanessa’s eyes narrowed at the man. Stella half-expected him to begin melting under her angry glare.

“He probably assumed I wouldn’t come since it’s so far from where we live. Hence why he left me off his list. But I can assure you, if he knew I was here, he’d want to see me.” So abruptly Stella almost missed it, the woman flashed her left hand, which, sure enough, held a sizable diamond ring on her finger.

Stella Jo cursed herself under her breath. How could she have been so stupid? He was engaged and planning to entertain himself by screwing around while he was here before heading back to reality and his soon-to-be wife.

She could hardly even begin to guess what Van Ransom would even want with her when he had this punk-rock supermodel waiting at home. She felt extremely bland in her black dress pants and vanilla-colored silk shirt. How dull she must look compared to this bold, louder-than-life person. If she wasn’t mistaken, the thin girl had surgically enhanced breasts. Easily two cup sizes larger than hers. Not that she was comparing or anything.

She would look right at home on Van’s arm. The perfect wife of a rock star. Stella would look like his publicist.

Forcing herself to swallow over the constricting lump in her throat, she nodded to Dr. Ramirez and shot a ‘good luck’ half-smile at Celeste before walking out the door.

She left her fantasy of breaking the rules with Van Ransom in the lobby with his fiancée.

Chapter Sixteen

“Mr. Ransom,” a male voice said as the door to his room opened slowly.

“Come on in,” Van called out from his couch.

His manager sat on the other end of the small sofa, and once the tall, Hispanic doctor entered, the room was sufficiently cramped. Van was looking forward to hitting his thirty days and getting moved to a private residence more every day.

The main reason for his impatience taunted him in his head. Her laugh, her lips, the beautiful hesitant smiles.

Whenever he caught glimpses of her in passing, she wasn’t typically smiling. But he’d consistently found ways to bring that sexy shade of pink to her cheeks and curve that luscious mouth of hers.

Those smiles belonged to him, and he treasured each and every one of them.

“Van? Did you hear what Dr. Ramirez just said?” His manager’s question pulled him reluctantly from a quickly forming fantasy about the many ways he wanted to feel her mouth on him.

“Sorry.” He shook his head as if that could even begin to clear the vivid images from his head. She was so ingrained in his mind that he caught the faintest hint of her sweet wildflower scent. He was fucking losing it. Once and for all. “Long day. What can I do for you, Dr. Ramirez?”

Glancing up, he noticed that the man looked kind of strange. His brow was creased, and he closed the door gently behind him.

“Mr. Walker, please know that we do our best to protect your privacy and respect your wishes.”

Van glanced at Sid, who shrugged. Clearly Van wasn’t the only one who didn’t have a clue what the man was talking about. He sincerely hoped it wasn’t anything to do with Stella. Unless the man was giving them his blessing, which he highly doubted.

“Okay. Thanks. I appreciate that,” he said, because what else was there to say?

The doctor cleared his throat. Loudly. “That being said, some instances simply can’t be avoided. Which is why you have an approved list of visitors that we adhere to strictly.”

“Yes, sir. I understand,” he said, nodding for him to continue. Van wasn’t sure where this was going, but judging from the way the man’s shoulders sagged, it wasn’t anyplace good.

“Unfortunately, if someone, say, a fiancée, wanted to make a surprise visit, this would become problematic for a multitude of reasons because—”

“Wait, what? Whose fiancée? I don’t have a fiancée.” Van stood, suddenly feeling dangerously claustrophobic in the tiny room. The gears in his brain began whirring so loudly he could barely hear his manager telling him to calm down as he advanced on the doctor. “I have an ex-fiancée, but I made it perfectly clear that she was to be removed from my list. I informed a care coordinator myself.”

Dr. Ramirez placed his hands up, his palms facing Van as if to hold him off should he launch a physical attack.

“I understand. And when Miss Chandler paged me, she explained that Miss Reeves had in fact been removed from your list per your request.”

Motherfucking son of a crazy-ass bitch.

Vanessa had found him and had likely spouted her delusional bullshit all over everyone. Everyone including Stella Jo Chandler apparently.

The image forming in his mind—Vanessa storming into SCR, throwing a hissy fit of her usual brand, and saying who the hell knew what in front of Stella—made him feel sick. He knew how far Vanessa’s delusions went. There had been times when she’d gotten so high she’d sworn she’d had detailed in-depth conversations with Val after she’d been dead for years.

Clearly she’d announced herself as his fiancée even though they’d only been engaged for a few months and that was over a year ago.

His heart pumped harder as it sank in that Vanessa might’ve destroyed every ounce of progress he’d made with Stella Jo Chandler.

“So the situation is handled then?” Sid asked.

Van had missed everything the two men had said except that. He was pretty sure the doctor confirmed that it was.

The fuck it was. Checking his watch, he saw that it was nearly seven. If Stella Jo was down at the barn convincing herself he had a fiancée, what did she think about everything he’d told her? About their brief time together? It was too fucking brief. He wasn’t done. Hell, he hadn’t even started. But he knew how stubborn she was. How little patience and tolerance she had for games and lies.

“I have to go,” he announced abruptly.

“Van, it’s handled. Just because she knows you’re here doesn’t mean she’ll—”

“No, I mean, I need to run down to the barn,” Van said, interrupting his manager. “I’ve been helping out down there and I just remembered I was supposed to handle a few things.”

Number one thing he wanted to handle was reassuring a certain beautiful brunette that he wasn’t engaged to a fucking lunatic. At least, not anymore.

Dr. Ramirez opened the door and nodded. “Well, crisis averted. I’m glad we didn’t offend someone dear to you. That would be the last thing we would want to do.”

Except they had. Or Vanessa probably had. Van nodded and forced out a breath. “Yeah. No harm, no foul.”

He wanted to trample the damn doctor to get him out of the way. But when brown eyes met his, Van was struck with a worrisome thought. Could this man possibly know that he was just heading down to the barn for Stella? No. No one could possibly know anything. There wasn’t much of anything to know. Yet. But he wanted to change that as soon as humanly possible.

“Please let us know if there’s anything else we can do for you, Mr. Walker,” Dr. Ramirez said as he lingered in the doorway.

You can get the fuck out of my way. “Thank you. I appreciate everything you’ve done already.”

With a nod, the man finally left.

Van turned to Sid with what he knew was probably sheer panic spinning wild patterns in his eyes. “I have to go.”

His manager scrubbed a hand over his bald head and sighed. “Anything I can say to change your mind?”

“Not a chance in hell.”

Leaning back on the couch, Sid let his head fall as he closed his eyes. “That’s what I was afraid you’d say.”

Van barely heard the last part. He was out the door and down the hall before the words were completely spoken.

Speed walking like a madman, Van made his way around a group of nurses who giggled as he passed. There was an elevator, but he didn’t have time for that so he sprinted down a back stairwell and navigated the maze that led him out the front doors of the building. No one was manning the sign-out desk so he didn’t bother.

Jogging out of the doors, he managed to hold off on breaking into a dead run until he was fairly certain no one could see him. The sun was setting quickly, and there was a light on in the stables.

She was in there, probably telling Shadowdancer what a colossal dick Van was. Not that he’d disagree with her. The horse was probably nodding along and plotting to flatten his ass next time he got close enough.

Slowing to a walk and catching his breath, Van approached the stables. Catching his breath had been pointless though. As soon as he saw her, she took his breath away, even more so than running had. Her back was to him, but the glow around her, the goodness and the emptiness that radiated from her, hit him just as hard as it did when she faced him head-on.

Her hair had been tied back when he’d seen her earlier that day. But now it hung long and most of the way down her back. The silky chestnut locks were mostly straight with just a little rebellious curl at the ends. Snug-fitting jeans hugged her perfect ass and those long, slender legs. The tips of her cowgirl boots peeked out from underneath.

She held a clipboard and seemed to be counting bags of feed. She knew he had joined her—he could tell by the way her shoulders had stiffened as the tension rolled across them. But she didn’t acknowledge him in any other way. She did, however, stop and love on Shadowdancer as she passed.

They had a connection. He could see it. Even before she leaned forward and kissed the damn thing on its oversized head. Never in his life had he been so jealous. And it was of a damned animal of all things. Shadowdancer huffed out a loud breath, raised his eyes to Van’s, and—Van could’ve sworn—chucked his chin at him as if to say, “Find your own girl, asshole.”

She loved that giant black beast. Clearly. Despite his moody and nearly abusive ways. A thought came unbidden into a dark corner of his mind. Could she ever love him that way? Unconditionally? Without judgment? With the capability of complete forgiveness for a lifetime of sins she’d be hard-pressed to even imagine?

Only one person had ever loved him that way, and it had been more than even she’d been able to handle.

He wanted to kick his own ass. They were so far from love that it was ridiculous to even think the word in her presence. He wasn’t sure he was even capable of it. Much less interested in finding it.

Suddenly he had no idea why he’d been in such a rush to get down here. What could he say? I’m not actually engaged anymore, so let’s resume our plans to fuck and forget each other.

What a pointless waste. And he was running out of energy for it all. It was the first time he’d ever thought about getting high in her presence. That hollow ache, that familiar acidic, internal corrosion that reminded him he’d never be good enough and would only taint someone as pure and beautiful as Stella Jo Chandler, began to consume him.

He had no clue what the hell he’d ever been thinking. This woman deserved a fairytale, a Prince Charming who’d ride in on one of these fucking four-legged creatures and sweep her off into a happily ever after. That wasn’t him. Could never he him.

He released an imprisoned breath. In a way, letting the fantasy of her go was a relief. He never could’ve lived up to what she’d expect or deserve. Well…maybe when it came to making her scream as he gave her orgasm after orgasm, he could have. Other than that, no fucking way.

But as she turned to the side and gifted him a glance at her profile, he couldn’t help but see how sad she looked. He noticed how the rounded swells of her breasts peeked at him from above the deep neckline of her white tank top also, but surprisingly, that wasn’t what caught his attention. Not entirely, anyways. It was the way her mouth was drawn downward, the way she chewed her bottom lip, almost like she was worried. And when she finally turned to face him, that light in her eyes—the one he usually credited himself for—was gone.

“I’m pretty much done for the night,” she said softly, avoiding his direct gaze. “I don’t really need you.”

The fuck she didn’t. Maybe she didn’t need him to help take inventory of supplies and shit, but this woman needed him. He wasn’t even sure in what way exactly. When her searching stare finally landed directly on him, he didn’t care if all she ever needed from him was raging orgasms. He’d give them to her—gladly. For as long as she’d let him.

“Stella Jo, listen, I—”

Her hand up stopped him mid-sentence. “I’m kind of tired, Van. It’s been an exhausting day. Thanks for coming down, but as you can see, everything’s already taken care of. Excuse me.”

Bullshit. She hadn’t been taken care of. Watching her force her shoulders back and her chin up, he suspected she’d never really been taken care of. By anyone. Likely she was the type that always took care of herself.

He’d never taken care of anyone before. He’d always been more the selfish type that remained oblivious to what other people needed. Look out for number one and all that. Because with the exception of Val, most everyone else seemed to be out for themselves. But he damn sure wanted to take care of this woman. In every way imaginable.

Remembering how she usually backed off when Shadowdancer got riled up—and the near disaster from the one time she hadn’t—Van decided to give her some space. Like that day with the nurse, she’d jumped to a conclusion that had pissed her off. Granted, Vanessa had probably shouted her lies from the fucking rooftop, so it was a natural conclusion to jump to. And while he hated hurting her, in a warped sort of way, it made his dick brutally hard that she was jealous. It also provoked a strange tightness in his chest, but he was ignoring that for the most part.

“What about you, Stella Jo? Are you taken care of?”

She raised an eyebrow as she passed him but exited the barn without a word.

Following her out of the stables, he kept a step behind as he walked her to her door. Like the overly obsessed creeper he was quickly becoming.

“Hey,” he said as she opened her door. “For the record, I’m not engaged.” He shrugged when she said nothing, and just stared at him impassively as if she couldn’t give two shits if he was engaged or not.

“Your personal life is none of my business.”

His hand struck out and caught the edge of her door before she could close it. “Okay. But I’m not and I haven’t been for a long time. I wanted you to know—whether you actually give a damn or not is up to you.”

“Okay,” she said quietly. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Stella Jo.”

He let go of the door and she closed it in his face with a gentle click.

She was mad. Or hurt. Or both. And quite possibly, she was done with him and their little flirtation altogether.

But her words from a few nights ago haunted him.

“But now, after…after that… If we don’t, if you never so much as touch me again, I’m afraid I’ll lose my mind.”

Then that would make two of them.

Chapter Seventeen

Stella Jo was functioning on autopilot.

It was her fourth twelve-hour shift in a row, and she was running out of steam. After tossing and turning all night, picturing Van Ransom and Rock Star Barbie together, she’d barely gotten a few hours of sleep. And even then, he’d invaded her dreams.

For the past few hours, she’d preserved the miniscule amount of energy she possessed by performing her job-related tasks without talking or smiling or maintaining her usual forced demeanor. She was communicating like a cavewoman, primarily with head nods.

She took another stack of files from Dr. McLendon and handed over the ones she’d completed transcribing.

“Feeling okay, Miss Chandler?” the blonde asked before Stella walked away.

“Stella, please.” Irritated that she’d let her Van Ransom-induced exhaustion show, she painted on the widest smile she could. “Oh, yes. Just a little preoccupied is all. Lots to do before the weekend.”

The therapist sighed. “Tell me about it.” She offered Stella a sympathetic smile, and Stella noticed that the woman looked a little sad. Maybe that smile was more empathetic than sympathetic.

“You okay, Miranda?”

Quickly brightening in a way Stella suspected was forced, she nodded. “Yeah, it’s just… You know. When you live where you work, sometimes it’s like you’re always carrying it around. The stress, the pressure, the never-ending to-do list.”

Stella agreed wholeheartedly. “You live on-site also? I’m in the Homestead cabin, near the stables. I help out with the horses.”

It was the most words she’d spoken all day. The woman had the kind of eyes that made Stella feel comfortable sharing. Which wasn’t really something she did with anyone. Well anyone without four legs and a tail.

“I’m in the Wild Catter, whatever the hell that is.”

Both women chuckled. But as soon as he entered the room, Stella felt her muscles tighten, felt the tension pulling her hard enough to cause physical pain.

“Be right with you, Mr. Walker,” the doctor called over her shoulder.

“I should let you get back to work. Nice chatting with you.” Stella pushed the constricting lump down her throat and nodded her goodbye.

“Hey, you want to grab a drink sometime in the near future? Away from this place?” Miranda inquired too low for anyone else to hear.

Stella nodded. “Yeah, that sounds great actually.”

“Thank God. I don’t know how many more bottles of Merlot I can polish off alone before I have to check myself in.”

Surprisingly, Stella grinned for real this time. She had a feeling she and Miranda McLendon had a lot in common. She’d seen the attractive woman sitting alone at lunch and wondered what her story was. Looked like she was going to find out. And make a friend. Though the last friend she’d had ended up in bed with her ex-boyfriend.

She did her best to keep her eyes off of Van’s face as she moved toward him on her way out of the office.

Apparently he didn’t approve of being ignored. A warm hand encircled her wrist as she passed.

“You have dark circles under you eyes, cowgirl.” His observation was quiet but his voice was laced with inexplicable anger. “I can’t help but think they have something to do with me.”

Jerking her hand from his grasp, she whispered angrily right back at him. “That’s because you’re exceptionally arrogant and self-centered. Now if you’ll excuse me, Mr. Walker.”

Her body heated as she stalked angrily away from him. She prayed it was just his gaze on her and that her one chance at female friendship hadn’t just witnessed that inappropriate encounter.

By the time the weekend finally arrived, Stella was still struggling to sleep peacefully for an entire night. She’d given in and dove headfirst into the murky waters of the Internet to look up Vanessa Reeves online. Sure enough, several pictures of her and Van surfaced quickly.

Front Man Proposes to High School Sweetheart On Stage was the only headline she read before she closed the screen and stopped herself from falling any further into her personal pit of pathetic.

“Christ, you look like hell.” Jesse Ramirez wore pure concern on his handsome face when she walked into the stables.

“People sure are honest around here,” she noted.

Jesse shook his head and shooed her out of the barn. “Go. Take a long bath. Get some rest.”

Unable to arouse the enthusiasm needed to make a decent argument, she thanked him and made her way back to her cabin. But even after a long, hot bath, she didn’t feel tired. She felt…restless.

She’d chatted with Miranda a few more times in passing at work. It was Friday night, about time she took the woman up on her offer to go out for drinks. She wanted to get as far from SCR as she could, give herself some space and time to get past what Van had probably already forgotten.

After she’d texted Miranda and made plans, she put on a short, black lace dress that hugged her just enough to give her a little of her sexy back. She let her hair air dry, tired of constantly straightening it for work. The tousled look fit her restless mood better anyway. After a quick attempt at a smoky eye and some mascara, she intentionally skipped applying lipgloss, knowing she’d just smear it off on the glasses of wine she planned to consume. After sliding on a black leather jacket, she stepped into her black stilettos. Strangely, they were much more comfortable when she knew she was heading out for a night of female bonding instead of off to work.

“Well, damn. Now I feel frumpy,” Miranda said as Stella walked out her front door. “Are we going to drink and hang out or are we trying to get laid? You have to clarify these things up front so I can dress appropriately.”

Stella laughed as she locked her door. “Let’s see where the night takes us. You were right about living where you work. I need a night out. Badly.”

Despite her comment, Stella noticed that the other woman looked gorgeous. She was one of those naturally fresh-faced women who didn’t need much of anything to be stunning. A burgundy, blousy belted shirt and some skinny jeans made her look like a runway model.

“You, my friend, are anything but frumpy,” she told her as they got into the doctor’s car.

Surprisingly, the Roadhouse Bar & Grille wasn’t far from SCR. After a drive in which they mostly discussed their respective musical preferences, they arrived in a gravel parking lot.

“I think we’re both overdressed,” Stella said as they climbed concrete cinderblock steps to the bar’s entrance.

“Eh. You’ll see.” Miranda held the door, her bright blue eyes shining in the neon lights on the front.

Stepping inside, Stella saw a packed bar, a few booths, some scattered tables, and several men playing pool. It had kind of a laid-back vibe but a couple clusters of women were dressed to the nines as if they expected to meet their future husbands here. Some were more casual, like Miranda. While a handful had on jeans and tank tops—similar to what Stella wore to take care of the horses. She even spotted a few wearing boots and plaid like most of the men.

“This place is a meat market,” Miranda informed her with an eye roll. “But they have the best barbecue nachos in the universe. And a decent wine list.”

Stella wasn’t entirely sure what a meat market was, though asking seemed like an obnoxiously naïve move so she didn’t. But as they polished off a mile-high pile of nachos and a bottle of Chianti, she began to figure it out.

People came here mostly to hook up. The later it got, the more people began pairing off. One particular couple, a raven-haired woman in a business suit and a tatted- up cowboy who was buff enough to be one of those cage fighter guys, caught her attention and sent a painful thrumming through her head. The woman had a hand firmly on his ass as they exited the bar.

Apparently opposites did attract. She couldn’t deny that. She’d experienced it for herself. Was still experiencing it, if she were being honest with herself.

“So are we going to talk about you and the infamous Mr. Walker or…” The blonde grinned at her from across their back-corner table.

“Oh God.” Stella rubbed her forehead and tried not to die of humiliation. “Caught that, did you?” She grimaced at her companion’s amused expression.

“Well, I have eyes, you know.” Leaning in closer, Miranda sipped her wine. “Look, I’m not judging. And obviously I can’t really say much about him other than be careful.”

Stella sipped her own wine—drained the rest of the glass, actually—and nodded. Glancing around to make sure no one else from work was there, she paused to choose her words carefully. Miranda seemed nice enough, but in Stella’s previous experience, trusting people hadn’t always turned out so well.

“We haven’t… I mean, it’s not like we’ve actually done what it probably seems like we have.” Shit. Now she just sounded stupid. Like a teenage girl denying high school rumors. She sighed. “We aren’t sleeping together. It never got that far. There’s something about him, though… Something that scrambles my brain and throws me completely off balance. But I don’t want to lose my job, you know?”

The woman nodded. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to accost you or anything. It’s truly none of my business.”

“No,” Stella said, shaking her head. “I didn’t think you were accosting me. Honestly, if you know a way to shut down your hormones and ignore an extremely enticing man with the intensity of a herd of raging bulls, I’d love to hear it.”

A male voice with a deep Southern twang interrupted their conversation. “Ladies, can I get you a refill?”

Stella looked up at the tall stranger in tight jeans and a cowboy hat.

“We’re good, handsome. But thanks. Enjoy your evening,” Miranda said with a wink, giving him the most polite brush-off Stella had ever heard.

The stranger tipped his hat and continued on his way to the bar.

“That was pretty smooth,” Stella said with admiration. She’d never been able to handle situations like that very well. Typically she stammered and stuttered until the guy either got bored and walked away or forced a drink she didn’t want into her hand.

“Yeah, well. I’m a therapist. You give a compliment with the rejection and it doesn’t sting as much.”

“I feel like there is much to learn from you, wise one,” Stella said, only half joking.

“Yes, young grasshopper. Watch and learn. Although, in hindsight, maybe I should’ve let him buy us another bottle.”

Both women giggled as they eyed the now empty bottle of wine.

“Would you be totally disgusted if I licked the plate?” Stella nodded to the sweet and spicy barbecue sauce remaining on the plate.

Her friend laughed. “That should take care of any more unwanted male attention.” She glanced around. “Nah, it’d actually probably send some of them right on over.”

“Yeah right.” Stella wiped her mouth and hands with her napkin and sighed. “So you already know I’m lusting after a man I can’t have. What’s your story?”

At that, the consistently even-keeled woman’s eyes went wide. “Oh, you don’t want to know.” She waved her hand between them, but Stella could tell that the nonchalance was feigned. She’d perfected that very same act herself.

“Sure I do. But only if you want to share. I know we don’t know each other very well, but the only ears I’d be in danger of repeating your story to are firmly attached to a thousand-pound horse named Shadowdancer.”

“Shadowdancer?”

“He’s my therapist,” Stella informed her without cracking a smile.

“Ah.” Miranda took a deep breath. “Well, since I’m guessing Shadowdancer is a pretty good confidant, I can tell you that once upon a time I was very young, and very stupid.”

“Weren’t we all?” Stella said softly. Due to her new friend’s profession and her guarded demeanor, she suspected that Miranda typically did more listening than talking. She felt honored that the woman was opening up to her.

“Oh, I was exceptional at it.” The woman’s silky blond hair swayed gently as she shook her head. “Travis Clanton was a bull rider, and a damn good one. Even in high school, he was let onto a professional circuit. I would’ve followed that boy anywhere.”

“Was he cute?”

“Good God, he was sex personified.” Miranda’s ivory cheeks pinked. “But you know, boys like that…”

Again, Stella felt like the Queen of Naïveland.

“Have trouble staying faithful,” she finished for her edification. “But that wasn’t even the problem.”

Stella couldn’t imagine how that wouldn’t be a problem. It would always be a deal breaker for her.

The dreamy light faded from Miranda’s clear blue eyes as they clouded over. “He got hurt. Badly. Several times. But he was young, and his family needed the money. So he started taking painkillers so that he could keep riding.”

Stella felt like the air had been sucked out of her lungs by a high-powered vacuum. “Oh,” she breathed out.

“Yeah.” Moisture began to well in the woman’s eyes. “So I made him choose. The pills, the girls, the booze, and the bulls…or me.” She shrugged as she dabbed at her eyes with a cocktail napkin.

“He chose them,” Stella said quietly, the residual pain from her friend slowly seeping over to her.

“I don’t know.” Miranda swallowed hard. “He OD’d in a hotel in Tulsa before he told me what he’d decided.”

Oh God. Sheer panic gripped her. Talk about an unexpected turn. She hadn’t expected the woman’s story to end that way. She’d thought they were going to get more wine and toast to men being assholes.

She didn’t know how to comfort people. Not being in the habit of confiding in others, she was usually glad that they returned the favor. She spoke in the soothing voice she was used to using with Shadowdancer.

“I’m so sorry, Miranda. I can’t even begin to imagine what that must’ve been like for you.”

“Dear Lord, I didn’t mean to turn Girls’ Night Out into a pity party. Sorry.” She huffed out a breath. “He’s been gone eight years. But he’s why I took this job after finishing medical school. If I can help someone before they lose their life—and before the people who love them lose them to addiction—then I want to be in their corner for that fight.”

Stella nodded. A shameful heat burned in her cheeks. That was an awfully noble reason for working at SCR. She’d just been mostly hiding out from home.

“Have you, um, dated anyone since then?”

Her friend’s gaze dipped downward. “Not exactly. I’ve um, hooked up, I guess you could say, with a few guys just to blow off steam. But no, nothing serious.”

“You look so young. Eight years seems like—”

“I’m twenty-seven. I’ll be thirty before you know it,” Miranda told her. “But thanks for the compliment. What are you? Twenty-two? Twenty-three?”

“I’ll be twenty-three in a few weeks.”

“We’ll have to go out again to celebrate. Can I give you some unsolicited advice from someone who wishes someone would’ve given her some at twenty-two?”

Stella smiled, grateful that Miranda seemed slightly lighter after getting her story off her chest. And that she wanted to hang out again. “Sure. Shadowdancer sucks at advice.”

Her friend grinned, but then her expression went deathly serious. “If you are just lusting after him, give it two months until he’s out of SCR and meet up and get him out of your system when it won’t cost you your job.”

Stella bit her lip. Two months left meant he’d hit his thirty days. Thirty days meant he’d been moved into one of the private residences and out of the main facility. Two months had never seemed so long. This past week alone had felt like torture. Like someone had breathed life into her and then stolen it right back.

“But if it’s more than that,” Miranda continued, “like maybe you want to pursue more than one night with him, then put your two-weeks notice in and tell him how you feel. Sooner rather than later.”

Stella opened her mouth to deny that this was even in the realm of possibility, but her friend wasn’t finished.

“Maybe that seems extreme. But you don’t always get a tomorrow, Stella. Believe me I know.” Her eyes began to fill again. “Everything ends one way or another. Love, lust, life. And when it’s over, when it’s all said and done, it will be the things you didn’t say that will haunt you.”

Van’s face, those intense ocean-in-a-storm eyes of his, flashed in her mind. She wanted to see him. Right then. So damn badly. It was worse than want. It was need.

Both women were quiet as they drove back to SCR. When they parked in the designated employee area, Miranda turned to her, glancing down at the fingers Stella had knotted in her purse strap.

“Well this was fun. Sorry I’m such a bowl of sunshine. I’ll try to tamp it down next time.”

A nervous giggle escaped Stella’s throat. “Honestly, this was the most fun I’ve had…maybe ever. So I’m not sure what that says about me, but I bet you could have a hell of a time psychoanalyzing my dysfunction.”

“Nah, I’m off the clock,” her friend said with a wink. “Hey, Stella?”

Half out of Miranda’s car, she glanced back to see if she’d forgotten something.

“I can’t say much without risking my job—patient confidentiality and all that—but I’m pretty sure you’re going to risk yours, so I have to say something.”

“Okay.”

“What I said about struggling to overcome addiction being like fighting a battle? He’s fighting a bad one. Worse than most of the folks here. So…just know that if you’re going to stand in his corner, you need to commit to staying in it. You’re probably going to get a few bystander injuries if you get too close.”

Stella nodded to acknowledge that she’d heard the woman loud and clear.

She’d heard the warning. She had. But picturing Van fighting a battle with an invisible enemy he couldn’t see made her stomach turn. Because she was pretty sure he was fighting alone, the corner behind him heartbreakingly empty.

It went against everything she knew that made sense. But the knowledge that he needed her to be in that corner was soul deep.

Chapter Eighteen

Van was much more comfortable in his new living arrangement. Granted, his penthouse apartment in LA it wasn’t. And the fucking buffalo head above the fireplace wasn’t exactly his style, but he and Dave—that’s what he’d named the buffalo—weren’t doing too badly for themselves.

A small kitchenette, which he had no plans to cook in, took up one corner. A round wooden table and chairs separated that from the living area, which was really just a brown leather couch, a fireplace, and a flat screen. A decent-sized bed that was a hell of a lot more comfortable than the one in his initial room had been took up most of the floor space. A tiny bathroom with a stand-up shower stall was all that was beyond that.

It was only his second night alone in what tiny bit of privacy the facility allowed, but he felt like he could breathe. There was just the one thing. The bed.

It wasn’t built for one like his bed in the main facility. No, this one could easily fit two. Or more. In his past life, he’d have seen how many nurses he could fit in it at the same time. But in this life, it was the image of one woman writhing in that bed in all her naked glory that taunted the ever-loving shit out of him.

Since Vanessa had made her grand appearance, Stella Jo had barely looked at him. Her avoidance was affecting him in a way that no other woman had. He wanted her to look, wanted to see that ravenous need flash in those gorgeous eyes, ached to watch those luscious lips of hers part in surprise when he told her what he wanted to do to her.

So far he’d just watched TV, perused the Field & Stream magazines under the coffee table, and then lay in bed reenacting the one time she’d claimed his mouth like she was competing to become the world champion of tongue kissing. Fuck. Even thinking about her tongue sent him down the painful blue-ball spiral of doom.

After he’d showered and brushed his teeth, clear eyes stared back at him from mirror over the bathroom sink.

Swiping the condensation from the mirror so he could get a better look, he sighed. Sure, he’d been sober thirty days. And he was even doing his damnedest to behave during therapy sessions. But no matter what he did, that man in the mirror would remain the same. Damaged with a fucked-up past. The demons peeked over his shoulder, reminding him that Stella Jo Chandler was a hell of a lot better off without him.

Or is she? the demon of selfish destruction whispered in his ear.

Sometimes she looked so lost, so empty. Like maybe she needed him, needed someone rough and vehement like him who’d give it to her how she needed, who wouldn’t judge her no matter what, and who would always want and accept her.

He couldn’t imagine anything that could make him want her less. If anything, the closer they’d gotten, the more he wanted to know. She was the one drug he’d never get enough of. Never be able to force himself to detox out of his system.

The past few nights he’d been told by Jesse that things were handled and he wasn’t needed in the barn. He’d been sent to do other tasks, like clear out fallen tree branches on the riding trail and clean out a shed way out on the property.

He’d seen a stream with a small bridge over it, and the first thought in his head was, Stella Jo would love this.

What the fuck was that about? Really?

He wasn’t the kind of man who had those thoughts. His thoughts about women were limited to Yes, I’d like to fuck that one and No, I would not like to fuck that one. And usually, once he was free of his manacled mind via his usual cocktail of coke and bourbon, they all fell into the ‘free to suck his dick’ category.

He was pretty sure a line had formed once.

His mind danced around like a boxer in a ring. Corner to corner. Back and forth. Past and present.

He’d tried to come up with something, some way to get her to talk to him, to let him explain about Vanessa. He’d research and explain quantum physics if that’s what it would take to get her to listen. But explaining about Vanessa always led to explaining about Val, which would lead to explaining about himself, and shit on that shit. No way she was ready for all that.

If he told her everything, the dark memories that fueled his addictions, she’d probably jump on Shadowdancer and ride him as far away as the beast could run.

Just as he settled on the couch to watch whatever was on one of the nine channels he actually got, a gentle knock rapped lightly on his door. He hit the mute button on the remote and the time appeared on the flat screen. It was after ten. Who the hell would come knocking this late?

Dropping the remote and adjusting his boxer briefs, he contemplated putting on pajama pants. But hell, it was late by facility standards. Whoever would come around this time of night would just have to deal.

The more he thought about it though, the more he suspected it might be someone who would prefer him in less clothing. If it was one of the groupies he’d somehow amassed here, he just wouldn’t answer. Yanking on a pair of black pajama pants, he heard another knock. It was slightly firmer this time.

“Hold on a damn second,” he muttered under his breath. Thankfully his door had a peephole. As soon as he glanced out of it, he realized he must’ve already been asleep. Clearly he was dreaming.

Stella Jo Chandler stood on his small wooden porch looking like a wet dream come to life.

Van opened the door without a word. He just propped on it and waited for her to tell him what in the actual fuck she was doing there and why she wanted to kill him. Surely she knew how he felt. He’d thrust his rock-hard cock against her during one of their last encounters for God’s sake. So showing up like this, in a tight-ass dress with fuck-me heels on was obviously an attempt at his undoing. It was working.

Eyeing her long bronze legs and that perfect spot between her thighs where the skirt ended—the one he wanted to explore with his hands, tongue, and his dick—was rapidly destroying him. He was mere seconds from falling to his knees and begging her to tell him what he could do to make any and all of those fantasies a reality when she spoke.

“I don’t want you to be alone in your corner.”

Van tilted his head as if looking at her from a different angle would help that make sense.

“I get it now. It’s…it’s a fight. A battle. I don’t want you to fight alone in your corner.” The words came out slightly slurred. So she’d been drinking. Well, if alcohol lowered her inhibitions and loosened her lips, he’d take what he could get. He wouldn’t be acting out any of his dirty thoughts as long as she wasn’t in her right mind to decide, but he’d take an inebriated Stella over no Stella at all.

“I see. Would you like to come in?”

Hesitation flickered in those beautiful eyes. “It might not be allowed,” she whispered like they were little kids with a secret.

He whispered conspiratorially as well. “It probably isn’t. But I’m thinking it’d be safer to talk inside instead of risking someone seeing you on my doorstep past your bedtime.”

“I don’t have a bedtime, silly.” Stella giggled as she stepped inside, and Van was pretty damn certain it was the sexiest sound he’d ever heard. His dick had taken notice as well. Great. This was going to be an exercise in restraint. Those were always fun.

“Uh, I’d offer you something to drink, but all I have is bottled water.”

Once she was inside, Stella seemed to realize where she was. Her cheeks darkened past pink to crimson. “I’m not thirsty.” Her eyes met his and she licked her lips.

He had no idea what had gotten into her, but he wasn’t one to complain.

“So what can I do for you, Miss Chandler?” He had some ideas. But he figured it was best to let her say whatever she wanted to get off her intoxicated mind.

“I’ve been unfair to you and…” Her gaze shifted off of him and on to some unidentifiable point in the distance. “And no one’s guaranteed tomorrow, right?” Before he could agree, she rushed on. “And I don’t know what to do because I’m so screwed up and I don’t want to put that on someone in rehab who already has enough to deal with. You know what I mean?” Her eyes met his in search of understanding.

Van scratched his head. “Can’t say I’m completely with you, cowgirl. But I’m trying to keep up.”

She huffed out a breath the way someone on the verge of a hissy fit would. Like that temperamental horse she liked so much. She was pretty damn cute when she was drunk.

“If you say you’re not engaged, then I should believe you. Because who am I? It’s not like my opinion matters so much that you’d waste all that energy lying to me.” A worry line appeared between her eyebrows. “But that girl looked like…like she belonged with you. And I look like, like…” Helpless eyes met his, and he felt the roaring flames flaring in his chest.

Her opinion doesn’t matter? Her opinion was the only one that mattered. When the hell had that happened? Using a finger to tilt her chin up, he stared into her eyes until he’d penetrated the hazy layer of her buzz.

“I am not engaged. And for the record, you look like the most gorgeous woman I’ve ever laid eyes on.”

There it was. That little gaspy, mouth-opening thing she did.

“Van.”

“Stella.”

A small fit of laughter burst from her. “Van and Stella. VanStella. Vanella!”

He rolled his eyes and shook his head before stepping farther into her personal space. “Babe, I can guarantee nothing we do together will be vanilla.”

That sobered her laughter immediately.

“They say you’re a madman,” she breathed, unfiltered panic lighting that gorgeous gaze. “You break stuff, trash hotel rooms and tour buses, and—”

“I know what they say, sweetheart. Some of it might be true. Question is, do you believe it? And how much do you really care?”

Exposed vulnerability poured out of her eyes when she returned his stare. “I believe you could wreck me. I believe you could make me feel things, things I’d never want to stop feeling. And then…my heart. I’m afraid you’d trash it just like those hotel rooms and tour buses.”

He had to pull every ounce of inner strength he had to his core to keep from stumbling backwards.

She wasn’t offering to be a quick lay. Or even a one-night stand neither of them would ever forget.

She’d gone and mentioned her heart.

He’d told her that once he fucked her, she’d belong to him. But he’d also chalked that up to his territorial male testosterone-fueled libido talking. Looking at her now, he realized it was more than that. The thought of fucking her once or even twice and then allowing her to move on to some other asshole was incomprehensible.

“Know what else I’m afraid of?” she asked before he had time to respond.

“What’s that?” he choked out despite the invisible hands keeping a stranglehold on his throat.

“Not feeling. Not risking it. Playing it safe and never seeing you again. Spending the rest of my life wondering.”

“Stella Jo, I… Dammit.” He stepped back and rubbed a hand over his head. He didn’t miss the wounded look that flickered across her face. But what the hell? Her heart? How could he ask her to trust him with something so precious? He was in rehab because he couldn’t take care of his own ass for fuck’s sake.

The sweet column of exposed flesh above her breasts tightened as she swallowed.

“I-I’m a foolish woman,” she stammered, backing towards the door. “I had too much to drink tonight. I shouldn’t have come. Sorry.”

Watching her pull away caused him physical pain. Somehow, even in the short time they’d known one another, she’d latched on to something inside of him and was tearing it out as she went. Just as she turned on her heel, Van grabbed her elbow and whirled her around to face him.

“Oh no, cowgirl. You don’t get to just leave like this.”

“I don’t?”

Van grinned. “No, ma’am. That’s the thing about Texas, from what I hear. Guests get treated with respect.”

Her eyebrows dipped as she regarded him warily.

“So, you say what you came to say. Come on, cowgirl. What happened to ‘I’ve dealt with animals bigger than you’? Don’t go shy on me now.”

Her eyes narrowed.

His gaze dropped to her proudly displayed breasts as she shoved her shoulders back. He couldn’t decide if he loved that dress or hated it. He loved the way it showcased her perfect body for him, hated knowing she’d been out drinking with other motherfuckers getting to see it.

“Okay then. I will.” Her chin jutted out, and he grinned.

“Let’s hear it.” Folding his arms over his bare chest, he smiled wider when he noticed her own eyes struggling to stay north of his neck.

“The way I see it, we have two options. Either I put in my notice and quit my job so that whatever is going to happen between us doesn’t get you kicked out and get me fired or we wait until you’re out of here to give in.”

“Give in to what, darlin’?”

“To how badly you want to fuck me,” she said evenly. And then she quietly added, “And how badly I want to let you.”

Van’s mom was catholic, but he had no idea if there was a patron saint of being owned. If there was, he needed to pray to it. Immediately. Maybe St. Jude would listen. Because right then, he was a lost cause if ever there was one. Any hope he’d had of protecting Stella Jo Chandler from himself had flown right out the fucking window.

Van cleared his throat. “What if we take it slow? One day at a time. See where this leads us,” he suggested, wrapping his arms around her. “Maybe you don’t have to quit your job and we don’t have to torture ourselves for two long months. Maybe we’re just…careful.”

Well there was a word he’d never used. Careful was the exact opposite of the kind of approach he had on living. He could hardly believe he was the one suggesting that they take things slow.

“Careful?” Those eyes of hers met his, and he felt his grip on control slipping. He wasn’t sure he was even capable of being careful with this woman. She’d ignited something powerful and all consuming within him.

He nodded, but it was as if the fucking floor had been torn out from beneath him. His sexual encounters usually occurred when he was wasted. Liquor gave him an all-night hard-on and coke made him blissfully numb. If some overzealous groupie wanted to give it a go at sucking him off until she got lockjaw, well who was he to deny her? He hadn’t actually taken a woman to bed in the traditional sense in a very long time. And it had been Vanessa, who liked it angry and punishing. There had always been that disconnect with them, because for her sex had been about pain. About body parts and sensations.

Not that he would mind tying Stella Jo up and punishing her a little for their mutual enjoyment. But this was…more. More than what he’d come to expect. No one had ever offered him her heart before. And if they had, he would’ve probably fumbled it.

With Stella Jo in his arms, this gloriously guarded and enticingly vulnerable woman offering not just her body but her heart to him? To his screwed-up self? It was too much. He was torn between wanting to devour her immediately, savor every inch of her body inside and out, or kick her the fuck out before he ruined her like he did everything and everyone else.

“Van,” she said, pulling him out of his head with his name thick in her mouth and soft on her tongue.

“You’ve been drinking, cowgirl. And as much as I want to carry you over to my bed and fuck any questions about other women right out of you, I’d feel better if you made this decision sober.”

A soft growl, one an angry kitten might make, came from her lips and he smiled.

“Need me to take the edge off, baby? I’d be happy to help.” Before she could respond, he lowered her into one of his dining table chairs and dropped to his knees.

“Van? What are you—”

Her sentence was cut short as he reached between her thighs and divested her of a very enticing black lace thong. Damn, that was hot. Every time he thought she couldn’t turn him on anymore, she ratcheted his blood to boiling.

“I’m keeping these,” he said, tucking them into the pocket of his flannel pants.

Her eyes widening in what looked like an even mixture of terror and desire, she watched as he used both hands to spread her thighs apart as far as he could without causing her pain. Her leg muscles were tense, so he massaged her inner thighs until she relaxed.

“Pretty sure I’m sober now,” she informed him quietly.

He chuckled. “That so? Well, just to be on the safe side, how about just a taste for now?”

He heard her breath hitch in her throat.

“May I have a taste, Stella Jo?”

Her chest heaved noticeably when he looked up to ensure that he had her full permission.

She nodded, the fear still present as she watched him. Was she afraid of having an orgasm? He had no idea. But a fierce desire to make her come so hard she spoke in tongues possessed him before he could question her.

Her skin always held a faint scent of wildflowers and something sweet and savory. He suspected it was her lotion or whatever girly shit she used in the shower. But between her thighs was pure sweet honey. The scent hit his nostrils as he dipped his head and triggered a reaction so powerful he could barely contain it.

His tongue darted out and teased folded skin that was closed to him. Fuck this. The seat of the chair was greedily keeping her delectable opening for itself.

Grabbing her roughly, propelled by desires he was quickly losing complete control of, he lifted her onto the kitchen table.

“There. That’s better,” he said, grinning at her alarmed expression. Using her knees to pull her forward so he had the best access, he spread her apart until her swollen center was exposed to him.

He fell in deep love with her closely shaved and petite pussy at first sight.

“Aw. You shaved for me.”

A hint of a smile teased at her lips. “Perhaps.”

Van dipped his head between her thighs once more. “Mmm, good girl. Guess I should reward you for that.”

Before she could utter a single syllable, he shoved his tongue full force straight up the center of her. She even tasted like honey. A savory sweetness that drove him wild. Pressing his fingers into her inner thighs, he spread them apart until she cried out.

This would be a thorough job. She’d need to be as wide as she could stand.

His tongue danced around her clit, circling it, teasing it, until she was panting. Glancing up, he saw that she’d relinquished control to him completely. ’Bout fucking time.

Her head was thrown back and her breasts pointed to the heavens as her body bowed for him.

“Mmm, I think you’re my favorite flavor, Stella Jo.” He slid a finger into her tight, wet, opening and almost cried out as loud as she did. “And lucky for you, I have an addictive personality. So I’m probably going to need a taste every damn day.”

Her arms thrashed roughly the solid table as he slid another finger in.

“Sound good, baby?” he asked, pausing to stroke the insides of her folds with his tongue a few more times.

Her answer was a whimper, a desperate cry of pleasure laced with pain. She was on the brink and he wanted to take her right over the fucking edge.

“I didn’t catch that, cowgirl. Was that a yes?”

“Yes, God. Van, fuck. Yes.”

Her pleasure had his dick throbbing, but he’d have to deal. Tonight was about her. She’d been the one to come knocking, and she would damn well get what she’d come for.

He chuckled against her exposed clit. “That’s what I like to hear.”

Thrusting his two fingers in harder with each reentry, he did what he knew would give her the release she needed. The one her body was so obviously craving. After one more deep tonguing lap around her clit, he took the throbbing mound of flesh into his mouth and sucked. Hard.

His fingers took her higher, deeper, while she moaned and pleaded. She was begging. He could hear it but he didn’t know what she wanted specifically at the moment. It was just a steady breathless stream of “Pleasepleasepleaseplease” on repeat.

He hoped like hell it was please don’t stop or please keep going, because no way was he quitting now. She’d have to knee him in the face and knock him unconscious if she wanted to deprive his mouth of her.

When her hips began gyrating off the table, thrusting her against his face, the beast in him took over and he raked his teeth over her sensitive flesh.

“Come while I tongue fuck you, cowgirl. Give me that sweetness. I’m dying for it.”

He flattened his tongue and stroked her relentlessly as her walls clenched the ever-loving piss out of his fingers.

Pulling his heavily drenched fingers out, he sucked them into his mouth. Her eyes met his and she was gone. Fucking animal kingdom gone. Completely wild and no longer a part of the human race. Just a mass of trembling nerves and need and want.

He winked at her. Then he drove his tongue as hard as he could into her throbbing opening over and over while rubbing his fingers roughly around her clit.

When the screaming began, he pressed harder, sucked harder.

But then he had a startling realization. She was screaming. So, fuck yeah, he was the man. But also, someone might hear. The private residences were too close together to be truly private. He’d promised to be careful, not cost her this job.

Reaching up, he covered her mouth with his free hand as she finished coming on his tongue.

After he’d licked and kissed her gently down from the most intense orgasm he’d ever had the pleasure of witnessing, he pulled her dress back down over her thighs. He lifted her nearly lifeless body into his arms. She was practically purring as he carried her to the couch.

Lowering himself onto the couch beside her, he took her still-trembling body in his arms. She was still twitching a little from the aftershocks.

“Damn you taste good, cowgirl,” he told her once she’d ridden out the remaining violent waves of ecstasy. “Here, taste.” Ignoring her wide eyes, he pressed his mouth onto hers and dipped his tongue inside.

She clamped her legs around him and gripped his biceps hard enough to hurt. The way she dug her fingers in, as if she were holding on to him for dear life, made him ache to be inside her.

“Made up your mind yet?”

She pulled back from their kiss, still panting enough to make his entire life. “About?”

“Whether or not you believe the rumors. About me. Be honest.”

An impish grin lifted her lips. “Well, I can say with absolute certainty that you are, in fact, a madman.”

“That’s what they tell me, sweetheart.” He brushed his lips against hers to show her that, even as crazed as he was, madman or not, he could be gentle too—if that’s what she needed.

“Van…I need you,” she breathed. “Soon.”

The plea soothed every open wound he’d nursed for as long as he could remember. She needed him. And unlike the last woman who’d needed him, the one he’d failed miserably, he would be what Stella Jo Chandler needed. He would keep this one safe.

“You’ll have me. Soon. We’ll just have to be careful. I don’t want to cost you your job, cowgirl.”

She nodded. His eyes met hers and he saw it. She trusted him completely.

He would be worthy of that trust. Of her.

Or so help him, he’d cut out his own damn heart.

Chapter Nineteen

Walking back to her place discreetly was difficult enough. Doing it on trembling unsteady legs that were to support her nearly lifeless body was damn near impossible. She carried her jacket in one hand and her heels in the other, letting them dangle as she grinned like a drunken fool. The sun wouldn’t be up for several more hours, and she was thankful for the protective cover of darkness.

“Big date tonight?” a shrill female voice called out, startling Stella half to death.

Turning, she saw her least favorite coworker—the petite blond nurse who had claimed that Van would be hers and then tried to do him a favor in his room. A bright red ember flared from the tip of the woman’s cigarette. Stella took note of which residence she stood outside of and tagged it as ‘avoid at all costs’ for future reference.

“Smoking seems like an odd habit for a healthcare professional,” was all Stella said to the woman.

“Screwing clients seems like an odd habit as well—for someone who wants to keep their job, that is,” she retorted.

“Says the girl I found on her knees in his room.”

Despite her cool demeanor, Stella’s heart was racing. This wasn’t Jesse Ramirez catching her and Van in an awkward embrace. This was an enemy she’d somehow made who’d probably just watched her stumble out of Van’s cabin.

“Jealous, much?” the woman snorted as she blew out a puff of smoke. “Men like Van Ransom know what they want. And they always get it. Men like that don’t let minor interruptions and pathetic distractions get in their way.”

The glow of the porch light allowed her to see the smirk on the other woman’s face. Stella knew her own brow was scrunching.

Did grown women really behave this way? She’d thought this kind of behavior was reserved for teenage girls still in high school. She was disappointed in herself for letting this woman even get to her. She’d never engaged in any kind of a showdown over a man.

She hated that this random person was ruining the blissed out high Van had given her. Even more, she hated that she was letting her.

Forcing the biggest smile she could manage, Stella nodded towards her own residence. “Lovely chatting with you. Enjoy the rest of your evening.”

“Brandie. My name’s Brandie, for future reference.”

Stella turned and shot the woman a questioning look. She had no idea why this woman thought she cared to know her name.

The blonde practically bared her teeth. “You know, so you’ll recognize it when your boyfriend calls it out during sex.”

Stella nearly stumbled. What was this chick’s deal?

“Well, Brandie, I can assure you, I don’t have a boyfriend. But thank you for your interest in my personal life. Best of luck getting one of your own.”

Stella did her best not to stomp all the way to her front door. Once she was safely inside and away from prying eyes, she let herself remember how Van had made her feel. And made her feel he had.

The image of him on his knees, spreading her apart and pleasuring her body the way he had, heated her body from head to toe. The burning tingles returned and she touched her fingers to her lips. He’d been the perfect combination of rough and gentle.

Her muscles felt like liquid as she changed into a tank top and cotton boy shorts. The way he’d cupped her face in his large masculine hands when he’d kissed her goodnight came rushing back as she washed off her makeup. Glancing up at her bare face in the mirror, she blinked a few times. She looked…different somehow.

Her eyes were brighter, as if a spark had been lit inside of her and was shining brightly.

When did that happen?

She wasn’t certain if it was what had happened with Van Ransom, the confrontation with Brandie, or just having finally found a home where she felt like she belonged, but something had provoked a noticeably drastic change. Had brought her to life after a lifetime of being empty and numb. Her cheeks were flushed and she couldn’t remember noticing so much color in her own face before.

As she lay in bed that night, drifting in and out of consciousness, the reason for her change smiled behind her eyes.

It was him. It was all him.

“You look rested for someone who was out pretty late last night,” Van said as he stepped into the stables Saturday morning.

Stella couldn’t hide the smile that came with his arrival. “And you look like someone who should be enjoying his Saturday instead of spending it down here.”

“Who says I’m not? Maybe I enjoy my time with you so much I don’t even mind the smell of horse shit.”

“How romantic,” she deadpanned.

He advanced on her. “Didn’t realize we were doing romantic, cowgirl. But if that’s what you’re looking for, I can give it a shot.”

She pursed her lips as he came closer. “Van.” His name was a warning for him to behave. Jesse could pop in at any time, as could one of the volunteers from the local high school that ran the horses and mucked stalls on the weekends.

“Romance has never really been my thing, Stella Jo.” The deep rumble of his confession sent a shockwave through her core. “But if you want a candlelit dinner before I lick your sweet pussy next time, I’ll see what I can do.”

Her knees went weak. Men did not talk to her like this. She’d never heard anyone talk like this. Even more alarming, she liked it. A lot.

Heat pooled between her legs as he reached out with one hand and pulled her to him by her waist.

His intense eyes roamed her face, drinking her in with reverent wonder on his. “It’s like I opened the door. I can see everything you’re feeling, everything you’re thinking, in those beautiful eyes right now.”

She trembled in his arms. “What am I thinking right now?”

“You’re thinking about last night. About how good it felt and how you can’t wait until I make you scream my name again. You’re thinking you can’t believe how hard you came and you’re wondering if I can make you come that hard again.”

She tried to keep her blatant shock from showing. He’d pretty much covered the landscape of her thoughts.

“And can you?”

His eyes darkened as he licked his lips and stared down at her. “Babe, I took it easy on you last night. That was only the beginning.”

She smiled up at him. “Now I’m thinking you’re incredibly arrogant.”

“Arrogance is an exaggerated opinion of one’s own importance or ability. I know exactly what I’m capable of.”

Her fingers tightened on his arms and he smiled. “You forgot one thing,” she said softly.

“Oh yeah?” He leaned back a few inches and met her stare. “What’s that?”

“I was thinking that, as much as it scares me—and what happened between us kind of scares the hell out of me—I wouldn’t take back last night for anything.” She looked down until he forced her chin back up with his fingers. Staring into his questioning gaze, she couldn’t help but be anything other than completely honest. “And I don’t think anyone or anything has ever made me feel so…alive.”

It was the truth. As much as she had loved riding, had loved winning, it always had strings tied to it. Expectations, the possibility of failure and disappointment—which ultimately had become her reality.

But last night with him had been just for her. No expectations or demands made on her. Just an exhilarating pleasure like she’d never known.

Van swallowed hard, letting her words linger in the air between them for a moment. With raised eyebrows, he glanced around at the barn. “You really have to be here today?”

Stella struggled to form actual thoughts. She gave a slight shake of her head as if that would help clear the lust-filled fog from it. “Um. No. I guess not. Just didn’t really have much else to do so I figured—”

“Go to your place. Leave the door unlocked.”

“Van, what are you—”

He lowered his mouth to hers, effectively rendering her speechless. His lips melded to hers and every reason for why this was wrong floated right out of her grasp. It was even better than she remembered. Her hands flew to his neck, threading through his hair and pulling at him—even though it was literally impossible for him to get any closer than he already was.

Gently sucking her bottom lip, he pulled his mouth from hers and placed his lips next to her ear. “Go, Stella Jo. Walk. Don’t run,” he said with confidence she knew was genuine. “But get your perfect ass in your bed and wait for me. I want you naked and I want you ready.”

The air disappeared from her lungs. “R-ready for what, exactly?”

Van tilted his head towards where the ropes and saddles and riding crops were. “Ready to feel.”

Stella Jo was doing her absolute best to stroll casually over to her little bungalow. She couldn’t help but glance around to see if anyone—specifically a certain blond mortal enemy—might be watching. So far the coast was clear.

Her heart pounded and her hands shook with anticipation. He was crazy. And she was absolutely out of her mind.

But telling him no would’ve been impossible. Every single cell in her body ached for him. For this mysterious man she should be running from. But couldn’t.

So she left her door unlocked.

Undressing in front of her full-length mirror, she saw her flushed skin and smiled. Kicking her boots and jeans to the corner, she practically laughed out loud. Whatever he had planned, she wanted. Badly. She dragged her tank top over her head and tossed it toward her jeans.

When she heard her door opening, she practically leapt into her bed. He’d said naked, but for some reason, she hadn’t been able to bring herself to remove her bra and panties. Her pulse raced at the image forming in her mind of him removing them for her.

But as the door clicked shut and his heavy footsteps made their way towards her, panic set in. He’d said naked. He’d been perfectly clear. Would he be rougher because she hadn’t followed instructions?

Strangely, she felt even more excited by this possibility. Which startled the shit out of her. Never in her life had she fantasized about a man being rough with her. In bed or otherwise. Logically, it should’ve been the stuff her nightmares were made of. But when he appeared, silent and holding a rope and a riding crop, the relentless throbbing began between her legs.

She’d been up half the night wondering how far she’d have let him go. Looking at him now—rippling muscles mostly covered in black ink she wanted to explore intimately, clenching jaw, burning eyes focused on her—she had her answer.

She’d let him go as far as he wanted.

Her experience was minimal, but he brought something different out in her. Something she hadn’t known was there. A secret. Like them.

He hadn’t spoken a word since walking in and standing at the foot of her bed with what look liked weapons of exquisite torture. She didn’t know if she had much to give, but for him, she’d give all she had.

Chapter Twenty

Van stood at the edge of her bed and stared down at her. He had to clench his hands at his side to keep himself steady.

Fuck, she was beautiful. She was more than beautiful. She was a goddess. She was something no one had created a word for yet. Because no other such creature had existed.

“Lose the blanket, Stella Jo.” His gravelly voice filled the small room.

She nodded, licked her lips, and slid the white comforter down. His eyes narrowed when he saw that she’d left her bra and underwear on.

“I said naked, cowgirl. But you know that, don’t you?”

“I was…” She paused to take a deep breath. “I thought I had more time.”

Setting the rope and riding crop on the bedside table, Van crossed his arms. “You have all the time in the world. Go ahead. I’ll wait.”

Her emerald eyes widened, meeting his with an ‘are you serious’ stare. He nodded once at her unspoken question.

She stood on shaking legs, and he resisted the urge to let her off the hook. She was nervous. She should be. He was going to do things to her that would wreck her—things she wouldn’t be able to forget so long as she lived. He planned to make damn sure of it.

Bravely, she reached back and unhooked her lacy bra. Unable to keep his eyes on hers, he let them drift as her bra fell. She hadn’t been bare to him the night before, and he’d spent the night regretting that. Which was why he was determined to rectify it.

Full breasts he knew would fit perfectly in his hands and mouth were exposed to him, and a flush crept up her neck to her face.

“You are so fucking beautiful. A lesser man would drop to his knees right now.”

She grinned sheepishly up at him from under her lashes as she slid her panties down her long, slender legs. “But you won’t?”

“No,” he said evenly. “I won’t.” Because he had other plans.

“Lie down,” he commanded tenderly once her delicate feet had stepped out of the sheer lace panties.

She did as she was told, and he took a minute to appreciate the spectacular view. Every inch of her was glorious perfection. A perfection he wouldn’t have believed existed if he hadn’t witnessed it with his own eyes. His breath caught as she raised an arm above her hair, dipping her fingers into the hair splayed out around her.

“What are you going to do with me, Mr. Ransom?” Her tone was teasing, but her voice trembled. “Or is it Mr. Walker tonight?”

“It’s, sir, cowgirl. From here on out. Got it?”

“Yes, sir,” she said, watching carefully as he lifted the rope from the table.

“I would say this isn’t going to hurt, or that I’ll be gentle…” He shrugged as he took one of her hands in his. “But I’d be lying.”

A whimper escaped her lips, and he smiled. The fear in her eyes was genuine, which caused a slight pinch of guilt in his stomach. But she’d said that he’d made her feel, hunger flaring in her gaze when she’d said it, so make her feel he would.

He tied her wrists together above her head and then knotted them to a wooden slat in her headboard.

Taking his time admiring ever inch of silky bronze skin on her body, he made his way south. There were two visible scars on either side of her right knee. He let his fingers trail lightly over them, tracing the lines and small dots beside them. Panic flared in her eyes.

“Tell me,” he said softly. “What happened?”

“I fell. During a race. It’s why I don’t ride anymore,” was all she gave him. He suspected that explained the limp as well.

He placed soft yet open-mouthed kisses on each of the pink puckered marks before sliding his hands down to her ankles. Her breathing increased noticeably as he tied each ankle to the wooden globes at each end of the footboard.

“Breathe, cowgirl. This won’t be nearly as fun if you pass out.” He winked and she nodded, though she was still making a considerable effort to breathe normally.

Her gaze drifted more than once over to the riding crop on the table beside her.

He chuckled low as he secured her left ankle. “Nervous, cowgirl?”

Her bare breasts lifted, and his dick throbbed at the sight. He’d been hard in the barn just picturing this moment. Actually living it was so intense it was almost unbearable. Almost.

“Hanging in there, baby?” he whispered as he picked up the long fiberglass rod with the braided leather handle.

He’d been careful not to touch her skin much. So far only the rope and his lips had made full contact. This was why he’d brought the implement. Because a woman like her—guarded, independent, stubborn—was going to need a little motivation before she broke.

“Trying,” she breathed out.

“Wrong answer, cowgirl.” Wrapping the loop around his wrist, he touched the tip of the crop to her inner thigh and moved it slowly to the crease where it met her body.

“Yes, sir,” she amended quickly.

“Better,” he said with a wink. He let the tip slide against her open lips. Her body jerked and he grinned. “Be still, beautiful.”

She didn’t say a word, didn’t struggle against the restraints. She just watched him. Trusted him. Which fucked him up so much inside he was struggling to breathe normally himself.

“It occurred to me last night that there are some things I’ve asked you about, things you haven’t answered.”

Her throat tightened as she swallowed. “What things…sir?”

“What did you mean when you said you’d never felt wanted before, Stella Jo? Because I’m having a real fucking hard time believing that.”

She blinked, keeping her eyes closed a few seconds longer than necessary.

Van ran the crop over her stomach to her hip, flicking his wrist lightly. She flinched and her eyes opened wide.

“What the fu—”

“Answer the question, cowgirl.”

She glared at him. A wicked desire unfurled in his stomach. He’d wanted to draw this out. But that fiery glare made him want to fuck her until that wooden headboard slammed straight through the damn wall.

“I meant exactly what I said,” she bit out through gritted teeth.

“Never? You’ve never felt like anyone wanted you? Not your rich daddy or that pretty boy who came to visit?”

Her brow creased. “My parents were too busy with their own lives. And Nash, the pretty boy as you called him, was my first real boyfriend and he could hardly wait for things to end between us so that he could hook up with my roommate.”

What a fucking moron. Van didn’t need to know what her roommate looked like to know dude had made a massive mistake.

“I wish I would’ve known. I would’ve thanked him. Hell, I would’ve bought his lunch.”

“For not wanting me?”

“For being a blind idiot.” Van was silent for a moment as he tried to contemplate how anyone could walk away from such a flawless creature. He sure as hell couldn’t.

A smile lifted her sensuous mouth, and he ached to taste her happiness. Every smile he’d triggered was carefully catalogued in his head. His ability to make her smile was the only thing that made him feel worthy of even being in her presence.

“Next question,” he said, gently dragging the crop lower. “Did pretty boy ever taste you? The way I did last night?”

“I am not answering that.” Her chin jutted upward in defiance. His cock practically danced a jig. He’d hoped she’d say that. Another flick of his wrist and the crop snapped against her inner thigh. The redness was instant, and he wanted to kiss it better. He would. Soon.

“No, okay? No one had ever…done that to me before, okay? Happy now?”

Van grinned. Fuck yeah he was happy. He was goddamn thrilled.

“I didn’t think so.”

Her eyes narrowed, but he saw more than anger and defiance. Vulnerability she was trying to keep hidden leaked out.

“Why not? Did I do something wrong?”

She’d moaned and cried out and screamed his name. Hell no she hadn’t done anything wrong.

“No, cowgirl. You did everything perfect.”

“Then how did you know he hadn’t…” She trailed off, eyeing the crop closely as he slid it up and down her right leg.

“Because I knew if he’d ever gotten a taste, a taste of what I got last night, there was no way in fucking hell he could’ve walked away.”

“Van,” she whispered, his name a plea. Closer. They were getting closer to the begging he wanted.

“Ask me—no. Beg me for what you need, Stella Jo. Tell me how it felt last night, how you want it to feel right now.”

Her body finally writhed hard against the restraints. “Please,” she whimpered.

“Please what, Stella Jo?”

“Please, sir. I want… It felt…” She gazed up at him, lost as he ran the crop across her breasts. Her taut peaks begged to be placed in his mouth, and he was going to snap if he didn’t get a taste of her soon.

“Fucking say it.”

“I want you to lick me. I want you to fuck me with your tongue again. I want to come in your mouth, on your fingers, hard like you did it last night. Maybe harder.”

Her words came out in a rush, his Heaven and his torturous Hell all at once. Behind his eyes, he saw her—startled when he’d run into her the first time, crying when he’d seen her the second time. Empty. Lost. Needy.

He swore to himself he’d give her what she needed, lick her sweet tears if she ever cried in front of him again. And lick every other part of her until she was practically skipping around every day with a smile permanently on her face.

“Close your eyes,” he demanded. “Don’t look at me. Don’t look at the fucking crop. Don’t look at the ceiling. Close your eyes.”

She did as she was told, and he let the end of the crop skitter softly across the top of her swollen, damp folds before setting it down on the bed.

“Just feel, Stella Jo. Don’t think. Don’t do anything except feel.”

Her legs twitched as he began placing lingering, wet kisses from her ankles to her thighs.

“Just feel, baby,” he murmured against her skin. “Feel me.”

She moaned when he let his teeth graze her flesh. She arched as hard as his constraints would allow when he sucked her clit into his mouth.

“Oh God, Van.”

“Oh no, baby. Now I have to start over.”

“Sir. I meant sir,” she corrected quickly. “Fuck.” She bit out the curse, causing him to have to stifle a laugh. Despite that addicting sugared-honey taste of her arousal, he started over, placing gentle kisses on her left ankle.

Torturously slow for both of them, he made his way back to her center. Licking relentlessly, he began to stroke her opening with the tip of his middle finger. Teasing her was hell on his dick, but watching her come to life at his touch was worth it.

“Please, oh god, please, please, sir,” she pleaded in an endless breathy stream.

“Please what, baby?”

He expected “Please put your fingers inside me,” or “Please make me come.” What he got threw every ounce of self-control that he had right out the window.

“Please fuck me, Van. Please. Pretty please, sir.”

Chapter Twenty-One

Stella could hardly believe her own ears.

She was tied up like an animal, and she wanted a man she wasn’t even dating, a man who wasn’t even her boyfriend, a man who—technically—she was forbidden from having a relationship with, to put his dick inside her.

Not only that, she was begging him to fuck her. Not have sex with her or make love to her. She wanted it rough, wanted it to hurt just like the snaps of the riding crop had.

“I want you,” she moaned. “I want you to fuck me so hard.”

The room seemed to be spinning out of control. It felt as if she were suspended naked in mid-air. She was lost in the sensations he was provoking with his mouth and fingers. The rough stubble on his face created a deliciously fiery friction against her smooth inner thighs. The room around them vanished completely—even the ropes didn’t sting against her wrists or ankles anymore. All she felt was her walls clenching on emptiness. And that place inside of her that pulsated intently, needing him.

“I need you. I need you, sir. Please.” She felt no shame in asking, in pleading. Not while her most private parts were in his mouth. All she felt was desire. She’d do or say whatever it took to relieve that ache he’d caused so far deep down she couldn’t reach. “Please.”

She wanted to grab him and pull him to her, force him inside her. But all she could do was twist and tear at her own restrained flesh. His fingers dug hard into her outer thighs, likely hard enough to bruise. But it still didn’t distract her from the throbbing inside.

“No.”

The word, and the lack of emotion in it, sent her crashing back to the cold, hard ground. He’d wanted her to beg—she’d begged. What the hell?

She opened her eyes without permission. Her body stiffened as he sat back on his haunches and watched her. He was still completely dressed. And she was sprawled out for his convenience. Everything hurt. Ached. Throbbed.

“No?” Now she felt ashamed. Humiliation washed over her, dousing her in the cold buckets of rejection she was used to. “Then why? Why go through all that with the ropes and the riding crop? This your idea of pleasure?”

He arched a brow. And she got it.

“Oh wait, this wasn’t about pleasure. It was torture. I forgot.”

He leaned forward, hovering above her. “How do you feel right now, Stella Jo?”

She glared into his face and withheld her words. Fuck him. He wanted to be an asshole, rile her all up, and then let her down? Then he could go to hell. She’d told him how she felt, what she wanted. But playing games was not her thing. They were playing a dangerous enough one as it was.

“Tell me. Tell me how you feel.”

His hand reached over and clasped the riding crop. She couldn’t stand the thought of letting him hit her with it again if he wasn’t going to finish what he’d started.

“I feel pissed, all right? And if you hit me with that fucking thing one more time and do not let me come, then you better leave me tied up.”

His answering grin made her want to slap his face.

“What do you want to do to me right now?”

“Slap you. Hard,” she answered honestly as hot tears filled her eyes.

“But you can’t, can you?” The gleam in his eyes further ignited her fury.

Her chest heaved, bringing her breasts into her own line of sight. “No. I can’t. But I doubt you plan to leave me like this forever.” She would’ve shrugged to feign nonchalance if it were physically possible.

“Tell me what you’re going to do when and if I untie you.” He stared down at her, clearly exerting his dominance.

Just as she opened her mouth to answer, he thrust two fingers roughly inside her.

“Oh!” she cried out unexpectedly.

“Tell me or I stop,” he said, plunging in and out steadily.

“I need to know… I need to know where this is going,” she whispered as she fought for breath. She had no idea how much more her body could take.

His arm flexed as he controlled every bit of her pleasure with his hand. Licking his lips, his eyes met hers. “Seriously? I think a better question might be where is it not going. And whether or not I plan to untie you.”

“I-I’m going to… I’m going to…” She let her head fall back as she enjoyed his assault.

When his mouth descended on her left breast, her body bucked against him.

“Please untie me.”

He sucked her already hardened nipple into his scorching-hot mouth and released it with a wet sound. “Why? Tell me what you’re going to do.”

She moaned as his mouth ravaged her other breast.

“I want to touch you,” she confessed.

“Where?” His tongue trailed a path between her breasts and up her neck.

“Everywhere.”

After kissing her softly on the lips, he crouched above her and began untying her wrists.

“Ankles too, please, sir,” she requested quietly.

“Not yet.” A small grunt of disapproval escaped her lips, and he captured it with his mouth. “You can touch me now.”

She grabbed him by the shoulders, clutching tightly as he returned his hand to that needful spot between her thighs.

“I can’t fucking wait to be inside you,” he practically growled in her ear.

“What’s stopping you?”

“I don’t like to rush things.”

She would’ve laughed if she hadn’t been on the cusp of a heaving orgasm.

“Tell me, cowgirl. Let go. Let me hear you.”

She cried out as she came. “Harder. I want it harder.”

He complied, adding a third finger. “Come for me, Stella. Come hard for me, cowgirl.”

She tore at his back with her fingernails as he deepened his thrusts. Her entire body felt as if it were about to explode around him.

“Van, oh God.” Just as he hit that spot, soothing that painful ache, she came, and he covered her mouth with his. She poured her carnal pleasure right into his mouth, biting and moaning against him. He took what she gave—kissing her with a nearly violent enthusiasm that equaled hers.

“Good girl,” he murmured into her hair as she fell back to Earth from whatever the hell had just happened to her. “Good girl.”

When Stella came to, her ankles had been freed. She wrapped herself around the warm body next to her.

“You back with me, cowgirl?”

She grinned into his side. “Mmhm.”

“You begged, you screamed, you threatened me with physical violence. I’m guessing you felt something.”

She felt her face flush as she buried it into his chest. “You are so bad.”

“Or so good, depending on your perspective.”

“Why was it… I mean, why did you, um…” She felt stupid. After what they’d done, talking about it shouldn’t have been a big deal. But it was. Apparently she was still the same old Stella, despite the multiple earth-shattering orgasms.

“Why did I tie you up and make you beg?”

She nodded against him, still unable to look him in the eye.

“Why do you think?”

She sighed. “I don’t know. That’s why I asked.”

He rolled onto his side and brought his face to hers. “I took away your control so that you could let go. So you could focus on feeling and not thinking. You’re always so in your head. I had to pull you out somehow.”

Well that made sense. If anyone else had done something like that, she’d have expected it to be for purely selfish reasons. But somehow this man seemed to know what she needed even more than she did.

“And it was one hell of a view. I snapped some pictures on my phone while you were unconscious.”

She gaped at him, glaring when he grinned.

“Kidding. I’m in rehab, remember? I’m not even allowed to have a phone here.”

She relaxed against him. “Yeah, I remember.” She couldn’t help the bitterness that laced her words. Why couldn’t he just be a regular guy she was dating? Why did it have to be so damn complicated?

“Speaking of which, I should probably go.”

Stella glanced over at the alarm clock on her nightstand. It was well past lunchtime. She hadn’t realized she’d napped for so long. “Jesus. How long was I out for?”

Van shrugged as he sat up. “’Bout an hour.”

“Sorry.”

He pinned her with a strange look. “Do not apologize. I took some serious pleasure in wearing you out.”

That damn blush blossomed on her face again at the memory. It was one she planned to keep.

“You’re gorgeous always, but you’re fucking edible when you blush.”

His words lit her up inside. She wrapped her arms around him from behind as he put his boots back on.

“You know, I could, um, return the favor.” She slid a hand down his muscular denim-clad thigh.

Van leaned back and angled his head so he could kiss her. Softly at first. She wasn’t sure which one of them deepened the kiss, but soon she was straddling him on the edge of her bed.

He groaned. “As much as I’d love that, and as much as it’s killing me to walk away from your perfectly naked body, I’ve been gone a while. If anyone comes to check and sees I’m not at the barn, they might put out an APB or something. My manager’s supposed to drop by today.”

Stella slid aside so he could get up. She loved what he did to her, but she was done begging. For now. And he was probably right. He needed to go before anyone got suspicious. Wrapping her bed sheet around her body, she stood and walked him to her door.

“Thank you,” she said softly as he kissed her. “For last night and today.”

“My pleasure,” he responded with a wink.

“Not yet.” Stella let her hand caress him lightly over his jeans. If she wasn’t mistaken, he was rock hard.

“I better go before I can’t. See you soon, cowgirl.” Van kissed her once more before stepping out of her place. She closed the door and watched him glance around before heading across the property to his own residence.

Her mind couldn’t make sense of the situation they were in. Couldn’t conjure up a logical explanation for why they were risking so much when they barely knew each other.

But her body approved one hundred percent.

Chapter Twenty-Two

“Well I’ll be damned.”

Van had known his manager was coming to see him. He only had just over forty-five days left in rehab and it was time to start signing paperwork and discussing the deal with Epitaph. What he hadn’t expected was for his friend Drake Ellis, his band’s drummer, to come along with him.

“To what do I owe this unexpected honor?”

Drake shook his hand and clapped him hard on the back. “Fuck, man. Look at you. All not dead and shit. Last time I saw you, you were a corpse, dude.”

“And yet you never sent flowers. Cheap fucker.”

Drake ran a colorfully inked-up hand through his mohawk. “Yeah well. I only send flowers to the chicks who give the best head. Sorry, man. You didn’t make the cut.”

Van placed a hand over his chest. “That hurts. You cut me deep, Ellis. You heartless bastard.”

Sid cleared his throat to interrupt the bullshit. “You two can save your emotional reunion for when Van gets out of here. Right now we need to go over the stipulations from Epitaph.”

Van led them to a back table in the private section of the Atrium. “Okay, let’s hear it.”

Sid eyed both of them to make sure he had their full attention before he began. “So first things first. All members will attend all signing and record or tour promo events and will remain sober and not destroy anything.” He shot a pointed look at Van. Van shrugged. Man had a valid point.

There was more. A lot more. Stuff about drug testing, the label assuming a limited liability for anything Van fucked up or destroyed. There was even mention of a curfew while on tour.

A month ago, if anyone had tried to pull shit like this over on him, he would’ve laughed in their face and told them to kiss his ass. But with the taste of Stella Jo Chandler still on his lips, he couldn’t find much cause to get pissed about much of anything. They could’ve told him he had to donate a kidney and join the Teddy Bear of the Month club and the grin on his face would’ve remained as he signed.

She had looked so damn good all tied up and exposed to him. He hadn’t taken an actual picture like he’d teased her, but he certainly had a solid mental one that was going to keep him company for as long as he lived if he could help it.

“Van?” Sid cleared his throat. “Ransom, you with us?”

“Tune in, dude. This is the heavy shit.” Drake’s voice broke through and Van looked back and forth between the men, who were looking at him like he’d started humming show tunes.

“My bad. What?”

“You high right now?” Drake asked with wide eyes. “Or did they give up on the rehab part and give you a lobotomy?”

He shrugged. “It’s been a good day. That’s all.” Good didn’t even begin to describe it. If he were being honest, the past twenty-four hours had been the best of his life.

“Uh huh.” Drake side-eyed him skeptically, but Sid looked genuinely disturbed.

“I can’t be happy? What the fuck?”

Sid sighed and shoved some papers forward. “Of course you can. But if you could come down from cloud nine for a minute, you need to initial each of these X’s. This is the clause about not fucking up, Van. So read each one, please, before you sign.”

Van rubbed his neck and took the pen from his manager. The two of them all in his face had effectively faded the vivid memory of Stella screaming and begging. Well, mostly. He tucked it in the back of his mind where he could get to it later.

He looked down at the papers dotted with red X’s. It was all pretty much the same shit. No drugs, no hookers, no trashing hotel rooms or tour buses.

But the clause at the bottom was new.

Any breach of the contract could be proven, and Hostage for Ransom would have two options. Either be dropped from the label entirely or the member who’d fucked up would be kicked out and replaced.

Whoa. That was a dick move that no one had ever so much as suggested before. And he knew the shit was directed right at him. He could practically feel the target on his fucking forehead.

“So I screw up and my ass gets replaced? In my own band?” His voice was calm as he looked up at Sid and Drake.

Sid met his stare. Drake just drummed his fingers on the table and looked around.

So that’s how it was.

“We discussed this,” his manager began. “You’ve had more chances than anyone, Van. Enough is enough. No sense in taking down the whole band.”

He let out a harsh laugh. “My whole band, you mean. The one I started. The one named for me, because it’s my fucking band.”

“Van—”

“Ease up,” Drake broke in. “We’ll all get your face tatted on our asses if that’s what you want. This is why I came along on this visit. To tell you that the band already talked about this. You go, we all go.”

He let out a breath, but the tension in his chest didn’t leave. Not completely, anyways.

Van looked over at Sid for confirmation. Drake wasn’t a liar, but Van didn’t trust anyone really. Sid had been the only one to really come through when he’d needed him.

Sid nodded, and Van finished signing and initialing. He slid the papers back across the table.

“That it then? Meeting over?”

He felt claustrophobic as fuck in private corner of the Atrium that Dr. Ramirez had let them use. And he was aching to see Stella again. He needed to hear those sweet moans, his name on her lips. Even if all they did was talk and give each other hell down at the barn. He’d take what he could get.

“That’s it for now. I’ll check in with you in a few weeks. Behave yourself,” Sid said as he stood.

“I’ll be out in a minute, Sid.” Drake made no move to get up, so Van remained seated.

Once the manager had stepped out of sight, Drake’s wild blue stare met Van’s.

“Hey, man, seriously. All that pretentious shit with the label… You know none of us give a fuck about all that. You do what you do. We do what we do.”

Van leaned back in his chair. “Meaning?”

Drake lifted a shoulder. “Meaning this is all bullshit and we all know it. Epitaph jerking your chain like this is fucked up. You shouldn’t be stuck here.”

Van was silent for a moment. A few weeks ago he would’ve agreed. He’d bitched Sid out the entire flight from LA to Dallas. Taken shots in the back of the SUV that drove him here from the airport. Tried to talk his way out of it all the way to the front door.

But then…he’d bumped into her on his way in. And strangely, he hadn’t felt stuck at the Second Chance Ranch for a single second after that.

“It’s not so bad,” was all he admitted to his drummer. The truth was, if he thought about it—really thought about it—if he weren’t here, he might actually have been dead by now. And they could joke about tatted-up asses all they wanted. The dirt would still be fresh on his grave and his band probably would replace him before his permanent headstone was up. Not that they wouldn’t be sad or some shit, but money was money. And even though it was music and it was personal to all of them, bands didn’t go around turning down major labels just because their lead singer had fucked himself all up.

“Yeah, I got something for you. Help you make it through for the next few weeks ’til you’re the fuck out of here.”

Before Van could ask what he was talking about, Drake pulled a small bag from his pocket. Red and blue pills filled it.

“What’s this?”

“A favor. It’s from Vanessa. Said she tried to get in but couldn’t.”

Van clenched his fist and eyed the bag on the table between them. Fucking Vanessa. Drake probably was actually fucking her. Not that Van cared.

When Val had left him, everything had gotten all fucked up and he’d no longer cared about much of anything. Not that it had been picture perfect before, but without Val, he’d lost his sense of gravity. Nothing had held him here. Nothing had mattered. So he’d gotten wasted every chance he got.

But now, freedom stared him in the face. A chance to float through the rest of this prison sentence in bliss, smiling and nodding. He wouldn’t feel the pain of the sessions with Dr. McLendon. The rabid claws of his memories would find no purchase when he was high.

Last week in a group therapy session, a woman named Brenda Buchanan had broken down, bawled her eyes out because her young daughter had endured so much because of her addictions. She’d said that the girl was a woman now, but she’d practically had to raise herself, and he’d thought of Val. Van had struggled to swallow as the woman’s pain had flowed over right onto him.

It had sucked.

Taking these pills, the ones he knew would check him right the hell out of here mentally at least, would also mean risking the one woman he wanted to have a clear head around.

He kept his hands clenched to keep from grabbing the plastic baggie.

“Naw, man. I’m good. No sense giving Epitaph some shit to cut me loose for before I even get out of here.”

The shock was clear on Drake’s face. “You sure? Or are you fucking with me?”

Drake had probably never seen Van turn down a single thing. Not women or drugs. He wasn’t the type to deny himself anything he wanted. Since he’d been in SCR, he’d turned down both.

And he hadn’t jungle fucked Stella like his dick had wanted to when she’d been tied up and helpless. He’d slowed down and given her what she needed instead of what he’d wanted.

A realization set in, surrounding him and separating him from his drummer.

He was different. He felt different. Somewhere between the hospital where Sid had told him he was going to rehab and this moment with Drake, he’d changed.

“Yeah, I’m fucking with you.” Van reached out and tucked the baggie in his waistband beneath his shirt. If he didn’t get rid of them, Drake would just take them. And while he couldn’t control what anyone else did, he could at least get rid of the junkyard shit Vanessa had probably bought from one of her tweaked-out junkie friends.

Drake laughed as he stood. “You had me for a minute there.”

Van forced a chuckle and they both stood. “Take care, man. See you in a few weeks.”

Van didn’t go straight back to his residence once his visitors were gone. He went to the restroom and flushed the pills. A slight twinge of pain as they swirled down the toilet forced him to realize that what Dr. McLendon had said was true.

He was an addict. And temptation wasn’t ever going away completely. But he had a choice. He always had a choice.

It felt good to make the right one for once in his life.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Stella took a deep breath and headed into her small office Monday morning. She hadn’t seen Van since he’d left her place on Saturday afternoon.

She had no idea what the protocol was for their unique situation. It wasn’t like he could call, as he’d pointed out.

As much as she tried not to think about him while she checked and responded to emails, her body seemed determined not to let her forget. He was a ghost in the room with her, his hands teasing their way up her thighs, his ink-covered arms wrapping around her, those eyes gleaming as a self-congratulatory grin spread across his face.

Every time she tried to become absorbed in the words on her computer screen, a slow steady throb would begin, reminding her of what he’d done. The more he invaded her thoughts, the more severe the ache for him became.

If uncontrollable lust wasn’t bad enough, the questions plaguing her made it nearly impossible to do her job.

She wondered if he was thinking of her, if he was ever going to let her reciprocate, if he was going to fuck her like he’d promised. She blushed at the memory of how she’d begged him.

She’d just clicked on a staff-wide updated policy memo when her searing memories went ice cold. The attachment was a very detailed list of discretions for which employees could be terminated.

Inappropriate relationships and interactions with clients was first on the list.

She was pretty certain that letting Van Ransom tie her up and make her come on his tongue would be considered inappropriate. She was also fairly sure that it wasn’t a coincidence that this less than friendly reminder was being sent out.

With the exception of Miranda McLendon, Stella had overheard nearly every single female employee plotting her way into Van’s pants. Even Miss Roberta, one of the custodial staff members who was well into her seventies, had mentioned how much she’d like a piece of him. Which had made Stella grin. But the rest of them treating screwing him like a competition made her feel sick. Was she the only one he was messing around with?

She wasn’t sure she had the right to ask, but she was damn sure going to. And if the answer was anything other than a solid yes, she was done.

Realizing she was setting parameters on her forbidden relationship that wasn’t even technically a relationship, Stella propped her elbows on her desk and dropped her head into her hands.

This was her problem. This was what she did. Tried to fit everyone and everything into a box with her rules and guidelines. Kept things neat and compartmentalized. She was pretty sure Van Ransom was not going to fit into any box or abide by any of her rules. He’d already broken them all, and she’d loved every second of it.

Per the instructions of the email she walked to Dr. Ramirez’s office and did her best to focus on the task at hand. A checklist, one about client comfort and preferences that she’d modified for him.

Knocking softly on the door, she heard voices coming from inside Dr. Ramirez’s office, so she waited until the current occupant stepped out.

Her eyes met Jesse Ramirez’s dark ones.

“Well, hey there, Stell. Look at you all cleaned up. I barely recognized you without the riding boots.” He winked, and she smiled in return.

“Hey, Jesse.”

She opened her mouth to ask him if he’d checked Mother Maybelle’s eyes lately because she’d noticed them looking a little glassy, but Dr. Ramirez called out to her before she could.

“Miss Chandler? Come on in.”

“See you at the barn, Jess. And hey, Mother Maybelle’s eyes looked a little hazy to me yesterday. Maybe check her out?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Jesse answered with a nod. His fingers miraculously appeared on her upper arm, encircling it without her having seen him reach out to her. “And um, about that fraternizing situation we talked about?”

Stella’s heart slammed into her ribcage as she fought to keep her face expressionless. She’d read somewhere that the heart was a wild thing, that’s why ribs made a cage. It made total sense in that moment. Her heart was ready to take flight.

“Yeah?”

“Just…be careful, okay?”

Stella nodded as he released her arm and walked away. She wanted to ask if he meant be careful because he’d just told his dad what he’d seen or be careful because he was privy to some information about Van that she wasn’t. Her mind threatened to race off with her worries, but Dr. Ramirez effectively distracted her.

“Did you bring the notes on the checklist?”

“Yes, sir,” Stella answered, handing him the folder with the notes as she stepped into his office.

She straightened the skirt of her navy dress and sat in a plush leather chair across from him. Dr. Ramirez took the folder and scanned its contents. Fidgeting with the buttons on her cream-colored cardigan sweater, she waited for him to reveal that he knew everything, that he was disappointed in her, and that she was fired. A career in crime was definitely out for her. She felt like her every transgression was displayed on her face in Technicolor.

Instead, he pulled off his glasses and smiled warmly at her. “This will do just fine, Miss Chandler.” He handed the folder back to her. “The goal is to have all of these completed by the end of the week. Probably best to go in order of client surname.”

“Yes, sir,” she said, standing. “I’ll get them back to you as soon as possible.”

One week. There were nearly sixty clients currently at SCR—one who she was especially nervous about asking some of the questions on the checklist. But this was the job. She’d signed up for it, sought it out before she’d had any idea that she would encounter the enigma of a man that was Van Ransom.

On Thursday, Stella made it to the W’s.

Van had helped out down at the barn Monday and Tuesday evening, but Jesse had been there as well. Other than a few sly grins, he hadn’t even really spoken to her.

Which infuriated her.

She knew it wasn’t rational. It wasn’t like she was waiting for him to ask her to the prom. But surely he didn’t go around tying up women and giving them violent orgasms like it was nothing.

Surely it had meant something to him? Hadn’t it? Hadn’t she?

Her birthday was coming up, and Miranda wanted to go out for drinks again. She liked the friendly woman, was excited to actually have a friend. But Stella was nervous. She was bursting at the seams and utterly terrified that she was going to pour out her every thought since Saturday on anyone who was willing to listen.

Despite the lost sleep and painfully vivid fantasies that had plagued her, she was going to get through the checklist with Van if it killed her. Which it felt like it might.

She was determined not to let him see how much he’d affected her. Logically, she should’ve been thrilled that he wasn’t doing anything that would have looked suspicious to Jesse Ramirez. But logic wasn’t a factor in the equation of how she felt about the mysterious man who had taken over her thoughts.

Her stomach tightened as the butterflies in it began forming a mosh pit. Wiping her sweaty palms on her white wrap dress, she took a deep breath and knocked on his door.

When he opened the door in nothing but a towel, droplets of water still clinging to his expansive and artful chest, she almost let out a hysterical giggle.

Holy hell, she wanted to lick that water from his body. Dragging her eyes up to his, she tried not to notice that they were sparkling with amusement.

“Have I caught you at a bad time, Mr. Walker?”

The left side of his mouth quirked up. “I’d say you caught me at the perfect time, cowgirl.” He opened his door farther.

Stella squared her shoulders. “There’s a checklist we need to complete. But there’s no rush. We can do it another time.”

Van’s brow creased. “That’s too bad. I was hoping you were off the clock and looking for a good time.”

A good time.

That’s what it was then. Apparently that’s all it was. The questions buzzing like angry hornets in her head dropped dead immediately. She forced herself to accept it for what it was and ignore the stomach-plummeting disappointment it caused.

What he called a good time had felt like so much more to her. Because she was naïve and obviously an idiot. Her chest felt strangely hollow.

“Perhaps we should do this in the Atrium. Let me know when is convenient for you.”

Just as she turned to leave, a warm hand gripped her upper arm. His grip was much tighter than Jesse Ramirez’s had been. Her eyes went wide as she took in his hand on her and the possessive glint in his eyes.

“Not a chance in hell I’m letting you go when you show up on my doorstep looking like that.”

She glanced down at the plain white dress and back at him.

“You look like a virgin being offered up for sacrifice.”

“I can assure you I’m not.” She focused on her breathing as she stepped inside. She hadn’t exactly been completely sober last time she was here. Nor had she paid much attention to the décor.

It wasn’t quite as cozy as her bungalow. She passed through a small kitchenette and spotted a black leather couch across from a fireplace. Her eyes landed on a giant buffalo head above the fireplace.

“That’s Dave,” Van informed her.

“You named him?” She couldn’t help but grin.

“He’s an excellent roommate. Never complains about noise and cleans up after himself.”

“I see.” She bit her lip to keep from giggling.

“Have a seat. Let’s get this checklist business over with so we can get to more important things.” He aimed a pointed glance at the table where he’d tongue fucked her nearly to death.

Stella’s entire body flushed to the point of painful burning. Ignoring his insinuation, she lowered herself onto a kitchen chair. Fighting off the memory of him growling against her open legs when that same chair hadn’t provided him the access he’d wanted, she pulled out her folder.

“Um, this shouldn’t take long.”

“I have all the time in the world, cowgirl.” He eased onto the couch and she looked anywhere but at him.

“You could, um, change. Or put some clothes on. I can wait.”

“I’m good,” he said with a shrug as he stretched an arm with intricate tattoos wrapped around it onto the back of the couch. “Unless you’re uncomfortable?”

Stella took a deep breath. She was as uncomfortable as it got. Her heart was racing, her pulse seemed to have sped to an astronomical rate, and the steady throbbing between her legs was causing her to sweat.

“It’s like you’re torturing me on purpose,” she admitted, pointing her pen at him.

His answering grin revealed that he was enjoying every minute of her discomfort.

“Now you know how I feel when you strut around in those fucking heels.”

Crossing her legs, Stella leaned back and focused on the checklist in her lap. “Let’s just get on with it, shall we?”

“By all means.”

Taking a deep breath in hopes of sucking in some courage, she read the first question carefully. “On a scale of one to ten, one being unsatisfactory and ten being ideal, how would you rate the accommodations here at SCR?”

Van glanced over at Dave and then back to her. “Dave says a ten. We rate it a ten.”

Stella circled the number ten and bit the inside of her cheek. He was nothing if not charming. Damn him.

“On a scale of one to ten, one being—”

“I got it, cowgirl. Read the questions and I’ll give you a number. Or better yet, circle all tens and take that fucking dress off.”

“That’s not quite how it works, Mr. Walker.” She gripped the pen tighter so he wouldn’t see her hands shaking.

“Oh, I know exactly how it works,” he said, leaning forward. “I know precisely how you like it, what makes you scream, and how to make you beg.”

Her jaw clenched as her lust-fueled desires sparked to life. Bastard.

“Question number two. How accommodating have you found the staff to be here at SCR?”

His grin turned smug. Irritatingly smug. “Oh, I think I’d say I’ve found the staff to be very accommodating. Definitely a ten.”

She narrowed her eyes. Did he mean her? Or the others? Were there others?

“Question three,” she began through gritted teeth. “Upon arriving, did you feel your privacy needs were adequately met?”

Van rubbed his fingers thoughtfully across the stubble on his chin. The stubble that had nearly rubbed her inner thighs raw.

“Hm. Let’s see. Upon arriving, I bumped into a beautiful woman who has sufficiently invaded my mind every day since. And now she’s sitting here while I’m wearing only a bath towel. So I’m not sure what that says about my privacy being respected.”

“You know what? We can do this another time.” Stella clutched her folder and stood.

“Whoa, cowgirl. Wait a second.” He stood and reached for her, closing the distance between them in a single stride. His arms encircled her waist and pulled her backward to his bare chest.

“Don’t,” she snapped, whirling around to glare at him.

“Easy. What’s wrong, Stella Jo? I didn’t realize you were actually getting pissed or I wouldn’t have kept screwing with you.”

Screwing with her. That’s what he’d been doing since day one. Everything he said poked at her exposed nerves and riled her inner turmoil all over again. The words she wanted to say, the questions she wanted to ask, wouldn’t make their way to her lips.

“You’re mad at me,” he said softly. “Really mad. As in not just messing around mad.”

“Rock star and a genius. Look at you.” She jerked out of his grasp.

“Beautiful and pissed. Look at you.”

She tossed him one last dirty look. She made it to the door before he said the words that stopped her cold.

“You’re mad at me because I made you feel. Because I got to you and you fucking know it. What I don’t get is why. Why is that such a bad thing? Is it because I’m not one of your pretty boys with a Ph.D. and a diamond ring I can’t wait to get on your finger?”

Listening to her own breathing in the silence that followed, she turned and faced him. She was a grown woman, for goodness’ sake. And not one who’d ever had a particular flare for the dramatic. She’d never stormed out on anyone before.

“No. It’s because…because what the hell are we doing?” She huffed out a breath loudly in exasperation. “I’m not mad. And even if I am, it has nothing to do with what you do for a living or jewelry. I’m…confused,” she admitted. Their gazes locked as she exposed her secret truth. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. How I’m supposed to feel now. If I’m just supposed to be grateful for the experience and move on or if there’s more. Am I even allowed to want more? I mean, we’ve risked so much already and—”

“Baby, you are allowed to want whatever the fuck you want.” Van took the folder from her and set it on the counter before bracing his arms against the door on either side of her. “Tell me what you want right now.”

The simplest of words set his lips off in a sensual dance she couldn’t keep her eyes off of.

“You know what I want.”

He’d shown her. He’d known what she’d wanted, known even better than she had.

“You’re going to have to spell it out for me, cowgirl. Women like you confuse the ever-loving fuck out of me.” His forehead rested on hers. “A lot of people want a piece of me. I need to know if you’re one of them and which piece you want. Whatever you want, it’s yours.”

His confession filled her with confidence. Letting her hands grab his deliciously defined hipbones, she shoved his towel to the floor.

“I don’t want a piece of you, Van,” she said, pushing him backwards.

His eyes widened as she advanced on him. “You don’t?”

“Nope.” When they reached the couch, she pressed on his chest until he sat. “I want,” she began, lowering so that she could kiss the taut muscles that had been making her mouth water since she walked in, “the whole thing.”

Dropping to her knees before him, she stroked his already fully erect length.

“I’ve got a few more questions for you.”

“Let’s hear ’em,” Van rasped out without taking his eyes from her hand on his shaft.

“How many women have you tied up?”

“You sure that’s on the questionnaire?”

She frowned at him.

He cleared his throat. “Um, ever?”

She nodded.

“A few.”

Stella Jo thrust her bottom lip out in a fake pout. “Well, they do say practice makes perfect.”

“Stella?”

She licked her lips as a bead of moisture formed on the head of his dick. “Yes?”

“If it makes any difference, you’re the first one I’ve done anything with while completely sober in about ten years. And you are hands-down, without a doubt, no fucking contest, the most beautiful woman who has ever whimpered my name and begged me to fuck her.”

She smiled up at him. “Well that was sweet. For you, I guess.”

“You said you wanted romance.”

“Did I say that?” She tightened her grip on him.

“Something like that.” Van shivered lightly beneath her. His cock twitched in her hand.

“You okay, Mr. Walker?”

His eyes burned into hers. “I’m wondering if you’re going to finish that fucking checklist of questions before you do whatever it is you plan to do with my dick.”

“Well that’s not very romantic, now is it?” She slid her hand down, enjoying how smooth the skin encasing his steel erection felt as she stroked him.

“I could recite some poetry.”

“Hm.” Darting her tongue out and licking the underside of him, she moaned at the sweet salty flavor of him. “I do love poetry. Let’s hear some.”

Surprisingly, he groaned out a few lines of a poem she knew. One of her favorites actually.

“If you can keep your head when all about you are losing theirs and blaming it on you. If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you, but make allowance for their doubting too. If you can wait and not be tired by waiting, or, being lied about, don’t deal in lies, or, being hated, don’t give way to hating, and yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise.”

While he recited, she swirled her tongue around his tip.

“Fuck,” he groaned out when she finally took him completely into her mouth.

“I don’t recall that being in the poem.” She arched a challenging brow.

He threaded his fingers into her hair and continued. “If you can dream and not make dreams your master. If you can think and not make thoughts your aim. If you can meet with triumph and disaster and treat those two imposters just the same. If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools.” He paused and sucked in a sharp breath. “Oh fuck. Dammit, cowgirl, you’re going to make me come.”

Stella sucked him hard and fast, pumping him with her hand as she did. She ached to make him feel at least half as good as he’d made her feel.

“Do it,” she mumbled onto the head of him before tonguing his opening.

“Fuck, baby. Seriously.” He pulled her hair hard enough to hurt, but the sensation just emboldened her efforts.

She took him as deep as she could handle, pulling him as far into her as her gag reflex would allow. Once and then again. The third time, he lost his battle with holding out. The warm bursts hit the back of her throat and slid down quickly. She’d never done that to anyone before, but it was much less challenging than she’d expected.

Kissing him softly on his shaft, she sat back and finished the verse. “Or watch the things you gave your life to broken, and stoop and build ’em up with worn-out tools.”

“There’s more,” he said, staring at her with what looked like wonder in his eyes.

“There is,” she whispered, wondering if they were talking about the poem or something else entirely. “But I should go. I have half a dozen other checklists to complete.”

Van stood and helped her to her feet. “Every other motherfucker’s checklist better be questions and answers only. Or we are going to have a serious problem.”

She snorted out a laugh as she retrieved her previously forgotten folder. “Yeah, well. You know those questions about being accommodating? I need all tens on those.”

Van pulled her to him and kissed her swollen lips. “You better be kidding.”

“Says the guy who has women lined up to blow him. I should know. I wasn’t even first in line.”

The truth in her own words gouged her unexpectedly in the chest.

“Hey.” Tilting her chin up, he kissed her once more. “You might not have been first to offer, but you were the first to be taken up on it.”

“That’s something I guess.”

She stood awkwardly by his front door while he grabbed a pair of snug-fitting black boxer briefs from a drawer and slid them on. His muscular ass was perfectly defined by the material. She couldn’t tear her eyes away. Her imagination ran wild picturing how good it would look flexing as he thrusted himself into her. She made a mental note to request sex near a mirror.

“Need help at the barn tonight?” he asked, interrupting her dirty thoughts as he walked over to the door to stand beside her.

She shrugged. “Sadly, no. Jesse has things pretty much caught up. I don’t even have any reason to go down there except I have to say goodnight to Shadowdancer.”

“You ever think the others get jealous of how much special attention he gets? I mean, he’s kind of the asshole of the bunch. Yet you seem to love him the most.”

She smiled at his crinkled brow. And at the fact that he was completely serious.

“I don’t know. I guess I have a special place in my heart for assholes.”

At that, Van grinned, lighting her up from the inside out. “Oh yeah? Got room for one more?”

Her breath caught. “Do you want to be in my…heart?”

His mouth gaped open slightly. Clearly he hadn’t read into the significance of his own words.

“Relax, rock star. I’m teasing.” Letting him off the hook seemed the best way to go. Heavy conversation just seemed out of place after oral sex.

But then his eyes darkened. “I want to be wherever you’ll let me, Stella Jo.”

Startled by his honesty, she smiled up at him. “Well, I can think of a few places.” Stella wrapped her arms around his neck and placed her lips on his until he kissed her back.

“Do you have a problem kissing me after I had your cock in my mouth?”

Van’s hands tightened their grip on her waist. “Absolutely not. I was trying to ignore how delectably swollen your lips were from sucking me off so that I could let you leave instead of bending your sexy ass over my kitchen table and fucking you blind. Since you still have work to do and all.”

Her entire body responded to his words. “Can we pretend I need help at the barn tonight?”

“Yes. Yes we can,” he mumbled against her mouth.

“Good. And don’t bother wearing a shirt. I have vital research to complete involving your tattoos. See you around seven?”

His lips curved into a smile as he pressed them against hers once more. “Seven it is.”

Chapter Twenty-Four

He couldn’t remember the last time he felt this nervous. Or if he ever had. Taking a deep breath, he glanced behind him to make sure no one was around. He’d taken the long route around the barn, walked decidedly slowly—especially for a man who couldn’t wait to get where he was going.

But now he stood at her door. Picturing her smile, her eyes burning into his as she kneeled before him, wondering what she’d be wearing for their date—or whatever the hell it was—tonight.

Knocking gently, he contemplated kicking his own ass for getting so worked up. It wasn’t normal. It wasn’t like him. And yet, he’d freeze fucking time if it meant he could keep her. Could keep seeing her. Could somehow keep being the version of himself she apparently wanted to spend time with.

The door opened, pulling him from his thoughts and effectively evaporating the air in his lungs.

“Jesus.”

“I’m sorry. Were you praying? Did I interrupt?” She tugged at her bottom lip with her teeth, barely managing to hide a smile from him as she stepped aside to let him in. The jeans she wore must have been made specifically for her body. The thin sweater was a gentle shade of pink. Or maybe peach. He wasn’t sure. But it matched the blush that crept high up on her cheekbones perfectly.

“You look…” He shook his head. “Beautiful is an insult compared to what you are.” He’d never had a woman take his breath away before. Until now. “If this were real life, I would’ve brought flowers. No florists currently in rehab I guess.”

“There’s lavender and hyacinth by the barn,” she informed him. “Just sayin’.”

Van grinned. He loved her smart mouth, loved the way she wasn’t afraid to speak her mind, to be honest about the way she saw him. The real him. Somehow she saw through the bullshit. It seemed to be all anyone else could see. And she cut right through it completely.

“I’ll make a note of that for future reference.”

She smiled. “So we have two options.”

“Only two?” He could think of a lot more.

She rolled her eyes as they stepped into the small area where an overstuffed white couch with about half a dozen more throw pillows than were necessary sat across from a television.

“I can make pasta or we can order pizza.”

“I eat so much pizza on the road. I’ve kind of enjoyed the break.”

“Pasta it is.” She turned toward a kitchenette that wasn’t much larger than his. “Make yourself at home. Remote’s on the coffee table.”

“If I could stand being that far from you right now, I would happily sit my ass over there and pretend to watch television. But since I can’t, give me an easy job like throwing lettuce in a bowl or spreading butter on garlic bread. Something.”

Her answering smile was brighter than any of the lights in her cozy living space. And it damn near knocked him on his ass.

“Okay,” she answered softly, giving him a demure smile as she led him into the kitchen. “Here. Chop these.”

He ached to touch her, but he settled for the tomatoes she was handing him instead.

A few minutes into his task, he felt her move in close behind him. “You don’t have to be so careful. They can take it.”

His knees took the brunt of her words. “Oh yeah? They like it rough then?”

Her musical laughter floated into the air. “Yeah, they do.”

Taking a deep breath, he finished chopping—slightly rougher than before. “Okay, now what?”

“Half in here.” She gestured to a pot on the stove. “And the other half in here,” she said, handing him a bowl of lettuce.

“You make your own sauce?”

“I do. Canned stuff just doesn’t have that same sweet, savory flavor. I prefer the real thing.”

His fingers fisted closed at his sides. They’d had to or his hands would’ve grabbed that sweater she wore to see if it was as soft as it looked and he would’ve pulled her to him and told her how badly he needed a taste of something sweet and savory. Something that didn’t have a damn thing to do with food.

“Ah,” was all he could get out. He watched as she skillfully sautéed onions and garlic in some oil on one burner while boiling pasta on another. She moved as if she could’ve cooked the entire meal blindfolded. He knew it was probably going to be amazing.

Which was why it was such a damn shame they weren’t going to eat it.

“Close your eyes,” she said, turning on him suddenly.

“What?”

She pointed a wooden spoon at him. “Close your eyes.”

“Why?”

Her mouth quirked up. “It’s secret ingredient time. So close ’em.”

He stared at her for a full minute before he realized she was completely serious. “Okay.” He closed his eyes.

But he couldn’t resist. And he couldn’t stand not being able to see her. Her shirt lifted above her waist as she reached into a cabinet, revealing a mouthwatering strip of skin he wanted to lick more than he wanted his next breath. His hands gave up being good and pulled her to him.

“You peeked! Who does that?” Her mouth opened in surprise as he yanked her to him.

“I won’t tell a soul,” he whispered before lowering his mouth to hers.

The wooden spoon dropped to the counter as he licked her soft lips. She opened for him and he dipped his tongue inside. All the talk about sweet and savory and tasting had pushed him to his breaking point already.

“Did you see them?” Her breathy voice pulled at his dick, giving him the last shove over the no-going-back line.

“See what, baby?” His fingers acted of their own accord, dragging her shirt slowly over her head.

“I’m going to burn the sauce,” she mumbled against his mouth, making no effort to stop his pursuit.

“Here.” He reached around and turned the burner off. “And I promise not to tell anyone you put sugar and crushed red pepper in your spaghetti sauce.”

“Ugh. I so don’t trust you!”

He gripped her tightly under the ass and sat her on the counter. “Yes you do. You let me tie you up. If that’s not trust, I don’t know what is.”

Her entire body seemed to flush at his words.

“I know you can’t stop thinking about it,” he whispered into her ear.

Before she either confirmed or denied it, a loud splashing sound followed by a hiss alerted them that the pasta was boiling over.

Stella let out a small sound of alarm and hopped quickly off the counter. Clad in jeans and a bra, she did some magical maneuver to drain it over the sink before combining it with the sauce.

When she turned back to face him, he raised a questioning brow. “So dinner’s ready?”

Her breasts rose and fell, capturing his full attention. “It is. You hungry, Van?”

“Fucking starving.” Clutching her to him once more, he ran his tongue from the valley of her breasts up her throat.

Her legs buckled beneath her and she wrapped her arms around him for support. “I was really excited to cook for you.”

Her words stopped his assault on the sensitive spot beneath her earlobe. No one had ever cooked for him. Other than Val. And she’d done it for their survival, not because she’d especially wanted to.

“Oh yeah? Well, in that case, feed me, cowgirl.”

A pleased smirk brightened her beautiful face. Van lifted her back onto the counter beside the stove.

Stella removed a fork from the drawer below her and proceeded to twirl spaghetti straight out of the pot.

He opened his mouth and let her feed him a giant bite. It was damn good. Not as good as what he planned to put in his mouth as soon as she’d satisfied her desire to feed him, but damn good nonetheless.

He moaned his appreciation at both the food and the beautiful expression on her face. Her legs came up around his waist and pulled him closer.

“My turn.” He didn’t use a fork. He just pulled a few strands of spaghetti out of the pot with his fingers and dangled them in front of her mouth.

She opened for him. He tossed the noodles into his own mouth instead.

“That was just mean.” She narrowed her eyes before pulling pasta out of the pot just as he had done.

Van wasn’t the type of man who was usually surprised. But when she flung the sauce-covered noodles onto his shirt, he jumped back. “Oh, now you’ve done it.”

She lifted her eyebrows suggestively. “I distinctly remember telling you not to wear a shirt.”

Granting her wish, he reached down and pulled his shirt over his head. “Better?”

“Much.”

Using her legs, she drew him back to her. He gasped as her warm, wet tongue teased his chest.

“You’re approaching dangerous territory, cowgirl. Consider this a final warning.”

“I’m not scared,” she whispered, grabbing a handful of spaghetti and lobbing it at him.

He watched the noodles slide down his chest. “Oh, that’s it. No mercy.” He slung a glob of noodles right back at her, taking extra care to smear them against the swells of her breasts. The sauce swirled a pattern above the delicate edge of lacy material on her bra.

Her giggling stopped when he began licking the sauce from her chest.

“Time to clean up.” Scooping her up in his arms, he carried her past the bed—the same one he’d tied her to only a few days ago—and into the bathroom.

Her squeals of surprise bounced off the bathroom walls around them. Van chuckled as he set her on her feet on the floor before reaching over and turning the faucet in the tub on.

“What are you doing?”

“Bathing you. You’re all dirty.”

She looked him up and down with a mischievous glint in her eyes. “You’re dirty too. Get in with me?”

Van glanced at the filling tub. “I was hoping to watch.”

Stella pursed her lips. “Wouldn’t you prefer to watch from up close?”

Before he could answer, she unfastened her bra and let it drop to the floor. She peeled her jeans off slowly, inch by inch as he admired her enticing movements. When her panties followed her pants to the floor, he didn’t have words to articulate his gratitude for the perfection that was her body.

Van’s eyes clung to her naked form as she lowered herself into the tub. When it had filled nearly to overflowing, he shut the water off.

Grabbing the bottle of vanilla body wash that sat on the side, he squeezed some into his hands. Once they were nice and foamy, he turned to her. “May I?”

The warm water had clearly relaxed her. Her eyes had taken on a dreamy haze. “Well, I don’t usually let someone bathe me on the first date, but since we’ve broken all my other rules, no reason to stop now.”

“Rules?” Van lathered her neck, shoulders, and back, massaging her thoroughly as he went.

“You know,” she answered slowly. “No kissing on the first date. No sex for at least a month—and only when you know it’s monogamous.”

“And how long do you usually wait before you let a man tie you to the bed and spank you with a horse training implement?”

Her mouth curved in a way that made him want to kiss the sins right into it. “Oh, you know. A few weeks at least.”

“I see.” Van’s hands made their way down her arms. He kneaded the tensest areas until she moaned.

“I know my mom must’ve done this when I was little, but I honestly can’t remember anyone ever giving me a bath.”

Her wistful tone sounded partly sad and partly grateful. His chest tightened. This was part of what he found so gratifying about taking care of her. It seemed that no one ever had before.

“Happy to be of service, ma’am.”

After he’d washed every visible inch of her skin, he washed and rinsed her hair. The little sighs and moans of pleasure she let out were rough on the constant erection he seemed to hold around her. But it was worth it. She looked so…content. Happy, even, when she met his open stare. Barely resisting the urge to tear off his clothes and get in with her, he pulled the plug and began to drain the water.

“Stand up, cowgirl.”

She dutifully did as she was told and he reveled in her gloriously wet body before him. Relathering his hands, he slid them between her thighs and up the seam of her ass.

“Easy,” she commanded, giving his wrist a little smack.

“You love it.”

“I love everything you do to me.”

Her confession caught them both off guard, and for a minute, neither of them spoke.

“Okay,” he said quietly. “Time to rinse.”

Grabbing a blue washcloth, he ran it under the faucet before using it to rinse the soap from between her legs. Her eyes threatened to roll back in her head and he was vaguely worried her knees were going to give out when he ran the cloth through her center.

“My turn,” Stella whispered. Before he had time to wrap a towel around her, she stepped out of the tub and lowered herself onto his lap, facing him. He watched as she snatched the washcloth and began cleaning the dried sauce from his bare chest with it. Once she’d removed the remnants of the spaghetti standoff, she tossed the rag aside and looked up at him. “All finished.”

“Hardly,” he practically growled at her.

Lifting her as he stood, he carried her to the living room. Her bed called out an invitation to him as they passed, but he knew he’d be tempted to tie her to it again. And if he tied her up, he’d fuck her. Furiously. Until one or both of them lost consciousness.

Something inside him had shifted when she’d opened the door to him looking so sweet and soft in that damn sweater. She’d cooked for him. Hand fed him.

It was time for making love to her. Time for slow and sensual. Time for giving her everything he had to give. She already had parts of him he’d never given anyone else. Might as well finish it off, carve out his heart and soul and hand them over.

“I’m still all wet,” Stella said as he lowered her onto the couch.

“That’s the idea, cowgirl.”

“You’re crazy.”

“So I’ve heard.”

His mouth met hers and he didn’t know which of them held the other tighter. Their kisses quickly turned desperate, but he forced himself to pull back. “If you want to stop, or if you’re just not sure you’re ready to see this all the way through, speak now or forever hold your peace.”

“I told you,” she panted as her fingers worked deftly to undo the button on his jeans. “The only thing I’ll ever ask for is more.”

“Then more it is.” Van retrieved the condom from his back pocket. She was naked and wet and so ready for him that he was throbbing in anticipation. She slid his zipper down, and he couldn’t roll the latex over himself fast enough. Her eyes reflected the same ravenous urgency he felt.

But as her legs fell open to allow him between them, Van froze above her.

This would change everything. Him. Her. Them. They’d be a them. A messy mural of the future appeared in his mind. He felt like a snake slithering into the garden of Eden.

Would he still go on tour? Leave her here with all these cowboys and doctors waiting to swoop in and steal her the minute he was gone? Or would she go on tour with them? Damien, his bass player, had gotten married last year. His wife, Angie, pretty much went everywhere with the band. But could his sweet Stella handle that kind of life? Would she even want to try?

“Van?” Her voice pulled him back into the moment. “You okay?”

He clenched his jaw, determined not to let his head mindfuck him out of the actual fucking he’d been waiting over a month for.

“Yeah, baby. All good. Hands up.”

She followed orders and raised her hands above her head. Van gripped her wrists, careful to avoid the still red skin the rope had chafed. Despite the twinge of guilt for hurting her, seeing it made him even harder than he’d thought possible.

“Good girl.” He kissed her softly since she’d complied so readily. “I’ll go slow until you come, cowgirl. But after that, I’m fucking you fast and hard. Understood?”

“Yes, sir,” Stella answered with a twitch of her lips.

Using his free hand, Van gently kneaded her right breast before working his way down. When he reached her slick folds, he nearly cried out with joyous relief. She was already wet. Soaking wet, actually, and not from bathwater. His cowgirl was ready for him.

Lowering his mouth to hers, he parted her with his fingers and inched his cock inside of her.

“Oh,” she breathed out as he proceeded to sink in deeper. He had to bite back a sound of his own. Her walls clenched so tightly around him he could hardly breathe. His dick felt each pulsing throb as he parted her walls.

“You okay, baby?”

“Yeah,” she rasped, nodding. “No turning back. No safe word, right?”

Van jerked his head back. “That was said in the heat of the moment, cowgirl. If you need me to stop, if it hurts too much, you tell me, okay?”

“It hurts so good, Van,” she whispered. “You feel so fucking good inside me.”

Her pussy gripped him tightly as she spoke, demanding that he thrust into her harder than he’d planned.

“Yes. Oh God, Van. Please. Make me feel. Make it hurt.”

He grabbed the back of her couch into his hand, twisting a handful of the fabric. It was the “make it hurt” that sent him over the edge. He’d been trying to be gentle. But if she wanted to walk fucked up for the next few days, well, he was okay with that.

Releasing her wrists, he sat up and used his hands to yank her legs roughly to him. He pulled and pushed her body on and off of his dick. He didn’t ease in and out like he had at first. He plunged into the depths of her scorching heat and tore out repeatedly.

Her breathing was so rapid he was almost concerned. But she’d said the words. And he was powerless when it came to giving her what she asked for.

Reaching between their damp bodies, he circled her clit with his thumb. She cried out in what he hoped was ecstasy.

“Feel good, baby?”

“Better than good,” she breathed out. “More, please.”

A guttural sound rumbled out of his chest. “Yes, ma’am.” Grabbing her delicate body entirely too hard, he flipped her onto her stomach. “Get on your knees. Ass up, cowgirl.”

She complied quickly, and he dug his fingers into her hips.

“Fucking hell, you have tiny ass back dimples made for my thumbs.” He pressed into the sexy as hell indentations and slid his cock back into her opening. She rocked against him.

“Awesome. Please proceed with the fucking, Van.”

He let out a dark chuckle. “Easy, cowgirl. I still know where the riding crop is.”

She peeked over her shoulder, tossing him a sinful stare. “You think you do. Maybe I hid them all.”

Van gripped her wrists together behind her back and pulled her upright so that her ear was level with his mouth. “If that’s true, and I have to search, you’re going to be in big trouble.”

“I’m not scared,” she whispered.

“You will be.”

Securing her wrists in one hand and reaching around with the other, he slid his fingers over her clit. She writhed against him and he hummed his approval in her ear.

“If it takes me more than a minute to find them, I will make you bring each one of them to me in your mouth. On your knees. And once you’ve crawled to me and delivered them, I will make you beg for every single touch. Then I will fuck you until you can’t walk.”

“Sounds good to me,” she told him, successfully halting all of his brain activity. “That’s exactly what I was hoping for when I hid them. To make you mad. So you’d punish me again.” She paused to let out a moan as he teased her opening with the tip of his dick. “Every time I see the red marks on my wrist or ankles or thighs from last time, I have to touch myself to relieve the pressure. But it never feels as good as when you do it.”

“Fuck, Stella.”

“Yes, please do.”

Grinning like a damned maniac, he slammed his dick back into her throbbing entrance. “Be careful what you wish for, cowgirl.”

Van thrust inside of her in several long strokes, pressing deeper each time until she was calling his name.

“I love when you call out my name. Love how good it sounds in your mouth when you come.”

A series of whimpers and breathy pleas was her response. He flipped her over and jerked her legs apart once more. Sliding back in, he gave her clenching walls everything he had, slamming in harder and pulling out slower until she gave over to her desires and began to come for him. He wished he could record those raucous sounds he pumped from her mouth. Her nails pierced his skin as she tore at the flesh on his arms.

“Give it up, baby. Come for me.” Releasing one of her legs, he ran a hand roughly down her throat, through the valley between her breasts, and over her stomach. Pressing a finger on her clit, he pounded into her as her walls convulsed around him until his release took over.

After they’d collapsed in a satisfied heap of desperate breaths and sweat-slick skin, Van disposed of the condom and returned to wrap her in his arms.

No matter how many times she allowed him to enter her, to bring her to the highest peaks of pain and ecstasy, it would still amaze him that he got to hold her afterward. He was a colossal fuck-up who destroyed all that he touched, but somehow he’d been bestowed the magnificent privilege of holding such a flawless and fragile creature. Well, maybe she wasn’t all that fragile. He’d given her some pretty rough treatment and she’d hung in there—and ridden out the violent waves right along with him.

She wasn’t angry or afraid. Or asking a million questions about what was next. She didn’t make any demands of him, didn’t want to take pictures for evidence. She just wanted him to hold her. Which was good because it was about all he could manage at that particular moment.

His heart was beating the shit out of his chest, and he couldn’t tell if it was from the workout of the sex or something else.

Something else was a strong possibility. The woman in his arms sighed and pulled him from his euphoric high.

“You okay?” He placed a gentle kiss on the top of her head.

She nodded against him. She was still struggling for breath when she answered. “More than. So much more than okay.”

Chapter Twenty-Five

Wrapped in her short pearl-white silk robe and his arms, she lay next to him, lightly tracing his ink with her fingertips.

So far they’d eaten cold pasta before returning to bed for another round of lovemaking. He’d gone slower this time, and she was pretty sure he had literally massaged, licked, kissed, and sucked every single inch of her body. He’d imprinted himself on her in a way she felt conflicted about. It felt wonderful, like sunshine saturating her skin after being soaked in a rainstorm. But it also felt…permanent. And irrevocable.

Afterward, they’d discussed the words on his arm and chest. Lyrics he’d written for a song he’d never recorded. His eyes had gone dark and his muscles had stiffened, so she hadn’t pressed for any more information. There were hands praying with rosary beads wrapped around them. And a few band-related symbols. Music notes in flames and a shattered record. His path to his music career had been a rocky one he’d informed her. That’s what the sleeve that covered his left arm represented.

But it was his back, the breathtakingly magnificent mural of ink etched over every flesh-covered muscle and sinew that she ached to know more about. It somehow managed to be beautiful and heartbreaking all at once.

The faceless angel sat in water, her head down and arms wrapped around the knees drawn to her chest. Stella traced the details of her form and then let her fingers drift outward to expansive black wings.

“Who is this?” she whispered into the darkness. Even with only a bedside lamp for light, she could see the shading, the light and the dark, the pain that accompanied the artwork he’d put on his body.

“No one. It’s just ink.” His gravelly voice effectively erected a wall between them. He didn’t say anything else or turn to look at her, but she got the message loud and clear. This subject was off-limits.

Stella swallowed the lump constricting her throat. She didn’t know who it represented. But she knew one thing for certain. He’d lied. It wasn’t just ink. And whoever she was, his angel of darkness was weighing him down.

She hoped it was just the post-coital vulnerability that made his refusal to share this with her so upsetting. It was clearly none of her business.

Just as the silence became suffocating, Van turned his head. He’d somehow vanquished the demons glaring at her from behind his eyes and the light, teasing version of him had reappeared. Stella struggled to keep up.

“Did you really hide the riding crops?”

She grinned, the tension in her chest easing in as she did. “Perhaps.”

“Hmm.” He stared at her thoughtfully before sitting up and putting his shirt back on. She tried not to read anything into it. Tried but failed. He was hiding his angel of darkness from her. It stung. “So you fell and hurt your knee. Is that why I never see you riding any of those hellish beasts?”

“Huh?” Stella pulled her eyes up from his now covered chest. “Oh, the horses?” She sat up and pulled her robe tighter. “Yeah. My horse Angel’s Breath took a fall. Landed on my leg. I couldn’t walk for two months. It was terrifying. So I quit racing.” There was more to it, but that was all she really felt comfortable sharing with someone who’d just lied his ass off about a tattoo.

Van bent to pull on his boxer briefs and jeans. “And why’s that, cowgirl?”

Now she was the one who wanted to pull away, put up her walls, and shut him out. “Why did I quit? I just told you. I got hurt.”

He eyed her speculatively as he buttoned his jeans. “So you don’t race anymore. Doesn’t mean you couldn’t still ride.”

She narrowed her eyes at him and he put his hands up.

“For fun, I mean. Easy, babe. I didn’t mean to make you mad.” He dropped his hands and shrugged. “But I’ve seen that look you get. You want to ride them. Or at least that temperamental pain-in-the-ass one.”

Her lips attempted to fight back the smile attacking them. “Yes, I certainly seem to have a type, don’t I?”

Leaning forward, Van kissed her lightly on the mouth. “Yeah, you do. Thank fuck for that.”

“You’re leaving.” It wasn’t a question. She didn’t need to ask, she knew he’d been away from the facility long enough. And that they might not ever get to spend an entire night together. For all she knew, and judging from the way he’d shut down and hurried to escape, whatever this was between them might end the day he checked out of rehab. Or before then.

“I’d say I’d call you, but we both know I can’t.”

“And I’d say I’d love to do this again sometime, but…” She made a big show of wrinkling her nose and shrugging. “I think I’m good. Guess it was one of those ‘itches that needed to be scratched so we could move on’ type things.”

Van’s dark eyebrows lifted, and then he smirked. “Speaking of things that got scratched, my arms and back are torn to hell. Guess you scratched the fuck out of that itch, cowgirl. Glad you got me out of your system.”

Pulling her to him, he kissed her. It wasn’t a goodbye peck or a goodnight kiss. It was deep and wet. It went on until she was gasping for oxygen and her jaw ached. It was an I-own-you kiss.

His hands dropped to grip her ass and Stella moaned into his mouth. She had no idea how she could still want him so badly. She was mostly certain that her body would shut completely down if she gave in and let him inside her again. But she was willing to give it a shot. Mind-blowing euphoric bliss like he’d given her didn’t exactly come around often. Or ever, in her experience.

“Mm. Yeah, you’re right,” he began, pressing his still firm cock against her thigh. “I think we’re all done here.”

Far too turned on to keep playing at the casual banter, Stella pulled him back to her once more.

She flicked her tongue against his lips before dipping it into his mouth. Her hands held his face tightly and she stared into his eyes.

“I’ll put my notice in tomorrow, Van. I can’t…I don’t want to stop.”

“Hey.” He took her hand and pressed his lips seductively to her palm before letting it go. “This won’t cost you your job, cowgirl. We’ll figure it out.”

“Stay,” she pleaded quietly. It was a desperate move and she could feel the rejection as soon as she said it.

He kissed her firmly on the forehead. “Want to know the first rule of performing?”

Having no clue why he was suddenly bringing up his career, she furrowed her brow. “Sure.”

Biting at her lower lip, he let his fingers blaze a trail through the still damp folds of sensitive flesh between her legs. “Always leave them wanting more.”

She moaned as he stroked her. “Van.”

“Goodnight, beautiful. Sweet dreams.”

“Night,” she whispered as he walked out, even though it was nearly time for the sun to come up.

He smiled sweetly, something he rarely did. But there were flecks of sadness in his eyes.

She wanted to reach out to him, cocoon him in that private place where they were one, where they were whole, where there was no sadness and everything was perfect. But she let him go. Back to his side of the line that would always separate them. She could tell by the way he behaved that he thought himself beneath her for being a patient or client or whatever the hell at SCR. But she knew the truth.

When he left here, he’d jet off to his real life, where he was in high demand night after night, where he played to sold-out crowds and made awe-inspiring and heart-stopping music—she’d downloaded some of it. And she’d be…here. Hiding out in a job where she was a glorified secretary. She wasn’t like Miranda or Dr. Ramirez. She didn’t change anyone’s life here or help anyone do anything much other than transcribe notes, send faxes, and respond to emails.

Once Van left, her life would return to its typically gray shade of mundane. He was a brilliant burst of flashing red-gold light in her life. One she would appreciate while it lit her universe, and one she was realizing she would miss more than she could even imagine once it was gone.

Two days could feel like an eternity. A miserable, lonely, and dull-as-dirt eternity.

She’d been busy working and hadn’t seen him even once. She’d hoped he would make his way to the barn, but Jesse was spending all kinds of time down there. She had a feeling she might not be the only one to have received the “be careful” warning. But she was afraid to ask Jesse if he’d talked to Van. Opening her mouth to ask about Van would probably give her away instantly. She didn’t know if she could even speak his name without turning red and twitching.

She was contemplating this while tapping her pen rhythmically against her desk. A song of Van’s band called “Flight” from their hit album Escaping the Cage played quietly from her computer. She hummed along as she scrolled through the emails she needed to answer. She had to clench her thighs together every time his raspy voice reached her ears.

When her office door burst open, he appeared as if she’d magicked him into the room.

A confident grin lifted his lips. Stella figured he must’ve recognized his song. “Hey there, cowgirl.”

She stood abruptly, skimming her knee against her desk. “Um, hi?”

Jesus. His eyes were light in contrast to his dark cobalt blue T-shirt. His bare body appeared behind her eyes and she finally got what it meant to undress someone with your eyes.

“Didn’t realize you were a fan,” he said, closing the door behind him.

Stella’s heartbeat sped as soon as the door clicked shut. It nearly combusted when there was a second click. He’d locked it.

“I’m not,” she answered quickly. Too quickly. Hurt flashed across his face, and she amended her answer immediately. “I mean, I hadn’t actually heard anything by your band before…before we met. But then I got curious. So far, I really like all the songs I’ve heard.”

“Curious, huh?” He arched a brow, lowering himself onto the edge of her desk instead of into a seat. “Anything else you’re curious about that I can help with?”

His heat spread throughout the room along with his expensive cologne and clean man-soap scent. It was intoxicating—so much so that all she could do was be honest.

“A few things,” she answered, meeting his burning stare with one of her own.

“Name one.”

“I’m curious who this song is about.” She nodded to her speakers. There was a line that had touched her somewhere she kept hidden. What if I let it all go—bare everything inside? What if I let the ugly show? Come with me tonight. Grab my hand—let’s take flight.

The verse was half-screamed and half-growled, but she felt the full weight of his pain in it.

Van’s shoulders tensed despite his effort to lift them noncommittally. “It’s not about anyone really. Pretty much the whole album was about escaping our sadistic record label. They were just too damn stupid to get it.”

“Hm.” She searched his face for any sign he might be lying. She found none, but she still didn’t believe him entirely.

“Anyways, wanna know what I’m doing here?”

Her face flushed deep crimson. “Yeah, that would’ve been a more appropriate question to ask.”

His lips curved into a heart-seizing grin. “I think we’re pretty far past appropriate, cowgirl. No need to worry with it now.”

She smiled back. “Fair enough.”

“Well, to answer your unasked question, I’m here because Dr. Ramirez mentioned that my client satisfaction survey hadn’t made it in with the others. I could’ve sworn you came by and we took care of that. Or did I dream that?”

The knowing gleam in his eyes had tremors rippling under her skin. He knew good and well they hadn’t finished and why.

Stella ran a finger over her lips. “Let me think. There were just so many. I can’t remember exactly why yours wasn’t completed.”

He pinned her with a wicked grin as he stood and backed her against her desk. “Let me refresh your memory then.”

She gasped out loud when he grabbed her hips and locked his mouth onto hers. His kisses turned her world upside down and flung her center of gravity far, far, from reach.

She let her fingers clasp behind his neck. “I missed you,” she mumbled into his mouth.

“Did you now?” He pulled back and stared at her probably now thoroughly swollen mouth.

She nodded.

“You know where to find me, Stella Jo.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t know if…”

“If we’d get caught?”

“If you’d want to see me again so soon after—”

“Are you fucking serious?” He stepped back but didn’t let go of her. “Did I somehow leave you with the impression that I didn’t want to see you?”

His outrage alarmed her. Thankfully there weren’t too many breakables in her office. A glass paperweight and her heart were the only things that came to mind.

“I just didn’t know, um, for sure.”

“This has to be rectified immediately.” Lifting her suddenly onto her desk, Van’s hands began sliding her skirt up her thighs. Before she could even catch her breath, he’d slid her panties down her legs.

“Van. What if—”

“Door’s locked.”

The next thing out of her mouth was a shocked whimper. He’d slid a finger inside her and began lazily sinking it in and pulling it out. “Let me be clear—as in crystal fucking clear,” he growled against her neck. “I always want to see you.” He paused to kiss the spot just below her ear. “Every minute of every damn day.”

She responded by turning her face and brushing her lips against his before sucking his full lower lip into her mouth. She couldn’t help but moan as he returned the sensual lip treatment. When he let his free hand drop to her knee, she spread her legs farther apart for him.

“Okay.”

“And every minute of the night. Can’t forget the night.”

“Love the night,” she answered as he pushed in and pulled out. “Speaking of night…”

“Can I see you tonight?”

“Yes, please.” She didn’t even care if she sounded needy or desperate. With him this close, she was all those things and then some. She rocked harder against his hand, barely stifling a loud cry as she neared the highest summit of her orgasm.

She was so lost in his mouth and what his fingers were doing that she almost didn’t hear the knock at her door.

Van stilled, so she knew she hadn’t imagined it. It came again, louder this time. More urgent.

“Miss Chandler?” Dr. Ramirez’s voice called from the other side.

Eyes round and wide with shock, Stella gaped at Van.

“Breathe, cowgirl,” he whispered, slipping his fingers out of her and straightening her clothes. “Tell him you spilled something on yourself at lunch and were changing clothes in your office. That’ll explain the locked door. I’ll hide in the closet until I’m sure he’s gone.”

Leaving her trembling on the edge of her desk, he stepped into her small closet and winked before closing the door.

“Just a moment,” she called out, standing on shaky legs. “I had an, um, unfortunate spill at lunch and had to change.”

She checked that her clothes were adjusted and ran a hand through her hair before opening the door. “My apologies, Dr. Ramirez. I’m quite clumsy.” And a terrible liar.

“These things happen.” He waved a hand as he stepped into her office. “I would’ve emailed you but I had a meeting on this side of the building so I figured I’d stop in. I was actually going to invite you to lunch, but as you’ve already had it—”

“No, I haven’t. I mean…” Stella took a calming breath. “I actually spilled most of it and came to change. So I was about to head right back into the Atrium. I’d love it if you’d join me.”

“Wonderful.” Dr. Ramirez’s kind eyes sparkled at her and she felt guilty for lying to him. “Shall we?”

“We shall.” She grabbed her purse and started to follow him out of the office, hoping Van would understand that she wasn’t trying to ditch him, just giving him ample time to escape unnoticed.

“Oh, before I forget,” Dr. Ramirez began, startling her by stopping abruptly. “Mr. Walker’s questionnaire never made it in. He mentioned that he’d had something come up during the interview and you were unable to complete it.”

Stella nearly choked on her own tongue. Something had come up all right. “Yes, sir. I spoke with him earlier. We’re going to meet this evening to get that handled.”

“Oh good.” Dr. Ramirez appeared genuinely relieved. “As you can probably imagine, he values his privacy. If you could go by his residence discreetly and take care of that, I’d appreciate it. We try to make sure our high-profile clients’ needs are met to the best of our ability.”

“I’ll make absolute sure of it,” she assured him, closing the door quickly before he noticed the low chuckling sound coming from her closet.

Chapter Twenty-Six

The knock came just after seven o’clock. He’d showered and contemplated remaining in his towel only. But since that had prevented them from filling out the survey last time and he truly didn’t want to get her fired, he put on a pair of jeans and a green T-shirt that reminded him of the color of her eyes.

Opening the door, he smiled at her appreciative once-over before giving her one of his own. She still had on the dress and the dangerously enticing fuck-me heels from that afternoon.

“Evenin’, cowgirl,” he drawled intentionally. “I understand you’re here to meet my needs to the best of your ability.”

Stella gifted him an amused smile before stepping inside. “Something like that.”

He closed the door, suddenly nervous and unsure about how this was going to go exactly.

Thankfully, she was ready to take the lead.

Stella propped back on his small round dining table and eyed him slowly. “So, this questionnaire,” she began. “Mostly it’s just lots of questions about comfort, privacy, and satisfaction.”

Van exhaled and stalked towards her. His bed dominated the majority of the space, but she hadn’t so much as looked over at it.

“Hm.” Once he was close enough to touch her, he stopped. “How about you go get comfortable on my bed. I’ll lock the door and make sure we have plenty of privacy. Then I can demonstrate an entirely new level of satisfaction—one you don’t even yet have the capability to dream about.”

“Van,” she breathed. “What if—”

“What if we had wings? We could fly,” he murmured in the husky, soothing tone that he knew turned her to liquid. He locked the door and walked towards where she stood beside one of the wooden dining chairs.

Without asking for permission, he reached under her dress and began sliding lacy red panties down her legs.

“God, I’m so glad they’re red. I love you in red.”

Her lips curved into a satisfied smile. She stepped out of the panties once he’d reached her ankles, but when he stood, she placed a hand on his chest and applied enough pressure to back him up a step.

“And out of red.”

“I have a proposition for you, Mr. Walker.” Her eyes darkened with need and his dick responded with a resounding yes to whatever her proposition was.

“What’s that, cowgirl?”

She shoved again and he let her push him down into the chair. His breath caught when she straddled him.

“I’ll let you do anything you want to me. Well…almost anything.”

“What’s the catch?” He leaned back as she pulled her dress over her head and brushed her red lace covered breasts against his chest.

“I let you have me however you want, follow all of your orders like a good girl, and you answer any questions I ask. Honestly.”

His stomach tensed. This was a dangerous game. But Christ. What mere mortal man could turn down an offer like that? She’d made him painfully hard just talking about it.

His mind formulated a quick plan. If she was so drunk with lust and need, she couldn’t ask too many difficult questions.

“Lose the bra and the ‘almost anything’ and you have yourself a deal, cowgirl.” He smirked. Poor woman didn’t have a clue what she was in for.

“Deal,” she whispered, unfastening her bra and letting it fall to the floor.

“Hands behind your back, Stella Jo.”

Her eyes widened but she complied. Using the lacy scrap of material he still held, he tied her wrists tightly, pulling hard for good measure.

“First question,” she began, her chest rising rapidly as her breathing became more erratic. “I want to know what happened with the fiancée. And why she still jets around the world saying you’re engaged to her. The truth.”

Van pulled his shirt over his head, raising his eyebrows as Stella’s pupils dilated. She licked her lips, and he grinned.

“Who would be able to let all this go? Chick’s delusional.”

Stella frowned and began pushing up and off of him. “Fine. I guess you don’t really want—”

“Easy, cowgirl.” Using both hands to clamp down on her hips, he pressed her back down over his denim-restricted erection. “I’ll tell you. But it ain’t pretty.”

She stared into his eyes and waited patiently.

He sighed. “I’ve known her a while. Since high school. I decided to move to LA so I could do the music thing and she followed. We got engaged, mostly as a publicity stunt after I’d fucked up some shit during a fight after a show. She took it pretty seriously, despite the fact that it was more about pleasing the label and making me look stable than ever actually getting married.”

Unable to resist, Van paused to run his tongue up the smooth column of skin that was Stella’s throat. Her breasts swelled with every breath. Her body was beckoning to him. Having her naked in his lap with tied wrists was hell on his dick.

“So, um, how’d you break it off then?”

Van pulled back. He hadn’t thought about any of this in quite a while. It wasn’t something he liked to dwell on.

“There’s this gimmick we do. A play on the band’s name. We pull a girl on stage during the encore and sing to her. Then she goes back to the Green Room with us after the show and her friends have to give up stuff like bras, panties, and so on, to get her back. You know. Hostage for Ransom.”

Stella snorted and gave him a dirty look. “Sounds more like a lawsuit waiting to happen.”

Van shook his head. “Usually it’s them that we can’t get rid of, cowgirl. And trust me. Some of those girls are pretty tenacious when they want to be.” He circled each nipple with his tongue.

“I bet.” Stella shivered.

“Anyways,” he continued on. “This chick in Omaha that we pulled on stage ended up being extremely shy. She practically hyperventilated after the show. We were all freaking out, trying to calm her down and get her friends to hurry up and retrieve her. We didn’t even want to mess with them. We just wanted to make sure someone got her out of there safely. The band bailed, afraid she was going to sue us or some shit—like you said. But I couldn’t just leave her, so I helped her find her friends and then gave them a tour of the bus to make sure everything was cool. Vanessa saw us coming off the bus and thought I’d fucked her. She literally attacked the poor girl. Julie,” he said, remembering. “Julie Donahue. She was just a sweet farm girl who got dragged along to a concert she didn’t even want to be at. Vanessa blindsided her, appearing from nowhere and punching her in the face. She kicked her in the head several times before I could pull her off. She had a severe concussion and the label had to pay an insane amount of money to keep her parents from going public.”

“Jesus.”

“Yeah. So that was it. I called it off. When I went to get my shit from the apartment we shared—shit I should’ve just left and replaced—she called the cops and had a restraining order filed against me. After that, I was done. Completely. If the chick offs herself, well then, so be it. Basically she’s a walking talking tornado that destroys everything in her path.”

“Sounds like you have excellent taste in women, Mr. Ransom.”

“Speaking of tasting…” Needing a taste of her, he took as much of her left breast into his mouth as he could. He sucked hard until she cried out. Then he did the same with the right one.

“Van.”

“Yeah, baby?”

“Next question.”

He ran the tip of his nose between her breasts and down her sternum, tugging her until she stood before him. Completely naked with the exception of stilettos and panties tied around her wrist. His ultimate fantasy come to life. He was pretty sure they could discuss starving orphans in Uganda and his dick still would’ve remained at full attention. He dipped his tongue into her belly button and began suctioning his mouth against her skin lower and lower.

“The tattoo on your back. I know it isn’t just ink. What made you get it?”

Every muscle in his body tensed. He stilled, remaining hard, but his lust-fueled focus waned. Anger rippled just beneath the surface. The air around them thickened, becoming instantly suffocating. He looked up to find her eyes searching his, knowing she’d felt the shift.

Gripping her ass hard, he leaned forward and sank his teeth into her hip. She whimpered but stayed put, seemingly understanding that he needed this. Needed some outlet for the pain before it consumed him and he started breaking things.

Grazing his teeth across to the other side, he gave her another firm bite to match on the opposite hip. She didn’t even whimper this time.

“If I answer this question, delve into something I never discuss, I am going to do unspeakable things to your body afterward.”

Stella only nodded and lowered herself back into his lap.

“Sure you want to play this game, cowgirl?”

Her eyes met his with a desperate yes in them.

The memories, dark demons with the fury of ten hells, tore at his flesh, teeth gnashing and clawing at his throat. His eyes closed involuntarily. He wanted to get high. Fuck this woman on his lap until she screamed for mercy. Then fuck her some more. Destroy the world around him. Burn it to the goddamn ground.

Until an angel kissed him, lightly on the throat. The demons backed down a fraction of an inch, a feat only narcotics had been able to accomplish in the past. She kissed him again. Her warm, wet mouth somehow soothed his tortured mind until he could give her what she wanted.

“Our mother was an addict.” He sucked in a breath as she dragged her mouth across his chest. “Like me, I guess. But she went at it harder. It was a lifestyle for her, not recreation.”

He kept his eyes closed as she nuzzled against his neck. He focused on the vanilla wildflower scent instead of the rotten egg and ammonia fumes from his childhood.

“Some of the...people she associated with weren’t exactly kid friendly if you know what I mean.”

He felt the flinch of her body against his. He hated inflicting this on her. No matter how good it felt to let some of it go.

“I was lucky. Most of them paid about as much attention to me as they might have an unwanted pet. I was a nuisance that got kicked on occasion and shoved into closets now and then.”

This time it was a sob, she was trying not to let it go, but he felt it. He swallowed hard and opened his eyes. Tears streamed down hers.

“Stella.”

“Keep going. I want to hear it, Van. I need to…know you. I want to understand.”

He nodded. “Val, my sister, wasn’t as lucky. She was beautiful, even as a kid. Sometimes she got locked in the closet with me.” He almost smiled at the memory. “She’d try to comfort me, make it a game. Pretend we were camping or some shit. Pull out a flashlight and make up stories.”

His fists clenched before he realized he still had her hips in his hands. Pain had her blinking rapidly, but she took it without complaint.

“Other times, she didn’t get put in the closet. She got…” Her cries for help swirled in his mind. The image of her body huddled in a corner flashed behind his eyes.

“I tried,” he choked out. “I tried to save her. I was young. And weak. I couldn’t. I fucking couldn’t.”

He tried to stand, to throw her off his lap so he could get out of there, get the fuck away from this place, and get high. He hoped Drake was still somewhere nearby. Then Stella’s mouth descended on his. She kissed him so hard he tasted blood. She was giving him everything she had and he took it, knowing he shouldn’t.

“It wasn’t your fault, Van. You were a kid yourself.” She licked his neck, kissing it tenderly before sucking hard enough to leave a mark.

He shook his head. She didn’t understand. No one really could. Unless they’d lived it. Listened to their sister get violated and beaten nearly to death while they were locked inside a closet and unable to help her. Watched her turn from a comforting angel to a frightened cornered creature incapable of withstanding human touch.

“Our mom overdosed when I was nine. We got taken away. I was put in a boys’ home. There was this Christian do-gooder couple that used to come play music for us. I learned how to play guitar and traveled with them some.”

“And Val?” Stella asked quietly.

“I couldn’t find her. She’d run away from the foster home she’d been put in. I searched. God I searched high and damn low.” He’d found Vanessa instead, a waitress who had worked with her. But that part of the story had pretty much been told already.

Stella ran her face along his. He almost smiled. With both of their emotions raw and so close to the surface, he could practically read her mind. She wanted to hold his face in her hands, but she couldn’t. He still had her tied. Just as his words were binding her, so were her red lace panties.

He remembered thinking that this place was hell when he’d first met her. That she’d been sent here to torture him. But now he knew better.

This was hell and he was the devil. She was the fallen angel he’d eventually destroy. He couldn’t even stop himself.

It was time for this to end. He switched off his emotions and summed up a story he never should’ve begun.

“I found her a few years later. I was too late though. She was dead. She’s the angel in my tattoo. Stand up, cowgirl.”

Her legs trembled atop his. He stood, letting her stumble backward. Her breasts bounced, reminding him what she’d come to him for. Certainly not to hear his fucking sob story.

“If you’re smart, you’ll run while you still can.” His warning was valid. He was losing his grip on humanity. On the line between morally acceptable and hideously reprehensible.

She remained rooted where she stood.

“Can’t say I didn’t warn you. Time to pay the price for that pound of flesh. Bend over the bed, cowgirl.”

She did as he’d said, and the view was enough to ground him momentarily. The heels presented her to him perfectly—her ass peach perfect and on display. Those delicate wrists bound in red sent his heart hammering pure adrenaline through his veins. He exhaled loudly.

“No safe word, remember? I’m invoking that rule now. It’s your fucking problem if you can’t walk out of here upright.”

“Take what you need, Van. I can handle it.”

Fucking hell.

He raked his fingers hard down her arms. “I get tested regularly since I haven’t typically been too discriminatory when it came to blowjobs. And I was tested again when I checked in. I’m clean.”

“Okay,” she whispered. “Me too.”

He chuckled lightly. He wouldn’t have thought for a second that the woman who probably only had the kind of sex that involved multiple contraceptives and the missionary position wasn’t clean.

“I’ll pull out though.”

“I’m on the pill.”

Bonus. “Well, then brace yourself, beautiful.”

Her stance widened slightly and he slid his heavy cock between her ass cheeks.

“What if I fucked you hard in the ass right now? How mad would you be? Scale of one to ten?”

She breathed loudly. “I’m supposed to be the one giving the survey, Mr. Ransom.”

He pressed against that tight opening and it flexed against him. She whimpered, and he moved north to her already wet opening.

“Fortunately for you, I don’t have the patience necessary to prepare you. But soon, cowgirl.”

His full length shoving inside of her pushed a sound from her throat. He needed that sound again and again. So he withdrew and plunged inside her clenching walls as hard as he was physically capable of until she was panting beneath him. She was so damn tight he struggled for breath right along with her.

Feeling himself reach the threshold of his orgasm, he pulled out and took a few deep breaths.

Suddenly she stood and turned to face him. Pissed-off green eyes met his amused ones.

“Help you with something, cowgirl?”

Her eyes narrowed. “Un-fucking-tie me.”

He shook his head. “I’m disappointed, Stella Jo. I thought we agreed. No stopping.”

“Oh, we’re not stopping. But if you’re going to hate-fuck me to death, you will damn well let me watch as you do it.”

He smirked. “As you wish.” He untied her wrists and watched her fight the urge to rub them. “Take the pain, Stella. It’s a feeling. Feel it. It will make the pleasure that much better.”

She propped herself against the foot of the bed and dropped her legs open slowly. “All this big talk of yours. I’m still waiting for the pain.”

Every curse and cry of joy he knew flitted across his mind.

“Get on the bed. All the way,” he growled. “Let’s see how far you can get those perfect fucking legs over your head.”

Van came to in a dark room. He blinked until his eyes adjusted. He was alone in his bed. Panic seized his chest.

He’d told her. Shown her who he really was and what he was capable of. Pulled back his flesh and exposed the garish, gaping wounds in his soul.

Sitting up, he looked around, listening closely for any sign she might still be with him. There was only silence.

He swallowed the thickening knot forming in his throat. He’d fucked her more ways than should’ve been humanly possible. He was pretty sure he’d blacked out during. Exhausted himself right into a loss of consciousness. She was probably never going to even look at him again other than with disgust.

Stretching sore muscles, he stood and switched on the bedroom lamp.

Bright red lipstick decorated his vanity mirror. He moved closer to read what she’d written.

I walked out of here just fine. Guess you’ll have to try harder next time.

Something foreign swelled in his chest.

Next time couldn’t come soon enough.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Stella sat in a hot bath, the heat simultaneously stinging and soothing her ravished skin. The pain was strangely satisfying. The burning ache she felt between her legs as well as on her wrists, ankles, and back was like nothing she’d ever experienced.

She’d lost her virginity to Nash. It had been quick and mostly painless. Maybe some discomfort, like a gynecological exam, but that’d been about it. She’d stared at herself in a mirror afterward, expecting to feel different. To feel something. Anything.

But nothing had changed. She hadn’t changed. She’d felt defective. It was such a monumental event—so she’d been told.

This experience had been totally different. Her shoulders seemed to remain taut, as if her spine had been tightened and screwed into place. Even her teeth-mark-marred breasts were proudly thrusting themselves forward.

She was changed all right. Finger-shaped bruises dotted her upper arms and lower back. Passion marks colored her neck and inner thighs. Merely glimpsing the bite marks on her hips turned her on so hard a breeze could’ve blown between her legs and sent her into the relentless spiral of a heaving orgasm.

She had been fucked. Possibly for the first time in her life. It felt like being switched on. From autopilot to manual.

She groaned as she stood in the tub and reached for a towel. Van Ransom had marked and claimed her. He owned her—mind, body, and soul.

And even more importantly, at some point while he’d been pounding the hell out of her, tearing orgasm after orgasm from her core, she’d been permanently altered. She’d been what he needed, been strong enough to give him everything. His gratitude had come in the form of whispered confessions and professions as he roared to a release and came inside her.

You’re so fucking perfect, he’d said more times than she could count. Stay with me, baby. Please. I need you. God, you’re so damn perfect.

She wasn’t. She knew that. But maybe she could be perfect for him. Be what he needed, because he was exactly what she needed. His words had given her renewed strength each time, strength to climb atop him and take even more. But they’d taken something too.

The fear. The fear of getting hurt, of failing, of disappointing. It was all…gone.

Which meant she had a horse to see. And sooner than later, she’d have to go home and face the people she’d spent her entire adult life avoiding. She’d gotten her answers from Van, now she needed them from someone else.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Van made his way to the barn. For the past week, they’d stolen every free moment they could. His place, her place, her office, the stables.

The only place he hadn’t had her was his apartment in LA and he was planning to correct that in three weeks when he checked the hell out of this place—an event he was both anticipating and dreading.

He was still picturing the many places in his apartment he could tie her to when he started to walk past her door. She bounded out of it as if she’d been watching for him at the window.

“Come on. I want to show you something.” Her eyes were bright and her entire body seemed to be humming with energy. As if she were made of electricity and someone had thrown the switch. Normally, he’d credit himself for her excitement. But he couldn’t think of anything he’d done lately that would have her so worked up.

“Hm, I think you’ve shown me pretty much everything.”

Rolling her eyes and grabbing his hand and threading her fingers with his, she led him to the barn. Which was how he knew she’d lost it completely. They couldn’t just walk around holding hands. He’d never realized how badly he wanted to hold her hand until it had actually happened. When they reached Shadowdancer’s stall, she let go, leaving his hand empty without her small warm one in it.

She always did pick that damn horse over him.

“You were right. It’s time for me to get back on the horse—literally. We did this for the first time today.”

He had no clue what she meant until she began securing a series of buckles and straps to the black horse. He was happy for her, glad that she was taking his advice. But Christ, he wished it didn’t have to be that particular horse. He wished she could’ve been drawn to the grandmotherly one, the slow-mover they called Mother Maybelle.

But she had a type all right. Difficult, moody assholes that weren’t worthy of her.

Her eyes stayed on Shadowdancer as she mounted him.

“Lucky bastard,” Van mumbled under his breath.

He stared at the horse, unsure where to look for any signs that he was going to get pissed off and throw her. He wished the fucker was human so he could threaten him with a painful death should he do anything to hurt her.

Stella wrapped something in her hand and tapped a handle on the saddle. Her foot gently nudged the horse and they began trotting out of the barn.

Van wanted to follow, wanted to call out, “Okay, I get it. That’s enough,” and demand she get the hell down. But when the horse picked up speed and her hair flew behind her as if it had a life of its own, she grinned at him and he couldn’t move. Or breathe. Or think.

She looked alive. She had that blissed out look in her eyes that she normally only got after sex. Somehow this fucking horse made her just as happy as he did. And all it was doing was running in a circle.

He hadn’t made his mind up about Shadowdancer, but anything that made her this happy he’d just have to deal with.

“Yeehaw, cowgirl,” he called out to her, laughing when she pretended to lasso him and reel him in.

“You have got to be kidding me,” Jesse Ramirez said from behind him.

Van turned and nodded at the man. Guy seemed okay. Minus the fact that he wore jeans that choked the shit out of his nuts. But hey, to each their own, he figured.

“She’s been dying to ride that damn horse,” Van told him as they shook hands. “Guess she finally broke the poor bastard.”

“Looks like it,” Jesse said side-eyeing him slowly before turning his attention to her. “She must’ve been persistent. Shadowdancer hasn’t had a rider in over a year. Not since the incident.”

The hairs on the back of Van’s neck stood at attention. “The incident? What incident?”

Jesse turned to him, his dark eyes taking in more than Van was comfortable with. He knew his concern for her was over the top and it was showing. It was going to show a whole hell of a lot more when he grabbed the guy and shook him until he told him what he was talking about.

When the man finally spoke, it was a lot slower than Van’s patience could handle.

“He was a racer. A good one. Some might say the best. He broke a shit-ton of records. Was all set to win the Triple Crown.”

Van clenched his fists at his sides. So far nothing too upsetting. But it was coming. He could feel it.

“Then some trainer got a little too aggressive. They were doing practice laps. Shadowdancer threw his rider and stepped on her. Trampled her by accident. Broke a rib, rib punctured a lung. She didn’t make it.”

No. It was the only word in Van’s head as he pictured the black horse, who’d suddenly developed some demonic qualities before his very eyes, trampling Stella to death. He could see her lying there, lifeless and blue. Just like Val had been.

“He would’ve been put down,” Jesse continued, clearly unaware that Van was two seconds from a full-blown panic attack. “But one of the new investors bought him. Can’t say I’m thrilled to see her on him.”

No. Fuck no. He’d wrestle that horse to the damn ground with his bare hands if he had to. Put the fucker down himself if he hurt her.

“Stella,” he yelled out, getting her attention. “Okay, cowgirl, that’s enough for tonight.”

Jesse started towards him. “Mr. Walker, it might not be the best idea to—”

“What?” Stella called out to them from across the pasture.

It was then that Van took off in her direction. The horse stomped. Lifted his back leg and stomped. Surely that was a bad sign.

He was a mere few feet away when the horse huffed out a loud breath and shook its head.

Back up, motherfucker.

The message was so clear, Van practically heard him. He put his hands out to show that he didn’t mean any harm.

“Stella, I’d feel a lot better if you just got down now.”

He didn’t have time to check if she’d heard him. Shadowdancer backed up and stamped his hoof again. And then Van’s nightmare came to life right before his eyes. The giant beast reared back and flung Stella off like a fly.

She hit the ground with a grunt and a thud. Jesse Ramirez ran to her, kneeled down at her side. But Van froze. The scene before him blurred. When he blinked, he was standing on a windy riverbank.

Mr. Ransom, can you follow us to the morgue?

The morgue.

We need you to identify the body.

The body.

Val’s laughter, her smile, her eyes, the tiny hands that had held his, the arms that had hugged him—the only affection he’d known growing up—was reduced to a body. A body in the morgue.

And now, the woman he’d fallen in forbidden love with was lying lifeless on the ground before him.

The one thing they had in common was glaringly obvious.

Him.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

“Guys, please relax. I’m fine.” Stella was winded from the fall, and her tailbone and back felt less than stellar. But she really was fine. The audience had been more than Shadowdancer was ready for. She felt guilty for having pushed him too far again.

“You need to see a doctor, Stella Jo. At least let someone here check you out. You hit the ground hard.”

She couldn’t help but smile at Van’s concern. The moment she’d caught her breath and sat up, he’d been wearing much more pain on his face than she was. Sure, they were sleeping together, but until she’d seen him white as a sheet and wringing his hands, she hadn’t known if his feelings for her were more than vagina-deep.

Judging from the way he was pacing around her tiny bungalow, he cared quite a bit. His fawning over her while trying his best not to cross a whole slew of lines in front of Jesse Ramirez kept her from feeling the throbbing tenderness her fall had caused.

“I promise, I’ll just be a little sore. Some ibuprofen and an ice pack and it’ll be like it never happened. I’ve taken much worse.”

Van glared at her. She smiled.

Jesse ran a hand through his hair. “At the very least, we should report it so that if you have issues later—”

“Jesse, please. Please, pretty please, do not report anything.” Stella looked up at him with pleading eyes as Van handed her a baggie full of ice wrapped in a dishtowel.

“I don’t have to include that, um, he was here.” He nodded towards Van.

Stella closed her eyes. “This is all my fault.”

“Accidents happen,” Jesse said quietly.

Stella wondered if he meant the incident with Shadowdancer or her relationship with Van.

“So, um, I’m just going to get some rest. I appreciate the concern, boys. But I’m tougher than I look. You’d be surprised the level of pain I can withstand.”

Van’s breathing seemed to ratchet up a few decibel levels. She was feeling strangely free since getting up from this most recent fall. She’d gotten back on, been thrown, but she’d gotten back up. She was okay. Not in a hospital, not in a wheelchair, and not paralyzed. The fears that had chained and held her—shackled her to the ground, literally—for the past five years fell away.

Van made a grunting sound under his breath, and she forced herself not to smile. He certainly knew she could handle pain. Just like he knew how much she not only endured but also enjoyed everything he dished out.

“Call me if you need anything,” Jesse said as he left. He held the door open, clearly expecting Van to follow.

Stella cursed in her mind. Van should go. It would look strange if he didn’t. And even though Jesse had probably already put most of the pieces together, it still wasn’t smart to draw him a clear picture just in case.

Van moved hesitantly towards the door, undoubtedly realizing the same thing. He had to go.

Right.

But each step he took away from her brought her pain closer to the surface, intensifying the pulsating ache inside. She wanted him to hold her—or at least to hold the ice pack on her tailbone.

“Stay. Please.”

Van’s shoulders tensed and he looked at Jesse.

Jesse sighed. “I’m assuming you mean him.”

“He’s not a dog, Jesse. Speak to him directly.” She remembered Van revealing that he’d been treated like an unwanted pet as a child before he’d screwed her into oblivion.

“I’d tell you both to be careful, but I’m pretty sure neither of you would listen.” With a shake of his head, Jesse left them alone.

“I’m not fucking you, cowgirl. Even if you beg. You just took a serious spill that, frankly, scared the fuck right out of me.”

Stella laughed and then winced as her tailbone pinched at the reminder. “You can go then. What good are you?”

He made a playfully wounded face as he settled onto the couch beside her, taking over ice pack duty.

“You might be surprised. I can be gentle when I need to be.”

She knew this already. It was one of the many reasons she was falling in love with him. She dozed off against Van’s warm body as he held ice-cold relief against her.

Stella woke to her cell phone ringing loudly beside her. The sun was coming up, judging from the way light slanted across her through the blinds.

She grimaced at the name on her screen when she lifted the phone. Her entire body felt like it had been used as a piñata. But she’d ridden. Van and Shadowdancer both. So the pain was worth it.

“Good morning, Mama,” she said into the phone after she’d accepted the call. Her eyes landed on a piece of paper with black scrawl on it.

Trying to sleep on your couch nearly killed me. I limped out of here. Good work, cowgirl.

The hazy memory of him kissing her goodbye in the middle of the night, his voice husky and soft in her ear telling her he had to go, came back to her.

She smiled as her mother launched into a flurry of words Stella was too sleepy to comprehend.

“Wait. Slow down please. I just woke up.”

“I said,” her mother began in a tone that sounded a great deal like a manufactured brand of calm, “that I got a call last night from a Jesse Ramirez. He said you were riding again but had taken a fall and he wanted me to talk you into seeing your family doctor.”

Normally she would’ve considered planting a stiletto into Jesse’s balls for contacting her mother. But her newfound desire to experience life, to grab it and shake it, bend it and make it do her bidding, changed that.

“I think that’s a great idea. I’ll make an appointment with Dr. Lesley and come home this weekend. How’s that sound?”

Candace Chandler stammered. Clearly she’d been prepared to argue against Stella’s normal impenetrable defense of excuses. “Oh. Well. That’s… Well, that sounds fine, Stella Jo. I’ll, I mean, we’ll be so glad to finally see you.”

Her mother had been right the first time. She might be glad. But she’d be the only one. After they hung up, she dug through her memory.

Her dad had never once been happy to see her. Not a single time, no matter what accomplishment they’d been celebrating or event they’d been attending in her honor.

He wishes I didn’t exist.

The thought—no, the fact—slammed into her with a force that made her want to cry. It was irrefutably true.

Van had given her courage. Shadowdancer had unlocked her strength.

She was going to take her newfound traits home and demand some answers. And unlike last time, she wasn’t leaving without them.

Chapter Thirty

He’d gone to the barn only to find a bunch of horses and no Stella. Jesse Ramirez was walking towards a red GMC truck. Van called out to get his attention.

“Hey, man. You seen Stella?”

The director’s son turned and faced him, a barrage of emotions warring plainly on his face. “She went home. To see her family and a doctor, I think.”

Do not act like a raging fucking lunatic.

“Ah. Okay.” He knew he shouldn’t push any further. Knew, but couldn’t stop himself. “Well, um, any word? I mean, is she okay?”

The younger man’s forehead creased as he removed his hat and scrubbed a hand over his head. “Haven’t heard.”

“Any idea when she’ll be back?”

Jesse sighed and folded his arms over his chest. Van suspected it looked like Stella would soon be needing a restraining order.

“Look, I’m sure you’re a good enough guy. Everybody has problems, issues they need help getting a handle on, and I get that. So please don’t take offense to what I’m about say.”

Van raised his eyebrows. Whatever the man had to say had to be prefaced with a disclaimer, so he figured it would probably induce his knee-jerk punch-a-fucker-in-the-face reflex. He believed he’d grown up a bit since his last brawl, or maybe he’d just learned a little about what was worth fighting for and what wasn’t. He remained out of reaching distance just to be on the safe side.

“I’ll see what I can do.” Van had a strict policy about not making promises he couldn’t keep.

Jesse bravely stepped closer, squared his shoulders, and looked Van directly in the eye. The man was braced for whatever came. Van respected that he felt whatever he was about to say was worth an ass-kicking should that be the direction this conversation took.

“Stella isn’t like other women, like the ones you probably have to deal with on a regular basis. She isn’t just taking what she can get so she can go brag to her friends that she hooked up with you. And she doesn’t strike me as the type that’s into casual sex.”

Van’s nerves pinched at hearing another man say Stella’s name and sex together, but nothing Jesse Ramirez had said so far was untrue. So he just nodded.

“I’m aware of this.”

“Are you?” Dark brows dipped. “In that case, I have to ask. Where do you see this going? I mean, you just going to check out and move on when you’re done here? Because you may not know it, but she’s risking a hell of a lot being with you. My dad likes her. He respects her. But there’s already talk of…rumors, I guess you could say, about the two of you. He asked me to keep an eye out.”

Van struggled to swallow. He had no clue where this was going, no idea how things were going to work with Stella once he was out of rehab. And he’d sworn to himself he wouldn’t get her fired. She loved it here. He could still hear her begging, pleading for him to back off.

“This job is important to me. I’m happy here. I feel at home. Wanted. Needed. I never felt that way before. Not in my own home and not with college roommates. I belong here. I want to be here.”

He wanted to hit something. He’d pushed until he’d gotten his way. And now his beautiful cowgirl was the topic of rumors. Rumors that would hurt her in so many ways—taint and tarnish her like he’d known he would.

“So is this a warning?”

Disappointment laced the breath Jesse let out. “It’s whatever you think it is. It’s honesty. If you were in love with her, it’d be different. I’m sure my dad would give you two his blessing and you could transfer to a different facility.”

“What makes you think I’m not in love with her?” Was he? He wasn’t entirely sure. He was sure, however, that he wanted to be discussing this with her and not this guy.

“Missing riding crops, fucking her in secret, and your fiancée showing up repeatedly. People talk, Mr. Ransom. And this facility is a breeding ground for rumors and gossip. It’s one of the reasons I keep to myself and spend my time at the barn with the animals. They keep their mouths shut.”

“Lucky for me,” Van mumbled under his breath. He’d done some pretty unspeakable things with Stella in the presence of the horses.

“Look, I’m well aware that it’s none of my business. But she’s good for this place and I think it’s good for her. So I’d hate to see her jeopardize that over a fling with someone who’s just using her for a distraction from what he came here for.”

Van took two instinctual steps toward him.

Jesse’s hands came up in defense. “Not saying that’s what you’re doing. Let me be perfectly clear, I have no clue what you’re actually doing with her. I was just saying I’d hate to see her get hurt.”

“I don’t want that—to hurt her. To get her in trouble.”

Her. He just wanted her.

Not that he planned to tell this random dude that.

“Then you might want to ease up a little.” Jesse shrugged as if it were of no consequence to him. “Back it down on the watching her like a predator stalking prey at least. Because if I really was ‘keeping an eye out’ like my father asked me to, you would’ve just shown me plenty to get her fired.”

With that, the man got in his truck and left. Van watched his taillights disappear from view and placed his hands on his head.

Jesse Ramirez hadn’t told him anything. It was everything he already knew. She could do better, he was bad for her, and both of them would be decimated when this ended. She’d likely be jobless.

But hearing it from someone else, knowing people were talking about them— about her, really—in anything less than a positive light, gutted him.

He hoped that knowledge would be enough to keep him away from her, so he wouldn’t ruin her any further, whenever she returned.

Chapter Thirty-One

Pulling up in her parents’ driveway felt surreal. She’d never been homesick. Not really. There wasn’t much to miss. The heavy weight of failure and disappointment thickened the air.

Her tires kicked up dust in the driveway around her as she approached the sprawling ranch. Glancing over at the house, she parked her white SUV and got out.

Deep breaths, Stella Jo. You can do this.

Her internal self-assurance became a mantra as she made her way to the front door.

Her mother flung it open before she’d even had time to knock.

“Well it’s about time, Estella Josephine. You made it. I was beginning to wonder if you’d even remember the way,” her mother greeted her at the door with a tight smile. “Dr. Lesley is going to come by for dinner and take a look at your back.”

“Hi, Mama,” she said as she stepped inside. “Of course I do. No one forgets how to get home.” Not that she’d ever felt like this place was her home. The house was slightly warmer than she remembered. New floral curtains, different from the ones they’d had when she was a kid, draped the windows, framing the sunlight that entered.

She opened her mouth to compliment the new décor, but her mother rushed on.

“Your daddy had to help out with a cattle run. But he’ll be home for supper. Come on in and put your stuff in your old room. We’ll chat and catch up. I can’t wait to hear more about this young man that called me. And you’re riding again. I was so happy to hear that.”

Stella sighed, already feeling her energy being usurped by her mother’s demands. She was pretty certain her father’s excuse for being gone was just that—an excuse.

“The young man who called you is very likely gay. And I just rode around a pasture a few times. Not much to tell.”

Her words didn’t deflate her mother at all. She ushered Stella to the back of the house. “Get cleaned up. Shower and do something a little more impressive with your hair and put your face on please. Dr. Lesley will be here soon.”

Dress up pretty, Stella Jo. Smile pretty.

The memories of pageants past twisted her gut. “Yes, ma’am.”

After dumping her stuff on her old bed, Stella Jo tried to ignore all the creepy doll eyes as she undressed. Her mother’s collection had apparently been stored in her empty bedroom.

The scalding shower slaked off a little of her courage, and she stared at her image in the mirror as she put on the dress her mother had laid out.

You’re doing it again.

Dropping the mascara from her hand, she gaped at her reflection. At the fading reminders of just how deeply Van had impacted her. The thought of her mother’s face at hearing that a man had actually fucked sense into her made her giggle.

She tried to imagine what Van would say about her letting her parents treat her this way. Her mom trying to pretty her up and her dad not bothering to show up. He’d probably tell them both they could go straight to hell. His girl was perfect any way she came in his opinion. The craziest part was that he truly seemed to believe that.

She’d left Dallas to come home without saying goodbye, hoping to be back before he noticed she was gone. Her intention was to avoid discussing this with him, but after everything he’d shared with her, she knew he deserved more than she’d given.

“Hell with this,” she muttered to herself, leaving her hair wet and pulling on jeans and a plain old white T-shirt. She wasn’t anyone’s doll and she certainly wasn’t dressing up for dinner with these people who didn’t know her and didn’t care to.

More importantly, she just wanted to get this over with and get back to her life in Dallas. To Van, if she were being honest. Because she didn’t care anymore if she lost her job. She knew where her real life was now. It had begun the moment he bumped into her. It was with him.

Her mother was practically convulsing at the dinner table. Stella couldn’t stop smiling.

“Dr. Lesley, in addition to checking Stella’s back, if you could recommend a good psychiatrist, that would be appreciated. She’s obviously lost her mind.”

Stella grinned as she cut into her steak. “Yes, Dr. Lesley. Clearly, because I didn’t want to wear a ball gown and forty pounds of makeup to dinner, I’m a nutjob.” She speared a piece of meat with her fork and pointed it at her mother. “Now there’s the picture of mental health right there. Grown woman, collects dolls, treats her grown-ass daughter like one.”

“That’s enough,” her father said from the head of the table.

She flinched. Two words. In her whole life, the man had never spoken—not directly to her, anyway. And when he finally had, those were the two words he’d chosen?

“He speaks,” she said, ignoring poor Dr. Lesley’s slumping shoulders as he tried to disappear between them. “All these years, Daddy, and that’s all you got? ‘That’s enough’? Because honestly, what the fuck?”

Her mother’s voice pierced the air before he could answer. “Estella Josephine Chandler, you will mind your mouth if you ever want to be welcome in this house again.”

Stella practically exploded out of her seat. “Welcome? Welcome in this house, Mother? When in God’s name have I ever been welcome in this house?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Her mother glanced down and straightened the cloth napkin in her lap. “Sit down and finish your dinner.”

“No. I’m done. I’m way past done.” She shook her head and glared at both of them. “My whole life I’ve tried so hard—so damn hard to be good enough. To be perfect.” Her voice cracked, weakened by the threat of tears, but she continued. “I don’t know why you hate me so much, Daddy. I really don’t. And I’m finally learning to accept the fact that I never will.”

Her mother opened her mouth to interrupt, but Stella wasn’t finished.

“I wasn’t abused, and we weren’t impoverished. I know I should be thankful. I got to live in a big house, right?” She swallowed. Compared to what Van had endured, she felt wretched for even complaining. “But the truth is, I was mostly in the way in this big, empty house unless I was winning races. And how many words have you spoken to me, Daddy, in my entire life? Counting just now, I think we’re at a whopping two.”

“Nobody hates you, Stella Jo,” her mother said softly, shooting a pleading glance at her father. “We just—”

“Get on back to your life, girl. You’ve made your point. Have a safe trip to Dallas.” With that, her father stood and walked outside.

“Nineteen,” Stella whispered after he’d slammed the door. That made nineteen words.

“Come. Let Dr. Lesley look at you. Then we’ll talk, okay?” Her mother’s tone was placating, but a little patronizing too. Similar to the one she’d used when Stella had woken up in the hospital after her fall. Right before her mother had started asking the doctors how long until she could ride again.

“Since Dr. Lesley came all this way, fine. But then I’m leaving. I can’t do this with y’all. I just want to move on. Past this place. Past whatever it is that makes Daddy wish I was never born.”

Her mother’s eyes went round. “You feel that? That he wishes that?”

Stella winced internally. “I always have. I was invisible to him. Always. The more you shoved me in his face when I’d won something or accomplished something, the harder he tried to avoid me.”

Which was why she’d spent her life down at the barn. With animals that loved her, depended on her.

“Let’s let Dr. Lesley do what he came for so he can escape this awkward evening of torture. Then we will talk, Stella Jo. If I have to follow you to Dallas myself.”

Now there was a nightmare come to life. Her life was in Dallas, and she didn’t want any part of her past encroaching on it. Stella nodded and looked over to the gray-haired man at the dinner table. He met her eyes and stood, following her into the living room.

“Sorry you had to witness that,” she said quietly as he stepped in close behind her. The scent of expensive cigars wafted around her.

“No trouble. You’d be surprised what I’ve seen.”

“I bet.”

“Lift your shirt for me, please. And point to where the pain is primarily.”

“Um. Okay.” Stella complied, pulling her shirt up to her shoulders and wondering if there were still bite and passion marks decorating her backside.

The doctor cleared his throat. Apparently there were.

“Well, there’s certainly some bruising. And you may or may not have a cracked tailbone. Only way to know for sure would be to get an x-ray.”

“I’ll bring her to your office in the morning,” her mother said from the doorway.

“I’m not staying that long. I’m heading back to Dallas tonight,” Stella reminded her.

Dr. Lesley sighed from behind her. She turned and met his sympathetic smile.

“To be honest, Mrs. Chandler, there’s not much we can do for tailbones regardless. Some injuries just need time to heal.”

Stella wasn’t sure why, but emotion clogged her throat. Her mother wasn’t perfect. But at least she cared.

“Thank you, Doctor. We appreciate you coming out on the weekend and on such short notice.”

“Any time. You take care, Stella Jo. And er, maybe go easy on the riding for a while.”

She was pretty sure he meant ‘take it easy on the rough sex.’ She thanked him as he left.

Once he was gone, she turned to a defeated-looking Candace Chandler slumping against the doorway.

“I’m sorry for the outburst. And for embarrassing you. Truly, I am. But I’m a grown woman now. I need to let go of the hurt and move on.”

“I never wanted anything or anyone to hurt you, baby. I swear. I just wanted you to have the best of everything.”

Stella swallowed and took a breath. She glanced down at her fidgeting hands. “I get that now. But growing up, it felt more like you wanted me to be the best at everything. And that was a hell of a lot of pressure sometimes.”

“I’m sorry. God, I’m so sorry,” her mother whispered. “I was raised by people who didn’t want children. I wasn’t allowed to have anything, join anything. I worked this ranch from the time I could walk, and I envied those debutantes with their pretty dresses and their damn dolls so much I could taste it.”

Both women choked out a laugh.

“I wanted a little girl so badly.” Stella’s mom sobered and shook her head. “For a while, that was all I could see. My desire to have a little girl who would have everything I wanted and never had. That wasn’t fair to you.”

“It wasn’t, Mama, but I could’ve handled it. I did handle it. It’s him I can’t handle. The disgust that rolls off him every time he looks at me. The refusal to acknowledge that I exist. Why? Why does he hate me? I just want the truth. That’s all I came for.”

Her mother’s eyes closed so tightly they creased at the corners. “He doesn’t hate you. He hates himself. And it’s all my fault.”

Stella sighed. “That isn’t really clearing anything up for me.”

“I know.” Her mother nodded. “I know it’s not. Sit tight.”

Stella watched as her mother left the room and stepped outside.

“Hugh,” she heard her mother say evenly. “It’s time.”

“A mistake,” was all she heard her father mutter as he came into the house.

Her heart turned inside out. She’d known he’d felt that way, but she’d never heard him voice it out loud. And all these years, she’d thought she wanted him to speak. She’d been wrong. She moved to stand, but as her parents entered the living room, her mother motioned for her to remain seated.

Her father looked twenty feet tall from that angle, angry and tense and avoiding her eyes. It was her childhood all over again.

A fleeting need possessed her. She wished Van were there. Wished he could hold her through this excruciating experience. Promise to make it all better once it was over.

Her parents sat together on the loveseat across from her.

“Stella. Before we discuss this, I want you to know, your father did what he did because I was inexorable. I was overcome with the obstinate desire to have a child, and while I wanted a daughter, I would’ve taken whatever the good Lord saw fit to give me. But at twenty-nine, I was tired of waiting on the good Lord.”

Stella nodded, feeling completely off kilter and confused as to where this was going.

“Maybe you should tell her, Hugh.”

“Like hell,” he said without looking up. His cold green glare focused on a point in the distance.

Stella turned to look. It was the blue lamp she’d accidentally broken as a child. Without a word, he’d glued it back together. Neither of them had ever told her mother— that she knew of. It was the one secret they shared.

“Okay then.” Candace Chandler turned her attention back to her. “Stella, if you want to leave when I finish, we will understand. But please, please, wait to hear the whole story. And promise me that you won’t cut us out of your life forever. I understand needing space, darling. But these past few years have been so hard.” Her mother’s voice faltered.

“I can’t promise anything until I hear what you have to stay. But I will listen and try to understand.”

Candace shook her perfectly coiffed blond head. “I don’t expect you to understand. Some things… Some things you can’t understand. I just need you to accept it. Accept that I am a flawed individual who made a whole slew of choices based on pain and regret.”

Stella nodded.

The story her mother told came out evenly, despite the sobs that lifted her shoulders periodically. She seemed to literally be pulling strength from her father’s solid presence beside her, leaning on him when it became particularly difficult to speak.

“I was raped by a ranch hand when I was a teenager. Brutally.” The words stabbed at Stella’s heart. “The doctors said I would never have children. And they were right.”

Time seemed suspended in the moment as she tried to think of something, anything, she could say to console her mother.

“I’m so sorry, Mama,” was the best she could do. Shock and confusion had a stranglehold on her thoughts and tossed them back and forth recklessly to oblivion.

Her mother just nodded, and Stella realized the woman was a stranger sitting before her. Both of her parents were. Her mouth gaped uncontrollably and she did her best to keep it closed and just listen. Her mother seemed to be waiting for her to gather her composure to continue. Once the faraway ringing in her ears lessened, Stella nodded for her to continue.

“Your father was the one who found me. He saved me. That day and many times since then.”

Stella struggled to hear the words over her own breathing and the questions rising rapidly in her mind.

“I put it behind me. My family wasn’t the type to seek counseling. They were the ‘suck it up and get back to work’ type. They worked themselves and me to the bone until the day they retired. Once they both passed, the ranch was given to me. I wanted nothing to do with it, as you can probably imagine and empathize with.”

Stella swallowed hard, hearing the pop in her ears as she did.

“But Hugh reminded me that we had met here, that we could have a beautiful life, make our own memories here, and let go of the painful ones. He was right. So we got married here and began trying every possible way to conceive imaginable.”

Stella’s stomach tightened as she listened. She’d never been told much about her parents’ life before her. She wanted to know their story, but she was beginning to see why they hadn’t shared it.

“Nothing worked,” her mother told her with tear-filled eyes. “I’d nearly bankrupted us and driven your father away with my frantic need to have a child.”

Stella watched as her father murmured something in her mother’s ear that seemed to calm her.

Her mother’s shoulders straightened. “Then Grace Whitman showed up on our doorstep. She was the young woman who’d agreed to be our surrogate. She was pregnant and had an abusive boyfriend who knew her baby wasn’t his.”

Stella bolted upright without having meant to.

“Please,” her mother pleaded. “Please just let me finish.”

Stella eased herself shakily back onto the couch. Her stomach pitched and rolled. Wherever this was going, it was somewhere fucked up and ugly. She could feel it.

“I thought she was a gift from God, and in many ways, she was.” Candace sniffled. “But she hadn’t gotten pregnant by her boyfriend, nor had she gotten pregnant by herself, or by using the In Vitro methods we’d been trying.”

Stella tried to make sense of what she was being told. “I don’t understand, I mean, if she was—”

“Your mother was out of her mind with the need to have a child. I just wanted to make her happy. To protect her from the pain of feeling less than whole. I wanted to take care of her, give her what she deserved.”

The shock at hearing her father saying so many words all at once rendered her speechless.

“I’d nearly destroyed him, destroyed us. I can’t begin to tell you how badly I wanted you, Stella Jo. Wanted to be a mother, the perfect mother. The kind I’d spent my life wishing I had.”

She just shook her head. This was all so convoluted and messed up. The story was out of order and missing the most important parts. Nothing made sense. “So whose daughter am I then?”

“Ours,” her mother said, while her father answered, “Mine.”

“I am so lost,” she whispered helplessly. The world she’d thought she knew swirled out of her reach and disintegrated.

Her father stood and began to pace like a caged beast. She watched him, waiting for him to clarify.

“Grace wanted to be a part of our family. She’d never had one. We took her in and…” He paused to take a loud breath. “Your mother wanted a child. Grace wanted to give her that in exchange for helping her escape her abusive boyfriend.”

“Did you?”

“Yes and no.” Her father stopped pacing. “The IVF worked the first time. Her boyfriend pushed her down a flight of stairs and she lost the baby. After that, none of the procedures took.”

Stella heard her mother’s sobs, but she couldn’t look away from the authoritative man who’d remained silent for so many years. “So then how am I here?”

“I asked him to do it.”

Stella slid her gaze over to her mother. “To do what?” she asked slowly.

“Your mother asked me to go get Grace and bring her here where she’d be safe. To move her in with us and try to…get her pregnant the old-fashioned way.”

“Oh my God.”

“Grace was willing. She had a… crush I guess you could call it on your father. He said no, at first,” her mother cut in. “He was adamant that he would not do that with another woman. But I didn’t see it as cheating or betrayal. I saw it as a means to an end.”

Bile rose in her throat. A means to an end? Jesus.

“I can’t explain it. Or what I was thinking and feeling. But the night he finally gave in and went to get her, I’d realized how crazy and reprehensible it was to ask such a thing of him. Of anyone.”

“I think I’m going to be sick.” Stella dropped her head in her hands, choosing to hear the rest without looking at either of them.

Her father cleared his throat. “She was beat to hell and back by the time I got there. The boyfriend had found out we’d been giving her money and she hadn’t been sharing it. I…I…”

Stella clenched her hair in her hands, pulling just enough until she could only focus on the pain. It anchored her, kept her from losing all sense of her sanity completely.

“I did it for your mother, mostly. But maybe I did it for me too. Maybe I did it for Grace. Even after all these years…I still don’t know. It just happened. Maybe I couldn’t stand seeing her like that and I wanted to be a damned hero. I don’t… But I’m sorry. God, I’m so sorry, sweetheart.”

Stella looked up to see her father on his knees before her mother. It was familiar. That worshipful gaze, the wonder in his eyes as he stared up at her. The love that passed so fiercely between them.

Her skin tingled. This was majorly fucked up. Her parents had brought her into the world under some seriously bizarre circumstances. But that was in the past. She wanted to move forward, toward the future. The future with a man she loved. Who she was pretty sure loved her too. But she did want to know what had become of her biological mother. Her story as tragic, like Van’s sister’s. She wondered if it had a happier ending.

“Whatever happened to Grace?” she asked quietly, hating to interrupt the private moment they were sharing.

Her mother looked over her father’s head with surprise in her eyes, almost as if she’d forgotten Stella was still in the room with them.

“She stayed with us for a while. Until you were born. But then she left. She left us a note saying she was happy that you would have a much more beautiful life than she had.”

Her father cleared his throat and rose up onto the couch. “We checked up on her from time to time. She held down a few jobs in the area. But just after your second birthday, she reconciled with the old boyfriend. He hadn’t changed much, unfortunately. They were involved in an accident. He was drinking and driving. Neither of them survived.”

An odd sensation of grief and loss for a woman she never knew settled into Stella’s stomach.

“Stella? Honey?” Her mother stood and moved toward her. “I know this is a lot. But you were right. It was always tense here. The secrets. The lies. The fear that you’d find out the truth somehow and hate us. It made this a hard place to be sometimes.”

She just nodded. It was so much to process. Too much.

“I won’t apologize for wanting you,” her mother said evenly. “I hope you don’t hate us, and I may never forgive myself for putting your father in a position where he did something he wasn’t proud of. But I’m not sorry it happened. Any of it. Because I have you. And I love you. And I want to be as much a part of your life as you’ll let me.”

“I don’t hate you. Either of you,” she managed to get out.

“There’s more,” her father broke in.

“Dear God.” Stella sent up a silent prayer for strength. If they piled anything else onto her, her bones would likely break. Any more painful truths would crush her to dust.

Her mother gave her a sympathetic smile. “We’re selling the ranch, Stella. We know you don’t want to be here, and I don’t want to shove it off on you like it was onto me. We’re moving to Florida, retiring from this demanding lifestyle.”

Relief, Stella thought. I should feel relief.

She did a quick evaluation of her emotions. All she felt was lost. Confusion. Maybe some betrayal mixed in there somewhere.

“Will you visit?” Candace’s hands clasped Stella’s. “We can talk more about Grace one day when you’re ready. Or we can just lie on the beach and talk about boys. Whatever you want. Whenever you want.”

“Right now I just need to go, Mama. But yes, I’ll visit. I think the beach sounds nice.”

Her mother’s tears leaked from the corners of her eyes. “Have a safe trip, baby.”

Stella made her way to the door on unsteady legs. The truths were shoving at her, propelling her as far from this place as she could get. There would be no more pushing her about riding or about taking over the ranch. She didn’t know why that didn’t feel as good as she’d expected it to. Maybe having her someone expect so much from her was better than having them expect nothing at all.

“I’ll see you out,” her father said.

Shock numbed her, emotional morphine she supposed. Now that she understood why he hated looking at her, hated the living, breathing reminder of a mistake he’d made, she expected even less from him.

A million possible outcomes raced through her mind as they walked to her car. Would he tell her never to come back? Not to show her face again? That she could only visit them in Florida over his dead body?

She swallowed the pain, a familiar habit where he was involved, and turned to him. “If you don’t want me to visit, I won’t. I just said that to make her happy.”

He blinked, something akin to pain flashing in his eyes. “You look like her. Like Grace. But you are so very much like me, Stella Jo.”

Her brows rose practically to her hairline. “I am?”

“Strong. Prone to putting the needs of others before your own. I can’t say it’s an easy life to lead.”

“I’m sorry that I…” she trailed off. Was she sorry she’d been born? Maybe before Van. Before knowing what it felt like to be truly alive. But having experienced that level of pain and pleasure and need, she couldn’t force herself to regret it.

“Don’t.” Her father shook his head as he opened her car door. “I failed you. Don’t be sorry for one second. For anything.”

She breathed him in, the man who smelled of work and worry and regret. “I’m not sorry I’m alive. And I’m not sorry that you’re my daddy. You might have ignored me most of my life, but you love her.” She nodded towards where her mother stood in the doorway. Reaching up on her tiptoes, she kissed him gingerly on the cheek. The first contact with him she could remember. “Thank you.”

“For what?” His flabbergasted expression would’ve made her laugh in any other situation.

“For giving me life. And for showing me what real love looks like.”

Leaving him staggered in the driveway, Stella Jo got into her vehicle and pointed it towards Dallas. Towards her future.

Chapter Thirty-Two

It was the middle of the night, but pulling up at the Second Chance Ranch felt a lot more like going home than actually going home had.

Stella’s feelings had run the gamut on her drive home. Angry, betrayed, hurt, pissed, sad, shocked. Her music preferences had provided the soundtrack to her emotional journey. Heavy metal, alternative rock, country. She wasn’t a genre-specific girl. She liked all kinds of music, the movement of it, the various beat and the passion behind it, but it was always the words that got to her. The lyrics. If a song had even one line that touched her in a place she’d thought was hidden, a place she’d once believed only she possessed, it stayed on.

She finally plugged her phone into the auxiliary outlet and just listened to the Hostage for Ransom album she’d downloaded. His voice comforted her, sang her the rest of the way home.

When the tear-filled drive from her parents’ house to Dallas ended, her heart landed in limbo. Wrecked and ravaged, it remained listlessly between a state of perpetual sadness for the mother she never knew—the one who’d ultimately lost her life because she’d felt she had nowhere to go—and hopefulness. Because she’d decided to ask her parents not to sell the ranch. She had plans for it.

As much as the unveiled truths had stung in sensitive spots she’d never known existed, they had also shown her something she would’ve struggled to believe otherwise.

Van loved her. And she loved him. What they had was more than lust and more than sexual gratification. It was deeper and sturdier than she’d realized, and at the moment, he was all she could think about.

She practically flew on two legs to his door, unable to wait for him to do the wonderfully exhilarating things he did to her. She had pain and anguish and heartbreak to work out, and she wanted to work it out with him inside her, giving her immeasurable pleasure. Giving her him.

Chapter Thirty-Three

Van glared at the alarm clock on his nightstand. It was a few minutes shy of four o’clock in the morning. So why in the actual fuck was someone knocking on his door?

Judging from what Jesse Ramirez had said, it was likely they were there to toss his ass out.

He stumbled to the door, pulling it open and preparing to bitch out whoever had woken him.

Stella stood on his doorstep, looking both beautiful and exhausted.

“What’d the doctor say?” The question burst from his lips instead of a greeting. Wasn’t really all that surprising since it had been beating his brain to death since the moment he’d heard she’d gone to see one.

She smirked. “He said lay off the rough sex for a while before we break me.”

It was obvious from her demeanor that she’d meant it in jest. She was joking. But the truth was that he’d already figured out the same thing. He would inevitably hurt her, like Jesse had so helpfully pointed out. He only had a few weeks left here. Then he’d return to his life. Meanwhile she wouldn’t have much of one to return to if they kept this up.

“She’s risking a hell of a lot being with you.”

The veterinarian’s words rang in his ears. No shit. And he already knew he wasn’t worth the risk. What was he going to do? Pop back into rehab every time he needed a rough fuck? Drag her off into the world of groupies and drugs and his insanity?

“I’m kidding,” she said, eyeing him warily. “Well, mostly. But I missed you. And I was hoping we could—”

“Hoping we could what, cowgirl? Fuck really quick on my floor a few more times before I check out?”

She recoiled, flinching back with a mask of wounded shock on her beautiful face. The hurt in her eyes shot him like daggers to the chest.

“Yeah, Van. I’m big on risking everything for quick fucks on floors. Congratulations. It was your turn to take a shot. Guess I’ll move on to the next contestant.”

He nodded, forcing himself to pretend to agree. “Good idea. I’ll do the same. I’m pretty sure there’s a blonde around here somewhere who’s been waiting in the wings behind you.”

A shudder jerked her shoulders visibly forward. The sharp intake of breath to replace the one he’d obviously stolen was audible. His words had caused her physical pain. He hadn’t meant to take it that far. There had to be a better way to end it than this. She’d just caught him unprepared in the middle of the night.

“Dammit. Wait.” He reached for her arm but she backed out of reach, glaring at him as if she’d finally realized what a horrific son of a bitch he actually was.

“No, you’re right.” Her eyes lifted to the night sky and she shook her head as if she expected it to fall down around her. “I don’t know what I was thinking. God, I’m so stupid. I mistook this for something completely different.” She stared at him like he was a stranger, making what looked like a valiant effort not to cry. He watched her wounds turn rancid, transforming pain to anger. “Oh well. It was fun while it lasted. Hope you enjoyed your vacation from your demanding life as a poor, pitiful rock star.”

Now it was his turn to wince. That shit hurt. She knew why he was here, what had led him to this.

“Oh, I did. Very much, thank you.” He leaned on his doorframe for support as she ran from him, dragging his beaten, bloody heart behind her.

He wanted to chase after her. But it was better this way. For her at least.

Chapter Thirty-Four

Miranda had given her two armfuls of work to keep her busy. And made her promise to come out for drinks soon. She knew she looked like hell.

She hadn’t slept or eaten much at all. She just kept replaying his words, the dead stare in his eyes, the brutality in his voice. Her brain was stuck in an endless loop, replaying her last interaction with Van Ransom.

She settled in at her desk, forcing herself to focus on the task at hand—transcribing documentation for more recorded therapy sessions. She had to listen to the first few seconds of each recording to find out the patient’s name, date, and session number so she could place it in the right spot on the digital record. It was pretty tedious, but needed to be done. After over an hour of organizing the recorded sessions, she was starting to fade. Until Miranda’s monotone voice on the recording said his name.

“Session number thirteen for client Vander Ames Ransom. Client Alias: John Walker.”

As Miranda read the date, Stella’s heart faltered then sped in her chest until she felt like it had relocated itself to her temples.

Okay, Stella. That’s all you needed to hear. Tag the file and save it to the list. Then move on.

But she waited, listened to Miranda greet him and ask him how he was feeling. She asked all the same questions on the checklist. She wondered how many times a day he got asked those questions. No wonder he’d found alternate ways to answer them for her.

His deep voice was low. Haunted. It filled her headphones, but it might as well have been filling the room. It raked over her, dragging her down into the memories of his warmth and weight pressing onto her, into her. Her arms ached to wrap around him, to hold him as he released the heavy burdens he carried inside her.

“Mr. Walker, as we discussed in our previous session, you hear things. Hear the sounds from your childhood and of that day coming back to you. Can you expand on that for me a bit?”

“I’m not sure what there is to expand on. My sister was abused. I couldn’t protect her. She killed herself.”

Killed herself? Stella clamped a hand over her mouth at his admission. She didn’t want it to be true. It hurt so badly, especially after what she’d said. She’d known his sister was dead, but this was agony, hearing his sweet strained voice reliving the details. She listened as he continued his solemn story.

“When I’m sober, certain things trigger the memory of her body being pulled from the river. Sometimes a roadie will drop a piece of equipment and I’ll remember the way the chains sounded clanking together as they lowered them into the water. Gears grind backstage, and I see them pulling her out. Or the silence gets too loud, like it did as soon as I saw her bruised, bloated body lying in the grass.”

Stella’s hands itched to rip the headphones out of her ears, but his voice was magnetic, pulling her in. He detailed more memories of trying to save his sister, the many ways he’d tried to find her after they were separated, and Stella folded into herself. He hadn’t told her she’d committed suicide—or that he’d had to watch them pull her body out of the water.

“So when the music doesn’t drown it out, I get drunk. Or high. Or whatever works. But it got out of control. When I’d start to come down, the noises would be worse, the visions clearer. So I’d do more, more of whatever the hell I was doing at the time. Long story short, I nearly OD’d a time or two. So now I’m here.”

Once the recording ended, she tore the headphones from her ears and held her head with both hands. She was disgusted with herself. A sob wrenched itself from the depths of her stomach, from her soul it seemed.

“Hope you enjoyed your vacation from your demanding life as a poor, pitiful rock star.”

How could she have said that to him? She’d been raw and vulnerable. Weak and wounded from the encounter with her parents. She was a damaged human being. There was no doubt about that. But that was no excuse. She’d known enough to know that this wasn’t a vacation for him. Known details of the visceral pain and brutal past that had led him here. To her.

Miranda had told her. He was fighting a much bloodier battle than anyone else here.

Maybe he didn’t feel for her the way she felt about him. She’d obviously mistaken lust for love. But she was a grown woman. That was her fault and not something she should’ve taken out on him. Even if he had already moved on to fucking her least favorite nurse.

Stella rubbed her side, her ribcage still sore and stinging from what she’d done the night before.

For whatever reason, their paths had been meant to cross, meant to intersect. And even though the way he’d ended it had been a crushing blow to her only recently discovered soul, it was worth it. She wouldn’t erase the memories of every single second they’d shared for anything.

She had no idea how she would’ve handled the life-altering confession from her parents without the strength he’d given her to hold on to. She might’ve offed herself just to end the internal chaos and confusion, to keep from dealing with the truths that didn’t fit in her previously compartmentalized life.

That was a terrifying thought, much like standing over a gaping abyss.

The woman she’d been before him might not have been strong enough to even process it. So she owed him an apology for the awful things she’d said to him. And a thank you for giving her something she would cherish for the rest of her life. The ability to open herself up to her emotions—to feeling and loving, to hurting and healing.

She stood and exited her office. Heading to Van’s residence, she prayed that if he had moved on to his next conquest, she wouldn’t walk in on the middle of it.

Chapter Thirty-Five

He recognized her knock. The damn woman had come knocking enough times that he’d memorized it. Fuck.

The urge to get loaded and screw someone else had taunted him all night. He was fucking famous. It would take one phone call to get him out of here. But he’d stayed. Because leaving her even a second before he had to felt like a death sentence. The next time he got high would probably be the last.

“You really do enjoy pain and punishment, don’t you, sweetheart?” He forced a sneer onto his face as he opened the door.

“More than you know, Mr. Walker.” Her eyes held a challenge his dick rose to meet. Christ.

“That what you’re here for? Or did we skip an answer on my survey again?”

“No,” she began, stepping around him. “I’m here because I was at home last weekend, listening to my sordid life story being told to me by complete strangers. And the only person I wanted to be there was you.” She paused as if waiting for her words to sink in. “And because I wanted to thank you. For showing me how to feel.”

Her words, so much like his after his first ‘breakthrough,’ as Dr. McLendon called it, hit him directly in the heart. She’d needed him. For more than just screwing her senseless. Wanted him to be a part of her real life.

“You’re welcome,” was all he could manage to get out.

She sighed, meeting his eyes with remorse in hers. “And I’m sorry for what I said. I know you’re not here on vacation.” She wrapped her arms around herself. “I was angry and I lashed out. I thought what we had was…more than it actually was. It h-hurt to find out that I was wrong—that it wasn’t the same for you. But that’s no excuse. And I hope you can forgive me.”

“Forgive you?” He’d pummeled her heart to hell and back on purpose and she was here to apologize to him? Her eyes were filling with tears that somehow had a direct effect on his ability to swallow. He couldn’t seem to locate the part of him that had been certain letting her go was the best plan.

“For saying something so hurtful. I never should’ve—” She sniffled, turning from him. He moved without meaning to, blocking her exit.

“I see. And what we had, what did you think it was, exactly?” He couldn’t help himself, the need to hear the words in her mouth—even if it ruined them both—was overpowering.

Her body—the body that he’d seen bare and on display for him—went rigid. Her eyes narrowed. “I was wrong, whatever I thought. It doesn’t matter.”

“It matters to me,” he admitted.

Stella’s glistening green eyes met his. “You lied about the blonde.”

Van schooled his face to remain emotionless. “Did I?”

“I can tell by the way you’re looking at me. You don’t really want her. You never looked at her like you’re still looking at me.”

He forced a shrug. “So I lied. People are talking. Jesse told me his dad asked him to keep an eye on us.”

Stella’s eyes widened, but they still held the same determined stare. “So let them talk. If they’d caught us, I would’ve left. I needed you more than I needed this job.”

“No. Don’t. I don’t want that. I don’t want this.”

She winced. Lying to her tied him in knots and pulled them tight enough to snap. His resolve was already fraying at the edges.

“You’re afraid,” she whispered. “I see it now.”

“No idea what you’re talking about.”

She reached out and touched his face. His plan to push her away disintegrated at her touch. “Of caring. Of hurting. Of causing me pain.”

“Actually I thoroughly enjoy that last part.”

“It won’t work.” Her hands drifted down his body, sparks of desire flaring beneath his flesh everywhere she touched. The way she watched him—as if she were seeing him for the first time—stripped him bare.

“What won’t work?”

“Trying to keep me out. I’m in, Van. I’m all in. You’re it for me.”

“Don’t say that.” He yanked out of her grasp. “You can do so much better. Christ. Go find yourself a doctor or lawyer or some shit. That white knight’s out there somewhere, cowgirl. Hop on your horse and go get him.”

She shook her head, his words seemingly bouncing off her. “People lie, Van. They let you down, they disappear, and when fate decides to be exceptionally cruel, they die. But it’s the truths we hide when we’re alive that hurt us both the most. Don’t pretend you’re doing me a favor by pushing me away. You’re not.”

She reached for him again and he couldn’t make himself deny her. His head dipped to rest on hers.

“For so long, I’ve been so afraid. Maybe for my entire life. I’ve been afraid to feel—afraid to let people in where they can hurt me. But I can’t keep you out. You’re in, Van. And you can break, wreck, and ruin me. I’ll only beg for more.”

“I don’t want that,” he whispered. “I don’t want to hurt you like that. Jesus. I just want to—”

“Protect me?” Her imploring gaze met his once more. “Take care of me? Do what’s best for me? Even if it nearly destroys you in the process?”

He swallowed hard and nodded. “Yeah.”

Her face broke into the most beautiful smile he’d ever seen. On anyone. “That’s more than enough for me.” She threaded her fingers behind his neck.

“Dammit, woman.” He tried to back up, but her hands gripped him tightly. He wanted to grab her and shake her. His brand of love was not good enough for her. He couldn’t begin to imagine why she thought it was.

“Stop resisting me, Mr. Ransom. I’m not going anywhere.”

She fastened her mouth hotly to his, stealing his breath, imprinting her words onto his heart.

He felt it the moment it happened. A piece of her bright, shiny soul slipped away from her, lodging itself onto his black one. Purity among filth. Brilliant blinding light flared behind his eyes.

It was too much, too powerful.

He’d let go of some of his darkness to be worthy, but it would never be enough.

“I’m trying, Stella Jo. Swear to God, I’m trying to be better,” he whispered, dropping to his knees and wrapping his arms around her waist.

Her fingers grazed through his hair. “I know you are.” She dropped to her knees, meeting him. He knew she meant to console him, but it was as if he were already dragging her down with him. Literally.

“I can’t give you happily ever after. I don’t have that in me.” He was giving her an out, giving letting her go one more shot. But when she pulled his face to hers and kissed him eagerly—flicking her tongue against his lips like an addict needing a taste, he couldn’t even muster enough guilt to stop himself from kissing her back.

“You’re the first, Van. The first person who’s ever truly made me feel wanted. Needed. Whole. I want to show you something.”

She stood and he watched, awe-struck as she lifted her shirt over her head. Turning to the side, she revealed to him the words that left him speechless.

The poem, the one he’d recited to her in a moment of intimacy, was inked in beautiful script across her skin. It began beneath her right breast and covered most of her ribcage.

“It reminds me to be strong, like you,” she whispered.

His entire body vibrated with the steadfast determination of his heartbeat.

“I-I’m not strong. I’m weak. God, woman. You make me so damn weak.”

She smiled wickedly as she pulled him to his feet. “Well then, I guess I’ll have to be strong enough for both of us.”

“Any chance you’ll get my name on your ass now? Since you’ve already taken your ink virginity and all.”

Her lips curved into a smirk. “Perhaps. Soon as you get ‘Stella’s’ tattooed on yours.”

He stood and stared down at her. Her beautiful eyes pleaded up at him. The sensual mouth he loved more than words parted, opening for him, needing him. He might as well get it stamped on his fucking forehead. This woman owned him.

“Make love to me, Van. Tonight. All night. Please.”

“No need to beg, cowgirl. I’ve learned telling you no is a feat more challenging than I’m capable of.”

“No safe word,” Stella whispered. “No stopping.”

Lifting her, he carried her to his bed. Where they remained. The sun set at some point. And then it rose again.

They didn’t notice.

Chapter Thirty-Six

After having heard his confession, the tattoo on his back seemed to be calling to her. It was beautiful. But it was also regret, guilt, and the shame he carried with him everywhere.

His angel of darkness.

She didn’t know how to tell him or how he was going to feel about it, but after he’d ravaged her entire body—every inch, every opening—all night long, hiding things from him seemed impossible.

Her parents had caged her in with the cold bars of secrecy. She wouldn’t do that with Van.

“I have to tell you something,” she whispered in his ear. Pressing her naked body against his, she rocked her hips gently until he stirred.

“You’re like a machine,” he groaned, rolling over to face her.

“You love it.”

He grinned, peeking out from underneath a heavily inked arm to look at her. “Yeah I do. So fucking much.”

She kissed him, gently at first. Then more firmly as she rolled him over and climbed onto him.

“Well good morning to you too, cowgirl. Must be bad news, I take it.”

She frowned down at him. “What makes you say that?”

Van moved the curtain of her hair to the side so that he could see her face. “Anything you have to tell me naked while riding my dick is probably not great. But I’ll live. And probably come before I have time to process.”

She bit her lip. “I want us to make a rule.”

“Oh hell.”

“Shush. It’s a good one. I think.”

“Does it include fucking every morning? ’Cause that’s a rule I could learn to live with.”

She smiled and shook her head. “No. It’s an ‘always be honest with each other’ rule. Even if it hurts. Even if it makes the other person break-shit mad.”

“Break-shit mad, huh?”

She nodded.

“You got something to tell me, Stella Jo? I gotta warn you. If it’s that you slept with cowboy Ramirez after I pissed you off the other night, I am probably going to far surpass break-shit mad.”

“Jesse?” Stella’s eyes went wide. “Pretty sure he’s gay, Van.”

Van sat up so they were face to face. The movement rubbed her clit enough to make her moan.

“Nut Huggers is not gay. He might be an off kind of dude, but I can tell you, he’s as straight as I am. And if you went looking, he’d have shown you just how straight he was.”

“Well I didn’t. Go looking, that is.”

“Good girl. So what’s the news?”

Stella sucked in a breath. “There’s so much, Van. So much I want to tell you.”

His eyes searched hers. “You can tell me anything, baby. Anything at all.”

She nodded. “It’s just… My parents kept so many things from me. Growing up I felt so…unwanted.” She let out a humorless laugh. “Turns out I was so wanted that my parents went to some seriously bizarre extremes to have me. When I came to you the other night, I had learned some shocking and painful truths.”

“And I turned you away because I am a fucking worthless—”

“Shh.” She placed a finger against his lips. “That’s not why I brought it up. But I saw what lies and omissions of truth can do to a relationship. To a child. To a family. I won’t do that to us. Not when we’re just getting started. No, not ever.”

He watched her intently, fitting the curves of her backside perfectly into the palms of his hands. “Okay. Well, I’ve been honest. I mean, there’s a lot more I can tell you about the past if you really want to know. But being here has taught me to look forward—to where I want to be instead of where I’ve been.”

“Where do you want to be, Van?”

He squeezed her ass tightly and began to lift her. His eyes drank in every exposed inch of her skin as he moved his cock between them. “Right about—”

“Wait. I have to tell you something first.” Stella leaned back.

Van’s eyebrows shot up. “Say it quick.”

“I heard you. Heard your session with Dr. McLendon. The one about Val and the river. God, Van. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

His body tensed beneath her. She gripped his broad shoulders with both hands. “Van. Look at me, please.”

Violent flares of anger flashed in his eyes like lightning.

She was tossed roughly aside as he moved out from underneath her. Her knees knocked together as he abandoned her on the bed.

“So much for this place having a privacy policy.” His words weren’t particularly harsh but there was plenty of venom in them.

Stella scrambled to the edge of the bed and reached for him. But she was a fraction of a second too late. He moved out of her grasp and turned to glare at her.

“Anything else you want to tell me? Did you run a background check too while you were at it?”

She pushed back her rising panic and shook her head no. “Van, I didn’t mean to. I just…l—”

“You didn’t mean to?” His voice rose to a roar. “The recording of my session was forced into your ears somehow?”

Pulling in a trembling breath, Stella search for her old self, for her shield of armor that protected her from feeling. The one he’d stripped away. Because what she was feeling in that moment was afraid—afraid of angering him and afraid of losing him—but mostly afraid of seeing a side of him she wasn’t prepared to handle.

Wrapping her arms around her bare chest, she looked up at him. “No. It wasn’t forced into my ears. But I did hear the beginning by accident and then I couldn’t just cut it off. Just like I can’t just cut this—whatever we are—off. So yes, I listened to something I didn’t have permission to hear. And I’m sorry for that. But I just wanted to—”

The sound of a kitchen chair hitting the wall kept the rest of her words locked in her throat. She didn’t even have time to finish flinching before he let his rage loose.

“You wanted to hear it? You want to know what it’s like to see someone you love be destroyed right in front of you? See the light in their eyes go out as they succumb to the voices and the memories and the darkness?”

She felt like that was precisely what she was seeing at that very moment.

“Van, please—”

“She was a fucking kid, Stella. A fucking kid. And they…and I… Then she was gone. You don’t want this. You don’t want this mess, my mess, my messed up shit.”

She felt his pain as if it were being inflicted upon her in that moment. The ache of loss and guilt settled into her bones as her heart took the brunt of his brutal memories.

Miranda’s words came back to her. If she was going to stand in his corner, there would likely be some bystander injuries. She was relieved to discover she didn’t care. Unless he flung another kitchen chair and it knocked her unconscious, she was going to do whatever it took to soothe him. Just like she knew addiction didn’t have a cure, she knew pain like this couldn’t be loved or fucked away. But maybe it could be eased. Embraced with acceptance and understanding.

“I want you, Van. And everything that comes with you. I told you that. I said I wanted all of you and I meant it.”

“You have no idea what you’re saying, cowgirl. No fucking idea.”

“Show me then. Show me your worst, Van. I won’t run. I can take it.”

His anger seemingly subsiding, he lowered himself onto the bed beside her.

“I don’t want you near me when I lose control, Stella Jo. You deserve better than that.”

“You let me worry about what I deserve.” She draped a leg over his lap and resumed her previous straddling position atop him.

His eyes still held remorse, guilt, and something deeper, something she wasn’t sure was identifiable. A self-inflicted penitence he couldn’t seem to escape. She kissed his lips softly before he pulled back.

“So last night was a pity fuck then?”

“No,” Stella said evenly as she lifted her hips just enough to place his hardening length at her entrance. “Last night was because I love you. Because I’m in love with you. Bone-deep, soul-crushing, change-your-genetic-makeup love.”

His eyes widened at her confession. He opened his mouth to respond, but she wasn’t finished.

“This is a pity fuck. And for the record, you’re pretty hot when you’re break-shit mad.”

He growled when she came down hard on him. Her walls accepted the thick intrusion readily, greedily pulling him inward and pulsating in response to the fullness. She arched backward, angling him onto the neediest place inside her.

His mouth sucked each of her breasts in turn, making her moan as she worked him in and out of her.

“I’ve had a rough life. I’m sure I’ll think of some more sad shit soon,” he promised as she rode him harder. “How much pity does it take for you to ride my face?”

Stella stilled momentarily before rising up and standing on the bed above him. She felt his eyes clinging to her throbbing sex.

“I belong to you, remember? Whatever you want, it’s yours.”

Chapter Thirty-Seven

After coming so hard he felt drunk, Van stumbled to the bathroom. He glanced at the shower, quickly choreographing the many ways he could take Stella Jo in it. He tried to piss, but his poor dick was so worn out it couldn’t aim for shit. Small price to pay in his opinion.

She was wrapped in his sheets when he returned to bed. Dreamy-eyed with sex-mussed hair. Fucking hell she was beautiful.

Even after he’d sprawled her onto his kitchen table and made her pussy his after sex dessert, licking her to orgasm after orgasm until she begged for mercy, she still looked at him with desire in her eyes. Tempting as it was to sink back into the warmth of her, he wanted to give her what she’d needed in more ways than just with his dick.

“You want to tell me more about those bizarre circumstances, cowgirl? The ones you learned about on your trip home?”

She snuggled in beside him and tilted her mouth up for a kiss. Which he gave her. There was nothing he wouldn’t give her.

Her fingers danced random patterns across his chest. “My mom isn’t actually my mom, not technically anyway. My parents used a surrogate to have me and… It was all just kind of… crazy. How it happened, I mean.”

Of all the things she could’ve said, he was pretty sure he’d expected that answer the least.

“And they just now told you this? Twenty-some odd years later?”

“I’ll be twenty-three next week,” she told him. “You know, in case you wanted to get me a gift.” Her mouth descended onto his chest.

He let his fingers tangle in her hair. “Oh yeah? I’ll see what I can do then.”

“Anyway,” she continued, propping her chin on his chest. “My biological mother’s name was Grace Whitman. She had an abusive boyfriend and…well, honestly, that’s about all I know about her. She died in a car accident with him when I was young.”

Van wrapped his arms around her tightly. “I’m sorry, baby. I know none of that probably felt good to hear.”

And then she’d come to him, and he’d been an asshole of epic proportions. Razor blades of self-hatred shredded his insides.

“No, it didn’t. But I had an idea. Grace’s story kind of reminded me of Val’s and it got me thinking.” Stella sat up suddenly. “What if there had been a place, a place where they could’ve went—somewhere they would’ve been safe, gotten help until they could get on their feet? Maybe they wouldn’t have ended up…like they did.”

“Like a shelter?” Van offered.

Stella bit her bottom lip thoughtfully. “Sort of. Just like… I don’t know. A safe haven where they could get counseling and have a roof over their heads until they figured things out. Grace’s Haven, I’d call it.”

Van sat up next to her. She was beautiful, this woman who he loved, who—by some miraculous gift from the universe—loved him back. Beautiful and selfless.

“If there’s one thing I’ve learned from being here, it’s that we all have to find our own way, you know? Find a way to live our lives without letting regrets and mistakes and painful shit from the past dictate everything we do. Or don’t do.”

Stella smiled as if he’d just revealed the formula for world peace. She leaned forward and placed her lips on his neck. He felt his arousal building just from the decadent brush of her bare skin against his.

“Place like that would probably be kind of expensive to run and staff and all that.”

“Yeah. Probably,” she said against his throat.

“Well if there’s anything I can do to help out with that, you just say the word, cowgirl.”

This time when a knock came at his door, he really was surprised. Stella froze and sat upright. His usual visitor was sitting next to him, naked in his bed.

“Who do you think that could be?” Stella whispered as he got out of the bed.

“No idea.” Grabbing a pair of mesh shorts and yanking them on, he nodded at her to cover up. His good girl pulled the covers over her head just as he looked through the peephole.

Jesse Ramirez stood there looking panicked.

Van checked to make sure Stella was hidden from view before he opened the door.

“Kinda early, man.”

“Yeah, listen. If she’s in there, you need to get her out. Now.”

Van frowned. “Okay. Why’s that?”

“One of the nurses has pictures of you two together. They aren’t innocent. And they don’t leave much to the imagination if you get my drift. My dad’s making sure they don’t get leaked to the public, but he has to do something.”

Van roughly scrubbed a hand over his face. “All right. Any idea what that something is?”

“The policy is pretty clear on employee-client relations. All I know is they’re coming to search your room under a bullshit tip that someone slipped you some pills. And if they find her, you’re screwed. Er, metaphorically speaking.”

Van groaned. That wasn’t a bullshit tip. That was Vanessa’s crazy ass trying to ruin his life as usual.

“Thanks for the heads up. I’ll handle it.”

Jesse nodded. “Look, man. One more thing.”

Van leaned on the doorframe and waited. “Maybe you should just confess. Say you seduced her but she turned you down after you practically assaulted her. You’re famous. Shit won’t stick.”

“No,” Van heard Stella say from behind him. “He’s not doing that.”

Jesse appeared unfazed as she appeared beside him wrapped in a sheet.

“The facility isn’t exactly thriving financially. My dad’s a practical man. He cares more about staying open for clients than the rules. He can probably be bought.”

“We’ll figure something out, Jesse. Thank you.” Stella dismissed him easily.

Van shook his head. “Man has a point.”

“Stop. It will be fine.” She ran back toward the bed and dressed quickly.

Van blocked Jesse’s view intentionally. His eyes hadn’t missed an inch of Stella’s bare skin. He didn’t care what she thought. Jesse Ramirez was on the same team as him. And he was not going to see his girl naked.

“You’re not giving up your career for one I’m not even sure I want. Hang on, Jess. I’ll walk back with you.” Stella came up beside him and kissed him hard on the mouth. She held his face until his eyes opened to meet her penetrating gaze. “I love you. I belong to you. I’ll see you soon, okay?”

He nodded, trying his best to ignore the unsettling feeling her words gave him as she walked away from him with another man.

She hadn’t even given him a chance to say that he loved her too.

“She what?” Van stared at the man across the desk.

“Resigned, Mr. Walker.”

He shook his head. “Cut the fucking Mr. Walker shit. You know who I am.”

They’d come for him a few hours after she’d left. Searched his place and found nothing. Except the red panties he liked to tie her wrists with.

Van had raised an eyebrow when one of the orderlies held them up. “What I wear on the weekends is my business,” he told the young guy, probably giving him a very unpleasant mental image of Van in those panties.

Dr. Ramirez shifted in his seat, returning his attention to the present. Van figured he was taking inventory of his breakable belongings. Smart man.

“She emailed me just over an hour ago. Said something had come up at home and that she was needed on her family’s ranch.”

Bullshit. Van wanted to scream. Bull-fucking-shit. She’d told him enough that he knew that wasn’t true.

The doctor acknowledged Van’s surfacing rage with sympathetic eyes. “She would’ve been let go, Mr. Ransom. And you would’ve been released for inappropriate conduct with an employee. She knew that. It’s all very clear in our employee conduct policy. She did the right thing. Can’t say we won’t miss her. But it was best for everyone.”

Like hell it was.

Van stood abruptly. What was the fucking point of all of this? Needing her? Letting her in? She knew his story, knew about Val. And she’d taken the fuck off anyways. Maybe that was what had finally driven her away. She’d given up on him. He couldn’t really blame her. He’d given up on himself a long time ago.

“She left this for you.” Dr. Ramirez slid a white envelope across the table. “She gave it to Dr. McLendon, but Miranda suspected you might not wait around for her to give it to you.”

Smart lady. He half-hated these intellectually superior people pegging him as if he were suddenly the picture of predictability.

But he took the envelope, catching a whiff of her scent as he did, and his anger began to dissipate.

“I’ll let you read it in privacy.” Before the doctor left, he held the door half open and made eye contact with Van. “Son, I’ve lived a few more decades than you. So at the risk of you destroying my office, I’m going to give you some advice.”

Van nodded, her letter burning a hole in his hand.

“Sometimes, it’s best to accept someone as they are. And sometimes, it’s necessary to allow them the time they need to become the best version of themselves.”

His chest heaved as his breathing elevated. “I don’t know which one of us you’re referring to exactly.”

The man met his stare and Van got the ‘my point exactly, dumbass’ sentiment immediately.

The door closed with a gentle click, and Van opened her letter. He wanted to tear through it, to devour every word. And at the same time, he wanted to read it at a snail’s pace. Slowly savor the one thing he had left of her.

The paper was stiff and creased. The noise grated against his exposed nerves as he unfolded it.

My Dearest Mr. Walker,

My hands are shaking as I write this. Because I know how very angry you’re going to be at me. I know how shameful it must look for me to leave this way, stealing our goodbye like a thief in the night. And I am praying this doesn’t hurt you in the way that losing your angel of darkness did. Because this is not goodbye forever. I hope you see that.

Please know, if there were any other way, I would have done it differently. But the ranch has policies, and they have proof. We were not always careful and I take full responsibility for that. I lost myself in you, in us. And I’m not sorry. Because in losing myself, I found my soul. But if I would’ve cost you your career, rendered all of your hard work these past few months pointless, I never would’ve forgiven myself. Please try and understand. This was the only way.

I didn’t say goodbye because my hope is that when you have finished the program at SCR, when you have returned to your real life, your rock star existence, you will think of me. Because you can be certain, whenever your plane touches down or the stage lights go up, in those brief moments of silent stillness, I will be thinking of you. Always.

You are so much stronger than you believe yourself to be. I am so grateful that you shared your strength with me. I am going home in hopes of discussing Grace’s Haven with my parents. You were right. It’s time to find my own way. Just as you will find yours. No more hiding from my future. I can only wish on stars in hopes that you’ll be a part of it. I didn’t say goodbye because I refuse to believe that our story is over. It will never end, because you are a part of me. A permanent part. You were right. I belong to you. Our paths will cross again. Because I love you. I am yours always. No matter where we are.

Love,

Your Cowgirl

Her letter clutched in one hand. He used the other to shatter every piece of glass within reach.

It all had to be broken. Like his heart.

But because he’d actually grown a conscience at some point, he left a quick note assuring Dr. Ramirez that he would pay for the damages. That was the easy part.

I won’t run, she’d said. But she had.

How he would repair the damage she’d done to him, he had no idea.

Chapter Thirty-Eight

“He checked out last week, Stella. He might get billed for a few thousand dollars in damages, but he completed the program successfully.”

She let out a huge sigh of relief at Miranda’s words, though she could only imagine what he’d damaged. “Thank God. I was so worried that my leaving would…” She couldn’t finish. It felt arrogant to assume he wouldn’t be okay without her. That her absence would break such a strong man.

“He’s hurting, that’s for sure,” her friend said softly. “You know I can’t reveal anything said in therapy. But I can tell you that he came to say goodbye to me, and he asked if I’d spoken to you.”

Stella’s heart leapt into her throat. “He did? What did you say?” she croaked out over the wounded organ in her esophagus.

“I told him about your parents selling the ranch and that it was of my professional opinion that he should get his life settled and contact you when he felt ready.”

Stella nodded even though her friend couldn’t see her through the phone. “Thank you.”

“It wasn’t a favor, Stella. It was the truth.”

She wiped at the slick tears leaking down her cheeks. “Still on for drinks next weekend? I might be a penniless vagrant, but I’ll splurge on wine and barbecue nachos.”

Miranda laughed. “Wouldn’t miss it. I’ll even buy.”

Stella was thankful that she’d managed to maintain an actual friendship. “Gee, thanks. But don’t be expecting anything just because you buy me dinner and drinks. I might be on the rebound, but I’m not that easy.”

“I’ll keep that in mind. Hey, there’s one more thing about…about Van.”

Hearing his name, his real name, stole the air from her lungs. “Y-yeah?”

“It’s been all over the entertainment news channels,” Miranda began. “I don’t know what happened, but he left his band—or maybe they kicked him out. It hasn’t been confirmed either way. But word is they’re going by Hostage now and supposedly he’s going solo.”

Stella’s heart quivered. He was all alone in his corner again. Battling that invisible enemy with no one watching his back.

She closed her eyes and sent up a silent prayer that someone, somewhere would watch over him. Over both of them.

“Thanks, Miranda. I need to finish packing, but thank you for the call. And I’ll see you next weekend.”

They said their goodbyes and Stella sank to the cold hardwood floor.

Leaving him might have been the biggest mistake of her life, but she’d never regret loving him. Even if he never came back to her.

Her parents having left already without much fanfare, other than making her promise to visit, Stella was spending the remainder of her time down at the stables saying her goodbyes to the horses when the black SUV rumbled into the driveway.

Lady Marmalade had been enjoying the attention too much for Stella to just walk out. That had been her one stipulation of the sale. The new owner had to keep the horses and see to their care and upkeep.

Unfortunately Stella hadn’t been able to match his offer, and her parents were nothing if not practical.

She knew she was running out of time and there was still so much to do. Finish packing her things. Sign the lease on her new apartment. Email her résumé to half a dozen companies or more. Update her online employee profile. The money she’d made at the Second Chance Ranch wouldn’t last much longer. The security deposit on the apartment and the company moving her things to her new place would take most of it.

She was determined not to touch the portion of the money her parents had given her from the sale of the ranch. She still held out hope that Grace’s Haven would happen one day. Even if it was on a much smaller property. That was her startup fund.

She held her hand to her eyes as the sun shone directly into them. Maybe it was the panic of realizing she was unemployed, very nearly homeless, and heartbroken that pissed her off so much. Whatever loaded old man had bought her mother’s—and technically her—legacy was an entire day early. As if he couldn’t wait to stake his claim. Dick.

The papers were signed and it was a done deal. But this was still a day before the contracted date and she didn’t have to be nice about it.

Emotion clogged her throat as she surveyed the land one last time. Her dream of turning it into a facility for women like Grace and Van’s sister, women who needed a safe place until they figured things out, dissolved before her eyes. A part of her would always love this place, the sprawling hills, the privacy. She’d taken for granted that it would always be waiting for her, mistook it for a burden instead of the blessing it was, and she’d missed out on enjoying it for almost five years now.

No sense crying in front of a stranger over something she couldn’t change. Her stupid hopeless mind began to try and conjure possible ways she could raise enough money to buy the ranch back from the man stepping out of the vehicle. He must’ve been important because the driver had exited quickly and practically jogged around to open his door.

Dark denim covered the legs of a man much younger than what she’d pictured stepping out of the back seat. Familiar ink adorned the parts of his arms that were visible under a black short-sleeved shirt. She wondered if maybe she’d had a stroke and passed out. Seeing him carrying a bouquet of lavender and hyacinth was like witnessing a mirage in the middle of the desert. Stella barely trusted her legs to carry her, but somehow they made their way toward him.

“Van? What are you doing here?” Her voice trembled almost as much as her legs did.

“I own here.” His jaw tensed as she approached. Like he was prepping for battle. “Happy birthday, cowgirl.”

Her heart stuttered and then tripped over itself while trying to find its rhythm. Mouth dry, she licked her lips. “You what? I don’t understand.”

His mouth twitched. “I bought it. For you. It’s yours. Since I never got you a birthday present. Consider me the very first investor in Grace’s Haven.” Her eyes filled with tears and he misunderstood. “Baby, don’t cry. If you don’t want it, that’s okay too. But your note said—”

He didn’t get to finish. Stella had taken off running and thrown herself into his arms. She crushed her lips to his, pouring her love and gratitude into their kiss until she was dizzy from the need to breathe.

“I accept. On one condition.”

Van leaned back slightly. “Oh yeah? And what’s that, cowgirl?”

She sucked in a deep breath. “I know you have to travel for your rock star gig and all. I get that. But when you’re not on the road, I need you here. With me.”

His answering smile was breathtaking. “I think we can work something out. But I have a condition of my own.”

Stella arched a brow, knowing good and well she would have agreed to pretty much anything he wanted in that moment.

“I know you’re my cowgirl and you want to spend all your time with those four- legged monstrosities, but when I have to go on the road, I need you with me. I love you, Stella Jo. The band wasn’t going to change their lifestyle for me. And I’m never going to be a saint. I have to do this on my own. But I need you, baby. Only you.”

“Van—”

“I won’t make promises I can’t keep, Stella Jo. I might relapse. I might have to go back into rehab.”

She nodded. “And I might get crazy jealous of a groupie and set all of your shit on fire.”

His laughter warmed her from the inside out. Filled the space that had long been empty. “I might love you for the rest of my life.”

“I might let you.”

“As long as we both shall live.” Van’s words were kissed into her mouth, and she took them. Readily.

“You were wrong, Mr. Ransom. We are going to live happily ever after,” she whispered.

Van grinned as he set her down and pulled her by the hand toward the barn. “Now show me where we keep the riding crops, cowgirl.”

“Wait.” She stopped short. “I have to ask you something.”

He nodded. “Anything, baby.”

“Do you think everyone deserves a second chance?” Her skin tingled as she waited for his answer.

“I’m here, aren’t I?”

She stepped forward into his arms. “Van?” When his eyes met hers, she placed her hands on either side of his face. “I won’t need another one. You’re mine. And I’m yours. Forever. Come what may.”

Van grinned and kissed her gently. “I like that. Come what may. Maybe I’ll name my next album that.”

“Good. I’m glad.” She paused to pull in as much air as her lungs could handle. “We’re naming our daughter May. It’s when she’s due. Unless you want to name her Valerie.”

She almost fell down with him as he staggered. “Our what?”

“Surprise,” she whispered.

Van closed his eyes and shook his head. The sun shone onto him as he dropped down to worship her on his knees.

“I am not worthy,” he told her, looking up into worried eyes. “But I will spend my life trying to be.”

She lifted his hand to the tiny bump protruding between her hips. “We are yours. You belong to us. You will be worthy. Or I will let Shadowdancer trample your ass.”

Van stood slowly and glanced over to the stalls. “No. Please tell me you didn’t really bring that beast here?” He gaped at her. “It’s like you’re trying to kill me. A baby and now this. Damn, Stella Jo.” He huffed out what she assumed was a breath of defeat. “What is it with that horse?”

She rolled her eyes as she pulled him towards the stables, eager to begin their life together.

“I have a thing for dark horses with tortured souls. What can I say?”

Epilogue

As it so happened, the road wasn’t necessarily the best place for a relationship to thrive. Or a family. Which was why he only toured six months out of the year. A cramped, albeit luxury tour bus didn’t exactly give a baby room to grow. And it certainly didn’t give him the room to tie Stella up everywhere he’d like and have his way with her as thoroughly as he preferred. But they made do. He’d become quite creative as a result. He grinned to himself as he remembered untying her wrists from the showerhead the night before.

Not everything ran as smoothly as their sex life though. Shows ran late. Faulty equipment caused problems. May had gotten a hellacious ear infection that meant no sleep for anyone for two weeks. Shit was hectic. But Stella kept him balanced. Calmed him when things spiraled out of control. Talked him down from the ledges when he wanted to walk away, get wasted, and say to hell with it all.

She amazed him by shouldering the demandingly rigorous schedule, the hours of sitting backstage while he performed, the overaggressive female fans that snuck past security who she’d come face to face with more than once. She’d dealt with those situations with her firm but elegant grace and unfailing strength. He hadn’t fully realized just what she was capable of handling—both in the bedroom and out of it. The more she was tested, the more she thrived.

The show that Vanessa had shown up to had been particularly enlightening.

After bitching her way past security, Vanessa had accosted them backstage after a concert in LA. Stella had been hugely pregnant yet not intimidated in the least.

“Van,” Vanessa had whined. “I just want to talk. You can’t just cut me out like this. What about—”

It was then that Stella had moved between them and put her hand up. “If you even think of using his dead sister to make him feel guilty for kicking your crazy ass to the curb, so help me, I’ll make what you did to that girl in Omaha look like a hug.”

Van had watched the women facing off, ready to jump in should Stella or his unborn child appear to be in danger. But his cowgirl held her own.

“He has a family now. You’re not a part of it. Go find one of your own.” She’d stared Vanessa down until the woman shot him one last glare and slunk away.

“Enjoy your baby mama drama,” Vanessa had muttered.

“Oh I intend to,” he’d said to her retreating figure as he’d wrapped his arms around Stella.

“I don’t think we’ll be seeing her again,” she had assured him.

His tiny protector. A shield of armor that took no shit off anyone. Not even him. She accepted everything that came along with him, accepted him however he came.

Not that she didn’t make him work his ass clean off on that damn ranch when they got home to make up for all of it. But he wouldn’t change a single thing. They led two lives, two beautifully crazy lives, but they lived them together and that was all that mattered.

The road was an adventure. The ranch was an oasis.

Every magazine he appeared on the cover of declared him to be living the dream. And he was. But they were wrong about a few things. The dream wasn’t playing to thousands of fans, selling out arenas, or having an acoustic album that had gone double platinum. The dream was waking up with her—wherever they were. Having morning coffee with her. Hearing her contented sighs of pleasure every night before he drifted off to sleep. It was more than he deserved, but some higher power had seen fit to give him Heaven on Earth. He liked to think that Val was smiling down on him. On them. All three of them.

Valerie May Ransom was quite a handful on the road. A beautiful handful—like her mother. His song writing had improved greatly as she demanded he sing her to sleep every night. And she was an unforgiving audience who didn’t tolerate too many repeats.

They said you couldn’t get sober for someone else. Whoever the hell “they” was. They also said you had to want it for just you. He figured he’d done everything else his own fucked-up way. Might as well stay sober his own way as well. Because it was her he’d let go of the darkness for, her voice that had pulled him from the depthless pits of hell, from the clutches of demons. And it was her he thought of every time temptation reared its ugly head.

Her holding their daughter in that hospital room, her looking up at him with gratitude and love and wonder.

The thought of losing all of that, of losing the two most important women in his life, kept most of the cravings at bay. And when it didn’t, he saw his personal drug rehabilitation counselor immediately.

So maybe he was doing it wrong. But he’d been sober for over a year. So “they” could kiss his ass—right on the tattoo that said “Stella’s.”

They’d kept her rule about always being honest with each other, sometimes brutally so. Which had made getting ink done behind her back nearly impossible. Thankfully Sid knew a guy who traveled and had been willing to work on Van’s tattoo at the crack of dawn.

His skin was still sore from adding the coloring to the tattoo that covered his back. But it was worth it. He couldn’t wait to show her.

She was awake and playing with May when he returned to the bus.

“There’s Daddy,” Stella said, standing and lifting their daughter to greet him.

May chucked a rubber drumstick at him. He kissed her chubby hand. She smiled and his heart swelled in his chest.

What a miracle love was. It had a healing power he never would’ve believed in if he hadn’t experienced for himself.

“Where’d you run off to this morning, Mr. Ransom?”

He allowed himself a gentle kiss on his soon-to-be wife’s lips. Anything more and they’d have to get the nanny to take May for a few hours.

“I have something to show you. Both of you.”

His girls waited patiently as he lifted his shirt up, the same way Stella had once done for him.

The bus was silent except for Stella’s gasp when she saw it.

“It’s us. She’s looking down at us.”

He turned, wiping the tears from her eyes. Sid’s tattoo artist had added yellow sunshine streaming throughout his tattoo of Val. He’d also inked a small smile on her face as she looked down at the three new koi fish swimming together in the water beneath her.

“Watching over us. She must be. It’s the only way I could’ve gotten this lucky.”

“It’s beautiful, Van. I love it. I love you. God, I love you so much,” was all she was able to get out.

Recognizing that she was becoming less than stable, he took the twenty pounds of precious bundle that was their daughter into his arms.

“Breathe, cowgirl. I didn’t mean to make you cry. I just…” He placed a gentle kiss on May’s forehead. “You’ve given me so much. Hope. A family. Your heart. Light in the darkness.” His lips met hers gently. “I wanted to give you something in return.”

“I love it.” Stella stood on her tiptoes and kissed him once more. “I love it so much. But you already gave me something. Something I was empty without for so long.”

He nodded towards May. “Good point. She is pretty perfect. You’re welcome.”

Stella smiled at his playful smirk. “You gave me my soul, Van Ransom. And all the horses and ranches and platinum albums in the world don’t compare to that. Though the adorable daughter is probably a touch more valuable. But I like to think I had a little something to do with that.”

May gurgled some spit and giggled in his arms. “Yeah, you both drool all over me. She’s definitely got your DNA.”

“Wheels up, kids,” Devon, their bus driver, called out as he lumbered onto the bus. “Settle in. It’s going to be a long ride.”

Stella’s bright green eyes turned to him as she slipped her diamond ring bearing hand into his. “That’s what we’re hoping for.”

Content

Last Second Chance
Second Chance - 1
Caisey Quinn

Author's Note

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Five

Chapter Thirty-Six

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Epilogue