Every Second Counts Read online

  “I can guarantee it’s not harmless,” I said. “In fact, it has been known to cause…explosions.”

  The back of her hand subtly rubbed against my hard belly.

  “Then this…prosthesis…may be something the TSA would like to research more. Do you live in the area, Ms. Ryder?”

  “Just leaving. Going to Virginia for the short term. It doesn’t mean I won’t be coming back. Do you live here, Claire?”

  She shook her head ruefully. “No. I live in DC. I’m in town for another week to train staff on how to use the new body scanners.” She stepped back, releasing me. “Enjoy your flight.”

  I shrugged. “I’m afraid I’ve missed my plane. It could be several days before I can catch another.”

  She looked at me, her blue eyes hooded. “I can recommend the hotel just down the road. That’s where I’m staying.”

  I leaned so close our lips were almost touching. I could feel her breath on my face. “It sounds perfect, if you’ll have dinner with me after you get off work.”

  “I suppose I could. There is that research—”

  “And I’ll be happy to assist you.”

  Did I mention I’m a professional rider? Sometimes I ride simply for pleasure.

  Chapter One

  Next up, Marc Ryder, currently in second place. She’ll be throwing a leg over number five-seven-five, Funeral Wagon, for her third and final ride of the day.”

  The announcer’s voice rose over the excited yells of the audience and echoed through the sound system of the indoor coliseum.

  Sweat trickled down Ryder’s jaw and into her collar. She climbed down the steel bars of the chute and gently brushed her boot against the spine of the two-thousand-pound, solid black bull to let him know she was there. The bull bellowed and threw his body against the sides of the narrow stall, angrily clanging his horns along the metal.

  The animal was already lathered with sweat, and its pungent odor combined with the dust of the arena to coat her sinuses and throat. She coughed and spit into the dirt, then breathed it all in again. God, she loved the rodeo—every primal smell, every adrenaline-pumping ride, and every beautiful groupie in tight Wranglers and fancy boots.

  “Take your time,” the stock steward said, interrupting her thoughts.

  She pulled her Stetson down tight and cocked her head to wink at him. “Piece of cake, Randy.”

  He shook his head. “I think this one got up on the wrong side of the barn today, Ryder. We couldn’t even get him in the chute earlier.”

  She already knew that. She could be riding Bushwhacker. She had the option to request that this bull be sent back to the barn and the entire lineup shifted forward. But being the only woman in the competition meant that even after four years and earning a top-ten ranking, she still had to prove herself.

  “This big guy’s going to put me in the money,” she said.

  She was confident this angry black bull with his four-foot span of horns and ominous name could give her the ride she needed to cinch second place, a personal best, and her ticket to the National Rodeo Finals.

  “He’s gonna break your neck. Women are supposed to ride horses, not bulls,” Randy muttered.

  She wasn’t offended. Randy was one of the few men who gave her the respect she was due on the circuit. His remark was just his awkward way of expressing his frustration at her nonchalance.

  He locked eyes with her. “I’m just saying, when you get off this one, you better hightail it outta there ’cause he’s gonna be looking for trouble.”

  “That’s the plan.”

  She took a deep breath and slid smoothly onto the broad back. This time, the bull went still, tensing like a coiled spring. Her seat was the only part of her jeans not protected by her leather chaps, and the wet heat of the beast’s body soaked through to her skin. She fought the instinct to tighten her legs while she went through her ritual of pulling the bull rope taut, situating her right hand into its handle, and tightly wrapping its braided leather tail around her palm. She used her left hand to pound her gloved fingers into the rosin-coated braid for a firmer grip.

  The bull snorted but remained steady as she inched forward until her crotch touched the back of her hand and her legs were securely in front of the bull rope. She took a rubber mouth guard from her pocket and popped it between her teeth.

  She stared at the back of the bull’s massive head for a long moment as the noise from the crowd, anticipating the signal for release, reached a deafening crescendo.

  A deep breath and she gave a quick nod.

  Funeral Wagon leapt out of the gate, twisting and kicking his hind legs high and to the right in a high-scoring sunfish move.

  One second.

  He crow-hopped hard on his front legs in a jarring effort to throw her forward, then sunfished again in the other direction. It was a trick that could unseat a broad-shouldered man, but, as a woman, her center of gravity was lower and she moved easily with the animal.

  Three seconds.

  She raked her dulled spurs along the bull’s tough hide for extra points as he bucked through several high kicks.

  Four seconds.

  He launched into a prolonged bucking spin, but she carefully avoided the temptation to lean too far inside and get “sucked into the well.”

  Six seconds.

  An abrupt change of direction, then a third sunfish nearly unseated her. Christ, it felt like her shoulder was separating, and the muscles in her forearm were stretched tight enough to snap. Still, she gritted her teeth and tightened her grip.

  Seven seconds.

  The next few bucks were straight up and down, so she laid back and again worked her spurs.

  Eight seconds!

  The buzzer sounded loud across the arena as the bull gathered his feet under him for one last mighty heave. She loosened her grip and waited for the right second to jump free. Rather than shifting back when he kicked his heels high into the air, she hunched forward to push off the massive shoulders.

  She glanced down to confirm that her hand had slipped free of the bull rope, and when she looked up again, the massive horn-crowned head of Funeral Wagon filled her vision.

  She realized her mistake a split second too late.

  *

  Ryder jerked awake, her heart pounding. She sat up and blinked at her surroundings, then rubbed her clammy, shaking hands along her denim-covered thighs.

  She wasn’t in the arena. She wasn’t waking up in a hospital. She was in an airplane. That wasn’t a heart monitor beeping. It was Claire tapping her nails on the armrest as she read her magazine.

  She swallowed the nauseating fear that threatened to empty the contents of her stomach and concentrated on taking slow, deep breaths.

  Claire glanced up from her magazine. “Good dream, huh? Last time I heard you breathing that hard was, oh, about five hours ago…in the shower, before we had to leave for the airport.”

  Ryder licked her dry lips. “Yeah. I was, uh, reliving the shower scene.”

  The seatbelt sign flashed on and the stewardess announced their imminent arrival in Richmond, Virginia, so they buckled up and readied to land. Claire turned, her mouth close to Ryder’s ear.

  “You certainly turned a boring assignment in Dallas into a week I won’t soon forget.” She nipped Ryder’s earlobe. “Since we’re arriving early, I’ve got about forty-five minutes before I have to board my next flight. I happen to know a nice, secluded spot in this airport for one more good-bye.”

  Perfect. She needed to get her head out of that arena and back where it should be—between a sexy pair of legs.

  Chapter Two

  “Where the hell is she?” Skyler Reese, director of the Cherokee Falls Young Equestrian Program, propped against the wall and eyed the luggage moving along the conveyor, while veterinarian Tory Greyson scanned the thinning crowd in the baggage claim area of the Richmond International Airport.

  “I don’t know. But if she’s a no-show this time, she can rent a damn car to get bac
k to Cherokee Falls,” Tory said. “I’m not rearranging my schedule a third time for her sorry ass.”

  “You had to pick up that semen shipment anyway.”

  Tory glanced down at the cooler protectively tucked between her feet. “I could have sent my intern to pick this up. Hell, it’s for breeding mares at your barn. I should’ve just let you pick it up.”

  Skyler elbowed her. “Admit it. You can’t wait to see her either.”

  They had been a gang of three as teens, the most promising riders at the Cherokee Falls Equestrian Center and the most likely to find trouble.

  Often mistaken for sisters, Skyler and Tory were both tall and blond, with similar short, layered haircuts. Their eyes told their difference. Skyler’s were sepia-toned and brooding, Tory’s pine-forest-green and welcoming.

  Their pasts were just as opposite.

  Skyler came from an abusive home and rose to fame as a gold-medalist equestrian, only to be blacklisted from the eventing circuit for sleeping with the wrong woman. She re-established her career as a trainer and found her salvation in her partner, Jessica Parker-Reese, heiress to the equestrian center and Parker fortune that funded the program Skyler ran for troubled kids.

  Tory grew up in a loving Catholic family and followed a traditional life path of attending college and veterinary school, and then establishing her own business. She had been the voice of reason in Skyler’s and Ryder’s schemes, the one who stepped aside when Jessica explained she could only be a friend because—like many of Tory’s past girlfriends—she’d fallen for Skyler. She had been the one to always forgive and forget. That was, until she met Leah Montgomery and found the voice to fight for what she wanted, who she needed.

  Ryder was the latecomer to the group. Several years younger, she was dark-haired and more physically compact, gregarious, volatile and adventure-seeking. She was the one who’d wandered away from Cherokee Falls to find her fortune.

  Yet, with all their differences, spending their formative years together had forged an unbreakable bond.

  Tory scowled, then smiled and shook her head. “You’re right. It’s past time for the third Musketeer to come home.”

  “Damn right. That’s exactly what I said when I called her and told her to get her ass back here.”

  Tory was quiet for a minute. “I saw the YouTube clip of that bull goring and stomping her. Scared the hell out of me.”

  “Yeah, me too, Tor.” Skyler narrowed her eyes. She strode quickly to the conveyor and snatched up a large black duffel embroidered with rodeo patches and red italic stitching that proclaimed, EVERY SECOND COUNTS.

  “That’s her sponsor’s logo. It’s got to be her bag,” Tory said.

  Skyler checked the identification tag attached to the handle by a length of braided rawhide. “Yep. It’s hers.” They resettled against the wall. “Doesn’t mean she got on the plane.”

  They waited a few more minutes.

  “Let’s go upstairs and see if they can confirm she was on board,” Tory said. “If she is here, she won’t be going anywhere without this.”

  Skyler was about to agree when several loud thumps sounded. They turned to stare at the wall behind them. Silence. Skyler dismissed the noise with a shrug.

  “We should try the VIP lounge. As much traveling as she does, she’s gotta be a member,” Tory said.

  “Good idea. She’s probably up there, putting the moves on some woman while we wait down here. I’m gonna kill her.” Skyler bent to pick up the duffel and another noise filtered through the wall. This time it was a low moan, followed by “Yeah, babe.” A higher-pitched whimper answered. “Inside, I want you inside.” A pause, then a solid thump.

  Damn, that wall was thin.

  “I love how wet you get for me. Slides right in.”

  Skyler blinked. That voice sounded strangely familiar.

  “Wrap your legs around my hips. I can hold you up.”

  “But your knee—”

  “It’s fine. Just relax, babe, and enjoy the ride.”

  “Oh, God. Oh, yeah. That’s right. Give me a fuck I won’t forget.”

  Scuffling noises changed to the softer sound of something bumping gently against the wall in a steady cadence. Another whimper.

  Skyler shook her head and motioned for Tory to follow. A sign forbade all except authorized personnel, but the door wasn’t locked. They slipped inside, closing it quietly behind them.

  The long, wide hallway was empty and a door to their immediate left was marked STORAGE. Skyler took up sentry on one side of it and indicated for Tory to do the same on the other.

  Wait, Skyler mouthed silently.

  *

  Ryder dropped to one knee and impatiently ran her hands up Claire’s smooth thighs. She pushed the tight skirt up to Claire’s waist and growled. “I love a woman who doesn’t wear panty hose…or anything else underneath.”

  Her mouth watered at the heady scent of Claire’s arousal, and she plunged her tongue into the neatly trimmed curls without ceremony. After all, they’d spent nearly the entire past week getting intimately acquainted with every part of each other’s body.

  She had hoped for a restful, solitary plane ride from Dallas but didn’t protest when Claire announced that she’d managed to route her return trip to DC through Richmond so they could have a bit more time together. After a week of nonstop hot monkey sex, Ryder owed her that. Right?

  The minute they lifted off that Dallas runway, Claire’s hand had found Ryder’s thigh, her long red nails scraping the inside seam of Ryder’s loose jeans and creeping under the hem of her baggy hoodie to grasp and stroke the dildo strapped to her hips. By the time they’d landed, Ryder was slick and hard and pulsing.

  So she’d eagerly followed when Claire led her through the maze of interior corridors to this storage room and whispered, “One last ride, stud.”

  Claire’s scent filling her nose and her juices coating her tongue, she stood and Claire dropped to her knees, fumbling to open Ryder’s jeans and slide them down her hips. Ryder was commando, too, except for the harness and dildo, and her thighs were dripping with her own arousal. Claire looked up and tongued the dildo. Ryder groaned. Claire slid her hand between Ryder’s rock-hard thighs and plunged her fingers into her, deep and hard.

  “Yeah, babe.”

  Claire tongued the dildo again but withdrew and stood. “Inside. I want you inside.”

  Ryder pinned Claire against the wall and nudged her legs apart. She refused to acknowledge the pain that shot through her left leg as she bent her knees and pushed the full length of her cock in.

  “I love how wet you get for me.” She lifted Claire’s thighs. “Wrap your legs around me. I can hold you up.”

  “But your knee—”

  “It’s fine. Just relax, babe, and enjoy the ride.”

  “Oh, God. Oh, yeah. That’s right. Give me a fuck I won’t forget.”

  She drew back and drove forward to set up a steady rhythm she knew would bring them both to a quick climax. Claire had a plane to catch and she had friends to meet. Ryder rolled her hips with each upward thrust to grind against Claire’s sex and rub the dildo’s base along her own hard clit. Claire’s arms tightened around her neck and her heels dug into Ryder’s butt as if she couldn’t get her deep enough, hard enough inside.

  “That’s right, babe. Ride me good.”

  “Oh, oh. I’m gonna come.”

  Ryder groaned when Claire snaked one hand under the hoodie and found her breast. The hard, twisting pinch sent a jolt of electricity to her crotch. She gritted her teeth and fought to hold back her orgasm.

  Claire’s whimpers turned into a keening whine and she arched against the wall. She shuddered through her climax, but before the tremors stopped, Ryder pulled out and spun her around.

  “God, you’ve got a great ass.” She bit down on one smooth cheek, her teeth eliciting a surprised squeak. Then she pressed her chest against Claire’s back to bend her over and took Claire’s hands to place them against the wall.
“Brace yourself, babe, this ride’s not over.”

  She grabbed Claire’s hips and again plunged inside. This position was a lot easier on her injured leg and she drove her cock relentlessly, savoring the slap of her flesh against Claire’s ass.

  “Oh, God.” Claire spread her legs wider and arched up to meet Ryder’s pumping hips. “Oh, God.”

  Injured or not, Ryder’s legs were like steel bands and, as her orgasm gathered, her thrusts lifted Claire onto her toes with each stroke. She felt for Claire’s breast and squeezed the nipple hard. She couldn’t hold off this time, so she slid her fingers over Claire’s clit, stretched tight by the cock boring into her, and stroked it firmly. Claire clamped a hand over her own mouth and screamed her climax into it.

  Ryder groaned and bucked through her orgasm. “Fuck, yeah. Oh, yeah.”

  They panted for a long minute, Claire still bent over and Ryder pressed against her back. When their breathing slowed, Ryder pulled her cock free and Claire moaned with the movement.

  Ryder glanced around at the surrounding shelves. Nothing but jugs of industrial cleaner. She pulled off her hoodie and tank top underneath, offering the soft undershirt to Claire to dry off a bit. But Claire shook her head and daintily pulled a mini-pack of wipes from her purse to clean up before straightening her skirt. Ryder shrugged and wiped the undershirt between her own legs and along the dildo before tugging her jeans up and slipping back into her hoodie. She rolled the sticky tank up and stuffed it into the hoodie’s pouch.

  Claire glanced at her watch. “Damn, I’ve got to hurry or I’m going to miss my flight.”

  “Yeah, and my friends are probably looking—” Ryder opened the door and bumped into a tall roadblock. “Oh, well, guess they found me.” She grinned up at Skyler. “Hey, guys. Hope I didn’t keep you waiting long.”

  Claire glanced at the two women, then turned to Ryder. “I should be embarrassed, but I don’t have time.” She pulled her down for a long, tongue-filled kiss. “Thanks for an unforgettable week, stud. You’ve got my numbers if you’re ever in DC.” One last peck on the lips and she was sprinting down the corridor as fast as her three-inch heels would carry her.