Fearless Page 11

  My brow furrows; she doesn’t sound mad, just worried.

  “I know it’s awkward, and it’s gonna look funny, but this way you can kinda slide off the saddle and land softer on your good ankle without risking your knee. Okay?”

  I nod, my heart aching in my chest. Touch my hat just in case, because it’s getting darker by the minute. Then I turn Gidget and start heading for home.

  Not that my horse’s home is with me or that I really have one of my own—dreaming next to her was the closest I’d ever come.

  Chapter 8

  Taryn Ledell—Back Then

  When your long-distance boyfriend is unbelievably sweet, romantic, considerate, and has a body worthy of a Michael Stokes photography shoot, there’s only so much phone sex you can have before you start to lose control. And any former ability of mine to be calm, patient, polite, or gracious had disappeared long before I’d arrived in Aragón, Spain, in mid-April.

  Billy, however, was cool as a fucking cucumber. Jackass.

  The SSP300 racers were burning up their practice session behind me, cutting off Billy’s every fourth word. I pressed the phone closer to my ear, pacing in my pit box and about to spontaneously combust from sexual frustration. “What? Say that last part again.”

  “One more week, honey,” he repeated. “We’re almost there.”

  I flipped off the tool shelves taking up an entire wall of my pit box, then scrubbed my hand through my hair, everything in me pissed the hell off. What kind of relationship takes place entirely on the phone? I hadn’t seen Billy since the first time I met him, two freaking months before, and I was desperate for human contact. The brush of his hand, a hug, a kiss, the smell of his cologne, anything.

  “I can’t wait another week,” I said, pathetic as it was, but I didn’t care. “This is killing me.”

  “Taryn, believe me, this isn’t easy for me, either. But I don’t see us having any other choice. A couple more days, honey, and then you’ll be home.”

  I was shaking my head before he was even done speaking, my impatience so ballooned that I heard the words fly from my lips despite my conscience already twisting over them. “No. We do have another choice, and it’s very simple, and it’s called you getting on a plane and coming to see me. You don’t have anywhere to be, so come be with me.”

  “Honey.” His voice was low, steady. It enraged me. Embarrassed me. That he could be so calm, and I couldn’t get myself under control. But he was like a freaking expert at pushing all my buttons, one by one. “I just got home last night. And by the time I get there, you’re gonna be done racing. So it doesn’t make sense for me to spend eighteen hours getting to Spain only to turn around and spend another eighteen hours getting back to Memphis. It’s not worth it, Taryn. I’m sorry.”

  I stopped dead still, no longer able to hear the chatter of my pit crew or redlining motorcycle engines from racers speeding down the track. All I could hear were his words ringing in my ears.

  Not worth it.

  “Oi! Taryn!” Sophie strolled into the edge of my garage, hooking a thumb over her shoulder, her box braids swishing backward with the force of the movement. “You see that shit? I was killing it out there! Unh!” She mimed a sexual thrust, and I waved her off. She flipped me off with her backward peace sign. “Tell your wanker boyfriend the faster the pussy, the better it tastes.”

  I whirled toward her. “Sophie!”

  She shrugged, making another obscene gesture behind a huge grin, then hollered down pit lane. “Miette! Yeah, I’m talking to you. Guess what my time was?”

  I turned away, plugging my other ear with my finger, so far past seeing red I don’t know what I was seeing. But it wasn’t good. “Billy, you listen to me right now,” I growled. “Don’t you ever say to me that I am not worth your time. Ever.”

  “Taryn.” The surprise was clear in his voice. “I didn’t mean—”

  “You’ve had two months to figure this out, and you haven’t done it. So I’m gonna figure it out for you and make this real goddamn clear: get your ass on a plane, or I will find someone who does think I’m worth it. And believe me, honey, there are plenty of men a lot closer than you.”

  “Tar—”

  I hung up. Turned off my phone.

  My hands were shaking, my conscience scowling, and everything else in me screaming fuck him. Never had a man put up such a fight over being with me, and I’d had it.

  Who did he think he was?

  “T,” Mike called over from where he’d been conspiring with my crew. “Five minutes.”

  I squeezed my dead phone in my hands, then stuffed it into my bag before I texted him something I’d inevitably regret. I tied off a low ponytail, then braided it and tied it with two rubber bands at the end just to be safe. I couldn’t care about Billy King and his lazy drawl at home in Memphis. Not when he could’ve been sprawled out in my pit box, smiling from under his big black hat, his shitty old Ariat boots crossed at the ankles.

  Selfish jerk.

  Mike cleared his throat behind me. “Don’t forget to watch the—”

  “Downshift for turn nine. Yeah, I got it.” I took my helmet from him and tugged it on, a different part of my soul coming alive under the fit of protective Styrofoam inserts and nylon chin straps. And when I flipped down my face shield, walking to my bike and swinging a leg over for my practice, I channeled it all.

  How disappointed I’d been once I’d realized he wasn’t showing up in Spain to surprise me. The needy ache in my chest from wanting to see his eyes and hear his voice in person and not through a phone screen, for once. The atomic rage burning in my heart from his utterly asinine “not worth it” comment.

  I was fucking worth it. He’d just never have the satisfaction of finding out.

  * * *

  The next afternoon, I cruised down victory lane with my fist in the air, standing on my pegs and unable to hear myself cheering over the screams of the fans jumping up and down, dancing, and chanting my name. My heart was cracked in my chest from pride, from relief, from the pure fucking shock that always came with pulling out a win.

  I swung into the spot for first place, the fans and press and crews and sponsors and camera people swarming everywhere. Familiar faces rushed me, securing my bike on its stand as I worked to unstrap my helmet.

  Mike appeared, half crouched and his face exploding with excitement. “Taco Tuesday!”

  I threw away my helmet, leaping onto him. “Every Sunday, bitches!”

  He laughed and swung me around, the world perfect and mine, and everything I’d ever wanted securely in my hands. Mine.

  Mike set me down, and my crew appeared, all of us taking turns as we screamed in one another’s faces, then hugged and cheered and screamed and hugged again.

  “Okay, okay.” I pulled Mike aside, blowing out a breath while trying not to cry from pure freaking joy. And a really smart voice inside my happy racer heart told me I should shut up and not push it, but I just…I had to know. “Did Billy call?”

  I’d been blowing up his phone nonstop. Leaving voicemail after voicemail apologizing for losing my temper and leveling that stupid ultimatum and going way too far and just everything I’d done wrong. But he wasn’t answering, and he wasn’t texting me back.

  I didn’t want to believe I’d lost him so fast, over one fairly big mistake. He was so sweet, so gentle. He had to be forgiving, too, right?

  Mike’s smile fell at my question, his hands settling heavy on my shoulders. I never should’ve asked. Why did I ask? “No, he didn’t.”

  It hurt like fireworks, popping and popping and burning with colors too bright and leaving behind a thick smell of ash that stings your nose and you can’t get out.

  And it was hot. It was popping and burning, and it was all so damn hot.

  Panic started to cinch my throat, prickling up my cheeks and toward my eyes, and I
never should’ve followed Billy King at that rodeo. I never should’ve agreed to go out with him, dance with him, kiss him, or give him my number or let him see the real me or—

  “He’s here.”

  I rocked back, Mike’s hands on my shoulders keeping me steady as I blinked and forgot how to breathe or think or exist. The relief, the shame, it was too much to sort out. Billy should’ve been pissed at me for this, not agreed to it.

  The corner of Mike’s smile turned up, something soft forming in his eyes as he looked over his shoulder. I followed his gaze, dumbstruck at the cowboy leaning against the wall in the corner. Battered boots crossed, blue duffel bag by his feet. And a big black hat with the rim pointed to the floor.

  If there was any air left in the world, none of it was getting to my lungs.

  The corner of his hat lifted a bit, his hand pulling from his pocket and giving me a small two-finger wave down by his belt. It took all my willpower not to run over there and jump him. But I did it; I resisted.

  I looked up at Mike, who winked and said, “Thought he was gonna bust his voice box the way he was screaming, he was so damn excited for you. May wanna cut this one some slack.”

  I sniffled and lifted my chin, my manager giving me a small nod saying I was good to go. He squeezed my shoulders and turned away, and I walked slowly toward Billy, controlled and not shaking at all. Nope. Not my hands or my pulse fluttering or my stomach churning up a horde of butterflies or any of it. Especially when he’d flown all night across the world, then cheered himself hoarse over my win when he should’ve been furious with me.

  He was taller than I remembered. Leaner.

  Billy straightened as I got closer, his hand moving like he was flicking at his nose but keeping his hat low so I couldn’t see his eyes.

  “Hey” was my lame excuse of a greeting, mortification reducing me to a sliver of my former self. He probably couldn’t even hear me over the fans and the impatient calls of the press corps. Clinging to my last traces of dignity, I cleared my throat, crossing my arms and shaking back my braid. Like my pulse wasn’t raging in my chest. “What are you doing here, cowboy?”

  “Ah, you know,” he mumbled, shifting his weight. “Working on my Johnny-on-the-spot.”

  His voice was raspy and extra slow, and carefully, I reached out with a single finger and tipped up his hat. Billy’s sweet blue eyes were shadowed and dark with exhaustion when they lifted up to mine.

  “God, I’m so sorry,” I rushed out, stretching up and hugging my arms around his neck. Old Spice. He felt even better than I remembered, and never in my life had I felt like such a jerk. “You didn’t have to come here, Billy. You didn’t. And I have no excuse for pulling that crap on you except to say that I really missed you, and I am so, so sorry.”

  “Aw, honey, no,” he breathed, squeezing me tight and not even bothered by the bulky size of my leathers. “You were right: I should’ve come here straight to start with. I just didn’t wanna bother you when you were at work. That isn’t fair to do to you, just because I’m off.”

  My heart melted in my chest, and I couldn’t believe him. Mostly because I did. Billy really would think that way, that he’d be a distraction, and it would be disrespectful to show up unannounced at the circuit. Even though it wasn’t like he was a normal tourist—he knew how this job worked, the practices and the press and the back-and-forth all day long, because it was his job, too.

  I swore to myself right then that if one thing was gonna come of this mess, it was that I wouldn’t risk losing a man as wonderful as Billy King. He wasn’t perfect, but he was fucking close enough, and it wasn’t as if guys like him grew on trees or something. If they ever had, that forest had long been cut down.

  I squeezed Billy tighter, then leaned back to see his face, cupping his scruffy jaw in my palms and still riddled with so much guilt, I was nearly sick with it. But there was also a very big part of me that was a little too excited at the prospect of making it all up to him. “I can’t believe you came all the way here.”

  Billy chuckled. “I wasn’t aware I’d been given a choice.”

  Shame soured my stomach all over again, and I dropped my forehead to his chest with a groan. “I’m so, so sorry.”

  His palm petted the back of my head, his lips dropping a kiss to my hair. “Hey,” he breathed. “This is exactly where I want to be.”

  I dissolved fully against him, soaking in his forgiveness and finally letting it hit me that he was here, and I could feel him under my hands and against my body. My heart was nearly ready to burst from it all. God, I had missed him, more than I’d even realized.

  I looked up at him, his eyes smiling despite him being so tired and always patient with me no matter what. “Kiss me, Billy. Before I lose any more of my mind.”

  His grin was so bright, I think it lit up the whole damn stadium. “Yes, ma’am.”

  He swooped down and captured my lips with his, nothing about him slow or simple this time. His hand on my neck and thumb on my jaw weren’t playing around, calloused and strong as he nipped at my lips, then swept his tongue inside my mouth.

  Hot and sharp, he kissed me breathless until my hands were desperately grasping his shirt just so I could stay standing. But Billy had me, his arm around my waist and his knee slipping between my thighs, my whole body ready to cave to his every command.

  Until somewhere close by, a throat cleared, a German accent mumbling, “Excuse me.”

  Werner. Shit!

  I pulled back from Billy, wiping a hand across my mouth and trying to get my raging hormones under control. Real professional, Taryn.

  Werner, my manufacturer rep, didn’t seem to mind, beaming as he held out both his hands for a double high five. I chuckled and met him, Werner linking his fingers through mine and shaking my arms joyously. We’d always been cool—he’d fought up and down to sign me, and it was actually his idea to recruit a publicist to protect my image in the first place. Though I wasn’t sure how Sheldon had ended up being the one he hired.

  “Congratulations!” Werner squealed, then he pulled me in for a quick hug and patted me between my shoulder blades. He was always so careful to be aboveboard with me. He leaned back, still beaming to the moon. “I cannot tell you how proud everyone is at MMW, Taryn.”

  I blushed from braid to boots. “Thanks, Werner. For giving me a chance and just everything.”

  He nodded, his eyes darting to Billy beside me.

  “Oh! This is—”

  “Billy,” he said, extending his hand.

  I waited and waited, but he never gave his last name.

  “So nice to meet you, Mr. Billy.” Werner shook his hand, but he didn’t let go, pointing a finger at him. “I must say, you have a very familiar face to me. Have we met?”

  Billy laughed, then winked at me, clapping Werner on the shoulder. “Sorry, no. Think I’d remember that.”

  I was dead; I had to be. But Werner just shrugged, letting go of Billy’s hand. Then he turned to me, his mood and voice going right back to celebrating. “Well, our terrific Taryn! We have much to do, trophies to claim, photos to take. Will Mr. Billy be joining you? There is plenty of room in the friends and family area…”

  I looked to Billy, who was already doing his best to politely wave off the offer while looking at me all panicked. “Oh no, I’m just visiting. I don’t wanna—”

  I took his hand, stilling his words when I clasped it in both of mine. “Come stand up there with me.”

  Something flooded Billy’s eyes that looked like the three words I was feeling in every nerve in my body. And the more he calmed and steadied, the more I knew I was making the right choice.

  Billy deserved to be first in someone’s book, and he was going to be first in mine.

  Even if I did have to figure out most of our story by myself.

  * * *

  With more determination
than I’d had when I crossed the finish line, I slammed the bedroom door behind him, Billy falling back against it and tugging my body flush to his. He went right back to kissing me senseless as his hands hurried to unzip my leathers and peel them from my shoulders, my braid undone and all my responsibilities for the day finally freaking over with.

  It took hours to deal with my win—interviews and extra photos and more interviews and Billy being a saint of patience the entire damn time. He made small talk with everyone important, and if anyone had recognized him, he must’ve not let them get carried away with it. I don’t think he’d said his last name the whole night, always making sure to keep the spotlight trained on me. It only made me want him more.

  He tugged my leathers down to my waist, my arms coming free as his lips trailed to my neck, his teeth nipping at the soft flesh.

  “For the love of God, tell me you brought a condom with you,” I whispered.

  “In my bag, honey. Don’t worry.” Then he bit down, sending electricity surging through me and short-circuiting my brain.

  “Good job.”

  Billy chuckled as I grabbed his shirt with both hands and ripped it open, thanking the sweet Lord for pearl-snap shirts and brilliant, effing ripped cowboys who wear them. I groaned, rubbing my hands down his chest and abs, his muscles flexing with the movement of his laughter and highlighting the delicious V of his hips that disappeared behind his belt buckle.

  This wasn’t just gym hot. This was real man, born and bred hardworking, could throw calves like they were feather pillows h-o-t.

  I dropped to my knees, my mouth watering as I fumbled to undo his buckle and unable to make sense of the words engraved on it. Something about roping. Something about stars.

  “Hey now, who says you get to go first?” he teased, his long fingers playing with my hair.

  I scoffed, smirking up at him. “You realize you’re talking to a motorcycle racer, right?”

  Billy cracked up laughing, the sound dissolving into a moan when I got his pants undone and his cock delightfully free.