WRECKER: A Bad Boy Cowboy Romance (A steamy billionaire romance story) (7 page)

C
anada’s on my mind
, and I don’t mean the country. She’s tempting me. To get in touch with her, to talk to her, to see her. And the urge is bad. I decide to give her a call, see if I can persuade her to come out with me tonight. I figure we can drive out somewhere and drink a bottle of something under the stars.

Of course, she might have other ideas. A lot of women prefer something a little more fancy, but that’s only occasionally my style, going out for dinner in tight clothes, a tie, and seeing people come up to me either fawning all over me or putting me down because they think a rodeo cowboy isn’t worth what they’re worth as a CEO in the oil industry. Little do they know that I am one and the same, that I have the same kind of money as they do, and for the same reasons, but I just don’t build my life on it. I build other people’s lives on it, truth be told. If someone else takes care of the oil, that’s good enough for me. And I’ll keep on keeping on with my life as is.

But it’s true that sometimes that life gets a little lonely, despite the endless supply of women that I’ve availed myself of in the past. Yeah, the women who throw themselves at me. They’re good in a pinch, when you don’t feel like being alone, or when you have a hankering to bury your dick in a warm wet hole. Truth be told, I haven’t wanted much more than that in quite some time. Hungry, eat a steak. Horny, pick up the next hot chick and let her wrap her lips or her wet pussy around your cock. It hasn’t been too difficult for me, not to brag. Once I reached about seventeen, I hit my stride, and women haven’t been able to stay away since. Nor for long.

But a woman like Canada—or I should say, Chastity—well, someone like that is a bit different. She doesn’t even understand how gorgeous she is. She’s innocent, somehow. Like a flower that opens its face toward the sun. Look at me getting all poetic. Man alive, I’ve got it bad.

But I know that she’s not just some empty-headed moron like most of the women I’ve been with. There’s something in her eyes that tells me more of what I need to know than anything else, and I can’t say the same about the skanks that line up outside my door. Not that I have anything against sex, hell... I don’t mind admitting that I love it. Every part of it. And I like pleasing a woman probably more than the next guy does. But if that’s all a girl has to offer, she shouldn’t be surprised if someone takes it and leaves the rest.

I pick my phone out of my pocket for the third time and decide to text Canada.

“Hey Chastity, you feeling better, you want to meet up a little later?”

I’m surprised to see that she’s instantly writing me back, the little dots on my screen tell me at least. They start and then stop… and start and then stop.

“Cat got your tongue?” I text her finally. “I can help.”

She writes back. “Haha,” and then after a moment. “Yeah? What do you have in mind?”

I’ll tell you exactly what I have in mind. I have in mind to kiss you like you’ve never been kissed before. Passionately, sweetly, hungrily. I have in mind to slide your shirt from your shoulders and kiss your neck and the tops of your breasts before I take one nipple in my mouth and then the other, watching your eyes close in pleasure as your nipple hardens under in my mouth. I have in mind running my tongue over the nub as my hand sneaks around and pulls you to me, my thigh between your legs, you grinding against me as I squeeze your sweet ass. To have you beg me to fuck you, and fuck you hard, because I’ve teased you so much you can’t take it anymore. To not let you have my entire length right away, but to kiss and suck your quivering clit as I rub your g-spot and you struggle to stand up against the wall. Then to bend you over and fill you again and again with my hard stiff cock as your pussy wraps around me, hot and wet and needful. Us crying out together simultaneously, me shooting jets of seed inside you, and you taking it all, as we catch our breath, right before we do it all again.

“Maybe a picnic?” I write.

“Sounds good.”

“Pick you up at six.”

* * *

W
hen she climbs
into my truck, she looks radiantly beautiful. And goddamned sexy as hell. She isn’t done up like she had been in the restaurant, all legs and tits and ass and hair, but she looks more subtle. She’s wearing a pair of dark blue jeans and a white blouse that falls off of one shoulder. And I can’t see a bra strap on that shoulder either. She has flats on, after those killer shoes in the pub, but her legs look as long as ever, and her ass as pert.

“Hi,” she says, shyly.

“Hey there, don’t you look pretty as a picture,” I say, and watch the pink blush creep up from her neck. She’s nervous, and I guess on some level so am I. It’s been years since I cared what a girl thought. Now I’m wondering if my old game is gonna work with this new player. Or will it turn her off? Aw, who cares. I just like her is all.

I put my hand out and grab hers which was resting on her denim-clad thigh. I pull it over to me and immediately it’s like her hand is made of electricity. I know they talk about sparks flying, but for us it was more like when my uncle used to weld. A nonstop stream of sparks that had no intention of stopping or slowing. Is she feeling it too?

“So you want to have a picnic?” I ask. It’ll be the second meal we’ve eaten today, but what the heck.

“I’m up for pretty much anything,” she says, and then suddenly covers her mouth as her eyes open wide. “I mean,” she starts, but doesn’t know how to finish.

“I think I know just what you mean, Canada,” I say smoothly. “Me too. But I had an idea of a place I wanted to take you, as long as you don’t mind it being out in the country.”

“Not at all,” she grins, relieved. “I haven’t seen much out of the city yet.”

“Let me tell ya, there ain’t much like the Texas sky when it’s filled with stars. It’s a beautiful sight.” I let go of her hand, reluctantly, but only after I draw it lightly against the stubble of my jawline. The touch of her skin makes me shiver inside. I can’t wait until I have her alone.

“So we’re going to eat something?” she asks.

“I had one of my staff make up a little picnic for us in case you were up for it,” I say, then suddenly I realize that I went a little too far. Too much information. Does Canada need to know that I have staff? Probably not at this point. I don’t want to give the impression she’s struck gold, though I can’t imagine at the same time she’s digging for it. She’s too good for that.

“Oh,” she says. “That sounds lovely.” Her hands go back into her lap, and she sits demurely, making me want nothing more than to slip my hand between her legs and rub that sweet little pussy of hers until she groans and throws her head back like she did in that restaurant. I’ve never been with a woman who looked at the same time like she didn’t need it but would enjoy it so much. “Should we turn the radio on?” she says.

“Yeah, I hope you like country music,” I say. “That’s pretty much all we get around here.”

“That sounds fine with me.” She turns her dark shining eyes my way. “My dad used to listen to it up north. It’s one of the reasons I wanted to come to Texas, because it always somehow seemed like a magical place to be. Somehow a home away from home.”

“I guess it is. Sometimes,” I grin. But magical?

Apart from the vast starry sky and the millions of gallons of oil under the ground, I’m not sure there’s anything magical about this place. Unless it’s a kind of dark magic. Because the whole time I’ve been here, I’ve felt that we left the magic behind somewhere. Lost it in the drive for more and more money. Yeah, sure, I like my money, but do I chase it? Not one bit. What I want to find in this world can’t really be bought with money. Now don’t get me wrong, I know my money can do a lot of good, and that’s why I built the place for the kids, and staffed it with the best people that money could attract, but aside from that, money doesn’t buy happiness.

A few minutes with this incredibly beautiful woman on the other side of a bench seat, though, that could.

I pull onto the highway, and we’re plunged into the near sunset. I want to make sure that I show Canada the Texas sunset and the stars, and the rolling hills of the countryside. We drive along in silence apart from the sound of Hank Williams crooning on the crackly radio. It doesn’t feel one bit awkward to me at least. Canada’s checking out all the sights, just like I want her to, seeing the land that is part of me, even as it tried to eject me. Or its people did. Texas herself always seemed pretty kind to me, the dirt welcoming. Not prejudiced.

And that’s what I want to share with Chastity, that vision of this place, untainted by the rednecks and children of the rednecks who didn’t have time for me until we struck oil on my mother’s property just out of town.

Hard to explain to a girl from up north what things were like for me, and probably unnecessary. Just show her the good side, and keep her away from the bad. If that’s possible.

* * *

“
L
isten Kent
,” says Andrea, “I don’t know if I’m ready.”

“Ready for what?” I pull her close behind the bleachers, and kiss her red-lipsticked mouth. “You sure seem ready,” I say. She always had, ever since I laid eyes on her at the start of the year. The head cheerleader at all the football games, Andie was the girl all the boys beat it to, talked about, fantasized about taking to the prom.

“But I’m only seventeen,” she pouted. “And I shouldn’t be with someone like you anyway.”

I pulled away from her. She had to be kidding. “Someone like me?”

“You know what I mean, Kent,” she says, wheedling. “My papa would never allow it anyway, for us to be together.”

“Who says we need to be together?” I mutter. “You think you’re good enough for me?” My bravado was all I had, aside from my new good looks, and I intended to use it for all it was worth. “Really?” I laugh harshly.

“Don’t be like that,” she says, tickling the soft new chest hairs that sprout out from my plaid shirt. “You know I didn’t mean it that way.”

“How am I supposed to know that?” I ask her. I mutter, “Stupid bitch.”

“What did you call me?” she asks, petulant.

“Why do you call me Kent?” I’m sick of this. “My name is Kanen.”

“I thought Kent was your name.” She’s confused.

“It was, but my real name is Kanen.” I’m done trying to fit in with these hicks. “You can call me that from now on. But only when you’re talking about me because I think we’re done here.” I start to walk away from her, but she catches my arm.

“Don’t be like that, baby,” she says. “You know how I feel about that sexy butt of yours. But you’ve got to understand how things are.”

“Whatever,” I say. Something in me wants to punch people, or cry. I can do neither at this moment. I just shake her off, and tell her to go back to her squad. I don’t need the lust or the pity of any girl, even if she is the head cheerleader. That’s just not how I work. I’m on my own now, and I can support myself. I don’t have to make anyone happy.

When I hit oil on Mama’s property, it was a stroke of luck, but it couldn’t have happened at a worse time.

Mama was dying of cancer when we found that black gold. Stage 4, it was untreatable, and mostly just because we hadn’t had any of the money we’d need to fight it. Not that she would have won the fight for certain in any event, but she would have had a chance if I’d only done the jobs around the house she asked me to do a little earlier. Done the digging that led to the money. Then it might have still been treatable.

I can picture it like it was yesterday, doing that long put-off work for Mama when I first noticed it, the ground leaking a little bit of shiny blackness. And a little bit more. And more, until eventually they drilled and it was practically a geyser. It was way in the back of her property, where nobody ever went, and when we confirmed what it was, it was clear that we—well, I—would be set for life from then on. All from an ignored piece of land. Sometimes riches lie in the most nondescript places.

“Kanen,” she says to me very solemnly, looking at me with those faded, rheumy eyes that stood out in her newly gaunt, pale face. “You be a good boy with that oil money now. You promise me you won’t do anything sinful with it.”