Ride Me Dirty

Chapter 1

1

CATHERINE

Ten Hours Earlier…

“This is the captain speaking. We're in line for takeoff, but as you can see out the window, the weather isn't playing nice and the tower has put a ground stop on all flights. Not sure exactly how long this thunderstorm will hold us up. Looks like we’ll be here for at least half an hour, folks. We'll keep you posted.”

Great. Peeking out the airplane's small window, I could see the roiling charcoal gray clouds that prevented us from leaving Denver. I'd dashed from one gate to the far distant commuter area to reach my connecting flight in time, only to be waylaid like this on the tarmac. I glanced at my watch, then sighed. I didn't have time for this. Hell, I didn't have time to go to Montana, but I was going just the same.

Leaning back into the uncomfortable headrest, I shut my eyes and tried to breathe away my frustrations. I was up half the night finishing the depositions that had to be filed this morning, then spent another two hours closing out as many emails as possible. By the time I'd finished that, I still had to pack. I had nothing, nothing, that was appropriate for the Wild West besides a pair of jeans and running shoes, so after an hour of fretting, I just threw a little bit of everything into a bag.

I'd slept a measly two hours when the alarm went off at four-thirty, only to find the bridge from Manhattan to Queens was having overnight repairs and the traffic was backed up. Then airport security was long and I'd suffered the up close and personal pat down because of the titanium pins in my leg. When I had finally reached the gate, my boss had called to complain about my lack of face-time with my current client list. I wanted to make partner badly enough that I actually considered abandoning my suitcase and just heading into the office, but when my flight was called to board, I knew I had to get at least one mess in my life cleaned up. And now I was stuck in a thunderstorm.

As I tried to rub away the sandpaper feel behind my lids, I attempted the deep breathing techniques I’d learned in yoga class. The classes were supposed to be calming, but they never worked. I was never calm. And right now, the canned air inside this tiny airplane was getting hotter and hotter, sinking into my lungs, suffocating me. I was stuck and there was nothing I could do about it. s**t. I hated things that were beyond my control. I wasn't claustrophobic, but I felt trapped just the same. A huge clap of thunder shook the plane, just before rain pummeled the metal like a thousand tiny hammers. Was God trying to tell me something?

Breathe.

Breathe in slowly through the nose, hold it, hold it, let it out through the mouth. Breathe in…sandalwood and leather with just a hint of warmth I was sure had to be completely unique to him. I sat next to Mr. Cowboy Hottie and he smelled too good to focus on anything else—especially with my eyes closed. The scent wasn't cologne, soap maybe, and had me completely distracted. How could anyone concentrate on yoga breathing when Tall, Dark and Handsome and I were bumping shoulders?

I'd almost swallowed my tongue when he'd walked down the narrow aisle, put his cowboy hat in the overhead and took the seat beside me, all but folding his large size into the small space. He'd offered a quick smile and a polite hello and opened his book. I'd been texting on my phone at the time, but my thumbs had frozen in place as I ogled him. Blatantly. I figured I owed it to all womankind to look my fill as my heart started once again.

He had fair hair that was a little long and curled at the ends. Combed, but untamed. His eyes were equally dark and piercing, but the way his full lips quirked up at the corners indicated he wasn't as intense as he seemed. Tanned skin proved to me he didn't work in an office. As did his big hands with short, well kept nails and a fascinating play of muscle that shifted just beneath the surface. Strong hands that made a woman beg to be touched. Most importantly, no wedding ring either.

I was a total perv thinking about my seat mate like this, but holy s**t. He was pumping out the pheromones or something because suddenly all I could think about was climbing on his lap and taking him for a ride. My brain had stalled and my ovaries had taken over.

There weren't any cowboys in New York. And I had to admit, there was nothing like a man whose size and corded muscles were brought about by hard work, fresh air and sunshine instead of daily trips to the gym. No man could wear a snap button shirt, a pair of jeans and worn boots like a cowboy. And this man? He was all cowboy. Holy hell, I'd always thought the urban businessman was hot, but they were pale weaklings in comparison. They might be able to make a billion-dollar deal over lunch, but I'd turn a blind eye if they tried to get me in bed. But Mr. Hottie? He could ride and wrangle me into submission any day.

Since I wasn't going to tell him that, I glanced at my watch again. Three minutes had passed since the captain's announcement. I should use this dead time to my advantage. Bending forward, I tried to reach my bag, but the seats were too close together. I had to lean sideways to do so only to find the side of my head bumped into Mr. Hottie's rock-hard thigh. Rock hard and warm thigh.

Abruptly, I sat up and flicked a gaze his way. “Sorry!” I blushed furiously and bit my lip.

Oh s**t, he had a dimple. He smiled, showing off that perfect indentation in his right cheek and I just stared at it, my mouth open. He had a five o'clock shadow, and I wondered if his dark whiskers would be soft or scratchy. Would he run them across his lover’s skin? Use that slight abrasion to tease the inside of my thighs before tasting me with his—

“No problem. Anytime,” he murmured, his voice deep.

Was he insinuating I could put my head in his lap anytime? Did that mean he wanted me to…

My eyes dropped to his lap and I quickly observed those well-worn jeans molded him in all the right places.

Mortified I was ogling his very large package, I looked away, not before he winked and grinned.

Trying to keep on my side of the arm rest, I used my foot to hook my bag and pull it forward—bending in ways that I was thankful for hours of yoga to achieve—to finally get my hand on my laptop and cell phone and setting them on the tray table. Taking my phone off airplane mode, it rang right away.

Wanting to silence the ring, I answered it.

“Don't think you can sneak off and sell your uncle's property without me knowing.”

Just hearing Chad's voice grated on my already frazzled nerves. Since I'd blocked his cell number, he was probably calling from his office. Why couldn't he leave me alone?

“I don’t need to sneak. I’m selling my uncle’s house. Now you know.” I kept my voice low so I didn't bother anyone else.

“And keeping the profits for yourself? Not going to happen, sweetheart.”

“I'm not your sweetheart, Chad. I doubt I ever was,” I grumbled. When I'd discovered him in bed with his paralegal, I had to assume she was his sweetheart instead.

“You are my wife and that entitles me to half of that inheritance.”

I glanced out at the rain dripping down the window. My emotions were the same as the sky, dark and threatening to unleash. “You've been in bankruptcy law too long. We're not married anymore. Which means you’re not entitled to anything.”

“Says the woman who, four years in, still hasn’t made partner.”

Wow, that was a low blow. Chad had been made a junior partner in his firm after eighteen months, and never let me forget it. I glanced at Mr. Hottie and discovered he was looking at me, watching me with an intensity that made me squirm in my seat. Was that concern on his face? God, I didn't need him to hear me fighting with my asshole ex-husband.

“Chad, I'm sitting on a plane and can’t talk. We have nothing else to say to each other. Stop calling me.”

I hung up and just stared at my cell. We'd been divorced for almost two years and he was still trying to f**k with me. It had been a stupid marriage and the fallout from that hasty mistake still lingered.

Yoga breathing wasn't going to calm me down from this one so I had to shift my thoughts. Work. Work would make me focus on something besides my lying, cheating, backstabbing asshole of an ex.

I pulled up the brief I was writing and got to work while Mr. Hottie read his book. After a few minutes, an instant messaging box appeared in the lower corner of the screen.

Elaine: Saw your name pop up. You're there already?

Me: Stuck on grounded connecting flight in Denver. Thunderstorm.

Elaine: That sucks.

There was a minute delay, then she wrote again.

Elaine: Remember your primary mission! Find a hot cowboy and engage in monkey s*x!

My eyes widened at the message in the corner of my laptop's screen.

Flicking my gaze toward Mr. Hottie, it didn’t appear that he had noticed my friend's racy note. The type was small and while the seats were close together, I had to hope he was extremely nearsighted. And focused on his book.

Me: Waste of time. I have too much work to do.

Elaine: Famous last words of a woman who desperately needs an orgasm. Chad was an asshole with a pencil d**k. You need to find a man to rock your world.

Elaine had no filter and that's what I loved about her. She didn't mince words. What she said about my ex's d**k was probably true. Sadly, I'd only been with him so I didn't have tons of d***s for comparison but he certainly didn't know how to use it. As for having my world rocked, well, I doubted that was going to happen anytime soon. I was too busy. Work, work out, more work. Occasionally, I slept. As Chad so kindly pointed out, I hadn’t made partner. Yet. If I wanted to be one, I had to clock the hours.

Me: s*x won't get me that partnership.

Elaine: You've got warped priorities, woman, if you think you can't have both. You think Mr. Farber doesn't get laid?

I wasn't sure if I should laugh or throw up in my mouth. My boss was in his sixties and far from attractive. And a misogynistic hard ass.

Me: Funny.

Elaine: A one-night stand. I'm not saying marry the man, just f**k him. Then find another and f**k him, too.

I sighed, trying to figure out how I was going to find a guy to f**k. I wasn't exactly a model with my short stature and curvy body. And one-night stands weren’t exactly my style. How did one go about doing that? Was I supposed to just walk up to a guy at a bar and tell him I wanted to have s*x? Drink and act silly until the man made a move, go home with him and sneak out as soon as we were finished? The whole thing made me uncomfortable. The thought of turning from an uptight, workaholic divorcee who’d only ever slept with one man into a sultry seductress in the wilds of Montana just didn’t seem feasible.

Me: Fine. The first man I see when I get off this plane, I'll just ask to f**k me. That should work, right?

I could have sworn I heard Mr. Hottie grumble, but when I glanced at him, he was still reading.

Elaine: It's worked for me. Seriously though, find a hot Montana cowboy and go for it.

Mr. Hottie still hadn't moved and I inwardly sighed. This conversation was not something he needed to see.

My phone chimed.

Me: Gotta go. Mr. Farber is texting.

Elaine: He can text? LOL.

I rolled my eyes and shut down the messaging window. Grabbing my phone, I read my boss's text.

Farber: Hearing date for the Marsden case changed to Tuesday. In your absence, Roberts will take over.

“f**k,” I whispered, my hand tightened around the phone case until my knuckles were white.

I stared at the words and wanted to throw the phone across the plane. Eric Roberts was vying for the same partner spot I was and he was a total asshole. Besides having a law degree, he had a Masters in brown-nosing and a PhD in poaching cases. I'd been gone half a day and he was already taking my biggest case. I could only imagine what he'd accomplish in the week I'd be gone.

Normally, I would have smiled politely and bitten my tongue. But not today. I muttered to myself as I answered Farber’s text with a polite recommendation that he send Martinez instead. Martinez, at the very least, thought with something other than his p***s. Roberts had f****d his way through the entire paralegal department and had now moved on to the receptionist in the orthopedic office on the fourth floor. “Roberts. You asshole. Think you’re going to ruin me.”

“Do you always talk to yourself?”

I turned my head and looked up at Mr. Hottie.

“I'm sorry?” I asked, confused. My brain was still processing how my career was going into the toilet at an alarming pace.

“I just wondered if you always talk to yourself this much.”

Reality crashing back in on me, I blushed hotly, then looked away, seeing the flight attendant work his way down the aisle.

“Oh, um. Only when stressed.” I laughed drily. “That means yes. I talk to myself all the time.”

A little V formed in his brow, then glanced at my computer. “Stressful job?”

The flight attendant came to our aisle. “Since we're stuck here, drinks are on us, folks. Beer, wine, liquor?”

“Liquor,” Mr. Hottie and I said it at the same time. We looked at each other and smiled.

“Name your poison then,” the flight attendant replied, pencil and paper ready, looking to me.

“Vodka tonic,” I said. “Make it a double.”

“Same,” Mr. Hottie replied.

When the flight attendant moved down the line, Mr. Hottie turned back to me. “You seem to need that drink.”

“Or ten,” I muttered.

“That bad?” he asked.

“Drowning my problems in alcohol is the only thing I can do at this point. Since I've been on this plane I've had a phone call from my ex, an IM from a coworker and a text from my boss. On top of that, I won't make my appointment in Montana on time.” I waved my hand toward the plane's window and the water streaking down it. “I can't go back to New York and, after months of hard work, they’re giving my case to an ass—” I bit my lip. “An associate because I'm stuck here.”

Mr. Hottie's dark gaze was focused on me. Like a laser. It was as if he couldn't hear the storm brewing outside or the screaming baby two rows back or the conversation of the couple in front of us. He was listening solely to me, and the attention made me hot all over. I had to fist my hand at my side to keep myself from finding out just how soft his hair would feel sliding through my fingers.

“Being stuck isn't so bad,” he told me.

I arched a brow, my gaze flying to his lips as he spoke. Lingering because I couldn’t seem to remember that it was impolite to stare. “Oh?”

“Mmm,” he murmured. “Being stuck with a beautiful woman? Every man's dream. Aren't I lucky?”