Betting on Grace Page 2

  Grant aimed to please, so when Gracie began to move, rocking her hips forward, Grant withdrew before sliding back inside the scalding-hot recesses of Lane’s body.

  “You feel so good,” Grant growled, gripping Lane’s hips, the lean muscle flexing beneath his palms. “I’m not gonna last.”

  Lane grunted, but he didn’t say a word, his body straining as Grant drove into him, lodging him deeper inside of Gracie.

  When Lane shifted his legs wider, allowing Grant better access, Grant took advantage of the new position, driving his hips forward as he began to pound into Lane over and over while Lane used the momentum of Grant’s thrusts to slam into Gracie’s pussy.

  Feeling the indicative tingle that signaled his inability to stem his release any longer, Grant knew it was time to fast track this or he was going to go solo.

  Planting one hand on Lane’s strong back, Grant slowed, tipping forward and sliding his other hand between Gracie and Lane, seeking her clit. When he found the little bundle of nerves, he used his thumb to massage it until she was crying out their names, begging them both to make her come. Lane, as usual, wasn’t just a bystander, proving it when he shoved Grant’s hand away and took over, leaving Grant with the ability to send them all careening into the abyss as he began to pound Lane’s tight ass over and over.

  When Gracie cried out her release, Lane followed not long after; then, and only then, did Grant let go, his cock pulsing deep inside of Lane’s ass. He fought the urge to fall forward, not wanting to crush Gracie beneath them.

  He remained just like that for several moments, his chest heaving, his head still spinning from the intensity of his climax.

  “Time for a shower?” Gracie asked, her tone heavy with exhaustion.

  “Not sure I can move,” Lane answered.

  “Not sure I want to move,” Gracie admitted, making Grant smile again.

  Yeah, he knew the feeling. If he had his way, he was pretty sure he’d spend the rest of his life just like this.

  Chapter Two

  August, one month later

  Monday morning

  “Where’re you headed?” Lane Miller hollered from the south end of Dead Heat Ranch’s main barn.

  Lane had walked into the enormous steel building just in time to see, through a hazy dust-mote stream lit by the rays from the early-morning sun, Grant Kingsley high-tailing it across the marred concrete floor. Grant was moving like his ass was on fire, which was, quite frankly, a sight to see.

  With the sound of Lane’s heavy footsteps resounding off the metal walls, a few goats bleating their morning greeting, and the scent of manure and hay flooding his nostrils, Lane picked up his pace, attempting to keep up with Grant before he hit the wide-open double doors on the opposite end.

  Lane was halfway across the barn when he noticed that, in his haste to ensnare the hunky cowboy trying to evade him, he had captured the attention of Budweiser, one of the three Labrador retrievers that lived on the ranch. The charming black dog ran toward him, tongue lolling, tail wagging, but Lane didn’t pause to pet him as he normally would, fearful that Grant would disappear if he veered off course.

  “Asking a question here!” Lane yelled, trying to get Grant to stop. “Where’re you off to?” he repeated.

  “Runnin’ into town.”

  For a fraction of a second, Lane wondered if Grant meant literally because of the fast pace he was maintaining. Doubtful, but the mental image was quite amusing. And picturing Grant huffing it into town sure beat thinking about the way Grant had answered. Grant had drawled the response as though he didn’t have a care in the world; however, he didn’t bother to spare Lane a glance, which was Lane’s first hint that something was up.

  Hell, for as much attention as Grant was giving him, Lane could’ve been anyone, certainly not someone who was actually supposed to be important to Grant.

  Drop it, Miller. Not gonna get you anywhere today. Chin up.

  Doing his best to heed his own advice, Lane set off in a half jog, half run, in order to catch Grant before he got too far away. Budweiser, of course, thought it was a game and trotted alongside him, barking happily.

  “Hey,” Lane called to Grant again, trying to get him to slow his roll. It didn’t seem to be working, so he glanced down at the animal scurrying along beside him. “Mornin’, Budweiser,” he muttered to the dog, earning another enthusiastic woof from the animal.

  Well, at least someone was paying attention to Lane.

  “What?” Grant exclaimed a little unexpectedly, and Lane hauled his gaze back up, where he saw that, yes, Grant had actually stopped walking.

  Finally.

  When Grant spun around to face him, Lane came to a jerky stop, surprised by the irritated expression on Grant’s too-handsome face.

  “You okay?” Lane asked, concerned, standing less than a foot away from the man who, in recent weeks, had sent Lane’s entire world on its ear.

  In a good way.

  “Yeah. Fine. What do you need?”

  Okay, so someone was lying, and since Lane wasn’t the one spouting off that he was fine when he clearly wasn’t, the award went to Grant.

  “What’s your problem?” Lane mouthed off, getting a little defensive.

  It wasn’t that he was surprised that Grant was in a foul mood; after all, this was Grant. He wasn’t always chipper, but that hadn’t been the case so much lately. In fact, Grant had been the picture of sunshine for the last few months, and Lane wanted to think that he played at least a small part in that. Rightfully so, Lane hadn’t expected to be met with such animosity that early in the morning.

  “I’ve got things to do, Lane, what the hell do you want?”

  Lane glanced just past Grant’s head, making sure they were alone, not wanting to risk someone stumbling upon them when he…

  “Oomph.”

  Lane pushed Grant’s lean body up against the inside wall of the barn, successfully slipping into the shadows before he crushed his mouth down on Grant’s in a kiss that threatened to spark the dry hay stored there into an inferno. Again, Budweiser thought it was time to play, pawing at Lane’s ass as Lane took control of the kiss, cupping Grant’s stubble-covered jaw as he leaned into him.

  Despite the attitude, Grant pretty much turned to putty in his arms, and Lane didn’t let up, sliding his tongue into the hot cavern of Grant’s mouth. He trailed his hands down Grant’s neck, over the hard planes of Grant’s chest, across his rippled abs, then lower until he was gripping Grant’s narrow hips. Lane held him in place, rocking his erection against Grant’s through the confining denim of their jeans, trying to get as close as physically possible because… Well, just fucking because.

  Grant Kingsley was like rocket fuel, combustible and capable of intense heat. Even now, when it was clear Grant was inspired by something more than lust, if his sour mood was anything to go by, the man pretty much went up in flames right there in Lane’s arms. Even with Grant’s grumpy attitude, Lane found that he craved the man like a drug.

  Grant’s fingers knotted in the front of Lane’s T-shirt as the other man pulled him closer, sending Lane’s head whirling. Hot damn, it had been too long since they’d done this. This being sharing a kiss that made bright, colorful lights dance behind Lane’s closed eyelids.

  Another few heated moments passed while Lane tried to get his fix, plunging his tongue into Grant’s mouth, tasting the coffee his lover must’ve had a short while ago, and desperately wishing they had just a little more privacy than the shadowed interior of the main barn.

  No such luck, which was why Lane reluctantly drew back.

  “Good mornin’,” Lane said to Grant with a grin, still holding Grant’s hip with one hand while absently patting Budweiser’s big head as the insistent animal pushed his snout up against Lane’s leg, begging for attention.

  Grant rolled his eyes, but Lane was pretty sure that was a smile that curled the very corners of Grant’s delicious mouth.

  “What’re you goin’ into town for?”
Lane asked curiously, forcing himself to take another step back, releasing Grant from his clutches despite his desire to slam his mouth on Grant’s one more time for good measure.

  “My dad called,” Grant disclosed, a flicker of heat mixed with what Lane could only assume was aggravation — based on Grant’s tone — glimmering in his ocean-blue eyes.

  “Your dad’s not in town, Grant,” Lane offered helpfully, not telling Grant anything he didn’t already know.

  Lane wasn’t up to speed on everything about Grant’s parents, but he was aware that they lived nearly an hour outside of town, which meant that Grant’s “in town” reference was supposed to deter Lane.

  “No shit, Sherlock,” Grant bit back.

  “So what does he want?” Lane asked, pretending not to be bothered by Grant’s snippy fucking attitude.

  As with Grant’s parents’ whereabouts, Lane didn’t know much about Grant’s rapport with his folks, either, but from what Lane had gathered over the years, their relationship was strained at best.

  “I need to stop by and talk to him.”

  Now Lane’s Spidey senses were beginning to go off, and Grant wasn’t helping with his elusive retort. “Need” was a pretty strong word, especially when Grant used it.

  Grant wasn’t much for running off to deal with personal business, nor was he usually quick to share the details of his life, but Lane figured it was safe to assume they had crossed a particular line in recent months. The one they no longer saw in their peripheral vision because they’d taken a few steps forward and zero steps back. And Lane wanted to believe that once they passed that line and it disappeared from view, it was only fair that they were expected to open up a little more than normal.

  Someone probably needed to remind Grant of that because apparently he was regressing.

  “What’s up, man? Talk to me.”

  Grant met his gaze, and this time Lane saw defiance there.

  Fucking hell.

  Scratch that. Grant wasn’t regressing; he was running backward at lightning speed.

  “Don’t make me kiss it outta you,” Lane threatened, doing his best to keep the happy-go-lucky tone he was known for.

  “As much as I’d like that,” Grant said hesitantly, his eyes darting across their immediate surroundings, passing over Budweiser, who was still watching them intently, before meeting Lane’s once more, “I really do need to go.”

  “Fine.” It was clear that Grant wasn’t going to delve into the specifics about what was bothering him. At least not out there in the dusty barn.

  Bearing in mind how much physical distance they had inserted between the three of them — him, Grant, and Gracie — in recent weeks, due to circumstances out of their control, Lane knew not to push his luck.

  No, he would corner Grant later and kiss it out of him — just as he’d threatened — if he had to.

  But for now, he opted to change the subject. “How ’bout dinner?”

  Grant’s eyes softened somewhat, but that was as far as Lane was going to let him go because he knew what was coming. Regressing had quickly turned to retreating, and now Grant was backsliding at a rapid pace. Lane had feared it was coming for the last couple of weeks.

  Clamping his hand over Grant’s mouth before the man could give him some sorry excuse, Lane said, “Don’t do this. Don’t come up with some bullshit reason to push me away. You hear me? We’ve come too damn far for this.” Lane stared back at Grant for a long moment. “I’m going to work, and you’re gonna be on your way. Whatever you think you want right now, you’d better give it some more thought. I’m not gonna drop this, so don’t even ask me to.”

  Grant’s eyes were wide by the time Lane released his mouth. And just like he said he would, Lane turned on his heel and walked away.

  Right after he pressed his lips to Grant’s for a quick, potent kiss.

  ■□■□■□■□

  Grace Lambert was coming out of the six-thousand-square-foot main house, where pretty much all business-related activities associated with Dead Heat Ranch occurred, including the Monday morning meetings she had with her father and sisters, at about the same time Lane was going in. Where her head was at, she had no idea, but before she knew it, she was on a collision course with the delectable cowboy. The same cowboy who made her heart burst into a full gallop every time she saw him. The same one who, just a few months ago, she had tried to steer clear of.

  Yeah, that ship had obviously sailed.

  “Well, hello, gorgeous,” Lane said huskily when she found herself flush against him, one hand clutching his huge bicep, the other crushed between them — the only thing saving her iPhone from a header on the wooden deck that wrapped around the house.

  Their close proximity would likely appear an accidental collision to an onlooker, but based on the way Lane slid his hands along her hips, his chest pressed firmly against her breasts, what had started out innocent took a quick and abrupt turn to the lascivious.

  Mmm… Lascivious. Some seriously delicious moments that they had shared over the last few months came to mind.

  Grace didn’t mind the close contact, although she prayed no one was paying any attention. Because if they were…

  Stumbling back a step or two just in case someone did have them in their cross hairs, Grace shifted her attention from the phone in her hand to the devastatingly handsome cowboy in front of her. “Sorry,” she muttered shyly, her face warming several degrees.

  “Babe, feel free to knock me off my feet anytime you want. This certainly isn’t the first time.”

  Unable to help herself, she smiled up at him. Way up.

  Grace knew she wasn’t even average when it came to her height of five feet four inches, although she was taller than her four sisters, but compared to Lane’s six-foot-three-inch frame, she felt impossibly small.

  “Someone’s in a good mood this mornin,'” she offered. “Wish I could say the same.”

  “What’s with you people today? You’d think it was Monday or somethin’.”

  “It is Monday, Lane,” Grace informed Lane with a full-fledged smile.

  “Oh. Well, hell. That explains it then. Where’d the weekend go?”

  “No idea. I think I worked through it.”

  “Yep, I know the feelin’.”

  It had been an incredibly busy few weeks for all of them. With the official end of summer nearing as August came to a close, things seemed to be moving at warp speed. The days were tirelessly long and seemingly endless, with all of the guests who were cramming in a last-minute summer vacation before school was back in session.

  Thanks to the steady influx of tourists visiting, they’d spent the last two months performing some much-needed updates on the ranch. They had worked continuously to get everything done in a short amount of time, including getting two of the extra cabins in tip-top shape so they could be occupied, providing the on-site store with a much-needed facelift, installing some new commercial appliances in the kitchen, and replacing a handful of the wobbly old tables scattered throughout the dining area. Not to mention all of the new things going on with the actual animals that were supposed to be the primary focus of their day-to-day chores.

  They had recently purchased six new horses for the ranch, specifically to use for the tourist trail rides, and they’d all been pitching in with getting them acquainted with the ranch. Dixie, their beloved yellow Labrador, had inadvertently gotten herself knocked up by Budweiser a couple of months back, and they were all required to be on puppy duty as well.

  It didn’t help that Hope, Grace’s older sister, was off on some crazy rampage about increasing the ranch’s income potential. The spur in her sister’s butt had caused a hiring trend during peak season, along with a shitload of new activities put in place for the guests.

  “Gotta spend money to make money,” Hope had spouted when they’d questioned her recent spending spree.

  As far as Grace was concerned, they were doing just fine, thank you very much. Not that she was respons
ible for the books or anything. But Faith, the youngest of the five of them, was. And according to Faith, they were in the black, which was all Grace really cared to hear.

  Possibly not for long if Hope had her way.

  “Have you talked to Grant today?” Lane asked abruptly, pulling Grace from her thoughts.

  “No.” Shoving her phone in her back pocket, Grace gave Lane her full attention. Just the mention of Grant had piqued her curiosity.

  It’d been at least three days since she’d spent any time with him, and even then, they hadn’t been able to get much more than a stolen kiss or two on the go. It had been late every night when Grace finally managed to drag her ass home, desperate for a hot shower and a good eight hours of shut-eye. She’d managed the shower but not much on the sleep, because morning had come far too quickly every damned time.

  Unfortunately, spending time with Lane and Grant in the last few weeks had been sporadic at best. Not because she didn’t want to. Quite the contrary, actually.

  Regrettably, life had kicked back in, insinuating itself right smack in the middle of the new relationship that she’d formed with the two men not long ago. Since they were all tiptoeing around in order to ensure her father didn’t catch wind of what was going on with them, they’d had to perform a few evasive maneuvers recently just to throw him off their scent. Jerry Lambert was not an easy man to avoid, either.

  Damn Mercy.

  One of Grace’s sisters had caught on to what was going on between the three of them probably before they’d even known it themselves, and now Grace feared Mercy was going to use it against her.

  Not that she would let Mercy know that she actually cared who found out. She really didn’t.

  Well, no one except for her father. Jerry was a bear of a man, and he had growled his demands on more than one occasion for the cowboys at Dead Heat Ranch to keep their hands off his daughters. Any man caught touching one of them would risk his wrath.

  Yeah, well…

  If her father knew that there were two cowboys touching her specifically, he’d probably have a coronary.