Need Me, Cowboy (Copper Ridge Book 2653) Read online

  “I wasn’t aware I had ordered judgment with my custom home. I thought I ordered an entirely custom home to be done to my specifications.”

  She popped up her head. Now, this she was used to. Arrogant men who hired her, and then didn’t listen.

  “You did hire me to design a custom home, but presumably, you wanted my design to influence it. That means I’m going to be giving input. And if I think you’re making a decision that’s strange or stupid I’m going to tell you. I didn’t get where I am by transcribing plans that come from the heads of people who have absolutely no training. If there’s one thing I understand, it’s buildings. It’s design. Homes. I want to take the feeling inside of you and turn it into something concrete. Something real. And I will give you one bedroom if that’s what you really want. But if you want a computer program to design your house, then you can have no feedback. I am not a computer program. I’m an...artist.”

  Okay, that was pushing it a lot further than she usually liked to go. But he was annoying her.

  And making her feel hot.

  It was unforgivable.

  “A mouthy one,” he commented.

  She sniffed. “I know my value. And I know what I do well.”

  “I appreciate that quality in...anyone.”

  “Then appreciate it when I push back. I’m not doing it just for fun.”

  “If it will make you feel better you can put a few bedrooms in.”

  “There will definitely be room,” she said. “Anyway, think of your resale value.”

  “Not my concern,” he said.

  “You never know. You might care about it someday.” She cleared her throat. “Now, bathrooms?”

  “Put down the appropriate number you think there should be. Obviously, you want me to have multiple bedrooms, I would assume there is an appropriate bathroom number that coincides with that.”

  “Well, you’re going to want a lot. For the orgies.” She bit her tongue after she said the words.

  “Yeah, true. The last thing you want is for everyone to need a bathroom break at once and for there not to be enough.”

  She took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. The fact of the matter was, this conversation was serving a bigger purpose. She was forming a lot of ideas about him. Not actually about orgies, but about the fact that he was irreverent. That there was humor lurking inside him, in spite of the darkness. Or maybe in part because of it. That he was tough. Resilient.

  That things glanced off him. Like hardship, and knife blades.

  A small idea began to form, then expanded into the sorts of things she had been thinking when they had first met. How she could use curves, angles and lines to keep from needing doors, but to also give a sense of privacy, without things feeling closed off.

  “Can you stand up?” she asked.

  She knew it was kind of an odd question, but she wanted to see where his line of sight fell. Wanted to get an idea of how he would fill the space. He wasn’t a family man. His space was going to be all about him. And he had made it very clear that was what he wanted.

  She needed to get a sense of him.

  “Sure,” he responded, pushing himself up onto his feet, arching an eyebrow.

  She walked around him, made her way to the window, followed where she thought his line of sight might land. Then she turned to face him, obscuring his view.

  “What are you doing?”

  “I’m just trying to get a sense for how a room will work for you. For where your eye is going to fall when you look out the window.”

  “I can send you measurements.”

  She made a scoffing sound. “You’re six foot three.”

  “I am,” he said. “How did you guess?”

  “I can visualize measurements pretty damn accurately. I’m always sizing up objects, lots, locations. That’s what I do.”

  “It’s still impressive.”

  “Well, I did have to see you stand before I could fully trust that I was right about your height.”

  “And how tall are you?”

  She stretched up. “Five-two.”

  A smile curved his lips. “You wouldn’t even be able to reach things in my house.”

  “It’s no matter. I can reach things in mine.”

  “How would you design a house for two people with heights as different as ours?”

  She huffed out a laugh, her stomach doing an uncomfortable twist. “Well, obviously when it comes to space, preference has to be given to the taller person so they don’t feel like things are closing in on them.”

  He nodded, his expression mock-serious. “Definitely.”

  “Mostly, with a family,” she said, “which I design for quite a bit, I try to keep things mostly standard in height, with little modifications here and there that feel personal and special and useful to everyone.”

  “Very nice. Good deflection.”

  “I wasn’t deflecting.”

  He crossed his arms, his gaze far too assessing. “You seemed uncomfortable.”

  “I’m not.”

  “You would want space for a big bed.”

  “I would?” Her brain blanked. Hollowed out completely.

  “If you were designing a room for a man my size. Even if the woman was small.”

  She swallowed, her throat suddenly dry. “I suppose so.”

  “But then, I figure there’s never a drawback to a big bed.”

  “I have a referral I can give you for custom furniture,” she said, ignoring the way her heart was thundering at the base of her throat, imagining all the things that could be done in a very large bed.

  In gauzy terms. Seeing as she had no actual, real-world experience with that.

  “I may take you up on that offer,” he said, his words like a slow drip of honey.

  “Well, good. That’s just...great. It’s a custom...sex palace.” She pretended to write something down, all while trying to hide the fact her face was burning.

  “No matter what it sounds like,” he said, “I’m not actually asking you for a glorified brothel. Though, I’m not opposed to that being a use. But I want this house to be for me. And I want it to be without limits. I’m tired of being limited.”

  Her heart twisted. “Right. I—I understand.”

  She sucked in a sharp breath, and went to move past him, but he spoke again, and his voice made her stop, directly in front of him. “I shared a cell with, at minimum, one other person for the last five years. Everything was standard. Everything. And then sized down. Dirty. Uncomfortable. A punishment. I spent five years being punished for something I didn’t do.”

  She tilted up her face, and realized that she was absurdly close to him. That she was a breath away from his lips. “Now you need your reward.”

  “That I do.”

  His voice went low, husky. She felt...unsteady on her feet. Like she wanted to lean in and press her lips to his.

  She should move. She was the one who had placed herself right there in front of him. She was the one who had miscalculated. But she wasn’t moving. She was still standing there. She couldn’t seem to make herself shift. She licked her lips, and she saw his gaze follow the motion. His eyes were hot again.

  And so was she. All over.

  She was suddenly overcome by the urge to reach out her hand and touch that scar that marred his chin. The other one that slashed through his lip.

  To push her hand beneath his shirt and touch that scar he had shown her earlier.

  That thought was enough to bring her back to earth. To bring her back to her senses.

  She took a step back, a metallic tang filling her mouth. Humiliation. Fear.

  “You know,” he said slowly, “they lock men like me up. That’s a pretty good indication you should probably keep your distance.”

  “You didn’t do anything,�
�� she said.

  “That doesn’t mean I’m not capable of doing some very bad things.” His eyes were hot, so hot they burned. And she should move away from him, but she wasn’t.

  Heaven help her, she wasn’t.

  She tried to swallow, but her mouth was so dry her tongue was frozen in place. “Is that a warning? Or a threat?”

  “Definitely a warning. For now.” He turned away from her and faced the window. “If you listen to it, it’ll never have to be a threat.”

  “Why?”

  What she felt right now was a strange kind of emotion. It wasn’t anger; it wasn’t even fear. It was just a strange kind of resolve. Her brothers already treated her like a child who didn’t know her own mind—she wasn’t about to let this man do the same thing. Let him issue warnings as if she didn’t understand exactly who she was and what she wanted.

  She might not know who he was. But she damn well knew who she was.

  And she hadn’t even done anything. Maybe she wouldn’t. Maybe she never would.

  But maybe she wanted to, and if she did, the consequences would be on her. It wouldn’t be for anyone else to decide.

  Least of all this man. This stranger.

  “Little girl,” he said, his voice dripping with disdain. “If you have to ask why, then you definitely need to take a step back.”

  Little girl.

  No. She wouldn’t have this man talk down to her. She had it all over her life, from well-meaning people who loved her. People whose opinions she valued. She wasn’t going to let him tell her who she was or what she wanted. To tell her what she could handle.

  She didn’t step back. She stepped forward.

  “I have a feeling you think you’re a singular specimen, Levi Tucker. You, with your stab wound and your rough edges.” Her heart was thundering, her hands shaking, but she wasn’t going to step away. She wasn’t going to do what he wanted or expected. “You’re not. You’re just like every other man I’ve ever come into contact with. You think you know more than me simply because you’re older, or maybe because you have a—a penis.”

  She despised herself for her stutter, but as tough as she was trying to be, she couldn’t utter that word a foot away from a man. Not effortlessly. She sucked in a sharp breath. “I’m not exactly sure what gives men such an unearned sense of power. But whatever the reason, you think it’s acceptable to talk down to me. Without acknowledging the fact that I have navigated some incredibly difficult waters. They would be difficult for anyone, much less someone my age. I’m a lot harder and more filled with resolve than most people will ever be. I don’t do warnings or threats. You might do well to remember that.”

  He reached out, the move lightning-fast, and grabbed hold of her wrist. His grip was strong, his hands rough. “And I don’t take lectures from prim little misses in pencil skirts. Maybe you’d do well to remember that.”

  Lightning crackled between them, at the source of his touch, but all around them, too. She was so angry at him. And judging by the fire in his eyes, he was mad at her, too.

  She arched forward, and he held her fast, his eyes never leaving hers.

  “Do they offer a lot?” she asked. “Prim little misses, I mean. To lecture you?”

  “I can’t say any of them have ever been able to bring themselves to get this close to me.”

  She reached out, flexing her fingers, then curled them into a fist, before resting her fingers flat onto his chest. She could feel his heartbeat raging beneath her hand. She could feel the rhythm echoed in her own labored breathing.

  This was insane. She’d never...ever touched a man like this before. She’d never wanted to. And she didn’t know what kind of crazy had taken over her body, or her mind, right then.

  She only knew that she wanted to keep touching him. That she liked the way it felt to have him holding tightly to her wrist.

  That she relished the feeling of his heartbeat against her skin.

  He smelled good. Like the pine trees and the mountain air, and she wondered if he’d been outside before she’d come over.

  A man who couldn’t be contained by walls. Not now.

  And her literal job was to create a beautiful new cage for him.

  She suddenly felt the urge to strip him of everything. All his confines. All his clothes. To make him free.

  To be free with him.

  The urge was strong—so strong—she was almost shocked to find she hadn’t begun to pull at his T-shirt.

  But what would she even do if she...succeeded?

  He released his hold then, but she could still feel his touch lingering long after he’d taken away his hand. She felt dazed, thrown.

  Stunned to discover the world hadn’t collapsed around them in those moments that had seemed like hours, but had actually been a breath.

  “You should go.”

  She should. She really, really should.

  But she didn’t want him to know he’d scared her.

  It’s not even him that scares you. You’re scaring yourself.

  “I’m going to go sketch,” she said, swallowing hard. “This has been very enlightening.”

  “If your plan is to go off and design me a prison cell now...”

  “No,” she said. “I’m a professional. But trust me, I’ve learned quite a bit about you. And my first question to you wasn’t leading, not necessarily. But everything that we’ve discussed here? It will definitely end up being fodder for the design. You’re truly going to be in a prison of your own making by the time I’m through, Levi. So you best be sure you like what you’re using to build it.”

  She didn’t know where she got the strength, or the wit, for all of that. And by the time she turned on her heel and walked out of the A-frame, heading back to her car, she was breathing so hard she thought she might collapse.

  But she didn’t.

  No, instead she got in her car and drove away, that same rock-solid sense of resolve settling in her stomach now that had been there only a moment before.

  Attraction.

  Was that what had just happened back there? Attraction to a man who seemed hell-bent on warning her off.

  Why would he want to warn her off?

  If he really did see her as a little girl, if he really did see her as someone uninteresting or plain, he wouldn’t need to warn her away.

  What he’d said about threats...

  By the time she pulled back into GrayBear Construction, she wasn’t hyperventilating anymore, but she was certain of one thing.

  Levi Tucker was attracted to her, too.

  She was not certain exactly what she was supposed to do with that knowledge.

  She felt vaguely helpless knowing she couldn’t ask anyone, either.

  Her brothers would go on a warpath. Hayley would caution her. Mia would... Well, Mia would tell Devlin, because Devlin was her husband and she wouldn’t want to keep secrets from him.

  Faith’s network was severely compromised. For one moment that made her feel helpless. Then in the next...

  It was her decision, she realized.

  Whatever she did with this... It was her decision.

  She wasn’t a child. And she wasn’t going to count on the network of people she was used to having around her to make the choice for her.

  And she wasn’t going to worry about what they might think.

  Whatever she decided...

  It would be her choice.

  And whatever happened as a result... She would deal with the consequences.

  The resolve inside of her only strengthened.

  Six

  He was back at the bar. Because there was nothing else to do. As of today, he was officially a divorced man, and he’d been without sex for five years.

  And earlier today he had been about a breath away from taking little Miss Prim and Proper
down to the ground and fucking her senseless.

  And he had already resolved that he wouldn’t do that. He wouldn’t be that.

  His postdivorce celebration would not be with Faith Grayson. With her wide eyes and easy blush. And uncommon boldness.

  He couldn’t work out why she wasn’t afraid of him. He had thought... A little, soft thing like her... The evidence of a knife fight and talk of prison, jokes about orgies... It all should have had a cowering effect on her.

  It hadn’t.

  No, by the end of the interaction she’d only grown bolder. And he couldn’t for the life of him figure out how that worked.

  She was fascinated by him. That much was clear. She might even think she wanted to have a little fun with some kind of bad-boy fantasy, but the little fool had no idea.

  He was nobody’s fantasy.

  He was a potential nightmare, but that was it.

  He flashed back to the way it had felt to wrap his hand around her wrist. Her skin soft beneath his. To the way she’d looked up at him, her breath growing choppy and fast.

  Those fingertips on his chest.

  Shit, he needed to get laid.

  He ordered up a shot of whiskey and pounded it down hard, scanning the room, looking for a woman who might wipe the image of Faith Grayson from his mind.

  Maybe Mindy would be back. Maybe they could pick up where they left off.

  But as he looked around, his eye landed on a petite brunette standing in line for the mechanical bull. She was wearing a tight pair of blue jeans and a fitted T-shirt, and when she turned, he felt like he’d been punched in the stomach.

  Faith Grayson.

  With that same mulish expression on her face she’d had when she’d left his house earlier.

  The rider in front of her got thrown, and Faith rubbed her hands together, glaring at the mechanical beast with intensity. Then she marched up to it and took her position.

  She thrust her hips forward, wrapping one hand around the handle and holding the other up high over her head. She looked more like a ballerina than a bull rider. But her expression...

  That was all fire.

  He should look away. He sure as hell shouldn’t watch as the mechanical bull began its forward motion, shouldn’t watch the way Faith’s eyes widened, and then the way her face turned determined as she gripped more tightly with one hand, and tensed her thighs around the beast, moving her hips in rhythm with it.