Last Second Chance

Chapter Seven

Stella didn’t know why seeing the blond chick from lunch on her knees for Van pissed her off so much. It just did.

She’d gone to his room to tell him that she appreciated the thought behind what he did at lunch, but Dr. Ramirez had told her of Van’s unique situation. His whole career depended on this stint in rehab being successful. Surprisingly, the director hadn’t wanted to fire her when he’d called her into his office after orientation. He’d just wanted to know if she’d mind helping out with the horses from time to time. Which of course she didn’t mind at all. In fact, she’d been looking forward to it.

When questioned about the incident at lunch, which was already circulating, she’d explained that it was all a simple misunderstanding. Dr. Ramirez had explained that this was Van’s last shot. If he screwed up in any way that prevented him from completing the program, his band, his manager, and his recording label were dumping him out on his ass. Well, not in so many words, but she got the idea.

She’d been touched that he’d risk all that to protect her from some cocky physician. But she wanted to tell him that it wasn’t necessary. She was a big girl and could handle herself. No need to put his whole career in jeopardy.

And then she’d seen the sheer panic on his face when she caught him. He probably thought she was going to rat him out or something. Apparently he risked his whole career for whatever he felt like doing at the moment. She wasn’t anything special, just an idiot for letting herself think otherwise. She cussed her stupid self all the way across the property from the main facility to her place.

But if she was being honest? That voice in her head, the one she always tried so hard to ignore, said that she was upset because it hadn’t been her down on her knees in front of him. Making him come and making him hers.

An unfamiliar pressure built in her stomach and she shoved it aside. She’d promised to feed and check on the horses after each shift since her little bungalow, as she’d taken to calling it, was closest to the stables.

After kicking her heels off hard enough to send them crashing against the wall, she slipped on some socks and her riding boots. She knew she should probably change clothes, but she didn’t feel like it. No one would be at the barn this late in the evening anyways.

After unbuttoning the pink shirt she’d worn to work, she slipped off the pearls her parents had given her for her sweet sixteen. Well, her mom had passed them down to her. Her daddy had barely managed to grunt out a happy birthday. The memory weighed on her already heavy mood. Clad in a cami, a pencil skirt, and perfectly worn in riding boots she hadn’t worn in years, she flung open her front door with the intention of putting any thoughts about Van Ransom straight out of her head.

She might’ve been able to follow through with this plan had he not been standing on her doorstep.

“Stella,” he said softly, eyes flashing as he took in her unusual getup.

She turned away so he wouldn’t see any residual jealousy on her face. “I need to feed the horses, Mr. Walker. Excuse me.” She cut around him, but he followed her to the barn.

“Since when does a client care coordinator’s job include feeding horses?” he asked as he followed her to the stables.

She kept walking and answered without looking at him. “Since they need the extra help and I volunteered.” What business of his was it anyway? And how did he know her official title? Oh yeah—ID badge. Right.

“Listen. Stella, about earlier—”

Whirling around and stopping him in his tracks, she glared with all her might. “Look, you don’t owe me an explanation. And for the record, I’m not going to tell anyone what I saw.”

Van huffed out a breath. “Okay. For the record, what is it you think you saw?”

Yeah, right. Like she was going there. She turned and resumed her brisk walk to the barn. Did he think she was so naïve she didn’t know what a blowjob was?

For the next few minutes, she focused all of her attention on the horses. Dipping the large canisters into the feed barrels and emptying them into each animal’s feeding trough helped to clear her head. Warm gratitude in the eyes of the horses in the stables soothed her. Somewhat.

She stroked a few of their faces and murmured softly, the sting of what had happened with Van swirling with the ache of missing home inside of her. No, she didn’t miss home, exactly. She missed riding. Missed the fearless girl she used to be.

When she was finished, she turned and saw Van leaning in the doorway with his thick tattooed arms folded over his chest.

Taking a deep breath and wiping her dusty feed hands on her skirt, she planted her feet where she stood. “You probably shouldn’t be down here.”

The man watching her with far more interest than she was comfortable with raised a brow but said nothing.

She straightened a saddle resting sideways on a wooden beam. A riding crop had been discarded on the wooden floor and she bent to pick it up. Dr. Ramirez had said that funds for animal care had been low since the renovations and new stables had taken most of the money that had been given by the recent investors. The trainers were mostly volunteers who did what they could. After hanging the riding crop where it belonged, she turned back toward the exit Van was blocking.

She barely resisted the impulse to stamp her foot. “You saw me crying yesterday, you stepped in on an awkward situation today, and I came to thank you, and…” And dammit, this was not a conversation she wanted to have. Her eyes were tricking her into noticing things she didn’t want to. Like the way the thick knot moved in his muscular neck when he swallowed. The way ink-covered veins throbbed in his strained forearms. The way he held his jaw, clenching it, forcing his full lips together. The man had a mighty fine mouth. She could just imagine what it would feel like on hers. In fact, she’d spent more time imagining it than she’d ever admit.

“You came to thank me and what?” he pressed, uncrossing his arms and walking toward her.

For some inexplicable reason, a lump threatened to form in her throat. What the hell was wrong with her today? Maybe she was about to start her period. “And you had company. Sorry to have interrupted.” She smirked hard at him. Her boots scuffed the dirt as she backed up against the wall behind her.

He came right into her personal space, no sign of an apology in his eyes for doing so. Bracing both arms on either side of her head, he pressed his gaze down into hers until she was panting for breath. She was trapped by a tattooed man twice her size. In a place where no one could save her. Scared, she thought. I should be scared. But fear was the furthest thing from her mind.

“I asked you a question. What is it you think you saw?”

She broke out of his gaze and shook her head. “You’re an asshole.”

His right hand pulled back from the wall and gripped her chin, forcing her to face him. “That’s common knowledge, sweetheart. But you still didn’t answer my question.”

Her chest rose and fell between them as she warred with her emotions. Angry and turned on were not two she was used to handling simultaneously. “You were… And she was… Why are you doing this?”

A dangerous heat flashed in his eyes, burning her up from the inside out. “Because I want to hear the thoughts in your dirty mind come out of that pretty mouth. And by the way, my pants were still zipped and I was in the middle of kicking that girl out of my room.”

Emboldened by his admission, Stella squared her shoulders. “So she didn’t suck your dick then?”

His grip on her chin tightened. She might’ve imagined it, but he looked staggered, as if his knees had just gone weak. “No. She didn’t. Because I wouldn’t let her.” Releasing her, he stood up straight.

She exhaled the breath she’d been holding. Her face tingled where he’d touched her. She wanted more. Needed more.

“Well, that was dumb. If some chick wants to give you a conjugal visit in rehab, maybe you should take her up on it.”

He flashed her a sexy grin and stepped right back into her space. “You volunteering?”

“No.”

“Well, that’s too bad then. I don’t want some chick. And you’re not that good at hiding your emotions, beautiful. You snapped on those nurses at lunch and ran out of my room so fast I barely had time to blink. Any particular reason why?” He trailed a finger down her cheek and over her lips.

Instead of an answer, a whimper escaped her throat. A painful throbbing began between her thighs, intense and demanding.

His touch deepened the pain. Her policy was no dating people in her workplace. She certainly wasn’t going to date Van Ransom. Hell, he’d probably never taken a girl on a proper date in his life. But right now, she didn’t care about any of that. She just wanted him to take her up against the back of the barn, hard and fast.

“Stella Jo, you going to answer or do I have torture it out of you?”

The way he said her name, the one she was used to hearing drop only from the lips of family members, made her shiver. She let her head loll back to rest on the wall behind her. “Do your worst. I’ve dealt with animals much bigger than you.”

Leaning in until his nose brushed hers, he let out a soft growl. “You sure as hell better be talking about horses, because if you’re talking about Dr. Dickhead or any other man who’s put his hands on you in a way you didn’t want, they’re fucking dead.”

She grinned and winked at him. “Guess that’s for me to know, darlin’.” Her breath was still coming too fast, but she was gaining confidence. She was having as much of an effect on him as he was on her. A competitive streak she thought she’d buried rose to the surface. “Speaking of guys putting their hands on me, if this is your brand of torture, I’m disappointed.”

Thrusting himself up against her, he growled again. “Baby, my brand of torture involves that riding crop you bent over to pick up. Matter of fact, it involves you being bent over also.”

An audible gasp of surprise escaped her. His threat pulled at something deep inside of her that she didn’t know was there. Something dark and terrifying that she knew she should feel dirty and ashamed of. But she didn’t. Because apparently he wasn’t the only one who was twisted like that.

“Surprised?” he asked with a gleam in his eye.

“That you know what a riding crop is, yeah,” she said, her breathy voice giving her away.

“Don’t be coy. I’ve got your number, babe.” He winked at her and backed off, leaving her bereft. And pissed off about it. He laughed at the petulant expression she felt pulling at her features. “I’m starting to wonder if you even recognize what you want as well as I do.”

“You don’t know a damn thing about me.” She tried to sidestep him but he stepped with her as if he’d anticipated the move.

Backing her up once more, he let his eyes trail down her body briefly. Looking back up, he cocked his head. “Don’t I? Let me guess. Went to college on Daddy’s money, wanted to be on a horse ranch but not the one you grew up on because you’re oh so independent now, and the only orgasms you’ve ever had are the ones you’ve given yourself. Bet those pretty boy frat brother fuckers you dated didn’t have a clue how to please a woman.”

Okay, so maybe he knew a few things. Not that she’d admit it. But she’d gotten an academic scholarship, fuck him very much. “I’ll ask you kindly to watch your language. There’s a lady present.”

His brows lifted as did one corner of his mouth. “Which word offended you, darlin’? Orgasm?”

She couldn’t help but smile in spite of herself. “Not that I don’t appreciate the witty banter and all, but what exactly did you come down here for, Mr. Ransom?”

For a split second, his overconfident expression faltered. He cleared his throat and reached into the back of his jeans. Producing a white folder she’d dropped on her rush to escape the situation in his room, he grinned.

“You dropped this.”

Oh. Right. Taking it from him, she glanced at the label. Her name in bold then below it, smaller, her title. Because she worked here.

Van Ransom was messing with her head, toying with her for whatever reason. Probably because he was bored without all of his groupies around. Talking about riding crops, making her imagine the umpteen levels of inappropriate she’d like to get with him. But the folder snapped her back to reality.

“Thank you for bringing this, Mr. Ransom. Have a good evening.” She forced a tight smile and faked him out, dodging left and then stepping right around him. Walking as fast as possible back to her bungalow, she tried to shake the look he’d given her. Hurt. Confused.

Too bad. He’d have to find someone else to toy with. She couldn’t play this game with him or anyone at SCR. Ever.