Chapter 2
As Sawyer Adkins stepped out of the rodeo arena triumphant in bareback bronc riding yet again, he sipped from his canteen then poured some of the water over his face. There was nothing like the feeling of a vicious mare bronc between his legs, and the feeling of danger—and power—the sport brought him. He was accomplished in nearly every area of rodeo, but bronc riding was his favorite: finding the rhythm of the horse as she bucked and as he grasped the strap at her withers for dear life. It was a hell of an aphrodisiac.
Smile fading from his face, he wondered how the reading of his father’s will had gone that afternoon. His family had come unhinged when his father died of a heart attack two weeks before—and that’s why he’d decided to go to the rodeo instead. Let his nose-to-the-grindstone brothers figure out the details. He knew they couldn’t cut him out completely, and he didn’t want to see his father’s legacy tarnishing more every day. Hal Adkins had been a great man—he’d built the Adkins West Ranch from the ground up, and had provided for his family like a real man should. Why couldn’t everyone remember that instead of bickering over every penny?
Of course, he wouldn’t be opposed to there being some pennies left over. Okay, a lot of pennies. Jetting to South America isn’t cheap.
Sawyer heaved his saddlebags into the bed of his truck, still lost in thought, but mood improving. What girl would he bring to Argentinian rodeos and wine tastings this time? He was running out of eligible Smiley women, but he’d seen a few new faces while he rode today. He hadn’t seen any black women out in this part of the boondocks for a while, and it had been clear the woman in the bleachers was not from around here. She’d had city clothes and city makeup and a city manicure. She’d also looked disinterested.
So what if I don’t have a chance with her? I got her to smile, at least, and there are plenty more women around…
Sawyer stood still when he heard a woman crying. He couldn’t tell where the sound was coming from, but it was late at night and most of the rodeo crowd had cleared out—the field was nearly empty of cars.
“Hello?” he drawled. “You okay?”
The crying stopped.
“I’m fine,” the woman said shakily, in an accent that was not from around Smiley.
“Where are you?” Sawyer walked toward the source of the voice, by a port-a-john near the edge of the field. “Are you, um…busy?”
“Really, I’m fine,” the woman said.
Sawyer stopped in front of the door and knocked gently. “Please, ma’am, I’m worried about you. You come here with anybody?”
With a sigh, the woman unlocked the door and pushed it open. “I did, but it’s a long story. You don’t wanna hear it.”
Sawyer smiled when he saw that it was the woman from the bleachers, just as he had hoped. “I’m sorry to hear that, ma’am,” he said, but he didn’t sound very sorry. “Can I give you a ride anywhere?”
“Do you know where I could get cell service anywhere around this stupid place?” she asked. “Sorry if you’re from here, I guess.”
“You can get a bar or two downtown, but it’s dicey. I usually go to the next town over.”
The woman’s lip quivered and it looked like she was going to cry again. He leaned forward and extended his hand.
“I think you’ll feel better if you come out of there,” he said.
The woman nodded, dabbing at her eyes in a futile attempt to save her mascara before taking his hand. Her skin was very soft, and when she squeezed tightly, her purple, manicured nails dug into Sawyer’s own rough palm.
“Thank you,” she said. “My name is Camille. I think I saw you ride in the rodeo.” She looked away shyly, but he could tell by the firm set of her jaw that this woman had grit.
“You did,” he chuckled. “I’m Sawyer Adkins.”
Camille nodded, but he could tell his name didn’t mean anything to her.
He helped her to her feet and rested his hand on her shoulder for a little longer than necessary. He realized that she was very warm, and probably dehydrated.
“You want some water before you go?” Sawyer said. “If you don’t have a ride or anything, I can take you to town, but you should cool off first. I have air-conditioning in my trailer.”
“You have a trailer?” Camille asked, raising an eyebrow.
Sawyer shrugged. “I do a lot of rodeos.”
“Apparently,” she said, but didn’t protest as he locked his truck and headed toward his trailer. He had been planning to go back to the ranch, but with a chance at a woman this gorgeous, the ranch could definitely wait.
Sawyer turned on the generator before they went inside the trailer. The loud rumbling faded as they entered and he closed the window, turning on the air conditioning and the lights. Camille stood by the door, her expression unreadable.
Sawyer grabbed a glass of water for her, and a can of beer from a cooler for him. “You want to sit down?” he asked.
Camille took a seat at the dinette table. “Thank you for doing this,” she said. “I…don’t really have a plan. I’m from Atlanta.”
Sawyer nodded and waited for her to continue.
“My boyfriend drove me out to this stupid place, and we came to the rodeo today, and he cheated on me. He cheated on me! I can’t believe it.” She stared into the glass of water as if it could tell her where she had gone wrong. “And I was just so angry at him that I stormed off with my stuff. I bet he took the damn truck, too. I bought that truck!”
Sawyer reached across the table to brush his fingers across the back of her hand. He saw goosebumps rise on her ebony skin, contrasted against his tan tone. She looked away again, whether from embarrassment or leftover anger at her ex he couldn’t tell.
She slumped back in the dinette, kicking her duffel bag in defeat.
Sawyer chuckled. “It’ll be there later if you want to get it. But I think you should drink that water, first.”
Camille nodded and quickly emptied the glass. “I didn’t realize how thirsty I was,” she said. “Actually, I’m feeling pretty sick.”
“You’re lucky you didn’t get heat stroke. Minnesota can be pretty cold, but in the summer it’s almost as hot as Atlanta.”
“You’ve been to Atlanta?” Camille asked, watching him. “Country boy like you?”
“A couple of times,” Sawyer said. “But that’s not the point. I think maybe you should lie down. There’s a bed in the back.”
Camille laughed loudly. “You think you’re so suave, Mr. Sawyer,” she said. “You’re trying to take me to bed.”
“I mean…if you’re interested,” Sawyer sputtered. Women didn’t usually question his methods.
Camille met his eyes with a challenge. “Would you have taken no for an answer?”
Sawyer sat up straighter. “I know what rape is, ma’am, and that’s not what I’m about. I was going to ask your permission, when we…reached that point.”
“Let’s say we reach that point now, then,” Camille said, bringing Sawyer’s hand to her mouth and gently sucking on each finger.
Startled but aroused, Sawyer leaned across the dinette to kiss her.
“That’s it,” Camille whispered, pupils dilated with anticipated pleasure, seizing his bottom lip between both of hers and nibbling teasingly.
Sawyer stood, stooping in the confines of the trailer, and lifted Camille off her feet and into his arms. She moved her lips to his neck and began to unbutton his musky rodeo shirt. He carried her to the bed, peeling the comforter away so there was nothing but sheets and mattress beneath them.
As their foreplay got hotter and more clothes fell to the side, Sawyer took a condom from the box under the bed, hands trembling as he ripped open the package. Camille’s assertiveness was incredibly sexy. Women were usually too intimidated by Sawyer Adkins, resident billionaire bad boy, to really ask for anything—so when she laughed softly in Sawyer’s ear as he kissed her collarbone and slid the condom over his erection, he shuddered with anticipation.
“You do this often?” she asked, sliding his jeans further down his thighs. When Sawyer didn’t answer, she laughed again, running her nails up his back before clutching his neck. “Don’t answer that,” she whispered in his ear. “Nothing but the here and now.”
Sawyer slid into her satin wetness with a groan, and she gasped to match. Their rhythm was primal, but the sensation was heavenly—Sawyer had to force himself to slow down to pleasure her, leaning to balance on one elbow and reaching his other hand down to stroke her pussy. Her moans became higher-pitched and faster, and as soon as he felt her vagina clutch around his cock in an orgasm he came as well, breath hitching as they both slid into quiet ecstasy.
Sawyer carefully raised himself off of her and rolled to one side, closing his eyes and feeling the last echoes of pleasure wash over him. Camille was like no one he’d ever been with. It was as if their bodies spoke the same language.
“Oh, shit,” Camille muttered.
Sawyer sat up, looking at Camille. “What’s wrong?” he said.
Camille pointed toward Sawyer’s cock and the condom in tatters, his cum spilled all over the bed.
“Are you on the pill?” he asked, trying not to panic.
“Yeah,” she said. “I mean, I’m not sure if I took my dose this morning…but yeah. I think I’m fine.”
“Okay,” he said. “If you say you’re fine, it’s fine.”
“Right,” Camille said, but her voice was still uncertain. She crawled into his arms and rested her head against his chest. “Can I sleep here?”
“Of course,” Sawyer said, already drifting to sleep. “We’ll deal with it in the morning.”