She sounded a bit breathless. He liked breathless.

  “Turnabout’s fair play.”

  The tendons of her throat moved convulsively as she swallowed. A slight blush stole over her cheeks, and he was glad to see that she wasn’t in complete control of either the situation or her emotions.

  While she sat there, looking a little dazed, he took the opportunity to run his hands down to her hips, moving them right where he wanted them. Gritting his teeth, he slowly lowered her down onto his raging erection. There was no other word for it—ever since he’d met Monica, every part of his body had been raging. His thoughts, his blood, his cock… She had a way about her that set every cell of his body on full alert.

  A sigh escaped her as he pressed her fully onto his arousal and a look of pure delight darted across her features. Her pleasure nearly sent him over the edge. Not inside her a minute, and he was already grinding his teeth and counting to a thousand to keep from exploding.

  “Don’t move,” he whispered raggedly when she shifted her weight on him. If she did, then it would all be over. Wham, bam, thank you ma’am—and he’d be more disappointed than anyone.

  He got all the way to fifty before she moved. Her fingers curled into his chest, and she leaned forward a bit to whisper in his ear.

  “Ryder.”

  The sound of his name on her lips sent him right back to zero. One, two, three…

  “Ryder,” she whispered again.

  “Don’t say that,” he grumbled, eyes tightly closed while he counted. Four, five, six…

  “Don’t say what?”

  She shifted again and he swore.

  One, two, three…

  “My name. Don’t say my name,” he grit out.

  She licked the sensitive curve of his ear. His fingers dug into her hips, and his pelvis shot off the bed.

  She laughed, low and throaty. “Why can’t I say your name?”

  He opened his eyes and looked at her, giving up on counting altogether. “Because I’ll lose it if you do.”

  A downright X-rated smile crossed her face. “In that case…Ryder, Ryder, Ryder.” And her body clenched around him like a fist.

  “Jesus!” His eyes went wide and his body moved of its own volition while she rose and fell on him—just like she was riding a horse. She clenched the walls of her vagina again, and he nearly went through the roof.

  “Do you like that?” she asked wickedly. “Do you want me to stop?”

  “No.” The word was strangled. “God, no.”

  But he wasn’t going to be the only one teetering on the edge. Moving his hands from her hips, he gently cupped her breasts and teased the nipples with his thumbs. She leaned forward and he sat up to capture one straining point in his mouth.

  The air caught in her lungs at the touch of his moist tongue on her hot skin, and he gave a silent whoop of satisfaction. Turnabout was definitely fair play.

  With a hand on one breast and his mouth on the other, he moved his free hand down over her waist. When he felt it at the side of his thumb, he gave her naval ring a little flick, then continued the route of his hand until he hit the damp, springy curls that surrounded him.

  Still teasing her nipples while she moved above him, he slipped one finger into her folds and found the tiny button of pleasure that he knew would send her into total oblivion. Sure enough, the minute he touched her there, she screamed. Her body arched and he released her breast to pull her close, kissing her until there wasn’t an ounce of breath in either of their lungs. God, she was so hot and wet, it made him want to weep. And sweep her over the edge right along with him.

  He rolled her clitoris beneath his expert fingers, urging her to move faster while they continued to kiss. He didn’t want to let go; even to breathe, he didn’t want to let go of her.

  And then she came. Her mouth opened wide with a high, keening cry, her eyes closed, her back arched. While her body convulsed around him, he came, too, holding her tight against the last few thrusts of his hips.

  When the world once again came into focus and every ounce of energy had been squeezed from his more than willing body, he reached up and lifted the hat off her head, setting it beside them on the bed. Then he pulled her down to lie across his chest.

  He wanted to say something. Something warm and tender to comfort her, or funny to break the silence of the moment. But he couldn’t think of a damn thing. So he simply kissed the top of her head, tucked her more securely into the curve of his shoulder, and closed his eyes.

  …

  The phone woke her. She didn’t know where she was, or even what time it could be. She only knew that she was warm and comfortable and didn’t want to be disturbed.

  Realizing the blasted phone would keep right on ringing unless she did something about it, she ordered her brain to open her eyes. Modern technology was not all it was cracked up to be.

  One lid crept open in time to see Ryder reaching toward the annoying object. She was sprawled across his chest, covering him like a blanket. And if she wasn’t mistaken…

  Her eyes widened. She was definitely not mistaken. They were both totally naked without so much as a top sheet covering them, and Ryder was pressing into her hip, wide-awake from the waist down, at least. Just his stretching for the phone caused a quick bolt of pleasure to race through her body, and she found herself wanting him again, too.

  “Hi, Mom,” she heard him say. He ran a hand through his tousled hair and sat up a bit more.

  While he was occupied with his phone call and before he could try to stop her, she rolled off of him to the other side of the bed. They hadn’t even bothered to pull down the covers last night, so there was no sheet to cover up with. Crossing to Ryder’s closet, she grabbed the first shirt her hand came in contact with and stuck her arms into the overly long sleeves.

  “That’s not necessary, Mom. Monica and I don’t need—”

  The mention of her name caught her attention, and she glanced over her shoulder. Ryder’s gaze met hers and he shrugged, as though apologizing for whatever scheme his mother was hatching on the other end of the line. Then his eyes swept over her from head to toe, taking in the fact that his shirt as still hanging open, hiding her arms and breasts, but not much else.

  Despite the fact that they were far from strangers at this point, her face suffused with heat and she dashed into the bathroom.

  So they’d made love last night. Gone at it like bunnies on a deadline was more like it, she thought with a grimace. She was okay with that, truly she was. But that didn’t mean she wanted him to remind her of their actions while he was on the phone with his mother. Good lord!

  She was standing in front of the mirror trying to get short spikes of slept-on hair to lie flat when Ryder rapped on the door and came in without waiting for her to answer.

  “Morning, Rapunzel,” he said with a sinful grin.

  At the sound of his supposed endearment, her arms dropped to her sides. He was still stark naked, and his body left no doubt that the conversation with his mother hadn’t dampened his ardor a stitch.

  Too bad, cowboy. Until she brushed her teeth and ran a comb through her hair, nobody was getting lucky, not even the Lone Ranger here.

  He took a step closer and brushed a hand through her gnarled hair while he bent to give her a good morning kiss. She would have retreated, but with the sink at her hip, there was nowhere to go.

  She wasn’t uncomfortable with him, exactly, but she looked like hell and hated to have him see her this way. Matt had always told her she looked like Sid Vicious in the mornings. Being compared to a drugged-out punk rocker—and a man, at that—wasn’t exactly a stroke to the ego.

  Ryder didn’t seem to notice her discomfort. Or if he did, he ignored it.

  “I have some good news and some bad news,” he said, one side of his mouth still turned up in a grin.

  He was the happiest morning person she’d ever seen. Of course, as lucky as he’d gotten last night, he had reason to be in a good mood.

  Leaning into her even more, his voice lowered to a conspiratorial hush. “The good news is, we have one condom left and I can get into town this morning for more.”

  She flushed. And it didn’t help that she could feel his erection pressing against the material of the shirt she wore.

  “The bad news,” he said, moving back a step and returning his voice to normal, “is that Mom and Dad have decided to throw us a wedding barbecue.”

  Her head snapped up. “A what?”

  “A wedding barbecue,” he repeated wryly. “To make up for the fact that they weren’t able to throw us an engagement party and because our honeymoon was cut short.” He wriggled his eyebrows suggestively and came in for another kiss. “Well, as far as they know,” he said, pressing his lips to her collarbone.

  “Did you tell them that’s not necessary?” Monica asked, suddenly panicked. She wasn’t even sure why.

  “I told her. They insist.”

  “But…but…”

  “But nothing. There’s no getting out of it.” He didn’t sound overly pleased, but he didn’t sound sorry, either. “Mom has already called half the town and has food on the stove as we speak. They’ll be here at six to help us set up for tomorrow.”

  Set up. God, it all sounded so complicated. Just how many people had Ruth Ann invited? Why couldn’t they wait a few weeks before doing something so public and significant? And if they were throwing the get-together, why was the event being held here?

  “How many people are coming?” she asked, trying to hold on to her trepidation even as Ryder’s fingers toyed with the hem of her shirt.

  “I couldn’t begin to hazard a guess,” he said with a chuckle while his lips trailed along her shoulder. “Josie and Matt will come over as soon as their flight gets in, and all the hands will come after work. Other than that, it depends on how many people Mom got ahold of and how many people those people got ahold of.”

  “Oh God.” Her head tilted to allow his mouth better access to her neck even as her heart hammered in alarm. “I can’t meet all those people. Tell them I can’t go.”

  Ryder raised his head, finally catching the edge of hysteria in her voice. “Can’t go? Honey, it’s your party. You don’t think my folks would throw this big a bash just for me, do you?”

  Her stomach plummeted. If he was trying to make her feel better, he was doing a piss-poor job of it.

  “I can’t, Ryder. I just can’t.” She shook her head in adamant denial. “It would be a lie.”

  He ran his fingers over the side of her face and held a hand against her temple. “What lie? It’s just a barbecue, darlin’, not the Spanish Inquisition.”

  She continued to shake her head and met his intense, concerned gaze. “No, it’s more than that. This is all a lie, Ryder, all of it.”

  His jaw tensed and his hand fell to her shoulder. “What happened last night wasn’t a lie. Was it?”

  She closed her eyes, pain searing through her. “No, it wasn’t,” she admitted hoarsely. Looking up at him, she said, “But that’s just between the two of us. By letting your parents throw us a barbecue—a wedding barbecue—we’re letting them, and all of your friends, believe our relationship is more than it is. How much do you want to hurt them when we finally get divorced?”

  His fingers tightened almost imperceptibly on her arms. “I don’t want to hurt them at all. But, Monica, our relationship is none of their business. I love my parents, don’t get me wrong. But even if we were really and truly married, thinking it was going to be a forever kind of thing, it still wouldn’t be any of their business. I don’t see why the arrangement we have should affect them any differently.”

  “Because if we were really married, we wouldn’t know whether or not it was going to work out. We know this fake marriage is only temporary. And we’re leading them to believe it’s permanent. Doesn’t that bother you?”

  He didn’t answer, only scowled down at her. “So what do you want to do, tell them?”

  She was quiet for a moment. “Maybe we should.”

  His eyes rolled and he let out a snort of disbelief. “Are you crazy? If you think they’re suffocating now, just wait until they find out this whole thing is a sham. They’d be on us like locusts on a wheat field. Nope, no way are we telling them.”

  “Then why did you ask if that’s what I wanted to do?” she asked with a scowl.

  “Because I didn’t think even you were loco enough to believe something that foolhardy made sense.”

  Her fists went to her hips while she stared at him, totally affronted. She opened her mouth to tell him off, but he took hold of her shoulders again and gave her a little shake to get her attention—which he had, in spades.

  “Sweetheart, trust me on this. We aren’t going to tell them, but we aren’t going to wreck their lives by going to this party, either. Around here, people look for any excuse to throw a barbecue, to drink, dance, gossip. A hog on a spit is not a lifetime commitment.”

  Her mouth fell open in disgust. “They’re going cook a pig? A little Babe or Wilbur?”

  “Why do you think they call it a barbecue, darlin’?” He winked, then turned and tugged her back into the bedroom. “Now, come on,” he cajoled with a wide grin. “Give me an excuse to go into town—help me use that last condom.”

  Chapter Twenty

  If you’re gonna go, go like hell. If your mind’s not made up, don’t use your spurs.

  “Smile.”

  With one foot propped on the paddock fence, Ned held his beat-up hat over his heart like he was pledging allegiance and gave her a big, sloppy grin. She snapped the picture and lowered her camera, which hung by a strap around her neck.

  “How was that?”

  “Perfect,” she told him. He’d looked young and silly, like the poster boy for a dude ranch instead of a serious cowhand—but he was enjoying himself, and so was she. Man, she’d missed clicking away!

  After making good use of that last condom, Ryder had decided he should really go out and check on the horses. Since he usually got up at dawn, letting things go until almost noon was majorly slacking off. Ned had been there, already toiling away, but Monica knew Ryder felt better when he was overseeing the running of the ranch himself.

  That had given her a chance to shake off some of the sexual stupor Ryder had lulled her into…with very little opposition from her, of course…and finally put in a call to Simon. He answered on the second ring, thank goodness, and had seemed more than happy to hear her out. To her surprise, he didn’t say a word in defense of Matt, instead asking countless questions about her history with him, how he’d convinced her to hand over the money, what he’d claimed he planned to do with it, and the situation she currently found herself in. Then he told her to send him copies of everything she had, keeping the originals somewhere safe and far away from her ex. Simon not only wanted everything she’d copied to the flash drive in Hawaii, but any old texts and emails she could find, as well as her thoughts and notes and ideas regarding her history with the jerk and anything she thought might be pertinent to his possible history of absconding with other people’s money.

  She couldn’t believe how attentive the accountant was, and how earnest he sounded about helping her. It occurred to her that he could be blowing smoke up her skirt the same as Matt had their entire relationship. But something told her she could trust him…hopefully a wiser, more mature sliver of instinct than she’d used to judge Matt. Plus, if Simon was Matt’s partner-in-crime, then he would have bent over backward to assure her there was nothing to worry about, that the magazine was in the works, and tried to talk her out of looking for ways to get her money back.

  Once that was taken care of and she realized she could relax a little on the Operation Trap the Rat front, she’d opened the package Brooke had overnighted to her. It must have been waiting on the porch when Ryder went out, because Monica found it on the kitchen table as soon as she’d headed for the coffee pot.

  The Nikon D5 inside was her baby. Oh, she had other, better, more expensive cameras and equipment for work, but this was her personal camera—the one she’d slept with for a full two weeks after saving for ages to finally be able to afford it…the one she carried to take her own photos, even when she was on location, being paid to take pictures for someone else. Thankfully, Brooke was aware of Monica’s unhealthy attachment to “Nikki”—yes, she’d named it; so sue her—and had been very conscientious about leaving it inside its case, then wrapping it in bubble wrap, a few layers of the clothing Monica had asked for, and then crumpled paper to fill any gaps between the camera’s little nest and the shipping container.

  She couldn’t help noticing that her friend had also taken creative license with the “extras” Monica had asked her to send, which only made her laugh. Leave it to Brooke to turn “can you send me some underwear?” into an opportunity to poke even more fun at the bizarre situation she’d gotten herself into. But just wait…revenge was a dish best served cold, and the next time something ridiculous happened to Brooke, Monica would be sure to pay her back, big-time.

  When she headed outside and started taking shot after shot in a sort of photographic documentary of her Rancho del Ryder experience, it felt almost like Christmas morning. As strange as it sounded, nothing ever looked quite as wonderful to her naked eye as it did through the lens of a camera. Ryder was even letting her use his outdated but still functional computer to download the shots to her private archive program, which she could access online from pretty much anywhere.

  “Wanna do some more?” Ned asked, looking eager to keep posing as long as she wanted him to.

  But she’d already filled an entire memory card on Ned alone—Ned on horseback, Ned with his hat on, Ned with his hat off, Ned swinging his lasso… What she really wanted was to capture Ryder on film. Now there was a fine chunk of photogenic hunkitude.

  She’d filled him in on her phone call to Simon earlier, so there was no reason to seek him out, except that she wanted to. And if she was going to fill up another memory card with cowboy pics, she wanted them to be of The Cowboy. The one who turned her liquid with a glance and made her want to forget that they were only playing at being husband and wife.