Spurred On (The Quick and the Hot) by Em Petrova Page B

wetness on her lower lip from his kisses, the harsh sound of her breathing. And Christ, the scent of her arousal.
    He zipped her jeans—a blatant denial that more action was to come.
    She sucked in a quiet breath.
    Backing off, he was thankful for the darkness. If he saw her face, he’d never be able to walk away. “That was the hottest experience of my life, Zoe Beth, but I can’t take it further.”
    Without a word, throat burning, he slipped out of the barn. The cool night air embraced him. A floodlight cast its greenish glow over the path to the bunkhouse, and it illuminated the plume of his frustrated sigh.
    “Fuck,” he muttered, wishing he could scream it to the heavens. A gorgeous and worthy woman was back there in the barn waiting for him, and he’d run away. Not a Buckle Bunny eager for his attention after a good bull ride, but a woman who deserved to be loved and cared for. Worshipped maybe.
    His heart was a wild mustang, racing out of control—something he couldn’t afford to feel.
    He slammed the heel of his hand off the side of an outbuilding as he passed. The rough wood scratched his palm, and he curled his fingers around the pain. Clinging to the sting rather than face the ache in his chest—or his balls.
    Shit, now you’ve done it. Thinking about his unfulfilled desires made his cock jerk in his pants. He nudged it to keep it from getting pinched. Then he did the mother of all stupid things—he rubbed his hand over his face.
    Catching the scent of Zoe Beth’s sweet pussy.
    He stopped dead in his tracks, every muscle shaking to return to her. But she wouldn’t be receptive now after he’d abandoned her.
    What kind of shitty man makes a woman come, then walks out on her? An asshole. She deserved to be stroked and held as her afterglow faded. Instead he’d left her in a cold, dark barn alone.
    Changing paths, he veered away from the bunkhouse and headed into the open field. Running. But digging his boots into the turf did nothing to alleviate his self-disgust or the throb in his groin.
    He ran until his lungs burned. Then he walked until his muscles quivered and dawn was a faint gray band on the horizon. As he walked what had to be his tenth mile, he told himself it was for the best—he’d done the right thing. Getting entangled with the boss’s daughter was the biggest mistake in the rule book.
    He twisted on a heel, ready to race back to the ranch, wake Zoe Beth and apologize. But she wouldn’t accept an idiot like him now.
    “Goddammit.” By the time he hit the horse barn, exhaustion pressed on his shoulders and sweat soaked his shirt. He shed it and stepped into the dim space. No sign of Zoe Beth.
    His heart plummeted. Part of him had hoped she would still be here, maybe curled up on some blankets near the calf’s stall.
    He peeked over the stall door at Five Feet. The calf raised its head—an improvement over last night.
    Pushing out a long breath, Hayden grabbed the nearby ladder and started to climb into the upper loft. Hay was stacked here to the rafters. He caught the twine on one bale and flipped it over the edge. It struck the floor with a whomp . Dust scattered.
    Several horses whickered at this wake-up call. He tossed another bale to the floor. Ten more and he was ready to clean stalls.
    Throwing himself into his work was all he knew how to do. By the time the roosters started crowing and the scents of food drifted from the main house, he’d torn through several horse stalls. Clean hay graced the floors, and the old had been hauled away.
    “Yo, Meadows.”
    He spun. One of the older ranch hands, Buck, stood in the doorway, thumbs hitched in his pockets. “What’re you doin’? This work is beneath a foreman.”
    “Needed to clear my mind. Couldn’t sleep.”
    “I can see that. You must have been at it for almost an hour. Peculiar. We work hard all day—no need to get up and at it earlier than necessary.” Buck shifted toward the last stall that housed Five Feet, and