The Cowboy's Kink (The Billionaire Bachelors Series) Read online

  The Cowboy’s Kink

  Billionaire Bachelors Series, Book 2

  RG Alexander

  The Cowboy’s Kink

  Copyright 2014 RG Alexander

  Editing by D.S. Editing

  Formatted by IRONHORSE Formatting

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite e-book retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Coming Soon!

  Available Now!

  Other Books from RG Alexander

  About RG Alexander

  Chapter One

  I don’t have to tell you what the topic is today. Why?

  Because if I suddenly decided to wax rhapsodic about my love of pickle chips or pounce on the latest political outrage, you would set me aside without hesitation and find another columnist to give you all the juicy details on your favorite topic: the Billionaire Bachelors.

  Ms. Anonymous isn’t that stupid.

  What I am is well connected enough to tell you everything you want to know about the rocker, rebel, rancher and reformed rogue.

  Speaking of the latter, I’m sure by now you’ve gotten the news that the CEO of Warren Industries is still standing, despite his early summer scandal. He’s also—brace yourselves—off the market for the foreseeable future. His paramour du jour is none other than the curvaceous temptress who got him into trouble in the first place.

  Since I’ve discovered that the mysterious redheaded is a genuine Cinderella, a regular girl punching the clock in the big city, I’m more intrigued than ever.

  Can this be true love?

  As you know I’ve been cynical on this topic for a while. Our bad boys have the resources and seduction skills to woo the unwary and willing alike, but they don’t usually stick around long enough for things to get serious. In fact, I have a running bet with myself that none of them could last three months in a row with the same woman. And I always win. Still, there is no denying this change in the CEO’s status. Our tantalizing tycoon has been seen with his ladylove every night this week, and he’s looking anything but grim.

  But don’t let that news depress you. There are still three princes standing. Correction. One prince and two men who could by a small country and a crown if they so desired.

  Our royal rocker and his lewd playboy pal have been staying frustratingly under the radar, so no news on them just yet. But the rancher—known to journalists far and wide as the Teflon Cowboy—has been in meetings with his lawyers and financial advisors for days. And more interestingly, he was spotted at lunch with a certain billionaire matchmaker.

  It could be a coincidence. She could be a friend of the family, or in the market for a special kind of saddle. Or could it be that our gentleman rancher has finally decided to settle down and rope himself a filly?

  Give Ms. Anonymous a break, I couldn’t resist.

  If he is hunting for his very own Mrs., it looks like he doesn’t care who knows it. Color me impressed at the size of his…spurs.

  Get in line, ladies, wear your best riding boots and show us why you should be the one.

  The Bride Wars are on and this is turning out to be one hot summer.

  “You get that rope around her good and tight. Then take her down and make sure she’s securely tied. That way you and the boys can get your business done and she won’t be able to do anything about it.”

  The older woman drinking a martini beside him in the airport’s VIP lounge turned around to eye him warily, her hand fluttering up to grip her pearls as if they were a protective talisman.

  “Cow,” he mouthed, his lips tightening when she gasped at the perceived insult, looking around as if to gather witnesses to his verbal abuse. He raised his voice so she could hear him over her outrage. “I’m talking about branding a cow.”

  Tracy sighed and got to his feet, setting a wad of cash on the bar for his unfinished drink and hers by way of apology. “Pardon me, ma’am.”

  He should have agreed to let Roy wait with him and stayed in that beast of a limousine while they refueled his plane instead of wandering into the bar. His phone was on and that usually meant it would be ringing. Though it was usually with business, not bullshit.

  “Miguel, there are at least ten men in shouting distance who know how to do this blindfolded. Why didn’t you ask them what it entailed before volunteering?”

  And why the hell was he calling him?

  But Tracy knew why. Miguel appeared to have all the Reyes pride and none of the natural aptitude or common sense. The others would have given him hell before teaching him the ropes, and his cousin was obviously trying to avoid that. He would have been tempted to fire the boy already, or at least find something less challenging for him to do, but his mother was a favorite aunt who’d never asked for anything until now. Not even when her husband left her and the boy in the Big Apple after cleaning out her bank account. That woman had spent years juggling two jobs and raising her troubled child without any help before she’d finally decided to come home.

  Reyes pride.

  Unfortunately, her city-born son wasn’t faring well, despite being put on the small, original homestead in Colorado near his mother. And while Miguel, like his mother, rarely asked for help, according to the foreman he had no trouble coming up with excuses when something went wrong.

  He was asking now, but Tracy was the wrong person and frankly, in the wrong mood to give a shit. “Shut it, Miguel. I’ll have Frank give you a hand. Do everything he says and you’ll still have a job and the use of all your limbs when branding is done. Now I have a plane to catch and actual business to attend to. I’m looking forward to not hearing from you again unless someone is in the hospital.”

  There was always a plane to catch. Always business to attend to. Four ranches, two of them the largest producers of beef in the country. One famous for breeding thoroughbred horses. Add those to the land they leased for oil and mineral rights and the small towns in Texas and Colorado they owned most of the deeds to, and Tracy rarely found himself at loose ends.

  There were managers and foremen and extended family he trusted to handle the majority of the day to day, but he’d never been able to let go of the reins. He supposed he was too much like the grandfather who’d raised him. He liked to be in control and he wasn’t o
verly fond of change.

  But things were changing. His friends were the most recent example. These few weeks he’d spent in the city had proven that. He’d had to do most of his work via laptop and cell phone, but it was worth the inconvenience. Peter, Henry and Dean had accepted him for who he was—all that he was—since college. They were the only people he truly trusted outside of his family. Hell, they were family. So when Henry claimed there was something wrong with Dean and he needed their help after Warren’s annual charity gala, Tracy didn’t hesitate.

  The royal pain in the ass had been right. Something had been wrong, and it wasn’t simply business related. The man who’d taught him the value of accepting who he was and going after what he wanted was denying himself the freedom to do the same. In business and pleasure, Dean had been hedging his bets and playing it safe. By trying to prove to the bastards in the press and his interfering uncle that he wasn’t his father, his old friend had gotten mired down in his own rules.

  Tracy wasn’t sure if it was because of their presence or in spite of it, but shortly after their arrival his friend had done a one-eighty. When he’d met him for lunch a few weeks later, Dean was back to his old, wicked ways. The appearance of a suddenly unemployed Sara Charles—in his bed and under his desk—probably had more to do with the transformation than anything else.

  Watching Dean and Sara together had been more satisfying than any of Tracy’s recent sessions at the club. They had something special. The electricity they generated shot out between them like sparks, something they couldn’t hide. That kind of connection couldn’t be faked or denied. To Tracy, it looked a hell of a lot like love.

  Sara had managed to turn his friend upside down with her honesty and passion. She was a refreshingly sexual, smart and goodhearted woman, and he’d name Dean for the fool he was if he didn’t convince her to stick around for good.

  Henry and Peter agreed, which was a rare occurrence since their college days. They were also now after the same thing Dean had found. With the same woman again, it turned out, which Tracy doubted could end well. But at least they knew who they wanted. It was more than he could say for himself.

  Peter’s advice—that Tracy stop bitching and go after the family he always claimed he desired—brought him to the realization that for all the noise he made about settling down, he’d never actually set himself the goal of finding a woman he could trust who he wanted to marry. Never thought about what he would want from her other than children. What he had to give her other than his name.

  Now he couldn’t think about anything else.

  He made his way to the tarmac, nodding at men giving his ride a once over. The jet was his main mode of transportation these days and he’d definitely put it to good use. It was—as the sales rep had claimed—a luxurious hotel room with wings, filled with every bell and whistle currently available for the wealthy man on the go.

  Comfortable, he supposed, but it wasn’t home. In the last few years, Tracy had been in the air more than his saddle, and the people who maintained his property and cleaned his pool got to spend more time there than he did. It was a fact that didn’t sit well with him. Still, it couldn’t be helped.

  Maybe it could.

  The current plan was to make a stop at each Reyes’ holding, put out any fires that sparked in his absence and catch up on the work he’d let slide while he’d sorted Dean out. Being summer, by the time he got to his last stop he’d no doubt be called to do it all again. This was his life. He worked hard, when he had a chance he played hard, and for the most part he’d always been satisfied with that. Focused on that.

  Right now work was the last thing he could focus on, and he blamed Henry Vincent. All that bullshit about fantasies and going after what they desired regardless of the consequences. It might not have bothered him so much if he hadn’t seen the success Dean had when he’d followed the guitar player’s advice.

  Regardless of the consequences, at the moment all he wanted was to sleep in his own bed, look out of his own windows and have both his feet on the ground. He wanted to be home. Tracy ducked his head into the cockpit as soon as he boarded the plane, greeted his pilot and informed him of the change in plans.

  He wasn’t given to impulsive decisions, but damn it if these last few weeks hadn’t been full of them. After talking to his lawyers and financial managers, he had helped Peter create a fictional buyer as a smokescreen and now had shared interest in Dean’s company. He’d participated in an erotic lunchtime threesome with his best friend to fulfill a fantasy. He’d bought a house for the sole purpose of bringing Dean and Sara together and participated in an intervention.

  He’d also hired a goddamn matchmaker. Something he’d sworn never to do because it felt too arranged and forced. But he’d made his decision, and he’d be the one who had the final say on who he chose. It was done, and Ms. Anonymous had already reported on this morning.

  He wasn’t used to being the subject of one of her articles, but he supposed he’d been asking for it. That woman got information faster than his second cousin, the detective. Maybe he should hire her. If he had control of her paycheck she’d stop digging up dirt on his friends fast enough.

  The matchmaker was a professional and known for her discretion, so he was confident she hadn’t revealed their meeting. From the sparkle in her eyes, having one of “The Billionaire Bachelors” as a satisfied client would be a feather in her cap in the industry, so he knew she wouldn’t do anything to chase him away.

  It had been a gentle, if awkward, inquisition. She’d asked the right questions, and listened as Tracy explained his busy lifestyle and loyalty to family. He told her he wanted a confident, smart and open-minded partner. Someone who could be comfortable with both city and country living. Adaptable. A self-sufficient woman who wouldn’t resent his regular business trips and the time he spent with his friends.

  “And what about in the sex department?” she’d asked bluntly. “Any hang ups or turn offs I should know about while I’m finding your Mrs. Reyes? Are you looking for blonde or brunette? Experienced or virginal?”

  Tracy had stared her down without blinking. “I believe I can handle that department without your help, ma’am. But I am an average red-blooded man who wants children. So if you’re asking about sex, my answer is yes.”

  The matchmaker looked away first. “Of course, and I apologize, sir. But I wouldn’t call you average. You’d be surprised how many clients require specific physical attributes—down to the measurements—as well as particular sexual types. Your reputation as a gentleman, I see, is well deserved.”

  He hadn’t responded, though he realized his omissions wouldn’t aid her in narrowing the search for his future bride. He was a gentleman, damn it. And because he was, he didn’t advertise his particular sexual type or say or do anything that could place his previous play partners in compromising situations with the press.

  His experience as a rope top and Dom wasn’t something the matchmaker needed to know. If she found someone who fit most of his requirements, he would be able to discover easily enough how adventurous the woman would be in the bedroom. If she’d be up for his brand of rough play or if he would need to find another outlet to fulfill those needs.

  Another outlet. The idea didn’t ease his mind, but it was one that had to be considered. When Dean had taken him to his first club in college and introduced him to kink, Tracy had been hesitant. He was a big man with big appetites that sometimes got the better of him. But the club had been a transformational and educational experience, giving him the skills he needed to control his strength, restrain his passions and ensure his partners pleasure while enhancing his own. It wasn’t something he was willing to give up. Not completely.

  When the plane was in the air, a tall blonde stewardess dressed in the small, snug outfit he’d personally selected approached his seat. “Can I get you anything, Sir?”

  Tracy studied her, wondering how the session could have slipped his mind. Speaking of outlets… He may be look
ing for a bride, but while he did he had no intention of denying himself. He’d had scenes with the lovely young Janice at the club for several weeks before she told him about this particular desire. A skilled lifestyler and stewardess by trade, she’d always wanted to serve and be dominated by a handsome passenger.

  Sexualizing the mundane wasn’t an unusual fantasy, and it was a scene he was more than happy to indulge her in. Better to see to her pleasure than spend the hours it would take to get him home thinking about the kind of woman his matchmaker would find. And whether or not she would be open to his special cravings.

  “Sir?”

  “Not in that position, princess. Get on your knees and ask me again.”

  His erection stirred when she obeyed without hesitation, hiking her short skirt up to her waist to reveal her thong and lean, strong, perfectly tanned thighs, her eyes respectfully downcast. “Can I get you anything, Sir?” she repeated softly.

  Tracy undid his buckle and slid it out of the loops in his jeans. Slowly. “I’m not sure, princess. Why don’t you show me what’s on the menu?”

  She lifted her hands to the buttons of her shirt and slipped them out of their holes until she could part the fabric, revealing small breasts with long nipples that he knew were particularly sensitive.

  “Nice,” he murmured. “You certainly know how to please your passengers.”

  She licked her lips, betraying her excitement. “I try, Sir.”

  “You succeed. Now clasp your hands in front of you without covering your breasts.” She obeyed and Tracy swiveled his chair toward her, leaning forward to easily loop his thin leather belt around her wrists and knot the ends. It wasn’t as versatile as his rope would have been, but after his experience with Sara Charles he had the desire to use it. His partner gasped in surprise.

  “Too tight?”

  “No Sir.”

  “That’s good.” His hands caressed her arms before tracing their way to her nipples. He pinched them between his thumbs and forefingers. She arched her back obligingly but her moan was too distracted…more about sensation and less about him. Tracy increased the pressure until her breathing grew ragged and she was watching him for his next command. That was more like it. “Very good. Are you wearing what I sent you underneath your uniform?”