Wild Trail (Clean Slate Ranch #1)(26)

Mack growled. “You’re trouble.”

“In the flesh.”

“Troublemakers like you deserve spankings,” Mack retorted, his voice low and growly.

Wes’s dick perked up. “Please, daddy.”

“Fuck.” Mack took a deliberate step backward, big arms crossing over his chest.

“Was that an invitation?” Wes purred, cocking his hip just so.

His only response was another growl—the kind that made Wes’s belly tighten in anticipation of action. Instead, Mack threw his shoulders back and said flatly, “I don’t fuck the guests.”

“Then how about after checkout on Saturday? I won’t be a guest anymore.”

Mack’s silence said loads to the fact that he was actually considering Wes’s offer, and hell yes, Wes would love to bend over for Mack—a big, stallion of a man who probably fucked like a champion.

“So, why acting?” Mack asked.

The non sequitur had Wes flailing for a second.

Way to deflect, big guy.

“I’ve always loved performing,” Wes replied. “My mom loves to tell me that when I was three years old, I made my parents sit on the couch while I acted out scenes from Sesame Street with hand puppets I’d made out of socks. I don’t remember it, but apparently my first performance was a rousing success.”

“Can’t rightly picture you as a toddler.”

Wes laughed. “Imagine me only two feet tall, with darker blond hair and a whole lot of baby fat. I’m also told I hated clothes and liked to run around the house naked.”

Mack’s eyes narrowed. If he wasn’t undressing Wes in his mind right now, Wes would eat his damned hat.

*

The unwanted mental image of naked Wes did funny things to Mack’s insides. Funny things that were sending blood to his dick, and the last thing he needed was to try and ride Tude with an erection. The kid had him all sorts of turned around. Although he couldn’t really call him a kid. Wes looked closer to thirty than he did to twenty, so they couldn’t be too far apart in age.

Then again, Mack felt a lot older than most other thirty-four-year-olds he knew, thanks to how his life had imploded in Los Angeles five years ago. And his old life was a great reminder about why getting involved with Wes was a terrible idea. He wouldn’t let his heart be broken again by another attention-seeking actor—even if said actor had a sexy smirk, a killer body and a firm ass that Mack seriously wanted to see covered in his handprints.

Not happening.

He shouldn’t have come over here to talk to Wes. He’d known better than to engage, but he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about how somber Wes had seemed on the trail. Or the quiet way he’d walked away from the group to stare at the ground. Something had compelled Mack to go to him. To talk and suss out the root of the problem.

Naturally, Wes had to start flirting, and if they’d been alone, Mack wasn’t so sure he’d have turned down Wes’s advances. The fact that seven other people and nine horses were nearby helped Mack keep his wits about him. He had to avoid being alone with Wes for the rest of the week, that was all. Public interactions only, so they’d both keep their hands to themselves.

Naked Wes. Ass red with handprints.

Nope.

Mack took a step closer to Wes. “You keep up that teasing, and I’ll dunk your skinny ass in the creek. And just so’s you know, riding a horse in wet denim ain’t comfortable at all.”

Wes opened his mouth to say God knew what, then shut it again. He smirked at Mack, instead, aware that yeah, he’d gotten under Mack’s skin. “So what made you quit SWAT to play with horses for a living?”

The intrusive question nearly had Mack shutting down and turning away. But Wes seemed genuinely curious, and not in the usual rubbernecking way. People wanted to hear the dirty details of a career change, and Mack had dirty details, for sure. But those were details for close friends and lovers. Not a maybe-fling.

“Needed a change from the city,” Mack replied. “Got tired of seeing the worst side of people. Needed the sky more than I needed the freeway, you know?”

“I’m starting to. I’m city born and bred, but the country definitely has its own appeal.” Wes’s shy smile made Mack’s heart turn over. The guy was ten times more appealing when he was quiet and playful, rather than directly flirtatious. “San Fran, obvi, but I spent a few years in LA. Wanted it to be home, but it didn’t work out.”

“Acting?”

“That, too.” Wes frowned, the unhappy shadow from the trail returning. “Career implosion plus relationship implosion created a toxic work environment, so I went home. Wide-open spaces like this remind me of my ex and about failing to make it in Tinseltown, so I get a little maudlin sometimes.”

“That what happened last night at dinner?”

“Pretty much. I mean, it’s gorgeous out here for sure, but it keeps reminding me of bad things. Sorry.”

“Can’t help that.” Mack had left the city for the country for the same reasons—his history in Los Angeles had left the city toxic to him, too. “So I guess we’ve got an intense dislike of LA in common, huh?”

“I guess so. Anyway, thanks for the chat.”

“No problem.”

Mack watched Wes walk away and then leap across the creek, graceful as a gazelle. He seemed in better spirits, which helped Mack feel less awkward about his rioting feelings for the guy. Cheering up others wasn’t Mack’s best event, but he’d done it for Wes. Teased, gotten him talking. He hated that Wes had had his heart broken and his acting dream crushed. Protective feelings made him want to fix it for Wes, but it wasn’t a problem for Mack to fix. They were barely friends.