Cowboy Casanova (Rough Riders #12)(44)

“Earth to Ben,” Keely said.


He looked at her. “Sorry. He’s asked about our cousins. It’s a lot to absorb.”


“Spoken in the diplomatic tone I expected. Bennett McKay, the peacemaker.”


He flipped her off.


Keely grinned. “On to the next thing I want to harass you about—I mean talk to you

about. You know how much I adore the log bed you made us. It’s big enough that I have

my own space, in theory anyway—” she snorted, “—if Jack would ever let go of me at

night. The damn man is stuck to me like Velcro.”


“You’re not really complaining.”


“True. But I didn’t know you’d talked to him about specific modifications to the

original bed design. And I’ve gotta say. Very sneaky, Ben.”


“What?”


“Don’t play dumb. You built the bed with hidden hook-and-eye thingies so that

depraved man could tie me to the bed any way he wanted.”


He smirked. “And again, little cuz, you ain’t really complaining.”


“Yes I am! Why didn’t you tell me so I could tie him up? I’m your cousin, your

family, your flesh and blood. How could you let him have the advantage over me?”


“First of all, the submissive is always the one in control, regardless if she’s bound

by rope or by her dominant’s word. Second, those are not special modifications Jack

asked me for. But I knew if I added them, he’d put them to good use.” Ben pointed his

beer bottle at her. “Because I suspect there are plenty of times you need to be

trussed up to get your butt paddled.”


Keely wore a calculating expression. “I knew it!”


Probably pointless to deflect, but Ben tried it anyway. “Hey, Jack noticed the

hardware before you did, when we assembled the bed.”


“I’m not talking about that. I’m actually good with GQ learning the ropes, so to

speak. I’m talking about you. Tossing out that dominant and submissive lingo like a

pro.”


Ben shrugged. “Never devalue opportunities offered by good porn.”


“Bullshit. I think—”


“I think this is a conversation I never wanna have with you, Keely. So drop it.” The

way she froze, Ben realized too late he’d used his Dom voice.


“Does that tone always get you immediate obedience?”


“Not with you, apparently,” he said dryly.


Keely laughed. “Look, I don’t give a rat’s ass what consenting adults do behind the

bedroom door, but I’ve gotta ask: is your…proclivity why you go to Gillette?”


Proclivity. Diplomatic way to put it. He studied her, debating on whether to give her a

piece of the truth or to lie. The odd thing was, he trusted Keely. She might be a

chatterbox, but he’d never heard a whisper of her being a blabbermouth. “Yeah, I

suppose it is.”


“Huh.” She seemed to be deep in thought. “I know someone who hung out at the Rawhide

Bar. She’d never tell me why the place had such a pull on her. She was awful

secretive. Like it was a private club or something.”


Somehow, Ben kept from choking on his beer. “What’s her name?”