Laird's Choice by Remmy Duchene (management books to read .txt) 📕

show in his head. The man didn't look to be the type to be into ex-cons.

Rubbing a gloved hand against the back of his neck, he leaned the fork against the wall. Using his index finger, he pushed his Stetson up a bit from his eyes. "You Laird Anatolis?"

The man tilted his head—a look that caused his

shoulder-length, curly black hair to fall to the side. He looked even sexier that way. "Yes. And you are?"

"Race McKade." He suddenly felt as though he was unworthy to stand in the same room as Laird. He grabbed the fork, stabbed the hay again, and shook the fork.

"Winston went into town to grab some groceries. He'll be back in a few. You need help with your things?"

Why is it, all I can see is me throwing this man on a bed and just drilling him?

"Not really. Just show me where I'm sleeping and I'll be fine," Laird replied.

Race nodded and leaned the fork against the wall

again. As he walked by Laird, he pulled the gloves from his hands and shoved them into his back pocket. He climbed the steps two at a time and held the front door open for Laird. As Laird stepped by him, Race had to hold his breath. The first whiff of Laird's scent sent Race's body into a tizzy and his heart racing inside his chest.

He released the door behind him and motioned

down the hall. "Winston says it's the same room you always sleep in when you come here."

"Ah, okay."

"Here we are."

He moved out of the way, standing on the other side of the door so he didn't have to be near Laird when he walked into the bedroom. "I'll be in the barn. I still have some stuff to do. When Winston comes back I'll let him know you're here."

"You don't have to do that, Race. I can come out—

besides I could help you work until he gets back."

"You're going to help me work? Outside? In the barn?"

"Yes."

"You do know you'll have to get your hands dirty right? I mean, you'll have to scoop out horse crap and all that good stuff. Are you sure you're up for that?"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Race laughed. "I'm sorry, Mr Anatolis, but you don't look like you've done a hard day's work in your life."

"No offense, huh? Ass."

To his shock, Laird stepped back into the room and slammed the door. Race folded his arms over his chest and watched the closed door for a while before shaking his head and walking from the house. "Well, shit." He smirked.

* * * *

Laird watched Race from the window, wondering

what his problem was. He barely knew the man and already Race was offending him. Frowning, Laird took a breath and rested his shoulder against the glass. He couldn't seem to take his eyes off the man below him. The moment he first saw Race, Laird felt something dance through him. It was a feeling he hadn't had in a long time—a feeling of overwhelming arousal that threatened to buckle his knees.

Race's long dark hair, deep green eyes, and sculpted muscles were enough to make his mouth water. The edge of a tattoo showed from beneath the folded-up sleeve of Race's shirt. But those were just a few of the things—the one attribute that tickled Laird in some dangerously hot ways was the fact Race hadn't shaved in a couple of days.

The facial hair did it for Laird in some good ways.

I'm sorry, Mr Anatolis, but you don't look like you've done a hard day's work in your life.

"I'll show him who hasn't done a hard day's work in his life," Laird muttered. A beep caught his attention, reminding him his cell phone was dying. Running a hand through his hair, he walked away from the window and rummaged through the side pocket of his bag. Pulling out his cell and the charger, he plugged the phone in. He then pulled his suit from his bag and hung it up. He wasn't sure why Rajan had insisted he bring a suit to begin with.

Brushing his hand over it to get rid of a few wrinkles, Laird finished unpacking his suitcase then shoved it beneath the bed. He wanted to be around Race again to see if he could figure the man out. But he was mad at the other man, and if he went out there, the jerk would no doubt think Laird would apologize. Instead he glanced at his watch, flopped to the bed, crossed his ankles, and folded his arms behind his head.

Race peeled his shirt from his body followed quickly by his pants. Soon all the sexy cowboy was wearing was that beautiful, perfectly built Stetson. Laird licked his lips, watching Race walk away from him. His rounded ass cheeks danced in beautiful rhythm, calling to Laird, daring him to look away. At the other side of the room, Race braced both arms against the wall and arched his back, sticking his ass out. Laird eased from the bed and, in a trance, walked to him. Bracing one palm against Race's lower back, Laird used his free hand to caress over one cheek. He allowed his hand to skim Race's ass until he could slide a finger between the tight cheeks and brush Race's hole. The cowboy whispered Laird's name.

Withdrawing his finger, Laird sucked it until it was wet then found the hole again. This time, he slid the finger in, deep and hard.

A loud knocking caused Laird to jerk upright with a gasp. He looked down at the slight twitching in the front of his pants. His cock was throbbing almost painfully. He groaned and looked at his watch. He'd fallen asleep.

Clearing his throat he shifted so that his cock wasn't noticeable. "Come in?"

The door opened and Winston stuck his head into

the room. "Knock, knock!"

"Hey." Laird climbed off the bed to hug his friend then sat again. "You into picking up strays now?"

Winston arched