The Front Runner: A Small Town Fake Dating Romance (Gold Rush Ranch Book 3)

The long ride downtown to the Vancouver Club, some ritzy private hangout, is filled with tension so thick you can feel it in the town car. My intense attraction to Mira, paired with the lance of agitation I felt when she referred to our date as fake, makes me want to shove her flimsy silky dress up around her waist and bury my face between her legs—driver be damned.

I’d love to ask her how fake we feel after I make her come so hard she can’t see straight.

But I won’t. I said I’d make her beg. I said I wouldn’t kiss her. Despite what she might think of me, I’m a man of my word. An honest man.

So, we ride in tense silence on opposite sides of the black leather seat. At one point, the driver turns up the music to fill the space. I’m sure he thinks we’re some couple who’d just had it out and hate each other’s guts.

Little does he know the tension between us is because we both want to rip each other’s clothes off. But Mira is pretending to be completely oblivious to our chemistry. She’s smart enough to recognize what’s going on between us, she’s also masterful about avoiding it.

Maybe after tonight, it will be clearer to her what type of man I really am.

I tip the driver when he pulls up to the old stone building, and he beats me to Mira’s door to open it for her. The man smiles at her and scowls at me, like I’ve been a prick—and I guess I have. Truthfully, I rage-played Mario Kart on my phone the entire way here rather than attempt to make small talk with her.

Mira just stared out the window.

I wish she’d tell me what she’s thinking, but I know she’s not the type of woman who spills all her deepest thoughts and feelings at the drop of a hat. That’s part of what I like about her. She’s like a vault, and once I figure out the code, I’ll get that side of her.

I could keep her secrets. She could be soft with me. She could let loose with me, and I’d still stand back and let her be the fiercely independent woman she is. I don’t want to tame her; I just want a front-row seat to watch her win the race.

She steps out of the car and thanks the driver with a gentle smile. I’m instantly jealous. I want her smiling at me, not ignoring me. I want her looking at me the way she did when I ran my hand up her leg.

I settle for letting my hand fall against the small of her back as we walk up the front steps of the opulent club. A small gasp spills from her lips when I touch her exposed skin. I’m accustomed to doing this when she has a shirt on, not a backless dress. And with nothing between us, my hand tingles and my thumb strokes the dip at the column of her spine of its own volition.

I can’t help myself around her.

It’s probably too cold outside for what she’s wearing, and she presses into my side incrementally. I slide my hand further, cupping her hip. The dress is so thin I can feel the lace strap of her panties through it.

We enter through the front door into the heritage building and take another small set of stairs toward the ballroom. Creams and golds line the crown mouldings on every wall, and tall windows boast red velvet drapes. Chandeliers drip with crystals and beads. The place screams money.

We stop at the door, and she looks up at me, slightly wide-eyed. Her makeup is heavier than usual tonight. Her hair is silky and shiny, like polished onyx. Whether she realizes it or not, she’s the most beautiful woman in the room and it’s not even close.

“Let’s go. Might as well enjoy this last fake date. There will be lots of familiar faces.” The words are bitter in my mouth, and I try not to let the distaste show on my face.

Mira nods and gazes back into the room. “Then we need to keep a professional distance.” I want to protest because I don’t give a damn about these people. I want her right here, tucked into my side for everyone to see. But before I can say anything, she steps away, turning heads as she makes a beeline for the bar.

I watch the sway of her rounded hips, the swell of her firm ass, her dainty ankles in those heels. I want them propped up over my shoulders while I slam into her.

I roll my shoulders back and will my growing erection away. Something that’s become a constant battle around Dr. Mira Thorne. I come to stand beside her at the bar in the corner, and the steady hum of conversation wraps around us, the quiet clinking of glasses, the odd round of raucous laughter.

People here are trying too hard. Unlike at Mira’s family’s house, where everyone was exactly how they are—even if that was meddling and overbearing. Every time I attend an event, it’s a reminder of why I left this lifestyle behind me. Sure, I put a suit on for race days or for sponsorship meetings for the shelter, but generally, I live in jeans and sweaters so I can tinker around the farm. I feel safe there—like the version of myself I want to be.

Already I feel my youth kicking in. The schmoozing. The wheeling and dealing. The I’ll- scratch-your-back-if-you-scratch-mine chatter. Wealth impresses some people.

But I know better.

I’m here for one thing only. And I can see him across the room telling a story with animated hand gestures to a group of people who are pretending to be interested. A foot shorter than everyone here and a notch or two more obnoxious. The man is a predatory snake in the grass—precisely the type of man I have zero patience for in my life.

He plays checkers.

But I play chess.

A lesson Patrick Cassel is about to learn the hard way.

Mira steps up to the bar when the people ahead of us get their drinks. “I’ll have a beer in a champagne flute.”

The bartender, his brow knitting together, looks at her like she has two heads.

Her head tilts. “Did I stutter?”

The man jumps into action, shaking his head as he does, like he’s offended by her request. A crack of a bottle later and Mira is reaching for her glass with a fake smile.

The bartender turns in my direction. “What can I get you, sir?”

I rub my stubble as I look over the fully stocked bar. “I’ll have what the lady’s having.”

I swear the man rolls his eyes. Mira fails to stifle a giggle, and I find I don’t care at all what the bartender thinks when she makes noises like that. When my eyes dart to her, amusement is written all over her face.

“Very classy, Mr. Dalca.”

“I guess that makes two of us, Dr. Thorne.”

I wink at her, and she can’t help but smile as she looks around the packed room, taking in the women in fancy dresses and men in tuxedos, not missing a single thing.

“Lots of people I know here.”

“Figured as much.” I grab the glass off the bar and toss a tip down before taking a sip of my beer.

“It’s kind of funny,” Mira begins, though she doesn’t look very amused. “There are several people here who aren’t all that great to their horses. In fact, I’d say they’re part of the problem with this industry. The reason so many young thoroughbreds end up injured and unusable. And yet here they are, opening their checkbooks like it absolves them of that responsibility.”

She sounds so fierce. She isn’t wrong. There is no shortage of questionable people in this industry.

“You must get tired of seeing that.”

She takes a quick swig of her drink, chocolate eyes dancing with intelligence. “You have no idea.” But now she’s staring at Patrick across the room. For such a small man, he sure can project his voice.

I wrap my arm back around her, wanting to feel the line of her panties again and usher her out into the crowd. My index finger absently slides across the thin strap. Good god. These panties must be barely anything at all.

When I rub down the line again, unable to stop myself, she leans into me. “Hands off. I’m not interested in joining your rotation.”

She looks smug, but I’m downright confused.

“My rotation?”

She scoffs. “You know. Me on Saturday nights. The hot blonde on Sunday nights.”

“Hot blonde?” I stop us in our tracks and with a firm grip, spin her to face me.

Her eyes roll. “The one with the shoes.” She points down at her feet. “Who was leaving on Monday morning?”

Her eyes dart behind me, and I turn to look at what she’s signaling toward. Juliette Monroe. If Mira’s assumption wasn’t so absurd, I would laugh out loud. I stare back down at her fierce face. “Jules is my lawyer.”

“Your… lawyer.” She takes a huge swig of her beer and shakes her head as she looks out across the room. “You fucking idiot,” she whispers to herself as her cheeks flare to match her dress. Although part of me wants to laugh, the other part wants to shake her.

I step in close to clear a few things up about us. About me and my intentions where she’s concerned, but I’m cut off by one of the most annoying voices in the world.

“Well, well, well. Look what the cat dragged in. How’s the off-season treating you, Dalca?”

I take a deep breath, eyes flitting to Mira’s. She looks uncertain, but now it’s go time. I turn and take one step ahead of her, trying to keep Patrick as far away from her as possible.

I smile, but it doesn’t touch my eyes. This is the face I mastered as a child. “Patrick. Life is good. How are you?”

Patrick grins. His teeth are too white, and his hair too greasy. I can’t for the life of me remember why I hired him. A winning record, I guess. Too winning. I’ve beat myself up about that enough.

Now I know what kind of man Patrick is, and I have no intention of letting him get away with it.

“Just great. Living the dream. Riding much nicer horses than yours these days. Guys like us always land on our feet. You bangin’ the vet now?” He nods at Mira and grins at me, like he’s begging for me to give him a nosebleed the old-fashioned way. A nice bump to match my own.

Mira moves beside me, her face calm and her head tilted at him like she’s sizing him up and finds him entirely lacking. Condescension drips off her in waves. “Did you know that I can castrate a pig just as easily as a horse, Patrick? Even a little one like you.”

Now there’s something I’d like to see. I glance behind myself at where I saw Jules chatting someone up before. She’s already looking in my direction and nods once.

I smile, except this time it’s real. I’m going to enjoy this.

“Who are guys like us, Patrick?”

He chuckles like I’m being intentionally obtuse, but the truth is I hate the idea of being lumped with men like Patrick. It makes my skin crawl.

I roll my shoulders back and tug at the cuff links on my shirt before staring down my nose at the man. “I’ve often thought the best way to judge a man is by his actions rather than his words.” Patrick’s eyebrows knit together as people around us start to watch. “You talk like you’ve got it all. But the fact of the matter is you harass women with unwanted advances and drug horses to keep yourself in the winner’s circle.” His face goes white, and Mira’s head snaps toward me.

Hushed murmurs break out around us. These people thrive on drama, and I’m about to feed the beast.

“Get a grip, Dalca.” His tone goes frigid and his watery eyes narrow, taking on a vicious facial expression.

“You’re a disease, Patrick. A blight. And I’ve got all the documentation to prove it.” A couple of officers appear from a back hallway. Just how Jules and I planned it. “You drug my horses, you face the music.”

He sputters but is cut off by the officer stepping in front of him. “Patrick Cassel?”

The officer explains the situation to him, reading his rights, suggesting an attorney. Probably a good plan. I’m going to love wasting my stepfather’s money on burying this rat.

Patrick looks grim. White as a sheet. And then spitting mad when he meets my eyes. “This isn’t over, Dalca.”

“I trust it’s not.” I slide my hands into my pockets and smirk. “I’m just getting started with ruining you.”

Patrick turns beet red as the officers lead him away in a shiny set of cuffs. They suit him so well.

“Unbelievable,” Mira murmurs, mouth hanging open. “I was right?” She places her drink on a tall cocktail table and walks after him toward a darkened hallway at the back of the ballroom. A neon emergency exit sign lights the door at the very end of it. She looks stunned, entranced.

“You going to go to the station with him?” I joke. “Never took you for a rubbernecker.”

“Are you kidding me?” She keeps walking down the hall, head craned to listen to the excuses falling from Patrick’s twisted tongue. “You think I signed up for blood and gore as a career without being a rubbernecker? This is too fucking good. You don’t even know how hard I’m trying to refrain from pulling my phone out to record. This is gold. I want to remember this night for the rest of my life. Best date ever.”

When the door slams shut behind them, she flops against the wall with a satisfied sigh. And I don’t miss that she didn’t call it a fake date this time. “How did you pull this off?”

I smirk and puff my chest out, feeling proud of myself for how smoothly that went off. “The day you told me your suspicions, I had another vet draw blood from each horse I had living down at Bell Point Park. When they came back positive for performance enhancing steroids, I hired a PI to find me the proof.”

“Why didn’t you have me do the tests? I could have helped!”

“Because I needed to have an impartial third party do the testing. You’re too connected to Patrick to stand up in court. No chance was I getting you embroiled in this.”

She rolls her eyes. “How honorable.”

I take a step closer to her, knowing we’re perfectly obscured at the very end of a dark hallway. “You know I’m right.”

Mira looks at me, her eyes clear, with something like wonder painted on her face. “I think I might have been wrong about you. I think everyone might be.”

Her head tilts back to keep eye contact as I take another step, leaving only a few inches between the tips of our toes.

“I think you’ve been wrong about me on a few counts, Dr. Thorne.” I place one hand against the wall on each side of her, effectively caging her in. “The only reason my lawyer has been around so much is because she helped me organize this whole show.”

“Oh.” She breathes out.

“Yes, oh. But I do rather enjoy your jealous side. Do you think I’ve been asking you to let me take you on a date for the past several months just so I could pursue another woman after finally tasting your lips? Did you think I’d give up that easily?”

“No, I thought you were teasing me. I thought it was all a big joke. A game.”

I lean down to whisper in her ear. “Absolutely nothing about the way I feel for you is a joke. And I’ll keep telling you that until you believe me.”

Her breathing quickens, and the silk covering her voluptuous breasts heaves beneath the weight of her gasp.

I lift my index finger and trace the spaghetti strap where it caresses her collar bone. “I’m just very, very patient. I know what I want, and I’m willing to wait for it. I don’t mind biding my time until you catch up.” My finger slides over the crest of her shoulder, and I feel her warm breath against my jaw as she tips her chin to follow. She’s watching my every move, her eyes locked onto my finger. “It’s a shame I’m not allowed to kiss you anymore. Because you look positively edible right now, Mira.”

With one quick grab, her fingers twist into my dress shirt, and she yanks me toward her. Free hand wrapped around the back of my neck, she pulls my face to hers and kisses me with so much longing that my stomach drops.

The kiss isn’t frantic. It’s hard, and her mouth clamps onto mine like she’s trying to steal my soul. It almost feels like an apology.

Apology accepted.

I use my tongue to trace the seam of her lips, and she moans. Her mouth falls open and our tongues meet instantly. She jerks me closer still, and I revel in it. The event hums at the opposite end of the dim hallway, but here in the shadows, I feel like we’re in our own little world.

Just the two of us.

Her soft breasts press against my chest, and I imagine sliding my dick between them one day, watching her round eyes go wide while her tits glisten. I let my hands trail down over them, feather light. A tease. Her nipples harden through the thin silk while her soft lips move against mine.

Nothing about this feels fake. Our bodies. Our minds. Our hearts. Absolutely everything about being with Mira feels like one of the most real things I’ve ever had in my life. And I won’t let her slip between my fingers now.

I’m going to make her come on them instead.

I pull away to nip at the lobe of her ear, and she whimpers in protest. “Do you remember what I said I was going to do to you if I had you up against a wall, Dr. Thorne?”

“What?” Her voice is pure lust, almost slurred.

“I told you that you’d be the meal.”