Gentleman cowboy, p.1
Gentleman Cowboy, page 1
Table of Contents
Books by Gemma Snow
Title Page
Legal Page
Book Description
Dedication
Trademark Acknowledgements
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Epilogue
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All Hallows’ Harem: House of Damocles
The Sinclair Seven
GENTLEMAN COWBOY
GEMMA SNOW
Gentleman Cowboy
ISBN # 978-1-80250-903-8
©Copyright Gemma Snow 2024
Cover Art by Claire Siemaszkiewicz ©Copyright May 2024
Interior text design by Claire Siemaszkiewicz
Totally Bound Publishing
This is a work of fiction. All characters, places and events are from the author’s imagination and should not be confused with fact. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, events or places is purely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form, whether by printing, photocopying, scanning or otherwise without the written permission of the publisher, Totally Bound Publishing.
Applications should be addressed in the first instance, in writing, to Totally Bound Publishing. Unauthorised or restricted acts in relation to this publication may result in civil proceedings and/or criminal prosecution.
The author and illustrator have asserted their respective rights under the Copyright Designs and Patents Acts 1988 (as amended) to be identified as the author of this book and illustrator of the artwork.
Published in 2024 by Totally Bound Publishing, United Kingdom.
No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the authors’ rights. Purchase only authorised copies.
Totally Bound Publishing is an imprint of Totally Entwined Group Limited.
If you purchased this book without a cover you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the publisher and neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book”.
Book three in the Sinclair Seven series
This cowboy might just have the Midas touch—with her.
After successfully running yet another congressional campaign, Emerson Laurent is at loose ends. She’s been the best in her field among Washington’s political elite for nearly a decade, since the cataclysmic collapse of her father’s company left her fending for herself just to survive, and she’s desperate for a new challenge. Powerful men stopped being interesting a long time ago.
Gabriel North needs to stop thinking of his best friend’s girl, the only one in recent memory to see him for the man he is and not the money beneath. That melting of the ice that has always kept him safe makes him vulnerable, and Gabriel doesn’t do vulnerable, not even for pretty political hotshots who seem to match him at every turn.
But Emerson is so much more than she seems on the surface, and their connection goes much deeper than Gabriel could have ever realized. With their stolen week turning into something lasting and intense, Gabriel’s left with the question of telling her the truth about what happened to her father’s business all those years ago and risking losing her forever…or keeping the secret that could ultimately destroy them both.
Dedication
Rebecca, my Cowboy Queen, you make it all possible.
And to every overachieving eldest daughter with something to prove—the good girls in this story are for you.
Trademark Acknowledgements
The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmark mentioned in this work of fiction:
LinkedIn: Microsoft Corporation
Prologue
One week ago
They had won.
There were still polls to tally, votes to count, booths to close, but Emerson had managed over two dozen campaigns at the local, state and national level—the vast majority of which she had won—and, sometimes, she just knew. Even though the vote was still nearly a week out, she could sit at the bar and order an espresso martini and take a beat to breathe against the chaos of whatever fundraising event they were at right now, because they had secured the final endorsement they needed to push the projections from favorable to very nearly guaranteed, and they had won.
She just had to get the to-be-senator off the phone first.
“The endorsement has been released,” she said, stepping out of the melee of the event space and into the hallway. The spillover of political pundits, interns, hopefuls and hangers-on made the echoing marble hallway even louder than the main room, and the reply on the other end of the phone was muffled, so Emerson moved farther away from the event, toward the end of the hallway where the doors to a series of vintage libraries and offices lined the far wall. Normally, she loved this, the chaos and constant intensity of Washington, the opportunity to problem solve, to think outside the box, to be part of something important.
But, for the moment, she just felt…tired.
Tired of the running around, of the constant ache in her arches from wearing high heels for days at a time, falling asleep on the couch in the clothes she had worn the day before or, more recently, just crashing at the office. She had been chasing something with this latest senatorial campaign, and now that it was so near, she realized she wasn’t even close to capturing what was missing.
“Yes, Rosa, it’s taken care of. No, I don’t need you to do a livestream.” She stepped into the quiet corner at the far end of the hall and resisted the urge to slide down to the floor to rest her aching feet. If she sat, there was a one-hundred-percent chance she wouldn’t be able to stand up again, and she had worked too hard to get where she was in Washingtonworld to be found with her ass glued to the floor. “Rosa, listen to me. Everything is under control. Now I recommend you kiss your wife, open a bottle of wine and relax. Because next week, your life is going to change.”
Rosa Acevedo was a crack candidate who was going to do amazing things for the country, but she was young, untried and very hungry, and that meant she was a lot more hands-on than previous candidates Emerson had guided through the campaign process. While she loved a driven woman, there was something to be said for the candidates who let her do her job as their campaign strategist and manager, a job she happened to be very, very good at.
“You know I believe in you,” she said, because sometimes campaign manager meant babysitter, therapist, bodyguard, clean-up crew, secret-keeper and just about everything in-between. “I only work with candidates whose ideals I support.” It was worn territory, and Rosa didn’t usually ask for so much reassurance, but she was young and the vote was just a few days away. The nerves were to be expected. It was only that Emerson didn’t feel quite so equipped to deal with them as she usually did.
“I promise I’ll send over the analytics tomorrow,” she said, and, with one more reassurance, finally, finally ended the call.
I need a break.
She could go home. She always had a little time between campaigns, and she hadn’t visited her mom and sisters in over a year. Two years. Christmas three years ago. Upstate New York hardly felt like the answer to her sudden and intense feeling of malaise and burnout, but neither did staying in DC, navigating the ins and outs of a society that would eat her alive given half a chance.
Five minutes. Five minutes of quiet.
She’d be back in the office that night, tracking and analyzing the trends from the latest endorsement and making last-minute adjustments to their election-week push strategies, but if she didn’t get some quiet now, the migraine edging in behind her left eye would bloom into something cataclysmic. So, she turned down the small hallway, through the velvet curtains and past the glass-enclosed relics of American government past, and reached for one of the ornate wooden doors, hoping for a library or office space and a blissful moment alone.
After nearly a decade of living in the heart of Washington, she shouldn’t have been surprised at the scene before her. In fact, in another moment, at another time, she would have found herself more shocked at the reaction she had to it. She didn’t have time to date—and most men that ran in her circle weren’t worth the time she did have—but she loved the freedom of good sex and she had tastes that certainly strayed from the mainstream.
So why are you clutching your pearls, Em?
Because most of the time, scenes of such an…intimate nature were utterly unsexy. They were transactional, for money, position, or information, uninspired and often wrinkled, sagging or grunting in a way that did little for the libido she worked hard to keep at bay. But this…
This was something else.
This was a reminder of a different life. A former life. One she missed in her very soul.
At the far end of the room, a beautiful blonde was spread across the top of the large old desk, her curls spilling over the edge and her skirt pushed up, creating shadowed valleys of intrigue between her semi-parted legs. Her hands were bound together above her head, and Emerson realized they were wrapped several times in a silk tie, keeping her, at least in part, immobilized against the onslaught of attention from the stranger between her thighs.
Not a stranger.
Most definitely not a stranger.
There wasn’t a senator or congressional intern in Washington who didn’t know Gabriel North. His influence was wildfire through the city of liars, cheats and thieves, and his face had graced the covers of the top financial magazines for decades. He was power, in fit, fighting form, a Midas at the top of his hand-carved ivory tower, ruthless and without mercy.
When it came to all aspects of his life, apparently.
Because in that moment, Emerson couldn’t remember a single one of the recent tax bills he had lobbied for or against, not a single business he had bought and turned to profit in a handful of months, not even a senator who had shaken his hand at a press conference and talked about their hopeful future.
All she could think about was what it would be like to be the girl spread across his desk, those seeking fingers taking their time exploring every inch of exposed skin and exposing the rest, the way he would finally feel as he sank into her body and claimed her however he wanted, over and over again.
It had been so long since someone had looked at her the way Gabriel North looked at the woman before him, demand, expectation, promise, and she was shaken by the intensity of her reaction—jealousy, desperation, a sudden and all-consuming ache to be claimed by a man who knew what he was doing. A man like Gabriel North. It hardly mattered that he was the king of the wicked in this city, that he was ruthless and self-serving, the opposite of everything she had been fighting so hard for since starting her organization nearly a decade ago.
In that moment, the intense, unbreakable draw had nothing to do with his wealth or status or connections, and everything to do with the way he looked down at the woman on the desk, like he was a true predator and she had just been caught. It had everything to do with the deep glow in his eyes, eyes she had caught more than one glimpse of from across a crowded room, eyes that glowed bronze or onyx when he was in control…
Eyes that turned to her now.
And with one single glimpse into the gaze of the devil, Emerson fled.
She made it as far as the front steps of the hotel before a camera was shoved in her face. Too many thoughts, too many things were roiling around in her mind for any kind of grace before the media, and all the training she had sat through, training she had led herself a thousand times, fled in the face of the white-hot anger that settled in her chest.
Years ago, she had left that life, the scene, the community of eroticism and submission that she had loved so much, because she was terrified of what would have happened if her name was ever linked to it. It wasn’t shame about who she was or what she liked, but fear that the association would undermine what she had worked so fucking hard for all these years. She had sacrificed a huge, innate part of herself to follow her dream, to fundraise and strategize for women and People of Color and members of the queer community to gain positions of power, helped them develop platforms, make the right connections, find the words to get them elected. She had made her choice, and most of the time, she felt it was the right choice. But it didn’t mean she didn’t miss who she used to be in that world.
And he fucks interns at public parties.
She knew life wasn’t fair. She’d watched her dad’s business get cannibalized, then so much worse. She fought to give underrepresented communities a viable path to representation at the top offices in the country, fought to break down the rules and walls of the elites that kept the average person out. Unfair was just the tip of the iceberg.
But seeing Gabriel fucking North doing whatever he wanted when the rest of them had to be held in such impeccable esteem, when he’d been bankrolling candidates who diametrically opposed everything she believed in, when he arrived, wrote checks and changed the world, embracing the scene she had left behind at the cost of her soul, just because he could, made her lose her grip just a little bit.
It was impossible not to know him, not to see his influence in the tax laws that passed the senate floor, in the rezoning of Washington and New York and Boston, and how it affected the communities his business pushed out, in the way Washington’s rich and elite kept getting richer and more elite with his influence in business and law. And right now, angry and—though she’d never admit it in a court of law—a little aroused, Emerson didn’t want to hold back.
“The candidate will have a message for you tomorrow,” she said into the first microphone to her right. If she wasn’t seeing red, she might have recognized who was interviewing her, but all she could think about was the scene in the library, how that could have been her, how the world seemed to operate so differently for regular people as it did for billionaires like Gabriel North. If she’d been found half-naked in the library at a party, she’d never work again. For him, it was just Wednesday.
“For now, I speak on behalf of Laurant Consulting. We couldn’t be more proud of what has been accomplished here, or more excited to take the next step. We work hard to support the efforts of everyday Americans willing to step up and lead, and we know that, together, we can fight the inequity and inequality in this country.”
She was getting riled up, somehow more riled up, but she couldn’t seem to stop herself. From entire numbness and exhaustion to an absolute tear, with a little unwelcome arousal in good measure. It was a day of strong emotions.
“The rich and connected think they run this city and this country,” she continued. “They think there are no consequences for their actions, that they can run roughshod over the people and take what they want without giving back. Our firm stands with you, America, and with the next candidate for the congressional seat, and the next. We stand up to bullies and untouchables that think they can shape the world for their own. We stand up to the billionaires, billionaires like Gabriel North, and we say, you do not own this country, and you do not own us.
“We hope that the next political campaign we lead”—she looked into the nearest camera and paused, because now was a hell of a time to remember her training—“will be yours. Thank you for helping us build a better tomorrow.”
And with the flashbulbs going off in her face, she walked down the steps, feeling like just a little bit of the world had lifted off her shoulders.
Chapter One
Present day
“Gabe!” She was the only one who called him that. Gabriel had tried early on in their friendship to get his name to stick, but Morgan had never met a challenge she didn’t love and he’d eventually resigned himself to the nickname. Not that he would ever let the members of his board know that.
“Reece let you pick up the phone?”
There were a few things Gabriel was very good at, and one of them was picking up on the subtle hints that said a pretty little sub was right at the edge of her pleasure. Morgan had that telltale breathiness in her voice and, despite the exhaustion that had settled deep in his bones some time in the last ten years, the stirring of arousal made his muscles tighten and his blood heat. He hadn’t called her for this.
