Cowboy 12 Pack
Page 126
“Doesn’t everyone? Always?”
Erin was adorable. She was also an attention whore. She was an adorable attention whore.
Dimples blossomed in her cheek. “Our room overlooks the bunkhouse. The boys are showering up for tonight.”
“Charming,” Crystal quipped.
“They’re really hot.” Porsche waggled her brows. “You should come see.”
“I’d rather not—”
“Oooh. Tequila!” Though she could focus for hours when she was designing her jewelry, Porsche had more than her share of squirrel moments. She made a beeline for the shot glasses on the dresser and took one, sipping it gingerly.
“Not like that,” Erin said. “Watch.” She licked her hand, salted it, tossed back the other shot and then lapped at the salt. Then she grimaced and frowned at Jenn. “Where are the limes?”
“You were supposed to bring the limes.”
“No. I distinctly remember telling you to bring the limes. Who brings tequila and no limes?” This, she asked the room. No one answered.
“Ohmygod,” Crystal gushed. “Are you telling me we have to go the whole weekend without limes?” There was hardly any sarcasm in her tone at all.
“Bite me,” Jenn quipped.
“I’d rather bite a lime,” Erin grumbled.
Porsche tapped her lip as she thought over this dreadful conundrum. “They probably have some in the kitchen.”
“Or the bar,” Crystal suggested dryly. She turned her attention on Porsche and asked the question that had been burning in her brain since they’d arrived. “How did you find this place anyway? I wouldn’t think someone like you would even know a place like this exists.”
“Someone like me?”
“An innocent.”
“I’m not all that innocent. And I grew up around here. My brother’s ranch is just over the ridge.” She waved in a vague direction. “Cody and Cade were my neighbors growing up.” Her eyes twinkled. “I’ve been dying to come here ever since they launched the Double Stud.”
“Has it always been a strip ranch?” Jenn asked.
Porsche tittered. Clearly, the tequila was making inroads. “No. When I was a kid it was a regular ranch. When Cody’s dad died, the bank was about to foreclose. So he started the Double Stud. You know, as another source of revenue to pay off the debt.”
“And did it?” Crystal’s spidey senses went on point. As an accountant, she found such things fascinating. She ignored the ping of remorse in her heart. When her father had died, they hadn’t been able to save anything. His ranch had been sold off, lock, stock and barrel.
“Did it ever. The ranch has been a huge success. But it wasn’t very popular in Snake Gully. For some reason, bringing in horny women and strippers from Dallas didn’t go over well in town.” Porsche sighed. “I always wanted to see what all the hullaballoo was about, but my brother would never let me come.”
Small wonder. It was a freaking strip ranch. “I take it he doesn’t know you’re here,” Crystal said, trying to keep the reproving tone from her voice. She must have failed, miserably, because Porsche shot her a look.
“Oh, hells to the no. He would freak. Which is why I didn’t tell him I was coming to town.” She huffed. “He is rather overbearing.” Her gaze flicked to Crystal. “And bossy. You know, the two of you have a lot in common.”
“Are you saying I’m bossy?”
Erin nibbled a lip. “If the heels fit, baby…”
Crystal glared at both of them. “I am your boss.” She was supposed to be bossy. By definition.
“Does your brother know about your tattoo?” Jenn asked. Jenn, the one who had encouraged Porsche to get the tattoo.
“There’s lots Ford doesn’t know about.” Porsche winked. “And he doesn’t need to know.”
Jenn handed Porsche another shot. “Well, now you’re a grown-up. If you want to frolic with half-naked men, well, hell. You frolic.”
“Right?” Porsche’s brow wrinkled, and with it, the piercing along that delicate arch. Ford probably didn’t know about that either, poor bastard.
Erin lifted her glass. “To keeping domineering brothers in the dark.” She took a sip—or a gulp—and then shot a curious glance at Porsche. “And is everyone in your family named after a car?”
“What can I say? Dad was a gearhead.” Porsche tossed back her drink with concerning aplomb.
Crystal frowned. She wasn’t Porsche’s keeper, but honestly, sometimes the girl made her feel like a mother. “Slow down,” she muttered, but everyone ignored her. They often did.
Porsche shuddered at the bite of her drink and then shot a glance at Crystal beneath her golden lashes, one that sent a shiver up her spine. “But to be honest, there was another reason I chose this place.”
Oh crap. She knew that look. “What?”
“I chose it for you, Crystal.”
“For me?” she squeaked. “Why?” Of the four of them she would, no doubt, be voted the least likely to indulge in a lap dance from a sweaty, manscaped boy toy.
“We thought it would be good for you,” Erin said.
“We?” And then, “Good for me?”
Erin sighed. “Are you going to repeat everything I say?”
“Only the nonsense.”
Jennifer’s expression soured. “Ever since you broke up with Dumbass, you’ve been moping.”
“Technically, he broke up with me,” she felt the need to point out. It burned in her chest, the anger. She hadn’t been in love with him or anything stupid like that, but it stuck in her craw that he’d dropped her like a hot potato when someone “better” came along.
“Because he’s a dumbass,” Erin muttered.
“And I haven’t been moping.”
Jenn turned to Erin. “Has she been moping?”
“Definitely moping.” Erin held up the tequila. “I think we all need another shot.”
Crystal frowned. “I’m not drinking.”
“What?” Porsche squawked. “It’s my birthday! You have to drink with me. I think it’s the law or something.”
“It most decidedly is not the law.”
“She’s dieting,” Jenn said in a tone far too prim to qualify as sincere.
“My twenty-first birthday!”
“I’m low-carbing. It’s not a good idea to drink.”
Erin shook her head. “You need to loosen up.”
The last thing she needed was to loosen up. Erin poured her a shot anyway—despite the fact she already had one she was ignoring—and sat beside her on the bed. “Listen, Crystal. It’s time for you to forget about Dumbass—”
“Blaine—” His name was Blaine.
“And kick back with some hotties born to sin.”
“Live a little,” Jenn chimed in. She was a chimer. “Stroke a hard-muscled chest.”
Porsche nodded. “Get a lap dance.”
“Ugh. A lap dance from a sweaty guy with product in his hair—”
“What’s wrong with product?”
“Crawling with all kinds of cooties?”
Erin waggled her head. “Yesssss.”
“You know what you all are?”
“Geniuses?” Porsche suggested.
“Decadent?” Jenn purred.
“Divas?” Erin tossed in.
“I like that,” Jenn said. “Decadent Divas—”
“Trouble. That’s what you are. You’re trouble.” But Crystal couldn’t hold back her grin.
And when Erin slipped the shot glass into her hand, this time she took it.
And she took the shot.
Chapter Two
‡
SHE SHOULDN’T HAVE taken the shot.
For God’s sake, what had she been thinking? She’d been on a low-carb, low-calorie diet—with no alcohol—for a month. Not because Blaine had called her fat. That had nothing to do with it. She just wanted… She just wanted to do it for herself. Yeah.
It wasn’t like he was coming back or anything. And it wasn’t like she’
d let him.
But it would be awesome to run into him somewhere, say the bank or the coffee shop or that bar on Grill Street, looking like a vixen. She only had ten pounds to go to hit vixen weight. It was a helluva ten pounds. They didn’t seem to want to budge.
And damn, she really wanted something to eat.
And damn, the tequila had hit her hard.
So hard she’d left the weekend kickoff party—although, to be honest, she’d wanted to leave since the pumping music and the grinding bodies and the strobing lights were starting to make her eyelid twitch. As down-home country as the bedrooms were at this ranch-slash-resort, they sure knew how to throw a bacchanal at night.
It was pleasanter out here behind the house, staring up at the stars and enjoying the kiss of a soft breeze. There were no sounds but the rustle of the leaves in the trees, the crickets and the occasional croak of a frog.
Her head hardly spun at all.
She leaned back and closed her eyes and imagined how amazing it would feel to be twenty-one again and interested in those kinds of men. To rub against a hard chest and feel his thickly muscled arms hold her close.
But none of those boys had ignited a flicker of interest in her. They’d all been rubbed smooth. Although several of them, and one in particular, had made it clear he wanted to dance for her.
It was a damn shame.
It would have been fun.
What kind of man would she want, if she wanted a man? Tall, for sure. Broad. Hard. Rough. Maybe a little wicked twinkle in his eye.
A door slammed to her right and her eyes flew open. She blinked as a man strode toward her through the shadows. Her heart lurched and the breath caught in her throat. Yes, her heart whispered. Yes. That was the kind of man she wanted.
He was big, and broad and roped with muscle. His stride was sure, determined and powerful. He wore boots that kicked up dust with every step, and chaps and even a Stetson. He had high cheekbones and a well-formed brow. His square chin was spattered with a dark shadow. His shirt was buttoned.
He looked like a real cowboy.
He looked like a man.
This guy could dance for her. No problem. She’d love to have him rub himself all over her—
His steps stalled as he caught sight of her.
“Well, hey there, cowboy,” she purred. It was probably the tequila purring, but he didn’t seem to care. He peered into the shadows.
She did him the favor of moving into the light. She liked that his nostrils flared and his throat worked. He touched the brim of his hat. “Ma’am.”
Ooh. Ma’am.
Sexy. This stripper knew how to play a role.
“You’re late,” she said.
He blinked. “Late?”
“The party’s already started.” She sidled up to him—again, the tequila; normally she would never sidle up to anybody—and put her hand on his chest. The muscles rippled in response and something inside her rippled as well. It was probably her womb. Crying out for a visitor.
It had been a while, after all.
She leaned closer, against him, and it was good. She nestled her nose in his beautiful neck and took a whiff. And daham, he smelled sinful. Wicked. Alluring.
“What is that fragrance?” she asked. She needed to know. Wanted to bathe in it.
He chuckled; the sound rumbled through her. “Soap.”
“Mmm. Yummy.” She scudded her palm over his chest, his thick arms and down to his trim waist. He held steady as she explored, staring at her through insanely thick lashes. It should be illegal for a man to have lashes like that. His features were locked and hard. A muscle ticked in his cheek. “You’re hard,” she murmured. Oh, God, he was.
“Yes, ma’am. I am.” This he said in a low purr, one that gave a sizzle of double entendre to the words.
Something cracked inside her. It was probably the remainder of her pickled restraint. He was the hottest man she’d ever seen, much less touched. His heat soaked into her and melted her, liquefied her.
She couldn’t stop her roving exploration and wouldn’t have anyway. Her hand drifted lower. His body tightened, his breath hitched as she reached his belt. And then she found him.
Her knees locked. Her pulse rocketed through her veins. Because Jesus God, he wasn’t just hard, he was rock hard.
“Nice.” A whisper, all she could manage. She gave him a little pump.
He hissed in a breath and said through his teeth, “Yeah. Nice.” His hand came to her waist. He stroked her bare skin beneath the hem of her tee. His calluses scraped her sanity.
“You are the most authentic of all of them,” she murmured, kissing his neck.
He grunted and pulled her closer, cupping her ass, measuring it with a squeeze. “Most authentic?”
“Of all the strippers.”
He stilled for a moment and she sensed he was about to pull away, which she could not allow. He was far too delicious to give up. So she nibbled his chin. She loved the bristles of his stubble. And he tasted…like a man. More man than she’d ever had.
She released her hold on him and pressed her hips against his, wrapped herself around him, hooking her leg around his. The feel of his body, hot and hard, plastered against hers from chest to groin, made her mouth water.
He allowed it, but then he did pull back. But it wasn’t far, and it was so he could stare down at her face, so she didn’t mind. His breath washed over her and she had the sudden compulsion to taste his mouth. Not a need or a whim. A compulsion.
“You think I’m the most authentic of all the strippers?” She had no idea why he was smiling, but she liked his smile. Especially the dent that appeared on his left cheek. Everything about him pushed each and every one of her buttons. They were rusty buttons, but he pushed them.
“You are. You really do it better than any of them. You sure look like a real cowboy. Baby, you could rope and tie me…”
“Sounds…interesting.”
She stroked his back, reveling in the bulge of his muscles as she made her way down to his ass, which she squeezed as well. “And you’re really well built.”
“Thank you?”
“For a stripper.”
“Right.”
“I wouldn’t mind if you gave me a lap dance at all.”
“You…wouldn’t?”
“Not at all.”
“I’m…flattered.”
“Would you like to?”
His brow arched. It was a striking, manly brow. “Like to?”
“Give me a lap dance?”
“You have no idea.”
She liked the tenor of his voice, despite the fact there was a laugh hidden in it. She raked her nails along the back of his neck and he shivered. So she walked her fingers into his hair, ignoring that she tipped his Stetson clean off.
God, his hair was soft. Dark curls. Silky and thick.
Their gazes locked. His smile faded. Tension hummed between them. Then she tugged his head down and took his lips.
Sensation exploded in her at the taste of him. Bright lights and tremulous shudders and a deep, burning hunger for more. His lips were perfect, mobile, firm on hers. He responded to her every foray. He tipped his head to the side, firmed his hold on her hips and deepened the kiss with a groan. When his velvet tongue pressed in, her knees locked. Thank God he was holding her up.
It was, in short, the most magnificent kiss she’d ever had.
When it ended, they were both breathless. He set his forehead on hers as he gathered his wits. As for Crystal, she just clung. It was all she could manage.
But she did issue a low moan. “God,” she huffed. “That was awesome.”
“Mmm.” Again, a rumble. It shook her to the bones. She was suddenly beset with the image of the two of them, bare and sweaty and locked together in a passionate clinch. Somewhere private.
“Come to my room?” She didn’t know what urged her to say it, other than a blinding need. And possibly tequila. She’d certainly never propositioned a man before.
His muscles tautened. His cock, against her belly, surged. “Your…room?”
“Mmm hmm.” She tipped her head. “It’s upstairs.”
His lips quirked and she realized that, most probably, all the rooms were upstairs.
“I don’t even know your name.” He probably meant it as a joke, judging from his amused expression, but she gave it anyway. Because hell, he needed to know her name.
“I’m Cryshtal. Um, Crystal.”
He kissed her again, a brief buss but no less alluring. “You taste like tequila, Crystal.”
“I had a shot.” A couple shots, but who was counting?
“Are you drunk?”
She frowned. “Nope.”
“Are you sure?”
“Of course I’m sure. I’m not drunk in the slightest. I’m loosh.”
“Loosh?”
“Loose.”
“Ah. Yes.”
“Come to my room,” she insisted again, tugging on his hand. And to her delight, he picked up his hat and followed.
HOLY GOD.
Ford McCoy gritted his teeth as he followed the siren up the backstairs of Cody’s place and down a shadowed hallway. He’d never met a woman who had this effect on him before, and he wasn’t sure he liked it.
From the first glance, seeing her leaning against the house, staring up at the sky, he’d been entranced. Oh, her face was exquisite, for sure, with delicate features and eyes of a glimmering green, and her hair flowed like a silken curtain around her shoulders. But her curves. Hell and damnation, those curves had hit him like a fist to the gut. His cock had leaped to attention in a heartbeat.
And when she’d sauntered over and touched him, then fucking squeezed his dick… Damn.
When she’d wrapped herself around him, he’d known he was a goner. The feel of her in his arms, cuddled against his body, meeting and matching with perfect counterpoint of hard and soft… He’d had to kiss her.
But she’d kissed him first.
He’d nearly lost his mind.
It was a damn fucking shame she was drunk. Or loose. What the fuck ever.
Unsteadily, she led him into a room at the end of the hall and with a huff dropped down on the bed. He glanced around the room and spotted the culprit. An empty bottle of tequila. His suspicions firmed. His mood dimmed.