Devil In Cowboy Boots

by Sylvie Kaye

  "Do you dance, drink, and do the dirty?” the one with the blackened eyes asked Mercy.

  "Not in that order or on the first date.” Mercy coughed, waving away the incense, wishing she'd tried the fishnet stockings out directly on Sinner.

  The metallic man winked at Cindy, honing in on her cleavage. “You're a girl, huh? My name's Grunt.” He thumbed his chest, missing his pierced nipple by a hair.

  "Nice to meet you, Grunt.” Cindy stuck out her hand.

  He shook it awkwardly, apparently not sure if that's what was expected of him.

  "Mine's Damien,” the guy with the blue Mohawk said.

  Mercy wondered if she should take that as an omen.

  * * * *

  Spence had wasted most of last night searching in vain for a guy named Raven, who used to be called Clint in his former non-Goth life. He'd been a friend of Mark's during his rodeo days and before Clint's penchant for whips and chains had replaced lariats.

  Before parking his pickup in Taboo's lot, he checked for Raven's black Jeep with the gold-winged insignias. It was there.

  Hating to rely strictly on Google for information, he sauntered toward the entrance. Down here in the underbelly of San Antonio, lots of hearsay was bandied about, although most talk was kept amongst its patrons by some unspoken code of honor. But if Raven still felt any friendship or loyalty for Mark, he may give something up.

  Spence entered the lounge and scanned the room. Once his eyes adjusted to the blackness—the black clad bodies, the black lighting, the black walls—he spied Raven at the bar. The man's arm was wrapped around the neck of a lady wearing a spiked dog collar that matched Raven's metal-studded belt.

  He made his way toward the couple. Hell, it wasn't his thing, but they looked happy enough. If happy could be defined by a lack of frowns. Or smiles. He glanced around. Nobody in the place cracked a smile. Except maybe those two seated in the darkest corner near the band.

  A loud laugh rang out from one of the women, and a chill ran up his spine. Cindy.

  "Damn it.” As he got nearer to Raven, he could make out the smiling face of the other woman across the room. Sure enough, those familiar lips were the ones he craved. Mercy's.

  What in the hell was she doing here?

  "Hey, Raven,” Spence said as he kept one eye on Mercy.

  What in the heck did she have on beneath that short skirt? Fishnet stockings. He closed both of his eyes briefly. Nothing good could come of this.

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  Chapter Thirteen

  "Hi,” the female said.

  Playing it extra cautious, Spence merely nodded to the pale lady in the leather collar, figuring it wasn't in his best interest to speak to her unless Raven introduced her.

  He leaned his elbow against the bar next to Raven. Amidst the gloomy atmosphere, the guy looked agreeable enough. Glad to see him, actually.

  "Heard about Mark. Sad.” Raven shrugged his shaved head, and a scar near his temple creased.

  "Yeah.” Spence squinted through the hazy incense burning his eyes and throat in Mercy's direction. Who was she with besides her friend, Cindy?

  A man. She was talking to some young, bare-chested guy, and she had a cheery smile plastered to her lips.

  Heat crawled up Spence's neck. He jammed his hands into his pockets. Getting hot under the collar wasn't smart or healthy, especially in a dive like this. But his blood boiled with jealousy, and he hated that the emotion ate at his gut.

  "Sorry about your deal. Raw.” Raven offered his tattooed hand. The Lone Star and an Egyptian cross intertwined, apparently in honor of his Western past and Goth present.

  Spence obliged him with a firm handshake, keeping his fisted hand in his pocket while concentrating on not watching Mercy and the half-naked man on the other side of the room. “Thanks,” he mumbled absently before he delved for information. “My bum rap's what I'm here to see you about.” He looked Raven square on, trying to gauge if he knew anything he'd willingly share.

  "Drink?” Raven asked, signaling for the bartender.

  "Whiskey.” Spence nodded.

  "Three shots,” Raven ordered, obviously including his nameless girlfriend in the round. “I figured you'd show sooner or later.” He flexed his forearm and hand.

  His hairy knuckles made a bone-cracking sound, causing Spence to wonder how much the man believed in his innocence. Raven's girlfriend reached over, her black lacquered nails drab in the dim light, and massaged her man's tensed, tattooed hand until he shrugged her off.

  Spence crossed one booted foot while he bided his time. He didn't push Raven. His type would either tell what he knew or not. Bargaining wouldn't change the outcome.

  Raven mouthed the name “Parker.” Sneering, he narrowed his eyes that still looked enormous in his bald head.

  "Yeah.” Spence sucked in a breath of the stifling air. Looked like Raven had reached the same conclusion about the lying bar owner as he had. Perjury.

  "His dying friend...” Raven waited. Spence nodded. “He's the slug who blind-sided you and Mark. From what I hear, Parker didn't see a thing. Wasn't even in the car that night."

  Spence whistled a long breath, rustled his fingers through his hair. The situation was worse than he'd thought. He had no prior gripe with Parker. Why had the man set him up?

  "Why?” Spence said aloud but mostly to himself.

  "Damned if I know,” Raven said through a snarl. “I wish I had the other scumbucket's name for you."

  Silence fell amid the gloomy lighting as the bartender slid three shot glasses onto the scarred bar in front of them. Spence dug several crinkled bills from his pocket and flipped them onto the bar for the drinks. “Parker's supposed to own a house somewhere in the city. You happen to know where?"

  The man shook his head. “Far as I know he lives above the nightclub."

  "If you hear anything,” Spence picked up his shot glass, “I'd appreciate knowing."

  "Sure thing. You still at the ranch?"

  "Yeah.” Spence clapped him on the back.

  Raven turned to his girlfriend. With a snap from his fingers, she picked up the shot glass and held the whiskey to his lips while he drank it down.

  Spence downed his shot under his own power, figuring Raven had problems with his arm. Bad tattoo, rodeo injury, bar fight. Could be anything. Or he could be deep into the Dom/sub thing.

  Not to wear out his welcome, Spence drifted toward an unlit spot near the dance floor where he could watch the band and Mercy. Her naïve curiosity and this dark den were a scary mix.

  He spotted her fabulous legs, easily, even disguised by the inviting, kinky fishnets and blocked partially by the guy with the hairy, bare back.

  Those sexy, silky legs had driven him and ridden him. As he pictured them wet and glistening in the roomy shower, he wished he could take back his hasty departing words from last night.

  * * * *

  "So, what's your name?” Damien scratched at his naked chest as if he had fleas.

  "Mercy.” She wondered why she was wasting his and her time with introductions when the only man she was interested in was across town in the Starry Night.

  As soon as her drink came and she paid, she was un-jamming her legs from beneath the table—snags or no snags—and giving Cindy a kick to leave. It was time to test the fishnets where they counted. Sinner's reaction was the only one she craved.

  Cindy was occupied, flashing her glittery cleavage and posing for Grunt, who expressed his admiration with a drooling grin.

  "Come on.” Damien shook his head, his blue Mohawk never budging. “What's your real name?"

  "That is my real name,” Mercy insisted.

  He leaned in, blotting her vision with his bare chest and its matting of hair. Looked as if Damien was blond beneath all the blue gel.

  Sinner's hair was coarser, his chest broader, his muscles harder. She sighed, determined to be the object of one particularly hard muscle of his before this night ended.

  Dam
ien leaned his taut arms onto the small glass table. His veins bulged blue, a shade lighter than his hair.

  But the arms she was interested in weren't veined. Sinner's arms were firmer, stronger, more honed. So capable of holding her, molding her, possessing her.

  A clunk brought her attention back to reality, as unreal as that seemed to be in this place. Damien's spidery belt buckle hit the glass tabletop as he crouched in closer. He wasn't wearing any weird colored contacts with cat stripes. His eyes were brown.

  She blinked. But not as dark, or mysterious, or captivating as Sinner's.

  "Want to dance?” He lowered his eyelids, trying for a seductive look that was pretty hard to pull off in his getup.

  "To this?” The three-man band managed to give music a bad name. Or no name, according to their server.

  Damien tilted his head to listen, and the skull-and-crossbones studding his ear scowled at her. She'd never danced with a man wearing earrings before, and she didn't plan to.

  "Anything goes in here.” Damien turned back toward her, a glint in his inky-ringed eyes.

  "I've noticed.” And on that note, she was exiting and taking Cindy with her. Drink or no drink. She'd leave money on the table. “Oh, look at the time.” She stuck her wristwatch beneath Damien's nose before glaring at Cindy across the table. “What do you say, Cindy? Time to go."

  But Cindy couldn't hear her. She was occupied by Grunt yanking her onto her stumbling feet.

  "No thanks on the dancing,” Cindy protested as he swayed in place with her.

  "She said no,” Mercy repeated for Grunt, in case the metal piercings in his ears were interfering with his sound waves.

  Grunt grinned at Mercy, and continued dancing with Cindy, who stomped on his foot. But her platform-soled shoe was no match for his black, leather commando boot.

  Mercy got up to assist her friend, and Damien somehow mistook her standing up to mean she'd changed her mind about dancing. When he grabbed her hand to lead her onto the dark dance floor, Mercy tugged away and tripped over the short hassock she'd been sitting on.

  She waved her arms in fruitless circles as she plummeted backwards. Losing leverage, she closed her eyes and braced for the fall. But before she landed on her behind, a pair of strong arms caught and lifted her against a hard, masculine chest.

  "I owed you one since your tumble from the park bench,” a voice near her ear said.

  Sinner.

  Mercy twisted in his muscled, familiar arms, looked up into his handsome face, glad to see him, sort of. She'd have preferred if Damien and Grunt weren't present.

  Sinner smelled so good, so manly, like woodsy aftershave and whiskey. His body against hers felt hard and inviting. She didn't know if she should sigh or smile or kiss him. She did nothing, just let him continue to hold her.

  "What's going on here?” he asked in a slow, low tone, eyeballing the other men.

  Just then their server arrived with a tray and their drinks. “Two Screaming Orgasms."

  Sinner's eyes widened. Mercy shrugged. Grunt put both hands up to indicate they weren't his drinks, which released Cindy, who paid the server before grabbing a glass and swigging down a large gulp. Damien hitched his spider-shaped buckle, and everyone started explaining at once.

  Sinner listened for about thirty seconds before he kissed Mercy right on the mouth in front of everybody.

  At first, his lips were tender and seducing. Once he slipped her his tasty tongue and began performing a carnal act with hers, the kiss became volatile. Heated arousal swept through her, and an insistent throb pulsed between her legs. She pressed her tingling nipples into his chest, wanting to get close to any body part of his that promised any kind of friction, in spite of the small audience watching them.

  Was exhibitionism becoming a big turn on for her? Or was her passion for Sinner simply that overpowering?

  Luckily, he had more restraint.

  After kissing her, very thoroughly, with a lot of tongue, he pulled his tantalizing mouth away.

  When Mercy opened her eyes, Damien was stepping into the dusky background. “Sorry, man, didn't know she was spoken for.” Grunt followed his friend in a quick, vanishing departure.

  "New friends?” Sinner met her eyes. His were soft with concern before he glanced at her legs and they turned dark and sultry. “Great stockings."

  He poked a finger into the mesh of her fishnets, dragging his nail over the tender flesh of her thigh. She sucked in her breath to stop herself from moaning in front of Cindy and the people at nearby tables who'd taken an interest in the ruckus. But his bold touch was hot and welcome. She clung to his neck with both arms while a single, brazen thought raked through her.

  His naked, hard body taking hers to orgasm.

  With a knowing smile, he let her slip from his strong arms, placing her firmly on her high-heeled feet. Her knees felt weak, her legs rubbery. Grasping his toned biceps did nothing to ease her erratic pulse or her sizzling aroused state. The muscles beneath his smooth skin felt so solid and able.

  She'd never cool down if she stayed in his sexually stimulating proximity. Mercy let go of his arm as soon as her balance steadied.

  "If you two are ready to leave, I'll see you out. Or home.” His voice was an alluring rumble.

  "Home,” Mercy coughed out. Looked like sinful things were coming her way. “I need a dose of cough medicine after this overdose of incense."

  "You can drop me off at the Starry Night,” Cindy said after taking another long sip from her drink. “Thanks for helping us make new friends, keep the old, and all that."

  "Confucius or Doria?” Sinner furrowed his brows.

  "Doria.” Mercy snatched up her purse from the tabletop.

  After she righted her skirt and Cindy readjusted her low-cut knit top, Sinner tucked Mercy's arm in his. But once they edged around the table toward the glow of the exit sign, he pulled back.

  "A screaming orgasm, huh?” He tasted the tall, frothy drink. “I've had better.” He winked at Mercy. “And recently."

  She smiled at him through heavy-lidded eyes as her insides melted like warm, oozing marmalade.

  Oh, yeah. Sinner had weaknesses.

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  Chapter Fourteen

  Spence walked Mercy to the front door of her friend's swanky apartment. It wasn't in him to just drop her off on the street since the incident at the Taboo club with the Goth warrior-wannabes.

  He had a need to protect her and a conflicting need to run hard and fast from the responsibility. Taking care of his own messed up situation was all he could manage right now.

  "I never thanked you properly for coming to my aid."

  Mercy leaned her supple body into his, reached up, and captured his head in her slender fingers, skimming a sensitive area behind his ears with her fingernails. Tingles ran the length of his spine to congregate at the tip of his dick.

  When she touched her mouth to his, her lips felt warm and soft. No, more than soft. He'd kissed women with soft lips before. Gentle, that was it. And comforting.

  And he was reading too much into the simple kiss.

  He pulled away, but instead of leaving his warring emotions on her doorstep, he found himself asking, “Does thanking me include inviting me in?” He teased his fingers across the swell of her breast, touching her naked skin where her neckline dipped.

  "Mmm,” she lowered her eyes, turned slightly, and unlocked the door. She left it open wide as she entered the marble foyer.

  Her hips swayed with her every high-heeled click across the polished floor. He groaned, knowing full well the feel of her hips naked and grinding beneath his.

  Had saving her enticing butt from the Goths vindicated him? Had she forgiven him his hasty words from last night? Was the curve of her tight ass in her short skirt his invitation to enter?

  Or was she seeking revenge by cockteasing?

  While he debated her intent, his eyes trailed the black seams of her fishnets downward to skim over her well-sha
ped calves and her trim ankles. And swiftly back up when she reached to hang her purse on a brass coat hook. Her hemline took a slow ride, inching up until more than the lacy tops of her stockings were exposed.

  Her black skirt barely concealed the tantalizing vee between her legs. Did she have panties on?

  His ragged breath built to a low growl, and he stepped inside the foyer, kicking the door shut with his booted heel. Hearing the slam, she shifted on her high heels and tossed him a come-hither look over her shoulder. His dick hardened, and his blood thundered in his ears.

  Oh, yeah. His foot, or rather his boot, was back in her door again.

  His body throbbed, aching to take her here, up against the cool marble wall. But his mind was set on stripping off her stockings while she writhed on her satiny sheets.

  "I'd like to peel those stockings off with my teeth.” He rested his eyes on her milky thighs, which looked all the more tempting winking at him through the fishnet of her stockings.

  "I'd like you to.” She was so damn sensual and enthusiastic. Always ready for a new sexual adventure. A man could fall for a woman like her if he didn't watch his step.

  He strode forward, secure that his heart was steeled and cold. Not just by the people he'd met in jail and on the streets. Or even those who'd set him up. But deadened by his losses. The woman who swore she'd wait but ran out before the trial started. His parents, gone in an automobile accident while he'd served his unwarranted time. Mark, his best friend, slain for no apparent reason other than walking a woman to her car.

  His heart was frozen but safe.

  He came up behind Mercy, wrapping his arms around her waist and hugging her to him, settling her pliable ass against his rigid, ready dick.

  Her curves were made for love. No, he meant fucking. She fit him perfectly, and he ground his hips into the cleft of her round ass to prove the point.

  "Why don't we go into the bedroom and you can show me how talented your teeth are?” Her breath a wisp of mint, her tone smoldering.

  Lightly, he bit her neck. She laughed and bent her head, giving him better access to the tender flesh. Her skin felt smooth and tasted like honey as his teeth drew her in.