Dedication
To my husband Terry, who always encourages and supports me no matter what.
To all the ladies of the Wednesday night discussion group for giving me plenty of laughs, encouragement, and unending support. You are the best.
Chapter One
New Year’s Eve. Three hours to midnight. Clarksville, Wyoming.
Lucy Creed walked into Dixie’s Den with the full intention of finding a one-night stand.
In military terms, this would be a single engagement. A hot pursuit. She wouldn’t be denied satisfaction.
She stood at the entrance just inside the double doors, bombarded by music from the old-fashioned jukebox. A country singer wailed a pitiful melody of love lost and love found. The steel guitar twanged. The man’s voice throbbed low with sorrow and mimicked the pain in her chest. Her heart twinged along with him.
No. Don’t go there. You’re here to scratch an itch. To forget that scum bucket, low-down, dirty dog Mendoza.
Now that had all the makings of a song. Low-Down, Dirty Dog.
She’d move on to staid men in business suits, accountants or maybe men who worked in the high-tech industry. Just no more soldiers, sailors or marines.
God, that sounds so bad.
It made her sound and feel like a military hanger-on. A groupie who liked military men for the alpha male mystique. Like the women who wanted to get laid by a Navy SEAL because they figured the men were all studs. Sure, she respected the military for what they represented, and she’d run into a lot of people in the military who didn’t fit the stereotype of alpha male. At the same time, she had to wonder at her rotten luck with military men. What was that all about anyway?
Lucy didn’t care if her closest friends, Freddie, Marisa and Neena were married to military or ex-military. She wasn’t doing military again even if he looked like a god.
Chatter echoed all around her, the place packed and the room decorated for New Year’s Eve from one end to the next. The large bar area smelled like peppermint, alcohol and the piney nuance of the real eight-foot Christmas tree in the corner. Old-fashioned decorations gave a Victorian air to the tree.
Low lights gave the bar and restaurant intimacy, and yellow and silver streamers hanging from the ceiling twirled and bounced shiny sparkles around the room.
Laugher broke out occasionally, especially at one big round booth in the back. Six women who could have been sextuplets giggled like girls at a birthday party in grade school. They wore party hats over their cascades of long blonde hair and she instantly was reminded of Felicia DeAnza. Blonde. Buxom. Gorgeous Felicia.
The woman she didn’t want to hate, but had to.
“Good riddance, Mendoza. You and Felicia deserve each other,” she said out loud. She glanced at the women again. “Honestly. Six blonde women at one table?”
Surely one of those gigglers was a bottle blonde.
She glanced around to see if anyone had heard her mumblings. No one cared. The crowd seemed to have grown by twenty people since she’d walked inside. It was early but the place rocked. Good. She hoped there were a lot of men here. Eligible. Hot. Yeah, hot as hell would be a real bonus.
Determination motivated each step as she sauntered through the crowd that spilled over from the bar into the restaurant. Dixie’s Den had opened a month ago, a country-and-western theme predominate in the decorations that were sprinkled throughout the bar and restaurant areas. She wanted to wash the memory of her ex right out of her hair by christening the place with a new man. Huh. Christening wasn’t exactly the right word for what she needed.
Mindless, wonderful, screaming sin sex.
Anything less…well, she’d had less. She wanted more for a change.
A man who’d treat her like a princess and make love to her like he never wanted to let her go.
As she gazed around, she didn’t expect to see what she did. A room full of cowboy hats, most of them on the heads of older men averaging age sixty and their going-grey wives. Okay, so maybe this wasn’t the best place on a New Year’s Eve to forget about a two-timing asshole. Then some of the men wearing cowboy hats in the back turned, and several were young. Too young. Maybe barely legal. No. She didn’t want or need that complication.
She spotted a man sitting on a stool at the bar, a long-necked beer bottle in his right hand. And oh, my, my, my. He would photograph well. She could have used him in this year’s charity calendar arranged by her friend, Neena. A brunette with flowing long hair headed for him. She wore a tight white T-shirt, butt-skimming mini-skirt and teeter-totter screw-me shoes. She clasped his forearm and leaned close to whisper.
She saw his eyes go wide for a half second, then laughter burst over his face. A low, deep toe-curling laugh that sent sensual vibrations all through Lucy. Holy macaroni. The man shook his head and said something to the woman. The woman’s body language held regret as she pouted and sauntered away, looking stinking drunk and ready to fall off her too-tall shoes.
Lucy’s mouth went dry as she took a closer look at the guy. He seemed familiar somehow, but she didn’t know from where. The room seemed twice as loud and her vision twice as clear. Though he sat at a slight angle away from her, she could see the breadth of his wide shoulders stretching an emerald green sweater that looked soft and touchable. The sweater managed to enhance his muscles without appearing too tight. He cupped his hands behind his neck. Muscles rippled. His biceps and forearms bunched with sculpted muscles, but he wasn’t a body builder in an overdone way. No. He was perfectly symmetrical. Powerful. The man screamed of sex and that primitive, knee-buckling, unable-to-control attraction that hammered a female over the head and made everything inside her return to the cave. This was the kind of man a woman could get crazy with, lose inhibitions and forget her own name.
Jeans curved over long legs consisting of hard thighs and calves and ending in sensible all-weather black boots. She’d bet on a stack of bibles he had a world-class butt. She’d love to photograph him with or without clothes.
Her active imagine went into overdrive. Without clothes. Oh, yeah. Would his chest have a hint of hair, or would it be smooth? She liked chests with hair and never understood the trend toward a man waxing his chest.
Instinct drew her forward one step. Two. Soon her boots moved across the room with confident strides. She sensed a couple of men at the bar checking her out, and she worked it, allowing their blatant appreciation to expand her confidence as she walked. She moved with major attitude. Tough and with the slightest swagger.
The man she’d ogled swiveled the bar stool and looked straight at her. Her breath caught. Thick, dark lashes framed piercing brown eyes. Black hair cut short waved close against his head. His features were cut sharply, as if heaven had designed him with a rough hand. He had a long nose, broad but well-sculpted mouth and an almost cruel look that probably scared the hell out of the enemy. He was so—well, he was so not beautiful. Just all…man. Primal female response stood up and noticed. Her body flushed, heated with total awareness of him as a male. Her hormones screamed for attention.
His face lit up with recognition. The dark eyes softened with warmth, the mouth curved into a smile. “Lucy? Lucy Creed?”
His voice was deep, mellow, with an underlying edge of steel.
She blinked. “I’m sorry. I don’t…”
He stood, and her five foot six inches had nothing on over six feet of hard muscle. The sweater stretched over his chest a little and his front looked as fantastic as his back had.
He sauntered toward her, beer bottle forgotten on the counter. When he stood near, his woodsy, leather scent caught her attention. A brown bomber jacket was slung over the back of the barstool. Mmmm. Leather.
; “You don’t remember me, do you?” That damned voice had mellow qualities, a deceiving softness with an underlying rumble of pure passion.
There was a familiar something about him she couldn’t put her finger upon. “No. Should I?”
He grinned and her body responded with a flash of heat. “Last time you saw me I was at our senior party. At Jennifer Calvin’s house over on Ridgeway.”
“I still don’t remember.”
His grin widened. “I sat next to you in chemistry and we had English lit together.”
She frowned, embarrassed that she couldn’t remember him.
“I was short.” He tilted his head to the side. “Skinny. Ugly as sin. I hear I’m still ugly, but at least I took care of the short and skinny.”
Oh. Holy. God. Recognition slammed her at the same time as embarrassment. “You’re not Victor Moore? No way.”
“Way.” He grinned again. “People call me Vic now.”
Her heart thumped in her breast, bouncing around like a caged beast. “You’ve grown up.”
Duh. That was an understatement.
The breathless sound in her voice couldn’t be helped. She was more than pleasantly surprised by the way he’d filled out. The man had ripped and totally lip-smacking good attitude all over him. Some women liked pretty boys, but she didn’t. There was nothing pretty about Victor. He was one hundred percent prime male cut. Masculine. Rough. She felt it on a feral level she couldn’t control and hadn’t even known she possessed until this moment.
“Don’t worry about not recognizing me. No one does.” Once more his gaze traveled the length of her, and a heat wave followed. “You, on the other hand, are unforgettable.”
While there was nothing insulting about his perusal, the heat in his eyes couldn’t be missed. That no-holds-barred admiration set off a fire alarm of arousal low in her stomach. Never forget her? She’d been rounder with a waist-length tangle of black hair that wouldn’t cooperate no matter what she did.
“My hair was platinum for the last few years.” She shrugged, not sure why she was telling him this. “I let it go back to black.” She touched the ultra short strands that stuck out this way and that. “I’m so different from high school. I’m thinner, taller…”
“I like your hair black. Just as I remember it.” His eyes caressed her face, his voice going softer, lower. “You are thinner.” Concern clouded his eyes a moment. “You all right?”
Okay, how did she say this without seeming totally pitiful? “I’ve had a little stress and just didn’t eat enough. I’m stuffing myself lately to make up for it.”
A heart-breaker smile returned. “Good.”
Silence dropped between them for a moment before she finally said, “The boy I remember stuttered, tripped over things—”
“Was a total klutz. Yeah, I know.” His lopsided grin also sparkled in his eyes with genuine good humor. “Sometimes I still stutter. Depends on the situation. I’m more confident now.”
His eyes held an edge, as if he might remember what happened all those years ago.
“You’re remembering it too,” he said as heat returned to his gaze.
She didn’t know whether to laugh or not. “It was…awkward.”
He shrugged. “We were kids.” Once more his gaze danced over her, the appreciation intensifying. “We could try again. At midnight.”
Her face flamed, and she was mad at herself for reacting this way. After all, she’d come in here hoping to find a hook-up. But not with someone she knew, no matter how long ago. Doubt wore away at the stone-clad resolve she’d had walking into the place.
His gaze sobered. “Something wrong?”
“No. I’m just surprised to see you here.”
“No more surprised than me.” He glanced around the room. “Are you with someone?”
Damn his grin. It was going to eat her up and spit her out. Arousal burned low in her body. “I am now.”
“Would you like a drink?”
“Sure. I’m here to party.”
She headed to the bar with him and ordered a zinfandel.
“Let’s find a booth.” His matter-of-fact statement didn’t give her a chance to say no.
She trailed behind him through the crowd to the last booth available way in the back. She couldn’t help it. She checked out his butt. Yep. Just as she suspected. World class.
She ogled until they reached the booth. The sides were high on the round-shaped red leather booth, and the intimacy it implied sent her thoughts into overdrive. Despite the loud music, the booth muted the full blast of sound. She imagined possibilities she shouldn’t be thinking. She slid into the booth after him, but didn’t crowd.
He took another swig of his beer. “Why are you alone tonight?”
His question took her off-guard. She expected other small talk. Just enough to lead her right to the bottom line.
Sex.
Oh, God. Was she considering trying to seduce geeky Victor? Correction, Vic. Stud muffin, hunk beyond her dreams Vic. Mouth-watering—
Enough.
When she stayed silent, he said, “Now answer my question. Why are you alone tonight?”
“I’m enjoying the holiday by myself. What are you doing here alone?”
His smile couldn’t cover the pain that flickered through his eyes. “It’s a long story.”
She leaned on the table. “You don’t have family in Clarksville?”
“Not anymore. My parents live in Colorado Springs now. My brother is in California. Most of the rest of my family lives in Denver.”
“Yet you came to Clarksville for the holidays?”
He stared at the beer bottle with an intensity that bordered on furious, as if the bottle had pissed him off. “Yeah. My girlfriend…ex-girlfriend lives up here.”
She waited. What could she say to that? Ex-girlfriend? She didn’t dare ask, at least not right away. How personal could she presume to be?
His gaze returned to hers as the old-fashioned jukebox changed to a Kenny Chesney song Lucy hadn’t heard in forever.
He seemed okay with leaving information hanging, but before she could speak, he said, “I’m thinking it’s a good thing I came here alone. I get to spend time with you.”
Heat spiraled from her stomach straight into her face. Her brain didn’t catch up with her mouth. She didn’t know what to say or how to say it. “Thank you. It’s always good to see friends.”
Lame. So lame.
For godssake she was a grown woman but her reaction was so high school. Where had her sophistication gone?
Probably right out the door with her mind the moment she’d seen Vic.
He leaned back in the booth and eyed her. “If I remember right, there was nothing friendly about our relationship in high school.”
Oh, man. She chewed on her lower lip. “I was hoping you’d forgotten that.”
His scrubbed at his chin with a big, tanned hand. A very masculine but gorgeous hand. “Not a chance. I think I was scared of girls for six months after that.”
She winced. “Like you said, we were just kids. Teenagers are so dumb sometimes.”
Teasing entered his eyes. “You feel guilty about it.”
“How can you tell?”
“Your eyes give away everything. You’d make a terrible poker player.”
“Good thing I hate poker.” She contemplated the rosy-red color in her wine glass. “I’m sorry I was such a brat in high school. Miss Tryin’ To Get And Stay Popular.”
“You weren’t that bad.”
“Yes, I was. I sold out. I compromised my integrity by going for popularity over—” Lucy couldn’t say it. What she’d done haunted her sometimes. “I bought into the crap, Vic. The stupid cheerleader stereotype instead of thinking about who I really was. Instead of being who I should have been.”
Guilt like hers didn’t go away quickly, even though she’d reminded him that teenagers often did rash things—very rash things. It had been more than fifteen years ago that she’d seen Vi
c, yet the memory of the last time she’d talked to him was fresh in her mind. Her so-called friends, two cheerleaders who threw their weight around on a regular basis, talked her into approaching geeky Victor and asking him on a date. No girl dated Vic the Dip, as the cheerleaders had called him. Vic the Geek Wad, as the football players had called him.
“If I hadn’t been trying to stay popular…” She shook her head again. “Stupid. Stupid.”
“What motivated you to do what those cheerleaders said?” Apparently he didn’t plan to let her off the hook.
God, did she want to explain this? Kenny Chesney sang something mellow and slow, and people swayed on the small dance floor. The shadowy booth though, made her feel a million miles from everyone.
She jolted back to reality. More than guilt propelled her to answer. Vic deserved to understand what had motivated her to humiliate him. Maybe if she admitted the truth and the whole truth, she’d feel better and could banish the guilt forever.
After a large gulp of wine for courage, she ’fessed up. “It was sheer dumb luck I became a cheerleader. We were new in town and my brother had just made the varsity football team. I wasn’t unpopular exactly, but I was greedy for more visibility. When my parents encouraged me to try out for cheerleading, I was scared spitless. I didn’t think I’d make it. I told them I wanted to try out for the flag team instead. They weren’t satisfied with flag team. When I made it, I was so damned happy in a way because I was validated, you know. It was instant-popularity time. Instant. I never had so many friends right away. In San Francisco I wasn’t exactly popular. It was a big school, and I was a small fish. Little Clarksville was a whole ’nother game.”
“Uh-huh. And once you were in a smaller high school and had left all your friends behind, it was a good chance to fit in.”
Her gaze snagged on Vic’s fingers as they slipped around the sweaty beer bottle. She knew his touch would be electrifying. A tiny thrill went through her, and she had to jerk her attention back to the subject.
“Exactly.” She rubbed the back of her neck. “Dad and Mom loved it when I became a cheerleader. Their kids had made their mark on the high school. With Dad the football coach, and Mom involved with school…” What else could she say about it?
Hot Pursuit: Hot Zone, Book 5 Page 1