by Eden Summers
Shit. He pulled back, unsure when he’d inched close enough to hear the hitch in her breath.
“Go on.” He turned to the bar, palmed his beer, and took a gulp. “We’ve got all night.” At the very least, until he drowned his dick in liquor.
She fiddled with the refilled shot glass, running her finger around the rim. “I met Lucas on one of those European bus holidays. I was doing the touristy thing with Kim, and he was traveling alone. We got to talking and eventually hooked up. It wasn’t anything romantic. Just sex.” Her shoulders slumped with a deep exhale. “Amazing sex.”
“I get the picture.”
“No, you don’t.” She spoke to the glazed wood of the bar. “I’d never been with anyone like him before. He taught me things. He knew my body better than I did, which was strange because we rarely spoke. He kept to himself a lot and we only caught up at night.”
Bryan gripped his beer, his focus on the liquid. For a fleeting second, his chest constricted with jealousy, but he doused that fucker with the remainder of his drink and quickly ordered another with the raise of a finger.
“When the tour ended, we went our separate ways and neither one of us looked back. I didn’t ask for his number, and he showed no interest in keeping in contact. At least, not until he turned up on my doorstep a few months later.”
Made sense. The guy must’ve realized his mistake. Ella was a different sort of woman. Sexually confident and inquisitive. A catch. Anyone who let her walk deserved to wallow in regret.
“Couldn’t live without you, huh?” He welcomed his new beer with a deep pull, determined to douse the discomfort under his sternum.
“Actually …” Her voice turned somber. “He told me he wouldn’t be living at all in the near future. He found out about the cancer a few weeks after he returned from Europe.”
Bryan dropped his glass to the bar and turned to her.
“It wasn’t the happiest of reunions.” She shrugged. “But I’m glad he found me.”
“That’s when you got married?”
“Pretty much. He didn’t want to die alone, and I didn’t want that for him either. He deserved to have someone by his side.”
“What about his family or friends? Couldn’t they have looked after him? You said the two of you barely spoke.”
“Apart from work colleagues, Lucas didn’t have anyone to rely on. His mother had health problems of her own back in Chicago. He didn’t even tell her about the cancer. She thought he was going on another vacation. Instead, he came to find me.”
“Jesus.” He blindly swiped for his beer and knocked back another gulp. “That’s a lot of pressure to put on a stranger.” The guy seemed like a dick. A selfish, emotionless asshole.
“It was. But I was financially compensated. Our marriage became the equivalent of an employment contract. I quit my waitressing job to concentrate on his health, and when he passed, I became the sole beneficiary of everything he left behind.”
She dipped her finger into the tequila, then sucked the moisture away. If their conversation hadn’t been about cancer, chemo, and all things melancholy, he would’ve blown his load then and there.
“His money allowed me to buy this apartment and my cafe. It gave me the opportunity to help my sister who had mounting educational debts, and my mom who’d struggled since my father left. Not that they wanted anything to do with the inheritance. They disagreed with what I did.”
“Because you were financially compensated?”
“No.” She nibbled her bottom lip and shook her head. “Because at that point, Lucas and I weren’t emotionally connected, and they knew it wouldn’t end that way. They could see me falling for him, without those feelings being reciprocated.”
His chest constricted, the building jealousy hitting harder the further they sank into this conversation. “And you put your life on hold anyway.”
“And I’d do it again. There’s no way I could’ve let him die alone. How could I live with myself if I let him walk away? I knew what I was getting myself into. I made the decision on my own.” She shrugged. “In the end, they were right. I started hoping for more.”
“More what? Time?”
“I don’t know.” She cringed. “Everything was complicated, especially with my extreme naivety. I’ve grown up a lot since then.”
“Shit.” He rested an elbow on the bar and looked at her. Really looked at her. “Didn’t knowing the end game make it easier to close yourself off emotionally? At least to some extent?”
“How do you close yourself off emotionally, Bryan?” She met his stare. “How do you stop caring? God knows I couldn’t figure out how.”
She dipped her finger back into the tequila and swirled the contents with her fingertip. “Our days were spent between doctors’ appointments and living out a fast-tracked bucket list. We also rekindled the physical relationship when he was able. It became hard building walls against something that monumental.” She fell silent, stealing his fascination with each passing minute. “I ended up loving him… In my own little way.”
He kept staring at her, kept blinking, kept breathing. He couldn’t think past the need to do something, anything, to wipe the pained look off her face.
“Sorry.” She winced. “I really won the award for Most Morbid Change in Conversation, didn’t I?”
He swiped the shot glass out from beneath her hand and downed the contents in one regrettable swallow. “Yep. And now you’re cut off.” He cleared his throat to dissolve the burn. “You’re a depressing drunk.”
Her eyes widened, then a chuckle broke free. “Not usually.” She nudged him with her elbow. “I blame the company I keep.”
She could blame him all she liked, as long as the smile continued to stay plastered on those dark lips.
“Yeah, well, you need to shape up before your drinking privileges are returned.”
“That’s rich, coming from Mr. Moody.”
“Moody? I’m pretty sure I stick to the one mood ninety percent of the time.”
She quirked her lips as she pondered his response. “I guess you’re right.”
And just like that, her eyes lost the darkened shade of mourning and brightened to a mesmerizing blue.
“Okay.” She rubbed her hands together. “Let’s get this conversation back on track. We need to focus on getting me laid.”
He palmed his beer as the added layer of history tugged at something other than his lust. The additional reminder of why they were here didn’t fill him with warm and fuzzies, either. He didn’t want to send her home with someone else. He didn’t want to send her back to her apartment at all. “Maybe tonight’s not the night for this.”
“Of course it is.” She grabbed his arm, those fingers searing skin and nerves. “Seriously, I need to get lucky. I’ll take whatever help I can get.”
She batted her lashes, and his dick shoved hard against his zipper, expecting a high-five.
“I’m eager for your expertise.” She swiveled, turning her back to the bar. “What about that guy?”
For the next hour, he went through the pros and cons of every male in the building. The pros were few and far between. For good reason. He couldn’t find anyone to entrust with her pleasure.
A third of them wore wedding bands. Others leered with no manners or respect. Another chunk of potentials were wiped from the board because they simply didn’t look good enough.
He didn’t know what it would take to earn his respect, but nobody here had even a glimpse of it, which was becoming harder to explain to Ella, who seemed to have slid on intoxication goggles and considered every man who walked through the door a potential candidate.
He’d had to point out the gay guy who only had eyes for his friend’s ass.
He’d had to discuss the downfall of being with someone who spent ten minutes staring at the drink board. Because, seriously, if it took you more than two minutes to figure out your own needs, there was no point wasting a lifetime trying to determine Ella’s.
; The man she currently ogled wore a plaid shirt, dirty faded jeans, and muddy cowboy boots. Which, realistically, wasn’t a bad thing. He looked like he had a good work ethic. But… “If you’re still into fucking cattle, go for it.”
She snorted, her happiness springing through him like a gunshot. “That’s an unfair assumption.”
He didn’t give a shit.
“What about him?” She tilted her chin toward the man at the far end of the bar.
“You’ve gotta be kidding.” The guy had stuck-up-suit written all over him.
“What’s wrong with him?” she slurred through bubbles of laughter, and he immediately regretted reinstating her drinking privileges. “He’s cute. He also has good fashion sense. Hell, I could ask him to strip and simply touch him for hours.” She slapped her hands together in prayer. “Please, Brute, let me touch his nakedness. I can’t remember the last time I got to put my hands on a guy’s body.”
His nostrils flared. “A few nights ago doesn’t ring a bell?” Why didn’t she just punch him in the dick? The injury would’ve hurt less than the insult.
She balked. “I barely got to touch you. Hell, girlfriend—” she waggled her head at him, “—if I had the chance to sink my nails into you, you’d know it.”
“Girlfriend?” He pushed from his stool. “You’re too drunk for this. Either sober up or I’ll have to take you home.”
She pouted. “Okay, daddy.”
Fuck. Me.
She snorted again. “I’m joking. Stop glaring at me like that. Christ, you throw in a daddy line and everyone gets offended.”
Yeah, he was fucking offended, because any other reaction while imagining spanking her over his knee wasn’t goddamn appropriate. If only his cock would get the memo.
“I’ll be back in a sec. Behave while I’m gone.”
He needed a bathroom break.
An Ella break.
She wasn’t the only one who needed to sober up. The alcohol heating his veins spewed some pretty crazy shit into his mind.
Jesus Christ, he could fucking taste her with every swallow.
Good news was, he hadn’t thought of his family. Not until now, when his lust dissipated with each step.
He hadn’t contemplated why his dying mother couldn’t gather a glimmer of affection to call her only child to say goodbye. He hadn’t pondered why his father hadn’t picked up the phone—now or in the past months. He didn’t think about how the two people who were supposed to love him the most hadn’t given a fuck about him at all, because his concentration kept focusing back on Ella with pinpoint precision.
He shoved into the bathroom, stood in front of the basin, and stared at his reflection in the dirty mirror.
Something wasn’t right.
Lust had never felt like this before. It had never started in his chest and worked its way down.
At the bar, he’d tried to convince himself it was the alcohol, or the sob story about her husband that pulled at his usually non-existent heartstrings. This was supposed to be about Ella finding someone to fuck. It was about getting her to participate in the demonstration. It was about business. But in here, facing himself, it became harder to live the lie.
He liked her. He fucking liked her. “Damn it.”
He ran his hands through his hair, entwined his fingers at the back of his head, and placed tight pressure on his skull.
This was Tera’s fault. In one phone call, she’d fucked with him, messing with his head in so many ways he couldn’t think straight. She’d reminded him of his childhood, and how he’d once believed in happily-ever-afters and all that naive, fairytale bullshit.
It had to stop.
He couldn’t do this to himself.
He couldn’t do it to Ella.
She had baggage. Issues.
The appeal didn’t make sense. Yet, it was there, building from a molehill into a mountain, right before his eyes, and there was only one way to make it stop.
Chapter Fourteen
Pamela waited until Bryan disappeared into the bathroom before she slumped against the bar and released her pent-up nervousness in an audible sigh.
This was hell. She wasn’t entirely sure which of the nine circles she currently resided in—either lust or greed—but it was hell nonetheless.
Not only did she have to continue the let’s-get-me-laid charade, she also had to pretend she wasn’t sliding headfirst into deeper feelings for a man who’d made it clear he was off limits. She’d even stooped to the low of bringing up her late husband in the hope the tragic topic would break the early descent into puppy love.
The diversion hadn’t worked in the slightest. The conversation had only achieved additional respect for a man who seemed to have more layers than puff pastry.
He’d listened to her. He’d comforted her with soft, simple words. And when the conversation became too emotional, he’d shut it down in typical Brute fashion, which made the depression instantaneously vanish.
Now, leaving wasn’t an option. Being alone in a car with him was too much of a temptation to her diluted sanity.
She wanted Bryan.
She wanted Brute.
She wanted whatever she could extract from the big grizzly bear of a man and didn’t care about the consequences.
“Hey, sugar.”
She glanced from her empty glass to find another flannelette-wearing cowboy at her side. He was broad, tall, and tanned, with an uber smirk to boot.
“You look like you need another drink.”
She gave a false smile. “I’m fine. Thanks.”
He inclined his head. “That you are, but I insist.” He knocked his knuckles on the bar. “Bartender, get this pretty lady a glass of bubbles.”
Bubbles?
“I, um…” That went against rule five-hundred and fifty-five in the Brute’s Fuck Buddy Guidebook—a potential lover should nail your drink order before he nails you.
A mini bottle of champagne cracked open before her, the contents poured into a slim flute. She should’ve declined with more enthusiasm. Should’ve, could’ve, would’ve if numbing mindlessness wasn’t a mere drink away. Tomorrow, she’d pay for mixing drinks. For now, she’d take whatever relief she could get.
“Here you go.” He lifted the glass from the bar and handed it over. “Something sweet for someone sweet.”
She cleared her throat. “If you came here looking for timid and cute, I’m not your girl.”
“You’re the naughty type?” He eyed her with lust-filled appreciation. “Tonight is my lucky night.”
A laugh escaped. She couldn’t help it. In a game of hot and cold, this guy was so far from getting lucky he’d need a snow suit.
“I can’t believe a woman as fine as yourself would be out on her own.”
“She’s not.” Bryan came up behind her. “Take a hike, buddy.”
“Bryan.” She snapped her head around, scowling. “You don’t have to be rude.”
“My apologies. I didn’t realize this was the type of guy you were looking for.”
Was intoxication playing tricks on her, or did he seem unmistakably jealous? Her stomach flipped, and all the liquid she’d consumed went with it in a nauseating roll.
“Hold on a minute.” The cowboy held up his hands. “She was sitting here on her own. I didn’t know you two were together.”
“We’re not,” they spoke in unison.
“Right.” The guy retreated a step. “I guess looks can be deceiving.”
Heat crept up her throat, soaking through her scarf.
“We’re leaving.” Bryan stared at her, demanding compliance.
Shit. He must have finally cracked the code on her not-so-subtle feelings.
“Sugar,” the cowboy started. “If you’re in trouble—”
“Trouble?” He thought she was in danger? From Bryan? Okay, so maybe the brute was clenching his fists and breathing heavier than normal, but that was only because she’d broken her promise not to fall for the commitment-phobic jerk. “N
o. I’m okay. This is what he’s like. All bark. No bite.”
Bryan growled. Actually growled.
“We’re leaving,” he repeated. “Unless you want to hang around with a guy who doesn’t give you the respect of finding out what you’re drinking. But, hey—” He shrugged. “—I’m sure he’s a keeper. You’ve got great taste in men, after all.”
She scoffed and downed half the champagne in one fast swallow. He itched for a fight—she could see it in the flash of anger in those deep blue eyes. She had no plan to leave him unsatisfied.
“My taste in men shouldn’t be any of your business.” She shoved from her stool and wobbled with the landing.
“Fucking hell.” He flung out a hand to catch her.
“Don’t speak to me like that.” She slapped his hold away and got in his face, allowing his dark, masculine scent to mess with her senses.
“Then stop doing stupid shit.”
She heard the words, and the only thing that sunk in was his protection. His authority. His claim for territory. No. The alcohol played tricks on her.
She stepped back and turned to Mr. Cowboy. “Sorry ’bout that.” She snatched her clutch from the bar and put the champagne flute in its place. “Thanks for the drink.”
The guy’s eyes widened. “You’re leaving with him?”
Yes. No. The answer didn’t matter because she couldn’t think without fresh air.
She hustled outside, her short, sharp toe steps making the support of her stiletto heels unpredictable.
“What the hell are you doing now?” Bryan followed, keeping a thankful yard of distance between them on the sidewalk.
“Leaving. Isn’t that what you wanted?”
His fury tickled the back of her neck in the form of a snarl. She hated that noise. Hated it so much her pussy contracted and released enough times to mimic an orgasm.
“When it comes to you, I get nothing I want.”
His retort hit her like a slap across the face. She swung around, teetering again, her heels producing the same stability as cooked spaghetti. “Then what do you want, Bryan? Tell me.”
He crossed his arms over his broad chest, making his jacket gape and the material of his shirt temptingly tighten over the muscles beneath.