Trouble, Toys & Tempting Cowboys
Jennifer LaRose
Tiffany Stoler enjoys selling sex toys, but demonstrating them unexpectedly for a bunch of cowboys at a bachelor party puts her on edge. To calm her frazzled nerves, she gulps a few drinks—and ends up making a drunken fool of herself. Unable to remember a damn thing is devastating, and she’s mortified to discover she might have spent the night with Brock Halston. Over the following weeks, the smooth, handsome cowboy becomes more than a tempting distraction, giving Tiffany the confidence to explore her own sexuality.
Then her neighbor is found murdered, followed by one of Brock’s cowboy friends, and all evidence points to Tiffany. With her career, relationship and freedom at stake, she has no choice but to face old nightmares to claim her innocence. And Brock Halston is just the cowboy to help her do it.
Ellora’s Cave Publishing
www.ellorascave.com
Trouble, Toys & Tempting Cowboys
ISBN 9781419938494
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Trouble, Toys & Tempting Cowboys Copyright © 2012 Jennifer LaRose
Edited by April Chapman
Cover design by Syneca
Photography: Wallenrock/Shutterstock.com
Electronic book publication January 2012
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Trouble, Toys & Tempting Cowboys
Jennifer LaRose
Chapter One
“Roger, please put Nan on the phone. Tell her it’s an emergency,” Tiffany Stoler said, holding the cell to her ear in a death grip.
“Anything I can do?”
“I wish, but no thanks.”
“Hold on, she’s downstairs.”
Tiffany nodded as if he could see her response. While visualizing his trot down the two flights of stairs in Nan’s mansion, she hightailed her butt from the porch steps to her car. She leaned against the Mustang, her stilettos sinking into the loose gravel. Every few seconds she glanced at the A-frame log cabin and saw figures pass back and forth behind the huge windows. At one point, someone stopped to take notice of her whereabouts. She couldn’t imagine the chiding taking place inside.
Her heartbeat raced out of control, causing a steady drone in her ears. A wave of panic rushed to her stomach, breaking her into a sweat. It was just what she needed on top of the stifling heat.
She lowered her gaze to the driveway, her knees trembling. An exchange of muffled voices filled the receiver followed by a slight rustling of the phone.
“Hey, Tiffany, what’s going on?”
Her boss’ soft-spoken voice calmed her momentarily. “Nan, I can’t do this.”
“What do you mean? Where are you? Are you all right?”
“I mean, I can’t do this. I’m here at the Grady party. Right now, I’m standing outside in the driveway.” She stole a peek at the house just as two more bodies inside stopped at the window. She gathered a smidgen of courage, smiled to hide the anxiety, and waved. If her darn knees kept shaking, she’d likely end up belly-down on the driveway. “I’m going to throw up.”
“Is it the flu?”
“No, it’s the ho—”
“You’ve done a hundred of these parties.”
“Not like this one.” She should’ve agreed it was an illness. At least it would’ve given her an excuse to leave.
“This doesn’t sound like an emergency. Is your display set up yet?”
“My supply cases are inside.”
“What’s the hold up? It’s seven-twenty. The party is scheduled to start in ten minutes. Tiffany, you’d better not give my company a bad reputation by starting late.”
Tiffany pulled a tissue out of her purse and dabbed her forehead and brow carefully so as not to smudge her makeup, then spun, presenting her backside to the house. She leaned against her car for stability. Heat from the sun-baked metal seeped through her satin miniskirt, burrowing against her hip. “This is crazy.”
“It’s a bachelorette party,” Nan said curtly, then huffed. “Parties such as these generate a lot of revenue for both of us. You, better than anyone, know that.”
She was right—the female guests usually purchased a huge assortment of goodies for the bride-to-be, as well as an item or two for themselves. Honeymoon profits, as Tiffany called them, helped afford the monthly payments on the black Mustang she was using as a leaning post. If she depended on her full-time paycheck, well, she wouldn’t have bought the car. And she’d fallen in love with it at first sight. “Nan, that’s the problem.” She inhaled deeply and closed her eyes. “The house is swarming with testosterone. It’s a bachelor party.”
The phone fell silent for a full minute. “Nan?”
“How many,” Nan said, hesitating as if searching for something to say, “are you talking?”
“Twelve.”
“Sherry Grady scheduled the party. Is she there?”
“No. Supposedly, she did the legwork, and booked it for her fiancé Bobby. Who, by the way, stands over six feet tall, as well as his entire room of cohorts.” Their intimidating size had dwarfed her instantly when she’d entered the house, and she felt like prey to a pack of wolves. “I don’t want to be present when the strippers arrive.”
“Strippers? Are you sure?”
“No, but they’re usually hired to perform at bachelor parties, aren’t they?”
Another awful moment of silence hung in the air.
“Tiffany, this could be a good thing. I’ve never worked a party of men, but I bet pure curiosity will prompt them to buy a lot of merchandise. The mystery of intrigue and exploration may force them to open their wallets. What man wouldn’t like to experiment on his woman with a gadget or two?”
She’d feared Nan might put dollar signs ahead of safety. Unfortunately, she’d been right. And if Tiffany hadn’t needed the money so desperately… “Listen, I’m terrified. Not only does it look like I stepped into the eighteenth century, I’m sitting in the middle of nowhere surrounded by fields and barns.”
“What could it hurt to amuse a group of men for a couple of hours? The Tiffany I know isn’t afraid of anything.”
Amuse a group of men? For a couple of hours? Educating women on how to expand their pleasure with the use of sexual enhancement aids was one thing. But men? What could she possibly say or do… “
This time, I’m afraid.”
“Go inside, have yourself a drink, and relax. I’m sure they’re not as rambunctious as females. Some of the gals we entertain are downright vulgar.”
A drink? “Nan, I don’t drink, and you know it. Do you have any other brainy ideas?”
“I don’t know what to tell you.”
Tiffany visually swept the area. A dozen horses stood tied to a wooden fence that enclosed what looked like a rodeo arena. A cowboy parking lot? “I’m a city girl. And you can’t throw a city girl into a cattle pasture and expect a great outcome. For God’s sake, there’s a mechanical bull sitting in the family room.”
“So.”
“So?” She straightened, stiffening her spine, and glanced at the window over her shoulder. Surprisingly, no masculine faces glared back. “I’m shaking so damn much, I won’t have to turn on the vibrators. Do you hear what I’m saying?”
“You’re looking at it all wrong. I think it could be a lot of fun.”
“You don’t understand.” She lowered her voice as if the men inside could hear. “They’re cowboys.”
“Cowboys? As in, rugged, masculine, bucking bronco-type cowboys?”
“Yes.”
“Suck it up, girl,” Nan blurted. “March your ass inside and start that party, or you won’t have a job with me anymore.” She hung up the phone.
Suck it up? Nan certainly didn’t understand her dilemma. If she were present to take a good look at those men and the bleak surroundings, she’d probably have second thoughts too. For once, safety might overshadow the dollar signs lingering in her mind twenty-four hours a day.
Tiffany snapped the cell shut and stuffed it into her purse. ”Nan, you’re a selfish, inconsiderate, self-absorbed, money-hungry witch.” And it’d be on her conscious if something bad happened—she’d suffer the loss. For the past year Nan had bragged about Tiffany being her best sales rep and highest moneymaker. If Tiffany ended up missing—or worse—Nan’s pocketbook would bear the consequences. That glimpse of satisfaction was almost worth jumping in her car and driving home.
Almost.
If she lost her part-time job, not only would she lose the car, she‘d lose the ability to donate new toys and clothing to the children’s shelter. One option was to trade in the Mustang for a less expensive car, but… There was always a but. It still didn’t guarantee she’d have extra money to use for the kids. And she lived for those children. Life always threw in a wrench. It just wasn’t fair.
She glanced at the horses once more, taking a long hard look before she tilted her face toward the sky. “Dear God, please keep me safe, don’t let me make an ass out of myself, and please, please, please allow me to leave tonight with sanity and dignity. Amen.” Inhaling deeply, she straightened her shoulders, held her head high, and walked toward the house.
As she placed her hand on the door handle, she took one more enormous breath and steeled her nerves. She could do this. Yes, she had no choice. Releasing the air from her lungs slowly, she twisted the handle and stepped inside. The room instantly fell quiet. Twelve pairs of eyes examined her from head to toe. It was the most intimidating moment of her life. Actually, it was the second—the first being her initial arrival. “Sorry for the interruption, gentlemen. I’m sure you understand how obstinate bosses can be.” The door clicked shut at her back. It sounded like the trigger of a gun being cocked. She jerked and spun around, her heartbeat pulverizing her chest. “Sorry, I’m a bit jittery. The boss really pissed me off.”
She walked to the couch and squatted beside the supply cases she’d dumped on the floor earlier, tucking her skirt between her thighs and calves. Exposing more skin than necessary to a flock of cowboys was something she’d avoid at all costs. “Are you ready for a night of fun?” Did she really have to phrase it like that? Her tummy knotted, and she inwardly cringed.
A pair of large cowboy boots appeared a foot to the right, directly in her peripheral vision. Turning slightly, she inched her gaze upward along a solid, muscular pair of legs clad in skintight denim. Above his thighs, she spotted a protruding zipper covered by slightly tattered fabric. A couple threads were broken and missing from the worn seam. On one side of the flap lay a very pronounced bulge. She gulped loudly.
A deep chuckle startled her. She batted her lashes and dropped her gaze safely to her own lap. The room became smoldering hot, and her cheeks burned. Hopefully, she hadn’t turned red. Just in case, she tried cooling off by inconspicuously blowing air down her blouse. It wasn’t wise for a woman selling sex toys to change colors at the drop of a hat. Or at the glance of a crotch. The job required an array of confidence and people skills. If she faltered on either, she may as well throw herself to the wolves right now.
Trying to regain perspective, she set her gaze back on track, brazenly inspecting the solid form of a man. When her eyes skimmed above the zipper, she breathed a little easier. But then she didn’t breathe at all when she spotted a huge broad chest bulging with muscle beyond an unbuttoned denim shirt. She gulped, silently this time, then forced air into her lungs while inching her gaze higher. His facial features were shadowed beneath the brim of a Stetson. From the angle she sat, it appeared the top of the hat butted against the ten-foot ceiling.
“Ma’am, can I offer you a soda?”
Wow, that voice. Deep and suave, and…nice. Not too southern, yet he carried a slight drawl. She never imagined a smooth masculine tone could wet her panties. But it did as effectively as a soft stroke to her clit. “Yes, um, I’d love…thank you. A soda is fine. Please.” It was going to be a very long night. Maybe one teensy drink wouldn’t hurt after all to unravel her nerves. “Actually, I wouldn’t mind mixing that with whiskey or something stronger if you have any available.”
“I reckon we do.” He tipped his hat with fingers twice the size of hers.
Wow. Nothing turned her on like a man’s hands. This cowboy’s consisted of thick fingers, calloused palms, large knuckles, and slightly protruding veins. They reeked of physical exertion. She swallowed and fumbled with the latch on the supply case, but her eyes returned to his shadowed features. An overload of confidence oozed from every inch of his six-foot-something body. Rather than intimidate her, his size now aroused her somewhat. How much more could her panties take? She squeezed her thighs together, praying she wouldn’t end up with a noticeable wet spot.
“The name’s Brock. Brock Halston.”
She stood. The top of her head reached no further than his chin. With the stilettos off, she’d likely fall inches below his collarbone. Weren’t cowboys supposed to smell like the rugged outdoors—manure, hay and cows? Not this one. The intoxicating fragrance of spicy musk and freshly cut pine swirled through her senses, warming her belly.
She glanced upward into a bright, seductive smile. His eyes, no longer concealed in the shadows of the Stetson, consisted of rich mahogany and gold, lined with lashes so dark and thick, they looked artificial. Her stomach shifted. “Tiffany Stoler,” she said, extending a hand.
His gaze lingered on her legs, her abdomen, slithering to her cleavage, before rising to her face. “My pleasure, Tiff.”
Tiff? Few people called her by anything but her full name. The abbreviated form coming from him held a pleasant tone. Was it his way of trying to calm her? Was her terror that obvious?
His broad hand covered hers like a baseball mitt swallowing a ball. The warmth emanating from his skin practically singed her fingers, inching its way to her forearm. His palm was rough, yet held promises of a touch that had her mentally stripping off her clothes. Her spine quivered, imagining them running along her thighs and hips.
Temporarily tongue-tied, she stared at his knuckles, fighting for a voice. “I, um…” She tore her gaze free and focused on the hardwood planks beneath her shoes. “Sure could use that soda.”
The moment he released her fingers, a rush of unwelcomed cool air engulfed her hand.
She watched his firm denim-clad ass as he headed toward the kitchen. A wavy pony
tail hung between his shoulder blades, barely swaying with his stride. It might have been the reason he stood out from the other men present. Their hair was cropped around their ears and hung no lower than the base of their necks. Something as simple as a ponytail branded Brock as strong and confident, perhaps even tender, but tough. Intrigued, she licked her lips at the nice overall package.
Disengaging her stare from his mouthwatering backside, she visually perused the remaining men. All but two had removed their hats. While a few conversed amongst each other, the rest had settled their gazes on different areas of her body. She feigned a smile, dragged her lower lip between her teeth, and sat down on the tweed couch to unpack the contents of both cases.
Normally, she stood during the hour-long presentations, but not tonight. Uh-uh, no way. Undoubtedly, her knees would crumble if those guys jested about the supplies. If she followed normal protocol by performing demonstrations with all the sexual enhancement aids, it’d be an open invitation. She’d pick and choose a very few. A couple men were already whooping and hollering about the oils and lotions she’d just placed on the coffee table, she couldn’t imagine their reactions to the penis-nooses and nut-knockers—a few samples for those who liked experimenting on the rougher side. Yes, altering the usual routine might be her salvation. She’d have them play a couple games, hand them each a brochure, and then sit in the back of the room to answer questions. If Nan had a problem with it, well, too bad. Who would tell her?
Tiffany removed a ten-inch gelled vibrator from her case and unwrapped it from its clear plastic box at the same time a glass was placed on the table, ice cubes clinking against the sides. She glanced at the amber-colored drink, and the strong fingers connecting full circle around it. Those thick knuckles… Her stomach somersaulted and heartbeat battered the hell out of her breast.
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