by M. A. Ellis
She watched him glance toward his left, in the general vicinity of Gia’s intended hook-up. His lips curved upward into an amused grin as he pushed away from the column and took a few steps toward the cowgirl and Susanne immediately assumed he and the beauty were a couple. The woman hadn’t missed his approach either and shot him a dangerous look. One that clearly said “keep the hell away”.
Interesting.
He stopped abruptly, as if he’d hit some invisible force, and crossed his arms over his chest. Susanne watched him watch Gia and the cowgirl, studying his profile until he suddenly whipped his head around and pinned her with his dark gaze.
The air rushed from her lungs. He studied her face for what seemed like forever before dropping his gaze slowly down her body. Susanne swallowed, steeling herself for the inevitable reaction of him quickly looking away when he realized the voluptuousness that men obviously loved was nowhere to be found.
But he didn’t look away. He perused her body with a scrutiny that had her cheeks flushing and the junction of her thighs starting an erotic little throb. His gaze lingered on her feet and she doubted that he recognized a pair of discounted Louboutin slingbacks when he saw them. It was more probably that he secretly harbored a red-toenail fetish.
Now wouldn’t that be grand!
Susanne’s field of vision turned foggy as she imagined him undoing her sandal and tossing it haphazardly to the floor, which in the real world would undoubtedly have her issuing a cautious warning. She honestly believed it should be a federal offense to manhandle fine footwear but in her daydream it would be a moot point. He’d run one calloused palm along the outside of her leg before snaking over her hip and a second later she’d forget about four-hundred-dollar shoes and focus solely on his palm gliding over the curve of her ass. Back and forth, he would tease before gently sliding a finger along the leg edge of her panties until she—slut of the dream realm—would helpfully shift her hips to allow him better access.
Susanne caught herself before her legs actually opened and blinked away all erotic thoughts. She took a steadying breath before spinning around on the stool to face the bar. She wasn’t looking for some down-and-dirty-farm-boy fantasy. She shouldn’t care that he might possess six-pack abs and a cock that was so mountable she was likely to offer up a rousing “hi-ho, Silver” when she straddled it. She needed to get a grip.
Yeah! A grip on any part of him that might be over six inches in length.
She also needed to grow up and lose the schoolgirl fantasies.
They say eight seconds is a legal ride, Susie.
Susanne mentally chastised herself. She wasn’t supposed to be thinking about anything strong and straight up unless it had an alcohol base and could be easily topped with edible garnish.
She focused on the shelves holding the bottles of liquor, happy they weren’t backed with mirrors. She didn’t need to keep tabs on Cowboy Sexy. She needed to finish her drink and head back to her room—call it an early night. She needed to concentrate on all the roadblocks and challenges the judges could throw into her finely honed repertoire of possible award-winning cocktails. She did not need to focus on—
“Excuse me, darlin’. Is anyone sitting here?”
A low Southern drawl that had the tiny hairs along her arms rising. Her pulse raced and her previous intent to avoid him evaporated into thin air.
His voice was way smooth-as-silk sexy and as he shifted a little closer, Susanne could actually feel the heat rolling off his body. From the recesses of her mind Gia’s bold advice taunted Susanne, daring her to consider the possibility that mindless intercourse might actually be the perfect distraction. But she’d never done the one-night-stand thing. It wasn’t her style. She had never been a wild child, and the way her heart was threatening to beat right out of her chest, she never would be. Besides, it was pretty arrogant to think he was even interested. Maybe the poor guy just wanted to sit down.
With an imaginary “poof” Susanne’s erotic fantasy dissipated and she turned and offered him a polite smile.
“My friend just left for a minute—”
“Don’t fib, sugar. Your girlfriend is on a mission. It was written all over her face when she sashayed over and blindsided Chrissy. I don’t think we’ll have to worry about those two for quite some time. They headed for the dance floor, hand in hand.”
Susanne looked over her shoulder, trying very hard not to glance downward as he took a seat and hooked one boot heel over the rung of the stool. She focused her attention on the dance floor, craning her neck until she saw the flash of silver fabric and Gia’s long, dark hair swaying to and fro.
“Interesting,” she said softly.
“Understatement,” he chuckled.
He shifted and his knee brushed her leg, sending an unfamiliar jolt of electricity up her body.
Susanne suddenly remembered the way the cowboy had reacted when he saw Gia approaching Chrissy.
“Jealous?” she asked. The last thing she needed was to be part of some payback plan.
“Hell no.” His laugh was low and deep. Genuine. “And I apologize for throwing a kink into the one-word answer game we were playing. I’m thinking you’d have come out the winner, sugar.”
“I’m not a game player,” Susanne said, looking into his eyes. Now that he was less than two feet away, she realized they were a deep gunmetal color.
“Not a player…just a competitor? What division?”
Susanne arched a brow and he offered her a benign look.
“Surprised to find out we’re not here by chance, that a bunch of plowboys were actually invited to the hottest ticket in town? It’s true. And let me tell you, it was hell on the valet trying to find parking spots for all our horses.”
In the land of Porsche and Mercedes and Lamborghini the picture he painted was totally ludicrous and Susanne was unable to keep a straight face.
“What’s your name, cowboy?”
He tilted his head back a little and looked down his crooked nose at her, doing his best to offer her a you-have-got-to-be-shitting-me look.
“Sorry. I’ve always wanted to say that,” Susanne defended.
“Never had the chance before?”
“Not in Miami.”
“So the men ‘round these parts aren’t much into throwing on a pair of boots and their best hat and waltzing on up to a beautiful woman sitting at a bar? Hoping for nothing less than the possibility that she just might be considering a little cowpoke role-playing? ‘Poke’ being the operative word, of course.”
Susanne looked into his twinkling eyes and fought to keep her breathing normal and the conversation carefree.
“Oh, there’s more than a little role-play going on in this town but I don’t think it involves steers and sagebrush. At least, I hope it doesn’t. I’ve been a loyal supporter of the Holstein for many years.”
“Well, well. A city girl who knows her breeds. I’m impressed,” he said, offering her a quick wink. “Where’ve you been hidin’, darlin’?”
It had been ages since Susanne had actually returned a bar-side flirtation. She was starting to enjoy herself.
“I spent thirteen years in southwestern Missouri. But I don’t remember rural role-playing being a sanctioned FFA event. I’m not sure what that fantasy involves,” she said.
“Where I’m from, it usually consists of a stable with some fresh-cut hay, a horse blanket and a squeeze bottle of Tupelo honey.”
“A barn and some honey? That’s it? No green and yellow tractor? No hundred-degree afternoon with the sun beating down and a swimming hole just waiting to cool a person off? I would have thought a picnic lunch and a quart of sweet tea at a bare minimum.”
“Not since high school, sugar. I generally don’t need some stretched-out scenario to get me to the main event. But if you have a pair of cutoffs and a little white tank top in your suitcase, then we can go back in time. I’m imaging how hot you’d look carrying that basket across a field of alfalfa, your hair all sun kissed and bl
owing in the warm summer breeze.”
She stared at him long and hard, wondering how his voice could have the dual power of lulling part of her into a relaxed state while setting every sexual fiber in her being on edge. He leaned forward and brought his mouth close her ear, as if he had the biggest of secrets to share with her.
“Can you see it?” he whispered, his breath sending a wave of shivers down her spine. “Me crawlin’ down from the cab of that Deere. Wantin’ nothing more than to dribble that sweet tea all over your hot body and lick every drop away.”
Susanne sat stock still and tried to get her heartbeat under control, praying he couldn’t hear the rapid drumming. Flirtation was one thing. The way her body was reacting was something altogether different. Just that quick, his words were making her burn. It was a far cry from the aloof no-strings, country-lovin’ attitude she thought she might actually be able to adopt for the evening.
“All I can see,” she said, forcing herself to lean away and not into him, “is a woman who thought she could be totally spontaneous. I kick major ass at the impromptu drink making, but this? Sorry, Tex, I can’t pull it off.”
“Can’t you?” he asked, lowering his eyes. He pursed his lips into a thoroughly dejected pout. “Well, that’s a damn fine state of affairs.”
“I’m sorry. Please, don’t think I’m some sort of barfly tease.” She gnawed at her lower lip, effectively halting any further explanation.
His gaze lifted and settled on her mouth and her lips began to throb.
“Let me get you a drink,” she offered.
“A drink?” His blinding smile returned as quickly as it had disappeared. “If they have some specialty that’s guaranteed to work as well as a cold shower then order away ‘cause that’s what I need, sugar. You’ve got the most kissable mouth I’ve ever had the pleasure of seeing.”
His words stunned her. She didn’t believe him. But part of her wished she could.
“You can stop. Really. You’re handsome as hell and I’m sure this works with most women but you need to realize that I’m not going to sleep with you.” She turned around and tried to get the bartender’s attention.
“Whoa now. There’s a helluva lot that happens between kissing and consummating. It would definitely still involve my mouth—probably my teeth now and again. A finger or two.”
He placed his forearms on the bar and made a great show of studying his large hands. His fingers were long and roughened but his nails were nicely kept. He drummed them slowly against the metal and she realized that precision tapping was for her benefit—a sign that he had all the time in the world. That he’d go slowly. Keep his promise that there was a “helluva lot” between the lip locks and the sex.
What more could you want?
Susanne motioned for the bartender a second time, annoyance flaring. She wanted to buy him a drink to apologize for her come-and-get-me attitude and then she wanted to leave.
Leave? Or escape?
“What’ll it be, handsome?” the woman purred.
Susanne’s mouth actually dropped open when the blonde planted her elbows on the smooth surface and offered the cowboy an enticing smile and a healthy glimpse of bosom. It was the most blatant, inappropriate display Susanne had ever witnessed and she’d seen a lot in her years behind a bar.
“What I’d like from you, miss, is a Jack on the rocks.” His voice dripped with amusement.
Susanne snapped her head around, surprised to find him staring at her and not the huge expanse of cleavage that was offered up.
He reached forward, shocking her further when he rubbed one long, roughened finger along her jawline from ear to chin before pushing her mouth closed. The light movement caused a slow heat to creep down her neck and across her collarbone. A sheen of moisture broke out along the swell of her breasts a second before her nipples tightened and she barely managed to stifle her gasp.
“And what I need from you is even simpler.” He spoke in a husky tone as he gently cradled her chin in his palm and pulled her face closer to his. A delicious little flutter teased her belly as he rubbed his thumb against her skin.
“I want you to step back into that fantasy land we were discussing. Give me a chance to answer one of your life’s burning questions.”
Susanne stared at him, no longer certain she truly wanted whatever diversion they were about to take part in.
“C’mon, sugar. Ask me my name again. In that same sweet voice that could have me doing anything your little heart desires.”
Unable to draw her eyes away from his penetrating stare, Susanne gnawed at her bottom lip and tried to think of any sane reason to refuse his request but her rationale seemed to have disappeared in a cloud of dust.
“Do you know how bad I want to nibble that soft skin at the corner of your mouth?”
His grip tightened and Susanne squirmed in her chair, desire slamming into her with a vengeance.
“We need to get the introductions out of the way so I can kiss you properly. Ask me, darlin’.”
Her heart shifted into double time, its erratic thrumming jolting through her body as she faced the utterly insane truth. She wanted that kiss. And a great deal more.
“What’s your name, cowboy?” Her voice wavered.
“L. Treyton Ryder.” His eyes gleamed teasingly as he touched the tip of his hat with his free hand and the fluttering that had burst forth in Susanne’s stomach began to migrate lower. “But you can call me Trey, darlin’.”
Who knew that all those “darlin’” and “sugars” could have a woman’s panties ready to incinerate.
“What’s the ‘L’ stand for?” Susanne asked, searching for a neutral topic that might divert her from climbing into his lap and seeing if his kisses were as good as his game.
“You don’t really want to know.” He chuckled, offering her another sexy smile.
“Tell me anyway,” she demanded.
“Lucifer.”
Lucifer?
Second after second ticked away.
“Of course it is,” she finally said, feigning nonchalance.
His lips parted on a wide, white, totally devilish grin.
“And you are?”
Susanne met his teasing gaze, hoping her eyes weren’t crossing from the rush of want that coursed through her.
“Screwed,” she snorted.
He tilted his head back and gave her an amused look before leaning forward and sending another wave of shivers down her spine as he brushed his lips against the sensitive skin along the curve of her ear.
“Not yet, sugar. But it sure as hell would be my pleasure to oblige,” Trey whispered. She had delivered that line with such matter-of-factness that he wasn’t sure how he’d managed to rein in his laughter. It had been so damn long since he’d sat next to a woman and shared even a small fraction of the honest-to-goodness barstool banter very few women could offer. He had forgotten how much he missed it.
Trey boldly dipped his head, planting a quick kiss on the side of her neck before pulling away. It wouldn’t do to start full-out necking with her in public even if he was correct in his impression that her proper exterior hid something totally naughty underneath. While that behavior was one hundred percent acceptable at most of the other bars he frequented on the few occasions he accompanied his trainers on the circuit, tonight it was one hundred percent impermissible. His uncle had a plan and Trey had every intention of following through with the edict the old man had set forth.
But good intentions had flown right out the proverbial window the minute he saw her spin around and study the group of bull riders who had sauntered into the rooftop bar. He’d assumed he could walk over and have a simple conversation without the needs of his long-neglected dick overriding his common sense or the mission he had been handed.
You lying turd. It’s got jack shit to do with not getting laid and everything to do with that deadly blend of innocence and sultriness. That dark auburn hair. That lithe build. Those fuck-me-ten-ways-to-Sunday shoes. You
fall for it every time.
Trey would like to curse the fact that the voice of reason sounded suspiciously like that of his brother. He couldn’t deny he was sitting across from a woman who had his blood burning from simply looking at him with the greenest eyes he’d ever seen. He preferred his women to have long hair. He loved the sensation of wrapping the length around his hand at just the right moment. But the thought of the ends of her bobbed auburn hair brushing his skin as she kissed her way down his stomach had his sac tightening with desire. She was staring at him with an intensity that forced him to get his libido under control and backtrack to remember the last thing she had said.
“Would that be Ms. or Mrs. Screwed?” he asked, not missing the way her skirt rode a little higher when she shifted on her stool and re-crossed her legs. Damn, son!
He prided himself in being a man who missed very few details when encountering a new opportunity, be it professional or personal. Tonight he had allowed the boys to run interference for him and it had given him those few extra moments of being able to covertly study the woman his uncle wanted disqualified.
“Or is that a nickname?” he asked when she failed to answer. He could see she was wary. Time to change tack. There was no doubt in his mind he could ease her back into the flirty attitude she had abandoned just moments before.
“So maybe we switch to a standard cowboy fantasy. How ‘bout that?” He watched her breasts rise and fall as she took measured breaths and then exhaled slowly. He knew all about inner battles. And the beauty across from his was seriously fighting one of her own.
“Is that where I have to dress up in a sheep costume and call you Daaaaaa-deeee?” she asked.
Trey shook his head and smiled at her ability to battle her apprehension with a dose of humor.
“That one’s as old as the hills, sugar. Try another fantasy.”
“I don’t know,” she said. “Sexy schoolmarm?”
“Hmmm.” He gave her suggestion mock consideration. “That has merit…but not tonight. I’m thinking something a little more contemporary.”