by Stasia Black
Tonight Hunter actually welcomed their shenanigans. Distraction was the name of the game, after all.
Until he saw the object he was trying to distract himself from right in the middle of the crowd, dancing with the manwhore in chief himself—Liam O’Neill. And not just dancing. For Christ’s sake. Talk about public indecency.
Isobel’s back was to Liam’s front and one of his hands was tucked right below her breast. With the other, he lifted hers high overhead, then he skimmed down her body as they shimmied down, dropping low to the floor. Her black little nothing scrap of a dress rode even higher up her legs when she crouched down low like that. Liam grasped her waist in both hands and they shimmied back up to standing.
The song ended and Isobel jumped up and down, laughing and clapping. She threw her arms sloppily around Liam’s neck and Hunter wanted to deck the bastard. Just how much had she had to drink?
None of your damn business. She’s nothing more than an employee.
So why couldn’t he look away from her? She never smiled like that around him. And he hadn’t seen her with her hair down since the first night he’d met her, when she’d pulled it out of her ponytail for the shower. Her eyes were bright too, probably because of the alcohol.
That bastard Liam better not be trying to take advantage of her. They’d had a hard case with the colicky horse and maybe she was upset—
Nope. He turned away from the dance floor. None of his goddamned business. He pushed past people standing around the dance floor to get to the bar.
There was one open stool and he made a beeline for it.
He’d just grab a quick drink, then head back home. It was stupid to come out tonight anyway. What, was he some whiny little bitch who couldn’t stand a little silence? So his house was quiet. Boo hoo. So he’d made his wife so miserable she’d left him in the middle of the night. It happened. Who didn’t have problems?
Bubba came over to where Hunter was sitting. “What’ll you have tonight?”
“Whiskey.”
Bubba turned to get his drink.
In spite of himself, Hunter kept looking over to the dance floor. Now she was dancing with Mack. Christ, if there was anyone he’d trust a woman with less than Liam, it was Mack. “How long has that been going on?”
“About an hour.” The answer wasn’t from Bubba. Hunter swiveled on his stool and saw that Cal was sitting beside him. It would be easy to mistake Cal for a man—she always walked around in oversized men’s overalls with big flannel shirts underneath. Her hair was cropped short too, or at least, it usually was. Hunter was startled to realize it was a little longer—there was a small ponytail peeking out the back of the baseball cap she always wore.
“Hey Cal,” Hunter said. He’d known her ever since grade school. She was quiet, but a good sort.
Bubba set Hunter’s drink and must have heard Hunter’s initial question, because he looked out over the dance floor and smiled. “They’ve been livening up the joint for about an hour now.”
“And how many drinks have they poured down her?” Hunter growled
“Hey there.” Bubba braced his hands on the bar and narrowed his eyes at Hunter. “Don’t be disrespecting me in my own bar. You know I don’t put up with shit. That girl’s only been drinking what she’s ordered herself. And having a fine time of it.” Bubba’s eyes tracked back to the dance floor, his ruddy cheeks bright as he smiled. “Sure don’t make ‘em like that round here. ‘Cept for my Dottie, of course, God rest her soul.” Then his eyes flicked over to Cal. “No offense, Cal.”
Cal just waved her beer. “None taken.”
Hunter’s mood soured as he watched Isobel. He swallowed a healthy swig of his whiskey. It was biting, but he got it down without coughing. Soon his throat and belly were warmed by the liquid. His muscles relaxed. He angled his back toward the dance floor.
Maybe coming here wasn’t such a bad idea after all. He’d just ignore Isobel and have a nice little drink, shoot the shit with Bubba and—
Bubba’s eyes were on the dance floor behind him and he let out a low whistle. “Damn that woman’s a firecracker. If I was a young buck, you can bet I’d be—”
“For the love of God don’t finish that sentence,” Cal implored.
The temptation was too great and Hunter looked over his shoulder.
Now Isobel was sandwiched between Mack and Liam and their hands— Christ, they were all over her. Mack was chest to chest with her, his knees slung between hers and again, her back was to Liam. They were all dancing so close together, Hunter had no idea how they were managing to stay upright. She was staring into Mack’s eyes, a wide smile on her face as she talked animatedly.
Mack was staring back like he wanted to devour her. Mack’s eyes flicked behind her to Liam and it was as if they were having the same thought.
Hunter’s hands clenched into fists and he was half off his barstool when someone came to stand in front of him. Hunter was about to order them out of the way when he realized it was Sandra, his receptionist.
“Well, it’s just selfish of her to take two of them,” Sandra said, looking toward the dance floor.
“It’s obscene,” Hunter shot back without really thinking it through.
Sandra’s eyes brightened and Hunter immediately wished he could take it back. The gossip mill could be vicious in Hawthorne, like any small town. Another reason for Isobel not to be making such a spectacle of herself.
“So, I was thinking,” Sandra leaned over Hunter to get her drink at the bar. Hunter frowned and tried to angle around her so he could keep an eye on Isobel. Who knew what those two bastards had up their sleeves. He did not like the way they were looking at her.
“We should go out sometime.”
Isobel had flipped around so that now her chest was to Liam’s. His hands were so low on Isobel’s back he was practically grabbing her a—
“Hunter?”
“Huh?” he looked up at Sandra. “Sorry, did you say something?”
She giggled a little and pushed some of her frizzy, over-processed red hair behind her ear. “I said we should go out sometime. Remember how much fun we used to have in high school?”
“Oh.” Shit. Hunter straightened on his barstool. He hated situations like this.
He and Sandra had dated briefly their junior year. Well, if you counted a drunken hook up after Matt Davies’ field party the year they won Homecoming dating. He had taken her out to eat a few times afterwards because he’d felt like a major tool once he’d sobered up the next morning. Maybe there was more to her than the vapid cheerleader she portrayed on the surface? You couldn’t judge a book by its cover, right? He’d certainly hoped to be more than just a dumb jock all his life.
Three dates and too many hours to count later with an earful of gossip about a ton of shit he didn’t care about, he decided that in some cases, the cover was a perfectly accurate representation of what was inside.
And after ten years, other than a bad dye job and skin that advertised she was averse to sunscreen, Hunter didn’t think much about Sandra had changed.
“Look, Sandra,” Hunter began, backing away from her on his barstool, “I’m really not looking to date anyone right n—”
“Everything with Janine was over a year ago,” Sandra said, leaning over so he could get a peek down her plunging neckline, no doubt. “You’ve got to get back up on the horse again.” God, he could barely breathe with all that perfume she was wearing. “And cowboy, I’m happy to help break you back in.”
Beside them, Cal choked on her beer as she audibly bit back a laugh. Sandra glared at her.
You’re too late anyway, he wanted to tell Sandra. Another woman already had that privilege. His eyes skirted past Sandra’s shoulder toward where he’d last seen Isobel dancing, sandwiched between Liam and Mack.
Only to find Isobel staring directly at him. The two guys were still on either side of her but she’d stopped dancing. The smile was totally gone from her face. She looked stricken, in fact. Her ey
es went from Hunter, then to something right beside him.
Hunter turned his head to see what she was looking at.
And ran right smack into Sandra’s lips. She’d stepped in between his legs and was right there, just fuckin’ landing one on him. He got the brief ashy taste of cigarettes before he yanked back, launching backwards off the barstool.
“Christ, Sandra.” He swiped at his mouth. His hand came away with a smear of her red-orange lipstick.
But she was still coming at him, her eyes lowered in what he assumed was her come-hither look. With all that black make-up around her eyes and her orange middriff baring halter top, she just looked like a dead-eyed hooker.
“Oh come on, Hunter. You don’t have to do that coy cat and mouse bullshit with me.” She put a lacquered orange-nailed finger on the center of his chest. She grinned at him. She had lipstick on her teeth. “Take me home and I’ll make sure you get a very happy ending.”
And a venereal disease, he thought.
Sandra tried to dip forward again but he held out a hand and gave a firm shake of his head. “I’m sorry, Sandra. This is never gonna happen between you and me.”
Suddenly her bottom lip began to tremble. Aw, shit. Was she going to cry? He never knew what to do when women cried.
“But I thought…” she hiccupped. “When you hired me on at the clinic—”
Over her shoulder, Hunter saw Isobel fleeing down the back hallway in the direction of the restrooms. She didn’t stop at the ladies, though. No, she blew past the restrooms and shoved open the back door, then pushed into the night.
Hawthorne was a pretty quiet town but they weren’t that far off the interstate. What was she thinking, running out there all alone when she was drunk off her ass?
“—that we had a real connection. You gave me that look when we were scheduling the surgery for Mr. Bartlett’s poodle. I knew you wanted m—”
“Sorry, if you’ll excuse me,” Hunter cut Sandra off midsentence and went to chase after Isobel. What the hell was wrong with her supposed escorts that they abandoned her right when she needed them most? He was going to have words with Xavier. If the man couldn’t corral his men to act responsibly when they were out in town, something had to be done.
Hunter shoved people aside on the dance floor when they didn’t get out of his way fast enough.
“Whoa, Hunter, why in such a hurry?” more than one person asked him. He ignored them all and just kept moving, finally jogging when he got to the hall corridor.
When he exploded out the back door, he looked left or right. Dammit, which way did she go?
But finally he heard the faint sounds of a woman crying.
Christ, that sound was enough to rip any man apart, but coming from her? What had happened? If one of those assholes had hurt her… His hands clenched into fists.
“Isobel?” he hurried toward the sound and found her crouched down against the wall behind the bar’s dumpster, knees to her chest.
“Go away!” she turned her back to him when she saw him.
“What’s wrong? Did one of those bastards touch you? I swear, if either of them laid a hand on you, I’ll—”
“What?” She sounded both confused and incredulous. She stood up, using the wall for leverage. “God, no. Mack and Liam are great.”
Hunter took a step back. “Then why…” his voice trailed off as she swiped at her cheeks.
“It was nothing. God, I’m just an idiot.” She’d kept her face averted the whole time but suddenly her eyes flashed up to him. “What do you care anyway? Won’t your date be mad you left her to chase after another woman? That’s kind of an a-hole move.”
“Date?” Hunter’s mind was blank before it finally registered. “What, you mean Sandra?” He scoffed. “She’s not my date. She just came up to me and—”
“Hey, no need to explain.” Isobel held up her hands. “I’m not trying to get in the way of your next hookup. Your business is your business.”
She took a few steps toward the club door like she was going to head back in.
“Wait,” Hunter put out a hand. “Stop.”
If she’d thought he was with Sandra and nothing had happened with Liam or Mack… was that why she’d been out here crying? He blinked. She’d been crying over him?
“It’s not like that with Sandra and me.” It sounded stupid, he knew as soon as he said it, but it seemed important for her to understand.
She shrugged. “Whatever. Like I said. None of my business.”
“What if it was?” He took a step closer. Shit. What was he doing? He didn’t know but his hand was drawn like a magnet to push a stray lock of hair behind her ear. Her breath hitched at the contact.
Her eyes searched his, back and forth. He could see confusion there. And something else. Longing?
Christ, she was beautiful. And more than that. She was kind. Patient. Compassionate. She was beautiful in all the ways that counted.
So it seemed like the most natural thing in the world when he cupped her jaw and drew her face down to his.
When his lips pressed against hers, his blood lit on fire.
She gasped and jerked away. “You’ve been nothing but an asshole to me ever since that first night.” She glared at him.
Fuck. Why had he kissed her? Everything that made him pull away from her in the first place was still true. She was a rich, city girl. She’d be leaving at the end of the summer. She was far too much like Janine for comfort. Not to mention that she was right—he’d been treating her like a class A jerk for weeks now.
He was about to apologize and walk away when she suddenly reached up, dug her hands in his hair, and yanked him back down. Then she started kissing him like he was a feast and she’d been starving for months.
All other thoughts took a flying leap.
There was only Isobel.
Real and warm and alive in his arms. So alive. She tasted like strawberry and lime and tequila. And when she yanked his shirt out of his jeans and her hands caressed up his bare stomach underneath, he’d swear she was so hot she was searing his skin.
“Fuck, Isobel,” he growled, spinning them and pinning her against the brick wall of the bar. All the blood in his body was quickly headed south at her touch and continued frantic kisses.
“Yes,” she whispered.
Goddamn. He hadn’t meant it as an invitation but she was sure taking it that way. Her hands scrambled at his waist, undoing his buckle. Aw, fuck. His cock strained against his jeans toward her seeking hands. But shit. She was drunk. She didn’t—
He pulled back from her. It took all his willpower. “I can’t.”
He shook his head. Her eyes flashed hurt. Christ. He hurried to explain, cupping her face. Her skin was so soft and he couldn’t help dipping back down to kiss her moist, berry pink lips. “You’ve been drinking. I’m not gonna be one of those guys who takes advantage of a woman.”
He went in for another kiss when she laughed. He pulled back, startled.
“Hunter, I had one margarita. I’m not drunk.”
He paused. “But you were so…” He gestured back at the bar. “Smiley.”
Her gaze went in the direction he indicated, a wistful expression on her face. “I guess that’s just me,” she shrugged, “when I’m happy.”
She looked back at Hunter and he felt kicked in the guts. He’d never gotten to see her happy. Because he only made her miserable. Fuck.
But he didn’t want to think about any of that. He didn’t want to think. Period. Full stop.
He pressed her back against the wall. Her legs spread, one thigh hitching up around his waist. It was indecent. If anyone came out here and saw them—
But all Hunter could think about was her hot, wet core, the tiny cotton fabric of her underwear and the denim of his jeans the only barrier to him being buried deep inside her again.
How many nights had he lay in bed tormented by the memory of that sweet little cunt of hers. And here she was, hot and wanting, wrapped around him.
Her hands were back at his buckle again and his cock surged in his pants. Fuck, he was so hard his cock could punch a hole through a brick wall.
The second her tiny hands touched his cock, he was almost done for. He reached down and palmed her juicy ass, giving it a rough squeeze, before jerking her panties down.
His middle finger dipped inside her. “Fuck,” he hissed. Her sweet little pussy was fucking drenched. His thumb immediately sought out her clit. It was already swollen and he strummed his thumb back and forth before pressing hard on it.
Her hand gripping his cock squeezed and little high-pitched gasps escaped her throat.
“Is this for me?” he asked, his jaw going tight. “Or was it because of them?” He shoved another finger inside, not bothering to be gentle about it.
Her head had been bowed but she jerked her face up at his question, eyes flashing.
“Fuck you,” she whispered. At the same time, her hand on his cock guided him toward the slick lips of her pussy.
Jesus Christ. With one thrust he could be inside her.
“Fuck me is what I think you meant to say.” He lined his hips up and reached down, pulling his cock out of her hand and rubbing it up and down her vulva and her clit.
Her mouth dropped open and her head sank back against the brick wall. “Fine. You win. Fuck me. Just get the fuck inside me already.”
With the hand not on his cock, he grabbed her chin and pulled her face down so that she was forced to look at him. Her eyes flashed fury and fire and crazy lust.
He dipped just the head of his cock inside her. “You want this? You want me to bury my giant cock deep inside you? You want me to fuck you so hard you come till you can’t see straight?”
With every word, her chest pumped harder, her breaths growing more and more shallow. “Yes. Fuck. Yes.”
He was about to give her exactly what she was begging for before he remembered. Shit.
“What?” She’d obviously seen the change in his expression.
He met her gaze. “I don’t have any condoms on me. I didn’t plan on—” he broke off. “I’m clean, but I get it if you don’t want to—”