Devil in Texas

by Calista Fox

  “And here I’d claimed I wasn’t a tease.” She was a bit ashamed of herself. “No harm, no foul?”

  “Not on my part. You okay?”

  “Better than okay,” she said. And meant it. At least she wasn’t all twisted in knots now that he’d delivered the orgasm she’d needed to help take the edge off.

  “Sweetheart, I know women.” His eyes locked with hers and there was nothing but raw honesty in his mesmerizing gaze. “And while you are easily one of the most beautiful and desirable I’ve ever come across, I know you’ve got things weighing on your mind. I don’t want to add to your troubles.”

  Or mine, his look seemed to say.

  “I’m not a virgin, you know. Just in case you’re thinking…” She rolled her eyes, wondering why on earth she’d just said that.

  Someone get me a shovel, I’m about to dig a hole for myself.

  Trying to clarify, she added, “I have thoughts. Ideas. Things I want to do. With you. Things I want you to do to me.”

  He let out a short, strained laugh. “Jesus, darlin’. You’re making me even harder.”

  “But you’re not going to do anything about it.”

  “Not tonight, Manhattan,” he said as his head dipped and he gave her a quick kiss on the mouth. “I’ve got a poker game waiting for me.”

  She bit back an unexpected grin. He was such a devil! “You’re leaving me for poker?”

  “No,” he said with a wink. “That’s just the excuse I’m using. I’m leaving you before I cave in and jump your bones.”

  “Maybe I should reconsider my position on one-night stands.”

  “No,” he said as his hands came out of his pockets and he gripped her waist, pulling her close to him. Her body instantly melded to his and she let out an unchecked sigh. “I may be having a God-awful time resisting you, but I think it’s best if I do. For now anyway,” he added in that rough voice that made her toes curl. “How about breakfast tomorrow?” he asked.

  “A downgrade from dinner?”

  “No, darlin’. I’m not interested in waiting that long to see you again.” His tempting mouth lifted at the corners in that half-assed way that singed her to the core.

  “Damn,” she whispered. “You do the oddest things to me.”

  “Odd in a good way, I hope.”

  “Surely you already know the answer to that.”

  “Yeah, I guess I do.”

  They stood in her small kitchen, bodies still entwined as they stared at each other. Liza wanted more than anything to ask him to stay. But it’d been a long night. And she liked the anticipation of seeing him in a few hours, when she was totally sober and refreshed from sleep. Maybe freed of the awkwardness and fear she felt from settling into a new life.

  This time, when he stepped away from her, she didn’t protest.

  “I’ll be by around ten,” he said.

  “Perfect.”

  He continued to gaze at her a few moments more, as though committing her face to memory. Then he grinned again, his eyes dancing in the soft light. “I’ll see you a little later.”

  “Thanks for the ride,” she said with a smile.

  “Anytime.” He turned and walked toward the front door. Before passing through it, he shot her a look over one very broad shoulder and winked at her again. “Lock this behind me. Sweet dreams, darlin’.”

  “Right back at ya, cowboy.”

  When the door closed, Liza reached for the counter to steady herself as a long breath escaped her body. It took a few minutes to get her bearings. Then she wiped up the water she’d spilled on the floor before setting the deadbolt on the front door. Afterward, she entered the bedroom and changed into a short satin nightgown.

  As she settled into the comfy bed with the crisp white sheets and the velvety, crimson-colored duvet, she thought about the Devil. She closed her eyes, glad to be spending her first night in Wilder in a place she could call her own. Not surprisingly, Jack’s gleaming white teeth and obnoxiously tempting dimple flashed in her mind.

  She smiled as she thought of him while counting the hours before the sun would rise and she’d see him again.

  Maybe this was more than she could handle, more than she’d bargained for. Who knew? She sure as hell wasn’t looking to get played again. But she had to admit, the things Jack Wade did to her body were exactly what she needed.

  Question was, could the new Liza Brooks keep her heart out of the sexy equation?

  Chapter Four

  “Why the hell wouldn’t you run for City Council?” George Mills demanded.

  “Because I don’t need any more complications in my life?” Jack countered as he cleared away remnants of the evening’s Texas Hold ‘Em tournament he’d hosted in the back room of his saloon. A strictly invitation-only event he organized once or twice a month on the sly. Otherwise, Reverend Bain and his most staunch followers would be outside Jack’s door setting up a picket line.

  “But I thought the reason you hired Josh to manage the bar was to free up some time so you could campaign,” George said. He collected an empty pitcher of beer and five mugs and deposited them on a round tray set up in the corner.

  “I hired Josh so I could work on the expansion project for the saloon. But the recent changes in town are having a negative impact on my bottom line, so that idea is now shot to shit.”

  “Precisely why you need to take my suggestion more seriously. You could help to change the town back, Jack.”

  The recent curfews and the ban on alcohol sales on Sundays was, of course, a source of contention with Jack. Not just as a saloon owner, but as a man who enjoyed a few shots with a good buddy at the end of a long week. Or a glass of fine wine with the Sunday night special at Pietro’s in town.

  “You’re going to have to make your decision soon to get on the ballot,” George told him. “And I’ll manage the campaign.”

  “You’re wildly optimistic, my friend.” His large hand swept across the green felt covering the poker table, pushing discarded peanut shells into a bowl.

  “There are a lot of people who will stand by your side. And, to your extreme advantage, you’re good friends with Mayor Grant. “

  Ah yes.

  “Kindred sinners, we are,” Jack said.

  In fact, the mayor of Wilder had put in an appearance at tonight’s game. Not the first time he’d accepted Jack’s invitation. Grant was no hypocrite, didn’t mind the townsfolk knowing he liked his Scotch neat and his thoroughbreds to be of the winning variety. Unfortunately, his backbone wasn’t as stiff as others in this town and that made him too malleable when it came to squaring off against the saints.

  The reason they kept him in office.

  “With the mayor in your back pocket—”

  “Mayor’s not in my back pocket, George.” Jack was quick to add. “He covets his cozy position in this town, make no mistake about that. Makin’ waves isn’t up his alley.”

  “Yes, but,” George countered with a mischievous glint in his dark brown eyes. “Making waves is up your alley.”

  “For a good cause,” Jack would allow. Manhattan certainly fell into that category—and he’d gotten one hell of a ribbing from his poker mates when he’d returned from “dropping her off”.

  “You think we don’t have a good cause on our hands now?” George interrupted Jack’s thoughts before they went the way of long, naked limbs and slow, hot kisses. It was all he could do to keep the sound of her sexy moans and the feel of her tight, wet pussy from running through his mind. He’d wanted to give her a hell of a lot more than one orgasm—he wanted to do a lot of more than just finger-fuck her cunt.

  “For God’s sake, Jack!” George continued his rant. “Your head’s not buried in the sand. Things are getting weird around here.”

  He couldn’t argue that point even if he wanted to. But the situation was more delicate than George seemed to understand. “Grant and I may be of like minds,” Jack contended. “But the saints and I aren’t so tight.”

  “Lydia
Bain adores you.”

  “And her husband, Reverend Bain, who’ll have a seat on the City Council ‘til hell freezes over, wants to put me out of business. Like he’s done to every other bar owner in town. Tips the scales a bit. And not in my favor, you can clearly see.”

  “This is absurd,” George said. He was a sturdy sort both by way of stature and conscience. At six-feet tall, he was a few inches shorter than Jack and much thicker from head to toe. They were the same age, thirty-one, but George already had strands of gray woven through his dark brown hair. Though the distinguished look lent to his respectable image, George was always the first one to cut loose with Jack. Partners in crime to the end.

  All in the name of good, harmless fun, of course.

  But there’d been few rowdy times of late. In fact, it felt as though a dark cloud hovered over the town, putting everyone on edge. The exact reason George was pestering him about running for office.

  “This town has some serious issues to reconcile,” George continued as he packed away the poker chips while Jack finished tidying the small room. “The mayor needs a strong advocate on his side before he loses all control. One of us needs to step up to the plate and help him.”

  “Be my guest,” Jack offered. Though his blood boiled at the downward spiral they were all collectively taking.

  Some of the church-going folk were riding a morality sanction like a runaway train. And people were suffering because of it. Yes, when it came to taking a stand, Jack had precious chips stacked in his corner, in one respect. But he had his fair share of opponents that had been gunning for him since he was a rebellious teenager—and because of his last name. Conversely, the odds were against him.

  An impasse of his own making, really.

  “I’d consider running,” George said. “But we both know how people feel about electing someone who’s ‘new’ to the community. I’ve been here for nearly ten years, but because I wasn’t born and raised in Wilder, I’m still considered an outsider.”

  “Another mistake. Fresh ideas and diverse perspectives would do wonders for this town.” But people had to embrace innovation in order to move forward. Something few seemed inclined to do these days.

  “Seriously, Jack. There’s no convincing you?” George prodded.

  Jack gave a noncommittal shrug. “I’m not totally discounting the idea. But you have to consider…it might make matters worse, not better.”

  “You’ve got some stiff competition—and opposition—with the old guard, I’ll admit.”

  “Let’s call a spade a spade,” Jack said as they left the back room. He stalked down the narrow hallway and entered the bar area. This was his pride and joy. His personal haven. The one remaining landmark in Wilder that was a thorn in the saints’ sides.

  “I don’t have the cleanest reputation in town, and I’m not about to laud myself as a reformed sinner just so I can make a stand,” he said as he dumped the peanut shells into the trash. “I wouldn’t intentionally be self-serving if I was on the Council, but I also wouldn’t let the congregation bulldoze me.”

  “You realize you’re making my point for me,” George said in a dry tone.

  Jack scowled. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t put serious thought into running, even before George had brought it up after the poker game. Unlike his friend, Jack had been born and raised in Wilder. He’d suffered through waves of small-town narrow-mindedness interspersed with big-city brilliance—such as what his own father had once contributed to the community before he’d left town. Or been run out. All depended on who you asked.

  For as long as he could remember, Jack had been in the thick of the push-and-pull that resulted in this town taking one step forward to progressive thinking and two steps back to the Dark Ages.

  “Something’s got to give,” George continued on. Not saying anything new. “You’re a man who makes things happen, Jack. Be a damn shame if you didn’t do something to set things right.”

  “Now, George,” Jack said in the most civil tone he could muster. In truth, the mere thought of how sterile their environment had become sparked his anger in a heartbeat. But he’d learned long ago not to go off half-cocked. This was a delicate matter to be handled with care.

  He of all people knew the influence some of the more embedded residents held over this small, lakeside community. Lydia and Reverend Bain. Stan Parsons, the high school principal. Myra Brighton, a distant descendant of the founder of Wilder. Even the mayor had to battle them on major decisions.

  Granted, not everyone in this Bible Belt community kowtowed to someone else’s interpretation of religion and the Lord’s gospel. Clearly, there was a balance to be struck, and that wasn’t easy to do when some felt threatened by what they perceived to be big-city ideas and a decline in values by today’s youth. The God-fearing men and women of Wilder held fast to their beliefs and prayed for the sinners’ souls every Sunday morning and Wednesday night at church.

  Oh hell. They likely prayed all damn week.

  Jack wasn’t a firm believer in Satan himself. It was all a matter of perspective. He believed people did things—good or evil—based on what was inherently in their hearts and souls, not necessarily by divine or satanic influence. He’d read the good book cover to cover. Twice. Could recite the Ten Commandments. He even sent up a prayer to the heavens every now and then when a friend passed or things were looking bleak.

  But Jack Wade was also a man who liked a little sinnin’ from time to time.

  Unfortunately, there were a lot of gray areas in Wilder, what with some of the congregation piously delineating themselves as holier than the non-church goers. Sometimes it was hard to pinpoint the greater evils that existed because of the personal agendas being pushed.

  “Look,” Jack reasoned. “I’m not backin’ down. I’m just not committin’ yet. Rocking the boat when I’m fighting to stay afloat doesn’t make good business sense. Sales are steady during the week and I need them to remain that way now that we’re closed on Sundays.”

  The ledger didn’t lie. Having to close the saloon doors one day a week—on a weekend, no less, when there was Sunday football and people looking to relax before they had to get back to the daily grind come Monday—made a big impact on his profits.

  “I understand your situation,” George said. “And you have mine and Jess’ devoted patronage to support ‘the cause’.” He smiled magnanimously. “How about a Glenlivet to prove it?”

  Jack chuckled. They’d been friends a long time and Jack knew he could count on George and his wife, Jess, to fight the good fight with him. Reaching for the fancy single malt Scotch George favored, he poured two fingers into an old-fashion glass and set the drink in front of the other man. “You’re not going to let this drop, are you?”

  “Are you?” his friend challenged, his brows lifting.

  “Fair enough,” Jack said as he poured one for himself, which he sipped slowly. “But if I’m going to do this, I want your voice shouting out loud and clear behind me.”

  George lifted his glass and touched the rim to Jack’s. “You’ve got yourself a deal.”

  Jack drew a deep breath. They were talking mutiny here. But goddamn, it was time someone stirred things up. In this town, Wades were notorious for doing just that.

  “All right, then,” he said. “Let’s draw the line in the sand and see who crosses it with us.”

  They took a big gulp of their drinks, set the glasses on the bar and clasped hands.

  “City Council it is,” George said with a grin.

  For Jack, it was a necessary evil. The only way his voice would be heard. Yet even as he mentally catalogued his priority issues, he couldn’t help remembering how detrimental going against the grain had been for his father. He’d stood up for his personal convictions…and had lost everything he’d worked so hard to achieve.

  A travesty, in Jack’s mind.

  This town had once flourished, but with the struggling economy and the backward thinking, it seemed only those in the good grac
es of the Reverend Bain were getting ahead. Which made Jack wonder if his latest decision would invite as much trouble into his life as taking his own stand had done to his father’s.

  But he’d made up his mind. And Jack Wade never reneged on his word.

  His once-carefree existence was getting far more complex than he’d ever wanted—especially with Manhattan’s arrival. Clearly he couldn’t keep her out of his head. And Lord, how he wanted her! Finger-fucking that tight pussy of hers had damn near put him over the edge. He’d wanted to unbutton his fly, shove his briefs down to his hips and hammer his cock into her wet cunt, thrusting harder and deeper until they both came.

  It was almost impossible not to be distracted by how much his body craved hers. But he needed to get a grip on his raging libido. George had made valid points, after all, and Jack needed to consider them. He was likely in the most advantageous position to effect change in this town. Or try to, at any rate.

  “So what’s city girl’s story anyway?” George changed the subject as he continued to savor his cocktail.

  Jack shrugged, not wanting to divulge anything Liza might consider confidential. And doing his best not to let more wicked thoughts of her rattle around in his brain. He simply said, “High-tailed it out of New York for some fresh air and sunshine, I suspect.”

  George laughed. “She must have better taste than we all gave her credit for ‘cause she didn’t have much use for you tonight.”

  Jack took more of the same ribbing he’d experienced when he’d returned to the saloon. “Maybe I was the one who said no.”

  George nearly spewed Scotch from his mouth. “Oh right. I can see that happening, Jack. I know you’re selective, but when you set your sights on a woman, she doesn’t stand a chance.”

  “This one’s different,” he said, realizing he meant it. There was something intriguing and alluring about Liza Brooks. Brains and mystery and sweet smiles all put together in a pretty little package he looked forward to unwrapping. When she was sober and knew what the hell she was getting herself into.