by Susan Arden
“Then maybe you’d better reconsider what you think is normal.” Pen walked to the window and nodded. “Yep. My truck is still up on blocks, thanks to you. But it’s not too bad, ‘cause yours is up on blocks too.”
“God. Damn.” He exhaled and spread his hands out in front of him. They weren’t dirty, but his shirt did feel somewhat stiff. “Guess we were drinking like fish last night.”
“Good card game, though,” Pen added before he winked and then sauntered off.
Brandon picked up the card and stared at the name. Mia Santero. So her name was real—he should have known from her sassy attitude. She was from the University of Texas. The truth again, and it made the back of his neck tighten, recalling her admission that she was at the club looking for information. He rubbed his thumb over the raised print on the card citing the Department of Psychology. Is that who was interested in a sex club these days?
On the back she’d written that she was a teaching assistant. He coughed, trying to imagine her explaining what she had seen last night to a group of students. The truth, and it stirred a simmering in his belly. Bona fide spitfire…reminded him of some high-spirited fillies he worked with and had gotten kicked and bit by on several occasions. He wrinkled his brow. He did business with a Nat Santero. The man had some of the best quarter horses that he’d seen in Texas—strike that, in the United States. Champions, and he had a pair of yearlings from Santero’s prized stallions back at Evermore. Oh hell, what were the chances? He placed her card on his nightstand and leaned on his elbow, wondering why on earth a university student wanted to study a sex club? It irked him that he didn’t have the answer and he shook his head.
Shit, I got to stop this. Now. He wasn’t going to waste another gosh-darn minute distracted by Mia—Mia. He knew enough Spanish to understand her name translated to mine.
“Mia,” he whispered, then remembered he wasn’t supposed to be thinking of her. Good luck with that one!
He rose off the mattress and pulled his shirt from his body. He needed to shower but considering he’d get sweaty in a matter of minutes, he opened a drawer and took the first shirt he laid eyes on and changed into that. He plugged in his cell phone that had died at some point last night and went downstairs. In the storage room, he found his tool belt and began plugging in extra battery packs for his hand tools.
“Got you something,” Pen said, coming through the doorway. He held out a large Styrofoam cup of coffee. “Extra black. Need some aspirin?”
“This is my liquid pain killer. Thanks.” He grabbed a tape measure off the shelf and reached for the cordless drill. “I’m ready. Thought we’d deal with a couple of maintenance issues you had listed on the board.”
“Sweet,” Pen replied, grabbing a belt as well. “The bar’s got some plumbing leaks and part of the shelving fell down.”
“Damn, wasn’t the plumber out here just last month?”
“Downstairs bathroom. Knock on wood, this is the first time we’ve had any sink problems to speak of.”
Once a month they kept up with little things, before anything snowballed. The cost of renovations had whittled away at their budget and anything they could get done themselves would help with projections and Brandon’s desire to expand. They’d tossed around the idea of a full kitchen and offering a decent menu. Other clubs had food on the premises. The liquor license had been granted without having to jump through too many hoops, so he hoped getting the permit for a restaurant would be a piece of cake.
A couple of hours later, the cleaning crews were done and the bar had running water, which didn’t pool under the rubber mats on the floor. But one job done didn’t free them up yet. They’d determined the plumbing leak had caused a serious case of wood rot under the bar. He and Pen spent the morning tearing out the rotten wood in preparation for replacing it with fresh pine.
They stood out back, almost finished cutting planks for the new bar shelving. Pen handed him a piece of wood. “Here. This ought to do it.”
Brandon lowered the pine board onto the sawhorse, then measured and drew his pencil against the level, making his marks. “You sure about the measurements?” he asked Pen, while positioning the circular saw snug to one side of the wood. “Looks a might short.”
Pen blew into his hands. “Sure as shit. Measure twice and cut once.”
Brandon pulled back on the trigger, pushing the spinning blade into the wood. He ran the blade through the thin line he’d drawn across the pine. He coughed from the cloud of sawdust and caught the plank pieces when he finished making his cut.
“Heads up.” He tossed the pieces to Pen.
His partner stood leaning against the rail on the top step and he began stacking the pieces of wood they’d cut.
Brandon brushed the wood dust from his shirt. “No time to stain the shelves.”
“Nope. I’ll try to get to it during the week.” Pen held open the door, waiting on Brandon. “Probably Wednesday. Polyurethane the pine, do some painting, and air out the place.”
Brandon picked up the two sawhorses he’d used to cut the lumber, then reached down and grabbed the saw. “Meet you back in the bar.”
He returned the equipment to the storage closet and entered the bar area, picking up a piece of cut wood. On the bar’s surface were stacks of glasses, bar utensils, napkins, and bottles of mixers. Basically, anything that had been under the bar was now on top of it. Brandon grabbed the drill and knelt on the floor, holding the wood in place.
“What the fuck happened here?” Sam asked, as he looked over the top of the bar.
“The leak is no longer an issue,” Brandon said around two screws he held between his lips. “Shit,” he groaned, remembering he’d left his level outside.
“I’ll get to work on putting this stuff back.”
Brandon pushed off the floor and looked around for Pen. “God dammit. Where the hell did Pen slink off to?”
“In there. Something to do with the linen service.”
With no one to bark orders to, he stomped through the bar and pushed so hard on the door handle that the back door swung wide open. He stared down into liquid dark eyes and the prettiest face he’d seen outside his dreams. Then he remembered that some pretty faces came with a whole mess of trouble attached, and he sucked in his breath.
“Yeah? Forget something?” he asked, then added, “Miss Santero.”
Mia had the tip of one boot on the bottom step while her other foot was firmly planted on the ground. “No. I’m here to see Mr. Penrose.” Her gloved hand was on the railing and she arched a dark, inky brow at him. She actually expected him to step aside and let her in. Well, she had another thing coming.
“Like hell you are,” he growled. “Any business you have will be done through me. I want to know exactly what you intend on doing with that information you collected last night. I didn’t sign any release.”
Mia’s eyes widened for a second before she lifted one side of her full lips. “Who says you’re the only person I can deal with? You’re not the only owner. I’m more than happy to work with Mr. Penrose. I think he and I see eye to eye as professionals.”
Well, fuck him backwards with that one.
“Glad to hear. That’s right, ‘cause sugar, as far as I remember, you and I saw things on a much different level.” Say mouth to mouth. Hip to hip. Brandon narrowed his eyes. “I’d hate to think you tease and torment every man you come into contact with.”
Just thinking about her lush body pressed up against his sent Brandon all sorts of ways toward being hot and bothered, not to mention his cock lengthening in his jeans.
“Oh…,” Mia gasped, pink flooding over her cheeks and he felt his pulse race. Staring at that lovely ‘O’ she formed with her full, moist lips, he ground his teeth to keep from reaching down and hauling her up against him. “Don’t you dare start that again.”
“Woman, I’ll do anything I damn well please.” Right now, the only thing he wanted to hear was his name on her lips and he knew just what to do
to stop her barbed commentary. His body was tight and his hunger roaring; he’d be one son of a bitch to have to deal with if he didn’t gain some control, and fast.
“I thought I heard fireworks,” Pen said from behind him. “Christ, Brandon. What’s happened to your manners? Invite the lady in…it’s snowing.”
Mia’s eyes moved from his face to his partner’s. She didn’t smile, but nodded hastily. “Thank you, Mr. Penrose. It’s nice to see someone hasn’t forgotten how to treat a lady.”
“Lady,” Brandon snorted. “Don’t you mean researcher?”
“Don’t mind him, he’s just cranky.” Pen held his hand out to Mia, crowding Brandon on the step.
He had a mind to elbow Pen in the ribs and step right in front of Mia as she climbed the steps, hoist her up and then crush his mouth down on her soft pink lips. Instead, he gritted his teeth, watching her reach up and take hold of Pen’s hand.
“What do you want?” he snarled.
“To discuss my project.” She was right beside him on the step and still a head shorter.
He looked down into her dark eyes, framed by thick eyelashes, which fluttered as though she were unsure of her next move. A vein in her neck pulsed and his glance fell to her chest, noting the rapid rise and fall of her breasts. He couldn’t look away. He recognized fear, whether it was in a horse he was attempting to break or a woman inches from him, and seeing it in Mia made her even more desirable. His cock got harder, knowing she was soft in all the right fucking ways.
“Let her go, Pen.” He demanded in a low voice. “She’s mine to deal with.”
It didn’t matter that a million sirens went off in his head, warning him to step away from this hot mess. He couldn’t. He had to see this thing through, or, instinctively, he recognized that the level of regret would be far, far worse.
“Good. Because I was right in the middle of replacing a door downstairs. You all right with that, sugar?” Pen asked. “We can get him to promise to behave…make him put it in writing, if that’ll work.”
Mia licked her lips, a tiny smile working her mouth, and he noticed the shadow of two dimples denting her cheeks. “I can take care of myself. I learned early in life how to manage a stallion or two.”
He moved aside to let her pass, inhaling the same fragrance that had kept him on edge for a night, and now a day.
“You connected to Nat Santero?” Brandon asked, remembering her last name and trying to focus on something—anything—besides her body. He stepped back and picked up his level, the one he’d come out to retrieve.
Mia mounted the top step and was eye-level with him now. “My father,” she said. “How do you know him?”
“Horses. High-spirited, and always give me a run for my money.” He couldn’t resist and arched a brow at her. “They require a firm hand.”
She blushed and bit her plump lip. God damn, she knew just what to do to get to him. “He’s down in Florida right now. Ocala, scouting out a few ranches, and looking at some new stock. He’s leaning toward palominos.”
That bit of information caught him by surprise. Santero was closely watched by all breeders, and any time a major horse farm enlarged its breeding pool it was news any rancher could use. But fuck, he wasn’t going to soften his position just because this spitfire might have an in on breeding information of interest to him. He wasn’t going to do more than escort her to the nearest office and lay down the law. In no uncertain terms, the S & L was in no way available for her to nose around and play at being a member. No one came here to bait his clientele. He clenched his jaw—over his dead body.
“After you,” Pen said, giving him a look like he was off his rocker.
Mia turned around and stepped into his club. He gripped the level in his hand, the sirens going off in his head louder and louder. His chest tightened, as he stood there mesmerized by Mia’s rocking hips, sashaying into the back hall. Pen held the door open, waiting for him and all the while talking nonstop about the club and this opportunity.
All he could do was stare, unblinking, at her ass. Round and framed by a tight skirt, and meant to be manhandled—by him. He could almost feel his cock sliding between her legs, and held back from groaning at the rush he got from envisioning the way he’d fist her hair and thrust into her from behind. Strike that—the first thing he’d do was spank her ass repeatedly for getting him this on edge and ready to roar.
“You coming, or what?” Pen asked at the door.
Brandon clamped his jaws together at Pen’s question. His dick jerked, straining against his zipper, and getting harder, in need of rough ride. Oh yeah, he was on the verge.
“Bringing up the rear,” he muttered. Fuck, his previous commitment to being done with her was melting faster than snow under a summer sun. Each second he spent in her company his valley of regret widened exponentially, at the thought of being done with her.
“You might start with closing your mouth.” Pen lowered his voice. “Give her a chance, for Pete’s sake. Who knows, we might gain something important from a university giving us the thumbs-up. Isn’t that what you’ve always wanted?”
“Say again?” He pushed up the hat that felt tight on his head. In the freezing weather, his body had heated to the point of sweat trickling down his back.
Pen faced him with a frown. “She’s legit. She told me that the reason she selected us was because we respected our members. Specifically women. She felt safe coming here. Enough to keep pestering her advisor after the school flat-out refused to be involved. Two days ago, that girl finally got this project approved because of the information she gave her advisor. She refused to give up. We run a tight ship, or don’t you think we can cut the mustard?”
“Hell yeah. You know I do.” He snapped a bit too loud and noticed that Mia had stopped walking and was waiting at the end of the hall.
“Then stop being a pussy. You don’t have to take her to bed, just explain how things are run and let her get a feel for our place. Either we plan on making the jump to big-time or we might as well shut this place down. Brandon, it’s one thing to have a ranch to go back to during the week, but this is my livelihood. I can’t exist on next to nothing. I got mouths to feed. I might not be married, but my ex-wife has me by the short hairs. She’s ready to haul me back to court for the child support I still owe. Man, I need to make this club work or find another job. Hell, I already went and got a bartending job during my off nights.”
“Christ, why didn’t you say something before now?” Brandon kept his voice low.
“’Cause I was giving this place time to get settled. I got a note on my portion of the renovations, plus all the other things that come due.”
“I got your back.” He nodded to Pen. “No worries.” He stomped up the stairs with the bit between his teeth, a regular storming mess now that his back had been pushed to the wall. Not only was he fighting his own out of control hunger to fuck this woman hard, but now he had a ton of guilt on top of this urge, prodding him to play nice. Nice!
Hell, he didn’t feel nice, or sociable. He swung his glance down the hall and stopped short. Seeing Mia up ahead, taking off her coat, and then the expanse of her tight sweater stretched across her unbelievable tits, he almost tripped coming through the door.
Pen glared at him. “Get ahold of yourself.” His partner grabbed his shoulder. “If you can’t deal with her, I sure as shit can.”
“I’m in control,” he spat and shoved the level at Pen. “Take this.”
Nothing could be further from the truth. At that moment, a ravenous hunger tore through his body. He felt mean, ornery, and in need of showing Mia Santero who was the boss. He dusted off the snow from his shirt, setting his jaw, and swore under his breath.
Reaching up to the peg, Mia hung her coat and the back of her skirt hiked up, revealing an expanse of smooth, golden thighs. His mouth went dry and for a second he froze, meeting her gaze. She arched her brow as though in some sort of challenge. Ah naw! He marched the rest of the way down the hall, he
ading for a downstairs office, but realized he needed a place that didn’t boast an open doorway. All the ones downstairs were more like alcoves than offices.
“Come with me,” he growled, stalking past her, not stopping even to see if she followed or not. He turned down a hallway, one he hadn’t been down in months, and flipped on the light switch. At the end of the hall in front of a set of double doors, he removed a set of keys from his pocket. He flung open one of the doors and turned on the lamp. Inside was a suite composed of a living room area with sofa, chairs, table and wet bar, and off to the side was the bedroom. He strode over to the bedroom entrance and slammed the door shut. He turned just in time to see Mia lingering at the threshold. “Well, come on in. I’m not going to maul you.”
“Then why are you so upset?” she asked, lifting off the wooden doorframe and gliding inside.
“I’m not upset. Don’t amuse yourself thinking you got my goat.”
She had her arms crossed over her chest and stood by the sofa. “Know what I think?”
Fuck, why couldn’t he stop envisioning her naked, with him balls-deep inside her? Every syllable out of her mouth was some sort of drug that had him wanting a fix. Instead of being put off by her biting commentary, his dick was harder than he’d ever recalled.
“Is that a trick question?” He crossed by her and shut the door, already sensing they weren’t going to leave the room without a loud screaming—or fucking—match. If it were up to him, he’d like both if it got her out of his system.
He was screwed; but for being rubbed wrong, it felt all right. He didn’t know if he should throw her down on the sofa or throw her out the door—either way, his promise to be civil could go to hell. He sucked in a breath, anticipation making it tough to concentrate on anything besides finding relief for his straining hard-on.
“I’m serious, Brandon.” She dropped her arms, unveiling the spectacular way her top molded to her tits. The vision made his eyes bulge and his cock throb.
“Dear Lord,” he muttered. He stared at her nipples, two erect points pressing into the soft material of her sweater. His effort to speak sensibly in her presence felt like he was chewing on shards of glass. He lifted his eyes to her face and struggled to say something. “Everything about you is a damn mystery. Let’s cut to the chase, and you just fill me in.”