“Oh, that’s not…” She purses her lips. “I’m just passing through.”
Jake bumps the hat up on his head and shoots her his patent glare. “The only folks passing through this town are investigative journalists.”
My stomach buckles. He said the police wouldn’t be snooping around, but I never considered the likelihood of reporters smelling out our story.
“Who do you work for, Maybe Quinn?” Jarret takes another sip of beer, eying her around the bottle.
She sighs and drums pink-colored nails on the table. “Freelance. I write the story and sell it to the highest bidder.”
What the fuck? She intends to profit from our misery?
“What’s the story?” I can’t stifle the bitterness in my tone.
“Levi Tibbs is getting released tomorrow.” Her hand goes to her hair, pressing down the curls around her shoulders. “What are you three planning to do about that?”
Levi Tibbs’ release isn’t public knowledge. How much does she already know?
“What are we planning? Well, we’re going to drink our beers.” Jarret lifts his and throws back a long swill. “We’ll probably warm up that dance floor. Then I’ll work off some steam in a warm, feisty body.” His gaze dips along hers and returns to her eyes. “You’re welcome to join the party. Particularly the last part.”
“I think not.” Her words are clipped, but her breathing accelerates, pulsing her nostrils.
“Then I expect you’ll find your way out of town and back to wherever you came from.”
“I’m gonna dance with my girl.” Jake stands and tips his hat at Maybe. “Ma’am.”
He grips my hand and tugs me off the stool and through the bar. By the time we reach the dance floor, my nerves are spitting sparks.
“Jake.” I pull on his neck until he lowers his ear to my mouth. “What are you going to do? She’s sniffing around, and if she digs shit up, we’re going to have one helluva—”
He grabs my rear with both hands, hoists me up his chest, and devours my mouth. His tongue thrusts past my lips and steals my breath in a kiss that’s neither soft nor tender. It’s a shut-the-fuck-up kiss that threatens he’ll spank my ass if I don’t comply.
A few older couples step and swing around us to the slow music, rubbernecking to get a good look at our scandalous display of affection.
I ease back and stretch my boots toward the floor. “Aren’t you concerned?”
“Jarret’s dealing with it.” He stares at my mouth.
A glance at the table confirms Jarret is dealing with something. He leans into Maybe’s space, caging her with his arms. Whatever he’s saying turns her face red. The enraged kind of red.
“He’ll play with her for a while.” Jake pinches my chin, forcing my eyes to his. “Then he’ll send her home with a dazed smile on her face.”
“If you say so.”
The song changes to Body Like A Back Road by Sam Hunt, crackling the air with the upbeat rhythm.
Jake touches the brim of his hat and holds out a hand, staring at me expectedly.
The enticing look on his face is enough to replace my tumbling anxiety with a reckless smile. I tuck my lips together, but the grin pushes through, lighting a flicker in his eyes.
When his mouth starts moving and his soft singing reaches my ears, I’m a goner.
We step toward each other at the same time. Our hands connect, and we glide effortlessly across the dance floor as he drawls the lyrics in his deep, seductive voice.
He’s not big on footwork or hip twists. His boots kick out here and there, but his best moves are all in his shoulders and neck. He sensually rolls his body into the strength of his arms as he swings me around and dips me low to the floor.
His hands roam constantly, caressing every inch of me. He bends me backward over his knee, his fingers branding the skin above my waistband. Then he sets me free, and I spin and dance around him, smiling up at his indulgent expression.
Despite his brawny build, he doesn’t look stiff or uncomfortable. His subtle steps flow easily with mine, his body loose and competent and sexy as hell. And his eyes… God, the man has a habit of looking at me. The intensity in those dark brown depths, the way he tracks my movements, never straying, barely blinking.
I whirl behind him, hair whipping in my face as I snatch his hat. He pivots toward me, singing with a scowl that desperately wants to smile. I set the Stetson on my head.
His lips twitch. His hands fall to my butt, and he uses his grip to yank me up against him and wriggle my hips. I run my fingers through his messy hair and sing with him, hungry and breathless.
Our mouths gravitate closer, eyes locked, hearts pounding. I move in to steal a kiss, but he beats me to it, fastening our lips and rubbing his tongue against mine.