“Nice of you to notice.”
Okay, she was rusty at the flirting part. Not to mention the hot, sweaty sex part. But what the hell? There were cobwebs to be cleared away down there. And the hottie extraordinaire who turned her insides to magma might be the opportunity she needed to clean house. Her hard nipples and wet cunt seemed to think so, both remaining in a constant state of arousal because of the sexy cowboy.
“Impossible to miss,” he said of her legs. He reached for a cocktail napkin and tossed it her way so the paper square landed in front of her on a half-spin.
Elizabeth’s insides snapped, crackled and popped. This guy was all man. Pure, raw masculinity with a hint of wicked oozing from every pore. Precisely what she’d come looking for. He had a detached, love-’em-and-leave-’em air about him. Perfect for the new, carefree attitude she’d embraced upon leaving Manhattan.
Who needed the pain and heartache of relationships, anyway? Not her, that was for sure. She’d been played, plain and simple. Now she knew how degrading it felt. Knew she never wanted to experience that sort of deception and betrayal again.
As far as she was concerned, it was her turn to do a little sinning.
How long had it been since she’d felt big, strong hands on her body and warm, soft lips on her mouth? When was the last time she’d had a thick shaft sliding in and out of her cunt, pleasuring her and making her lose herself in sexual bliss?
Forever, it seemed.
Tonight, she was prepared to take action. Dressed to seduce, she was ready, willing and able to sin! And with the devilish bartender’s gaze riveted on her, she was already starting to feel sexy and desirable again, despite the recent blow to her ego.
“What can I pour ya, darlin’?” he asked in that deep tone that seemed to reverberate inside her. Making her squirm in her chair as that prickly sensation danced along her labia and clit again.
Oh yes! Let the libido CPR commence!
As excitement raced along her spine, she gave herself a mental pep talk. Be bold. Be daring. Let there be no mistake about what you want.
To the sexy cowboy behind the bar, she said, “I’m in the mood for some local flavor.”
She hoped like hell her double entendre sounded as good to him as it did to her. Hard to say. The Devil just grinned at her, waiting for her to commit to a drink while another bartender scurried around behind him, diligently filling the waitresses’ orders.
r /> As the sexually charged air seemed to sizzle between them with unspoken promises of wicked things to come, the gorgeous cowboy finally reached for a wineglass, automatically pegging her for the type. Though she was a dead-ringer for his easy assumption, Elizabeth had vowed to leave the champagne-drinking, obsessive-compulsive workaholic in New York with her equally obsessive-compulsive mother. Not to mention her bi-not-gay—yeah, whatever!—ex-boyfriend.
She was now in search of a more down-to-earth existence. A much simpler Elizabeth Brooks.
The very formal name gave her pause and made her frown. Her name hardly suited a simpler lifestyle. She’d have to put extra effort into defining her new persona.
Back to contemplating her cocktail of choice for the evening, she guessed the wine varietals in a place like this all came from a box sporting its own tap, so she said, “Make it a beer. And a shot,” she added for good measure. Not just in hopes it would make her sound as if she knew what she was doing, but because it might help her to relax. Step out of the boardroom and into the bedroom with a man who could no doubt rock her world. And then some.
A thought that made her nearly melt right off her stool. That little tickle along her clit suddenly felt more like an electrical zap from two exposed wires. A much-needed jolt that jumpstarted her long-lost desire.
“What kind of beer?” he asked, his dark eyebrow lifting as if his question was a challenge.
“Light,” she lobbed back.
His brow crooked further and she realized he wanted a brand name. Clearly a challenge. He obviously knew she was out of her element. Scanning the colorful taps lining the back wall of the bar, she didn’t recognize a single one.
“Whatever’s coldest will do.”
Returning the wineglass to its rack overhead, he turned away to pour the beer. Elizabeth lost all train of thought as she stared at her idea of “local flavor”—that being the bartender’s very nice ass. High and tight and looking so sinfully delicious in his faded Levi’s, she had the insane urge to bite a cheek!
Surely, Levi Strauss & Co. had a man like this in mind when they’d created 501s. Hell, the Devil in Blue Jeans may as well have been the one to form the mold.
To be fair, the bulge in front was equally impressive. She commended herself for noticing before he’d moved away. She might help herself get laid after all.
Speaking over one impossibly broad shoulder, he said, “I’ve got a pale ale on tap, if you’re interested.”
Oh she was interested all right!
“That’ll do nicely,” she replied, though it really didn’t matter what he poured. She’d just found the crown jewels of the never-ending cowboy kingdom that was Texas!
Now, what to do with him…