With her lips to his ear, she answered, “I’m the kind of girl who might resort to that sort of tactic to get my way, aren’t I?”
He groaned. “Careful…”
Had he been careful last night? No, he had not. Tonight, the shoe was on the other foot. Time to see how he liked the fit. And if it felt a bit like sweet revenge, well…that was just the bonus of a job well done. “A girl like me would want to remind you of my charms and how hard it is for you to say no to them.” She moved sinuously in his arms, rubbing her body against his.
He groaned again. “Eden.”
She trailed her lips up his throat and along his jaw, enjoying the roughness there. “Take it like a man, Swain.”
The hands at her back tightened, pulling her lower body flush against his. “No other way for me to take it.” The evidence of that pressed hot and hard against her abdomen. Very hot. Very hard. She swallowed a moan of her own as he nudged that ridge more firmly against her—an involuntary move, she suspected, and it weakened her thighs all the more knowing master of control, Marc Swain, couldn’t help himself. Leaning in, she sank both hands into his back pockets, lifted onto her toes, and sealed her lips to his.
His breath released in a tortured rush, fanning her upper lip. She slid her tongue into his mouth, slid her fingers around in his pockets, slid her silk over his cotton and her bare leg between his rugged, jean-covered thighs. From somewhere beyond the bubble of their embrace, she registered the movement of other couples on the dance floor, the slow pulse of music, the soft wash of lights.
The sound he made deep in his throat carried an edge of pain. A big hand fisted in her hair. His body shuddered. “Have mercy, Eden.”
Her insides quivered in response, but, outwardly, she held it together. “Had enough already?”
As the music wound down, he exhaled slowly. “Yes.” But when she started to step away, he said “No” and pulled her back to him. Burying his face in her hair, he breathed deeply again. And again. “Don’t move.” Then, disobeying his own instructions, he lowered his head, ran his lips over her skin, from the side of her neck to the curve of her shoulder, and pressed a kiss to the point. Another slow exhale, and he eased away and dropped her hat back on her head. “That’s some dirty pool right there, choux.”
Maybe. And revenge lacked full sweetness when parts of her weren’t sure who’d really won the game, but she mustered up a triumphant smile anyway. “Just keeping it real, Swain.”
Chapter Eleven
Eden sashayed to the table, crippling him all the more with the view of how well her ass filled out those cock-teasing cutoffs. He followed, then excused himself to hit the head because Eden had kept it so real, he now had to rid himself of his ruined boxers.
Commando but only marginally more comfortable, he returned to their booth to find Lou Ann and Junior gone. Kenny and Dobie sat across from each other, talking to Eden. She stood, hands braced on the table, bouncing her butt to the beat of the jukebox, oblivious to the attention that garnered from half the guys in the room. Meanwhile, their targets hung on her every word and the view down her shirt. All part of the plan, he knew, but just now, it pissed him off.
Maybe he needed to remind her they were, as he’d already pointed out, grown men, not puppy dogs. She ought to keep her guard up, because even puppies occasionally bit. Same went for the other fuckers in the bar—a bunch of Arlo types—sitting around enjoying the scenery she provided.
Grown-ass men coveting my fiancée.
Before he could check himself on that inappropriate thought, the primitive part of him that formed it imagined striding up, bending her over the table, ripping those shorts down, and fucking her in front of the whole damn bar until she came with cries of, “I’m yours, Swain. All yours. Always yours.” Which she wasn’t, and if he kept thinking those kinds of thoughts, he was going to ruin more than a pair of Jockeys.
Whether protective or territorial, he couldn’t stop himself from coming up behind her, hooking his arm around her middle, and pulling her to him. She stiffened, almost invisibly, before relaxing against him, but it let him guess she felt his hard-on wedged along the seam of her shorts. “Y’all ready to go?” Hell, even his voice was a gravelly rumble.
“Yeah. Let’s head.” Kenny slid out of the booth. “Jeb’s giving us the stink eye. Uh-oh. He’s coming over.”
Swain turned to confirm. Sure enough, the heir apparent to the Rawley’s empire ambled toward them.
“Hey, Jeb.” Dobie got out of the booth.
“Two nights in a row, guys? When did this suddenly become your favorite place?” Although the dark-haired man smiled casually enough, it didn’t reach his eyes. Swain picked up an undercurrent of “Move along” coming from the bartender.
“We were just leaving,” Dobie said. “We settled our tab with Callie.”
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“Ah. Well, don’t let me keep you.” He turned his attention to them…well, to Eden…and his smile stretched to full-blown shit-eating. “How ’bout y’all? Can I get you another round?”
“Thanks, but no,” Eden replied. “We’re heading out, too.”
Swain couldn’t see her face, but he heard the smile in her voice. Jesus, he’d created a monster. He tightened his arm around her. Could she dial the flirt factor down a degree? Rawley was not their target.
“Hope you’ll come back soon,” Jeb said smoothly. “You’re new in town? I saw you here last night.”
“Yes.” Eden craned her neck around and looked up at him—yeah, there was the soft smile designed to bring a man to his knees—and then back to Jeb. “I just got here yesterday. I’m Eden, and this is—”
“Michael Swain,” he supplied and shook the other man’s hand, gripping a little tighter than strictly necessary. “Her fiancé.”