“Fine by me.” He grabbed the bottle and read the
label. “I could use a taste. How about you?”
“Just a
touch will do. I hope you don’t mind paper cups.” She watched him pop the lid.
He wrapped his wide fingers around the neck of the bottle and brought it to his
lips, taking a long swig.
“Or that’ll
work too.” He held out the bottle and she sipped, squinting as the fire of the
alcohol burned down her esophagus and settled into a puddle of warmth in her
belly. She wasn’t much of a whiskey drinker but tonight she’d make an exception.
She took another long drink and the sting wasn’t as strong.
He
chuckled and scratched his beard. “Pace yourself, darlin’.”
“Don’t
worry about me. I can handle myself.” She looked at him through the fringe of
her lashes.
He
leaned against the edge of the dresser, savoring her with those alluring eyes,
looking mighty fine. “Dusty’s an interesting name for a girl. Is that a
nickname?”
“I guess
my dad wanted a boy, but instead he got me.” She set the bottle down, cleared a
spot on the desk then lifted herself up to sit.
“I have
a feeling you gave your dad a run for his money.” One thick brow popped up over
those twinkling eyes.
“I
certainly surprised him a time or two. He was your traditional male role model.
You know the type. A penis makes you a man and a vagina makes you good with
your hands in the kitchen.” She lifted the bottle, taking another nip, starting
to feel very relaxed.
“Do you
cook?”
“Does
boiling water count?” She wiped the back of her hand across her lips. “I’m not
much for cooking or baking, but then, I never tried. I was a bit rebellious.”
“Oh, you
had something to prove, huh? Always doing the complete opposite of what was
expected of you.”
“A woman can do anything a man can do,
sometimes better.” She crossed her legs and leaned back on her hands. “I haven’t
ever needed a man, except for one thing.” Did she hear a low growl from him
when she pointedly dropped her gaze to his zipper?
“Ah, come on. We’re
good at loosening tight lids on jars and saving beautiful women from bastards.”
“I have
one of those handy dandy rubber gadgets. Works like a charm. And eventually I
would have saved myself from Griff. You were definitely a bonus though.”
“How
about plunging toilets? I haven’t met a woman yet who likes that task.”
“I have
the plumber’s number on speed dial. You’ll have to try harder than that,
Cowboy.”
“Is that
a challenge?” he asked.
“If you
see fit. I’ve always liked a challenge myself.” Against her better judgement
she took another drink.
His grin
widened. “I’m not surprised. So, Dusty…” he said her name with an even drawl
that made her toes curl. “What’s your last name?”
“Why don’t
we keep some things a mystery.” She found it quite satisfying teasing him. The
verbal foreplay was an absolute turn on.
“Now how’s
that fair? You know my full name, my brother, and a few of my secrets.”
With a
casual shrug, she handed over the bottle for him to drink. In the golden
candlelight his eyes were a shade darker, like the sky before a rainfall. “We
both know we didn’t come back here to talk, Cowboy.” He passed the bottle
again. She licked a droplet of whiskey off her top lip as she pulled it away
from her mouth.
He
tilted his head, resting his cheek against his broad shoulder. “So why are we
here, Dusty-no-last-name? As far as Alamo is concerned, we’ve already served
him a dose of reality. I could leave now and it wouldn’t change what he thinks.”
He hooked his thumbs in his front pockets.
There
were moments in every woman’s life when she had to decide whether to go big or
go home. And Wales Dawson—she moseyed her gaze down those wide shoulders and
tight-fitting Wranglers—was big.
“I’d
like to get comfortable.” She hopped off the desk, twirled on the heels of her
boots, and lifted her hair. “Can you do me a favor and unzip me?”
Did she hear the hiss of his breath as the air left his lungs?
The tips
of his rough fingers met her skin and although she expected it, she still gave
a little jerk. Her body was ultra-sensitive. She liked being high on desire and
having raw need coursing through her, warmer than the whiskey—warmer than
anything she’d experienced. Being that she’d never strayed from her rules of
having no contact with the cowboys, she’d never invited one back to her room
and flirted without a care.
She felt
the loosening of her dress and the backs of his knuckles inflicted mayhem on
her skin as he undid the zipper. He skimmed the column of her backbone leaving
droplets of invisible sun rays in his wake. Excitement rippled through her at
the prospect of his touch lingering on her breasts, stomach, between her thighs
where yearning remained. She didn’t want to make love, not tonight. What she
needed, what could only satisfy her craving, would be a wild, sexy romp with no
expectations. No sharing breakfast over bad breath and chafed inner thighs. She
didn’t want an exchange of numbers with a false promise that he’d be in touch
later. Dusty wanted a hook up. A one-night stand. Point blank.
His
touch stayed on the indent at her waist.
Dusty
couldn’t see his face but she practically felt the energy traveling between
them.
Lifting
her chin, she looked over her shoulder. Their gazes met in a storm of
curiosity, desire and mystery.
“I
should go change.”
She took
a step but his large hand snaked around her wrist, drawing her closer and
turning her so that they faced each other. His eyes glittered in longing and
before she knew what his intentions were his mouth slammed down onto hers. She
let go of the dress and it swished to her boots. Standing on the tips, she met
his kiss with complete abandon, wrapping her arms around his neck. The soft
chambray shirt caressed the gentle curves of her ribcage and stomach.
He
pulled back, his chest rising and falling with each breath. His wolf-intense
gaze melted her like butter. “Dusty…you sure?”
“We have
plenty of condoms.” She reached past him and grabbed the box from the desk
drawer. She had to be safe. After having a severe reaction to birth control
pills ten years ago she’d given them up and made sure she was always packing
protection.
“Thanks, but I carry my own,
unless,” he squinted as he read the label on the box, “you like ribbed for her
pleasure.”
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