by Jasmin Quinn
He was just about to give up and take his business elsewhere when she strolled into the bar. Fuck if he didn’t almost fall off his bar stool. It was like God read his mind. At the exact same time he was scanning the room for a warm soft body with perfect tits, the woman of his dreams walks through the door. Thick, long unruly blonde waves of hair, tipped by pink, and blue eyes a man could drown in if he looked too deep. Cinnamon-painted lips and a generous mouth built for sucking his cock.
She was tall, 5’8 or ‘9, with curves that didn’t quit. Beautiful breasts that bounced with each step she took, a slim waist and soft belly that flared into hips that hinted at an exceptional ass and perfect cunt. Next to him, she’d be petite, but lusty and strong enough to give as good as she got. He wished she’d turn around so he could see her ass, but that would mean she was leaving, and the only fucking way she was going to leave the bar tonight was on his arm.
She was wearing a sleeveless suede fringed vest over a khaki green tight-fitting ribbed tank that exposed the creamy mounds of her firm ripe breasts. He dropped his eyes lower - faded blue jeans tight enough to show every womanly asset she had and worn boots with little bits of turquoise adorning the leather. Hugo imagined them on her as they were fucking. He thought of his opening line – Did you lose your spurs on the last guy you took a ride on?
Top all that off with an expression that said mind your own fucking business or I’ll mind it for you and he was in insta-love. Yup, they were in Vegas and if she’d have him, he’d marry her.
She stopped a few feet inside the bar and ran her long fingers through her hair pushing it off her face as she scanned the room. Every fucking male in the bar was scanning her back. Even the women were looking, some scowling, but some looking speculative, thinking about switching teams if she gave any indication she might be interested. Her eyes flicked from man to man like she was looking for exactly the right prick to take back to her bunkhouse. Then those baby blues settled on him, moved passed, paused and came back. His heart skipped a beat and Hugo ran a hand over his mouth, trying to stay cool as her appraising eyes lingered on him.
She said a couple of words to herself under her breath and nodded in agreement. He loved that about her - she heard voices and talked back to them. The threesome was still on! Fucking perfect.
She seemed to make up her mind and approached him boldly. The sway of her hips and the bounce of her breasts had him praying that when she reached him, she would throw her right arm around his neck and kiss him like she’d been on a seventeen-year man-drought. He put his beer down on the counter just in case.
When she reached him, she stopped in front of him, somehow able to contain herself from throwing herself at him. She tucked the tips of her fingers into the top of her jean pockets and flashed him a sexy smile. In a cool, sultry voice that stroked his cock and squeezed his balls, she said, “I’m Olivia West.”
He grinned, ferally. He knew how this night was going to end and so did his dick. “I’m Hugo Marsden.”
“I know,” she replied. “I want you to find my husband.”
Every fucking thing deflated. The universe was a prick.
Chapter Two
Hugo didn’t have many rules, but the few he did have had served him well over his 36 years of hard-living. He didn’t get drunk, he didn’t do drugs, he didn’t borrow or lend money, he charged exorbitant prices for his services and made sure his clients got their money’s worth, and his most important rule, one learned the hard way, was he didn’t fucking do married women.
“I don’t find husbands,” he snarled pissily as he swiveled to the bar, turning his back on Olivia fucking West and picking up his beer.
“Jack said you’d be a prick about it.” She slid in beside him and casually motioned to the bartender with her hand. Another round. As she slapped $20 onto the counter, Hugo took solace in that fact that at the very least he was going to get a free beer out of this. The bartender dropped the bottles in front of them and she picked up hers, brought it to her lips and took a deep swallow. He couldn’t help himself – he was entranced by the way she tipped her head back, the stretch of her neck, the bob as she swallowed, her full lush lips pressed against the rim of the bottle. He licked his lips. Maybe he would reconsider his rule just this once.
She caught him looking and grinned as she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “How much would you like?” she said. “I can pay you in money or fucks, or both if you want.”
Hugo ignored her provocativeness. “Who the fuck gave you my name?”
“Jack Creed.” She lowered her voice as she said this. Smart too.
“Well he was mistaken.” Hugo growled. He wanted to ask how the fuck she knew Creed, what the connection was but he didn’t want to engage further.
“Why?”
“Don’t need your money.”
She shrugged. “I don’t have that much anyway.”
He turned to her, a snarl on his lips. “Creed knows I don’t do charity cases.” The next time he saw Jack Creed he was going to have a talk with the mob boss about being a little more judicious when he was handing out Hugo’s calling card. It would be a nice talk, he tried not to bite the hands that fed him, but still there’d be some talking.
He swallowed down the last of his beer and set the bottle down on the counter with a bang. “Thanks for the beer,” he muttered as he stood up. She had fucking ruined his night.
She stood up too. “Hugo, Mr. Marsden. I can’t do this on my own.”
He looked her up and down, eyes lingering on her breasts, her pussy, then her face, waiting for a flush that didn’t come. “Then you’ll have to find some other asshole to find your husband. I’m busy.” He turned his back and stalked out of the bar. He hated the Mirage’s fucking night club, too noisy and smelled like sweat, but there were women there too. He’d find another. One that didn’t have problems or a husband.
Coming Spring 2019
Hard Lessons Playlist
Follow Jasmin on YouTube and listen to her Hard Lessons Playlist as you read the book!
Seven Day Fool – Etta James
Sympathy for the Devil – The Rolling Stones
Gone too Far – David Vest
Sunday Kind of Love – Etta James
Diane Young – Vampire Weekend
Miss Pitiful - Etta James
Try not to Kill Me – David Vest
About Jasmin
Jasmin Quinn is a writer in her heart and soul and loves reading and writing highly erotic romance novels with strong male and female characters. She writes intense and sexy romance with a hint of suspense, a splash of intrigue and a whole lot of Alpha male.
Jasmin tries not to take herself too seriously, but some things matter to her – like good manners, compassion for humans and animals alike, and Canadian maple syrup on vanilla ice cream. She generally disregards other people’s opinions of her unless they’re complimentary, in which case she fully embraces them.
When Jasmin isn't writing, she's a beta reader and editor for Jem Monday Publishing. She also likes to fuss with her website, lunch with her friends, indulge in retail therapy, and play the occasional computer game. She stays in shape by exercising her rights to her opinion.
Jasmin lives in beautiful British Columbia, Canada with her husband.
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