by Avery Flynn
“And you think you're infallible, is that it?”
In an instant, a visible sign of pain was gone, replaced with a blank mask. “You don't need to know about me.”
“I've read the diary. Rebecca didn't lie. It's out there and I'm going to find it. But I need you to do it.” She grabbed the notepad on his desk and one of his neatly arranged pens, then scrawled the artist colony's main number. The notepad landed with a thwack on his empty desk. “Call me when you change your mind.”
Damn, he looked so forlorn framed by the window and the snowy scene beyond it. She couldn't leave him like this. Just as she knew on a gut level that Rebecca's Bounty was out there, she knew Sam needed her. That made what she had to do even worse. But until they recovered the treasure, maybe she could be that woman he needed right now. She could pretend it was just the two of them with no ulterior motives.
Responding to his unspoken call, she inserted herself between the cold glass and his warm body. The beginning of his five o'clock shadow scratched against her palms as she put her hands on his cheeks and turned his head to face her.
“We're more alike than we're different. I saw the real you in Vegas. You might hide him here, but I know better. You were born for adventure.”
Her lips brushed against his, soft and hesitant in spite of her bold declaration. She sucked on his bottom lip and pressed against his lean body, daring him not to respond. Her nipples hardened even with layers of sweaters and leather between them. Fire spread through her and she wrapped her arms around him, pulling him closer.
Sam groaned into her mouth in surrender, his hands sliding down her back to cup her ass and bring her into contact with the hard bulge in his slacks. His lips traced a path along her jawline, ending at her ear, where he kissed the sensitive spot behind her earlobe.
Josie couldn't stop the shiver of pleasure that danced up her spine and she arched her neck to give him better access to the sensitive spots above her collar. When he nipped at the skin, she nearly melted into a puddle of want. Her tits grew heavy and full, testing the strength of her bra's underwire. God, if she didn't pull back now she'd be on her hands and knees before she knew it, and she couldn't do that. One and done, that was her M.O. More than that entailed ties she couldn't have to Sam.
So why had she kissed him in the first place?
She ignored the question and instead pushed away from Sam and all the allure pulling them together.
She rested her forehead against his cheek as his chest rose and fell at the same rapid pace as hers. “Just to be clear, that had nothing to do with anything else. It won't happen again.”
She felt more than heard him laugh, the shake of his shoulders underneath her fingertips.
Knowing she had to go now, she stepped back from him and walked away, pausing at the doorway. “Call me when you're ready to go find the treasure.”
Chapter Eight
Sam squeezed through the crowd on the edge of the Robidoux’s Roadhouse dance floor, aiming for the bar and the cold bottle of beer in front of the empty stool next to his younger brother, Chris.
A middle-aged cowboy who hadn't seen his belt buckle in at least a decade thumped his boot on the stage as he sang an upbeat ditty about his ex-wife who had done him wrong. Couples two-stepped in a circle in front of the stage, their boots shuffling against the wooden dance floor, moving in time to the beat.
He passed through a trio of men mesmerized by the action on the dance floor, turned left at the door marked Cowgirls Only and slid onto the barstool Chris had saved for him.
The first swig of cold beer went down smooth and he hoped it would temper the heat eating away at his stomach lining ever since Josie had strutted her sweet little ass out of his office this morning. “Tell me again why you always want to come here, Chris?”
“This is where all the cool multimillionaire lottery winners hang out when they're hiding from pain-in-the-ass accountants.”
“Trouble in paradise?”
Chris thunked his bottle down on the polished bar, sending foam spurting out of the opening. “My God, the woman wants to micromanage everything.”
“So why don't you fire her?”
His little brother shrugged. “Why let her win?”
“That sounds completely logical.”
Chris flipped him the bird and turned his attention back to the packed dance floor. “Ho-lee shit, will you look at that. What is she doing in Dry Creek?” He jammed an elbow in Sam's ribs so hard his beer almost went flying. “It's the waitress from Vegas. What was her name? Jenny? Jessie?”
Immediately, the blood in his veins changed direction and headed south. “Josie.”
“Yeah, Josie.”
Sam followed Chris' gaze and spotted her on the dance floor wrapped in the arms of an older cowboy. A lightning bolt of want slammed through Sam with so much force he dropped his beer. The glass bottle shattered into a million pieces and people jumped to avoid the mess. Everyone in the vicinity turned to stare and, for once, he couldn't have cared less that he was the center of attention. The dance floor had emptied out somewhat, giving him a clear view of Josie and her partner.
Willie Carson had his right arm snug up against Josie, his palm resting on her hip. He held her left hand in his as they two-stepped. His suspiciously black handlebar mustache kept moving up and down to the beat; no doubt he was telling her when to step. Despite Willie's direction, Josie faltered, thrown off by her partner's double fancy spin. She tossed her head back and laughed, the live band covered the sound, but Sam heard it anyway.
His hands curled into fists. He didn't care if Willie Carson was old enough to be his father. He was going to knock him on his ass if he didn't stop touching her.
“You'd better clean up your mess or they'll kick us out.” Chris swiped a rag from the bar and tossed it to Sam.
Brought back to reality, he gathered up the bigger chunks of glass right as one of the bartenders rounded the bar with a plastic bucket and a broom. “Sorry about that.”
Sam dumped the glass into the bucket.
“Shit happens, man. I got it.” With a few flicks of the bartender's broom, the glass disappeared into the bucket.
An ear-splitting whistle blared. “Josie!” Chris waved at Josie, who had just exited the dance floor.
Her face flushed, she whispered something into Willie's ear, then made her way through the crowd to them. How she managed to move in those tight jeans, Sam had no idea.
His gaze roved higher to the black Western-style shirt unbuttoned to the third button, and his fingers itched to test the strength of that third button, an impulse he stuffed down. Josie was the enemy. No matter what she'd told him in the office earlier, he knew she was holding out on him. Treasure hunters had been after Rebecca's Bounty for years. He wouldn't help—not even if the hunter in this case was more intelligent and sexy than the others.
“Hey there.” She stuck out her hand to Chris. “I don't think we've been formally introduced, I'm Josie Winarsky.”
“Chris Layton.” He made a big show of kissing her knuckles, which made Sam's hackles twitch. “So what are you doing in Dry Creek?”
She nibbled on her full lower lip and dropped her gaze to the floor. “I'm at the Rose O'Neill Dry Creek Artist Colony.”
“Very cool, so what kind of artist are you?”
Angry at his own loss of self-control, Sam lashed out. “Con artist.”
Josie's head jerked up but before she could respond, Chris—ever the peacemaker—drew her attention back to him. “Ignore him. He's not used to being around such a beautiful woman. I, however, am the fun Layton brother.”
His brother flirted like that with every woman he met. Sam never cared before, but this time the move irritated him. Unable to keep his hands to himself, he flicked the back brim of Chris' black cowboy hat. Josie laughed that smooth alto song that made him forget there were other people in the world.
“I figured you two were brothers. So, if you're Mr. Excitement, what does that make
him?” She nodded her head toward Sam.
“The closet freak.” Chris draped his arm around Josie's shoulder and sent Sam a slick smile. The little bastard knew exactly what he was doing.
“Mmm-hmm, I knew that already. It's always the quiet ones.”
Sam's frustration spiked. “I am right here.”
“So how long will you be in Dry Creek, Josie?” Chris scooted his barstool back to make more room for her.
“I'm spending the next few months painting.”
“Oh, you're doing more than that. You're planning to fit in a little treasure hunting, aren't you? Josie here had Rebecca's diary the night we met in Vegas. Very convenient, wouldn't you say?” His blood pressure pushed into the danger zone at the memory of finding the map in Vegas and crashing down from his post-coital high.
The friendly look disappeared from her gray eyes. “I told you already what happened in Vegas was a coincidence.”
“Did you make a copy of the diary before you gave it to me this afternoon? It won't help without someone who knows McPherson's Bluff to guide you, so you might as well go back to Vegas because no one here is going to lift a finger to help.”
“What happened between us in Vegas had nothing to do with that treasure.” Her bottom lip, the one that had tasted of lime, trembled. “They say what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas, but it seems like you left behind your entire personality.”
Heat wound through him. He'd like nothing better than to be Las Vegas Sam, but he couldn't do that in Dry Creek. Here his place was defined. The steady one. The serious one. God, he hated it. And here she was, reminding him of the man he'd become—exactly the kind he swore to Michael he'd never be. His ire escalated and demanded release on the nearest target, blinding him to the unfairness of his actions.
“You were just priming me to get information about Rebecca's Bounty. Somehow you knew I've been searching the historical documents for clues about its location, trying to see what others had overlooked. That's why Vegas happened and why you found me here.”
“I didn't know about any of that until you said it. I slept with you in Vegas because I wanted to, not for information but because I liked you and, like a complete moron, I thought you liked me too.” She shrugged her shoulders, a tightness visible in her jawline.
Sam searched her face, looking for signs of deception. But instead of glancing away, she held his gaze, righteous indignation blazing in her gray eyes. The unfamiliar sensation of being in the wrong curdled the contents of his stomach. “That was totally uncalled for. I'm sorry.”
“Not as much as I am.” Josie spun around and threaded her way between bar patrons, her pace slower than before but her head held high.
That had gone completely shitty.
He and Chris sat in silence until Josie's white-blonde hair disappeared in the crowd. When it did, Chris shoved his stool back and stood.
“You are such an asshole.”
Yes, he was. “Shut up.”
“Yeah, well, I'll see you tomorrow. I'm not sitting here anymore watching you be a dick.”
Chris tossed a twenty dollar bill on the bar and stalked away.
Sam stewed in his seat and drank his beer, then another one. He was being a prick. He could admit that to himself. But he had reasons and anyway, it wasn't as if Josie gave two shits about him. She just wanted to use him to find Rebecca's Bounty and dammit, he wanted her anyway. His own lack of control appalled him.
He slammed down the now empty bottle and paid his tab.
Making his way to the door, a laugh stopped him. Her laugh. It pulled him toward the dance floor, near where Josie stood talking to Willie.
“Another dance?” Josie shook her head. “I don't know that your feet could take it.”
“Oh, I don't mind. You'll pick the two-step up way before you manage to smash all of my toes.” Willie grabbed her hand.
“No.” The word was out of Sam's mouth before he even had time to contemplate stopping it. He should keep walking but dammit, he couldn't move from this spot. He couldn't leave knowing someone else touched her. “This dance is taken.”
“Oh really?” She crossed her arms. “Willie's the only one who's asked.”
Heat flushed Sam's cheeks. “You're going to make me say the words.”
“Yep.” She leaned back against the hip-high wall surrounding the dance floor.
Willie didn't bother to even try to hide his smirk. Shit. By midnight, half the town would know about this. Heat crept up his spine at the prospect of people knowing his business, of knowing him. The Laytons were known for their wild antics, all except for him. Sam kept to himself and he liked it that way. If he left now, he wouldn't have to worry about being the center of attention.
He moved to leave and caught the disappointment darkening Josie's gray eyes. Regret slugged him in the gut. “Will you please dance with me?”
She cocked her head to one side. “Why should I?”
Something primal awoke within him and demanded he respond to the challenge in her voice. Time for lying to himself had passed. No matter what else Josie desired or how much she was hiding, she still wanted him. And he wanted her. The tension pulling his body tight told of just how much he craved her, no matter her secret motives. Worries of people talking about him faded into oblivion and he stepped closer. The cord of sexual tension between them drew tight, making it hard to concentrate on anything more than the full curve of her bottom lip.
“Because I'm sorry and I want to make up for being a complete asshole. Because even though I know you have ulterior motives, I can't seem to care about your reasons for finding me. I'm just glad you did. And because you want to touch me as much as I want to feel you.”
Her long fingers skipped nervously from one button to the next on her shirt, stopping at the deep V opening. “So what is this, a truce?”
“Yes. Let's just forget about Rebecca's Bounty and enjoy a dance.”
“One dance? No more accusations or name calling? No more being a jerk?” Her thumb flicked at the top fastened button.
“No.” His entire body pulsed in time with his heartbeat, the fate of the world seeming to rest on her next words.
She dropped her hand, straightened her spine and tossed her hair out of her face. “Ask me again.”
His cock twitched in anticipation of touching Josie. “Will you dance with me?”
She considered him for a moment, dragging her gaze down his body and back up. “I thought you'd never ask.” Josie took his hand and pulled him out onto the dance floor.
He slid his hand across the small of her back, electricity skittering up his arm as he turned her to face him. One hand rested on her hip, the other hand clasped hers. Several inches of air separated their bodies until Josie took a half step forward, eliminating the open space. Her distinct scent of amber and orange wrapped around him, daring him to tighten his grip. He flexed his fingers and slid his hand from her hip to the small of her back, using his still vivid memories of their night in Vegas to trace the infinity tattoo hidden by her cotton shirt.
The drummer kept a steady beat, followed by the slide guitar, and the dancers circled the floor counterclockwise. Closer than Velcro, Josie flowed with him as they took two quick steps and then a slow one repeating the moves as they danced. Really, he should keep an eye out for the other dancers to make sure they didn't run into anyone, but Sam couldn't pull his gaze away from her and the way her cherry-red lips moved as she counted the steps under her breath and watched their feet move in time with the music. Her creamy breasts that he remembered so well jiggled against his chest as she swayed. A burst of pleasure-soaked agony exploded inside him. His gaze wandered down to the soft flesh exposed by her partially unbuttoned shirt. The promise barely contained by that third button elicited a groan of frustrated need.
“Sorry, did I step on your toes?” Josie met his gaze. It took only a second for the worry in her gray eyes to morph into something more carnal.
Attraction tensed his muscles and he
whirled her around in a spin as they two-stepped across the floor. When she faced him again, he pulled her close and she rested her head against his shoulder. One platinum-blond curl brushed against his cheek, tempting him to bury his nose in it.
“If you don't kiss me soon,” she whispered against his neck. “I'm going to be forced to do something drastic.”
“I can't even imagine what fits into your definition of drastic.”
“It might involve stripping you down to your tighty-whiteys and having my wicked way with you while the band plays “The Devil Went Down to Georgia”.
He let go with a rusty laugh. God, it felt good just to…relax.
“That's the Sam I know.” She raised her head and brushed her lips against his. “I don't know why you pretend to be so stiff, but the only thing rigid about you right now is this.”
Her fingers grazed his hard-on. The denim of his jeans blocked skin-to-skin contact but the barrier only enhanced the hot factor. “That seems to be the case whenever I'm around you. Opposites attract, I guess.”
“Bullshit.” She nibbled her way up his neck. “We're so much alike on the inside that it scares the shit out of you.”
He stumbled for a moment and nearly ran over another couple. Smiling his apologies, he spun Josie over to the wall. “We need to get out of here.”
“Let's go, cowboy.”
Chapter Nine
Josie swept her palm along the wall, searching for the light switch inside Sam's front door. The simple act proved difficult because of the lightning bolts sizzling through her body as Sam's lips ravaged hers. His body pressed her against the open doorframe, his cock nestled against the zipper of her jeans. Buzzing from flash after flash of pleasurable sensation, she circled her hips against his hardness, searching for release.
Seeking to anchor herself to him, Josie threaded her fingers into his light-brown hair, which was as soft and yielding as the rest of him was rock hard and demanding.
“Fuck, Josie, you make me forget who I am,” he panted against her neck before kissing his way up, stopping at the sensitive patch of skin behind her ear. He sucked her earlobe between his hungry lips, nipping it lightly.
