Love Me Like I Love You

by Willow Winters

  He was definitely tall and dark, but handsome? Not in the traditional sense, but he hit every one of my hot buttons, every button I had no idea I even had. Since when did a cowboy light my fire? They looked hot in the hottie-of-the-month calendar, but I’d never been attracted to one in person before.

  But now. SNAP!

  The smile Mr. Cowboy gave Paul was wide and friendly and my heart lurched. Although I felt like I’d been staring at him for minutes, it had been a matter of seconds of ogling. My reaction was instantaneous and almost steamy, and… why him? I’d seen more attractive men and felt less. Felt nothing. My body didn’t care that his nose looked like it had been broken at least twice. It indicated a life had been hard and well fought, and I could relate to that.

  He was the complete opposite of what I was usually attracted to, which was based on attractive guys in movies not real ones. If the latest James Bond happened to be across the room, I’d certainly knock the other ladies down to get to him. But this wasn’t James Bond. More like his brother who’d spent more than eight seconds on the back of a bull. He looked comfortable in his tattoos and in his western wear. And I liked looking at him in his tattoos and western wear.

  “Well?” Bob/Bill shifted enough to block my view of the guy, and I frowned. He was keeping me from staring at the hot guy. What had he asked me? Right, my job.

  “Yeah, no.” Such a chauvinistic idiot who didn’t know a bull ball from a bivalve. “That’s a candy striper, and they’re either fifteen years old or eighty, so nothing like that at all. I have bachelor’s and master’s degrees in nursing.” Candy striper, my ass.

  When I shifted to get a glimpse of Mr. Cowboy again, he was gone. Of course, he was gone while I was lingering with Mr. Dud with bull ball breath. He’d probably caught up to his girlfriend or wife by now, had a hand at the small of her back, kissed her hello. God, I was wasting my time. Why had I stayed and chatted with a guy who made gross misogynistic assumptions about my profession? I'd worked my ass off for my credentials, and he’d assumed I was qualified to deliver flowers to the sick. I should have fled five minutes ago.

  Bob/Bill’s hand sliding down my back and settling on my waist had my mind reengaging. “So, ready to head back to my room upstairs?” He took a sip of his beer and watched me over the glass, felt his fingers squeeze my side through my dress.

  My mouth fell open as I stepped back, making his hand fall away. Perhaps I was better at picking up guys than I thought. All I had to do was say yes, and I could get it on with Bob/Bill. I needed serious practice if this man was what my skills roped.

  “Are you serious?” I had to laugh, and he looked slightly abashed although not for long.

  “Well, yeah.” His gaze raked over my body as he closed in once again. I needed a shower from just the look. “We’ve got a connection.”

  Connection? Yeah, right. “Right. Um… listen—”

  “Sorry I’m late, baby. This place is so crowded, Paul pointed me in your direction.” I felt a hand on my shoulder before I realized the new voice was talking to me. The surprise contact made me jump, but it didn’t feel creepy and gross like Bob/Bill’s hand had. It felt like… electricity crackling in the air before a thunderstorm. Glancing back, it was Mr. Cowboy smiling at me.

  At me!

  His brown eyes weren’t just dark, they were almost black and were focused directly, completely, utterly on me. They dropped briefly to my mouth.

  I froze in complete surprise and gawked at the man. So did Bob/Bill.

  “See, Paul knew just where you were.” He pointed toward my friend on the other side of the room.

  Paul gave me a thumbs-up, approving this man showing up and pretending to… to what? Date me? He’d called me baby, and hadn’t that sounded hot as hell?

  Did Paul really know his cousin was a sleaze and was saving me? Obviously. Now. I was too flipping nice. Ugh.

  “Thanks for entertaining my girl since I was late.” While he shook Bob/Bill’s hand congenially, Mr. Cowboy’s voice was deep, rough like gravel, and had a tone of get the fuck away from my woman. Bob/Bill winced as I suspected the handshake was a little firmer than friendly. Once he had his hand back, he grimaced as if indigestion had kicked in, perhaps from the Rocky Mountain oysters or from his one-night-stand plans being aborted.

  My girl. Oh my God.

  “No problem,” Bob/Bill murmured as he shook his hand then stepped back into safer territory and cleared his throat, checking Mr. Cowboy out, picking up on the extra few inches in height—he was easily six-two—thirty extra pounds in weight and a crap load of badass he’d never have. There was no way he was going to argue with the guy. If Bob/Bill was the oyster of the ocean, then Mr. Cowboy was the shark. Barracuda? Wily, treacherous and silently lethal.

  Up close, he was even more… manly. Virile. And I was his girl, at least for the moment. Holy shit, he was hot. Dark stubble roughened his jaw, and his hand against my back was warm even through the cotton of my dress. The butterflies in my stomach earlier were now angry bees, and surely, he could see my heart practically beating out of my chest. Unlike Bob/Bill, his gaze hadn’t dropped lower than my chin. It dipped briefly to my mouth again, and my lips parted slightly, trying to catch my breath.

  “What were you two talking about when I interrupted?”

  He shifted his eyes off me and onto Bob/Bill, who seemed to turn green around the gills, clearly afraid to say. Propositioning this man’s significant other was not good for his health.

  “Oh, um…” Bob/Bill grabbed the knot of his tie and wiggled it, finding it extremely tight all of a sudden.

  “Oysters,” I said, willing to spare Paul’s cousin a possible slow and merciless death. He was pretty sleazy but harmless enough, especially with Mr. Cowboy, aka the gorgeous cowboy, beside me. Mr. Cowboy somehow made me feel protected, sheltered and safe from any of Bob/Bill’s less honorable intentions. He made me feel… feminine in comparison to his ultra-masculine presence. It could have been that I only came up to his shoulder or that his bicep was the size of my neck.

  I darted a brief glance again at Paul across the room. He winked at me then was pulled back into a conversation. He had sent this guy over to save me from Bob/Bill.

  “Oh, you like Rocky Mountain Oysters? I’m not that much of a fan of eating fried bull testicles. I’ve cut enough of them off to know what they look like first hand for me to want to eat ‘em.”

  “Fried…” Bob/Bill glanced at his plate, swallowed hard.

  “You don’t look too good.” Mr. Cowboy gestured with his chin at Bob/Bill who now had beads of sweat dotting his brow to go along with the off pallor. “Ready?” he asked me, his eyes raking over my face and giving me a wink of his own. “I thought we could sit outside for a spell.”

  Without waiting for me to answer, he took my hand and all but dismissed Bob/Bill. His hand was so big, mine was all but swallowed up. While I could feel callouses on his palm, his touch was gentle, which was surprising for a man who seemed so… aggressive, as if the calm exterior was just a façade, and he had tension and energy coiled and ready to be unleashed, especially when aimed at a man who bothered me. When his thumb brushed back and forth over the back of my hand, a chill went down my spine.

  Ready? To go off with a hunky cowboy?

  Chapter 2

  EMORY

  Nodding, I faked a smile and let the cowboy lead me through the bar. Everyone seemed to be looking at us, at him, for he had the bearing and presence that screamed Get out of my fucking way.

  I placed my glass on an empty high top as we walked by. Mr. Cowboy let go of my hand—he had a drink in his other one—to push open the door to the outside patio and held it for me. The seating area wrapped around three sides of the building although windows only flanked the wall that faced the mountains.

  The air was warm, a striking contrast to the air-conditioned interior. It wasn't the hot day that made me overheated. It was for an entirely different reason. As the door closed behind us, the noise of the
restaurant and bar became muffled. The sun had set behind the mountains, but twilight would last awhile and change color until darkness took over. The lights of the downtown buildings around us were coming on, and the view reminded me why I loved living in Colorado.

  Couples and small groups chatted by the railing and around small arrangements of patio seating areas, so he pointed with his drink-filled hand around the corner. There, it was quiet, and I moved to sit in one of two chairs that looked out over the pretty view.

  Since Christy was in love, she wanted everyone else to be too, but guys like Bob/Bill weren’t making me eager to change my Facebook status to In A Relationship. Regardless, she and Paul had tried to get me back out there now that Chris was away at college, but using this guy—holy hell.

  My life had been about raising Chris for so long, I didn’t know how to be just me, the woman, not the mom. And now, it was just me and this insanely good-looking guy, and I didn’t know what to do. It was one thing to talk to Bob/Bill, but I was flustered and tongue tied and overwhelmed by this man.

  “Would you mind if I sit with you?” His voice was deep, cool and calm, patient.

  My heart did that whole leap-into-my-throat thing as I looked up at him. Only a few feet away, he appeared a tad dangerous. His nose had been broken. I’d been right about that. There was also a scar that sliced through his left eyebrow, the whiteness of it a stark contrast to the short, dark hair. He smiled and waited.

  “Oh, um. Sure.”

  Gripping the back of the chair and leaning in, he murmured, “You don’t seem so sure.”

  “I… I just wondered why,” I replied, sheepishly. My insecurities were showing. While I felt confident in myself as a mother, at my job, when it came to men like him and the blatant selection of younger and more nubile women at the bar, I felt lacking. With me safely away from Oyster Man, he could return to the bar, his chivalry accomplished for the night.

  He frowned and a little crease formed in his brow. “Why?”

  “Why you want to stay here… with me.” I pointed in the direction of the bar. “I’ll tell Paul you saved me, which you did, so thank you. You’re off the hook.”

  He sat then, leaning forward, so his forearms rested on his thighs. The corded muscles were hard to ignore, and I had to wonder what the rest of the tattoo looked like, partially hidden beneath his snap shirt. All of his attention was once again squarely on me, as if there wasn’t anyone else he wanted to talk to, to look at. To be with. “Maybe I don’t want to be off the hook.”

  Oh. I couldn’t look away, couldn’t do anything but realize he wanted to sit with me—me!—and I felt something shift inside. Something good. “Oh.”

  “I brought you another drink.”

  He held a highball glass, filled with an icy concoction with two lime wedges floating on top. Condensation trickled down the sides.

  “Thanks, but I was drinking—”

  “Water,” he cut in, finishing my sentence and placing the glass on the low table in front of us. His dark eyes once again watched me closely, calmly. It was as if he could shut out all the other patrons of the restaurant, the noise of dishes being stacked, even the subtle music, and give me every ounce of his attention.

  “Yes,” I admitted, my eyes widening. How did he— “You’ve been watching me.”

  Paul gave this guy his seal of approval, but everyone who heard their neighbor was an axe murderer swore they had no idea after a gruesome murder. I didn’t see an axe although there was no question by his solid, hard, amazing body he could hurt someone without one. I felt wary and nervous now… in a completely different way. I didn’t want him to be a creep.

  He leaned back in his chair and held up his hands in front of him. “Oh, hey, I don’t want to see that pretty smile go away. Don’t worry, I’m not trying to pick you up.”

  My spine stiffened, and I felt my cheeks heat. “Of course not.”

  Why would he waste his time picking me up when there was the bevy of easy women inside? Surely, he just needed to crook a finger, and they’d come to him panting. He was… really, really attractive. Intense. Bob/Bill was pretty handsome, and he was a creep. This guy was more. He had presence. Confidence. He dripped testosterone from his pores, and the way I was practically panting over him, no doubt pheromones as well. He wasn’t working it here—he didn’t have to. He just… was.

  He grinned, and that changed his entire demeanor. Relaxed by my sarcasm, he leaned back in his chair, elbows on the armrests. I, on the other hand, sat ramrod straight and ready to bolt.

  “Shit, that was really bad, wasn’t it?” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck as he winced. “Insulting even. Sorry. I have to admit, you make me a little nervous.”

  My brain stalled. “Me?” Both my eyebrows went up. “I make you nervous? You’re so far out of my league,” I admitted with a frown. Now, he’d leave.

  He looked down at his feet then back at me. “Yeah, I know.” His voice was quiet, almost resigned.

  “Wait.” I shook my head, held up my hand. “You think I’m… no way. Have you seen some of the women here tonight? They’re so… young.”

  His dark eyes raked over me, from my—most likely—wayward hair to the tips of my polished toes and back. “And you're old?” He didn't give me time to respond. “Trust me, I’m right where I want to be.”

  Oh. I couldn’t help the little internal sigh at his words.

  He leaned forward once again, rasped a hand over his chiseled jaw. He'd probably shaved this morning, but he needed to do so again. Not that I minded. I wanted to run my fingers over his whiskers and see if they were soft or prickly. “Let me start over. Okay?”

  I cocked my head and noticed his chagrined expression. I nodded, curious.

  “I’m Gray, Paul’s personal trainer.”

  “Trainer? I thought…”

  Paul’s trainer? Besides the snap shirt, or beneath it, he looked like one. Fit. But fit like he lived that way, not just by pumping iron. His arms were corded with muscle, his hands rugged, fingers long. With the scar and tattoos, he looked downright dangerous, more like a fighter than a simple trainer. Perhaps he’d competed in the past. Boxing? Rodeo? He looked like he could toss bales of hay with one hand tied behind his back. Ride a bull for eight seconds and see another day.

  “That I wrangle cows all day?”

  I bit my lip, then smiled. “Yeah.”

  What did I know about cowboy stuff? The last time I’d ridden a horse was in camp when I was eleven. Brant Valley wasn’t a metropolis like Denver, but it was still a city. Gray didn’t fit any mold my mind tried fitting him into. I just knew what I could see, what he told me. With the combination of brooding danger and a wicked smile, he was lethal to my senses and made my heart skip a beat.

  He held out his hand, and I reached for it, shook it, but he didn't let go right away. Instead, he kept our fingers touching, held the connection.

  “I’m Emory. Christy’s friend.”

  “Emory,” he repeated, as if trying out my name, finally letting my hand go. “There we go. I didn’t screw that up.”

  I rolled my eyes and smiled—I couldn’t help it—as I tucked my hand back in my lap. Every time he set me on edge, he put me at ease. “I guess I should officially thank you for rescuing me.” I angled my head toward the restaurant.

  He nodded. “Paul asked if I’d step in with his cousin. Told me he was a slime ball.”

  My eyes widened. “Paul said slime ball?”

  Gray grinned, and the little lines at the corners of his eyes deepened. “He had a more… choice word, but I don't swear in front of a lady.”

  The man was hot and a gentleman. What was wrong with him? Nothing that I could see.

  “Even across the room, both of us could tell you weren’t enjoying yourself, and when the guy put his hand on your arm and you flinched…”

  He didn't finish the sentence, but I saw the way his jaw clenched.

  I looked down at my fingers. I offered a noncommitta
l sound because there wasn’t much to say about Bob/Bill. “I should have ditched him before I needed rescuing. I mean, he thought he was eating real oysters.”

  The corner of his mouth tipped up. “But you’re too nice, aren’t you, Emory?” he commented, as he watched me smooth my dress over my thighs. “He didn’t do anything, did he? Say anything to hurt you?”

  I glanced up at him through my lashes. “Are you going to go beat him up if he did?”

  He shrugged. “Maybe. At least teach him some manners.”

  Wow, he was intense—his complete focus on me worried about me. It was exhilarating. With his dark eyes on mine, I couldn’t look away. I had no doubt if I told him the guy had put his hand on my waist, Gray would have gone back inside and broke his fingers.

  “No, he didn't do anything. Really,” I added because he didn’t seem to believe me. I gave a small, dry laugh. “I could have gone to his room with him.”

  Both of Gray’s brows went up at my mocking tone. “I can take you back if you want.” He thumbed over his shoulder toward the bar. I could see a humorous gleam in his eye.

  I pursed my lips, trying not to smile. “He was really interesting actually. I now know the months to eat oysters. Actual oysters.”

  He held up his hands in front of him. “I can’t compete with that.”

  I grinned at his ridiculous words. Gray had no competition, none at all, as far as I was concerned.

  “Clearly, I’ve been out of the game since I walked away from that winner,” I replied, my tone dry.

  He frowned, not picking up on my sarcasm. “Game?”

  “Parties, mingling, meeting people.” I circled my finger in the air. “Meeting men.”

  “You hooked the oyster guy.”

  It was my turn to frown. “Oh yeah, Bob/Bill is a great catch.”

  “His name is Bob Bill?” he asked, surprised.

  This time I laughed outright. “No. I don’t remember what it is. It starts with a B though.” I shrugged. “An auditor.”

  “You’ve had lots of guys proposition you at bars?” He watched me closely, perhaps a little intently, for the answer. He made it seem as if this was something of a test.