Obsessed by Wildfire

by Autumn Jordon

  Angel's hand found his forearm. Her thumb brushed against the grain of his hairs, causing a shiver to snake up his spine. “A big boy like you has never been riding?"

  "Not on a horse.” Using his left hand this time, he raised his mug to his lips again, causing her to pull back.

  Angel laughed and while gazing between thick lashes said, “You are naughty. And my friend said you weren't worth the time."

  He held the mug in midair. His brow ceased. He didn't know anyone in town. “You're friend. I don't know—"

  "Issy."

  "Issy?"

  Angel turned and pointed in the direction of the tables which hugged the dance floor in the dimly lit corner.

  Delight jumped up and slapped him. There she was. Isobel. Her whip lay on the table within easy reach and no bloody body lay at her booted feet.

  Isobel was one fine looking woman. Her name hinted at her Spanish heritage, and her dark hair and eyes, along with her bronze coloring put any doubts to rest. Along with her hot temper.

  Feeling a reaction at the sight of her, Warner adjusted his stance. “Not worth the time. Is that what she said?"

  Angel played with the decoration from her empty glass. The tiny umbrella toppled, spun across the smooth surface and came to a rest next to his mug. “Ah, shucks.” Her lower lip jutted out in a pout.

  "What?"

  "I see how it is."

  "See what?"

  "I'd have as much a chance at you as a kernel of corn surviving a hen fest. You've already been pricked by cupid's arrow, sugar."

  Had the lady noticed his sizzling gaze as he'd studied Isobel? Warner shook his head. “You got it all wrong. The woman's got issues."

  "Don't we all? You don't have to pretend with me. The look in those pretty blue eyes of yours gave it all away. You got the fever."

  He chuckled. “You don't know what you're talking about. We just met for a minute in the parking lot."

  "It doesn't take but a poke.” Angel jabbed his ribs with her painted nail and laughed.

  He glanced toward Isobel. Poke. He wouldn't mind a few nights, not to mention a few long days, of enjoying her body.

  "Why don't I take you over and—well, you can take the reins from there."

  He glanced around the club. It was Thursday night. Everyone was kicking back, having a good time, starting the weekend early. Spending the night sitting at a table with four beautiful women wasn't a bad place to be. Especially when Isobel was one of them, but he had work to do. “I don't think so."

  "One Fruity Zombie.” Paul placed the creme topped drink on a napkin. “Are you ready for another beer there, young man?"

  "Sure, why not."

  Angel picked up her fresh drink and the tiny umbrella from her last Zombie. “If you change your mind, sugar, you know where we are."

  "Thanks."

  "Oh, by the way.” She stopped in mid-turn. “Cowboy's choice is coming up on the stroke of the half-hour. She pointed to the clock hung high on the rafter above the bar. It was 9:19. “Issy darts for the little girls’ room two minutes before, guaranteed."

  "What's cowboy's choice?"

  "Every cowboy gets to ask a lady to dance and she can't refuse. It's Blue Bug law. Issy hasn't danced with a man going on two years."

  "Why does she take off? Doesn't she like to dance?"

  "Issy says she doesn't have time for a man. Girl's all about work.” Angel traced a finger along his forearm. “I'll see you around, sugar."

  She strolled away, leaving Warner to his thoughts. His gaze meandered to Isobel as he sipped his lager. He checked the clock—9:21. The woman was a wildfire. Did he really want to get involved with a hot-tempered woman? Even one as gorgeous as Isobel?

  Warner pushed her from his mind and forced the tidbit of info sent to his office concerning the new rash of fires to its forefront. He nodded to the cowboy on his right, intending to strike up a conversation, but the guy turned his back to him.

  Hmm, the cowboys in town didn't seem as friendly as Angel, who'd worked her way back to her table of friends, smiling and giggling at the cowboys.

  After a long swig of his local lager, he glanced up at the clock again. 9:27.

  He checked Isobel's position. She stood, smoothed out her denim skirt and ran her thumbs along her waistband, tucking in her white top. Was she getting ready to run?

  She rounded the table.

  What was Isobel's secret?

  Oh, what the hell. He set his mug down. One dance couldn't hurt.

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  Chapter Three

  Over her margarita, Isobel glanced up at the clock. The pendulum swung lazily back and forth urging the minute hand to move. 9:24. She swallowed a sip of her drink along with the salty dread that formed a lump in her throat. It was time to get out of there.

  Nora and Betsy argued over the orange-peach shade of someone's hair and didn't mind when she jumped from her chair and scampered around the table. “I'll be right back."

  "Where are you going, Issy?” Angel boot-scooted up beside her, holding a fresh drink, her expression reminding Issy of the proverbial cat who'd spilled the pail of milk.

  "Did you see Chicky?” Isobel used her former wrath as an excuse to get out of there before the band leader called for the men to pick a partner.

  "Forget Chicky.” Angel waved her free hand. “The Thompson brothers told me he pulled out of here as soon as he got a phone call from Momma Marisela."

  "Damn.” Isobel snapped up her whip.

  "We thought Paul put you to work behind the bar, Angel, since Rita-Mae is down with a chest cold.” Betsy laughed while Angel shimmied onto the empty chair next to her.

  "There is no way Angel can filled Rita-Mae's cups—I mean shoes.” Nora slapped her hand over her mouth. “Sorry. I shouldn't have said that."

  Isobel rolled her eyes. Rita-Mae's triple-D breasts were the Blue Bug's main attraction for the local cowboys. The girls were feeling their drinks. It was definitely time to leave.

  "Nah. I went over to the bar to check out the tall Yankee Issy had a scrap with out in the lot."

  "You didn't.” Isobel scanned the bar area for Warner Keyson. He wasn't there. Angel must have scared him off, thank goodness.

  "I did, and you know what, Issy, the man is adorable. And he smelled so-o-o-o good. Reminds me of a soft tropical breeze and sandalwood.” She twirled the little umbrella in her drink. “Not like these cowboys. You know—Old Spice on top of old horse."

  "Adorable.” She shook her head while recalling Warner's musky scent. Angel was right. He did smell yummy, but she wasn't going to admit she'd been that close to the man. “He was bossy, telling me how I should drive. A real razor mouth."

  "Talked sweet to me.” Angel's eyes danced devilishly.

  "If he was so dang yummy, why are you here and he's gone?"

  "Gone? No. no, sugar.” Angel smiled around her straw.

  The speakers above them, in the rafters, screeched.

  Isobel jumped. Her fingers curled around her whip.

  Bob Akins whistled into the microphone.

  Every cowboy in the saloon hooted.

  "Giddy-up, gents,” the shout echoed off the walls. “Find the little filly of your heart and throw a lasso around her. It's time to wrangle her into your arms."

  Damn. There was no way she wanted to spend the next twenty minutes being pawed by one of Wayback's most horny while the band played a long set of love songs.

  "I've gotta go, ah, to use the rest room.” Isobel turned and walked smack dab into a hard, broad chest. She stumbled back.

  "Ms. Trinidad, I'd like to dance."

  Isobel looked up at Warner's grin and her heart did that skippy thing, which only meant trouble was knocking at her door. Angel was right. Warner smelled good. Only she thought he smelled akin to fresh air, late at night, sitting around a campfire. “I can't dance right now. I'm on my way to—"

  He wagged a finger in front of her nose. “I understand it's Wayback law
that when a gentleman asks a lady to dance during this set, she can't refuse."

  "It's not Wayback law. It's a stupid party game thought up by the owner of the Blue Bug."

  His eyes darted to the women behind her.

  "It's the law, isn't it, Betsy?” Angel uncrossed her legs, picked up her drink and took a sip.

  "Last I heard."

  "I've been abiding by it for as long as I've been coming here,” Nora chimed in while jumping from her chair. Frank Thompson crooked his finger in her direction. Nora scooted away, met Frank and allowed him to twirl her onto the dance floor.

  "It's a law.” Angel grinned.

  She caught the wink Angel threw at Warner. Did the pair plan to corner her? Isobel longed to strangle her friend.

  Warner extended his hand. “Shall we?"

  The lights lowered.

  Isobel's mouth clamped shut. She narrowed her glare as she looked over her shoulder at her ex-friend, Angel, and her remaining cohort. Drawing a deep breath through her nose, she mumbled between clamped teeth, “I'm going to kill you."

  "Dance first, sweetie."

  Angel's smug smile banked the fire that grew in Isobel. Her blood simmered. Her breathing quickened. She turned toward the Yankee and stuffed her hand into his. “One dance."

  "Leave the whip. You're not going to need it."

  Warner's blue eyes turned smoky. His jaw rose slightly. A grin pulled at the corner of his mouth while his thumb brushed over the inside of her wrist, sending a hot charge right to her core. She hated the longing the man stirred in her.

  Isobel tightened her grip on the whip, tapping it against her leg, testing him. He didn't flinch. He only waited, resembling a herding dog, watching, anticipating which way she'd bulk. Or was he watching, expecting a need to dodge her fury.

  While they played the waiting game, Burt Jacobs sauntered up to Angel and asked her to dance. Her friend didn't particularity care for Burt, but she rose and followed him onto the floor.

  If Angel could handle dancing with the conceited bull-rider, she could dance with the Yankee. She wasn't going to be out done by Angel. No how. She wouldn't live it down.

  Isobel tossed the whip onto the table barely missing the set of glasses containing the Fruity Zombies and Margaritas. “Let's get this over with. I have chores to do yet tonight."

  She meant to take the lead, but Warner cut her off and stepped in front of her. Who did this Yankee think he was? Did the words ‘ladies first’ mean nothing to him?

  He dragged her, not in a beeline to the dance floor, but between tables to the shadowed side of the room. “Where are we going?"

  "I don't care for crowds."

  "Then I think you're in the wrong place."

  He turned around and in one swift motion spun her into his arms, nearly sweeping her off her feet. “That's what I thought too, until I ran into you."

  Clutching his forearms, she gathered her footing and straightened in his arms. Warner's muscles were rock hard under her hands. His earthy scent wrapped around her, tripping up her female hormones.

  "You changed my mind.” His gaze latched onto hers.

  "I did?"

  "Yes.” The simple word, said so low, said so honestly, along with the intense stare that said his presence was all about her, made her swallow hard.

  The music struck up and, as Isobel feared, it was a slow dance—one made to hold your partner so close that belt buckles rubbed. The thought of the imminent friction between her and this man made her cheeks flush.

  Warner's right hand settled on her hip while his left held her hand as if it were a thin-shelled egg. She turned her head, pretending to watch the other dancers while fighting to cool off. “How did I change your mind?"

  "I didn't want to miss the show. You know. You looked madder than a caged wild cat, sort of like you do now. Sparks in your eyes. Cheeks blazing."

  She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye and tried to rein in her pulse.

  "And you were going to use that whip of yours on some guy named Chicky. How could I miss that?” His hand slid around her waist to the small of her back and her breath caught. Isobel licked the small O from her lips and forced her thoughts to Chicky instead of on how Warner's personal space was warm and inviting.

  She locked her elbows, keeping inches between them. “Well, I hate to disappoint you but there isn't going to be a show."

  "Oh, then you changed your mind about thrashing the guy to death?"

  He stood in place but swayed with the melody of LeAnn singing Crazy. Isobel relaxed. “No. Chicky took off."

  "Do you affect most men that way?"

  She pulled him to a halt. “What do you mean?"

  "Do you run them off?"

  "I do not run men off!” Her hand slid from his shoulder, along his pecs to the center of his chest and she pushed back. His heart pulsed strong against her palm. Its beat matched her own racing heart.

  Quickly, Isobel moved her hand back to his arm. She refused to hope Warner might be the one man for her. The thought made her stumble over her own feet, but his strong arms caught her.

  "You just don't let them get close to you.” He tugged her closer.

  She resisted. “Who are you? The town's new head shrink?"

  "No.” He chuckled. “I'm not the new shrink. I'm here on business."

  "That doesn't tell me squat."

  "Important business."

  She shrugged. “Don't tell me then."

  "You're interested in me, aren't you?"

  If only he knew how much, but she wasn't going to let on. She didn't want him chasing her, trying to control her. She was her own woman, like her grandmother, and no man was going to break her. She forced a chortle. “The only thing I'm interested in is when this song is going to be over so I can get out of here."

  "Yeah. That's what I thought.” He made a sudden move and two-stepped her around the floor, mingling with the other couples. Then Warner moved them into the remote area of the dance floor, along the back wall, where the lights above disappeared.

  Isobel stared up at him.

  His blue eyes darkened. “Just so you know, I'm a guy who'd like to get to know you better, Isobel.” His tone was soft and sexy. Definitely sexy.

  She couldn't look at Warner's full lips. She'd want to taste them. Instead, Isobel trailed her gaze up his strong jaw line with its evening shadow and focused on his ear.

  Damn. That adorable lock curled underneath his ear. Her fingers itched to feel its softness, but she wouldn't.

  Warner rocked against her. His fingers tickled her spine, sending electric charges all the way to her toes. Isobel tried her best to keep her breathing even, but it was becoming increasingly difficult.

  He let go of her hand. His rough fingertips grazed the sensitive skin on her neck as he lifted her hair behind her shoulder. Her knees weakened.

  He drew her closer.

  Her heart pounded against her ribs as his warm lips brushed along her cheek to her ear.

  Isobel growled low in her throat as he nipped the area of her neck where her pulse throbbed. Her eyes rolled back and she swallowed the thick want in her throat. “And what if I don't want to get to know you."

  "I can stop, Isobel,” he whispered into her ear. “If you want."

  Warner's hand, splayed across her back, pulled her closer. He pumped his leg against her with the beat of the music.

  She was hot and wet. Oh, God. She wanted him in her.

  Isobel dug her fingernails into his shoulders. How had she fallen into his trap? “Oh please, let me go,” she panted into his ear.

  "Are you sure?"

  All she could do was nod against his chest.

  Warner stepped back and the inferno which surrounded her disappeared. His hands dropped to his sides.

  Dazed, Isobel tilted her chin and gazed up at him.

  "If you want more, you'll have to find me.” Warner turned and he, and his white sneakers, disappeared into the dancing couples.

  Isobe
l backed up and leaned against the wall, not trusting her equilibrium. She couldn't believe it. The man chased her. He roped her into dancing with him, had his eight minutes with her and then left her standing in the corner, unable to move from want, from confusion, from hate.

  Isobel smoothed her hair over her shoulder and adjusted her clothing, as she stalked back to the table.

  She needed her whip.

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  Chapter Four

  The next morning, Warner sat in the Blue Bonnet Cafe alone after a sleepless night that had nothing to do with having sex.

  Isobel was a raging fire, needing to be controlled. Her fury mesmerized him. Her heat drove him mad. He'd almost succumbed to her power right there on the dance floor. But he hadn't. He had pulled back in time.

  He had found it difficult to walk out of the Blue Bug Saloon because of a hard-on the size of—well, Texas. He had wanted to hold her soft body against his all night, smell her sweet scent and make her whimper with desire until dawn, and he would, but for the moment he needed to learn more about the Spanish wildfire.

  "You enjoying the breakfast?"

  "Huh?"

  Coffee splashed into his cup. The rich brew's aroma wafted on the air, mixing with the scent of home baked biscuits and grilled steak.

  Jaw open, Warner stared up at the waitress who'd magically appeared by his side.

  She cracked her gum and smiled. “By your expression, I'd say you're enjoying those fried eggs, even though they haven't been touched."

  The cold eggs filling his plate looked almost plastic. Heat crept up his neck. “Oh, yeah. The steak's great too. Thanks.” He stabbed a piece of meat, stuffed the bite into his mouth and washed its beefy flavor down with the steaming brew.

  "Uh-huh.” Setting the pot down on the table's edge, she pulled her pen and pad from the pocket of her denim apron, added the bill and then ripped the slip off with a zip. “I figured it had to be Nan's cookin’ that put that smile on your face. Couldn't be the memory of the dance between you and Issy last night."

  Warner choked on his coffee, sputtered and grabbed a napkin from the dispenser. “What? You saw?"