Harmony and High Heels (The Fort Worth Wranglers Book 2)

by Tracy Wolff

  Not that she was going to let him know he’d gotten her goat. Harmony didn’t have any back-down in her. It was another thing he liked about her.

  Which was why he wasn’t surprised when she said, “The only pressing matter I have besides frying up the rest of these donuts is coming up with new and fantastically horrible ways to ruin my mother’s reputation and torment my brother-in-law into letting my sister come on vacation with me next week.” She poured cream into the melted chocolate as she spoke, then whisked everything together so vigorously that her Double D’s bounced.

  Dalton had to work really hard not to groan. And to keep his eyes above her neck.

  “Any ideas on how you’re going to do that?”

  “No. But the day is young.” She turned then and ran one hand straight up the row of buttons in the center of his custom-made dress shirt. “Do you have any ideas on what I can do?” She paused for a second, let her voice go breathy. “On what we can do?”

  It was as amusing as it was arousing, and he had to tell himself to cool it as his dick twitched in his pants. He wasn’t going to fuck Harmony yet, no matter how much she wanted him to. If he did, she’d think she had the upper hand, and that so wasn’t how this was going to go down.

  “I don’t know about you, but I’ve got to get to work.”

  “Work is so boring,” she said, leaning forward until the tips of those magnificent breasts of hers were pressed against his chest. He nearly caved when he felt how hard her nipples were—and the rings she had pierced through them. Fuck, she was a wild one. “Wanna know what I think we should do?”

  He had a feeling he knew exactly what she thought they should do, and any other time—with any other woman—he would have already had her ass on the counter and her legs over his shoulders. But Harmony Wright wasn’t any other woman. She was a five-alarm fire, and he was damned if he was going to be the one who got burned.

  “I don’t have a clue.” He quirked his brow in a way he knew would set her on edge. “Why don’t you fill me in.”

  Sure enough, her eyes narrowed even more, the smile on her face turning downright nasty as she answered, “I think we should have sex.”

  “Do you now?”

  “I really, really do.”

  She stepped even closer, went so far as to hook a hand around the back of his neck and pull his head down to her. Heat sizzled between them, and for a second his mind went blank and his body took over. It would be so easy to say yes, so easy to take her a thousand different ways and make her beg for more.

  But she wasn’t ready for that yet, and he wasn’t about to give into it. So instead of bending her over the counter as they both so desperately wanted, he brought a hand up to her cheek. Stroked his thumb over her mouth and whispered, “If only it were that simple.” She slipped her arms around his neck. “What could be simpler than sex?”

  “Not having sex.” Although, now that he thought about it, that wasn’t very simple either.

  “That’s not simple,” she purred as she rubbed herself against him. “That’s just boring.”

  Finally, something they agreed on. But right now, he was pretty sure boring was the way to go. No matter what his dick was telling him.

  “So, what …” He nodded to the island. “We just go at it right here?”

  “Absolutely. But I get to be on top. Marble can get pretty cold.”

  Oh, he knew she wanted to be on top, just like he knew it had nothing to do with the marble being cold. What a disappointment she was in for when they finally hit the sheets, because he didn’t bottom for anyone.

  Rolling up onto the balls of her feet, she pressed her mouth to the sensitive spot right beneath his ear. “Now would be an ideal time for you to kiss me.”

  “And here I was thinking it would be an ideal time for you to ice my donuts.”

  It was her turn to quirk a brow. “Is that what the kids are calling it these days?”

  He grinned. “Something like that.”

  “So why don’t you show me?” She pressed her hips into his, and when her eyes widened he knew the game was up. Playing it cool was one thing. Hiding his erection was something else entirely.

  “There’s something you should know about me,” he told her as he unlatched her arms and set her a foot away from him. “I don’t take orders well.”

  “Ooooh, playing hard to get.” Her royal blue eyes were hooded and sexy. “I like it. But you should know, I like to be in charge.”

  And to prove it, she reached behind her neck and untied her bikini. The straps fell down to her waist, taking the two triangles of red fabric covering her nipples with them.

  They were every bit as extraordinary as he’d imaged they would be. Full D-cups with perfect pink nipples—and he’d been right about the piercings. Both nipples were decorated with tiny silver rings.

  He looked his fill even as his hands went to her waist. Then he leaned down, close to her ear, and whispered, “Nice. Very nice.”

  Gently he gathered up the straps and slid his hands up her back. “Thanks for the invitation,” he said as he nipped at her ear, “but I’ve really got to get to work.

  “We’ll see about that.” He’d tried to be gentle, but he could see the insult and the challenge in her eyes, even before her hands slid up the front of his blue silk shirt and then back down to his waist. And fuck, did it feel good. He loved the way her hands felt on him and couldn’t wait until there was nothing between her skin and his own.

  For a second he gave himself over to the fantasy, and she took full advantage of his distraction. The next thing he knew, she had popped the buckle of his belt and was working on the button of his trousers. And that’s when he knew he’d hit his breaking point, when he knew he had to put a stop to this or he was going to end up fucking Harmony on every surface in this kitchen.

  Gently, he took her hands in his, kissed each palm, and set them at her sides. “I’m not a fuck-you to Heath, sweetheart. I’m not going to let you use me to piss him off. When we make love—”

  “Make love?” she sneered. “ What are you, a teenaged girl? I don’t want to be made love to, I want to be fucked.”

  “Too bad. Because by the time I’m done with you, you’ll be begging me to make love to you again.”

  “That sounds like a challenge.” She stood back.

  His attempt to retie her top hadn’t done much to cover her up. The bikini top drooped around her waist. “No, just a promise.”

  “You think so?”

  “I know so.”

  “Hmm.” Her look said she wasn’t so sure. “Well then. Let the games begin.”

  Her thumbs snaked under her bikini bottoms, and the next thing he knew, that tiny piece of cloth was slipping right down her legs. Next, the top fell to the floor and she stood before him wearing nothing but red high-heeled shoes and a smile. “I need a shower. Are you going to join me or just watch?”

  When he didn’t respond—too busy trying to get a little blood flow back to his brain—she grabbed his tie and pulled him after her. “I guess you’re going to watch.”

  Fuck that. He was no watcher.

  His hands went to her waist and he spun her around. Then his lips were on hers and at that moment, he didn’t give a shit about the consequences. Didn’t give a shit about who topped or who bottomed or who was in control of what. All he cared about was the way she tasted. The way she felt. The way her breath hitched in her chest as he kissed her.

  Picking her up, he wrapped her legs around his waist, and backed her up against the refrigerator. Her hands fisted in his hair and he let them, concentrating instead on cupping her round, heart-shaped ass. Fuck, he wanted her. Wanted all of her, right here and right now. Had never wanted anyone or anything as badly as he wanted her right then.

  Which was why he pulled away.

  Why he gave her one last, tender kiss before tucking his hands in his pockets.

  Why he whispered a hoarse, “I’ve got to go,” before turning and walking out of th
e house.

  Because he might keep himself under rigid control, but every man had his breaking point. And he was pretty sure Harmony was going to be his.

  * * *

  Chapter 10

  * * *

  The next morning, Harmony parked her vintage 1950s bakery delivery van in a parking spot close to the front gate of Wranglers Stadium. She was still fuming—and a little bamboozled—over the way Dalton had left her in the kitchen yesterday morning, and the man was going to pay for it. And she was going to enjoy every second of it.

  After all, she was an instant-gratification kind of girl. When she was five and couldn’t wait any longer for Santa Claus to show up, she’d gone to the garage, found some spare wood, and started building the table and chairs she’d wanted for her tea parties. True, the table was lopsided and the chairs only had three legs, but she’d gotten her instant gratification. Her parents still had the table and chairs in their house in San Angelo.

  Which was why this whole business of waiting around for him to decide they’d known each other long enough to “make love” so wasn’t cutting it for her.

  She was a go-getter and not a wait-arounder, which was why it was bugging her so much that trying to get Dalton naked and between her thighs was proving so difficult. And she was done with that. She was here to take Dalton to lunch and then take him to bed.

  Clearly he was as attracted to her as she was to him, and she was going to do what her daddy had always told her to do in difficult situations—take the bull by the horns. The fact that she was really looking forward to getting her hands on Dalton’s horn was neither here nor there. She was a woman on a mission, and she didn’t mean Mission Impossible.

  Picking up the handcuffs she’d just bought at the Velvet Box, she slipped them into her perfectly respectable Coach purse. Then she grabbed the bakery box holding a bag of chocolate chip cookies and the chocolate pecan bourbon pie she’d made. It had been a lot of work, but it was totally worth it, as in her experience, chocolate pecan bourbon pie was almost always the dessert of choice for the overly efficient, pit bull assistant types who guarded their bosses like they would the fine china they’d inherited from their great-aunt Agatha. And since she was pretty sure Dalton had one of those, she had come prepared.

  After sliding out of the driver’s seat and locking the door, Harmony straightened her perfectly respectable royal-blue Ann Taylor wrap dress and strutted across the parking lot in a pair of black lace-up Christian Louboutin Megavamps. She had handcuffs, fuck-me shoes, and no underwear—what else could a man want?

  With her black Coach hobo on her shoulder and the pie in hand, she used the shiny new building directory to locate Dalton’s office. She took the elevator to the top floor—of course he had a top-floor office—and stepped out into a lobby of sorts. A woman with gray hair artfully scraped back into a bun sat at a desk in front of a set of double doors. Her nameplate proclaimed her to be Eleanor Sanchez, and she was a pit bull assistant if Harmony had ever seen one.

  The only problem?

  Harmony hadn’t taken her age into consideration. Efficient females over fifty tended to be lemon meringue fans. Still, the chocolate bourbon should do the trick … unless she was Baptist, in which case Harmony’s whole plan was up shit creek.

  Eleanor’s eyes snapped up from the computer she was sitting behind and she stood up, a huge smile dawning on her otherwise serious face. “Lyric, so good to see you again.”

  Harmony wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth. “So good to see you too, Eleanor. You work so hard for Dalton and this whole organization that I just wanted to thank you. So I brought you a chocolate pecan bourbon pie.”

  “Well thank you. That sounds … interesting. I’m usually more of a lemon meringue fan, but I’m up for trying something new.” Eleanor’s face screwed up. “Those stupid tabloids. Don’t listen to them. It’s a free country and you can go wherever you please.”

  Lyric had never been one to read tabloids, but Harmony would pass the reminder along just in case things had changed.

  “Thanks.” Harmony smiled and hoped that was all she needed to say. God willing, the woman wasn’t a fan of Lyric’s Crab Nebula podcast, because Harmony could only fake being a good girl for so long, and she sure as shit couldn’t fake being an astrophysicist at all. “Can I have a minute of his time?” She pointed to the double doors.

  “Yes, just a minute though … lots going on today.” Eleanor put the pie down on her desk and opened the door for Harmony. “Go right in.”

  This Lyric thing was even better than she thought—no warning from Eleanor meant she had a clear shot to ambush Dalton. Yippee.

  Harmony couldn’t help admiring the expansive view as she stepped into Dalton’s office. The entire back wall of the office was windows, and he had an amazing view of downtown Fort Worth.

  Dalton was on the phone and typing on the computer, and he hadn’t noticed her standing there, so she shut the door quietly behind her. Then turned the lock just as quietly.

  “What morality clause? This is the NFL. If they required us to have a morality clause, we’d have no players left.” He gritted his teeth. “I know, Barry. I’ll have a talk with him. I understand that we don’t need the bad press.” There was a pause during which Barry was no doubt yelling at Dalton. “I’ll take care of it. That’s right. Thanks.” Another pause. “I’ll see you in five.” He slammed the phone down.

  “Bad day at the office, honey?” Harmony placed the handcuffs and the white sack filled with chocolate chip cookies on the desk. “I guess you don’t have time for either of those.” She sat on the corner of his desk, letting the front of her wrap dress fall open. “Or for this, either.”

  Dalton’s eyes roamed up her legs, lingered on her upper thighs and then breasts and finally made it all the way to her face. “You’re a sight for sore eyes.”

  “I guess playing hooky for the afternoon is out?” She dangled her left leg off the desk, which made the dress open further. “Since you’re such a busy boss man?”

  His eyes went to her thighs again, and he licked his lips. “Right now, I really wish I wasn’t.”

  “Yeah, me too.” What was wrong with him? He wanted her and she wanted him. They were adults. “Do you have a girlfriend or something?”

  She sat forward, waiting for the answer. He hadn’t said anything yesterday, but he was a guy and they were funny about honesty. God knew she’d been burned more than once.

  “No. And before you ask, I’m not married either.” His eyes stayed on her thighs as he leaned back. “I guess we should have sorted that out yesterday. Are you in a relationship?”

  “No. Do you think I’d be nearly naked on your desk right now if I was?” Still, he got points for asking and being a decent human being. “Then why aren’t we naked right now?”

  “What is it with you and sex? Seems like you’ve got a one-track mind.” He grinned, and damn it, both of his dimples popped out. Handsome men shouldn’t be allowed to have dimples. It was overkill, especially since she couldn’t help thinking about how much she wanted to lick them. “Don’t you want to get to know me? I have layers.”

  “Yes, and you’re wearing way too many of them.” She leaned forward, and her boobs nearly fell out of her dress. “I, on the other hand, am only wearing one.”

  She had on a bra, but that was beside the point.

  He shook his head. “I’m beginning to think you only want me for my body.”

  “Wow, it took you two whole days to figure that out?” She looked around. “I guess common sense didn’t come with that MBA.”

  “You’ve been checking up on me.” His smile widened.

  “The Internet is very handy.” She picked up the handcuffs and twirled one bracelet around her finger.

  Like she weighed nothing, he reached out, picked her up, and settled her onto his lap.

  “I wanted to do this the first night I met you, but I think Heath would have gotten out the large-caliber weapons if we’d
made out on his couch.” He kissed her cheek and worked his way over to the corner of her mouth. He sucked on her bottom lip.

  Her arms snaked around his neck as her fingers raked through his hair. His tongue plunged inside her mouth and slowly explored. She couldn’t help it, she felt herself melt into him. All she wanted was more. More of him and more of the feelings he brought to life inside of her.

  Dalton must have read her mind, because his hand slid under her dress, inside her bra, and found her nipple. He rolled it between his index finger and thumb, tugging on her nipple ring just hard enough to make heat slide through her.

  But what she really wanted was for his mouth to take the place of his hands. As she arched her back and urged his head down, he finally got the message. He licked his way down her neck, pushed her bra down and devoured her. She found his hand and slid it between her legs and inside of her. Then had to bite her lip to keep from letting him know how good he felt.

  Dalton had no such issues. “Fuck, baby, you’re so wet,” he said, his voice low and dark and gravelly. “You feel so good.”

  She started to tell him that he did too, but a buzzing noise came from the general direction of his desk, followed by a female voice saying, “You’re five minutes late for the meeting, Dalton. Mr. Lamont is looking for you.”

  Dalton froze and withdrew his hand and his mouth. “Sorry, duty calls.”

  “I seriously hate that woman.” Turning her nose up at a chocolate bourbon pecan pie was one thing. But interrupting just when things were getting interesting … Harmony wasn’t about to forgive her for that. Not when she was about to be left high and dry and sexually frustrated.

  Still, she stood up. Dalton had work to do, and the last thing she wanted was for him to actually kick her out of his office. She wasn’t sure her ego—or her feminine wiles—would recover.

  “Sorry, Harm. Big meeting. The tabloids are killing us.” He stood and buttoned his suit jacket.

  “Eleanor said something about the tabloids too. What’s going on?” She shoved her boobs back into her bra and retied her dress.