Bad Boys In Black Tie

by Erin McCarthy; Morgan Leigh Lori Foster

  He shrugged. “Once I fished them out of the hot tub, I had to do something with them. I slept with them the first two nights, then figured I might as well give them back to you. You look so good in black lace.”

  He looked like he was kidding, but you never knew. The thought of Wyatt snuggling up to her underwear was oddly satisfying.

  “And as long as you wear the sexy underwear from time to time I’ll never ask you to wear a dress again. And actually, I don’t care what you’re wearing, I just want you with me.”

  She pulled the bra up and dangled it in front of her. “It will be like our little slutty secret, me wearing sexy stuff under baggy sweaters.”

  His jeans looked a little tight, and his eyes had darkened. “I like the way you think.”

  “Of course, a dress once in a while isn’t so bad.”

  “I’d especially like to see you in white.”

  Though her heart did some weird kind of gallop-jump thing in her chest, she was going to ignore that one for now. “Let’s go get your tux and get to this wedding.” She thumped him in the chest with the bra. “I’ll go put this on first.”

  His answer was a groan. “Don’t torture me.”

  “What? The sooner we get there, the sooner we can leave. And as long as I’m home by midnight or so, it’ll be fine.”

  He caught her by the arm and slid his lips across hers in a possessive kiss. “Maybe this time we’ll actually make it to the bed.”

  She shivered and licked her lips in anticipation. “After the hot tub.”

  Wyatt smiled. “Now, that sounds perfect, Christine Judith.”

  That it did.

  LAST CALL

  Morgan Leigh

  One

  Fletcher Graham leaned back, elbows propped behind him on the polished slab of mahogany, his heels hooked on the bottom rung of the bar stool as he stared across the smoky room. The woman on the small stage was the center of attention, and she had his like a pit boss watches for cheats in his casino.

  She sang a bluesy tune; her long, straight chestnut hair shielded her features every time she looked down and stroked the keys of the baby grand, one of the things the proprietor had slapped down big bucks for when he converted the old honky-tonk into a piano bar.

  Her song was one that Fletcher played when no one was around to hear. He was a dyed-in-the-wool Southerner, but liking contemporary music—blues, jazz, and soulful ballads—made him an odd duck in the heart of Dixie. Country music was like breathing down here; you couldn’t do without it. And in Justice, it was as sacred as the hymns that could be heard from the Southern Baptist choir every Sunday morning during church services. Listening to this stranger sing one of his favorites was refreshing.

  Fletcher was glad he’d stopped by The Last Call before heading home to tons of paperwork, and infomercials to break the silence. He couldn’t take his eyes off the woman. Fantasies filled his mind of that hair, dripping wet, sticking to her skin as her hands stroked him and urged his body to a shuddering crescendo.

  His cock responded immediately to the erotic image, but he tamped down the thought as best he could. If anyone looked around from one of the tables scattered throughout the room, they’d stop the presses at the Daily Justice so the morning exclusive would tell how their illustrious mayor had been seen sporting a woody while downing a few at the local watering hole the night before. Slow news days in these parts meant politicians were coveted Big Game. Any transgression that made the front page would have the same effect: his head mounted on a reporter’s wall, a quick death to his political career.

  “Coop.” He motioned the bartender over, nodding his head at the stage when his friend leaned over the bar from the other side. “Who’s the new talent? She’s somethin’.”

  Somethin’ didn’t begin to define what Fletcher considered the most incredible voice he’d ever heard. She captivated her audience with her rendition of “Shameless” now, and though he’d heard both the mainstream version and the country hit, the way she sang it, he felt it like a seduction. He watched her pouty lips move, her tongue dart out and lick over them as the words registered in his lust-filled brain.

  “‘I go down on my knees. I’m shameless.’”

  The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end and his arousal grew to what felt like such mammoth proportions that he had to cross an ankle over the opposite knee. He couldn’t hide his growing erection after that line. When two men had performed the song, he’d heard it for what it was: a committed lover, willing to grovel if need be for the woman he loved. But this time it was a woman crooning it. That woman, and the words took on a whole different implication.

  Suppressing a growl of need, he turned his head when Coop chuckled next to him.

  “Well, who is she?” he asked, obviously more than just idly curious now. The way he was sitting couldn’t hide the effects that voice had on him, either.

  “That, my friend”—Cooper Jones pointed a beefy finger at the woman, then back at Fletcher, his tone low with warning—“is more trouble than you want at the moment.”

  Fletcher shot him an annoyed glare. He and Coop had gotten into more scrapes together in their youth than most siblings did. Coop was a big, burly guy, even taller than Fletcher’s six-feet-two, but most everyone in Justice knew he was a fair, honorable man, and despite their reputation as bad boys when they were young, both he and Coop were now two of the most respected men in town. For him to warn him off one of his own employees was odd, but it just fired Fletcher’s blood to find out why.

  As he turned his attention back to the stage just as she looked up, her gaze connected with his. His lip curled slightly as she stumbled over the words, and he winked at her before she got it back on track; she flashed him the same look he’d just given her boss, and dropped her eyes down to the keys. “Damn,” he growled low. “It’s got nothing to do with want, buddy. More like ... need.”

  “It’s your funeral, Fletch,” Coop said in amusement, shaking his head and setting a cold beer on the bar by Fletcher’s elbow.

  “No, really. What’s so bad about my interest in her? Unless—?” Fletcher tipped his head, his brow rising in question.

  “No. You wouldn’t be trespassing, so don’t worry about that,” Coop assured him. He grabbed a clean, wet glass, absently swirling the cloth around and in it, then stacking it with the others lined up, ready for the next drink order. “But after the disaster you called a marriage, I swore I’d never interfere in your love life again. I’ll be apologizing for my part in that one for a long time to come.”

  Fletcher winced, recalling his ancient history. Coop had been the one to introduce him to his now ex-wife, Jane, when he’d moved home after graduating college, and saw her one night at the bar. They were so wrong for each other, and their marriage shocked everyone. Himself included. Fletcher knew almost from “I do” that it was the worst mistake he’d ever made.

  At first, the signs weren’t in-your-face obvious. She didn’t come right out and say she wasn’t cut out to be a small-town wife, that she craved a more elaborate, jet-setting lifestyle. But as he settled back into the life he’d missed while he was away at school, and he made it clear that he had no interest in using his degree in business to become a player on Wall Street, had no intention of ever leaving Justice again, in fact, she’d become distant, emotionally and physically. Things just went downhill from there. Jane went so far as to accept a consulting job that took her out of town on too many occasions. And never once did she ask her husband to join her, though he’d cleared his own schedule at the fledgling building company that employed him to be able to accompany her.

  He’d had his suspicions, but she confirmed them when she came home one morning after a trip to the coast, and announced she was pregnant with some other poor sucker’s child, and she was filing for divorce to be with the man. The fact that the guy had more money than Donald Trump was all Fletcher needed to know. He just thanked his lucky stars that a child had never resulted from their union b
efore she pulled her entrapment stunt on the guy. He took his responsibilities seriously; he’d have demanded custody in a divorce. He wanted kids one day, but with a wife who shared the same values, and the same love of the town where he was born and raised.

  Being reminded of that nightmare gave him pause; the woman up on that stage was in a profession that could take her all over the countryside to different clubs and bars, but somehow, he dismissed the similarities. His ex-wife was a money-grubbing gold digger, while this woman was working class, earning a living to feed that petite frame he could barely see behind the piano.

  And just like that, his mind was off the troubles of the past and back on the delights of the present. But he wasn’t totally enraptured. His memories of that black period suddenly made him more cautious than even being the mayor did.

  “She’s a thorn in your side,” Coop said as he leaned over the bar again, speaking quietly in his ear but keeping his gaze on his employee.

  Fletcher tore his eyes from the stage and her sensual take on “You Don’t Know Me” to look at his friend. “What’s the word, buddy?” he asked, a certain warning inflection to his tone.

  Coop also met his gaze and said, “Anonymity.”

  “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

  “It means, don’t tell her what your day job is until you get to know her.”

  Fletcher knew that the way he looked at the moment, no one would mistake him for the head of Justice, North Carolina. He glanced down at his old, threadbare jeans, the knees and legs dark with grease and dirt, and the scuffed cowboy boots that were the most comfortable he owned.

  His T-shirt wasn’t anywhere near the white it had been when he’d gone over to Toby’s after work. They were restoring a classic car to its original condition, and tonight they’d been working on the engine, a filthy, hot job since there were only fans in Toby’s garage to cool them off on one of the notoriously hot nights of summer in the South. The only thing the fans had managed to do was circulate the heat, and Fletcher knew he probably smelled even worse than he looked at the moment.

  But he was well known in the community, and he found it amusing that most called him “Mayor” only during working hours, and even then it seemed to come as an afterthought. He’d been elected over a year ago to an overwhelming margin, but it seemed to stun some people that he, the boy who’d trespassed on every piece of property in Justice, had played every prank that could be thought of by a precocious youth, had automatically been given a title with their vote. He didn’t take offense. He was glad they demanded that he earn their respect, but had enough faith in him to give him a chance. If they never called him “Mayor,” he wouldn’t care. They knew that no matter how disheveled he looked, or how unruly, he had their best interests, and that of the community, in mind whenever he made a decision or signed an ordinance.

  He couldn’t suppress a sinking feeling as he turned his eyes back to the woman. He didn’t even know her name and already thoughts of betrayal were like a knife twisting in his gut. “Tell me she’s not like Jane, Coop,” he said, knowing no matter how cryptic his friend was being about her identity, he wouldn’t steer Fletcher wrong again.

  “Nope. She’s nothing like that social-climbing bi—” he said, cutting off his diatribe as Fletcher turned his head to give him a pointed look. He cleared his throat. “Sorry. But no, that woman and your ex couldn’t be more different if they’d been born on opposite poles. Pride and self-respect alone set the two of them apart.” Coop nodded his head, motioning out at the stage as the crowd’s applause died down and she took Fletcher on another sensual ride, singing “Sweet Dreams.” He imagined her song was just for him.

  Coop’s voice interrupted his thoughts once again. “She’s got more damned pride in her little finger than Jane had in her whole body.”

  “So what’s wrong with her?” They’d come full circle, back to his original question, and Fletcher felt his annoyance level kick up a notch.

  “Let’s just say that, for you, she’s trouble with a capital T.”

  “Oh, right here in River City?” he asked sarcastically, laughing at Coop’s menacing tone.

  “I’m serious, buddy. Be careful. She’s a good woman, but you won’t know it if you let other things interfere.”

  He craned his neck farther around. “Who are you, The Riddler?” he asked.

  Coop shrugged. “Just remember what I said, Fletch.”

  He’d had enough. “And on that note, I’ll be headin’ out.” Sliding off the bar stool, Fletcher threw some bills on the bar.

  Coop just as carelessly threw them back at him. “This is your place, too, pal. Silent partner or not, your money’s no good comin’ from that side of the bar.”

  “Then take it for the advice, though you didn’t tell me a damn thing,” he replied, grinning, but it slid off his face as Coop’s jaw clenched, and Fletcher realized it was the first time his friend had ever kept something from him.

  Fletcher glanced at the stage one more time, and the woman whose eyes conveyed her disappointment that he was obviously leaving. He liked that. He grinned, and dipped his head, pulling his fingers down on the brim of an imaginary cowboy hat. He turned back to Coop. “You’re keeping a secret for her.”

  “Not for her. For you, Mayor,” he said quietly, his emphasis on the last word unmistakable.

  “I’ll see ya, Coop,” Fletcher said, too tired to decipher his friend’s encoded messages and needing a little distance from the very distraction they’d been discussing. Even when she didn’t have his undivided attention, her voice still managed to skitter along his spine, traveling around to keep him hard and aching. He needed air. Even if it was the hot, humid kind that he knew he’d encounter the second he walked outside.

  “Take it easy, buddy,” his friend called over his shoulder as he took a drink order from one of the patrons who stepped up to the bar.

  Before Fletcher stepped out, Coop cast a meaningful look in his direction. Why couldn’t Coop just tell him? Fletcher wondered, but left the noise and smoke behind, the quiet, black night hitting him like a wall of heat as he pondered what his best friend was trying to hint at. They’d never kept anything from each other in all the years he’d known him. Why the hell would Coop clam up now when it was obvious that Fletcher had an interest in the lovely singer? It was mind-boggling, and more than his taxed brain cared to figure out tonight.

  Fletcher spotted the car with New York plates in the parking lot. Not giving himself time to think about how he should be home, going over papers for Tuesday night’s town meeting, he turned back to the bar, using his key to the back door, and ducked into the men’s room to rinse some of the filth from his dark blond hair, face, and arms. Nothing could be done about his clothes, he thought, but at least he wouldn’t smell like yesterday’s trash.

  From there, he went to the office he shared with Coop and occupied himself by looking over the accounts that he’d neglected in the past month or so, watching the clock until the bar closed. When “Last Call” was shouted above the din, signaling that the bar was clearing out, Fletcher waited another twenty minutes or so, then straightened up the desk and left the building the same way he’d come, quietly and unnoticed. The odd thing was that there was nothing in the office that mentioned that woman’s name. Not a W-2, not a pay stub, nothing.

  While he made a mental note to discuss that with Coop—the labor board wasn’t to be messed with—he decided that he’d just wait and find out for himself a little more about this woman. If his friend wasn’t willing to reveal her secrets, then Fletcher was just going to have to go to the source to get the information he was looking for.

  Tess capped her water bottle and tossed it into her backpack as she left the bar through the back door, shutting off lights as she went. She was still thinking about the man who’d watched her so intently while she sang, and how disappointed she was that he’d left before she could meet him. After her last set, she’d gone up to the bar as she always did and asked C
ooper the man’s name. He told her, and said he was his best friend, but he was sketchy about any more details except that he was single, and not involved at the moment. She’d been here a month and she’d never seen him. But Tess knew her work hours were strange to most people, so she didn’t give it much thought.

  Coop’s endorsement was good enough for her. She just wished she’d been able to get closer than twenty feet from the man. A whole room away, he’d made her skin tingle; his eyes skating over her had felt like an actual caress. She sighed, wondering what he’d be able to do to her with only a breath separating them. She made a cooing sound deep in her throat as she considered the possibilities. She definitely wanted to find out.

  She rounded the corner of the building and stopped short. The mystery man himself was leaning on her car, looking way too delicious in his messy T-shirt and jeans.

  He must’ve washed some of the grunge from himself in the men’s room. His dark blond hair still had streaks of grease through it, but it wasn’t as mussed as it was when he’d been in the bar. His face was clean, but oh, his jaw was rough with stubble. Those powerful forearms were crossed over his chest, scrubbed free of grime as well, as he leaned casually against the driver’s door, effectively blocking her from her car. Her mouth quirked up in a half smile; he was trying to look presentable and less threatening when nothing but a hot shower and a change of clothes would do that. But Tess was charmed anyway. And she was well aware that even if he were in black tie and tails, he’d still look a little bit dangerous and devilishly sexy.

  When she reached the car, she flipped her long hair out of her eyes and tipped her head up at him. “Stranded, are you, Fletcher?” she asked, struggling to keep her composure. She couldn’t let him know just how hot she was at the moment. And it wasn’t the sweltering humidity that hung so heavy in the air. He’d waited for her! She’d never felt the instant attraction she did with this man and she didn’t want to blow it. The urge to lower her voice seductively and entice him, as he’d so easily done just by looking at her during her set, was a temptation.