Bad Boys In Black Tie

by Erin McCarthy; Morgan Leigh Lori Foster

  But it was because of Fletcher that she’d made contact at all. He’d heard every word she’d said to him right here in the kitchen, even as he sweated bullets, fearing discovery of his ruse. That, she conceded, and the sweating they both did, trying to keep their hands off each other. She desperately wanted to make a good impression in Justice, and dragging him to her bed would’ve done the opposite. She suspected his restraint lay in the deception he was perpetrating. Still, they’d barely skirted potential disaster, each for their own reasons.

  Fletcher must have left her house and gone straight home or to the bar to phone the much-sought-after agent. They were old college buddies, and Fletcher had told Tom to dig her demo tape out of the slush pile. He’d even adamantly pleaded her case, telling Tom that unless he was interested in representing her as a songwriter exclusively, she wouldn’t consider making a deal. Her vocal talent wasn’t a factor. Tom knew the score before she’d even picked up that phone, and had already set the wheels in motion, calling on an artist to hear the demo.

  And Tom was all business, arranging a recording session as soon as he could be assured that Tess was on board. And he told Tess that he was thrilled to represent her, that managing the career of a talented songwriter was more rewarding in many ways than working with the artists who sang the songs. Songwriters were all about the music, and nothing ever got in the way of that, whereas the singers performing the music often became jaded, and the fame became the focus. Dealing with her on her level would suit them both.

  Tess’s resolve teetered even more as she recalled the conversation again. With a simple phone call, Fletcher had made it so she could pay off her house, live in Justice, and make a heftier income than her job at Last Call provided. An income she’d need if she was going to take on the enormous job of fixing up the Old Vic.

  Add to that, he’d made sure she could do that without having to apply for historical status to help defray the costs. No, this house that her great-great grandfather had built would be hers outright, free and clear to tear down walls if she wanted to. She wouldn’t, though. Tess knew she wasn’t going to change much of the structure of the place, but she loved the idea that she could.

  A place to call home, she’d said to him, and he heard. Wow, he’d taken everything she’d said to heart.

  He’d gone out of his way to help her, even after she’d told him that he could take her house and shove it. She said it in the heat of anger, but he knew she didn’t mean it. She wanted this house, and all it represented to her.

  She still couldn’t understand why he’d lied. There wasn’t a reason for it. Tess could see why he hadn’t told her the truth last night when he found out who she was. He was already tangled in the web of lies and deception. She knew Coop was in on it. He was Fletcher’s best friend, and he knew damned well that she was trying to contact the mayor about her inheritance.

  Of course, she mused, she didn’t think she’d ever actually told Cooper that she wanted to stay in Justice. Having traveled so much in her twenty-eight years, she played her cards close to the vest, never revealing too much of her plans. The Last Call was the single stop for entertainment within the town limits. If people wanted to know something, they could probably find out at the bar. She didn’t want people knowing her business, that she didn’t have the money to pay off the house when she hit town and took up residence. Until she’d figured out what she was going to do about that, she’d kept mum.

  Maybe if she’d—“No! I am not to blame here,” she said out loud again, and growled, stomping her foot. Whenever she verbalized her thoughts, it was because she didn’t have anyone but herself to argue with. And dammit, her conscience was always right, no matter how much she tried to fight it.

  “Ah, hell,” she grumbled, grabbing her purse, keys, and going to the mud porch to slip on her sandals. It had stopped raining cats and dogs, but the wind still blew enough to spatter her with sprinkles as she made her way over the flagstone path to her car. She groused, hating the taste of humble pie, but for whatever reason those two men had pulled the wool over her eyes, she had to take responsibility for her own part in it. If she was going to become a respected member of this community, and she would be, she determined, then she would be accountable. That, and the fact that only a few hours after Fletcher had left her house, she missed him. Totally crazy, but nonetheless true.

  As she pulled into The Last Call ten minutes later, Tess knew she was doing the right thing. Of course, she reasoned sadistically, she wasn’t going to make it easy on Cooper. He was on her shit list. She and Fletcher had that in common.

  Putting on a game face, which was a scowl, Tess pulled hard on the door to the bar and marched inside, letting the wind slam it closed behind her. She knew she looked like a force to be reckoned with; the wind and misting rain were shut out, but her march across the parking lot mussed her hair, and she was damp, her appearance miserable. Perfect.

  Coop took one glance at her and put his hands up. “Tess—”

  “If you know what’s good for you, Cooper Jones, you’ll only answer my questions.” Tess let him believe she could actually do bodily harm. She was a tiny woman compared to her boss’s hulk, but, she remembered wryly, hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.

  “Gotcha,” Coop replied, obviously familiar with the adage as well.

  “You didn’t tell me who Fletcher was last night because you didn’t know if I wanted to stay in Justice or not?”

  “Correct.”

  Tess took a seat at the bar, and hunched her shoulders. “C’mon, Coop. You’re gonna have to do better than that,” she implored, needing all the facts before she went to Fletcher.

  “Honey, I’m sorry I lied to you. At first, I thought you and Fletch would hit it off, but only if you wanted to stay in Justice. You mentioned it on the phone once when you called from New York.”

  “I did?” Tess didn’t remember saying that to him, but it was possible. It was around the time that she came home from a gig in Boston only to confirm that Jacob had strayed. Not far, though—she’d caught him in her bed with a woman she worked with. She wasn’t really surprised, but she was pissed. She kicked him out, and since her lease was up in two weeks, she hadn’t bothered to renew it.

  Then she’d gotten the news that her grandfather had been deceased for two years, but he’d left her an inheritance. It was a crazy time. She probably had slipped and told him that. Coop was so easy to talk to, and his obvious affection for her relative led her to trust him without consciously choosing to.

  “But, Tess, you never mentioned it again. I tried to ask you about it, but you always clammed up.”

  “That’s because a bar is to men what the beauty salon is to women. Rumors and gossip were things I didn’t need, and couldn’t afford. If people knew I didn’t have the money to pay the debts on the house, they might have pressured the mayor, Fletcher, to make a decision. I needed time, Coop.”

  “I know that, honey, now.” He sat down on a stool on his side of the bar, “But there are things about Fletcher that you don’t know.”

  “What things?”

  “It’s not for me to say, Tess. But I kept quiet because if you were to stay, then you and Fletcher would make the perfect couple. He’s the only one who liked your kind of music before I converted the bar. I’d bought it about eight months before that. I was only starting to make a profit a few months before I hired you, but I lost it in maintenance and repair.”

  “Then why did you turn it into a piano bar?”

  “Because Fletcher is a silent partner of The Last Call, and as a honky-tonk, we had brawls and the sheriff was here almost every night. We lost more money in broken furniture and glassware than I was taking in.”

  “Customers get rowdy in any kind of bar, Coop.”

  He shook his head. “But they haven’t here. When Fletch helped me with the finances to convert it, we put in more security, and even my waitresses were trained to spot and cut off those who couldn’t handle their liquor. He turne
d this place around, Tess. Made it a place to enjoy the music, not the drink. Oh, don’t get me wrong. It’s still got atmosphere, but it’s not a stop-off to get hammered.”

  “You’ve done a great job with it, Coop.”

  “Thanks, honey, but I can’t take all the credit. And it’s more far-reaching than you’d think. The domestic calls into the sheriff’s office have dropped dramatically, too. And the doc at the clinic tells me he’s seen fewer knuckle scrapes, and stitches than before. Fewer alcohol-related injuries. The last drunk driver we had was coming in from a bar in the city. There’s less crime to speak of, all because of a facelift on a bar and a change in format.” Coop shrugged a shoulder. “We still have country music here—this is the South, after all—but without anyone knowing who did it, Fletcher made it clear that inebriation, violence, and unlawful conduct wouldn’t be tolerated in Justice.”

  “He’s a good man, isn’t he?” Tess asked, knowing the answer already. Her instincts were as sharp as ever. They hadn’t failed her.

  “He’s the best, honey. And that’s no lie.”

  She looked up at her boss. “Then why did he tell me that he was a mechanic?” Her brows lowered in confusion.

  Coop’s brows lowered, too. “He told you that?”

  “Yeah, he—” Tess stopped mid-sentence as it dawned on her. She closed her eyes, moaned, and banged her head on the bar as she replayed the conversation in her mind. If she hadn’t been so aroused by him last night, she might have paid better attention then. “No, he didn’t say that,” she admitted, sighing, and realizing that she’d let her hormones get the better of her. “I did. I assumed it by the way he was dressed last night, all grungy and streaked with grease. You told me he worked for the town, and I told him I’d figured out that he was the town mechanic, taking care of the cruisers and town vehicles. He just didn’t correct me. Oh, damn,” she groaned.

  It didn’t help that Coop chuckled and patted her head. “It’s okay, honey. We all make mistakes.”

  The smug look on his face when she lifted hers was a bitter pill for Tess to swallow, but swallow it she would. “I get the point, Coop,” she grudgingly granted.

  “Good.”

  Now she was going to have to eat crow too. But if she was going to trust Fletcher with her heart, she had to admit her own part in all of it. She hoped the terrible things she’d said to him could be forgiven.

  Throwing caution to the wind, Tess took a deep breath. “Okay, boss. I need your help.”

  Six

  “Dammit!” Fletcher stood in front of the mirror in his bedroom, trying for the fifth time to knot the bow tie of his tuxedo. It wasn’t even his fumbling fingers that had him so frustrated. It was the same thing that had been eating at him since he left Tess’s house. He wanted to be with her, and he’d blown it.

  Before he left The Last Call, he’d tried phoning her, but she didn’t pick up. He knew it was a long shot, but he was hoping she’d cooled down enough to hear him out. No such luck.

  When he got home, there was a message on his machine. He’d anxiously played it back, but it was just his secretary, Margaret, reminding him of the event at the governor’s mansion tonight. It was a formal charity event. He’d all but forgotten about it, having dismissed it as nothing more than politicians hobnobbing, and that wasn’t his idea of a good time on a Saturday night.

  He still didn’t want to go, but if he stayed home, he’d do nothing but think of Tess, would probably do something colossally stupid and go over there. Another mistake he wasn’t willing to make. She needed space.

  Much as it killed him to back off, and not sit her down to listen to him, he wasn’t a violent man unless provoked. And he’d never force a woman to do anything she didn’t want to do. But it had only been a few hours, and he already missed her.

  A knock drew his thoughts back around. He was glad for the interruption, whoever it was. It pulled him from the reminder of the catastrophe his personal life had become, and he abandoned the task of tying the tie, leaving it to hang around his neck as he went to answer the door.

  The knocking became more insistent, and Fletcher yanked hard on the door. “What?” he shouted, but was speechless as Tess stared back at him, a wry grin on her face.

  Looking cool as a cucumber in the blasted heat, she stood on his stoop. She crossed her arms under her ample breasts, leaning against the wooden rail, and asked, “Is that how you always answer the door, Mayor?”

  Fletcher’s jaw flexed; he was so tempted to remind her that it was exactly as she’d greeted him this morning, but he was more interested in taking in her presence.

  Her brows rose as she raked her eyes down his body and back up again. The hot summer heat that slammed into him when he opened the door was like a frozen tundra compared to the feel of this woman’s appreciative stare. The licks of flame went straight to his groin, and Fletcher shifted his stance before the effect she had on him became obvious.

  Her tongue darted out and coated her lips to whistle low. “Whew. You sure do clean up good, Fletch.”

  That sultry, sensuous voice of hers was like a drug to him. It increased his pulse rate, and upped the furnace temperature his body had become. He had a sneaking suspicion that she was doing it on purpose, too.

  Add to that, she was wearing a T-shirt and a pair of cutoffs. Different from what she’d worn last night at the bar, or this morning, when she was wearing nearly nothing, but she was so incredibly beautiful, she’d wear a gunnysack like a gown. And her hair was all messy again, windblown and tangled. Just the way he liked it.

  “Come in, Tess.” He hardly recognized the hoarse inflection of his own voice.

  “Don’t you want to know why I’m here?”

  “I don’t care why. You are—that’s all that matters.”

  Her face softened, and she brushed past him. She waited until he’d shut the door, then, as he turned, pressed herself against him, her hands sliding up his chest and around his neck. “Kiss me, Fletcher.”

  “Tess, I don’t think—”

  “Just kiss me,” she said huskily. Her fingers tangling in his hair, she drew him to her tempting mouth.

  It wasn’t as if he really put up much of a fight. It was what he wanted, too. What he ached for. Gawd, but he’d missed her!

  His arms went around her slim waist, unable to let her set the pace this time. He held her as close as he could with both of them still fully clothed. With all the love and lust he felt for her, he kissed her deeply, his tongue thrusting into her mouth, showing her what he wanted to do with her. That honeyed sweetness flooded him again, and he growled, remembering how he’d asked to taste her earlier today.

  His wet lips slid to her ear; he held her close, whispering huskily, “Say you forgive me, Tess.”

  “I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.”

  “Good,” he breathed, and kissed the shell of her ear, delighting in the soft sigh that escaped her lips. He pulled away and looked down at her. “I’m gonna make love to you now, darlin’.”

  “Thank God. I thought we’d have to do a lot of talking first.”

  He chuckled, backing her toward the stairs. “Later. I’ll be able to pay better attention if I’m not distracted with need,” he said, stepping over her sandals as she slipped them off. His dinner jacket joined the shoes on the floor.

  Off came her T-shirt next, her bra teasingly hiding her luscious breasts from view. He couldn’t wait to feel her flesh under his hands, his lips and tongue.

  He followed her as she backed up the stairs, but stopped her halfway, their eyes level as he stood three steps below. “You’re perfect, Tess.”

  She gasped, surprise and wonder written all over her flushed face. A little giggle escaped her. “Hardly, Fletcher. Just maybe perfect for you.”

  “Yes,” he whispered low as she leaned forward and kissed him, but her lips moved away before he was anywhere near satisfied. There wasn’t anyone more perfect for him than Tess.

  Her delicate, talented hands pus
hed the suspenders off his shoulders and traveled to the fastening of his trousers. Good, Lord! He didn’t know if he was going to last if they took a long time. He wanted them naked already!

  His eyes closed on the incredible sensations, forcing himself to remain still. He had a death grip on the banister, the other hand flat on the wall; Fletcher swallowed hard.

  The back of her hand brushed over his fly, tented with the evidence of his hard cock underneath. She turned her wrist and softly gripped him through his trousers. He hissed through clenched teeth, trying so hard to let her play, but it was no use. His hand left the wall, and pulled hers from his engorged, throbbing cock.

  Her disappointed expression made him grin painfully. “I’m working with a hair trigger right now, darlin’,” he explained.

  “Then let me see you, Fletcher.”

  “You first, sweetheart.” His hand reached out, and with a flick of his fingers on the front clasp of her bra, it separated.

  “Take it off,” he ordered quietly, his eyes transfixed on her.

  Tess’s breathing became shallow as she slowly pulled the cups away and her breasts bounced free. She moaned when he licked his lips, her nipples responding to the intimation. As she shrugged her shoulders, the undergarment slid down her arms, and she flung it away, standing proudly for his perusal.

  “Now the rest.” Fletcher kept a tight leash on his control as she obeyed his rough commands. She was her own woman, but she was just as turned on, letting him take the lead.

  She unsnapped the shorts, tugged the zipper down, and wriggled them over her hips.

  He absently unfastened the row of buttons down his shirt as he watched with pinpoint focus, but his hands went slack time and again, and he made little progress.

  His eyes followed the movement as the shorts dropped to her feet, and she kicked them away. The sight of Tess standing on his staircase in nothing but her panties was the most provocative thing he’d ever seen.