“All right!” They welcomed me, Trish looping her arm through mine and leading me to go get changed. Maybe this idea was actually a stroke of genius? Waiting tables kept you busy, so busy you barely had a second to think. It was how I’d made it through the last couple of years: show up for my shift, pour coffee, deliver food, punch out. Work worked for me. When I stopped and thought about it, agreeing to wait tables tonight made no sense at all. But maybe that was the key: no stopping and thinking.
A few minutes later I found myself in a back room wiggling into a loaner set of a black t-shirt and skirt. One thing was clear: there wasn’t enough fabric.
“Um, Trish?” I heard her humming outside the changing space as she reapplied some mascara.
“Everything OK in there?”
“Do you have anything larger? These are…”
Trish giggled. “Trust me.”
“But it’s not Hooters. This is a nice place, right?”
Now she burst out laughing. “Let me see.”
Tentatively, I stepped out in what passed for clothes. The V-neck clung to every curve, offering up a generous slice of cleavage. It was a stretch to say that the skirt ended at mid-thigh, especially if it crept up any as I moved or turned or did any of the typical things a waitress did.
“Perfect,” Trish declared.
“Are you kidding me?”
“You’re showcasing your assets.” In saying so, she thrust out her own. “Put those boots of yours back on and you’ll make some good tips tonight.”
I smoothed out the fabric as if I could make it magically grow bigger.
“Meet me out in five. I’ll show you your tables.”
Alone in the room, I stepped into my boots. A thin sliver of a mirror revealed my reflection. It made me blush. I didn’t dress like that, not any more. As a teenager I’d gone through a phase. The Declan phase. I’d strutted my stuff, skimpy clothes clinging to my curves, all skin and temptation. But not for the past six years. First heartbreak had cloaked me, then my father’s illness and passing, then the financial troubles. I’d mostly taken to wearing baggy jeans and old work shirts, the kind you’d find on a hardened, middle-aged rancher’s wife.
I drew up my hair into a high ponytail and then struck a pose, hip to the side. Imaginary pen and pad of paper in hand, I sized myself up in the mirror. May I take your order?
I could do this. Yes, to me it looked like my clothes had called in sick for the night, but maybe I was overreacting? These were probably normal, 24-year-old women’s clothes. I just hadn’t been living a normal, 24-year-old woman’s life.
Plus, I’d had a lot of fun the night before in that wee scrap of a dress. It hadn’t stayed on me for long. Declan had pulled the top down and yanked the bottom up as he’d taken me up on a shelf, pinching my nipples and licking and sucking my clit like an animal.
Flushed, I looked at myself sideways in the mirror. Stomach in, ass out. Showcasing my assets. It might be fun to see Declan in this outfit. A wicked grin flashed across my face. It might drive him completely insane.
It would serve him right, the man was so infuriating. He always had the upper hand, dismissing me like a kid back in the day, sitting behind that huge desk in his office. Making me squirm in the crowded restaurant. Tonight I’d make him squirm. I’d show him I wasn’t at his beck and call. When he showed up at seven o’clock—if he showed up at all—I’d be a little too busy to talk. I’d tell him I’d talk to him when my shift was over. Jutting my chin out with a defiant tilt, I gave myself a nod in the mirror. Let’s do this.
Heading back into the bar, I saw Trish buzzing around in a hum of activity.
“Good,” the manager said, giving me a quick glance before he went back to his clipboard again, deep in logistics mode before the start of his short-handed night. Maybe I’d overreacted to the skimpiness of my outfit?
Then the bartender dropped a bottle.
“Fuck!” I heard him exclaim, cracking his head as he stood back up. Hand to the back of his skull, he drew up to his full height slowly, wincing in pain.
“Are you OK?” I rushed over to see if he needed help. “Are you bleeding?”
A woman’s great, big laugh boomed out. “Come on over here,” Trish called to me. “Before Trent recovers and starts using his cheesy lines on you.”
She set me to work filling small bowls with Spanish Marcona almonds. I’d never had one before, but I guessed the same rule applied here with the jazz music and subtle lighting as at the dusty, honky-tonk Silver Dollar Saloon back home. The best customer was a drunk and thirsty one.
“All right, we have five, ten minutes tops before things start to pick up,” Trish explained as she and I distributed the dishes to high, round tables. “It’s Saturday night so we’ll be slammed. But you’ve only got those five tables.” She nodded to my section, front and center.
“You’re gonna get a lot of attention, that’s for sure.” Trish looked me over, then burst out laughing once more. “I hope Trent knocks himself out again. That’d be awesome.”
I couldn’t help but laugh as well. So Trent had dropped that bottle and cracked his head over me. When was the last time that had happened? That would be never.
Right on schedule, the bar started to bustle with patrons. Many of the women wore sleek dresses, the men in crisp dress shirts with pressed collars against freshly-shaven skin. Country girl that I was, I had to admit I felt impressed.
“My, but they’re gussied up,” I murmured to Trish.
“Not bad, right?” Trish agreed, with a not-so-subtle nod over to a chiseled guy drinking over at one of her tables.
At the bar, Trent filled my first round of drink orders. “I have to ask, are you a model?”
I barely managed to suppress a snort along with my laughter. “How many pick-up lines do you have?”
“Do you have a map?” he asked in response. “I’m getting lost in your eyes.”
The next couple of hours flew by in a whirlwind of banter, orders and laughter. The buzz and energy in the bar eclipsed the tiny Chat ‘n’ Chew with its locals and regulars, taking their time with what passed for news in our sleepy corner of the world. I spun around from table to bar, finding that a quick smile and fast service earned crazy good tips. Of course, it helped that the prices were outrageous. Imported beers at $7 a glass, $12 signature cocktails. I could get a full meal plus dessert for that back home. But this was no place like home, Dorothy, and I didn’t want to tap my cowboy boot-heels together to go back just yet.
Busy as I was, I couldn’t help scanning the room. I still had time before seven o’clock, but Declan might arrive early. It was his place, after all. A buzz of anticipation formed in my stomach.
“Why the frown, beautiful?” A trio of handsome guys arrived at one of my tables.
“Good evening, gentlemen.” I greeted them with a big smile.
One placed both hands over his heart. “I’m a goner, guys. That smile did me in.”
“Maybe I should frown again.” I feigned concern.
“I like this one,” his friend laughed. They asked me where I was from and seemed charmed when I said a ranch upstate. They explained they were here joining some friends for a bachelor’s getaway.
“Mostly fly fishing. Out in the middle of nowhere,” one lamented. He gave me a tragic look with his blue eyes. His sweep of sandy hair made him look like a California surfer dude.
“Oh, I think that sounds very manly.” We exchanged a smile before I turned to fill their drink orders.
Trent was waiting for me on the other side of the bar. “Are you Google? Because I’ve found what I’m searching for.”
I groaned. “That one’s the worst.”
“But you’re smiling,” he pointed out. “That’s halfway.”
“Halfway to what, exactly?”
“I can show you later, gorgeous.” He winked at me.
I laughed, basking in this crazy thing called flirtatious banter. I thought I remembered it from back in high sch
ool. So much of the last six years had been devoted to sulking (Declan), fighting (cancer), mourning (Dad), and scrabbling to make ends meet. Sassy and sexy hadn’t had much time to shine.
But I guessed flirting was like riding a bicycle, you just hopped on and all the bubbly, giddy fun came flooding right back.
Turned out the fly-fishing guys were from L.A. The rest of their buddies joined them soon enough, in from their flight from New York. Finance guys, ego to spare and money to burn. The sandy-haired one made a point of chatting me up, asking me did I like country music (yes), did I give lessons in line dancing (not a chance), and did I know my eyes were the color of a summer sky (oh stop you).
At the register, Trish nodded over at my table. “You’ve got some hotties.”
“Bachelor party.”
Trish whistled under her breath. “Out for a good time.” She raised her eyebrow suggestively. “The Ken doll’s cute.” She gave him a wave and I elbowed her like we were teenagers.
I looked down at my notepad, checking an order, thinking of the Ken doll. He was cute. Great smile, flirting with me mercilessly. What if? What if I were a different person, a regular, lighthearted 24-year-old? I might spend a night of mindless fun having the kind of sex that honest and true had no ramifications. No heart on the line, no bizarre agreements to do his bidding. I wouldn’t be upset when he didn’t call the next day. I’d go back to waiting tables, maybe meet someone else the next night.
And just like that, I could tell Declan had entered the room. A shiver went up my spine. Out of the corner of my eye I could see a large man with a dark, commanding presence standing by the entry. I didn’t need to look up to know it was him. I could feel it in my bones. I could feel him see me, his scorching, intense gaze fixed on me like a target. And, damn it, a spark of arousal coursed through my veins, my body instantly starting to respond.
Why didn’t any other man have that effect on me? Here I was, surrounded by handsome guys flirting away, yet I honestly hadn’t felt a thing until now. It wasn’t fair.
Defiant, I refused to look up and meet his eyes. He didn’t own me. I decided that the only thing to do was throw myself back into waiting tables. And flirting.
“Hey there.” I had a big smile for the table of fly fishermen, especially my Ken doll. He ate it up, going so far as to ask when my shift ended for the night.
“I’ll get back to you on that.” I sparkled back at him, giving him a wink. I arched my back, thrusting out my breasts and could almost hear the guy suck in his breath, giving a low whistle of appreciation. I put some swing in my step, letting that tiny skirt have its way with him as I headed off to another table. Let Declan eat his heart out. He might think he had me conquered, but I’d show him.
Back at the bar, I laughed at Trent’s latest line, something about how there was something wrong with his phone. It didn’t have my number in it. I gave him a wicked smile, licking my lips and saw his instant response, the light teasing in his eyes flare into something more fiery and urgent.
Trish sidled up next to me. “Don’t look now but the hottest guy in town just walked into the bar. And I swear he’s looking right at you.”
I had a sinking feeling I knew exactly who Trish was talking about.
“Declan Hunt,” Trish whispered, as if saying the name of a rare and delicious dessert. “He owns this whole building. Don’t look now, but he’s standing right in the corner.”
My whole body could feel the heat of his stare, the magnetic pull to his muscle-packed form lurking in the shadows. But still I resisted it.
“If I could have one night with him…” Trish trailed off, at a loss for her customary quick patter of words.
“I’m sure he’s not all that,” I replied like a petulant child.
“He’s all that and more,” she insisted. “Scorching hot and filthy rich.”
Man, this guy had the whole stinking world at his feet. Not me, though. Working it in my boots and mini skirt, I sashayed back to the bachelor party. Shoulders back, I let the twins do their work as I made my way through the crowd, catching more than a few admiring glances my way. I liked it, the power, the ability to use my body to turn men on. I hadn’t wielded it in years.
“How you doing?” some guy asked, wrapping his hand around my waist.
Ken doll jumped to his feet, rushing over to my rescue. “Hey, man, back off,” he said, his arm up around me, too.
I put my hands up. “OK, guys, play nice.” The new one backed away while the blond guy kept next to me, close.
“You OK?” he asked, as if I’d been attacked. And as if he wasn’t doing exactly the same thing, hitting on me, his hand now wrapped around my waist. He stood a few inches taller than me and had a nice face, handsome in a generic Hollywood type way. I almost wondered if he were an actor.
That’s the last thing I remembered before huge, powerful arms wrapped around me, hoisted me up into a fireman’s carry across a strong, broad shoulder and stole me away.
CHAPTER 8
Declan
Six Years Back
I revved the motor too hard and nearly peeled out of Harlan’s ranch. I’d kept my cool when he’d asked me for the favor, but right now I felt anything but.
That little girl of his was nothing but trouble. Big trouble from a not-so-little girl. My boss’s only daughter, his princess, off limits in every way, shape and form. Too young, too innocent, I knew better than to mess around with the one thing that would most definitely get me fired.
But lately, things had gotten tougher. That day she’d washed her truck, I’d nearly fallen off the tractor. The soapy water sliding down her smooth skin. The spray of the hose plastering her bikini top to her perfect breasts. The shape of her ass as she’d bent over the hood of the truck, exactly the way I’d want her if I fucked her from behind. I’d have her spread her palms out on the hood of the truck, then I’d grab her hips and sink into her deep.
She wore that goddamned cheerleading outfit around all the time. Whoever thought up dressing high school girls in uniforms like that was either a genius or a lunatic, depending on how you looked at it. Because that was the thing, you couldn’t think around a girl like Kara in a cheerleading skirt. Riding up so high you could nearly see the curve and swell of her ass cheeks. Innocent and sexy as hell all at once.
I’d seen a lot, taken in my share of strip clubs and the strippers, themselves. Nasty girls who loved to fuck and had no problem acting out any fantasy you could come up with—and at 21 I had a whole lot.
But Kara. There was something about that girl that got me rock hard. Those lips, so full and lush and berry-pink. Her perfect tits straining against her thin cotton t-shirts. The other day she’d been standing on the porch and she’d raised her arms up over her head and stretched. My jaw about dropped, seeing that back arched, her eyes closed for a moment with those arms overhead, wrists crossed just so. That night, I couldn’t get it out of my head. How she’d look stretched out like that for me and me alone.
Slamming the brakes on, I stopped at a red light. Fuck. Harlan and his damn favor.
Guess the princess’s truck needed a new carburetor and daddy had promised her he’d pick her up from school. Only Harlan couldn’t make it so he’d sent me in his place.
I didn’t know why she couldn’t just hitch a ride with one of her friends. Or her spoiled pretty-boy boyfriend. But, no, that wasn’t good enough. Harlan had tried to call her and let her know he couldn’t pick her up but she hadn’t answered her cell phone. He didn’t want his angel to have a moment of worry, a furrow on her perfect brow when she stepped out on the lawn and didn’t see her daddy waiting in his truck.
So here I was, picking up Kara Fucking Brooks from her goddamn high school. Exactly what I needed, some quality alone time with her in the cab of my truck. It would be a long 20 minute drive back to the ranch, I knew that much.
A sunny, warm afternoon in late May, seniors were set to graduate next week. A bunch of kids milled around outside of the front en
trance. A couple of guys tossed a Frisbee around like they thought they were California dudes out at the beach. I pulled up into what looked like the pick-up area and idled the engine.
It took me all of three seconds to spot Kara. Like a spotlight shone down on her, she stood surrounded by kids looking at her, watching her movements, admiring her. Like bees to her honey. Her long, golden hair shining in the sunlight, her long, golden limbs graceful and posed just so on the front steps, she was the center of attention and she loved it.
She threw her head back and laughed, thrusting those breasts out as she did it. I wasn’t the only guy who noticed. Two meatheads in varsity football jackets stared right at her tits the whole time. Assholes. I gripped the steering wheel tighter.
Kara didn’t seem to mind. She knocked one of them playfully on the shoulder. He didn’t look like her boyfriend, but they all looked alike to me. Dumb and soft. What drove me crazy was these guys thought they were so tough. They thought because they threw around a ball with some other guys and won a few games that they were the shit. I’d love to sign them up for one month at any one of the foster homes I’d so very much enjoyed growing up. They wouldn’t last a week.
Kara didn’t notice me, so I sat like a dumbass behind the wheel of my truck waiting. I wasn’t going to climb out and fetch her like a damn dog. I thought about leaning on the horn but she was bound to look over soon. As soon as she took her eyes off of that guy in the letterman jacket.
He was all chin and grin, that guy. A sheltered girl like Kara probably thought he was a real stand-up guy, the kind of man who’d hold doors open for you and shake your father’s hand. I knew better. I knew what he had going on in his head right now. With Kara standing next to him in that tiny cheerleading skirt, he was probably half-hard already wondering how quick he could talk her out of dating his buddy old pal Bruce and spend some time with him so he could bend her over and bury himself in her, deep.
Because that’s how guys were. It’s how I was, and any other healthy American male standing next to a girl with her porn star body. Girls like Kara, though, they thought about roses and poetry and wedding rings. She had no idea what she was really playing with.
Unleashed: Volume 1 (Unleashed #1) Page 13
