A Shot of Sultry

by Macy Beckett

  Oh god, what was wrong with her?

  ***

  Trey pressed an ear to the bathroom door and listened as Bobbi sniffled on the other side. Crying could only mean one thing: she was pregnant.

  Holy shit, he was going to be a daddy.

  His head spun, and he clutched the wall to keep from falling. But a surprise grin lifted the corners of his mouth. He was going to be a daddy!

  Okay, so the timing sucked, but when he thought about it, there was no reason why things couldn’t work. He was crazy about Bobbi, and she seemed to like him too. The thought of marrying her and starting a family made his chest light and tingly, like he’d spilled warm champagne down the front of his shirt. Bobbi would be all his. He’d get to come home to her at the end of a long day and spend the night in the haven of her arms. And though Luke would be furious at first, he’d come around. Hell, they’d be brothers!

  As for Trey’s defense contract, he’d break it. He’d have to repay the signing bonus, and his military record would remain unclear, but who cared? Right now, an other-than-honorable discharge seemed trivial compared to bringing a child into the world.

  He could already picture the three of them—the Lewis family—cuddled beneath an evergreen tree for their first Christmas. How old would the baby be next December? Trey took a moment to crunch some numbers. About eight months old. He glanced into the living room where he typically assembled his artificial tree. He could almost see his tiny, towheaded son crawling toward a shiny ornament hung too low on the branches. Trey’s fingers twitched to hold his baby boy. They could really do this—be happy together.

  Just as he drew a hopeful breath, Bobbi opened the bathroom door. He spun around to find her red-eyed, but smiling.

  “It’s negative,” she said, holding up the pee stick as evidence.

  “What?” He must not have heard her right.

  She pointed to a small oval window. “Not pregnant.” Squinting, he brought the words into focus.

  When Trey was a freshman in high school, one of the seniors had played a prank on him in the lunchroom, pulling his chair out from under him just before he’d sat down. He’d hit the tile floor so hard it’d knocked the wind out of his lungs. He felt that way now.

  “Oh.” He blinked away moisture welling in his eyes. “I heard you crying, and I assumed—”

  “I was just so relieved,” she explained, shrugging. She leaned into the bathroom and tossed the test into the wastebasket. “Good news, huh?”

  “Of course.” And it was good news, logically. So why did he feel sucker-punched? Why did it seem like he’d lost a family that had never even existed?

  “Now we can eat.” She pressed a hand against her tummy—her now vacant tummy. “I’m starved.”

  “Sure. Me too.”

  Trey collected himself long enough to fake a smile and reheat dinner, but something shifted inside him. For the first time, he realized he wanted something more from his life. More from Bobbi.

  When he took her to bed that night, it wasn’t for down-and-dirty sex. He made love to her slowly. Softly. Sharing the same shuddering breaths and gazing into her warm, green eyes as if to brand her. He made her come half a dozen times, but he denied his own release for hours, because he needed the closeness. Needed to recoup what he’d lost. But when he drove himself inside her wet heat and finally climaxed, he could’ve sworn he’d lost half his soul to her in the process.

  He rolled them both to the side, and as he fell asleep, still buried deep within Bobbi, their limbs entwined, surrounded in their mingled scent, he feared letting her go might actually kill him.

  What the hell was he going to do?

  Chapter 17

  “Going out of town again?” Bong scratched his blond, bean-sprouted chin while aiming an incredulous stare at Bobbi from the other side of the bed. He nudged her outstretched, jean-clad leg with the tip of his sneaker. “That’s three times in the last two weeks.”

  “Four,” corrected Weezus, who sat cross-legged on the opposite bed, uploading last night’s footage of Trey and Colton riding the mechanical bull at Shooters. Neither man had lasted longer than three seconds. She, on the other hand, had held on a full two minutes. And she had the throbbing nether region to prove it. “Where’re you going this time?”

  Bobbi turned onto her back, tracing the swirling patterns of the hotel room ceiling with her gaze. “Not far. Just a few counties away to interview a subject. I’ll be back first thing in the morning.”

  “Mmm-hmm.” Bong’s eyes moved over her face skeptically. He wasn’t buying it. “How come we’ve never met any of these subjects?”

  “They weren’t right for the project.”

  “Liar, liar, pants on fire—” Weezus chimed.

  “—nose as long as a piano wire,” Bong finished incorrectly.

  Bobbi grabbed the pillow beneath her head and used it to whack Bong in the stomach. “It’s telephone wire, you stone hound.”

  Clutching his gut in mock agony, he warned, “I’m calling my union rep in the morning!” When she glared at him, he added, “But I accept the apology in your eyes.”

  “Dork.”

  “So,” Weezus said, shutting down his computer, “when are you meeting your lov-ah?”

  “I don’t have a lover,” Bobbi lied, “and I’m leaving after tonight’s shoot.” She propped up on her elbows and turned the subject away from her personal affairs, no pun intended. “Hey, has anyone else been getting calls from that psycho who’s stalking Colton?”

  “Uhn-uh.” Weezus shook his big, blue head.

  “Nope,” Bong said. “Why? She bothering you?”

  “Not really.” Bobbi reclined again, folding both hands behind her head and crossing her legs at the ankles. “Just one strangely polite voice mail.” But Barbara’s creeptastic, Please stop tempting my Big Daddy with other women. He belongs to me. Have a blessed day! had chilled her blood worse than a thousand angry swears.

  “Colt’s got a restraining order, right?” Bong asked.

  “Yeah,” Bobbi said. “But she’s not violating it by contacting me.”

  “Hmm.” Bong didn’t appear to like that. “Well, watch yourself. At least for the next week—then we’re outta here.”

  If Bobbi hadn’t been lying flat on her back, she would’ve slumped to the floor like a puddle of goo. One week. That was all the time she had left with Trey. In fact, tonight was his big farewell party at the church fellowship hall. She could return to visit Luke and June, but not the Golden Boy she’d grown to…grown to what? Love? She wasn’t sure, but she’d miss him. A lot. The idea of leaving him behind made her stomach heave and her body ache all over like the flu.

  Every day was precious now. She was watching the sand in her hourglass run out, willing each fleeting grain to slow down and plug the channel, but it never did. So she’d determined to enjoy her final moments with Trey and worry about the consequences—and the withdrawal—later.

  Weezus stood from his bed, nearly clocking his forehead on a fire sprinkler attached to the ceiling. “Want to get some lunch?” he asked her. “There’s a farmer’s market a few minutes from here.”

  “No, thanks. I’ve got plans.”

  Bong poked her in the ribs. “With Trey Leeeeeeewis?”

  She nearly gave herself whiplash turning to face him. “No!”

  Laughing, Weezus pointed to her nose, which she’d unconsciously started rubbing. “You’re the worst liar I’ve ever met. Anyone with eyes could tell you’re into him.”

  “And vice versa,” Bong said. “You should’ve seen his face last night when that redhead behind the bar asked for your number. I thought Trey was gonna bust a brain vessel.”

  “Don’t worry, boss.” Weezus tugged her sandal playfully. “Your secret’s safe with us.”

  If her feelings were that transparent, thank goodness Luke ha
d been too busy operating the mechanical bull to notice. She pushed off the mattress and feigned ignorance. “You’re seeing things that aren’t there. Can smoking too much reefer make you hallucinate?”

  “No,” they both said, smiling.

  And they called her a liar. “Whatever. I’ll catch you at the church. Six-thirty, so we can set up before the guest of honor arrives.”

  “Right. Your lov-ah.” Weezus dodged two pounds of feathers when Bobbi threw her pillow at him. Well, technically, his pillow since this was the crew’s room. And as it appeared she’d worn out her welcome, she joined them near the door.

  As she stepped outside into the parking lot, Weezus said something that made her think. “There’s a lid for every pot. No shame in using the stove once you’ve found your match.”

  Her match? Bobbi wrinkled her brow while climbing into her car, and by the time she arrived at the community center, she’d worried a crease into her forehead not even Botox could remove.

  She didn’t like her cameraman’s words. They implied she had only one true companion on this vast earth, one fit, and she didn’t believe in soul mates. Each man and woman had thousands of potentially compatible partners out there. It was just a matter of crossing paths with one of them at the right time. Sure, Trey might be one of those people—or not—but either way, the timing was all wrong. That didn’t mean she’d never find love with another man. Someone who’d make her forget Trey’s dimpled smile and his sapphire eyes.

  But when Bobbi pulled into the parking lot beside his Chevy and caught a glimpse of him from afar, her heart catapulted out of her chest. Oh hell, who was she kidding? No man could ever make her forget Trey Lewis. Still, there was another lid to her pot somewhere out there, and she’d find him when the time was right. She had to believe that.

  Turning off the ignition, she studied Trey as he sat on the front steps, shoulder-to-shoulder with Carlo, his young apprentice. Neither male noticed her as they consumed their sandwiches with gusto, their postures a mirror image—elbows resting on knees, hands curled around identical six-inch subs. They even had matching mayonnaise moustaches. Seeing them together made her smile.

  Bobbi reached into the backseat to retrieve her camcorder, then silently rolled down her window to capture a few minutes of Trey and mini-Trey on video. The boy’s parents had refused to sign a waiver, but this wasn’t for Sex in the Sticks. This was just for her, to replay on cold, dark days when the summer’s memory had begun to fade.

  Carlo grabbed a handful of Bugles from the open bag near his feet. After pushing a corn chip cone onto the tips of each finger, he used his “claws” to scare Trey, who chuckled and dug into the bag to do the same. When they’d grown tired of the charade, they brought each finger to their mouths and munched them clean.

  Camera in hand, Bobbi stepped out of her car and continued filming as she approached them. Her subjects glanced up, each displaying a very different reaction to her presence. Trey’s eyes flashed with uninhibited joy. He smiled around a bite of sandwich while wiping his mouth on a paper napkin. Carlo, on the other hand, jutted out his bottom lip and slouched, clearly resentful of the disruption. It seemed quality time with Trey was in high demand these days.

  “Hey,” she said, pointing to Carlo’s new buzz cut, “I like your hair. I can actually see your eyes now.”

  He responded with something that sounded like “Mmrrmph.” After an elbow in the ribs from Trey, Carlo muttered a reluctant, “Thanks.” He pointed at his mentor. “He made me do it.”

  Trey grazed the boy’s shorn scalp with his palm. “Damn straight. He looks like a man now, don’t you think?” A quick wink from Trey told her to play along.

  “Oh, yeah.” Bobbi gave a thumbs up. “You look five years older. Real handsome.”

  Carlo gave a flippant shrug, but he couldn’t hide a small, lopsided smile. In truth, the kid did look older than the first time she’d seen him. He’d gained a couple of inches and at least ten much-needed pounds. Amazing what some old-fashioned TLC could do for a child.

  An idea came to mind to follow Carlo’s progress over the years—document his transformation from troubled teen to stable adult. If his family remained local, which, for Carlo’s sake, she hoped they did, she could interview him when she flew back to visit Luke. And Trey would probably like to receive updates on his little buddy.

  “You going to keep working with my brother when your hours are served?” she asked Carlo.

  “Uh-huh.” Carlo took a few loud slurps from his iced tea. “Till Mr. Lewis comes back. Then I’m gonna work for him.”

  A bittersweet grin played on Trey’s lips.

  “You coming to Mr. Lewis’s party tonight?” she asked Carlo. “I can pick you up if you need a ride.”

  “I got one.”

  Trey elbowed him again.

  “I mean,” Carlo corrected, “thanks, but I already got one.”

  “I’m taking him.” Trey crumpled his napkin and tossed it into his empty lunch cooler. “And we’ve got a lot of work to finish before then. That back path isn’t gonna pave itself.”

  The young man took the hint, finishing his tea and offering a quick wave good-bye before jogging out of sight.

  Trey glanced around the property to make sure no one was watching, then picked up a long stick and used it to brush the outside swell of her hip. “Can’t use that footage of him, you know.”

  “I know.” She zoomed in on Trey’s face, capturing a wicked smile that gave her dirty thoughts. Dirty thoughts she intended to turn into dirtier actions. “Can we go somewhere private? I need an interview.”

  “You can’t do it here?”

  Biting her lip, she peered at him from above the camera. “That’s not the kind of exposé I had in mind.”

  Understanding dawned in his eyes, and his sinful smile turned downright torrid. “Why, Miss Gallagher, I’m scandalized.”

  “Do any of those inside rooms lock?”

  He nodded slowly, his mischievous gaze heating her face all the way from cheeks to hairline.

  “Then lead the way, Mr. Lewis.”

  He obeyed, and she followed, making sure to catch plenty of footage of his incredibly strong back and the hard curve of his backside. Mmm. Whoever said a picture was worth a measly thousand words had never seen Trey’s ass.

  They passed the kitchen, now complete with gleaming, stainless steel appliances, and continued to the boardroom at the far end of the building. The space was dim, smelling of fresh paint, vacant with the exception of a long, mahogany table by the wall. As Trey closed and locked the door, Bobbi adjusted her camera’s aperture to adjust for the change in lighting.

  She backed up and leaned against the table. “You know, I think you’d feel a lot more comfortable without that heavy shirt on.”

  He pinched the lightweight cotton between two fingers. “This?”

  “Mmm-hmm. Take it off, Golden Boy.”

  “I didn’t hear the magic word.”

  “How’s this for a magic word? Reciprocity.” She worked the buttons of her blouse with her free hand.

  “Best word ever!” Without further argument, he grabbed his T-shirt hem in one hand and inched it up, revealing his tight, flat belly. “This what you want?” Playfully, he rolled his body like a Chippendale dancer, rippling and flexing his abdominal muscles beneath smooth, tanned skin.

  “If only I had some dollar bills…” She shimmied out of one sleeve, changed hands with the camera, and let her blouse fall to the newly waxed tile floor.

  “For you, I’ll dance free of charge.” Slowly, while undulating his lean torso, he peeled his T-shirt over his head, whirled it in the air a few times, and let it fly across the room. Though they both laughed at the mock striptease, the sight of his bunching shoulders and contoured chest made Bobbi’s blood heat and pool right between her thighs.

  After a few tries, she
gave up on unclasping her bra. “I can’t get this off.” She shook her hair back. “If only I had a big, strong man to help me.”

  “Lucky for you, I never leave a damsel in distress.” Instead of blocking the lens, he circled behind her. His warm, rough fingers unfastened her bra while his teeth grazed the sensitive flesh at the base of her neck. He pushed the straps down her shoulders, then cupped her heavy breasts in both hands, massaging lightly and bringing a groan to her lips.

  She closed her eyes and leaned into his chest, dropping her arm to her side, camera be damned. He thumbed her nipples in slow circles and bit her shoulder, making her ache with wanting him. There was just one problem, and she told him when he trailed a hand beneath the waistband of her jeans. “I’m sore from last night.” What had possessed her to ride that stupid bull, anyway?

  “Want me to kiss it,” he whispered in her ear, “and make it better?”

  Goose bumps prickled her skin. That sounded awfully tempting. She turned to face him, setting her camera on the tabletop. “Only if you let me reciprocate.”

  His crooked smile tugged one dimple into view. “Well, it is the magic word.”

  “Okay, then.”

  “Can you stay quiet?” He unbuttoned her jeans, then lowered the zipper.

  “I think so.”

  Kneeling at her feet, he pushed her pants down to her ankles. Nodding at the table behind them, he ordered, “Sit down, and put your heels on my shoulders.”

  She did as he commanded, hooking her jean-trapped ankles behind his head. In all her life, she’d never felt so exposed. Her muscles stiffened, but he relaxed them again, stroking her skin reassuringly.

  He glanced at the lens. “That still on?”

  A sudden boldness overtook her. She nodded and tested his reaction by angling the camera to record their intimate act.

  He didn’t object, only flashed one final, devilish grin before dipping between her thighs, where he licked her into silent ecstasy.