by Cat Porter
“It adds a little something without overwhelming it. I like it.”
“I’m Grace, by the way.”
His eyebrows lifted slightly. “Pretty name. Nice to meet you, Grace.” He tipped his glass in my direction. “I’m Miller.”
“Hi, Miller.”
He signaled the bartender for another round for both of us.
“You don’t have to do that.” My hand darted out to his long arm. The wiry muscles under the plush softness of his hoodie tightened, and I snapped my hand back right away as if I had been burned.
“Why not?” His eyes scrunched together. He leaned in closer, his one elbow grazed mine on the bar top, his warm breath fanned my neck. “I usually don’t do this sort of thing, but tonight, for a woman like you, I’m going to splurge.”
“Oh, a woman like me?” I smirked into my empty glass. What did that mean? Mature? Older? “And why does a woman like me get the formal treatment?”
His eyes gleamed. “Because I admire your respect for that whiskey,” he said in a smooth, honeyed voice that melted right over me.
I straightened my back as I absorbed his dark gaze. A buzz zipped through my veins. I knew I was already in trouble here, but this was ... fun. Isn’t this why I came here tonight? To unwind, distract myself before the hell of tomorrow? What’s a little flirting? It had been so long since I had actually felt attracted to a man.
Really attracted.
“I appreciate your appreciating it,” I said. He grinned, and my mouth abruptly went dry.
The bartender slid our new drinks in front of us and took our empties away. My gaze shot up at Miller. His eyes were softer this time, like dark pools of full-flavored coffee. There was something calming to me about his gaze, like the calm that suddenly comes after a violent storm. Or was that before the storm?
He held up his glass and clinked it against mine. It might as well have been an alarm bell heralding our move into new territory. We had shifted gears, and we both knew it. “To appreciation, then,” he murmured.
His eyebrows bunched up for a second, and he let out a laugh at the banal sentiment. I liked that small, unfettered laugh of his. He immediately segued into serious once more, and we swallowed our liquor, our eyes fastened on each other.
Danger, Will Robinson.
My face heated, and I quickly diverted my gaze to scan the increasing number of patrons lining the bar. All I really wanted to do was look into those rich eyes again. I held my breath and tamped down the urge. Blake Shelton’s “Ten Times Crazier” blared loudly through the Roadhouse.
Miller’s glass slammed on the bar. “Come on, Grace. Let’s dance.” My head jerked back to him. He seized my hand and tugged me off my bar stool, his long calloused fingers pressing into my flesh.
“Dance?” My eyes widened, yet all the while I enjoyed the firm heat of his hand over mine. He led me through the crowd to the dance floor.
“I’ve got you, no worries,” he whispered in my ear.
His arms slid around me and pulled me close to his solid frame. I tried to ignore the shiver that zipped across my skin, but it was useless. His very masculine scent of leather and musk intoxicated me immediately. My stomach fluttered as we moved easily to the music across the floor, his hand pressing against my back. He tucked me in closer, and our hips swayed against each other.
I blinked up at him. Miller was tall. I was five foot seven and considered myself average. But there was nothing average about me dancing with this gladiator. His large, hot hand at my lower back singed my skin through the thin cotton of my T-shirt. His face had softened, and his dark eyes seemed to shimmer over me. It was as if he were a different person from the somewhat brooding figure at the bar.
My long silver earrings prickled the suddenly sensitive skin of my neck as we danced to two more songs. Miller teased me about the two old cowboys at a table near the dance floor who had been allegedly ogling my ass, and we laughed over the melodramatic lyrics of the current song. My breathing began to return to normal.
Well, a more intense level of normal.
I liked being held in the long, lean arms of this man, a man who sent that glorious buzz humming through me. It had been years, hundreds of years, since I had been rendered nearly speechless by that rush.
I’m usually a sensible girl. Maybe I should have made some excuse and headed out the door, but I didn’t. I liked the way he kept me close. I liked how his solid body moved against mine and led me through the music. His warm, heady fragrance ignited my insides as Kenny Chesney crooned softly about all the potential damage that could be done. It was nice to pretend I was just an ordinary woman dancing to “You and Tequila” with a sexy somebody at a bar off an interstate in South Dakota.
But I knew better.
I used to let go and have fun. Now, not so much. Sixteen years ago I had stopped harboring expectations for too much more than pleasantness in my life. I had learned the bitter lesson that low expectations were the best way to go.
Miller’s hand slid up my back. He led us off the dance floor and back to the bar where our drinks waited for us. The place was crowded now and much noisier. We leaned against the bar and stood closer together than before out of necessity. His one hand slid over my left hip and secured me close to him in the pressing crowd.
“How did you like Ohio?” he asked.
I still chewed on the sensation of his hand gripping me. Crap, what did he just say?
“Excuse me?”
“Your Harley tee.” Miller gestured to my back. “It’s from Ohio. That where you’re from?”
My lips curled into a slight smile. He didn’t suspect I was a native. “I worked at the store in Dayton for a couple of years a while back.”
I had been the general manager, actually, at that store and several others.
“No shit?” His eyes widened. “Careful, you’re turning into my dream girl, babe. You know everything about bikes?” He took a drink.
Dream girl? Wouldn’t that be swell? At the age of forty-two, I had enough baggage to charter my own cargo plane.
I laughed, and he gave me a quizzical look. “Not everything,” I said, “but let’s see.” My eyes slid down his long legs slowly and obviously before resting on his boots. He grinned as he swallowed his vodka, enjoying the stroke of my deliberate attention. “I know your boots aren’t the real deal.” I took in another mouthful of whiskey.”
He nodded. “Not this pair, but I’ve got several others at home came straight from the source.”
I let out a laugh. “Going casual tonight then?”
“Hmm.” He crunched on another ice cube, his gaze locked on mine. “Now I wish I had put them on, to suit the occasion.”
“What occasion is that?”
“Meeting you, Grace.”
The firm, crisp way he said my name made my insides tighten. His eyes remained on me as he polished off his vodka then licked the excess off his lips. I wondered what those full lips would feel like pressed against mine. The need to know suddenly overwhelmed me.
“So are you from around here, ‘cause I know I haven’t seen you before?” he asked.
“You’d remember me?”
“Absolutely.” The edges of his lips curled into a slow grin that made my stomach dip.
“I’m from. . .around.” I made a twirling gesture with my fingers. “Plenty of around.”
“Like where?”
“Ohio, Wisconsin, Texas, Colorado, Washington State.”
“That’s plenty of around, Grace. You like to keep moving? Or maybe you need to?”
I turned to face the dance floor in order to escape his penetrating gaze. “Change keeps the blood flowing, didn’t you say? It’s good for the soul, too.”
If I had any of my soul left anymore.
His eyes tightened. Here come the goddamn twenty questions now.
&n
bsp; “You got any family?”
Bingo.
“A sister.”
“Husband, kids?”
I smirked. “She does, yes.”
“Not your sister, Grace. You.”
“Me? No,” I replied a bit too sharply. “No husband. No boyfriend either, if that’s going to be your next question.”
He lowered his head. “You off to somewhere new?”
I shrugged my shoulders at him.
“Not telling, huh?” He turned back around and settled his elbows on the bar. “Guess we all have our dark secrets,” he muttered and polished off his vodka.
My ears pounded with the booming vibe of a Florida Georgia Line song. I cleared my throat. “I guess it’s country music night tonight?”
“Almost every night,” he said, an eyebrow lifting. “You in the mood for something else?”
I grinned. “A little Santana would be a good thing.”
He grinned back at me. “Great band.”
“One of the best.”
Oh, I liked his grin. It was hard won, I suspected, yet worth it.
He gestured to my not quite empty glass. “You want another?”
“No thanks. I’m good.”
“Mind if I try?”
“Go ahead.” I pushed the glass towards him.
The sight of his generous lips clinging to my glass, and the movement of his long throat as he drank in my whiskey held me spellbound. I might as well have been witnessing some sort of supernatural phenomenon.
“Single malt?” he asked, his eyes on me. His lips puckered for a moment as he set it down.
“Yes. Only way to go.”
On some sort of insane reflex, my fingers reached out to wipe a glistening amber drop that clung to the corner of his beautiful mouth. His hand caught mine and held it fast to the side of his face while his other hand wrapped around my neck and pulled me close.
“Only way,” he breathed.
Any trace of oxygen was sucked right out of me as his warm lips touched mine and gently explored. Suddenly his tongue swept over my lower lip, and I tasted Suddenly his tongue swept over my lower lip, and I tasted my beloved whiskey on his slickness. A groan choked in the back of my throat. The heat of his hand around my neck made my insides pulsate almost painfully.
I desperately wanted this kiss from him.
I opened my lips to welcome him in. The next moment our mouths assaulted each other, and our tongues devoured deeply. Somehow I didn’t care that I was in a public bar where a herd of people pushed around us, music boomed, laughter and chatter droned in my ear.
All I thought or cared about was this demanding, hungry kiss.
My hands gripped his biceps, and his hard muscles flexed under the soft material of his hoodie. He pulled me into his chest, and his scent flooded my senses once more. This time I wanted to drink it in; let it entwine around me and hug me close. My nipples hardened against the thin satin of my bra.
Miller’s teeth nipped my lower lip, and he hissed in air. . .or was that me?
I dug my fingers into his shoulders and crashed back down to earth. “I’m hot.”
“He kissed the edge of my jaw, while his finger traced my collarbone. “Yeah, you certainly are.”
Waves of dizziness surged through me. “No, no, Miller, I mean, I’m hot, I can’t brea . . .”
His eyes narrowed over me. His hand wrapped around my neck and his thumb stroked my cheek. “Let me get you some water.” Miller turned to find the bartender and smirked. “I tend to have that effect on women.”
“Oh, shut up!” I pinched his arm. He laughed, then his hand went to my waist and squeezed.
That particular heat flooded my female parts, those parts I thought I had put out of commission some time ago. Years of underwhelming responses to a variety of underwhelming men had dulled me. . .or so I thought. I was finally experiencing again what it feels like to be really turned on, wasn’t I? My eyelids sank, and I lifted my heavy hair off my neck. There were different grades of turned on weren’t there? Amused, aroused, pleasantly excited? Not this. This was more.
This was key jammed in the ignition and motor revving.
My lungs constricted as icy wetness slicked across my collarbone and down my chest. “What the . . .?” I gasped and let go of my hair. Miller smoothed ice cubes from his glass over my hot skin, letting one slip down my cleavage. “Oh, God,” I moaned.
“That hit the spot?” He gently tugged on the wide V of my T-shirt to look for the errant cube. It had nestled between my breasts and was melting against my hot skin. I drew in a breath as his finger traced the satiny edge of my black bra and seared my flesh. He chuckled softly.
I let out a sigh. “Leave it, it feels great right there.”
Miller took another cube from his glass and rubbed it around my neck then let it slide down my back. My pulse hurtled out of control.
“Holy crap!” I let out a laugh and arched my back as the ice cube slid down my heated skin and landed at my waist where my jeans gapped open. My lips parted as his long fingers found the cube, slid it in circles around my lower back then tucked it into the waistband of my panties where it melted down my rear.
I shook my head at him, pressed my lips together, and suppressed a laugh. Another cube followed down the base of my throat, slipped down my chest, and landed in my bra. Miller’s cold, wet fingertips traced a line on the side of my neck.
“Feel better?” he asked. His lips brushed my forehead. He handed me a glass of water.
I nodded at him and drank. My inner buzzing continued recklessly like a car careening at top speed on a rainy highway.
He was good.
This was bad.
Miller’s lips nuzzled the underside of my jaw, his fingers pressed in at my sides right at the swell of my breasts. A landslide of sensation careened through me, and only the word YES surged through my brain. My arms flew around his neck. He pulled me deep into his arms against his solid chest and the soft bulkiness of his hoodie. Our tongues tangled, my back arched into his embrace.
He tasted of cool freshness and golden warmth all at the same time. His hand slid up the side of my breast then quickly went down my back to the curve of my ass and squeezed. A shudder went through me.
“Grace,” he whispered in my ear. “You got somewhere we can go? We can always go out back, I’ve got my truck with me tonight.” His tongue licked at the shell of my ear.
Ah, the old quickie in the parking lot. No, I didn’t want a slam-bam. I wanted more, a lot more. In fact, I had all night to indulge in this insanity. I tore my mouth away from his neck and stared at him.
“You’re disappointing me, Miller. We’re grown-ups, aren’t we?”
“I don’t feel like a grown-up right now, Grace. I don’t think I can wait to even get you in my truck, you’re driving me that insane,” he breathed. He let out a small groan. “Jesus, you smell good. What the hell is that? Watermelon with roses?” His thumb stroked my nipple over my shirt, and my breath hitched in the back of my throat.
I was certainly pleased to hear my recent impulse buy of expensive perfume had been worth it. Both of his hands rubbed my ass and pulled me into his urgent hardness. The sudden intensity of the rush only made me ravenous for more. Geez, I was the one behaving like a teenager, or at least my hormones were.
Wait a second—that was actually refreshing news.
I released my hold on Miller in order to get a hold on myself. We were in a public bar, after all. I gulped down the rest of the cold water. Miller’s large hands stroked up and down my back.
I didn’t want to say no to this...to him. The need to touch him again overtook me with a sudden desperation. My hands slid around his waist and grazed over a thick leather and metal belt looped through his jeans. My fingers travelled up over the sleek, firm muscles of his torso. His breath c
aught, and heat rushed straight through me at the sound.
Yes, I wanted him badly.
But I didn’t want to do this in a truck, a back alley or a parking lot for God’s sake.
Just say it. Say it. Say it. Say it.
“I have a room at the motel across the way,” I whispered in his ear. My fingers traced the line of his jaw. His arms squeezed me.
I was breathless at the prospect of this sort of anonymous, midnight fling. I hadn’t had a one-night stand in a very long time. Such nameless, faceless, raw experiences had lost their luster for me early on in my widowhood. They had left me feeling even more hollow than I’d already felt. I had begun to prefer friendly and affectionate casual dating instead. The going out, the laughs, the meals, the sleeping together were enjoyable, pleasant, nice. But I had nothing to give these men I had chosen, and so they had never lasted. And that was fine.
I shut my brain down, and my eyes riveted on Miller. Austerely attractive, brooding, tall, great lips, amazing tongue. . .
Once this was over that would be it, right? It would be done. I was just passing through anyhow. He obviously didn’t live around here either or he’d be dragging me to his place, wouldn’t he?
Oh crap, maybe he’s married or he’s got a girlfriend? Seriously, why wouldn’t he be taken?
“I forgot about that motel,” he said. “Perfect.”
He planted a firm kiss on my mouth and ended it with a leisurely swipe of his delicious tongue. I pulled back from him, my hands against his chest.
“Wait a sec. . .how about you?”
Miller’s gaze darkened, the silver threads all but disappeared, and his eyes burned straight through mine as he tilted my face towards his. “How about me what?”
“You have a wife or a girlfriend?”
“No, I don’t.”
A flutter went off in my insides, and I bit my lip. This would be a candy bar, that’s all this was. Chew, savor, and throw out the wrapper on your way out. End of story.
I grinned at Miller.
He slid two twenty-dollar bills out from his wallet and brandished them at the bartender, who hustled down to us. The bartender handed him his change. Miller left him a generous tip.
