by Shay Warner
A New Adult Cowboy Romance Novella
Prequel to
Texas Temptation
by
Shay Warner
I leaned across the table and looked into Mike's brown eyes. We both smiled, that sweet slow smile of two people in love.
He reached over and took my hand, stroking my knuckles and making me shiver with desire. His touch could light a fire in me that I never wanted banked.
The tablecloth was cool under our hands, a pleasant contrast to that fire. I reached up with my other hand and moved a wine glass to the side, so my elbow could rest more comfortably.
"I went on a good inspection today," I said. "They took me seriously, which was a nice change. If they put in a good word for me, that promotion I want is looking more and more possible."
He sighed, and the moment was broken. I watched as he looked away from me and spoke in a low, sad voice.
"It would be really nice, just once, to have a date with you where you didn't talk about work. I never talk about work," he said.
"I-I'm sorry," I stammered. "I didn't realize. It's important to me, though. You don't want to hear about what I do?"
Mike smiled at me, the grin spreading across his face the way it only did for me. There was a promise in that smile, a promise of love and sex and all of the finer things in life. The finer things that he gave me - like this dinner, at an amazing French restaurant that I could never afford on my little government salary. I felt a small pang of guilt over that, over not being able to pay my own way.
"I want to hear all about what you do," he said. "Just not every date."
I nodded, but I was a little hurt. I didn't think I talked about work that much, really, and I wanted him to be interested in me. He was right, he didn't talk about his work very much, but he was a banker, and not passionate about what he did.
I loved my job, and didn't want to feel like I had to apologize for that.
Our date got better after that. I talked about my family and about movies coming out soon. He asked questions and appeared way more engaged, and told me about the trip he'd just taken with some of his college buddies.
We spent a lot of time just staring into each other's eyes and playing footsie under the table.
Six months ago, I was enchanted with that, and could spend an entire date barely speaking, only thinking about the touch of my skin against his and the way he looked at me, as though I were the only woman he'd ever met, the only woman he'd ever wanted.
I never thought, before I met Mike, that I'd like that, but oh, it was sweet. It felt so good to be that wanted, to be the focus of single-minded attention and devotion.
Unfortunately, after six months, I was looking for more conversation and more of a meaningful connection.
As I listened to him talk, I felt guilty again. How could I want more than this? Mike was so good to me, so thoughtful and kind. If he wanted to not have to think about work after a long week, that was hardly a crime.
"So, we went out to a club," Mike said, starting to tell me about the last day of the trip.
"What kind of club?" I asked, laughing. "Dance club? Golf club?"
"Not a strip club, if that's what you're wondering about, sweetheart," he said, and winked at me, squeezing my hand and giving me a saucy look.
I laughed again. "You guys wouldn't go to a strip club," I said. "You're all married or dating. Don't be ridiculous."
He laughed too, that pleasant baritone sound that I'd gotten so used to, and I grinned.
"Of course not," he said. "That would be very naughty."
He looked so devilish, then, waggling his eyebrows, that the whole conversation seemed ridiculous.
"Would you like dessert?" he asked, flagging down a waitress.
"Yes, sir?" she asked, batting her eyelashes at him. I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. He was so handsome, it seemed like every women we met when we went out didn't notice I existed.
"Two dessert menus," he said, "And a glass of Cointreau for each of us."
I held up my hand. "I'm fine, just the menu, please."
"Aww, live a little," he said, the waitress waiting, a little awkwardly.
"I've had a long week, and I've had plenty of wine," I said. "If I start drinking with dessert, I'll fall asleep and drool on your shoulder the whole way home."
"So, one shot, and two menus?" she asked, and I nodded.
"You're no fun," Mike said, as she left. "I was hoping to get you all liquored up."
He winked, and we both laughed.
I excused myself to go to the ladies room. When I came back, I saw the waitress leaning over him at our table. Both of them laughed, and then she looked up and saw me.
I smiled at her, and she excused herself and hurried into the kitchen.
"There you are, my dear," he said as I sat down again. My napkin had been refolded in my absence, and the dessert menus were placed perfectly on the table, the crisp parchment catching the light of the candles and seeming to just about glow.
I sighed in appreciation.
"This is one of the best dinners I've ever had," I said, smiling at him, tracing small patterns on his hand with the tip of my finger, enjoying the contact and the company.
"It's not over yet," he said. "Let's take a look at these, shall we?"
He ordered a plate of delicate macarons and I chose an amazing-sounding lemon crème brûlée.
The desserts were incredible. I shared bites of mine and enjoyed the contrast of the rich pudding and the crisp crunch of the caramel on top. He teased me and fed me a bite of one of his macarons, which exploded in a taste of orange and coconut on my tongue.
As I scraped the last tiny specs of custard from the dish, he signaled for a waitress again.
"Are you ready to leave?" he asked, the innocent question warring with the desire in his eyes.
"Beyond ready," I said, and shivered in anticipation.
The next morning, I woke up in Mike's king-sized bed and stretched luxuriously. It had been a good night.
A really good night, I thought, as I smiled at Mike's sleeping back.
I reached out and patted his shoulder.
"It's nine," I said. "I should probably get home."
He rolled over and pulled me close to him, kissing my cheeks, my forehead, my collarbone, as I giggled and squirmed.
"Come on, we need to brush our teeth," I said.
"Nope," he said, and laughed against my neck. Oh, he felt so good against me.
He was certainly awake now, I reflected, as I felt an insistent pressure against my hip. As he began to kiss lower and lower I relaxed into the sheets and enjoyed it. What a way to wake up.
I did get home by noon. As soon as I walked in the door, I wondered why I ever left Mike's apartment. My own was small and felt cramped, my queen-sized bed taking up more of the only bedroom than the king-sized bed took up of Mike's master suite.
It wasn't a bad apartment, really. A living room, kitchen, bathroom, and bedroom was all I needed, and, to be honest, there were days I rattled around that much space by myself.
I had taken a little time and money to decorate when I'd moved in, but then I got busy with work and never quite finished. I had a decent couch and some nice throw pillows, but a ratty old blanket was usually tossed carelessly on one side from when I curled up and watched bad television alone.
We had only had breakfast, not lunch, so I opened the fridge. Cold pizza didn't sound very appetizing with the memory of that French dinner so fresh.
I could actually cook something, but it didn't seem worth
it for just myself. I grabbed a slice of cold veggie pizza and nuked it for a minute. The crust got chewy and unpleasant, but it was better than cold. Marginally.
I flopped onto the couch with my plate and sighed.
As I ate pizza one-handed, I scrolled through my Netflix queue. Absolutely nothing was interesting. Trashy TV seemed even more garish after the pleasant tastes of luxury Mike gave me, and silly romantic comedies even sillier.
I sighed.
When my pizza was gone and my belly was not so empty, I looked around the apartment.
There was a hamper full of clean laundry to put away, and a few dishes to do. I'd gotten in bad habits, living by myself. With roommates, I was usually more on top of things.
I stood up and applied myself to the housework. It was satisfying, although I didn't like to admit it to most people. I enjoyed putting an apron on and getting the work done.
More than that, though, I enjoyed looking around a clean and tidy apartment, as I did when I was finished. It was nicer to sit around in a space that was fresh and clean, even if it was tedious to keep up with everything.
I looked at the dining room table, bare and sad, and walked to the fridge.
Underneath 'bread, peanut butter, cheerios,' I added 'flowers' to the grocery list. I didn't usually spend the money on flowers, but they could make my little apartment feel so much more like a home.
Finally, I couldn't put it off any longer.
I pulled my phone out of my pocket and called my mother.
"Finally, darling," she said. "I thought you'd never remember that it was a Saturday."
"I had cleaning to do," I said.
"Oh, yes. Very urgent," she said, with a tinkling little laugh. I rolled my eyes.
"How are you today, Mother?" I asked. "Did you have a good week?"
"Well, you know," she said. "Tolerable. And you?"
"It was actually really great," I said. "Yesterday, I had to go out to a pretty big ranch for a routine inspection, and they were very prepared. They had someone ready to show me around, and they didn't ask if they'd sent the right person, or ask if a man could come back next week and check my work."
"Well, I'm glad you were pleased, but really, darling, you can't expect everyone to like you all the time. I don't know where you got that," she said. "I never worry about silly things like that."
"It's not about whether or not they like me," I said, patiently. "It's about whether or not they'll listen to a woman."
"Dear, you know I told you that people would be like that," she said. "What did you think would happen? You're a pretty girl, and I'm sure it's hard for men to look at you and not want to pinch your cheeks. Or your ass," she added, and laughed at her own joke.
"Oh, they don't just think about pinching my ass," I muttered.
"Really? How rude," she said.
"Exactly," I said. "They're rude. They're all rude."
She sighed. "Well, people are. Are you seeing anyone?"
I hesitated. I told her that I went on a date a few months ago, and on a second date, but I never mentioned that I'd continued to see the man.
She was always so pleased when I had a man in my life, it drove me crazy. If she were only a tenth as interested in my work as she was in my love life.
Besides, Mike never really mentioned his parents or talked about mine. It didn't seem like we were ready to play meet-the-family, and I wasn't sure I would want him to meet my mother, anyways.
"I've been busy with work," I said, which wasn't a lie.
"If you don't get your priorities in order, you'll die alone, you know," she said.
I had had enough.
"That's nice," I said. "There are worse things. I've got to run."
Before she could protest, I hung up.
I turned the ringer of my phone off and put it face-down on the coffee table.
Trashy television was looking more and more appealing. I picked up the remote and tuned out, pretending that my mother wasn't sending me irritated text messages about my failings as a daughter.
I could always read those tomorrow.
Monday morning, I walked into work before anyone else and started in on the never-ending paperwork that plagued my job.
"Are you kidding me?" Karen asked, when she got into work. "How long have you been here?"
I blinked and stretched, checking the time on my computer. Karen was standing in the doorway of my little office and staring at me.
"Uh... two and a half hours?"
"Come on, that's ridiculous. No one should be in this office at six-thirty on a Monday. A Monday! What is wrong with you, Laura?" she asked.
I shrugged.
"It's peaceful," I said. "No one comes to add more work. I can feel like I'm really accomplishing something. It makes me happy."
"Well, I'm glad you're happy, girlfriend," she said, "But you need to take a deep breath. You're not getting any overtime for this."
"Yeah, Terry's not the overtime type," I said. Our boss had made it very clear that any overtime pay would be at his discretion, and he had no intention of opening the purse so much as an inch. To be fair, he didn't expect you to stay late or come early, but if you wanted to go the extra mile, it was on your time and your dime.
She rolled her eyes.
"Terry's not the anything type," she said. "The esteemed Mister Shaw isn't going to do you any favors. Don't grow old waiting for them."
"What do you mean?" I asked, sitting up straighter.
She looked a little guilty, and her eyes darted into the hallway. Quickly, she stepped into my office and shut the door.
"Look," she said, "No one wants to admit it, but this is an old boy's club. It's where ranching and government meet, and in Texas, those are men's jobs. It's getting better, but you're not going to change the way the world works, no matter how hard you work."
I scowled. Karen was sounding too much like my mother.
"Are you saying I shouldn't do a good job?" I asked.
"Of course not," she said. "I do a good job, you do a good job, and we need to keep doing our good jobs. I just don't want you to get your hopes up. Ferguson is going to get promoted long before you will."
"He's been here a month," I said, incredulously. "I've been here more than a year. And... and... he's incompetent!"
She nodded.
"He couldn't find his ass with both hands, but he is a man, and his father golfs with Terry Shaw," she said. She let out a long sigh and looked around my cramped office.
"I probably shouldn't tell you any of this," she said. "I just don't want you to get blindsided when the promotions are announced."
"It's a done deal, then?" I asked.
"Pretty much," she said.
I sighed gustily.
"That's ridiculous," I said. I blinked back tears. It was unprofessional, and I normally kept a better grip on myself, but Karen was a good friend by now, and I didn’t bother to hide how upset I was like I normally would at work.
I had been hoping for that promotion for months.
"I know," she said. “It’s a sucky world sometimes.”
We shared commiserating looks.
“Hey, let’s leave that alone,” she said. “Topic closed. Work sucks. We’re moving on. Tell me about your weekend!”
“Mike took me out to Le Petite Gourmand,” I said. “It was spectacular. Everything you could ever want. I had duck breast for dinner, and the desserts…”
“Oh, yeah, French desserts,” she said, closing her eyes and looking blissful.
“I got a lemon crème brûlée,” I told her in a sing-song voice.
“You’re the worst,” she said. “I want it. I want it so badly.”
“Pretty sure I gained five pounds just from that dinner.”
“That’s okay, you worked it off after, I bet,” she said.
I blushed.
“Come on, Karen,” I said. “That’s not really appropriate.”
“I don’t care,” she said, cheerfully. “He still fl
irting with the waitresses?”
“No,” I said immediately. I remembered the waitress bending over the table and laughing with Mike, and looking almost guilty when she saw me coming out of the ladies room.
“Mm-hm,” she said.
“He wasn’t flirting with that girl when we all went out,” I insisted. “He’s just a friendly guy. He was friendly to you, too?”
