by Myla Jackson
“And we’re good enough friends we wouldn’t do anything to bust that up,” Jack continued.
“And we know what we want.” Cory lifted her hand to his lips.
“You,” Jack concluded.
“Say you’ll give us a chance.” Cory pressed her palm to his cheek.
“We got you roses,” Jack said.
“Yes, you did.” Bunny bit her lower lip, but she couldn’t keep the smile from spreading across her face. “What if I lose the shop and have to move to find work?”
Cory shook his head. “Not happenin’.”
She frowned. “How can you be sure?”
“We invested in it.”
“You what?”
Jack jumped in, “We’re partners, you, me and Cory.”
Cory grinned. “We’re going into the flower business.”
Bunny’s eyes widened. “You bought the note from the bank?”
“Yes, but we have it in writing that Bunny Leigh is to be the CEO and have all the decision-making authority on how the shop is run.”
“We’ll be silent investors,” Jack said.
Bunny’s heart lightened and she shook her head. “I can’t imagine either one of you being silent.”
“So are you good with it?”
“I’d like to have known before Ray told me he’d turned it over to the bank.”
“We wanted to surprise you.”
“Maybe use it as a carrot to win you over to our side.”
Bunny laughed. “How can I resist?”
“Then you’ll give us a chance?”
Her eyes filled with tears and she nodded. “Okay. We’ll give this crazy, mixed up ménage a shot.” When they lunged toward her, she held up a hand. “And if it doesn’t work?”
“It will.” Jack grabbed her hand and pulled her closer.
“We know what makes you happy.” Cory slipped her purse off her shoulder and tossed it on a chair. He shoved his jacket off his shoulders. “A little stripping.”
Jack shucked his jacket and pressed her hand to his chest. “A lot of skin.”
Cory backed her to the end of the bed until her knees bumped the mattress. He grabbed the hem of her shirt and lifted it over her head. Then he clasped her in his arms and kissed her soundly. “And a whole lot of lovin’.”
Bunny laughed and fell into their arms. “I believe I’m the luckiest woman in the world.”
“Oh, you’re gonna get lucky all right.” Jack waggled his brows and ripped the pants right off his legs.
Cory did the same. “One of the perks of being a stripper…quick-release clothes. Now, let us show you how much you’re gonna love us.”
About the Author
Twenty years of livin’ and lovin’ on a South Texas ranch raising horses, cattle, ostriches and emus left an indelible impression on Myla Jackson, one she likes to instill in her red-hot stories. Myla pens wildly sexy, fun adventures of all genres including historical westerns, medieval, romantic suspense, contemporary and paranormal beasties of all shapes and sexy sizes. When she’s not wrangling words from her computer she’s snow-skiing, boating, riding her ATV or spending time with family. She lives in the tree-covered hills of Northwest Arkansas with her husband of 20+ years and her muses—human-wanna-be canines—Chewy and Sweetpea.
To learn more about Myla Jackson and her stories visit her website at www.mylajackson.com.
Look for these titles by Myla Jackson
Now Available:
Ugly Stick Saloon
Boots and Chaps
Boots and Leather
Boots and Bareback
Boots and Lace
Bound and Tied
Honor Bound
Duty Bound
River Bound
She wants no strings…but he wants it all.
Boots and Lace
© 2013 Myla Jackson
Ugly Stick Saloon, Book 4
After her philandering husband left her, Lacey Lambert found sanctuary, and a better class of friends, at the Ugly Stick Saloon. She learned that the best revenge—against her ex, and the “friends” who kicked her out of the Temptation Garden Club—is to live life to the fullest.
Now that her best friend is moving out of her apartment building, she’s feeling a little lonely. And more than ready for a little commitment-free sex with the hot new downstairs tenant.
Freshly divorced, Nick McBride isn’t looking for another failed relationship. But when the luscious brunette offers no-strings sex—with him and his brother—he can’t come up with a good reason to refuse.
After he gets over the shock that she likes it loud, long, and in front of an open window, he finds himself wanting more time with her. Maybe even on a permanent basis. But it’ll take every ounce of his cowboy charms to convince her to let him sweep her off her feet.
Warning: Contains a motorcycle-ridin’ cowboy, a wild-and-free woman who doesn’t care what the town biddies think, and semi-public sex loud enough to set tongues a-waggin’!
Enjoy the following excerpt for Boots and Lace:
“I’m back.” Nick McBride stepped through the front door of the tiny apartment, wondering how he’d ended up in such a mess. Until his house was finished, he was beholden to his little brother, Cory, for a temporary place to live.
He’d still be camped out on the greasy cot in the back of the auto-mechanic shop where he worked, if Cory hadn’t offered to share his small apartment for the short-term. After they’d moved the big stuff into the apartment, Cory had suggested Nick run by the Ugly Stick Saloon and grab a beer. He’d certainly earned one.
Exhausted from moving what little he’d chosen to bring with him and all the items Cory had accumulated, Nick hadn’t wanted to go anywhere but to bed. Cory insisted, saying he wanted some time to unpack a few things without bumping into his brother.
Nick had dragged himself to the saloon and ordered a beer. It was late on a weeknight and he was so tired he wanted to fall asleep on the barstool, but he stayed for over an hour, giving Cory time to make his apartment his own without big brother getting in his way. The waitresses at the Ugly Stick made him feel welcomed and had been a nice diversion from being alone with his thoughts. The one dance he’d participated in had lifted his spirits a little. But not much. The smile on the girl’s face made him feel better, like maybe his life wasn’t totally in the crapper.
“Are you as whipped as I am?” Cory stood at the refrigerator, a towel draped around his hips, his shoulder-length blond hair almost dry. “I totally forgot to pick up food.”
“Everything is closed in Temptation.” Nick’s belly rumbled. “Guess we’ll have to go hungry tonight.”
“Mind looking at the AC tomorrow? I’m all thumbs when it comes to anything mechanical. And we can’t go too long in this heat without some relief.”
“I’ll look at it in the morning.” He didn’t bother reminding his brother that he was a car mechanic, not an electrician. But Cory had always looked to him whenever something needed fixing.
Cory grinned over the fridge door. “We may not have any food in the place, but I have a six-pack of beer. Want one?”
“Maybe after I shower.” Nick would rather have had a steak and baked potato, but maybe a cool beer might take the edge off his sore muscles and allow him to sleep better. He grabbed a towel out of a box and headed for the tiny bathroom. He stepped behind the shower curtain and turned on the cold water only, an image of the waitress leaning over the bar coming to mind.
She’d worn a flimsy, low-cut tank top and shorter-than-short blue jean cutoffs and boots. Her long dark hair had fallen around her shoulders in big loose curls. The kind a guy liked running his fingers through. The cool spray washed over him, barely doing the job of chilling his rising desires. If he hadn’t been so out of practice, he might have spoken to her, maybe even asked her out. Hell, with his divorce so fresh, he wasn’t sure he wanted to get back into the dating scene. So he’d sat there with his face practically buried in his beer mug, as the wa
itresses hurried back and forth, wasting an opportunity to get to know the one called Lacey.
Nick scrubbed his hair and body and rinsed off. When he stepped out of the shower and dried off, he felt better, more refreshed. The apartment was too hot with the AC out and he didn’t feel like sweating in clean clothes, nor did he have to dress to impress anyone. Rather than slip into shorts or boxers, he stepped out of the bathroom with only the towel around his waist.
As soon as Nick exited the bathroom, Cory tossed him a long-neck bottle. “Think fast!”
Nick fumbled the catch but saved the bottle from hitting the old hardwood floor. He screwed off the top and tossed back his head, taking a long swallow. Then he dropped onto the couch, stretching his feet out in front of him. “God, it feels good to relax.”
“Thanks for the loan of the furniture and the help moving it in.” Cory sat at the other end of the couch and rested his feet on the coffee table. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”
“And I’d be sleeping at the shop. I owe you.”
“Don’t worry about it.” Cory waved his hand. “You’ll be back on track when the dust settles.”
Nick snorted. “If Trish doesn’t decide half of everything I owned wasn’t enough.”
Cory took another long swig of beer and let out a loud belch. “Your ex is a piece of work, isn’t she?”
“She is.”
“What happened? Why the divorce? You two were married for almost seven years.”
Nick didn’t feel like going into it. He’d spent too many hours with his lawyer, racking up a monumental attorney bill, and for what? Trish walked away with just about everything he owned, claiming he’d neglected her and that’s why she had an affair. “It’s a whole lot of horse shit.”
“I get it, you don’t want to talk about it. That’s okay. If you need an ear, I’m here, otherwise, I won’t ask.”
“No, it’s not that. It’s—”
A loud beep interrupted Nick’s explanation.
Cory sat up straight. “What the hell?”
“Sounds like a smoke detector.” Nick said. “The battery probably wore out. Got a spare?”
Cory shook his head. “If I do, I wouldn’t know which box to look in.”
The alarm beeped again.
“Is it going to do that all night?” Cory asked.
“Most likely. It’s a reminder to change the battery to keep you safe.” Nick rose from the couch and followed the sound of the beep toward the front door of the apartment.
His brother followed. “How do we make it stop?”
“You have to disconnect it.”
“I don’t have a ladder and we didn’t bring the chairs yet for the kitchen table. How the hell are we supposed to disconnect it?”
“I can give you a boost.” Nick locked his fingers, cupped his hands and bent.
Cory stuck his foot in Nick’s hands and reached for the alarm. He could barely grasp it enough to unhook it from the old building’s high ceiling. “Got it.”
“Now, pull the old battery out and leave the rest hanging until you can get another battery. And hurry it up, will ya? My fingers are slipping.”
“Just a minute. The damned battery is being stubborn.”
“I’m serious, I’m about to drop you.” Nick swayed, his fingers slipping apart.
“Just…one…more…”
A knock on the door startled both men.
Nick lost his grip, Cory fell and both men landed on the floor as the door opened to the beautiful waitress from the Ugly Stick Saloon, wearing that breast-huggin white tank top, the shorter-than-short pair of jean cutoffs and bearing a tray filled with cheesy, gooey pizza.
She smiled, bent and scooped up both their towels, which had dropped loose when they’d fallen. Balancing the pizza tray with one hand and the towels looped over the other, she raised her eyebrows. “Having a little fun without me?”
Think there’s nothing spicy beneath her vanilla shell? Brace yourself…
Lip Lock
© 2013 Em Petrova
Country Fever, Book 2
From the moment he spots the blonde bombshell in the small-town Reedy, Wyoming, grocery store, Brant Foxfire can’t help but check her out—all the way to the checkout line.
He always hoped he’d see her again, but never thought it’d be this way—with her young son in his orthodontist chair for a consultation. It’s not the boy’s overbite that captures his attention. It’s the single mom’s mouth. Her luscious lips…and that one charmingly off-kilter tooth.
Hayley Graff knows firsthand that lust doesn’t equal a long-term relationship, but Brant awakens her body’s needs in a way she can’t ignore. She’d love nothing more than to “open wide” for the sexy orthodontist, as long as he never learns the embarrassing truth.
To his delight, Brant discovers that his long-suppressed need to dominate brings out the best in the standoffish vixen. Yet her reluctance to completely let down her guard stands in the way of total bliss…until an accident exposes her deepest vulnerability.
Warning: Contains teeth-grinding desire between a spank-me-please blonde bombshell and a closet Dom who knows how to straighten her out. You may never look at an orthodontist’s chair the same way again.
Enjoy the following excerpt for Lip Lock:
Whir-thump-thump. Whir-thump-thump. Dr. Brant Foxfire tilted the shopping cart off its back wheels and let it slam into the floor.
A woman who was scowling at the small-town grocer’s cereal selection looked up at the sound.
“Sorry,” he said as he pushed by her. “Noisy wheels.”
“Oh, these carts are so old.” Her face wreathed in the false smiles he saw too damn often from women. As the only orthodontist in Reedy, Wyoming, he got plenty of female attention when mothers paraded their crooked-toothed kids into his office. And the women at the coffee shop or diner he frequented all made it a point to display their charms. More often than not he got eyefuls of flesh he had no desire to see.
While this attention flattered him, he wasn’t in the business of chasing skirts like some of the local cowboys. Long ago, he’d sworn to keep out of the beds of Reedy residents. It was too easy to ignite rumors, which for a professional man could be the equivalent of career assassination.
Whir-thump-thump.
Goddamn cart. Couldn’t he just have a peaceful trip to the store for coffee and a frozen tray of lasagna without that whirring noise? He heard enough of it in the office from all the gadgets used to suction and clean patients’ teeth. While he loved his job, he didn’t get away from it often enough. Fifty-hour workweeks and no distractions at home…
He jerked as a woman passed the end of the aisle, carrying a plastic shopping basket over her arm.
Brant’s chest constricted a little at the sight of her long blonde braid straggling over one shoulder, the soft end kissing the curve of her full breast. Who was she? In a small town like this, he knew just about everyone, from the older citizens who frequented the coffee shop just down the street from his office to every member of the police force. And who could forget all the women he knew but didn’t want to know better?
But this woman was mid-height with all the curves and secretive allure of Marilyn Monroe. Fuck yeah, he would have remembered seeing her.
The lady perusing the cereal was staring at him, and she had that look. The one that said she was hungry for some man-prey.
Shit.
“Excuse me.” He quickly wheeled his whir-thumping cart past her. She grinned and struck a pose with a box of granola like a model in an ad.
In the main aisle leading to the two cash registers in Brenniman’s store, Brant spotted her again. His Marilyn. She wore a white, curve-skimming summer dress that clung to her hips when she walked. For a moment, he stared at her round ass, battling an arousal he hadn’t felt in far too long.
He might be a bachelor by choice, but he was far from dead. And this woman could raise a man from his grave.
Or from a
nother dark pit? Brant pushed back this thought with a low grunt. He wasn’t going to think about tying this woman up or laying the flat of his hand against that lush ass of hers. It wasn’t normal, and he wasn’t sinking into that quicksand again.
The cart wheel locked up completely, and he gave it a swift kick. Then, scooping his food items out of the basket, he abandoned the cart altogether. Glancing up, he caught a glimpse of Marilyn taking her place in the checkout line. She was wedged between a mother with three kids in the back of a cartful of diapers and Franklin Worthy, an eccentric cowboy painter. And he could tell by the way Franklin looked at Marilyn that Brant wasn’t the only one to find her inspirational.
“Hello, Franklin.” Brant crowded into line.
Franklin’s head was tipped down, his gaze obviously clinging to Marilyn’s shapely calves. Possessiveness flared inside Brant. Would Marilyn catch Franklin staring and let the playboy engage her in conversation? Lots of women fell for Franklin. With his long hair, French cigarettes and perfectly paint-splattered clothes, he ensnared women like cowboys roped cattle.
But not her. She’s off-limits.
For a long minute, Brant stared down at Marilyn’s bare toes peeking from her leather sandals. Christ, the woman was wearing silver toe rings. Lurid images of pulling those off with his teeth slithered through his head. He also envisioned different silver ornaments—shackles for her wrists and ankles.
No. He would not—could not—entertain those ideas. He’d left all that behind years ago when he’d lost his last girlfriend over his need to control in the bedroom.
Franklin didn’t respond to Brant’s greeting, so he ignored the painter too and instead focused on Marilyn. She was unloading her shopping basket onto the counter. Bags of beans and rice, a small amount of ground beef. A candy bar and a bag of sunflower seeds.
The corner of Brant’s mouth tugged with a smile. Sunflower seeds?
When she presented her profile, he studied her delicate jaw and upturned nose. The cashier gave Marilyn the total, and her long lashes swooped over her cheeks as she turned her attention to her purse. Her face, devoid of makeup, was country girl Marilyn before Hollywood dolled her up.
