by Sasha Gold
She waves her hand dismissively. “He’s already seen you. I’ve caught him looking at you at least three times. You did something to make him mad.”
“Tell me about it.”
Music starts playing, and it’s so loud we can hardly converse anymore. I’m trying to decide how long I have to stay without making it seem like I’m bailing on her. I just want to get out of here. He didn’t look at me, but something tells me he knows I’m here, and he’s just biding his time. The guy is scary.
My imagination stirs with disturbing ideas that have bothered me since I met him, but there are other ideas too. Where his big, rough hands skim over my breasts, cupping them and teasing my nipples. I’m horrified by how fast I get aroused when I think of lying beneath his powerful body. I’m sure it would be rough and devastating.
Black belt sex. Not a good idea, not for me anyway. If Sydney could see what I was thinking she would point out that beginners have no business trying to tackle the advanced belts.
Some cowboy ambles over and asks Sydney to dance and she gives me an apologetic look.
“I’m fine,” I say, waving her away.
A couple of guys come to ask me to dance and I shake my head, telling them I’m waiting on a friend. Why they’re asking me I can’t figure out. Pressed into the furthest corner of the booth, I’m doing my best to give off a “leave me alone” vibe.
Outside the storm rages. Flashes of lightning illuminate the parking lot. It’s full of pick-up trucks. Thunder shakes the building and I wonder how long this storm is going to last. I finally have time off and now the weather has to start storming?
Sydney comes back to the table with her cowboy. He’s tall and handsome and Sydney seems to be pretty into him. Before long the two of them are staring into each other’s eyes. Good. This is perfect.
“I need to run to the lady’s room,” I say.
“Okay, fine,” Sydney says.
Which is code for ‘I like this guy’. If she’d said she wanted to come with me, it would have meant the guy was a no-go.
Crossing the bar, I head the toward the restrooms. At this point, I don’t care if Mr. McKinley sees me because I’m going to be leaving in five minutes, even if I have to drive home through this torrential wrath of God. I’ll be home in ten minutes, fifteen tops. If I’m lucky, Susanna saved me some ice cream.
Chapter Three
Nick
Blue Eyes looks a tad different out of her scrubs. Her honey blonde hair almost reaches her ass. I hadn’t noticed that the other day because she had her hair pulled back in a ponytail.
Two mother-fuckers asked her to dance already. I’m not happy there’s a Voss back in town, but I don’t want her dancing with one of these pricks. The girl’s twenty. I remember her saying that, just like I remember everything about her. She’s not even old enough to be in this bar, much less mess around with any of the shitheads in this place.
Eddy the bartender brings me my second beer and follows my gaze. “That right there looks like trouble.”
Drying a glass with a tattered bar towel he keeps his gaze on her.
“Why don’t you quit your fucking staring,” I say.
He gives me a look of bemusement. “You planning on tapping that?”
“Not a chance. She’s a Voss.”
Giving a low whistle he turns away to look at her again. “Damn she’s pretty. I think I heard about her. She’s David Voss’s niece.”
Fulton is a small town. I’d asked around about Bailey and a few people told me the same thing. She’s not from around here but happened to end up working in Fulton. Part of some traveling nurse job she has. Everyone probably wonders if my feud with the family will extend to the niece, a girl who probably knows nothing about David Voss’s sick interests.
A growl rumbles in my chest because I see guys checking her out. I want to ram my fist through something. It’s been a long time since I brawled but that’s what I feel like right now.
Fighting.
I want to fuck too but that’s completely out of the question, because the only woman I want is the blue-eyed woman who’s been messing with my head for the last week. Plenty of women here would be happy to come home and spend the evening perched on my cock. I don’t want any of them. How fucked is that?
Why did I even come to the bar? I hate this shit. But, I had a feeling she might be here tonight, Friday night. It wasn’t too hard to figure out. There are not a lot of options for night life in Fulton. I knew she’d show up just like I knew I had to see her again.
She gets up from her table and strolls past the dance floor, five paces from me. She has to know I’m here, but she hasn’t looked at me yet. With each step of her fussy, embroidered cowboy boots, the tips of her hair brush the small of her back.
One of the cowboys who was sniffing around her saunters off the direction of the bathrooms, following her. I’m off my barstool in a heartbeat. I see the way he smirks at his buddies as he heads down the dim hallway. Sure thing, asshole. Way to be subtle.
This was exactly what I imagined would happen. A sweet-faced girl like Bailey’s going to draw men like flies to honey and she can see whomever she wants. I don’t care. At all. But this guy’s not getting the chance to even talk to her because I don’t like his looks. Shifty bastard.
I round the corner just in time to see him step into the mother-fucking lady’s room. Is this the type of shit guys do now? Try to corner a lady in the bathroom?
I kick the door open and the guy’s standing by the sink, waiting. His expression darkens when he sees me.
“You took a wrong turn buddy,” I tell him.
“Jesus,” I hear Bailey say. The toilet flushes and she steps out of the stall. Her gaze zeroes in on the cowboy by the sink. She’s about to lay into him but then sees me. She retreats a few steps, slamming into the stall door. Panic washes over her features.
“This asshole came in here looking for you,” I tell her.
“You Mount McKinley?” the guy asks.
“That’s right.”
The guy puts his hands up and slides past me, muttering something about not wanting trouble.
Bailey watches him leave and then returns her frightened gaze to me. Behind me, a couple of women stagger in, giggling, arm-in-arm with another woman. When they catch sight of me, they stop laughing. They’re eyes widen and they back out, scrambling to get away and yelling something about getting a room.
I wait to see if anyone else is coming in. Nobody does and I turn my attention back to Bailey, who hasn’t moved a step. She’s holding her purse in front of her, shielding herself, as if it’s made of steel and not pink leather. Her eyes blaze and she looks like she’d take me on if she could. Her small hands wrap around her purse. I imagine she’d throw a punch if I got close.
She’s twenty. The same age Olivia was when David Voss attacked her. My sister was never the same and couldn’t ever have children for reasons she refused to tell me. I should have spent five years in prison for the beating I gave David Voss. Attempted Murder, that was the charge. But then David Voss surprised us all. He left a note confessing to the assault along with six more. I was let out after nine months. The release was early but the label of felon remains.
I don’t like this girl. How can I? She’s a fucking Voss. That night, when I’d finished beating the crap out of David Voss, I told him I’d come back for him and the rest of his family. But prison sidetracked me, and by the time I was back, he and his grown sons were dead.
Voss or not, Bailey should not be here. She’s sweet, and beautiful, and the drunks in this place will hit on her all night long. She won’t believe a word I say but I can still offer a little protection.
“We’re dancing,” I tell her.
“You w-want to dance with me?” she stammers.
“No, I don’t. But if you go out there with me, the other men in the bar will leave you alone.”
Her hand flutters to her chest like she’s trying to settle her heartbeat. I’m sorry
I’m scaring her, but Fulton has some rough elements, especially on Friday nights when the oil men come to party.
“I don’t need men to leave me alone.”
Her words piss me off even more. “What the hell’s that supposed to mean?”
She shrugs. “I’m leaving. Going home.”
Good. Go home, little girl. You don’t belong here. I should be pleased but if she comes back here, she’ll have the same problems with men hounding her. If I dance with her a time or two, dicks like the guy just in here will leave her alone.
She walks past me, goes to the sink to wash her hands. Looking in the mirror, she eyes me like she wonders what my next move is.
I shake my head. “You’re not going home until you dance with me.”
Setting her hands on her hips she gives me a dirty look. “Who the hell do you think you are, Mr. McKinley? You think you can just order me around? Force me onto the dance floor? Are you some kind of…cave man?”
Her eyes flash with anger, the blue darkening and her face turning a lovely pink as she lets me have it.
“Cave man? We’re all cave men. I’m just one of the more civilized ones. I need to ask you… Who do you think you are, coming to a bar when you’re only twenty. You know that’s illegal, right?”
Her jaw drops and a flicker of fear passes behind her eyes. I’ve got her now. It might not get her arrested, but as a nurse she wouldn’t want any sort of trouble like allegations of underage drinking.
“I don’t know how to dance,” she says softly.
Her gentle tone flows over me in a way I hadn’t anticipated.
“It’s not hard. C’mon.”
She purses her lips as she mulls it over. “I’ll step on your toes. I mean…it’s not just that I don’t know how, but I’m very bad at it. Two left feet.”
“I’ll suffer through it. Now let’s go. One dance. That’s all.”
Her gaze wanders to the door that’s hanging a little crooked now and back to me. She’s studying me, probably realizing I don’t take no for an answer. “Okay, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
She leads the way back to the dance floor, giving me a fabulous view of her ass. At the edge of the dance floor she looks over her shoulder at me, a look that is part amused and part worried. Her brow is creased but her lips still have that mischievous smile. “Hope you’re wearing your steel-toed boots there, cowboy.”
The girl’s got a smart mouth. As she turns away, her skirt swishes over her ass. I’d like to flip that little scrap of material up and give her a few sharp swats. Fuck. Not a good thought to have just as I’m about to take her into my arms and dance with her.
Chapter Four
Bailey
Mr. McKinley is like man repellant. After being leered at and ogled by half the men in the bar, I’ve apparently become invisible the minute we start dancing. Not one man looks at me. Not even the man wearing the baseball cap that says Boats and Hoes. When Sydney and I ordered our drinks at the bar, he asked if he could buy them for us and Sydney shut him down so swiftly, I almost felt sorry for him.
Dancing with Mr. McKinley is wonderful. Easy. I concentrate on his instructions so I don’t think of the way his touch sends a sizzle of arousal across my body. And his scent makes my rational thoughts scatter like frightened rabbits.
The irrational part of my brain wants more. More than a whiff of his sexy scent. More than a single dance in a dingy bar. More. No. Don’t go there, Bailey. He’s handsome and virile and has a presence I’ve never encountered before, but I’m sure he has something against me. I don’t need to start a relationship underwater.
“How’d you get in the bar if you’re underage?” he asks.
His words rumble across his back and I can feel the reverberations beneath the palms of my hands.
“Are you almost twenty-one?” he adds.
“Pretty much,” I say, hoping he’ll just drop it, because one, it’s not his business, and two, I don’t want anyone to hear that I’m underage.
“When will you be twenty-one?”
“So nice of you to ask. Are you going to send flowers?”
“Answer my question. Are you almost twenty-one?”
“I am, in fact, almost twenty-one.”
Which is so much of a stretch, some might call it a lie. I turned twenty just a couple of weeks ago. I glance up at him, momentarily distracted by his grey eyes. They’re cold. Just like him. And his nose is crooked in the middle. I’m surprised I didn’t see it the other day. My gaze drifts to his beard and I can’t decide if I like it or not. It looks good… well, great, but he has a nice square jaw too, and it’s hidden under the beard, which is a bit of a shame. His lips quirk. He knows I’m checking him out.
“So when is your birthday?”
“Middle of September.”
He shakes his head. “Eleven and a half months from now?”
“Right.” I manage to keep dancing while I keep my gaze fixed on his.
“That’s a bit of a lie.” His smile fades. “I don’t care for liars, Bailey.”
Why does he get to call me by my first name when I’ve only addressed him formally?
“It’s just a little one, Mr. McKinley.”
He scoffs. “A little lie. It’s like wanting to go jump in the pool.”
Well, there’s a comment that makes no sense at all. “A little lie is like a swimming pool…why didn’t I think of that?”
“Shut up and listen.”
I must be a glutton for his abuse. What I should do is leave now, go to my car in the rain and go home. Every other couple is pressed together, some looking and smiling at each other, some kissing, and some holding each other tight like they’ll never let go. Me? I just got told to shut up. Right after he called me a liar.
“As I was saying,” he continues in an irritated tone. “It’s like wanting to jump in the pool, and just before you do you see some little turd floating down in the deep end.”
“I…see.” I don’t, really. But I want to act like I know just what the hell he’s talking about because by now I’m curious just how unstable this man might be.
“You don’t care if it’s a little turd or a big one.”
“Not at all.” I’m guessing here, but I think I was supposed to say that.
“Because it’s contaminated the whole pool. Right?”
His logic does make some sense which should worry me. How much rum did Sydney put in my coke? He’s looking at me like he expects me to praise his little truism, one that will forever remain seared into my visual cortex. “You’re kind of a silver-tongued devil aren’t you?”
The words spill out and I wish I could call them back because I’m sure he’s going to make some horrible remark about his tongue or something inappropriate. That’s the vibe I get from him. Like he’s a sexual beast. Dangerous. Dark. Insatiable. And in an instant I’m back in that space where I imagine what skills he has and what he might do to me if I ever gave him the chance.
He doesn’t say a word though. His eyes lose their cold hard look and almost soften. Is he a gentleman and that animal vibe is my own imagination? Maybe. I really don’t know. His gentle gaze makes me feel lost, unmoored and I almost wish he’d say something untoward, or cutting. I’ve dreamed torrid dreams of this man every night since I met him in the hospital. His hold on me is something I don’t understand. His hostility I can handle, but his tenderness might break me into a thousand pieces.
Sydney dances past, yanking me from my thoughts. “Black belt,” she whisper-yells, tilting her head towards Nick. “No sparring with dark colors!”
And then she’s gone, giving me a look of warning as she disappears into the crowd.
Nick glances back and then frowns at me. “Is that code for something?”
The song winds down and his hold on my hand and waist loosens. Instantly I miss the heat of his touch and the way it sizzled across every nerve in my body.
“Yes,” I say lightly. “But I’m sure you don’t want to know
, considering I’m nothing but a liar. Besides, I’m leaving now.”
I step off the dance floor and see Sydney. I wave and she gives Mr. McKinley a concerned look. Shaking my head, I gesture that she should call me and I head back to my table. In fifteen minutes I’ll be home and this evening will be nothing more than a memory.
I grab my purse and leave a few dollars for the waitress. Even though we didn’t end up ordering anything, I want to give her a little money. Mr. McKinley has gone to the bar, and after he hands the bartender a few bills, comes back to my table.
“I’m going to walk you to your car.”
“Thank you, Mr. McKinley but-”
“Quit bull-shitting me, Bailey. My name is Nick.”
He takes hold of my arm, clasping my elbow in a firm, authoritative way, a way I shouldn’t like. I should hate it and yank my arm away, but I don’t. In fact, I feel a little moan of pleasure at the back of my throat. I glance at him but he shows no sign of noticing how much I love his touch.
We walk out the front door, looking like any other couple, only he’s probably got a scowl on his face. The rain has lessened, but it’s still rumbling. Lightening stabs the distant sky. I fish my keys out of my purse. I want to say something to signal he can go, and I’m about to thank him for walking me out, not that I had a choice, but he speaks before I do.
“Start your car.”
I get in and turn the key. I think there’s a click but I’m not sure because thunder booms across the sky. I try again and there’s a definite click this time, accompanied by a buzzing sound. Shit. My car’s made this sick noise before and I had to buy a whole new transistor. It cost a ton.
He’s studying me as if trying to decide what to do with me. I don’t want him to think I’m his responsibility or that this is his problem. I turn the key again. Nothing.
“Maybe it just needs to warm up.” I smile and pat the steering wheel. “My car just needs to think it over. I’ll be fine.”
Wind gusts and with it comes a new wave of rain. Fat rain drops pelt my car and both of us, too. Shadows play over his features and I can’t see his expression.
