by Eden Bradley
Brittany flipped the visor up after checking her perfectly applied makeup. “I’d rather be his arm candy than slave in a hot kitchen six days a week.”
“Mr. and Mrs. Ziegler left the shop to me, and I plan on running it until I’m as old and gray as they were when they finally retired.” She was sick of justifying her decision to take on the bakery she had worked at during high school summer breaks and all through college. “Besides, I’m using my marketing degree. My latest ad campaign has increased sales by fifteen percent so far.”
“You don’t have to get all defensive. I’m not Mom and Dad.” Brittany shrugged. “All I’m saying is I’d rather not work.”
Amanda repressed a sigh. When was Brittany going to realize a woman needed to be strong and self-sufficient in this world? She didn’t start the recurring argument though. Tonight was a night for heated sex, not heated arguments.
She swung the single-cab truck into a parking space at their favorite bar and put the vehicle in park before facing her sister. “You still have a year left before you get your master’s degree and you’re already trying to figure out how to not work? Did you go to college just to hang out until you could get your M-R-S degrees?”
Brittany laughed. “Wouldn’t that just kill Mom and Dad? One daughter running a bakery instead of working for a big company and the other getting married straight out of college.” She shook her head. “No worries though. Can’t marry without having a boyfriend first. Nope. I guess I’m going to have to brave the corporate world before finding the man who wants me as his arm candy.”
Amanda rolled her eyes. “Come on. I need a drink.”
Saturday night at their favorite pub was a madhouse with wall-to-wall bodies. That would normally drive her crazy, but tonight the press of hard bodies against hers just increased the need pounding through her veins. A need that had started earlier in the day by Sean’s unexpected appearance.
Damn the man. She’d been celibate—if one didn’t count the weekly sessions with her pink vibrator and blue butt plug—for months.
Now, here she was on the prowl because he’d reawakened her need to be fucked senseless—something only a man could do.
Amanda waved at the bartenders while she and Brittany squeezed through the indoor bar area on their way to the back porch.
“God, with the way it’s packed in here, I hope Nicole was able to find a decent table outside,” Brittany said after they dodged a couple of chattering women gesturing wildly with full drinks in their hands.
Amanda nodded. The first warm spring day in Houston and everyone came out of hibernation. This particular bar was known for its two huge decks, and if the inside was this crowded then the outside would be jam-packed like sardines in a can.
She paused just beside the doors to the stairs that led to an overhead balcony. Actually, it wasn’t too bad, but there did seem to be a lack of wait staff…maybe all the people inside were just in here ordering drinks and would be going outside soon?
The bittersweet aroma of cigars drifted to her on the warm air. As a rule, she avoided smokers, but there was something about cigars and pipe smoke, combined with the sweet scent of spring, that made her want to hover.
“Over here!” Nicole waved from a table at the far edge of the deck.
Amanda, head bobbing to the music, waved and wove her way to the table. The volume of the piped music from the jukebox inside was just loud enough to add a pleasant background to the hum of conversation. She preferred that to songs so loud they beat at her eardrums. Still, with the general volume of the crowd and the live band, which was setting up next to the stairs, she’d wager she’d feel like she was hearing through cotton-plugged ears before the end of the night.
She smirked. Not that she planned to make it to last call.
“Hey, lady.” Amanda hugged Nicole, who had hopped up from her seat when she and Brittany were a few steps away.
“Hey, woman.” Nicole handed her a glass of beer and Brittany a glass of white wine. “I took the liberty.”
Amanda ignored the slightly bitter bite of her first sip of the beer and scanned the crowd. The right stud had to be around somewhere. The cool wheat beer soothed her throat but did nothing to quench the low flame in her belly.
She turned back to the table. “You are so awesome. Did you happen to order a good-looking cowboy too?”
Nicole’s eyebrows shot to her hairline. “If I’d known you were back on the market, I would have.”
“She’s looking to get laid,” Brittany said around the rim of her wineglass.
Amanda shot her sister a dirty look.
Brittany shrugged. “What? You are.”
“Don’t look now, but I think your special order is about to be served.” Nicole inclined her head.
Butterflies whirled in Amanda’s stomach. Don’t get your hopes up, Amanda. It’s not as if Sean’s standing behind you. She ran her pinkie along her lips to swipe away any lip gloss smears that might have appeared and took a deep breath.
“Hi, ladies.”
The butterflies quieted at the familiar husky tone. Amanda tossed a smile over her shoulder. “Hey, Bret.”
Bret Jacobs was six feet of gorgeous, blond masculinity dressed in Wranglers, cowboy hat and boots.
Amanda sighed. He should have been perfect, but she wanted a real cowboy, and Bret was only an urban cowboy—one from Jersey, at that, though thankfully without the nasally accent. He’d probably never even been in a saddle, and tonight Amanda wanted a man who knew how to ride, a man who could give her a screaming orgasm just by fucking her—something that hadn’t happened since a certain sexy, bronco-riding cowboy had ridden her hard and put her up wet.
She glanced around again. The prospects weren’t promising. She might have to go to the western club across the street. She normally avoided that particular meat market, but it was the most likely place to find a man who knew how to properly mount a horse.
“Hi, Amanda.” Bret’s green eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled. The first chords of the band’s set hummed through the air. “Do you want to dance?”
Amanda hesitated. Did she really want a cowboy? Chasing after them had only ever left her with a bruised ego. Besides, she was so horny, she just needed a man. “Sure.”
After a moment of stunned disbelief, he offered his hand. When they ran into each other, which happened almost every week during the bar’s Thursday night happy hour, he usually asked, and she always turned him down. He reminded her a little too much of her ex—too smooth, too polished. Bret had always been nice to her though, despite her numerous rebuffs.
She grabbed his hand. Hopefully, he’d be better in bed than Jared. She repressed a snort. He definitely couldn’t be worse, but she doubted he’d leave her aching in unusual places the way Sean had. Bret just didn’t seem to have that kind of stamina.
He led her to the cleared area in front of the band and spun her into a fast two-step. They didn’t speak as he twirled her through not one song, but three.
A warm tingle tickled Amanda’s skin. She loved a good dancer. It normally meant a good lover.
Heat flushed her face. Was she really thinking of Bret as a lover?
She tilted her head back and found herself caught in his intense stare. She’d never given his potential sexual prowess a second thought before tonight, but maybe he would meet her needs. After all, it wasn’t as if Sean was available. Given the way he’d left earlier, Rodeo had left town for good.
She glanced away, guilt niggling at the back of her mind. Was it fair to use one man to satisfy needs aroused by another? Her throbbing pussy throbbed an answering “Yes!”
A slow song started and Bret tugged her closer. Her breasts brushed against hard abs. She remembered the feel of rippling stomach muscles under her fingers as she had brushed Sean’s stomach on her way to his zipper. Her nipples hardened.
Okay, so Bret was a contender. He just might be the one to replace the memory of Rodeo.
Bret’s hard thigh
slid between hers when he twirled her in a tight circle. The rough denim of her jeans chafed her thighs, like the denim of Sean’s jeans had when she’d wrapped her legs around his hips just before he’d pushed his hard cock into her for the first time.
Friction raced upward to her pussy, which throbbed in response.
By the time Bret stopped dancing them around the deck, Amanda was ready to scream. Panties soaked with cream, she needed to come. Each step they took toward the table sent fresh waves of need coursing through her.
Was it too early to solicit an invitation to Bret’s? She wanted to be ridden hard and have the image of Sean chased from her head once and for all.
They arrived at the table and Bret turned to face her. His green-eyed gaze swept her body before settling on her face. “What do you say we get out of here?”
Well, he certainly knew how to make a woman feel sexy, and he definitely knew how to read minds. She bit her lip to prevent an emphatic yes and offered a slow smile. It wouldn’t do to look desperate.
“Oh, you can’t leave yet.”
Amanda glared at Brittany, whose wicked grin warred with wide-eyed innocence.
“Look who just showed up.”
Amanda clenched her jaw. What was the girl up to?
Amanda turned her head to take in the new arrival and her stomach fell. “What are you doing here?”
Sean stood, hat in hand, looking as delicious as ever in a white button-down shirt with pearl snaps, and Wranglers starched so stiff she’d bet they’d stand on their own. Her heart pounded. Why did he have to show up now, after she’d resigned herself to never seeing him again?
“Amanda,” Brittany tsked. “Is that any way to treat an old friend? I invited him when he called earlier today. Didn’t I tell you?”
Amanda’s eyes narrowed. “No, you must’ve forgotten,” she said through gritted teeth. Brittany had deliberately not mentioned the invitation. Her sister was dead the next time they were alone.
“Howdy, Mandy.” Rodeo’s deep voice rolled across her like the cool preceding a thunderstorm. Goose bumps erupted on her skin.
She stiffened to counter her body’s desire to leap forward so she could lose herself in the depths of the liquid promise of his simple greeting. “What are you doing here?” How could she forget him if he kept reappearing in her life?
Brittany rolled her eyes. “I told you, I invited him.”
“Can we dance?” Sean ignored Bret’s rumble of protest, dropped his hat on the table and held out a hand.
She just stared at Rodeo’s upraised palm, afraid she wouldn’t be able to resist the fire that the feel of his callused palms on her bare arms would kindle. Wasn’t the whole purpose of the evening to get over him?
But then again, he did deserve the chance to explain, and hadn’t she wanted to apologize for the shitty way she’d treated him earlier?
“One dance.” That was as long as she’d be able to restrain her body’s traitorous urge to take him for another ride.
She flashed a smile at Bret. “Do you mind waiting?” He really was a nice guy, and she wasn’t sure she was ready to screw up a chance with someone who might be able to satisfy the pounding need in her veins, in exchange for a guy who’d treated amazing sex like a stale cookie—not worth a second bite.
The worried look on Bret’s face cleared and he nodded. “I’ll wait here.”
The warning in his voice sent a dark thrill coursing through her veins. Who’d have thought little ole her would be the source of contention between two hot cowboys?
Maybe she’d get really lucky tonight and have a secret desire fulfilled—one man fucking her pussy while another fucked her ass. She sized up the two men. Neither looked willing to share.
Amanda accepted Sean’s hand. As he led them to the dance floor, the fire coursing through her veins fanned higher. The tightening and relaxing of the muscles of his ass with each step was evident underneath his skintight jeans. The fingers of her free hand clutched and released in the same rhythm, aching to grasp the firm cheeks as he thrust inside her.
Sean spun her into a fast jitterbug. She couldn’t help the laughter that spilled out as the dance progressed. It had always been one of her favorite dances, but only a few men in her life had been of a near enough height to hers to make the dance enjoyable rather than awkward.
He clasped her against him, laughing when the song ended. Her breathlessness increased at the fall and rise of his hard chest. The band struck up a slow waltz.
“I’m sorry.” He tightened his hold as if to emphasize the words.
For what? Walking out this afternoon…or eighteen months ago? Or had he apologized for the latter, earlier?
She couldn’t think with him so close. Her heightened arousal made the simple act of her bra-encased nipples brushing against his chest almost orgasmic.
She forced her hands between their bodies. She needed distance, needed to remain strong in her resolve to let him have his say and then possibly send him on his way.
But first she needed to apologize. “I’m sorry, too.”
His eyebrows drew together. “For what?”
The corner of her mouth tilted. “I might have been a bit of a bitch this afternoon.”
His chest beneath her open palms vibrated with a low chuckle. “Nothing I didn’t deserve for being such a heel that fall.”
Her fingers itched to curl into the starched cotton of his shirt. Instead she smoothed the material. He might have gotten injured, but the hard planes of his chest told her he’d still kept in shape. “And why exactly were you such an ass?”
A muscle in his jaw clenched and pain flared in his eyes before he looked away, his eyes focused on some distant place. “Did you know I got hung up?”
Her heart clenched at the tightness in his voice. Being dragged by a bucking bronco couldn’t be a pleasant memory. “Yeah. I heard it through the grapevine.” How could she explain she’d followed his career for the past year and a half without him thinking she was a buckle bunny?
He closed his eyes, his long lashes casting shadows on his cheeks, but somehow he managed to direct their steps to an empty space on the dance floor. They swayed in rhythm to the music, the figures of the two-step forgotten. “I was laid up in bed for two months and then there were months of rehab.”
His thigh wedged between her legs made it difficult to concentrate on his words. She wanted to ride the muscle-encased denim. It wouldn’t take much pressure on her sensitized clit to send her over the edge.
“My bronc riding days are over.” He opened his eyes.
The pain in his voice penetrated the sexual haze enveloping her. She wanted to brush the hair off his forehead, as if the soothing action would somehow chase away the pain in his eyes. Swallowing past the lump in her throat, she said, “I’m sorry.”
The muscles beneath her hands tensed and then shifted as he took a deep breath and shrugged. “It is what it is.”
With the tightness gone from his voice, something flickered in his gaze—something that didn’t have anything to do with his injury. His fingers clasped her waist tighter. Between the pressure of his hands and that of his thigh, if she drew even a shaky breath, she’d be flying over the edge. She forced herself to concentrate on his next words.
“Many of my so-called friends deserted me. It made me realize how bad you must have felt when I walked out without a good-bye.”
She forced a brief laugh. “I’m sure I’m not the only woman you ever did that to.” Her breath caught. She didn’t want to hear about other women. The throbbing need dulled to a faint hum.
He shrugged. “Maybe, but you’re the only one I care to remember. I didn’t even touch another beer that night because I didn’t want alcohol clouding my senses with you. I knew from the first sassy remark out of that sexy mouth, you were gonna be a handful.”
If the twinkle in his eye hadn’t already reassured her he liked her handful, then the slow wink that followed his comment would have. A lump formed in her t
hroat. “So why’d you leave?”
“Habit. Fear. Stupidity. I was on the road before I realized what a jerk I’d been, sneaking out like that. Then I took a long look at my friends with relationships. Traveling the circuit is hell on their girlfriends and wives.
“There’s way too much jealousy and temptation in their lives.” He shook his head. “And sometimes too much distance to cross when things need to be worked out. You didn’t need that. I’d have been the wrong kind of distraction while you tried to get your feet under you in the bakery. I knew how important it was to you.”
Hope flared in her chest. Maybe she wasn’t the only one who’d been on the rollercoaster ride that night? Maybe he’d felt the same sense of future possibilities?
She cleared her throat. “Why should I believe you? We knew each other for what? Ten, twelve hours?”
He rested his forehead against hers. His warm, minty breath caressed her cheek when he spoke. “I’m not going to lie and say there hasn’t been another woman or two, but no one has been as open and honest and downright sexy as you, in or out of the bedroom. You make quite an impression, Amanda.”
The banked flames flared.
Shit. Shit. Shit. I’m screwed.
“Why are you screwed?” he whispered against her ear.
Damn! She needed to learn to keep her thoughts to herself. “How am I supposed to not forgive you?”
He grinned. “So, can we get out of here?” Cockiness replaced the pain and loss that had previously laced his voice.
“Yes. No. Wait.” She groaned. “What am I supposed to do about Bret? I as good as promised him we’d leave after you and I danced.”
He raised both eyebrows. “You find that wannabe attractive?”
“What woman wouldn’t? Even you have to admit he’s good looking.” She glanced across the deck at Bret; even from this distance she could see the frown decorating his face. His crossed arms stretched the seams of his brown-and-cream-patterned button-down as he stared at them.
