Lisa Wells - Dib

by Lisa Wells

  Covey’s body turned willingly toward the cameras, but his eyes stayed on Lacey. Her breasts were perfect. They were bobbing up and down in a hypnotic rhythm. The look she gave him, when he managed to look into her eyes, spoke volumes. She didn’t enjoy having her breast ogled, and she knew he was trouble. He glanced back down at her breasts and heard her gasp.

  “Audience, Bachelor Number Three is Covey James. Covey, are you glad you were chosen?”

  Covey forced his eyes from her heaving boobs and looked at the audience. “What do you think?” He pointed towards Little Miss Fantasy Coordinator with his Stetson cowboy hat in his hand. “This pretty little filly says she wants a weekend with Mr. Wrong. I’m sure I can oblige.” He turned on the cowboy charm and bowed to Lacey with a twisting flourish of his hat. “I might even get her to like me before the weekend is over.”

  Bent over in a bow, Covey naturally took the time to drink in the sight of Lacey once again. She was sex on stilettos waiting to happen.

  His jeans were becoming very uncomfortable as his erection pushed for room.

  When he turned back to the audience, the camera zeroed in on his obvious discomfort. The audience cheered, and the show was over. Covey wanted to strangle the cameraman. That was all he needed, a shot of his hard dick on TV. And since this show was a cable show, there was little chance the shot would be edited out.

  Covey and Little Miss Fantasy Coordinator were ushered off stage and placed in a tiny room, sparingly furnished with a table and three chairs.

  A poker-face little man followed them in and shoved contracts and pens into their hands. “Sign these release forms.”

  “Okay,” they replied in unison, taking the pens from him. They both paused, pens poised in midair, and waited for an explanation as to what they were signing.

  He offered none as he shuffled through some more documents in his briefcase. “And for both of your protection, you must sign a gag order.” He shoved another piece of paper at them. “Neither of you can sell your story to a magazine, nor talk to a reporter about your weekend,” he droned on, through lips which barely moved.

  “Really?”

  “Good.” Covey said. None of the details of their weekend would get back to his grandmother.

  “Other than that, it’s your weekend. Spend it how you choose. The show is no longer involved.” The man took his glasses off, folded them gently, placed them in a leather container, slid them slowly in his shirt pocket, and then looked at them with the same bored expression he had entered the room wearing. “Do you have any questions?”

  Covey looked at his date and shrugged his shoulders.

  “I guess not,” she answered.

  There were no rules other than don’t blame the show for anything that happens. Covey saw possibilities in the loose bylaws. He handed his signed forms over and watched the man walk out of the room without a backward glance at the couple.

  Covey stuck his hat back on his head, scooted his chair back from the table, and propped his cowboy boots on top of it. He gave Little Miss Fantasy Coordinator a methodical inspection.

  Twining his fingers behind his head, he spoke first. “You’re not bad to look at, your figure is nice, and you’re gainfully employed, so why do you need to come on this damn show to get a date?”

  Chapter 8

  Lacey inhaled sharply. How dare he? Who did he think he was to imply she had a problem? She leaned forward in her chair and blew out the air in her lungs in one noisy exhale. “That was a rude question. Are you always rude?” She glared and waited for a response. Why she even bothered to ask, she didn’t know. She already knew the answer. Of course he was always rude. It was a character flaw no doubt. That and his damn southern drawl.

  He didn’t answer right away. A muscle quivered in his right jaw, highlighting a dimple. It should have unnerved her. Instead, her anger took a backseat to curiosity. She fixated on the dimple like a cat discovering a bowl of unattended cream.

  She experienced an irresistibly, devastating desire to touch his cheek with her tongue. She licked her lips in anticipation.

  What would the small indention feel like under her tongue?

  Better yet, what would the inside of his mouth feel like to her tongue?

  What would he taste like? Peppermint? Spearmint?

  What time of day did he develop a shadow?

  Lacey curled her fingers into fists. God, you’re gorgeous. Bachelor Number Two was hot, but Number Three was manly.

  Manly is a hell of a lot better than just a pretty face. She felt her juices flow just looking at him.

  When his mouth twisted in a wry grimace, Lacey realized she was staring like a lovesick puppy and snapped her mouth shut. She’d asked him about being rude and then followed it up with her own rude behavior.

  “Darling, you can call it what you like. I don’t waste time on egos. Are you going to answer my question?” His eyes wandered down to her breasts as he spoke.

  This man goes from one rude behavior to another. “Why are you staring at my breasts?” she snapped. She crossed her arms over them and was rewarded with an amused laugh. The mocking lift of his eyebrows made her wish she’d kept her mouth shut and her arms to her sides.

  “Darling,” he drawled, “they have this habit of moving in a very hypnotic fashion when you’re mad. If I’m not careful, you’ll have me in a trance.”

  She regarded him with frustration. Not, that he appeared to notice the frustration. How could he? He wasn’t looking at her eyes.

  She bent her head sideways and lowered it until she became eyelevel with him. “You really are a good ol’ boy, right down to your cowboy boots.” She sat up straight. When he continued to stare at her breasts, she swatted at his boots. “Which, I might point out, are rudely propped up on the table,” she said, in an attempt to get his attention.

  What possessed me to take Maddison’s advice and choose Mr. Wrong? Once again, her friend’s advice was tainted with pitfalls. Would she ever learn?

  He removed his gaze from her breasts and smiled blandly into her eyes. She felt an urge to cuff him. To curl up her fist and give him a black eye.

  Of course, it wasn’t his fault she chose Mr. Wrong.

  Choosing Mr. Wrong was simply a bad idea, and she had no one to blame but herself. And Maddison. Definitely, Maddison was at fault. When she got home, she was going to fix Maddison up with every conceivable looser she could find.

  She pushed her best friend out of her mind. She needed to keep her eye on the prize. Would this man be able to trip her broken trigger?

  Lacey closed her eyes and visualized her desires.

  If I can just tune out the actual words and listen to the voice, he can do it. I know he can.

  I’m not a quitter. I’m going to take the ball and run with it.

  You can’t make a touchdown if you’re not headed toward the goal.

  I just have to hope his whiskey voice can make me drunk enough to forget his personality?

  All I want is an orgasm, so I can get on with my life. That is a reasonable desire.

  She kept up with the pep talk until bits of her advice started to sink in.

  When she opened her eyes, Covey was looking at her. “Sure, I’m a good ol’ boy, Darling. Isn’t that why you chose me? Because my drawl turns you on?”

  Lacey wanted to pound her head on the table and shout: all I want is an orgasm—is that too much to ask of the universe? Instead, she put on her calm face. “I’m here because I believe in equal rights. Men can have flings, and so can women. I want a fling with you.”

  Covey’s whole face lit up, and he settled his lanky frame lower in his chair. He laughed at her. The warm, happy sound was tainted with discernment.

  Lacey snorted and clenched her fist. “What?” she demanded to know. Warm was good. Happy was good. But discernment was bad. What exactly was it he thought he knew? She resisted the urge to knock his boots off the table. You are a first-class mistake. With an insufferable attitude.

  He
gave her a smug smile and her spine stiffened.

  Your teeth may be beautiful, but you do not know shit about me.

  “You, my darling, are after a little revenge sex. I shall mark this down as a very lucky day for me,” he drawled.

  Okay, so maybe he knew a little bit about her. Sticking her nose in the air, she answered. “Of course, it’s your lucky day.” She added as much scorn as she was capable of to her voice. “I doubt you get many women like me interested in just having sex with you.” Part of her was bothered by how much of a bitch she sounded, the other part of her was sure what she was saying was true.

  His expression stilled. A pulse leapt to life in his neck.

  It was an obvious warning if she chose to heed it. She chose to ignore it. She took a steadying breath and leaned her elbows on the table. “Just for your information, it’s not revenge sex I’m after. It’s an orgasm. I want a freakin orgasm.” Lacey’s voice had risen to a shout and could probably be heard by anyone within ten feet of the room. She sat back and refused to cringe. Nothing like laying it all out on the table in front of an insufferable pig.

  He didn’t laugh. He didn’t mock her. Which should have made her happy. It didn’t. It worried her. Why wasn’t he giving her grief about wanting an orgasm? This was his chance to make fun of her. Instead, he got angry.

  His eyes deepened to a cavernous shade of brown and narrowed to small slits. “Is there something special about you that make you untouchable to people like me?”

  The word ominous popped into Lacey’s mind. The drawl, which had been so pronounced up until this point, had slipped away. Its absence added to the alcoholic content of his voice. Lacey was torn between fear and desire.

  Fear won out. The muscles in her shoulders tensed. “You know what I mean. I don’t hang out in smoke-filled, two-bit, country bars,” she muttered. She pushed her chair back, putting distance between them.

  He looked her up slowly and down slowly.

  She felt like a banana being peeled by a mad scientist.

  “No, I don’t suppose you do. Let me get this clear. All you want from me is a good time? More specifically, an orgasm or two. No strings allowed? None of that sappy, marriage stuff in the back of your mind?”

  Lacey’s brain stopped functioning the moment he mentioned two orgasms. Two orgasms? He’s talking two? Not one? God, what I’d give for two orgasms. She stood up and stuck her hand in his face. She was going to broker this deal before he backed out. “Not at all, and I’m willing to shake on it.” Each breath she took was traveling through an emotional kaleidoscope before escaping her lungs, making speech difficult. This man oozed confidence.

  He wasn’t intimidated by her request for an orgasm. This man’s going to deliver the goods. She could feel it in her toes.

  Covey’s boots landed with a thud on the floor and he stood up. He took her outstretched hand and pulled her around the edge of the table. When she was standing in front of him, he placed her limp hand on his belt buckle. The heel of her palm could feel his arousal.

  She jumped. She hadn’t expected things to move so quickly. She hadn’t meant to find out the size of his penis in such an unexpected way. Confidence was an understatement. He was practically wearing the notch on his belt already.

  Should she retaliate and place his palm on her boob? Why not let him know right now they were average and not big.

  Why does that bother me so much? She glanced down at the two girls. They’re just boobs for crying-out-loud.

  She did her best to ignore the voice ready to answer her question, but the voice won out. You care because the bimbo had huge knockers. That’s why you were cheated on.

  Covey’s cutting smile did two things for Lacey. It brought her out of her pity party, and it cost him the opportunity for a free grope of the girls. Plus, it gave her the courage to leave her hand where he placed it.

  She wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of seeing fear on her face. In fact, she’d do the opposite. She’d show him confidence. She ran her palm down the length of him and cupped him firmly. The action caused her knees to go weak and his to jerk straight. Wow! What she had beneath her hand was well worth the side affect of shaky limbs.

  He had definite promise in the penis area. More than promise. This man had the necessary tools to give her an orgasm. With deliberate slowness, she moved her hand away from him and held it up for a handshake.

  Her palm tingled, obviously branded from the heat of the touch. She told herself she wasn’t behaving like a fool. This was how a worldly woman, about to embark on a sexual expedition for her orgasm, would act. Or, how a woman involved on the Dibs Dating Show would act.

  There was nothing wrong with inspecting the merchandise. She wouldn’t buy a pair of shoes without trying them on. A man was no different. Not, that he was one she wanted to buy. All she wanted was to lease him for a short time. Seventy-two hours to be exact. A long, sexual weekend.

  This is crazy. What am I thinking? I should have gone back to Neverfail. He didn’t intimidate me.

  Before she could turn tail and run, Covey took her hand. He turned it over and inspected her palm. His finger rubbed the tiny scar just beneath her thumb, and she struggled to keep her knees from buckling.

  The touch was unbelievably gentle. Almost as if he was trying to seduce her.

  He knows why I’m on the show. How about him? What’s his story?

  A frown creased the corners of his eyes. “How’d you get the scar?” he asked.

  Lacey trembled. “Doing back hand springs on a sharp rock.” This man makes me feel petite. Was he already initiating the seduction? Does it matter? It was, after all, what she was here for.

  “I don’t suppose you’ve ever ridden a horse or mucked a stall before have you?” Covey asked with a serious look in his eyes.

  “Mucked a what?” She must really be drunk on his voice. Why else would she think he just asked her about mucking something when she was thinking about fucking? Were their thoughts that far apart?

  The serious light disappeared, and he smiled. “Never mind, dumb question. I think I’m safe in saying you are definitely my Ms. Wrong. So darling, we’re standing on equal ground. Neither one of us is the other’s soul mate. I’m happy to oblige the nostrings-attached weekend rules.”

  Lacey sobered. He was still implying she wasn’t good enough to be his wife?

  You ass. You think I am inferior to you. Where do you get off with that attitude? You’re nothing more than a two-bit singer. “Tell me you’re not saying what I think you’re saying?” she asked. He was an out-of-work, country singer. How could she ever be his Ms. Wrong? If she wanted him, which she didn’t, she would have no problem making him see her as Ms. Right. Couldn’t she?

  “I’m simply saying you don’t interest me beyond a couple of good lays. When I’m ready, I prefer a gal from back home to get seriously attached to.”

  Lacey blew a strand of hair out of her face. “Oh good grief, I’m not talking about the strings thing. You think I’m not good enough for you. Don’t you? You sound like a jerk.”

  He placed a finger under her chin and lifted it. “You started it. You said I wasn’t good enough for you. Can’t you take what you dish out?”

  Lacey jerked her face out of his hand. She decided to ignore his logic. “So, you have ladies waiting around for you to give them a call?”

  “Sure.”

  “Are you in love with someone?” There was no way Lacey was going to sleep with a man if he was in love with someone else. She would not be a relationship wrecker.

  “No, and I can’t see how that is any of your business.”

  “I feel sorry for the woman you marry. Marriage is about love and nothing else. If you’re not in love, you shouldn’t be toying with the idea of getting married.”

  He ignored her statement. “Let’s stop talking about marriage. What is it exactly you want to shake on?” he asked, before dropping his eyes back to her boobs.

  She looked down at he
r breasts. This man was a boob man. Not a leg man, not a panties man, he was a boob man. The one thing she didn’t have to offer. Damn it to hell. She could ask him his name right now, and he wouldn’t have a clue what it was. She sighed. “I want to shake on nostrings-attached-sex, of course,” she answered. “I’m going to use you for a weekend and then toss you aside like an empty fast food wrapper,” she said with a half-hearted attempt at humor.

  A smile tugged at his lips and his eyes crinkled in suspicion.

  “Are you capable of casual sex?”

  “Hell, yes.” She held his eyes without blinking and asked, “You’re not a baby carrot are you?”

  Laughter exploded out of him.

  The sound caused her to jump like the time she got caught cheating on a driver’s test.

  “You know I’m not, Darling. Your hand just measured my length and width. Would you like to feel it again just to make sure?”

  She tossed her hair and eyed him with cold triumph. “No. But the thought did cross my mind that you might be using filler to make you appear bigger than you actually are.”

  A smile spread across his lips. “I can whip it out and let you see for yourself that there is nothing but me in these jeans,” he responded.

  She snapped her mouth shut. “That won’t be necessary.” She paused to look at his zipper. “Just yet, anyway.” She enjoyed the sparring between them. It bordered on arousing.

  “Then, you’ve got a deal. Nostrings-attached-sex. Let me know when you want to check out my dick for yourself.”

  He was amused at her expense. She wanted to wipe the smile off his face. “Oh, it’ll be soon. Very soon,” she warned him.

  He took a step toward her, hand on zipper.

  Her heart jumped, and she took a step back. “Not yet.” Her pulse was no doubt on speed. She lowered her eyes afraid he would read just how out of water she was feeling right now.

  They both turned when the door opened. Lacey welcomed the interruption. It gave her time to work on a normal breathing pattern.

  Breathe in. Breathe out.

  Breathe in. Breathe out.