Collared By The Cowboy (Bad Boys)

by Susan Arden

  Sitting at the bar, she crunched on the piece of ice, tracing a spiral pattern over the wood grain with her fingertip. All right, time to take action. So far, she hadn’t done a thing wrong, and all she really had to do was stay clear of the sizzling man with careening mojo. No caving in allowed!

  Dang, the hardest part was over, in receiving the official go-ahead for her project. Jeez, it had taken all her courage to approach Mr. Penrose last week and present her request. Good God, she wasn’t there to join in the sex at the S & L, she only wanted to observe the happenings in the main bar area and conduct onsite interviews. She’d spent enough time in the parking lot, gathering the confidence to walk into the sex club.

  She’d googled the club, but there was nothing online about the S & L. There were other sex clubs in and around Paris, but they were gaudy, disturbing, and too volatile for a woman to go it alone. From what she’d learned about those clubs, women were treated brutally by onlookers, and she’d refused to set foot in any of those places without an escort. When she’d tried to find another graduate student from her program to go with her, everyone said she was pushing the boundaries of research, and to stick to case studies.

  She wasn’t the type to be satisfied with other people’s research. If she wanted to offer therapy addressing female sexuality issues, especially sexual abuse survivors, she had to understand all the corners from where she might find future patients. She’d already spent time in strip clubs and worked in a recovery group for women who were once prostitutes. This was her last research paper, and the project would serve as the basis of her thesis required for graduation. When she’d met with Mr. Penrose, she came away with the impression that the S & L wasn’t about humiliating public displays with multiple partners. He explained that all club activity was carefully monitored. Strictly supervised. From what he’d explained, no one was allowed to get out of control.

  She’d leapt at the chance, and now here she sat, nervously glancing around the place. The main floor was beautifully decorated in subtle dark woods and vermillion accents. The music was low and seductive, and the members were dressed, some in suggestive outfits, but nothing eye-popping. All she had to do was be patient and act as though she belonged. She knew the score. Eventually, she’d find a few people to talk to and then her first night would be over. She planned on coming back a few times a week for the next three months; by then, she should have enough research and information collected.

  “Here you go, sugar.” The bartender winked, setting her drink down. He was cute in that blonde-athletic-type of way, and made smiling easier when her face felt frozen from a case of nerves.

  “Thanks.” She laid a twenty on the bar. “Do you know where the owner is?”

  “Brandon?” He jerked his chin. “Right over there.”

  She swung her glance over her shoulder. Oh dear God! He was the same man who’d virtually undressed her. Blistering stare and all.

  His eyes were still burning and he stood there, arms akimbo, his dark eyes scorching a hole in her as though she didn’t belong. No joke…with his experience, he could probably spot a phony a mile away. Mr. Penrose had warned her to keep her chin up.

  Jesus H. Christ, Brandon was crossing the floor, walking a beeline in her direction.

  Showtime! She doubted he’d openly discuss her research project. Therefore, she could try to smile politely and show him that she was on the up-and-up. This was serious business to her. Cue the countdown. 3-2-1. A few feet away, she absorbed the depth of his broodingly beautiful persona. He reminded her of an untamed stallion, the type that couldn’t be broken.

  “Hello,” she said warmly, but with an efficient undertone, wanting to be the first to break the ice, and possibly explain about her running off earlier. But she fell oddly silent under his glare.

  He arched a brow. His frown only deepened the nearer he came. She had no problem if he felt it was his duty to lay down the law, as long as he didn’t get too close in his complete dissatisfaction. Mr. Penrose had repeatedly warned her. Brandon McLemore was more bark than bite. More, she mused, but not without, it seemed.

  Standing to her side, he nodded. A muscle along his sculpted jaw twitched. “Evening. Didn’t we meet earlier?”

  She swallowed hard, trying to get her head together. “Sorry to dash off. I had an appointment.”

  He didn’t look impressed as he shifted his glance around the bar. If anything he looked annoyed, like he might walk away, leaving her sitting there, slack-jawed. Maybe he didn’t think a woman should have a mind of her own. That idea had her stiffen. If he thought an educated woman was a waste of his precious time well, so be it. He swung his attention back to her and the intensity in which his gaze consumed her was a force to reckon with.

  “I was wondering. Well, if you’re not going to sprint out the door, maybe we can get through a simple introduction. You are…?” he asked. His words sounded courteous but the roiling fire in his eyes had yet to settle down.

  Her skin roasted as he continued to stare back at her. Even more so when his dark eyes slid down her body.

  Oh really. She inhaled, rather than fire off a mouthy retort right off the bat. What the hell!

  “Excuse me,” she said politely, not about to let some man size her up. “My eyes are up here.” He wasn’t the first cowboy she’d had the pleasure to redirect. Back home on her father’s ranch, she’d learned how to snap a guy out of his obvious fascination with her boobs.

  Brandon snorted like one of the champion stallions her father bred. She’d ridden plenty growing up, and that included walking away after being thrown not once, but enough times to recognize a beast about to buck. Up close, she recognized that besides the white-hot flames in his singeing stare, he had ice. Just like all unbreakable stallions, it wasn’t only the fire that ruled their blood, but also a heart that refused to yield.

  “Then answer me; or shall I give you a club name?” He leaned closer, taunting her. “One only we would share.”

  For a beat, she yearned to raise her hand and run her fingers along the edge of his jaw. Feel the scrape of his unshaven skin against hers, knowing he’d leave marks in more than one way. It had been too long since she’d done more than research human sexuality.

  “Mia,” she said in a low voice, already aware that only first names were permitted.

  “Mia. Is that right?” he asked.

  “Yes. After my grandmother.”

  “So that’s your real name?” The corners of his lips relaxed and actually curved into a devilish smile. “Brandon,” he said, and held out a large, capable hand.

  She sensed he was interested in her—maybe he just needed to set the ground rules and was testing her to see if she could take the heat. Mr. Penrose more than likely had shared that this was a big deal to have a university interested in his club. They could definitely help each other out.

  “Nice to meet you,” she grinned, more than happy to show him she wasn’t scared in the least.

  All full of herself, she took hold of his huge hand and squeezed. Then froze. Heat from his hand soaked into her palm, spreading outward in a seismic force across her body. Holy mother! Nothing compared with the sensation when his hand slid over her skin, tangling their fingers before he made her hand disappear within his. A jolt of electricity shot up her arm and landed deep in her belly.

  “I don’t think I remember seeing you inside the club before,” he said, towering over her.

  “My first time. Don’t hold that against me.” She tried to laugh but her mouth was drier than the Sahara.

  “On the contrary,” he exhaled with his husky voice.

  “Glad to hear that,” she picked up her glass, dying for something to drink.

  The set of his square jaw spoke defiance and the ability to command without question. The effect was another hard-to-ignore vibration over her skin, and her breath caught when their gazes snapped together. Without thinking, she lifted her glass and swallowed the contents, nearly choking, and then remembered she’d or
dered bourbon for a reason. She didn’t drink straight liquor, and wanted to nurse a drink all night. Her eyes watered and she blinked frantically, biting her lip rather than moan from the slow burn going down her throat.

  “Never before? What about other clubs?” he asked, still holding her hand.

  She swung her head from side to side and took a deep breath.

  He uncurled his hand to release hers. “Are you okay?” he asked and gently smacked her on the back.

  This dress was a size too small, borrowed from her roommate, and Mia’s cleavage almost popped out the front with his thumping her on the shoulder. His eyes raked over her chest and she swore she could feel his heated gaze blister her skin. She chanced a glance down her front. Oh. My. God! Her nipples were about to peek over the edge of the dress. She and Brandon were only inches apart and he had to see the same thing as she did. She wanted to demand he look away, but instead watched his nostrils flare as he stepped in front of her.

  “You sure about that?” He swung his glance to the front of her dress. “Darlin’, you want some help with that dress of yours? Up or down?”

  “No. I’m fine,” she snapped, giving him the dirtiest look possible to keep his eyes trained on her face and not return to her cleavage, as he’d just done. Again. As surreptitiously as possible, she pulled up on the straps of the gown before it crept down any further.

  “Frankly, I don’t think that’s going to solve our problem,” he said. “You might need a brick wall with steel-reinforced girders, not some flimsy piece of leather, for what I have in mind.”

  Now it was her turn to appear filled with annoyance. “You’re really way too full of yourself. Did Mr. Pen—I mean Phil tell you about my membership?”

  “My partner has a tendency to grant memberships unilaterally. Only this time I can’t say I’d argue with him.” He leaned over and motioned to the bartender. “Set this lady up again and pour the same for me.”

  He glanced back at her and she inhaled his fresh, outdoors scent. Good God, wearing nothing more than a tight black T-shirt, he looked like a Greek god. His sculpted arms stretched the armholes of his shirt. His corded neck supported a silver chain that dipped into his shirt, riding over the ripped and contouring muscles that made up his chest and back from what she could tell. She bit her lip, casting a glance at his narrow hips that ended in a tight bottom, the type that could flex and roll perfectly between a woman’s legs. Holy shit! Did I just imagine him naked?

  “You don’t understand,” she squeaked, her face burning from a guilty conscience. He didn’t know that she was here to learn, and if she didn’t start acting like this was important, she’d be melting all over the barstool.

  “I think I do.” He straightened when the bartender set their glasses down on the bar.

  Holy smokes, she bet Brandon was the one assigned to give her a tour. Maybe he was just acting the part of flirtatious stud. She inhaled a shaky breath, chewing on the side of her mouth, deciding whether or not to come clean with him. There were other people on both sides of them now. Several women were giving Brandon the once-over. If she told him, he might be less than enthralled, knowing she was only interested in research. He was a man here for a purpose. A Dom, to be precise. Just thinking about him naked and commanding was hardly helping her ability to stay focused.

  She already felt giddy sitting next to him as his forceful masculinity soaked her senses. If she engaged in another round of sweltering flirtation with him, the act was akin to playing with an uncontrollable fire. But then again, he was worth the ton of information she’d get from the inside, as long as she didn’t cross any lines.

  He held out her glass, staring into her eyes. “How about if I show you around the place? You said you have never been to a club before, and then you can decide.” He said, half smiling at her.

  “Promise, just a tour. Nothing more.” She needed to get ahold of her runaway imagination. Not a thing about the bar appeared to be anything but a high-class dance club. The staff was professional and courteous. Although Brandon was a horse of another color. So what if some people were dressed a tad risqué, and there were private rooms with studs? If that’s the name of this game, it wasn’t off the charts. Nothing she’d risk losing her head over. She set the bourbon down and picked up her water glass. “I think I have had enough to drink.”

  He clinked her glass, the heat in his eyes ready to incinerate her from the inside out. “Cross my heart, Mia,” he said in a rough murmur, shifting his powerful body, and lifting his glass.

  Chapter Three

  Touching Mia’s golden skin, Brandon swore it was like waking to brilliant sunlight from a long, black sleep. This fiery fascination was more than his thing for tight red dresses on curvy figures, and shapely long legs in higher-than-hell stilettos. This little firecracker had a way of bucking him, then simmering down, and drawing him in…close. Not that he couldn’t resist, but when she smelled so incredible and looked tasty enough to lick from head to foot, what was the point of playing hard to get? He’d done that for months without having to try. Staring down at Mia’s chest, with her tempting mounds threatening to spill over any second into his waiting palms, his dick throbbed, getting harder with each breath the little minx took. He imagined doing several scorching things with her, from the waist up. Fuck, if he got her naked, he’d make certain they both couldn’t walk straight for a week.

  “Cheers.” She lifted her glass as well as her dark, liquid eyes, and he followed suit, the breath evaporating from his lungs.

  Staring into those bottomless pools made the muscles all over his body contract. “Mia,” he said, sampling her name on his tongue and rolling the sound around in his mouth.

  “Brandon,” she whispered in an ultra-feminine voice that reached into his body, swam in his blood, and unleashed a hunger he’d kept tamped down for far too long. “Why do you keep saying my name?”

  “It’s beautiful. Mia. Ephemeral, but hard to forget,” he said.

  “Cowboy poet?” She laughed, throaty, sultry, and in a second his desire roared to life, ready to find fulfillment for them both. An able and ready woman was right in front of him. If only she’d agree to be more than gorgeous and prickly. To get her naked, she’d have to be willing. He bet under that get-up she was warm and wet, and with her spunk she’d have no problem taking him on in bed.

  “Hardly. To a memorable evening,” he said, taking a drink from his glass.

  “I trust you to be a man of your word,” she replied.

  “There’s nothing that will happen unless you give the word. So, if you trust yourself, then come with me.” He held out his palm. “I won’t bite.”

  She slanted her head toward him and inquired, “Where are you taking me?”

  Her silky black hair caressed his arm. He watched it swish behind her, long and straight, and he had the urge to fist it with both hands as he controlled her, envisioning the first time he’d drive himself into her. She ran her tongue over her red mouth, moistening her full lips.

  His cock jerked at the things he imagined doing to Mia. “Depends on what you’re after.” He pointed across the bar to the darkened entry, and thought about what it would be like to open the door to his private room tonight. “That’s a place we could go to be alone.”

  “Alone? With you?” She smiled, shaking her head. “No, I don’t think so. Not my first time here.”

  “Can’t punish a guy for trying.” The red light at the entrance, signaling he was servicing a woman, hadn’t been on in forever. He didn’t know if he wanted to let the bar know he was fucking her. It was the house rule that members could watch the Dom-on-staff pleasure another member.

  “What are you thinking?” she asked, and he realized that he was gripping his glass, white-knuckled tight. Not even with Val did he hesitate to share his power-fucking ability. He even got off, knowing that others watched him drive a woman mad.

  He didn’t feel in a sharing mood with Mia. Possibly being out of the limelight and offstage for
months had him shifting in the saddle. The first time back in the sack as Dom, why shouldn’t he want to do it in private? “Wondering if you’re all talk or if you’re as bold as you like to play?”

  She arched a brow. “I’m not a tease, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

  “Tease or temptress. Darlin’, you’re a good deal of both; throw in a double shot of trouble and I think it describes you.”

  “Not to a ‘T’ I hope,” she said and pointed out, “You’re more than just a tightly controlled Dom. Aren’t you?”

  “Insofar as us, you can think of me in those terms. Make no mistake, it’s how I intend on bringing you pleasure while at the same time getting myself off. All the way, Mia.”

  She tilted her head, coyly smiling at him while surveying the bar. “This is more show than actual seduction in the making. Dancing and drinking, flirting and some hot kissing. I don’t see anything outrageous. A classy club playing up to peoples’ desire to be a little bit bad. It’s not any different than a theme-based costume party.”

  “And I bet a night here will have you hot, bothered and soaking wet even if we are surrounded by people.” He spoke way too soon. At this rate, he’d be the one hot and very bothered. He drained his glass. A single shot and it went right to his head. He curled his fingers around her arm, helping her from the bar stool, and if he’d thought for an instant he’d gotten the full effect of this hellcat’s dress, he now understood how sorely he’d been mistaken.

  This close, he tried to swallow as his eyes bulged. He went to set his glass on the bar and missed, barely paying attention to the glass crashing to the floor. His gaze roamed down her curves, but it was impossible to take in how beautiful she was all at once. Starting with her tiny waist, which he was sure would be perfect between his hands. Add her exotic face and her long legs, or how sexy her shoes were…the list went on. And on.

  “You’re not nervous. Are you?” she softly laughed.

  “Naw. What gave you that impression?” He played it off. Badly. She called him on the carpet and nailed him, causing ripples of heat to hike up his spine.