by Jane Porter
It was too cold to go out tonight with bare legs. And the sequins and sparkles didn’t seem right for Grey’s. The turn of the century saloon wasn’t fancy and the sparkles made her think of a Las Vegas club.
She stepped back into her closet and went through her wardrobe one last time. Blazers, camisoles, dresses, skirts, jumpsuit.
Jumpsuit.
She drew out the black jumpsuit with the halter top that left her shoulders bare and gave the hanger a little shake. The jumpsuit top featured a deep plunging v-neckline that revealed cleavage. She hadn’t worn the jumpsuit—or anything like this—since moving to Montana. The outfit was definitely sexy with the way the soft, jersey fabric hugged the breasts and hips and butt before falling in a wide straight leg past the ankle. The hem was long so she’d need to wear heels or a pair of dress boots.
Was she up for a very sleek, sexy look?
Paige thought of Dillon Sheenan—tall, young, hot—and the way he’d looked at her last night, as if she was something delicious, and then today, at the diner, his deep voice had rumbled through her this morning, low, and husky and all male, and a shiver raced through her.
Lewis died in May, four years ago this May, and she hadn’t been attracted to any man since. She hadn’t wanted to be interested in anyone. But Dillon intrigued her.
Yes, he was leaving in just a few days, but he wasn’t gone yet. There was no reason she couldn’t enjoy his attention. Enjoy a little bit of flirting.
It’s not as if anything would happen between them. They weren’t going to get serious or fall in love.
She just wanted to flirt. She just wanted to feel pretty...sexy. Surely that was okay? If it was just for one night?
But as she gave final instructions to her babysitter, Ruby, and then kissed the kids goodnight, Paige wondered if maybe the sexy black jumpsuit was too much. She didn’t want to look as if she was trying too hard.
Too late now, she told herself, as she settled into the driver’s seat of the car and put on her seatbelt. You’re here. You’re going. Just drive.
And so she did.
Upstairs at Grey’s, Dillon was pouring wine, mixing cocktails and uncapping beers. He’d been working steadily for the past hour. The bar was crowded, upstairs and downstairs, with music thumping, and everyone anticipating the start of the auction.
The bachelors being auctioned were upstairs with him, and they had their own energy, a restless energy that reminded him of a locker room before a charity basketball game. The guys could act like they weren’t worried and didn’t care, but they were guys, men, and competitive. They were going to be stepping on stage, and auctioned off to the highest bidder. Talk about a testosterone rush. No wonder they were amped as they leaned on the balcony, drinking, talking, laughing. They might act like they didn’t have a care in the world, but they were not oblivious that a crowd of young, excited, available women had gathered below. For them.
Some of the bolder, braver women had come upstairs to drink and flirt.
Dillon had been keeping an eye out for Paige but hadn’t yet seen her. She could be downstairs with friends, tucked away in a back corner booth. If that were the case, he might not see much of her tonight at all.
He just hoped she was going to have fun tonight. Most the women he was friendly with in Marietta knew how to let their hair down, but Paige wasn’t a party-girl. She rarely went out at night, unless it was a school function, or a community event where she could contribute in a meaningful way. He didn’t know if it was the fact that she’d been married and widowed, or that she was a mother, but she tended to be reserved even when Marietta had a fun social event.
It was possible she’d decided to skip the auction, too.
He added more beers to the tub of ice and glanced over the balcony railing, gaze skimming the crowd, landing on a cluster of twenty-somethings in tight jeans and little skirts hanging out by the old jukebox, waiting for the auction to begin. He knew most of them. They were local Crawford County women with no agenda other than keeping a job, surviving the long winter, and finding a good man.
Or just a man.
Sometimes Montana women had to be practical. Far better to have some company than no company, especially if faced with months of snow, wind, and ice.
“What’s tonight’s popular drink?”
The soft, warm voice made something inside his chest tighten and turn over. He turned from the railing to find Paige at his makeshift bar, smiling.
Her golden blonde hair was loose over bare shoulders, and she was dressed in a slinky black outfit that outlined every curve of her body, and then some. She had an incredible body, too. Perfect breasts, tiny waist, rounded hips and a firm full butt. He’d studied it all earlier at the diner, imaging how she’d look without the cute skirt and apron, but seeing her tonight like this, it was a revelation. She was all woman. And as long as he was in town, she was his.
“Screaming Orgasm,” he said casually, aware that the guys at the railing were checking her out and liking what they saw. But how could they not? She looked like a Playboy centerfold before the clothes came off.
The slinky black fabric of her catsuit or jumpsuit or whatever it was she was wearing molded to her breasts, and hugged her tummy and hips.
“A Screaming Orgasm?” Paige repeated, sputtering as she said the name.
“Would you like one?”
Her cheeks turned pink and she bit into her bottom lip. He eyed her lip, and the way her teeth pressed into the soft, plump lower skin, and the air bottled in his lungs. He held his breath, counting to five, battling his attraction. It was so hard to just stand there and pretend he didn’t want her, and he hadn’t wanted her from the moment he first laid eyes on her three years ago.
“Are they any good?” she asked, cheeks still flushed, making her dark blue eyes shine.
“I’ve been told mine are the best.” He shrugged. “Not bragging. That’s just what the women have been saying tonight.”
“No, not bragging at all.” Her eyes met his and held, her expression mischievous. “Although, if it’s a skill, maybe you should? I imagine you’ve put in time. Practiced.”
He couldn’t even think of something to say because all he could think about was her, getting alone with her...
What were they even talking about?
“I imagine a lot of practice has gone into getting a Screaming Orgasm right,” she added thoughtfully, “and I hate to miss out on the fun, because your specialty sounds delightful, but I think I’d better stick to wine. Do you have a bottle of Pinot Gris or Chardonnay back there?”
“I do.” He reached for the bottle of white wine chilling in ice. “And you look incredible tonight.”
“Thank you.” Her smile turned shy and she touched her plunging neckline. “It is kind of low, isn’t it?”
“It’s a grown up party. You’re allowed to look like a grown up tonight.”
Her lips curved. “And once again, you say the nicest things.”
“Because it’s you. I think you know I have a soft spot for you.” He filled the wine glass and handed it to her, waving away her money bill. “It’s on me.”
“Why? No. Don’t—”
“You took care of my headache this morning, I’m taking care of the wine.” He reached into his tip glass, pulled out a five-dollar bill, and tucked it into his money tray. “Where are McKenna and Taylor? Are they here?”
“They’re downstairs at a table. I just wanted to come up and check on you, see how you were feeling, make sure your head was better.”
“Headache’s gone.”
“So you’re good?”
“I’m great,” he answered, silently adding, Now that I’ve seen you.
Paige carefully carried her wine glass down the stairs, keeping an eye on each step, aware that some of the guys lining the balcony railing were watching her descend the stairs but secretly hoping Dillon was watching, too.
It wasn’t until she’d gone to find him that she realized she’d dressed f
or him tonight. She’d chosen the sexy black pantsuit for him, wanting him to look...to approve. She’d wanted his attention.
She still did.
Sitting back down at the small cocktail table with McKenna and Taylor, Paige felt a pang. As much as she liked her friends, she didn’t want to be here with them. She wanted to be back on the balcony with Dillon. Wanted him to look at her, and smile at her, and make her feel beautiful again.
Desirable.
Beddable.
Because that’s how he’d made her feel up there.
It was a nice feeling.
She exhaled and crossed her legs, glancing past the tables with the red glowing candles to the big picture window. Snow was falling. Fat, lazy flakes swirled outside and while snow wasn’t anything unusual here, it almost always made her a little bit wistful. Nostalgic.
There was a time in her life when a cold winter night meant curling up with a special someone in front of a fire.
A cold winter night outside meant it’d be hot inside.
With Dillon, it would be hot inside. With Dillon, it’d be scorching.
She shifted in her chair, glancing from the window to the stage where Lindy was taking the microphone, to the edge of the balcony. From her seat she couldn’t see the balcony railing, or the guys at the railing, or Dillon at the bar. But she knew Dillon was there. She could still feel the heat in his eyes as his gaze swept over her. He’d looked at her as if he’d like to strip her clothes off and take her, here.
Hard.
Hot.
Now.
Now.
Her breath caught in her throat and she balled her hands in her lap. Was she crazy for wanting that, too? Crazy to crave something purely physical? Because she knew he wasn’t sticking around, and maybe that’s why she felt safe desiring him. He wouldn’t expect a relationship. She wouldn’t be committing herself to anything. She’d be able to get close and then she’d be free. Of him. Of expectations. Of the need.
But before she could decide what she wanted to do, the lights dimmed further and a spotlight hit Lindy as she turned on the microphone and welcomed everyone to Marietta’s first ever Bachelor Auction.
Things slowed down at the upstairs bar once the bidding started. Dillon used the time to straighten the bottles of wine, wipe down the table, and add to the stack of cocktail napkins on the corner of his table before heading downstairs with a tub filled of empty glasses from the upstairs tables.
He glanced out the window as he went down the steps. Snow fell beyond Grey’s covered porch in thick white flurries. It’d been snowing earlier but it was coming down pretty hard now. No surprise there. The storm was supposed to move in and stick around for a few days. Great for the ski slopes. Not as good for the ranchers. Automatically Dillon thought of his cattle huddling beneath the big trees, looking for shelter. Not his cattle, he silently corrected, Trey’s now. The ranch was Trey’s to run. Dillon was stepping away, handing over the responsibility to his brother and returning to what he did best—design, engineering, problem solving, innovation.
Leaving the tub of dishes in the kitchen, he grabbed an empty gray bin from behind the bar, and quickly, quietly moved through the tables at the back, collecting empties.
The waitress—Dillon couldn’t remember her name—gave him a grateful smile, barely able to keep up with drink orders coming in, much less getting rid of all the used glasses and empty bottles.
A new bachelor was taking the stage and the all-female audience whistled and cheered with approval.
Dillon glanced up at the stage as he lifted the bin onto his shoulder. Linc Brady. He was new in town, but had somehow gotten roped into the auction. The women were thrilled, too, cheering wildly as he stepped into the spotlight. Poor bastard. A sacrificial lamb before Marietta’s single ladies.
Lips twisting, he moved through the tables, gaze scanning for any dishes he’d overlooking. And anyone he might know. Like his brothers’ women—McKenna and Taylor.
And then his woman, Paige.
Not that she knew she was his. And not that he could truly make her his. But if he could feel protective of her. He could be attracted to her without having to act on it. He had principles. He knew how to behave.
Which is why he was down here now, collecting glasses, cleaning up after shrieking women.
He did it so he could check on Paige. His gaze roved the crowded space, filled with cocktail tables and chairs. Lots of women—
And then he spotted her, her blonde head contrasting with McKenna’s dark red hair. She was smiling, but not like she’d smiled last night. She was smiling politely, as if attending in church or at a school PTA meeting.
He found himself wishing she was out with him, and he’d make her smile again, a real smile, wanting her to enjoy life more. She deserved to enjoy life more. She was pretty and kind and smart and hardworking. She worked like nobody’s business.
She should have a night out where she didn’t have to worry about anything. She should have a night where she was...free.
She wasn’t his problem. He shouldn’t make her his problem.
He wasn’t interested in settling down, and had no desire to spend the rest of his life in Marietta.
Tutro had come after him, and he did want his company back. Paige and her kids weren’t part of the picture.
Paige wasn’t part of his plan.
He carried the tub back to the kitchen and put it back next to the sink for the dishwasher who pointed to a tub of clean bar glasses. “Can you take that out to Reese?” he asked.
Dillon handed the wine glasses, martini glasses and cocktail tumblers over to Reese and then glanced at the stage where Seattle tycoon, Jesse Grey, was taking the spotlight. The audience loved him. His dark brooding good looks just made the tipsy girls shriek a little louder, which he clearly was ignoring. Smart man.
He headed back upstairs which was nearly deserted now since the bachelors were almost done being auctioned off, and the women were all downstairs.
Actually, all but one of the women were downstairs.
A young redhead stood by his bar, leaning against the railing waiting for him. Ginger Monahan.
Spotting him, she straightened, putting a hand on her hip as he stepped behind the table.
“Tell me it’s not true, Dillon Sheenan,” she said, meeting his gaze and holding. “Tell me you’re not really leaving Marietta for Texas.”
Dillon leaned back against the railing, hands braced on either side of the wooden edge. “Who wants to know, Ginger? Can’t be you. You’ve never given me two minutes of your time.”
“That’s not exactly true,” she answered, arms folding beneath her breasts and pushing them up even higher so that the creamy globes practically spilled from her low-cut knit top. “You had a chance and you ran away.”
His lips curled. She wasn’t far off. They had flirted like hell one night back in December but he’d had a reality check before it could get serious.
Ginger had charms. And she knew it. But she was looking for more than a good time. Her glossy plump lips, artfully tousled red hair, and lithe body showcased in a padded, push up bra and skin-tight jeans was a mating call, plain and simple.
She wanted a ring on her finger from a man that could put a big sturdy roof over her head, a new car in the garage every couple of years, and a huge walk in closet for all the chic clothes she’d order online and maybe wear.
But Dillon was thirty, and not without real world experience.
Women like Ginger would love to make love until the first baby came and then sexual interest would wane. The man who’d been seduced with heated kisses and mind-blowing orgasms would find himself slowly, inexplicably cut off. Left to fend for himself, forced to satisfy desire with a quick hand job in a hot shower. The hot honey kisses would become pecks on the cheek and if he was lucky, he’d get a birthday and anniversary roll in the hay—missionary style, of course—and then before he knew it, another baby would be on the way.
No, thank y
ou.
“I didn’t run away,” he answered, smiling lazily. “I just didn’t stay.”
“And yet you’d seemed so interested. What changed your mind?”
“I knew I wasn’t the right man for you.”
“So I was right.” Her dark winged eyebrow arched higher. “I was too much woman for you.”
His gaze slid up and then down her figure. She was all sweet lush curves, ripe and juicy as one of those succulent Flathead Lake cherries. “You are definitely all woman,” he agreed.
“And more than you can handle,” she added, chin lifting.
“Much more than I can handle,” he agreed, “especially now that I’m returning to Texas.”
“What’s in Texas?”
“My work.”
“That’s it? No girl? No family?”
“Just my company.”
She shrugged. “That’s a shame. You will be missed.” She lifted her beer and sauntered away, hips swaying.
Dillon didn’t even bother to watch her walk away.
Back in December they had talked and teased, and he’d enjoyed flirting with her. She was easy to look at and she sent out signals that she was available and interested, but tonight, everything about her left him cold.
As she walked away, he’d felt nothing for her. Nothing at all.
No desire, no spark, no lust, nothing.
He knew why, too. Because as long as he was in Marietta, he’d only want Paige.
Speaking of Paige, he could have sworn she was just there, on the stairs, but when he looked again, she was gone.
Chapter 5
Paige was halfway up the stairs to the balcony to get another glass of Chardonnay when she spotted Ginger leaning against the bar on the balcony, talking to Dillon.
There was something in the way Ginger leaned in that made Paige draw back.
She couldn’t see Dillon’s face, but Ginger was definitely interested in Dillon, her closeness suggesting an intimacy that made Paige think Ginger and Dillon were dating. Or had dated.
