She turned around, mostly because of the hand-down-the-pants scenario.
Cash grabbed her arms. “Whoa.”
“You don’t see that?” she said over the rip-roaring song.
“Jimmy Beetles getting a hand job? Nope. Don’t see it.”
If the inside of the saloon wasn’t her scene, then that was a million times truer out here. It wasn’t that she was offended by all the sex and lust being front and center, it was just that . . . Hell, she was a little more low-key about this stuff. She was normal. She liked her porn to come in art films and saucy books with gray-toned, suggestive covers, not in her face.
Cash obviously knew this, so had he brought her here because he thought that, under her buttoned-down blouse and pencil skirt, she was ready to break out of her mold? Or was he playing a huge joke on her for the hell of it?
She flipped open her purse, accessing her phone to see the time. Only twenty minutes down. Crap.
“Hey,” he said, closing her purse for her, and none too gently, either. “You’re still mine for the time being.”
“I’m not yours.” She’d said it loud, over the music and, of course, that’s when the band stopped.
The last word still rang in the air as the group took a break between songs. All the while, Cash stared at her with those green eyes. They bored into her like a drill trying to find its way to her center.
What he didn’t know was that he was already there, digging until he was touching a part of her that made her want to sigh and throw caution out the door, groaning and giving in, reaching up to bring him down to her so his mouth could crush her lips and she could finally find out what it was like to kiss him.
She should’ve stopped at whisky number one today. Why hadn’t she?
He leaned down to her so no one else would hear him. “For the rest of the hour, you’re all mine. You signed a napkin saying so.”
If she’d had the napkin with her and not left it back in the hotel room, she would’ve ripped it right up and told him to take her home. But, genius that she was, she had nothing. Not even a ride out of here.
How stupid had she been to try to take this shortcut?
“Molly . . .”
Oh God, the way he said her name. He was teasing her now. It was as if all he wanted was for her to look at him again.
Slowly, she did, and when she met his gaze, she fell into it.
“I told you,” he said, “that I’m not going to make you do anything you don’t want to do. That’s not any fun for either of us.”
“Then what’s fun?” she loud-whispered. “Showing me Jimmy Beetles with a woman down his pants?”
“I didn’t know that’d be the main attraction out here.” He shrugged. “Although it’s not out of the ordinary for this place.”
She closed her eyes. Jimmy Beetles wasn’t Cash’s fault. It was a free country and, here she was, thirty years old and still as much of a prude as she’d been before losing her virginity to a guy she’d dated for a month in college before she’d parted ways with him in time to study for finals. She was the square peg here.
She heard the women with Jimmy Beetles squeal, and the next thing she knew, the burly man was walking past them, the hand-job woman flung over his shoulder.
He nodded to Cash on his way toward the saloon. “Cash.”
“Jimmy.”
When Molly looked behind her, the other ladies were still dancing, even without any music. But the band seemed to take its cue from them, starting up again.
As luck would have it, they eased into a Patsy Cline song about walking after midnight. A good song to tease a man to.
At a loss, Molly drank her whisky, avoiding Cash’s gaze until he took the glass from her and went to set it down on a wall shelf with his beer. As he walked back to Molly, her heart echoed every one of his steps.
Thud.
Thud.
Thud . . .
Then he was standing in front of her again, unavoidable, awareness expanding between them until she tensed up and waited for it to pop.
Without another word, he took her hand and raised it to his shoulder, resting her fingers there. He slid the opposite hand behind her, cozying it onto her hip.
It was only natural for her to grasp his other hand as they barely swayed to the music, with her trying to maintain that lethal space between them all the while.
But that must not have been ten thousand dollars’ worth of dancing to Cash, because he pulled her closer, and she gasped as his chest crushed hers, pressing against her breasts, making her nipples ache.
“That Jimmy Beetles,” she said, “is he bad news?”
“He’s not the kind of person a woman like you should be dancing with.”
And you are?
The whole time, she could feel him looking down at her, daring her to make eye contact with him again. The heat of his gaze lured her, but there was something stubborn in her that held on, refusing to give in.
Even though that part of her was crumbling by the second.
“Molly,” he said, and she didn’t hear it as much as feel the vibrations of her name through his chest.
She didn’t answer.
“Molly,” he said, harder.
All right. “Yes?”
“Damn, you’re hard to get.” He lowered his mouth down to her ear. “It’s a good thing I know how to get.”
He kept his lips against her, warm and damp. Her breasts were still flattened against him, and she reveled in the sensation of his hardness against her softness. It’d been a long time since she’d wanted to slip her hands around a man, slide her fingers under his shirt, feel the contours of his back. Such a long time . . .
Before she knew it, he’d reached up to work at her bound hair with his fingers, and when it fell to her shoulders, she felt a breath of freedom. And when he dug his fingers into her hair, she leaned her forehead against his shoulder, surrendering only a little.
“You smell like strawberries and champagne,” he whispered. “The expensive kind.”
With his other hand, he caressed his way down her waist and ended up at her back, bringing her closer. She could feel the outline of his penis against her belly, and she should’ve shoved him away.
She didn’t. God, no, she didn’t. Instead, she found herself opening her mouth against his shoulder, her teeth catching T-shirt and some skin. He laughed in her ear, surprised, and it jarred her.
She hadn’t meant to freakin’ nip at him. Crap, what if Cash was thinking that he’d gained some ground with her? And what if those dancing women were watching them?
When he ran his teeth over the shell of her ear, her knees turned to water, and she grasped at him to stay standing.
He was wearing her down, and she didn’t know how much longer she could outlast him.
As her brain lost some of its fog, she decided to show him that she hadn’t meant that nip, that this night wouldn’t go anywhere, and she reached into her purse, making it a point to glance at her phone so he could see she was only here to get this business transaction done.
He grabbed her wrist. The dancing stopped.
With a blank look, he stared her down as she let go of her purse. He wasn’t so playful now, since she’d sent a message to him that she was only interested in getting through the hour and getting the hell away from him.
Even if she’d been so close to losing her willpower . . .
“Why do I have the feeling,” he said, still gripping her wrist, “that no matter how close you are to giving in, you’re unfuckable?”
His fingers were tight, but she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of reacting. And, God, she wanted to react. It wasn’t easy to hear that she was “unfuckable.” She’d always wondered, always feared she was one of those frigid women who would never make a guy happy in bed.
“I told y
ou,” she said calmly. “I’m here for Arden.”
“Then maybe you should get back to her. I’ve got better things to do than school a virgin in how to have fun.”
She tried not to flinch at that. “I’m not a . . .”
“Yes, you are.” He let go of her and laid a finger against her temple. “In here. And that’s where it counts, princess.”
When he’d called her that the first time, she hadn’t minded. But now it was an insult about her goody-goodiness.
He walked away, leaving her standing there as the song ended, the last notes fading into a night that was cooling faster than she’d ever imagined it could.
8
Sofia watched the video poker screen as it dealt her yet another lousy hand while, next to her, Arden hit a full house.
“On fire!” Arden said, raising her arms as her machine sang a swirly tune and racked up more points for her winning total.
If the casino hadn’t given Arden three hundred dollars in free play as a part of the computer deal she’d booked with the hotel, she wouldn’t have been gambling at all. But, ever since they’d checked in, she’d been bound and determined to win enough on these machines so Molly’s “date” could be ended early. After Molly had texted with her big “shortcut plan,” this was the only way they could think of to get her out of having to hang out at that saloon for any length of time.
Jeez, the god-awful saloon. When Molly had texted that she was going there, Sofia and Arden had almost shot through the fancy roof of the casino. Sure, Molly had some pepper spray with her, but really? The Rough & Tumble with some guy named Cash?
The thing was, Sofia thought, she wasn’t as afraid of the saloon as much as what Molly might do there. Sofia had been expecting her to explode into a wild woman for years. But why did it have to be with that guy?
After checking her phone for any new texts, Sofia sighed and glanced over at Arden’s total on her poker screen. Over one thousand dollars. It was a start but not nearly enough to save Molly. Besides, the hell-date was almost over. All they could do was hope for the best at this point.
“Ard, maybe it’s a good time to take what you’ve got and walk away,” she said. “You’re ahead. Plus Molly’s time is almost up.”
Arden forged on and played another hand. The machine dealt it to her with a sifting noise. “If anything happens to Molly, I’ll never forgive myself.”
“Is that why you won’t walk away and keep what winnings you have?”
Arden ignored her, breaking even on the hand then betting again. She never looked away from that screen. And when she changed the subject, Sofia frowned.
“She’s pretty into that Cash. You don’t think . . .”
“No. Molly’s smarter than to do anything but get this ‘date’ over with and come right back here.” Fingers crossed.
But a pssst in the back of her head made her wonder about Molly and that little, contained wild streak of hers, Molly sneaking glances at the bar where Cash had been sitting this afternoon . . .
Arden shrugged and kept playing. “Whatever you say, Sof.”
“Don’t act like you did her a favor by setting them up or something.”
Looking sheepish, Arden shut her mouth. But when the machine dee-do-do, dee-do-doed with a three of a kind, she did a dance in her chair.
It seemed like they weren’t going anywhere, even though Sofia was itching to drive out to the Rough & Tumble and drag Molly out of there.
But Sofia had a feeling there was a growing situation that needed her attention right here and now. Arden had no business throwing away one thousand dollars. What to do, though? Pull Arden away by her short hair and back up to the room, calling it a night? Sofia had been brought up in a strict house, but she’d sworn a long time ago that she’d never raise her kids with that kind of iron fist—not even a kid like Arden.
“I’ll be back,” Sofia said, not wanting to watch Arden gamble away this much money. She left her machine.
“Have fun.”
She was sure Arden wasn’t sad to see her go. When they’d settled in to their room overlooking the pools, the conversation had been stilted between all of them. They hadn’t even had dinner together since Arden had checked Sofia and Molly in to a comped buffet and immediately gone to the machines. Soon after, Molly had retreated to the room to get ready for hell-date.
Best trip ever so far.
As Sofia wandered away from Arden, the casino’s mildly perfumed air surrounded her, mixing with aromas from the nearby food court. Roman statues posed and slot machines winked. She checked her phone yet again to see if there were any SOSes from Molly. Thank God, no. Or maybe she couldn’t get to her phone. Was that totally out of the question?
Not to be a worrywart, but . . .
Sofia thumbed to her address book on her screen, accessing Molly’s number. One ring. Two. Three.
It went to her voice mail, and Sofia blew out a breath, then spoke.
“Hey, Mol, just wondering how it’s going. Because, you know, you said you’d keep in touch. Everything cool? Need a ride? Send word, okay?”
She hung up and peered around. Maybe she could pass the time in the Forum Shops. Or by eating again. She could have a drink at the boozehound slushie counter, but what if she needed to drive?
Dial it down, she thought. Chances are Mol is safe and sound.
Her phone vibrated with a text and she immediately looked.
Date pretty much over. No damage, no worries.
Molly had included an emoticon at the end—an image of an exasperated face.
Sofia pored over the text again, but she couldn’t detect any signals that Cash had forced Molly to write such a la-de-dah message at gunpoint or anything.
Hmm. Was it possible that Cash wasn’t the threat she suspected he was and Molly was perfectly fine?
Feeling slightly better, she went to the Forum Shops entrance and lollygagged around the first set of uppercrust boutiques near the casino. Never in her life would Sofia be able to afford the trendy luxury purses or shoes. She had no idea how Carrie Bradshaw had ever done that, the lucky dog.
When her phone buzzed again, she was all over it, but this time, the message was from her ex, Roberto.
Going to see Snow Patrol.
What?
Diverted for the moment, she almost texted him back, because Snow Patrol had been their band. So why had he felt the need to tell her this? He was her ex, not her present, so why did he keep texting?
Arden would know.
Rushing back through the mall, Sofia entered the casino and found Arden at the same machine, leaning on its ledge, her hand planted in her hair, making it spike up.
Uh-oh. Body language—bad. And when Sofia caught sight of Arden’s total on the screen, she realized her friend had lost more than four hundred dollars in the short time she’d been away.
“Oh, excellent,” Arden said, perking up when she saw her. “You’re obviously my good-luck charm, Sof. Sit down again.”
She did, but slowly, taking a long look at her friend. “Let’s go. I’m not kidding. You’re still ahead, Ard.”
“But I can recoup my losses. I feel the luck!”
So Sofia watched Arden play—bet the maximum, deal, pick the cards, win or lose.
As Arden’s total started to go up again, her skin flushed, her eyes reflecting the light from the screen.
“Molly sent a text,” Sofia finally said.
“Yeah? Is she good?” Arden actually paused before confirming her cards. Her gaze was unfocused as she glanced over. “Is her hour over?”
Had Arden lost track of time that badly? “Hell-date’s over. She said everything’s cool.”
“Nice!” Arden played her hand out, winning her bet back with two Jacks.
“So . . .” Sofia said. “That means you definitely don’t have to save Molly
with a jackpot. It’s officially confirmed.”
“Right.” She waggled her eyebrows. “That means I can play for fun now.”
Fun. Sofia thought about how Arden always played poker at home with her friends. How she hadn’t been able to leave the table at the Rough & Tumble today, even when Sofia had asked to go. How she’d somehow gotten them all these food comps, a supercheap hotel room, and free play money merely from a computer deal.
As all her suspicions tumbled around her head, her phone buzzed with another text from Molly.
On way back.
Sofia sent a smiley in answer, trying to find the same expression on her own face while Arden played on, losing one hand, then another.
***
The road was an endless streak pointing toward the interstate as Cash drove through the desert, away from Rough & Tumble. Next to him, Molly sat mutely, one long leg crossed away from him over the other.
He’d put the CD player on again. Why bother to talk when his so-called date genuinely didn’t want to be here? Shit, he felt like an asshole for believing that she was only just a little shy, a little puritanical, a little innocent, even at her age, and she would come around sometime during the night. Surely Molly would end up responding to him like the rest of the women he was usually with because she was just a bigger challenge than most; she was a way to get himself out of the never-ending circle he’d found himself in lately as he went from one town to another: winning a few games, working a few jobs, and working a few women, then moving on when the need suited him.
But when she’d scuttled their momentum by purposely looking at her phone, checking the time, he knew he’d been wrong about Molly, and that was a rare thing. For a man who got by on reading others, he’d sure miscalculated this time. Ten thousand dollars’ worth of miscalculation, too. He wouldn’t have felt bad about taking the money from Arden—anyone who was eager enough to take money from him was fair game enough to have money taken from them—but why did he feel like the big loser right now?
Rough and Tumble Page 9
