Tequila

by Rebecca Sharp

  Until I met the man on the mountain, I hadn’t been interested.

  The way Logan looked at me was exactly the way he kissed me—like I was all woman, and a treasure that he’d never have enough lifetimes to explore.

  With a small jerk, he tore his lips from mine and the raucous cheers from the bar crowd blared in my ears.

  Pulling my lip between my teeth, I stepped back from him and scanned the room, giving everyone, including Zoe, a half-cocked smile as I folded my arms over my chest.

  I gave the appearance that I had everything under control.

  But I wasn’t in control. Not at all. Not a single cell. My body was in freefall.

  Lips tingling. Heart racing. Weightless anticipation.

  His kiss was like no kiss I’d had before—and I wanted more of it.

  “You alright?”

  I flattened my palm against his chest and curled it into the fabric of his shirt.

  “Can we get some air?” I murmured.

  He wasn’t close enough and everyone else was too close. Too crowded. Too hot.

  And I needed more of just him.

  Locking an arm around my waist, the other clearing a path through the clamoring crowd, Logan practically carried me out the front door and into the crisp Colorado spring air.

  “Sorry about that—”

  This time, I was the one who cut him off. Spinning into his arms, I locked my lips over his.

  Without the rules of propriety, the kiss I took was the one he’d been wanting to give me. Raw. Unfiltered.

  His mouth devoured mine, licking and stroking against every corner until I was arching and rubbing against his solid chest, begging for more.

  One kiss and I knew this man could map out the corners of my mouth better than I could.

  I felt his arms lock around me like thick roots of a tree, securing me against him as he lifted and carried me. I heard the latch of a truck tailgate click and next I felt the ribbed plastic of the truck bed underneath my ass, Logan planted firmly between my legs.

  “Jesus,” he swore against my mouth, our heavy breaths clouding the air between us.

  With a low groan, he began to bite and kiss along my jawline, making my body tremble against him with ripples of pleasure.

  “I’ve never wanted anyone this badly before.”

  His words sent a jolt of pride through me.

  I might be a woman fighting for her place in a man’s world—but I was still a woman, and I could still be wanted like one.

  “Maybe it’s the tequila,” I teased breathlessly, my head tipping back as he sucked gently on the side of my neck.

  I felt the brush of his fingers on my ribs, just underneath the swells of my tits, and my back arched against him, needing him to stop clinging to his rules.

  I felt the rush of his laugh against my skin. “Oh, Bae… I’m not even drunk.”

  Of course, he wasn’t drunk. Mountains like him don’t get drunk on small streams of alcohol.

  I shuddered and rolled my hips against his, feeling the long ridge straining against the front of his jeans.

  His mouth was on mine again, drugging me for several long minutes with his kiss, drinking from me like he could pull all traces of tequila from my mouth and absorb them into his own.

  “Please, Logan,” I murmured against him, relishing the ragged sound of his restraint fracturing further as his hand slid up to cup my breast.

  Weighing it in his palm, he brushed his thumb over my nipple and I saw stars.

  It took only seconds before I was lost under the onslaught of sensations. His tongue against mine. His hands teasing and toying with my breasts.

  My senses were soaring.

  Higher and higher. And still needing more.

  And my breath kept catching, waiting to reach the peak.

  “Bae,” he rasped as his teeth sunk into my lip—a pleasurably painful way to halt our intoxicating make-out session. “We need to stop.”

  My body jerked like I’d been shot. “I’m a big girl doing big things, Ranger Daniels. You don’t need to take care of me.”

  He gripped onto my hips and yanked me against him. “And I’m a man who knows something special when he sees it. I don’t want to rush this.”

  His fingers worked their way underneath my shirt to rub against the goosebump-covered skin of my sides.

  My pulse stammered, collapsing under the simple, yet strong weight of his words.

  How did I tell him rushing was all we had—all I had?

  How did I tell him I was leaving soon and this might be it?

  “This isn’t the tequila talking,” I promised him, wondering if he thought I was too drunk.

  His hoarse laugh told me he didn’t think I was. “I know,” he replied cautiously, his body held taut with restraint as he drew back. “Can I show you something?”

  I swallowed hard and nodded.

  “It means you’re going to have to come with me,” he continued honestly but cautiously. “But we can take your car if you’re more comfortable.”

  Even though my head still rolled with desire, a small smile pulled at my lips. “I trust you, Logan.”

  Warm fingers pinched my chin, tipping my face to his.

  “Thank you.”

  His name was repeated in my next exhale as he stepped back and helped me down from the bed of the huge black F-150.

  “When will we be back?” I looked toward the door to the tavern, needing to let Zoe know.

  “In the morning.”

  I held his gaze for one more second, searching even though I knew I’d find nothing untrustworthy in it. “I’ll go let Zoe know.” Walking to the door, I turned to look over my shoulder and added, “We can take your truck.”

  “This wasn’t what I was expecting,” I said honestly, glancing at my moonlit ranger.

  After leaving the bar, Zoe’s half-excited, half-concerned questions echoing behind me, I climbed in the perfectly clean cab of Logan’s Ford truck, glad I’d suggested his car since my Jeep was a bit of a mess.

  I had to admit, I questioned my sanity several times along the drive.

  First, when I saw several large duffel bags taking up the back seat. Granted, some of them had National Park Service written on them, but still. They were big enough for bodies…

  Second, when he drove back into Rocky Mountain National Park and began the climb up Trail Ridge Road.

  Trail Ridge Road was the section of Highway Thirty-Four that traversed through Rocky Mountain National Park and stretched up through the Rockies, mountains and trees and wildfire draped on either side, earning it the title scenic wonder road of the world.

  We’d climbed higher and higher—thousands of feet—until the trees disappeared into alpine tundra. At night, without their pointy tips serrating the horizon and only the stars ahead, it felt like a highway to the sky.

  It wasn’t that I didn’t feel safe—the man was a boy scout and a park ranger. And I knew how to defend myself. But my heart felt in unfamiliar territory.

  Untraveled. Uncharted. Uncertain.

  “What were you expecting?” His eyes slid to mine.

  We were laying the bed of his truck, staring out at the stars along the horizon from the Forest Canyon Overlook.

  At almost twelve-thousand feet.

  “Not this.” I laughed softly. “Not you.”

  His arm tightened, and I curled closer to his chest, underneath the stack of blankets on top of us which were inside those duffel bags.

  At twelve thousand feet, there were a few noticeable changes to our surroundings. Much colder. Less oxygen.

  “I like to watch the sunrise from here,” he murmured. “Makes you feel like you’re the only person left on Earth.”

  I nodded.

  The tree line was gone, giving us an unobstructed view in every direction out over the mountains and valleys to the horizon.

  There were no other cars in the parking lot. No other people. Nothing but us.

  “Tell me somethin’ no o
ne else knows about you.”

  His lips caressed my cheek next to my ear, and I shivered.

  What did I tell him? My tongue wetted my lips.

  “I don’t stop,” I confessed, feeling the hitch in his breath. “Higher. Farther. Faster. I don’t stop going after what I want. Not to pause. Not to think. Not to look how far I’ve come…”

  “Not even to watch the sunrise?”

  I shook my head.

  Stopping meant one more opportunity for judgment to be passed on how a woman had come so far. On why I said what I said or did what I did. One more opportunity for them to put up roadblocks why a woman couldn’t do more.

  “Why not?”

  I gulped, a foreign sense of vulnerability and safety sweeping over me, and admitted softly, “If I keep moving, no one can stop me.”

  I had the sense that to stop now—even to celebrate—would be a kind of resignation. I couldn’t stop, I couldn’t congratulate myself until I was where I wanted to be. Until I was the best.

  Even though I knew I wouldn’t—my mind would be on what came next. What step… what level…

  “I don’t want to stop you.” He searched my eyes with a look that gave me no choice but to stop and let him in. “I just want to hold you,” he told me.

  My breath hitched. “And what if I want to fly?”

  A low, hoarse hum brewed deep in his chest, the sound diving down deep into my very center and pooling into a ball of fire.

  “I have another rule… You might’ve heard of it…”

  “Oh, yeah?” Desire dimmed the sassiness in my voice.

  “It’s called gravity.”

  My sudden laugh ended on a scoff as I assured him, “I won’t fall.”

  “I never said you would, though I’d catch you if you did.” His eyebrows rose as he looked at me curiously. “But falling isn’t the only way to come back down, Bae…”

  My cheeks drew heat from where we touched, but the blush was hidden by the dark night as I grumbled, “Right…”

  I could tell my response was unconvincing even before he said, “You could always choose to land.”

  I hummed and replied lightly, “Maybe I would if you were there waiting.”

  “I would be.”

  My inhale was exaggerated in the silence of the night. The heavy sincerity of his promise making me realize he heard both my uncertainty and my wants under my attempted nonchalance.

  Feelings like this weren’t supposed to happen in one night.

  Promises like that weren’t supposed to be made this soon.

  Girls like you aren’t supposed to be in the military. You belong in a pageant, not in a plane. You’re made to be Miss America, not Captain America.

  Women aren’t supposed to fly fighter jets. It’s too dangerous.

  I swallowed hard, hating more than anything to be told what I should or shouldn’t be.

  And what I should or shouldn’t feel.

  Maybe seeing forever in his eyes and hearing always in his voice was ridiculous.

  But it wasn’t wrong.

  “Kiss me,” I commanded, seeing the way his eyes flared with desire even in the dark of night.

  His tongue did that thing where it stopped time—where I could stop moving because the world seemed to stop moving, leaving nothing else but this moment with him.

  I knew it couldn’t last, but it wouldn’t stop me from wanting it to.

  “I wasn’t lying when I said I’ve never wanted anyone like this before,” he drawled with ragged breaths. “And I won’t steal just one night with you, because I don’t want stolen time.”

  “Logan…”

  “I won’t steal one night, and I won’t cheat or cheapen what this is between us.”

  The words lodged in my throat—the ones that would tell him it wasn’t his choice. But I knew it would ruin everything about the moment… about the night.

  And I wanted one night.

  For once, I was going to be Cinderella instead of Cadet. For once, I was going to be a princess instead of a pilot.

  And I was going to take my one magical night higher, farther, faster, and for as long as I could make it before reality traded in my glass slippers for combat boots and my ballgown for a bomber jacket in the morning.

  “I don’t want you to,” I told him, fear coursing just as violently through my veins as desire. “I want more time with you.”

  And I did.

  In fact, it might have been the truest thing I’d ever admitted to.

  But just because it was the truth didn’t mean it would change my reality come morning.

  “I’m not leaving, Bae,” he growled against my lips. “Swear on the Bible, I’m not going anywhere.”

  I swallowed down the bittersweet lump in my throat and pressed my lips back to his, taking whatever I could from Logan Daniels’ embrace before it was gone.

  My heart raced, realizing I was soaring at twelve-thousand-feet strapped inside his arms and breathing in his steady kiss, his promising taste… his everything.

  For the first time, I was flying and I hadn’t needed an airplane to do it.

  Six years later

  “Compliments of the busty brunette at the end of the bar,” Duke drawled with a subtle laugh as he set the amber liquid in front of me.

  I raised an eyebrow just as Bruce clapped me on the back with a soft laugh, spraying me with little drops of water as he shrugged out of his coat; the rain was really starting to come down.

  “Never fails,” he said and arched an eyebrow. “Nothin’ for me, Duke?”

  The bartender laughed and shook his head. “You’ve gotta stop showin’ up here with this guy if you want some of the attention for yourself.”

  “I know,” Bruce huffed. “Too bad this jerk is my friend.”

  “Thanks.” I rolled my eyes at my good friend and fellow ranger.

  It was hard not to like Bruce. Easy smile. Always helpful. And a fantastic storyteller—even if that meant he was prone to exaggeration.

  “Maybe we could just get another patch for your uniform or something?” He held out his hands and framed some sort of geometric shape. “It could say ‘Not Interested’ in the middle? Or ‘DNA,’ ‘Do Not Ask.’”

  Duke snickered, and I tossed a crumpled napkin at his bald, tattooed head.

  “What is this?” I held up the glass.

  “Whiskey.”

  My mouth thinned as I nodded and turned to the pretty woman with large eyes and big brown curls who was dripping with fancy jewelry and expensive clothes and smiled my thanks.

  “Unless you wanted some tequila instead,” Duke added as he poured another drink.

  “Don’t like tequila,” I reminded him needlessly.

  Duke and Bruce shared a look. Six years later, and they still liked to bring that up every once in a while.

  “Still don’t believe you.”

  “I got it!” Bruce exclaimed as I stood up from my barstool, about to join the brunette who’d bought me a drink and thank her for it. I didn’t like the look on Bruce’s face even before he pointed to me and declared, “We can make you a patch that says ‘Taken by Tequila.’”

  He didn’t hear my growl as I ignored him and picked up the gifted drink, making my way down the bar.

  This wasn’t the first time a woman had bought me a drink as a way of introduction. I’d met my fair share of them in a similar way.

  “I hear you’re the one to thank for this,” I said with a smile as I approached.

  “I am,” she beamed. “Barb Davis.”

  “Logan.” I took her outstretched hand and shook it, feeling nothing particularly special when I did. “Pleasure to meet you.”

  “Oh, I’m hoping so,” she said sultrily.

  I chuckled softly and offered, “Let me buy you another,” noticing how her glass was almost empty.

  “Duke,” I called. “Another…”

  “Tequila sunrise,” she interjected and my body tightened reflexively, even after all this time.


  “Thanks.” I nodded to him and turned my attention back to the woman, more out of obligation than attraction at this point. “So, you new in the area or just visiting?”

  She tipped her head over her shoulder to a small group of women at one of the bar tables.

  “Bachelorette party for my good friend. She loves Stephen King, so we’re staying over at The Stanley.”

  I laughed and nodded. “Sounds like fun.”

  Duke returned with her orange drink.

  “I hear you don’t drink tequila,” she said coyly as the bartender walked away.

  Dammit, Duke.

  My jaw ticked.

  “Bad experience?” she continued with a laugh.

  “Something like that,” I replied with a half-smile.

  “I had a few of those back in college,” she told me. “But this cured them all.”

  I didn’t respond, knowing a different mixer wouldn’t fix my problem with tequila.

  “Here, taste this.” She pushed her drink toward me.

  I hesitated, knowing what would happen—both if I had a drink and if I didn’t.

  Taking the offered glass, I held it up in light cheers to her, making sure to catch Duke’s eye before I took a sip.

  I tried to cling to the flavor of orange juice, but it didn’t work. Just like it hadn’t for the past six years.

  Because every time I tasted tequila, I saw her.

  Standing at the bar in her Warhawks t-shirt. Cuttin’ up this very floor to ‘Cotton-Eye Joe,’ with her lips wrapped around the bottle.

  Because when I tasted tequila, all I tasted was her. At twelve-thousand feet. No trees. No oxygen. No sunlight.

  All woman. All strength. All promise.

  Only her.

  Swallowing, I handed the drink back to Barb with a nod and a regretful smile.

  “Thanks for the drink, Barb,” I told her. “Unfortunately, I’ve got an early morning at the park with all this rain. Hope you have a good time with your friends.”

  Her eyes fell before she nodded in resignation. “You, too.”

  I turned and left her to her friends.

  Maybe if she hadn’t asked me to taste her drink, we would’ve spent the night together. God knows that had happened a fair amount over the last six years though it never led to anything appreciable. But she had asked and, in addition to the shitload of work I had to do tomorrow, it wasn’t right for me to let whatever was starting to continue when I was thinking of another woman.