Devil In Cowboy Boots Page 5

  Cindy sighed wistfully. “It must be nice to have an uncle, rich or otherwise."

  "It would be if I hadn't missed my opportunity to speak to him. Uncle Parker hasn't even phoned since he left the city."

  "His sick friend must be pretty sick. Your uncle's obviously a devoted friend."

  "Oh, to the extreme. He once mortgaged his home to help out a friend. Mom worries that he's too caring. Although, she does like the fact that he keeps in touch with her."

  "Then he'll call soon.” Cindy sipped her drink and looked up from her straw. “It must be nice to have family."

  "Aw, Cindy. You're like my sister.” Mercy pushed aside her own worries. “You'll have a family of your own someday. A husband. Kids."

  "I wish someday would hurry and get here."

  "The slow moving Jay. Hasn't he kissed you yet?"

  "No, but I'm holding up hopes for tonight. He asked me to meet him here without the group."

  "A first date.” Mercy pointed to Cindy's dress and then to her feet. “That would explain the basic black dress and the sedate black wedgies."

  "I went for classy.” Cindy slurped her water through her straw with a sucking noise.

  "You pull it off well."

  "Thanks.” Cindy glanced around the room. “Jay's not here yet, but your devilish, brooding sinner is. As usual, he's looking sullen and watching you."

  "Sometimes he smiles,” Mercy offered, peeking over her shoulder at the handsome stud who made her pulse sing vibrato. “When he does, it's like an unexpected gift.” She looked away, trying not to let her mind stray to his other gifted parts. “Besides a great smile, he has a great mouth,” she added, keeping her thoughts well above his belt.

  "You shouldn't be thinking about his mouth,” Cindy berated all the same. “Think about your bruised butt instead."

  "The only bruises were restricted to my ego."

  "Grr,” Cindy said in frustration, but stopped mid-growl when a male voice from behind them interrupted.

  "Dance?"

  Cindy squealed, jumping from her stool. “Jay."

  "Hi, Mercy,” Jay said politely before taking Cindy in his arms and dancing her out onto the floor.

  Seemed even corporate cowboys knew the two-step. Mercy watched for a minute, then went back to stabbing her ice chips while contemplating her suffocating life back home in Lily Pond and how she was going to escape without her uncle's financial backing.

  Knowing she couldn't do anything until her uncle returned or called, she let her mind drift to her more immediate problem. The first week of her vacation was half over, and she hadn't spiced up her sex life or experienced an orgasm.

  "I think this is our song."

  Speaking of orgasms, that voice belonged to Sinner. So far he'd been her only chance at one. Her pussy wept with hope, and she had to restrain herself from spinning on her stool and flinging herself into his arms like Cindy had done with Jay.

  "Sounds like a medley of love songs to me.” She glanced into his gleaming, dark eyes as he eased onto Cindy's vacated barstool. Another thrill of arousal raced through her body when his muscled arm brushed her suddenly sensitive one.

  "Slow songs,” he corrected.

  He was right. Why had she brought up love? Sinner wasn't the type of man a woman fell for. He was the rough-and-ready, made for fun and climaxes kind. When he stuck around long enough to finish.

  Which brought to mind that he hadn't. And her pledge to Cindy about remaining unapproachable where he was concerned.

  "I'm not in the mood for slow,” she said, dismissing him so she wouldn't have to fight the hot, provocative urges he incited in her.

  He grinned. “You were in the mood the other night. I can handle hard and fast if that's what you're after."

  She licked her lips as the temptation of hard and fast puckered her nipples. Yet she managed to hold out.

  "The other night isn't something you should remind me about.” She concentrated on sipping her sparkling water, which had lost its sparkle and its ice, probably due to the meltdown surrounding Sinner. He radiated sensual heat and masculine sexuality, and she so wanted to indulge in both.

  She braced her spine, trying to be strong. Her pride was more important that giving him another crack at showing her paradise by the lamplight in the park. Wasn't it?

  His finger stroked her arm and stoked her fires. Heat poured through her veins, causing moisture to break out on her forehead, her upper lip, and drip onto her panties. The heat and dampness pooling between her thighs made her itch for the thrust of his cock, hand, tongue. Anything he could touch her with would probably do the trick.

  "Stop that,” she said without conviction.

  "What?” He met her gaze with a half-lidded one and a make-me look that made her want to make it with him instead of making him stop.

  "Stop touching me like that,” she murmured.

  When he moved his hand away, she missed the fire of arousal he ignited, and all the possibilities of hot, horny sex he'd conjured up.

  She let out a breathy exhale and dredged up her indignation. “Ditching me while I—we were in the most vulnerable position a person, persons could be ditched during..."

  "It was business. Nothing personal."

  Spence watched her blue eyes as they rounded with annoyance. Eyes that looked fantastic in the dim light of the smoky bar. In any light, he imagined. He'd like to see her in the daylight and sunshine.

  "Business is no excuse,” she protested. “In fact, it makes me feel worse."

  "I could make you feel better.” He lowered his voice.

  "Why should I believe you?"

  He felt her falter so he jumped right in. “I owe you one. You know we're good together.” The interest shining in her glassy eyes urged him on. He leaned close to her ear. “I'll give you two screaming orgasms if you forgive me."

  "Screaming,” she mouthed. “You can do that?"

  He nodded.

  "Two?” The warmth of her breath tickled his jaw and sent hot surges to his ever-hardening boner.

  "How many times have you come in one night?” He traced the blue vein on her inner wrist.

  "Not many,” she purred.

  "Just as I thought. One. I promise you two, possibly three, but it might take all night.” He knew it wouldn't. Every move she made and every word she uttered made him hard. Besides, he didn't have all night. Google had called to meet him later. With rumors circulating that Parker had left the city, he needed the informant's input.

  After a pause, Mercy said, “I take it we wouldn't be sleeping on the Riverwalk park bench."

  He didn't do sleepovers. Not anymore. Not since before his trial. Now he fucked women instead of sleeping with them. But he didn't bother mentioning that.

  Her wrist remained lax on the bar as if paralyzed by his touch. He petted her with the pad of his finger and urged her on with more soft assurances. “I could show you my spread.” He crooked a smile. “Or we could go to your place."

  Taking her hand in his, he stood while easing her away from the barstool. She was next to him now, and the heat of her body felt exhilarating. He knew how well she fitted him. His muscles twitched at the memory. The one in his jaw and the one in his jeans.

  He shifted closer. His pelvis cradled her belly, allowing her to feel the stiffness and weight of his arousal.

  She didn't move away or feign indifference. He could almost hear her body moan. She breathed heavier, faster. When he stepped back her breasts heaved slightly, and he could see her nipples peak beneath the washed denim material of her dress. His eyes stroked her body, grazing the tempting brass zipper running from her collar to her knees. He returned his gaze to her face. Her cheeks were hot and flushed, her lips parted.

  He gave her time to make her decision.

  Patience had come to him the hard way. After waiting out his jail term, he now waited out the man who put him there. Both were much longer waits than Mercy could demand.

  After a pause, he leaned in and tou
ched his lips to her ear. His tongue flicked at her lobe before he whispered, “What do you say, babe?"

  "I have a roommate."

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Chapter Seven

  "The ranch isn't too far out of town,” Spence said, trying to gauge her reaction in the dim lighting of the bar.

  "I couldn't go there,” Mercy murmured, looking away.

  He knew what she meant. She'd have no means of escape if he turned out to be a crazy, which he wasn't. But she didn't know that.

  He let her work it out in her mind but circled his hand around her wrist. He could feel her pulse, rapid and heated beneath his callused fingers as he flicked his thumb in a coaxing, steady rhythm.

  After a few moments, she gave in. “Let me check with my roommate about the availability of our place."

  He nodded, and she slipped from his grasp, leaving his hand feeling empty and tingly.

  As she crossed the hardwood floor her slender hips swayed, and with each movement, her skirt stretched taut across her shapely butt. He sighed his approval and caught a whiff of her light, spicy scent lingering in the air where she'd stood. Floral and citrus. Sweet and tart, just like Mercy.

  He watched as, with a nudge, Mercy interrupted her loud, floppy-haired friend, who was dancing with the well-dressed, smooth-talking, corporate crook, Jay. If rumors were true, Jay deserved to be in jail for the white-collar crimes he'd pulled off.

  Sinner snorted. While he'd wasted in jail for a crime he hadn't committed.

  Shrugging off his irritation, he leaned his back and elbows against the polished bar. Jay wasn't his concern. And even if he became his business by association with Mercy through her friend, how much damage could the corporate climber inflict on either of the women during their two-week vacation?

  Mercy's roomie was waving her hands excitedly and running off at the jaw faster than the speed of a flying fist. She obviously wasn't happy about the prospect of Sinner spending any time in their hotel room. Let alone all night.

  Not that he needed all night to fulfill his promises to Mercy. Not that he had all night, but neither woman knew that.

  Across the room, Jay intervened. He took Cindy's chin in his hand and squelched her chatter while he contributed God-knows-what to the conversation. Mercy nodded to whatever Jay was saying, which Sinner figured didn't hold out much hope for his cause. Jay's kind didn't help anyone without a self-serving reason. Or a price.

  Then suddenly Mercy flashed an I-told-you-so grin at her friend, and Jay nodded his agreement.

  It looked as if the corporate flunky was assuring the women that Sinner was housebroken. Go figure.

  Mercy returned still smiling. “Our place has suddenly become available. In the wise words of Doria, two's company and four's a crowd, so Jay's going to show Cindy his etchings."

  Sinner scratched his head. Who in the heck was Doria?

  "Jay swears he really does have etchings,” Mercy said with a laugh, misunderstanding his apparent confusion.

  * * * *

  The condo was in an upscale neighborhood. Contemporary, with lots of sleek marble, slick leather seating, and shiny chrome. He dug his hands into his back pockets. “I was expecting a hotel."

  "The corporation Cindy works for uses this apartment for entertaining clients.” She gestured to the spacious rooms as her words echoed off the walls. “She has use of it as part of her per diem package for moving across country on short notice."

  So Cindy wasn't on vacation with Mercy. He nodded, noticing the unpacked boxes piled near the mirrored foyer. She must've arrived shortly before Mercy started her hiatus.

  "Kind of bare,” he said. Sparse like his jail cell.

  "Don't let the minimalist décor fool you. Despite its sterile appearance, it's plush. Wait until you see the bathtub.” Her eyes twinkled.

  "Can't wait.” He raised a brow. Women. What in the heck could be so exciting about a tub? He preferred showers. Moving further into the cavernous living room, he said, “My place has more clutter."

  After the stark reality of jail, it damn better had.

  She tossed her purse onto one of the two chairs flanking a dark blue sofa in the otherwise white, oversized room. “I'm sure yours is homier.” Her hint of a smile told him clutter was the last thing on her mind.

  "If you call Salvation Army surplus homey.” With a grin, he sat down on the sofa. The cushions were so firm he didn't sink in. Crossing his booted foot over his knee, he tapped the buttons on the nearby glass end table, playing them like a kid's piano.

  But there was no kid stuff here. In a flash, the overhead chrome lights dimmed, the blinds opened to a glittering display of the lighted city below, and mellow music filtered from the surrounding, four corners of the room. “Quite a setup."

  "You should see the bathroom. Heated towel bars, marble tub.” She closed the short distance between them with a few steps before kicking off her high heels. “Big enough for two."

  Again with the bathtub. He had to admit she had his interest peaked. If he read her tone and the hooded look in her eyes right, she was hinting at trying it out. He cocked his head, waiting for her to come right out with it.

  "It's never been used, according to Cindy.” She moved nearer, the hem of her skirt brushing his knees.

  "A virgin tub.” He tossed her a questioning look. “We could see about breaking its cherry."

  But he was merely paying her lip service. He didn't have any intention of christening the thing. No fussy bubble baths for him. Although there were a few tricks with a showerhead he could show her if he had time.

  For now ... he reached up and tugged at the seductive zipper that ran the length of the front of her dress. Inching it down, he exposed her tantalizing fair flesh to his intense gaze in gradual increments. She shivered with expectation. Her nipples puckered and swelled, straining against the flimsy material of her bra. The muscles in her taut belly quivered as the rasp of the metal descended over them. The lace edge of her panties caught, but he managed to loosen the fabric with a few jiggles.

  He paused at her mound. Dark blonde curls showed faintly through the sheer material. For a second, his fingers fumbled, until at last her denim dress lay open to his stare from collar to hem, the beauty of her body with it.

  All within kissing distance. The light musky scent of her sex invited him in. He stripped the dress away before leaning forward to let his breath dampen and heat her sex lips through the silky crotch of her panties. She trembled, shifted her stance a little wider. He lathed his tongue over the filmy nylon covering her pussy until she was soaked. She tasted provocatively sweet through the thin barrier. Beneath the matted fine curls, her clit swelled. He lapped and aroused her until she whimpered, “Sinner."

  He cracked a brief smile. He wanted her to lose herself in him, like he could in her if he allowed himself.

  With his rough palms, he stroked the back of her firm, lean thighs and worked his tongue over her again and again. When she stopped murmuring and her breath came in short wispy pants, he edged his fingers around, wriggling them into the crotch of her panties. As he slid two fingers into her slippery folds, she groaned softly. When he teased her clit with his thumb, she swayed into him.

  "Let's take this into another room.” Resting his chin on her pubic bone, he looked up. Her eyes were half-closed slits of blue. Sultry. Sexy as hell.

  "The bedroom,” she whispered in a husky slur.

  "Which way?” He stood, lifting her into his arms.

  Without a word, Mercy pointed, and he carried her down the hallway, his strides long and fast.

  Mercy wasn't sure if she was too breathless to speak or conserving energy for what was about to come. It didn't matter. Deep inside to her very core, which Sinner had inflamed so knowingly, she felt tonight was the night. The night she'd come.

  He'd promised her a night of hot sex, and she was counting on him to deliver. By the time he flicked the floor lamp on and placed her on the white satin sheets of the king-size
d bed in the guest suite, her body ached and throbbed with anticipation.

  She stretched her arms out to him, but he remained standing, just out of her reach. She wriggled her greedy fingers toward him. “Time to make me scream."

  He shook his head. “Not just yet."

  "I didn't take you for a tease.” She lowered her arms and dropped her eyes to his fly. “Unless it's a striptease."

  With a flick of his fingers he unbuckled his jeans. She rolled to the edge of the bed and sat up. “Watching you strip has been a turn on I've dreamed of in this very bed.” She stroked her hands across the satiny sheet to emphasize the point.

  "Let's see about making your dreams come true.” He moved closer and with slow, teasing moves edged his zipper open. Her breath caught with each click of the metal teeth. With every rasp, her body broke out in a feverish sheen—her forehead, her upper lip and between her breasts. She was already dripping between her thighs.

  When his jeans were finally undone, she wanted to applaud. Hell, she wanted to tip him, throw dollar bills at him, wrap him up in the government-issued, green paper and unwrap him again.

  With his tall, lean, hard body, he was better than any stripper she'd seen, which was only one, at her friend's bachelorette party in Philadelphia, and he'd been shared with every hungry, drooling woman in the Pleasure Dome. She'd barely gotten a pinch in.

  Here was Sinner, all hers. No other hands or heads butting in her way.

  As soon as his cock sprang loose from his jeans, she reached out and caressed him.

  Hard, hot, smooth. She moved forward to lick him. He tasted salty and tantalizing. She couldn't stop herself from swirling her tongue around the head of his penis, again and again, until she heard him groan. She stopped just to tease him further before opening wide and taking in his entire length.

  She liked this feeling of being in control. Sinner was confident enough to let her have her way with him. His eyes told her so with unblinking, smoldering contact when she looked up.

  There was something commanding about meeting his smoky eyes while his cock filled her mouth. His pleasure lay in her power to give or withhold. She stopped sucking.