A Summer to Remember (25 page)

“Being a cowgirl is all about the spirit, darlin', and you've got that in spades.” He brushed his mouth back and forward across her cheek, slowly kissed his way to her ear, then down her neck. He was getting hard—nothing new about that—and she was making a tiny, soft sound that fed the need inside him. They could forget about Bubba's, the only functioning part of his brain suggested. Tell her how gorgeous she was in that dress and those boots, then take them off her and tell her how much more gorgeous she was without them. Make love until they were too weak to do it again, feed her to restore her strength, and start all over again.

With a long sensual sigh, she lifted her head, opened her eyes, and gave him the sexiest smile he'd ever been lucky enough to receive. “Hold that thought for later, cowboy. You promised me music and dancing, and I'm holding you to it.” She touched her fingers lightly to his mouth, then pulled out of his arms and sashayed to the door.

It was proof of just how far he'd fallen that putting sex on hold for a few hours sounded promising.

She gave him directions to the bar, located on the west side of town, and he found a space in the crowded gravel lot. As soon as they got out of the truck, they heard the music and laughter, voices, good times. There was a party going on inside, and when it was over, he and Fia would have their own intimate party for two at home.

There was nothing quite like walking into an honest-to-God cowboy bar. Though there were plenty of people inside who just liked the lifestyle, he would guess probably half of them lived it. The place was loud, the dance floor was crowded, and people stood three deep at the bar. He felt at home.

Leaving Fia leaning against a wooden post near the door, Elliot joined the crowd at the bar, finally getting a cold beer for himself and pop for her. While he waited, he counted three guys who approached her. He watched her smile, talk, and after a moment, send each one on his way. He didn't blame the guys for trying, but he was damned glad she'd said yes to him.

He rejoined her about the same time a woman in tight jeans and tighter shirt tapped her on the arm. “Hey, Fia, how are you?”

The two women hugged and talked for a minute before the friend pointed toward the wall. “My friends and I are leaving if you want our table. My date left me here. Can you believe that? Said he didn't like country music and wouldn't have come if he'd known that's what it was. Sheesh,
Bubba's
? He thought that was going to be high class?” Abruptly the woman looked at him. “Oh. You're together. My, oh my.”

“Sorry. Laurel, this is Elliot. Elliot, Laurel. She's a trainer at the gym.”

He didn't need a second look at the woman to confirm that. Given the looks she got as they followed her to the table, he doubted she would go home alone unless she wanted to.

There were more friends to meet, a couple who didn't look like they were going home alone, either. They cleared the table, and Elliot and Fia claimed it before anyone else could think twice about it.

“Before Scott, I spent entire nights in places like this. I'd crash for a while, go to work, then go back and party. It seemed so important back then.” She graced him with a smile. “Then I grew up.”

“Bars are great places to have fun, as long as you don't overdo it.” He tilted his beer bottle at her. “Everything in moderation. That's my motto. Except you.”

Her smile remained, though something about it changed a bit. It was still sweet, still enough to make a man look twice, but a tinge of sadness had appeared. Thinking about Scott and all the good times they'd had here? Missing him more than usual? Maybe feeling a little guilty about bringing Elliot here?

He understood that as much as he could, not ever having lost the woman he loved dearly. He wasn't possessive or jealous. He didn't want her ever to forget one ounce of the love she'd felt for Scott, to suppress a single memory or put him in some dark corner of her mind as if he'd never existed.

He just wanted some of that love for himself. To add new happy memories to the old ones. To make a future to complete Scott's past.

When the waitress swung by, Fia ordered a burger and fries. Not bothering with a menu, Elliot doubled the order, then settled back, beer in hand, and just gazed at her.

She shifted a bit, glanced at him, crossed her legs, then awkwardly laughed. “What are you looking at?”

“The prettiest girl in the place.”

With another choked laugh, she made a show of looking over her shoulder. “Really? Which one?”

Teasingly he pointed across the room with the beer bottle. “That blonde over there.”

Fia's head spun around so fast that he was surprised she didn't get whiplash, then she turned back and slugged his shoulder. “Don't tease the girl you're going home with tonight.”

Home.
Oh, hell, yeah.

Drawing his index finger lightly along the curve of her knee, he was rewarded with the tensing of her muscles, the slight swing of the boot fringe. Touch was a wondrous thing, that he could make her shiver with no more than the slightest contact. He could relax her, calm her, excite her, please her. He could make her feel safe. And she could do all that and more for him.

He'd been dancing around it for a while now, but there was no use denying it anymore.

He'd fallen in love with Fia.

You fall in love with every woman you date,
Emily reminded him.

That was true. Emily called him things like
sentimental
and
flighty
. He liked to consider it keeping himself open to all possibilities.

You've only known her two weeks,
she added.

And one day. It's not the quantity, Em, it's the quality. It feels like I've known her forever. Like no matter how much time we have together, it'll never be enough.

The sister in his head just gave a big, heavy sigh in response to that. Em liked Fia—she'd told him so when he'd called her back Thursday. She had really good feelings about her.
But…

Was the
but
really Emily's? Or was it his? The medications, the muscle spasms, the migraines…Doing a desk job, fussed over and mothered by the margarita girls, somebody taking her everywhere…If something was wrong, he wanted to know. Needed to. He needed her to trust him enough to tell him.

And if something
was
wrong, what difference would it make? Any, some, none?

His gut said none, but could he commit to that when she kept him in the dark?

“Woohoo.” Fia's long slender fingers waved in front of his face. When he focused on her, she smiled. “Welcome back. You looked like you were a thousand miles away.”

“More like seven.” That was about the distance to her house, and the flush pinking her cheeks showed she knew it.

“You are determined to cut this evening short, aren't you?” She shook her head admonishingly. “I need my burger and fries. I need to hear some music. I need to dance. Besides, you know what they say about anticipation.” She leaned closer and trailed her fingertip along his forearm and lowered her voice to a sexy murmur. “It makes the pleasure so damn much better.”

He moved, too, until the distance between them was minimal, until his mouth brushed the delicate shape of her ear, and he whispered, “Darlin', if it gets any better, it might damn well kill me.”

Dear Lord in heaven, Fia had forgotten how much she absolutely
loved
to dance. Being in the middle of the crowd, the music loud enough to vibrate through her body, swaying and spinning, losing her breath on a fast song and losing it in a different way on a slow one…Her body tingled, felt alive, and the only thoughts in her mind were good ones.

Sexy ones, she amended as Elliot pulled her close for another slow song. She'd always liked tall guys before, but she and Elliot fit together as if they'd been designed for one another. His arms held her close, her arms were around his neck, and his gorgeous blue gaze was locked on her. She had no clue how long they'd been on the dance floor—maybe an hour, maybe a lifetime—but with each passing moment, she felt
more
. Happier, freer, looser, calmer, easier.

And more aroused than she could remember. Every place her body touched his tingled with sensation, hot and electric, and God help her, when it was her skin against his with no fabric for protection, it was searing. Her nerves itched to cast off the clothing, to be naked and feverish, to feel him deep, deep inside her, to connect with him as intimately as two people could.

“Elliot?”

“Hm?”

“What do you say we blow this popsicle stand?”

His smile was sweet and lazy. “What twenty-four-year-old woman says that?”

“This one. I don't even know where I learned it, but it's fun to say.” She kissed his jaw, touching the tip of her tongue to his warm skin for just an instant. “Wanna go?”

Taut lines formed in his jaw, muscles tightening down his neck, and he pulled her hands from his neck, clasped one tightly in his, and guided her in a weaving line around the other dancers to their table. She took her jacket from a hook on the wall, and he collected his hat from the next one.

They'd made it only a few steps outside the door when Fia was forced to an abrupt stop. A broad porch fronted the building, a place where customers went to light up, talk without shouting, or just to cool off for a moment. The only people out there at the moment were three men in dark denims and felt cowboy hats that were probably too warm for the evening and a woman, standing beside the rail, clutching her cell phone tightly in her hand. She was faced off against the biggest of the men, her muscles tensed as if they were deciding whether the situation called for fight or flight, and the air practically crackled with emotion. Anger, fear, frustration.

Fia looked from the woman to the man, a good six inches taller and at least seventy-five pounds heavier. She couldn't just walk away—she wasn't built that way—but her quick assessment said the guy could pick up both her and the other woman, one in each hand, and not even feel the effort.

But she wasn't on her own here. Elliot's hand rested lightly in her back as he nudged her to the side and asked, “Everything all right here?” His voice was calm, even—so much so that hearing it directed at her would have raised goose bumps on Fia's arms.

The man didn't take his gaze from the woman. “Taryn and I are just talking, aren't we, babe?”

“I'm not your babe, Brian,” Taryn spat back.

Brian moved closer to her, but Elliot stepped between them. The look Brian gave him made clear that he didn't consider him a threat. Stupid man. Fia had worked with clients like him, big and strong and arrogant enough to think that was all that mattered. She doubted he'd had many fair fights—his type always picked on weaker people—which would just make seeing him get his ass kicked that much sweeter.

Elliot's muscles were taut, his stance alert but loose. He handed his hat to Fia, held one hand in the air, inches from Brian's chest, and turned his head slightly toward the woman. “Taryn, you want to talk to this guy?”

“No. Not ever again. I told you, Brian, no more!”

“You want him to leave you alone?” Fia asked, shifting closer to her.

“Yes! Then I want him to drop dead. You pissy little bastard!”

Don't be stupid,
Fia hoped, but this guy was too mad to be anything else. He had a little booze in him, his girl had rejected him in front of buddies and strangers, and now some little dude and a woman were getting in his way. She'd bet next month's pay that Brian really didn't like women.

He telegraphed his punch, clumsy and slow. Elliot easily ducked it and responded with a quick jab to his jaw, sending him staggering a few feet back. The expression on his face would be something to laugh about later: shock that someone was actually going to fight back, the realization that this might not end well for him. With a roar, he charged, and Elliot sidestepped, catching him with a sharp blow to his ribs.

“Should I call 911?” Taryn whispered.

“You should go get in your car and leave.” Fia shifted her gaze from the men to her. “Has he done anything like this before?”

Taryn grimaced. “I broke up with him last week because of his temper.”

“Go ahead. Get out of here. And make a complaint with the sheriff's office. Don't let him get away with this.”

With a nod, Taryn backed away a few steps, then spun around and ran remarkably fast for a woman in heels.

Brian staggered against the railing, breathing hard, before taking another wild swing. Fia split her attention between him and his friends, wondering if she should call 911 or leave Elliot alone with the three to try to locate the bouncer inside. But Elliot moved lightning fast, driving his fist into Brian's nose, using his own momentum against him. For long seconds, Brian teetered on the top step, then in sweet slow motion, he tumbled backward to the gravel below. He tried feebly to get up, then sank down again, mumbling curses.

Still loose and light on his feet, Elliot turned to Brian's friends. “Either of you got a problem with me?”

They both grimly shook their heads.

“Okay then.” He took his hat from Fia, seated it, and slid his arm around her waist. As they started toward the steps at the far end of the porch, she looked over her shoulder to make sure the men weren't following. Elliot grinned, giving her a squeeze. “Are we safe?”

“We're safe. They're just standing there. Not even helping their friend up.”

“Good.” He flexed his right hand and winced. “I hate people who can't take no for an answer.”

“Me, too. But they give good guys like you a chance to impress girls like me.”

“Were you impressed?”

“Oh, hell, yeah.”

He nuzzled her neck, throwing them both off balance. He caught her, swung her into his embrace, and kissed her. “You should have gone to the truck when Taryn left. What if he'd left me on the ground bleeding?”