Boots and Roses (14 page)

Cory grinned over the fridge door. “We may not have any food in the place, but I have a six-pack of beer. Want one?”

“Maybe after I shower.” Nick would rather have had a steak and baked potato, but maybe a cool beer might take the edge off his sore muscles and allow him to sleep better. He grabbed a towel out of a box and headed for the tiny bathroom. He stepped behind the shower curtain and turned on the cold water only, an image of the waitress leaning over the bar coming to mind. 

She’d worn a flimsy, low-cut tank top and shorter-than-short blue jean cutoffs and boots. Her long dark hair had fallen around her shoulders in big loose curls. The kind a guy liked running his fingers through. The cool spray washed over him, barely doing the job of chilling his rising desires. If he hadn’t been so out of practice, he might have spoken to her, maybe even asked her out. Hell, with his divorce so fresh, he wasn’t sure he wanted to get back into the dating scene. So he’d sat there with his face practically buried in his beer mug, as the waitresses hurried back and forth, wasting an opportunity to get to know the one called Lacey.

Nick scrubbed his hair and body and rinsed off. When he stepped out of the shower and dried off, he felt better, more refreshed. The apartment was too hot with the AC out and he didn’t feel like sweating in clean clothes, nor did he have to dress to impress anyone. Rather than slip into shorts or boxers, he stepped out of the bathroom with only the towel around his waist.

As soon as Nick exited the bathroom, Cory tossed him a long-neck bottle. “Think fast!”

Nick fumbled the catch but saved the bottle from hitting the old hardwood floor. He screwed off the top and tossed back his head, taking a long swallow. Then he dropped onto the couch, stretching his feet out in front of him. “God, it feels good to relax.”

“Thanks for the loan of the furniture and the help moving it in.” Cory sat at the other end of the couch and rested his feet on the coffee table. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”

“And I’d be sleeping at the shop. I owe you.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Cory waved his hand. “You’ll be back on track when the dust settles.”

Nick snorted. “If Trish doesn’t decide half of everything I owned wasn’t enough.”

Cory took another long swig of beer and let out a loud belch. “Your ex is a piece of work, isn’t she?”

“She is.”

“What happened? Why the divorce? You two were married for almost seven years.”

Nick didn’t feel like going into it. He’d spent too many hours with his lawyer, racking up a monumental attorney bill, and for what? Trish walked away with just about everything he owned, claiming he’d neglected her and that’s why she had an affair. “It’s a whole lot of horse shit.”

“I get it, you don’t want to talk about it. That’s okay. If you need an ear, I’m here, otherwise, I won’t ask.”

“No, it’s not that. It’s—”

A loud beep interrupted Nick’s explanation. 

Cory sat up straight. “What the hell?”

“Sounds like a smoke detector.” Nick said. “The battery probably wore out. Got a spare?”

Cory shook his head. “If I do, I wouldn’t know which box to look in.”

The alarm beeped again.

“Is it going to do that all night?” Cory asked.

“Most likely. It’s a reminder to change the battery to keep you safe.” Nick rose from the couch and followed the sound of the beep toward the front door of the apartment.

His brother followed. “How do we make it stop?”

“You have to disconnect it.”

“I don’t have a ladder and we didn’t bring the chairs yet for the kitchen table. How the hell are we supposed to disconnect it?”

“I can give you a boost.” Nick locked his fingers, cupped his hands and bent.

Cory stuck his foot in Nick’s hands and reached for the alarm. He could barely grasp it enough to unhook it from the old building’s high ceiling. “Got it.”

“Now, pull the old battery out and leave the rest hanging until you can get another battery. And hurry it up, will ya? My fingers are slipping.”

“Just a minute. The damned battery is being stubborn.”

“I’m serious, I’m about to drop you.” Nick swayed, his fingers slipping apart.

“Just…one…more…”

A knock on the door startled both men.

Nick lost his grip, Cory fell and both men landed on the floor as the door opened to the beautiful waitress from the Ugly Stick Saloon, wearing that breast-huggin white tank top, the shorter-than-short pair of jean cutoffs and bearing a tray filled with cheesy, gooey pizza.

She smiled, bent and scooped up both their towels, which had dropped loose when they’d fallen. Balancing the pizza tray with one hand and the towels looped over the other, she raised her eyebrows. “Having a little fun without me?”

Think there’s nothing spicy beneath her vanilla shell? Brace yourself…

Lip Lock

© 2013 Em Petrova

Country Fever, Book 2

From the moment he spots the blonde bombshell in the small-town Reedy, Wyoming, grocery store, Brant Foxfire can’t help but check her out—all the way to the checkout line.

He always hoped he’d see her again, but never thought it’d be this way—with her young son in his orthodontist chair for a consultation. It’s not the boy’s overbite that captures his attention. It’s the single mom’s mouth. Her luscious lips…and that one charmingly off-kilter tooth.

Hayley Graff knows firsthand that lust doesn’t equal a long-term relationship, but Brant awakens her body’s needs in a way she can’t ignore. She’d love nothing more than to “open wide” for the sexy orthodontist, as long as he never learns the embarrassing truth.

To his delight, Brant discovers that his long-suppressed need to dominate brings out the best in the standoffish vixen. Yet her reluctance to completely let down her guard stands in the way of total bliss…until an accident exposes her deepest vulnerability.

Warning: Contains teeth-grinding desire between a spank-me-please blonde bombshell and a closet Dom who knows how to straighten her out. You may never look at an orthodontist’s chair the same way again.

Enjoy the following excerpt for
Lip Lock:

Whir-thump-thump. Whir-thump-thump.
Dr. Brant Foxfire tilted the shopping cart off its back wheels and let it slam into the floor.

A woman who was scowling at the small-town grocer’s cereal selection looked up at the sound.

“Sorry,” he said as he pushed by her. “Noisy wheels.”

“Oh, these carts are so old.” Her face wreathed in the false smiles he saw too damn often from women. As the only orthodontist in Reedy, Wyoming, he got plenty of female attention when mothers paraded their crooked-toothed kids into his office. And the women at the coffee shop or diner he frequented all made it a point to display their charms. More often than not he got eyefuls of flesh he had no desire to see.

While this attention flattered him, he wasn’t in the business of chasing skirts like some of the local cowboys. Long ago, he’d sworn to keep out of the beds of Reedy residents. It was too easy to ignite rumors, which for a professional man could be the equivalent of career assassination.

Whir-thump-thump.

Goddamn cart. Couldn’t he just have a peaceful trip to the store for coffee and a frozen tray of lasagna without that whirring noise? He heard enough of it in the office from all the gadgets used to suction and clean patients’ teeth. While he loved his job, he didn’t get away from it often enough. Fifty-hour workweeks and no distractions at home…

He jerked as a woman passed the end of the aisle, carrying a plastic shopping basket over her arm.

Brant’s chest constricted a little at the sight of her long blonde braid straggling over one shoulder, the soft end kissing the curve of her full breast. Who was she? In a small town like this, he knew just about everyone, from the older citizens who frequented the coffee shop just down the street from his office to every member of the police force. And who could forget all the women he knew but didn’t want to know better?

But this woman was mid-height with all the curves and secretive allure of Marilyn Monroe. Fuck yeah, he would have remembered seeing her.

The lady perusing the cereal was staring at him, and she had that look. The one that said she was hungry for some man-prey.

Shit.

“Excuse me.” He quickly wheeled his
whir-thumping
cart past her. She grinned and struck a pose with a box of granola like a model in an ad.

In the main aisle leading to the two cash registers in Brenniman’s store, Brant spotted her again. His Marilyn. She wore a white, curve-skimming summer dress that clung to her hips when she walked. For a moment, he stared at her round ass, battling an arousal he hadn’t felt in far too long.

He might be a bachelor by choice, but he was far from dead. And this woman could raise a man from his grave.

Or from another dark pit? Brant pushed back this thought with a low grunt. He wasn’t going to think about tying this woman up or laying the flat of his hand against that lush ass of hers. It wasn’t normal, and he wasn’t sinking into that quicksand again.

The cart wheel locked up completely, and he gave it a swift kick. Then, scooping his food items out of the basket, he abandoned the cart altogether. Glancing up, he caught a glimpse of Marilyn taking her place in the checkout line. She was wedged between a mother with three kids in the back of a cartful of diapers and Franklin Worthy, an eccentric cowboy painter. And he could tell by the way Franklin looked at Marilyn that Brant wasn’t the only one to find her inspirational.

“Hello, Franklin.” Brant crowded into line.

Franklin’s head was tipped down, his gaze obviously clinging to Marilyn’s shapely calves. Possessiveness flared inside Brant. Would Marilyn catch Franklin staring and let the playboy engage her in conversation? Lots of women fell for Franklin. With his long hair, French cigarettes and perfectly paint-splattered clothes, he ensnared women like cowboys roped cattle.

But not her.
She’s off-limits.

For a long minute, Brant stared down at Marilyn’s bare toes peeking from her leather sandals. Christ, the woman was wearing silver toe rings. Lurid images of pulling those off with his teeth slithered through his head. He also envisioned different silver ornaments—shackles for her wrists and ankles.

No. He would not—could not—entertain those ideas. He’d left all that behind years ago when he’d lost his last girlfriend over his need to control in the bedroom.

Franklin didn’t respond to Brant’s greeting, so he ignored the painter too and instead focused on Marilyn. She was unloading her shopping basket onto the counter. Bags of beans and rice, a small amount of ground beef. A candy bar and a bag of sunflower seeds.

The corner of Brant’s mouth tugged with a smile. Sunflower seeds?

When she presented her profile, he studied her delicate jaw and upturned nose. The cashier gave Marilyn the total, and her long lashes swooped over her cheeks as she turned her attention to her purse. Her face, devoid of makeup, was country girl Marilyn before Hollywood dolled her up.

She dug through her purse and came out with a bank card. When she swiped it, Brant swore she shivered.

Gazing at her openly now, he fought to control the feelings she aroused in him. He wanted to throw himself in front of her, shield her from the leering Franklin Worthy and the frowning cashier.

“I’m sorry, but your card’s been declined. Do you have another form of payment?”

Marilyn’s face mottled red, and Brant’s heart strained toward her. Eyes averted from the cashier and the customers in line behind her, she flicked through her wallet and came out with a few bills.

“Take these off.” She pointed to the sunflower seeds, the beans and the candy bar.

“Sure thing.” The cashier gave her a new total, and Marilyn passed her the bills.

When the cashier dropped a few coins of change onto Marilyn’s open palm, Brant’s throat tightened. Suddenly, the urge to fill that little hand up was so strong, it dizzied him.

Had he ever felt this way? The need to protect, possess, care for and claim all at once?

Marilyn grabbed her single shopping bag and hurried toward the exit. Everything in Brant’s body screamed to stop her, to ask her name and to buy her sunflower seeds.

But Franklin Worthy blocked his path, gaping at Marilyn too.

Brant nudged his shoulder with more force than necessary. “You’re next, Franklin.”

The man shot him a narrow look and began to move down the line.

In the parking lot, Brant realized he’d missed Marilyn. She’d vanished from his life as quickly as she’d come. Except she’d left him with that burning loneliness and the yearning to be more to someone.

Boots and Roses

Myla Jackson

Coming once, coming twice…SOLD!

Ugly Stick Saloon, Book 5

Bunny Leigh really shouldn’t care that her ex is days away from getting remarried. Yet the fact he’s getting hitched to the woman he cheated on her with stings more than she cares to admit.

It’s that sting that drives her to impulsively throw a bid in the annual Ugly Stick Saloon Cowboy Auction. To her surprise, she lands not only one of the best-looking men in the tri-county area, but two. The prospect of keeping up with two younger men has the shy florist quaking in her flower pots.

Little does she know, best friends Cory McBride and Jack Monahan made doubly sure their favorite florist won them both. But now they have their work cut out for them, convincing her they want more than one steamy night. They want a chance at forever.

Warning: A cop, a cowboy and a flower shop owner make the petals fly! And look what happens when the Ferris wheel stops at the top. Bring a fan, the heat’s rising at the Ugly Stick Saloon.