The Virgin's Night Out (2 page)

Then, when Pierce died, they’d had his wake here.

She hadn’t been inside the bar and grill since that night.

As she slid onto a seat at the far end of the bar, she looked up, a fist squeezing around her throat.

She hadn’t realized it would hurt like this to be here. All the memories she had of this place were memories of her brothers. Almost every memory she had of
home
was tied up in her brothers, and now one of them was gone.

Pierce, the younger of the twins—the serious, studious one with the occasional macabre sense of humor.

“Well, well, well…”

She looked up as Huley himself came to lean against the scarred oak of the bar, studying her face. He wasn’t the original Huley who’d opened this place. That had been his grandfather, but he was happy to keep up the family tradition, running this place just as his father and grandfather had done.

And right now, he was watching her with a grin on his face.

“Looks like the city treated you just fine, Sloane.”

“What did y’all think would happen? I’d get eaten up and spit out or left for dead in some alley?” she asked, the words popping out of her mouth before she’d even realized she was going to say them.

Huley stared at her for a minute, and then he laughed, the sound of it echoing long and loud throughout the crowded bar. When he was finally done, he leaned over the bar, caught her head between his hands and tugged her close. She was still blinking in surprise as he smacked a loud kiss on her forehead. “Welcome back, sweetheart. Welcome home.”

Find a pretty young thing
…

There were plenty of pretty women in the bar. He’d already discouraged the attention of more than a few, too.

There were pretty young things and women, who, while still pretty, had left the kiss of youth a while back. He thought maybe that was what he needed. A woman with short dark hair and wide blue eyes caught his as he settled down and he thought maybe that was what he needed. She gave him a slow smile as she looked back at her friends and a moment later, her gaze came back to him.

She was beautiful.

She looked like a woman who wouldn’t mind a bit of hard and dirty fun—something that was over the minute he rolled out of bed—and he tried to work up the interest in grabbing a beer, moving over to her side.

A flash of red caught his eyes as he went to do that.

A flash of red, pale ivory skin.

“What can I get you?”

Boone looked up, saw the bartender waiting in front of him. “Ah…a beer.” He looked behind the bar and shrugged. “Whatever’s on tap.” He wasn’t picky. He just needed something to do with hands, something to wet his throat. Something to keep his brain occupied.

Go talk to the brunette.

But his gaze strayed to where he’d seen that flash of red.

She was, most definitely, a pretty young thing.

As his gaze lingered on her, she looked up, her gaze skimming the room and there was something…despondent…in that gaze. Something that made him think she felt about as alone in this crowd as he did. The bartender paused to speak to her and she smiled, shrugged as she reached for her drink, but the second the man turned his back, her smile faltered, then faded.

He told himself to walk the other way.

She
wasn’t
the kind of woman who’d just enjoy some hot and dirty fun. Oh, he had a feeling she’d get hot and dirty. But she looked too…gentle. She looked like a woman with a heart that would bruise.

The sort of woman he always steered clear of.

And he would have been able to do just that if that asshole hadn’t settled down on the stool next to her.

“Rodney. Please, go away.” She took another drink from martini and then looked up, seeking out Huley.

This idea had been both a spectacular success and a rousing failure.

She’d made Rodney’s eyes pop out, alright.

And now he wouldn’t take his sorry self away.

“Look, I know I hurt you—”

Grabbing her drink, Sloane tossed it back and then slammed the glass down on the counter. She slipped off the stool, watched as he did the same. For once, she was glad she was a tall woman. They normally stood eye to eye and when they’d dated, she’d never worn heels. Now, though, in the three inch spikes, she all but towered over him.

“Hurt me?” she said, her voice flat. “You humiliated me. But I got over it.”

She went to shove past him.

He grabbed her arm.

She went tense. Her hand closed into a fist and the anger she thought she’d managed to get under control pulsed just below the surface. “Let me go,” she said, raising her voice to be heard above the noise. “Do it now or you won’t live long enough to be sorry.”

“Sloane…” He gave her a charming smile.

She had the most fun
ever
driving her fist into his face.

Sloane was the timid one of the Redding siblings. She was shy and although she’d had the same chances as her brothers—learn to hunt, shoot a bow, go fishing—she’d preferred her books and the quiet of her room.

But there were a few things her brothers had insisted she learned, especially as she’d gotten older.

Now as Rodney stumbled back, dazed, she shook her sore hand and realized just how very therapeutic it could be, to actually hit somebody.

Rodney caught himself before he went down and lurched after her, his eyes blazing. She kicked her shoes off and brought up her hands.

He never got any closer.

It was erotic as hell, Boone thought, watching as she drove her fist into the man’s face. He’d already been on his way to intervene—as had two others in the bar—but she had handled it on her own.

Still, when the man staggered after her, Boone caught him, drove a vicious punch into his gut and when he doubled over, he hammered a blow to the back of his head—checking it to make sure he didn’t do any real harm.

Looking up, he caught the bartender’s eye.

The bartender looked at him, then back at the woman and shook his head. “I’ll get that taken care of,” he said, his eyes flicking to the man lying face down on the floor.

As he called out to a couple of the men near the bar, Boone went to nod at the woman. Forget the beer. Forget trying to relax. He’d just go—

“Thank you.”

She was right there. Inches away. Long hair, nearly to her waist, hung free, straight as rain, dark as midnight. Her eyes were wide, still glinting with temper, but a smile tugged up the corner of her mouth.

“I think you had him handled for the most part.”

“Yeah, but…” She looked down at her hand.

He saw the scraped, swollen knuckles and all but swallowed his tongue as she looked away, the long, dark sweep of her hair falling over one shoulder as she stared at the ground.

“Hitting hurts,” she said, her voice absent.

“Yeah. Put some ice on it.” She was still staring at the ground and he found himself staring at her back, long and elegant and pale. Everything about her seemed long and elegant. Strong, too, and his blood started to burn hotter as she went to step into a pair of heels.

The muscles in her calves flexed as she straightened and then looked back at him. Just what in the hell was it about a simple pair of shoes that changed almost everything about a female, from the way they stood to the way they walked?

He could almost feel his brain cells dying as she continued to stand there, watching him. Velvety brown eyes held his without a hint of flirtation or pretense and that was unnerving as hell.

Okay. Time to go. He nodded at her, words completely failing him.

“Can I buy you a drink?”

As soon as she said, Sloane wanted to take the words back.

This man was too…
there
.

Too big, too intense and the temper that had driven her with Rodney had faded, sapping her courage with it. Now, as pale green eyes settled on her face, she swallowed.

He was going to say no.

She could already see it.

With the last bit of nerve she had left in her, she forced one more smile. “You know what? Never mind.”

She went to brush past him and his hand caught her arm. “I hadn’t quite finished mine. Why don’t you sit down with me?”

She tilted her head back and met his eyes. For one brief moment, that connection seemed to sizzle, seemed to burn. Sit down with him. Have a drink. Talk—
talk about what?

In the span of what felt like minutes, her mind raced over what he’d consider the boring emptiness of her life. It would take up two minutes, he’d hurry through his drink and leave.

“Dance with me instead.”

For the second time that night—the third, the fourth?—she’d surprised herself, but as the music shifted into a slow song, she caught his hand and back onto the dance floor just a few feet away. He didn’t budge at first. Maybe she should have just cut and run…

But in a rush, she found herself pressed up against him, one big hand pressed up against her spine while the other sought out hers and brought it up, twining their fingers together. Somebody bumped into her and she stumbled, bumped into him. “Ah…”

She looked up at him, an apology on her lips.

But the words died as a shudder rolled through her. Muscles in his thighs flexed—she could feel it. Pressed this close to him, she thought she could feel just about everything. The hand he had on the base of her spine fisted and she licked her lips nervously.

His gaze fell to her mouth.

In the packed, crowded bar, surrounded by maybe fifty other swaying couples, Sloane felt like she was suddenly alone with this man—a man whose name she didn’t know—and she had a burning desire to close to distance between them and kiss him.

And since she seemed to be riding the crazy train to nowhere, she did just that, leaning forward and doing yet one more thing she’d never imagined herself doing.

She kissed a total stranger.

Warning screamed through his brain.

Boone needed to break this off—now—and get the hell out of dodge. Lock himself in his room, maybe in the shower and turn the water on—screw a
cold
shower. He’d skip straight to ice. If he was smart, that was what he’d do.

He told himself he’d do just that.

But her mouth…

It was soft. Soft and hesitant, brushing against his so quick and light, it could have been the touch of a butterfly wing. If she’d left it right there, maybe, just maybe, he could have finished this torturously slow parody of dance, gotten away from the soft elegance of her body and ended the night with a cold shower.

Except she did it again and the kiss was a little firmer this time.

He was in trouble.

Without even realizing it, he’d maneuvered them to the far edge of the dance floor and if there was any privacy in the place at all, it was here. The doors opened onto a deck and just as she would have kissed him a second time, he pulled away.

He registered the dazed look in her eyes even as he caught her hand. She had started to turn away but when he pulled her through the doors out onto the deck, she followed.

The part of his brain that was still sane wanted to yell at her. She’d just followed a man she didn’t know outside, just followed a man she didn’t know into the darkness where only a few other couples were lingering, and they were doing the same thing he was getting ready to do—take advantage of the dim light and the solitude.

But the part of his brain that was dying for a real taste of her was in control and he led her to the farthest, darkest corner and tugged her back up against him. A startled breath escaped her—he caught it with his mouth and then, because it had been driving him crazy, he tugged at her upper lip with his teeth. She had a top heavy mouth, the upper lip just slightly fuller than the lower one and he should have known he’d end up kissing her at least once tonight.

Her mouth parted under his and he pulled her tighter against him, not even bothering to keep up with the pretense of dancing anymore. He had the presence of mind to guide her hands up to his neck, to keep them from the gun he’d tucked into a custom holster tucked under his left arm, hidden by the flannel he wore half buttoned over a white shirt. He’d guided her hands the same way when they danced, but if this kept up…

Fuck it
. He took advantage of her parted lips and stole inside, the taste of her hitting his system with explosive force.

Groaning, he backed her up against the fence surrounding the deck. He kept his left arm secure around waist, forcing her to keep her right arm where it was, around his neck while her other hand fisted in the front of his flannel shirt.

It wasn’t enough—Boone wanted to feel her hands on him, skin to skin. Would her hands be as soft and smooth as she was everywhere else? He was dying to find out.

And because he all but seeing himself stripping his shirt open, guiding her hand down to his chest…lower, he broke the kiss off.

Sloane’s head was spinning.

Her skin felt hot, tight and so sensitive, even the light brush of air of her bare skin and shoulders seemed erotic.

When he lifted his head, she didn’t know whether she wanted drag him back to her or shove him away and take off running. What she did was press her head to his chest and suck in much needed air.

“We need to stop,” he said, his voice starting as a rumble deep down in his chest.

She went to nod.

But the feel of his fingers playing along the length of her spine distracted her and she just shuddered instead.

“I’m already tempted to drag you to the hotel as it is.”

The gruff tone of his voice had her shivering—and his words made her knees week.

Calm, rational Sloane Redding knew the right thing to do was exactly what he’d suggested. Stop. She didn’t do this—dance with strangers, kiss them in dark, shadowy corners or make out with them where almost anybody could see.

Smoothing a hand down his chest, she felt the muscles of his stomach bunch under her hand.

His hand went to her hip, gripping tight. “Sugar, we need to…”