Devil in Texass
Calista Fox
Chapter One
Tugging on the large bronze handle of the tall oak door of the only drinking
establishment she had to choose from in the tiny town of Wilder, Texas, Elizabeth
Brooks lamented the very limited selection she had this evening in her quest for a good girl turned wicked woman experience.
Yeah, she got that this was a small lakeside community. Population three thousand
and twelve—make that thirteen as of today. But seriously. Only one bar in the entire
town? Whatever happened to variety being the spice of life?
I’m not gay, Elizabeth. I’m bi. There is a difference.
The patronizing statement from her lying, cheating ex—whom she would refrain
from calling Asshole of the Year and simply refer to as Peter—still grated on raw
nerves. Despite the fact she’d just put six or so states between them. Right under her nose, her Mount Sinai-surgeon boyfriend had blown half of New York society, servicing the Misters of Wall Street right along with the Misses of Park Avenue. Expecting her to just “deal” with his equal-opportunity infidelity.
Okay, I can make do with a little less spice in my life.
Swallowing down the humiliation that rose in her throat at the remembrance of the
life she’d left in the dust five short days ago, she entered the bar. From the nondescript exterior, she half-expected a dive with regulars hunched over their beers, listening to the twangy lyrics of ‘70s country songs her father had played off scratchy albums when she was a kid. Though the beer would likely be cold, two-stepping down Memory Lane
with Waylon and Willie and The Boys was not at the top of her To Do list.
Getting laid was.
She wasn’t the least bit ashamed to admit it. Elizabeth was in desperate need of
meeting someone capable of resuscitating her lifeless libido so she could wipe the slate clean of Peter’s betrayal, restore some of the dignity she’d lost and move on.
Mission possible, she assured herself and squared her shoulders. Lifting her chin a notch, she crossed the scuffed hardwood floor of Wilder’s only hotspot, peanut shells crunching beneath the thin soles of her olive-colored snakeskin pumps. The cozy room
boasted a tall fireplace set into the far wall, trimmed in large, smooth river rock.
Diffused lighting from the antler chandeliers cast a soft golden glow throughout the
place and sent shadows chasing up the walnut-paneled walls, decorated with old-
fashion rifles, stuffed animal heads and elk racks.
All very masculine and Ted Nugent Kill It and Grill It. The wild, wild West
personified and yet… Not so bad, really.
6
Devil in Texas
Sure, the scent of stale beer permeated every nook and cranny of the joint, but that
was just one more element that added to the ambience. She’d found a real-live, honest-to-God Texas saloon. The kind her father, Austin native Wyatt Brooks, had waxed
poetic about when he’d complained of Manhattan’s over-priced, pretentious cocktail
lounges after an evening of business networking with CEOs in three-piece suits and
power ties.
Her father would’ve loved Wade’s Saloon. Given his zest for life when he was alive,
and her recent lack of it, he also might approve of Elizabeth’s wicked undertaking.
Whereas her mother, Rachel Tabor-Brooks, would have a massive coronary if she knew
her former Miss Teen USA daughter dared set foot in such an establishment. Looking
for a hot hookup, no less.
Keep the smelling salts close at hand, Mother. I’m about to be bad!
Elizabeth was determined to shed her stuffy uptown-girl skin and, at age twenty-
eight, take her first walk on the wild side. She hoped this place—this town—would be
the perfect venue for her much-needed liberation.
Stepping into the shadowy depths of the lively tavern, she scouted the “talent”.
Cute cowboy wearing a black Stetson to the left raised her hopes of this being a target-rich environment. Edgy-looking biker to the right could take her on the wild ride she needed. And dead-ahead…
Elizabeth’s gaze swept the back portion of the saloon, crash-landing on the
bartender. A tall, dark, devilish man who looked like pure sin in his faded Levi’s and tight black T-shirt.
Bull’s-eye!
The breath escaped her parted lips on what she hoped was not an overly audible
whoosh. As her pulse kicked up a notch or ten, she took stock of the vision before her, admiring every masculine inch of the Devil in Blue Jeans, starting with his
devastatingly handsome face. Perfectly sculpted with a square, strong jaw line that was clean-shaven, but which she guessed turned his features rugged and dangerous-looking
when lined with a hint of dark stubble.
His obsidian-colored hair dusted the collar of his shirt, a tad too long and a bit
wavy on the ends. Thick and unruly. The kind of hair a girl could tangle her fingers in while he kissed her, long and deep.
His broad shoulders gave way to rock-hard biceps and a wide chest, making her
palms suddenly burn to splay across his tanned skin and toned muscles. The T-shirt,
tucked into the worn, sinfully fitting Levi’s, pulled tight against the hard ledge of his pectoral muscles. The hem of the short sleeves seemed to strain against his bulging
upper arms. Sinewy forearms led to large, strong-looking hands with long, blunt-tipped fingers. The important one on the left was blissfully bare.
Oh what a glorious gift from heaven!
7
Calista Fox
Indeed, a guardian angel had to be on board for Elizabeth’s long-overdue vision
quest, because the Devil’s electric gaze locked with hers as though he’d been waiting all night for her to come through the door and liven up his evening.
Sexual awareness shimmied through her, tightening her nipples behind the black
lace bra she’d bought to go with her brand-new, curve-hugging cocktail dress. A little prickle along her clit made the corners of her mouth lift as she wove her way through the scattered tables, ignoring everyone in her path. Not to mention their curious—no, downright gawking—stares.
Forgetting the black Stetson and the edgy biker, Elizabeth headed for the massive
wooden bar lining the back wall as though the man behind it were a homing beacon.
The Devil’s hypnotic gaze remained transfixed with hers. It was all she could do not
to trip over her own two feet at his cat-about-to-eat-the-canary grin, which made her breath catch and her cunt clench. A nice change of pace, considering the only thing to sufficiently stimulate that particular part of her body the past few years was a G-spot vibrator with little bunny ears to lend a helping hand.
Lord knew Mr. Stick-It-Wherever-He-Can-Except-Inside-Her hadn’t initiated sex in
Chapter One
Tugging on the large bronze handle of the tall oak door of the only drinking
establishment she had to choose from in the tiny town of Wilder, Texas, Elizabeth
Brooks lamented the very limited selection she had this evening in her quest for a good girl turned wicked woman experience.
Yeah, she got that this was a small lakeside community. Population three thousand
and twelve—make that thirteen as of today. But seriously. Only one bar in the entire
town? Whatever happened to variety being the spice of life?
I’m not gay, Elizabeth. I’m bi. There is a difference.
The patronizing statement from her lying, cheating ex—whom she would refrain
from calling Asshole of the Year and simply refer to as Peter—still grated on raw
nerves. Despite the fact she’d just put six or so states between them. Right under her nose, her Mount Sinai-surgeon boyfriend had blown half of New York society, servicing the Misters of Wall Street right along with the Misses of Park Avenue. Expecting her to just “deal” with his equal-opportunity infidelity.
Okay, I can make do with a little less spice in my life.
Swallowing down the humiliation that rose in her throat at the remembrance of the
life she’d left in the dust five short days ago, she entered the bar. From the nondescript exterior, she half-expected a dive with regulars hunched over their beers, listening to the twangy lyrics of ‘70s country songs her father had played off scratchy albums when she was a kid. Though the beer would likely be cold, two-stepping down Memory Lane
with Waylon and Willie and The Boys was not at the top of her To Do list.
Getting laid was.
She wasn’t the least bit ashamed to admit it. Elizabeth was in desperate need of
meeting someone capable of resuscitating her lifeless libido so she could wipe the slate clean of Peter’s betrayal, restore some of the dignity she’d lost and move on.
Mission possible, she assured herself and squared her shoulders. Lifting her chin a notch, she crossed the scuffed hardwood floor of Wilder’s only hotspot, peanut shells crunching beneath the thin soles of her olive-colored snakeskin pumps. The cozy room
boasted a tall fireplace set into the far wall, trimmed in large, smooth river rock.
Diffused lighting from the antler chandeliers cast a soft golden glow throughout the
place and sent shadows chasing up the walnut-paneled walls, decorated with old-
fashion rifles, stuffed animal heads and elk racks.
All very masculine and Ted Nugent Kill It and Grill It. The wild, wild West
personified and yet… Not so bad, really.
6
Devil in Texas
Sure, the scent of stale beer permeated every nook and cranny of the joint, but that
was just one more element that added to the ambience. She’d found a real-live, honest-to-God Texas saloon. The kind her father, Austin native Wyatt Brooks, had waxed
poetic about when he’d complained of Manhattan’s over-priced, pretentious cocktail
lounges after an evening of business networking with CEOs in three-piece suits and
power ties.
Her father would’ve loved Wade’s Saloon. Given his zest for life when he was alive,
and her recent lack of it, he also might approve of Elizabeth’s wicked undertaking.
Whereas her mother, Rachel Tabor-Brooks, would have a massive coronary if she knew
her former Miss Teen USA daughter dared set foot in such an establishment. Looking
for a hot hookup, no less.
Keep the smelling salts close at hand, Mother. I’m about to be bad!
Elizabeth was determined to shed her stuffy uptown-girl skin and, at age twenty-
eight, take her first walk on the wild side. She hoped this place—this town—would be
the perfect venue for her much-needed liberation.
Stepping into the shadowy depths of the lively tavern, she scouted the “talent”.
Cute cowboy wearing a black Stetson to the left raised her hopes of this being a target-rich environment. Edgy-looking biker to the right could take her on the wild ride she needed. And dead-ahead…
Elizabeth’s gaze swept the back portion of the saloon, crash-landing on the
bartender. A tall, dark, devilish man who looked like pure sin in his faded Levi’s and tight black T-shirt.
Bull’s-eye!
The breath escaped her parted lips on what she hoped was not an overly audible
whoosh. As her pulse kicked up a notch or ten, she took stock of the vision before her, admiring every masculine inch of the Devil in Blue Jeans, starting with his
devastatingly handsome face. Perfectly sculpted with a square, strong jaw line that was clean-shaven, but which she guessed turned his features rugged and dangerous-looking
when lined with a hint of dark stubble.
His obsidian-colored hair dusted the collar of his shirt, a tad too long and a bit
wavy on the ends. Thick and unruly. The kind of hair a girl could tangle her fingers in while he kissed her, long and deep.
His broad shoulders gave way to rock-hard biceps and a wide chest, making her
palms suddenly burn to splay across his tanned skin and toned muscles. The T-shirt,
tucked into the worn, sinfully fitting Levi’s, pulled tight against the hard ledge of his pectoral muscles. The hem of the short sleeves seemed to strain against his bulging
upper arms. Sinewy forearms led to large, strong-looking hands with long, blunt-tipped fingers. The important one on the left was blissfully bare.
Oh what a glorious gift from heaven!
7
Calista Fox
Indeed, a guardian angel had to be on board for Elizabeth’s long-overdue vision
quest, because the Devil’s electric gaze locked with hers as though he’d been waiting all night for her to come through the door and liven up his evening.
Sexual awareness shimmied through her, tightening her nipples behind the black
lace bra she’d bought to go with her brand-new, curve-hugging cocktail dress. A little prickle along her clit made the corners of her mouth lift as she wove her way through the scattered tables, ignoring everyone in her path. Not to mention their curious—no, downright gawking—stares.
Forgetting the black Stetson and the edgy biker, Elizabeth headed for the massive
wooden bar lining the back wall as though the man behind it were a homing beacon.
The Devil’s hypnotic gaze remained transfixed with hers. It was all she could do not
to trip over her own two feet at his cat-about-to-eat-the-canary grin, which made her breath catch and her cunt clench. A nice change of pace, considering the only thing to sufficiently stimulate that particular part of her body the past few years was a G-spot vibrator with little bunny ears to lend a helping hand.
Lord knew Mr. Stick-It-Wherever-He-Can-Except-Inside-Her hadn’t initiated sex in