Devil in Texass(2)

longer than she could remember.

And now you know why.

Tamping down the hurt feelings she refused to give credence to, she closed the gap

between her and the bar, attempting a sexy, confident stride. Hoping she didn’t look

like Desperate Woman Walking.

Damn the man-whore for making her doubt herself. Then again, she had to admit

she was also at fault for allowing Peter to manipulate her all this time.

Tucking that thought away, she focused on the exhilaration sparked by the

devilishly handsome bartender, letting the inertia of it propel her forward until she reached her intended destination. His vibrant cerulean eyes were alight with mischief and an inner fire that spoke volumes—calling to the girl on a mission to leave the prim and proper prude in the past and embrace the wanton woman within.

As his eyes roamed her body from head to toe and back up, her heart skipped a

beat or two and her stomach fluttered in an unusual way. Moisture dampened the

crotch of her thong panties, the wetness having nothing to do with the Texas heat and humidity. Just eyeing the sexy stranger made her pussy throb and her pulse race.

Biting back a grin, she tried to play it cool as she slid onto a high-backed, wooden

stool situated between two older gentlemen. Their gazes also eased over her, eyes

popping just enough to convey their appreciation of the assets she’d strategically put on display. The hem of her black dress hit mid-thigh and hitched up a half-inch or so when she sat. The push-up pads in her bra did exactly as the package they’d come in had

promised, plumping up her breasts so the inner swells filled the vee neckline of the

halter-style dress.

Mouths gaped slightly before snapping shut. The gents next to her returned their

attention to their respective beers as Elizabeth breathed an inward sigh of relief.

8

Devil in Texas

Ah success! Apparently she had some sex appeal.

Settling into her chair, she dropped her black leather clutch on the heavily scarred

bar. The hotter than hell cowboy behind it set aside the towel and the shot glass he’d been drying.

“Darlin’,” he said, one corner of his tempting mouth lifting. “Those green eyes of

yours could stop a truck dead in its tracks.” He didn’t talk loudly over the din of the crowd, which made his deep tone, tinged with the slightest hint of a southern drawl, all the more intimate and arousing.

If carnal sin had a voice, this would be it. A dull throb started deep in her cunt—an ache that longed to be sated.

She said, “That’s one I’ve not heard before.” Her voice was but a breathy, sultry

whisper she didn’t even recognize. Yet it made her proud she could slip into seductress mode, given the train wreck that was her life.

“Those long legs could do the trick too,” he said, a heated look lighting his beautiful blue irises. As though he was imagining her legs wrapped around his waist as he thrust into her pussy, making her cry out in erotic joy. Making her come.

Elizabeth couldn’t stop the smile this time. Yes, indeed, this was exactly what she

needed. A little flirting, a little mutual appreciation, a lot of hot, sweaty sex!

“Nice of you to notice.”

Okay, she was rusty at the flirting part. Not to mention the hot, sweaty sex part. But what the hell? There were cobwebs to be cleared away down there. And the hottie extraordinaire who turned her insides to magma might be the opportunity she needed

to clean house. Her hard nipples and wet cunt seemed to think so, both remaining in a constant state of arousal because of the sexy cowboy.

“Impossible to miss,” he said of her legs. He reached for a cocktail napkin and

tossed it her way so the paper square landed in front of her on a half-spin.

Elizabeth’s insides snapped, crackled and popped. This guy was all man. Pure, raw masculinity with a hint of wicked oozing from every pore. Precisely what she’d come

looking for. He had a detached, love-’em-and-leave-’em air about him. Perfect for the new, carefree attitude she’d embraced upon leaving Manhattan.

Who needed the pain and heartache of relationships, anyway? Not her, that was for

sure. She’d been played, plain and simple. Now she knew how degrading it felt. Knew

she never wanted to experience that sort of deception and betrayal again.

As far as she was concerned, it was her turn to do a little sinning.

How long had it been since she’d felt big, strong hands on her body and warm, soft

lips on her mouth? When was the last time she’d had a thick shaft sliding in and out of her cunt, pleasuring her and making her lose herself in sexual bliss?

Forever, it seemed.

9

Calista Fox

Tonight, she was prepared to take action. Dressed to seduce, she was ready, willing

and able to sin! And with the devilish bartender’s gaze riveted on her, she was already starting to feel sexy and desirable again, despite the recent blow to her ego.

“What can I pour ya, darlin’?” he asked in that deep tone that seemed to

reverberate inside her. Making her squirm in her chair as that prickly sensation danced along her labia and clit again.

Oh yes! Let the libido CPR commence!

As excitement raced along her spine, she gave herself a mental pep talk. Be bold. Be daring. Let there be no mistake about what you want.

To the sexy cowboy behind the bar, she said, “I’m in the mood for some local

flavor.”

She hoped like hell her double entendre sounded as good to him as it did to her.

Hard to say. The Devil just grinned at her, waiting for her to commit to a drink while another bartender scurried around behind him, diligently filling the waitresses’ orders.

As the sexually charged air seemed to sizzle between them with unspoken promises

of wicked things to come, the gorgeous cowboy finally reached for a wineglass,

automatically pegging her for the type. Though she was a dead-ringer for his easy

assumption, Elizabeth had vowed to leave the champagne-drinking, obsessive-

compulsive workaholic in New York with her equally obsessive-compulsive mother.

Not to mention her bi-not-gay— yeah, whatever!—ex-boyfriend.

She was now in search of a more down-to-earth existence. A much simpler

Elizabeth Brooks.

The very formal name gave her pause and made her frown. Her name hardly suited

a simpler lifestyle. She’d have to put extra effort into defining her new persona.

Back to contemplating her cocktail of choice for the evening, she guessed the wine

varietals in a place like this all came from a box sporting its own tap, so she said, “Make it a beer. And a shot,” she added for good measure. Not just in hopes it would make her sound as if she knew what she was doing, but because it might help her to relax. Step out of the boardroom and into the bedroom with a man who could no doubt rock her