Acres, Natalie - Sex Club [Cowboy Sex 5] (Siren Publishing Ménage Amour) (8 page)

She’d brought out the trusty old jackrabbit vibrator, supposedly discreet but apparently not. She wasn’t one to hide her sexuality, and now she wondered if she would’ve bothered slamming the office door if she’d known Tristan was nearby. And why would she care?

That particular evening, he’d provided the uppermost inspiration.

She jerked as the truth slapped her in the face. She’d fallen for him all over again on day one. The minute she realized he was back in town, she was his. Then she’d tried her best to stay out of his way because, as he recently confessed, it was important for self-preservation. She deliberately tried to safeguard her heart.

“You remember which night I’m talking about, don’t you?”

Maybe so, but why act like she was caught with her fingers in her twat? Oh no, a man with steel balls deserved to have them busted every now and again. “It could’ve been any night.”

“But it wasn’t,” he told her. “You made sure it was a very special night.”

“And why’s that?”

“Because I was watching,” he whispered, dropping his lips to hers, dragging them back and forth without taking a deep, satisfying kiss. “Do you have any idea what watching you does to me, Ansley?” A beat later, his tongue lingered at the seam of her lips. “Do you remember what I saw, sweetheart?”

“Tell me,” she rasped, throwing her head back, exposing her trunk in hopes of feeling his sweet lips tracing the tiny veins in her neck.

“I watched you clamp your nipples. I saw that vibrator shoved into a pussy so wet your toy dripped with your juices. And I wanted you like I’ve never longed for another. I wanted to rush in your office, jerk your arm away from your body, rip off my clothes, and fuck you until the sun came up.”

“You should have,” she whispered, turning her cheek. Oh God, how well she remembered that night.

Her nipples were secured by brass clamps. Long feathers encircled them, a fetish item she’d bought from a vendor at an adult-toy show she attended one year in Las Vegas. She always felt like a peacock whenever she slid them over her breasts, but that night the ridiculous frills made her feel uninhibited and quite sexy.

Yes, she recalled the imagery as well as she remembered the high tide she’d ridden out in his honor. She could only imagine the picture she’d created, the erotic display she practically spread out at his feet.

He framed her face and put his mouth over her ear. “I heard you that night, you know. I listened as you screamed my name. I fought the urge to join you as you begged me to fuck your pussy harder, deeper.”

“Oh my God,” she whimpered.

He must’ve thought she was a freak! She’d always had one major problem with self-pleasure. She almost always pictured a real person, someone she’d met, a man she found sexually arousing. If she couldn’t tap into those secret fantasies, she couldn’t find her pleasure. She couldn’t orgasm without the added stimulation of focusing on someone she found appealing.

“What kind of man lurks in the shadows, watching a woman climax by herself?”

“What kind of woman screams out for a man she doesn’t know very well in the middle of fucking a mere toy?”

“It was physical, trust me.”

“I think you mean mechanical, but okay, we’ll go with physical. The experience couldn’t have been much more. I’d just gotten back in town. I’d driven like a maniac to get back here, and you barely acknowledged me, but after seeing you the way I found you, believe me, I couldn’t think of a more satisfying way to become reacquainted. Could you?”

His question was a tricky one. Her reply was potentially damned, so she refused to answer him.

Besides, the avoidance worked both ways.

“I don’t fraternize with the employees.”

“Of course not,” he said, releasing her. “You wouldn’t stoop to such a level, would you?”

“Don’t take it personally. It’s just that we—my sister and I—made a deal with Patience. We don’t mix socially with those on our payroll.”

“Ah,” he said. “So you don’t want to be seen with the guys who work here, but fucking them, well that’s another story.”

“I didn’t—”

“Don’t worry. You will.” He grinned. “I promise.”

* * * *

That was one oath Tristan intended to keep.

Since he’d first met Ansley Cartwell, he’d thought of nothing else. If he were a smarter man, a guy who thought with the right head, he would’ve said a polite “how do you do” and then turned in his resignation when they’d first been introduced. Instead, he’d worked at Clink for months, deciding what he had to do was something he couldn’t further postpone.

If he wanted Ansley, and he was certain that he did, he had to take a trip, revisit the past, check on the guys in New York, and feel confident he wouldn’t bring harm to anyone he brought into his distorted life. What he should’ve done was walk away, but he couldn’t. His heart already belonged to her, and the only thing standing in his way was a history known to resurface at the most inopportune times.

Even though he’d trained under her twin sister, the women were opposites, and nothing about Kimberly appealed to him. He wished he felt the same about the feisty vixen standing next to him, but Ansley intrigued him.

That day, he remembered hashing out his feelings regarding the damning four-letter word. He’d decided he couldn’t, or wouldn’t, go there. He didn’t buy the happily-ever-after scenario. His father had tried that several times. And thanks to his old man, he’d cost three women their lives.

Women had their place in the bedroom. They didn’t have their place in his, or Bailey’s, lives.

Thanks to working in the underground clubs, he’d witnessed pretty much everything. He’d learned to use women as a tool for obtaining pleasure.

He remembered arguing with Bailey. In the end, they decided they never wanted to form any kind of lasting connection to one woman, and by lasting, they meant repeat performances just couldn’t occur in their arms.

Working in the clubs made Tristan realize how important it was to self-preserve, so he lived by one rule. He never took a woman to his bed more than once.

Those women he’d loved well and left later should’ve thanked him. He hadn’t placed them in any danger and generally disappeared before they had a chance to ask him if he planned to call them for another date.

Ansley was a different story, and that was why he left town. He was afraid one time wouldn’t quite do the trick. If he couldn’t fuck her and walk away, he knew he needed to do the right thing and get the hell out of there before he caused her any trouble. And he still recalled what he’d thought as he’d placed Asheville in his rearview mirror.

He always knew he would be back for her. He just didn’t know how quickly he’d return.

Three weeks. He was gone three weeks.

Ansley strolled toward the back of the cooler. Actually, she stomped. He’d either pissed her off or she was running. He could do angry sex with the best of them, but if he’d frightened her, that was another story.

“Need some distance between us, Ansley?”

“Hardly,” she replied. “I’m looking for a tool to use so we can jimmy that door.”

He resisted the urge to laugh aloud. He admired her spunk. “You think you can escape before the cold and lust drive you into my arms?”

“Something like that.”

“Don’t waste your time,” he advised her, hoping she’d wonder if he meant she wouldn’t be able to escape the freezer or the desire building between them.

“Maybe you don’t have the hands for it, but if I can find something to slide down the side, all it will take is a quick tug and that’ll be all she wrote.”

“Uh-huh,” he said mockingly. “Tell me something, Ansley. Do you handle your men as well as you maneuver stainless steel?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

He walked past three boxes of tomatoes and took a quick leap over a large sack of potatoes. “I’m curious.”

“About?” she asked, shaking her head hard enough for the curls in that blonde mess of hair to bounce on her thin shoulders.

“Do you slide your hands down the front of a man’s pants and give him a quick yank and think you’ll solve all the world’s problems—or at least your own—if he opens his fly right up for you?”

She grinned. Lord help him, he saw the devilment of her nature dancing across her cheeks. He anticipated a snappy comeback.

“Oh no, Tristan. Not at all. In fact, I don’t want a man who is too eager. He could drop his zipper, if I need him to serve a purpose, but I’m not interested in anything more. I don’t care about seeing a man’s heart, if that’s what you’re suggesting. And I think it is.” She placed her hands on his waist. “There are far more entertaining parts of a man’s body. Wouldn’t you agree?”

“Definitely.” Only, unfortunately, he was ready to bear his heart, show her his soul.

With a seductive purr, she added, “Well, if nothing else, our time together has allowed for some interesting conversation.”

“But you don’t socialize with your employees, remember?”

“I typically fire those I want in my bed.”

“So I take it you’re letting me go?”

“Absolutely.”

“And how many men have you terminated, exactly?”

She batted those long eyelashes over baby-blue eyes. “A woman never tells her secrets.”

“I could guess.”

“Go ahead.”

“None,” he stated flatly.

“Did you say nine?” she asked. “I can’t hear well with the fan blowing.”

“You’ve never fired one employee because you wanted him in your bed. You could resist a minor temptation, but I’m not only the forbidden fruit, I’m the apple you plan to bite.”

“My goodness! You’re very sure of yourself, aren’t you?”

“Enough to know you’re mine for the taking.”

“Really?”

“I’d place an all-or-nothing bet on this one, sugar,” he said, snatching her wrists and pulling her against him.

“Don’t be so quick to wager on a sure thing when you’re holding the dead man’s hand, lover.”

One thing about it, she was quick to the draw. And God help him, dead or alive, he planned to win his way straight into her heart. When he raced back to Asheville, it was too late to save himself, or her, for that matter.

He knew what he wanted. He realized what he was after. He planned to make Ansley Cartwell his woman, and one day? Maybe even his wife.

Chapter Three

“Ansley? Are you in here?”

“Bailey!” Ansley tripped over a case of cheap red wine and fell flat against his chest as soon as he opened the door. “I was so scared,” she sang dramatically, sniffing against his sleeve.

Wrapping her arms around his middle, Ansley looked up in time to see Bailey glaring at Tristan. “What the hell did you do to her?”

Tristan walked around them and, shooting her an awkward sideways glance, he said, “She has a problem with dead men.”

Bailey’s body went rigid. His face became pale. He held her away from him and asked, “Are you all right or not?”

She arched a brow and awaited a comment from Tristan, hoping for a phrase with a little kick to it, perhaps as tantalizing as what he might say to her in private. A man like Tristan probably didn’t have any reservations about open flirtations with a woman he’d already pursued to the extreme.