South Beach: Hot in the City (9 page)

Letting out a whimper, Tess slid deeper into the tub. Hot water skimmed her chin as her freshly washed hair floated around her. Millions of jasmine-scented bubbles lapped at her raised knees and buoyed her arms.

If she sank low enough, consciously clearing her mind, and allowed the soothing effects of a long, hot soak to take over, her fantasies of Jack Halloran would vanish down the drain with the bubbles. They had to. She’d be useless at work on Monday if she didn’t free herself from these maddening physical distractions.

And Chloe wondered why Tess intended to remain celibate while she worked her way up at the firm. Surrendering to the demands of her body always messed with her head. She needed focus, not diversions. In a few years, she’d rethink things, dip her toes into the sex pool again.

There’d be other men like Jack Halloran.

She had plenty of time.

A hollow ache balled in her chest. Plugging her nose, she submerged herself completely. The weight of the water thumped in her ears, and welcome heat drenched her skin. When her lungs contracted, she came up for air. The phone on the lowered toilet lid rang.

She tugged the towel on the inside-tub rod to dry her face. Usually, she didn’t bring the telephone into the bathroom. However, last night her youngest sister had called to report that their mother was experiencing a major housecleaning fit. At such times, their father made himself scarce, which upset Patrice Sheridan, who maintained she only kept a perfect house to please him.

In truth, Tess and her sisters realized their mother entered housecleaning overload whenever she felt neglected or under some other equally disturbing Mike-Sheridan-induced stress. Calling each of her daughters and griping about Dad seemed to calm Mom.

Curving her wet hair behind one ear, Tess sat halfway up in the tub. She glanced at the call display.
Private.
Frowning, she clicked Talk. “Yes?”

“Tess S.?”

Jack!
Her nipples contracted into tight, tingling peaks. She could blame the reaction on the fact that warm, sudsy water no longer covered her breasts, but she knew better. Her body had responded to his low, sensual voice in much the same way Wednesday night.

Wait.
How had he found her phone number?

She jerked up. Her elbow hooked the towel, dragging it into the water.
Shit!

“Just a minute.” She fumbled with the wet terry cloth. Too late. It was soaked through. And plastered against her stiff nipples.

“Tess?” he repeated, concern softening his deep voice.

She anchored the towel beneath her arms to prevent it from skating around and destroying her precious bubbles. She leaned back against the tub, the jasmine-scented water splashing and her breathing choppy. In her rush, she’d positioned the towel width-wise, and the wet terry cloth hovered at the tops of her thighs.

“Sorry, I…wasn’t dressed.” Her face warmed.

His concern segued into libidinous male interest. “Now you are?”

“Um, kind of.”

“Too bad,” he murmured.

The drenched towel rasped against her nipples, and a satisfying buzz centered between her thighs. She wiggled her hips, and the buzz deepened.

Hmm.
She’d never before considered the erotic possibilities of having a towel in the tub—but she did now.

Of course, she wouldn’t act on those urges. At least not while she had Jack on the phone. Unless, well,
he
could participate, too.

She shook her head to dispel the hot fantasy. How
had
he found her? The fake number she’d passed him wasn’t anything like her own. The directory listed her as T. A. Sheridan—a far cry from Tess S. And she’d opted out of every online listing she could find.

“I’m surprised you could reach me,” she said warily.

His gravely chuckle spread through her. “I’ll bet.”

She didn’t want to think about bets. “How did you get this phone number?”

“You gave it to me, remember?”

No, she hadn’t. And he knew so. That he’d discovered it should alarm her. Aside from Wednesday night, she’d never met him before. He could be a lunatic—or worse.

Yet, something in Jack Halloran’s voice reassured her that he was quite sane. Recalling his affable responses to her botched pickup lines mollified her fears, too. If he’d wanted to take advantage of her, he could have done so Wednesday night.

But he hadn’t.

“Yeah, Jack, about that number…” She let her voice trail off. She’d circumvent the truth out of him, a handy trick learned in law school.

For a moment, he didn’t respond. Then the friendly tone she remembered from Danver’s returned. “Don’t worry about it. Women give me fake phone numbers all the time. That’s why I blocked mine before I called. In case you were toying with me again.”

Despite a few loitering notes of caution, she smiled. As if any woman wouldn’t love the attention of a gorgeous guy like Jack Halloran. He probably beat back hordes of adoring females on a daily basis.

Relaxing, she planted a foot on the tub’s overflow vent. The loosening towel rubbed her sensitized flesh, and the warm, bubbly water caressed her bikini-trimmed mound.

Mmm.
She closed her eyes and luxuriated in the bliss of her arousal. Her fingers yearned to move with the water’s flow, to touch, dip, stroke, indulge herself…just a little bit…
please
.

What would be the harm? Jack wouldn’t know what she was doing, he couldn’t, unless
she chose
to tell him.

A sensuous shiver raced through her. “And you’re a PI?” she asked, her voice sounding languorous in the steam-filled bathroom. “That’s how you dig up the real numbers?”

“No. Your friend gave me yours as you were leaving.”

“She did what?” Tess bolted upright in the tub. The towel slipped and jasmine-scented froth slopped out onto the bathmat.

Chloe was about to become one very dead best fiend! No wonder she’d grinned the whole time she was here. She’d outwitted Tess at every turn.

“You were ahead of her leaving the pub, so maybe you didn’t notice,” Jack said. “She said you experience temporary dyslexia when you drink and might have written down the wrong phone number by mistake.”

“I don’t get temporary dyslexia!” Was there such a thing?

“Then you admit you gave me the wrong number on purpose?”

“I—” The towel drifted onto her lower legs. She kicked it partway off. She should drown herself. Here and now. Save herself the humiliation of dealing with the consequences of Chloe’s treachery.

“Or was hitting on me the tequila talking?”

Tess lifted a hand. “No. I wasn’t drunk, I promise.” Drinking and debauching wasn’t her style. That she’d hit on Jack while slightly buzzed was bad enough, but when she slept with him—uh, if—she intended to be stone-cold sober.

Well, not cold, exactly. Probably extra warm.

Ooh Godddd, she really was going nuts.

The point was, when and if they ever did it, she wanted to be fully aware of every delicious moment.

With a studmuffin like Jack Halloran at her disposal, she certainly wouldn’t risk dulling her senses with alcohol.

“Just tipsy, then?” he persisted.

“More like emboldened.”

His hearty laugh caressed her ear. “Tess S., you amaze me.”

Her nipples tingled. She slid back into the sudsy water, re-covering rebellious body parts.

“Yes, emboldened,” she stated in her best authoritative-lawyer tone. “Take it or leave it. It’s my final offer.”

“I’ll take it. When would you like to go out?”

“Out?”

“Yeah, our date. You do recall asking for one?”

“Yes, but…” Sinful heat danced in her veins. Here was her chance to prove Chloe wrong—for real this time. And what a perfect opportunity to quash her own doubts.

She could have that carefree life she’d always envisioned. All she had to do was start by saying yes to Jack.

She trailed her hand down her bubble-strewn thigh, and sensation arrowed between her legs.

As a matter of fact, she could start right now. Considering the signals her insistent body kept sending her, it wouldn’t take much to rev herself up again. Treat herself to some titillating phone action—and go a little wild.

She was safe with Jack. Somewhere deep inside herself, an illogical but steadfast seed blossomed. She felt safer with a man she’d met three days ago than she did with her platonic male friends. She felt incredibly safe…and a million kinds of naughty.

She deserved this.

Yes, she did.

She deserved to take him with her.

She gave up stripping to go legit…until three Kiowa cowboys bring on the down-and-dirty.

Boots and Chaps

© 2012 Myla Jackson

Ugly Stick Saloon, Book 1

Jackson Gray Wolf is turning thirty, and what does he have to show for it? A ranch. No wife, no kids, no dates. He’s had his eye on the pretty owner of the Ugly Stick Saloon, but their one accidental encounter was interrupted before he could get her out of her take-me-now red cowboy boots.

Audrey Anderson isn’t in the market for a man. Been there, done that, has the scars to prove it. She retired her pole-dancing boots after purchasing the Ugly Stick Saloon, and now manages a stable of strippers. When she winds up one stripper short for a private party, she’s forced to slip on a mask and into the role of the mysterious Kiki.

Jackson didn’t want the birthday bash his twin brothers are throwing him, but his vow to ignore the rented stripper goes awry when she shows him exactly how far she’s willing to go—for all three of them.

Audrey can’t forget the sizzling heat between her and one sexy Kiowa in particular. Jackson. Trouble is, she’s not sure if he wants the bold, brassy Kiki, or if he’s ready for the wounded woman underneath.

Warning this title contains hot scenes with multiple partners, with a little BDSM on the side. Caution—it could melt your e-reader!

Enjoy the following excerpt for
Boots and Chaps:

Audrey couldn’t believe she was getting away with her charade. Her body burned, her pussy wet with her juices. Having Jackson watch as she strutted her stuff in front of his brothers had been so much of a turn-on, she’d broken most of her rules of stripping, and she was raring to break all the rest.

Luke let go of his grip on her pussy and backed up a step, allowing more room for big brother.

A thrill of adrenaline shot through Audrey, her core heating to molten hot. The twins were handsome with their dark Kiowa skin, high cheekbones and jet-black hair, and she wouldn’t mind making love to both of them. At the same time. But Jackson…

She sucked in a long, deep breath and let it out slowly. This was a man’s man. Strip him down to a loincloth and he’d fit right in with his ancestors, hunting buffalo, fighting wars and making love with his woman. His broad shoulders flashed in and out of the strobe, the light casting shadows, emphasizing the distinct muscular definition of his chest and arms.

Her gaze dropped to the top button of his jeans, flipped casually open as if he’d been in the process of undressing when she’d begun her little dance.

She drew him near and flicked the other three buttons from their bindings with quick, desperate strokes. As the last button poked through the hole, his cock sprang free, slipping easily into her palm.

“Knew you weren’t immune to Kiki.” Luke laughed. “Hey, Mark, check out that boner.”

Jackson jerked back, sliding out of Audrey’s grip.

Mark swung a wooden stool into the center of the floor and shoved Jackson toward it. “Sit. And no jerking off.”

He sat and growled at his brothers, his hands going to his open fly and the shaft jutting straight upward.

Luke cranked the music volume up a notch and danced toward Audrey. “Now that you have the birthday boy in position, let me help you out of that shirt.”

It wasn’t what Audrey had in mind, but the angry frown on Jackson’s face gave her the courage to taunt him more, show him what he was missing. A little foreplay was just what he needed to make him eager to join the fun.

Audrey tied the tails of her shirt beneath her breasts, a good start for a strip tease.

“Did I give you permission to dress?” Luke shook his head and stalked her. “You know what the Gray Wolfs do to naughty girls?”

Her body quivered as she backed away from Luke and into Mark’s chest.

Jackson lunged forward.

“Down, boy.” Luke clamped a hand on Jackson’s shoulder and shoved him back on the seat. “You’ll have your turn. We want to get her ready for you. This is your show, brought to you by the brothers Gray Wolf. Sit back and relax.”

Jackson growled again, his arms crossing over his chest, hands fisted. “Relax…hmph.”

Luke grabbed the lapels of Audrey’s shirt and yanked it upward, extending Audrey’s arms high over her head. There he twisted the fabric, knotting it tightly around her wrists. She stood in the bikini thong, chaps and her prettiest black lace demi-bra, her breasts pushed up, ripe for the tasting, should any man in the room care to go for it.

Audrey’s skin stung where the shirt sleeves had scraped across, the slight pain even more titillating than she’d imagined. She wanted more. “Hey, what if I want to play too?” She tugged, but couldn’t free her hands. As a woman who’d been in control for the past two years, she was struck by this new sensation. These men had her at their mercy, a place she’d rarely allowed herself to be. A place she’d sworn she’d never go to again. But damned if she didn’t want more. She’d play along, just a little.

Luke wagged a finger at her. “We are the masters. You don’t have a choice. Submit or suffer punishment.”

Master. A wash of juices rushed through her pussy. Audrey had been submissive once. What had it bought her? Bruises, broken ribs and heartache. Her ex had shown her the worst side of a Dom-sub relationship. With Luke towering over her, her hands tied in front, her knees shook, but not out of fear. They were liquid with desire, her core tightening, her body screaming for release. Her mind rocked with the realization, her mouth watering for another taste of what was happening to her. How could she be so ready to fall back into that trap?