BuckingHard (3 page)

Bradi wrapped her arms around Evan’s neck and lifted her
mouth to his ear. “You know, you’re pretty good at this performing.”

He laughed and nuzzled her neck. “Have you told him how you
feel?”

“No.” Today was the closest she’d ever come and that was a
mistake. A moot point if he already knew.
Oh god.

“Some men can’t see what’s right in front of them and need a
little help.”

A little help? How much help did he need? She wasn’t fucking
invisible. “Yeah, well, I’ve been in front of him long enough.”

Evan rolled his hips with a long note from the saxophone and
Bradi almost stumbled again. If the hard ridge behind the fly of his black
slacks wasn’t a figment of her imagination, he wasn’t pretending near as much
as she assumed he was. Of course, his arousal could be the same as hers, a
natural physical reaction.

Flirt, dance and get laid. Flirt, dance and get laid.
Flirt dance and—go for it, Bradi.

“You know what?” Hands clasped behind Evan’s neck, she
tilted her upper body away from him. “I made a decision today. A big one.
Tonight is about moving on.” Her fingers delved into the hair above his collar
as she licked her lips. “Wanna be my first step to moving on?”

“A tempting offer.” His gaze dropped to her mouth as the
music stopped. “A very tempting offer. But while I don’t mind performing on the
dance floor, that doesn’t extend to the bedroom.” He grinned. “At least not as
a stepping stone.”

“Well, if you’re sure…” She raised on tiptoe and kissed his
cheek. “I guess I’ll be
moving on
.”

Bradi let him guide her off the dance floor. Mason was still
at the bar with Clay and Lindsey, a sour look on his face. Her feet stalled and
she tugged on Evan’s arm. "Wait. Evan, I…” From the corner of her eyes she
saw Mason push away from the bar and take a step in their direction.
Shit.
She focused on Evan. “Thanks for the dance and the talk.”

“No problem.” He traced a finger along her jaw, intense blue
eyes locked on hers. “Be careful moving on, Bradi. It might get you nowhere.”

A tremor shook her. Not so much from his touch but his
words. The odds of ending up in worse emotional turmoil than she was now ranked
up there with Dahlia pulling a dump and run in the south pasture.

“We need to talk.” Mason’s bourbon-rich voice broke into her
thoughts and nixed any hesitation to see her plan through. His fingers grasped
her elbow.

She tore her gaze from Evan’s and smiled at Mason, despite
the glare he shot Evan. Her stomach pitched and her mouth went dry. She
extracted her arm from his grip and started walking backward. “Sure, but I’ll
catch up with you later. I promised this dance to Heath.”

Before he could stop her, she darted through the tables,
heart pounding, mind reeling, and on an obvious collision course with
self-destruction, but too terrified to put on the brakes. If she stopped, she’d
have to admit the truth. There was no getting over Mason.

“Hey, darlin’. Where you been?” Heath set aside the pool
stick as she neared, then laid an arm across her shoulders.

“Dancing up a sweat.” Bradi wound an arm around his waist
and plucked the beer from his hand. She tipped it back and swallowed several
gulps of false courage.

“You too tired to dance with me?”

Handing the bottle back, she snatched his hat from his head,
settled it on hers and grinned. “Just getting warmed up.”

As he herded her through the crowd, Bradi silently repeated
her new mantra.
Flirt, dance and get laid. Flirt, dance and get laid.
Hell,
why not add to it?

Flirt, dance, get laid and have another drink.

And not necessarily in that order.

If he ever doubted Bradi thought of sex, Mason knew for sure
now.

Downing the last of his beer, he lowered the longneck bottle
to the table without taking his eyes off the dance floor and the woman driving
him insane. He’d never seen this side of her. Flirting, laughing, all that
bumping and grinding…and holy hell, she had on a goddamn dress—what there was
of it.

His gaze drifted over her for the hundredth time since he’d
walked into the bar. He almost hadn’t recognized her. With her body draped in a
scrap of black silk, she reminded him of a yearling—willowy and sleek, all legs
and sweet curves. Her long hair, loose around her shoulders, seemed blonder
somehow and made her look soft and feminine. Hot and sexy.

No denying she turned him on—him and every other man in the
bar. Two in particular were sniffing around a little too much for his liking.
But she’d also managed to scare the hell out of him.

Not only was she making it more difficult for him to
remember they were just friends, but her behavior was reckless, out of control.
Heath was an okay guy, but he wouldn’t hesitate to take advantage of her. Bradi
wasn’t a drinker and she’d been tossing them back all night. Something else
he’d never seen her do.

He’d nearly charged the floor earlier when she was dancing
with Evan McNamara. She had no idea the kind of kink he was into. Mason did.
He’d been friends with Clay long enough, roomed with him while traveling the
rodeo circuit, and understood well the direction Clay had been headed. Bondage,
ménage, Dominance/submission. Mason had played a bit during those days, but it
wasn’t his scene. He liked his women free to give back as good as they got and
he sure as hell didn’t like to share.

Mason had no doubt that if Evan was Clay’s friend, he was a
decent guy, but Mason would lay odds he was also into the lifestyle. And from
the interaction between the three, Mason would bet Evan was Clay and Lindsey’s
third. Still, he’d be damned if he let the bastard near Bradi again.

“She’s having a good time.” Lindsey slipped into the chair
to his right.

“Too good a time,” he muttered under his breath, not
bothering to ask who she meant. He didn’t need any help noticing and he’d been
content to brood about it alone.

“So what are you going to do about it?” Clay grabbed the
chair on the other side of the table and swung it closer to Lindsey.

“Me?”

“You’re her friend, aren’t you?” The voice came from behind
him as the last of the trio settled into the last vacant chair, confirming his
suspicions they acted as a unit. “At least that’s what she told me earlier.
That you were just friends.”

Mason ground his teeth at the words
just friends
and
followed Evan’s gaze as he tracked Bradi and Heath heading back to the pool
table. Heath handed her another beer.

Lindsey covered his hand with hers. “Don’t get me wrong. I’m
glad she’s finally cutting loose, but I’d hate for her to regret it in the
morning. And if I know Bradi, she’ll regret Heath.”

Not as much as Mason would. But he had no intention of letting
things get that far. He just hadn’t figured out what to do yet. She hadn’t
returned any of his calls or texts this afternoon and she’d avoided him all
night.

Shit, he’d really fucked up this morning. First, he’d hurt
her feelings because he couldn’t control his goddamn cock. Then he put her off
when Deidre had shown up. Well, if she hadn’t been her usual stubborn self and
taken off, he would have been there for her. But then again, it had taken him a
good half hour to make Deidre understand he wasn’t interested.

As the four of them watched, Heath led Bradi back to the
dance floor and proceeded to polish his belt buckle. Evan swiveled to face
Mason, one brow cocked. “If you don’t do something, I will.”

“Fuck that.” Mason stood so fast his chair hit the floor
behind him and, without another word, he made his way across the bar. He wove
between the dancing couples, stopped behind Heath and tapped him on the
shoulder.

The dickhead actually grinned at him. “Hey, boss. What’s
up?”

“I’m cutting in.”

Heath opened his mouth as if he wanted to argue, then slowly
clamped it shut and shrugged. “Sure, whatever.”

Smart man.

Bradi hadn’t lifted her head from Heath’s chest during the
exchange, which told Mason just how far gone she was.

“Hey, darlin’.” Heath peeled her arms from around his neck.
“Time to say good night.”

She raised her head and smiled up at him. “Good night.”
Heath transferred her to Mason, and her grin grew wider as she melted against
him. Her arms circled his neck and her hips undulated with the rhythm of the
music. “Hey, Mace. What are you doing out here? You don’t dance.”

“Nope.” Mason fisted his hands at the small of her back to
keep from palming her ass and grinding his cock into her belly. At least she
wasn’t mad at him anymore. Guess he could be grateful she was a happy drunk.
“Time to go home.”

“But I’m having fun.” Her body shimmied closer. “And you
feel so good.”

And just his luck, a horny drunk.

Groaning, Mason backed away from Bradi and grabbed her hand.
“Come on.”

“Wait.” She tugged on his arm. “I have to get my purse.”

Purse? She carried a purse now? He stopped at the edge of
the dance floor. “Where is it?”

“Lindsey’s apartment upstairs. My keys are in it. Condoms
too.” She started toward the back of the bar but he held tight to her hand and
swung her toward the door.

“You won’t need either. You’re drunk and you need to go home
and sleep it off.” With his hands on her waist, he nudged her forward. The
sooner he got her home the better. And easy access to a condom was not a good
idea. “You can come get your purse in the morning.”

“Wait.”

“What now?”

“Where’s Heath?”

Mason looked over his shoulder and shook his head with a
combination of amazement, disgust and relief. Heath hadn’t wasted any time
finding Bradi’s replacement. A pretty little redhead sat in his lap. “He’s
busy.”

Bradi swatted at his hands and glanced in the direction of
the pool tables. Her face twisted into a frown. “Seriously? I dance one song
with you and…” She squinted. “Is that Jennie Crumb? He could do better.”

“Let’s go.”

She let him herd her through the crowd, but dug in her heels
again just shy of passing through the door. “I don’t want to go home.” She
shook free of his grip. “I want to have sex.” Heads turned and several men
grinned and gave him a thumbs-up. “Good ol’ down and dirty, hot and sweaty
sex.”

“God, Bradi.” Mason was beginning to wonder if he even knew
her anymore. He clamped a hand over her mouth, picked her up by the waist and
carried her out the door. Maybe some fresh air would sober her up and curb that
motor mouth.

“Put me down.” Her words were slurred and muffled behind his
hand as she squirmed against him. Her elbow connected with his ribs.

Grunting, he set her on her feet at the edge of the dark
parking lot and backed away. He shook his head. “What’s gotten into you?”

“Nothing lately,” she grumbled. “But I was trying to fix
that.”

Was she
trying
to shock him?

“I’ll bet Jennie wouldn’t mind sharing. I’ve heard Heath has
enough to satisfy both of us.”

Jealousy flared, and in the same breath, his balls tightened.
No, goddammit, he wouldn’t think about Bradi having sex with another woman.
“Just get in the damn truck.”

“You don’t understand. I really need to get laid.”

“What you need is a good spanking.” He swatted her ass and
gave her another shove toward his pickup.

She moaned and rubbed her palm across her butt. “You have no
idea.”

He couldn’t help but chuckle. “You’re bad.”

“I want to be, but you won’t let me.” The glare she gave him
was half sultry pout, half teasing promise.

Mason pointed at the truck twenty feet away, then fell in
step beside her. Her long stride usually matched his, but in those sexy-as-hell
sandals, she took two steps to his one. He slowed his pace. “Somebody’s gotta
rein you in.”

“Excuse me?”

“Well, just look at you. This isn’t like you. Drinking too
much, hanging all over guys.” He waved at her feet. “Your fucking toenails are
painted.”

“Oh my god, string me to nearest tree. I’m a painted
harlot.”

“It’s not just that.” He drove his fingers through his hair,
wanting to yank it out by the roots. God, she frustrated him to no end, and in
more than one way. “I’m just saying that some men might take advantage of you
when you’ve had too much to drink. You don’t understand the danger you’re
putting yourself in.”

“No, you don’t understand.” Her steps wavered to the right,
then back to the left. Guess he was right about her condition. “I haven’t had
sex in too long and you can’t imagine how hard it is to masturbate with Mom and
Dad in the next room.”

His head snapped up. “You masturbate?” Shit, he did
not
want to know the answer to that question, but she was turning out to be a
talkative drunk, too, and he didn’t hold out much faith that she’d keep this
bit of information to herself.

“Doesn’t every woman?” She rolled her eyes and turned on
him, hands on hips. “Oh, that’s right. You don’t see me as a woman.” Her index
finger stabbed his chest. “Which would mean
you
shouldn’t have any
problem understanding
my
needs ’cause, hey, I’m just like you. I’m one
of the guys.”

“Believe me, after tonight I’ll never think of you that way
again.” He’d go to bed every night with the image of Bradi pleasuring herself.

“Really?” A smile dissolved her frown and softened her
features. Green eyes brightened in the dim light of the street lamp. Her tongue
darted between parted lips, then disappeared, leaving them wet and shiny and so
fucking edible. “’Cause I certainly don’t think of you as one of the girls. In
fact,” her hands slithered up his arms and down his chest, “you’re about the
most
male
man I’ve ever seen, Mason Montgomery.”

“Stop that.” He walked her backward. Only three more feet
and he’d have her safely in the truck.