Ramagos, Tonya - Strictly Accountable [Stud Service 2] (Siren Publishing Classic) (2 page)

Chapter One

“Good morning and welcome to Walmart.”

Sabrina stopped at the podium and grinned at the short, plump greeter with gray curls and spectacles perched on the end of her nose. “Betsy, I bet you sure get tired of saying that all day.”

Betsy returned Sabrina’s grin with one of her own. “About as much as you get tired of saying ‘would you like a coupon?’ when business is slow.”

Sabrina let out a dramatic sigh. “I’ve been saying it in my sleep for the last three months.”

“Don’t despair, sweetie. It looks like you will have something else to say for at least a few minutes this morning.” Betsy tipped her head toward Sabrina’s kiosk and leaned closer to whisper, “He’s been waiting for close to an hour. He walked by a couple of times and finally took up post. If I were you, I’d take my time doing that man’s taxes.”

Sabrina laughed and started walking. “I just might,” she shot over her shoulder. She gladly welcomed any client that made even ten minutes of her time go by faster. Still grinning, she turned her head and locked gazes with a pair of dark eyes potent enough to make her step falter as spasms of lust ricocheted through her insides.

Jiminy Cricket, the man is hot!

Shocked by her body’s immediate do-me reaction, she dropped her gaze to his feet. Worn didn’t begin to describe the pair of black boots he wore seemingly held together in places by duct tape, of all things. She chewed the inside of her bottom lip as she skimmed her attention up stupendously tight, well-worn Wranglers and corded muscles unhidden by a plain cotton T-shirt. The hint of a tattoo peeking from beneath his left sleeve made her tongue tingle. Broad shoulders held a wide neck perfect for latching onto and her palms itched to do just that.

“You’re late.”

Sabrina snapped her gaze back to his face, noting his roughened, handsome features even as his tone set her warning bells chiming. Laughter lines etched the tanned flesh around his mouth and eyes. Strands of straight, dark hair flirted with his shoulders from beneath a black Stetson nearly as worn-looking as his boots and jeans. She stopped short of invading his personal space and knew in an instant even ten feet wouldn’t be a safe distance from this man.

“I beg your pardon?”

The laughter lines did little to make his scowl any more chipper. “You were supposed to be here an hour ago.”

Sabrina glanced at the sign he pointed to attached to the outer wall of her kiosk office and stifled a growl.
Damn it. Damn it. Damn it!
She’d told Rita to change the hours sign before she left the previous evening.

“I apologize for any inconvenience. If you can give me five minutes to get the computers set up, I will be happy assist you.” She reached for the chain closing off the doorway into the two-desk kiosk and her fingers inadvertently brushed his forearm. Awareness, swift and panty-wetting, zinged through her system.

“I don’t have anything with me.” He folded his arms and widened his stance, more effectively blocking her way into her kiosk and making himself look like a poster cowboy for alpha male Wrangler stud.

Sabrina curled her fingers around the hook of the chain like a life line to keep her grounded to the unforgiving concrete of the Walmart floor. Merely being the object of this man’s attention made her imagination soar. Ecstasy, hot and intoxicating, pumped off him in waves. She wondered if he realized it, if he somehow did it on purpose.

“Then you must have questions you need answered.”

“A truck load of them,” he grumbled.

Sabrina nodded once, both to indicate she could help him and in an attempt to jar her mind from the quick plane to stud-land it seemed insistent on boarding. “That’s not a problem. If you can give me five—”

“You can’t answer them here.”

Sabrina blinked and let her hand fall to her side. “I beg your pardon?”

“You’ve already done that once, darlin’. There’s no need to beg.” He shot a pointed glance around, then pinned her with a stare that put in her mind a vision of sweaty bodies and rumpled sheets. “At least not here in the store. You’ll need to come out to the ranch, go through the office, and tell me what I need to do. Pop died a few months back and left things in a real mess. I’m not even sure how bad yet.”

“I’m sorry for your loss, but—”

“Not much love lost there, sweetheart, and even less these days. The thing is I’m pretty sure everybody’s favorite uncle is going to come after my assets.”

The way those Wranglers hug your assets I can’t blame Uncle Sam a bit
. Sabrina felt her cheeks start to heat at the thought and rushed to distract herself from the idea before she got herself into trouble. “I’m sorry, Mr…?”

“Holt. Brody Holt.”

Sabrina nodded. “Of Holt’em Up Ranch.”

“Figured it might ring a bell.”

Oh, the name rang a bell all right. Holt’em Up Ranch laid claim to being one of the largest spreads on the outskirts of Chattanooga, Tennessee. Stories fed the grapevine about the Holt legacy, the four children, and most recently the death of Homer Holt. Amazingly, none of those stories ever gave a glimpse into the innate sex appeal of the only male Holt heir.

“Mr. Holt, I—”

“Call me Brody. Mr. Holt sounds like my old man.”

Sabrina blew out a breath. “Okay, Brody.” She hesitated. Damn if saying the man’s name didn’t ignite another candle of lust. “I’m bound by contract with Mason Tax Service. It would be a violation of that contract to do a tax return outside of a Mason Tax Service office. I can point you toward several reputable independent—”

“I don’t want some CPA in a suit trampling on my property.”

Sabrina narrowed her eyes. Drool worthy or not, if he interrupted her one more time, she felt liable to stomp her stiletto heel through his duct-taped toe.

“I’m willing to pay you triple your hourly wage. When you get everything straight, you’re welcome to bring the stuff to any Mason Tax Service office you wish to finish it up.”

“I don’t know if…” She lost her train of thought when his gaze dropped farther down to her breasts. Her pulse spiked. Her nipples beaded.
Cripes!
She actually
felt
the look on the sensitized flesh of her breasts.

He dragged his attention up to her face, and she swore his eyes were a full two shades darker. Maybe she wasn’t the only one hiding some serious physical attraction here.

“You’re the manager, right?”

He hadn’t been checking out her chest. He’d been checking the name tag she wore above her left breast, the one that clearly read “office manager” just below her name. The disappointment she felt at that realization chipped at her temper. What was she, sixteen, for crying out loud?

“Yes.” And that meant she should be professional and practical in the face of clients, no matter how mouth-wateringly tempting she found them. “However, I still have a boss and a franchise owner to report to.”

“All right.” He shifted, but rather than move out of the way of the kiosk opening, he ducked beneath the chain and snagged a sticky note and pen that had been left out on one of the desktops. “Give me their names and numbers. I’ll get you clearance.”

Sabrina stiffened. Now that he’d straightened his stance, she had to tip her head farther back to hold his gaze. “I can get my own clearance, Mr. Holt.”

“I told you to call me Brody.” He scribbled on the sticky note, tore off the top sheet, and held it out for her. “When is your next day off?”

“Tomorrow,” she answered without thinking. Curiosity won. She took the sticky note and gave it a quick read.

“Good. Get whatever permission you need, and be at the ranch at eight. Do you know where it is?”

“Yes.”

“Call if you have any trouble.”

“E–eight in the morning?” she asked stupidly. Her attention fell to his assets as he shifted his weight again and started to walk away. A conversation that lasted all of five minutes and consisted solely of business and still, the man managed to seduce her into a stuttering oblivion!

He lifted his brows as he gave her another once-over look that turned her blood to a flaming flow of wicked need. “Holt’em Up is a working ranch, ma’am. We get started early around there, even on a Saturday.”

* * * *

Sabrina dropped the half-rinsed plate in the bottom rack of the dishwasher with enough force to break the thing had it been glass rather than plastic. A couple of plastic glasses, a few plastic bowls, and a sauce pan landed on the top rack with the same amount of energy.

“You’re fuming.”

The amusement in Kirk’s voice didn’t help to calm her a bit. “I’m angry.”

“I know. It’s been a while since I’ve seen you chewing on a mad.”

Sabrina wrenched off the faucet and slammed the dishwasher shut. “You would’ve seen it more often lately if you’d been around.”

“I know.” The amusement instantly gave way to apology. “I’m sorry, Bri. I really thought I had something going with Shane, you know?”

Sabrina braced her hands on the edge of the sink, hung her head, and sighed. “I know, sweetie.” She straightened, turned, and gave her best friend the most comfortingly understanding smile she could muster. “I thought you did, too.”

Kirk moved to the wine rack on the far end of the counter, popped the cork on a bottle of Merlot, and poured them each a glass. “Spill it,” he told her as he passed one of the glasses to her.

“But red wine makes such a mess.” She couldn’t help but crack up at the look he angled her way. “I know. You weren’t talking about the wine. You want to know why I’m so mad.”

“Well, duh.” He took her free hand in his and led her to the table where he pulled out a chair for her and waited for her to sit. “Start from the beginning. You got up, slipped into something sexy, and topped it off with the conservative executive style you’ve got going on, had your morning bowl of chocolate Cheerios, and then...” He stopped as he took the seat at the table across from her and cocked an eyebrow. “Unless you had a guy over here last night that I don’t yet know about, I’m pretty sure no one pissed in your Cheerios.”

Sabrina sipped her wine and studied Kirk. Blond, trim, flawless complexion, perfect cheekbones, and amazingly straight, white teeth, her gay buddy was prettier than she was. “The guy came once I got to work.”

Too late, she realized what a bad choice of words she made. Visions of Brody Holt naked and sprawled beneath her while she straddled his hips and prepared to lower herself on his erect cock made the tips of her ears, among many other things, heat. Kirk, being the ever-observant guy he was, didn’t miss it.

“My, my, looks like you wouldn’t mind making him come in other places and a variety of ways, too. Do tell, babycakes.”

“What I wouldn’t mind is if I could push that flower pot out the window sill knowing he’s standing right beneath it.” She tipped her glass toward the window behind the sink where a pot of tulips sat on the ledge, then took another sip. “Of course, as hard as his head is, it would do more damage to the pot than his skull.”

Kirk’s grin spread from ear to ear. “Sounds like true love to me.”

Sabrina rolled her eyes. “Oh, what do you know about true love? Lust is more like it.” And damn if it didn’t make her angry every time she thought about the way her body reacted to him that morning. “He’s exactly what I don’t need right now.”

Kirk pursed his lips. “Are you sure about that?”

“I’m positive! He called Lucille. Forget that I told him I would do it myself. Ornery freaking cowboy went over my head and calls my boss anyway. Ugh, Vannah was right about cowboys. They’re nothing but arrogant, overbearing, controlling jackasses, and women should stay away from them.”