Stud for Hire (6 page)

Yeah. She'd pay for that too. Because just then, Tibby found him. Her breath gushed over his cheek as she warbled a moan. “Ooh, Logan,” she murmured. “How much?”

He stilled. “What?”

“How much. For the night?”

That was it.

He couldn't take it. Not anymore.

He pushed back his chair and mumbled a strangled, “'Scuse me, ma'am,” and escaped.

He hid in the bathroom until Cody came to find him.

“What are you doing in here, Logan?” he asked, though the smile on his lips made it plain, he knew.

“Goddamn it, Cody. These women are barracudas.”

Cody shoved his fingers into his front pockets and rocked back on his heels. “Don't I know it. My bread and butter.”

“When I said I would work this party, the offer didn't include being manhandled.”

His friend, the bastard, threw his head back and barked a laugh. “Never heard you complaining about that before.”

“It's not funny.”

“Yeah. It is.” Cody clapped him on the back. “You should have folded that hand.”

He should have. But he'd had three jacks. Thought he had a winner.

He should have folded. Cody had held four aces.

“Now, go on. Get back in there. Your date awaits.”

Logan glared at his friend. But he wasn't a welsher. He threw back his shoulders and sucked in a deep, fortifying breath and headed back out. To Tibby and her wandering hands. As soon as he could swing it, he was taking Hanna back to the barn.

He couldn't wait to get her naked. To run his hands all over her body. She liked being tied up? Oh, he'd tie her up. And tease her, torment her. Make her writhe. Make her his. Fulfill every single fantasy he'd had about her since high school—

He had to quit thinking about it.

It made him uncomfortable.

A chance to make love to Hanna Stevens, a chance to finally win her, something that had always been beyond his wildest dreams, had just fallen, literally, in his lap.

As Logan took his seat, Cody grabbed the mic again. Damn, he liked that mic. “Evenin', ladies! I hope you enjoyed your down-home dinner.”

The food hadn't been terrible. But it hadn't been great. Still, the ladies cheered.

They cheered for everything, this lot.

Logan tried not to snort. Their “down-home dinner” had been dry tri tip and mashed potatoes, with cornbread and an arugula salad. Oh, and the “chili.” He could forgive everything but the chili. There was something wrong with a Texas ranch serving substandard chili. It was an unforgivable sin in Texas. He'd have to have a chat with Cody about that.

“And now, on to the entertainment for the evening. First, the fellas are going to put on a show and then . . .” The velociraptors slavered. “And then we're gonna have an auction. A man auction.”

Cody's gaze drifted over to him and Logan's heart stuttered.
Shit
. The bastard was going to make him pay but good.

“But before we begin the auction, I think the lady of the evening, our bachelorette—the woman about to sink herself into a life of marital servitude, I mean marital
bliss
—should come on up here for some sexy, steamy lap dances. Honey, why don't you come on up here and take the hot seat.”

To his horror, Hanna stood.

It was mortifying.

Oh, not being pulled up onstage and seated in a chair as a selection of strippers danced around her, shaking their buttocks at her and grinding in her face as all her friends—and Tibby—watched and whistled and howled with laughter.

What horrified her to the core, was the expression on
his
face. When Cody had called her up, his features had become a tight mask. His stare, a simmering glare.

Although why he should care that she was the bride-to-be, she didn't know.

Maybe there was some stripper rule about playing with married women. Or almost-married women.

She didn't know why his reaction bothered her so much. It wasn't as though there was anything real between them. When this weekend was over, her rebellious side would melt away. She would marry and become Zack Pucey's wife, to have and to hold, until she drew her last breath.

The thought made her stomach churn.

She made it through the gauntlet of lap dances—of greased abs thrust in her face and tight butts waggled in her direction, of strange hands playfully skimming up her thighs and over her blouse—but barely. The funny thing was, not a one of these men did anything for her, or to her. Not one of them made her quiver or ache.

The only man she was even aware of—the only man she had ever
wanted
with a scorching hunger—sat at the table with Tibby plastered to his side like a remora, his arms crossed and a dark frown on his face.
He
did not come onstage to give her a lap dance.

And surely that wasn't disappointment scuttling through her?

It was a relief when the ordeal was finished and Cody took her hand and led her down the stairs, off the stage, and back to her seat. He bounded back up onstage and announced that the next part of the show was for all the ladies.

The whoop that went up gave her a bit of a headache. Or maybe it was the sudden blare of raunchy music. Or the strobe lighting. Or the
eau du stripper
still clinging to her hair.

She could feel the heat of the glare from across the table. She deliberately did not meet his gaze.

***

Logan was miserable.

Miserable watching Hanna up onstage being ground on, and then miserable when she returned to the table, because she wouldn't meet his eye. Fury still simmered in his gut at the knowledge she was engaged.

He didn't know why the revelation sent him into a tailspin. She was a beautiful woman. She was bound to belong to a man. It was shocking she wasn't married yet.

With an epiphany that hurt, he realized that somewhere deep in his soul he'd clung to the hope that one day, he would waltz back into her life and win her.

It burned, bitter in his mouth, that he was too late. She was in love with another man. She was
engaged
. Happily engaged.

But . . . she didn't look happy.

Happy women didn't tangle with strange men. Did they?

The Hanna he'd known certainly never would have.

Unless she'd changed.

Unless she was never the woman he'd imagined her to be.

He discarded the notion immediately. Despite her outrageous proposition that she hire him for the weekend, her demeanor had not been that of a woman who did this all the time. In fact, she'd been rather naïve, tentative. As though she hadn't been with many men at all.

A ridiculous hope sprouted.

Maybe it wasn't too late . . .

Maybe he could win her . . .

She turned to speak to the woman at her side, a woman who looked too much like her to be anything but her sister. The conversation clouded Hanna's eyes in a way such beautiful eyes should never be clouded.

When their gazes met, across the table, heat sizzled through him.

No, she didn't look like a blissful bachelorette.

Maybe it wasn't too late after all.

By God, he'd find out.

Tonight.

“Woo hoo, what a show, eh, ladies?” Logan winced as Cody boomed into the mic. The performance had ended with the men onstage dressed in little more than G-strings.

The women hooted and hollered, all of them—except Hanna. Logan was relieved that the show had snagged Tibby's attention. He was getting pretty good at intercepting her forays under the table, but he was tired of having to do so.

“Up next we got us a man auction.”

More shrill whistles and catcalls. Logan glanced at Hanna, then blinked as her pink tongue peeped out. Something nudged his foot. Skated up his boot. Dear God, he hoped it was her. He swallowed heavily. She tipped up her chin and smiled.

He glanced meaningfully at the door.

When she nodded, an infinitesimal tip of her head, heat blistered him. Was he ready to escape from this room? With her? Damn straight.

But Cody had other plans.

“Hanna,” he called. “Come on up here again, won't you, honey?”

She started, as though hearing her name had wrenched her from some deep dark fantasy. She opened her mouth to respond, but before she could demur, one of the half-dressed hunks grabbed her arm and guided her up on the stage. She threw a
help me
look over her shoulder.

Goddamn Cody. If these idiotic games lasted any longer, Logan would storm up onto the stage, toss Hanna over his shoulder and whisk her away.

In fact, that sounded pretty damn good.

If Logan had his druthers, they wouldn't come back to the party. Ever.

“Okay, boys, stand up.” All the men did as they were told. Including Logan, which was no hardship, once he detangled himself from Tibby's tight grasp. “All right, Hanna,” his erstwhile friend cooed. “Because you're the guest of honor, we're going to let you take the ‘pick of the litter' before the man auction begins.”

The relief on her face was comical, but Logan didn't smile. He couldn't. Could barely move. Tension crackled in the air. Or perhaps it was lust.

“Whaddya say, darlin'?” Cody asked, gesturing to all and sundry. “Which of these fine fellas do you want to be your escort for the Hunky Hoedown?”

Logan held his breath as Hanna looked over the men, as though considering each in turn. His heart hitched as she turned to him. When she pointed, her finger shook.

“Which one?” Cody shaded his eyes with his hand, though there was hardly any glaring light. And hardly any need to ask. He was the only man standing in this part of the room.

“Purple.”

Tibby let out a wail.

Cody's grin was evil. “Purple it is. Come on up here, Logan, and claim your prize.”

It took everything in him not to heft her over his shoulder and carry her off like a caveman on steroids. As it was, he played along like a good puppy. He clung to her side, suffering through the Hoedown, through country music and line dances and watered down whiskey, all for a chance to hold her in his arms.

When he could take no more, no more of her alluring scent, the soft touch of her hand on his chest, the heat she sent out in tantalizing ribbons, he leaned close and whispered, “Let's get out of here. We can meet in the barn and finish what we started.”

Her smile could have set the house on fire.

She wouldn't be so enthusiastic if she knew what he had planned.

***

The night was shadowed. The moon hid behind heavy clouds. Crickets chirped and frogs croaked, filling the air with summer music. The sounds of whoops and laughter from the ranch house followed Hanna as she crept across the lawn toward the barn.

The Hoedown was still in full swing, but Logan had slipped away. She hadn't been far behind.

Horses shuffled in the straw as she passed. One snuffled a snort. Why she felt the need to tiptoe, she didn't know.

He was waiting for her in the tack room, as she expected. He'd moved the cot to the middle of the room and sat on it, a length of thin rope coiled in one hand, a crop in the other. She shuddered.

“Hanna,” he said.

“L-Logan.” She threaded her fingers together.

“Are you ready to go deeper?”

“D-deeper?”

He stood and she tipped back her head, taking him in. His chin was firm, his jaw tight. “Do you want to do this?”

Unable to speak through the lump in her throat, she nodded.

“Do you remember the rules?”

Another nod. She could barely meet his gaze.

“On your knees.”

With a shudder, she complied.

He paced around her, holding that coil of rope, smacking the crop against his thigh, stretching her nerves. When he spoke, she jumped.

“So you're getting married.”

Her heart lurched. Not what she'd expected . . .

“Answer me.”

“Y-yes.”

“I thought we agreed you'll call me ‘Mr. Landry.' Or ‘sir' if you prefer.”

She winced. “Sir.”

“Why are you still wearing that blouse?” Fingers trembling, she removed it. “And the bra. Undo your jeans and pull them down to your knees.” She did. He hooked the end of the crop in her panties and dragged them down as well, scraping the handle over her clit. She sucked in a breath.

“Legs apart.”

She complied. As far as they would go. Tension stretched her nerves as she waited for his next move.

“You should have told me.”

“What? Um, sir?”

“This afternoon. You should have told me you were the one getting married. Don't you think?”

She put out a lip. It was none of his business.

“I think you deserve a spanking.”

Heat whipped through her at his words. She gaped at him.

“Don't you? Think you deserve a spanking for not telling me?”

“Y-yes, sir.”

He sat on the cot. Patted his knees. “Come over here.”

She shivered. Eyed his jean-clad thighs. “I . . .”

“Come on, Hanna. You've been a naughty girl. Come here and get your spanking.”

She struggled to stand, but he stopped her. “No,” he said. “On your knees.”

She made her way over to the cot on her knees, with her jeans pooling, her bottom exposed, and paused before him.

“Come on,” he said, patting his thigh.

She sucked in a deep breath and levered up. Over his legs.

God they were hard. And warm. And—

Smack!

He gave her no time to prepare. No time to hold back an agonized wail. Heat spread over her ass in the shape of his palm.

His hand fell again. And again. She moaned and buried her face in her arms.

“Do you like that?” he asked, his voice rough and harsh. “Do you?”

“Yes.”

Another hard smack. “Yes, what?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Do you love him?”

Her head shot around. She stared at him, her eyes wide. “Wh-what?”

“Answer the question. Do you love him?”

She nibbled her lip. At her hesitation, his hand fell again. And again. He paddled her bottom until she didn't think she could stand it anymore. Prickles of heat assailed her. With each smack, her clit ground into his hard thigh.

She was nearly delirious with bliss when he croaked, “Spread your legs.” She did. As far as she could—which wasn't enough to please him. With short, controlled jerks, he yanked her panties down farther. And then, in one smooth movement, buried two fingers inside her. She lurched forward. An agonizing scrape against denim.

He filled her, as he had before. Working inside her, searching, and finding her bliss. And as she came, as delight rained through her, he asked again.

“Do you love him?”

“No!”

He froze as she came around him, all but his fingers, which still stroked her, deep inside.

When she had finished, when she was panting and gasping and pleading for breath, he lifted her into his arms and kissed her.

“Then why in God's name,” he asked, “are you marrying him?”