Good Time Girl

And he was suddenly, incredibly, excruciatingly hard.

Everywhere.

The unexpectedness of it caught him completely off guard. The intensity of it short-circuited his brain, urging him to bypass the teasing, testing first steps of the mating dance they’d been doing in favor of the pure, primal male instinct to dominate and possess a willing female. Between one breath and the next, he forgot he’d been going to ask her to dance, forgot they’d only just met, forgot he didn’t even know her name. Instinctively, without conscious thought or premeditation, he tightened his hands on the curve of her hips, pulling her solidly against his suddenly aching erection.

Roxanne gasped and her eyes widened, the pupils dilating until they all but obscured the golden brown of her irises. But she didn’t stiffen. She didn’t pull back. She didn’t move by so much as a fraction of an inch. And she didn’t look away.

Couldn’t look away.

They stood there in the noisy honky-tonk in front of the long, busy bar, chest to breast, belly to belly, groin to groin, and stared at each other as if they were the only two people in the place. The heat sizzling between them built exponentially, second by second, growing higher and hotter and more intense, until it was zigzagging back and forth like lightning on a stormy summer night. No words were spoken. None were needed.

He wanted her.

She wanted him.

It was as simple, as basic, as elemental as that.

Obeying rampant male instinct and the hot female invitation in her eyes, he bent his head and kissed her. One hard, ravening, devouring kiss, unmistakable in its carnality and erotic intent, as intimate and intemperate as if they were alone in a quiet bedroom. She kissed him back the same way, deeply, avidly, instinctively, her mouth open, her tongue tangling wildly with his for a long, hot, mindless moment out of time. And then they drew apart a fraction of an inch, both of them flushed, both of them breathing too fast, and stared at each other for another long moment. His hands were hot and hard on her hips, holding her securely against him. Hers were curled around his biceps, her shiny red nails pressing into the unyielding muscle beneath his pale blue shirt. Questions were asked and answered, decisions made as they stood there, silently staring into each other’s eyes.

“Are you sure?” he growled, low, just to make certain he was reading her right.

“Yes,” she murmured breathlessly, and then, more firmly, “Yes, I’m sure,” she said, and nodded her head for added emphasis.

Incredible as it seemed, she’d never been more sure of anything in her entire life. There wasn’t a shred of doubt in her mind. Not a smidgen of hesitation. Not a second thought to be had. The earlier niggling fragment of panic had receded into absolute nothingness, wholly replaced by reckless excitement and wild anticipation for what was to come. She’d been waiting for this moment, fantasizing about it, her whole life. She wasn’t about to chicken out now that the fantasy was within her grasp.

“Yes.” The word was an affirmation—and a vow.

“You’ll leave with me now?” he said, giving her another chance to come to her senses. “Just walk out of this bar with me right now? This minute?” His gaze was still inexorably locked with hers. His erection was unmistakable, pressed firmly against her pubic mound. His fingers bit into her hips. “Even knowing we’re going to end up naked and sweaty ten minutes after you do?”

She nodded again. “Yes,” she said, her tone unequivocal and rock-steady, despite the erratic fluttering of her heart and the rush of heat that flooded her body at his words and the feel of him against her.

“Then let’s get the hell out of— Damn!” The word was a hot expulsion of air against her lips. “I don’t have a room. I was planning on hitting the road later tonight so I didn’t book a room.”

And all the nearby hotels and motels would already be chock-full of the cowboys who weren’t hitting the road until the next morning.

“Damn,” he said again, his brows drawing together as he struggled to think through the thick cloud of lust in his brain and come up with an alternate plan.

There was always the front seat of his truck, but that didn’t seem quite gentlemanly. And, besides, the way he was feeling, he was going to need a lot more than the front seat of a pickup to maneuver in, even if it was the biggest damn model Chevy made. Maybe he could work a trade with one of his buddies, or offer a little monetary incentive to someone to give up their room or… Hell, if there were absolutely no other accommodations to be had—and he was pretty sure there weren’t—he was hot enough to forget his gentlemanly scruples in favor of the front seat or the sleeping bag stashed in the bed of his pickup or an empty stall at the—

“I do,” she said, interrupting his train of thought.

“Do what?”

“Have a room.”

Lust instantly fogged his brain again, shorting any and all remaining thought processes. He could only think of one thing. She had a room. “Where?” he growled, barely managing to croak the word out.

“Ah…” The way he was looking at her—as if he wanted to devour her where she stood—had her struggling to remember. “About five miles down the road. West of here. The Broken Spoke Motel.”

Without another word, he peeled one of her hands from the sleeve of his shirt, grasped it firmly in his and headed for the glowing red Exit sign on the far side of the dance floor. He plowed through the loud, surging crowd with the single-minded determination of a man hell-bent on getting laid before the night was very much older.

“Hey! Hey, Tom!” A short, bandy-legged cowboy with an energetic dance style stopped mid-twirl, blocking their path. “You comin’ back?”

Tom threw him a narrow-eyed look that made the other cowboy grin.

“That mean I need to find myself another ride to Santa Fe?”

“Oh, hell. I forgot.” Tom stuffed the first two fingers of his free hand into the front pocket of his jeans and extracted a couple of keys on a ring. He started to toss them to the cowboy, then hesitated and shot a glance at Roxanne. “You got transportation, Slim?”

“A rental car,” Roxanne said. “Out front.”

Tom nodded and tossed the keys to his grinning buddy. “I’ll catch up with you tomorrow in Santa Fe. Don’t put any dents in my truck,” he ordered as he swept on by the man, towing Roxanne in his wake.

She tripped along behind him, nearly floating, her heart pounding, her knees shaking, her breath sloughing in and out of her lungs, one single, triumphant, giddy thought uppermost in her mind.

I did it! Oh, my God, I really did it! I got myself a dangerous, good-looking cowboy!

And she knew exactly what she wanted to do with him.

3

TOM HAD EVERY INTENTION of keeping a tight rein on himself until they got to the Broken Spoke Motel—he sincerely believed some things rightly belonged behind closed doors, despite that kiss in the bar—but she stumbled on the loose gravel of the parking lot as he dragged her through the warm night air toward the flashy little car she’d pointed out to him. Her small soft breasts pressed against his arm, her rounded hip bumped his, and all his good intentions disappeared in a firestorm of mind-numbing heat. He swung around, braced his hips against the low-slung red sports car and hauled her into his arms. “Com’ere, Slim,” he growled, and crushed his mouth down on hers.

Roxanne gave one soft, startled yelp, then melted against his chest like hot wax, reaching up to clutch his shoulders as he pulled her tight against him. His body was like iron against hers. His hands were hard and hot on her back. And his mouth was…oh, his mouth was delicious. Indescribably delicious.

She hadn’t really had time to appreciate that first kiss in the bar. It had happened so fast and been over so soon, and she’d been so…well, overwhelmed was the only word that came to mind. But now that he was taking his time she could fully appreciate his skill. Oh, yes, she could definitely appreciate his skill.

Her dangerous, good-looking cowboy was a wonderful kisser.

A glorious kisser.

Indisputably the best kisser who’d ever puckered up.

His lips were soft and firm at the same time, both greedy and generous as they plucked and nibbled and sucked at hers. Not too wet. Not too dry. Just moist and hot and absolutely perfect, all passion and impatience and wild intemperate lust, with no thought for rules or propriety or her good-girl reputation. She was being ruthlessly, ravenously, thoroughly kissed by a man who knew exactly how it should be done.

It was one of her most cherished fantasies come to life.

With a little sigh of pure unadulterated pleasure, Roxanne wound her arms around his neck to pull herself closer, and parted her lips to suck his clever, marauding tongue deeper into her mouth, determined to give as good as she got.

No way was this man going to be able to accuse her of being a cold fish. No way was he going to have to ask if she’d come. No way was she going to lie and tell him she had when she hadn’t. And no way was she going to censor even the tiniest, most insignificant element of her response to keep from shocking him. She was going to give him her all. Every sigh. Every moan. Every shudder. She was going to match him kiss for kiss, caress for caress, demand for demand. And before it was over, she was going to have all her fantasies fulfilled.

Every hot, lascivious scenario she’d ever imagined.

Every wistful romantic daydream.

Every passing erotic thought.

“Everything,” she murmured fervidly, the words hot against his lips. “I want everything. Now.”