25
We sleep in the next day and take the horses out for a ride before lunch. I’ll never grow tired of seeing Jake in the saddle. With his legs encased in denim, worn boots in the stirrups, and the Stetson perched low on his pensive brow, his sex appeal ropes me in and ties me up.
The fit of his t-shirt outlines grooves of six-pack abs, the curvature of pectorals, and the nub of nipples.
The shadow of his hat darkens his tanned face, his features made darker by the scruff on his chiseled jawline.
His striking good looks, the sensual way his lips move in a kiss, the devotion in his hands as they trace the curves of my body—who he is, what is captivating about him, comes from deep within.
His soul glows through his skin and radiates from his actions. He embodies all the rugged beauty in the world, and I’m caught up in it, in him, in the magic floating across the meadow and swirling around us.
But as nighttime approaches, I can’t ignore the nervous energy gathering inside me.
Levi Tibbs goes free tomorrow.
We’re all thinking about it, dwelling on the details of the plan. After a silent, tense dinner, Jake and Jarret decide to take me dancing to get our minds off it.
Since the Big Sugar is the only bar in town, that’s where we end up an hour later.
The townsfolk of Sandbank congregate in packs of denim, leather, and wide-brimmed hats. Their boots scrape across floors covered in ground peanut shells, and distrust tapers their eyes as our party of three settles into a high-top table.
It’s not just my tattoos that raise their hackles. Though, that’s part of it. Women in this town just don’t put ink on their skin. Period.
Their main point of interest is the arm Jake rests around my shoulders. The fact that we’re together is enough to ripple whispers of controversy through the bar.
He leans in and drags his nose along my cheek. “Ignore them.”
Hard to ignore all the women ogling my cowboy like he’s the juiciest slab of meat in three counties. Last time I was here, I swore to a table of old classmates that I wouldn’t take their playboy off the market.
The fact that he’s been with a lot of these women riles a toxic, gnawing ache in my gut.
I shove back my shoulders and rise from the stool. “I need a beer. You guys want anything?”
“A beer?” Jake narrows his eyes. “You’re going to drink?”
“I’m twenty-two years old.” I shrug. “’bout time I give it a try.”
“You can share mine.” He gets Jarret’s order and ambles to the bar.
Every female in the bar watches him pass, eyes glued to his ass as he leans a denim-clad hip against the bar and tips his hat at the bartender.
He has the kind of intimidating beauty that stops a woman in her tracks. He must be used to it, the hitching of breaths and the sweep of greedy eyes. His confident nonchalance about it only makes them stare longer and pine harder.
My hands ball into fists on my lap. “I’m in high school again.”
“You were pretty back then.” Jarret uncurls my fingers and gives my hand a gentle pat. “But you’re unbelievably gorgeous now. Those women are so threatened by you they don’t know what to do with themselves.”
I glance down at my plain white tee, tattered jeans, and beat-up square toe boots. I’ve never put girly products on my face or in my hair. Jarret’s judgment must be clouded by his affection for me.
The familiar faces around me are all done up with pretty make-up, their hair ironed and sprayed or whatever they do to make it so shiny and straight. Except that one. I squint at the blonde perched at the end of the bar, watching her as she stares a hole through Jake.
She’s not even trying to blend in with her fitted black trousers, button-up shirt, high-heeled pumps, and curly hair that cascades around her shoulders, down her back, and everywhere.
She runs a hand over it, patting down the unruly locks, like it’s a nervous habit.
Her hair is natural and beautiful. Hell, she is beautiful.
And she’s not from around here.
“Who is that woman?” I poke Jarret’s leg. “Do you see the…?”
He’s already gawking at her with his tongue sliding across his lip. “I don’t know, but tomorrow morning, I’ll tell you what her O face looks like.”
“Don’t be a pig.”
He laughs and cuts himself off. “Oh shit. Here she comes.”
She slides off the stool and glides toward us, navigating those heels through the sawdust of tossed peanut shells.
“She has that gleam in her eyes.” He stares at her with creases marring his brow.
“What gleam?”
“She’s on the hunt, and it has nothing to do with my irresistible charm.”
“Oh, brother.” I shake my head, biting down on a smile.
At the bar, Jake collects the beers and heads back. His longer strides catch up with the woman, and they arrive at the table together.
He straddles the stool beside me and passes a beer to Jarret.
“Um… Hi.” The woman hooks a thumb under the purse strap on her shoulder. “You’re the Holsten twins, right?”
“Yup.” Jarret takes a long draw on the bottle and stares her up and down, lingering on her chest, then her lips.
I kick his boot beneath the table. “Women don’t like to be leered at.”
She inclines her head at me, blue eyes shining with gratitude. “You must be Conor Cassidy.”
My scalp tingles. How does an out-of-towner know my name?
Jake slides his beer in front of me, his attention on the woman. “And you are?”
“Maybe.”
“Maybe?” Jarret rests his forearms on the table and captures her gaze. “That’s your name?”
“Yeah.” Her smile tightens at the corners. “Maybe Quinn. Mind if I sit?”
Jarret nods and waits for her to lower onto the stool.
I sip from the beer, surprised by the tangy flavor. I don’t love it, but I don’t hate it, either. I pass it back to Jake.
“So, Maybe…” Jarret tilts his hat, scrutinizing her. “Which news network do you work for?”
News network? A chill works its way down my spine. Is she a reporter? How does he know?
“Oh, that’s not…” She purses her lips. “I’m just passing through.”
Jake bumps the hat up on his head and shoots her his patent glare. “The only folks passing through this town are investigative journalists.”
My stomach buckles. He said the police wouldn’t be snooping around, but I never considered the likelihood of reporters smelling out our story.
“Who do you work for, Maybe Quinn?” Jarret takes another sip of beer, eying her around the bottle.
She sighs and drums pink-colored nails on the table. “Freelance. I write the story and sell it to the highest bidder.”
What the fuck? She intends to profit from our misery?
“What’s the story?” I can’t stifle the bitterness in my tone.
“Levi Tibbs is getting released tomorrow.” Her hand goes to her hair, pressing down the curls around her shoulders. “What are you three planning to do about that?”
Levi Tibbs’ release isn’t public knowledge. How much does she already know?
“What are we planning? Well, we’re going to drink our beers.
” Jarret lifts his and throws back a long swill.
“We’ll probably warm up that dance floor.
Then I’ll work off some steam in a warm, feisty body.
” His gaze dips along hers and returns to her eyes.
“You’re welcome to join the party. Particularly the last part. ”
“I think not.” Her words are clipped, but her breathing accelerates, pulsing her nostrils.
“Then I expect you’ll find your way out of town and back to wherever you came from.”
“I’m gonna dance with my girl.” Jake stands and tips his hat at Maybe. “Ma’am.”
He grips my hand and tugs me off the stool and through the bar. By the time we reach the dance floor, my nerves are spitting sparks.
“Jake.” I pull on his neck until he lowers his ear to my mouth. “What are you going to do? She’s sniffing around, and if she digs shit up, we’re going to have one helluva—”
He grabs my rear with both hands, hoists me up his chest, and devours my mouth. His tongue thrusts past my lips and steals my breath in a kiss that’s neither soft nor tender. It’s a shut-the-fuck-up kiss that threatens he’ll spank my ass if I don’t comply.
A few older couples step and swing around us to the slow music, rubbernecking to get a good look at our scandalous display of affection.
I ease back and stretch my boots toward the floor. “Aren’t you concerned?”
“Jarret’s dealing with it.” He stares at my mouth.
A glance at the table confirms Jarret is dealing with something . He leans into Maybe’s space, caging her with his arms. Whatever he’s saying turns her face red. The enraged kind of red.
“He’ll play with her for a while.” Jake pinches my chin, forcing my eyes to his. “Then he’ll send her home with a dazed smile on her face.”
“If you say so.”
The song changes to Body Like A Back Road by Sam Hunt, crackling the air with the upbeat rhythm.
Jake touches the brim of his hat and holds out a hand, staring at me expectedly.
The enticing look on his face is enough to replace my tumbling anxiety with a reckless smile. I tuck my lips together, but the grin pushes through, lighting a flicker in his eyes.
When his mouth starts moving and his soft singing reaches my ears, I’m a goner.
We step toward each other at the same time. Our hands connect, and we glide effortlessly across the dance floor as he drawls the lyrics in his deep, seductive voice.
He’s not big on footwork or hip twists. His boots kick out here and there, but his best moves are all in his shoulders and neck. He sensually rolls his body into the strength of his arms as he swings me around and dips me low to the floor.
His hands roam constantly, caressing every inch of me. He bends me backward over his knee, his fingers branding the skin above my waistband. Then he sets me free, and I spin and dance around him, smiling up at his indulgent expression.