Page 47 of A Cowboy in the Streets

None of this was me.

“Ladies’ room,” I mumbled.

“Want me to come with?” Essie asked.

I shook my head. “I’ll be right back.”

A lie. The bar was fortunately right across the street from our hotel room. I elbowed my way through the crowd and pushed open the door. Crisp air slapped me in the face. I welcomed it, took it deep into my lungs, letting the sharp sting pull me back to my senses.

A group of women dressed for attention surrounded me, trying to get in. I was blocking the door like an idiot. I dodged out of the way and leaned against the brick wall as I watched them strut their way inside. No doubt they were going to succeed where I failed and get the attention they wanted. Maybe even his attention.

Ugh.

It was better this way. I had enough standing in my way between me and my goals without adding sleeping with my boss to the mix. I fished my phone out of my bag, intending to text Adam that I was going back to our room with a headache. By the time he came back—if he came back, a thought that churned bile in my stomach—I would be asleep. Or pretend to be, anyway.

I had gotten as far as hey, sorry when the door banged open.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Adam growled, catching sight of me.

“I was just about to text you,” I said. I waved my phone as evidence. “Headache.”

The corners of his mouth turned down further. “You’re going back to the hotel?”

I nodded. “Go back inside. Have fun.”

“I’ll walk you back.”

“No, no. It’s fine. Really. The hotel is right there. I’m going straight to bed. You stay here with Zack.”

Two steps and he was towering over me. My head tilted back, thumping softly against the brick wall behind me, as I took in all his irate glory. The man was downright livid. A thrill shot through my belly. Finally, finally, I had pushed his buttons hard enough to get a response.

“The fuck I will,” he said. Furious enough to give me delicious goosebumps up and down my arms. “You’re not going anywhere in the dark alone. It is my responsibility—”

Oh, lord. This shit again. Duty. Responsibility. The things that made him so goddamn attractive when it came to Lodestar Ranch made me want to shake him when it came to me.

“We’re not at Lodestar right now. It’s after working hours and we’re at a bar. You’re not my boss here.”

For a moment, there was nothing but the heavy sound of his breathing. Not mine. I had lost the ability to take in oxygen. I squirmed inwardly, holding my breath, waiting.

“Is that a fact?” He leaned forward, crowding into my space, one forearm braced against the wall next to my head.

I swallowed and forced myself to breathe. “Yes. You’re not my boss tonight.” Please, for the love of Dolly Parton, do something about it.

His hand fluttered over my hair. Captured a lock and twirled it slowly around his finger. Gave it a sharp tug, making me gasp. “Are you drunk, buttercup?”

“Yes,” I lied. I had barely touched my vodka soda. But I wanted to be drunk. Wanted somewhere to pin the blame, because I had a feeling I was about to be a very bad girl.

“Now, that’s a shame.” He released my hair. It pinwheeled off his finger, brushing against my cheek. His fingertips lingered on my jaw.

“Why?” I whispered the question, almost pleading.

He captured my chin, pressed his thumb to my bottom lip. “This fucking mouth. Always smiling. I wonder what this mouth would look like moaning my name when I fuck you deep. What it would look like stretched around my cock.”

It was practically a dare, and I never backed down from a dare.

Locking my gaze to his, I touched the tip of my tongue to his thumb, then closed my mouth around his thumb. Reveled in the flare of heat in his eyes when I sucked.

“Are you drunk, buttercup?” he asked again, rougher this time.

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