Page 25 of Takes Two to Tango

He frowned.

"I can resist you."

She rose on her toes and pressed a kiss to his lips. Her lips on his were experienced …sexy. She brushed a hand over the crotch of his pants, dragging against the raging erection beneath the cotton. Then she patted his cheek. "But can you resist me?"

Brent watched Rayne stalk out the door, standing there with his mouth slightly open.

Apple padded into the room as the door shut. She held his newest leather driving moccasin in her mouth.

She dropped it at his feet, sat, and looked up at him.

He groaned and picked up the wet, twisted mess. "Bad, girl!"

But he wasn't talking to the dog.

CHAPTER SEVEN

THE MORE BRENT THOUGHT about the way Rayne played him, the more pissed he got. So he shut down his computer right in the middle of chapter eight and went to Cooley's.

He needed a beer and company that didn't make him think about his feelings. Might as well toss in a competitive game of pool and maybe a pretty girl to contemplate. And he knew he’d find it at the honky-tonk that sat off Highway 1 between Gilmer and Oak Stand.

The parking lot was full and he had to park in the pasture next to the bar. With a tin roof, tinted doors, and flashing beer signs, Cooley's was the equivalent of pulling up a chair to Grandma's apple pie. Pure comfort.

"Yo, Brent," Bones called as Brent stepped inside the dim bar. A cacophony of clacking pool balls, country music, and scruffing boots met his ears. Sweet music.

“How’s it goin’, Bones?" Brent called back at the owner bartender who held two ice-cold beers in each hand. He slid them to a couple of boys who worked oil rigs a county over. Oneof them was good at shooting pool. Brent knew because the son of a gun had beaten him the last time he'd been in.

"Hey, darlin','' Brent said to Tamara when she appeared at his side. Everything felt damn familiar.

"Thought you had stuff to do."

"Yeah." Brent nodded, signaling the usual to Bones as he edged onto a bar stool beneath the flat screen televising the Lakers' game. “Finished it.”

The dance floor vibrated with a gaggle of women doing a line dance. One wore a weird-looking hat on her head. Or was it a veil? Yes, a veil of condoms. That meant a bachelorette party. No wonder some of the good ol' boys stood around nursing beers when they likely had to get up before light the next morning.

Nothing like a bunch of loaded gals looking to be naughty to keep a guy yanking out his wallet and buying fruity little drinks. Brent always called the fancy martinis that Bones served panty-droppers. Because they worked.

Tamara slid in next to him, leaning forward so her breasts brushed his bare arm. He felt nothing. Not a smidgen of interest.

Damn it.

Rayne had really screwed with his head.

''How about we dance?" he asked, finally focusing on the blonde next to him. She'd changed out of the little dress and now wore tight jeans and a vest thing that bared her arms. She wore slouchy cowboy boots and hoop earrings that brushed her shoulders. Her hair looked blonder and her skin too tanned for early April, but her body was kicking. He should have felt interest stir at her honky tonk sex kitten vibe.

But he didn't.

"Okay." She grinned and placed a manicured hand on his arm. "I love this song."

It was an older song that took him back about ten years. He wished the deejay would play something current. Nothingfrom the past. Nothing that made him recall who he'd been ten years ago. Or who Rayne had been-the blushing new Mrs. Phillip Albright.

"Fine," he said, setting his nearly empty beer on the bar and following her toward the dance floor. Large bulb Christmas lights dangled from the ceiling over the worn wooden floor, giving the area a festive feel. Brent longed to enjoy the music and the woman gyrating in front of him. He wished he wanted to take Tamara out back and pound out his frustration in a round of hot, fast sex. But at this point, he’d likely have the same problem he’d had the night Katie Newman got hitched.

He couldn’t handle the shame again, so he pasted on a smile and stomped around trying to appear like he was dancing. A slower song came on, and he spun Tamara into a two-step that took them around the perimeter of the floor. He caught sight of a few buddies as he slid his boots and whirled the pretty lady in his arms. A game of pool. That would be better than leading Tamara toward something he had to avoid tonight.

The song ended so he tromped back to his stool. "I'm gonna get a game of pool up if I can rip one of these boys away from trying to get lucky with the tipsy bridesmaids."

“Sure,” Tamara said, before ordering a beer. She turned to one of the roustabouts and ordered him to meet her at the pool table. The man's eyes glinted with interest as he abandoned an empty beer bottle and followed her toward the three pool tables squatting in back of Cooley's.

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