Page 6 of Joy Ride
She sends me a snarl, and Jesus H. Christ. I want to laugh because she’s so much smaller than me. She doesn’t look like she could hurt a fly, but then again, Goldilocks might be capable of anything.
I straighten to my full six-foot four height and peer down at her. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m the one calling the shots here. And I’m not exactly thrilled with being kicked at.”
“Noted.” She blows out a breath from her sexy as fuck little pout, making my heart seize and my cock thump at the thought of kissing those full pink lips. “And as long as we’re talking about shots,” she mischievously eyes the rows of liquor bottles. “After the day I’ve had, I could sure use one.”
“Well, you’re in luck. I happen to know a really good bartender.” God help me. I grin when she slides onto one of the stools. She’s the prettiest woman to ever set foot in here.
“So, this whole place is all yours? It looks like you have another room out there in back with a pool table.”
“Snooping, were you?”
She sneers. “No, for your information. I noticed it on the way in. Which reminds me.” She scoots off the stool and closes the window by the front door. “Sorry about the draft. But as you can see for yourself, I didn’t do any damage. I was going to leave a thank you note.” She sashays back to her bar stool in my big robe like she owns the place. After taking her seat again, Jolene lifts her head and locks on to my stare with eyes sparkling like the Caribbean Sea on a summer’s day. “You were saying?”
“I actually forgot what I was saying.” I chuckle and that makes her smile.
“You were telling me about this place.”
“Right. Boondocks is the local hangout here.” I avoid calling it a dive even though everyone else does. “Used to be the only bar in town until the Parkers moved in and opened Wild Cat Bar and Grill up the road, but I’m good. I own the building.” Why I felt compelled to make my ownership clear, I have no idea. Usually, I avoid talking about my personal business. In a small town like West Palomino, keeping tight lips is a necessity. If my customers got wind of how much property I owned, or how well I’ve done investing in tech and pharmaceutical stocks it would be bad for business. Hell, it isn’t like Ineedto live above the bar. There are plenty of other options at my disposal. It was a financially prudentchoiceto rent out my other properties.
“So fancy,” she bats her eyes, teasing me. Which is something she absolutely shouldn’t be doing because I’m already wound up tighter than a snare drum. It’s almost like I’m my old damn self again.
I slide behind the mammoth antique bar I picked up in Whitefish and place our guns on the low shelf where I keep mine when we’re open. Whether I’m ready to come in my pants or not, both weapons will be with me at all times tonight.
Under her watchful eye, I rifle through the mini fridge for the sandwich I stashed in there and set the barbeque beef on the counter. “You must be hungry. Hell, you’ve been on the road all day, right? Where’d you say you were from?”
“Wyoming. Just outside of Jackson Hole. Thanks. I’m starving.” Goldilocks lifts her head and sends me a grin that’s so enchanting, I lose my breath. Lord help me. I stopped believing in Santa Claus a long time ago, but I’m beginning to think that jolly, old, fat man just did me a solid. I’m transfixed on her lips and watch as she digs into the sandwich. “How old are you?”
Jolene wipes her mouth with her fingers and I hand her a napkin. “Thanks.” She delicately wipes her lips and finishes swallowing.That mouth.“Why do you ask?”
“Why does everything have to be a damn question?”
“Wow. Touchy much? You just askedmea question, cowboy. Whatever.” She shrugs. “I’m legal, if that’s what you’re wondering. I’m twenty-one.”
“I wasn’t concerned about your legality,” I lie.Damn straight I want to drill you and hear you shout out my name when you come all over my cock.
“And how old are you?”
“Too old.” I growl and grab a rag, distracting myself by polishing the bar.
“Too old for what?” She licks her lips and laughs.
“Too old for whatever kind of trouble you’re trying to get me into.” I chuckle. “I’m forty-one.”
“Damn. You’re ancient.” She taps the bar, fighting to keep a straight face. “I’m only kidding. My mama is twenty years younger than my papa. The difference in age is no big deal. Mom is—”
No. Not going there. I shoot a hand up. “For the love of Pete, don’t tell me how old your mother is. We’re probably the same age.”
“She’s fifty-seven, a good seventeen years older than you,” she laughs, “but I love how riled up you’re getting."
“I asked you not to tell me how old your mother is, Jesus. Don’t you listen?”
“Heard every word, cowboy,” she snorts. “Haven’t you figured out yet that I don’t take kindly to orders?”
At a loss, I blink at her in silence, still wondering if Goldilocks is some type of mirage.
What the hell am I going to do with her?
Chapter Three
