Page 3 of Brewbies
Last time, he’d picked a different bar in another forgotten city to hammer out his—er—problems, so to speak. A petite brunette with a generous spirit and effusive gratitude. Taisley? Ainsley? Some uber-modern-ly name. She’d written it in lipstick on the mirror with her phone number, but he’d just wiped it off so the cleaning lady didn’t have to and went home.
That’d held him for two months.
Which was, in a word, bullshit.
He’d never been like this before. A man with…appetites. At least a man with appetites he couldn’t suppress. Sure, he loved throwing hips as much as the next guy, but he’d been raised a gentleman. Or as close to one as this country could produce.
He’d practiced every virtue he’d been taught. Self-containment. Comportment. Loyalty to family, his badge, his word, and his lady. Duty to his community, his office, and his name as a Townsend.
And for what?
For what?
“Looking for your sister?”
“Huh?” Ethan nearly broke his neck whipping it toward the husky breath against his ear. The pink-haired lady had taken up residence on the stool next to him like a sexy ninja.
“You give big brother looking to kick some assenergy,” she said. One full lip quirked in the suggestion of a smile before she sipped something the color of radioactive piss out of a martini glass.
Probably paid for by another man.
She was out of his league on so many levels. He tended to go for women who favored more natural hair colors and embodied words likesophisticatedandwholesome.
The woman applied her makeup with a precision and skill that left no room for errors—her lips were a boldly hued something that would be called A Dark and Naughty Night or Blood Moon’s Kiss.
If Ethan didn’t know any better, which he didn’t, her body seemed contoured, chiseled and crafted by the deft hands of an expert sculptor and finished by an expensive personal trainer. Fuchsia hair was done up in a series of intricate coils that seemed completely out of place when compared to her—well, he was going to call it a dress. A single silver stud glinted in her dainty nose, while multiple earrings sparkled in her ears. He couldn’t even begin to imagine what she had pierced elsewhere…
Oh. Wait. Yep, he could.
Ethan’s gaze drifted down her body of its own accord.
She might as well not have been wearing anything, the way the fabric clung to her like a second skin, revealing tantalizing glimpses through strategic cutouts. Cleavage, side-boob, under-boob, even her nipples pressed insistently against the shiny fabric. He hadn’t noticed that delicious detail when she’d been surrounded by the herd of rutting stray hounds all waiting their turn to hump her leg.
She smelled like whisky and chocolate, a fact that precluded a stinging in his jaw and a rush of moisture.
“I’m an only child,” he said brusquely, not appreciating that his body wouldn’t get on board with the brunette with the boots. She was safe. A known entity. They’d know what to expect from each other.
“Soooo, a cowboy, then? If you say yes, Phil owes me a fiver.” Pink Hair hitched a thumb at the crowd of fuckbois she’d just abandoned.
Ethan didn’t glance up from his beer. He didn’t give an old, dusty shit about what Phil looked like.
“Not a cowboy.” He avoided the sight of her by going back to scanning the crowd. “Don’t even own a hat.”
Her laugh was like a waterfall of lust poured over his bare skin. “My mistake. It must have been the flannel.” She fingered the collar of his second-favorite casual shirt, and then smoothed it back down. “Looks like you might listen to country and drive a lifted truck.”
“Nope. Give Phil my congratulations.” Well. Okay. He had a truck, sure, but his dick was large enough to leave the lift kit to the assbags still delusional enough to think they were impressing anyone but each other. Also, he owned an electric Beamer and several other useful vehicles, not to mention the SUV he was required to drive for his job.
After a pregnant pause where his eyes drifted to what was happening below her collarbones only twice, she said, “What do you say we get out of here and I blow your mind?”
Ethan’s motor stalled, almost resulting in a spit take. For several embarrassing seconds, he gawked at her, trying to figure out how to ask her to repeat herself. Because he’d probably imagined that she’d just—
“Don’t tell me you’re one of those guys who is going to pretend he’s not here for the sole purpose of finding decent, no-strings-attached ass.” She made a face and took a cleansing sip of her drink.
Could she just slow down a hot second? He wasn’t left any room to recover before she did something else to overload his circuits.
This woman. She was white-hot and electric. She was something you didn’t try at home, but called in an expert.
Everything that made Ethan a male instantly demanded he rise to the challenge.
