Served Cold Part 23

She snorted, opened her mouth to respond, then after a look over his shoulder, seemed to change her mind. "Sorry, slick. I'm busy." Without another word, she stalked down the hallway and turned the corner.

"Rex, you done hara.s.sing that woman or what?" his friend Ty asked from the doorway.

Rex rejoined them, this time in the mayor's inner office.

"Oh boy. Please tell me you didn't," the mayor said. "I try not to deal with Nat until I've had at least three cups of coffee."

Rex stared at the closed door, puzzled by the suddenness of his attraction. For months he'd been beyond bored with women, preferring to work instead of date. Threesomes and orgies had become stale, and even his quickie romps with men had begun to tire him.

He knew who to blame for his lackl.u.s.ter love life. His best friend Brian, that a.s.s, had once been a fun-loving ladies' man. Now engaged to the ultra-fine Faith Sumner, he'd turned into a stay-at-home stud. Granted, the few times the couple had let Rex play in some voyeuristic games, he'd gotten off, but the experience had been lacking. Brian and Faith were in love. Their connection showed him how much in life he didn't have. As if he needed reminder with his parents just returned from vacationing overseas.

He turned his head back to watch Ty and the mayor joke about dates and dancing at the upcoming gala at the Savanna River Club.

Rex nodded and settled back into the conversation. "Oh, right. I'll be there. My parents should be too. They returned from Europe last week." And thus, his reprieve from their constant meddling had come to an end.

Ty said something else, to which Mayor Tom Jessup laughed. Tom and Rex's father were golf buddies, so he did his best to tolerate the blowhard.

"I think the boy is still distracted," Ty mused and nodded at the doorway.

Tom grinned. "Can't blame him. Nat's great, but I wish she'd use that tongue for something other than ripping my guys a new one." Tom wiggled his brows, and Rex forced a laugh. The city mayor was just as big a womanizer as he'd been before he'd taken the election.

"Nat?" he asked.

Tom nodded. "Natalie Wielder, our urban planner. Girl is a genius with figures and strategy, but she's tough to work with. Has the whole d.a.m.n city council scrambling to stay out of her way while she works her magic."

Ty grinned. Married and disgustingly happy about the fact, Rex's friend ribbed the mayor. "Yeah, I heard your son talking about her the other day. Tough for him to get her job if she's so d.a.m.n efficient."

Tom grunted. "You got that right. Much as I'd love to work with Josh, truth is, we need Nat to keep us afloat." He smiled at Ty. "But now we're not so desperate for funds, since you and Rex brought us some much needed revenue. You two gave the city a real boost, and I can't thank you enough."

Ty shrugged. Arrogant but not obnoxious, he knew his company's new headquarters had made him a popular man. "It was between here and Atlanta, but Jan's parents live here, and Atlanta's crowded enough as it is." His warehouse club chain sat a few rungs below the giants in compet.i.tion and was steadily gaining ground.

Tom continued, "And Rex, S&F has become a staple at over half the local restaurants. You're in all the supermarkets and liquor stores. Kudos, young man. I know Harry and Sue are pleased."

Rex's parents had always encouraged him to follow his dream. A finance major who didn't want to be known as Harry and Sue's little boy for the rest of his life, he'd found his calling and jumped on the opportunity to be his own man. His pride and joy-Squirrel & Feather Microbrewery-had delivered. Their beer had become so popular he'd had to build another center for manufacturing and distribution in Charleston, with plans to expand in Florida down the line.

"Rumor has it one of the big chains is interested in buying." Ty watched him. "You interested in selling?"

"Maybe in the far future. Not now." Not when he was on top of the world. He had money, charm, fabulous parents-when they weren't nagging for grandchildren-and friends. Not to mention Rex could have his pick of the fine women in town.

Just then, Natalie Wielder came to mind. He'd have to find her and ask her out, if only to see why she'd been so captivating. Was it her temper, her att.i.tude, that slender build that went against his usual type? Nothing about her screamed "flashy", yet he'd been drawn to her. Considering it had been years since he'd last been so fascinated by any particular person, he decided to follow up on her. Besides, he needed a date for next week. Why not take the p.r.i.c.kly Ms. Wielder?

Determined to get a yes out of the woman, he angled the conversation back toward her. Pleased when he learned she had to go to the gala as well, he ended the meeting, then went in search of the urban planner's office. Time to put the Samson charm to good use.

There are no words for desire this hot...but he'll sure try to find them.

Body Language.

2014 Em Petrova.

Boot Knockers Ranch, Book 2.

If there's one thing that Damian Vance can do well, it's read women. With his trademark wink and s.e.xy drawl, he's the most wanted cowboy on the Boot Knockers Ranch, a spa where s.e.xually challenged women come to get charmed out of their uptight panties.

He's also the ranch's bad boy-he hates to admit he's had his mug-shot taken more than once. But now he's on the right path, ranching and fulfilling women's desires.

Prim grade-school teacher Ruthie Johansson prays Damian will be able to fix her strict upbringing that's left her leery of men and intercourse, though her body aches for both. Once she sets eyes on the muscular, auburn-haired Damian, she throbs only for him.

As they get skin to skin, her instinct touches something Damian's been struggling to hide from his fellow Boot Knockers. A secret he's spent a lifetime keeping buried beneath bar brawls and a bad att.i.tude. But with Ruthie's gentle coaxing, he just might give overcoming it another try-as long as they do their homework in bed.

Warning: Contains a bad boy with a vulnerable underside, a squeaky clean woman who wants to get dirty, and a secret shame only love and compa.s.sion can heal. Prepare to drool while he pa.r.s.es her sentences...one s.e.xy verb at a time.

Enjoy the following excerpt for Body Language: Ruthie s.h.i.+vered, more aware of herself than ever before. Within minutes she'd be that girl, and she'd have some cowboy's hand on her.

All OVER me with any luck.

"Ruthie, you're on!"

Sucking in a deep breath, she stepped onto the stage. Her sandals were almost noiseless on the polished floor. As soon as she stepped into the spotlight, she broke out in a sweat. Her watermelon-colored cotton sundress clung to her damp skin, and she squeezed her fingers together until her knuckles popped.

Her heart throbbed heavily in her ears. Through the glare of lights, she could just make out the line of cowboys. They sat in plush leather chairs with red b.u.t.tons before them.

Oh my G.o.d, I've landed on a game show. And I'm the prize.

Her knees wobbled, and she steeled them.

"Howdy, pretty lady. What's your name?" someone drawled.

She cleared her throat. Hats, man chests and heated gazes. It was too much to digest.

"R-Ruthie."

Someone whistled, and she felt her temperature shoot up another notch as her cheeks heated.

"She's a blusher."

"h.e.l.l, yeah."

"Keep your hands in your laps and your p.e.c.k.e.rs in your pants. Don't push the b.u.t.tons yet," a huge cowboy said quietly.

"What do you hope to take away with you when you leave the Boot Knockers Ranch, Ruthie?" This voice was more serious, and she zeroed in on the speaker.

Her breathing hitched as she drank in his appearance. Red hair, almost too dark to be called auburn, curled around his ears. He lifted a hand and mussed it, causing a bead of perspiration to pop out between her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. It slipped into her cleavage, and her nipples puckered.

His jaw was square with a dusting of copper beard scruff, and his mouth was outlined by brackets that told her he hadn't always had it easy.

She swallowed hard when she met his gaze. It was too difficult to discern the color from this distance, but his eyes might have been dark blue or gray. She didn't care because the way he looked at her made her think of late-night tumbles and long, searing kisses.

"What do I hope to take away?" she repeated, feeling like one of her students delivering her first speech. What would she say to them to calm their jitters?

Think of the audience in their underwear.

Oh G.o.d, that was worse. All that tan, chiseled flesh.

She focused on the auburn-haired man, one of the cowboys she'd actually chosen from the photos. "Pick the ones you're attracted to," Holly had instructed her.

When Ruthie responded to his question, her voice sounded like someone else's-breathy, raspy. "I don't know what I want to take away, but I know what I'd like to leave behind."

He c.o.c.ked his head, giving her heart a flutter. "What's that, doll?"

Her stomach flipped at the endearment. "I want to leave behind everything I've been taught about men and find out for myself what they are."

Someone hit a b.u.t.ton. His chair lit up, and she swung her gaze to the cowboy with a toothpaste-ad smile and all the warmth in his gaze it would take to strip her out of her clothes. Her nipples tightened painfully.

Mr. Auburn-hair punched his b.u.t.ton. Light beamed down on him, making his hair glow.

His eyes are gray.

"I want her." His tone said he was as unmovable as a century-old oak.

The other cowboy shook his head. "Holly said this is ours to fight out, and dammit, I'm winning this hand."

Ruthie's eyes went round as Mr. Auburn-hair gained his feet. He towered at a good six-feet-four inches. How would she be able to reach him for a kiss? At a modest five-feet-four, she'd need a step stool.

But oh, she wanted to try. His unsmiling mouth unraveled her.

He locked Ruthie in his gaze, and she suddenly felt like the naked audience had stripped her instead. She squeezed her fingers together, and another knuckle popped. "I'm Damian, and I have a thing for schoolteachers. Pick me, Ruthie."

How could she argue with that logic, especially when a tornado of hormones was sweeping through her body, wrecking everything she knew about herself?

She felt herself nod, her hair falling like a dark sheet over one eye. "Yes, Damian. I'm yours."

The next few minutes were a blur as he mounted the stage in one effortless leap and bundled her offstage. The women parted for them, but all Ruthie could concentrate on was the feel of his callused fingers entwined with hers.

She resisted the urge to look down at the intimate mes.h.i.+ng of their hands and let him lead her out the side door into the overwhelming heat. It blasted her in the face, and she licked her lips.

"I'm so thirsty," she said.

Damian looked down at her. She craned her neck to meet his gaze, and a tingle zigzagged through her core and settled between her thighs. When he quirked a smile at her, it was as if he'd tugged a string connected to her p.u.s.s.y. She clamped her thighs together.

"Let's get you a drink, Miss Ruthie." His mocking of her role as teacher was utterly erotic coming from his lips. He clasped her hand more tightly and led her away from the auditorium.

Plush gra.s.s tickled her feet between the straps of her sandals, and the slight breeze set wisps of her hair dancing. She gathered it off her face, wis.h.i.+ng she'd gone for a haircut before coming here. Why Damian would choose her was a mystery, unless he liked the unkempt schoolmarm look.

The buildings were all log-sided with red roofs, charming and inviting.

"We're in Bungalow 11," he said, waving toward a row.

Her stomach quivered. "We're in Bungalow 11?"

His expression sent her heart cartwheeling. "Yes. I'd be a total idiot if I let you out of my sight and that a.s.s Blake s.n.a.t.c.hed you up."

As they reached a big building, he slowed. When he opened the door and guided her through with a hand dangerously close to her b.u.t.tocks, she could barely form a coherent thought.

"We cowboys call this the grub house. It's open twenty-four hours a day, as one would expect when we're eating at all times." He dropped her a smile that curled her toes and probably her long hair too. "What would you like to drink?"

In college she'd had a spell where she'd gone a little wild without her parents' rules, and she'd drank every ounce of alcohol she could get her hands on. Now she rarely touched it, but maybe something harder would calm her nerves.

She glanced at the sideboard set up with all types of foods and drinks. No, alcohol wasn't a good idea. "Lemonade?"

"Good choice." He tugged her hand, drawing her to the sideboard, where he poured her a tall gla.s.s from a pitcher. As he added a few cubes of ice from a silver bucket, she couldn't stop staring at the sprinkle of red-gold hair on his knuckles.

A throb took up residence between her thighs.

He leaned against the sideboard, long legs extended, amus.e.m.e.nt in his eyes. "Well, Miss Ruthie, what's the lesson plan for the day?"

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This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fict.i.tiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.

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Cincinnati OH 45249 Served Cold.

Copyright 2014 by Marie Harte ISBN: 978-1-61922-379-0.