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  Shit. It’d be rude not to drink, so he forced himself to bolt the rest of it like a shot.

  With a catlike grin, she set her glass aside, settled herself on his lap and he forgot he had the ability to form words. She put one strong thigh on either side of his, draped her arms around his neck and pressed her breasts into his chest. She smelled like vanilla, slightly musky from dancing, and he wanted to lick her from head to toe.

  “What brings you here, baby?” she asked. She had a slightly raspy voice, sensual. For the first time, he had the chance to see her up close. She had a hint of dark lines beneath her blue eyes, though she’d concealed most of it with makeup. He could still see the bruised appearance at the edges. Hmm. She hadn’t been sleeping well.

  Well, he knew an old-fashioned horizontal remedy for that. He’d made more than one girl pass out.

  His hands hovered at her sides. He knew he couldn’t touch, but he wanted to. Actually, grope. Yeah, that’s what he wanted to do. Grope the hell out of her, but that really wasn’t his style. With a woman he really liked, he took his time. Cowboy kept his head and he teased, tempted. Seduced her. He loved caressing her until she came apart in his arms.

  But this one seemed to short circuit his sexual chivalry.

  He suddenly remembered the question she’d asked him. “Just a good time, wild cat.” He smiled. “Call me Cowboy.” Not sure why he cared, but he didn’t want her to think of him as some nameless, faceless man.

  Her full lips curled into a puzzled smile. “That can’t be your real name.”

  “It’s my road name.” Bikers often called one another by nicknames.

  She ran a hand through his hair. “No hat?” She glanced down at his shit kickers.

  He smiled. “Not tonight. I ride a Harley and I can’t be chasin’ the damn thing up and down the highway when it blows off.”

  Born and bred in the panhandle, Cowboy lived up to his road name. In his early twenties, he’d been a bull rider in the rodeo circuit and he still loved the gear—leather pants, cowhide gloves, and ten gallon hats. He had a serious hard on for cowboy boots too, owned a hundred pairs at least. Tonight, he’d worn a black leather pair, decked out with longhorn skulls.

  “What’s your name, wild cat?” he asked.

  “Why are you calling me wild cat?”

  “Your tattoo. Come on, tell me your name.”

  She hesitated a moment and then pasted on a seductive party girl expression. “What do you want it to be?”

  He shook his head. “No. I want to know your real name and don’t tell me it’s Candy or Cinnamon or any of those other bullshit stripper names. What is it really?”

  Like before, the guise of professional stripper deserted her and he could see the real flesh and blood woman, not the dolled up fantasy girl persona she put on to entertain drunken, horny guys. “You didn’t tell me your real name.”

  “Well, let me rectify that. It’s Jake Grant.”

  She nodded to him as though they’d met at a fancy citizen party or something and were making polite conversation. “Good to meet you, mine is Daisy Weston.”

  “Daisy.” He liked that name, very old-fashioned and authentic. “What brings you here, Daisy?”

  She hesitated a moment and he thought she might confide in him, tell him something real but the actual woman fluttered away, and fantasy girl took her place. She licked her cherry lips. “Exploration.”

  With that, she started to move on his lap and he lost the ability to speak once more. Let alone think. He didn’t come here for a thrill, but dammit, he was only human. He leaned back in his seat and let her grind on him. She carefully avoided his cock at first, perched a few inches above it, but he doubted she didn’t miss the way his jeans puckered and bulged at the crotch.

  Nine Inch Nails’ Closer came on next and all that talk about feeling a woman from the inside sounded damn good. Might not be country, but he could relate to that shit. Especially now.

  She raised her hands above her head and he thought for a crazy second about tying them. Fuck yes. He could tie her open, arms and legs stretched out. So, she couldn’t close herself off from him, spread her wide so he could fuck her. Endlessly.

  She bucked against him then. Mimicking riding his cock. How much temptation can one man stand? Then she perched above him, bracing her arms on either side of the velvet chair, putting his face even with her cleavage.

  Cowboy grabbed the chair arms again.

  Then, she slowly slipped off of him, gliding her body down over his. Every single inch of her brushing against him until finally she knelt between his splayed legs. She caressed the outside of his thighs and he couldn’t help but buck his hips up. Meeting her. He spread his legs even wider and she rubbed his inner thighs.

  Cowboy nearly lost his fucking mind. His cock twitched in his pants, as though it wanted to reach for her of its own accord.

  She lowered her head between his legs and he groaned. Damn. The thought of her red, swollen mouth around his cock. Fuck. Sucking him deep, licking every single, hard throbbing inch of him. Christ, please! He needed it. Wanted it.

  But instead of undoing his pants, freeing his cock and giving him the blow job he so desperately craved, she bent down and then placed the long column of her neck up against the seat with her face to the floor. Then, she gripped his thighs for balance and thrust her body upwards like a fucking gymnast. She pressed her tight ass up right against his chest and splayed her legs for him. Giving him just a glimpse of heaven.

  Oh, fuck me.

  Between her thighs, her panties had twisted just a bit, revealing swollen pink pussy lips, so slick and wet. She wanted him too.

  He clamped down on the chair, viciously, fingers digging in. Cowboy called on every single ounce of willpower he possessed, anything to keep from lifting that tempting pussy to his hungry mouth. Licking it. Burying his face there.

  He hovered in hell, unable to touch or taste, for minutes but it felt like hours.

  Then, agile as a goddamn cat, she rolled back off him. With a grin, she snagged the glasses and sauntered to the table near the door once more, just tantalizingly out of his reach. She peeked at him over her shoulder. He knew the look. She silently dared him, like a grown up game of keep away.

  She undid a few hooks on the front of her corset and turned around again. Winked. The corset peeled away from her skin. Damn that tattoo was fucking hot. He had the urge to trace the line of it with his tongue.

  The corset dropped to the floor, but she wouldn’t turn around. She was so good at teasing. When, she finally came his way, she held the champagne flutes and he was treated to the sight of her breasts bouncing. Cowboy rubbed his hands up and down the length of his thighs, hoping to ease his need to touch her by stroking himself, trying desperately to quiet his greedy body. His good intentions nearly shredded by need.

  “Champagne is delicious, although it is an acquired taste.” She set her glass down, but held on to his and then straddled him once more, knees on either side of his thighs.

  “I’ll take your word for it.”

  “Try it again, for me?” She brought it to his lips and he obligingly took another sip, some leaked from the corner of his mouth. Yep, still tasted like shit, not that he fucking cared at the moment.

  “Oh, you missed a spot.” She captured it with her fingertip and he sucked it in his mouth, licking the sweet little digit clean. Cowboy drew on her finger in a pantomime of what he’d rather be doing, sucking fiercely on one of her nipples. Both of them were hard, pinkish tan and so tantalizingly close he could fucking scream. The wild cat was killing him slowly.

  Here voice lowered to a throaty whisper. “Here,” she said, pressing the glass to his lips once more, “have another drink.” He gulped down the rest of the foul-tasting stuff. He would have done anything to make her happy in that moment. He just didn’t want her to get off his lap.

  She brought her mouth to his, soft lips grazing his. For a second, he thought she would kiss him, but no, she jus
t teased him with the promise of one.

  Damn. I’m going to cum in my pants.

  And that’s when shit started to go south in a big way.

  He suddenly felt a little lightheaded. Tipsy. But that was impossible, besides the girly champagne, he’d only had a couple of beers tonight. Okay, four beers. But that couldn’t be it. Now and then he’d stay out with the brothers all night, doing shots with beer chasers for hours sometimes. He had a high tolerance. Sure, he felt queasy as fuck afterwards and sometimes he even made an ass out of himself by singing Ring of Fire at the top of his lungs but he never, ever passed out. He could handle his liquor like a man.

  But not this time.

  A few drops of champagne had him feeling like a debutante on prom night. He had the strangest notion he’d just been fucked over.

  He searched Daisy’s face, but she seemed perfectly fine. In fact, she’d dropped the stripper facade altogether and watched him with a raised eyebrow and an air of impatience.

  What the hell? Did she drug me?

  He slumped further down in his seat, nearly unable to keep his eyes open. He heard her chuckle as she crouched over him. He struggled to lift his head, move his arms, but it felt like lead weights had been cuffed to him.

  “Lights out, Cowboy,” she purred.

  And the world faded to fucking black.

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  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Epilogue

  Chapter One

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Epilogue

  Chapter One

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Epilogue

  Chapter One