There are two men on the ground. Instead of dirt, there’s a plywood board laid out for them to fight on. One of them,a manwith a buzzcut, is falling hard. The other is swinging,knocking out thefirst man with a fist wrapped in what looks like medical tape. The referee hovers over them. The room is in an uproar, growing louder by the second.
The buzzcut man taps out. Right away, the other man helps him to his feet. They embrace, shake hands, and the referee helps Buzzcut out of the ring. The winner makes a slow circle, turning until I can get a good look at him.
Oh God.
Right away, I can tell this is an older version of the young man in the photo, and now that I’m seeing him in the flesh, I’m floored. He’s fucking gorgeous.I came here with the intention of seducing him and cringing at the thought. I’d expected a gruff bounty hunter type, grizzledand far too old for me. Not my ideal man.
But Jensen is something different, something that feels a tiny bit like home, way out here in the wild. And he’s so damn sexy,it’s making me uncomfortable.
He’s tall, over six feet, with a lean, well-muscledbody that’s flecked in sweat and dirt. His torso is bare, and on his chest, visible through the hair, is a tattoo of a half bullseye. There’s more ink on his right arm, but it’s faded,like the sun has baked it out.
My body feels like it’s floating.
Why do I feel like I’ve met him somehow before? I know for certain I haven’t. Maybe it’s the pale blue eyes that sweep over the room beneath lowered brows. His face is angular, handsome in a rangy way I’m used to seeing back home. His curly brown hair has a colorless quality to it, and it’s curled with sweat and flecked in grime.
He’s not really handsome, but he is so deliciously sexythat he’s gorgeous. He also looks…alone, like he’s been on his own for a long time. Maybe it’s the guarded way he accepts congratulations as he ducks below the tape. He’s friendly, but he’s keeping everybody at arm’s length.
Another fight starts. I keep my eyes on Jensen as he works his way through the crowd and takes a towel, a shirt,and some water from the bartender. He empties the bottle over his head, rivulets streaming down the ridges of his stomach and over his lean shoulders. My body heats up.
If I have to seduce anyone, he’s the ideal target.
He glances around the room. I swing my gaze back around, pretending I’m watching the fight. I know I look good, even after walking to get here. My dress fits me perfectly, cupping my curves. With the amount of hairspray and setting spray I used, I know every strand of hair and bit of makeup is still in place. Kayleigh taught me how to lock everything down.
I stare into the ring. Then, slowly, I glance to the side.
He looks too, at the same moment.
The air in the room sizzles like sweat on hot pavement. He takes a step in my direction. My heart beats against my ribs. I like the way he walks. It’s confident but careful. I can’t figure out what to do with my hands, so I lift one and blow him a kiss. His jaw goes slack. His eyes glaze before he blinks and pulls himself together.
Then,he starts walking faster, until he’s a few feet away. Our gazes lock. His thin mouth parts, showing a sliver of white teeth.
“Can I get you a drink?” he says.
His voice catches me off guard. It’s low,with some husk to it, and there’s still a clear Harlan County accent present. My body isn’t warm—it’s burning up all over.
“You were in the ring,” I say. “Congratulations on the win.”
He jerks his head, washed out eyes locking on the fighters inside. “Yeah, good night.”
“Does fighting get you a lot of girls?” I saybefore I can bite my tongue.
He laughs. “No comment.”
“You don’t have to.”
“I got one woman I’m concerned about right now,” he says. “And I’d like to know what she’s drinking tonight?”
He’s got a strategy; eye-fucking me with that confidentgaze. And it’s working. Nodding, I follow him back to the bar on the other side of the room. He reaches for my hand, but I’m not ready for that. Instead, I lean my upper back against the counter, pretending I don’t know how that’s pushing my breasts out, making them spill over my neckline.
“I think I’ll have a beer,” I say.
“A classic,” he says, leaning over to talk to the bartender. “Beer for the lady, on my tab.One for me too.”
The bartender slides the beer across the counter. My stomach flutters, studying the muscled rise of his shoulders as he catches them, handing one to me. I take a sip. He cocks his head. I let thebottle sink down and flick my tongue across my lower lip. Eyes on my mouth, he moves close.
He smells like sweat, but in a nice, salty way that sets my blood thrumming.
“Are you looking for something?” he murmurs.
