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Prologue
Come to Kinky Spurs, where cowboys wrangle women’s hearts . . . and rope their bodies!
Emma Monroe could picture the tagline on the poster now, even the photographs of the half-naked cowboys standing by the fence, and all the other little pieces coming together to pull off a killer campaign.
Or she could, if she’d been hired as Kinky Spurs’ Executive Creative Director.
Like a splash of cold water in the face, reality slammed into her as she shoved her hand into the beer cooler, grabbing the dark-brown bottle for the customer waiting at the bar. Her marketing days were long behind her now. With the frigid water dripping off her hand, the noise surrounding her in the bar returned to her. Voices created a hum through the crowd by the bar, while the country music band entertained the crowd on the dance floor with a Little Big Town cover song.
The bar was nestled in the heart of River Rock, Colorado, with the space being basically a large rectangle bookended by two stages. One for the country music band, the other for the mechanical bull and the mats surrounding it, with tables spread out between the two stages. From floor to ceiling, wood paneling set the western theme. Behind the bar was a bright-pink neon KINKY SPURS sign, large deer antlers above it, with a shiny, reclaimed wooden slab for the bar and metal stools in front. Between the nut shells on the floor, the cowboy hats atop the heads, and the cowboy boots stomping on the dance floor in rhythm to the song, the bar couldn’t get more rustic. The greasy aroma coming from the kitchen simply added to Kinky Spurs’ charm.
Emma cracked open the beer in her hand, offering the bottle to the pretty blonde waiting at the bar. Blondie, smiling sensually at the cute guy next to her, didn’t even notice Emma. “That’ll be four dollars,” Emma announced, placing her beer down in front of her.
Blondie didn’t even look Emma’s way when she handed Emma a twenty-dollar bill. Emma laughed softly, snatched up the bill, quickly grabbed change from the register, and placed the bills and change onto the bar, still being ignored.
The band suddenly shifted songs, belting out a Keith Urban classic. Blondie squealed, “Oh, this song’s my favorite!” She grabbed her beer, her change, and the woman standing next to her by the arm, then danced her way to the dance floor.
The man she’d been ogling followed.
Ah, the beginnings of sweet love. Or maybe a one-night stand.
Emma had neither of those options, and that was perfectly fine. Her sleepless nights were because of a man. She didn’t want another. Focusing away from the tightness in her chest and onto her job, she reached for the cloth beneath the bar and had set to cleaning up the spilled beer when something made her look up.
The air evaporated around her.
A man wove his way through the crowd, obviously arriving for the busy night at Kinky Spurs. He had to be a regular on Thursday nights. She’d seen that cowboy every Thursday since she’d started working there three weeks ago. Her heart rate kicked up a notch or two as he drew closer, like it had every time she’d seen him.
There was not a hint of weakness in him. This guy was all man, right down to his toned, muscular body. He wasn’t fancy, sticking to a dark-brown cowboy hat, plaid button-down, worn blue jeans, and scuffed-up brown boots. He wore the look well, his clothes hugged his body in all the right places. His mouth curved as he approached, his gaze locked onto hers.
Apparently, he knew exactly what his presense did to her. And it was unreal.
He practically oozed strength and heat, making her want to forget she was at work altogether. Though what held him apart from every other man in this room was the power contained in his silvery-blue eyes. The sharpness in those eyes captivated her, the awareness in their depths seemed to know all the things she wanted answers to. And the small smile teasing his mouth caused butterflies to flutter in her belly, flushing her skin red-hot. Suddenly, she became very aware that she only wore a tight red T-shirt with KINKY SPURS written across her chest in bold white calligraphy and tiny denim shorts that barely covered her butt. The only thing that felt covered up at the moment were her feet, by her new dark-brown cowboy boots.
She forced herself not to turn into a babbling fool when he reached her. “What can I get you?” she asked, proud her voice came out steady and calm.
That half smile hadn’t faded. If anything, his grin looked more dangerous than ever. He slid onto the stool, his forearms resting on the bar, muscles cording. “I think it’s about time we stop this, don’t you?”
That low voice was as seductive as it was addictive. No man should have that voice. She gathered all her strength and replied, “Pardon me?”
