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And yet . . . and yet, she pined for him like a cat pined for a cardboard box.
Because of that, she had done what any normal woman would do. She avoided all eye contact, hoping to hell he would leave her alone. Cowardly, maybe. But when all else failed, what was a woman to do?
She finished off the cosmo, delivering the drink to the customer, then accepted payment and tossed the cash into the register. A slow heat sizzled down her spine, no doubt Nash stripping the clothes right off her body with his gaze. She huffed and grabbed the microphone from below the bar, ready to get her mind on something else. She ducked under the bar’s gate, then lost her breath completely when she hit a hard wall that was Nash’s chest.
Against her better judgment, she slowly looked up into his captivating blue eyes. And then came his panty-melting grin. “Miss me?” he asked, rich with arrogance.
Her lips parted to unleash a sassy retort. Dammit, it never came. “Can I help you with something?” she asked instead.
His low chuckle smacked a tsunami-sized wave of heat into her. The scent of beer and man and pine brushed across her face when he dropped his chin and arched an eyebrow. “I can think of a couple things you could help me with, Freckles.”
She planted her hand against his rock-hard chest and pushed. Damn him. He didn’t even budge. “There’s a thing called personal space. You should learn what that is.”
He wasn’t looking at her. Oh, hell no, he stared at her hand on his chest. She quickly drew herself away, fully aware of the electricity between them. She swallowed deep when he looked at her again. The heat flaring in his expression, matched with his low voice, made her so damn weak she nearly tugged him into her office.
At that, his grin turned devilish. “Not that long ago, you liked when I got this close.”
Her breath hitched and goose bumps tickled over her flesh. Her mind traveled to places she’d sworn her thoughts would never go again. God, she vividly remembered those lips sliding across her skin. How the playfulness in his gaze morphed into intensity that had been the sexiest thing she had ever seen. Even now, she drew in his scent and he smelled so damn good. Like the fresh, open Colorado country air after being in the city. “That was two months ago,” she reminded him weakly, “and I really wish you would stop talking about that . . . mistake.”
“We weren’t a mistake,” he said smoothly.
“Okay, lapse in judgment, then.”
He chuckled so easily, like nothing ever got to him. “Not that either, Freckles.”
“Oh, yeah, then what was it?”
No matter how many people watched this conversation, he said dead serious, “The best night of both our lives.”
She parted her lips to say something brilliant. Something that would smack him back down to where he belonged. Again, her mind failed to react. Instead, emotion rose up, tightening her throat until she could barely breathe.
Nash’s head cocked, brows drawing together tight. “Now that’s a look I’ve never seen on your face.” She shut her eyes, trying to get herself together. For weeks, she’d been an emotional basket case, even crying at commercials. Before two months ago, she couldn’t remember the last time she’d cried. Now, she wept for no reason at all.
“Megan,” Nash said softly, dragging his knuckles across her cheek. “Talk to me.”
Oh, how she wanted to step closer. To slide into his strong, warm embrace. “I can’t do this,” she managed to choke out, stepping away. “Not here. Not now.”
“You can’t keep ignoring me,” he called after her. “We need to talk.”
She swallowed against the surge of wild emotions rushing through her. His use of her full name was a warning. Doing her best to forget the man behind her, she jumped onto the stage, and the band behind her wrapped up their song.
Every night from Thursday to Saturday, Kinky Spurs held a game between the customers, one Megan had named Rope ’Em Up. Sure, it had been a marketing ploy to bring in the younger crowd instead of all the locals who drank at the Spurs when Gerald Kinky owned the bar. The marketing idea had worked, and Kinky Spurs had never been more successful than it had in this last year. Megan was making real money now, and even had the means to hire more staff. Visitors and the college crowd liked being roped by a real cowboy, especially by some of the homegrown River Rock cowboys.
She cleared her mind, and after a nod from Dalton, the lead singer in the Kinky Spurs band, she turned on the microphone. “Ladies and gentlemen: Let’s get to why you’re all here. Can I get three cowboys to join me on stage for Rope ’Em Up?”
The crowd went wild as two locals, Beckett and Hayes, both cowboys who worked at the Blackshaw Cattle Ranch, jumped onto the stage. Before she could even take in what was happening, Nash joined them and plucked the microphone out of her hand. “Don’t y’all wanna see me rope our Megan here?” he asked the crowd.
Thunderous applause followed. Especially from the ladies, though some of them looked disappointed that Nash wouldn’t be roping them. Of course they would. In River Rock, Nash was a local celebrity. Not only was the Blackshaw family well known for their meat shop only blocks away from the Spurs, their cattle farm, and now the newest Blackshaw venture, a working cattle guest ranch, but Nash was a professional bull-riding champion.
She snatched the microphone back and cupped it, putting on a smile for the crowd. “I hate you,” she said to Nash.
“No, you don’t, Freckles.” He waved out at the crowd, owning them like he always could before he slid his gaze to her. “And that’s the problem, isn’t it?”
Damn Nash and his confidence. She slowly narrowed her eyes as her response, then gestured at the newest Kinky Spurs bartender, Bethany, standing behind the bar. She was a young, pretty blonde, and most times made Megan realize how much thirty was creeping up on her.
When Bethany joined her on the stage, accepting the microphone from her hand, Megan turned to Nash and promised, “You’re going to lose.”
“We’ll see about that.” There was that damn grin again.
