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Chapter One
Tugging on the large bronze handle of the tall oak door of the only drinking establishment she had to choose from in the tiny town of Wilder, Texas, Elizabeth Brooks lamented the very limited selection she had this evening in her quest for a good girl turned wicked woman experience.
Yeah, she got that this was a small lakeside community. Population three thousand and twelve—make that thirteen as of today. But seriously. Only one bar in the entire town? Whatever happened to variety being the spice of life?
I’m not gay, Elizabeth. I’m bi. There is a difference.
The patronizing statement from her lying, cheating ex—whom she would refrain from calling Asshole of the Year and simply refer to as Peter—still grated on raw nerves. Despite the fact she’d just put six or so states between them. Right under her nose, her Mount Sinai-surgeon boyfriend had blown half of New York society, servicing the Misters of Wall Street right along with the Misses of Park Avenue. Expecting her to just “deal” with his equal-opportunity infidelity.
Okay, I can make do with a little less spice in my life.
Swallowing down the humiliation that rose in her throat at the remembrance of the life she’d left in the dust five short days ago, she entered the bar. From the nondescript exterior, she half-expected a dive with regulars hunched over their beers, listening to the twangy lyrics of ‘70s country songs her father had played off scratchy albums when she was a kid. Though the beer would likely be cold, two-stepping down Memory Lane with Waylon and Willie and The Boys was not at the top of her To Do list.
Getting laid was.
She wasn’t the least bit ashamed to admit it. Elizabeth was in desperate need of meeting someone capable of resuscitating her lifeless libido so she could wipe the slate clean of Peter’s betrayal, restore some of the dignity she’d lost and move on.
Mission possible, she assured herself and squared her shoulders. Lifting her chin a notch, she crossed the scuffed hardwood floor of Wilder’s only hotspot, peanut shells crunching beneath the thin soles of her olive-colored snakeskin pumps. The cozy room boasted a tall fireplace set into the far wall, trimmed in large, smooth river rock. Diffused lighting from the antler chandeliers cast a soft golden glow throughout the place and sent shadows chasing up the walnut-paneled walls, decorated with old-fashion rifles, stuffed animal heads and elk racks.
All very masculine and Ted Nugent Kill It and Grill It. The wild, wild West personified and yet… Not so bad, really.
Sure, the scent of stale beer permeated every nook and cranny of the joint, but that was just one more element that added to the ambience. She’d found a real-live, honest-to-God Texas saloon. The kind her father, Austin native Wyatt Brooks, had waxed poetic about when he’d complained of Manhattan’s over-priced, pretentious cocktail lounges after an evening of business networking with CEOs in three-piece suits and power ties.
Her father would’ve loved Wade’s Saloon. Given his zest for life when he was alive, and her recent lack of it, he also might approve of Elizabeth’s wicked undertaking. Whereas her mother, Rachel Tabor-Brooks, would have a massive coronary if she knew her former Miss Teen USA daughter dared set foot in such an establishment. Looking for a hot hookup, no less.
Keep the smelling salts close at hand, Mother. I’m about to be bad!
Elizabeth was determined to shed her stuffy uptown-girl skin and, at age twenty-eight, take her first walk on the wild side. She hoped this place—this town—would be the perfect venue for her much-needed liberation.
Stepping into the shadowy depths of the lively tavern, she scouted the “talent”. Cute cowboy wearing a black Stetson to the left raised her hopes of this being a target-rich environment. Edgy-looking biker to the right could take her on the wild ride she needed. And de
ad-ahead…
Elizabeth’s gaze swept the back portion of the saloon, crash-landing on the bartender. A tall, dark, devilish man who looked like pure sin in his faded Levi’s and tight black T-shirt.
Bull’s-eye!
The breath escaped her parted lips on what she hoped was not an overly audible whoosh. As her pulse kicked up a notch or ten, she took stock of the vision before her, admiring every masculine inch of the Devil in Blue Jeans, starting with his devastatingly handsome face. Perfectly sculpted with a square, strong jaw line that was clean-shaven, but which she guessed turned his features rugged and dangerous-looking when lined with a hint of dark stubble.
His obsidian-colored hair dusted the collar of his shirt, a tad too long and a bit wavy on the ends. Thick and unruly. The kind of hair a girl could tangle her fingers in while he kissed her, long and deep.
His broad shoulders gave way to rock-hard biceps and a wide chest, making her palms suddenly burn to splay across his tanned skin and toned muscles. The T-shirt, tucked into the worn, sinfully fitting Levi’s, pulled tight against the hard ledge of his pectoral muscles. The hem of the short sleeves seemed to strain against his bulging upper arms. Sinewy forearms led to large, strong-looking hands with long, blunt-tipped fingers. The important one on the left was blissfully bare.
Oh what a glorious gift from heaven!
Indeed, a guardian angel had to be on board for Elizabeth’s long-overdue vision quest, because the Devil’s electric gaze locked with hers as though he’d been waiting all night for her to come through the door and liven up his evening.
Sexual awareness shimmied through her, tightening her nipples behind the black lace bra she’d bought to go with her brand-new, curve-hugging cocktail dress. A little prickle along her clit made the corners of her mouth lift as she wove her way through the scattered tables, ignoring everyone in her path. Not to mention their curious—no, downright gawking—stares.
Forgetting the black Stetson and the edgy biker, Elizabeth headed for the massive wooden bar lining the back wall as though the man behind it were a homing beacon.
The Devil’s hypnotic gaze remained transfixed with hers. It was all she could do not to trip over her own two feet at his cat-about-to-eat-the-canary grin, which made her breath catch and her cunt clench. A nice change of pace, considering the only thing to sufficiently stimulate that particular part of her body the past few years was a G-spot vibrator with little bunny ears to lend a helping hand.
Lord knew Mr. Stick-It-Wherever-He-Can-Except-Inside-Her hadn’t initiated sex in longer than she could remember.
And now you know why.
Tamping down the hurt feelings she refused to give credence to, she closed the gap between her and the bar, attempting a sexy, confident stride. Hoping she didn’t look like Desperate Woman Walking.
Damn the man-whore for making her doubt herself. Then again, she had to admit she was also at fault for allowing Peter to manipulate her all this time.
Tucking that thought away, she focused on the exhilaration sparked by the devilishly handsome bartender, letting the inertia of it propel her forward until she reached her intended destination. His vibrant cerulean eyes were alight with mischief and an inner fire that spoke volumes—calling to the girl on a mission to leave the prim and proper prude in the past and embrace the wanton woman within.
As his eyes roamed her body from head to toe and back up, her heart skipped a beat or two and her stomach fluttered in an unusual way. Moisture dampened the crotch of her thong panties, the wetness having nothing to do with the Texas heat and humidity. Just eyeing the sexy stranger made her pussy throb and her pulse race.
Biting back a grin, she tried to play it cool as she slid onto a high-backed, wooden stool situated between two older gentlemen. Their gazes also eased over her, eyes popping just enough to convey their appreciation of the assets she’d strategically put on display. The hem of her black dress hit mid-thigh and hitched up a half-inch or so when she sat. The push-up pads in her bra did exactly as the package they’d come in had promised, plumping up her breasts so the inner swells filled the vee neckline of the halter-style dress.
Mouths gaped slightly before snapping shut. The gents next to her returned their attention to their respective beers as Elizabeth breathed an inward sigh of relief.
Ah success! Apparently she had some sex appeal.
Settling into her chair, she dropped her black leather clutch on the heavily scarred bar. The hotter than hell cowboy behind it set aside the towel and the shot glass he’d been drying.
“Darlin’,” he said, one corner of his tempting mouth lifting. “Those green eyes of yours could stop a truck dead in its tracks.” He didn’t talk loudly over the din of the crowd, which made his deep tone, tinged with the slightest hint of a southern drawl, all the more intimate and arousing.
If carnal sin had a voice, this would be it. A dull throb started deep in her cunt—an ache that longed to be sated.
She said, “That’s one I’ve not heard before.” Her voice was but a breathy, sultry whisper she didn’t even recognize. Yet it made her proud she could slip into seductress mode, given the train wreck that was her life.
“Those long legs could do the trick too,” he said, a heated look lighting his beautiful blue irises. As though he was imagining her legs wrapped around his waist as he thrust into her pussy, making her cry out in erotic joy. Making her come.
Elizabeth couldn’t stop the smile this time. Yes, indeed, this was exactly what she needed. A little flirting, a little mutual appreciation, a lot of hot, sweaty sex!
