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Serena was a wreck. She stood next to the four-pane window, admiring the boxwoods, listening to the low voices in the next room. Draegan was clearly furious at his brothers and Markie. She’d overheard enough to know that the outburst downstairs was likely staged.
The McCall brothers were always teasing someone. She’d waited on them enough in the café to know they weren’t happy if they weren’t ribbing one another.
Markie was comic relief, but apparently Draegan didn’t think he was too funny when he stood at the butt of his friend’s jokes. Elevated voices and slammed doors let her know the battle between the four had reached a conclusion.
She took a deep breath and waited. At first she stared at the door like an overanxious pet awaiting her Master to return home after a long day away. Disgusted at herself for thinking along those lines, she sat on the edge of the chair.
She’d been an unwilling submissive to her former husband. While she had some friends in the lifestyle, she’d opted out based on her marriage experience with a wannabe Dom.
Crossing one leg over the other, she was too aware of the slight breeze when she adjusted her skirt and placed her hands in her lap. She glanced down at her fitted shirt, wishing she had selected a loose-fitting shirt, something less obvious.
Serena had dressed for Draegan and he was bound to suspect as much. Most of the time, she was in uniform when he visited her at Trouble’s only café. After hours, she dressed down casual wear by throwing on a cap and wearing sneakers with colorful fuzzy socks.
Tonight, however, she’d dressed for date night—snug black top with a short skirt and heels to match. She wondered if the all-black might have been a little much.
Her previous husband had always insisted on bright colors. He often told her to go change if she ventured outside in darker tones. He used to tell her only sexy and confident women wore black and darker shades. Those were the gals who could pull it off and dress up the dull to look classy. Typically, Serena’s ex made insulting her into a real sport, apparently tallying points for each of his verbal slams.
Sometimes he’d spend an hour or more listing the reasons why someone as ugly as his wife shouldn’t dress in tight clothing. His wife, after all, shouldn’t have been caught dead—much less alive—in such drab outdated fashions.
Serena went to the mirror then, wondering if maybe she should’ve heeded that old advice. Her clothes showed some slight evidence of wear.
After tilting her head one way or the other and nervously sliding her hands down her sides, Serena decided Thorn had been right. Maybe she wasn’t classy enough or pretty enough to wear such tight-fitting garments.
Frowning at her reflection, she was seconds away from fleeing when Draegan walked in, dressed to the nines in his black cowboy hat, jeans to match, and a white-buttoned down shirt.
“Wow,” she said, wishing she could take it back. The last thing she wanted to do was act like some awestruck woman.
“Backatcha,” he said, traipsing across the room and immediately hugging her.
She swallowed back her nervous jitters and smiled up at him, wishing he’d stop looking at her like he admired her. Those gestures made a woman wish, made her hope, and sometimes even made her believe.
“Do you—”
“No,” he whispered, lowering his head to hers. “I’m not ready yet.”
“But you didn’t let me finish,” she said, giggling like a schoolgirl.
Draegan pulled her against him and as soon as he wrapped his heavy arm around her waist, she felt accepted. More importantly, she felt safe.
“You were about to suggest going and I’m not quite ready yet.”
“You aren’t?”
“No.” Draegan removed his cowboy hat and tossed it to the small sofa nearby. He then ducked his head and tilted her chin up. “Since that last kiss several months ago, I’ve thought of one thing.”
“One?”
“Well.” He wrinkled his face in apparent thought and then grinned. “Let’s go with one so I can remain a gentleman on our first date.”
Serena’s skin heated. She couldn’t help but acknowledge the tingling sensations rushing up and down her arms and legs.
Draegan tossed his head back as if to summon her. She absolutely loved that sexy maneuver. It was one she’d seen Allister McCall use with Ellie. And every last time he tried that number, Ellie was in his arms, making out with him. Did Draegan expect her to leap forward, lock her legs around his waist, and start kissing him like a wild vixen might?
On the outspoken side at times, she just went ahead and asked, “Do you and your brothers practice that head-thing?”
“What head-thing?” he asked, a raspy edge to his deep voice.
