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Two more drivers were introduced. Naturally, they’d saved the best for last. Finally, the DJ said, “And ladies and gentlemen, put your hands together and welcome the sweetheart of racing—Princesssssss Sterlingggggg!”
The crowd went wild. Unlike the three girls who’d gone before her, Princess was practically thrown into midair by a team of guys who lifted her to the bar with their hands pretty much everywhere.
“This kind of thing should be outlawed. Stock car drivers shouldn’t be allowed to run around flashing their cheeks. They ought to have on their uniforms or whatever the hell it is that they wear.”
“Race suits,” Brant said, his gaze working over the girls.
Colt snarled. “My point is they shouldn’t be in a man’s sport acting like sex symbols.”
“And I think they’re fireproof,” Brant added.
Colt shook his head. “Do you not have a problem with this?”
“Truth is, no. I think she looks damn fine. I’m sorry you can’t relax and enjoy yourself. You’d be having a good time if anyone else was up there dancing.”
“Of course I would. But ‘anyone’ isn’t up there. Princess is!”
Princess took a saucy stroll down that long wooden slab. She worked her walk about as well as any woman, acting as if she were born to wear spike heels and really nothing more. Considering the fact the clothes she wore did little to deter a man’s imagination, let alone his fantasies, maybe that was her purpose now.
Colt settled in his chair, and he might have stayed there if she hadn’t stalled in front of this long, thick, metallic-looking pole. And that’s when his heart stopped in the middle of its next beat.
Shooting the crowd a cocksure smile, she hopped on the shiny shaft and those short, slender legs took a pole position guaranteed to make a few men stand up in their breeches and pay attention.
“Holy hell,” Brant said. “Wow. Who would’ve thought the Princess we once knew would end up and be able to move around like that!”
“Put your dang tongue back in your mouth,” Colt said, watching as she leaned all the way back. She took a butterfly’s position, opened and closed her legs, and rode that pole like she hoped to get something out of it.
“Good Lord, if she can do that to a piece of furniture, what can she do to a man who bucks back?”
“I don’t want to think about it,” Colt said, tipping his cowboy hat and hiding under the brim.
“That ain’t gonna solve your problem,” Brant told him. “I can already see where this is heading and trust me, that’s not a good idea either.”
When Colt looked up, Princess lost her shoes. She planted her bare feet on the pole and twirled around the width of the long shaft, sliding up and down until Colt was hot.
He was fired up in a way he’d never been, and he was also primed and ready to shoot off something substantial if the right girl allowed him. Princess struck a chord in him that had never been ignited. He’d never seen a woman who’d had such an effect on him, and he didn’t think he ever would again.
Before he realized he’d stood, he strolled toward the bar. His hand propelled forward and without thinking, because he seldom thought in situations such as this, he grabbed Princess by the hand and gave her a gentle tug. A startled expression washed over her face, but before she protested aloud, he gave her a true yank and caught her in his arms.
Chapter Nine
“I wondered how long it would take for you to come up and say hello,” she said gleefully, wrapping her slender arm around his neck. “Aren’t you ever going to age, cowboy?”
He smiled at that. “You’re still as charming as the day I met you.”
“I’m a lot of things now that I wasn’t then,” she teased.
His cock immediately twitched and he wondered if she already suspected he was in awe of her.
Her aqua-blue eyes pierced through his as he sheltered her from the crowd. “You saw me and didn’t come over to say hello?” he asked, stalking the table where he’d left Brant.
“Of course I saw you,” she replied, kissing him on the cheek. “How ya been, Colt? I’ve missed you.” She dragged out the word “missed,” and the way she looked at him was truly a good man’s undoing. If he’d had decent intentions—and he didn’t—they would’ve been shot to hell in a sweet Southern minute.
“I’m good,” he snapped, still pissed over her behavior regardless of the many ways she softened him. “You?”
She grinned and his heart melted much the same way it used to when she was a little girl. “I’ve been doing all right, I guess. After Dad died, I had a hard time…adjusting, I guess you would say. But things are slowly coming around. I get by.”
A woman who looked like Princess did a little more than just survive. “Your father died?”
