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***
Maggie had never been to the Coach House. In fact, until a few hours ago she hadn’t been aware of its existence. She glanced around. Her initial reaction? She wasn’t missing much.
It was dimly lit, with the requisite neon beer signs strewn about—Budweiser and Miller the most popular—and a small stage tucked into the corner. The smell of stale beer and fried foods filled the air, and even though it looked less than respectable, she had to admit the atmosphere was upbeat, the energy and vibe electric.
She sat next to Cain. They were in a booth that gave them a clear view of the stage, and she’d been told it was theirs—as in the Bad Boys’. And though she’d never been one of those girls—the kind that clung to their men with rabid glee—she totally loved the fact that his arm was draped around her shoulders.
It made her feel like she belonged to someone, and that was something she hadn’t felt in years.
She noticed the looks, the whispers, nudges, and pointed fingers, but didn’t care. For the first time in a long time, Maggie relaxed and was worry-free. She accepted a cold beer from Cain and took a long drink, loving the desire she saw in his eyes when he looked at her. Desire he made no effort to hide.
She’d taken him up on his dare and wore a low-cut fitted black vest—with no bra—and she’d matched it with her only good pair of jeans. They were old, well-worn, but fit her curves snugly, and though they were low in the waist, Maggie had no problem showing off her trim belly.
Something he would have flipped over. She shuddered at the thought of Dante, Michael’s father, and tucked it away immediately. She wasn’t going there, not tonight.
“So Maggie, where are you from?” Mac smiled. “I detect the sultry South in your voice.”
She set her beer bottle on the table and turned to Cain’s friend. Mackenzie’s bruises and scrapes had pretty much healed, but none of them detracted from his good looks. In fact, they gave him an edge that a good many women liked, judging from the looks he’d garnered when they walked in. The man was golden sun, piercing green eyes, tall athletics, and as charming as Cain.
He was also smart. His intensity made her uncomfortable, though she smiled in return and kept her voice light as she answered. “That would be correct.”
“Whereabouts exactly?”
“What is this, twenty questions?” Jake interjected. He was seated opposite them and had taken his eyes off the entrance long enough to join the conversation. Raine had indicated that she might stop in for a drink, and he was noticeably on edge.
Mac glared at Jake. “It was just one question, and for the record”—he turned back to Maggie, a wide grin on his face—“I want to know a little more about the woman who’s turned Cain into the guy who holds hands and fills Jack’s Hut with a freaking boatload of tulips.”
The lights dimmed even more, and a loud growl of approval rushed through the crowd. Cain squeezed Maggie’s shoulder and whispered into her ear. “Don’t mind Mackenzie. He gets a little intense sometimes.”
But she caught the unspoken questions in his eyes. He wondered about her past, and so he should. They were sleeping together. His life was pretty much an open book, but hers…was closed.
There was no way she was opening up that can of worms, not with Cain.
“You all right?” He leaned over and swept his mouth across hers.
She nodded and whispered, “I’m fine.” It was scary, really, how good she’d become at lying.
His dark eyes studied hers until she glanced away.
A man strode onto the stage. He was tall, lean—all legs—and wore a wide-brimmed cowboy hat perched at an angle on his head. His T-shirt was emblazoned with the name Texas Willie in crimson.
He flashed a toothy grin to the audience and picked up his guitar, his arms all sinew and rope. The man looked to be in his early forties, though Maggie had a feeling he was probably younger. He had the look of a person who lived on the edge, and the goatee that adorned his thin, pale face only emphasized the fact.
He glanced in their direction, piercing black eyes crinkling as he smiled, tipped his hat, and bellowed into the mike. “Well, what do you know, Mr. Hollywood is in da house.” The crowd erupted as he strummed a power chord and the rest of the band took their places.
Cain held his beer up in acknowledgment and grinned.
“Just so you know, my friends…” Texas Willie began to play a blues melody that was raw, catchy, and real. “Hollywood isn’t the only one who can rock it!”
Texas Willie’s announcement brought another round of cheer, and the band threw themselves into the first song of what was to be a rollicking, blues-heavy set.
The music infiltrated the space around them. Its infectious melody slid over her skin, and though she tried, Maggie couldn’t relax. Mackenzie’s eyes touched hers a little too often, and she felt as if everyone in the bar was staring at them.
Raine didn’t show, and Jake’s frosty attitude grew colder as the evening progressed, but Cain…he was lost in the music, and it was a beautiful thing to see. His foot tapped to the beat, his fingers thrummed along the top of the table, and his head bopped to the rhythm.
When a slow, seductive melody slid into the dark, Cain grabbed her close and they moved onto the dance floor, her small frame tucked into his. His arms cradled her, his large hands splayed possessively across her back and in her hair.
It was dark out here, and the invisible cloak of anonymity slid over her skin, allowing her to enjoy the moment. She didn’t feel the heat of prying eyes or the unanswered questions that Mac had posed.
