Devil in Texas Read online

  She all but fell off her tree stump at the sight of him. Staring up at his potentially six-foot-three-inch stature required her to tilt her head back. Way back.

  Damn, he’s tall.

  She blinked once.

  And muscular.

  She blinked twice.

  And so very sexy.

  She smiled brighter as her pulse kicked into high gear and her pussy started to throb again. He grinned back, dimple and all. The moonlight caught his straight white teeth as he spoke, nearly blinding her.

  “Since I’m the one responsible for all those drinks you had, I thought I’d give you a ride home,” he offered once more. “Drop you off at the door, that’s it,” he added as he raised his hands in the air in bad-boy surrender. Yet there was a suggestive hint in his tone that made her wonder whether he’d stick to his guns. How disappointed would she be if he did?

  Her insides fluttered at the thought of helping him break that promise.

  It occurred to her that Fate wasn’t letting her fold this hand. Getting to her feet as carefully as possible, her gaze locked with his.

  “A ride is exactly what I need,” she told him.

  And there was little doubt the Devil got that message loud and clear.

  Chapter Two

  Feeling’s mutual, darlin’, he thought.

  So what’s with the “drop you off at the door” bullshit?

  Because that’s exactly what you should do, Jack Wade told himself as he and the pretty New Yorker started off across the gravel parking lot, her a bit wobbly on those sexy high heels she wore. And him engaged in an internal debate he already knew he wouldn’t win.

  Not a big surprise. Everything about Miss Manhattan made it damn near impossible to get his raging hormones under control. How long had it been since a woman like this one had crossed his path? One who made his pulse race and his cock stiffen with nothing more than a sultry laugh that lit her vibrant green eyes and teased him senseless?

  Well, okay. Truth be told, her long legs and curvy-in-all-the-right-places body did the trick too.

  But even as he gave credence to how quickly and effortlessly she’d captured his attention and sparked his libido, he knew it’d behoove him to curb his desire for the woman who’d walked through the door of his saloon looking ready to sin in a dress that did everything to evoke a man’s carnal lust.

  In fact, it was probably a bad idea to drive her home. He had a feeling he was inviting more trouble into his life than was necessary. Jack had enough complications to contend with these days. He needed another one like he needed a hole in the head.

  Yet he was pursuing her anyway, wasn’t he?

  Who could blame him, really? She was a looker, no doubt about it. Her big green eyes had lit his fire all the way across the crowded saloon and he’d been utterly captivated from that first head-to-toe gander he’d gotten of her. She had mile-long legs that would feel like heaven wrapped around his hips. A slender, but womanly figure that he’d instantly fantasized about. He wanted to cover it with his own body as they lay naked on his large bed, pressing her into the mattress as his cock thrust deep into what he imagined to be a tight, wet pussy. Her breasts were full and firm looking. Her lips were glossy and a deep crimson color—bewitching and damn kissable.

  Yes, one look and he’d been hooked. Despite his steadfast rule not to date Wilder women.

  Technically, she’s not a Wilder woman.

  His attempt to reason with himself warred with the issue at hand. His plate runneth over these days and he didn’t need to tip the scales with a woman who, though she’d instantly mesmerized him, screamed complex and high-maintenance without saying a word.

  There were pros and cons to letting this obviously mutual attraction follow its natural course. Sure, she was new to town, so theoretically, he could cross “Wilder Women are No-Nos” off his short list of taboos. Hell, she hadn’t even committed to staying in town for more than a few weeks. He’d known that long before she’d explained her rental situation. It was, after all, his fully furnished lakeside cottage she was now residing in, according to the property manager who’d called him earlier in the day to say he had a line on a new tenant.

  Another complication. Jack hadn’t wanted to rent the cottage because it sat on his property. He was a man who valued his privacy, but with the economy such as it was and the recent morality crusade that seemed to be mowing the town flat—and impacting his bottom line at the saloon—he hadn’t had much choice. Knew, in fact, that he should be grateful Manhattan had shown up when she had. Not as if there was a line of people waiting to fill the rental market in a small town like this.

  He’d have to work through the nuances of this unexpected twist of fate before he divulged the fact that he was her landlord. Jack read women like books and this one was shooting for mysterious and anonymous. She was on a mission he recognized, though he sensed it wasn’t a familiar one for her. Nor did he pick up signs that she was in the right frame of mind to follow-through on what she thought she wanted. The tequila had been a dead giveaway. She’d needed it to loosen up, to feel sexy and desirable.

  Ridiculous, really. Any woman who looked like Manhattan did should need nothing more than a mirror to confirm her sex appeal. But she’d likely taken a blow to her ego and needed reassurance.

  Jack Wade was a betting man and he’d lay odds that she’d come looking for trouble tonight as payback for being dumped. Or perhaps for being ignored or overlooked by some moronic fool who had no idea what he was missing out on.

  Damn shame. No woman whose eyes lit up like the Fourth of July night sky when she smiled or laughed should ever feel the need to prove her worth. But Jack had been around enough blocks to see the writing on the wall.

  No worries. He could stick with anonymity if that’s what she wanted. He’d ease her into the reality of the situation tomorrow.

  So long as he could keep his hands off her luscious body tonight. Keep his dick in his pants, not in her.

  “Last call’s at eleven o’clock on a Friday night?” Her soft, provocative voice broke into his thoughts, which seemed to take an erotic detour at every turn with this woman.

  She reeled him in quickly, though, with the not-so-pleasant subject matter.

  “Not one of my favorite laws,” he commented, forcing his suddenly tight jaw to loosen a bit.

  The town’s reverend and his followers were aiming to put Jack out of business like they had the other bar owners in Wilder. But Jack was holding his ground. Like his father, when he dug in his heels, he was damn near an immoveable force.

  “Seems pretty extreme,” Manhattan said. “Not that I needed another cocktail, mind you. But it looked like everyone was having a good time.”

  Jack appreciated his devout patrons. His own personal congregation. He commended them for not letting the morality sanction drive them away from the last-standing public watering hole.

  At least…not yet.

  “Let’s just say we’ve got a few…kinks…in the system here in Wilder.”

  Hell, who was he kidding? There was a battle brewing between the ultra-conservatives and the more liberal folks in town. The two groups he’d dubbed the saints and the sinners. This was one of the biggest complications in his life and not just because of the effect an early curfew had on his finances.

  But as precarious as the situation was, Jack wasn’t in the mood to dwell on the conflict developing in Wilder. He wanted to know more about the sexy stranger beside him, who’d unwittingly grabbed him by the balls and had yet to let go.

  “Don’t you have to close the bar?” she asked.

  He grinned down at her, swallowing the stale taste Wilder politics left in his mouth. “That’s the beauty of owning the joint, darlin’. Selective chores.”

  She laughed softly, then stumbled in the gravel. His hand shot out and he caught her elbow, holding her steady and upright.

  So much for keeping his hands off her.

  “Thanks,” she said before drawing in a d
eep breath. Letting it out slowly, she added, “Could be I had one too many.”

  She was making small talk in an almost anxious way. Another telltale sign this woman wasn’t a tequila drinker or the one-night stand type. Jack knew plenty about both. But he suspected Manhattan was just trying to make a point—mostly to herself—so he’d kept the shots to a minimum. And was doing his damndest to resist the temptation she presented now. Lord knew he wanted to score with her tonight, but he had a feeling she’d be the kind to hate herself in the morning for it. Along with him. A prospect he didn’t find the least bit appealing, even though he was damn sure they’d singe the sheets together. Jack may be a sinner, but he never took advantage.

  Wanting to keep her out of trouble was the main reason he’d offered the ride home. He could only imagine how many vultures would’ve swooped in for the kill as she’d sat on that tree stump, waiting for her cab to arrive. Then again, considering he’d all but marked his territory the moment she’d swayed those shapely hips through the door of his saloon, he had to admit it was unlikely anyone would poach. The only “trouble” Manhattan would be getting into tonight was if Jack’s willpower kowtowed to his libido. She was definitely a woman who made it difficult for him to keep his fly buttoned.

  Pushing more thoughts of getting naked with Manhattan from his mind, he said, “You did just fine holding your liquor, darlin’. I would’ve cut you off if I thought it was necessary.”

  She shot him an incredulous look. “You did cut me off!”

  He chuckled. “Nah. I just didn’t take you for the drinking type. At least, not that kind of drinking.”

  With a noncommittal shrug of her bare shoulder, she said, “Sometimes a girl needs to let her hair down.”

  He conceded the point, but had a feeling she was doing more than that. She was running from something, plain and simple. And for all her bravado, he sensed she was in unchartered territory, particularly with him. Meaning he’d have to dial his desire for her down a notch…or ten. Not an easy thing to do, considering how badly he wanted her. His hands itched to touch her, to roam her body as his tongue delved deep inside her mouth. He wanted to push the hem of her short skirt up to her waist and touch and taste her pussy. He wanted to hear her moan in pleasure. Scream in ecstasy.

  But he didn’t hook up with women in town. Nor did he need another complication. Why did he have to keep reminding himself of these things?

  Frustrated, he extracted a set of keys from his front pocket with his free hand. Continuing the conversation about the bar—more so to distract himself from her tempting body and full, red lips—he said, “I was just lending a hand when you came in. I hired a bar manager a few months back to free up some of my time for…” He gave a sharp shake of his head and let the remainder of his explanation die on the warm breeze.

  She was looking for a hookup, not his life story. Besides, the expansion project on the saloon was dead in the water now that the saints had passed the law to ban alcohol sales on Sundays—all day on Sundays. So what was the point of mentioning that was his reason for hiring Josh?

  “I guess this is what you’d call ser-en-dipitous,” she said, the last word a bit clipped, as though she’d put extra effort into not slurring.

  Her poor attempt to appear sober seemed to make her laugh and he chuckled along with her. It felt right, natural. Everything about being in her presence felt right and natural. Except that she wasn’t the one-night-stand kind of girl.

  Beyond that sentiment, Jack had a multitude of reasons why he shouldn’t pursue her. Yet another one was that he’d promised to deliver her safely home. Unfortunately—and unbeknownst to Manhattan—her virtue, in whatever form it currently stood, would not be intact come morning, be it by way of his lack of control if she made a move or a result of the Wilder grapevine. She’d become a victim of guilt by association, even if he did find the willpower to resist the temptation she offered.

  Shooting her a quick look, he wondered how difficult it would be to just leave her at the door. She really was a pretty little thing. No, more than that. She was beautiful in a surprisingly alluring way. Jack had never been one for lots of makeup and designer duds, but she was striking in a vulnerable way that contradicted the risqué image she was obviously trying to project.

  As he continued to eye her, her loose, silky-looking hair swirled around her bare shoulders, the strands blowing in the breeze. He wanted to weave his fingers through the chestnut-colored, fluffy mass as he stared into those bewitching eyes of hers. He wondered if she had any idea how much they said about her. The excitement that radiated from the depths of the shimmering green pools. The fear that mingled with that excitement—likely at her current predicament, and that didn’t just include being in his company.

  Throwing a dart at a map and moving halfway across the country on a whim had to be a huge shock to the system. No matter who you were.

  As he considered this, she stumbled again and groaned. “Clearly the wrong shoe choice this evening.”

  She was having trouble navigating the small rocks beneath her feet. With his hand on her elbow, he kept her relatively steady. He’d scoop her up and carry her to the truck to keep her from toppling over, but that felt a little too Me Tarzan, You Jane. Even for Jack Wade.

  Instead, his fingers tightened around her elbow and held it firmly as he directed her to his vehicle. Her warm, bare skin against his made him think once more of stretching out on his big bed with their legs entwined as his hands explored her naked body. The solar radiance emitting from every inch of her made him wonder how much of that heat was related to the weather and how much of it was an innate response to him.

  When they reached the black Dodge Ram truck, Jack opened the passenger door for her. She frowned up at him, making his gut pull tight.

  “What’s wrong?”

  She appraised the side of the truck, her full, luscious lips twisting in contemplation. Jack’s gaze shifted to the vehicle. Oh yes. Though the Ram was only slightly lifted, it was still a long way up to the seat.

  “Not exactly conducive to a micro-mini-wearing woman sporting come-fuck-me pumps,” she mumbled.

  Jack laughed at her choice of words.

  “Thoughts on how to get me up there?” she inquired.

  “Happy to give you a boost.” He flashed her what was surely his wickedest grin while resisting the urge to move his hand from her elbow to her ass. Her very nice, tight ass, he might add.

  She smirked playfully at him, though again, he doubted she knew that her vibrant eyes turned a simple smirk into something sexy and arousing. “Did you miss the lack of material at the end of this skirt or have you yet to make it past my breasts?”

  “They are nice breasts,” he said.

  She shook her head, fighting a grin. Unsuccessfully. The corners of her mouth lifted and it was all Jack could do not to pull her into his arms and kiss her ‘til she begged him to fuck her.

  Ah hell.

  He sighed. He wanted her in the worst way. The feeling was strong, unrelenting. More powerful than anything he’d ever experienced. There was something about Manhattan that made his cock stiffen to an unbearable degree. With just a smile. In fact, he ought to untuck his shirt and cover his erection. Thank God the parking lot was dimly lit.

  “Well, you won’t win any awards for couth,” she told him, “but I’ll give you points for charisma.”

  “Right back at ya, darlin’,” he said with a wink, once again expending more effort than normal to keep his hormones in check and his cock from busting through the buttons of his jeans.

  Her smile widened. “You’re a bit of a smart ass.”

  “And they say only opposites attract.”

  Crouching down—and fighting a wince that move created—he reached toward the undercarriage of the truck and gave a swift pull along the bottom edge. A flash of metal caught the moonlight and a second later, a silver rung hung below the passenger’s seat.

  Jack stepped away from the vehicle, crossing his arms
over his chest in a smug way while she moved forward.

  “Still happy to lend a hand.” How could he resist?

  “Tempting,” she muttered, but didn’t take the bait.

  She reached for the bar above the seat with the hand not holding her purse and carefully placed one pointy-tipped shoe on the silver loop. How the hell she could wear shoes that looked as if they cut the circulation off at the toes was beyond him. Though he had to admit, she looked damn fine in the sexy green snakeskin pumps.

  A lift and a push and she managed to slide gracefully into the tan leather seat while keeping her legs closed and what Jack hoped to be black-lace thong panties under wraps.

  Lord did he hope like hell she’d show them off at some point!

  He closed the door and stepped away from the truck. Away from temptation. Granted, he hadn’t gotten laid in a long while—his own doing—but still… He was reacting to her like a horny teenager.

  Really, it wasn’t like Jack to chase after a woman the way he was doing with her. Hell yes, he could be back in the saloon helping to close up and prepare for tonight’s invitation-only after-hours’ poker game. Yet as soon as she’d turned on those ultra-high heels and sauntered off, her softly rounded hips swaying provocatively, he’d known he wasn’t letting her walk out of his life so easily.

  Not until he got to know her better. Found out what she was running from. And if he was damn lucky, get his fill of her in the process.

  He rounded the front end of the truck to the driver’s side. A glance over the shoulder confirmed her gaze followed his every move, making him feel cocky and stealthy. He climbed into the cab beside her, thinking at some point he’d get around to asking her name. Telling her his. But he kept to the anonymity she seemed to enjoy, which was one more sign she was just looking for a good time.

  So why was he fighting it? Why was he expending so much energy trying to figure her out? Considering the obvious attraction between them, wasn’t it inevitable they’d hook up eventually?