Tequila High, Page 2

  Or maybe that’s just the drink talking.

  Why did I start with tequila?

  He cocks his head to one side, waiting for what I might say next. My palms threaten to sweat, but thankfully, I think I’m too dehydrated for that to actually happen.

  “Um, I…I…my friend over there…” I turn to look back at Lia whose mouth is open as if she’s cheering me on. I don’t know for sure. I can’t hear it over the buzzing in my ears. I swivel my head back to hot guy. “I know this is going to sound insane, but—”

  “You don’t have to explain. I know what you need to do.” I could be crazy, or drunk as all hell, but it looks like his eyes are twinkling with mischief. Could that be right? Maybe not, but it sure seems like he’s amused by my squirming. I mean, he could make this easier on me. Hit on me a little or something. Offer to buy me a drink or ask me if I come here often, or even what color underwear I’m wearing. Something. Anything. But he’s not. He’s leaving me no choice but to just jump head first into the deep end. And it looks an awful lot like he’s enjoying my plunge.

  “You do?”

  He nods. “Everyone here does.”

  Face. Equals. Fire.

  I resist the urge to fan my skin as I close my eyes. “Oh, God.”

  “Some might say that, but you can just call me Nixon.”

  My eyes snap open to find him wearing a full-blown grin. Cocky, sexy, teasing. Breathtaking! Absolutely breathtaking. It transforms what was already an exceptional appearance into something stunning. His teeth are even perfect, and he has a dimple in one cheek. A dimple!

  I stare at it for a few seconds. It’s the most adorable yet the hottest thing I think I’ve ever seen. I don’t know what it is about that dimple, but it seems to awaken my inner Lia. I didn’t even know I had an inner Lia, but something brave and wanton ignites in my veins, hijacking my body. It comes scratching and clawing and roaring to the surface.

  I take a step closer. My own lips curve in anticipation when my boobs bump into his crossed arms. “Uncross your arms, Nixon.”

  One jet-black brow spikes up as he slowly uncrosses and lowers his arms. “Like this?”

  I nod.

  “Is there something you’d like me to do with my hands?”

  I move in even closer, not stopping until I feel my belly touch his. I grab his wrists and tug his arms around me. “How about putting them here?”

  He splays his long fingers across my lower back, the tips brushing the bare skin just above my waistband. Electricity shoots southward. “Like this?”

  I nod again.

  “Now what?”

  “Just hold still.” I fist my hands in the soft material of his shirt and haul myself up onto my tiptoes. The moment I smash my mouth to his, chaos explodes all around us. It’s like fireworks in my ears. Cheering and whooping, cat-calling and howling. I feel like Rachel when she kissed Ross for the first time, and the studio crowd went wild.

  After a few seconds, I lean back, smiling and satisfied by my courageous efforts. Before I can pull away, though, he stops me. “Wait.”

  I pause, looking up at him. His eyes pour down into mine like sweet, thick molasses. And just like that, I’m caught. Stuck. Held breathlessly.

  Two words ripple through the fireworks. A warning. A taunt. “My turn.”

  Each word lands in my stomach with a boom.

  One palm rises to the side of my neck, his thumb by my ear. He gives me the space of three erratic heartbeats to protest before he bends to press his lips to mine. I don’t protest because I can’t. I want this. More than I can remember wanting anything in recent years.

  And he gives it to me.

  This kiss… Dear God, it’s nothing like the one I gave him. This kiss is fiery and wild. It devours, and it savors. It thrills, and it incites. It’s meant for dark rooms and shadowed corners, not crowded bars and public places. But at the moment, I don’t care. I’m lost. Consumed. Burned up.

  His tongue sweeps along mine, lapping hungrily as he threads the fingers of one hand into my hair. He tugs my head to the side as his other broad palm, still at my waist, snugs my lower body against his. The fireworks in my ears fade as my blood goes up in flames.

  I’m nowhere near ready for the kiss to be over when he raises his head. I watch with dazed eyes as he runs the tip of his tongue along his bottom lip and mutters, “Mmmm. Tequila.”

  3

  Nixon

  She stares at my mouth for a long time before raising her hazel-green eyes to mine. Her cheeks turn the tiniest bit pink when she does. “That’s the best tequila I’ve had in a long time,” I admit.

  “It’s my favorite.”

  “It might be my favorite now, too.”

  The pink deepens, and she glances away. Shy then bold, now shy again, but I’m not sure why. All I know is that something about this woman captivates me.

  She starts to back up. “Uh, sorry for accosting you.”

  “Are you?”

  At that, she snaps her eyes up to mine. Her lips part like she’s about to say something, but then she changes her mind.

  “Can I buy you another round?” I probably shouldn’t be feeding the fire. This woman has clearly had a few too many, and I’m not the type of guy to take advantage of that. I’ve never had to. But I’m not ready to let this one go just yet either.

  “No, I think I’ve had plenty. I need to get going, but thanks.”

  “How about a ride home then?”

  “Oh, no, that’s okay. I came with a friend.”

  “You mean the one who left with the bartender about five minutes ago?”

  I can see that it takes a couple of seconds for the meaning of my words to sink in. I watch several emotions cross her beautiful face—confusion, understanding, disbelief, and then when she turns to look for her friend and back at me, anger.

  “She left me.”

  “Looks like it.”

  She shakes her head and laughs, although there’s not much humor in it. “That sneaky, conniving little…”

  “Wanna rethink that ride?”

  “No, but I appreciate the offer.”

  I nod as she turns to make her way toward the door. When she disappears out into the night, I realize that the bar has lost whatever appeal it held when I walked into it tonight. Now I just want some tequila.

  4

  Haley

  I pay the Uber driver and head for the hotel lobby, making my way to the bank of elevators. The doors are just starting to close on a car going up when I round the corner.

  “Hold the elevator!”

  A hand juts out to stop the doors, and I leap, breathless, through the opening. My toe gets snagged on the threshold, and I fall headlong into the only other occupant. I’m smiling, ready to apologize, when my eyes click up to onyx ones that I will likely be thinking of in the shower for the next however many days.

  He smirks down at me. “Tequila.”

  “I-it’s you.”

  “So it is,” he teases, not bothering to help me right myself as he reminds me of his name. “Nixon, but you can call me Nix if you want.”

  I push away from him, halfheartedly at best, until I’m on steady footing. “Nixon,” I repeat. “I like Nixon.”

  Nixon.

  Does Nixon rhyme with velvet? Because that’s how it sounds to me—like velvet.

  Niiiiiiiixon.

  Velllllllll-vet.

  Lux-urrrrrrrrr-ious.

  It may be the alcohol talking, but the fine hairs on my arms stand up as a shiver works its way down my spine.

  “I-I’m Haley.”

  “It’s a pleasure, Haley.”

  “What are you doing here? Did you follow me?”

  His grin widens into a laughing smile. “Well, considering I was in the elevator first, I’m gonna have to say no. I didn’t follow you.”

  “Oh, right.”

  Discombobulated, I stand rooted to the spot, staring silently up at him until he finally asks, “What floor?”

 
“Oh. Four.” He presses the button. The doors hiss closed. When he doesn’t press another, I ask, “Which floor are you on?”

  “Fourth.”

  “No, you’re not.”

  “Actually, I am.” He watches me for a few seconds, humor written in every line of his face. “Still think I’m following you?”

  I think for a moment before narrowing my eyes on his. “Did Lia put you up to this?”

  “Put me up to what?”

  “Coming here like this.”

  “I don’t know who Lia is.”

  “She’s the girl I was with at the bar.”

  “Ah.” He nods. “No, she didn’t. I’m not up to anything except going to bed.” He pauses, one corner of his mouth twitching. “Unless you have a better idea.”

  A surge of heat sweeps up from my belly into my chest and lands on my face. “Oh, no. I wasn’t… I didn’t mean…” I can’t even finish such an embarrassing sentence.

  The elevator opens on the fourth floor with a muted ding, and I exit the car. Nixon is right behind me. I go left, and he goes right. He walks away without looking back.

  I watch him until he stops at a room on the left, halfway down the hall, and inserts his key. Sure enough, I hear a distant bleep, and he presses the lever to open the door.

  Before he steps inside, he glances over at me. Even from here, I can see the gleam of desire in his coal eyes. “Sure you don’t want that drink? I’ve got a terrible craving for tequila for some reason.”

  Want, white hot want, blossoms within me. It gives me pause. I’ve never considered, not for one second, indulging in a one-night stand with a stranger. Not ever, in all my years.

  Until right this minute.

  I debate in silence. He waits in the same manner.

  In the end, as much as I’d love to be plastered, naked and sweaty, to this man right about now, I’m still not comfortable with it. Not even if several parts of me want to be.

  “I’m sure, but thanks again for the offer.”

  He nods and disappears inside.

  I make my way to my own room, which is in the opposite direction of his. The closer I get to it and the farther I get from his, the more I want to take a risk I’ve never taken. The more I want to do something I’ve never done. The more I want to be someone I’ve never been, if just for a night.

  Before I even realize what I’m doing, I’m down the hall, and my hand is poised to knock on the door Nixon, the hot stranger, went through. My knuckles don’t even make contact when it swings open. There he stands—Nixon with his burning eyes and killer smile—shirtless. Gloriously shirtless.

  My mouth drops open. I want to say something, feel like I should say something, but there’s no time and no need. Before I can formulate a single word, I’m yanked into long, thick arms and pulled inside.

  Flattened against his chest, Nixon pivots as the door slams shut, leaning back against it.

  Though my heart is hammering and my knees are knocking, my ears are working fine. I hear his deep rumble just before he kisses me.

  “Tequila.”

  And then he dives in, dives in like a man who’s been thirsty for far too long.

  I know the feeling. Being in his arms, in his possession, seems like I’ve been thirsty my whole life, just waiting for this man, this touch, this kiss to slake my thirst.

  He wraps his arms tighter around me and lifts me off my feet. Brazenly, I wind my legs around his slim hips. I’m rewarded with a growl that vibrates from his mouth into mine as he palms my ass and carries me to the bed.

  He turns to sit on the edge. The delicious assault of his lips and tongue doesn’t let up as he runs his hands from the curve of my butt down to the backs of my thighs. He grips my legs and tugs them apart, settling me astride him in a spine-tingling way. I feel the ridge of his erection pressing against me through the thin material of my shorts. Heat gushes into my panties. I moan into the cavern of his mouth when he circles his hips under me.

  Nixon drags his mouth down to my throat as his hands find their way back up to my ass. My breasts hang heavily inside my bra as he kisses his way along my collarbone.

  I thread my fingers into his hair, trying not to lose myself completely. At least not yet. “I…I don’t usually do things like…like...”

  “Like what?” he asks, his voice muffled against my skin.

  “Like this.”

  “You don’t usually kiss?”

  “No, I mean have…have sex with strange men.”

  “What if I’m not strange?”

  “I didn’t mean…”

  “And who said we’re having sex?” He doesn’t stop kissing and licking and lightly biting his way down to the swell of my breast. My nipples pucker when he tugs the scooped neckline of my shirt down and trails the tip of his tongue along the edge of my bra. I arch into him, torn between confusion and bone-deep want.

  “Wh-what?”

  “I don’t have sex with drunk women.” Even as he speaks, he brings one of his hands between us to knead my aching flesh. His other hand guides my hips into a slow, steady rub, back and forth over his. I let my head fall back as sensation assails me.

  “Then why—” I pause to catch my breath. My thoughts, my words, my breath—everything is getting harder and harder to control. “Why did you bring me in here?”

  Nixon raises his head but doesn’t stop moving me on him. He simply stares into my eyes as he pushes my body higher and higher. “Because I want you. I want to touch you. And I like getting what I want. Do you want me to stop?”

  As he asks, he urges me into a faster rhythm with one hand while the other rolls my nipple between his thumb and forefinger. My fingers dig into his muscular shoulders, and I can’t think of a single thing to say. I can only feel. I can only climb. And then I can only soar.

  My breath begins to come in labored pants as I tip over the cliff. With a lusty snarl, Nixon leans forward to claim my mouth with his as he drops his hand between us and presses one finger under the hem of my shorts and right into my needy center.

  I rip my lips away from his, crying out as I squeeze my eyes shut and buck against him. My body takes on a life of its own, riding his finger to places I can’t remember going with anyone else. Flood after flood of liquid sensation curls through me, stealing my breath, my mind, my will.

  Nixon holds me to him as I float back to earth. When my breathing finally returns to normal, he withdraws his long finger from me and turns to lay me on the bed.

  He stares down at me for several seconds before he whispers, “Get some sleep.” It seems that his lips softly brush my temple and then I’m drifting off into the best rest I’ve had in months. Maybe even longer.

  But despite how blissfully erotic the last moments have been, I wouldn’t have kissed him, wouldn’t have slept here, wouldn’t have come here at all if I’d known what the next day would hold.

  5

  Nixon

  At dawn, I wake to an empty bed. I smile when I think of how a crimson-haired beauty came to life in my arms, under my tongue, on my hand last night. My dick stiffens when I think about the things I might’ve done to her this morning had she stayed. I don’t sleep with drunk women, but I’d damn sure sleep with a hung over redhead if given the chance.

  I let my imagination run wild for a few minutes. I almost wish I’d gotten her number. Almost. The fact that I’m thinking about her this morning is unusual for me. She’s the kind of distraction that I needed last night, not today, so she’s best left in the past. As a pleasant memory.

  A very pleasant memory.

  I fling back the covers and head for the shower. If I can’t have Haley, I’ll settle for breakfast instead. At least one of my hungers can be satisfied this morning.

  An hour later, I’m carrying my bag to the truck when my cell rings. I bite back a sigh when I see my father’s number on the screen. I only hesitate for a few seconds before I hit the ignore button. Going into business with my father seemed like a pretty good idea at one p
oint in my life, but the older he gets, the less willing he is to compromise on anything. Even when he’s wrong. It’s like since he can’t fight aging, he’s fighting harder and harder to control the things he can, so he tries to control me. Unfortunately, the older I get, the less I tolerate his heavy hand. And since he won’t listen, I’ve resorted to doing what I feel is best. Period. I’m sure that’s why he’s calling. He doesn’t like what I’ve done. I’m not in the mood to discuss it with him at the moment, though. Probably won’t be for a while. There’s nothing he can do to change the situation until I decide to change it, so he can just wait.

  My hand is on the door handle when my phone rings again. I hiss under my breath. I’m about to answer just to tell him I’m not discussing it with him when I see it’s a different number. That of John Brandt, the owner of the Circle B Ranch and the man I’m currently working with.

  “Good morning, John.”

  “Nixon.”

  “What can I do for you?”

  “Are you still in the city?”

  “I’m about to pull out now.”

  “Would you mind waiting around for another half an hour or so and giving my daughter a ride home?”

  “Your daughter? Which one?”

  “Piper.”

  “Piper? I thought she was in Colorado.”

  “She was. She’s coming home for a visit.”

  “A visit, huh? You told me that Piper hadn’t set foot on the ranch in the last decade.”

  “She hasn’t.”

  “So why now?”

  “She called and I…I wanted to see her.”

  “John,” I say warningly.

  “She deserves to hear it from me.”

  I grit my teeth. “Is she going to be a problem?”

  “No. She won’t be a problem.”

  “I hope not.” I force my jaw to relax. John knows how this works. It’ll be his responsibility to handle it if something comes up with his daughter. With any of them.

  “She won’t.”