
Welcome to Honkeytonk, the hottest town in Texas—thanks to
its adventurous women, irresistible men, and sizzling sex…
Bound and DeterminedBar owner Tara Toomey is in the mood to serve bad boy Cody
Westhofen more than a drink. What better way to capture his
attention—and more—than to kidnap him for a wanton weekend?
Tied to Tara’s bed, Cody is more than willing to cooperate…
Breezy Ridin’
When Joe Chavez and a sheriff’s deputy pull over a speeding
motorcycle, it’s no surprise the county judge’s naughty
daughter Sarah Michelson is behind the wheel—naked. And when
she bribes them with a threesome, all laws are suspended as
the men prepare for the ride of their lives…
Night Watch
Schoolteacher Amy Keating never planned to be a voyeur, but
one innocent glance into deputy Logan Ross’s bedroom window
has her hooked. Now she’s into a world of sexual play she
never knew existed…
Excerpt When the
deejay’s speaker set crashed to the floor as the first
women to arrive rushed the tables nearest the stage, Tara
Toomey scrambled for a replacement and chalked the mishap
up to high spirits.
When one of the
volunteers carrying a tray of Jell-O shots
tripped, and cherry and lime gelatin slid in glistening trails
down his face and naked chest, she laughed as eager women
offered
to lick him clean.
However, it
wasn’t until one of her staff whispered in her ear
that she knew she was in for a long night. The main attraction
had yet to arrive.
She crushed her
dog-eared copy of the “Hook-Up” program
in her fist and headed toward the old-fashioned, double
swinging doors, ready to stomp all the way to Redbone Ranch
to drag his butt to town.
As she passed
excited, tittering women, her smile felt strained,
and her nerves stretched taut. The “Annual Honkytonk Hook-
Up” had always been a good time, but this year she wished she
hadn’t been so quick to volunteer her bar again. Sure, it was
good for business, and many of the “blow-ins” from Houston,
San Antonio, and San Angelo returned throughout the year
because
they enjoyed the event and Honkytonk’s authentic Western
ambience.
But Tara wished
she could return home, crawl into bed, and
pull the covers over her head. The last thing she felt ready
to do
was watch one particular cowboy strut his stuff across the
stage
and land in some other woman’s clutches—even if it was just
one night, completely innocent—right—and for a really good
cause. The fact he might blow off the auction pissed her off
almost
as much as the thought of the spectacle he’d cause if he
did finally make an entrance.
If anyone
thought splintered speaker casings or a little spilled
Jell-O were trouble, they hadn’t seen a roomful of women erupt
in the wake of one seriously sexy cowboy.
The thought
soured her stomach. Still, she had a part to play
in tonight’s festivities. Everyone seemed to think it was
her job
to make sure that cowboy showed up because she was one of
the few true friends he had. And after all, his picture in
the auction
advertisement had been the big pull.
Too many
gussied-up women crowded the entrance to the
bar, and the line wrapped twice around the narrow foyer. Not
that anyone complained about the wait as bare-chested men
wearing tight jeans, cowboy hats, and wicked smiles carried
more trays laden with drinks down the long line.
Rather than wade
through the cloud of perfume when all
her “polite” was gone, Tara swept past the sign-in tables
where volunteers busily took the women’s cash and handed
out programs, shiny Mardi Gras beads, and wooden bidding
paddles.
The combined
scent of expensive perfumes made Tara’s nose
twitch, so she pivoted on her heel and stomped toward the side
entrance, reminded again about the cause of her agitation. Perfume was like
doe piss to this horned buck—irresistible
bait. So where the hell was he?
“He’s late!” a
high-pitched voice squeaked behind her.
Tara didn’t even
bother trying to pretend she didn’t know
who “he” was, or that she didn’t know he hadn’t shown. Any
woman with an ounce of estrogen in her veins would feel the
tingle the moment the cowboy sauntered into the room.
“Tell me
something I don’t already know,” Tara muttered,
pausing at the door to shoot a glance over her shoulder.
Meaghan Garrity,
the event’s “man wrangler,” trotted toward
her, her anxious gaze rising over the top of the clipboard
she clutched to her chest. Spots of hectic color glazed each
pale cheek. Her long red hair escaped the untidy knot at the
top of her head in long, curling tendrils. “Didn’t you tell him
he was second on the program? We can’t start until he gets
here.”
“He’ll be here,”
Tara bit out and then forced a smile. No use
getting Meaghan more nervous than she already was. He
wouldn’t stand them all up, would he?
Even as she said
it, her stomach churned. There was only
one thing that would keep the cowboy from his adoring fans—
an easier fish to land—one he didn’t even have to bother moving
his adorable tail to find.
Tara wondered
what her name was, and the image of a
beauty with her head snatched bald flashed through her mind.
But she pasted on a smile to reassure her friend, while inside
her anger began a slow, hot boil.
Leave it to Cody
Westhofen to keep three hundred intoxicated
women waitin’ on his sweet ass. Does the man think his
sex appeal will forgive all sins?
Tara carefully
ignored the little voice inside her that screamed
an emphatic “Yes!” Instead she murmured, “Think that man
would miss a chance at addin’ a hundred more numbers to his
little black book?” Although she began the statement as a joke,
anger scraped a sharper edge toward the end.
Tara caught
herself before she began a rant, afraid Meaghan,
whom she’d known since kindergarten, would wonder why
one slow-as-molasses cowboy could get under her skin. After
all, Tara was known for her ready smile and even temper, but
especially her cowboy-proof armor.
She shoved her
crumpled program into Meaghan’s hand.
“Um... I’ll check outside and see what’s keepin’ him.”
“Or who! Better
check backseats!” Meaghan whispered
loudly. “That man can’t take a step without trippin’ over a
droolin’ woman.”
With a wry twist
of her lips, Tara pushed open the glass door
to step out into the parking lot.
Outside, stars
twinkled above the spotlight that illuminated
the gravel lot overflowing with cars, SUVs, and pickup trucks.
More vehicles lined the road leading to the bar for as far
as she
could see. Luckily the southerly wind that had whipped up the
stink from the stockyards earlier had changed course. Although
a little humid, the air was sweet and cool.
Muffled music
and laughter sounded from the building behind
her, but for a moment, a peaceful calm surrounded her.
Tara closed her eyes and dragged in a deep breath, sure this
would be the last time she’d get a chance to relax tonight.
Gravel crunched
behind her, and her eyes shot open. Thick,
corded arms encircled her waist, a cowboy hat held in one
hand. The crisp scent of spicy cologne tickled her nose. “Hey,
darlin’, afraid I wouldn’t show?” Even if he
hadn’t spoken first, she’d have known it was him.
That telltale tingle raised goose bumps all over her body. Tara
stiffened, and her eyes slid open, but she didn’t push the arms
away. The snug pressure provided a moment’s reassurance,
however
empty the promise.
She slid her
hands over the tops of his and squeezed. “Cuttin’
it a little close, aren’t ya, cowboy?” she said, hoping she
didn’t sound as breathless as she felt. “The natives are
gettin’
restless.”
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