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Talk Dirty to Me, Cowboy
A Special Deputy Laney Briggs and Gunner Wilson Novella
By Jodi Linton, Karen Grove
Entangled Publishing, LLCCopyright © 2014 Jodi Linton
All rights reserved.
She had an ass that could make any man sin.
A backside like hers could be grabbed hold of and ridden, hard. I'd had the pleasure to take it out a few times which, I might add, never disappointed. And damn, it could wear the hell out of a killer pair of cutoffs. My gaze raked over that skintight, denim-covered behind as she leaned across the bar top. Those tanned, toned, and shapely long legs were rocking her signature pair of red cowboy boots. I'd seen her naked a million times over, and yet still she could make me drunk with lust after all these years. Pulling the Miller Lite to my lips, I took a sip and secretly indulged in the fact that it was my name inked on her fine ass. Damn straight, the pretty lady turning all the heads inside Rusty's this evening would be screaming my name tonight.
And I'd willingly oblige to give her a good fucking.
She slapped a ten down on the bar top, tipped her straw cowboy hat in that cute thank-you-very-much manner that always made my cock stand at attention, then scooped up the beers and sauntered in my direction. Normally Rusty's wasn't known for crowds, but tonight the folks of Pistol Rock had poured out in droves in hopes of getting a piece of the Wagner money pie. A few weeks ago, Luke Wagner—one of the many criminals I promised to lock behind bars before I die and the only man who held the power to make my blood boil—made a wager that anyone who could ride Buster, the mechanical bull, longer than eight seconds would be placed into a five-thousand-dollar cash drawing. Considering that I'm a Texas Ranger, it probably made more sense to steer clear of any money dished out by a Wagner, but I had a plan. And that plan was standing two feet away, giving me a naughty come-hither-boy smile. She was the only focus in my heart, mind, and soul. Tonight everything would change. Maybe I'd finally manage to tie her down. Prove that even a bastard like myself could right old wrongs. And hopefully she'd agree to see things my way by trying for another baby. Most of all, that'd been my reasoning behind springing an impromptu date night on her ... I was dying to have the baby talk.
She deserved the world. And I had a lot of ground to make up for. We had a past that'd been messy at times—mostly the blame was on me—but I felt each day our relationship moved in the right direction. Take last week for instance, when I'd pulled one of my usual ass-tastic comments, and shit, she'd blown me away by not taking the final jab. Instead she'd calmly called me a horse's ass, her go-to nickname, and moseyed that delicious ass of hers into the shower. I half expected her to hurl a boot at my head.
I slung back the last of my beer and tossed her my wanna-talk-dirty wink.
She laughed, her head tipped back, the dimly lit bar washing a beautiful glow about her gorgeous face. Honestly, this girl of mine held the power to cause me to act like a boy going through puberty. Just one touch from her and I might blow a load in my Wranglers.
"Tell me, cowboy. You plan on wiping that drool off your mouth anytime soon?" her sweet-talking voice purred in my ear.
God damn it, did I enjoy that nickname a little too much.
Grinning, I pushed up the brim of my black cowboy hat, stretched both arms above my head—since I knew she'd get a kick out of staring at my tattoo—and said, "Kiss me, and I'll let you know, Laney Briggs."
That adorable small nose of hers wrinkled in thought. This was going to be damn fun. I'm not sure why I'd waited so long to ask for vacation time. I needed a breather. Hell, Laney was owed a night without me stressing over my parents' cold case. For the past year, since my arrival back in Pistol Rock, I'd spent whatever spare time I had trying to bring my parents' killer to light. They were both taken from me during a home invasion robbery that went bad. Yet slowly the pieces came together over the years, and once I earned my Ranger badge I set my eyes on the prize ... giving my parents justice. It was probably the biggest reason I applied to the Ranger office. My last-ditch effort in carrying on my father's legacy. He'd been a Texas Ranger, too, and in the prime of his life a killer cut him down. It was ingrained in me to see his final case to completion—the one that took him away from me. Sometimes it pained me to watch Laney being so accepting of my obsession, and yet, after allowing the case to take precedence over our life, she was still here. She wanted to be mine. Damn, was I one fucking lucky bastard.
Laney slid a beer across the table. "Wow, I'm sort of let down here, Gunner Wilson," she said, hanging onto that I-can-bring-a-bad-boy-to-his-knees smile. That look alone strummed up all kinds of desirable ways I could please my naughty cowgirl. And most would slap me with an indecent exposure citation if I tried to play out any of the fantasies inside Rusty's. One more round of beer and we'd beat feet to the door.
Laney pulled the beer to her lips, sucking long and hard on the bottle neck. That could be my dick. "After all this"—she gestured at her outfit, making sure to allow her hand a good roam past a rack that'd made me sing "Hail Mary" on more than one occasion—"and all I get is a measly kiss." Immediately my eyes latched in on her cock-thumping shorts when she brushed a thumb along the hip-snug waistline. Well, maybe shuck the extra round of beer and I'd have her under me panting and screaming "fuck me, Gunner" until the cows came home. With a wink, she pulled out a chair and plopped down across the way.
Hell, she was a temptress.
I dropped my arms and scooted forward in my chair. "You calling me a bad kisser, sweetheart?"
Those pretty, wickedly smart brown eyes narrowed as she shot them toward my belt buckle and split my heart wide open, then drifted back up to stare me directly in the face. "How about a bet, Gunner?" she asked, licking a pair of plump red lips. I'd wash the dishes for the next month just to sample, suckle, and nibble that ruby red mouth. When our eyes clicked in sync into that old driving-down-a-dirt-road gaze, I knew she'd be the only girl to ever get me.
I felt one side of my mouth quirk up as I contemplated playing with Ms. Lady Law, the sassy cowgirl that stole my heart. I could tell exactly what wild card she'd pull. It'd always been the ace up her sleeve. And she loved using it on me a little too damn much. I eyed the shot glasses housed smack dab in the middle of the table, cocked my chin at them, then threw her a wild card by dropping my voice into a deep, whispering drawl that never failed to make my girl shuck a pair of panties. "Beg," I said.
Heat flushed her cheeks pink, the tint reminiscent of a good, hard fuck. She bit her bottom lip, a natural reaction that I'd grown familiar with, a nervous trait of hers. The need to caress, roam, and squeeze her tight, naked ass spurred me on. Then she giggled. To say I was revved up and ready to mark that delectable ass of hers would've been the understatement of the decade.
Laney moved in for the kill, aligning those perky, kissable college-girl tits within flicking distance. Okay, the woman was definitely in tune with what piqued my attention. And damn, did my girl still have the goods. Pouting those lush "fuck me cowboy" lips in my face, Laney smiled, saying, "So tonight we are throwing bets around, huh?" She dipped and swirled a finger in the shot glass. "I bet I can drink more tequila than you," she stated, picking up the shot glass, holding it mere inches from her lips.
Such a perfect temptation. I arched a brow, saying, "Sure about that, darling?" Teasing was my specialty.
"Grab a lime and suck it, Mr. Badass Texas Ranger." She raised the glass in the air, then shot the tequila back in one gulp. The glass smacked the table as a smirk grew across her face. "I know how much you enjoy Jose Cuervo."
Blast the sinful woman. Actually, tequila and I had a bone to pick. And Laney knew it. The last time I'd sucked down the worm I'd managed to pull a Magic Mike for her in the pasture next to her property line.
I smiled and snatched the shot glass off the table, all the while eyeing down my hot little number of a cowgirl beneath the brim of my cowboy hat. Lifting the glass, I toasted, "To just another Saturday night."CHAPTER 2
I sat back and eyed my Texas Ranger.
Tall, dark, rough-around-the-edges, and ... yeah, I enjoyed his bullheaded attitude more than a lazy day by the riverbank with a case of beer. All six foot, five inches of brooding cowboy flipped my switch. My eyes slid up and down, soaking in the chiseled lines of his jaw, the curve of his playful smile, and his raw, passionate brown eyes. That ripped, muscular, inked right forearm could pin me down any day. I'd spent a little over a decade wrapped in his comforting arms, and, hell, he still made the butterflies swarm in my belly. Tucking a piece of hair behind an ear, I licked my lips, truly satisfied that I was the only girl in his sights. Yeah, the only guy inside the bar who could grace a GQ magazine would be begging for a piece of my ass tonight.
And I'd happily welcome a good cowboy pounding.
His sexy lips twitched up into that I-could-get-drunk-on-you-girl grin as he drew the shot glass toward his mouth. Gunner's lips held the ability to bring girls to their knees. Heck, I should know since it'd worked me over more times than I could count. He winked, tipped the brim of his black cowboy hat at me, then the glass rim touched his full bottom lip. That could be my cherry. A sly smile played across his face. "Something on your mind, Laney?" he asked, only to tempt me further by slowly licking the salt and lime off the side of his hand. Dragging his tongue along his lip, a devilish glimmer blazed in his primal dark brown eyes as he whispered in a low, heated voice, "Wanna taste, darling?"
A hot sweat flared up the back of my neck. With a speeding heart, I locked in on my lethal cowboy eyeing me down like he'd just won the big plush teddy bear at the Texas State Fair. The way his cheeks burned hotter by the minute put my ass on pins and needles.
Tonight was supposed to be our new beginning. Well, that's what Gunner had spewed in order to get me to swap a pair of workout bottoms for my cutoffs and red boots. And hell, when he let me know he'd put in for a week's vacation, I shucked the yoga pants faster than a speeding bullet. We were owed a night of pretend, even if it meant that by morning all the demons of our past would come crawling back in the cold light of day. The scars ran deep between the two of us—Gunner'd made it apparent he desired another go around at trying to have a baby, although I was still on the fence—and each day we pressed on, picking up the pieces and patching old wounds as best we could. As it was, my heart wasn't quite into the baby-making-machine department yet. We had past mistakes that needed to be worked out, and bringing a baby into the mix ... As sweet as it sounded, the timing might be wrong. Secrets and lies had wedged a distance wider than the big old state of Texas in our household. And neither of us was willing to loosen the blade twisting in the other's back. Truth be told, his continued search, ambitious as it might be, to find the person who murdered his parents was causing a strain in our so-called love affair. Lately, unless we were fucking like jackrabbits, communication had hit a brick wall. But not this evening. I was so ready to own that tight ass, even if it meant admitting I wasn't opposed to having kids, as long as we worked out the logistics. I could barely sit still at the promising thought of what tonight might hold in store. And yeah, it'd more than likely entail some baby chatter.
Gunner's grin broadened. "I know a way to rid you of those pesky ants in your pants," his deep, rough voice drawled.
My heart sparked and, yep, when he did a full body check with those handsome eyes devouring me in a single glance, I swore to myself that next time I'd pack a panty change in the purse. Aw, hell. He moved forward, slouching over on his elbows, making damn sure to strain his black rattlesnake tattoo along his right forearm. He knew the effect his inked muscular arm had on me. I gulped and licked my lips, thoughts wandering to how his strong, toned arms would feel wrapped snugly around my waist as he fucked me hard and urgent. I wanted him to lose control.
Shit, this cowboy of mine could be a killer. At the moment the only thing on my mind was backing him up against a wall and acting out all the ways I could rid him of those heart-stopping Wranglers. My shoulder blades shivered when his smirk collided with the fantasy of him filling me ... completely.
Nodding at the glass, I tried to hide my thigh clenching and masked the heat igniting a fire within me by laughing. "Pretty sure the glass doesn't need so much tongue action."
Casually he slung it back, keeping eye contact with me the whole time as I watched that damn cotton-mouth inducing Adam's apple roll. The glass smacked the tabletop, hard, immediately pulling me out of my sexually charged porno fairytale land. "Satisfied, sweetheart?" Gunner asked, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
Not even close. There's no time like the present to experience a drunken night with a cowboy. I so loved half-price tequila happy hour.
"Hey, Rusty," I hollered over Brantley Gilbert's "Bottom's Up" squealing out from the old jukebox speakers. "We'll take two more tequilas."
Gunner gave me an oh-hell-no look. Voice unusually low, he said, "I think one's my limit, sweetheart."
Thickly laying on the southern girl charm, I batted my eyelashes, purring like a prostitute at the infamous Nevada Bunny Ranch. "Well, shucks, cowboy"—I reached out and tapped my fingertip along his five o'clock shadow—"I was hoping you'd make one of my fantasies come true tonight."
The black cowboy hat slid back, and a lock of his silky brown hair fell forward just as he quirked an eyebrow. Not entirely a gesture of goodwill, but more a promise of a sinfully good time. I was glad that Gunner had missed the cutoff to ride the bull tonight, and now I might just get my wish ... an amazingly earth-shattering roll in the hay. No way in hell would I breathe a word to him that I didn't want his ass on Buster the mechanical bull and accepting Wagner cash. Some things were better left unsaid.
Gunner dropped a shoulder and shrugged. Rubbing his jaw, he smiled and cleared his throat, saying, "Why don't ya make it four shots, Rusty?" Our eyes were locked, gauged ... and action-primed. That's when I saw the mischief written all over his ruggedly handsome face. I tipped the brim of my straw cowboy hat back at him while angling my tits into a good viewing zone. He cocked his chin at the girls. "You game, cowgirl?"
Lips twitching, I looked him up and down, "Bring it on, Wilson."
Then four tequila-filled shot glasses scooted into sight. We both went for the liquor at the same time. The smoky aroma whiffed up my nose. Locked in a trance with Gunner, I grabbed the salt shaker and licked the side of my hand, then sprinkled salt on my wet skin.
Only after I heard Rusty's gruff voice beckon from behind did it dawn on me that we still had company.
"Y'all two good?" Rusty asked, veering his attention from Gunner to me.
Gunner nodded. Then he licked the salt off his hand. All the indecent images whispering inside my head came front and center. I wanted him bad. His tongue slid across his bottom lip, tasting the small spec of salt resting in the corner of his mouth. And damn it, my nipples shouted "pick me" as they pressed painfully erect against my white cotton tank top. He cut his eyes over at Rusty scoping out the scene. "Laney made me a bet." The smile grew on Gunner's chiseled face. "She thinks I can't hold my tequila."
Excerpted from Talk Dirty to Me, Cowboy by Jodi Linton, Karen Grove. Copyright © 2014 Jodi Linton. Excerpted by permission of Entangled Publishing, LLC.
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