Jill Barker traced the stem of her martini glass with one red lacquered fingernail as she slowly took in the patrons of the hotel bar. Several men were present but all were with females and unavailable. She bit her bottom lip. She could use a man—a virile stud to sate her lust and take her mind off the real estate sale she botched earlier in the day.
She sighed and picked up her drink. The client had wanted to play—but at nine thirty in the morning—she had been uninterested. He had chased her through three rooms of the vacant house, spouted quotes from Emily Dickinson love poems, and told her how big his cock was, trying to persuade her to change her mind. She smiled and shook her head, sending her auburn tresses dancing across her bare shoulders. He hadn't been altogether unattractive—in fact, he had a rather appealing face, but she hadn't flown a thousand miles to have sex—not at nine thirty in the morning anyway. I'm ready now though—if Mr. Stud would stroll through the doorway.
She watched the bartender come toward her and pushed her empty glass to the edge of the bar. Might as well get drunk—since there's no man to fuck. She watched the squat bartender refill her glass then smiled when he set it before her. Maybe I could call an escort service—rent a man for the evening. She chuckled at her errant thought as she took a sip of the fresh drink. As she returned the glass to the colorful napkin on the bar, she glanced again toward the entrance of the lounge. As if she had managed to conjure him up, she spied a tall man with an impressive set of broad shoulders stepping into the room. He paused, surveyed the area as though he were looking for someone, then came toward the bar.
Oh baby! A rush of hot lust raced through Jill's insides as his gaze took note of her. She tightened her fingers around the stem of her glass as she watched him slide onto a stool toward the end of the bar. He was tall and gorgeous, with handsome chiseled features and dark hair. Her toes curled as she took in the wayward lock that fell across his forehead. Something about the way the dark tress grazed his brow immediately gave him a bad boy persona. I'm a sucker for bad boys.
She swiveled toward him on her stool, crossed her legs and hiked her skirt above one knee. Her nipples peaked, calling attention to the front of her sheer top. What do I have to do to get him to look in my direction? The thought barely materialized in her mind when he turned his head and acknowledged her with a slight smile. She creamed her panties. His gaze was so intense. His eyes were the color of midnight—so appropriate with his ebon hair. She drew in a quick breath. I could get lost in those eyes.
Her heart fluttered as she watched him move closer. He picked up his drink and walked toward her, his tall form fluid and graceful, as he closed the gap between them. She watched his hips move and couldn't help but imagine the naked male flesh lying beneath that expensive Armani suit. His white shirt was open at the neck and she imagined his tapered fingers loosening an expensive silk tie and sliding it from its place after a long day at the office.
"Could I buy you a drink?"
Oh honey! Please do—and then fuck me silly! "Thank you," she answered aloud. Her voice sounded shaky, as though he had suddenly stirred dormant emotions and she was keenly aware of a hot surge of need rising inside her body. She drew in a long breath, swelling her chest in his direction. His eyes latched onto the curve of her breasts rising over the lace insert of her blouse. One corner of his mouth pulled upward, a sexy motion that belied the heated look he aimed her way.
He slid onto the stool next to her and turned in her direction, one elbow propped on the bar. She quickly took in the sight of his hands. There was no ring. I won't fuck another woman's man. A feeling of relief coursed through her insides. The lack of a ring on his finger intensified the sex appeal that oozed from every gorgeous pour of his body. She met his gaze and felt as though she would drown in the inky depths of his eyes.
"I'm Rance McComb."
I don't need to know your name—I just need you between my legs. "Hi Rance. I'm Jill."
"Are you waiting for someone?" He cocked an eyebrow at her.
Just you! She shook her head, calling his attention to her long hair as it bounced across one shoulder and came to rest atop her left breast.
He smiled, a slow, seductive grin that made her knees weak. In the next instant he totally surprised her by reaching out one hand and lifting the lock of hair off her blouse. His knuckles brushed the fabric, sent a warming sensation spilling through her body before he held the tresses across his palm and allowed them to slowly thread through his fingers.
The gesture was extremely seductive and very intimate. She smiled and bit her bottom lip, gazing up at him through her lashes. He leaned closer and she drew the woodsy fragrance of his cologne into her lungs. She felt his body heat, sensed his desire for her. He slid one hand onto her thigh. His thumb began a sensuous kneading of her flesh.
"Your room or mine?" his voice was low-toned, sexy, his breath puffed hotly on the side of her face.
She stifled an unadulterated shiver of raw lust as she raised her eyes and met his gaze. "Mine." She covered his hand with hers and slid slowly from the stool silently telling him that he needed no further invitation. He wound one arm around her waist and fell into step beside her, turning her toward the doorway of the bar.
