Undeniable (31 page)

He had no idea what she was doing with him, a cowboy, a bad seed, a black sheep, a dick. Yeah, he knew what folks thought of him, the way he’d run out on his kin and the hell he’d raised
without making amends. But Arwen saw beneath that, saw the same truth his boys had known all along. He worked hard and he played hard and loved harder than them all. Where was the crime in that?

Opening his door while a white-coated valet opened Arwen’s, he climbed down and walked to where she waited, stopping to look at her as another valet took off in his truck to park it. Her dress was strapless, a tight-fitting number that hugged her breasts and her waist, then flared into a skirt that made him think of Marilyn Monroe. He wanted to see her walk over a subway air vent, wanted to watch the material billow, see her fight it, get a peek at what she was wearing beneath.

And her hair… God, her hair. Shining like strong coffee in the sun. She’d curled it, swept it back on one side with a flowered clip thing the same color pink as her dress. And her shoes, her legs. They were bare, smooth, gorgeous, her heels as high as railroad spikes, though so narrow he had no idea how she balanced. But balance she did, and walk she did, her ass swinging, her skirt swinging, too, as she came to where he was standing like he’d been rooted to the ground.

“Are you sure about this?” she asked, frowning.

He shifted a bit to adjust his own erect root. “Why do you ask?”

“You’re sweating,” she said, leaning forward to lick his throat in the open collar of his dress shirt.

God-
damn.
“It’s hot out.”

“Not that kind of sweat, silly.”

Silly, yeah. That was what he was. “I didn’t know there was more than one kind.”

“Sure there is,” she said, hooking her arm through his and turning him toward the door. “There’s baling hay in the sun sweat—”

“We don’t bale our own hay. Hell, we don’t
have
any hay
to
bale.”

“Whatever,” she said with a wave of her hand. “There’s slick, sliding sex sweat—”

“Now that sweat I know about,” he said and stopped walking. “I’m all for heading back to your place and working up a good lather.”

“Hey. One-track mind guy. It’s date night, remember?” she asked, and nudged him forward.

“Yeah, but since I’m the one who picks the dates, I don’t see why I can’t change my mind. We can watch
Serenity
again. I like Captain Mal.”

This time she stopped, forced him to turn and face her, then let go of his arm and took a step away. “Look at me.”

He looked. Head to toe, he looked. His cock looked, too, that one big eye open wide. “Okay.”

She made a sweeping gesture with both hands. “This is for you. I spent hours making this happen.”

He waggled both brows. “Bet I can undo it all in a minute ten.”

Her eyes narrowed into threatening slits. “You won’t be undoing it
ever
if you don’t feed me Chef Alman’s wasabi ginger rib eye.”

He canted his head to the side, twisted his mouth. “We can probably get it to go.”

“Dax Campbell, I swear.” She charged, heels tapping, skirt whipping, finger coming for his chest. “If you don’t take me inside right now, you will never get to taste my tits again.”

He shoved his hands in his pockets, swung out his elbow. “Let’s do this.”

Once inside, they were tended to immediately, the maitre d’ seating Arwen then turning to Dax. “Good evening, Mr. Campbell.
My sympathies in regards to your father. And nice to have you with us Ms. Poole. Can I have our sommelier make a suggestion from our wine list?”

“No need,” Dax said, holding Arwen’s gaze. “A bottle of Prairie Rotie, please.

“The 2009?”

Uh, good question. “That would be the one.”

“Perfect. I’ll have it sent right over.”

Waiting until they were alone, Arwen gave him a smile. “A wine man. I’m impressed.”

“No reason to be. Darcy told me it’s what the old man drinks when he’s not guzzling Glenlivet.”

She crossed her legs, swung her foot back and forth against his calf. “I would think you’d order something else.”

“And reveal my total ignorance? Not a chance,” he said, glancing around and wondering how fast they could order, how fast they could eat. “This was such a bad idea.”

“Why? Because this is your father’s social club?”

In a nut sac. “I want my hat.”

She reached over, patted his cheek. “Feed me, and then I’ll feed you.”

He groaned. “Takeout. Next time you’re hungry, it’s takeout all the way.”

“You know the best place for takeout in town is the saloon.”

“I’m a big fan of burgers. I can afford burgers.”

She looked at him for a long moment then dropped her gaze to her lap, twisting her hands there as if too nervous to speak. “I have money, Dax.”

Sweet. God, this woman was sweet. “I have money, too. I wouldn’t have brought you here if I didn’t have money. I also have the family tab and a whole lot of sympathy to play on.”

Her eyes widened. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Probably not. I’m tempted, but that’s more about giving the old man a big fuck-you rather than being broke.”

“How broke are you?”

“Broke enough.”

“Then we should go,” she said, uncrossing her legs.

“Not a chance. I want to sit here, drink my Prairie Rotie, eat Chef Arman’s wasabi ginger rib eye, and think how I’m going to go about getting you out of that dress.”

“It’s easier than you think. And I’m not wearing anything beneath it.”

He choked on the water he’d just swallowed. “Nothing?”

“Nothing,” she mouthed, licking her lips.

“I’m pretty sure the country club has a dress code.”

“What the country club doesn’t know…” she said, letting the sentence trail.

“So.” He sat forward, thought better about it when his cock complained, and sat back. “About this nothing that you’re wearing. Tell me more.”

“Well,” she said, toying with a curled strand of her hair. “Obviously I’m not wearing a bra.”

“Not even one without straps?”

She shook her head, a slow back and forth. Then she asked, “Do you think I need one?”

“Hell no. But if you want to let that top slip a little lower, I wouldn’t mind.”

She crossed her arms and tugged on the fabric until the barest edges of her areolas blended with the pink of her dress. “Does that work for you?”

“You have no idea,” he said, and then he felt the sole of her foot on his thigh.

“Oh, I have an idea,” she said, her foot sliding higher, her arch settling over his cock that had grown as stiff as a cattle prod.

“You’re playing with fire, woman.”

“Fire? And here I thought we were just having sex in the middle of our date.”

He reached across the table for her wrist, a move that pushed his cock against her foot, and squeezed, gave her a warning look before letting her go. “What about the rest?”

“The rest?” She moved her foot, crossed her legs and leaned just enough to the side to show a long length of bare thigh. “If you move your chair a little bit closer you can find out for yourself.”

He cleared his throat. “Shit, Arwen. Don’t do that to me here.”

“Why not?” she said, her voice low, raw. “You don’t want to feel how wet I am?”

He squeezed his eyes shut, shook himself, then lifted his chair and moved it to bump against hers. When he did, she draped her skirt and the extra length of the tablecloth over her lap.

He leaned closer, his hand on her chair’s cushion, then beneath her leg until his fingers dipped into the folds of her pussy. He pushed one inside and she caught her breath, her chest rising and falling so quickly the crescents of exposed areola pebbled.

“Can we go now?” They only needed to make it as far as his truck.
He
wasn’t going to make it any farther than his truck.

“I’m not ready,” she said, shifting sideways in her chair and moving her hand to his thigh. “Do you trust me?”

“To do what?”

“To make staying worth your while.”

He didn’t know about that, but he was interested to see what else she might have up her skirt. “Give it your best shot.”

“Sit back. Relax. And don’t make those noises you do when you come.”

Shit. “When I come—”

“Shh,” was all she said before her hand found his fly and deftly worked it open.

“Arwen—”

“I think the server is on his way.”

“Shit.” His cock was stiff and her fingers were slipping beneath the elastic of his briefs, smearing the bead of moisture he’d already released around the tip of his head.

“I love it when you’re wet,” she said, letting him go and sitting back and bringing her hand to her mouth to lick the damp pad of her finger.

“Here you go, sir, ma’am,” the server said and Dax tried not to die.

He screwed his eyes shut, huffed out a sharp breath, grabbing for control and instead grabbing the server’s attention. When the other man stopped pouring the wine, Dax motioned him to continue.

He did, explaining the evening’s specials while Arwen listened, and Dax tried not to jerk himself off. Once the meals had been laid out, Arwen placed their order, and Dax nodded when the server looked at him to double check.

“Very good. I’ll have your salads out to you shortly.”

As the other man walked away, Dax whispered, “Can we leave now?”

“What did I tell you?” Arwen asked, sliding her hand along his thigh again and picking up where she’d left off with his cock. “Sit back and enjoy. And none of those sounds.”

“I’d say fuck you—”

She laughed, a sexy throaty burst that had heads turning their way while she stroked him and while he nearly strangled.

“I’m going to get you back for this.”

“I’d say I certainly hope so, except I owe you for Boone and Casper seeing us in the back of your truck.”

She thumbed the slit in the head of his cock, used the moisture to wet her palm. Then she rubbed him, around and around and
around, and he heard the sounds building and reached for his wine, with a growled, “Fuck you.”

“Have I ever told you how much I love the way you fuck me?”

“Jesus Christ, Arwen—”

“Or how very very much I love your cock?” She leaned closer, licked her bottom lip, held it with her tongue and breathed so hard her tits strained against her top. “I love it on my tongue. I love it in my pussy. I love it in my ass. Almost as much as I love fucking yours with my finger.”

He jerked in her hand, squeezed his eyes shut, rolled them open, his balls pulling into his body, his anus clenching tight. “I goddamn swear…”

But he couldn’t say anything else. She was stroking him, up and down his shaft, a sweep of her palm over his head, back to his shaft, to his head, yanking, spanking, pulling while she held his gaze, her eyes wide and wild, her lips parted. She was just as turned on as he was, and that was going to do him in.

“I want to eat your pussy,” he said. “I want to smell you. I want to taste you.”

“I’m on your finger,” she told him, and he remembered and brought his hand to his nose, breathing in and sucking at the juice she’d left on him.

“Right now,” she whispered, crossing her legs and leaning in close. “If you could have me. Tell me how you’d want me.”

He’d been picturing it all night. He didn’t even have to think. “In this chair. In my lap. Your skirt to your waist so I could see my cock in your cunt. Your top down and your tits in my hands. I want to come all over your belly. I want to come in your mouth.”

“I want you to come. I want you to come now. Help me,” she said.

He wrapped his hand around hers and pulled in the rhythm he knew well until the blood pounding in his head took over. He
grabbed the tablecloth and groaned, slumping into the chair and holding her gaze as she finished him, pulling until he had nothing left and couldn’t even move to fasten his pants.

She sat back, a look of cat-licking-cream pleasure on her face, and reached for her wineglass, draining it as dry as she’d drained him, excitement lighting her eyes when the salads arrived.

“I’m starving,” she said, then looked over and asked, “You?”

“Hungry? Yeah. Able to lift my own fork?” He shook his head, unable to find the strength to give her the evil eye when she laughed.

“Y
OU ASKED ME
once about taking over the ranch and turning it around like I had the Buck Off Bar.”

They were in bed, naked, exhausted, sated with good food and good wine and excellent service and sex, and Arwen didn’t know about Dax, but she was sore and raw and aching. All in all it seemed the perfect time to plant the seed she’d had growing since he’d mentioned being broke at dinner.

“Yeah, so?”

He asked the question sharply, but she didn’t take offense. He was half asleep. She and her nefarious purposes were keeping him awake, and he knew exactly what she was doing. He just didn’t know why. “You do remember?”

“Yes, Arwen. I remember.”

“Okay, then,” she said, glancing down to where he lay, eyes closed and curled around her. “Keep that in mind and don’t immediately reject what I’m about to say.”

“You’re making me not like it already,” he said, his tongue coming out and finding her nipple.

She lifted her breast out of his way. “You listen, or I’m walking out of here.”

“I’m listening. I’m listening. Shit, woman.”

“I was thinking about what you said. About your money situation. I know things are bad—”

“And I hope you have a point because I’m fading here.”

Her point. Yes.
Out with it, Arwen. Spill it and take the hit.
“You lease what acreage you can afford to Henry Lasko.”

He waited, one heartbeat, two, a third, and then a disbelieving and sarcastic, “What the hell did you say?”

She laid out her argument. “Tess had already planned to. Henry needs the grazing land. And you need the money.”

“Fuck that. Fuck the money. We need the grazing land just as much as Henry, if not more.”

And now for the next part. “Not if you sell off part of your herd. For now,” she hurried to add. “Build it up again once this drought breaks.”

He snorted, rolled to his back and crossed an arm beneath his head. “If that’s your idea of management, I’m surprised your
saloon
didn’t go under the first month.”