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All rights reserved ~ an Ellora’s Cave, Inc. publication
Copyright © 2006 Mackenzie McKade

BLURB:

Waiting tables in a country bar isn’t Lacy idea of fun, especially with her cool aversion toward cowboys. But her daughter’s illness, doctor bills and school has her literally strapped.

Horny as hell and fed-up with being celibate, Lacy decides tonight’s the night. Truth is she’s lonely and needs to be held, held in a pair of strong arms that can drive away her fears and possibly satisfy the aching hunger that rages inside.

Damn it! All she’s asking for is one night full of nothing but down and dirty, wild, and most definitely hot unadulterated sex. No ties, no commitments, especially with a cowboy.

Full-time executive and retired cowboy, Wyatt Anderson, has found the woman of his dreams. But she’s an enigma. Daring and assured one moment, then hesitant the next, as if something haunts her. She’ll promise him the night, but she wants no more.

EXCERPT:“Lacy, I’ve got a twenty if you’ll ride.” A tall, lanky cowboy leaning against the wall waved the bill in the air.

The woman adamantly shook her head. “No way, Sam.”

“Lacy, here’s my twenty.” The man next to Sam held up a greenback before he elbowed his friend.

“Here’s mine,” stated another man from the crowd.

The woman’s brows furrowed. She hesitated as if considering the cowboys’ offers, before shaking her head, again.

Yeah, no doubt the barmaid was motivated by money—like most women.

Greed was a turn off, but the fact was, Wyatt wouldn’t mind watching her ride either. He stepped out of the shadows and pushed his way to the front. Chance followed.

From his pocket Wyatt extracted a hundred dollar bill and held it high in the air. “Here’s another hundred.” He paused for effect. “If my math’s any good, that’s $160. How about it, Laaacy?” He placed deliberate emphasis on her name as he wiggled the dinero invitingly.

Chance whacked him on the back and the crowd roared their approval.

Wyatt’s words and the hundred dollar bill immediately caught the woman’s attention. Obviously tempted, her tongue whipped across her bottom lip as if she could taste the money.

Then their eyes met, locked. An unexpected wave of desire hissed through his veins.

Wyatt shifted his hips. He muttered, “Down, boy,” as her gaze brazenly caressed him.

Without breaking her fixed stare she called to the bouncer eyeing the crowd. “Mark, run the controls for me.”

The big man nervously shifted his weight from one foot to another and glanced quickly over his shoulder toward their boss still tending bar. “You sure, Lacy? What about Larry?”

Liquid gold eyes never left Wyatt’s as she nodded her assurance. Quietly, she rose from the chair and glided toward the bull. A lissome hop, then a long, shapely leg slipped over the bull. Her knees hugged the machine like a lover between her thighs.

Wyatt heard the males in the audience release a collective groan.

By the ease in which she mounted, she’d obviously done this before. It screamed from every inch of her posture. The slow tantalizing way she slid her body tight against her hand had every man in the place holding his breath, wishing he were the lucky bull beneath her.

Wyatt watched a couple of men rush to the tip jar and willingly relinquish their money, an encouragement for a good show.

Oh yeah, this woman knew what she was doing. With a graceful sweep, her left arm rose and the bull began to move.

The man at the controls knew what he was doing, as well, and the bull began a slow, sensual pace. The speed and motion of the ride was set to enhance the sultry movements of the woman’s svelte body.

This lady rode for the crowd. She swayed in erotic seduction. Heavy eyelids dipped, adding to her racy performance.

All the while, the tip jar continued to hungrily consume the lusty men’s money.

Was that a wink? Wyatt’s hot gaze darted from the sexy woman to the man behind the controls.

The bouncer returned the rapid blink, and the bull sped up a notch. With the escalation of speed, so did the men’s vulgar comments.

“Fuck it, baby, I’m mean ride it,” one man chuckled from behind him.

Another man grabbed the nearest waitress and kissed the woman as if he was going to crawl down her throat.

A stocky bouncer dressed in a Cardinal’s football jersey jumped to the woman’s assistance. There was a small skirmish, quickly brought under control.

Obviously, the heat in the bar had risen a degree or two, along with each man’s animal hunger.

Wyatt swallowed hard. Blood pounded in his ears as it made a mad dash to his groin, filling his balls and cock to the bursting point. The ache behind his tight fitting jeans was hard to ignore.

He wanted her.

Along with the realization was a streak of red-hot need that left him both shocked and aroused. Casual sex—a one-night stand with a stranger—was not his style. No, Wyatt hadn’t just ridden into town. He chose his partners carefully, sensibly, guarding his health, heart and pocketbook.

Yet the proof of his desire sprung alive between his thighs. The compelling need he felt for this woman was something he had never experienced. He’d have her at any cost.

The bull spun around, then back again, a movement that should have yanked her body about, but instead exhibited her fluid mobility. The woman rode the thing as if she had been born on it.

The quick, jerky movements tore the pencils and the clasp from her hair, sending a tawny flow of silk through the air. As the bull went into a hard spin, men rose to their feet. The release of the long tresses whipping around her brought the crowd from a soft rumble to a turbulent roar.

“Goddammit!” barked the bartender as his short legs carried him hastily from behind the bar. “Mark! Stop! Lacy get your ass off that thing!” The man continued to mumble as the mechanical bull began to decelerate. With it, the woman’s flowing movements became slow, calculated. Even now, she held the audience in the palm of her hand as the group thundered for more.

Wyatt saw her clench her eyes closed, still caught in the spin. When she finally lifted her lids, she wavered slightly and dismounted.

“Damn woman,” Larry muttered. “Happens every time she gets on that fucking thing.” His voice rose. “Damn you, Lacy. Wanna bring the cops here again? Mark, keep her off it. I mean it!” One more breathy curse and then Larry stomped back behind the bar.

“She’ll have everyone fucking on the floor before long.” The angry man settled a wineglass a little too hard on the bar’s surface. It shattered into a million pieces. “Dammit!” He glared down at the shards of glass and then carefully began to clean up.

When Wyatt turned his attention back to the woman, he found her directly in front of him. Her tongue slowly caressed her full bottom lip. Fire blazed in her eyes.

She plucked the hundred from his fingertips. “Thank you.” A sharp pivot spun her about. On featherlight feet she moved across the floor to retrieve the rest of her winnings.

“Next rider,” she called out over her shoulder, and slithered behind the controls.