Between the Sheets by Molly O'Keefe Page B

Hurt even. “Well, then—”
    She was past worrying about whether or not this would work. Whether it would turn around and ruin her life in a few months. The pressure release valve was in danger of breaking right off, her whole life about to implode.
    And she had to do something.
    “Follow me,” she breathed and stepped off the porch toward the barn.

Chapter 7
    Ty had been around the block a time or two, and if it were any other woman leading him across the silver-tipped grass to a dark barn, he’d think he was about to get lucky. But this was Shelby, and she’d answered that door looking both gorgeous and like she was about to twitch right out of her skin.
    I’m either going to get laid or she’s going to take an ax to my head .
    She pulled open the door and turned on a few of the lights. The chandelier she’d been fixing now hung above the small gathering of couches near the flower wall and created a gold pool of light.
    “Would you like a drink?” she asked.
    “Sure.”
    “All I have is bourbon.”
    “Bourbon is fine.”
    She threw her coat down on the low table where they’d sat the other day and he followed suit. The barn wasn’t freezing. She must have had it insulated at some point. He contemplated his couch choice: a blue velvet thing that looked like women used to faint on it or a big, fat leather couch with some of the stuffing coming out. He chose the leather and sat in the corner of it, one arm along the back, the other along the armrest, and waited to see what was going to happen next.
    Who knew a date with Shelby would feel … dangerous.
    It was a good sign when she came down the small,dark hallway with a bottle of bourbon and not an ax. He noticed the bottle was the good stuff, too. And she had two mugs.
    Volatile energy poured off her and he was surprised the lightbulbs overhead didn’t shatter as she walked under them. As she got closer, her energy, like a virus, spread to him and he felt the hot coil of need in his belly.
    Need. And want.
    She sat across from him on the blue velvet couch. With her hair down like that and the flowers behind her, she looked like a woman from a different era. A different time. A pristine, beautiful lady in an ivory tower somewhere.
    He wanted to get her messy. Dirty.
    She put the mugs down on the floor and poured a hefty double shot in each mug.
    “We’re getting drunk?” he asked.
    “That’s my plan.”
    He nodded and accepted the mug. She lifted hers in cheers and then shot it down.
    “You … okay?” he asked. She leaned back over to pour more bourbon in her mug and her hair fell down over her face, over her arms. So much hair, a golden curtain.
    He liked it. Imagined it against her bare chest, that golden hair obscuring her pale skin. Her pink nipples. He imagined it in his fist. The silk of it caught in his fingers as he pulled it, making her cry out.
    A deep breath shuddered and shook in his lungs and he took a big sip of the bourbon.
    The need and want she inspired in him scrubbed away at the polite veneer he was determined to hold onto.
    “Not really,” she said. She drank another ounce and took a hissing breath. “I am not really okay.”
    That she wasn’t all right wasn’t a surprise. It was allover her face. But that she was being honest and telling him that—that was a surprise. And, kind of an honor. “Can I help?”
    She laughed, glancing at him through her hair. “Probably.” She downed what was left in her mug.
    “I feel like we should get some food in you if you’re going to drink like that,” he told her, putting down his mug. One of them needed to have a clear head.
    “I don’t want to go out to eat.” Those level brown eyes saw right through him. Past skin, past muscle and bone. She looked right at his heart, beating hard with anger and lust and frustration.
    Anticipation sizzled through him. It had been a very long time since he’d anticipated this. And never with a woman like her. Someone so far out of his realm