Brenda had said she’d sit out a dance and phone-sit if Amy wanted. Why couldn’t one of them ring right now? And keep her from having to attempt small talk with Landon.
She glared at them, willing them to ring.
They didn’t.
“I’m drinking Coke. I’m driving,” she said, using as few words as necessary and hoping to dissuade him as she sipped at the straw in her half-empty glass.
“Another Coke on the rocks it is,” he said, and motioned for the waitress.
Amy sighed as he sat down. The women at the surrounding tables turned their attention to the other men in the room, assuming this one had just been claimed.
A small stack of cocktail napkins sat in the center of Amy’s table. If she had tape in her purse, she’d use one to write a “Still Available” notice and plaster it to Landon’s broad back.
Why the devil didn’t she keep tape in her purse?
She sucked on her straw until it made that obnoxious gurgling noise around the bottom of her empty cup and hoped the sound irritated the good-looking cowboy. In a minute, the band would resume playing and he wouldn’t be able to hear her attempt to shoo him from the table.
He looked at her glass, winked as though she’d done something cute, then laughed.
Great. She’d managed to turn him on. Super.
Like Amy, Landon Brooks was a project lead for Adventurous Accessories. He wasn’t on her team; he wasn’t even in the sex toys section. He’d been hired for his nose, so to speak. According to Amy’s boss, the company’s president, Landon could pick a pheromone-emphasizing scent merely by inhaling. No tests required.
Amy, and every other Adventurous Accessories employee, had been impressed . . . and jealous. And, like every other female employee, she couldn’t deny a little surge of pheromone-emphasizing
something
whenever Landon Brooks appeared.
Now was no exception.
The waitress arrived and he placed the order, asking for a couple of cherries to be included in the drink; then he turned back to Amy.
“You here with Brenda Henson? I saw her on the dance floor.”
“Yeah. Brenda was in the mood for a little line dancing, and she knows I like the music here.”
“Just the music?” he asked as the waitress brought the drink, and he withdrew one of the cherries by the stem. “Mind if I have one?”
“Why not? You ordered it,” she answered, handing the waitress her empty glass.
“Yeah,” he said, grinning as he popped it in his mouth. “I did.”
The band returned to the stage and started an exaggerated version of “God Bless Texas,” while Amy watched the only real Texan she knew skillfully maneuver the fruit in his mouth. She tapped her fingers on the table. “Well?”
His mouth stopped moving. “Well what?” he asked, easily forming the words in spite of the stem.
“I figure you’re about to show me how you tied it in a knot. So, go ahead,” she said, raising her voice above the music and trying her damnedest to act as though his tongue talents wouldn’t impress her.
His smoky gray eyes drank her in, and he removed the stem.
“A double knot,” he said, nodding his head and making his Stetson bob. Then he winked at her before turning his attention back to the dance floor. “So, do you like to . . .” he started to say, but stopped when Amy stood, left the table and flagged down the waitress.
He watched her return, then leaned across the table to be heard above the music, which had escalated to a low roar. “If you were hungry, you should’ve said something. I’ll get you whatever you want.”
“I took care of it.”
“Do you always take care of yourself?” he continued, and a wicked grin claimed his face.
Amy fought the heat in her cheeks and hoped to hell he wasn’t asking what she thought. Because she wasn’t about to get into details with Landon Brooks about her orgasm-for-one ritual.
“I’m very self-sufficient,” she said, jerking her head toward the approaching waitress.
Landon eyed the bowl the
She glared at them, willing them to ring.
They didn’t.
“I’m drinking Coke. I’m driving,” she said, using as few words as necessary and hoping to dissuade him as she sipped at the straw in her half-empty glass.
“Another Coke on the rocks it is,” he said, and motioned for the waitress.
Amy sighed as he sat down. The women at the surrounding tables turned their attention to the other men in the room, assuming this one had just been claimed.
A small stack of cocktail napkins sat in the center of Amy’s table. If she had tape in her purse, she’d use one to write a “Still Available” notice and plaster it to Landon’s broad back.
Why the devil didn’t she keep tape in her purse?
She sucked on her straw until it made that obnoxious gurgling noise around the bottom of her empty cup and hoped the sound irritated the good-looking cowboy. In a minute, the band would resume playing and he wouldn’t be able to hear her attempt to shoo him from the table.
He looked at her glass, winked as though she’d done something cute, then laughed.
Great. She’d managed to turn him on. Super.
Like Amy, Landon Brooks was a project lead for Adventurous Accessories. He wasn’t on her team; he wasn’t even in the sex toys section. He’d been hired for his nose, so to speak. According to Amy’s boss, the company’s president, Landon could pick a pheromone-emphasizing scent merely by inhaling. No tests required.
Amy, and every other Adventurous Accessories employee, had been impressed . . . and jealous. And, like every other female employee, she couldn’t deny a little surge of pheromone-emphasizing
something
whenever Landon Brooks appeared.
Now was no exception.
The waitress arrived and he placed the order, asking for a couple of cherries to be included in the drink; then he turned back to Amy.
“You here with Brenda Henson? I saw her on the dance floor.”
“Yeah. Brenda was in the mood for a little line dancing, and she knows I like the music here.”
“Just the music?” he asked as the waitress brought the drink, and he withdrew one of the cherries by the stem. “Mind if I have one?”
“Why not? You ordered it,” she answered, handing the waitress her empty glass.
“Yeah,” he said, grinning as he popped it in his mouth. “I did.”
The band returned to the stage and started an exaggerated version of “God Bless Texas,” while Amy watched the only real Texan she knew skillfully maneuver the fruit in his mouth. She tapped her fingers on the table. “Well?”
His mouth stopped moving. “Well what?” he asked, easily forming the words in spite of the stem.
“I figure you’re about to show me how you tied it in a knot. So, go ahead,” she said, raising her voice above the music and trying her damnedest to act as though his tongue talents wouldn’t impress her.
His smoky gray eyes drank her in, and he removed the stem.
“A double knot,” he said, nodding his head and making his Stetson bob. Then he winked at her before turning his attention back to the dance floor. “So, do you like to . . .” he started to say, but stopped when Amy stood, left the table and flagged down the waitress.
He watched her return, then leaned across the table to be heard above the music, which had escalated to a low roar. “If you were hungry, you should’ve said something. I’ll get you whatever you want.”
“I took care of it.”
“Do you always take care of yourself?” he continued, and a wicked grin claimed his face.
Amy fought the heat in her cheeks and hoped to hell he wasn’t asking what she thought. Because she wasn’t about to get into details with Landon Brooks about her orgasm-for-one ritual.
“I’m very self-sufficient,” she said, jerking her head toward the approaching waitress.
Landon eyed the bowl the
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