CHAPTER ONE
As far as Connie Hollingsway was concerned, she’d just found the meat filling for her hero sandwich. She cast a quick glance to her best friend, Nicole Sullivan, and amended her statement to our hero sandwich.
Bass from inane techno music reverberated off the wood-paneled walls of the club called the Cougar Cave that she and Nicci were at tonight. Connie’s gaze slid back to the man sitting alone in a booth directly across from them and further down the wall. The man, in a word, was perfect. Ascertaining his age was difficult under the flashing strobe lights, plus he sat directly underneath a neon sign for Budweiser, which cast a reddish glow over a stunningly rugged, handsome face. The layered and tousled hair looked as if he had just rolled out of bed. Milk chocolate would be the way she’d describe the color. Like all young guys, he had a scruff of facial hair, but Connie’s keen eye could make out the sexy cleft in his perfectly shaped chin. There were six empty beer bottles in front of him, and he’d just waved his arm to the waiter for more. A sly smile curved about Connie’s mouth. If man-meat was drunk enough, he may be open and willing to consider her suggestion.
Leaning toward Nicci to talk about her idea, the words died in her throat when man-meat stood, shook off his leather jacket, and hung it on the coat rack attached to the back of the bench seat. Connie’s mouth went dry and her pussy went wet. He was taller than she first imagined, a few inches over six feet to be sure. A skin tight black T-shirt hugged every valley and plane of his powerful physique. Man-meat was cut, chiseled, honed, and sharpened into hardened precision, enough to rival those marble statues of Greek gods. The T-shirt, tucked into a pair of incredibly tight blue jeans, showed his torso to sculpted perfection. Fabric strained across rock hard thighs, a muscular ass and—Connie’s held breath whooshed out in a moan—showed off his impressive package to perfection.
She had to get a closer look.
“Nicci, order me another Long Island Iced Tea, I have to use the bathroom.”
Connie stood, smoothed her leather skirt over her hips, tucked her purse under her arm, and sauntered off toward the restroom. Purposely slowing her walk, her eyes narrowed as she scanned his surroundings. Well, man-meat not only guzzled beer, he consumed boilermakers. Connie watched as he dropped a shot glass in the beer, threw back his head, and drank. The muscles in his throat moved with such fluidity and grace another gush of hot liquid blasted between her legs. His forearms were powerful and roped with veins. A brief flickering image of running her tongue along the road map of veins over his entire body shot through her fevered brain. When he slammed the glass on the table, he gazed up at her briefly, and then glanced away.
She stumbled as his look seared with a decided potency. The man had magnetism to spare. And damn it all, his eyes were blue—a hypnotic shade rivaling the color of the sky above. Men with blue eyes were a particular weakness of hers.
Connie pushed through the ladies room door and walked to the sink. Jesus, she felt dizzy. Was she drunk? Turning on the taps and running her hands under cold water, she wondered at his age. While his build and his aura evoked a certain maturity, there were no telltale lines fanning out from the eyes to show he may be in his thirties, nor were there heavily cut lines around his mouth. Damn, how young was he? Who cared? He was getting drunk at the Cougar Cave so naturally the man would be interested in an older woman.
Wonder how he would feel about two women?
Nicci tentatively signaled the bartender and gestured toward the empty glasses in front of her. As she shifted and crossed her legs, she caught a glimpse of her reflection in the gilded mirror behind the array of bottles lining the bar and quickly looked away. What the hell was she doing here? She should never have allowed Connie to
As far as Connie Hollingsway was concerned, she’d just found the meat filling for her hero sandwich. She cast a quick glance to her best friend, Nicole Sullivan, and amended her statement to our hero sandwich.
Bass from inane techno music reverberated off the wood-paneled walls of the club called the Cougar Cave that she and Nicci were at tonight. Connie’s gaze slid back to the man sitting alone in a booth directly across from them and further down the wall. The man, in a word, was perfect. Ascertaining his age was difficult under the flashing strobe lights, plus he sat directly underneath a neon sign for Budweiser, which cast a reddish glow over a stunningly rugged, handsome face. The layered and tousled hair looked as if he had just rolled out of bed. Milk chocolate would be the way she’d describe the color. Like all young guys, he had a scruff of facial hair, but Connie’s keen eye could make out the sexy cleft in his perfectly shaped chin. There were six empty beer bottles in front of him, and he’d just waved his arm to the waiter for more. A sly smile curved about Connie’s mouth. If man-meat was drunk enough, he may be open and willing to consider her suggestion.
Leaning toward Nicci to talk about her idea, the words died in her throat when man-meat stood, shook off his leather jacket, and hung it on the coat rack attached to the back of the bench seat. Connie’s mouth went dry and her pussy went wet. He was taller than she first imagined, a few inches over six feet to be sure. A skin tight black T-shirt hugged every valley and plane of his powerful physique. Man-meat was cut, chiseled, honed, and sharpened into hardened precision, enough to rival those marble statues of Greek gods. The T-shirt, tucked into a pair of incredibly tight blue jeans, showed his torso to sculpted perfection. Fabric strained across rock hard thighs, a muscular ass and—Connie’s held breath whooshed out in a moan—showed off his impressive package to perfection.
She had to get a closer look.
“Nicci, order me another Long Island Iced Tea, I have to use the bathroom.”
Connie stood, smoothed her leather skirt over her hips, tucked her purse under her arm, and sauntered off toward the restroom. Purposely slowing her walk, her eyes narrowed as she scanned his surroundings. Well, man-meat not only guzzled beer, he consumed boilermakers. Connie watched as he dropped a shot glass in the beer, threw back his head, and drank. The muscles in his throat moved with such fluidity and grace another gush of hot liquid blasted between her legs. His forearms were powerful and roped with veins. A brief flickering image of running her tongue along the road map of veins over his entire body shot through her fevered brain. When he slammed the glass on the table, he gazed up at her briefly, and then glanced away.
She stumbled as his look seared with a decided potency. The man had magnetism to spare. And damn it all, his eyes were blue—a hypnotic shade rivaling the color of the sky above. Men with blue eyes were a particular weakness of hers.
Connie pushed through the ladies room door and walked to the sink. Jesus, she felt dizzy. Was she drunk? Turning on the taps and running her hands under cold water, she wondered at his age. While his build and his aura evoked a certain maturity, there were no telltale lines fanning out from the eyes to show he may be in his thirties, nor were there heavily cut lines around his mouth. Damn, how young was he? Who cared? He was getting drunk at the Cougar Cave so naturally the man would be interested in an older woman.
Wonder how he would feel about two women?
Nicci tentatively signaled the bartender and gestured toward the empty glasses in front of her. As she shifted and crossed her legs, she caught a glimpse of her reflection in the gilded mirror behind the array of bottles lining the bar and quickly looked away. What the hell was she doing here? She should never have allowed Connie to
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