She's All In: Club 3, Book 1 (14 page)

His gut tightened, and he grabbed a cold bottle of beer and twisted off the top, taking a long pull. Time to play nice with his mom’s new boyfriend.

He opened the sliding door and stepped out into the warm shade of the huge trees that framed the backyard. Beverly Humboldt turned. His own eyes, hazel with thick lashes and arching brows, gazed back at him, but in a rounded, soft face with a quick, nervous smile.

“Hello, sonny. I didn’t hear you come in.” She met him in the middle of the deck to hug him and smooth down the front of his shirt.

“Hi, Mom.” Dack gave her a one-armed hug, keeping his cold beer away from her. “That’s ’cause your cat missed me this time through, and you didn’t hear me screaming in pain.”

“Oh, you.” She swatted him. “You’d think Sheba was a mountain lion.”

She turned to the short, stocky, gray-haired man standing by the gently smoking barbecue, hands in the pockets of his golf shorts. “And here’s Frank.”

Dack nodded stiffly. “Hey, Frank. How’s it going?” His dad wouldn’t have been caught dead in those plaid shorts. Hank Humboldt had worn Levis every day, or maybe a pair of old chinos when it was above eighty.

“Hello, Dack. It’s going very well, thank you. And you?”

“Great, thanks. Hot. Makes for a long day of work.”

The other man grinned, his eyes nearly disappearing in the creases of his tanned face. “Yes, I’ve been getting up real early to get nine holes in before it’s too hot.”

He laughed, and Dack’s mother joined in. They beamed at each other, and Dack laughed to show his appreciation of the great joke. Ha, ha. Jesus, if it wasn’t for the smells coming from the barbecue, he’d feign illness to get the hell out of here.

“Beer, Frank?” he offered. “Got five cold ones in the kitchen.”

“Thanks, I will,” Frank agreed.

“I’ll go get you a cold glass,” Dack’s mother offered.

“Thanks, Suze.” Frank beamed at her. Dack took another drink of beer. Maybe he wouldn’t have to fake illness. Kind of turned his stomach to watch his mom smile at the guy that way.

They drank a beer while his mother put supper on the picnic table. Dack tried to help, but his mother pressed her hand on his shoulder. “You work hard all day in the hot sun. I can at least feed you supper.”

Dack smiled his thanks, but it felt awkward as hell, especially when Frank got up and took the platter of ribs from her to carry to the table. She’d waited on his dad hand and foot, but Dack tried to chivvy her into the twenty-first century when he ate here.

Dack drank another beer with dinner and answered Frank’s questions about his current construction project, remodeling an old home in Gresham into offices for a bunch of lawyers.

“I guess even ambulance chasers need a well-built office,” he said wryly.

Suzie frowned at him, her cheeks turning pink. Frank patted her hand, smiling easily.

Dack cleared his throat. “Ah…so, you a lawyer?”

“Retired,” Frank said cheerfully. “Bet I know more lawyer jokes than you too.”

“Sorry,” Dack said. He gave his mother an apologetic glance, but she refused to look at him. He sighed inwardly. How the hell was he supposed to know?

He made his escape soon after, saying that he had to be up at sunrise the next morning. Which was true, but more than that, he wanted to be gone before his mother got any more wound up. He recognized the signs—refusing to meet his eyes, getting up to clear the table with jerky movements and stomping off to the kitchen. She was revving up to blow, and he didn’t want to be anywhere in the vicinity when that happened.

Dack wiped his mouth on his napkin and rose. “Frank, great to see you. Again, sorry about…y’know.”

Frank shook his head, his gaze friendly. “No apology necessary, Dack. And don’t worry about your mother. She’ll calm down.”

Dack walked back through the house, where he said good-bye to his mother, stole a kiss on her cheek and thanked her for the dinner. She refused to look at him, and he sighed. Damn, no dessert for him, and he guessed Frank would be getting the leftover dinner too.

The goddamned cat got him on the way through the living room. Dack felt the white-hot slash on his ankle as he passed the corner of the sofa. “Augh,” he gritted out.

“You leave that cat alone,” his mother called from the kitchen.

“Yeah, thanks, I’m fine, Mom,” Dack muttered as he let himself out her front door. He’d deal with the scratch when he got back to his place.

As for the knowledge that another man had taken his dad’s place in her affections, he’d be damned if he’d think about that anymore tonight. It would only give him heartburn.

He’d think about Daisy and what he was going to do with her when she came back to the club. Now there was something to make him smile. He was getting those pretty breasts of hers out to play next weekend, or he wasn’t a dom.

He grinned to himself as he drove through the summer evening, his windows rolled down and Zack Brown Band singing about his country girl.

Who the hell needed relationships when he could have a gorgeous woman just dying to learn how to let her bad girl loose?

Chapter Nine

“Sara? Where are you?” Daisy stood on the veranda of Club 3, phone to her ear. Sara was fifteen minutes late.

Three other couples and two single women had driven in, parked and walked into the club while she waited. Now she was pacing back and forth on the veranda, in the subdued glow of the globe lamps over the door.

The heat had not fallen with the sun, and even in the shade of the tall evergreens that rimmed the parking area, a trickle of perspiration was running down her cleavage, pooling inside her bra.

“At home,” Sara wailed on the other end of the line. “My car won’t start. I cannot believe this. Now I have to call a tow truck, if I can even get one this time of evening.”

“Oh, too bad,” Daisy said. “I’ll miss you.” But she was still going in. The faint thump of a bass reverberated from inside. Tonight she was dancing.

“Yes, you go have fun,” Sara said woefully. “Maybe you could call me once in a while with updates.”

Daisy grinned. “Not likely. Good luck with your car. Talk to you soon.”

“Okay.”

Daisy stuffed her phone in the pocket of her faded cutoffs. It was a tight fit. They were an old pair she’d found stuffed in the back of her closet—from high school, if she remembered right.

Her plaid western shirt she’d found at Goodwill. Dirt cheap, just right for a wanna-be hayseed. She’d ripped off the sleeves and most of the bottom, tying the remainder beneath her breasts and leaving all but two of the pearl snaps unfastened.

She hoped Dack liked the shabby-chic look. She’d been tempted for one crazy moment to buy a pair of cowgirl boots but managed to control the temptation. Not in her budget, and her beige platform sandals were just fine. The other women heading inside had been wearing everything from dresses to rhinestone chaps over a bikini. That had been a flashy combination, especially on a tall redhead with double-D cups.

Well, nothing was stopping her from going in too. Taking a deep breath, Daisy walked up and opened the front door.

Rochelle was at the front desk, wearing a brief version of an Old West saloon girl’s dress. She smiled at Daisy, tipping her head to the side in apology. “Welcome back. I’m so, so sorry about last time, when I forgot to tell you about the keys.”

Daisy shrugged. “That’s okay. You had a lot going on.”

Rochelle grimaced. “You’re sweet. But some guys just aren’t worth the time or the tears, you know?”

Then she picked something up from the desk and waggled her brows at Daisy. “But some are.” She held Dack’s key, dangling from the lacy silver collar.

Daisy’s heart thumped with delight. “Thanks.” She took the key, closing her fingers around it. This meant Dack wanted to be with her again.

She hadn’t seen him all week. She’d been to the gym twice, on Tuesday and Thursday evening, but Dack hadn’t been there. Jake had. It had been beyond embarrassing having to look Jake in the eye, but he’d merely nodded both times—although she could have sworn she’d seen a twinkle in his icy gray eyes. She’d blushed like a teenager but managed to hold her head high and smile at him as if she was cool with his having seen her bare ass draped all over his friend and partner.

Now she slipped the collar over her wrist and headed into the club. Luke Bryan was belting out “Country Girl”. Daisy smiled eagerly as she walked toward the dance floor, where several couples were already shaking everything they had. She scanned the bar, the floor and the back area for a tall, broad-shouldered man with a dark ponytail but saw no one who even resembled Dack.

With a shrug, she sashayed onto the dance floor and put her hands in the air, shaking it as the singer instructed. There were two other single women dancing among the couples. One grinned at Daisy, and they danced together for a moment, until the crowd eddied. Daisy swung around and found herself facing a tall cowboy in a hat, jeans and boots, and no shirt. Grinning, he held out his arms in a look-at-you gesture.

Daisy finally recognized Trace and laughed, shaking her hips for him. They danced together, and the song ended in a guitar riff. He nodded, his smile flashing beneath the shadow of his hat.

“Thanks for the dance.”

“You bet, cowboy.”

He tapped her arm with Dack’s key dangling from it. “Dack should be here soon. He’s stuck in traffic.”

“Must be the night for it. Sara’s stuck at home with a dead vehicle.”

His eyes narrowed. “Sara, huh? Didn’t think she was into this scene.”

She shrugged. “She wants to try it.”

“How’s she getting in?”

“Dack said I could invite her.”

“Did he.” His mouth flattened slightly.

Uh-oh, she hoped she hadn’t let the cat out of the bag there. Maybe Dack wasn’t supposed to let all three of them in for no charge. Daisy had nearly fainted when she saw how much they charged for membership. She looked at him guiltily.

“I should start paying, huh? This is my second time here.” How she would afford it, she hadn’t a clue. Maybe they had an installment plan, or layaway.

He shook his head. “Nah, you’re Dack’s guest.” The music started again, Zack Brown Band in a cheerful song about living country. Trace leaned forward to speak in her ear. “I’ll see you later, Daisy. Have a good time.”

Daisy nodded automatically, but she stared after him as he sauntered away. She swallowed hard. What exactly had he meant by “see you later”? See how much of her later?

Daisy threaded her way off the dance floor straight to the bar. She needed a drink. Seeing another couple holding margaritas, she ordered one. She offered to pay for it, but the bartender shook his head with a smile. Good, maybe she’d have two or three more. Trace’s comment about “seeing her” had reminded her forcibly that she was here as the guest of a guy who wanted to see all of her, and probably in the midst of a crowd.

Stepping up onto a bar stool, Daisy turned to survey the room as she took a sip of tart, frosty lime and tequila. Her heart leapt with excitement and trepidation. Dack was striding through the crowd toward her. He wore a battered straw cowboy hat, Levis and boots and a sleeveless western shirt that flapped open to reveal his gorgeous, hairy chest and the happy trail down over his six-pack.

As he stopped before her, she held up her drink in a toast. “Howdy, cowboy.”

His eyes narrowed in that hot, dangerous look that made her quiver, and she realized with a shock of pleasure that he wasn’t wearing his sunglasses. Had he taken them off for her?

He tapped the wrist his key dangled from. “You gonna wear this?”

She nodded. “Yes, Dack.”

His face softened at her response. “Then put it on, Petal.”

As she did so, he leaned past her, his shirt and then his hairy chest brushing her bare arm. His touch and his warm scent, clean male with a hint of shaving cologne and sweat, filled her senses. “Gimme a margarita, Julio.”

Daisy settled the choker around her throat and took another breath of warm, Dack-scented air. Being this close to him made her dizzy. Or maybe it was knowing that she was now his for the evening.

He leaned on his elbow, cocking one lean hip, and surveyed her from the shadow of his hat brim. “You look real pretty, Petal.”

“Thanks. You look pretty hot yourself.” She grabbed her drink to quell the urge to put her hands inside his shirt and pet him. They were at the crowded bar, after all. His clothing appeared worn, not as if he’d run out and bought it for the occasion, like some of the other faux cowboys circulating.

And he was grinning at her, humor dancing in his eyes. “In fact,” he drawled, “I think I’m gonna have to call you Daisy Duke tonight.”

She rolled her eyes. “Great. I guess I can stand it for one night.” She’d been called that in middle school, when the boys were into reruns of
Dukes of Hazzard
.

He picked up the margarita that appeared on the bar before him and jerked his head. “Come on.”

Daisy took a hasty sip of her drink rather than spill it and slipped off her barstool. She followed him through the crowd. The place was crowded tonight, with men and women talking, laughing and dancing as Kenny Chesney belted out a song about a beach somewhere.