Somethin' Dirty: Country Fever, Book 4 (4 page)

She wrapped her fingers around Molly’s arm. “What the hell are you doing? Don’t draw his attention.”

“Why not? Have you scored in the past six months? You’ve gotta be feeling the weight of that stare, sis. Why not invite him onto the dance floor?”

“No, I—” She glanced up to see him pull away from the wall and make his way across the floor. “Oh fuck. Now look what you’ve done!”

She tried to duck and run into the masses, but Molly hooked a boot around her shin and sent her careening off-balance. Her beer sloshed over the floor, spattering the boots of some dancers.

“So sorry,” she mouthed, her voice lost in the stampede of boots and the cry of appreciation as someone took the microphone for an old Hank Williams song.

Two long, denim-clad legs slid into her vision. She followed the lines up, up, up to the thick chest sporting the white and gray western shirt. And hell, the fabric had a small embroidered flower design next to the pearl buttons.

A man who wore embroidery was very comfortable in his skin. Not a boy. A man.

If she’d had any question about this, she didn’t now as she stared into his face. Small lines framed his eyes and lips, and a few threads of silver wove through his beard.

She quivered.

“Wanna dance?” He offered a hand to her, and she gaped at it for two heartbeats.

Before she could think, Molly had divested her of her beer. Then her sister shoved her from behind, and Nola jerked forward. Taking her movement as acceptance, Mr. Thigh-Clenchingly Hot wrapped his fingers around hers and tugged her onto the floor.

Before she could suck in air, she was whipped into his embrace. When she did, she filled her head with his personal musk—man and clean soap. Leather.

He was smiling at her. She returned it, then gave a laugh and dropped her gaze.

He leaned in. “I’m Griffin. And before you ask, this is the first dance I’ve had in over a year. So don’t laugh at my jumbled up feet.”

How could she remain aloof to that? Everything about him charmed the pants—or mini-skirt—right off her.

“I’m Nola.” She inhaled deeply and didn’t catch a hint of beer or whiskey on him. “You’re not drinking tonight?”

The corner of his mouth tipped up. “Nah. I’m a designated driver. Love to help out the cause and my ma has the—” He bit off the rest of the sentence with a shake of his head. “My ma taught me to give back to the community.”

For several heartbeats, she lost herself in his deep, chocolate gaze. God, were those golden flecks in his eyes? And the creases around each corner enhanced the image that he perpetually squinted into the sun or smiled. Or both.

“Crowded in here,” she said a little breathlessly. The bodies hemming her in tighter to Griffin were unwelcome. Weren’t they?

Damn, she needed to get away from him, and fast. One more upward quirk of his mouth and she’d be wearing a wedding band and apron.

Would that be so bad? Having someone who loved and cherished her had also been a childhood dream, just as becoming a singer was.

He planted his hand lower on her spine and swayed her toward him until their hips bumped. Lightning shot through her system and pooled between her thighs. The thin scrap of lace covering her pussy did nothing to keep her thighs from becoming wet with moisture.

Griffin grinned at her. “Definitely crowded. Maybe you’d like to step outside for some air?”

Fucking yes. No. She mentally groaned and opened her mouth to reply, though what would burst from her, she had no clue.

“Reedy’s own superstar, Nola Brady, up next with some Lady Antebellum. Give her a big hand!”

At the announcement over the speakers, she jerked. Shocked that she’d forgotten all about singing next, or even that the last song had finished and she had simply been locked in Griffin’s arms, not dancing at all, she released a hasty breath.

“That’s me. Gotta go. Thanks for the dance!”

Before he could grab her back, she threw herself into the crowd. By the time she made it to the stage, her heart raced. Without a doubt, Griffin would be riveted on her as she sang. Hopefully, she wouldn’t choke on her own spit or forget the words.

When the first strains of the song enveloped her and the spotlights heated her face, all of her nervousness vanished. The notes transported her to a joyous place buried deep in her soul.

She was going to do this—get to Nashville and sing for anyone who would listen until the right person heard her.

The way Griffin stared at her as she belted out the song stripped away her boundaries though. He pushed his way to the front of the crowd, so close that if she leaned forward, he could pull her off the small stage into his arms.

A man like that didn’t fall into her orbit too often. If she never talked to him again, she’d dwell on it forever.

In a blink, she made up her mind.

She sure as hell was going to have a few more beers tonight, so he could be the one to take her home.

Chapter Three

What the hell was he thinking? Nola was twenty-five if she was a day. Was her brain even fully formed?

But oh Christ, the sight of her stomping her curvy legs to the beat as she ripped through the notes of that song made him harden painfully. When she flashed him a grin, he focused on her luscious pout and his cock swelled another inch. How, he wasn’t sure.

The first two songs she’d sung had blown him away. Reedy’s superstar was an understatement. The girl could sing. What was she even doing in small-town Wyoming?

She strutted across the stage on those little red cowgirl boots, the frayed hem of her mini-skirt riding high on her thighs.

He had to get out of here before he lost control. He’d sworn off younger women. Nola was probably a student just like Miranda.

He stared at the dark strawberry blonde waves spilling over her shoulders and reaching for her cleavage, and he knew he was in serious lust. Lust equaled trouble. What could he do anyway? Take her home and halfway through hammer-fucking her over the edge of the bed, Lyric wakes up and screams for a bottle?

He scuffed a hand over his features, trying to wipe away the pounding need that must be evident in his expression. For an hour, he’d shirked his duties as designated driver, allowing others to shuttle people home so he could remain with Nola.

Nola. Her name tasted old-fashioned and brand-new at once on his tongue. A pretty little thing with tanned legs and a killer voice. What she was doing in Reedy, wasting those talents was beyond him. But he wasn’t ready to see her go yet, if that was her plan.

She threw her head back and held a long, throaty note that raised the hair all over his body.

Applause erupted, and he stuck two fingers in his mouth and gave a shrill whistle. When she scanned the crowd and sought him, his balls clenched up tight. That look held more promise than a man of his age and carrying his amount of baggage deserved.

Still, could he pass it up if she offered?

She jumped off the stage for the third time that night, and someone handed her a shot glass brimming full. Some of the amber liquid sloshed down her fingers, and all he could think of was guiding those digits to his mouth and sucking them clean.

Holding his gaze, Nola knocked back the whiskey.

He stepped forward and removed the glass from her hand. Setting it on the edge of the stage, he caught her fingers. She inched close, invading his senses with lush curves and the ripe scent of vanilla and arousal.

Perspiration dotted her throat, and he licked his lips, hungry for a taste.

“You’ve had too much to drink. I’m taking you home.”

“I was hopin’ you’d say that.” She waved at the redhead who had to be her sister, then pointed at him.

Griffin shot the sister his best nice-guy smile.
No, I’m not a rapist or murderer. I’ll see your sister home safe. I just might steal a kiss or more if she’ll allow
.

Heart wild in his chest, he wrapped an arm around Nola’s waist and guided her out of The Hellion. The brisk night air cut through the heat of his need, and he gulped the coldness into his lungs.

Maybe he shouldn’t try anything, just take her home and be honorable.

“My truck’s over here.” He waved at a well-used truck splattered with mud from the back tires and wished like hell he had something fancy for her.

She walked at his side, as steady as if she hadn’t drunk three beers and a whiskey throughout the night. For a little gal like her, that was a lot of alcohol, even spread out over a few hours. She could still sing like crazy even with alcohol in her veins.

By the time he guided her into the truck, he’d made up his mind that he wasn’t even going to try to kiss her. But when he got in and she scooted all the way over in her seat, leaning over the console, and threaded a hand into the hair at his nape, all self-control went up in a puff of smoldering hope.

“Where does a guy like you come from? I’ve never seen you in Reedy before.”

“I’ve lived here all my life.” His lips were inches from hers, and her breath washed over him. He studied her hooded eyes and the tips of her lashes, dark with mascara. Stripped of makeup, her lashes would be red-gold.

And the hair between her legs too.

“Hell,” he groaned and dropped his mouth to hers.

The first taste punched him in the gut. He snapped his arms around her, hauling her over the console and onto his lap. She clung to him, soft and willing female, her silky thighs draped over his.

He sealed her mouth under his for several seconds then could stand no more. He probed the seam of her lips with his tongue.

She opened to him at once. Her quiet mewl transformed into his croak of need. He trapped her face in his hands and angled her head to sink his tongue deeper into the sweet recesses of her mouth.

Pleasure-pain built in his groin, his erection throbbing against her maddening heat.

He bent her back over his arm until she was pinned to the driver’s door, sucking her tongue, nibbling her plump lips.

She wiggled and tugged on his hair, drawing him closer. Her breasts conformed to his chest as if she’d been made for him.

He tore away. Gasping, he stared down at her. She squirmed like a kitten under the gaze of a hawk.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t…”

She twisted a hank of his hair. “I wanted you to.”

“Wanted?” He raised a brow, studying the bead of moisture along her lower lip and wanting more than fucking anything to make it wetter from his kisses. Then he wanted to slip his fingers between her folds and see if she was wet for him in other ways.

His fingers convulsed on her hips. A tiny hole just above the pocket of her skirt allowed him to stroke bare flesh. She shivered, so he did it again. And again.

“Don’t stop, Griffin.” She pressed her lips to his throat, burning a trail over the beard he probably should have shaved.

“That’s the whiskey talkin’.” The delicious shocks of want stabbed low. He forced himself to keep from rocking his cock against her.

“I’m totally sober. Besides, I didn’t even drink that entire first beer. I spilled it, remember?”

His smile spread, and he turned it against her throat, stamping her with his happiness like a brand. Since the moment he’d set eyes on her, he hadn’t been able to look at anyone else. Had it ever been this way for him before?

With Miranda.

It was true that at first, he’d experienced absolute lust for Miranda. Could he travel this route again?

Nola squeezed her thigh muscles, cupping his cock perfectly.

Maybe just one night. Then he’d swear off younger women forever. Hell, when he’d signed up to be a driver at The Hellion, he’d never imagined himself in this situation. He was only doing it to get out of the house before his mother’s first round of chemo kept him running between ranch and hospital with an infant.

He gently twisted Nola’s head to suck on her earlobe. The velvet under his tongue ignited him. With a growl, he cupped her breast. She arched into his touch, a sweet and tender woman to spend all night worshipping.

Except he could only offer her a country road and the bed of his truck.

“Griffin, I’m asking you to take me for a tumble.” They lifted their heads and gazed at each other—into each other. She wet her lower lip, and his cock battered his jeans. “It’s been so long for me.”

“For me too.” How long was “so long” to a twenty-five-year-old? Weeks? A month?

No, he couldn’t go through with it, no matter how badly he wanted to sink into her heat or how crazy the scent of her excitement made him.

He held her in place. “Listen, baby, I want to. Bad.” He let her see the need in him. “But not here, not this way. You’ve had a few too many, and I don’t want to be a regret.” He skimmed his hands down her arms to soften the rejection.

A cloud passed over her features, and she dropped her gaze. “You wouldn’t be a regret.”

“I need to make sure.” Gently, he lifted her off his lap and placed her in the passenger’s seat. She twisted away from him, arms lashed around her middle as she stared out the side window.

He placed a hand on her knee. “Will you let me take you out sometime?”