Can't Let Go. Gena Showalter
it’s about time,” Daniel said with a nod.
Ryanne batted her lashes at Jude. “Can I get you another water with lemon, Mr. Laurent?” Her voice was sugar sweet, but strangely, also as mean as a rattler.
“And let you charge me another two fifty for roughly five seconds of your time?” He shook his head. “At your rates, I’ll owe you nine thousand dollars for an hour of our meeting tomorrow.”
She winked at him, sensual, erotic—so beautiful it hurt to look at her. “Trust me. I’m worth that and more.”
Raising an empty bottle, Brock told her, “Before you guys go and drag me into this odd little mating dance you’re doing, I’ll have another of those penny beers. Please and thank you.”
Jude bit his tongue in an effort to remain silent, annoyed by both the comment and the request. Mating dance? Hell, no. He and Ryanne argued, nothing more. And though he’d never asked his friends to give up alcohol, he’d wanted to, which made him loathe himself a little more. Their pasts were as painful as his own, and they needed an outlet.
“Daniel?” Ryanne asked. “Another ginger ale?”
“Yes, please,” Daniel replied with a grin. “I’m Brock’s designated driver tonight.”
“Well, then, I’ll make sure your sacrifice is rewarded and add a cherry and a lime wedge free of charge.” Slowly, languidly, she leaned toward Jude. “You see anything you want, Mr. Laurent?”
Another clench of muscle low in his gut. “No, thanks. I’m good.”
“Oh, sugar. I’d bet my unmentionables you’re very, very bad.” Hooded gaze locked on him, she flattened her hand on his shoulder. He had to hide a jolt of surprise, the warmth of her skin burning through his shirt, the scent of fresh strawberries and cream strengthening.
“What do you think you’re doing?” he demanded.
“Don’t think. Know. I’m wondering why you look so hungry. Positively ravenous.”
He stiffened in places he shouldn’t. Had she just insinuated that he hungered for her?
He didn’t. He wouldn’t.
She winked at him, all coy femininity and smoky charm—and he did hunger, shit, he did. “Stay right there. I’m going to satisfy your appetite.” With another wink, she took off.
Those hips swayed with more vigor, and his hands curled into fists.
Brock whistled under his breath as he watched her go. “That is one mighty fine woman.”
Of course he would think so. She was exactly his type. The kind of female who would tick off his parents.
Teeth gnashing again...
Don’t care who my friend wants to nail.
“She’s a trouper,” Daniel said with a sly glance at Jude. “We’re in a tri-city, right? Between Strawberry Valley, Blueberry Hill and Grapevine. In all three towns, her mother was known as a get-around girl. Remarried a couple times, but in between marriages she stole the husbands of other women. Even slept with one or two of Ryanne’s high school boyfriends.”
Having done his homework, Jude knew a lot of people disdained Ryanne for her mother’s behavior, and he sympathized. Back in Midland, his mother had been the town pariah. Poor as dirt, so desperate to keep her family farm going, she’d sold herself to any man willing to fix tractors, repair barns or feed cattle.
But Daniel wasn’t done needling Jude. “When Ryanne moved in with one of her former stepdads, hot damn. Even the residents of Strawberry Valley went a little crazy. Earl Hernandez used to own this bar, and Ryanne was seventeen, I think, maybe eighteen. Countless people called her a whore. Parents forbade their children from spending time with her, fearing she was just like her momma. Fact was, she’d moved in to care for the guy. He had cancer.”
Yeah. Jude knew that, too. Damned if you do, damned if you don’t.
Not that he would allow Ryanne’s past to matter to him. He would keep his eyes off her curves and on the prize: her survival.
He’d already briefed the guys about Dushku’s move to town, so he used their minutes alone to explain his plan for camera placement inside and outside the bar, with twenty-four-hour monitoring. A necessary component, considering Ryanne lived upstairs.
“The Scratching Post falls under Blueberry Hill jurisdiction, so we shouldn’t involve the cops just yet,” he added. “There’s serious bias against Ryanne, Dorothea and Lyndie.”
“It’s true,” Daniel said. “Lyndie was married to the former chief, and Ryanne helped her leave him. I wasn’t here, but I remember my dad’s shock when the seemingly happy couple split. Apparently Carrington was beating the shit out of Lyndie.”
“Where is Carrington now?” Brock’s words were laced with so much rage, Jude had no doubt the ex would be beaten to death if he ever walked through the door.
“Dead. Which saves you from killing him and being sent to prison,” Daniel said. “As for Dushku, we don’t want to stay on the defensive. We need to go on the offensive as soon as possible.”
Jude rubbed the back of his neck, unable to alleviate the tension coiled there. “The Dushkus are merciless, even the ones who are in prison.”
“We put the fear of God in Martin Dushku now,” Brock said, “and we’ll save ourselves a lot of trouble later.”
Or start a war.
Who was he kidding? The war had already started.
“I’ll take care of this,” Jude said. He’d keep his friends—and their women—out of it.
“We’ll all take care of it,” Brock corrected. “Together.”
All for one, and one for all. The story of their lives. Even still, Jude would take the lead on this. When things got bad, and they would, he wanted to be the sole target.
Unlike the others, he had nothing to lose.
He said none of that, however. His friends would only argue. What they couldn’t do? Stop him.
Ryanne arrived with drinks, a bowl of popcorn with sesame-glazed pistachios, soft pretzel sticks with beer cheese fondue and a plate of bacon-wrapped french fries. “In case you want to order another, this is the One Night Stand. Expect an orgasm in your mouth. This is the Horizontal Tango, and this is the Porking. If you’d like to add a plate of Thai-coconut chicken wings, aka the Boneyard, just let me know.” Smiling as Jude nearly choked on his tongue, she presented him with a bill. “Enjoy,” she said with a wink.
He expected her to leave, but once again she leaned toward him. “Well? Taste everything, and tell me again about the amount of salt in the food.”
Daniel snagged a french fry, and Brock grabbed a pretzel and shoved one end into the dip. Jude hadn’t had a real appetite since...in a long time, but he couldn’t stop himself from tossing a handful of popcorn and pistachios in his mouth. The sweet and perfectly salted flavors hit his tongue, and he nearly moaned.
Next thing he knew, he’d emptied the bowl.
“Guess my snacks are delicious, after all.” Ryanne laughed, the magical sound turning the food in his stomach to rocks. “Tips are encouraged or the next round might come with an extra special topping.”
With one more of those annoying winks, she wandered off to do what she did best: charm absolutely everyone.
Before his brain registered his intention, Jude found himself on his feet, stalking after her, finally jumping in front of her. “You’re being nice to me.” Not just flirting with him but enchanting him. “Why?”
“I realized I’m now your boss.” Cheeks glowing a lovely shade of rose, she beamed up at him. Whether she was flushed from the temperature of the room or pleasure,