Easy Ride. Suzanne Ruby
man pressed his lips close to her ear and whispered, “I couldn’t find him.”
From the corner of her eye, she noticed the rolled-up sleeve of his white unbuttoned shirt.
Fabian.
He smelled exceptionally good. Like vanilla and pine. He must have splashed on some aftershave or cologne, just for her. Maybe since her scheduled friend was nowhere to be found, the host felt obligated to step in.
Awesome. She hadn’t even met Easy Ride, and he’d already rejected her.
Not that she was complaining. In fact, she might have to reconsider her choice. For now, she’d play along.
“Who were you looking for? Refresh my memory,” she said.
“Anyone who can satisfy you the way I can.”
Kirby’s breath hitched. She hadn’t expected that kind of talk. At least, not so soon.
His touch deepened, his thumbs working the knotted muscles of her upper back. She didn’t dare move. Still, she had questions. Lots of them.
“How do you know what will satisfy me?” she said nervously. “Maybe I have exotic tastes.”
He leaned in again. “Give me an example, and I’ll tell you exactly how I could satisfy you. In great detail.”
The jagged lump that had settled in her throat dissolved as sweetly and easily as cotton candy. His rich voice alone satisfied her hungry soul. No details required.
With this guy, straight missionary would be enough.
Forget Easy Ride. Fabian was definitely her man tonight. Besides, he was probably the gatekeeper of all the secrets, and would make a great friend. And an even better canary.
But that was secondary. She finally understood what it meant to mix business with pleasure, to live in the moment. To be touched this way again. No wonder ladies came here in droves after a heartbreak. When reality ripped a person to shreds, there was no better medicine than a three-dimensional and utterly willing fantasy.
A paid-for fantasy, she reminded herself.
She leaned into the shoulder rub completely, which now included an upper-arm massage.
“I can’t get over how good you smell tonight. What kind of perfume are you wearing?” he asked.
Now there was a line if she’d ever heard one. She wasn’t wearing perfume. It almost jolted her out of the fantasy. Almost.
“It’s called soap and water.”
“No, that’s not it. It must be you that I smell.”
A flush of warmth spread through her entire body. He didn’t clarify what he meant. She was more than willing to fill in the blanks.
He delved even deeper into her tense shoulder muscles.
“That feels so good,” she said, although certain syllables came out as an embarrassing moan.
“And you feel good. Those extra pounds are definitely your friend.”
Huh?
She tried to peel away from his touch as she struggled to rationalize the backhanded compliment, but he reeled her back in with those amazing hands.
Still, such a comment couldn’t go unaddressed. Not for what she was paying.
“Are you insinuating I’m fat?”
“Not at all. But I love the extra meat on your bones. Brings out the animal in me.”
Kirby’s mind swirled, and not in a good way this time. In fact, it didn’t swirl. It shook rather violently. Even though the guy was sexy as hell, there was definitely something wrong here. As in, mentally.
She was halfway tempted to deliver a strong elbow to the groin and get the hell out of there.
No sooner had the impulsive thought crossed her mind, than the tip of his finger traced an invisible line along the base of her neck and stopped at the most sensitive point on the side, as if marking the spot. He planted the softest, warmest kiss right at the destination, causing an unbearable stimulation. How could he have landed on the exact spot that could launch her straight to the heavens and beyond?
Then he whispered, “Your breasts look especially amazing. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear they were natural.”
Seriously? She leaned forward and reclaimed her back, as well as the backbone that went with it.
“We’re done here. Go find my scheduled friend.”
There. She’d said it, even though part of her wanted to continue this messed-up game they’d started, if only for more neck kisses and shoulder rubs. Maybe she could pay him to not talk.
Kirby stood as best she could on legs that had all but turned to marshmallows.
What little strength she’d managed to compose quickly decomposed when she turned to find an over-the-top-gorgeous brunet stranger staring back at her. His expression could easily be described as horrified. Perhaps as horrified as she felt.
He didn’t seem to have a clue as to who she was.
It took a moment, but she sure recognized him. His white shirt was now unbuttoned, and he’d removed his Stetson since rescuing her valet ticket from the dance floor.
His expression remained as distressed as his jeans, yet he looked nothing short of gorgeous. Infuriatingly so, because she didn’t want to feel attracted to this nutcase. The image of a black horse, which was inked on his now-exposed chest, seemed to breathe heavily along with him.
“You’re not Lydia,” he said.
“And you’re not Fabian.”
He ran both hands through his beautifully disheveled hair, and gripped it down to the roots, as if anchoring himself amid the confusion.
In her opinion, all he did was elevate the bed-head look to a whole new level of sexiness.
“There you are, Ride. I see you two have met,” Fabian said, entering the room as if nothing remotely weird had happened in his absence.
For Kirby, the moment had a distinct ménage feel about it. And not in a good way.
As much as Easy Ride had awakened something within her—something completely capable of muddling her emotions—her head began to clear. Obviously, this guy was into some woman named Lydia. Or else he had the ability to cook up some seriously tasty lines that contained no sincere ingredients, and then serve them to everyone. Along with a few borderline-offensive ones specifically for her.
No matter. Kirby smiled, from the inside out. She’d have no problem doing what she needed to do for the story. And maybe doing a few things she wouldn’t ordinarily do along the way.
As imperfect as their introduction had been, Easy Ride was perfect story material.
HOLY CRAP.
So this was his new client. From behind, and with her hair up in a bun, she could pass for their manager. Lydia loved his shoulder rubs, neck kisses and harmless-but-naughty banter. The naughtier, the better, with the added levity of some questionable compliments. All in good fun.
Nothing about this current situation could be considered remotely fun.
This Lydia-from-behind look-alike hadn’t bantered back in the usual manner, which should have been a clue. Instead, he had ramped up the innuendo.
The fact that this woman wasn’t painfully thin should have been another clue, but he’d been too busy enjoying the softness of her to think it through. Rather, enjoying the softness of what he thought was Lydia.
In a way, he was relieved it wasn’t his