“He looks like an Aztec god,” Riley murmured. “Did the Aztecs have gods?”
If she’d been an Aztec, Shane would definitely have worshiped him. His face was angular, bony and had an uncertain ethnicity that intrigued her. Everything about him looked hard. Wide, flat forehead with a widow’s peak of dark silky hair that fell to his shoulders. High cheekbones with deep hollows. An angular jaw that thrust out. And his nose looked like it belonged on a coin or a cathedral wall.
And then there was his body. Broad shoulders. Black T-shirt stretched across his chest, narrow waist and…
Don’t look down.
She felt dizzy already.
“See,” Riley whispered, amusement in her voice.
“Too well,” Shane tried to joke even though the blood in her brain had migrated south. Even her vision fuzzed. God. It was like he was a homing beacon of testosterone tempting her with reminders of how long it had been.
“Told you,” Riley whispered.
“Eh.” Shane shrugged a shoulder in the biggest lie of her life. She was not in the market for a man, but if she was, he looked like a neon billboard sign advertising a decadent, sinful night of hot, slightly edgy sex. His whole vibe was fast and dirty and out the door before the sheets cooled.
She could be in the market for that since she was no longer looking for forever—love, marriage, baby in a baby carriage.
But a one-night stand? What would that even be like?
The bride-to-be and her sidekick had struck out again.
So he wasn’t here for short, busty, slightly buzzed and easy.
I’m none of those things.
“In or out?” Riley asked.
“Out.” Shane pulled back from the brink. What the hell was she thinking? That man might scream temporary and a very good time, but he also screamed volcanic explosion—definitely not a starter stud for a one-night stand. But maybe next month she should give one of the cowboys coming in for the Copper Mountain Rodeo a shot.
“You can extend your break and whisper sweet nothings,” Shane suggested dragging her attention away from him, with a rather heroic effort. But now she could feel his dark gaze drilling twin holes in her ass as she walked back to the bar.
Riley followed her. “So out of my league,” Riley said.
“You perform in front of audiences,” Shane reminded her.
“So do you.”
Her few and far between jazz jams and gig fill-ins were continents away from what Riley had done, and still did.
“Is it a competition?” she asked as she prepared Riley’s water. “Start a song. That will grab his attention,” Shane advised.
She should go jump in an ice bath.
“No thanks.” Riley shook her head, making her red-gold curls dance. “My taste in men sucks sour lemons full of seeds.”
“That’s quite the sensory description.” Shane laughed, even though the spell the man seemed to have cast over her body made every nerve hum in excitement—even her nipples chafed against her lacy A-cup, mostly unnecessary bra.
She got another drink order, and as she moved to make it, she’d be lying if she didn’t put an extra swish in her hips. She didn’t mean to. Her hormones were just objecting to her brain’s decision to not cast her line. She’d never been so aware of her body, the way the air felt on her skin. Even her useless womb clenched in hot excitement.
He needed to leave her bar. He shouldn’t be here. He might be casually posed, but Shane wasn’t fooled. That man had seen Life with a capital L. He pulsed a similar vibe to Colt Wilder even though he was several years out of the Rangers.
“Cop?” Riley speculated. “County sheriff department?”
Shane poured her some still mineral water and added some ginger and a splash of cinnamon tea and drizzled honey on top. She handed the glass to Riley. “Military. Special Teams. On leave or recently out,” Shane called it. She knew that look, and beat of her heart wanted to help him, while every brain cell urged her to keep her distance. And her stupid body whimpered ‘welcome home.’
She held his gaze. This was her bar. Her people. Her domain.
“Oh.” Riley’s voice eased. “Maybe a friend of Colt’s.”
“Maybe,” Shane agreed.
It was possible, but since Colt was not here—not that she’d ever seen him come into the bar or hotel lobby without at least one of his brothers or his wife—she felt there was another reason for the soldier’s presence.
Riley took a sip of the water. “Wolf Den seems more his vibe.”
“Definitely,” Shane agreed. He could find trouble in the dive bar if he was looking for it. “Play one of your new songs,” Shane urged, wanting Riley to act naturally, but also to encourage her. Since Riley’s return from LA, she’d had a hard time regaining her confidence. She’d holed up at her family’s ranch for months. Lost a ton of weight and her sparkle before she’d started working with horses againand then finally, with Shane’s and her family’s encouragement, she’d picked up her guitar and started composing and occasionally singing at the Graff and sometimes FlintWorks.
Shane deliberately strode over to the table directly in the path of the man. Yup. He tracked her movements, whereas he hadn’t given the bride or the bridesmaid a single look.
“I’m not a gazelle on the savannah,” she stated as she breezed past him to let him know she’d noted his attention and wasn’t intimidated by it.
She checked on a table that she knew didn’t yet need anything. But when she stepped back to return to the bar, her body hit a hard wall. Him. She knew without looking. Her heart jerked in alarm. She hadn’t felt his approach. Somehow, he’d contained his energy, even though Shane had highly honed instincts. She’d had to with her job as a psychologist with the army. And her father, an alpha male of alpha males, had made sure all five of his daughters knew how to read every situation for danger and how to fight dirty, incapacitate and escape if they ever had to.
Every nerve in her body tensed, but it took only a second for her to realize that she felt no threat. However, she was experiencing sexual heat. Hers. She was six feet in her cowboy boots, and he was taller. She felt the most male part of him below the small of her back. He was long and thick and fully erect. The thrill that coursed through her was hot and carnal. Yes, please.
No.
“If a gazelle is not your spirit animal,” he murmured in her ear. “What is?”
His voice was low, more of a sleepy growl that tingled her cheek, and slid like heated molasses down her spine.
“Not that stupid game.” She looked at him over her shoulder and sucked in a shocked breath. He was beautiful. Rough. But so masculine. “The maid of honor finally lassoed you in?” she teased.
“Never. I prefer a challenge.”
“Really.” Her lips twitched at his flirt. She turned away to head back to the bar and the illusion of safety.
“Impala? Roan antelope? Ostrich?”
Ostrich? Shane spun around to face him holding her now empty tray against her chest.
Mistake.
She looked most men in the eye. Not this one. And she couldn’t read him at all. Nothing in his charcoal-gray eyes but cool distance.
“Ostrich?” she repeated, both outraged and amused by his suggestion. “This is your stab at charm?”