Authors: Taylor Lee
After she hung up, Erin wondered if she was being silly, but
then the thought of Blake, a prosperous lawyer, picking her up in Charlotte
Prairie was more than she could handle. It was bad enough that she had nothing
to wear. Remembering that the mall was two blocks over, she smiled at her
brazenness. Why not? When was the last time she had a date with a normal guy?
Surely that was as good an excuse as any for a new outfit.
“Damn! Who’s the ‘dick magnet?’”
Charlie Hanson whistled then raised his glass in an unseen
toast to the woman entering the pub.
“And while you’re at it, tell me why the professional
looking pricks get all the hot babes? Christ, that asshole’s wearing lizard
skin loafers and no socks. Is that what them ‘met-ro-sexuals’ wear these days?
We wear boots and they pay so goddamned much for their tasseled loafers they
can’t afford socks? Fuckin-A.”
Without looking up, Nate grinned at his buddy.
“Face it, Hanson, good-looking babes know the value of their
looks. For most of them it comes down to a matter of dollars and cents.”
Peter Maze, an older time-worn cop said gruffly, “So all
beautiful women are whores, Nate?”
Nate shrugged.
“I wouldn’t put it that crassly, Pete. It’s like any
commercial exchange. The babes have something of value and they get something
in exchange.”
Pete gave him a sympathetic glance. “Spoken like a man whose
wife screwed the owner of biggest lumber mill in town?”
Nate eyed him then said softly, “Make that ‘ex-wife’. Yeah,
Pete, that’ll leave a bitter taste in your mouth, but better to deal with life
as it is, than as you’d like it to be… right, my man?”
Pete hesitated.
“That was a crappy deal, Nate. Specially when you were
getting your ass shot off by them haji bastards in Iraq.”
“Old history, Pete. And, hell, the exception proves the
rule. Look at that gorgeous woman who married you and you ain’t got any more
than the rest of working stiffs.”
Charlie snorted.
“Right, Stryker. Like you’ve ever had to beg for a date…
like I do every night of the week. Shit, there isn’t a woman in three counties,
married or single, rich or poor, that wouldn’t give her right ovary for a roll
in the hay with the All Night Wonder, Nathan Stryker, the Devil Detective
himself.”
“Jesus, Charlie. I’m gonna put a limit on you tonight. You’re
already over the top. One more bit of advice, Charlie, then I’ll end my little
economics lesson regarding the wages of women and sin. There’s not a woman
worth looking at who’d have any idea of what you were talking about if you
invited her for a ‘roll in the hay.’ You’ve got to update your pick up lines,
buddy, or so I was told recently.”
Jeremy twisted in his chair for a better look at the doorway
and whistled.
“Damn. Charlie’s not exaggerating. You gotta admit, Nate, a
babe like that comes along once a millennia — and no fuckin way in
ChicadiafuckingFalls.”
Dan joined in with a quizzical glance in the direction of
the eye candy.
“Hell, I’ve never seen her dressed up but I think that’s the
‘fire chick.’ You know, that hot rookie, who works with your cuz, Connor? Every
guy in town is talking about her….”
Nate didn’t hear the rest of Dan’s sentence over the roar in
his ears as he rose to his feet.
He watched the hostess lead Erin and Blake to their table.
It was a miracle Nate could make out the color of her dress through the red
haze glazing his eyes. But if he had to describe it, he would simply say it
matched the color of her eyes. How else could you describe a bluish green color
so vivid and so perfect that it made the turquoise of her eyes even brighter?
Two tiny bows, one on each shoulder, were working overtime to hold up the top
of her dress. From the intriguing bounciness he saw when she turned, she’d
decided the shelf-like bodice of the dress didn’t require a bra. If it had been
up to him she’d be wearing a burka. As if the top wasn’t risqué enough, his gut
clenched when he saw that the swirly bottom of the dress reached all of six
inches below her curvy derriere.
Somewhere in the background fog of his brain, he heard his
buddy mutter, “So that’s what they call ‘fuck me shoes?’” For once Charlie’s
sartorial nomenclature was on target. If Nate had ever seen shoes that
warranted that crude label it was the strappy platform patent leather sandals
Erin was wearing. They made her endless toned legs show-stopping. Instead of
her usual ponytail, she’d let her long dark hair hang free. The spit in his
mouth dried up at the thought of winding his fingers in that curly mass, and
opening her lips and throat to his ravenous mouth.
As accurate as Charlie’s crass descriptions were of Erin, he
was even more on target when it came to her escort. Fuck. Who knew the walking
talking model for “distinguished wealthy gentleman” was alive and well in
ChicadiafuckingFalls? Christ, the guy even was a little gray at his temples. He
had one of those lean corded bodies that small athletic men strived to achieve
— either by hitting the gym or in “sports” like running or biking. The caveman
in Nate reveled at the knowledge that he could eat the little fucker for
breakfast and not burp. With the advantage of her five-inch heels, Erin was in
fact a couple inches taller than the guy. It didn’t seem to bother the
pretentious prick a bit, as he pulled out her chair and brushed his stealthy
fingers against the curve of her lower back.
Ignoring the warning shrieks from his rational brain, Nate
went with the wisdom of his smaller head instead. He was out of his chair and
heading across the room before his buddies could stop him. He must have looked
dangerous, because Dan called after him in his cautioning cop voice, “Where you
goin’, Nate? Whatssup, dude?”
Nate gave the wide-eyed, not-easily-surprised group of
hardened cops a nonchalant shrug — along with his best shiteating grin.
“I’m going to ask the little prick where he got his
loafers.”
~~~
After no more than a moment perusing the wine list, Blake
asked Erin if she agreed, then gave the waitress their order for a bottle of
wine. When he glanced back at her, a startled expression crossed his face. Erin
looked over her shoulder, and to her horror saw Nate advancing on them. That
was the only way she could describe his approach. He had the careless,
easygoing stride of a powerful jungle animal sighting his next meal. The wicked
glint in his eyes signaled he intended to play with his food before eating it.
From the look on Blake’s face, he understood that he was the food.
With the practiced manners of a gentleman, Blake started to
rise politely… but sunk back in his chair when Nate leaned down and kissed Erin
on the cheek.
“Evening, sweetheart.”
When she gasped, Nate winked at her and glanced over at
Blake.
“Mind if I join you?”
“YES!” Erin response was so loud that people from across the
room craned to see what was happening. She swallowed, then said more softly,
“Yes, I mind.”
Seeming to sense that the best offense was a good defense,
Blake said, “Sure. Be my guest.”
Nate grabbed a chair from a nearby table, and planted it
between Erin and Blake. He flipped the chair around like it was balsa, and sat
down, his strong thighs straddling the seat. Crossing his arms over the back of
the chair, he made a point of brushing his knee up against Erin’s. Erin
flinched at his touch and scooted to the far edge of her seat.
Taking a careful sip of his water, Blake shifted in his
chair so that he could turn enough to meet Nate’s gaze.
“Can I help you with something? You apparently know my
dinner companion.”
“Yes, I know Erin.”
Blake visibly swallowed.
“I’m Blake Richards.”
Nate nodded as if the information wasn’t of much interest.
“Nate Stryker. I’m one of the cops in town. That’s Detective
Stryker to you.”
Backing away imperceptibly from the looming presence beside
him, Blake took another guarded sip of water. A small smile curled his lips.
“I see. Well, I’m pleased to meet you, Detective Stryker.
Given that policemen know most of what is going on in their town, I presume you
know I’m new in town. Visiting. I’m on a…a consulting gig.”
His forced casualness only underscored his uneasiness.
Nate continued to stare at him though narrowed eyes. “Is
that so?”
“Actually, it is somewhat law enforcement related.”
“Hmm. How so?”
“Uh, I’m a lawyer.”
The corner of Nate’s mouth tipped up.
“I thought you might be.”
The veiled insult to his profession seemed to incite the
attorney accustomed as he was to the time-honored antagonism between cops and
lawyers.
“Tell me, detective, do you greet all the newcomers to town
this personally?”
“No… not all of them.”
Blake smiled.
“Only the ones who show up with a beautiful woman — like
Erin?”
Nate grinned at Erin. “Yeah, I guess you could say I’m
particular about the ones I greet.”
Without taking his gaze from Erin, he added, “Do you have a
card?”
“Yes, of course.” Blake reached in his pocket, took out his
wallet, and handed his card to Nate.
Nate put it in his pocket without looking at it.
He glinted at the man. “Why did you say you were here?”
Assuming some of Nate’s cockiness, Blake replied, “I
didn’t.”
The hardening of Nate’s jaw signaled Blake would do well to
skip the cockiness. “Well, then you better say it now.”
“I’m here meeting with the head of the Department of Indian
Affairs. I’m a lawyer doing some work on tribal issues.”
“Good for you.”
Erin choked and thought to herself, at least Nate pulled it
back a little. He could have said, “Bully for you.” But the implication was
there.
Erin peered back down at the table where she’d focused for
most of the conversation. She pressed her lips together in a straight line. The
heat on her cheeks matched the fury roiling in her stomach. She refused to
participate in the alpha male square-off. She could have told Blake he didn’t
have a chance. His expensive silk shirt and creased trousers had seemed elegant
when he met her at the entrance to the pub. Now they looked pretentious and out
of place, compared to Nate’s ubiquitous black t-shirt and worn jeans. Glancing
at Nate’s scuffed leather boots with the glint of a weapon in its holster, she
hoped he would contain his mean streak and not stomp on Blake’s expensive
loafers. Even Blake’s manicured hands that made Erin want to hide her ragged
nails, now looked effeminate compared to Nate’s calloused hands draped over the
back of his chair. Erin shivered, remembering his rough fingers stroking her
sensitive skin.
Deciding she’d been humiliated enough, she tossed her napkin
on the table and rose. “I’m leaving.”
Nate shook his head and stood, putting a casual hand on the
curve of Erin’s back just below her waist. He grinned when she shivered.
“Uh uh, darlin’. That’s not necessary. I’m going back to
join my friends. Enjoy your dinner. The band will start playing in a few
minutes.”
He put his hand around the back of her neck and tipped her
chin up with his thumb. Gazing in her eyes, he murmured, “Be sure you save a
dance for me, Erin.”
He nodded at Blake, then sauntered off, stopping at several
tables along the way to greet people who hollered out to him.
When Nate plopped back in his chair, Dan shoved a glass in
front of him and poured him a full shot of Jameson’s. The big Irishman’s eyes
were dancing.
“Tell me. Did you piss on him or did you shit on him, too?
Maybe mark the table with your claws?”
Nate’s lip quirked. He tossed back the booze and poured
himself another shot.
“Nah, I just pissed on his leg.”
Blake tugged on her arm.
“Please, Erin, sit down.”
She shook her head, too angry to speak.
Blake was insistent.
“Look, Erin. Obviously that man is harassing you. If he
continues, let me know and I’ll have him reported. Cops can be held accountable
too, you know. But we don’t have to let him spoil our dinner. Here is our wine
now. Please. Sit down.”
Erin hesitated, then sat back down trying to keep her hands
from shaking. She took several deep breaths determined to be calm. When she
thought she could speak in a relatively composed voice, she apologized.
“I… I’m sorry, Blake. Nate is… is Lt. Lang’s cousin. Connor
Lang is my boss. He isn’t anything like his cousin, thank God.”
“I’m glad to hear that. But let’s not waste time talking
about overgrown gym rats who like to throw their weight around. He’s not worth
the energy.”
As though he was determined to start fresh, Blake gave her
an appraising once over.
“I haven’t had the opportunity to tell you how beautiful you
look tonight. That is a lovely dress, Erin. It matches your eyes.”
Erin smiled and took a deep breath. Blake was right. She
shouldn’t let Nate spoil her evening. But Blake was wrong about something else.
Nate wasn’t an overgrown gym rat. He was a powerful, primal, extremely sexy
man.
Blake waited for the waitress to uncork the wine then
indicated that he wanted to taste it. The young woman looked surprised as if
she wasn’t used to having patrons at the pub sample their wines. Nodding, she
poured an inch in his glass and stepped back. Blake swirled the wine in the
bottom of the glass then delicately sniffed it. Taking a small sip, he nodded to
the waitress indicating that she could pour his and Erin’s wine. Watching the
scene from downcast eyes, Erin felt a profound sense of relief that Nate wasn’t
there to observe it. The waitress gave Erin a sly wink then filled both of
their glasses to the brim.
Blake frowned then raised his glass to her, taking care not
to slosh the overflowing wine on the tablecloth.