Dirty-Talking Cowboy (Kinky Spurs 1)

“You’re here with me. You’re present. That’s enough, Emma.” Not wanting to lay it on too thick or push too hard today, making her feel rushed into things he knew were happening between them, even if she might not be ready to accept them yet, he added, “Now I’m starving. What have you made us for dinner?”

She swallowed deeply, obviously reining in her raw emotions. “Beef stew.”

“Two favorites in one day.” He grinned. “I’m a lucky man.”

She began to frown. “But I only made stew . . .”

“I’m not talking about food, sweetheart.” He slid his hand against the small of her back, yanking her against him, and stated against her lips, “I’m talking about you.” Then he did what she needed him to do. He sealed his mouth across hers, stealing any other lingering worries from her mind.

Chapter 10

Minutes before seven o’clock, Emma entered Kinky Spurs, ready for her last shift of the week. Being only a part-time employee, she worked Thursday to Sunday night. She moved through the tables, heading toward the bar straight ahead, her cowboy boots scuffing against the wood floor. Her Kinky Spurs T-shirt felt suffocating as always, with her ripped jean shorts barely covering her panties.

Behind the bar, Megan served a beer to a man sitting on a stool, a smile peeking out from behind his worn cowboy hat. Emma wasn’t surprised—Megan seemed to have that effect on men.

When Emma caught Megan’s eye, her boss began to frown, folding her arms beneath the KINKY SPURS logo across her chest. “You are not supposed to be here.”

Emma ducked under the side of the bar. “Honestly, I’m f

ine. There’ s no reason I shouldn’t be here.”

Megan grabbed the man’s money off the bar, then gave Emma a slow examining look from her head to her toes, especially lingering on the bruises on her legs. “You don’t look fine.”

“They’re just bruises.” Emma poked at one and smiled, totally faking that the poke didn’t nearly make her flinch. “See? Totally fine. It looks worse than it is. Trust me.”

“All right, if you say so,” Megan finally said, turning toward the cash register. “Take breaks if you need them. I brought in Cassie as well tonight, so we’ve got the extra help if we need it.”

Emma smiled. “Thanks.” In the weeks that Emma had worked for her, Megan had proven to be the best boss she’d ever had. Sure, her demands were high—be quick on your feet, serve more than one customer at once, don’t leave customers waiting—but when it came down to it, Megan cared not only for her business, but for the people who worked for her.

When Emma placed her purse down below the counter, Megan dropped the man’s change onto the bar.

“Keep the change, doll,” he practically purred.

“I don’t need your tips,” Megan stated firmly. “And if you call me doll again, your nuts will be sent into your throat.”

The man snorted a laugh. “Aw, Freckles, just because you want to sleep with me doesn’t mean you can’t take my money.”

Emma’s mouth nearly dropped to the floor. Oh, my God. She’d never heard anyone talk to Megan like this. She suspected that in about two seconds, the bouncer would be called, and the man would be kicked out. She pretended to be fiddling with her purse, staying down and out of sight.

Instead of calling Dean, the bouncer, Megan snorted. “In your dreams, Blackshaw.”

Emma snapped her mouth closed with an audible click then rose, giving the man at the end of the bar a deeper look. His eyes were the same color as Shep’s, even the brown shade of his hair poking out of the back of his cowboy hat was the same. Good grief, he was hot, if you liked a man full of sexy arrogance, that was. Emma preferred Shep’s brand of sexiness—cool, calm, and in control. This guy looked more like a man who’d take you to his bed, rock your world only to prove that he could, then leave you and never look back. “Excuse me,” she said, moving closer. “Are you one of Shep’s brothers?”

Megan rolled her eyes. “Oh, have you not met the youngest, most irritating Blackshaw of them all?”

Emma smiled at the man. “You’re Nash, I take it?” She offered her hand. “I’m Emma.”

“Ah, so this is Emma.” Nash took her hand and pressed a kiss to the top.

Megan stole Emma’s hand away. “Ignore him.” To Nash, she stated, “First, Shep would break your hand if he saw you kiss her like that. Second”—she turned to Emma—“Nash here has this condition where he has no filter. It’s a real problem. He’s a toddler.”

Nash barked a laugh, his lips pressing against the rim of his beer bottle. “What I have is a truth filter. I can’t help that everyone around here never says it like it is and pussyfoots around the truth.”

Megan scoffed. “What you have is a dipshit filter, and no one cares what you think.” She moved to the end of the bar while Nash continued to laugh, staring after her.

Emma stood there looking between them, trying to catch up. How had she not heard about this before? Even she could feel the tension between them was thick and heavy and nearly ready to explode. In fact, she actually thought Nash was onto something about Megan wanting him in her bed. Needing answers, she followed Megan into the back room, finding her grabbing a case of beer. “Okay, totally none of my business,” Emma said quietly, “but I had no idea you two were a thing.”

“We aren’t a thing.” Megan strode by her, carrying the beer. “I hate him. He hates me. End of story.” She left the back room.