Devil in Texas (Rugged and Risque 1)

Jack wasn’t a firm believer in Satan himself. It was all a matter of perspective. He believed people did things—good or evil—based on what was inherently in their hearts and souls, not necessarily by divine or satanic influence. He’d read the good book cover to cover. Twice. Could recite the Ten Commandments. He even sent up a prayer to the heavens every now and then when a friend passed or things were looking bleak.

But Jack Wade was also a man who liked a little sinnin’ from time to time.

Unfortunately, there were a lot of gray areas in Wilder, what with some of the congregation piously delineating themselves as holier than the non-church goers. Sometimes it was hard to pinpoint the greater evils that existed because of the personal agendas being pushed.

“Look,” Jack reasoned. “I’m not backin’ down. I’m just not committin’ yet. Rocking the boat when I’m fighting to stay afloat doesn’t make good business sense. Sales are steady during the week and I need them to remain that way now that we’re closed on Sundays.”

The ledger didn’t lie. Having to close the saloon doors one day a week—on a weekend, no less, when there was Sunday football and people looking to relax before they had to get back to the daily grind come Monday—made a big impact on his profits.

“I understand your situation,” George said. “And you have mine and Jess’ devoted patronage to support ‘the cause’.” He smiled magnanimously. “How about a Glenlivet to prove it?”

Jack chuckled. They’d been friends a long time and Jack knew he could count on George and his wife, Jess, to fight the good fight with him. Reaching for the fancy single malt Scotch George favored, he poured two fingers into an old-fashion glass and set the drink in front of the other man. “You’re not going to let this drop, are you?”

“Are you?” his friend challenged, his brows lifting.

“Fair enough,” Jack said as he poured one for himself, which he sipped slowly. “But if I’m going to do this, I want your voice shouting out loud and clear behind me.”

George lifted his glass and touched the rim to Jack’s. “You’ve got yourself a deal.”

Jack drew a deep breath. They were talking mutiny here. But goddamn, it was time someone stirred things up. In this town, Wades were notorious for doing just that.

“All right, then,” he said. “Let’s draw the line in the sand and see who crosses it with us.”

They took a big gulp of their drinks, set the glasses on the bar and clasped hands.

“City Council it is,” George said with a grin.

For Jack, it was a necessary evil. The only way his voice would be heard. Yet even as he mentally catalogued his priority issues, he couldn’t help remembering how detrimental going against the grain had been for his father. He’d stood up for his personal convictions…and had lost everything he’d worked so hard to achieve.

A travesty, in Jack’s mind.

This town had once flourished, but with the struggling economy and the backward thinking, it seemed only those in the good grac

es of the Reverend Bain were getting ahead. Which made Jack wonder if his latest decision would invite as much trouble into his life as taking his own stand had done to his father’s.

But he’d made up his mind. And Jack Wade never reneged on his word.

His once-carefree existence was getting far more complex than he’d ever wanted—especially with Manhattan’s arrival. Clearly he couldn’t keep her out of his head. And Lord, how he wanted her! Finger-fucking that tight pussy of hers had damn near put him over the edge. He’d wanted to unbutton his fly, shove his briefs down to his hips and hammer his cock into her wet cunt, thrusting harder and deeper until they both came.

It was almost impossible not to be distracted by how much his body craved hers. But he needed to get a grip on his raging libido. George had made valid points, after all, and Jack needed to consider them. He was likely in the most advantageous position to effect change in this town. Or try to, at any rate.

“So what’s city girl’s story anyway?” George changed the subject as he continued to savor his cocktail.

Jack shrugged, not wanting to divulge anything Liza might consider confidential. And doing his best not to let more wicked thoughts of her rattle around in his brain. He simply said, “High-tailed it out of New York for some fresh air and sunshine, I suspect.”

George laughed. “She must have better taste than we all gave her credit for ‘cause she didn’t have much use for you tonight.”

Jack took more of the same ribbing he’d experienced when he’d returned to the saloon. “Maybe I was the one who said no.”

George nearly spewed Scotch from his mouth. “Oh right. I can see that happening, Jack. I know you’re selective, but when you set your sights on a woman, she doesn’t stand a chance.”

“This one’s different,” he said, realizing he meant it. There was something intriguing and alluring about Liza Brooks. Brains and mystery and sweet smiles all put together in a pretty little package he looked forward to unwrapping. When she was sober and knew what the hell she was getting herself into.

“Gotta admit, for you to be back here within the hour was a bit startling,” George continued on.

“I didn’t exactly tuck her into bed, but I got a good idea of how compatible we are,” he said with a wink. Then added, “Hell, I wasn’t going to take advantage of her. You know me better than that. Three shots of tequila and a beer in that short amount of time left her with impaired judgment.”

“She went home with you, didn’t she?”