Devil in Texas (Rugged and Risque 1)

In a flirtatious voice, she asked, “Not too hot?”

“Oh yeah,” he said on a low growl. “Way hot.”

Smiling she said, “I meant the water.”

“Haven’t even noticed it yet. Why don’t you get in and let me know how it feels.”

She turned the lights off so the flickering flames from the candles cast a soft golden glow in the room. Her gaze returned to the tub. It was a good size, yet somehow seemed intimate and cozy with a man Jack’s size filling it.

Stepping up to the tall side, she lifted a foot over the marble-encased edge. Jack guided it between his legs and then reached for her hand. He helped her into the tub and she turned her back to him and settled between his parted thighs. She leaned back against him as he cupped his hands and scooped up warm water, pouring it over her shoulders.

The streams flowed down her back and over her breasts. “Perfect,” she said on a long sigh.

Jack’s lips brushed her temple as he spoke, “Still sore?”

“A little,” she admitted.

His hard cock pressed against her backside, tempting her. He bent his legs alongside her and she rested her forearms on his knees. The heat from Jack and the water worked wonders on her body and her psyche.

She pulled in a few full breaths, feeling the effects of the soothing ambience almost immediately. Jack wrapped his arms around her waist and locked his fingers at her stomach. His lips grazed her neck. She felt his tongue press against her skin, then flick over it before his teeth gently nipped at her.

Liza moaned. “I think this is better than a massage.”

“How so?” he asked.

“Because I get to feel all of you against me and around me. Not just your hands on me.”

“Whatever makes you happy,” he whispered into her ear.

She smiled, recalling her mission for the evening. “I think hearing about you would make me happy.”

He groaned. And not in the sexy way she liked. “I assure you, there’s little to talk about.”

“I don’t believe that.”

“Okay,” he said, conceding a bit too quickly, she noted. “Born and raised in Wilder. Nothing too exciting about that.”

“What made you become a saloon owner?” she shot back, a barrelful of questions at the ready.

“The first curfew, on Friday nights, of course.”

“That happened before you opened Wade’s?”

“Yes. The building I own now used to be the religious gathering hall after the church burned down. Took about a year and a half to clear the remains, rebuild and move the congregation back to their original stomping grounds. Once they vacated, I bought their temporary home and made it a saloon.”

A deaf man wouldn’t have missed the hint of pride in his tone. Mixed with the distinguishable, double-fingered F-you she’d just recently become familiar with because of Peter. Only Jack’s bold gesture was clearly pointed toward Reverend Bain and his political and religious followers.

“So your rift with your uncle goes way back.”

He shrugged, causing ripples in the water that lapped against the top of the tub, some of it spilling over the ledge.

Silence ensued. Obviously she had to dig a little deeper. “How’d you and Lydia become such close friends, then?”

“She grew up down the road from here. That big red barn we pass on the way home is part of the farm two miles down that her family used to own. They’ve long since passed on.”

Latching onto the terminology, she said, “Passed on. As in…?”

“Moved away.”