Ride Me Dirty (Bridgewater County 1)

“Hi. I…I think…you’re the attorney handling my uncle’s estate? Charlie Willis.” That was good. I didn't fumble that too much.

His gaze narrowed and I watched the lightning quick analysis going on behind his dark eyes with helpless fascination. “Yes, and you’re my ten o’clock meeting tomorrow.”

Nodding, I stared at the way his dark hair curved to cover half of his forehead, inspected the sharp lines of his face and hard jaw until my attention rested on his full lips. They looked hard, but firm, as I imagined his kisses would be, aggressive, urgent, dominating to the senses.

Wow. My mind went right to the gutter, but what woman could blame me? He'd filled out, matured. Turned out to be… gorgeous. I pulled my hand free and cleared my throat. What was it about hot men in Montana? Was it the water? All the fresh air and sunshine? Hormone-free milk? Turning to face the bar, I took a sip of my drink and tried to recover. “Ten o’clock. Yes. Nice to see you again.”

Nice? Seeing him again was like a cattle prod to my libido.

Turning to Declan, I gasped to discover the stool empty. Looking around quickly, I found he’d taken my place at Cara’s table, where he, along with Cara and her husbands raised their glasses in salute, as if giving me permission to flirt with Sam. Alone.

Apparently, Sam saw them, too. The soft sound of his chuckle of amusement made my heart race. “Looks like I have been given permission to buy you a drink, Katie. What do you say?”

“My glass is full.” Oh, yeah. Great answer. Idiot. I felt my cheeks heat, but couldn’t think past the facts of the moment. Airplane Jack, with his blatant masculinity, playboy smile and rock hard body had pushed me so far off kilter that I had no chance of resisting Sam.

I took a deep breath, let it out. I could do this. I can talk to a hot guy without being a complete idiot. I had a law degree. If I could defend a case before the most ruthless of judges, I could talk to a hot guy in a bar. And it wasn't just any guy, but Sam Kane.

Maybe it was because of Airplane Jack that I decided to let go with Sam. I'd blown it with him—epically—and God would not put this hottie in my path to fuck up twice. In the same dang day.

God, he was dressed in a navy suit and tie. His cream-colored dress shirt and crisply ironed dress pants said this man was like me, a tough professional, a driven individual who paid attention to the details. Add his movie star good looks and the fact that he was acting interested, and it was safe to say he was scrambling my brain. I’d never been any good at off-the-cuff flirting even when my brain was actually working.

“A suit and tie. I thought I was the only one overdressed,” I commented. I wore a skirt with four inch heels to a bar. In Montana.

He grinned then. With those straight white teeth and the little turn up at the corner of his mouth, yeah, my panties just got soaked.

My cell phone chose that moment to buzz in my purse. Resigned to the inevitable, I reached in my bag, pulled it out. I slid my thumbs over the screen, once, twice. I read the email. The effects of the liquor were gone and my brain turned back on, set to hyper mode.

“Excuse me,” I said to Sam, but had my eyes on the cell and the two paragraphs about work that couldn't be ignored. I shouldn't have come to the bar, taken time off. God, why wasn't there internet at Charlie's house? I wouldn't have missed this. Shit, if I could just get this one thing resolved…

Sam’s large hand wrapped around my wrist.

“Let it go,” he murmured in my ear.

I shook my head, focused on the status of my case, the brief that needed to be filed, the injunction. “I can’t. It's an important email and I just need to—”

“Work. Yeah, I know. I'm a lawyer, too. Remember? Trust me, it can wait.”

My back stiffened as I looked up at him. His dark gaze was focused squarely on me. No phone in his hand, no eyes on a damn palm-sized screen. He wasn't focused on work. He was focused on me.

“It can't wait. Do you have any idea what's going on in my little world while I sit here with you?” I lifted the phone and shook my head.

“Yeah, I have an idea. Your work is always at DEFCON 2, which means you're mobilizing the troops in your mind for some all out war with the other party. I can practically see the smoke coming out of your ears you're thinking so hard.”

Yeah, that about summed it up.

“How many drinks have you had?”

I frowned. “Two.”

He looked me over. “And you're still wound up tight. You need to chill the fuck out.”

Now I was pissed and I stood. Just because I lived with a metric shit ton of stress didn't mean my work wasn't important to me. Cara and those men might vouch for Sam, but he was a jerk. “And if I were a man, I'd be considered career driven, not wound up. Look, Sam, I don't need you to tell me about my job. About what to do.”

He grinned again. Cocky bastard.

“Yeah, I think you do. And I wasn't being sexist with my comment. Women have more balls than most men, and you do the same job in hot-as-fuck heels.” He glanced down my legs to the ruthless heels I usually wore. “I was the big city lawyer once, too and I'd been wound up so tight I was going to have a heart attack before I turned thirty.” He studied me with that intense dark gaze again. “I think you need someone to help you shut it all down.”

“But—”