“Sure, I’d like a drink, but I’d like a fuck even more.”

I watched his face, the way his brown eyes narrowed and he took a slow, deep breath. “Yeah?”

“Don’t you want to?”

He leaned so close, the brim of his hat cast a shadow over both our faces. Greedily I inhaled a hint of leather and lemon soap, shivered at the slight rasp of his stubbled jaw against my cheek when he spoke. “Hell, yeah, I always want to fuck, but there are dozens of horny cowboys in this bar who’d be just as willing.”

“But they’re not you.”

His faint smile died. “Do I know you from somewhere?”

I shrugged. “Maybe.”

“You do look kind of familiar, but not like a regular Buckle Bunny.”

“I don’t even know what that means.”

His slight smile made me conscious of my business attire. My black jacket, short skirt and pink blouse looked out of place in this sea of denim. Did he remember that I’d belonged here once? That we’d gone to high school together? That like a bad country song, I’d given it all up for a useless, cheating city boy?

He shifted his stance against the bar, shutting out the yelling customers, the tunes on the jukebox, and the scent of alcohol and desperation. I reached out and ran my thumb along his full lower lip, gasping as he bit down on the tip of my finger. Just like that I was wet.

He took my hand, kissed it and gave it back to me. “The thing is, honey girl, I share a room.”

I licked my lips, saw his gaze follow the motion. “I don’t care.”

“So my buddy can join in, or watch the show?”

“Whatever works for you. I’m easy.”