Acres, Natalie - Sex Club [Cowboy Sex 5] (Siren Publishing Ménage Amour) (4 page)

“Yeah, Ms. Cartwell, as a matter of fact we’re locked in without a means of escape.” A stroke later, he added, “To think I was under the misguided impression that you didn’t have a brain to speak of. You’re just full of surprises today. You immediately recognized the dire circumstances of our situation and began working on a solution. I’m impressed. Really.”

His sarcasm provided a lousy front. “Yes, Tristan, I can visibly see signs of your fascination. I’m pleased to have finally grabbed your attention.” Without any self-control, her wandering eye took a quick trip around Tristan’s world. Before she could help herself, she was gaze groping, practically stripping him down to boxers or briefs.

“Apparently, I’m not as impressed as you are.”

She jerked, realizing he caught her staring at the full package located below his belt. “And you, Tristan, are a real smartass.”

She should’ve fired him the second her sister and Patience left town. “You know, you’ve barely spoken a handful of sentences since you returned to reclaim your bartending position. No one told me, why did you leave here in the first place?”

“The decision to take off was personal,” he replied.

“Let me guess. You have a problem with women in positions of power.”

“Depends on the position, I guess,” he answered her, quickly adding, “And if that were the case, I wouldn’t be standing here now.”

“Aren’t you a funny guy?” she asked. “I was shocked Patience hired you back. She’s a tough one.” When he didn’t respond and appeared unmoved, she added, “You weren’t missed, by the way. The customers rarely asked about you.”

His smile widened. He probably didn’t believe her, but he appeared amused by her obvious effort to try her hand at insults, lame as they were.

Prior to leaving town, Tristan was as eagerly pursued as Bailey. The two bartenders boosted business. The women loved them both. After someone noticed Tristan hadn’t been around, the whole town buzzed with disappointment. A few female patrons even called to make inquiries. Several asked for a forwarding address and phone number.

“Anyway,” she continued, antsy under his scrutiny. “I thought you should know.”

He grunted. “Careful, Ansley, upbraiding remarks from you could tarnish my silver ego.”

“Silver is it? Oohlala, and here I thought that cocksure attitude was golden plated, supported by diamonds in the rough.”

He tilted his head and gave her one of those smiles that typically made a woman melt. Ansley wasn’t chocolate. He could save his efforts.

“So you’re working today? To what do we owe the pleasure?” Tristan asked.

“I do my best to please the staff.”

“That’s up for discussion,” he muttered.

The fan on the cooling unit kicked into high gear, and she was immediately aware of the way the whoosh of cold played havoc on her nipples, spiking to where they were easily visible under her thin cotton shirt. She shuddered, but she wasn’t entirely convinced the brisk air was the problem. In fact, Tristan’s last remark presented unavoidable issues. She was amicable to her staff, but apparently their satisfaction, or at least Tristan’s, was debatable due to the multilayers of individual expectation.

Tristan was a good worker, but he made her uneasy. If she were in the market for a man, she might consider her angst a good thing. Instead, whenever Tristan was around, her nerve endings danced, and that provided a warning sign she couldn’t ignore. The first day she’d met him brought about disastrous consequences, and she’d been on pins and needles ever since.

Okay, so maybe their first introduction wasn’t entirely devastating, but their meeting provided a definite wakeup call. She and Tristan had a strong chemistry from day one, and the way she’d responded to him was alarming.

Her mind traveled back to the morning she first saw him. After a brief and informal introduction, she’d spent the better part of the afternoon and evening fantasizing about all the ways they could entertain one another. In fact, she’d raised more than a glass to celebrate their initial greeting. Soon after they shook hands and swapped names, she’d slipped behind her office door and whipped out the trusty old dildo in his honor.

The fantasies were short-lived. He’d placed an invisible barrier between them. Tristan deliberately steered clear whenever they worked together. Soon after he gained a Clink timecard, he disappeared to handle some personal business.

His absence was felt, but she’d never admit how much his departure affected her. She’d even driven by the hotel where he’d supposedly stayed, circling the property on numerous occasions in hopes of spotting his vehicle. Come to think of it, she practically stalked him, or the memory of him.

Goodness gracious. She should’ve celebrated his return. He saved her the trouble of hiring a huge team of private investigators.

Whatever his reasons for leaving in the first place, he came back, and that was all that mattered. Ansley believed, given the way he often looked at her, she was part of the reason he decided to ask for his job back.

She could hope anyway.
No. No. No.
She should avoid. And that’s precisely what she would do.

Maybe.

Ansley took a deep breath and focused on possible escape options. Immediately, she realized two things. First, she didn’t have her purse, which meant retrieving a cell phone was out of the question. Secondly, if Bailey had already left for the warehouse, she might spend the better part of the late morning and early afternoon with Tristan.

Without delay, she threw her body against the door. One hundred and twenty-five pounds slamming into galvanized steel did nothing to help their predicament.

“Ouch!” she screamed out in pain, holding her elbow.

“That won’t work,” Tristan remarked calmly.

“You don’t say?” Apparently he was right. She didn’t see Tristan flaunting his weight around.

“Someone should’ve taught you to listen to your elders, or at least the superior sex.”

Oh. My. God
. Now she fully understood why they had failed to come together with a magnetic force. He was one hundred percent alpha male, a cocky specimen of a man. The two of them together would be as destructive as Armageddon.

Ansley knew all about men like Tristan. Her sister married one like him. Brock Sheldon was like her brother, but he was an egotistical ass who kept Trixie in line without raising a hand. One look and Trixie batted her eyelashes and practically drooled. A firmly stated word or phrase, and she fell to her knees. A touch, and she’d fuck the man in broad daylight on Main Street.

No, Ansley didn’t want a man like Brock. She refused to be under any guy’s thumb.

The chill in the air apparently worked on her imagination. She was delirious. Why she considered Tristan as anything more than an employee was beyond her.

On second thought, no. Not really. She knew better than to lie to herself. The best self-service sex she’d enjoyed in her lifetime had been inspired by this damn shell of a man. Well, actually that was debatable, too. She’d moistened the twat torch in Bailey’s honor, too.

“Don’t just stand there. You try,” she suggested, refusing to fantasize further. She turned her backside to the sealed door and pushed with all the strength she could muster.

“I’ve been locked in here before. You might as well save your energy. If I can’t use my weight and nudge my way to the other side, your little booty won’t open up the gateway to freedom either.”

Humph.
What about that? He’d noticed her ass. Tristan was an available man after all. And even though he rarely looked her way and barely acknowledged her outside of a nod, he knew she existed.

The realization made her feel all warm and fuzzy inside. It would be a good day after all.

She started to go ahead and make a play on his words. Depending on how much weight he carried below the belt, inching his way toward freedom, or more appropriately, a satisfying release, was a topic worth visiting.

She’d save her provocative sass for another day. As much as she would like to scare off the employees while Patience and Kimberly were away, she needed Tristan and everyone else on Clink’s limited staff. Maybe after Kimberly and Patience returned, she’d fire Tristan, fuck him, and they’d each go on with life as if a ransack of bedsheets and a tremendous headboard banging had never even happened.

“If that won’t work, this will.” She took a deep, quite exaggerated breath and yelled, “Help! Is anyone out there?” Pounding with her fists, she yelped again, “Help! Please! Somebody!” A beat later, she screamed, “Hurry! I’m being held hostage!”

“Oh that’s nice. Beautiful.”

She fluttered her eyelashes. “I thought you might like that.”

Tristan took a seat on one of the orange crates. He crossed thick arms over his broad chest and leaned his head against the wall. “With the music blaring out front, Bailey won’t hear you.”

“
Bailey
is planning to run over to Hendersonville. If he leaves for the warehouse, we could spend hours in here.”

“Then you might as well make yourself comfortable,” Tristan grumbled. “Besides, with all that boot-scootin’ commotion out front, even if Bailey walks into the kitchen, he won’t realize we’re trapped unless he stops by the office and happens to look at the security monitors.”

“Do you have something against country music?”

“No, but I have a fondness for my balls. I don’t like freezing them off first thing in the morning.”

Ansley resisted the urge to rubberneck. She was oh so tempted to tilt her head and stare at his meaty package, just to see if the mention of his body part garnered a physical reaction.

Ah, what the hell.

She stared. He stretched.
Whoa there, buddy
. Sure enough, his frozen member was pointed in her direction. Well, maybe his penis wasn’t exactly extended her way, but the thickness in his breeches provoked a second glance.

Now then, the gaze fondling was out of the way. Ah, but now she had a significant problem on her hands. Her fingers burned. She longed to touch him.

On the bright side, she could cross one small item off the agenda. Now, she could help him formulate a plan so they could walk the hell out of there before frost formed on their eyebrows. Then again, she wouldn’t mind looking once more.

And she might have, only he said, “Want me to whip it out so you don’t have to imagine what you’re missing?”

She resisted a smile and a smart-ass comeback. Although she should’ve encouraged him to show the meat on the Barbie.

“Did you just smack your lips?”

Probably.

Clearing her throat, she said, “I never took you for a man who’d speak so eloquently about his anatomy.” She casually searched around for a crowbar. There was bound to be a way to pry the door open. And maybe Bailey kept random tools hidden in the freezer in case the delivery-truck driver felt threatened while he was unloading tomatoes and carrots.

“You may not have known what you’d soon have a hold of, but I sure did. From the moment I saw you, I fuckin’ knew, and that’s one of the reasons I left Fletcher for a while. It was in my best interest. Yours, too.”

Ansley gasped. His voice was laced with masculine desire, carnal heat. She wheeled around and faced him, studying the raw male expression staining his cheeks, settling in his eyes. He was all man and ready to pursue her. She saw that much in his heated gaze, in those full, moistened lips and firmly set jaw. How was she supposed to respond to such an honest statement?

“That’s right, Ansley. Why do you think I’ve avoided you? Hmm?”

“I haven’t a clue,” she said flippantly.