Pushin' Buttons (Boot Knockers) (2 page)

Hugh flicked his gaze back to hers, this time casually. Then he pivoted and sauntered to a black door cut into the wall that Sibyll hadn’t even noticed before, his boot heels resonating on the floor and the scents of summer spice trailing behind him.

“Oh my… I’m going to pass out.” The virgin fluttered a hand in front of her face.

Sibyll thought she was going to puke. Between the black-eyed Romeo’s lingering perusal and the fact she was about to go onstage to be chosen by a bed partner threatened to make her knees buckle.

What had Hugh said? His black eye was “nothin’ as glamorous as a kick-ass bar fight.” Well, Sibyll’s reason for being at the Boot Knockers Ranch wasn’t exciting either. She wasn’t a virgin here to experience an amazing first time or a woman coming from a bad relationship who hoped to regain the passion she’d lost.

One of the questions the Boot Knockers would ask was: Why are you here?

And Sibyll would have to answer that she was a boring researcher with a broken Big O button. Panic settled in her veins as the second woman came offstage with a hunky country boy in Wranglers and a ball cap.

Isabel’s white teeth flashed close to Sibyll’s face. “You’re on!”

Hugh squinted into the dimness of the screening room. His libido was revving after less than a minute in the presence of that little vixen. What had Isabel called her? Sexy secretary. Jeezus, yes.

Hugh jerked his head at Holly, the assistant to the Boot Knockers. She fetched cold drinks and picked up dropped folders. Mostly she stood by and grinned at their antics.

He jerked his head at her. “Gimme the master folder.”

“But—” She blinked at him in confusion.

“I’m your boss, dammit. Give me the master folder.” He nodded toward the slim sheaf of papers she held, one for each woman including the contestant’s application and her photo.

Holly gave him
the
eyeball
and handed him the folder. Hugh grunted and sank to his big leather chair.

“You’re not even supposed to be competing today, Hugh,” Riggs said from a few seats down. “We’re not short-handed.”

“We don’t need to be short-handed for me to play the game,” Hugh drawled. Yeah, it was his job to manage the operations, and he’d filled in just last week. But this opportunity wasn’t to be missed.

Hot lights flooded the stage, illuminating
her
—sexy secretary. And whooee, was she. The ring of light flooded over his paper, which he quickly read over. A half-assed selfie photograph was printed in the upper corner, and her pertinent information was neatly typed.

Has trouble climaxing.

She drew in a deep, shaky breath, and it echoed in the screening room.

Hugh glanced up. His gaze conformed to her wicked curves showcased by a form-fitting pencil skirt. Her legs narrowed into black heels, making him eager to see her calves. Actually, he wanted to see all of her from behind. He’d ached for it backstage. Hell, this was the reason he was abusing his authority.

“Turn around please,” he said without thought. His deep voice carried through the already silent auditorium, rendering everyone comatose with shock. Several of his fellow Boot Knockers gave him a “what the fuck” look.

Hugh outstretched his arms, palms up in answer, then resumed his study of the contestant on stage, who had indeed turned around.

His cock jerked in his jeans. Damn, those hips swelled into a perfectly rounded backside. And her calves were shapely, a thin crease outlining her muscle—the perfect line to lick.

Her dark blonde hair shivered on her shoulders, and he realized she was quaking. His heart did a loop-de-loop, and he stilled.

The pang, hitch, flop—what the hell ever it was—had no business in his chest.
Son of a bitch. She heart-throbbed me.

He grabbed her cut sheet and flipped it over.

“Face forward please, Miss Green.” The order came from Riggs. They’d been Boot Knockers for four years. During this time, he and Riggs had shared more than one lusty night with a contestant. One man became her mentor, but sometimes it took more to “cure” the ladies of what ailed them.

What was wrong with Miss Green again?
Has trouble climaxing.
Hugh contained a snort. Whoever got her would probably have her singing soprano to the ceiling within an hour.

No,
Hugh
would have her crying out with passion and pleasure.

“Tell us a bit about yourself, Miss Green. Uh…Sibyll,” Riggs drawled. He hitched a foot up on his plush brown leather chair and hooked an arm around his knee. Dammit, he wasn’t supposed to even compete for this girl. Hugh had stolen a peek at Riggs’s folder. His gal was named Diane.

Sibyll blinked under the lights. The screening room was small enough that she could see the two rows of cowboys seated in the audience. After swallowing hard, she spoke. “Well, I work in the science field. I do tests on drugs the pharmaceutical companies develop.”

That explained her stuffy, snug collar.
Undo a few of those buttons, let her creamy breasts peek out, and we’re talking Happy Hour.

“I’m thirty-five years old…” She wrung her hands.

“What are you seeking, Sibyll?”

Hugh didn’t like the way Riggs asked that. Too damn much roughness in his voice, as if he were as turned on as Hugh was.

Goddamn, I’m going to have to fight for her.

Hugh slammed his fist into the button that lit up his chair.
Hands in lap? Fuck that.

Sibyll gasped and took a hasty step backward.

Riggs flattened his own button with a palm as if he were squashing a June bug. He stared at Hugh, dark eyes burning with something Hugh couldn’t interpret. Challenge?

No, that look was going to be defeat if Hugh had his way, and he usually did.

Another cowboy named Damian, who was supposed to be paired with Sibyll, smacked his button, and Hugh and Riggs swung simultaneously to glare at him. “Oh hey,” Damian held up both hands as if caught by the law again, “I’ll let you two fight this one out.”

“That’s bullshit, Damian. Hang in there and rip her away from Hugh,” Jack added.

“She is mighty fine, boys.” Quay’s obnoxious tenor added to the mix.

“Bet she’s a wildcat. All the buttoned-up ones are,” Stowe interjected.

Hugh shoved to his feet, his hand firmly on the button, determined to win her even if he’d just broken every damn rule he’d ever written. “Enough, boys.”

Riggs stood too. “Miss Green, if you’d allow me to escort you offstage?”

“Dammit, Riggs, you must not value your teeth,” Hugh growled.

Sibyll clenched and unclenched her fingers, looking as if she were about to bolt. Hugh couldn’t let that happen. The sweet expression on Sibyll’s face had painted itself on his mind. As he stared down Riggs, Hugh could almost see the negative of her behind his eyes, like a brand from staring too long into the sun.

Riggs scuffed a hand over his jaw. The coal-black hair there had given Hugh more than one beard burn during their rough sexual play. Hugh’s skin prickled, but he clamped down on his runaway thoughts and refocused on the prize. No faking this time—they were really fighting over her.

“Sibyll, I’m Hugh Donovan, Master of Games. There’s no way you want to accept him as your mentor. You’re looking for a real man.”

Riggs snorted. “He’s not real, sugar. See all those muscles?” He cupped a hand around his mouth and whispered loudly, “Steroids.”

“Back off, Riggs.” Hugh captured Sibyll’s gaze. She had an all-American beauty about her—wholesome and sweet. Her open expression beckoned him to get to know her, and her eyes, a faded denim hue, sparkled with a secret Hugh was damn well going to unlock.

He held out a hand. “Come on offstage, darlin’. Right to me.”

Riggs waved at her, stealing her attention from Hugh, who suppressed a snarl of irritation.

“You’re going to pay next time I get you alone.” Hugh’s dark promise made Riggs narrow his eyes.

He faced Riggs fully. They stood three steps away, matched in height, but where Riggs was lean and ropey with muscle, Hugh was thick.

As he held Riggs’s gaze, something in the man’s eyes flickered.

“You’re not gonna win, Archer,” Hugh pushed, then lowered his voice. “I’ll have her screaming in pleasure the first time I slide between her legs.”

“Unless she wants a threesome,” Jack spoke up from the other end of the row.

Hugh’s cock did a tango in his jeans. Now
that
image was emblazoned on his mind. Sibyll, Riggs and him in many combinations.

She stared at Hugh for what felt like a solid minute. He was excellent at reading women, and her body language pointed to her decision. Should he call this a victory?

Riggs sank to his seat.

Sibyll made a quiet noise, and Hugh’s heart tumbled out of control. When the sweet little scientist on stage caught her lip between her teeth, Hugh surged forward, mounting the three-foot side in one leap.

He stepped into the spotlight with her.

She stood no higher than his shoulder, her bones finer up close, shoulders narrow and her face a delicate heart. But she carried enough weight to give him something to grip.

“We’re going to do just fine together, you and me.” He stared down at her, hungry for a taste of those plump lips. First thing he was going to do, though, was unbutton that collar. Maybe even taste the damp flesh of her throat.

He extended a hand, waiting for her final decision. Freckles spattered her nose, and he realized she wasn’t wearing a hint of makeup. That perfect complexion was au natural.

“C’mon, baby,” he gave her his best drawl. “Let’s get to know each other, yeah?”

She nodded as if in a daze and placed her hand in his. He curled his fingers around the silky flesh.

“Damn,” Riggs said from the audience. He shoved out of his seat and stomped across the room. Then he threw open the back door and disappeared in a flash of brilliant summer sunlight.

Victory.

Hugh couldn’t deny that both having Sibyll by his side, and knowing he and Riggs would have to make up sooner or later, stimulated him in a way he hadn’t known for too long.

Damn arrogant cowboy.
Riggs lengthened his strides, making his way far from the auditorium. Several other outbuildings dotted the immediate area—bungalows the contestants would shack up in with their mentors, and a common dining hall that was set up like a big, cozy kitchen.

Riggs wanted the wide open space and maybe a fast gallop.

I’m not even kidding myself.
He’d wanted that doe-eyed woman. Those big, round eyes had ensnared him from the moment she stepped onto the stage. The fact that Hugh wanted her too only added to her appeal.

His and Hugh’s tastes in women ran the same. How many times had they gotten a sweet morsel between them?

Riggs scattered a cluster of free-ranging chickens. Each boot heel cut into the turf, but it did nothing to alleviate the tension roiling in his chest. Hell, in his groin.

What was that look Hugh had given him? Sure, his stare had been a challenge. But it was more.

More to Riggs, at least.

If he wanted Miss Sibyll Green bad, he ached for Hugh. He and Hugh worked well on the ranch together, and Riggs lightened Hugh up by dragging him into plans for practical jokes he liked to play on the others.

When they weren’t curling the little toes of the women they selected to help, he and Hugh dreamed of doubling their horse herd. Riggs wanted to start selling them, and Hugh was one of the only Boot Knockers who agreed with him.

Together, they’d recently convinced the other cowboy co-owners of the ranch to push the livestock part of the business to a new level. They made a fortune on the women, but Riggs had no plans to lick, suck, lap, spank and screw forever.

He didn’t know exactly what he wanted, but he was thirty-six-years old. Eventually he’d be fighting for sex with gals half his age.

As he approached the horse barn, the familiar scents of animal greeted him. He dragged a deep breath into his lungs and held it. Grass, horse and leather.

An underlying spice that reminded him of Hugh socked him right in the gut. Too well he knew the musk of the man’s body, which grew stronger when he was aroused. Hell, Riggs knew the heady taste of his come.

Rock-hard with need, Riggs threw himself into saddling Shoot the Moon to ride. The black gelding was Riggs’s personal favorite. Jack said the horse was Riggs in animal form. From their coloring to a disposition often described as standoffish, they were very similar.

As he led the glossy black animal from the barn and into the bright summer sunshine, he couldn’t stop himself from looking in the direction of the auditorium. A dozen more women waited to be chosen.

If Riggs had been smart, he would have stayed. He hadn’t been laid in two weeks. Not a long time, but when pleasure was his job, the dry spell was as wide as the Sahara.

He jammed his foot into the stirrup and hitched his leg over Shoot the Moon. Sexual frustration made him fidgety but jealousy scalded. Hugh would get to skim those ripe curves of Sibyll’s delicate body with hands, lips, tongue.