Fortune's June Bride (Mills & Boon Cherish) (The Fortunes of Texas: Cowboy Country, Book 6) (11 page)

“The evening is definitely looking up,” Aurora said, looking at Galen. “Should we stay? Or just consider ourselves lucky and call it a night?”

In answer, he pulled out the second chair at the table.

Entirely containing her delight was simply not going to happen, so she let it find its escape in the smile she figured was stretching toothily across her whole face. She sat down in the chair and took the thickly bound menu that Julia handed her. “Thanks.”

“My pleasure.” Julia handed the second menu to Galen when he was seated, as well. “So, aside from learning our own Aurora McElroy has brushed elbows with the Famous,
this
is how I learn the two of you are together?”

Aurora’s delight skittered sideways and crashed into the staircase two feet behind Julia. She eyed the other woman with dread. “What did she tell you?”

Julia widened her eyes humorously and gave Galen a look. “You guys didn’t stop off at the Two Moon for a few drinks before you got here, did you? Ms. St. James apologized for the short notice, wanted you to enjoy—”

“Aurora means besides that,” Galen interrupted.

Julia looked from Galen to Aurora and back again, as if she were trying to read between narrow lines. “She and her husband were meeting another couple.” She lifted her palms toward them. “You.”

“That’s it?”

“What else should there be?” Julia asked suspiciously. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” Aurora assured quickly. “And we, uh, we’re not
together
. We’re just—”

“—friends,” Galen inserted. “Roselyn was at Cowboy Country the other day and ran into Aurora.”

“We were college roommates,” Aurora added. “Haven’t seen each other in years.”

“So they wanted to catch up,” Galen finished.

Julia’s attention was bouncing back and forth between them. “Interesting.” She drew out the word. Then she looked at Aurora again. “Judging by your reaction that you were stood up, I guess you’re not overly disappointed.”

Aurora smiled wryly. “Probably be good if we never mention that again.”

Julia leaned toward her, lowering her voice conspiratorially. “Too bad you had thirty-some people here witnessing it.” She straightened once again. “I have strict instructions, along with a valid credit card number, to make sure you thoroughly enjoy your evening. So, can I start you off with drinks?”

“Beer,” Galen and Aurora said in unison.

Galen grinned faintly. “Anything Belgian,” he elaborated.

“I have just the thing,” Julia said with a grin, and left the table. Unlike all of the servers who were dressed in pristine white shirts with black aprons tied around their hips, Julia wore a slim-fitting gray slack suit that fit her tall figure perfectly.

“And then there were two.” Galen’s voice drew her attention back.

“Yes.” She made a production out of straightening the edges of her heavy silver flatware where it sat atop a chili-red cloth napkin. “Talk about escaping from the frying pan.”

“Doesn’t that saying usually end with someone going into the fire?”

“Hmm.” Thanks to Roselyn’s cancellation, Aurora and Galen had landed in their own fantasyland. Only it wasn’t a fantasy, because the two of them would never have been out together like this for real. Not as anything other than “friends,” at any rate.

“That’s an ominous sounding
hmm
.”

She finally looked up at him. “Sorry.” She shook off her internal director. “I think I’m feeling guilty to be having dinner at their expense.”

A waitress whom Aurora didn’t know arrived at the table with two short-stemmed glasses, filled with golden beer topped by a thick, creamy head. “Welcome to the Hollows Cantina. I’m Faith,” she introduced. “I’ll be serving you tonight. Can I bring you a chef’s sampler to start?”

Galen’s gaze caught Aurora’s. “Absolutely.”

“I’ll get that started for you.” Beaming, Faith left the table.

“No,” Galen said after their server was gone. “I’m not feeling guilty at all. It’s the least she owes you for commandeering your audition way back when. So tonight, it’s time to feast.” He picked up one of the glasses. “Enjoy.”

She felt a smile tug at her lips. She lifted her glass as well, and tapped it softly against his. “Enjoy.” The beer tasted heady. Much more so than the usual domestic brands served up at the Two Moon. “Never knew you were such a connoisseur.” She sipped again. “Wow. This is just...wow.”

He smiled. “Exactly. But knowing that a beer imported from Belgium tastes better than the glug they serve over at the Two Moon doesn’t make me a connoisseur. It’s also stronger than that stuff over there, so keep that in mind.”

“You don’t have to worry about me drinking three of them,” she assured. One was going to be ample.

She just needed to remember to keep her feet firmly on friend-slash-sister turf so she didn’t end up embarrassing them both again.

Julia gave them a benevolent smile as she walked by with another party, heading toward the staircase. It was clear that
she
didn’t buy into Aurora and Galen’s platonic claims.

“Funny how Julia and Liam ended up together,” Aurora murmured, watching his sister-in-law ascend to the second floor. “I don’t remember her ever giving him the time of day back in school.”

“She didn’t. He had plenty of ego and plenty of girls. She was probably smart, not wanting to be one of the crowd.”

“He couldn’t have had as many girlfriends as Jude,” Aurora countered. “Seemed like he changed girlfriends like they were flavors of the day.”

“That was Jude,” he agreed wryly. “Once he met Gabriella, though? Put a fork in him. That boy was done.”

She smiled and toyed with the base of her glass. It was shaped similarly to a brandy snifter, except the glass above the round bottom was taller and curved in close to the top, then out again at the rim. She’d never thought of beer glasses as being pretty, but this one was. “You had your fair share of girlfriends, too.” Not as many as Mark, perhaps, but Aurora certainly hadn’t been the lone female crushing on Galen Jones.

“I s’pose. Never wanted to marry any of ’em.” As if he’d lost interest in the conversational thread, he flipped open the menu.

“Find the most expensive thing you can,” she suggested darkly.

His white teeth flashed in a quick grin. “Too bad my tastes aren’t exactly fancy.”

She swallowed another sip, savoring the rich flavor. “Nothing wrong with being a meat-and-potatoes kind of man.” So sayeth the meat-and-potatoes kind of woman.

“Good thing.” He closed the menu again. “Horseback Hollow wouldn’t exist otherwise. What are you going to have?”

Galen Fortune Jones on a plate?

She quickly set down the beer. It was obviously dangerous stuff. After only a few sips, she found it hard to focus on the print when she opened her menu.

She probably should have eaten something that day.

But nerves had made the idea of food wholly unpalatable.

“I don’t know.” She closed the menu again. She gestured toward their glasses. “You chose excellently once. So whatever you’re having, they can make it two.”

He leaned a little closer, which at their small table, meant he was
much
closer. His eyes crinkled. “You’re already buzzed, aren’t you.” It wasn’t a question.

She moistened her lips, angling her chin. “I don’t know what you mean.”

He laughed softly and beneath the table his knee brushed hers.

Accidentally, she felt certain.

But he left it there, even after Faith returned with their appetizer.

The server set the oblong plate in the center of the small table, and provided them each with empty smaller versions. “Roasted shiitake and portobello mushroom mini quesadillas,” she described, waving her hand over each item on the platter. “With a serrano chili sauce. Jalapeño-cheese fritters. And of course, crab Veracruz. Would you like to take more time with your entrée selection?”

Aurora stared at the display of food. Her mouth was already watering. “Who’ll need an entrée after all this?”

Faith smiled. “I’ll bring you extra chili sauce. Everyone always wants extra.” She headed off again.

“I’m sure somewhere in the world, this is sinful.” She took Galen’s plate without asking and filled it. “But I think I just don’t care.” She handed it back to him, then took a few of the tiny quesadillas for herself, managing not to shovel one into her mouth too quickly. She thought her eyes might roll back in her head from the bliss that immediately exploded on her taste buds. “Heavenly,” she breathed, only to realize a moment later that he hadn’t touched his own plate, but was staring fixedly at her. “Do I have food on my face or something?” She grabbed the napkin from her lap, starting to lift it.

“No.”

“Then what?”

He shook his head a little. “Nothing. I figured your smile was as dangerous as it got. But I guess I was wrong.”

She wasn’t sure at all what to make of that. Except that there was something in his eyes that wasn’t at all friend-slash-brotherly. And fantasyland suddenly didn’t seem such a far-off fantasy, after all.

She moistened her lips and leaned forward a little. Considering the closeness of the table, was it any wonder that her ankle accidentally brushed against his leg? “We’re supposed to enjoy, right?” She picked up her glass again and tilted it slightly toward him. “So...enjoy.”

His eyes seemed focused on her mouth. His jaw shifted to one side. Then centered again, and his gaze met hers. “This could get complicated.”

Later, she could blame it on an empty stomach and the wallop of a strong beer. “Or it could be very—” she lowered her voice a little more “—
very
simple.”

Chapter Nine

S
imple?

Galen nearly choked.

There was nothing simple about his body sitting smack-damn-dab in the middle of a crowded restaurant when the rest of his spirit was already five miles down the road with Aurora, knocking pictures off his bedroom wall.

He dropped his hand down beneath the table and wrapped it around her bare ankle before she slid it any higher toward his knee.

Her blue eyes widened.

He rubbed his thumb deliberately over her smooth skin. “You sure you want to play this game?”

Color rose in her cheeks, but she didn’t look away.

She also didn’t immediately assure him that she did, which was an answer in itself.

And unless she was sure, damn sure, he wasn’t going to seduce her into it.

Because she
was
a friend.

He released her ankle and picked up his fork, jabbing it into one of the quesadillas that he had no interest in whatsoever since he hated mushrooms. But choking it down might keep his mind safely occupied with something other than peeling Aurora out of that ungodly sexy dress she’d obviously bought to impress Roselyn.

Or her husband.

Faith returned with the extra sauce and an expectant look. “Have you two had a chance to decide what you’d like?”

He knew what he’d like.

She just was on a menu he wasn’t sure he could afford.

“Rib eye and enchiladas.” He didn’t need to look at Aurora to know that she was looking anywhere other than at him. “She’ll have the same.” It was her own damn fault if she didn’t like the choice.

“Excellent.” Faith glanced over the table with practiced ease. “Another Duvel?”

He hadn’t finished the first. But he nodded, anyway.

He didn’t believe that sleeping with Aurora would be very, very simple.

But he did believe he was in for a very, very long night wishing otherwise.

* * *

“There you are.” Two hours later, Faith handed Aurora a small brown bag with a woven handle. “Mango-infused crème brûlée to go.”

“Thank you.” They hadn’t ordered it. But Julia had insisted on sending them home with dessert. And even though she’d assured Galen that it wasn’t necessary because she could add it to Roselyn’s tab, he’d insisted on leaving the tip for Faith.

As for Aurora?

She was fairly certain she would never drink another drop of alcohol if she was going to be around Galen.

Neither her nerves nor her pride would be able to take it.

She even wished they hadn’t been so practical about using only one vehicle. Because it meant that Galen had to drive her home.

And even though she’d been wearing her big-girl panties for some time now, when they got there, he still insisted on walking her up the hill to the front door. And then, even though it was closer to midnight than eleven, she felt compelled to ask if he wanted to come in for some coffee.

At least that had been the protocol the last time she’d had a “real” date.

She pushed open the front door. “And before you turn me down again, coffee isn’t a euphemism for anything else.”

“I didn’t think it was. Why isn’t your front door locked?”

She flipped on a light, giving him a look. “This is Horseback Hollow. Nobody locks their doors.”

“Pretty sure that some do.” He followed her into the kitchen where she pushed the crème brûlée, bag and all, into the refrigerator. “Particularly now that strangers are coming from all over to visit Cowboy Country. Get that dessert back out of the fridge.”

She was stuffed to her gills from dinner. Hadn’t been able to eat even half of her delicious steak, much less the spinach-and-crab enchiladas that had been loaded with everything nature had never intended. “If you’re still hungry, why didn’t you eat it at the restaurant?”

“Because they were trying to get the place closed. In case you haven’t noticed, it’s late.”

“And morning’s going to come as early as it always does with all of its attendant duties.” But she pulled the bag back out, removed the ceramic dish that Julia had said they could return later, and set the dessert on the table, which was easily as outdated as the one he had in his own kitchen. “Knock yourself out.” She set a spoon on the table, too. “If you want coffee, fix it yourself. I’m going to bed.”

He sat down and tapped the back of the spoon on the crispy veil of burned sugar topping the rich custard. “Sure you don’t want some?”

She started to leave the kitchen. “My mood for dessert has mercifully passed.”

“For the record—” his deep voice followed her “—I didn’t turn you down.”

Everything inside her went alert. She turned on her heel and returned to the table. “Yes, you did.”

“No.” He angled sideways in the chair to face her. “I asked if you were sure you knew what you were doing.”

Her mouth went dry.

“And you gave me the same panicked look then that you’ve got on your face now.” He picked up the spoon again and cracked through the dessert’s topping. “That is not
me
turning you down.”

“I’m not panicked.” She pushed the words out.

He swallowed a spoonful and raised a disbelieving eyebrow. “Really? You want to play footsie under the table now when you’ve had a decent meal to sop up your few sips of beer?”

She frowned at him. “Are you trying to pick a fight?”

He set the spoon down again. “Give me your foot.”

“I beg your pardon?”

He hooked one arm over the back of the seat, his legs sprawling, and tapped the edge of the seat. “Right here. High-heeled shoe and all.”

He wasn’t just trying to pick a fight.

He was trying to scare her off. And good.

But he was right. She’d had a decent meal to sop up her few heady sips of beer. So she was thinking very clearly this time, despite the fact that she was usually sound asleep long before that hour of the night because she’d have to get up in a few hours and tend to things around her daddy’s ranch.

And she decided then and there that she wasn’t going to be that accommodating.

She knew what she wanted. Galen.

If he didn’t want her in return, he could darn well say so once and for all.

So she lifted her foot and placed the toe of her frivolously purchased pumps on the edge of the seat, right there between his thighs. She stared him down, challenging. “This what you had in mind?”

He put his hand around her ankle again. His fingers were long enough to circle all the way around, and his thumb rubbed over her ankle bone.

She inhaled sharply, and the sound seemed loud in the silent house.

“You need me to answer that?” His hand drifted up the back of her calf, creeping toward her sharply bent knee.

Heat streaked through her but she remained put, even though her legs were turning to mush.

“I guess not,” he murmured. His other hand nudged the hem of her dress farther up her thigh. It relieved the deep blue fabric of being stretched beyond its capacity, but only added to the wealth of tension building inside her. Particularly when he pressed his mouth against her knee, watching her through his dark lashes.

She couldn’t stop the shiver that worked down her spine when his hand cupped the back of her knee, and kept going, moving slower than ever against the back of her thigh.

“You don’t have freckles.”

“You can’t tell that by touch.” Her voice was faint. “I have them.”

“On your nose.” His hand slid another inch. Then two. “Anywhere else?”

If he kept going the way he was, he’d find out. That fact was obvious to them both.

She swallowed again. The only man she’d ever slept with had been Anthony, and that had been so long ago now, she’d wondered if she was destined to dry up and eventually blow away like a pile of dust. “A few.” She clamped her teeth together as his fingers grazed the smooth edge of the undergarment the salesgirl had promised wouldn’t show through the clinging dress like regular panties and bra would.

He followed the high-cut leg of the slick fabric over her hip.

“Where?”

She swallowed again. Freckles. He was talking about freckles. “Right about where your—” she sucked in a sharp breath “—fingers are.”

“Hmm.” He pushed her dress even higher over her thigh. “Interesting.”

Was it? She didn’t think so, but then again, she couldn’t think straight, because he was kissing her thigh now. Of their own accord, her hands found his head and her fingers threaded through the thick dark strands. The fake diamond that she’d never moved from her right hand, or removed at all for that matter, winked in the overhead light. “Galen?”

He made a sound. She guessed a response.

“Do—” she hauled in a breath of bravery “—do you want to go to my room?”

“Eventually.” His hand drifted over her rear. “Sort of enjoying this at the moment.”

Heaven help her, so was she.

Her head fell back and she stared blindly at the white-painted tin ceiling. Lila had never swooned so much over Rusty.

His other hand slid up the back side of her unbent leg, moving beneath the dress. “That day at Cowboy Country,” he murmured, “after I did that first show with you. You put on a dress. You remember?”

She made a sound. As much of a response as
she
was capable.

“And those Castletons you love.”

“Blue stitching,” she breathed, trembling as much from the deep timbre of his voice as she was from his touch. “Christmas present from my folks.” She sucked in more air when his hands roved over her rear. “Few years ago,” she finished.

“I’d never seen anything prettier.” He tugged at her dress now, pulling the hem up to her waist. “Take this thing off.”

She mindlessly pulled the stretchy fabric over her head, never more grateful for the absence of zippers and buttons in her life, and dropped it on the floor.

When he was silent, she made herself look at him.

The fear that he would still change his mind, still reject her, floated away like dandelion fluff in a breeze.

Because his expression was...reverent. And the hands that reached for her again weren’t entirely steady.

She trembled and moistened her dry lips, slowly lowering her foot back to the floor. Instinct had her reaching for the pins containing her hair. She pulled them out and they dropped, too, with soft pings on the floor until she felt the bun unravel and her hair hung down her back. “Anything else?” she whispered, knowing that she’d do nearly anything he asked as long as he kept looking at her the way he was.

But he didn’t answer.

His hands circled her waist and he rose, standing so close to her she could feel his belt buckle pressing into her belly. Then his palms roved up the sides of her body briefer, where the smooth satin gave way to equally smooth translucent black mesh. He reached her arms and slid his fingers beneath the narrow straps, tugging them off her shoulders, pulling down, down, until the satin cups dragged below her breasts. And even then, he kept pulling, peeling the undergarment down her hips, then her thighs, until it finally fell to her ankles, caught on her high-heeled pumps.

She quivered, her skin feeling hot and too tight as his fingers slid between hers, balancing her as she stepped out of the puddle of satin and mesh.

“Beautiful,” he murmured, kissing her bare shoulder as he released her hands. They found their way immediately to the buttons on his shirt, quickly dispatching them as the evil that they were, until she could shove the fabric aside and greedily reach the warm flesh beneath.

“Soft,” she whispered, when her palms finally discovered what the swirls of dark hair felt like.

“That’s not a problem right now,” he muttered on a rough laugh. His arms swept around her back, pulling her tight against him, until it wasn’t only his belt buckle pressing against her.

She trembled wildly, still managing to pull his shirttails out of his jeans and out of the way until her breasts were flattened against his chest. “Galen—”

His mouth covered hers, swallowing whatever words she didn’t know she was going to say anyway. She twined her arms around his shoulders and kissed him back with everything that had been building inside her for the past few weeks.

For the past few decades.

And she cried out when he suddenly jerked back, swearing a blue streak, which wasn’t at all Galen’s way.

He stepped around her, his hands on his hips, his wide shoulders bowing. “I don’t have any protection with me,” he said.

If her head hadn’t already been swimming from
him
, relief would have done it. “I’m on the pill.” Then when his gaze swung around to hers, she flushed. “It, uh, just because it regulates my...my period. You know. Not, um, not because I do this—” She clamped her lips shut, because she was blabbering and he’d started smiling a little.

“I’m glad.” He took her head and pulled her toward him. “About the pill. And about the reason. And now I know where they are. The other freckles.” His callused hand slid boldly over her hip, covering the pale dots that she’d groaned over her entire life. Until that moment. “Kick off your shoes.”

Desire was a writhing thing inside her, sending tendrils from the center of her being through every finger, every toe. Standing there naked as the day she was born, the only armor she had against the emotion churning inside her were the remaining lethally high heels. They helped remind her that, to him, this was a game.

A highly charged, lose-your-mind contest of who would blink first.

And for some reason she was afraid that taking off her shoes—toeing off that last bit of black leather and stilt-high stilettos that kept her from being entirely, utterly bare—meant she was blinking, fast and furiously.

She wasn’t ready to bare her heart.

She wasn’t ready to feel that vulnerable. That needy.

Didn’t matter that she feared she already
was
.

Keeping the shoes on at least let her pretend otherwise. So instead of kicking them off, she stared into his eyes. “Take off your jeans.”

It didn’t seem logical that eyes so dark a brown as his could look like they were lit by a flame, yet that’s how it seemed when the corners of his lips crooked up and with one hand, he unfastened his leather belt and popped open the button at the top of his fly.