Eugenia Riley - The Boy Toy

“Gussie!” he chided.

Gussie winked at Allison. “Pete’s quite a catch, you know.”

Allison smiled. She was sure he would be, to the editor of a small-town newspaper. “Yeah, Pete’s a real gem.”

Gussie cast Pete a pointed look. “Should I tell that sweet little Mary Lou hello for you? I’ll be seeing her—and your folks—at church this weekend.”

Pete colored. “Sure. Why not?”

Gussie craned her neck toward the door. “Well, I can see Dan has paid the bill and is likely revving up the truck. Guess I’d best hustle if I want a ride home. Lord only knows where that man was in heaven when they handed out the patience.”

Pete laughed. “Good to see you, Gussie.”

She shook a finger at him. “Mind your manners, boy. Nice to meet you, Ms. Tracy.”

“You, too,” Allison rejoined.

Gussie walked off, and as Pete sat down, an awkward silence fell. “Who’s sweet little Mary Lou?” Allison finally asked, simpering.

“A very old friend,” came the tight reply. “Don’t concern yourself about her.”

“Why should I be concerned?” Allison retorted, too sharply. “I was merely curious. Besides, we’re just—”

“I know, out for a ride,” he interrupted, but with good humor.

The waitress swept back up, depositing their dinners. “Enjoy it, folks.”

Allison’s mouth dropped open and she stared bug-eyed at the huge plate, overflowing with the biggest chicken-fried steak she’d ever seen. The gigantic fritter spilled over the edges, smothered in cream gravy, as were the mashed potatoes and corn. Stacked on the sides of the plate were wedges of Texas toast, and the aroma rising from the combined feast was tantalizing.

“You’ve got to be kidding,” Allison exclaimed. “You expect me to eat all of this?”

Obviously having the time of his life, he leaned toward her. “Honey, you shouldn’t discourage a man regarding your, er, oral capacity on a first date.”

She hurled a paper coaster at him, but the devil only grinned. “This isn’t a date. It’s a lifetime supply of cholesterol.”

“What do you care? You’re gorgeous.”

“How do you think I got that way? By eating at these kinds of greasy spoons?”

“No. You work out.”

“And you ride.”

His gaze flicked to hers. “Yeah.”

He was too much! If dinner was a tall order, this guy was Pikes Peak. Allison dove into her meal to hide her scalded cheeks. The food was wonderful. It melted in her mouth. She found herself eating ravenously while gulping down beer.

“You’d think I’d never had a meal before,” she confided.

“Yeah. You ladies with your salads and pasta.” Leaning toward her, he murmured, “I’ve always thought getting her hands on a thick piece of meat awakens a primal hunger in a woman—and I can see I’m right.”

Allison’s gaze snapped up to his. She was shocked and riveted by his loaded comment.

“See what I do to you?” he inquired.

What you do to me. Not about to respond, barely able to hear him over her pounding heart, Allison took another scrumptious bite. “My God, this is decadent.”

“Not quite what you’re accustomed to in good old Highland Park, eh?”

“You say ‘Highland Park’ as if it’s an obscenity.”

“Not exactly a ripe atmosphere for pickup trucks and barbecue—unless there’s a secret life shared by bankers’ daughters that you’re not telling me about.”

That comment touched a nerve, and Allison frowned at him. “No secret life at all. Just a typical Highland Park home. Two people who married more for business and social reasons than for love—and an older brother who was a bookworm.”

“Leaving you to be the wild child?” he asked with an unexpected touch of gentleness.

Realizing she’d confided in Pete more than she’d intended, Allison lifted her chin. “I don’t think I was any wilder than any other SMU girl. But then, you know the type, right?”

A sheepish look came over him. “Hey, Allison, I apologize. I didn’t mean to sound so jaded. And I’m sorry for what you missed as a child. I grew up in a very warm and loving home.” Abruptly his expression hardened. “The only problem being my shit of a younger brother.”

She laughed. “So that’s how you got the idea that younger siblings are trouble.”

He leaned toward her, mischief gleaming in his eyes. “Honey, you’re trouble. But in the best possible way.”

Feeling too charmed by him, Allison took a moment to collect her thoughts. “Well, my parents certainly found me to be a real handful—in the worst way. Some of the stunts I pulled in high school—going to rave parties and heavy metal concerts—drove them up the wall. These days, they’re especially ticked off because I decided to move to Houston rather than marry one of several fair-haired sons of their wealthy friends.”

“Yeah, parents sure can meddle like that, can’t they?” he asked.

She eyed him curiously, wondering if he were again referring to the elusive “Mary Lou.” “Yes, they can.”

He nodded. “Well, I’m very glad yours weren’t successful. But then I shouldn’t be surprised. You’re a headstrong creature, aren’t you?”

“Don’t forget it,” she advised proudly.

He gestured toward her plate. “Now that you’ve all but licked the plate clean, would you like dessert? They make a mean peach cobbler.”

“I think I’d give myself a heart attack,” she declared.

“Coffee then? Or another beer?”

“Another beer sounds good.”

He motioned for the waitress. “Wanna dance?”

“Sure. But the band is taking a break.”

“There’s always the jukebox.”

“Fine.”

They both stood. Allison was starting away when Pete caught her hand. “Wait just a minute.”

“Yes?” Her flesh seemed to sizzle where he touched her.

His gaze held hers as slowly, he began unbuttoning her suit jacket. Allison realized she should object, but she was just too intrigued. When he slipped the garment off her shoulders, his strong warm fingers brushed her bare arms, and she restrained a moan of treacherous longing. Gooseflesh consumed her as he devoured her shapely breasts clad in the skimpiest white cashmere tank top.

“Ah, that’s better,” he said huskily.

“It’s cooler,” Allison protested with a shiver.

“I’ll keep you warm.”

Indeed, her fingers seemed to burn as Pete led her out onto the dance floor. Stepping away briefly, he put some coins in the old Wurlitzer jukebox and punched some buttons. As he returned to her side, Sheryl Crow began to croon, “In Need.” Allison’s knees almost buckled. How could he know that was one of her favorite songs? And so very sensual.

To be honest, she was in need. In need of him. When Pete tenderly pulled her into his arms and his body heat inundated her, when he pressed his temple against her own, suddenly all of her seemed to ache for him. He was so powerful, so warm, so vibrant. So close to her. She breathed a sigh of mingled frustration and desire.

He swept her about in a slow, sexy two-step, the scent of him driving her crazy. His wonderful hands caressed her bare arms, her back. Gradually those skilled fingers slid down her spine until he cupped her hips. She shuddered with longing. His wicked, hot fingers seemed to brand her.

And wasn’t that just what she had yearned for earlier—liberated creature though she was?

Then he drew her closer still, until she felt his hardness. Whimpering softly, Allison realized she should protest his boldness—but Santa Anna’s army couldn’t have dragged her away from this sexy Texan at the moment.

Her languid gaze drifted up to his. “Where are we headed with this, cowboy?”