most. The wildness and joy just didn’t come as easily as it used to. Maybe that’s why her book sale numbers were going down....
She lifted a finger at him. “If you’re not here to rub that video in, then why did you show up? I didn’t think reunions would be your scene.”
“Just call it a last-minute decision.”
Cryptic, and so Clint Barrows. And with that grin of his, she wanted to solve whatever mystery he was putting out there.
Or did she?
“Come on,” he said. “Why don’t you just sit down and talk about this.”
“Are you kidding? First, I don’t believe your story. Second, I think we’ll get along much better if I’m on one side of the room and you’re on the other.”
He sighed. “Have it your way, then. For now.”
For now?
Shaking her head, she grabbed her Fendi purse and got out the hand-worked leather wallet she’d bought in Florence once upon a time. Earlier, she’d told the girls she would be taking care of the bar tab, even though she wasn’t sure she could afford many flights of generosity like this in the future.
“So about those baskets...” Clint said.
Once a tease, always a tease.
“Don’t even start.”
“Start what? If you recall, there’re things I start that you have a problem ending.”
“See? Rubbing it in. I knew you wouldn’t be able to resist.”
“Give me a chance here, Shakespeare.”
Her libido gave another hot jerk. She’d liked how he used to call her English author names the few times they’d actually talked during parties. He’d amused her—and she’d been turned on that a cowboy had known his literature, to tell the truth.
But that was before she’d found out he’d only wanted to set her up for an adolescent joke.
“You think this is all so funny,” she said.
He sobered and, for a second, she thought he was actually being sincere.
“I don’t think it’s a bit funny. But—”
She slapped her cash on the table and left, even while every cell in her body was pulling her toward his booth, vibrating with the curiosity she hadn’t been able to fully appease on that long-ago night.
But if there was one thing Margot would guard until the end, it was pride.
Luckily, that’s when she heard her name being called from the other side of the bar.
A group of fraternity brothers, including Dani’s fiancé, Riley, had just walked in, and she recognized her ex-boyfriend Brad among them.
Or, at least, she thought she did.
He looked like one of the businessmen at the bar—creased khakis and a crisp, long-sleeved shirt. His dark hair was neatly trimmed, unlike a certain cowboy’s that looked as if he turned tail and ran every time a barber came near.
Brad lifted a hand in greeting to her, giving her a friendly smile. He didn’t seem to care about the video. None of them did, maybe because Riley had told them to back off during their golf game.
Margot waved back, then waited for the rush of heat to swamp her horny body, just as it had with Clint.
Waiting...
Waiting...
It only happened again when she heard Clint’s voice behind her.
“You’d best go to Brad,” he said. “Good ol’ dependable Brad....”
She felt Brad watching her from across the room, and she didn’t want to give him the impression that she was taking up where she’d left off in that video with Clint Barrows.
“You can walk away now,” Clint said. “But I’ll be seeing you later.”
“Dare to dream,” she said over her shoulder.
And she left him with that, his laughter skimming across her skin, heating her to blazing for no good reason she could think of.
Except for the million and one tongues of flame licking at her, daring her to turn around and scratch the itch that’d never quite gone away.
* * *
CLINT WATCHED HER leave, enjoying the sway of her hips beneath her tight pants, which were tucked into high boots, giving her the kind of flair you’d normally see with a hoity-toity princess out for a ride on an English saddle.
He’d always been a legs and ass man and, thanks to those clothes, both were on cock-teasing display with Margot Walker.
She got to him in a lot of ways, with her long, layered dark brown hair that was somehow classy and gypsylike at the same time. With pale sea-hued eyes that always seemed to be shining with a sense of humor that also came out in her carefree laugh. Her delicate features—a slightly turned-up nose, high cheekbones, a heart-shaped face—reminded him of one of the wood fairy figurines that his mom used to keep on the top shelf in the family room. Statues that had stayed there even years after she’d died, when Clint was just learning to break in horses.
Dignified, delicate, yet slightly wild. That was Margot Walker to a T.
Something fisted in his gut, reminding him of how much he’d wanted her ten years ago. The smart girl who knew how to put down the books and have fun. The life of every party, who lit up a room just by walking into it.
And that was the exact reason he’d been over the moon when she’d come up to his room with him that night.
The thing of it was, he’d genuinely been aiming to watch a movie with her, since they’d been chatting about The Untouchables down at the party and he’d owned a copy.
Her willingness to be alone with him had stunned him, because Margot had always seemed untouchable herself, the only girl who never gave him the time of day...until she’d let down her guard in his room.
At first, he’d sat a decent distance from her on that Naugahyde couch. But, slowly, they’d gotten closer, as if attraction had pulled them together like magnets. And by the time Kevin Costner and Andy Garcia went to the train station to intercept a witness for their case against Al Capone, his gaze was on Margot, not the screen.
And she had been watching him, too, with a softness in her eyes he’d never seen before.
“God help you if you tell anyone about this,” she said before they’d come together.
He’d never been swept away by a girl before, but this one night, it’d happened. And as they kissed—her breath in his ear as she whispered his name—he’d thought that this was it. Margot Walker was the one woman who could make him think there was no one else, just as his dad had thought the same about his mom when they were both alive.
Then, unbeknownst to him, she’d seen the camera, and before he could ask what had gotten her so upset, she’d slapped him, pulled her shirt together, angry as hell, and bolted out of the room without telling him what was wrong.
As confused as he was, he hadn’t gone after her.
And he hadn’t noticed the camera hidden in the corner.
Soon afterward, he’d gone back down to the party to see if she was still there, but she’d left him in the dust, wondering what he’d done.
It wasn’t until the next morning, when his roommate, Jay Halverson, the fraternity historian, couldn’t hold it in any longer, that he found out what’d happened: Jay had seen Clint downstairs, making inroads with the one girl who’d always eluded him. He’d bet that Clint would pull through and bring her back to his room and that the moment should be recorded for the brotherhood’s posterity.
Clint’s