Sweet Dreams (Colorado Mountain #2)(36)

This surprised me. “He did?”

She smiled. “Yeah. And he’s not a tits and ass man, he likes lean and cut but he sure likes your legs.”

“Shut up.”

“He does!”

“Shut up!”

“Ace!” Tate shouted, both Wendy and I jumped and twisted our necks to look his way. “You cashed out or what?” Tate asked still in a shout.

“I’m cashed out,” I shouted back.

“You wanna socialize for the next hour or are we gonna go?” He was still shouting and I was acutely aware, due to the fact that the noise level declined significantly, that the entire bar was listening.

“Keep your pants on!” I yelled.

The noise level disappeared.

“Babe, get your ass over here,” Tate ordered.

“Patience, Captain, I’m talking to Wendy,” I shot back.

“Ass. Over. Here!” Tate commanded.

I looked at Wendy and snapped loudly, “He’s so darned bossy!”

Two men and a woman sitting at the bar close to us burst out laughing.

“You better get your ass over there,” Wendy advised, I rolled my eyes and stomped across the bar.

Tate watched me stomp and turned his body to face me as I rounded the corner.

“I need to get my purse,” I told him irritably.

“Don’t take a year,” he returned.

“I won’t take a year!” I snapped and stomped down the hall, stopped and stomped back to Tate. I lifted a hand and demanded, “Keys.”

He dug into his pocket muttering, “Shit you’re a pain in my ass.”

“I will repeat, Jim-Billy can walk me home,” I informed him and looked over at Jim-Billy while I jerked a thumb at him.

Jim-Billy’s neck sunk into his shoulders, his eyes stayed fixed to the back of the bar and he took a sip of his draft.

“Get your purse, Ace,” was all Tate said, depositing his keys in my hand.

“Whatever,” I muttered, stomped down the hall and got my purse.

When I arrived back in the bar I ignored the avid eyes of an audience that included nearly all of the patrons and I could do this because Tate snatched his keys away, grabbed my hand and dragged me to the door so I had to concentrate on walking.

“Later guys!” I shouted over my shoulder, waving at the crew.

“See ya, Lauren!” Wendy shouted back.

“Later, gorgeous!” Bubba boomed.

Dalton lifted his chin and Krystal didn’t utter a peep.

Then we were outside and Tate was dragging me toward his bike where he pulled me to a halt but didn’t drop my hand.

“You know, Ace, I could do without havin’ a scene with you every time I enter that f**kin’ bar,” he stated.

Well, at least this was familiar territory and not the confusing territory we’d been camped out in the last couple of times we were together. I’d pissed him off.

“You started it,” I returned.

His brows went up. “Seriously?”

“Seriously what?”

“That’s all you got?” he asked.

“Well you did!”

“Christ,” he muttered, pushed me slightly away from the bike using my hand then he swung his leg over and started fiddling with the console. The bike roared to life and I could swear I felt wetness surge between my legs.

I was concentrating on this and biting my lip in an effort to stop a moan from escaping my throat when Tate looked at me.

“Climb on,” he ordered.

I looked behind him. Then I looked at him.

“How?” I asked.

“What?” he asked back.

“How do I get on?”

He stared at me. Then he asked, “You never been on a bike?”

I shook my head.

He stared at me some more.

Then it was my turn to stare at him because a slow, sexy smile spread across his face and that wetness between my legs wasn’t uncertain anymore.

“Don’t got a lotta time but you’re gonna get a ride,” he stated.

“I know, you’re taking me home.”

He was still smiling when he instructed, “See that foot hold?” and he jerked his head toward the back of the bike.

I looked, saw it and nodded.

“Put your right foot on it, grab onto me and swing your left leg over.”

“Okay,” I said and did as he instructed.

It was easy and I did it without incident, something I was proud of. I didn’t want to topple over or make him topple over or the bike topple over. None of that happened and I settled in behind him.

“A natural,” he muttered as he started walking the bike backward out of the spot.

“Sorry?” I called over the pipes.

He didn’t answer. Instead he said, “Hold on.”

“To what?”

He twisted his neck to catch my eyes, “To me, babe.”

“Oh,” I whispered, feeling like an idiot, and put my hands to his waist.

“Ace,” he called and I looked to see his neck was still twisted, “hold on.”

“I am.” And I was!

He leaned up, I reared back a bit but he grabbed my wrists and pulled them around in such a firm way that I had no choice but to plaster my front against his back. He let my wrists go when he had them wrapped around his flat stomach and before I could utter a noise we rocketed through the parking lot.