Cowboy Casanova (Rough Riders #12)(7)

Flustered once again, Dean refused.


The following month her attempt to entice him into light bedroom bondage using his

Brooks Brothers’ ties netted the same result: a big fat no. As did her suggestion that

he punish her wanton, wicked ways with a spanking.


At that point Dean suggested she needed counseling.


At that point Ainsley suggested he needed Viagra.


And that’s when their supposedly perfect marriage fell apart. Not only because Ainsley

craved variety in the bedroom, but the way she’d voiced her concerns to her husband—

he wasn’t seeing to her needs—had put Dean on the defensive. He became cruel.

Cutting. Condescending. What she saw as an attempt to improve the intimacy in their

marriage Dean saw as her attempt to force him into becoming a type of man he wasn’t. A

type of man he’d never be.


So for all her bold talk, in the last year and a half since her divorce, Ainsley hadn’

t done a single thing to take charge of her sexuality except increase her collection of

vibrators.


One night after an extra glass of liquid courage, she’d asked Layla for advice on how

to kink up her sex life. Because Layla’s relationship with her longtime squeeze,

Murphy, was kinky indeed—Layla was a fulltime submissive and Murphy was her dominant.



It’d been difficult wrapping her head around the concept; Layla willingly ceded

control to Murphy in all aspects of her life—not just sexually. When Layla had lived

in Denver, Ainsley had known Murphy worked in a club, but not what kind of club. But

she’d never imagined a sex club, because she had no flipping clue places like that

even existed outside fictional novels.


She planned to get a real education about it tonight.


She scooped up Layla’s risqué lingerie and slunk into the bathroom. She stripped and

added a piece at a time, ignoring the pooch in her belly. Next week she really had to

start working out again. The kimono hit mid thigh and adequately covered her jiggly

ass. Five minutes after her thirty-seventh birthday her body had started to sag like an

ugly old couch. Not that she’d ever in her life been a toned size two.


Now is not the time to revisit your body issues. Think sexy, act sexy, be sexy.


Once she’d tugged on her outfit, she pinned up her hair, securing it with a hairnet.

She unzipped the bag and slipped the wig from the Styrofoam dummy’s head, settling it

onto her own.


After jabbing a million bobby pins into her scalp, Ainsley angled closer to the mirror,

smoothing flyaway strands with her fingers. The sleek wig was shoulder length, coal

black with jagged ends dyed blood red. It was funky, hip and fun. No one would mistake

it for her real hair, but wasn’t that the point of tonight? To be daring and

eccentric? She was fully incognito in this get-up. She doubted her cats would recognize

her.


Two raps on the door were her only warning before Layla burst in. “Are you… My God,

what the f*ck is that thing on your head?”


Not exactly the reaction she’d hoped for. “I’m embracing my inner Sydney Bristow.”


Layla grabbed her upper arms and circled her slowly before stopping in front of her.


“So? Do I look ridiculous?”