Cream of the Crop (Hudson Valley, #2)(56)

“Oh, you’d be surprised,” I replied, leaning across the bar and snatching an olive. “Some drinks, some friends, some killer music”—I lifted my chin toward the stage, where someone’s terrible version of “Son of a Preacher Man” was screeching out of the speakers. “I’d say it’s a great night out on the town.”

“How about a great night out in my barn? Maybe even out on the hood of my truck?” Oscar whispered, running his fingers right where the garters were on my thighs.

I choked a bit on my drink, and my heart leapt into my throat. He pressed on the garter, a small, infinitesimal amount of pressure that to anyone else would look innocent.

But we knew better. His thumb was right over the clip that held the stocking up.

He leaned over again, his lips brushing the shell of my ear. “I bet I could roll them down with my teeth. Lemme try, Natalie.”

My knees buckled. Thankfully, his big hands were there to catch me.

“Nat, you okay?” Roxie asked, laughing when my drink sloshed over the side of the glass.

“Cheap date!” Leo hollered, waving over the waitress to order another round.

“It’s uh . . . the shoes,” I lied, holding Oscar’s considerable biceps tightly. You know, for support.

Never in my life had a pair of high heels made me wobble. But add the Oscar factor, and the fingers on garters, and I was lying through my teeth.

I had a plan for tonight. I’d decided that if I saw him, I’d be in charge. Before the sex, after the sex, during the sex, I’d drive him wild with need—not the other way around. Yet with just a few words, he managed to make me weak in the knees and flushed in the cheeks. This guy did things to me.

“You can’t talk to me like that here,” I whispered, brushing my hip against the front of his jeans. I had to regain the upper hand or I’d be naked in a bar in five seconds flat, with Oscar behind me.

I could think of worse things to happen.

He advanced. We were packed into the bar, too many people squeezed into too small a room, but it didn’t matter. He found the space, pinning me to the back of a chair behind me.

“I can throw you down onto the bar if I want,” he promised. It was just that, too. If I pressed any further, the whole town would be getting an eyeful.

“You wouldn’t dare. These are just for you.” I slid the hem of my skirt up enough to draw his eye down. “You wouldn’t want anyone else to see them, would you?”

His nostrils flared and my favorite eyebrow raised.

“Get a room!” someone called out, and the fog lifted. We were giving the bar a show, with part of my thigh exposed and Oscar’s giant hand gripping the fabric of my skirt.

He turned, seeking out the jackass who just poked the bear. When they made eye contact, the guy took one look at him and bolted for the door. Oscar made a move like he was going to go after him but I pulled at his belt. Not that it would hold him in place if he really wanted to kick the guy’s ass, but the little effort made me feel better.

“Let it go,” I said.

He grunted. Such an Oscar thing to do, but the sound of it nearly gutted me. He ran hot all the time and it was something that I was drawn to.

“Caveman,” I murmured, running my hands over his shoulders, feeling the muscles bunching beneath his shirt.

Slowly, he turned, and practically growled, “I need a beer.”

“Make that two.” I smiled, pulled him down to me, and kissed him.

It was supposed to be quick, but something snapped when our lips touched. He pushed while I pulled, and we crashed somewhere in the middle.

The catcalls and whistling egged us on and then his lip was between my teeth.

“I’m done here,” he barked, pulling out his wallet. He threw money onto the table and grabbed me around the waist, lifting me off my feet and damn near right out of my come-f*ck-me heels. I glanced back over my caveman’s shoulder to a bar full of people applauding and Roxie cheering louder than anyone.

I could only giggle in the most excited way, clapping my own hands along with the town.

I had a feeling the heels were about to earn their name . . .



The cool air blew against my overheated skin when we walked out of the bar. I half expected Oscar to press me up against the side of the building, but he didn’t, keeping a strong grasp on my waist as I hovered a foot above the gravel, his long strides eating up the lot with determination.

He didn’t even speak on the way to the truck. He held open the door for me to crawl inside but was mindful not to brush against me.

Did I bend over too far when climbing in? Of course.

Still nothing. It was like a barrier went up the second we left the bar. Oscar got moody sometimes; it was part of his charm in my eyes.

He closed the door, moving with purpose around to his side. I slid my skirt up my thighs to give him a full view of the garters when he climbed in, and after he started the truck he peeled out and raced down Main Street.

Still . . . nothing.

I wasn’t misreading the situation. I could see the prominent outline of his dick in his jeans. He was totally hard but not making a move.

Leaning over, I pushed the armrest back and slid across to the middle of the seat, close enough to feel the heat coming off him in waves. I took his hand, held it, and waited. Interlocking our fingers, I moved his hand to my knee and then slowly slid it up to my thigh while spreading my legs slightly in the dark cab.