I look at my reflection in the mirror, smoothing my ponytail as the bright sun filters through the motel window. Gone are the short shorts and tank top, and in its place is a pair of jeans and a black top. My makeup is light and there isn’t anything seductive about my appearance.

After I’d come back to my room last night I’d given myself about ten orgasms, abusing my body in a way that embarrassed me in the light of day. I’d been completely crazy. Arching my hips into the air and moaning his name. I’d come the first time in the car; the second before I’d even made it to my bed.

I didn’t understand it, or him. It was like some insatiable, unquenchable desire had taken hold of me and turned me into an insane person. I’ve given myself hundreds upon hundreds of orgasms, but I’d never been like that. The worst of what I’d done, the way I’d behaved made my cheeks flame with heat. It had been like he was there, with me, taking over my body and showing me exactly what he’d do to me.

I blew out a long breath. So, I’m onto plan C. Seduction is off the table. There is no way on earth I can let that man touch me again. Ever. So there is only one choice. I lay my cards on the table, tell him exactly what I’m doing here, what I want, and then try to convince him.

It’s a long shot. But they are all long shots. My consolation is, after meeting him, using my charm would have never worked anyway. So this is it.

I stare at myself. My blue eyes are glassy. I can already feel the desire pounding away at me at the thought of seeing him.

Christ. This is a mess. But I will not give up.

My hormones do not rule me.

I lie down on the bed and close my eyes, attempting to regulate my breathing. But it’s already too late. Before I can help it, I’m sliding my fingers down my jeans and into my panties. I’m already wet. Slick just thinking about him. I rub my clit in slow circles.

I’m so disappointed in myself.

The image of his mouth on me takes over.

The way he kissed me.

The way I kissed him.

The way our hips rolled.

How I want his cock inside me.

At the mere thought, I come. The orgasm shakes my whole body as I whimper, longing for the friction of him between my legs.

I wring every wave of pleasure from my body until I collapse on the bed and blow out an exasperated breath. Well, that should tide me over long enough to see him, tell him my business, before I hightail it back to this room and start the process all over again.

I suck air into my lungs. I smell like sex.

Like I’m in goddamn heat, and I suppose that’s not far from the truth.

I need to get going while I’ve still got two brain cells to rub together.

Ten minutes later I’m in front of the bar. In the parking lot there’s four cars, a truck and a bad-ass, flat-black Harley I’m positive is Jackson’s.

I ignore the kick of desire and get out of the car, walking into the bar that’s brighter and airier than I would have expected in the light of day.

I survey the room. There are two men seated at the bar, a couple in the corner booth, and a group of college-age guys playing darts.

They all stop to look at me, but the only person I see is Jackson.

He’s wearing a black T-shirt today and another pair of molded jeans. Somehow he looks even better than last night. More dangerous. Lethal.

Lust rears its ugly head and I promise my greedy pussy that I’ll take care of her when we get back to the room. This is not the time.

Our gazes meet.

His eyes flicker with what I’m sure is surprise before meandering over my body.

Disconcerted, I realize we match. That we are wearing the yin and yang version of the same outfit. I square my shoulders and walk over to him with purpose in my step, planting my ass on the seat in front of where he’s standing.

He scowls and plants his palms on the bar. “You’re back?”

“I am.” Pleased at the steadiness in my voice, I cock a brow. “Are you surprised?”

“Yeah, I am.” His attention snags on my mouth. “You want something to drink?”

Okay, this is going better than I thought. I half expected to turn into a crazed monster and attack him. I nod. “Give me a local beer, whatever you think I’d like.”

He gives me a narrow-eyed once over, then moves to the cooler, coming back with a bottle he pushes in front of me. “Glass?”

“I’m good.”

“Do you want a menu?” His accent sends a shiver down my spine. I never thought Southern accents would do it for me. French, Italian, British, all yes, but Southern?

Although, in fairness, I suspect it’s him.

Our conversation is innocuous, almost as though we weren’t tearing into each other not twelve hours ago. I can almost believe it, except the air crackles between us. The tension is almost palpable, like it’s ready to explode at any moment.

My body is on high alert. Ready and willing.

I pick up the bottle of beer and take a long sip, the cool liquid slides down my throat, when I’m done I say, “That depends.”

“On what?”

“Did you make it?”

He shrugs. “It’s bar food. Ain’t one thing special about it.”

I’d bet my restaurant it’s the best bar food I’ll ever have in my life. “In that case, yes, I’d like a menu.”

A muscle in his jaw works but he reaches under the counter, pulls out a menu and places it in front of me. Before I pick it up he puts his palm over the sheet of paper.

I meet his gaze. Whiskey and heat.

I lick my dry lips and he tracks the movement.

The air gets about ten degrees hotter.

I can feel it, the barely leashed desire pulsing and twisting between us.

He grips my wrist.

I let him.

His expression flashes. “How many times did you come?”

I think about denying it, tossing my hair and telling him he’s arrogant, but what’s the point. I shrug. “Too many to count.”

His hold tightens and his nostrils flare.

With my free hand, I take another sip of beer, ignoring the tremor. “You?”

“More than I should have.” He meets my gaze and my pussy swells just by the look in his eyes. “Are you sane yet?”

I shake my head. “Nope. You?”

“Nope.”

He lets go of my hand and I hold it out to him and smile. “I’m Gwen Johnson. I usually introduce myself before orgasms are on the table.”

“I know who you are.” He shakes my hand and a bolt of electricity travels up my arm. “I recognized you the second you walked in.”

Not something I’d expected, which now seems completely stupid of me. Of course, he recognized me. I’ve been written about and photographed. Not quite as much as he had, but I’ve left my mark.

I nod. “Nice to meet you, Jackson McKay.”

“Not sure I’d say the same.” His jaw turns hard and he crosses his arms over his chest. “Whatever you want, the answer is no.”

“I expected as much.” I pick up the menu and look down it at. I’m not going to start my argument now when he’s already coming up with his answers to say no. I’m way smarter than that. I scan over the items on the paper. “What do you recommend?”

“It’s all good.”

“I’m sure.” I try to focus on the menu but he keeps pulling at me so I finally look up.

He meets my gaze and shakes his head. “No, Gwen.”

“We’ll see.” No point in pessimism.

He gives me an evil smirk. “Let me see if I can guess what you have to say.”

I put the menu back down and fold my hands over it. “I’m listening.”

He scrubs a hand over his stubbled jaw, sizing me up, and I can picture how he’d feel between my thighs, his tongue licking, his hair tickling my skin.

I shudder.

His expression flashes and I wonder if he’s thinking the same thing, but then he speaks, and is all business. “You’re opening up a new place. Something brand new that’s never been done before. You’re positive once I hear about it I’ll be unable to resist the challenge. Because it’s going to be spectacular and I’m going to want to be a part of it. You’re going to make me an offer I can’t refuse. How close am I so far?”

Depressingly close. “I guess you’ve heard this before.”

“Too many times to count. And you’re not going to sway me.” His eyes dip low. “No matter how sweet your pussy is.”

I raise a brow. “Do you think I’d use sex to get what I want?”

He laughs. “Don’t tell me you don’t use that pretty face to sway things in your favor.”

My brow furrows and I put his statement back on him. “Like you can’t say the same thing.”

He shrugs. “Only difference is I don’t want anything from you, now do I?”

“Nothing?”

He meets me dead in the eye. “Nothing.”

“Liar.”

He laughs and juts his chin at the menu. “What do you want?”

I hand him the menu. “Surprise me.”

I walk into the kitchen, a shit hole compared to the places I worked, and lean against the wall. I close my eyes, gritty from lack of sleep. I’m exhausted. I’m in a shit mood and Gwen Johnson is the last person on earth I want to deal with.

I want her gone so I can stop fucking thinking about her.

I have a laundry list of things I hate about her right now…

I hate that she didn’t hightail it out of town like she was supposed to.

I hate how she can look at me with those piercing, steady blue eyes and tell me calm as can be that she came thinking about me.

I hate that, instead of heading to the bar last night and picking up the first available woman, thinking about Gwen, my hand on my cock, was preferable.

I hate that it’s taking actual willpower to keep my hands off her.

I hate that I want her like I want my next fucking breath.

But what I really hate, more than anything else on that long list, is that I care about what plate I put in front of her. That some deep, twisted part of me wants to blow her away.

“You okay, boss,” Tyrell, the cook, asks and my lids snap open.

“Yeah, just tired.” I grit my teeth.

“It’s slow. I can take over for a couple hours if you want to catch some z’s.” We have a couch in the back office we’ve all used on more than one occasion to take a break from the crazy. Beau’s place is the most crowded bar in this small town, I made sure of that. People come from all over the county to drink here, to eat and dance, and blow off whatever shit is in their lives they don’t want to think about.

It’s a Sunday, only midmorning, and it’s slow enough I could send Tyrell out to Gwen and be done with her.

But I already know I’m not going to do that.

I tell myself it’s because I don’t want her to think she’s got me on the run, but deep down I know the truth. I want to look at her.

Another thing to add to my list.

I know the menu by heart—after all I designed it—and instead of giving in to that temptation to impress her, I order her the most basic, unimpressive thing on the menu. The item that can be found on any bar menu in America. “Get me an order of mozzarella sticks.”

Tyrell nods. “Comin’ right up.”

That should shut her up.

I go back to the bar, make my rounds through the place, ignoring her while she watches me like a hawk. Her eyes are hungry. And as I gather and deliver drinks all I can think about is screwing her. Taking her to the back, tossing her over the couch, and pounding into her. I know just how it will be between us. Hard and rough. Frantic, driving need. And once won’t be enough.

Which is why I’m staying away from her. If I don’t break the seal, I won’t have to worry about stopping.

When I’m done, I come back to her, and flick my gaze over her bottle. “Another?”

“Yes, please.” That refined, city-girl voice.

I grab her another beer and pop the top before putting it in front of her. She takes the last swallow of her beer, the cords of her neck working, and I want to bite her, mark her. I want to write the word MINE across her chest.

She’s fucking with my head and I don’t like it.

She pushes away the empty bottle and I toss it in the trash without looking away from her. She grabs the other bottle and picks at the label before clearing her throat. “So you’ve heard it all before.”

“I have.” I think about letting her direct the conversation but decide to fuck that. “But even if I hadn’t, do you honestly think we could work together?”

A flair of hope shines in her expression. “Yes, of course.” She flashes me a smile so dazzling it’s blinding. “Unlike you, I get along with everyone and am notoriously fun to work with.”

I notice she’s careful not to call to my attention that she essentially wants to be my boss. She’s smart. Too smart. There would be no lazy with Gwen, I’d have to watch every step I took.

Tyrell comes out with the plate of cheese sticks—a bar staple, bland and uninteresting. Completely unimpressive. I signal him over, and when he sees Gwen his eyes practically bug out of his head.

She beams at him as he puts the plate down in front of her. “Thanks, I’m starving.”

Tyrell shakes his head and whistles. “Damn, girl, you are fiinnee.” He draws out the word fine in his molasses-Louisiana drawl.

She laughs and winks at him. “You’re not too bad yourself.”

She’s actually right. Tyrell is big, black and borders on pretty. Women love him almost as much as they love me. Beau’s marketing strategy is simple—drive the women to his place and the men will follow. It works.

Tyrell cocks a brow at me. “She yours?”

The yes perches on my lips and I have to bite it back. Thankfully I’m saved from having to answer when Gwen says, “I belong to no man.”

Wrong. She belongs to me.

Christ. Fuck that. I need to get my head on straight.

“Well, red, you let me know if you want to change that.” Tyrell’s voice is low and full of seduction.

“Get back to work,” I snap, more vicious and growly than I intended.

Tyrell chuckles and takes his leave. He’s my antithesis, like a ray of suzy fucking sunshine, to my mean.

She looks down at her plate, then raises a brow.

“Fork?”

“Nope.” She grins. “Don’t try to trick me into failing to meet your expectations because it’s not going to happen.”

I chuckle and jerk my thumb in the direction of the kitchen. “How many times a day do you get called red?”

She shrugs. “A lot. It goes with the territory.”

“You have a temper too?” I’m annoyed at my question. Am I trying to get to know her? Because I don’t get to know women. Women serve one purpose, and one purpose only. Personality need not apply.

She shakes her head. “I’m too level headed for a temper. My dad likes to tell the story about how when I was born I had all this red hair and he prepared himself for all these wild temper tantrums only to be disappointed when I turned out to be the most reasonable of all his children.” She laughs; the sound full of affection, and makes me hard.

She picks up a mozzarella stick and puts it into her mouth.

Insatiable lust overtakes me when her full lips close around the stick and she bites into the cheese, closing her eyes to savor the taste. Gwen eats exactly the way you’re supposed to. Slow and undistracted, like it’s sex, because it is.

Food should be consumed like fine wine and a slow, deep fuck.

She moans, puts the food down, her hands on the bar, and looks at me. “So it’s true.”

I’m fucking captivated by her, I want to lean over the bar and lick her lips. When I speak, my voice is gruff. “What’s true?”

“You are a genius.” She leans in and says in her low voice that curls up my spine and squeezes my chest. “How do you make it so good?”

Her words are meant to entice and they work like a charm, but I’m not letting her get the upper hand. I lean in, so we’re close, close enough to feel the heat of her skin, smell the sweet scent of her perfume—something clean and fresh—and underneath I smell sex. Arousal and lust. She’s wet. Probably as wet as I am hard. It takes all my willpower to say the words. “Don’t think you can play me. It won’t work.”

She meets my gaze. “I don’t need to lie. Not about this.”

My attention dips to her mouth. “The answer is no.”

“You haven’t even heard my offer.”

“No.” My fingers grip the bar. “Your offer doesn’t matter.”

She bites her lip. “Let me take you to dinner tonight and hear me out. That’s all I ask.”

“Darlin’, if we go to dinner, how long do you think we can resist this pull?”

Her lashes flutter. “I’ll concede we have a rather unfortunate chemistry. But as long as we admit it and deal with it like adults it shouldn’t be a problem.”

I laugh, shaking my head. Jesus she is too much. “That's what you’re calling it? An unfortunate chemistry?”

She licks her lips. “Yes.”

“How many times since you sat down have you thought about us fucking?”

“About a hundred.” She follows her statement with a shrug, like it’s no big deal we can’t look at each other without wanting to hit the sheets.

“Do you understand it’s taking every ounce of willpower I have not to take you to the back room right this second?” I rake my gaze over her. “Especially when I can smell how much you want it?”

She blows out a long breath. “I know.”

“What fantasy land do you live in that makes you think this would be a good working relationship.”

She squares her shoulders. “I never mix business and sex.”

“And I never mix sex with anything.”

“So we’re on the same page. I don’t see how it’s a problem.”

I start to sink into the argument, then stop myself. I’m making it sound like if we didn’t have kick-you-in-the-teeth chemistry I’d be in, and I am not in. The only reason to continue down this road is to engage her, and that’s not happening. I straighten, moving away from her intoxicating presence. “The answer is no.”

“Please. Just hear me out.”

“Not interested.”

She tilts her head and huffs. “Then you’re stuck with me.”

“How so?”

“I figured this would take awhile, and I’m always prepared. I needed a vacation anyway and I’ve never been to Louisiana, so I’m here for two weeks. You’re going to see me all the time.” She gives me a smirk. “I’m going to be your personal stalker.”

“Doesn’t matter.” Christ, two weeks? I give it less then twenty-four hours before we’re in bed.

“We’ll see.”

“Your fingers are going to get awfully tired.”

“I already ordered a vibrator on Amazon.” She laughs and it’s like smoke, a fire waiting for the right kindling to ignite. “It has a plug.”

I blink at her. I barely sleep as it is, but it will be impossible knowing she’s lying in her motel room, fucking herself endlessly with what should be my cock. “Do you talk like this to everyone?”

“I don’t have a problem being direct if it’s called for. I don’t have one of the top ten restaurants in Chicago by being a fragile flower.” She picks up the mozzarella stick and takes another bite, it seems to distract her and she looks at it with a kind of blissful exasperation. It’s the crappiest thing on the menu, but I have to admit it’s a good cheese stick. It’s hand rolled, custom breaded and seasoned, and she hasn’t even tasted the sauce yet. I let the sauce cook and reduce for hours until it’s thick and taste explodes in your mouth. She moans again and it shoots straight through me. “Fuck that is good.”

“You’re thirty seconds away from screaming those words if you don’t stop that.”

She bats her lashes at me. “So you find me distracting?”

Too much so. “Don’t confuse my desire to pound into your pussy with entertaining your offer. Because they’re not the same.”

“And don’t you confuse my desire to ride your cock with me taking no for an answer. Because they’re not the same.”

I can’t help it. I laugh.

She grins, dips the fried cheese in the sauce, and when she takes a bite her eyes practically roll into her head.

I repress my smile, my satisfaction at making her happy, and go make another round through the bar.