Sexist. The saying was both. And it was also true. Nikki’s mother—Izzie’s niece—had spent her entire life “giving it away,” and not once had she ever had a meaningful, lasting relationship.
There’d been no joint checking account, no monogrammed towels, no picture perfect family gathered around the Thanksgiving table. There’d been only Aunt Izzie, Nikki, Nikki’s mother, and whatever man Nikki had been calling “Uncle” that week.
Nikki had wanted more for herself. A solid, lasting relationship. Permanent. And so she’d taken Izzie’s advice and held back.
Not that she was a virgin, mind you. She’d done the deed a handful of times in the past. With Jerry (before he’d started wearing her underwear). And with Stan (before he’d started wearing her shoes). But with each man she’d waited a decent amount of time. Long enough to preserve her nice-girl status and really get to know him.
Or so she’d thought.
She tugged at another fluff of pink and popped it into her mouth. There. Talk about ecstasy. No batteries needed. No waiting period required. No weird hidden fetish ready to jump up and bite her when she least expected it.
It didn’t get much better.
“Wanna bet?” The deep, masculine voice slid into her ears and snagged her out of the sugar high dulling her senses.
Every nerve in Nikki’s body snapped to attention as she stopped and turned. Her gaze collided with a pair of eyes so gray and translucent they looked silver.
Excitement pumped through her, followed by a bolt of desire that gripped every inch of her body and stalled the air in her lungs. She forgot to breathe for the next several seconds as she drank in the cowboy who’d come up behind her.
He had a great face. Not the perfect GQ kind but a face that said he was every bit as rough and rugged as his voice implied.
Beneath the brim of his black Stetson, his gaze gleamed hot and bright and knowing. Stubble darkened his strong jaw, circled his sensuous mouth and crept down the column of his throat. Dark hair curled from beneath his hat and brushed his collar.
He stood well over six feet, his shoulders broad and massive beneath a black T-shirt. Just below the edge of his sleeves, ornate slave-band tattoos circled each muscular bicep. Faded jeans cupped his crotch, clung to his thighs and traced the outline of his long, sinewy legs. He wore scuffed black cowboy boots and an air of raw sexuality that made her nipples tingle.
Oh, boy.
That was her first cohesive thought when she actually started to breathe again.
Okay, maybe it wasn’t her first thought.
Number one? Oh, no.
She became keenly aware of the raggedy old tee and baggy jeans she’d pulled on prior to leaving the house. Shapeless. Unattractive. The perfect attire for stripping and painting the walls of her dream house.
For meeting hot guys? It definitely lacked.
Then again, she hadn’t come here to meet guys. She’d come to satisfy her sweet tooth.
The reminder was enough to spark some sense, and she forced her lips to move. “Excuse me?” she finally managed.
His grin was slow and easy, wiping away the mesmerizing intensity and replacing it with an irresistible charm that eased the thunder of her heart.
Instead of answering her question, he simply stared at her, into her, for a long moment before he nodded toward the mountain of spun sugar she held in her hand. “Mind if I have a taste?”
It wasn’t even close to a decent pickup line, and she couldn’t stifle the disappointment that rushed through her.
Obviously this tall, dark and delicious cowboy had fallen head over heels for her cotton candy rather than her.
Just the way Bill had fallen for the strippers and Jerry had fallen for that pair of silver Michael Kors sandals he’d bought for her birthday.
Another guy with a fetish. Great. Just great.
Not that it mattered. She’d sworn off men, and this guy was just more fuel to add to the proverbial fire.
She shrugged. “Sure.” She held up the pink treat. “Knock yourself out.”
His grin widened and he leaned forward.
And then he kissed her.
3
HIS STRONG, PURPOSEFUL mouth claimed hers. His tongue swept her bottom lip, licking and nibbling and—
Wait a second.
Nikki’s heart thundered as she struggled to grasp the current scenario. This was not happening. No way was a hot, sexy stranger kissing her for no apparent reason, in front of God and everyone, including the senior ladies’ bingo squad. From the corner of her eye Nikki glimpsed a dozen pairs of bifocals trained on her.
On him.
On them.
No friggin’ way.
Just as the denial registered in her shocked brain, he deepened the kiss. His tongue pushed inside and tangled with her own. All rational thought faded in a tsunami of hunger that washed over her, drenched every inch of her body and made her tremble from the sheer force.
He tasted like sweet honey and hot, potent male—and something she couldn’t quite name. Something dark and dangerous and mesmerizing.
Before she could stop herself, she melted against him. Her hands slid up his chest and her fingers caught the soft, dark hair at the nape of his neck.
His arms closed around her. Strong hands pressed against the base of her spine, drawing her closer. She met him chest for chest, hip for hip, until she felt every incredible inch of him flush against her body—the hard planes of his chest, the solid muscles of his thighs, the growing erection beneath his zipper.
Heat spread from her cheeks, creeping south. The slow burn traveled inch by tantalizing inch, until her nipples throbbed and wetness flooded between her thighs, and all because he’d kissed her.
Because she’d kissed him.
Because they were still kissing.
Beyond the buzz of desire and the chaos of the carnival, she heard the shocked “Why, I never.”
Mumbled agreement echoed among the old women gathered nearby, followed by a “Disgraceful,” and a “Hmph, looks like the apple don’t fall too far from the tree.”
The words registered and she stiffened. Tearing her lips away, she stumbled backward.
Breathe, she told herself. Just breathe. “I…We…” She shook her head and tried to make some sense out of everything. “What just happened?”
