When she added the Coke from the soda gun, her gaze lifted to the spot Sexy Eyes had been, and he was gone. Emma blew out a long breath, forcing the flutters in her belly to calm.
“I need to call in a favor tonight.”
Emma blinked and glanced sideways, finding Megan sidling up next to her. With her trim figure, freckles dusting her nose, wavy sandy-brown hair, and her unique eyes—one a crystal blue and the other a warm brown—she stood out in the crowd, for sure. Everything about Megan screamed strength and sensuality, and as the owner of Kinky Spurs at only twenty-eight years old, she clearly had a good head on her shoulders. “What favor?” Emma asked.
Megan reached for the microphone next to the cash register. “You don’t have any objection in taking part in Rope ’Em Up, do you?”
“Depends on what the game is.” Emma had seen some of the games that happened at Kinky Spurs every Thursday, Friday, and Saturday night at ten o’clock. Last week, four women willingly let themselves be hog-tied by four cowboys. The winner received a free dinner at the bar. Emma didn’t think that was enough of a reward.
“It’s nothing crazy.” Megan smiled, probably at the trepidation crossing Emma’s face. “You’ll be a horse.”
Emma blinked. “I’ll be a horse?”
“Yup.” Megan nodded. “You’ll get roped, then your wrists will be tied. No big deal.”
Emma’s lips parted to refuse her. She closed them immediately after and reconsidered. Last week, another bartender volunteered and went up on stage. That seemed to only happen when Megan didn’t have enough women to take part in the games. She finally sighed. “Well, I suppose it’s my turn to take one for the team, isn’t it?”
Megan patted Emma on the arm. “You’re a doll. I owe you.”
The bar seemed to get a whole lot smaller as Megan weaved her way through the crowd toward the stage. For the most part, people who came to Kinky Spurs were here for their famous chicken wings that went from mild to sweat-your-ass-off hot, and for the local craft beer. Except for Thursday, Friday, and Saturday nights. Those nights belonged to the students from the nearby University of Colorado, the twenty-somethings that lived in River Rock, as well as the tourists, who wanted a little something extra than a typical night out at the club.
From what Emma had learned since she began working there, the bar had originally been owned by Gerald Kinky. When Megan had bought the place two years ago after Gerald retired, she’d been inspired by the bar’s name and decided to hold a kinky game that was sex related to draw in a fun crowd. Of course, Megan didn’t allow sexual intercourse to happen in her bar, but she was smart enough to know sex sells. And apparently at Kinky Spurs it sold, since for the three weeks that Emma had been there, the place had been packed.
When Megan finally reached the stage, standing by the mechanical bull, she waved Emma forward. Ducking under the bar, Emma made it onto the stage just as Megan lifted the microphone to her mouth. “We all know why you came to the Spurs, and it wasn’t just for the beer and our famous chicken wings . . .” she announced. “Rope ’Em Up is about to begin.” The crowd went wild, inching their way closer to the stage until they all gathered in front of Megan. She lifted her hand, quieting them down before she continued, “Will the contestants please join me on stage?”
Emma’s cheeks began to burn almost as if she had a low-grade fever, but the heat wasn’t due to sickness or because of the three couples joining her on stage. The feverish sweat forming along her flesh was because Sexy Eyes had jumped onto the stage. Each step he took toward her seemed to make the air thicker, charged by something so powerful that she couldn’t control. Those captivating eyes were on her, that killer smile back, warming her in places she simply shouldn’t be heating up in front of an audience.
He stopped a few feet away from her and grabbed the rope on the stage waiting for him. When his head lifted again, he winked. Dear Lord. Emma almost reached for the hem of her panties to make sure they stayed in place.
Before she could get a handle on herself, Megan called, “Cowboys, rope your ladies.”
Everything right then and there melted away. All she saw was him, and the cowboy’s hands working the rope expertly into a lasso. There was something uniquely sensual about the way he handled the rope. Would he handle her body with the same careful regard? God, she wanted to find out. Her heart skipped a beat or two when his eyes lifted to hers again, and that half smile weakened her knees. That’s when his brows furrowed, his wise eyes narrowing on his target. Her.
Not a second later, he tossed the rope in her direction. She gasped as the soft rope slid oh-so-perfectly along her bare arms. Another gasp ripped from her throat when he jerked the rope, causing the lasso to tighten. Something changed in his expression then. Something that pulled them together with uncontrollable force.
He approached with long, unhurried strides, tugging her forward at the same time. She seemed to get closer to him in the blink of an eye. In that instant, she became a woman she didn’t recognize. A woman who hungered for a man so intensely that she was aware of his every move, every breath, and hell, even the strength he seemed to project out into the world.
She had one second to stare into the heat in his eyes before he used the rope to spin her around. His spicy, woodsy cologne whirled around her, and it was all she could do to fight against the desire to press herself against the hard planes of his tall, muscular physique.
“Put your wrists together for me, sweetheart,” he murmured, slow and unhurried, as if he had all the time in the world.
She shivered and obliged him. Not once had he touched her, and she wondered if that was because he was a gentleman or because he didn’t trust himself, in the same way she currently didn’t trust herself.
One loop slid over her left wrist, and her eyes fluttered shut as heat flooded her, a foreign sense of desire swelling inside. When another loop drifted over her right wrist, warmth pooled in her belly, slowly growing hotter each time he tightened the rope. Her chest lifted and fell quickly, and as he stroked the inside of her wrist, an uncontrollable moan spilled from her mouth.
His low chuckle sizzled over her. “What’s your name, darlin’?” he asked.
Her breath hitched and she trembled, knowing he’d likely heard and felt both. “Emma,” she replied.
“Well, Emma, I’m Shep Blackshaw, and you better stop doing what you’re doing.” His voice lowered, thick and rumbly, as he stepped a little closer, pressing his erection against her bottom. “Or I’m about to do something very inappropriate in front of a crowd.”
Surely that warning should’ve broken the spell he cast over her. It didn’t. The low tenor of his voice held promise of a night she’d never forget. Instead of answering him, and on total instinct, she shivered again, as his startling power washed over her.
Desperate not to make a complete ass out of herself on the third week of her new job, she stared straight ahead, afraid if she opened her mouth, she’d beg him to touch her right in front of everyone. He finished the binding and gave a final tug, showing her how locked in she was. He held the rope between the cuffs he’d made as if he owned her.
She couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. From head to toe, she flushed with an unnatural heat, her limbs trembled with need, begging him to make this game real. His finger slid along the inside of her wrist, and again, a moan broke free.