I played it cool, rolling my eyes as I turned the music back up.
I was two miles down the road before I realized my cheeks hurt from grinning so wide.
I’m pretty sure I caught fleas from the third motel we stopped at on the road this week. I’d squirreled away all last week’s prize money as soon as it hit my bank account, just in case. Normally, we would have stayed on the outskirts of the major city for a day or two, taking advantage of the cheaper accommodation costs, but after Fleagate I thought screw it and splurged on a suite with a kitchen for an extra night.
It had a living room and a separate bedroom, and there was enough room for me to pull out my balance ball and weights so I could work off all those roadside waffles. Frankie had music streaming through a portable boombox as he cooked something that smelled amazing, his shirtless torso undulating to the music in a way that almost made me drop a dumbbell on my toe. When he busted me staring, he gave me a look that made me want to peel my clothes from my body, climb onto the tiny kitchen island and let him fuck me into next week.
He pointed at me and then curled a finger. “Dance with me, Gatinha.”
I shook my head. “I’m working my core.”
He danced over, his body rolling in a way that should be almost pornographic until he stood in front of me. “I have a better way to work your core,” he purred and my vagina may have wept with joy at the idea. As if he read my mind, he tsked and shook his head. “I meant dancing, Tessa Everett. So dirty.”
I put down the dumbbells before I had an unfortunate accident. I stood up from my balance ball looking completely unsexy in my Deadpool boxer shorts and a tank top. I could ride a bull. I could brand a calf. I could do a lot of things, but dancing was not one of them. But Frankie? He could lead a corpse into the perfect Samba.
He pulled me close and my hand slid over his hot skin. Oh, this was the best bad idea I’d ever had. His body pushed and pulled mine in time with the music, small movements that didn’t take much effort but sure made my skin burn. He bent me backwards, pushing my breasts against his chest as he placed a small kiss to the base of my throat.
My heart pounded. This was how you seduced a woman. Dancing with Frankie was akin to sex, and the way he moved his hips against my lower stomach, made me want to promise my soul to the devil just for a little bit of relief. He slid his thigh between mine, so every sway of my hips was delicious pressure against my aching lady-bits.
His lips brushed against my throat, and my lips parted as I panted out a gasp. “Frankie…” Fuck going slow. I wasn’t made for slow. I was made for breakneck speed. “Please,” I moaned as his lips moved across my collarbone.
“Please what, Gatinha?”
“I want-” a heavy knock at the door cut me off.
Frankie straightened, swearing loudly. He strode over to the door, adjusting his dick inside his grey sweats. Yeah, they weren’t hiding much. I could see the rigid outline like it was spotlighted. He pulled it open and continued to swear as Branch, Beau and Dylan strode into the suite.
I looked at my Deadpool boxers which were definitely damp thanks to Frankie’s impromptu dance party and back up at three men who were hotter than any group of men had any right to be. “What the hell are you doing here?”
They were all in their Sunday best. Dylan was in a royal blue shirt and a bolo tie, his dark jeans hugging his thighs like a hippie to a tree. Beau was in a steel grey shirt and black jeans. Branch was in all black, like a villain from a Western movie, but he made my mouth water and my head confused, and the combination inexplicably made me angrier than a hornet.
I looked directly at him, my eyebrows raised, my sass cranked to high. “Well?”
His eyes dropped down my body, taking in my legs, still purple with a giant bruise, then moving upwards, lingering on my breasts before meeting my eyes. My face felt flushed when he grinned at me, his dimples deep. “Takin’ you on a date, obviously Nugget.”
I blinked. I looked at Frankie, who seemed disgruntled. “I have regrets,” he grumbled. “I told them where we were staying.”
I threw my hands in the air. “Why?”
“Gentleman’s agreement,” he ground out.
I was hot, my pussy still pulsing from the promise of Frankie moments earlier. “How about you all go stuff your ‘Gentleman's agreement’, okay? This isn’t the seventeenth century. You have to ask me if I want to date any of you high-handed chauvinistic assholes. The answer is no. Now go away.”
I turned to storm away, but Dylan was quick, reaching out to grab my elbow. “Now, Tessa. Give us a shot. Hear what we have to say before you say no, yeah?”
This close, all hot and horny, I remembered how he tasted. How his fingers felt against my skin. His scent wrapped around me, and suddenly I wanted to curl into him. Ugh. Get it together, Tessa. He’s pretty, but you have principles, remember. No bull riders. No guys who think a woman’s place is in the kitchen, knocked up.
“Come on, Tessa,” he cajoled and I weakened. Tomorrow I would have principles. Tonight, I would give in to my bad sense.
I glared over his shoulder at Beau and Branch, the former grinning and the latter brooding at me like this whole situation was my own fault. Like it was a waste of his time. Frankie was obviously insane, there was no chance Branch wanted to do anything but send me back to the farm where I would be safe on two feet and not on the back of a bull. Where I’d marry one of the neighbors' sons so we could expand our property like this was the dark ages and we sold women like chattel. The more I thought about it, the madder I got. A little, logical part of my brain told me I hadn’t seen Branch in like five years, and I had no idea what he wanted. But the cock-blocked part of me disregarded her altogether.
Yep, I was definitely going. “Fine. Give me ten minutes.”
I slammed into the bedroom and pulled out the only dress from my suitcase. It was a little crushed, but not enough to be noticeable. It cinched under my breasts, and gave me a pretty, soft silhouette. I knew it was one of Frankie’s favorites, because he always complimented me when I wore it. Now I knew it was because he wanted to have sex with me.
I was coming to grips with Frankie’s feelings, but it still made me reassess every little interaction we’d had. When I think about it, the signs were all there. But Beau was right. I was oblivious. I had a one track mind, and it had nothing to do with men and everything to do with riding bulls. Apparently it had made me blind to what was right in front of me, unless whatever was right in front of me knocked on the door and told me they were taking me out on some kind of weird group date.
I brushed out my blonde curls, which just resulted in them getting wilder. I found some hair gel and ran it through the ends, which mildly calmed it, but it was still a riot of golden strands. Like a cloud. Some days I loved it, but some days, I saw the benefit of shaving it all off.
I slipped my feet into my boots, looking at myself in the robe mirror. I looked feminine and wild. Maybe even a little hot, if I did say so myself. My cheeks were still pink from Frankie getting my blood up, so I didn’t need much makeup.I swiped on some nude lipstick and mascara. Done.
In exactly seven minutes, I walked into the living room, and the guys were all standing around having a heated discussion. I cleared my throat, and as one they looked at me. Beau’s mouth slipped open, and they all stared for so long, I began to worry I didn’t look quite as hot as I thought.