Wicked Burn(53)
Author: Beth Kery

All Ellie or Alex had been able to tell her about Vic Savian was that he’d inherited that enormous spread that used to belong to Manny Padilla out on the west side of town, and that he was a writer or something. She hoped he wrote scary books like her favorite author, Dean Koontz. She wouldn’t be a bit surprised, as dark, mysterious, and a little dangerous as he seemed. He didn’t come into the El Paso Lounge very often—or anywhere in town that Missy had been able to identify—so she needed to make everything out of the opportunity that she could.

“Let me put a nice head on that beer for you,” she offered suggestively.

She blinked in surprise when he raised his shaggy head slowly. He made a subtle rolling gesture with his lean jaw as he inspected her. She’d never looked directly into his eyes before, so she hadn’t been prepared for their impact. Holy shit. Missy had seen how many beers he’d put away tonight as he sat there silent—and nearly as motionless—as a stone. So it shocked her more than a little to see how startlingly alert and penetrating his light gray eyes were.

His gaze lowered over her body unhurriedly. Was it wishful thinking, or did those phenomenal eyes linger for a second on her nipples, which had just obligingly pulled tight beneath her uniform? He slowly pushed his empty glass across the bar as he continued to watch her.

Missy tried to hide the triumph in her smile. She was going to get a taste of elusive Vic Savian tonight, she just knew it.

And she was determined to be the first woman in El Paso, Illinois, to see the inside of his bedroom instead of just the view of the floor mat of his truck as she leaned over to suck the tall, stiff pillar of his tasty cock.

“Wait.”

Missy paused and looked over her shoulder seductively, her hand poised over the tap.

“Give me a Scotch.”

Missy stared for a second, amazed at the effect his hoarse voice had on her body, like a pair of knuckles running seductively down her spine. It sounded so raspy that she wondered when he’d actually last spoken out loud to another human being. Jeez, this guy must be a real loner.

But she’d never seen a sexier hermit in her life. Maybe he was shy. Good thing Missy knew how to bring a man out of his shell. She licked her lower lip in a gesture of anticipation at the same time that she gave him a knowing wink.

“Anything you want is yours for the taking, cowboy,” she promised him huskily. She turned and cocked her hip, gifting him with the sight of her ample, round ass as she took her time locating the most premium brand of Scotch that Alex owned.

Of course it was necessary for her to bend over deeply to find just the right bottle.

Vic looked his fill at the sight of the reasonably attractive red-head waving her more than reasonably attractive ass in the air for his benefit. He wondered if he could have set a drink on the shelf of the upper curve of her generous, taut buttocks. His cock stirred listlessly in his jeans, like a bear awaking from a winter slumber, sticking its head up and taking a sniff.

Only to fall back to sleep again almost immediately.

The damn thing had practically been hibernating since . . .

“Make it a double,” he ordered tersely. The waitress straightened after studying the bottles in front of her for so long that Vic was beginning to suspect that she’d gotten her back stuck in that position, or else had some kind of reading disability.

“You like Scotch, huh?” she asked through curving lips as she poured his drink in front of him a few seconds later.

Vic shrugged.

“I can’t say I’ve ever tried this brand myself.” She cast her gaze in both directions. Alex was nowhere to be seen. “Mind if I join you?”

“Be my guest.”

The sight of her seductive green eyes widening in alarm when she took a sip of the Scotch would have made Vic smile once.

Damn. Why had he asked for Scotch? He’d never be able watch a woman drink it again without thinking of Niall. His lips flattened into a grim line. He pried them open to take a healthy slug of the liquor.

Hadn’t he expressly forbidden himself to think about that woman?

“God, I don’t know how you drink it so easy like that!”

“You either like the burn or you don’t, Missy.”

Her catlike eyes flashed. “You know my name?”

Vic shrugged. “Sort of hard to sit here for two hours straight and not pick up a thing or two.”

“Well, I’ll tell you something, cowboy.” She leaned forward, thrusting out her breasts conspicuously. “I don’t know if I like Scotch, but I like the burn.”

Vic’s lips curved slightly as his eyes moved over her face. Nice mouth. Although that caboose she sported might be worth a thorough investigation.

Now that’s more like it, Vic thought with vague satisfaction. He’d reacted quite differently to the fact that Niall was an unfaithful liar than he had to Jenny’s betrayal. After Jenny he’d fallen into bed with practically any reasonably attractive woman who would overlook the fact that he was stone drunk.

His intoxication tonight, however, was the exception, not the rule, since he’d been kicked in the gut and ass at once with the knowledge that Niall was married. His interest in sex had dropped off drastically since last December. Technically speaking, his libido was as active as ever; it was his interest in actually spending the time and effort necessary to take a woman to bed that was lacking. A few dimly recalled blow jobs in his truck cab outside of a bar in the wee hours of morning and bringing off the woman with his hand in thanks were the sum total of his pitiful sex life for the past six months.

“You know lots of woman fight the burn,” Vic told Missy as he gazed at his Scotch and rolled the amber liquid around in the glass.

“Not me,” Missy assured him.

“Here’s to the burn, then,” he murmured, holding her stare as he drank. Missy licked her lower lip sensually before she took another sip of the Scotch, this time doing a much better job at hiding her grimace. She leaned forward until their faces were only inches apart.

“I’m going to set your bed on fire, Vic Savian.”

He gave a full-fledged smile as the first wave of euphoria from the Scotch hit his brain. “Is that right?” he drawled.

She colored pinker than the liberally applied blusher on her cheeks. He caught a whiff of her scent—cheap perfume, sweet sweat, and stale smoke. He jerked back slightly and took another drink of Scotch to cover his instinctual reaction. If he drank enough, it wouldn’t matter what she looked or smelled like. The only thing that was of significance was the scalding orgasm that he had deep inside her body, that nirvanic moment of pleasure when all memories were swept blessedly clean.