Chapter 2
Callie
My hands immediately come up to cover my breasts. I can feel how hard my nipples are against my palms, and my skin feels prickly with awareness at the way Woolf is watching me.
He’s like a real wolf.
Predatory and dangerous.
It’s the way he’s always been. Or so it’s always seemed.
He’s a large man, but that’s always excited me rather than scared me. And even though he’s wearing nothing more than a pair of jeans, a black t-shirt, and a dark plaid shirt over it that’s casually unbuttoned, he would put any model on the catwalks of Paris to shame.
“You have no say over what I do,” I tell him, hoping my voice sounds calm enough.
“That’s my bar back there, and I have every right to throw you out,” he says darkly as he throws a thumb over his shoulder at the building behind him.
My eyes flick past his shoulder, back to the front of the bar, right to the white neon sign in the shape of an oval with the words “Wicked Horse” written diagonally across in blue. I turn a narrow-eyed gaze back to him. “Your bar?”
“Mine,” he growls at me, then he has my elbow and he’s propelling me toward a black Range Rover. “And it’s now my official policy that the governor’s daughter can’t come in my bar. You better hope to God this doesn’t get back to him.”
I dig my boot heels down into the gravel and try to jerk my arm from him again, but he’s got a firm hold. That doesn’t stop my resistance or my skepticism. “Why in the fuck would a Jennings be wasting his time with a lowly honky tonk in the middle of nowhere?”
Woolf stops abruptly and spins on me. “Since when do you say words like ‘fuck,’ Callie? You used to slap me if I even said the word ‘damn’ when we were growing up.”
He pulls his Stetson off with his free hand and slaps it against his leg in frustration, and wow. Just wow. I had almost forgotten that Woolf Jennings has a face that can stop reality. My gaze flicks first over that strong jawline with midnight black stubble. I had first recognized him by that jaw alone when he started stalking across the dance floor toward me just a bit ago, the top of his face having been shadowed by his hat. I’d recognize his jaw anywhere, no matter how much time has passed since I’ve seen him.
And just seeing him stalk toward me in there… knowing he was coming toward me and was probably madder than hell… God help me, but it sort of turned me on.
And now, as he stares at me with bright blue eyes that seem even bluer in the glow of the neon sign, and black eyelashes that are impossibly thick, I feel my pulse hammer hard the way it always did whenever I was around Woolf.
“I’m not the same girl you grew up with,” I tell him hotly. Well, at least I don’t want to be the same girl he grew up with. That Callie Hayes has spent years of her life being quiet and well mannered, leading a peacefully dull existence up until now.
“So I see,” Woolf says as his eyes flick down briefly to my hands covering my breasts. “You put on quite a show back there. What would your fiancé think?”
I tilt my chin upward. “Would have been a better show if you hadn’t stopped me. And I’m not engaged anymore.”
Woolf blinks at me in surprise. “Since when?”
“Since about seventy-two hours ago,” I tell him. With a hard jerk of my arm, I’m free again. I spin around, intent on heading back into the bar. “And you just ruined what I’m betting was going to be a very good night.”
“You’re not going back in there,” Woolf says as he makes another grab at me, but I twist my body out of his reach.
But then I reconsider and stop, turning quickly, and Woolf almost barrels right over me. He catches himself, his hands coming to my shoulders to steady both of us. And damn… his hands on me feel just as solid, and warm, and secure as they did so very long ago.
I swallow hard, take a deep breath, and say, “Look… I’m going to go back in there because my bra and purse are in there, so I’d like to get both and then head home.”
Woolf slams his hat back on his head and gives a resigned sigh. Shrugging out of the plaid over shirt he has on, he holds it out and says, “Fine. Put this on though.”
I gratefully accept the shirt because even though phase one of the New Callie was having fun on top of that bar, I’ve sort of lost the thrill of dozens of men staring at my breasts. I’m still just as buzzed, but the lure of enticing men to notice me has lost the appeal at this point.
Placing his hand at the back of my neck, he turns me toward the front door of The Wicked Horse and guides me back to it. “Get your stuff and meet me back at the front door. You’ve got five minutes. I’ve got to go find my partner to let him know I’m taking you home.”
“You don’t need to do that,” I tell him hastily. “I’ve got my own car here.”
“You’re drunk.” His hand tightens on the back of my neck, and for some weird reason, it makes me want to drop to my knees in front of him.
“I’m buzzed,” I argue. “Big difference.”
“Sorry, babe,” he says, and oh, geez… why does Woolf calling me babe make me want to curl into him and purr? “But the Callie Hayes I know needed several drinks to get on top of that bar tonight, so you’re not driving home.”
Woolf opens the door, and we’re greeted with some old-school Dixie Chicks. “Five minutes,” he grumbles in warning and releases me. “Don’t make me come find you.”
I turn to give him a glare, but he’s already pushing through the crowd and I lose sight of him fast. I don’t waste any time because while I know I couldn’t be in safer hands with Woolf Jennings, I don’t want to test him. So I cut across the dance floor toward the DJ booth where the red-haired woman who had me sign up for the contest said I could stash my purse. When I approach her, she gives me a smile and nods toward the floor.
I see my purse and bend over to pick it up. “Thanks for watching this.”
“No problem,” she says, her voice rising above the music. “And sorry Woolf took you out of the running for the contest. In my opinion, you had the nicest tits up there.”
My cheeks turn a little pink from her compliment and I awkwardly turn away from her, only to run into a hard, male body. “Callie Hayes… lookin’ good,” I hear drawled out.
Tilting my gaze up, I see a face from my past and instantly relax. “Hey, Colton.”
Colton Stokes is still ruggedly handsome, and I’m betting still just as cocky. We dated in high school but broke up after he left for college. He was a year older than me, and I’m guessing didn’t want a girlfriend tying him down. Especially one that wasn’t willing to put out for him.
Leaning down, he places a kiss on my cheek. “You look fantastic.”
I know this is a lie because my hair is sticky from beer, and I’m betting even my eye makeup is running.
“You too,” I tell him, and that isn’t a lie. Colton is damn good looking with his caramel-colored hair highlighted naturally from the sun and dark brown eyes. He’s dressed like most others here tonight with jeans, a western-styled shirt, and large belt buckle, but Colton was always one of those guys that stood out in a crowd.
Colton runs his gaze down me and with a smirk, says, “I see someone lent you a shirt.”
I wince. Damn, he must have seen me up on the bar. Double damn… he’s seen my breasts. I wait for shame to overcome me, but it never does and I find that a good sign because if I’m going to shed the vestiges of the old Callie Hayes, I can’t afford to be mired in guilt over it.
Stepping in closer to me and leaning down again, he says, “For what it’s worth… you would have totally won that contest.”
“Um… thanks,” I say as I nervously brush some strands of sticky hair that came loose from my braid away from my face.