he threw one more...
“You got a hard on for Sophie Morelle, old man?” he taunted.
Sal swayed on his feet, looking disoriented. Suddenly, all the air blew out of him in one long exhale, and he sat down. “Thought you were talking about Valeska.”
“Easy,” Caden said with a shake of his head, the rush of adrenaline he always felt before a fight vanishing as abruptly as it came. Sal had really pissed him off, breaking his trust like that. Something to take note of for the future, then move on. Caden wasn’t a hot head like some fighters. Preferred to keep his head on his shoulders and fight a well-planned, logical battle.
“Listen. It’s late and I need to be up early to train. Spit it out, man. Sophie showed up. A fight broke out. Some chairs got smashed.” He should have known better than to ask about her, but found himself doing so anyway. Damned curiosity.
Sal cleared his throat. “No panty lines.”
“What?” The image of the wet redheaded reporter came to mind. With her blouse clinging to her like a second skin and her pert nipples at full attention beneath the soggy, body-hugging material. Man, that woman had curves in all the right places. Her ass was tight but curvy, just the way he liked it.
He shrugged, and hardened his voice. “Let me guess. Sophie Morelle crashed the gig in some expensive, red spandex number, and in full commando mode.” His cock sprang to life within his worn sweats. “Must have been some sight. Shame I missed it.”
“Back in the day, a woman wouldn’t think to leave the house without painting her lips. Girls these days...” Sal paused, grinning like a cat who’d licked a shitload of cream.
Caden shook his head. “The brawl...?”
“Jaysin Bouvine seems to have taken a liking to Sophie. Or maybe he wants to be a super star, like yourself. He was all over her, a goddamned octopus, with his hands everywhere.”
“Let me guess. She liked it,” Caden bit out, his voice sounding harsher than expected. He flexed his fingers, unwinding them from the fist he’d made.
“Guess again. Who do you think started the brawl? Smacked Jaysin’s hand hard with the back of one of those killer shoes. Broke the heel clean off, too. The other Boys—hell, the entire bar—had to jump in and pull him off of her.”
Caden tensed. No matter how much he disliked Sophie, she didn’t deserve to be taken down by the likes of Bouvine. Caden was going to have to have a fist talk with the asshole. “Was she hurt?” he murmured, his tone sounding threatening even to his own ears.
“Nope. A bit mussed up but as cool as a cucumber. Even when Jaysin announced to the entire bar how she didn’t have any panties on. I was hoping she’d reach for that other killer heel. If I were a betting man, my money’d be on Sophie. Of course, Jerry had a fit. Blamed the entire event on me, cause I brought her aboard.”
“I’d say you got off cheap, given her history.” Caden stood up and stretched his legs. “Think I’ve heard enough about Sophie Morelle. Night, Sal.”
Caden tried to conjure up an image, any one of the numerous women he’d had, suddenly feeling horny as hell. The thickening swell in his pants was begging for release, something he planned on remedying as soon as he hit the hay. But as he made his way to his room, thoughts of a pantyless, spandex-clad Sophie lingered.
* * *
Her hotel room door clicked shut, and Sophie found herself in the impossible situation of being locked out in the hallway with a bottle of tequila tucked under an arm, a tray with a container of orange juice and an egg-white omelet clutched tightly in her grip, and a patent leather heel on one foot and a mismatched daisy flip flop on the other one.
And worse still, a cowboy in the next room crooning out melodies as if he were at the Grand Ole Opry.
How could anyone think straight with that racket going on?
Sophie grimaced. Bad enough earlier this evening she’d endured being tackled to the ground by
“You got a hard on for Sophie Morelle, old man?” he taunted.
Sal swayed on his feet, looking disoriented. Suddenly, all the air blew out of him in one long exhale, and he sat down. “Thought you were talking about Valeska.”
“Easy,” Caden said with a shake of his head, the rush of adrenaline he always felt before a fight vanishing as abruptly as it came. Sal had really pissed him off, breaking his trust like that. Something to take note of for the future, then move on. Caden wasn’t a hot head like some fighters. Preferred to keep his head on his shoulders and fight a well-planned, logical battle.
“Listen. It’s late and I need to be up early to train. Spit it out, man. Sophie showed up. A fight broke out. Some chairs got smashed.” He should have known better than to ask about her, but found himself doing so anyway. Damned curiosity.
Sal cleared his throat. “No panty lines.”
“What?” The image of the wet redheaded reporter came to mind. With her blouse clinging to her like a second skin and her pert nipples at full attention beneath the soggy, body-hugging material. Man, that woman had curves in all the right places. Her ass was tight but curvy, just the way he liked it.
He shrugged, and hardened his voice. “Let me guess. Sophie Morelle crashed the gig in some expensive, red spandex number, and in full commando mode.” His cock sprang to life within his worn sweats. “Must have been some sight. Shame I missed it.”
“Back in the day, a woman wouldn’t think to leave the house without painting her lips. Girls these days...” Sal paused, grinning like a cat who’d licked a shitload of cream.
Caden shook his head. “The brawl...?”
“Jaysin Bouvine seems to have taken a liking to Sophie. Or maybe he wants to be a super star, like yourself. He was all over her, a goddamned octopus, with his hands everywhere.”
“Let me guess. She liked it,” Caden bit out, his voice sounding harsher than expected. He flexed his fingers, unwinding them from the fist he’d made.
“Guess again. Who do you think started the brawl? Smacked Jaysin’s hand hard with the back of one of those killer shoes. Broke the heel clean off, too. The other Boys—hell, the entire bar—had to jump in and pull him off of her.”
Caden tensed. No matter how much he disliked Sophie, she didn’t deserve to be taken down by the likes of Bouvine. Caden was going to have to have a fist talk with the asshole. “Was she hurt?” he murmured, his tone sounding threatening even to his own ears.
“Nope. A bit mussed up but as cool as a cucumber. Even when Jaysin announced to the entire bar how she didn’t have any panties on. I was hoping she’d reach for that other killer heel. If I were a betting man, my money’d be on Sophie. Of course, Jerry had a fit. Blamed the entire event on me, cause I brought her aboard.”
“I’d say you got off cheap, given her history.” Caden stood up and stretched his legs. “Think I’ve heard enough about Sophie Morelle. Night, Sal.”
Caden tried to conjure up an image, any one of the numerous women he’d had, suddenly feeling horny as hell. The thickening swell in his pants was begging for release, something he planned on remedying as soon as he hit the hay. But as he made his way to his room, thoughts of a pantyless, spandex-clad Sophie lingered.
* * *
Her hotel room door clicked shut, and Sophie found herself in the impossible situation of being locked out in the hallway with a bottle of tequila tucked under an arm, a tray with a container of orange juice and an egg-white omelet clutched tightly in her grip, and a patent leather heel on one foot and a mismatched daisy flip flop on the other one.
And worse still, a cowboy in the next room crooning out melodies as if he were at the Grand Ole Opry.
How could anyone think straight with that racket going on?
Sophie grimaced. Bad enough earlier this evening she’d endured being tackled to the ground by
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