Holiday Hire (The Cartwright Family #2)

Chapter 14

14

Phoebe

T he world tilts on its axis, and my knees buckle. Alexander keeps me pinned to his warm, hard flesh. His tongue takes control of mine, stealing my breath.

My blood ignites into a fiery rush of intoxication. I run my fingers over his neck and through the soft strands of hair that escape from under his cowboy hat.

His entire palm spans the back of my head. His thumb strokes behind my ear, creating a wave of tingles that burst under his touch.

A violent tremble consumes me until I'm shaking so hard I'm sure if he wasn't holding me up, I'd fall to the ground. Instead of letting me go, he holds me tighter against him.

His erection hardens against my stomach to the point my pussy's throbbing. He gently squeezes my ass.

I whimper, closing my eyes, submitting to whatever rhythm he decides to play with my tongue.

He deepens our kiss, then murmurs against my lips, "Good girl," besieging me with another round of desire.

I drown out the crowd around us, lost in him, devoured by his dominance, pressed against him, and aching for more.

He retreats an inch. I try to move closer, but he holds me in place. I open my eyes to find his dark, heated blues studying me, as if searching for something, but I'm unsure what.

I swallow, attempting to catch my breath.

He gives me a quick peck on the lips. "Let's go collect your winnings." He turns me, grips the curve of my waist, keeping me close to him, and steers me toward the door.

The crowd outside the suite grows. Alexander weaves us through it, offering thanks to those who congratulate him on Sweetie Pie winning, never stopping to converse further.

We get to the bookie's station, and he instructs, "Give them your ticket, Pheebs."

Pheebs.

My flutters intensify so much I get dizzy again.

"Ticket?" Alexander nudges, pulling me out of my daze.

Flustered, I reach into my pocket and pull it out, sliding the paper under the glass.

The man reads it and states, "Congratulations. Good bet."

"Beginners luck," Alexander teases, then winks.

"Seven to two," the man says, picking up a stack of hundred-dollar bills. He slaps them on the counter counting out loud.

I look at Alexander in question.

He explains, "For every two bets on Sweetie Pie, you get seven times that amount. So $4.50 for every $1 wagered."

I calculate it in my head, then burst out, "That's $4,500!"

Amusement fills his expression. "Yep."

I gape at him.

He adds, "Too bad it wasn't 10-1. You would have gotten eleven times instead of four and a half."

The man interjects, "$4,500. Do you want an envelope?"

Still shocked, I answer, "Umm... Yes, please."

He slides the wad of cash into an envelope and then hands it to me. "Well done."

I stare at it.

Alexander chuckles. "You're supposed to take your winnings and run, Pheebs."

I grab the cash and hold it out to him. "It's your money."

He grunts. "No way. A bet's, a bet. Put it in your purse where it's safe."

I open my mouth, but he puts his finger on it. Tingles resurge, racing down my spine.

He nods to the crowd, adding, "There's a line behind us. There's no point in arguing. Put it away, and we can get out of here."

"Oh. Sorry." I put the envelope in my crossbody.

He takes control again, protectively weaving me through the frenzy of people and out the door.

Tonight's the coldest it's been all year, and the wind howls around us. I breathe deeply, welcoming the fresh air, my hair blowing in my face.

Alexander steps to the other side of me and puts his arm around my shoulder, shielding me from the harsh elements. He quickly leads me to his VIP parking spot and opens the passenger door.

I reach for the bar, grip it, and hoist myself into the truck.

He shuts the door and hurries around the front, then slides inside. He turns on the engine and asks, "You ready to go home, or do you want to hit the town?"

I smirk. "Why, Alexander Cartwright, do you actually go out and have fun?"

"Now and then," he answers, grinning, but then his face falls. In a serious tone, he asks, "Did I give you the impression I'm a stick-in-the-mud?"

"Ummm...no. I wouldn't call you that..."

"But you'd call me...?" He arches his eyebrows.

I bite on my lip, cringing.

He groans. "Yep, you think I'm a stick-in-the-mud."

I softly laugh. "No! You're just serious. But you have a lot of responsibilities," I quickly add.

He stares at me for a moment.

"I didn't mean it in a bad way," I offer, putting my hand on his.

He picks it up, kisses the back of it, then releases it. "That settles it. We're hitting the town." He shifts the truck into drive.

I clap. "Yay! Where are we going?"

He glances at me as he drives through the gates. "Well, Pheebs, that would depend on you."

"Me?"

"Yep. Are you looking for a good old-fashioned Texan bar or one of the fancy, new nightclubs?"

I question, "Are nightclubs your thing?"

He keeps his expression neutral. "I can hang."

"But you don't prefer them, right?"

"Not my first choice, but I can represent," he claims, then puts his hand on my thigh.

I put my arm on the console and lean closer. "Are you a closet dancer?"

"What is that?"

"You know, someone who surprises everyone and goes nuts to techno?"

He scoffs. "Techno gives me a headache."

"Me too."

"Good. We'll cross techno off the list."

"Deal. So you're a closet hip-hop lover?"

His lips twitch. "I'm more of a country or hard-rock guy, but I can handle hip-hop."

"Really?"

"I'll have you know I'm a very versatile human being."

I slap him lightly on the shoulder. "Duh. I already knew that."

His voice turns serious again. "You did?" He locks his gaze with mine.

My face falls. I match his tone. "Yes. Of course."

Something passes in his expression. I think it's relief, but I can't be sure. He returns his focus to the road.

I sit back in my seat.

He asserts, "Pick your poison, Pheebs. Do you want to live it up Texan style or hang like in L.A.?"

I tilt my head. "L.A.?"

He shrugs, grinning. "Yeah. L.A. has tons of clubs."

I groan. "I'm not a huge fan of L.A."

"No?"

I shake my head. "Nope! Want to know another secret?"

"Please. Spill it."

I hesitate, then admit, "Clubs aren't really my thing."

He dramatically gasps. "How very un-Californian of you!"

I put my hand over my face and groan. "Don't tell anyone."

He chuckles. "Your secret is safe with me. But thank God you said that, because I'd go represent at a club if you wanted to, but I'd much rather go out in Texan style."

I tilt my head, peering at him closer, challenging, "You'd go if I wanted, even though you don't want to be there?"

He catches my eye, then affirms, "Yes."

All the times I wanted to go to an art gallery or try a new restaurant, flash in my mind. Lance never went anywhere he didn't want to go. I always had to go on my own or with friends.

"Did I say something wrong?" Alexander asks.

I take a deep breath and shake my head. "No."

He squeezes my thigh and then releases it. He grabs the steering wheel and pulls into a full lot. "Then let's go tear it up Texan style." He shifts the truck into park, turns off the engine, and jumps out of the truck. He makes his way around the front.

I glance at the pink neon sign that reads Boots. Country music blares from the building. A line weaves around the brick walls.

Alexander opens my door. He holds out his hand. "Ready to have the night of your life?"

I chirp, "Are you able to guarantee that?"

"Yep. I'm no stick-in-the-mud," he claims.

I take his hand and step down to the ground. "I told you that isn't what I think."

He chuckles. "Come on, Pheebs." He returns to his protective stance, guiding me toward the building. Instead of going to the back of the line, he steps in front of the bouncer.

"Alexander. Been a while," a huge man with tattoos all over his neck greets, holding his hand out.

Alexander slaps it, replying, "Yeah. Things have been busy on the ranch. Good to see you, Matt."

Matt glances at me, then back to Alexander, "And who's this?"

Alexander tugs me closer to him. "This is Phoebe. Phoebe, Matt."

"Nice to meet you, Phoebe," Matt offers.

"You too," I say.

Matt unhooks the black rope and steps back. "Have fun."

"Thanks, man," Alexander offers, and Matt pats him on the back as we walk past the line and into the bar.

The noise grows louder. Energy buzzes around us. There's a live band, and they end the current song by going straight into a rock one. Bodies fill the dance floor, and there isn't an empty seat in the house.

Alexander weaves us through the crowd and shouts, "Carter!"

A twenty-ish man with a tattoo sleeve, big gauge earrings, and a gold chain looks over. He grins and leans across the bar. He takes both hands, pushes them between two people, and shouts, "Step aside."

The line of people obeys.

Alexander moves us forward, keeping me in front of him. He yells, "Beer or something else?"

"Beer," I reply.

He holds up two fingers and slaps down cash.

Carter fills two pints and sets them down. He slaps hands with Alexander, nods at me, then picks up the cash.

Alexander hands me a beer and takes the other one. Then he guides me to a round high table where a petite brunette and a stocky man stand. He sets his drink down.

Their eyes light up. The man states, "Where've you been hiding out?"

Alexander replies, "Work's been crazy. Katie, good to see you."

"You too!" She beams.

"Katie, Dean, this is Phoebe," Alexander says. His fingers stroke my back.

Katie puts her hand on my arm. "Nice to meet you."

"You too."

"Phoebe." Dean nods.

I smile at him and take a sip of beer.

Alexander takes a mouthful of his own beer, then tells me, "The three of us went to school together."

Katie leans close to me. Her brown eyes twinkle, and she teases, "Yep. I know everything about Alexander—all the dirty gossip."

I laugh. "Well, do tell!"

"And on that note, I think we'll rest our drinks for a minute," Alexander states, takes another large mouthful, then grabs my hand. He maneuvers us through the crowd until we're on the dance floor.

The band switches to a well-known classic 70s rock song, and the bar erupts in cheers and singing.

Alexander swings me around the dance floor, surprising me further.

He's not a good dancer—he's a great dancer. He guides me through several songs, leading me so well that I don't even feel like my usual clumsy self. I usually avoid dance floors at all costs, but we dance to several songs, and I don't feel any self-consciousness.

The band's lead singer declares, "We're going to slow it down now."

Alexander doesn't skip a beat, pulling me close to him. The atmosphere turns quieter, and the lights darken. My body molds into his, and I lean my cheek on his chest. His heart thumps against my ear, and butterflies fill my stomach.

The aphrodisiac scent of musk, sweat, and everything Alexander, flares around us, mixing with the smell of beer and thickening from the heat. I dive deeper into it, closing my eyes, melting into the opposite of everything I've ever experienced.

Another song comes on, and Alexander keeps me in his arms, swaying in time with the music. When the music turns fast again, he asks, "Should we get a cold one?"

I nod, and before I know it, we have two cold drinks in our hands. He steers me through the bar, out the back door, and into a tiny patio area.

String lights glow above us, and heated lamps flicker in the corners. There are only two tables—one with seats and one for standing. Three people are in the chairs, chatting.

We set our beers down on the other table.

Alexander states, "It feels good out here."

"Agreed." I take a big sip.

The wind picks up, and my hair flies over my face.

"Whoa!" He steps on my other side, shielding me from the gust.

"Thanks! That wind is fierce!"

"You're welcome," he replies, then slides his finger over my cheek, tucking a lock of hair behind my ear. He pins his blues on mine before dropping them to my lips.

My heart thumps harder. I'm pretty sure there's a pool soaking my panties.

"Excuse me," a man says.

I tear my gaze away as Alexander moves me closer to the wall.

The people at the table get up, and I tear my eyes off him. They open the door to return inside, and music vibrates around us.

The three people disappear, and the door slams. I turn, and Alexander's intense gaze is back on me.

This time, I break the stare and glance at his lips. Adrenaline races through my veins. I deeply inhale, then slowly meet his stare.

He spins me so my back is against the brick wall, slides his hand through my hair, and lowers his face to mine. He stops inches from my mouth, and his hot breath tickles my chin.

My chest rises and falls faster. I open my mouth, but nothing comes out.

His jaw tightens. He presses his body against mine, places his palm on my cheek, and strokes my chin with his thumb. Blue flames flicker in his eyes, growing hotter every second he peers at me.

Music blares around us. Voices fill the patio.

Alexander turns his head. A drunk crowd fills the tiny patio.

"Excuse me," a woman shouts.

Annoyance fills his expression. He presses closer to me so she can get by, then asks, "Do you want to go back inside, or are you ready to head home?"

"Home sounds good," I reply, disappointed we got interrupted and wanting nothing more than to be alone with Alexander.

He doesn't waste time, leading me into the bar, parting the crowd, and getting me safely to the truck. He opens the door, I get in, and he hurries to the driver's side.

We don't say anything on the way home. He keeps his palm on my thigh. Country music plays on a low volume, and my butterflies flutter harder every second that brings us closer to the ranch.