Page 2 of Blame It On Midnight

“I’m not much for small talk.”

“We’ve moved past that, my friend. This here is a conversation.” She winked, and he tried not to smile but didn’t think he was successful.

“You’re not going to let up, are you?”

“Nope.” White teeth flashed, and she leaned closer. She wore a simple black dress that, while on the short side, fit loosely, though it didn’t hide the fact that she had the kind of breasts he liked. A little more than a handful—he had big hands.

Benton studied her in the mirror behind the bar for a few seconds and then thought, What the hell. Talking was better than brooding.

“When I was fifteen, I went to Texas to spend some time with family I have there. I was out with my cousin Cole and some of his pals. We were horsing around and acting like a bunch of fools trying to impress a pack of girls who’d come along for the ride. I wasn’t paying attention. Got too close to a rattler and paid the price.”

“Ouch,” she murmured.

“It hurt like hell, but I was lucky. Cole got me back to the ranch house, and they had a store of antivenom on hand to get me through until they could drive me to the hospital. I got real sick, and it took some, but I survived.” He smiled. “Apparently, the bite didn’t take away the stupid. A few months later I got the tattoo and my father damn near killed me when he saw it.”

“I like it.”

He stared into her eyes, then let them fall all the way down until he found that small pink and purple unicorn. “What about you?”

“I didn’t get bit by a unicorn if that’s what you’re asking.”

“No?” He cracked a small smile. There was something about her that got to him despite his being a closed-off son-of-a-bitch.

“I collect them. Have done so since I was a little girl. The first one was a stuffie my great aunt gave me when I was three. Now I probably have close to two hundred at home.” She laughed. “Lame, right?”

The pink and purple. The unicorn. All of it made Benton think about his daughter. And that made him think about Daisy Mae and their sad past and current situation. And all of that made him want to kick the shit out of something.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, a small frown furrowing her brow.

Once again pissed and tense, he downed his beer and got to his feet. Benton reached into his pocket for his wallet and withdrew a fifty. He tossed it onto the bar, then turned to the woman who was staring at him in a way she shouldn’t be.

Not tonight anyway.

That itch inside him, the one that hadn’t been scratched in so long he couldn’t remember, was back. And Benton, already riding a line too close to the edge, considered his next move.

He should leave. That’s what a gentleman would do. Go back to his hotel and lock himself away. Take a hot shower and get some manual relief.

But Benton wasn’t a gentleman these days, so he considered option number two.

“Where are you staying?” he asked, eyes direct so there would be no mistaking his meaning.

She slid off her stool, and he realized she was a lot taller than he’d expected. Benton was pushing six-four, and she had to be at least five-ten. She walked past him, a trail of honeysuckle following her. She kept walking, and a part of him hoped she’d leave him behind. But she paused and looked over her shoulder.

“You coming?” That hint of rasp was more pronounced. The eyes a darker green.

And Lord help him, but Benton was wavering.

“No strings,” she said lightly, as if sensing his hesitation.

“No names,” he responded.

She gave a slight nod, turned, and walked out of the bar. And Benton did what every other red-blooded American male would do.

He followed her out into a beautiful Nashville night. It was mid-May, and the temperature hovered around fifteen degrees. The crowds were thinner than an hour ago, and they walked in silence for about ten minutes. He realized they were nearing Broadway, but instead of heading to one of the hotels downtown, he followed her into a building with security and rode an elevator up six floors to the top.

She used a fob, and the door swung open, revealing an ultra-modern condo with an enviable view of downtown Nashville. The lighting was dim, but there was enough of it for Benton to know the place screamed money. From the fancy shit on the walls to the cream colored furniture in the open concept space.

He took a look around and was about to take off his boots when he glanced back at her, and his blood ran cold. Then hot. Then it was fucking boiling.

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