Page 5 of Hard to Love
He hadn’t been with a lot of women in the years since he’d left Texas, and none he’d let stick around for long, but he wasn’t a monk. He knew that soft, silky, sultry tone.
It was the sound of a woman who’d just been perfectly fucked.
And just what would Greer Maddox consider the perfect fuck?
Slow? Hard? Wild?
Alex slid his hands from the tabletop and gripped thechair beneath him. He needed to be knocked stupid for even thinking about her that way. If he won PBC’s tooling business, messing around with one of the family would only create problems. And if he didn’t, this would probably be the first and last time he ever stepped foot in Prophecy.
This meeting either needs to crash and burn now or last long enough for me to get my shit back together.
“What do you think about Alex’s samples?” Delaney picked one up, rubbed her fingers across the surface, obviously checking for rough spots. But her touching the leather did about as much for Alex’s sex drive as white rice did.
Greer seemed to snap out of her pleasure haze, tossed his piece to the table, and avoided looking at him. Why now, when all he wanted was to see the emotion in her eyes? “They’re fine, but we need to talk through all our tooler options before we decide.”
Goddammit.After the way she’d just fondled his sample, he’d thought this thing was clinched. “Who else have you spoken with?” he asked Delaney.
“Bill Porter out of El Paso and Jenny Della Longia from Santa Fe.”
Both were excellent toolers. But he was better.
A man single-mindedly focused on one thing could get damn good at it.
When he’d left San Antonio, he’d changed careers. Career? That was a ten-cent word for piece-of-shit work that definitely hadn’t offered job security or decent benefits. In the years since, he’d learned and practiced leather tooling without distraction.
Desolation and desperation had a strange way of lighting a fire under a guy’s ass.
“How long are you planning to be in Prophecy?” Greersuddenly asked, pulling his attention from the memories that still made him feel empty inside.
“I hadn’t planned to stay at all,” he said. “I do have other contracts, and I can tool leather from anywhere and mail it to you. That’s the way I work with all my bootmakers.”
“But…” Greer’s worried gaze ping-ponged between Delaney and him. “But this is where prophecy boots are made.”
“Look, pride for what your family’s done for generations is understandable, withfamilybeing the key word there. As an outsider, I don’t see why you’d even want me to work on these so-called magic boots.”
“Not so-called,” Greer huffed, sparks lighting up her eyes. “They’re—”
“Hey,” he said. “I’ll be the first to admit the whole thing is a hell of a marketing gimmick.” And as long as it paid, he was on board.
Both women straightened in a way that said he’d just made a major misstep. Greer said, “It has nothing to do with sales because the only way someone can get a pair of prophecy boots is to have them designed before a baby is a year old, the way it’s always been done.”
“So you’re saying I can’t just walk in off the street and order up a pair of these boots for myself?”
“Adults can have custom boots made, and we need tooling for that part of the business as well because it’s what generates revenue. Babies don’t have checkbooks or credit cards, so there’s no charge for prophecy boots. We hold a lottery and pick twelve children randomly.”
“Let me get this straight, this company makesmagicboots that parents would pay out the ass…I mean, wallet…for, but you don’t sell them?” If that was the case, why the hellwould he tool leather for them?
Greer and Delaney exchanged a look that said he’d screwed up again. “You know, Greer has a point,” Delaney said. “We’re not quite ready to make a decision. We’d like to offer more than just tooled boot tops and belts. We’re looking at a line of purses, briefcases, wallets. Maybe even smaller ticket items like bracelets and dog collars.”
Dog collars? Alex considered it for a few seconds, remembered his pride wasn’t something he deserved to indulge. Sure, he’d carve collars and leashes. He’d once done a mousepad for a guy who had a Roy Rogers fetish.
“Are Bill and Jenny still in town?” he asked.
“No,” Delaney said. “They’ve already come and gone, but since we plan to make a decision very soon, it only makes sense for you to stick around. If you’re chosen, I’ll want you to spend a little time here at the shop.”
Well, that sounded like he had a good, maybe better than good, chance of getting Prophecy Boot Company’s tooling contract. It also meant he’d have to blow a little money on a hotel. He wasn’t above sleeping in his car. He’d done it plenty of times before, but if someone saw him staying in the Bonneville Motel, it wouldn’t paint a good impression, and right now, he needed all the points he could get.
“Do you know of a reasonable motel close by?”
