HotText by Cari Quinn Page A

feet on the railing of his balcony and picked up the bottle on
his side table. He was working his way to drunk—slowly, steadily and with
little enthusiasm. The wine had yet to give him the slightest buzz. But with
the fall breeze carrying the aroma of some lucky jerk’s bonfire and his body
comfortably slumped in his chair, it tasted mighty fine.
    He closed his eyes, let his head fall back. Gorgeous night.
Warm, windy, ripe with possibilities. Would be perfect if he—
    His cell went off and his eyes shot open to the sounds of All
My Ex’s Live in Texas . But it wasn’t a phone call, as evidenced by the
abbreviated tone. He stared at the readout, his heartbeat slamming against his
ribs in damn near manic joy.
    What r u wring?
    His thumbs moved of their own accord. Just as well because
he couldn’t think. He was reasonably certain he wasn’t asleep, but this felt
like a dream.
    A loincloth and body oil. U?
    The pause lasted just long enough that he wondered if he’d
imagined the whole thing. Then came more bars of the song that would make him
smile for the rest of his life.
    Plastic wrap.
    His eyebrows shot up.
    A full roll or partial?
    Another pause.
    U r easy, aren’t you?
    When it comes to u, yes. Vry. Where are u?
    Every second that passed made him ache for George Strait.
When the ringtone sounded and he read her text— look over the railing —he
leaped to his feet and braced his forearms on the cool metal. In the advancing
twilight she stood next to a sleek coupe in the small parking lot, face tilted
upward. And she was grinning.
    Like an angel. Like every fantasy he’d ever had, with or
without optional whipped cream. She waved and he waved back, feeling vaguely
stupid but unable to keep a dopey grin from forming.
    I’m looking. U coming up?
    R u up?
    U know it. R u wet?
    Oh yeah. And I brought condoms.
    His grin threatened to split his cheeks.
    Genius. Apt. 301.
    He watched her until she disappeared under the small awning
that shaded the back entrance, awed by the long, dark hair swinging down her
back. Distracted by it, he almost missed the sway of her butt in what looked
like dark denim and the click of her heels—
    Heels. Dark denim. Dear God.
    He practically ran to the door just to watch her ascend the
stairs. She reached the top step, transforming the ripped stair runner and
dingy, paint-chipped walls just by virtue of her sexy smile.
    It wasn’t even Christmas yet and his gift had just arrived.
    Loose hair, tight jeans that clung to her butt, a scanty
little shirt that left a slice of her belly bare and showed off her freckled
shoulders. And her nipples. She hadn’t worn a bra, as requested.
    Holy fuck.
    She’d swept her eyelids with smoky makeup and her dark-pink
lips looked plump enough to suck. His cock jumped against his fly with such
urgency he had to brace a hand on the doorjamb to keep from tackling her.
    “What do you think?” She turned, modeling for him. “I went
for three-inch heels instead of four because I didn’t want to trip. And this
isn’t exactly a tube top—”
    Close enough. “Get in here.”
    Instead of doing as he asked, she shook the plastic
drugstore bag she carried. Friggin’ tease. “Uh uh. If I go in there, we’ll be
staying.”
    “Is that a problem?”
    “Yes.” She nodded solemnly. “I have things to show you.”
    He didn’t doubt it. “Like what?”
    “Like my cottage.” At his prolonged look, she added, “And my
studio. Just in case you forgot them.”
    He grinned. She’d fought for the house? And won it,
apparently? He wanted to hug her but he managed to restrain himself. Giving her
a hug in the state he was in might mean a whole lot of getting naked right here
in the hallway. “Your cottage, hmm?”
    “Yes.” Her smile lit up her face. “All mine. Decorated just
the way I want it. No coloring within the lines. I changed the bedroom
completely too. Now nothing matches.”
    The glee in her voice triggered a laugh. He loved seeing her
like this.