“A second dance floor, for when it gets busy. The party spills out here into the night. And they do concerts here, and wet T-shirt contests.”

  “Wet T-shirts. Classy.” Marianne’s voice shook. “This is it, isn’t it? What you wanted to show me? You brought me here to rub my face in it.”

  “No—no, I—”

  Marianne pulled away. “This place looks like a shed, and it’s crap inside too. Nowhere near up to code, and I ought to know. I’ve just spent all I had fixing up the Honky-Tonk, and—and this place is awful, and I still can’t compete. I can’t afford pool tables. I can’t hand out free wings. I share my backyard with the Quick Stop, so I can’t even—I’m so stupid.”

  “You aren’t,” said Trent.

  “I looked up their Yelp reviews, and they say it’s a dive. Don’t go to the Boot Stomper. You’ll come home with lice. We got salmonella. Their beer’s two-thirds water.”

  “All that’s true,” said Trent. “But locals don’t Yelp, and they’re not so picky. Hell, they like coming out here to roll in the dirt. But when it’s just lunch they’re wanting, or someplace to unwind—”

  Marianne hissed through her teeth, and Trent thought she might scream. Instead, she turned to him, her eyes dull with despair.

  “I wanted to open a place for everyone.” She scrubbed at her eyes and let her hand drop to her side. “But that can’t happen. It—it just can’t.”

  “You could get a small business loan,” said Trent. “Or you could—”

  “No. You don’t understand.”

  “Then tell me. I’m listening. Maybe I can help.”

  But Marianne turned and fled. She ran back through the smoky hall and across the dance floor, elbowing protesting couples out of her way. Trent followed more slowly, to give her time to cool off. He’d driven them here, and he’d have to drive them back.

  Marianne turned the radio up as Trent got in the truck. She sat staring out her window as Trent drove her home, her head turned away from him so he couldn’t see her face.

  He tried to talk to her in a lull between songs. “Hey, Marianne?”

  “Not now. I need space.”

  “But our tour wasn’t over. You were supposed to see—”

  “I said, not now.” Her voice cracked. She cranked the radio up till the windows rattled. Trent wisely fell silent. He’d messed up big-time. He should’ve just sat her down and laid out his plan, but he’d thought she’d be more open to it if she got there herself. She’d shut him down whenever he’d tried to point out the truth, but he hadn’t meant to rub her face in it, not like she thought.

  When Trevor couldn’t get Sabrina to see things his way, he tried to hear her side and meet in the middle. Trent frowned to himself. Had he listened to what Marianne had to say? It was tough with her, because she didn’t say much. Or she’d start to say something, then shut herself down. Her secrets were hurting her, but how could he get her to spill them?

  Trent pulled into his driveway and put the truck in park. Marianne was out the door before he’d killed the engine, and halfway across her lawn by the time he got his door open. Trent scrambled after her, vaulting the low fence.

  “Marianne, wait!”

  “I told you, I—”

  “I had a plan.” Trent darted in front of her, blocking her path to the door. Marianne’s eyes turned stormy, but Trent held his ground. “You need money, right? If you wanted to open a brewpub? Well, at the Summer Festival—Revel Organics will be there.”

  Marianne tried to push past him. Trent flattened his back to her door.

  “They’re having a contest for their new flagship product. You know, like last year, with Miss Charlene’s meat pies. You saw the ads, right, with the talking goat?”

  Marianne’s scowl turned furious. “A goat? What the hell? I don’t see what this has to do with—”

  “I checked. Beer is eligible. You could submit a brew. If you won—if you placed, even—you’d get a whole lot of money. Not just the prize money, but a portion of sales. Maybe a spokesperson contract, like Miss Charlene got. That’s what I was trying to show you when you ran out. They’re rebuilding the Stomper’s stage to do the contest. First place is twenty grand. You could—you could…What?”

  Marianne’s eyes had narrowed to slits. She was backing away slowly, shaking her head.

  “Where are you going?”

  “I can’t believe you.” Marianne turned and stalked off, headed for the back door. “You thought you’d, what, manipulate me into abandoning my plans? Tear up my whole business plan and get me to start from scratch, based on some contest I might not even win? What made you think that was a good idea?”

  Trent hurried after her, jogging to keep up. “I don’t want you to fail. I want your business to prosper, and you to stick around.”

  Marianne stopped so abruptly Trent nearly bowled her over. “You want me to stay.”

  “Of course I do.”

  “And you thought the way to achieve that was by playing me for a fool. Tricking me, taunting me…” She shook her head and grasped at the roots of her hair. “What’s wrong with you?”

  “Well, when you put it that way…” Trent frowned, feeling stupid. What had he been thinking, with his harebrained plan? “I’m sorry,” he said. “That was disrespectful. What I did, it was wrong. I didn’t think you’d listen without seeing for yourself, but just springing it all on you was the wrong way to go about it.”

  Marianne’s shoulders relaxed, but she didn’t turn around. Trent edged closer, but he didn’t touch her.

  “I was wrong,” he said. “I wanted to help you get more money, or at least, show you how to get it. When you talk about brewing, you get so passionate. You obviously love it, and your beer is great. I thought if I could show you a way to make money from it—”

  “It’s not just the money,” said Marianne.

  Trent reached for her shoulder, then pulled back when she flinched.

  “You’d better come in,” she said. “We need to talk.”

  9

  MARIANNE

  Marianne sat at her thrift store kitchen table, picking at the cracks in its cheap plastic surface. She couldn’t look at Trent. Couldn’t catch her breath.

  “Can I get you some water? Or something stronger?”

  She let out a harsh sound, almost a laugh. “There’s sweet tea in the fridge. Maybe grab us both a glass.”

  Trent poured two tall glasses of sweet tea, and Marianne drained half of hers in one gulp. She took a deep, steadying breath and met Trent’s eyes at last. The warmth she read there helped her find her voice.

  “It’s my ex-husband,” she said. “We ran a brewpub together, back in Denver. It was great for a while, or so I thought—ecstatic Yelp reviews, a feature in Bon Appétit—but Simon took out all these loans behind my back. Signed my name for me, even, not that I could prove that. He ruined my credit, and we lost everything—the house, the business, all we had, except…” Marianne laughed, a bitter sound. “He still has our equipment, our fermenters, our bottlers, label printers, everything. If I won that contest, I could buy it back, but…”

  “But you’d have to deal with him.” Trent’s tone was grim. “Couldn’t you get all that stuff somewhere else?”

  Marianne shook her head. “I couldn’t afford that. Buying it back from Simon, I’d only have to buy out his half. That’s why he’s held onto it, to hold over my head.”

  Trent gave a thoughtful nod. “And I take it he’s bad news?”

  “Bad enough I’d rather he doesn’t know where I live. He’s a petty man—nasty, and he holds a grudge.”

  Trent slid his hand across the table until it almost touched hers. Marianne took it gratefully and gripped it tight.

  “The Honky-Tonk was my port in a storm,” she said. “I sank all I had left into it, thinking maybe…I thought if it took off, I could build from there. But I see now it can’t take off, not as it is.”

  Trent ran his thumb over Marianne’s tense knuckles. “So, what will you do?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ll enter the contest—I could use that prize money, whatever comes next. But as for the Honky-Tonk…the Tin Horseshoe’s got the bar-and-grill market cornered. A full sit-down restaurant, I’m not set up for that, but maybe I could be, with a cash infusion. Or I could call Simon, try and work something out…” She shuddered involuntarily, and Trent moved closer. He let her hand go and slid his arm around her. Marianne stiffened, then she melted against him, glad for his warmth and his reassuring strength. Would he protect her if Simon came calling? The thought annoyed her and thrilled her at once: she didn’t need any man to fight her battles. But the thought of having one did things to her heart, set her blood racing and her body tingling all over.

  “Lockhart Bend has changed,” said Trent. “But we’re still a small town. We still rally round to keep our own safe. And you’re one of us, Marianne Stanton.” Trent’s tone was fierce, deep and gravelly in his chest. It made Marianne’s heart leap and her breath catch in her throat.

  “I’m with you,” he said. “Whatever you decide. I won’t poke my nose in—I’ve learned my lesson. But if you need me…” He trailed off, leaning closer.

  Marianne sat frozen with anticipation, trying not to look like she was holding her breath. She could feel the heat of Trent’s gaze more than see it, with the gathering shadows hooding his eyes.

  “Don’t tease me,” she whispered. She wanted him to kiss her, no dares, no games. To show her he wanted her, right here, right now.

  “I don’t want to be like him,” said Trent. “Tell me what you want.”

  “You,” said Marianne. “I want the big, bad sheriff to sweep me off my feet.” Heat rose in her cheeks—had she said that aloud? What would Trent think of her? Why had she—

  Trent swooped her out of her chair and into his arms. He carried her out of the kitchen and tossed her on the couch, and stretched out on top of her to steal a deep, burning kiss. Marianne thrilled at the way he took charge. He kissed like he meant it, like he knew what he wanted. What he wanted was her, and she wanted him back. Needed his body like water in the desert. She arched up against him to feel his body against hers, and moaned at his hardness against her thigh.

  “So tired of waiting,” she gasped between kisses. She was done holding back, living life by half measures. No more worrying about the temperature before jumping in. Trent was here, and she wanted him, and damn it, she’d have him. The ember of desire that smoldered low in her belly, unattended for so long, ignited at the tug of his hands in her hair. Her clothes suddenly felt too tight and restrictive. How long had she allowed herself to live pent-up like this? How could any part of her breathe, all locked down?

  Trent pulled away and sat up. Marianne sat up with him, her lips chasing his. He pulled her into his lap and claimed her for his own, one hand in her hair, the other sliding up under the back of her shirt. She lost herself in his kisses, in his rough palm on her skin. The bow of her upper lip grazed his lower, and she let her tongue flick between her teeth. Trent nipped her gently, just hard enough to thrill. Marianne wanted more of him, all he had to give, pleasure and pain and everything in between. To claim and be claimed, and let the world fall away.

  It was so easy to give herself over completely to the sensation of being kissed by Trent. Marianne sighed as she leaned into him. She pressed her hands into his shoulders, relishing his rock-hard strength, and felt him flex in response.

  His hand found her bra catch and deftly unhooked it. Marianne closed her eyes as Trent explored her body. He teased one hard nipple through the lace of her bra, coaxing a moan from her with the pad of his thumb. Then he pinched hard, and Marianne cried out in surprise. A hot jolt of pleasure raced through her body, setting her toes curling and her belly on fire.

  Trent winked at her. “Good?”

  “Shut up. Don’t stop.”

  He leaned back suddenly, pulling Marianne down with him. She wobbled, off-balance, but Trent steadied her easily and kissed her again. She felt like a doll in his arms, light as a toy. Trent rocked her against the bulge in his pants.

  “Lift up,” he growled into her ear. Marianne complied, and Trent braced her with one hand, taking his other away to unzip his fly. Marianne’s mouth watered at the aggressive jut of his cock against his boxers. She pulled them down to reveal all of him. He was long and thick and smooth. His shaft was several shades darker than his navel, and it terminated in a nest of neatly trimmed black curls.

  We’re really doing this, she thought as Trent pulled her back down for another heady kiss. She pulled her own jeans off and straddled his lap. His naked erection pushed against the crotch of her panties, and she gasped into his mouth at its blunt rigidity. Every questing thrust of his hips brought it into contact with her clit, igniting little fireworks of pleasure behind her eyes and in her belly. When it wasn’t enough, she rubbed herself down his full length. Even through the damp, clinging fabric of her underwear, she could feel how smooth Trent was—and how large. It was one thing to see his cock for the first time, but it was another matter to grind herself on it and realize how it might align with her, how it might fit inside her.

  Trent groaned as she rode him. She continued the rotation of her hips, slow and sensual. Her own moans were quieter, helpless little noises that escaped her despite her best efforts to stifle them. She didn’t want to risk the neighbors getting an earful through the open windows, but she didn’t see how she could stop herself now. Finally letting go of her inhibitions and allowing herself to be in Trent’s arms had brought her too close to paradise to retreat now.

  She was done playing it safe.

  Trent’s hands gripped her hips hard enough to bruise. Was he trying to tame her movements atop him or urge her to pursue a faster rhythm? Either way, Marianne resisted his control. She dipped and rotated, changing directions the moment he appeared to adjust. Trent sighed and let his head fall back as she worked him.

  But only for a moment. Soon enough he was back to work. His hands snaked around to lift up her shirt. Marianne arched a little and closed her eyes, letting Trent push her bra out of the way. He leaned in to press hungry kisses to her fever-hot skin, his clever tongue darting out to tease at her nipples. She smoothed her fingers over the rough bristles of his short hair, hissing with pleasure as his breath teased her skin. When his teeth scraped her nipple, she almost came undone.

  One of his hands dropped down, and Marianne realized he was going for the wallet in his pants. He pulled out a condom package and ripped it open with his teeth. She shifted in his lap to give him room as he rolled it over his cock one-handed. Everything Trent did was confident, effortless. Rather than be intimidated by his sexuality, Marianne felt it bolstering her own.

  “Hop on.”

  His command sent a shiver of anticipation racing through her. Those two words spoken in that husky, harsh voice of his held every hope and frustration that had been building between them these past couple of weeks.

  Marianne shifted until she was balanced above him. The hard head of his cock butted at her entrance, already slick with the evidence of her need. She held onto Trent’s shoulders as she lowered herself cautiously. She felt herself stretching to accommodate him and shut her eyes tight against the deep pressure. It had been a long time, and her body was making her aware of that fact now.

  Trent’s hands on her waist aided her descent. Their combined energy was hushed and hurried. Marianne guessed neither of them wanted to postpone their union a minute more than they had to, but the steadiness of his hands told her he wouldn’t let it be rushed. This was their moment, a conclusion they had been working toward ever since the day they met, whether they’d known it or not.

  Trent slid in another inch, and Marianne gasped. His answering groan drove her wild, and needing to hear more of him, she lowered herself fully onto him until she sat in his lap with every inch of him buried inside her.

  “Oh, fuck.” The rough curse reverberated in his chest and seemed to echo in hers. Marianne shifted forward until the aroused tips of her nipples grazed his rough shirt. Her clit jolted as it rubbed against him. She dropped her head to his shoulder and moaned in quiet enjoyment.

  “Yeah?” She couldn’t help but tease, even if she was finding it hard to catch her breath.

  “I’ve been thinking about this for a long time,” Trent replied. He wound a hand in her hair and tugged hard at the roots. She let her head drop back so he could get a full view of her face. “So have you,” he added.

  “You’re confident.”

  “Because I know I’m right.” He bucked up into her. Marianne gasped and held on as best she could. She needed this, maybe more than anything. And at the end of the day, Trent was right—she had been thinking about him, fantasizing about him, for so long there was no use resisting. She’d only be denying herself, and she’d done that for too long.

  “Mmm.” Trent hummed appreciatively as they fell into a rhythm. Marianne slid forward and back in his lap, her ass butting up against his open palms as he kept her secure atop him. She was slowly but surely relaxing against him, and the pleasure that bloomed within her as a result was almost excruciatingly good. She forgot all about the neighbors and her wide-open windows, focused instead on how fucking good it felt to be in Trent’s lap. Every thrust of her hips heightened her awareness of him.

  Trent just sat back and watched her work, but there was nothing lazy or complacent about the way his lust-heavy eyes followed her. Marianne wondered if he knew just how long it had been for her. It was as if he was letting her explore the space and re-familiarize herself with her own body. When she raised herself up a little to come back down, he groaned. The hands that kept her balanced came to rest on her hips once more.

  Suddenly it wasn’t enough. She ached for something faster, something almost savage in its intensity. She sat up again and slid back down, and repeated the motion, taking Trent’s slick shaft again and again. Trent gripped her waist and took over. Soon she was bouncing against him, her wild plunges only barely controlled by the man now taking ownership of every inch of her. She let Trent dictate how fast he wanted it, and he didn’t disappoint; his appetite, now that they had begun, was as voracious as hers.