"Hey, baby." He was in his late thirties or early forties, and smelled like he'd just bathed in Jack Daniel's best for at least an hour. He breezed into Royce's vacant chair. His clothes were rumpled, his eyes glassy and red. "You really rocked onstage. I thought you were a real singer or something."

At least he was coherent. Kind of. "Thanks," I said.

"Can I buy you a drink?" While he spoke, his gaze locked onto my breasts, small targets though they were.

"No, I'm not thirsty," I answered. And neither were my breasts. Actually, I really was parched, but I didn't want to invite this man to stay any longer than necessary. Where the hell was Royce?

My unwanted visitor didn't get the hint. He threw an arm over my stool, as if he had every right to invade my space. I'm surprised he didn't try the yawn-and-grab routine. He gave me a lecherous grin, and I shuddered. There was something black lodged between his front teeth and I really, really hoped it was food.

"What's your name?" he asked.

"Naomi." I fanned the air in front of my face before I passed out from the fumes.

"Naaaomi," he said, sounding it out. "Na-oh-me. I'm Doug." He paused. "What's a pretty thing like you doing all alone?"

I tried not to cringe. Really, there was only one way to get rid of a guy like this. "I'm so glad you came over here, Douglas." I planted my elbows on the table and gazed over at him as if he were the most beautiful sight I'd ever beheld. "I've been dying to talk to someone about all the things that have been going wrong in my life lately. My ex-husband Richard, may he choke on his own tongue, get an STD and win a free one-way ticket to everlasting damnation, called me the other day and asked me to get back together with him. As if I need another cheating bastard in my life. One at a time, thank you very much."

Doug tried to interrupt me, but I kept right on talking. "You're probably thinking that the other cheating bastard in my life is my stepdad, and you're right. I do have plans to castrate him, though, don't you worry."

All color drained from Doug's face.

"I bet you're wondering why I haven't done it yet. Killed and castrated him, that is. Well, the answer to that is simple, really. First I've got to find the perfect knife. A regular household blade simply won't do. I really hate cheaters, Douglas, and I think-"

Just as Doug cut into my speech to mutter, "Excuse me, I think I see someone I know," Royce returned. He watched Doug race away through slitted eyes before sinking back into his seat.

"Where were you?" I demanded. "Five more minutes and I might have had to ask Dougie Boy to be the father of my children in the hopes of scaring him away."

"I was getting a room. I don't want to make the drive to the cabin tonight."

My anger faded, replaced by dread-and anticipation. I shook my head. "Wait a sec. Getting a room? As in one?"

"That's right." He reached under the tabletop and slowly, oh so softly, grasped my thigh.

I nearly jumped out of my skin.

He grinned slowly.

"What are you doing?" I asked in a scandalized whisper, looking all around to make sure no one watched us.

"Seducing you." The darkened atmosphere and the corner placement of our table guaranteed privacy from everyone except the person walking directly by. Which happened to be Doug. He stumbled past once, twice, staring at me with jaundiced suspicion.

The third time, he actually stopped at the table. "She plays with knives," he told Royce before racing away.

"She's vicious, I know," Royce said, keeping his eyes on me. "You were adorable onstage."

"Thank you." I tried to push his hand away; I didn't push too hard, though. It felt too good.

He merely moved those naughty fingers of his higher, to a better place. "Where'd you learn to sing country music like that?"

"In the shower." My blood heated, and I so wanted to open my legs and invite him to feel all he wanted.

"We've been building to this point and you know it," he said, getting to the heart of the matter. "Ever since I picked you up this morning, I've wanted to strip you down and taste you. All over."

I swallowed. Hard. There was a reason I needed to tell him no, to wait until after his mom's party, but at the moment I couldn't think of what that reason was.

"I have this fantasy of us in my mind. You ride me and your hair tickles my chest. Your breasts are pushed forward, and you keep screaming my name."

"Do I, uh, have an orgasm every time I scream?" The words escaped on the barest whisper and I was unable to stop them.

He nodded. "Oh, yeah."

My nipples hardened and my heart began a frantic boom-boom rhythm.

"Once we make love, Naomi, you'll only want more," he promised. "Much, much more."

No. He was wrong. I couldn't let myself want more.

He came closer to me, his gaze stroking my face like a caress. "I'll touch you here." He palmed one of my breasts through the fabric of my shirt.

The fingers covering my thigh inched down my calf, not stopping until they reached bare skin. Those naughty fingers tunneled underneath the flare of my pants, then started going higher. Higher still. The material tightened at my knees, not allowing him to go farther.

I almost shouted a string of curses.

My breath hitched in my throat as he abandoned my knee and moved his hand to the waist of my pants, unsnapping the button. His pushed his hand inside, his fingers making dead-on contact with the lacy fabric of my panties.

"I'll touch you here as well," he said, gently stroking the material. Of their own accord, my hips rocked slightly with his touch. "And you'll beg me to take you over the edge."

"I've already decided to sleep with you," I admitted in a whisper. "After the party."

His nostrils flared. "After. Before." Pause. "Now."

Now…so tempting. God, I wanted him. I did. I needed him. "I haven't changed my mind about a relationship." Unlike the way men treated women, I didn't want him to misinterpret what was about to happen. "We can sleep together, but that's it. Nothing more."

His fingers stilled, and I nearly moaned. "Maybe you didn't want a relationship," he said, his expression fierce, "but you're in one, anyway."

"No." I had to stay strong, had to fight my body's needs until he agreed. "I want you. I do. Just-" breathe "-nothing else."

"Well, I want everything. And I want you against a wall." His fingers began their tormenting search again, this time bolder, moving up and down over the now-damp material. "Have you ever fucked against a wall, Naomi?"

He was deliberately being crude, I knew, trying to force me to admit I wanted more than a hard, emotionless screw. It had the opposite effect, however. I ached all over, and hearing him talk like that increased my excitement. Maybe, at heart, I was a bad, dirty girl. A closet sex kitten, like my cousins had said.

"Have you?" he demanded.

Slowly, I shook my head. My experience was limited to the back seat of a Chevy and a cold, forgotten mattress. Don't get me wrong. I've had orgasms and even enjoyed the sex. But this was something altogether more pleasurable.

"I'll press your back against the wall and brace your legs around my waist."

Breathless, I glanced at a wall and pictured exactly what he described. Two naked bodies, straining together, standing up and tangled. My throat constricted. The scene was carnal. Primal. Raw.

I'd die if I didn't experience it.

"All right," I told him, my voice hoarse with longing. "Now. Before the party."

He paused, his eyes widening with disbelief. He hadn't expected me to agree. "What did you say?"

"I said yes. I'm willing to do it against the wall."

A blaze of heat caught fire in his irises, sparking blue flames. Those flames licked at me. His gaze moved over me with blatant possessiveness, and I licked my lips. His nostrils did the flare thing. Royce clasped my hand and jerked me to my feet. I hurriedly buttoned my pants.