A note from Lila Munro – The Executive Officer’s Wife
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“Hey, cowboy, what’s your poison?” Libby eyed him with her breath caught in her throat, wondering when he landed, and why she felt suffocated by his presence.
Chase had never seen eyes the shade of glaciers. They were set inside a pair of the darkest, longest lashes he had ever seen. Her jet-black hair fell in wavy layers around soft round shoulders and wisps of bangs framed a sun-blushed face. Her lips were full and, though a bit thin, her bare arms were well toned and were as beautifully sun-kissed as her face. The tank top she wore barely contained what, in his assessment, were the most perfectly formed breasts he had ever seen, at least still covered. With the rest of her concealed behind the bar, he was tempted to climb atop to get a look. He may well have had the sound of her laughter tinkling like ice in a glass not brought him back to the real world.
“Yoo-hoo, cowboy, I asked what you’d like,” she said, cocking her head in a sidelong glance.
He had to take a moment to remember what he had started to order, but he damn well knew what he’d like. He’d like to have her. Maybe he could coax her into helping him with those kinks later, after she was through working.
“Uh, let’s see, Jack straight up on the rocks.” Chase finally let the words slide from his tongue like butter off the side of a hot biscuit.
“A Jack guy, my kind of man.”
He reached in his front jeans pocket as she set the tumbler down and shook her head. He tried to give her a twenty, but she closed her fingers around his and a shock passed between them.
“That’s okay, cowboy. This one’s on the house,” she said, smiling radiantly. “After that one you’re a regular and on your own.”
He smiled back at her and dropped the twenty in her tip jar. She knew he assumed she needed those tips. He probably wouldn’t have been as generous had he known she didn’t keep a dime of it, but donated all of it to help fund recon’s Marine Corps Birthday Ball every year. How rich. And to think, she didn’t dress up because she didn’t plan on any new faces drifting in.
Flushed, she watched him turn and walk away. He was easily six-two or six-three, towering over her by several inches. He was broad shouldered and chiseled, and she wondered what it would feel like to run her hands over him. His golden eyes gave her gooseflesh. She suspected him to be a few years older than her, but that had not affected his physique as far as she could tell. And the way his ass filled out those faded jeans… Maybe you should be my distraction.
This book is available from Wild Horse Press. You can buy it here
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