Free The Virgin's Revenge by Dee Tenorio Page A

hole.
    Time didn’t exactly stop when they walked in together. Music flowed from the speakers in the ceiling, conversation rising and falling. Wooden booths lined the walls of the building, tables on one side of the majestic bar in the middle and a small dance floor with aged, black-and-white tiles was half full on the other side. Typical Monday night. A few people looked over their shoulders but no one seemed particularly shocked to find Amanda strolling in with him.
    This was good. He might live through dinner after all.
    Then Amanda hooked her arm through his and pulled him down a little to say something in his ear. Firm breasts pressed into his chest while the arm she’d claimed for her own somehow wound around her, settling at the small of her back as if her rounded ass was just the shelf he’d been looking for.
    Who knew eyebrows rising and a few jaws dropping actually made long creaking noises worthy of a screen door badly in need of oil?
    “Do you want a booth or to try to get something at the bar?”
    Her thigh was pressed against his, almost insinuated between his legs. She’d finally lifted her shades to the top of her head, meaning those eyes of hers were only a few inches from him, alight with mischief. Her mouth, those plump pink lips with that delicate little mole above the left corner, was close enough for him to taste the mint on her breath. Did he want a booth? Hell no, he wanted a flat surface and absolutely no one around to interrupt.
    “A booth would be great.” It would at least guarantee him a table’s width of space to figure out what game this Jackman was playing. To say nothing of the space to give his instant erection some time alone to learn a few manners. Would she notice if, when he sat down, he buried his face in his hands and said a few prayers for strength?
    As fast as she’d spun against his body, she was gone, looking for a free table. Leaving him looking like a pole-axed jackass with a serious hard-on next to the jukebox. Yeah, that would salt the gossip nicely.
    Jackmans. Hard on the ego. Good for the soul.
    He had to remind himself of that sometimes. As nerve-wracking as they could be, the entire family—Amanda included—had always treated him like he was one of their own. Not for any good reason, either. The elder twins simply adopted him, Locke simply accepted him and the others simply decided he belonged there. For a guy with no siblings and parents no one in their right mind wanted to spend time with, they filled a space he hadn’t realized had been hungering. Maybe they’d needed someone too, not that he had ever been able to figure out what role he served in a family that had every spot taken care of. Locke was the serious one, the elder twins were the clowns, Amanda was the maternal one. Andrew was the musical one, Peter the studious one and Steven was the thoughtful one. They hadn’t let him go, and he’d never seen a reason to point out the oversight to them.
    Now would not be a good time to do so.
    Even if Amanda was sliding into the padded booth like she was slinking into bed. His bed.
    No. Not his bed. No beds at all.
    Damn it! He headed over to the booth and all but dumped his body into the opposite seat.
    Amanda frowned. “Something wrong?”
    Just the fact that his dick hurt for her, the entire town knew it and her brothers would be along presently to rip it off his body and shove it down his throat. Or possibly somewhere even less pleasant. “Nope.”
    May Belle Butner herself, the owner of Shaky Jake’s, came along to take their order. She smiled at them, but Cole didn’t miss that pointed glint of her eye in his direction. “What can I get you two?”
    A guillotine? “Beer,” he answered, biting back the urge to tell her where to stick her curiosity. May Belle wasn’t known for her patience with rude customers. “Half-pound mushroom burger, medium well.” If he was going to die, he was going to his maker full.
    “Same,” Amanda piped up. “But