Free Unbroken: Country Fever, Book 3 by Em Petrova Page A

fellowship?” he asked, his voice raised a notch like a preacher’s. “Was in the early 80’s when I came down here, looking for a friend. I’d just lost my brother. Had a good relationship, we did, talked every day. Lost my best friend when I lost Brian.”
    “I’m sorry to hear that,” she said, taking a fortifying sip of her drink. She eased one foot away from the bar, prepared to take flight the instant she got an opening.
    “I didn’t find a friend that day here at the bar, but I did take a sweet little woman home with me. She needed money bad, had a little ‘un to feed, so I looked at it as helping out a fellow human, not as paying for sex.”
    Great. Why do half of these stories end with sexual escapades? She had no desire to hear about how many times he plunged into the woman or her flexible feats.
    “Turned out the woman and I had a lot in common. We’d shared sex, but I ended up falling for her. Hard.”
    “Excuse me, I just have to head back to my table. I think I see my friend.” She smiled at the man and turned away.
    Her breath caught as she came up against the burning hunger in Christian’s eyes.
    He stood five feet away, his expression burning with want even though she’d just had her heart carved out. Anger bubbled up inside her.
    She reached over the bar and snagged the hose used to dispense soda. With a yank, she drew it over the bar top and aimed it right at Christian’s groin.
    “Looks like you need something to cool off.”
    He opened his mouth to say something, but she sprayed him before he got a word past his kissable lips. The club soda shot out and soaked his fly. She aimed lower, thoroughly wetting him.
    “Son of a—Claire, what the hell’s the matter with you?”
    Satisfaction replaced her irritation, and she handed the soda hose back to the bartender with an exchanged grin. Then she strode away from the bar, drink in hand.
    Christian was on her instantly, snapping at her heels, his voice angry in her ear. “What the hell was that for?”
    For devouring me with your eyes. For making me feel things I’m not ready to feel.
    She glanced over her shoulder at his furious expression. His musky scent filled her head. “For looking at me as if I’m a dessert and you haven’t eaten in a week.”
    He stopped short, but she kept walking. Feeling him fall away, she continued on with a bounce in her step. She didn’t take five steps before he appeared at her side, as if on a spring.
    “Look, I know you’re hurting—”
    She whirled on him, and her drink sloshed over her fingers. “Don’t talk to me about that.”
    He met her gaze, and the understanding she saw there sliced through her more easily than any blade. Her chest tightened.
    Christian wrapped his fingers around her wrist and drew her in. “Who knows how you feel better than I do, huh, Claire?”
    She slumped in his hold. For a second, she hung there while George Jones crooned to a finish and a Barbara Mandrell song started up. Christian’s hard chest was inches from her nose. She longed to drop her face to the front of his shirt and breathe him in.
    He removed the glass from her hand and set it on the nearest table. “That’s it. Come outside with me.”
    She let him draw her through the obstacle course of tables and outside. The cooler night air struck her hot face. She gulped.
    “I haven’t heard from him,” Christian said. He released her and kicked a boot into the gravel.
    Claire studied his expression in the blue glow from the single parking light. Shadows accentuated the hollows of his cheeks and his unshaven jaw. His eyes glittered.
    “He’s not here, but we are,” he said hoarsely.
    Knotting her hands, she struggled to keep from touching him. Yes, he could comfort her. Make her feel alive again. But what if they were no good without Tucker? Some magic might have taken place that night, and without Tucker’s spell, she and Christian were nothing but silent pawns on a game board.
    When she didn’t speak