Jilted - Rachael Johns

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but just as he was about to make a sly departure, Lauren pulled up a stool next to him. She barely sat on it, however, and Flynn got the impression she was angling for a spot on his lap, instead.

      “You know,” she drawled in an unmistakably seductive tone, “the best man gets first pick of the bridesmaids.”

      “Is that so?” Flynn took another sip to stop himself from saying the first thing that came into his head.

      “It’s tradition. And it just so happens I’m maid of honor.” Was she actually singing her words? “Care for a top-up?” she asked, swaying the half-full bottle in his face and pointing to his glass.

      Rats and Whitney were now wrapped in each other’s arms, ignoring the rest of the pub. Emma was chatting up the new barman and Linda appeared to be kicking her brother’s butt at darts. Flynn looked again at the bottle and then back to Lauren.

      “Just one more.”

      * * *

      WHEN THE BOTTLE was gone, Flynn ordered Lauren a glass of wine and a beer for himself. For a second he thought twice about the choice. Common sense almost won, but then he glanced around him at the scene of country people having good, clean fun—the music loud, the laughs many, the atmosphere charged and happy—and he wanted that. It’d been years since alcohol had owned him. He’d only have one more.

      One became two, two became four and before he knew it, he’d dragged Lauren onto the makeshift dance floor and was partying like it was 1999. As the barman called for last drinks, Lauren sank her arms around Flynn’s neck and pressed her curves against the steely length of his body. Of course, he reacted. He wouldn’t be male if he didn’t.

      “I’ve had a great night, Flynn.”

      “Me, too.” His words slurred slightly.

      “You can’t drive home like this. The cops will pick you up for sure.”

      He leaned his cheek against her hair and breathed in her pungent berry scent. “I’ll sleep in the back of the ute.”

      “Now, Flynn...” Lauren’s hands crawled down to cup his buttocks and pull him tightly against her. Her words slithered into his ear on hot, wanton breath. “I’ve got a much better idea.”

      And then her lips were accosting his. Her tongue took liberties as it swept his mouth, probing for access. His hands floundered as he tried to grab out for balance, to latch on to reality before he did something he might regret, but he got hold of a breast instead, the soft, round orb sending short, sharp messages to his brain. His body took on a life of its own. He couldn’t remember the last time he was kissed—the farm had been his sole focus for quite some time—and suddenly it didn’t seem like such a bad idea. He was twenty-nine, for crying out loud. He should have a little fun while he could. Besides, since he’d been in Lauren’s company, he hadn’t thought about Ellie once.

      So he kissed Lauren back. Snaked his hands up her spine and then her neck, sliding his fingers into her long, blond locks. He felt his blood pump south and pulled back slightly to look into her eager eyes. “Let’s get outta here.”

      Rats gripped Flynn’s shoulder as they headed for the door. “You sure you want to do this, mate?” His eyes were trained on Lauren giggling at Flynn’s side. “You’ve had a fair bit to drink.”

      Now Flynn knew how Lucy felt when he started with the preachy talk. It got old and boring fast.

      “Thanks, but I can look after myself.”

      Outside, Lauren pushed him against the ute, fishing her fingers into his pocket for his car keys. “I’m driving. I only had one drink.”

      “Of course.” Grinning, he leaned back against the vehicle, his hands clasped behind his head as she took longer to dig than was strictly necessary.

      “You like that, Flynn?” She plucked the keys from his jeans but, not at all coy, she continued her exploration of his crutch, rubbing her palm up and over the denim at his groin. His hips angled forward of their own accord and he grabbed Lauren’s wrist.

      “Let’s go.”

      “My feelings exactly.”

      Lauren opened the passenger door and Flynn slumped inside, his boots kicking a collection of empty Coke cans at his feet. She slid into the driver’s side and took in the mess. “I thought you’d take better care of your vehicle, Flynn Quartermaine.”

      He glanced at her. “Um...” Even his mom didn’t nag him about such things.

      “Relax.” Lauren laughed. She started the ute and, after quickly backing out, laid her hand against Flynn’s taut thigh. “It’s not your housekeeping I’m interested in.”

      Chuckling, he sucked in a breath as Lauren’s hand again ventured upward. She toyed with his belt buckle, skillfully undoing it without the car veering even slightly off the straight and narrow.

      “You nurses are multiskilled,” he said, wondering if he should put his hand against her leg or cop a feel of one of her breasts. Both options had seemed appealing back in the parking lot, but now, in the confined space of the car, where his breathing felt constricted by the heady scent of her perfume, he wasn’t so sure.

      “You haven’t seen anything yet,” she purred. His eyes almost left their sockets as she opened his zipper and slipped her hand inside his jeans—inside his jocks, in fact.

      “You think we should pull over?” He only just managed the words. Her soft, skillful fingers curled around his erection and began to tickle his balls. His breathing intensified. His pulse thudded through his veins. Heat surged beneath her touch. But it was a surreal experience, as if he was hovering outside his body, looking in. He barely heard Lauren’s reply.

      “It’s okay, Flynn, we’re almost at my place.” Within seconds she’d pulled into a rough gravel driveway. The car came to a stop and a giggling Lauren opened the passenger door.

      “You just gonna sit there all night, staring at the real estate?” She wiggled her hips in rhythm to her words. He winced at the sound of her voice, a sharp jolt rushing through his head. The view of her skinny legs, held together by a denim skirt too short for the season, blurred in front of him. He blinked to clear his vision.

      “Had a bit too much to drink, Flynn-y boy?” She reached in and took his hand, trying to pull him out of the car. “Never mind. Nurse Lauren has the perfect medicine. Come on.”

      Stumbling a little, he trekked up the porch steps, fighting the urge to sit down while Lauren unlocked the door. She switched on lights, which almost blinded him, and offered him a drink.

      “No, thanks,” he managed, although a voice inside told him a long glass of icy water might be a good idea.

      “Hope you don’t mind if I do.” Grabbing his shoulders, she ushered him into the living room and pushed him down on the couch. “You just wait there. I’ll be right back.”

      He flopped his head against the back of the leather sofa and took a few moments just to sit. Fancy antique vases and massive, gold-framed paintings of famous Aussie landscapes swam around the room—this was her parents’ house, but they were overseas at the moment, on one of the travel tours they ran. His gut churned. He was contemplating a dash to the bathroom when Lauren skipped into the room.

      “Hey, mister, you’re looking a little worse for wear.” She straddled his hips, her skirt riding up as she maneuvered on top of him. He realized his fly was still undone. Her warmth seeped onto his groin and he swayed a little, feeling woozy.

      “Have you lost your knickers?” he asked, his voice hoarse.

      “You noticed.” She wiggled her hips more and pressed down. There was only the cotton of his jocks between them now. She placed a champagne flute on the side table and palmed her hands against his cheeks. “You want me, don’t you, Flynn?”

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