Unravel Me

By: Tori St. Claire



Cassie strode to the bar and shouldered between two men in business suits.

“Can I help you, miss?” the bartender asked as he plucked a glass off the shelf and set it under the beer tap.

“Ah, yes, I’ll take a—”

The feel of warm fingers brushing across her ankle brought her up short. She stumbled a step and looked down. Two heavenly blue eyes locked with hers. Blond hair tumbled loosely over his forehead, and as he grinned, an impertinent dimple broke free. She barely registered the square of plastic beneath her toe that he pointed at with his free hand before his fingers slid a fraction higher, and electricity shot through her system. Gasping, Cassie grabbed for his shoulders to keep from toppling over backward.



Brad Steele sucked in a sharp breath as the leggy brunette braced her weight on his shoulders. The sensual fragrance of exotic flowers and citrus assaulted him far more dangerously than the slender knee that bent just beneath his chin. A few inches more, and he’d be nursing a cracked jaw. What in the hell had possessed him to grab her ankle, as opposed to merely tapping her on the shoulder?

Her damned legs. He’d taken one look at those long, toned limbs and lost his ability to think. One need dominated: to touch. The credit card he’d dropped seconds before she appeared at the bar posed the perfect opportunity.

But the blanket of slender curves now draped around him brought his nose a breath away from her thigh, and her perfume was playing wicked games with his mind. He cocked his head before sheer instinct could override common sense and attempted to disentangle himself enough to look her in the eye. “Sorry. You’re standing on my credit card.”

She regained her balance, pulled that delectable ankle from his fingers, and set her black stiletto back onto the floor. A soft laugh tumbled off full lips. “You scared the hell out of me.”

His grin deepened as he picked up his credit card and straightened. Luminous tawny eyes met his, and his gut doubled in on itself all over again. Sweet heaven, where had she come from? One minute he was sipping a vodka martini, wanting nothing else but a full meal after a long flight. The next, she appeared out of nowhere.

Not a bad prospect for his first night in town. Veil, Colorado, might just prove interesting. At least for the short week he’d be here. Snow and warm hot female would make a week of negotiating with opposing counsel definitely more enjoyable. He eased back into his seat.

“I didn’t mean to. With the noise…” He shrugged. “What are you drinking?”

Her gaze tripped down his body, roving over his dress slacks and shirt, which was rumpled from several hours on a plane. The slow perusal, followed by the keen interest in her eyes when she met his gaze again only served to ramp up his rather neglected libido. Yeah, Veil might prove interesting after all. So much more than he’d expected out of this Midwest tourist trap.

“You’re not from around here, are you?” she asked.

“Is it the suit?” As the man beside him vacated the bar, Brad leaned an elbow on the polished wood. He crossed an ankle over his knee. “Or the accent?”

Rich and husky, her laughter caressed him like fine velvet. “Definitely the accent. I deal with suits every day. New York?” She moved into the space in front of him.

At the same time, the man behind her took a backward step, forcing her to twist sideways. The thin fabric of her black dress brushed Brad’s knuckles. Again, her perfume tickled his nose. He breathed it in, sifting through the fragrances he knew. Jasmine. He couldn’t define the other aromas, but jasmine brought him to his knees every time.

“Yeah. Manhattan,” he answered, hoarsely. He cleared his throat, nodded at the bartender, and asked again, “What are you drinking?”

“A glass of Moscato. So what brings you in town?” Mirroring his position, she set her coat on the bar and leaned on it. The ankle she crossed over the leg that held her weight put her thigh shockingly close to fitting between his knees.

Brad checked himself, torn between taking a step back and moving closer. He didn’t really want to confess work brought him halfway across the country. The last woman he’d casually been with had latched onto his profession, tracked him down at the Blackson and Goodwell law firm, and made things quite uncomfortable for a while. Though he wasn’t keen on lies, he didn’t want to experience that again with an impending promotion to partner on the line. “Just checkin’ out the slopes.”

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