Full Throttle (Fast Track) by Erin McCarthy Read Free Book Online Page B

was better. She eyed Rhett as he counted, making sure he wasn’t going to cheat.
    “One,” he said, and for some reason she shivered.
    There was something about the way he stared at her. It was like he could give her an orgasm with the sheer force of his will, just from the intensity of his gaze. She shifted uncomfortably.
    “Two.”
    Shawn licked her lips, her hand shaking slightly. She wanted to look away, but she couldn’t. She was trapped by his eyes, which were such a deep green they were almost emerald. He was . . . arresting. That was the word for him. It threw her off her game and she felt her wrist slacken a little, her girl insides warming in arousal.
    “Three.”
    Shit. He had gained an advantage by being sexy. Shawn dropped, lifted, drank, the sting of the whiskey masked by the smooth maltiness of the ale. She opened the back of the throat, let it all flow down, and slapped her empty glass back on the table while she finished swallowing.
    Rhett was a few seconds behind her.
    “Ha! I was first!” Not that she was one to gloat or anything. Much.
    “Wow,” was the bartender’s opinion. “I’ve never seen a woman drink a car bomb that fast.” The bartender was big and brawny, covered in tattoos, his beard enveloping the bottom half of his face in bushy salt-and-pepper hair. Shawn took it as a serious compliment.
    “Thanks.” She beamed a little.
    “That was impressive,” Rhett agreed.
    “Well, you were no slouch yourself,” she said, wanting to soothe his ego a little. “But I might have forgotten to mention that I supplemented my income in college from bets over how fast I could down a car bomb.”
    Rhett’s eyebrows rose. The bartender laughed.
    “You’ve got to appreciate a woman who can shoot whiskey.”
    “Well, my grandfather’s name was Jameson. It seems disrespectful not to be able to handle his namesake, you know what I mean?” Shawn suddenly felt melancholy. God, she missed Pops.
    The bartender fist-bumped Rhett. “You’re a lucky man, brother.”
    “Not yet, but I’m hoping,” Rhett told him.
    “Ah. Well, good luck.” The bartender winked at Shawn. “Make him work for it, hon.”
    Except the truth was, she needed Rhett Ford more than he needed her, so she wasn’t going to be forcing him to dance on a string. If anything, it was about to be the other way around. Or more like her crawling on the floor for him with a gag ball in her mouth.
    Oh, God. There were going to have to be some ground rules on this fake marriage thing. Which she really needed to discuss with him. Her palms started to sweat, the liquor heating up her extremities. In her mind, one way or another, it was already a foregone conclusion. That’s how she was. She made a decision, and everyone else needed to fall in with it. Somehow she didn’t think Rhett Ford was the falling-in type.
    Not having any idea how to reply to the bartender, she cleared her throat, wishing she were like Eve, who was never at a shortage for words.
    “Where did you go to college?” Rhett asked her as the bartender moved on to other customers.
    Not that Milt’s was jumping. There were only a couple of guys in their fifties at the end of the bar. Good. Fewer witnesses when she asked Rhett to marry her and he started laughing.
    “I went to the University of South Carolina.” Then, because it would be expected, and because she already had a slight buzz from the whiskey she added, “Go Cocks.”
    She expected Rhett to laugh or make a crack in return. It’s what people did whenever she referenced USC’s mascot, the gamecocks. It was funny. Juvenile humor, yes, but funny. It was the only legitimate way to say “Go Cocks” in a conversation in public ever.
    But Rhett didn’t laugh. In fact, his eyes darkened. “Say that again,” he told her. It wasn’t a request, it was a demand.
    Shawn felt her face and chest burn, from the alcohol, from desire. “What?” she asked him, bewildered. “What do you mean?”
    “Say