Bad Twin: Quick-Read Series, #5

By Allison M. Azulay

A small-town cowboy turns his considerable charm on an older woman in order to win a bet...with unexpected consequences.

• Language: English
• Publisher: ALLISON MARGARET AZULAY
• Release date: Feb 15, 2019
• ISBN: 9781989215494

Allison M. Azulay

Born to Canadian parents of mixed, predominantly British heritage, Allison M. Azulay spent her formative years in a village outside of the capital city of Ottawa and her teen years in the steel city of Hamilton, Ontario. Like her mother, she read voraciously, and she composed stories of her own at home as well as in school. Later, encouraged by her husband to explore her ideas and talents, she wrote poems, short stories, children's storybooks for relatives, and more. After the death of her husband, she began to write and independently publish novels and short stories.

Book preview

Chapter 1

INOTICED THE SWAGGER FIRST:  that arrogant saunter that said, I’m irresistible and I know it.  He was good-looking, yes—as emphasized by the tight jeans that displayed every muscle and more than hinted at one in particular.  And the chambray shirt open to show off a broad chest matted with jet hair that proclaimed his masculinity.

I had observed him around town occasionally.  He liked the cowboy look, always wearing boots and a Stetson outside.  Inside, he doffed the hat so all could see that glorious, thick, shiny head of black hair.  Usually clean shaven and always tanned.  He often hung around with the same guy he had come with tonight, a man of the same height, just as muscular, and with nearly identical facial features and hair—obviously a brother.

Sometimes he had a girl on his arm, one invariably young and busty, unlike me.  He seemed to have no preference in terms of hair colour, which was just as well given most of the youngsters streaked, tinted, or fully dyed their hair as well as inking themselves with real or fake tattoos.

I chuckled to myself and glanced around, wondering which of the many young women in the darkened hall he was aiming all that blatant sexuality toward.  There were plenty of possibilities near the brightly lit bar set into the long wall opposite the stage, and more clustered here and there on the periphery of the dance floor where couples of various ages pranced to the country tune belted out by a young man who wanted to be Johnny Cash.  But Mr. Hunk seemed to be headed for someone in my vicinity, and I turned to look behind, expecting to find a gaggle of teenagers or twenty-somethings in spandex tops and factory-faded, deliberately slashed jeans.

SHE WAS THE SORT YOUR eyes glided off as you panned the room, like she was just part of the furniture.  Not dowdy.  Just, well, old.  Okay, not ancient.  But she hadn’t seen her teen years in a couple of decades.  Maybe more than a couple.  Which, of course, is why Chuck picked her out of the crowd.  Sonofabitch.

We had a bet going, Chuck and I:  I figured I could lay anybody I wanted.  He dared me to try somebody he chose.  And I was just drunk enough to take him up on it.  So, long story short, he picked the middle-ager in the ankle-length dress, and we shook on it.

And that’s why I hit on her instead of the one I’d spotted before:  the eager redhead in the blue halter that barely covered her teats.

Like I said, I was feeling no pain, that night, after a few shots of whisky to improve my mood because the company had laid me off for no reason I could figure.  So, any action seemed like a good way to make me feel even better.  That thought alone stiffened me.

WHEN I TURNED BACK, he was right there in front of me, and I glanced up and blinked, surprised.  I stepped to one side and said, Sorry.  Excuse me, thinking I had somehow got in the way.

He sidled to block my retreat and he grasped my waist.  What are ye sorry for? he asked, his voice soft and sensual but, despite the music, audible in such close proximity.

I blinked again and frowned.  What?

What are ye sorry for? he repeated, tilting his head and pulling his mouth awry in a lazy smile as his gaze pierced me.

I, uh, didn’t mean to get in your way, I said, keenly aware of the warmth of his large hands and the cool calculation in his bright eyes.

Maybe I want ye in my way, he said in a sultry tone that sounded loud in the sudden silence when the band finished the song.

I just stared at him a moment, nonplussed.  Then, I huffed a chuckle.  Yeah, right, I said, and I tried once more to sidestep around him.  But his hands gripped tighter as he blocked me again.  I looked up into his face, at a loss to understand what was happening.  The intensity of his bald stare startled me.

What do you want? I asked, trying not to feel the fluttering of my heart and clenching of my belly.

Oh, I want a lot o’ things, darlin’, he said smoothly.  But we’ll start with a dance.

At once, those massive hands propelled me to the centre of the room as the music started anew, and then they pressed me to him before brazenly sliding around to my backside.  He was hard, and I was astounded at the attention I would not have guessed a man like him would lavish on someone like me.  Though, at the smell of booze on his breath, it struck me that perhaps he was not entirely in control of where his outsized libido took him.

What truly dumbfounded me, however, was my own reaction to him.  I do not believe I had ever actually felt lust, before.  But I felt it then:  a powerful attraction that sent shivers up my spine and set me throbbing in places I had all but forgotten were part of me.  At the same time, my belly turned to jelly and I was not absolutely sure it was not fear that I was experiencing, rather than desire.

Logic said I should run.  But bewilderment and uncertainty kept me drifting in a daze as one dance led to another and another and I simply let him lead me about the hall, plastered to his pelvis.

IT WAS EASY.  SHE DIDN’T know what to make of me; so, she just followed my lead as I waltzed her around the room.  But she wanted me, too; I could tell by her split-second glances to my face.  It wouldn’t take long, I figured.

The great thing about country music is the fact you can dance close even to the fast tunes.  So, I just kept her tight to me.

She smelled good, even sweating in the heat of the overcrowded Armouries building still used as a community hall long after the end of the last war.  I sweated, too, but she didn’t seem to mind.  One