Jink 1 - Pink Jinx by Sandra Hill

Author:Sandra Hill [Hill, Sandra]
Format: epub
Published: 2010-02-14T01:33:02+00:00

Chapter

16

THE TEQUILA WEDDING

Blame it on the tequila, baby . . .

Three years had passed since their second ill-fated marriage, which had lasted only two years, and it would soon be the seventh anniversary of their Sappy Wedding. He was in Tijuana for a poker tournament, drowning himself in tequila. Tequila margaritas to be precise. Lots of them.

It was either fate or God playing a practical joke, but, unbeknownst to him, Ronnie was registered at the same hotel for a lawyer’s conference. Who knew stiff-necked attorney types did their boring legal stuff in Tijuana, of all places! You’d think they’d go somewhere like Boise or Akron.

Anyhow, he was sitting there, minding his own business, getting pleasantly crocked, when in walked Ronnie with a group of her colleagues. They were all dressed like librarians, even the men, with business suits, no-nonsense shoes, and expressions that pretty much amounted to sucking lemons as they viewed the other lowly occupants of the hotel bar.

Two things happened to Jake at once: his heart squeezed with the pain of their separation, and another part of his body squeezed, then burst into life again.

She took one look at him, then did a double take. She probably groaned then, but he was too poleaxed to notice. All he knew was that, within minutes, she was sitting at his table and, by her third tequila margarita, no longer looking librarianish. In fact, her hair was half in and half out of its bun. She ditched the suit jacket and unbuttoned a few buttons on her silk blouse. The heat, dontcha know. Ha, ha, ha!

He was no better. Somehow, he’d found a sombrero. Better that than a lamp shade, he supposed.

Then, after her fourth tequila margarita—they were having a contest—she got up on the dance floor, by herself, much to the amusement of the small band and the customers, and did her own version of Ricky Martin’s “Livin’ La Vida Loca.” A mighty fine version, he had to admit. When he told her so, she admitted, “I’ve been taking belly-dancing lessons. That’s why I’m so limber.”

He choked on his drink, then developed an overwhelming desire to see just how limber she was—up close and personal. Like, naked.

“Why belly dancing?” he asked with a surprisingly casual voice, even though his dick was doing its own belly dance. “I mean, it’s not your usual style.”

Her head shot up, and her honey-brown eyes glared at him with affront. “My usual style? Do you mean boring?”

He made the mistake of laughing.

“If you must know, I heard that belly dancers have better orgasms.” She licked the salt off her lips with the tip of her tongue. She might as well have been licking his cock for all the effect it had on him. He had to restrain himself from leaping over the table to help her out with the licking. Luckily, or not so luckily, he controlled himself. Otherwise, he would have missed her follow-up. “I’m planning on having lots of those—orgasms, I mean—with other men.

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