The Last Christmas Cowboy Read online

  The Last Christmas Cowboy

  Katherine E Hunt

  This book contains explicit romantic fiction. It is intended for mature readers.

  Copyright © 2019 by Katherine Elizabeth Hunt. All rights reserved.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 1

  "Jingle my, Jingle my, Jingle my knob. My feet are freezing and I need a good snog.” Eight hours of listening to Christmas music at sub-zero temperatures in my car, after twelve hours of traveling. I must have been out of my bloody mind. What on earth was I thinking?

  This couldn’t be the place. Sabrina wouldn't hold her wedding in a quiet backstreet on a Thursday night. She'd have glitz, glamour, red carpets and sponsors.

  It didn't even look like someone's house. It looked like a dodgy bar, and, to all appearances, it was closed.

  If someone didn't turn up in the next hour I was out of here. Well, I mean, I planned to walk until I found a warmer place to sleep than in a rental with faulty heating and no gas. A meter of snow had fallen since I parked it and there was no way in hell it was going anywhere now.

  It wasn't like I was in love with him or anything. I just needed to see if he was okay, if he was making good choices.

  Dropping everything and running back to England with me wasn’t going to happen. Life isn’t a fairy tale romance. People break your heart and then forget about you. You need proof? Check your social media feed, just stick in the name Cooper West and what do you find? Fucking engagement photos with fucking Sabrina Sleazebag-Stinkypoops wearing a fucking diamond ring the size of a small European country.

  I might be a little bitter. I should work on that.

  My fingers clenched the car door handle. Maybe if I just stood outside he’d turn up and see me. Or maybe I'd turn into a yeti. Either one was possible.

  A light came on in the building. Now or never, make or break.

  I grabbed my shit, sidled out and legged it across the road. Huddled against the doorway, the wind facing me, the snowstorm sandblasted me whilst I built up the courage to actually do something.

  I knocked.

  Several locks unlatched and a heavy-set man, wearing a green bomber jacket, sleeves pulled up to reveal his love of nautical tattoos, opened the door.

  “Yup? We’re closed tonight, private party, men only. Sorry.”

  I backed away, oh well, never mind. I'd done my best; it’d been worth a shot. Time to go home, no harm no foul.

  You're probably thinking I'm a little indecisive, weak willed, unable to stand up for my own little self. Well, I'll have you know, you're absolutely bloody right. I'm from the Home Counties, we don't do forceful. We do unassuming, unimposing. I could meek you 'til the cows come home.

  “Wait!” said a high-pitched voice from behind the large man. “Carl, honestly! You're Babette.” He hesitated. I could see a face behind Carl's left elbow, sizing me up. “Aren’t you?”

  Now let's be very clear on the matter. I'm not Babette, not in the slightest, but there was no way Babette was going to make it through the streets of this small Montana town tonight in this storm. I could be Babette, if it got me into the club, right? It was a rare, bold move for me, but I was wearing my lucky underwear, I could no longer feel my fingers and fuck it, anything had to be warmer than the car.

  “Yes, absolutely, that’s me, of course, I'm Babette. Babette is me. Ba-bet-teuh. Babette.”

  Alright, calm your knickers woman, just because you've done something brave for once there's no need to get so excitable. I took a deep breath, smiled.

  The small man sprung out from behind the bouncer and leaped for joy. “Oh goodie, goodie, goodie. When you rang and said you had to cancel I was like, oh my good lordy, what am I going to do? Big party tonight, lots of paying guests. Carl, this is Busty Babette, our star act. Those breasts, man, they’re insured for millions. I’m getting ahead of myself, sorry, sorry. Come in, follow me. Love the accent by the way, don’t worry I won’t tell anybody you’re actually from Brooklyn. Your secret’s safe with me.” The words poured out, ten to the dozen, as he danced around me like an agitated sprite.

  Chandeliers and expensive carpeting adorned the hallway. This was not the dingy club I'd seen from the outside, this place was classy. He opened a door, marked with my new name and led me through to a very sumptuous dressing room.

  “Everything is here, arrived yesterday, I took the liberty of getting your costume out and giving it a little steaming. Darling, you’re so daring, I just love it. I’ll leave you to it; you’re on in about an hour, got to get them all a bit tanked before the star act, more money in the pot, darling, more money in the pot!” With that, he closed the door and left me to it.

  Okay. What now? I was obviously some kind of act involving boobs. That didn’t bode well. Isn't there that woman that breaks watermelons with hers? Oh good grief. This was a terrible idea.

  I mean, I've got boobs, no shortage at all in that department. They just weren’t generally used as a part of my job. I run a B&B with my Gran and Grandad near Brighton. I don't normally serve the continental breakfast topless. There would be outrage, heart attacks, spillage of tea. Chaos would ensue.

  The costume hung on a rack. The only way to describe it would be, let's just say, minimal. I was in a strip club.

  Bugger.

  Opening the door a crack I spied a group of women bustling down the corridor in basques and stockings. They were too busy nattering away to notice me. They didn't look like strippers. They looked like burlesque dancers, like the ones you see in Paris that do the Can Can. Cabaret. I could do that, right? Couldn’t be that hard.

  I slid back in to the room. Getting past Carl again without causing a fuss would be nigh on impossible. Then there was the snowstorm outside to consider. I’d just have to get on with it, try and figure a way of getting out of here at some point.

  I’d never had fancy lingerie. There was this woman who used to come round to my mum's house years ago. She'd set up in the front room, open a couple of suitcases and spread bras and knickers around. They cost a fortune, but my mum would get a decent discount for holding the party. All the ladies in the street would descend upon us, eat finger food and paw their way through the pile until they found something pretty. That was the only time I'd seen nice bras in my size and they were never for me.

  This costume was everything you could imagine and more. A lace up red corset with barely a cup for each boob and a white fur trim. Luxurious silk stockings. They even had the sexy line down the back. Everything was in the detail.

  It wouldn't hurt to try it on. Right? I mean, a quick selfie, to send to a future boyfriend and then I'd put it back on the hanger.

  I had a little nose around. The en-suite bathroom had a shower, with a big fluffy towel and the most gorgeous smelling toiletries. It was just so inviting and, to be honest, after the day I'd had I did smell a bit like Felix, my gran's twenty year old cat. Just a quick wash, to take advantage of the free hot water. Couldn't hurt.

  I stepped in and lathered up, checking for cameras before stripping off. This place might be pretty and fancy but I wouldn’t put it past them. It was swarming with scantily clad young women. Ideal fodder for spy cameras.

  Once out and dry, I face-timed my best friend, Karen. No way in hell I was getting into the role of Busty Babette without showing my bestie, this would kill her. When I'd told her my plan to fly to America yesterday she'd thought I was losing it, but here I was, in a small town in Montana, in a strip club, naked. Completely normal, healthy behavior. Don't know what she was worried about.

  “Kazzaaa!”

>   “Cazzaaa!”

  “You are not going to believe where I am.”

  “Are you naked? Put some clothes on. I'm over at me mum's!” I waited whilst she moved somewhere quieter.

  “Get a load of these knickers.” I whipped them on. “They're kind of big, and they've got velcro down the side, but look at my tummy!” I had the figure of a model in these things. A catalogue model, probably, but they were stunning. “How does my bum look?”

  “Move the phone further away. Gorgeous. You should keep those.”

  “Right? I'm sure Babette would understand.”

  “Who's Babette and where are you that you need velcro on your knickers?”

  I held up two little gold frilly things. “Nipple tassels!” I screeched

  “What? How do you put them on?”

  “Double sided sticky tape.”

  “Well I never.” I stuck them on and tried twirling them. It was actually way easier than you'd think. I mean, it's not like anybody was going to see them, but I probably could pull off a good show.

  “What do you think?”

  “Look love, it’s lunchtime here and the whole family are waiting. Did you find him yet?”

  “No.”

  “Well stop faffing about and go get your man.” She waved goodbye and hung up.

  I hadn't lost sight of the goal. Someone had sent me this address and I’d taken appropriate action.

  I picked up the basque. The soft, silk material almost melted into my fingers. It also had velcro on it. In ten seconds it was on my body and I looked like Mother Christmas on Santa's birthday.

  There were heels too. I don't do heels. Trainers and the occasional flat shoe, that's my jam. These were about a size too big, and about five inches too high, but I managed to take a few steps. I clearly wasn't made for the stripper life.

  Did burlesque dancers strip? I got my phone out, looked up Busty Babette. Apparently so. I seriously needed to leave this place before they called for me. Getting past Carl would be out of the question, especially as these amazing clothes were never ever coming off of me again. You'd have to rip them off of my cold, dead, irresistible, pert body.

  A feather boa and the most exquisite pair of lacy, red satin gloves finished the ensemble. I stood in front of the full length mirror admiring myself. Men didn't fall at the feet of girls like me.

  Ordinary, normal, everyday girls.

  Busty Babette might be amazing when she was all dolled up, but did they really want to see me naked. I wasn't putting myself down, don’t get me wrong, it’s just that my body wasn’t quite beach-ready or gym-ready and I’m pretty positive it wasn’t on-stage-naked-ready either.

  Cooper hadn't given a damn though. He'd looked at my bum from every single angle and hadn’t cared in the slightest about a little bit of cellulite nor my Taco Tuesday tummy. Quite the opposite, he’d done things with my boobs that were probably illegal in several countries.

  A flutter went through me. Sexual excitement combined with utter dread. The sickening thought of that man married to someone else, to her.

  He should be in my bed, doing dirty things to my feather boa, but instead he was spending his last night of freedom in a cabaret club watching busty women get naked.

  Tomorrow he would be married to someone else and I would just be a distant memory. Maybe whoever had sent the text was right. Maybe he was pining for me, waiting for me to ride on in on my white horse and steal him away. Bet he wasn’t expecting me to be dressed like this though, his knight in shiny underwear.

  I sat in the armchair and ate a sandwich from the free buffet they'd put out for Babette. Wasn't like she was going to eat it and I hadn't swallowed a thing since the plane, if you don't count half a fluff-covered chocolate bar I'd found in my backpack.

  This was the life. Drinking sparkling champagne out of a crystal flute and eating delicate little sandwiches and creamy cakes–whilst dressed like a high class stripper–was the most fun I'd had in years. By the time the little man knocked on her door I’d finished eating, pinned up my curly brown hair and given myself a complete makeover with Babette's vast collection of expensive brand make-up. And I'd also completely forgotten about that plan to leave before he got there.

  I was three sheets to the wind. Pissed. Drunk. And suddenly taken with the idea that I was going to be the best burlesque dancer this club had ever seen. I couldn’t be further from the truth. I could hardly walk in those bloody heels before I'd had a few, but now? No chance.

  Nevertheless, as the little man took my hand to lead me out of the room I was ready and willing to hit the stage. I grabbed the final part of my costume—la piece de resistance, a beautiful red satin mask, bedazzled all over with feathers and sparkles—and as I stepped into the hallway I was the queen of cabaret.

  The dread hit me about ten seconds later as I hobbled down the corridor, past the other dancers. So stupid. What the hell was I thinking? I couldn't do this.

  I placed my hand on the little man's shoulder. “I don’t, I’m not sure...”

  “Honey, we all get nerves, it’s normal, you’re a star, now go out there, show them what you’re made of, you’re gonna kill it!”

  I closed my eyes, breathed. He was right, it would be fine. No. No it wouldn't. I stepped back, looked for some way out of here. Without hesitation, Carl, sensing my imminent flight, swung his giant arm around my back and pushed me out onto the stage.

  Everything was dark. It smelt like wood shavings and dust, not at all what I was expecting. The lights were on in the bar, I could make out the shapes of people mulling around, drinks in hands.

  “Ladies and Gentleman, for your delight and delectation, Busty Babette!” Christmas music boomed out of the speakers either side of me.

  My legs began to tremble, then wobble violently. Bending over, I placed my hands on my knees to steady myself. The spotlight hit me. I stood there, huddled over, shaking like a leaf, blinded by the lights.

  There was nothing left to do but put on a show. I wiggled my bottom. Loud cheers erupted around me.

  Facing the audience I shook my shoulders, my breasts did a kind of Mexican wave. The crowd were shouting, encouraging me, getting right into it. And so was I. I'd never had the guts to strip for any man before.

  Here, I was acclaimed, lauded, adored. They loved me, lapped it up.

  I shimmied across the stage, blew kisses, kicked my legs in the air. The music vibrated in my ears and the lights blinded me.

  If he was out there, if he was watching, I hoped that Cooper was loving it too. Maybe he was thinking about my boobs and my bottom. He did love my bum. I turned around wiggled it at them. That one was for you, Cooper.

  Finger by finger I pulled off the gloves then bent down, revealing a hell of a lot more cleavage to those in the front row and dangled the gloves over someone's head. He grabbed them, sniffed them, showed them off to his friends.

  Okay.

  I whipped off the feather boa, rubbing it down my back as if I was drying myself off after a shower. Putting it between my legs, I rode it like a hobby horse before throwing it out into the crowd to cries of appreciation.

  It had been ten minutes; I had nothing left to take off. That should be enough to please the boss.

  There was no sign of Cooper, well, as far as I could see. It was time to get out of Dodge.

  I waved goodbye, tried to leave the stage, but the little man stepped in front of me. He stuck a tiny, sharp nailed finger hard into my breastbone directly between my boobs, pushing me backwards.

  “No dear, it all has to come off, that’s what we paid for.”

  Carl was standing behind him, enjoying my act, his smile turning into a menacing scowl.

  I stumbled back, he frightened me a little. This wasn’t what I’d signed up for. This was just a bit of fun. I'd come here to find Cooper, not to get my tits out. I'm not that kind of girl.

  I boogied back onto the stage, stood in front of the crowd. “Get 'em off!” shouted a voice, everybody cheered. Sashay
ing forward onto the catwalk I started to shimmy down it. Maybe if I saw Cooper he could get me out of here.

  A hand came up to stroke my leg. What the hell? Where did that come from? I jumped back, stumbling on my heels, wobbling violently, coming down with a thud as I crumbled to my hands and knees. That would hurt tomorrow. It fucking stung now.

  Crawling on, fending off hands that were now coming from all directions I finally spotted him. Cooper. In pride of place at the end of the runway.

  He was cheering louder than everybody else, beer in hand, enjoying the spectacle. If only I’d known he liked it so much I’d have given him a private show when I'd had the chance.

  The damned hands trying to grab at me were getting out of control, I was swatting at people from all angles, pointing at them like an angry schoolteacher. I needed to get a grip! Control these men.

  I came to a pole and pulled myself up onto it. Looping my leg around it, I held on for dear life. It was a slippery bugger. I had about ten seconds to decide what to do. The crowd was cheering me on, but they wouldn't stay calm for very long if I didn't finish the act. It was now or never, strip or split.

  Someone once said to me, 'Promise me you'll always love your body as much as I love it.' He was right, of course, I did need to love myself a little bit more, or at least as much as this crowd clearly loved me. But hanging off of a stripper pole half-naked is hardly the time to get deep and philosophical. I needed to take the bull by the horns or, in this case, the Velcro between my fingers.

  I swung around, whipping the corset off, throwing it into the crowd. They cheered, so I spun around again–clasping onto the icy pole with my knees, bum facing the crowd–and whipped off the knickers in one fell swoop.

  “Holy shit! Carrie!”

  Cooper leaped to his feet; standing up so fast his chair flew back into the table behind him, sending half a dozen drinks hurtling into the air. Some guy whose beer had just decorated him from head to toe jumped forward and went for him, but Cooper’s bodyguard swooped in and delivered a sizable fist onto his face. Another guy barged in, but almost broke his hand on the bodyguard’s impressive abs.