Hey, everyone! Mia Hopkins here. I’m thrilled to be a part of Cowboy Heat.

The inspiration for my story “Remember” came from a trip to Las Vegas. On a whiskey-soaked lark, my girlfriends and I went to see Thunder from Down Under, the all-male revue show at the Excalibur Hotel. I was a total newbie and didn’t know what to expect. The lights went down, the dance beat started up, and a well-oiled gentleman who looked like Jeremy Piven’s buffer younger brother jumped onto our table. Dressed in tighty-whities and a pair of matching kneepads, he began to thrust his hips in time to the music…and a hundred sane-looking women completely lost their minds. As if all we needed was the green light.

The experience got me thinking about two things. First of all, what kind of man chooses to pursue this kind of work? Someone with a powerful connection to his own physicality, who enjoys attention and doesn’t take himself too seriously. That’s Tyler. Second, what kind of woman would most benefit from being around a man like this? Someone who’s lost touch with her own physicality, a romantic who’s retreated into herself because the outside world has been unkind. That’s Eliza.

In “Remember,” Eliza is a jilted bride nursing her heartbreak at home alone. Tyler is the dancer who’s been hired for her bachelorette party, but someone forgot to tell him the wedding’s been cancelled. He shows up and offers Eliza a little one-on-one consultation, cowboy stripper style.

Excerpt

She knew the song from the country radio station: “Crazy Town.” The electric guitars were joined by licks from a fiddle, and then the twang of Jason Aldean’s voice. Her cowboy started out with his back to her, Wranglers wrapped around a truly breathtaking ass.

“Nice,” she said, slurring. “I thought you would’ve gone with something more predictable, like ‘Save a Horse, Ride a Cowboy.’”

“Hush,” he said. “I’m working.”

He spun around and moved his hips in time to the music. He lowered his hat over his eyes and looked down, hiding his face from her and forcing her to look at his body. His broad forearms were lined with a few faint veins. He hooked his thumbs over his belt and spun around again, moving backward until he was straddling her lap; his ass was in her face. As he shook it, she covered her mouth to suppress a giggle.

He reached behind him, grabbed both of her hands, and placed them high on his chest. Through his shirt she could feel how hard his muscles were. Some pectoralis major, she thought. Jesus.

As the music bumped on, he moved her hands slowly down his body. When her palms slid over his abs, she felt as though she were feeling up a river rock wall.

Before she knew what was happening, he’d turned around to look at her face-to-face. He took off his hat and flung it away, revealing a head of wavy dark hair. He picked up her hand again and ran it through that mink-soft hair. In spite of a brain that was addled by wine and disbelief, her body responded to him, and she felt her core temperature rise to scalding.

He took her hands and placed them on his granite asscheeks. “Keep ’em there, beautiful,” he said.

What was happening? She had no idea. He pulled his shirt open with one swift move and pulled it out of his jeans in time with the music. He threw it aside and Eliza had nowhere else to look but at his bare chest just inches from her face.

Without waiting for him to prompt her, she ran her left hand from his pecs over his rigid six-pack. Her thumb stopped in the hollow of his belly button. Her mouth went dry.

“Lie down for me,” he murmured.

He took her hands and helped her up. He pushed the chair out of the way, took the hat off her head, and laid her down on the floor facing up.

The song ended and faded into “Save a Horse, Ride a Cowboy.”

“I knew it!” She laughed.

“What? It’s a classic,” he said with smirk. He stood above her, untied a leather lace, and threw off his fringed chaps. Underneath, his jeans were soft and worn and stretched tight across hard quads. He got down on his knees, straddling her hips, and began to undulate over her. The slide of muscles underneath his skin was hypnotic. As he wove back and forth, he kept his eyes locked on hers.

Then he got into a push-up position above her. The music from the boom box blasted in her ears. Where his chest brushed hers, she felt her skin burning. Her nipples hardened against her T-shirt.

“You’re going to think I’m lying, Eliza,” he said, “but I think you’re sexy as hell. Your fiancé’s a damn fool.”

She looked at the face above hers. “Are you joking?” she asked.

“Nope,” he said. His voice dropped even deeper. “Can I kiss you?”

She blinked. “What?”

“Let me kiss you, Eliza.”

Giveaway

I’ve got a Kindle download two-pack to give away today: my new erotic short story Cowboy Cocktail and the scorching-hot flash fiction anthology Dirty Little Numbers from Go Deeper Press. To win, answer this question in the comments below and I’ll choose one winner at random. Check this space tomorrow for the announcement. In “Remember,” Tyler dances to “Crazy Town” and “Save a Horse, Ride a Cowboy.” What sexy song would your cowboy choose?

About the Author

Mia Hopkins is a Los Angeles-based writer of romance and erotic romance. A selection of her work can be found on Amazon.com. Connect with her on Twitter @MiaHopkinsxoxo, befriend her on Facebook, or visit her excessively irreverent and whiskey-soaked blog, miahopkins.blogspot.com.