Do Me Right

Suddenly the last place she wanted to be was that empty apartment. She turned in the opposite direction from the lot where she’d parked her car and headed back up East Sixth.

At this hour the protestors were gone, but the crowds were thin even for a weeknight. How much of this was due to Clean Carter’s campaign? What would happen to the businesses on the street if this kept up?

She was probably worrying over nothing. She’d grab a bite to eat, wind down a little, then head home. A good night’s sleep would pull her out of the bad mood she’d been in all day.

She pushed open the door to the Library Bar and went inside. “Hey, Pete.” She greeted the bartender and took a seat at the bar. “Any pizza left?”

“Couple of slices.” Pete took a glass from over his head and filled it with ice. “Diet Coke?”

“Yeah. And a slice of pizza.” She looked around the room. Two couples occupied tables across the room and three college-age guys sat at the other end of the bar watching a television with the sound turned down.

“Quiet in here tonight,” she said as he set the drink in front of her.

“It’s been quiet in here a lot of nights lately. People don’t want to deal with being hassled by a bunch of sign-waving, pamphlet-pushing busybodies. What about at your place?”

She shrugged. She’d had less than a dozen customers all day, all regulars except for George and Kyle.

She shifted, trying to get more comfortable on the hard bar stool. She’d been thinking about Kyle off and on all day. She couldn’t remember the last time a man had gotten her attention the way the handsome cowboy had.

Some of her friends had accused her of being too picky; she preferred to think of it as particular. If she was going to spend her time and energy on a man, she wanted to be sure he was worth the trouble.

Kyle had definitely sparked her interest. He had a cocky self-assurance that challenged her to tame him and enough of a sense of humor to hint at fun along the way. In her experience, the combination could be incendiary in bed—and impossible out of it.

Pete delivered her pizza and she began to eat. As she chewed, she couldn’t help thinking that a dinner that was the equivalent of rubbery cheese on cardboard was a sure sign of a miserable social life.

“You don’t look like you’re enjoying that much.”

Startled, she dropped the half-eaten pizza slice and stared at the man who’d slid onto the bar stool next to her. “What are you doing here?”

Kyle tilted his hat back on his head. “I’m looking for you.”

Whatever appetite she’d had deserted her at those four words. She pushed her plate away and took a long drink, careful not to look at him, though she could feel his gaze burning into her. “Why would you be looking for me?”

She waited for some flirty or suggestive answer, but he remained silent. She held out for a full minute, but after that she had to look at him. He wasn’t smiling—in fact, he looked far too serious.

Pete approached. “What can I get you?”

“Bourbon and Coke.” Kyle turned to Theresa. “Do you want anything else?”

She shook her head. What she wanted was to get out of here. Away from him and the shaky, unsettled way he made her feel.

“How long have you been a tattoo artist?” he asked.

The very ordinariness of the question surprised her. No innuendo or playfulness, just ordinary conversation. What was he up to? She shifted slightly away from him and stirred her drink with the straw. “About seven years now. I apprenticed a couple years before that.”

“Uh-huh. I’ve been on the rodeo circuit ten years. A long time to be smelling horse shit and wrestling ornery cows.”

“If you don’t enjoy it anymore, why don’t you quit?”

He nodded. “I’ve been thinking about that. But I don’t see a lot of other options. It’s what I’m used to.”

“You can’t rodeo with your arm in a cast, can you?”

“There is that.” He frowned at his injured forearm, then took a long drink. “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking about what I’m going to do with myself for the next six weeks, until I can get back on the circuit.”

So he was grounded for six weeks? A lot could happen in that kind of time.

She pushed the thought away. She didn’t want anything to do with a randy cowboy. She looked away, pretending indifference. “I don’t see how I can help you there.”

He scooted closer. “Oh, but I think you can.” His voice was a notch above a whisper; velvet brushed across nerves set on hyperalert. “I think you and I could make the next six weeks damned interesting.”

Try as she might, she couldn’t keep back the hot flush that swept up her neck and across her cheeks. “Forget it,” she said, even as she listened for him to elaborate.

He traced his forefinger down her arm. “Hear me out, now. I believe we’d both benefit from what I have in mind.”

“What could you possibly do for me, cowboy?” Watching the light and shadows play across his handsome face, half a dozen erotic ideas flitted through her mind. But they were just ideas—she was better off not getting involved.

“For one thing, I could take you out and buy you a better dinner than stale bar pizza.” He thumped the plate containing the remains of her meal.

“I don’t need you to take me to dinner,” she said.

“But what about after dinner?” He stroked her cheek, a silken touch that immediately raised her temperature five degrees. “Maybe you need me then.”

“No, I don’t,” she said, even though her body had other ideas.

“I think you do.” He leaned closer still, so that his knee met hers and his arm brushed the side of her breast. “And I sure as hell need you. The minute I laid eyes on you this afternoon, I knew we’d be good together.”

“You’re dreaming.” When did it get to be so warm in here? Maybe she should ask Pete to turn down the air-conditioning. Or she could go home—now—and take a cold shower.

“If I’m dreaming, then it’s a wet dream, darlin’.” He smoothed her hair behind her ear. “Don’t tell me you don’t feel it, too.”

“Feel what?” Somehow she managed to get the words out around the knot in her throat.

“These sparks between us. Our bodies are saying things to each other. Don’t you want to finish the conversation?”

“You’ve been drinking too much.”

He pushed his half-empty glass away. “Not nearly enough to get you out of my mind.”

“I’m not interested in getting involved with you or anyone else,” she said.

“It depends on what you mean by involved.” He sat up straighter. “I’m talking about six weeks of enjoying each other. No strings attached. We both make the best of it.”

“I’m not interested.” She laid a five on the counter and stood to leave.

He touched her arm lightly. “Don’t be so hasty. I’ve done a little checking. Discreetly. I know you’re not involved with anyone else.”

“I like it that way.”

“Really?” His gaze pierced her, challenging her to admit the truth. “You don’t look like a woman who’s made to be celibate.”

“Oh, so you’re going to save me from that fate? How noble of you!”

“Nothing noble about it. Like I said before, we’d both benefit from a few weeks of fun.”

She shook her head. “Find somebody else.”

“I don’t want somebody else. I want you.”

The man didn’t mince words, she had to give him that. Would he be as direct in bed? “Why me?”

He stood, pressing in close, scant inches between them. “You intrigue me. You’ve got brains to go with that sexy body.” He smoothed his hand down her arm. “We wouldn’t bore each other.”

Men had called her a lot of things, but smart wasn’t usually one of them. The idea that he saw past her vamp wardrobe and tough-girl attitude moved her more than she cared to admit.

And the fact that he could snare her this easily frightened her. She pulled away. “I have to go now.”

“All right. I’ll walk you to your car.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“I insist.” He fell into step beside her. He said nothing as they exited the bar and walked down the deserted street, but every part of her was aware of him. As tall as she was, he was taller. He walked next to the street, touching her elbow to guide her around obstacles, pausing at the corner to look both ways before escorting her across the street. She couldn’t remember when she’d felt so protected. She told herself she ought to bristle at such condescending behavior, but the truth was, it felt good to be looked after this way, as if he thought she deserved a little extra care.

She took out her keys as they reached her car, suddenly feeling awkward. What do you say to a man whose proposition you’ve just turned down? Thanks didn’t seem quite appropriate. “Well, good night and goodbye.”

“Good night. But I won’t say goodbye.” He reached out and pulled her close. “I’ll definitely be seeing you again.” She only had time to gasp before his lips met hers.

Her first thought was that this was a man who knew his way around a kiss. His mouth was firm against hers but not forceful, his hands sliding down her arms gently even as his tongue coaxed her to respond. He tasted of smoky whiskey and sweet cola, and smelled like starched cotton, oiled leather and male musk. The taste and scent and feel of him—his hot, exploring mouth and firm, unyielding muscle and gentle hands—battered at her last shreds of resistance. She melted against him, her surrendering moan muffled by his seeking mouth.

The heat that had smoldered between them all evening crackled into flames. She pressed against him, standing on tiptoe, both hands cradling the back of his head, her fingers sliding through his thick hair, pulling him closer still. She reveled in the scrape of his beard against her chin, the pressure of his belt buckle against her stomach. Suddenly every passing second reminded her how long she’d been alone and how much she didn’t want to be by herself anymore.

And then the spell was over. He raised his head and moved out of her arms. They stood inches apart, staring at each other, gasping for breath. His stunned expression mirrored her feelings.

She blinked, fighting to keep her composure. What had just happened? Had she really lost control like that with a man she hardly knew?

She hugged her arms over her chest and rubbed her shoulders, fighting a sudden chill and the longing to have his arms around her again. “I have to go,” she said.

This time he didn’t try to stop her. But as she started the car and reached to pull the door shut, he leaned in. “I’ll see you soon, darlin’,” he said in that warm, molasses voice that was guaranteed to keep her hot and bothered for the rest of the night.

KYLE MANAGED TO HOLD IT together until Theresa’s car was out of sight. Then he slumped against an adjacent car and removed his hat to wipe the sweat from his brow.

What exactly had happened just now? He’d meant to kiss her, but he hadn’t expected spontaneous combustion. He’d come dangerously close to laying her back across the hood of her car and taking her right there.

He smiled, remembering her feeble denials that there wasn’t anything between them. One kiss had shown her for a liar. Next time she’d have to find another excuse to refuse him.

Judging by the way she’d melted in his arms just now, she wouldn’t say no much longer. He stared down the empty street in the direction she’d driven, wondering what his next move would be. On the one hand, he could show up at her shop tomorrow and continue to play the game—flirting and touching, daring her to give in to her feelings and give herself up to six weeks of very physical therapy that would benefit them both.

On the other hand, a little voice in his head was telling him to turn around and run the other way. A woman like Theresa Jacobs didn’t ever really surrender. Women like her took prisoners. With one kiss, he was already halfway snared in her web. Not exactly a good beginning for a casual alliance. He wanted fun without forfeit, a way to give his body without worrying about his heart. One look at Theresa, with her tattoos and leather, her overt sex appeal and go-to-hell attitude, and he thought he’d found the perfect partner to help occupy his time while he was forced to remain close to home.

Now he wasn’t so sure about what he’d thought was a brilliant plan.

He straightened and headed back toward the bar. Maybe a stiff drink, or a few stiff drinks, would drown out his doubts. But he doubted he’d see clearly through an alcoholic haze, or know any better what he should do if he woke in the morning with a hangover. So he detoured past the Library Bar and headed for the lot where he’d parked his truck. Gold’s Gym was open twenty-four hours. A few miles on the treadmill or lifting weights with his good hand might clear his head.

Or at least wear him out enough to sleep without dreaming of a certain leather-clad siren and a single scorching kiss.

EVERY LAMP IN HER APARTMENT couldn’t cast enough light to drive out the dark mood that had enveloped Theresa by the time she arrived home. Damn Kyle Cameron for making her feel this way! She’d been fine until he’d come along and decided to take her along on his little ego trip. She might have been a little lonely, but she’d been okay. At least she hadn’t been bothered by the restlessness that grated at her now.

She dropped her purse on the counter, then strode into the bedroom, shedding boots and stockings along the way. By the time she reached the bathroom, she was down to a purple silk thong.

She poured a generous amount of lavender-and-vanilla bubble bath into the old-fashioned claw-foot tub and turned both taps on full. A soak in the tub was bound to relax her enough so she could sleep. In the morning, she’d be able to make more sense of her feelings.

She turned and caught sight of herself in the mirror and froze, studying her reflection with a critical eye. Two years shy of thirty, she was holding up well. Though she enjoyed eating too much to be overly skinny, she had an hourglass shape men appreciated, with definite curves she wasn’t afraid to show off. Her tattoos were artistic, not overwhelming: a snarling tiger on her left shoulder, a band of flowers around her right bicep, the Chinese symbol for courage on her right ankle.

Her full breasts were still firm, the Celtic knot a lacy etching between them. Her nipples were dark against her pale skin and erect now in the coolness of the apartment. She smoothed her hand down her sides, watching the nipples pucker further at her touch.

She lowered her gaze to her stomach, slightly rounded and soft but not fat or flabby. A gold T dangled from the ring in her navel, a single diamond chip winking in its center.

She slid her thumbs beneath the narrow waistband of the thong and skimmed it down her thighs, watching herself in the mirror. Her dark pubic hair was trimmed close, an inch-wide strip down the center. She wondered what Kyle would think if he could see that. Would the sight of her naked excite him?

She’d felt him tonight, the ridge of his erection hard between them. He’d been hard all over, really, muscles like iron holding her with surprising tenderness. She grew damp at the memory.

Once the tub had filled, she turned off the taps and slid beneath the bubbles. The warm water caressed her and she sighed, breathing in the rich perfume of lavender and vanilla. Eyes closed, she willed herself to relax. This was her sanctuary, a place where worries were banished.

But even this treasured ritual couldn’t erase thoughts of the kiss she’d shared with Kyle. The moment was seared into her brain. As soon as she closed her eyes, she saw him again, his lips curved in a lethal half smile, his eyes assessing her, stripping her bare.

But it was his touch that had been her undoing. The memory of his lips and hands on her still burned her, awakening feelings that had lain dormant too long.

She slid soap-slicked hands up to cover her breasts, rubbing back and forth across aching nipples. It was a poor substitute for what she really wanted—a man’s hands, Kyle’s hands, on her.

Imagining it was Kyle’s hands she was guiding, she moved lower, across her stomach, down between her legs. She pretended it was his fingers parting her folds to stroke her clit, his body satisfying the desire building within her.

Our bodies are saying things to each other. Don’t you want to finish the conversation? His words returned to her, fuel to the fire burning inside her. If a man could get her this hot with only the memory of his voice, what would happen if she invited him into her bed?

She arched up, anticipating release, water sloshing over the sides of the tub. Her cries echoed in the room as her climax overtook her. Eyes closed, she sank down in the tub again. She’d found physical release but nothing like what she really wanted. What she really needed.

3

KYLE WAITED A DAY BEFORE going back to Austin Body Art, telling himself he wanted to give Theresa time to think about his proposition. Time to remember the lip-scorching kiss they’d shared and contemplate what that kind of kiss might lead to once they got their clothes off.

In reality, he felt the need of a little cooling-off period himself. He was sure he could handle anything Theresa threw at him, but he had to admit he’d never been involved with someone who made a living poking people with needles. Not to mention one who’d practically melted his bones with a single kiss. He needed to rest up for his next move.

The picketers were patrolling the sidewalk in front of the tattoo parlor when he returned to the shop. “Sir, you should read this!” An earnest-looking woman shoved a flyer into his hand as he reached for the door of the shop.

Printed on blaze-orange paper, the flyer read “Keep Austin clean! Take back the streets for our children! Fight for a family-friendly Austin! Vote for Darryl ‘Clean’ Carter for City Council Place Four!!”

“Nice exclamation marks,” he said, attempting to hand the paper back to the woman.

“Oh, no. You keep it.” She frowned at his hand on the doorknob. “You don’t really want to go in there, do you?”

“I don’t?” He removed his hand from the doorknob and turned to face her. “Why not?” He looked at the others, who had stopped marching with their signs and gathered around like buzzards waiting for their turn at the dead armadillo on the side of the road. “What is y’all’s objection to this place?”

“This isn’t the kind of thing children should be exposed to.” A man in a dark suit and helmet hair stepped forward. “It’s morally repugnant and encourages overt sexuality and flaunting of the body.”

“Brushed up on those vocabulary words, did you?” Kyle grinned and made a show of looking around them. “I don’t see any children here, do you?” He scratched his head. “Guess they’re all at home, watching sex and violence on TV.”

The man glared at him. “This is not something to be made light of,” he said.

“Right.” Kyle turned and grasped the doorknob again. “Don’t wear yourselves out toting those signs or anything.”

The string of bells on the back of the door announced his entrance into the shop. One of the cats, curled up in a chair by the door, blinked at him sleepily. The blond dude who’d been there the other day looked up from the computer behind the front counter. “Can I help you?”

“I just stopped by to see Theresa.”

At the sound of her name, she looked up from her seat next to the tattoo chair. She shut off the machine and blotted the partial tattoo on the back of the man who reclined beside her. “Kyle, what are you doing here?”

Was it his imagination or was her voice a little breathy? He strode into the room and lowered himself into a folding chair near her work area. “I came to see you, of course.” He nodded to the man, a middle-aged biker type with a long, gray pigtail and grease-stained jeans. “Don’t let me interrupt.”

She switched on the machine again. “Eric, this is Kyle. If you don’t want him to watch, I’ll tell him to leave.”

Eric raised his head and looked Kyle up and down. “Don’t make no difference to me,” he said and lowered his head again.

Theresa turned her attention back to the tattoo, which was fine with Kyle, as it gave him the chance to watch her. A pair of fine lines creased her forehead as she concentrated on her work. The design taking shape beneath her hand was intricate and colorful: a whole garden full of roses surrounding some sort of fantastic bird—a phoenix, maybe—in brilliant reds, greens, blues and yellows. She was working on the bird now, inking in the tail feathers.

Bent over like this, he had a terrific view of the tops of her breasts swelling at the neck of the leather vest she wore. Some kind of flower or design was tattooed in her cleavage. He was definitely interested in getting a closer look at that….

“Shouldn’t you be back at the ranch punching cows or something?”

Her voice pulled him out of the beginning of a very interesting fantasy. He raised his eyes to meet hers. “We don’t punch ’em anymore,” he drawled. “We just suggest they move ’long. It’s more PC that way.”

Eric made a choking sound, but Kyle soon realized it was a chuckle, muffled by his position. “I’m going to remember that one,” the biker said. “What happened to your arm?”

After less than a week, the question was already getting old. He looked at the blue-wrapped cast. “One of the cows punched back.”

The biker laughed again. “You’re a riot.”

“Guess if the rodeo gig doesn’t work out, I can be a stand-up comic in a biker bar,” he said.

Theresa apparently didn’t appreciate his humor. She was still frowning. “What have you been doing since you got hurt? Just sitting around on your ass?”

He winced. That was a low blow. Just because he was twenty-nine years old and didn’t have a real job didn’t mean he was a bum. “I’m exploring my options,” he said.

“Hmmph.” But the slight flush to her cheeks made him think she was remembering how he’d asked her to help him pass the time while he was recuperating.

He sat back, hands behind his head. “I thought about taking up panhandling,” he said. “But there seems to be a glut of people in that line of work around here lately. Then I heard they were auditioning for Chippendales dancers, so I thought about strapping on my chaps and giving it a go.” He gave an exaggerated shimmy. “What do you say, darlin’? Think I’ve got what it takes?”

Aha! She looked! He deliberately licked his lips. He’d be happy to show her he had what it would take to please her.

“Maybe we could hire him to run off those picketers,” the blonde behind the counter said.

“I don’t think one beat-up cowboy’s going to scare them much,” she said.

If he thought she really meant the words, he might have been insulted. But the very way she avoided looking at him told him she was all too aware of his presence. He liked that. She didn’t look like the kind of woman who was easily unnerved, but he’d managed to get to her. Score one for the cowboy, beat-up or not.

“Besides, it’s a free country,” Theresa continued. “We can’t stop them from walking on the sidewalk.”

“Screw ’em,” Eric said. “They don’t know what they’re missing.”

“They don’t have much of a sense of humor, do they?” Kyle leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “A guy out there told me this place ‘encourages overt sexuality and flaunting of the body.’ Like that was a bad thing.”

“Hey, if you’ve got it, flaunt it,” the blonde said, flexing a scrawny arm.

“Sounds good to me.” Kyle’s gaze lingered on Theresa’s inviting cleavage once more. “What do you think, Theresa?”

She switched off the machine and patted Eric’s shoulder. “I think that’s all for today,” she said. “Next time I’ll do the talons and finish up the pyramid at the bottom.”

“Thanks, T,” the biker said. He raised up on his elbows while she cleaned and dressed the fresh tattoo. “You here for a tattoo?” he asked.

Kyle shook his head. “No, I’m just here to harass Theresa. I know how much she loves it.” There went that blush again, the slightest pink along her cheekbones. It was immensely gratifying and sexy as hell.