“Where’s the bedroom?” Kyle asked

“First door on the right…” Before Theresa could finish her sentence, he’d swept her up in his arms and carried her down the hall.

She braced herself for a rough landing on the bed, but he managed to lay her down gently. His torso pressed into her, a solid weight that thrilled her. For an average-size guy, he was strong. Everywhere she touched, she met hard muscle. The feel of him turned her on so much that her body wasn’t paying attention to her mind anymore. She’d been reduced to this all-consuming need.

And the only thing that could take that need away was him.

He moved away suddenly, and without his warmth she felt cold. “What are you doing?” she asked.

Kyle paused, his hand on the snap to his jeans. “I thought you might be tired of being the only one naked.”

Dear Reader,

As soon as Theresa Jacobs sauntered onto the pages of Good, Bad…Better, Blaze #168, I knew I would have to tell her story in a book of her own. And here it is. Do Me Right was an absolute pleasure to write, as I couldn’t wait to find out what would happen with Theresa and her hero.

A woman as strong as Theresa demanded an equally strong man. Kyle Cameron had the right combination of cowboy charm and masculine determination to crack her tough exterior and find the tender woman within.

This book also gave me another chance to revisit one of my favorite cities in the world, Austin, Texas. I spent many happy years there and it was nice to remember them.

I hope you enjoy Do Me Right. I love to hear from readers. Visit my Web site at www.CindiMyers.com to find out more about what I’m up to. E-mail me at Cindi@cindimyers.com or write me at P.O. Box 991, Bailey, CO 80421.

Happy reading,

Cindi Myers

Do Me Right
Cindi Myers

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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For Mike and Diane

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Epilogue

1

AH, NOTHING LIKE A LITTLE confrontation to start off a gorgeous April morning. A block away from her shop, Austin Body Art, Theresa Jacobs stopped and frowned at the half-dozen picketers milling around the tattoo parlor.

Keep Austin Clean one of their signs read. Take Back Sixth Street proclaimed another. Stamp Out Smut said a third. She had to hand it to them—these folks didn’t give up easily. They’d been out here every day for the last two weeks.

Two of the group wore oversize white T-shirts with the words Vote Darryl “Clean” Carter For Austin City Council. Ah, yes, “Clean” Carter. Self-appointed protector of citizen morals and champion of a family-friendly Austin. Apparently he’d decided that running Theresa and others like her out of business would be the ideal way to win his campaign.

Apparently Mr. Carter didn’t realize how stubborn smut-sellers like her could be. She shifted her bag up higher on her shoulder and tugged her leather halter top down a little lower. Cleavage exposed—check. Belly-button ring showing—check. High-heeled boots, black fishnet hose, leather miniskirt—check. Big hair—check. Red, red lips—check. If Carter’s minions expected sex, sin and sensation, she didn’t want to disappoint them.

Sultry smile in place, she started toward the shop once more, moving in an exaggerated strut that had her hips swaying like a clock pendulum.

As they had each morning for the past two weeks, the protesters stopped and stared at her approach. “Good morning,” she said, flashing a big smile as she inserted her key in the front-door lock.

“Good morn—” One of the men, a round, balding fellow with wire-rimmed glasses, started to return her greeting, but was cut off by an elbow in the ribs from the stern-faced woman in matching wire rims at his side.

“We’re having a special today, folks,” Theresa said. “Half-priced piercings. I know you won’t want to miss that.”

“You ought to be ashamed of yourself.” A tall woman with hair the color of apricots stepped forward. “What if you had a daughter who dressed and acted the way you do?”

Theresa lowered her sunglasses and looked the woman up and down. “I’d say she was having a lot more fun than someone who dressed and acted the way you do.”

On this exit line, she entered the shop and punched in her alarm code. Another day of fun and excitement at Austin Body Art. If only the moral dictators out there realized how mundane most of her life—and her clients—really were. She might look like a wild woman, but lately an exciting evening for her was a cable movie and Lean Cuisine.

She let the cats, Mick and Delilah, out of the back room. They protested their confinement loudly and wove in and out of her ankles until she filled their bowls with kibble. Then she switched on lights, booted up the computer and prepared to start the day.

Ten minutes later the door burst open. “Love you, too, baby!” Her co-worker, Scott, blew kisses to the group outside, the effect somewhat spoiled by the one-finger salute he gave with his other hand. He slammed the door and turned to Theresa. “Don’t those people ever give up?”

She shook her head. “They’ll be gone after the election, one way or another.”

Scott looked unconvinced. “You don’t know what money and an agenda can do for a candidate.” He glanced toward the group outside the front window. “These people are really fired up.”

“If Carter wins, the picketers will still go away. And he may not like us, but he can’t do anything about us. We’re a legitimate, legal business.”

“Yeah, but you can’t stay in business long if you don’t have customers, can you?” He slumped onto the stool behind the front counter and raked one hand through his spiked blond hair.

She ignored the twinge of fear his words produced. “What do you mean? Of course we’ll have customers. Why wouldn’t we?”

He shook his head. “I don’t know. This Clean Up Austin drive is really cutting down on traffic. Business is taking a hit all over.”

“We’re still doing okay.” They’d been a little slower, maybe, but every business had downtimes. “Things will pick up again soon. We don’t have to worry.”

“The Hot Tamale’s already cutting staff.” He rested his elbows on the counter, head in his hands. “I got laid off from my bartending gig last night.”

“Oh, Scott.” She set aside the mail she’d been sorting and went to him. “That sucks.”

He nodded. “Yeah. And I just moved into that new apartment, too.”

“You can work full-time here now, if you like.”

He raised his head. “You mean it?”

“Sure. With Zach in Chicago, I could use the extra help.” She glanced at the framed oil painting hanging over the cash register, a rendition of the Navy Pier in pop-art colors that was Zach’s latest work. Big bro was having a blast in the Windy City while she was trying to keep it together here at home.

“But didn’t you already hire someone else?”

“Another part-timer. She starts next week. But I could still use you full-time.”

He glanced toward the front window again. The picketers had resumed their march up and down the sidewalk. “I don’t know….”

“It’ll be all right. At least give it a try.”

“Okay. Thanks.”

The news that the Hot Tamale, one of the street’s most popular bars, was cutting staff stunned her. She’d known Carter’s campaign was getting a lot of attention in the press, but she’d assumed most people wouldn’t take him seriously. After all, Austin was known for its music scene and the nightlife on Sixth Street. Why would anyone want to take away the very thing that made the city so unique?

Obviously she’d underestimated the ability of a few soreheads to spoil the fun for everyone.

“Guess Zach picked a good time to skip town, huh?” Scott said. “Think he’ll ever come back?”

She shrugged. “He still has another year and a half of school.” And who knew where he’d end up after that. Before her brother followed Jen Truitt to Chicago a little over six months ago, he’d handed her the keys to Austin Body Art and told her the business was all hers. He wouldn’t have done that if he’d planned to return anytime soon.

“I can see that cheered you right up.” Scott slid off the stool. “I’ll go make coffee.”

As Scott disappeared into the back room, the bells on the front door jangled. Theresa turned to greet the two men who entered.

It would probably be more appropriate to say the men made an entrance. The first one was a tall drink of water in scuffed boots, sharply creased Wranglers, a denim shirt and a straw hat tilted low on his forehead. He strode into the room like a marshal stepping into a saloon in an old western. Broad-shouldered, narrow-waisted with a strong chin and a slightly crooked nose, he was movie-star handsome. She blinked a few times to make sure he was even real, wishing he’d take off the hat so she could get a look at his eyes. Not that she was interested in the average cowboy, but she could appreciate a gorgeous man as much as the next girl. “What can I do for you, gentlemen?” she asked.

His companion, a short, bow-legged man in a Bull Riders Stay On Longer T-shirt, removed his hat and stared openmouthed at the neckline of her halter top.

The taller man slapped his companion on the back of the head. “Put your eyes back in your skull and answer the lady.”

His words broke the spell his initial appearance had cast over her, and for the first time she noticed the cast on his left forearm. The bright blue gauze wrapping made a sharp contrast to his deeply tanned skin.

He nodded to her and nudged his hat up enough for her to see his whiskey-colored eyes glinting with good humor.

To her astonishment and utter mortification, she felt her heart flutter. She had to force back the smile she knew would have looked ridiculously goofy. Adonis here was no doubt used to women swooning at his feet, and she didn’t intend to be one of them.

“I apologize for my friend. He’s not used to associating with females other than cows and horses,” Handsome Hank continued.

“Shut your gob, Kyle.” The shorter cowboy rubbed the back of his neck and focused his gaze somewhere over Theresa’s left shoulder. “I’m interested in a tattoo.”

“Then you came to the right place.” With businesslike briskness, she plucked a clipboard from the rack by the counter and handed it to him. “Fill this out and we’ll get started.”

“Oh. Okay.”

While he sat and began filling out the information and release form, she turned to his friend, Kyle. He was watching her, a speculative look in his eyes. The intensity of his gaze unnerved her. “Do you want a tattoo, too?”

The slow smile that formed on his lips would have knocked a lesser woman off her feet. As it was, Theresa took a step back and put one hand on the counter to steady herself.

“That’s okay. Us naturally good-looking folks don’t need any extra decoration.” His gaze swept over the tiger etched on her shoulder, then shifted to the Celtic knot between her breasts. His smile broadened. “Though I have to say, you give me a whole new appreciation for your, um, art.”

She laughed. “I’m sure you’re a real art lover.” She nodded to his cast. “What happened?”

He frowned at the injury. “Had a little trouble with an uncooperative bovine.”

“Kyle has lousy luck with cattle and women.” The shorter man, whose name turned out to be George, stood and handed Theresa the clipboard.

“Don’t mind him,” Kyle said. “He’s been tossed on his head by bulls one too many times.”

“You’re a bull rider?” Theresa scanned the release form. Everything looked okay.

“Yes, ma’am.” George threw back his shoulders and puffed out his chest. “I’m in the top fifteen on the circuit right now.”

She glanced at Kyle. “Are you a bull rider, too?”

He shook his head. “No, I have more sense.”

“He’s too tall to ride bulls,” George said. “He’s a calf roper.” He glanced at the arm. “Or was.”

“I can still whip you with one arm tied behind my back.”

She somehow refrained from rolling her eyes at this typical male posturing. Honestly, was she supposed to be impressed? Better keep her mind on business. “Do you know what you want for your tat?” she asked George.

“I want a big lizard.” He pointed to his forearm. “Right here.”

“A lizard?”

He nodded. “’Cause that’s my handle on the circuit. George ‘the Lizard’ Lizardi.”

“Okay.” She led him to a thick binder on a stand by the counter and flipped through it until she came to the reptile section. “You ought to find something here.”

Scott emerged from the back room with two mugs of coffee. “Y’all want coffee?” he asked.

“That’d be nice,” Kyle said.

“None for me,” George said. “I’m jumpy enough.”

“George is a little nervous about needles,” Kyle said.

Theresa nodded. “He’ll be fine once we get started. For most people the anticipation of getting a tattoo is a lot more uncomfortable than the tat itself.”

“What’s your name?”

The question was a reasonable one, but it still caught her off guard. She started to ask him why he was interested, then thought better of it. He was a customer, or at least a buddy of a customer, so she ought to be polite. “Theresa Jacobs,” she said. “And you’re Kyle.”

“Kyle Cameron.” He offered his good hand. “Pleased to meet you, Theresa.”

His hand was warm, his grasp firm but not painful, calluses scraping against her palm. A masculine hand, telegraphing strength and confidence. Her heart fluttered again, and she jerked away and fussed with the supplies on the cart, though her skin still tingled from his touch.

Scott returned with another mug of coffee, followed by Mick and Delilah. True to her name, Delilah zeroed in on the handsome cowboy and began rubbing against his boots, purring loudly.

Kyle regarded the cat with a half smile. “Cute cat.”

“She’s all right.” She nudged Delilah away with the toe of her boot, then moved to a supply cart and began laying out the materials she’d need for the tattoo—sealed packets of needles, fresh ink caps, gauze, sterile wipes, A & D ointment and the tattoo machine, still in its sealed packet from the autoclave.

“I’ve never been around cats much.” He followed her and leaned back against the workbench. “My sister has them.”

“These were my brother’s until he moved to Chicago.”

“What’s he doing in Chicago?”

“Going to school.” And falling even more madly in love with Jen Truitt. The thought still amazed her—her tough-stuff big brother all mushy in love with the police chief’s daughter. Who would have thought?

“I found the one I want.” George pointed to a page in the binder.

Theresa walked over and studied the drawing of a snarling monitor lizard. One of Zach’s designs. “All right. Have a seat in the chair and we’ll get started.”

Looking a little apprehensive, George stretched out in the chair. “You want me to hold your hand?” Kyle asked.

“Only if you want me to break the other arm.”

While she prepped George, Kyle settled on a stool across from them. “So what’s with the chapel meeting outside?” he asked.

She swabbed the freshly shaved section of George’s arm with disinfectant and positioned the tattoo transfer. “The Clean Up Austin campaign? Haven’t you heard of them?”

He shook his head. “Until I hurt my arm I was riding the circuit, trying to earn enough points to make the national finals.”

She began filling ink caps from larger bottles on the stand beside her. “This guy, Darryl ‘Clean’ Carter, is running for Austin City Council. His campaign platform is that he intends to make Austin—and particularly Sixth Street—more family friendly, which means no tattoo parlors, strip joints, sex-toy stores or loud rock-and-roll bars. Only nice, staid restaurants, suitably quiet taverns and fun for the whole family.” She rolled her eyes and unwrapped a fresh tattoo needle. “I think it’s ridiculous, but they’ve been out there every morning for the past two weeks.” She switched on the tattoo machine. “You ready, George?”

“Uh, yeah.” He blanched. “Sure.”

“Don’t worry, pard. When you pass out from the pain, I’ll help revive you.” Kyle winked at Theresa, who steadfastly ignored the way this made her stomach quiver and concentrated on the tattoo.

George made a gurgling sound in his throat when the needle first made contact. She kept a firm grip on his arm and continued working. “Take a deep breath. Relax. Focus on something else to distract you.”

Predictably his gaze zeroed in on her chest once more. “Th-that’s a real interesting tattoo,” he said. “Who did it?”

“My brother.”

“He’s a tattoo artist, too?” Kyle asked.

“He’s the one who taught me.”

“I was wondering how a pretty girl like you would get into something like this,” George said.

“Right.” She switched colors and began outlining the lizard’s eyes. “Like I haven’t heard that one before.”

“I don’t know. Sounds like a pretty good job to me,” Kyle said. “Good hours. You’re pretty much your own boss.” He grinned. “And a chance to inflict pain on ugly SOBs like the Lizard here.”

“Don’t give her any ideas,” George protested.

As she worked, she could feel Kyle’s eyes on her. His stare wasn’t the rude ogling of some men but rather the studious gaze of someone who was trying to figure her out. Ogling, she could deal with—she didn’t much care for this kind of close scrutiny. “Do you mind?” she said, glaring at him.

“Mind what?”

“You’re staring.”

“No, I’m watching you.”

“Well, stop it.”

“You interest me.”

“Well, cowboys don’t interest me, so don’t get any ideas.”

“Darlin’, I’ve had ideas about you since the minute I laid eyes on you.”

The combination of a molasses-sweet drawl and a one-hundred-degree gaze was doing a number on her libido. She maintained her grip on the tattoo machine and continued working, the original Ms. Cool. “You and your ideas are going to be very disappointed,” she said, ignoring the pinch of regret the words sent through her.

He laughed. “You’ve done it now.”

“Done what?” Why did he look so pleased with himself?

“Saying that’s like waving a red flag in front of a bull. There’s nothing a man like me enjoys better than a challenge.”

She bristled. “That wasn’t a challenge.”

“Sounded like one to me,” George said.

She looked from one man to the other. They were both wearing smart-ass grins. She had half a mind to slap sense into both of them. But that would probably only egg them on. She settled for a return to her ice-queen routine. “Think what you like,” she said. “You’ll end up disappointed.”

As someone who’d had her share of disappointments, she knew they’d learn to live with it.

KYLE WATCHED THERESA WORK. He couldn’t remember when he’d met a more intriguing package: sex appeal and sass wrapped up with a heavy dose of smarts.

He was glad he’d let George talk him into coming here this morning instead of sitting around in his borrowed apartment, moping the way he’d done ever since that side-winder of a calf had snapped the bone in his wrist and put an abrupt halt to this season’s rodeo competition.

All he had to look forward to now was six weeks of bumming around town or, worse, recuperating at the family ranch, listening to his sister’s lectures on responsibility and settling down, enduring her transparent attempts at matchmaking and sidestepping her pointed questions about his plans for the future.

“What do you do when you’re not on the rodeo circuit?”

Theresa’s question pulled him away from his fast slide toward a deep blue funk. She was focusing on the lizard taking shape on George’s arm, not looking at him, but apparently she’d decided to at least be friendly.

“My family has a ranch out near Wimberley,” he said. “I’m supposed to be living there and helping out, but right now I’m just hanging out around Austin. I’ve got a friend who’s working on an oil rig in Nigeria and he’s letting me stay at his apartment until he comes home.” He’d sent his horse to the ranch right after the accident, but he wasn’t exactly eager to set up headquarters there himself.

“Oh. So you really are a cowboy.”

“I guess you could say that.”

“Kyle’s folks have been raising cattle and horses for at least four generations,” George said. “Ain’t that right?”

“Yeah. The Two Ks has been around just about forever.”

“I guess that’s a really cool thing,” Theresa said. “But I think I’d be bored out of my skull living way out like that.” She shut off the tattoo machine and blotted George’s fresh tat with gauze. “Guess I’m too much of a city girl.”

You and me both, Kyle thought, but he kept quiet. His current restlessness didn’t really have anything to do with this woman, though he couldn’t help wondering if she or someone like her wouldn’t be a good antidote to what was ailing him. Spending the next six weeks having a good time with a willing woman would be a damn sight more fun than moping around the ranch house dodging his sister’s nagging to persuade him to settle down.

“What time do you get off work?” he asked.

She looked up, the hard look erased from her face for a moment. For a split second she looked softer. Vulnerable even. Then the mask was back in place. “I told you I wasn’t interested.”

He let a slow smile form, putting every bit of sex appeal he could muster into the look. Women had told him before that he was charming. He only hoped Theresa agreed. “I think I could make things interesting…for both of us.”

“Aw, come on. Are you two going to sit there making goo-goo eyes at each other, or are you gonna finish my tattoo?”

George’s whine effectively broke whatever had been building between them. Lips pressed together in a thin line, Theresa bandaged George’s arm and gave him a list of instructions for caring for his tattoo.

While George paid his bill, Kyle looked around. A sign by the cash register announced the hours of business as eleven to eleven weekdays. That meant he had about ten hours to kill before he could make his next move.

2

THERESA CHECKED HER WATCH as she turned the key in the dead bolt of the shop. Almost midnight. Time for Cinderella to turn back into a scullery maid. Time for her to head home.

To what? Not even a cat waited for her at her apartment. No one would call to make sure she’d arrived safely. No one would ask about her day or be ready to keep her company in bed.

She’d never minded her solitary life before. She had friends, and though she hadn’t had a serious relationship with a man in years, she hadn’t really wanted one. She never lacked for companionship whenever she was interested. But since Zach had moved away, there was no one she was really close to.

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.

Eric dressed and left. Kyle got up and walked over to where Theresa was cleaning off her work space. “I’ve been thinking about you,” he said softly.

Her shoulders stiffened, but she kept on working. Pretending to ignore him.

He smoothed his hands down her upper arms. “I’ve been thinking about the way you kissed me.”

She shrugged out of his grasp and moved over to the workbench. “I didn’t kiss you. You kissed me.”

He followed. “Ah, but you kissed me back.”

She stripped off her latex gloves and turned to face him. “So what if I did?” Her breasts rose and fell, almost brushing the front of his shirt, though whether she was breathing hard from anger or arousal, he couldn’t tell.

“A woman who can kiss like that shouldn’t be content with just a kiss.” He resisted the urge to touch her again, and settled for staring into her eyes. They were dark brown, almost black, a shade lighter than her hair. Heavily lined in black, the lashes lush with mascara, her eyes looked exotic. Erotic as the rest of her. He shifted his stance to accommodate his growing erection. If she had any doubts about his reaction to her, one look would tell her all she needed to know. “Don’t tell me you haven’t been thinking about the proposition I made.”

She glanced past him, over his shoulder. Too late he remembered the blonde at the cash register. “Scott, go ahead and go to lunch,” she said.

“Now?”

“Yes, now. You don’t have any appointments until three, do you?”

“Figures you’d run me off just when it was getting interesting.” But he scooted his chair back.

A few moments later, the bells on the door sounded and they were alone. He reached for Theresa, intending to kiss her, but she scooted sideways, out of his grasp. “What’s in it for me if I do agree to your proposition?” she asked.

He folded his arms across his chest and struck a casual pose against the workbench. “Oh, I don’t think you’ll be disappointed. The fireworks we set off the other night were just a little preview.”

“Don’t flatter yourself, cowboy.”

He shrugged, ignoring the uneasy feeling in his gut. “What do you want?”

She bit her lip. Her uncertainty surprised him. She took a deep breath. “Okay, here’s how it is. If I agree to do this, it’s just you and me for six weeks. No other women on the side.”

Easy enough. He nodded. “Darlin’, I don’t intend for either one of us to have time to see anyone else.”

She hugged her arms across her breasts. “And you won’t try to change me—not the way I dress or act or anything.”

He looked her up and down. “I wouldn’t change a thing.”

“And no lies.”

He blinked. “What would I lie about?”

“In my experience, some men will lie about anything. Just don’t try it with me. If I find out you’ve lied, you will live to regret it.”

He was starting to get a picture here of one or more lying, cheating, manipulative men she’d been involved with in the past. The thought of some bastard hurting her that way made him more than a little angry. “No lies from me,” he said. “Believe it or not, all that stuff about truth, honor and the cowboy way isn’t just hogwash.”

She nodded, though she hadn’t relaxed one bit. “All right then.”

Not quite the enthusiastic response he’d been hoping for. “Is that a yes?”

“Come back tonight after closing.” She turned and began rearranging things on the workbench. He stared at her back, at the leather miniskirt that clung to her shapely backside, at the fall of straight black hair that reached almost to her waist, at her shoulders hunched against him. That was it? An order to come back later?

“That’s not the way to seal a bargain.” He closed the gap between them in two strides and put his good hand on her waist, his mouth next to her ear. “We need to give each other something to mark the occasion.”

She looked back at him with a puzzled expression. “You want me to give you a gift?”

He smiled at her confusion. He liked this version of her, soft and a little vulnerable, almost as much as he did the sexy, woman-in-charge side of her. Gently he turned her until she was facing him, her back against the workbench. He moved in closer, letting her feel exactly how much she turned him on. “A kiss will do,” he said. “One kiss to give us both something to think about until tonight.”

Her lips were every bit as soft as he remembered—soft and sensuous. He coaxed them apart and her tongue met his, sparring and retreating in an erotic dance. He sucked gently at her mouth and she responded, nipping at his upper lip, sending a jolt of heat straight to his groin.

With a sound that was part growl, part purr, she reached up and put her arms around his neck, her fingers tangling in his hair. She pressed her breasts to his chest and ground her pelvis against him. He slid his good hand down to cup her bottom, bringing her closer still. They were as close as they could be without being naked, and the sensation drove him half-crazy. To hell with waiting until tonight. They had a pretty comfortable-looking reclining chair right here….

Then, in an instant, it was over. She slipped out of his arms and stepped back, one hand to her swollen lips, her breasts rising and falling as she struggled to control her breathing. “I-I’ll see you tonight,” she stammered.

He started to protest, then thought better of it. She’d laid down the rules, and for now he’d do best to follow them. He didn’t want to risk her turning skittish and backing out of the deal. Not when he was on fire with wanting her. He took a step back, toward the door. “Yeah. Tonight.”

Before he could change his mind, he turned and left, pushing past the protestors, ignoring their attempts to press more flyers on him. He had to get away from Theresa now, but he’d be counting the minutes until he saw her again.

“SO WHAT’S UP WITH YOU AND that cowboy?”

If Theresa had hoped Scott would forget about Kyle over lunch, she had no such luck. He’d returned fifteen minutes after Kyle left the shop, bearing a burger, fries and a Coke—and a lot of questions.

“It’s personal,” she said, settling at the table in the back room to eat her lunch.

He turned a chair around and straddled it. “That was obvious. How personal?”

“None of your business. Shouldn’t you be up front, in case anyone comes in?”

“We can hear the bells from here.” He rested his chin on his folded arms and studied her. “If you ask me, it’s about time you hooked up with somebody. I don’t think you were cut out to be a nun.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

He shrugged. “Just that ever since Zach left, you haven’t been in a very good mood. Getting laid might be just the thing to cheer you up.”

She glared at him. “Who asked you?”

He laughed. “Hey, it always works for me.”

“Some of us don’t get off on sleeping around like a stray dog, okay?”

He preened, running a hand through his spiky bleached-blond hair. “Can I help it if women find me irresistible?”

She took a long drink of Coke and shook her head. “Some women have no taste.”

“So tell me about this new employee you hired. Guy or gal?”

Grateful for the change in subject, she relaxed a little. “Female. She’s a music major at UT.”

“A musician who knows tattoos?” He grinned. “Does she play in a band?”

“I have no idea. Apparently her mom and dad have a shop in Denver. She grew up in the business.”

“I can’t wait to meet her. When does she start?”

“This afternoon.”

He started to get up, but she leaned forward and grabbed his arm, squeezing hard. “Scott?”

“What?” Worry lines stood out on his high forehead.

“No hitting on the help, okay?”

“Just a little flirting….”

“Not if she’s not interested in flirting back. That’s sexual harassment and it could get us both sued.”

She released him and he leaned back, rubbing his arm. “I won’t do anything stupid,” he said huffily. He shoved back the chair and left the room.

She contemplated her half-eaten sandwich. Of course Scott would do something stupid. He couldn’t help it. When a man’s hormones took over, his brain stopped working. Simple as that.

She was one to talk though. She’d just agreed to what was probably a stupid idea. A fun fling with a cowboy stud. It sounded good on the surface, but who knew where that kind of thing could lead? Hadn’t Zach and Jen’s relationship started the same way?

At least theirs had worked out okay. She didn’t have that kind of luck with men. For one thing, she wasn’t the soft, girlie-girl type they seemed to prefer. Even the biker dudes she’d spent time with had accused her of being too tough. The last guy she’d spent more than one night with had said she was too bossy. Which maybe was true, but he’d liked it enough in the beginning.

That was a man for you. Not consistent. When she’d been younger and more naïve, she hadn’t known that and it had gotten her into trouble. She wouldn’t make that mistake again.

The bell on the door sounded. She didn’t have an appointment until two, but maybe the customer was early. In any case, she’d lost her appetite for lunch. She wrapped up the rest of the sandwich and stashed it in the refrigerator, then went up front.

She found Scott talking with a petite girl with short red hair. She wore a long, flowing sundress and sandals, and had no visible piercings other than two studs in each ear. A sun-and-moon tattoo adorned her left shoulder.

“What’s your name?” Scott was asking when Theresa joined them.

“Cherry. Cherry Donovan.”

Scott’s eyes lit up. “Cherry. Nice name.”

She scowled at him. “No cracks about the name, okay?”

He held up both hands. His innocent expression wouldn’t have fooled his grandmother. “Hey, I didn’t say anything.”

Cherry glanced at Theresa and rolled her eyes. “You thought it. Men always do.”

Scott looked to Theresa for help. She held out her hand. “Hi, Cherry, good to see you again.”

“Hey, Theresa. I’m a little early, but my class this afternoon was canceled, so I thought I’d come on by and spend a little time getting to know the place.”

Cherry had a pretty smile and a vulnerable, elfin quality. Theresa felt like an Amazon. But the girl couldn’t very well help that she was short, could she? “We’re glad to have you here,” she said. “I see you’ve already met Scott.”

“So you’re the new part-timer?” He grinned and stuck out his hand. “I’m Scott.”

“That’s what she just said.” Cherry touched his hand briefly, then deftly moved away. Scott’s face fell.

Theresa turned her head, biting her lip to keep from laughing. So much for Mr. Suave’s chances with his new co-worker. Cherry was obviously less than impressed. “You pretty much saw everything when you interviewed, but I’ll refresh your memory,” Theresa said. She scooped up the cat that had been weaving around her boots. “This is Delilah. The other one, Mick, is around here somewhere.”

“I remember.” Cherry scratched underneath the cat’s chin. Delilah rewarded her with a rumbling purr. Theresa handed her the animal and led the way to the workbench and storage cabinets. “Over here is where we keep all the tattooing supplies.”

“I have my own machine,” Cherry said. “A graduation gift from my folks.”

Scott joined them. “I hear you’re a musician.” So much for thinking he was crushed. Theresa should have known better.

Cherry scarcely looked at him. “I’m a music major, yeah.”

“I used to play in a band myself.” He puffed out his chest.

Theresa figured if she bit down on the inside of her cheek any harder, she’d draw blood. Cherry gave him a scornful look. “I don’t play in a band. I perform with the school symphony. Cello.”

Scott looked so disappointed, Theresa almost felt sorry for him. Almost. “Evenings and weekends, when you’ll be working, are our prime time for walk-ins,” she said. “They’ll keep you busy until you get your own clients.” At least she hoped so. With the picketers refusing to give up, walk-in traffic had been slow lately.

“I can do piercings, too,” she offered.

“I usually handle the piercings,” Scott said.

Cherry shrugged. “I’m just saying I can do them, too.”

“I’m sure there won’t be a problem dividing up the work.” Theresa gave Scott a hard look. At least there’d better not be.

He shrugged. “Sure.”

He retreated to the front counter, probably to sulk. Theresa guessed she could live with that if it kept him quiet. She turned to Cherry again. “When you get a chance, make some copies of your portfolio so we can display them for the customers.”

“Sure thing. And I thought I’d print up some business cards to hand out around campus and stuff—if that’s okay with you.”

“Of course it’s okay. And I’ll cover the cost of the cards.” She’d been about to suggest as much, but the girl got ahead of her. She’d have to be on her toes with this kid. “Come on in back and I’ll show you where to put your things and we’ll go over the operation of the autoclave.”

Cherry deposited the cat on the floor and followed Theresa to the storage closet that served as headquarters for the sterilization equipment. “It’s the same kind my mom and dad have,” she said when Theresa opened the door.

“So I guess you really did grow up in the business,” Theresa said, impressed but not wanting to show it too much.

“I started apprenticing when I was a teenager and I’d work summers and holidays for extra money. It’s interesting work, but music’s really where I want to make my career.” Her expression turned sheepish. “I hope it’s okay for me to say that. I like to be up-front with people.”

“I appreciate that.” It was a little scary how together this chick was. Theresa knew there was no way she’d been this calm and confident at Cherry’s age. “Why don’t we go back up front?”

Scott was still sulking behind the counter. “Why don’t you show Cherry how to get into the computer,” Theresa said. She turned to Cherry. “We’re trying to get all the scheduling and ordering and things like that computerized, but we’re not there yet.”

She nodded. “My parents are technophobes, too. I keep telling them to join the twenty-first century, but they don’t get it.”

Now Theresa felt like an Amazon crone. She was only seven years older than Elf Girl, but it might as well have been twenty. “Scott’s doing a good job of getting us on track,” she said. “He can explain the system to you.”

“Yeah, sure.” He moved over to make room for Cherry in front of the computer.

Ten minutes later, as she was prepping her two o’clock customer—a truck driver named Alan—Theresa congratulated herself on her smooth handling of the potential conflict between Scott and Cherry. The two were both bent over the computer, engrossed in talk of databases, spreadsheets and operating systems.

She’d just started outlining a wolf’s head on Alan’s ankle when the door bells sounded again and a woman in a pink smock took a hesitant step inside. “Uh, I’m looking for a Miss Theresa Jacobs,” she said.

Theresa shut off the tattoo machine. “That’s me.”

“Oh! Then I do have the right place.” Eyes wide, the woman stared around the room.

“Can I help you?” Theresa prompted.

“Oh! Yes. Just a minute. I’ll be right back.” She exited again, the temple bells jangling in her wake.

“Something tells me she didn’t stop by for a tat,” the man in the chair said.

“Sorry about the interruption,” Theresa apologized.

He shrugged. “I’m not in any hurry.”

The woman reappeared in the doorway, her face almost hidden by a large arrangement of yellow roses in a glass vase. “Where should I put these?” she asked.

Theresa’s mouth dropped open. After a stunned silence, she managed to speak. “Why are you bringing those in here?”

“You said you were Theresa Jacobs, right?”

She nodded. “Yeah.”

“These flowers are for you.” She set the arrangement on the front counter and pointed to the tiny emblem on the left breast pocket of her smock. “From Pecan Street Florists.”

“Why is a florist’s shop sending me flowers?”

The woman laughed. “Oh, they’re not from us. We’re just delivering them. There’s a card on the arrangement.” Her gaze shifted to the man in the chair, and her eyes widened again as she zeroed in on the beginnings of the tattoo there. “I’ve always wondered—doesn’t that hurt?”

“Not much.” He grinned. “You ought to try it sometime.”

The delivery woman blushed. “I don’t think… At least, I never…” She shook her head. “I have to go now. Enjoy your flowers.”

When she was gone, they all stared at the roses. There had to be at least a dozen of them, a soft yellow with a blush of pink at the tips of the petals, baby’s breath and greenery arranged around them. “They’re gorgeous,” Cherry said.

“Aren’t you going to check the card?” Scott said.

“Maybe later.” She switched on the tattoo machine again. In all her twenty-eight years, no one had ever sent her flowers. She wasn’t sure how to act.

“Oh, go on, check the card,” her customer said. “I’m curious now, too.”

Reluctantly she shut off the machine and stripped off her gloves, then walked up to the counter.

Up close, the arrangement was even prettier. She wanted to bury her nose amid the buds and see if they smelled like anything. She wanted to feel the petals and see if they were as velvety soft as they looked. But she didn’t want to look like a fool in front of everyone, so all she did was reach up and snatch the card from its holder.

The envelope was unsealed, and the card inside was a simple white one. “I’m looking forward to tonight. Kyle.”

“Ooooh, you’re blushing!” Cherry squealed. She elbowed Scott in the ribs. “It must be good.”

“I’ll bet it’s from that cowboy.” Scott leaned over the counter and looked at her around the flowers. “Isn’t it?”

“What cowboy?” Cherry asked.

Theresa hated that she was blushing. She wasn’t the kind of woman who blushed. But then, she wasn’t the kind of woman men sent flowers to, either. She tucked the card inside her top, away from prying eyes. “I suggest we all get back to work,” she said and walked briskly back to her customer.

“It is your birthday or something?” he asked.

She shook her head and put on a new pair of gloves. “No, it isn’t.”

He grinned. “Well, whoever sent you those, I’d say they have good taste.”

Because the flowers he’d chosen were so pretty, or because he’d sent them to her? She didn’t ask. “Why don’t you just relax and we’ll get started again.” She told herself to focus on her work, to stop thinking about the flowers or Kyle Cameron. It was bad enough he’d thrown her for a loop with his kisses. What the hell did he think he was doing turning all romantic and sending her flowers?

4

THERESA WAS ALONE IN THE shop when Kyle showed up, just after eleven. He stood on the sidewalk for a minute, watching her through the window as she tidied up around the front counter. She moved with swift efficiency, leaving order in her wake with that knack some women have for setting things to rights with seemingly little effort.

He spotted the roses by the cash register and grinned. She probably hadn’t expected those, not after the businesslike way she’d agreed to their “arrangement.” But just because they were being practical didn’t mean he couldn’t throw in a few surprises to keep things interesting.

He made one last check of his reflection in the glass and straightened the bandanna knotted at his neck. Polished boots, creased jeans, starched white shirt and leather vest completed the look, topped by his best Stetson 10X Rancher.

She jumped when the door opened and whirled to face him, a feather duster in one hand. The sight of her in her leather miniskirt and vest with that duster struck him as incongruous. And sexy as hell. Like one of those French maid costumes with a kinky twist. He grinned. “I never was much for housework, but I might be persuaded to help if you promise to tickle me with your feathers there.”

She threw the duster at him, hitting him squarely in the chest, and he couldn’t help but laugh. Hands on her hips, she looked him up and down, trying for an annoyed expression, but the way her mouth tipped up at the corners and the amusement in her dark eyes gave her away. “I’m done here,” she said. “Let me get my purse.”

She turned toward the back of the shop, but he snared her with a hand on her arm before she got very far. “How about a proper hello first? After all, we don’t have to rush.”

“Whatever gave you the idea I was proper?” she purred, but she put her arms around him and gave him a kiss that involved a lot more than just her lips pressed against his. She wrapped herself around him like satin-soft cling wrap. When she pulled away and smiled up at him, it was all he could do to remember to breathe. “I’ll be right back,” she said and disappeared into the back room.

While he was waiting for her, he walked over to the flowers. Yellow roses because someone had told him yellow flowers were for friendship while red were for love. Besides, they’d looked pretty there in the florist’s shop. They looked even better here, arranged in a vase. One of the cats lay beside the vase, watching him, tail twitching. “You leave these alone.” Kyle shook a warning finger at the animal. “No snacking.”

“I figure you can follow me to my place—” She froze, one hand up in the act of pushing away the beaded curtain that separated the back room from the rest of the shop.

He looked up from the flowers. “I see you got my little present,” he said.

He’d expected thanks, praise or maybe even another kiss. Instead she was frowning. “Why did you pull a stunt like that?” she asked.

“What kind of stunt are you talking about?” He glanced at the roses. “You mean these?”

“I’ve never been so embarrassed in all my life.” She walked behind the counter and began shutting down the computer. “People were asking about them all day. ‘Who sent you flowers?’” She mimicked a sickly sweet whine. “‘Is it your birthday?’ I was so tired of it I was ready to throw them in the trash.”

He leaned on the counter, reining in his irritation. “And here I thought women liked flowers. That you’d like them.”

She glanced at him, more doubt than anger in her eyes. “I like flowers all right, but when a man sends a woman flowers, people think it means something.”

“It’s none of their business anyway.” He straightened. “I wanted to send flowers to a beautiful woman. So sue me.”

She stilled, head down, hair fallen forward hiding her face. He wanted to reach out and tuck those soft locks behind her ear, feel the silk of her hair on his fingers and see if he could read her thoughts in her eyes. “Thanks, but you didn’t have to do that,” she said after a moment. “It’s not like you have to, you know, court me or anything.”

He almost laughed at the old-fashioned word. “Oh, I don’t know. Don’t you think every woman wants a little wooing?” Unable to resist any longer, he did reach forward and tuck her hair behind her ear. It was just as soft as he remembered. He imagined how it would feel wrapped around him and had to back away and shake his head to rid himself of the image. They had a long night ahead. He couldn’t let things get out of hand too soon.

He walked her to her car, then trailed her in his truck as she drove to her apartment. When they arrived, he silently followed her up the stairs, enjoying the sway of her hips as she took each step. He took her keys from her and opened the door, heart pounding. Calm down, he reminded himself. This ain’t your first rodeo, after all.

One look at her apartment and he was effectively distracted. It looked like the inside of one of those lingerie shops in the mall—there was pink everywhere, and flowers and lace. Little gold and white knickknacks. Mirrors and paintings in fancy gilt frames. He stared at the leather-clad woman in front of him. “Are we in the right place?” he asked.

“Very funny.” She strode past him into the room, flicking on lights. “You want a drink?”

“I’ll take a beer if you’ve got one.”

He leaned against the kitchen counter and watched her move about the room. The wallpaper in here was pink pinstripes, and a picture of a kitten in a chef’s hat hung over the stove. He nodded to the cat. “You can’t blame me for being a little surprised at all this,” he said.

She took two beers from the refrigerator and opened them. “At all what?” Amazingly her expression was completely blank.

“This pink, for one thing.” He accepted one of the beers and took a long swallow. “You don’t look like a pink person.”

“So? People aren’t always what they seem.” She raised the beer to her lips.

He watched the long, smooth column of her throat as she drank. He wanted to kiss every inch of her skin, to feel her pale, slender fingers grip him the way she gripped the beer bottle. He wanted to toss aside the beers and start stripping her naked, but gave himself credit for having more style than that. “Hard day at work?” he asked.

She shrugged. “It was okay, I guess. I hired a new part-timer. A college girl.”

“Think she’ll work out?”

“Who knows?” She shook her head. “She’s kind of scary.”

Spoken by a woman who would have a fair amount of men shaking in their boots. “How so?”

“She’s just so…sure of herself. Together. Way more than I ever was at her age.”

“You seem pretty together now.”

“I’ve learned a few things along the way.” She set aside the beer and took two steps toward him. Her breasts brushed the front of his shirt and she reached for the top button.

He covered her hand with his, stopping her. “What are you doing?”

Her lips pursed in a sexy pout. “I figured it’s time we get to it.”

“No hurry.” He left his beer bottle on the counter, then brushed the back of his hand down her cheek. “We ought to spend a little time getting to know each other.”

The heavy-lidded look she gave him was guaranteed to make a man’s blood boil. Then she slid her hand down between them and squeezed the hard ridge straining his fly. He let out his breath in a rush. “I know all I need to know about you,” she said.

Any other time he might have gone for this direct approach but he didn’t intend to let her get the upper hand so quickly. He pulled her hand back up to chest level. “Hey, slow down. Don’t be so nervous.”

“I’m not nervous.”

But the flush that bloomed on her cheeks told him otherwise. He smoothed his hand down her hair. “Sure you’re nervous. Everybody’s nervous the first time.”

“You don’t look nervous.”

“I am, darlin’. I am.” He reached around to knead the back of her neck. Her muscles were as tight as guitar strings. “Close your eyes.”

She looked wary. “Why?”

“Just close them. When I’m working with a nervous horse, I might blindfold them. It takes away all the distractions, forces them to pay attention just to me.”

“I’m not a horse.” But she closed her eyes.

“No, ma’am. But you are one fine filly, just the same.” He worked his way across her back with his good hand, massaging gently, moving to her shoulders, pausing to plant a kiss in the hollow of her collarbone.

Her eyes flew open. “What are you doing?”

“All right, darlin’. You asked for it.” He pulled the bandanna from around his neck.

She stared. “What’s that for?”

“I told you, when a horse is too nervous, I blindfold it.” He refolded the bandanna, then covered her eyes and awkwardly knotted it, hampered somewhat by the cast on his wrist. He slipped a finger under it to check the fit. “Not too snug, is it?”

She shook her head. “No. What are you going to do?”

He smiled, enjoying the keen edge of desire that knifed through him at the sight of her blindfolded this way. “Trust me, darlin’.”

THERESA FOUGHT PANIC, struggling to take deep breaths. Kyle wasn’t going to hurt her. And there was something exciting about not being able to see this way. Something incredibly arousing about relying on her other senses to figure out what was going on.

His hand was a little rough, callused but gentle as he stroked her arms. He lifted her hand to his mouth and kissed her palm, the brush of his tongue on her skin sending electric sensations along her nerves.

She took another deep breath, steadying herself, but all she smelled was him. Spicy cologne and masculine sweat—a scent that screamed sex and added fuel to the heat building in her.

He ran his hand across her stomach, pausing to play with the charm in her belly-button ring. “Cute,” he said.

“I don’t like to think of myself as cute,” she said.

“No, you’re too tough for that, aren’t you?”

She didn’t feel very tough now, as he slid his hand up farther to cup the underside of her breast. She gasped, arching toward him.

“Mmm, you do feel good.” He lowered the zipper on the front of the vest and pushed aside the two halves of the garment. Cool air rushed across her breasts and her nipples tightened.

He cradled first one breast, then the other, her fullness spilling over his fingers. He trailed his thumb in circles around each breast, each circle smaller than the last, drawing closer but never quite touching the sensitive nipples.

With a strangled cry of frustration, she arched toward him, swaying a little on her high heels.

“Take off your shoes.”

She kicked aside the heels.

“Now put your hands on my shoulders.”

She did so, wondering what he would do next. She liked foreplay as much as the next gal, but this slow, deliberate exploration was driving her crazy.

He turned his attention to her breasts again, shaping them with his hand, squeezing them. He bent and she felt the hot, wet caress of his tongue and couldn’t hold back a moan of pure pleasure as he took her nipple into his mouth.

She leaned into him, gripping his shoulders to keep from sinking to the floor. His mouth was devastatingly thorough, sucking and licking and teasing first one breast and then the other. Every tug of his mouth set up a corresponding tension in her womb. She was wet and swollen and had to clamp her mouth shut to keep from begging him to satisfy her.

He smoothed his hand up her thigh, all the way to her waist, where he grasped the elastic of her tights and pulled. “Let’s get you out of these, all right?”

She couldn’t shed the hose fast enough, supporting herself with one hand on his shoulder while he helped her divest herself of them. Her skirt followed shortly, and her panties, leaving her naked.

She cursed the blindfold that kept her from seeing his expression. He was silent for a couple of minutes, and she knew he was studying her. She hugged her arms across her chest and scowled at him. “What is it? Never saw a tattooed woman before?”

“Not one with such a lovely canvas to work on.” He pulled her arms away, coaxing them around him once more, then hugged her closer still, his cast braced at her back, his free hand reaching down between them to cover her crotch. “You are ready for me, aren’t you?” he whispered, his tongue in her ear as his fingers slid into her.

She thrust against him hard, unable to hold back. Her body wasn’t paying any attention to her mind anymore. She’d been reduced to this all-consuming need. A moment longer and she was sure her legs wouldn’t be able to support her anymore. She’d be melted from the inside out.

And then she was swept up into his arms and he was carrying her across the room. “Where’s the bedroom?” he asked.

“First door on the right.”

She braced herself for a rough landing on the bed, but he managed to lay her down gently, the cast scraping a little at her back. For a pretty average-size guy, he was strong. Everywhere she laid her hand, she met with hard muscle, the kind that didn’t come from spending days in the gym.

He moved away, and without his warmth she felt cold. “What are you doing?” she asked.

“I thought you might be tired of being the only one naked.”

Then he was beside her in the bed, his body covering hers. She reached out and felt one shoulder and the back of his head. She closed her eyes behind the blindfold and tried to take in everything her other senses were telling her: the salty taste of his skin when she ran her tongue along his jaw, the rough hairs on his calf as he knelt beside her, the iron heat of his erection nudging against her thigh. She reached down and felt him twitch in her hand. She smiled. She wasn’t the only one ready for him to be inside her.

“There are condoms in the drawer of the bedside table,” she said.

“Don’t you worry, darlin’. I came prepared.” He slid down her body, nudging her thighs farther apart.

She clutched at his head, his hair brushing softly against the tips of her fingers. “Stop calling me that. I’m not your darling.”

“All right then. The-ree-ssaa.” He drew the name out in a husky drawl, the last syllable breathed out like a sigh, the air rushing over her clit in a too-soft caress.

She arched toward him until his mouth covered her and his tongue began to stroke. She clutched at the sheets, the need inside her coiling even tighter. She smiled, knowing the rush she craved wasn’t far away.

She forgot everything then—the blindfold and the bed and the man. All her senses zeroed in on her own skin and bones and the delicious heat building in waves within her, washing over and through her.

She held nothing back, and when she came, she screamed. The sound echoed around them, a shout of triumph and release and pure joy. As it faded away, she became aware of his labored breathing and the steady pounding of her heart. She kept her eyes shut tight, unwilling to leave this dreamlike state where everything seemed so perfect.

At that instant, she forgave Kyle the flowers and the romance and everything that hinted at him trying to make her into something she was not. She forgave him and welcomed him and wanted him all over again. She caressed the solid bulk of his shoulders and inhaled deeply of his musky scent, smiling to herself. A man who could make her feel this wonderful was worth keeping around awhile longer.

KYLE WATCHED THE LAST contractions of her climax move through her, admiring the flush that crept across her breasts and up her neck. He breathed in the womanly scent of her, every breath making his cock twitch. Sitting back on his heels, he slipped on the condom, then reached for her again. He wanted to be inside her before she was all the way back to earth, to feel her contract around him with the remnants of her own release.

As soon as he was all the way inside, he reached up and pulled off the blindfold and tossed it aside. She blinked at him, then smiled, a sated look in her eyes that made him want her even more. “Hi,” she whispered.

“Hello.” He emphasized the greeting with a hard thrust.

Her eyes widened and she raised up on her elbows, watching as he began to move in and out. “Do I pass inspection?” he asked, a little unnerved by the way she fixed her gaze on him. Like most men, he was somewhat preoccupied by this particular anatomical feature, particularly at moments like this. But it was after all a penis—not a body part that would ever win awards for beauty.

“Oh, yes. I think you’ll do just fine.” She lay back again and slid her hands under her ass, lifting herself to a more acute angle, one that made her tighten around him more, so that his vision lost focus and his breath came in gasps.

“You like that?” she asked, as she squeezed him tighter still, then released.

His reply was a muffled grunt. He lowered his head and focused on the task at hand, aware of her soft inner thighs brushing against him, her sweet musky scent surrounding him.

He came hard, bucking against her, reaching out to grasp her hips, sinking his fingers into her soft flesh as he spent himself in her. He sank onto her, head on her chest, arms surrounding her in a hug. Some dimly heard portion of his brain told him he must be crushing her, but he paid no heed. He wanted her close to him in this moment. As close as she could be.

He didn’t know how long they lay together like that before she prodded his shoulder. “Roll over,” she ordered.

He complied, sliding out of her. Eyes still shut, he stripped off the condom, then realized he had no idea where to put it. “There’s a trash can in the bathroom,” she said.

He nodded. “Bathroom.” He wasn’t sure he had the strength to roll over now, much less propel himself upright and to the bathroom.

She took the condom from him and he opened his eyes in time to see her walking toward the bathroom, hips swaying, that gorgeous fall of black hair swinging in time to her movements. He closed his eyes again, smiling. Did he know how to pick them or what?

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