Cody (7 page)

T
HE LOUD
DINGGGG DONGGGG
echoed in Miranda’s head and her hand stalled on the lid of a mayonnaise jar.

A strange tingling swept through her, part fear, part excitement. Suddenly she didn’t know whether to answer the door or run like hell.

It was him.

She felt it in the way her nipples tightened and her legs trembled. Her stomach hollowed out and her heart went into overdrive.

Yeah, right.

It could be anyone at her front door.

Mrs. Barthels from next door. The woman loved to stop by and gripe about
something.
Miranda’s rose bushes were too high. Her patio lights were too bright. Her sprinklers were too noisy.

Little Jenna McGhee. She was a Girl Scout and cookie season had just started.

Mr. Bonney. He’d been trying to sell her tickets to the VFW barbecue since last week.

Claire Jackson. Whenever her no-good husband Cal didn’t come home, she always went looking for him. She’d caught Cal with Miranda’s older sister, Lucy, only once. But that was all it had taken to throw a veil
of suspicion on Miranda herself. She was a Rivers, after all. Translation? Trashy and no good. No man was safe and so whenever Cal came up missing, Claire always paid Miranda a very unpleasant visit.

That would stop if she married Greg.

If?

There was no
if.
She was marrying him.

The doorbell rang again before she could worry over the doubt that whispered through her. She gathered her control and set the mayonnaise jar to the side.

It wasn’t Cody, and there was one way to prove it.

She made it three steps before the back door flew open. Shock bolted through Miranda and she whirled as a tall, leggy redhead waltzed in.

Lucy Rivers was just two years older than Miranda, but too many nights of drinking and smoking made it seem more like ten. The wear and tear dulled her bright blue eyes just enough to give her that jaded look. However worn and worldly, she was still a beautiful girl. She had an hourglass figure that would have made even Jessica Simpson envious, and long, silky hair that flowed to her waist.

With the right clothes, she could have looked like a runway model. Instead, she looked like any other barmaid down at the Iron Horse. She wore the standard uniform—a pair of Daisy Duke shorts, red cowboy boots and a Hawaiian print tube top. Bright red lipstick colored her full mouth and heavy black pencil rimmed her blue eyes.

“What’s up, Randy?”

“Geez, you scared the crap out of me.” Miranda drew
a deep breath. “I thought you were at the front door.” She glanced down the hallway, but there wasn’t so much as a shadow on the other side of the oval glass that sat in the middle of the door.

“Why wait around when I know you leave the back door unlocked? Besides, we’re family. What’s yours is mine.
Mi casa, su casa. Mi sandwich, su sandwich.
” She grinned and picked up the turkey and Swiss Miranda had just made.

“Wait—” Miranda started, but Lucy’s mouth had already closed over the corner.

She took a huge bite and chewed. “Kudos, Sis. You make one hell of a sandwich. I’m terrible with cooking.”

“It’s a sandwich. It’s pretty much foolproof if you’ve got the stuff.”

“Which you always have because you do grocery shopping so much better than me.”

“You don’t do grocery shopping, period.”

She wiggled her eyebrows. “I do grocery clerks. That cute one that works on Friday evenings and that new guy that just started full-time.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“I know. I just like to watch you turn red. You’re such a goody goody. I bet you’ve never tried anything other than the missionary position.”

Her palms itched at the memory of her hands pressed to the brick and Cody behind her. If only Lucy knew.

“I would really appreciate it if we could talk about something else.” Miranda blew out a breath and made a beeline for the fridge. Pulling out a Diet Coke, she lingered a split second and let the rush of cool air
soothe her cheeks before snagging an extra drink for her sister.

She shut the refrigerator door to find her sister eyeing her, an amused grin tugging at her lips.

“Speaking of missionary, how
is
Mr. Tight Ass?”

“He’s great.”

“Really? You’d never know it to look at him. Big penis?”

“I didn’t mean in bed. I meant in general.”

“I know.” Lucy grinned and headed for the pantry and a box of cupcakes. “Don’t you ever buy Twinkies? Chocolate makes me break out.”

“So what do you want?” Miranda asked. “Besides food, that is.”

“Who says I want anything? Maybe I’m just here to bond with my little sister.” Miranda gave her a
yeah, right
look and she added, “Okay, so maybe I could use twenty bucks. There’s this new bar that just opened up over in Cherry Creek. I thought I’d drive over after I finished my shift tonight and see if there are any hot guys hanging out.”

“Use your tip money.”

“Are you kidding? The only regulars that come in on Sunday night are Earl Kinley and his poker buddies.”

“So?”

“So they play for gum. The only thing I pick up on a Sunday night is a few packs of Hubba Bubba and the occasional piece of Dentyne. That won’t pay a cover charge, let alone buy any drinks.”

“You
could
go home and call it a night,” Miranda asked hopefully. “Maybe read a book. Or watch TV.”

“Or listen to my arteries hardening,” Lucy added. “No, thank you. I’d rather meet a hot cowboy.”

“You already know more than enough.”

“There’s no such thing when it comes to the opposite sex.” She finished off the cupcake and grabbed an apple from a nearby fruit bowl. “So are you going to give me the twenty bucks, or what?”

“What if I say no?”

“You won’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’ll pay you back.”

“You never pay me back.”

“Yeah, well.” She shrugged. “I don’t have as great a job as you.”

“You could change that if you went back to school.”

“You know I don’t do school.” Lucy grabbed her soda and the rest of the sandwich. “If you don’t want to lend me the money, I’ll figure something else out. I heard about this girl who put her used panties on eBay and made fifty bucks. Or I could offer blow jobs. Or sell my soul to the devil—”

“I’ll give you the twenty bucks,” Miranda cut in. “But you’re paying me back this time.”

“Sure thing.”

“I mean it.” Miranda retrieved her purse and pulled a bill from her wallet.

“Gotcha.” Lucy grabbed the money and a banana for the road. “I’ll call you tomorrow and we can catch up,” she added and then disappeared through the back door.

But Lucy Rivers never called just to catch up. The only time she dialed Miranda or stopped by was when
she wanted something. Money. Food. A place to stay because whatever guy she’d been crashing with had kicked her out.

Just like their oldest sister Robin.

Robin Rivers had the same shameless attitude even if it was wrapped up in an entirely different package. She had dark brown hair, green eyes and the sharp, poignant features of her Cherokee father.

At least that’s what their mother had always said.

Robin was currently playing groupie to a local country band touring the southwest. She’d laid everyone in the band with the exception of the drummer. A situation she had every intention of changing before they pulled back into town in a few months.

She’d called three weeks ago to announce she’d just gotten it on with the lead singer after a round of quarters and enough tequila to pickle a horse. After the announcement, she’d talked Miranda into sending her one hundred dollars to buy some new spandex and see her through the end of the tour, and that had been the end of their conversation.

Not that she wanted Robin to call just to talk. Or Lucy either, for that matter. The last thing she needed was a real relationship with either of her sisters. It was hard enough convincing the world she’d changed. Keeping company with two of the most notorious bad girls in town would only undo all of her hard work.

Still…

Sometimes she couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to go shopping once in a while or have lunch or sit through an all-night gab fest like normal sisters.

She ignored the thought and headed outside to put away her gardening tools. She’d been so desperate to forget Cody that she’d worked like a demon. All she had to do now was sprinkle some growth pellets and she was finished—

Her thoughts stalled as awareness skittered up her spine. The scent of leather and wildness teasedher nostrils. Her heart paused and her entire body went on high alert. She knew then that it wasn’t just her wishful thinking.

Cody Braddock stood right behind her.

A frantic heartbeat later, his deep, husky, “Long time, no see,” confirmed it.

H
E LOOKED EVEN BETTER
than she remembered.

Her porch light gleamed behind him, outlining his broad shoulders and muscular arms. He should have seemed more shadow than man, but he didn’t.

Despite the black Stetson that sat low on his forehead, shrouding his face and giving him a dangerous edge, she could still see every detail. His unique silver eyes framed with thick black lashes. The scar that zig-zagged across his cheek. The sensual set of his mouth. The faint stubble that surrounded his mouth and crept down his corded neck.

He wore a black T-shirt that clung to his solid chest and sported the PBR emblem, faded blue jeans that cupped his crotch and molded to his muscular thighs, and the same worn boots he’d had on last night.

Her stomach hollowed out and need shook her.

Fierce.

Intense.

Crazy.

Because Miranda didn’t have a thing for cowboys. A mild infatuation, she reminded herself. One she’d satisfied last night.

Even so, her heartbeat kicked up a notch and her
breath caught and for the first time in her life, she couldn’t help but sympathize with her mother and her damning weakness for cowboys. They
were
potent. Particularly this one.

Not that Miranda was giving in. While she’d pretended last night, she
wasn’t
Restroom Randy. Nix the bad girl who paraded around in a pair of pink cowboy boots, picking up strange men and having hot sex in alleys.

She’d never even worn the boots until last night.

And she made it a point never to strut.

And
she certainly didn’t pick up men. Or have hot sex. Even with Greg.

Especially
with Greg.

She ignored the depressing thought and fought down the urge to lead Cody around the house, steer him toward the swing that hung from her front porch—number six on the list—and mark off yet another location.

She gave herself a great big kick in the butt and braced herself against the lust bubbling inside her. The hope. “I thought you went back to Austin.”

“You thought wrong. I had business in town, so here I am.”

“Here?”

He nodded.

“In
this
town?”

Another nod.

Talk about rotten luck. She’d driven two hours to Austin just to make sure that she didn’t run into anyone she knew. All so that she could pick up the one guy headed straight for her home town. “So why didn’t you tell me that last night?”

“You didn’t ask.” His eyes took on a smoldering light. “You weren’t exactly in the mood to talk.”

“Just for the record,” she blurted, a lifetime of denial raging inside of her. “I don’t usually go to places like that. Or have sex with men.”

He arched an interested eyebrow. “So you have sex with women?”

“Of course not. I have sex with men. That is, I’ve
had
sex with men. Three,” the words seemed to tumble out of their own accord, each one stumbling over the other. “Not at the same time, of course. Three over the past ten years. They were old boyfriends. First there was Ronnie back in high school. Then Jimmy. Then Greg.”

“Then me. That makes four, right?”

“I’m getting married,” she blurted, desperately trying to get to the point. “To Greg. He’s a really great guy. He owns Dynamite Drycleaning.”

“Don’t most engaged women start hunting for wedding invitations instead of one night stands?”

“I’m not actually engaged. Not yet. He asked, but I haven’t said yes. He’s out of town right now and he sent me an e-mail, but I don’t want to e-mail the answer. Not that I don’t want to marry him. I definitely do and I will. Last night was just…” She shook her head. “I just wanted to know what it felt like.”

“To sleep with a strange man?”

To have an orgasm with any man.
It was there. On the tip of her tongue. But she already had the feeling he knew more about her than she cared to admit and so she kept that to herself. She shrugged. “To have a little fun. You know, noncommittal, no strings attached, no
awkward morning after before I commit myself and take the plunge. I’ve never done anything like that so it stands to reason that I would be curious. Any woman would.”

“And?”

“And what?”

He arched an eyebrow. “How did it feel?”

“Fine. That is, up until the part where you grew fangs.” It was a ridiculous thing to say which was exactly why she’d said it. He’d tell her she’d had one too many drinks and kill the lingering doubt that wiggled around deep down inside.

No way was he a bona fide
vampire.

The sex. That’s what had her so loopy. The orgasm had been so incredible it had short-circuited her brain cells.

She
knew
that.

“What happened last night?” she heard herself ask anyway.

He stared at her for a long moment, into her before he finally murmured, “Don’t you know?”

“I know what happened between us.” The kissing. The touching. The bone-melting one-on-one. Her cheeks flamed at the thought and she fought down a wave of heat. “I’m talking about after that.” Her gaze met his and suddenly it all seemed too incredible. “You’re just a man,” she told him, as if saying the words would make them true.

He sized her up, his gaze pushing deep and prodding at her secrets. “That’s what you say, but that’s not what you really believe.” He touched a fingertip between her breasts. “Not here. Here you know the truth. You know what I am.” His eyes brightened and her breath caught.

“A man,” she insisted. “Flesh and blood. Real.”

If only.

Cody stiffened at the thought.

Sure, he’d earned a reputation and a lot of fame, but none of that made up for what he’d lost. His humanity. His life. The only time he felt truly alive was when he climbed on the bull.

Which was why he fully intended to hang on for another season despite Benny James.

He needed those eight seconds. He craved it.

The danger. The ride.

That was
living.

The day-to-day grind that most people called a life seemed more like a death sentence to Cody. No excitement. No oomph.

He glanced at the perfectly kept yard and he knew that that was exactly the type of existence Miranda had carved out for herself.

Nice. Predictable. Safe.

None of it fit with the woman he’d met last night.

“You look different,” the words were out before he could stop them. Gone was the blonde bombshell who’d been out looking for a one night stand. Her long pale hair was pulled back into a neat ponytail. She wore very little makeup with only a hint of lip gloss to accent her full lips. A loose white T-shirt covered her luscious breasts and a pair of baggy shorts did little to accent her soft, round ass. Dirt-caked tennis shoes completed the outfit. The only thing that even hinted that she was the same bombshell was the desire that sparked when her gaze met his. He noted her pink
cheeks and healthy color and knew her injuries had healed completely.

Thanks to him.

His groin tightened at the memory of her drawing on his vein. He’d drank from plenty of women, but he’d never given and he couldn’t shake the feel of her mouth, her tongue grazing his flesh, her lips sucking greedily.

He stiffened, fighting down the hunger that raged up and tightened his muscles. As much as he’d liked it, he wasn’t letting it happen again.

He was here to weaken the connection, not make it that much stronger.

He stared deep into her eyes, focused his energy and willed her to forget.
Now.

“It was a trick of the light,” she pressed and he knew then that mesmerizing her would be impossible. She was stronger now because of his blood.

As disappointed as he was, he couldn’t stifle the tiny spurt of joy that went through him. A feeling that made him all the more determined to do
something
to break the bond between them.

He needed her to stop wanting him.

“You didn’t really,” she went on, licking her lips again, “that is, you don’t actually have
fangs
.”

She didn’t want to believe he was something straight out of a nightmare. No one did. They were scared to believe. Scared of him.

But not Miranda.

She was afraid, all right. But of herself, not him. She feared the bubbling inside her and the fact that she still wanted him despite last night and all that had happened.

Because of it.

Last night had been her first walk on the wild side, but not for lack of want. She’d spent her entire life suppressing the wildness, denying it. She’d unleashed it hoping to satisfy the craving, but it had backfired.

She wanted him even more now.

Only because she hadn’t seen the monster fully unleashed. She’d had only a glimpse last night. Just enough to feed the stupid romantic fantasies that most women had when it came to vampires or pirates or rock stars.

But there was nothing romantic about the hunger. It was dark and twisted and consuming. Once she realized what he truly was, she would turn and run for her life.

“Has a man ever looked at you like this?” He swept a gaze over her, purposely drinking in the pout of her bottom lip, the fullness of her breasts beneath the T-shirt, her long, endless legs. Despite the oversized clothes, she still looked sexy as hell. Desire twisted inside of him and he felt his gaze darken, shift.

She drew a sharp breath. “Y-your eyes are purple.” Her eyes widened.
“Purple.”

“Has a man ever touched you like this?” He didn’t reach out. He didn’t have to. His eyes did the reaching for him. His gaze dropped to the hem of her tank top and he concentrated. The cotton slid up inch by decadent inch until he saw a strip of bare stomach.

Surprise jerked through her and she glanced down just as the shirt paused above her belly button and the button on her shorts flicked open.

“No way,” she breathed as the zipper slid open and the material started to shimmy down her hips.

She caught the edges and tried to yank them back up, but she was no match for his strength. The material kept moving until he could see the lacy vee of her panties and the sprinkle of blonde hair beneath.

“Has a man ever felt you like this?” He lifted his hand and made a motion with his fingers. A gasp bubbled from her lips. “You’re warm.”

“You’re not touching me,” she pointed out, shaking her head. “You’re not really touching me.” Disbelief glittered in her eyes along with something else.

Something dangerously close to desire.

The hunger twisted inside him and he barely resisted the sudden impulse to shove her up against the nearest wall, bury himself inside her delectable body and soak up her sweet, succulent energy. He needed it so bad.

He needed her.

He fought against the crazy notion. Any woman, he reminded himself. “If I’m not really touching you, then I’m sure you won’t feel this.” Another movement of his hand and shock gripped her.

Finally.

This was it. He’d finally gotten to her.

Her mouth opened and he waited for the piercing scream. The pure terror. The fear.

Instead, a gasp bubbled past her lips and her eyes clouded with passion.

He moved his fingers, intensifying the feelings, desperate to jolt some sense into her.

That this was real.

Frightening.

Fucking
scary.

A moan curled up her throat. He could smell her essence growing stronger, more potent.

“I’m more than a man,” he told her. And then he did what he should have done in the first place.

He stopped playing games and showed her the real Cody Braddock.