Do Me Right (2 page)

"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.

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.

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.