Good Girls Don't (12 page)
“For a woman who creates bedroom toys for a living, you’re amazing at misreading signs from the opposite sex.”
“What are you talking about?” she asked, though she knew. He’d been putting out major I-want-you vibes ever since she’d been introduced to the cowboy with the phenomenal nose.
And she’d ignored them all.
Landon tipped one corner of his mouth in a crooked, sexy grin. “I’ve been trying to get to know you for two years, since the day you first stepped foot in the office. You’re smart. You’re funny. And you’re complicated as hell.”
“You’re saying you like complications?” she asked, stepping onto the crowded dance floor.
“Live for ’em,” he said. “And we’re about to have a good one right now, together.”
“How’s that?” she asked, yelling over the beginning of her favorite Brooks & Dunn tune.
“You’re gonna have to teach me how to boot scoot, or we’ll damn get trampled out here.”
While her eyes bulged and the music pulsed, he yanked her close. “So, show me how to scoot my boots, lady. And some day, I’ll teach you how to do something new.”
Amy’s throat went dry.
That’s
what she was afraid of.
She took a deep breath and decided he was right. They either had to start moving, or heed to the stampede.
“Left foot forward, pivot to the right,” she said, demonstrating, while he followed, his laugh deep and rich.
“Left foot forward, pivot to the right,” she repeated, completing her turn, and again, Landon Brooks, in black Ropers, black Stetson and cocky smile, did the same.
Lord, this wasn’t going to be easy. “Now grapevine,” she said.
“What?” he asked as the group started the move all around them, and Amy felt a little nervous.
“Here, watch me.” She got directly in front of him and started crossing one foot over the other, then stilled when his hands slid around her waist.
“Sorry. This is going to take a little one-on-one.” He pulled her to a small hardwood floor on one side of the dance area.
“This is for the instructors,” she said, aware that they were on display for the entire bar.
“No one’s teaching right now but you,” he pointed out, then moved behind her. To Amy’s dismay, he put his hands back on her waist, his thumbs pressing gently against her spine.
“What are you doing?” She jerked her head around and inadvertently swished his face with her ponytail.
“Peaches,” he said, inhaling her shampoo. “Nice.”
Her skin burned. “I asked what you’re doing.”
He grinned. “I figured it’d be easier to learn if I could feel you doing it. That’s okay, isn’t it?”
“What’s okay?” she asked.
“Me. Feeling you. Doing it.”
Amy’s breathing hitched. She wanted to argue, but given she couldn’t think straight enough to put words together, she simply nodded.
“Good,” he said, and pulled her closer, while the bar watched, and Amy tried not to swoon.
Two hours later, she entered her apartment and wasn’t surprised her sister hadn’t returned from her date with Bill. “Good for you, Lettie,” she whispered, dropping her purse on the table.
She withdrew both cell phones and moved to the couch to check for messages. Both had remained silent throughout the night, and she wasn’t at all certain that was normal. She checked the call log once more. Sure enough, nothing had been received since this morning.
It made her a little nervous leaving the phones in Brenda’s care while she danced with Landon, but Amy had never been one to shirk a bet, and she’d trusted Brenda to hustle the phones over pronto if anyone called.
Trust. A word she wasn’t always comfortable with, and one that crept up continually when she recalled Landon Brooks pressed against her while they maneuvered through the “Boot Scootin’ Boogie.” That dance had never seemed so hot before. But with Landon, it’d been sweltering. Making her not at all comfortable with their little cherry-tying wager. It wasn’t as if she didn’t trust Landon to keep himself in order during a date.
She didn’t trust herself. Particularly when dancing with him tonight had been so . . . fun.
Ever since she left Sheldon, she’d managed to stay away from men, from the temptations and the common need they fulfilled. A need she could conquer just as well with one of her toys and an ample supply of batteries. But she couldn’t deny there was
something
about having a man touch her, the way Landon touched her tonight. And would probably try to touch her again on their date.
And to think, after leaving Sheldon, she’d have sworn the last guy to ever rock her steady boat would be a country boy. But Landon Brooks was as country as they came, and proud of it. Not from Sheldon, thank goodness, but from Texas. Where, supposedly, everything was bigger.
Amy wondered.
Her phone rang, and she jumped to answer it. Phone calls this late at night meant one thing. Bad news. She yanked the cordless from its cradle and punched the “talk” button.
“Hello? Lettie?”
A dial tone sounded through the line, and the ringing continued.
“Well, shoot,” she said, hurrying toward the phones on the couch and quickly grabbing the red one. She flipped it over, noted the name of the fictitious hotel and answered. “The Palisades, this is Amy. Can I help you?”
“Amy? I thought your name was Colette,” the elderly woman said from the other end. “We’ve been working with a Colette. This is Ellen Southersby, and I hired Colette Campbell to take my calls. I did dial the right number, didn’t I?”
“Oh, hi,” Amy said. “Yes, you called the right number. Actually, Colette isn’t available tonight, so I’m taking care of her calls. I assumed she’d spoken with you about it.”
The woman tsked into the receiver. “You know, she did. I swear, I’d forget my head nowadays if it wasn’t attached. But I suppose that happens as the years creep in, doesn’t it? Sounds like you’re a good ways from finding that out yourself.” She laughed softly. “I do remember her telling me, though. You’re her sister, right?”
“Yes,” Amy said, genuinely enjoying the sound of an elderly voice. She’d never known her grandparents. But if she had known a grandmother, she suspected her voice would’ve sounded a lot like this woman’s.
“I was calling to see if any of our kids tried getting hold of us tonight. We called them earlier with our cellular, so I didn’t expect them to, and I felt certain you’d have let us know if they did, but I wanted to check, anyway. Walter says I’m silly to be so paranoid, but with us being”—she lowered her voice—“at this place and everything, I figure it doesn’t hurt to be extra careful.”
“Oh, that’s fine. And no, they haven’t called.”
“It was okay to check in with you now, wasn’t it?” the lady asked, evidently realizing the time. “Colette told me she was available twenty-four hours a day, but I didn’t think to ask if that applied to you while you’re filling in.”
“Sure, it does, and I just got in myself, so it’s totally fine.”
“You just got in? Did you have a date?” the woman asked, not hiding her curiosity.
“No,” Amy said, then added, “Well, not exactly, though I did end up dancing.”
“What kind of dancing?”
“Line dancing. Country music.” Amy leaned back, closed her eyes and relaxed on the couch.
“I’ve always wanted to try that,” she said. “Maybe Walter and I will give that a go next. We’re finding our interests in—lots of things—are rather broad.” Her voice held a hint of a giggle.
Amy’s eyes snapped open. “You should try line dancing. You’d enjoy it, I’m sure.”
“I bet we would,” the lady said. “Matter of fact, I’ve found out this week that I enjoy lots of things. We both do. Isn’t that right, honey?” she asked, and Amy heard the man’s responding laugh through the receiver.
“You know, it’s funny you mentioned that,” Amy said, deciding the conversation topic had been opened up. And being a savvy businesswoman, she’d be crazy not to pursue it. “Because I could use a couple like you and your husband to help me. . . .”
P
ushing a cherry tomato around the bed of lettuce on her plate, Lettie couldn’t muster up an appetite for lunch. Great sex, she realized, had that effect on her. How could she think about food when her mind and body kept focusing on Bill? And everything he did to her last night. Taking her there more times than she could count
and
finding that secret spot, which he’d hailed as her “treasure.”
Fancy that, Bill Brannon, a pirate looking to pilfer. And coming up with gold.
Move over, Captain Jack Sparrow. Pirate Bill plundered her thoroughly and, thank her lucky stars, found the prize. Lettie had thought for certain she’d never catch her breath again after his first encounter with her G-spot. But she had. And then they’d gone at it again. And again. And again.
“You’ve hardly touched your salad,” Cassie pointed out. Her long pink nails curved over the toasted bread of her turkey sandwich as she took a bite and eyed Lettie. Swallowing, she dabbed a paper napkin at the corner of her mouth to remove a stray drop of mayonnaise. Then she narrowed her eyes, dropped the napkin and held her palms up in surrender. “That’s it. I can’t stand it. Fess up, already. Was he that good? Or that bad?”
Lettie glanced around the small deli they frequented most afternoons for tasty sandwiches, crisp salads and juicy gossip. “Both.”
“Well, it’s about time someone got the job done right.” Cassie relaxed her posture, grabbed her sandwich and took a man-size bite. She chewed gleefully, holding up a pink-tipped finger until she managed to swallow. “So? I’m waiting.”
“For?”
One of Cassie’s big blond curls dangled near her eye, and she blew it back into place before interrogating Lettie. “Details, girl. Start at the beginning. You went out for dinner and a show, right? What’d you eat? What’d you see? And then we’ll get to the what’d-you-yell-when-you-finally-got-what-you-needed part.”
Lettie bit her lower lip, looked at her friend from beneath her lashes, as though she were shy about the particulars.
As if.
At Cassie’s bug-eyed response, Lettie laughed. “We never made it to the show. Or dinner, for that matter.”
“Quit it,” Cassie said, using her tongue to catch a sesame seed on her lower lip that was evidently stuck in her flaming red lipstick.
“I’m serious. Matter of fact, even though we drove to his house, we never made it out of the car.” Lettie batted her eyes and smiled broadly. She’d attacked him in the driver’s seat and ridden him like a first-rate stallion. Which, by the way, he was. Then she’d wriggled and writhed until her vision blurred, her body exploded, and she’d come like there was no tomorrow.
Yep, that’s the way it started, all right. Then they’d held each other until they were ready to give it another go, this time in the backseat. By the end of the night, they’d christened every inch of Bill’s Camry, exterior included, since they’d ventured outside to cool off and ended up sprawled on top of his trunk. And, as she suspected, Bill Brannon had no reason at all to compensate.
“This is the guy you handed off to me, right? This one?” Cassie lifted a silver cell phone from her purse. “The contact for Integrated Solutions?”
Lettie nodded, staring at the phone and suddenly feeling sick.
A slim silver reminder of the lie.
She moved her fork around the bed of romaine as she pondered the implications of telling Bill the truth, as well as the implications of not telling him. They’d connected sexually last night, several times, but Lettie had felt a deeper connection too.
He’d touched her so tenderly, as though she were precious, a woman worthy of his full attention. A woman worthy of his love. Of course, he’d also thrown her down and got unbelievably kinky a time or two. But that didn’t mean he was only interested in sex.
Or did it? He never said anything about it being more than two friends reconnecting. And did they
ever
reconnect. But—was that it? Did she want it to be?
“What’s wrong?” Cassie asked between bites.
Lettie shrugged. “It’s just sex.”
“Great sex, you implied.”
“Yeah.” Which should make her happy, and it did. Still . . .
“But you want more with this guy?” She tapped the end of the phone.
Lettie stabbed a bite of salad and popped it in her mouth, made herself swallow. “It’s ridiculous for me to want anything more. He thinks I’m in town for a week, that I’ll be heading back to Tampa on Sunday and everything will be over and done.”
She let her fork rest on the edge of the plate, but she tightened her grip on its handle. “I wasn’t expecting anything beyond a bit of fun.”
Did her words sound more truthful to Cass than to her own ears?
“Weren’t you?” Cassie asked, snatching a square of cheese from Lettie’s plate.
“I didn’t think so.”
Cass popped the cheese in her mouth, chewed and swallowed. “But now you’re thinking you may want more than a little heated, and much-needed, mattress mambo?”
Lettie grinned at Cassie’s never-ending stash of euphemisms for sex. “Who wouldn’t?”
“Hey, don’t rub it in. I’m jealous enough as it is. By the way, has anyone ever told you that food is a semi-adequate substitution for sex?” Cass picked up a whole pickle, held it to her mouth, then bit the end off with enthusiasm. “And that’s how I feel about that.”
Lettie laughed so hard she had tears, while most of the customers turned and gawked.
“Sorry,” she managed, waving away their curious stares. “We shouldn’t be talking about this, Cass. I wasn’t thinking.”
“Oh no you don’t. Just because my love life sucks doesn’t mean I can’t live vicariously through yours.”
“You still haven’t heard from Ken?” Lettie asked.
“Nope, and I don’t want to,” Cassie said, before sipping her soda. “The guy tried to use My Alibi. To cheat. On me,” she continued, shaking her head at the irony. “Guess that’s what I get for not telling him the truth about where I work.”
“At least you found out before things got more serious,” Lettie said, trying to point out the only positive in Cassie’s recent breakup.
“Exactly. Who wants to end up with a liar?” Cassie asked, then continued to attack her pickle.