“Take me home with you, Julie,” he said softly, nuzzling her cheek. “We’ll make love, and order Indian food later, and let it get cold as we make love again. I’ll show you how you were meant for me, and how I’m meant for only you.”
Shivering at the desire heavy in his voice, she nodded. She stood up, brushing at the crumbs on her jeans with her free hand. “But I’d like it stated for the record that I tried to talk reason into you.”
He smiled as he shook his head. “There is no reason to this.”
“You’re saying it’s madness?”
“The only thing mad here is how I feel about you.”
“
That,
I can’t argue with.” She kissed him softly, hoping it wasn’t foolish to feel so reassured. “Take me home and do me.”
Chuckling, he led her out of the café. “You’re so romantic. It’s no wonder you’re a florist.”
“You’ll think I’m doubly romantic when you see that I’m not wearing underwear.”
He stopped so suddenly she almost ran into him. She grinned, wondering if she should tell him she’d just forgotten to do laundry. But the hungry look on his face changed her mind. It was working for him—she didn’t want to spoil that.
So she tipped her head and motioned to the exit. “Want to come?”
“Yes,
please
.”
She laughed as she led him home.
Chapter Ten
Bull sat at the bar in Absinthe, his fingers drumming the bar top, his drink untouched.
He’d sent Josephine Belle the corset.
He’d included a note to ask her to meet him at this restaurant. The bar was nice, and it was close to the Asian Art Museum, where she worked. Most of all, it was public and neutral, so she should have fewer qualms about meeting him there.
Whether she’d show up or not was the question.
He flexed his fingers, sore from the punching bag he’d beaten up that morning. He’d needed the workout after the phone call from his lawyer. The first draft of the contract he’d received for his smoothie line wasn’t in his favor in any way, but it was a negotiation.
Just like this thing with Josephine Belle was. Only she was touchier than the businessman he was dealing with, so he had to tread carefully. He didn’t want to push her—at least not too much.
Nicole would argue that sending the corset was “pushing.” He disagreed. It was setting up the game, which he intended on winning. He could see Nicole shaking her head, but he had to make a bold move. Sending a woman who didn’t know him a scarlet red corset and panties was pretty bold.
How had she received the package? With surprise definitely. Probably with trepidation, too, because he could tell she was a cautious woman. He wasn’t entirely certain she’d show up.
As long as she didn’t throw it in his face, which was a distinct possibility and one he hoped to keep from happening. He wasn’t sure how yet, but he knew he’d figure it out.
He looked at his empty hands. He thought of bringing her flowers, or a smoothie, or chocolate. In the end, he decided all of that was filler. He was the real draw here. He just hoped she thought that, too.
The restaurant’s door opened. Bull looked up, hopeful but still shocked when he saw her enter.
She looked glorious.
She wore a dress that should have looked demure, with the hem down to her knees and covered by a short jacket. It hugged her curves and made his fingers twitchy to grab a hold of them. Her shoes had gray polka dot heels that made her calves look juicy. He sat up straight, humming deep in his throat.
Heels clacking with angry purpose, she strode toward him, a package in her hands. Her eyes were filled with passion. Yes, he’d have preferred it if that passion were more sexual and less murderous, but he’d take whatever she was willing to give him for the time being.
She yanked the barstool next to him and perched daintily on top. She set the package in front of him. “This is
highly
inappropriate.”
She sounded like an incensed Southern Belle, and he couldn’t help grinning. “I haven’t even begun to show you inappropriate.”
Before he could continue with that train of thought, the bartender sidled over. “Get you something to drink?”
Josephine looked disdainfully at his Sazerac. “A soda water, please.”
“And a gin gimlet for my date,” Bull added. “More tart than sweet, just like her.”
“Got it.” The bartender flipped a metal shaker in the air and started making the cocktail.
“I’m not your date.” Josephine glared at him. “And you
aren’t
cute.”
“No, but I prefer to be called studly, anyway.” Bull nodded to the package, which presumably was the corset. “So did you try it on?”
“Of course not.” Her adorable nose lifted in righteous indignation. The bartender set her drink in front of her and she picked it up and chugged down a hefty gulp.
Bull leaned forward. “Try it on. What do you have to lose?”
“My mind!” she exclaimed. She leaned forward and lowered her voice. “I know what you’re doing.”
“And what’s that, sweetheart?” He tried not to look down her blouse.
Okay, just one peek—and it was delicious.
She lifted his chin with a finger. “I will
not
date a crazy man.”
“Of course not. You’ll date
me
.”
“And you’re crazy.”
He crossed his arms. “What are you talking about, woman?”
“Look at you.” She waved her hand in his general direction.
He looked down at himself. Today he’d worn a pair of slacks and a patterned long sleeved shirt. Although he rolled up the sleeves—he couldn’t stand being bound in any way, and cuffs and collars were the worst. His shoes were polished and he was wearing the snazzy Gucci watch he’d bought when he’d won his first championship title. His head was freshly shaved, and he just had a facial a couple days ago. “I look good.”
She rolled her eyes. “You do not. You look like a hoodlum dressed up as a playboy.”
“I’m not a playboy, although I can see why you’d think I am, because of my incredibly good looks and suave demeanor.” He shrugged. “It’s an honest mistake to make, but I’m really a good ole boy from corn country.”
She gaped at him. “There’s nothing corn country about you. You’ve got a bald head and a thing on the side of your face.”
“Thing?” He touched the UV tattoo he’d gotten in Amsterdam years ago after a particularly bloody grudge match, which he’d won, of course. “Are you disparaging the dandelion?”
“Is that what it is?” she asked in complete hauteur.
He pointed to his temple. “You know you want to kiss it.”
“I do not.” She looked horrified at the thought.
“Come on, sweetheart. Blow on it for good luck.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Now you’re goading me on purpose.”
“Well, yeah, because you’re making a judgment about something you know nothing about.” He crossed his arms and sat back. “You ever think maybe it symbolizes something?”
She looked at it, her face set in a stubborn frown, but he could see the wheels turning in her head. “What does it symbolize?” she asked reluctantly.
“The ability to go with the flow regardless of where you end up.” He frowned at her. “Aside from that, it’s pretty. You work in an art museum. You should appreciate art.”
She shook her head. “That’s…”
He waited for her to finish her statement with
not art
, which was exactly what she was thinking. But she just shook her head again and clammed up.
“So you don’t like it,” he said.
“It’s not a matter of whether I like it or not. It’s on your
face
.” She pointed at it. “Do you know who has tattoos on their faces? Criminals and people who never expect to pay taxes. You’ll never be gainfully employed. No one hires people with tattoos on their faces, even if it’s like yours.”
“Why would I want to be employed?” He knew he had to get on with the next phase of his life, because he couldn’t continue to get pummelled on a regular basis and expect to live into his old age and be lucid, but his smoothie business was where it was at. He’d never even considered getting a job. His father would fly out and smack him upside the head if he as much as considered it. They were entrepreneurs in his family, not grunts.
Josephine groaned, putting a hand to her forehead. “You aren’t employed, are you?”
“Of course I am.” He scowled at her. “Are you saying I look like a hoodlum
and
a slacker?”
“What do you do?” she asked, ignoring his indignation.
“I told you I’m Kelly ‘the Bull’ Torres.” He waited for recognition to light her beautiful face, but she just looked confused. “I’m an MMA fighter. You’ve never heard of me?”
“What’s MMA?”
He gaped at her for a full ten count. Then he shook his head. “I just don’t know what to say, woman.”
“Stop calling me that.”
“Why? You look all woman to me.” He looked her up and down, appreciating what he could see, even though the bar and her clothes hid a lot of the good parts.
“I don’t understand you,” she said, her cheeks flushing fetchingly.
He leaned forward. “There’s only one thing to understand. I bought that corset for the woman I wanted to spend my life with, and I think you’re it.”
Her eyes widened with a combination of wariness, distrust, and fear. “You don’t even know me!”
“So tell me about you. What’s your favorite color, buttercup?”
Josephine glared at him. He wondered if he’d be able to hear her teeth grinding if he leaned closer. “That’s not what I’m talking about,” she said through her gritted teeth.
“Then tell me what you’re talking about.”
“I won’t do crazy anymore,” she exclaimed, throwing her arms in the air.
People around them hushed, staring. Bull smiled at them reassuringly. “It’s all good, folks. She’s on meds now.”
“See?” she hissed, waving her arm. “This is what I’m talking about.”
“What?” He leaned closer, mostly so he could inhale her scent. It was delicious.
She
was delicious. He couldn’t wait to take a big bite out of her.
“I’m done dating crazy.” She met him halfway, her amazing eyes trained on him. “Every guy I’ve ever dated has been insane. Always.” She lifted one finger. “My first boyfriend in junior high, Danny Mosley, liked to rip wings off of flies and watch them flail. Jimmy Smith, in high school, liked to borrow my dresses. In college there was Marko, who was sensitive and liked to write music, mostly about me and my
attributes
.”
Bull grinned. “I can’t blame him. Your attributes are fine.”
She glared at him. “Then there was Atticus Reginald. Enough said about him. A bunch of others followed, ending with Hershel.”
“You dated a Hershel? Shouldn’t that have been a warning sign in itself?”
“He was a cop, who seemed normal and down to earth until I found out he was tapping my phone to check up on me.”
Bull winced. “Ouch.”
“And now there’s you.”
“But I’m not crazy, sweetheart.” He took her hand. “Only crazy about you.”
“Which is insane”—she yanked her hand from his—”considering you don’t me.”
“Josephine Belle”—he looked her directly in the eye—”I’m not going to steal your clothing, or write lewd songs about you, or stalk you.”
“What do you call
this
?” She waved between them.
“It’s not stalking if you’re attracted to me, too.”
“That’s what I’m talking about,” she exclaimed, throwing her hands in the air. “I’m a successful, smart woman. I should be able to find Prince Charming. Not the frog, who’s really just a frog.”
He
was
Prince Charming. She just needed to realize it. “You don’t know it yet, but you’ve come to the right place, sweetheart. I’m completely sane.”
She laughed like it was the funniest thing she’d ever heard.
“What?” he asked, affronted.
“You’re not sane. I know crazy, and you’re it. Set aside the tattoo and the MBA thing you do—”
“MMA,” he corrected. “Mixed martial arts.”
“You’re a
fighter
?”
“Why do you say it like it’s a problem?” He frowned. “I’m good at it.”
“You beat people up for a living!”
“Not anymore. I’m making a transition.”
She held her hands up. “Okay. Whatever your career choice, as a way of asking me out, you sent me a bustier and asked me to wear it for you.”
He waited for the end of the argument, but when it seemed like she wasn’t going to finish her statement, he said, “And?”
“That’s what I’m talking about!” she exclaimed. “Who
does
that? Only someone who’s insane, and I’m not dating crazy anymore.” She stood up like she was going to leave.
But he wasn’t done. He stood up too and blocked her escape path, careful not to box her in, because she seemed scrappy and not like she’d take well to being pushed around. He liked that, by the way. “There’s no way in hell I’m going to let you walk out of my life. Not when I’ve just found you, and not when you’re the perfect woman for me.”
She got in his face. “I’m not going to date you.”
“Then why did you come here to meet me?”
“To bring back your underwear.” She pointed at the box.
“You could have taken it to Nicole, or thrown it out.” He grinned, slow and triumphant. “You like me.”
“I do
not
,” she said with all the prissiness in her body.
“Don’t worry, sweetheart.” He ran a finger down her cheek to the edge of her lips. “I’ll cherish you.”
She growled, her fists clenched, and then turned on her heels and marched out.
He revelled in every sway and jiggle as she left. When he turned around he saw the puzzled looks of the patrons around him, and his grin widened. “
That’s
a woman,” he told the restaurant at large.
Chapter Eleven
Julie set a vase of gladiolas on a table in the entrance of the Carrington-Wright mansion, becoming aware of a strange tune as she rearranged the flowers. It took her a moment to realize the noise was coming from her—she was humming.
Humming.
She paused, staring at the tall stems, wondering if she should be annoyed at her sickeningly good humor.