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'."
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.