“I have a better idea.” The Voice was back. She was practically purring. “I’ll be in charge.” She turned and undulated toward the door. “Of everything,” she tossed over her shoulder.
MITCH HADN’T EXPECTED Kristen to dress in her film noir mode when they went out. Although he’d developed a true appreciation for the look, he was curious to see her dressed normally and if she still held the same fascination for him.
Mitch wasn’t used to being fascinated by a woman. Attracted to, sure. Intrigued by, yeah. Unsure of, certainly. Lustful…hmm, that was memorable. He took a moment. Yeah. But fascinated? Not until Kristen. So he was curious when he rang the doorbell.
But he was stunned when the door opened.
“Hi.” Black ringed her eyes and her red mouth had disappeared under a frosting of pale pink. And her hair was big. Bigger. Poufier. Sexy. Okay, he was onboard with that. The giant silver hoop earrings, not so much.
She had on a white tank top that revealed more than he’d seen looking down her blouse while on the ladder. Her short denim skirt settled around her hips leaving her stomach bare. And was that a belly ring? She looked like a cheerleader for the dark side.
There were a number of things he could have said at this point. “Wow, you look hot.” That would have been okay and not too much, considering the skin factor. Or even just, “Wow.” Even “Whoa, baby, come to Daddy,” would have been better than what he actually said, which was, “Aren’t you going to get cold?”
“I thought you’d keep me warm.” It was The Voice, but it didn’t sound right coming out of a frosty pink mouth.
He hesitated, trying to figure out what she expected of him.
“I guess not,” she said and turned back inside.
Mitch was aware that he’d failed a critical test. Considering he’d passed an earlier test in spite of The Electric Santa truck and his red hoodie, he was confused.
And not dressed exactly right. He was going for upscale restaurant when he should have thought clubbing with a pair of those expensive dark wash jeans that fit oh so perfectly with just the right boot and a buttery soft leather jacket.
But no. He was wearing khaki chinos, a black golf shirt and a sport coat he’d borrowed from his father because he’d left his in Dallas. It fit. Mostly.
Oh, yeah. He was really stylin’.
Kristen returned with a black leather jacket draped over her arm. She handed the jacket to him as she locked the door.
When Mitch held it out to help her into it, she shook her head. “That’s for you.” She tugged off his tweed herringbone.
“This is your father’s jacket,” he said as he shrugged into it.
“Yes.”
Oh, great. He abandoned any thoughts of a romantic “whatever” because the only thing worse than wearing his father’s jacket was wearing her father’s jacket.
“Much better.” She draped his arm over her shoulders. “Isn’t it?”
She was warm and soft and pressed up against him. “Surprisingly, yes.” A leather jacket was going straight to the top of his Christmas list.
They headed toward the driveway where his dad’s SUV sat.
“Hey, no Santa-mobile!” she exclaimed.
“My parents wanted to drive it.”
“They did not.”
“Really. They have some parade meeting thing they’re going to tonight and thought it would be funny.”
“And you believed them.”
“Well, yeah.”
She nodded to herself. “Things are beginning to make more sense.”
“What things?”
“You are very gullible.”
Mitch opened the door for her, closed it and got in on the driver’s side before answering her. “I am not gullible. You should have heard them laughing once they got the lights working. They drove about twenty miles an hour down the street and honked “ho ho ho” the entire time. The neighbor kids ran after them. But you’re not talking about my parents and the truck. You’re talking about Jeremy and me.”
He flipped on the heater and the seat warmer.
“Possibly.”
He felt her study him as he backed into the street. “So what’s the verdict?”
“I can’t totally figure you out yet,” she said. “You’re all-American on the outside, but maybe that’s just a cover for a darker side.”
The idea was so absurd that he laughed. “Or maybe what you see is what you get.”
“In my experience, what I see is rarely what I get.” Kristen squirmed until both nearly bare thighs were flush against the warm leather. “This is nice.” She sighed. “One of those luxuries I’d like the opportunity to get used to. But back to you.”
Mitch would have rather stayed with the naked skin and warm leather.
“Does having a dark side appeal to you?”
“No.”
“No dark desires, hidden urges, or quirky curiosities?”
“Is that a line you read in an underground newspaper?”
“No, but it sounds pretty good, doesn’t it?”
“The line, yes, the subject, no.”
“Oh, come on.” She leaned toward him ever so slightly and lowered her voice to a husky whisper. “Haven’t you ever just wondered?”
Her voice invited him to confess, to share and possibly to satisfy. And he would have confessed and shared and wanted to satisfy—if there had been anything to confess or share. There was plenty to satisfy, but it wasn’t what she had in mind.
Mitch was tempted to make something up when he thought about the movies he’d watched. “But it does fascinate me in a way.” It did. Besides, he didn’t want to sound totally bland, which is very much the way he felt he was coming off this evening.
“What way?”
“A warning way.” He looked at her. “A film noir way.”
Their gazes held. “That’s an okay way,” she said.
They had stopped at the light at the entrance to Kristen’s neighborhood. She crossed her legs and—though Mitch didn’t see how it possibly could—her skirt rose on her thighs. “Where are we headed?” he asked.
“Take a left and go to the freeway. Then we head north.”
Toward Houston. “Into the big city it is.”
As they drove through Sugar Land, Mitch pointed out jobs he’d done for The Electric Santa. When they passed the Town Square, he showed her where the company’s giant stationary Santa Claus parade float would be. “I’ll be working on it Christmas week. The light parade ends there and the rest of the floats will be on display.” He gave a short laugh. “You could say I’m into the ‘light side.’”
Kristen laughed politely, telegraphing her total disinterest in the “light side.” She confirmed it with her next statement. “People who are drawn to the dark side fascinate me. What makes them go there? What’s the appeal?”
“You’re stuck on this tonight, aren’t you?” Mitch merged onto the freeway. “What are we talking about, exactly? Dark side as in evil? Vampires?”
“More like Darth Vader dark side. Checking-morals-at-the-door dark side. Fun with a dash of depravity. Ever thought about letting go just once?”
Was she serious? If he weren’t watching traffic, he’d look at her and try to read her expression. Jeremy would be able to tell what she was thinking without seeing her face.
“I have to say ‘no.’ None of that appeals to me.”
“None?”
He shook his head. “Depravity doesn’t do it for me. I’m pretty conventional.” And he wasn’t going to apologize for that, either.
“So…does that mean you don’t like the way I’m dressed?”
Now there was a trick question. “I don’t think you’re dressed in a dark or depraved way.”
She gave a low, throaty laugh that vibrated all the way through him. “I saw your face when I opened the door.”
“That was surprise, not distaste.”
There was silence. “You can follow that up with a compliment.”
He smiled to himself. “What’s a hot girl like you doing with a cool guy like me?”
She laughed. “You’re about to find out. Take the next exit.”
Richmond. The club scene. Mitch was not the club scene type. He knew this because he used to follow Jeremy around when they were still establishing themselves. Mitch didn’t have a knack for when to absorb and when to discard the ever-changing trends. And the clubs Jeremy went to were all about trends. Mitch had to give his partner credit for recognizing an untapped demographic and within months, they had so many clients Mitch no longer had time to make the club scene.
He didn’t miss it.
“Guess where we’re going?” Kristen asked.
“A club?”
“But not just any club. I know the owner of this club.”
Great. In spite of her father’s leather jacket—her father’s leather jacket—Mitch couldn’t possibly win any comparisons to a club owner.
They reached the intersection. “Which way?”
“You don’t know?”
No, and he was getting irritated. “Just tell me.”
“Turn right.”
The glitzy bars and restaurants quickly changed into a seedier area. The kind of area newly minted eighteen-year-old boys visited at least once.
“Well?” she asked.
“Well what?”
“Slow down! You’ll miss the turn.”
The only place she could be talking about was Tutti Fruitti. He turned anyway, and she didn’t protest.
“Kristen, this is a strip club, not a bar club.”
“I’ll bet they serve drinks. And I know you could get a good table.”
It appeared Miss Dark and Depraved didn’t have any firsthand experience. What was up with her? The tires crunched over the shell parking lot and he parked on the outer edges. In the silence Mitch could feel the beat from the music thumping inside. “I’m not taking you in there. Especially since you look like you’re here to audition.”
She looked down at herself and gave a little shimmy. “I guess you’d know, since you own the place.”
Chapter Six
“I’ve heard depravity can be a big money maker.” Kristen thought she’d timed her bombshell nicely.
She’d subtly led up to it, setting the stage with her hoochie mama clothes and attitude and all the dark side talk.
Kristen was looking for a reaction. If Mitch had expressed a delighted surprise and the ever-important unchecked lustful gleam along with a significant attitude adjustment, then he’d have a difficult time convincing her he didn’t know about the tangled nest of companies and where they led.
Another possibility was the deer-in-the-headlights look followed by sweaty palms, extreme discomfort and a slight stammer. Some people might think that would indicate that he’d have nothing to do with the adult entertainment industry, but Kristen had met this type and knew that such a man was even more likely to dabble.
Oh, and the crusaders. She’d nearly forgotten about those. The judgmental ones who secretly indulged.
Mitch’s reaction was perfect. He was mildly puzzled at her persistence. Irritated, at the most. And he seemed willing to go with the flow, so he wasn’t judgmental and he certainly wasn’t threatened.
So that much was reassuring. She’d given him ample opportunity to drop his guard by letting him know she wasn’t averse to a walk on the wild side, if that was what floated his boat.
But the ultimate test was taking him to one of the clubs. From his reaction, she didn’t think he’d been here before, but that wasn’t a requirement to own something. He didn’t react to the name, as far as she could tell, so either he’d forgotten the names, or he truly had no idea of the clubs that were part of his holding company.
So, she’d dropped the bomb and it had exploded. And now she waited.
While she was waiting, she removed a stick of gum from her huge slouchy purse. She’d been unsure about smacking gum, but it seemed to fit her character. Or was that a cliché? She couldn’t decide.
After a moment, Kristen caught herself chewing in time to the pulsing bass that throbbed through the car. The snap of the gum was annoyingly loud, mostly because Mitch hadn’t said anything. She had not anticipated this reaction. Or lack of reaction. He seemed fascinated by the cars in the parking lot and the people coming and going into the club.
Kristen hoped he noticed that compared to some of the women, she looked conservative. Still, it was good to know that she got the look right. Sort of. A little more attitude and she’d be good to go.
Maybe he needed a nudge. She reached for the pack of gum and offered him a stick.
“Want some gum?” She met his gaze. “It’s tutti-fruitti.”
“Of course it is.” His lips curled in secret amusement. “But no thanks.”
He hadn’t admitted or denied owning the place or even asked her what the heck she was talking about. Kristen zipped her purse. How to proceed? She needed a hint or a clue or something. “Shall we go in?” she asked when he continued to gaze out the windshield.
“Why?”
Good question. By this time, Kristen had expected she’d either be waltzing in on the arm of Mitch, the player, or explaining herself to Mitch, the stunned. “Uh, drinks?”
“And then what?”
“Food?”
“And then what?”
“Entertainment?”
He narrowed his eyes at her. “You find this sort of thing entertaining?”
Kristen carefully chose her words. “Men generally find this sort of thing entertaining.”
“Only a certain type of man. I—” he paused for emphasis “—am not that type of man.”
She lowered her voice to a sultry purr. “Well maybe I’m that type of woman.” She inhaled and sucked in her stomach and was about to add pouty lips when Mitch had the gall to laugh.
“Trust me, you’re not.” And then he laughed again.
That stung. Certainly, she was playing against type, but he wasn’t supposed to know that. “Is that your expert opinion?”
“I don’t need to be an expert.”
Kristen gasped.
“Don’t choke on your gum.” Mitch started the car.
“You…you—”
“It’s all about drama with you, isn’t it?”
“That is so not true. I am a calm, rational, realistic person.”
“Who took me to a strip club for drag queens on a first date.”
At that, Kristen did nearly swallow her gum. After waiting a second to see if he was kidding—nope—she turned around and stared through the rear windshield at the club clientele. Then she checked out the posters on the side of the building. Oh. By gumbies, he was right. Something she would have noticed if she hadn’t been so intent on bombshell dropping. She turned back around. “Well, I don’t like to be predictable.”
“Predictability is not one of your problems.” Mitch pulled a U-turn and headed back toward the ritzier section of Richmond.
“Are you saying I have problems?”
“Yes, but they’re very attractive problems.”
She knew he expected her to ask him what those problems were, but she wouldn’t, not while he was ignoring the whole ownership-of-the-club issue.
“Where are we going?” she asked instead.
“To the nearest fast-food drive-through of your choice.”
“What?”
He tossed a look her way. “You’re not dressed for much else.”
“So, you’re, like, punishing me? Aren’t you Mr. Prude.” She crossed her arms and chewed her gum.
“This isn’t a summer picnic in Sugar Land. It’s a Friday night in December in an iffy part of Houston.” He glanced over at her. “Nice pout by the way.”
He was on to her. She might as well admit it. “Thanks. You don’t think the lower lip is too much?”
“The lip is great. I’m not so sold on the gum.”
“You know, I wasn’t either. But when I found the tu
tti-fruitti flavor, I just had to go for it.”
“Naturally.” He made a snarky sound.
“Oh, get your mind out of the gutter.” Kristen dug in her purse for the discarded wrapper and stuck the wad of gum into it. “I didn’t fool you at all, did I?”
“You had your moments. And I applaud your choice of costume. Feel free to try out any more like that.”
Kristen was slightly mollified. Okay, a lot mollified. But not if they were going to eat fast food. “Are you still going to make me eat fast food?”
Mitch waved negligently. “They all have salads now.”
Oh, they did, did they? “Are you intimating that I need a salad?”
“Everybody should eat salad.”
“While that is true, one doesn’t usually head for monuments to grease and salt to buy one.”
“I plan to go for the grease and salt, myself.”
“Which you no doubt planned to eat in front of me after forcing me to order a bunch of lettuce?”
“Are you trying to pick a fight with me?” He didn’t sound perturbed at all. If anything, he sounded highly entertained.
She’d lost her touch. Maybe she’d never had a touch. Kristen needed a stronger reaction to play against. How was she supposed to work up any believable anger if Mitch wouldn’t help her out? “It is very difficult to pick a fight with you. It’s one of my best distracting maneuvers, too.” She threw in a regretful sigh. “In this case, the plan was that if we got mad at each other, you’d take me home and I could get some real food.”
He grinned and something—certainly not food—warmed in Kristen’s middle.
“If you promise to wear your dad’s jacket, I’ll take you to a place with nice big booths and you can show me what you found out about me.”
Deny or not to deny. That was the question. “What makes you think…” She trailed off as he rolled his eyes at her.
“Your purse—if you can call that thing a purse. I’ve got suitcases that are smaller. Anyway, your purse rustles. If there is one thing I know, it’s the sound of paper rustling.”
“Oh.” So it was the props and not the acting. Yes, she’d stuffed her purse with printouts and notes and Web addresses. Since she wasn’t sure what the significance of it all was she’d brought everything.
Lone Star Santa Page 8
