Tall, Tanned & Texan

by Kimberly Raye

  “No. Giving you sex lessons will do that.” When she simply stared at him, he added, “Just because you’re missing the first day doesn’t mean you have to miss today’s workshops.” His gaze caught and held hers. “I can teach you everything you need to know.”

  I’m not interested. Not anymore. Not ever again. That’s what she wanted to say. But the words couldn’t seem to make it past her heart which had jumped into her throat at the prospect of being Rance’s student.

  Not that she was about to say “yes” either.

  She wanted a real education with reliable, step-by-step instruction in everything from Shedding Your Inhibitions and The Power Of Touching to Getting Into The E-Zone and Using Your Environment. While she had to give Rance his due—he was hot, hunky and undoubtedly experienced—he wasn’t a professional like Drill Sergeant Meryl and his Ph.D. wife, Dr. Linda.

  With Rance, there would be no no-nonsense lectures or educational films. No actual textbook. No class notes.

  Just Rance smiling down at her, his large, tanned hand covering hers, guiding her over her own body in hit and miss until they’d discovered every vital pleasure point…

  Okay, so he had screwed up her plans. Royally.

  She was starting a brand-new job in two weeks, which meant she wouldn’t be getting any time off for at least a year. Forget registering for Camp E.D.E.N.’s next session and making up the workshops she’d missed. The only time she had to get in touch with her sexuality was right now. Right here.

  With him.

  But it was more than timing that chipped away at her resolve and urged her to say yes. As much as Deanie wanted to deny her attraction to him, she couldn’t. Even after all these years, she still wanted him. More so now because she was all grown up. Forget daydreaming about his kisses. She wanted to feel him over her, inside of her, surrounding her.

  This was it. Her chance. A once in a lifetime chance. Her dream come true. The dream she’d denied herself since that painful moment when she’d offered herself to him and he’d turned her down.

  Never again, she’d promised herself.

  But she wasn’t the one offering. He was.

  It was Rance who waited for her answer. Rance who wondered what she was thinking. Rance who risked his pride should she give in to the need for vengeance that burned deep inside her and refuse him.

  But greater than the need for revenge was her need for him. To touch him. To taste him. To feel him.

  She had twenty-four hours before they went their separate ways again. Only this time, Deanie wouldn’t be left with fantasies to warm her nights. She would have bona fide memories.

  And some much-needed knowledge when it came to sex.

  “I guess it really is the least you can do,” she told him. If she hadn’t known better, she would have sworn she saw relief flash in his gaze.

  But then he smiled, his eyes twinkled, and he was the old Rance again. Full of self-confidence and sex appeal, and not the least bit worried about either.

  “So how do we do this?” she asked him.

  “That’s what I’m going to teach you, Teeny.” He gave her a quick kiss on the lips and winked. “Meet me at the main pool in a half hour.”

  “The pool? But wouldn’t your hotel room be more appropriate…” Her words faded as he disappeared into the main lobby.

  O-kay.

  Maybe he wanted to go for a swim first. Get his heart pumping before he did the actual deed. One of her old boyfriends, Earl Connally, had liked to watch NASCAR before they got up close and personal because he said it really got his adrenaline pumping.

  Deanie couldn’t really picture Rance glued to a television set, a beer in one hand and a Jimmie Johnson pennant in the other, but what did she know about men?

  Very little.

  She had exactly four ex-boyfriends. Earl the lube guy from the local Oil Express. Darnell who’d worked at the auto parts store. Bart the physical education teacher at Romeo Junior High. And Harwin the brake specialist at Big Daddy’s. They’d all been nice guys—except for Harwin—who hadn’t been any more experienced when it came to sex than Deanie herself.

  And so all of her past encounters hadn’t been anywhere close to the hot, spicy stuff of an erotica novel. In fact, she would have to qualify them as more fitting for an inspirational—Deanie had spent most of her time praying for things to hurry up and be over.

  The old Deanie, that is.

  She was the new and improved version now. A sexually confident, experienced, one hundred percent bona fide woman.

  Or she soon would be once she started her training and reached out to her inner vixen.

  She spent the next ten minutes choosing a swimsuit and wrap to go with her sundress. And new sandals that were featured in the front display case. They were a pair of barely-there two-inch heels with tiny bronze straps that crisscrossed at the toes and wrapped around the ankles.

  Her toes curled at the prospect. The old Deanie wouldn’t be caught dead in anything but her work boots or a pair of sneakers. Then again, the old Deanie wouldn’t have purchased a leopard print bikini—also from the display case—that begged for man-killer shoes.

  The whole get-up screamed Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Edition and was just the sort of thing somebody like Savannah Sierra Ellington would wear.

  Deanie gathered her purchases and headed for the cash register. As she passed a ring of T-shirts and sweat pants, insecurity welled inside her and she found herself reaching out. It wasn’t like she was going to wear the dreaded things. Not out in public. But if she wanted to relax in her room, there was certainly nothing wrong with being comfortable.

  She grabbed her size and kept walking. When she reached the lingerie rack, she paused for an indecisive moment before adding the skimpy black thong to her pile.

  Hey, Rance was the teacher.

  For the next twenty-four hours, that is.

  “SO HOW DO WE DO THIS?”

  Deanie’s soft, sweet voice echoed through Rance’s head and followed him out into the lobby.His heart pounded and his muscles bunched and his breaths came quicker. For a man who’d just made a touchdown and nailed the first quarter, he didn’t feel nearly the relief or satisfaction he’d expected. Instead, he felt wired, nervous, anxious. For more.

  For her.

  At the same time, he couldn’t shake the niggle of guilt that sat in his gut. After all, he’d just offered sex lessons to his best friend’s baby sister. Clay would surely go ballistic.

  At the same time, the baby sister had turned into one hell of a woman. A woman determined to beef up her sexual arsenal, with or without his help.

  Rance frowned and his determination grew. If Deanie was dead set on getting an education in sex, he intended to be the one to give it to her. Better him than some stranger. Even Clay would understand that.

  At least Rance hoped he would.

  “Hey, Mr. McGraw! Wait up!”

  Rance turned at the sound of the familiar voice.

  Erica hurried after him. She wore the standard hotel staff fare with her black slacks and crisp white blouse. Only the three extra studs in her right ear hinted that she might be more daredevil than manager-in-training.

  “I called my folks just after you checked in and my dad all but flipped when I told him that you were here. He followed you back when you were playing pro ball with the Cowboys. He never missed a game.”

  “Tell him I appreciate that.”

  “Actually, I was hoping you could tell him.” She gave him a pleading look. “I was wondering if you wouldn’t mind giving me an autograph.” She pulled out an Extreme Dream T-shirt and a black Sharpie, and handed him both.

  “You have a lot of these lying around?” he asked as she motioned him over to a nearby sitting area.

  “Are you kidding?” She sat down and reached for one of the travel magazines scattered across the glass coffee table. “They’re the total shit with everybody who’s anybody. Surfers, wakers, skiers—you name it. I ordered this one online for
my dad’s birthday—he’s always been a big fan. The autograph will make it that much more special.” She handed the magazine to Rance who sank down into a nearby chair.

  He grinned and slipped the booklet inside of the shirt. “What’s your dad’s name?” He balanced the shirt on his lap and pulled the cap off the pen.

  “Ralph.”

  Rance grinned, wrote a few sentences and signed his name. “Here you go.”

  “Thanks so much.” She took the T-shirt, pulled out the magazine and replaced it on the coffee table. Her gaze drank in the sentiment he’d written. “He’s going to totally love this.”

  “Glad I could help.” Rance pushed to his feet and Erica followed. “I really need to run. I’m meeting someone.”

  “Sure. Listen, if you get bored while you’re here, my friends and I meet at sunup every morning down at the marina for a little water sports jam to get the day started right. You’re welcome to join us. We wakeboard, ski, windsurf. Just pick your poison.”

  “Thanks.” He handed her back the Sharpie. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  “And remember, if you need anything while you’re here, just let me know.”

  Rance’s gaze caught Deanie as she exited the boutique and headed for the elevator.

  The workshops from the Camp E.D.E.N. course curriculum played through his head and stirred several interesting visuals.

  If he was going to seduce Deanie past the point of no return so that she would willingly, desperately offer herself up to him the way she had that night down by the creek, he was going to need some help. He needed every seductive tool he could find.

  “Actually, there are a couple of things…”

  YOU CAN DO THIS.

  The affirmation played in Deanie’s head as she stepped out of her hotel room and walked the few steps to the elevator.Women did it all the time.

  Tall, leggy, do-me women, a small voice whispered as the elevator doors slid open.

  All types of women, the more courageous side of her chimed in. She eased her way between several people, glanced to make sure the lobby button was lit, and leaned against the far wall as the doors closed. Her stomach hollowed as the elevator dropped and she swallowed.

  Why, even Pastor Cushing’s wife did it on Sunday mornings, and Sister Maybelle was about as tall and leggy as a rhino. As for the do-me part…

  Deanie shook away the thought.

  She was not going there.

  The bottom line—women of all ages, from all walks of life, owned high heels and managed to wear them without eating pavement.

  Which meant Deanie could do the same.

  “Feet don’t fail me now,” she murmured several seconds later as she reached the ground floor. She stepped off the elevator, carefully rounded the corner and started across the marble-tiled floor.

  She wore her new swimsuit and a matching cover up that wrapped around her like a sarong. She carried her new oversized straw bag stuffed full of essentials—sunscreen, her wallet, her hotel key card, sunscreen, her baseball cap, her cell phone—turned off, of course, to avoid Clay—sunscreen, a water bottle, a sports drink and sunscreen.

  While Deanie had lived half her life outdoors, she’d learned early on to always be careful. Her dad had watched his own father die with skin cancer and so he’d been a fanatic about his kids protecting themselves while out and about.

  And then there was Miss Janie from Senior Women’s Rotary Club. Deanie had been giving Miss Janie’s old Pontiac oil changes for the past five years since her husband had passed away, and so she knew all about Miss Janie’s cousin’s sister’s husband who’d died of skin cancer just this last year.

  Deanie thought of the old woman and she couldn’t help herself. She sat down in a nearby chair and rummaged for her cell phone. She had one message from Clay, no doubt denying he’d sent Rance after her, and two from Miss Margie.

  She saved Clay’s for later and listened as the message beeped. The old woman’s voice came over the line.

  “Deanie? Honey, if you’re there pick up the phone.”

  Miss Margie had yet to grasp the concept of a cell phone message and always assumed she was talking to a traditional answering machine.

  “Honey, I know you’re making a change and all, but I really wish that change involved my oil. Why, that good-fer-nothing Harwin couldn’t change oil if his life depended on it. Do you know he tried to put that cheap stuff in my engine? I told him you always put the quarter weight and charge me for the cheap stuff, but he refused to do it. Said it was dishonest and I told him that it was dishonest to be picking quarters out of the collection plate at church. He swore it wasn’t him, but Genevive MacIntosh saw him with her good eye just last Sunday.” Genevive had lost one eye to glaucoma and could only see with her left. “Lordy, I don’t know what we’re going to do around here without you. I’ll have to dip into the nest egg that Norman left me just to keep the car running smoothly ’cause now it’s making this knocking sound something awful. I thought it was my hearing aid at first on account of it’s been acting funny since I got that microwave oven. I knew that fancy thing would mess up everything. It’s as bad as one of them tanning beds. Why, Jenny Lou’s daughter just happened to be wearing one of those TENS unit stimulators on account of her back got messed up from working in her garden when she went to pick up her daughter at that new tanning salon Fake-n-Bake over on Main Street. Anyhow, she didn’t even go past the front door and the darned TENS unit went crazy. Starting ringing and vibrating. Her doctor said it could have been the ultraviolet rays, which I know it was. What do you know, but I read in my microwave manual that it gives off those same rays so I figure it zapped my hearing aid. Anyhow, I got the thing replaced and I still heard the knocking. Harwin says it’s the transmission, but I think he’s full of baloney—” Beeppp.

  The message cut off and went to the next.

  “Deanie, honey? Are you there? Pick up if you’re there. I think we got cut off…”

  Deanie listened to the rest of the message and tried to ignore the guilt that churned inside of her, along with a strange sense of longing. As much as Deanie wanted to leave the past behind, there were some parts she wished she could take with her.

  A breeze blew through the open lobby and teased the edges of her cover-up. Her skin prickled and she became acutely aware of how little she wore and how out of place she suddenly felt.

  Not for long, she reminded herself, as she stashed her cell phone and pushed to her feet. She would get the hang of all this girlie stuff if it was the last thing she did. She had no reason to feel self-conscious. Women wore skimpy clothes all the time. Even more, all the important parts were covered.

  Sort of.

  Her footsteps faltered and she stiffened.

  Don’t be a wimp. You can do this.

  She drew a deep breath, pulled back her shoulders and tried to remember everything her Grandma Jilly had taught her during the few summers together that Deanie had been old enough to remember. Their last one, in particular, when she’d been five.

  Grandma Jilly had still been grief-stricken at the loss of her only child and all the more determined to maintain a female influence in her young granddaughter’s life. That summer they’d paraded around with books on their heads, played dress-up, drank tea, baked cookies and laughed.

  They’d had so much fun that Deanie had actually forgotten how much she hated the frilly dresses and hair bows the other little girls wore to kindergarten.

  Deanie, on the other hand, dressed in the Little Husky jeans and T-shirts her dad ordered out of the Sears catalog. She’d even stopped hating the fact that Grandma Jilly called her Nadine.

  Until she’d gone back home.

  She’d walked into her house wearing a pink dress trimmed in ribbon rosebuds she and Grandma Jilly had spent hours making, white patent leather Mary Jane’s and pink lace socks, and her brothers had laughed.

  Correction, they’d snorted and bellowed and teased her mercilessly. Needless to say, she’d punched
Cory—the oldest and the loudest—in the arm, threatened Clay and Colby and glared at the rest before stomping to her room. She’d changed into her boots, jeans and her favorite John Deere T-shirt, hidden the girlie get-up in the back of her closet, and that had been the end of Nadine.

  Until now.

  She pulled back her shoulders, held her head up and her body straight, and said a silent prayer to Grandma Jilly to please, please smile down on her.

  Obviously, the old woman was feeling gracious. While the walk through the lobby and out to the pool seemed endless, she finally made it with a few minutes to spare.

  Escapades attracted a predominantly adult clientele made up of mostly couples. Thanks to tomorrow’s holiday, there didn’t seem to be a single in sight. Pairs gathered at the swim-up bar, others clustered under the massive umbrellas situated here and there. More soaked up the sun side-by-side in various lounge chairs crowded near the shallow end of the pool where a couples’ event—a tropical version of the classic Newlywed Game being sponsored by a local radio station—was about to take place.

  A large table nearby overflowed with fresh fruit and a double-heart ice sculpture to keep everything cool. An upbeat reggae love song poured from the speakers. Beyond the green hedges and brilliant orange hibiscus, the sun shimmered over a turquoise ocean. Palm trees dotted the white-sand beach and swayed with the faint island breeze. The smell of suntan oil and fresh fruit and relationship nirvana teased her nostrils.

  Deanie ignored the urge to turn and head back up to her room. So what if she didn’t have a significant other? She never would have one if she didn’t keep her feet rooted to the spot and her mind on the business at hand—Rance and sex.

  Sex and Rance.

  Her fingers trembled as she held a hand above her eyes to ease the glare.

  No familiar beat-up cowboy hat. No hot, tanned body wearing an old T-shirt and board shorts. No killer smile or sparkling eyes.

  “Landsakes, child, you’re going to kill yourself in those shoes,” said a familiar voice.

  Deanie turned to see Mavoreen Rosenbaum sitting in a nearby lounge chair. She wore an old-fashioned black, cover-everything-up swimsuit that made her white skin look even whiter. A large straw hat rested atop her head and a huge dab of white sunscreen sat on her prominent nose. A pair of white pool shoes completed the outfit.