I Got You, Babe (A Sexy Romantic Comedy)

by Jane Graves

  Maybe he should get a subscription to Playboy and let it go at that.

  Renee reached the parking lot of the diner, gasping a little at the uphill jog in the cool evening air. She glanced back over her shoulder at the train, encouraged to see that it didn’t seem to be picking up any speed.

  She thought about ducking into the woods behind the diner, zigzagging in and out of the dense foliage, but the piney woods of east Texas went on forever. She had no food, no water, no coat, and no sense of direction, so sooner or later she’d be buzzard bait. Besides, it was past sunset and nearly dark, and she feared snakes and bobcats and great big spiders almost as much as she feared Leandro. Spending the night hugging a tree and praying a lot didn’t seem to be the best solution.

  What she needed was wheels.

  In the parking lot she spied a tired old Corvette, a beat-up red Chevy pickup, and a forest green Explorer with dark-tinted windows. She took a serpentine route through the lot, nonchalantly scanning each of the vehicles for keys, then realized she was actually considering car theft.

  No. She couldn’t steal a car. That would be a real crime, and she promised herself eight years ago that she’d never commit: one of those again.

  Well, okay. There was the little fire she’d just started in a certain bounty hunter’s car. Destroying personal property was a crime. But really, when you thought about it, that car of Leandro’s was a rolling fire hazard anyway. It was bound to happen sooner or later. One cigarette butt flicked in the wrong direction, and poof!—up in smoke. She’d done nothing more than hasten the inevitable.

  Renee took a deep, calming breath. All this rationalizing was making her a little woozy. She needed another plan, and fast. Surely the owner of one of these vehicles could be persuaded to take her...somewhere.

  She opened the door to the diner and stepped inside. She was greeted by warm air and the smell of deep-fried everything. A teenage kid was taking his change at the register, his arm draped around a dark-haired girl. They probably belonged to the Corvette. It was a two-seater sports car, though, and Renee figured she’d be a little too easy to spot if she rode on the roof.

  That left the pickup truck and the Explorer.

  She matched the pickup with the overall-clad hayseed standing at the snack-cake rack trying to decide between Twinkies and Ding Dongs. She weighed the possibilities for a moment, then discarded his vehicle in favor of the Explorer with its tinted windows. Perfect for tooling around the countryside incognito. By process of elimination, she decided its owner must be the man sitting at the counter having dinner.

  From the back he looked like a standard-issue country bumpkin, with a red-plaid flannel shirt stretched over a broad pair of shoulders, threadbare blue jeans, and boots. His dark hair just brushed his collar in the back, and she’d bet the rent he didn’t even own a comb. And he was undoubtedly dumb as dirt.

  Okay. She had her target. But what was she going to say to get him to take her anywhere but here?

  She couldn’t lie and tell him she had car trouble, or that she’d run out of gas and needed a lift. A lift where? To a phone? There was one right here. Back to her car? She didn’t have one. And if Leandro showed up, she couldn’t say he was the bad guy and expect anyone to do anything about it. He probably had ID that said he could drag her anywhere he pleased. Besides, he had a very large gun and a face that would scare the average person out of ten years’ growth. Asking for protection from him would be like asking someone if they minded pulling you out of the jaws of Godzilla.

  If only she had time to think.

  Praying a plan would come to her, she slid onto the stool next to the guy having dinner. “Hi, there.”

  He turned at the sound of her voice. Renee blinked with surprise. This was not Jethro Bodine. This was not L’il Abner. No way, no how, not in her wildest dreams.

  She’d been fooled into thinking he was a local yokel when his back was turned, but she wasn’t fooled now. This man didn’t belong here any more than she did. He looked to be in his early thirties, but she got the feeling those thirty years hadn’t come easily. A few days’ growth of beard darkened his cheeks and chin, but it couldn’t hide the sharp planes of a boldly handsome face. His skin was still sun-bronzed even in early October, his nose sharp, his jaw well defined. By contrast, his lips looked warm and sensual, a surprising feature on a face that held so much raw strength. His dark eyes regarded her with blatant intensity, as if he were assessing every breath she took and didn’t much like what he saw. Somehow he managed, with just a few seconds of eye contact, to make her feel wildly attracted and scared to death all at the same time.

  Renee tore her gaze away and glanced around hopefully for the kid or the hayseed, but both of them were gone.

  “Is that your car outside?” Her voice came out like a mouse squeak. She cleared her throat. “The Explorer?”

  “Yeah. It’s mine.”

  Those eyes again. Staring at her. Staring right into her, as if he could see her brain working. And if only it really were working, she might just find a way out of this mess.

  Think, think, think!

  Adrenaline rushed through her, scrambling her thoughts. How does a woman get a man’s attention right now?

  Her brain cells whizzed through the various possibilities, like a hundred search engines activated all at once. And all of them returned the same solution.

  She took a deep, furtive breath, sidled closer to her target, and gave him a smile, hoping it didn’t look as phony as it felt. “Do you live close by?”

  “Yeah. For a while, anyway.”

  She nodded down at his hand. “I don’t see a wedding ring.”

  “That’s because I’m not married.”

  As he moved his fork down to have another bite of chicken-fried steak, Renee ran a fingertip along his arm, raising a trail of goose bumps in its wake. He froze, his fork in midair.

  She swallowed hard. “Well, then. Wanna go to bed?”

  Chapter 2

  John decided it was a good thing he hadn’t taken that bite of chicken-fried steak. He’d have choked on it. Big time.

  “Excuse me?”

  She leaned closer and dropped her voice. “You and me. Sex. Your place. Right now. Yes or no?”

  John blinked with surprise. She was blond, she was beautiful, and she was throwing herself at him. What was wrong with this picture?

  As much as he’d like to think it was his good looks and suave manner that had attracted her, he had to face facts. He had a two-day growth of beard, he was shoveling down a meal fit for a lumberjack, and without looking down he couldn’t even say for sure whether his shirt was buttoned right and his jeans were zipped. And he was pretty sure he’d given her his automatic cop look when she first slid onto the stool next to him, a “don’t mess with me” expression so ingrained after years of dealing with the lowlifes of Tolosa that he had a hard time keeping it in check. It had scared away more than one woman before, yet this one seemed undeterred.

  He took a quick inventory of the way she was dressed. Jeans, sweatshirt, Reeboks. Hardly the animal-print miniskirt, midriff top, and six-inch platform shoes so fashionable among most Lone Star ladies of the evening. And her makeup was practically nonexistent, allowing a healthy glow to shine through. Instead of sultry and provocative, she appeared to be going for cute, fresh, and innocent-looking. He had to admit her marketing strategy had gotten his attention.

  “Sorry, sweetheart,” he told her, adding more pepper to his steak. “I’m not in the habit of paying for pleasure.”

  Her eyebrows shot up. Was she expressing disbelief that he’d pegged her profession right away, or offended that he’d think such a thing? Then just as quickly she replaced the look with a provocative smile.

  “I’ll admit I’d like to get my hands on a lot of things, but your wallet isn’t one of them.”

  This was dangerous. John could feel it in his bones. “Then how about one of Marva’s chicken-fried steaks? Best I’ve ever had.”

&nb
sp; She laid her hand on his arm. “So that’s what you’d recommend for a woman who’s really hungry?”

  John tilted his gaze to Harley, who was leaning his forearms on the counter, watching the scene unfold like a housebound grandma watching a soap opera. Since he hadn’t greeted her by name, as he did everyone else who ventured into his establishment, John assumed she wasn’t a local. Back on the job he’d have said she didn’t fit the profile of the neighborhood, and that was always a reason for a heads-up.

  Still, it had been way too long since he’d been with a woman, and physically, at least, this one pushed all his buttons. Big blue eyes, cheeks tinted pink from the brisk October breeze outside, and a mass of blond hair that was hers by the grace of God and not Lady Clairol. The hem of her blue sweatshirt fell over Levis that showcased the soft curves of her hips so enticingly that it was hard for him to tear his gaze away.

  “Yeah,” John told her, sticking to the chicken-fried steak theme. “That’s what I’d recommend. And be sure to get a little extra gravy on the side.”

  He picked up his fork again. She pressed his arm back down to the counter. “You have no idea what you’re missing. I can make you forget to eat for days.”

  John extricated his arm from her grasp. “Sorry, sweetheart. See, I just started in on this steak here, and I know Marva would be insulted if I didn’t finish every bite.”

  “Marva’ll get over it,” Harley said.

  John shot Harley a “don’t help me” look. Harley held up his hands in surrender and walked down the counter to the cash register. He snagged a roll of Certs and tap, tap, tapped them on the counter, his expression suggesting that perhaps John might want to stop being an idiot and reconsider having a date for the evening.

  The woman inched closer, her eyes focused intently on him, eyes that were a deep, endless blue that mesmerized him. Then his cop brain kicked in. A beautiful woman didn’t just walk up to a man and offer him sex with no strings attached. If he were a betting man, he’d wager this woman had enough baggage to fill a 747.

  “Tell you what,” she murmured. “Why don’t we go to your place and talk it over?” She glanced out the window, then looked back. “Like—right now?”

  John didn’t want to be suspicious. Not when every man’s dream was planted on a stool next to him, offering him a trip to heaven. But while he’d never had a lot of trouble connecting with women if he set his mind to it, even on his best days they didn’t just fall into his lap. Usually he had to take at least a few swings before he could hit a home run, but this woman wasn’t even making him step up to the plate. Something was wrong here, and if he was smart, he’d never get close enough to find out what it was.

  “The fact is, sweetheart, I’m here on vacation, and so far it’s been pretty relaxing. I’d like to keep it that way.”

  Harley rolled his eyes. He pulled a six-pack from the cooler and clunked it down beside the Certs, giving John an admonishing stare. Breath mints and beer. Harley’s idea of a really hot date.

  She eased closer. “Sugar, the last thing I want is for you to be uptight. All you have to do is settle back and let me do all the work. How does that sound?”

  It sounded like heaven on earth, but he hadn’t been a cop for eleven years without being able to spot ulterior motives a mile away. “Well, that’s a real nice offer, but I’m doing this vacation solo.”

  Over the woman’s shoulder, John could see Harley about to explode with frustration. He gave John a “hey, stupid” look, then reached to a shelf behind him, picked up a beige box, and slapped it down on the counter next to the Certs and the six-pack.

  Trojans.

  “Whatever one can do,” the woman said, “two can do better. And they can do it all...night...long.”

  John had a mental flash of tangled, sweat-sheened bodies glistening in the moonlight, then another flash of morning sunlight streaming through a window, illuminating the condom box. The empty condom box. Very enticing images. Almost as enticing as the warm palm on his thigh, moving in provocative little circles, inching its way toward his crotch.

  John caught her hand, pressing it against his thigh, then fixed his gaze on hers in a no-nonsense stare. “What do you really want?”

  Her eyes widened for a moment. Then she raised a single eyebrow. “I think that should be pretty obvious by now, shouldn’t it?”

  John knew from experience that an obvious explanation and a truthful explanation were rarely the same. But the intensity with which she stared at him, as if she wanted to take him right here on Harley’s counter, made him think there couldn’t possibly be anything on her mind but sex.

  “Maybe I didn’t make myself clear enough,” she said, her lips only inches from his ear. “I’m talking about sex that makes your toes curl. Sex that makes your hair stand on end. Sex that wears you out and hypes you up all at the same time and makes you wonder where your next breath is coming from. Sex that’s so raw, so hot, so sinful that you pray it never ends because there’s no way you could possibly experience anything like it again.”

  Every word she spoke was like a carnal caress, and every time she said sex John thought about how long it had been since he’d had any. She teased her fingers over his crotch, and he felt himself getting hard whether he liked it or not. And he liked it. No question about it.

  Then her lips grazed his ear, and she dropped her voice to a breathy whisper. “Before it’s all over, I’ll have you screaming so loud they’ll hear you in Bangkok.”

  John swallowed hard.

  Maybe, for once in his life, he should take things at face value. She was a woman looking for a good time. He was a man who had all the time in the world to show her one. Harley had provided the only other necessity. What more did he need to know?

  Then, before he could open his mouth to say yes, no, or something in between, the woman slid off her stool, spun his stool around ninety degrees, and moved between his thighs. She took his face in her hands, dropped her lips to his, and kissed him.

  John was so startled that for a moment he just sat there and let it happen. He’d been kissed by a lot of women in his life, but never by one who put her heart and soul into it the way this one did. Her lips consumed his with an intensity that almost knocked him senseless, and when she slipped her tongue into his mouth and teased it against his, a shudder of pure lust shot through him. Her words had been pretty explicit, but there was nothing like a little mouth-to-mouth contact to let him know exactly what it was she had in mind.

  This was lunacy, of course. He’d have to be a complete lunatic to sit in a backwoods diner and let a strange woman kiss him into unconsciousness. He gripped her arms with the intent of pushing her away, only to have her shift closer, her thighs pressing against his and sending a shock wave right to his groin. At the same time she deepened her kiss even more, filling it with honey and fire and the promise of even better things to come, and he decided that lunacy was a delightful state to be in and wondered why he hadn’t considered it before. The cop side of his brain saw about a hundred red flags, but the regular, homey-guy side of his brain was blind as a bat. For once in his career-consumed life, the homey-guy side seemed to be winning.

  Finally she pulled away, her breath still warm against his lips, her blue eyes hot and hungry.

  Blue eyes. Damn. He loved blue eyes.

  He dropped his gaze to her kiss-swollen lips, then met her eyes again. “Was that a preview of coming attractions?”

  “Yeah. And it’s gonna be a blockbuster. Trust me. Can we get out of here now?”

  John thought he actually felt his common sense leave his body, and he wasn’t sure he was even going to miss it. He went to the cash register while the woman waited by the door. Harley swept the goods into a sack and handed it to him, waving away his money. “This one’s on me,” he whispered. “Go get her, buddy.”

  John escorted the woman out to the parking lot. He looked around, surprised that he didn’t see a car that might be hers, even though the diner was way out in
the middle of nowhere. The only sign of life was a freight train a quarter mile down the road, disappearing from sight.

  “How did you get here?” he asked her.

  She looped her arm through his and hurried him along. “I dropped straight down from heaven, sugar.”

  He decided he was going to believe that. He was going to pretend her headful of golden hair was a halo, and that she was a member of the Angel Adult Recreation Squad sent here to ensure that his vacation was a resounding success. Otherwise he might have to start asking more questions than he ought to and find out things he really didn’t want to know.

  He opened the passenger door and let her in, then climbed into the driver’s seat. He dropped Harley’s date-in-a-bag on the floor near her feet, started the engine, then backed out. But as he turned from the parking lot onto the two-lane highway, he was nearly sideswiped by an old Jeep Cherokee pulling in. Smoke wafted out its windows.

  He braked quickly and looked back over his shoulder as the smoking car squealed to a halt in front of the store. “What the hell is that?”

  “Did I tell you I’m wearing crotchless panties?”

  John whipped back around to find the woman smiling suggestively. All at once the thought of her wearing nothing but a little scrap of lace was a whole lot more interesting than somebody’s smoking vehicle.

  “No. I don’t believe you mentioned that.”

  “They’re red.”

  “My favorite.”

  “Let’s get out of here.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  He stepped on the gas. In a few seconds he reached the speed limit of forty, then nudged the car to fifty and wished it was seventy.

  “What’s your name?” he asked her.

  “Why don’t we keep our names out of this?”

  Okay. She wanted to play mystery woman. That was fine by him. “Sure, sweetheart. Whatever you say.”