Lyric and Lingerie (The Fort Worth Wranglers Book 1)

by Tracy Wolff

And when it was over, when their heartbeats had returned to normal, she lay on the bed next to him and cuddled into his arm.

  “Did you notice that I tried Cosmo’s number one trick for the best blow jobs?” Lyric made scissors out of her left hand and the Hook ’em Horns with her right.

  “That’s what that was? I thought you were making shadow puppets.” He kissed her temple. “We might need to rescue that Cosmo from the hospital’s recycle bin so we can try all … how many tricks were there?”

  He wasn’t much for cuddling, but he had to admit, this felt good and right and honest.

  “Thirty-one.” She laid her head on his chest.

  “In the name of research, I feel like you should try them all out.” He held up a hand. “I volunteer to be the test subject. It’s a tough job, but I’m willing to give my time to the cause.”

  “You’re such a humanitarian.” She traced each one of his abs.

  “What can I say, I’m a people person.” He liked the feel of her next to him. He could stand to do this for a couple more hours or possibly forever. “In the spirit of fair play, I’m willing to devote as much time as is needed, if not more, to returning the favor. Although, I don’t have a handy-dandy guide with thirty-one different ways to go about it.” He thought about it for a second. “Why is that?”

  “Because Sports Illustrated doesn’t give a crap about women’s orgasms.” She continued to trace his abs. She seemed to really like them. He liked that she liked them.

  “You’re right. Later today, I intend on sending them a strongly worded e-mail. I might just add Men’s Health and Maxim to the list.”

  “I think you may need to go broader, like Playboy and Penthouse.” Lyric was in analytical mode.

  “I know Playboy and Penthouse are supposed to have articles, but I swear, I’ve never seen any words in them.” He held one finger up. “No, wait, the title is prominently displayed on the front. That counts.”

  “I guess men learn about sex by watching porn.” She laced her fingers through his.

  “Some, but mostly it’s on-the-job training.” He didn’t remember any woman who fit next to him so perfectly. Not that he was a hit-it-and-quit-it kinda guy—well, not always. When he did stick around, women always wanted to talk about their feelings. Lyric didn’t appear to care about hers, much less his. It was odd, he kinda wanted to know what she was feeling. They were engaged … sort of.

  “How many jobsites have you trained on?” She wasn’t coming from a place of jealousy—it was strictly research.

  “Too many to count.” A fact that hadn’t bothered him before. “But they were all practice for you.”

  “Really?” She arched an eyebrow. “You can put the lines away … we’ve already had sex. It was good, and I’m pretty sure we’re going to do it again.”

  It didn’t feel like a line.

  “How many um …” His voice cracked, so he cleared his throat. “… jobsites have you trained on?” He wanted to know but really didn’t. Any other man touching her made his blood boil. He’d never had a problem with jealousy before, but he was certainly experiencing some now.

  “A whole lot less than you.” She thought about it for a second. “And most of my,” she threw up some air quotes, “‘training’ came from a book and not the jobsite.”

  “Oh yeah, well … let me show you something I learned a long time ago.” He tickled her ribs. He knew just the spot.

  She wriggled around and laughed. It was a beautiful sound, one he thought he could listen to for a long, long time.

  * * *

  Chapter 16

  * * *

  They stayed in bed for hours, eating cold omelets and talking about all kinds of things. His knee, her job, how San Angelo never changed. Anything and everything but the elephants in the room. Even after Heath had run next door to his suitcase and ransacked the thing for more condoms, they didn’t talk about their fake engagement or her father’s illness. And they sure as hell didn’t talk about Harmony and Heath’s long-ago crush on her.

  It still bothered her. There was no denying it.

  More than once, Lyric thought about telling him the truth—that she was the one he’d slept with all those years ago. But every time she got close, she chickened out. What was the point, anyway? Things were good between them now. This wasn’t forever—she was older and wiser—and there was no happily ever after where Heath was her white knight to save her from … what? She didn’t need saving, and what was with the whole white knight thing anyway?

  Once, in Canterbury, England, she’d been to a museum that brought Chaucer’s Tales to life. The smell had been staggering. Maybe that was why knights had worn suits of armor—because deodorant wouldn’t be invented for five hundred years.

  As for the fake engagement, she was just going to have to woman up and tell her daddy that Heath had jumped the gun. Actually, now that she thought about it, a gun didn’t seem a big enough object for him to have jumped. He’d jumped a cannon? The “Come and Take It” cannon that adorned many a Texas flag was only twenty-one and a half inches long. Bigger than a gun, but still too small. Maybe an entire battleship? Heath would need a jetpack to do that, which made “jumping the gun” not make sense.

  Either way, things needed to be set straight. And since Heath was too big of a chicken to do it, she was going to have to be the one to break her daddy’s heart.

  It hurt more than she liked to admit, but not as much as faking an engagement to Heath for the next six months, only to have the whole thing fall apart on them. Besides, if it went on that long, she didn’t even want to think about the pitying looks she would get when he “dumped her.” Even if they said it was a mutual decision, no one would believe them. And they sure as shit wouldn’t believe that Lyric had actually dumped Heath.

  No. No way. She was not doing this. She was not going to give her mother anything else to beat her up with for the next fifty years. She could just hear what Livinia would have to say when she found out that Lyric had driven Heath away.

  She just had to figure out what to say. And she would, just as soon as Heath stopped kissing her toes. And her calves. And her thighs. And her …

  Her phone rang, interrupting what was turning out to be a very interesting foot massage.

  “Ignore it,” Heath murmured from where his head was buried between her thighs.

  That sounded like a really good idea to her, especially considering how talented the man was with his tongue. But it was Chopin’s Funeral March, her mother’s ringtone. Harmony had added it because their mother killed any fun that was to be had. Like, for instance, now ...

  Be that as it may, if her mother was calling about her daddy, Lyric wanted to know about it.

  “Sorry,” she said as she reached for the phone. She couldn’t help the lip curl. “That’s Momma.”

  At the mention of her mother, Heath shot out from between her legs like her mother had burst into the room. “Sorry, darlin’, but much as I adore you, Livinia and oral sex don’t belong in the same zip code, let alone the same bedroom. I’ll be in the shower if you need me.”

  “Coward.” She tossed a pillow at his back even as she swiped to answer the call.

  “I prefer to call it a strategic retreat.” His sculpted ass looked good in his “strategic retreat.”

  “Is that Heath I hear talking?” Livinia demanded before Lyric could even say hello.

  “It is. He was just telling me that he was going to take a shower before we head up to the hospital. We just woke up.” She could have kicked herself. Now her mother was going to give her the no-man’s-going-to-buy-the-cow-if-he-gets-the-milk-free speech. That had always pissed Lyric off. What if her cow wasn’t for sale? What if she wanted to take his cow for a test drive? What if she was lactose intolerant?

  “That’s nice.” Livinia actually sounded somewhat pleasant.

  Lyric waited for the barrage of nasty, but there was only silence.

  “We didn’t just get up … one of us has been up f
or hours.” Heath looked over his shoulder and waggled his eyebrows.

  She threw another pillow at him.

  “What is he saying?” Livinia actually sounded interested in something involving Lyric.

  “Nothing, Momma, he’s um … talking about …” She really should be faster on her feet.

  Her mother sighed. “Tell me you didn’t sleep with him, Lyric. You know a man won’t want to buy the cow.”

  And there it was.

  “Yes, I know mother. Especially if I’m the cow.” Did she know her mother, or did she know her mother? Then again, thirty-two years of Livinia-isms tended to stick with a woman.

  “Now, now, Lyric, there’s no need to put yourself down—”

  “Oh, I know. There’s never a need for that when you’re around.” Hello, pithy comeback. She was damn proud of herself.

  “I meant, you’ve got Heath now.” Her mother actually sounded slightly remorseful.

  “Heath doesn’t put me down.” Lyric’s eyes went the bathroom door, which he’d left open.

  He never had put her down or laughed at her or nodded like what she’d said was the dumbest thing he’d ever heard.

  “Of course he doesn’t. I would never condone that in a man. But now that you’re with him, no one else will either, Lyric. When you’re on his arm, women will actually envy you. Can you imagine?” Livinia was so excited.

  And just when she’d thought her mother had some actual human DNA, she opened her mouth and all bets were off.

  She didn’t need to imagine it. She wouldn’t be on Heath’s arm for much longer and didn’t really care who envied her. She wanted to shout that in certain circles, she was just as successful and famous as he was, but the only circles that her mother cared about were the ones where she could brag to all of her friends about her screwup daughter finally catching Texas Monthly’s Most Eligible Bachelor.

  Uneasiness crawled around in her stomach. She knew she should have stopped the fake engagement story yesterday. Damn Heath and his big ideas and even bigger mouth.

  This was going to be a mess that rivaled that Wranglers-Cowboys game during the winter of 2004. Around these parts, it had been referred to as the Texas Civil War. The ref who’d called foul on the Wranglers’ overtime field goal had never been seen or heard from again. The folks at the Baptist church told everyone who’d listen that Jesus had smote the ref and sent him directly to hell in a blaze of fire. Lyric had tried to tell them that it was a solar eclipse, but no one would listen.

  Because she couldn’t take any more of her mother’s fawning over Heath, she changed the subject. “How’s Daddy? Is he awake yet?”

  “Awake? He’s been up for hours. He’s doing so well, Lyric, and feeling so much better already. Even the doctors are surprised.” Her mother actually sounded happy—that didn’t happen often.

  Lyric sat up. “That’s amazing, Mom. I’m so excited.”

  “So is he. He’s already been up twice, walking down the hall. He’s telling everyone he meets that he’s in training to walk you down the aisle.” Her mother’s voice broke a little on the last word, and for a second Lyric couldn’t help wondering if she had somehow fallen into an alternate universe during the night, one where Heath Montgomery actually wanted to have sex with her and where her mother actually cried real tears over someone other than herself.

  “Oh, wow. That’s … that’s something else, isn’t it?” Lyric tried for excitement, but it fell flat.

  “It really is. I haven’t seen him this excited since the Wranglers came back the year after the Texas Civil War. He is beside himself with glee.” Glee was never a word that Lyric had associated with her mother.

  “Speaking of your father, I should go check on him. Good-bye.” Livinia hung up without giving Lyric time to return the good-bye.

  God. Lyric barely resisted the urge to beat her head against the wall. Or the nightstand. At this point, she wasn’t exactly picky about what to use to knock herself senseless. Or to at least put herself to sleep.

  It wasn’t that she wasn’t happy her daddy was excited. Because she was. She knew attitude was more than half the battle after major surgery, and the more can-do her father’s attitude was, the faster he would heal.

  But his sudden obsession with marrying her off left her with a problem. How was she supposed to tell him that she and Heath weren’t getting married without giving the man another heart attack? Or sending him spiraling into a depression that not even a perfect season for the Wranglers could cure?

  God knew, if she were her father and being married to her mother was the only reason she had to get out of bed in the morning, she’d spend the rest of her life wallowing under the covers.

  It didn’t sit right with her to go on with this lie. She was a lot of things, but she wasn’t a coward … only, she loved her father and needed him in her life.

  Was she actually thinking about going along with this fake engagement?

  It didn’t feel right.

  But if it helped her father recover?

  And if it gave her mother something else to think about other than constantly ripping at Lyric.

  How bad would it be to go along with it … just for a few more weeks, and then she’d come clean. Were all sins created equal? Was lying the same as murder? Did she really care?

  The shower turned off, and the plastic curtain rustled on its ball bearings. She heard swishing sounds, as if a towel was pulled from the bar next to the shower. She imagined that he was using it to dry off.

  In high school, how many times had she sat on her bed, listening to him taking a shower and imagining what it would be like to help him dry off? Now she could walk right on in there and offer a helping hand.

  And she was fake engaged to him.

  She sure as hell hadn’t seen that one coming. Lyric smiled to herself. She was willing to bet that Mistress Kailana hadn’t seen it coming either. She was welcome to Rob the Knob. Poor Rob—the grass skirt was always greener on the other side.

  Heath walked into the room with a towel wrapped around his waist. If she yanked it off of him, they could get back to defiling her childhood bedroom, but they were out of condoms and needed to go to the hospital.

  She patted the seat next to her. “We need to talk.”

  “Oh crap, we’re about to have ‘the talk.’” He sat next to her. “This is where you fake break up with me … right?” He grinned. “Let me guess, it’s you and not me. You need your space, or you can’t be tied down, or my personal favorite—because I’ve used it about a hundred times—you’re not good enough for me. I deserve someone who goes out of their way to make me happy.”

  So he’d broken lots of hearts—not surprising. Well, this time he wasn’t breaking hers.

  “Wow, you have lots of break-up lines.” She shrugged a shoulder. “I was just going to ask if you wanted to keep being fake engaged.”

  He looked like he was weighing the pros and cons. “Okay, but when we get fake married, I’m not signing a prenup. I think it’s bad luck.”

  He undid his towel and let it fall open. “Oops, look what happened.”

  “We’re out of condoms …” Her eyes—those traitors—drank him in. “I need to get to the hospital.”

  He kissed her neck and worked his way down her collarbone.

  “I guess we don’t need to be at the hospital just yet.” She melted into him. “As long as we’re fake engaged, we might as well have lots of real sex.”

  God knew, after her father was recovered and she and Heath returned to their normal lives, her options for sex—good, bad, or otherwise—would dry up.

  “What we had this morning went way beyond sex.” He licked at her nipple. “We definitely made love.”

  She could all but hear the bow-chicka-bow-bow music in the background. That was a terrible line. Laughter bubbled up. Did it actually work … on anyone?

  He kissed his way to her other nipple.

  “What so funny?” He grinned up at her.

  “M
aking love? Come on? That’s funny.” Who knew coming home would be this much fun? “Sex is sex. Who makes love? That’s for romance novels, cheesy porn, and 1980s rock ballads. I’m already naked. Pulling out the ‘making love’ card seems like gratuitous use of a terrible line.”

  Every muscle in his body went rigid, and not in a good way. He sat up, pulling his towel back around him. He stood and glared down at her.

  “So, it’s just sex.” The words were ground out rather than spoken.

  “Okay.” She reviewed the last few sentences in her head and couldn’t figure out why he was mad.

  “Just some mutual itch scratching … just some casual fucking … is that it?” He looked right through her.

  Was that rhetorical? She wasn’t the best at reading people, so she wasn’t sure if she was supposed to answer.

  “Fine.” He tilted his head to the side, cracking his neck. “Let’s get you to the hospital.”

  He stormed out, slammed the door, stomped down the hall, and slammed his door.

  Clearly there was some subtext she was missing here. She reviewed the last few minutes again in her mind and didn’t find anything that would take Heath from nipples to pissed off in two seconds flat.

  She knew he loved her father. Maybe the stress over his knee and her father’s illness was taking its toll on Heath? He’d been so supportive of her, and she hadn’t even thought about how this might be affecting him.

  She’d find out what was bothering him and see if she could help.

  * * *

  Chapter 17

  * * *

  Thirty minutes later, Lyric still didn’t know what was eating Heath. Inside Cherry Cherry, a black hole of tension swirled around them. It practically sucked all of the air out of poor Cherry Cherry. Even Neil Diamond’s voice seemed muffled compared to the ear-deafening silence.

  “I’d like to talk about why you’re upset.” God knew she didn’t like talking about her feelings, and she was pretty sure Heath felt the same way, but this was ridiculous.