“It’s just overheated,” she said.
“Want me to call a tow truck?” They were roughly thirty minutes outside of El Paso. Definitely close enough for one to come and pick her up (and he’d have done his good deed for the month).
“No.” She had her hands tucked in the folds of her skirt, and her white blouse clung to her large breasts. She was pretty but sweaty and so hot her shoulders were bowed by the oppressive heat. She’d been out here a while.
“How about I take a look for you?” he offered, slowly moving closer.
“That’s not necessary.” The expression on her freckled face seemed wary and guarded as she shuffled from foot to foot. She backed up a bit, and he wondered what she was hiding. Just then a smallish mutt barked from the front seat. Despite his loud mouth, he looked and sounded about as ferocious as Odie from the Garfield cartoon.
“Shut up, Scamp!” She swiped a hand across her forehead and swayed on her feet, grabbing the van for support.
“How long have you been out here?”
“A while.” She gave him a limp smile. “You’re the first person to stop.”
“I’ve got some water.” He slowly moved toward the Tahoe. “Be right back.” He got her a bottle of water from the cooler he kept in the back of the SUV, slammed the window shut, and headed toward her, only to find her on the ground.
Still clutching the water bottle, he rushed over, kneeling down on the asphalt, glad he’d worn jeans. He smoothed her hair away from her face, conscious of the constant barking of her dog and the bitter pungent aroma of coolant seeping from the bottom of the van.
He carried her to the air-conditioned comfort of the Tahoe and laid her across the empty back seat. She was pale under her tan, and thick lashes caressed her red cheeks. He dabbed at her face and neck with condensation from the water bottle, breathing a sigh of relief as she finally came around.
“What’s your name?” His tongue felt thick and clumsy in his mouth.
“Sabrina…Walker.” She wet her lips with the tip of her pink tongue and struggled to sit up as the confusion that clouded her eyes dissipated. “What happened?”
“You fainted.”
“Oh,” she said softly. As if she’d just realized she was alone with him in the back of his Tahoe, miles from anywhere, she drew away and licked her lips. Her eyes were busy searching for a means of escape.
“It’s okay.” He pressed the open bottle into her hand, then slowly backed away, taking a spot on the edge of the seat so she’d have more room.
“You? What’s your name?”
He stuck with what he knew, his brain distracted by her soft, puffy-looking lips. “Roy. Now, how about that ride?”
She sipped at her water, glancing around the SUV again. She finally nodded, slowly and with obvious reservations. “I need my stuff, and my dog.”
Sabrina Walker fell somewhere between milk chocolate and café au lait. Her nose was small and puglike in a cute way, her eyes a hazel green rimmed with brown. Her lush lips formed a cupid’s bow. He could thank his sister for that obscure bit of description. Sabrina’s long dark curly hair was shot through with red and gold—the better to make things interesting. Some might call her plump, but no one would ever call her plain.
Her van was probably shot. He couldn’t leave her sitting there on the side of the road to pass out again while waiting for help that might never come. Luckily, she hadn’t argued; just grabbed her dog and purse.
He did the only thing he could. He’d loaded her and her damn dog up in his SUV. He figured he could find a garage in El Paso and buy her a meal while they waited on the tow.
“Why do you keep staring at me?” Her voice was husky, rough and unrefined like her.
He forced his attention back to the road. If he didn’t stop staring, she’d jump out, moving vehicle or not. “Just wondering what you were doing out here in the middle of nowhere.”
“Driving. You?”
Will laughed as much at her sarcasm as her smarts. She’d definitely been around the block a time or two. “Where you headed?”
“A Ren fair in San Antonio.” The dog on her lap pawed at the console that separated them. He wasn’t near as cute as she was, so Will frowned at him, hoping he’d stop before he marked up the leather.
“What the hell is a Ren fair?”
“You know, people dress up like knights and barmaids and drink mead and eat turkey legs. I tell fortunes.”
“Fortunes.” He snorted, thinking he told fortunes, too, but his were probably nowhere near as fun as hers.
“I’m actually pretty good.”
“That’s why you live in your van?” The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them, proving once again what an insensitive ass he was.
Surprisingly, she didn’t rise to his unintentional bait. Just sighed, her fingers curling in her mutt’s short hair as she glanced out the window. The Tahoe quickly carried them closer and closer to El Paso. In her lap, the dog whimpered briefly, raised his head, then settled back down as Sabrina stroked him. Her short, utilitarian fingers continued to gently knead as outside the SUV, the desert slowly, finally gave way to humanity.
All the while her silence dug at him, like a knife in his gut. “I’m sorry,” he finally blurted out.
“Sorry for what?” She turned to look at him, her big greenish eyes curious.
“For what I said.”
“Huh?” A slight frown puckered her brow. “What did you say?”
Here they went: the passive-aggressive, dog and pony show was on. Sorry was never enough. They always wanted more—blood, sweat, tears, your American Express card. Whatever…“My comment about living in your van. I’m sorry.” There! He’d said it.
“Oh, sure.” She shrugged in a way that made him want to hit her. Though as a rule he didn’t hit women, with any other woman he would have gone three rounds by now. “No problem.”
Of course there was a problem. There was always a problem.
And problem was spelled C-O-O-C-H-I-E. To get a little you had to give—a lot. Women were the scorekeepers, the referees, and the opponents, and men were expected to know all the rules; except they never let you see the rule book. Maybe he should just drop it for now.
“So what were you doing out here in the middle of nowhere?” she asked.
“I’m a salesman.”
“Wow! Your company must love you.” She patted the console, indicating the SUV’s luxury package.
“I’m on vacation.” Jesus, surely he could lie better than this! He had to get rid of her, and soon.
She was irritating him, getting under his skin with those big eyes and full lips. And those tits…He turned the air conditioner on high and shifted in his seat, willing himself to not think about his cock—and her lips. Sabrina was off limits.
All women were.
He had to get rid of her and get back to Oklahoma and find a new place to live. Maybe a monastery. Did they even have monasteries in Oklahoma?
APHRODISIA BOOKS are published by
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Copyright © 2009 by Delilah Devlin
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.
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ISBN: 0-7582-4039-2
Texas Men Page 22
