Tough Love: Back to Buckhorn

by Lori Foster

  Against the cold tile floor, her toes curled.

  Abs tightening at the sight of her, Stack accepted the truth—walking away would be tough.

  Going back to treating her like one of the gang would be worse.

  Like...maybe impossible.

  He held out a hand, and she hurriedly stepped forward to take it. Drawing her in, he wrapped his other arm around her waist and kissed her good morning. “Even now, you look sexy.”

  “That’s what I was going to say to you.” Her fingers edged over the waistband of his boxers. “You can’t expect me to be coherent if this is all you wear.”

  “Look who’s talking.” He dropped his hand to her sexy butt and gently squeezed.

  She bit her bottom lip, stared up at him, and suddenly hugged him tight.

  Not sure what had brought that on, Stack kissed her temple. “You okay?”

  “I wish I wasn’t busy all today.” She straightened her arms, pushing back to see his face. “Were you going to ask to see me again? Or... Oh, God. Were you just making conversation?”

  Insecurity didn’t fit her well. “What do you think?”

  She took the question seriously, then relaxed. “I think we were so good together that you want a repeat.”

  “Right in one.” He turned to the cabinets. “Where are your mugs?”

  Stepping around him, she went on tiptoe and got down two.

  His gaze on her long legs and bottom, Stack smiled. “For a show like this, I’d drink coffee every morning.”

  She flashed him a smile. “Cream or sugar?”

  “Black is good.” Caffeine wasn’t really in his menu plan. No reason to really blow it.

  “Me, too.”

  Another surprise. He’d figured her for a cream-and-sugar type. Ms. Baker was one revelation after another. The one last night, though, wanting sex without a condom...that had been a biggie. Even now, he could feel the heat of her, how she’d clasped his cock, the sweet wetness as her excitement escalated.

  “Damn.”

  While filling the mugs, she peeked at him over her shoulder. “What?”

  “Sex stuff.” He nodded at her body. “Just remembering.”

  She sighed. “Me, too.”

  He waited until they were both seated before he verbally circled back around to seeing her again. “What are you doing later?”

  She wrinkled her nose. “Mostly working.”

  That didn’t sound like too much of a barrier. He knew she helped out Yvette by working some hours at the resale shop, especially now, with Yvette a newlywed. “When do you finish up?”

  “I’m taking Yvette’s shift from eight to two. Then I have an hour to grab food and run some errands before I have to...be at my other job.”

  Other job? And why did she look away before saying that? She appeared...well, not guilty so much as evasive. “Two jobs?”

  She swallowed her coffee, fidgeted and murmured something low.

  “What’s that?”

  Huffing, she set her coffee aside. “Three jobs. Officially, that is. But I usually only work about twenty hours for Yvette. The other jobs...” She shrugged. “They vary.”

  “Three.” Once again she’d taken him by surprise. Hadn’t she claimed to be rich? Why would a woman her age, with supposed unlimited means, bog herself down like that? “Want to tell me why?”

  “I like helping Yvette. She’s my best friend. Like a sister, even.”

  While thinking it through, he nodded, accepting that. “She and Cannon deserve a week off.”

  “You and some of the others are filling in for Cannon?”

  “Where we can.”

  “That’s so—”

  To keep her from calling him sweet again, he interrupted. “And the other jobs? What are they, anyway?”

  Heat warmed her cheeks. Just then the dogs demanded to be let back in, so she was off the hook—temporarily—while they refilled the water and food dishes and took a few minutes to show the dogs some love.

  It was nice, how easily Vanity accepted them, including wet paws, shedding fur and sloppy dog kisses. She took genuine pleasure in them, and it showed. In return, the dogs adored her.

  When they went off to nap in the rays of the rising sun, he pulled Vanity into his lap. She started to kiss him, but he forestalled that by saying, “Jobs.”

  “It’s boring stuff.” She rubbed the backs of her knuckles over his bristly jaw, creating a rasp in the quiet morning. “I like you all macho like this.”

  “Beard shadow is macho?”

  “Mmm.” She traced his lips with one fingertip. “You’re macho. And sexy. And—”

  “And you’re dodging,” he interrupted before he caved, laid her on the table and took those boner-inspiring panties off her. “I have to wonder why.”

  Pretending to crumple in frustration, she fell back and left Stack to catch her. Which he laughingly did.

  Then, to secure his hold, he rearranged her so that she straddled his lap. Nice. Enjoying the sight of her slender thighs opened around him, cushioned by his hairier legs, he almost got sidetracked.

  “I’m trying to seduce you, and you want to talk about my work.”

  That brought him back around. “Tell me about the jobs, and then you can seduce me.”

  She perked up. “Seriously? Do we have time?”

  A glance at the wall clock showed he’d be cutting it close. “For a quickie, maybe. But only if you quit stalling.”

  That must’ve been incentive enough because she blew out a breath and said, “Fine. But it’s not a big deal, so don’t make it into one, okay?”

  “I’m not committing until I know what we’re talking about.”

  Her mouth twisted to the side. Still hesitant, she admitted, “I model.”

  Yeah, he hadn’t seen that coming, but given her looks and style, he should have. “You model.” Why did she look so grave about it?

  Nodding, she defended herself, saying, “It’s harder than you think.”

  “Never said it wasn’t.” Though he really had no clue. He had a hundred questions but started with, “Where?” If she’d be flying off and leaving him, he wanted to know.

  No, wait. He didn’t like how that concern sounded, even to himself. They weren’t an item, so she wouldn’t be leaving him. Just...leaving.

  Shit. He hated that thought.

  “Just local stuff.”

  Stack released a tense breath. “Local, huh?”

  She slid off his lap and went to her kitchen countertop, then returned with a few mailers for stores at the mall. “This one is for fragrance.”

  The shot showed Vanity’s shoulder and face in profile with lots of shadows, and she had this secret little smile. A dude was behind her, his nose in her hair. Well, fuck. Who would even see the small perfume bottle on the dresser in the background?

  “This is for ice cream.”

  The brighter, more colorful photo showed her sitting cross-legged on the floor wearing an oversize football jersey and nothing else. She leaned back, her face tipped up to another dude on the couch who held a spoonful of ice cream to her mouth.

  Again, who the hell was going to notice the name of the stuff with Vanity looking so hot in the ad?

  The last was a lingerie catalogue, and even before she opened it, possessive, jealous heat churned inside him.

  Then he saw the image—and relaxed. Or at least relaxed enough that he didn’t want to chew the bark off a tree.

  Dressed in loose flannel pajamas, the oversize top slipping off one shoulder, her hair in braids, Vanity appeared to innocently enjoy a lollipop.

  Well, hell. It was better than slinky lingerie, but the fantasies would be rampant. He met her anxious gaze. “Suggestive much?”

 
“What does that mean?”

  “You know exactly what it means.” He nodded at the ad. “You’re dressed like a tease, and I can see your tongue!”

  “My tongue?” She looked at the image again as if she’d never seen it. “That’s what you noticed?”

  “It’s designed for me to notice. Men will immediately think of blow jobs, guaranteed.”

  Laughing, she pointed out, “It’s to sell pajamas to women, silly, not men.”

  He’d be willing to bet plenty of men would see it, too—and he knew exactly where their thoughts would go. “If you say so.”

  She frowned at the ad. “It’s ridiculous, isn’t it? I knew it. I felt so dumb doing it. But sometimes it’s fun, so I agreed. It’s the truth, I get easily bored. And until you, until now, I mean, maybe this one time, only now you’re saying I could possibly seduce you again...” She shook her head. “Anyway, I usually have too much free time.” She blinked at him, waiting.

  Stack didn’t know if she’d run out of breath or if she just wanted to see his reaction so far.

  His attention went back to the ad. “You look like a wet dream.”

  Instead of being insulted, she smiled. “Really?”

  “Yes, really.” But damn it, he had no right to complain or to tell her how badly he wanted to punch any guy who saw her in the ads.

  “I’m glad you think so.”

  Did she think any guy would be capable of thinking differently? “Third job?” Or maybe he didn’t even want to know.

  Hands on her hips, she went back to talking at mach speed. “I also paint. And yes, sometimes I sell my paintings. The proceeds go to different local charities, so no way can I stop doing them. I have a few more to finish before the next Furry Paws Ball and Auction. That’s where they’re sometimes sold to help fund the no-kill animal shelter.”

  “You’re an artist?”

  She narrowly pinched the air with her finger and thumb. “Little bit.”

  An angel with a sinner’s body who was wealthy but worked at a resale shop to help a friend, modeled out of boredom and painted for charity. And out of all the interested guys in the world, she’d wanted him—hopefully still wanted him.

  His brain throbbed, as well as other body parts. “I’d love to see your work.”

  Her mouth did that cute, twitching thing that eventually turned into a smile. “It sounds so official when you say it like that.”

  “Say what?”

  Making air quotes with her fingers, she said, “My work.” She shrugged. “I have some paintings I can show you. Nothing serious. Just...whimsy.” Snagging his hand, she pulled him from the chair and started for the living room. “I’ll give you one minute to look, then you have promises to keep. Or maybe I have promises since I did say I’d seduce you, not the other way around.”

  He went along, loving how her backside looked in nothing more than those sexy little panties that showed as much as they hid. When she stopped and gestured at the wall, his eyes refocused on the artwork he’d noticed before, and then widened.

  No way. “You did these?”

  “Yup.”

  He dragged his attention away from the artwork to better scrutinize Vanity. She had her fingers laced together, her eyes downcast. Modesty?

  She had no reason for it. Putting his arm around her, he pulled her into his side and went back to the paintings. “These are amazing.”

  “Really?”

  He nodded at the cottage. “It’s personal to you?”

  Her face lit up. “That you realize that is a huge compliment.”

  “I can see it in the way you’ve painted it. It looks like...” He searched for a word and settled on, “Home.” Only that didn’t make any sense. She claimed to be rich, and the cottage, while not exactly small, wasn’t the home of the wealthy or elite.

  Leaning her head on his shoulder, Vanity went silent. When she finally spoke, something in her voice told him this was important to her. “The house is where our gardener, Carl, used to stay before he died. I loved it. He always had something blooming. Even in the winter he’d grow bulbs indoors and in his small greenhouse.”

  She looked at the painting; Stack looked at her. “You had a gardener?”

  “We had a lot of staff, but Carl was my favorite.”

  The way she stared at the painting, with memories in her eyes, told him things she hadn’t said.

  She turned her face up to his. “Carl showed me how to plant gardens so that something would always be in bloom. We experimented around the cottage.” Her smile flickered with a memory, then went sad. “When he died, my parents hired a landscaping company instead. They didn’t live on the premises, so the house went empty.”

  Sad. “You kept planting flowers there?” In his gut, Stack already knew the answer.

  “Yes.” She eased away and plastered on a very phony smile that didn’t fool him and didn’t reach her eyes. “I moved into the cottage for a while. My rebellious stage, according to my mother. But it was such a nice little cabin, cozier and warmer than our house.” She looked at the picture again, then moved on to the next. “These are hybrid roses he helped me to grow.”

  Stack watched her touch the painting of a trellis that should have been run-of-the-mill artwork, except that...it wasn’t. Not being an art critic or authority, he couldn’t pinpoint exactly what it was about the roses. But he liked the way she’d painted the sunlight behind the petals. The image looked as though it’d be warm and velvety to the touch.

  Like Vanity.

  On the other side of the cottage painting was another depiction of flowers, these a mix of wild colors and patterns.

  “We planted these behind the cottage, where my parents wouldn’t see. They always told me wildflowers were weeds, but Carl would say they were painted by God’s hand.”

  She looked at Stack, and something twisted inside him when he saw the sheen in her eyes.

  She didn’t cry. Vanity wouldn’t. She had this thing about proving her strength that was both endearing and provoking.

  “He said that about the sunrise and sunset, too. And stormy skies or clear skies, fall leaves or the spring buds...” Her smile, a genuine one this time, made him smile, as well. “Carl loved nature, so he had the perfect job.”

  Stack touched her cheek. “And you loved Carl?”

  She swallowed, searched his face, then gave one short nod.

  “You have other paintings here?”

  Gesturing to the side, she said, “A few. In the basement. But—”

  Stack took her hand and got her moving back toward the kitchen. “I want to see.”

  She tried to protest, but he kept her going. For the first time, he felt he was actually starting to know what made Vanity tick, and damned if it didn’t fascinate him.

  She fascinated him, in bed and out. He wanted to know all the complicated, contrasting facets of her personality. And he wanted more time to explore her sexually. One way or another, he’d figure it out—and along the way he’d learn all her secrets.

  * * *

  ON THE ONE HAND, Vanity was over-the-moon complimented with how enthusiastic Stack had been about her paintings. She hadn’t anticipated that. In her family, people were expected to have talents. They had plenty of time to find and cultivate those talents. And so she had. No big deal.

  She could paint, and she was good enough that people recognized what she painted. Good enough to sell her work for charity.

  But she wasn’t a true artist. She wasn’t one of those who suffered for her talent, putting her heart and soul into her work. Nope. No suffering for her. She painted pretty things. Everyday images, like flowers or birds or, her favorite, seashells. Sometimes she went for more eclectic images: a half-empty glass of milk that appealed to her eye because of the small bubbles, the sheen, the... Van
ity sighed. No, she wasn’t a true artist.

  But the way Stack had acted, she might as well have been.

  She’d impressed him, and it had nothing to do with her looks, which made it so, so much nicer.

  But on the other hand, he’d taken so long looking at her work that they’d lost the opportunity for the promised quickie. He’d run off—ten minutes late—to head to the rec center, and she’d hurried to get to the resale shop. Much of the remainder of her afternoon had been nuts, as well.

  She’d been assigned to a holiday ad for a department store. She and three other women, two kids, and a couple of men had posed in designer clothes, with electronics, at a decorated Thanksgiving table setting, and even with some Christmasy stuff. The kids were adorable, the women aloof, and the men had ogled her. Now she was tired but determined to check on Lynn.

  She knew Stack’s mother missed the dogs because she’d told Vanity so when she’d called earlier in the day.

  Now, as she loaded the dogs into her car, she wondered when she’d get to see Stack again. She’d planned to work on the paintings tonight because two more of them had to be turned in before Wednesday in order to be catalogued before the ball. But she really wished she’d worked up the courage to invite him back over.

  She couldn’t think of a better reason for missing work.

  Luckily, the drive to his sister’s apartment didn’t take too long, because the dogs didn’t do well in the car. Despite the nippy weather, she had to leave a window slightly open to keep Maggie from gagging. Norwood, bless his heart, just foamed at the mouth. A lot.

  She and the dogs were all thrilled when she finally stopped across the street from the address Lynn had given her.

  It made her a little nervous, looking around in the growing darkness of early evening. Tabby did not live in the best of neighborhoods. Leashing both dogs before letting them out, Vanity held tight, Maggie in one hand, Norwood in the other. She hit the button on her key ring to lock her car.

  Good thing Tabby’s apartment was only on the second floor. The dogs fought her every step, trying to bound this way, then that way, putting her in a virtual tug of war. Using her elbow, she pushed the doorbell.

  Her luck ran out when f’ing Phil opened up. Shirtless, jeans hanging low, he let his gaze crawl all over her. Propping a shoulder on the door frame, he smiled. “Hey, Vanity. What are you doing here?”