by D. D. Scott
“Sometimes, I don’t think you understand it.”
He studied the way her jeans perfectly hugged her endless legs, temporarily hung up by the way her toned ass rounded out the back pockets.
“What did you say?” She asked him, not waiting for an answer, instead making herself at home taking in the décor.
“Never mind.” He took her elbow and moved her into the family room, not missing the jolt passing up his arm and punching his gut. “Wander around in here while I finish getting dressed.”
Thanks to his mother’s friends, Zayne knew how to entertain creative women. Basically, if the setting was decent, a man didn’t have to provide as much conversation. Lucky for him, his mom had done their house up right.
Zayne left Roxy with the family photos filling every bit of space in the room. Probably not a wise move either since there were some doozies of him he wished his mom would put away. At least, however, the pictures were something to provide a catalyst for conversation.
Mentally kicking his own balls for being such an idiot, Zayne swore to get a grip on his erratic behavior. What had he been thinking making this deal? He couldn’t be in the same room with Roxy and remain remotely functional above his belt. After dancing together two times a week, he’d be crippled.
He returned to his bedroom, pulled on a T-shirt, shoved some gel through his hair then prayed for courage and wit. With Roxy, he continually fought for both. Something he’d never had to do with a female.
Once thinking his mom had taught him well regarding the ways to capture a woman’s fancy, now Zayne questioned his prowess. Around Roxy, he never said or did anything right. Worse yet, usually his actions resulted in near mishaps or personal injuries.
Back in the family room, Zayne leaned against the pocket door. He cracked his knuckles and prepared to high jump into what he wanted to be a memorable evening. He hoped to foster enough good will that at least she’d want to come back.
Their payment plan wasn’t his chief concern. Actually, he couldn’t have cared less how much she owed him. He wasn’t kidding himself. He wanted the woman bearing the blame for damn near totaling his truck, not the money she claimed she didn’t have for repairs.
He studied her, liking every bit of how she looked in his family room. She was a bold contrast to his all-too-comfortable life. She added spice to a room that was anything but dull and bland even though it appeared that way when compared to serving as her host.
She’d taken a picture from the mantle. Moving her fingers over the glass, she paused along the photo’s right side.
Zayne recognized the frame. From the numerous times he’d handled its well-worn maple edges, the original finish was gone. As he watched her studying the photo, his heart squeezed in his chest.
The whole idea of planting her in here was to give them stuff to discuss. Why had she zeroed in on the one thing in the room he couldn’t talk about?
Many years had passed since his mom had taken the photo. By now, Zayne should have toughened up to that image of his life. He’d changed so much since the day the photo had been shot. At least he used to think he had. Watching Roxy study the scene made him wonder if he really was that different.
He sucked in his quivering stomach, chastising himself with every step he took closer to her. Before she could ask him about the picture, Zayne took it out of her hand and returned it to the knotty pine credenza. Grabbing another frame, he offered it as consolation.
“Here’s one of my favorites,” he said, trying to ignore her questioning eyes even though they were as sweet as chocolate pudding.
He pointed to the muscular, tank top-clad man in the photo. “This here’s Damian who Mom says you’re going to meet Friday.
“And this one’s my other friend Cody. The best damn cook around,” Zayne said, tapping his finger against the short, tanned man in the photo, who never appeared in public without a cowboy hat drawn-low on his forehead.
Roxy took the frame and held it up for closer inspection. “Great looking friends. Are they single?”
Okay. That plan had blown up in his face. Zayne didn’t want — wouldn’t let — Roxy fall for those guys. Not when he wanted her so bad he couldn’t think past her tight pink pants. Getting an unsolicited whiff of her cherry almond-scented lotion, he was breathless. That damn stuff would be the death of him.
“Umm. Yeah. I guess they’re single. Why?” Realizing his response had come out pathetically defensive, Zayne tried to shrug it off as he replaced the frame.
“Easy, boy,” Roxy said and squeezed his shoulder, leaving her beautiful, Palmolive-perfect hand on his back. “I’m not interested. My two best friends are arriving in three weeks to spend the summer. I thought you guys could show us the town.”
“Oh. Great idea. I’ll set that up. Three weeks, huh?” Zayne took a breath, then another, releasing his turmoil in measured spurts, hoping Roxy wouldn’t pick-up on the relief washing through him.
“Why don’t we all hook-up at The Neon Cowboy? They can catch our first official night as dance partners.” Zayne rearranged a few photos, waiting on her response, then turned back to face her.
“Sure. That’ll work.” Roxy rubbed her hands together then down her arms.
“Are you cold?” She must be, he thought, as her nipples ripened to bud-like perfection against the perfectly thin cotton of her shirt.
Damn. She was killing his resolve to be a gentleman. He wanted her so bad he ached, even before she flashed her headlights.
Zayne swore she blushed. But she was covered in so many shades of pink he couldn’t decipher what was what amongst the color variations.
“I am chilly. Could you cut the AC?”
She walked across the room toward the fireplace. Like he’d have it going in May. What was wrong with these Yankees?
She was chilly, and he was melting from the heat of her in his home. Igniting flames inside him he couldn’t put down. She warmed every inch of him with a sizzling desire he couldn’t extinguish.
As he turned off the cooling vent, Zayne stewed about his own rising temperature. Even though he was a free man, totally unattached, sex wouldn’t be just sex with her. Having her in his bed wouldn’t be an end. It would be the start of something he wasn’t sure he was ready for. Roxy wasn’t a woman he could walk away from without suffering significant collateral damage.
Part of him hoped tonight would prove she wasn’t the woman for him. What could he possibly offer her? She’d never be happy as the mistress of a tomato manor, even if he’d earn the right to take the throne away from the Baudlins. And dancing for a living sure wouldn’t pay for the lifestyle she was used to.
Zayne re-focused his tormented mind on the present, leaving his future wrapped in dreams he’d learned to put on indeterminate hold. Finding Roxy sitting on the floor in the middle of his tomato card mess, he took another hit to his gut. He should have picked-up the cards before she came over but he hadn’t wanted to lose his place. Now she’d think he was a slob and an idiot.
“What are you doing with these cards?” She looked over the matched rows he’d started. “Playing Go Fish? It looks like you’re missing one here though. Number four of…the Red Rocket Brandywine five series.”
“You got that right, smarty pants.” Zayne sat down next to her on the bearskin rug, determined to control his libido since he’d been abandoned by his brain. “I’ve got to find that card, or I’ll be screwed in this year’s tomato festival contest.”
“How so? I thought you knew the tomato world. Were its Beefsteak King.”
Roxy laughed.
Zayne didn’t.
She put her hand on his knee, sending a shot of lust to his groin. “Hey. What’s wrong? I’m sorry if I upset you. I didn’t mean to.”
“It’s not you, Rox,” Zayne said then sighed feeling bad his silence and inability to find humor in his mess killed her joke. He picked at the oiled fibers of the rug. “It’s me. I don’t know shit about tomatoes. It was my old man’s domain. Mine is
the dance floor.”
“So why enter the contest?” She withdrew her hand from his knee and crossed her legs Indian-style, pressing her palms to her knees.
“After my father died, I promised myself I’d do this one contest for him. He was so close to getting his prized hybrid ready for market-level production, and a win would have finished the process.”
Once Zayne started talking about the problem he couldn’t stop, even though he had to seem a fool. What kind of man took on a project he didn’t know a damn thing about? Then freely admitted he was clueless? To the woman he liked? He should shut up. Save what little dignity he had left. But it felt so good that she’d listen.
“I’m missing a card containing the errors Dad recorded about the growing process. I had it Sunday when the Baudlins were here. But I dropped the box and the cards went everywhere.” As Zayne spoke, his chest, once wound tight enough to alter his airflow, relaxed, starting to release some of the pressure he’d carried since taking on the tomatoes.
“Well. Let’s finish sorting what’s left. And then…hmmm…where did you drop it?” Roxy took the box from the coffee table and opened the lid.
“In the kitchen,” Zayne said then decided he had to stop this. He’d asked her over for dancing and dinner, not to bail him out of his tomato tragedy. “Look. I’ll find it later. Don’t worry.”
He reached for the box, but Roxy pulled it back out of his reach.
“Do you want to wrestle me for this? Or are you going to help me find that damn card?” She said and smiled, without the slightest suggestion she intended to vacate her position. Placing the box on the floor between them, Roxy squeezed his hand. “I owe you. Remember?”
Zayne eased his hand out of her grasp even though he hated to lose the comfort he felt in their connection. “Yes. I guess you do. But if you find that card, your debts are paid.”
“So I don’t have to dance with you?” She asked him then lowered her head like a child who’d been scolded.
“No. I guess you don’t.” Zayne turned her face to his, steadying his fingers on the edge of her chin, forcing himself not to pull her closer to his eager mouth. “But I’d sure like it if you would.”
“In that case, you got yourself a partner.”
She turned the box upside down, just like she did him, spilling the contents onto the floor.
“Hey, speaking of the Baudlins, is that big, beefy blonde with the nice ass a Baudlin? I see him and a friend sometimes at The Neon Cowboy.”
“Yep. That’s Jack. The only son of Baudlin Brother’s Tomato King Harry Baudlin.” Zayne answered Roxy’s question, deciding to ignore her mention of Jack’s beefy ass.
She picked through the cards with a fury, plopping them into piles by hybrid name. She handled three cards for every one Zayne took.
The woman moved through life in a constant whirlwind. And Zayne was caught in the force left in her wake. She reminded him of his mom. Before his dad died, she possessed that same untamed spirit.
“Okay. So I have a nice-ass fetish and a shoe issue.” Roxy gave him a rueful grin. “You passed the ass test.”
“Nice to know…I think.”
Zayne reached for another stack of cards. Seeing the box dwindling to near empty and still no Brandywine card, his stomach bottomed-out like it did on a roller coaster cresting a nasty hill then plummeting to the depths of Hell.
Roxy took the last few cards and snapped the box lid shut. “Jack’s hot, though. Too bad he’s gay.”
“Gay? You sound like Damian. He thinks that too.” Zayne shook his head. How do people pick up on that?
“Well. He is. Trust me, Cowboy. I grew up in the fashion world. My gay-dar is perfectly tuned-in.”
She had him there, Zayne reckoned. If anyone should know, she should. Wait ’til he told Damian her suspicion. He’d shit.
“So are the Baudlins in this contest?” Roxy finished sorting her cards, tapping her fingers impatiently while Zayne finished.
“Yep. Also with the Red Rocket Brandywine. Should be interesting.”
Placing the last card in the Orange Queen stack, Zayne pounded his fists against the floor. “Dammit. I just don’t get it. That card was here Sunday. Cody and I were reading it at the table. What happened to the bastard?”
“Did you search the kitchen really good? Under the furniture too?” Roxy got up and stretched out her sinful legs.
“Sort of. I guess. But maybe I’ll make a second sweep tonight before I go to bed.” Zayne stood and joined her, putting his hands on her hips, easing her against his groin.
He brushed his lips against her flushed cheeks. “Thank you for helping me. But what do you say we eat, do some dancing and forget the cards for the rest of the night?”
Feeling Roxy’s skin quiver under his fingers, Zayne’s body jumped with pleasure. At least he knew she rode the same chemical waves of attraction he surfed. Now if he could just prevent a wipe-out.
“Sounds good,” she whispered, her eyes darting quickly to his mouth.
“So do you.”
Zayne couldn’t take it anymore. He had to taste her. As she settled her body into his, complimenting each of his angles with her dangerously hot curves, she seemed willing to indulge his fantasies. And what he wouldn’t give to get inside those hot and naughty jeans. But he knew just getting a taste and feel of her wouldn’t squelch his desires only feed them into a lurid frenzy.
He lowered his mouth, testing the waters with a nip of her lower lip. The tiny groan she made almost undid his restraint. He dipped into her again, exploring the inside of her compliant mouth with his tongue. Taking long, thorough strides, he hopefully left her wanting more.
His hand moved up her back, hovering over the clasp of her bra. His body, wrought with a lust he could barely temper, fought with his cautious mind.
Her ample, fully aroused breasts pressed into his chest, firing him up hotter than he could hold back.
He slipped his hands underneath her form fitting shirt, liking how the fabric forced his skin to remain snug against her supple body. Undoing her bra, his fingertips explored the treasure troves of bountiful flesh he’d wanted to caress for what seemed like forever. Making her nipples harden beneath his touch, he rubbed himself against her, finding a rhythm in her response as he went stiff against her soft belly. When her hands lowered and latched onto his backside, he was almost a goner.
He took his mouth away from her while he still could and laced his fingers through her hair. Reflecting the rays of the setting sun streaming through the family room windows, the silky strands shimmered like gold dust. For all her spit-fire feistiness, Roxy had the glow of an angel. Not able to spot a halo, Zayne laughed to himself and almost out loud.
“That’s a silly grin, Cowboy,” Roxy said, her voice not more than a hoarse whisper.
“I’ll never tell why.” Zayne kissed her forehead and linked his fingers through hers. “Let’s eat before I devour you. We’ve got some dancin’ to do if we’re gonna school that crowd in three weeks.”
He helped her re-fasten her bra — hoping it wouldn’t be long ’til he was undressing instead of redressing her — then led her to the kitchen. From the endorphins buzzing and snapping inside him, Zayne knew she was the woman he didn’t know he’d been waiting for.
Thank God for her damn shoe issue. Her misstep was turning out to be his wake-up call. He just hoped he could find the right answers to her happiness.
Maybe he stood a chance. His parents were certainly proof that coming at life from different places could work. He just wished his dad were still around to show him how to beat the odds.
Chapter Fourteen
C’mon, folks! Give a cowboy welcome to your dance instructors — the Neon Cowboy’s own dynamic duo, Zayne McDonald and Roxie Rae Vaughn.”
Processing the house band’s announcement, Roxy’s stomach turned Olympic-sized flips as she waited with Zayne at the edge of the dance floor. She tethered her inner acrobat with a thin rope of confidence.
<
br /> The Saturday night crowd squealed a high-pitched ‘yee-ha.’ A thunder of boots stomped against the saloon’s hardwood floors.
For moral support, Roxy took one last look at their table of friends. Jules, fresh from Manhattan, positioned her fingers in her mouth, stretching the corners taught as if she were hailing a cab. Thank God the boots would drown-out her shrill catcall. Audrey, always the perfect lady, offered only her beautiful smile. Just the reinforcement Roxy needed.
Following the band’s cue, Zayne pressed his hand against the small of Roxy’s back, prodding her forward.
The crowd separated, creating a narrow path ending at an empty, spot lit circle. Dust particles trapped in the light canister’s beam made it seem to Roxy she was walking into a dream.
As her boots landed on the raised edge of the dance surface, her heart skipped a beat. Her legs moved like a wind-up toy. But when the drummer rolled his sticks on his snare, her pulse and gate steadied to his cadence.
Her mind was stuck on hearing Zayne’s name said with hers through the speaker system. Being identified as a couple was a rush she hadn’t expected.
She cursed under her breath for getting so worked-up. This was ridiculous. Not only was she about to dance with a man she’d danced with before, but she was partnering with him as a payment plan. Not as a potential mate.
So what if he’d said he wanted to dance with her even if her debt was paid in full? He probably didn’t want to waste time finding another partner.
Evidently the hot moment they’d shared in Zayne’s family room was an anomaly. He hadn’t made another pass since. Rather he’d been a perfect gentleman, which sort of pissed her off. She just might be ready for more. Although that kiss was hot enough to jar her memory for a lifetime.
With each click of her heels, Roxy bargained with her fear, determined not to let it consume her. She knew what she was doing. She knew her abilities. Few could bootscoot in her league. She may have been closet honky-tonk in the Big Apple, but it was high time she stepped out in Tennessee.
Like they’d practiced, she took her place next to Zayne. The heat from the spotlight reheated her reservations to a slow boil. Her arms rested at her sides, limp like overcooked asparagus. She shifted her weight onto her bad ankle, hoping for pain so she felt something other than pulsating, panicked numbness. Her stomach muscles contracted tight while her nerves shot through her in archery goddess mode.
