by Scott, D. D.
Jules took away Roxy’s clipboard.
Judging by the annoyed smirk plastered on her friend’s face, Roxy must have been tapping the board against the tabletop. She probably had been. She often took to drumming objects when unnerved. And damn. Zayne had her whipped.
“Get a grip, girl. I’ve never seen you like this,” Jules whispered with her back turned to Cody. “I’m used to you being the strong one.”
Jules pointed to Cody then looked back at Roxy. “What are these cowboys doing to us? We used to give second looks only to men in Armani.”
“Ain’t that the truth,” Roxy agreed, quickly covering her lips with a fresh coat of gloss from the tube she’d tucked into her apron pocket.
She was barely able to steady her hand and keep the wand out of her nose.
“Yeah. Ain’t it though?” Jules imitated Roxy’s Tennessee twang then giggled. “Listen to us. We’re becoming regular Dixie chicks.”
Jules followed Cody into the walk-in refrigerator leaving Roxy behind with her girl band metaphor.
If only Roxy had an opportunity to cool-off before going to meet Zayne, but she didn’t have a logical reason to enter the refrigerator. Hell, she really had no reason to open the one she had at home. Except to retrieve leftovers.
Yeah. She was some Dixie chick. None she’d seen sipped martinis and line danced in Blahniks. They downed beer and bootscooted. Roxy had a long way to go to melt into the Music City pot.
She may not be able to down beer, but dancing was one part of her new life Roxy not only did well but kicked the Southern chicks back into their henhouses. She looked down at her cocoa-colored suede boots, turning her foot to admire the hand-tooled patterns. Kat was a doll to have let her borrow them. Yep. She’d traded in the Blahniks. Time she put these boots to work.
She pushed open the double doors of the kitchen and walked out into the main dining room, careful not to let the huge monstrosities swing back and tag her in the ass.
With each thump of her boot against the floor, Roxy found extra courage to ride out her convictions. Even though her parents thought she was nuts and in need of a therapist, she’d prove she could make it without their high-dollar backing.
Then she’d pass her magic, fried pickle- stained boots — kind of like a “Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants” pact — to Jules. Who, by the looks of things cooking in the kitchen, could be the next city girl to be country fried.
Oops. Country-fied.
So maybe Roxy did need a therapist.
Chapter Nineteen
As Roxy neared the dance floor, conflicting voices sparred in her head.
The voice of ultimate seduction stated the facts. Yes, Zayne was a handsome, talented cowboy. And yes, standing as he was, alone on the floor, a well-defined silhouette under a single spotlight, her body grew taut with desire.
He moved his body side to side, mirroring the beat of the soft Chesney ballad playing.
Yes, no doubts. Zayne was Roxy’s Urban Cowboy. All she needed was a mechanical bull and a license plate for the rear window of Zayne’s truck that read ‘Texas Sissy.’
Roxy’s voice of reason screamed out from another cranial lobe. So what if helping Zayne was distracting her from her designs and Raeve? So what if he wasn’t from a gene pool belonging to her parents’ country club in The Hamptons? So what if she’d found love in the “wrong” place? She’d looked in all the “right” places and remained single. The voice of reason could blow itself, she concluded.
But God love the voice of serendipity bridging the gap in Roxy’s brain. Yes, she was confident things happened for a reason although most of the time, she hadn’t a clue why the events had to be so life-altering dramatic. So yes, she’d dance with Zayne, seize the moment, and worry about what all that meant tomorrow. She’d stand by her man.
Love, look what you’ve done to me.
“Would you like to dance?” She asked him, trying to mimic the sultry way Debra Winger beckoned Travolta. If that got Roxy half as far as it did Sissy with Bud, she’d express mail a thank you note to Serendipity.
Zayne turned toward Roxy and tipped his hat then folded her into his arms with one smooth sweep. “I thought you’d never ask.”
Pulling her closer, his heated breath lingering on her neck, he locked his arms around the small of her back. Bending and twisting his knees back and forth, he used his body against hers, enticing her to follow his lead. Roxy’s nerve endings buzzed, shorted out then melted into pools of take-me-now as they slid and shimmied lower toward the floor. Two people doing a sensually smooth twist as one.
Moving together in powerful, pointed turns, first left, then right, then left again, their boots brushed in unison against the floor, leaving Roxy breathless and hanging onto Zayne’s biceps. Her resolve to keep herself from wanting him was long gone.
Seamlessly adept at transitioning his body between sequences, Zayne moved them into a fluid two-step, placing one hand on Roxy’s hip and the other holding her hand high on his chest. He pressed against her then fell away in perfect beats, gliding them across the floor with an easy give-and-take. A lyrical push and pull between their arms and legs, crossing into then just out of reach, baited Roxy’s sensual awareness to skyscraper high elevations.
She toured the floor at Zayne’s command, never taking her eyes from his. With every purposeful turn, her world spun further out of control. Her body an extension of his, she let herself fly, relying solely on his finesse to set her back on earth whenever he felt like it.
She gave her body over to the music and over to him, spellbound by the magic they created together in the spotlight.
Her chest rose and fell into his as he moved one of her hands onto his shoulder, extending her other arm along her side. A raw tingle of expectancy washed through her. Hearing nothing except the music’s distant melodic echoes, Roxy felt the beat of the music through Zayne as they slowly began spinning in circles. Nothing but her heart was on solid ground, having found its perfect partner.
Finishing the spin, Zayne paused in the center of the floor and tenderly kissed her forehead, sending shimmers of pleasure straight to her stomach then lower. After lacing his fingers through her hair, he tucked her head into his shoulder and slid his arm down her back, resting his palm on her back pockets, clutching her to his body as if he let go she’d disappear. Blood rushed to every part of her touching him causing her to cling to whatever she could for control.
With the song winding down to the final refrain, she pulled her head away from his shoulder and looked up into his eyes. The sparks of unabashed desire she found there wrapped around her heart, making her wonder if her life hadn’t changed at that precise moment.
Feeling Zayne’s heart pounding against hers, Roxy sank into the depths of its steady, strong beat. For the first time in her life, she took complete comfort in another person’s strength.
Willing the song not to end, she swayed her hips back and forth with his, sending surges of raw heat through her torso. Her body continuously grinding against his, she forfeited what little power she had left, letting the feel of him hard against her entertain her fantasies.
She thought the song might be over. But until she’d convinced herself what she was doing was real and not some erotic daydream, she refused to let him go. Still not able to feel her feet, she clung to him, willing her jagged breath to catch itself and provide enough oxygen to set her free.
“That routine works,” she said, forcing herself to leave the safety of Zayne’s arms while still holding his hands for support. Her body trembled with spasms of ecstasy. “But do me a favor and save that dance for me.”
“Probably not a bad idea,” Zayne said, his voice a rough groan of lassoed desire.
He led her from the floor through the dining room to the bar.
“If it makes you feel better, I don’t think anyone else would have that effect on me,” he said.
“That’s comforting, but I’m not willing to take that risk.”
Zayn
e’s hands trembled as he pulled out a barstool for each of them then poured frosted mugs of water.
Holding the frigid glass against her chest, Roxy concentrated on the feel of its frosty sides melting against her skin.
Taking in her first drink, she emptied half the mug. “Give me a minute to cool down before we go over my notes.”
Zayne came back from behind the bar and sat next to her, breathing heavy, as if he too were recovering from much more than a dance. “Looks like you’ve done great setting everything up. Did everyone show up?”
“Everybody your mom had scheduled is accounted for,” Roxy answered, having a difficult time thinking about business after experiencing Zayne’s business pressed hard against her pelvic bone.
She asked the bartender for the clipboard and pen she’d stashed behind the bar. “I do have a couple of questions for you though.”
“Shoot.” Zayne finished his water then signaled for the bartender to hit him again.
“I’d like to put a couple of my belts and buckles in the gift corral as well as my business cards,” she said, working hard to adopt a business-like cool exterior despite the shake-up of her libido.
“That’s a great idea. Wish we’d thought of it sooner,” Zayne said, stretching his legs and pulling at his jeans, discreetly relieving the pressure against his groin.
Roxy swallowed her raw desire, knowing being this close to Zayne it would only resurface. She checked off her first idea and went on to item number two, making a mental note that Zayne was much more agreeable when aroused.
“I’d also like to clear some space in the storage room to work on my designs. That way, I could squeeze in a half hour here or there to keep my collections on track.”
“No problem. I’ll help you set up an area tonight. There’s space in the room attached to my office. I’ll share if you promise to keep your pigpen on your side of the doorframe.”
Zayne brandished his killer smile, taunting Roxy to indulge his sarcasm.
“Deal. But don’t touch my pigpen. There’s a method to my mess,” she said, wishing she had a method to handle him.
“If that works for you, who am I to challenge your carnage?” Zayne checked his watch. “What else you got on that list? We’ve only got fifteen minutes until the dinner rush.”
Roxy checked off the second item on her list and went for number three. “I’d also like to keep Dipstick and Darling in that area while I’m here. They can’t be home that long without being let out, and I don’t have time to leave to take care of them.”
On account of health codes, he’d probably flip out having dogs in the saloon. Hell, in Manhattan and LA, canines were often dinner companions, stowed away in designer carrying cases at their owner’s well-heeled feet. So how could they be breaking codes tucked away in a back office of a saloon? Riding the waves of argument swelling across his face, Roxy braced herself.
“I don’t know, Roxy. I’m not comfortable with that. What if they get loose?” Zayne asked, one leg bouncing on autopilot while he mulled over her request. “And where will you let them out? I don’t want you wandering around in the alley behind the saloon late at night by yourself.”
“I wouldn’t be by myself. Dipstick and Darling would protect me.”
“Yeah, right.” Zayne shook his head and laughed. “What are they going to do? Lick somebody to death?”
“Okay. Good point.” Roxy hadn’t thought of where she’d let the dogs out. The alley wasn’t appealing to her either. Not to mention, the dogs relieving their bladders and bowels on city-owned asphalt probably did violate some ordinance. “I’ll have to work on that issue.”
Her dilemma pumping her mind for a quick solution, she inhaled her frustration. Deflated by her fruitless effort, she exhaled just as quickly.
“How about you have Mom drop them off at your house each afternoon on her way back to the farm from Raeve? She can get them settled, then Audrey can take over when she gets home,” Zayne suggested, nodding his head in that done deal manner.
“I suppose that would work. But I hate to inconvenience your Mom.” Even though she knew Kat wouldn’t mind, Roxy didn’t like the imposition.
“Are you kidding? She’ll be overjoyed. Hell, it might save me from having to buy her one.”
“Okay. But just until I figure out something else.”
Roxy never asked people to make her life easier. She’d watched her parents rely on others to cater to their whims and she didn’t like the spoiled, high society snobs they’d become. People like her parents expected unlimited service then never respected what their staffs went through to please them. Roxy wanted no part of that lifestyle. She’d take care of herself.
With her dogs’ needs met, she searched for a way to tackle the last item on her list.
“Well…there’s just one more thing to discuss.” Roxy didn’t know why she was trying to find a sugar coating. Nothing she said or didn’t say would make this last note easier for Zayne to digest. “Does The Neon Cowboy offer one-on-one, private dance lessons?”
She popped her pen in and out, her nerves clicking with the writing instrument.
“It’s something Mom and I have tossed around, but we’ve never done it. I’d like to someday. Just haven’t had much time to think about it lately. Why? Did somebody ask if I would?”
“No, not exactly,” Roxy said, twirling the bangles she’d made for last year’s spring collection around her wrist. Her insides whirled in the same death spin. “But someone did inquire about me giving lessons.”
“Oh really,” Zayne said then laughed.
But his laugh wasn’t the fun-loving, ornery one Roxy had gotten accustomed to hearing. If his lips and jaws were any tighter, Zayne would break a tooth from the pressure.
“And who might that be?” He asked.
If Roxy could make the sign of the cross and expect a smidgen of relief from the gesture, she would. She wasn’t a good, practicing Catholic. Never had been or would be. Not sure even a high-level angel could spread ‘no worry’ dust on her predicament, Roxy held her breath, thankful for the wonderful day she’d had ‘til now.
“Jack Baudlin,” she said, squaring her shoulders against Zayne’s certain storm.
Zayne slammed his mug on top of the bar, water splashing over the glass rim. “Well that’s a simple answer. No. Hell no. The guy’s a good dancer on his own. What does he need you to teach him? No. Absolutely not happening.”
Zayne whipped a towel out of his back pocket and in one swell swoop, wiped off the spilled water on the bar then threw the towel into the bar’s sink. “Any other questions? We’ve got to get the doors open.”
“Give me two more minutes,” Roxy pleaded, although the thought of having this conversation for one hundred and twenty more seconds shook her confidence.
The muscles in Zayne’s face were drawn tight, and a dull red roar flowed upward through his cheeks. He took a cocktail napkin from the plastic caddy on the bar top and wadded it up into a hard ball sure to leave a nice sting wherever it was thrown.
Needing to finish their discussion before she lost him to the saloon’s dinner crowd, Roxy swiveled her stool so she faced him head on, wedging her legs between his. She put her hands on his thighs. The second their bodies touched, his attention completely focused on her.
“You said you thought Jack and his dad were up to no good, right?” She had to build her case, she thought.
“Yeah. So?” Zayne tapped his knuckles on the edge of the bar.
If she stood a shot in hell of getting what she wanted, she’d have to keep expanding her argument fact by fact. That is, if she didn’t first take a bullet from the white hot desire firing from Zayne’s groin.
Roxy shifted her weight, leaning on Zayne instead of the stool to keep her balance. “You don’t have time to follow up on your concerns. Plus, you don’t have a reasonable excuse to go to Baudlin Farms and nose around.”
“I don’t like where you’re headed.”
Zayne pressed
his thighs against hers, probably to steady her precarious position, although all it did was take Roxy for a wild endorphin ride. Pinning her firm between his legs, her stomach twisted and rolled as if she were riding a Tilt-a-Whirl.
“I told you I wanted you to stay away from them. They’re trouble. It’s bad enough Jack’s always hanging around in here. I’m certainly not going to approve a reason for him to stay longer, especially when I can’t be here to protect you.”
Zayne traced his index finger around the edges of the hole Roxy had cut out of the knee of her jeans. The warm line left behind by the trail of his touch damn near brought her off her seat.
“I appreciate your concern,” she said, struggling to speak as her mouth had other things on its mind. “But I’m a big girl from a big city who knows how to protect herself. And if I get to know Jack, I really think I could find out something that might help you.”
“No, Roxy. My problems at the farm aren’t worth you cavorting with the Baudlins.” Zayne pushed his stool back and stood up. “I used to like Jack even though his old man was slime. But no more. Jack’s covering up something.”
Zayne leaned down and kissed her cheek, then moved his lips to hers, letting them linger for a moment, stopping her world for the second time that afternoon. Roxy was back in the clouds, begging the gods above to whisk both of them to paradise.
“I appreciate the offer, Princess. But I’ll take care of Jack.” Zayne tapped her nose with his index finger. “You hold the fort down here and keep Mom happy at Raeve.”
Letting him think he’d won might work to her advantage, Roxy schemed. “Fine.”
Although resisting the nose tapping gesture was torture. She craved his impromptu love taps.
“I still think I could find out more than you and have an easier time doing it. But it’s your problem, not mine.”
She tossed the clipboard onto the bar and got up from her stool, wishing she could throw off his tender charm with the same easy disregard. “Let’s greet our customers.”
