He tried to get his brain to work through a fog of lust and enchantment. “Uh, twelve. Wear jeans and a long-sleeved shirt over a bathing suit.”
“Jeans and a long-sleeved shirt? In this heat?”
“Trust me.”
“Hmmm.” She didn’t look too sure about that. “Okay. I’ll meet you at your house.”
“Can you find it?” He narrowed his eyes. “You ashamed to be seen with me?”
“No!” She shook her head vigorously, which turned out to be a bad thing after two potent Margaritas. “My dad likes to decide who I spend time with and our ideas about that rarely intersect.”
“Okay.” He pulled the piece of paper back from her hand, opened the glove box to retrieve a ballpoint pen, and wrote his address on the back. “Here’s the address. And here’s my phone if you get lost.”
“I’m not a complete ditz. I can read a map. I think.” She giggled. “Just kidding. Saturday noon.”
When Brant drove away, it struck him that he’d just had the best date of his life. The fact that it took place fully clothed with no more contact than a goodnight kiss made him laugh out loud. It didn’t seem like those two things, best date and fully clothed, should exist in the same sentence.
He had to admit. She was something special. Really special.
He didn’t care for the idea of sneaking around, but if he had to steal the princess from the monster who tried to keep her locked in a tower, he wouldn’t be above it.
Chapter Four
At a quarter past twelve, Brant restlessly paced in his living room listening for the crunch of gravel under tires. Maybe she couldn’t find it. Maybe the old man had caught her trying to sneak away to live her own life. Maybe she’d changed her mind. Maybe she got a better offer. Those and a dozen other possibilities went through his mind.
He was just about ready to open a bottle of Jack when he heard the telltale crunch of gravel. He froze, wanting to run for the window, but having too much manly pride to do it.
Garland had only knocked once when the door flew open. She found herself locked in a kiss with strong arms holding her tight against an incredibly hard body. When he pulled back, he smiled like the cat who thought he stole a saucer of milk.
When he let her go, Garland laughed a little breathlessly. “So you’re glad to see me.”
“I could play hard to get and say no, but I’m not good at subterfuge.”
“Me either. But I don’t want you to think I’m easy.”
“Why not?”
She giggled. “Because.”
“Is that an answer?”
“What’s the plan?” she asked, smoothly changing the subject.
“Step back and I’ll show you.”
He started rolling the motorcycle out the door, into the sunshine reflecting off the white stones.
“Wait a minute,” she protested. “I didn’t say I agreed to get on that thing.”
“You didn’t. But you dressed for it. You look beautiful, by the way. The braid is perfect for what we’re doing.”
“And what is that?”
“Don’t want to be surprised?”
She thought about it for a minute and decided that spontaneity could be a sweet change. “Okay. Surprise me.”
After showing her where to put her feet and giving her instructions about hanging on, leaning when he leaned, etc., he started the engine. Garland didn’t know whether to be more excited about the sound or the lovely vibration traveling through the seat and making contact with her most intimate places.
Brant took her hands and wrapped her arms around his middle.
“You smell heavenly,” she yelled, to be heard over the engine noise. “What is that I’m smelling?”
“Just plain old Old Spice.”
“I’m investing in that company on Monday. Where do you get it?”
He chuckled, charmed that she liked the way he smelled and charmed that she was open enough to say so. “Any five and dime. Hold on tight,” he said over his shoulder. “And don’t let go.”
She nodded, but looked anxious. He hoped that would fix itself in a few minutes. When he started away slowly, her arms tightened around his ribs so that he could barely breathe.
By the time they were down the hill and on a stretch of flat road, she was beginning to get the feel of riding. She shifted her weight as he did, so that they were perfectly in sync. When her death hold gave way a little, Brant grinned.
He turned east on 2244 so that he could catch Barton Springs Road all the way to South Congress. He thought he’d show her his town the way it was meant to be seen. When he turned north on Congress, the view of the Capitol across the Colorado River was magnificent. When they stopped at the intersection of 6th Street, he pointed to the right.
“What?” she asked.
“Best music in the world. I’ll bring you down here one night.”
Garland looked where he pointed, but it wasn’t the idea of music that caught her attention. It was his proclamation that he was planning a third date. Or at least a second planned date.
When Congress dead-ended at the Capitol grounds, Brant took a leisurely turn around the circle, then headed away from downtown toward a spot where the Colorado River widened at Bee Creek. Pulling onto a grassy embankment underneath a two-hundred-year-old oak tree, he smiled because, just as he’d hoped, no one else was there.
He turned the Harley off and soaked up the quiet.
“This is pretty,” she said.
He looked around and imagined seeing it through her eyes. “Yeah. You gonna get off?”
“Oh. Okay. Sure.”
It was a little awkward, but she managed to get both feet on the ground without falling on her ass. Barely.
“Good job, Grace.”
“Come on. It’s my first time. Let’s see you do it.” He swung off the bike in a fluid motion like he’d done it a thousand times before, and she supposed he had. The performance was topped off with a look of male satisfaction. “Oh. Easy to be smug when we’re in your element.”
He laughed. “Let’s go swimming.” Garland turned around and looked at the still blue water like she’d forgotten the instructions to wear a swim suit. “You did bring somethin’ to wear.”
She turned to Brant with a look of confusion. Right up until her face broke into a huge grin. “Gotcha,” she said as she pulled her long-sleeve knit top over her head. Her jeans were stripped away leaving flawless, delectable skin and curves that had been hiding underneath the clothes protecting her from sunburn and, heaven forbid, road rash.
She ran toward the water taunting him. “You’re in my element now, Buster.”
The sight of a bikini-clad Garland had left him dumbstruck. The best reply he could think of was, “Buster?”
He managed to get his own clothes off and jumped in with an impressive cannonball. He swam in her direction, but when he got there, she was out of reach. Again and again, he tried to catch her but she was always just out of reach and laughing.
“Fucking hell. Are you a mermaid?”
“Sort of. Swim team.”
“Yeah? Well, it shows. Guess I’m at your mercy.”
“Ooh. I like that!”
“Well, I’m just going to stay right here while you decide what to do with me.”
It didn’t take Garland long to decide that she wanted to wrap her legs around his waist and tease him with a slick wet body and a kiss that made the one in the car seem like a dry peck. It was long and hot with tongues tangling and heartrates racing. But when he tried to reach under her bikini bottom, she pushed off him with a mighty backward lunge and swam away.
Brant decided to swim under the shade of one of the trees where the water was cooler and think about his next fix-up project, a 1963 GTO he had parked at the Club. He hoped that would get his erection under control before he had to get out of the water.
When he thought he was presentable, he turned toward her and raised his voice. “We better get out before the sun turns us lobs
ter red.”
“You’re the only one in danger. I’ve been lying out by the pool every day.”
“Suit yourself.”
He pulled two beach towels out of one saddlebag, laid them down on the ground and sat down to watch the show. When Garland decided to get out of the water and join him, he was glad to be exactly where he was. If he’d ever seen anything in his life more appealing, he couldn’t think what it might have been. He was glad that he’d put on sunglasses so she couldn’t tell just how much of an effect she was having on him.
She smiled all the way from the water to the towel, like she knew exactly how much she was being appreciated.
“That was fun,” she said as she sat down on the towel next to Brant. “The water, the sightseeing, and the motorcycle.”
He slanted a smile her way. “So you admit it.”
“I do,” she said, mimicking his smile. “I also like holding on.” She reached over and lightly stroked one of the ridges in his abdomen to make the point that she was referring to his midsection.
His mouth twitched. “Better stop that. You’re makin’ me horny as a fourteen-year-old.”
She giggled. “Okay. What’s next?”
“What do you want to do?”
Garland’s eyes darted from Brant’s eyes to his mouth while she considered the question. “Let’s go get some of those things from Chuy’s and go back to, um, your place.”
Brant swallowed down the flash of a dozen images that came to mind, not wanting to look too eager. It was one thing to joke about being teen prick horny. It was something else to act it out.
“Some of those things?”
“Yes.”
“Okay,” he said slowly then started naming things he’d seen her eat. “Would that be enchiladas? Chalupas? Chimichangas? Flautas?”
She shook her head after each suggestion. “No. You know the ones.”
“Describe them.”
“They had kind of a crispy envelope with yummy meat stuffing and lettuce and tomatoes and…”
“Tacos?”
“That’s it!”
He laughed. “Okay. But I warn you. If you eat tacos every day, you may not always look like…”
“Like what?”
“You know.”
“Tell me. Look like what?”
“You already know you’re beautiful, Garland. You don’t need me to say it.”
“I do need you to say it.”
Seeing that she was perfectly serious, he took off his sunglasses. “You’re one of a kind, Garland. Beyond compare.”
“Wow,” she said. “I was hoping for something like, ‘Yeah. You’re cute enough’.”
He smiled. “Over the top?”
“Not if you mean it.”
“I mean it.”
In that sudden way that he was beginning to learn was uniquely Garland, she rolled on top of him without warning and began planting kisses all over his face, neck, forehead, and chin. He grabbed her under the arms and pulled her up his body until she was positioned in just the right spot for… that was when two pickup trucks full of teenagers pulled in whistling and hooting. And interrupting.
She rolled off Brant and walked toward the bike to get her clothes. When he joined her, she said, “My suit is still wet, but it will probably just help me keep cool.”
Brant smiled. “Your braid has survived a bike ride and a dip in the river.”
“I flew my hairdresser in this morning on the company plane.” She looked so perfectly serious, Brant started to doubt that she was joking.
“You didn’t really.”
She looked at him with a perfectly straight face, until it was a suddenly-Garland moment. With a big grin, she said, “Of course not, silly. Every girl knows how to braid hair.”
He just shook his head while he pulled his shirt on and tied a bandanna around his head to keep his hair from whipping in front of his face. He straddled the bike first and held out a hand to help Garland on.
“Tacos won’t be good if we try to take them out. We’ll stop off long enough for tacos and that frozen shit you like. I could use a cold one myself.”
“Hurry. I’m hungry. And thirsty.” She was absently tracing each ridge of his abs one by one while talking about hunger and thirst.
“Oh. So now you want to go fast on the motorcycle.” He laughed.
“Things change. You make me feel safe.” Brant knew that was just banter, but it did funny things to his stomach anyway. He liked the sound of making Garland St. Germaine feel safe. “And rebellious.”
“Fast and rebellious it is. But you’ve got to stop that if you want to live to eat another taco.”
“Stop what?”
“You know what.”
She buried her face and her laughter between his shoulder blades, but stopped exploring. “Okay, boss. Touchy, but no feely.”
He looked over his shoulder and dropped his voice. “That’s not a permanent rule. It’s a just-for-riding rule. When we get back to my place, feely will be welcomed.”
She rewarded him with a throaty bawdy, unladylike laugh that made him wish he could push a button and hear it again.
Garland couldn’t decide what kind of tacos to get, so Brant finally ordered a la carte for her. One crispy chicken. One soft with chicken fajita meat. One crispy beef picadillo. One soft beef al carbon. One crispy fish. One crispy black bean. And one crazy thing with shrimp. He figured she could try each one, choose the ones she wanted and he’d eat the rest.
By the time the tacos arrived, she’d gone through a battery of personal questions, some of which he didn’t even have an answer for.
“What’s your favorite color?”
“Don’t know, Garland. What’s yours?”
“Red. I think your favorite color is brown.”
“Why would you think that?”
“Because everything in your house is brown, your hair is brown, your eyes are brown, and most of Austin is brown.”
He chuckled. “Well it is at this time of year. But you’re wrong, my favorite color isn’t brown.”
“Well?”
“Well what?”
She threw a tostada chip at him. “What is it?”
He pinned her gaze. “It’s whatever you call that.” He pointed at her eyes.
She stopped eating, which, Brant thought, was a minor miracle, given the way she ate tacos like she’d just discovered food. “My eyes?”
He nodded. She blushed, and knowing that she was blushing made her blush all the more. Girls jaded by fine hotels, restaurants, and world travel don’t blush. Unless they’re discombobulated by sexy handsome bikers who come from another world.
Brant chuckled, liking the way the blush looked on her. In fact, he liked just about everything about the girl who sat across the table. He liked the way she hummed when she gobbled tacos to indicate how much she was enjoying them. He liked the way her eyes lit up when she noticed he was watching. He liked her laugh, her silly questions, and the way she seemed oblivious to all the male attention she garnered. She acted like the two of them were the only two people in the world. And he liked that. A lot.
“This is my favorite.” She held up a fish taco.
“I’m really glad you feel that way because I don’t like to waste food and, as far as I’m concerned, fish tacos are cat food.”
She laughed. “Lucky cats. What’s your middle name?”
“Stonewall.”
“Stonewall?!”
“Yes. My grandfather was a big fan of Stonewall Jackson. It was kind of an offering to keep the peace when I wasn’t named after him.”
“That bad, huh?”
“Horace.”
“Ouch. Here’s a toast to your parents for having the good sense to name you Brant instead of Horace. Although… Horace would lend itself to an unusual nickname for a boy.”
“Funny.”
“Where did Brant come from?”
“Was Mom’s idea. I’ve been told it’s Old Norse. Means sword of fi
re or somethin’ like that.”
“I knew it!”
“You knew what?”
“You’re a Viking!”
He laughed. “Garland, I’m not a Viking.”
“You are! I can totally see you in a helmet with horns, riding on your bike.”
“Really?”
“Yes!”
“Hate to rain on that parade, but Vikings didn’t actually have horned helmets.”
“Don’t tell me that. I don’t want to hear that.”
“So what’s your middle name?”
“I don’t have one.”
“Yes. You do.”
She shook her head vigorously.
“Okay.” He shrugged. “We’ll revisit that at another time, when we’re not in a public place.”
She laughed. “What does my middle name have to do with being in a public place?”
“Well,” he said slowly, opening his hands in explanation, “if we weren’t in a public place, I could hold you down until I’d located your most ticklish spot, then torture you until you gave up the information.”
“You’re a dangerous man. With or without a sword.”
“If the horns fit…”
“What’s your favorite movie?”
“Enough about colors and movies and middle names and imaginary childhood friends. Tell me something real about your life.”
The quickness with which she stopped chewing, went still, and lost all sign of happiness was disturbing. She stared at him like that was the last thing in the world she wanted to talk about.
“That bad, huh?” He mimicked her question from earlier.
She looked at the half taco she held in midair, set it down on the platter in front of her, then said, “It’s not fun.” She looked up. “I mean, sometimes it is. College was great. I was a long way from New York. I had friends who came from a lot of different backgrounds.”
“Mostly privileged?”
She smiled. “Yeah. Mostly privileged.” She looked down at the tacos in front of her, but didn’t pick one up. “Then I graduated.”
She sat back with a sigh and Brant was sorry he’d brought it up, but thought that once you’re already cold and wet and in the water, you might as well get the swim you came for.
