Texas Fire

by Kimberly Raye

  “We can’t keep our hands off each other.”

  Tucker’s words echoed again in Mason’s head and his heart started to pound. Yep, when Charlene turned Stewart off with her new appearance, she would have proof beyond a doubt that physical attraction was all that really mattered.

  Then she would stop denying the pull between her and Mason and realize that they were meant to be together. Lust mates rather than soul mates.

  In the meantime, he intended to keep the chemistry sizzling and show her just how hot things could get.

  “What do you think?” she asked again, uncertainty bright in her eyes.

  He itched to reach out, to touch her cheek and trace the hollow beneath her eye and feel the tickle of her lashes against the pad of his finger. “It’s good,” he said instead, his voice gruff.

  She frowned as if the response hadn’t been what she’d hoped for. “Better than the pink?”

  Where he’d been so damned intent on looking anywhere—everywhere—but at her since they’d walked into Miss Jolie’s, he indulged himself this time. He started at the top of her head and moved down, pausing at all the interesting spots in between. The curve of her jaw. The smooth line of her neck. The slope of her breast. The indentation of her waist. The flare of her hips. “Maybe,” he finally said.

  “Maybe?” Her frown deepened. “Either it is or it isn’t.”

  He hooked the camouflage tank top back on the rack and stepped toward her. He stopped just inches shy, planted his hands on his hips and studied her, as if thinking long and hard on the subject. “I think I need a second look,” he finally said. He motioned to the dressing room. “Try the other one on.”

  “Again?”

  He grinned, slow and sure, and watched her flush. “Again.”

  AND THEY SAID women couldn’t make up their minds?

  Charlene shook her head and took off the blue dress. Pulling it right side out, she slipped it onto the hanger and hooked it on the wall. She was just about to reach for the pink when she heard the rustle of curtains, followed by a deep, husky voice.“I like it.”

  Excitement rushed through her for several fast and furious heartbeats before two all-important facts registered.

  First, Mason McGraw was here, now, looking at her while she wore nothing but her underwear.

  Second, Mason McGraw was here, now, looking at her while she wore nothing but her underwear.

  This was not happening.

  She blinked, praying that he would disappear. He wasn’t real. This was just a figment of her imagination. Another fantasy to add to the long list that haunted her each and every night.

  He didn’t disappear.

  The curtains swished closed behind him and he simply stood there. He looked so tall, dark and delicious in a black T-shirt and worn, faded Wranglers, the hems frayed around his scuffed boots. He’d left his hat sitting on the dash of his truck and so there was nothing except a thick fringe of black lashes shadowing the intense green gaze that swept from her head to her toes and back up again.

  Her heart thundered and goose bumps chased up and down her bare arms. Bare, as in naked. She was naked in front of a man. And not just any man. She was naked in front of Mason McGraw.

  Knock, knock? You’re wearing underwear, for heaven’s sake. Granted, it’s a pair of skimpy bikini briefs, but it could be worse.

  You could be wearing a next-to-nothing thong.

  Or the Hee Haw underpants.

  The last thought killed some of the panic she was feeling and she drew a deep, calming breath. She wasn’t completely nude, and she certainly wasn’t the same vulnerable kid who’d run crying from her first boy/girl party after getting caught in her god-awful underpants.

  She could handle this.

  She could handle him.

  She reached for the pink halter top and pulled it to her, using the material to effectively cover her breasts as she made short work of pulling the strappy pink number from the hanger.

  “I like it,” he said again as he took a step toward her.

  “I’m not wearing it yet,” she responded as she set the hanger to the side with one hand while clutching the halter top in front of her with the other.

  “That’s the part I like.” He took another step.

  “We’re supposed to be picking out the most flattering outfit,” she reminded him as she turned toward the mirror, putting her back to him as she busied herself finding the hem of the halter top. “I can’t very well prance around in front of everyone like this.”

  “Not everyone. Just me.” The deep, husky words echoed in her head and thrummed through her body. He stood even closer now, his body warm and enticing in the frigid air-conditioning of the dressing room.

  Okay, so maybe she couldn’t handle this, Charlene admitted to herself when he stepped up behind her, her back kissing his chest.

  The scent of him surrounded her and his hard warmth teased her shoulder blades. When she felt his large, callused fingers at her waist, her fingers went limp and the halter top slipped from her hands. Her head snapped up and her gaze collided with his in the mirror.

  His dark green gaze glittered back at her, bright and hot and mesmerizing. “You’re really something, you know that?”

  “I…” She swallowed. “You shouldn’t be in here.”

  “No, I shouldn’t.” His hand slid around her waist and trailed down her abdomen to her panties. His fingers skimmed the white cotton triangle covering her sex. “I should be in here.”

  “I…” She started to say something, but his intimate touch stalled her frantic thoughts before she could come up with something coherent. Reason fled in the face of so much sensation and the only thing she could do was feel.

  His fingertips burning through the thin material of her panties. His hard pelvis pressed against her buttocks. His strong arms surrounding her. His warm breath ruffling the hair at her temple.

  “I can’t stop thinking about you,” he murmured.

  “Me?” A rush of joy went through her before she reminded herself that she didn’t care if Mason thought about her. She thought about him, in her fantasies, that is, and that was enough.

  That’s the way it had always been.

  The way it would always be because he was hot, hunky Mason McGraw and she was Charlie Horse Singer.

  “I don’t think this is a good idea,” she managed to whisper, despite the sudden excitement pulsing through her veins.

  “Actually, it’s the best notion I’ve had in a long time. I want you.”

  Thanks to a hot pink halter top and a miniskirt.

  But that was just a costume. Part of the transformation. A disguise to make her appear the daring diva she’d always wanted to be.

  “And I’m getting the feeling that you want me,” he continued. His fingers slid lower, to the damp cotton between her legs.

  “I don’t do gratuitous sex.”

  “Neither do I.” At her wide-eyed look, he added. “Not anymore.”

  “Are you trying to say that you actually like me?”

  “I’m saying that I want you.”

  “That’s not enough of a reason to have sex.”

  “Isn’t it the only reason? It’s all about want, Charlene.”

  “Says you.”

  “This fire between us… It’s not going to burn out on its own, you know. We’ll have to take care of it. Even then, it’s not going to completely die out. It’ll flare up again and again. That’s what a fire like ours does. There’s no sense resisting it. We have to accept it. Manage it. Together.”

  “I can’t.”

  “Or you won’t?”

  “Both.”

  “You don’t have any obligation to Stewart. You two aren’t even a couple.”

  “We’re going to be.”

  “And I’m going to be eighty years old someday, but I’m not anywhere close to that right now. And neither are you. You aren’t obligated to him, Charlie. You aren’t obligated to anyone.”

  It was true. I
t had been true her entire life. She’d always been alone. Lonely. She’d been Charlie Horse Singer and despite the years that had passed, she was still no better off than when she’d been a gawky, unattractive kid. Deep inside, she knew that. Yet there was just something about hearing him point out that fact that sent a burst of anger through her. “Maybe I just don’t want to sleep with you.”

  Hurt flashed in his gaze before his expression closed. He arched an eyebrow. “Is that so?”

  “I realize that you’re used to snapping your fingers and having every woman within a ten mile radius respond. But I’m not one of them.”

  Sure, she’d wanted to be one, had always wanted to be one, but he didn’t know that. And she intended to keep it that way, which meant keeping her lustful thoughts to herself.

  While Mason offered her her most wicked fantasy, he would never be her reality. He couldn’t.

  And that’s what she wanted at this point in her life. She wanted a real someone. A body to keep her warm at night, to comfort her after a long day. A man to wake up to, and one who wanted to wake up to her, even though she looked like hell in the morning and slept in a rather unattractive, but comfortable, pair of pink sweat socks. A man who would have looked past a pair of Hee Haw panties and seen the sensitive, caring person beneath them. One who would have said hello to her in the hallway at school and not stared past her as if she hadn’t existed.

  A man who really and truly liked her.

  A soul mate.

  “I’m just not interested,” she told him.

  “Is that so?” Mason arched an eyebrow at her.

  “That’s so.”

  “We’ll see about that, sugar.” His grin was slow and knowing, and despite her decision not to have sex with him, anticipation rushed through her. “We’ll just see about that.”

  8

  “IT’S GOOD TO SEE you both again.” Charlene said to the couple waiting for her in her office, as she set her cup of coffee on the coffee table, sank down into her leather chair and tried to gather her thoughts. It was barely eight a.m. on Friday. The day after Thursday. The day after what she now referred to as “the dressing room incident.”

  She remembered the warm press of Mason’s lips on her bare neck, the feel of his hot palms cupping her breasts and her nipples pebbled. Heat rolled through her and she damned herself for opting for a steaming cup of coffee when what she really needed was a snow cone.Charlene drew in a deep breath and forced the memory aside, the way she’d been doing over and over again for the past twelve hours.

  He’d touched her.

  Not just any old touch, but a familiar, I-want-to-peel-your-clothes-off-and-get-naked-and-sweaty-with-you touch.

  Then again, he certainly hadn’t been anxious to peel off her clothes. There hadn’t been any clothes to peel away, except a skimpy pair of panties. She’d been practically naked.

  Her cheeks fired and she leaned to the side to press the intercom for the outer office. “Could you turn the thermostat down in here?” she asked Marge. “We’re all but melting.”

  “Are you crazy?” Marge’s voice crackled over the line. “My teeth are chattering.”

  “Then you need a better denture cream. I’m dying in here.”

  “Very funny. If this doctor business ever gets old, you should do stand-up. This town needs a good comedian. Why, I haven’t heard a decent joke since old Morty Simcox kicked the bucket last year. That man was a scream.”

  “I’m serious. I really am hot.”

  “And In Style’s beating down my door for an interview.” Her voice softened. “You’re not sick are you? Because I only get hot flashes when I’ve got a fever. Then again, I also get ’em when I’m horny. Say, you’re not—”

  “You can have an extra hour for lunch,” Charlene blurted, eager to kill Marge’s speculation.

  “I’m walking to the thermostat right now.”

  Charlene released the button and smiled at the couple that sat directly across from her on the beige leather sofa.

  Eustess and Lurline McGraw.

  Thankfully, Mason had dropped off his great-aunt and -uncle and left to run some errands. Charlene wasn’t sure she would have been able to concentrate with him sitting in the outer office. Not with the day being so hot and the memory so fresh and… He’d touched her, of all things.

  Not that a man had never touched her, mind you. She’d had her share of men.

  Okay, so she’d had a smaller share than some, but she’d still had men. As in sex. As in she’d had enough not to get freaked out just because a man touched her in a sexual way.

  It was the fact that Mason McGraw had done the touching.

  He wasn’t supposed to touch her. Not in real life. He’d never thought of her like that. He’d never thought of her at all.

  She wasn’t his type.

  Then again, she had been wearing a teeny, tiny blue spandex dress typical of his type. And she’d looked semi-good in it. It only made sense that he might forget that she wasn’t his type and make a move.

  He wasn’t actually attracted to her. It was the image.

  Which meant the transformation was working. She was morphing into a daring diva, all right. On the outside, that is.

  The notion should have made her feel good. Instead, it sent a rush of disappointment through her. Before she could dwell on the strange reaction, the air conditioner kicked on and a cool breeze rushed from the overhead vent, giving her a small measure of relief.

  She forced aside all thoughts of Mason and concentrated on the matter at hand. “It’s good to see you both for a second session.”

  “Glad to be here, Doc.” Lurline Ketchum smiled, her weathered face scrunching into a mass of wrinkles. She wore red polyester pants, a white short-sleeved shell with large red polka dots and white leather sandals that matched the oversized handbag she clutched in her lap.

  Eustess sat next to her in blue jean overalls, a white long-sleeved button-up shirt underneath. What few strands of hair he had had been slicked and combed to the side. He wore spectacles and his lips pursed as if he’d just eaten a can of homemade pickles.

  “Ain’t we, Eustess?” Lurline asked, elbowing her husband.

  “Cain’t say as I see why we need to sit here like a couple of lab rats—ouch.” Eustess McGraw rubbed his side when she jabbed a little too vigorously and glared at his wife. “As thankful as a turkey on Thanksgiving,” he added. Another jab to his ribs and he stiffened. “That is, um, Easter.”

  “We always have ham on Easter,” Lurline explained. “Never turkey, so you can see why a turkey would be mighty happy. Which we are. To be here, that is.”

  “I see.” Okay, so the only thing she saw were two people who looked as if they would rather be eating nails than sitting on her couch, but she wasn’t going to say as much. Looks could be deceiving. “So—” She took a sip of her coffee and gave the old couple an easy smile. “Have you two been practicing the exercises that I gave you?”

  “We sure have. Every day I tell Eustess one thing I like about him and he tells me something he likes about me. Just like you said. You’re a genius, Doc.”

  “That’s flattering, Lurline, but I’m afraid I’m not the genius. I merely give a few suggestions to help a couple work through their own difficulties. It’s their feelings for each other that drive the reconnection.”

  “Well, it worked. Why, we ain’t even close to arguing. We’re cured, Doc. We ain’t had an argument in a good while. Ain’t that right, Eustess?”

  “Not for a whole two hours.”

  “He means two days,” Lurline interrupted. “Don’t you, Eustess? Not that we actually argued two days ago. It was more like a pleasant disagreement. Ain’t that right, Eustess?”

  “Pleasant as pettin’ a porcupine.”

  “He’s just joking,” Lurline added. “He likes to joke even when it ain’t funny. Which it ain’t.” She reached out to pinch him. Then, as if she’d realized what she’d been about to do, she patted his arm instead and f
orced a smile. “I just love a man with a sense of humor.”

  “I’m pleased that you had a productive week, but the compliments are just the first phase of the therapy. We have a lot of work ahead of us.”

  “Dadblame it, Lurline. I ain’t comin’ here again—ouch!”

  “What Eustess means is that he isn’t coming here again with the same mindset. We’re changed folks, Doc, just like Mason wants. And if it takes more therapy to prove it, then we’re happy to oblige. Isn’t that right, Eustess?”

  “I ain’t going to—yikes!” He rubbed his arm again where it rested next to his wife.

  “Isn’t that right, Eustess,” Lurline said again, her lips drawn in a tight smile.

  They stared each other down for several moments, a stand-off that Charlene was certain would erupt in a full-fledged battle. She was just about to reach for the intercom and call for backup when Eustess shrugged.

  “Oh, all right,” the old man grumbled.

  Lurline’s face crinkled in a smile as she turned toward Charlene. “So what do we have to do next?”

  “Before we move on to a new exercise, I’d like to backtrack over this past week and talk about some of the compliments that came up. Eustess—” She turned toward the older man. “Why don’t you tell me a few of the things you said to Lurline.”

  “Hells bells, why do I have to be the one to go—argghhh.” He rubbed at his shin and Charlene blinked. Had Lurline actually kicked him? She hadn’t seen the woman move. Then again, she hadn’t been looking below shoulder level.

  “Fine, fine,” Eustess said. “I’ll go first.” He rubbed a few more seconds before he leaned back in his seat. “See, I told her that she… That I… That we…” His words faded into a hacking cough. “Allergies,” he croaked before coughing again. He cleared his throat several times before reaching for the water glass that sat on the coffee table in front of him.

  “He said I looked real pretty in my red housedress,” Lurline said while he downed half the glass. “He loves it when I wear my housedresses.” Eustess choked on his mouthful and Lurline swatted him on the back so forcefully that he lunged forward and nearly nose-dived into the coffee table. “Isn’t that right, Eustess?”