by Mindy Neff
He should have known better than to make plans. She had a way of surprising him, trashing all his good intentions.
Then again, maybe he should be thanking Sackett.
By damn, she’d been downright excited by the drama, goading him, even…impressed. Hell, he ought to deputize her.
On second thought, maybe not. Every man in Hope Valley would probably try breaking the laws just to get her attention.
He intended to be the only man entitled to that charm. He just had to find a way to conquer her resistance.
And in the interest of his aching body, he needed to accomplish that in a hurry. He’d been hard for days. All he had to do was be in the same room with her and his heart pumped the better part of his blood south of his belt. Add that erotic kiss the other day in the kitchen, and the mind-numbing press of her sweet body as he’d danced with her tonight, and he was seriously worried that particular part of his anatomy was going to sustain permanent damage.
He wanted her in his bed, yes. Knew he could seduce her there if he put his effort toward that end.
But that wasn’t all he wanted.
He wanted her total surrender.
Chapter Fourteen
“I can’t believe nobody’s taken our underwear off that darn tree,” Becca said, using her foot to keep up the soothing motion of the wicker glider. “It’s been over a week.”
Donetta stared out toward the lake, the sway of the glider nearly putting her to sleep. The raised porch on Storm’s old farmhouse was her favorite place to relax—although technically she was still working, since they were waiting for the color to process in Becca’s hair. She could barely make out the cottonwood as the evening sky darkened.
“I’ve been tempted to take them down,” Donetta said, “but we never determined what the rules were about how long they had to stay.”
“I suppose we should call for a vote.”
“Do you really believe Sunny’s going to care about Jack’s Valentine boxers flapping in the breeze?”
“If we tell Jack she hung them there, she will.” Becca used the towel around her neck to wipe away a drip of color at her hairline and flipped one of the tin foils back from her face. “If you ask me, though, I think Storm likes looking at your drawers from his kitchen window.”
“He’s getting an eyeful of yours, too,” Donetta reminded.
“As if he’d know which are mine. We should have penalized Sunny for blabbing that summer.” Becca turned slightly. “Did you ever find out if Storm saw the whole thing? Bare butt and all?”
Donetta groaned. “I haven’t asked. I figured it’s best just to let sleeping dogs lie. Lordy, even at seventeen I’d have been mortified.”
“How’s it going between the two of you? Have you given any more thought to making these living arrangements permanent?”
“You know I won’t do that, Becca.”
“You’ve got willpower, girl. Living with a hunky guy like that…well, you’re a better woman than me.”
“You have trouble with your willpower around Storm?” The zing of jealousy surprised her.
“No, silly. Not Storm. It’s just so obvious that you’re attracted to each other.”
“Being attracted to someone and losing your freedom to him are two different things.”
“Not all marriages are like the prison you were in with Tim,” Becca said softly. “What if you just…you know, live with him.”
“I am.”
“I meant as a couple, dimwit.”
“Because if it didn’t work out, someone would get hurt. And that’s the pits because you’re right. I am attracted to him. Really attracted. I want to be with him, but I know I’ll be going back home in a few days.” She smoothed her hands over her skirt. “Don’t you ever wish you could just be like a guy and have sex without thinking it to death? I mean, what’s the big deal about enjoying someone without having to worry about expectations or living in each other’s hip pocket.”
“You haven’t slept with him since…?” Becca’s voice trailed off in surprise. “Good grief, you’ve already done it, and it’s not as if you can get pregnant again.”
“Tell that to the man. He walks around without his shirt and I nearly run into the walls. But every time I send out sexy signals, he just pecks a kiss on my forehead and disappears into his room.”
“So, follow him.”
Headlights arced around the corner, shining on the barn, then disappearing along the S-turn of the lane leading to the house. Sneak, who’d been chewing on Dixie’s bone, scrambled off the porch, barking like mad, and cut through the flowerbed on her way around the side yard to meet Storm’s truck. Dixie followed—probably figuring she ought to keep an eye on Sneak.
Donetta stood. “Maybe I will. Meanwhile, why don’t you follow me back inside so I can check your color.”
“Ah. Eager to get rid of me, hmm?”
“Actually, I thought I was being a pal. With all that tin foil sticking out of your hair, you look like a Martian hoping to get a signal from the mother ship.”
“I’m not trying to impress anybody.”
“I figured that out when you peeled off that white granny underwear to hang on Bertha. I don’t understand how you can wear something so huge with such a skinny butt.”
“Not everyone’s comfortable wearing butt floss like you do. Besides, nobody’s going to be looking under my dress.”
The back door opened and Donetta’s heart did a little dance that had her fingers trembling as she pulled the foils out of Becca’s hair.
Before Storm could hardly remove his hat and hang it on the peg by the door, Sneak pushed in past him, spied the cat, and both dogs took off in hot pursuit.
“Hey, Becca Sue…Donetta. Don’t mind me. I’m just passing through with the dogs.” He grabbed a beer out of the fridge and turned to Donetta, his gaze skimming her from head to toe like a caress. “I’m going to hit the shower, okay?”
“Sure.”
Becca raised a brow, waited until Storm had left the room. “That sounded pretty cozy to me. Asking permission to shower. Just like an old married couple.”
Donetta pinched the next foil and yanked, smirking when Becca yowled.
FEELING BETTER NOW THAT he’d washed the construction dust off, Storm wandered back to the kitchen. There, he took a moment to appreciate Donetta’s long legs, which her miniskirt nicely showcased. He was getting used to coming home each night to the smell of perm solution, bleach, shampoo and hairspray. He liked it, because that meant Donetta was still here. But time was running out, and so far he hadn’t had any luck convincing her they were right for each other. Convincing her to stay.
Becca was laying money on the counter, her short black hair sporting three different colors of streaks. The highlights were subtle and intriguing instead of garish, proving Donetta’s talent as a colorist.
“Looking good, Becca Sue,” he commented, taking a seat in the chair she’d just vacated.
“Why, thank you, sir. So, how’s that salon coming? And please tell me it’s almost finished. With Donetta’s Secret closed, my business is suffering. People used to at least stop in for coffee when they came into town to get their hair done.”
“The salon’s about ready to reopen.”
“Really?” Donetta asked, excitement ringing in her voice. Her wide smile transformed her beautiful face, lit her amber eyes, socking him right in the gut.
“Yeah. Blane’s due out tomorrow to do a reinspection.”
“And I can move back in as soon as he’s done?”
“That’s what I’ve been busting my butt for. To get you back up and running.”
She raced around the table, threw her arms around his neck and kissed him full on the mouth. Stunned, he didn’t even have a chance to capture her face and prolong the excited kiss before she danced back to Becca.
He knew he must look like a lovesick sap, but he couldn’t take his eyes off her. The soft fabric of her miniskirt flirted with her thighs and flared w
hen she skipped. Her breasts were growing fuller due to pregnancy, the plump mounds teasing the scoop-neck tank top she wore beneath a sheer black blouse.
“Is he the best, or what?” she said to Becca.
Becca’s gaze met his, softened. “Sure is. It’s a wonder he’s still on the market.”
He saw Donetta’s hands falter as she placed a bottle of shampoo in a plastic sack. During the past week, her friends had been subtly letting him know they were on his side. Their support hadn’t done a whole lot of good. Her excitement over moving back to her apartment told him that.
“Okay, I’m out of here,” Becca said, and hugged Donetta. “Bye, Storm. You be good, now.”
He kept his gaze on Donetta’s skirt as she shut the door behind Becca and came toward him.
“I like what you did with Becca’s hair,” he said.
“Becca’s a hairstylist’s dream. She’s not afraid to experiment.”
She moved around behind him, and the next thing he knew she was running her fingers through his hair.
“How come you’ve never let me do your hair?”
He shrugged. “I’ve been using a barber over in Austin. Guess I felt a certain loyalty to him.”
“I think it’s time you pledged your allegiance to me.”
Lulled by the exquisite feel of her hands, he was caught off guard when she stuck a piece of foil against his scalp. Before he could stop her, she’d dipped a small brush in the bowl of goop sitting on the counter and painted it on his hair.
He jerked. “What the hell…?”
Her hands pressed against his shoulders, keeping him in the chair. “Hush up and be still.”
“You just put dye crap in my hair.”
“You said you liked Becca’s color.”
“On Becca!”
She laughed and draped a towel around him. “Relax, would you? I know what I’m doing—just a couple of subtle grape highlights. You’ll hardly even notice them.”
“Grape? I’ll look like a fruit. And if I’m not going to notice, why put them in?”
“Oh, stop it. The grape will complement your skin tone, break up the solid black. And it won’t compromise your masculinity in the least. Besides, I wouldn’t wreck your hair. I have to look at you every day.”
It was the “every day” part of her statement that had him settling. He damn well intended for her to see him every day. “I’ll never live this down with my deputies,” he grumbled.
She laughed, patted his cheek, then dabbed more of that gelatinous-like smelly stuff on another foil.
“Did you think those highlights in Skeeter’s hair came from Mother Nature?” she asked.
“Skeeter gets his hair colored?”
“Yes. And don’t bother trying to get a rise out of him. If you ask him about it, he’ll hand you one of my business cards. He’s sent me quite a few clients over the years.”
“Well, I’ll be damned.”
“Mmm-hmm.” She worked quickly, then dragged a chair up in front of him as they waited for the dye to process.
“Hopefully I won’t have chunks of hair falling out because of this.”
“O ye of little faith—I’m not using bleach. Have some trust, why don’t you.”
“I will if you will.”
She brushed back her long bangs—a gesture of hers when she was uncomfortable or wanted to change the subject.
“So, why hasn’t some smart lady snapped you up before now?”
“I’m trying to let you.”
She rolled her eyes. “Let’s concentrate on the past fourteen or so years, okay? Tell Dr. Donetta all your problems.”
He remembered her comment that hairdressers were like therapists. “Well, it’s like this, Doc. There’s a gorgeous, sexy woman who’s having my baby, and I can’t seem to—”
She whacked him on the leg. “Further back, clown.
Tell me why you’re thirty-six and still single.”
“I’ve never been tempted to take a walk down the church aisle. I suppose you could say my job has been my wife. I did date a woman for about six months in Houston, though.”
“What happened?”
“It fizzled out when she got tired of me not calling or showing up for a date because of work. Crime doesn’t stop for love.”
“Did you love her?”
“No.” Looking at Donetta, he now understood why. He’d rated every woman on how she stacked up against Donetta. Especially her hanging her panties on Bertha the day before her high-school graduation. That image was burned in his mind. He’d taken the panties that day.
He still had them.
“I need to check your color.” She hopped up, stepped between his legs and leaned forward to unwrap one of the foils in his hair. Her sheer blouse was un-buttoned, and the upper swell of her breasts spilled out of the scooped tank top. Two inches and he could press his lips to the plump mounds he knew would be soft and perfect. Her floral vanilla scent, warmed by her skin, drenched his senses, making him yearn.
Keeping his hands off her was becoming sheer agony. What was that noble crap he’d told himself about needing her surrender? Man alive, he didn’t know how much more restraint he could dredge up.
He reached out and wrapped his hands around her rib cage, his thumbs just below her breasts.
She looked down at him, her amber eyes direct and heavy with sensual invitation.
“I think we can rinse you now.” She stepped out of his loose hold.
He didn’t say a word, just followed her over to the sink and leaned back on the table she’d turned into a fairly comfortable reclining chair. With the sink counter at his back, the setup was a little like being propped up in bed.
Warm water cascaded over his scalp; the slow, gentle scrape of her sculpted nails followed. He’d had his hair washed by women before, but it had never been such a sensuous experience. As she leaned over him, Donetta’s breasts kept brushing his shoulder, while her hands caressed his head and neck, squeezing, stroking. His back teeth ground together so hard it was a wonder they didn’t break.
She was purposely taunting him—with her movements as well as the tight nipples visible against her tight tank top. Ever since the night he’d taken her dancing, they seemed to have reversed roles. He’d been resisting the sexual aspect of their relationship, and she’d clearly conveyed to him she was good to go.
Damn it, nobility could stretch only so far.
She shut off the water and ran a towel through his hair. Every muscle in his body was knotted. He reached for her waist again, held her steady. Before, his fingers had been loose; this time, they were not. She could neither advance nor retreat unless he let her.
Her gaze snapped to his, and the look in her amber eyes severed the last thread of his control.
Before he could talk himself out of it, he lifted her and aligned her body on top of his, holding her firmly against his groin with one hand while his other hand angled her head for his kiss. Her breasts were pillowed on his chest, and her hips shifted restlessly against his erection, driving him mad.
He kissed her until he couldn’t even remember his name, then buried his lips in her neck, nipped at the soft skin.
“Tell me to stop now, Donetta.” Even as he said the words, he begged her to do just the opposite, his hand sweeping her back, her behind, the top of her thighs.
She sucked in a breath when he slid his palm beneath the hem of her short skirt, cupped the naked cheeks exposed by incredibly skimpy thong panties.
“I don’t want you to stop.” Her breath was unsteady, her lips roaming his face, his neck, her hands reaching down to the sides of his hips, heading inward.
He swung his legs over the side of the table, set her on her feet between his spread thighs, pulled her tight against him.
HIS STRONG HOLD on her was unbreakable, but Donetta didn’t feel threatened or trapped. The last thing she wanted was for him to let go.
This man, who’d brought her soda crackers and held her when she’d been
sick, teased her when she got riled and laughed with her when she acted crazy, had gotten under her skin. He made her remember why she’d had a crush on him when he was sixteen and she was only ten. A crush that had smoldered all these years, before igniting into a love she was unable to deny.
Lord help her, she couldn’t refuse either of them for another second.
“I want you,” she said. “Now. Inside me. Storm…”
He made a feral sound deep in his throat and slid off the table. “We need a bed.” He lifted her in his arms, strode over to twist the lock on the door, then carried her to his bedroom.
It was times like this, when he held her with such little effort, that she realized what an incredibly big man he was. She clung to his shoulders; brushed her lips against his neck; inhaled the spicy scent of his aftershave, the clean smell of laundry detergent on his clothes.
The golden glow of lamplight gave his bedroom a seductive atmosphere, spilling softly over the wine sateen sheets of the unmade bed. Anticipation stole her breath as she remembered the last time she’d been in this room, in this bed…with Storm.
He set her on her feet, tenderly cupped her face and kissed her until her soul sang. He kissed her with reverence and gentleness, as though she were made of delicate, irreplaceable china that might shatter if not handled carefully.
She was on fire, burning from the inside out, yet he took his time. He undressed her as though he was unwrapping a treasured gift. Her sheer blouse fell off her shoulders, caught on her wrists. He unbuttoned the sleeves, bent to kiss her breasts above the neckline of her tank top. By the time she stood before him wearing nothing but the elastic bands at her wrists, desire was pulsing through her so hot and heavy she thought she’d faint.
As he pulled his shirt over his head, she reached for the snap of his jeans, hoping to hurry him along. Fingers fumbled and tangled until at last she was able to get her hands on warm, bare skin.
“Let’s take it slow, darlin’.”
Cool sheets caressed her back as he eased her onto the bed, followed her down and stroked her body with exquisite patience and thoroughness, as though learning every curve, freckle and indent.
