Stalk (Hotblooded Book 1)

by Victoria Danann

  The interior was a version of rustic chic. It had the requisite bachelor leather furniture, but the floors were distressed wide plank hardwood. His housekeeping was neater than she would have guessed. No clutter to speak of. No dishes in the sink. But the thing that made the biggest impression by far was the giant black shiny motorcycle sitting in the middle of the living room.

  She pointed to it. “Is this an expressive art piece or does it have a practical application?”

  He chuckled. “I guess both. I do ride it if that was the subtext of that question.” The look she gave him caused him to say, “What?”

  She shook her head. “Nothing. Sometimes you just surprise me when you use words like ‘subtext’.”

  He stiffened. “Because you expect me to have a vocabulary of one hundred words or less.”

  “No. I…”

  “Forget it. I’ll make the call and be out in five minutes.”

  She listened to Brant tell his acquaintance where to find the car and where to drop it off. Then he made a second call to the guy who specialized in “Germans”.

  He didn’t look back at her before making his way down the hallway. He hadn’t exactly stormed off, but he’d left little doubt she’d bruised his ego.

  In his absence, there wasn’t much to do but look around. She walked around the bike and the sofa to get to the far wall where she’d spied the second most interesting thing in Brant’s house. Two well-stocked bookcases.

  She expected to see titles about carburetors and lug nuts. Maybe sex how-to’s. She wasn’t prepared to find Heidegger, Kant, Nietzsche, Kierkegaard, and Jean-Paul Sartre to name a few. He seemed to have a complete collection of the works of famous philosophers with some epic literature and even a few plays. The man was delightfully enigmatic.

  She was so intent on reading titles that she didn’t hear him come into the room.

  “You ready?”

  His voice startled her, but not noticeably. She hoped. “Sure.” She waved her hand toward the books. “You’ve got eclectic taste.”

  His smile was guarded and didn’t completely reach his eyes. “I know how to read, Garland.” Standing there with his hair wet, he looked fresh in clean jeans and a tee that couldn’t disguise the rugged outline of the physique underneath.

  She canted her head to the side. “I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings, Brant.”

  He gaped at her. “Hurt my… You didn’t hurt anything. Look, maybe…”

  She knew that she needed to do some damage control if she wanted to have dinner with the sexiest man who’d ever crossed her path. So she cut him off before he could finish that sentence.

  “I’m looking forward to the best Mexican food in Texas. And I’m holding you to the claim. How far is it?”

  Brant looked like he was thrown off his game for a minute. “Uh… it’s only five minutes away. Just down the hill and to the right.”

  She gave him her most dazzling smile. “Good. I’m starved.”

  It only took Brant a second to decide whether he wanted to be indignant or happy.

  “After you.” He motioned to the door and that time the smile did reach his eyes.

  “Oh my God,” she gushed. “What do you call this again?”

  He chuckled. “Chimichanga.”

  She’d eaten an entire basket of chips and salsa before the real food ever arrived. And downed a large frozen Margarita. When Brant had learned that she’d never had Mexican food before, he’d ordered two different combination plates so that she could try some of everything. And everything got rave reviews.

  “This place is a find,” she said with her mouth still full.

  “Well, Chuy’s is not exactly a secret around here. Lots of people have already found it.”

  “Smart, smart people,” she said seriously as she took a bite of a chile con queso stuffed hatch pepper. “Oh my God. This is the best thing yet.”

  He laughed. “You’ve said that about everything you’ve tasted.”

  “Here!” She held the rest of the pepper out to him. He obediently opened his mouth and let her feed him from her hand. He chewed with amusement, enjoying witnessing her rapture. “Well?!” He shrugged. “Oh come on. You know this is the best food anybody ever ate.”

  “Glad you approve.”

  “I’m having another Margarita.”

  He made a face. “How can you stand it? Tequila tastes like shit.”

  “There’s something wrong with you, Brant. It’s the best thing ever.”

  “That’s what you said about the flauta.” He laughed at her. “You’re gonna have to make a choice. The Shaman closes at nine. So it’s either the Margarita or tea leaves and shit.”

  She pouted. “I want both.”

  He laughed. “I know you do. You strike me as the kind of girl who likes it her way. You want it all.”

  “Well. Who doesn’t? So how about you? What do you want?”

  “I haven’t given much thought to it.” She started laughing. “What’s so funny?”

  “You read Kant and Heidegger, but you’ve never thought about what you want? You’re an unusual guy, Brant.”

  “Unusual peculiar? Unusual creepy? Or unusual extraordinary?”

  As Garland watched the playful expressions flit over his handsome face, her grin resolved into a smile. “Extraordinary. Definitely.”

  For the second time in a couple of hours, he felt the squeeze in his chest. He wondered if Garland St. Germaine was merciful with the hearts she took captive.

  “What are you thinking?” she asked.

  “That I’ll bet you’ve left a trail of broken hearts.”

  “Brant Fornight. You’re flirting with me.”

  “Does it show?”

  “Not enough,” she replied.

  He laughed, a deep throaty rumbly laugh that reminded her of the Camaro’s purr.

  “Next time I see you, let’s go for a ride on my bike.”

  Her expression went instantly serious. “I can’t.”

  “Why?”

  “I promised my father I would never get on one.”

  “Why?”

  “Too dangerous.”

  He squinted, mulling that over. “How old are you?”

  “Twenty-two.”

  He gave a little nod and looked at his beer. “Garland, everything in life that’s fun or worth doing comes with risk.”

  “That’s not Margarita talk. Too deep.” She looked over the railing, where they sat outside at a patio table. “I’ll think about it.”

  “Whatever you decide. The choice should be yours. You’re grown up. Right?”

  “Sometimes it’s not as simple as that.”

  “Sure it is.” He grinned.

  She giggled as if to prove, on cue, that she wasn’t grown up at all.

  Garland chose a second frozen Margarita over a visit with High School Foss.

  They laughed and talked about how different their lives were, but the more they talked the more they found that, improbable as it seemed, they agreed on important things.

  One of the things they had in common was an attraction to each other that pulled like a magnastar.

  At ten o’clock, Chuy’s shut down. One of the bus boys motioned to the patio gate.

  “They’re kicking us out,” she reported to Brant.

  “Looks like,” he replied.

  When Brant pulled up in front of Garland’s summer residence, he handed her a note with information on where the BMW had been towed for repair and said, “I guess it would be presumptuous to ask if you want to see me again?”

  At that, she surprised the hell out of him by leaning across the console and giving him what might as well have been his first kiss. She ran her fingers through his hair and gave a soft little moan of approval. He didn’t know if that moan meant that she liked the kiss, or his hair, or him, but he hoped it was all three.

  When she pulled back and smiled, he tried not to look as breathless and discombobulated as a thirteen-year-old.

 
“I could manage to be free Saturday. How about you?” He nodded and tried to pull her back for another kiss, but she laughed and opened the passenger door. “Save it up for me. What time?”

  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 4

  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 co
ntrol 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 lobster 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…”