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Do Me Right
Cindi Myers
She has exacting standards, and Theresa Jacobs will settle for nothing but the best. So when tall and sexy Kyle Cameron struts into her tattoo parlor, she knows she's found a man with all the right moves. And the best part? He's as allergic to commitment as she is.But just as their fling approaches sizzling, something changes. In all sorts of little ways Kyle shows her that he knows the way to treat a woman. Suddenly this fling is about more than sex. And the worst part? She's responding! So much for no strings attached. It's not so clear now what Theresa wants…except more on-the-sheets time with him.
“Where’s the bedroom?” Kyle asked
“First door on the right…” Before Theresa could finish her sentence, he’d swept her up in his arms and carried her down the hall.
She braced herself for a rough landing on the bed, but he managed to lay her down gently. His torso pressed into her, a solid weight that thrilled her. For an average-size guy, he was strong. Everywhere she touched, she met hard muscle. The feel of him turned her on so much that her body wasn’t paying attention to her mind anymore. She’d been reduced to this all-consuming need.
And the only thing that could take that need away was him.
He moved away suddenly, and without his warmth she felt cold. “What are you doing?” she asked.
Kyle paused, his hand on the snap to his jeans. “I thought you might be tired of being the only one naked.”
Dear Reader,
As soon as Theresa Jacobs sauntered onto the pages of Good, Bad…Better, Blaze #168, I knew I would have to tell her story in a book of her own. And here it is. Do Me Right was an absolute pleasure to write, as I couldn’t wait to find out what would happen with Theresa and her hero.
A woman as strong as Theresa demanded an equally strong man. Kyle Cameron had the right combination of cowboy charm and masculine determination to crack her tough exterior and find the tender woman within.
This book also gave me another chance to revisit one of my favorite cities in the world, Austin, Texas. I spent many happy years there and it was nice to remember them.
I hope you enjoy Do Me Right. I love to hear from readers. Visit my Web site at www.CindiMyers.com to find out more about what I’m up to. E-mail me at Cindi@cindimyers.com or write me at P.O. Box 991, Bailey, CO 80421.
Happy reading,
Cindi Myers
Do Me Right
Cindi Myers
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
For Mike and Diane
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Epilogue
1
AH, NOTHING LIKE A LITTLE confrontation to start off a gorgeous April morning. A block away from her shop, Austin Body Art, Theresa Jacobs stopped and frowned at the half-dozen picketers milling around the tattoo parlor.
Keep Austin Clean one of their signs read. Take Back Sixth Street proclaimed another. Stamp Out Smut said a third. She had to hand it to them—these folks didn’t give up easily. They’d been out here every day for the last two weeks.
Two of the group wore oversize white T-shirts with the words Vote Darryl “Clean” Carter For Austin City Council. Ah, yes, “Clean” Carter. Self-appointed protector of citizen morals and champion of a family-friendly Austin. Apparently he’d decided that running Theresa and others like her out of business would be the ideal way to win his campaign.
Apparently Mr. Carter didn’t realize how stubborn smut-sellers like her could be. She shifted her bag up higher on her shoulder and tugged her leather halter top down a little lower. Cleavage exposed—check. Belly-button ring showing—check. High-heeled boots, black fishnet hose, leather miniskirt—check. Big hair—check. Red, red lips—check. If Carter’s minions expected sex, sin and sensation, she didn’t want to disappoint them.
Sultry smile in place, she started toward the shop once more, moving in an exaggerated strut that had her hips swaying like a clock pendulum.
As they had each morning for the past two weeks, the protesters stopped and stared at her approach. “Good morning,” she said, flashing a big smile as she inserted her key in the front-door lock.
“Good morn—” One of the men, a round, balding fellow with wire-rimmed glasses, started to return her greeting, but was cut off by an elbow in the ribs from the stern-faced woman in matching wire rims at his side.
“We’re having a special today, folks,” Theresa said. “Half-priced piercings. I know you won’t want to miss that.”
“You ought to be ashamed of yourself.” A tall woman with hair the color of apricots stepped forward. “What if you had a daughter who dressed and acted the way you do?”
Theresa lowered her sunglasses and looked the woman up and down. “I’d say she was having a lot more fun than someone who dressed and acted the way you do.”
On this exit line, she entered the shop and punched in her alarm code. Another day of fun and excitement at Austin Body Art. If only the moral dictators out there realized how mundane most of her life—and her clients—really were. She might look like a wild woman, but lately an exciting evening for her was a cable movie and Lean Cuisine.
She let the cats, Mick and Delilah, out of the back room. They protested their confinement loudly and wove in and out of her ankles until she filled their bowls with kibble. Then she switched on lights, booted up the computer and prepared to start the day.
Ten minutes later the door burst open. “Love you, too, baby!” Her co-worker, Scott, blew kisses to the group outside, the effect somewhat spoiled by the one-finger salute he gave with his other hand. He slammed the door and turned to Theresa. “Don’t those people ever give up?”
She shook her head. “They’ll be gone after the election, one way or another.”
Scott looked unconvinced. “You don’t know what money and an agenda can do for a candidate.” He glanced toward the group outside the front window. “These people are really fired up.”
“If Carter wins, the picketers will still go away. And he may not like us, but he can’t do anything about us. We’re a legitimate, legal business.”
“Yeah, but you can’t stay in business long if you don’t have customers, can you?” He slumped onto the stool behind the front counter and raked one hand through his spiked blond hair.
She ignored the twinge of fear his words produced. “What do you mean? Of course we’ll have customers. Why wouldn’t we?”
He shook his head. “I don’t know. This Clean Up Austin drive is really cutting down on traffic. Business is taking a hit all over.”
“We’re still doing okay.” They’d been a little slower, maybe, but every business had downtimes. “Things will pick up again soon. We don’t have to worry.”
“The Hot Tamale’s already cutting staff.” He rested his elbows on the counter, head in his hands. “I got laid off from my bartending gig last night.”
“Oh, Scott.” She set aside the mail she’d been sorting and went to him. “That sucks.”
He nodded. “Yeah. And I just moved into that new apartment, too.”
“You can work full-time here now, if you like.”
He raised his head. “You mean it?”
“Sure. With Zach in Chicago, I could use the extra help.” She glanced at the framed oil painting hanging over the cash register, a rendition of the Navy Pier in pop-art colors that was Zach’s latest work. Big bro was having a blast in the Windy City while she was trying to keep it together here at home.
“But didn’t you already hire someone else?”
“Another part-timer. She starts next week. But I could still use you full-time.”
He glanced toward the front window again. The picketers had resumed their march up and down the sidewalk. “I don’t know….”
“It’ll be all right. At least give it a try.”
“Okay. Thanks.”
The news that the Hot Tamale, one of the street’s most popular bars, was cutting staff stunned her. She’d known Carter’s campaign was getting a lot of attention in the press, but she’d assumed most people wouldn’t take him seriously. After all, Austin was known for its music scene and the nightlife on Sixth Street. Why would anyone want to take away the very thing that made the city so unique?
Obviously she’d underestimated the ability of a few soreheads to spoil the fun for everyone.
“Guess Zach picked a good time to skip town, huh?” Scott said. “Think he’ll ever come back?”
She shrugged. “He still has another year and a half of school.” And who knew where he’d end up after that. Before her brother followed Jen Truitt to Chicago a little over six months ago, he’d handed her the keys to Austin Body Art and told her the business was all hers. He wouldn’t have done that if he’d planned to return anytime soon.
“I can see that cheered you right up.” Scott slid off the stool. “I’ll go make coffee.”
As Scott disappeared into the back room, the bells on the front door jangled. Theresa turned to greet the two men who entered.
It would probably be more appropriate to say the men made an entrance. The first one was a tall drink of water in scuffed boots, sharply creased Wranglers, a denim shirt and a straw hat tilted low on his forehead. He strode into the room like a marshal stepping into a saloon in an old western. Broad-shouldered, narrow-waisted with a strong chin and a slightly crooked nose, he was movie-star handsome. She blinked a few times to make sure he was even real, wishing he’d take off the hat so she could get a look at his eyes. Not that she was interested in the average cowboy, but she could appreciate a gorgeous man as much as the next girl. “What can I do for you, gentlemen?” she asked.
His companion, a short, bow-legged man in a Bull Riders Stay On Longer T-shirt, removed his hat and stared openmouthed at the neckline of her halter top.
The taller man slapped his companion on the back of the head. “Put your eyes back in your skull and answer the lady.”
His words broke the spell his initial appearance had cast over her, and for the first time she noticed the cast on his left forearm. The bright blue gauze wrapping made a sharp contrast to his deeply tanned skin.
He nodded to her and nudged his hat up enough for her to see his whiskey-colored eyes glinting with good humor.
To her astonishment and utter mortification, she felt her heart flutter. She had to force back the smile she knew would have looked ridiculously goofy. Adonis here was no doubt used to women swooning at his feet, and she didn’t intend to be one of them.
“I apologize for my friend. He’s not used to associating with females other than cows and horses,” Handsome Hank continued.
“Shut your gob, Kyle.” The shorter cowboy rubbed the back of his neck and focused his gaze somewhere over Theresa’s left shoulder. “I’m interested in a tattoo.”
“Then you came to the right place.” With businesslike briskness, she plucked a clipboard from the rack by the counter and handed it to him. “Fill this out and we’ll get started.”
“Oh. Okay.”
While he sat and began filling out the information and release form, she turned to his friend, Kyle. He was watching her, a speculative look in his eyes. The intensity of his gaze unnerved her. “Do you want a tattoo, too?”
The slow smile that formed on his lips would have knocked a lesser woman off her feet. As it was, Theresa took a step back and put one hand on the counter to steady herself.
“That’s okay. Us naturally good-looking folks don’t need any extra decoration.” His gaze swept over the tiger etched on her shoulder, then shifted to the Celtic knot between her breasts. His smile broadened. “Though I have to say, you give me a whole new appreciation for your, um, art.”
She laughed. “I’m sure you’re a real art lover.” She nodded to his cast. “What happened?”
He frowned at the injury. “Had a little trouble with an uncooperative bovine.”
“Kyle has lousy luck with cattle and women.” The shorter man, whose name turned out to be George, stood and handed Theresa the clipboard.
“Don’t mind him,” Kyle said. “He’s been tossed on his head by bulls one too many times.”
“You’re a bull rider?” Theresa scanned the release form. Everything looked okay.
“Yes, ma’am.” George threw back his shoulders and puffed out his chest. “I’m in the top fifteen on the circuit right now.”
She glanced at Kyle. “Are you a bull rider, too?”
He shook his head. “No, I have more sense.”
“He’s too tall to ride bulls,” George said. “He’s a calf roper.” He glanced at the arm. “Or was.”
“I can still whip you with one arm tied behind my back.”
She somehow refrained from rolling her eyes at this typical male posturing. Honestly, was she supposed to be impressed? Better keep her mind on business. “Do you know what you want for your tat?” she asked George.
“I want a big lizard.” He pointed to his forearm. “Right here.”
“A lizard?”
