скачать книгу бесплатно
“Sure thing. And I thought I’d print up some business cards to hand out around campus and stuff—if that’s okay with you.”
“Of course it’s okay. And I’ll cover the cost of the cards.” She’d been about to suggest as much, but the girl got ahead of her. She’d have to be on her toes with this kid. “Come on in back and I’ll show you where to put your things and we’ll go over the operation of the autoclave.”
Cherry deposited the cat on the floor and followed Theresa to the storage closet that served as headquarters for the sterilization equipment. “It’s the same kind my mom and dad have,” she said when Theresa opened the door.
“So I guess you really did grow up in the business,” Theresa said, impressed but not wanting to show it too much.
“I started apprenticing when I was a teenager and I’d work summers and holidays for extra money. It’s interesting work, but music’s really where I want to make my career.” Her expression turned sheepish. “I hope it’s okay for me to say that. I like to be up-front with people.”
“I appreciate that.” It was a little scary how together this chick was. Theresa knew there was no way she’d been this calm and confident at Cherry’s age. “Why don’t we go back up front?”
Scott was still sulking behind the counter. “Why don’t you show Cherry how to get into the computer,” Theresa said. She turned to Cherry. “We’re trying to get all the scheduling and ordering and things like that computerized, but we’re not there yet.”
She nodded. “My parents are technophobes, too. I keep telling them to join the twenty-first century, but they don’t get it.”
Now Theresa felt like an Amazon crone. She was only seven years older than Elf Girl, but it might as well have been twenty. “Scott’s doing a good job of getting us on track,” she said. “He can explain the system to you.”
“Yeah, sure.” He moved over to make room for Cherry in front of the computer.
Ten minutes later, as she was prepping her two o’clock customer—a truck driver named Alan—Theresa congratulated herself on her smooth handling of the potential conflict between Scott and Cherry. The two were both bent over the computer, engrossed in talk of databases, spreadsheets and operating systems.
She’d just started outlining a wolf’s head on Alan’s ankle when the door bells sounded again and a woman in a pink smock took a hesitant step inside. “Uh, I’m looking for a Miss Theresa Jacobs,” she said.
Theresa shut off the tattoo machine. “That’s me.”
“Oh! Then I do have the right place.” Eyes wide, the woman stared around the room.
“Can I help you?” Theresa prompted.
“Oh! Yes. Just a minute. I’ll be right back.” She exited again, the temple bells jangling in her wake.
“Something tells me she didn’t stop by for a tat,” the man in the chair said.
“Sorry about the interruption,” Theresa apologized.
He shrugged. “I’m not in any hurry.”
The woman reappeared in the doorway, her face almost hidden by a large arrangement of yellow roses in a glass vase. “Where should I put these?” she asked.
Theresa’s mouth dropped open. After a stunned silence, she managed to speak. “Why are you bringing those in here?”
“You said you were Theresa Jacobs, right?”
She nodded. “Yeah.”
“These flowers are for you.” She set the arrangement on the front counter and pointed to the tiny emblem on the left breast pocket of her smock. “From Pecan Street Florists.”
“Why is a florist’s shop sending me flowers?”
The woman laughed. “Oh, they’re not from us. We’re just delivering them. There’s a card on the arrangement.” Her gaze shifted to the man in the chair, and her eyes widened again as she zeroed in on the beginnings of the tattoo there. “I’ve always wondered—doesn’t that hurt?”
“Not much.” He grinned. “You ought to try it sometime.”
The delivery woman blushed. “I don’t think… At least, I never…” She shook her head. “I have to go now. Enjoy your flowers.”
When she was gone, they all stared at the roses. There had to be at least a dozen of them, a soft yellow with a blush of pink at the tips of the petals, baby’s breath and greenery arranged around them. “They’re gorgeous,” Cherry said.
“Aren’t you going to check the card?” Scott said.
“Maybe later.” She switched on the tattoo machine again. In all her twenty-eight years, no one had ever sent her flowers. She wasn’t sure how to act.
“Oh, go on, check the card,” her customer said. “I’m curious now, too.”
Reluctantly she shut off the machine and stripped off her gloves, then walked up to the counter.
Up close, the arrangement was even prettier. She wanted to bury her nose amid the buds and see if they smelled like anything. She wanted to feel the petals and see if they were as velvety soft as they looked. But she didn’t want to look like a fool in front of everyone, so all she did was reach up and snatch the card from its holder.
The envelope was unsealed, and the card inside was a simple white one. “I’m looking forward to tonight. Kyle.”
“Ooooh, you’re blushing!” Cherry squealed. She elbowed Scott in the ribs. “It must be good.”
“I’ll bet it’s from that cowboy.” Scott leaned over the counter and looked at her around the flowers. “Isn’t it?”
“What cowboy?” Cherry asked.
Theresa hated that she was blushing. She wasn’t the kind of woman who blushed. But then, she wasn’t the kind of woman men sent flowers to, either. She tucked the card inside her top, away from prying eyes. “I suggest we all get back to work,” she said and walked briskly back to her customer.
“It is your birthday or something?” he asked.
She shook her head and put on a new pair of gloves. “No, it isn’t.”
He grinned. “Well, whoever sent you those, I’d say they have good taste.”
Because the flowers he’d chosen were so pretty, or because he’d sent them to her? She didn’t ask. “Why don’t you just relax and we’ll get started again.” She told herself to focus on her work, to stop thinking about the flowers or Kyle Cameron. It was bad enough he’d thrown her for a loop with his kisses. What the hell did he think he was doing turning all romantic and sending her flowers?
4
THERESA WAS ALONE IN THE shop when Kyle showed up, just after eleven. He stood on the sidewalk for a minute, watching her through the window as she tidied up around the front counter. She moved with swift efficiency, leaving order in her wake with that knack some women have for setting things to rights with seemingly little effort.
He spotted the roses by the cash register and grinned. She probably hadn’t expected those, not after the businesslike way she’d agreed to their “arrangement.” But just because they were being practical didn’t mean he couldn’t throw in a few surprises to keep things interesting.
He made one last check of his reflection in the glass and straightened the bandanna knotted at his neck. Polished boots, creased jeans, starched white shirt and leather vest completed the look, topped by his best Stetson 10X Rancher.
She jumped when the door opened and whirled to face him, a feather duster in one hand. The sight of her in her leather miniskirt and vest with that duster struck him as incongruous. And sexy as hell. Like one of those French maid costumes with a kinky twist. He grinned. “I never was much for housework, but I might be persuaded to help if you promise to tickle me with your feathers there.”
She threw the duster at him, hitting him squarely in the chest, and he couldn’t help but laugh. Hands on her hips, she looked him up and down, trying for an annoyed expression, but the way her mouth tipped up at the corners and the amusement in her dark eyes gave her away. “I’m done here,” she said. “Let me get my purse.”
She turned toward the back of the shop, but he snared her with a hand on her arm before she got very far. “How about a proper hello first? After all, we don’t have to rush.”
“Whatever gave you the idea I was proper?” she purred, but she put her arms around him and gave him a kiss that involved a lot more than just her lips pressed against his. She wrapped herself around him like satin-soft cling wrap. When she pulled away and smiled up at him, it was all he could do to remember to breathe. “I’ll be right back,” she said and disappeared into the back room.
While he was waiting for her, he walked over to the flowers. Yellow roses because someone had told him yellow flowers were for friendship while red were for love. Besides, they’d looked pretty there in the florist’s shop. They looked even better here, arranged in a vase. One of the cats lay beside the vase, watching him, tail twitching. “You leave these alone.” Kyle shook a warning finger at the animal. “No snacking.”
“I figure you can follow me to my place—” She froze, one hand up in the act of pushing away the beaded curtain that separated the back room from the rest of the shop.
He looked up from the flowers. “I see you got my little present,” he said.
He’d expected thanks, praise or maybe even another kiss. Instead she was frowning. “Why did you pull a stunt like that?” she asked.
“What kind of stunt are you talking about?” He glanced at the roses. “You mean these?”
“I’ve never been so embarrassed in all my life.” She walked behind the counter and began shutting down the computer. “People were asking about them all day. ‘Who sent you flowers?’” She mimicked a sickly sweet whine. “‘Is it your birthday?’ I was so tired of it I was ready to throw them in the trash.”
He leaned on the counter, reining in his irritation. “And here I thought women liked flowers. That you’d like them.”
She glanced at him, more doubt than anger in her eyes. “I like flowers all right, but when a man sends a woman flowers, people think it means something.”
“It’s none of their business anyway.” He straightened. “I wanted to send flowers to a beautiful woman. So sue me.”
She stilled, head down, hair fallen forward hiding her face. He wanted to reach out and tuck those soft locks behind her ear, feel the silk of her hair on his fingers and see if he could read her thoughts in her eyes. “Thanks, but you didn’t have to do that,” she said after a moment. “It’s not like you have to, you know, court me or anything.”
He almost laughed at the old-fashioned word. “Oh, I don’t know. Don’t you think every woman wants a little wooing?” Unable to resist any longer, he did reach forward and tuck her hair behind her ear. It was just as soft as he remembered. He imagined how it would feel wrapped around him and had to back away and shake his head to rid himself of the image. They had a long night ahead. He couldn’t let things get out of hand too soon.
He walked her to her car, then trailed her in his truck as she drove to her apartment. When they arrived, he silently followed her up the stairs, enjoying the sway of her hips as she took each step. He took her keys from her and opened the door, heart pounding. Calm down, he reminded himself. This ain’t your first rodeo, after all.
One look at her apartment and he was effectively distracted. It looked like the inside of one of those lingerie shops in the mall—there was pink everywhere, and flowers and lace. Little gold and white knickknacks. Mirrors and paintings in fancy gilt frames. He stared at the leather-clad woman in front of him. “Are we in the right place?” he asked.
“Very funny.” She strode past him into the room, flicking on lights. “You want a drink?”
“I’ll take a beer if you’ve got one.”
He leaned against the kitchen counter and watched her move about the room. The wallpaper in here was pink pinstripes, and a picture of a kitten in a chef’s hat hung over the stove. He nodded to the cat. “You can’t blame me for being a little surprised at all this,” he said.
She took two beers from the refrigerator and opened them. “At all what?” Amazingly her expression was completely blank.
“This pink, for one thing.” He accepted one of the beers and took a long swallow. “You don’t look like a pink person.”
“So? People aren’t always what they seem.” She raised the beer to her lips.
He watched the long, smooth column of her throat as she drank. He wanted to kiss every inch of her skin, to feel her pale, slender fingers grip him the way she gripped the beer bottle. He wanted to toss aside the beers and start stripping her naked, but gave himself credit for having more style than that. “Hard day at work?” he asked.
She shrugged. “It was okay, I guess. I hired a new part-timer. A college girl.”
“Think she’ll work out?”
“Who knows?” She shook her head. “She’s kind of scary.”
Spoken by a woman who would have a fair amount of men shaking in their boots. “How so?”
“She’s just so…sure of herself. Together. Way more than I ever was at her age.”
“You seem pretty together now.”
“I’ve learned a few things along the way.” She set aside the beer and took two steps toward him. Her breasts brushed the front of his shirt and she reached for the top button.
He covered her hand with his, stopping her. “What are you doing?”
Her lips pursed in a sexy pout. “I figured it’s time we get to it.”
“No hurry.” He left his beer bottle on the counter, then brushed the back of his hand down her cheek. “We ought to spend a little time getting to know each other.”
The heavy-lidded look she gave him was guaranteed to make a man’s blood boil. Then she slid her hand down between them and squeezed the hard ridge straining his fly. He let out his breath in a rush. “I know all I need to know about you,” she said.
Any other time he might have gone for this direct approach but he didn’t intend to let her get the upper hand so quickly. He pulled her hand back up to chest level. “Hey, slow down. Don’t be so nervous.”
“I’m not nervous.”
But the flush that bloomed on her cheeks told him otherwise. He smoothed his hand down her hair. “Sure you’re nervous. Everybody’s nervous the first time.”
“You don’t look nervous.”
“I am, darlin’. I am.” He reached around to knead the back of her neck. Her muscles were as tight as guitar strings. “Close your eyes.”
She looked wary. “Why?”
“Just close them. When I’m working with a nervous horse, I might blindfold them. It takes away all the distractions, forces them to pay attention just to me.”
“I’m not a horse.” But she closed her eyes.
“No, ma’am. But you are one fine filly, just the same.” He worked his way across her back with his good hand, massaging gently, moving to her shoulders, pausing to plant a kiss in the hollow of her collarbone.
Her eyes flew open. “What are you doing?”
“All right, darlin’. You asked for it.” He pulled the bandanna from around his neck.
She stared. “What’s that for?”
“I told you, when a horse is too nervous, I blindfold it.” He refolded the bandanna, then covered her eyes and awkwardly knotted it, hampered somewhat by the cast on his wrist. He slipped a finger under it to check the fit. “Not too snug, is it?”
She shook her head. “No. What are you going to do?”
He smiled, enjoying the keen edge of desire that knifed through him at the sight of her blindfolded this way. “Trust me, darlin’.”
THERESA FOUGHT PANIC, struggling to take deep breaths. Kyle wasn’t going to hurt her. And there was something exciting about not being able to see this way. Something incredibly arousing about relying on her other senses to figure out what was going on.
His hand was a little rough, callused but gentle as he stroked her arms. He lifted her hand to his mouth and kissed her palm, the brush of his tongue on her skin sending electric sensations along her nerves.
She took another deep breath, steadying herself, but all she smelled was him. Spicy cologne and masculine sweat—a scent that screamed sex and added fuel to the heat building in her.
