Читать книгу Good, Bad...Better - Cindi Myers, Cindi Myers - Страница 8

AT FIRST, THERESA COULDN’T believe what this chick was asking her. “I want you to help me create a new image,” Jen said. “I’m ready for a big change.”

She would have laughed out loud if the blonde hadn’t looked so serious. In fact, ever since Theresa had returned from lunch and Jen had followed her into the back room of the shop, Jen had acted like she was on a mission of life or death. “So why are you asking me for help? You’re the only one who can know what you really want.”

Jen nodded. “That’s true. But I don’t have any idea where to begin. Where to shop. What really goes together and what just looks like I’m trying too hard.”

“And I look like a fashion expert?” Theresa glanced down at her everyday outfit of jeans and leather top. Call it biker chic. “What kind of a look are you going for?”

“Something…a little daring. Sexy.” A sly smile stole over her face. “Maybe even a little dangerous.”

Theresa chewed the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing. Dangerous? With all that long, blond hair and those cute little pink tights, Jen looked as though she ought to be on the cover of All American Girl or Cheerleaders Monthly. She practically oozed wholesomeness.

Then again, something about her had really gotten to Zach. He’d been pretty shook up while she was here yesterday. Too shook up to do her tat. All he’d said when he’d come into the back room was, “There’s a woman out front who wants this tattoo.” He’d handed her the sketch of the calla lily. “I’ve got her prepped. You just need to finish her up.”

She had looked up from the supply order she’d been unpacking, surprised at the unusual request. Zach always finished the tats he started. “If you’ve got her prepped, why don’t you finish her?”

He’d avoided her eyes. “I just think she’d be, you know, more comfortable with a woman working on her.”

She’d seen through that pretty quickly. What he really meant was that Zach would be more comfortable with Theresa doing this particular tattoo for this particular customer.

Yeah, blondie here had gotten to her brother in a big way. So maybe she did have a hidden sex appeal not obvious to another woman. Who would have thought?

“Why the sudden urge to change your look?”

Jen flushed, which only put more peaches in that peaches-and-cream complexion. Just looking at her made Theresa want to run to the ladies’ room and put on more eyeliner and red lipstick.

“You offered me a card for the woman who sold you that vest you had on yesterday, so I figured you probably know other cool places to shop. As for why now…” She shrugged. “I’ve always admired sexy things. Now that I have a cool tattoo, maybe I can pull off the look.”

“And that’s all there is to it? This has nothing to do with my brother?”

Jen’s blush deepened. “Nothing. What makes you think this has anything to do with Zach?”

“Maybe because the two of you couldn’t keep your eyes off each other when you were in here yesterday.”

Jen looked away. “Yeah, well, I know he’s your brother, so maybe you hadn’t noticed, but he’s really hot.”

“Apparently so, if all the women hanging around here are a clue.”

Jen’s face fell. Really, she was so transparent. “Does he have lots of girlfriends?”

Theresa did laugh then. “Not exactly. Lots of women who’d like to get him in the sack, but, believe it or not, he’s pretty picky.” She couldn’t remember the last time Zach had had what you could call a steady relationship. Not that they stuck their noses in each other’s business, but she had to think the whole “lone wolf” routine got old. Zach was a really nice guy. He deserved a woman who could look past the leather and chains and see that.

But was Little Miss Muffet here that woman? “He had some kind of reaction to you yesterday. He’s never asked me to finish a tat for him before.”

“Really? I mean, not that that means anything. Does it?”

Good question. Could it be that her brother, a Harley-riding, leather-wearing, long-haired dude with a badass attitude, had fallen for this poster child for sweetness and light?

The idea would be ludicrous if it weren’t so intriguing. Maybe what her badass bro really needed in his life was a little more sweetness and light. The trick was to deliver all this wholesome goodness in a package he couldn’t possibly resist.

“What are you willing to do to change your image?” she asked.

“Anything,” Jen said. “Well…within reason.”

“My idea of reason and yours may not be the same.”

Jen smiled, and her eyes lit with unexpected mischief. “That’s exactly why I came to you.” She leaned forward, her tone confidential. “I need a little help bringing out my wilder side. I was hoping you could give me a few pointers.”

Miss White-Bread America had a wild side? This, Theresa had to see. She grabbed up her purse and slung it over her shoulder. “All right, you’ve convinced me. I’ll help you get started, but the rest is up to you.”

“It’s a deal. And thank you.”

“Wait and see what happens before you thank me. Are you ready?”

Jen nodded eagerly. “I don’t want to waste any more time.”

“Then come with me.” She headed toward the door.

“Where are we going?”

“We’re going shopping. We’re going to discover if there really is a wild woman hiding inside that mild-mannered disguise of yours.”

ZACH WAS TICKED OFF WHEN Theresa left the shop almost as soon as she was back from lunch, dragging Jen with her. “Since when did shopping constitute an emergency?” he asked Scott.

“That’s just chicks for you.” Having sent the coed on her way, he was kicked back in the tattoo chair with a magazine.

This wasn’t just any chick they were talking about. This was his sister, who was referred to in certain circles as the Black Widow because of her take-no-prisoners approach to relationships. How was it that she was suddenly best buddies with a woman who had probably been her high school’s homecoming queen?

Not that he cared who Theresa had as a friend, but the thought of seeing Jen Truitt around here on a regular basis didn’t sit well. Not only did she play hell with his concentration, but wherever she went, her überconservative father couldn’t be far behind.

So, yeah, he’d been annoyed. But now, four hours later, he was inching toward furious. The shop had been busy all afternoon, and after Scott had left for his second job as a bartender, Zach had had to handle the crush by himself, while Theresa and Jen were out doing who knows what.

No way would two men spend four hours—or even four minutes—shopping. Drinking beer, playing pool, watching the game—those were all possibilities. But only a woman would think cruising the mall was fun.

The bell over the door sounded and he looked up, about to tell the newcomer he was closed, but he clamped his mouth shut when he saw Theresa and Jen, their arms laden with boxes and shopping bags. “Wait until you see what we got,” Theresa said, dropping her pile of purchases on the counter in front of him.

That was another thing—why did women always want to show you what they’d bought? As if he was interested in seeing five pairs of shoes and a “darling” skirt.

“I don’t want to see what you bought. Where have you been? The shop has been swamped all afternoon.”

“So if you and Scott couldn’t handle it, you should have told people to come back tomorrow.”

That was Theresa. Her motto was No Apologies. She added Jen’s bags to the pile on the counter. “Ignore my grumpy brother,” she told the blonde. “Or, better yet, you talk to him while I run to the back for a minute.”

When they were alone, Jen said nothing at first, just looked at him with those luminous gray eyes. He glared back at her, but she didn’t even flinch. In fact, she smiled, a look as warm and sweet as hot fudge. Who stood a chance against a smile like that?

“The tat you drew for me is so gorgeous I wanted to get some new clothes to show it off,” she said. She reached into one of the bags on the counter and pulled out a froth of red satin and lace. She held the impossibly tiny top up in front of her. “What do you think?”

He stared at the swath of red draped across her breasts and thought he was in serious danger of melt-down. “Is that supposed to be a top or underwear?”

“It’s a top. But I have underwear, too.” Before he could stop her, she reached into another bag and pulled out a pair of white satin bikinis. Very tiny bikinis with bows at the sides. He had a sudden vision of his hand sliding up her thigh to take these same panties off.

He made a fist. He was going to have to do something about this overactive imagination of his. “What makes you think I’m interested in seeing your underwear?” he growled.

She flushed. “I never said you were.” She peered at him through slightly lowered lashes. “Are you?” Her words were innocent, yet the look in her eyes was anything but. She met his gaze full-on, and let him know she was on to him. The heat that passed between them was enough to scorch paper, and only his own well developed sense of self-preservation kept him from leaning across the counter and crushing her to him.

“What kind of a game are you playing?” he demanded.

She blinked. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, I didn’t even know you yesterday and now you’re showing me your underwear.” He crumpled up the pair of panties, intending to throw them back at her. The silk slid through his fingers, cool and sensuous. It felt like the skin of her breast, where he’d touched her yesterday.

“I just wanted to get your attention,” she said.

“Why?” Why would a woman like her look twice at a man like him? Why wasn’t she chasing after some all-American banker from the right side of town? Someone who fit into her bland, middle-class world better?

She leaned across the counter, toward him, her eyes still locked to his. But now there was a softness in her expression he hadn’t seen before. “Because I like you, Zach. I want to get to know you better.”

He wanted to get to know her better, too. A lot better. But only in a physical sense. He wasn’t about to let this woman mess with his head.

“Didn’t your parents ever tell you not to play with fire?” he asked.

“They did.” Her voice was soft, seductive. “But then, I’ve decided to stop listening.”

“You’d better listen now.” The words came out as a growl. “Go back and play in your nice, safe neighborhood before you end up in big trouble.”

She gathered up her purchases and smiled at him. “I don’t know, Zach. You might be the one in trouble. When I really want something, I don’t let anything stop me.”

She turned and walked out of the shop, her hips swaying, her laughter drifting after her and settling over his senses like a caress. He clamped his mouth shut to keep from calling after her. Jen Truitt was danger with a capital D. Not because of her dad. Not because she was such a seeming innocent. No, the reason Jen Truitt made his stomach knot and his palms sweat was because whenever those eyes of hers looked at him, he had a feeling she was seeing things he didn’t want people to see—the stuff inside him he kept to himself. If people didn’t know the real you, then they couldn’t hurt you, could they?

But Jen—Jen might be one who could hurt him. Down deep, where it counts.

TELLING THERESA IT WAS payback time, Zach took off work early and headed to his favorite brewpub for dinner. A different kind of hunger nagged at him—one that wouldn’t be satisfied with a burger and brew. The feel of Jen’s silk underwear sliding through his fingers still haunted him, conjuring up erotic images of the two of them naked.

Why her? He liked women who were more unconventional. Women who didn’t care for others’ opinions any more than he did. Women who didn’t demand too much of a man.

But Jen Truitt would demand a lot, he was sure of it. Women like her—upper-crust, pampered, who had had life handed to them on a plate—expected a man to come running whenever they crooked a finger.

He definitely wasn’t that kind of man.

The waitress, Candy, came to take his order. She put one hand on his shoulder and leaned toward him, giving him the full effect of her tight, low-cut T-shirt. “How’s my favorite tattoo artist?” she asked, flashing a hundred-watt smile.

“Better now that you’re here.” He looked her up and down. Candy was more his type. You didn’t have to worry about complications with a woman like her. She took what she wanted and trusted you to do the same, with no keeping score or expecting anything permanent.

“I get off in a couple hours.” She trailed her fingers along the back of his neck. “Want to give me a ride home?”

He tried the idea out in his head. Candy would provide a welcome distraction from his current worries, not to mention relief from the hard-on he’d been walking around with for two days. But the prospect didn’t do anything for him. “Thanks, sugar, but I think I’ll have to pass.” He handed her the menu. “Just bring me a guacamole burger and fries.”

She straightened, disappointment clear on her face. “You want a beer with that?”

“Just a Coke. I’ll probably help Theresa close up tonight.” Not that one beer would affect him much, but the last thing you needed when faced with an intricate tat was any kind of buzz.

One burger and half a dozen suggestive hints from Candy later, he left a fat tip and walked back out to his bike. Maybe he’d take a ride around the lake to clear his head before he went back to the shop. It would serve Theresa right to have to handle things by herself a while longer. But as he was reaching for his helmet, a voice behind him said, “Jacobs, I want to talk to you.”

His already bad mood got darker when he turned and saw Police Chief Grant Truitt. A big man with an even bigger opinion of himself, Truitt stood with his arms crossed over his chest, his thick, gray brows drawn together in a scowl.

“If I’d known you were waiting, I’d have ordered dessert,” Zach said.

Truitt moved to stand beside him. “Have you been drinking?”

“No.” He managed to sound unconcerned, though inside he seethed. He shoved the helmet onto his head.

Truitt’s scowl deepened. “Care to take a Breathalyzer test?”

“Why waste the taxpayers’ money? Ask my waitress if you don’t believe me.” He swung his leg over the bike and settled onto the seat.

“You can’t leave when I’m talking to you,” Truitt barked.

“Watch me.” He turned the key, and the Harley’s engine roared to life.

Truitt stepped off the curb, directly in front of the bike. Zach wouldn’t be able to move without running him down. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Zach shouted.

Truitt shook his head. “Shut off the bike!”

Zach switched off the engine. “What’s your problem, Truitt?”

“I came here to talk to you about Jennifer.”

He’d known as much, but even so, the sound of her name made his stomach tighten. “What about her?”

“Stay away from her.”

Gladly, he thought, but he wouldn’t ever give Truitt the satisfaction of thinking he agreed with him. “I think it’s up to her to decide whether or not she wants me to stay away.”

“You listen here!” Truitt grabbed him by the arm.

Choking on rage, Zach tried to jerk away, but Truitt held him tight. How long would they throw him in jail for if he struck an officer? he wondered. And what would they do to him while he was there? Oh, but it was so tempting.

Zach’s gaze burned into the older man’s gray eyes. Eyes the same shade as Jen’s, but harder, colder. “I think you’re out of line, Chief.”

Truitt released him and took a step back, as if he, too, was struggling to control his emotions. “I’m not here as an officer of the law. I’m here as Jennifer’s father. Jennifer is a good girl. She’s smart and talented. You don’t have anything to offer her.”

Right. He was just a long-haired troublemaker. Somebody Truitt and his kind wouldn’t hire to carry out the trash. He forced his lips into a menacing grin. “Maybe she’s not interested in my brains or talent. At least, not my artistic ones.”

Truitt reddened. “Look, Jacobs, I don’t want my daughter having anything to do with a loser like you.”

“What do you know about me except what you’ve made up in your head?” Zach had dealt with people like this all his life. If you weren’t just like them—dressing like them, acting like them, thinking like them—then you were automatically the enemy.

“I know everything I need to know about you. And I’m telling you—stay away from her.”

“If you want your daughter to stay away from me, why don’t you talk to her?”

Truitt’s self-righteousness slipped for half a second before he fit it firmly back into place. “Jennifer resents my interfering in her personal life.”

“News flash, Chief, so do I. So don’t waste your time. Jen’s a grown woman. Why don’t you treat her like one?”

“How dare you—”

Zach didn’t hear whatever else Truitt had to say. He shoved the bike back, then cranked the engine and roared forward, narrowly missing the police chief as he jumped for the curb. He laughed at the image in his rearview mirror of Truitt shouting at him. But the laughter didn’t last long. He knew Truitt hadn’t been joking when he’d said he’d do anything to keep Zach away from Jen.

So what should he do? Should he let Truitt think he had the upper hand? Or show the police chief that nobody pushed Zach Jacobs around?

“THERE’S A STRANGE MAN out in the parking lot.” Analese, Jen’s fellow dance teacher, whispered this news while they were in the dressing room changing to go home after the last class Wednesday evening.

“What do you mean, ‘strange’?” Jen asked.

“He’s just sitting out there on this big motorcycle, watching the door.” Analese stood on tiptoe to see out the high dressing-room window. “He looks dangerous. Maybe we should call the police.”

Jen joined her by the window. Beneath the pinkish glow of the mercury-vapor light sat a man dressed in black leather, on a gleaming black and silver bike. Her breath caught and her heart did a tap routine against her rib cage as she recognized Zach. “D-don’t call the cops,” she said. “It’s okay. I know him.”

“You know a man who looks like that?” Analese’s eyes widened. “Since when?”

“Um, he’s the guy who did my tattoo.”

Analese’s gaze flickered to the tattoo showing at the neckline of the gauzy peasant blouse Jen had put on. “Tattoos? Men on motorcycles? Aren’t you a little young to be having a midlife crisis?”

Jen laughed. “Maybe the real me is finally coming out.”

Analese looked back out the window. “If the real you hangs out with men like that, then I wish I was staying in town so you could introduce me to his friends. I could use a fling with a hottie like that.”

“Right. Like you’re going to give up a chance to tour with a theater company to meet men.” Analese had landed a primo spot dancing in a touring company of Annie, Get Your Gun. In fact, she was the one who’d encouraged Jen to try for a place with Razzin’!.

“Well, you two go on and have fun. I’ll finish locking up here.” The two friends said good-night and Jen picked up her dance bag and headed out the door to the parking lot. She told herself not to hurry, to walk slowly and remain calm and composed. But her heart pounded as if she’d just performed a frantic jazz routine, and it was all she could do not to break into a run. Though whether she’d run toward Zach or away from him, she couldn’t say.

She stopped in front of him, trying to read his face for some clue as to why he was here. But his expression was solemn, unrevealing. “Zach, what are you doing here?” she asked.

He reached behind him and handed her a helmet. “Let’s go for a ride.”

It was a command, not a request. She bristled, wanting to tell him no. But curiosity got the better of her and she took the helmet from him. “Okay.”

He helped her strap her bag onto the back of the bike and showed her where to put her feet. She fastened the helmet and climbed on.

The bike rumbled to life beneath them, a loud, growling beast that both thrilled and frightened her. When they began to move forward, it seemed the most natural thing in the world to put her arms around Zach and lean into him.

He smelled of leather and ink and warm male, an intoxicating mix of scents no cologne could ever capture. She closed her eyes and leaned her cheek against his back and inhaled deeply while the world flew past them.

She’d never been on a motorcycle before, but she decided she liked it. The rumble and throb of the engine between her legs was surprisingly erotic, and the feel of her body against Zach’s aroused her further.

She eased her arms all the way around him, pressing her breasts into his back. He stiffened, and she grinned as she realized she could do whatever she wanted to him now and he’d have little recourse, as long as the bike was moving.

She eased closer still, her legs spread wide, the leather of his pants soft against her inner thighs, the heat of his body seeping into her. He clamped one hand over her wrist, his fingers tightening, but she only smiled and squeezed her thighs against his.

He shifted, leaning into a turn, and she stifled a moan, wishing she could be closer still. If simply riding behind him on a motorcycle had her this wet and aching, what would it be like to make love with him?

The audacity of the idea startled her. “Good girl” Jen would have never dared to imagine such a thing. But now, the thought of her and Zach together sent an illicit thrill through her. Why shouldn’t she see where this attraction she and Zach had for each other took them? Not in a childish attempt to get back at her father, but because she was an adult woman who had finally found a man she really wanted.

They rode to Town Lake, to the park at Auditorium Shores. He parked the bike near the gazebo and shut off the engine. They sat for a moment, her body still snugged to his, listening to the sounds of traffic up on the highway, distant laughter from boats on the lake and the rasp of their own heavy breathing. Just when she thought she couldn’t stand it anymore, he grasped her wrists and gently pushed her away. “Let’s take a walk,” he said.

Fearful her jelly legs wouldn’t carry her far, she managed to climb off the bike and remove the helmet. Zach did the same, then led the way down the path. She frowned at his back, wondering if this caveman routine had a point. Then she shrugged and followed him.

The trail led through a tunnel of oaks before following the lakeshore. Lights from tour boats and the occasional lone sculler shone across the water, and surfacing fish made ripples across the otherwise still surface.

“Why did you come to see me tonight?” she asked when they’d walked about a quarter of a mile.

“Your father was waiting for me when I came out of the brewpub after supper.” He glanced at her. “He warned me to stay away from you.”

Mingled hurt and anger tasted bitter in the back of her throat. “I’m sorry. What did he say, exactly?”

“He said he didn’t want you to have anything to do with a loser like me.”

The words were sharp and painful as a slap. “How dare he call you a loser!”

“I don’t know. By his standards, that’s exactly what I am.” He turned away, walking faster.

She ran to catch up to him and grabbed his hand. “Stop.”

He slowed, then halted and turned to face her. “What? You don’t have to apologize or make excuses for your father. I just wanted you to know what he did.”

“I know.” She kept hold of his hand, half-afraid at any moment he’d leave her here, before she could do or say everything she wanted. She opened her mouth to speak, but the sight of his shadowed face, his dark eyes fixed on her, stole her words away. All she could do was let feeling take over. Standing on tiptoe, she slipped her arms around him and put her mouth on his.

For a man who looked so hard, his lips were soft. Soft and warm and skillful. For one-hundredth of a second, he froze, absolutely still. Then his arms went around her, crushing her to him. His mouth was firm and insistent, his tongue teasing, tasting, claiming her the way an explorer claims new territory.

She felt seared by that kiss, all trivialities burned away, reduced to elemental need and longing. She arched against him and he nudged her legs apart, guiding his thigh between hers.

It was all she could do not to rub shamelessly against him, to ease the ache building inside her. And all the while, he continued to make love to her with his mouth, building the fire inside her.

She didn’t know how long they stood there, lost to passion and need. He was the first to break away. He raised his head and shook it, like a man recovering from a blow. Looking dazed, he stared down at her. She sagged in his arms, the taste of him still in her mouth, the feel of his beard stubble still rough on her skin.

“What are you doing?” he asked. He stepped back, but kept hold of her. Otherwise, she might have slid to the ground, her trembling legs too weak to hold her up.

She managed a shaky smile. “I’m doing what I want. Being selfish for a change.”

He wiped his hand across his mouth. “You can’t be serious.”

“I am.” She reached for him again, but he stepped back.

“Why? Let’s face it, I’m not really your type.”

She frowned. “What do you think is my type?”

“I don’t know. Some guy who wears a suit and works in an office and drives a Beemer.”

She made a face. “Somebody boring.”

“Somebody safe.”

“Maybe I’m tired of being safe!” She shoved him back, away from her. Couldn’t he, of all people, understand that? “Maybe I want a little danger in my life.”

“Then take up skydiving.”

She didn’t even realize she’d put her hand up to cover her tattoo until she noticed him staring at it. She flushed.

“I get it,” he said. “You’re still trying to get your old man to take off the cuffs and let you go to Chicago to join that dance troupe.” He nodded. “If he thinks we’re together, he might decide sending you away is better than having you stay here with me.”

She raised her chin. “That’s one possibility. Another is that he’ll realize I’m determined to live my own life, whether or not I have his approval.”

“Then maybe he’s mad enough to see to it you’re kicked out of the dance troupe.”

She shoved down the doubt that threatened to overtake her. “I guess that’s a chance I’m willing to take.”

“Right.” His voice was scornful. “I can tell you’re a big risk taker.”

His eyes burned into her, daring her to deny the truth. That was the trouble with truth, though—everyone had their own version. Her father had his and Zach had his. And then there was her version—different because she didn’t necessarily believe she had to be, or act, the way they saw her.

Fine. If he wanted truth, she’d give it to him. “There’s another reason I want to…to be with you. A more personal reason.”

He was silent, waiting, so she took a deep breath and continued. “That first day in your shop, when I said I wasn’t a virgin, that wasn’t exactly true.”

“I don’t want to hear this.” He turned and started to walk away.

She lunged forward and caught his arm. “No, wait. I mean, I’m not really a virgin. I have had sex. Just not great sex.”

Was that a trick of light, or was he trying not to smile? “You think with me you’ll have great sex? I’m flattered.”