Читать книгу A Seal's Touch - Tawny Weber - Страница 11

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“YOU CAN’T GO on a date with Taylor Powell looking like that.”

Ashlynn Brown, BFF and big mouth extraordinaire, sounded horrified. Cat would put it down to a dramatic personality, but while Ashlynn was definitely dramatic, she was also a makeup artist at one of the posh boutiques downtown. And ever since her family had moved down the street from Cat’s fifteen or so years ago, she’d proven time and time again that she knew way more about all things girly than Cat could ever hope to.

Or would ever want to.

Still...

“What’s wrong with the way I look?”

Cat frowned at her reflection in the dresser mirror. Instead of her usual ponytail, she’d pulled her hair back in a French braid. Her blue-and-white-checked shirt was tied at the waist, cuffed at her elbows with enough buttons open to show the slick black fabric of her tank-style swimsuit. She could only see herself from the hips up, but her knee-length, cuffed shorts should be fine.

“Is it the sandals?” she asked, inspecting the leather straps and the turquoise polish on her toes. “Should I wear skids instead?”

“The shoes are the least of the issue,” Ashlynn declared, throwing her hands in the air. “You’re going on a date. A date with the sexiest guy to ever graduate from State High. Taylor Powell.”

Ashlynn paused to give her heart a little pitty-pat.

“The oh-so-fine, wish-he-were-mine Taylor Powell. Abs-of-steel and buns-too-good-to-be-real Taylor Powell. I-wish-he’d-do-me—”

“I know who Taylor is,” Cat interrupted with a laugh. “All of that aside, he’s a friend. A good friend who needs a favor.”

“The favor being a date.”

“A fake date,” she pointed out absently as she checked her wallet. Cash, cell phone, keys. All set.

“Fine. Fake date. Whatever. It’s still a date. Going on a date with a man like Taylor Powell looking like just one of the guys is wrong. You owe it to His Hotness to look your best. No—” Ashlynn dropped her head and lifted one hand in the air “—you owe it to yourself.”

“Oh, I do, do I?” Dropping her wallet onto the purple-striped comforter, Cat settled on her bed to watch the show. Ashlynn was nothing if not entertaining when she went on these rants.

“You do. You’re living the dream.”

“You dream about dating Taylor?” Cat gave silent thanks that she’d kept her own Taylor fantasies to herself. Not that dating factored into any of them. Bonking, boinking, bouncing—they were all there, though.

“Everyone dreams about dating Taylor Powell. Women who haven’t even met the guy are dreaming about him, they just don’t know his name. Fake or not, this is a dream date. Which means you go on it looking like a woman. Not a beer buddy.”

“Hey, I’m wearing my date sandals. I even polished my toenails.”

“You always polish your toenails. That and your sexy underwear are the only signs you ever show that you’re a girl.”

“Comfy undies are a priority.”

“Cat,” Ashlynn groaned, drawing the single syllable out into three.

Cat rolled her eyes. She had no illusions about tonight. It was a favor for a friend. No different than if the two of them went to a ball game or grabbed a couple of beers after working together on his car.

“Get real, Ash. If I dress all girly in ruffles and lace—or even slutty leather—Taylor will just laugh at me. Is that anywhere on your dream list?”

“I didn’t say you should dress like a girly girl. I said like a woman. You know...a little makeup. A bikini instead of a tank suit. Maybe a dress—and before you roll your eyes, I’m not saying a ruffly one.” Ashlynn frowned. “Do you actually have slutty leather?”

“I have a leather tool belt.”

“Nah.” Her head in Cat’s closet now, Ashlynn waved that away. “That’s only sexy if you’re naked.”

Oh, the images that put in her head. Cat puffed out a breath, wondering if when he saw her naked but for a tool belt, Taylor would see her as a woman. The kind of woman he’d like to match nakedness with. Even as her practical side rolled its eyes, a little voice whispered that this was it. This was her chance to play girl to Taylor’s boy. Or better, woman to his man.

Cat was tempted. Hell, those images alone were enough to make her think crazy thoughts, to pretend that a dress would make Taylor see her as a bedtime playmate. But a dress wouldn’t hide the fact that she was about a half foot taller, a couple bra cups smaller and her blond hair way darker than Taylor’s usual type.

After all, she’d spent years studying that type.

She’d also spent years studying possibilities. So she knew that it was impossible to turn a cozy cottage into a sleek penthouse.

“How about this?” Ashlynn asked, turning from the closet with a hanger held high. On it was one of the few dresses Cat owned. Denim—her favorite go-to fabric—fell in slim lines to midcalf. The floral sweetheart bodice was held together with suede laces that matched the braided shoulder straps. “This looks good on you, it’s not frilly but it’s still feminine. You’ll be comfortable in it.”

She’d been comfortable when she’d worn it to a family reunion and to her electrician’s wedding. And while she’d felt normal in it, not as if she was wearing a costume, she’d still been hit on every time she’d worn it.

Cat frowned at the dress then at Ashlynn.

“I don’t have a bikini,” she said, looking for an out. Or her sanity, which seemed less findable.

“Don’t you have other swimsuits? What about that blue one?”

“The one Sophia got me?” Still not sure what her sister had been thinking, Cat shook her head. “I’m not wearing that in public. Besides leaving half my boobs on display, it requires a close relationship with a woman with hot wax and ripping skills.”

“High on the thighs?”

“It doesn’t touch my thighs. I swear, the legs on that suit start at my belly button. Which is just about where the top stops.” She’d return it, but she had no idea where her sister had bought the thing. Instead, it had been tucked away in the holy-hell-what-were-they-thinking drawer, along with the various pieces of sexy lingerie her sisters all figured she, as the only single one among them, must wear on a regular basis.

“Fine, I guess your suit will do. Let’s fix the rest of you.” Before Cat could blink, the other woman threw the dress on the bed, had a bag from her purse in one hand and grabbed Cat’s hand with the other.

“Come on.”

“Where?”

“Here,” Ashlynn instructed, pointing to the chair by the window with one hand while pulling out bottles and tubes. “You’re going to the beach, you want natural light.”

Natural, like the state of her face already? But Cat knew better than to argue, so she sat.

“A little tinted moisturizer, bronzer instead of blush and a subtle smoky eye. You’ll love it.”

“How do you know these things?” Cat wondered out loud as Ashlynn smoothed lotion over her face before dipping a brush into some peachy-gold-colored cream that she’d squirted on the back of her hand.

“How do you not know these things?” Her brown eyes narrowed in concentration, Ashlynn took a second to roll them. “You have all those sisters. Yet you don’t have a clue about makeup, dressing like a girl, any of that. How is that possible?”

“Rebellion,” she said, going with the easiest answer. The truth was that, to all of her sisters, being beautifully feminine was natural. They were never seen without their makeup, their hair was always carefully styled and they wore outfits, not clothes.

“You’re lucky that rebellion looks good on you. If I weren’t your best friend, I’d have a whole lot of hate for someone who puts in as little effort as you do yet always gets all the looks and leers.”

“You want a guy leering at you?”

“I didn’t say they were all guys. Now close your eyes.”

Eyes closed, Cat asked, “You’re kidding, right?”

“About the looks and leers? Nope. I can’t believe you never noticed. That’s another thing I’d hate if I didn’t like you so much. It’s as if you’re oblivious to your own appeal.”

Maybe because the only person whose look or leer she’d ever really wanted was Taylor’s.

“It’s not like I’m a sheltered virgin,” she murmured defensively as Ashlynn drew a pencil along her lash line.

“Virgin, no. Sheltered, hmm...”

“What’s that mean?” Forgetting about the weapon of makeup destruction in her friend’s hand, Cat’s eyes flew open. “I work with a crew of forty men and apprenticed with Local One as a carpenter. I’m surrounded by men whose idea of tact is to cut their four-letter-word consumption by a third instead of doubling it when I’m around. How is that sheltered?”

“You have a crew of guys who work under you—and not in a sexy way—all of whom know you’re the boss’s niece, most of whom worked for your dad when he was the boss.” Ashlynn rubbed a stubby brush along the pencil line. “You date once in a blue moon and always go out with guys who are intimidated by you.”

Before Cat could protest, Ashlynn pointed to the ceiling with a mascara wand.

“Look up. This is waterproof so don’t worry about hitting the ocean. And I’m not saying the guys you’ve dated are wimps. You have better taste than that. I’m just saying that none of them is the kind of guy to make you crazy. To make you want to do the kind of thing that you wouldn’t want on the internet—but would risk videotaping, anyway.”

Cat really wanted to deny that but she couldn’t. She just wished it didn’t make her feel so bummed, though. Was there something wrong with her that she only attracted internet-video-safe guys?

Wand held high, Ashlynn stepped back to inspect her work. She tilted her head to one side, her brown curls hitting the right shoulder. She tilted the other way, curls brushing the left.

“Lip stain instead of lipstick,” she concluded, digging into the bag. “This will last through the afternoon, through a few bouts in the sea and at least one hot kiss.”

“I’m going with Taylor,” Cat reminded her, speaking carefully so as not to move the lips being stained. “No plans to kiss.”

“Plans can change,” Ashlynn said, waggling the stain in Cat’s face. “And when they do, your lips can handle them.”

Cat pressed her lips together, wondering how they’d feel if Taylor deemed them ready. Her stomach did a little dance before she could stop it. Crazy, she told herself. She wasn’t going to be kissing Taylor on their fake date.

“What are you doing?” she asked when Ashlynn moved around the chair behind her. “Hey, that’s my braid.”

“Who wears their hair in a braid on a date?”

“Someone going to the beach,” Cat ventured with a sigh. Yet another reason why she wouldn’t be kissing Taylor. Fake date or not, she simply wasn’t girly enough to even know that braids were a dating no-no.

“You wear your hair in either a ponytail or a braid all the time. Tonight, you loosen it up.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re going out with Taylor Powell.”

“Why are you so excited about this?” Cat frowned, wishing she could touch her face. It felt normal. She dropped her bottom lip, opened her mouth wide, shifted her chin from side to side. It even moved. “You’re more excited about this than I am.”

“That’s because I’m seeing the possibilities while you’re talking yourself out of them.”

“What!” Closing her mouth so fast her teeth snapped together, Cat frowned. A part of her was relieved that she could.

“You need to spend time with a guy who isn’t intimidated by your strength. You need to have some fun, and by fun I mean with people who don’t use hammers for a living. And most of all,” Ashlynn said as she twisted pieces of Cat’s hair back while leaving the rest loose, “you need sex.”

“Sex?” Cat would have laughed if she wasn’t afraid Ashlynn might pull her hair out. “You think this date is going to net me some sex?”

A tiny bead of sweat dotted her upper lip. Cat felt as if a giant elephant was sitting on her chest, squishing out all of the air. The very idea of her and sex and Taylor in the same thought made her dizzy. A good kind of dizzy.

“Taylor Powell is a hottie and you’ve been crushing on him for years. If you feel like you look good, you’ll be more inclined to act on your crush. You act on it, you might get laid. You get laid, you’ll be able to tell me if all those rumors about Taylor’s sexual prowess are fact or fiction.”

Cat’s laughter chased away the dizziness. “Gossip?”

“I live for gossip,” Ashlynn claimed in a breathy voice as she fluffed the hair around Cat’s face. “Besides, I figure if you start having regular sex, you’ll loosen up a little. Once you loosen up, you’ll be ready for changes. You need changes.”

Cat was silent as she tried to process all of that.

“I’m not leaving Peres Construction,” she finally said. “And my chances of having sex on this date? Do a snowball and hell have any meaning to you?”

“Whatever you say.” Ashlynn tossed the brush into the bag with her makeup before gesturing to the mirror. “What do you think?”

Cat hesitated for a brief second then got to her feet. There was no point pushing. Ashlynn liked to speak her mind, but she never spoke it unless she wanted to. Cat could beat against that wall of stubbornness, but she had a date picking her up in ten minutes. Besides, the argument would be pointless. Cat wasn’t going to leave Peres Construction. And no matter what Ashlynn said, she wouldn’t be having sex with Taylor—except in her favorite dreams.

“Whoa.” She leaned closer to the mirror, then back, then close again. “I look like me. Me, only...”

Better?

“Stronger.”

Oh. Cat narrowed her eyes. Stronger was good. Her eyes looked sexy, smudged at the corners so they looked bluer. Her lips looked fuller, her cheekbones a little sharper. Instead of the weird curls she’d thought she’d have, her hair was simply full, soft, waving around her face in a dark gold cloud.

Okay. She wasn’t leaving Peres Construction.

But maybe she and the snowball would both get lucky.

* * *

TENSION THROBBED, LOW and ugly, at the base of Taylor’s neck, the roar of his Harley not doing its usual job of massaging it away.

He shouldn’t have gone by to check on Mouse. Definitely not while the guy was on duty. That dumb-ass move had only shaken Bertowski; Taylor had seen it on the other man’s face. His own lame-ass worry had put the other man off his stride, had probably done more harm than the damned mission itself. He’d claimed he was just there to invite Mouse to join them at the beach, that they could all use a break. Mouse had brushed him off like a bad habit.

So Taylor had done the only thing he could. He’d shoved his worries back into their corner of his mind, slammed the door on it and got on with the day.

He hadn’t lied, though. Nothing said relaxation like a day at the beach. Maybe the sun would relax the stress out of his head better than the bike had worn away at his tension.

And nothing guaranteed a relaxing day at the beach than an ace in the hole. Taylor pulled into Cat’s driveway, ready to pick up his ace and get the day started. If nothing else, Cat would be one hell of a fun distraction.

He’d only been here once, back when he’d been corralled into helping Cat move in. But it was easy to see that the carpenter fairy had been working her magic. The cracked driveway had been repaved with a stamped cobblestone design. She hadn’t replaced the overgrowth of dead plants, tree stumps or parched crabgrass that had passed for a yard the last time he was here, but she had cleared them away.

It was hard to picture Cat here, he thought as he leaned on the doorbell. This was a grown-up place. Whenever he’d thought about Cat over the years, he’d always pictured the skinned-knee kid in cutoff overalls with grease on her chin. She’d been a cute kid. Smart and funny.

Despite that image, he knew he could count on her. He trusted few in the same way he trusted his team. But he trusted Cat.

She was that kind of friend.

Before he could wonder where his friend was, the door swung open.

“Hi there, Taylor.”

“Ashlynn?” He smiled once he’d placed her. The bubbly brunette had moved into the house three doors down from his mom’s fourteen, fifteen years back. “How’ve you been?”

“Doing good but running late. Cat’s almost ready. Why don’t you go on inside?” Ashlynn said, giving him a hug and heading down the sidewalk like a brunette whirlwind.

Wondering if the woman ever slowed down, Taylor was grinning as he strode into Cat’s place.

Whoa. Impressed, he looked around. He remembered the place as a hive of small, dark rooms covered in ugly flowered wallpaper and stained carpet.

She’d opened it up. The walls were pale blue trimmed in glossy white with floor-to-ceiling windows facing the back. The furniture looked Scandinavian with blond wood, sleek curves and narrow lines. Books leaned against each other in the bookcase. A pair of work boots lay under the coffee table and another pair was tucked in the corner, along with a baseball bat and glove. The dining table had the inner workings of what looked like a toaster spread over newspaper and a half dozen rolls of blueprints on top. And, proving that Cat was a smart woman with great taste, a big-screen TV covered one wall.

He’d never really considered Cat’s decorating style, but he wasn’t surprised to find her taste ran to the simple and bright. As he wandered over to check out the view of the backyard, Cat stepped into the room, her scent, light and fresh, arriving a second ahead of her.

Taylor turned to say hi but he couldn’t get the word passed the knot in his throat.

Was that really Cat?

“Hey, Taylor.”

It was Cat’s voice, the husky timbre easy and cheerful.

But the rest?

A sexy goddess stood in the doorway, hair flowing like molten gold over strong shoulders, framing a face he’d known for years and suddenly didn’t know at all.

The Cat he knew had blue eyes, yeah. But not sultry eyes framed by lush black lashes.

The Cat he knew had a wide smile and a cute overbite, but he’d never noticed her full, pouty pink lips before.

And the Cat he knew might be a woman, but he’d never—not in the twenty years he’d known her—seen her in a dress. If he had ever stretched his imagination far enough to think of her in one—which he hadn’t—he wouldn’t have imagined her in a clinging sundress with a laced-up bodice. As baffling as Cat and sexy was in his head, Cat and laces was even weirder.

Laces were meant to be unlaced. They were a sexy invitation, an alluring dare.

Both of which he needed to ignore.

But weird or not, the dress suited her. The denim hugged her chest and a surprisingly tiny waist before dropping in an easy line down her hips to midcalf. Instead of the work boots or tennis shoes he’d always seen her in, she was wearing strappy brown sandals.

Her toenails were turquoise.

Taylor stared at her toenails for a long moment, trying to figure out why that, of all the changes, threw him the most.

Where the hell was the Cat he knew? The sweet, unobtrusive tomboy with the sassy ponytail. The easygoing girl next door whom he never actually thought of as a real girl. The unthreateningly unsexy, unassuming friend he’d planned to use as a diversion.

“Taylor?” Cat asked, prodding him with a fist to the shoulder. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” He cleared his throat. “Fine. We’re on the bike, though.”

“Will this fit?” Cat lifted the small canvas cooler off the table. “I’ve got bungee cords if you’re willing to strap it onto the back of the bike. Or I can hold it if you’re picky about what touches your chrome.”

He was more picky about who touched his chrome than what touched it.

Not what she meant, he told himself. Cat didn’t flirt and he was damned sure she wouldn’t appreciate him imagining her polishing his pole.

“You cooked?” he asked, hoping for a distraction.

“As if.” Cat laughed, pushing one hand through those long, loose curls. “I raided my mom’s freezer for cannoli and the cookie jar for biscotti. Dessert.”

Dessert. Taylor didn’t have much of a sweet tooth but he was suddenly starving for whatever Cat had.

In the bag, he mentally corrected. He was starving for what was in the bag.

“Taylor?” she said slowly, the tone both puzzled and amused. As if she knew he was confused and liked it.

“Dessert sounds good. Bring the bungee cords. You’ll be more comfortable that way.” He frowned. Then, unable to resist, added, “Maybe you should change.”

Of their own volition, his eyes dropped to her chest again, appreciating the way the delicately flowered cotton fabric cupped the gentle swell of her breasts. His fingers tingled with the need to reach out and skim over the softly tanned flesh, to untie the slender leather bow lacing the corset-styled bodice closed.

“Change?” Cat echoed, frowning down at herself. Her hands skimmed from waist to hips, folding the material against her body in a way that made Taylor want to groan. “Is there something wrong with this dress? Is it too fancy? Too casual? Too what?”

Too damned sexy.

“I’ve got my bike,” was all he said.

“No problem.” She shrugged before gathering the skirt in both hands and lifting it higher. Not high enough to show anything interesting, though. “I’m wearing my swimsuit underneath, and this skirt is full enough that I can straddle the bike.”

The word straddle sent myriad images through his mind, but Taylor shoved them right back out. He had no business thinking about Cat rising naked over his body as she straddled him. She was his friend. His younger friend. The daughter of his mother’s best friend, even.

Any one of those put her off-limits.

The three combined put her on the no-fly list.

“Let’s get going,” he said, jerking his head toward the door. A strong man, he used his training to keep his eyes off her butt as she walked in front of him.

This was good. Better than good, he told himself with a scowl. Cat looking hot would make a better impression on the ladies, if only because she was exactly the type they’d all try to hook him up with. Sexy and good-looking but sweet with a big helping of nice.

As long as he stayed focused on the nice and not the swing of her hips, everything would be fine.

“No purse?” he asked, realizing its absence when they reached the bike.

“Purse?” Cat laughed. “I don’t even own one.”

And there she was. The Cat he knew. As much to shake off the edgy need that had grabbed him by surprise as to play along, Taylor gave an exaggerated shake of his head.

“Seriously? Where’d you hide all that stuff women can’t leave home without?”

He automatically looked her up and down. Big mistake, since the visual tour made his fingers tingle again. What kind of swimsuit was she wearing under there? Bikini? One of those one-pieces cut high on the thigh and, his eyes lingered on the hint of cleavage, cut low to show her breasts?

“I have pockets,” Cat said, tucking her hands into them to prove it. She pulled her keys out of one pocket, a small leather wallet and her cell phone out of the other. “Everything I need.”

“You’re one of a kind, Kitty Cat.” Taylor grinned. “One of a kind.”

“Much to my mother’s dismay.” She gave an admiring nod at the bike. “When did you get this?”

“Couple of months ago. We can take your truck instead if you’re worried about your hair.”

Cat laughed.

“You’re kidding, right?” She pulled a band off her wrist that he’d taken for a bracelet. “I’m always prepared.”

“Still mad they wouldn’t let you into the Boy Scouts?”

“You know it.” As she spoke, she made quick work of pulling her hair back. Her fingers flew as she formed a braid. With both hands behind her head, her movements did the most intriguing things to that dress.

Didn’t matter, Taylor reminded himself. What was going on underneath was none of his business.

“Helmet,” he said, handing her his spare.

“Any last-minute instructions?” she asked once she’d put it on and mounted the bike.

“Be yourself. Have fun. And—” he yanked on his helmet and swung his leg over the bike “—pretend we’re dating.”

Emphasis on “pretend.”

Taylor kick-started the engine. He’d figured he’d have to play it up a little. But now all he’d have to do was show up with Cat looking the way she did and the ladies would fill in all of those “pretend” details.

And he’d be off the matchmaking hook.

She wrapped herself around his back, her thighs hugging his and her body pressed in temptation against him.

He’d just have to make sure he didn’t end up on any other hooks.

Especially not hooks that could ruin a lifelong friendship.