him before that he was charming. He only hoped Theresa agreed. “I think I could make things interesting…for both of us.”
“Aw, come on. Are you two going to sit there making goo-goo eyes at each other, or are you gonna finish my tattoo?”
George’s whine effectively broke whatever had been building between them. Lips pressed together in a thin line, Theresa bandaged George’s arm and gave him a list of instructions for caring for his tattoo.
While George paid his bill, Kyle looked around. A sign by the cash register announced the hours of business as eleven to eleven weekdays. That meant he had about ten hours to kill before he could make his next move.
2
THERESA CHECKED HER WATCH as she turned the key in the dead bolt of the shop. Almost midnight. Time for Cinderella to turn back into a scullery maid. Time for her to head home.
To what? Not even a cat waited for her at her apartment. No one would call to make sure she’d arrived safely. No one would ask about her day or be ready to keep her company in bed.
She’d never minded her solitary life before. She had friends, and though she hadn’t had a serious relationship with a man in years, she hadn’t really wanted one. She never lacked for companionship whenever she was interested. But since Zach had moved away, there was no one she was really close to.
Suddenly the last place she wanted to be was that empty apartment. She turned in the opposite direction from the lot where she’d parked her car and headed back up East Sixth.
At this hour the protestors were gone, but the crowds were thin even for a weeknight. How much of this was due to Clean Carter’s campaign? What would happen to the businesses on the street if this kept up?
She was probably worrying over nothing. She’d grab a bite to eat, wind down a little, then head home. A good night’s sleep would pull her out of the bad mood she’d been in all day.
She pushed open the door to the Library Bar and went inside. “Hey, Pete.” She greeted the bartender and took a seat at the bar. “Any pizza left?”
“Couple of slices.” Pete took a glass from over his head and filled it with ice. “Diet Coke?”
“Yeah. And a slice of pizza.” She looked around the room. Two couples occupied tables across the room and three college-age guys sat at the other end of the bar watching a television with the sound turned down.
“Quiet in here tonight,” she said as he set the drink in front of her.
“It’s been quiet in here a lot of nights lately. People don’t want to deal with being hassled by a bunch of sign-waving, pamphlet-pushing busybodies. What about at your place?”
She shrugged. She’d had less than a dozen customers all day, all regulars except for George and Kyle.
She shifted, trying to get more comfortable on the hard bar stool. She’d been thinking about Kyle off and on all day. She couldn’t remember the last time a man had gotten her attention the way the handsome cowboy had.
Some of her friends had accused her of being too picky; she preferred to think of it as particular. If she was going to spend her time and energy on a man, she wanted to be sure he was worth the trouble.
Kyle had definitely sparked her interest. He had a cocky self-assurance that challenged her to tame him and enough of a sense of humor to hint at fun along the way. In her experience, the combination could be incendiary in bed—and impossible out of it.
Pete delivered her pizza and she began to eat. As she chewed, she couldn’t help thinking that a dinner that was the equivalent of rubbery cheese on cardboard was a sure sign of a miserable social life.
“You don’t look like you’re enjoying that much.”
Startled, she dropped the half-eaten pizza slice and stared at the man who’d slid onto the bar stool next to her. “What are you doing here?”
Kyle tilted his hat back on his head. “I’m looking for you.”
Whatever appetite she’d had deserted her at those four words. She pushed her plate away and took a long drink, careful not to look at him, though she could feel his gaze burning into her. “Why would you be looking for me?”
She waited for some flirty or suggestive answer, but he remained silent. She held out for a full minute, but after that she had to look at him. He wasn’t smiling—in fact, he looked far too serious.
Pete approached. “What can I get you?”
“Bourbon and Coke.” Kyle turned to Theresa. “Do you want anything else?”
She shook her head. What she wanted was to get out of here. Away from him and the shaky, unsettled way he made her feel.
“How long have you been a tattoo artist?” he asked.
The very ordinariness of the question surprised her. No innuendo or playfulness, just ordinary conversation. What was he up to? She shifted slightly away from him and stirred her drink with the straw. “About seven years now. I apprenticed a couple years before that.”
“Uh-huh. I’ve been on the rodeo circuit ten years. A long time to be smelling horse shit and wrestling ornery cows.”
“If you don’t enjoy it anymore, why don’t you quit?”
He nodded. “I’ve been thinking about that. But I don’t see a lot of other options. It’s what I’m used to.”
“You can’t rodeo with your arm in a cast, can you?”
“There is that.” He frowned at his injured forearm, then took a long drink. “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking about what I’m going to do with myself for the next six weeks, until I can get back on the circuit.”
So he was grounded for six weeks? A lot could happen in that kind of time.
She pushed the thought away. She didn’t want anything to do with a randy cowboy. She looked away, pretending indifference. “I don’t see how I can help you there.”
He scooted closer. “Oh, but I think you can.” His voice was a notch above a whisper; velvet brushed across nerves set on hyperalert. “I think you and I could make the next six weeks damned interesting.”
Try as she might, she couldn’t keep back the hot flush that swept up her neck and across her cheeks. “Forget it,” she said, even as she listened for him to elaborate.
He traced his forefinger down her arm. “Hear me out, now. I believe we’d both benefit from what I have in mind.”
“What could you possibly do for me, cowboy?” Watching the light and shadows play across his handsome face, half a dozen erotic ideas flitted through her mind. But they were just ideas—she was better off not getting involved.
“For one thing, I could take you out and buy you a better dinner than stale bar pizza.” He thumped the plate containing the remains of her meal.
“I don’t need you to take me to dinner,” she said.
“But what about after dinner?” He stroked her cheek, a silken touch that immediately raised her temperature five degrees. “Maybe you need me then.”
“No, I don’t,” she said, even though her body had other ideas.
“I think you do.” He leaned closer still, so that his knee met hers and his arm brushed the side of her breast. “And I sure as hell need you. The minute I laid eyes on you this afternoon, I knew we’d be good together.”
“You’re dreaming.” When did it get to be so warm in here? Maybe she should ask Pete to turn down the air-conditioning. Or she could go home—now—and take a cold shower.
“If I’m dreaming, then it’s a wet dream, darlin’.” He smoothed her hair behind her ear. “Don’t tell me you don’t