Natural Born Charmer (16 page)

“Upstairs.”

Just the sound of her voice made him feel better. She’d distract him from worrying about Riley, from his tension over Jack. She’d make him smile, make him mad, turn him on. He needed to keep her here.

He found her in the second-largest bedroom, which had a fresh coat of light tan paint, a new bed and dresser, but not much else, no rugs, no curtains, no chairs, although Blue had found a paint-spattered gooseneck desk lamp somewhere and set it on the dresser. She was smoothing a blanket over the sheets she’d just tucked in. Her T-shirt fell loosely away from her body as she leaned forward, and locks of hair had escaped from her ponytail and drifted down her neck like spilled ink.

She looked up, twin worry lines between her eyebrows. “Riley’s run away.”

“I heard. I ran into Jack on the road.”

“How did that go?”

“It went fine. Not a big deal. He doesn’t mean anything to me.”

“Right.” She didn’t believe him, but she didn’t challenge him, either.

“Don’t you think somebody should be out looking for her?” he said.

“We’ve looked everywhere. She’ll be back when she’s ready.”

“You’re sure about that?”

“Reasonably optimistic. Plan B involves calling the sheriff, and that’d scare her too much.”

He forced himself to consider what he’d so far been reluctant to face. “What if she walked out to the highway and hitched a ride?”

“Riley isn’t stupid. She has a highly developed fear of strangers from all the movies she shouldn’t have seen. Also, April and I don’t think she’s completely given up on you.”

He tried to mask his guilt by walking over to the window. It was too dark for an eleven-year-old girl to be out there alone.

“Would you make another sweep of the yard? There’s a flashlight in the kitchen. She might come out if she sees you.” Blue regarded the room with dissatisfaction. “I wish there was at least a rug in here. I’m sure he’s not used to anything this spartan.”

“He?”
Dean’s head snapped up. “Forget it. Jack is not sleeping here.” He stalked into the hall.

Blue came after him. “What’s the alternative? It’s getting late, and his entourage has driven off. There aren’t any hotels in Garrison, and he’s not going anywhere until Riley’s been found.”

“Don’t bet on it.” Dean wanted all this to go away. If only he’d driven off first thing this morning.

Blue’s cell rang. She snatched it from her jeans pocket. He waited. “You found her?” she said. “Where was she?” He took a deep breath and leaned against the doorframe.

“But we looked there.” She wandered back into the bedroom and sat on the side of the bed. “Yes. All right. Yes, I’ll do that.” She flipped the phone shut and looked up at him. “The eagle-ette has landed. April found her asleep in the back of her closet. We looked there, so she must have waited till we left to go inside.”

The front door opened downstairs, and heavy, measured footsteps sounded in the foyer. Blue’s head shot up. She jumped to her feet and spoke in a rush. “April said to tell Riley’s father that she’ll keep Riley at the cottage for tonight, and he can stay here in the house, and he should wait until morning to talk to her.”

“You tell him.”

“I don’t think…The thing is—”

More footsteps from below. “Anyone here?” Jack called out.

“I can’t,” she hissed.

“Why not?”

“I just…can’t.”

Jack’s voice carried up the steps. “April?”

“Crap.” Blue’s hands flew to her cheeks, and she rushed out, but instead of going downstairs, she dashed into the master bedroom. Only seconds later—too short a time for her to have undressed—the shower went on. That’s when he realized the fearless Beav had gone into hiding. And not over him.

Blue stalled as long as she could in the bathroom, brushing her teeth and washing her face, then she sneaked out to grab her yoga pants and
BODY BY BEER
T-shirt. Finally she managed to creep outside without being detected. Tomorrow morning, if Jack was still here, this idiocy was coming to an end, and she’d behave like a grown woman. At least Jack Patriot’s appearance had been a diversion from her real problem. She stepped inside the gypsy caravan and stopped cold. Her real problem had come for a visit.

A surly-looking gypsy prince lay sprawled on the rear bed, the oil-burning lamp on the table casting a golden glow over him. He’d propped his shoulders against the side of the wagon, cocked one knee, and dangled the other calf over the side of the bed. As he lifted the beer bottle to his lips, his T-shirt rode up to reveal a taut wedge of muscle above the low-riding jeans. “You, of all people,” he said with a disparaging sneer.

Feigning ignorance would be wasted effort. How could someone who’d known her for only a few days see through her so quickly? She lifted her chin. “I need a little time to adjust, that’s all.”

“I swear to God, if you ask for his autograph…”

“I’d have to speak to him for that to happen. So far, that hasn’t been possible.”

He snorted and took a swig of beer.

“I’ll pull it together by tomorrow.” She pushed the chair back un
der the painted table. “You got out here awfully fast. Did you even talk to him?”

“I told him about Riley, pointed in the direction of the bedroom, and then politely excused myself to find my fiancée.”

She eyed him warily. “You’re not sleeping in here.”

“Neither are you. I’ll be damned if I give him the satisfaction of driving me out of my own house.”

“And yet, here you are.”

“I came to get you. In case you’ve forgotten, those bedrooms don’t have any doors, and there’s no way I’m letting him see that my beloved doesn’t sleep with me.”

“In case
you’ve
forgotten, I’m not your beloved.”

“For now, you are.”

“Once again, my virginity vow seems to have slipped your mind.”

“Fuck your virginity vow. Are you working for me or not?”

“I’m your cook. And don’t pretend you’re not eating. I saw what you did to those leftovers last night.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t need a cook. What I need is somebody to sleep with tonight.” He gazed at her over the rim of the beer bottle. “I’ll pay you.”

She blinked. “You want to pay me to sleep with you?”

“Nobody’s ever accused me of being cheap, either.”

She pressed her palm to her chest. “Hold on. This is such a proud moment that I want to savor it.”

“What’s your problem?” he asked, all innocence.

“A man I once respected is offering me money to sleep with him. Let’s start with that.”

“
Sleep,
Beav. Get your mind out of the gutter.”

“Right. Like we
slept
last time?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You were all over me,” she said.

“You wish.”

“You had your hands down my jeans.”

“The overheated imagination of a sex-starved female.”

She wouldn’t let him manipulate her. “You’re sleeping by yourself.”

He set the beer bottle on the floor, rested his weight on one hip, and pulled out his wallet. Without a word, he withdrew two bills and wordlessly fanned them between his fingers.

A pair of fifties.

Half a dozen indignant responses raced
through Blue’s mind before she reached the obvious conclusion. She could be bought. Yes, she’d be putting herself in harm’s way, but wasn’t that part of this game they were playing? Finally having money in her wallet justified the risk. Besides, this gave her a chance to show him exactly how immune she was to his charms.

She grabbed the bills. “All right, you rat bastard, you win.” She stuffed the money in her back pocket. “But I’m only taking it because I’m greedy and desperate.
And
because there’s no door on that room so you can’t get too frisky.”

“Fair enough.”

“I mean it, Dean. If you try to cop even one feel…”

“Me? What about you?” His eyes slid over her like cool icing on hot spice cake. “How about this? Double or nothing.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You touch me first, I keep the hundred. I touch you first, you get two hundred. Nobody touches anybody, the deal stands as is.”

She thought it over, but couldn’t see any immediate loopholes
other than the threat of her inner slut emerging, and she could darned well control that little bitch. “Deal.”

“First, though…” She wasn’t spending any more time in that bedroom with him than she had to, so she swiped his beer and propped herself at the opposite end of the bed. “You’re awfully bitter about your parents. I’m beginning to think your childhood was as twisted as mine.”

He brushed his toe against the hollow below her ankle bone. “The difference being that I’ve recovered, and you’re still a fruitcake.”

She moved her foot. “Yet of all the women on the planet, you’ve chosen me to marry.”

“There’s that.” He eased onto one hip and slipped his wallet back in his pocket. “Before I forget…Apparently you’ve now decided we’re going to Paris instead of Hawaii to tie the knot.”

“And why is that?”

“Hey, I’m not the one who can’t make up her mind.”

“Poor Dean. Fending off all the women you’re meeting in the bars at night is pretty much a full-time job, isn’t it?” His calf grazed the side of her leg. “Just out of curiosity, why
are
you fending them off?”

“Not interested.”

Meaning they’re married or old. “So what was it like growing up the way you did?”

Sure enough, she’d broken the mood, and his brow furrowed. “It was just fine. I had a series of babysitters looking out for me until I went off to a very good boarding school. You’ll be disappointed to know I wasn’t beaten or starved there, and I also learned to play ball.”

“Did you ever see him?”

He snatched his beer back, which involved moving his leg away. “I really don’t want to talk about this.”

She wasn’t above a little subtle manipulation. “If it’s too painful…”

“Hardly. I didn’t even realize he was my father until I was thirteen. Before that, I thought the Boss had done the deed.”

“You thought Bruce Springsteen was your father?”

“April’s drunken fantasy. Too bad it wasn’t true.” He drained the bottle and set it on the floor with a clink.

“I can’t imagine her drunk. She’s so controlled now. Did Jack know about you from the beginning?”

“Oh, yeah.”

“That’s crappy. If April was an addict, shouldn’t he have been just a little worried about her pregnancy?”

“She cleaned up her act when she was pregnant. Probably hoping he’d marry her. Fat chance of that.” He rose and shoved his feet into his shoes. “Stop stalling. Let’s go.”

She rose reluctantly. “I mean it, Dean. No contact.”

“I’m starting to get offended.”

“No, you’re not. You just want to give me a hard time.”

“Speaking of hard…” He set his hand in the small of her back, just where it was most sensitive.

She moved a step away and gazed up at the front bedroom window. “The light’s out.”

“Mad Jack in bed by midnight. That’s gotta be a first.”

Her flip-flops squeaked in the damp grass. “You don’t look anything like him.”

“Thanks for the compliment, but there were blood tests.”

“I wasn’t insinuating—”

“Could we talk about something else?” He held the side door open for her. “Why you’re so afraid of sex, for example?”

“Only with you. I have an allergy to your beauty cream.”

His husky laugh drifted out into the warm Tennessee night.

By the time Dean came out of the bathroom, she was settled in bed. She pulled her eyes away from the noticeable bulge in his End Zone forest green knit boxers, but only got as far as his ridged abdomen and an arrow of golden hair pointing the way to Armageddon before
he took in the enormous wall of pillows she’d arranged down the middle of the bed. “Don’t you think that’s a little childish?”

She dragged her gaze away from his Garden of Earthly Delights. “Stay on your side of the bed, and I’ll apologize in the morning.”

“If you think I’m going to let him see how juvenile you are, you’re wrong.” He spoke in a low whisper to avoid waking his unwanted houseguest.

“I’ll wake up early and tear it down,” she said, thinking about the one hundred dollars.

“Like you did yesterday morning?”

Was it only yesterday morning he’d had his hand down her jeans? He flicked off the chipped white ginger jar lamp April had brought over from the cottage. Moonbeams penetrated the room, painting his body in light and shadow. As he approached the bed, she reminded herself he was a player, and this was a game to him. By saying no, she’d waved a green flag.

“You’re not that irresistible.” He threw back the sheet and climbed in. “You know what I think?” He propped himself on an elbow and glared at her over the pillow wall. “I think it’s yourself you’re afraid of. You’re afraid you won’t be able to keep your hands off me.”

He wanted to spar. But their sparring felt like foreplay, and she bit off every smart-ass retort that sprang to mind.

He lay back…and reared right up again. “I don’t have to put up with this!” With a sweep of his arm, pillows flew, and her wall came crashing down.

“Wait!” She tried to sit up only to have his weight press her back into the mattress. She braced herself for an attack, but she should have known better. His mouth nuzzled softly against hers, and for the second time that day, he began teasing her lips.

She decided to let him kiss her for a while—he was so good at it—but only for a few minutes.

His hand slipped under her T-shirt, and his thumb found her
nipple. She tasted toothpaste and sin. Heat began spreading through her body. His erection pressed against her leg.

A game. This was only a game.

He dipped his head and began suckling her nipples through her T-shirt. As long as she kept her clothes on…He teased her with the hot, wet cotton, then pressed his hand between her thighs, against the fabric. Her knees slowly fell open. He toyed and dallied, thinking they had all the time in the world. But he played too long. Her head fell back. The moonlight shimmered then splintered into a thousand silver slivers. Through her barely muffled cry, she heard a soft, answering groan and felt him shudder along with her. Only as she came back to herself did she grow aware of something damp against her leg.

With a curse, he rolled off her, flung himself out of bed, and disappeared into the bathroom. She lay there—sated, angry, self-destructive. So much for her willpower.

Eventually he emerged from the bathroom. Naked. His soft growl drifted across the room. “Don’t you say one word. I mean it. That is the single most embarrassing thing that’s happened to me since I was fifteen.”

She waited until he’d resettled before she propped her head on her elbow and gazed down at him “Hey, Speed Racer…” She leaned forward and brushed his lips with a quick, casual kiss that told him their encounter meant nothing to her. “You owe me another hundred bucks.”

The birds woke her the next morning. She’d slept as far from him as she could to guard against any middle-of-the-night coziness, and her leg dangled over the edge. She slipped out of bed without waking him. His skin looked golden against the stark white sheets, and a patch of pale hair grew on his chest between formidable pecs. She
took in the tiny hole in his earlobe and remembered the silver skulls Jack had been wearing. She had no trouble imagining Dean doing the same. Her gaze moved lower and came to rest on the mound pushing against the sheet. All that could be hers…if she’d only leave her brain behind.

He didn’t stir as she headed for the shower. She turned her face into the spray to clear her head. This was a new day, and as long as she didn’t make a big deal out of the relatively innocent events of last night, he couldn’t rack up any points on that scoreboard he carried around in his head. It was true that she still had no job, but she did have a temporary bargaining chip until she found work. He wanted to keep her right here at the farm, standing between him and the people who’d invaded his world.

As she dried off, she heard the water go on in the hallway bathroom. When she came out, the bed was empty. She hurriedly pulled a sleeveless black T-shirt from her duffel and a pair of jeans she’d cut off at midthigh. She felt a bump in her pocket and discovered her missing mascara and lip gloss. She made use of both, but only because there was a good chance she’d see Jack Patriot before he left for Nashville.

On her way downstairs, she smelled coffee, and as she walked into the kitchen, she saw Mad Jack himself sitting at the table, sipping from one of the white china mugs decorated with cherries. The same light-headedness that had rendered her mute when she’d met him last night struck again.

He wore yesterday’s clothes, along with some rocker stubble. The flecks of gray in his hair only made him sexier. He observed her with the familiar, heavy-lidded eyes she’d memorized from a dozen album covers. “Good morning.”

Somehow she managed to squeeze out a wheezy, “M-morning.”

“You’re Blue.”

“B-Bailey. B-Blue Bailey.”

“Sounds like that old song.”

She knew what he meant, but her face had frozen, so he clarified.
“
Won’t you come home, Bill Bailey?
You’re probably too young. April tells me you and Dean are getting married.” He didn’t quite hide his curiosity. She wondered if he’d looked in on them sleeping or if Dean had wasted two hundred dollars. “Have you set a date?” he asked.

“Not yet.” She squeaked like Minnie Mouse.

His cool survey continued. “How did you meet?”

“I was, uh, doing some…promotional work for a lumber company.”

Seconds ticked by. When she realized she was staring, she stumbled toward the grocery bags in the pantry. “I’ll bake panmakes.
Make!
I’ll
make
pancakes.”

“All right.”

She’d had adolescent sexual fantasies about this man. While her classmates argued over who had dibs on Kirk Cameron, she’d imagined losing her virginity to Dean’s father.
Ew. Ick.

Still…

She sneaked another glance at him as she came out of the pantry with the pancake mix. Despite his olive skin, he was pale, as if he hadn’t spent enough time outside lately. Even so, he radiated the same kind of sexual magnetism as his son, but Jack’s allure felt a lot safer. As she opened the box, she reminded herself to give Dean as hard a time as possible today.

She concentrated on mixing the ingredients without screwing up the measurements. Usually, she made pancakes from scratch, but this wasn’t the morning to attempt it. Jack took pity on her and didn’t ask any more questions. As she poured the first batch on the new griddle, Dean sauntered in, all scruffy high style, his jock stubble as rugged as his father’s rocker stubble. Maybe it was genetic. The perfect number of wrinkles creased his periwinkle T-shirt, and his khaki cargo shorts fell on his hips at exactly the right point. He didn’t look at Jack. Instead, he took her in from head to toe before he settled on her face. “Makeup? What happened? You look almost female.”

“Thanks. You look almost straight.”

Behind them, Jack chuckled. Ohmygod, she’d made Jack Patriot laugh.

Dean leaned down and kissed her—long, cool, and so premeditated that she barely let herself get worked up about it. This was his opening move in another game, the one he played with the parents he hated. He was marking her as his teammate so that Jack knew it was now two against one.

Only after he drew away did he acknowledge his father’s presence with a crisp nod. Jack nodded back and tilted his head toward the windows in the dining niche. “This is a nice place. I never figured you for a farmer.”

When Dean didn’t bother to respond, Blue broke the tense silence. “First batch of pancakes coming up. Dean, see if you can find syrup in those bags in the pantry. And grab some butter, will you?”

“Be glad to, sweetheart.” He pecked her forehead with another strategic kiss. As she reached for the plates, she wondered if her life could get any weirder. Her life savings had been handed over to a band of South American guerrillas, she had a phony engagement to a famous football player, she was homeless and jobless,
and
she was making breakfast for Mad Jack Patriot.

As Dean came out of the pantry, Jack gestured toward Blue. “Where’s the engagement ring?”

“She hated the first one I got her,” Dean said. “The stones were too small.” He had the nerve to tweak her chin. “Nothing but the best for my sweetheart.”

She hummed the
Speed Racer
theme song.

By avoiding looking at Jack, she managed to deliver his pancakes without sliding them into his lap. Dean ate his standing up, hips resting against the counter. He talked to her as he ate, but made sure he directed an occasional comment to Jack so he couldn’t be suspected of ignoring him. She’d practiced the strategy too often herself not to recognize it.
Don’t let anyone see the hurt.
She didn’t like how well she understood him.

Since she couldn’t imagine eating her pancakes across the table from Jack Patriot, she ate standing up, too. The back door opened, and April came in. She wore khakis, a coral top with a ribbon tie, and her sandals with a rainbow wedge. Riley followed, her damp brown hair parted in the center and pulled back from her forehead with a series of iridescent blue clips that April must have arranged. With Riley’s curls tamed a little, her pretty toasted-sugar eyes were more noticeable. She’d exchanged yesterday’s
FOXY
T-shirt for a black one just as tight with a woman’s pouty, crimson lips on the front. Dean turned away to make a trip into the pantry. As Riley spotted her father, she stopped where she was.