Texas Men (17 page)

“I guess I’ll just lead the way,” she said, feeling a little flustered at how easily he’d taken over.

It was nice having a man acting the gentleman. But then she had to remind herself that just half an hour ago, he’d been tonguing another woman’s breast. She lifted the rose to idly draw on its scent.

They made it the porch, and she opened her door, taking a deep breath before turning to invite him in.

Logan shook his head. “Don’t invite me in.”

Only partly relieved, her eyebrows rose. “You don’t want to come inside?”

“It’s too soon.”

Her mouth opened, wanting to deny it, but she knew if he stepped over the threshold he wouldn’t be leaving until morning. And he was right. She had a lot to think about—and panties to consign to the trash can.

He leaned the tripod against the wall, set down the card table and the bag, and stepped off the porch before meeting her gaze again.

“Tomorrow night, then? Wear a dress. Something midthigh. Do you have something like that?”

“Sure,” she said vaguely.

With a nod, he turned and blended into the darkness, leaving her wilting against her front door.

T
he next afternoon Amy was on her knees sliding out the shallow plastic box from beneath the bed, eager for a little dress-up. She’d already spent the day cleaning the house. Now she wanted to do everything she could to give herself a little boost in self-confidence before her date with Logan.

She’d pulled a dress from her closet, still wrapped in plastic from the store. The short, navy sheath with tiny sprigs of pale gray and pink flowers had been bought on a whim and never worn. Too short for school, and with no man around to inspire in her the courage to actually wear it in public, it had stayed at the back of her closet. But not tonight. A pair of silver sandals, also never worn, would complete the ensemble.

The choice of dress and shoes had been the easy part. She hoped what was stored in the bin would solve the rest of her problem. She pulled the black thong panties and corset from the bin and bit her lip, wondering if the corset was too much.

It was another gift from her happily married sister whose answer to all dating woes was the right underwear.

Amy dropped her robe on the bed and slid into the panties, enjoying the thrill of the narrow strip of fabric sliding between her buttocks.

She felt naughty and a little braver when she turned in front of the mirror to assure herself her butt didn’t look like a sumo wrestler’s.

The corset wasn’t as easy to don. The slender cords cinching the waist laced up the back. Before attempting to put it on, she fed the strings through the eyelets, leaving them loose, and then shimmied the silk garment up her long legs and tugged it over her hips. That was the easy part. Reaching behind her to draw the ends of the strings up and tighten them took a contortionist’s skill, but, then, it wasn’t designed for a woman to put on, or remove, by herself.

The thought of Logan seeing her in this drove her to persevere. She wanted to impress him. Let him think she was less of a mouse than she really was.

The thought of what he’d done last night, how he’d kissed her, what he’d said, had left her warm and pink-cheeked all day long.

Last night had been only the beginning.

This morning when she’d pulled into the teacher’s parking lot, his squad car was already there. He’d unfolded his large frame from his seat when she brought her Honda to a halt and walked to her door.

She’d been breathless, caught off guard, seeing him so soon. Dressed in his khaki uniform shirt, dark pants, and a cream cowboy hat, she’d melted into a gooey puddle. She’d sat stunned until he opened the door and leaned inside to brush her lips with a swift, chaste kiss.

“Let me get your things,” he’d said.

He’d shouldered her bag and carried her books like any other high school male trying to make a good impression on a girl, and she’d been plenty impressed.

So had Carla and Vanessa, whose jaws dropped as he strode by, walking at Amy’s side.

After he’d laid his burden on her desk, she’d noticed the bulge in his pants pocket, but she’d been too polite to comment. He’d reached into his pocket and pulled out a small apple, rubbed it on his shirtsleeve, and left it in the center of her desk without another word.

Then he’d turned, walking past the girls and winking at them before leaving.

The girls had rushed forward, swarming her.

“Oh, my God, Miss Keating! Is he crushin’ on you?”

She’d laughed as they’d squealed, feeling almost as giddy as they had, and then assured them he wasn’t “crushing” on her but letting slip that he had asked her on a date.

They’d made her swear to tell them every detail, and she’d crossed her fingers behind her back because if things went as she hoped, there was no way on God’s green Earth she’d ever tell a soul.

“Damnit.” The ties behind her back defied her. She’d gotten them almost tight enough to cinch her waist and then dropped the strings. Rather than loosen them and start over, she hurried to the kitchen and drew a set of tongs from the drawer beside the sink.

But as she was turning she caught a glimpse of Logan pulling into his drive. Her attention snagged, and the tongs brushed the wall, hitting the garbage-disposal switch.

The dry, grating noise from the disposal as it ground to life startled her, and she dropped the tongs on the floor, bent to pick them up, and started turning back to the sink to switch off the disposal.

That was when she felt the corset cinch tighter. Amy tried to pull away from the sink, wondering what she’d caught the ties on, but couldn’t budge. In fact, the corset continued to constrict around her waist, drawing her backward toward the counter. Then the disposal began to make a horrible, garbled noise and cut off.

With a fateful certainty, Amy knew exactly where the ends of the slender cords were stuck.

Panicked, she reached for the knife drawer, determined to cut the cord, but her long arms couldn’t quite reach.

With her back to the counter and her body pulled tight against it, she stood helpless for several minutes wondering what she could do.

Her house was too far from Logan’s to shout for help. Besides, how embarrassing would that be?

Her gaze landed on the phone on the opposite counter. If she could just reach the phone and hit one of her speed-dial numbers…

Lord, she couldn’t see the digits from here. Whomever she reached, whoever came to help, it was going to be a long damn time before she lived down the humiliation.

Tears welled in her eyes. She’d so looked forward to tonight, but this was the pinprick to burst her euphoric bubble and return her feet to solid ground.

Logan Ross was willing to take her out. Probably willing to fuck her. But he wasn’t going to stay in her life. However much she longed for it happen.

Logan answered the phone on the fourth ring, having rushed straight from the shower. Water ran off his skin and hair in rivulets, dripping on the carpet. “Ross here,” he barked, irritated because he’d recognized the number on his Caller ID.

“I know you’re off duty,” the dispatcher, Nancy Sessions, said, “but we’re sending you on a call.”

Logan heard snickering in the background and nearly hung up the phone in her ear. He’d been teased mercilessly when he’d let slip about his date that day at work. Seemed his buddies thought the match a bit odd.

“You know I have plans for tonight,” he gritted out, “So why the hell are you calling me?”

“Um…” She broke off, and more muffled snickers sounded on the line. “We’re shorthanded. Besides we knew you’d want to handle this one…
p-personally
.” The last word sounded as though it had been squeezed through an accordion, she was laughing so hard.

Logan never liked to let anyone get to him, proving a lack of self-discipline, so he took a quick breath and tightened the towel he had wrapped around his hips before he responded. “Okay, I’ll bite,” he said evenly. “What’s the emergency?”

“Seems your pretty little neighbor…has gotten herself into a p-predicament….” she said, her voice tight, laughter edging every word.

Amy? His heart stopped. He dropped the phone and rushed to the door, pausing only long enough to slip on a pair of flip-flops before running across the grass separating their houses.

Moments later, he pounded on Amy’s door. “Amy? Are you all right? Open the door!”

“Oh, my freaking God,” came a faint, mournful voice. She sounded near to tears.

“Amy!” he shouted. “Open the door if you can.”

“I can’t,” she groaned.

He backed up, preparing to kick it in.

“It’s open. Don’t bust it down, for God’s sake!”

He turned the handle and entered, his gaze panning a living room and then narrowing on the opening into the kitchen where the sounds of soft, shuddering sobs emanated.

Jesus, had she injured herself? Was she bleeding out? He rushed through the doorway and then skidded to a halt on the tile floor when he saw her. She was backed up to the kitchen sink, her body bent unnaturally. Her hands clutched the edge of the counter beside her hips—her narrow but nicely rounded hips.

“You’re not hurt?” he asked softly, noting the tears welling in her eyes.

“Just stuck,” she said, her voice sounding thick and raw.

Relief poured through him, and he nearly smiled at her predicament, but he knew she already felt humiliated. Her face and the tops of her tiny breasts were flushed a deep rose.

His gaze snapped back up to hers. “I’m here to help.”

“I called nine-one-one,” she said softly and then sniffed. “Wasn’t sure who I reached when I called. Had to hit speed dial with my toes.”

His gaze dropped to the phone on the floor, and he realized she must have had to stretch those long, long legs up to the opposite counter to reach it, toppling it down before she nudged the button with her toes.

“They called me because I’m right next door.” And because they knew darn well he was excited about his date. He strode toward the telephone, picked it up, and set it on the counter, hanging up the handset to cut the connection, knowing he’d just spoiled the rest of Nancy’s fun.

“I couldn’t reach a knife or scissors,” she said, sniffing. “The strings got caught up in the garbage disposal.”

“I see,” he said softly, turning back to her. No wonder her back was arched so sharply. And beautifully. Her body was bowed; the bottom edge of the corset had risen to bare a pale ribbon of flesh above the silky material of her thong panties.

Logan slammed the door on the arousal creeping into his dick. As much as he was tempted to take advantage of the situation any man would enjoy, he had another agenda to advance.

She needed him.

“There are scissors over there,” she said, lifting a hand from the counter to point to a cup filled with pens.

Logan shook himself, knowing he could get lost staring. He retrieved the scissors and walked slowly toward her. He had to stand close to see around her. Black silk cords, stretched taut, disappeared into the garbage disposal.

He snipped them and then caught the ends as she pulled away from the sink. “Let me,” he said. “You still have plenty left to tie a bow.”

“I feel so foolish. I never wear anything like this….”

“I never would have pictured it either,” he murmured.

“Should have stuck to white panties and bra.”

He finished the bow and cupped her shoulders from behind; then he leaned forward to breathe in the scent of the soft brown hair she’d twisted into a messy knot at the back of her head. “I think you’re lovely.”

Her head angled sharply toward him, and he drew back. “Really?”

“To tell you the truth, I’ve been picturing you in granny panties. That image in my head has kept me hard for weeks.”

Her eyes widened. Her teeth nibbled at her bottom lip. “I can change.”

“Don’t. I think it’s sweet you wanted to make an impression. But did you really expect me to see this tonight?”

Her blush deepened, and her glance slid away. “I shouldn’t have assumed you wanted me…that way.”

His hands tightened. “Oh, I want you, all right. But not before you’re ready. I don’t want to rush you. We’ve got plenty of time to get to know each other.”

Her gaze slid away. “What if I don’t want to wait?” she whispered.

Logan’s plans to woo her slowly crumbled at the hint of longing in her tone. He cupped her cheek with his palm and turned her face back toward his. The stark hunger he saw in her hazel eyes was all he’d hoped for. “Because we both know you’re going to need help getting out of this thing,” he said softly, squeezing her shoulders, “keep it on and go finish dressing.”

She nodded; her tongue swept out to lick her lower lip, and he knew what she was asking for, even if she didn’t.

He bent and pressed his lips to hers. Just a quick brush of lips was all he planned, but her tongue stroked his lip, and he groaned, leaning closer. The tips of their tongues met and then slid sinuously together.

He tamped down his growing desire and broke the kiss. “I better get out of here before I embarrass myself.”

Her gaze dropped to the towel and then darted back up to his chest. “Not anything I haven’t already seen,” she said, a smile crimping a corner of her wide mouth.

He smiled. “Or tasted.”

Her blush deepened as she met his glance.

“Get dressed. I’ll be back in an hour.” He strode away, adjusting his towel. As he crossed the yard, he heard an engine.

“Hey, Ross!” came a shout from a squad car parked on the street between the two houses. Deputy Kramer raised a cell phone he held in his hand.

Logan shot him the finger and started cussing. No doubt his picture would be passed around the station house and posted to the bulletin board. Him in his tented towel.

But he couldn’t be too irritated. Not with the picture firmly burnished in his mind of Amy standing with her back arched like an exotic bird, the tops of her small breasts quivering with each ragged exhalation.

Her body was long and slender like a willow switch.
Flexible.

What he’d seen of her narrow hips and buttocks aroused a predatory hunger. He’d wanted to keep her there, strip the panties down her long legs, and devour her sweet heat.

The expression she’d worn was the only thing that had held him back. She’d been embarrassed to the point of tears, her modest nature compromised. He’d bet anything she would have preferred a stranger seeing her like that over him.

She’d wanted to make an impression. Prove she was willing to try to match his appetites.

Damn, he couldn’t get the image of her out of his mind or the scent of her light floral perfume and heavier feminine musk.

Already he was imagining her strapped to the St. Andrew’s cross. He’d bet her limbs would stretch the length of the crossed ties. He also knew her long legs would wrap nicely around his hips, locking him to her body.