Do Me Right Read online

  She stared at the double-decker boat tricked out like a paddle wheeler, minus the paddle wheel. Lone Star, proclaimed the lettering on the prow. The American and Texas flags snapped in the evening breeze off the stern.

  Kyle came around and opened her door and took her hand to help her out. This flustered her even more. She hadn't expected him to wait on her like this; she'd just been too stunned to move.

  They made their way across the dock and up the gangplank to the boat, where a blue-coated waiter/sailor led them to a table on the lower deck along the railing. From here, they had a prime view of the lake and the city skyline around it. "Have you done this before?" she asked as Kyle sat across from her.

  He shook his head. "No, but I've always wanted to."

  She arranged her napkin in her lap and fiddled with her silverware, avoiding looking at him directly, but unable to keep from sneaking peeks out of the corner of her eye. Every time she saw him, she ended up like this--unsure of herself, not knowing what to expect next.

  That first day he'd come into the shop, she'd thought she had him all figured out. He was a sexy cowboy out for a good time. Someone who, in return, would show her a good time in the process. But then he kept revealing new sides of his personality, aspects that didn't fit the image she'd put together in her mind.

  Cowboys were supposed to be taciturn chauvinists or opinionated rednecks. Sexy, sure. Maybe a little wild and fun to be with. But not smooth and sophisticated, smart and considerate.

  With a lurch, the boat pulled away from the dock. Soft music swelled over the throb of the engines, and a waiter brought a bottle of wine to the table and poured them each a glass. She sipped, hardly tasting the beverage.

  He reached across the table and squeezed her hand. "Come on, relax. We're supposed to be having fun here, remember?"

  She nodded and smoothed her fingers along the edge of the linen-draped table. "I guess I'm just not used to this kind of treatment."

  "What kind of treatment is that?"

  "You know. All...this." She gestured toward the plush interior of the boat, with its candlelit tables filled with well-dressed couples.

  He frowned. "The men you usually date don't take you to nice places?"

  She moved her fork a half inch to the left. "The men I usually go out with are more the beer-and-burgers type." She straightened and met his gaze. "I guess I'm a beer-and-burgers type of woman, too."

  He shook his head. "No. I think you might have grown used to beer and burgers, but that doesn't mean you don't think about better things sometimes." He squeezed her hand. "It doesn't mean you don't deserve to be treated like a queen."

  His voice was low, soft as a caress, the words seeping into her like warm water flooding through cracks in a wall. If she listened to him long enough, she'd forget what they were really up to here.

  The waiter arrived to take their order, breaking the spell, and she pulled her hand away and fussed with her napkin in her lap. By the time they'd made their choices and were alone again, she'd composed herself enough to strike a casual pose and smile seductively across the table. "I'm glad you've figured out that I deserve to be treated like royalty. I find I get along so much better with a man once he's learned that."

  He laughed and raised his wineglass. "To the queen. And her loyal subject."

  They touched glasses and drank and she began to feel a little better. What had she been worried about, anyway? It wasn't as if Kyle had some ulterior motive. He'd made it clear from the start what he was after; he just had a different idea of foreplay than most of the men she'd met.

  "Hey, your cast is different." She nodded to the plastic contraption around his arm that had replaced the gauze-wrapped fiberglass.

  "It's an air cast." He winked at her, a slow, sexy lowering of his eyelid that made her catch her breath. "It comes off when I want to take a shower--or other things."

  She took another drink of wine, trying to calm the flutter in her stomach as she thought of those "other things."

  "Ladies and gentlemen, if I could direct your attention to the Congress Avenue Bridge just ahead, we've come to one of the highlights of the evening." The voice over the PA interrupted her reverie. "The largest urban colony of Mexican free-tailed bats is about to set out for its nightly foraging. As many as seven-hundred-and-fifty-thousand bats live in the expansion joints of the bridge. Nightly the colony consumes ten-thousand to thirty-thousand pounds of insects."

  "Only a Texan would make a tourist attraction out of a flying rodent," Kyle observed as he scooted his chair closer to Theresa.

  "Hush. It's interesting." As the announcer reeled off a few more facts about the bats, small, dark figures began to flit from beneath the bridge. Within another minute, a black cloud of bats rose up, the sound of their wings merging into a throbbing like a thousand heartbeats. The cloud spread out over the water, passing over the boat and dispersing.

  "I guess we have the bats to thank that we're not plagued by mosquitoes," Kyle said as the waiter delivered their first course. "One more thing to love about Austin."

  "It's a great city," she said as she dipped a chilled shrimp in cocktail sauce. "But then, I've never lived in any others, so I can't compare."

  "You've always lived in Austin?"

  She nodded. "I was born and raised here."

  "Ever think about living somewhere else?"

  She shrugged. "Not really." Austin was home, or as close to it as she knew. The thought of going away had never appealed to her.

  While savoring the best shrimp cocktail she'd ever had, she turned her chair more toward the railing, feasting on scenery every bit as fine as the food. The boat glided past parks and posh hotels, drawing stares and waves from tourists and locals on the hike-and-bike path around the lake. Ducks swam alongside, obviously hoping for a handout, while a trio of elegant swans remained aloof. A racing scull manned by four women slid by like a giant water bug, and two kids in a canoe pantomimed lassoing the bigger boat and going for a free ride.

  When the waiter set their steaks in front of them, Theresa turned her chair to the table once more. "This looks amazing," she said, slicing into the tender meat.

  "Better than leftover bar pizza?"

  She laughed. "Definitely." She popped a bite of steak into her mouth and chewed, eyes closed, a moan of pure pleasure escaping her.

  "It's the bourbon-mushroom sauce," he said. "I heard it's the chef's own secret recipe."

  She looked at him, then burst out laughing again.

  "What?" He drew back, feigning offense. "What's so funny?"

  "You!" She took a drink of wine and tried to catch her breath. "Since when does a rodeo cowboy know anything about bourbon-mushroom sauce? Or wine?" She looked at her glass. "It's very good, by the way."

  He sat back in his chair. "I have a confession to make."

  She pulled her chair up closer to the table and sat up straighter. "This I've got to hear."

  He held up his wineglass, apparently studying the scenery through the prism of crystal and red wine. "When I was in high school, I went through what I guess you'd call a preppy phase. I read up on wine and art and food and wore button-down shirts and was pretty much insufferable."

  She tried to picture this paragon of western manhood as a buttoned-up snob, but the resulting image gave her the giggles. "Why would you do something like that?"

  He shrugged. "Why else? I was rebelling against my parents. They were ranchers who lived for starched Wranglers, pickup trucks and chicken-fried steak. I had to do something completely different."

  Her giggles subsided and she took a long drink of water. "In a kind of crazy way, that makes sense."

  "All kids rebel against their parents at some point, don't they?" He leaned toward her. "I've made my confession. Now it's your turn. What did you do to rebel?" He gestured toward her with his fork. "Is the tattoo thing part of it that stuck?"

  "Not exactly." She traced a drop of moisture down the side of her water glass and looked out over the water.
The setting sun painted the white limestone cliffs on the opposite shore in sherbet hues. It's not that she felt the need to hide her past from anyone, it was just that the story was so damned awkward to tell without having to deal with sticky emotions like disgust and pity.

  "Hey, you don't have to tell me if you don't want to," he said. "I didn't mean to go sticking my nose in your personal business."

  "No, it's okay." She spread her hands flat on the table, amazed at how calm she was. How perfectly natural it felt to tell Kyle things about herself she seldom mentioned. "My real parents were out of the picture pretty early on. My dad skipped out when I was a baby and my mom had problems with drinking and drugs, so my brother Zach and I ended up in foster homes."

  "So how was that?" No pity in his voice or on his face. Not yet, anyway.

  "Most of the time, it pretty much sucked. I ran away when I was fourteen. And when I was fifteen. And sixteen. The last time I stayed out on the street maybe six months." She frowned. Those dark times were a blur now: sleeping in abandoned buildings, begging for change, scoring drugs. Just as well she didn't remember more, or she might be more ashamed. As it was, it was just another part of who she was. Nothing to be proud of but nothing she could change, either. "I was hanging out with the wrong crowd, doing drugs and other stuff that wasn't good."

  "Makes my attempts at acting out seem pretty ridiculous," he said.

  She smiled. "I never do anything halfway."

  He took another drink and studied her over the rim of his glass. "So what happened?"

  "My brother came and got me one day and told me to stop trying to kill myself or he'd make me wish I was dead. He moved me in with him, made me go back to school and generally stayed on my case every day."

  "I bet you hated that."

  She nodded. "I did. But I loved him. And I knew he loved me." She reached for her own glass to chase down the lump that had suddenly risen in her throat. All that had happened so long ago; it surprised her that she could still be so emotional about it.

  Kyle's hand covered hers. "I'd like to meet this brother of yours someday."

  She nodded. "Zach's pretty special."

  "I guess you miss him, now that he's-- Where did you say? Chicago?"

  She nodded again, swallowing another lump of tears. "Yeah, but from what I hear, he's having a blast. Learning about art and being in love and all."

  He stared out over the water, his face solemn. "So you're here carrying on the family business, so to speak, while I'm doing everything I can to stay away from the business my own family's built up over the years." He glanced at her. "I must seem pretty stupid to you."

  "No." She shook her head. "I don't think that at all."

  He rubbed the back of his neck. "I don't know. Maybe I am stupid. It's not like I don't know all about ranching, or like I don't have any talent for it."

  "Actually I think it takes a special kind of bravery to walk away from what everyone else thinks is good but what you know in your heart isn't right for you."

  Their eyes met, and for an instant the independence she'd clung to so fiercely for so long receded and she gave in to a seldom-acknowledged fantasy of belonging to someone. Crazy as it sounded, she and this cowboy had made a connection that went beyond a physical joining. For the first time ever, she felt as if someone understood her and knew what she was feeling.

  Then the waiter arrived to pour more wine and the spell was broken. Kyle focused on his steak again and she stared out over the railing, glad of the dim light to hide the sudden flush that warmed her face. Obviously she'd had too much to drink if she was having crazy thoughts like that. The only thing she and Kyle shared was physical attraction. Anything else was pure imagination on her part.

  When dinner was over, Kyle paid the check and they walked back out to his truck. She assumed they'd head back to her apartment now, but instead he headed out to Highway 2222, the winding road that led along Lake Travis.

  "Where are we going?" she asked. She wasn't in the mood for drinking or dancing or anything else he had in mind. All she wanted was to be back at her place, naked and in bed. A rowdy night of lovemaking was bound to knock her out of the blue mood she'd been fighting all evening.

  "I thought a change of scenery would be nice," he said. His smile was mysterious, his eyes full of repressed laughter. He probably expected her to ask for a better explanation, but she refused to play his game. Crossing her arms over her chest, she stared out the truck window, her bad mood getting worse.

  After a while, he turned off onto a side road, then onto a smaller dirt road. He steered the truck over ruts and around holes until they emerged in a wide, grassy spot surrounded by trees and brush. He shut off the engine, and the sudden quiet rang in her ears. He looked at her expectantly.

  She reached down and took her phone from her purse. "Is this where I call 911 and tell them you're up to no good out in the middle of nowhere?"

  He unsnapped his seat belt and leaned toward her. "I was hoping the two of us might get up to no good together."

  His words sent a shiver of excitement through her but she wasn't ready to give up her bad mood just yet. She kept a stern look on her face. "Is this your idea of sexy--making out in your truck in some field?"

  He moved closer still and pressed his lips against the soft underside of her neck. "I think anywhere with you is sexy, but who said anything about staying in the truck?"

  The words vibrated through her, and the trail of kisses he laid down her throat and across her collarbone set up other vibrations until every nerve hummed with anticipation. "You're crazy," she managed to gasp.

  "Absolutely." He unsnapped her seat belt, then reached across and opened the passenger door. "Let's take a little walk," he said.

  She got out of the truck and he followed. Taking her hand, he led her around to the back of the truck. The clearing they were in wasn't very large--maybe twenty yards in diameter, surrounded by tangled knots of scrub oak and yaupon. In the darkness, she could see little beyond the circle of the truck's headlights, but nothing in view struck her as particularly inviting. "You know, I'm not really the outdoorsy type," she said.

  "I kind of figured that." He lowered the tailgate of the truck and patted the resulting flat surface. "Sit up here a minute, okay?"

  She did as he asked, curiosity overcoming stubbornness. He walked up to the toolbox behind the cab and stripped the cast from his arm. He tossed it into the cab and flexed his fingers.

  "How does it feel?" she asked.

  "A little tender, but it'll do." He opened the toolbox and pulled out a large plastic trash bag from which he removed several blankets and quilts. Another bag held two pillows, while a third opened to reveal a thick foam pad. Finally he took out a cardboard box and unpacked an oil lamp, which he set on top of the toolbox and lit.

  "What are you doing?" she asked, though she was beginning to get the idea.

  "No sense being uncomfortable." He unrolled the foam pad into the bed of the truck and topped it with the blankets and pillows. Then he walked around and turned off the headlights. The truck was a dimly lit island now in a sea of darkness.

  He walked back around to where she was sitting on the tailgate. "Romantic enough for you?" he asked.

  "You're crazy," she said, but she put her arms around his neck and spread her legs so he could stand between them. He was the perfect height now for kissing, so she did.

  She was ready to put her whole body into that kiss, eager to wrap her arms and legs around him, but he held her back, his hands on either side of her rib cage keeping them apart. She gave a low growl of impatience, then forgot everything in the skillful play of lips and tongue. He seemed to find every sensitive nerve in and around her mouth and teased it to full awareness. He nipped and licked and suckled until she was breathless and quivering.

  "Who taught you to kiss like that?" she asked when they paused to catch their breaths.

  His smile could have melted chocolate. "A gentleman never tells."

 
"Just as well. If I knew, I'd have to kill her. Right after I thanked her, of course." She brought her lips to his once more, and this time he pulled her close until every possible inch of their bodies touched. The sensitive points of her nipples rubbed against the hard wall of his chest. He slid his hand up her ribs and stroked the sides of her breasts with his thumbs, every touch sending a new shudder of arousal through her.

  She wrapped her legs around his hips, the thick ridge of his erection flush against her crotch. She ground against him, both frustrated and excited by the leather and fabric keeping them apart. Instinct drove her to want to get down to the business of satisfying this need within her quickly, but she knew from experience there was even more pleasure to be had in waiting.

  He lowered his head and ran his tongue along the top edge of the bustier, then reached up and began unfastening the hooks at the front of the garment, covering each new section of exposed flesh with wet kisses. "Have I mentioned I really like this top?" he said as he worked his way toward her stomach.

  "Ah...no. But...thank you." He'd peeled back the satin to expose her breasts and was paying particular attention to her nipples now, which made it difficult to talk. But who needed speech when they were communicating so well without saying a word?

  She fumbled with the buttons of his shirt, anxious to feel his skin against her. One button flew off into the darkness and yet another broke in her hand. He laughed and tugged her fingers away. "Better let me or I'll have to buy a new shirt."

  "Don't you think clothing is overrated?" she asked with a coy look at her own naked chest.

  In a matter of seconds, his shirt joined the button somewhere in the darkness. She hugged him close, pressing her breasts, still wet from his mouth, against the hard heat of his chest. He smoothed his hand down her back, then slipped under the waistband of her pants and cupped her bottom. "It feels so good to have both my hands on you," he said.

  "This is nice, but there's still too many clothes in the way," she said and reached for his belt buckle.

  "I couldn't agree more." In one motion, he pushed the bustier off her shoulders and sent it sailing after his shirt. Then he grasped her waist and bent his head. The next thing she knew, he was lowering the zipper on her pants--with his teeth!