I finally picked up my burger. "Yep. That's how I ended up helping her. Got kicked out at seventeen and she taught me enough so I could get my own place and a stable job. Same one I got now. Granted, if Mr. Simmons knew all that, I'd be out on my ass and there's not a whole lot of work out here."
Violet giggled. It was not at all what I'd expected. Everything about her was immaculate and planned, like some movie starlet. Before this moment, I never would have been able to imagine a giggle coming from those lips - but it did.
"Tomorrow," she said. "Soon as you're done with the cows? Come over." Then she flipped open her tablet-wallet thing and pulled out a pretty lavender business card. "If you can't make it before lunch, text. Mine's the number at the bottom." Then she pushed her untouched burger away and slid off the bench. "Looks like my car's done. Thanks for the rescue, Mr. Barrett."
"My pleasure, Miss Dawson."
I twisted in the booth to watch her walk away, enjoying the view. Maybe I was imagining it, but it looked like she put a little extra sway in each step. The hem of her thin white shirt swung tantalizingly across the base of her ass like it was teasing me. When the chime on the door tinkled, I turned my attention to the card. It was not at all what I'd expected. The letters were written in a dark, almost hot-pink color.
Risqué
Exotic lingerie for real women
Ashton Walker - founder
Violet Dawson - marketing
Yeah. Cats Peak, Texas, was going to hate this girl, and I planned to enjoy every second of it. It was about time for these small-town idiots to get a taste of their own medicine, and I wanted a front-row seat. Glancing to the window, I watched her shake Mike's hand before pulling open her car door. For a split second, I tried to imagine what lingerie she had on under those skin-tight jeans.
That was when she pulled off the cap. A pastel rainbow tumbled free, falling to the middle of her back in soft waves and a myriad of colors. I couldn't help but smile. Fuck lingerie. I didn't even know what color her hair was, but I knew it was the sexiest thing I'd ever seen. When my gaze returned to her face, I realized she was looking back. Through two panes of glass, our eyes met. Then she tilted her head as if to say, "And?"
All I could do was nod, hoping she knew exactly how much I liked it. Damn, that girl was hot. She was also trouble, and I was an expert on getting into that.
Chapter Three
The next morning, when the sun spilled in through the floor to ceiling windows, I rolled over. When the room began to warm, I tossed off my blankets. When the air conditioner still didn't kick in, I gave up and hauled my ass out of bed. My first stop was the double doors over the colonial balcony to let some fresh air in.
Which was hot. Barely nine in the morning and the temperature had to be almost ninety. The only escape was outside. Looking over the grounds, the vivid turquoise of the pool sounded like a great way to wake up. It also counted as exercise. Not like I'd gotten this figure sitting behind a desk.
One white bikini and a soft black towel later, I realized mornings weren't that bad. The pool was crystal clear and cold, making the fog vacate my brain. My laptop was set up in the shade with a pair of speakers making it a tolerable stereo system. Electronic music drowned out everything about the real world while keeping the mood upbeat. That made it easier to think about all the work ahead of me.
Someone had done a good job of keeping up with the pool's maintenance, considering Gran hadn't lived here in almost two years. Unfortunately, the house hadn't gotten the same kind of care. With each lap, I made a mental list of things that had to be addressed. The floors hadn't been waxed in a decade. The entire house needed a fresh coat of paint. By the cracks in the drywall, the foundation might need repairing. From the oppressive heat this morning, the air conditioner needed a specialist. Nothing was bad, but it wasn't that great, either. I wasn't sure I wanted to look at the barn. All of my childhood memories were cracked and dusty, but a little love would bring them back to life.
Slipping under the water to make another lap, my head broke the surface to silence. I breathed a string of vulgarity as I turned - then froze. With one hand in his pocket, the other on my laptop, the cowboy from the day before was looking right at me. The grey tee did nothing to hide the muscles under it. His jeans fit in a way that begged a woman to run her hands up them. Even the hat on his head screamed "this is the real deal," forcing me to re-think every prejudice I had about country boys. Damn, Luke Barrett looked delicious in the morning. Thirteen years had only made him sexier than I remembered.
"I was listening to that," I said, tipping my head to the laptop.
He lifted a shoulder slightly as if to prove he didn't really care. "Just wanted to let you know I'm here, ma'am."
"Ma'am?" I made my way to the metal stairs, pausing before I climbed out. "Didn't think I became one of those until I turned thirty." Then I heaved myself from the water.
Luke's eyes crawled down my body, caressing every single inch without shame. "Sorry, Miss Dawson. Was hoping you'd be up, since I just finished feeding Mr. Simmons' cattle and have a few hours free before lunch. You asked me to stop by?"
Water dripped off me as I walked. Considering the cowboy was between me and my towel, I decided to see how brave he really was. Stepping right up to his chest, I reached around his waist, snagged the plush terry, and looked up.
"Thought I'd have enough time to work out and put on my face before company. Hope you can handle seeing me without the bells and whistles."
He smiled and let his eyes drop lower. "Reminds me of Jekyll and Hyde. Like this, I can almost believe you're real. Almost." Then his well-callused finger traced a line across my stomach, following the splattered ink of my tattoo. "Seems you're not quite what I expected."
"Never am." I turned before he could see my nipples getting hard. Tossing the towel around my body, I turned up the volume of my music - but only to a reasonable level. "Have enough time for me to get dressed?"
"How many?"
It took a second before his question made sense. I laughed and let the towel dip down my back. "Five tattoos. Back, abs, right arm, left thigh, and left ankle."
"Looks like you got in a fight with paint."
That was exactly what I'd intended. My tattoos started at the base of my spine, like acrylic paint oozing higher. Mixed among it were symbols that mattered to me but made no sense to anyone else. It jumped to my bicep and the style of paint thinned to watercolor, moving down to my elbow. Across my stomach, it thickened again until the ink on my thigh mimicked oil paint. By the time it reached my ankle, it looked almost like powder. Every color possible was represented, but shades of purple were the most prevalent.
