His gaze swept over her faded Alan Jackson T-shirt, cut-off jean shorts, and flip-flops before returning to her face. “I can do a lot of things. Want me to show you a few more?”
The obvious sexual undertone of his words sent her body on a roller coaster ride that started with a lightness in her chest and ended with a heavy tingling between her legs. If the slight lifting of one corner of his mouth was any indication, he seemed to know that too.
“What are you still doing in town, Jaxon?” she asked.
He closed the book and placed it in the windowsill before sitting up. His long, dark hair fell around his face. When he was a kid, it had always been messy and unkempt. There was nothing messy and unkempt about it now. Whoever had styled it knew what they were doing. It fell to his shoulders in silky layers that caught the light coming in through the window like rippling midnight waves.
The townsfolk had often compared his brother’s looks to an archangel’s. But if Dawson looked like an archangel, with his golden hair and perfect features, then Jaxon looked like a fallen one with his hard, rugged features and ebony hair. Yet, there was something compelling about the raw masculine strength in the harsh angles of his square jaw, Roman nose, and sharp cheekbones.
He lifted his hands and smoothed back his hair, agilely removing the black hair band from his wrist and twisting it around the gathered ponytail. The pale undersides of his biceps flexed on either side of his head while his strong, capable fingers manipulated the skinny elastic band. Once he was finished, he lowered his arms and she couldn’t help studying his tattoos. One was of a skull in a hard hat with oil pumps on both sides and wrenches crisscrossing beneath. The others were of the Texas Flag, a half-full whiskey glass, a shamrock entwined by a rose, and a church steeple that looked extremely familiar.
“Is that Honky Tonk Heaven’s steeple?”
He glanced down at his arm, and then completely ignored the question and answered her first one. “I’m surprised you don’t already know why I’m still in town. The rumor mill must be slower than I remember. I’m here because I’m reopening Honky Tonk Heaven.”
Her heart almost jumped out of her chest. She couldn’t believe she’d heard correctly. “You’re reopening Honky Tonk Heaven? The Honky Tonk Heaven?”
“That would be the one,” he said dryly.
She couldn’t help it. Excitement bubbled up inside her and spilled out of her mouth.
“You’ll keep the steeple, right? I mean if you have a tattoo of it, you must love it as much as everyone else does. And it just wouldn’t be Honky Tonk Heaven without the steeple. And you’re going to rebuild the dance floor, of course. There has to be a big ol’ dance floor and it’s got to be solid oak. More townsfolk than I can count have told me what a pleasure it was to glide across that floor. Melissa Tate said she’d never felt so graceful in her life. Tamara Sanchez claims it was like figure skating on smooth ice.”
Tully sighed just thinking about it. “And every young girl needs to feel graceful at least once in her life. And what about the bar? Is it going to be mahogany and run the entire length of the building? With a long mirror framed in horseshoes and barstools covered with real cowhide? And what about the stage? You have to rebuild the stage and have live bands. Where would country music legends sing when they drop by if we don’t have a stage for them to perform on? And a side door for them to sneak out of when the crowds get too wild.” She laughed. “I don’t know how many times I’ve heard the story of Roy Clark playing a guitar solo and sending folks out of their minds.”
Speaking of someone losing their mind.
Tully’s mind was so busy whirling with images of legendary country singers sneaking out side doors, grizzly old cowboys bellying up to a long high-polished bar, and two-steppers gliding across an oak floor like Olympic figure skaters that she didn’t realize she was running off at the mouth.
Or that Jaxon was staring at her as if she’d grown horns as long as the Texas Longhorn’s mascot, Bevo.
Her face flamed with embarrassment. “Sorry. I guess I’m just excited to hear the bar will be reopening.”
Jaxon squinted. “I’d call that a little more than excited.”
She cleared her throat. “Yeah, well, I’m sure the entire town will feel the same way.”
The look on his face didn’t say the information made him happy. In fact, he looked downright grumpy as he grabbed the book from the windowsill and rolled to his feet.
“I’m sure everyone in town will be thrilled to hear about their beloved bar reopening.” He grabbed the cowboy hat hooked over a cuckoo clock hanging on the wall and tugged it on. “But I’m not sure why you are. You were too young to get through the door before it burned down . . . unless sweet little Tully snuck in with a fake ID.”
“I didn’t sneak in with a fake ID.”
“Of course, you didn’t.” He moved closer, his gaze steely and intense. She had the strong urge to step back, but held her ground. Even though it wasn’t easy. Not when he stopped with the toes of his boots inches from the edge of her flip-flops, forcing her to tip back her head to keep eye contact. A silky strand of hair had come loose from the ponytail and gotten caught in the dark stubble that covered his jaw. She had to clench her hand to keep from smoothing it back.
“Always the rule follower, aren’t you, Little Tully? Which makes one wonder . . . why is such a good girl so intrigued by a bar . . . and by me?”
Her stomach felt like it had moved up to her throat. She struggled to get words out. “I’m—not infatuated with you.”
“No? Are you sure about that? Because you seem awfully rosy and fidgety . . . exactly like when you were a kid and couldn’t seem to take your eyes off the town bad boy. And I have a theory on why. You want to hear it?”
He didn’t wait for her reply. “Good girls are infatuated with bad boys because deep down in their goody-two-shoes hearts they want to break the rules. They just don’t want to take the blame for it.” His gaze lowered to her mouth. “They know whatever naughty things they do with a bad boy, they can blame totally on him. ‘That bad boy forced me to go to a bar . . . to drink . . . to take off my panties.’” His breath fell hot against her lips as he leaned closer. “But here’s the thing, Tallulah Gentry. I’m sick and tired of taking the blame. So stay away from me, Good Girl, and this bad boy will do the same.”
But he didn’t stay away. He didn’t move an inch away. He just stood there with his gaze lowered to her mouth and his hot, heavy breath brushing her lips.
For a second, she thought he was going to kiss her.
Which made no sense at all.
