Do Me Right. Cindi Myers
her now.
She dropped her purse on the counter, then strode into the bedroom, shedding boots and stockings along the way. By the time she reached the bathroom, she was down to a purple silk thong.
She poured a generous amount of lavender-and-vanilla bubble bath into the old-fashioned claw-foot tub and turned both taps on full. A soak in the tub was bound to relax her enough so she could sleep. In the morning, she’d be able to make more sense of her feelings.
She turned and caught sight of herself in the mirror and froze, studying her reflection with a critical eye. Two years shy of thirty, she was holding up well. Though she enjoyed eating too much to be overly skinny, she had an hourglass shape men appreciated, with definite curves she wasn’t afraid to show off. Her tattoos were artistic, not overwhelming: a snarling tiger on her left shoulder, a band of flowers around her right bicep, the Chinese symbol for courage on her right ankle.
Her full breasts were still firm, the Celtic knot a lacy etching between them. Her nipples were dark against her pale skin and erect now in the coolness of the apartment. She smoothed her hand down her sides, watching the nipples pucker further at her touch.
She lowered her gaze to her stomach, slightly rounded and soft but not fat or flabby. A gold T dangled from the ring in her navel, a single diamond chip winking in its center.
She slid her thumbs beneath the narrow waistband of the thong and skimmed it down her thighs, watching herself in the mirror. Her dark pubic hair was trimmed close, an inch-wide strip down the center. She wondered what Kyle would think if he could see that. Would the sight of her naked excite him?
She’d felt him tonight, the ridge of his erection hard between them. He’d been hard all over, really, muscles like iron holding her with surprising tenderness. She grew damp at the memory.
Once the tub had filled, she turned off the taps and slid beneath the bubbles. The warm water caressed her and she sighed, breathing in the rich perfume of lavender and vanilla. Eyes closed, she willed herself to relax. This was her sanctuary, a place where worries were banished.
But even this treasured ritual couldn’t erase thoughts of the kiss she’d shared with Kyle. The moment was seared into her brain. As soon as she closed her eyes, she saw him again, his lips curved in a lethal half smile, his eyes assessing her, stripping her bare.
But it was his touch that had been her undoing. The memory of his lips and hands on her still burned her, awakening feelings that had lain dormant too long.
She slid soap-slicked hands up to cover her breasts, rubbing back and forth across aching nipples. It was a poor substitute for what she really wanted—a man’s hands, Kyle’s hands, on her.
Imagining it was Kyle’s hands she was guiding, she moved lower, across her stomach, down between her legs. She pretended it was his fingers parting her folds to stroke her clit, his body satisfying the desire building within her.
Our bodies are saying things to each other. Don’t you want to finish the conversation? His words returned to her, fuel to the fire burning inside her. If a man could get her this hot with only the memory of his voice, what would happen if she invited him into her bed?
She arched up, anticipating release, water sloshing over the sides of the tub. Her cries echoed in the room as her climax overtook her. Eyes closed, she sank down in the tub again. She’d found physical release but nothing like what she really wanted. What she really needed.
3
KYLE WAITED A DAY BEFORE going back to Austin Body Art, telling himself he wanted to give Theresa time to think about his proposition. Time to remember the lip-scorching kiss they’d shared and contemplate what that kind of kiss might lead to once they got their clothes off.
In reality, he felt the need of a little cooling-off period himself. He was sure he could handle anything Theresa threw at him, but he had to admit he’d never been involved with someone who made a living poking people with needles. Not to mention one who’d practically melted his bones with a single kiss. He needed to rest up for his next move.
The picketers were patrolling the sidewalk in front of the tattoo parlor when he returned to the shop. “Sir, you should read this!” An earnest-looking woman shoved a flyer into his hand as he reached for the door of the shop.
Printed on blaze-orange paper, the flyer read “Keep Austin clean! Take back the streets for our children! Fight for a family-friendly Austin! Vote for Darryl ‘Clean’ Carter for City Council Place Four!!”
“Nice exclamation marks,” he said, attempting to hand the paper back to the woman.
“Oh, no. You keep it.” She frowned at his hand on the doorknob. “You don’t really want to go in there, do you?”
“I don’t?” He removed his hand from the doorknob and turned to face her. “Why not?” He looked at the others, who had stopped marching with their signs and gathered around like buzzards waiting for their turn at the dead armadillo on the side of the road. “What is y’all’s objection to this place?”
“This isn’t the kind of thing children should be exposed to.” A man in a dark suit and helmet hair stepped forward. “It’s morally repugnant and encourages overt sexuality and flaunting of the body.”
“Brushed up on those vocabulary words, did you?” Kyle grinned and made a show of looking around them. “I don’t see any children here, do you?” He scratched his head. “Guess they’re all at home, watching sex and violence on TV.”
The man glared at him. “This is not something to be made light of,” he said.
“Right.” Kyle turned and grasped the doorknob again. “Don’t wear yourselves out toting those signs or anything.”
The string of bells on the back of the door announced his entrance into the shop. One of the cats, curled up in a chair by the door, blinked at him sleepily. The blond dude who’d been there the other day looked up from the computer behind the front counter. “Can I help you?”
“I just stopped by to see Theresa.”
At the sound of her name, she looked up from her seat next to the tattoo chair. She shut off the machine and blotted the partial tattoo on the back of the man who reclined beside her. “Kyle, what are you doing here?”
Was it his imagination or was her voice a little breathy? He strode into the room and lowered himself into a folding chair near her work area. “I came to see you, of course.” He nodded to the man, a middle-aged biker type with a long, gray pigtail and grease-stained jeans. “Don’t let me interrupt.”
She switched on the machine again. “Eric, this is Kyle. If you don’t want him to watch, I’ll tell him to leave.”
Eric raised his head and looked Kyle up and down. “Don’t make no difference to me,” he said and lowered his head again.
Theresa turned her attention back to the tattoo, which was fine with Kyle, as it gave him the chance to watch her. A pair of fine lines creased her forehead as she concentrated on her work. The design taking shape beneath her hand was intricate and colorful: a whole garden full of roses surrounding some sort of fantastic bird—a phoenix, maybe—in brilliant reds, greens, blues and yellows. She was working on the bird now, inking in the tail feathers.
Bent over like this, he had a terrific view of the tops of her breasts swelling at the neck of the leather vest she wore. Some kind of flower or design was tattooed in her cleavage. He was definitely interested in getting a closer look at that….
“Shouldn’t you be back at the ranch punching cows or something?”
Her voice pulled him out of the beginning of a very interesting fantasy. He raised his eyes to meet hers. “We don’t punch ’em anymore,” he drawled. “We just suggest they move ’long. It’s more PC that way.”
Eric made a choking sound, but Kyle soon realized it was a chuckle, muffled by his position. “I’m going to remember