She jumped when the door opened and whirled to face him, a feather duster in one hand. The sight of her in her leather miniskirt and vest with that duster struck him as incongruous. And sexy as hell. Like one of those French maid costumes with a kinky twist. He grinned. “I never was much for housework, but I might be persuaded to help if you promise to tickle me with your feathers there.”
She threw the duster at him, hitting him squarely in the chest, and he couldn’t help but laugh. Hands on her hips, she looked him up and down, trying for an annoyed expression, but the way her mouth tipped up at the corners and the amusement in her dark eyes gave her away. “I’m done here,” she said. “Let me get my purse.”
She turned toward the back of the shop, but he snared her with a hand on her arm before she got very far. “How about a proper hello first? After all, we don’t have to rush.”
“Whatever gave you the idea I was proper?” she purred, but she put her arms around him and gave him a kiss that involved a lot more than just her lips pressed against his. She wrapped herself around him like satin-soft cling wrap. When she pulled away and smiled up at him, it was all he could do to remember to breathe. “I’ll be right back,” she said and disappeared into the back room.
While he was waiting for her, he walked over to the flowers. Yellow roses because someone had told him yellow flowers were for friendship while red were for love. Besides, they’d looked pretty there in the florist’s shop. They looked even better here, arranged in a vase. One of the cats lay beside the vase, watching him, tail twitching. “You leave these alone.” Kyle shook a warning finger at the animal. “No snacking.”
“I figure you can follow me to my place—” She froze, one hand up in the act of pushing away the beaded curtain that separated the back room from the rest of the shop.
He looked up from the flowers. “I see you got my little present,” he said.
He’d expected thanks, praise or maybe even another kiss. Instead she was frowning. “Why did you pull a stunt like that?” she asked.
“What kind of stunt are you talking about?” He glanced at the roses. “You mean these?”
“I’ve never been so embarrassed in all my life.” She walked behind the counter and began shutting down the computer. “People were asking about them all day. ‘Who sent you flowers?’” She mimicked a sickly sweet whine. “‘Is it your birthday?’ I was so tired of it I was ready to throw them in the trash.”
He leaned on the counter, reining in his irritation. “And here I thought women liked flowers. That you’d like them.”
She glanced at him, more doubt than anger in her eyes. “I like flowers all right, but when a man sends a woman flowers, people think it means something.”
“It’s none of their business anyway.” He straightened. “I wanted to send flowers to a beautiful woman. So sue me.”
She stilled, head down, hair fallen forward hiding her face. He wanted to reach out and tuck those soft locks behind her ear, feel the silk of her hair on his fingers and see if he could read her thoughts in her eyes. “Thanks, but you didn’t have to do that,” she said after a moment. “It’s not like you have to, you know, court me or anything.”
He almost laughed at the old-fashioned word. “Oh, I don’t know. Don’t you think every woman wants a little wooing?” Unable to resist any longer, he did reach forward and tuck her hair behind her ear. It was just as soft as he remembered. He imagined how it would feel wrapped around him and had to back away and shake his head to rid himself of the image. They had a long night ahead. He couldn’t let things get out of hand too soon.
He walked her to her car, then trailed her in his truck as she drove to her apartment. When they arrived, he silently followed her up the stairs, enjoying the sway of her hips as she took each step. He took her keys from her and opened the door, heart pounding. Calm down, he reminded himself. This ain’t your first rodeo, after all.
One look at her apartment and he was effectively distracted. It looked like the inside of one of those lingerie shops in the mall—there was pink everywhere, and flowers and lace. Little gold and white knickknacks. Mirrors and paintings in fancy gilt frames. He stared at the leather-clad woman in front of him. “Are we in the right place?” he asked.
“Very funny.” She strode past him into the room, flicking on lights. “You want a drink?”
“I’ll take a beer if you’ve got one.”
He leaned against the kitchen counter and watched her move about the room. The wallpaper in here was pink pinstripes, and a picture of a kitten in a chef’s hat hung over the stove. He nodded to the cat. “You can’t blame me for being a little surprised at all this,” he said.
She took two beers from the refrigerator and opened them. “At all what?” Amazingly her expression was completely blank.
“This pink, for one thing.” He accepted one of the beers and took a long swallow. “You don’t look like a pink person.”
“So? People aren’t always what they seem.” She raised the beer to her lips.
He watched the long, smooth column of her throat as she drank. He wanted to kiss every inch of her skin, to feel her pale, slender fingers grip him the way she gripped the beer bottle. He wanted to toss aside the beers and start stripping her naked, but gave himself credit for having more style than that. “Hard day at work?” he asked.
She shrugged. “It was okay, I guess. I hired a new part-timer. A college girl.”
“Think she’ll work out?”
“Who knows?” She shook her head. “She’s kind of scary.”
Spoken by a woman who would have a fair amount of men shaking in their boots. “How so?”
“She’s just so…sure of herself. Together. Way more than I ever was at her age.”
“You seem pretty together now.”
“I’ve learned a few things along the way.” She set aside the beer and took two steps toward him. Her breasts brushed the front of his shirt and she reached for the top button.
He covered her hand with his, stopping her. “What are you doing?”
Her lips pursed in a sexy pout. “I figured it’s time we get to it.”
“No hurry.” He left his beer bottle on the counter, then brushed the back of his hand down her cheek. “We ought to spend a little time getting to know each other.”
The heavy-lidded look she gave him was guaranteed to make a man’s blood boil. Then she slid her hand down between them and squeezed the hard ridge straining his fly. He let out his breath in a rush. “I know all I need to know about you,” she said.
Any other time he might have gone for this direct approach but he didn’t intend to let her get the upper hand so quickly. He pulled her hand back up to chest level. “Hey, slow down. Don’t be so nervous.”
“I’m not nervous.”
But the flush that bloomed on her cheeks told him otherwise. He smoothed his hand down her hair. “Sure you’re nervous. Everybody’s nervous the first time.”
“You don’t look nervous.”
“I am, darlin’. I am.” He reached around to knead the back of her neck. Her muscles were as tight as guitar strings. “Close your eyes.”
She looked wary. “Why?”
“Just close them. When I’m working with a nervous horse, I might blindfold them. It takes away all the distractions, forces them to pay attention just to me.”
“I’m not a horse.” But she closed her eyes.
“No, ma’am. But you