Teasing Annie: The Temptation Saga: Book Two (4 page)

Dallas let out a guffaw. “Bruno? There are actually men named Bruno in the world?”

Annie scoffed. “This from a guy named Dallas?”

“Hey, it’s my ma’s maiden name. It’s a popular name in these parts, though more so in Texas, for obvious reasons. Where’d Annie come from? Hardly a good Italian name for the daughter of a Bruno.”

“It’s a nickname. My real name is Annalisa.”

“Annalisa.” His husky voice caressed her name like a veil of creamy silk. “That’s real pretty, Doc.”

Suddenly shy, she nodded. “Thank you.”

“Your skin is light for Italian ancestry.”

“Not necessarily. My father’s got the Mediterranean olive complexion, but my mother’s fair like me.”

“Your skin is the color of moonlight, and your cheeks like the palest pink rose.”

For a moment, Annie thought she might melt into a puddle right in the passenger seat of Dallas’s Benz. He pulled into the alley behind the clinic and came around to open her door.

“You don’t have to—” she began.

“We’ve been through this. I’ll see you to the door.”

She nodded and let him take her hand as they walked into the clinic and up the back stairwell to her apartment. He took her key from her and opened the door.

“I’ve got to get back to the ranch, Doc. It doesn’t run itself.”

“I understand. It was nice meeting you.” Geez, that sounded stupid. “I mean it was nice to… Well, it was
nice
.”

“Ditto.” He brushed his lips lightly over hers. “I’ll call you later.”

“You don’t have to.”
Geez, shut up Annie
.

“Don’t you want me to?”

“Yeah. Sure I do.”

He stared at her, his dark eyes burning two holes into her flesh. Several curly strands had escaped her ponytail and he tucked one behind her ear. “I changed my mind. I won’t call you.”

“You won’t?”

“No. I’ll pick you up. Around four. For dinner.”

“That’s awful early for dinner. Where do you want to go?”

His scalding gaze seared her from head to toe. “My place.” He kissed her again, and then jaunted down the stairs, whistling a lively tune.

D
allas’s ranch
house was even bigger and more ornately decorated than Dusty and Zach’s. The giant living room was decorated almost completely in shades of white. Creamy plush carpeting covered the floor. Satin eggshell furniture surrounded a smooth white lacquer grand piano. Draperies fell to the floor in a milky cascade. The dark mahogany coffee and end tables provided a stark contrast.

“This is amazing, Cowboy.”

“You like it?”

“It’s beautiful.”

“But do you
like
it?”

“Well, I suppose there are a few things I might’ve done differently, but it’s truly a work of art.”

“I hate it.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Nope. All this white stuff hurts my eyes. This isn’t a room where kids and dogs can play.”

“Kids and dogs?”

“Yeah. I plan to rip it all out of here as soon as I can find the time to hire someone to get in here and do it right.”

“If you hate it, why did you do it in the first place?”

“I didn’t. Chelsea—she’s my ex-wife—decorated it. Or should I say, she had it decorated. Paid some effeminate stick of a man an obscene amount of money to do this to my house.” He shook his head. “I hated it then, and I hate it now.”

“I suppose you’re not really the New York penthouse type,” Annie said.

“You got that right.”

Annie opened her mouth to ask what had gone wrong between him and his ex-wife, but then thought better. He would no doubt ask her the same question, and she wasn’t ready to answer it.

“What’s on the menu, Cowboy? Are you cooking for me?”

“’Fraid not. I’m not really a cook. My housekeeper prepared us a gourmet feast though. It’s in the fridge waiting for us to heat it up. I sent her home early.”

“You mean we’re alone.”

“Just you and me, Doc.”

“Well, then…do you think your housekeeper’s feast will wait until tomorrow night?”

“Sure.”

“Good. Tonight I’m cooking for you, Cowboy.”

“Annie, I didn’t invite you over here for that.”

“Why’d you invite me then? To get me in the sack?”

His lazy grin lit up his face. “Well, if I told you the thought hadn’t crossed my mind, you’d know I was lying.”

“True.”

“But that’s not the only reason I invited you. I like you. We don’t have to go to bed.”

“Oh, we don’t?”

“Not if you don’t want to.”

“I’m thinking that I do, but first I want to cook you dinner.”

“Cooking is work, Doc. I don’t want you to work tonight.”

“Cooking isn’t work, Cowboy. It’s art.”

“You just cooked me breakfast this morning.”

“So?”

Dallas chuckled. “Hard to argue with that logic.”

She gave him a friendly punch.

“I have no idea what kind of food is in the house, though,” he said.

“I can work with just about anything. Lead me to the kitchen and we’ll have a look.”

“Oh!” Annie couldn’t help squealing. Dallas’s kitchen was the size of a small ballroom. Silvery granite countertops surrounded sharp stainless steel appliances. Oak hardwood graced the floor. “You brought me to this house and had no intention of letting me use this incredible kitchen? You’ll pay for that one.”

“I can’t wait.”

“You’ll have to.” Annie ran her hands over the smooth silver finish of the Viking cooktop. “I’m busy having an orgasm over this stove.”

She turned to the stainless steel refrigerator and opened the freezer door. “Hmm. Beef, beef, and more beef. I’m seeing a pattern here.”

“I’m a beef rancher, Doc.”

“I suppose you have a larger freezer full of beef in the basement?”

“And in the garage.”

“Okay. No problem. I can definitely work with beef.” She opened the door to the refrigerator. “Eggs, good. Lettuce, good. Butter. Do you have any olive oil?”

“I haven’t the slightest idea.”

“I’m sure it’s around here somewhere.” Annie moved to the walk-in pantry. “Eureka,” she said and handed him a bottle.

“This is olive oil?”

“Yeah, Cowboy. See the label? Olive. Oil. Extra virgin, no less. It’s a monounsaturated fat, good for the heart. Very popular in Italy, where, by the way, they have a much lower incidence of heart disease.”

“I’ll remember that.”

“You should. Beef is great, Cowboy, but it’s extremely high in saturated fat. Although”—she eyed him up and down—“you don’t seem to have any issues with fat.”

She walked back into the pantry and squealed again. “Bittersweet chocolate. Excellent. I can make you a delicious dessert.”

“Uh, Annie?”

“Yeah?”

“Get your pretty little bottom out here please.”

“Just a minute.” She couldn’t tear herself away from the pantry. She grabbed the sugar and several cans of plum tomatoes.

“Now, Doc.” He had sneaked up behind her and his breath was a hot whisper against her neck.

She shuddered, turning to face him. “What is it?”

He took the sugar from her and set it back on the shelf. “I refuse to play second fiddle to my kitchen.” He clamped his lips onto hers.

Annie’s body ignited as he pillaged her mouth. If there were an award for the world’s best kisser, Dallas McCray would win it, hands down.

He walked backwards out of the pantry, dragging her with him, lifted her, and set her on the island in the middle of the kitchen. Even through her jeans, the sparkling granite was cool on her behind. He spread her legs and inched between them, pressing his hardness into her clothed sex. “Feel that, Doc?” he said against her mouth. “That’s me wanting you. Hungering for you.”

“Oh yeah, Cowboy,” she whispered, running her tongue along his stubbled jawline. “God, you feel good.”

“Better than my Viking stove?”

She laughed softly in his ear. “I don’t know. What kind of heat can you generate?”

“I’ll be happy to show you.” He deftly unbuttoned her blouse, unhooked her bra, and threw them onto the kitchen floor. “I’ve been thinking about you all day,” he rasped.

He tongued one nipple and then the other, the flicks sending chills rippling over Annie’s skin.

“Oh,” she moaned. “I’ve been thinking about you too, Cowboy. But…”

“But what?” He trailed kisses across the plump white skin of her breasts.

“Could you… Could you grab two pounds of round steak out of the freezer and stick them in the microwave to defrost?”

Dallas lifted his head and stared straight into her eyes. “Can you stop drooling over my kitchen for two minutes?”

Annie erupted in giggles. “I’m sorry. It’s just so…amazing.”

“Okay.” He unbuttoned and unzipped her jeans. He removed her shoes, hoisted her bottom off the island and slid her jeans and panties over her ankles.

“Cold!” she exclaimed when he sat her naked rump back on the granite countertop.

“Serves you right. If you’re going to cream over my kitchen I at least want you naked.” He sank to his knees and spread her legs. “I want to make you come.” He flicked his tongue into her folds. “You’re already wet.” He raised his head and grinned. “Is that for me or for my stove?”

“Can it be for both?” Annie giggled.

“Oh, you’re going to pay for that one, Doc.” He buried his face between her legs.

Annie’s entire body quivered as Dallas’s hot tongue lapped at her. The granite under her was no longer frigid, but blazing as she lifted her hips to meet his searing mouth. She hovered near the edge, ready to fly, until he slid two fingers inside her. She jumped off the cliff, moaning his name as she flew into rapture. He continued to stroke her, his fingers dancing inside her, until she came down.

“Again,” he demanded and set to work. She grabbed his head and tunneled her fingers through his hair as he pleasured her. The scrape of his beard growth against her thighs, the silky roughness of his tongue—it was all too good. She screamed as she exploded once more.

“Dallas? Are you here?”

“Shit.” Dallas pulled away from Annie, his face wet with her juices.

“Who is that?”

“It can’t be.”

He stood up and covered her naked body with his. “What the hell are you doing here, Chelsea?”

“
C
helsea
?” Annie whispered urgently. “Your wife?”

“
Ex
-wife,” Dallas said between clenched teeth, still protecting her nudity with his large clothed body.

“Oh my God!” the woman shrieked, and a flash of light blond hair invaded Annie’s vision.

“Get the hell out of here!” Dallas yelled. Then, to Annie, “I’m so sorry, Doc. Stay here, okay?”

He strolled out of the kitchen, wiping his face on his shirtsleeve.

Annie shivered on the counter as she listened to Dallas and his ex yelling at each other. How embarrassing. Not only was she naked,
he
was fully clothed. She looked like a cheap tramp.

“The ink isn’t even dry on our divorce papers,” Chelsea yelled, “and already you’re tupping some little bimbo in my house!”

“This was never your house, Chelsea. It’s mine. I paid you seven figures so I could keep it.”

“Who is she?”

“None of your business.”

“You couldn’t wait, could you?”

“Hell, you have no idea how long I’ve waited, but it’s none of your concern anymore. How the hell did you get in here, anyway? I changed all the locks.”

“The door was open, Dallas.”

“So you decided to just walk in? That’s trespassing.”

“What are you going to do? Call a cop?”

“Don’t push me, Chelsea. I’ll do worse to you than call a cop.”

“Is that a threat?”

Annie had heard enough. She dressed quickly. She wasn’t about to hide in the kitchen just because Dallas’s ex had seen her naked. She was from Jersey for goodness’ sake. It would take way more than an embarrassing moment to faze her. She took a deep breath, gathered her courage, and marched out to the entryway.

“Hello,” she said.

“Hey, Doc,” Dallas said, grabbing her hand. “You don’t need to expose yourself to this unpleasantness. Why don’t you wait for me in the kitchen? Or go out on the deck.”

“Nonsense.” She held out her hand to Chelsea. “I’m Annie DeSimone. Otherwise known as the bimbo Dallas is tupping.” So they hadn’t officially tupped yet. A mere technicality.

Chelsea’s blue eyes widened and crimson flooded her pale face. Annie took a good look at the other woman. Strikingly beautiful. Dressed to kill. Had to be one of those Italian designers. She couldn’t tell them apart—couldn’t afford their clothes anyway—but she knew the style. Finally, Chelsea accepted Annie’s outstretched hand.

“Nice to meet you.”

“I was just getting ready to cook dinner for Dallas,” Annie said. “Would you like to join us?”

“No, she would not,” Dallas said. “Annie, just go out on the deck. Please? I’ll handle this and I’ll be out there as soon as I can.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Annie said.

“Christ,” Dallas muttered.

“I came for some of my things,” Chelsea said.

“You have everything you’re entitled to. This was supposed to be a clean break, Chelsea.”

“I just want a few of my knickknacks.”

“Have your lawyer call my lawyer.”

“For God’s sake, Cowboy,” Annie said. “Give her what she wants. You hate all this stuff anyway.”

“You hate it?” Chelsea bit her lip.

“Yes, I hate it. I’ve always hated it. Take it all. Then leave. I want to get back to my date.”

“I think I will go out on the deck after all,” Annie said, suddenly uncomfortable. She strolled back toward the kitchen to the French doors leading outside.

The redwood deck was huge, complete with built-in gas barbecue and a sunken Jacuzzi. Farther out, a kidney-shaped pool beckoned, and blossoming fruit trees framed the grassy yard. Before Annie could explore further, a large black lab bounded toward her and nearly knocked her off her feet.

“Hey, fella.” She stroked the dog’s soft muzzle. “I’m Annie, and you are”—she fingered the clinking tags on the dog’s collar—“Jet. Great name for a black dog.” She scratched his cheeks as he wagged his tail and panted. “You’re good company. Much better than inside. You want to show me around your yard?”

She walked down the redwood steps onto the soft grass, Jet at her heels. “Hey”—she spied a yellow tennis ball—“I bet you might like to play a little.” She tossed the ball and Jet raced after it. It was slimy with slobber when he brought it back and dropped it into her hand. “That’s a good boy,” she said, stroking his ears. “Want to go again?” She tossed it farther this time.

She lost track of how many times she threw the ball. She had almost forgotten about dinner, when Dallas emerged from the house.

“Hey there,” he said. “I see you’ve met Jet.”

“He’s great,” Annie replied. “I love dogs.”

“A vet who loves dogs?” Dallas grinned. “I can’t picture it.”

“Ha-ha,” she said, tossing the ball once more. Then she strode over to Dallas. “Listen, Cowboy. Maybe I should take a rain check on this dinner thing.”

“But you said you wanted to cook for me.”

“Yeah. I do. But, I’m thinking the mood has been killed here. Make that murdered. By a vengeful blonde.” She giggled nervously.

“I’m really sorry. She’s gone now.” He flashed his lazy half smile. “And I locked all the doors.”

Annie sighed. She had wanted this evening to work out. But, “I can’t compete with her, and to tell you the truth, it’s not in me to try.”

“Compete with her? What the hell are you talking about, Doc?”

“If that’s the kind of woman, you’re used to—”

“That’s the kind of woman I spent lots of money getting rid of.”

“Oh, come on, Cowboy. She’s beluga caviar, and I’m fish and chips.”

“Hey”—he stroked her cheek—“I like fish and chips.”

“We hardly know each other.”

“So? We can’t get to know each other?”

“I suppose so, but don’t you think maybe we should have a real date? I mean, we seem to have a good…chemistry together, but—”

“Chemistry? We explode, Doc. We’re dynamite. The earth moves a little faster when we’re in the same room together. I knew it when I first laid eyes on you.”

Annie threw the saliva soaked ball again. “I don’t know if I’d put it
that
way.”

“How exactly would you put it?”

She sighed. He was right. “Okay, we’re dynamite together. We explode.” Why fight it?

“Exactly.” He pulled her into his arms and brushed his mouth over hers. “Let’s start over. I don’t want you cooking tonight. You can cook tomorrow night.”

“Tomorrow night? What if I’m busy?”

“Are you?”

“No.”

“Okay then.”

“Why can’t I cook tonight?”

“Because I want to pamper you. Let me feed you.”

What a sweet man. “All right, Cowboy.” She wrapped her arms around his neck. “Feed me.”

“
I
t was horrible
, Daddy.” Chelsea Beaumont McCray cried into her cell phone. “He had a naked bimbo in my kitchen! And she had an accent. Jersey City or Philadelphia. They all sound alike to me. Low-class.”

“Now, buttercup,” Stewart Henderson Beaumont said, “he’s no longer your husband. He has the right to cavort with whomever he chooses.”

“I’m almost positive he was cheating on me while we were married.” Chelsea sniffed.

“
He was cheating on you?
” Her father’s thunderous voice hurt her ear.

Chelsea knew better. Dallas would never cheat. His cowboy ethics wouldn’t allow it. Cowboy ethics that got on her nerves. Oh, he was faithful to her all right, but his code of the west hadn’t kept him from throwing her over. What had she done to deserve that? Well, there were a few things, but still.

Her father, however, didn’t need to know about his ethics. “I don’t know for sure, Daddy. But he might have. I mean, we’re barely divorced and he already has a hussy in his home. He was probably fooling around with her before he even filed for divorce.”

“Jason McCray’s boy? I don’t know, Chelsea.”

Damn him anyway. Taking the fool’s side
. “I swear it, Daddy,” she said. “Now that I think of it, I’m absolutely sure I’ve seen the woman before. Sneaking out of our barn!”

“You wouldn’t be stretching the truth a little, now would you?”

“Come on, Daddy,” she said sweetly. “You know me.”

“Yes, I do know you, Chelsea. And I love you. But you’ve always been willing to do anything and everything to get what you want. The man gave you a fair settlement. Best cut your losses on this one, sugarplum.”

Chelsea hit end, threw down her phone, and grabbed two fistfuls of her hair. Dallas had even turned her father against her. Life was not fair.

On the other hand, there was one person who might take her side. Grinning to herself, she retrieved her phone and punched in some numbers.

S
tewart Beaumont sighed
. He loved his daughter, but she was better off out of her marriage. Dallas McCray had actually been quite fair with her. The seven-figure settlement had set her up for life. She had plenty of money. So what was the problem?

“Still here, Stew?” Jon Parker, his chief legal officer and an old school chum of Chelsea’s, poked his tousled blond head into the office.

“Just finishing up,” Stewart said. “You?”

“On my way out. Want to grab a drink?”

“Yeah. I could use one. I just got off the phone with Chelsea. She has some weird idea that McCray was cheating on her before the divorce.”

“Really?” Jon’s cell phone started playing Mozart’s sonata. “Excuse me.” He pulled the cell out of his pocket. “Oh, speak of the devil.” He hit send. “Hi, Chels. What’s up?”