What a Texas Girl Dreams (Crimson Romance) (12 page)

He lifted one eyelid. “Super Vet?” His voice was ragged with sleep.

“Sure. Able diagnose a horse in ten minutes or less. Able to save a kitten from certain death. No patient too big or small. Super Vet.”

“Typical and small town might be more to the point.”

She held out a hand and leaned back to pull him to a standing position. “The point is breakfast is getting cold.”

He sniffed. “Do I smell eggs?”

“And artery-clogging bacon and real-butter-soaked toast, and coffee. Lots and lots of coffee.”

“You are a goddess.” His hand tightened around hers.

“So I’ve been told.” Their gazes held for a long moment and then Trick backed her up against the wall.

His lips descended on hers in a hot, fast kiss. Hands buried in her hair, Trick drank from her mouth as if he’d been in a desert for days. Monica fisted her hands in his polo and pulled him closer.

“That,” Trick said, breathing heavily, “was for helping out last night.”

“If that’s my reward, consider me your faithful assistant for as long as you need me.”

He grinned and cocked an eyebrow. “This is for ordering breakfast.”

This time the kiss was playful. He nipped at the corner of her mouth, drizzled kisses along her jaw to a sensitive spot behind her ear. Monica arched her neck to give him better access. Trick nipped and then soothed the burn with his tongue before doing it again.

He pulled away, rested his forehead against hers for a second, and then wove his fingers between hers. He raised her hands until the backs of her palms were against the cool wall, and his mouth descended, slowly.

His mouth gentled on hers as he took his time. Trick sucked her full lower lip between his teeth and then his tongue found hers and began a slow tango. Monica lost herself in the kiss, in the long, slow movement of his mouth against hers. He moved closer to her until there was no space between his hard, muscled frame and her soft curves. And still his mouth mated with hers. Light kisses. Long kisses. Fast and slow until she wasn’t sure if she still stood against the wall or if they were floating together in some altered space.

Trick placed light kisses along her lower lip, across her cheek to her jaw, and then down, down until his mouth found the pulse beating madly at the base of her throat. Her fingers flexed against his as he nipped and then tapped his tongue against her frantically beating pulse. He loosed their hands, and she shivered as his big, strong fingers traced designs over her bare shoulders and down her arms. His digits tap-tapped against hers for a moment, and then his hands spanned her waist, playing with the tie of her dress, tracing lines from her waist to her breasts and back again. Monica shivered at the contact. She wanted more. Wanted to feel his calloused hands against the smooth, silken skin of her belly. Her hands found his head, and she pressed his mouth more firmly against the pulse at her throat, pushed gently, urging him to find her needy breasts and lavish a bit of attention on them, as well. Trick groaned against her, the sound as much of an aphrodisiac as the feel of his body against hers. A trickle of need dampened her panties, and Monica pressed her hips against his.

Finally, he raised his head, the grey of his eyes blackened by his enlarged pupils. He breathed heavily.

“That is so you know the next time I take you out, there won’t be any feline births or threat of bats. Just you and me and the long Texas night.”

Monica smiled. “I’m free tonight.”

• • •

“So Monica didn’t go home last night.” Mat threw a dart at the board in the corner of the Longneck, missed his target, and threw again. Double score, twenty-five points. Trick drained the last of his beer and signaled the waitress for another round. He’d figured they would get around to Monica sooner or later.

Sooner won. The two played darts every week at the Longneck, usually on Wednesday nights just after five. It was now five-fifteen.

Trick didn’t want to answer the unasked question — was he the reason Monica was out all night? She was twenty-four years old, for Pete’s sake, and until she’d returned to Lockhardt for Jinx’s rehab, she’d lived on her own in Austin. Mat cut a look at him from the corner of his eye. Discomfort was plain on his face. So, he wasn’t asking for his own information.

“I had a last-minute patient, and my new office assistant collapsed in a pool of vomit and remorse that the patient didn’t make it. Monica was there and decided to stay, to help.”

Mat rolled up the sleeves of his western-cut shirt, giving his throwing arm less resistance, tossed his last dart, hit nineteen, and waved Trick to the line before sitting down at their table. “All night?”

“Vern’s old cat delivered early and had trouble.” Trick took pity on his friend, who was normally as private as a person could be. Mat didn’t offer explanations, didn’t ask for them. But living with a Witte sister obviously changed a man. Trick cleaned the sharp tip of the next dart on his red polo, considering how much to say. “She died birthing the last kitten. Monica stayed to help keep it alive. You want to tell me what this is about?” He gathered his darts from the board. Seventy-seven points. Mat was ahead, as usual.

“You realize dating one of the Witte women means dating all three, don’t you? You sure you want in on that?” Mat tossed his darts at the board and hit a bull’s-eye and two tens. At this rate Trick would never catch him.

Monica had taken pains to assure he understood how their dating would affect her life. Now, under Mat’s questioning, he realized how much it could also impact his. Did he want in? He contemplated the dart in his hand, took position at the line, and threw at the target. The dart struck on the black, outside line of the bull’s-eye. Damn it.

“You sure you want in with Vanessa?”

The waitress dropped off their next round. Mat took a long pull on his beer and grinned. “Stupid question.”

Trick only nodded, threw again, and this time hit pay dirt. Bull’s-eye, right in the center. He wanted Monica. If her family came along as part of the deal, so be it. “Besides, it isn’t like they’re the kind of inseparable sisters on television shows.”

Mat chuckled. “They’re not far from it. Different as the day is long, but those girls fight for one another as much as they argue with one another.”

“Says the voice of experience?” Trick measured, tossed once more, and hit the thirty marker. With one round to go, eighteen points separated them. For the first time since he’d started playing darts with Mat after moving to Lockhardt, he had a chance at beating him. It was a nice feeling.

“Let’s just say Kathleen tried to warn me off a couple of times. And even if you win over the sisters, you don’t want to cross Mitchum.”

“Mitch and I get along just fine.”

“As long as your prick is in your jeans and far away from his granddaughters, you do,” said Mat as Trick let his dart fly. The dart went wild, hitting the wood paneling on the wall and dropping to the floor like a dead bird. Mat shrugged. “Just thought you should know.”

“So, you’re warning me off Monica? Is this you talking or are you sending a message?”

Mat considered his beer for a long moment. “Maybe a little of both. Monica isn’t the worldly girl she pretends to be, at least my gut tells me she’s not. Kind of like the shell Van used to present to the world. It’s all an act so no one gets too close. Van’s worried about her, which means Kathleen is about to have a coronary. You’re my best friend in this town, dude. I’d like to keep you around.”

“And if I see more than a vacation fling happening with her?”

Mat took his place at the throwing line, measured his shot and threw. Nineteen. Not bad.

“If you’re planning on turning her into your vet tech or want her cooking your dinner every night at six o’clock, it’s not going to work.” He tossed the second dart and hit the bull’s-eye.

Trick flicked his thumb against the pads of his fingers. This was nothing he didn’t already know. Despite how well they’d worked together to save the kitten, he knew it wasn’t Monica’s choice to be a homebody and work by his side. Even if, by some miracle, their relationship turned into something committed, Monica’s life was in Austin. It was where she trained her horses, where she lived. His practice was here, in Lockhardt, and Trick didn’t see that changing.

He wouldn’t let it change.

Mat took aim for his final throw and hit the bull’s-eye. No way in hell to beat him now. Trick shook his head and took his place at the line. Didn’t mean he couldn’t try.

He hit two tens and a thirty. Mat motioned for a couple more beers and grinned.

“You had me on the ropes for a second there.”

Trick grunted and finished his Corona. A couple of lucky shots, that was all his run at the winner’s circle amounted to. He sat down at the table with Mat, nursed his beer, listened to the singer on the jukebox whine about lost love, and thought about what Mat had said.

“If you want Monica, you’re going to have to be the one to bend,” Mat said.

“I’ve already done enough bending.”

Mat shrugged. “Then cut your losses now, so I don’t have to be Kathleen and Van’s emissary again. I like my darts without the heavy conversation.”

“Don’t see that happening, either. She’s like an addiction. I let her go, but she’s there, in the back of my mind. Waiting.” He’d tried to give up Monica before. When she’d left for the rodeo in Utah, he’d actually made it two entire days without checking the standings to see how she was doing. As soon as the video hit the web, though, he’d been focused on getting Monica back to Lockhardt and away from the dangers of open competition.

“For what it’s worth, Witte women are worth the frustration. At least in my experience. And the fireworks will be a nice distraction from midnight feedings and dirty diapers, if you last long enough.” Mat tossed a few bills onto the table. “Van’s waiting. You coming to the barbecue Saturday?”

“We hadn’t talked about it.” A problem he planned to fix in less than an hour. Time to lighten the mood; get his game ready for his next date with Monica. “Did you seriously call me ‘dude’ a minute ago?”

Mat shrugged. “California. What can I say? Some habits die hard.” He turned on his heel and left the bar.

Trick tossed the half-full beer into a trash can and left a ten on the table for the waitress. He knew all about habits dying hard.

• • •

Just over an hour later, Trick dumped hot spaghetti noodles into a colander to drain, dropped a pat of butter into the still-hot pan and set it back on the burner. As the butter melted, he turned on the burner under the spaghetti sauce and put garlic bread in the oven.

“You know, you’re the one who said you’d cook me dinner if I won our little bet.” He looked at Monica, who was sitting on the other side of the kitchen bar, watching him cook, and raised his eyebrows. “You welshing?”

She grinned and pulled her mouth to the side. “I said ‘sometime.’ Tonight isn’t that time.”

She wore a white sundress dotted with flowers and had left her hair loose to fall in waves past her shoulders. His faded Rangers tee and worn jeans didn’t hold a candle to her clothes. The atmosphere was nicely domestic, but Trick warned himself not to get too comfortable. If he wanted to keep Monica around, he needed to keep the surprises coming. Keep her off balance.

“How’s the kitten?” Monica swirled her straw through the ice cubes in her glass.

“Called Vern to pick him up day after tomorrow.” He dumped the noodles back into the pan to soak in the butter. “Did you get any sleep today?” He stirred the sauce until it was bubbling and put a lid on the pot. He cancelled the afternoon appointments, which meant the next day would be extra busy, but wasn’t able to sleep. Funny, he’d been ready to crash before his chat with Mat and now that Monica sat across from him he was wired.

Monica chuckled. “I snuck in a nap after lunch. I think Grandfather thinks I’ve gone soft.”

“If you’re not going to cook, you want to at least set the table?” He pulled the bread from the oven.

She sipped her water, watching him intently from her side of the bar, and shook her head. “Not really.”

Her green eyes went all melty, and the little pulse began pounding at her throat. Trick’s mouth went dry and his body on point at the look in her eyes. He knew that look. He’d caved to that look about twenty times in the past few weeks.

“Well, darlin’, we can’t eat spaghetti by hand.”

“Who said anything about having dinner yet?” Monica deliberately set her glass down and pulled an ice cube from its depths. She sucked the cube off her fingers and stood. The denim of his jeans tightened around his hips. She reached behind herself to pull the zipper of her dress down, down, down.

“You said this morning that the next time we were together, we’d have the long, Texas night.” She pulled one strap over her shoulder and then the next. “You said no veterinary interruptions.” She pulled her arms free from the dress but held it to her breasts with one hand. “Why don’t you turn off dinner?”

Trick reached behind him, flicking the burners off. “I wasn’t hungry, anyway,” he said, his voice rough.

Monica turned and let the dress fall as she started down the hall to his bedroom. She wasn’t wearing a bra, Her lacy, boy briefs were hot pink. Long, long legs tapered down into brown boots with embroidered flowers on the sides. Before Texas, he’d been a stilettos man, not a boot man but,
damn
. Those boots were hotter than any high heels he’d seen.

Maybe it was the girl in the boots that made the difference.

Monica’s long hair swayed side to side as she walked, beckoning him to follow. Trick did.

He entered the bedroom to find Monica sitting on his bed’s navy comforter, legs to the side and curled beneath her, the way she’d sat most of the night before, when it was her turn to feed the kitten. The setting sun blazed through his window, casting an orange glow around the room and bringing out the blond highlights in her wavy hair. Pulled forward, the long tresses partially covered her breasts. Trick took a deep breath. He was the one who was supposed to keep Monica guessing. Instead, she had him tied up in knots wondering what was next. First she wanted things to stay the way they were. Then she spent the night with him in the vet clinic. Her sisters wanted answers and were sending Mat to get them. And Monica was oblivious to the hornets’ nest she was stirring up.