Duke. She rolled her eyes at the macho name. “Someone played a nasty trick on you. That’s not a dog. That’s a rabid bear.”
Nathan chuckled, which didn’t earn him any points. “He’s harmless.”
“Try telling him that.”
“Tate, Duke is a Rottweiler. He just looks mean. He’s barely a year old. He does get overexcited sometimes—”
“Overexcited?” she repeated. “That thing tried to eat me!”
He grinned. “Can’t say as I blame him much. You look awful tasty to me.” He seemed to drink in her features before his warm mouth covered hers. Sweet, supplicating, he submerged her into the deep soul kiss like a drug.
The powerful addiction of his kisses and his reverent caresses seeped into the marrow of her bones. With the reluctance of a junkie forgoing a fix, she pulled away. “Not in front of the beast,” she murmured. “He scares me.”
Nathan waited a beat. “Seriously?”
The gentle caress of his thumb on her cheekbone made her feel safe enough to admit, “Most dogs scare me.”
“Didn’t you have a dog growing up?”
“Not for lack of trying.”
“What do you mean?”
“See, I meticulously planned how I’d trick my parents into buying me a pet. I begged them for a pony first. Then a dog. But my scheme didn’t work because I couldn’t convince them to let me have even a small Persian cat. When I got my own place, it seemed cruel to leave an animal locked up all day.” She winced, realizing what she’d implied. “But I didn’t mean—”
Nathan cut off her apology with a soft kiss. “I know. The truth hurts. I feel guilty about leaving Duke penned up. Not his fault that I work so much. Val thought if I had a dog, at least maybe I wouldn’t hate coming home to an empty house.” His hands dropped to her shoulders.
Tate watched the play of emotions in his eyes before she cuddled closer. “Come on. Let’s go inside. I’m dying to see your house.”
He tipped her chin up. His gaze roamed her face. “Why? Did you think I lived in a tipi?”
“Hardly. While I contemplated the end of my life at Duke’s ferocious jowls, my imagination ran wild on why you have a guard dog in the first place. Got a cache of kinky stuff hidden in your closet?” She brushed tender kisses over his jaw, his lips, the corners of his mouth until he released a sigh. “Pity we can’t sample anything tonight, because you look exhausted.”
“I am. Although I am up for sampling those cookies.”
Tate stopped when they moved toward the source of loud, excited yipping. “So Duke is coming in too?”
“Why? Don’t you like him?”
“Even though we bonded in a Pavlovian way…” She faltered, deciding for once to give Nathan more than a flip answer. “I don’t like him nearly as much as I like you.”
Nathan hugged her to his chest at her small confession. “The feeling is mutual.”
“Besides, he slobbers,” Tate pointed out.
“One whiff of you and I slobber too. But Duke does need to come in. He’s probably hungry.”
“Not after all the cookies he ate.”
Friday night, Tate watched Nathan circle the pool table as he lined up his shot.
It’d been ages since she’d spent an evening in a jam-packed bar out on a date. Not that she and Nathan were dating. Still…something crackled in the air between them tonight. He ambled away and she zeroed in on the yummy view of his killer backside.
“I saw that,” a husky voice whispered close to her ear.
“Saw what?” Tipping the beer bottle toward her mouth, Tate studied Nancy’s amused expression.
“The way you checked out how nicely Nathan’s butt fills out those Wranglers.” Nancy slurped the last bit of her Fuzzy Navel. “Mmm. Mmm. Don’t be offended when I say he has the most extraordinary buns.”
“Amen,” two voices chorused from across the table.
“Does your husband know you ogle other men?”
“Yep. As long as all I do is look.” Nancy grinned and chomped on the red-and-white-striped straw. “So tell me, how long have you and Nathan been together?”
We aren’t. The immediate denial popped into Tate’s head, but she played along, convincing herself the little white lie hurt no one. “A couple of weeks.”
“Funny how he hadn’t mentioned that to any of us,” Nancy said. “How did you two hook up?”
Initially, Tate had been nervous about meeting Nathan’s friends. But when they’d welcomed her into their group, she’d relaxed and pretended just for tonight this was an actual date. “He’s doing some work for me.”
Nancy batted aside her sleek bob. “Of course it had to be business related with Nathan. That man works like a dog.”
“Never has time for anything else,” Tina added. “I, for one, am thrilled to see him dating again. Someone nice this time, especially after—” She broke off when Vickie elbowed her.
“Especially after,” Nancy interjected, “Nathan hasn’t dated for a while.”
“I know,” Tate said.
Vickie’s jeweled fingers fluttered at her tanned throat. “You know about Kathy, the Indian princess?”
First time she’d heard her called that. Did Nathan prefer dating women with a similar ethnic background? It made sense, but the thought didn’t sit well with her. “Not everything,” Tate admitted with a tiny shrug. “Just the basic breakup story. Did you all know her well?”
Tina scowled, tracing the condensation from her highball glass with a violet fingernail. “Enough to be glad she didn’t get her hooks into Nathan, although she tried.”
“And she’s still trying,” Vickie pointed out.
“Yeah, she sure bitched about him working all the time, but she was more than willing to spend his hard-earned money. Luckily, Nathan wised up.”
Nancy signaled for another round of drinks. “Let’s not waste another breath on her when I want to hear the details about you and Nathan.”
Over the chorus of oohs, Tina winked. “Fair warning. As Nathan’s friends, we feel entitled to ask you anything.”
“And I thought Val was bad,” Tate grumbled.
“No, I think Nathan’s got it bad. He can’t take his eyes off of you,” Vickie said slyly. “And either he’s got a broken pool cue in his pocket, or he is very happy you are here.”
“He does look more relaxed.” Nancy gestured with the mangled straw. “How you managed to get him to borrow Steve’s boat this week is a major miracle. Did you guys have fun?”
Tate nearly choked on her beer. Surely Nathan hadn’t confessed to one of their husbands what had transpired between them on the boat?
“Are you or are you not…?” Vickie gestured vaguely.
“Sleeping with him,” Tina supplied. “We’re curious how that killer bod moves between the sheets.”
How was she supposed to answer? If she couldn’t spill the particulars to Val, Nathan wouldn’t appreciate her telling the skimpy details to them. She shifted on the barstool. “Umm—”
“He’s probably sweet, tender and romantic,” Nancy offered.
Tate gave her a wry look, which was completely lost on her.
Vickie’s bleached-blonde hair stuck to her Miller Lite bottle as she vehemently shook her head. “No. Nathan has too much raw male power. I’ll bet he’s an animal.”
“True. With his Native American genes I’ll bet he has the single-minded concentration of a warrior on a buffalo hunt,” Tina said dreamily.
They looked to her raptly and waited. Tate kept her expression bland. “He’s very sweet and only exhibits animal behavior when I tie him up. He hates that.”
By their raucous hoots, she knew she’d given the right answer. Tate laughed herself silly listening to their exploits. Although she spent time with Val and occasionally Grace, she realized how much she’d isolated herself since leaving Denver. There was nothing on earth like female camaraderie. For a while she’d even forgotten she was on a pseudo date.
But Nath
an hadn’t forgotten.
Tate was distracting as hell. Her bare legs dangled enticingly from the barstool, making him ache to run his tongue from her toe to her hip. The marathon pool game finally ended, and he yanked her back toward the jukebox, amidst the lewd suggestions and wolf whistles of his friends.
In a darkened corner of the dance floor he dropped his lips over hers and devoured her. Yearning dulled his senses. Nathan didn’t know how much more he could take and not take her right there in the dimly lit bar.
Tate pulled back and blinked up at him with drowsy satisfaction. “What was that for?”
“For looking so damn sexy that you totally blew my concentration. We lost. You are hell on my pool game, Tate.”
She smirked. “Sorry.”
“No you’re not.” He backed her against the wall. One whiff of her shampoo crowded reason from his head. Bracing his hands next to her shoulders, he kept his mouth a mere kiss away.
Panic momentarily flared in her eyes. “Let’s dance so it doesn’t look like we’re screwing in the corner.”
When she tried to duck under his arm, he boxed her in. “Does it bother you what my friends might think?” Or have you noticed I’m the only red-skinned guy in the place?
“No.” A tight smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. “I implied we were boinking like bunnies anyway.”
“Why would you do that?”
“Remember?” Her eyes became unnaturally bright. “That’s part of what this deal is about, right? To prove that you’re not lousy in the sack?”
He stared at Tate for a moment with an acute sense of loss, forgetting that was what she believed—he was using her to recoup the supposed crushing blow Kathy had leveled to his manhood.
His eyes burned, and embarrassment tinged his cheeks. Christ, he was a heel. No, lower than a heel. The lowest, worn-down tread of his cheapest pair of cowboy boots type of heel. A liar that had taken advantage of the sweetest, sexiest woman he’d ever known.
Without waiting for his reply, Tate wrapped herself around him and they swayed to the wailing steel guitar.
“I like touching you.” His hand pressed into the small of her back. “All over body touching.”
“Not here,” she murmured. “However I’m not surprised that slow dancing appeals to your romantic streak.”
Tate stared up at him with blue eyes so deep and clear a man could dive right in and never get out. “It does.”
“Mine too,” she whispered, snuggling closer.
The slow song segued into two, then three. They remained entwined. But the minute “Boot Scootin’ Boogie” started, Tate leapt back. “No way.”
A teasing grin spread across his face. “Opposed to fast dancing?”
“Nathan, Nathan,” she chided. “The only fast moves I want to witness from you are done horizontally.”
It was the soft, unsure, girlish kiss on the cheek that undid him. He wanted her. She wanted him. The path of romance could only carry them so far, and they’d finally reached the end of the road.
Nathan clasped her hand and led her back to the table, nearly tripping over his own cowboy boots in an attempt to drag her out of the bar.
Except his friends wouldn’t let them leave. The women whisked Tate to the other end of the table before Nathan could protest.
While discussing an upcoming job with the guys, Nathan glanced up at the clock impatiently and saw Kathy surveying their table. He froze. Her quizzical gaze flicked from Tate back to Nathan. A sneer twisted her lips.
The women bent their heads together, and Tate leaned back slightly to give Kathy a once-over that was anything but casual.
Nathan stood and knocked his stool over in his haste to reach Tate. He ignored her startled look, hauled her to her feet and crushed their mouths and bodies together so tightly a flimsy bar napkin wouldn’t have fit between them. He kissed her until all the oxygen exited his body, rendering him lightheaded.
Tate broke the kiss with a huge gasp for breath and staggered backward, her face and chest the color of an overripe tomato.
Applause broke out. Steve shouted, “Way to show the rest of us how it’s done, LeBeau. Better check her butt to see if your brand took.” Deep rumbling chuckles mixed with feminine giggles.
Nathan swallowed his automatic grin at Tate’s furious eyes.
“Take me home. Now.” She grabbed her purse, spun on her heel and stormed outside.
He followed Tate to his pickup, keeping a safe distance from the purple handbag she’d started swinging like a mace.
The warm night breeze was a refreshing break from the stale air in the bar. Inside the truck, he left the windows open but turned off the radio, waiting for Tate to chew his ass.
But she remained aloof. After he shut off the engine in her driveway, he started to apologize for his idiotic behavior. “Tate, can we talk—”
“No.” Then she raised her hand to forestall any further comment. “Goodnight Nathan, I’ll see you later.” Within seconds, she’d bolted from the truck cab.
At the arbor, Nathan caught her shoulder and spun her to face him. “I’m sorry I acted like an ass. I don’t know what else to say.”
Confused, hurt blue eyes studied him for an eternity. She said, “Whatever.” Then she started toward her front door.
Nathan turned her around again. “Why are you being like this? I said I was sorry.”
“I know. It’s late, and I’m sure you’re planning an early start in the morning.”
His stomach churned at the sight of her usually sweet mouth drawn into a grim line. “I planned on staying with you tonight.”
Incredulity flashed through her eyes. “Why would you think that?”
“Because when—”
“When what? When a mere fifteen seconds after you spot your ex-girlfriend this whole ‘you-need-romance’ line of bullshit isn’t enough anymore? Now you’re anxious to burn up the sheets with me?”
The heat of her anger sucked the breath from his lungs, and his hope for the evening whooshed out right alongside it. His jaw tightened. His hands curled into fists against the urge to grab her and make her see reason. “That incident has nothing to do with me wanting to stay with you tonight.”
“No?” she challenged. “But then again it’s always been about what you want, hasn’t it? Have you ever wondered what I want? How I feel?” Her eyes glittered with unshed tears. “Let me tell you. I feel like the most undesirable woman on the planet. You can’t even bring yourself to have sex with me when I am a sure thing. Forget the humiliating way you conk out when I’m touching you, or that you can’t be bothered to call me when we’ve made tentative plans.” Her chin quivered briefly, but she firmed it and defiantly thrust it out. “Dammit, Nathan, I know this isn’t a relationship, but I entered this…deal in good faith.”
Nathan was speechless.
Her voice dropped another octave. “If you didn’t want me or weren’t attracted to me, you should have said no to the landscaping proposal and the rest of my stupid suggestion in the first place.”
Frustrated, he kissed her. All thrusting tongue, knocking teeth, a wet, hot, carnal swamping of the senses that left them both weak and clinging. Through his uneven breathing, he demanded softly, “Did that feel like I don’t want you?”
She stepped away and swiped her mouth with the back of her unsteady hand. She wrapped her arms around her upper body in a self-hug.
Guilt flooded him. She looked small and fragile. Hurt. It was entirely his fault. He pleaded, “Then let me stay tonight and make it up to you, Tate.”
“I can’t,” she said, finally raising her miserable blue gaze to him. “I need to respect myself more than I need an orgasm.”
He could only watch helplessly as Tate raced up the sagging porch steps, slammed and locked the heavy oak door behind her.
Now what should he do?
Beating on the screen hollering her name, à la Brando in Streetcar, wouldn’t seem romantic; it’d smack of desperation. Instead he climb
ed into his truck and burned rubber like the finest NASCAR driver.