by Christa Wick
Too long without a boyfriend, my skin sizzled at the thought of him running those hands over me while he told me all the dirty things he wanted to do to me with that voice of his. Hell, he could read the back of a cereal box with that voice and I'd start panting.
I was almost back to the safety of my truck when his hand closed softly around my elbow.
Heat blazed across my skin. I sucked a breath in, more heat flaring inside me at how foolish I felt. He was a stranger, would remain a stranger. My body had absolutely no business getting all hot and bothered.
I twisted my arm, freed my elbow from his firm, but gentle grip and climbed into the cab. In a voice that sounded every bit as terse as he accused me of being earlier, I told him quickly, "Name’s Ginny."
He smiled and it was like sun breaking through the clouds after a long storm. "Does Ginny have a last name?"
I turned the key in the ignition, relieved when the truck sputtered to life, and glared at the driver until he took one step back from the vehicle to give me enough room to leave. "You can just call me Little Miss Running Late.” Throwing the truck into reverse, I backed away in a quick, wide arc so that I was pointing in the opposite direction. “Now remember to do what I told you,” I called out. “Late as I am, I might not stop if I see you still standing here on my way back this way."
Taking one last look at the dashboard clock, I put it into drive and hauled my ass home, trying my best the entire way to banish all memories of the stranger I’d likely never see again.
2
Ginny
I'd be lying if I said I didn't give more than a passing thought to the stranger the rest of that week.
I’d thought about him the whole time I was fixing daddy lunch that afternoon. Thought about him the rest of my shift, too, causing my orders to get mixed up enough to earn me a few fresh scowls from Roy.
And I don't even want to admit how much I thought about him halfway through the rest of the week when I managed a soak in the tub instead of taking a shower, Patsy Cline moaning on the CD player loud enough to cover my own soft mewls.
It’d take me a while to get him out of my system, but I was determined to. I didn’t need to be mooning over some rich city guy whose name I didn’t even know.
And since stubborn is as stubborn does, by the time Saturday rolled around, my week was winding down to an end almost identical to last week’s, which meant uneventful to the point of being practically stagnant. This time of day was around when most of Tupperville headed for bigger towns like Midland to do some shopping and other things we didn’t have here so the steakhouse was all but empty following the afternoon rush.
With two hours left to go on my shift, and every salt and pepper shaker and napkin holder in the joint filled up to the brim, Roy nudged my side and glanced over at station seven.
"Just gave you a live one, Ginny."
Live one was what Roy called a customer who looked like a good tipper. With Daddy injured on the job and his employer fighting him every inch of the way on the worker's comp claim, Roy had been trying to feed me as many live ones as he could. When he wasn't hassling me about my lunch breaks, the man was actually a pretty great boss.
Giving him a smile in thanks, I headed right on over to my station.
I saw right away why Roy thought the man would be a good tipper—the watch. It was as unmistakably expensive as the hand that wore it was familiar.
My vintage Mustang driver was sitting at station seven.
I shook my head to clear it of any foolish notions. Allowing my brain to even think of him in terms of “my” anything was just trouble. Rich and gorgeous, he was so far out of reach, it was ridiculous. Some other sleek, leggy Tupperville girl might attract the eye of a guy like him for a night or two—happened often enough—but it wouldn’t be me doing the giggling and the hair-twirling and the doomed hope-having.
It was never me.
Tamping down a sigh, I stopped alongside the table and mustered up the same smile I gave every customer at Roy's Steakhouse along with the menu. "Something to drink first?"
With my red hair, pale skin, multitude of freckles and too generous curves, I wasn’t exactly unnoticeable. And while I might not get the appreciative second looks that other women in town got from the male half of the population here, I got as much boob-ogling as the next girl. Maybe more given what I had to work with in that department.
But noticeable didn’t mean memorable.
I was usually the one that had to keep re-introducing myself to men I’d met at least a few times in the past. And that very fact was what helped ease my nerves a bit as I pulled out my ordering pad from my apron pocket. There was no way the handsome city stranger would recognize the plump country girl who’d rescued his dumb ass last week.
What was he doing back in town?
As if hearing my silent question, he looked up and instantly hit me with a slow, sexy grin.
"Miss Running Late."
I stared at him in shock. Which wasn’t any hardship, of course. The man was ruggedly beautiful. He had these intense, frosted blue eyes with a thick gray ring around the irises that glittered at me as his gaze locked on mine for a beat before slowly roaming over me from head to toe. But not in an ogling way. In a hot, deliberate way that made me feel like it was his big, calloused hands skimming over my curves.
He sucked his bottom lip in, stopping the smile until the lip emerged wet and flushing.
I blinked, gripped my pen tighter and glued my attention to my order sheet. No way would I get his order right if I had to look at that face, especially those eyes, again.
"That’s me,” I replied belatedly. “So, something to drink before you look over the menu?"
That same rumbling, purring noise he’d made that day slid past his lips and wrapped around my spine like a fist trying to tug me closer. Still, I refused to look up at him.
Nearly as stubborn as me, he spread his hands out on the table, not quite touching the surface as he absently swept them side to side and waited me out.
When I took a step back to return to the kitchen, finally he ordered his drink. "A sweet tea, with lots of ice.” He paused and I could practically feel his eyes lasered on me. “Seeing as how today’s turning out to be hotter than I expected."
"Right." I started to pivot, ready to flee. But before I could, he caught my elbow just like he had that day on the side of the road, his grip almost proprietary.
Fudgesicles!
His touch felt exactly like I remembered it, exactly how I had imagined it over and over the last few days as I ran my hands over my body in the bath or in bed.
"Not so fast, Miss Running Late. I need your advice on the meal."
Highly unlikely since he hadn’t even opened his menu yet, but I didn’t point that out.
"Okay." Flushing, I locked my gaze on the wall just north of his head and started reciting our standard spiel, "If you're looking for a light meal—"
"No, not a light meal. I’m a big guy. And suddenly very…hungry. So what do you have that’s full? Robust. Enough for my…appetite."
I sucked a little air between my teeth as his answer snaked its way around my hips. I obviously hadn't heard him talk enough to know if this was his normal voice. I just knew that every word he said sounded like pure sin, dripping with the most wicked promises possible.
"Well," I started, trying my best not to stutter, "the top sirloin platter—"
"No," he interrupted again. "I'm not looking for lean. I want thick, juicy, and…succulent. You can give me that, right?"
Eyes wide, I finally risked another look at his face to find his gaze hitting the same spot his words had, my thighs.
My thick, overheated, and currently tightly-clenched thighs.
Just who in the hell did he think he was?
I shoved the order sheet and pen back in my little apron. "Mister, are you actually going to order or are you just here to be a pain in the ass?"
"Virginia Kelly!"
The
small gasp of indignation came from about two feet behind me. I turned to see my recently retired eighth-grade English teacher, Elaine Harrison, wearing her trademarked frown. Lucky for me, both Roy and my momma think Ms. Henderson was an annoying old biddy, so I could afford to frown right back at her before returning my attention to my wholly amused customer.
Reaching across the table, I grabbed the menu he still hadn't opened and slapped it down in front of him.
"Read it. Pick your own meal. I'll be back with your sweet tea momentarily."
Ignoring his chuckle, I marched to the drink station at the back of the kitchen to get his tea and calm down a bit. Roy may have eased off some about my overly long lunch breaks lately, and I knew he genuinely wanted to help my family out by keeping me employed, but he wouldn't tolerate my talking to a customer like that.
Unfortunately, calming down didn’t look to be on the menu—not with Cherry Thompson sliding through the kitchen doors after me.
"Hey, Pudge Pie, I'm taking over station seven unless you want me to tell Roy what you just did." Her tone was pure southern bitch, sounding like butter wouldn't melt in her mouth even though everyone in town knows exactly what Cherry was willing to do with that mouth and every other hole she had after a few free beers at Teddy's Roadhouse. Funny how she still managed to have the worst tips among all Roy's wait staff though. Guess the free blow jobs she gave out in the men’s restroom at Teddy’s, and even the back alley of Roy’s on the weekends in broad daylight, didn’t make up for the fact that she truly was a crappy waitress who was always screwing up orders when those very same guys came into Roy's with their buddies or wives during the week.
“Hello? Did you hear me?” She snapped her fingers in my face.
Normally Cherry Thompson was the last person I'd back down from, not that I'm accustomed to backing down at all. But I didn't think I could face another round of whatever the hell that was back there at the booth.
"Fine by me." I shoved the glass of sweet tea into her hand and headed for the wash station so I could go help out in the kitchen. Roy wouldn’t get all bent out of shape about me not being out front so long as I was assisting Bud with food prep.
Yes, I had every intention of hiding in the back until Mr. Moneybags from New York was done eating and gone.
Honestly though, from the look he’d given me after I’d nearly attacked him with his own menu, I had a strange feeling this wasn’t going to be the last I saw of him.
3
Hawk
I couldn’t believe I’d actually found her. And now I knew her name, too.
Miss Virginia Kelly.
Or Ginny, as she’d introduced herself to me the other day.
I looked down at the menu, still sitting right where she’d smacked it down in front of me and grinned. She was a feisty, delectable little thing.
Watching her walk away, her body a tightly wound study in female fury, had been something else. I’d wanted to go after her, but I figured she needed a bit to cool off.
Hell, I did too.
Forgetting the public decorum that had been drilled into me since infancy, I hadn't been able to keep myself from teasing her a little, all while being open about what I wanted.
I wanted her.
The bountiful curves and fiery beauty had driven all the blood straight to my cock from the moment she’d bent over and started banging around under my hood.
And judging from our exchange just now, I wasn’t the only one feeling the heat between us. But then that waspish school marm of a woman had screeched Virginia's name and stopped everything cold.
As mad as Ginny was, it just amplified the enticing sway of her full hips, put a little more sizzle in the angry bounce of her luscious ass. I’d watched the entire show clear until she disappeared behind a swinging door to the back.
That was when it all went downhill.
Right after she stormed off to the kitchen, another waitress beelined her way to me. With every step closer she took, ice crawled down my spine and across my balls, freezing away all the delicious heat my Texas firecracker had sparked.
And Ginny was definitely a firecracker.
She was the only reason I was back here in Tupperville, a lot further out than my business required, running random errands I’d usually have an assistant or delivery service take care of. I’d been everywhere this past week—the bank, post office, and the grocery and hardware stores. But I hadn’t run into her once.
Now that I finally had, looked like I’d be getting all my meals at Roy's Steakhouse for a while. At least until she warmed up to me and let me take her out on a proper date where she could sit down and eat with me.
When the glass of ice tea I’d ordered appeared on the table in front of me, with a manicured hand still attached to it, and a display of over-exposed cleavage hovering not far above it, I had to work hard to hold back a grunt of annoyance.
"Here’s your tea, sugar," the waitress purred, flipping her hair and bending even lower—so low that I could now see the wiggle of her ass over the top of her head. "Have you decided what you'd like to eat today? Because we’ve got some things ‘off-menu’ I’m sure you’ll enjoy." She straightened up and practically humped her crotch against the edge of my table.
Fuck, talk about a turn-off.
"What happened to the other waitress?"
Rolling her eyes, the woman finally took a much-appreciated step back from the table. Her hand waving toward the kitchen in dismissal.
"I suppose you're talking about Pudge Pie.” She smirked. “Don't worry, you won't have to deal with that mess again."
Pudge Pie?
The lightning-fast urge to splash the ugly sneer off the woman's face with the tea she’d just delivered rose up in me with a red hot fury. But I played it cool instead. I’d been dealing with caustic, conniving females like her all my life. First among my parents friends, then at prep school, then in the board room.
Still, even someone with a bad agenda could be a good source of information.
"A mess, huh? How so?" I asked, opening the menu like I was just making small talk.
She waved her hand again, her gesture full of practiced nonchalance.
"Her whole family is a mess. Father's busted up and not good for anything anymore. Brother scrounges work when he can find it, but he isn’t qualified for much. Mother's never home, not that I blame her. And then there's Pudge Pie…the stories I could tell you about that little tramp if I weren't a lady."
She leaned low again to pick up the menu, the full display of breasts and wiggling ass demonstrating that she was far from being a lady even if she had the equipment.
"So, tell me, sugar, what can I tempt you with?"
Pulling a five-dollar bill from my pocket, I placed it on the table as I stood up, the money payment for my abandoned sweet tea.
"Nothing," I answered and walked out the door.
4
Ginny
"You are coming, right?" My brother Beau stood in the doorway to my bedroom, his bright green eyes twinkling beneath a fall of red hair. Unlike me, he's as brown as any Kelly has ever managed to get. Working the oil derricks like he does, he spends most of his days shirtless and dripping sweat. "C'mon, Ginny boo, Shelly is working a double shift and doesn't want me to go alone."
I pulled a pillow from behind my head and covered my face with it. A week had passed since my run-in with the stranger at Roy's. It was my first day off since then, too, and I needed the break from looking over my shoulder constantly to make sure the man hadn't reappeared. The last thing I wanted to do was go to some company picnic in late July on my day off.
Feeling Beau tweak my big toe, I jerked my leg then threw my pillow where I expected his head to be. He caught it before it could so much as muss his hair and threw it right back at me.
I put the pillow over my face again, my voice muffled as I talked through it. "Why are you even going? McKinley Oil isn't exactly your employer anyway."
He had been picking up odd
workdays at the McKinley sites and a few others whenever they were down a crew member, but hadn't landed at any company permanently. His chances of doing so were pretty slim. Most of the oil companies that had invaded the land around Tupperville brought workers in from other locations instead of hiring locals. My little West Texas town was loaded with strangers.
"Because I stand a damn better chance of getting on permanent if I do. And, once I do, you can cut your hours in time for the fall semester at Midland."
I growled, half annoyed, half feeling guilty. Leave it to Beau to make it sound like he was doing me a favor when he was asking me to do one for him. I still didn't understand why he needed me to go. Shelly didn't have a jealous bone in her body and wouldn't throw a fit if he went stag, despite Beau being the best looking man in Tupperville.
Well, the best looking next to my New York stranger.
Ugh! I pressed the pillow harder against my face. I'd gone all morning without thinking about that man, now was not the time to start up again!
Beau tweaked my toe again and pulled the pillow from my face. "C'mon, Ginny. Throw on some shorts, slap a little sunscreen on, and let's go. It’ll be good for you to get some sun.“
“Alright, alright. Quit badgering me.” Grousing the whole time, I changed clothes, slathered half a bottle of sunscreen all over my pale, freckled limbs and put a spot of makeup on—just a swipe of mascara and some brow pencil for shaping. The sun had already kissed my cheeks well and good that summer, so I didn't need any extra color on my face.
"No e-reader, no books, no magazines." Beau took the device away and handed it to Momma, who was waiting by the door. "And you can keep your phone in the glove box. You're going to be social today, Virginia Kelly."
Momma smiled and kissed my cheek. "Listen to Beau, honey. You've been awfully quiet these last two weeks, even if you don't want to admit it or tell us why. Try to have a little fun at the picnic."