The Irresistible Curves Collection

by Christa Wick

  Roy stuck a fat, padded envelope in my hand. “Anyway, he said you'd need this before heading out to the site. Go on and get.“

  Thus ended the job I'd held since high school, one that had helped keep the utilities on while Daddy was laid up and helped get them turned on in the first place when the Kelly family's world had been turned upside down eighteen months ago.

  I gave Roy a fierce hug and headed out.

  Pulling into the H-E-B Foods parking lot to sit and mull things over for a spell, I thought about all the bad luck my family and I had faced before today, before I got this surprising bout of good fortune stuffed in an envelope, attached with strings though it surely was.

  I thought about the storm that had knocked out the power at the garage Daddy worked at, short circuiting the car lift he’d been working under, and leaving him still barely able to stand, let alone walk or work, now. Tearing open the envelope, I reminded myself how, ten miles away from where Daddy had been trapped for six hours under a car in excruciating pain that day, a tornado had blown through the Kelly homestead, obliterating our home and every last piece of furniture and personal articles in it.

  Goodbye to my parents' wedding photos, the baby blankets Gran had quilted for me and Beau, the china Daddy's great-great grandmother had brought over from Ireland.

  Goodbye everything.

  That was why we were crammed in a small rental just struggling to keep all the bill collectors away. And that was why I just kept my nose to the ground and worked my ass off while putting up with the Cherry Thompsons of my town and all their childish bullshit.

  And that was also why Roy was right; I needed to take this new job.

  Money spilled out onto my lap from the now open envelope, a thick wad of hundreds with a piece of paper wrapped around it.

  Bracing myself for another Hawk McKinley negotiating tactic, I unfolded the paper and started to read.

  Ginny,

  I know you're still figuring things out and sorting out truth from lies. But I also know if I let you have your way, you'll run and hide. So understand this—I don't plan on leaving you anywhere to hide, Sweet Tea. The finance office at Midland shows your next semester is paid in full as of eight this morning. Enclosed is every dollar for every hour you will work at the McKinley site. If you still choose to run, fine. But I'll keep chasing. I don't stop until I get what I want, and I want you, Ginny.

  Hawk

  Certain I was going to pass out, I let the wad of money fall to the truck floor by my feet and wrapped my hands around the steering wheel. I bent my neck until my forehead rested against the wheel then I closed my eyes.

  Sweet baby Jesus, what was wrong with that man?

  Was it possible? Did Hawk McKinley really find me that attractive? Attractive enough to not just flirt with for real, but enough to chase?

  I took a few deep breaths in before I opened my eyes and stared at the money covering my shoes. I reached down, picked it up and counted through it. More than twice the five weeks left of summer shifts at Roy's.

  Everything I had read, hunkered down at the computer in the library on Sunday afternoon, suggested that Hawk McKinley was a good man.

  He didn't just give money to charity like the rest of his family did. When McKinley Oil donated to Habitat for Humanity after the tornadoes ripped through East Texas last year, he not only signed a very big check, but went and swung the hammer, too, taking all his local crew from Beaumont for two weeks.

  Was that all public relations or all Hawk?

  Knowing I wasn't going to figure out what McKinley was up to while I sat in the grocery store parking lot, I stuffed the money back in the envelope and drove home to change.

  For my new job.

  8

  Ginny

  On the back of Hawk McKinley's letter was a map to the site offices. I knew the building and location. It was the only concrete structure around it for a good seven miles and the only thing standing in that area after the line of tornadoes that took out our house. It had been built in the eighties to hold dairy cattle during milking, but a drought had involuntarily changed the owner's mind before the equipment could be installed. The building had been sitting empty except for cobwebs and spiders until McKinley Oil leased the land after the wells hit.

  Parking along the side of the building, I was barely out of my car when I heard a string of curse words that would make a sailor blush. Then I heard something like the sound of metal striking metal. I followed the noise to the back of the building where I found a thickly mustached fifty something male still cussing up a storm as he battled a portable generator. With the way the man was swinging his wrench, I approached cautiously, letting my feet stir up the gravel so he could hear me coming.

  Looking up, his scowl softened. "You my new Girl Friday?"

  "If you're Red Addams, then, yes sir, I am." I could feel the heat coming off the generator.

  Roy had this exact model for when storms knocked the electricity out at the steakhouse. Without asking, I opened the main panel and started poking around a bit. The thermostat was opening, but it was half choked with dust. Taking the wrench from Red, I gave the area much softer taps, trying not to laugh because the Mustang wasn't the only piece of McKinley's equipment with radiator issues.

  After another minute spent checking the rest of the engine, I started it back up. "You have an air compressor on site? It could use a good blow."

  "Got one I can get back here this evening." Wiping a bandana across his dirt streaked forehead, Red gave a short nod telling me I had passed at least the first part of his inspection. "If you know your way around the computer as well as an engine, little girl, I'm going to owe Hawk a bottle of scotch."

  I smiled at Red. At more than twice my age, he could call me little girl if it suited him. Hawk could not, and I was going to let McKinley know exactly that at the first available opportunity.

  Still smiling, I followed Red around to the front of the building. Stepping inside, he pointed at a desk then plopped down in front of the small AC unit plugging up the window, his face all but touching the grill.

  "Sweet Jesus it's hot!"

  I sat down at the desk, my gaze glued to a vase of freshly cut yellow roses. Next to it, a clean coffee cup, Kelly green in color, rested upside down.

  Seeing what held my attention, Red laughed. "Hawk said he might have strong armed you into working for me. I guess that's his way of apologizing."

  My mouth flattened and Red laughed even harder.

  "Looks like the boss might have to grovel a bit. Can I watch?"

  A silky baritone I had already memorized answered before I could.

  "No, Red, you can't. I prefer to do my groveling in private."

  With a slight turn of my head, I looked at the previously closed doorway to one of the building's interior rooms. Hawk McKinley filled the space with his big frame. He slapped a rolled sheath of papers against his thigh then nodded at the computer in front of me.

  "Why don't you take a few minutes getting Ginny logged in, then we need to discuss the numbers coming out of rig eight."

  Those "few minutes" lasted fifteen as Red showed me where to find the inventory lists on my computer, the crew's time sheets, purchase orders and more, made sure I knew how to work the two-way radio and then set me to sorting out some open items before he disappeared behind the door marked Private.

  Red returned an hour later, checked on my progress then told me he was heading out for rig eight. There was a map on the wall, small pins sticking into it with little tags hanging from them marked with the names of the crew members at each location. He moved a red-tipped pin from the office we were sitting in and pushed it into a big number eight about five miles away.

  "Normally, the boys check in with their cell phones and it's logged automatically on the server, even in Iraq, but we've had to go old school out here." He grabbed a baseball cap and smoothed it over his gray hair. "I'll bring that air compressor back with me."

  I nodded, my insides
jumping at the thought of being left alone in the building with Hawk McKinley. I spent the next fifteen minutes fidgeting with inventory lists at my desk, my ears sensitive to the slightest sounds within the building. Hearing the doorknob behind me start to rotate, I straightened at my desk and stared a little harder at the open spreadsheet. I was here to earn back every damn dollar in that envelope, and not a penny of it would be spent socializing with Hawk McKinley.

  "Red show you where the coffee maker is at?"

  My brows popped up. "Am I supposed to make coffee?"

  "No." He stopped in front of my desk and turned the cup over. "You're supposed to drink it. Of course, if you can brew a better pot than Red, please do."

  "I don't drink coffee." I nodded at the water dispenser with its inverted five gallon jug. "But I can brew it well enough."

  "Mm-hmm." Hawk grabbed the little green cup on my desk and proceeded to fill it with water.

  He brought it back, leaned close to place it next to me, then straightened and continued to stand in front of my desk as I worked. I lasted three minutes pretending he didn't exist before I lifted my eyes to glare at him. "Is there something else Mr. McK—"

  There was nothing professional in the face staring down at me. Hawk's mouth had formed a sultry pout, like he was holding a plump strawberry between his lips and trying hard not to dent the skin with his teeth. His eyes had gone soft, his gaze floating against my neck and the swell of my breasts. His hands danced along the top of my desk, the strong, deft fingers stroking its edge like a man might stroke the folds of his lover's sex.

  "Look here, Hawk McKinley." I pointed at my eyes then wagged my finger at him. "Thanks to your little heart-to-heart with the man who was my employer for the last eight years, I don't have a job any more. That's the only reason I'm here and you're not getting anything out of me you didn't get out of Red's last four clerks. And I hear they were all men. So unless you have some real interesting stories to spin about that, you just need to keep your hands in your pockets and your eyes in their sockets and let me work!"

  With a naughty grin lighting his face, Hawk shoved his hands in his pockets. Fat bit of good his compliance did me—the gesture pulled the front panel of fabric tight, removing any mystery of just how long and thick Hawk McKinley got when he was hard.

  I choked a little air in and swallowed. Biscuits and gravy, the man was packing a mighty big load.

  "No promises on where I keep my eyes, Sweet Tea."

  The smile in his voice told me he knew exactly what I was thinking and where I was looking.

  One hand left its pocket long enough to stroke a finger under my chin and lift my gaze until it met his. "Maybe you better throw on a parka or something tomorrow if you're really worried about me drinking in every curve of that sweet body."

  He finished with a wink and walked back into his office, shutting the door behind him.

  Alone in the reception area, I nodded and grabbed a small memo pad and pen from the side of my computer.

  Buy a parka!

  9

  Hawk

  Retreating to the inner office, I sank into my chair and couldn’t stop grinning like a damn fool. I didn’t care. I had Ginny close by, and that’s all that mattered.

  Now that I’d solved the proximity and frequency problem, I could work on the aversion issue she seemed to have to my general presence.

  It wasn't me personally she disliked. That much had been clear from our very first meeting.

  More and more, I was starting to recognize that it was my wealth that was igniting her resistance and disdain—money coupled with the false impression that I was some pampered rich boy.

  I wasn’t.

  Hell, I might not know about the fan belts on a Mustang, but I knew every step of drilling on land, to include putting the rig together bolt-by-bolt. My hands bore the hard-earned scars of a Roughneck education and I was damn proud of each one.

  I knew that if Ginny would just let me get my hands on those luscious curves of hers, she’d know the difference between who I was and who she thought I was.

  Let me get my calloused fingers on those tight nipples I couldn’t wait to get my mouth on.

  Let me brush a rough thumb against her clit.

  Damn straight she would know then.

  The whole building would know because I wouldn’t do a thing to stop them from hearing her find out the kind of man I was, from hearing her find out who it was that was claiming her in front of God and all his men.

  Dick ready to bust the zipper on my jeans, I stretched my legs, leaned hard against the chair back and exhaled a few measured breaths.

  Just thinking about what I wanted to prove to her reminded me of why I wanted to prove it so badly.

  It wasn't just an aversion to money she had—I needed to remember that.

  There was a fragile look that flashed across Ginny's face whenever I tried to flirt with her. Fragile and distrustful. She didn't believe me, not even when I had been unable to keep from growing erect in her presence.

  Shaking my head, I rubbed hard at my blistering cheeks and gave one a hard slap. I still couldn't believe I had lost control like that. I had tried like hell not to, filled my head with P&L statements, ran through inflationary projections, and so much more. But Ginny made me thirsty—like she was a sweet tea brewed exclusively for my tongue and lips. I wanted to taste her, wanted to feel the way her curves yielded to me.

  Pulling me away from visions of Ginny quivering at the end of my dick, my phone vibrated along my desk with an incoming call. A glance at the screen revealed it was my father. I let it go to voicemail then waited for the transcript to show in my text messages.

  You should have been home last week.

  Performance is as expected.

  Stop mixing with the locals.

  Lunch with the DoE scheduled for Monday.

  Making my father wait, I woke the laptop on my desk and sent an email to a local realtor who had a line on a three bedroom ranch house located in Tupperville and available on a short-term lease. The amenities were few. No home gym, no pool, no jetted tub.

  But it was skipping distance from Ginny.

  The realtor replied eight minutes after I hit send on the email, the delay prompted by contacting the owner to ensure the house was still available. It was. I booked it and scheduled a time for that afternoon to sign the lease.

  Smiling, I scooped up the phone and texted my father.

  Won't make it.

  Give the Secretary my regards.

  10

  Ginny

  The work week passed quickly. Hawk was out of the office more than he was in attendance, or he was hours deep into phone calls around the globe. Red remarked more than once how the boss had overstayed his visit a good week or more, which was why he had to spend so much time on the phone.

  If every nerve ending in my body hadn't been acutely aware of Hawk's placement, I'd have barely known he was there.

  Until late Friday afternoon, that is, when he started purring around the office five minutes after Red headed out to rig eight, the site's official problem child. It started with chit chat—like him asking me if I was looking forward to a real weekend off and did I have any plans. I kept my nose buried in my work, giving him single syllable replies.

  "You almost sound disinterested, Ginny." Hawk stood in front of the filing cabinet with his back to me. He'd been there a good three minutes doing nothing that looked like real work and everything that looked like a big, fat pretense.

  "I am," I snorted, forcing my gaze back to my computer screen. The task almost proved too much for me. Hawk McKinley has a gorgeous backside, whether it's dressed up in a silk suit or cheek-hugging jeans like he had on right then.

  "Sweet Tea, didn't anyone lecture you about the evils of lying?” His voice was full-on purr by that point.

  "I'm not."

  Hawk turned and leaned across my desk, yanking my attention from the computer to his blue-gray eyes. Framed with dark espresso lash
es and brows that looked black as often as they looked dark brown, his eyes were beautiful, just like the rest of him. They saw too damn much, as well. His mouth quirked up in a smile and he slowly shook his head side-to-side.

  "You need to work on your poker face when you fib, little girl, and also on how to ogle a man's ass so he doesn't realize you're doing it."

  My cheeks flushed hot and I closed my eyes, ready to tell Hawk he was all ass, from his salon perfect hair to what I presumed were his pedicured toes, when the front door flew open and Red came in bleeding and swearing, Beau hot on his heels.

  I gave Beau a quick look over to make sure he was okay as Hawk and I rushed to Red's side. The old man shook us off and went to the sink in the break room.

  "It aint nothing but a little cut," he grumbled.

  Seeing the amount of blood, I wanted to disagree but I rushed to grab the first aid kit instead. The gash ran across the meat of his forearm for about two inches.

  "You're going to need stitches," I scolded.

  Shaking his head, he grabbed the kit from me and poured disinfectant over the wound then plopped down in the chair and pulled out a handful of steri-strips. Hawk took over, holding Red's arm flat against the table and taking the butterfly stitches from him.

  "Ginny's right. We'll get the bleeding stopped, but then Beau's driving you straight to the clinic." He jerked his chin at my brother to get his attention while I went back to my desk and called the emergency clinic in town to inform them Red would soon be on his way.

  Returning to the break room, I tried not to hover. The bleeding seemed under control and not as bad as I first thought. Red still had plenty of color in his cheeks, so he must not have lost too much on the drive over from rig eight.

  "What the hell happened and why wasn't first aid done at the rig?" Hawk growled his questions at the two men.