Dare to be Dirty (The Dirty Girls Book Club #2)

by Savanna Fox

  He felt the warmth of her skin through the thin fabric of her long skirt. Though he generally liked women in jeans or short skirts, the skimpy cotton made him think dirty thoughts. What lay beneath it?

  “Anyhow,” George said, “if you two are like Woody, I’m guessing you’ve been riding for a long time.”

  Her words distracted him from imagining running his hand up the inside of Kim’s naked thigh, and he focused on the redhead.

  “And it’s not just a challenge and exciting,” she went on, “but it’s in your blood. It’s a place where things feel right, like you’re where you’re supposed to be.”

  His mouth fell open. He’d thought only another cowboy would get that.

  “Yeah,” Blake said, “that’s it,” and Ty nodded.

  “It’s a passion,” Kim said with a tone of revelation. “It’s the thing you were born to do.”

  When he turned to her, the glow on her face told him she knew what she was talking about. In a minute, he’d ask what she’d been born to do.

  But first, for some reason he wanted her to understand his passion. “Yeah, it is. For me, it’s not just rodeo, but horses, the country, ranching. That’s what I was born to do. Mostly, it’s a lot of hard work, but rodeo spices it up. Rodeo’s demanding, challenging, exciting.” He grinned. “An adrenaline high. Addictive. So yeah, maybe folks like Blake and me are a little insane.”

  “Insane to follow your passion?” She shook her head, those streaky spikes of hair flicking. “No way.”

  Marielle asked Blake how he got into rodeo, but Ty’s gaze stayed on Kim’s expressive face. From the moment he’d laid eyes on her, she’d fascinated and gut-level attracted him more than any woman he’d met in a very long time. He wanted her. Bad. Did she feel the same?

  “You talk like you know about passion, Kim.” He put deliberate emphasis on that word, letting her know he intended a double meaning.

  Five

  Color tinted Kim’s cheeks. “I know about passion.” Her flush deepened. He couldn’t tell if she was flirting back or was just embarrassed. “Though mine’s about as different from yours as you could imagine. It’s art.”

  “Oh, yeah?” Yeah, that sure as hell was different. “That’s pretty cool. I don’t know any artists.”

  “Well, now you do.” It was the blond doctor, Lily. He’d forgotten she and the others were there. “Kim’s very talented. Her blouse is one of her creations.”

  He smiled. “It’s pretty. Makes me think of a dragonfly.”

  Kim’s face lit. “Thanks. It’s actually based on the Pipevine Swallowtail butterfly, but I’m glad the idea came across.”

  “When I saw you, I thought you might lift off and fly around the room.” He hoped she didn’t. He wanted her right here beside him, their knees rubbing. And then, before long, he wanted more. A slow dance, vertical to start with, then with any luck a horizontal one.

  She beamed. “Perfect!”

  He gulped. No, she hadn’t read his thoughts and agreed, she was responding to what he’d said. “So that’s what you do? Design clothes?”

  “No, though I’m thinking about it. I’m a student right now.”

  “An art student?”

  “Yes, at Emily Carr in Vancouver. Before that, I got a business degree in Hong Kong.”

  Vaguely, he was aware of the others talking, but he was interested only in Kim. “You went away to school in Hong Kong, or you’re from there?”

  “From there.”

  “You sure are a city girl. Vancouver and Hong Kong?”

  “Oh, yes! I love cities. All the bustle, color, excitement. The stimulation, the galleries, the restaurants, the—” She broke off. “Sorry, I’m gushing.”

  “It’s okay. I mean, I don’t get it, the whole city thing, but whatever turns your crank.”

  Odd that someone so different from him would turn his sexual crank, but she did. “So you came to Vancouver to study art?”

  “Yes, I persuaded my parents to let me do it for two years.”

  Let her? “Uh, sorry if this is rude, but how old are you?”

  “Twenty-four. You?”

  “Twenty-nine.” And he’d made his own decisions and supported himself since he graduated high school. But he shouldn’t judge; people had different family stories. His grandparents and parents had raised him to pull his weight around the ranch from the time he was a toddler. Now, the original Ronan Ranch in Alberta had fallen victim to social change, a poor economy, and the Mad Cow scare—things that, he always reminded himself, would have done it in even if he’d been around to help, rather than at college and getting his kicks on the rodeo circuit. And in the end, despite him and his dad butting heads all those years ago about Ty hitting the circuit, rodeo had provided the money to buy the new ranch in the Fraser Valley where he and his parents lived.

  Judy came to ask if they’d like another round. Ty said, “Sure, thanks.” He glanced at Kim, but she’d turned to answer a question from Marielle. “For her too,” he told Judy.

  The waitress said, good-naturedly, “Lucky girl,” and headed off.

  Kim giggled at something Marielle said, then turned back to Ty. “Have you been riding in rodeos all your life?”

  “I was up on a horse before I could walk. My dad’s a rancher but my grandpa was a pro rider for more than fifteen years, and my grandma too, a barrel racer, before they settled down and had my dad and his younger sister. My grandparents saved their rodeo winnings and bought a ranch. My aunt was never into ranching, but Dad loved it. When he grew up, he built a house for himself on the property and worked with them. That’s where I grew up.”

  “Your grandparents got you interested in rodeo?” She leaned her elbows on the table and rested her chin on her clasped hands, staring at him like she was fascinated by his life story. Or, he hoped, like she was fascinated by him.

  Judy put fresh drinks down, and he reached for his Moosehead, his hand brushing Kim’s arm accidentally on purpose. Her skin was soft, warm, and that one simple touch fired his blood. “You bet. Grandma’s name was Tammy Tyson, and I’m Tyson Ronan, named for the two of them. The house was full of pictures of them in action, belt buckles, trophies. Some kids grew up on fairy tales but for me it was rodeo stories. True ones, that got me hungry to do it myself.” To his dad’s chagrin. His dad and grandpa had butted heads just as much as Ty and his father used to. Let’s face it; Ronan males had strong opinions and didn’t bend easily.

  “Belt buckles?” Kim cocked her head, sipped her beer. “What do you mean?”

  “Winners get these big belt buckles.”

  “Seems like a strange prize. Do you have any?”

  He bit back a smile. “One or two.” As in, one or two trunkfuls. He was wearing an old favorite right now, the World Rodeo Champion buckle he’d earned for bareback riding when he was twenty-three. Some of the other special ones sat in a glass case in the office at Ronan Ranch, to impress clients.

  He’d been turned to face Kim, keeping the pressure of his leg against hers. Now he realized that Lily, seated on his other side, was rising.

  George stood too. “Time for us to head home.”

  Damn. He wanted more time with Kim. She was into him. He wanted to dance with her, seduce her slow and easy, take her back to his cabin at the Wagon Wheel across the street.

  “I’m going to hang out awhile longer,” Marielle said. “I brought my own car. Kim, how about you?”

  She made an indecisive sound and absentmindedly took a long swallow of beer.

  Marielle winked. “It’s book club research.”

  Huh?

  Kim’s lips twitched. “I suppose it is.” She flicked a glance at Ty from under partially lowered lashes. “What do you think, Tyson Ronan? Should I stay?”

  “Please.”

  His prompt reply turned her lip-twitch into a smile. “Then I will.”

  After a chorus of good-byes, Marielle stripped off her shirt to reveal a pink tank top that hugged impressive curves. She r
ested her hand on Blake’s forearm. “I feel like dancing, but I’ve never danced to this kind of music. Want to be my teacher?” She put a sexy emphasis on the last word.

  “Texas two-step,” he said, “and I’d be happy to teach you anything and everything, Marielle.”

  “Bet there’s a thing or two I could teach you, cowboy,” she joked back.

  Laughing, the two of them rose.

  Seizing the opportunity, Ty turned to Kim. “Bet you don’t know the two-step.”

  Her eyes sparkled. “Bet you can teach me.”

  He rose and held out his right hand.

  She took it, murmuring something under her breath that sounded like, “Bet that’s not all you can teach me.”

  He must’ve been too eager, or underestimated his own strength when he pulled her to her feet, because she lost her balance. Quickly he caught her arm, steadying her. She was so tiny, a foot shorter than his six foot one, couldn’t weigh more than a hundred pounds. More careful now, he linked his fingers gently with her small, feminine ones.

  Kim didn’t have Marielle’s abundant curves, but he found her even sexier. Marielle was vivacious and fun, but, like the waitress Judy, she was right in a guy’s face. Kim was more subtle, more fascinating. How could a guy feel both protective and aroused at the same time? He’d better work on that arousal thing, or dancing the two-step would be tough.

  Ty led Kim to the edge of the dance floor. “Two-step’s a lot like fox-trot.”

  “I don’t know any of those dances. I just go to clubs and, you know . . .” She gave a sexy shimmy that sent her top and skirt flying, making her look even more like she could fly.

  He swallowed hard, imagining that slim, lithe body caught up in the rhythm of the music. “No one’s gonna care if we get it right.” All he wanted was to hold her close. With any luck, the band would play a slow number next. “Basic thing to remember with the two-step is quick, quick, slow, slow.” He flashed her a teasing grin. “And the guy leads. Always.”

  She wrinkled her cute little nose. “How old-fashioned. But then, what else would I expect from a hero of the Wild West?”

  “A what?” Had he heard right?

  She shook her head. “It’s a book club thing.”

  He was starting to catch on. “Your club’s reading about rodeo?”

  Her eyes danced. “Not exactly.”

  * * *

  Kim couldn’t help grinning. She wasn’t on a cattle drive, but the whole day—the rodeo, the western bar, talking to cowboys, learning the Texas two-step—it could be called book club research.

  It could also be called a major turn-on. Watching Ty in the rodeo ring had been arousing, and she’d happily anticipated him starring in her erotic fantasies. Now she was with the actual man, and could hardly believe it. He was a hundred times more potent in person. So potent, her head swam, her heart raced, and her panties were damp with arousal.

  She couldn’t take her eyes off Ty, broad-shouldered, lean-hipped, and rock solid in worn jeans and a shirt with rolled sleeves and an open neck. Tonight his shirt was the creamy brown of a latte after you’d stirred the milk into the coffee. It was a perfect accent for his bronzed skin, hazel eyes that sometimes looked greenish and other times golden brown, and the sun-streaked hair she found so attractive. That hair, which she’d bet had never seen a stylist, was a million shades of blond and brown, mostly straight but with a few wayward strands curling around his ears and down his nape. His brows, his nose, his jaw, they all made a statement: pure man. His lips, though . . . They were softer, a touch sensual, and they easily quirked with humor.

  His jeans were belted with leather and, now that he’d enlightened her, she realized the elaborate oversized buckle might well be a rodeo trophy. Cool that he was a winner, but she was more intrigued by the way the denim gently hugged his slim hips, muscled thighs, and long legs, and was strategically faded around what appeared to be an excellent package.

  He wore cowboy boots, of course. Did he wear those things to bed?

  She stifled a giggle at the thought.

  A woman walking past jostled her and Kim lost her balance, almost tumbling headfirst into Ty’s powerful chest. The room swayed, and this time she did giggle. A big hand caught her shoulder. Ty no doubt intended to steady her but his touch instead made her pulse jerk, just the way the press of his knee under the table had.

  He was rough and ready, not the least bit smooth or cosmopolitan, much less arty. Not her type, but oh man, he oozed good stuff: testosterone, pheromones, whatever all those yummy things were called. Oh man, the man was hot.

  She held back another giggle. Oh man, the man was hot? That was cute.

  And what was up with her? She wasn’t usually a giggler. Had the sexy cowboy and the unusual situation made her a little crazy? Or was that honey lager especially potent? Her friends teased that she was a cheap drunk, quick to lose her inhibitions. Like the night she’d had two appletinis at a karaoke bar and belted out “I Will Always Love You,” even though her singing voice was terrible. This was why she stuck to one drink—and tonight she was driving.

  She was driving, wasn’t she?

  No, she was dancing. Ty had guided her hands into position. Gripping one easily, his other arm circling her back, he steered her around the dance floor. Or tried to, because she was stumbling in her black ballet-style flats, cheap shoes she’d chosen because she didn’t care if they got ruined at the rodeo. “Wait, Ty. Tell me again how it goes.”

  “You let me lead rather than thinking for yourself.”

  She fluttered her eyelashes. “Yes, sir.” And how could a girl think when Ty Ronan had his hands on her? She was overwhelmed by his sheer physical presence, by the fact that they’d talked and shared their passions, and by the realization that, of all the women in this room, including that flirtatious waitress with the big boobs, he’d chosen Kim to be with.

  He rolled his eyes. “Like this, Kim.” Firm hands guided her as he moved, saying, “Quick, quick, slow, slow. Quick, quick, slow, slow.”

  She concentrated through a few repetitions of the pattern. Hey, it was easy, the rhythm matched the music. “Now I get it.” Now she could relax and enjoy the smooth way his powerful body moved, the heat he gave off, his fresh, woodsy scent. He was like a magnet, making her want to move closer and snug her body tight against his. Tight and intimate. Intimate and sexy.

  Man, he was hot, and it wasn’t just his looks. He rode his tan horse like they were one being—was that called a centaur? She’d watched him rope a calf and toss it easily, yet not roughly. She’d white-knuckled it as he clung to the back of that rank Dirt Devil. He really had been a kind of hero out there in the arena, definitely larger than life.

  “You’re a natural.” His grin flashed. “When you let me lead.”

  “Yeah, yeah, cowboy. You couldn’t get that bronc to behave, so you’re picking on me.”

  He chuckled. “Weren’t you listening when I said they’re supposed to buck? Spirit’s a good thing.” The hand that held hers tightened. “I’m not picking on you. I’m dancing with you.”

  Next thing she knew, he’d swung her away so they were side by side, stepping forward together, then he reeled her back in. Her head spun again—was it the alcohol or Ty?—but she managed to follow.

  “I think you’ve got it,” he said.

  “This is fun.” Especially the part about being in the arms of a handsome rodeo star who made her whole body buzz. “I’m even getting used to country music.”

  “Horses and women and heartache. That’s what life’s all about.” He winked.

  “Your life, maybe.” Horses and women, she’d bet on. Heartache? That seemed a stretch. Ty Ronan struck her as a guy who got what he wanted. He had the looks and easy confidence.

  What would it be like to be with a man like him? She’d never even known one before.

  She knew what Marielle would do. What Marielle was probably doing right now with Blake Longfeather. Seduce him, or let him seduce her. But Ki
m wasn’t into flings.

  She hadn’t slept with Henry until they’d dated for six months. She’d thought she was in love with him, that they were heading toward a future together.

  The band finished the number and the dancers stopped to clap and cheer.

  Separated from Ty now, Kim felt off balance again. What was she doing? She glanced around, searching for Marielle. There she was, back at their table, laughing with Blake, their heads close together like nothing else in the world existed.

  Feeling as if she was intruding, Kim looked away, back to the stage.

  The singer took the mike off its stand and raised it to her lips. “Bet y’all are ready for a slow one, am I right?”

  More cheers were her answer.

  Ty took Kim’s hand, almost swallowing it up. His hand was so hard, with ridges of callus. What would it feel like on her body? Caressing her breasts, sweeping down her stomach, parting her thighs?

  Rough. It had to feel rough. Even if he tried to be gentle—and would he?—those calluses would abrade, but in a good way. In a sexy way. She trembled, imagining it.

  The singer said, “I’m gonna do my female version of a little number made famous by the great Garth Brooks. Y’all get ready to be a little . . . shameless.”

  More cheers. When the audience settled down, Kim asked, “Shameless?”

  “Name of the song.” Ty’s greenish gold eyes gleamed. “Good song.” Without asking if she wanted to keep dancing, he gathered her into his arms.

  Without thinking whether this was a good idea, she went. And . . . Oh my God. Had anything ever felt this close to heaven?

  He was so big, so physical, so totally male, yet she didn’t feel overwhelmed. Just . . . surrounded by wonderful sensations. The press of his firm thighs, the gentle strength of his hands, the heat rising through his clothing, the scent of warm, freshly showered man. Nothing exotic or complex, just a soap or shaving lotion that smelled deliciously like the great outdoors.

  Her head was only a couple of inches from his chest. If she leaned forward, she could rest her cheek against the firm pecs that pressed against his well-washed shirt. But she wouldn’t. She didn’t even know this man. But she was in his arms, snuggled up against his wonderful body. She wasn’t used to slow dancing. Wasn’t used to being held like this on a dance floor.