How was such a thing even possible? He wasn’t a man who had platonic friendships with single females under the age of eighty. And Liz didn’t make friends with dickheads. Only, Dusty wasn’t acting like a dickhead driven by his gonads but the gentleman the hired help had raised him to be.
Aside from a bit of initial flirtation during the cooking class three weeks ago, he no longer even looked at her suggestively. Instead he made small talk, telling her how he’d come to start up Dusty’s Backroom and why he’d chosen Georgia for his home. He made her laugh at least a dozen times a class with his quirky and generally sarcastic remarks, and he never pressed for more information on her mother or her personality. The lone time he’d brushed her thigh with his, he’d apologized.
Apologized, of all the goddamned things!
“Ah!” Liz slammed her head back against the headboard.
Gawd, how she wanted to scream at him, “Just knock the fuck off and focus on getting me naked already!” She could ignore his seduction attempts, at least on the surface. She didn’t have a defense against his sincerity. All she could do was pretend she wasn’t listening, pretend she didn’t care, pretend she didn’t want to hear more each time he offered another snippet on his life that belied nearly every bad thing she’d ever told herself about him.
If he was any other guy, she would vent to Kristi and Fiona—it had been over three weeks since she’d chatted with the G-Spot ladies and, while she’d sent them an “I’m alive, just swamped” e-mail, they were bound to be worried. After the way she’d badmouthed Dusty and made it clear that she had no intention of sleeping with him again, she couldn’t bring herself to share this latest development.
There had to be someone else to offer advice. Someone who could understand she needed things to return to the way they used to be, with her loathing Dusty and him making it his greatest quest to prove himself a modern-day Don Juan to every female from here to Tallahassee, present company included.
“Unless you plan to make love to my sleeping body, you’d best get your butt upstairs immediately!” Joyce shouted from the neighboring bedroom.
With a groan over the thought of yet another wall-banging, multi-orgasm sex-capade between Joyce and Colin, Liz closed her eyes and wished she’d found an apartment by now. Her eyes snapped back open with the knowledge of how her brother and his girlfriend had come to be. Colin had tried to pretend he didn’t want Joyce again after a couple rounds of sex, but somehow she’d convinced him otherwise. Was it a somehow that would work on Dusty?
Liz climbed from bed and moved quickly to the door of the next bedroom. Colin would spot a red flag if he overheard her asking Joyce questions about sex, so she’d best make this fast.
The floorboard creaked beneath Liz’s feet as she stepped into her brother’s bedroom. Joyce looked up from where she lay beneath the covers, an expectant smile curving her unpainted lips and lighting her hazel eyes. That smile became guilty when she realized it was Liz who’d entered the room. “Oops. I woke you with my yelling. Sorry.”
“I was already awake. I just…” Was out of her mind if she thought the petite blonde looking at her so sheepishly could really help. “Never mind. Col will be up any minute, so let me leave you guys—”
“No. Come in.” Joyce pulled back the covers and climbed out of bed.
A little red nightie with nearly invisible straps and an even smaller hemline clung to a short but curvaceously feminine body that Liz could only dream of having. The slinky outfit shouted sex and reinforced Liz’s reason for coming in here. Joyce might be sheepish at times, but the woman knew a thing or two about enticing the opposite sex.
“Colin’s finishing a landscaping estimate for an early morning meeting. He’ll be at least another few minutes.”
Colin focused on his landscaping company a lot less since Joyce had entered his life. Still, Liz knew if he had a morning meeting, he would invest as much time as needed to be prepared. And that meant she had no excuse not to stay and seek advice from Joyce.
“It’s just…” Liz looked down to find herself shifting from foot to foot. Damn, she hated that excited habit. Hated a hundred times more that Dusty could be the source of her restlessness. Forcing herself to stand still, she blurted, “There’s this guy and—”
Joyce’s eyes went wide and she gasped. “You’re honestly asking me about a guy? You know my reputation with men is far from extensive.”
“You’re with my brother, aren’t you?”
“Yes, but—”
“Why are you? What convinced him to let you back into his bed after he swore he was through with you? Was it a simple matter of getting naked and throwing yourself at him?”
“I didn’t throw myself at him.” Joyce laughed softly. “All right, I suppose I did, but not the way you’re implying. Colin came around because, well, I guess because I was stuck in his head as much as he was in mine.”
“So, you were driving each other nuts?” Now that was an interesting take on things. Was Dusty faking the whole friendship thing while in reality he still wanted her every bit as much as she wanted him?
Waaaait a minute!
She didn’t want him. Okay, so maybe parts of her body gushed with wetness each time she thought his name, but that wasn’t why she was asking these questions. She just wanted him to want her so that he would stop being so damned nice and friendly.
“We were both fighting our feelings for each other,” Joyce explained, her blissful smile reflected in her words. “We share things in common that matter, things that drew us together and allowed us to understand each other in a way most people never could. It’s really a blessing that we met.”
And lovey-dovey in a way that made Liz want to stick her finger down her throat and make gagging sounds. That childish impulse aside, she couldn’t stop from smiling back or stop the unwanted twinge of jealousy that sparked through her.
“You’re lucky to have each other.” Wistfulness she had no desire to feel sounded in her voice. Hoping she was the only one who’d detected it, she murmured a “thanks” and hurried for the door.
“Does this guy know how you feel?” Joyce inquired.
Inches from the safety of the doorway, Liz spun back to snap, “I don’t feel a goddamned thing.” Joyce blanched and guilt shot through Liz. She could be nasty around Dusty and have no qualms over it—at least the man-whore version of him—but Joyce and Colin she never acted so utterly mean around. “Sorry. I’m tired. Obviously it’s making me an even bigger bitch than normal.”
The color returned to Joyce’s cheeks and she smiled. “You’re not a bitch. Colin says you can be rough around the edges, but all I’ve ever seen is a strong woman who knows what she wants. I respect that.”
“Thanks.” Now, if only she was right.
“Everything okay in here?” Colin questioned from behind Liz.
Liz stepped to the side to let him into the bedroom. Joyce’s gaze warmed as it landed on Colin, and Liz’s jealousy spiked again. She rubbed a hand over her stomach, urging away the tight sensation. She had no reason to be jealous of their relationship and the obvious affection they shared. She didn’t do relationships or emotions. Didn’t want a full-time man in her life, now or ever.
Hell, it probably wasn’t even jealousy she was feeling. It was probably gas from the broccoli she’d had at lunch.
“Everything’s fine,” Joyce assured. “Just having some girl talk.”
“Right,” Colin said dryly. “In other words, Liz is recounting yet another one of her breathless orgasm tales.”
“Actually she was asking—”
“You don’t want to hear about ’em, bro, don’t bring ’em up,” Liz cut her off quickly. Joyce mouthed an “oh” of understanding. “Speaking of orgasms, my vibrator’s calling. You two kids have fun. And, Col, don’t forget to wear a little rubber raincoat. Wouldn’t want that baby carriage coming before the marriage.”
He grimaced and then laughed. “Just what I always wanted, sex advice from my
little sister.” His amused look was replaced with sobriety. “Do yourself a favor, Liz, and don’t let Penny’s behavior shape yours. You aren’t her, and you never will be. You can do relationships, and you aren’t immune to love.”
By mutual agreement, they hardly ever spoke of their mothers. That Colin brought her mom up now meant he’d overheard at least part of her conversation with Joyce. Either that or Dusty had asked him the question he’d threatened to ask three weeks ago: Why didn’t Liz do relationships? It had to be the former because the latter would raise too much speculation. Either way, it didn’t matter, because she wasn’t in the market for a man and she sure as shit didn’t do love, not even if opening herself up to the emotion came with the promise of not one orgasm but many.
With a parting “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” Liz closed their bedroom door and went back to her room. Sinking onto her bed, she shook away the idea of women who could only come when under the influence of caring emotions. It was a ridiculous notion Dusty had put into her head. One she had no intention of believing, since she never planned to get that wrapped up with any man. But she hoped to hell to experience at least one orgasm in this lifetime.
Blood gushed onto the bar in a crimson stream. Liz closed her eyes and tried not to breathe in the metallic scent. The throb of her cut finger was bad enough. Really, she ought to know better than to be holding a beer bottle when Dusty was bent over a pool table a mere fifty feet away. One look at his taut ass in the well-worn blue jeans and the bottle had become a two-piece weapon of broken, jagged glass.
“You really sliced it good,” Jen said when the bar rag she tossed Liz’s way failed to staunch the flow of blood. “You’re going to need more than that towel.” Over the slow-paced lyrics of a country song and the din and smoke of the usual Saturday night crowd, she shouted, “Dusty!”
He glanced over from the pool tables, blond eyebrows drawn together with curiosity. His gaze went to Jen, then, at the bartender’s nod, skipped to Liz. Their eyes met, locked. Heat registered, warmed, spun out of control. Liz sucked in a breath as her heart took off. Oh yeah, he was sooo faking the friendship thing. No man who was after friendship alone would look at a woman with those wickedly lustful eyes.
Dusty started over. Sweat popped out on her palms. She inhaled another breath, dragged her sticky palms along the thighs of her jeans, and screeched like a banshee.
Jesus H. Christ! One hot look from the idiot and she’d forgotten all about the gaping hole in her finger.
Dusty was at her side before she could look back up. He grabbed hold of her hand and turned it over in his, inspecting her injury. “What happened? Are you okay?”
Had his hand always been so warm, or why did it feel like hers was going to go up in flames where he touched it? Liz shut out the inferno of heat climbing up her arm to focus on his questions. He’d spoken louder than necessary, even over the boisterous crowd. The lust she’d detected in his eyes had faded to something else.
Worry? Was he worried about her? She didn’t want him worried about her.
She attempted to jerk her hand free. He held firm, his eyes narrowing. “You can be bitchy all you want later. Right now you need help.”
Her unease caved to a grin. He wasn’t being nice. Okay, he was in actions, but not words. She’d come here tonight to get things back to the level she needed them on, and while she hadn’t planned to start that out via slicing her finger open, karma was being its usual twisted self.
“We have a first-aid kit, right?” Jen asked.
“Yeah,” Dusty answered without taking his eyes off Liz’s face. “It’s too crowded out here. I’ll fix you up in back.”
Her mouth fell open with his no-arguments tone, and she just managed to stop herself from voicing a crass denial. She had him where she wanted him. She would be an even bigger head case than usual if she let the opportunity slip past. At the same time, she couldn’t give in without a little bluster. “Fine. I’ll go, but only if you get your damned paws off of me.”
A smirk flirted with his mouth that suggested he knew exactly how much she liked his paws on her. Instead of speaking the words, he let her hand free. Wrapping the bloodied bar rag around her finger, Liz followed him through the crowd to the galley door that led to the back of the bar. She’d worked in a number of restaurants and bars alike. While the parts of establishments the customers could see were generally neat and tidy, the kitchens were only clean enough to pass health codes. The kitchen of Dusty’s Backroom gleamed from the silver cast of the ovens to the plastic tube rails that held the call liquor.
A thirtysomething guy in a white chef hat with a sable ponytail swinging from its back side said hello as they passed the hot food pickup area. It registered that he could be Matt, the guy who’d walked in on Dusty going down on her on the pool table several weeks ago. Liz was too in awe of the place to work up any shame. When the day arrived that she was done butchering recipes and ready to open her pastry shop, it would be run with the same tidiness and obvious efficiency.
“I’m impressed,” she said when Dusty stopped in front of a closed door at the rear of the kitchen. “I’ve seen a lot of kitchens in my time, and this place really shines.”
He opened the door to reveal a small bathroom painted eggshell white, trimmed with sage green. She moved inside, noting the curtained-off shower stall that took up much of the right side of the room. The snick of the closing door had her turning back to discover exactly how much of the room the stall occupied.
He eyed her skeptically. “Exactly how many shots have you had tonight?”
Zero. And suddenly that wasn’t even close to enough.
Dusty took a step forward, and Liz’s breath hitched in. She forgot all about the sparkling kitchen and concentrated on not shifting from foot to foot. No way would she let him think it bothered her to be alone with him in such an intimate setting. She mentally rolled her eyes. Really, the employee bathroom of a bar was such a romantic spot. But damn if it didn’t feel that way, with him standing barely a foot away, eating up her personal space with that big, beautiful body. He wore a white linen dress shirt, sleeves rolled up to reveal mouth-watering biceps and the collar unbuttoned far enough to expose a dusting of dirty-blond chest hair over suntanned flesh. Stubble blued his square jawline and added to the rugged appeal of his goatee. His scent curled upward, some rich, earthy cologne that wafted on the air to do a number on her senses.
Heat unfurled in her belly, licked its way downward to spike as moistness between her thighs. Gawd, how she wanted to touch. No, she wanted to lick. Starting at his Adam’s apple and working her way down to that magical instrument that even now was making itself known as an impressive bulge against the inside of his right thigh. Her sex throbbed in response, wetness leaking onto her jeans. It served her right for not wearing panties. But who knew she would be staring at Dusty’s crotch?
Staring. At his crotch. Shit, she was.
Liz jerked her attention to his face, certain she would find a knowing smirk in place. There was no smirk, no sign that he’d even caught her ogling. He wasn’t even looking at her but rifling through a first-aid kit. Good. Now, if she could remember what they’d been talking about…right, his awesome kitchen. “I would have thought compliments were your bag.”
Setting aside gauze and ointment, Dusty returned the first-aid kit to the hook on the wall he’d obviously pulled it from during her staring session. He turned on the sink’s cold water. She jerked when he took hold of her hand, tossed aside the bar rag, and guided her finger under the spray. His apologetic look said that he thought he’d caused her pain. It wasn’t pain shooting up her hypersensitized arm and straight to her ever-slicker core, but more of the pulse-pounding awareness she’d experienced out front.
“I don’t have a problem with compliments. I just prefer to be on the giving end.” A slight rasp peppered his voice, suggesting that while he might not be acting aroused, the stiff state of his cock told the truth. He was thinking the same p
otentially dangerous thoughts she was. For the first time, Liz acknowledged how well those thoughts could work with her plan.
Turning off the water, Dusty patted her finger dry with a paper towel from the dispenser next to the sink. Gently, he applied a thin layer of clear ointment to the cut and wrapped the finger in gauze. He eyed her soberly then, as if his concern for her injury was all that mattered. For an instant, as she considered just how gently he’d taken care of the wound, Liz believed he truly felt that way. Then she remembered his erection and exactly what was at stake. He was rock hard for her, and she had to take full advantage of the condition and set things right between them once and for all.
She started to reach for him. His hands were at her sides before she could touch him. Hot, hard, masterfully his fingers ascended to brush the outer swells of her breasts. She hadn’t worn a bra, thought it would be that much easier to tempt him without one, and her nipples made that fact obvious. The buds steepled against her shirt, and she sighed at the feel of the soft cotton caressing them.
“There’s something about the way you wear a T-shirt, Elizabeth.” The sobriety remained in Dusty’s eyes, but his voice had dropped to a seductive whisper that sent a shiver racing through her. “Not too loose. Not too tight. Just enough to make a man ache to get his hands on your tits. Damned sexy.” His hands skimmed downward until they settled around her hips and then dipped to spoon the curve of her ass. “And these jeans. I swear whenever you bend over, every man for a hundred miles around sports wood. Very hot.” He let go of her bottom. One hand journeyed to her mouth, the first finger tracing her lips. The sobriety died from his expression, sexual hunger darkening his eyes to chocolate. “Then there’s your mouth. Plump yet firm. Full of sass.”
More like full of shit, which was what Liz’s mind had just become. A big pile of doo-doo. Or maybe that should be goo-goo, seeping from her female orifice.
He leaned forward, his breathing picking up, fanning soft and warm against her face. Her own breathing sounded like a tempest as she fought the desire to lick the finger tracing her lips, suck it into her mouth, and savor every delectable inch.
Operation G-Spot Page 7