by Lyla Dune
“Sixty Minute Man” came on the jukebox. She balled her blue-veined hands and did a little chugging motion, thrusting her hips forward. “Care to shag with an old lady?”
Those were not words he wanted to hear. Ever. Did he misunderstand her? Maybe he was the one having trouble deciphering accents this time. He hoped so.
“She asked you to dance. Don’t leave her hanging.” A feminine whisper caressed his left ear. He recognized the southern drawl and seductive timbre without even facing the speaker. It was Sam.
“Dance?” He whipped around in time to see Sam covering her mouth. Was she laughing at him? She brought her lips close to his ear again. “The shag is a dance. What did you think she was inviting you to do?”
Blimey. He thought the woman’s body language was the universal symbol for an invitation to shag, as in have sex.
“The shag is a dance?” Sam had really played him for a fool earlier with that trophy of hers. “You led me to believe—“
“Believe what? That the shag was something other than a dance?” Her eyes sparkled so brightly they resembled tiny, blue disco balls. He had no doubt that she knew precisely what shag meant to him. Ever since those bloody Austin Powers movies, every American knew the proper definition for shag.
Louise tugged his hand again. “You can shag with her later. Age before beauty.”
How could he decline this dear woman’s offer without offending her?
“But I don’t know how.” He resisted the woman’s pull.
Sam’s breasts brushed against his arm as she leaned in to whisper into his ear once more. “A British gentleman who doesn’t know how to shag. Imagine that.”
Doesn’t know how to shag? If she kept rubbing up against him, he’d show her exactly how much he knew about it. Every position in the Kama Sutra and a few tricks of his own that would have her panting and moaning for hours.
But she’d toyed with him about this shag dance. She was a little minx. “You deserve a spanking, a good hard spanking.” And he was just the man to give it to her.
Sam’s eyes rounded, and her nipples visibly beaded beneath the thin fabric of her pale green dress. It barely covered her glorious globes but hung to the floor, leaving him dying to see what was under all that fabric. Taut nipples indicated she liked that spanking idea. Very good. He liked that idea too.
Louise yanked his hand again, and he caved. She pulled him onto the dance floor and tried to coach him in the basics of shag.
“Just watch that guy’s feet. See how he does a little kick shuffle, kick shuffle? Like this….” She demonstrated. Brock mimicked her moves.
“You’re a natural,” Louise said.
She let go of his hand and he panicked. He reached for her and said, “You can’t turn me loose in the middle of this dance floor. I don’t know what I’m doing.”
Louise laughed. “You’re doing fine. Just do a two count spin to your right. The counts are—kick, shuffle, kick, shuffle, turn, turn.”
He did it. He couldn’t believe it.
She beamed. “Now, I’ll spin, and we’re going to switch sides in the process.”
She twirled on his finger and moved into his space. He stepped around her to where she’d been standing. This wasn’t so hard after all.
“You’re doing great. Let’s just keep practicing those steps.”
He agreed. Sticking to a few steps was best. As fish out of water as he felt, he was astonished that he’d caught on at all. If he attempted the dance moves the men around him were doing, he’d surely land on his arse.
He glanced at Sam. She was watching him intently. Feeling brave and wanting to impress her with his moves, he tried to add more flare to his turn, turn.
When he checked back to see if Sam had noticed his Gene Kelley imitation, her focus was fixed on something across the restaurant, and her lips were drawn into a pale pucker as if controlled by a drawstring. He traced her line of vision to see what had angered her.
The young woman who played piano earlier was pushing a sunburned man’s hand away from her face, only to have him attempt to slide a hand beneath the hem of her dress. The young woman’s body language was easy to read from across the room—she wanted this man to leave her alone.
Brock couldn’t tolerate a man making ungentlemanly advances, especially when the woman obviously said “no”.
“Thank you for the dance, Louise. I have something to attend to at the moment. Save me another dance later on?” He gave Louise a peck on the hand and stepped away.
“I’d love another. You’re doing good. Hurry back.” She blew him a kiss.
Brock gave her a semi-bow and swiftly made his way across the restaurant. He tapped the sunburned man on the shoulder.
The guy looked up with a scowl. “What do you want?”
“I believe the lady indicated she is not interested in your advances.”
“Mind your own business, asshole.” The guy pulled the young lady closer to him and ran the back of his hand up her arm. He leaned down, brushing his lips against her ear.
She shoved his hand away. “Keep your hands off of me.”
That did it. The guy was asking for it. Brock grabbed him by the collar and pulled him to his feet. He got right in the guy’s face. “Walk out of here like a man, or limp like the spineless noodle you are. Choose.”
The guy looked over at the young lady then back to Brock. “What’s she to you?”
“That’s no concern of yours.” Brock’s head began to pound.
“The fat cow is lucky I pay any attention to her. She probably hasn’t had any—”
Brock slammed his fist into the guy’s face. Lights out, tosser.
The sunburned man slumped to the floor. Brock heard several gasps around him. As expected, all eyes were on him, including Sam’s. Her mouth hung open. He couldn’t tell if she was horrified, shocked by his actions, or amazed that he’d knocked the guy out with one punch. Nonetheless, she wasn’t smiling.
Bloody Hell. He’d been trying so flipping hard all day to be more polite than he’d ever been in his entire life, and now he’d be known as a bruiser, his reputation ruined in less than twenty four hours of his arrival. Brill.
“Awesome.” Jack gave Brock a warm pat on the back. “You’re going to fit in nicely, my man. Drinks on the house.” He instructed a couple of teen bus boys to escort the wanker outside.
They weren’t going to kick Brock out as well? This was a pretty sophisticated restaurant, and he’d just sullied it with a pub brawl of sorts. He had expected a different reaction.
As he turned to follow Jack to the bar, the locals applauded and cheered.
Louise came up beside him and hooked her arm around his. “You’re one of us. No doubt about it. Like I said, we take care of our own around here. That was mighty nice how you stuck up for Kendal. You’re a good egg. Your shagging could use a little more practice, but you’re a good egg.” Louise stepped away.
Sam stood by the bar with her hands folded over her heart. She mouthed, “Thank you,” and then scurried toward the stage.
So she did appreciate what he did for her friend. Whew.
He’d broken the ice in a weird way, but at least it’d been broken. One local after another came up to him, made their introductions, and welcomed him to the island.
The crowd cleared a path as the piano player approached him. Her brown eyes were rimmed with sadness or embarrassment, maybe a little of both.
“Thank you. I’m Kendal. I didn’t know that guy very well and—”
He reached out and put his hand on hers. “You behaved like a true lady and deserved to be treated as such. For the record, if he hadn’t been attracted to your appearance, he wouldn’t have been so persistent with his advances. So those insults he carelessly flung at the end were nothing more than yelps of a wounded pride. Trust me.”
A delicate smile played on her lips, and her mocha eyes were alight with appreciation. He could tell she was a self-conscious and awkward young woman, who obvi
ously hadn’t been complimented nearly enough. Tender hearts warranted protecting, even if only in a big brother sort of way, which was precisely the type of protective instinct she brought out in him. Sam on the other hand….
The shy pianist said, “It’s nice to meet you. We’re about to play again, so I guess I should….” She pointed toward the stage.
“It’s lovely meeting you as well. I can’t wait to hear more from Bikini Quartet. You ladies are quite talented.”
“Thank you.” Kendal smiled.
Louise led Kendal away, jabbering something in her ear, something that made her giggle, as they walked toward the stage arm in arm.
Shortly after Bikini Quartet began playing again, a man in a yellow rain slicker came in and announced a bad storm was tossing some boats around at the marina. Jack cut the band off and turned on a TV above the liquor counter. He brought up the weather channel.
A severe storm had unexpectedly changed course and was headed toward the North Carolina coast. The storm itself was anticipated to make landfall south of the island, but they were still going to get some pretty strong winds and heavy rain. Jack encouraged all patrons to finish their meals quickly, as he planned to close the restaurant early. He advised everyone to go home as soon as possible to secure their properties.
Jack lifted the blinds on a side window, and people crowded around it, looking out at the lightning and heavy rain.
The saxophone player said, “I can’t let the girls move their equipment in this mess. Jack, give me the keys to the water-tight storage area in back.”
“Sure.” He tossed the sax player the keys.
Brock had never been on the coast during a storm and was unsure what to do. The young ladies in the band struggled to move their heavy equipment. He decided to make himself useful and lend a hand.
When he approached the stage, Sam had already placed her bass in its case and was wheeling it toward the back of the restaurant.
Mazy had her hands full, trying to break down her entire drum set. He went to her aid.
AS SAM WHEELED her bass to the storage area, she glanced over her shoulder and saw Brock helping Mazy on stage. He caught her eye and smiled. Her insides turned to jelly. Damn it.
Not watching where she was going, she rammed into something sharp. Her thigh pressed into the corner of Myrtle and Carl’s table. Ouch. The remaining plates rattled. A vase of flowers teetered at its center and started to fall. Sam reached out to catch it but was too late. It tipped over, spilling water all over the linen and Myrtle’s secret manila envelope.
“I’m so sorry.” Sam grabbed a folded cloth napkin and attempted to absorb the water off the envelope, smearing the ink in the process.
Was that her name on the envelope? She tried to make out the blurry writing. “Do you think Sa….”
Myrtle jerked the envelope away from her. “Don’t you fret your pretty little head about this mess. I’ll take care of it.”
“Was my name on that envelope?” Sam figured if she was going to get a straight answer, she might as well ask the source.
Myrtle looked down at her envelope and read aloud. “Do you think sand bags are the answer to the erosion problem?”
“Oh, I thought it said Sam, not sand.
“I see. Well, what do you think, dear? Are sand bags the answer? I know you aren’t a fan of sand bags near the turtle sanctuary.”
Carl coughed into his fist, but the cough sounded more like a muffled laugh. “We best be heading out now, Myrtle.”
Myrtle gave him a little nod, and then turned her attention back to Sam. “Tell you what. You think about it, and get back to me. I gotta go now, and you should hurry yourself on home too.”
Sam gave her a nod and walked to the back storage area to help Leah make more room for equipment.
A few minutes later, when Sam walked back into the dining area, she was surprised by how quickly the crowd had dispersed. Very few people remained.
“It’s crazy out there.” Leah came out of the kitchen, her wet hair in knots. “I just stuck my head out the back door, and the wind made a bird’s nest of my hair in ten seconds flat.”
Mazy rubbed her head, a pained look on her face. “Tell me about it. I stepped out the side door, and an aluminum trashcan lid clocked me in the noggin. Maybe we should hunker down here ‘til the worst of it blows over.” She wiped her glistening arms with a napkin.
“Great idea.” Kendal exited the ladies room, her wet dress appearing vacuum sealed to her curves. “I stepped out the front door, and the wind nearly blew me down.”
Brock stood silent, as if he didn’t know what to make of all of this.
Sam hated to hitch a ride with him, but she didn’t have much choice. Her truck was useless in the rain. If they didn’t batten down the hatches at home soon, the rain would leak in through the front windows. Disregarding Mazy’s suggestion, Sam poked Brock’s arm. “I think we can make it two blocks, and besides, if we don’t board the ocean front windows, we’re liable to invite a massive flood.”
“Massive flood?” His eyes widened.
Sam could almost hear the whir of his brain kicking into overdrive.
“Let’s just say, a few of those windows are prone to leaks.”
“You failed to mention that. I could have picked up some supplies at the store today.” His voice was hard.
“It’ll be okay. Do you think you can drive in this mess? My truck has a tendency to conk out anytime the motor gets wet, which I’m sure you gathered from the disaster at the bridge this morning.”
Amusement showed on his face. “Yeah, I can make it. I’ll pull the car around. Stay here.”
“Thank you.” Having her stay dry while he battled the rain and brought the car curbside—he was a rare breed of male, and she was beginning to like his polite mannerisms. A lot. That didn’t mean she had to bed him. It just meant she appreciated his kindness. That was all.
Kendal poked Sam’s back. “Nice score, he’s a keeper.”
Mazy just looked at him like he was from a different planet.
“He’s nice,” Leah crooned in Sam’s ear as Brock headed outside. “You really lucked out.”
Sam glared at Leah. “Lucked out? I’ll be homeless in six weeks. Yeah, I really lucked out.”
Kendal put a hand on Sam’s shoulder. “Stop being so melodramatic. We’ll help you find a new place. Meanwhile, hubba hubba.”
“Are you out of your curly head?” Sam couldn’t believe this was Kendal talking.
Kendal’s eyes crinkled as she drew her lips into a smile, displaying so many straight, white teeth at once Sam blinked from the brightness.
“No. But you must be out of your head if you don’t go for him. He’s awesome.” Kendal pulled her hair into a ponytail and slipped an elastic band around it.
“So what. I’ve been with gorgeous men, and look where that’s gotten me. Thanks, but no thanks. My life runs much smoother without sexy men mucking up the works. I’m only being civil to him because I don’t want to get thrown out on the streets before I find a new place. That’s all there is to it.”
“That explains your stance, but why is he being so nice to you?” Kendal seemed proud of herself for putting Sam on the spot.
Sam thought for a moment. “He’s British. They’re all about manners and proper decorum.”
“Sure. That’s it. He can’t help himself. It’s how he was raised. That’s the only reason he wants to give you a ride home. The only reason he’s being such a gentleman. Keep telling yourself that.” Kendal smirked.
“Hey, he was your knight in shining armor tonight, not mine.”
Kendal lifted her chin. “He was fabulous, wasn’t he?”
Sam bit her tongue. She wasn’t going to be tricked into admitting Brock was incredible.
With a quiet little laugh, Kendal said, “What’s wrong? Scared to say it out loud?”
It was so unlike Kendal to be snarky. That was Sam’s job.
Brock pulled up, and Sam ran out
of the restaurant before she said exactly what they all wanted to hear—the man was Prince Charming incarnate.
But after receiving that eviction notice, added onto all the other crap life had thrown her way, one thing was clear—she didn’t have a fairy godmother, and if she were to ever wear glass slippers, they would shatter.
When she slid into Brock’s car, jazz was playing on the radio.
“Thanks,” she said as they pulled out onto the street. “I didn’t know you liked jazz.”
He gave her a there’s-a-lot-you-don’t-know-about-me look. “This is the only station I could get to come in clearly. I was hoping to find out more about the storm.”
“Gotcha. You don’t have to listen to this if it annoys you.” She reached up to turn the dial.
He placed his hand over hers, and a shiver ran through her. “I never suggested it annoys me. I’m not that familiar with this style of music is all, but it’s growing on me, especially after hearing you play it. My God, you’re brilliant. I’m in awe.” He pulled his hand away, and the warm sensation of his touch lingered.
“Thank you.” She didn’t know what else to say. He was undeniably sweet, and she wasn’t used to it, at least not from such a burly, manly man.
She put her hand back on her lap and studied his profile, noting the way his skin pleated at the corners of his eyes as he strained to see through the sheets of rain on the windshield. His jaw flexed, and he ground his teeth. The muscles in his arms and thighs rippled beneath his wet clothing.
She’d been with many fine looking musicians, but none of them had been extremely muscular. There was something about Brock that made her feel delicate, which wasn’t an adjective she’d ever associated with herself. She had to confess, she liked the feeling.
She went gooey inside sitting so close to him, his warmth radiating, awakening areas that hadn’t been touched by a man in five years, and never by a man anywhere near as valiant as Brock. She was star-struck by him, and she’d never watched rugby in her life. No wonder he had so many fans.
She’d love to have his autograph. Yep, he could sign his name with a sharpie right across her….
She crossed her legs. She had it bad. Try all she might, there was no denying he did it for her. Somewhere deep inside, a voice kept saying, Maybe he’s different than the others. That was one dangerous voice, and it was persistent. She’d never be able to keep up the pretense of being gay for six weeks, not living in the same house with this man. Chances were she wouldn’t even make it a week at this rate.