Dirty Deeds: Standalone sexy romance

by Lorelei James

  “Excuse me, sir,” Nathan said through clenched teeth, “but I have permission from Steve Campbell to use his boat tonight.”

  The man snorted his disbelief.

  From the pocket of his swimming trunks, Nathan extracted a boat key attached to a black lanyard. He dangled it in front of the old man’s rheumy eyes. “See? Official and everything. But if you’d rather, you’re welcome to call Steve and make sure an Injun isn’t making off with his prized boat.” He paused. “Or better yet, go ahead and call Deputy Black Wolf since he’s a friend of mine.”

  Weighty silence followed, only punctuated by the vindictive man’s agitated breaths. Finally he turned on his heel, muttering, “Lazy damn Indians oughta stay on the rez where they belong.”

  By the time the man threw his last dirty look over his hunched shoulder, Tate was fuming. “I can’t believe—”

  “Just forget it, okay?” Nathan rolled up the green tarp and stowed it.

  She leveled her breathing and regained control of her temper. “How often does this happen?”

  “More often than you want to know.” He swept a calculating look over her. “You sure you don’t mind being in the company of kicisica?”

  Startled by his lapse into Lakota, she demanded, “What does that mean?”

  He shrugged. “Bad one.”

  “Oh, don’t be ridiculous, he’s the”—she didn’t dare try to repeat the difficult to pronounce Lakota word—“the bad one.”

  “Glad you think so.” With a hard jerk he untied the boat from the moorings and motioned for her to climb aboard. “Besides, I refuse to let him ruin our night.”

  The boat was one of those low-slung models: sleek, sexy, shiny red with an engine that purred. Once they’d putted away from the docks, Nathan opened the throttle.

  Tate leaned over the bow as cool water sprayed her face, rolling her body into the cresting waves as if she were part sea nymph. Despite the previous confrontation, the night seemed ideal: a gorgeous man, a little romance and her inhibitions tossed to the wind.

  Last hints of golden sunlight glinted across the water. Other than a fishing boat on the far side of the lake, they were alone.

  The boat swayed in the soft swells as the sun set. Nathan dropped anchor. The day fell deeper into twilight. The low moon had already started ascending into the evening sky.

  Tate sighed and wiggled her bare toes on the roughly pebbled surface of the boat’s bottom. “I wish I could paint this.”

  Nathan rummaged in the cooler and set out snacks across the back seat. “Why can’t you?”

  “I can. I mean I just don’t have enough time. Most of my day is spent doing the type of art that pays the bills. Then I’m too tired and sick of it to create the type of art that fills my soul.” She glanced at him, wondering if that admission made her seem hopelessly…hokey.

  He tossed her a Diet Pepsi. “And yet you chose art for a career. Why?”

  Tate squirted cheese on a cracker, added a fat green grape on top and grinned when he grimaced at her concoction. “Who said I chose it? It chose me, much to my mother’s dismay.” She made a wry face before she popped the morsel in her mouth.

  “Really?” he said, snatching the cheese canister. “She had a specific career in mind for you?”

  “Just a business degree.”

  “That doesn’t seem too bad.”

  “Followed by a master’s with an emphasis in international finance. So not me.” She rolled her suddenly tight shoulders. “Of course, I haven’t told her I’m teaching art classes at the Girls Club.” Or the deal she’d struck with Nathan. She couldn’t fathom how her mother would react to that bit of news. “I’d never hear the end of it.”

  His eyebrows lifted. “You’re a natural for teaching.”

  “Thanks. I love it. The kids are great. I don’t remember ever having that much enthusiasm. It’s contagious. Makes me wish…” That I’d followed my own dream instead of my mother’s.

  “So what did you want to do, when art chose you?”

  “At the sophisticated age of eighteen?” She smiled. “Move to Paris, of course. Suffer for my muse. Wear a velvet beret, sketch on the street for a few Euros, drink strong coffee every day in the same little sidewalk café. Embark on a torrid affair with a much older French man. Then settle down with my one true love to paint and teach.”

  “Sounds romantic.”

  “You would say that.” When Nathan blushed, Tate was completely captivated. “Unfortunately, that’s what my mother decided too.” Tate fiddled with the tab on her soda can. “See, my mother didn’t have a career, so she was determined that I would. We compromised. I have a bachelor’s degree in communication with a minor in graphic arts.” She pushed the immediate burst of anger aside. “Anyway, Ryan claims she wants me to be successful since he is the rebellious one.”

  He frowned. The Triscuit stopped halfway to his mouth. “Who is Ryan?”

  Did she detect a smidgen of jealousy? “Ryan is my know-it-all older brother. Seems I’ve spent my whole life, even adulthood, arguing with my mother about what’s best for me. She is appalled that I’m here, not in Denver fighting for my career.”

  “Fighting for your career?”

  Not time for confession or for Nathan to believe she was still under her mother’s thumb. “Long, boring story. So enough about me not living up to parental expectations. What about you?”

  His sly grin indicated amusement at yet another abrupt subject change. “Spent eight years in the army. Wanted to be in the field full-time. Covert operations, all that cool stuff. Mostly they stuck me inside behind a supply desk. After my dad’s heart attack, I came back here to help out. Only he wanted to retire so he sold the business to me. I’ve been here ever since.”

  “Was building utilities your first career choice?”

  “Working for myself was a longtime dream, even if I do spend most of my time in the dirt. I like being my own boss.”

  “Your boss is a slave driver.”

  Something like guilt narrowed his eyes. “You sound like Val. I like working. I’ve maintained my dad’s business, regardless if it isn’t glamorous or if it leaves me little time for other pursuits.”

  She didn’t comment on the specifics of those pursuits, he didn’t need her judgment of his hectic schedule. Plus, he’d sensed she didn’t want to discuss her parents or her stalled career, so she returned the favor. “How often do you see Val?”

  He scowled at the grape he’d inadvertently smashed between his fingers. “Not near enough. It’s been fun, watching her brood grow, and weird seeing my little sister as a mother. Her bossy streak comes in handy with the monsters. I’m jealous as hell of her family and social life.” Nathan shifted, as if embarrassed by his admission.

  “I thought you’d have tons of friends since you grew up around here.”

  “A few. Mostly work acquaintances. I don’t have much contact with the people I went to school with.”

  “Why not?”

  He turned his profile to her as he looked at the sandstone cliffs on the other side of the lake. “It wasn’t easy growing up being an Indian in a school of white kids.”

  Although Nathan and Val’s parents were considerably older than hers, they’d never seemed out of touch. Or hadn’t they known their oldest child had been so conflicted? “I can’t imagine that Bev and Tom didn’t encourage you to explore your heritage. Aren’t there lots of other Native American families in Spearfish?”

  “Neither of my parents grew up on the reservation. Since my dad is only half Sioux, we didn’t follow any of the Lakota traditions. Most of his immediate family has gone on to the ‘happy hunting grounds’ and I’ve never bothered to look for my birth parents.”

  She ignored his sarcasm. “But you speak Lakota.”

  “Not really.” He turned back around and faced her. “I’ve picked up a few basic words here and there.”

  “Does it bother you—?”

  “That I’m a redskin in a white man’s world
?”

  She lightly smacked his knee. “I’m serious. You should explore your heritage.” Tate grinned when a brilliant idea popped up. “You know my friend Grace?” He nodded. “She told me her husband, Luke Yellow Hawk, is in a support group for Native American men.”

  “I think it’s called Alcoholics Anonymous,” he said.

  His self-deprecating bit was getting old. “Would you stop?”

  “Actually, I have heard of that group.” He drained his soda and tossed the empty can in the cooler. “This engineer I do some work for, Jim White Feather has been bugging me to join for about a year.”

  “So why haven’t you?”

  Nathan gave her a droll look. “When would I have time?”

  “Point taken.”

  A fish jumped about five feet from the hull, and a bird swooped down a second too late. A frustrated screech echoed. She watched the white bird take wing across the black sky. “I know what you mean though. I live in the Rocky Mountains, one of the most beautiful places in the country and I don’t make it outside the city limits into nature.”

  “You couldn’t pay me to live in a large city.”

  A warning sparked in Tate’s mind like an emergency flare. No matter how much she liked Nathan, emotional attachment was out. He had roots here. She didn’t.

  After a bit Nathan seemed content. Peaceful. They were as comfortable together as an old pair of shoes.

  Which normally she would have taken as a good sign. But his relaxed nature irked her. She’d worn the tiny bikini he’d gone gaga over, yet he remained sprawled on the bench, apparently unaffected.

  Tate shifted when her bare legs stuck to the leather seats. Blaming the deep-seated itch on the way her swimsuit chafed beneath the denim shorts was a cop out; she knew differently.

  This distinctive itch was courtesy of Nathan LeBeau.

  A shiver worked loose. Lord, she wanted to climb out of her too-tight skin. Or…maybe…she should climb out of her clothes. If that didn’t shake his complacency, nothing would.

  She stood and stretched, adding a heartfelt moan for good measure. “Ever been skinny-dipping?”

  Without pause, he said, “Yep. Have you?”

  “Of course. I love it.” Reaching behind her back, she tugged at the strings on her bikini top.

  “Tate,” he warned, his gaze glued to her chest, correctly sensing her intention to strip. “I don’t know if that’s such a good idea.”

  “Why not?”

  “We’re in an extremely public place.”

  She pointed around the deserted lake. “One boat, clear on the other side. If those geezer fisherman can see this far in the dark, then they’re in for a helluva show. Unless you don’t want me to strip because naked, I’m repulsive to you.” After completely dispensing with her top, she added, “Although I’d argue that you have a serious thing for my breasts.”

  Nathan closed his eyes and said tersely, “You aren’t repulsive in the least and you know it. As far as your breasts…nope. I’m not even going there.”

  Taking advantage of his unease, Tate quickly divested herself of her bottoms. Take control and seduce him, her inner temptress chanted. Standing on the bow, she tossed the two pieces of her suit in Nathan’s face and dove in.

  The clean water chilled her bare skin. Swimming at night seemed secretive and intimate. Perfect for seduction.

  When she resurfaced, Nathan was leaning over the boat edge so far the end of his braid skimmed the water’s surface. “Dammit! You might’ve warned me you planned on abandoning ship in the dark.”

  “Sorry,” she offered halfheartedly. “You coming in? The water is awesome.” She floated to her back, giving him a brief glimpse of her bouncing breasts and the blonde curls between her thighs.

  Holding her breath, she dove beneath the surface, plunging deeper into the darkness. At the sudden influx of bubbles, she reversed course, speeding back toward the faint light dancing above her. Tate popped up right next to Nathan.

  Damn. He still wore his swimming trunks.

  “Glad you decided to join me,” she said huskily.

  “Hard to resist when you’re naked.”

  “You’ve done a fine job of it so far.”

  “That was before you reminded me of all my suppressed mermaid fantasies,” he said with a grin. Treading water, he tilted forward, outlining her lips with his tongue before scrambling her brain with an ardent kiss. “You taste good.” One fingertip glided over the water before it dropped to trace tiny, patient circles on her breastbone.

  Tate trembled.

  “Since you’re the skinny-dipping expert,” he asked mildly, “have you ever been kissed underwater?”

  “No.” She withheld another quiver as those clever fingers moved to lightly stroke her breast. “Is it like scuba diving?”

  “Not even close.” He inhaled and dipped below the water.

  Desire rocketed through her as his hot mouth fastened on her cold nipple, working magic on her lake-cooled skin. Mesmerized by the licks and tugs of his sharp teeth and warm tongue, she forgot to tread water and promptly sank like a rock.

  Nathan’s large hands circled her hips and he hauled her back up, keeping them both afloat while she shivered and coughed. “You okay?”

  Nodding, Tate coughed again. “Maybe we should save that kissing experiment for next time.” She swam around to the back of the boat. “You coming?”

  “I will be if I see you climbing up that ladder naked.”

  The warm night air dried her body quickly. Tate wrapped the towel around her middle and called, “You’re safe. I’m covered.”

  “Safe, yeah right,” he muttered. The boat rocked as Nathan scrambled up the ladder. He froze when he noticed her swimsuit spread on the boat’s bench seat. “You said you were dressed.”

  “No. I said I was covered.” She gestured smugly to the boldly striped beach towel. “Which I am.”

  Tate braced herself for the impending debate, but was utterly charmed when he threw back his head to the stars and laughed. He dropped into the seat closest to the steering wheel. “I swear you’ll be the death of me.”

  “Not tonight.” She plopped right beside him, making sure her skin brushed his. “We’ll just sit here and moon-gaze. I’ll behave.”

  He grunted but didn’t retreat.

  They watched in silence as the moon arced across the sky, sending silver flashes of light rippling over the water. The boat rocked. A soft, warm, pine-scented breeze wafted over them. Nathan dropped his arm behind her neck and gently pulled her against his shoulder.

  Seemed they could just exist together—neither felt that odd compunction to destroy the serenity by filling the quiet air with chatter. Not that the previous conversation had been banal. His admission of envy over Val’s life had struck a chord in her. As did the underlying sense he too was following a career path that hadn’t been his first choice. Somehow she just knew he’d never shared that secret with any other woman. It gave her a newfound sense of purpose to share something equally intimate with him.

  Tate’s wiggling toes came in contact with Nathan’s bare foot. Was there anything sexier than the soft top of a man’s foot? Especially when every other part of his physique was rough and hard? She rubbed her big toe over his, across the bone, around his ankle before replacing her foot on the boat floor. He hadn’t moved a muscle. On the verge of expanding her tentative touches, Nathan stopped her explorations by picking her up and straddling her on his lap.

  “Trying to play footsie with me, Tate?” He held her captive with his hungry eyes as he unhooked the towel inch by inch. The moment she was bared before him he filled his hands with her breasts. “I don’t have a foot fetish, but you were right about one thing.”

  His warm palms on her chilled nipples sent her blood tripping. Tate pressed her hips closer, literally thanking the stars above. “Right about what?”

  “I have an obsession with your gorgeous breasts.” Dark eyes fixed on her chest, he pressed the mounds togeth
er, raising her torso higher so both nipples were at his mouth level. His tongue darted back and forth and he sucked at the protruding peaks hard, like a starving man. Lifting his head at her uncontrolled moan, he kissed her mouth with recklessness. His hands inched closer up her thighs to her core with each controlled thrust of his talented tongue.

  Rocking against him, she clutched his shoulders for support. She rubbed her breasts over his broad chest, desperate to feel the rasp of his hair and muscle against her ruddy, sensitized nipples. His mouth fed at hers. Insistent, then slow and languid, making her dizzy with desire, wet with need.

  “You drive me wild, Tate,” he groaned, scattering heated kisses across her skin, until his thumbs breached the line of curls.

  She pressed her thighs together, even when she wanted to leave them splayed open to his questing fingers. “I’ll show you wild,” she panted against his throat. Tate moved, but not the direction he’d expected. She slid down between his legs, hooking her fingers inside the waistband of his trunks. “Lift up.”

  He grasped her wrist. “What are you doing?”

  “What do you think?” She tugged, but the wet material wouldn’t budge. Damn. Val’s comment about erections and swimsuits had been right on target.

  “I don’t think—”

  “That’s right. Don’t think.” Tate brushed her bare breasts over his shin, loving the erotic sensation of running her tongue over the coarse hairs on his legs. Her teeth sank into his muscled thigh. “Time for your surprise. Your choice. Take them off or I’ll tear them off.”

  “You’re serious?” Nathan peered into her face, half-hopeful, half-afraid. “You don’t have to do this.”

  “I want to.” She kissed him, sucking at his tongue in a carnal preview. He groaned when she broke the kiss and licked a trail of hot kisses up and down the pulse quickening in his throat. “I really, really want to. So take them off. Now.”

  Another feeble protest tumbled from his lips before he disposed of his trunks with unsteady hands. His breathing turned rough when Tate dropped to her knees.

  She didn’t care that she was nearly crammed beneath the steering wheel. Her desire to finally touch him superseded all reason, even comfort. Her hands glided up the tops of his legs to pass over his narrow hips. She spread her hands wide, fingers squeezing the outside of his smooth, tight butt. Small yet firm. Unlike the rod jutting from the dark springy curls that nearly reached his navel. Not small at all, she thought wickedly, but definitely firm.