by D. D. Scott
“Oh, please, I mean, yes,” Roxy faltered to complete a full sentence, “my boutique is in a corner of the tractor supply store, but that’s temporary. Please stop by anytime. Or here, here’s my card. Call me. I’d be glad to do a private fitting. Anything. Please call.”
Roxy had to be scoring points for persistence, Zayne figured, being as now she couldn’t quit rambling to solicit Deena’s business. Before he could escort her toward the door, safely extracting her from her less-than-best moment, Roxy turned her attention on Jack. Uh-oh.
“And Jack Baudlin. I’ve heard so much about you. I feel like we’re already acquaintances. Actually, I think I may have seen you at the Neon Cowboy.
“But you’d better watch yourself. You won’t be the number one tomato man for long.” Roxy put on her coat, a red satin number with brown fur trim then turned to leave.
Jack leaned back against the booth, feigning she’d sucker-punched him.
Zayne’s chest puffed with pride. Roxy had made a perfect recovery from dawdling over Deena to taking command of Jack. That’s my princess.
But why didn’t she speak-up on her own behalf with that same conviction? Why hadn’t she stuck-up for her own talent like she’d championed his?
“Your coat is fabulous,” Deena said and ran her hands over the slick fabric. “I’ll definitely be stopping by your boutique.”
“I’ll look forward to it.” Roxy beamed at Deena then at Zayne, seeming to have her confidence back where it deserved to be.
She looped her arm through his, leading him to the counter to pay their bill. That done she then practically dragged him out of the restaurant as if they were contestants in reality TV’s ‘The Great Race’.
Once on the curb, waiting for the light to change, she threw her arms around his neck, planting a huge and sloppy but unforgettable kiss on Zayne’s unsuspecting mouth.
“What was that for?” He asked, sure she’d knocked-off his boots.
“For plugging my designs.”
Her radiance shined as bright as the morning sun spotlighting her sexier-than-hell body. Her happiness warmed him more than the hot coffee and omelets. Not giving a damn that the pedestrian crossing sign flashed green, Zayne pulled Roxy towards him and kissed her back. As he tasted her passion, his mouth fed his desires, begging his mind to free his soul by privately continuing their impromptu rendezvous.
Catching her before she slipped off the sidewalk’s edge and his actions slipped below public decency standards, Zayne cupped Roxy’s chin in his hands. “That was for giving Jack a rough time.”
“I’ll have to remember to do that again the next time I see him.” Roxy pulled Zayne across the street before the light changed.
“I’d rather you not mess with him or his dad. They’re up to something, but I can’t figure it out.”
“You will.”
Zayne hoped she knew what she was talking about as much as he hoped he was wrong about the Baudlins’ intentions. He also hoped he was right to forgive Roxy’s betrayal, right to accept her plan, and right to fall in love with her. ‘Cause he was head over her ridiculous heels in love.
Chapter Seventeen
Zayne followed Roxy out of the Pancake Pantry’s parking lot then west through the Vanderbilt neighborhoods toward Raeve, keeping his Mom’s SUV a safe distance behind Roxy in his farm truck. The woman drove as if she still lived in Manhattan, weaving in and out of traffic as if she were playing a video game instead of negotiating real world traffic hazards. His pulse pounded witnessing her potential for disaster.
Zipping by Centennial Park, hesitant to look at his speedometer, Zayne focused on the park’s life-sized replica of The Parthenon. Because of the flat green earth surrounding it, the mammoth structure looked even bigger. Its stone columns punched through the sky, rocketing through the low-traveling clouds, defying gravity to soar above the landscape.
Kind of like Roxy lived life — large, not afraid to make her way outside her comfort zone.
Like the goddess Athena whose statue guards the replica, Roxy had the wisdom to succeed and was at war with any opposition to her goals. She was a force to be reckoned with in her entrepreneurial quests. Also like Athena, she was blessed with a unique artistic style. Just not behind the wheel. Only if Roxy had a chariot and driver would Zayne relax.
She made a past-the-point-of-no-return stop for a yellow light. Shit. He slammed on his brakes to keep from smashing her bumper.
Except for when she was behind the wheel, he liked that Roxy was the commander of her world. Though commandeering him with less zest would also be acceptable. She definitely had control over everyone within her circle of influence. At least the circle he was in.
Hell, Zayne thought. He’d fallen for his very own goddess. The realization thumped against the inside of his chest wall, knocking him off-kilter.
Flipping on the radio to calm his nerves, he drummed his thumbs against the steering wheel to Chesney’s latest tune, moving through the steps in his mind he planned to try on the dance floor. The island beat and blaring trumpets transported Zayne out of Nashville and into the Bahamas. Tapping his boot against the floorboard, he mentally rehearsed the routine.
Knowing damn well Roxy would chunk her brakes then hit the tractor supply store’s parking lot with a strong punch of her accelerator, Zayne switched his right turn signal on two blocks before the lot. Probably not near enough warning for the Home of the Stars tour bus riding his ass, but after Roxy did her bit, his bumper was worthless anyway. And his mom loved ‘em both enough that as long as they were unharmed her SUV’s condition wouldn’t matter.
Parking in a space three down from Roxy’s reserved spot, Zayne turned off the SUV’s ignition. Hearing his old truck’s residual sputters and coughs comforted him so much more than the Hummer’s high-powered rumble.
Roxy waited next to his truck. As the large crystals of her key chain caught the sun, their reflections blinded him. Zayne shielded his eyes with his arms, but not enough to block Roxy from his view.
It wasn’t the mid-morning heat that had Zayne hot. In her tight-fitting jeans, her legs stretched for miles before intersecting with the tops of her boots. She shifted her weight from leg to leg like a svelte, well-bred mare, anxious to enter the show ring.
Yes, Sir. He’d like to take a ride on her…with her…whatever. Like that thought would cool him off.
Zayne picked up his pace, taking his desire out on the pavement. Falling into step beside her, he inhaled her fruit and nutty lotion. As the scent seeped into his fantasies, he struggled to remain mobile. The blacktop turned into quick sand. As the store’s sliding glass doors separated, he hustled to stay with her.
Entering the farm store, Zayne’s fantasies abruptly ended. The smells of tire rubber and livestock feed attacked his nostrils. Fuzzy yellow chicks peeped, huddled together under industrial-sized heat lamps in large, steel bins.
Zayne chuckled. He still couldn’t believe Roxy made a home for Raeve in the corner of the feed and supply store. Although he rarely refrained from commenting on her nothing-close-to-country, high glamour style, this wasn’t the time to bring it up. And definitely not the place.
Too proud of her gutsy decision to make this location work until she could afford better, Zayne kept his mouth shut. Roxy had more than made up for her formerly extravagant tastes by making miracles out of this sub prime venue.
Nearing an aisle stocked with John Deere dye-cast toys, the buzz and hum of a power drill vibrated the air.
“What the hell?” Roxy said, damn near leaving Zayne in the dust as she made her way toward the racket.
Yikes. This could be a nightmare. The image of his mom in way over her well-meaning head etched the front of Zayne’s memory bank. Having lost Roxy who’d disappeared a good seven aisles ahead past a tractor tire display, Zayne walked much faster.
Turning the corner around the last end cap standing between him and the showdown, he saw his mom and Roxy leaning over a drawing table with Damian and Au
drey. Willing himself not to focus on the denim snuggly hugging Roxy’s ass, he forced shots of air down his throat, waiting until the mixture of sawdust and oxygen broke through the libidinal bottleneck blocking his larynx.
“I appreciate what you all are trying to do, but this is not what I want.” Roxy shoved her thumbs through the belt loops on the back of her jeans and tapped her fingers against the top of her sequined-edged pockets, sending Zayne into a lust-inspired tailspin.
“The check-out counter is wonderful.” She placed one arm on her hip then massaged her forehead with her other hand, tracing her furrowed brows with her fingertips. “But we discussed the belt buckle collection being the focal point of the boutique, not the jeans’ display.”
Buying time like his father used to do before throwing his opinion into the ring, Zayne rubbed one hand across his chin. But his father, the lucky s.o.b., had only Zayne’s mom to deal with. The seasoned pro himself might have been perplexed having to smooth the ground between his wife and her new protégé. But Zayne had watched his father in these situations and was fairly confident he knew the tricks that would ease the tension.
He ignored Damian’s finger pantomiming his throat being slit. But took no comfort in Audrey’s ‘go-for-it-dumb ass’ expression. When Audrey then whisked Damian to the far side of the boutique, Zayne knew the crap was closing-in.
Pretending to work on installing another shelving system, instead of taking on the dueling queen bees, Zayne’s friends had abandoned him. He was alone and at a substantial disadvantage. Talk about being a delusional optimist.
Consolidating his confidence around the ball of insecurity lodged in his throat, Zayne rolled his angst aside then addressed his mother first. “You know, Mom, although you two are much more qualified to make this decision than I, I think Roxy’s right.”
Knowing if he stopped long enough to think about what he was doing too, he’d be trampled, he took time only to swallow. He had to keep trucking or get-off the road.
Without a valid reason to discontinue his effort to defend Roxy, Zayne pushed his point. He could probably get her in the driver’s seat with one final impetus. “I’m saying this, Mom, because we just ran into…oh, Roxy, what’s the name of that new singer?”
“Deena Mettles,” Roxy answered, rolling her neck on her shoulders.
“Yeah, that’s her,” Zayne said, placing his hands on Roxy’s shoulders. With gentle pressure, he tried to knead away her stress.
The feel of her body first tensing then relaxing under his hands, fed his desire to touch her in more private places. He fought his libido. Despite the pressing need swelling below his belt, he tried to stay focused on Raeve.
“Mom, the woman was crazy about Roxy’s buckle this morning,” Zayne said, forcing the stamina from his groin to his voice. Not that thinking about Roxy’s buckles and what they held underneath diminished his hardest obstacle.
“This morning? Where did you run into her?” Kat asked, tucking the pencil she’d once been pointing at Roxy now safely behind her ear. “She liked our buckle? That’s fantastic. This could be terrific for sales.”
“Slow down, Mom. You’re not supposed to be getting excited.” Zayne had enough restless energy busting his gut for both of them. He could handle the strain. Well, he was supposed to be able to. But his mom couldn’t. “We ended up sitting next to Deena at The Pancake Pantry. And yes, she loved Roxy’s buckle.”
Before Zayne could continue his father’s diplomacy and restate that the buckles should be Raeve’s center of attention, Roxy wiggled out from under his impromptu massage and took the floor in her own defense. “It’s true. Deena oohed and ahhed, mentioning something about her stylist seeing the rest of the collection for a video shoot. Proof that the buckles are our key.”
“Well, why didn’t you say so?” Kat grabbed the blueprint off the work table, crumbled it between her hands then tossed it into a large feed bucket serving as their trashcan.
“Damian,” she yelled, competing with drill bits chewing through drywall, “do as Roxy says and make it snappy. We’re about to have high profile customers to impress.”
“Yes, Ma’am. Ma’ams. You know what I mean.” Damian pulled his safety glasses off the top of his head and back into place then re-revved his drill.
Roxy and Kat walked arm-in-arm toward the center of the boutique, motioning for Audrey to follow them, seeming to forget Zayne. With relief washing over him, filling his once knotted stomach with a weightless joy, Zayne could care less that they’d left him unattended.
So much for his mother having to summons the support of her high-paying friends. Roxy may have just sealed Raeve’s fate all by herself. Her talent speaking on its own merit. Well, her skill along with Jack Baudlin’s choice of breakfast partners, an acknowledgement making Zayne’s skin crawl.
As much as Zayne didn’t want to have anything to do with Jack or Harry Baudlin, if Deena Mettles didn’t make it into the store by the end of the week, Zayne would go see Jack, somehow working it into their conversation to get the starlet to Raeve. Not as a favor. Zayne would never be indebted to those assholes. But he’d think of some subtle way to get one of those buckles into the hands of Deena’s stylist. And if that meant dealing with Jack Baudlin…so be it.
If it had been Zayne’s mom in Roxy’s situation, that’s what his dad would have done. Once making digs at his wife for going into the saloon business, Zayne’s dad soon sang a different tune. His wife had been more successful slinging beers than he’d ever been picking tomatoes. Even though the farm had turned a nice profit, the Neon Cowboy was the McDonald’s big-time cash crop.
Zayne’s dad had become his wife’s biggest fan. And it wasn’t for the money. He put his resources into the saloon because that’s where Kat thrived. He fed her passion like she’d nurtured his love of the farm.
His dad’s unwavering support in that regard twisted Zayne’s respect for the man in a positive direction. But it failed to make up for his inadequacies as a father. How could his dad have finally gotten it so right with his mom and still so wrong with his son? Zayne’s mind squeezed out the pain his heart pumped strong.
With the girls busy directing Damian, Zayne checked his watch. Noon. A gale-force panic blew straight- line winds through his gut, robbing him of all oxygen.
Since the weather was perfect, Cody wanted the vines in before the end of the week. Zayne hadn’t done a damn thing in the fields today. He’d wasted half of one day out of their five-day window. Cody would be pissed but no more than Zayne was already cursing himself.
Not wanting to interrupt the ladies now that they were working together, Zayne turned, starting for the boutique’s entrance.
Walking past Roxy, he got a heady blast of her blasphemous body lotion, whipping-up additional temptation to keep him out of the fields. That or his imagination was once again messing with him. Sometimes he smelled cherries and almonds when Roxy wasn’t even in a room. He couldn’t get the girl out of his head or his nose.
Before he reached the landing off-setting Raeve from the rest of the supply store, someone pulled him backwards by the waist of his jeans.
“Where you goin’ so fast, Cowboy?”
Hearing Roxy’s low, sexy voice, and breathing in another shot of her seductive scent, Zayne knew it wasn’t his imagination. He stayed facing away from her, trying to compose his wants into measured slivers of control.
“I owe you for handling your mom,” she said, her sultry smooth tone wearing down Zayne’s moral fortitude.
“What I have in mind as gratitude wouldn’t be appropriate in public,” Zayne said, fighting the immediate urges rushing through him, afraid he’d lose control over the waves of desire crashing his senses.
“You sure about that?”
Roxy tugged on his belt loops, until he turned and looked into her suggestive eyes then anchored her body against his.
In one swift, rhythmic movement that registered close to double digits on the seismic scale, his stomach and groin
flexed.
“ I’m fairly certain we’d be arrested for public indecency,” Zayne said, his voice shaky as he struggled to keep from sweeping her out of the store and straight home into his bed. “See you at the saloon around 4:30.”
Roxy nodded her head in agreement. A mischievous twinkle replaced the sultry waves in her eyes.
Zayne silently vowed to make the waves return.
He readjusted his hat — because he couldn’t think of anything else to do — then ground his boots into the sawdust clumped together in the wake of Damian’s drill. “All righty then. I should be going. I’ve got to check with Cody on a few things at the farm before I teach you the ropes at the saloon.”
“I’m looking forward to it,” Roxy said, her voice catching as she looked to the floor. Suddenly she preferred drawing shapes in the sawdust with the toe of her boot instead of looking at him. “Maybe we’ll have time to work-in a dance.”
“That would be nice.” Damn if Zayne didn’t feel heat rising up his neck, probably because he’d never taken off his Carhartt. Who was he kidding? He should stop making lame ass excuses. He couldn’t think about this woman without overheating, let alone stand next to her.
Hmmm. Seeing her fidget with her shirt collar was interesting, Zayne thought. After suggesting they take a spin across the floor, she almost looked a little nervous. Roxy Vaughn. Shy. Now there was a twist. What an enigma. She was a puzzle Zayne was having a hard time piecing together. But he was growing more intrigued by each piece that didn’t fit.
Roxy reached up on her toes, almost bumping her nose against his. “I knew there was another reason I prefer heels.”
She closed her mouth around his and melted into him. Instead of satisfying him, though, her tender and suggestive kiss made him want more. Much more. His muscles ached to move on top of her. He’d imagined a million times how her fluid curves would align with his body.
“Okay, lovebirds. Break it up,” Audrey said, tapping Roxy’s shoulder.
Zayne could feel Audrey’s playfully persistence taps too. His body’s closeness to Roxy’s conducted the same sensations between them, making him feel what she experienced. Too bad he wanted closer still and couldn’t go there right now.