What a frustrating man. Again he’d left her wanting. Of course, the parking lot had not been the time or place for lovemaking, but she’d thought surely he’d invite her up to his apartment. But no. Weren’t women the ones who were supposed to blow hot and cold?
She knew he wanted her. She couldn’t have made a mistake, not with his rock-hard erection pressing against her, not with his heart going like a trip-hammer against her breast.
And, dam it, she wanted him, too. She wouldn’t have believed it could happen, but this perplexing man who’d gone from berating her to laughing with her to kissing her within an inch of her life had wormed his way into her thoughts and into her heart.
He wasn’t smooth and sophisticated like most of the men she’d dated. He was gruff and tough. And he wore an air of danger as naturally as some men wore designer clothes.
After all these years of dating all the right men, she’d met Mr. Wrong. And, God help her, she was falling in love with him.
How could she get him to love her back?
She’d figured out why he disliked her being at the OK Center—he resented the power she held over them. Away from the center, when their relative positions didn’t matter, the tension between them eased. Now she just had to think of a way to spend some quality time with him. Not work time, but play time.
She watched as the truck rolled off the conveyor belt and onto the asphalt. Half a dozen eager young men converged on it to spruce up the inside, provide a final shine and collect their tips.
Broad grins and enthusiastic thank-yous followed her as she got into the truck, but she paid no attention. Her eyes focused on a manila folder lying on the front seat It hadn’t been there before. The car-wash guys must have found it under the seat. The name Germain Parker was printed on the tab. Kirk had left it in the truck.
“Destiny,” Tonya said with a satisfied grin. Oh yes, just when she’d been searching for an excuse to be with him, fate had played right into her hands.
Delighted, she sped toward home to change from her jeans into something sexier.
Kirk’s kisses had told her a lot more than he’d intended. He might not be in love with her yet, but she’d gotten through to him every bit as much as he had to her.
“And, honey,” she murmured, “I’m not through with you yet. In fact, I’ve just gotten started.”
9
IT WAS A PERFECT SPRING Sunday. After Friday’s storm, the sky had cleared to a deep sapphire blue, unmarred by a single cloud. Spring flowers sweetened the air—azalea, hawthorn and mimosa—and new leaves unfurled. Outside Kirk’s open living room window a baby bird perched on a branch and fluttered its wings.
Shirtless, Kirk sprawled on the faded brown recliner that had once stood in his grandmother’s home. He’d gotten up late and hadn’t bothered to finish dressing. Jeans still unsnapped, he stretched out his legs and leaned back. From the stereo, an old Beatles number filled the room with music.
Spring. Sunshine. Flowers. The kind of day a man should spend with a lover...if he had a lover. Kirk didn’t, hadn’t been seriously involved since Amelia. That love affair had left scars far deeper than the ones on his knee.
Since then, he’d had one-night stands, even an affair or two, but no lovers. No one who’d been more than a sex partner. A few had been willing to be more, but he hadn’t cared enough.
That was okay. He had no need for a relationship, especially with someone like Tonya, someone who could slice him to the bone when she left.
He willed himself to forget the woman who’d been crowding his mind, then shut his eyes and resolved to spend the day being lazy. A soft breeze caressed his cheeks, the music lulled him, and he drifted into a half dream. Despite his determination to erase her from his thoughts, Tonya’s face swam before his eyes.
A knock on the door startled him awake. “Hold on,” he called, fastening his jeans as he crossed to the door. He pulled it open.
“Hi,” Tonya said. “I found your folder.”
He blinked, reached automatically for the papers she thrust at him. Had he conjured her up out of his dream? No, she was real, and today she smelled like roses. And looked like—
Sweet God, she looked like all his fantasies come true.
She wore a jumpsuit in a rich pink, the color of the azaleas blooming outside his window. The material didn’t hug her body but fell in soft pleats that touched on tantalizing secrets. The rounded neckline revealed her slender throat. Thin gold braiding led his eyes down a dangerously curved path to her waist, which was encircled with a wide gold belt. She wasn’t blatantly sexy but softly suggestive. The sight was enough to make a grown man weep.
She’d tied her hair back with a pink silk scarf. He wanted to loosen it and bury his face in her sable mane. He wanted to do a good deal more. Instead, he stood and stared.
“Aren’t you going to let me in?” she asked, her lips curving in amusement.
Let her in? If he did, he feared he’d never be able to get her out.
But she’d already breezed past him into the living room and was roaming around, examining his possessions. “Nice,” she murmured, picking up a Native American basket. He’d bought it because it reminded him of a basket he’d made when he was a kid in one of those summer programs at the community center near his home. Now that he was the director of a similar center and could run the kind of program he wanted, he used the basket to remind him never to institute any useless programs. No dumb basket making at the OK Center.
“Nice music, too,” Tonya continued, “but why are you sitting inside on such a beautiful day?”
He raised a brow. “Waiting for you.”
She flashed one of her teasing smiles. “Now that I’m here, why don’t we enjoy the weather?”
“Why not?” His mouth wasn’t following his brain’s advice. Hell with it, he decided. Why not make the most of a beautiful day in the company of a beautiful woman? Besides, if they stayed here much longer, he’d be apt to tear that outfit off her and sample the delights beneath it. “Be right back.”
When he returned, he found her engrossed in the Sunday comics, but she tossed them aside and jumped up. “The Great Houston Duck Race is today. Have you ever been?” she asked.
“No, but I’ve heard of it. It’s on Buffalo Bayou, isn’t it?” When she nodded, he said, “Let’s go.”
On the way he asked, “Aren’t you going to tell me about how you once beat out ten thousand entrants in the duck race and took home first prize?”
“Nah, this race is pure luck. But once I crewed on a racing yacht—”
“And single-handedly brought it in first.”
“Nope,” she said, and winked at him. “I fell overboard, they had to fish me out, and we came in dead last.”
When they arrived at the starting point of the race along the banks of Buffalo Bayou, they joined a crowd of laughing entrants and spectators. The sun shone warmly, music blared from a loudspeaker, food smells wafted through the air. Grown-ups and children were loaded down with hot dogs, cotton candy, balloons...and tiny yellow plastic ducks. “No use coming and not entering the race,” Tonya said, and he followed her to the booth and bought one numbered duck for each of them.
“Ladies and gentlemen, this annual event, sponsored by Delta Gamma, benefits the blind and visually handicapped of Harris County,” said a voice over the loudspeaker. “Now grab your ducks and hightail it to the bridge. The Great Duck Race is about to begin.”
Kirk cleared a path for them, and they took their places alongside the Sabine Bridge. “How will we keep track of our ducks?” Tonya wondered, then extracted a tube of lipstick from her purse and decorated them—hers with a chain around its neck and long pink eyelashes, Kirk’s with a curly mustache. She studied her handiwork and grinned. “They probably won’t show up, but who cares.” She cocked her head. “We should name them.”
“Donald and Daisy?”
“Too blah.” She thought for a moment. “Denise and Denephew.” Kirk rolled his eyes as sh
e printed each duck’s name on its back.
The starting gun went off, entrants tossed their ducks into the water, and the bayou became an ocean of yellow. “Can you see ours?” Tonya called as they pushed their way into the crowd thronging the banks of the bayou.
“Nope.”
“Wait,” she called, jumping up to see over a man’s shoulder. “I think that’s Denise.”
Why pass up an opportunity to touch her? With his hands at her waist, Kirk lifted her off the ground. “Can you see her now?”
“Yes! There she is, right in the middle of that traffic jam.”
“All of it looks like a traffic jam to me.” He set her down but kept his hands at her waist and pulled her back against him. Her hair brushed his cheek. It felt like silk and smelled like roses. Tonya smiled at him over her shoulder, and the effect went straight to his groin. He stepped back before he became a more interesting spectacle than the ducks.
Tonya grabbed his hand and pulled him closer to the edge. “Come on, Denise,” she shouted.
People who could reach them poked at their ducks, prodding them with tree branches. Kirk bent to pick up a stick. “Uh-uh,” Tonya said, shaking her head. “If ours win, they have to do it fair and square.”
They didn’t win.
By the time the first ducks floated to the finish line, both of theirs were far back in the pack. “But wasn’t it fun?” Tonya asked, her eyes alight with laughter as she bent to pick up her duck.
“Ducky.” Kirk decided he hadn’t spent such an entertaining afternoon in years. Maybe ever. He hated to see their time together end. “Let’s go get some ice cream,” he suggested, and led her to one of the refreshment booths.
They ambled along through the crowd, licking their chocolate-mint cones, and commented on the more outlandish getups they saw: a man in neon orange shorts held up by lime green suspenders; a group of teenagers with painted faces; a lady who appeared to be at least eighty, dressed in an off-the-shoulder blouse and a ruffled miniskirt.
As they turned in the direction of the truck, Tonya suddenly stopped. “There’s Betsy Potter.” She waved, and a freckle-faced woman with short blond hair dashed toward them.
She threw her arms around Tonya and hugged her. “Just the person I’ve been wanting to talk to.”
“What about?” Tonya asked.
“Murder, what else?”
Tonya laughed and turned to Kirk. “So you don’t get the wrong idea, Betsy owns Whodunit, a mystery bookstore.”
“Yes, and Tonya and I were just about to ink a deal. She was supposed to plan some mystery weekends for me, but she backed out”
“To work at the Our Kids Center,” Tonya said, and introduced Kirk.
“And I haven’t forgiven you,” Betsy continued. “I’d still like to work something out for those travel weekends. Why don’t you stop by on Saturday?”
“I’ll try.”
“Added incentive. The new Nick Petrelli mystery will be out by then. I’ll put a copy aside for you.”
“Then I’ll definitely be there,” Tonya promised, and Betsy hurried back to the group she was with.
“So you’re a Nick Petrelli fan,” Kirk remarked as they strolled on.
“Yeah. You, too?”
He nodded.
“I’ve never missed one of his books, even when...”
“Even when what?” Kirk asked after her voice trailed off.
“Um, even when they first came out,” she said, blushing.
Kirk wondered why she’d be embarrassed about reading mystery novels. “The new one, The Pet Food Pirate, is supposed to be his best,” he remarked.
“Oh, it is.”
Puzzled, he glanced at her. “You sound like you’ve already read it.”
“Um, not exactly, but I’m sure it’s the best,” she said quickly. “But I don’t want to talk about books. Kirk, I have an idea, a fabulous idea for—”
“Tonya Brewster.”
She turned at the sound of a male voice. “Max!”
Kirk swung around and came face-to-face with one of the handsomest men he’d ever seen. Even another male couldn’t help noticing the perfectly chiseled features, the deep-set chocolate brown eyes. He wore a silk shirt, khaki slacks that must have been tailored just for him, and Italian leather loafers. Kirk disliked him instantly.
“Where’ve you been hiding, babe?” he asked, running a finger down Tonya’s cheek.
“I’ve been doing some work for my grandfather.” She took a quick lick of ice cream and turned to Kirk. “Kirk, this is Maxwell Conner the Third.”
He’d heard that name before. Scion of a prestigious, oilrich family. Conner’s grandfather was known for his philanthropic endeavors, and his father was a former Houston mayor. Maxwell Number Three was a wheeler-dealer and the darling of the gossip columnists. And, it seemed, a close friend of Tonya’s. Well, why not? Her own family reeked of money.
Max spared Kirk a brief glance, then turned his attention to Tonya. “What kind of work?”
“The foundation’s funding a center that works with inner-city kids. Kirk is the program director.”
That caught Max’s attention. He gave Kirk a speculative look, one male animal sizing up another. Apparently he decided Kirk was someone to be reckoned with because he backed up a step.
Smart move, Kirk thought. Maxwell might be polished and sophisticated, but he was no match for an ex-jock who’d scraped and clawed his way out of poverty. In a tussle Kirk could lick Max with one hand. The guy was soft. Although they weren’t squaring off for battle, Max could undoubtedly scent a superior adversary. Kirk barely controlled a sneer.
“Listen, babe, give me a call when you decide to take a break. My boat’s at the yacht club. We’ll take her out.”
“Sure. Give your folks my best” She accepted a kiss on the cheek, then grabbed Kirk’s hand and pulled him toward the parking area.
“What’s the hurry?” he asked, temper simmering. He’d almost forgotten Tonya belonged with the jet set until the meeting with Maxwell Conner the Third had hammered it home.
“I wanted to tell you my idea,” she said. “Why don’t I talk Betsy into sponsoring a mystery night fund-raiser for the OK Center? Black-tie, of course. We could have Houston mystery writers sign their books, have the guests solve a mystery, and we’d make megabucks for the center. Wouldn’t that be fun?”
The fun in her idea escaped him. “Why not save money on a party? Just ask people to write checks.” .
“Party pooper. People are much more generous when they’re having a good time.”
Kirk grimaced. Dressing up like a penguin and parading around in some fancy ballroom wasn’t his idea of a good time. If Tonya wanted to hang out with the party people, she could go with Maxwell Conner the Third. He hoped she’d forget the idea.
Apparently unaware of his mood, Tonya chattered on as they drove home. “I’ll talk to Betsy next week. Let’s see, who would be a good chairperson...?” Kirk tuned out the rest.
When she parked the truck in front of his apartment, he was only semisurprised that Tonya hopped out. “What do you have in the fridge?” she asked. “I’ll fix dinner.”
“Frozen pizza.”
“Just my speed.”
Kirk chuckled. He couldn’t stay grouchy long around her. After all, it wasn’t her fault her family was rich as Midas.
Upstairs, he opened two beers while she put the pizza in the microwave. After they’d feasted on slices of pepperoni and mushroom, Kirk rinsed the dishes while Tonya perched on a bar stool. “Thanks for dinner,” he said. “What a cook.”
Her eyes teased as she slipped off the stool and went to stand beside him. “I could have done better.”
“You do gourmet meals?”
“Well, not exactly. But I could’ve taken you out to eat.”
Unable to resist, he slipped his arms around her. This was the first time he’d embraced her in friendship. He liked the feeling. She was more than just a woman he wanted in bed. She
was a woman he enjoyed being around.
He laughed and rested his forehead against hers. “Tonya Brewster, what am I going to do with you?”
She gazed up at him, her eyes wide, then lifted a hand to his cheek. “Make love to me.”
Stunned, he stared at her. Had she really asked him to make love to her? He wanted to, had wanted to from the first moment he’d seen her, but when she unbuttoned the top button of his shirt and whispered throatily, “Let me show you what I want,” a mass of emotions surged up in his chest.
Amelia had wanted a football hero, not him. What did Tonya want? A fling with a tough guy who knew his way around the streets? An interlude while she took a break from the country club? An interesting story to tell the Maxwell Conners in her life?
Damned if he’d give her that.
No matter how much he wanted her.
Besides, he preferred to do the asking. As Ramon had pointed out, Kirk kept his relationships under tight control. He couldn’t seem to do that with Tonya. Hell, he couldn’t even predict her.
He grabbed her hand as she undid his second button. “Is this what you came for?”
She looked away, then back. “I...no, not exactly....”
“Face it, babe,” he sneered. “You’re slumming.”
Anger and frustration built as he waited for her to deny it, but she only echoed, “Slumming? What do you mean?”
“Finding out how the other half lives. Isn’t that what you had in mind—a quick roll in the hay with a horse of a different color, a—”
He broke off as her hand connected with his cheek.
“You bastard!” she choked. “Is that what you think of me? Well, you can just—” He dodged her hand when it shot out again “—go... to...hell.”
She spun around and dashed out of the apartment. The last thing he saw before she slammed the door in his face was her eyes, brimming with tears.
Kirk pounded his fist against the closed door. He was a bastard. Locked in his own anger, he’d struck out at her without a thought in his head. He was hurting, so he’d hurt her, too. Good work, Butler.
Trouble With Tonya Page 12