Some Girls Do

by Leanne Banks

  Snapping her head up, she stared into the mirror in Douglas's bathroom and sprayed her neck with perfume that she hoped would act like a sex potion.

  No one would accuse Douglas of being smooth or sophisticated. She suspected he hadn't gone to” college, and hog farming wasn't a prestigious career. But he was kind and he had a body that made every feminine hormone inside her want to stand up and scream. Plus he didn't know who her father was. All of this added up to the chance of a lifetime.

  Katie might not approve, and her father would be appalled at the notion of her losing her virginity to a hog farmer, but with the way things were going, Wilhemina was starting to fear that she might keep her virginity for the rest of her life. Douglas was the best candidate to move her into the realm of being an experienced woman.

  Whatever that was.

  She'd known he was different from Chad when he'd looked at her as if she'd grown an extra head when she'd told him she wouldn't pay him for sex. She believed him when he said he thought her body was damn good because he'd appeared to have difficulty keeping his gaze away from her breasts. For some reason, his awareness of her as a woman didn't feel lewd. It just felt honest.

  When he looked at her, she didn't feel slimy. She felt hot. Hearing the screen door slam, she felt her heart kick into overdrive. She pressed her hand against her chest, feeling a ripple of panic. Could she do this? Could she be wicked and seductive? Or would she wimp out?

  Wilhemina glared into the mirror. “You will not wimp out.” She enhanced her lips with red lipstick, stiffened her spine, and marched out of the bathroom to the kitchen.

  Douglas was mixing something in a blender. Taking in the sight of his broad back and shoulders, she felt a sudden attack of shyness.

  “Hi,” she said, but he couldn't hear her over the blender. She stepped forward and repeated herself. When he still didn't hear her, she gingerly tapped his shoulder.

  He whipped around so fast she stumbled backward. Wilhemina felt her feet fly out from under her. She was going to fall. She opened her mouth to scream, but no sound came out. She was going to—

  She felt herself jerked upright against the front of Douglas's long, hard frame.

  “Oof.” The air went out of her lungs while her heart raced like a car in the Indy 500. Her breasts were smashed against his chest and her thighs cradled his. His arms wrapped around her like steel.

  When the I'm-gonna-fall feeling of panic melted away, Wilhemina decided her current position had plenty to recommend it.

  Douglas cleared his throat. “Sorry. You took me by surprise. I was making margaritas.” He slowly eased his arms away from her. “I thought you might like to drink one while I get my shower.”

  “That would be nice,” she said. “I wish I knew more about cooking, but—”

  Douglas shook his head. “No problem. I've got a couple of steaks. I thought I would grill.”

  She smiled. “I'd like that.”

  His gaze brushed her breasts, then he deliberately lifted his eyes to meet hers. “You smell really good. A lot better than I'm sure I do,” he said, stepping to the side.

  “I hadn't noticed. But you've been working and I've just been taking it easy trying to keep Chantal from getting too curious.”

  “She's probably seen one of my bam cats, Flash, roaming outside and she wants to see what he's doing. You better keep a close eye on her. You don't want Flash to get ahold of her.”

  “Do you think he would hurt her?”

  He paused for a moment. “No. But there are two things Flash likes to do besides sleep. Catch mice and uh…” He frowned as if he were searching for the right word. “Propagate.”

  “Oh,” she said because she couldn't think of anything else to say.

  “Chantal might be ugly as hell, but she's still female.”

  Wilhemina's stomach tightened. “Is that all it takes? She can be ugly as long as she's female and he'll still want to—”

  “Flash isn't choosy.”

  Her stomach twisted into another knot and she nodded. She felt a little queasy and wanted to ask if Doug shared Flash's philosophy, but she couldn't fathom a way.

  “But that's one of the differences between humans and animals. For animals, it's all about primitive drives,” he said, pouring some of the liquid from the blender pitcher into a glass. “Take a sip and tell me how I did.”

  Wilhemina accepted the glass and tasted it. Cool and cold with a kick. She took another drink. “Very good.”

  His mouth tilted in a crooked grin. “Good enough. You can nurse that while I'm in the shower. I'll put this in the fridge. If you want any more, help yourself. Okay?”

  She nodded. “Thank you, but I'm sure this will be enough to start.”

  As she watched him climb the stairs, however, Wilhemina couldn't help imagining what Douglas looked like in his shower, the water rippling down his long, strong naked body. She remembered what he'd said about primitive drives and felt a surge of heat run through her veins. She finished the first margarita while the shower was still running and decided one more wouldn't hurt.

  By the time Douglas had grilled steaks and they'd eaten dinner, Wilhemina had drunk two more margaritas in search of her liquid courage and her nose was numb. Douglas offered to teach her poker and she agreed, although the numbers were blurry.

  Joining her at the kitchen table, he dealt five cards to each of them. She frowned at the cards. “Blurry,” she muttered to herself.

  “What'd you say?” Douglas asked.

  “Nothing. Would you mind repeating the basics again?”

  “Sure. Royal flush beats straight flush beats four of a kind beats full house beats straight beats flush beats straight beats three of a kind beats two pair. Got it?”

  She nodded, although she was still computing what he'd said. She was supposed to be seducing this man, but she felt as if she were stuck in a stomach-jerking amusement park ride. Taking a deep breath, she blinked to clear her vision. “I'll take three cards.” Looking at her new cards, she was pleased to see that she now had two of a kind. Her head swooned and her stomach rolled. She took another deep breath, hoping it would pass.

  “Did you know that the odds of drawing a royal flush are one in six hundred fifty thousand?”

  Wilhemina shook her head. Big mistake.

  “Yep. The odds of drawing a straight flush are one in seventy-two thousand two hundred. Four of a kind, it's one in four thousand two hundred. You got a one in seven hundred chance of drawing a full house…”

  Wilhemina's stomach rolled violently and her head felt as if the Liberty Bell were clanging inside it. She feared the statistical odds that she would be sick within two minutes or less were one in one. Embarrassed, but fearing she might embarrass herself further, Wilhemina stood in the middle of his discourse. “Excuse me, Doug. I'm sorry, but I have to leave. I'm going to be sick.”

  Fleeing from the room, she made it to the bathroom just in time to lose her dinner. Hearing Doug's heavy approaching footsteps, she closed the door and locked it. She didn't want him to see her this way, at this most unseductive moment in her life.

  Disgusted with herself, she cradled her head in her arms and sat on the floor.

  Wilhemina,” Doug said, tapping on the door.

  She wished he would go away. “I'm fine,” she said, even though her stomach continued to roll.

  “You had too many margaritas, didn't you?” he asked.

  Due to both her and him. “Probably.”

  “I should have stopped you after two. You must not be used to drinking much liquor.”

  She wasn't used to ingesting much of anything except too much pie and too many cookies. The thought of pie and cookies made her stomach turn. She moaned.

  “'Wilhemina, are you okay?”

  “I will be,” she said, voicing more optimism than she felt. At the moment, she felt as if death were imminent. “Don't drunk people usually pass out?”

  She heard his husky chuckle. “Only when you're lucky. Wait
there a minute. I'll be right back.”

  “No chance of me going anywhere,” she muttered. She gave in to another wave of nausea and rinsed her mouth and face.

  “I have something for you,” Doug said through the door.

  I have something for you. Sinking to sit on the floor again, she thought about how those words would have been music to her ears if she didn't feel so awful.

  “Open up,” he told her.

  “That's okay. I'd rather ride out the misery alone if that's okay with you.”

  “It's not,” Doug said. “Since you're staying in my home, you're my responsibility.”

  She blinked as he jiggled the doorknob. “No, you really don't—”

  “Hope you're decent,” he said and pushed open the door. Surprise rushed through her almost overriding her nausea. “I thought that door was locked.”

  “It was, but it's got a lousy lock. Here,” he said, extending a damp washcloth toward her. “'Put this on your face and you'll feel better.”

  Too weak to protest, she draped the washcloth over her forehead and cheeks. The cooling sensation soothed her. When her skin warmed the washcloth, she flipped it over and sighed. She couldn't ignore that it had been a nice thing to do, especially when she felt so stupid for overindulging.

  “I don't usually drink too much,” she told Doug, still too embarrassed to look at him.

  “I got that impression,” he said, swiping the wash cloth from her and putting it under the running faucet. “You want to lay down?”

  “I'll get up in a couple of minutes.” The room was still spinning and she didn't want to risk it.

  “I can help you.”

  She shook her head, then stopped because the movement caused unbearable pain. “That's not necessary. Not really. Not—”

  She broke off in surprise when she felt him lift her from the floor and cradle her against his chest. Her racing pulse warred with her nausea. “Do you ever take no for an answer?”

  He looked at her with an inscrutable expression. “Only when it's really important,” he said, and lowered her to the bed, then placed the washcloth on her forehead. He left for a moment, then she heard his footsteps on the hardwood floor of the bedroom and a click followed by the winning sound of a fan. She took a deep breath and willed herself to relax.

  After she was sure she wouldn't need to dash for the bath room again, she lifted a corner of the washcloth and looked at him. “Thank you. You've been very nice to me.”

  He nodded, standing with his hands on hips. “No problem.”

  She continued to stare at him, wondering about his motives. “Why?”

  His eyebrows furrowed. “Why what?”

  “Why have you been so nice to me?”

  Shrugging, he shoved his fists into his pockets. “I dunno. You looked like you needed somebody to be nice to you.”

  “So you felt sorry for me,” she said, her stomach knotting, but not with nausea. More than anything, she didn't want Doug to pity her. She'd been the recipient of enough pity to last two lifetimes.

  “Well, a little,” he admitted, his lips twitching. “You wrecked the Cadillac, hurt your foot, have the ugliest cat in the world, then drank too much tequila. This probably hasn't been the easiest couple of days of your life. Plus there's something about you that—” He broke off and a self-conscious expression crossed his face. “'Nothing,” he muttered.

  Curious, she slowly shifted to her side. “No. Finish. There's something about me that?”

  He glanced away from her and moved his shoulders as if his shirt felt too tight. “There's just something about you that makes a man feel like you need to be taken care of.” He shot her a quick glance. “Don't get upset about it. My father always said my urge to take care of things would be my downfall. I've always been this way with puppies and birds and…”

  “Women?” She wasn't sure what to think. She'd just been placed in the same category as puppies and birds.

  His gaze shifted and he gave her a quick but thorough once over that she suspected was purely instinctive: He shook his head “Not women,” he said and something about his tone shimmied down her nerve endings. “You want to listen to some music?”

  She shook her head. “I like the quiet and the fan:”

  “Me too. I lived away from home for a while after I turned eighteen because I needed to be on my own, but I always missed the quiet. When my parents were killed in a pileup on the highway, it made sense to move back here.”

  “I'm sorry. When did they die?”

  A trace of grief darkened his eyes. “Four years ago. You never know how much you're gonna miss “em till they're gone.”

  She felt his loss echo inside her. “My mother died when I was born.”

  He frowned. “That must have been tough. What about your dad?”

  “He's very much alive,” she said. “Just married his sixth wife.”

  He raised his eyebrows and gave a slight grin. “Busy man.”

  “Yes, he is,” she said, thinking how easy it felt to talk to Douglas. “I like the quiet out here, but it's so isolated. Do you ever get lonely?”

  He shrugged. “You can be lonely with a hundred people around you. I've learned there's a difference between being alone and being lonely. I've been both.” He cracked a grin. “Depending on the people, there are times when I prefer my own company.”

  She smiled in return, remembering how lonely she'd felt at all the parties she'd attended. “Can I get you a glass of water before I head off to bed?”

  Wilhemina wrinkled her nose. Her stomach was still iffy.

  “I'm not giving you any more margaritas,” he said firmly.

  “I don't want any. I don't really want anything.”

  “As soon as you can, though, you need to drink some water. It cuts the dehydration factor and will make you feel a little better.”

  “That's what Katie said.”

  He cocked his head to one side. “Katie?”

  Her stomach knotted at the prospect of explaining her life and the embarrassing fact that her father had hired someone to help her find a husband. She closed her eyes. “She's a friend.”

  “Does she know where you are?”

  The knot tightened. “She knows I'm in Texas.”

  “But does she know you're staying on a hog farmer's ranch?”

  Feeling a spurt of anger override her guilt, she opened her eyes and met his gaze. “I don't have to tell her everything. I don't have to tell anyone everything. I'm an adult.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “Okay. Just thought there might be someone worrying about you. If not Katie, then maybe a man.”

  She immediately thought of Michael. But his interest in her was purely professional. “There's no man waiting for me,” she said, conveying her availability in the clearest possible way. She wished she hadn't drunk so much. She wished she could seduce Douglas. But she felt horrible.

  She saw something flicker in Doug's eyes as he nodded, a recognition of the message she was trying to send. It occurred to Wilhemina that seduction was a lot like playing catch, not that she'd ever been athletic. She threw the ball and waited for Doug to throw it back. If he did, then the game continued. If he didn't, it was over.

  “Feel better. G'night now,” he said, and the game was over.

  For tonight.

  “Don't waste your time on a man unless his kiss makes you forget your name.”

  —SUNNY COLLINS'S WISDOM

  Chapter 12

  No big deal. She was just going to share a bed with Michael. Nothing else. No naked bodies entwined in the darkness writhing in sexual pleasure.

  Katie adjusted an air conditioner vent so that it blew on her full blast. She should think about something else.

  She and Michael had gleaned very little from the hotel front desk employees at the Marriott except for the fact that Wilhemina had checked in under a different name and paid with cash. Michael said they would leave for Bandera the following morning.

  Nothing was go
ing to happen, she told herself, but the closeness in the dark interior of the car made her more sensitive to him. His hands on the steering wheel, the subtle scent of his aftershave, the way he rolled his wide shoulders as if to release the tension of the day.

  She was certain she didn't appeal to him; which was a huge relief. She wondered, however, in the secret darkness of the car, what it would be like if Michael wanted her. Funny how she'd hated the way the men in the bar had leered at her, but she didn't feel that way at all about how Michael looked at her. She knew he could be surprisingly chivalrous. She wondered what kind of lover he would be. Would he be passionate? Would he have to control everything the way he controlled the rest of his life? Would he take his time? She wondered what a woman could do to make Michael lose his control. A forbidden image of French kisses filled with a combination of teasing and seduction made her feel warm and oddly restless.

  Katie frowned at the sensation. A shot of alarm raced through her. Where had all that come from? Those were things she would expect her mother to think.

  Like mother, like daughter.

  The prospect made her stomach knot.

  How about you're human? she heard her mother ask. What's wrong with that?

  Everything if it got in the way of doing what she needed to do. She wished she weren't cooped up in this car with him. Lord help her if proximity to Michael was affecting her this much now, she was going to feel as if she'd been dipped into a boiling cauldron when she got into bed with him. Swallowing her self-disgust, she slammed the door shut on her unsettling thoughts and concentrated on where Wilhemina might be. She wished she had mental telepathy. At the rate they were going, Ivan would return before she and Michael had recovered Wilhemina.

  “Are you worried that we won't find her before Ivan gets back?’’ The question bubbled out of her throat.

  Michael glanced at her. “No.”

  “Why? Are you just obscenely confident in your tracking abilities or what?”