Sometimes Naughty, Sometimes Nice

by Kimberly Raye

  “Listen here, it's my message. On my machine. In my apartment.”

  “About that, dear. I've already called your landlord. I think we should have both our names on the apartment lease.”

  “I need a Tums.”

  “It's only fair that I share half the responsibility with you since we are a couple and I do live here now and—”

  “I really need a Tums. I've got to go.” She punched the button before he could say another word.

  It's okay. You're not going to throw up or break down or scream or cry. Womanists do not cry over men. Even infuriating, smothering, message-changing men. They endure and overcome. They conquer. They breathe.

  That's it. Just breathe. Breathe and refocus your attention on something positive. Think about your viewers and your daters and the fact that you haven't seen your youngest daughter in weeks. Do not think about the message. Or the fact that he's taking over your life and the toilet seat is up and his dirty socks are sitting in a pile near your favorite Queen Anne coffee table.

  “Mom?” Xandra's voice drifted from behind. “Are you okay?”

  “I'm fine.” Jacqueline drew in a deep breath, gathered her control and turned to face her youngest daughter who was now wearing a large black T-shirt and a worried expression.

  “You look pale.”

  “And you look dressed. Unlike a few moments ago.”

  “I can explain that.”

  Jacqueline leveled a stare at her daughter and gave her best this-better-be-good-or-else smile. “I'm all ears.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  There's a perfectly good reason that I answered the door naked,” Xandra said as she tugged the hem of Beau's T-shirt down and tried to ignore the intoxicating aroma that teased her nostrils. “A great reason, in fact.” Not that she had to give one. She was a grown woman. A grown woman with needs. She didn't have to account to anyone.

  Then again, this was her mother. The woman who'd given birth to her. Who'd labored for hours. Who'd endured stretch marks and a stomach pooch so that Xandra could have a chance at life.

  “I'm waiting. And while you're explaining about being naked, you might as well tell me who that half-dressed man was. He nearly knocked me down on your front steps.”

  “Half-dressed man?”

  “Naked from the waist up.”

  “You saw him?”

  “I saw him and he doesn't look a thing like Mark.”

  “That's because he's not Mark. Mark is, um, away right now.”

  “Another business trip?”

  “Something like that. The man you saw is the contractor who's doing the renovations on the house. He took his shirt off while he was here working and I sort of picked it up and was going to give it back to him, but then you showed up, which means I'll just have to hold on to it until tomorrow.”

  “Or until you can get to your own clothes, which brings us back to why you were naked in the first place.”

  “Well,” she started. She was going to tell her mother the truth. How Mark was history and how she was wildly attracted to Beau—in the name of research—and how she'd spent the past few weeks trying to seduce him. She had to tell her. “I'm naked because I…” She swallowed against the sudden lump in her throat. “Because I, um, couldn't wear clothes while I was…You see, I'm trying to test this new product and I needed to be naked in order to get the full effect,” she blurted. “It's a body lotion.”

  Okay, so she owed her mother an explanation, but this was her mother, as in older, as in frail. She couldn't just blurt out the shocking truth when her old, frail mother already looked so pale.

  “I was upstairs doing a trial test while Beau was down here working on some custom-made bookshelves I asked him to build.” Her mother didn't so much as blink at the name because Jacqueline had spent most of Xandra's childhood on the lecture circuit while her grandmother had done the full-time parent thing. “He was varnishing and he had his shirt off to avoid getting it stained. So you see, he was half naked and I was totally naked, but we weren't in the various stages of nakedness at the same time, nor were we even in the same room, much less together. I wouldn't be naked with a man I hardly know when I have my very own Holy Commitment Man.”

  Jacqueline looked skeptical for a few frantic heartbeats, but then she smiled. “Of course you wouldn't, dear. You never give me a bit of trouble.”

  “Enough about me,” Xandra rushed on. “Tell me what's going on with you. What brings you to Houston?”

  “Smart Dating?” her mother prodded. “My Houston segment? Why, I told you weeks ago that I was coming. Don't tell me you forgot?”

  She forgot. “I would never forget something like that.”

  “Of course not. I'm sure you've been looking forward to it.” Her mother smiled and then she frowned. “At least I have one daughter who appreciates me.”

  “Skye and Eve appreciate you.” Xandra followed her mother who started back up the hallway toward her luggage.

  “Your sisters avoid me,” Jacqueline said as she reached the briefcase she'd left on the hardwood floor. “And don't think I don't know it. Of course, they pretend that I'm a bother, but what I really am is their conscience. They're leading heathen lifestyles that totally undermine the entire womanist movement and they feel guilty. Seeing me and talking to me stirs that guilt.”

  “Maybe they're just busy.”

  “And maybe I'm actually going to give up my entire belief system and let your father buy monogrammed towels for my bathroom.” She blew out an exasperated breath as she slid off her beige suit jacket to reveal an equally beige silk blouse beneath. She hooked the jacket on a nearby coatrack. “Imagine me drying my hand with your father's initials? Why, it's positively archaic. Now, if he were going to get two sets of towels, one with my initials and one with his, that would be a different matter altogether. I suggested this to him, but he's digging in his heels on this couple commitment matter and driving me absolutely insane. Why, I cleared out my entire panty hose drawer to let him use it for his ties, which gives him a full four dresser drawers while I only have two. You'd think that would satisfy the man and convince him that he's my one and only, but no. He wants something more public. More permanent. More official.” She shuddered and adjusted her glasses. “Just the thought makes me queasy. Then again, it could be that godawful Mexican food I had on the plane here.”

  “I think I've got Tums up in my medicine cabinet.”

  “Or this whole Smart Dating thing,” her mother went on as if Xandra hadn't said a word. “Why, one of my young, professional, independent L.A. daters cried because no man asked her to dance while she was at this nightclub. It's society, I tell you. We're warping our female youth to believe that men can take an actual hint when a woman smiles or flirts or wears a tiny black dress cut down to there and up to here. I told her, ‘You have to put it out there. Be assertive and never, ever overestimate the male species. You have to tell the man what you want if you want him to give it to you.’”

  “That should work.” Yeah, right.

  “Of course it works. What amazes me is that more women haven't realized their full power in this world. And if they keep listening to lunatics like that Cherry Chandler, they never will. It's my duty as an educator and a womanist to enlighten them. Speaking of which, I have to be on the set at six in the morning. I need to get into a hot bath and then into bed as soon as possible.”

  “The guest room is straight up the stairs. The first door on the left. Just make yourself at home and I'll run you a nice bubble bath.”

  Jacqueline smiled. “That's my girl.”

  Xandra smiled. “That's me.”

  And that was the damned trouble of it all because Xandra had been playing the good daughter far too long to stop now.

  Even if she suddenly wanted to.

  “I'm this close to spending the rest of my days on death row,” Annabelle declared when Beau finally called her.

  “Calm down.” He pressed his foot on the gas, turned off Xandra's
street and resisted the urge to glance in the rearview mirror for one last look at her house.

  As if he might be lucky enough to catch a glimpse of her. He was too far away, not to mention she was inside now. She had been for the past few minutes while he'd sat in his van and tried to get a grip on the push-pull of feelings undermining his control.

  He'd been this close to hauling her into his arms and have the hottest, most wicked sex ever. What's more, he'd almost trampled her mother on the front steps.

  He'd recognized Jacqueline Farrel right away despite the fact that he hadn't seen her in person since their high school graduation. She hadn't recognized him. He hadn't expected her to since she'd always been too busy when she pulled into his dad's gas station to do little more than hand him her credit card and ask him to check under her hood. She'd always been rushing home or rushing back out on the lecture circuit and so she didn't really know him.

  But he knew her. Hell, practically everybody did.

  She looked exactly the way she did in the ads that aired for her late-night talk show—so calm and cool and serious. Her lips drawn into a tight line. Her face void of any expression. Her green eyes glittering with knowledge. She wore an air of superiority that had nothing to do with the fact that she thought she was better than him, and everything to do with the fact that she knew she was better than him, and all his testosterone-oozing brethren.

  To put it bluntly, she scared the shit out of him, and so it was a good thing that the situation had ended with Annabelle's page, otherwise he would have had to endure not only Xandra's tears, but her mother's wrath at seeing her baby girl in the arms of a man who wasn't even close to Holy Commitment material.

  As it was, the only person he had to contend with was himself and the nearly overwhelming urge to haul the van around, head back to Xandra's, and finish what he'd started.

  “Crazy,” he muttered.

  “You're telling me.” Annabelle's voice drew his attention away from his racing heartbeat and throbbing lust. “If I have to talk to Savannah Sawyer one more time, I'm going to take out a contract on her.”

  “She called again?”

  “An hour ago. She said that she's only fifty percent satisfied with her deck and since we guarantee one hundred percent satisfaction or your money back, she wants the rest of her satisfaction. She says the deck just doesn't look that good.”

  “Because we had our electrician doing it. Bryan's the best deck guy we have. He should have been the one finishing the job.”

  “I told her. I said we sent our best man, but he wasn't your idea of good-looking, so it's really your fault. That's when she pushed me to the limit.”

  “She used foul language?”

  “She called me hon, for the fifth time in as many minutes. Hon, as in ‘honey.’As in ‘I'm better than you so I have to use a condescending nickname so that you feel even more inadequate.’No more,” Annabelle declared. “I know this guy from my bowling club who has a cousin who knows somebody who takes care of people—even highly annoying people—pretty cheap.”

  Beau thought back to all of the trouble he'd gone to over the past few weeks to accommodate Savannah Sawyer. Rearranging people. Revamping his schedule. Inconveniencing himself. Putting the brakes on with the hottest woman he'd kissed in… forever.

  “How much?” he finally asked.

  “Five hundred bucks. Five fifty and we get to choose how she gets it. I say we have them tie concrete blocks to her feet and throw her into the Ship Channel. Or we could try poison, but personally I'd like something a little more painful. Maybe we could make a tape recording of her saying ‘hon'and force her to listen to it over and over while we feed her a banana split. Talk about torture.”

  Beau entertained the notion for a full five seconds before blowing out an exasperated breath. “I'll take care of it.”

  “Okay, but make sure you get the real ice cream and none of that nonfat yogurt stuff. That would defeat the purpose.”

  “I'll call her and straighten the deck situation out. Even if I have to go out there myself and make the needed changes.”

  “You're not blond,” she reminded him of Savannah's first complaint.

  “I don't have to be.” Not after next week. He was this close to giving his company a brand-new identity. He simply had to finish the job at Xandra's, kick back, and let Texas Monthly paint an entirely different picture of the men at Hire-a-Hunk.

  Competent. Capable. Experienced. Professional.

  Then customers wouldn't be calling him to hire a hunk of a man to strut around fixing things up. They'd be calling to hire a hunk of knowledge when it came to major construction and restoration.

  “You're the boss,” Annabelle said before she hung up. “But I still like the ice cream torture idea. She needs a few rolls here and there. No woman should be that skinny or that pretty. It's just not natural.”

  Amen. Natural was a real woman with full, voluptuous breasts that trembled when he rubbed the pads of his thumbs across her hard, tight nipples. A woman with rounded hips that cradled his erection when he rocked against her. A woman with lots of curves that pressed against him in all the right places when he held her tight. A woman with soft, warm skin that teased his fingertips when he stroked her.

  Xandra.

  He ignored the sudden image and tried to focus on the fact that he was in the home stretch. Soon there would be no more worrying about his guys and the future of his business. He would have his new image and H&H Construction would be born. Xandra would have her fully restored, prize-winning house. Their business together would be finished.

  She would turn her attention back to Wild Woman.

  He would turn his to the newly born H&H Construction.

  Oddly enough, the thought didn't excite him half as much as the memory that rooted in his mind. Of Xandra facing him completely, gloriously naked, the T-shirt puddled at her feet, desire hot and bright in her gaze.

  “Shit,” he growled as he bypassed the ramp onto Interstate 59 that led to his house in the Woodlands. The last thing he needed was to go home to an empty house right now. He needed a distraction. Something to help him get his head on straight. Something to jolt some sense into a certain hard part of his anatomy that refused to listen to reason.

  Fifteen minutes later, after fishing a white T-shirt out of the back of his van, he walked onto the fifth floor of St. Luke's Hospital. He waved hello to Desiree who stood behind the nurses'station, a chart in hand and a smile on her face.

  “How is he tonight?”

  “As energetic as ever. He was up dancing around the room a few minutes ago to some rap video.”

  “didn't know you guys offered cable.”

  “We don't, but he smooth-talked the head nurse into letting him set up some elaborate computer system that has wireless Internet. So he's been tuning into the Website all afternoon and bribing me for a table dance.”

  Beau frowned. “Shouldn't he be taking it easy?”

  “wouldn't worry. The exercise is good for him. Besides, think it makes him feel a little more normal, which is very good.”

  “Look, don't say anything,” Evan said when Beau walked into the room to find a table set for two, complete with a white, starched tablecloth, real china, and a bottle of wine chilling nearby. “It's nonalcoholic.”

  “That's good to know, but what about the rest of this stuff?”

  Evan winked. “It's for Desiree. think she likes me.”

  “Desiree? Your nurse?” At Evan's nod, Beau added, “It's her job to like you, buddy.”

  “Maybe, but maybe there's something to it.”

  “And maybe you're just going to make a fool of yourself.”

  “That never stopped me before.”

  “Things are different now.”

  “You mean I'm different now.” He sank down into one of the chairs. “I know what I look like, Beau.”

  “I'm not talking about that. It's not about how you look. It's your attitude. Didn't you learn anything from tha
t accident?”

  “Yeah. It'll be a cold day in hell before I drive another Beamer. You can bet your ass I'll be cruising around in a Hummer next time.”

  Beau shook his head. “That's what I'm talking about. There shouldn't be a next time. You should have learned the first time.”

  “I did.” A serious look came across his face and determination lit his eyes. “No more drinking and driving. I'm completely off the stuff.”

  “It's not just the booze. It's everything else, too. Your job. The women. You're too much of a risk-taker when it comes to everything. That's what the accident was really about. You weren't just drinking. You were acting on a dare. Hungry for the next rush of adrenaline. You're not just an alcoholic. You're an excitement junkie.”

  “What's wrong with excitement?”

  “It fogs your brain and keeps you from thinking straight. It screws things up.” Beau knew that firsthand. He'd spent five years working his ass off because he'd given in to a few minutes of excitement with Xandra. “And it hurts like hell.” He knew that, too, because he'd walked around with that hurt for weeks, seeing her around school, wanting to talk to her, needing to tell her that he couldn't stop thinking about her, yet afraid that she didn't feel the same.

  That fear had been realized each time she avoided him. If he looked at her, she looked away. If he started in her direction, she walked the other way. And so he'd finally wised up and stopped trying to talk to her.

  “I know the odds of her saying yes to dinner, much less anything else. Especially with the way I look. I'm not a pretty boy anymore.” He touched his face and pain flashed in his gaze. Quickly replaced by a glittering determination. “But sometimes you've got to take a chance and put yourself out there. She might really like me.”

  “And what if she doesn't?”

  Evan's gaze met Beau's. “Then the only thing I've lost is my pride. Sure, it might hurt like hell, but at least I'll feel something. This playing it safe is no way to live. It's not living at all. Don't you see, buddy? Real living isn't about feeling good. It's about feeling, period. Because then you know you're living. Otherwise, you're just going through the motions.”