That Wild Texas Swing Page 9
“Probably not my best decision, bringing you here.”
Her eyes shuttered. “Sorry?”
“I mean, all I want to do is hold you and look at you. This isn’t the place.”
She tossed her hair over her bare shoulder. “I imagine there aren’t many places in Evansville where the mayor can have a romantic evening without some interruptions.”
He stroked the backs of his fingers along her cheek. “There’s at least one place.”
A blush tinted her cheeks, almost the same color as the streaks in her hair, and she dipped her head. “You think that’s a good idea?”
“I think it’s an excellent idea. You might be overdressed, though.”
She eased back, her brows drawn together. “Killian.”
“Trust me,” he said, taking her hand and ending the dance as the music ended and the band leader announced they were taking a break.
He led Liz off the dance floor toward where Sage stood with her parents, her brothers and Cassidy. He clapped Trace on the back in greeting, but addressed Sage.
“You did a great job, Sage. Thanks for all your hard work.”
She looked from him to Liz. “You’re leaving already?”
“Yeah, Liz has an early day.”
Sage’s expression said that had never stopped Liz before, but she wisely didn’t voice the words.
“I hope you come back,” she said instead, turning her gaze back to him.
“We will be,” he said smoothly, and led Liz to say good-bye to his mother and Maggie. Jackson hadn’t shown up, and Maggie had resigned herself to hanging out with her mother.
“We’re heading out,” he said, kissing his mother’s cheek. “See you Sunday.”
The disappointment in her eyes was almost palpable but he couldn’t worry about that. He wanted to be alone with Liz, and maybe ease some of the tension he felt in her.
The street was quiet, with the light from the bar spilling out through the big leaded glass windows. More cars lined the street than ever did during the day, and he led her past a big Escalade and across the street to the door beside the bank. He unlocked it to reveal the oak stairs that led up to his apartment, then opened his apartment door.
He’d picked up a bit, in case he brought her back here, but it still was obvious a single guy lived here. He walked into his bedroom—with a made bed for once, just in case—and crossed to the dresser. He opened it, pulled out what he wanted, and turned. He started to see Liz in the door, so gorgeous, her eyes warm as she looked from the bed to him.
Temptation rose in him, swift and strong, and he could already feel her beneath him on the bed, could already feel her hair in his hands, feel her heartbeat against his skin, could taste her breath in his mouth.
He started unbuttoning his shirt and she stepped toward him, reaching toward him. She looked off-balance. He kind of liked keeping her that way.
He took a deep breath and moved forward, extending the item in his hand. “Put this on.”
She looked from the faded concert t-shirt to him, her brow furrowed. “What?”
“You can’t wear that dress where we’re going. Well, you could, but it wouldn’t be comfortable. I have some running shorts, too.” He turned back to the dresser to dig those out. “You know where the bathroom is.”
She frowned at the clothes in her hand, then shrugged and slipped into the bathroom to change.
*****
That was how Liz found herself eating ice cream on the bank of the reservoir in the moonlight, arms wrapped around her legs, her hair tumbling down her back as Killian sat beside her, legs stretched in front of him as he sipped a diet cherry limeade. The night was warm, but a gentle breeze blew off the water, stirring clouds overhead. The stars sparkled brilliantly. She spent lots of nights out, but couldn’t remember the last time she’d looked at the stars.
“What made you think of doing this?”
“I wanted you to myself. Couldn’t think of anywhere else to go.”
She turned her head, resting her cheek on her knee. “I bet you could have.”
He grinned. “Well, to be honest, I had several thoughts in that direction. You look amazing tonight.”
She laughed at his use of the present tense, and took a handful of her hair to prove him wrong.
“You. Look. Amazing.” He set his drink to the side and turned toward her, hooking his hand beneath her knee.
His touch was warm and, for a guy who worked in an office all day, slightly rough, and she felt the heat of him everywhere. She angled her head toward him and met his gaze, her heart catching at the glint she saw in his eyes. She was getting addicted to that expression. He eased closer, his breath warm against her skin, teasing her before he brushed his lips over hers, back and forth, before settling over her mouth.
He tasted sweet, like his drink, and his lips were soft, just the slightest hint of stubble. He pulled at her lower lip, surprising her with a nip of his teeth. She curved her hand around the back of his head and held him to her, touching her tongue to his lip. He made a sound deep in his chest and eased her onto the blanket he’d spread on the ground for them. The expensive cologne that had smelled so good, so right, at the bar smelled out of place out here in all this fresh air. She got the feeling he was two people, the man he was at the bar, the “official” man, and this man, the playful one beside her. Which was the real Killian?
He stretched out beside her, the length of his body along hers, his hand sliding up her leg, over her hip to her waist. She held her breath, waiting for his hand on her breast, but he moved past, to her shoulder and into her hair.
“Been wanting to touch this all night.” He threaded his fingers through the thickness, spread it across the blanket.
Her hair? She smiled up at him and slid her fingers through his hair, a little stiff from his gel, but she didn’t let it deter her, followed the shape of his head, down the back of his neck and over the knit of the t-shirt he’d changed into. His shoulders were broad and strong. He pushed her onto her back, easing over her, his chest against her breasts, and she couldn’t stop herself from arching against him, loving the heat of him, the hardness of him. She slid her hand down over his chest, back up to his neck.
He lifted his head to look down at her, his breathing heavy. “So pretty.”
She shifted closer. She’d been told that before, many times, by other men who wanted to take her to bed. But she got the feeling that Killian wasn’t out to seduce her. If he’d wanted that, well, they’d still be in his bedroom.
He was romancing her.
She slid her hands back up through his hair, feeling the rasp of it against her palms, and she parted her lips for him again. His big hand coursed over her back, making her feel delicate and sexy. His lips traveled from the corner of her mouth, along her jaw and to her ear, until all she could hear was his heavy breathing and the rush of her own blood. She craned her neck, silently pleading to feel his mouth against the tender skin, and he obliged, his lips kissing and nipping until she could think of nothing but his weight over her, his body between her legs. She was ready to act on that desire when he stilled, his arousal pressed against her hip, his scent surrounding her.
“I’d better get you home,” he said against the side of her neck. “You have a long day tomorrow.”
“What?” She thought every nerve in her body screamed the word, but apparently he didn’t hear, because he pushed away from her and sat up. “What?” she asked again.
He turned his head to look down at her. “Do you think I brought you out here to make love to you when I had a perfectly good bed in my apartment?”
“I—“ She was actually confused by his reason for bringing her out here. She’d thought he wanted to get away from the people in town, but they could have just done that by going to his apartment. She had been so surprised by the change of clothes and the trip to the drive-in, that no, she hadn’t thought he’d brought her out here to seduce her.
“I thought about it.” He
glanced down at his lap, his legs drawn up, his arms resting on his knees. “Still thinking about it, actually. Thought about it at my place, too. But—not tonight.”
What the hell did that mean? Did seeing those men react to her tonight make him remember who she was? A sick feeling formed in the pit of her stomach. She shouldn’t have made such an effort to draw attention to herself, not on their first date in public. She’d thought she was making him proud, but maybe she’d missed the mark.
He reached over and stroked his finger down her cheek. “I want to take my time, get to know you better. You, not just what you like. That, I’m already figuring out.” His finger continued a trail down the side of her neck, where he’d just kissed her, and the glint in his eyes returned. “Like that you like to be kissed there.”
Just the words sent a sizzle through her blood, ending in all her favorite places. But beyond that, the words settled in her heart. When was the last time she’d let someone get to know her? Did she want Killian to know her? Was she worth knowing?
She nodded, as if she understood his intentions. He hopped to his feet and reached for her, pulling her up, and into his arms for a kiss that deepened, just for a moment, when she wrapped her arms around his neck.
“You know they’re going to think we slept together anyway,” she said as they walked back to his car.
“Does that bother you?”
“Not bother, exactly. I’m used to them thinking things about me. Usually those things are true.”
“Let them think it, then. That they’re spending time thinking about our love life says more about them than you.”
“People think I’m using you.”
He laughed as he held the door for her. “For what?”
She twisted to look at him. “You know? That’s a good question.” She stretched up to kiss him. “Though I am hopeful you can get a good place for my sister’s quinceañera.”
He made sure she was in the car before he closed the door. “I’ll do my best.”
*****
“Sooooo.” Bridget Flanders dragged out the word as she sat in Liz’s chair the next day. “You and the mayor had an early evening last night. I had no idea you two were seeing each other. How long has that been going on?”
Liz could feel all the ears in the shop swivel to tune into their conversation. They’d had a flurry of last-minute appointments this morning—even Mrs. Wachowski hadn’t had an empty chair all morning. Liz knew all the clients, young and old, had been dying for someone to answer this question.
She glanced at Brianna, who was answering the phones. She didn’t want her sister to hear any of the speculation bound to come up, but it was too early to send her for lunch, and frankly, she needed her today. She hoped the ladies of Evansville would respect that.
Liz had expected the curiosity, and had considered how she’d respond. If she said nothing, well, someone would make something up. She was surprisingly reluctant to reveal that they went to the reservoir, not because she was embarrassed, but because she wanted to keep it private.
“He knew I had to be at work early today.”
“But your car was still in the square when we left,” Ariel Balderrama said.
“It was gone when we left, and we were one of the last to go,” Trinity Wells, one of Sage’s friends, added.
Liz just smiled. “Sage did a great job on the place, didn’t she?”
“Oh, come on, spill!” Bridget said, meeting Liz’s gaze in the mirror.
“He’s the mayor,” Liz said demurely. “I will say, he’s a lovely kisser.”
That didn’t satisfy them, though.
“And?” Bridget prodded. “You didn’t wear that dress last night just to kiss him.”
Liz suppressed a sigh. Her own fault, she supposed. Her reputation seemed to leave her open to questions about her sex life. “He appreciated the dress.”
“A lot of men last night did,” Trinity said, a little less than kindly. “I would have sworn Killian would have taken Allison to the party.”
“Have they been dating?” Ariel asked innocently. “I hadn’t heard that.”
“Oh, yes. Several times. He usually takes her to official functions. She’s got that first lady vibe, you know.”
Liz struggled not to let her surprise show, since she knew Trinity was watching her. She hadn’t heard that he’d taken Allison to any function. No wonder Allison felt proprietary.
“Are you going back tonight?” Liz asked Bridget as she wrapped another foil around the end of her hair.
“I hope to. Those were some good margaritas, and Sage said the same band was playing. They were really good, weren’t they? You and Killian spent a lot of time dancing.”
Liz honestly couldn’t say if they’d been good or not. She hadn’t been paying attention to the music. And by her recollection, they’d only danced twice. Certainly not as much as she’d wanted. Damned shoes. “Totally worth another listen,” she said noncommittally.
“So are you going back tonight?”
“I hadn’t planned to.”
“You and Killian have other plans?”
“No, no plans.” Swipe, wrap.
“Hm. Well.” Bridget was probably thinking Killian had gotten what he wanted, when the man himself walked in.
“Hey, what are you doing here?” Liz asked, stepping back from Bridget’s highlights before she completely screwed them up in her surprise.
He leaned on the reception counter, hands folded in front of him. “I forgot to ask you last night. There’s a steakhouse in Pearsall I’ve been wanting to try. Want to drive up there with me tonight?”
Heads pivoted in her direction. Calming her shaking hands, she stepped behind Bridget again and lifted the next strand of hair to highlight. Maybe she could make a wiser decision if she wasn’t looking at him.
“I don’t get out of here until seven thirty.”
“Good, then we miss the dinner crowd.”
“And I have to go home and change after that.”
“You can wear what you have on. It’s a casual place.”
The women in the shop took in a breath as one.
She motioned to her black slacks and t-shirt. “Killian, these are my work clothes, not my go-to-dinner clothes.” Of course, she didn’t have much in the way of go-to-dinner clothes. Dating this man was going to be expensive.
“I’m just saying don't go to a lot of trouble. It’s not fancy. I’ll pick you up at your house at eight?”
Helplessly, she just nodded. He grinned, straightened and, with a wave at the ladies, strode out.
“Well, well,” Trinity said. “He is definitely coming back for more.”
Liz ducked over Bridget’s head, hiding the pleasure coursing through her that he was, indeed.
*****
Liz stretched in her bed and turned toward the window, where sunlight streamed in. She had a moment of panic because she didn’t usually sleep until after sunrise, but then she remembered it was Sunday, she was off, and she’d had a wonderful time with Killian last night.
She had to admit, she was ashamed of herself for not paying attention to him before. He was smart and funny and made her feel good about herself in a way she hadn’t in a long time.
He had a family thing today, so she wouldn’t see him, which was just as well. She had work to do for Brianna’s quinceañera. First order of business, finding a location so they could send out the invitations and get started on favors, or decorations, or whatever the hell was in Brianna’s crazy binder.
She also wanted to talk to Maggie, to smooth things out after the Sagebrush the other night.
She opened her bedroom door and padded down the hall to the bathroom, blessedly empty, a rare occasion in a house full of women. Brianna and Gracie were probably still asleep. Liz hadn’t thought to look to see what time it was. It didn’t matter. It was her day off.
The doorbell rang while she was washing her hands, and the shriek moments later chilled her to her bones. She swung open the
door and hurried to the kitchen to see her mother standing by the sink, her hand over her heart, Gracie beside her, her hand on her mother’s shoulder, and Brianna wrapped in the arms of a big man, her face buried against his chest.
The big man looked up then, dark eyes wet as he met Liz’s gaze.
“Mija. I’ve missed you.”
Of course he’d missed her. He’d left when she was fifteen. “I wish we could say the same, Papa.”
Liz looked from Gracie to her mother. She saw the strain in her mother’s face, the pain in her eyes, before she turned to face the man she hadn’t seen in twelve years.
Those years hadn’t been kind. He’d always been a big man, but he’d both bulked up and gained weight that showed in his face. He wasn’t fifty years old, but the bags under his eyes and the lines fanning from them made him look much older. His dark hair had thinned in a v, giving him the appearance of an overweight Bela Lugosi. He wore a beer t-shirt that stretched over his shoulders and revealed tattoos on both arms, including one of a curvy woman. Who was that supposed to be? She didn't remember him having tattoos before.
Twelve years, without a word. Without a penny.
“Where have you been?” Sophia asked finally, her voice surprisingly strong.
He released Brianna slowly. She stood to the side, looking at her sisters, her face streaked with tears.
“I’ve been all over, babe. All over. Trying to make a living. I was driving trucks for a while, and I’d go up and down 35 and wish like hell I could turn right and come down here to you girls. I thought about you every day.”
“Yeah, right. We could feel that,” Gracie said, Gracie, the good girl, who most of the time lived up to her name.
“I did some migrant work, I did some—some things I’m not proud of. But now I’m working in the oilfields. I’m making some good money. I want to give my girls the things they deserve. I have money,” he repeated, taking a step toward Sophia.
She recoiled from his extended hand. “We don’t need your money. We’ve been doing fine without it for years.”