Bootscootin' Blahniks (30 page)

The idea of pushing Zayne out of her life, when she’d tried so hard not to let him in, ripped her soul into desolate shreds. Like a sharp pin piercing a tiny, but ultimately lethal hole in a balloon, Roxy’s pain threatened to deflate the joy of the evening ahead.

Not too long ago thinking Zayne could be hers for a happily-ever-after, the time to pursue her desire had vanished with her mother tossed into the mix. Hell, once Zayne met Lily Vaughn, he’d ride off into the sunset for good. Maybe if Roxy saddled-up his horse now, before he even met her parents, she’d save herself an even tougher emotional ride later.

Hearing Zayne whistle low behind her then trill his tongue, creating the most alluring catcall she’d ever heard, Roxy’s heart leapt forward into a tango rhythm taking her breath with it. She’d never been with a man who could
always
, every time, knock her out of her natural rhythm. With Zayne, she was always in a different pattern, out of sync with her norm, but more in sync with her life and what made her happy than she’d ever been.

He came up behind her, tucked her hair behind one ear, and leaned in for a close, husky whisper. “Now that’s one hot woman in front of that mirror. Do you think she’d go out with me?”

After feeling the solid front of him cozied up to her backside, talking out loud would take more air than she had left.

“If you ask her nicely, I’m sure she’d say ‘yes,’” Roxy whispered back.

“Then I’ll ask nicely.” Zayne turned her to face him, taking her hands into his. His eyes were steadfast, as if willing her to never look at another man the way she was looking at him. “How about a river cruise, darlin’?”

“I’d be honored,” Roxy said as Zayne kissed the tip of her nose, sending her plummeting into the swells of arousal thrashing between the folds in her skirt.

“Follow me. Your pick-up truck awaits.” He tipped his hat then tucked her arm inside his, leading her to the office door.

She grabbed her bag off her desk then let him take her wherever he wanted.

Not once had the idea of riding shotgun appealed to her. But it did now. Sitting on the passenger side would be way too far from him.

When Zayne opened the rear entrance to the saloon, Roxy laughed.

“What’s so funny?” He looked hurt, in a boyish way, as if he’d done something he thought was sweet, only to find she didn’t like it.

“I thought we’d be driving your beat-up farm truck. Not that that wasn’t fine with me.”

Zayne took her to the passenger-side of a sparkling clean, silver metallic Ford F-150, opened the door, offered his hand and helped her into the seat. “My mom raised me better than that.”

Roxy fixed her skirt to keep from wrinkling it before she got to the boat. “Yes. But she raised you to be just as proud in your farm truck. All the more reason I think you’re a good guy to have around.”

“I’m not sure I’m going to be that good tonight,” Zayne said with a dazzling, Cheshire grin.

Roxy’s tummy did gigantic flip-flops.

“We deserve a night for nothing but working on what we want to work on,” he concluded.

“And what would that be?” Feeling her mind take off on a flying trapeze contemplating the job she’d like to be doing on him, Roxy reached for the door handle to regain her composure.

“I think you know what kind of work I have in mind. But if you have any doubts by the time our night’s over, then my mom didn’t do as well raising me as you thought she did.” Zayne took Roxy’s hand and squeezed it.

“In that case, I know I won’t be disappointed.” Roxy let her fingers relax between his, wishing she’d never have to let go.

T
he minute she stepped onto the wooden planks of the General Jackson’s boarding ramp, Roxy felt Cupid’s magic. The mythical matchmaker must have heard her request and fired the required arrows of attraction.

Zayne took her hand, steadying her as they made their way into the showboat. Little did he know, the water gently lapping the bow wasn’t throwing Roxy. Being in his company was.

As they climbed the steps to the boat’s second deck, Zayne continued holding her in a sweet, possessive way, one hand over hers and one resting against the small of her back. As if they were in the middle of a stormy ocean instead of ready to sail the placid Cumberland River, his touch rocked Roxy’s emotions.

Once on the next deck, she wasn’t sure where to focus her attention. Each way she turned offered a breathtaking view of downtown Nashville, each one worth a page in her scrapbook.

“Zayne, this is beautiful.” She pulled him toward the closest railing.

Roxy was afraid to blink, fearing her perfect night was nothing more than a perfect daydream. If she was dreaming, she hoped she never woke up.

“I haven’t been on this thing for years. I’d forgotten how terrific it is,” he said, helping her wrap her pashmina around her arms to ward off the wispy, chilled breeze rushing over the water. “So you like it?”

“Like it? It’s amazing. I’ve never done something like this. Thank you so much.” She slid her arm around his waist, giving him a reassuring squeeze between his denim shirt and sports jacket.

“You’re welcome.” He gently brought her face to rest on his shoulder. “I can’t think of anyone I’d rather share it with.”

“Are you sure? I kind of feel like you were stuck taking me because your mom arranged it,” Roxy said, wanting to get that uneasy notion out of her head and hopefully shoved overboard.

“Look, Princess,” Zayne answered, tilting her head so their eyes met, “Mom may have had a hand in getting us to this point, but what I’m doing with her idea is of my own choosing.”

“I’m good with that.” Roxy tightened her grip around his waist and nestled her head into his shoulder.

“How about a picture for the lovely couple to take home tonight?” A white-haired man, slight in stature, weighing barely more than his photo equipment, appeared beside them then motioned them to pose.

Doing as the man asked, Roxy and Zayne posed for the picture. Roxy knew her smile couldn’t be any bigger. She tucked the claim ticket the photographer gave them into her evening bag. She already knew exactly where the photo would be displayed when she got it home. If only there could be many more wonderful memories in the empty frames surrounding that one on her mantle.

While Zayne went to get drinks, she readjusted her pashmina to cover her bare shoulders. Not that she cared too much about the chill coming in from the water as the sun descended below the horizon. She had cocktails coming and better yet Zayne to keep her warm.

With a Cosmopolitan and a Corona in hand, Zayne ushered her up another flight of stairs to the boat’s top deck. Thinking the view from the tier below was heaven-inspired, the upper deck was nothing less than fantastical. It offered the perfect spot to watch the sunset’s regal red finale.

Zayne led her to the middle of the deck where a long table was exquisitely set beneath a canopy. ‘Welcome to the Captain’s table’ was written in script on elegant place cards at each setting. Candles, china and fresh flowers provided an ambiance ripe for seduction.

As if dining under the stars with the cowboy of her dreams wouldn’t get Roxy into Zayne’s bed.

A tuxedoed waiter, with the sun-creased lines of a career seamen, pulled out a buttery yellow, slip-covered chair for Roxy. He then ushered Zayne to the next seat. “Mr. McDonald, am I right?”

“Yes. You most certainly are. And please, call me Zayne,” Zayne answered, making sure Roxy was settled into her chair before taking his.

“And you must be Roxy,” the waiter said balancing a large bowl of mixed greens and the fixings on a silver tray high on his shoulder. “I’m Walter and am looking forward to taking care of you this evening. The Captain will be up shortly to dine with you. Once he gets us sailing.”

“Thank you, Walter.” Roxy removed her napkin, wishing she could forego using it so as not to ruin the magnificent swan it had been folded into before being placed at her setting.

“Let me check on your menu choices.” Walter pulled out a black, leather-bound portfolio and read from a pre-printed bill. “I have the top sirloin with creamy mustard sauce for you, sir, and for the lady, tender backed chicken roulade stuffed with shrimp.”

Zayne looked at Roxy for confirmation.

With a hearty nod, she let him know the meal sounded perfectly delicious.

“Both of your entrees will be served with the chef’s own garlic horseradish potatoes and lightly seasoned broccoli with melted butter.” Walter snapped shut the portfolio and slid it into the pocket in the front of his apron. “I’ll bring you fresh baked rolls momentarily.”

With Walter off to get their rolls, Roxy took a moment to take in the feel of the night. A night she wanted to remember forever. One she hoped to be able to tell her children and grandchildren. Though the possibility of that future including Zayne was slim.

Zayne may want her now, like he’d said when eliminating the idea he’d only brought her along on the dinner cruise to satisfy his mother. But that’s before he met her family. If he chose Roxy as his permanent dinner companion, he’d have to become a part of the Vaughn nightmare.

Zayne’s mom may be headstrong, but she used that quality to ensure joy in the lives of people she cared about. Roxy’s mother, on the other hand, was headstrong, but only when seeking her own happiness, disregarding and failing to comprehend the consequences her actions bestowed on her inner circle. And Roxy’s father, well, who knew what his motives were, but they sure weren’t aligned with his family’s vitality.

“Before the Captain joins us, there’s something I want to tell you.” Zayne reached for his Corona then hooked up Roxy with her Cosmopolitan.

“Something so good it requires a toast?” She asked, her mind wide open to possibilities that both excited and terrified her.

Thankful for the distraction from her parent’s foibles, Roxy concentrated on steadying her martini glass between her fingers. She willed her hands to stop shaking long enough to keep her drink from sloshing onto the crisp, white linen tablecloth. Wanting to keep the cranberry concoction off her white blouse as well and fearing she’d lose the battle over self-control, she set the glass back onto the table until the time came to clink its rim to Zayne’s beer bottle.

“Let me tell you what I found out today. Then you can decide its toast-worthiness.”

Zayne turned in his chair so he looked directly at her, denying Roxy room to escape his intense excitement.

“Mom wanted to tell you, but I told her I was stealing her thunder.” He took a quick breath, almost as if he’d be too overwhelmed to remember to take another one after he’d announced his news. “Deena Mettles and her stylist were in Raeve this morning.”

Thank God Roxy had set down her glass. The currents of energy surging inside her would have sent the drink hurtling over the railing and into the river. Her body felt like it was plunging head first into a gigantic wave of unlimited opportunity.

“Wow. I can’t believe they actually stopped in. That has to be good, right?” She twisted a handful of her skirt between her hands as if it were a dishrag. Screw the wrinkles.

Her cautious optimism was now well-backed with reality, she deduced from Zayne’s enthusiasm. She’d been down this pothole-filled road a few times though in New York, when friends of her father promised they’d check out her designs. Never once had someone actually made good on their schmooze-motivated gesture, instead waiting to see which of her pieces, if any, the industry buyers purchased.

“I’d say better than good, Sweetheart,” Zayne said, looking as if he’d just opened a birthday gift containing the exact item he’d asked for. “Not only did they spend a hefty sum of cash, they want to meet with you and discuss exclusive designs for Deena’s upcoming performances and videos.”

Roxy couldn’t hear a thing. Even the bellowing hum of the engine making the boat’s paddlewheel paddle was silenced by the fog of excitement settling in her mind.

She couldn’t feel anything but numbness. Too many neurons were simultaneously firing.

She couldn’t taste anything despite the toast they’d just shared. The normal burn of a Cosmo’s lemon infused vodka, Cointreau and cranberry juice now only a should-of-registered taste.

She couldn’t see anything except Warhol-sized dollar signs floating in front of her eyes.

And hell if she couldn’t even smell Zayne’s cologne…and
that
olfactory malfunction was the most accurate indication she was totally got. She lived for whiffs of his spicy heat and swore she could smell it even when he wasn’t next to her. But not now. All her senses were fried.

“You’re speechless, Princess. That deserves another toast,” Zayne said, holding his Corona in the air, saluting the moment with a hearty laugh.

She clinked her glass to his bottle. “I’ll give you that one.”

Roxy wasn’t sure what pleased her more. The news itself or the look on Zayne’s face showing he was as proud of her accomplishment as she was.

She shuttered, imagining what she could have become earlier in life if she’d had the kind of support from her parents that Zayne and his mother lavished on her. Wanting to curse her family for wasting precious years of her time, Roxy instead emptied them from her head and heart, not allowing them that kind of power.

“I couldn’t have done it without you and your mom.” Roxy’s heart may have been empty when she came to Nashville, but it was full tonight, dining under the stars with the man of her sweetest dreams.

“Yes you could and would have made it. When you want something, there’s no stopping you. A quality I love about you.” Zayne shook his head then dug into his salad. “But one that also at times pushes my buttons.”

“You
need
your buttons pushed. So you’d best be thankful you have me,” Roxy said, drowning her salad in ranch dressing.

“I’ve got some new buttons for you to mess with later,” Zayne said.

With the cocky smile she loved on him plastered on tight, Roxy damn near choked on the tine of her salad fork.

She was so comfortable with the easy banter between them it almost scared her. She wasn’t used to sharing her ideas, battles and triumphs.