Body Language: The Boot Knockers, Book 2 (3 page)

Standing, she smiled at Ruthie, her eyes warm behind her wire-rimmed glasses. “Ruthie, is it?”

“Yes,” she said, inching closer to Damian.

The action socked him square in the gut. He couldn’t resist resting a hand on her spine. When he traced a small circle with his thumb, Ruthie arched into his touch.

Damn, this closeness between them was throwing him for a loop. Until an hour ago, he’d only ever seen her photograph in her file, obviously taken by a school photographer. Half an hour ago, she’d taken the stage. He would have done anything to keep her out of Blake’s bed, but the instantaneous feeling that he
knew
Ruthie…well, that couldn’t be shoved aside.

“Doll her up, Holly. We’re talking full-on sex kitty.”

Holly’s brows shot up. “Sex kitty?”

“Yep,” he said, popping the P.

Ruthie backed away from the desk. “I don’t know about sex kitty.”

Damian planted a hand on her ass. For a dizzying second, he noted how her plush curve contoured to his hand. He squeezed her cheek, and she sucked in a gasp.

Smiling, Holly grabbed Ruthie’s hand. “When Damian says ‘doll her up’, he means it. Not many can resist Damian’s orders. Don’t worry, Ruthie, our resident stylist will treat you like a queen. You’re stunning and there’s nothing to be improved upon, but every girl feels good after some pampering.”

Ruthie shot a look at Damian over her shoulder, and he almost laughed. She wore a deer-in-the-headlights look right now, but later when he got out his camera, he’d ensure she was wearing a come-hither expression that would make his balls ready to burst.

“Two hours, Holly?” he asked, dropping Ruthie a wink.

Her face mottled bright pink.

Holly nodded and started leading Ruthie away. “Two hours. Get your camera equipment ready. I know you’re dying to.”
Chapter Three

A woman by the name of Siri, sporting a violet pixie cut and a nose ring first circled Ruthie, inspecting her from every angle. Between this and Damian’s unnerving stares, she was about to chew off every fingernail.

Holly stood nearby, popping grapes from a huge fruit bowl into her mouth.

“What did Damian say again?” Siri asked, fluffing Ruthie’s hair as if weighing it.

Holly smirked. “Sex kitty.”

“Not kitten?” Siri’s eyes glittered, seeming to perfectly match the hue of her hair.

“Nope. Kitty.”

“He wants her playful. I can do playful.” Siri took Ruthie by the shoulders and walked her backward until her knees came up against a chair. “Sit, Ruthie. Let’s work some magic for your cowboy.”

My cowboy?
He was far from her cowboy, but she was glad Damian had chosen her. His words rushed through her mind again, heating her from the inside out.
You’re beautiful. But until you feel beautiful, you won’t come out of your shell.

Siri hefted a huge book onto a countertop and opened it to reveal small loops of colored hair. She fingered a few then waved Holly over, blocking Ruthie’s view. “I’m thinking this. A few big foils. Do you trust us, Ruthie?”

She’d come to the ranch to do what she wanted. Her parents had directed her appearance for most of her life, and she wasn’t willing to follow that bumpy road again. Yet one look at Siri and Holly’s excited faces, and she was infected too.

“Y-yes.”

Holly smiled, still chewing grapes.

“And you’re okay with Damian’s sex kitty idea?”

Ruthie’s stomach bottomed out at the very mention of it. Though suddenly sex kitty was exactly what she needed, and somehow Damian had known it. She was in for a great week.

“Yes, I’m ready,” she said.

Siri grinned and turned to Holly. “You think about her wardrobe while I start with her color.”

“Sure thing.” Holly patted Ruthie’s shoulder. “Can I get you anything? A mimosa?”

“Uh, sure.” More than anything she wanted to ask about the sex kitty thing, but if she heard that term one more time she might run out of here.

Holly brought her a tall flute. Ruthie took one drink of the citrusy nectar and wanted to request the bathtub size. A warm tingle enveloped her. Between the light dose of alcohol on an empty stomach, Siri’s soothing touch on her scalp and Damian’s scorching hotness, she was pretty damn glad she’d come to the Boot Knockers Ranch.

“Don’t look in the mirror. Just come with me.” Holly grabbed Ruthie’s hands and launched her to her feet. After being primped and powdered for over an hour, she felt a little stiff. And the two mimosas on an empty stomach added to her feeling of unsteadiness.

As she passed the fruit bowl, she grabbed a banana. Following Holly into what appeared to be a large walk-in closet stuffed with every type of clothing a woman could want, she stopped dead.

One whole wall was filled with lingerie, which Holly headed straight for. She rummaged through a drawer. “Sex kitty means stockings. Black. Maybe with bows?” She flung two airy black confections over her shoulder and continued to another rack.

Too jittery for words, Ruthie unpeeled her banana and bit into it. She chewed steadily while Holly flitted around the room, gathering a wardrobe.

“Holly? What did you mean when you told Damian to get his camera equipment?”

She shot Ruthie a smile and dumped the garments onto a fat white ottoman. “Damian is a master with a camera, which you’ll soon find out. Now strip out of that sundress and get into these.” She selected a white silk cami, a pair of lace panties and a garter belt.

Holly stood back. “This goes perfect with your hair. Wait till you see it! Siri is a goddess.”

Was it Ruthie’s imagination, or was Holly blushing now?

She hurried from the space, leaving Ruthie with more than a pile of lingerie. She glanced down at her nails, which were lacquered baby pink. Her pinky nails had been fitted with miniscule gold hoops that looked as erotic as hell. Trepidation wove through her.

What was she doing? She didn’t belong in a sex club, being made over into a sex kitty.

Then she pictured the bad-boy smile that had graced Damian’s face, and whatever heat was in her stomach from the alcohol flowed south. Careful with her nail ornaments, she stripped off her cotton sundress. Among the beautiful high-end garments in this room, her dress looked like a disreputable cousin.

When she stepped out of her sandals and simple cotton panties, awareness struck.

Damian planned to photograph her—wearing these clothes. And later maybe wearing nothing but his beard rash all over her skin.

Oh God.
White-hot need clutched her. She rushed into the clothing, eager to get to the next stage of this insane game.

When Holly cracked the door and peered around it, her eyes grew round. “Wow. Girl, you are…” She pinched thumb and fingers together and kissed them. “Damian’s going to be one very happy cowboy.”

Ruthie smoothed her hands over her waist, which felt impossibly small in the silk camisole.

“I’d love to play with you, sex kitty,” she said, low and insinuatingly. “But Damian first. Now, if you wish to play during your stay, I’m always open.”

Ruthie’s nipples pinched at the attention she’d drawn��and from a woman. That explained her blush when she’d called Siri a goddess.

Holly moved behind her and fiddled with her attire.

Siri appeared, and they both stood back to admire Ruthie.

“The hair’s perfect,” Holly said.

Siri nodded. “You did a fabulous job on her wardrobe, as always.” The women turned to each other and high-fived.

Ruthie looked between them, more self-conscious than ever. “Uhh…can I see myself?”

“Oh yes. And your cowboy has been here for the last half an hour, pacing like a caged panther.” Holly grinned as though she knew a secret.

At the idea of Damian pacing like a wild beast, Ruthie’s breath came faster. So this was part of the seduction—from his gritty voice to his requests for her makeover, he was in charge.

And she loved it.

I’m ready to be your sex kitty.

Holly led her back into the room where Siri had primped her into someone unrecognizable. Ruthie stared straight ahead at the full-length mirror. It took her five heartbeats to realize she was staring at herself.

She snapped her hands up to her hair, fingering the thick caramel highlights that framed her jaw. A few smaller streaks were interspersed through her dark locks. In the past she’d never considered highlights, always associating them with soccer moms. But this…she looked like she’d just stepped off the pages of a celebrity magazine.

“I love it. It’s so trendy. Not at all what I’d ever choose for myself.” Her eyes glittered as she surveyed skin that glowed as though she’d just received a massage on an exotic island. And her lips were the perfect pink.

Like I’ve just been kissed for hours.

The hair on her forearms stood up.

In the thin camisole, she felt gorgeous. She ran her hands down to the flare of her hips, which she’d always been self-conscious about. But they looked perfect in the high-cut panties. She was still Ruthie, but seen through different eyes—maybe Damian’s eyes.

She turned around and peeked over her shoulder at her reflection. In the black stockings, her legs looked a mile long. And the tiny bows that teased the backs of her thighs were playful as hell.

“Sex kitty,” she whispered.

Siri nodded reverently.

Face alive with excitement, Holly clutched Ruthie’s hands and dragged her toward the door. Siri hurried ahead and flung the door open.

Ruthie sucked in a breath. Damian stood there, eyes burning.

Damian wet his lips, suddenly parched. As he let his gaze wander over Ruthie, his balls clenched into two tight knots.

He reached for her. He liked to get to know a woman before taking her to bed, but with Ruthie, he was going to have a hell of a time keeping his hands off her.

He placed his hands on her upper arms and drank in everything about her appearance. “Your hair…incredible.”

Behind her, the other two women fizzed at his praise.

He threaded his fingers through the locks, aware of the silkiness and how damn good it would feel trailing over his chest, then thighs.

Her makeup was light—a touch of lip stain, a trace of sparkly shadow over each eyelid. But her lashes were long and black, curled at the tips, and she wore an all-over glow.

Like she’s just come apart around my cock.
His jeans grew so tight he feared he might lose blood-flow. But when he raked his gaze over her tits peeking from the cami, her itty-bitty waist and God, those hips… He bit off a growl.

Every single ounce of self-control he had flew out the window.

“Get her a robe. I can’t take her out like this.” Mostly because he didn’t want any other cowboys ogling her. Damian planned to hide her away in Bungalow 11 and not let her come up for air until dawn.

Already he was planning the way he’d pose her for photographs and how the light would shadow her.

Holly vanished through a door then reappeared carrying a silk kimono wrapper. The Chinese red pattern against Ruthie’s dark hair and eyes would be stunning on film.

He took the robe and held it for Ruthie to slide her arms into. As he freed her long waves from the collar, he dipped his mouth to her ear. “I’m going to eat you up, Ruthie. Every. Inch.”

A shudder ripped through her, edging him toward a precipice. He wanted to drive his cock into her tight heat and to hell with his photographs.

Before he could lose his mind, he hurried Ruthie out of the building. “Thanks, ladies,” he threw over his shoulder. Holly grinned, and Siri waved.

They think I’ve lost it. Hell, I have.

The walk to the bungalow felt like a mile. The Texas sun beat down on his dark brown cowboy hat, and sweat beaded on his nape. Part of him realized it wasn’t only due to the heat.

Ruthie wore her sandals but carried pink stilettos with razor-sharp heels wrapped in silver for when she reached the bungalow. Too bad she wasn’t wearing the heels—she couldn’t walk in them very fast and he had no excuse to pick her up and carry her.

Once they got to the bungalow, she stopped and stared at the door. He reached past her and turned the knob. As the door swung open, cooler air struck him.

He needed a block of ice against his groin in order to take this slow.

“Welcome to your home for the week,” he drawled.

Ruthie stepped inside, and he closed the door. As slowly as possible he turned to her. She looked around the space, and he tried to see what she must be seeing. Each bungalow was meant to be a haven, a place where women who struggled with relationships, sex and intimacy could relax and enjoy her cowboy—or cowboys.

I won’t be sharing her. Unless that’s what she wants. Damn, I hope she doesn’t.

She changed from her sandals to the pink heels. Pivoting, she admired the main room sporting a small table and chairs, a plush sofa and a media cabinet holding all the porn one could possibly want. He had a feeling they wouldn’t be needing that sort of stimulation.

When she faced him, he noted the sharp points of her nipples through the layers of cloth. His cock jerked, almost suffocated behind his zipper.

He couldn’t take it anymore. Gripping her hand, he towed her toward the bedroom.

The king-sized bed was all ready for her. While she was being transformed into a sex kitty, he’d been here, arranging pillows and scattering rose petals on the bed. He’d even laid out a selection of pink sex toys, with snapshots of her using them as props in his head.

Now he just wanted his own cock in her hands.

Ruthie stalled before they reached the bed. Damian squeezed her fingers and gestured to the mattress. “I’m going to pose you and shoot some pictures. Is that okay?”

Her eyes were dark, the pupils not visible inside the slivers of espresso iris. “What are the pictures for?”

“For you. For us. It will help you warm up. Later I’ll develop them and send them home with you. Every woman should have boudoir photos, in my opinion. You should celebrate your beauty and have a memento of it when you’re older.”

Somehow he pictured her as a very soft and pretty older woman, always attractive despite time’s touch.