Dare to be Dirty (The Dirty Girls Book Club #2) (10 page)

Why her? There was nothing so special about her. Or, at least, the things that made her special, like her quirky creativity, couldn’t really appeal to a cowboy, right? And why was she fussing over why
he
wanted to see
her
? The important fact was that she hadn’t the slightest desire to see him again. She wasn’t like Marty in the book, nor like Marielle, who was all about fun. Saturday night had been an aberration, a onetime thing. The real Kim wasn’t into casual flings.

The real Kim didn’t have fun.

No, wait. Where had that thought come from? Of course she did. Making art was fun, hanging out with friends was fun, book club was fun. She’d had fun with Henry when they’d been a couple. Okay, the sex hadn’t been as phenomenal as with Ty, but it had been fun believing they loved each other and had a future.

A future that she’d ended. No, it wasn’t as dramatic as having her man torn apart by a suicide bomb, and it hadn’t made her swear off men. She’d meet someone else once she was home in Hong Kong, and they’d have loads of fun, in and out of bed.

Ty Ronan had no place in her life.

She stared at his message again. Blunt; the opposite of romantic. She didn’t owe him an explanation. Her fingers rested on the keyboard. Probably, she should just delete this. Instead, she slowly tapped out:

Why?

She sent the message to his e-mail address, turned off her computer, and got ready for bed. When she picked up
Ride Her, Cowboy
, she knew that, no matter how hot the scene between Marty and Dirk, there’d be a different cowboy in her erotic dreams tonight. Just because a guy wasn’t a marriage prospect didn’t mean a girl couldn’t fantasize about him.

Did it mean she’d be disrespecting herself if she did more than fantasize?

Ten

T
y got up before dawn and found Kim’s e-mail.
Huh.
So she could be brief too. He figured the “why?” referred to why he wanted to see her again. He responded:

Had fun. Thought you did too.

Then he headed out to do some chores.

When he came in to make breakfast, he found her response:

Life’s about more than just fun.

That sent his eyebrows jumping. He responded:

You’re talking to a guy who’s put in more than 3 hrs

hard work before 8 am. A working man needs some

fun too. So does a gal.

He shook out his large hands, cramped from this bit of typing. Thank heavens his mom handled most of Ronan Ranch’s e-mail. Frustrated, he typed:

Why are we talking this way? Give me a call.

A minute later his cell rang. “Hey, Kim.”

“What do you want?” She sounded jittery, a nervous dragonfly ready to take flight.

“Just to see you.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“We both had fun. We could have fun again. How’s that a bad idea?”

A long pause. Then, “If I’m going to see you, we need to talk.” Her voice was higher pitched than on Saturday,; still, it sounded good to his ears.

“We are talking.”

“I mean, uh, I’m not like that. Not like I was Saturday night. I don’t just, you know. With any guy who comes along.”

They’d talked, they’d danced. She’d known his name before she met him. He wasn’t just any guy. But he guessed she was feeling sleazy for having had sex on a first—well, it hadn’t even been a date. “Let’s get together again. We can talk. Talk’s good.” She was interesting, smart. “How about I come into town and take you for dinner tonight?” If they hit it off like before, they’d end up in bed again. If not, then it was just one wasted evening.

“You’d drive into Vancouver? It’s a long way.”

He laughed. “After years on the rodeo circuit, an hour or two’s drive is nothing.”

There was a long pause. “Dinner. Just dinner. And talk.”

He wouldn’t make that promise. “Dinner and talk, then we’ll see what we feel like. I’ll pick you up.”

“No, I’ll meet you.”

She didn’t trust him. That pissed him off, but then why should she trust a rodeo rider she’d hooked up with in a bar? “Where?”

“Um, do you like Mediterranean food?”

Mediterranean food? Did that involve olives, pizza, feta cheese? Sounded good to him. “Sure.” It occurred to him, because they were talking about the big city, to ask, “This place fancy?” God forbid he had to put on a tie.

“No, it’s just a nice neighborhood restaurant.” She told him the name was Laziza and where to find it, and said she’d make a reservation under his name.

A reservation. He was used to casual places where, if the place was full, people hung out at the door waiting and talking. “Thanks. See you then.”

As he cooked up scrambled eggs, sausages, and toast, he wondered what the evening would bring. Kim wasn’t his typical date. She was unpredictable, which made things interesting. His blood quickened with that adrenaline rush of anticipation, and he whistled Garth Brooks’ “Shameless.”

After a hearty meal, Ty had a busy day, barely finding time to grab lunch. Late in the afternoon, he took a quick shower, shaved, and changed into black jeans and a white snap-button western shirt. Just a plain leather belt; he figured a rodeo buckle wouldn’t go over so well downtown. He bundled Kim’s winged blouse into a paper bag, then headed out.

The weather was hot, the skies clear. Driving with the window open and his arm resting on the sill, he figured that tonight would turn out or it wouldn’t. Either way, his life would go on more or less the same. With the brim of his hat shading his eyes from the sun as he headed west, he cranked up the radio and sang along with Tim McGraw.

As he neared the coast, darkish clouds mounted in the sky and by the time he drove into the West End of Vancouver, a brisk breeze was slinging raindrops. He rolled up his window. It wasn’t exactly cold, just a lot of degrees lower than where he’d started from.

He found the restaurant, decided not to squeeze the truck into street parking designed for cars and SUVs, and located a parking lot. Tucking the paper bag under his arm to protect it from the rain, he sauntered down the block, checking out the various businesses: a gay bar, a KFC, a produce store, an Asian restaurant. Yup, he was in the city.

When he reached Laziza, he glanced through the front window. No sign of Kim, but he was a few minutes early. He turned away from the window and saw, coming down the sidewalk, the circle of a purple and blue umbrella, held like a shield to block the wind and rain from the invisible person carrying it. The design looked familiar, like a painting of water lilies by some famous European painter whose name he didn’t recall.

An art-style umbrella, held at a height that told him the owner was short.

He stepped into the path of the umbrella, hoping she wouldn’t run him down.

She pulled up short. From behind the umbrella came, “Cowboy boots.” Then the umbrella tilted, revealing black calf-length leggings and a long-sleeved white tee with a flock of stylized butterflies in black, turquoise, and red, and finally Kim’s face. Tonight her black hair was streaked with red.

“And a cowboy hat,” she added. A grin tipped her pretty lips. “Lost your way, cowboy?”

“Sure hope not.” He grinned back at her. God, she was cute, and she packed one hell of a lot of sex appeal in such a tiny package. He remembered her naked, wearing his hat, and wondered what she’d do if he kissed her.

She shifted uneasily. “You’re looking at me funny.”

“Appreciatively,” he corrected. Would she be flattered or upset if she knew what he was thinking? “You look great.” Best not to try the kiss and risk scaring her off. “I like that tee.”

“Thanks. It’s based on the Red Spotted Admiral butterfly. You look”—she surveyed him, something gleaming deep in her dark eyes—“like you.”

“Is that a good thing?” Should he have left the hat behind, swapped the boots for loafers? He owned loafers, but it was second nature to slip into comfy boots.

“It’s a good thing,” she said almost reluctantly.

A gust of wind caught her umbrella, and he put his hand over hers, steadying her grip. “Crazy gizmos. Don’t fly away, dragonfly girl.” Her skin was cool, yet somehow sent a zip of heat through his palm.

She stepped away, as if she felt that strange zip too. In the shelter under an awning, she struggled to close the umbrella. Sounding nervous, she said, “They never work properly, but they beat getting wet.”

He took it and did it for her. “Don’t need an umbrella if you have a Resistol.” He secured the Velcro fastening, and handed the umbrella back to her.

“Resistol?”

“Name of the hat.”

“I thought they were Stetsons.”

“That’s another brand. Most rodeo riders wear Resistol because they’re a sponsor. Same with Wrangler jeans.”

“Interesting. But I don’t think I’m the Resistol type.” Then her eyes widened, meeting his for a moment before her lashes fluttered down. Color tinted her cheeks.

He thought about her wearing his hat, riding him. Was she remembering too?

“Are you hungry?” she asked, without meeting his eyes.

He was, for her. Seeing her had whetted his appetite. But that wasn’t what she was asking. “Yeah, it’s been a long day.”

They went in, him taking off his hat while Kim told the hostess they had a reservation. The sleek, smiling dark-skinned woman led them to a table near the small bar at the back.

The restaurant didn’t fit his image of Mediterranean. It wasn’t unattractive, but kind of plain. Modern, he figured. Kim fit in just fine, he thought as the hostess gushed over her tee.

This was her world. She wasn’t the Resistol type, not anywhere outside of bed. She’d be as unsuited to life at Ronan Ranch—even his updated version in the Valley—as his biological mom had been to the original ranch.

Ty had no memories of the woman named Miranda. She left when he was a baby. The only mom he knew, the only one he wanted, was Betty, the woman his dad married when Ty was three. She was the perfect mom, the perfect wife, and Ty’s model for the kind of woman he was looking for.

But that was for the long term. Tonight was about tonight. Him and Kim. Just following her slim back across the restaurant and gazing at her animated face as she talked to the hostess had made his body stir.

When the hostess left them to study the menus, he took the bag from under his arm and handed it across the table. “Here’s your top.”

Kim stared down at the bag, color mounting to her cheeks again. “Thanks,” she mumbled as she stowed it inside a large blue purse she’d slung over the back of the chair.

He wanted to ask why she’d run out on him in the middle of the night, but she was already nervous, so he instead said, “How about a drink?”

Her lashes flicked down then up and she stared at him. “Only one.”

“Uh, okay. Why?”

Her eyes narrowed. “That’s what got me into trouble on Saturday.”

Slowly, he processed those words. “You’re saying you were drunk? But you only had two or three beers, over a couple hours.” Maybe she’d swayed a little, lost her balance, giggled a lot, but she was young, female, and, he’d thought, having fun. Girls did that stuff. A horrible thought struck him. Keeping his voice low, he asked, “Did I take advantage of you?”

“It did cross my mind you might have slipped a drug into my beer.”

“God, no! I’d never—”

“I know.” She stopped him. “I realized that. The truth is, alcohol affects me, so I almost always stop at one.” She pressed her lips together. “I wanted to blame my behavior on the booze, but it only relaxes my inhibitions and maybe I wanted an excuse to let loose. After the book I’d been reading—” She broke off as if she’d said more than she intended to.

“The one your book club’s reading? The research one?”

“Research.” Her mouth twisted wryly and she reached into her blue bag.

She passed a book across the table.

When he saw the cover, he almost dropped the thing. Warily, he placed it on the table and stared at a picture of a cowboy, naked to the waist.
Ride Her, Cowboy
. “Huh. So you
are
a buckle bunny. Just the most unconventional one I’ve ever met.” The words left a sour taste in his mouth. A taste like disappointment. But why should he care why this crazy dragonfly girl had sex with him?

“A what?”

“Buckle bunny. A groupie who hangs around rodeos hoping to meet the guys and hook up.”

“Like puck bunnies in hockey. George told me about them.” She shook her head. “No, really, I—” She broke off as the smiling waitress returned.

“Have you decided what you’d like to—” She caught sight of the book. “Oh my, very nice.” Her gaze skimmed Ty. “You’re a cover model?”

He gave a snort of outrage.

Kim laughed. “No, but he could be if he wanted to.”

“Jesus,” he said. “Can we order drinks?”

The waitress straightened twitching lips. “Of course. What would you like?”

“Haven’t looked yet,” he had to admit, flipping open the drink list.

Kim did the same, then asked the waitress, “Is the Stanley Park Amber fairly light?”

“Light, clean, and nuanced.”

Whatever that meant. Usually, he drank plain old beer, but why not try something more interesting? “I’ll have the oatmeal stout.”

When the waitress left, he and Kim looked at each other across the table. She bent to the menu, saying in a rush, “Let’s see what looks good. I’ve only had appetizers here, and never had a chance to study the menu.”

Yes, she was unpredictable. The evening was unpredictable. Ty reminded himself that he’d wanted that. So why should it be so disconcerting not knowing—anything? Not knowing why she’d hooked up with him Saturday, why she’d left, why she was here with him now, how this evening would end, or why he was so damned attracted to her that his blood thickened with lust whenever he looked at her?

He couldn’t see her now, hidden behind her menu.

Ty studied his own menu, noting with approval that Laziza featured free-range and hormone-free meat. They had lots of lamb, and they also had AAA beef. The beef came from Alberta, which to his mind was insane. If he hadn’t been on a date, he’d have spoken to the manager and made a sales pitch for Ronan Ranch’s purebred Angus, and maybe for adding ostrich to the menu. He’d give them a call next week.

Kim was still behind the menu. Was she memorizing the damned thing, being really indecisive, or avoiding meeting his eyes?

“I’m going to have the prawn appetizer,” he said, “then the lamb chops with saffron rice and grilled vegetables. How about you?” The moment he spoke, he wondered if by chance she was vegetarian, or had a thing about not eating lamb.

But she said, “I looked at the lamb too. But I think I’ll go with the saffron prawns. Or maybe the Bedouin chicken, or . . . Hmm, it all looks so good.” She finally lowered the menu enough that he could see her eyes, just as the waitress came back with their drinks.

“Have you decided?” the brunette asked.

“I have,” he said. “Prawns, then lamb chops. Kim?”

“Uh . . . Okay. The saffron prawns entrée. No appetizer, but I might have dessert.”

“Great choices.” The waitress collected the menus and left.

Ty lifted his glass of stout in Kim’s direction. “It’s good to see you again.”

“Uh, yes.” She lifted her own glass and tapped it quickly against his.

He took a swallow of the dark stout, tasting barley and oatmeal. “This is nice.”

She sipped her own drink, then her tongue darted out to capture a stray drop on her top lip. “So’s this.”

He wanted that tongue. His body quickened at the thought of that tongue licking his hardening cock.

It was time to get a thing or two clear. “So, Saturday night had something to do with this book. You’d never been to a rodeo before, but this book made you and your friend Marielle want to hook up with a rodeo cowboy?”

She shook her head, the red strands in her hair flicking. “Not really. Well, I can’t speak for Marielle.” She sipped at her ale, frowning a little. “At first I only agreed to go to the rodeo because the others wanted to. I couldn’t relate to the whole cowboy thing. But the book”—she touched the cover, then grabbed it and shoved it back in her purse—“it was kind of interesting. It made me curious.”