Roustabout (The Traveling #3) (2 page)

I was lying. His long, lean build, deep-set eyes and model-pretty face were impressing the hell out of me. His hair was curling to his chin, the ends bleached to a dirty blond by the sun. And what color were those amazing eyes? Gray? Green? Almost a light olive color—I’d never seen anything like them before.

Close up, the air seemed to spark and crackle around him. There was an intensity hidden in his lazy gaze and laidback smile that made me uncomfortable. I didn’t want to feel the heat in his eyes, and I definitely didn’t want to feel the attraction pulling at me.

Feeling twitchy and wanting to squirm under his penetrating gaze, I did the opposite: I leaned back, crossing one leg over the other, smiling to myself as his eyes followed the movement.

He glanced up and grinned again.

“I’ve never been afraid of hard work,” he murmured, hooking a thumb through one of his belt loops.

“Good to know that you like a challenge—that makes it easy for me.”

“How d’you figure that?” he asked, his lips curving upwards.

“I just keep saying no to keep you interested.”

“So you want to keep me interested?”

“I like a challenge,” I threw back at him.

He leaned a little closer and it felt like a bolt of static electricity zipped between us. I glanced out toward the ocean, wondering if a storm was brewing, but the waves were silky ripples under a purple sky.

“I’ll work for my supper,” he said, his tongue flicking out to wet his lips as he spoke, looking at me as if I was on the menu.

It sounded so dirty, the way he said it, the way his gaze roved over my chest. But I wasn’t going to let him know that.

“Now you want me to cook for you, too? Wow, you’re sure of yourself.”

He gave a husky laugh. “Is it bad that I’m sure of myself? It’s you I’m not sure about.”

“What makes you so sure of yourself?” I asked, looking him in the eye.

“What you see is what you get.”

“Hmm, so no hidden depths. That’s disappointing.”

He grinned at me, his eyes crinkling with pleasure.

“Nope, absolutely no hidden depths. As shallow as the day is long. But that means no surprises, right? Just lil ole me—everything that you’ve been checking out for the last two minutes.”

My cheeks flushed as I met his eyes.

“Not that I mind,” he went on. “I like the way you look at me . . . pretty much like the way I’m looking at you.”

“Slightly annoyed?” I suggested, pretending to be bored.

He grinned and shook his head.

“Uh-uh, pretty lady. The look you’ve been giving me says that you’re interested.” He leaned closer. “I’ll be hitting the road tomorrow, but we could make sweet music tonight. It’ll be worth your while—I’m a guy who knows how to use his . . . hands.”

“I’m more concerned with your mouth . . . more specifically your tongue . . . especially if you keep mixing your metaphors.”

He gave a startled laugh.

“I think you’re teasing me, beautiful, or maybe that’s a challenge?”

“Not at all,” I said, being serious for a moment. “I know you’re good with your hands. I was told you did most of the repairs on Kes and Aimee’s cabin. Did you work in construction before you joined the carnival?”

Tucker looked taken aback. “Who told you that?”

“Aimee mentioned a few things.”

Tucker lifted a shoulder and leaned back against the tree, his face hidden in the shadows.

“Just some stuff I picked up,” he said, sounding wary now.

“More than a few things from what I heard.”

He shrugged again, noncommittal, then his eyes made a slow appraisal of my body. I should have been insulted by the way he let his hot gaze roam every inch of me, but I was enjoying returning the favor.

His jeans hung loosely from his hips, the rips in one knee caused by hard usage not designer tears. He wore an Eagles t-shirt that had been washed so many times it was impossible to read the words that ghosted over his firm chest. His biceps bunched as he propped himself against the tree, and his tanned skin was turning from gold to light brown in the first months of spring, but he was no gym rat. Everything he had was from hard, physical labor. I’d been brought up with men who pushed papers for a living—this man was not from their world. And that excited me.

“Why’s a class act like you hanging with a bunch of carnies?” he asked.

His voice had turned edgy and his question felt like a test.

“What do you mean?”

His tone was still lazy, but there was a tightness that hadn’t been apparent before.

“Sweet cheeks, you’re wearing a designer skirt that must have cost two hundred dollars and there’s nothing cheap about your perfume.”

Determined not to show my chagrin that he’d read me so easily, my reply was calm and level.

“Three-hundred dollars. And I’m visiting friends.”

“Guy friends?”

“Jealous?” I asked with a light laugh.

He grinned. “Maybe I just don’t feel like kicking anyone’s ass tonight.”

“Maybe you’d be the one getting your ass kicked.”

He leaned closer, and I caught the scent of soap and clean sweat.

“If you’re the one doing the kicking, it would be worth it.”

He whispered the last words, making me lean towards him, but when we were close enough to touch, he pulled away at the last second and winked at me.

Annoyed, I sank back into my chair. “I think I’d like to kick your ass.”

“I think I’d like to let you.”

I couldn’t help laughing. “Very smooth, Mr. McCoy.”

His expression showed surprise.

“Well now, that just doesn’t seem polite that you know my name but I don’t know yours. You gonna tell me your name, sweet cheeks?”

I stood up and smiled at him. “Well now, it isn’t ‘sweet cheeks’.”

I lifted my beer in a salute and walked away, hearing his laughter follow me.

I knew myself well enough to know that I was minutes from falling for his obvious charms. I needed to get away before . . .

The hell I did!

I almost stumbled as my steps faltered. What on earth was I doing? Why was I running away from a man that I was deeply attracted to, whose eyes promised as much sin as I could take in a single night?

I’d never had a one night stand; never been brave enough to choose gratification over being sensible.

But maybe I wasn’t that girl anymore. Not since I’d learned a few hard truths about my father, about my family.

I turned around, determined to enjoy everything that Tucker McCoy had to offer. Even if all I’d end up with was a pleasurable soreness between my legs and something memorable to write in my diary.

When my eyes found him again, he was still leaning against the coffeeberry tree, talking to Zef, the other stunt rider in Hawkins’ Daredevils.

I guessed they were talking about me because Tucker’s eyes met mine as he laughed at whatever Zef had said. But then his laugh died away and for a second another emotion flittered across his face. He seemed surprised, maybe even a little angry. Then he looked away and it felt deliberate.

Two others joined them: Zachary and Ollo. Now, I was even more surplus to requirements.

I knew the guys were tight; after all, they spent most of the year traveling together, but they looked out for each other, too.

No one knew how old Ollo was. He was born with dwarfism and was less than four feet tall, but in many ways he was a tribal elder, a grandfather to the carnie family. I loved to sit and listen to his tales of the olden days. Aimee was writing them down, afraid that they’d be lost forever if she didn’t.

I had friends from home in St. Paul, and friends from UCLA, and I was even making friends up in San Francisco, but they weren’t family—not the way the carnies were family.

Everyone was accepted, regardless of race, color, creed or sexual preference. Zachary’s boyfriend, Luke, was playing his guitar by the bonfire, loved and protected—one of them.

Well, everyone who was a carnie was accepted. So that ruled me out.

I studied Tucker out of the corner of my eye, watching, assessing. He stayed beneath the tree, chatting with Zef, but didn’t look my way again. After a few minutes, Ollo climbed onto Tucker’s shoulders and they all headed back to the bonfire as Tucker’s laughter echoed through the still air.

Disappointed, I sipped my flat beer for something to do. I felt self-conscious by myself, so I headed toward the cabin and joined the short line for the bathroom.

But as soon as I was back outside again, I couldn’t help looking for Tucker. And I found him.

He was walking away from the bonfire, a brunette wrapped around him with one hand in his back pocket, the other sliding up inside his t-shirt.

I combed my fingers through the ends of my straight fair hair and watched as the other woman fawned all over him. I guess he wasn’t into blondes. Why couldn’t it have been my lucky night instead of hers?

Something shifted inside of me, something that had been holding me back broke open. I
didn’t
have to live by my parents’ rules; I
didn’t
have to live the life they had preordained for me. I was 27 years old.
What was I waiting for?

I gazed wistfully after Tucker and his conquest.

He did what he wanted when he wanted. He did
who
he wanted and I envied him. It wasn’t that I particularly wanted to be a notch on his belt, but I wanted to be free of all the guilt, all the bullshit that had stopped me from living my life so far.

Until I met this crazy carnival family, I hadn’t understood.

To protect my dented pride, I told myself that Tucker had been warned to stay away me because I was Kes’s sister, and therefore off limits.

I was used to that: my father had guys warned off of me all the time. He didn’t do it himself, of course, but he had ‘people’. Only eligible men were allowed anywhere near me—men who wore suits, worked in upscale offices and had the right family connections.

I was relieved when Aimee strolled across, her pet monkey clinging to her neck.

The little animal chattered softly, then swung himself into my arms, surprising me with his affection.

“Hello, Bo.”

His small, leathery hands tugged my hair gently then he nestled against me.

“He’s going to miss you,” Aimee said with a quiet smile.

“Do you think so?” I asked, nuzzling the warm fur.

Aimee chuckled.

“Well, I was talking about Kes, but yes, Bo will miss you, too.”

“I’m going to miss you all so much,” I said truthfully.

“We’ll be back after Thanksgiving,” she said, her voice kind. “And you can visit us on the road anytime.”

“I know, thank you. And I’m really happy for you. Kes is in his element tonight.”

We both turned to look at my brother. He was standing by the bonfire, the flames throwing dancing shadows across his face that did nothing to dim his obvious joy. His eyes flickered across to Aimee and his smile widened.

Then he dragged his t-shirt over his head and tossed it to the ground.

I had to admit my brother was a good-looking guy. All the women—and a few of the men—had their eyes all over him.

“Do you ever get used to that?” I asked.

Aimee shrugged. “No, not really.” Then she looked at me closely. “Are you alright?”

“Sure, just annoyed with myself.”

“Why? What happened?”

I groaned with frustration.

“This guy was hitting on me . . . and I walked away. Now I’m really wishing I hadn’t. That’s all. Stupid, I know.”

She cocked her head to one side.

“This is about Tucker, isn’t it? I saw you talking earlier.”

I gave an embarrassed laugh. “I don’t really know if anything would have happened . . .”

“Did you want it to?”

That was a good question.

Aimee stared at me appraisingly and opened her mouth to speak, but whatever she was going to say was swallowed by the crowd’s roar of approval as a three-foot jet of fire flew from Kes’s mouth.

Bo hid his face in my hair, upset by the noise and flames, but I couldn’t tear my eyes from the performance.

When it was over, I glanced across at the coffeeberry tree where I’d had my close encounter with Tucker McCoy, but then I wished I hadn’t looked.

His back was pressed against the rough, silvery bark, while the brunette was pressed against his chest. His hands loosely cupped her ass as she ground into him.

His eyes were closed, but it was almost as if he felt the weight of my disappointment because his eyelids slid open and he stared back at me, even as the woman assaulted his neck with her tongue.

Then he blinked, and his hands gripped the woman more tightly, lifting her up so her legs wrapped around his waist.

Definitely my cue to leave.

I sighed again, then smiled as Aimee hooked her arm through mine, following the direction of my gaze.

“Well, I’d say he’s made it fairly obvious he isn’t interested. That’s never much fun.”

“You should take it as a compliment,” Aimee said quietly.

“Hmm, not sure I follow you,” I admitted.

“Tucker respects you and he let you walk away, otherwise that would be you right now and he’ll be gone in the morning. Believe me, he leaves a trail of empty beds and broken hearts wherever he goes.”

I laughed lightly. “I can believe that, but I think it’s Kes he respects, not me.”

Aimee was silent, which I took for her reluctant agreement.

“He’s not a complete asshole,” she said at last. “I used to think he was . . . when I first met him: always a different woman,” and she shook her head sadly. “But he’s a lot of fun to be around, too. He’s always happy, always smiling. And even though he’s a total slob,” she said, shuddering, “he’s always ready to help me out with anything. Doesn’t matter what, whether it’s cleaning, cooking or laundry. He flirts all the time, but that’s just Tucker. He doesn’t mean anything by it.”

I sighed. “That’s what I was afraid of.”

Aimee shook her head. “What I mean is that he’s never once made me feel uncomfortable to be alone with him. He’s respectful . . . well, when he’s not walking around half-naked. But they all do that. They’re so used to living in a men-only environment, their manners get rusty.” She shot me a sly look. “He does have a great ass.”