Personal Assets (Texas Nights) (8 page)

Her thighs went loose at the feel of velvety petals against her skin. Where else could he stroke her with them? He pressed the flowers into her shaking hand, and she tried not to crush them in her sweaty grip.

Get yourself under control
,
girl.
Your plan
,
your night
,
your way.

“Before we leave, I need to grab a sweater.” And another piece of clothing.

“Leaving? I thought we might stay in.” He sniffed the air and wandered toward the kitchen, not hard to find since her house was 1154 square feet.

Oh goodness, if the man was looking for a home-cooked meal, she should’ve set him up with Eden.

A jealous heat kindled in Allie’s middle. No, Eden and Cameron would make a horrible match.

“I promise I won’t take you anywhere you don’t want to go.” Allie hustled down the hall to grab her matching cardigan, but her blood was streaming so hot through her body she likely wouldn’t need it. She hustled back to find him looking at home in her buttercream-painted kitchen. “Do you trust me?”

His back to her, he dumped the flowers into an iced tea glass filled with tap water. “Is that a trick question?”

“Is Cameron Wright, sports star and all-around confident guy, scared?”

“Wary.” He set the flower arrangement on the two-seater dining table. The lilies were bunched together like downtown Houston apartment buildings and two daisies drooped over the side of the glass. So, so sweet.

But why was he being so charming when he knew she was a sure thing?

“If you’ll trust me,” she said, “I guarantee the evening will be worth it.”

His mouth a line, Cameron stared at her. “Worth it how?”

“And here I thought you were a risk-taker.”

His stare edged into a glare. “Fine.”

“Then turn around.”

“What?”

“Turn around, I have something for you.” Only once his back was to her did she allow herself to smile. No doubt, if she looked in the mirror, she’d see a shark that had spotted an all-you-can-eat seafood buffet.

Allie reached for her bag, a little Kate Spade knockoff, and pulled out a silk chemise she’d bought from Roxanne’s shop. She slid it silently through her hands, enjoying the sensual flow of it over her palm. Cameron shifted, redistributing his weight. Nervous?

Oh, goodie.

This was just the beginning.

She stepped close behind him, savored the heat from his body.

“What are you doing?”

She looped the silk over his head, made sure it covered his eyes and secured it.

“What. Are. You. Doing?”

“I’m blindfolding you.”

“I figured that out for myself, princess. I can’t drive BB like this. We’ve already had one wreck this week or have you forgotten?”

She took another yoga breath and blew out her words in a rush. “That’s why I’ll be driving BB.”

He jerked around, his scowl apparent even with his face half-covered. “The hell you are.”

She smoothed her fingertips across the blindfold. “I asked you if you trusted me and you said yes.”

“This is not what I meant by agreeing to trust you and you damn well know it.”

Oh, this was fun. Kind of like riding the Tilt-A-Whirl at the county fair. She knew it was dangerous, the underpinnings and foundation unstable, yet every year she hopped right on.

Taking a half step back, she used Cameron’s temporary sightlessness to shamelessly look him over. Rich brown hair with a little boy’s uncontrollable cowlicks spiked over the deep burgundy chemise. His lips were flat. Her gaze continued from his face to his throat, where a strong pulse beat above the white T-shirt he wore under his polo. His shirt was tucked into pressed cotton slacks, belted with an unadorned brown leather belt. Things became even more interesting below his silver belt buckle. He dressed to the left and as she stared, his pants drew tighter.

Oh, my.

“That’s what you’re gonna get if you don’t stop staring at my crotch.” Was that irritation or amusement in his voice?

“How did you know? Can you see through that blindfold?”

“No, but I could feel your eyes moving over me like stroking fingers.”

Allie’s imagination shot into hyperdrive.

She pictured running her palms down Cameron’s shirt over hard chest muscles and taut abs. Gliding her hand over his belt buckle, rubbing across the starched cotton of his fly, skimming over an impressive erection to cup his balls. Teasing her fingernails along that sensitive flesh.

He stood hipshot with his arms folded across the chest she’d visually explored. “If you think you can talk me into driving by giving me a hard-on, you’re using the wrong tactic. BB’s in a very vulnerable state right now, and you haven’t exactly impressed me with your driving skills.”

Would he forgive her if she impressed him with her other skills?

“That kind of thing doesn’t usually happen to me. That’s why they call it an
accident.
If you’re that worried, I can take off the blindfold and we can forget this whole thing.”

Allie held her breath.
Don’t call my bluff.

He dropped his arms and sighed. “How long will I have to suffer you driving BB?”

She did a little victory shuffle that would’ve made the LMFAO guys proud. “Twenty minutes max. You can be in the driver’s seat on the way back.”
But not until then.
She grabbed her purse from the table, threaded her fingers through his and dragged him toward the door.

Allie led Cameron to BB’s passenger door. The car’s rich red paint was flaking, and her rear end was still smushed like a pug’s face.

He said, “If you so much as ding this car again, I will personally take it out of your sweet little ass.”

Her body part in question tingled at the thought.

Allie tugged open a door weighing as much as a calf and nudged Cameron into the front seat. She slammed the door before he changed his mind and climbed out. She was way too invested now. She hotfooted it around the hood in her needle-heeled—pink slides and opened her door.

“I thought you were going to apologize,” Cameron said.

“I already told you I was sorry.”

“Not to me, to her.”

Seriously?
But Allie returned to the front of the car and said, “BB, I’m terribly sorry I hit you, but Cameron’s going to make you all better. Okay?”

Lord, like she expected the car to answer her. Regardless, she leaned down and pressed her lips to the hood.

“Did you kiss her and make it better?” Finally, Cameron was smiling.

“Mmm.” Allie slid behind the wheel, the leather smooth against her thighs. Oh, she and Cameron were going to feel fantastic together, naked and entwined on that luscious upholstery. Her back caressed by the body-warmed fabric and her front scorched by Cameron’s hotter-than-July skin. She was going to kiss
him
and make it all better.

He must have caught the essence of her thoughts as she stretched over his lap to secure his seat belt, because he said in a low voice, “I plan to star in whatever hot little fantasy you just had running through your busy little brain.”

She didn’t bother to ask how he’d known.

* * *

Emmalee Wright watched Charlie Pfeiffer, her dinner companion, scoop up carnitas flanked with spicy borracho beans and Mexican rice. He grumbled, “Still don’t know why we couldn’t go to Los Cerditos. They make the best tamales outside of San Antonio.”

She wrapped grilled chicken into a handmade tortilla, added a dab of sour cream and two dollops of guacamole. Avocado was a vegetable, after all. “Rosa is an amazing cook. Besides, a change of scenery is nice once in a while.”

“Uh-huh. That the reason you wanted to drive fifteen miles away from Shelbyville to eat tonight?”

“That and the sopapillas, of course.”

“You ever gonna give up on gettin’ your hands on Rosa’s recipe? Your only chance is to break in here one night and ransack her kitchen.” He pointed at Emmalee with a forkful of carnitas. “Then Beck would have to bust you for breaking and entering.”

“He’d have to catch me first.” Emmalee laughed at the thought of her sons’ friend throwing her in the slammer for committing culinary espionage. “I could buy my way out with a batch of lemon squares.”

“I’ll tell him you think he’s corruptible.” Charlie took a swig of his super-sweet iced tea. Although he drank beer on occasion, he always chose tea laced with at least ten packets of sugar when they were together.

Which was worse for his health, alcohol or a drink sweet enough to launch him into a diabetic coma? She knew firsthand which was worse for a marriage.

A tiny woman with weathered skin and knowing eyes approached the table and smiled broadly, displaying a blinding set of dentures. “¿
Hola
,
como estás?
” She switched to rapid-fire English. “Good evening, friends. How do you like Rosa’s cooking tonight? Is the chicken not tender and the sauce not spicy?”

Wiping her mouth on a paper napkin, Emmalee covered a grin at the owner’s blatant bid for compliments. “Rosa, your kitchen is
excelente
, as always. No one makes better tortillas than you.”

Rosa’s black brows raised. “The sopapillas are
más mejor
,
si?
”

Charlie snorted with laughter. “She knows you pretty well, Em.”

“I wouldn’t leave without ordering a plate of them.”

“Ah, but
mi amiga
, you will be disappointed to leave without knowledge of Rosa’s secret ingredient.” The owner spread her tiny lined palms with their permanent dusting of flour.

Emmalee played their long-standing game. “I’m heartbroken.”

Rosa laughed, delight carved into every wrinkle, and scooted away to visit with other customers.

Emmalee and Charlie ate in silence for several minutes, savoring the meal and the family-owned restaurant’s informal atmosphere. Thank the Lord for this man. He often saved her from eating leftover meat loaf from the freezer or a slice of apple pie masquerading as dinner.

Charlie leaned back in his chair, rocking the table on its uneven legs. He braided his fingers together over his belly—very flat for a sixty-two-year-old man. His dark hair was generously threaded with gray and his face was lived in. But he was an active, handsome man. He operated his insurance business with the enthusiasm and dedication of a man half his age and apparently played a mean round of golf.

“Not as good as tamales, but those were decent carnitas.” He watched her assemble another fajita, and something in his gaze had her fumbling. Sour cream plopped into her lap. Lovely. “Guess you’ll have to live without Rosa’s sopapilla recipe. Other than that, how’s the baking going?”

“Eden lets me cook in her commercial oven as long as I’m finished by six each morning. In return, I’m supplying the café with rolls and a few breakfast pastries.”

“She makin’ you cook with all that organic stuff?”

“We compromise. I bake for Paradise Garden using her ingredients, but I’ve put my foot down about recipes calling for tofu or eggplant.” She nodded her thanks to Rosa’s nephew, who cleared the plates from their table. “I provide my own ingredients for the items I sell to convenience stores. Eden cringes when she spies a can of Crisco in her kitchen, but she looks the other way.”

“Some things aren’t meant to be made California style.” He gestured to the puffy fried pastries Rosa was delivering from the kitchen. “Case in point. What’s Mexican food without a tub or two of lard?”

Rosa beamed her approval and slid the sugar-and-cinnamon-crusted treats onto the table along with a bear-shaped honey bottle. “
Exactamente.
”

Charlie squirted honey around the plate and Emmalee dipped bits of fried dough into it. Her fingers were soon a sticky mess, and she sucked at the drops on her fingertips. She pulled her thumb from her mouth and wiped her hands, but the paper napkin stuck to her skin.

Charlie was staring at her lips. She licked them and said, “Sorry. Got carried away.”

He didn’t respond, his eyes still focused on her.

“Do I have honey smeared all over me?” She dipped her napkin into her water and swiped the corners of her mouth. “Is it all gone now?”

“Huh?”

“The honey.” What was wrong with him? “Did I get it off my face?”

He shifted in his chair and cleared his throat. “Uh, yeah, I think so.”

Maybe he was impatient to get back home to watch NASCAR. She always lingered over the sopapillas. “Are you ready to leave?”

He looked around wildly as if trying to remember where they were. “I’m fine.”

No, he wasn’t. “Is it the carnitas? You know chili powder aggravates your stomach.”

“Leave it alone, Em.”

Fine, grumpy old man.

“I’ll be ready to go after I visit the ladies’ room.” She pushed away from the table and headed to the restrooms near the kitchen. Rosa came toward her with the check. “Wait, Rosa. Let me give you my half.” She placed a twenty on the plastic tray holding a pair of peppermints and toothpicks.

Inside the restroom, she peeked in the mirror. No honey smeared from her chin to her forehead. If she also checked her short Chocolate Kiss hairdo and the effectiveness of her new wrinkle cream, no one had to be the wiser. She rooted around in her purse for the antacids she always carried, just in case.

When she returned to the table, Charlie’s face was flushed.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” She tried to lay her palm across his brow, but he jerked away from her touch. “I found Tums in my bag if you need them.”

He pointed at the tray holding their bill and suddenly looked weary. “Why do you always do that?”

“Do what?”

“Pay for half of dinner. I tell you every time it’s my treat and yet you still pay.”

She was tired of the ongoing argument. “Charlie, if you continue to make an issue of my paying my own way, then we need to stop having dinner together. As my friend, you should understand I want to cover my part.”

“Fine.” His tone was testy. He pulled bills from his wallet and tossed them on the table. “Ready?”

Emmalee nodded and picked up her purse.

Charlie led the way to the parking lot and politely opened the truck door for her as he did every time they had dinner together. Did that make her a hypocrite? She insisted on splitting the bill, yet she allowed him to treat her like a lady instead of a buddy by pulling out her chair and opening the door for her.