Chapter 2 #2
From the corner of his eye, he saw her stroke the piece over her cheek, her eyelids drifting low like a woman being touched by her lover. When she smoothed the leather across her lips, her head sank back as if she was about to orgasm from the sheer tactile pleasure.
Alex shifted in his chair, trying to drum up a little airflow to cool the sudden sweat storm along his spine, because a business meeting was the dead last place he needed to be getting turned on.
When Greer finally opened her eyes, they sparkled, and a light flush touched her cheeks.
She stretched the leather flat on the table and began tracing every line, every swirl, every curve with a sensual focus.
Would she learn a man’s body the same way?
Dipping into the concave spots, bumping over the skin and muscle?
“Greer?” Delaney’s one word was sharp, probing.
Neither of the women was paying a cent of attention to him. Something was going on here, and he was way out of the loop.
“Hmm?” she responded, never looking away from the piece of leather she continued to caress.
He hadn’t been with a lot of women in the years since he’d left Texas, and none he’d let stick around for long, but he wasn’t a monk. He knew that soft, silky, sultry tone.
It was the sound of a woman who’d just been perfectly fucked.
And just what would Greer Maddox consider the perfect fuck?
Slow? Hard? Wild?
Alex slid his hands from the tabletop and gripped the chair beneath him.
He needed to be knocked stupid for even thinking about her that way.
If he won PBC’s tooling business, messing around with one of the family would only create problems. And if he didn’t, this would probably be the first and last time he ever stepped foot in Prophecy.
This meeting either needs to crash and burn now or last long enough for me to get my shit back together.
“What do you think about Alex’s samples?” Delaney picked one up, rubbed her fingers across the surface, obviously checking for rough spots. But her touching the leather did about as much for Alex’s sex drive as white rice did.
Greer seemed to snap out of her pleasure haze, tossed his piece to the table, and avoided looking at him. Why now, when all he wanted was to see the emotion in her eyes? “They’re fine, but we need to talk through all our tooler options before we decide.”
Goddammit. After the way she’d just fondled his sample, he’d thought this thing was clinched. “Who else have you spoken with?” he asked Delaney.
“Bill Porter out of El Paso and Jenny Della Longia from Santa Fe.”
Both were excellent toolers. But he was better.
A man single-mindedly focused on one thing could get damn good at it.
When he’d left San Antonio, he’d changed careers. Career? That was a ten-cent word for piece-of-shit work that definitely hadn’t offered job security or decent benefits. In the years since, he’d learned and practiced leather tooling without distraction.
Desolation and desperation had a strange way of lighting a fire under a guy’s ass.
“How long are you planning to be in Prophecy?” Greer suddenly asked, pulling his attention from the memories that still made him feel empty inside.
“I hadn’t planned to stay at all,” he said. “I do have other contracts, and I can tool leather from anywhere and mail it to you. That’s the way I work with all my bootmakers.”
“But…” Greer’s worried gaze ping-ponged between Delaney and him. “But this is where prophecy boots are made.”
“Look, pride for what your family’s done for generations is understandable, with family being the key word there. As an outsider, I don’t see why you’d even want me to work on these so-called magic boots.”
“Not so-called,” Greer huffed, sparks lighting up her eyes. “They’re—”
“Hey,” he said. “I’ll be the first to admit the whole thing is a hell of a marketing gimmick.” And as long as it paid, he was on board.
Both women straightened in a way that said he’d just made a major misstep. Greer said, “It has nothing to do with sales because the only way someone can get a pair of prophecy boots is to have them designed before a baby is a year old, the way it’s always been done.”
“So you’re saying I can’t just walk in off the street and order up a pair of these boots for myself?”
“Adults can have custom boots made, and we need tooling for that part of the business as well because it’s what generates revenue. Babies don’t have checkbooks or credit cards, so there’s no charge for prophecy boots. We hold a lottery and pick twelve children randomly.”
“Let me get this straight, this company makes magic boots that parents would pay out the ass…I mean, wallet…for, but you don’t sell them?” If that was the case, why the hell would he tool leather for them?
Greer and Delaney exchanged a look that said he’d screwed up again.
“You know, Greer has a point,” Delaney said.
“We’re not quite ready to make a decision.
We’d like to offer more than just tooled boot tops and belts.
We’re looking at a line of purses, briefcases, wallets.
Maybe even smaller ticket items like bracelets and dog collars. ”
Dog collars? Alex considered it for a few seconds, remembered his pride wasn’t something he deserved to indulge. Sure, he’d carve collars and leashes. He’d once done a mousepad for a guy who had a Roy Rogers fetish.
“Are Bill and Jenny still in town?” he asked.
“No,” Delaney said. “They’ve already come and gone, but since we plan to make a decision very soon, it only makes sense for you to stick around. If you’re chosen, I’ll want you to spend a little time here at the shop.”
Well, that sounded like he had a good, maybe better than good, chance of getting Prophecy Boot Company’s tooling contract.
It also meant he’d have to blow a little money on a hotel.
He wasn’t above sleeping in his car. He’d done it plenty of times before, but if someone saw him staying in the Bonneville Motel, it wouldn’t paint a good impression, and right now, he needed all the points he could get.
“Do you know of a reasonable motel close by?”
With a quick smile, Delaney said, “My Aunt Raylene owns a great bed-and-breakfast right here in town.”
Shit. Those were fancy places that cost out the ass. Besides, the toothpick furniture in them made him feel like a water buffalo at a tea party. “I’m sure she doesn’t have room—”
Delaney grabbed her phone off the table and punched a button. “Aunt Ray? You have space for another person for a few days?”
A few days meant they weren’t planning to hurry this decision. Dammit, coming here had been a risk in the first place. Being this close to San Antonio, this close to his past, made him twitchy.
“Great, I’ll send Alex Villanueva right over. How will you know him?” She scanned Alex from his shirt collar to the top of his head. “Oh, I’m pretty sure you’ll recognize him when he shows.” She hung up and smiled at him. “You’re all set.”
He fought against the need to close his eyes and wince. Damned if he wanted to ask this question, but he had to know. “Do you know how much she charges for—”
Delaney’s response was a dismissive hand wave. “Don’t worry about it. You’re here for the boot shop. We’ll pick up the expense.”
One thing the Villanuevas had never done was take charity, and he wouldn’t start now.
His parents, unlike those of many of his childhood friends back in the old neighborhood, had always held jobs.
His mamá as a teacher, and his papá as the owner of a one-truck fill dirt company.
Even after his papá had been killed when his dump truck rolled, they’d done okay.
Until Alex fucked all that up.
So hell if he’d let these two women pay his way now.
“You’ll like Raylene,” Greer said. “In fact, if you give it a chance, I think you’ll like everything about Prophecy.”
He didn’t bother to tell her he couldn’t afford to like Prophecy or anyone in it. “I appreciate the hospitality.”
Delaney stood and he followed suit, nodding toward the papers he’d brought. “Want to keep those for now?”
“Sure, but what I’d really like is for you to work up a couple of designs, something that would be exclusive to PBC. Do you have another sketch pad?”
“Don’t go anywhere without two.”
“You know what, Alex?” Delaney smiled and escorted him toward the front door. “I think you and I are going to get along great.”
He was reaching for the doorknob when another man walked in and gave Alex the what-the-fuck?
eyeball. The guy was a little taller than him, but not quite as broad in the shoulders.
Alex knew another ass-kicker when he saw one, and his body immediately primed for some down-and-dirty street fighting, muscles tensing and adrenaline flowing.
Then Delaney broke away from him to wrap her arms around the other guy and stare up at him with obvious love. “Cal, this is Alex Villanueva. The tooler I mentioned to you. He’s headed over to Raylene’s place to stay a few days while we make the decision.”
The tension around the guy’s eyes eased a little, and he did the man-chin-raise that said what’s up. “Cal Maddox.”
“Nice place your family has here. Look forward to hearing back about the contract.” Alex stepped around the couple and out onto the sidewalk, finally able to fill his lungs again for the first time since he’d spotted Greer Maddox smiling and waving that fan belt.
What he’d thought would be a simple business meeting had suddenly turned more complicated. His intuition, which had kept him out of a hole in the ground more than once, whispered that Prophecy and the people here could either help him turn his life around or finish fucking it up.