Chapter 5
Chapter Five
Blair
“ A ll right,” I said, “When you went to hug her, you made this weird crouch that made you look like Vladimir Frolov Kravchenko.”
“Who is that?” he asked. “An old boyfriend?”
I rolled my eyes. “He is a Russian ballerino, newly minted as one of the best on Broadway. I pictured you in a leotard and a tutu, and I lost it.”
“Jesus,” Dallas muttered. “Don’t do that.”
Once again, I ignored him. “Football player, eh?”
He looked up from the dessert menu. “The type you went for?”
“I preferred AP nerds with coke bottle glasses and a penchant for five-year plans, a 401K investment, and understated Tom Ford suits,” I replied. “What is your taste in women?”
“Tom Ford?” he asked, completely ignoring my question— or possibly putting it off. “No fancy names?”
“I was going to say Ermenegildo Zegna, but I decided to hedge on to a name you would know,” I said while a waiter came and poured our drinks. “Ford and Zenga are about the same price range, five grand and up.”
He nearly spat out his tea. “Five thousand for a suit?”
“You want me to tell you about the seventy-five thousand ones?” I asked.
“Rich people,” he muttered. “You’d have to kill me before I buy that shit.”
“You’d have to finance a hundred thousand for it,” I said. “Now, stop ignoring my question. What sort of women do you like?”
Dallas sat back in his seat and drummed his fingers on the table; oddly, my eyes were drawn to his long fingers and blunt nails. “Before I tell you, I am calling bullshit on you liking nerds. You don’t like nerds; you probably go for cutthroat businessmen with two summer homes in Ibiza and take private planes like I used to take the subway.”
“I love beautiful women, don’t get me wrong. But the women I’m attracted to tend to be strong, serious, down-to-earth types. No frills, no fashion plates… no…” he looked at me, up and down, slowly, like molasses on a cold winter day.
“Me,” I said. “Or women like me.”
“I was about to say rich, high-maintenance socialites,” he said.
Cocking my head, I asked, “Do you get a lot of cowgirls in Cali?”
“No.”
I leaned in, “Newsflash, Ringo, the girls there come from a tier just below high maintenance.”
Miss Betty came with a tray of steaming food and sides, “Here you go, darlings.”
Popping the okra bite into my mouth, I almost groaned at the taste. God above, it was good, and I couldn’t help but leave a groan. Dallas reached for his glass and took a hefty swallow; it was telling, but he didn’t need to know that.
When he narrowed his focus on his food, his brows were lowered, “See, I don’t fully get you. Why is a rich southern belle like you working with a beef company in Texas? Shouldn’t you be partying all night and networking all day? You clearly come from money, so why?”
I twisted my lips, “When you are raised in a male-dominated family and are raised to think women should be pretty ornaments on someone’s arm, wearing summer frocks and sipping mint cocktails, not in power suits and brokering million-dollar deals.”
“So, it’s a pissing contest for you?” he asked.
“Seeing as I don’t have the required equipment for such a contest, I consider it more like making a statement. Not all women want to be mindless housewives or ornamental decorations on some man’s arm. Some of us have dreams and aspirations above being tied to the southern belle stereotype.”
He dipped an onion ring in the sauce. “Who are you trying to prove this point to?”
“Myself,” I replied.
“Bullshit.”
I swore in my head. “Fine, I’m sticking it to my asshat of a brother. Despite excelling beyond belief, with all my degrees, social cachet, and accomplishments, they still handed the family company to my brother. The same old male patronage bullshit that has ruled the south for centuries.”
“There it is,” Dallas said, “The real you. You’re chomping at the bit to show old Grandaddy you’re better.
“Once upon a time,” I said, cutting into my chicken. “I am happy where I am now. ”
“No, you’re not. You still haven’t forgotten or forgiven your grandpa for overlooking you,” Dallas said.
“In the same way you haven’t forgiven yourself for leaving the way you had?” I asked. “Or how you stayed away long enough that your parents passed with no contact from you? Throwing stones in your glass house? I did my research, you know.”
His face stoned off. “Don’t even try it.”
“Try what?” I tried to appear innocent, “I am just matching your energy. Isn’t that we do around here?”
Dallas’ brows lowered, “You don’t know me.”
“Neither do you,” I told him.
He lifted his hand and called for a server to box up our food, but I didn’t stop him. We made a peaceful goodbye with Miss Betty, and I studiously ignored the way the lady looked between Dallas and me.
“Have a good night you both, and tell Warrick hello for me,” she said cheerfully.
Matching her smile, I said, “I sure will, and the food was delicious. I’ll certainly be back.”
“We’ll love to have you,” she threw over her shoulder while going to another table.
Padding after Dallas, I found him pacing in the dusk outside the truck. Astonished that it was so late— the stars were coming out— I waited for him to stop, but he didn’t. After a pointed look at my wristwatch, I asked. “Are you going to walk a trench into the pavement, or are we going back to the ranch?”
He stopped, spun on his heel, and had me up against the driver’s door of the truck in seconds. “Don’t try to get into my head.”
“I don’t have to,” I said calmly. “You already tell me what is going through your head by the way you act. ”
“You’re not as smart as you think you are,” his eyes glimmered dangerously.
“You’re not as enigmatic as you think, either,” I said. “Come on, admit it, Dallas, you either want to kick me out of this state or fuck me. Which is it?”
“You’re out of your mind,” he uttered. “The only thing I want is for you to finish your assignment and run back to Texas.”
He pushed off to walk away, but I grabbed his hand, “Tell me now. What do you?—”
Dallas’ kissed me so hard it nearly lifted me off the floor, the kiss vibrating through my whole body.
I kiss him back as hard as I can, with abandon, because for a while, I knew better, and I wanted to do this. Sensation overrode everything, a tide of pleasure washing through me so strong that I nearly lost my bearings. My lips clung desperately to his, and he stabbed his tongue through my lips with desperate hunger.
He kisses me again. Harder, his hand digging into my hip. Behind him are the lights of the diner and the road beyond that. This spot is anything but private.
I kiss him back. I can’t help it. I slide one hand around his waist, feeling the warm muscles under his skin, and pull him into me. The man was a good kisser. Beyond good. In fact, that was the most electric kiss I’d ever experienced.
I couldn’t get away from the relentless kiss. Disoriented, I tried to remain focused on my surroundings, yet all I could feel were the wicked, sinful, exciting sensations unfurled within. Panting, I tried to shut out the feelings. The tips of my breasts were stiff and throbbing. I was wet.
When he pulled away to suck in a breath, I couldn’t see clearly. Had he really… fucking sucked the air out of my lungs ?
Dallas shoved away and yanked the door to the driver’s seat open; I swallowed once, twice, three times before I hobbled around to the other side of the truck and got in. I hadn’t even remembered the bag of leftovers dangling from my fingers, and numbly, I rested the bag on my lap.
“Coffee,” I told him.
“We shouldn’t have done that,” he said instead.
“Yeah, that is very clear,” I replied. “I still want my coffee.”
“Riverbend Café is closed by now,” he said. “I guess the best you can do is the Silver Spur. It’s a sports bar.”
“As long as I get a decent cup of Irish Coffee,” I said.
We drove through the town, and now the lights were up and flickering dreamily; I could see what the place would be like at Christmas. We didn’t speak again until we got to the bar and stepped in. It was another throwback, but not to the sixties, this time to the Old West.
“What is with this town and throwbacks?” I muttered to myself while stepping through the wooden batwing doors.
“It’s cool,” Dallas said.
“It’s kitschy.”
The place had a rustic, inviting interior, scratched wooden tables, leather seats, and tin plates on the wall; a long row of beer taps behind the bar, and two men were manning the bar. People clinked glasses together, and spoons tapped on the crystal as the bartender stirred cocktails, murmured conversation, and occasional laughter swirled around us.
“Bar or booth?” I asked.
“Bar,” Dallas said shortly, “I need a beer.”
One of the barkeeps did a double-take look at Dallas, and I realized that this was going to happen a lot tonight. “Dallas? ”
Dallas gave the man a thin smile. “O’Hara.”
“Well, slap me twice and send me to my mama,” O’Hara said while wiping down the bar. “I never thought I’d see you around these parts again. What brought you back here?”
“It was just time to return,” Dallas said simply.
“Ah,” O’Hara nodded, his dark hair flopping over his eyes as he looked at us both. “Together?”
“It’s a long explanation, but she is here to help Warrick out with a few projects,” he said. “I’m just showing her around the town.”
“Oh, no problem, so, what’s your poison?” O’Hara asked.
“Irish coffee for me,” I said. “And a beer for him.”
“Coming right up,” O’Hara said and moved away.
To distract myself, I took my phone out and checked for emails or messages from Hunter or even— as unexpected as it was— even from my brother. I saw a simple email from Hunter telling me that he spoke with Warrick and was glad that the new terms were agreed upon. He told me that he would be out of the office the weeks before Christmas and the week after, so if I needed him, I’d get a late response.
“I wonder where he is taking his family off to this time?” I uttered. “He was floating the idea about Sweden.”
“What about Sweden?” O’Hara asked while setting my glass in front of me.
“My boss,” I said. “I’m wondering if he is flying his family off to somewhere exotic for Christmas. He’s got a very nice family, and his adopted son used to be very sick with cancer, but he’s better now.”
O’Hara whistled. “Lucky kid.”
I sipped my drink, “He is.”
“So, where you from, sweetheart?” O’Hara asked .
“Originally, Georgia, but now I’m based in Texas,” I said. “Did my accent tip you off?”
“A bit, yes,” he said, leaning in to brace his forearms on the bar between us. “Boyfriend, fiancé, lover?”
From the corner of my eyes, I saw Dallas’ jaw go tight. Would it help to poke the bear a little? Slowly, I shook my head. “Nope. Single.”
“Must be my lucky day,” O’Hara grinned. “I can show you around if you want.”
Dallas’ bottle clonked on the table before he called over, “Another beer.”
“Coming right up,” O’Hara nodded before he went to grab one. I took my glass and turned my seat to look at Dallas. The moment he got the beer, he went off to the dartboard, and I followed him.
With the beer in one hand and the other ham-fisting darts, not one landed on the board but instead jammed into the wall. I was amused for a while, but then I got worried; why was Dallas so pissed?
“I wouldn’t take lessons from you,” I said.
He tossed the third dart. This one actually landed flat and bounced off the board. Where was this guy’s mind?
“Are you okay?” I asked. “Hey, just concentrate your eyes on where you want the dart to go and follow through.”
He flung the dart. It landed on the ring right outside the bullseye.
“Oh, so close.”
Dallas grunted. “Fancy way of saying you missed.”
“You missed.”
He threw another one, and it landed in nearly the same place. I’m impressed for a moment, and then I remind myself not to be. “Congratulations,” I say sarcastically. “You’re good at darts. ”
“I know. Feel free to show me up any time,” he said.
“Good,” I said, hopping off the stool. “Put your head in the middle of the board.”
He rolled his eyes, “Nice try.”
“Do you want a prize?”
“I think I’m getting it right now.”
I plucked a few darts from his hand and tried hard not to react to the feel of his skin on mine. There’s a pull so strong that I almost took half a step forward. Then I caught myself and turned away.
Breathe. I clenched my fist.
I didn’t know what I wanted to do; I just knew I needed to be careful around Dallas Donovan before I punched him or kissed him or, possibly, did both at the same time, which seemed like it would be impossible, but I wouldn’t put it past myself right now.
I got my darts out of the dart board; two of the three landed dead center while the last landed on the ring outside. Dallas was standing closer to me than he should be, and it was setting off proximity alarms in every single part of my body— I could damn smell his cologne.
It reminded me of how long it had been since an attractive man touched me and when I’d had a roll in the sack.
“Huh, not so bad,” I said, turning to him.
He looked over his shoulder to O’Hara, “You going to take him up on his offer?”
“No,” I rolled my eyes. “I am not that kind of girl.”
“You sure?” he asked.
Sighing, I went back to the bar. “Hey. Can I get one for the road, please?”
“No problem,” he said while I fished into my wallet for thirty bucks. When he came back with the plastic cup, I slid him the money .
“Keep the change for the lovely customer service,” I said.
He winked. “Are you needling Mr. Grump on purpose?” O’Hara asked. “You’ll probably get a lot more than you’re bargaining for.”
I looked over my shoulder. “Eh, I just want to keep him on his toes and rattle him a bit. It’s not any worse than what he’s doing to me. No harm, no foul.”
Laughing, O’Hara left for another customer, and I took my drink and waited for Dallas to pay before we left for the truck.
“God, I’m going to sleep well tonight,” I sipped my drink, loving the bite of the Irish Whiskey on my tongue.
Dallas had the truck rumbling, and he headed out to the road. “Speak for yourself.”