All Flash No Cash (10 page)

“I wanted to finish that fender and get
started on the other one.” He stood while he ate fast, drank his
coffee scalding hot. “I spent a while looking at your father’s art.
It’s really good. He’s got an amazing eye.”

She nodded, finger-combing her curls as she
breathed away her emotion.

He stared at her, a piece of bacon halfway to
his mouth.

“What?” Did she look that freighting in the
bright morning light?

“Nothin’. You look kind of sexy, half-asleep
this way.” He handed her another piece of bacon. “I never got to
see you all cozy and morning-soft like this. Wish I had.”

Her eyelids drooped. She could see it, too,
Them, waking up in each other’s arms, the morning sexy, slow and
intimate. “Shit.” She slid off the stool and grabbed her coffee.
“You wanna stay here, Pete Gonally, you’d best watch your tongue.”
The minute she said it, she regretted it.

He grinned. “My tongue? Oh, you wouldn’t
believe what I can do—”

“Stop.” She trudged down the hallway to her
room, closed the door, and locked it. Her hands shook so hard, she
had to use them both to set down her cup. She was sliding. Giving
Pete openings like that, coming off as interested and available
when she
should
be doing the boss lady thing. “What kind of
mouse trap have I gotten myself into?”

Pete watched her walk down the hall to her
room, a little unsteady on her feet, and he hoped it was because of
him, not just because she was not a morning person.

He sat in the chair she’d just vacated and
looked out at the view of the buttes. She had a beautiful place
here, but it reminded him of a birdcage. The door was open, but she
wasn’t ready to fly. He thought of Harry Overton. It was just a
matter of time. How would CJ react? He hoped he’d still be around
then, to help her through it.

“First things first, as Mizz Daisy Gonolly
always says.” He finished his breakfast and cleaned up, then took a
travel mug of coffee with him to the garage. He’d been up before
the sun had even thought of showing up. As he’d come out of the
gate at four that morning, he’d run into Dolby who was making his
final rounds.

The man had looked at Pete, looked up at the
second floor, then shook his head and walked away. Pete had wanted
to say, “guest room,” but that’d seem like too much of a guilty
reaction.

Pete spent the rest of the day painting,
working on the two fenders. Marco came out about three o’clock with
a pizza for him, but that was the only break Pete took. When the
sun set, he was done. Wiped out. Asleep on his feet. He trudged up
the stairs and shuffled into CJ’s apartment, right into the
bathroom for a shower. After nuking a frozen burrito and washing it
down with a beer, he collapsed on the soft guest bed, his eyes
closing before he’d turned off the light.

He woke briefly when a warm quilt covered
him, gentle hands brushed back his hair, and the light went out. He
smelled her scent, floral but spicy. “Thanks, CJ.”

“G’night, hayseed.” It was a soft whisper,
and sent his dreams off to that old “apron and babies” fantasy of
his.

Sunday morning, he sat painting in the garage
and heard CJ pull her car out of the garage attached to the
building. Was she going to visit her dad? A few hours later, he
heard her come back, but she didn’t stop in. He’d love to run up to
her apartment and have lunch with her, but he had hours of work
before heading north that night.

The next weekend played out nearly the same;
sleeping within yards of each other, but avoiding any contact. On
his part, it wasn’t deliberate. He just had too much to accomplish.
On her part—deliberate. She had one of the cooks bring him food,
and he took the hint and stayed out of the bar. Even though he left
his bedroom door open when he crashed in her guest room, he never
heard her when she came in after the bar closed at two.

Sunday dawned sunny and hot, a blessing in
mid-October where the averages were in the forties. He needed to
finish the gas tanks today and do more detailing on the fenders so
they would dry by the next weekend when he’d clearcoat them.

Something wasn’t working right, either his
head or his hand or the equipment, but he ended up wiping off
sections, drips, and bubbles. At around noon, after three hours of
total frustration, he set down his airbrush and stood. His foot
caught on the hose and the brush clattered to the cement floor.

He ripped off his mask. “Son of a bitch!” He
shouted the words, stomped around the room a couple times, then
yelled at the top of his lungs for a few seconds. Breathing deeply,
in, out, in, out for a few minutes, he got his frustration under
control, and shook off the nerves that were screwing with his
concentration.

After reviewing his drawing, he felt
steadier, and sat down to work. A half hour later, a knock sounded
on the door, then it opened.

Pete turned, taking off his mask. As far as
he knew, only one person had the code to the garage door.

CJ stepped inside, wearing jeans with white
powder on the backside, and a white T-shirt with a couple stains on
it. She carried a plastic plate heaped with something…

He smelled cookies. This couldn’t be real. He
had to be imagining it. Walking closer, he took a deep breath of
the buttery, chocolaty scent. “What’s this for?”

She set them down on a small table, then
placed a thermal carafe and a plastic cup next to them. “I thought
you could use some cookies and milk.” CJ backed up a step. “I won’t
interrupt you.”

“No, please.” He set the two folding chairs
on opposite sides of the table. “Sit a minute.”

She plopped down, looking past him toward the
painting enclosure. “Things not going well today?”

He sat across from her. “I had a bad
morning.” Leaning forward, he grabbed a cookie. They were still
warm. “Things are getting much better, though.” He held up the
cookie as his example, then took a bite. The brown sugar and
chocolate melted on his tongue. He closed his eyes and hummed his
approval.

Judging by the flour on her jeans, she’d made
these for him from scratch. “Delicious. Thank you. You must have
heard my outburst.”

One side of her mouth twitched. “I had the
windows open. Otherwise, your
tantrum
would have remained
unheard.”

“Tantrum. Nice.” He grabbed another
cookie.

She held up the carafe. “Milk?”

“Yes, please.”

She poured, then sat back. “Are you going to
need more time? Stay another night?”

Was that an invitation? “If everything goes
well this afternoon, I should be finished by sundown. I don’t want
to rush it, but that six hour drive gets tiring.” He scooped up
another cookie.

“Six hours?” She frowned at him. “I thought
it was three hours to Lemmon?”

He swallowed. He’d almost revealed his
secret. “Yeah, three hours. I was thinking round-trip.”

One of her brows lifted. “You sure you’re not
inhaling too many paint fumes?”

Lifting his cup of milk, he saluted her with
it. “Can’t get anything past you, can I.”

CJ stood. “I’m going to Rapid City. Need
anything?”

He checked off everything he’d need that
afternoon. “Nope. Thanks. Have fun.”

Her snort echoed around the room. “Trying on
goddamn bikinis.” She stomped to the door, ripped it open, and
sailed out.

A laugh started low in his belly and rolled
out of him, making him choke on a few cookie crumbs, then he
laughed some more. When he had the chuckles under control, he let
his imagination wander through a fashion show of CJ in every kind
of bikini he could think of, ending with a thong, her bent at the
waist, looking back at him over her shoulder.

His mouth watered and pulses of need hit low
in his groin. Just a week and a half and he’d see her in the real
thing. “Cookies and milk, and thong bikinis. Yeah, life don’t get
no better than this.”

****

A week and a half later, CJ was mad as a
freshly-branded stallion. She stomped around her apartment in her
new bikini, spike-heeled sandals, and an old robe. Ten minutes
until the photo shoot, and she was seriously considering running
away from home.

Pete had shown up Saturday morning to finish
the bike, stayed a few hours, then disappeared. Then his truck
rolled in mid-afternoon Sunday, he worked in the garage less than
an hour, then left. And he’d texted her!

Bike is ready for Wednesday’s photo shoot.
I’ll be here early, and will coordinate the setup. You show up - in
your bikini - at noon, sharp.

She’d raged around the bar all night, sending
employees and patrons scurrying away. He hadn’t given her the
chance to talk him out of this bikini fiasco. Hadn’t come up to the
apartment to find her in a sexy outfit she’d planned to use to get
him to change his mind. On her way upstairs after the bar closed,
she took a peek at the bike. It was even more amazing than his
drawing, which had calmed her down a bit.

Now, she was the exact opposite of calm. She
had to expose herself to her employees, her patrons, and the whole
town. And towns all through the region. She checked her makeup.
Caked on like the online video showed to do for photos, she felt
like a clown. A fraud. An idiot. “Damn you, Pete Gonally, I will
never forgive you for this.”

She trudged down the steps, out the gate, and
unlocked the garage door.

Inside, bright lights shone on the
motorcycle, the white draped background, and…a girl in a bikini?
“Hold on.” Pete had another think comin’ if he was thinking she
would do some kind of kinky girl-girl shoot.

The photographer snapped as the
large-breasted blonde posed and draped herself, and made sexy faces
at the camera.

Pete stood next to him. He turned and saw
her, then said something to the photographer.

“That’s a wrap. Great work, Tandy.” The man
took his camera off the tripod, packed it in a case, and spoke to
Pete in quiet tones.

What was he up to? This would not be
pleasant.

The model—Tandy—slid into her clothes and
picked up her purse, walking past CJ. “Nice bike. I’ll spread the
word, and will be here Halloween to sign posters.”

“Sign posters?” CJ pivoted, following the
woman’s steps toward the door.

She giggled. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to spoil
the surprise.” She skittered out the door, and in seconds, a car
engine roared to life.

CJ turned back to Pete, who was setting up a
small camera on the same tripod.

The photographer walked past CJ. “We got some
amazing shots. I’ll have them to you by Friday.”

“Uh, ah, okay.” She squeezed her eyes shut
for a second. “Wait, what?”

He nodded. “Pete’ll explain.” He left and the
door slammed shut behind him.

“Pete’ll explain what?” She tiptoed through
the cables on the floor until she stood next to him.

“I had the photographer re-hire the model you
chose. She’s going to be on the posters, the advertising, and the
raffle tickets.”

All the lights still shone on the bike.
“And…” Why did he have her come down here in her bikini?

“And now, it’s our turn.” He set his hand on
her hip and pulled her closer. “Our private photo shoot.”

Something cracked open around her heart, like
storm clouds parting to show a bright sun. “Are you serious?”

He shrugged. “I knew you weren’t comfortable
showing off this luscious body to the world.” He untied the belt on
her robe.

“Luscious?”

His hands skimmed from her ribs to her hips.
“Yes, luscious.” He tugged her tight against his hard body. “And
don’t you ever say anything bad about yourself. You’re beautiful.”
His brow furrowed then he tipped his head and kissed her. Not the
mind-numbing kisses they’d shared that frantic night in her
apartment. But soft, sweet, coaxing kisses that made her feel
beautiful. Desired. Adored.

“I want you all to myself.” He whispered the
words against her lips, and she chose to ignore the subtext behind
those words, and concentrate just on today.

“What do we do?” Where his hands touched,
heat swirled, chills raced. Her core contracted in an ache that had
her knees wobbling.

“Whatever we want.” He slid his hands over
her shoulders under the robe.

She let it drop to the floor.

His eyes popped as he stepped back and looked
at her.

The shiny gold top had some push-up padding
that gave her cleavage. The black cording that tied it around her
neck and in back had looked exotic to her. Evidently, it looked
good to him, too.

The front of his jeans bowed out with a long,
hot piece of manflesh.

The bikini bottom, in the same gold fabric,
had the black cording tied in little bows at the sides.

Her belly tightened, sending juices flowing
low in her body.

“You look amazing.” He touched the ties at
her hips. “Let me get a few pictures first.” His gaze met hers, hot
and hungry. “Before we get you out of this.”

As her nipples puckered, tiny shivers of
delight rode down her belly to the sweet spot between her legs.
“Pictures?” Her brain just picked up on that word.

“Just for us. Just for fun.” He ran his hands
up her back, then snuck one around front to cup her breast, flick
his thumb over her tingling nipple. “I’ve been dreaming of
this.”

She’d had dreams, too. Wicked, sweaty dreams
that made her question her own vow to stay away from him. She was
strong. Independent. She could have those hot nights with him, and
still keep her heart from getting tangled with his.

“I’ve been hoping you were.” She moved
closer, pressing her hips against his erection.

He let out a groan, and grabbed her butt
cheeks. “You make it hard…” He sucked in a breath. “For a guy to
know you’re interested.”

She wiggled her hips, teasing him. “Hard?
Really?”