All Flash No Cash (8 page)

CJ did as he told her, the exact way he
guided her, and with his fingers holding open her sensitive skin
for her easy access, she let the bulldozer of an orgasm hit her
right between the eyes. Her mind blew apart, sending tingles of
rapture through her nerve endings, making her scream, forcing her
knees to buckle, and her core to convulse with each slam of his
cock inside her.

He shouted, jackhammered into her, his hips
and thighs smacking into her so hard, the table moved inch-by-inch
until it banged into the wall.

She shuddered and concentrated on each
perfect pulse of blood through her heated body, each inch of skin
that touched Pete’s, each breath from his mouth that puffed along
her neck. Floating back from the best orgasm she’d ever had, she
lay on the table, panting, her face wet with perspiration, not
caring that she might smudge his drawing.

He slowed his thrusts and a shudder raced
through Pete’s body. He fell on top of her, his elbows on the table
to support his weight. “That was good.” A half-laughing groan
escaped his throat. He kissed the nape of her neck. “Very
sexy.”

A chill raced down her spine. It had been
good, but fueled by anger and too-long suppressed need, it had
probably been a mistake. And if she ended up tossed back in time
twenty minutes, she wouldn’t hesitate to make the same mistake
again. But one mistake was all she would let herself make.

“I like the table here.” His voice whispered
hot in her ear.

She let out a soft chuckle. He was a nice
guy. Would probably apologize now, for being so angry with her,
would read more into it than just a stress-relieving interlude.

He caressed her shoulder with one hand, and
kissed her temple, soft and lovingly.

Lovingly?
The burst of panic hit so
fast, it was like a cold shower. She couldn’t do it. Couldn’t fall
for this guy. A man so attached to his ranch that he only left it
on weekends, a guy who would expect her to hunker down in the
middle of nowhere with him and never leave. Never see any more of
the world than she already had.

Lovingly?
Yes, she could easily do
that, too, but would it be fair to him? To let this go on until one
or both of them was so emotionally attached that—

Pete wrapped his arms around her. “Bedroom.”
He stood, lifting her.

“No.” She shoved out of his arms, stumbling
backward. “We’re done here.”

Pete jerked back, his chest aching like he’d
been kicked by a mule. CJ was done with him? After she’d brought
him up to her apartment, thrown herself at him, and had some of the
rawest, hottest sex he’d ever had?

What the hell was wrong with her? “Are you
joking?”

“No.” She worked her skirt down, then held
the edges of her blouse together, covering her breasts. “This was a
mistake.” Her eyes shifted to the side.

“A mistake?” He stomped into the kitchen and
used a paper towel to clean up, then hiked up his jeans and put on
his shirt, re-snapping it, but ending up with one extra snap at the
bottom. The woman had been alone, closed up in a dark bar or
perched on a rooftop alone for far too long. She didn’t realize she
risked being alone forever, if she didn’t let someone into her
life.

He’d tried to be her friend. Fuck, maybe he
should have stayed with that plan. But no other woman had captured
his attention so quickly, so completely. And he’d wanted her like a
man wants his woman. On the dining room table, in her bed, on the
roof, on the top of the bar after Dirty Harry’s closed for the
night.

She pointed to the drawing, one corner rolled
up, a spot in the middle crinkling from her sweat.

His cock jerked in his pants. She had been so
fucking hot, they’d both sweated and groaned and—

“That’s the one I want on the bike. Take it
and go. You can get your paint and start this weekend.” She didn’t
even look at the drawing.

Pete watched her, standing like a statue, her
eyes never lifting to meet his. This wasn’t what she wanted. Not
the animal menagerie motorcycle art, not the hectic life she was
leading, not the denial of a need for someone in her life. He would
help her see that. And it would either make her open up like a
flower, or would lock him out of her world for good.

“You don’t know what you want, CJ.”

Her gaze shot to his, first wide-eyed, then
shuttered with anger. “Don’t kid yourself, Pete. It was good, but
I’m not going to—”

“No. I mean the drawing.” He’d start there,
work his way to harder issues. “You don’t like this theme. You
never said why you didn’t like the first drawing.” He’d guess that
it was just too personal for a private person like her. “But the
other drawing isn’t about
you
. It’s about creating a living
memorial for your father.”

Her mouth dropped open but she didn’t
breathe.

He’d been right. The first drawing had been
too gut-wrenching for her.

“No one wants to ride around on a motorcycle
with my dad’s face on…” Her voice choked to a halt.

She was worried about not selling enough
tickets? Or was that just an excuse? “Whoever wins the bike, I’ll
offer to repaint it for them if they don’t like it. And you can put
that on the advertising.”

Blinking, CJ looked away. “I don’t know if
that would work.”

With his offer to repaint, he’d taken away
her only objection to the artwork. Or at least the only objection
she would voice out loud. “Let’s let your patrons decide.”

She glared at him, a furrow marring her
perfect brow line. “What do you mean? Have them vote on the
design?”

“Yeah.” He slid the coasters off the corner
and rolled up the drawing. “Right now. We’ll hang these both up on
the wall downstairs and… Unless you destroyed the other
drawing.”

“No. Of course I didn’t.” The words shot out
of her like lead from a pellet gun.

He had to turn away to hide the emotion in
his eyes. She did like his drawing enough to keep it, but didn’t
want to share it with the world because it was her cross to bear.
Her private sorrow to live. “I’ll go downstairs while you change.”
He walked toward the elevator, picking up his hat along the way.
“You got some tickets or slips of paper we can use for the
voting?”

“Wait.” Her voice came out loud, panicky. “I
didn’t agree to this.”

He turned to face her. “Your only objection
is that you don’t think anyone would buy tickets to win the Memory
bike, right?” He knew he was painting her into a corner; she either
had to agree that was the reason, or admit to him her hesitation to
trust anyone with her personal life.

“Yes. It is.” She said it in a voice as
clipped as a drill sergeant.

“Well, then?” He pressed the elevator
button.

She didn’t answer.

“I’ll be at the bar.” When she didn’t speak,
he stepped into the elevator, pressed the button for the ground
floor, and caught sight of her pale face as the doors slid
shut.

With a long breath, he made himself forget
how ungentlemanly he’d been—both during sex, and after. The sex,
hell yeah, that was amazing. The way he’d worked her afterward
didn’t leave him with a good feeling. But if it helped her through
this rough patch in her life, showed her that she was not the only
one who missed Harry, that there were others around who would
support her…

Hell. What was he now, a grief counselor?
Crazy. It was crazy how much he felt for her. And just about
anything was what he’d do for her.

In the bar, he knocked on the office
door.

Dolby opened it.

“Hey, could you help me get something set up
in the bar?”

Ten minutes later, they had two boxes with
slits cut in the top set on tables shoved up against the wall, a
roll of tickets, and double-sided tape. All they needed was CJ and
the other drawing.

The patrons eyed Dolby and Pete, but no one
questioned them. The clientele was a mix of ages, from barely
twenty-one to well-past reaching the social security age. It would
be interesting to see how they voted.

The elevator opened and CJ walked in wearing
a sweatshirt and jeans and carrying his original drawing.

Dolby looked her up and down, then swung his
gaze to Pete.

It took all his concentration not to
blush.

CJ stormed over to them. “You’re seriously
doing this?” Her lips nearly disappeared as she scrunched them
together.

“We’re seriously doing this.” Pete picked up
the microphone he’d gotten from the bartender. “Make the
announcement.”

Closing her eyes for a moment, she swayed
just a bit. “Ah, fuck.” She looked at the roll of tickets, then at
the boxes and tape, and grabbed the mic, turning toward her
customers. “Tony, cut the music for a second.”

The thumping rock stopped and the room grew
silent. Every eye watched CJ.

She licked her lips. “We need your help
picking the artwork that’s going on the motorcycle we’re raffling
off at the Halloween party.” She sucked in a breath and let it out.
“If you’re interested at all, come up and get a ticket, and stick
it in the box under the drawing you like.” She waited a few
seconds. “While you’re up, go buy another beer, too.” She turned
off the mike.

The crowd laughed, shouted a few suggestions
at her, then the music started up again.

She walked away.

Dolby shrugged, then helped Pete hang up the
animal drawing. Stepping back, he looked at it. “Lots of
critters.”

Pete laughed. “Yep.” He unrolled the drawing
he’d labeled, “Memories.” They got it hung, and Dolby took a close
look.

“You bastard.” The man’s voice ground like a
road grader. He looked at Pete, tears in his eyes. “Nobody makes me
cry.” He blinked a few times. “Bastard.” He picked up the roll of
tickets, tore one off, and stuck it in the box under
“Memories.”

“Thanks, Dolby. That’s probably the best
compliment on my artwork I’ve ever gotten.”

“Yeah, yeah. Best you just go find Miss CJ
and see if you can fix whatever you fucked-up between you two.” He
tore off a ticket and handed it to the first man in line.

Pete turned and saw the entire bar lining up
to vote. His chest filled with an emotion that felt like pride,
excitement, and anticipation all rolled into one. Wandering off, he
found CJ in the kitchen eating from a mountain of fries. “Voting’s
started. Looks like we’ll have a good turnout.”

She nodded but wouldn’t meet his eye. “I know
what bikers like. They’re not going to go for that sentimental shit
about Harry.”

Pete hadn’t expected her to bite at him that
way. Fuck, she was more emotionally shut down than he’d thought.
“Care to place a bet on that?”

She looked up at him. “Yes, I do.” She
crossed her arms. “
When
they vote for mine…I mean the nature
one, you’ll pay for your own paint and supplies for the project.”
She smirked.

Did she think he’d back off because he was a
poor farmer? “Deal. And
when
they vote for ‘Memories’?”

Shoving another fry into her mouth, she
looked around, chewing. “Anything you want, with the exception of
anything sexual between us.” She picked up three fries and chomped
them in half with her white teeth.

Pete grinned. “I got it. You’ll be the bikini
model for the photo shoot
when
they pick ‘Memories’.”

She choked a couple times before swallowing.
Cupping her breasts, she shook her head. “Nobody wants to see these
in a bikini.” She dropped her hands.

“Boss lady.” He stepped closer, picked up a
fry, and held it to her lips. “I’ve seen your long, sexy legs. The
pretty sweep of your back, that concave belly of yours with the
perfect belly button just waiting to be tasted.”

Her eyes stared unblinking into his. She
opened her mouth and took a bite of the fry.

Behind his fly, his shaft started shifting
and filling. “Your breasts are the perfect size, just a handful,
but those nipples, fucking cherry red and sweet as pie. Makes me
wonder…” He glanced down to the vee between her legs, covered in
denim.

She swallowed.

“Makes me wonder what color that sweet pie
is.” He set his hand on the counter and got a little closer. “Makes
me hungry for a long, slow taste of it.”

CJ’s breath came fast, then she froze for a
second and turned her head.

The four people in aprons and paper hats
stared at them.

She snapped her fingers at them. “You want
how much docked from your pay?” She shoved Pete aside as the
kitchen staff scrambled back to work.

Stomping around him, she headed for the
bar.

“CJ.” He made the name a slow, bedroom
growl.

She stopped but didn’t turn around.

He picked up her basket of fries and leaned
over her, his arm coming around to hold the food in front of her.
“You forgot something.”

She grabbed the basket and became a blur as
she disappeared into the main part of the bar.

He laughed and took a step to follow her.

“Here you go, buddy.” One of the cooks, an
older guy with a wrinkled, tan face, handed him a basket with two
burgers and a heap of fries. “Tangling with that lady, you’re gonna
need to keep up your strength.”

They both laughed. “Thanks.” Pete started
eating even before he took a step. The burger, like the advice, was
damn good.

****

CJ stared at the piles of tickets. No need to
count them. “Memories,” as that cocky shit called it, had about ten
times the votes.

Pete leaned against the wall near his
drawings, not saying a word, but the twinkle in his eyes said it
all.

“Cocky shit,” she mumbled.

“What was that?” He leaned closer.

“Don’t think I’m happy about this.”

Pete shook his head. “I don’t think you’re
happy about anything, Miss CJ.” He started pulling down the
drawings.