All Flash No Cash (9 page)

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” She
kept her voice low, her body language neutral. No need to give the
whole bar a show.

He rolled the drawings together and turned to
face her. “I think it means exactly what I just said, ma’am. Think
about what makes you happy. What makes you smile.” He looked at her
lips. “You know what?” He winked at her. “I’ve never seen you
smile.” He strolled toward the back door of the bar, disappearing
into the darkness.

She did so smile. Didn’t she? She tried it,
tried moving her lips, showing some teeth.

“You gonna snarl somebody to death with that
face.” Dolby stood next to her, bending to scrape the piles of
tickets into one of the boxes.

“I smile, don’t I?” She tried it again.

He just shook his head. “Smiles come from in
here.” He tapped his chest over his heart. “And in here.” He tapped
his temple. “You can’t force them, child.” He picked up the boxes
and walked away.

He hadn’t called her “child” in a long while.
She strolled to the bar, opened a beer, and leaned back, drinking
half of it in one pull.

“CJ, I think it’s a fittin’ tribute to your
father.” A grizzled biker leaned on the other side of the bar. He’d
been around a long time. Had known Harry back when he was just
starting out in Deadwood. “We all miss him. We…some of us…visit him
regularly.”

She nodded. She’d seen the names in the guest
book in her dad’s room. “I appreciate that.” She’d never thanked
any of them. Had never talked to any of them about her dad. “Let me
buy you a beer.”

With two fresh brews between them, CJ took a
scary step. No, a leap. “So, how long have you known Harry?”

Pete rolled into Williston as the sun rose. He’d thought about
stopping for the night, but he’d been too keyed up to sleep. When
he stepped into his apartment, he was surprised to see Dax laying
on the couch.

“Shouldn’t you be working?” Pete kicked off
his boots and set them neatly on the rug inside the door.

“Shouldn’t you?” Dax’s voice came out
weak.

“I’m working the afternoon shift. Need to get
a few hours’ sleep. What’s up?” He plopped down on a recliner and
shoved back, lifting his feet and laying nearly flat.

“I thought I had a chance with her.” Dax
rolled onto his side.

“Another rejection?”

“Yes, and it’s getting old.” Dax wrote songs.
Country songs. More than half of them for women to sing. He took a
lot of grief from his friends, but he’d do just about anything to
break into Nashville.

“You can’t give up.” Pete yawned and let his
eyes drift shut. “Get out and sing. Play your guitar and show off
your talent.”

“I may have to. I think I’ve hit every agent
in the listings.” He puffed out a breath. “How’d it go last night?”
Dax knew Pete was going to confront CJ about the drawing.

“Bad. Then good. Then bad. Then good. I
think.”

Dax laughed. “You sure about that?”

Pete sat up. “We talked. We yelled and let
off steam, then bam, we were having sex.” He scrunched up his nose.
“I don’t even know how it happened.”

Dax sat up, his black eyes widening. “No
shit?” His straight black hair stuck up in a hundred
directions.

“Yeah. I think she started it.” He shook his
head to clear it. “I don’t know. But it was so fucking good, man.”
He heaved out a breath.

“That was the good part, right? Then what
went wrong?”

“She’s tough and independent. Doesn’t want to
get tied down. Especially with a poor ranch kid like me.”

Dax snorted. “She doesn’t know about your pot
of gold?”

“Nope. And I’m not gonna tell her, either.”
He wasn’t looking for a woman who wanted to marry a millionaire. He
was looking for a woman who wanted to marry for love.

“You know, sex that hot and explosive might
burn out quickly.”

Pete had considered that. “I want to see,
though. She’s something…I don’t know. Special. Amazing.”

Dax whistled as he stood. “Somebody’s got a
hook in his mouth.” He walked into his bedroom and closed the
door.

Pete stared out the window as the sun rose
over the Bakken. Did he have any chance at hooking CJ? Or was she
just stubborn enough to ignore what he offered?

Friday night, Pete set down his airbrush and
looked at the fender he’d gotten a good start on. He yawned and
pulled off his mask. He’d set up a plastic enclosure with an
exhaust system going directly out the window. The room didn’t stink
too badly.

He checked his watch. It was Saturday morning
already. The bar would be closing soon. Shrugging out of his
coveralls, he rubbed his full stomach. The cook, Marco, had come
knocking at around ten with a double-burger basket for him, asking
to see the progress on the bike.

When Pete had asked about CJ, Marco shook his
head. “She’s been mean as a rattler since Wednesday.”

Pete smiled. At least he was breaking through
to her, even if it was negative emotion seeping from the cracks. He
toed off his boots, turned off the lights, and sat on the air
mattress he’d set up under a window with a fan pulling outside air
in. With the amount of work he had to do, he didn’t want to waste
time driving to Lead, or even to a hotel. He’d sleep a few hours,
work some, and get as much done as he could this weekend.

Flat on his back, he stacked his hands under
his head. She was in there now, working the bar. What would she do
if he strolled in, took her hand, and pulled her upstairs to her
apartment? While his body flared to life at the thought, reality
came with a vision of her kneeing him and leaving him writhing on
the saloon floor. He shut his eyes and directed his dream to the
first option.

Pete jerked awake with a start. A sound? He
looked around and saw the door opening. He sat up, feeling for his
phone. If this was someone…or more than one coming to steal the
motorcycle…

The lights snapped on and CJ rushed in,
closing the door behind her, and walking halfway across the garage
to disarm the alarm. She stopped halfway, jamming her fists onto
her hips. “I fucking told him to turn on the alarm when he left.”
Cute. She was talking to herself. And she hadn’t seen him.

He should say something so she didn’t think
he was lurking in the corner watching her, but that was exactly
what he was doing.

Pulling aside one flap of the hanging
plastic, she gasped as she bent to look at the fender in the stand
where he’d left it on the particle board table.

Her blue shorts left her legs bare down to a
pair of black-and-white striped tennis shoes. Her top was red and
white. She looked like a teenager.

“Look good from there?” He got to his
feet.

She spun around and let out a squeal.

“’Cause it sure looks good from here.” Pete
strolled toward her in his stocking feet.

“What are you doing here?” Her breath still
came fast.

He nodded toward his airbed. “You said I
could move in. So I did.”

CJ gave a disgusted huff and shook her head.
“If it’s money, I’ll pay for your hotel room.” She looked away
quickly, probably realizing she’d gouged his pride.

“It’s not the money. I wanted to be close so
I could paint when ideas came.” He stood next to her, looking at
the fender. “Thanks for the offer, though.”

She stared at her feet. “Okay.” She walked
halfway across the room then turned back. “You know…” A wrinkle
formed between her eyes. She puffed a breath and headed toward the
door again. “Good night.” She stopped and rubbed her face with both
palms.

He waited. Some fierce internal battle went
on inside that head of hers. Did it have something to do with
wanting to sleep with him again?

Turning toward him, she held out both hands.
“Okay. It’s a room. That’s all.”

Again, he waited, but nothing else came from
her pink lips. “What’s a room, CJ?”

“I have a guest bedroom.” She said it like a
forced apology.

He knew it was guilt or common courtesy
making the offer. “I’m fine here. Thanks.” He put the sheeting back
in place and walked back toward his corner.

“You.” She crushed her hand into a fist,
making a frustrated face. “You’re not sleeping in the garage.”

“It’s not a problem. I’ve slept out under the
stars on cattle drives, in a barn during calving season, in the
back of my pickup truck when I partied too hard.” He wagged his
brows at her. “This is like a five-star hotel compared to—”

She grabbed his duffle bag, then his boots,
and opened the door.

“Hey!” He stalked toward her, his stockinged
feet making no sound.

“Boss lady says you’re staying in the guest
room.” She stepped out the door. “Turn on the alarm and come
on.”

“What the hell.” He couldn’t read this woman
at all. So many sides to her personality…

“Move it, hayseed.” Her shout carried through
the open window.

He hesitated for a moment. Did he stand his
ground and stay in the garage, asserting his dominance? Or give in
to her…again…and take the opportunity to seduce her, subtly,
steadily, and surely? After shutting the windows, he set the alarm
and rushed to the door. “Seduction. No question.”

****

CJ wrote the codes for the gate and her
apartment on a paper and handed them to Pete as they walked into
her living room. Dolby had come up earlier to check her place, and
he’d left on some lights. The dining room table stood in its
regular place, and she ignored it and its hot memories just as she
had all week, as she led Pete down the hall to the guest room.

She walked into the room turned and on the
table lamp. “Bathroom’s across the hall.”

He stepped inside and set down his bag and
boots, which he’d taken from her before they’d climbed the stairs,
and glanced around. “Thanks. I appreciate it.” He took a step
toward her.

She skittered out the door. “No problem.” Her
jaw worked. “About that bet we talked about Wednesday, you know,
the bikini thing?”

A smile tried to force its way onto his face.
“As I recall, the bet was made. And was won.”

“I don’t remember it that way.” She stopped
fidgeting and stood her ground.

He advanced on her. “You wouldn’t be thinking
of backing out, would you?”

Something about those long feet of his in
socks made her all gooey. “How can I back out of something that
never was—”

He reached up and touched her cheek.

Her eyes shuttered at the warmth, the smell
of paint and rugged man.

“Just a little…” Lightly scraping with his
nail, he pulled back his hand. “Paint on your cheek, boss lady.” He
smirked and cocked his hip, standing far too close for anyone’s
comfort.

“Uh huh. Right.” She turned to head down the
hall to her bedroom.

“Might want to try on your bikini, CJ. A
couple more weeks to get into modeling shape.”

“What?” She turned, her brain conjuring up
all kinds of nastiness for him.

He leaned out the door and caught her full on
the lips with a fast, smacking kiss. “Thanks for the room.” Pete
closed the door. And locked it.

She lifted her foot to stamp it, but wouldn’t
give him the satisfaction of knowing he’d whipped her up into a
froth. “Welcome, hayseed.” The singsong words echoed down the
hallway, and she followed them to her bedroom. Tempted to slam the
door, she just closed it quietly.

The bottom drawer of her dresser stood open,
her swimsuits spilling out in a messy heap. She’d tried on every
one of them just in case he was serious about making her go through
with the bet. Nothing looked sexy enough for a photo shoot. She
kicked the drawer, stubbing her big toe on the heavy wood. She’d
have to run to Rapid City to buy a new one. Or…

She sat on her bed, petting the old, plush
Mount Rushmore blanket her dad had bought for her on their vacation
when she was ten. Could she seduce Pete into giving up the idea of
her posing for that picture? Was she that underhanded? Desperate?
Horny? Yep, horny as hell for him, and this would just be her
excuse to go back on her vow to stay away from him. How
pathetic.

Having Pete down the hall was a temptation
she would need to fight to resist. Looking out the window at the
lights of Deadwood, she made a new vow. She’d play “boss lady” like
she was going for an Academy Award.

The next morning, CJ smelled coffee. Her
clock said ten-fifteen, but it felt like she’d only slept an hour.
Too many thoughts of Pete being in much too close proximity.

She rolled out of bed and shrugged into her
old pink robe. Shuffling down the hallway, she heard humming. Male
humming. A country song she’d heard blasting from the juke box.
Rounding the corner, she spotted him at the stove.

Pete turned with a frying pan in his hand.
“Morning. Eggs?” He scraped some onto a plate on the high
counter.

She shook her head. “I don’t eat eggs.” She
sat on a stool on the other side. “I don’t even buy eggs.”

He shrugged and dumped the rest of the eggs
onto his plate. “I know. I had to run to the grocery store. I
bought enough to feed myself this weekend.” He grabbed a mug and
poured coffee. “Plenty for you, too.” Setting the mug in front of
her, he looked into her eyes.

A flare of lust burned through her, centering
in her belly. Damn. Just a look from him could turn her horny.

“Sugar?” He gave her a crooked smile that
sent jitters racing through her core.

“What?” No man had ever called her sugar, but
coming from him…

“Milk or sugar for your coffee?” He stuck his
fork into the pile of eggs and ate a mouthful.

The microwave beeped.

He pulled out a plate of bacon.

The scent made her mouth water, and when he
set the plate down, she picked up a piece. “I drink it black.”

“Why am I not surprised?” His hands were
smeared with paint.

“You’ve been working already?” She sipped her
coffee. Strong and robust. Just like him? She nearly rolled her
eyes at her own thoughts.