Provocative Professions Collection (42 page)

Shaw told him what he couldn't see himself.

And he's not happy about it.

Chapter 9

He's itching for a fight the minute he walks in Thursday night.

I'm certain Vaughn Stone's not used to being told no, and I've been avoiding him like the plague for three long days—not an easy feat when he lives upstairs.

Worst part? My heartbeat takes off like the thoroughbred closest to the starter pistol as he stalks up to the counter, the defiant provocation oozing from his every pore locked in an absurd battle with my vow of resistance.

"Paige," he snips, tense jawline twitching once. "Saw Joe at the bar. He was bitching that Viv called in sick
again
, which I knew meant you were here by yourself tonight. Am I right?" He glances around facetiously, then props his arms on the counter and waits.

I arch my brows, silently demanding a non-rhetorical question before I answer.

"Not safe, Paige. Pisses me off."

Or a bullshit statement like that.

"Is that right? Well, lucky for us both then that I'm a big girl and not your problem. As is Viv, who's
finally
pursuing something with Marcus, so don't rant to Joe and blow it for her!"

"I didn't say you were a problem. Not that you aren't, a pain in my fucking ass if truth be told, yet here I am, pissed off for more reasons than one." Unblinking, his bold stare burns into mine, begging me to give in, reach out…but I stand firm in my attempt at detachment.

"I'm leaving on a haul tomorrow. You wanna ice me out, fine, but don't work alone at night while I'm gone just to prove a point. It's unsafe and stupid."

I watch in confusion as he strolls over to one of the tables, pulls out a chair, and sits down! What the hell? I don't know sign language, except "fuck you," of course, so I'm forced to break my pledge of "see some sexy, hear some sexy, speak none back."

"Comfy?" I ask sweetly.

"No, these chairs are hard as hell."

"Then maybe get up? How do you drive for so long if you're such a wuss anyway?" Shit, there he goes drawing me in to salty banter—my favorite—without even trying. He's just such an admirable opponent, damn him.

He lets his head fall back and brushes a hand through the thick raven locks with an antagonistic laugh. "You wouldn't last a day on the road, Paige. Your ass goes numb, your back aches, your eyes sting. You've almost mastered that badass thing you've got going, but not enough to fool me. You're a chick.
That
I know firsthand." He winks. "You'd bellyache the whole time…like a chick."

A hangnail
is a pain in the ass. You pick at it little by little, knowing it's gonna hurt like hell when you yank it out, but you do it anyway, unable to resist. He's goading me. A bird of my feather, he knows I won't be able to give him this and will cave to the unspoken challenge. Damn all that is Vaughn Stone yet
again
!

"Weak, Vaughn. I'm disappointed; surely you can do better than that." And where the hell are the customers? Any distraction would be welcome at this point.

"Better than what? I'm dead serious. You'd be miserable inside a day. Don't get bent, any girl would be."

I reach in to his beloved jar of jawbreakers and aim, spiking one off his head.

"Ow! Fuck!" He rubs where I'm hoping a knot is already forming and glowers at me. "What the hell was that for?"

"For being a chauvinistic prick! And why are you still here?"

"'Cause I'm a goddamn glutton. I just love that evil tongue of yours. Being treated like shit gets me hot!" he yells, throwing the jawbreaker back at me, but miles off, on purpose.
Wuss
.

"You missed." I bark out a laugh, clinging to my shield of indifference.

"Paige, you keep stoking the fire and it's gonna blow, baby." The warning's delivered in an untamed growl followed by one slow sweep of his tongue across his lips. He leans back in the chair, tipping it to the two back legs, and shoves his hands deep in his jeans pockets. "Think that's exactly what you want, though, just like I'm right about you being afraid of a lil' road trip."

A stiff ass and a break from this boring job is a small sacrifice to wipe the patronizing grin off his face. He threw out the bait and I bit, knowingly, a country mile of stubbornness in me I can't conquer. "Suck on it, Stone, I'm in." I puff out my chest and tip my chin.

The chair squeaks along the floor as he stands, advancing on me in a blink. "I'm starting to think all this mouthing is your foreplay. I bet if I shoved a hand in your panties right now and stroked that snug little pussy, it'd be soaking wet for me."

"Wait." I stall, holding out my hands to stop him from coming to my side of the counter, the only thing keeping me from letting him find out if he's right. "You, uh, we can't. I didn't want to say anything before, but…it's Harlow. She has a thing for you and I'm trying to be nice about it."

His mouth curls up wickedly, but he at least stops, rubbing one hand over his jaw while calculating eyes bore into mine. "You're so full of shit. I'm from here, Paige. A local, remember? Harlow McWright's been pining for Oakley Abrams since the day he left town. Try again." He resumes his approach, his slow, methodical steps toward me predatory and undeniably tempting.

"I'm seeing someone?" I probably should've
stated
that, rather than asked him in a breathy plea.

He laughs and tilts his head to the side, a few black strands brushing his forehead. "Yeah you are,
me
. Tomorrow at noon. My door. We'll head out. I'll take care of Joe. Pack light, or nothing. Naked works for me, Firecracker." He winks.

"It's freezing outside! Don't hold your breath on the naked part!"

He's already out the door.

How he actually got me here, I'm not sure, but I'm sitting in Vaughn's rig, coasting down the highway, feet propped up on the dash, feeling surprisingly chill. "You ever watch
Friends
?" I ask around the jawbreaker in my cheek. Yes, I stole one from his stash during the good thirty minutes I spent snooping through his shit.

"Yeah, why?" he replies, focus forward.

"You remind me of Chandler."

"Which one was that?" He throws me a sidelong glance, catching me shaking my head in disapproval.

"You serious right now? Everyone knows Chandler. Joey's roommate. He ends up with Monica, the clean freak. Ring any bells?"

"The one dick in his ass away from being gay guy?" His tone is stunned.

"That's the one." I tap my nose.

"And why the hell do I remind you of him?" he grumbles and I barely snare in my laugh. "Why don't we ask your pussy if I'm gay?"

I ignore that comment and continue on. "Easy. You're the funny one, with a snappy comeback for anything and everything. But inside," I pause for dramatic effect, "it's obvious that you're just a giant ball of sensitivity."

His jaw gapes as he turns to look at me.

"Eyes on the road!" I slap his arm, watching my life flash before me. "Jesus! Isn't there like a test or a manual or some shit you have to peruse before they let you drive one of these? 'Cause I'm thinking
eyes on the road
should be number fucking one!"

"Sorry, got distracted by the amount of bullshit you're spewing! You do realize you just described yourself to a tee, right?"

Fed up, I reach for the panel of knobs and buttons, searching out the radio. "How the hell do you turn on some music in this thing?"

Pompous smirk beaming, he uses one finger to push the button. "You press on. It's in the manual."

We've been in the cab of this semi for less than three hours and have spent every second trading barbs. The score is me twenty-three, him an impressive nineteen, but that's top secret information.

"Pick. A. Song. Paige," he snarls, apparently willing to settle for any trash rather than channel surfing for a musical genius. "Or better yet, turn it off. Finish your captivating story about how you pulled a gun on your ex."

Oh yeah, I'm bored as fuck, so I may have divulged that little tidbit.

"Only if you tell me about all the
chicks
you took on ride-alongs. Did
they
get to find a good song?" I push the off button with a flourish.

"No."

"So you were cranky and tone deaf with them too?" I keep poking the beast, his attention trained on the snowy road ahead of us.

"No, I wasn't anything with anyone because you're the first woman who's ever ridden with me."

"But you said—ahh!" I gasp in semi-impressed comprehension. "You made them up? I
knew
you were egging me on, but
this
level of deception!" I tsk. "I'll pray for your soul."

He shoots me a sidelong crooked grin. "Way too late for that, I'm afraid." He chuckles. "But good lookin' out.
And
it worked. Now finish the 'Janie's got a Gun' story."

Diverting topics, I mumble, "That song sucked."

He grabs his chest in overdramatized disgust. "You can't pray for my soul since you're the devil! Aerosmith? Suck? I oughta kick your ass outta my truck."

"Just that song. Calm down, fangirl."

He snorts. "Nice, twenty-four you. Now finish the fucking story already, you pulled the gun..."

"Hate to piss on your parade, but that
was
the end of the story. I didn't shoot him, he ran. End of story. What else would've happened?" I relax against my seat, back aching. Not that I'll let him know it.

"Who's got their ears on? Juicy Lucy here, come back." A rough but still feminine voice on the CB fills the cab and I double over in snorting laughter.

"Oh my God." I fight for air. "Did she say
Juicy Lucy
?"

"Yep." He pops the reply off his tongue with a tiny snort of his own. "I hope somebody answers her so you can hear. She's a trip, on all the time."

Before he can protest, I grab the talking thingy and press the button. "Hey Lucy, you got Throbbin' Robin. Come on."

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Vaughn smile wide, shaking his head in amused disbelief. If I'm capable of giddy, then that's what I am, salivating for her to play with me.

"Coming in clear, Robin, nice to meet ya. Got bit by a Mama Bear, bad day. How's yours? Over."

I look at Vaughn, who's already snickering. "I have no idea what she just said."

"Means she got a speeding ticket from a female cop. Shit," he mutters.

"I'm sure she'll get over it." I laugh easily. "Or is it trucker code, 'one of us gets a ticket, we all feel it?'"

"Road's closed ahead," he says suddenly, and I follow the direction of his finger to flashing signs on both sides of the highway up ahead.

"So what now, we turn around?"

"Paige, honey," he rubs a hand over his grin, "you can't just
turn a semi around
. I'll have to take a different route is all, no worries. I need the CB a minute, though." He reaches out his hand.

I listen, eyes glued to the road, as Vaughn talks with other drivers, a series of numbers and trucker lingo rerouting us to a side road that's not closed. When Vaughn signs off and breathes a huge sigh of relief, I join him.

"Hope you were done talking to Lucy," he jokes, hollow and unfeeling, what I know is an attempt to soothe me, and blindly he seeks out my hand with his own. "We're good to go, babe."

When he squeezes, I give one back.

"You want me to drive?" It's a ridiculous offer, but we need some levity in this cab as soon as possible. The alternate route is narrow, winding, and
steep
. Vaughn's knuckles on the wheel blanched out an hour ago. It's been a pretty easy winter so far, but the past few hours the snow's been coming down fast and the road is already in need of a good plow.

His laugh is nervous. "I got it, but entertain me. Tell me something."

"Like what?"

"Anything. Do the rambling girl thing. All your secrets."

"You make that sound so easy," I reply. "Where is everyone anyway? This road is dead." I ask, sitting up taller to look out the fogging window. There's nothing but a blanket of snow covering fields? Forests? I can't tell through the downpour of white. I do know we haven't passed a house or any other vehicles in too long for my liking.