Taking the Bull by the Horns (5 page)

"I love this, too. A competitive streak, I guess."

"Really.” She lifted her eyebrows.

"Mostly against myself, though."

"Sure.” She moved toward the sink to start rinsing the sauce pot. “So if I was to challenge you to a game of poker, say..."

He sidled over and nudged her aside with a bump of his hip and took the pot from her, grinning. “Oh, I'd try to win."

Lavender bent over to get the lasagna out of the oven. Taylor leaned back to enjoy the view of that curvy bottom in those snug dark jeans and received a smart rap with a spoon on his knuckles. Gertrude, seated to his left at the table, scowled when he snatched his hand away.

"We did not invite you here for that."

"Yes, ma'am,” he said politely. “It's just a nice benefit."

Lavender carried the casserole to the table and looked from one to the other. “What?"

Taylor leaned back in his chair and smiled. “Nothing."

She glanced at her grandmother. “Uh-huh. You need anything else while I'm up?"

"Just for you to sit down.” He reached for the serving spoon and held out a hand for Gertrude's plate.

"We pray first in our home, Mr. Craig,” Gertrude said.

Well, she wasn't the friendly old lady she'd been in the store anymore, was she? All because she caught him staring at Lavender's behind.

Well, she probably knew what he'd been thinking, too.

He set the spoon down and the women each reached a hand toward him. He took each and bowed his head, not thinking about the words Gertrude spoke, but of the soft hand in his right, and even when Gertrude was done and he'd raised his head, he was reluctant to release Lavender.

She realized it and blushed, tugging free. Taylor picked up the spoon again, took Gertrude's plate before she could protest, and dug out the exact piece she wanted.

When he turned to get Lavender's plate he saw a look in her eyes that sent a jolt through him, a tenderness, a longing that he understood too well. How much did they have in common?

After dinner, Gertrude stood up. “I'm going to take my bath and watch my show. You need to go now,” she told Taylor.

"Grandma,” Lavender chided. “Taylor brought us a beautiful chocolate cake from Daisy's. Don't you want a slice with a glass of milk?"

"Good Lord, no. Do you know how much butter that girl puts in her cakes? It would clog my arteries while I'm sleeping."

"More for us, then.” Lavender stood, too, and gathered the dishes.

Taylor jumped to his feet to take them from her. She hesitated, then let him. Gertrude made a disapproving sound and shuffled out of the room.

"You want milk with your cake, Taylor?"

He reached for the bottle of wine, divided the last of it between them. “Why don't we let the lasagna settle, go sit outside or something?"

She glanced at the dishes in the sink.

"They'll keep."

After a moment, she nodded and picked up her wine glass. “We have a screened porch in the back."

"Lead the way."

She did, out the back door and down a couple of steps to a saltillo tiled patio. Two big Adirondack chairs were positioned to look out through screens onto a triangular lawn lined with blooming rose bushes.

Taylor walked to the back door and stared. “Who does that?"

"Does what?” Lavender stopped herself from sitting in one of the chairs and joined him.

"Takes care of the flowers."

"Oh, me."

"Can we go out there?"

"Sure, the mosquitoes will stop chewing on us after the blood is gone."

He huffed a laugh through his nose but pushed the door open. “They won't like us after all the garlic in the sauce anyway."

"You know, I've never found that to be true.” But she followed him anyway.

The St. Augustine grass was thick beneath his boots and the scent of roses carried on the gentle breeze. He'd never really liked the smell, but the riot of colors combined with it made him smile now. Lavender wandered over and snapped off a fading flower, brought the petals to her nose, then let them scatter.

"You do all this,” he said.

She shrugged. “It's therapy. Keeps me busy."

He could hear the loneliness in her voice and it hit him, low. He didn't want to ask if there'd been someone special in her life, didn't want to think about someone walking away from her because of her responsibilities.

He took her hand, lifted her palm to his face and inhaled. She curled her fingers inward to resist his touch. Tension ran from her wrist up her arm but she didn't pull away. The set of her jaw and the shadow in her eyes told him she wanted to, and that she didn't want to.

Her wariness didn't deter him, and he gave a little tug, so she didn't misunderstand his intention.

"Taylor,” she murmured, all pink again.

"Why not?"

She gave a little shiver that only firmed his determination to taste her, to touch her.

"You make me want things I can't have."

She was close enough now that her breath brushed his lips, sending a surge of lust south.

"You can tonight,” he murmured, and with only a slight shift, brought his mouth to hers.

A soft little moan vibrated against his mouth as he parted her lips with his, felt the rush of her wine-scented breath. He threaded his fingers through her hair, finding it as silky as he imagined, her cheek beneath as soft.

So long, so long since she'd been touched, held, kissed, and God, if she was going to break a drought, Taylor Craig was the man to do it with. The man could kiss, his firm lips fitting over hers, moving with hers, his tongue making gentle explorations as he curved his hand around the back of her neck and stroked her cheek with his thumb.

She could stand for hours, breathing him, tasting him, and he seemed just as content, even when he angled his head to deepen the kiss, bring her a step closer.

Just when she decided to slide her hand up his chest—firm, muscular, his heart thumping steadily beneath her palm—itching to touch his hair, slide it between her fingers, she realized she still held her wine glass.

She didn't want to break the kiss. Every nerve in her screamed not to, that this wouldn't happen again. Still, she drew back from the kiss. Not too far back, because of the way he was looking at her, those light eyes all focused and wanting and questioning. She looked away in order to reach his glass. He understood her motive then and took her glass from her. He tossed the wine out onto the roses and dropped the glasses onto the thick carpet grass before slipping one hand around the small of her back and the other into her hair. He pulled her against the hard length of him, kissing her till she was dizzier than the wine could ever make her. She wound her arms around his neck and held on, toying with the ends of his hair, pressing her palms to the warm skin of his neck.

Then he slid that hand from her back up her side, along her breast, and swept his thumb over her nipple.

It was like flipping a switch. Everything she'd sublimated for the past few years poured forth, a hunger she'd forgotten, unquenchable, uncontrollable. She pressed closer to him, to his hand, her own tongue demanding in his mouth, now, both hands linked around his neck to hold her to him. They were so close and she could feel the ridge of his own desire and moved against it till he moaned into her mouth, released her breast to settle both hands on her hips.

"Inside,” he whispered, his tone choked.

And that was like a dash of cold water. She stepped back, her whole body tingling. “I can't. Not here."

His eyes had gone smoky with desire, no longer focused. Well, probably focused on something in the future, not on reasoning out what she was saying. “Why not?"

"My grandmother."

His eyes focused a little more. “Where, then?"

His hands rested on her hips but she could imagine them wandering her body, lingering. Where could they go?

Just when she was about to throw good sense to the wind and drag him down to the grass just to feel him over her, her grandmother opened the back door.

"Are you two going to eat this cake or not?"

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Lavender flipped through a magazine as she sat in the waiting area of Hair Crazy, Wayback's salon, and tried not to think of Taylor. She could still taste him, still feel his hands, the length of his body. Every part of her was awake now, every dormant hormone wanted to come out and play.

With Taylor.

He'd given her wicked looks when they joined Gertrude in the kitchen, and Lavender had waited for Gertrude to say something because even if Taylor didn't look like he'd been thoroughly kissed, she knew she did. But Gertrude hadn't even acted suspicious, though Taylor had kept on teasing with his laughing eyes and long looks and lingering touches.

She'd been one giant nerve by the time she'd walked him out to his truck. The sun had gone down, which meant the evening had cooled enough for her neighbors to be out in full force for their evening walks. Several of them called out and waved, slowing for a better look at the man coming out of her house.

Taylor must have sensed her tension because he didn't throw her down on the hood of the truck and have his way with her. Instead, he climbed in and leaned on the open window to look at her.

"Come watch me ride tomorrow."

She hadn't even tried to come up with an excuse. Instead, flushed with pleasure, she'd said, “okay."

He'd glanced about at the curious walkers, winked and driven off.

And she'd run into the house to make this appointment. She hadn't factored in how busy the place would be the day before Mother's Day.

"So who was that cowboy?” Mrs. Patterson asked, settling into a chair beside her.

Lavender jolted. Had Mrs. Patterson been one of the walkers out last night? “What cowboy?” Dummy. Everyone would know she was buying time, and at least a dozen people had seen Taylor leaving her house last night.

"The one feeling you up in your roses last night.” Mrs. Patterson said it so loud everyone in the shop turned to stare. Mrs. Patterson beamed, pleased with the attention her scoop had garnered.

Lavender's ears buzzed as blood rushed in them. It was the only sound in the shop for a moment, then the place exploded in conversation.

"Lavender? A cowboy?"

"From the Blue Bug? I heard you were dancing with someone there."

"Lavender doesn't go to the Blue Bug."

"Who is he? He was a cutie. A little young, though."

How did she even start to answer? She didn't know what was going on with Taylor, and what she did know she didn't want to share. She knew it was foolish, but she bolted.

And collided with Roxie Starr right on the sidewalk. The redhead cocked a hip and looked from Lavender to the door.

"They didn't try to talk you into a perm, did they?"

Lavender scooped her hair back but didn't meet Roxie's eyes. “Too many people.” Wanting to know too much about her.

Roxie turned an assessing gaze to Lavender's straight hair. “And you want to fancy yourself up for the cowboy."

Lavender stiffened and prepared to walk off, but Roxie reached out and threaded a lock of hair through two fingers.

"I can fix you up."

Lavender hesitated, vanity battling with a need to hide away. “Really?"

"Sure. I did in for the other girls when I was in Vegas all the time. I thought maybe I'd add a chair or two to my spa, you know, just for an alternative. What about it?"

Lavender looked over her shoulder at the crowded salon, then back at Roxie, who always looked amazing. “Okay."

Roxie sat Lavender in a chair in the back of the building she was renovating and dragged her basket of supplies close. She flipped the protective sheet around Lavender and fastened it around her neck.

"I just want you to give it some shape.” Lavender fingered her hair and dragged it forward. “It won't do much anyway, it's so straight and fine."

Roxie threaded the hair through her fingers, considering, before pinning up strands with the plastic clips. Lavender's heart skipped. “Not too short, okay?"

"Trust me.” Roxie combed out the loose hair and picked up the scissors and got to work. “Are you going to the rodeo today?"

"I think I might."

Roxie's lips quirked as she flicked a glance to Lavender in the mirror. “When was the last time you went?"

"Not counting with my class? About ten years ago."

"I wonder why you decided to go now.” Roxie's eyes glinted.

"He ... asked me."

"Really.” Roxie's voice rose in interest. “How long has it been?"

Lavender didn't pretend not to know what Roxie meant. She hadn't thought of much else since that kiss last night. She knew how long it had been to the minute, but all she said was, “A long long time."

"And this is the guy you danced with night before last?"

"If you could call it dancing. You danced with him, too."

"Yep. The boy can move. And he sure is pretty, those light eyes and dark eyelashes. Nice haircut, too. Not cheap."

Interesting. To Lavender, it had just looked like he was letting his hair grow out, that he didn't have the time or money to go get it trimmed.

She sighed and started to relax for the first time since she'd decided to go to the rodeo. She didn't have many friends she trusted enough to talk to, but Roxie had some life experience. Lavender envied her that. “I wish I could dance like you. He said I was leading."

"It's not hard. Guys just mostly want to get their hands on you anyway they can. They don't care how you dance."

Lavender stopped herself from shaking her head in disagreement. That would be a good way to ruin her haircut. “You said yourself he has moves. I want to be able to move with him.” An idea almost made her bounce in her chair—another bad idea. “Can you show me?"

"Lavender, I've been dancing for a long time."

"I know. I know I can't move like you, but I want to be able to move with him. Can you show me?"

Roxie met her eyes in the mirror again and bit her lip. Lavender knew she was asking a lot of the woman who already had too many irons in the fire, starting her own business, but Lavender was desperate. She didn't have long—he'd be leaving tomorrow with the rest of the cowboys. And she wanted to feel graceful in his arms just once.