Skintight Page 23

  Hungrily he stared up at the vulnerable arch of her throat, the sensuous droop of her mouth and the shadowy fans her golden red lashes created against her flushed cheekbones. And his heart performed an unfamiliar, almost painful clench, as if suddenly squeezed in the bench-vise grip of an unseen giant.

  Treena open her heavy-lidded eyes and gazed down at him with an expression that nearly incinerated him on the spot. “So,” she said in a husky voice. “If you’re not all burned out on cards, how would you like to indulge in a little game of strip poker?”

  THEY WERE LETHARGICALLY assembling breakfast late the following morning when someone knocked on the front door. Treena looked up from the stove where she was turning bacon to glance over at Jax, who stopped slopping pancake batter around a pottery bowl to quirk his eyebrows at her. “Will you get that?” she asked. “I’m afraid to leave this.”

  “Sure.” And propping the wooden spoon he was using against the bowl’s festively hued rim, he slid from the bar stool and padded barefoot to the entryway.

  “Well, hi there,” she heard him say an instant later upon opening the door. “You’re the last person I expected to see, given I’ve never been here when you haven’t just let yourself in.”

  “Hey, I knock,” came Carly’s voice. “Well, sometimes, anyway. Treena here?”

  “Yeah, c’mon in. She’s in the kitchen. Excellent timing, by the way—we’re getting ready to put breakfast on the table. I don’t know what Treena’s philosophy will be on feeding your two friends, though.”

  She barely had a chance to wonder who Carly might have brought with her when Rufus came charging around the corner. Her throw rug on the hardwood floor where the kitchen and living room met accordion-pleated beneath the pup’s exuberant onslaught, and with a startled yip the black-and-brown mutt scrambled in place on the fabric bunching beneath his paws, which caused it to contort even further. Then he sprang free, but his balance didn’t improve appreciably when he landed on the tiled floor.

  He skidded across the kitchen like a sailboat without a rudder, sliding past her to thump up against the cupboards.

  Treena laughed so hard she slid down the stove to an ungainly heap on the floor. Lifting her head to wipe her streaming eyes she saw Buster, who had followed more decorously in the younger dog’s wake, plopping his slightly overweight butt down on the Rufus-crumpled area rug. His tail thumped twice against the floor.

  She tried to get a grip, but each time she came close to gaining control the look of shock on Rufus’s face as he’d sailed past her would flash across her mind’s screen once again. And off she’d go on another wild ride through Hysteriaville. It didn’t help when Rufus scrambled past her with an almost human look of sheepishness on his furry face to join Buster on the crumpled rug. Panting, he leaned heavily against the older dog.

  Jax’s legs appeared in front of her just as she was sure she was finally getting control of herself. Over the sound of her own intermittent snickering she dimly heard the click of a burner being turned off. “Oh, God, the bacon,” she said, and for no good reason she could think of the idea of it burning to a crisp while she laughed like a loon cracked her up all over again.

  “She’s easily amused,” Jax said, presumably to Carly, although her friend was nowhere she could see. He crouched down next to the dogs in the kitchen opening. “I gotta hand it to you,” he said to Rufus, ruffling the dog’s ears. “That was one spectacular entrance.” Then he turned to Buster. “You’re a bit more sedate than your little buddy here, aren’t you, sport?” He shook the paw that was offered him. “Nice to meet you, too. What did you say your name was again?”

  Treena finally got herself in hand and pushed to her feet. Castigating herself for acting like a buffoon, she cleared her throat. “That’s Buster.”

  Jax turned back to look up at Carly as the other woman rounded the corner. “Interesting dog,” he said with mellow amusement. “He looks like something Dr. Seuss might have created.”

  That nearly reversed Treena’s newly regained composure, because it was so wonderfully apt. Buster had long legs and a wide rear, and his splotchy ginger-colored fur was short-haired everywhere except for the wild tufts that sprang up from the crown of his head and formed feathery ruffles around his ankles.

  Carly’s arctic voice, however, cut through her amusement like a razor through silk. “Oh, that’s nice,” her friend snapped in a tone that suggested she thought it was anything but. “Do you kick cripples when they’re down, too?”

  There was an moment of stunned silence. Then Jax rose to his feet and said with cool courtesy, “My apologies. It wasn’t my intention to make fun of your dog. I only meant—”

  “No, I’m sorry, Jax,” Carly interrupted and sighed. “I had no right to go off on you like that. Buster is a Dr. Seuss kind of dog, aren’t you sweetheart?” The mutt thumped his tail agreeably, and Carly went down on one knee beside him to sling an arm around his neck and give the wild tufts between his ears an affectionate noogie. “Hell, I’ve said it myself—he’s so ugly he’s cute.”

  That satisfied Jax, but Treena, who knew her friend better, wasn’t fooled by Carly’s sudden breeziness. “What happened?” she demanded.

  “Huh? Nothing.” She climbed to her feet, dusting dog hair from her palms, and gave Treena an innocent look. “So what’s for breakfast besides bacon?”

  “Pancakes. What happened, Carly?”

  Her friend’s jaw tightened and she simply stared at her for a moment. Then with another sigh, she slumped. “I met my new neighbor this morning.”

  Uh-oh. It clearly hadn’t been a positive experience. “And?”

  “If I kill him, Treen, will you help me hide the body?”

  “Absolutely,” she promptly agreed. “There must be a million places out in the desert to dispose of one annoying man.”

  “Whoa,” Jax said, taking a giant step back from them, his hands raised, palms out, as if to ward off trouble. “Remind me never to piss you two off.” A look of uneasiness suddenly chased across his expression but before Treena could decipher its meaning he turned to ask Carly incredulously. “How bad can a guy you just met be?”

  “Plenty bad.” Her pretty features were stiff with remembered affront. “Trust me. He’s a buzz-cut, stick-up-the-butt, dog-hating jerk.”

  Treena zeroed in on the pertinent information in her friend’s rant. “He didn’t like your dogs?”

  “Oh, boy,” Jax murmured under his breath, obviously already attuned enough to Carly to realize there was no bigger offense in her book.

  “He kept calling Rufus Dufus! And he wanted to know why the hell I didn’t get him under control.” With an indrawn breath that appeared to be one part oxygen and nine parts indignation, her breasts swelled to threaten the stretch of her tank top’s fabric. “As if I haven’t been knocking myself out trying to do that very thing!” Then she exhaled loudly. “Well, screw him. If that man tries messing with my babies, I don’t care if he does have the steeliest buns I’ve ever seen—he’s going down.”

  Hello. Treena went on alert, even as she slung a comforting arm around her friend to lead her to a stool. This is interesting.

  She would have sworn there wasn’t a guy born who could attract Carly’s attention once she discovered he wasn’t an animal lover. So the fact that she’d noticed the buns of a man bad-mouthing her dog suggested some serious chemistry between her and this Jones character.

  Treena, however, knew better than to raise the point in Carly’s present condition. Instead she settled her friend in her seat and squeezed her white-knuckled hand. “You just take a couple of deep breaths and have some pancakes and bacon with us. Then I want you to do your best to forget that clown. Maybe he just had a bad day. Or maybe he’s always a jerk. Either way, these things usually have a way of working themselves out.”

  “Death has a way of working things out, too. And really, it’s not as if it would be murder, or anything. No, no, it would be euthanasia, a genuine mercy killing, considering
the man’s too stupid to live.”

  “Be a shame to deprive yourself of a view of that butt, though.”

  “Yeah.” With a regretful sigh, Carly laid her head down on her crossed arms on the countertop. “There is that. It’s the only downside I can think of, though.”

  MAN TROUBLE SEEMED to be in the air. Backstage in the dressing room that night Jerrilyn, whose most recent boyfriend was the World Poker fan who had recognized Jax’s name, listened to Carly’s rant against her new neighbor. Then the other dancer nodded in total sympathy.

  “Wolfgang Jones,” she said, nodding. “I know who that is—he’s in security, right? I don’t think I’ve ever seen him smile. Great butt, though. And did you get a load of the six-pack abs on him?” She waved the question aside without waiting for an answer. “Never mind. Personally, I don’t believe some guys deserve a second chance—much less a third or fourth one.” She straightened her fishnets. “Despite that, I gave Donny several, but frankly the boy had nothing going for him but his ability in bed. So, really, I had no choice but to dump him.” She shook her head. “I’m sure gonna miss those sessions between the sheets, though.”

  Eve nodded. “I swear, sometimes, that’s the only thing men are good for. If I come home from work and find one more stinking pair of socks laying next to the bed or a wet towel tossed on the bathroom floor, my Jeremy is going to be one sorry son of a bitch. Is it too frigging much for him to carry his dirty laundry to the basket?”

  “For me it’s the damn whiskers in the sink,” Michelle said. “There’s a whole stack of Dixie cups right next to the faucet—how hard can it be to use one of ’em to rinse his mess down the drain after Gordie’s done shaving? But does he ever? Oh, no.”

  Everybody seemed so depressed and anti-men as they left the dressing room for the wings that Treena almost felt guilty for not feeling the least bit down herself. But things with Jax were so great she was still kind of vibrating.

  Of course, she didn’t have a clue what was going to happen when the tournament ended next week. Would he simply pack up and take off for the next tour in who knew what far-off exotic location?

  And if so, would he want her to go with him?

  What would she do if he did? As much as she loved him, she’d spent the majority of her life with one goal—to provide herself with financial security.

  Not that she was doing so well in that department at the moment, but at least she was drawing a steady paycheck.

  And hopefully would still be doing so after this week.

  So if she passed the audition could she actually toss her need for security to the wind and follow a gambler from city to city? Could she simply abandon not merely the only career she’d ever known but her dream of establishing her own studio some day?

  It wasn’t as if the studio was even a remote possibility any longer. So who had the more stable life now—she with her steady paycheck, uncertain future employment prospects and no savings, or Jax with his multi-thousand-dollar wins and losses? Neither of them struck her as overwhelmingly stable.

  But that was all smoke and mirrors. She had a feeling that, secure financial future or not, she’d follow him in a heartbeat if he asked her to.

  Which of course was the real issue. For when had Jax ever said the first thing to indicate she meant more to him than a Las Vegas fling on this leg of his tour? She honest-to-God felt sometimes that he genuinely did care for her, perhaps even as much as she did for him.

  But that was all it was—a feeling. He’d certainly never said one word to indicate it was actually the case.

  Well…shit.

  She could have gone all night without thinking about any of this. Now she was as depressed as everyone else backstage.

  Dancing was suddenly the last thing she felt like doing, but the music introducing the next act swelled out in the orchestra pit. So with a resigned sigh, she pulled herself together and headed for the stage.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  JAX COULDN’T BELIEVE what a charge he got out of doing housework. Of course he knew that was because of Treena. Doing damn near anything with her was what got him all jazzed. And since this was her Monday off, he’d offered to help with the weekly cleaning of her condo so they they’d have more time to play outside before her dance class later that afternoon. The equinox had brought weather too beautiful not to take advantage of after the long, hot summer.

  They’d decided to divide the final two chores to speed things up, so as soon as he finished dusting the floor in here and she was done in the kitchen they’d be ready to take off.

  He was working the duster around the back of the toilet when something bumped the backs of his knees. His legs buckled beneath him and with a grunt he braced his free palm against the top of the tank. Then strong, soft-skinned arms wrapped around his waist.

  “Hey there, big boy.” Treena rubbed her breasts side to side between his shoulder blades. “Long time no see. So when did you say your birthday was again?” Her voice sounded innocent in his ear, and her body felt like pliable, fragrant heat against his back.

  Bracing the duster against the wall, he unwound her arms from his middle and turned. “Why, I believe I told you it was—” grasping her hips he lifted her onto the counter next to the sink and leaned in “—the thir—no…no…wait. Come to think of it, I don’t believe I mentioned the actual date at all.” Running his hands down to her thighs, he pulled them apart and stepped between them.

  “Damn!” Biting back a smile, she thunked him on the chest. Then she gave the abused pectoral a little rub. “But at least I’ve got a clue now. You said the thir. So, the thirtieth, then? The thirteenth? The third? Or crap, it could be the third pick-a-day-any-day of the next couple months, couldn’t it?”

  He grinned. Treena was constantly trying to wheedle his birthday out of him and it had now become a game of sorts. He might break down one of these days and actually tell her, but for the moment, he was having way too much fun waiting to see what ploy she’d use next in order to discover it for herself. He bent his head to kiss her.

  “In your dreams, pal.” Jerking back, she slapped both hands to his shoulders and shoved, holding him at arm’s length. “Don’t even think you have a shot at getting lucky now. In fact you may die before you ever get any again.” She shot him a smoldering glance from beneath her lashes. “Unless, of course, you want to cough up a date. Then we’ll talk.”

  He trailed his fingers down the side of her throat, smiling slightly when her eyelids went heavy and a soft breath shuddered out of her throat. “Wanna make a small wager as to who can hold out the longest?” he murmured, even though he wasn’t all that certain that was a bet he had any hope of winning.

  “Nope,” she said cheerfully, and slid off the countertop. Then she simply stood there, making no move to get out from between the vanity and his body. She nodded toward the dust mop he’d leaned against the wall. “You about done with that?”

  “Yeah. Let me just run it over the spot I missed over there by the tub, then I’m good to go.” Grabbing the duster by its long blue handle, he completed the chore even as he stated his intention.

  She flashed him such a brilliant smile that his chest constricted. “Great. We’re finished, then,” she said. “If you’ll go put the duster away, I’ll slap on some makeup and we can head out. Be careful, though,” she warned. “That closet is pretty much a catchall, so it can be a little treacherous to the uninitiated. In fact, just stick it in the front of the closet and I’ll put it away later.”

  “What do you think I am, an incompetent boob? I’ll have you know I’ve got reflexes like a cat. I’m the smoke in the mirror, babe, the shadow in the night, the fog in the—”

  “Yeah, yeah, I get it. You’re the guy whose machismo has just been impugned.”

  A smile tugged up the corner of his mouth. “Got it in one, sweet thing.” God, he loved this woman.

  Everything inside of him stilled. Loved? He was in love with her? At the same time that he told himsel
f he couldn’t be in love, that it simply wasn’t smart given his ulterior motives, he knew it was true. He felt it on a gut level so deep there was no sense denying it.

  Even if he didn’t have the first idea what the hell he was going to do about it. He stepped back and indicated the mop. “I’ll go put this away and leave you to slap on your war paint.”

  She laughed. “You are such a smooth talkin’ guy.”

  His heart thumping uneasily, he carried the dust mop to the living room closet and opened the door. “Holy shit,” he murmured, amazed at its jumbled interior. “Catchall was a euphemism, I take it.”

  This was full-out chaos, the universe after the Big Bang. Treena’s tidy gene clearly stopped at the door to the coat closet. He snorted. Interestingly named space, considering coats were probably the least represented article in the deep, narrow cubicle.

  It was filled from floor to ceiling with all sorts of crap—or so it appeared at first glance, anyway. He wouldn’t have thought it was possible for Treena to have more shoes than he’d already seen on her feet or in her bedroom closet, for instance, yet several pairs of leather boots were lined up beneath the coats. And not one of them, as far as he could see, was of the useful variety. Hell, you could probably aerate a dozen lawns with the heels on most of these puppies, but step in one pile of dogshit wearing them, and the shoe in question would no doubt get tossed in the nearest garbage can so fast it’d be nothing but a streak of light to the naked eye.

  Shaking his head, he looked at the boxes stacked in the back and intermittently along the right wall.

  He could barely see the hook on the back wall through all the junk in his path so he started picking his careful way between the piles, trying to avoid precariously mounded odds and ends beneath the hang rod on his left. He veered too near a stack of boxes on his right, and when his biceps brushed against a loose object he felt it shift and fall from atop the stack. Dropping the mop, his hand shot out with more instinct than forethought, and he caught a furled travel umbrella with a bent spoke before it hit the floor. Carefully restoring it to its place upon the top box, he blew out a breath at the near miss and was happy to see that the area directly in front of him opened up to something actually resembling floor space. Retrieving the duster, he took a careful step toward the open area, only to promptly crack his elbow on the sharp corner of something sitting atop the pile to his left.