Dirty Deeds: Standalone sexy romance Read online

  “Good thing I brought a condom then, huh? You know, to pass the time in case we are stuck?”

  He faced her with his mouth hanging open.

  “What?” she said innocently.

  “You did plan this. That’s what you and that carnie were talking about.” He swore under his breath. The carriage rocked as he scooted to the other side of the car.

  Okay, Nathan’s reaction was not the “yippee let’s rip our clothes off and get down to business” response she’d anticipated.

  “I’m sorry,” she said tightly. “I wanted to surprise you.”

  “Some surprise,” he muttered. “How did you get the attendant to go along with this crazy idea?”

  “Never mind.”

  A few minutes passed before he expelled an exasperated sigh. “Come on, Tate. Tell me.”

  “Nope.” She let go of the metal safety bar and crossed her arms over her chest. She focused on the blinking lights on the midway below and the gentle breeze cooling the sting of humiliation from her cheeks.

  “Talk to me.”

  She shook her head.

  He slid closer until his body crowded her into a corner, making the car sway. “I’m waiting.”

  “Gee, maybe you’re right. Maybe we should use this time to get to know each other better.” She plastered on a Miss America smile. “Hi! My name is Tatum Beatrice Cross and I’m a Capricorn. My favorite food is Italian. My turn-ons include men willing to live on the wild side. Turn-offs are men who spoil everything with their prudish attitudes.”

  “Ha-ha.” He paused. “I’m not prudish.”

  “So you say.” Tate faced him and challenged, “Isn’t that what you wanted? To talk? Well here’s your chance to share your deepest, darkest secrets.”

  “Fine. What do you want to know?”

  Tate locked her defiant gaze to his. “Your favorite sexual position.”

  His teeth flashed. “Any in which I’m dominant.”

  Holy cow. Her heart jumped in her throat.

  “Got nothing to say to that?”

  She just stared at him.

  A second later, Nathan lowered his mouth to hers and kissed the daylights and the temper right out of her. Butterflies in her stomach took wing, and she felt herself spiraling higher even when the carnival ride stayed at a complete stop.

  Nathan pulled his warm lips from hers. “Tell me why you staged this stunt.”

  Tate’s fingers swept over her well-kissed mouth. “Because of that. Just once I wanted to make your head spin the way you make mine spin every time you kiss me.”

  He reached for her again and gave her one of those red-hot five-alarm kisses that made her hair smoke and her knees as weak as a rubber hose.

  The Ferris wheel started to move. Neither of them noticed.

  Once they were firmly on the ground, Nathan said, “Let’s go.”

  The return trip to her house was swift and silent. Outside her darkened porch, she asked, “Do you want to come in?”

  He tucked her prized animal under his arm. “Just for a minute.”

  Tate fumbled with her keys, keenly aware of how Nathan’s ragged breath on the back of her neck sent shivers up her spine.

  She turned on the lamp in the foyer and glanced at his reflection moving behind her in the hall mirror. His face looked beautifully masculine and strong, even bathed in soft amber light.

  He set aside the stuffed dog.

  His long fingers latched on to her hips. Aligning her back to his front, Nathan gradually trailed his wide palms over her every curve, gauging her reaction in the mirror.

  Her breath hitched. Need settled low in her belly before breaking free to run riot through her blood. The rapid pulse beating at the base of her throat gave away her body’s reaction. Fortunately, the hard male part of him digging into her lower back also gave away his.

  Against her temple, he whispered, “You’re driving me crazy. Those hot looks coming from such an angelic face. I ought to run, the way you make me feel.”

  Tate twisted into his arms. “Stay here. Start feeling me instead.” Standing on tiptoe, she touched her mouth to his.

  The kiss spun them sideways, backward and out of control. She wanted his big, rough hands on her bare skin. Wanted equal time to explore those intriguing masculine hollows. When Tate reached for the snap on his jeans, his hand braceleted her wrist.

  Just like that, he ended the kiss.

  “Stop.”

  “Why?”

  “I’ll be damned if we’ll make love tonight.” His chest rose and fell as he tried to calm his breathing.

  “Why not?”

  “There has to be more.”

  In her passion-drunk state, she must have missed something. She looked at him blankly. “More what?”

  “Don’t you think the anticipation between us needs to build? We should get to know each other first? Before we…”

  Tate traced the interesting mix of fine dark hairs on his forearm almost absentmindedly. “You’re serious?”

  “Completely.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  He brushed her fingers aside and his expression remained vulnerable, even when his words weren’t. “Ever wanted something so bad you thought you’d explode if you didn’t get it?”

  “I don’t see what that has to do with—”

  “And when you finally got your hands on it,” he continued without pause, “it was better than your wildest dreams?”

  Her mouth dried at his provocative tone.

  “Tell me, Tate,” he said huskily, bracing his hands on the wall behind her, his hot breath drifting across her skin. “Have you denied yourself that rush of pleasure until you’re so hot you feel like you’ll burn up inside?”

  The shiver from his forceful question puckered her nipples beneath her blouse. The nubs hardened further under his immediate hungry inspection. Yet he made no move to look away.

  “Who are you to say I don’t have that burning feeling now?”

  “You do?” He managed to raise his eyes back to hers.

  “Yes.” She ducked under his elbow and shoved her hands in her pockets. “There’s some serious chemistry between us. Don’t deny it.”

  “I don’t.”

  “So what’s the problem?”

  “No problem.” His jaw hardened as he gave her another curious once-over. “But you’d rather have ‘wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am’? Instead of romance?”

  Romance? Where had that come from? Tate cocked her head. Obviously she had misunderstood. “What? Like tonight at the carnival? And the other night with ice cream and the walk in the park? Like flowers, poetry, slow dancing, champagne and candlelight dinners?”

  “Yeah. Something like that.”

  An uneasy feeling settled in the pit of her stomach. “Nathan, I told you what I wanted. And I clearly remember romance wasn’t on the list. I don’t need it.”

  He studied her face until she believed she’d melt under the fierce scrutiny.

  Finally he sighed. “Well that’s too bad. Because I do.” He backed up all the way to the door and hesitated at the threshold.

  Tate sucked in an extra expectant breath. She held out hope he’d flash that devilish grin and say, Just kidding, before sweeping her straight up to her bedroom.

  “Good night,” he said quietly. “I’ll be in touch.”

  The screen door shut, leaving a dumbfounded Tate staring after him.

  The next afternoon Tate waited at the Girls Club for Grace.

  Tired of cooling her jets in the conference room, she poked her head out the doorway.

  Grace sauntered down the hallway, as if she had all the time in the world, straightening inspirational posters, picking up stray fruit snack wrappers, chatting with Cynthia, a willowy grad student.

  A pack of girls came around the corner at warp speed. Between the three of them they managed to tip over a ficus plant, resulting in broken crockery and clumps of dirt strewn across the carpet.

  “Hey, girls,
be careful,” Grace said.

  Immediately, a tiny Native American girl, no more than five, threw her hands in front of her face, clearly expecting Grace to hit her for her part in the mess. Grace merely shooed them away with a gentle warning. The stark expression on Grace’s face made Tate’s heart break.

  She knew Grace tried to reach as many of the girls as possible, but a few slipped through the cracks, and Grace berated herself that she couldn’t save every child under her care.

  Grace finished giving Cynthia instructions and then warned the janitor about the broken pot and the dirt.

  She looked up at Tate and smiled. “Don’t you look like a ray of sunshine in that lemon yellow sundress?” Grace pointed at Tate’s feet. “Cute. Love the matching flip-flops.”

  “Thanks, boss. Come and see my plans for making mosaics.”

  Grace groaned. “Don’t call me boss. It makes me feel old.”

  “No, calling you Mrs. Yellow Hawk would make you feel old.”

  Her smile faded as she closed the door.

  “Bad joke. I’m sorry.” When Grace didn’t immediately respond, Tate said, “Grace? Oh man, what’s wrong?”

  “N-nothing.” Before she could try to convince Tate everything was just sunshine and rainbows like she always did, Grace’s voice caught on a sob and tears fell.

  Tate’s flip-flops smacked her heels loudly in the silence as she zipped across the room. She pushed Grace into a chair and perched herself diagonally from her friend. Their knees touched so Grace couldn’t escape. “Talk to me.”

  “I-I’m fine.” Grace tried to dismiss Tate’s concern.

  Tate was having none of it. “Cut the bull. Don’t tell me nothing is wrong because I don’t think I’ve ever seen you cry.”

  Grace squeezed her eyes shut. “That’s because I don’t make a habit of it.”

  “And you don’t make a habit of sharing your troubles with your friends either.”

  Grace’s eyes opened. “What do you mean?”

  “That you’re perfectly willing to let me unload my frustrations on you anytime I want. I’m assuming Val does the same thing. Why don’t you let us return the favor?” Her gaze sharpened. “Is it because we’re not trained psychologists and you don’t think we’ll be able to help you?”

  “No.” Grace’s hand shook as she wiped under her eye. “It’s more like the ‘physician, heal thyself’ philosophy. I keep thinking I’ll get a handle on it. Usually it works, but not this time.”

  Tate rummaged in her backpack-sized purse. She thrust a box of Kleenex at her.

  Grace’s eyes went wide at the jumbo-sized package.

  “I saw that look. I started carrying them because Val’s pregnancy hormones cause these erratic crying jags. When she gets started, Lord, she uses damn near the whole box.”

  Grace managed a feeble smile. “You must think we’re both crybabies.”

  “Hardly.” A beat passed. Tate demanded, “So are you going to tell me what’s wrong?”

  “You sure you want to hear this?”

  Tate nodded.

  “Luke and I are having some problems.” She sighed heavily. “Major understatement. We’re having huge problems.”

  “When did this start?”

  “About six months ago.” Grace chewed her thumbnail. “An old friend of his died. A female friend. Luke started acting distracted. He was gone a lot, but when he was home he was moody. We hardly spent any time together. Consequently our life—sex and otherwise—went from awesome to awful.”

  “Go on.”

  “Of course, I immediately jumped to the conclusion he was having an affair.”

  Tate’s eyebrows lifted. “Is he?”

  “No, thank God. The truth of what he was doing is almost worse.” Grace let her gaze drift out the window. “I found out he’d applied for two new jobs. Both in Rosebud.”

  The Rosebud Indian Reservation was a long way from Spearfish. “Why didn’t he tell you?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t know. If I hadn’t found the letter confirming his appointment time, I don’t know if he would have told me at all. He refuses to talk about it. Or tell me why he wants to make a career change. So I still don’t know if the money is better or whether or not this would be permanent. Yet, he expects me just to drop everything I’ve worked for and go with him if he’s offered the position.”

  “Do you think he has a chance?”

  “We already know he didn’t get the first one. But he’s on his second interview at the Rosebud Boys Home. Truthfully, they’d be stupid not to hire him. A Sioux man who actually grew up on a reservation? Add in his master’s degree in counseling…”

  “I can see why you’re worried.” Tate leaned back in her chair and looked outside the window along the cracked sidewalk, where rose bushes bloomed in a profusion of red and pink. “Is his job at the Boys Club here in jeopardy?”

  “It will be if the board finds out he’s been sending out his resume.”

  “So you haven’t talked to anyone about this because if word gets out…” Tate angled forward, knowing her eyes were filled with reproach. “Dammit, Grace. I can see why you were discreet, but you know you can count on me not to blab. I hate that you’ve been dealing with this alone. Why didn’t you tell me the other night?”

  Grace retreated to the sink for a drink. She clutched the waxy Dixie cup and looked at Tate. “The reason I didn’t unload on you is because you’ve had more than enough things to worry about with your own job situation and now the city mandate. Have you heard from Nathan?”

  “Are you kidding? He’s avoiding me.” Her mouth made a moue of distaste. “In fact, I get the distinct impression the man is scared of me.”

  Grace managed a hoarse chuckle. “Sorry. It’s just you are the least threatening woman I know. Why on earth would he be scared of you?”

  “Because I want to strip that hunky stud naked and have my wicked, wicked way with him until he screams for mercy.”

  “And that’s a problem because?”

  Tate lifted her shoulder in a half shrug. “I don’t know. Wouldn’t most guys have jumped at the chance to jump on me? I know I’m not a statuesque redhead like you.” She grinned. “But come on, I’m not exactly the Hunchback of Notre Dame either. So, I wondered if maybe it’s a Native American thing. Did Luke insist you two should get to know each other before you got naked together?”

  “No. It’s not an Indian thing.”

  “Then what do you think might be going on?”

  Grace blushed. “Have you asked Val if he has, umm…a problem with erectile dysfunction?”

  Tate snorted. “Leave it to a shrink to turn it into a flowery phrase. No, I’ve felt his erection on more than one occasion. I know he doesn’t need a heavy-duty dose of Viagra. And I’m assuming the continual presence of a hard-on means he’s somewhat attracted to me. As for the asking-Val thing? I’m not allowed to talk to her about anything that’s going on between Nathan and me…not that there’s much to tell.”

  “But you’re telling me,” Grace pointed out.

  “Precisely. He only told me I couldn’t talk to Val. He didn’t mention anyone else.” Tate smiled slyly. “So here I am, asking the expert for advice.”

  “Expert? Need I remind you we were just discussing my rocky marriage?” Grace lifted her cup for another drink.

  “Sorry.” Tate felt contrite for a second before her expression turned crafty. “But I’m not worried about getting into a relationship with him. I just want to get into his pants.”

  Grace nearly spit out her water. She wiped her lips on the crumpled Kleenex in her hand, and Tate giggled. “I take it back. Nathan LeBeau has every right to be frightened of you.”

  “I’m serious.”

  “Me too.”

  “What was it like before you and Luke hit the skids? I mean, how much of your problems stemmed from his Native ancestry?”

  “Some of our problems are directly related to his Sioux blood. Luke looks Lakota, so he’s always dea
lt with insults, racism and prejudice—even among his tribe members. The fact he married a white woman, a wasicu…well, I think his family performed a mourning ceremony after we eloped to Vegas.” Grace fidgeted, clearly uncomfortable. “It’s not easy, the glares we get from strangers for having different colors of skin. Spearfish is a long way from Pine Ridge and Rosebud—in miles and mindset.”

  Tate considered her words. “Nathan’s been raised with a white mother and a half-Indian father. He doesn’t seem to care much about his heritage.”

  “He should. In fact, Luke started a support group at the community center for Lakota men. They do everything from talk about problems in business and with family, to studying Lakota traditions and language. You should tell Nathan to come. I bet he’d love it.”

  “Probably. But he’s so swamped with work that he’s not making any time for me. Or sex. Especially sex.”

  “Is that really the most important thing to you in this deal with Nathan?”

  “Absolutely. No regrets, no promises, just a case of condoms and a good imagination.”

  Grace looked like she didn’t buy Tate’s flip attitude. “Here’s where the counselor imparts a word of caution. Despite your bravado, I don’t think you are the type of woman who can just sign on for a totally sexual fling.”

  “But—”

  “Trust me. I know these things. More specifically, I know you.”

  “Are you telling me not to have sex with him?”

  “God no. I’m telling you to be careful. Don’t fall for him, because he will break your heart.”

  Tate frowned. “Because he’s Native American?”

  “No. Because he’s a man.”

  Grace scooted into the chair next to Tate, shuffling through the brightly colored papers on the table, ending the conversation. “Now, how about if you show me your ideas for the mosaics?”

  Saturday morning Nathan pulled his flatbed truck up to Tate’s house and parked.

  After the loading ramps clanked to the ground, he hoisted himself onto the trailer. Once the tie-downs were tangle free, he unchocked the wheels and climbed into the Bobcat’s cab, dropping his ass into the ripped leather seat.

  Thick black smoke poured from the stack as he started it up. Checking in the rearview mirror, Nathan eased the stick to reverse and the Bobcat jerked backward. His ears automatically honed in on the loud beep beep beep echoing behind him. He grinned.