Down and Dirty (8 page)

Chapter Six

The doorbell rang and Shane crossed the room to answer it. Cat stood on the porch wrapped in a long, wool coat. There was no reason to think she’d be naked underneath, but his dick was clearly more optimistic. He had to cut the big guy some slack, though. It had been a restless night for both of them, and he’d been tortured by the most erotic dreams he’d ever had after his kiss with Cat. He’d been so right about that. Now that he’d tasted those lips again, they were all he could think about.

He pulled himself together quickly and opened his mouth to greet her, but she cut in before he had the chance.

“Are your mom and dad home?” she asked, her breath forming a puffy cloud in the air.

“No, they just left. I forgot, they play canasta on Tuesday evenings.” He stepped back to let her in, but she paused in the doorway. “Is that a problem?”

“Uh-uh, I just thought they’d be here.”

Judging by her expression, that had been more of a hope than a thought.

“They’ll be back later. Mom left stew for us, though. She thinks it’s a great idea, by the way. The whole dating service. She’s been angling for more grandkids. Hard to believe the Reign of Terror hasn’t cured her of that.”

“It hasn’t cured you of wanting kids, has it?”

He cocked his head and took a second before answering, in case the question was more than just a casual curiosity. “No, I don’t think so. It’s definitely made me reevaluate how soon I want to have them, though.”

She slipped in past him and beelined for the stairs. “Did you pack any dress clothes?”

“Not really, but my bedroom closet is still full of stuff that I never got around to clearing out when I moved.”

“We’ll see if any of that will work.”

“How’s your leg?” He trailed behind her up the steps, taking in the sway of her curvy hips under the heavy material. When she reached the top she hung a left, heading for his bedroom.

“Better, thanks. No bleeding, I changed the bandage this morning, and so far so good.”

“Glad to hear it.” She’d stopped in the center of the room and was aggressively ignoring the bed, her gaze taking in everything but. “Want me to take your coat?”

Their eyes met and held for a moment, and she wet her lips. “Sure.” She slipped the coat from her shoulders and handed it him. He took in her appearance and held back a growl of appreciation. Black boots hugged her trim calves, and fitted gray jeans clung to her thighs, the outline of the bandage on her injured leg the only indication of yesterday’s mishap. The short, red, off-the-shoulder sweater that capped off the look should have totally clashed with her hair. But it didn’t. She looked bold and beautiful.

“You look great.”

She glanced down at her clothes and smiled. “Thanks. The sweater is part of my winter collection. I’d planned to do it in cashmere, but then fell in love with the way this mohair gave it such an interesting textural quality.”

The pleasure she took in her work lit up her face, and he found himself wishing he knew more about clothes. Then maybe he could keep her talking. Unfortunately, he’d reached the bottom of the conversational well on fashion.

“Anyway, as you were saying, I do look pretty great. And that makes one of us.” She wrinkled her nose, sweeping an assessing gaze over him from head to toe. “First we’ve got to lose the T-shirts. You’ve got a good body under there, and they definitely showcase that, but we can do better. Flaunt the goods but still let people know that you have some taste and more than eleven dollars in the bank to boot.”

He glanced down at his shirt and frowned. “I don’t get what the big deal is. It’s just a T-shirt.”

“Exactly,” she said triumphantly, wagging a finger at him. “We can do better. Do you have any suits in here?” She turned to riffle through the tiny closet. Every so often, amid the scoffs and snorts, she handed him an item of clothing, most of which he hadn’t worn in years. No surprise there. His parents had modernized some of the house since he’d left home, but his room was like one giant time capsule. The walls were still the same New York Giants blue that they’d been since his junior year of high school, and were riddled with pennants, posters, and foam fingers. Football and basketball trophies lined the shelves that ran the perimeter of the back the room. He was only glad he’d had the foresight to take down his framed Eagle Scout patch before she’d come over. No reason to give her more ammunition to support her theory about him.

She snapped her fingers a few feet in front of his face and called his name. “Hello? Anyone there?”

“I’m here. I was just thinking how ludicrous it was that you imagined I might get all decked out in a suit for coffee or a drink. It’s not the eighteen hundreds. People go on dates in jeans all the time. I don’t know what you think it is that I’ve been doing the last nine years, but I’m not a shut-in, Cat. I can dress myself.”

She ignored him and held a brown sports coat up to his chest, sizing him up with a practiced eye. “This is perfect. Casual enough to seem like you don’t care
that
much, for the girl who likes them aloof, but dressy enough to show you care, for the girl who likes a guy to put a little effort in.” She pushed by him and tossed the jacket onto the bed. “You want to keep the T-shirt, I’ll work with you. Wear it under this with those jeans.” She gestured to the ones he had on. “You get dressed—I’m going to raid the bathroom for hair product and see what we can do.”

She whirled away and he stared after her. “Hair product? You mean like gel or something? Do I really need that?”

She didn’t bother to answer, the opening and closing of his bathroom cabinets answer enough.

Fine. None of this shit mattered anyway. The point was to keep her close, and he was definitely succeeding. He tugged off his T-shirt, then pulled a clean one out of his top drawer.

“I found some…” Cat stood in the doorway of the bathroom, can of mousse in her hand. Her gaze was glued to his naked chest and sent a sizzle straight to his cock.

“I thought you were wearing that T-shirt under the jacket.”

Her voice sounded froggy and he bit back a grin. “I’ve been wearing it all day. I figured I’d get a clean one.” He should’ve pulled the shirt over his head then, but if she was enjoying the show, who was he to stop her? He fisted the cotton, leaving his hand hanging by his side and her view unobstructed.

“What,” she cleared her throat and tucked a strand of fiery hair behind one ear, “what does the tattoo represent?”

He was about to answer, then stalled. If he told her, it would derail her current fascination with his body, and he wasn’t sure he was ready for her to stop looking at him like he was food.

He opened his mouth to tell her the same thing he’d told the last couple women he’d been with when they’d asked. Some lame bullshit about liking the pattern. But he found the words stuck in his craw. Instead he lifted his free hand to the symbol and held her electric-green eyes as he spoke. “Taken literally, it represents hope when things seem hopeless.” He let his fingers drift to the next black character, tracing the still slightly raised flesh with his thumb.

He waited, wondering if she would press further…hoping she would. Hoping she wanted to know more about him, his life and what he’d been doing these past bunch of years.

She bit her lip, the indecision plain on her face. Then, she turned away.

Ouch.

“Cool. Finish getting dressed and we’ll do your intro video. Then I have some ideas for still shots we can take. Do you have an ax?”

He nodded, yanking the T-shirt over his head. “Yeah.”

Felt like one was lodged in his gut.

…

Cat set the video camera on the oak dining room table and peered at the screen. “Okay, sit up straight because you’re slouching a little.”

Shane straightened and frowned. “Is it even rolling yet?”

“No, but I want to make sure you fit in the frame when you’re sitting right.”

Shane didn’t say anything, but that was nothing new. For the past twenty minutes, since their emotionally charged exchange in the bedroom, he’d been even quieter than normal. But in spite of her every effort not to, she couldn’t stop thinking about his tattoo and the meaning behind it. Was it something to do with his job? Or about a woman?

That thought made the French cruller she’d eaten on the way over feel like a lump in her stomach. How stupid was that? Jealous over a woman who may or may not exist. Exactly the reason she never wanted to feel so much for a man. It did nothing but muddy the water. Good sex, companionship when needed, and common interests—those were the things she was looking for in a relationship. Get too caught up and someone ended up compromising until they’d compromised so much, they became someone else. A mirror for the person they were with.

A vision of her brilliant mother smiling her way through another student’s painful performance of “Hot Cross Buns” flitted through her mind, and she shoved back the guilt that came with it.

Fuck. That.

“Can you see the script?” she asked Shane, shaking off the memories and melancholy to focus on the task at hand.

He leaned in to look at the iPad propped up near the camera and nodded. “Yup.”

“Okay, readyyy, action!”

“Hello, ladies, how you doing?” He stopped abruptly and held up a hand. “Jesus, Cat, seriously? I’m not saying that. It makes me sound like a tool. What’s next, my astrological sign?”

“No,” she said, her tone sharp. “It was supposed to be funny. Like Joey from that old show
Friends
. Like, ‘How
you
doin’?’ If you think it’s so bad, you come up with something better.” She grabbed the iPad and covertly deleted the section about him being a Taurus and “strrrong like bull,” which had seemed funny and kitschy when she’d written it, but less so now. “What do you want to open with, Casanova?”

“How about just, ‘My name is Shane Decker.’”

“No salutation? Seems rude, but whatever.” She adjusted the script and set the tablet back up so he could see it. “Okay, now just roll with it this time. If you don’t like something, we can deal with it after. You’re going to need a few retakes anyway, so let’s use this first one as a trial to get you comfortable in front of the camera, tweak the lighting, etc. Pretend you’re talking to really hot girl instead of a piece of equipment. Ready, aaand, action!”

Shane looked down at the table for so long, she was about to stop rolling and snap at him again, but then he lifted his head and pinned his stormy gaze on the camera. A wicked smile spread across his usually serious face. “Hi, my name is Shane Decker. I’m not much for chatter, so I’ll get right to the point. I have some cue cards here telling me to describe my ‘type,’ but that’s not me. I respect and love women. All types of women.”

His voice rang with sincerity and Cat found herself leaning forward, literally on the edge of her seat.

“So if you think you’re too tall and skinny but have a smile that makes people want to smile back? You’re my type. Curvy and always trying to lose that last ten pounds, with a loud, bawdy laugh? You’re my type. A little older than me, with some lifelines that look earned and the confidence that comes with age? My type. Life is short, and I want to spend it with someone who recognizes that, and takes happiness wherever they can find it. If you think I might be
your
type, send a message to Shane84, and we can meet for coffee.”

The room was silent but for the dishwasher running in the background until Shane spoke again. “Was that okay?”

“Uh, yeah. You went off the grid a little, but it was fine.” Fine? It was more than fine. What woman didn’t want to hear that a sexy guy like Shane would love them even if they weren’t perfect? The women at MeetMyMate.com were going to be salivating over him.

Which was great. Exactly what she’d been hoping for. Wasn’t it? So why did she want to claw their collective, imaginary eyes out?

Shane smacked his hands on the table and stood. “Let’s go get these pictures done and then we can eat.”

She needed to stick to the plan. It was only a matter of time before all this excitement and anticipation she felt around him faded and things would be back to normal. It was nothing more than infatuation. The same she’d felt a million times before, except now—just like with that fat slice of strawberry cheesecake she’d almost managed to say no to the night before, after her kiss with Shane—it seemed larger than life because she was depriving herself of it. As soon as he was settled with someone new, and she got some space, she’d be thanking her lucky stars she dodged this bullet.

Note to self: buy another cheesecake on the way home.

She forced a cheery smile. “Sounds good. Where’s your ax?”

“Probably in the shed. I forgot to ask, why do we need an ax again?” He led her toward the back door, tossing a glance over his shoulder.

“I don’t know, I was thinking the ladies would like seeing you do something manly, like chop wood or something.”

“Well, these aren’t exactly my wood-chopping clothes,” he said drily, glancing down. “Should I change?”

“Nah, just take the sports jacket off and go with the T-shirt and jeans.”

They just stepped into the mudroom and he’d reached for his coat but paused. “It’s like thirty degrees out.”

“You’re only going to be doing it for a few minutes,” she reasoned. “Come on, I promise, I’ll only take a couple shots, and we’ll go right back inside. I won’t put my coat on either.”

He sighed and stripped off the jacket, slinging it over her shoulders. “No sense in us both freezing. But you’ve got five minutes to get the shot. I’ve been away too long, and my blood needs a little time to get used to this New England weather again.”

She trailed out the back door behind him, swamped in his scent and oblivious to the cold as she tried to tear her gaze from his thick, broad shoulders. Instead she focused on the center of his back, but even that wasn’t safe. The T-shirt clung tight enough that she could see the straight, deep indent of his spine flanked by the muscles that made a perfect V to his trim waist. She swallowed hard and blew out a steamy sigh.

Amended note to self: make it two cheesecakes.