The Virgin's Revenge (6 page)

“Peacocks,” Billy mumbled, staring up at the ceiling of her porch with glazed eyes and a ridiculous smile on his face. “Peacocks…everywhere.”

She choked on a laugh. “Billy.”

“I think I died and went to heaven.”

Well, she thought, trying to tamp down the blush rising to her cheeks. It looked like she wasn’t the
only
virgin in Rancho del Cielo.

“You’re not dead, Billy.” A little worse for wear, but definitely not dead.

“I think I love you.”

“You don’t love me.” He was only a couple of years older than the younger twins, for Pete’s sake.

“Yes I do. I love you…and peacocks.”

I’ll have to tell Susie this one is a success.
“You didn’t actually see anything you can’t see in a swimsuit catalog.”

He blinked, still staring up at the rafters, and when he spoke, it was with a broken squeak. “They show all
that
in a catalog?”

She frowned. “What exactly did you see?”

He swallowed, his still-oversized Adam’s apple working erratically.
“Everything.”

“I’m not naked. You couldn’t have seen
everything
.” Could he? The thong fit like a second skin, but she had been bent over for the robe when he pressed his face to the glass.

“I know what I saw, Ms. Jackman.”

“Two seconds ago, you were calling me Amanda.”

“That was before.”

“Before what?” Another deep voice asked from behind, and Amanda had a brief desire to curl into a fetal position. She might have done it if Billy Anderson wasn’t taking up all the room on the porch.

“Before I saw Ms. Jackman naked,” the kid replied, still in his ridiculous haze.

Ignore the man on your front steps. Ignore him and he’ll go away.
“I wasn’t naked, Billy!”

“You were to me.”

The man on the front steps she was ignoring as hard as she could must have sensed that she was about to kick the defenseless kid at her feet, because suddenly Amanda was off the ground, twisting and struggling, being carted safely back into her house.

“This would be a good time to run for your life, kid,” Cole grunted as he struggled to get her back inside. “Most folks don’t take kindly to peeping toms.”

“I wasn’t peeping!” Billy finally sat up, rubbing his head. “I was making a delivery. Mr. Jackman asked us to bring that over for his sister.” He must have pointed at the car, because Cole’s arms finally caught hold of hers and he fit them both through her front door with one last bit of advice for the boy outside.

“If I were you, then, I’d run a bit faster.”

Amanda Jackman made one hell of a handful.

“Put me down right this second, Cole Engstrom, or I swear I’ll rip your balls off by way of your tonsils.”

Oh sure, that inspired a man to let go. “Anyone ever tell you that your brothers have been a bad influence on you?”

She kicked his inner thigh with her sharp heel almost hard enough to make him drop her. “My judo instructor has mentioned it a few dozen times.”

“Judo?” He had just enough time to say the word before she stomped on his foot, rammed her elbow into his ribs and then tossed him out from behind her like a rag doll.

She was smirking, her arms crossed, before he’d even stopped sliding on the wood floor. “He says I have aggression issues.”

Cole might have agreed with the teacher if Amanda hadn’t forgotten to make sure her robe was closed. Suddenly, he didn’t have to guess why Billy Anderson had been sprawled on his back and happy as a pig in shit about it. Mile-long legs, golden skin visible everywhere and what looked like a peacock feather licking up from the shadowy space between her slim thighs.

So much for all those self-admonishing lectures he’d given himself before dropping by this morning. Not to mention all of last night, as he’d kicked his own ass for not telling her the truth right away. Warnings not to let Locke’s edict change how he saw Amanda. Or rather, treated her. He’d learned a long time ago that trying to ignore her beauty or her attractiveness simply wasn’t possible. That was why he’d put all his safeguards in place, so he wouldn’t be tempted to treat her like a woman he could…

Well, that was the problem in a nutshell. He hadn’t ever figured out what it was exactly he was so tempted to want from her. Friendship? They had that. She seemed to think it was contingent on his relationship with the elder twins for some inexplicable reason, but they had it. In many ways, it was a better friendship than he had with the twins. The boys he could hang out with, do dumb things with and generally not feel any pressure to be anything but what he was. They didn’t care if he tuned them out or called them assholes. They called him worse all the time. But Amanda kept him on his toes. She mocked him ruthlessly when she wanted to, and he was free to return the favor. They had actual conversations, sometimes in other languages. About anything. They could team up and make the other brothers beg for mercy when they felt like it. Or they could just sit and not talk at all.

But times like this, he knew friendship just didn’t cover what she made him crave.

Like last night, only somehow impossibly worse, what he wanted was so clear it thundered in his ears as his blood abandoned his brain and shuttled to his cock at a speed worthy of a pneumatic pump.

Call him a pig and he wouldn’t argue, because he did nothing to stop his gaze from tracing up her smooth belly to the black bra peeking out from under her forearms. By the time he got to her face, the anger was slowly leaching from her expression. Replaced, bit by bit, by what had to be embarrassment.

Except she wasn’t closing her robe.

Unfortunately, parts south of his equator were already expressing their approval. Her cool gaze darted from his face to his zipper, brows rising with interest. Not surprise. Interest.

Dammit!

He rolled onto his knees, hand on the couch to help himself back to his feet, only he didn’t just grab the couch cushion. Oh no, he couldn’t be that lucky. Instead, his hand tangled into a cloud of silk. Horror dawned as he finally took a look around her living room.

Bras and panties. Everywhere.

Every color. Styles that didn’t look like they’d stay on without glue. Lacy, stringy, satiny, God help him, some of them were
fluffy
. They covered the couch, littered the chair, hung over the back of the free-standing, full-length mirror. Nowhere was safe to look. Or touch. He dropped the handful tangled in his fingers and watched it float down to the couch.

“Uh…what’s going on in here, Amanda?”

“This? Oh, I was just getting ready for another unsuspecting delivery man to become my unwilling sex slave. Why do you ask?”

Unwilling, his ass. If Billy had retained use of his legs, the twerp would be in here right now, begging to lick the dust off her feet.

He
was certainly considering it.

The nicotine itch in his throat begged for mercy. To think, only two days ago, he’d thought he was having a pretty good week. Work was progressing nicely on his new point of sale program. The elder twins had finally agreed to stop trying to kill him with extra free-weight sessions. And he’d had absolutely no idea Amanda Jackman’s bellybutton was pierced.

Cole risked a glance at her in the mirror. Her eyes still flashed, a sexy pink flush to her cheeks, and yep, that robe was still hanging open, exposing the tiny blue-green gem dangling from a shiny silver chain. Tendrils of the peacock feathers fluttered up toward it, practically chanting “
nah-nah nah-nah-nah!
” just to torture him.

He closed his eyes and counted a few precious seconds. This was definitely one of those moments when a man was better off not saying a damn thing.

It took to the count of fifteen before Amanda gave an aggrieved sigh and he heard the swish of material—hopefully that last swish was her securing the belt on her robe. “What are you doing here, Cole? Did my brother send
you
over too?”

Talk about going from the kettle to the cauldron. “Er, not…exactly.”

“Well you go on back and tell Locke that I’ll be the one replacing my car, not him.”

“I don’t think my going to tell Locke anything is a good idea.” Especially since he was pretty sure he’d have a hard-on for the rest of his life thanks to her body being permanently seared onto his retinas.

Amanda snapped as if she’d just remembered something. “Oh, that’s right. Locke
scares
you. Forget I said anything.”

His eyes popped open, and he spun to see her already striding out of the living room. He followed her, pride twitching. “Scared is a little strong of a word.”

Especially since he’d been yelling in the behemoth’s face just last night on her behalf. Not that he could bring that up just yet.

“Do you prefer
terrified
?” She spun to ask sweetly, “Quaking in your boots? How about—”

Frustration had him snapping at her. “How about you stop acting like a spoiled brat?”

She jerked, eyes wide and mouth still open. Okay, he’d shocked her again, but really, how many buttons did she think he was going to let her push?

“Your brother cares about you. He cares about all of you. I’m not saying he’s not a ham-fisted overlord sometimes, but at least he cares enough to try. You could do a hell of a lot worse.” He certainly had. His one blessing where his parents were concerned was that they had been smart enough to stop at one kid they’d have to grind into the earth with the weight of their endless disaster of a marriage. “Do you think you could stop treating everyone like they’re out to get you just because they ask a damned question?”

The wind was definitely out of her sails now. She didn’t sag, exactly, but the righteous indignation had definitely shrunk her a bit on its way out. Finally she sighed, wrapping her arms around herself and looking everywhere but at him. A few seconds later, the Amanda he knew was finally back in control, her expression the tiniest bit sheepish.

“Bitch flag got a little high up the pole again, huh?”

“You think?” Cole took his hands off his hips, dropping a sigh of his own. He scrubbed at his forehead with his hand. It wasn’t exactly her fault, though. Getting caught bare-assed by a kid and ogled by someone she considered a friend was probably not her idea of a good time. “I did deserve it a little, staring at you like that.”

“Yeah, well”—she tugged the closed robe tighter around her body— “I’ve seen my brothers lose their minds often enough when they think they’re going to see a boob. I can’t hold it against you.”

If only she would. “Sure you can. I’m a grown man, I should be able to handle a woman in…feathers…without acting like an ass.”

A rueful grin turned up one corner of her mouth. “You weren’t an ass, Cole. I guess I just never knew feathers had such an effect on otherwise oblivious males.”

She only thought that because she wasn’t a mind reader. He smiled back at her. “It wasn’t just the feathers, Mandy.”

Her smile melted. “Don’t.” She barely uttered the word, turning to her cabinets almost fast enough to hide the grimace on her face.

“Don’t what?” He wanted to take those steps to where she stood, her hands on the kitchen counter, and turn her back around, but that would mean putting his hands on her. It wouldn’t be his smartest move, and considering the last few days, he could only imagine how bad a destination that decision could lead him to.

Married.

Dead.

Married,
then
dead.

No, he was better off way over here on his side of the kitchen, even if it did make him more of an asshole than usual.

It took long seconds for her to answer, even then only after she cleared her throat. “Don’t call me Mandy. You’ve always called me Amanda.”

Cole frowned. He’d never really given it much thought either way. Her brothers called her Mandy. It had always hit him as a leftover from her baby years, but still something filled with affection. Maybe it was too personal.

That thought stung for some reason. “Sorry about that.”

“No!” She spun, looking slightly panicked before clearing her throat and schooling her features back into calm smoothness. “I mean, you don’t have to be sorry, it’s just… I
like
being called Amanda.”

“Oh.”

They stared at each other, an awkwardness between them he couldn’t ever remember feeling. Or maybe it was awareness, he wasn’t quite sure. Him being way too aware that all she had on under that robe were a couple of strategically placed pieces of bird-fluff and her likely too aware of the fact he was still thinking about each and every one of them.

He coughed, trying to find his way back to why he’d come there. It certainly hadn’t been to save Billy Anderson from an ass-kicking or get his own thrown halfway across a room.

“So what are you planning to do about…” He waved his hand toward the windows in the living room and in the general direction of the blue sedan on the street.

Her gaze followed his gesture, coming back to his face tinged with confusion. “With Billy? I don’t think there’s anything I can do about him. He’s probably told half the town by now that he’s seen my ass.”

And here comes the choking again.

Amanda leaned back against her counter, arms crossed over her breasts again, her mouth in an amused smirk, waiting for him to get control of his oxygen.

“Do I want to know?” he finally asked.

“Apparently, Billy’s never seen a woman in a thong before.”

“Probably not a flesh-and-blood one, no.” Especially not one with flesh like Amanda’s. Cole’s mouth watering didn’t help that swallowing-malfunction problem. “I meant about your car?”

“What about it?”

“Well, if you’re not going to take the one Locke had sent over, maybe you should do what you said and get one yourself. You need a car.”

Judging by the rapid blinks, the thought hadn’t occurred to her. “I-I’ve never bought anything that big before.”

“What about this house? This was a pretty big purchase.”

“Yeah, and look how well that went. Something in it breaks just about every day. Besides, I got this place at a foreclosure sale after Beenie Mason died without any family to take it over. I just had to pay what was left on Beenie’s mortgage and since she lived here for thirty years, that was pretty much down to nothing. Now it’s just taxes. And repairs,” she added.