Shameless
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Kimberly Raye
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15,6K
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13
1
One year later
JIMMY MISSION wasn’t sure what bothered him most about Deb Strickland.
The fact that she was pleading her innocence to the judge, even though the entire lunch rush at Pancake World had seen her back into the front end of his Bronco.
Or the fact that with every deep breath she took, her low-cut silk blouse shifted and a heart-shaped tattoo played a wicked game of peek-a-boo with him.
“Four thousand dollars? For a little dent? Why, with a hammer and five bucks worth of spray paint, I could fix the blasted thing myself!”
“Six hundred is for the dent.” Skeeter Baines, the oldest judge in Inspiration and an ex-fishing buddy of Jimmy’s late father, pointed a bony finger at her. “The rest is for poor Jimmy’s pain and suffering. Maybe you’ll think twice before you go ramming that fancy sports car of yours into an innocent man’s truck.”
“Innocent? Judge, it was his bumper that was sticking over the line into my spot. I couldn’t help but tap him.”
“Three times?” the judge asked.
“It was twice.”
“Aha! So you did ram him.”
“Tapped him, and my insurance will cover the damages. As for the pain and suffering—”
“I’ve made my decision. Now take your seat.” The judge slammed his hammer down and Deb blew out an exasperated sigh.
The tattoo flashed Jimmy in full, heart-shaped splendor—a vivid red against a backdrop of pale, satin-looking skin—and his mouth went dry.
“This is a terrible miscarriage of justice,” she declared, pivoting to face the handful of people clustered in the tiny courtroom—the bailiff, the court reporter, the police officer who’d responded to the accident call and three nosy file clerks. “Grossly unfair.” Another deep sigh, a quick flash of red, and Jimmy’s groin tightened.
The only thing unfair was Jimmy’s reaction to the brunette stomping around the defendant’s table in three-inch heels, a tight red skirt and a clingy white blouse.
This was Deb Strickland, he reminded himself. Ten percent soft, warm, female, ninety percent ballsy attitude, and the woman responsible for causing him so much grief. He rued the day he’d had the misfortune to lay down good money for an all-too-brief kiss that had started out their renewed acquaintance with such sweet promise. After she’d dunked and damned near drowned him that same fateful day, things between them had only gone downhill.
“What is unfair, Miss Strickland,” Judge Baines snapped, “is that you purposely damaged Mr. Mission’s property.”
“Desperate times call for desperate measures. Jimmy Mission has been hounding me for an entire year. Every time I turn around, there he is.”
“This is a small town, Miss Strickland.”
“I’m fully aware of that, but he’s not only there, he’s doing things—like parking in my spot every time he comes into town, sitting in my seat at my table during the YMCA charity barbecue last month, signing up to be my partner during the wheelbarrow race at the Senior Citizen Olympics.”
“Attended that barbecue, myself. Sounds like Jimmy was just being charitable and looking out for his own, which is more than I can say for present company.”
“This is about Cletus Wallaby, isn’t it?” When the judge’s expression hardened, Deb added, “You can’t hold that against me, Judge. Cletus Wallaby was a crooked councilman and the people of this town deserved to know it. It was my journalistic duty to expose him.”
“Cletus was born and raised here. Spent his whole life struggling to make the town better when you were just a gleam in your rich father’s eye.”
“Homegrown or not, he stole money from taxpayers and that makes him crooked.”
“He may have fudged on his expense sheets for the town, but he’s a damn good family man and a helluva fisherman, little missy, and you’d do well to remember that some folks don’t take too kindly to outsiders spreading rumors.”
“Every one of my facts was documented and proven. That’s why he was fired last year. Fact, not rumor.”
“And the fact here,” the judge snapped, obviously set in his opinion despite the proof, “is that you damaged Jimmy’s property.”
“But he was taking up half my space—”
“Try two inches,” Jimmy called out, adding fuel to the already out-of-control fire that blazed between them. “I was barely two inches beyond the line, Judge.”
She turned blazing blue eyes on him and what he’d discovered to be her most intimidating glare.
Only Jimmy wasn’t easily intimidated or put off. He could handle women, even an ornery one.
He gave her the slowest, laziest grin he could manage with just a hint of a wink, an expression he’d become notorious for since he’d first used it to con Mary Sue Grimes into the bed of his daddy’s pickup when he’d been fifteen. Jimmy didn’t really understand the effect of “The Grin” on women, just that it never failed to turn the tide his way.
She glared. “Two inches is about the size of things, from what I hear.”
“Now, Slick.” His grin widened when her gaze narrowed. “I didn’t think you listened to hearsay. If you want to check your facts, I’d be mighty happy to show you and set the record straight.”
“I just bet you would,” she snapped.
Deb Strickland didn’t, wouldn’t respond to “The Grin.” Aside from the moment they’d kissed, she hadn’t responded in any positive way to him since he’d come home to Inspiration over a year ago and found her running the town newspaper in place of her granny Lily.
He’d been surprised. Not because Deb had taken the old woman’s place at the In Touch, but because she’d grown from the scrawny young city gal who used to keep her granny company a few weeks every summer into one fine-looking woman who, folks said, kept company with every eligible man in town.
Every man, that is, except for him.
It puzzled the hell out of Jimmy, not only because of her initial response to him, but because women, all women, just plain liked him. It was a fact of life, like the sun rising and setting, his mother baking her famous Christmas cookies, his Black Angus bull walking away with first prize at the Austin County livestock show. Jimmy smiled and women smiled back. He flirted and they flirted back.
And some did more, he thought, eyeing the platter of petit fours sitting in front of him, courtesy of the court reporter, Justine something or other, and Daring Deb’s Fun Girl Fact for the week—Go get ’im with gourmet goodies! He thought about the drawer full of silk underwear—not his own—he had at home due to last week’s Seduce him with silk! He pictured his cabinet overflowing with everything from biscotti to croissants, smoked oysters to sardines, all surefire aphrodisiacs according to Loosen him up with love potions!
He glanced down at the folded newspaper and today’s words of wisdom. Nothing says come and get me like pineapple-flavored body glaze!
This was a small Texas town. Most of the women hadn’t even heard of flavored body glazes, much less seen a tube of the stuff, which was exactly the point of the column. To bring some city-savvy love advice to the single women of Inspiration.
Jimmy had nothing against women being savvy when it came to love, he just didn’t want all that savvy directed at him when he wasn’t ready to do anything about it. Most of the women he knew wouldn’t get all spruced up for a man unless he’d already handed over the ring, and Jimmy hadn’t even narrowed down the candidates, much less decided on the future Lady Mission.
He knew Deb had started the column to push him away, to draw the line between them and remind him that she wasn’t the sort of girl a guy could take home to his mama. But damned if she didn’t come back every few weeks with some short, serious article. Like the one she’d done on Cletus Wallaby who’d cost the good citizens of Inspiration major tax dollars because of his falsified expense reports, or the one she’d done to rally support for the local animal shelter.
It was those serious, caring articles that never failed to cool his anger and stir his admiration. And they also made him wonder exactly how many rumours regarding Deb’s bedroom exploits were rooted in fact and how many were pure speculation based on the sophisticated, worldly image she portrayed and the fact that this was a small town and gossip a favorite pastime. He knew she’d dated all of the twenty or so eligible men in town. What he had trouble swallowing was that she’d bedded all of them, because as turned on as she’d been by his kiss, he’d sensed her surprise, as well.
“Don’t you have better things to do than harass innocent women?” Deb’s voice drew Jimmy back to the here and now and the fire flashing in her blue eyes.
“Sure do. Today, I’m teaching a lesson to a guilty woman. You break the law, you have to pay.”
“But you parked in my spot on purpose.”
“Barely.” He shrugged. “I’m not too good at parallel parking.”
“Well, neither am I. So sue me.” The minute the words were out of her mouth, a wave of red crept up her neck and fueled her cheeks.
“That’s what I’m doing, sweetheart.”
And in a big way. He’d counted on the fact that Judge Baines, still soured over Deb’s exposure of Cletus, the judge’s longtime fishing buddy, would go for the maximum judgement allowed. Having his early weekend fishing trip put off by a Friday morning hearing didn’t help matters. Deb didn’t stand a chance, which was exactly why Jimmy had hauled her into court.
Not that he needed the outrageous judgment. This wasn’t about damages. It was about finishing what they’d started.
She wanted him. He’d felt it, seen it, even if she had spent the past year denying it. He’d no more been able to forget the taste of her—warm woman and sweet peppermint and sinful promise—than he’d been able to shake the urge to breathe. Over the past year, reading her articles, seeing her around town, talking to her, hell, even arguing with her, had intensified the attraction. She was in his head, under his skin, in his blood.
At first, he’d tried to deny the chemistry between them. He’d been so damned mad after the dunking booth incident, which had been her intention all along. To push him away, piss him off, keep distance between them. She wanted him, but she didn’t want to want him because she, like every other female in town, knew he had marriage on his mind. If there was one thing he’d learned about Deb Strickland, it was that she was single and proud of it.
Good. While Jimmy did have marriage on his mind, he wanted a strong, solid woman who knew her cattle better than her cosmetics. One who wasn’t afraid to get her hands dirty to give one hundred percent to a thriving ranch that demanded so much.
Too much.
He shook away the thought. The ranch was his life now, and he would do what he had to do. For his mother and father. For the future of the Mission spread. Duty called, and so he didn’t, couldn’t want a woman like Deb Strickland, with her fancy clothes and painted nails and city-slicker persona, in his life.
But in his bed, wearing nothing but a smile and some pineapple-flavored body glaze…now that was a different matter altogether.
Deb huffed, the heart flashed, and Jimmy’s body gave an answering throb.
“I’m begging you to rethink this, Judge Baines.”
“No time, missy. I’ve got a great big catfish with my name on it out in Morgan’s Pond and you’ve made me as late as I’m gonna get.” The gavel slammed down as the judge stood up. “I rule in favor of the plaintiff for four thousand dollars.” He shrugged off his robe to reveal a plaid shirt and blue jeans, and grabbed the rod and reel propped in the far corner. “Good day and happy fishing.”
Jimmy barely had time to stand before the three file clerks and the court reporter closed in on him.
“Congratulations, Jimmy.”
“You deserve it.”
“How’d you like that sardine sandwich I made you last week?”
By the time Jimmy smiled and talked his way past the women, Deb Strickland and her tattoo had disappeared.
He should have been thankful.
She was sure to come at him, guns blazing, ready to rip his head off and mount it on the wall above her desk over at the In Touch. He’d waited this long to make his proposition. A few more days, maybe even a couple of weeks wouldn’t make much difference. Besides, Jimmy had always been a patient man where women were concerned, which was why he’d invested so much time in pursuing a woman with such a hands-off attitude.
He had work waiting—a plowed over fence in the north pasture, a pen full of cattle needing vaccinations, and Valentino, his stud bull, was due in Austin tomorrow to be photographed for a layout in Texas Cattleman featuring prize livestock.
He needed to get things settled, to pack. He didn’t need a confrontation to take up more time when he was already running short.
But damned if he didn’t want one.
DEB FOUGHT to keep from shedding even one of the tears burning her eyes as she headed down the hallway. Deb Strickland didn’t cry, no matter how grossly unfair Judge Baines’s verdict.
Four thousand dollars. Where was she supposed to come up with that kind of money?
With barely two thousand left in her own savings account—a quarter of which she’d already planned to transfer to the newspaper account to help cover Wally’s salary—she was scraping bottom already. She had three hundred open on her Visa, eighty bucks in her checking account, Granny Lily’s decrepit house, a car that wasn’t even halfway paid off, a lifetime supply of Go Girl cosmetics she’d won back in a magazine competition in college and a newspaper that barely generated enough revenue to cover expenses.
Most of the time, it didn’t, which was why she’d nearly depleted the nest egg Granny Lily had left her.
She fought back the urge to turn around, stomp back into the courtroom and punch the plaintiff’s infuriatingly handsome face.
She would have done in a second except she’d traded Sonia at the beauty shop a month of free advertising for a French manicure just yesterday. She wasn’t about to waste a precious nail on some pigheaded cowboy, even if said cowboy was Jimmy Mission.
Especially because it was him. He was completely off-limits. Cowboy non grata. The more distance between them, the better.
“Hey, Slick, wait up.” His deep voice rumbled behind.
“Get lost.” She picked up the pace.
“I want to talk to you.”
“And I want to strangle you, but lucky for you my personal beauty regime prohibits physical violence. Go away.”
He stopped, but his voice followed her. “Why are you so dead set on running away from me?”
The question rang in her ears, prickling her ego and she turned on him before she could think better of it. “Why are you so dead set on ruining my life?”
“Last time I looked, you hit me.”
“You parked in my spot intentionally. You’ve been doing it for months just to tick me off.” Eleven months and fifteen days to be exact, since their first and last kiss, not that Deb was counting….
Oh, God, she was counting.
She glared at him. “You’ve been hogging my spot on purpose.”
“And you’ve been avoiding me on purpose, that or trying to piss me off.”
She managed a laugh but could hardly feel mirthful since, even though a few feet separated them, the scent of him reached her. The enticing aroma of leather and male and that unnameable something that made her think of satin sheets and champagne and…Forget it. Forget him. Forget the kiss. Forget.
She tried for a steadying breath. “Look, I realize you’re very popular, but unlike the other members of your fan club,” she motioned to the group of women clustered outside the courtroom, their gazes hooked on Jimmy. “I’m too busy to spend my valuable time thinking about ways to piss you off.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
“You know what I think?”
“I couldn’t care less.”
“I think,” he said, stepping toward her, “you’ve been pushing me away on purpose, hoping I’d back off because you’re scared.”
“Scared? Of what? You? The day I’m scared of you, buster, is the day Myrna Jenkins—” known to the entire town as queen of the coiffure “—goes to the Piggly Wiggly with her hair in rollers.”
“Not me, Slick.” He took another step, closing the distance between them. “Us.” The word trembled in the air between them.
She craned her neck and stared up at him. “There is no us.”
“We were good together.”
“For about five seconds.”
“It was more like ten.” His gaze narrowed. “But a kiss is just a kiss, right? A little fun?”
He’d obviously read her article, just as she’d intended. She’d written the piece right after she’d finished up at the carnival and gone home to an empty house, disappointed and frustrated because Mr. Kiss-of-the-Century had turned out to be Mr. Jimmy Mission. Inspiration’s most eligible husband prospect was completely off-limits to a woman like Deb who’d sworn off marriage and family when she’d left Dallas. So she’d written one of her most powerful editorials, entitled Girls Just Wanna Have Fun, which had led to her weekly and ever-popular Daring Deb’s Fun Girl Fact.
“Not every woman’s out to find herself a husband,” she told him.
“And not every man’s out to find himself a wife.”
“But you are.”
“Says who?”
“Everyone in this desperately small town.” She eyed him. “So what’s the scoop? Are you or are you not looking for a wife?”
“Not at this moment.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“That, yes, I’m keeping my eye out for the future Lady Mission. I’m thirty-two and it’s time to settle down, but until I find her—and your column hasn’t made things any easier by turning half the women around here into pushy—”
“Assertive,” she cut in. “Fun women are assertive.”
“And convinced that being a good wife means rubbing herself down with pineapple-flavored body glaze and doubling as a Christmas ham.”
Despite the heat and the tension, a grin tugged at her lips. “Actually, a very good wife rubs herself down with pineapple glaze and doubles as a Christmas ham.”
“That’s where you’re wrong, honey. A very good wife doesn’t waste her time on foolishness. She steers a tractor, rides fence and pitches hay right alongside her husband. But that’s neither here nor there. I’m talking about something a lot more basic. If a girl can have her fun, so can a guy.”
She peeked around him and eyed the women still gathered in the hallway. “I say take your pick and go for it.”
He grabbed her arm and hauled her toward the alcove behind a nearby stairwell.
“What are you doing—” she started, the words drowning in the lump in her throat as he whirled her around and cornered her.
“I pick you.”
She stared up at him, wishing he wasn’t so tall, so handsome, so…close. “I’m not ripe for picking.”
His eyes darkened and she realized she’d said the wrong things…or the right thing depending on the part of her doing the thinking. From the heat pooling between her thighs she’d lay down money it wasn’t her head.
“I’d say you’re definitely ripe, honey.” His thumb grazed the nipple pressing against her blouse and heat speared her. “Damn near ready to burst.”
“That’s not what I meant.” She summoned her most nonchalant voice. “You should really save your energy for a nice girl who’s into the tractor thing.”
“The whole point is to expend a little energy.”
“So do it with the future Mrs. Jimmy Mission.”
“I would, but I haven’t found her yet.”
“Then expend energy with one of your fans out in the hallway.”
“I’ve known each one of them nearly all my life, and while they’re having a good time reading your articles and playing at being savvy singles, they’re really only after one thing—a husband. The morning after, I’m sure to find an anxious father waiting on my doorstep with a loaded shotgun, and Preacher Marley standing next to him. I’ll end up hitched whether I’ve found the right woman or not.”
“What makes you think the same won’t happen with me?”
“You got an anxious father waiting at home?”
Once upon a time…She shook away the thought and fought back a wave of guilt. “No.”
“You know Preacher Marley?”
“He’s an In Touch subscriber.”
“How likely is he to step in and defend your honor?”
She stiffened and met his stare. “For your information, I can defend my own honor.”
“There was never a doubt in my mind.” He touched her then, skin to skin, the tip of one finger at her collarbone, and heat bolted through her from the contact. “You’re something when you get all stirred up.” He traced a path lower, until his fingertip came to rest atop the tattoo peeking from the vee of her blouse. “This drove me crazy all morning.”
Before she could form a reply, he dipped his head and the tip of his tongue flicked over the sensitive area. A moan caught in her throat and she closed her eyes, the pleasure sweet, intense, overwhelming.
“You’ve been driving me crazy all year,” he went on. Sexy green eyes caught and held hers. “You’ve been haunting my dreams. You and your red lips and that damned kiss and this heat between us.”
Amen. While Deb had heard about chemistry and animal attraction and how, sometimes, things just sparked between two people, she’d never felt it. Sure, she’d been attracted to men, but the pull had never felt so…desperate. Like if she didn’t have him, she’d die. Right here. Right now.
“Don’t you think it’s about time we stopped all this nonsense?” he asked.
Boy, did she ever. She caught the words before they could pass her lips and drew her mouth into a tight line. “You want to talk about nonsense? That judgment. My insurance will cover the damages, but anything above and beyond is ridiculous.”
“And still your responsibility.”
“But you weren’t anywhere near that Bronco when I tapped you. Why should I pay you pain and suffering?”
“I’ve been in pain since the first moment I tasted you—” his fingertip skimmed her bottom lip “—and suffering every night since because I want to taste you again.” His gaze flicked to her mouth. “The law is the law. You owe me, Slick.”
“I don’t have four thousand dollars.”
“I don’t want four thousand dollars.”
Don’t ask. Turn. Walk away. Do anything but ask.
Something about the intense light of his gaze compelled her, however, almost as much as the need that suddenly gripped her body.
“What do you want?”
“This, for starters.” And then he kissed her.
Jimmy Mission tasted even better than she remembered. Hotter. More potent.
His hand cupped her cheek, the other splayed along her rib cage just inches shy of her right breast, his fingers searing through the fabric of her blouse. His mouth nibbled at hers. His tongue slid wet and wicked along her bottom lip before dipping inside to stroke and tease and take her breath away.
Now this…this was the reason she’d dunked him at the carnival.
Because she’d been a heartbeat shy of crawling into the dunk tank with him, throwing herself into his arms and begging for another kiss. No way could she have allowed herself to do such a thing with a marriage-minded man like Jimmy Mission.
A girl had to have her standards, and married men, engaged men, men who walked and talked and reeked of home and hearth and tradition, like Jimmy, were completely off-limits. No marriage for her. Just freedom and fun and…
The thought faded as his fingers crept an inch higher, closer to her aching nipple which bolted to attention, eager for a touch, a stroke, something…anything.
His fingers stopped inches shy, but his mouth kept moving, his tongue stroking, lips eating, hungry…so hungry. His intent was pure sin, and Deb couldn’t help herself; a moan vibrated up her throat.
He caught the sound, deepening the kiss for a delicious moment that made her stomach jump and her thighs quiver, and left no doubt as to the power of the chemistry between them.
She’d been burning for him all these months, the flames fed by memories and fantasies and his constant pursuit.
“What are you doing to me?” she murmured, dazed and trembling, when he finally pulled away.
He leaned in, his breath warm against her ear. “Not even half of what I want to do.” His words made her shake and quiver all the more.
Shaking? Quivering? Over a man?
This man, a voice whispered, that same voice that had warned her off him so many months ago. The voice that kept her one step ahead of him because no way was Deb Strickland going to find herself trapped all over again. She was free now, and she was staying that way.
She pulled away, desperate to put some distance between them and find the common sense that seemed to desert her every time he was near. “I’ve got work to do.”
“Don’t even think about running now,” he cut in, his fingers tightening on her arm, his hold firm but not painful. His mouth grazed hers before she could tell him exactly where to get off. “I’m calling your bluff, Slick.” The words vibrated against her lips. “You say all you want’s a little fun. Well, that’s all I want. You. Me. Two weeks of fun. No strings attached. Then we’ll call it even.” He gave her another lingering kiss before letting go of her. “Think about it.”
