Dirty Deeds

  Harsh reality slapped at his conscience. Her anger was not misplaced; his was. He’d known exactly what Tate had wanted—what they’d both agreed to—with her every hot look, sweet smile and tentative touch. And he’d completely disregarded it, choosing his own agenda. The wave of sickness intensified as he remembered her troubled eyes, her wounded expression, her voice filled with pain. Pain he alone had caused.

  Even now he couldn’t tell her the truth. She’d be even more distraught if he confessed entering the Maxwell Competition was the impetus of striking the bargain with her, not the promise of free art lessons or free-for-all sex.

  A souped-up orange Camaro screeched up beside him at the red stoplight. He glanced over at the teenaged couple who’d taken the opportunity to plaster their mouths together in a full-body kiss. Hormones, he scoffed.

  Yeah, like he had room to pass judgment. Male pride, testosterone, whatever it was called, the Neanderthal behavior he’d exhibited in the bar proved his idiocy. He didn’t own Tate. They weren’t really even dating. What right did he have to embarrass the shit out of her? He had no rights with her, that seemed to be the crux of his problem.

  The light changed, and he hit the gas. His grungy silver thermos crashed to the floorboard. No, the crux of the problem was Tate wanted hot sex and he wanted the silly things that defined a normal relationship: coffee, conversation, a few stolen kisses and promising touches before they became intimate. Late-night phone calls, long walks in the park, leisurely dinners where heartfelt discussions weren’t used as a precursor to lovemaking.

  Had he made time to attempt many of those things he professed to need?

  No.

  He scowled and turned the music up. From the moment they’d met, Tate had brought feelings to light he didn’t believe existed. Why? Why her? Why now?

  Nathan didn’t need a high-priced shrink to point that gem out. Tate was unattainable. She didn’t want a relationship. So by denying her the only thing she craved—lots of steamy sex—he retained the upper hand.

  Add in the fact he’d entered her landscaping project in the Maxwell Competition without telling her… Ah hell. Was he really such a controlling bastard?

  Damn. Nothing with Tate could be long term, no matter if he longed for a permanent connection. She’d hightail it back to the Mile High City the day her landscaping was finished and passed inspection. With his business based in Spearfish, moving was not an option for him. He doubted she’d consider a long-distance relationship.

  Not that she’d hinted that direction. Tate hadn’t pretended for even one brief shining moment that there was—or ever would be—anything but hormones and hot looks between them. She’d offered little of herself because in the end it didn’t matter. She was leaving.

  Real cool, convincing himself that he could handle anything besides a purely sexual relationship.

  This wasn’t a relationship, no matter how much that idea appealed to him. Nope. He mustn’t forget this was a business arrangement. No way was he letting this deal fall through. These strange, unwanted feelings would disappear the minute he climbed out of her bed. Yeah that’s all it was, he assured himself angrily, as he blew past the carnival lights on the edge of town, just lack of sex.

  Nathan decided he’d rectify the situation tomorrow. To her complete and utter satisfaction.

  The first load of dirt landed right beneath Tate’s open window at six a.m.

  She tossed back the duvet, intent on chewing Nathan out for his uncivilized wake-up call.

  Except he probably expected histrionics. Well, she’d show him her civilized side by not rising to the bait.

  Hunkering back in bed, she shut her eyes and leveled her breathing in hopes of drifting back to sleep. Unfortunately neither the comforter nor the puffy pillow over her ears blocked out the grinding machinery. She hurled back the bedcovers with a resigned sigh because it was impossible to ignore the scattered thoughts racing around in her head anyway.

  Tate wasn’t sure which of them was the bigger idiot. Her, for agreeing to Nathan’s stupid, slow pace regarding the bonus sex lessons in the first place. Or him, for using Kathy as the catalyst to act on his supposed undying lust.

  Last night she’d been tempted to yell at him. She, who had always prided herself on her even temperament. How she managed to leave the situation with her dignity intact remained a mystery. However, the reasons for Nathan’s behavior had become abundantly clear: he’d repeatedly held her off because he could. Not necessarily in a power play. Evidently the frequent invitations to her bed didn’t mean much to him. Add in the wanton way she’d been acting, and well, he probably assumed she issued the invitation lightly.

  Not so.

  The number of men she’d entertained all night and into breakfast the following morning numbered a whopping three. Should she have confessed her sexual inexperience from the start? Had he guessed? Was that the problem?

  Tate sighed. Pondering the male psyche was pointless.

  Sex with Nathan was inevitable. He’d be chomping at the bit to prove her accusations wrong, probably tonight. Traitorous tingles of anticipation aside, she felt the perverse need to hold him off. Play hard to get. Drive him to the brink and leave him hanging. Being one hundred percent accessible hadn’t worked so far. She deserved some control in this situation. So how could she experience delicious sex and keep him at arm’s length?

  An idea clicked. If she insisted on banning their sexual antics from her bedroom and proclaimed herself a restless sleeper—which wasn’t entirely untrue—Nathan couldn’t argue with her refusal to let him spend the night. Most likely he’d be relieved. In her limited encounters, men searched for the closest exit right after the action ended anyway. Besides, waking up together was the ultimate intimacy in her mind. God forbid she got used to having him in her bed or in her life.

  Clouds of dust floated under the window shade on the brisk breeze, reminding her that Nathan wasn’t the only one with work to finish this morning.

  A pot of strong coffee and two bowls of Cap’n Crunch later, Tate hauled out the old, ugly extension ladder to prep the dining room ceiling for paint. Once the stained tarps were spread out, she relocated her portable Bluetooth speaker and set her playlists on the Pandora app on her phone to random before she got to work.

  Lost in the tedious task and the loud music, she didn’t notice Nathan’s presence until he shouted, “What the hell are you doing?”

  “Baking cookies,” she muttered, realigning the paint-filled brush she’d nearly dropped on his head.

  He switched off the music. “What are you doing?”

  “Working.” She dipped the brush into the can, arcing a cream swath over the grungy gray-white ceiling. “Why?”

  “Because you shouldn’t be up that high. You could easily slip and fall—”

  “When someone barges in unannounced and scares the crap out of me?” she said sweetly.

  “You’re hilarious. I’m especially busting a gut about the funny way you’re teetering on that rickety-ass ladder.” Heavy footsteps shuffled across the crinkly blue tarp. “Why didn’t you ask for my help?”

  Tate’s single handhold on the ladder increased. “Because I don’t want it. I can do this. Since you’re the landscaping expert, isn’t your work supposed to be done outside?”

  A breath hissed between his teeth. “Low blow.”

  “Sorry.” She glanced down and was rewarded with a glimpse of his steel-toed work boots and his yellow hard hat, plus the rippling muscles straining at the seams of his tight T-shirt. Damn.

  Do not get distracted by his banging body.

  She strengthened her resolve. “Did you need something else?”

  “To tell you I’m leaving.”

  Her aggressive brush banging sent paint splattering. “Are you coming back?”

  “Later.” His booted foot tapped impatiently. “You’ll be here?”

  “Hopefully not right here, stuck repainting the same section of ceiling.” She stirred absentmind
edly, wondering what else to say. Yet she didn’t feel the initial apology about last night’s fiasco should be hers.

  Nathan made it to the living room before he stopped and said, “Tate?”

  “What?” She held her breath. Please say something sweet. Any kind of that romantic stuff you specialize in.

  “I’m sorry about last night. It’s just…” He paused. “You were right, okay? It’s time I stop acting like you shouldn’t have a say in our lessons. I never meant to hurt you.” His heavy tread echoed through the silence and the screen door banged shut behind him.

  Tate grinned at the empty room. “Good answer.”

  Late that afternoon a glass of icy lemonade sweltered on the sideboard when a dusty but damnably appealing Nathan sidled inside the kitchen. “Hey.”

  “Hey. You look thirsty.” She handed him the cold drink and watched him drain it in one long draw.

  Those beautiful brown eyes held her gaze and then he smiled shyly. “Thanks.”

  Her residual anger dissipated like the last of the paint fumes.

  He wiped his brow with the back of the cool glass. “It’s hot out there.”

  “In here too. You want to sit down?”

  “No.” He scowled at his dirt-covered clothes. “I’m headed home to clean up.” Tension filled the already stifling air as he rattled the ice in his glass. “Thought I’d better check to see if you’re still going to Steve’s with me tonight.”

  Tate took her time pouring another glass for herself. “I guess. Did you think I’d changed my mind?”

  “I figured you might still be mad.”

  She measured him. His sweaty, earthy scent and vulnerable expression created thoughts of flinging herself into his strong arms, damning the dust clouds, paint splatters and misunderstandings between them. “I’m not mad. Let’s forget it, okay?”

  His jaw dropped. “You aren’t going to make me beg to get back in your good graces?”

  “I do enough begging for both of us,” she said. “I’ll go to this party with you since your friends are expecting us. But I’m warning you, this is our last social event.”

  Nathan’s eyes sharpened. “Why?”

  “Because it wasn’t part of the deal. I never agreed to weekly pool games or barbecues.”

  “But you agreed to no-holds-barred sex.”

  “That was the arrangement. If you want to change it, tell me now because I’m running out of time. I need to be back in Denver in three weeks.” There. She had reminded him of her temporary status.

  Mouth tight, Nathan set the glass on the counter. “We’re not changing a damn thing. I’ll be back in an hour. You’d better be ready.”

  The door crashed behind him and he was gone.

  Hot and sticky from sweat and paint, Tate indulged in a long, cool shower.

  But the day’s heat lingered. She slipped on her skimpiest sundress, grateful the floral rayon fabric allowed her skin to breathe.

  Half an hour later, she descended the stairs the same time Nathan walked through the front door. He lifted his head, sending his dark, untamed hair flowing down his broad back. Those honey-colored eyes, usually soft and gentle, were filled with a dangerous glint.

  Lord, how had she ever imagined she could handle him? He exuded raw sexuality with the way his gaze swept over her and his hunger clawed at her. In that moment she felt as unbound as his hair and she wondered why she’d bothered dressing at all.

  “Tate.”

  That one half-growled word said everything. She waited without breathing, without thinking, without moving.

  By her side in two short strides, he hauled her into his arms. His mouth swooped down and overwhelmed. Hard, unrelenting, his tongue demanded her total surrender. Gone were the gentle, coaxing kisses, the soft, exploratory touches. The hands holding her head traveled over her throat to claim her breasts, down farther yet to caress with single-minded accuracy the aching spot between her legs.

  She was helpless against the passion that flared to life. Moisture pooled low, dampening her thighs. Heart pounding, she clung to his brawny neck, breathing in his clean scent, shoving her hands into his glossy hair.

  His kisses destroyed her. His questing fingers created a flash of heat in her groin that owed nothing to fabric friction.

  Nathan nudged her toward the living room. “You’re driving me crazy, winyan,” he muttered against her mouth. He wrenched the straps of her sundress down her arms until she was bared before him. “Stark raving mad with wanting you.” His thumb lightly grazed the pebbled tip. “With remembering how these feel in my mouth.”

  “Nathan, please.”

  Ignoring her entreaty, he feasted on her nipples until they were stiff and rosy. Until she arched and moaned, thrashing against him, wild with an elemental need.

  He ripped his avid mouth away to lick a teasing path to her ear. “I want to fuck you. Right now.”

  His rough words were meant to shock her, but they didn’t. Her hand continued sifting through the silken tangles of his hair. Her need for him was growing, building a frenzy in her brain. Yet she needed to hear those potent words again. “What?”

  “You heard me. That’s what you want, isn’t it?” Teeth scraped over the sensitive cord in her neck, followed by hot breaths over her skin. “No more pretty phrases. No more hesitation. No more pathetic attempts at romance. I want you, right here, right now, on the couch, coming hard on the end of my cock until you scream my name.”

  She trembled. Not from his crude tone, but from the seductive combination of his magical hands and impatient mouth on her body that turned the throbbing ache between her legs more sharply pronounced.

  When the back of her knees hit the couch, she grabbed his shoulders. The heat rising from his skin nearly scorched her fingers. “Wait,” she whispered, fighting for control.

  His eyes were wild. His mouth was wet from suckling her. He shook his head and his soft hair fanned over her taut nipple. She bit back a moan at the erotic sensation of him grinding his pelvis into hers.

  Tate turned her head away from the greedy mouth. If he kissed her again, she’d be lost. But he was relentless. He moved to lick the pulse tripping erratically in the hollow of her throat. Tingles spread across her skin and spiraled up her spine.

  “I’ve been such an idiot,” he panted. “You are beautiful. Let me have you, Tate. Let me make love to you right now.”

  So, Mr. Romance decided he’d accept their overwhelming chemistry. Big of him.

  But that’s what you wanted, right? Lots of burning-hot sex without strings. Without promises. Without love.

  Why did her victory feel hollow? A tiny part of her deflated. “Stop.”

  “Why?”

  “Because we’re going to be late for the party.”

  “I don’t care about the damn party,” he said, tugging on her nipple while he lightly scored the upper swell of her breast with his teeth. Then he sucked that skin hard, using long sweeps of his tongue to soothe the love bruise.

  “Dammit!” She shoved his shoulders. “Will you listen?”

  He went utterly still.

  Tate stumbled back, attempting to straighten her dress. She fiddled with the spaghetti straps to avoid looking at him. “As long as I’ve waited for this, Nathan, I deserve better than a quick coupling on the couch. Weren’t you the one who insisted our first sex lesson should be romantic? This sure as hell doesn’t fit the bill.”

  Dead silence.

  His eventual low laugh was not amused. “Guess that comment about needing romance turned around and bit me on the ass, didn’t it?”

  Tate watched him drag his hands through his hair in sheer frustration.

  “What do you want from me, Tate?”

  Everything. She willed her voice not to wobble. “Can we just go to this party like planned? We’ll talk about this later, okay?”

  The tight set of his jaw turned his smile into a grimace. “Fine. Let’s go.”

  Tate surveyed her surroundings while she nursed
her warm ginger ale.

  Their late arrival caused the expected catcalls and wolf