Cindi Myers - Do Me Right

“First door on the right…” Before Theresa could finish her sentence, he’d swept her up in his arms and carried her down the hall.

She braced herself for a rough landing on the bed, but he managed to lay her down gently. His torso pressed into her, a solid weight that thrilled her. For an average-size guy, he was strong. Everywhere she touched, she met hard muscle. The feel of him turned her on so much that her body wasn’t paying attention to her mind anymore. She’d been reduced to this all-consuming need.

And the only thing that could take that need away was him.

He moved away suddenly, and without his warmth she felt cold. “What are you doing?” she asked.

Kyle paused, his hand on the snap to his jeans. “I thought you might be tired of being the only one naked.”

Dear Reader,

As soon as Theresa Jacobs sauntered onto the pages of Good, Bad…Better, Blaze #168, I knew I would have to tell her story in a book of her own. And here it is. Do Me Right was an absolute pleasure to write, as I couldn’t wait to find out what would happen with Theresa and her hero.

A woman as strong as Theresa demanded an equally strong man. Kyle Cameron had the right combination of cowboy charm and masculine determination to crack her tough exterior and find the tender woman within.

This book also gave me another chance to revisit one of my favorite cities in the world, Austin, Texas. I spent many happy years there and it was nice to remember them.

I hope you enjoy Do Me Right. I love to hear from readers. Visit my Web site at www.CindiMyers.com to find out more about what I’m up to. E-mail me at Cindi@cindimyers.com or write me at P.O. Box 991, Bailey, CO 80421.

Happy reading,

Cindi Myers

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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For Mike and Diane

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Epilogue

AH, NOTHING LIKE A LITTLE confrontation to start off a gorgeous April morning. A block away from her shop, Austin Body Art, Theresa Jacobs stopped and frowned at the half-dozen picketers milling around the tattoo parlor.

Keep Austin Clean one of their signs read. Take Back Sixth Street proclaimed another. Stamp Out Smut said a third. She had to hand it to them—these folks didn’t give up easily. They’d been out here every day for the last two weeks.

Two of the group wore oversize white T-shirts with the words Vote Darryl “Clean” Carter For Austin City Council. Ah, yes, “Clean” Carter. Self-appointed protector of citizen morals and champion of a family-friendly Austin. Apparently he’d decided that running Theresa and others like her out of business would be the ideal way to win his campaign.

Apparently Mr. Carter didn’t realize how stubborn smut-sellers like her could be. She shifted her bag up higher on her shoulder and tugged her leather halter top down a little lower. Cleavage exposed—check. Belly-button ring showing—check. High-heeled boots, black fishnet hose, leather miniskirt—check. Big hair—check. Red, red lips—check. If Carter’s minions expected sex, sin and sensation, she didn’t want to disappoint them.

Sultry smile in place, she started toward the shop once more, moving in an exaggerated strut that had her hips swaying like a clock pendulum.

As they had each morning for the past two weeks, the protesters stopped and stared at her approach. “Good morning,” she said, flashing a big smile as she inserted her key in the front-door lock.

“Good morn—” One of the men, a round, balding fellow with wire-rimmed glasses, started to return her greeting, but was cut off by an elbow in the ribs from the stern-faced woman in matching wire rims at his side.

“We’re having a special today, folks,” Theresa said. “Half-priced piercings. I know you won’t want to miss that.”

“You ought to be ashamed of yourself.” A tall woman with hair the color of apricots stepped forward. “What if you had a daughter who dressed and acted the way you do?”

Theresa lowered her sunglasses and looked the woman up and down. “I’d say she was having a lot more fun than someone who dressed and acted the way you do.”

On this exit line, she entered the shop and punched in her alarm code. Another day of fun and excitement at Austin Body Art. If only the moral dictators out there realized how mundane most of her life—and her clients—really were. She might look like a wild woman, but lately an exciting evening for her was a cable movie and Lean Cuisine.

She let the cats, Mick and Delilah, out of the back room. They protested their confinement loudly and wove in and out of her ankles until she filled their bowls with kibble. Then she switched on lights, booted up the computer and prepared to start the day.

Ten minutes later the door burst open. “Love you, too, baby!” Her co-worker, Scott, blew kisses to the group outside, the effect somewhat spoiled by the one-finger salute he gave with his other hand. He slammed the door and turned to Theresa. “Don’t those people ever give up?”

She shook her head. “They’ll be gone after the election, one way or another.”

Scott looked unconvinced. “You don’t know what money and an agenda can do for a candidate.” He glanced toward the group outside the front window. “These people are really fired up.”

“If Carter wins, the picketers will still go away. And he may not like us, but he can’t do anything about us. We’re a legitimate, legal business.”

“Yeah, but you can’t stay in business long if you don’t have customers, can you?” He slumped onto the stool behind the front counter and raked one hand through his spiked blond hair.

She ignored the twinge of fear his words produced. “What do you mean? Of course we’ll have customers. Why wouldn’t we?”

He shook his head. “I don’t know. This Clean Up Austin drive is really cutting down on traffic. Business is taking a hit all over.”

“We’re still doing okay.” They’d been a little slower, maybe, but every business had downtimes. “Things will pick up again soon. We don’t have to worry.”

“The Hot Tamale’s already cutting staff.” He rested his elbows on the counter, head in his hands. “I got laid off from my bartending gig last night.”

“Oh, Scott.” She set aside the mail she’d been sorting and went to him. “That sucks.”

He nodded. “Yeah. And I just moved into that new apartment, too.”

“You can work full-time here now, if you like.”

He raised his head. “You mean it?”

“Sure. With Zach in Chicago, I could use the extra help.” She glanced at the framed oil painting hanging over the cash register, a rendition of the Navy Pier in pop-art colors that was Zach’s latest work. Big bro was having a blast in the Windy City while she was trying to keep it together here at home.