Kimberly Raye - Shameless

Say something, her brain screamed.

I really liked that. Can we do it again?

And again?

And more?

“Here,” was all she managed as she handed back the dollar bill he’d given her.

He glanced at the money. “What’s this for?”

“I should be the one paying you.”

He grinned and the sight was almost as heartstopping as his kiss. “I think the kids need it more than I do.” He placed the dollar into her palm and curled her fingers around it, his skin brushing hers, setting off a wave of tingles that shimmered through her and made her nipples throb. “Speaking of kids.” He glanced at his watch, a frown sweeping away his dimples. “I’m due at the dunking booth right about now.”

“You’re a volunteer?”

He nodded. “Maury Hatfield suckered me into sitting in his oversize fish tank for an hour.”

“At least you’ll be getting wet for a good cause,” she managed, her lips still vibrating from his kiss. She blew out a deep breath and wiped a trickle of sweat from her temple.

“Hot?” His eyes twinkled and she knew he wasn’t just talking about the weather. More like lips touching and tongues dancing and her body responding….

“You can’t even imagine.”

His strong fingertip caught the slow glide of perspiration down her neck and slid up, over the curve of her jaw. “Oh, I think I can.” His thumb swept her still trembling bottom lip. “Damn straight I can.” His voice grew huskier, deeper, meant for her ears alone. “Meet me at the dunking booth when you’re done here, Slick, and we’ll see what we can do about cooling off.” Then he gave her a slow, lazy wink and disappeared into the crowd.

Slick. The word registered in her head, pulling and tugging at a long ago memory, of a shy, quiet fourteen-year-old who’d come to spend yet another summer vacation with her granny.

Deb had treasured those times with her granny Lily. The few precious days when she’d been able to eat and sleep and breathe without asking permission. To smile and pretend that all was right with the world, that her last name wasn’t Strickland and her future wasn’t already mapped out for her.

She hadn’t known it at the time, but that fourteenth summer would be her last in Inspiration for a while, and her most memorable. Particularly one hot July day when she’d been in town shopping. Granny had gone into Shelly’s Boutique while Deb had lingered outside the Mr. Freeze, struggling with the strap of one of her new sandals, a low-heeled, hot pink number she’d bought behind her ultraconservative father’s back.

“Hey, Slick. You just gonna stand there, or you gonna put those fancy shoes to good use and come on in?”

Her head had snapped up. Her fingers faltered on the leather strap as her gaze collided with a pair of deep, green eyes. The owner, maybe seventeen or eighteen, was the stuff teenage fantasies were made of with his crooked smile and tall, athletic body. He held the door open for her. Music and laughter drifted from inside the ice-cream shop, enticing her as much as the boy’s smile. Almost.

But Deb had lived with her father’s rules much too long to be seduced that easily. She managed to shake her head.

“That’s a shame.” He grinned. “Maybe next time.”

And then it had happened. Her first wink from a real boy, and not just any boy. The boy.

“Jimmy Mission,” she murmured as her pounding heart came to a shuddering halt.

Deb had moved to Inspiration six years ago to discover Jimmy, town golden boy and star running back for the local high school, had joined the marines right after graduation. Other than the occasional brief visit to his folks, he’d never looked back. Thankfully, because at that time Deb hadn’t needed the added complication of facing the one and only man who made her feel like that shy, insecure fourteen-year-old she’d been so long ago.

But that girl was history. She’d buried her insecurities, her past. Now she was bold and brassy Deb Strickland. Independent. In control. Completely immune to men like Jimmy Mission with their easygoing, cowboy charm.

Or so she’d told herself when she’d heard he’d come home a few months back, just days after his father had passed away. Since then he’d been running the ranch, caring for his grief-stricken mother, and, rumor had it, looking for a wife.

Deb fought down a wave of disappointment. Of all the men to kiss her pantyhose off, it had to be hardworking, family-oriented, marriage-minded him. Was there no justice in the world?

“Pucker up, missy.” An old man with a handlebar mustache shoved a dollar at her and leaned forward.

“Sorry, Cecil. We’re closed.”

“Since when?”

“Since I’ve got a date at the dunking booth.” Deb fished into her pocket, pulled out a few twenties so the kids didn’t miss out on the money from the kisses she was about to decline, stuffed the cash into the till and flipped on the Out To Lunch sign. A quick adjustment of her blazing red jacket and silk blouse, and she rounded the table and headed through the crowd of people.

When she reached her destination, her heart stalled at the sight of him, clad only in jeans, sitting up on the raised platform. Blond hair sprinkled his chest and funneled to a thin line that bisected a rippled abdomen. The tanned muscles of his arms flexed, bulged as he gripped the edge of his seat and dangled his bare, tanned feet in the water.

The girl at the head of the line tossed the ball and missed, her gaze hooked on him rather than the bright red target just to the left. Deb could sympathize. He was buff and beautiful, with a wicked smile and brilliant eyes and…

The thought died as his gaze caught hers and she felt an answering warmth deep inside. His lips curved, a dimple cut into his right cheek, and the warmth turned to full-blown heat.

Deb, heart racing, hormones chanting, body wanting, did the only thing she could. She traded her money for a stash of balls, aimed for the target and let the first ball rip.

Marriage-minded Jimmy Mission had husband written all over him and the last thing, the very last thing Deb Strickland wanted was a husband. She’d come too close to making that mistake once before.

Never again.

No matter how good he kissed.

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.