She decided to get waxed, just in case. Instead of a Brazilian, she went totally nude. The sensation was erotic—her pu**y felt bare and soft and everything brushed up against her skin.
She couldn’t wait to see the look on Colt’s face when he noticed. And she flushed at the thought.
On Saturday night, she took care with her hair, blowing it out so it’d fall perfectly down her back. Her nails were a pale pink, the signature heart carefully placed on the fourth finger of each hand and foot. She’d decided on a tight black sweater with short sleeves and a high collar, and a flowing, short red gauze skirt and black peep-toe heels. It was a little bold for a night out in Bluebonnet, but that was why she liked it. She’d worn black lacy lingerie and garters underneath, too. Just in case.
And she really, really hoped for that just in case.
“You look very pretty today,” Mrs. Doolittle told her as Beth Ann arranged her soft, white curls.
She smiled at Mrs. D—her last appointment of the day. “Thank you. I just thought I’d dress up today.”
“You going out with that nice Allan Sunquist tonight?”
Beth Ann’s face fell. “We’re not going out anymore, Mrs. D. I’m seeing someone else now.”
“Such a shame,” Mrs. D said, and shook her head, ruining Beth Ann’s careful arranging.
“Not a shame, honey,” Beth Ann said lightly. “You remember Colt Waggoner?”
“One of those white-trash Waggoner boys?” The old woman harrumphed. “He came back with that lewd hockey player, didn’t he?”
“Lewd?” Beth Ann asked, blinking. Her hands had stopped.
“The one that showed his delicates to everyone in town just to impress that little Miranda Hill.” She gave a harrumph. “As if showing her his bits would impress her.”
Beth Ann smothered her laugh. “I’m sure she knew better than that to be impressed by a man waving his bits at her,” she assured Mrs. D. as the woman paid and left.
Poor, poor Miranda and Dane. At first Miranda’s boobs had been legendary about town. Now all anyone talked about was Dane’s lily white butt. And Dane was a good natured guy—he didn’t mind in the slightest, because Dane’s naked stroll made everyone talk about his photos rather than Miranda’s. She smothered a laugh at the memory of him walking down Main Street, wearing nothing but a hockey helmet over his junk.
The doorbell to her shop clanged and Beth Ann looked up. Her breath caught in her throat at the sight of Colt.
Well damn. There was Beth Ann, looking like one of his wet dreams in a tight black sweater and a short red skirt. She lit up at the sight of him, and Colt turned and flipped the sign on her door to “closed.”
“Hey,” he said.
“Hey yourself,” she said with a smile, and moved past him to turn the lights off on the big sign. He said nothing, watching her. She looked damn pretty. Her ass looked amazing in that skirt, and those shoes made her legs look long and slim. She looked perfect.
She looked untouchable again. Out of his league.
Damn. What was he thinking? She’d had a weekend of sex with him, but she belonged with someone with money. She was the belle of the town—no one’d want to see her with trash like him. Williamsons didn’t mix with Waggoners.
She looked over at him, and her fingers reached up and brushed his hair, just above his ear. “You’re getting shaggy,” she said lightly. “Want me to fix that up for you?”
“If you like,” he said, content to watch her movements. After all, she wasn’t kicking him out the door yet.
She grinned and gestured back at her chair. “Come sit down.”
He sat, and glared into the mirror when she pulled out a pink cape to cover him. “Not that shit again.”
The last time he’d gotten his hair cut at her place, she’d put that pink cape on him deliberately, he’d suspected.
She gave him an exasperated look. “Pink’s the only color I’ve got.”
“Buy a black one. You can cut my hair then.”
She rolled her eyes at him in the mirror and reached to pull it around him. “You need a haircut.”
“I don’t need to look like a sissy.” He caught her hand in his.
Beth Ann froze against him, and they stared at each other. They were awkward now. Tense. He wanted to go back to where she was warm and soft in his bed, and smiling up at him.
Had to do something. He didn’t want her glaring at him. He wanted her soft, and sweet, and ready to wrap her legs around him again.
So he caught her hand and pressed a kiss to the palm. “Do you trust me?”
She softened as she looked down at him. “You kept me safe in the woods, didn’t you?”
Well, yeah, but it was his fault she’d been stuck there. That wasn’t a conversation he wanted to get into today, though, so he decided to distract her. He nipped at one of her fingertips, then looked up at her. “You said you wanted to be the woman nobody in town expects you to be. I bet no one expects you to have sex with me. Here. If you trust me, of course.”
Her mouth parted a little.
Colt waited for her to protest. To be shocked by his suggestion.
But her eyes got soft and she licked her lips, and he felt the tremor that raced through her. “No, they wouldn’t expect me to do that at all, would they?” she said huskily. She ran her free hand over the back of his hair, as if she found the buzz of his short haircut just as erotic as touching the rest of him.
Hell, yes. His c**k got hard immediately. He took the pink cape from her and tossed it down on the ground. He tugged her hand and pulled her across his lap. Her smile was soft and seductive, and he kissed her because he needed to taste her lips again.
She tasted just as sweet as he’d remembered. He’d thought about her all week, and their date. He didn’t expect sex from her, of course. But if he suggested it and she was willing? Well, they could base a relationship on a lot worse things than sex, he supposed.
She broke away from the kiss with a gasp and tried to pull out of his lap. “The windows—”
His entire body stiffened with anger. “You ashamed to be seen kissing me?”
She gave him a confused look. “What do you mean?”
“Cause I’m one of those white-trash Waggoners,” he gritted out.
“Actually,” she said softly, “I thought if I was going to take my clothes off, we should shut the windows.”