Dylan Page 2

  He tipped his hat. “My pleasure, ma’am.”

  Dylan turned to go, but Jolene held out a hand to stop him. “I know how hard it was for you to get up there on stage, Dylan.”

  He shrugged.

  “You and Tyler have been fabulous for business, and your work ethic can’t be beat. I have a feeling Jesse would work just as hard.”

  Knowing she had something on her mind, he waited until she finally got to the point. “Would you and your brothers be interested in being part of an all-male revue?”

  His stomach knotted. “Does that mean what I think it does?”

  She tilted her chin up and frowned at him. “I have no idea what you think, but before you go jumping to any conclusions, I’ll tell you. Emily and I have been talking it over with Gwen, Natalie, and Jennifer, and we’ve decided to add to the entertainment part of Take Pride in Pleasure Day by having the Lucky Star represented with a lineup of dancers.”

  He felt the blood rush from his head to his toes and dug deep for the strength to keep standing. It was hard to speak with his jaw clenched, but he managed to grind out, “Are you nuts? There’s no way my brothers or I would strip in public.”

  When Jolene’s eyes twinkled and she started to laugh, he was transported back in time to the first day of sixth grade, when he’d felt like he’d landed in an alternate universe and everyone but him spoke a foreign language.

  He shook his head to clear out the unwanted memory. When she realized he wasn’t laughing with her, she closed her mouth and swallowed gamely. “I’m not laughing at you.”

  “Yeah,” he said. “You are.”

  “Well, maybe just a little,” she said laying a hand on his arm. “The revue will have a lineup of four or six dancers dressed up as cowboys: jeans, boots, hats, and vests—no shirts.”

  He snorted. “Who’re you gonna find to dress up?”

  “I thought I’d ask a couple of real cowboys to round out the lineup. How about it, Dylan? Would you ask your brothers and let me know? It’d be a big favor if all y’all agreed.”

  He felt as if he’d been lassoed around the chest, and Jolene was pulling the rope tighter. The expectant look on her face was hard to say no to. Damn. “Do I have to answer you right now?”

  “You can let me know in the next couple of days.”

  He nodded and turned to go, and damned if she didn’t call out to him again. “Jolene, not that I don’t want to stay and chat, but hell, what part of ‘I’m done’ didn’t you get?”

  “Relax, cowboy. I just wanted to tell you that you made Ronnie’s birthday.”

  He narrowed his gaze at her and waited for the rest. With women, there was always more than a simple statement.

  Like before, Jolene didn’t disappoint him.

  “She still looks dazed from that kiss you stole.”

  He tipped his hat to the back of his head. “That a fact?”

  His boss smiled at him, and he actually smiled back. “Why don’t you ask her yourself?”

  Dylan’s gut twisted remembering the chill of her rejection. “Maybe later. See you, Jolene.” When he’d stepped through the door, he paused and called out, “Hey boss?”

  She turned to look over her shoulder. “Yeah?”

  “Thanks.”

  Jolene shook her head. “My pleasure, cowboy. Now get on home.”

  He may have hated stripping, but he didn’t mind working for Jolene. “You’re not as tough as you let on, Ms. Langley.”

  Her laughter followed him out into the night.

  ***

  Ronnie DelVecchio’s pulse still pounded wildly in time with her heart. Forget him, forget that kiss! she told herself. He’s just another guy pretending to be someone he’s not, dressing up like a cowboy, but paid to strip… and paid to make her feel special. But the calluses on his hands felt real, and his muscles felt like he used them for more than just show. When will I learn? Just because he’d mesmerized her with the dark and dangerous promise deep in his molten chocolate eyes was no reason to do something so stupid as to let him kiss her brainless and fall all over him. He was just a man… period. A cowboy wannabe.

  Now that he’d gone, the sizzling kiss they’d shared kept replaying over and over in her mind along with the feeling that she’d met him before. Damn, she’d always loved watching those old TV Westerns with her grandmother, and the man who’d lassoed her looked like a combination of John Wayne, Gary Cooper, and Roy Rogers all rolled up into one dangerously attractive man. Dark hair, dark eyes, gorgeous hunk of cowboy—he had to be one of Tyler Garahan’s brothers. The handsome hunk now had a name, and Garahan men spelled trouble. She had a reason to steer clear of him.

  Why am I talking to myself? I should be giving my friends hell for talking me into letting them blindfold me and setting me up to get lassoed and kissed by that hunkalicious cowboy. Her temper simmered, heating dangerously close to a boil. She would refuse to accept the blame for locking lips with the muscle-bound cowboy. That way you can take your anger at yourself out on everybody else.

  Her grandmother said it often enough that her own conscience replayed the words at the most irritating moments. The last time she’d heard the words she’d been getting into her cousin’s truck, preparing to leave her former life behind her to start a new one out West. Her grandmother hadn’t wanted her to leave but had accepted Ronnie’s decision to go as long as Ronnie promised to stay in touch, calling home often. Well, this was something she wouldn’t be telling her grandmother about.

  Besides, Ronnie was a grown woman and could accept blame… or place the blame on whomever she wished. As long as you’re honest with yourself. She looked over her shoulder and sighed. Having a conscience was a royal pain in the ass.

  Draining the Mega-Margarita, wishing she’d declined and gone for her usual longneck bottle of beer, Ronnie set the glass on the tabletop. The memory of the cowboy’s lips lightly pressed to hers, drawing her in, soothing her before he eased back and locked gazes with her, had her shivering. Remembering the way he’d waited for her to stop him—right before he rocked her world with that mind-blowing kiss. A kiss that sent sparks of desire screaming through her sensitized system like a shot of tequila. But she’d given up combining hard alcohol and men after her divorce; the two were not a good mix for her. Things always ended badly.

  “Ready for another?”

  Before she could answer, her friend Shannon signaled the bartender for another.

  “I do not want another one of those.” Ronnie moaned in a delayed reaction, as the frozen concoction hit her right between the eyes with a serious case of brain freeze. Just like when the dark-eyed cowboy paralyzed her with his intentions right before he laid his lethal lips on hers.

  “I thought you wanted to try something wild and wonderful for your birthday.”

  Ronnie raised her head. “Would that be the blindfold or having the cowboy lasso me?”

  Shannon snickered into her oversized drink. “Actually, your friend Mavis came up with the second idea. Jolene suggested the blindfold and we ran with it.” Taking a sip of her own drink, Shannon licked her lips and sighed. “José is definitely my friend.”

  Ronnie looked at her and tried not to sigh. Shannon McKenna was blonde and beautiful. Too bad she was so likeable, or else Ronnie could toss the drink she’d just been handed into her friend’s face or dump it over her head. “You know I like beer. Tequila is not my friend. Besides, I wanted to go somewhere different for my birthday.”

  “You didn’t say somewhere when you mentioned that little tidbit a few weeks ago,” Shannon reminded her. “You said something different.”

  Ronnie shrugged. “Same thing.”

  “No, it’s not,” Shannon grumbled into her glass. “By the way, what did you think of Dylan the Delicious?”

  Ronnie paused with the drink a fraction away from her lips and had to laugh. “He certainly was.” Taking a healthy sip, she swallowed and licked her lips. “Which one of Tyler’s brothers is he: the middle or the youngest?�
�� One of them would be very important in her life, helping her rebuild Guilty Pleasures.

  Totally clueless to Ronnie’s inner turmoil, Shannon shrugged in answer, set her half-empty drink on the table, and leaned toward Ronnie. “I have to ask.” She leaned closer. “What was it like when he tossed the lasso around you and reeled you in?”

  Turmoil evaporated like morning dew under the heat of the morning sun. An involuntary shiver raced up Ronnie’s spine as heat filled her cheeks.

  Shannon’s eyes widened. “Wow. That good?”

  There was no use denying it. She sighed. “Yeah.” The moment of impact, when their bodies collided and their hearts pounded in unison, would keep her up at night for days. Every hard muscled inch of him fitted against her, tempting her, but she wasn’t interested in a one-night stand with a cowboy—was she?

  Her friend nudged the silent member of their trio. “What did you think, Lenore?”

  The redhead turned; she had a shell-shocked look on her face. “I can’t say just yet, too much sensory overload.” Their friend paused, letting her gaze drift up toward the stage.

  Ronnie looked up to where another dancer stripped down to the tiniest pair of black spandex briefs and swiveled his hips in a really good imitation of Elvis. She shook her head; although her friends had misunderstood, they definitely went all out and did something different.

  Gaze glued to the dancer, Lenore rasped, “I think I need another Mega-Margarita.”

  Ronnie exchanged a look with Shannon. Shannon’s cousin had been in town for a week or so, but had apparently never been to a strip club or seen a half-naked cowboy up close before.

  “Poor Lenore.” Ronnie lifted her glass in salute to the next dancer up on the stage before turning to call out, “Hey, Gwen!” When the bartender looked their way, Ronnie wiggled her glass and held up three fingers. Gwen nodded. Part of being the birthday girl meant the perk of having her glass refilled all night long. She hadn’t thought to celebrate her twenty-fifth birthday at the Lucky Star, but now that she was here, she relaxed.

  “Where did you say Mavis was?” Ronnie had spent enough nights here listening to Mavis Beeton expounding on the fact that if more of the uptight residents of Pleasure quit worrying about what everyone in town was doing behind closed doors and adopted her philosophy—live and let live—there wouldn’t be so many pinch-faced busybodies poking their noses in where they didn’t belong.

  Staring up at the stage, Ronnie recalled one of the conversations she and Mavis had had recently, when Mavis had surprised her by saying that sex was just part of life; everyone needs it now and again. Ronnie remembered that when she agreed, her friend had added that those that engaged in a healthy physical relationship on a regular basis sure were a lot easier to get along with than those who’d given it up for a more cerebral pastime… like collecting thimbles. Ronnie smiled to herself; she wanted to be like Mavis when she grew up.

  Too bad she had no idea how much longer it would take until she found the right man and settled down for the long haul—for however long that might be. Her first choice had been a dismal one with disastrous results, but she’d accepted that she was partially to blame.

  The Lord and fate had a lot to do with a person’s happiness. Nonni DelVecchio had told her that just this past Sunday during their weekly late night chat, and even though she might not like what her grandmother said, she believed everything Nonni told her. Well, except for the family curse. Every other generation, one of the DelVecchio women met an Irishman and fell head over heels in love and had twins, and not necessarily after they were legally married. But she couldn’t ever remember seeing it happen to anyone in their family and figured Nonni was given to exaggeration. Just to be on the safe side, Ronnie had gone to great lengths to avoid the dreaded curse by marrying a nice Italian boy from her hometown. Too bad he’d lived up to the rumors about him.

  “Enjoy your drinks, ladies.”

  Ronnie smiled. “Thanks.”

  Three sips later, she couldn’t feel the end of her nose, but she was feeling really, really loose. “Mmmm. Why do I always drink beer, when José is so delicious?”

  Shannon and Lenore raised their glasses and started singing “Happy Birthday.”

  “No, stop!” Ronnie moaned. “Sing something else—anything else.”

  “But it’s your birthday,” Lenore said, as Shannon started to sing the Beatles version of “Birthday.”

  “Come on, Ron,” Shannon urged, “get up and dance.”

  Just tipsy enough to oblige them, Ronnie stood up, glass in hand, and started dancing around their table. Her drink sloshed over the rim, and she stopped to lick every last drop off the back of her hand. Singing along, stopping only to cool her throat with the smooth, icy goodness of her new favorite drink, she wondered why she let that handsome hunk of cowboy kiss her, draining every thought from her head before letting him walk away. Was she crazy?

  A few more sips, and she wondered why she hadn’t told him she’d wait. Her heart knew why: he was gorgeous and so tempting, and she’d been afraid to take him up on his offer, knowing he’d expect her to do a little mattress dancing with him after the way she’d spontaneously combusted when he’d hauled her in and kissed her. In his defense, she had totally given him that impression, but if she ever saw him again, and he asked, she’d plead the fifth.

  Once burned, she thought. Well, she was nobody’s fool, and she wasn’t going to let a dark-eyed cowboy talk her into bed unless she was sober—no matter how amazing his kisses were or how hard his body was. Besides, from now on she was going to be the one who’d initiate any invitations that would end between the sheets.

  Damn, she thought, staring in the direction he’d walked down the long mirror-lined hallway. He’d ignited a spark inside of her that flared into a slow-burning fire. Too bad she had a feeling that Dylan Garahan was the only one who could put it out. She’d be doing a lot of yoga to get that man out of her system.

  “So what else do you want to do for your birthday?” Shannon asked after Ronnie sat down.

  “Find that dark-haired cowboy and lick every inch of his hard body.”

  “Sounds good to me,” her friends answered as one.

  “Oh, crap,” Ronnie said sinking onto her chair. “Did I just say that out loud?”

  Shannon and Lenore grinned at one another and then her. “Yep.”

  Ronnie put her head in her hands and noticed the room tilted just a bit off to the left. She closed one eye to see if her perspective changed. It did; now the room tilted to the right.

  “Hey, are you OK?” Lenore asked.

  Ronnie shook her head the room started to spin. “I was wrong. José is not my friend.”

  Shannon and Lenore got on either side of their friend and eased her to her feet. “Come on, Ron,” Shannon soothed. “We’ll take you home so you can sleep it off.”

  As they walked toward the entrance, Lenore added, “You’ll feel better in the morning.”

  “Are all y’all leaving so soon?” Jolene called out from the side of the stage.

  Ronnie started to shake her head, but her stomach flipped and she froze.

  Taking pity on her, Shannon patted Ronnie’s shoulder and said, “I think the birthday girl has had one too many Mega-Margaritas.”

  Jolene nodded in sympathy. “Do you need help getting her home?”

  “No thanks. We’ll make sure she gets there in one piece so she can sleep it off.”

  “I don’t want to go home,” Ronnie protested, although her friends didn’t seem to be listening. “I want to go find Dylan the Delicious.”

  “Y’all come back tomorrow,” Jolene said. “I’ll tell you where to find him.”

  “Ish that a promise?” Ronnie slurred.

  “Absolutely. See you tomorrow,” Jolene called out as they made their way down the hall.

  “When I find ’em, I’m gonna shtart with the hollow of hish throat,” Ronnie said, stumbling on wobbly legs, wondering why she couldn’t make her tongue
work. The words sounded funny.

  “That’s José talking,” Lenore said, helping her cousin pour Ronnie into their car. “Don’t worry, you’ll feel better tomorrow.”

  It was only a couple of blocks from the Lucky Star to Ronnie’s apartment over her store, but she’d never have been able to walk that far without tripping and falling on her face.

  “You’d better be careful what you wish for,” Shannon warned, as they helped her inside and up the stairs. “Birthday wishes sometimes come true.”

  Two hours later Ronnie was still praying to the porcelain god. Exhausted and shaky, and halfway sober, she leaned her arm on the toilet seat and rested her head against it. Purging her system of the tequila hadn’t been easy, but it would sure as hell be easier than forgetting the dark-eyed cowboy… that would be impossible.

  “His lips were lethal,” she moaned. Her stomach felt raw and her head ached, and all she could think about was being lifted into a strong pair of arms and held against a wonderfully warm, muscled chest—Dylan’s.

  She couldn’t stop thinking about him and was already making plans to ask Jolene where he lived so she could just happen to run into him again.

  Beware of the curse! her grandmother’s voice echoed in her head.

  She’d been raised to fear the DelVecchio Curse. Generations of DelVecchio women had been warned not to taint their pure Italian blood, but in the end fate always had her way.

  Her tired brain tried to sort out everything that had happened tonight. Maybe Dylan was only part Irish, so she might be safe in that regard. She couldn’t remember the last time someone in her family had married an Irishman, but she ran through the names of all of her female cousins and then started on her aunts, just to be sure.

  Too tired to think straight, she gave up before she could go through all of her aunts’ married names. She couldn’t think of one instance that would give credence to her grandmother’s warning.

  “Besides,” she murmured, as her eyes drifted closed, “fate doesn’t always win.”

  Poor bambina, she could almost hear her grandmother’s voice crooning in her aching head. How many times had Nonni warned her not to try to drown her sorrows in alcohol?