Does She Dare?. Tawny Weber
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the motel. He hadn’t bothered to go by his parents’ house. He had, though, taken a quick trip around the property his boss wanted. Nice way to kill a few birds with one stone—help out his mom, piss off his dad and do his regular job at the same time.
Dante snickered and tossed the room key on the cheap dresser. Maybe he was still trouble? Hell, even the desk clerk had recognized him. And charged an extra two-hundred bucks deposit. Apparently she remembered his going-away party. Back in high school, he and some of his buddies had trashed three of the rooms, she’d been quick to remind him.
He shrugged off the irritation. He’d known he’d be judged if he came back. That’s how small towns were. Quick to blame, long to forget. And it wasn’t as if his reputation hadn’t been earned. He’d been hell on wheels as a teen and he hadn’t changed a whole lot since.
Sure, he had a steady job now. Ironically, despite his issues with his father, he’d taken the old man’s profession to heart. A troubleshooter for one of the largest construction firms on the West Coast, he didn’t lift a hammer much these days, but he was sure he hadn’t lost this touch. Instead, he spent his time traveling from site to site, handling everything from zoning to personnel issues.
Travelling thirty weeks out of the year kept him from boredom, as well as entanglement-free. Buddies to party with in the various towns he visited on Tremaine business, ladies satisfied with a few weeks here and there. It should be perfect. But lately, it’d been bugging him. He shrugged off the idea that his life was lonely; it was exactly how he wanted it.
Free, easy and unencumbered.
Every once in a while, his boss had him scout out properties to take over, since the guy had a weird desire to own pieces of the entire world. While the job gave Dante enough freedom to keep him from going crazy, the challenge was wearing off.
But other than a cushy bank account, a house on the beach and the Harley, he was still pretty much the same hell-raising no-good he’d been ten years before when his father told the sheriff to escort him out of town.
Dante sighed and looked around the plain motel room. Same ol’, same ol’. Living on the road was definitely losing its appeal. He unpacked his MP3 player and docking station, needing some unwind music. Before he could drop to the bed to see if it was as lumpy as it looked, his cell phone rang.
“Luciano,” he answered.
“Did you check out the property?” his boss asked on the other end. Luke Tremaine wasn’t a man to waste time with pleasantries.
“Yeah, I saw it. As luck would have it, it’s right across the street from the place I’m working on. Good location, nice lot. I’ll get inside in the next couple days, see what kind of shape it’s in.”
“Doesn’t matter.” Luke dismissed his comment. “We’ll raze it. From the reports, it’s one of those old-fashioned monstrosities. That won’t suit my purposes.”
Dante pulled a face. He could just imagine one of Tremaine’s signature, sleek chrome-and-glass dance clubs on Main Street. It’d stick out like a sore thumb. And piss off the townspeople like nobody’s business. Not his problem. His job was to scout, assess and report to Tremaine Construction.
“Don’t forget you’re still technically on the clock,” Tremaine reminded him. “Confirm the lot size and stats, then get me a report.”
With that, the phone went dead. Dante was about to toss it on the bed when it rang again.
A quick glance told him it was his mother. Dante grimaced, but didn’t answer this time. He needed to unwind before dealing with her questions and unspoken expectations. He’d take her to dinner, of course. Otherwise she’d be hurt. And not hurting his mother was one of the few rules Dante followed religiously.
But for now, he’d settle in. A quick shower, a nap, then he’d be ready to deal with the coming weeks.
The Santos job was the only major thing on his father’s schedule. A few other little jobs here and there, but nothing big. Dante’s focus would be on the intriguing Isabel’s renovations. Get those done, then he could leave, free and clear.
What was it about her that tugged at him? Other than her looks, she really wasn’t his type. Not that he liked to think of himself as being so predictable that he had a type. To him, all women were simply fascinating. But a man didn’t hover on the edge of thirty without learning a little caution around serious, sweet women.
And the vibe the woman in front of him put off was seriously sweet. Not uptight, but not on par with the hit-and-run sexual satisfaction he made his benchmark for involvement with a woman.
Dante grabbed the papers she’d given him, scanning her list. Damn, it was gonna be a lot of work. And the sweet Miss Santos was obviously planning on tracking him with a stopwatch.
Pacing off the irritated energy, Dante flipped to the last page. Hand written, numbered, with notes in the margins. Great, directions.
He focused on the words.
Oh, yeah baby.
Hot, wild and a little rough up against the wall.
Intense passion in a semi-public place.
A smorgasbord of sexual pleasure, complete with whipped cream, strawberries and lots of decadent chocolate.
Dante’s mouth went dry and the words blurred on the page as he pictured he and Isabel in each of those scenarios. Especially that last one. Fast, intense and a little rough got his juices flowing like nothing else. The idea of taking Isabel against a wall sent a bolt of heat straight to his dick.
Rock hard, Dante wondered how long it would take to get back to her house. Less than five minutes, he figured. Then again, given his present condition, he probably couldn’t even straddle the Harley without breaking a vital part of his anatomy.
He blinked and scanned the rest of the list. Any woman who could come up with fantasies this hot was a woman he wanted to get to know. Really, really well.
Looked like the lovely Miss Santos wasn’t so sweet after all.
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