Tempting Meredith Page 5

  “Nope. No calculating going on. In fact, I’ve been known to chant to keep my mind off the sights.”

  “Meditation?” That surprised her. Good ole Texas boys didn’t normally go in for that woo woo stuff.

  “Yep.”

  She began another round of dry fire, this time concentrating on keeping the pressure of her trigger finger smooth and even. By the fifth “shot,” the muzzle no longer dipped.

  She faced Charlie again and said, “Okay. Flinch gone.”

  He nodded. “Yes ma’am, it is. You ready for the real thing?”

  She was so excited about the new technique that her hands shook and the gun wobbled on her first shot. The bullet was even farther off the mark than last weekend. Unhappy with the results, she took a few deep breaths and cleared her head. Maybe a chanting meditation wasn’t such a bad idea.

  “Tell you what,” Charlie said. “Let’s take a break. Give your arm a rest. Clear your head.”

  She’d hoped for more “hands-on” instruction. But all she’d gotten was the occasional touch on her arm when he was making a point. None of that stuff you saw in the movies where the hero pressed himself to the heroine’s back, closed his hands over hers and guided her through the shot while giving her the orgasm of a lifetime. She didn’t know whether to be flattered or disappointed. Flattered that he was interested enough in something other than her body that he wasn’t drooling on her. Disappointed that he wasn’t having any problem keeping his hands off her, which didn’t bode well for her after-dinner plans. She hoped this was all part of his “no flirting on the range” rule and not a loss of interest.

  She benched the gun. “You’re right. My arm’s about to fall off. I don’t think I’ll ever hit the bull’s eye. I’m no closer tonight than I was last weekend.”

  “Your arm’s steadier and you’re developing muscle memory. With regular practice, it’ll come.”

  “Let me watch you for a while.”

  “Nah. That would be boring.”

  Boring? This man didn’t come close to the definition of the word. “I don’t get bored. Besides, I’m an excellent mimic. Studying you will be a great teaching tool.” If she could keep her gaze off his ass.

  She leaned against the brick wall behind him and watched. Watched his shoulders and back absorb the kick of the gun. Watched his hips and ass, tight and grounded. Watched those legs, the denim doing little to conceal the muscles. Even the powerful column of his neck fascinated her. In fact, she found his back so absorbing that she didn’t learn a thing about shooting, other than how sexy he looked doing it. He turned around and caught her staring.

  She whipped off her earmuffs. She was flustered but blustered her way through it. “You make it seem effortless.”

  He stood with one leg cocked and his hands on his hips. He dropped his gaze. Was he studying her shoes or the ground? Finally, he peered up at her and smiled. “But what did you learn?” His voice was lower, rougher, and it drew her in.

  “Uh, specifically?” she asked, stalling while she scrambled for an answer.

  “Yeah.”

  She gave up on faking her way through a response. She slipped a finger in the waistband of his jeans and tugged him close. Screw his rule about flirting on the range. “It’s awfully hard to concentrate when presented with such a fine example of masculine backside.”

  He lowered his head until she thought he was going to kiss her. A light breeze soughed over her skin, making her hyperaware of his scent, his heat, his heartbeat. Her heartbeat.

  But he didn’t kiss her. His lips slipped to her ear and he murmured, “You keep this up and I’ll have to bend you over my knee.”

  Was that a threat? Because it sounded more like a promise. A sensuous promise. A promise she definitely wanted him to follow through on. She’d never been spanked. Never been tempted by BDSM. Exhibitionism? That was a different story, if you considered fucking on the bottom bunk in your boyfriend’s dorm room while his roommate “slept” in the top. Oh, and that other thing. A hot flash of embarrassment prickled her skin, and she shifted uncomfortably. It wasn’t caused by the thought of his hand on her bare ass. No, it was that one ill-considered decision that still haunted her, still sent her into a black hole four times a year, crushing her heart.

  “We’re done here,” he said abruptly.

  “But—”

  “No buts. My focus is shot. We’ll try again tomorrow night.”

  Although there wouldn’t be a tomorrow night, she didn’t argue. The sooner they finished dinner, the sooner they could get to the main event. And she was determined there would be a main event.

  Thirty minutes later, following Charlie’s beat-up, dark blue crew cab pickup, she drove into the gravel parking lot of a hole-in-the-wall restaurant Charlie swore had the best Mexican food in the hill country. She parked between his pickup and a couple of Harleys. The rest of the lot was filled with trucks. No sedans except hers. No fancy SUVs. That meant the restaurant would be full of men.

  Because of her profession, she was accustomed to men, in fact preferred their company. Rae was one of the exceptions and part of the reason Meredith had chosen TIMT. She’d been courted by larger, more prestigious universities, none of which had a woman heading the physics department. Growing up, the few friends she’d had were geeks of the XY gender because not many XXs were interested in math and science. So her hesitancy in getting out of the car had nothing to do with entering a roomful of men. She did that all the time. It was the kind of men. Pickup-driving men. Gun-toting men. Rough, uneducated, unrefined men.

  Men like her date? Why was she so comfortable with him, but so uneasy at the prospect of a group like him?

  When he opened her door, she took his hand to step out and didn’t let go as they walked across gravel and up sturdy wooden steps to a porch with rustic log benches and rocking chairs. Every seat was taken, and people were standing. She tightened her fingers in Charlie’s hand and edged behind him, following him through the door instead of going in ahead of him.

  Inside it looked more like a seedy bar than a restaurant, sounded more like a honky-tonk. An oak bar with a mirror behind it extended the length of the room opposite the door. Every barstool was occupied and people stood in between. In the middle of the room, captain’s chairs surrounded heavy, round pedestal tables. Along opposite ends were tall wooden booths. There were a few empty chairs, but no tables. She was about to suggest they try someplace less crowded when a woman about her sister’s age, give or take, approached them. Her long, red hair was caught in a low ponytail, and she wore jeans and a T-shirt that read “Some like it hot.” The “i” in “it” was a dancing green jalapeño with a sombrero.

  “Charlie.” She curiously regarded Meredith. “Introduce me to your friend.”

  “Emma, this is Meredith Burke. Doc, this is Emma Scott.”

  Meredith eased out from behind Charlie, feeling silly for hiding, and extended her hand. “It’s nice to meet you. Charlie says you have the best Mexican food.”

  “Can’t claim credit for that. My mom’s the cook,” she said as she firmly shook Meredith’s hand. “Follow me. I’ll find you a table.”

  A family business. That was somewhat comforting. Charlie followed Emma, and Meredith followed Charlie across the scuffed oak floor. She noticed a few women in the crowd. It wasn’t as reassuring as the fact that the restaurant was a family affair—mom in the back, daughter up front—because like the girls in high school, she doubted she had anything in common with them but their gender.

  Emma stopped beside a table occupied by two men and slapped one of them against the back of his head. “Get up. Can’t you see I need this table?”

  “Oh, no. That’s okay,” Meredith said, appalled that she’d dislodge a customer to accommodate her and Charlie. “We can wait. Please. There’s no hurry.” Other than the fact that she want
ed out ASAP.

  “Yeah,” the man said. “Charlie can wait his turn like the rest of us. First come, first served.”

  “He ain’t like the rest of you. He’s a paying customer.” She shook her finger in his face. “Move it.”

  The two men vacated the table, all the while throwing angry yet cautious glances at Emma. The woman didn’t notice, or if she did, ignored them. Emma swiped a rag over the table, and Meredith could smell the bleach soaking the terry towel. She slipped into a chair that Charlie held for her. It struck her as rather surreal that she was even in a place like this. Never mind that two men had been kicked out to make room for her and Charlie.

  Emma slapped a laminated menu in front of Meredith. “You need a menu, Charlie?”

  “No, thanks.”

  She gave a quick nod. “What can I get y’all to drink?”

  “I’ll just have water,” Meredith said.

  “Dad makes an awesome mojito,” Emma offered.

  “No. Thank you. I’m driving.” She refrained from mentioning that she wasn’t crazy about mint.

  Emma raised a brow at Charlie. “This ain’t a date?”

  “Sweet tea for me,” Charlie answered, ignoring her question.

  Emma pressed her lips together and glowered at him before leaving in a huff.

  “You really shouldn’t annoy the serving staff in a restaurant,” Meredith said. “They can do all kinds of nasty things to your food.”

  “That’s okay. Emma and I swapped spit when we were in high school.”

  Oh, good lord. TMI, but she couldn’t help asking, “Uh. Any other bodily fluid exchange I should know about?”

  “Nope. That was it. She was trying to make a guy jealous. Figured I was safe since she didn’t have to worry about me getting the wrong idea.”

  “Did it work?”

  He shrugged. “She married him.”

  Their drinks arrived with a big bear of a man, hair as red as Emma’s. Obviously her dad, and obviously he was there to check out Meredith because he kept his attention on her when he spoke to Charlie. “Gang’s in the back. They were beginning to worry you wouldn’t show tonight.”

  “I’ll go back after dinner.”

  Emma’s dad stuck out his hand to Meredith. “Guess he ain’t gonna introduce us. I’m Bill Scott, proprietor and bartender.”

  They exchanged pleasantries before Bill returned to the bar. Emma quickly replaced him, bringing chips and salsa. “So, Meredith, has Charlie read your feet yet?”

  “Excuse me?”

  Emma glanced at Charlie and smirked. “Your feet. Has he read them?”

  “Uh, no.” Forget surreal. She’d just entered The Twilight Zone.

  The twinkle in Emma’s brown eyes belied her serious expression. “He’s psychic. Get him to read your feet tonight. He’ll learn all your secrets.”

  Meredith forced a smile around her confusion. “I think I’d prefer to remain a mystery.”

  Emma winked. “Smart girl. Now, what can I get you to eat?”

  Meredith hadn’t even glanced at the menu.

  Charlie took the laminated paper from her and handed it to Emma. “Give us both my regular.”

  Had he really just done that? Meredith was stunned speechless. Men didn’t order for her. Ever. She was perfectly capable of reading the menu and ordering for herself. She’d never even heard of a man doing such a thing—not one from her generation, anyway. Maybe her grandfather’s. Not even her overbearing brother-in-law would risk his manhood by ordering for her sister.

  She didn’t want to make a scene, not here where she was so out of place, where Charlie was an insider. But after Emma left, she said in a low, firm voice, “Don’t do that again.”

  “What?”

  “Order for me. I learned to read when I was eighteen months old. I think I can handle a menu.”

  His eyes widened. “Wow. That’s something. I figured you were smart.” He cocked an eyebrow. “You probably skipped a couple of grades in school.”

  “A few.”

  “Tell me.”

  “Tell you what?”

  “How many grades you skipped.”

  “I finished high school when I was sixteen. I didn’t graduate because the school district was more interested in seat time than competency. Fortunately, universities aren’t so close-minded. I earned my B.S. at nineteen, my Ph.D when I was twenty-two.”

  He chuckled. “Guess that means you’re a high school dropout. Makes me wonder about some of those dropout statistics. Do they count people like you?”

  Before she could answer, two men, beers in hand, interrupted them. Charlie introduced them then relaxed in his chair and draped an arm over the back of hers. Apparently, word had made it to the pool hall in the back that Charlie was in the building. And either Charlie was very popular or his friends were curious about his date. For the next hour, a steady stream of men and a few women stopped by the table, which meant she spent more time smiling and making small talk than eating. Several asked if Charlie had read her feet. And a couple of them seemed dead serious about Charlie’s psychic powers.

  During a lull in visitors, Meredith finally got the chance to ask, “What is this about you reading feet?”

  He smiled mischievously. “It’s a gift. Like reading palms. Only I do it with feet.”

  She choked on her water. “You’re joking, right?”

  “No, ma’am.”

  “But—”

  The lull ended, and she wondered if this was what celebrities endured when they tried to dine out.

  Meredith had to admit the food was delicious. Her plate had a little of everything. A taco, cheese enchilada, beef enchilada, tamale and the most flavorful Spanish rice she’d ever tasted. Not like most places, where the rice had all the flavor of cardboard. She couldn’t eat it all, and not just because they were interrupted every few minutes, but she did manage to taste it all.

  Emma kept their glasses filled. Meredith figured it was more out of curiosity than a devotion to great service. The restaurant wasn’t rowdy as she’d expected. No fistfights. And the only raised voice had been Emma’s when she’d confiscated the table. After they finished eating, Charlie took her hand and led her down a hall to the left of the bar. On the right side were the restrooms, and farther down another room with a pool table. There weren’t as many people, but the room was smaller so it was just as crowded. It seemed even more so because a group of Charlie’s friends engulfed them. Meredith pressed up against him, and he released her hand and put his arm under her hair and around her shoulders. It was heavy, solid, secure, but just in case he decided to leave her alone with all these strangers, she slipped her hand behind him and hooked a thumb in one of his belt loops.

  Much better. She turned her head toward him, hoping for more of his spicy scent and trying not to be obvious that she was sucking it in. Bad enough that she was melting into his side. He felt so good.

  He grinned and drew her closer. Her heart flipped over. She’d only met the man three days ago. But there, in the back room of a seedy-looking, honky-tonk-bar-slash-restaurant surrounded by Texas rednecks, her bonding hormones were whacking out.

  Charlie murmured against her ear, “You play pool?”

  Emotion closed off her throat so all she could do was nod. Suddenly she wished she’d let him drive because she really could use a drink. Instead, she struggled to find her voice and said, “Excuse me. I’ll be right back.”

  Fortunately, with the dearth of women in the place, there wasn’t a line for the restroom. Unfortunately, when she came out of the stall, Emma was waiting.

  As Meredith washed her hands, Emma talked. “I want details, and obviously Charlie won’t give them to me. So it’s up to you. How did y’all meet? How long have you known each other? I’m thinking not long, since
we haven’t seen you around here before tonight and since he hasn’t read your feet. Why does he call you Doc? And speaking of feet, where did you find those shoes? They’re really cute.”

  “We met at the shooting range. Three days. I have a Ph.D in physics. Foot Fetish.”

  “That’s a start. Wish I had time for more, but I need to get back to work. Come around some time when we’re not so busy. We can talk.”

  Surely Emma was just being nice. Possibly nosy. Meredith couldn’t tell her that this thing with Charlie wouldn’t last beyond tonight. That dinky flip her heart had done, a fluke.

  When she rejoined Charlie in the pool room, she slipped right back into his side like an iron bar to a magnet. The crowd around him had cleared some so she could see the game of 8-ball.

  Charlie nodded toward the table. “You and I take on the winner?”

  “Sure,” she said enthusiastically. She loved pool, had a table in her house, but didn’t often have the opportunity to play. None of her co-workers played, not seriously anyway. Her brother had no hand-eye coordination, and her sister wasn’t interested. Her brother-in-law played an occasional game with her, but he wasn’t much of a challenge and he hated losing.

  She studied the play, seeking flaws in the felt or leveling. The table seemed to be in good shape. One of the teams wasn’t too bad, and she analyzed the two men’s strategy since she assumed she and Charlie would take them on next. After the game ended and they’d selected their cue sticks, she ran her fingers along the felt. Smooth, so the play would be faster. Just the way she liked it.

  Charlie introduced her to their competition. Brothers. Pat and Rick. Pat silently chalked his cue stick. Not unfriendly. Just quiet.

  Rick said, “You’re not much bigger than a cue stick, are you?”

  She ignored the comment and batted her eyelashes at Charlie as she reverted to her exaggerated accent. “Can we take a few practice shots?”

  He narrowed his eyes as if wondering what she was up to but didn’t question her. “Take as many as you need.”