Lady Be Good (Wynette, Texas #2)(22)

As they settled at a booth in the coffee shop, she thought about what she’d nearly done with this man yesterday and wondered if jet lag had deprived her of her common sense. What had she hoped to accomplish by jumping into Kenny Traveler’s bed less than twelve hours after she’d arrived in this country? If she intended to sleep with someone, she should at least have made certain that Hugh had his watchdogs in place. Her impulsiveness was uncharacteristic, and it made her uneasy.

“Just tea for me,” she said as the waitress approached to take their orders.

Kenny beamed his approval at her. “Good choice. But add some blueberry pancakes to her order, along with a side of bacon, and I believe I’ll have the same for myself, except forget the tea and bring coffee instead.”

He was deliberately provoking her, but she simply smiled. “Change the blueberry pancakes to toast, if you would. And substitute a bowl of strawberries for the bacon.”

The harried waitress poured his coffee, then rushed off before either of them could further complicate the order.

They had work to do, and Emma had witnessed enough of his nonsense. She took only a moment to enjoy a display of fresh flowers near the door before getting to the point. “Did you find a tattoo parlor?”

“You are not getting a tattoo. The whole idea’s ridiculous.”

“I am getting a tattoo. And I’m doing it today. This isn’t negotiable.” She doubted a tattoo alone would put a stop to her engagement, but it should make Hugh begin to question his judgment. She looked around the coffee shop, wondering if any of the men hunkered down behind their newspapers had been hired to watch her. No one looked suspicious, but she didn’t for a moment believe that Hugh would allow her these two weeks unobserved. The fact that he’d found her so easily this morning proved that.

“How are you going to face all those little girls you headmistress over with a tattoo?” Kenny inquired.

She wouldn’t be facing those little girls, but she wasn’t going to tell him that. “It’ll help them relate better to me.”

“If that’s all you want, why not go all the way and get your tongue pierced? Or dye your hair purple?”

She’d thought about getting pierced, but she’d worried about infection, and dying her hair some outrageous color would be too obvious. A very small tattoo was as far as she dared to go. Hugh needed to believe he’d misjudged her character, not that she was deliberately manipulating him, or he’d bulldoze St. Gert’s. The waitress arrived with her tea, then disappeared.

“And just where do you plan to put that tattoo?”

“My upper arm.” Once this was over, she’d have to keep it covered for the rest of her life.

“Ladies don’t put tattoos on their upper arms. They put them on an ankle or the back of a shoulder or, if they really want to be discreet—and this is what I’d recommend in your case if I were going to make a recommendation, which I’m not—a breast.”

Her cup froze halfway to her lips. That single word brought it all back. The feel of the silk sliding away from her skin, the warmth of his mouth, the pull of his lips on her nipple.

He knew exactly what he was doing, of course.

“Would you, now?” She forced the cup the rest of the way to her mouth, sipped, then set it back down. “Well, I’m certain you should know.”

“You’re still pissed about last night, aren’t you?”

“Miffed, Mr. Traveler. Headmistresses are never pissed.”

He grinned, then regarded her with boyish earnestness. “Fill in the holes in my logic here, will you? The way I see it, you’re a very nice unmarried lady who’d like a little sexual variety in her life. Perfectly natural. But back home in England, you have a reputation to maintain, so you sure can’t do any experimentation there. In the great state of Texas, though, nobody’s going to be any the wiser. Now, what I want to know is this: What difference does it make whether I happen to be a professional gigolo or a professional golfer? I’ve got all the necessary equipment, and I’m happy to let you use it.”

“You’re far too generous with your toys, but the fact is . . . I wouldn’t let you touch me again if you were the last man on earth.” The moment she’d spoken the words a red alert sounded in her brain. This lazy fool, who wasn’t a fool at all, made his living by competing, and, unless she was mistaken, she could see the light of challenge beginning to gleam in his eyes.

“Well, we’ll just have to see about that, now, won’t we, Lady Emma?”

Thankfully, the waitress appeared at that moment with their food. Emma ate most of her strawberries, but wasn’t able to manage more than a few bites of toast. Kenny finished his pancakes, then dug into her leftovers.

“That’s not sanitary,” she pointed out.

“We already swapped germs last night, so I’m not too worried about it.”

She wasn’t going to let him make her uncomfortable by thinking about those slow, deep kisses. “It’s a wonder you aren’t fat, with the way you eat.”

“I burn a lot of energy during the day.”

“Doing what?”

“Loafing’s hard work.”

She had to suppress a smile, and that bothered her. She wouldn’t let herself be won over this easily by his counterfeit charm. “If you won’t help me find a tattoo parlor, I’ll simply consult the telephone directory and find one myself. In the meantime, I need to do some shopping.”