Page 2 of Stealing Iris

“Yeah, guess I do.” Before I can step over, she backs up and grabs a tall Ozarka bottle. Fingers spread over the contoured plastic, she swipes it over the scanner, once, twice then again, only to have the reader fail each time. The tip of her tongue darts out as she pulls the bottle around to read the numbers off the bar code.

Mmmm, I know exactly how she’d look playing those fingers around my cock before bringing it to her full, pouty lips. Putting the card into the payment slot, I twist the lid open and take a drink. The icy water is a sharp contrast to the heated thoughts creeping into my mind.

With the image filling my head, I reach into the bag for the meds. After fumbling a bit, I tear open the box then drop the container into my hand, just as the music goes silent and the lights go out. Big, startled eyes meet mine in the dim light. The stray curls framing her face stop dancing around in the breeze as the fans power down. Her only movement is the quick rise of her breasts as she sucks in a breath.

My chest tightens, sending the echo of my heartbeat throughout my body. I study her eyes, thick lashes lowering as she looks anywhere but at me. The image of her beneath me, lips parted, curls laid out around her, gets the best of me. I have to shift so I can get some relief, because even my cock is heading off on its own.Damn you, Montoya.The place feels a lot smaller all of a sudden, as if we’re in an elevator. Just the two of us… I’ve never been into the shy, quiet type, so I need to shut this downpronto.

Playing on her obvious discomfort, I check the front of the smock, my gaze lingering on the curve of a perfect breast as I look for a name tag and find nothing.

“So, no hundreds and no power for the card reader means no water and no headache meds. And I don’t even know your name so I can plead my case.”

She crosses her arms, glancing over, out of the corner of her eyes. “Yeah, well, life can be a disappointment sometimes.”

Despite my best efforts, a smile tugs at the corner of my lips. Maybe there’s more to the little innocent than I imagined.

Fuck.

*****

IRIS

We’re facing each other, separated by the register belt, with my comment hanging between us.Why can’t I keep my mouth shut?With no way to take back the smart-ass remark, I have to apologize, but I can’t grasp a single word. Who wouldn’t end up all stupid when you have a tall, hunky cowboy staring at you like he’s starving and you’re a Texas-sized T-bone. I nearly snort out loud. This guy is way too good-looking for description. His girlfriend probably has to chase off women everywhere they go.

“Sorry,” I murmur.

His lips twitch. “I want a name, not an apology.”

Heat wells up in my cheeks and travels down my neck. The promise of a smile doesn’t help. My tummy does all kinds of flip-flops as green eyes with some wicked golden highlights stare back at me.

Compared to the slick, polished women he must date, I probably look like a troll doll, with my crazy curls doing their own thing. The one thing I hate most about being broke is not being able to buy my toiletries. I’ve done okay without makeup because I got my mom’s looks, but I didn’t inherit her long, straight hair. I need product to tame this beast, and I ran out months ago.

There’s a lot I took for granted while growing up. I glance toward the panel by the doorway, where I’d drawn our mascot in colorful window markers. It’s an image of my dad, only I gave him a beer belly and a shirt buttoned wrong. A small rebellion after I stopped believing in unconditional love. Now, it’s like he’s mocking me from above.

“It should be just a sec,” I assure the cowboy, refusing to give him the answer he’s looking for. Seconds tick by, and nothing happens. The silence is stretching out from prolonged to awkward. It feels like the building is completely empty, and I’d done enough restocking this afternoon to know it isn’t. If I had the money, I’d tell him to go and pay for his stuff myself once the power’s back.

One Mississippi, two Mississippi, three Mississippi… He’s still looking. My toes curl, and I’m getting self-conscious enough I might do something stupid, like give him my name or talk uncontrollably. Thankfully, I can’t think of a single thing to say.

A loud clatter comes from the back, and my shoulders slump in relief.

“Goddammit, Iris,” Conny curses as he untangles himself from the mop bucket. I clamp down hard on my lower lip so I’ll keep my mouth shut. Taking a deep breath, I exhale as the tension around us fizzles. I turn to the cowboy without feeling like we’re the only two people in the world. “I—um, sorry about that.” Did he hear me? He’s staring intently toward the back, his shoulders tense, brow wrinkled in annoyance.

One more clunk, and a loud splash comes from the back. Ugh, now I have a mess to clean up. Hopefully, the water won’t get inside the freezer. All I need is the smell of lavender Fabuloso coming out of the beer case.

Conny comes stomping down the aisle, the heels on his boots making enough noise to be heard in the parking lot. They’re ostrich skin, with those little bumps that look like skin tags. With his skinny frame, you’d think he’s a little kid wearing his daddy’s shoes.

Conrado Villa, the son of my absent father’s girlfriend. Olga seemed nice enough back when they first got together, though she spoils her kid like nobody’s business. She kept calling him my “big brother,” but the asshole has been my own little slice of hell since the first day she brought him around.

“What’d you do?” he demands, puffing his chest up to try and look tough. Of course I’m to blame. Who else could ruin whatever porn he’d been watching. The little perv should be manning the counter at the meat market instead of being on the laptop.

“Nothing,” I reply in a tired voice. “The power went out.”

He grimaces then glances at the customer. His neck snaps back so fast I could only hope he was slipping on the wet floor. Going a round with whiplash would keep him away from me for a while. His jaw goes slack, as if he’s come face-to-face with his idol or something. “You Dante?” he asks, squinting as he searches the guy’s face.

The cowboy keeps his expression neutral. “You got the wrong guy, man,” he replies, shaking his head once. “Here. I’ve gotta get going.” He drops the hundred on the scanner and backs up a couple of steps, all cool, then heads for the door.

I pick up the money, enough to feed me for weeks, reaching out to return it. “Hey, I can’t take this—”

“Keep it,” he tosses over his shoulder and keeps walking toward the exit.

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