Chapter One
"Men drivers!"
"Women drivers!"
The man in the black Sting Ray exited the vehicle, madder than hell. Hands on his hips, he waited, ready to kill, as TZ Blake stepped from her candy apple red Mustang.
Ignoring him, she immediately checked the damage to her car. There was a significant dent in the door just below the window. Her heart sank. The '67 Mustang had been a gift from her Aunt Elise, and TZ treated the classic car as if it were her child. A child now with a nasty scrape.
"You took two inches of paint off my car door," the man said to her back as he breathed down her neck.
TZ turned and came close enough to Cade Nyland to breathe the same air. She'd seen Cade from a distance, but never up close, and never so angry. The orange-tinted lenses on her pink retro shades cast him in a hellish glow. His look condemned her.
She slid her sunglasses down her nose with one finger and looked at him over the rim. In the late afternoon light, he stood tall and solid, his nostrils flared, and his muscles flexed. He was an imposing male animal. She knew him by reputation alone: a bad-boy ladies' man known as much for his bar brawls as for his sinfully good looks.
Pitch dark hair brushed the collar of his gray polo; his shirt tucked into snug black jeans. Beneath dark brows, his eyes bore the deepening color of twilight, blue touching black before day became night. His mouth was sexy, even with his nose out of joint. His jaw was set, strong and stubbled. The man was carnal.
TZ pushed her shades to the bridge of her nose. "You should be more careful."
"Me, careful?" He looked incredulous. "You swung your door wide, as if there wasn't another car in sight."
"I am in a hurry," TZ cut him off.
Cade blocked her path. "We're not done yet."
"Life moves forward," TZ informed him. "Move with it or step aside. "Grabbing her straw bag from the front seat of the Mustang, she undid the clasp and pulled out a business card. "All Tune and Lube, ask for TZ Blake. Best repair job in town. On me, I have a running account."
He took the card, studied it. "You carry Blake's business card?" He shook his head. "You're an accident waiting to happen. The way you drive, I'm sure you keep the man in business." The man? Nyland thought her male. TZ contained her smile. "I make him rich."
She spun on her heel and headed across the parking lot toward Chugger Charlie's, a local beachside bar favored by the townies. Within a very short time, the crowd would raise the roof as rallyists and groupies kicked off rally week with a frenzy of skin and release of inhibitions. She had fifteen minutes until the tight butt contest.
Squinting against the sun, Cade Nyland watched the young woman with more attitude than driving sense weave around the parked cars and enter the bar. He fingered the business card. Who was this female with a running account at All Tune and Lube? Hell, he hadn't even gotten her name.
His anger had nearly gotten the better of him when he'd heard the smack of her car door hitting his. Then he'd seen the culprit: a coed with an auburn ponytail, three diamond studs in each ear, and a stubborn chin. She wore shorts and a top, two sizes too large for her slender frame. A two-inch scar ran just below her left knee cap. She stood barefoot, her toe nails painted a bright pink. Several toe rings band her toes, and a gold-link bracelet encircled her right ankle.
Cade had an eye for detail, and the memory to shame an elephant. Something about the coed bothered him. He just couldn't put his finger on it. Not yet anyway.
Chugger Charlie's was the place to party. The bar hosted the wet T-shirt and tight butt contests the weekend prior to the SunCoast Run, the father of all road races. The coed had entered Chugger Charlie's as if she'd owned the place. She didn't, however, look old enough to drink. If she was in the bar, he'd find her before the evening ended. He'd get her name and the name of her insurance company.
Cade pushed off his Vette, and took one final look at the dent in the Mustang. He rubbed his hand over the gash. The car felt warm, pulsing warm, in the shaded area of the parking lot. He glanced inside, and caught his reflection in the rear view mirror. It was set at an odd angle, tilted right instead of left. He had the strangest sensation the mirror stared back at him. He'd expected to see eyes...
He rubbed one hand over his own eyes, and exhaled sharply. Man alive, he'd just imagined the Mustang checking him out. Perhaps he was more tired than he'd realized.
The trip from Los Angeles to northern Florida had definitely taken its toll. He'd lived on little sleep and caffeine for the past three months. It was all part of corporate raiding, staying awake and one step ahead of the competition. Cade did the convincing, sealed the deals, while his two younger pencil-pushing brothers crunched numbers, grafted profits and kept their white collars clean. His most recent buyout claimed a West Coast auto parts franchise. The takeover would soon double his family's fortune. Action Auto Parts would now stretch coast to coast. While his father wanted him to take his rightful place as CEO of the company, Cade felt as confined in suits and ties as he did in a boardroom. He found freedom on the open road. Just like his grandfather, Rayburn Nyland, once had. To this day, Rayburn understood Cade's restless spirit, and never called him on the carpet for missing a meeting.
The moment he'd returned to Gulf Cove, he'd received a phone call from the rally committee, notifying him that Jay Wright, his partner in the race, had broken his leg water skiing. Jay's hip-to-heel cast wouldn't fit in Cade's Sting Ray. He needed to hire a new mechanic or his Corvette would turn into a damn pumpkin by midnight.
He'd been told local mechanic TZ Blake frequented Chugger Charlie's. It was further rumored two other drivers were in need of his services. Cade hoped to connect with TZ after the tight butt contest. He would pay big bucks for the man's time and expertise.
Turning on his heel, he headed for Chugger Charlie's. Once inside, sunshine slashed the archways of the open-air bar. Tracked-in sand scuffed wooden planks while overhead, paddle ceiling fans cooled the overheated crowd. The scents of salt air, coconut suntan oil and two-for-one banana daiquiris mixed with activated hormones.
A restless undercurrent quickened the pulse of the crowd. The wild pulse of anticipation.
From the doorway, Cade scanned the crowd for the coed with the auburn ponytail. The bar was packed, and he didn't have time to move about the room and find her. Easing forward, he elbowed his way through the thickening crowd toward the improv stage.
Chugger Charlie's was not his usual haunt. He preferred atmosphere that edged the darker side of midnight. While he'd begged off the wet T-shirt contest, he'd been strong-armed by the rally committee to judge the tight butt competition. He couldn't believe he'd agreed to such lunacy. He had more important things to accomplish than casting a vote for sweetest cheeks.
The announcer and owner of the bar, Charlie Owens, soon spotted him. "Over here, Nyland. Judges sit front and center."
Cade dropped onto the end chair, nodded to the other four judges, two women and two men, all of whom he knew from past road rallies.
To his left, Cade's chief competitor, Rhett Evans, nudged his shoulder. "Can you believe our luck? Scoring tight butts!"
Cade felt anything but lucky. "It can't get any better than this." His sarcasm was lost on Rhett. Leaning forward, Cade picked up his scorecard and scanned the necessary qualifications for tightest ass. Firmness, roundness, no tan lines.
No tan lines? He dropped the card and blew out a breath. "Sun buns."
Directly in front of the table, Charlie Owens now stood center stage. A burly man wearing white athletic socks and jockeys. He looked downright ridiculous.
"Bare fannies and granny panties, boxers and briefs, five grand for the sweetest cheeks," the announcer's voice boomed through the bar. "Clap and cheer for the tightest rear."
Catcalls and wolf whistles rose with the music as the contestants hit the stage and brought down the house. Cade watched as eleven women and four men in various stages of undress bounded onto the platform. Strip clubs had nothing on these dancers.
Rumpshakin' rocked the stage as the contestants played to the crowd.
The crowd responded wildly, jostling for a clearer view of the stage. Contestants' names rose on an exuberant chant. "Sweet cheeks" became the call of the wild.
Cade shook his head. Surrounded by foot stomping and heavy breathing, the sensual tension built like an orgasm. He wished the contest over. He was in need of fresh air.
A man bumped Cade from behind. "Tight ass, TZ!" he hollered near Cade's ear. "Tease me, baby."
TZ? Cade shifted on his chair and craned his neck. Which male dancer was TZ Blake? Hopefully not the pretty boy in the shamrock briefs. The man looked more vanity mirror than grease monkey.
"Give us all you've got," the announcer rallied the participants. "The judges are about to narrow the stage to five finalists."
"Christ, only five?" the man next to Cade sounded panicky.
Five. . . Limited on time, Cade set his jaw and turned as serious as the situation warranted. He evaluated the buff behinds. While he liked the tanned toned thighs on a leggy blonde, her thonged derriere lacked the roundness of a perfect ten.
In a bid for finalist status, one redhead bared her breasts in an attempt to draw the judges' eyes from her cellulite to her magnificent chest. Cade mentally gave her points for distraction. The redhead should have won the wet T-shirt contest.
The male competitors, while all hard-bodied, didn't hold the appeal of feminine fannies. Cade left the male scoring to the female judges.
Toward the back of the gyrating melee, a flash of hot pink boxers caught his eye. The erotic sway of the dancer's hips held his glance until he was forced to blink. Contestant number nine held a subtle sex appeal over the other dancers. The sheer silken fabric couldn't hide her flawless curves. Flat stomach and tight ass.
She danced barefoot, her toenails painted a bright pink. A strobe light caught the glint of her toe rings and ankle bracelet. Cade straightened on his chair as he skimmed her white crop top and his gaze claimed her face. With each shake of her head, wild auburn curls brushed the natural hollow of her cheeks and the flirty fullness of her mouth.
The coed from the parking lot! Scantily clad, she had a knockout body, a solid nine, pushing toward a ten. For a full thirty seconds he allowed her appeal to stroke him physically. He then swallowed hard and schooled his body against the attraction. While she was hot, she was also young. Too young for him. At thirty-six, he liked his women seasoned, older and wiser and aware of their actions.
The coed had also hit his car door and conveniently forgotten to give him her name. At least he now knew where to find her. He couldn't miss her on the stage.
As the temperature in the bar rose, sweat beaded his forehead. Cade slipped a strip of leather from the pocket of his black jeans and tied back his unconventionally long hair. He further searched his pocket for a pack of Doublemint, removed a stick, and popped it in his mouth. He chewed slowly, thoughtfully, attempting to keep his cool in the overheated room.
"Tan lines, TZ!" Someone deep in the crowed shouted. "Bare it all, baby!"
Cade cringed. He wasn't interested in seeing another man's butt. Not now, not ever. Slouching slightly, he stretched out his long legs and yawned.
Bored, was he? TZ Blake caught Cade Nyland's yawn before he covered his mouth. A very sexy mouth if he'd relax and smile. He looked anything but happy. He appeared downright put out.
Prior to the contest, while waiting offstage, she'd seen Cade enter the bar and transverse the crowd. He'd walked with designated purpose, ignoring female double-takes and bold winks. The man had a healthy following of rally groupies.
While judging the contest he'd looked far too serious, except for the moment he'd recognized her from the parking lot. A flash of surprise, then pure lack of interest. That pricked her vanity. Didn't he know how to have fun? He shouldn't be judging a contest that got his briefs in a bunch. If he even wore underwear. The man looked uncivilized.
He was also bored. Something inside her clicked. She wanted him awake and watching and as wild as the crowd. It was time to shake the party animal's cage.
Moving to the front of the stage, she slowly pivoted, showing her backside. Curving her body into a sinuous S, she slinked to the floor and back, then rotated her hips. Her hot pink boxers slipped down her buttocks with each rotation.
She whipped the audience into a frenzy. They wanted skin. "Moon! Moon!" The men hit their knees and prayed out loud to see her bare backside.
They didn't get their wish, however. Keeping a firm hand on the front elastic at her waist, she teased and tempted, but never fully revealed. When the song ended, she had Cade Nyland's full attention.
"Score, score, score!" the announcer pressed the judges for their cards.
TZ held her breath as Cade crossed his arms over his chest and tucked his hands beneath his armpits. He sat low on the chair and chewed his gum, the slow roll of his jaw, contemplative.
"Pass up your scorecards," Charlie directed.
The other four judges handed over their scores.
"Mr. Nyland?" the announcer prodded.
Cade scanned the contestants, his gaze eventually returning to TZ. He pursed his lips, picked up a pencil and tapped the eraser end on the scorecard. He was slow to rank his choice for tightest butt. Once completing the task, he stood and handed his card to the announcer.
The crowd shifted restlessly, awaiting the results.
"What are our chances?" Kimmie Thorn, TZ's closest friend since elementary school, came to stand beside her. Wearing a nude St. Tropez v-string and tiny tube top, she left little to the imagination.
"One in fifteen," TZ counted for her friend.
Kimmie was all smiles. "Your sexy swivel brought the judges to their feet."
Every judge but Cade. "What do you know about Nyland?" she asked.
"That he's a loner and a known heartbreaker," Kimmiereplied. "What about Rhett Evans?"
"Stockbroker and sharp dresser."
"I want him to father my children."
TZ started. "You don't even know the man."
"Just one look," Kimmie said simply.
And TZ understood. From the moment Kimmie became interested in boys, she'd sworn she'd know her husband at first glance.
"Rhett's my ride to Key West." Kimmie licked her lips. "I plan to make his Dow Jones rise."
TZ was not as optimistic as Kimmie. "Flag me down if the stock market falls and you need a ride home."
"What are you driving?" Kimmie asked.
"The Mustang."
"I'd rather walk."
"The car runs just fine."
"When it wants to. It's left you stranded so often Checker Cab is on your speed dial," Kimmie reminded her.
"The 'Stang needs a lot of work."
Kimmie grinned. "How's the vibration? Still orgasmic?"
"It still vibrates after a change of tires and front end alignment." TZ brushed her hair off her forehead. It had grown warm on the stage. "I wish I had time for all the repairs."
"My wish is to win this tight butt contest," Kimmie said. "Where's the announcer?"
TZ glanced at the beer stein-shaped clock that hung over the bar. Fifteen minutes had passed. Two minutes later, the announcer waved a piece of paper at the contestants. "All tallied."
Charlie's ear-splitting whistle gained the crowds attention. "Bring your hands together for the winners of the preliminary round. First of the five in no particular order, number two, Kelly Knight."
Kelly bounced forward, a brunette in a raspberry thong and matching halter top. The crowd applauded their approval.
"A big rear cheer for number six, Kimmie Thorn," the announcer continued.
Kimmie hugged herself. "I made it!" Pleased to be a finalist, she blew a kiss to the judges. Judge Rhett Evans pretended to catch her kiss.
"Luck of the Irish, number thirteen, Chad O'Brien, step forward." The announcer motioned the man in the shamrock briefs to join Kelly and Kimmie.
Chad actually blushed at the female squeals.
The announcer grinned broadly. "Fourth of the five, number one, Shell Litton, come on down."
Pretty, petite, Shell with dimples on her butt backed toward the front of the stage. She was topless, adhesive breast petals covering her nipples. Only a whisper of pink nylon covered her fanny.
Charlie grinned. "I could bounce a quarter off her butt."
TZ licked her lips. One contestant to go. She'd placed second to perky Shell Litton in the wet T-shirt contest. She desperately needed the tight butt win. The prize money would go toward the back taxes on All Tune and Lube, her aunt's three-bay garage. Six months prior, Elise Blake had passed away in her sleep. A free-spirited lady who had lived in a man's world and made it her own. When TZ had shown an interest in mechanics, Elise had taken her under her wing, and taught her the business.
Not until Elise's will had been read, did TZ discover she'd inherited the garage. A garage deeply in debt. Her aunt could lube an engine, but hadn't kept up the books. Customer accounts were long past due, and the collection process was slow and tedious at best. The bank had threatened foreclosure. TZ had stalled the creditors for another month. She had sworn on Elise's grave she'd bring the business into the black. A tight butt contest might be an unconventional method to raise the cash, but if she won, she'd be that much closer to clearing the debt.
Her breath caught in her lungs as the announcer paused for effect. "Last but not least . . .come forward, number nine, TZ Blake."
The breath she'd been holding whistled through her teeth. TZ had made it to the final five! She took her place on center stage.
The announcer swatted her on the butt. "Toned, tanned and very tight."
TZ smiled at his compliment, only to have her smile fade when she again met Cade Nyland's stare. His look had turned fierce. His nostrils flared as he chomped down on his gum. While the other judges smiled and applauded, Nyland looked ready to kill. When TZ's name had been announced, his hands had stilled, then fisted. He looked ready to fight.
TZ had no idea why the man had it in for her, but he obviously did. The corners of his eyes and mouth were pinched. His temper now shot beyond the scratch on his Sting Ray. He looked as if he'd demand a recount.
The announcer saved her from Nyland's stare. He cleared the stage of all but the five finalists, then pushed the contest to climax. "Walk the walk! Front, back, side to side, strut your tight butts."
The competition split in five directions. TZ walked to the back of the stage, turned on her heel, then headed right. She clapped her hands to the roof-raising music, her steps light. Kelly Knight, whose focus was on the judges and not on the other contestants, bumped her shoulder in passing. At the front of the platform Kimmie wiggled and giggled and flirted with the judges. It appeared she had Judge Rhett Evans wrapped around her little finger.
Chad O'Brien and Shell Litton's attention had strayed from the judges and onto each other. Over the past forty minutes, Chad had become as fascinated with the dimples on Shell's butt as she was in his shamrock briefs.
"Two minutes!" the announcer informed everyone.
TZ needed the judges' attention and approval. A table dance might gain their vote. She calculated the distance from the stage to where the judges' now sat, then took a wild leap. She missed her mark by two feet. Instead of landing at the middle of the table, she'd hit the far end. It was Cade Nyland's face who stared up at her, his gaze as hard as the set of his jaw.
"Table dance, TZ!" the crowd cheered her on.
She picked up the beat of the music. She shimmied, then swayed to the left, intent on working her way down the table, away from Nyland. A hand around her right ankle stopped her progress as Cade clamped her to one spot.
His touch was strong and purposeful. He wasn't letting her go. TZ shivered and stepped back on her left foot. Her heel touched the edge of the table and she nearly lost her balance. In one liquid move, Cade rose from his chair and grabbed the back of her thigh. His fingertips brushed her bottom as he pulled her toward him. He was soon face to satin fly with her hot pink boxers. Although she was fully dressed, his look stripped her naked.
The crowd went crazy. "Nice save, Nyland. Reward him, TZ."
TZ had lost control of the dance. The music had long since ended, and she glanced to the announcer for assistance. Charlie Owens merely shrugged.
On impulse, she swiveled her hips low, until she was eye to eye with Cade. His hand now fully cupped her left buttock. Her heart beat wildly as she stroked his stubbled jaw, then kissed him full on the mouth. It was a quick, light kiss meant to tease the crowd as much as Cade.
Cade did not take to her teasing. In a motion that left her breathless, he spun her around, lifted her off the table and set her back on the stage. Her feet hit hard, jarring her spine.
"I'm not part of the show," he said on a low hiss. "I don't do public affection."
TZ retreated one step, then a second, and backed into Kimmie Thorn. Kimmie squeezed her elbow. "Great leap!"
TZ exhaled sharply. "I missed my mark."
"Doesn't matter. You're sure to win. "At the moment, TZ didn't feel like a winner.
The announcer signaled the contestants to center stage. "Who has the sweetest cheeks?" he asked the judges. "Make that tough, buff decision."
TZ waited impatiently for the judges to cast their ballots. She studied their bent heads, tried to make out the numbers they jotted on their scorecards. Once again, Cade was last to cast his vote. One by one he analyzed the contestants. No one but TZ seemed to mind his scrutiny. He unnerved her. However brief the kiss, she could still taste his mouth: warm, hard and unresponsive. He hadn't wanted her to kiss him. She'd bite her nails if she hadn't just gotten the best French manicure of her life. Pressing her hand over her nervous stomach, she met Cade's gaze boldly, refusing to step into the shadows of the stage.
After what seemed like a lifetime, Cade turned in his scorecard. The announcer disappeared for several minutes, then returned with the tally. "Well, well, well," was all he'd say as he stood to the left of the contestants and smiled broadly. "The judges' votes split two-two-one. We have a tie for tightest butt."
A tie? Disappointment settled heavily. Two winners meant a split in the prize money. TZ's hopes and prayers to settle the debt died a slow death.
"Your attention, please," the announcer readied the crowd for the winners. "Put your hands together for . . . Kimmie Thorn!"
The crowd hit their fevered pitch. The applause was deafening. TZ was truly happy for her friend. Kimmie needed the money for the rally as much as TZ did for All Tune and Lube. She watched as Judge Rhett Evans pushed back his chair and stood, clapping like a madman. Kimmie bounced to the front of the stage and accepted her half of the check on a giggle.
"It takes two to tie," the announcer shouted. "Let's hear it for . . . TZ Blake!"
TZ summoned a smile she didn't quite feel. She met every judge's eye but Cade Nyland's as she smiled her appreciation. She clutched the check in her hand, wished it for the full five grand.
It wasn't, however. Life would go on. Even before the applause died down, she hopped off the stage and headed toward the storeroom/dressing room at the back of the bar. She planned to change her clothes before she mixed and mingled with the rowdy crowd.
A sharp knock on the dressing room door brought her up short. Imagining it Kimmie Thorn, she called, "It's open."
CHAPTER 2
TZ Blake stood with her back to the door. She wasn't completely dressed, Cade Nyland was quick to note. A black demi-bra and satin string bikini covered very little of her slender frame. She had the sweetest cheeks he'd ever seen. Her head and arms were stuck in an animal print top. She struggled with its fit.
"Little help here, Kimmie," came her muffled request. "I'm hot and sticky and about to strangle myself."
The air left Cade's lungs in a low whoosh. "No problem," he muttered as he approached.
