Do Me Right Read Online Free PDF Page A

middle-aged biker type with a long, gray pigtail and grease-stained jeans. "Don't let me interrupt."
    She switched on the machine again. "Eric, this is Kyle. If you don't want him to watch, I'll tell him to leave."
    Eric raised his head and looked Kyle up and down. "Don't make no difference to me," he said and lowered his head again.
    Theresa turned her attention back to the tattoo, which was fine with Kyle, as it gave him the chance to watch her. A pair of fine lines creased her forehead as she concentrated on her work. The design taking shape beneath her hand was intricate and colorful: a whole garden full of roses surrounding some sort of fantastic bird--a phoenix, maybe--in brilliant reds, greens, blues and yellows. She was working on the bird now, inking in the tail feathers.
    Bent over like this, he had a terrific view of the tops of her breasts swelling at the neck of the leather vest she wore. Some kind of flower or design was tattooed in her cleavage. He was definitely interested in getting a closer look at that....
    "Shouldn't you be back at the ranch punching cows or something?"
    Her voice pulled him out of the beginning of a very interesting fantasy. He raised his eyes to meet hers. "We don't punch 'em anymore," he drawled. "We just suggest they move 'long. It's more PC that way."
    Eric made a choking sound, but Kyle soon realized it was a chuckle, muffled by his position. "I'm going to remember that one," the biker said. "What happened to your arm?"
    After less than a week, the question was already getting old. He looked at the blue-wrapped cast. "One of the cows punched back."
    The biker laughed again. "You're a riot."
    "Guess if the rodeo gig doesn't work out, I can be a stand-up comic in a biker bar," he said.
    Theresa apparently didn't appreciate his humor. She was still frowning. "What have you been doing since you got hurt? Just sitting around on your ass?"
    He winced. That was a low blow. Just because he was twenty-nine years old and didn't have a real job didn't mean he was a bum. "I'm exploring my options," he said.
    "Hmmph." But the slight flush to her cheeks made him think she was remembering how he'd asked her to help him pass the time while he was recuperating.
    He sat back, hands behind his head. "I thought about taking up panhandling," he said. "But there seems to be a glut of people in that line of work around here lately. Then I heard they were auditioning for Chippendales dancers, so I thought about strapping on my chaps and giving it a go." He gave an exaggerated shimmy. "What do you say, darlin'? Think I've got what it takes?"
    Aha! She looked! He deliberately licked his lips. He'd be happy to show her he had what it would take to please her.
    "Maybe we could hire him to run off those picketers," the blonde behind the counter said.
    "I don't think one beat-up cowboy's going to scare them much," she said.
    If he thought she really meant the words, he might have been insulted. But the very way she avoided looking at him told him she was all too aware of his presence. He liked that. She didn't look like the kind of woman who was easily unnerved, but he'd managed to get to her. Score one for the cowboy, beat-up or not.
    "Besides, it's a free country," Theresa continued. "We can't stop them from walking on the sidewalk."
    "Screw 'em," Eric said. "They don't know what they're missing."
    "They don't have much of a sense of humor, do they?" Kyle leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "A guy out there told me this place 'encourages overt sexuality and flaunting of the body.' Like that was a bad thing."
    "Hey, if you've got it, flaunt it," the blonde said, flexing a scrawny arm.
    "Sounds good to me." Kyle's gaze lingered on Theresa's inviting cleavage once more. "What do you think, Theresa?"
    She switched off the machine and patted Eric's shoulder. "I think that's all for today," she said. "Next time I'll do the talons and finish up the pyramid at the bottom."
    "Thanks, T," the biker said. He raised up on