Tutoring Tucker. Debrah Morris

much money he had in the bank.

      He wanted to understand her self-assurance. And he wanted to possess it. He’d tried to figure her out, but the more time he spent with her, the more confused he became.

      Earlier, when he had arrived at her apartment, she’d looked as pretty and wholesome as a tall sunflower. She’d seemed approachable in that little robe, with her feet bare and her head wrapped in a towel. He had been jolted into an unexpected awareness of her soft, womanly side.

      Theirs was a business arrangement, so getting a bed’s-eye view of the petroleum princess’s lingerie so early in the game had been unsettling. But not nearly as unsettling as the sudden urge to pull her into his arms and stroke her freshly scrubbed, flower-scented skin. For a moment he’d been hypnotized into believing she really could be a girl named Dori, a girl who could learn to care for a man named Briny.

      That illusion had been shattered when she emerged from her room an hour later. She’d slipped back into her glamour armor, complete with poufed hair and artfully made-up face. The sunflower was gone, replaced by a rare orchid that should be admired but never touched. Her butter-colored, ultrachic silk suit had “hands off” written all over it. Hard diamonds flashed a warning at her ears and around her neck. Even the heels on her shoes were sharp enough to pierce a man’s heart.

      Unlike Dori, Ms. Dorian would not take kindly to cuddling.

      “If you rearrange the letters in spa,” he observed with a self-amused chuckle, “you spell sap.” He hoped being here didn’t make him one.

      “Very interesting.” Her tone belied the words. She kept checking her watch as if running to catch a plane.

      Briny glanced around and his voice tightened in accusation. “This is a beauty parlor, right?” With its white columns and green marble, Emilio’s looked nothing like Dixie’s Glamarama back in Slapdown. But if he checked behind the ornate, gold-handled doors, he bet he would find a hidden stash of hair dryers and shampoo sinks.

      Dorian scoffed. “No. It’s not a beauty parlor. A spa is a gentle oasis of relaxation and tranquility, where the body and spirit can be renewed.”

      “All well and good. But what the heck is this place?”

      She sighed in exasperation. “It’s a little like Fluffy Pups, okay? Except for humans.”

      He groaned. He was no longer in the real world where most things made sense. He was stuck in Rich Land where not much of anything did. At Fluffy Pups he’d seen fat dogs trotting on treadmills, while others lolled around a big-screen television watching videos of squirrels scampering up trees. A few wore paper party hats and lapped up bowls of ice cream, enjoying what the attendant had called a birthday celebration.

      Briny counted many dog lovers among his friends, but didn’t know a single person who gave their pets ice-cream parties. Poor old Reba had looked as out of place among that pack of beribboned froufrou dogs as he felt in this it’s-not-really-a-beauty-parlor joint.

      “I’ve already had a bath today.” He stopped walking and Dorian continued down the corridor alone, hurrying as much as her tight skirt and high heels allowed. He was willing to go along to get along, but a man had to draw the line somewhere. “I don’t think I need to be here.”

      She stopped in her tracks, then spoke without turning around. “Of course you need to be here. Do you have any idea how hard I worked to set this up? Now, come along.”

      He dropped the shopping bags and folded his arms across his chest. Just because he’d agreed to let her be the boss didn’t mean she had to act so darned bossy. “Not until I know exactly where we’re going and what we’re gonna do when we get there.”

      She marched back to him, all five feet ten inches of her pulled into the exasperated pose of a weary mother dealing with her stubborn child. “After I place you in the very capable hands of Mr. Emilio himself, I have to zip off to a stuffy old Art League meeting. But I’ll be back in time to take you to dinner.”

      “What about lunch?” he asked warily. “Where I come from, we sit down to at least three meals a day.”

      “They’ll serve you something.”

      “When?”

      “Between treatments.”

      “What do I need to be treated for? I’m not sick.” Uncouthness wasn’t a disease in west Texas, but it could be in Dallas. Dorian seemed to think the lack of refinement was contagious.

      Before she could answer, a little man in a leopard-skin-print silk shirt, tight black leather pants and high-heeled boots swooped out of nowhere. Tiny gold earrings dangled from both ears. He let out a squeak and clasped one hand to his heart when he spotted them.

      “Dorian, darling, it’s so good to see you.” He smeared her hand with noisy kisses. “You’re looking exceptionally ravishing today.” He turned to Briny. “And what have we here? Oh, my, you are a brawny one, aren’t you?”

      Dorian hurried the introductions. “Emilio, this is Brindon Tucker, the, ah, gentleman I told you about. Brindon, Mr. Emilio is the best in the business. He’s a makeover wizard and has promised to give you a whole new look.”

      Mr. Emilio was definitely not a barber. Briny extended his hand warily, hoping the fella wouldn’t feel obliged to slobber on it. “Nice to meet you.”

      “Believe me,” Emilio gushed. “The pleasure is all mine.”

      Briny extracted his hand and turned to Dorian. He’d spent years trying to turn an unwanted, scabby-kneed kid into a decent man. He thought he’d done a pretty fair job, too, but the woman he’d hired to apply the finishing touches obviously found more than his manners lacking. Her job was to overhaul his social skills, not change who he was. He’d tolerated her rejecting his name, but enlisting this poofy little man to make him look like somebody else was going too far.

      “What’s wrong with how I look?” he demanded. No one had ever objected to his Billy Ray hairstyle or cowhand mustache before.

      “Nothing if you were the new front man for the Sons of the Pioneers!” Emilio struck what could only be called a pose and examined his latest assignment from head to toe. “Hmm. Dorian, dear, you were so right. I certainly do have my work cut out for me. But, oh, the possibilities!”

      “I’m in a rush,” she said. “Just work one of your miracles on him.”

      “Do you have a particular look in mind?”

      “Yes.” She sighed. “Rich.”

      “And dangerous?” The spa man smirked. “I love doing dangerous.”

      “Think polished. Old money.”

      “Casual elegance?”

      “If you can manage that, you truly are a wizard.”

      “Whoa!” Briny resisted being nudged forward like a shy child at a recital. “Don’t I have any say in this?”

      “No,” she answered.

      “Did you just say no?”

      She glanced at her watch again, and her face wrinkled in displeasure. “That’s right, Mr. Tucker. I said no. You have heard the word before, haven’t you? Or are you used to having women back in Slapdown sigh ‘yes, yes, yes,’ as they melt into puddles at your feet?” Her tone indicated his dubious charm could not possibly work outside his small town. Or on her.

      “I haven’t had to melt too many,” he allowed. “Most of the time they’re willing.”

      “That’s what I am.” She adjusted her purse strap again. “I am ready and willing to fulfill my end of the bargain. But the question is, are you willing to let me do that?”

      “Yes, but I don’t see how—”

      “You hired me to teach you how to swim in deep water. I can’t teach you anything if you won’t