Sue Robin smiled wryly. That wasn't quite the impression she'd received from her sister-in-law's account of the little affair. This guy needed to be taught a lesson.
"Yeah," the man said, "these dumb Rebels take my word for it that I'm Shawnee. How stupid can you get, man?"
Sue Robin ate her breakfast, and when she heard the men leave the booth behind her, she peered cautiously around to see where they went. They were going out on the patio, a wide tiled expanse on one side of the hotel, unroofed, but with tables topped by gaily-colored beach umbrellas.
"Give me another cup of coffee," she told the waitress when the latter brought her bill. "Put it in a thermal cup; I'm taking it outside."
Cup in hand, Sue Robin sauntered casually out the door onto the patio, swinging her wide hips tantalizingly from side to side and shoving her boobs out into even more prominence. She sighted the two men at once, seated near the far edge of the patio. Even more slowly, she strolled beneath the high-raised beach umbrella. When she came quite near, she paused and looked out toward the beach as if she were searching for someone.
"I decleah," she murmured in an exaggerated drawl.
"Mawnin', ma'am," the stud who called himself Shawnee greeted her. "Right nice day, ain't it?"
"Well, good mawnin' to you," she said, turning and smiling. "My, but you look familiar." She wrinkled her brow as if in deep thought. "Now let me see, are you that cousin of Hazel Jean Etheridge's, the one who lives up in Atlanta?"
The long-haired one suppressed a grin and shook his head solemnly. "No, I reckon I ain't that'un. Why don't you set your little ol' self down here and we can really get acquainted. Pete, you go see about some more coffee for us. Or maybe you'd like a little eye-opener. What'd you say your name was?"
"I'm Bonnie Jo," she replied sweetly. "It's mighty early, now isn't it, for a strong drink?"
"Getting nigh onto noon," the other said. "Go on, Pete, get some Bloody Marys for us. Nothing like a good eye-opener, my ol' pa used to say."
Pete quickly disappeared and Sue Robin sat down. She turned a bemused look on Shawnee. "I still think I ought to know you. You just look so familiar."
"Well," he smirked, "maybe we can get familiar together. Axe you staying at the hotel, Bonnie Jo?"
"Till tomorrow," she said, giving him her most naive smile. "You?"
"Same," he replied.
A waiter came out with two Bloody Marys on a tray. Pete had made himself scarce.
"Here's to familiarity," said Shawnee, lifting his glass.
"Oh, hush, you're haughty!" she giggled, fluttering her lashes at him. She tipped her glass, meanwhile giving him the full treatment of her blue, wide-spaced eyes over the rim.
His own dark eyes slitted as they dropped to her breasts, straining like heavy melons at the narrow bikini bra, and unconsciously he licked his lips. After a moment she pushed her chair back and crossed her legs, giving him a large view of her belly button and her naked thighs bulging out of the abbreviated shorts.
"If you're not from Atlanta, where are you from?" she asked, still keeping to the exaggerated honey-dripping drawl.
"Oh, I'll tell you after a while. Enjoy your drink."
"A mystery man, eh? Dark, handsome and dangerous. Right?"
"Right on, baby." He dropped the fake accent. "So you want to know my name, eh?"
"I feel like I ought to know you," she repeated, smiling archly.
"My identification is up in my room," he said, staring boldly into her eyes.
This guy's got balls, all right, she thought, keeping the dumb smile on her face.
"What sort of identification?" she asked, widening her eyes at him.
A gleam of triumph lighted his narrowed eyes momentarily. The expression was not lost on Sue Robin.
"Something to show you who I am, Bonnie Jo."
"I declare!" she exclaimed. "You've just got me plumb confused."
"You come on along with me and we'll soon unconfuse you." He stood up confidently, his thumbs hooked into the wide leather belt of his low-slung Levi's.
"If you say so." She got up, and in her flat sandals she stood eye to eye with him. Little squirt, she thought, I could break your back. Maybe I will. But she smiled sweetly and stepped beside him as if she were about to take his arm.
She didn't take his arm, but she brushed close enough to him as they walked across the patio that she knew he was getting a lot of sexy vibes from her nearness.
He was silent while they went up the stairs to his room. The heavy curtains over the glass doors to the balcony were partly drawn, letting in some of the bight sunlight, but the bed was in shadows. He went to the corner table and put together two more Bloody Marys. He handed one to Sue Robin.
Now he'll put on the Shawnee Harrigan tapes, she said to herself. Mary Beth had given her a detailed description of his mode of operation.
True enough, he went to the tape-deck on the dresser and slipped in a cartridge, and in a moment the heavy suggestive beat of "Travelin' Man" thudded through the room. He turned and held up his hands and began rocking to the rhythm.
"That's mighty fine music," Sue Robin said, kicking off her sandals and swaying toward him. "Sounds like my favorite, ol' Shawnee." She stopped and stared at him, her eyes rounded like deep-blue spotlights. "Why, I declare, you look like the pictures of Shawnee Harrigan." She let the emotions of confusion, then enlightenment, play over her mobile features as she faced him. Then, "Is that what you were going to tell me? You are Shawnee!" She let her voice trail off in a teeny-bopper's squeal. "Lordy me!"
The black-haired man smiled arrogantly and held out his arms toward her. "C'mere, babe!" he ordered in a tone that allowed no protest.
Like a hypnotized sheep, Sue Robin drifted toward him, astonishingly light and graceful for such a big woman. In a moment her boobs were pressed against his chest and he was drawing her head to his.
Well, she thought after a moment or two, he can kiss, at least. This ol' boy's had lots and lots of experience. She let herself enjoy it, playing her tongue over his lips and just inside, flicking rapidly about the sensitive lining of his mouth.
After a little while he pulled away and stared deep into her eyes. "Say, kid, you know the score, don't you?"
"Whatever are you talkin' about, Shawnee?" she asked in a sugary drawl.
"Never mind." He closed her in his arms again and pressed his open lips against hers. This time he thrust his groin forward until he felt the curves of her hips and belly meld against his own. His hand slipped down from her waist to slide lightly across the tight-stretched fabric of her shorts, fondling the firm swell of her asscheeks.
Sue Robin wriggled her hips just a fraction, hinting rather than stating her willingness to go farther. Then she pulled away, panting. Her breathlessness wasn't faked now. This guy, she decided, would be okay – up to a point. If inexperienced Mary Beth could screw him silly, then by golly she could drive him up the wall.
"Gracious me, Shawnee," she murmured, trailing her forefinger across his lips. "You sure get a girl all hot and bothered. Are all rock singers like you?"
"How the hell should I know?" he growled, starting to clamp his arms about her slim waist again, but she backed off.
"I do think I need something cool to drink. You're just too much for a little ol' country girl."
He picked up her Bloody Mary and handed it to her, meanwhile eyeing her suspiciously. Was this chick putting him on? he wondered. Then he remembered his boast to Pete, the thing about dumb Rebel chicks who didn't know how to say no. And he recalled the inexperienced Mary Beth, charmingly willing but rather awkward. Yeah, this super-size Scarlett O'Hara could be for real, he decided.
"You really turn me on, Bonnie Jo," he said, relaxing and sitting down on the edge of the bed. "Give me my drink." You gotta keep giving them orders, he told himself. The macho image of Shawnee.