"The Shen-Gong-Wu's through here, somewhere!" Jack cried, ducking into a large anteroom. "JB you stay out here and wait in case those Xiaolin Losers come through."
"Uh, all righty," Johnny Betty said, coming to a slow halt.
Jack continued on through the room, disappearing into yet another hallway on the other side.
Johnny Betty shifted from one foot to the other, looking around the room. For some reason, being back in Texas made her itchy, nervous. They were in the border town of Laredo, searching for a Shen-Gong-Wu. The magical item was evidently hidden in the grand hall that held the annual celebration of George Washington's birthday. That might not seem like such a big deal to anyone not familiar with the opulence old money of Tejano families was capable of. Dresses worn by the debutantes at the tribute to Martha Washington could run upwards of $30,000 and weigh 85 pounds.
Stuff like that was a world away from the mild poverty Johnny Betty had grown up with.
The security guards had only let them in because they thought JB was one of the debutantes.
Jack had laughed once they were out of earshot, but JB had been flattered beyond belief.
Her? A rich young lady?
Johnny Betty kicked her boots against the floor, taking a closer look around. The small antechamber was clogged with racks and clothes-horses. The clothing was covered in plastic covers, but the shape and lumpiness beneath suggested extravagant Colonial ball gowns.
Brown eyes widened.
She was . . . she was in the room they used to store the legendary dresses. The pageant was tonight; in a few short hours this place would be clogged with debutantes and assistants and hair dressers all arguing and jostling and fretting.
Johnny Better took a few steps towards one rack of dresses, then stopped and turned towards a different one. There was a blue dress on that one, robin's egg blue; JB's favorite color.
Gleefully, she dragged the zipper on the garment bag – it had to be custom made to accommodate the hoop skirt – and ran her hands over the heavy velvet dress.
Silver trim and rhinestones . . . wait, $30,000 . . . maybe the gemstones were real crystal. . or even diamonds! Whatever they were, they adorned the fabric in such abundance against the blue velvet it was as if the stars had decided to some out during the daytime.
The Texas maven lifted the incredible dress off the rack and just held it for a bit. It was kind of heavy for a dress, but eighty-five pounds didn't faze her.
Johnny Betty cast around and saw a large mirror waiting near a wall. Turning the dress around, JB held it up to her shoulders. It really was the prettiest shade of blue, even if it was still on the hanger and made for someone a good eight inches shorter than her. Thinking for a moment, Johnny Betty hooked the clothes hanger over her neck, letting the straps lay against her bare shoulders. As an afterthought, she gathered up her hair up in one hand and piled it on top of her head. As an even later afterthought, she gently bit her lips to redden them.
This done, she smiled her most charming smile and admired her reflection.
"Let's split up and look for the Wu! We've got to get to it before Jack does!" Raimundo cried, sweeping his arm around the convention center.
The Xiaolin monks quickly took off in four different directions.
Clay prowled around the convention center. He had been here a couple of times before; his mama had wanted him to put on tights and a wig and take part in the festivities. Yeah, that sounded like something he wanted to do. Clay knew a couple of boys who had gone along with it for with their girlfriends, but . . . . yeah, no thanks.
A flash of movement out of the corner of his eye caught his attention.
Most people wouldn't have thought it possible for so big a man so move so quietly on cowboy boots, but Clay did. He ghosted over to the partially opened door and peered through it.
For a moment, he didn't know what to think.
Of course he recognized Johnny Betty; that long, lean Texas lady that alternately drove him wild and frustrated him worse than a chained up dog at a cat show. She was hot, oh Lord A'mighty, she could light a fire without a match, she could cook without a stove, she was so hot!
But for some reason she had latched onto that snake, Jack Spicer.
The last time their paths had crossed, Clay had confronted her about her partnership with the Evil Boy Genius.
"Jack Spicer is my friend!" JB had insisted stubbornly.
"You'd risk ten thousand years a' darkness for a 'friend'? Shoot, darlin', I got lots a' friends!" Clay shot back.
He'd never forget the look on her face when she gave her retort.
"I don't."
Clay hadn't been real sure what to say to that, so he didn't say anything at all. He had just shaken his head and walked away.
Now, here she was, holding up a ruinously expensive dress to her shoulders like she was shopping. What was she doing here?
Was she a debutante?
The robin's egg blue of her dress looked gorgeous against her dark skin, but Clay noted that the skirt was a good eight inches too short for her. It wasn't her dress.
For a second, Clay wondered why she would want to take a dress that didn't fit her, but then his eye caught the sparkle of gemstones sewn onto the fabric.
That dress probably cost more than most luxury cars.
Clay kicked open the door, striding towards the black-haired girl.
"All right, you just put that dress back right now, missy!" he commanded.
Johnny Betty whirled, the dress still held to her shoulders. She was surprised to see Clay Bailey here, but then again . . . .not really.
The Xiaolin monks had a habit of popping up unexpectedly and Clay, though cute and muscular, was preachy and nagging about being a good person. Just like every other person in her life, he thought she wasn't good enough.
"I wasn't gonna take it!" she snapped.
It occurred to her that Clay had appeared from nowhere and demanded that she free her hands. It looked like a Showdown was eminent.
"I don't have no Shen Gong Wu on me, so we can't Showdown," JB stated coldly.
Clay snatched the dress from JB's hands and returned it to its hanger.
"That's some girl's dream dress you're about t' snitch. Th' pageant's been a tradition here for eighty years. I ain't lettin' you spoil it!"
"First of all, like I give a damn about some rich girl's party! An' that dress wouldn't even fit me; why th' hell would I take it?!"
"Maybe because it would pay for a dually truck with a gooseneck horse trailer painted t' match!" Clay clarified.
Johnny Betty paused. Then a scowl twisted her features.
"Oh. Right. I'm after it strictly fer money, 'cause there's no way I'd like a pretty dress like that!"
Clay blinked, looking over at the frilly, doll like dresses, then at Johnny Betty's lean, muscled warrior's build.
The look did not go unnoticed. JB scowled harder.
"You know what? Just for that look I am takin' th' damn dress! I'm'a buy myself a big ol' bike! Maybe a Harley!" Johnny Betty started for the dress racks again.
"Oh no you ain't!"
One meaty hand closed around JB's upper arm and dragged her tight against Clay's chest. She put her arms up to his shoulders but it was too late; the Dragon of the Earth's stone-strong arms wrapped around her.
"I don't like fightin' ladies, but a bear hug don' count as . . . . . . fight-in' . . ."
Clay trailed off.
In hindsight, he shouldn't have touched her.
Standing a few feet away, she was simply the hot but infuriating shrew he had become acquainted with from her association with Jack Spicer. When his hand touched the skin of her bare arm, an electric tingle shot up his own arm and detonated in the back of his skull. By then he was already dragging her into a bear hug. JB put her arms to his shoulders and a tiny, soft, and purely feminine noise escaped her lips.
Suddenly, things were very different.
Now it wasn't a bear hug to immobilize a female enemy, now he held a woman in his arms. She was close enough that he could smell her scent, could feel the sudden shiver that ran through her frame, feel the sweet curves that pressed tightly against his chest.
And her eyes were staring straight into his.
She had brown eyes.
Clay didn't think he'd ever noticed that before.
He certainly hadn't realized that brown eyes could burn.
He had a sudden flash of memory: when he was five years old his Grandma Lily had decided to make chocolate candies for all the grandchildren for Easter. The smell of chocolate had drawn little Clay into the kitchen and when his grandmother's back was turned, he had stuck his greedy little hand into the pot of boiling chocolate.
The burns had taught him a valuable lesson about patience.
That was what Johnny Betty's eyes reminded him of; boiling chocolate. Just as tempting and probably twice as hazardous to his health.
Johnny Betty gasped.
She was an old-fashioned girl at heart. Not in the way of women being homemakers and mothers and letting their men take care of them, no this was an old-fashioned idea that pre-dated the idea that women wore long dresses and should know how to cook.
This was the idea that what a woman really wanted the biggest, strongest male around.
Johnny Betty had super-strength. Finding a man stronger than her was no easy task, but it looked like she had just managed it.
And Clay had eyes as blue as that dress she had been drooling over.
JB drew in a second shaky breath through barely parted lips.
Later, neither one of them would be sure who kissed whom first.
JB was pretty sure it was her because Clay was a good man; he sure wouldn't force a kiss on a female enemy.
Clay was pretty sure it was him because what woman would want to kiss some . . . some brute who was manhandling her.
Whoever had kissed whom first, a moment later they were both locked together at the mouth, tongues wrestling and mating furiously. Clay no longer had to fight to keep JB pressed against him, she clutched hard at his shoulders as she writhed against him, enjoying the feel of hard, male muscles pressed against her own.
Clay's hands seemed to roam across JB's body without any input from his brain. When both hands gripped her bodacious butt and squeezed, he finally came to his senses.
"We can't do this!" Clay blurted, tearing himself away from Johnny Betty. "I'm . . . you're . . . we can't do this!"
The dark haired girl staggered a step forward, her cheeks still flushed with passion.
"Yuh-yeah," she agreed breathlessly, pushing her hair out of her face. "I'm . . . you're probably jest one more horned up farm boy who wants a one night rodeo an' nothin' else."
"I ain't like that!" Clay protested. "I jest ain't into bad girls! How many one night rodeos you had, anyway?"
"How dare you!" JB snapped. "A country girl's gotta fight like hell t' keep herself intact from you good ol' boys! All you want is t' get your dicks wet an' then you're gone like yesterday!"
"I. Ain't. Like that!" Clay roared. "I just want a girl that ain't out fer nuthin' but herself!"
"Listen, asshole, if I was out fer nuthin' but myself I'd be in Las Vegas with a bull rider on each arm and a brand spankin' new chopper between my legs!" As she spoke, JB stepped up and thrust her nose an inch away from Clay's.
A moment later they were grappling passionately again.
This time Clay slipped both hands under JB's shapely bottom and lifted, pressing back at the same time to pin her body between his own frame and the wall. Her long legs lifted and curled around his waist.
The soft moan she let out banished what few rational thoughts still remained in the big cowboy's head. He pressed harder, petted more furiously, and lashed his tongue faster. All he knew was the joy of kissing and stroking this gorgeous woman in his arms.
"Clayton William Bailey!"
Clay tore himself away from Johnny Betty a second time, noting in a sort of numb horror that a thin string of saliva that stretched between their lips caught the light before it broke.
Clay started to step back, but forgot that JB had her legs wrapped around his waist. She started to slide down the wall, but Clay thrust his hips forward at the last minute and kept her in place.
Then he turned to look at the interloper.
"A-Aunt Clarabelle?" Clay squeaked.
The older blonde woman standing in the doorway seemed to inflate with anger. She was dressed impeccably in an expensive grey suit. A gaggle of well-bred debutantes giggled quietly, peering around her to gawk at the entwined pair.
"I thought you told your Mama that you wouldn't be caught dead within a hundred miles of Laredo during the pageant," Clarabelle said coldly.
JB slid her legs down to the ground, her boots clunking softly against the floor as she regained her footing. The noise seemed to draw Aunt Clarabelle's attention. Her piercing blue eyes locked on to the black-haired girl.
"And who might this be?"
"Uh . . . ."
Clay's eyes flew to the young woman at his side. Only now did he notice she was wearing a Jack Daniel's midriff tank top and the infamous 'Sex Boots' belt buckle—The bottoms of two large cowboy boots, complete with spurs, pressed tight together and pointing downwards. On the outside of those boots were a smaller pair, dainty, high-heeled and feminine, spread wide and pointed up.
"Uh . . . . ."
He couldn't exactly tell the truth; that he had caught JB fondling the dresses and thought she should see what it felt like to be on the receiving end. 'Thought' was perhaps too strong a word, nothing like thought had gone through Clay's head. Of course, admitting that wasn't really an option, either.
'Sorry, Aunt Clarabelle, the truth is, I don't even like Johnny Betty, but damn, I can't help wantin' t' get into her pants!'
"Uh . . . . . . . . t-this is my girlfriend!" Clay blurted. "She – she – she want'd to see th' dresses, so I snuck her in. Sorry, Aunt Clarabelle."
JB gave him an incredulous look. Clay forced a sheepish grin and groped for her hand, finally finding it and interlacing his fingers with hers. The dark-haired maven gave their hands a startled look.
"Have a name, does she?" Clarabelle asked, studying JB in excruciating detail.
"Johnny Betty Pecos," Clay answered instantly.
"Well, I don't see anyone fakin' a name like that," Clarabelle said.
"Thanks a lot," JB growled.
Clay gripped her hand tightly and gave her arm a little shake.
"Get on outta here an' let these young ladies get dressed," Clarabelle snapped, gesturing to the door with her head.
Clay darted for the opening, dragging JB along with him.
"Your Daddy's gonna hear about this," Clarabelle murmured as Clay raced by.
Johnny Betty heard this, but it didn't even register. What she did catch were the scoffing looks the debutantes gave her and the murmurs of:
'Omigod, look at her clothes.'
'Wow, Clay's slumming.'
'D'you think he had to pay her?'
Clay just kept his head down and kept dragging JB along until they were approaching the door.
"Wait; I'm s'pposed t' be keepin' an eye on Jack," JB protested weakly.
"Jest git on outta here," Clay growled, his cheeks beet red.
Johnny Betty considered this for a second, and then planted her feet. Not expecting such a move, Clay was pulled back around to face her.
"Call me your girlfriend again," she ordered with a smile.
Clay's blue eyes popped open.
"What?!?!"
"Say I'm your girlfriend again," JB clarified. "An' gimme another kiss. An' I'll leave an' not cause any trouble."
"You ain't my girlfriend," Clay stressed, staring at her in disbelief.
JB's smile dimmed slightly and a faint look of sadness crossed her features.
"I know. But . . . I just want t' hear somebody say those words, even if it is a lie. Lie t' me an' kiss me again. Then I'll leave you alone."
Clay stared at her.
Johnny Betty was asking him to lie to her? Didn't women want to hear the truth? She wanted to hear someone say she was their girlfriend and wanted another hot kiss. Idly Clay wondered if it even mattered to her who said it.
It was such a sad request the Dragon of the Earth couldn't refuse the words and damn, he did like kissing her.
Clay Bailey sighed roughly and stepped forward, gathering Johnny Betty up in his arms.
"Johnny Betty Pecos," he sighed. "My lovely ladybird."
The Apache girl gave a brilliant smile and leaned up for a kiss.
Clay accepted her gently.
For whatever reason, this kiss didn't descend into a fit of wild, horny groping. They kissed. Sweetly, warmly, affectionately they kissed. Johnny Betty leaned against Clay, feeling a soft, gentle warmth bloom in her heart.
For his part, Clay stroked the gorgeous woman in his arms, petting her gently. She seemed so warm and hungry, yet so sad.
Clay felt a spark deep down.
After what seemed like ages, the two parted.
Warm brown eyes met gentle blue ones.
The building suddenly shook and began to rearrange itself. Johnny Betty looked around as the stone and metal began to shift.
"Are you doin' this, Clay?"
"No," Clay answered, glancing over at the strange geometry the building was twisting itself into. "It's a Showdown."
"You know what that means?" JB asked. "We got a few more minutes."
Clay looked at her.
Boiling chocolate, he reminded himself. Johnny Betty was as hot as hell, but nothing but trouble in tight jeans. Not to mention she dressed like a working girl.
"I gave you what you wanted," he said quietly.
JB stared at him for a long time.
"Oh. Yeah. All right, then. Well, if Jack survives, tell him I'm outside."
"I'll do that," he agreed, looking off to where the Showdown between Jack and Raimundo was starting.
Johnny Betty looked at the big cowboy one final time, then turned and walked out the door.