Hold on Tight

by Deborah Smith

  “Undress for me, Dee,” he drawled in a tone as languorous as warm whiskey. “And then I’ll undress for you.”

  Her body flooded with anticipation and surprise. Making love was supposed to be a politely orchestrated event, she had always thought, performed with the utmost delicacy and restraint. But neither delicacy nor restraint had a part in what was happening between her and Rucker.

  “All right,” she answered.

  “Do it slow.”

  Pleasure shot through her at that sensual command. She began to comply, her eyes never leaving his shadowed face. “You’re beautiful,” he murmured. Then seconds later, “High-topped panties. You’re sweet.” And then, drawing out the words with an audible sigh of pleasure, “I knew that would be a fantastic bosom.”

  When she was naked, she put her arms behind her on the pillow. He was a dark, mysterious, and compelling shadow above her, a shadow that bent suddenly and grasped her ankles with big, calloused hands. She jumped, startled. “Easy, easy,” he cajoled. His hands slid lightly up her legs, molding themselves to the curves. By the time he reached the smooth joining of thighs to hips, she could barely keep from writhing. His fingertips swirled deeply into the patch of dark, curly hair at the top of her thighs, then parted her legs and sought the moist, hot folds there. Dinah moaned and closed her eyes.

  “It’s not a great deal of fun being naked alone,” she teased in a barely audible voice.

  “You won’t be alone in a second.”

  He moved away. Dinah opened her eyes and watched him strip off his shoes, socks, and jeans. “Plain BVD’s,” she commented, mimicking his earlier perusal of her underwear. “How sweet.”

  “I get no respect,” he said playfully. Rucker removed them in quick, fluid motions, then stood naked before her, his hands by his sides, his chest moving with deep contractions.

  After a moment of rapt study, Dinah whispered in a tender voice, “Oh, Rucker, you’ve got my respect.”

  What little restraint there was between them disappeared in a bonfire of passion as he came to the bed and lowered his body onto hers. Dinah twisted, loving the delicious sensation of his weight pressing her down and the feel of him naked. They kissed with fierce, hurried motions, again and again, while her hands feathered over his back like butterflies, lighting atop the powerful, flexing muscles there.

  He groaned and grasped one of her hands gently, then rolled off her and lay on his back. “Dee, take care of me, so we’ll be safe.” Puzzled, Dinah watched as he fumbled for something on the far side of the bedspread. Then she realized that he was retrieving one of the small packages that he’d dropped on the bedspread when he put her down earlier.

  Affection and tenderness filled her until she thought she could rise and float on the moonlight. For all his blustery chauvinism and macho rowdiness, he was the best kind of man, because his words made it clear that she wasn’t alone in this important responsibility. She took the package from him, then bent over his body and trailed damp, adoring kisses across his stomach. “That’s not the kind of takin’ care I meant,” he protested in a gasping voice, as his back arched.

  “I’ll get to the point eventually,” she promised.

  “The point’s ready.”

  She laughed weakly. Several minutes passed before she let him grab her in an impatient, trembling embrace. He slid a hand between her legs and stroked her expertly until she sagged against him, her fingers convulsing in his chest hair. “You shouldn’t la-di-da with me,” he said, smiling into the kiss she gave him. “I won’t put up with it.”

  But suddenly she was beyond teasing. “Rucker,” she whispered in a tiny voice. “Rucker, please.”

  His smile faded and he rolled her onto her back quickly, then nestled himself between her thighs. “Dee, this is the beginning of something wonderful,” he whispered hoarsely.

  “Something … wonderful,” she agreed in a dazed tone, her head thrown back and eyes closed in bliss. She gasped as the turgid, smooth length of him slid inside her.

  And then there was no more need for words, no more need for anything except rough movements followed by gentle ones, incoherent sounds of pleasure and the passionate struggle to share the core of joy that bonded them. They crested in a glorious moment when she begged Rucker to hold her tighter than ever, and he did. He gasped something so torn with passion and release that it wasn’t until a few seconds later, as they lay trembling quietly in each other’s arms, that she realized what it was.

  My glorious possum queen. After she considered that strange compliment for a moment, she hugged him very hard and smiled tearfully against his shoulder.

  • • •

  The September morning was cold, barely touched by sunlight yet. Dinah huddled under her coverlet and blankets, feeling deliciously warm, in contrast. Something that smelled burnt and felt coarse brushed the soft underside of her nose. She wrinkled her upper lip, squinted, and pushed it away. It was replaced by something soft and tickling. She tried to brush that away, too, but it kissed her.

  Her eyes opened wide. “Hmmmm,” Rucker crooned against her mouth. “Good mornin’.”

  A sweet sense of anticipation melted through her as she looked up at him. He wasn’t under the covers, he was kneeling beside her on the bed wearing only his jeans. “You have a nice morning face,” she whispered. Dinah studied his half-closed eyes, the ruddy skin still flushed with sleep, the tossled hair, and slight beard shadow. “Very rumpled and sexy.”

  He chuckled. “Only problem is, I look like this ’til about noon.” He kissed her again, this time longer. Then he brushed her tangled brunette hair back from her forehead and stroked her cheek. “Sleeping beauty,” he murmured, his eyes roaming over her features. Dinah reveled in the pure adoration. She’d won dozens of titles, but she’d never felt so beautiful as now.

  “Look,” he said. He held up a piece of blackened bread. “I said the other day that I’d make you burnt toast for breakfast.”

  She laughed softly. “Thank you.”

  “I’m jokin’. I made a good breakfast. Sit up.” He kissed her one more time and then began arranging pillows behind her. Dinah pulled herself upright and he carefully placed a plate on her lap. It was heaped with scrambled eggs and half a dozen pieces of nicely browned, not burnt, toast slathered with assorted jams. Rucker scooped raspberry on his fingertip, then dotted both her nipples with it. “Hmmm. Look at all the little goosebumps around the two big ones,” he murmured. “I love cool weather.” He leaned forward and cleaned the jam away with his tongue.

  Dinah shifted as a white-hot rush of desire warmed her inside and out. The intensity of it surprised her. After all, the night had been long and vigorous. Much like Rucker, she thought with rakish appreciation. She giggled.

  “Now, that’s a cute little sound for Madam Mayor to make,” he teased. “I’d like to hear more of it.”

  Dinah covered her mouth, sincerely dismayed at the silly sound that had bubbled from it. “I’m not much of a giggler.”

  “All girls giggle. It’s in their hormones.”

  “Be quiet, sexist oaf.” They grinned at each other. He sat down beside her as she stared at the huge mound of food. “I hope we’re going to share this,” she noted.

  “Yep.” He retrieved a fork off her night stand, looking around as he did. “It’s like one of those German furniture shops in here,” he commented. “All contemporary.”

  “Scandinavian,” she corrected drolly. “You mean Scandinavian.”

  He shrugged happily. They shared the fork, and he managed to drop food on her breasts with suspicious regularity so that he had to nibble and lick it off. By the time they finished she was practically sitting in his lap, and his jeans were undone. As her fingers tantalized him he groaned with pleasure.

  “Where are our little friends?” he whispered into her ear.

  Dinah smiled breathlessly at him. “All we have left are the purple ones.”

  He sighed with grand resignation. “The humiliation I go throu
gh to take you to ecstasy!”

  After ecstasy—and it was ecstasy, she admitted when they lay blissfully quiet—they fell asleep again. When Dinah woke the next time he was propped up in bed, writing fervently on a big yellow pad balanced on his updrawn knees. The covers were tucked low around his waist, and he presented a very heart stopping masculine sight. But foreboding stirred inside her and chased away her sensual thoughts. Dinah lay very still and studied him, her brow furrowing in a quizzical frown.

  “Doing a critique of me?” she asked with forced lightness. He glanced over at her briefly and smiled. “You inspire me to write. Ssssh.” He returned to his work. Dinah frowned harder. This was a new side of Rucker. He’d traded his lolling, carefree drawl for the crisp voice of business. His intense aura of concentration belied his image as a laid-back man. Obviously, he had a very serious, professional attitude where his writing was concerned. Always the journalist, she thought fearfully. Always the storyteller. And I’m a story. I let myself forget that.

  She raised up on one elbow, feeling tension erase the shadows of sleep. “Are you really writing about me?” she persisted.

  “Uh-huh. Good stuff, don’t worry. Ssssh.”

  “For publication?”

  “Well, not the stuff about your tattoos,” he teased. “And not about us,” he hurried to add. “That’d be too personal. Just about you. The way you run your town, and your life up here in Mount Pleasant. I’m gonna do a whole chapter about you and the town. I’ve been thinkin’ about it the past few days. Now I’m sure.”

  “A whole chapter?” she repeated, her voice airy with fear. He didn’t notice.

  “Oh, yeah,” he answered cheerfully. “For my next book. Southern-Fried Gospel. It’s already under contract.” He reached over and ruffled her dark hair with an affectionate gesture. “Let me work for a while, baby doll. Go back to sleep. Cute thing, you. Ssssh. This is important.”

  Baby doll. She stared at him with increasing anxiety and now a little annoyance. She was being dismissed like some fluffy playmate. “I think I’ll take a bath,” she muttered.

  He kept writing. “Uh-huh,” he said vaguely. “Feed my possum, please.”

  Dinah stayed in the bath tub a long time, thinking of ways to dissuade him from his determination to make her a celebrity. He absolutely could not write about her. What if Todd Norins saw the book and became curious enough to follow up on his old suspicions?

  Dinah dressed in a creamy white jogging suit, plaited her hair in a braid, put on light eye makeup, and padded barefoot out of the bathroom, her heart racing. Rucker was dressed in his jeans and Peevy-torn sweatshirt from last night. He lay on his stomach amid the bed covers, writing so fast that she wondered how he’d be able to read the results. She sat on the foot of the bed and cleared her throat.

  “Hmmm?” He glanced up, took her appearance in with an appreciative once-over, and whistled. “Vanilla ice cream. Nice. I’ll be through with this in a minute.” Then he returned to his work.

  “Rucker? I know you won’t understand why a politician wouldn’t want publicity, and I know you’re trying to compliment me, but … I really don’t want to be a subject in your book. Or your column.”

  His head came up slowly, his green eyes surprised. He studied her so intensely that she looked away and fumbled with a loose thread on the side of her jogging pants. “Why not?” he asked.

  “Well … I’m a very private person.”

  “Who used to parade around in tight bathing suits in order to win prizes,” he noted drolly, smiling. “Come on, Dee, don’t joke with me.”

  “I’m not joking.” She paused, thinking over everything he’d just said. “And I know beauty pageants are partially just an excuse for showing off women’s bodies, but there’s a lot more to them than that. Don’t make fun.”

  His smile faded. He sat up slowly and turned his pad facedown. Dinah’s eyes widened in alarm as she noted that secretive action. “Something you don’t want me to see?” she asked coolly.

  “What’s makin’ you snap at dumb little things, Dee? You act like you think I’m plannin’ to hurt you.”

  “Can I see what you’ve written there?” She nodded toward the pad.

  His mouth, that wide, sensual mouth that could smile so easily, now tightened in determination. “No. It’s a rough draft. There aren’t many things I’m stubborn about, Dee, but my writing is one of them. It has to be perfect before I let anybody see it. Besides, I’m not gonna cater to your suspicions.”

  “So writing’s a part of your life that you won’t share with me?”

  “I don’t share rough drafts with anybody.” He grasped her hand, and his expression softened. “Dee, you can trust me. Relax.”

  She held his hand desperately and looked deep into his eyes. “I want to, I really do.” She took a steadying breath. “Rucker, I won’t ask you for many favors, but I’m going to have to ask for this one. Don’t write about me. Give me those notes or throw them away. Please.”

  “That’s like askin’ me to cut out part of my heart, Dee.” He sat up and pulled her into his arms. Dinah looked at him with a silent, bittersweet plea, but he offered no mercy. “What is it, Dee?” he asked in a low, unyielding voice. He didn’t sound angry, but he did sound exasperated and set on getting answers. “I think it’s time you tell me what you’re hidin’ from.”

  “I simply don’t like publicity.”

  “Lula Belle said you want to run for state senate some day. How are you gonna avoid the spotlight then?”

  “Oh, that’s just a—something I joke about.”

  “The hell it is. People told me you’ve already been approached by folks who’d help run your campaign.”

  Dinah exhaled hotly. “Running for state senate in Alabama wouldn’t garner me national attention the way your books and columns would! And what have you been doing? Investigating me? Cajoling my friends for information?”

  The subtle stiffening of his body told her that she’d hit a very big nerve. His eyes narrowed and he looked at her in grim disbelief. “You think that’s why I asked them about you?”

  She hesitated, telling herself that the man who’d made love to her so beautifully last night and this morning couldn’t possibly be anyone to fear. Tell him, a firm inner voice goaded. Tell him about the scandal that ruined your father’s life, the scandal that was indirectly responsible for his death. The scandal that nearly ruined your life, and still might.

  Dinah fought the band of steel that enveloped her throat, but she’d lived with secrecy so long, she’d protected herself so carefully for so many years, that the words couldn’t escape. “I want to trust you,” she whispered in an anguished voice.

  “But you don’t.” His deep voice was full of pain, anger, and bewilderment. “I can’t believe it! After what we shared last night. After the things we did together, there’s still a part of you that thinks I’m nothing but a fast talkin’ con artist lookin’ for a story.”

  “No! Oh, Rucker …” Her eyes filled with tears. She pushed herself away and moved to the end of the bed, turning her back to him. “I just—it’s just a matter of dignity. What you write is funny and insightful. It’s terrific entertainment. But I don’t want to be anyone’s entertainment. I don’t want to be talked about or laughed about by strangers.”

  His voice was deadly. “Dee, tell me the damned truth. I smell lies like a dog smells a trail and I won’t put up with them. You tell me what’s wrong, and you tell me right now, little lady.”

  Little lady. She whipped around, her chin thrust forward. “You won’t put up with them?” she echoed curtly. “You’ll tell me what to do, and I’d better do it, is that it?”

  “That’s right! There can only be one top dog in this argument, and you’re lookin’ straight at him.”

  “Indeed! I think you mean that you expect me to be a docile little bed bunny who’ll let you boss her around!”

  “I expect you not to keep secrets from me and accuse me of stupid things!”


  “I expect you not to turn my town and my private life into a circus of corny jokes for a national audience to snicker over!”

  That was the final blow. He stood and methodically ripped his work out of the big note pad. He folded the sheets with fierce, sharp movements of his fingers then stuck the parcel in his back pocket. Dinah stood also, her heart catching. What now? “Please tear those notes up,” she begged. “That’s all I ask. Is it so much, if you really care about me?”

  His hands clenched by his sides. “If you really care about me, you’ll say why you don’t trust me.”

  “I do … want to trust you.” She held out her hands in supplication. “Rucker, I’ve been through a lot, things that I will tell you about, if you’ll be patient.”

  “Seems to me, if you ask a man into your bed, and you say that he’s special, and you do things with him that you say you’ve never done with anyone else, that you ought to trust him already.”

  Dinah knew then that the situation was hopeless. “You don’t see shades of gray, do you,” she said wearily. “That’s one reason people enjoy your writing so much. You see things the way they ought to be, and you never yield an inch.” She laughed bitterly. “That’s very commendable.”

  “You don’t yield much, either, Dee. You’ve got all sorts of things hidden inside you, and you’ve got a wall of pride ten feet thick around you.”

  They shared a long, tortured look. She refused to let herself cry, but the effort from not crying made it difficult to talk. He seemed to be having difficulty with his own emotions. “Everything’s happened so fast,” she finally managed. “You showed up here … just five days ago …”

  “Doesn’t matter,” he said gruffly. “You know that’s not the problem. Five days. People fall in love in five days. Five hours, sometimes. Five minutes.”

  “Some people do,” she answered hoarsely. Now was not the time to acknowledge that they were in love with each other. It would only add misery to misery. “Some people only get caught up in physical temptation.”