As intercourse continued, reason and spirit hunkered down within her brain…waiting, biding their time…until Aaron twitched his last jerk, exhaled his last grunt, and expelled all his cum.
She wouldn’t have to wait long. Aaron was all talk. For a young male, his ardor didn’t last. As expected, his spasms diminished in minutes, turned to random tics, and ceased.
Excellent. This night, my dues are paid.
Her relief was short-lived. Now she had to deal with Aaron’s sweaty deadweight pressing down on her chest and stomach. She could barely muster quick, shallow breaths.
It’s not enough. Oxygen, need oxygen. She was a gasping fish out of its element.
Asphyxia was not included in her penance ritual. Before Hunter lost consciousness, she wriggled her arms under Aaron’s chest and managed to push him off. He rolled to his side, and precious air filled her grateful lungs.
Aaron flailed aimlessly as he moaned and murmured unintelligible sounds. Hunter didn’t move or speak. While every cell in her body demanded she bolt out of his bed, she did nothing to awaken him from his postorgasmic sleep. She had to complete one last facet of her voluntary punishment: an exercise in patience and control.
She studied a crack in the ceiling, followed the length along the plasterboard to the molding where the jagged line disappeared from view. She looked on, examined the rest of the ceiling, searching for interesting new lines to entertain her a few more minutes. The cracks she discovered went nowhere. Had no beginning or end. Much like her, they started in a random spot—a sign of internal deterioration—and ended shortly after.
A deep snort followed by a gargling noise to her right interrupted her turbulent thoughts. She smiled. It was safe to leave.
Fisting the top sheet, Hunter rolled left one inch at a time. She was close to the edge of the mattress, and the process of tucking her knees up and extending her legs out turned out to be fairly easy. Gravity also helped. As her bare feet landed on the icy tile, she stood in one smooth motion. Aaron remained lost to the world.
Before she began picking up her strewn garments, she allowed herself a small moment to examine Aaron Miller blissfully asleep. She couldn’t be angry with him. She’d given him the go-ahead, just as she had with the men who came before him. If anything, he was a victim of her sickness, a pawn of her insanity. He had no idea he’d fallen for a broken woman, a spider who’d entangled him in her crazy web of atonement.
Good-bye, Aaron.
Hunter swept around the room, collected her clothes, and dressed in silence without bothering to wash. Disregarding the ick factor, she slipped her panties and knit skirt on, pulled her black top down to her hips, pivoted to pick up her high-heeled shoes, and froze. Propped on an elbow, Aaron glared. Instinctively, she switched her shoes around, ensuring the heels pointed out. If he got ugly, she wouldn’t hesitate to use the makeshift weapon.
“What?” she fired out, taking a backward step as he moved out of his bed.
“That’s my question.” Uncaring of his nakedness, or perhaps to show off his muscled body and genitalia, Aaron stood legs apart, his fists pressed on his hips. “Got your clothes on. Where the fuck are you going? I ain’t done. I want more. Get back in there.” He pointed to the bed.
Where the hell is my purse? Her eyes scanned furtively as she flicked her fingers in a dismissive gesture. “It’s late. I’m going home.”
She located her bag dangling on the handle of Aaron’s personal elliptical stepper and relaxed. A swift grab, and she was out of here.
“You can skip that tough man act.” She doubled down on her attitude. “It doesn’t work for me.”
Aaron’s deep frown sent up a warning flare. Hunter had been down this road before. A woman’s long hair was a man’s target of choice: accessible and painful. She flicked her tresses over her left shoulder as far from him as possible. As she reached to snatch her bag, Aaron sped to her side. He manacled her wrist, and she stiffened, preparing to defend herself. Aaron was impulsive and young, and before she buried her heels into his skull, she stilled, giving him a chance to back off.
Tilting her head slightly, she eyed him sideways. “Let. Me. Go.”
“I… Hunter.”
He grimaced, his lips quivering as his hold loosened. She relaxed. Her ice voice never failed her. Never. However, if she wanted to exit Aaron’s place without a major argument or a thrashing, experience dictated the use of strategic patience. Slowly, she assessed Aaron’s mood. She didn’t smile or ease her stance either; that would open the door for misinterpretations. He didn’t know it yet, but he was already ancient history in her life.
She eyed his fingers. He hesitated, then dropped his arm to the side.
“I said…” She massaged her wrist for a moment, then grasped her purse and hooked it over her shoulder as she slowly crossed to the living room. “I’m going home.”
“Why? It’s early.” Aaron padded after her, deploying the sad-puppy-eyes look. Smart dude; he’d tried that expression in the past, and she’d relented. Tonight, the pitiful face irritated the hell out of her.
“Just a little longer, hmmm?” He dared to run the tip of his finger down the side of her arm. “I can please you. I know how you like it. Huh? What d’ya say?”
Hunter shuddered as a wave of revulsion ran over her. She vowed silently: Your clumsy mouth will never search between my legs again. She couldn’t stomach the idea of his bungling attempts at sexual play anymore. What had she ever seen in him?
She sighed. “I don’t want to argue. I gave you a ride home because it was raining. You had your fun, the rain has stopped, and now it’s over. Period.”
Aaron’s speed surprised her. In a nanosecond, he stood in front of the door. “Over? What d’you mean, over?”
Her cool façade returned. She locked gazes with Aaron in a contest of wills. She had to maintain the emotional upper hand in a way Aaron wouldn’t find threatening or guess her intentions. No matter what, he couldn’t think this was their last night together.
“Are we going to have a problem? You’re blocking my way, Aaron,” she whispered a touch more softly, hoping she wouldn’t have to use her high heels. Heavens, the things a woman had to do to save a pretty—and expensive—pair of shoes.
His breathing quickened as his eyes shifted. “No, no problem… It’s just, you said—”
“What? The night is over.” Hunter emphasized the last two words, hoping the misdirection would work. “This isn’t new. I sleep in my bed, always. Do I need to remind you?”
He rubbed his palms over his hips, sent a confused glance at his naked body, and his cheeks turned crimson. He didn’t need to say it; his mortification at his undressed state was evident. Did he feel vulnerable? Did his flaccid penis retract an inch? Right then, his embarrassment lost him the silent battle of wills. Meekly, he stepped out of her way.
Hunter fought to keep her expression impassive and restrain the desire to release a full-throated laugh. She could do that and a lot more as soon as she escaped and was alone in her car. In fact, she planned to guffaw all the way home. But at the moment, she remained silent, her mind working on her escape. Once she opened the apartment’s front door—as Aaron seemed paralyzed—she’d take the stairs and run to the parking lot.
Leaning forward, she pecked Aaron’s still-flushed cheek. “Sleep well,” she murmured. Tightening her hold on her purse and shoes, she slipped out to freedom.
A wave of rain-cooled, fragrant air bathed her skin, and she smiled at the pleasant sensation. Maintaining a serene demeanor—in case Aaron watched her—Hunter descended the steps.
She reached the pavement, ran to the car, unlocked the door, and threw her bag and shoes on the passenger seat. She turned on the engine and, with a screech of tires, drove out, laughing her head off.
CHAPTER FOUR
ON FRIDAY MORNING—twenty-four hours behind schedule—the nursery’s truck carrying the promised delivery came around the corner and slowed in front of the Conway home. Joe wav
ed in a hurried keep-going motion. The driver nodded as he reversed the vehicle past the sidewalk and over the lawn until Joe held up his hand. Once the truck stopped, Joe propped his makeshift chute at the edge of the flatbed and hopped on top.
Settling behind the palm’s crown, Joe called out to Dan. “Dude, I need a hand. This thing is gonna drop heavy. I don’t want it to tumble sideways. Make sure it stays upright, will ya?”
“Be right there.” Dan hurried to the truck. “I’m ready. Let ’er rip.” He held his thumb up.
With that, Joe pushed the ridged trunk forward. The eight-foot queen palm tilted downward and slid like a rocket dead center into its hole. The roped fronds swished in a loud protest when it landed. Despite an initial bounce, Dan’s firm grip kept it in place.
“Hey. You’re done here.” Joe knocked on the cab’s rear window, then jumped on the grass to disengage the chute. The driver sped off, and Joe went into action, shoveling a mix of topsoil and fertilizer around the root ball.
Releasing the trunk, Dan echoed Joe’s movements going counterclockwise. They stopped when the circle filled and the palm stabilized.
Joe released his shovel and began to tamp down the loose soil with his boot. “If I didn’t say it before, thanks for showing up on time, dude.”
Dan smiled, taking a step out of Joe’s way. “Told you I would, bro. I left Pete’s a couple of minutes after you did.”
“I appreciate it,” Joe said as he continued packing dirt around the circle. “We’ve made good progress. Plus, the cold front that came in with the rain last night was a blessing.”
“Yep. Might as well enjoy the chilly air and lack of humidity,” Dan murmured, shoving his work gloves into his back pocket.
“Spring’s last hurrah.” Joe paused to wipe the back of his wrist over his forehead. Squinting, he pointed at the arrangement of hibiscus they’d finished planting before the palm arrived. “Looks good, don’t it?”
Dan glanced over his shoulder at the rare double pink flowers and nodded. “Bertha Conway is gonna be real happy.”
“Man, I searched high and low for that variety. Just as I was getting resigned to hitting the eight-hour trek to Miami and back, I found them in Apopka.” Joe chuckled. “We finish up with the queen palm, and we are done.” He tilted his head in the direction of the hose bib. “Would you pass me the garden hose and turn on the water for me?”
“Yep.” Dan flung the hose within Joe’s reach, then went to the connected outdoor spigot and twisted it on. “There you go.”
As water flowed out the nozzle, Joe’s thoughts darted to the weekend. He’d be free and clear, with zero obligations. An image of Danielle—one of his current lovers—flashed in his mind.
He recalled the night he met her…
Unforeseen obligations had forced him to cut short one of his Orlando stays. He usually drove home late Sunday nights or Monday mornings after the rush hour. But on this occasion, he had to return on Saturday. On his way to St. Cloud, he stopped at the club for a quick beverage and to discuss business with a potential client in Oviedo. Halfway through contract negotiations, Joe noticed her. Sweet and shy, Danielle sparkled within a group of unremarkable girlfriends, taking everything in. It was obvious this was her first visit to the club, and the scenes and activities tantalized her. Joe didn’t waste a minute. He took her out of circulation before younger, less experienced wolves could pounce on her.
Danielle turned out to be the delight he’d envisioned. She was eager, adventurous, and loved their play, the power exchange between them. Her brown eyes gleamed with a fiery light at his every suggestion. Her mouth quivered as she panted with anticipation and excitement. Damn…she was luscious.
Yep, forty-eight decadent hours with Danielle.
He’d drive north as soon as he cleaned up and sent her a text. He visualized the moment when he knocked on her door. She’d be waiting for him prepped and ready to explore a new scene.
The instant erection threw him off. Joe frowned as he sent a mental command to his stiff cock.
Settle down. Now.
Furious, he tugged at the hose, turning his back to Dan.
What the fuck had just happened?
Twisting the nozzle to the shower setting, he drenched the soil around the palm—his brain working overtime. Maybe he was getting old…losing his touch.
Close, but I’m not there yet.
Granted, his time in Afghanistan and the convalescing period at the VA had kept him from his chosen sexual lifestyle. However, as soon as he’d fully recovered and come home, he’d plunged back in without any complaints from either of his two subs, Elena or Danielle.
So what gives?
“Your focus sucks,” he muttered under his breath.
“Say again?” Dan spoke behind him.
Joe scratched his whiskered jaw. He’d forgone shaving for two days. His Marine grooming habits were following the same route his well-ordered responses had taken: down the toilet.
“Nothing. Talking to myself,” he snapped as he directed the flow of water over the soil.
“Hey. If you’ve got a bug up your ass, don’t take it out on me.” Dan stomped past him to gather tools into one pile. “We’re almost finished. You should be happy. This weekend is gonna be awesome. Nothing to do but watch TV.” Dan grinned, rubbing his palms in excitement. “Can’t wait for March Madness to start. Team selection is this Sunday.”
“I know.” Joe lightened up his answer and attitude as he examined the wet ground.
Dan paused with a hand on his hip. When Joe didn’t comment further, he went on about his business.
A tad simple and somewhat naïve, Dan couldn’t begin to imagine the conflict in Joe’s mind. Managing his body’s reactions was a critical component in his intimate life. His greatest sense of pleasure was tied to control. He never left a woman wanting. He ensured his partner’s complete satisfaction before he entertained his. Finesse and elegance were the two most valuable words in his personal lexicon.
Had he ignored the effects of his PTSD? He shook his head. Last night’s episode hadn’t been as powerful or as long-lasting as others. He scratched his jaw harder. Maybe he was coming down with a bug…
No. You know that’s not it. You strayed.
Billy’s face formed before him: a vivid reminder of Joe’s duty—last night’s commitment to seek payback for his buddy’s anguish and death. Joe had allowed the weekend fantasy and Danielle’s face and delicious body to distract him. His subconscious had stepped up. The unwarranted hard-on got him back on track.
The reckoning was everything. He couldn’t ignore it.
Retribution must be served. Vows must be kept.
The plan must be followed.
In order to succeed, he had to go all in. That meant no time with Danielle.
Fuck.
Since he had no idea how long it would take or how difficult it might be to charm his target, he had to let Danielle go for a while, until this sordid affair was resolved. Hunter had caused enough damage and pain. He didn’t want to lose Danielle in the process.
Joe fidgeted on his feet. He dried a wet hand on his jeans and grabbed the bill of his cap. He switched it around on his head, front to back, back to front as he studied his options. He didn’t have to worry about Elena. She was visiting family in Puerto Rico and wouldn’t return for several weeks. But he had to work something out with Danielle. He just couldn’t disappear out of the blue.
He glanced around the Conway landscape as he weighed options, and a temporary solution came up. Skip the weekend and invite Danielle to dinner midweek. That gave him time to concoct a good reason.
Perfect. Joe smiled. It begins now…
He twisted the nozzle, shutting off the water. “What’re you doing later, dude?”
Dan jerked up. “Huh? You’re asking me?”
“I am.” Joe snickered at Dan’s confusion. “I get it. We don’t hang out often.”
“That’s an understatement.” Dan threw the shovel in
with the rest of the tools. “I’ve asked you to join me plenty of times. But you’d rather spend time with your high-class friends in Orlando.” He circled his finger in the air. “And I have my regular down-home folks in St. Cloud.”
“Don’t be a narrow-minded jerk. My friends in Orlando are hardworking people like you and me, not high-class. Some I’ve known since Gainesville.” Joe shrugged. “The rest are friends of friends. I met them when Mom needed a break and I drove Dad to his chemo treatments. Some days, he was too tired to come back home. I went out while he slept.”
“We’re so different.” Dan exhaled forcefully as he dragged over two large bags of mulch. “My idea of fun is hanging out at home, watching sports on my big-screen TV with a chick I like, and you… Shit, I don’t know what you do.”
“To be fair.” Slapping his cap on his thigh, Joe eyed his friend hustling around. “I’m the weirdo. Your life is uncomplicated and open.”
Dan straightened. “Are you calling me simple?”
“No fucking way. You’re lucky. You didn’t pick up a shitload of baggage out there.” Joe waved in an indistinct direction. “That’s the thing. You’re not restless, and memories don’t hound you, plus… Screw it, it’s not important.” He was back in the confusion, the moment when he woke up in the field hospital and his eyes were bandaged. His chest tightened.
Focusing on the present, Joe returned the cap to his head. He rewound the hose and hooked it on the spigot. His visit to Pete’s yesterday had taken Dan by surprise. Joe chuckled under his breath; he was about to shock his friend some more. He walked back to the palm.
“So, are you going to answer me, or do I have to guess?” Holding one of the bags of mulch upright, he tore the top open.
Dan jerked.
“Cat got your tongue?” Joe insisted. “My guess is you’re heading to Pete’s tonight.”
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