Nymphomania (Erotic Romance Bundle)

by Dalia Daudelin

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Phil Callahan was snoozing in the surprisingly-comfortable hospital chairs when he was awoken from a quite-sound sleep by someone touching him on his shoulder. The last time this had happened, the chairs had dug into his hips uncomfortably and they'd been doing it to give him bad news.

  And now, he knows without needing to be told, they're going to do it again. He doesn't turn to face the nurse that must have tapped him awake. He turns to the machines.

  There shouldn't be a problem. A few broken ribs, nothing in the lungs—Randy should be completely fine. The machine beeps happily, a complete reversal of the mood anyone would feel looking at it. Stable heartbeat. Not fast, nor slow.

  Then Callahan turns and stands to greet whoever came in. It's a young woman, maybe twenty-five. She looks tired. All the nurses do. The hospital works them like dogs. Like horses, he thinks, though it's not as funny as he would like for it to be. Not even close, really.

  "What's wrong?"

  "It's probably nothing, sir, but just. As a precaution." She confirms his insurance company. The one he had to get, or face the full force of the I.R.S. against him. What were they going to do, though? Audit him?

  "Why, is there some kind of problem?"

  "Not exactly, sir. It's not going to affect anything, of course, but. We just wanted to make sure."

  "I gave you that information a week ago. What's there to make sure of?"

  "Nothing. Sir."

  "Will you stop trying to worry about not spooking me? You're going to get me freaking out soon, and all because you just won't tell me what the heck is going on. Can you do that for me?"

  "They're just dragging their feet a little."

  "Then I'll have to get on the phone. Is there going to be a problem?"

  "No problem, sir. We just wanted to make sure that we were talking to your employer's insurance provider."

  "Well, that's them. If they don't want to cover it, I'll get on the phone with them. Y'all will get paid, don't worry about that."

  She smiles at him in a way that says that she regrets bringing it up. Too late for regret now, though. She's in far too deep for that.

  The little woman turns to leave, walking away with that strange walk that all nurses seem to develop. Fast, without looking rushed. Practiced. She's got somewhere else to be, and she's going to get there as soon as she can, but until then she's not exactly panicked about it, per se.

  Phil settles back into his chair and rubs the sting of tiredness out of his eyes. What time is it? There's a little light, just beginning to show through the edge of the windows. Perhaps around 6:30 to 7, then. Give or take.

  In a few minutes, James will get here, and Callahan will let him take over watching the boy. There's work to be done on the farm. There's a horse that needs preparation for sale.

  The price discussion is only a few days, now. If they can make it through that, and if Callahan can get a little money by, then they'll be set and they'll be in good and easy.

  The thought that the insurance is dragging their heels… well, it's no big deal. They do that from time to time. Like any insurance company. They'll probably pay out in the end.

  If they don't, it won't cost so much to retain an attorney. But the problem is that in the mean-time, the hospital goes hungry.

  There are plenty of reasons that Philip Callahan doesn't love the county hospital. Two buried up on the hill. Babies don't die in childbirth any more. They just don't. Never happens. One in a million—less. One in ten million.

  But it had happened, and there was no way around it.

  And then, when Sara had left him, too… wasn't there something they should've done? Wasn't there some way to see that shit coming? They're God damned doctors. They should know how to save a woman's life.

  But there's more than just what happened to him, in this world. More than just a bunch of sappy sad stories of times where Phil Callahan didn't get what he wanted. Those doctors facilitated all that. They made it possible for other people to get what he never got.

  They saved peoples lives every damn day. And if they weren't getting paid… well, that wasn't really a consideration, not in the long run. Because they were going to get paid, regardless of what the insurance company said.

  The problem was… Phil Callahan's fingers rub into the side of his head in the last few minutes before James comes in and he has to turn back on as the boss, rather than as some old man with worries of his own.

  The problem was, that just meant he needed money more. He needed money worse than ever, now. He had money lined up. Probably plenty for a little hospital stay and setting a few broken ribs.

  But there's no guarantees in this life. Not even when your wife goes, smiling, into a maternity ward, and leaves you worrying in the waiting room. It had been so simple. There's nothing to worry about.

  And then the doors had shut and he'd lost—

  The sound of boots on the floor outside pulls him out of his thoughts. He rubs away the wetness that's developed in his eyes. He's fine. He'll be completely fine.

  There's nothing to do now but get back to work, and make sure that if the plans to sell don't work out, he's going to have some kind of backup plans.

  There's one other place that he can get money. Probably a hell of a lot more than twenty or thirty measly grand.

  He loves the ranch. No doubt about it. He'll fight as hard as anyone can, if it means protecting that space. If it means protecting Sara's home.

  But if it's a choice between the dirt and the boys, well… Somebody's got to be on their side.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  The last thing that Morgan Lowe expected, after giving him a week to himself, was a phone call. She'd only actually managed to get him on the phone once before, but as she looked down at the caller I.D. to confirm to herself again, there was no mistaking it.

  Phil Callahan, who she'd privately decided wasn't a concern any more, because she wasn't going to take away the land and the only things he had left of his wife and daughter, was calling her cell.

  For an instant, she thinks about not answering it. Should she? Her thumb moves automatically to the green button and presses it. The call connects and she puts it to her ear. Her muscles move for her, which is thankful because her brain is too caught up to make clear decisions.

  "Hello?"

  Callahan's voice on the other side comes through clear. He sounds a little different on the phone, but it's not an unappealing sound.

  "Is this Morgan Lowe?"

  "Speaking. How can I help you, Mr. Callahan?"

  "Are we back on last names again?"

  She laughs a little. "Do you want to be?"

  "I want to talk with you. Just talk."

  "What did you want to talk about, Philip?"

  She leans back in her chair and allows herself, just for a moment, to imagine the sort of talking that they could get up to. Goosebumps raise in her skin almost the instant that the thought runs through her head, and her face flushes deep red.

  "About anything. I need some time to myself, and I know that you've been about the only one who I've been able to talk to the past few days."

  "That's sweet of you to say." Her face flushes a little deeper. The man knows how to give praise, she has to admit.

  "It's the truth."

  "So when did you want to have this chat? And where?"

  "Whenever and wherever. I just need a night off."

  Her mind's already started twisting with possibilities that she doesn't dare consider any further. "Alright, then. Tonight?"

  "Tonight sounds wonderful. Any ideas where you'd like to go?"

  "Anywhere."

  "Anywhere sounds wonderful, but I need a specific where."

  She doesn't take long to think about it. She's passed by the little Italian place a thousand times. She can hear something in his voice when she suggests it. Something that makes her wonder if she's made a mistake by mentioning it. If she has, though, the mistake is already made.<
br />
  "That's fine. You want me to meet you there? Or I can pick you up from the site."

  "I don't need a ride, Mr. Callahan. I've got a very nice one of my own."

  "I've seen it. How do you keep mud off, way out here? You'd think—"

  "I wash it. It's real easy, you just use a hose, and…"

  She tapers off and there's a little silence where Philip Callahan's smile fits in.

  "Alright, smart-ass. Seven o'clock sound good to you?"

  She should be ready well before then. But if it's a date—and he's making it sound very much like a date—then she can be busy as late as he needs her to be.

  "Sure."

  She sets the phone down and makes a distinct effort not to read into any of it. This was all about making sure that he was in a good mood, making sure that he had what he needed to keep going. Her feelings didn't enter into it in the slightest—nor should they.

  But that didn't mean that her heart wasn't flapping around the room, now. It didn't mean that she could keep the smile off her face. It didn't mean that she could keep her thoughts out of the gutter, either.

  She tapped the desk. Just another few days. Easy days. Nothing to worry about. The walls were already up. Now they just had to build out the inside, and then they'd have a couple weeks installing the machinery.

  Six months from now, there would be people working there who had already settled into the daily routine. People who would already be used to it.

  She smiles at the thought. Not much longer, now. Not much more to wait for. Not for them, anyways. Not for her business. But for her, personally… tonight was all that she had to look forward to, and it was already far, far too much.

  She clicks her teeth together in anticipation. She checks her e-mail again. A hundred new messages, not one of them particularly important. She starts combing through them. By the time she finishes, they'll have replenished themselves.

  And then, after she's done that a few more times, after she's made a call or two to make absolutely certain that everything is on track, it'll be time to cut out of here. She'll go right straight home and get dressed, and then…

  She doesn't dare to think about it. She shouldn't be imagining any of it. She shouldn't even think about what it's going to be like sitting at the table with him.

  The thought of a repeat performance, of laying down in the back of his truck with a little blanket under her to cushion her shoulders?

  The thought of spreading her legs a little, of him pushing her skirt up over her hips and taking his place between them?

  The thought of being full and complete in a way that she had only felt once before in her life?

  Those were the sort of thoughts she couldn't really afford to be having. And those were, as it happened, exactly the sort of thoughts running through her head at that instant. Go figure.

  She takes a deep breath and tries to slow the beating of her heart down, tries to cool the fire that lit itself inside her belly when she wasn't paying enough attention to her thoughts.

  There's a lot more going on in her imagination, and she's trying like the devil not to think about it. But the more that she tries not to think about it, the more real it all seems. The more that her skin raises goosebumps, the more that her nipples can feel, acutely, the fabric of her bra with every little movement.

  The more that she tries not to think about it, the more that she needs it. It's going to be a long couple of hours waiting.

  This time, she's not going home without someone making sure that she's not going home frustrated. If she's got any luck at all, then she's got someone in mind. If not—she's not sure what she'll do, but at the end of it, whatever it has to be, she knows one thing.

  If she doesn't scream, it's not over yet.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  The biggest thing that kept him from walking out right then and there was that she'd told him that his suit looked nice the last time they were together.

  Philip Callahan hadn't been on the inside of a real restaurant in a long time. Longer, frankly, than he was entirely prepared to admit. And to be the first one there? His hands wanted to clench up into little balls.

  Now he looked like some kind of idiot, and that was only if he was just a little early. If she was late, he'd be waiting there for her, as alone as could be.

  If she didn't show—there was no reason to assume that. He cuts the thought off before it can take too deep a root. He's too old to be sitting there worrying like a seventeen year old kid on his first date. That was a long time ago, now, and the nerves that went along with it are long past.

  Which is why, in spite of the fact that there's certainly something twisting his stomach up in knots, he's not going to attribute it to nerves about a damn date. The nerves that threaten to eat at him tell a different story.

  Callahan leans back against the seat that they've got sitting out in the waiting room. Nothing to do but wait. She'll show up. He's got no reason to assume that she won't. Don't be an idiot.

  He closes his eyes a minute. He shouldn't have lied to her, either. If he wants to talk to her about maybe getting an option on selling the ranch, he should've come out and said it.

  They could have plenty of personal time—personal time that didn't come with any strings attached or promises, he added to himself and to his stirring arousal—after they'd really cleared the air about what his intentions were with the land.

  But he shouldn't try to play it as if he's not even thinking about it, not now that the thought's started to occur to him more and more often. Not now that he needs the money more than he needs to be obstinate.

  He hears the door open. The air whooshes out of the climate-controlled restaurant, a little too cold for comfort, and rush into the open air. The warm breeze that comes along with it is a comfort, as well.

  She looks around for a minute, unsure where she's supposed to go. The way that she doesn't head right up to the desk, she must have seen his truck, but she doesn't see him at first.

  Callahan can't help taking advantage of the situation for a moment, allowing himself to look her up and down. Her clothes are tight-fitted and show off all the right parts, all the parts a man looks at on a woman. Just like the last one, it implies without giving away the whole show, and in spite of his best intentions, his body responds.

  "Glad you made it," he says, stepping up beside her. Morgan jumps back and hits into his chest as she turns. Having her this close is intoxicating, and having the opportunity to tease her doubly so.

  She fits comfortably into his arms, even though he hadn't meant to pull her in. Now that she was there, wrapped in his strong arms, it felt too right to stop all of a sudden.

  She smelled sweet. A vaguely flowery smell that smelled very much like a woman was supposed to. One that complimented the soft curves that his hands pressed against.

  "Philip. It's you."

  He smiles. "Yes, it's me."

  Callahan lets her go reluctantly, but she doesn't pull back. "Have you been waiting long?"

  "Only a few hours. I called you, when, noon?"

  Morgan rolls her eyes, but it only serves to egg Callahan on. He winks. "Only another minute or two until we get our table." He guides her back to his seat, positioned just so that they can see the hostess stand without being right in the middle of the room where everyone can gawk at them. "You look lovely tonight, by the way."

  She lights up a little bit. "You think?"

  "Absolutely. You light the place up."

  She flushes again. He likes that, likes his ability to get her to react to his flirtation. It was something that he'd always liked in women.

  "Well, thank you." She shifts in her seat, unsure how to respond.

  "Of course."

  She sits back. He allows himself one last look at her, his eyes sliding over her hungrily. But he's not going to sate that hunger now. They're going to have to wait until later for that. For now, they will both just have to pretend that they're completely under control.

/>   Once they leave, though—that's when all bets will be off.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  She doesn't want to wait any more than she has to. It's been burning in her gut since longer than she can even remember, and now that he's right there, now that he's in front of her and she's in the position to take what she wants again, she's not going to let it slip out of her grasp again.

  His lips press against hers roughly. The skin around his mouth is baby-smooth—he must have shaved just before he went to meet her, because there's no stubble to press roughly into her. It would hurt, but it's exactly the sort of hurt she wants. Part of her is a little disappointed.

  His hands reach around to grab her behind, pulling her up and into him, molding her body around his in a way that she hadn't wanted to forget about. Her breaths come in short bursts, the need threatening to overtake her senses entirely.

  She tears away from the kiss, breathless, but it's only an instant before she's back at him, pressing her lips into his throat. Callahan's breathing is rough with need, a need that can only be matched by her own, can only be met by what they're about to do.

  His hands move away from her ass, reaching up and pulling down the zip on her dress. Around them, the ranch is quiet. Nobody will, but the thought that someone could drive down the little country road and see them is burning in her mind, making her body coil up around itself.

  "God, I need you," she says. Her voice reflects the need that she's feeling.

  "Good," he growls. He pulls her back and pulls the dress down. It falls into the grass at their feet. He presses her back against the truck. She leans over it a little, the shape of the hood pressing an arch into her back, presenting her breasts to his inspection.

  She can feel the vulnerability inside her. It threatens to overwhelm at any moment, threatens to force her to lose what little bit of control she still retains. And the way that his eyes rake over her naked body—possessive and masculine and filled with need—only serves to stoke that fire.

  She leans back, her arms wide and pressed into the hood of the truck, still a little warm against the skin of her back. He can take whatever he wants, and they both know it. Now she's telling him, with everything less than words. She's his.