Running Out of Rain

by Lori Leger

  He called me beautiful whether I was made up or not, kissed me passionately first thing in the morning, dragon breath or not. Kissed me passionately before bed, before we fell asleep in the spoon position, because he said he just couldn’t sleep without feeling his arms around me. We said “I love you,” several times a day, every day, just as we always have.

  And just before he got the call to that last fire, he walked in the bathroom while I was showering and joined me. Care to guess what we did in that shower stall? Our sex life was phenomenal, just as it has always been. When that man died, he had my scent on him, not yours. Whatever he felt with you, for you … it had no bearing on how he felt toward me. I’ve loved him for nearly forty years.” She stopped suddenly, as the woman before her crumbled.

  “Oh, God. Oh, Baby …” She stood over the coffin, shaking, with tears streaming down her face. She placed her hand on Gene’s chest, snatched it back as though it burnt her, and then touched his face, his hair. “I can’t believe I had to hear about this over the news.”

  The anger-laced comment had Cynthia wanting to shake her by the shoulders until her teeth rattled around in that empty little head of hers. “Whose responsibility was it to inform you? Mine, because you’ve been sleeping with my husband? Or his children’s, maybe? Surely they don’t have a problem with their father sleeping with someone close to their age.”

  The woman at least had the decency to look ashamed.

  “And who should have told us about you? And who the hell are you, anyway? And how old are you?” She had to laugh when the woman’s lips tightened in a hard line. “Really? You’re going to pretend shyness after making a public spectacle of yourself?”

  Cynthia shook her head as the woman aimed a glare at her. She pointed to the door. “Do you really think a single one of those men out there won’t step forward to tell me all about it now? All I have to do is ask.” She crossed her arms. “This is your chance, your only chance, to tell me your side of the story. Thanks to your unbelievable gall, you get first shot at it. But, after today I don’t ever want to see your face again. Now who the hell are you?”

  The girl opened her mouth, closed it, and finally managed to speak. “I’m Tamara Sullivan, and not that it’s any of your damned business, but I’m twenty-five.”

  “Seriously? You look closer to thirty.”

  “I do not. You’re just jealous.”

  “Jealous? When’s the last time you got “card-ed”? When I was twenty-five, I could have passed for a teenager.” She sniffed the air and wrinkled her nose, in distaste. “You’re a smoker, and cigarettes deplete your skin of oxygen. Any fool knows that.”

  Cynthia plowed through her foggy memory for recall. “Tamara … I know that name.” She pictured her sitting across from a desk. “I’ve met you before.”

  “I sold you your phone plan.”

  She examined her features, nodded slowly as it came to her. “The wireless family plan. I remember saying what a pretty name you had. You were trying to get me to pick out my husband’s phone. Rather than get something he’d be dissatisfied with, I sent him there the next day to pick out … his … own … phone.” A slight shift in Tamara’s stance, another subtle lift of the chin had her piecing it all together. “That was two years ago.”

  Tamara’s eyebrow hitched and her mouth twisted in a smirk. “I bet you’re wishing you’d a picked out that phone right about now, huh?”

  The sharp crack of Cynthia’s open palm meeting Tamara’s cheek sounded like a gunshot in the silence of the room. Tamara gasped as she covered her cheek with one hand. Her lips drew back angrily, no doubt ready to rage as her right hand fisted. Cynthia stopped her with a single lift of a finger to her face.

  “I did not ask everyone to leave this room so you could stand there and make snide comments. Do you understand me?”

  Tamara’s eyes narrowed. “Who the fu—”

  “You finish that and I’ll have your ass carted out of here in a split second. Then I’ll slap a restraining order against you for kicks.” Tamara backed down immediately.

  Cynthia walked to the padded bench seat and tapped the space next to her in a move that demanded compliance. “Now sit, so I can hear your side before I lose what’s left of my patience with you.”

  The rumble and squealing brakes of an eighteen wheeler pulled Cynthia back to the present. “I listened to as much of it as I could stomach. Tamara told me a lot, but she never mentioned the child they’d conceived and lost. And she never admitted that my husband had been paying for her apartment and her new car.”

  She took a deep breath and released it slowly. “At some point I said I’d heard enough and asked her to leave. Tamara slinked her perfect little size-two ass out through the side door to avoid the angry horde gathered in the reception area.”

  She used a pinky to wipe the corner of one eye. “And that’s how I learned my husband had been having an affair with a woman less than half his age.” She released a feminine snort. “Fun times, huh?” She smiled thinly when he barely managed to give his head a small shake.

  John Michael bit back the curse forming on his lips. He wiped his mouth, stared at the steering wheel, trying to think of something other than damning her dead husband to hell a thousand times over. “Wow. That’s some … she had some hell of a nerve bursting in like that.” He shook his head then turned to face Cynthia again. “But the way you handled her …” He swallowed the lump forming in his throat. “You are a hundred times the woman she was.”

  Her face tightened again. “But the thing is, since that day, I haven’t good about myself … my body. I-I look in the mirror, and imagine what it must have been like for him. How he saw me. How he must have always been comparing my body to hers when we were together.”

  “Gene was a fool.”

  “If you’d seen her—”

  “I don’t need to see her. Twenty-five years from now, she’ll just be another Robin. And you’ll still be beautiful and classy, and a hundred times the woman she is. You won that one, Cyn. No contest. Can’t you see that?” He reached out to lift her chin. “Know that all I see when I look at you is the sexy as hell, gorgeous woman before me.”

  “Thank you, John.”

  “No need to thank me. It’s the truth. And I’m proud as hell that you handled her the way you did. Who else knows what happened in that room?”

  She counted off on her fingers. “Me, Tamara, my shrink, and now you.”

  “You didn’t tell your kids?” He paused as she shook her head. “I’m honored that you finally opened up to me, but maybe you should tell your kids what happened. Especially Trini.”

  “You think it would make a difference in her attitude? That girl hates me.”

  “From what I heard, she hates everyone right now.”

  “So you’re saying I shouldn’t take it personally?”

  He grinned and leaned forward to give her a light peck on the mouth. “In a sense, but I do think if she heard the entire story it could motivate her to change her attitude towards you.”

  She cupped his face in her hands and studied his handsome features. “Earlier this week, I told Trini her dad had financed his girlfriend’s car and paid for their little love-nest of an apartment. She still hated me when I left. Honestly, I don’t know if it’s worth it.”

  He placed his hands over hers. “It couldn’t hurt. Every little bit helps, don’t you think?”

  She brushed his hair back from his forehead and graced him with one of her beautiful smiles. “I have to admit I feel better having told you. Thanks for being such an obstinate SOB.”

  He grinned. “If obstinate gets the job done, I’ve got an unending supply. You can thank the old man when you see him. I’m sure it’s genetic.”

  She leaned forward to place a soft kiss on his mouth. “Mm. I’m certain you’re right about that.”

  He captured her mouth again, deepened the kiss. He finally pulled back, trying to calm the pounding of his heart. He passed his fingers over
her satiny soft cheeks, already tinted a becoming shade of pink. “Think you can handle me, babe?”

  “I think …” she whispered, sounding slightly breathless, “I’m willing to give it my best shot.”

  John gave her what he thought would be one last kiss before they started back on their way. He nearly exploded at the intensity of her response. She locked onto him, her tongue exploring, her plump lips tasting, drawing more of a reaction than he’d expected. He forced himself to break it off, pushed her gently away from him. He resisted the urge to gloat as she reached for him again, groaning in disappointment. It took all his reserves to keep from pulling her back into his arms.

  “Sorry, Cyn. But if we don’t stop now …” His gaze followed hers to the rear seat of her sedan. He shook his head. “Hell no.”

  She pushed out her lower lip in an adorable pout. “Are you sure? It might be fun.”

  He threw the car into reverse and backed out of the parking space. “I’m pretty sure the effort would far exceed the results, and I don’t know about you, but I’d probably pull something painful.” He reached out to brush his fingers gently over her cheek. “We’ve waited this long. It’ll wait until we get where we’re going.”

  John Michael was sure the statement “Easier said, than done” had never wrung so true. After a quick stop for a short lunch, bathroom-break, leg-stretching opportunity, the remainder of the drive from the state line had been agony.

  Each simple, skin-to-skin contact led to something more sensual. Each secretive smile, each common phrase suddenly turned into something loaded with sexual innuendo. Each song filled with subliminal messaging. Each passing moment of what should have been an ordinary trip had transformed the interior of her car into their personal torture chamber of sexually charged atmosphere.

  They’d tried listening to Cyn’s collection of tunes via Mp3 player plugged into her sedan’s stereo system, thinking it would be a harmless way to pass the time. It had started innocently enough with James Otto’s upbeat Somewhere Tonight, along with a few choice numbers from Florida Georgia Line, Luke Bryan, and Hunter Hayes. When Chuck Wicks upped the sexy factor with Hold That Thought, it clearly smashed their theory to bits.

  John Michael had come close to pulling the car over onto the side of the road for another serious make-out session. They’d switched it to an FM country radio station, only to have Jake Owen continue the torture tactics by crooning Alone With You. As a result, they’d stuck to the Classic Rock radio stations. Singing along to CCR and The Doobie Brothers proved to be a much safer mode of entertainment for their particular afflictions.

  They finally made it to Bryant, a city southwest of Little Rock, by two-thirty on Friday afternoon, thus ending the three-and-a-half-hour long foreplay session.

  John stood beside her at the hotel’s check-in desk. He pulled out his wallet, and slipped out his bank’s debit card. “We should have two rooms reserved under John Ferguson. I’ll take care of both.”

  The auburn haired man behind the desk flashed them a bright smile as he took his card. “Yes sir.” The man’s fingers flew over the computer keyboard and stopped suddenly. “Sir, I seem to have one room reserved in this name.”

  Cynthia placed a hand on his arm. “John Michael—”

  He raised his hand to halt her comment. “That’s not acceptable, we’ll need another.”

  “I’m sorry sir, but we have no other availabilities.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “Yes sir. I’m sorry, but we’re booked solid for a softball tournament.”

  “John Mi—”

  He turned to her, mortified by the situation. “I’m sorry Cyn. I don’t know how this happened. You booked two rooms, didn’t you?”

  “I booked one room, John Michael. Only one.”

  He froze, his gaze glued to her face as the realization of what she’d done finally hit home. This was her personal message, her way of telling him she was ready to commit. “Are you sure?”

  “Absolutely.”

  He turned back to the desk clerk and cleared his throat. “I’ll be taking care of the room with this card.”

  The clerk’s gaze caught his for a split second, long enough to exchange a barely perceptible, although silent, man-to-man, high-five, atta-boy moment, before returning quickly to his business at the keyboard. “All right, sir. I’ve got you set up. It’s a corner room on the south side of the hotel with plenty of privacy.” He handed over an envelope containing two card keys. “If you pull your car under the awning, I’ll have the bellman unload your luggage and bring it to your room.”

  John Michael met Cyn’s gaze as she slipped her right hand inside of his and squeezed. He repressed a shiver as she stood close and ran the fingers of her opposite hand up the inside of his arm, a gentle reminder, he supposed, of things to come.

  He forced himself to turn his attention back to the hotel employee. Instantly, he rejected the thought of the two of them alone in a room and having to wait for a bellman to deliver their luggage. “That won’t be necessary. I have a single duffle and whatever she has, I can handle.”

  “Yes sir.” The clerk’s brow rose. “You certainly look like you can. If you’d prefer, you can drive around and park on the south end entrance. Your room is around the corner from the elevator.”

  Wordlessly, they drove around to the south entrance, found a parking spot under a tree for a little protection from the blazing sun. John Michael made short work of stacking her luggage and carrying or rolling it inside.

  They stood, arms touching as they waited for an elevator to reach the first floor. Once inside, they stood as near as they could to each other, a prelude to what was coming. John’s heart thumped loudly in his chest as the doors opened with a gentle swoosh. As the clerk described, their room was around the corner.

  Cyn tried unsuccessfully several times to swipe her card. He took it from her shaky hands, and guided by sheer determination and a need to get her alone in their room, John got the door opened in one try. He pushed it open and followed her inside, practically throwing the luggage inside the room.

  He turned, saw her hook the DO NOT DISTURB placard on the door knob before closing and locking the door. She faced him then, the rapid rising and falling of her chest a sure sign her itch was every bit as bad as his.

  He forced himself to take a deep breath and swallow. “Cyn, are you absolutely sure ab—”

  She threw herself at him, her mouth on his, immediately smothering any question, stifling any doubt he may have been harboring toward this weekend.

  She pulled at his shirt, jerked it roughly out of his jeans, snaps popping audibly as she ripped it open and pushed it down his arms. Bare-chested, he lifted her shirt over her head in a single motion, then unbuttoned her jean shorts. With a gentle swipe of his fingers they fell to the floor. She stepped out of them without hesitation, her fingers clawing at the button and then the zipper of his jeans. In seconds she’d pushed them down then shoved him back onto the bed.

  His breath failed him as she kneeled on the floor in front of him, only to help him out of his boots. Once those were off she pulled the jeans from his legs. He managed to hold her off until he stood beside her.

  “Slow down, Cyn. I want to see you.”

  She shook her head, panting now. “I can’t slow down, John Michael. I can’t. Not yet.” She stepped forward and cupped him through his boxer briefs.

  He sucked in his breath in a loud hiss that turned to a low moan as she wrapped her hand around him, her eyes widening in undisguised appreciation at what she found.

  He reached out for the front hook closure of her lacy pink bra, unfastened it, freeing her full, pale breasts to his touch. She moaned, her head falling back helplessly as he cupped one, then the other, his thumbs rubbing in light circular motions.

  “Oh … that feels … oh Jo—”

  His mouth closing over her right nipple cut off any reply she’d been formulating. He tasted her then cupped the back of her head, lifting her
head so he could kiss her. With one hand he slipped off her matching lace panties and laid her gently on the bed. Taking her hands when she tried to cover the faint stretch marks on her belly, he shook his head. “Don’t cover yourself, Cyn. You are beautiful. You bore three children. You have nothing to be ashamed of.”

  She took a deep breath, released it slowly. “Now you, John Michael.”

  He stood tall, pushed the boxer briefs down his hips, finally freeing himself to her gaze. He tried like hell to relax, to acclimate himself to this kind of exposure to the first woman since his wife. His body had gone through some changes since he’d last bared his all to anyone.

  “Cyn … I haven’t … not since … her.”

  She nodded slowly. “I know.”

  He raked his fingers through his hair and grinned. “I hope I remember how.”

  Her eyes sparkled with mischief. “I’m not worried.” She reached out.

  He took her hand, stretched out beside her on the bed, and supported himself on one elbow. He cupped her breast gently, and began the slow circular motion with his thumb, smiled when her eyelids closed and her beautiful lips parted with a sigh.

  “Do I need to get you ready, Cyn?”

  Her eyelashes fluttered opened. “What?”

  He leaned over to kiss her, pulled back to nibble on her lip, then her earlobe. “It’s been a while, but I’m fairly certain I can find that G-spot for you if you need me to.”

  She raised herself onto one elbow to face him, tunneled the fingers of her free hand into his hair. “How about we save it for later?” She curled her fingers around the back of his neck and pulled him on top of her.

  She opened for him, sighed as he nudged himself up against her and then paused.

  She chuckled and shook her head. “You can show me your tricks next time, John Michael. Right now I want you inside me.”