InformedConsent

by Susanna Stone

  He was big.

  He was hard.

  Just as she’d fantasized for so long. Only more so.

  God, Calloway, there’s no going back now.

  She grew wetter, hotter, needier, as he moved against her, his mouth again on hers, and the heat of his amazing erection radiated from him. His probing fingers eased her open to receive the searing tip of his penis, solid and insistent, between her starved and swollen labia.

  At last, damn it. After all those years of longing and deprivation, the actuality of Corbett’s naked cock drove into her, deeper, rigid, glorious—

  And then it all stopped.

  Corbett drew back and out fast, dropping her legs as a cold, wet curtain of rejection fell between them.

  “Corbett! What?”

  “Condoms, damn it,” he snapped with a rueful laugh “I was so caught up in this game, I never gave it a thought.”

  He covered up but his erection still held strong.

  She had to laugh. “You don’t carry them with you?”

  “Believe it or not, I actually don’t keep them handy at work. Not in my tool kit, not my pocket. There might be an old one in my truck, but I wouldn’t rely—”

  “Check my jacket pocket.”

  She indicated the chair where he’d thrown it.

  He grabbed the jacket and, after searching the pockets, extracted a three-pack and stared at it.

  “You came prepared with condoms.” His voice was devoid of any emotion. And damn, she hadn’t even meant to use them. It had been just in case of a very, very long-shot occurrence.

  “Not like you think. Unlike you, I’m always prepared with basic equipment. Like lip balm and tampons.”

  Again that slow smile came to his face. “Like I said, feisty.”

  Relief flooded her as he ripped one off, and started to shove the others back into her jacket pocket—

  Oh no…

  He extracted something else now.

  No…please, not that.

  He unfolded the paper. Tara could barely endure watching his face as he realized what he held.

  Finally, he slowly folded it again and shoved it into his own shirt pocket, along with the condoms.

  “So.” His voice held only ice. And accusation.

  “I didn’t…” Oh hell, what case could she plead now?

  “No convenient amnesia. No misunderstanding. No gradual submission to my seductive demands. No wondrously reclaiming each other as lovers.”

  “No. That wasn’t—”

  “Getting me to immobilize you and strip you and fuck you was just a game, wasn’t it? You came here today, armed with condoms, with every intention of getting it from me, a crude and cold-blooded violation.”

  Shit, how could she explain anything now? That it had never been on her horizon, until she’d seen him standing there and he hadn’t let up on his ultimatum.

  “No…” she managed through the rock in her throat. But it wasn’t working.

  The tension in his eyes, his lips, even the muscles in his neck, turned him into a man on the edge of decision.

  “Not going to happen.”

  The atmosphere went sub-polar, inside and outside of her.

  “I don’t know who would end up being more degraded,” he went on, dignity in his voice and words. “Me for raping you, or you for demanding to be raped. And getting it.”

  And now she burned with shame. “Rape? Is that what you think it would be?”

  “What else would you call it?” he snapped. “Abuse with consent?”

  Consent meant consent. But she wasn’t about to beg.

  “What is going to happen,” he went on, “is you’re going to get dressed and get on that bike and get out of my life, because we both know that’s where you belong.”

  Desolation drenched her. How could she have forgotten the closing line of his letter?

  ….and then I never want to see you again.

  He reached up, gripped both her wrists and lifted her off the hook. Then dropped her onto the wicker chair, where she flopped like a stringless puppet.

  “Get out of here.” Without another word he turned his back and stalked off down the veranda steps to disappear around the side of the cabin, and she had the heartbreaking luxury of a few moments alone in the evening air.

  Damn it, damn it, damn it! She could weep with frustration and anger and a sense of sheer stupidity.

  And now, she could no longer ignore the caution light blinking frantically in the back room of what passed for her mind each time Corbett had driven her remorselessly toward a mind-blowing orgasm.

  Leo.

  She’d blown it. This trek was all for Leo’s sake. Leo’s future depended on it. If she didn’t bring Corbett home to take over the business, Leo would just ignore his bad heart and dig himself into an early grave.

  But now, even if Corbett agreed to talk to Leo—and he wouldn’t—she’d never, never want Corbett anywhere near her or Leo or her real life.

  And—crap!—she hadn’t even received the consolation of the man’s considerable sexual genius.

  Chapter Two

  Corbett stalked off toward his truck, his mind devoid of options. Neither sticking around nor leaving was the answer.

  And after all his intentions, both good and evil, that had plagued him when he’d heard the unforgettable sound of the vintage Indian, he’d gone and blown it. Big time.

  He stopped now at the sight of her hard-ridden motorcycle in the yard and found an old memory overtaking him—the last time he’d heard it arriving. The faint sound in the distance on the road up to Leo Calloway’s workshop, on the old highway leading out from town.

  He hadn’t forgotten a moment of that sweltering August night, all those years ago. He’d been working for hours and was ready to call it a night. Sawdust was sticking to the sweat on his skin. He’d heard the Indian Maiden getting closer, louder. Then it roared to a halt in the yard.

  And young Tara Calloway had walked into his workshop. There she stood, all nineteen years of her, drops of sweat glistening from the skin above her tank top, rolling down to the slight gap revealed by her borderline-demure neckline, hair scraped back into a ponytail, a perspiring beer bottle dangling from each hand.

  She kicked the door shut behind her.

  “Thought you could use a break.” She plunked one beer on the counter, then twisted the cap off the other and handed it to him.

  Who could resist? His throat was parched and dusty. He wiped his hands on his jeans and reached with gratitude for the beer and knocked back a third of it in one go.

  She opened her own and did the same.

  “Thanks,” he gasped, once he could drag the bottle away from his lips. “I needed that.”

  “Thought so. How come you’re still here?”

  “Want to get this cabinet done before I go home tonight.”

  “You work too hard.” Tara glanced around the workshop. “Daddy should get air conditioning in here.”

  “Yeah, well, I kind of like it like this.” He liked the open door, the open windows, even if the only view was the delivery yard. Didn’t get that at the Fermanagh Institution. Electronically locked doors, sealed frosted windows, cold, stale recycled air.

  He’d take the heat with the freedom any day.

  Tara took another swallow of her beer and walked over to the bench to examine the cabinet. “It’s beautiful. You’re good at this.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “You like working here.”

  “Yeah, I like it.” Except for Jarmin. And Tara.

  “You know I’m leaving for Toronto tonight?”

  “Tonight, eh?” He’d been counting the days, now the hours, until this incredibly tempting creature was safely on the other side of the country living with her mother and attending university, and he wouldn’t have to clench his fists and tighten his balls to keep his libido under control whenever she was around, or near, or Leo mentioned her name, or—

  “Will you miss me?” she a
sked point blank, then took another draw on her beer, not taking her eyes from him.

  “Sure, why not?” That was good. Casual. Don’t care. “Are you old enough to be drinking?”

  “You know damn well I am. Even if my dad still thinks I’m about twelve.”

  Tara put the beer down and reached for his, which he relinquished. That was probably his first mistake. Except maybe for accepting the beer in the first place. Or not locking the workshop door.

  “I’m going to miss you.” The look in her cool brown eyes was absolutely straight. Not flirtatious or teasing. Stating fact.

  Okay, time to stop playing dumb. He stepped back and folded his arms across his chest.

  “Hold it right there, young Calloway. This isn’t going any further. “

  “Really? Give me a one good reason.”

  “I’ll give you plenty. For one thing, I’m a hardened case and whether you like it or not, you’re a sheltered innocent, just off to university—”

  “Who’s worked for a year, remember.”

  He could see the “sheltered innocent” hadn’t gone down well, as he’d intended. Just keep your distance…

  “Right. At your dad’s company. And suddenly you’re looking at me and your hormones are saying, hey, he’s way cute, and manly and all—”

  “And so modest too,” she quipped, not appearing the least dismayed at his candor.

  “And I’m forbidden fruit. We both are. Okay, you may not be a kid, but you are the boss’s daughter. And I’m your father’s apprentice. I’m on probation in more ways than one. I screw this up, I’m throwing away my last chance.”

  Something in her aura sizzled, and not in a good way. “And messing with me would mess you up?”

  “Big time. And you know it.”

  “You think I just want to fool around? That I’m seeing a chance for a quick-and-dirty good time, and I don’t give a shit about your future?”

  He gave her a good hard stare and she returned it in spades.

  “How am I supposed to answer a question like that?” he snapped. “No, I think you’re truly in love and want to make beautiful babies with me.”

  Her hard look dropped the temperature a good few degrees.

  “There is a middle ground, Mr. Wonderful. I just want to tell you I, um, like you. A lot. But in about two hours I’m leaving on a jet plane and, well, you know how it goes.”

  Yeah. Who knew when she’d be back? If ever.

  “Travel safe, then.” He half turned back to the workbench. “And have a nice life.” He picked up his beer and drained it.

  “Aw, damn it, Corbett. You’re not fooling me. You’ve known for weeks I was leaving tonight, and I’m pretty sure you like me just a little bit. More than a bit. And believe me when I say I’d die before I’d mess you up. But Daddy’s driving me to the airport in half an hour and I just couldn’t bear to fly off and leave without telling you that. So I’m just asking, write to me, will you? Email me. Phone me. ”

  “Tara…” Shit. If he said yes, well, why not? Aching for this fascinating girl—woman—would be a hell of a lot easier with all that distance between them. Safer, for sure, if it would get her out of his danger zone right now. “Yeah, okay, I’ll write you.”

  “Really?” Her face relaxed into a smile and her face took on a glow of— joy?

  His heart leaped. She really did like him—in a good way. A warm and promising way. Everything that was male in him stirred and quickened. Hell, he needed her out of here fast, or all his resolution—

  “Just one kiss?” she asked, and her eyes and lips added their pleas. “A kiss for the road? A kiss to build a dream on?”

  “You beguiling little tempter…” He could no more resist her adorable little mouth, on offer in bewitching innocence, than he could have resisted that ice-cold beer to ease his parched, sawdust-coated throat.

  Just one kiss. What harm could it do?

  They gravitated together. He placed his hands on her hips in awe and wonder and she put hers on his shoulders. The sweetness of her lips on his and her eagerness for his touch and the hesitant prodding of her tongue into his mouth all conspired to undo him, as his blood caught fire and his erection grew and stiffened. He gave up any pretense at noble celibacy and yanked her hard against him.

  She didn’t fight it, melding against him in a nanosecond. Her tongue hesitated no longer as she explored his mouth, and he couldn’t keep his hand off her breast, over her top, under it…oh god, the sweet illicit flesh of her breast, her nipple hard beneath his fingers, the enticing, dangerous heat of her crotch as she pressed herself against his erection. In seconds he could be deep inside all her beautiful willing heat—

  If he didn’t have some faint remnant of integrity.

  Or had a goddamn condom.

  He shoved her away, as easily as tearing off his arm.

  Her open mouth quivered, her eyes flashed with pain and rejection.

  “Just one kiss,” he reminded her, his voice raw with desperation. He placed his hands on her shoulders, holding her at arm’s length and forced himself to lean forward and drop a chaste kiss on her forehead.

  “Corbett—” God, the pain in her voice tore right through him.

  “I’ll write.” He shifted her roughly about and shoved her toward the door. “Now go catch your damn plane.”

  She stood in the doorway, all heat and anger and looking so enticingly disheveled, both physically and emotionally, desire and sexuality and resentment oozing from every pore.

  “Tara, honey? You here?”

  Leo.

  Corbett’s erection evaporated and Tara gasped and with a few deft movements had her hair in place and her anguish tucked safely away.

  “In here, Daddy,” she called out, cheerful and innocent. She swung the door open. “I was saying goodbye to Corbett.”

  Leo joined them, genial and unsuspicious. “You better run on home and get ready to go, sweetie. Your mother’ll have my hide if you miss that plane.”

  Tara nodded and sent Corbett a last look of longing before running off.

  Leo shook his head. “Though I have to say, I wish to god she would miss it. Won’t be the same without her around.”

  “I know what you mean, sir.” He willed the man not to notice the two beers.

  The two of them stood listening as the motorcycle started up and the sound diminished into the night.

  “Knock off for the night, would you, Joe? It’s late, and I don’t pay you overtime.”

  “I just want to get it done.”

  “Aw, you’re too much like me.” Leo gave a resigned shake of his head and left.

  Corbett resisted the urge to empty the rest of Tara’s beer down his pants. Hell, when he was done he’d drive up to Island View Beach and take a midnight swim.

  Once Leo’s car was out of earshot and all was silent in the workshop, Corbett tried to focus on attaching the cabinet doors. He found his screwdriver and positioned the first hinge, then paused to listen through the sound of crickets outside.

  Footsteps crunching across the gravel. Christ! It was like rush hour here tonight.

  Tim Jarmin stepped into the workshop. Damn the man. Everything that Corbett wasn’t. Master carpenter. Self-assured. Leo’s right-hand man.

  And no prison record.

  Jarmin’s blond good looks didn’t help to endear him to Corbett either. Or his easy charm. The charm that disappeared when the two of them were alone.

  “Wasn’t that young Tara in here earlier?”

  Oh shit, shit, shit. The fucking open windows.

  “Yeah.” He turned resolutely to his work.

  “Nice kid.”

  “She’s not a kid. She’s off to university.”

  “Saying goodbye, was she?”

  “Jarmin, do you have some point to make?”

  “Oh, just thought I’d offer you a little warning. Man to man.”

  This wasn’t going to be pretty.

  “Not interested.”

  �
�I guess she was kind of friendly with you. All sweet and innocent and asking for a kiss goodbye.”

  “Jarmin, fuck off.” He gave up any pretense of work, but gripped the screwdriver he held, trying to get an equal grip on his temper.

  “Just trying to save you some grief, is all, since you haven’t been here all that long. That Tara, she’s pretty sociable all round. Likes to flirt—”

  “Shut your face right now, Jarmin.” Corbett took what he hoped was a menacing stance, but Jarmin seemed unmoved.

  “Regular little tease, that one. And she’ll open those willing legs for anything in pants—”

  Corbett stood at the side of the Indian Motorcycle and caressed his right fist, feeling again the sheer pleasure, six years ago, of connecting first with Jarmin’s gut, then his jaw.

  Chapter Three

  Tara let long minutes pass, deliberately blanking her mind to all that had flared between her and Corbett, letting some semblance of energy re-establish itself in her battered body.

  Finally, she raised her head and took stock. Her arms were all pain from the considerable strain, and her wrists were still bound.

  As soon as she twisted out of her bra straps, she flexed her long-suffering arms and looked about for her clothes.

  Her briefs were in shreds. Her shirt was a wreck. But she forced herself to her feet and yanked on her jeans and shrugged painfully into her jacket.

  Now, where had Corbett got to?

  To hell, for all she cared.

  From the end of the veranda she caught sight of the lake. Cool and dark and soothing. She headed down toward the dock, picking her way carefully over the grass and stones in her bare feet. Commando. The rasping of her jeans against her genitals wasn’t exactly helping, and riding home again on the machine might be, well, stimulating.

  But hell, she’d two orgasms to his none, so who could complain?

  She stood for a moment on the dock, put Corbett out of her head and drank in the peacefulness of the clear, darkening sky and still water, the nearly full moon rising above the mountains beyond the lake.

  The water called to her. Invited her to ease her stress—both physical and emotional.

  She dropped her clothes on the dock and plunged into the moon’s ripples, then surfaced and found the bottom. Immersed up to her nipples, she gasped to drag air into her shocked lungs.