One-Click Buy: March 2009 Harlequin Blaze

by Alison Kent

She’d had the melting desire to give up, to sink into the warm comfort of Deck’s arms, to just stay. But she’d known better then and she knew better now. She would never stay and Deck would never leave. They would enjoy each other while they were together and not look for more.

  Two hours later, Callie drove to the hospital and found her father dressed and sitting on the edge of his hospital bed eating soup. Dahlia stood over him, supervising.

  “Dad,” she said, going to hug him. “How are you feeling?”

  “Fine as frog hairs, Callie. And that’s pretty damn fine.” Was he pretending for her benefit?

  “You look tired.”

  “Who can sleep in a hospital with them waking you up to ask how you are every two hours? I am fine. My stress test came out decent. I have to watch my cholesterol, but that’s not new. I’ll take some medicine and my heart will be back to normal.” He flashed a look at Dahlia, as if to warn her not to argue.

  “Eat your soup,” Dahlia said. “It will help heal you.”

  Callie caught a whiff of fish and B vitamins, but her dad sipped without making a face.

  Catching her watching, he said, “That’s all there is to it, Callie. That and a bruise the size of Texas on my behind from the fall.”

  “Okay,” she said. “I believe you.”

  “We’re just waiting for the wheelchair so we can leave. They have to take you out in one. Some kind of liability issue.”

  She wished she could have a private moment with her father, but she could hardly chase Dahlia out. “Why didn’t you tell me about the first time you had heart trouble?”

  “You would have worried. It was minor. They didn’t even know what it was.”

  “What if something had gone wrong?” Her throat tightened. “I need the truth, Dad, no sugar coating. I’m an adult.”

  Her father studied her. “You have nothing to worry about. I’ll follow the doctor’s orders. And Dahlia’s.” He reached up to pat the woman’s hand on his shoulder. “She’s going to wait on me hand and foot. I’m staying at her place for a few days.”

  “Really?” Callie wasn’t sure she liked the idea.

  “Don’t worry. I won’t let him out of my sight,” Dahlia said.

  That didn’t make Callie feel better. “I came to take you to the ranch, Dad. It’s no trouble.”

  “I couldn’t be in better hands. You focus on the ranch. I’ll be well taken care of.”

  “But, Dad…”

  “Come out and see us when you can,” he said, his tone ending the discussion.

  “I will, Dad. For sure. Tonight.”

  The wheelchair arrived, and Callie walked beside her father as he was pushed to the exit, where Dahlia pulled up in her Prius to take him away. Callie felt strange, waving goodbye. She should be relieved he’d be in loving hands, but she felt…uneasy.

  She was still standing there when her phone rang. “You need me, Callie?” Deck’s voice warmed her.

  “I need you to tell me if I’m crazy.” She explained what had happened and about her odd feelings about Dahlia.

  Deck listened closely, and when she finished, he said, “It sounds like your father is safe and that he’ll be cared for. If he’d come home, what would you do? Stand over him? Hound him? I doubt he’d appreciate that.”

  “That’s true.” She had to laugh at Deck’s insight.

  “You can call every few hours, and we’ll go see him tonight. How’s that?”

  “That sounds good,” she said. Deck had put her concern in perspective, dragging her from the edge of that whirlpool of worry she’d been sliding into.

  “Maybe we can bring him some of Cooky’s corn bread.”

  “Too much lard. Dahlia would never approve.”

  “Good point. Brace yourself for bad tea.”

  She laughed a real laugh. “Thanks. I’ll see you later.”

  She drove home. It was Sunday so no work was being done on the annex. She would catch up on e-mail, touch base with Stefan and formalize her offer to the travel writers’ group.

  She’d barely gotten into her room when she heard a knock and opened to Deck, who whipped into the room, grabbed her and kissed her. “I had to touch you,” he said. “Just to make sure I didn’t dream you.”

  “I’m real,” she said. “And so are you.” She pressed her palm against the bulge at his zipper. “Very real.” She was happy to drop into the mindless pleasure of their bodies together for a while.

  Deck lifted her off her feet and carried her to the bed, where they fell together. Clothes flew, legs tangled, mouths grasped and gasped and moaned. They were so rough, so urgent, so quick, that Callie’s skin felt chafed.

  After they’d finished, Deck fell back beside her, holding on to her. They caught their breath for a few minutes, then Deck rose onto his elbows and looked around. “You realize this is the first time I’ve been in your room? Pretty girlie, Cummings.”

  “I know. I’d love to update it, but I’m afraid it would upset Dad.”

  “Why? You don’t live here anymore. You and your dad seem to spend a lot of time protecting each other.”

  “You think so?”

  “Don’t you? You’re both sturdier than you think.”

  “Maybe.” It was something to think about. She squinted at her clock.

  Deck, who was closer, held it out to her, then studied it. “What’s with the fish?” he asked.

  “Pisces, my astrological sign. My best friend in eighth grade gave it to me for my birthday. We were into astrology at the time. Supposedly, I’m changeable and indecisive. I prefer to think of it as flexible and forward thinking.”

  “It’s all in the spin, I guess. When is your birthday?”

  She swallowed, not really wanting to talk about it. “March twentieth.”

  “That’s soon. We should give you a party.”

  “No, thanks. I don’t usually celebrate it.”

  “No?”

  “I just don’t like to make a big deal.”

  “Ah.” He seemed to realize something. “Because of your mom?”

  Her gaze shot to his. She nodded. “It’s stupid, but at first it felt like if I ignored the day, I could pretend she wasn’t gone.” Despite how tight her throat felt, she was glad to say it out loud. “Skipping it became a habit. Does that sound crazy?”

  “Not at all. It makes sense. At least back then it did.”

  “But I should be over it by now?”

  He shrugged. “Birthdays can be simple. A cake, some candles, a gift or two. People who love you all around. You can make a birthday what you want it to be.”

  “What? You’re my shrink now?”

  “Sorry. Just a thought. Roll it around in your mind.”

  “I will.” She let her mind go back to her birthday, the terrible one. She moved with mental care, on tiptoe, and found that she felt…okay. Sad, but not tortured. “Hmm,” she said. “I still feel sad, but it’s not…agony.”

  “It wasn’t your fault, remember?” he added gently.

  “You’re right. It wasn’t. I wasn’t driving, like you said.”

  She laughed, surprised at the change. “I hadn’t ever said it out loud until I told you. I assumed it would always hurt like hell, so I avoided the thought. Maybe it helps to open the window a little.”

  “Kind of like what you said about my pop and selling the ranch. I’d felt guilty for leasing it out, but you were right. He would have wanted me to be happy. He wanted me to go to college. I knew that, but guilt was a knee-jerk reaction.”

  “Exactly. We’re pretty damn good shrinks after all,” she said, laughing. Talking with Deck, dipping her toe into the icy lake of memories, she’d become accommodated to it. The cold water became refreshing instead of painful. It was like aversion therapy for phobias.

  “Nice to have a second calling,” he said, lying back, holding her against his chest.

  She smiled, feeling happy. Then she remembered something. “Speaking of knee-jerk reactions, Deck, what you said about y
our painting is wrong. You’re good. I saw those pieces in your trailer and I want to see the rest.”

  “They’re not that good.”

  “I want to see.”

  “God. You’re not going to let this go, are you?”

  “Nope.”

  “One of these days, then.” He rolled back, then shoved his hands beneath the pillow. “What’s this?” he said, pulling out her vibrator, which she’d stuffed there for easy access.

  “Give me that!” She tried to grab it, but Deck held it out of reach. It was an elaborate but diabolically effective model, though in Deck’s hands it looked ridiculous.

  “So, this is what you use for romance…. So many buttons.” He pushed the one that made the middle section turn small beads round and round. Deck’s eyebrows shot up in amused surprise. Lights flashed white, pink and blue. “It’s like a carnival. Except we need sound. Boom-chicka-bowow.”

  “A girlfriend bought it for me after my breakup.”

  “A girlfriend, huh?” He clearly didn’t believe her. He pushed more buttons. Now it pulsed and the beads rotated back and forth. “How can a man compete with this? We have nowhere near the staying power of…how many batteries?” He opened the battery door. “Four double As. That’s a lot of jiggle power.”

  She grabbed it from him. “Don’t make fun. It works.”

  “Show me,” he said, the joking gone from his voice. He took the vibrator and, watching her face, placed it where her thighs met so that the rabbit ears trembled against her vulva. “This how it works?”

  She couldn’t help but pivot her hips. “Yeah…You…uh…got it.”

  “Is this how you do it?”

  “Kind of,” she said, beginning to gasp. Having the device in someone else’s power made it intense. She didn’t know what he would do next, and wondering and waiting upped the excitement.

  “How’s this?” He nudged her thighs apart and placed the clear plastic tip at her opening.

  “That’s good, too,” she said. “Veeerrry gooooood.”

  He watched her. “Faster? Is that better?”

  “It’s…great…good. It’s…all…good.” She was getting more and more aroused, her body tightening and tightening.

  “I want to play,” he said. “Turn over.”

  She did and he slid the vibrator beneath her, angled so the beads turned against her clit. He spread her legs from above and entered her from behind.

  “Oh. Wow. Ohh…” She was instantly brought to intense arousal. He stroked her inside while the vibrator buzzed the rest of her. It was almost too much. Her mind shut down completely. Her hips swiveled, she made inarticulate noises, her clit tightened to the breaking point and she burst like fireworks in release. She was vaguely aware that Deck had surged inside her, bucking as he came. The moment went on and on, the vibrator humming, Deck tight within her, waves and waves of pleasure poured through her. Deck traveled with her the entire time.

  After long, lovely seconds, finally catching her breath, she managed to roll away and switched off the vibrator. “Omigod,” she said. “I can’t believe that.”

  “You didn’t have to work for that one, huh?”

  “What do you mean?” She fought for breath.

  “You usually work to come, like you’re not sure you’ll get there if you don’t push hard.”

  “Huh,” she said. “I never thought about it, but maybe you’re right. I do put in effort. I usually need to.” She studied him. “Except with you.”

  “I know you.” He smiled softly.

  “You do. You know what I like.”

  “And I want to know more. Show me how you like to be touched.” He kissed her mouth, then her neck.

  “You already know.”

  “But I want to get better.” He placed her own palm on one breast. “Show me how you like your nipples to be touched.”

  His words sent a rush of desire through her. She’d never been so lost in sex, greedy and needy at once. She ran her finger slowly around a nipple.

  Deck imitated her on the other breast. She squirmed. This was the sexiest sex she’d ever had.

  DECK DIDN’T THINK he’d ever get enough of the woman beside him. She was so beautiful, her face fresh, flushed with desire. No pretense, no decoration, just Callie to the core.

  Watching her trace one nipple, while he did the same to the other while she shivered and writhed made him so hard he wasn’t sure how long he could keep from slamming into her body.

  He had to know more about what pleased her. He licked his finger before applying it again to the tip of her breast. “How’s this? Do you like this?”

  “Mmm, yes,” she said. “Maybe more pressure.”

  “Show me,” he said.

  She looked at him, her eyes burning, then used more pressure with her own fingers.

  “Ah, I see. Like this.” He imitated her move.

  “Both of us touching me makes my brain buzz.”

  “Mmm. Brain buzz. Sounds like we’re getting there. What do you like next?” She looked too dazed to respond, so he slid his other hand down to where she was swollen for him. “How do you like being touched here?”

  “Like that. Slow and soft.” She bucked up against him, biting her lip. “Just like that.”

  “Anything else?”

  “Sometimes, I like…” She reached down and slid a finger inside herself.

  “Can I play?” He put his finger beside hers.

  She made a noise deep in her throat and moved more quickly, responding to the pressure they were both applying. He was completely on fire. He wanted to get inside her, bring her off, go off himself, all of it at once. He stayed still, though, and watched her as her hips pivoted and her eyes rolled back and her tongue darted out to lick her lips.

  When she was ready to come, he removed both their fingers and pressed his cock inside to ride with her, convulsing with her as she lunged into release, going there himself.

  Afterward, Callie flopped back onto the pillow. “That was incredible. I never in my life—” She seemed startled and happy and he kept smiling.

  Stay here. Don’t go. The words played in his head. Too soon. She was as skittish as Brandy. He had to be patient. Patience was his gift. “How about a trip to the hot springs?” he murmured into her hair.

  “I can’t even move,” she groaned.

  “I don’t want you to get bored.”

  “Bored?” She pulled back to look at him incredulously. “I can’t even think straight.”

  “Good. So after we visit your dad at Dahlia’s, there’s a band I like playing at a bar in Tucson. We could take in a set.”

  “That would be nice,” she said, looking a little puzzled but pleased. His plan to show her the joys of staying around seemed to be off to a good start.

  THE VISIT TO DAHLIA’S went well. Callie felt reassured that her father was all right there. Later, the band was great. Deck kept asking her if she was enjoying herself, no doubt to be sure she wasn’t worrying about her father.

  The next evening, she decided it was time to see his art, so she knocked at his door with a plate with brie, crackers, grapes and one of the wines she’d been sampling for the Rancho de Descanso cellar.

  “How about a private showing, Mr. O’Neill,” she said playfully. “I brought refreshments.”

  “You sure?” he said, leaning forward to kiss her.

  “Mmm. More on that later. Show me.” She stepped back away from the door, waiting for him to lead her to his studio.

  “Let’s get it over with,” he said, taking her to the rounded silver mobile home she recognized from years ago. Inside she got that familiar smell of paint and…turpentine, maybe? She set the tray on the sink counter, which was splotched with dried paint in a dozen colors, then turned to look around.

  A few canvases hung on the walls, and a couple dozen more were stacked backward against the baseboards. At the far end was an army cot. She nodded at it. “Is that the same?”

  “The very one.”


  She pictured them as they’d been then—frantic, their bodies glued together, striving for release, for peace, the air around them smelling of paint and canvas and turpentine, but somehow intimate all the same.

  “Have at it,” he said, waving her toward the stacks of paintings. “None of it’s that good.” He stood in the doorway, as if anxious to leave, a muscle ticking in his jaw.

  The hung paintings were close-ups. One was a cactus study, little squares of detail from a century plant, a second was a triptych of parts of a horse at full gallop—chest and withers, hindquarters, muzzle. The third was three pieces of tack, so close the braided rope looked surreal, light as air, the brass ring glowing as if on fire. “These are wonderful.”

  He did not react, so she turned around several of the leaning canvases. They were more of the close-in works of desert plants—mesquite, saguaro, creosote—and more parts of horses. There was a series of clouds. Spring wildflowers. Landscapes of the ranch, some in full light, some at sunset. The river, also at dusk. He’d mentioned painting this scene more than once. He’d captured it with extreme and vivid realism.

  Each painting showed Deck’s distinctive style—detailed and realistic, vibrant with colors, the paint thick but delicate. Each piece was a surprise, showing ordinary objects in a new way. She’d never noticed how the spikes on a century plant looked like eagle talons, how blood vessels squiggled beneath the hide on a horse’s head.

  She didn’t need an art degree to see that Deck was a clear talent.

  “You get the idea,” he said, holding the door, the tray in hand, as if he expected her to leave.

  “Hang on, Deck. These are brilliant.” She picked up a small painting of an agave plant. The light made it look luminous, almost edible. “I can’t believe you’ve never had a show.”

  “Don’t flatter me, Callie.” He seemed almost angry.

  “I’m not, Deck. I don’t do that. You know me.”

  He stared at her.

  “I’m telling you, this is good. It’s fresh. You have an eye for detail and light and color. You could sell in New York.”

  “Like I said, I paint for me.” There was a stubborn resistance in his voice. “I have a lot to learn.”

  “You’re marketable now. I have a client who owns a gallery. She shows avant garde stuff, so I doubt you’d fit, but she’ll know where you belong. It’s all word of mouth in New York, so—”