“Maybe so, but that’s not what everyone in town will think when they see us together. They’ll think ‘date.’” She shook her head and lowered her voice. “The less we confuse the two, the better for everyone. I don’t want to arrange anything other than when and where, and I don’t want to hold hands.”
She tugged loose and he let her go this time, despite the sudden urge to haul her into his arms, kiss her senseless and give the two old biddies a few feet away something to really wag their tongues about.
“The Majestic, then,” he said. “Friday. Eight o’clock.”
7
CHERRY BLOSSOM WAS a typical small Texas town located a good twenty minutes north on Farm Road 291. Small, but not minute like Cadillac. It had twice the population, as well as twice the number of grocery stores, feed stores and movie theaters—namely two of each.
The Majestic catered to an older set while the Big Bopper across town featured the latest teen movie. The billboard he’d passed on his way into town always had advertised the Big Bopper’s feature as a beach movie starring a current teen heartthrob.
Thankfully.
That put the Majestic’s parking lot only half full. He turned into a spot, killed the engine and climbed out of his truck. After rounding the corner of the building, he walked toward the marquis, where Sarah stood waiting for him.
She wore her usual subdued colors. Her navy skirt was soft and thin and fell in soft folds to mid calf. She wore a modest white blouse, her hair pulled back in a ponytail. She looked so sweet and wholesome and conservative…so unlike the wild girl he remembered, her hair hanging loose, her cheeks flushed from excitement, her jeans skin-tight, her blouses low-cut, her bright red boots polished to a fine sheen, and her eyes sparkling.
“I was starting to think that you weren’t going to make it.” She glanced at her watch. “The movie’s about to start.”
His gaze caught and held hers and he saw the fire in the warm chocolate depths of her eyes. “I wouldn’t miss it for anything.”
For a split second, he thought she was going to shy away from him. She wore the same look of panic she’d worn in the shower. As if the chemistry between them was too overwhelming and he stirred a response that somehow frightened her.
The notion faded as she smiled. “Then we’d better get inside.”
“My plan exactly.” The comment drew a soft smile from her and she seemed to relax. “Now, let’s go. I don’t want to miss any of this.” He ushered her toward the ticket counter.
“I didn’t know you liked John Travolta that much,” she said.
“I don’t.” He slid the money across the counter, ignoring the five she held out, and then took the tickets and led her from the ticket counter. “This isn’t about John. It’s about sex.” He turned, his gaze locking with hers. “Isn’t it?”
“Um, yes.” She nodded and let out a deep breath. “I’m so glad to hear you say that. It’s really important that we keep things in perspective. I mean, it’s not that I don’t like you.”
“I say you like me a lot.”
“Maybe. And maybe not. It doesn’t matter. Don’t you see that?”
He saw it, all right, and he didn’t like it one bit. And that was the damned trouble of it all, because Houston couldn’t afford to like Sarah. He didn’t want to like her any more than she wanted to like him.
It had to be just sex.
A few minutes later, he steered her into the dark theater. Sure enough, the place was only half full. Just enough people to make things interesting, but not enough to get in the way of what he had in mind.
He ushered her up the staircase to the last row at the very top. The lights dimmed just as they sat down. The screen came alive and sound poured from the speakers as the previews started. He had half a mind to slide his arm around her and pull her close. That’s what she expected. What he should have done. But the devil was in him right then and so he held back.
Waiting.
Letting the tension build.
The movie started, but he knew she wasn’t watching. He felt her gaze slide to his profile every few minutes, as if to say Hurry up, wouldya?
He would. But not yet.
He settled back in his seat, willed his body to relax and fixed his gaze on the screen. They were a good halfway through the movie before he reached his limit and reached out.
He slid his arm around her shoulders and shifted in his seat. With his free hand, he reached over and touched her thigh. His fingers bunched, gathering the hem of her skirt until he’d pulled the material up over her knee. Fingertips touched warm, soft skin and desire bolted through him. She didn’t so much as look at him, as if she were dead set on ignoring him the way he’d ignored her.
She stared at the screen, her bottom lip caught between her teeth as if it was all she could do to keep still.
He trailed his hand up the inside of her thigh, relishing the warmth of her skin. His erection grew, pushing against the crotch of his jeans until he thought he would surely bust the zipper.
Under the demure skirt, she wasn’t wearing any panties. The realization sent a spurt of hungry desire through him and suddenly he couldn’t get to her fast enough. She was still every bit the wild child she’d been back then. She just hid it better now. From everyone except him.
He touched the wet heat between her legs. Her juices drenched his finger as he slid into her. Her eyes closed and her head tilted back and he waited to hear the familiar cry that had always driven him wild during the three encounters they’d had.
She hadn’t said a word during the shower enounter, but tonight would be different. He wanted to hear her, to know she felt as good as he thought she did.
He slid into her over and over, working the soft, tender folds. Her legs trembled and her fingers clenched the armrests, but she didn’t make a sound.
Tonight she wouldn’t hold back.
A rainbow of colors from the screen played over her expression, which left no question in his mind as to what she was feeling. Desire parted her lips. Excitement flared her nostrils.
“Move for me,” he murmured into her ear, his tongue darting out to trace the shell of her ear. She trembled beneath his touch. “Move.”
Several heartbeats ticked by before she seemed to gather her strength. She shifted in her seat, drawing him deeper. He slid his finger in and out, making her squirm and gasp, over and over until she exploded. Her body milked his finger and tremors shook her, but she still didn’t so much as whimper. She held her bottom lip, her eyes closed, her face drawn in a tight, closed expression.
He withdrew and worked at the button of his jeans. The fastening popped open and he pushed the zipper down. His erection sprang forward. The seats in front of them hid everything below chest level and he knew that no one could see him. But they were there. So close. The notion stirred his blood almost as much as the beautiful woman sitting next to him.
He pulled a small foil packet from his pocket and slid on the condom, then urged her out of her seat and onto his lap.
She sank down onto him in one swift motion that stalled the air in his lungs and sent a burst of pleasure to his brain. He didn’t breathe for several heartbeats. He merely sat there feeling her pulse around him.
Her skirt fell around them, hiding the fact that he was deep inside her.
A groan rumbled from deep in his throat, so loud he knew someone had to hear. But no one turned around.
Not that he cared. With her so wet and tight around him, he didn’t care if the entire world looked on.
He slid his hands under her skirt and gripped her hips. He started to move her, but she took the lead. She moved her pelvis, riding him, her hands braced on the armrests on either side.
She rode him so hard and so good that he almost forgot his objective. Almost. But this wasn’t about his own orgasm. It was all about hers. About driving her over the edge and giving her such exquisite sensation that she would want even more. And more. And she wouldn’t—no, she couldn’t—hold b
ack.
He slid his hands around and touched the soft curls at the vee of her legs. He explored her, feeling his erection where it disappeared into her hot, tight body. Moisture coated his fingertip and he spread it along the already slick folds. He stroked her, rasping her hot spot until it swelled and throbbed and her body tightened around his. She moved faster and he moved faster until she arched her back.
He pressed that sweet spot then and she cried out, the sound barely muffled as he twisted her around and caught her mouth with his own. He kissed her hard and deep as tremors racked her body and she climaxed. Her insides pulsed in a delicious rhythm that sent him over the edge into his own mind-blowing orgasm.
His heart thundered in his chest, the sound filling his ears and blocking out everything around them for several long moments. Then his breathing calmed and his blood slowed and the voices of John Travolta and his leading lady finally pushed past the frantic beat of his heart.
He didn’t want to move and he certainly didn’t want to move her. She felt too good surrounding him, her body warm and wet and…home.
He pushed aside the crazy thought just as she pushed away from him. She settled back into her seat and straightened her skirt as he fastened his jeans and tugged his zipper back up.
And then she stood up.
“Where are you going?”
“Home. I’ve got an early shipment coming from Austin. Perennials.”
He caught her hand and tugged her around. “You’ve got to be friggin’ kidding me.”
“Our business here is finished.”
“The movie’s not done yet.”
“It’s not about the movie. You said so yourself.”
“Then I’m not done yet.” He eyed her. “Sit down and hold my hand.”
“This isn’t a date. This is number five.” She licked her lips still swollen from his kiss, and he barely resisted the urge to tug her down and kiss her again. And again. And again.
She would fight him. He knew it from the closed expression on her face and the determination in her eyes, and so Houston did the only thing he could at that moment.
He let her go.
HOUSTON MEANT TO GO BACK to the bed-and-breakfast, despite that it was early in the evening and the town was still alive. But when he reached the corner just a few houses away, he spotted Imogene pulling into the motel parking lot and so he turned his truck around and headed out to Hank’s.
He needed to focus in the worst way, to forget that he’d let Sarah walk away from him, to remember why.
Because it was just sex between them, and that’s all he wanted.
Harley was pitching hay in the rear of the barn when Houston arrived.
“Hey, there, Mr. Jericho!” the young man called out.
“Your dad around?”
“He’s up at the house. You here to ride?” His eyes lit with the same excitement Houston had seen that first day when Hank had told him they were firing up old Nell. A look that promptly faded when his dad rolled into the barn.
“’Course he is,” Hank said as he rolled up to them. “I saw you come up the road,” he said to Houston. “Let me get the generator cranked up in the tack room and you can climb on.” Hank disappeared into a nearby doorway.
“You can watch,” Houston told Harley when the young man turned back to his chores.
“That’s okay. I’ve got work to do,” he said, but Houston got the distinct impression that there was more than just a bale of hay holding him back.
“I don’t mind. It won’t bother me.”
“I’m not really into bull riding that much. My pa says he wants more for me than a bunch of bruised ribs and a mouthful of dust.”
“And what do you want?”
Harley’s head snapped up. “What do you mean?”
“You’ve told me what your dad wants for you, but what do you want?”
“You heard my dad. I’m going to veterinarian school.”
“I heard him, but I didn’t hear you.”
“I don’t know the first thing about riding a bull.”
“Neither did I, but I learned.”
“I could never be that good.”
“You never know if you don’t try.”
The young man seemed to think for a minute, and Houston had the impression he was about to say something when Hank called out, “She’s ready to rip!”
Houston tied on the worn leather chaps he’d pulled out of the back of his truck. He dusted the legs and pulled his glove from his pocket. Stuffing his hand inside, he walked toward old Nell and climbed on.
“Open her up!” Houston yelled, holding on to the cinch strap for all he was worth with one hand, his other poised to counter his balance. The mechanical bull jerked this way and reared that.
He held on, his grip determined as the machine twisted and turned and jerked. His thighs were tight, his knees locked in the form that had won him so many championships as he focused his body on the ride. On getting faster. Better.
The damned thing was, he couldn’t focus his mind. He couldn’t think about the bull and nothing but the bull. Instead, he thought about Sarah, he saw her closed expression before she’d walked away from him. He felt the unease build inside him because he’d had half a mind to go after her.
She was pulling back on purpose. Pushing him away. Keeping her guard up with him the way she did with everyone else.
So?
So it bothered him. It bothered him a hell of a lot more than it should have considering the only thing he wanted was to speed up his reaction time and sweep this year’s PBR finals.
Yep, that’s what he wanted, all right.
That and to complete the list with Sarah.
He sure as hell didn’t want to hold her hand in public just for the sake of hand-holding, or go to the movies with her just because he liked feeling her next to him, or help her out at her nursery because he actually liked the quiet and the calm of the damned place.
He lived for excitement. For fast times and fast women and the roar of an enthusiastic crowd—
The thought stalled as his body veered too much to the right, the bull went to the left, and he found himself airborne.
He slammed into the ground, but he didn’t stay down, despite his muscles that cried from the impact. Hauling himself to his feet, he turned toward the animal again.
And again.
And again.
An hour passed, then two, then three, until Houston was bruised and battered and felt as if he’d tangled with a real bull rather than a mechanical monster.
“Hold up,” Hank called out as Houston started to climb back on again. “It’s past midnight. I think we ought to call it a night. My arm’s tired and you have to be this close to passing out.”
“One more time,” he gasped.
Hank eyed him for a long moment, as if he saw Houston’s thoughts. As if he understood. “Sometimes the best thing you can do is back off for a little while.”
The man was right. As far as the bull riding went. Houston wasn’t in any shape to keep getting his ass beat.
As for Sarah…forget backing off. That’s what he’d been doing the past few days. Whenever she pulled back, so did he. She shut him out and he let her.
No more. It was time for him to step up, to get close. So close she couldn’t pull away.
Maybe then he could stop wondering what she would look like completely open and uninhibited in his arms. He would know, his curiosity as satisfied as his lust. Maybe then he could regain his precious focus.
He had to, otherwise he was certain to make a poor showing in Vegas, and Houston never made a poor showing. He gave it his all, no matter how angry or fed up or just plain tired he was. He thrived on winning and he wasn’t going to stop now.
That would mean following in his father’s footsteps, and Houston wouldn’t do that.
Not now. Not ever.
8
SHE WASN’T GOING TO SHUT him out tonight.
Houston made that promise to hi
mself as he walked into the football stadium where the Cadillac Comanches were playing their arch rival, the Hondo Hogs, in a summer practice game. It seemed as if the entire town had turned out for the event. The stands overflowed. People crowded around the concession stands.
He spent a full ten minutes searching before he finally spotted her near the Sno-Kone stand. She sat behind a large table. A white banner was draped along the front, Cadillac Chamber of Commerce printed in navy-blue script. Platters of plastic-wrapped cookies, cakes and pies crowded the top.
If he hadn’t seen it with his own eyes, he never would have believed it.
Sarah Buchanan, wild child and the most exciting woman he’d ever had the pleasure of sipping homemade wine coolers with, was hosting a bake sale on behalf of the fine, upstanding citizens who used to gossip about her.
An act. A carefully played act to fit in and fulfill a promise.
That’s what he told himself. But the truth of the matter was, she didn’t just play the part of the classic good girl, she looked it with her khaki slacks and white no-nonsense button-down blouse. Her hair was pulled back at the nape of her neck, her face devoid of makeup. And she wore a huge, pleased-to-meet-you smile.
She looked as fresh and wholesome as a glass of milk.
Nothing like the girl she’d been, yet he knew the real Sarah lay just below the surface. She’d told him as much that night at the dance hall. And over the past few days, he’d seen proof in the shower and the movie theater. But while she’d taken her pleasure, there’d been a measure of control to her actions. And her reactions. She’d gone only so far, and then she’d pulled back. And then she’d held back. Like last night when she’d come apart at his fingertips without letting out so much as a whimper.
Nothing that would alert anyone that Sarah was anything but the straitlaced lady she appeared to be. As he watched her hand out samples of cookies to a group of seniors who’d come over from the local retirement home, he couldn’t help but wonder if she truly had straightened up her act the way everyone seemed to think.
The Fantasy Factor Page 10