by Jillian Neal
He threw the SUV in park and lifted her chin. The calluses on his fingertips made her long for more of his craving caresses. Feeling like she was being rent in two, she leaned across the console and Dec blistered her mouth with another one of those kisses that sent warm ripples of pleasure throughout her body.
When she was a little girl and her mother would try to kiss her skinned knees and elbows, she always wiped the kisses off on her dirty blue jeans, but Dec’s kisses did in fact hold some kind of magical healing power. If he’d just keep kissing her, the rest of the world would disappear and nothing else would even matter.
She didn’t want to leave. Every fiber of her being desperately wanted to remain in his presence. He thought being with her was some kind of drug. He had no idea the things he stirred within her. The intoxication of things she wasn’t even aware of before he’d arrived on her scene, things she desperately needed to explore and understand. All of the conversations they needed to have amplified in the mating of their mouths. She’d planned to spend the morning running her hands and her tongue over every one of his tattoos, and then up and down every chiseled muscle on his body. She wanted to count each and every tight bulging plane of his abs. Then she wanted to take her time with his cock in her mouth. She wanted to taste him again, wanted his salty flavors mixed with the metallic tang of his piercing on her tongue.
She had to leave. She would never let Aurora Belle go without saying goodbye.
He turned his head, cradled her face in his right hand, and stroked the hollow of her cheek as he extended the kiss.
“Dec,” she managed in a breathless whisper.
“Shh, darling, I’m not near finished. I have to make this last until tomorrow night. My cock is fairly certain it’s being sent back to prison.”
Holly added the phrase back to prison to the lengthy list of things she wanted further explanation on.
With one last wave, Dec watched Holly’s massive truck back out of her assigned parking space and head out. Rubbing his temples, he tried to decide what to do next. Tea. He’d never had any that morning. He’d procured her coffee from a burger joint that prepared perfectly symmetrical eggs. He’d always found that odd. He’d inquired about tea, but when asked what kind, he’d given up all hope. Fruit teas. Americans and their ideas.
Right now, he desperately needed to think, and that was either going to require a drag of something he had no business seeking to soothe his frayed nerves, or an outstanding cuppa. As always, he chose the latter.
Heading downtown to Trace’s, he reviewed the evening before in his mind. When that only exacerbated the heavy loss of her leaving, he moved on to their morning. He’d stupidly offered to take her to see the dying horse, forgetting that her family would be there. Of course, she didn’t want him on her ranch. Nothing surprising about that, but had he pushed his own family so far outside of his realm of reality he’d mentally orphaned himself and her by proxy? Was there any possible way he could ever be a man that she’d want to introduce to her family?
Probably not, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t try.
He’d walked her inside her apartment when she’d finally halted their kissing, insisting that she had to leave. His jaw tightened as he recalled her flinging out two highly captivating baby doll nighties she must’ve intended to wear for him. She’d quickly replaced them with another pair of Wranglers and two button down shirts.
The universe never failed to punish him. It wasn’t like he didn’t deserve to be punished. He just never wanted Holly punished for his mistakes.
“You look like your favorite cat just died,” Trace sized him up as soon as he made his way to the counter after his customary inhale of the soothing coffee and graphite-infused air.
“Don’t have a favorite cat. Don’t even have a cat. Could use a large cuppa, though.”
“You got it. Thought you were spending the weekend with Holly. You want me to make her a coffee to go? You two are still. . .okay right? Things are the way they’re supposed to be?”
The phrase ‘supposed to be’ resonated with his soul. Dec tried to remember that Trace was one of his favorite people before he called him on being intrusive. This little tea shop had made his transition to America something he could manage. Trace was friendly with all of his customers. That was part of his appeal. “Holly and I are still dating. Yes. Hoping that doesn’t change anytime soon.”
One of his many devious brain cells contemplated asking Trace about Holly’s profession or what he knew about her, but he would never betray her. Never. He’d wait patiently on her to return and then they could hash out their lives, every gory detail.
“You told her you’re the love doctor yet?”
Cringing at that particular title, Dec kept his eyes trained on the boiling water Trace was pouring. “How did you know I hadn’t told her I’m a therapist?”
“She was in yesterday afternoon and I asked if she knew where you worked. I might’ve pretended not to know. I was being nosy. Watching you two dance around each other while falling in love has me hooked. They took my soap off the air. You’re as good as I’ve got.”
Ignoring most of the explanation, Dec honed in on ‘falling in love.’ “I wasn’t aware we were falling in love.” It was when the words scalded his throat that he knew what he’d just stated was an outright lie.
Trace’s kind, blue eyes locked on Dec’s. “I was married for three dozen years before the cancer took her from me. That’s the thing about love, you never realize you’re falling in it ‘til you’re half drowned with no hopes of making it back to shore. And you’ll do something about it ‘bout the time you realize you never wanted to get back to shore in the first place. I hope you never experience this, but when it leaves you, you spend most of your time wishing you’d just gone on and drowned. But if you just keep treading water, after a time, it does get a little easier, I ‘spose.”
“I’m terribly sorry for your loss. I didn’t know your wife had passed.”
Trace’s throat seemed to visibly expand as he began wiping down the counter to avoid looking Dec in the eye. “Not something I talk about too often, but I do recognize love when I see it. You and Holly are frantically treading water, but you’re ‘bout to give out and let the tides come on in. Don’t fight it too hard. Woman like her don’t come around too often.”
“Yeah, perhaps you’re right.” Dec lifted the tea cup in his hand in salute to some outstanding advice.
So this was love. This horrible, wonderful feeling that felt entirely too much like being high was love, of all ridiculous things. Being high only had one problem: it was always followed by an inevitable crash that would irrevocably shatter him and make him desperate for another fix. The constant need and attraction of Holly was terrifying. There couldn’t possibly be any kind of rehab where one could learn to deal with this level of addiction.
I am not a drug. You are not getting high with me. Holly’s decree from the night before stamped itself in his skull. He swore for a moment she was saying the words out loud to him even though she had to have been miles from Lincoln by now.
If she wasn’t a drug, if love wasn’t an addiction, she was going to have to prove that to him because they felt so acutely alike. Probably because you’re such a fuck-up, and it’s not her job to fix you. Hating himself doubly for even having that thought, he settled into a vacant booth near the back window and gave himself several long moments, battling incoming obsessive thoughts.
She’s gone for a while. She’d never know if you bought something. You’re near campus, bet there’s a dealer close by. Obsession. Inability to deal with the stress of her leaving without wanting something chemical to get him through. Depression. Insecurity in their relationship. Addiction was an asshole.
He simultaneously loathed it and accepted it. Feeling sorry for himself wasn’t going to help him deal. Drawing a long sip of the tea, he closed his eyes and let it soothe him. He could do this. For Christ’s sake, he was a psychologist. He may not have ever lived
love, but he’d sure as hell knew what would be seen as healthy. He’d just have to keep his less-than-appropriate thoughts to himself. Maybe he could fake it long enough to actually make it.
Keeping things from people who are here to help. Not a good sign either, St. James. Dammit all to hell. He couldn’t escape demons dammed in his own soul. His only choice was to carry them. They occupied his every breath, every beat of his heart, his every thought. Inescapable. Fishing his phone out of his pocket, he touched Kade’s name on his favorite’s list.
A sleepy grunt preceded, “Uh, hey man, you okay?” It was followed by a deep yawn.
“Sorry I woke you.” Dec massaged his temples. It wasn’t Kade’s job to fix him either.
“No problem. What’s up?”
Before he could apologize again, Dec heard the distinctive noise of another man sighing and then coughing. Shit. Clearly Kade and Wyatt’s night had extended into the morning. “Nothing’s wrong. I’m fine . . .just thought I’d see if you wanted to come over and work through a few songs this afternoon.”
“Doubting that’s why you really called. There’s a meeting tonight. I’m needing to go. We could go together.”
“I’m okay for now. You enjoy your morning.” Dec ended the call. The despair began to construct its chokehold when his cell rang. Holly’s name appeared and he answered it instantly.
“Hey, love. You okay?”
“Kind of.” Her tone was tender and raw with emotion.
“Sweetheart, I know you’ll probably never want me to meet your family, but I could get a hotel room near your ranch. Stay away, but be there if you need me.”
“God, I’m such a baby. You are not doing that, plus the closest hotel to the ranch is probably in Lincoln. And what makes you think I don’t want you to come to the ranch?”
“I don’t know.” That caught him off guard. If he’d been in her physical presence, he would have been able to tell if she was lying. She sounded quite sincere.
“We live out in the middle of nowhere, and my family can be a lot to deal with. I didn’t want to expose you and make you never want to see me again. Don’t worry, I’ll be fine. I’m a cowgirl. We’re always fine, and if we’re not fine somebody better run because when we get back up they’re gonna get the shit beat out of them. I just missed you already. How pathetic is that? I swear I will not be one of those girlfriends that wants to celebrate weekly anniversaries or freaks when you don’t answer your phone or whatever.”
“You are absolutely not pathetic, Ms. Camden, nor could you or your family ever do anything that might make me not want to see you again. You are complete perfection. I like how the closer you get to home the more your cowgirl side slips into your verbiage, by the way. Very hot. And I’m sitting here in Trace’s, feeling tremendously sorry for myself and missing you so much I ache, so if anyone is a sad sap, it is I.”
“We both thought we were gonna have the whole weekend. Maybe neither of us is pathetic, just disappointed.”
“That sounds far better.”
“I really do miss you, Dec, a lot.”
“I can still taste you on my tongue.” He lowered his rumbled tone until he was certain no one but Holly could hear him. “I swear, my hands burn to touch your skin again. I long for you. This is stronger than missing you, love. Little worried I’m addicted.” He was far more than a little worried, but perhaps talking to the object of his addiction was the healthiest way to deal with this. He had no idea. Cocaine was a terrible conservationist.
“This isn’t addiction, Dec.”
He listened intently for a sigh of impatience or even a note of it in her tone, since she’d already voiced this several times. He came up empty.
“I feel all of those very same things, and I don’t struggle with addiction. I can still taste your piercing and your cock in my mouth. All I can think about is kissing you again so I don’t lose your flavors. I keep checking the marks on my neck in the rearview while I drive. I want to see them. It makes you feel more real. Like I said, this isn’t addiction. Might be something else. Not sure yet. Besides all of that, the beginning of a new relationship is supposed to feel all-consuming, isn’t it?”
“Trace would like to confirm the potential diagnosis you’re referring to.” The tight clench of Dec’s chest eased. She felt it, too. Maybe he wasn’t as screwed up as he thought.
“Oh yeah?” Holly chuckled. “Well, Trace is pretty darned smart, and, you know, psychologists believe that falling in love only takes a fifth of a second. They’ve studied this, and the study also said that your brain reacts the same way to love as it does from a small hit of cocaine.”
Dec had to laugh. He was well versed in Dr. Ortigue’s research. What he couldn’t comprehend was how Holly had read that particular finding. It was somewhat obscure. “Psychologists say that, do they?”
“Yes, they do. One doctor at Syracuse University did an entire study of brain electrodynamics when someone falls in love. I used it when I was writing my. . . . Uh, never mind. It was fascinating.”
“Very interesting, indeed.” Dec shook his head and a grin expanded across the width of his face. His sexy little cowgirl was a psych student, a doctoral candidate to be exact. Had to be. That explained the late night lamentation about the advisor, and Trace’s slip about hiring her every semester.
Quickly recalling the American university process to get a PhD, he grinned. So, she’d used Dr. Stephanie Ortigue’s work on her master’s thesis. There was no doubt. Explanation of his profession formed on the tip of his tongue, but he bit it back. He’d tell her when she returned. He didn’t want to bring on a conversation she clearly didn’t want to have. If she’d gone on with the word thesis, he’d tell her all about his work, but she hadn’t, so he’d leave it be. Maybe he could help her with her with her studies. At least that was something he could give her. He could probably even pull a few strings and get her an internship at Lifespan.
“You told me last night love wasn’t a drug,” he teased. A lightness pervaded his soul. She was right. Ortigue’s work had been spot on. Love was like being high.
“Well, may-be I was wrong. . .a little bit. . .but not much.” She giggled.
“That’s right, you don’t like to be wrong. Perhaps my sexual ministrations last night simply caused you to forget whatever it was you were reading about love being like cocaine.”
“You made me forget most everything in the best possible ways. I’m looking forward to being fucked mindless again when I get back.”
“Done. I’m very anxious for another hit of you.”
“I’m going to allow that, and not insist that I am not a drug, given the nature of this conversation.”
She’d gone right back to psych-student mode. He rather missed her cowgirl drawl. “I assumed you would.” So, those were the two sides represented in her latest ink work. Now, he understood.
“Oh, no. Dec, that’s Luke calling me. I need to take this.”
“Go ahead, darling, and I was serious, if you need me to meet you somewhere or come out there don’t hesitate to call.”
“I won’t, and Dec, I can’t wait for another hit of you either.”
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
He was quite certain no woman in her right mind, not even one as perfect as Holly, would count that exchange as a vow of love, but to him, it meant the entire world.
They had far more in common than he would ever have hoped. Curiosity about her age played in the periphery of his mind, but that could be discovered later. It truly didn’t matter. Not to him. If you’d lived as much life as any recovering user was forced to live you began to understand how age meant absolutely nothing and willpower meant everything. Nothing improved with age. Experience level never guaranteed success.
With the last sip of his tea, he allowed himself to feel the obsession as it sluiced through his veins. Constantly reassuring himself that this was okay, he headed out into the warm Lincoln sunshine. It held nothing on Holly’s war
mth and acceptance. Her love, he supposed. The word still seemed to tangle his mind.
He had some shopping to do. No reason he couldn’t spoil his cowgirl psych student. Spending the day thinking of things she might like eased a little of the craving need that burned low in his gut. It didn’t work nearly as well as being in her presence, but maybe it would be enough to get him through this weekend.
Chapter Eighteen
The truck rumbled and bounced Holly as she made her way over the long dirt road that led her home. As soon as she opened the first cattle guard and drove her truck through it, she felt it. Her shoulders relaxed. A smile formed on her features despite the nature of her return. The scent of manure and tall grass whispered on the winds. It readily filled her lungs and eased her soul. She was home.
She stopped the truck for one quick moment when she reached the highest point along the road and could see out over the expansive flatland. Her parent’s home was another mile in, but the nearby cottage was in view and cattle were spread out over the nearest fields. She tried to envision Dec there, but couldn’t quite manage it. She still didn’t know how to make her two sides fit inside one body, one body that she desperately wanted to belong to him.
Driving onward, she performed the mental routine she went through every time she came home. Trying desperately to memorize the exact rust color of the old train cars turned barns that her great-great-granddaddy had secured when the train tracks had been built through the center of town. The low bellowed murmur of the cows. The bracing creaks of the metal sheds when the winds assaulted them. The snorts of the bulls and steers, and most importantly, the slap of the screen door on the home that had raised her when her mama, her sister, and both of her sisters-in-law spilled through it to greet her.
“There’s my baby girl.” Her mother, Jessie, all but hoisted her out of her truck and into her arms. Her sisters then buried her in a four-woman hug.
“Let her breathe, Jess, and let me see my little girl,” her father’s low soothing intonation rang from the front porch.