by Liz Talley
“Hey, how’s the date going?” Mary Belle poked at her back.
“Huh?”
“The date with my cousin here,” Mary Belle said, a devilish twinkle in her eye. Lou swung around. Brenda and Brit stood behind her.
“He’s not your cousin,” Lou said, sipping the cool drink, keeping one eye on her pretend date. “And our date is going fine.”
“Yeah, we saw you dancin’,” Mary Belle said, taking the drink from Lou’s hand and taking a sip. “Brenda thinks she has food poisoning or something, so she needs to go home.”
Lou looked at Brenda who bit her lip. She did look a little pale and sweaty. “Oh, no. Sure. Let’s go.”
Mary Belle pressed her back onto the stool. “No, you stay. I’ll come back for you in an hour or so.”
“You can’t. You’ve been drinking. A lot. So I’m going with Brit.”
“I’m good, I tell ya,” Mary Belle slurred.
“Uh, no. I don’t have a death wish.” Lou slid from the stool.
“I’ll be glad to give her a ride home. I’m fine to drive,” Abram said, winking at her friends. “I am, after all, her date.”
“Perfect!” Mary Belle said, glowing in a liquor-haze.
“That’s not necessary,” Lou said, giving Brenda a concerned look. “You think it was the fajita meat, Brenda? We all had that.”
Brenda made a face. “I don’t know, but I can’t stay. I’m so sorry, baby, ruining your birthday like this. I was going to teach you that new line dance.”
“We’ll live,” Brit said, giving Brenda a smile before looking hard at Abram. “How do we know we can trust you with our friend? You could be a serial killer for all we know.”
“I’m not a serial killer.”
“Like a serial killer would admit to being one.” Brit crossed her arms and studied him. “You’re good-looking, but one of those guys was good-looking, too. Which one? Um, Gacy?”
“Ted Bundy,” Abram said, taking another sip of water. He looked so cool, like nothing would faze him. Like he dealt with all kinds of crazy all day long. Maybe he was a psychiatrist. Or a postal worker.
“See? He knows his serial killers,” Brit said.
“I’m going with y’all,” Lou said, sliding from the stool. Time to end this charade. The dance was fun. The flirting even better. But reality always intruded, no matter what Lou wished. She’d left fairy tales behind long ago. “No worries.”
Mary Belle frowned. “You’re having fun, though. Just because Bear is a shit and Brenda’s faking, shouldn’t affect you. Stay with Abram. He looks like a stand-up guy. Dance. Drink. And don’t think about anything else.”
“I’m not faking,” Brenda huffed, but Lou wasn’t paying attention to any of her friends. Abram’s finger stroked her inner wrist. It caused loopy loops in her stomach.
“Stay with me, Cinderella. I’ll make sure you get home from the ball.” He gave her a Prince Charming grin, kind of lopsided like the one a small boy gives when he’s got a frog behind his back. The one where a girl knows she should run, but can’t possibly pick up her feet. That exact grin.
“Okay, as long as you don’t turn into a pumpkin at midnight.”
And that settled it.
For a few more hours, Lou was going to play the part of maid-turned-princess. And she wasn’t going to have regrets.
She looked back at her friends. “Thanks, friends, for making my birthday so much fun.”
She gave hugs all around and the ladies she worked with at the construction company took their leave. She spun toward her prince for the night. “So, what shall we do first?”
Abram didn’t say anything. Just looked at her for a few moments, his eyes bright but guarded. Then his eyes slid down to the red stilettos she’d hooked on the bottom of the stool. “Those don’t look like glass slippers.”
She pulled one free and wiggled it. “No, and they’re not too comfortable. I think I’d rather go barefoot.”
“A barefoot Cinderella?”
She laughed. “Suits me better.”
“Well, in that case, follow me.”
Lou watched him rise from the stool, all six foot whatever of chiseled, handsome male, and grabbed her half-finished drink. She needed courage because tonight she was Louise, Cinderella, whoever, as long as she was a girl who threw caution to the wind and grabbed fantasy tight to her.
And because she’d made up her mind. Tonight on her twenty-seventh birthday, she would lose her virginity to the handsome stranger with the green eyes and magic touch.
CHAPTER THREE
ABRAM TOOK LOUISE’S hand and led her through the throng of people carousing in the bar. He didn’t fail to miss the curious glances, and occasionally envious stares, tossed their way. He also didn’t fail to hear the voice in his head saying, Don’t do anything stupid, Coach.
It sounded like Coach Holt’s voice and should have stopped him cold, but, for once, he didn’t want to listen to anyone who would talk him out of something more with Louise.
So he’d taken the wrong exit and ended up with a cold beer and a hot woman? How was that anything other than incredibly lucky?
No harm. No foul. No problem.
“Where are we going?” she asked, as he pushed open the front door, whisking them into the cool night air.
“Just somewhere a bit more private.”
She stopped and looked around. “But we’re in the middle of nowhere.”
He glanced around. “I don’t plan well.”
She laughed and his balls tightened. He could suggest going back to the motel, but it didn’t seem right. Too fast. Too obvious. And she didn’t seem like that kind of girl. Even if she had a body made for sin and a face made for salvation.
She pointed behind him. “If I remember correctly, there’s a pier over there. It goes out to the lake. We could take a moonlit walk. That’s date-appropriate, right?”
“It’s perfect.”
They linked hands and started through the high grass toward the nearly hidden pier. Thick, tangled brush grew unchecked and he wondered how she knew the pier sat nearby. He pulled at some vines, clearing the path. The vines gave and he caught his breath. The length of the old wood jutted out onto Lake Chicot, opening to a brilliant star-studded velvet sky.
“It looks like it’s steady enough,” Louise said, testing the wooden stairs with one red high heel.
He placed his weight on the wood. “Yeah, it’s fine.”
Louise bent down, slid her shoes off and set them on the bottom step. Her unpolished toes wiggled as she flexed them. “Ah, feels good. Besides, I don’t want to end up in the water. Too cold tonight.”
For the first time since they’d slipped out of Rendezvous, he noticed the chill in the air. “It is cool. Are you okay with being out here?”
Louise gave him what he thought was an unpracticed siren’s smile. “As long as you keep me warm.”
His body tightened and he grew erect. Hell. It had been a while since he’d been with a woman. His on-again, off-again playmate Alison was currently in off mode and he rarely went to bars looking for temporary comfort. He spent most of his time in the athletic facility surrounded by men. And he never picked up chicks on the road. This was a first for him.
“I can handle that,” he heard himself say. Which surprised him because his body had obviously gone into auto sex pilot.
“Good.”
He curved an arm around her shoulders, dropping his hand to her waist, which he stroked lightly. She sank into him as they climbed the steps leading to a sky of stars. The lake smelled earthy and primal, and the sound of cicadas along with the gentle lap of the water struggled to be heard over the music spilling from the honky-tonk they’d left moments ago. Altogether, Abram couldn’t have designed a more romantic spot.
They didn’t speak. Merely strolled to the end of the pier and stared out at the black water.
Louise glanced up. “Beautiful, isn’t it?”
He looked at her. “Yeah, you are.”
She jerked her gaze to him. Her eyes were a stormy blue, deep like the glittering stones his mother sometimes wore. He forgot the name of them, but they were just the color of Louise’s eyes.
He wanted to kiss her.
So he did.
Dipped his head and caught her pretty pink lips.
She sighed before turning into him. He felt her breasts rise as she pressed her soft flesh into his chest. Something struck inside him, flaring, heating. He slid a hand to cup her cheek, noting how smooth her skin was, tilting his head so he could deepen the kiss.
She accommodated him, opening her mouth, giving him a taste of the spicy rum she’d had earlier. She tasted like sheer heaven, sheer molten heaven.
He pulled back and studied her. “You taste good.”
She pressed a hand to her lips. “Do I?”
He pulled her down so they sat on the edge of the pier. She snuggled next to him, dropping her legs so they dangled next to his.
“This is like a fairy tale,” she said, glancing at him. The shadows had pulled back into the night, leaving her face luminescent in the moonlight. Her skin glowed against the ripeness of her lips, against the depths of her eyes. Her blond hair shone like a curtain on either side of her face. He was fairly certain he’d never seen a woman so delicate and lovely. “I feel like a fairy princess. It’s strange.”
“It probably sounds like a cheesy pickup line, but I think this is some crazy fate thing.”
“Fate disguised as magic,” she said.
“I took the wrong exit, you know.”
“What?”
“I missed my turn and took the exit for Chicot State Park thinking to wind my way back to Ville Platte. But I saw Rendezvous and decided to stop for a beer.”
“So fate brought me a Prince Charming. For one night only.”
“For one night only,” he repeated.
She took a breath, almost like a steadying breath. “Can we dance?”
“Out here?”
She nodded. “It’s been so long, and it was so nice to be held in your arms. We can hear the music from Cooter’s. Listen. It’s George Strait.”
He cocked an ear in the direction of the honky-tonk. “So it is.” He held out a hand with a questioning crook of an eyebrow.
She took his hand. Her reflective smile looked slightly sheepish, as if she knew they were acting silly. Okay, they were. But so the hell what?
She melted into his arms and under the night sky, he held her close, drawing in the silky scent of something flowery, and swayed to the faint sounds of the steel guitar. She fit him well, her head tucking under his chin, her breasts hitting him right at his solar plexus, her hips brushing the rising result of being so close.
She hummed along to the music, stroking her hands over his back, as if she knew that drove him crazy, taking him to the place he wanted to go, but was afraid to say aloud.
The song ended but still they swayed, their footfalls barely rising as they shuffled over the worn boards.
“My feet are cold,” she murmured into his shoulder.
He raised his head from where he’d been contemplating the delicateness of her ear. “We should go.”
“No,” she breathed. “I don’t want this to end. Not yet. It’s not midnight.”
He laughed. “Fine, but let’s go back. We can sit in my truck and I’ll put the heater on your toes.”
She shook her head. “I’d rather have cold toes. It’s too perfect here.”
He pulled her down, crossing his legs and settling her into his lap. She curled into him and he wrapped his arms around her. “I was right. You’re stubborn.”
Her laugh was light, but she didn’t respond to his comment. Just tucked her cold toes beneath the hem of her too-long jeans and settled against him. He could feel the beat of her heart, the rise of her breath, and was struck at how absolutely strange this moment was.
Who was this man cradling a woman he’d met an hour ago on an old rickety pier in the cool Louisiana night in a place he neither knew nor intended to find?
Not the man most would recognize as the unyielding Abram Dufrene.
She linked her arms behind his head and looked up at him. “Kiss me again?”
Why had he gone so long with his lips away from hers? Really. Should she have to ask?
He lowered his head and gave her what she asked for.
And did it so well, it left them both breathless.
“You are a good kisser,” she breathed, dotting small kisses on the scruff of his jaw. Each tiny brush of her lips inflamed him.
“Not bad yourself,” he muttered, running his hands down her back to her hip, stroking the curve through the denim. He really wanted to see her breasts. They were likely works of art, rounded, pink-tipped with angel kisses, so he started kissing his way down her neck, knowing his thoughts were absurdly poetic. This was what the night had created in him.
Louise’s head fell back, spreading her golden hair across his thigh. He groaned his approval as he reached her collarbone and tugged the fabric of her shirt aside to reveal a serviceable white bra.
It made him smile.
This woman, as lovely as she was, appreciated comfort. He didn’t need the allure of lace, not when what lay beneath was much more valuable. He tugged the strap, but nothing popped free. He tugged again. Same result.
“Here,” she said, wiggling and reaching behind her back. One grunt and the bra fell loose.
“Thanks,” he said, returning to his pillaging. He slid the neck of the blouse aside and was rewarded with a perfect plump pink-tipped breast. He wasted no time laying claim to it, and noted self-satisfactorily her hiss of pleasure when he closed his mouth over her hard nipple.
For a moment, he simply nuzzled her, sucking her into his mouth while stroking her into a fever. She unfurled her long legs, turned and wrapped them around his waist, allowing her bottom to cradle his erection, giving sweet friction to them both. He groaned and lifted his head from her breast and looked down at her cradled in his arms, cold toes forgotten, eyes closed, breathing like she’d finished a wind sprint.
“We can’t do this,” he said, sinking his head down to rest at the top of her breast.
She jerked, opened her eyes and struggled to lift her head. “Why not?”
“We’re strangers.”
“So?”
He shook his head. He knew most men wouldn’t have stopped, but something prodded him. His upbringing. His common sense. The fact he didn’t have a condom.
“So you’re okay with just one night?” He tried to sound playful. Most women wanted dinner, movies, talk of swapping keys before a willingness to fade away into a memory. He’d never in all his thirty-one years had a one-night stand. Not even in college. “No woman wants that.”
“This woman does.”
* * *
AND SHE MEANT IT.
She’d gone far too long without having the real deal. It was beyond time to uncork the champagne of her sexuality. In fact she was approaching epic spinsterhood. She needed to get laid and what better way to do that than with a handsome, sexy, no-strings-attached stranger?
He wouldn’t meet her eyes at the grocery store and then turn away.
He wouldn’t show up on her doorstep with flowers and a DVD she had no interest in watching.
He wouldn’t marry one of her friends and cause her to have one of those I-know-what-your-husband-looks-like-naked moments.
It was perfect.
A gift from fate. For one night only.
“I’m serious. I don’t expect anything other than this little magic moment.” She licked her lips as insurance. The romance books beside her bed seemed to indicate that licking her lips would inflame a man beyond reason.
He shook his head. “This is crazy.”
“You don’t want me?” She knew he did. Could feel the evidence against her bottom. She glanced down, caught the time in the glow of the waxing moon. 11:13 p.m. She had less than an hour. Okay, she had more tha
n an hour, but for the sake of the whole magic fate thing, she’d rather it be tonight. On her birthday. With him.
“Of course I want you,” he said. “Too much.”
“Then shut up and kiss me,” she said, hooking his neck and bringing him down so she could kiss him.
His lips met hers and her pulse went wild.
This was what she’d been missing, not counting that time with Bud Hargon when he’d prematurely ejaculated before getting the job done or the time when she’d layered her bed with rose petals and had just gotten naked with Cole Lanier when Waylon had come in with a busted lip, wailing like a banshee.
Until tonight, Louise Boyd had been a virgin.
But she wasn’t missing another opportunity for deflowering.
“I don’t have a condom, Louise,” Abram said, nibbling her lower lip. “But we can please each other in other ways.”
She shook her head. “No, I want the real deal. The whole shebang. That’s what I need. That’s what it’s gotta be.”
He stilled. “You make it sound like—”
He lifted his head and searched her gaze. Something dawned on him. He understood. “For crap’s sake, Louise, you’re not telling me you’re a—you’re a—virgin?”
She didn’t blink. Was that really any of his business? No. It was hers. And when he said it out loud like that it made her feel pathetic. “You make it sound like a crime.”
He lifted her off him, setting her onto the cold wood of the pier. “It’s not a crime. It’s sort of surprising, and it’s not something I…I think you should…”
He closed his mouth. Then he swallowed. She could see quite clearly he had no clue what to say. It should have been sweet, endearing even, but it just pissed her off. It’s not like she hadn’t tried all this before. She had. But it hadn’t worked.
“What? I should save it for someone special? Is that what you were going to say? My future husband maybe?”
He blinked.
“Well, it’s not special. It’s a burden. You don’t need to know the particulars, but I’m not a freak. I couldn’t date for many years because of stuff going on in my life, and when I could date again, well, things never progressed. For heaven’s sake, I’m a twenty-seven-year-old, decent-looking woman. I should be able to get laid.”