Lori Wilde - [Cupid, Texas 02]

by All Out of Love

  That’s when Lace realized what she was truly scared of. When she’d loved him before, she’d lost sight of who she was. She never wanted to lose herself like that again. Her fear wasn’t of loving him and losing him, but rather, in the stranglehold grip of all-consuming love, she was terrified of losing herself.

  Fear and craving warred inside her, a vicious battle leaving her wrecked and helpless. No matter which emotion won, she was destined to lose. Give in and she could lose her heart. Run away and she might forever regret this golden opportunity to live out her deepest fantasy.

  In the end, Pierce took the decision away from her.

  His mouth siphoned all the energy from her body, rendering her too weak to do more than sag against him, powerless to overcome the heavy lust saturating her pelvis, her relish for him all-consuming. Spurred by the influx of estrogen shooting through her body, she lifted her hands and grasped either side of his face, holding him still while she kissed him back as ferociously as he kissed her.

  Pierce toppled backward onto the bed, pulling her off her feet and on top of him. His hands slipped beneath the terry-cloth robe, caressing and stroking. Her skin ignited, bursting into flames everywhere his fingers touched. Their grappling lips fused and only a desperate need for air broke them, momentarily, apart.

  The second time they came up for air, he reached up a trembling hand to brush a strand of hair from her face. His obvious desire for her was heady stuff and she was doing plenty of trembling of her own. He moved his hand up the nape of her neck, spearing his fingers through her hair and bringing her face down to his for another long, breath-stealing kiss.

  In a glib glide, he rolled them over, pinning her beneath his hard body. His fingers plucked at the sash on her robe, sending a shudder of need rocking over her. The robe fell open, revealing to him that she was absolutely naked beneath the terry cloth.

  “Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful,” he murmured, and rested his cheek against her breast.

  Lace was quivering so hard the bed shook. She knotted her hands into fists, tried to quell the tremors, but it was no use.

  Pierce turned his head and planted his lips in the valley between her breasts and slowly kissed his way to a nipple, his teeth oh-so-lightly capturing the tight tip. His tongue strummed the pink flesh, and with each stroke of his tongue it felt as if he was plucking a string attached from her nipple to her womb, every wicked flicker winding her tighter and tighter.

  A soft moan escaped her lips and he was back to kiss her lips while his hands slid over her breasts and his dexterous thumbs played with her nipples. His attention dizzied her head until she felt as if she’d drunk a quart of champagne. She clung to him, overwhelmed by the strength of her excitement.

  Lace whimpered, wanting more, trying so hard not to beg him to take her even though she wanted him so badly she was blind to everything but her desperation. She needed to think this through but her body was so alive that it numbed her mind and she couldn’t think at all, only feel. And oh, how much she felt. It was a symphony of sensation, a hundred erogenous zones she didn’t know she possessed—the backs of her knees felt the cotton of bedspread, her kneecaps rubbed against the denim of his jeans, terry cloth tickled her butt.

  He skimmed fingers down her belly, soft as a whisper, and her skin responded like the filaments inside a light bulb, illuminating what was previously in the dark. He alternated the pressure, heavy, light, hard, soft, sending urgent messages to her brain—Mating is imminent!

  Except she was naked and he was not.

  She reached for his belt buckle, her hand brushed against his erection, and impossibly, he grew even harder. Her fingers fumbled.

  Pierce closed his hand over hers. “No.”

  “What?” she whimpered through the brain fog.

  “Look at me.”

  She peered up into his eyes and he held her mesmerized as his hand spread like the tendrils of a twining vine, moving over the springy triangle of dark curls.

  He dipped his middle finger over her budding cleft but did not plunge past it into her warm moistness. Instead he put the slightest of pressure against her.

  Go in. Go in.

  He paused there, driving her mad with need. Her muscles tensed and then every nerve ending in her body started tingling as she tried to anticipate his next move.

  He stared into her eyes, finger touching her so lightly it hurt. She was ready to beg him to put that finger inside her.

  Instead, she sucked air. “Please.”

  Suddenly, he slipped a finger inside her and he was not gentle, but she was so wet and ready for him that she enjoyed the firm way he handled her. His gaze was a bradawl boring into her as he slid a second finger inside with the first and his gentle thumb searched for, and found, her feminine trigger.

  She gasped and all the air left her lungs, leaving her weak and helpless. He knew what he was doing to her. He was fully and completely in control. His knuckles rubbed against her, heightening the mountaintop high. If having sex was like climbing a mountain, he was her Sherpa and they were headed up Everest.

  Maddening. It was maddening to be so close. Sheer bliss! Disorienting. Immobilizing. Brilliant insanity.

  It fully hit her then, a sledgehammer reality, who she was with—the man she had loved since she was fourteen, a man who had been with many women, a man with a reputation of playing fast and loose with hearts.

  Pierce.

  She was in bed with Pierce Hollister.

  Maybe she was deceiving herself and it was all another one of her sex dreams.

  His incredible fingers slew a few million atoms inside her, killing all resistance, leaving her wide open for the fatal wound. He took her to the edge again and again, until she was wrung out and whimpering, unable to do anything more than utter guttural noises.

  Her muscles clenched around his fingers with visceral intensity. He made a sound of satisfaction and finished her off with miraculous timing, sending wave after wave of sheer pleasure rippling through her.

  As she called out his name, he bent his head, took her mouth, absorbed her cry.

  Haunting. This erotic moment would echo throughout her life, a ghostly vision of stunning perfection left like the image on the backs of the eyelids after a bright camera flash.

  His face in that moment, looking both tender and self-satisfied, was branded on her retina forever.

  He held her in his arms for some time and she slowly stopped trembling. She was too limp and drained to speak or even move.

  Finally, he eased her from his embrace, got to his feet, and closed her robe. Her heart pounded wildly as she looked up into his eyes.

  “That,” he whispered, “is just a small sampling of what you could have.” Then he kissed her softly on the forehead, got up, and walked out of the room.

  Chapter 13

  Escape: a cultivated plant that has gone wild.

  PIERCE could not sleep. His leg was bothering him. He sat up and rubbed the scar running down his shin. He’d been sidetracked of late in his pursuit of Lace and he hadn’t been doing his rehab therapy with the diligence it deserved, but it wasn’t the leg pain keeping him awake.

  Rather, he was aflame with desire. Lace’s erotic aroma lingered on his skin. The coyly baffling scent of gingersnaps soaked in lavender and browned in melted butter. Gingersnaps had always been his favorite cookie. He loved the crisp sound they made when he bit into them and the surprising sear against his tongue that stimulated his taste buds in exciting ways. She’d been so responsive and wet, her life force dripping nectar—for him.

  It had been a very long time since a woman had captivated him so thoroughly. He’d drawn on every self-control trick he knew to throttle back the urge to brutally rip off his clothes and plunge into her warm, plush body, but that would have been an offside move. Ten-yard penalty. This had been a long time coming and he’d wanted to do it right. He’d given her a taste of what they could be like together and hopefully gotten her hooked.

  Trouble was, h
e was still hard as a brick.

  He thought about taking care of his problem and moved a hand down the covers, his thoughts on the woman in the room next door, but then he stopped himself. No. He was saving it all for her and if that meant he didn’t sleep a wink, then so be it.

  In the thrill of the chase, delayed gratification meant increased pleasure, for him, for her, for them both. He could wait. Lace was worth the wait. It hit him all at once exactly how much trouble he was in, and his gut twisted. Time out. Step back. Better run some interference here, Hollister. Because he had a feeling that mere sex with her might not ever be enough.

  THE NEXT MORNING, Pierce took her to breakfast at a popular pancake house. He couldn’t seem to stop touching her. He offered her his arm when she got out of the car, and as he opened the door to the restaurant, he placed a palm at the small of her back. She wanted to drag him back to the hotel, lock him in her room, and have sex with him until neither one of them could walk.

  Nice thought, but the minute they stepped inside he caused a stir. His fans, many of them attractive young women, approached, asking about his leg and chances for recovery, pleading for autographs and asking him to pose for pictures.

  Lace bit her lip and studied him. The man was in his milieu, thriving on the limelight. This was how it would be if she was with him all the time. The only place where she could have him all to herself would be behind closed doors. Good thing that this was only temporary. Eventually, his leg would heal, and even if he didn’t make a full recovery and was unable to continue playing in the NFL, he was too big for a small town like Cupid.

  If it was a good thing, then why did she feel so wistful?

  She shook off the mood. She knew this relationship wasn’t headed anywhere, but that didn’t mean that she couldn’t enjoy being on Pierce’s arm while it lasted.

  Instead of sitting across from her in the booth, he sat beside her, his thigh against hers. She smiled at her menu, felt giddy and girlish. They ate pancakes with blueberry syrup and talked of the pleasantness of the waitress, the brightness of the sun shining through the window, the noisiness of the construction going on across the street, but neither of them mentioned the night before, and that was perfectly okay.

  They’d just finished eating when Lace got a text from Melody asking her when she was coming back to Cupid. The president of the Trans-Pecos Historical Society was interested in sponsoring the fund-raiser, but they wanted to meet Lace first.

  Melody texted, They want to meet u this afternoon.

  Lace let out a sigh.

  “What is it?” Pierce asked.

  She told him.

  “I can put you on a plane back to Cupid within the hour.”

  “But you’ll stay here.”

  “I have to check on Abe.”

  Lace glanced at the time on her cell phone. It was eight-thirty. “I’ll come with you. It’s only a forty-five-minute flight. I’ll tell Melody to set up the meeting for three.”

  “Thanks,” he said, and lightly rubbed the knuckle of his index finger along the back of her hand. “I’ll call and charter the plane right now.”

  Twenty minutes later, they walked into Abe’s hospital room to find him looking a little more alert than he had the day before.

  “How’s that throwing arm, boy?” Abe greeted his son.

  Pierce moved his arm at the shoulder, showing he had full range of motion.

  “Ready for tonight’s game, son?”

  “There’s no game tonight, Dad.”

  Abe looked puzzled. “There’s no game tonight?”

  “No, Dad.”

  “But it’s Friday.”

  “It’s Tuesday.”

  “This is my boy,” Abe said proudly to the private duty nurse. “He’s gonna take Cupid to district.”

  “You must be very proud of him.” The private duty nurse gave Pierce a conspiratorial wink.

  “Just as long as he brings home that title,” Abe said.

  Lace’s heart wrenched. The poor man thought his son was still in high school. This had to be so tough for Pierce.

  Dr. Simon walked into the room carrying Abe’s patient chart. He shook hands with Pierce and Lace, set down the chart, and went over to Abe for a cursory examination.

  Lace stepped into the corner, pressed her back against the wall, getting out of the way. This wasn’t any of her business.

  “He looks better this morning,” Pierce said hopefully.

  Dr. Simon did not comment, just put the earpieces of a black stethoscope in his ears. He motioned for the nurse to assist him in getting Abe to a sitting position. The doctor leaned over and pressed the other end of the stethoscope to Abe’s back.

  Abe startled. “Jesus, Doc! Did you put that damn thing in the freezer?”

  “Definitely more responsive this morning,” Dr. Simon observed, removing the stethoscope from his ears and easing Abe back down on the pillow.

  “Did you get the lab results?” Pierce jammed his hands in his front pockets, hunched his shoulders forward. She wanted so badly to put her arms around him.

  The doctor nodded.

  “And?”

  “Our tests mirrored those done in Cupid.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Nothing conclusive. Most of his lab values were in normal limits and the few that were elevated were only slightly so. Nothing that would cause the symptoms your father has been experiencing.”

  “So you’re saying that you have no clue what’s making him lose weight, causing these memory losses?” Inside his pockets, Pierce’s hands turned to bulging fists.

  “I’m saying we haven’t yet gotten to the bottom of it. There are more tests we can run. We’ll do an MRI and a couple of other diagnostic scans.”

  “More pokin’ and proddin’,” Abe grumbled.

  “But he’s better today,” Pierce insisted.

  “Most likely because of the IV fluids. He was a bit dehydrated. Let’s keep him a few more days, run those additional tests, and reevaluate then,” the doctor suggested.

  “You gonna leave me here to these buzzards?” Abe asked, his woeful voice driving a stake through Pierce’s heart.

  “I’m not leaving you, Dad.”

  “I’ll take a taxi to the airport,” Lace said, hitching her purse up higher on her shoulder.

  “I’ll drive you.”

  “No. You need to spend time with your father.”

  “I don’t mind.”

  She planted a palm on his chest. “Really, Pierce, it’s okay. I understand. If I didn’t have that meeting this afternoon, I’d stay here with you.”

  Like a girlfriend would.

  She could be his girlfriend. The idea was very appealing, picnics in the park, best seat in the house at the Cowboys games, long nights—and days—in bed. Yum.

  “I know,” he said. “I appreciate you.” His smile was so warm and genuine that it turned her inside out.

  She couldn’t resist kissing him, but because Abe and the private duty nurse were watching, it was a demure kiss on the cheek. Even so, the feeling that welled up inside her was overwhelming—tenderness, concern, admiration, and barely contained lust. Feelings so strong she feared there wasn’t enough room in her chest to hold them all. Good thing he wasn’t going to stay in Cupid forever, otherwise, she just might have to fall in love with him all over again.

  “C’mon,” he said, and took her by the hand. “You’ve got a plane to catch.”

  THEY’D NO SOONER stepped into the corridor than quick, barnstorming footsteps came up behind them. Pierce would know that assertive gait anywhere.

  Frankie Kowalsky.

  His spirits, which had buoyed after Lace’s kiss, took the express elevator to the bottom of his boots. If Frankie had tracked him to his father’s hospital room in San Antonio and actually shown up here instead of calling, it could mean only one thing.

  Bad news.

  “Hollister,” said a throaty voice as provocative as a nude beach in St. Tropez.

 
Yep, it was Frankie. No one else walked or talked like that.

  He pivoted on his heel, and because he had hold of Lace’s elbow, he pivoted her with him.

  Frankie Kowalsky was five-foot-eleven and built like a Playboy centerfold. She had long blond hair and Queen of Egypt cheekbones. Her legs were long, her arms toned and well-defined. She wore a form-fitting dress the color of chanterelle mushrooms that hugged her ample chest. Sports team owners, managers, and coaches alike trembled when they saw her coming.

  “What are you doing here, Frankie?” he asked, but he already knew.

  “Called your house,” she said. “When your cell kept going to voice mail. Your brother told me about your father, and I knew I had to see you in person. I didn’t want to do this by text or e-mail. Besides, I had to come to San Antonio to meet with the Spurs, anyway. Kill two birds with one stone.”

  Lace must have sensed his mood. She squeezed his hand and he was damn glad to have her with him, even though it meant she was going to witness his downfall.

  Pierce cleared his throat. “Frankie, this is my friend Lace Bettingfield. Lace, this is my agent, Frankie Kowalsky.”

  Frankie nodded, gave Lace a short, quick pump of her extended hand. “I’m glad you’re here. Pierce is going to need a friend.”

  Yep. There was only one reason that Frankie would show up in person. He had to do an end around pass to save face. Take the sting out of the news she was about to deliver by taking control. “The Cowboys have dropped me,” he stated flatly.

  “You knew it was coming.” Frankie nodded, saying it as a statement, not a question.

  Actually, he had not seen it was coming. He must have been living in fantasyland to think he had a shot at coming back from this injury. There’s no deception like self-deception, huh? “Was it because of Dr. Hank’s report?”