by Cd Hussey
By late afternoon, I finally feel like I have a small grasp of what I need to do on this project. Small being the key word. I also realize I've nearly missed one of the primary tasks.
I stand up and Trey looks at me expectantly. "I guess I have some inspections I need to do," I explain.
He immediately pushes to his feet. "I could stand to get out of this box."
I laugh. "Obviously. Just let me get the right forms." As I gather up the papers I need, my headscarf, hard-hat, and the project plans—just in case—he picks up the gun sitting idly on the desk and tucks it into the waistband of his pants.
Dark clouds huddle together over the mountains to the east even though the sun is still shining brightly overhead. Every so often, thunder grumbles in the distance and the wind kicks up—a welcome kiss of relief to the stifling heat. Obviously the storms Trey mentioned earlier.
Up ahead, I see the dinosaur-like motion of a backhoe arm, craning and reaching on jerking hydraulics for mouthfuls of red dirt. I've learned from my project review, the crews are digging foundations for guard towers. Soon Site J will be surrounded by the same, three-foot walls guarding Merritec Village. I doubt they're putting in the pool, though.
With a wave, Kaihan starts toward us. I make a mental note of all the hardhats. I can't quite see everyone's feet, but at least Kaihan is wearing steel toe boots. The leather is so worn at the toe I can actually see the metal beneath.
He's not quite twenty-five feet from us when, without warning, the temperature drops twenty degrees and wind careens across the construction site, kicking up dust into a swirling cloud of red. I immediately shield my eyes, but the sand is everywhere. Within seconds it's a thick wall around me. The sky darkens to the point it looks like dusk. It's hard to say if it's from the storm clouds, or the thick blanket of dust pelting us like tiny shards of shrapnel.
I can't see a thing—partially because it's dark, but mostly because if I try to open my eyes, they immediately get inundated with grit. I feel a strong hand on my arm.
"C'mon!" Trey shouts into my ear. "Let's get the hell out of here!" He tugs on my arm and I follow blindly. "Andrea, cover your face!" he shouts.
I yank the loose fabric of my scarf over my nose and hold it there. Trey is pulling me fast enough I'm forced to run. It's hard to hold the scarf, keep my feet moving, my head turned away from the wind, and not face-plant the rocks.
There's something terrifying about running with my eyes closed. I have no idea where my feet are. And although the hard ground continues to meet the bottom of my boots over and over again, I feel like any minute I could dive right off a cliff. Trey's firm grip is the only thing that keeps me putting one foot in front of the other.
By the time we reach the safety of the canister, I feel like I'm suffocating. Coughing so hard I can barely breathe, my eyes feel like someone has poured glass into them. Essentially someone has—Mother Nature.
I rip off the worthless scarf covering my lower face, tossing it and the equally worthless sunglasses on the desk, and head straight for the bathroom. I need water. Desperately. I don't care if the stuff that dribbles out of the pipes is safe to drink or not. Right now, the desert in my throat is more important than the threat of dysentery.
Only a puff of air escapes when I turn the knob.
"Of fucking course," I groan, slamming the faucet shut.
"What's wrong?" Trey's deep rumble filters in from the other room.
"There's no water. I think I swallowed an entire beach out there. Every inch of me is covered in the most invasive sand on the planet, and I can't get a damn drink of water!"
"Here." He stands at the bathroom door, a leather drinking flask extended in his outstretched hand.
I feel like a heel as I take the container. "Thanks." There's barely any water left and I'm careful not to drain it even though I want to.
"Go ahead." He tips his chin toward the flask.
I hope my eyes express my gratitude when I swallow the last glorious drops of water.
"I think I hate this place," I say as I hand the bladder back. I squeeze past him and feel a wave of disgust as I look over the narrow, barren room. "Everything about it. I hate the sand, and the heat, and the terrain, and the work, and the rock hard beds…" I know I'm behaving like a petulant child but I don't care. The dust storm strangled any good feelings I was having about this godforsaken country. "I don't know why the hell I came here. Why I thought it'd solve anything."
"I can think of one good thing here."
"What?" I snap, spinning on him.
"This." He takes my arm and pulls me into a close embrace, his lips covering mine in the softest, warmest kiss I have ever experienced. I taste the salt on his lips as his strong, wet tongue gently probes my mouth. Through the thin fabric of his shirt, I can feel the hard ridges of his pecs as his thick arms wrap tightly around my body and pull me close.
Heat pours down my spine, obliterating any lingering doubt, burning every ounce of hesitation into a cloud of ash. This feels too right, too perfect, too…holy fuck amazing. I melt into his embrace, my muscles rendered useless. One arm slides around his neck, keeping his mouth to mine as the other probes the curves of his muscular body.
I have this carnal desire to rip off his shirt, feel the smoothness of his flesh against my hand, touch every millimeter of him. It isn't like I hadn't felt this way earlier, but with his tongue so deliciously in my mouth and his body pressed firmly against mine, it's a desire overwhelming my brain. I'm dying of thirst and he's the last drop of water.
He seems to feel the same. The kiss that started soft and sweet quickly intensifies while the hand that originally held the small of my back drifts down to my ass. Cupping it, he pulls my groin into his. Oh, God. He's hard as a rock and…huge.
I whimper. I don't mean to, but the noise can't be contained. Nor can the rock of my hips into his erection.
He grunts, wrapping the fingers of his free hand into my hair and using it as a fulcrum, tips my head back. His lips cover my neck, his teeth raking the skin as he presses his lips to the flesh. His erection thrusts firmly into me as his fingers locked in my hair give a quick tug. "Fuck," he groans into my ear.
It's nearly enough to make me come.
God, it's all happening so fast, but his touch feels so good. I just want to close my eyes and disappear into it. I do close my eyes; I can't help it. But that's the problem, isn't it? Isn't that…this what I've been fighting? Among all the pathetic excuses I've invented not to be with him, this is one that actually has merit. I can't use him as some sort of sexual distraction to escape my woes? Can I?
I realize I've quit moving. His grip on me slackens and he pulls back a few inches to look at me. "What's wrong?"
I force my gaze to lift to his. My mouth opens and then closes. I shake my head.
"Andrea, talk to me."
"I don't know."
"Yes, you do." His fingers lightly trace the side of my face.
"It's just, I…I'm such an emotional idiot right now. It isn't fair to you."
"How do you figure?"
"Well, I…" My lungs fill and expand loudly. "I just got out of this effed up relationship and my head's a complete mess." My lungs fill again and escape in a sigh. "I worry I'm just using you."
"So?"
I stare at him. "You don't mind being used?"
His lips curl into a sly grin. His thick arms pull me back in. "Now, why would any man mind being used by a beautiful woman like you?"
I swallow against the heat rising from my belly. God, can I do this?
My body says, hell yes!
"Yeah?"
"Oh yeah." He bends in for another kiss.
I surrender to the exquisite taste of him. The tension flees my muscles and I slump in his arms.
"Just tell me what you need."
My lips curl into a smile and I crane my neck to look at him. "A shower," I say in my sexiest voice.
His laugh is deep and gruff. "Don't think that's going to ha
ppen."
I make a face. "I'm pretty sure I have a layer of sand covering every inch of my body. I feel disgusting."
"I thought you tasted gritty." He grins at my expression, which I assume is aghast. "Well, you're hardly disgusting."
"Still…"
"Still…" he repeats with a wink, "it might not be as good as a shower, but I do have the next best thing."
I'm officially intrigued. And excited. "Oh yeah?"
He bobs his eyebrows at me. "Oh yeah. Have a seat." He nods toward the bed.
Sitting on the extra-firm mattress, I quickly unlace my boots and kick them off (hopefully to keep them from getting in the way later) as he retrieves something from the over-the-shoulder sack he carries everywhere. The one I'm sure is filled with guns, ammo, grenades, and judging by the way he eats, probably protein bars.
"Wet wipes?" I wonder as he sets the package on the comforter next to me. The hard mattress sinks when he joins me.
"Heaven."
"What else do you keep in that bag?"
He just winks again and pulls a white cloth from the container. I watch in wonder as he lifts it to my forehead and then, close my eyes in bliss as he gently rubs the cool, cleansing cloth over my skin.
"Definitely heaven," I murmur.
"So I take it this 'effed up relationship' is why you're here," he says after a moment, the wipe caressing my cheek. "Want to tell me about it?" The cloth makes another delicious swipe across my jaw.
"No," I answer honestly.
The cloth caresses the other side of my face, brushing across my mouth before his lips gently press into mine. "You can trust me," he murmurs into them. "Please."
Trust. What a concept.
But I do trust him. With my life. With my safety. Why can't I trust him with my heart?
"Why?" I wonder. I hear another wipe being pulled from the container and then the cool fabric is on my neck. "Why do you want to know?"
He kisses the side of my mouth. I turn toward him, eager to explore the salt of his kiss again, hungry to feel his tongue in my mouth.
"It's part of who you are," he says into my lips. "I want to know you, everything about you, every inch of you."
I open my eyes to a mixture of concern and lust in his beautiful brown gaze. I'd be happy to skip the concern and focus on the lust. I'm half afraid when he discovers I'm nothing more than cast aside trash the lust will disappear and be replaced with pity.
"Please," he repeats. That deep growl of his could potentially make me do just about anything, especially when he begs. "Trust me."
The desire to open my heart to him is overwhelming. And incredibly frightening. I don't know why I feel compelled to share something that nearly destroyed me with him. But I want to. I really do.
"Are you sure? You want to hear this? It's pretty pathetic."
"Andrea…" His tone is almost scolding.
I sigh. "Fine. But I'm warning you, it's neither glamorous nor spectacular."
"What makes you think I long for glamorous?"
I give him a sidelong glance. He smiles.
"And the woman next to me is nothing short of spectacular."
It wasn't that long ago I would have agreed with him.
"Okay…" I inhale and exhale loudly. "Seven months ago," I begin, the tension in my throat making my voice tight, "I thought my life was pretty much perfect. I was happily married, had a great job, a fabulous house, an amazing husband… Or so I thought." I can't help the roll of my eyes. "The only thing missing in my life were children. We'd been trying for a few years without any success. We were getting ready to start fertility treatments, but after some rather unpleasant tests, I got the whammy of bad news. I'm broken. Infertile. Barren as a desert."
"I'm so sorry."
"Oh it gets better," I tell him bitterly. "I was struggling with the realization I will never have children of my own when my husband, a professor at KU, decided to knock up one of his grad students. And then leave me for her."
Every muscle in his body seems to tense up. It makes the curved muscles of his shoulders grow a good two inches. "What a fucking prick."
"My exact sentiment." I sigh again. "I was handling everything okay considering. I mean, I wasn't dancing in the streets or anything, but I was managing. Until…" I find myself fiddling with the edge of my shirt.
"Until what?"
"Until I ran into the grad student…at the grocery store…wearing a tight T-shirt and a very obvious baby bump." I openly cringe. I hate that term, but it's the only one that fit. "I made arrangements to come here the very next day."
I lift my eyes to look at him. Tiny grains of sand cling to his salt and pepper stubble, jet-black eyebrows, and eyelashes, and a fine layer of red covers his tanned face.
"I think you need your own wipe-down," I say, ready to move away from my past.
His teeth are a flash of white in the dimly lit room. "Maybe later." He pulls a fresh wipe from the container and slides it over my neck. "What your ex-husband did was despicable. I feel the need to apologize for my entire sex."
I try to shrug it off. The cool fabric sliding over my skin helps. "I'm over it. For the most part."
"Are you over him?" I can't be certain, but there seems to be a slight edge to his voice.
Am I over Jim? I have to think about it. I know I'm still mourning the loss of a relationship, the loss of a future, the loss of a life I thought I had, and the companionship of a partner. But am I mourning Jim?
"Yeah. I think so," I say. "I mean, I'm still dealing with the betrayal. And the fact that the man I married, the man I thought I loved, doesn't exist. It was all a lie. I don't even know how to process those years of my life anymore. Moments I thought made me happy…? Nothing but lies."
I don't realize I'm crying until Trey wipes the tears from my cheeks. His lips press tenderly against mine. "This isn't a lie," he says. "Or this." He moves to the other side of my mouth. "Or this." His kiss caresses my cheek.
It's the perfect escape from my self-induced pity party, one I'm ready to take full advantage of. I'm ready to get back to the touching and kissing and away from the gut spilling.
I lean into him, arching my back and giving him full access to the side of my neck. Which he takes. His stubble feels divine as it brushes roughly against my skin. His lips are molten heat. I'm ready to melt into it. Ready to be transformed from the lead bar I've been for the last several months into a razor-sharp sword meant to conquer the world.
Okay, maybe not the world, but at least my insecurity.
Pushing Trey back, I tuck my feet under my butt and reach across him and retrieve a wipe from the container. "I think it's your turn now," I say, feeling suddenly bold, fearless. It's like the burden of the last several months has been lifted. So Jim cheated on me with a woman twelve years my junior. So he got her pregnant when I never will be. I'm here with this gorgeous, amazing specimen of a man. A man better looking and more caring than Jim could ever be—and with a six-pack Jim never had.
And I feel more alive than I have in years. The heat Trey creates inside me is more intense than anything I've ever experienced.
Jim didn't break me. I'm still here and I'm very much intact.
With a grin I can tell is too eager and wide, I sit back on my heels, waving the wet wipe like a white flag. "Ready?"
He tosses the wipe in his hand into the bedside trashcan and then drops back onto his palms, elbows locked. His head resting on massive shoulders, he spies me from under half-lidded eyes. "Go for it." He closes his eyes and…waits.
And suddenly I'm reminded he is pure sex-on-a-stick.
I swallow any lingering self-consciousness. Fuck Jim. Fuck the insecurity he created in me. Trey has never once indicated he finds me anything but interesting and desirable. And I have never denied that he is anything but.
I have to perch on my knees to reach his face, but once there I wobble unsteadily. I place a hand on his shoulder to steady myself. It's like gripping a cantaloupe and definitely a
s firm.
He tips his face toward my hand as I delicately drag the wipe across his strong brow. His chest heaves and I swear he sighs. It adds to my sudden reclamation of confidence.
"Sometimes I wonder if the whole Jim fiasco would have been easier if the woman he decided to knock up was, well, over thirty." I pull the wipe delicately over his defined nose. "But then I realized I can't compete with a college girl. Someone closer to my age would have been worse. Then there'd be something wrong with me besides just being old."
He cracks an eye to look at me. "You aren't old. Besides, there's nothing wrong with aging. You do realize the alternative is death."
I laugh. "I know. It doesn't make it any easier though." I trace the line of his jaw, the stubble snagging the wipe as I go. "And it's different for you."
"How so?"
"When men age, they become more desirable, I mean how many sexiest men alive have been over 30, or even 40?"
"Possibly, but in this line of work I fight the clock every day. When you're the hired gun, brawn over brains is highly desirable. No one wants their safety entrusted to a geezer."
"I think you have a ways to go before you reach geezerdom," I tell him. "And a hell of a lot longer before you lose an ounce of sex appeal. Women…not so much. Much over thirty-five and we become useless, obsolete shells of infertility. And the only time we're allowed to be sexy is if we're cougaring it up and teaching twenty-somethings what to do with their penises."
He laughs. "I'm not going to deny the media's warped obsession with youth. But…" Grabbing my waist, he pulls me to him. To keep from falling, I'm forced to throw a leg over his thighs and end up straddling him. Wearing a devilish in, he brings me closer. "I don't share that obsession." His lips brush lightly across mine. My entire body ramps up in heat. "In fact, I find age damn sexy. I find you damn sexy."
"You don't say," I murmur.
"I do." His hands slide down my backside as his kiss intensifies. When he pulls me into his thick erection, I can't help but roll my hips against it. I'm immediately overcome with tendrils of pleasure. "Fuck," he groans, and pushes into me.