by Sylvie Kaye
"Ready to rinse?” She flicked a finishing touch before dropping a quick, sliding kiss onto his paint-smeared lips.
"Yeah.” He reclined, smirching a rainbow of colors against the sleek, pink porcelain.
After turning on the taps, she added a capful of clean-scented bath beads to flush away the clashing smells of berries, pineapple, and cherry.
Cherry had been her favorite. Spence had been creative with more than his paintbrush when he drew a smiley on her buttocks with his cherry-dipped penis before spreading her sex lips and taking her from behind with the deepest penetration she'd experienced yet.
He filled her totally, then withdrew fully. The feeling of heat followed by cool air urged her hips into action once he gratefully plunged again, opening her wide to his erection, making her moan while he played her clitoris like a fine-tuned harp with his cherry-tinged fingers.
Sated now, she looked at Spence and wondered why he'd revealed his name after all this time. She hoped it wasn't more of his recent intimacy, which had been closing in around her like a dark cloud.
He'd not only asked for her phone number, but now he wanted to take her out to his ranch. What was wrong with him? She preferred him aloof. He wasn't the kind of man a woman got involved with on a serious basis. With some luck, he'd forget about the invitation, lose himself in fixing fences again.
Snapping the lid shut on the bath beads, she grabbed a washcloth and a glimpse at a brighter picture. Daubed in multicolored streaks and swirls, the sight of him made her laugh.
"Don't think you don't look like an escapee from a Jell-O factory,” he said from beneath lidded eyes. With a chuckle, he splashed foamy, warm water at her.
As bright-colored dribbles streamed down her chest and arms, she scooped up water. But before she could splash him back, he snatched her into his strong but colorful arms and pulled her onto his lap where water pooled in a murky, purplish shade.
Taking the washcloth from her hand, he sloshed it under the running spigot. After dabbing at her face, he ran the thick terry over her arms and body. His touch was light, the cloth soft and warm, the experience mesmerizing. Mercy closed her eyes. Her muscles slackened beneath his ministrations. Her mind mellowed, her resolve weakened, her heart softened.
Lucky she only had to stay on guard until the end of the week when she left Texas and Spence. Otherwise, she could fall for him, big time.
"I have some chores in the morning,” he mumbled.
"Uh-huh,” she said, without opening her eyes, glad she had nothing to do tomorrow but recuperate from their vigorous lovemaking.
"Is noon okay?"
"Noon?” She opened her eyes, crinkled her eyebrows.
"To pick you up to see the ranch."
While she nodded, she grappled to put a sexy spin on it. A roll in a haystack was a pretty fantastic fantasy. “Do you have hay?"
"Is that a deal breaker?"
She smiled.
"I have lots of hay,” he teased. “Do you have something particular in mind?"
A classic Doriaism popped to mind. “You can bet your boots on it."
* * * *
Dressed for the office in a blue, tailored suit, but wearing pink-striped platform shoes, Cindy bounced into the kitchen the next morning. “How was your night? Mine sucked. We cropped photos, and Jay missed my mouth by a mile when he kissed me good night.” She poured a cup of coffee from the automatic pot she set each evening before bedtime. Suddenly, her forehead puckered. “Why are you up so early?"
"I called my mother. You were right, Cindy. She's worried about my loan and ticked at her brother. He's never been out of touch except during the Vietnam War, and that was beyond his control."
She gulped her coffee down. “Maybe we could ask around the club and find out the name of his sick friend for her. But I can't tonight. Jay's coming over so I can show him the Mesopotamia tub."
"I'll stop by the Starry Night later.” Mercy leaned her back against the granite kitchen counter, bracing herself with her arms. “Spence is taking me out to see his ranch this afternoon."
Cindy's cup hit the saucer with a clank. “Who's Spence? Where did you meet him? Where's his ranch? And I'm glad you finally ditched Sinner, even if he helped us out of that bat cave, Taboo, they call a lounge,” she spouted in two long breaths.
"Spence is Sinner, and he owns a small ranch outside of town."
"Ooh.” Her enthusiasm drained in one elongated vowel. “Given his sudden first name status with you, I take it the Mesopotamia was a success with Spence."
"Let's just say the tub's no longer virgin,” Mercy replied evasively.
Cindy raised her brow and then her eyes to the wall clock. “Sheesh, look at the time.” She rushed for the doorway. “Jay better plan on getting more than his feet wet tonight."
* * * *
Spence was still railing at himself. He wanted and liked Mercy way too much for his own good. And showing it to boot. What with giving out his real name and making dates in the afternoon.
Not to mention phone calls, he berated as he dialed her number. As soon as her sexy voice answered, “Hello,” his stomach did a flip. Oh, yeah. He had it bad.
"I'm running late again. Flat tire.” He leaned his palm against the door jamb, taking in the view of the mesquite trees outside the dusty window shade. While he rubbed at a smear of grease on the white-painted molding with his thumb, he wondered if he should've cleaned the place up a bit.
Right, and next he'd be changing the sheets before any sex had taken place on his bed.
"Can I bring something? Food? Wine? I can pack a few things while I wait until you get here,” she sing-songed. So sweet, so agreeable, so not what he needed at this point in his life. Her tenderness could only distract him from his goal to find Parker.
"I have food,” he grumbled. She'd have to take him as he was. He stopped rubbing at the dirty mark. She'd settle for what he had to give. Or stay away.
And why did that idea sound like he was running scared, hoping she'd back off?
Because he sure as hell was.
"Then I'll just come as I am.” Her voice suddenly sounding smoky and turned on. Or maybe it was the way she said come that made him think so.
"Damn.” He was still muttering to himself as he drove over to the condo after fixing the tire. At least her going back East at the end of the week would take care of what he didn't have the willpower to do. “Stay away from her."
He jammed on the brakes, parking next to a shiny BMW. He was outclassed in this neighborhood and with Mercy. She deserved someone successful, established, someone who hadn't served time and didn't mingle with the likes of the people he'd met in jail or on the streets these past weeks.
"Scum.” He swiped at the filthy fender of his truck for emphasis before heading up the stairs.
Instead of ringing the bell, he banged on the door to let out his frustrations. Before his knuckles rapped a third time, the door swung open and the slim-figured beauty stood before him, shiny-faced, her head haloed by her blonde hair.
"I'm ready.” She smiled and the world tilted, and he felt young, and eager, and hopeful.
All things he could never regain.
Along with the woman he could never attain.
But for now she was his.
He claimed her with his lips, branding his mouth to hers. She tasted sweet, like the spoon full of sugar he stirred into his coffee each morning. He let his tongue roam her open, welcoming mouth, savoring every flick at the warm, wet flesh, glad to be inside her body.
When he pulled away, he twisted a curl of her hair onto his finger and studied her sky-blue eyes. She smelled like fresh air and sunshine. Things he'd missed in jail. Everything about her was sparkling and filled with promise. While his tomorrows were too distant to even ache for.
"Ever been rolled in the hay?” he asked with a slight grin, seeking from her only what he knew he could lay claim to.
"No, but I'd roll with you just about anywhere.” Her laugh sounde
d hesitant, as if unsure of her sexual prowess.
He un-spun her hair from his finger. Ran his knuckles along her delicate jawline. “The hayloft will do for starters."
"How about a tractor? I've never ridden a tractor."
He chuckled and grabbed her elbow. She flipped the lock on the door, and they were on their way.
As they left the building, Spence got sucker-punched by the first streak of blinding daylight. Mercy in the sunlight with the beams glancing off her shiny hair and her bright eyes was even more amazing than Mercy at night.
He sucked in air to ease the ache of wanting more of her than he deserved. The smooth softness of her skin as he took her palm in his and helped her up onto the worn passenger seat of the truck did nothing to help the pain.
Still, Mercy rated an admission of how heart-breakingly special she was, especially after the idiots she'd dated, and Spence decided to be the man to tell her.
"You take a man's breath away, even in stark daylight."
She tilted her head. Touching her palm to his rough-shaven cheek, with a sweep of her lashes, she murmured, “I'll remember who said those words all my life."
Too much sentiment. He broke away and slammed the door shut. His throat felt tight and he swallowed hard.
By the time he came around and climbed behind the steering wheel, gratefully, the mood had changed. She sat with her hands on her lap and a sexy gleam in her eye.
That's when he took in her well-washed jeans and her vee-neck T-shirt. “Shirt matches your eyes,” he said, cranking over the engine. Then before she could get all moony-eyed on him, he added, “How about your underwear?"
"I'll show you mine when you show me yours,” she replied coyly.
"I'm not wearing any."
Pulling away from the condo, he steered the truck toward the highway leading out to the ranch, and to the haystack, and the tractor.
Hell, he planned on showing her everything he had.
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Chapter Eighteen
Wooden frame house, dirt yard, no flowers. It wasn't Southfork.
"Your ranch is ... interesting,” Mercy said for lack of a more enthusiastic word as Spence pulled to a dusty stop in front of the porch.
Hopping down from the truck, she coughed and waved away the small cloud of grit his tires had kicked up.
"Needs paint.” He shrugged his hands into his pockets when he came to stand beside her, studying the ranch house as if he'd just noticed its faded, chipped, once-white paint.
"The place has a lot of potential.” A coat of paint, dark shutters, green grass, and some colorful wildflowers clumped near the front door would do wonders. Maybe a wicker porch swing. It needed a woman's touch.
She backed up a step. But not this woman's.
Shading her eyes, she looked beyond the house, across the flat green horizon. A few straggly trees, a crisscross of fences, no livestock. “No horses?"
"I had to sell the last horse for expense money."
Start up cash, she imagined. But he did have a tractor parked next to a weathered barn. Sort of a rusty, green-colored machine.
He followed the line her eyes had taken. “I didn't sell the tractor."
She flashed an admiring smile. “Big tires."
"Big customized seat. I'll take you for a ride later.” He draped his arm across her shoulder and led her up the three wooden steps and across the porch to the screened front door.
Inside, the house felt dark and cool, the shades pulled partially against the heat of the day and the sunlight. Aged floral wallpaper decorated the entryway, and the dining room and living room, which were both visible from the hall.
"Original,” she said, agreeably. Even the dust. Except for the hallway, a fine layer had settled on the floors and furniture. A musty smell permeated the closed-up rooms. “Seems like no one's lived here in awhile."
"I just moved back in a few weeks ago. Except to sleep, I haven't spent much time here."
She left the comfort of his arm to gaze at some wooden-framed pictures hanging randomly on the wall. Through the hazy glass and the dimness in the hallway, she squinted at a smiling, elderly couple. By the large number of blazing candles, they might've been celebrating a sixtieth birthday party. In another frame, in a photo blown up to nine by twelve, stood a handsome, grinning cowboy, sporting a shiny, large belt buckle.
"Family photos?” She glanced at Spence over her shoulder.
He looked down for a moment before he met her eyes. “Those are my parents,” he said, proudly, pointing to the happy couple. “They passed away. My best friend, Mark.” He tapped the glass of the other one. “He's the rodeo hero. He's dead now, too."
"Oh.” Sympathy for the hurt lurking behind his brooding eyes swelled in her chest. “I'm sorry.” Focusing on a picture of two boys holding fishing poles, she asked, “Are these your brothers?"
He chuckled. “No, that's me and Mark when we were kids. Neither of us could catch a trout, but we had heaps of fun trying."
She grinned. “I can tell by the fondness in your voice you miss him."
"Yeah.” He sauntered away, down the hallway toward the kitchen.
After studying the picture, she determined the taller boy was Spence. His dark eyes were the giveaway. She followed him into a linoleum-floored kitchen with seventies, avocado green appliances.
"Is this your family homestead?” she asked.
The muscles in his back rippled as he filled a glass with water from the spigot. He turned, leaned against the sink, and crossed one booted foot over the other. Through narrowed eyes, which made judging his emotions impossible, he simply said, “No.” Putting the glass to his mouth, he drank while watching her over the rim.
She stared at his mouth, his moistened lips, his throat as he swallowed. Walking over to him, she tugged on his belt loops until he stopped drinking, and then she took the glass from his lips. Straddling his legs, she sipped a mouthful of water, leaning back slightly so that her hips met his lean ones.
He was right. Enough nosy questions. Before she discovered more than she cared to know about the mysterious man. That he was good in bed was all that should interest her.
She pressed herself against the thick zipper of his blue jeans, straining into him further as she reached around to clatter the glass onto the drainboard. The movement effectively increased the pressure of her pubic bone against the hard heat of his cock beneath the denim, and she moaned.
He held her tighter, his masculine scent of soap and outdoors soaking through her pores as his strong hands spanned her waist. He notched his fly to fit against her crotch. The roughness of the denim and the metal of his zipper grated against her delicate sex lips, but the ache felt delicious. Her clit swelled and her fluids pooled between her thighs. Her breath quickened.
"I wouldn't mind a peek at the bedrooms.” She closed her eyes, enjoying the thrill running through her veins, firing her nerve endings.
His fingers dug into her spine, pulling her even closer, until she gasped with want. “Spence,” she hissed and forced her hand down between their bodies, rubbing the heel of her palm against his hard-on while the back of her hand excited her own crotch.
"That feels good,” he said, urging her on.
She tried to slip her hand down the waistband of his jeans but failed. “I want to feel you.” She fumbled at his zipper while working her leg along his hip, centering her pussy against his fly. Unable to get close enough, fast enough.
Blood pulsed in her eardrums, her heartbeat throbbed loud. She heard nothing and everything. Music—strange erratic notes of a classical nature.
"Your cell phone, babe.” He loosened his hold.
She groaned and pulled her cell free from her jeans. “I'm shutting it off.” When she flipped the phone open, checking to see that it wasn't her mother or uncle before she hit the power button, she heard the screech of Cindy's voice.
"Mercy. Mercy, are you there?” she spurted, a frantic edge to her voice. “An
swer me if you are. It's urgent."
"I better take this,” she mouthed to Spence, holding up a finger to indicate it wouldn't take long. “Hello,” Mercy croaked, her throat dry.
With a sigh, she eyed Spence's hands, missing his wild embrace while they'd primed for the ride of her life. His life.
"Are you with him?” Cindy whispered.
She wished she was with him, naked, but Cindy had interrupted that. “I'm at the ranch."
"Get out of there. Now."
Not sure she'd heard right, Mercy smiled at Spence and turned away so he wouldn't overhear her whacky friend running off at the mouth.
"Why?” she asked, tolerantly.
"Killer.” Cindy paused. “They call him Killer because he was in jail for killing a person."
"Are you crazy?” But her throat tightened. Either answer her friend gave, yes or no, was a losing proposition.
"No, I haven't lost my mind. They don't call him Killer because he's a lady killer. Well, maybe he is, but not in the sense we thought. He's a real murderer."
Real murderer. Mercy's heart pounded out each word.
Her hand shook. “Who's filling your head with this nonsense?"
Catching Spence from the corner of her eye, she saw him wander to the window, apparently to give her more privacy. He lifted the sash with a flip of his strong wrists, letting a warm breeze of sweet-smelling air filter through the stuffy room.
"Someone at the Starry Night told Rita he served time in jail for killing a person, and she waited until lunch break to tell me. Grr ... I should kill her.” She sucked in a quick breath. “You'd better get out of there right now. Are you stranded? Should I call the cops? Should I hitch a cab ride out and get you myself?"
"Calm down.” Mercy needed time to think. She pinched the bridge of her nose to staunch the burning sensation building behind her eyes. The sound of Spence breathing from a few feet away only messed with her concentration.
Cindy groaned. “Why couldn't you date someone safe like Jay? But not Jay, because he's mine.” Then she changed her train of thought. “Go outside so you have room to run ... until I get there ... or send the cops."
"No,” Mercy rasped. “Whatever you do, don't send the police. There must be a logical explanation. If he was going to harm me, he'd have done it long before this."