by Lori Wilde
Sweetheart.
A squishy feeling squeezed her chest. It was a dangerous word that conjured boyfriend images. Yes, she liked him. Yes, this was a very good night. Yes, she wanted more, but she didn’t expect it. Or, rather, didn’t want to start expecting it.
Sweetheart stirred expectations, and expectations stirred fear.
“Allie?”
“Fine.” She bobbed her head, then realized he was checking to make sure she was ready to take this show to its final conclusion. “I’m fine. Finer than fine.”
He stretched out beside her, raised up on one elbow, and looked down at her with an expression of such acceptance and tenderness that her heart floated up out of her chest and into her throat, bobbing like a helium-filled balloon.
Remember this: Balloons burst. Or float away. They don’t stay bright and cheery and high forever.
He leaned toward her, his big body parallel to hers. “Is it okay if I kiss you now?”
“You don’t have to ask permission,” she said. “I want this as much as you do.”
“Allie,” he said her name simply and gathered her against him. Inhaled the scent of her hair. Pressed his mouth against hers.
He tasted of her. Salty and sexy. What a turn on!
She tugged his head down, deepening the kiss. Letting him know it was okay to share. She loved the mingling, the merging, the magic of two people fully enjoying each other’s bodies.
“Mmm,” he moaned as if tasting the most fabulous meal ever cooked.
They laughed together. And kissed. Long and slow and creatively.
He rolled her over, flipping her on top of him, her knees falling to either side of his hips, straddling him. His hands circled her waist, holding her poised over this straining erection.
“Look at me,” he whispered.
They exchanged glances.
“Do you feel it?” he asked.
“What?” she whispered back.
“Our energies converging.”
Oh, boy, did she feel it! The heat and vibration surging from him into her even without yet being joined.
Slowly, he began to lower her down onto him. She reached to touch his shaft, to guide him into her willing wetness.
“No hands,” he commanded. “Let our bodies find their way.”
His control was amazing. Millimeter by millimeter, he lowered her until she could feel the throbbing head of him pulsating at her entrance. Full of vital life force. She wanted to engulf him. Absorb him. Be part of him.
She wriggled, trying to get lower, trying to connect even more with him. But his hands held firmly around her waist, holding her at that exquisite level of almost having what she wanted, but not quite able to get there.
“Bastard,” she said and he laughed.
But in a moment, he relinquished and eased her down on top of him. She gasped, joyous. He grinned and patted her butt as she settled in, her body stretching over his.
She shifted, savoring the pressure of his body inside hers. He hissed a you-feel-so-damn-good sound that vibrated throughout her body. Shivers of pleasure washed over her.
They were fully connected. No separation. Allie and this man she barely knew; the man who’d saved her twice.
She stared down at him and he peered up at her, and for a sweet, blissful moment they didn’t move. Then he cupped her breasts and she rocked forward and he groaned.
I might never see him again. The notion rolled around in her head. Of course, she would see him again. They lived in the same building. They worked in the same area. If she wanted to get real about it, what she meant was, I might not ever get to do this with him again.
Pinch. Twist. Ah, yes. The truth.
Her heart skipped a beat. Was this a one-night stand? She’d been swept away by need and desire. Hadn’t really thought this through. How did she feel about that?
Rick pulled her head down and kissed her thoroughly. A kiss that seemed to promise they would do this again and again and again.
The look in his eyes, the emotions gripping her when he held her gaze for so long, told her this was more than a casual thing. This was a relationship. It might only be a physical relationship, but they were together. Maybe not forever, maybe not for very long, but they were coupled.
Joined.
Merged.
Like it or not, this night meant something. The paradigm had shifted, and the way she thought about sex would never be the same. She was changing. He was changing her. From a girl who looked through rose-colored glasses at the world, to a woman who could see clearly the beauty in faults and flaws as well as strengths and assets.
Life wasn’t about ignoring the problems and hoping for the best. Rather, she was growing in the knowledge that seeing those problems as opportunities and tackling them with her eyes wide open made her stronger, tougher and more independent. She didn’t need anyone to save her.
She could save herself.
If this relationship crashed and burned, losing him would not destroy her. She could and would handle it.
But right now, she was going to handle him. In the best way possible. Allie smiled in the darkness.
“What’s so funny?” he asked.
“You,” she said, reaching around to grip his hips and pull herself down farther onto him.
“Woman,” he gasped and sunk his fingers into her buttocks. “You’re driving me out of my ever-loving mind.”
She rocked back and forth, giggling.
“Ride ’em cowgirl,” he said, wrapping his arms around her back and sitting up, sending her somehow impossibly deeper. He fisted one hand around her hair, holding her in place while he captured her lips and kissed her hard and long.
They were rocking together now. A single unit. Bouncing on the mattress, squeaking the bedsprings.
Drunk with the wildness of their joining, of him, of them, she closed her eyes and let the eclipse slide over her.
“That’s right, sweetheart,” he said, using that lovely word again. “Just let go. I’ve got this. I’ve got you.”
His voice was a fleece blanket, warm and soft, carrying her away, keeping her safe. He nuzzled her neck, nibbled her earlobe. His tongue licked her tender flesh. Goosebumps raised on her skin, spread down her body.
Without warning, he tucked his arm around her waist and flipped them over in one smooth unit until he was on top, cradling her head in his hands, peering into her eyes.
Allie felt him grow harder inside her and she let out a little moan.
“God, you are so beautiful. I’ve imagined you naked in my bed from the moment I saw you walking across East Exchange Avenue.”
“Really?” She smiled, feeling a bit self-conscious. She never thought of herself as particularly beautiful. Pretty, okay. But beautiful? Not by a long shot.
In his eyes, she saw her reflection, and realized he truly found her beautiful. That touched her, humbled her.
Rick stroked her cheeks with his fingers, planted kisses everywhere he touched. Her forehead. Her chin. The tip of her nose. “Do you have any idea how sexy you are?”
When he said it like that, she felt sexy. She lowered her lashes, sent him a coy glance.
He tugged her closer to him, moved inside her. Slowly at first, getting a leisurely rhythm going. He tilted his pelvis against hers, rubbing the spot that sent electric sensation flooding her.
She surrendered. Just let go.
And what a ride!
Their mouths, their bodies, their minds. Creative. Expressive. Instruments of pleasure. But it was more than that. Higher. Rarer. Performance art. They were creating art with their bodies, with each other, a magnificent, timeless dance of love.
This was why people called it lovemaking. She felt cherished, and she cherished him in return.
But along with the cherishing came the charging heat and fiery desire. The blistering, crackling, sizzling need. They were caught in a swirl of lips and tongues, arms and legs. Tangled. Entangled. Enmeshed.
A dance of penetration
and retreat. Of ebb and flow. Profound. Complex. Tricky. Sticky. Wet and willing.
Sensitive. Her entire body was hypersensitive to his touch. Receptive. She was aware of every brush of his fingers, every breath he took—the taste of his skin, the sight of his bare tanned skin, the throb of him.
Her cells tingled and glowed. It seemed a top-secret message from the universe. Confidential and hush-hush. Just the two of them in on this great and powerful answer to the mystery of life.
Love.
She thought it. Felt it. And in that moment, knew it.
A breathless whirl. Visions of possibilities. Shadow and light. The world was inside of her and she was inside the world. Vast. Endless. No limits.
Falling. Oh, she was falling.
While at the same time, rising. Surging up on energy and passion. Soaring to the apex of something big. A comet shooting across the sky, high, arcing…
Headed for a beautiful, shattering plunge into unmapped territory.
Rick was pushing her to those majestic heights, his body thrusting into hers. She writhed beneath him, her hands fisting the sheets, toes curling in ecstasy.
“You okay, Rosy?” he whispered, his voice husky and brusque with urgency. He was as ready as she was.
“Yes, oh, yes.” She pushed against him, urgent for more, ready to share the ultimate with him.
He responded. Quickened the pace, deepening the pressure, rocking into her hard and swift. The world tilted. The universe rattled. The galaxy split.
Every part of her turned electric indigo, icy hot, and fiery cold. Dichotomy. Yin and Yang. Opposites forming the perfect whole.
Their sweaty bodies clinging, climbing, crashing. She cried out his name. He groaned hers.
She had never felt so magnificent. So sexy. So much like a woman.
A final thrust. That last stroke and she cracked wide open. The deep, shudder of release cleaving through the middle of her. Robbing her of breath. Sapping her strength. Draining all the tension from her body.
She sucked in a mouthful of sheet, laughed. Sighed. Cried.
Rick made noises of his own. Male, guttural, earthy.
She grinned, feeling erotic and powerful. She had reduced him to a quivering mass inside of her.
Rick fell to his side, gathered her in his arms, and cradled her in the crook of his elbow. He kissed her cheek and tightened his grip as if he intended on never letting her go.
His face was shiny in the light from the hallway, his satisfied smile so incredibly sexy she could hardly stand it. She had just made love with this strong, gorgeous man.
And it was the best night of her entire life.
Chapter 8
Driven by thirst, Allie padded through Rick’s living room wearing nothing but his western shirt that hit at her knees. It was easier than putting on her button-up-the-back dress and besides, his smell was on the shirt and she liked it. She inhaled, grinned at the sunlight seeping in through the window blinds.
The kitchen was laid out much like her own. Small galley kitchen with top-of-the-line upgrades. Quartz countertops. White cabinets. Stainless steel appliances. Marble floor. The old apartment building had undergone major renovations with the recent gentrification of the Stockyards. The makeover had shot rent prices through the roof, which was why she was working two jobs until she could find a new roomie.
How did Rick afford his apartment without a roommate?
It occurred to her how little she knew about him. What did he do when he wasn’t a diorama actor? Maybe he was a trust fund baby and didn’t really have to work.
The urge to snoop through his things slipped over her, but she fought against it. No. She wasn’t going to violate his privacy. Some people might consider her foolish, but she trusted him. Especially after last night.
Smiling at the memory and the sweet soreness in her body, she fingered her puffy lips, dry and swollen from the force and quantity of his kisses.
Water. Yes, that’s what she was after.
The kitchen was different from hers in color and content. Hers was Tuscan yellow with elaborate murals she’d painted on the walls, and it was pretty well devoid of cooking supplies. She was a takeout kind of girl. Her kitchen mostly housed her art supplies. Her previous roommate, a flight attendant, had been cool with that. The next roommate might not be so forgiving of modeling clay in the cookie jar and charcoal pencils in the pantry. She’d have to rethink the logistics of where she stored her art supplies if that happened.
Rick’s walls were a trendy gray. The entire kitchen was black, white, and shades of gray. The pops of color came from food. Avocadoes in a crystal bowl. Bananas in a hammock. Oranges, lemons, limes, grapefruits in a big wicker basket. Lush red tomatoes on the counter.
Was he a foodie?
She opened the refrigerator and peeked in—a girl could only contain her curiosity for so long—clean, well-organized. Grass-fed butter in the dairy drawer. Artisan cheeses. Full fat cream. A crisper full of kale, spinach, lettuce, broccoli, carrots and cabbage.
A foodie and healthy to boot.
But of course. A man didn’t get a body like that by eating junk food.
She spied a pitcher of filtered water and took it out of the fridge. She found a glass in the cabinet, poured up the cold, clear water, and sucked down the whole glass in three thirsty gulps.
Then her eyes fell on the espresso maker. Coffee. Mmm.
It took her a few minutes to figure out the complicated machine, but she finally coaxed a cappuccino out of it. Took a sip.
Holy cowboy! That was one great cup of coffee.
Heavenly. Wrapping both hands around the oversized cup, she stepped to the window that looked out into the shared courtyard. She could see her own apartment across the way.
She loved the early morning light. The subtle shift of colors. Sleepy pinks, purples, and blues, merging inch by inch into the soft glow of yellow and orange. She inhaled the steam of coffee, the smell of Rick, the freshness of a new day.
A rich sadness crept over her. Last night, as wonderful as it had been, was over. In the past.
And the future?
Well, that was pretty uncertain, wasn’t it? She had no idea what last night meant in terms of going forward. Things might not work out. He might not be as invested as she was.
But Allie couldn’t regret last night. She’d learned a long time ago to live in the moment. Yes, sometimes that made her impulsive, but when you stayed in the moment, you could handle practically anything.
Right now, the morning was beautiful, the coffee was exquisite, her body was sore in the best possible way, and she felt well and thoroughly loved.
A tear slid down her cheek, surprising her. She swiped it away and found herself filled suddenly with a melancholy yearning she could not explain nor name.
But she wasn’t upset. There was a special kind of beauty in the uncertainty. Her heart was open. Ready for what lay ahead. It was okay. She was okay. No matter what happened between her and Rick.
She turned from the window, trailed into the living room. Savored the feel of the floor beneath her feet as it shifted from marble to hardwood. From cool to warm.
This room was straightforward. Masculine. Big leather couch and chairs. A lamp made of horseshoes. Another made from an old cowboy boot. Buffalo hide rug. A deer antler hat rack with three Stetsons hanging from the horns. One black, one white, one straw. Cowtown staples.
Pictures of rodeo cowboys in barbwire frames lined one wall. She stepped closer to study the riders on the backs of bucking bulls. Realized it was the same cowboy in each of the ten photographs. A safety helmet shielded his face, but she recognized him.
Rick.
Except written in pencil at the bottom of each picture was the name of the bull and the rider—Kade. El Diablo and Kade, Freight Train and Kade, Tornado and Kade…
Allie cocked her head. Studied the pictures intimately. Did Rick have a twin brother named Kade?
“Morning, Nosy Rosy.”
Caught off guard, Allie squeaked, jumped, spun around.
Rick was standing between the hallway and the living room, wearing only a pair of boxer shorts and a devastating smile. The cowlick at the back of his head stood straight up and he had an adorable sheet crease across his right cheek. “Haven’t you heard? Curiosity killed the cat.”
“Now you know the truth about me,” she teased. “I’m not above snooping.”
“Remind me to keep my secrets under lock and key,” he said.
Remind me. As if there was going to be a next time. Her heart took off like a fledging eagle, wings quivering on a stiff breeze.
“You have a brother.” She nodded at the pictures. “Kade. Are you two twins?”
He came closer, but his eyes were on the pictures, and he had an odd look on his face. She wondered if he and his brother were estranged. Or if something terrible had happened to Kade.
Allie bit her bottom lip. Why couldn’t she mind her own business?
“My dad raised rodeo bulls,” he said.
She noticed he did not answer her question about Kade. She would not ask again. It was none of her business, and clearly he did not want to talk about his twin.
He stepped closer, took the coffee cup from her hands, set it on the fireplace mantel above her head. Tugged her into his arms. Kissed her softly.
“There’re things I can’t tell you, Allie,” he murmured. “Not now. Not yet. But I want you to know, you can trust me.”
The hairs at the back of her neck prickled at his cryptic words. But she trusted him. Yes, she did. He’d never given her reason to doubt him. She believed people lived up to your expectations of them. And she expected the best from him.
“Does your dad still raise bulls?” she asked, mainly because she didn’t know what else to say.
“Dad died when I was twenty,” he said.
Her throat clenched. “I’m so sorry.”
His shoulders went up, a casual shrug. She’d seen him do that before. A defense mechanism against his feelings. “It was almost ten years ago. I’ve weathered it. We had our differences, but he was a good father. Taught me about honor and integrity. I’m grateful I had him for as long as I did.”