One Tough Cookie

by E C Sheedy

  "You're right. It isn't. If you want to be a drifter, it's your business."

  Willy's fork fell to her plate, its tines plumped with spaghetti. "I've never drifted in my life!" she fumed, not absolutely sure if she were telling the truth or not. Maybe she had drifted—a little. But she wasn't drifting now. Now she had a plan. And traveling with Dan to do the cookbook could hardly be called drifting.

  Taylor shrugged. "Like you said—not my concern."

  "For a man who wants to have sex with a woman, you're going about it in a damned strange way." She could tell by his sharp look her comment caught him by surprise—just not for long.

  "That was before." He took a mouthful of pasta, appeared to savor it.

  "What was before?"

  "My wanting to have sex with you. I've decided I'm not interested."

  "Oh." The word plopped onto the snowy white tablecloth like a daub of oil. She tried to rally. "Well, that's okay with me. Better than okay. It's a major relief."

  He gave her a wicked grin. "Liar," he added for good measure.

  "You really are a—"

  "Self-satisfied ass." He finished his manicotti and smiled at her. "I know. You already told me. I get the message."

  "Good," she muttered. Lowering her head, she went back to twirling her pasta, amazed to find herself fighting a curious sense of loss. She'd been seriously considering having sex with Taylor—given it a lot of thought. Not that she'd made her mind up, but still… She was already chiding herself for being a idiot, when she felt two warm fingers lift her chin. Then two serious eyes, the color of rain-soaked grass, sought her own.

  "Maybe I should clarify. I don't want to have sex with you, Willow. I want to make love with you. Long, leisurely, exhausting love. Love so hot the heat will last into the next century. But, unlike our French friend, Henri, I don't just want your body. I want more, much more." He pulled his hand back, held her eyes, then let his gaze sweep her mouth. Her lips trembled slightly. "And right now, I want to kiss you. I want to kiss you so bad, I ache. And I think that's what you want, too."

  Willow's throat was dry, cramped with fear and need. She was hot and her eyelids were prickling. She couldn't describe what was happening in her stomach. Crazy. Mad. She had to think. There was no doubt in her mind, no doubt at all. This was the one. Her mother's sad voice…

  You'll see, Willy. Someday he'll find you, and all your fancy arguments will crumble.

  His electric gaze was still on her when she found her voice. "I, uh... excuse me. I'll be right back."

  Chapter 6

  "So the coward returns."

  Taylor's words leaped from the blackness like sparks from an anvil. Willy stopped in her tracks, sandals hanging in one hand, bag in the other. What was he doing on her sofa? Two more steps and she'd have been sitting on him.

  "It's four in the morning, Taylor. Why aren't you in bed?"

  "I am in bed," he said. "Did you hear what I said?"

  "I heard you." She couldn't see him, but she heard the creak of springs when he sat up. She blinked when he turned on the lamp beside the sofa even though the bulb was of such low wattage it barely cast shadows. She dropped her shoes on the floor and her bag on the nearby table.

  Taylor ran a hand through his hair and looked up at her. "Then why don't you answer me?"

  "It wasn't exactly a question. Besides you're right. I am a coward—figured that out two minutes after I left the restaurant." She slumped into the chair directly across from him and began unplaiting her braid. There was a tiny coffee table between them. Taylor's shadow darkened its surface when he leaned forward to reach for his abandoned beer. Willy finished with her hair, shook it out, and started picking at the frayed upholstery on the arm of her chair. "I'm sorry I skipped. I really am. I shouldn't have done that, left you there. If nothing else, it was rude."

  "Hear. Hear," Taylor agreed, draining the beer. "What I don't get is why you ran off. It was you who wanted to talk. Right?" He looked to her for confirmation.

  "Right," she nodded miserably.

  "So?"

  "So what?" she mumbled.

  Taylor let the air out of his lungs in one long, exasperated rush, got to his feet, and came around the coffee table. She heard the empty beer can roll to the floor.

  The next second he pulled her out of her chair and up against his hard body. "You're making me crazy. So if talking's off the table, why don't we try it my way?"

  His mouth came down on hers. She had no time to breathe. All she could do was feel the wall of Taylor's bare chest, the surging strength of it pressed to her breasts, his firm hands on her shoulders. His mouth was stern, tense with frustration, and his fingers bit into her upper arms as if he expected her to pull away. But Willy knew it was too late for that, and when her hands, lodged tightly between their straining bodies, began seeking space to creep upward to his neck, Taylor knew it too.

  He eased his grip, lifted his mouth, and slanted it to settle more perfectly on hers. When her lips opened in an unmistakable invitation, he groaned, and said a silent prayer that this time she wouldn't run.

  Tread carefully, Monroe, and maybe you'll have a chance with this woman, this nutty, wonderful, thoroughly intoxicating woman. Pulling back, he brushed his lips over hers, giving her room to retreat if she wanted it.

  But as he reined himself in, Willow let go. It was her tongue that ran enticingly along the seam of his lips, then flicked impatiently for entry. It was her fingers that twisted into his hair, her nipples hardening against the muscles of his chest.

  But when she ground herself against his thigh, against his growing heat, it was him who gasped out the words, "Whoa... hold it here."

  His hands reclaimed her upper arms, and he took a step back. Never had retreat been so painful. Every nerve, every muscle, every male instinct in his body fought him.

  He swore softly and she looked up at him, her eyes dazed, then disappointed. Taylor's smile was shaky. "I'm getting that you're trying to tell me something. Am I right?"

  Willow gazed at him as if through a fog, but her words were clear. "I guess so."

  The vagueness of her answer made him frown. Not good enough. Not nearly good enough.

  "I think I want to... I guess we should, you know, do it!"

  I think, I guess! He let his hands drop from her arms.

  "What's the matter? Don't you want to?"

  "You mean don't I want to do it?" The high school language threw him off stride.

  She gave him a nervous look and nodded.

  "No. I don't want to do it." His denial swung in his head like a bell without a clapper.

  "Oh…"

  "What I want is to make love to you—with you. I want… oh, forget it." Desire clawed at him like a caged beast. Sure he wanted her—his body might as well have been a Times Square billboard announcing that fact. The adolescent in him was all for just doing it, finding a necessary release, but the man hesitated, oddly tenuous and uncertain. The truth was he wanted her to want him as much as he wanted her, and deep in his sex-addled brain fear hunched in a corner telling him that would never happen.

  So quit playing with her, Monroe, before you're in over your head.

  "But I don't want to forget it." Willow said the words so softly he almost missed them. "I want to make love with you, too, but I... I, uh, didn't know how to say it. I've never said it before. Mostly I'm too busy analyzing and second-guessing myself. But not tonight." She reached for his hand. "Tonight I want the kind of love you want. Hot. Leisurely and exhausting—like you said. I want you to break me in and wear me out, Monroe. Can you do that?"

  His chest took the sexual punch. His lungs constricted, her words overwhelming him. She'd offered him everything. Almost. His libido was in chaos. The words go easy, go easy thrummed in his head like a chant. A warning for him or Willow. He didn't know. And at this point, didn't give a damn.

  "Are you sure."

  "Yes. Very."

  "And afterward?"

  She hesitate
d. "Don't know. Can we figure that out…afterward. See how we feel." Another bit of silence. "I do want this, Taylor."

  She'd given him an afterward. For a man grasping for a grain of sand to stand on, it would do.

  Before he could speak, she said, "I've shocked you,"

  "Hell, I've been in a state of shock since we met. You're not the most predictable female I've ever met."

  "You want me then?"

  He pulled her flush to his aching erection. "More like need, Willow." He took her hand and placed it against his heart. "But what's up here is more like—"

  Willow hastily clamped her hand over his mouth. He saw panic in her eyes. "For now let's stick to the, uh, lower down problem. Okay?"

  Taylor grasped the hand covering his mouth, kissed it, even as he smiled. "For someone so new at this, you do have a way with words."

  "I might lack experience, but I'm no shrinking violet."

  "Thank God," he murmured, and taking her head between his hands, he lifted her face to his. "Thank God," he whispered again as his mouth found hers with a kiss hot enough to warp steel.

  Willow folded into him, her heart stopped, breath gone, will tattered. Her tongue danced with his, and the heat of it awed them both. As one, they shuddered and parted.

  Willy started to pull her dress off her shoulder.

  "What are you doing?" he asked.

  "I'm taking off my clothes. It is a prerequisite, isn't it?"

  "Too bad you're such a shy little thing."

  Her smile was both impudent and confident. "According to Henri, I've got nothing to be shy about."

  He stayed the hand pulling at the dress. "On that score Henri is right, but there are some things a man would rather do himself."

  "Oh. Right." She made a grimace. "Trying too hard, huh?"

  "You're nervous."

  "I'm not—"

  He touched her lips to silence her and ran a hand up to her shoulder, returning the dress to its previous position. "You are nervous—and so am I. The difference is I've been down this road before."

  "Would that be a back lane or Route 66?"

  "Funny." He rubbed a thumb across her lower lip.

  Willow smiled. "Pretty sure of yourself, aren't you?"

  "Sure of myself, yes. You, no. You scare the hell out of me."

  "Good. I wouldn't want it any other way." She wrapped her arms around his neck, pressed her long body to his, and smiled into his eyes. "Now, how about we test drive all that confidence of yours."

  Taylor kissed her again, his mouth sweeping over hers with only whispers of seduction. His arms encircled her, held her close. Close enough their heartbeats were one. Rapid and pounding. The kiss was leisurely, his mouth coaxing as if he had all the time in the world.

  Never had a kiss done such crazy things to her. Never had she been in a man's arms wanting more. And more.

  She inhaled the subtle scent of his aftershave, leaves and leather, the even subtler scent of him. Taylor the man. Indefinable. With a soft murmur he moved his mouth to her throat, her ear. This was where her brain cut out, where she bent her head, exposing more of her neck—even as her knees went molasses soft.

  Gently he drew her arms from around his neck.

  "Not here." His voice had a new husky quality.

  Weak from his kisses, she took a deep breath and followed him to the bedroom. Two steps in and her yellow-belly brain kicked in, started firing thoughts at her like shrapnel. Negative analytic thoughts. She fought back.

  This is the right thing to do, so you can just shut up. I've thought it through. No need for second guesses. It's the right time. The right place and—oh boy, is it the right man! I couldn't not do this if I tried. It's not as if I've fallen in love with him or gotten all gaga. I only want him—temporarily. I can handle this. Brain sneered and said, you're being a dumbass, but go ahead. We'll deal with it later.

  For a second, she tensed, and Taylor, sensing it, stopped near the foot of the bed.

  "Second thoughts?" He lifted one brow to look at her.

  "Not a one," she braved.

  He raised her hand to his mouth and kissed her palm. Sinuous strands of heat curled up her arms. Oh, yes. Definitely the right man. She closed her eyes.

  When she opened them, Taylor was standing near the bed. He leaned over and with one hand switched on the bedside lamp, his other holding hers tightly. When the dim light sheeted across the bed, it cast them both in a pale shadow.

  "Now. About this dress." There was light in his eyes, hot and quizzical. "I've been wondering about something since you stepped out of the bathroom before dinner, and now I'm going to find out."

  He took her face in his hands and kissed her softly. His hands followed the curve of her throat, downward to her shoulders, insinuating warm fingers between the stretchy fabric of her dress and her hot, tingling skin. He began peeling the dress from her shoulders. It surprised her that his pleasure in undressing her was also her own. She lifted her face to his, and in an effort to control her breathing, studied his expression.

  His eyes were focused on the task at hand. With easy, tantalizing grace, he pulled the dress down past the fullness of her breasts. She heard his breathing quicken, saw the slow fire build in his eyes. "I'm impressed."

  Fighting her nervousness, she managed a slight smile, a bit of sass. "I kind of thought you would be."

  Taylor laughed softly and pulled her bared torso flush to his body. It was like embracing flame. Suddenly his thin cotton shirt felt like canvas against her nipples. She wanted to tear it off and toss it over his head. Make him as naked as she was.

  Easing his hands to her elbows, he sat on the edge of the bed and pulled her to stand between his legs.

  Willow first felt the rush of his breath on her breasts, a forest-fire wind, then a light kiss on each nipple. She swallowed hard and placed her hands on his shoulders. So straight. So muscular. Like warmed oak.

  Expectant—of what she didn't know—and weirdly impatient, she clung to him as his hands journeyed up her midriff to rest under her breasts. Her thoughts blurred like rain-soaked ink, and all she wanted was to feel, to follow the eddying heat.

  He blew lightly on her rigid nipples before touching them with the pads of his thumbs. When she gasped, he filled his hands with her. Yes! She strained into them, and he buried his face between her breasts. Wild heat poured downward, pooling and smoldering in her core. Trembling, her limbs rubbery, she was uncertain how long she'd stay upright.

  Taylor fought with the raging gods of testosterone for restraint. With her breasts filling his hands, and every inch of her straining toward him, his brain was closing shop.

  Easy. Take it easy.

  He brought his head back and looked at her. She was breathing deep and hard, but she wasn't making a sound—holding back. He moved his thumb to the bottom of her nipple and lifted it. His tongue slicked over it as his hand shaped her breast to suckle. He tugged lightly at the hardened tip, then took it, took her, deep into his mouth.

  Willow let out a gasp and something like a purr—a stifled moan.

  "It's okay. Let it go. I want to know what you like." He licked a waiting nipple. At eye level, they were impossible to resist. "Do you like that?"

  She nodded and her short nails dug into his shoulders as if to seek support.

  "Did I tell you how much I like this dress?" He slid his fingers under the fabric and in one easy motion pulled it down and off her body. When he saw what was under it, he caught his breath. Damn near lost it. His lungs worked like a bellows. The tiny swath of ruby-red satin barely covered her patch of tawny curls. "Jesus…" And he'd thought down-under couldn't get any harder.

  "Is something wrong?"

  "No. Couldn't be more right." He forced his response from a constricted throat and pulled her down to the bed. Her blond hair fanned out over the worn quilt, and Taylor raised himself on an elbow to look at her. "You're beautiful, Willy." Beautiful didn't begin to say it, but for now it was all his fevered brain could c
ome up with.

  "Thank you," she said primly. "You're beautiful, too."

  Okay, so they were both verbally challenged…

  His mouth closed over hers, and he took her with his tongue. When Willow's body, its energy barely contained, responded instantly, what control he had evaporated. Her hands stroked, her tongue danced, letting him know she wanted it all. And everything he gave she gave back. His erection pressed against her made him crazy.

  She buried her face into the heat of his throat, then tugged at the neckline of his shirt. "I think this should—"

  She hadn't finished the question before he had the shirt off.

  "Better?"

  "Much better." Her voice was a rough whisper when she reached for his pants. "These, too. I want to... feel you." She undid the buttons, but when she pulled at his zipper, he stayed her hand—his heart was already jumping out of his chest, freeing his cock at this stage would put him in meltdown.

  "Not yet, I need the barrier. Just a little longer." His voice was thick when he rolled back to her. Stretched fully beneath him now, there was nothing but flimsy fabric and his fragmented control between them. He extended her arms over her head, held them there and explored her with his mouth, tasting, kissing, licking. Mouth. Throat. Shoulders. All of her he could reach. Then his mouth was on her breasts, tasting then suckling her erect sensitive nipples.

  Veering downward, he kissed the underside of her breast, swept over her midsection. Finally nuzzling her at the soft red-satin apex between her thighs. Placing a hand inside each thigh, he exerted a light pressure. "You have to open for me, baby, but first the satin's got to go. You good with that?"

  Her hands came down to rest on his head and her voice was shaky. "I'm good. Nervous, but good."

  "It'll be okay. Lie back. Let me love you. I don't want to hurt you." He moved up and over her again to take her head in his hands. "I want it to be good for you. So good you'll never forget it—or me."

  He saw her swallow, then nod again.

  The trust in her eyes nearly undid him.

  He locked his thumbs into the flimsy threads of satin resting on each side of her hips. Letting out a silent breath, he pulled them down her legs and dropped the wisp of material to the floor. Bare to him, she took his breath away. He outlined her seductive, muscular body with his hands from shoulders to knees. His own need surged, threatened to engulf him.