“Either I had unprotected and terrible sex with a micro penis. Or I failed at Operation Fun Time Mara.”
“I have video from last night saying otherwise. You were most definitely fun time Mara earlier in the evening.”
“Maybe I peaked too early. You can lead a thoroughbred to the mare, but you can’t force him to do the deed.”
“I thought you didn’t even like horses.” She sounds as confused as I am by the weird turn our conversation has taken.
“I don’t.” I stare at her blankly.
“Speaking of horses, tell me more about last night.” Her eyebrows do a little dance on her forehead as she makes a lame attempt at innuendo.
I hate to squash her hopes and dreams of good dirt with my inability to remember, or more importantly, feel, anything from last night. “Non stallion status.”
“Boo. He was all big hands and long limbs. How deceitful.”
“Leave it to me to have a one-night stand and not be able to remember the details.”
“Are you sure you had sex?” She sits down next to me. “I’m a little worried you can’t recall any details.”
Dread settles low in my belly. “Do you think I was roofied?”
“You know, I like to see the best in people and walk on the sunny side of life, but you weren’t that drunk when you left the bar with him.”
“I almost hurled on his shoes. I think it’s possible I passed out or fell asleep before the good stuff.”
Our friend Nina walks into my room holding a piece of paper. She looks like I feel, all messy eye makeup and silly string in her hair. “Who’s Jesse?”
“The micro-penis I tried to have sex with last night?” I can’t bother to lift my head.
“Well, he left you a note on the coffee table.” She waves the paper around. I pretend to reach for it from the bed.
“What does it say?”
Sofie intervenes and steals it from Nina. “Thanks for a memorable night. I haven’t laughed so hard in a long time.”
I groan.
Sofie snickers. “Laughter doesn’t sound like a hot time.”
“Is there more?”
She continues reading, “I hope you’re not too hungover this morning. I stayed as long as I could. Sorry about your clothes. J.”
Nina lies down next to me. “Doesn’t sound like a post-sex note to me.”
“What does he mean by your clothes?” Sofie asks
“Everything’s in a heap in the shower.”
“Are you sure you didn’t throw up?” Nina leans away from me like I’m contagious.
I press my fists against my eyes. “I don’t think so. There isn’t any evidence.”
Vague memories of kissing in a fountain flit through my head. Not a fountain. More like a hose, or spray. None of it clicks together into a cohesive timeline.
Sofie pets my hair. “At least you didn’t imagine him here. You have proof of life.”
“I didn’t kidnap him. He came willingly. I think.”
Nina scoffs. “The coming is the big mystery, isn’t it?”
“We’re not going to figure out Mara’s mysterious night if she can’t give us more details, and her prince charming is MIA.” Sofie pats my shoulder.
“Did he steal one of your shoes so he’ll be able to find you again?” Nina asks.
“He wasn’t a weirdo.” I’m mostly confident in the truth of this statement. I think. Maybe.
“The note is a nice touch, but doesn’t negate the potential for being a weirdo.”
“Nina, your law school is showing. Can we stop arguing the evidence and forget it ever happened?” Shame and embarrassment begin to creep into my head. Tears fill the corner of my eyes and slip into my hair.
“Oh, Mara.”
“Can we never speak of this again?” I swipe away the tears. “Let’s pretend I had the time of my life and multiple orgasms.”
“Maybe he screwed you stupid.”
“Nina!” Sofie and I shout at the same time.
“What? I’m trying to be helpful. Maybe the sex was incredibly, off the charts, hot and you lost brain cells because of all of the orgasms.”
Biologically, it’s not possible, but I like her idea better than a failed one-night stand or unmemorable sexing.
Chapter 18
Mara
MY TRUTHS ARE untrue.
“We didn’t have sex. I promise when we do, you’ll remember it.”
I’m not sure if I should be relieved or frustrated, embarrassed or happy we didn’t have sex two years ago. I’ve been walking around thinking life is one way with certain truths and facts, but it’s all been a lie.
I’m relieved sex with Jesse didn’t suck. I’m frustrated I can’t remember the rest of the night.
I’m embarrassed I had to ask him.
Then he goes and says when we have sex. Not if. When.
I gulp the rest of my hard cider.
How soon is when? Now?
I seriously consider dragging him into the bathroom right over there. Hell, we can find a private spot behind a tree. Although these ski clothes might make it impossible to get busy. Plus, snow is cold.
While he kisses me, I have a whole conversation in my head about where on this mountain we can have sex.
I squeeze my legs together to keep myself from moaning. The pressure relieves the urge to mount him.
Public mounting is probably frowned upon in Aspen. At least before noon and if neither the mounter or the mountie is famous. Or loosely related to someone famous. Or a Kardashian. Or any number of hotel heiresses.
I don’t think Jesse falls into this category, but Aspen is a ski town, so his brother’s fame might count.
What am I thinking? I’m rationalizing attacking him in the middle of the day. In front of families with children. In front of strangers. Everything about the idea is wrong, but I’m still not entirely convinced it’s a bad one. I imagine things get pretty wild during après ski around here. It’s three o’clock somewhere.
Before I do something that might get us arrested, or him fired, I break away from his kiss.
I straighten my spine and pretend we weren’t making out two seconds ago.
Inhaling slowly, I calm my racing heart.
“Don’t you ever get tired of skiing?” I dip my stolen pizza crust into my ranch dressing like we’ve just been sitting here chatting, not letting our lust run wild.
His silence brings my eyes up to meet his warm, golden brown eyes. Honestly, he looks a little flushed and his lips are a deeper rose against the copper-flecked dark scruff.
“Do you get tired of breathing? Or waking up every morning alive?” He sits up and drinks the rest of his beer. At this altitude, the sun is strong enough, he’s peeled off his jacket and pushed up the sleeves of his T-shirt.
I laugh before realizing he’s serious.
“Please don’t say breathing is overrated.” He licks a little drop of ranch dressing off of the side of my thumb. No, he sucks the skin into his mouth and his tongue darts out to finish the job.
I replay the action in my head a few times.
Yep, totally dirty.
Maybe my food is drugged. Or the ginger snap I ate earlier was no ordinary cookie. Okay, it wasn’t, but I needed something to help calm my anxiety over skiing again. There’s a shop in Aspen with yummy edibles, aka an anxious girl’s best friends.
“Are you okay?” His voice breaks through the crazy thoughts running unfettered in my head. “You’re flushed and have a wild look in your eyes.”
I finish off my glass of ice water in a few large gulps. “Fine. Why?”
With the corner of my napkin, I dab my chin. “Do I have something on my face?”
He gestures to the corner of his own mouth. “Something right there.”
I swipe the napkin over the spot on my lips, but it comes away clean. Repeating the motion, I stare at him. “Did I get it?”
He leans closer, close enough I can see flecks of amber in the warm caramel o
f his eyes. “My bad. I think it was drool.”
Did he seriously just play me?
“What would I be drooling over?”
“Me.” There’s not a second of hesitation in his voice. “Of course.”
“Wow. Arrogant much?”
“Stating the facts.” His normally sweet smile has a gloating edge to it. He’s showing too many teeth.
“Which are what?” I narrow my eyes at him.
“You think I’m hot.” Hell yes, I’m not blind.
“Don’t get too full of yourself. I was drinking water. I can see how the two could be easily confused.”
“Right.” The dimple of suppressed amusement makes its appearance.
“Is your ego so delicate you need me to be your personal fluffer?” I pretend to fluff a pillow.
His eyes widen. “You need to stop.”
“Why?”
“It’s obscene.” He tries to grab my hands.
I repeat the gesture with both hands. “How?”
“Not whatever you’re doing with your hands. The word fluffer. It’s a dirty job.” He presses his lips together.
“Like the show where the guy goes and does disgusting things people do for work?”
“No, like in porn.” He’s trying not to laugh and about a second from failing.
My hands still mid-air. Now it looks like I’m groping imaginary boobs. I drop them into my lap and sit on them to avoid any further levels of mortification.
“This is going well.” Embarrassment rises from my chest up my neck to my cheeks.
Jesse apparently thinks so because he’s full-out laughing now. The man tosses his head back and lets laughter roar out of him.
At my expense.
“Can you keep it down a little? I’m trying to die a quiet, respectable death here and now people are staring.” I poke him in the side.
He takes a moment or two to regain control of his laughter. Each time I think he’s done, another chuckle bursts out of him like a bubble rising to the surface of a champagne flute.
His shoulders tremble with amusement as he tries to look me in the eye. I swear his face deepens with color as he attempts to hold in the laughter.
“Go on, then. Don’t burst something trying to contain it. Let it out before you hurt yourself.” I give up the last shred of my dignity.
When he kisses me, his shoulders still shake from aftershocks, but I don’t mind because his tongue is in my mouth doing magical things.
Chapter 19
Mara
IF SLOTH IS my vice, patience is most definitely not my virtue.
We kissed and canoodled all over the mountain on Sunday. It was heavenly torture.
He walked me to my car and kissed me stupid in the parking lot. Yes, I was still wearing my helmet.
Then he left me high and dry again with a promise he’d make it worth the wait. The way he lowered his voice and whispered the words against my ear like he was telling me a secret made me want to risk arrest and jump him in public. Again.
I’m about to explode from sexual frustration.
I’m not a people doctor, but I am a medical professional, so I can say with some authority dying from horniness might be possible.
Now we’re trapped together in his Land Cruiser on a visit to the Mushers Kennel.
Jesse’s talk about guns and anti-city people sentiments has me nervous as we drive down a private, unpaved road marked with No Trespassing, Private Property, and No Hunting signs along the open wood fencing. Keep out. Got it.
We pass a pen with small kennels and about two dozen barking dogs. They’re creating a ruckus but their body language is excited, not fearful. From the window, I see loose tails and ears up, no raised hackles. I’ll take it as a good sign.
Elizabeth called and set up the meeting, so we’re not arriving unexpected. Part of me wanted the element of surprise so they couldn’t hide any evidence of wrongdoing. However, when Jesse brought up his concerns, I’m grateful we have an appointment.
The barking and yipping intensifies as we get out of the SUV. A bowlegged man in jeans, work boots, and a shearling-lined jean jacket steps out of a single story barn-like building to greet us.
“Hey, Jesse. Long time.” He grips Jesse’s arm while he shakes his hand.
“Mr. Anderson, good to see you.” His smile is genuine and disarms me.
“Haven’t seen you since Cody’s funeral. Such a fucking tragedy.” His eyes flick to me. “Sorry for the cussing.”
Funeral?
Not retired. Dead.
My mouth hovers open and I clamp it shut when Jesse glances at me.
Play it cool, Mara. You don’t know him well. There’s probably a good reason why you don’t know more about his brother.
Now my curiosity is piqued even more about Willow. Is she Cody’s widow? Is he dating his dead brother’s ex? What sort of soap opera is this?
“You must be Dr. Keiley.” Mr. Anderson steps forward with his hand extended. “Thanks for coming out to see us. We’ve known Elizabeth a long time.”
I shake his hand while imagining Jesse and I starring in a telenovela set in Colorado. “Thanks for allowing me to come visit you.”
“I suppose you want to see the dogs. Let’s visit the kennels and then we can get warm inside with coffee and some of Granny’s pie. You like pecan?”
Evil people who neglect and abuse dogs don’t typically offer you homemade pie. At least this is what I tell myself as we walk through the kennel.
The dogs are excited, but generally in good health. I don’t see anything alarming or that raises any warnings. Sure, the kennels could use some updates, but overall, it’s above board. Mr. Anderson shows me their storage and grooming areas while we talk about genetics and breeding. I try to gently encourage him to spay and neuter the majority of his dogs while keeping a few to breed. Lines get too inbred and the quality of the dogs suffers, bringing on cancers and joint issues. Satisfied the operation is compliant, I ask about the pie he mentioned when we arrived.
Inside a log house with a large stone fireplace, we sip coffee and eat big slices of pecan pie. A big scoop of ice cream melts on the top of mine. Who cares if it’s ten-thirty in the morning? Pie is the best breakfast food there is.
I make some recommendations for a salve for the dogs’ pads and offer to bring a mobile unit out a couple of times a year for shots and exams.
Once we are bumping along the unpaved road back to the main highway, I confess to Jesse I imagined a nightmare.
“You’ve got to give people the benefit of the doubt. Most of us have good intentions, even if we don’t know better.”
“I’ve heard horror stories. We took in five dogs and eight cats from a hoarding situation down valley when I first arrived.” My eyes well up at the memory. “Those poor innocent beasties.”
He covers my hand with his. “You have a kind heart, Mara Keiley.”
“I’m a big mush ball.” I swipe away a few tears.
“You did good back there. Anderson’s not the easiest man to get along with. You had him wrapped around your finger. I bet he’ll do right just to keep on your good side.”
“Then he’s a smart man.” I smirk at him and he returns it with a grin of his own. “Let’s go celebrate.”
He frowns for a second and then recovers. “Can’t. I have to be up on the mountain for a meeting in an hour.”
“Then how about dinner?”
“Are you asking me out?” A slow smile tugs at his lips
“No. Maybe.”
“How about you come over to my place and I’ll cook us dinner.”
“Okay,” I say without pause.
“You like spicy?”
“Depends.”
“I’ll make my family’s green chile stew for you if you can handle a little heat.”
He’s talking about food, I tell myself.
“I can handle it.”
Still about food. Not dirty. Nope.
At least he’s not promising
to make bratwurst or kielbasa or bangers and mash. I won’t be able to keep a straight face if he serves me sausage.
He drops me off at the clinic and gives me his address.
After giving him a quick kiss on the cheek, I hop out of his SUV.
I think I have a date. It might not be a date, but if it is, I’m going to need reinforcements.
I spot the small white sign at the end of a narrow alley and follow the brick path lined with evergreen-filled planter boxes to the front door. Behind the large picture window, lace and silk create a colorful display.
The tinkling of bells hung on the door handle announce my arrival to Aspen’s best-kept secret: Cheeks.
Lingerie fills the small space, with everything from demure pink pajamas to a black leather corset.
In my clogs and jeans, I feel out of place in the land of seduction.
“I’ll be with you in a second,” a female voice calls from the little hall to the left where I assume the dressing rooms are located.
I lift the tag on a teal nightie trimmed in black lace. My eyes bug out at the zeros. “Three hundred dollars? For sleeping?”
“I know, can you believe it? Honestly, most of this stuff ends up on the floor in minutes. I guess that’s the point.” Sage rounds the corner carrying an armful of bras. “Mara! I didn’t realize it was you.”
We attempt to hug around the thousands of dollars’ worth of lace in her arms.
“What are you doing here?” She drops the pile onto the counter. The ends of her blond hair are pink today and match her loose sweater.
“Shopping?” The word comes out a question.
“Oh, do you have a hot date?” Wiggling her eyebrows, she does a little shimmy dance.
“Maybe?” Why does my voice keep rising at the end of every one-word sentence? I’m buying underwear, not a dungeon costume. My gaze slides over to the leather corset.
Sage follows my focus and then she playfully slaps my arm. “Kinky stuff? Ooh, you have to tell me who.”
The roots of my hair blush as my face heats. “No! No, no. No.”
At least I don’t think so, although Jesse is kind of bossy. My eyes bug out. What if he’s into bondage and making me call him Big Daddy?
Crazy Over You (Love with Altitude #2) Page 13