by Lacey Baker
Her verbal reply was a simple, “I’m fine.”
“Good,” was his response. “I’ll be right back.”
And then he was gone, running up the stairs just as his dog had done a few minutes ago. With a sigh Drew closed her eyes, wondering when exactly her quiet life in this small town had been changed.
* * *
“You’re not funny,” Parker yelled from the center of Drew’s living room, where he stood looking around for Rufus. “And I’m losing my patience with this little disappearing act of yours.”
“Having trouble with your dog?” Drew asked from the doorway.
Parker turned to her voice and wanted to groan. It wasn’t fair. This day could not possibly get any worse, yet as each minute passed, it did.
She looked amazing. Hair in a sloppy ponytail, the ends a little wet, some matted to her forehead, an adorable flush at her cheeks, and that sexy-ass shirt—even if it was the freakin’ Yankees—teasing him with a generous view of her legs and not enough of the rest of her. The moment she’d pulled that door open, his body had tightened with need, his throat constricting with lust. He’d recognized both sensations immediately and quickly tamped them down. Now was neither the time nor the place. He was here to retrieve his dog, not to attempt another seduction of Drew Sidney.
Yet the fates played a cruel game with him. Why have her come to the door looking so damned doable if she wasn’t, or shouldn’t be, or whatever the hell, he was just having a really bad day!
“My dog is having trouble remembering the rules,” he snapped, looking away from her quickly because that seemed like his only viable defense.
“It might be the way you’re enforcing the rules. I hear Labs should be trained early on to curtail their behavior,” she told him.
Parker had just stood up from looking beneath the futon, which was amazingly low to the ground. Rufus could have squeezed beneath there, but he wouldn’t stay in that cramped space for long. The one thing Parker had learned about the dog in the time he’d had him was that Rufus loved space to run and to play with whatever he found amusing at the moment. He took things, hiding them from Parker on more than one occasion—the remote control, shoes, even Parker’s baton from his utility belt, which he’d packed and brought with him regardless of his suspension from work.
“Rufus loves to play,” he said, standing and looking around the room once more.
It was a small apartment that led to her bedroom on one side and the kitchen on the other. He remembered her bedroom and frowned. Rufus might be in there.
“Do you mind?” he asked her before going in that direction.
“Why don’t I have a look?” she countered. “If you’re the one he’s running from, he might be more amenable to a new face. And since he keeps showing up at my doorstep, he obviously likes me at least a little bit.”
Parker wanted to tell her that regardless of his dog’s feelings, he liked her more than a little bit. But he refrained. “Fine,” he replied tightly.
She disappeared into the bedroom, and Parker moved around her living room once more. This time he stood near a built-in shelving unit where she had more knickknacks than he thought he’d ever seen in one place. Upon closer inspection, he realized they weren’t just knickknacks, but salt and pepper shakers. There was a set that looked like spooky eyeballs, one that consisted of peas in a pod, a bumblebee and a flower, and many more. He picked up the one of a boy that looked vaguely familiar. The boy was in a boat; he was the pepper shaker. The girl was in the other half of the boat; she was the salt. Holding one in each hand, Parker clasped them together and recognition hit: Darla and Alfalfa from The Little Rascals. Gramma loved that show. She used to laugh and laugh sitting in her room and watching the antics of the group of children. On more than one occasion, Parker had been drawn into her bedroom by that laughter. His grandmother worked so hard at helping to raise them when both his parents were around and then by herself after his father’s death and his mother’s departure. She was always loving and supportive, but she wasn’t happy all the time. Yet whenever she sat in her room in front of her nineteen-inch color television set watching an old black-and-white movie, she’d laugh as if there were nothing in the world but happiness. Parker liked to remember her that way.
“My favorite is the one of Dorothy’s ruby slipper and the Wicked Witch of the West’s black hat.”
Parker hurriedly placed the set back in its place on the shelf and turned to see Drew holding Rufus under one arm. The action hiked that godforsaken Yankees shirt up high on her right hip, exposing more of her upper thigh and a shadow of the curve of her backside. Rufus was giving him a goofy look, as if he knew what Parker was really staring at, and Drew was looking slightly past him to the shelves he’d just been exploring.
“Excuse me?” he asked when it dawned on him that she’d said something.
“The shakers,” she said with a nod to her collection. “The Wizard of Oz set is my favorite.”
“Oh,” he said, looking over his shoulder. “It’s quite a collection you have there. I would have never figured you for a collector.”
She shrugged. “Well, we’re not always what we seem.”
“No. We’re not,” he replied, ignoring the clenching in his chest as she said those words. “I see you’ve found my runaway.”
“He was under my bed, huddled in a corner.”
“Playing games,” Parker said. He took a step toward her, reaching for Rufus, who immediately barked his discontent.
“He can stay over if you’d like. I mean, if he insists on coming here anyway.” She nuzzled Rufus as she talked, and Parker felt a distinct spurt of jealousy.
“I’ve got a better idea,” he said, reaching into his pocket to retrieve his cell phone. A few minutes later, he’d ordered two of Amore’s Italian feasts with fresh garlic bread and sodas. The hostess had offered their house wine when Parker had given his name, but he’d declined, not mentioning that Drew couldn’t have wine because of her condition.
“I’m buying you dinner to repay you for being kind to my disobedient dog,” he said. Without waiting for her reply, he moved to that infamous futon, took his seat, and reached for the television remote. “You can pick the movie and Rufus can have his quality time at your house since he thinks for some reason he’s entitled to it.”
Parker didn’t look up because he didn’t want to see Drew wrestling with whether she should insist on him leaving or tell him that she’d already eaten—which Parker knew was a lie because the microwave had been beeping intermittently from the kitchen, signaling that something inside it was finished cooking but had not yet been eaten.
She didn’t reply but set Rufus down and went back into the bedroom. When she came out again, she’d donned a robe. It was pink and belted at her waist. But it wasn’t much longer than her shirt, so Parker’s burgeoning arousal would have no reprieve.
* * *
It was a dream. She’d had them before and had awakened to wet panties, a quickened pulse, and the kind of breathy delirium that could only come from pure satiation or downing a whole bottle of Scotch by herself.
So when Drew’s thighs clenched with the familiar pulse of arousal, she let herself fall deeper into the dream. When her palms flattened over the muscled chest of her dream guy, she sighed at the sensations that went rippling through her body. In her dream, she had complete control over her inhibitions and her fears about intimacy. She could be and do anything without fear of recriminations or that her partner wouldn’t agree with her choices. The only other time she’d felt this way was that night.…
But even this was different. Drew felt the heavy haze of dreamland weighing down on her just as she felt the hardness of a man beneath her. With that in mind, she spread her legs, rubbing her center over the thick arousal straining to break free. Damn, she wanted it to break free. She wanted it buried deep inside her, pushing her to limits she’d long held firm in her mind but secretly wanted to break through. She circled her hips, coming up o
nto her knees and giving a little pump. There was a groan, deep and long, and it sent spikes of heat soaring through her body to land with perfect aim in her center. She gasped, the feeling leaving her weak with longing.
Strong hands came to her hips, holding her in place as he thrust upward. He felt so thick and so hot, and she was so hungry for more. In the next instant, Drew was ripping off her robe and her nightshirt. She slipped off of dream guy, hurriedly pushing her panties down her legs and stepping out of them. Before she could return to the futon, dream guy had sat up. He’d taken off his shoes and was now pushing his jeans down very muscled thighs. He pulled his shirt over his head and revealed a toned chest and abs that seemed vaguely familiar to her. Then it was showtime!
His boxers came down slowly, as if he wanted to draw out each and every torturous second. He was long and hard and thick, and Drew’s heart beat so fast that she thought she might pass out. Instead she watched entranced as he reached down to the floor and picked up his pants. Inside his wallet he found a condom, tore open the package, and smoothed the latex over his length. Then the strangest thing happened—stranger than her mouth watering at the sight before her. Dream guy spoke.
“Come here, beautiful,” he whispered.
It was precisely what she wanted, so she moved closer to him. His hands went to her hips and she felt something strange again. Dream guy leaned forward, kissing her abdomen softly, touching his tongue to her navel, all the while mumbling something she couldn’t quite decipher. Then he looked up to her and she saw his eyes, the deep brown color of his eyes.
Had she ever dreamed in color before?
His gaze was intense and held hers steadily for endless moments, until he lay back on the futon—the black futon. Drew straddled dream guy. She kept her gaze focused on his as he cupped his length, stroked it until the bulbous head looked as if it were ready to explode. With a lick of her lips, Drew lowered herself onto him slowly. He whispered her name.
“Drew. Oh sweet, Drew.”
He called her sweet. He knew her name.
When she was completely impaled, he pulled her closer, touched his lips to hers, and kissed her deeply.
“Oh baby, I dreamed of this. So many times since that first night I’ve dreamed of feeling you again,” he whispered against her mouth.
Something about what he said, how he said it, coupled with the night breeze sifting through her living room window, moving the lavender curtains slightly …
His touch felt so real; she’d never dreamed this realistically before. Each time she lifted off him and sank down again, her body shook with pleasure. His hands tightened on her bottom, squeezing each cheek in his palms as if she were a ripe melon. Over and over again, he told her how much he’d wanted this … again.
“Parker.” It was a sigh and a note of recognition. Drew pulled back and looked down at him. His eyes were half-closed, his mouth drawn in a tight line. When he realized she’d stilled, he looked up at her.
“Am I hurting you?” he asked. “The baby?”
Parker. She’d dreamed of him before, but he’d never mentioned a baby and he’d never talked to her. He’d simply made love to her and then gone on his way, just as his reputation dictated. This Parker was looking at her with concern, making love to her with a tender hunger that she felt was genuine and that she’d always longed for.
“No,” she whispered in response. “No.”
Then Drew closed her eyes. She rode him with the ferocity of a woman starved, refusing to deny herself the pleasure or to think whether this morning after would be a repeat performance of the last time. This wasn’t a dream, she thought as she arched her back, Parker holding her tightly, thrusting into her fiercely. He stroked her evenly; she returned his thrusts and cried out his name. It would be just how she’d wanted it for as long as she could have it. Tomorrow, she’d deal with the truth. Right now it was only the pleasure.
* * *
Parker had no idea how they’d come to this point. They’d started out watching a movie, something romantic and funny because they’d both laughed a time or two. Eventually they’d both fallen asleep, stretching out on the futon for comfort. Then she’d touched him and she’d shifted, her breast rubbing enticingly against his chest, her leg slipping between his, knee brushing against his erection, and Parker was instantly on fire. He’d wanted her from the moment he’d seen her in that damned Yankees shirt, wanted her even more when she’d attempted to cover said shirt with a frilly little robe that was too sexy for words. She’d straddled him, and Parker thought he’d died and gone to heaven. Then she was stripping and he was following suit, and now … now he was about to lose the manhood his reputation had claimed. This joining was intense, the sounds she was making, the feel of her moist heat surrounding him, almost strangling him, he could do nothing else. It was inevitable. Tightening his arms around her, burying his face in the crook of her neck, Parker let go and let pure pleasure wash over him.
Seconds stretched on and they stayed locked together on the futon. He wondered what she was thinking. The last time they’d made love, they’d both fallen asleep immediately and in the morning he’d left. But he couldn’t lift her off him, then set her aside and walk out the door this time. Besides that, with the crack of an eye he could see across the dimly lit room a lump in the middle of the beanbag chair that represented his disobedient dog, relaxing as if he were at a resort. He couldn’t leave without retrieving him, and that would likely cause more of a disturbance. No, it seemed he was staying with Drew, at least for a little while longer.
With that in mind, Parker stood, keeping her locked in his arms.
“What are you doing?” she asked almost immediately, attempting to shift so that he almost lost his balance and landed them both on the floor.
“We can’t sleep on that thing,” he said, referring to the futon with a frown. “It was killing my back.”
He was moving across the floor with her still in his arms by then.
“Put me down, I can walk,” she protested.
“But I like carrying you,” he admitted honestly.
“But your knee, it’s not healed completely. And I’m not an invalid, I can walk to my bedroom,” she continued.
She was even prettier with her hair completely tousled, her lips still swollen from his kisses, the last remnants of lust still clouding her eyes. He couldn’t resist—he kissed the tip of her nose. “Too late, we’re already there.”
Parker laid her on the bed and she quickly pulled back the comforter and sheets to cover herself. He could leave now. She was in bed, he was standing. All it would take was a quick “Good night” and he could turn around and be out of her house in about ten minutes, including the seconds it would take for him to grab his dog.
“Are you leaving now?”
The sound of her voice quickly pulled him from his thoughts, guilt slapping at him with her questioning glare. Even in the dark of night her room was well lit, courtesy of the half-moon that cast a soft white glow through the thin drapes at the window. She looked almost angelic lying in the bed, pink sheets and fluffy comforter pulled up to her neck even though it wasn’t exactly cold in here. She had the air conditioner on, but that simply made it comfortable, certainly not cold enough for her to be bundled up so tightly. The thought that she was hiding from him didn’t sit well with Parker. It made him think she was afraid, although of what he wasn’t quite certain.
“Are you putting me out?” was his responding question.
She didn’t answer immediately, and he thought maybe she was contemplating doing just that. Would he leave if she asked? He’d never been asked to leave a female’s apartment before. Never gave them the chance to ask was more like it, and right now he didn’t like that this might be the first time.
“I’m giving you permission to do what you know you want to do,” she said in a voice that was surprisingly strong and succinct.
In essence, she was putting him out. Parker didn’t know how to react to that.
/> “Look, Parker, I don’t want you to feel any obligation here. Especially not because of our new situation. You don’t stay with women you sleep with. I guess if I wanted you to stay, I wouldn’t have slept with you. So feel free to do what you need to do.”
Wow. She was doing more than putting him out. And Parker didn’t like it. Not at all.
“First, I need to go to the bathroom. Then, I need to get into this bed and get some sleep. Rufus and I have an early morning tomorrow. Laney Dobson’s getting married at the inn tomorrow morning, and if we’re not there to set up, Michelle will go ballistic.”
He didn’t wait for her reply but left the room for the time it took him to handle his business in the bathroom and return.
When he returned, it was to see Drew hadn’t moved and still looked at him questioningly. Because he didn’t have any more answers, Parker walked around to the other side of the bed, hating the small amount of space between the bed and the window, and remembered falling in the exact spot four months ago. Ignoring that, he pulled back the frilly comforter and sheet on that side of the bed and climbed in, dropping against the pillows without another word.
“Fine. Do whatever you want,” Drew snapped, turning over onto her side.
Parker watched as she turned her back to him, moving so close to the edge of the bed that he thought she might actually roll off onto the floor. He thought about following in her direction, wrapping his arm around her waist, and pulling her back close to his front. Something told him they’d both sleep infinitely better if they were touching, continuing the intimacy they’d started in the living room. The stark silence in the room also told him that was out of the question.
He turned on his side, his back facing hers, and pounded a fist into the pillow before settling his head down once more.
See, he could stay with a woman, he could sleep in a bed all night with a female after sex. It wasn’t the end of the world, as most would like to think of Parker Cantrell. He wasn’t the total womanizing ass they’d portrayed him as. And he wasn’t going to get a moment’s sleep knowing that Drew was so close and yet so far away.