by Vanessa Vale
“This isn't a good idea,” I said, turning my head to look at him, all the while knowing he couldn't miss the twin hard points of my nipples pressing into him.
His red scruff had come in, darker now. Softer. His eyes were bright after a good night sleep but I could see more there. Definitely something along the lines of lust.
“A terrible idea.”
Through the wall, I could hear the dryer door close, then someone walking down the hallway and back toward the main part of the house.
Mike's grip loosened and I climbed from the bed.
“We're not alone. And I've got morning breath.”
His eyes were laser focused on my chest. “I don't have to kiss your mouth.”
Holy hot, Batman.
I dashed toward the bathroom before I changed my mind, but Mike was faster. For a big guy, he could sure move with the right kind of incentive. He pulled me so my legs were against the bed, one of his arms cinched around my waist, the other pushing my silky tank up to expose my breasts to his mouth. Before I could even consider the sanity of his actions, he bit gently on one nipple followed by a lave of his tongue, then a deep suck. I moaned—yes, moaned—at the almost rough contact. The sensations zinged lower. Much lower.
“Hold your top up,” Mike demanded, his warm breath tickling my heated skin.
I did what he asked, wantonly and with complete abandon, my fingers gripping the lacy hem and holding it high. Exposing myself to him. I was in his thrall when he used that decisive tone, like I had no choice but to obey. I wanted to.
“Good girl.”
I craved his mouth on me. No matter how much I mentally justified the exact opposite. Regardless of whether he might move across the country. It didn't matter. Nothing mattered but his touch. I didn't want anything to get in his way. Nothing did. He moved from one hardened nipple to the other all the while pinning me in place with his big hand pressed against the curve of my back. I couldn't push him away with my hands busy.
“Food's almost ready. Get a move on, everyone!” Jubal shouted from the bowels of the house.
“Shit,” Mike whispered, resting his forehead against my belly. “It's like we're in high school again.”
I was too flustered to process much, other than my nipples were damp and tightening into hard little points from the cool air. Mike tugged down my top, frustrating us both.
“Go take your shower. Alone.” As I turned toward the bathroom, he gave me a light swat on the ass. “Lock the door so I can't change my mind about joining you.”
Chapter 16
We showered—separately—and twenty minutes later, were having brunch with the entire family. Everyone had slept in, returning from Seward either by car or train and returning late. Before us were blueberry pancakes, hash brown potatoes, caribou sausage—it seemed Jubal had shot, no, taken, a very large caribou—scrambled eggs, toast, OJ and coffee. The only seat vacant was Goldie's, who'd received a phone call as we were setting the table.
For this meal, Jubal left the saber behind but wore his confederate pants with a white shirt and maroon vest, adorned with large brass buttons. Everyone else was dressed more traditionally in jeans and fleece, worn to ward off the cooler temperatures. To be polite, I once again threw the Civil War religious bling over top of my hot pink pullover. It was quite the combination.
“Jefferson, that's rude!” Goldie said from the kitchen. The door between the rooms swung wide. “Violet, you're not going to believe this!” She came into the room, heels clacking on the wood floor as she wiped at the front of her skinny jeans. Besides the jeans, she wore a sweatshirt with a very large embroidered moose on the front. It worked because she was in Alaska, but I would make sure it never made an appearance again once she left the state.
Everyone stopped eating once again. I had a forkful of pancake halfway to my mouth.
Mike took a sip of his coffee. “Now what?” he murmured over the top of his mug.
“I know you wanted me to keep this to ourselves, but this is too big not to share. That book of yours—”
Oh, no. This was going nowhere good. I felt my breakfast turn to lead in my stomach. I put my fork down with a clatter. It was possible I might puke again, validating the morning sickness story even more. “Goldie,” I scolded.
“It's a bestseller!”
I stared at her, trying to process her words. “A bestseller where?”
“Online. MeMe finished the cover and my neighbor's nephew's girlfriend volunteered to format the book and she helped me publish it for you online. You will not believe how many copies it's sold!”
“The new panties book?” Mike whispered.
I nodded my head numbly. I wondered if that was the title. The New Panties Book by Violet Miller.
“Goldie, how do people even know about the book? There are so many online these days,” I wondered.
“You think I know people in Bozeman, but my reach is much further. How many”—Goldie glanced at Alex—“stores like mine do you think there are out there? I just sent out a group email telling everyone, then they told everyone, and they told...well, you get the idea. It's like a prayer chain for grown up things.”
“Now everyone online—God, the entire world—is going to know I wrote that. Olive Perlnutter is going to have me fired, for sure.”
“What's this about a book?” Mrs. O asked, stirring cream into her coffee. Nothing seemed to faze her. I had a feeling if Goldie announced I was chosen for the next NASA shuttle, Mrs. O would remain calm.
“You wrote a book, Violet? That's great!” Jubal added. “Is it about fishing?”
“Wow, that's amazing. I didn't know you were a writer,” Trish said, clearly impressed.
The twins were trying to figure out what was going on, and obviously Goldie noticed. “Tell Jean-Luc and Paul what we're talking about, Violet. It's rude to keep them in the dark.”
“I am not telling them about my books!” They might be the only two in the world who didn't know about it.
“You speak French, Violet?” Jubal asked.
“I didn't know you spoke French,” Mrs. O said at the same time, clearly impressed.
“Yes, a year abroad in college.” I was distracted, and my mind was overwhelmed by Goldie's actions.
“Translate.” Goldie gave me a look she'd give a five-year-old with bad manners.
“Fine.” I stopped to think and translate what I wanted to say into French. I had to tell them about the book, but I didn't have to tell them the whole truth. Wait a minute. No one spoke the language but me, so it was time for a little payback. I stumbled over my stilted French, but was able to piece together: Goldie wrote a book and people are buying it on the computer. She writes about love and....I stopped to think about how to translate the word sex.
Both men—and everyone else for that matter—stared at me, clearly surprised of my language skills. I'd done a good job so far because one of the twins made hand gestures that all grownups easily recognized.
“Alex, why don't you get George the Gnome off my dresser and hang out with him and watch TV for a bit, if that's okay with your mom and dad.” No way was I going to corrupt a minor with universal hand gestures or my book.
“Can I? Can I?” Alex chanted.
Banks nodded and the boy shot off like a cannon down the hall. “Jefferson!” he screeched. He must have been waylaid and crotch sniffed by the dog on the way to get George.
With the boy gone, I continued in French. “Yes. She wrote a book about a man and woman and there's lots of sex in it.”
Both men's eyebrows shot up and looked at Goldie.
“Ooh la la?” Marc, the one with the scar on his eyebrow, said.
“Oui, ooh la la,” Goldie replied with a sharp American twang, then nodded happily, probably thinking they were surprised I'd written word porn. “Thank you, Violet. That wasn't so painful, was it?” Goldie sat down in the empty seat and started filling her plate.
I inwardly grinned.
“You have to ta
ke maternity leave anyway to have the baby, so maybe you can consider not returning and be a full-time writer instead,” Trish commented.
“That's a good idea, Violet,” Mr. O added.
I'd forgotten about the baby. Crap. I did some speedy math. A spring baby. What she said made sense, if I was actually having a baby. But, remove the baby and her idea of just quitting to be a writer was intriguing. But not if everyone in town knew about the kinds of books I liked to write. It would be a reputation killer.
“Coffee?” Mike held the pot and when Goldie nodded, he poured her some and refilled his cup. How could he be completely indifferent to the magnitude of what Goldie had done? Didn't he know that writing, especially romance, especially erotic, was like baring your soul, letting everyone who read it know what was in your sexual makeup? Either he was confident in his sexuality—which I could easily believe—or he'd paid Goldie money to read the book and knew what I really wanted. And was confident that he could give me just what I needed. Crap, I could believe that idea, too. Oh, God!
“I didn't use your real name, Violet. A romance novel needs to have a really good pen name. Everyone knows that. It's half the fun.”
“Romance?” Mrs. O asked. “I didn't take you for a romance writer.”
I winced because I wasn't really sure what she did take me for. Children's books?
“I love romances. Is it contemporary or historical?” Trish asked, pouring more OJ in her glass. “My e-reader is full of them.”
Banks chuckled. “It is. There's no way I'd share books on vacation with her.”
Trish gave him a playful slap. “You don't mind when I whisper about what I read to you.”
Banks grinned like a whipped husband—who was getting some. “True. So true.”
“It's...um...it's a contemporary,” I offered, not wanting to elaborate.
“What's the pen name?” Mike asked, taking a sip of coffee. It was as if he was finding out the name of a dentist referral.
“Cherry Bottoms,” Goldie said, pouring syrup on her pancakes.
Mike spit his coffee out across the entire table, hitting all of the food and his mother's shirt.
“Mmm, I like cherries,” Jubal commented, cutting his pancakes up.
Mrs. O used her napkin to wipe her shirt. “I guess we're done with breakfast.” She gave her son that motherly evil eye.
“Translate, Violet. The boys look lost.”
“I have no idea how to translate that into French!”
I wished the earth could swallow me up. Dying would not be too bad right now. Perhaps stomped by a moose. Eaten by a bear. Anything would be better than this moment. I thought I had one up on her, but no. She'd done it. She'd actually hit rock bottom. Or cherry bottom. “Oh my God. Goldie!” I all but squealed.
Goldie looked surprised, as if she'd done nothing wrong. “What?”
“Are you insane? Cherry...The book was supposed to be just for fun. It was private!”
“Well, that book, young lady, has sold over fourteen thousand copies.”
It was my turn to choke. On my spit.
“Fourteen thousand,” Mr. O repeated. “That's a lot of books.”
Mike leaned close to me, reached down and squeezed my hand. “That's a lot of new panties.”
Chapter 17
“Violet! Oh, my God. What is going on up there?” Jane practically yelled. I called her from the bedroom the moment I could make my escape from brunch. Someone else could clean up.
“You wouldn't believe it if I told you.”
“I've heard you're engaged, George the Gnome is with you and your book...holy shit, Vi. Your book.”
“Emma Harding didn’t tell me she actually created a cover. I thought she’d just been placating Goldie. And speaking of Goldie, did you know she published it?”
“Hang on a minute.” I heard some walking, some thunking and then a door shut. “Sorry, I had to go into my bathroom to get away from the boys. No. I had no idea she published it.”
“I'm going to kill her. That name!” I ran my hand over my heated face. I flushed just thinking the name.
“I know! She's crazy. Cherry Bottoms? I mean, really. Ty almost choked to death on his breakfast this morning when I told him.”
I groaned. “You told him?”
“Of course, I did. It's incredible. We pulled up your book online. Vi, you're like number two hundred in top books.”
“Is that good?” I had no idea. Goldie said I'd sold over fourteen thousand books, but I really didn't know if that was a lot in comparison to the real authors. Not fake ones whose employer stole your work and published it for you without your consent.
“Let's just say you're currently beating out Nora Roberts and are edging close to the gray lady.”
“Holy shit.” I couldn't believe it. When Goldie had brought it up, a part of me thought she was just joking, messing with me. That was certainly possible with her. But if Jane went online and confirmed it, then it had to be true.
I ran my hand over my face. “What am I going to do, Jane? I can't be known around town as Cherry Bottoms, or even as the person who wrote that book.”
She paused. “I can see what you mean about the name, because, really. But I don't understand your problem with the book. It's really good. And hot.”
“Jane,” I cried.
“Ty wants to thank you.”
I groaned. “I'm afraid to ask.”
“Let's just say what you wrote about on page sixty-nine lives up to its name.” I heard banging through the phone. “Look, Vi, I've got to go. Zach has to pee.”
“Tell him I've got George. He might not make it to Nome, but he's in the right state.”
“Gotcha.”
“Oh, and Jane?”
“Yeah?”
“I'm pregnant.”
“Wha—”
I hung up right as Mike came in the room.
“Do I want to know why you're grinning?” he asked.
“That was Jane West. Goldie's daughter-in-law.”
He nodded.
“I surprised her with the baby bomb. Let her live with that little gem without the details for a bit. If I'm going to suffer, I might as well enjoy myself.”
“Women are cruel.”
“Seriously. Take Goldie for example. She came up with an imaginary baby first, now this. What am I going to do?”
I started to pace the small space, doing my best to wear a groove in the navy carpet. He sat down at the foot of the bed to watch me like a tennis match.
“Take the money and enjoy yourself. You said you wanted to go to grad school. Based on the numbers Goldie mentioned, now you can.”
“When you called Goldilocks looking for Veronica as your fake girlfriend you said you'd pay me to come up here and help you,” I reminded him.
Mike thought for a moment. “Sure. I said I would.”
I closed my eyes and shook my head. “Come on, I'm just messing with you. I'm not going to take your money.”
“So now you've got a bunch of your own. What's the big deal?”
“Ugh,” I groaned, running my hand over my hair. He just didn't understand.
He stopped me on a pass by grabbing my wrist and turning me to face him. For once, I was taller than he. “What's bothering you?” he asked, eyes full of concern.
“There are too many things to cover right now.”
“Okay, so what's bothering you the most?”
“I'll probably be fired when the school board finds out.”
He frowned. “How are they going to find out?” His thumb ran idly over my palm.
I looked at him, eyebrows raised. For a doctor, he wasn't very smart. “Are you kidding me? If Goldie knows, and Goldie's neighbor's something-or-other helped her, then everyone in town knows.”
Mike shrugged ever so slightly. “Maybe not. Goldie might blabber to family, but she's not one to talk.”
True. If Goldie told the secrets she knew about all of her customers, everyone in town would ha
ve a story out there and she'd be out of business. Being the owner of an adult store meant confidentiality. Quite a bit like being a lawyer.
“There's more to this than just Goldie and the book. What is it?”
He pulled me in between his legs and wrapped his arms around my waist. He was warm, solid, and his head was against my breasts. He moved the pendant, which was in the way—and stabbing me in the ribs—and gently tossed it over my shoulder, then settled back in. “Mmm. I like this.”
I liked it, too. Too much. Made me think of him in a similar position earlier with a lot less clothes. I just wanted to settle into the comfort of his embrace. I felt protected and safe, but he was being a smart ass. I smacked him on the shoulder, but he was unmoving. “You are definitely a breast man.”
He lifted his head, looked up my body and grinned. “Absolutely. So tell me. What's really, and I mean deep down, bothering you?”
I tensed. This was a very sore spot that I didn't share. I never shared. I held my embarrassment over what my very ex-boyfriend had done and said to me like a shroud. Was this personal shame something I could tell to Mike? Was I ready?
Someone knocked on the door, saving me from giving away my secrets. I breathed a sigh of relief. Mike released me and I stepped back, letting him answer it.
I moved to the bathroom to wash my hands, do something to keep busy. I was upset about the whole book thing and nervous even thinking about explaining it all to Mike—or anybody else, for that matter. I'd have to tell him at some point, but at least—for the moment—I was off the hook.
The voice was soft so I knew it had to be Mr. O. No one else in the house could talk that quietly.
After a minute, Mike leaned against the bathroom doorway, a small shipping box under his arm. “There are two plans for today. Uncle Bob, the twins and Goldie are flying down to Katmai to see the bears. My parents, Banks and family are taking the train to Denali, which is really amazing. Those going to Katmai will be back tomorrow, the others the next day. We can go to either one.”