But that particular night he hadn’t had the chance even to grab his sleeping bag. There’d been no heated words followed by passionate kisses. Rather, his mother had tossed the latest eviction notice at Hal, said her piece and then walked away for good.
“There’s more to a marriage than sex,” she’d said.
His dad was the classic good-time Charlie. He drank too much, laughed too loudly, and loved too fiercely. He’d been so busy doing all three that he hadn’t had the time or energy to do right by his family. Even more, he’d been so caught up with “doing it” that he’d forgotten all the little things. He’d never given his wife a card for her birthday. No flowers on their anniversary. No candy on Valentine’s Day. Nothing to make her feel special. Appreciated. Loved.
In his dad’s opinion, sex was the glue that held a man and woman together. The bolt that kept the door hinged. The major factor when it came to long-term relationship success.
Dayne had wholeheartedly agreed. He’d been young. Wild. Horny. Stupid.
But he’d smartened up the night he’d seen his mother abandon twenty-two years of marriage despite the great sex. He’d stepped up, straightened up and he’d been holding his own ever since. Professionally, he’d taken his father’s handyman service and built it into a bona fide construction and remodeling business. And personally, he’d learned to keep a tight leash on his libido.
Hal Branson hadn’t been as quick to learn. The man had spent the past ten years making the same mistake over and over again, and so he was still alone. Lonely.
But while Hal still looked every bit the mature, confident womanizer, there was a gleam of desperation in his gaze that hadn’t been there before.
“Did you read that book I picked up for you last week?” Dayne asked his father.
“That book about how to talk to women? Hell, boy.” The old man shrugged and tried to look indifferent. “I don’t need to talk. It’s all about body language.”
“And I’ve got some beachfront property in Montana you might be interested in. Plenty of sunshine. Warm temperatures. Great view of the islands.”
“I may not have the most impressive track record, but I still know a thing or two about females. Namely, a gal likes a man who takes the initiative and isn’t afraid to make his intentions clear.”
Yeah, right. Dayne had made his intentions crystal-clear to Cheryl. He cared about her. About them. And he wanted a relationship. Not just sex, but the morning after. That’s why he’d suppressed his wild and crazy urges—like the one where he tossed her over his shoulder, threw her on the nearest horizontal surface and screwed her silly. Or the one where he hauled her on top of him, tossed his cowboy hat on her head and gave her the ride of her life. Or the one where he slathered her with whipped cream and licked her clean.
She deserved more than just sex, and so he’d kept his outrageous fantasies to himself. He’d even bought a ring a while ago—it couldn’t have been two years?—and had been waiting for just the right moment to propose. And he’d made it a point to remember the card for her birthday and the flowers on the anniversary of their first date, and the candy—a giant, heart-shaped box of Godiva truffles—every Valentine’s Day.
Except last Valentine’s Day, that is. He’d remembered the candy, but he’d also given her a gift. A keepsake box to hold all the cards he’d given her over the years.
If she kept them.
He’d always assumed so.
Now, he wasn’t so sure.
She seemed so different.
And damned if he didn’t like it.
“So what do you say?” Hal winked. “Which one should I go with?”
Neither. “The captive one,” he heard himself blurt. Not because he’d seen the fuzzy handcuffs in Cheryl’s pleasure bag and he’d been picturing her wearing them ever since. Hell, no. It was just that it was the first title that came to mind and he had to say something.
“Why don’t you take this one—” Hal dropped the extra DVD on Dayne’s desk “—over to the motel. Let Cheryl Anne know you’re thinking about her. Maybe she’ll change her mind and give you another chance.” When he cast a sharp look at his dad, the old man shrugged. “Hazards of a small town, son. Everybody knows she drop-kicked you like an empty soda can.”
“The visuals I can do without.”
“Booted you out on your keister.”
“Enough.”
“Bitch-slapped you out of her life—”
“I get it, okay? She dumped me.” He had to force the words past the sudden lump in his throat. Which sure as hell didn’t make a lick of sense because he was better off without her.
She’d gone off the deep end. She was crazed. Obsessed. A sex maniac.
If only the notion turned him off half as much as it stirred the lust he’d spent ten years keeping in check.
“YOU CIRCLE the root of the penis with your thumb and index finger, twisting back and forth—”
“Would that be clockwise or counter-clockwise?” one of the women asked.
“Clockwise is usually good,” Cheryl Anne told the room full of attentive women.
“I can only do counter-clockwise on account of my arthritis,” Winona chimed in from her seat near the snack table. “It hurts when I turn to the right. Besides, if I do it like this, then I can do this little tap with my palm right there at the root.”
“I’ve got carpal tunnel and can’t do clockwise either,” another woman chimed in. “But I’m willing to try if it’s the only way to do it right. I’ll do anything to make Lloyd happy. Maybe then he’ll stop vegetating on the couch and start taking me out on Saturday nights.”
“Do what feels comfortable,” Cheryl told them. “But make sure…” Her words faded as her cell phone launched into an instrumental version of “Buttons” by the Pussycat Dolls. “I’m so sorry.” She reached for the phone. “I should have turned it off.” She powered the phone down and turned back to her demonstration. “Now, you can go either way with your technique as long as your wrist stays loose and you keep your fingers firm—” Rrrrring! The phone on the nightstand shrieked.
“I’m sorry—”
“Nonsense.” Winona waved a hand. “You go on and answer it. We can just talk amongst ourselves in the meantime.”
“But I—”
“Go on” another voice chimed in. And another. And another.
The phone kept ringing and Cheryl set her demo model on the small table that held her supplies. “I’ll just be a minute,” she vowed as she wobbled over to the nightstand, her feet crying with each step thanks to the stilettos she’d slipped on that morning, and picked up the phone. “Hello?” she said under her breath, putting her back to the group and shifting her weight just enough to wiggle the toes on her left foot.
“Your brother is sick,” Dora Cash declared.
“Mom, I’m really busy right now—”
“I’ve gone by his place twice and it’s locked up tight. I’ve been by the shop, but that’s locked up, too. Mr. Davenport, his neighbor, said he comes and goes at all hours of the night now. But that can’t be right. Your brother never stays up past nine. Mildred Donohue said he probably has a terminal illness. When her brother-in-law found out he had cancer, he went crazy. One minute he was recycling and the next, he’s driving this gas-guzzling, atmosphere-destroying RV to every state park in the country.”
“I’m sure Dillon doesn’t have cancer,” Cheryl Anne said under her breath. She shifted again to give her right toes a little wiggling room and chanced a glance behind her to see every gaze glued on Winona who was busy demonstrating her “tap” method. “I really have to go—”
“Have you talked to him?” her mother cut in.
“Not exactly. But Nikki said that she saw him and he was fine.”
“Nikki? Nikki Braxton? The lady who owns the hair shop where you work?”
“Where I used to work, Mom. I’m self-employed now. Speaking of which, I’m right in the middle of—”
“When did Nikki se
e him?” Dora rushed on, oblivious to her daughter’s predicament.
Thankfully her mother didn’t seem to care what she was doing. It was hard enough ditching her old life. She didn’t need her mother adding a megadose of guilt to make things that much more difficult.
At the same time, she was a Carnal Coach, for heaven’s sake. And she was currently living in a hotel room while a major newspaper turned her nice, modest two-story colonial into a den of iniquity. While she didn’t want all that mother-radar fixed on her, a few words of caution might be nice.
“When?” her mother pressed.
“Last week. He bought a motorcycle from Nikki’s fiancé—Jake and his partner own that new custom chopper shop in town. Nikki said Dillon told her he was just having a few personal issues and that he needed some time to himself.”
“Personal issues? Cancer is a personal issue. Or diabetes. Or heart disease. Or a prolapsed colon. I knew I should have made him eat more bran.”
“Mom, I’m sure he’s fine. Try to stop worrying so much. Now’s the time for you and Dad to get to know each other again. Go places. Do something.”
“We are. We’re going to camp out in your brother’s front yard until he comes home. Your father’s already picked up a case of bug spray and some Benadryl in case a few of those little buggers gets through the tent netting. And he bought some spray for possums and skunks. He’s even got this stuff that’s guaranteed to ward off bears.”
“You’re going camping?”
“Desperate times call for desperate measures, dear. Your father and I don’t see any way around it. Call me if you hear from Dillon.”
Cheryl slid the receiver into place, gathered her composure and turned back to her class to find Winona standing center stage, a purple penis in her hands.
“…all’s I’m saying is, the tapping worked for me. Fifty-six years and I can count on my hands the number of times I stayed home on a Saturday night.”
“I’m back,” Cheryl announced.
“And I rarely cooked on Friday nights, either, on account of I’ve got this great little trick I used to do with my—”
“Winona?” Cheryl tapped the older woman on the shoulder.
“Yes, dear?”
“Thanks for filling in for me.”
“My pleasure,” the woman said. She looked oddly disappointed as she handed over the penis and hobbled back to her seat.
Cheryl Anne ignored her pinched toes—she wanted so much to slip off the high heels—pasted on a smile and went back to work.
5
LATER THAT NIGHT, Cheryl Anne stood in her kitchen and stared at the ceiling. Or what had once been the ceiling. The sheetrock had been demolished, the roof and shingles ripped away. A huge gaping hole stared down at her.
She drew a deep, shaky breath and tried not to panic as she picked her way past the chaos that filled the small room. The construction team had gutted the entire thing, including the cabinets.
And the problem is?
No problem, she told herself. The cabinets had been so old—eighty years to be exact—and old-fashioned. Peeling. Scarred. Ugly, even if they had been hand-carved and had the original glass knob handles. The newspaper was giving her a state-of-the-art kitchen. That meant lots of stainless steel and high-tech gadgets. Everything she’d ever dreamt of, including a cappuccino maker and an espresso machine. Not that she’d ever been fond of espresso. But that was the point—to ditch the old Cheryl Anne and embrace the new.
She blinked frantically against the moisture that burned her eyes and swallowed past the sudden tightness in her throat.
“The boys tore them down while I was going over plans for the bathroom.” The deep, familiar voice came from behind and she whirled to find Dayne standing in the framed entrance where her kitchen door had once been.
He stood well over six feet, his hard muscled body filling up what suddenly seemed like a small space. He still wore the crisp, creased Wranglers and Branson Construction shirt he’d had on earlier.
“They really made a mess in here.” He didn’t sound any happier than she felt.
She shook away the crazy feeling and shrugged. “I hated those old cabinets anyway.”
“Really?”
Yes. It was right there on the tip of her tongue, but for some reason she couldn’t bring herself to say it. “Maybe hate is a little harsh. They weren’t that bad. Nice even, if you like vintage.”
He seemed to think about her words. “So do you?”
Once upon a time. “I’m going with a more modern, eclectic feel.”
“So it’s out with the old and in with the new?”
“That would be the plan.”
“Seems a shame to throw something away just because it isn’t as polished or as perfect as it used to be.”
“Actually, it’s a shame to hold on to something that’s served its purpose and is no longer satisfying your needs.”
“Is that why you dumped me?” He nailed her with a gaze. “Because I didn’t satisfy you?”
“Listen, it’s nothing personal. You’re a great guy, but you’re just not the guy for me.”
“That’s not what you said that night down by the creek.”
“That was a long time ago. People change.”
He eyed her, his gaze sweeping from her head to the tips of her stilettos and back up again. “Nice outfit.”
A rush of warmth went through her and she forgot all about her aching feet. She glanced down at the button-up silk shell and matching skirt she’d changed into for tonight’s class. It was bold, it was red and it made her feel more naked than clothed. A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. “I figured it was about time that I bought something that didn’t look like it had been featured in an episode of the Golden Girls.”
It was his turn to smile. “You didn’t dress that bad.”
“I didn’t dress that good.” She shrugged. “But that’s all behind me now. I’m turning over a new leaf. New job. New clothes.”
“New man?”
She gathered her courage. “Eventually. Listen, I know this is hard for you to understand, but it’s something I have to do. I’m so sick of living my life in a cocoon. I want to break out. To cut loose. I want some excitement.”
“And I’m not exciting anymore.”
“I’d still like to be friends.”
“Friends, huh?” He looked ready to argue, but then his tight mouth eased into a grin. A strange glimmer danced in his gaze. “Why not?”
An awkward silence stretched between them for several long moments and she prayed for the floor to open up and swallow her. But at least it was done. She’d told him the truth and now she could truly move on. “So, um, what are you doing here this late?”
“Finishing up the demo on the bathroom. We’ve got a deadline. The bath and kitchen will take the longest, which means we have to be ready to start rebuilding first thing in the morning.”
“I hope that includes my kitchen ceiling,” she hedged, the curiosity that had pulled her out of bed in the middle of the night getting the best of her.
Okay, that and the need to pick up her Hand Jobs Made Easy DVD. Winona’s “tap” move had looked oddly familiar and she was anxious to see if Buxom Blonde had mentioned something even remotely similar.
“So what’s the plan?” she pressed. “Are you guys giving me a new roof?” She arched an eyebrow at him. “Or maybe a solar window?”
He grinned, his lips parting to reveal a row of straight white teeth. “I could tell you, sugar, but then I’d have to kiss you.”
For a split second, she found herself pulled back to that night at Skull Creek when she and Dayne had had sex for the very first time. He’d smiled just like that and then he’d touched his lips to hers. He’d stroked and coaxed and seduced. Not that she’d needed to be seduced. She’d been ready, desperate to stop playing it safe and walk on the wild side. And Dayne had been wild with a capital W.
Then.
She focused her attention on t
he polo shirt that outlined his broad shoulders. “It’s kill,” she told him, eager to get them back on the professional track. The past was over and done with. He was a contractor. She was a homeowner. “You could tell me, but then you’d have to kill me.”
“Says you.” His eyes gleamed as he took a step toward her.
And just like that, she found herself neck-deep in the water, her heart pounding and her pulse racing as Wild Dayne Branson swam toward her.
Wait a second.
She blinked, but the gleam didn’t disappear. She knew then that he was up to something. She could feel it. Even more, she could see it in the purposeful set of his stubbled jaw, the tense way he held his broad shoulders and heavily muscled arms.
Her pulse gave a wild ka-thump and her nipples tingled.
She tried to ignore the ripple of anticipation. She knew the first moment of contact would only be a letdown. Been there, done that. No more.
She took a step back but he matched her movements, his boots slowly gobbling up the bare concrete she tried to keep between them. “What’s wrong, sugar?” he finally asked when she came up hard against the opposite wall. “You seem skittish.”
“I’m not skittish.” She debated ducking to the side, but realized that would only confirm his thought. “I’m standoffish.”
He tipped back the brim of his hat before planting his hands on the wall on either side of her shoulders. He leaned in and nailed her with an intense stare. His blue gaze pushed into hers. “Maybe it won’t be as bad as you think.”
If only.
“I thought you said we could be friends.” She planted her palms against his chest to push him back a few safe inches. His heart thudded beneath her hand, a fast, furious rhythm that totally belied his cool, calm demeanor. Her own heartbeat kicked up a notch.
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