by Peggy Webb
“Are you sure?” He had to ask the question, and when she said, “Yes,” he figured he was the world’s biggest fool if he didn’t give them both some release.
Ever mindful of her innocence, he said, “I’ll be gentle.”
Starting with her shoulders he caressed the long, long length of her body, which turned out to be the most spectacular body he’d ever had his hands on. By the time he got down to her toes he felt like a bull elephant straining at a silk tether.
“Oh,” she said, and that was all, but it was enough to spur him on. With lips and tongue, he started an erotic journey upward. If there had ever been anything more delectable than her soft skin, he didn’t know what it was.
By the time he reached her thighs, she was liquid fire and he was lost. He dipped his tongue into the sweet hot center of her, and she tangled her hands in his hair and held him there for a small eternity.
He’d read somewhere that you know your special woman by the way she tastes. Finally, he’d discovered the truth.
Caught up in magic, he savored this new discovery while C.J. writhed beneath him making wanting sounds. She was no shy miss awaiting her sexual initiation with fear and trembling. No, indeed. She was a volcano waiting to erupt. She was a lusty woman getting ready to box his ears if he didn’t give her what she craved.
Arching upward on the wave of an explosion, she screamed, “Now, Clint. Now.”
She was the spurs to his stallion. Heady stuff, being the object of such desire. Still, in spite of her obvious eagerness, he’d be careful. He’d be gentle and easy. He’d hold back till she could adjust.
But C.J. was having none of that. When he entered her, she arched strongly against him and he was impaled.
He was enthralled. He was enchanted. He was in heaven.
“Oh, my,” she whispered, and he said, “Oh, yes.”
Now she was the one straining at silken cords, and he was the one holding back. If he moved right now, he’d spoil her pleasure.
“Shh. Be still. For just a minute.”
He held her close so she couldn’t move and stopped her questions with a kiss. A long kiss that lasted through the easy rhythm that finally started of its own accord.
He was telling himself to hold on and hold back when his untutored student tore off on an erotic gallop that had him panting and her screaming.
“Yes, yes, yes!”
She chanted her new mantra more than once, and Clint finally got the message: this was an initiation, not a taming. None of this gentle guidance through the first steps for her. Nosirree. C.J. Maxey wanted the whole nine yards.
In fact, she said so. “I want everything,” she said.
It would have been ungallant not to fulfill a lady’s request, especially a lady of such amazing natural aptitude that he’d left this earth and was romping through paradise. He didn’t plan on returning for a very long time.
And he didn’t.
Finally they fell against each other, sweat-slick and sated. Clint rolled onto his back, taking her with him, then fell asleep wearing a Cheshire cat’s grin and C.J. Maxey.
C.J. tried to stay awake because she didn’t want to miss a single minute of this astonishing pleasure. Now she knew what all the fuss was about, and it thrilled her beyond imagining that someone as spectacularly handsome and absolutely marvelous as Clint had been her first.
And only.
A girl could dream, couldn’t she? The fact was, she loved the man who lay beneath her, taking up most of the space on a bed the way a big man will. A big, wonderful man.
She eased back onto her elbows and studied him in the semidarkness of the wee hours. She loved the way he slept with just a hint of a smile still on his face. She loved the way his dark eyelashes curved over his high cheekbones. She loved his strong jaw and the sexy cleft in his chin. She loved his black, black hair, so wiry in texture that after all their love acrobatics it stood up in tufts like the crown of some virile exotic male bird.
Leaning over she kissed him softly on the lips. He didn’t stir. With a tender touch she traced his cheekbones and whispered, “Thank you” and “You’re wonderful” and “I love you.”
Knowing she was safe because he slept through every one of her declarations.
In spite of her efforts to stay awake and savor every moment she dozed. When the first pale fingers of dawn pinked the windowsill, she startled awake.
Thank goodness she was a farm girl. Thank goodness she got up at first light.
She eased out of his embrace and off the bed. She had a good two hours before the rest of the girls in the dorm would be awake. An additional hour to shower and dress.
She wanted to look good when she withdrew from the pageant. Call it pride. Call it a strong desire not to let Ellie and her dad down. Call it vanity. But just let her get it over with and get on with her life.
Oh, she was excited about her future. Moving away from Hot Coffee. Enrolling in school. Starting a whole ’nother life.
She couldn’t wait to tell Sandi.
Clint was still sleeping flat on his back with one arm thrown over his head and the other exactly where she’d placed it. She couldn’t leave him like that. She couldn’t just walk out without some word.
C.J. found paper and pen in the drawer of the bedside table, then sat in the room’s only chair and tried to decide what to say.
“Dear Clint,”
So far, so good. “I’ll never forget this night.” That was the understatement of the year. “Nor you.” Another understatement.
This much she knew: she would love Clint Garrett forever, no matter where she was, no matter what happened.
Putting pen to paper, she wrote, “I am leaving now…”
“C.J.?” Clint sat up, rubbing sleep from his eyes. “What time is it?”
“Early.”
He patted the sheets. “Come back to bed. I want to say good morning.”
Lord, how she was tempted. But she knew if she climbed back into his bed she wouldn’t leave for the next few hours. Not the way he was looking at her. Not the way she was feeling.
“Consider it said.”
He glanced at the paper in her hand, then back at her face. “What are you doing?”
“Writing you a note.”
“A note?”
“Yes, there are a few things I wanted to say to you before I leave.”
“Wait, I’ll get my pants and go with you.” He jumped out of bed deliciously naked and C.J. almost had a change of heart. “We’ll have breakfast, then we’ll go and see about getting blood tests.”
“Blood tests? It’s a little late for that, isn’t it?”
“What the devil are you talking about?”
“Last night.”
“Last night!” He had one shoe on and one shoe off, but that didn’t stop him from stomping around the room waving his arms. She’d never seen a man so mad. “You think I’d do what I did if I had any communicable diseases? Is that what you think?”
“You’re the one who mentioned blood tests.” When she got mad her nose turned red and her back stiffened as if she had a poker strapped around her ribs. “I surely did not.”
“No, but you said yes.”
“If memory serves, I said it six times.”
“Seven.”
They’d been circling each other like fighting roosters, and now they were nose to nose, feathers ruffled beyond redemption, shouting.
“You were counting? What kind of man are you?”
“I’m the man you’re going to marry.”
“Marry? I wouldn’t marry you if you were the last man on earth.”
“That’s right, go off into a temper tantrum and throw my good deed back into my face.”
“You consider marrying me a good deed?”
“Hadn’t you rather be disqualified for something as dignified as marriage than for something scandalous like carousing around drunk after curfew?”
“I was not carousing.”
“No, but you w
ere drunk.”
“I knew exactly what I was doing.”
“You were yelling hell at the top of your lungs till I stopped you.”
“Who’s yelling now?”
“You are,” he said. “I’m being forceful.”
If she hadn’t been so mad she’d have laughed. But anger and hurt have a way of burying mirth so deep you wonder if it’ll ever surface again.
She sank onto the sex-rumpled sheets, then realized where she was sitting and popped up as if she’d sat in a hive of furious bees. She glanced around the room almost panicked, and Clint brought the chair over and eased her into it with such tenderness she lost all desire to shout.
“So that’s what last night was all about,” she said. “The pageant.”
“Yes. No. Hell, no.” He ran a hand through his hair, further spiking it so he looked like a befuddled Statue of Liberty. “I didn’t mean that the way it sounded, C.J.”
“What did you mean?”
“Here’s the thing: you’re in trouble and I like you a lot and… What would be so bad about the two of us together?”
“That’s it?”
“How creative do you expect me to be at six o’clock in the morning?”
She jumped up and grabbed her bag. She couldn’t get out of there fast enough.
“C.J., wait.”
She whirled back, both guns blazing. “Wait for what? More insults?”
“I didn’t insult you. I’m trying to help you.”
“Save it for some other poor unfortunate girl.” She stormed across the room and jerked open the door, but he reached around and slammed it shut.
“You can’t leave like this.”
“Just watch me.” She knew she was no match for him, but she tugged at the door on general principles.
“Calm down, C.J. Sit back down and let’s talk this out.”
“What would you like to talk out? My unfortunate pageant dilemma? Your offer of a mercy marriage?”
“What happened last night…”
“I almost forgot that little misfortune.”
“Look, I’m not going to let you make me lose my temper again.”
“Oh, I don’t think you need any help at all with that. You’ve a natural ability to roar.”
“That’s not what you thought last night.”
His smile was endearing, his tone cajoling. She almost capitulated. Almost…
“If that’s your idea of an olive branch, it stinks. Open that door and let me out of here.”
He looked so stricken she might have forgiven him if she hadn’t understood his motives. Wounded male pride, that’s what motivated Clint Garrett.
“I thought last night was a honeymoon,” he said.
Memories washed over her and she nearly died on the spot. If she tried to reply she would surely cry.
Lifting her chin she stared at him until he folded. Without another word he opened the door then stepped back.
Morning hit her in the face like a hot brick. It must be ninety degrees outside. It was going to be a miserable day, which more than suited C.J. She wanted something else to be miserable about. She wanted to wail in pain and wallow in self-pity.
Head held high, she sailed into the day. All the way down the corridor she hoped he’d call her back. She longed for him to run after her and say, “C.J., I didn’t mean any of that. Let’s start all over.”
But there was nothing from Room 414 except dead silence. By the time she turned the corner, she’d lost all hope. Love wasn’t fixing to rise from the ashes she’d left behind. The hero wasn’t about to change the heroine’s mind with a kiss.
And you could bet the heroine wasn’t about to turn back and say, “Let’s make up and at least be friends.”
In the distance the clock tolled the hour. Thirty more minutes and the campus would be astir with hopeful girls. Every last one of them harboring a dream of winning, and only one destined to make it come true.
Amazing how dreams can change so quickly. Amazing how one night can alter the course of a life.
C.J. held herself together until she saw the camellia bushes where he’d first said he was taking her with him, then her tears started.
Funny how dozens of important words can be said but in the end you only remember six or seven.
I thought last night was a honeymoon, he’d said.
“I did, too,” she whispered. “Oh, I did, too.”
Chapter Twenty
If C.J. Maxey thought he was going to buy champagne and roses then get down on his knees and propose, she didn’t know Clint Garrett. Wasn’t it enough that he was willing to save her the embarrassment of earning a reputation that would follow her the rest of her life? Wasn’t it enough that he was willing to sacrifice his freedom in order to rescue her?
She ought to be thanking her lucky stars that he wasn’t the kind of man to hold a grudge. She ought to be happy he wasn’t the kind of man to go back on his word. He’d said he’d marry her, and by George that’s what he was going to do.
First he’d let her cool off. Maybe then he could talk some sense into her.
He climbed into the shower and turned the water on so cold it stung; then he dressed and had a leisurely breakfast, ham and eggs and grits plus three buttered biscuits with strawberry jam.
Sex always made him hungry. The better the sex, the hungrier he got. Shoot, he was liable to get fat after the wedding.
He left the motel’s restaurant whistling and was still turning heads with his happy tune when he entered the campus. It would be a while before the pageant activities cranked up again, which gave him time to find C.J. and get things straight.
He was almost to her dorm when a little flower shop on the corner across the street caught his eye. Well, why not?
“I want a dozen of your very best pink roses.” What woman could resist roses? C.J. would melt. “Long-stemmed,” he said, all of a sudden feeling romantic.
He could do that, too, play the romantic hero. Women liked that sort of thing, didn’t they? A little pretense wouldn’t hurt him. Besides, C.J. made it easy for a man to feel heroic. Shoot, she even made it fun.
Come to think about it, this whole marriage idea might turn out to be fun.
He walked into her dormitory with his huge floral offering and a big satisfied tomcat’s grin on his face.
“C.J. Maxey,” he told the dorm mother.
“C.J.?”
“You know… That classy-looking woman with the regal bearing and the extraordinary eyes. Blue. Cheekbones like knife blades, dark feathery hair.”
“You just missed her.”
It was only a small hitch in his plan. “No problem. I’ll catch her at the auditorium.”
“She’s not there.”
“Is she sick?”
“No, she’s gone home.”
“Home? Back to Hot Coffee?”
“Yes. Her chaperone picked her up about thirty minutes ago.”
For an insane moment Clint thought about racing out and hopping on his motorcycle, then striking out after them. He could catch them somewhere up the Trace.
And get a speeding ticket.
And make a fool of himself.
What was it to him if C.J. Maxey wanted to be the most stubborn woman on the face of the earth? What was it to him if she wanted to leave her reputation in shambles?
He thought about throwing the roses in the wastebasket, but his mother had taught him frugality.
“Here.” He handed the roses to the dorm mother. “These are for you.”
“My goodness. Are you sure?”
“Yes. I won’t be needing them anymore.”
By the time he arrived at the auditorium, rehearsals were already in progress. He dreaded going in. C.J. would be the talk of the pageant.
Maybe he could put some kind of spin on her activities to soften the story a bit.
Not that she deserved his help. She’d spurned it once. It would serve her right if he left her reputation hanging out there for the n
ewsmongers to rip apart.
The first person he saw was C.J.’s red-haired roommate, her eyes and cheeks bright with excitement.
“I suppose you’ve heard about C.J.,” Gabby told him.
“Everybody must be talking.”
“Oh, they are. Nothing like this has ever happened.”
“I don’t know. There was that girl who got kicked out for doing a nude centerfold.”
Why he felt compelled to defend her was beyond him. What he ought to do was let her stew in her own juices.
“Yes,” Gabby said. “But this is different.”
“I don’t see how people can criticize C.J. for doing something that’s perfectly natural.”
“Oh, nobody’s criticizing her. They’re just astonished, that’s all. It took a lot of courage to do what she did.”
Courage to break a few silly rules? Clint must be missing something.
Long ago he’d discovered the best way to find out the truth was to shut up and listen. If he hadn’t been so busy breaking his own rules, he’d already know what had happened with C.J. Maxey.
“Yes, it did,” he said, nodding and trying to look wise and understanding. “C.J. has guts.”
“I mean…here she was, the front-runner, and she just ups and withdraws from the pageant.”
“Amazing,” he said. “You must have mixed feelings.”
“I do. See, that puts me ahead now, and, I don’t know, I think C.J. did it partly because of me, but what she told the pageant officials was that she doesn’t believe her background qualifies her to represent the dairy industry and that our state deserves someone who understands the area of dairy science firsthand.”
“You heard all this from…?”
“I’ve heard it from just about everybody in this room, that’s all the girls can talk about, but no, she wrote a note.”
“She gave the officials a note?”
“Actually, she wrote out what she was going to say to them, then practiced on me.”
“You wouldn’t happen to have that note, would you?”
C.J. had never expected to make the headlines, but there she was on the front page. “Front-runner Gracefully Bows Out,” the headline read.
The writer’s byline leaped off the page. Clint. Silly, romantic fool that she was, she kissed her fingertips then traced his name.