THE BEST MAN IN TEXAS

by Kristine Rolofson

  At the other end of the park someone shot off fireworks, but in the dark bedroom of the trailer Delia and Joe didn't notice. The bedcovers were pushed back, Delia's legs entwined with Joe's and she wondered how she'd ever survived without having this man's hard body against hers. He suckled her breasts, she slid her hand down his side and forward, to the hard length of him so hot against her abdomen. His fingers—those long hard fingers—worked hot magic between her thighs, sliding into her vagina with practiced strokes and bringing her perilously close to orgasm. But right now she wanted, needed more than teasing fingers and she urged his body closer.

  "We have all night," he said, his voice gruff with passion. "If you touch me like that again I'm going to have to be inside you."

  "Good."

  He kissed her hard, then moved off the bed for a second. She heard him rustling through his jeans and then he returned to the bed, a condom in his hand.

  "Thanks," she said, embarrassed that she hadn't said something about protection. It was something a single woman should be prepared for, She'd read that in Cosmo and she should have made a note to buy condoms, not that she had plans to have sex every weekend, but a woman never knew. "I should have—"

  "I always—"

  "Really, I—"

  He stopped her apology with a kiss, slid alongside of her and turned her to face him, their heads on the pillow. He urged her onto her back, braced himself on his elbows and nudged her willing thighs apart. He filled her slowly, easing in and out of her slick vagina in moves guaranteed to make her want more. And she did, the rush of pleasure taking her breath away. Her hands clutched his hips and he filled her completely then, buried inside her as if that was where he belonged.

  She met his smile. "That," she said, her body adjusting to the size of him, "feels so very good."

  Joe closed his eyes for a brief second and withdrew half his length, then plunged into her again. "You're perfect, you know."

  "This is perfect," she said, tilting her hips slightly to bring him deeper into her. He'd spent a long five days wondering what it would be like to be buried to the hilt inside of her, but his imagination hadn't done justice to the reality. She was tight around him, creamy and hot, and he knew that no other woman would ever feel like this. He'd been waiting for Delia, he realized, waiting to make love to her with everything he could give. He watched her face as he moved within her, listened to the little moans of pleasure when they found each other's rhythm and moved toward heaven.

  She came first, which led him to his own release, an explosion that seemed to come from the very base of his spine. It was like nothing else he'd ever experienced, he realized some moments later, when he was still trying to catch his breath against Delia's neck. Her hair lay in tangles on the pillow and he saw that her eyes were closed. He could feel her heart pounding beneath his chest, and wondered if she had experienced the same kind of joy as he. He was surprisingly still hard, still inside of that tight warmth. It would be polite to retreat, but he had no intention of moving off the bed. With little encouragement and not much time, he would make love to her again.

  This time, slowly.

  Delia turned, opened her eyes. Smiled. Wriggled as if she liked the feel of him inside her. "Don't go."

  "No," he agreed. Leaving the bed hadn't occurred to him.

  "Good."

  He planted a playful kiss on her mouth. "I should have taken you up on your offer to have—what did you call it? Wild and crazy sex?" At her nod he continued. "Doing it in the pool in the middle of the afternoon with a drunk suburban divorcée would have been one hell of a challenge."

  "The neighbors would have been shocked. I like this better." She waved her arm toward the high windows covered with miniblinds. "No one knows we're here."

  "Is that so important?" He slid out of her, got rid of the condom and returned to the bed. He lay on his back, clasped his hands behind his head and stared at the ceiling. Sure as hell, this night had been too perfect.

  "I meant I was glad we're not going to be interrupted. That we have our privacy without the whole town knowing our business." She leaned over him. "It's not what you think, what you said last time, that I didn't want to be seen with you. Why would you think something like that?"

  "Easy. Not too many people in July would think I was good enough for you. Not sixteen years ago and not now." He turned on his side and so did Delia, so they faced each other in the darkness. Then he drew the edge of the sheet over her shoulder, just in case she was cold. Delia moved closer, tucked her head in the crook of his arm and sighed with something that sounded like contentment.

  "It's awful," she said softly, "not being good enough."

  "Sweetheart, could we talk about something else?" He ran his hand along her shoulder, amazed that he could touch her naked body with such ease. He brushed a palm over her breasts and felt her shiver.

  "You're not the only one, you know. I used to think I wasn't a good enough wife or a good enough stepmother. I'm over that now, though." Her body, warm and naked and all his for the night, nestled against him. He couldn't imagine any man thinking that this woman lacked anything.

  "Smart thinking. That husband of yours was an ass."

  "But why do you care what people think? You're not the same person you were years ago."

  "It's not something I think about a lot." He paused, wondering how to explain growing up poor, scared and wild without sounding like he was feeling sorry for himself. "My father was a mean drunk and everyone knew it, figured his sons would be just like him. Whenever I'm in July I figure everyone's waiting to see what wild-ass thing I'm going to do next."

  "I was kind of wondering that myself." Her hand wandered from his chest to his hip then lower, to the part of his body that lay rigid along her stomach. She encased him with her fingers and tugged ever so gently.

  "Want to know what I'm thinking about?"

  "That I'm easily aroused?"

  "Well, yes, thank goodness." She laughed, but her hand continued pleasuring him. "And I was also thinking that I like the wild side of you, too."

  "Sweetheart," he groaned, growing painfully large. "I love you and your hot little hand, but a few more seconds of that and I'm going to embarrass myself."

  She stopped, but her fingertips ran the length of him as if she was testing his hardness. "So, J.C. Brown, are you ready to have wild and crazy sex with a love-starved divorcée?"

  "Love starved, huh?" He rolled onto his back and took her with him. She straddled his abdomen and leaned forward for his kiss. "I can fix that."

  And that was the last time Joe spoke for a long, long time.

  * * *

  Chapter 11

  «^»

  He haunted her long after she should have been asleep. Delia listened to his even breathing, touched his calf with her toes, rested her head on her pillow and marveled at the sight of his dark hair so close to hers.

  Joe had made love to her a third time with exquisitely slow hands and a way of touching her that made her face grow warm in the remembering. He had wriggled down the length of her body, left a trail of hot tickling kisses to the very core of her. And he had made her laugh, before he took her breath away.

  The man wasn't shy. Sometime in the middle of the night they had showered together, no small feat considering the size of the shower stall. He had soaped her, using his hands instead of a washcloth. He had held her against him, her head on his shoulder and the water pouring down along his chest, while his fingers gently traced the curves of her body and lathered her skin. She'd been too exhausted, too enthralled to do anything but let the sensations—and the warm water—wash over her. With her eyes closed and her lips touching his neck, she'd come again.

  She'd intended to return the favor, but he'd fallen asleep. There would be plenty of time tomorrow, she assured herself, though she only half-believed it. After all, she was not the most worldly or sophisticated woman in July. She didn't know how these things were done. Was it too domestic to cook Joe breakfast o
r was it considered polite to offer? Would he leave before dawn, while she was asleep, and slip across the street to the guest bedroom? Or would he help himself to coffee, thank her for the evening and then make one of those meaningless promises to "call." She wished she'd thought to ask Kelly how these things were done.

  Love was complicated.

  The thought chilled her. Love? Why was she thinking about love? She didn't want to fall in love with anyone, yet this crazy feeling of happiness kept building. Until, looking at Joe's profile, she wanted nothing more than to slide her body against his and stay that way forever.

  Forever was not a good idea. She would have to act casual in the morning. As if making love to Joe was great fun, but nothing more. She would reorganize the bins of antique Czech beads, sorting by color and size. She would finish repairing the beaded Victorian purse she'd found at a yard sale last summer. And if Joe lured her back into the bedroom, she would race him to the bed.

  Being single and carefree definitely had its advantages, as long as a woman didn't fall in love.

  * * *

  Joe could have opened his eyes, but he decided that it was better to stay completely still and enjoy the feel of Delia's body tucked against his. It had to be morning, because he felt like he'd slept for hours. He felt pretty damn good, too, like a man who'd had his greatest wish come true.

  He sure as hell didn't regret hauling her out of town before the fireworks started. She would have only gotten in trouble there on the dance floor, no matter how much she insisted she could take care of herself.

  He didn't believe it. And he was damn glad he'd arrived in time to stop her being mauled. My wife, he'd said. The word had shocked him, coming out of his mouth as easily as his own name. He'd never really thought too much about getting married and settling down.

  He hadn't thought about it at all, even when he'd considered taking the children and his mother and heading back to Austin. There was no room in his life for a wife, someone who would expect more than he could give. Someone who would insist on sweet talk and devotion, someone he was tied to for the rest of his life—barring the unexpected, naturally.

  He'd wanted to believe that love lasted forever, but then again, sometimes that wasn't a good thing. All he had to do was look at his mother to remind himself that love didn't always have happy endings, that some folks paid too high a price when they fell in love.

  Joe looked at the sleeping woman beside him. The white sheet covered her body from the cool breeze of the air conditioner, but now he knew what that body felt like. And tasted like. And how it responded to his.

  Walking out of here this morning was going to be damn near impossible. He'd been a little bit in love with Delia since he was a kid and now? Well, now he was a grown man who still knew what he wanted. Joe leaned closer to her and placed a soft kiss on her perfect mouth before he closed his eyes and gave in to the temptation of sleeping just a while longer.

  * * *

  "She won't see me!"

  "Shh," Delia said, and Joe sat up in bed as if the room was about to be invaded. Who in hell was making such a racket? The male voice, though, was familiar. Uncomfortably familiar.

  "Why? You have company?" The man snorted as if he'd made a joke, but when he spoke again his voice was lower. "She dumped me, Delly. After everything I did for her."

  Joe wished Delia hadn't closed the bedroom door. He'd give a lot to see Martin Drummond's face when he discovered a man in Delia's bed. It was tempting to climb out of bed and walk into the kitchen, but he hesitated. He suspected Delia wouldn't appreciate him making his presence known.

  "Do not call me 'Delly.'" Big mistake, Martin. Joe grinned.

  "But—"

  "And I don't want to hear about your girlfriend," Delia said. "I don't want you coming over here, either. Unless you're here to tell me you sold the house and you're going to hand over a check."

  "Gee, when did you get so mean?" There was the sound of water in the sink and then Joe heard the coffee grinder.

  "I think it came on suddenly," she said. "Just this morning."

  "There's a lot of that going around." Martin sighed. "I've been across the street. Julie won't talk to me—at least her mother said she was sleeping."

  "It's not even nine o'clock. Maybe she was up with the baby last night."

  "She took Hank home after the fireworks and then she went out dancing. Without me."

  Obviously Julie wasn't as in love as she said she was, Joe decided. Not anymore.

  "You've never been much of a dancer," Delia pointed out. "And the kinds of parties you like don't include bars and country music."

  "I saw her leave the Creek bar. With a man."

  "So now you're a stalker?"

  "I'm crazy about her. So sue me. You're making coffee? Good." Joe heard a chair move, as if the guy was rearranging the furniture for his comfort. "I'll give Julie some time to wake up and wait here."

  "Go back to your condo, Martin. Go have breakfast with your daughter and read the paper or something. You're not going to hang around here and cry on my shoulder about your love life." There was silence for a long moment and Joe smelled the coffee brewing.

  "This place looks like a cheap bar." Martin couldn't take a hint and leave, which meant it was time Joe considered making an entrance.

  "That's the look I was going for, all right." Ah, yes, Joe thought. Sarcasm from the little lady.

  "I want you to move back home."

  Joe was off the bed and into his jeans in less than thirty seconds.

  "I'm living here now," he heard Delia reply, so he stopped to listen.

  "You're doing this on purpose," Martin muttered. "Staying in a run-down trailer park to embarrass me in front of everyone in town."

  "I think you've done that all by yourself," Delia pointed out.

  "Please. Let's not relive the past. Move back in the house until the place is sold. We agreed that would be the best for everyone." Martin's voice held more confidence than was smart. Joe zipped up his jeans and sat on the bed to put on his boots. He might have to kick the son of a bitch down the stairs.

  "I changed my mind. I like living here a lot better than I did on Lincoln Street

  ."

  "Because you're closer to your new boyfriend?" There was a sneer in Martin's voice that Joe didn't care for. He stood and walked over to the bedroom door. "Really, Delia, you could have done a lot better for yourself than J.C. Brown. He's only out for one thing, and you know dam well what that is."

  The doorknob moved silently, the door swung inward.

  "Maybe that's what I'm after, too," Delia said. Joe saw that she was dressed, her hands on her hips as she faced her ex-husband, who now stood in the kitchen as if he was waiting to be offered a cup of coffee.

  "But—" Martin's mouth dropped open as Joe walked into the kitchen, but his chest puffed out like he owned the place.

  "You were saying?" Joe pretended a nonchalance he didn't feel, just in case the jerk decided to shut up and get out.

  "Oh, great." Martin rolled his eyes at Delia. "And I thought it couldn't get any worse. But you've actually had sex with him?"

  "Yes. I've had sex. Hot sex. Wild sex. Sweaty, passionate, upside-down sex. Casual sex, Martin."

  "This—this isn't like you, Delia."

  She lifted her chin in a proud gesture. "I know. Isn't it great?"

  Casual sex? Joe wasn't sure he'd agree that what happened last night could be described as "casual." And he didn't like having his sex life discussed, either, damn it.

  "Delia—" Martin's face flushed. He looked like he might have a heart attack. "He's using you."

  "Get out," she said, and poked a finger in his chest. "Now."

  "And leave you to shack up with J.C. Brown like the town slut? No way. You'll be the laughingstock—" His words stopped abruptly when Joe's fist connected with his mouth. It was a satisfying crunch, though painful. Joe hadn't hit anyone for a long time, but he hadn't forgotten how. He packed a pretty good wallop in hi
s right fist and Martin staggered backward until he hit the kitchen door.

  "Joe!"

  "You bathard." Martin put his hand up to his mouth. "The lady told you to leave," Joe said, flexing his fingers in case he had to hit Drummond again. "So leave."

  "You're crazy," the man muttered, shooting Joe a look that promised revenge.

  Joe met his gaze. "You need help down the steps?"

  Martin, his nose bloodied, turned around and left. Joe faced Delia, whose fingers gripped the gray-speckled Formica counter. "Sweetheart? Are you okay?"

  "What have you done?" She looked at him as if she thought he was some kind of idiot.

  Joe shrugged and opened the refrigerator. Inside was the freezer, with its assorted ice cube trays. He'd need to keep the swelling down if he wanted to be able to use his hand tomorrow. "I got him to stop bothering you."

  "You shouldn't have hit him."

  "He insulted you."

  She shook her head. "It's not worth it."

  "Hey, a man protects his woman." He grinned at her and set the ice cube tray on the counter. "Can I get a cup of that coffee?"

  "No. I'm going to drive you to town so you can get your truck and then you're going to go back to Austin before the police come."

  "Police?" He dumped the ice cubes onto a dish towel, then wrapped it around his knuckles. "I didn't kill him, Delia. I just punched him in the mouth. Which, by the way, he had coming."

  "You punched a lawyer in the mouth, Joe. Martin will be filing assault charges as soon as he gets back to town."

  Joe couldn't help laughing. She stood there looking so serious and worried, as though he couldn't take care of himself. "He's just mad about Julie, that's all. I'm glad she got rid of him, but Mom's going to be heartbroken. She thought she was finally going to get a respectable son-in-law."

  "This isn't funny." She poured them both mugs of coffee and handed him his, which he took with his left hand. "You've got to get out of here before there's more trouble."