by CP Smith
Pfft, I knew which one I’d choose.
“I plead the Fifth.”
“You can’t plead the Fifth Amendment to get out of admitting you should have stayed in the car and not put yourself at risk,” Dallas argued.
“You don’t know me well enough to know this, but I can’t sit idly by and watch stuff happen. It’s a flaw in my personality, I like to help.”
“That’s not a flaw, disobeying an order is a flaw for Christ sake.”
Disobeying an order? What am I, a solider?
“Dallas . . . by the way, who named you Dallas, it’s an unusual name,” I asked in an attempt to change the subject. I didn’t want to get off on the wrong foot before we’d even started, but his thinking that he could order me around was making my eye twitch.
“My mother, she’s from Dallas,” he answered, but his raised eyebrows, and the glint in his eyes, told me he knew what I was doing.
“Is your sister your only sibling?”
Dallas rolled his lips between his teeth to keep from yelling, or laughing, which one, I wasn’t sure. He then closed his eyes for a moment and shook his head slowly, as if he were dealing with an errant child. When he opened them, I could tell he was expending effort to keep from yelling by the color of his face (a pale shade of rage).
“Erin is my only sibling,” he answered abruptly.
“Are your parents here in town, are you close to them?”
“You know avoiding the topic won’t make it go away, Nicola.”
“I’m not avoiding it. I admit I didn’t listen to your suggestion to stay in the car and took a risk. But what’s done is done, Dallas, and I won’t apologize for doing what I thought at the time was helping. So let’s move on and you can tell me about yourself,” I urged.
“All right,” Dallas agreed surprisingly, “since you seem to want the long and short of it, here it is. My Mom and Dad retired to Florida about two years ago. Erin and I are close. I went to OU on a football scholarship, but didn’t get much game time. I’ve been on the police force since I was twenty-two. I worked my way up to homicide by the time I was twenty-seven. I was married for three years, but it ended two years ago because I worked too damn much for her liking and she became involved with another man. I don’t have any kids, though I’d like two or three, and if you ever,” his voice became growly at this point and his brows pulled together as his honey-colored eyes burned into mine, “take a risk like that again, I’ll put you over my knee. Are we clear?”
I was too stuck on the fact he’d been married to be outraged over the threat of being spanked. I wasn’t sure if I was scared or just jealous he had an ex-wife. Therefore, I rushed out in a slightly louder tone, “You were married?” before I could stop myself.
Dallas must have heard the surprise in my voice because he didn’t answer immediately. Instead, his body seemed to tighten infinitesimally as the hand that held the steering wheel gripped it tighter, turning his knuckles white.
“Is that a problem for you?” he asked cautiously, keeping his eyes on the road.
“No, why would that be a problem?” I outright lied. I had visions of some supermodel ex-wife, one I could never live up to, dancing around in my head. Why would he think that was a problem? Men can be so dense sometimes.
Dallas turned and looked at me as we sat at a red light, studying my face for a moment. I guess I pulled off the air of “Your ex-wife is no big deal” I’d been attempting to convey because he loosened his hold on the wheel, relaxed back into the seat, then called me on my lie.
“You blurted that out like it pissed you off.”
Ok, so maybe he wasn’t dense.
“What? Why, why would I be pissed off?” I answered truthfully, as I schooled my face. I wasn’t pissed; he’d missed interpreting my emotions by a mile, I was scared of being inferior. Not measuring up to what he lost to another man.
“All right, if you aren’t pissed then is it a deal breaker?”
It may have been a few years since my last relationship, which ended badly because he couldn’t handle that I wrote explicit sex scenes and spent way too many hours trying to recreate them. However, even though I was a novice at relationships, I knew we’d been moving toward this moment all day. What with all the talk about why he’d kissed me and then the almost kiss at El Rancho Grande. Nevertheless, I still wasn’t sure if Dallas had been flirting, was interested in a possible relationship, or just wanted a wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am. Therefore, I wanted to know what kind of deal he was talking about before answering.
“A deal breaker for what, exactly?”
“A deal breaker that says six months or a year down the road you decide you don’t want to be with a man who has an ex-wife. An ex-wife that I never talk to because she remarried over a year ago, thank Christ. An ex-wife that I was too young at the time to see was selfish when I married her or I’d never have put my ring on her finger. An ex-wife, I didn’t miss all the fuckin’ much when she left.”
He’d pulled into the underground parking lot while he explained more than thoroughly that his ex-wife had no hold over him, and we were now sitting next to my Beetle as he finished. “An ex-wife that pales in comparison to the woman who spilled coffee on me, shoved her ass in my face, and took out a criminal because she wanted to help rather than worryin’ about breakin’ her fuckin’ nails. I have no doubt you’ve got friends that deal with exes fuckin’ up their lives, but that’s not the case with me. She left, I let her, and we don’t talk. Ever.”
Well, then . . .
“First off, I didn’t shove my ass in your face, and secondly, I don’t judge a person for having been married. I was just surprised and admittedly a tad jealous that you’d been in love once, not to mention the whole “she’s probably a supermodel that I can’t live up to” insecurity rolling around in my head. That being said, even if you did have to deal with her daily I think after growing up with the twins I’d be up for the challenge. If, like you said, in six months or a year we’re still seeing each other, of course.” Then I added, “You should probably know that I’ve never been married, and what few relationships I’ve had have been short-lived. Not because I’m afraid of commitment, it’s because the men weren’t men, they were . . . Well, I don’t know what they were, eunuchs I’m guessing.”
Dallas was smiling at this point which I thought was a good sign, then he made me flat out swoon when he said, “I already knew you hadn’t been married since there’s no way a real man would let someone like you go.”
Oh, man. Is it too early to say I love you? Yes? How about shagging him in the car?
“Would it be alright if I ripped your clothes?” I breathed out, obviously not thinking about what I was saying or caring in the least.
“Cameras,” was all he replied.
“What?”
“There are cameras in the garage,” he explained in a deep, hoarse voice.
I looked up and saw the big black glob pointed right at us and I sighed. Good Lord, two seconds longer and I would have been on YouTube under the heading, “Author does research in a parking garage.”
“Nicola, I need you to get out of the car,” Dallas growled. When I looked back at him, I noted his eyes were glowing with intensity, the honey color was a deeper shade of amber, and he was breathing deeply through his nose. Seeing that intensity told me I better get out of the car like he had asked or my ass would end up on YouTube. So out I got. Quickly, I might add.
Fumbling with my purse to keep from looking at Dallas, I moved to the driver’s side door of my car and unlocked it. Before I could open it, however, I was swung around and backed into the door. I had about a millisecond to recover before a warm mouth was on mine, and the gasp I’d let out in surprise allowed his tongue to invade my mouth without hindrance.
I was finally receiving the kiss I’d imagined all day . . . and then some.
This kiss wasn’t a branding kiss, it was somewhere between, “Yes, I’ll bear all your children” and “Are you happy to see
me or is there something in your pocket.”
When his arm wound around my back, hauling me firmer into his body, I dropped my purse, hooked his neck with my arms, and flattened myself against his chest as he leaned me back against my car. After more than a yearlong drought with no men in my life, and considering he wasn’t just a man, but an honest to goodness man’s man, I lit up like a tree in a forest fire.
There’s something magical about a first kiss. The way the air seemed to buzz around you like Jacob’s ladder electrifying your atoms. The rhythms of your mouths as you drink in their taste. The feel of their lips gently moving across yours, teasing at first, and then deepening as your bodies react to the pheromones you each put off. The push and pull, the groping and moaning as you discover each other and learn what they like or dislike. Dallas liked control, which was apparent in the way he kissed, the way he held me, and the way he wanted my mouth to submit to his.
I was a romantic at heart, but I was also my own woman, one who’d put words on a page one summer and never looked back, determined to be a writer. I took care of myself, managed most of my business myself, and didn’t rely on anyone for anything. I guess you could say I liked control too. But there was something so completely satisfying about giving control over to someone else, to allow them to take the lead, and in this situation, I was more than willing to bend to his wishes and let him lead me where he wanted. And where Dallas wanted me, was trapped against my car.
All thoughts about cameras flew from my mind as I moaned deep in my throat when his hand rode up my side, stopping just below the curve of my breast. His thumb swiped not once, but three times against my nipple, igniting me further, until I couldn’t help but rub myself against his leg I was now straddling. His hand moved from my breast to my ass when he felt me move against his leg, pulling me further into his body, grinding me slightly against his thigh. When I whimpered, because it felt so damn good, he ripped his mouth from mine on a growl of frustration as I panted like a prized racehorse after the Kentucky Derby.
“Jesus, if you kiss like that with your clothes on, I’m gonna retire now and keep you in bed for the rest of my life,” Dallas groaned as he pressed his forehead to mine, catching his own breath. He moved to my neck next and placed tongue touches precisely where I’d feel them most as I tried to calm down, his hands still moving over my body.
“Does that mean you’ll call me sometime for dinner or was that a “see you around” kiss?” I replied with a gasp when he nipped my ear.
“I see you have a sense of humor to go with your brains,” he whispered in my ear.
“You have to with brothers like Bo and Finn.”
Dallas chuckled since he’d met my brothers, then he pulled his head from my neck and kissed me sweetly one last time. When he was done, he moved back, pulled me away from my car, and opened the door for me. I climbed in on weak legs as he bent down and handed me my purse. When I looked up at him, he chuckled and tugged my hair.
“You’d better straighten your hair and clothes before you go anywhere.”
I looked in the mirror after that remark and saw to my horror that my hair looked precisely like someone had buried their hands in it while making love to my mouth, as if I’d been well and truly kissed.
“Guess I won’t be stopping to speak with Father O’Callaghan,” I laughed as I tried to smooth down my hair.
“Probably not a good idea,” Dallas agreed as he leaned into my car and kissed me one last time for good measure. Complete with a lip nip and tongue touch.
It was the best goodbye kiss I’d ever had.
Dallas watched as I started my car and pulled out. He raised his chin in the unofficial man’s man acknowledgement as I waved goodbye. I watched Dallas from my rearview mirror as I drove through the parking garage. He stood there a moment watching me leave then turned on his heels and headed for the elevator. All I could think as I watched his muscular frame walk away was that I had to revise my character’s personality for my hero in “Property Of.” I was way off. Instead of sensitive and caring, he needed to be dark and brooding with a bossy side. Oh, and he had to smell sinful like soap, musk, and sex.
***
The girls all arrived at Gypsy’s within ten minutes of one another, and we’d all gathered in a quiet corner to discuss Melissa’s death, and give our support to Angela.
Shock was the prevailing emotion in our group as we thought about the vibrant woman with the red silk blouse. For Melissa’s life to end that way, made the loss even harder for Angela. Death had a way of silencing you like nothing else can. It leaves you morose, stealing the joy from your life, and replacing it with dark thoughts of “What if.”
What if she had worked the whole day, would that have stopped someone from breaking into her house and killing her? Or, was she targeted by some unknown maniac, who wouldn’t have stopped until he’d ended her life? One could drive themselves crazy thinking about the “What ifs.” However, as with all experiences in life, it too served a purpose. To help you process the loss.
“I’ve never known someone who was murdered,” Angela told no one in particular.
“Did Dallas say how she died?” Kasey asked.
Shaking my head no, I explained. “He can’t discuss the specifics of the case, only what is public information.”
As if on cue, the TV that sat up front on the counter broke into our thoughts as the anchor recounted the top stories of the day. “Tulsa police don’t suspect at this time that the brutal death of a Tulsa woman is connected to the string of murders that have been dubbed “The Shallow Grave Murders.” Melissa Webster was found Saturday evening when she failed to arrive for a weekend with friend’s out–of-state. Police reported that Webster was repeatedly stabbed in her home sometime Friday afternoon after leaving work. This is the seventh homicide this year in Tulsa, which is down from the same time last year. At this time, Tulsa police have no motive or suspects and are asking anyone with information to call the crime stoppers tip line.”
No one said a word after hearing the gruesome details. Kasey and I, who were sitting closer to Angela, grabbed her hands and held on as she took deep, shuddering breaths to gain control.
“Jesus,” she whispered, blinking back tears.
Kristina looked lost as to what to say, so she went with humor to break the tension in the room.
“So, Nicola, did you play tonsil hockey with triple D, or what?”
Angela burst out laughing, seemingly grateful for something to focus on besides her friend’s murder, and threatened, “I’ll divorce her if she didn’t.”
“I did, you’d have been impressed,” I joked, going with the change of topic for my friend. “I even rubbed myself on him like a common hussy. Are you proud?”
“Aww, Nicola’s all grown up,” she laughed while wiping tears from her face.
“Well, don’t leave us hanging for God’s sake, tell us what happened, and leave nothing out,” Janeane ordered.
Leaving nothing out, as Janeane put it, I told them about the rest of the afternoon. They’d hooted about the criminal I took down and sighed when I told them Dallas had called himself lucky. They were impressed with my make out session in the garage, but couldn’t agree when it came to how to handle Dallas as the relationship progressed. Angela urged me to jump him, Kasey said to take it slow, Janeane asked me why I had to tie myself down to one man, and Kristina tried to explain that if I showed too much enthusiasm he’d back off and keep me guessing.
“Listen to me,” Kristina continued, “men are like that. If they know you’re hot for them they’ll take their time calling just to make you sweat.”
“Kristina, he doesn’t seem like the type to play games though,” I argued.
“Does he like control?” she asked.
“He’s a man that goes without saying” Kasey scoffed.
“Hold on a minute. How would you know, Kris? You’ve been married for eight years,” I reminded her. “Dallas isn’t some college boy with overactive hormones
.”
“That’s how Dave hooked me in,” she explained. “I told him, “Call, don’t call, what do I care?” So he left me hanging because he could see right through the lie. By the time he did call, I pounced on him, so his plan worked.”
“Wait, if you told him, “call, don’t call,” then how did he know you were interested?”
“Um, it may have been the text messages I sent him,” she laughed.
“So you’re saying he didn’t call you, because you were too busy texting him, he didn’t need too?”
“Exactly, see how they work?”
Oh, I got it. I got it so much I decided just to smile and do my own thing. Dallas seemed to like that I was honest about what I felt, and he didn’t run screaming from the car when I told him I might have been a tad jealous of his ex-wife. I was positive he wouldn’t play games, which, by the way, is a trait of a real man.
While the girls continued to argue about what not to do were Dallas was concerned, the alarm on my phone went off and I pulled it out. I’d set an event reminder for this evening and gasped when I looked at it. With everything that had happened since Saturday, I’d completely forgotten that I agreed to meet Tom Sheldon, the man I’d chatted with Saturday night on POF, for a drink at Rusty Crane; a bar and grill that was only three blocks up from Gypsy’s.
Hell’s bells.
“Why are you frowning?” Angela asked.
“I, um.”
“What’s on your phone?” Kasey inquired.
Oh, lord. How do I explain this without pissing them off?
“I, uh, I made a date for tonight at Rusty Crane and my phone is reminding me.”
“Why didn’t you tell us? Here we are advising you on how to play it cool until Dallas calls and you already have a date?” Kristina replied.
“It’s with someone else,” I explained, then watched as four eyes widened and then narrowed because they couldn’t’ believe I hadn’t confided in them before now.
Lord, I was in a mess of my own making!
“Ok, here’s the deal—”I got out, but Toni Roseneau, Kasey’s yoga master, interrupted when she walked up and sat down.