Whirlwind Romance: 10 Short Love Stories

by Alicia Hunter Pace

  “Langley. Tomorrow night.” Krista raised her chin and stroked her mascara, a teensy smirk the only evidence of her intent to cause trouble.

  “I thought the conference ended tomorrow afternoon,” he said.

  “It does.” I stood, half thinking of greeting him with a quick kiss. Actually, I had to stand because really I had an overwhelming visual of what kind of tattoo he might have at the end of his treasure trail and sitting on a bed seemed like a really bad idea.

  Damned Cosmo.

  “We’re staying an extra night so we can hear the Blues Revivalists play over in Langley.” I didn’t do any kissing and squashed the visualizing as best I could. “You should come with us.”

  Did I really just ask a guy out?

  His grin softened. “That’d be cool.” It took him three steps to invade my personal space, and when he got there, he ran a fingertip down the side of my cheek.

  I smiled despite myself. Turning into his hand was just too easy.

  “Are you staying here the extra night?” he asked.

  I shook my head, brushing his knuckles with my lips. This—whatever it was—between us wasn’t going to last, but temporary didn’t mean I had to give up on right now. “We’ve got a reservation in Langley.”

  He cupped my cheek with his palm. “Might be too late to get one myself. Can I crash with you?”

  The elevator dropped out from under my tummy. “Sure.”

  “Get a room,” Krista intoned. She came through the door and tossed her makeup bag in her suitcase. “C’mon, lovers. It’s time to go admire Jessica Freeman’s fabulous fillies.”

  Randy bumped my forehead with his and I moaned. Kids choirs were so not where I wanted to be. With just a little more prodding from Krista, we all headed over to the lodge.

  Chapter 12

  The best part about the concert was sitting next to Randy, and the best part about dinner was my anticipation of dessert.

  And I’m not talking ice cream.

  Actually, the dinnertime entertainment wasn’t bad, either. While working on our leathery lasagna, we were treated to the Kirk and Jessica Show, which involved fawning and giggling and at least one masculine sigh. The whole production got an under-the-table round of applause. For his big finish Kirk kissed her right in front of the fruit punch.

  “He has all the technique of a mother bird delivering a worm to her chicks,” Krista said in my ear. I had to walk out of the dining hall to keep from embarrassing myself.

  After dinner, Krista borrowed my car keys and took off. She’d renegotiated things with Robbie and was meeting him in Langley for some unspecified activity I really didn’t want to know too much about. Which left me and Randy.

  Standing between our two cabins.

  Where the setting sun was turning the ocean from aqua to navy to indigo.

  Holding hands.

  “So … goodnight?” he said.

  Disappointment nailed me. “I should go in and do some reading.” Because Sex Divas so often spend the night alone with a good book.

  “Me too.”

  Neither of us moved.

  Time for me to be bold. Confident. Direct. And maybe try a compliment. According to the fine folks at Cosmo, A Little Sugar Goes a Long Way.

  “Guess what. I lied.” I faced him, which was an awkward choice because the faded amber light reflected off his glasses, hiding his eyes. “I don’t have a book to read. I was kind of …” I tugged gently on his shirt, right above where it tucked into his jeans. “Hoping you’d show me …” Nerves temporary disabled my ability to speak. I cleared my throat and pressed on. “Your tattoo is so amazing, and you said you had others.”

  He wrapped his hands around my waist and drew me closer to his body. “I don’t show them off to just every girl.”

  Though I couldn’t read his eyes, his firm hold and his half smile and the little gap between his lips told me he liked where I was headed. I slid my fingers into the front pockets of his jeans. “Can we go to your cabin? In case Krista and Robbie have a fight and she has to crash here.”

  His smile broadened, but he didn’t give me an answer. The pause lasted long enough to make my heart stumble. Maybe I’d misjudged the situation, totally misinterpreted the cocoon of tension and heat wrapped around us whenever we were alone. All right, no. I’m not an idiot. The zoom-y sensations were real. There had to be some reason he was holding me off. I took a deep breath, struggling to say something lame to get us both off the hook.

  And then I held that breath, because his lips locked onto mine like I was a fountain and he was a thirsty, thirsty man. Holding me in place with a hand to the back of my head, he caught me in a torrent of fierce kisses, tearing at my lips, drowning me in sensation. I gasped, which gave him an opening, and his tongue found mine. I tasted smoke and promise and savory man, and I returned his energy with a dividend, cascades of pent-up emotion surging through the connection between us.

  When he finally broke the kiss, I sagged against him, my belly pressed against his, his hardness rubbing my thigh. “Your cabin, then?” It took me a couple of tries to get the words out, and when they came, my voice was a haggard whisper.

  He didn’t even bother answering, just clutched my hand and dragged me along the path. We stopped on his front porch.

  “How come you don’t have a roommate?” I asked, nerves making me pick at details.

  Randy fumbled with the key for a moment, then pushed open the creaky old door. “The guy from Roosevelt canceled.”

  He kicked off his shoes before going in, so I followed suit. Then we were inside, facing each other in the dusky twilight and saltwater air. His cabin had a dresser against the wall at the foot of one of the bunks and a small table under the window. We both sat, as if now that things were getting serious we needed a break before taking the plunge.

  “I’ve got some sodas in the cooler,” he said.

  “Could really use a shot.” I spoke mostly to myself, then pressed my palms together in front of my mouth when I remembered why he’d offered soda instead of something stronger.

  Resting his palms on the table, he gave me a rueful shrug. “Nope.”

  I covered his hands with my own. “Guess you’ll just have to deal with my nerves, then.”

  Rueful gave way to naughty, and he flipped his hands over to grasp mine. He only let go long enough to slide his glasses off and toss them on the table. He looked younger without them, stronger, as if he could see deeper without his wire-framed shield.

  “So you know my sordid story,” he said. The only other sound was the steady wash of the waves running over the beach. “What’s yours? You’re too pretty to be single.” He coughed a little after he spoke, clearing smoke out of his lungs.

  I coughed, too, or rather choked. Too pretty to be single? Right. “Creighton Kleig.”

  “Kleig? The piano guy?”

  “Yeah, you know him?”

  Randy shrugged. “I did a few gigs with him, before he left for L.A. He’s kind of an asshole.”

  “We were engaged.” I let the thought peter out.

  He rubbed a knuckle through the shadow of a beard on his chin. “Didn’t he, like, dump some girl at the altar?”

  “Well, technically I hadn’t left the hair salon, but close enough.”

  “You?” He squeezed my hand and looked me full in the face.

  I could only meet his gaze for a second before I had to pull away. This was the big scary black hole I’d let dominate my life for the past five years, four months, and I’d lost track of how many days. I swallowed hard and squared my shoulders. “Cost my Dad a crap-ton of money.”

  “Shit.” He drummed a finger on the table. “Well, shit.”

  “I have some trust issues.” I hoped the cliché would help us laugh it off.

  Neither of us even chuckled.

  “Well,” he spoke on a sigh, “if dealing with MP and Vaughan has taught me nothing else, it’s that if I say I’m going to do something, I do it.”

 
Saying the words out loud made the hole smaller somehow, shrunk it, made it less dramatic and more of a manageable sadness. I laughed, breathing deep, surrounded by the combination of sea air and cigarettes I’d come to associate with Randy. “How is it you’re still single? Guys who call when they say they will are rare.”

  “And girls who don’t freak out when a guy tells her he went through recovery and has kids with a lesbian couple are also rare.”

  “Yeah, well … wait.” I jerked on his arm, using it to leverage myself to standing. “You didn’t tell me they were your kids.”

  I closed the distance between us, and he shifted around so I could plant myself between his knees. It was a toss-up which of us had the naughtier grin.

  He put his hands on my butt, holding me in place. “Is that a deal-breaker?” His steady massage stirred up all kinds of heat. “Because jacking off on a gurney behind a curtain in a clinic, well, it’s not the same as…”

  As what? All of a sudden I couldn’t think of much besides the more conventional way to make babies, and the way he kept stroking my ass made it pretty plain his mind had headed in a similar direction. A tiny thread of excitement got caught in my throat.

  This was it.

  Chapter 13

  Though I’d only known Randy for a day or so, I’d been waiting a good long time to get to this moment. Sitting in his little cabin, his eyes as dark as the forest at night, the tension vibrating from him resonated with the mix of fear and excitement dancing through me. The regular rhythm of the waves gave us a soundtrack, and for a long moment we paused, taking each other in.

  Then he stood, wrapping his arms around me and crushing me against his body. He paused with his lips so close the warmth of his breath brushed over me, and then he dove in. This was no tentative will-he-or-won’t-he press on my lips. No, the hunger in me roared from deep in my belly, heated by parts of my anatomy even further south. It knocked us both sideways, landing us on the bunk.

  Randy squinted, as if he couldn’t quite bring me into focus without his glasses. He lay beneath me, stretched full out and apparently enjoying his fuzzy view. “You’re making it hard to keep my pants on,” he said.

  I quieted him with another kiss, playing with his lips, nipping at the corner of his mouth. His hands slipped under my shirt and molded to my back.

  “No bra,” he said, the words more of a gasp against my neck.

  I just smiled and worked my legs in between his, pressing my belly against his hard length and continuing an onslaught of kisses. I wanted him, plain and simple. The retreat, Kirk, his past and mine all faded, softer than the sound of the waves out on the beach. My inner Sex Diva came out and I didn’t even try to fight her.

  It was time to make something new.

  “You’re a good kisser,” I said, easing away so I could meet his gaze.

  He smiled, a look both mocking and amused. “Horn player.”

  “And your good hands?” I gasped as he tweaked my nipple.

  “Piano.” He shifted his weight, pushing our groins together and leaving no doubt as to what his little head wanted. “Let me see you,” he whispered, reaching for the hem of my stretchy top.

  He pulled it off over my head and his low whistle told me all I needed to know. He rolled us both to the side, one arm under my shoulders and the other hand doing amazing things to my breasts. This time his kiss had more intention, his tongue thrusting, both of us panting. I scooted his shirt up as far as I could and we broke the kiss so he could pull it off over his head.

  We lay pressed together, my nipples tingling where they rubbed against the ginger hairs on his chest. He ran lazy kisses over my chin and down my neck. “Are we having sex or not?” he asked, his lips moving just above the base of my throat.

  I curled my upper body so I could whisper into his ear. “Do you have a condom?”

  He dropped onto his back, laughing. “One.”

  I shifted, curving myself along the side of his body and fighting a squeal of excitement because we were talking about having sex. My heart beat faster than any Irish reel, and the slippery heat between my legs needed Randy’s attention. Badly.

  Trailing gentle circles through the hair on his chest, my fingers stopped at his belt buckle. “You weren’t a Boy Scout, I guess.”

  “Hell, yes. That’s why I carry one. I just didn’t figure this weekend would put a big demand on my supply.”

  “But you thought you might need one?” I went to work loosening the buckle of his belt.

  He pulled me down for a kiss. “Be prepared.”

  A brand-new box of condoms was hidden in the bottom of my bag, but if I ran over to my cabin, would I lose my nerve completely? Hmm. According to the Cosmo article, I needed to find a frenulum to flick. We could deal with the issue of prophylactics later.

  “Come here,” I whispered, then slid to the floor on my knees.

  Eyes narrowed in a thoughtful skepticism, he swung his legs to the floor in front of me, close enough to run my fingertips along his belly. I pulled the band out of my hair and shook it loose, then scooted over, inviting him to stand. Using my shoulder for leverage, he did, and I went work on his jeans, button after frustrating button. He would wear vintage Levi’s. I dragged his pants over his butt, feeling around for his nonexistent boxers.

  Oh. Commando.

  He chuckled, the sexiest sound ever, and scuffed his jeans off the rest of the way. “What are you up to?”

  “Shh.” I lay a fingertip on my lips. His wicked smile gave me all kinds of encouragement, but still I paused, eye level to one of the most beautiful things I’d ever seen.

  A band matching the one on Randy’s upper arm had been tattooed just above his right knee. A trailing vine rose from it, wrapping around his thigh and creeping up. The vine became a serpent, climbing over his hip and ending just above his pubic bone. I couldn’t actually see the serpent’s head through his erection, but made a leap of logic from my position on the floor.

  I traced my fingers along the tattoo, the motion punctuated by his sharp intake of breath. Leaning forward, I pressed my face against him, nuzzling the coarse curls at the base of his shaft, breathing in the musky masculine smell that had nothing to do with cigarettes or salt water.

  I cupped his balls with one hand and grasped the base of him with the other. His muttered “shit” sent a buzz of excitement to my happy place. Good. He liked my idea. I needed this, needed him, needed to be in charge of how I got new memories.

  “You put your mouth on me,” he said, drawing in a quick breath as I ran my fingertips along his shaft, “and we’re pretty much going to be having sex.”

  “Yeah.” I turned the word into a soft whistle, blowing over the head. He pulsed in my grip, and after culling the memories of the Cosmo article for a few more ideas, I took him in my mouth.

  The last time I’d given a blow job, I was so scared I’d do something wrong, neither of us had much fun. This time I let the sounds he made and the shivery tension in his thighs guide me. His hands wandered through my hair and stroked my shoulders and I lost myself in the taste and the feel and the gorgeous energy surging between us.

  Making him happy gave me joy, a rosy pink light filling me and stretching my lips in a smile even as I opened up to swallow more. His hips rocked, little waves in sync with my rhythmic moves. I pulled off him, swirling my tongue over the head, his salty pre-come a reward for my effort.

  I could have kept at it a lot longer when he gripped me with both hands and pulled away. “God, stop. I’m going to lose it if you don’t.”

  “’S okay.” I reached for his hips, but he jerked aside.

  “Nah, baby, this first time I want to come inside you.”

  He pulled me to standing, diving into my mouth with a series of ferocious kisses, shoving me against the dresser. My yoga pants evaporated and without taking his mouth off me he magic ked the condom from somewhere. I snatched the foil packet, tore it open, and stretched the rubber over him, nearly destroyed by the meltin
g burn only his touch would relieve.

  Hitching my thigh over his forearm, he ran light fingertips over my lower lips, setting off a whirlpool of shivers. I sucked on his tongue, driving my hips up, forcing his fingers inside. He took the hint and teased me, moving in and out, going deeper each time. With something close to a sob I brushed his hand aside and reached for his cock, aiming it where I needed it to be.

  Groaning against my mouth, he plunged in, taking me in one strong thrust. I arched into him, jaw quivering against the burn. Yeah, it hurt, but in the best possible way, and I flashed on Krista in the bar, reminding me how good it could be.

  Randy took off, rocking me, rocking the dresser, rocking the world. Every thrust radiated strength, and instead of tomboyish, I felt powerful and feminine. I might have had sex before, but this was the first time I felt like a woman doing it.

  And it was so good.

  All musicians can keep a beat, and there was definitely some motion in Randy’s ocean. Pretty soon he’d doubled the pace of the waves outside, and a glorious heat started spinning from deep inside me, deeper than any man had ever reached. He gripped my neck, driving the movements of my hips with his other hand. One of us whimpered.

  It was me.

  He tipped his head, sweat glistening at his temples. “You’re unbelievable.” His words were barely more than a gasp. “You really are.”

  Before I could answer him, the heat grabbed me and all I could think about was faster and harder and more. On a breath, the bottom dropped out and I tumbled over a waterfall of excruciating pleasure. He slowed his pace, laughing, and asked if I was okay.

  “Your turn,” I said, clinging to his shoulders to keep myself upright. He reached for my other thigh, and I wrapped my legs around his waist, hitching my butt further up on the dresser.

  Resting his forehead against mine, he really started to rock. His climax was so intense it all but brought me there again.