by Cindy Gerard
Was it all part of some grand plan, she wondered as she turned off lights, brushed her teeth and went to bed. Was the idea to keep her confused? Make her crazy? Keep her on edge until she was so rattled and strung out with sexual tension that she took the initiative and dragged him off to bed by his belt buckle? Or was he truly being nice and giving her a chance to back out if she had a change of heart?
Okay. First things first. Her heart had nothing to do with this. Sure. She liked him but this wasn’t about hearts. It was about satisfying needs. Needs she hadn’t known she still had until John moved in and uncovered them like old bones on an archeological dig.
She growled low in her throat and flopped onto her stomach.
She was too old for all this turmoil. Growing old, as the saying goes, was mandatory. Growing up, evidently, was not. Well, she’d considered herself a grown-up for a good many years now until, once again, John had her thinking about necking in the back seat of the nearest car.
She’d have to be careful around him. Especially careful not to mistake the things she was feeling for him as anything but chemistry. She only had room in her life for one great love and he was gone. No amount of wishful thinking could change that.
“And?”
The doc’s beautiful blue eyes opened slowly as she swallowed a bite of her tortellini carbonara with a blissful sigh. “And you were right. This is amazing. How did you find this place? And what’s it doing in the middle of Montana?”
“A friend of mine owns it,” John answered as he watched her enjoy her pasta. Eating appeared to be a sensual, celebratory experience for the good doctor. Her eyes were often closed, her breath was deep and slow as she savored every bite. In turn, it was a sensual experience watching her.
As far as that went, everything about her was sensual, from her sage blue eyes that made him think of sleepy mornings after, to her woman’s curves and full lips that smiled dreamily as she enjoyed her meal.
She’d dressed up for him. He liked it. Liked the way her legs looked in those high, open-toed black heels, liked that she’d painted her toenails siren red and that she’d done a little something extra with her hair. The black decorative comb holding a sweep of blond silk behind her left ear matched her dress. A dress that looked a whole lot like a black slip with its thin straps and short hemline.
It was a summer dress and she’d worn it in deference to the heat. She might be cool in it, he thought, making himself take a sip of wine, but he’d been heating up by degrees ever since she’d met him at her door when he’d picked her up at seven to take her to Bozeman and Spaghetti Western.
“You have good friends,” she finally said between bites.
“Speaking of…” John rose, a huge smile spreading across his face as a tall good-looking man strolled over to the table. “Hey, Mac, how’s it going?”
“Thought that was you, J.T.” Grinning broadly, Mac, who’d been a friend since grade school, clasped John’s hand in one of his and slapped him on the back with the other. “But then I saw the lady and decided it couldn’t possibly be. She’s way too classy for the likes of you.
“Excuse me, ma’am,” Mac continued, turning to Ali, all flirty smiles and engaging charm, “but didn’t anyone warn you about this guy?”
“Okay, okay, knock it off,” John cut in, enjoying his friend’s good-natured ribbing. “I may live to regret this but, Ali, this back-stabbing, second-rate busboy is Brett McDonald, the owner of this greasy spoon. Mac—Alison Samuels. And that’s Dr. Samuels to you.”
Mac arched a brow. “A doctor, huh?”
“Veterinarian,” Ali clarified, grinning over their antics and obvious affection.
“Just so I have this straight, you came with him willingly?” Mac asked in aside.
“Sit down and quit trying to beat my time. The lady knows what she wants.”
“And right now, it’s to compliment the chef,” Ali said, grinning between them. “This is absolute heaven.”
“I give foot rubs, too, if you get tired of the cowboy.” Mac winked then turned to John. “So, how’s it going, bud? Long time, no see, and all that.”
John lifted his wine, drank. “I’m good. Don’t have to ask how you are,” he added looking around the crowded restaurant. “Cha-ching.”
Mac grinned—a quick dazzling flash of white teeth set in a face that drew women like honey drew flies. “Yeah. Can’t complain. Business has been great.”
“Understandable,” Ali said. “Not only is the food fabulous, the entire concept is smart and clever. I mean—naming the restaurant Spaghetti Western? It’s genius.”
“You,” Mac said, flashing his grin at Ali, “are clearly a woman of great intellect and wit—which begs me to repeat my question—you came with this guy willingly?”
“Obviously, you two have issues,” Ali said laughing. “I’ll just make myself scarce for a minute or two so you can work them out.”
After patting her mouth with her napkin, she picked up her purse and headed for the ladies’ room.
“Hit the mother lode on that one, pal,” Mac said, appreciation in his eyes as he watched her walk away from the table. “Someone slap you up alongside your head and knock some sense into you or what?”
Or what, John thought and promptly changed the subject to something he had a handle on—like an argument over their favorite football teams and how the pre-season was shaping up.
He wasn’t about to discuss Ali but he couldn’t agree with Mac more. He’d definitely hit the mother lode. Now the question was, how aggressively was he going to mine it.
This is what he’d wanted from the beginning. A good time with a beautiful woman. And this woman was the embodiment of his ideal. She was independent and self-contained. A woman who wouldn’t feel the need to fix him or get too deeply involved because she had her own need for distance. It wasn’t always that way. That’s why the minute a woman showed signs of wanting more from him than physical intimacy, he was gone. If they started telling him their life stories, well, then they’d expect the same from him and that just wasn’t going to happen.
That was part of why the doc was so appealing. Her secrecy came with a built-in guarantee she would respect his secrets. As warm as she was, she remained guarded and distant. And sad. That part still messed him up a little and made him more determined than ever to put a smile on her face.
As she came back to the table and sat down, looking like the lead in one of his most erotic fantasies, he told himself he’d show her a good time, treat her right, and, if he sensed she’d started wanting more, he’d do everything in his power to make sure they parted as friends.
Right now, all she wanted was to use him to open herself up to living in life. No problem. She could use him up.
She smiled at him across the table. Yeah. She knew exactly what he was good for. And it didn’t suddenly bother him that she might not want or expect a little more. It didn’t bother him a bit.
Just like this niggling sense of discomfort that had settled in the pit of his belly had nothing to do with disappointment that he could never be the kind of man a woman like her deserved to have in her life long term.
“X-Men,” John said decisively when Ali asked him to name his favorite movie. “The first one.”
“Figures,” Ali said. “It’s definitely a tech-head movie.”
They were sitting on her front porch swing again, rocking slowly back and forth, listening to the night sounds and a country ballad drifting down the street from someone’s radio and playing twenty questions. On the way back to Sundown from Spaghetti Western, they’d gone through favorite books, songs, artists. Trivial things, keeping it light, nothing too personal. Now they were down to movies.
“Am I supposed to feel insulted or complimented by that tech-head remark?” John asked with a playful gleam in his eye. “Never mind. If I had to ask it definitely wasn’t a compliment. It’s that pocket protector image I planted in your mind, isn’t it? You’ve been picturing me with black horn rims, whit
e socks and high-water pants ever since.”
Ali laughed, enjoying their silly banter as she hadn’t enjoyed a conversation for a very long time. And pocket protectors were the furthest thing from her mind. So were tight blue jeans. When he’d shown up for their date tonight wearing dark summer-weight dress pants and a pale blue button-down shirt, she’d been thinking he could adapt to whatever the environment called for—and look great. There was a raw sexuality about this man in tight jeans and a Resistol, a polished sensuality about the same man tonight.
His dark eyes were filled with humor as he sat beside her, waiting for her response.
“Actually, my first impression has pretty well stuck.”
He’d been on horseback the first time she’d seen him. She’d been answering a call for a vet. A yearling filly had gone colicky on him and he’d been astride a big bay gelding leading the filly around an outdoor corral. Keeping the yearling from going down had been crucial until Ali had been able to get there. Her breath had actually caught at the picture he’d made—rugged masculinity, youthful confidence and one of the most perfectly sculpted faces she’d ever seen.
“The first time I saw you is pretty well burned in my brain, too.”
She pushed out a laugh. “There’s a pleasant thought. I’d just come from a marathon calf vaccination session at Lou Bradford’s. I not only smelled like manure, if I remember right, I was wearing some of it.”
“You looked incredible. Your hair was tucked up underneath a ball cap…little strands trailing down the back of your neck.”
His hand, which had been resting on the back of the swing, touched her there, demonstrating.
“Here,” he said, his voice suddenly husky.
His fingers caressed with the softness of breath and sent a shiver eddying down her spine.
Ali made herself take a deep breath, inhaling the cool mountain night, the sweet fragrance of honeysuckle twining around her neighbor’s porch, but most of all the scent of the man so close beside her.
Her heart beat like thunder as his fingers stroked and the swing slowly rocked and the world shrank to the few feet of night they shared.
“Is this going to happen tonight, Ali?” he whispered softly.
Is this going to happen?
That straightforward. That direct.
Is this going to happen?
She hadn’t expected him to ask. She’d expected him to act. She ached with wanting for him to act. Every muscle in her body was clenched with expectation and anticipation and…oh, God.
The guilt came out of nowhere.
Crippling. Crushing.
She closed her eyes, felt the sting of tears.
The entire night had led up to intimacy. She’d known it. She’d dressed for it. She’d looked forward to it.
And now, she didn’t know if she could go through with it.
He must have sensed her hesitancy.
The stroke of his fingers on her neck stopped. The motion of the porch swing stilled. She could feel his gaze on her in the dark. Waited for the anger. He deserved to be angry. So it was only their first official date. Neither one of them had had any doubts about where it had been headed. She’d been sending signals all night, letting him know she was ready to cross one of those lines she’d drawn for herself.
And now, she was backing away.
Beside her, he let out a deep breath.
“It’s okay,” she heard him say and felt the gentle rocking motion of the swing again.
He pulled her against him. Pressed her head against his shoulder and held her while a silent tear streamed down her cheek. She felt like the biggest coward and the biggest fool in the world.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I…wow. I thought…”
When she trailed off, he picked up the thought for her.
“You thought you were ready and you’re not.” His tender acceptance brought new tears. “It’s okay,” he repeated, rubbing his hand up and down her bare arm.
To her surprise, she realized she was shivering.
“Well, hey—dinner was great, huh?” He squeezed her arm affectionately.
She pushed out a dismal laugh, then pulled away from his comforting hold to find her purse and dig around inside for a tissue. “This is so embarrassing.”
“No cause.” He touched a hand to her hair. “I had a great night.”
She wiped her nose then managed a feeble smile. “I did, too. In fact, I had a fantastic time.”
He firmed his lips, nodded. “Well, I’d best be moseying on back to the bunk house. There’s a cold shower waiting with my name on it.”
She laughed, as he’d intended her to. “Who are you, John Tyler? Computer nerd, man about town or aw-shucks cowpoke?”
He stood, reached for her hands and drew her to her feet with him. “I’m the man who’s gonna hang around until you’re ready,” he said, his dark eyes searching her face.
She wasn’t sure what he saw—other than a red nose and running mascara. But he didn’t see a fool. At least his eyes said he didn’t even though that’s exactly what she felt like.
He pulled her close, wrapped her tight then pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “Get some sleep.”
This is me. Nothing complicated, he’d said last night.
She disagreed. He was far more complex than either one of them had given them credit for. That sudden knowledge made her brave. And decisive.
“John.” She stopped him with a hand on his arm.
His gaze probed hers in the dark.
“Ask me again,” she whispered and felt her heart pounding, pounding, pounding in her breast.
He turned to fully face her, those deep brown eyes searching hers.
“Better yet…don’t ask.” She shivered when his hand came up, cupped her jaw.
She saw the moment it registered in his eyes. A wisp of smoke, then the flare of fire. Spontaneous, instant. Hot.
He understood what she needed from him—how necessary it was that he take control. He understood that she ached for that powerful rush of lust and desire, how she needed to be swept off her feet by a man who was a little wild, a little rough around the edges, a man who would take the choice away from her. A man who would take her by storm, a man who would be forceful so she could blame him and not herself if she got hurt when she took the fall.
This man was all of those things. Wild and beautiful. Impulsive.
A risk.
“Tell me what you want, Ali.”
His hoarse whisper caressed her nerve endings like a lover’s hand, rough and needy, demanding that she tell him what he already knew.
“You know what I want.”
His hand slid across her throat to the back of her neck and burrowed into her hair. Slowly, deliberately, he wrapped it around his fingers and used it to pull her flush against him. “Say it.”
She swallowed around the lump of excitement clogging her throat, so aroused by his gruff demand her knees almost buckled.
“Say it,” he repeated, tightening his grip in her hair and lowering his head.
When he pressed his open mouth against her throat, the words escaped on a breathless plea. “Take me.”
Eight
Consumed. There was no other way to describe it. She felt consumed by him. Thrilled by him as he growled low in his throat, aligned his mouth with hers and kissed her like he intended to devour her in huge, greedy bites.
He wasn’t subtle about what he wanted as he cupped her jaw in his hand and nudged her mouth open for the invasion of his tongue…and the consumption began in earnest.
She’d never been kissed like this. Like she was water and he was dying of thirst. Like she was sun and after years of darkness he’d just found his way into the light. It was earthy and raw and so arousing she didn’t know if her breath caught because of the shock or the pleasure. There was so much of both. And she needed it. Needed it as badly as he appeared to need her.
“Inside,” he murmured, lifting his head long enough to get
a bead on their location before he covered her mouth again and walked her backward toward the door.
Once they reached it, he backed her up against it, bracketed her face with both hands and dipped inside her mouth for another deep, carnal kiss. This time her knees did buckle and if all of him hadn’t been pressed up against all of her, she would have slithered into a puddle on the porch floor.
“Open it,” he ordered, scooping her up in his arms.
Somehow, she managed the door handle. Somehow, they made it inside. And somehow, sometime in the midst of his commanding seduction, she was no longer uncertain. No longer unsure.
She wanted to make love with this man. This man who carried her up the stairs, then stopped halfway up to lean against the banister and kiss her until her head was swimming. His need was huge. But his innate gentleness—a trait he’d shown her time and again with his animals and with her when she’d repeatedly sent him away—would never allow him to hurt her. This she knew without qualifiers. And she welcomed his aggressive seduction without fear.
No, he would never hurt her—her bedroom door, however, didn’t fare so well. When he found it closed, he kicked it open. She was aware of the sound of wood hitting wood, but just barely because he was kissing her again and the blood was rushing through her ears like a freight train blocking out everything but his nearness and her need.
His lips were incredible. A delicious blend of soft mobility and dangerous hunger. She savored the taste of him, the greed in him, and felt a surge of power so strong and sweet it made her smile against his lips when she sucked his tongue farther into her mouth and gently stroked it with her own.
“Off,” he said on a throaty groan and let her go long enough to set her on her feet by the bed.
He sat down on the edge of the mattress, his gaze never leaving hers and started unbuttoning his shirt. When she simply stood in front of him, relishing each inch of skin revealed as he jerked the shirt off his shoulders and shrugged out of it, he glared at her through smoldering eyes.
“Off,” he repeated, gruffer this time. Impatient.