Uncommon Passion

by Anne Calhoun

  This he understood. Taking and getting used in return. It was simple, uncomplicated, and unemotional. Who he was.

  When her muscles slackened she shifted backward, clearly intending to push herself up and off. His arm tightened at her waist. “Where are you going?”

  “I’m done,” she said evenly.

  “I’m not.”

  “Perhaps I don’t feel very accommodating after being stood up this morning.”

  The words were both dead serious and testing. He felt one corner of his mouth lift as he looked at her, because he knew damned good and well the difference between no and talk me into it. “Perhaps I’ll change your mind,” he said, mimicking her precise cadence.

  Keeping one arm tight around her waist he rose to his feet. His jeans sagged low on his hips but not low enough to hamper his progress to the wall between the kitchen and the bedroom. Her legs rose to clasp his waist, but that slight surrender didn’t stop him from thudding her into the wall and driving in, hard, right through her breathless gasp. Her eyes widened as she studied his face. The concern was back in her eyes, he noted through the need raging inside him. Not concern that he’d hurt her or use her. Concern for him.

  He’d heard the phrase fuck her blind, which was why he powered his hips and his mouth, ravaging hers, as he pounded her into the wall so she would stop looking into his soul. It was hard, fast, ruthless. Apparently the raw power worked for her because within moments her eyes closed and her head tipped back, exposing her throat. Her hands scraped the back of his skull, holding his mouth to hers. The air in her lungs, huffing out over his lips and jaw, was as erotic as her body tightening around his hips. Weight braced on one forearm, the other under Rachel’s ass, he pounded his anger and frustration into her.

  She took it greedily, urging him on, demanding more, until a strangled cry wrenched free of her throat. Her pussy convulsed around his cock, hot and slick and so fucking tight that he went over himself. With one final, deep thrust he nailed her to the wall with hips and chest, his face pressed against her cheek, and poured everything into her.

  This time she gasped for air like she was strangling. His fault. He straightened enough for her to breathe more easily, and felt sweat trickle down his back and along his jawline.

  “Better?” he asked.

  “Yes,” she said, but the word lacked complete conviction.

  He stepped back and set her down, disengaging their bodies in the same move. She took a couple of tentative steps back to the living room, and by the time he’d ditched the condom she’d stepped into her jeans and panties. He pulled his jeans back up and buckled his belt, but didn’t bother with his shirt.

  “You’ve got leaves in your hair,” he said.

  “Rob and I went on a picnic down by the river,” she replied.

  It took only a split second to imagine the scenario that involved fallen dry leaves making contact with Rachel’s hair. Jealousy roared through his chest and down his limbs to his fingers and toes. As if she felt the blast of emotion, she looked at him. His rational mind noted that she’d spoken the words without a hint of taunting or threat. She’d simply stated fact.

  “It was just a picnic,” she said wearily. “We fell asleep by the river.”

  He got the sense she’d said the same thing to Jess the jealous farmhand. “It’s none of my business.”

  She shrugged, neither confirming nor denying his statement, but it could be your business lay under that shrug. She walked over to the dinette, where she’d left her keys, and picked them up. Keys, leaves, a lazy Sunday afternoon by the river, and a woman who wanted to feel blended in his mind.

  Without thinking, he spoke.

  “Let’s go to the Pleasure Pier next Saturday night.”

  “Because our dates go so well you want to do it again?”

  One corner of his mouth quirked up. “I promise this time it won’t end with a woman gagged and handcuffed in my bed.”

  She shot him a raised eyebrow. “What is the Pleasure Pier?”

  “It’s an amusement park. Rides, carnival games, junk food.”

  “It’s like you’re speaking another language,” she mused. “I thought you worked Saturday nights.”

  “I’ll get someone to take the shift.”

  “Why?”

  Because I’m jealous. Because I want what you’re giving Rob. “I still owe you from the auction.”

  “You owe me?” she asked lightly, then added, “That’s a change from wanting another shot at it. Sounds like fun.”

  This woman had no self-protective instincts whatsoever. “I’ll pick you up at seven.”

  “You don’t have to drive out of your way to get me,” she started.

  He cut her off. “That’s how dates work.”

  She gave him a little smile, a real one, like maybe things were better than when she showed up at his door. “See you Saturday,” she said. “Stay safe.”

  “You, too,” he replied, and locked the door behind her.

  Everyone was worried Rachel would get her heart broken if she didn’t get a ring and a vow and a happily ever after right out of a movie. But Rachel needed something more, something he didn’t know if he could give her. She had no shields whatsoever to protect her from anything.

  Including him. The only thing he could teach her was how to harden her heart.

  Chapter Seventeen

  After closing the farm stand on Saturday evening, Rachel dashed up the bunkhouse stairs, accidentally slamming the screen door against the wall in her haste to get inside. Jess, reclining on the sofa with a book in her hand, startled. “What’s wrong?” she demanded.

  Those were the first words Jess had spoken to her since last week. She’d apologized the next day, but their conversations during the week were limited to work situations, and strained. “I’m late,” Rachel said as she hurried past. “I never used to be late. Now I’m late for everything.”

  “You never used to go anywhere,” Jess pointed out, her tone slightly amused. “Cut yourself some slack.”

  In the bedroom Rachel stripped, drew on her robe, and took a fast, cold shower, thinking more about getting various smells off her skin and out of her hair than making herself pretty for a date. Back in her bedroom she pulled on a clean skirt and blouse, then roughly towel-dried her hair and began the lengthy process of detangling it.

  Jess leaned against the doorway and studied her fingernails. “You’re going out?”

  Rachel nodded. “Into Galveston.”

  A pause, then, “With who?”

  She paused, the comb halfway up her hair, and looked at Jess. “Ben.”

  “Oh.”

  “Did you talk to Rob?” she asked.

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  Jess crossed her arms over her chest, but her tone wasn’t defensive. “It’s not that easy. I’m not that easy.”

  Rachel charitably refrained from agreeing. “There’s someone who will love you for who you are.”

  “For someone who’s been dating for just weeks, you’re pretty confident about that.”

  That was the truth. Confronting Ben and then having sex with him took the edge off her temper, but it didn’t resolve any of the fundamental issues she faced. Another letter returned unopened, still no word from the vet tech school, and Ben’s stress level made hers look meager. Was that how he coped, how he lived? In search of something edgy and raw to kill what he felt? Or numb it? Rachel lacked experience with emotional ups and downs, but even she knew feelings couldn’t be killed.

  Two hard knocks sounded on the screen door, echoed when the weathered wood kicked against the frame. Jess peered over her shoulder at the door while Rachel looked at the clock.

  “Your date’s here,” Jess said.

  Six thirty on the dot, not
a smidge of makeup on her face, and he wasn’t her date. “I need five more minutes,” she said, pulling the wide-tooth comb through her hair.

  “I’ll stall him,” Jess said, and reached for the doorknob.

  Out in the living room she heard Jess invite Ben inside and offer him a drink. Ben declined, and based on the lack of footsteps, he stood just inside the door. Hair smoothed and coiled into an off-kilter knot at her nape, lip gloss and a bit of mascara applied, she checked her buttons and slipped her feet into her sandals. As she expected, Ben stood just to the right of the screen door, his back to the wall, his hands in his jeans pockets.

  Rachel flashed her roommate a quick smile and got a lifted eyebrow in return. “I’ll be home by midnight,” she said, then turned to Ben to explain. “The does are due any day.”

  “I’ll set the alarm,” Jess said.

  “Thanks,” Rachel said.

  She climbed into the truck. Ben closed the door behind her and came around the front. The setting sun winked off his wraparound sunglasses and picked up glints of blond in his dark hair. He hitched himself up into the driver’s seat and reversed back to the dirt road. Despite the early spring heat, he wore yet another faded western shirt and jeans. The windows were open to the night air. Rachel turned her face to the setting sun and let the bluegrass music on the radio and the breeze settle her down.

  “How was your day?” she asked after the first fifteen minutes passed in silence.

  “Busy,” he said.

  “With what?”

  “We served warrants on three felony offenders,” he said.

  “Which means what?”

  “We surrounded their locations, took the doors, subdued the offenders, and hauled them off to jail.”

  He said it so matter-of-factly. She tried to construct a picture in her head of taking a door, and failed. “And you did this on a Saturday?”

  “Police work is anything but nine-to-five. Some units work mostly nights and weekends. Gangs. Drugs. Vice. SWAT works whenever, and surprising the fuck out of a guy with outstanding warrants for armed robbery, assault with a deadly weapon, and attempted rape, while he’s still in bed with a hangover beats the hell out of another hostage siege.”

  He was vibrating. Absolutely vibrating with an energy she couldn’t name but was becoming so familiar with. From what she’d seen, Ben Harris had two speeds: jacked up and post-fuck. The time between the two, well, she didn’t see that. “Have you ever thought about doing something else?”

  “No. How about your day?”

  And that was the end of that conversation. “Also busy. Today the Truck Garden made its first run into Galveston so we shined it up and loaded it before we opened the farm stand. The line was six deep at the register all afternoon. Plus the usual chores. The does are so close, and I mean so close to kidding. Rob’s like a nervous father with fifteen expectant mamas in his care. I told him they’re more likely to kid at night, when it’s calm and quiet, but he keeps checking on them. Then there was milking, feeding, stalls, harvesting what’s ready to sell, one of the barn cats had kittens in the tack room, a customer’s car got a flat tire in the parking lot so the A&M boys changed that for her, and George got sprayed by a skunk.”

  He laughed, and the smile that lingered on his face held no sharp edges, no threats. “Damn.”

  “George was just thrilled with this new thing to chase, but then Rob called him a bad dog, and George practically crawled on his belly in apology. Poor thing. I think the smell was so tantalizing he just lost his head. He apologized with lots of wagging and licking, Rob apologized for shaming him, and then we mixed up a home remedy and Rob bathed him. And then I did afternoon chores. And shut down the farm stand. And showered. I did not take any doors.”

  Her too-bright tone must have registered, because Ben cut her a glance. “Another letter come back?”

  “Yes,” she said. At least she wasn’t carrying it around with her.

  “When are you going to give up on him?”

  “Never,” she said, astonished. “I’ll send him graduation pictures, wedding pictures, snapshots of his grandchildren. I left Elysian Fields, but I’ll never stop loving my father.”

  Silence held until they pulled into the Pleasure Pier’s parking lot. They parked in the reserved lot and caught the shuttle to the front gates. Even from the parking lot Rachel could see the pier extending hundreds of feet into the Gulf, lights and sound bouncing off the water. The thunk and rush of the roller coaster, the whirling swing that sent chairs swinging out over the water, the screams echoing from the roller coaster’s passengers. Ben paid for two unlimited ride passes and they walked into a wall of sound and humanity.

  “How hungry are you?” Ben asked, his voice pitched to carry over the noise.

  She turned slowly in a circle, taking it all in, the noise and lights and intermittent screams, the thunder and rumble of the roller coaster, the jangling music. She laughed out loud, delighted by the sheer intensity of the experience.

  Ben stopped her midspin. “Food or rides,” he said

  “Rides,” she said. “Definitely rides.”

  A slow, hot smile crossed his face. Without discussing it they bypassed the kiddie rides like the carousel and the teacups, continuing down the pier until they reached the Pirate’s Plunge.

  “You’re going to get wet,” he warned.

  She took his hand and pulled him toward the line. When their turn arrived they clambered into a hollowed-out plastic log decorated like a pirate ship. Ben leaned against the back of the seat and braced his feet against the floor. Rachel sat between his legs, tucking her skirt down. His arm came around her waist, snugging her back against his torso. “Okay?” he asked.

  “A skirt wasn’t my best choice for tonight,” she said.

  The ride started with a jerk, bumped along a coursing current in the slide and ended with them shooting down a long, steep drop into a pool. Water sprayed back into the boat, dousing Rachel’s white blouse and red-and-white checked skirt. She laughed and slicked her hair back, checking her pins to make sure the bun was still intact. “Told you so,” Ben observed as they climbed out of the ride.

  “You’re wet, too,” she said, plucking her wet shirt away from her breasts. The seat of his jeans and the thighs were soaked, and his shirt clung to his torso. She stepped against his body, put her hand on his abdomen and tilted her head up for a kiss. He wrapped his arm around her waist, where she linked her fingers through his and lifted his arm to tuck her neatly under his shoulder, then brushed his lips possessively over hers.

  The good mood held through the Sea Dragon, which rocked them back and forth until they were nearly perpendicular to the pier, and the Iron Shark roller coaster, on which Rachel was simply too overwhelmed to scream. Her heartbeat thundered in her ears and she couldn’t hear her own breathing, or even much of the Pleasure Pier’s ambient noise. An amused smile on his face, Ben firmly took her hand and led her to the food court, where he left her reserving a table while he joined a long line at the counter. To pass the time she watched people meandering along the boardwalk. Groups of young men and women studied each other as they passed, parents ushered children from ride to ride, couples shared drinks and food. But as her pulse slowed and her breathing evened out, something about the energy bothered her, something she couldn’t quite put her finger on.

  Maybe it was the way the children seemed inured to the sights and sounds around them, the parents frantically cajoling them into enjoying the rides, the food, the games when they obviously needed a break from all noise, maybe a book to read in a quiet room. The dinging games, the flashing lights, the swoops and drops and heights, all combined to create an artificial high. The veneer of sound and lights cracked ever so slightly to reveal a desperate search for distraction or anesthetizing, for so much input the brain would shut down just to get some relief.

/>   There was a thrill in doing something her body knew was bad for her, but there was a price to be paid, too.

  Ben returned with a tray of pizza slices, cheese sticks, and a platter of spaghetti on the table. He unloaded forks, knives, and napkins from under the plates, then pulled a bottle of water from one back pocket, and a bottle of beer from the other.

  “You okay?” he asked.

  He’d picked up on the shift in her mood. “Fine,” she said. She lifted a slice of pizza from a plate and bit into it. “Why do you like this?” she asked through a mouthful of cheese and crust.

  He looked at her, gaze sharp. “You don’t?”

  “No, I do,” she said. “I’m having a great time. I just want to know.”

  “It’s fun,” he said and bit off another mouthful of pizza.

  “Why is it fun?”

  “Why do you have to know why?” he replied with a smile that held an edge like a blade. “Does there have to be a reason for everything?”

  She thought back to his workday. “I like to know why,” she said. “When you know why you know something about the world, and yourself.”

  He gave a shrug that wasn’t an answer.

  “Too many questions?” she asked lightly.

  “I don’t know what answers you want,” he said.

  The blunt reply surprised her. “Sometimes I just want someone to ask the questions with,” she said.

  They finished dinner, then strolled through the arcade, heading for the Galaxy Wheel. Her steps slowed at a shooting game called Target Practice because a crowd had gathered around one young man, attempting to win a stuffed animal for the lady at his side. Excitement fueled the girl’s pleased smile and the boy’s endearing swagger. Ben pulled her close to his body as they watched, keeping her out of traffic.

  “Let’s give it a shot,” he said when the young man failed to win the largest teddy bear hanging from the framework around the game. His girlfriend accepted the smaller bear and rewarded him with a kiss.

  “Who’s next?” the barker called.

  “I’ll go,” Ben said, withdrawing his wallet from his front pocket.