Really Something

by Shirley Jump

  “Get a room,” the old man said when Duncan tasted Allie’s neck between the second and third floors.

  The elevator dinged at the top floor. “We did,” Duncan said, then gave the couple a wave and tugged Allie off with him.

  This time, Allie had her card ready. Within seconds they were in the room, Allie against the wall, Duncan’s hands ranging over her body, shifting her skirt upward, the silky fabric riding over her body like water over a cliff.

  He reached over her head for the light switch, but she stopped him. “I like the dark.”

  “I want to see you,” he said, his voice nearly a growl, the desire beating hard and fast in his veins. It had been a long, long time and this woman, this stranger, really, had awakened feelings in him that he’d thought were dead.

  She let go and light flooded the room. “Better?”

  “Perfect,” Duncan said. He captured her jaw in his hands and drew her face to his, placing a kiss against her lips. He took a moment to savor the kiss, to savor her, this moment, because he knew in ten seconds, everything would turn to fire.

  And before it did, he wanted to preserve one sweet moment in his memory. “Thank you,” he whispered.

  She smiled. “For what?”

  There weren’t words to express what he wanted to thank Allie for. For giving him back his life. For making him believe, if only for tonight, that he had a future waiting for him down the road, a day when the responsibilities would lessen and he could live a normal life. “Just thank you.”

  Her smile widened, then she dipped her head, raising his shirt to allow her access to kiss his chest, slipping it off an inch at a time as she did. He had to resist the urge to tear off his clothes—and hers—to hold back from racing to the finish line. To hell with savoring, his body said, just get to the point.

  But no, this was oh so good, she was good. So he stood there, letting Allie touch him, kiss him, waiting for a few minutes while she took over the driver’s seat.

  Allie stepped back and pulled off her own shirt, revealing a white lacy bra. He felt his groin stiffen even more—he hadn’t thought he could get any harder than he was, but he did, and then again even more when he couldn’t wait any longer and joined the party, his hands cupping her breasts. He ran his thumbs over her nipples, nearly dying when she let out a gasp of ecstasy.

  His mouth joined hers again, no more sweet kisses this time, instead a hard, hot kiss that told her exactly where he wanted to go next.

  “Patience, Duncan,” Allie whispered, pulling back and out of his grasp. She bent down to remove his pants. Then his boxers. She trailed her kisses down his torso, and Duncan inhaled sharply with anticipation.

  “I think”—But then Allie went down on him and Duncan decided thinking during sex was highly overrated.

  Duncan Henry didn’t just make love to Allie Dean. He played a waltz on her body. By the time they made it to the bed, he had given back even better than she had and stoked the fires of her desire with every available body part. His tongue, his mouth, his fingers.

  Yet with every step closer to the bed, her brain was yelling at her, telling her this was a crazy idea. That there was a very real danger of falling for Duncan Henry again.

  And in the end, being the one who loved and then ended up being left. Again.

  But when the last piece of clothing between them was gone, and they fell into the bed, twining and untwining their bodies, still kissing and touching, she forgot exactly why making love to Duncan was a bad idea. Allie slid against him on the bed, warm skin to warm skin, fitting into the valleys of his body with the perfection of just the right puzzle piece. Wanting only to feel him inside her before she died with want. “Did you…come prepared?”

  She could swear his face reddened. “It’s, ah, been a long time. I don’t think I have anything with me.”

  For some reason, that thought thrilled her. Duncan wasn’t running around town with woman after woman on his arm or in his bed. He didn’t have a whole box of Trojans waiting in his back pocket. In fact, he didn’t even have one.

  “I stopped at the store.” She had indeed done that, after the day at the farmhouse, considering the purchase part of her whole love-him-and-leave-him plan. For a second, she wondered where that plan had gone.

  Because right now, leaving didn’t sound like such a great idea.

  Especially given the way her heart had tangled with her desire, sending all her best intentions by the wayside. Allie shook off the thoughts. Afterward, she’d deal with her emotions. For now, there was Duncan—a very naked Duncan—and a few needs of her own to fulfill. Allie leaned over, her breasts brushing against his chest, the sensation against her nipples nearly enough to send her over the edge, pulled open the nightstand drawer, and withdrew a condom, then took her time sliding it on him, enjoying his groan of anticipation.

  She watched him, his blue eyes intent on hers, her heart beating so loud and fast, and every muscle in her body so taut, she was sure she’d break if she didn’t find release.

  “I think you’ve waited long enough,” Duncan said, as if he’d read her mind, sliding his arm around her waist, flipping her as easily as a pancake, then slipping his body between her legs. She inhaled a sharp, deep breath when he entered her, arching her back, accepting his length, the way he filled her so easily, so completely. Oh God, yes, it was everything and much, much more than what she could have imagined.

  “Allie,” he murmured into her hair, his strokes long and slow at first, the tempo easy and sweet, then, the heat between them building again and her nails dug into his back. One of them—maybe both at once—began to stroke harder, her hands gripping at his ass, wanting it faster, harder. Just wanting him, more of him. Wanting him now.

  “Oh, Allie,” he moaned in her ear, pumping harder, a little rough, but not so that he hurt her, his speed arcing her orgasm up with electrical bursts.

  She called out his name, then bucked with him, stars exploding somewhere in her head, as the world disappeared for one long, slow, hot second in Duncan Henry’s arms.

  Everything she could have imagined—and more. And try as she might to have kept her heart above the fray, she knew it had gotten swept up, too.

  “I think,” Allie said when she could breathe again, when her pulse had settled, “that we’re going to have to do that a second time. It’s been a while for me, too. And I think I need a refresher course.”

  He grinned and pressed a kiss to the tender valley where her shoulder met her throat. Something melted in Allie then, something that told her she wasn’t going to be able to walk away from him so easily.

  Her plan had a major hole in it, and she could feel it, in the lingering tenderness of his kiss.

  “Good thing you have a ready and willing tutor.” Duncan peeked past her into the still-open drawer, then returned his gaze to her face, his grin half tease, half tenderness. “And a lot of supplies.”

  Chapter 17

  The dust cloud rolled and tumbled into Tempest, oblivious to anything in its path, carving out the road as if the trio of vehicles owned that part of the asphalt.

  Jerry Wiggs had arrived.

  He pulled his rented Benz SUV into an angled space in the center of town, a Podunk, dot-on-the-map place if he’d ever seen one, stepped out of the car, and waited for the fans. The people to notice that he, Jerry Wiggs, had descended on their zit of land to bring them wealth and fame.

  The rest of his crew slid into the spaces beside him, then got out of their black cars, looking more like Mafia than Hollywood. Apparently no one had told them to leave the dark suits and sunglasses at home. They were flanking what passed for a downtown strip, a few rundown stores, a parking lot with a couple cars on their left, a grocery store in front of them—Scotty had whined the whole way here about needing some Pepto-Bismol—and a hardware store to the right. Not much to look at, not much to do.

  Jerry checked his pulse. Nope, he hadn’t died and gone to Hell.

  A little old lady hurried up to him
, pushing a metal basket of groceries with a Pomeranian perched on top. Jerry leaned back against his car, a smile on his face. Yes, he practiced in his head, he was that Jerry Wiggs. Yes, they were making a movie here and I promise, it’ll be a doozy of a movie. One that would really scare your socks—

  “You forgot to put in your quarter.” The woman shook a finger at him. “You can’t park here if you aren’t going to put in your quarter.”

  “Lady, I can park here if I—”

  She leaned into him. The Pomeranian let out a growl. “Are you arguing with one of your elders? Disrespecting the elderly?”

  Jerry slid up onto the car’s hood a few inches. “Uh, no, ma’am.”

  “Good. Then put your damned quarter in.” She glared at him and stood there, waiting. One of her support hose slipped a little, bunching at her ankles, but she ignored it.

  Jerry snapped his fingers, annoyed and embarrassed that the old lady had reduced him to feeling like a second grader. “Scotty! Give me a quarter.”

  “Why should I—”

  Jerry whipped his head around. “Did I ask you to argue with me? Just give me the fu—” He glanced at Grandma Psycho. “Freakin’ change.”

  Scotty muttered under his breath, but dug the quarter out of his gabardine pants and placed it in Jerry’s palm. Jerry shoved off from the car, giving Grandma Psycho a “see, I’m doing it” look, then slipped the coin into the meter.

  A sweet, cookie-dispensing smile spread across Grandma’s face. “That’s a nice boy.” Then she patted him on the cheek—actually patted the Jerry Wiggs on the cheek—and toddled away, her support hose hitching up and down with each step. The Pomeranian craned his head around his mistress, gave a bark of the last word, then watched Jerry warily until they rounded the corner.

  “What kind of freak-ass place is this?” Scotty asked. “It doesn’t even have a Starbucks. How am I supposed to get a mochaccino? And I don’t see a dry cleaner. I can’t iron my own clothes.”

  Jerry gritted his teeth at the sound of Scotty’s whine. He’d have fired Scotty years ago, if he could have. But he was Candy’s nephew and in Jerry’s book, whatever Candy wanted, Candy got.

  Because if she didn’t, Jerry’s life was one living hell.

  “This is called roughing it, Scotty. So shut up and find our hotel.”

  “Uh, boss?” Leath, the new PA Jerry had hired within an hour after Allie left him and he realized he didn’t know where the freakin’ coffeepot was in his own office, put up a finger. He gave Jerry a weak smile. He was one of those skinny blond guys who looked like he could be knocked over by a strong wind, or by a woman with a good right hook. Wimpy and simpering enough to make Jerry happy. “There is no hotel.”

  “What do you mean, there’s no goddamned hotel? What the fuck kind of place did you bring me to?” Jerry’s voice exploded out of his lungs. A young mother standing by the candy machine outside Joe’s Sav-a-Lot tried to juggle her groceries into one arm and cover the ears of her two-year-old, but he was already crying, the little brat, whipping up a real storm of a tantrum.

  “It’s a small town,” Leath said. “The nearest hotel is thirty miles away.”

  “And did you book us a room in this nearest hotel?”

  Leath beamed. “I did.”

  “And does this hotel have freakin’ room service?” Jerry used slow, sharp words that even the brat could have understood. “Turn-down service? Mints on my goddamned pillow?”

  “It’s a…a…Ramada.” Leath’s voice stumbled a bit.

  “I didn’t ask you what the name of the hotel was. I asked you about the amenities.” He drew the word out a syllable at a time, each one increasing in volume. “I need goddamned amenities or I get grumpy!”

  The two-year-old’s wails turned into the cries of a banshee. His mother again tried the juggling act to hurry him away, but he remained rooted to the spot, little tree-trunk legs pulling against her efforts.

  “Will you shut that kid up?” Jerry said.

  The woman shot him a glare, then squeezed the bags into one arm, scooped up her screaming ball of fire, and hauled him out to a minivan in the parking lot.

  “Uncle Jer, that wasn’t very nice. He was a little kid.”

  “Which only means he’s shorter than me.” Jerry crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back on his car, taking deep breaths like Doctor Nonuting had told him to do. In, out, in, out, so he expanded his lungs instead of expending his fist into one of these idiots’ faces. “Now someone get me Allie on the phone. I want to know what the hell she was thinking, bringing me to this godforsaken hellhole.”

  Allie was in heaven. Curled against Duncan’s warm body, her head on his shoulder, his arm around her, she had definitely died and gone to heaven. Three times.

  Making love with Duncan Henry hadn’t been fun. Or entertaining. Or a way to pass seven minutes, as it had been with Geoffrey Dean. Or anything like it had ever been with any man she had ever slept with before. It had been amazing, incredible, and the entire Roget’s entry under oh-my-god magnificent.

  Duncan pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Hi.”

  She beamed up at him. “Hi yourself.”

  Duncan pulled Allie closer to him and cradled her jaw in his palm. “You are absolutely incredible.” He traced his finger along her jaw, down her throat, outlining her shoulders, her neckline in the shadowy darkness of her hotel room, the drapes still drawn against the morning sun.

  Last night, Duncan had called and asked the temporary nurse to stay overnight, paying her enough of a bonus to gain the extra hours. Katie’s squeal of delight at being right in her little matchmaking scheme echoed over the phone line and into the hotel room.

  The night away from his sister had clearly been restorative for Duncan in more ways than one. He smiled at Allie, looking rested and happy. “You’re beautiful—”

  “That’s the first thing you noticed about me?”

  “No. The first thing I noticed about you was your hand.”

  “My hand?”

  “You were holding a rock when we met, remember?”

  “Oh. Yeah.”

  “You’re intelligent,” he went on, not to be dissuaded.

  “We haven’t had too many conversations,” she pointed out. “More than a little of our time lately has been spent in bed.”

  “Where you have shown you can be very smart and inventive.”

  “Speaking of which, I just had the most interesting dream. Want to act it out?” She slid a hand down his torso, to cup another part of him that had already risen.

  He grinned and stilled her palm. “After we eat. We do have to pause for a food break once in a while.”

  “Order room service. Or we could call out for breakfast. And we’ll eat in bed. Or even better, feed each other.”

  “Or,” Duncan said, trailing a finger down the curves of her throat, skipping lightly over one her breasts, “we could eat off each other.” He stopped at the valley of her stomach, tracing a lazy circle. “This makes a perfect dinner plate.”

  Desire surged within her anew, as strong as the first time, not sated by their lovemaking but rather stoked, because now she knew how good it would be and she wanted it again. “Whatever will you use for utensils?” she asked, teasing.

  “This.” Then his mouth followed the trail of his finger. Allie’s body bucked a little beneath him. She’d passed the need for foreplay hours ago. Just being within five feet of Duncan turned her switch to ON.

  She’d imagined making love to him, but had never pictured anything beyond the act itself. Her mental fantasy reel hadn’t included him holding her. The way he’d toy with her hair, trace the outline of her shoulder.

  The way he’d look at her, as though he were committing her to memory.

  And most of all, the way it would make her feel. Allie hadn’t needed a dinner at Margie’s or Spago’s restaurant, or heck, a café in Paris to reawaken those feelings from high school. She’d been infatuated with Duncan then, and dreamed her
heart together with his…and clearly never really lost that connection.

  There’d been a detour into the awful marriage to Geoff, but then, this week, when Duncan had opened that door into his life and allowed her to see what made him tick, she’d understood.

  Duncan Henry, so fiercely protective of his sister that he’d stood in her stead against a raging, perfectionist father. And now, he shouldered the burden of her care, and the blame for her accident, even as Allie knew there were more dimensions to the story.

  All of that—coupled with making love with him—had now wreaked havoc with her plans to love him and leave him. Right now, she couldn’t imagine anything that would make her want to leave Duncan Henry.

  Ever.

  Especially when he paused to circle his tongue around her belly button. Her nerves exploded so fast and furious, her brain became a sputtering, stammering mess, focused only on what Duncan would do next—and where he would do it.

  He traced a lazy path farther along her torso. Allie’s fingers tangled in Duncan’s hair and she began to run down the mental possibilities of positions they had yet to try when her cell phone began to ring, dancing the slim Motorola across her nightstand. She tried to ignore it, but it kept on, a nagging interruption to real life. Damn.

  There was only one person who could be calling her.

  Which brought her back to reality. To the whole reason she was here. And it wasn’t to make love to Duncan Henry. To fall for him.

  “Hold that thought,” she said to Duncan.

  He raised his head from her belly and grinned. “With pleasure.”

  Allie flipped out the phone and said hello.

  “Get your ass down here,” Jerry yelled. “We have a movie to make.”

  Her reason to leave Duncan had just arrived.

  Chapter 18

  Half of Tempest had turned out for the first day of filming on Wednesday. Clearly, the movie crew was a novelty, particularly in a town that prided itself on its ability to keep litter boxes fresh.