Mating Game

by Maynard, Janice

  Her overhead light was off, and the only illumination in the room came from the small bedside lamp. Would he notice that she was still awake? Would he stop by her room and say hello? Her heart thumped away in her chest as she heard the front door open and close, listened to his heavy footsteps coming up the stairs and heading down the hallway.

  He didn’t even pause at her door. She couldn’t decide whether she was disappointed or relieved. Once he was down at his end of the hallway, she heard nothing. She turned out her light and stared into the darkness. Being here was so different from her apartment in Chicago. The two residences might as well have been on opposite planets.

  She closed her eyes and listened to the night sounds from her childhood, tree frogs, cicadas . . . the occasional bark of a dog or even a random coyote. The far-off, muted noises were soothing.

  Unbidden, her earlier fantasy of having Tanner in her bed returned. It would be a tight fit. Her mattress was an old-fashioned double, and his feet would dangle off the end. But maybe he wouldn’t notice if she kept him too busy to care.

  She imagined him fresh from the shower, his tanned skin damp, his hair wavy and tousled. His eyes would glow with lust as he pulled her on top of him and played with her breasts. . . .

  She groaned and moved restlessly between the sheets. A few moments ago the fabric had seemed cool and comfortable. Now the layers were hot and binding. Marc was responsible for this. He had made her accustomed to frequent sex, and now she was going cold turkey.

  Tanner was just down the hall. What guy would say no if a mostly nude woman walked into his room and climbed into bed with him?

  The idea was tempting, but the man was a stranger, hunky or not. Nola needed a little while to read him, to evaluate his character. She sensed that he was a decent guy, but it wouldn’t hurt to get to know him better before she let things go any further.

  She slid a hand between her thighs and stroked her damp sex. It didn’t take much to imagine Tanner’s fingers playing across her sensitive flesh, Tanner’s deft touch making her writhe with pleasure. Her breath caught in her throat as the image took hold. He spread her thighs with confidence, knowing she wanted the release he promised.

  His eyes gleamed in the semidark, and his lips curled in a teasing grin. He whispered her name as he lowered his head. When his mouth moved against her center, she groaned, shuddering beneath the onslaught of sensations. Heat. Need. Yearning. His tongue danced lightly over her clit and came back for an encore. She was shivering now, her fists grasping the sheet, her heels digging into the mattress.

  Tanner groaned. She felt the firm length of his hungry penis against her thigh, but still he concentrated on her, only her. One sharp, quick climax wasn’t enough. He barely let her recover before he drove her up the peak again with his teeth, his tongue, his hot breath.

  She wanted to beg him to enter her, but her voice was locked in her throat, held captive by his determination. She reached for him, urging him on top of her. Her body ached, wildly welcoming the connection as his flesh penetrated hers.

  All around them erotic stimuli chanted a silent refrain . . . Tanner, the wind, the soft bed . . . until she came with a groaned sigh, and almost instantly fell asleep.

  The following morning she was up bright and early, but Tanner beat her still. In the kitchen she found evidence of his breakfast. A bowl with oatmeal residue in the sink. A banana peel in the garbage. A coffee cup half-empty. She realized ruefully that she was going to have to buy a coffeepot. Her grandmother never touched the stuff . . . claimed that was what kept her young. But the instant crap was awful, and Tanner had probably been aghast that she had nothing better in the house.

  Maybe Marc was right. Maybe she was a spoiled city girl.

  She fought a wave of homesickness that came out of nowhere. Ordinarily she would be in her studio right now . . . or at a client’s house. Maybe photographing a newborn, taking a portrait of a high-profile CEO to hang in the lobby of a glitzy high-rise. Or even recording the sass and strength of a wrinkled grandma for a landmark birthday.

  She’d make time to go to her Pilates class and have lunch with girlfriends. She’d be normal, for God’s sake.

  Blinking back tears, she picked up the receiver of her grandmother’s ancient black rotary phone and dialed Tally’s number. Her friend answered on the second ring, her voice eager. “Thank God you called. I was imagining all sorts of dreadful things. What’s going on down there?”

  Nola swallowed against the lump in her throat and tried to sound breezy. “Everything’s fine. I’ve settled in and I’ve even seen Billy already.” Tally knew all the details of the will and the bare outline of Nola’s plan.

  Tally’s impatience came through loud and clear. “Well, don’t keep me in suspense. Was he flattered? Did he agree to talk to you? What happened?”

  Nola wrapped the old-fashioned phone cord around her finger. “Let’s just say that whatever made him dump me way back then hasn’t changed for the positive.”

  Tally was silent for a few seconds. “So what are you going to do?”

  Nola stared up at a water spot on the ceiling. “He agreed to have dinner with me tonight. I’ll start with that.”

  “And if he’s not interested?”

  “I met someone else.”

  Tally sucked in a breath. “Do tell.”

  Nola grinned, even though her friend couldn’t see her. “He’s a handyman my grandmother hired to do some repairs. And he’s really hot. You’d love him.”

  Tally snorted. “I’ve got enough men in my life to worry about. It’s you who needs a groom. Does he measure up?”

  The deliberately naughty inflection in Tally’s voice made Nola laugh and lightened her mood. This was what she needed . . . perspective. She glanced out the window, wondering where Tanner was working. “I barely know the man, Tally. Get a grip.”

  But by midafternoon, she quit denying her impulses and went in search of Tanner. She found him perched atop a scarily long aluminum ladder, ripping pieces of rotten wood from beneath the eaves of the house.

  He had on work boots and shorts again, but he was bare from the waist up. Even from this distance, all that smoothly muscled male perfection made her heart race. God, he was gorgeous.

  She called out a greeting and he turned his head. He wiped sweat from his forehead, dropped a handful of debris, and waved. “Mornin’, glory. Did you know your hair is on fire?”

  She blanched for a half second and then laughed. She was standing in full sunlight, shading her eyes, and she knew from experience that her hair was probably glowing. “No redhead jokes, please. I’ve heard them all.”

  He climbed down a few rungs, far enough for them to carry on a conversation without raising their voices. “Women would kill for your hair, I’ll bet.”

  She wrinkled her nose. “Doubtful. I always wanted to be a statuesque, blue-eyed blonde.”

  He chuckled. “You know the old Reba song called ‘Why Do We Want What We Know We Can’t Have’?”

  She nodded. “I’ve heard it. I guess it’s human nature.”

  He glanced from her hair to her pale green tank top to her denim shorts and below. Her legs weren’t very long, but they were in good shape.

  He smiled slowly. “I wouldn’t change a thing about you, Red.”

  His praise warmed and confused her. Men had been known to flatter a woman to get her into bed. Nola had a healthy self-concept, and being with Marc had bolstered it nicely. But was Tanner Nash really attracted to her, or did he have another agenda, and was he merely playing along with her flirtation from the day before?

  She pulled her sunglasses from her pocket and put them on to shield her expression. She felt naked in the raw sunlight. “I’m impressed. You’ve made a lot of progress.”

  He shrugged. “It’s not rocket science, but I enjoy it. How about you? What do you do and where do you do it . . . when you’re not being a dutiful granddaughter?”

  She smiled, her hands itching for her camera. Tanne
r would make an interesting subject. “I live in Chicago. I’m a portrait photographer.”

  His eyebrow went up. “You must be good. To do that full-time, I mean. Lots of competition in the big city.”

  She nodded. “Some. But I was lucky. I made some connections during my graduate work that enabled me to get started on my own sooner rather than later.”

  He wiped a hand across the back of his neck. “Do you like your job?”

  It was a surprising question, and one few people asked. “Yes,” she said slowly. “But to tell you the truth, I’ve always wished I could travel the world and take pictures for myself . . . people, places, anything that catches my fancy.” She wrinkled her nose. “I guess everyone has fantasies in one form or another.”

  He nodded. “I want to build my dream house one day. But the years are passing and I get busier and busier with other people’s dreams.”

  They stared at each other for long seconds. Nola wondered if he felt the quivering electricity arcing between them, or if it was only her. “I thought I might make some lemonade. Does that sound good?”

  His slow smile made heat coil in the pit of her stomach. “Pretty much anything you say and do sounds good, Nola.” With a wicked wink, he went back up the ladder. “I can’t wait.”

  When she returned a half hour later bearing a tray and two glasses, Tanner had finished on the ladder and was kneeling in the dirt at the base of the porch, tearing out big sections of junglelike undergrowth from what had once been beautiful flower beds flanking the house.

  Nola set the tray on the edge of the porch and approached him with a frown. “Gardening wasn’t on my grandmother’s list, you know. If I can afford it, I plan to get a landscape firm out here later.”

  He stood up and shaded his eyes with his hand. “I can’t paint with all this in the way. Just trying to make my job easier.”

  He didn’t strike her as a man who looked for the easy way out, but she held her tongue. “Did you stop for lunch?”

  “Yep. Had a peanut butter sandwich.”

  Nola tried to avoid looking at his sweat-sheened chest. His muscles were rugged and beautiful, not at all like someone who spent an abundance of time at the gym bulking up. His tough, toned body had been earned from hard work. She was sure of it. He’d wrapped a faded navy bandanna around his head, and it made him look like a pirate. She shifted from one foot to the other. “That’s hardly enough to keep a grown man satisfied through an afternoon of hard labor.”

  He nodded. “True. That’s why I took a break earlier and ran to the store for some steaks and the works. I thought I’d fire up the grill and we could indulge in some red meat. All the veggies in your fridge are admirable, but I need a few more calories.”

  Her stomach dropped to her knees. Crap.

  He read her face and frowned. “Problem? You’re a vegetarian?”

  “No,” she said slowly. “It’s not that. But I . . .” She trailed off, embarrassed as hell.

  He waited patiently. “But?”

  She grimaced. “I have a date tonight.”

  In an instant, his whole demeanor changed. His face closed up, but not before she saw the disapproval in his whiskey-colored eyes. “I see. My mistake. I’d better get back to work.”

  Oh, God. What must he think of her? She’d been all over him yesterday like white on rice, and now she was going out with another man. There was an explanation, of course, but she didn’t think he’d be inclined to hear it, and frankly, she was not sure she understood it herself.

  What kind of woman dangled three men at the same time—having sex with one, tacitly offering sex to another, and thinking about nostalgic sex with the third? Her proper Grainger ancestors must be turning over in their graves. She’d been raised as a well-behaved Southern lady. But she was damned if she would apologize, even to herself. She was a woman with sexual needs. And she wanted a husband who could satisfy those needs.

  But she couldn’t bear to see the censure in Tanner’s eyes. She much preferred his healthy male lust.

  She approached him warily. He had his back to her, pointedly studying the roof of the house as if to say he’d washed his hands of her.

  She touched his shoulder. The warm, damp skin was slick and hard beneath her fingers. “Tanner.” She let her voice do the pleading.

  He turned around with patent reluctance, and her hand fell away. “What?” The single blunt word was just short of rude.

  Her shoulders rose and fell in a weary sigh. She wasn’t used to this much drama in her life. “This thing tonight . . . it doesn’t have anything to do with you. It was in motion long before yesterday.” The half-truth made her uneasy, but she hadn’t really lied. She and Billy went way back.

  His posture relaxed a fraction. “None of my business,” he said with a hint of sarcasm. “I’m just the handyman.”

  She exhaled a breath that ruffled her spiky bangs. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’m pretty sure that when I stuck my tongue down your throat yesterday I made it your business.”

  That coaxed an unwilling smile from his full, sculpted lips. “Touché.”

  She risked touching him again, an activity that was rapidly becoming addictive. “I shouldn’t be too late. We could watch a movie or something when I get back.”

  Now his smile was sardonic. “I can entertain myself in your absence, Red. No worries.”

  She studied his arrogant pose, and felt like a kitten staring down a mountain lion. “I’m attracted to you, Tanner Nash.” She blurted it out with an appalling lack of finesse.

  He blinked, perhaps in shock at her boldness, but he didn’t crack a smile. “Break your date.”

  She didn’t tell him she’d set it up only yesterday, or that she couldn’t abandon her plan to find a husband. “That would be rude,” she said softly. “And Billy is an old childhood friend.”

  “Friend?” The question was sharp. This man was no dummy.

  “And more,” she admitted grudgingly. “We’re getting together to catch up. That’s all.” At least for tonight.

  Something about her stumbling explanation either appeased him or challenged him. Without warning he picked her up and set her on the porch. Last night she had been wearing jeans. Now, with him wedged between her bare thighs, she was even more aware of his powerful legs.

  She studied his expression and shivered inwardly. “I thought you had to get back to work.”

  He looked down at her, his craggy face all planes and angles. “Some things are more important than work, Red. I’m surprised you don’t know that by now.”

  Before she could come up with a suitably snappy comeback, he had buried his face in her neck and was licking his way from her collarbone to the shell of her ear. Despite the blinding sunlight and the sticky humidity, she shivered. The tip of his tongue probed her ear. His whisper was harsh and uneven. “You drive a man to distraction, Nola. I could eat you up right here, and still be hungry.”

  Oh, Lordy, this was trouble.

  He shoved a hand up under her tank top and found a nipple begging for attention. His thumb pressed it and she arched her back, begging for more. In seconds he had ripped the top and her flimsy bra over her head, leaving her bare from the waist up. For long moments he did nothing but look.

  And that was enough to make her crazy. He was so intense, in every way. He might smile occasionally, but this was a man who approached life full steam ahead. He was focused, deliberate, determined.

  She licked her lips. “I know men want big breasts.”

  He made a dismissive sound. “Women don’t have a clue, Red. If you had an inkling of what I want, you’d run screaming into the next county. Lie down and scoot back.”

  She obeyed his terse order without thinking, and then was shocked when he ripped her shorts and panties down her legs. Good Lord . . . he was going to take her right here in broad daylight.

  But Tanner Nash wasn’t that easy. He was going to make her beg.

  He crouched between her thighs and toyed with her wet a
nd swollen labia, pinching lightly and tugging until she made a choked sound of protest. “Tanner.”

  He ignored that and put his tongue to good use. In some small, still-functioning corner of her brain, she knew what his tactics were. He was marking his territory, proving to her that her date later in the evening was meaningless. No matter whom she went out with, no one would satisfy her like Tanner could. It was a hell of a lesson.

  He licked her gently, with tender passes of his tongue that built the tension in her belly but never let things come to a boil. Her hands fisted in his hair, clenched on his hot, bare shoulders. “For God’s sake, Tanner. Just do it.” She was so near the edge, she was sick with wanting.

  He kept her poised there for an eternity. She bit and scratched and cajoled. He was impervious to her pleas.

  When she thought she would absolutely die from unappeased lust, he paused and lifted his head. His eyes had darkened to chocolate in the shade of the porch, and his beautiful mouth was set in an almost grim line.

  Nola challenged him, her skin flushed and damp. “Don’t stop now,” she mocked. “Things are just getting interesting.”

  Heat climbed his neck and sparked in his eyes. He rolled his fingertip just above her clitoris. “Whatever the lady wants.”

  Her eyes closed. “I want you,” she muttered.

  With a curse, he thrust two large fingers deep into her vagina, pressed that tiny bundle of nerves with his thumb, and held her close as she came apart in an orgasm that was so intense, she saw stars in the middle of the afternoon.

  Five

  WhenNolacouldcatch her breath, she opened one eyelid and squinted into the sunlight, trying to read Tanner’s face. By all rights he should have looked smug or arrogant or self-satisfied. But if anything, his expression was curiously blank.

  She reached for her top and shorts, sat up, and held them over her naked body. “Why are men so damned competitive?”

  He cocked his head, his hands on his hips. It was impossible to miss the hard-on thrusting against the fabric of his shorts. “I don’t know what you mean.”