Tanner took her panties in his teeth and dragged them down her legs in a deliberately teasing maneuver. She mentally applauded his dexterity, but, God, she needed more.
She reached for him and found his hard length. His penis was rigid with desire . . . desire for her. She spread the drop of moisture over the head of his cock and rubbed lightly beneath the rim of his circumcised shaft.
Tanner cursed and dropped his head to her belly, shaking all over. He rolled to his back. She massaged him with firm strokes, holding his life force, manipulating his hunger as he had fanned hers.
He took her by surprise when he rolled to his knees and dragged her to hers for a ravaging kiss. Then, with firm, sure hands, he bent her over the bench seat. The maneuver surprised a gasp from her, but when the weight of him settled behind her thighs, the gasp segued into a whimper.
Her panties were still hampering her movement, so he finally ripped them away along with her shoes and sent them flying. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him reach in his trousers for a condom. After a brief rustle of plastic, she felt his hands on her ass.
His cock slid between her legs and found her wet and welcoming. When he joined their bodies with a wicked heavy thrust, together they split the quiet with shocked exclamations and murmured pleading.
He was huge inside her, stretching her pleasurably and claiming her in an act as old as time. He rode her in turns hard and slow. She braced her hands and hung on, ready to take him all night if he desired.
But in the next instant, passive compliance was no longer enough.
She escaped him with the element of surprise and stood with her hands on her hips. “I’m feeling the need to play mistress of the manor.”
He rocked back on his heels, his tight grin a brief flash of white in the gloom. “By all means.”
She kept a healthy distance, well aware that a man interrupted in midfuck might be a tad grumpy. “Sit on the bench. Right there.”
He got to his feet with a groan, and settled his fine ass where she directed, his hands cupped protectively over his groin. “Should I be afraid?”
She chuckled, and though her skin was covered with gooseflesh, she wasn’t cold at all. She was burning up from the inside out. “You tell me.”
She straddled his thighs and lowered her body until she was hovering over his lap. Though her thigh muscles screamed in protest, she wanted to tease him for a few more moments.
But she had underestimated Tanner’s willingness to cooperate in his presently unappeased state. With a snarl and an impressive display of male dominance, he gripped her hips and joined their bodies with a rough downward pull.
She was actually shocked at how different it felt. He filled her so completely, there was no beginning or end. Their bodies were one.
His chest heaved, his breathing choppy and rapid. “What now, Red? Or should I say, mistress?”
She reached around his neck and grasped one of the wooden ceiling supports. “Fuck me,” she said, her voice low and hungry. “Give me all you’ve got.” And then she hung on for dear life.
One might surmise that in such a subservient position Tanner would let her be in control.
One would be wrong. He might not be on top, but he was driving the action. He took advantage of the new position to suck her nipples, one at a time. When he switched sides, the cool night air on her wet flesh was intensely arousing. Somewhere along the way, she forgot to breathe.
But when her release built to a quivering, tormenting edge, mental clarity was no longer an option.
Tanner’s flesh was hot against hers, his grip bruising her ass. She would likely have finger marks on her pale skin. And she would wear them with a smug smile, knowing she had driven them both to this.
He slowed his thrusts, dropping his head to her chest, deliberately staving off her orgasm and his. “Lord, Red. You make me forget my name.”
She rested her chin on his head. “Tanner?”
“Hmmm?”
“What did you think when you first met me? Before I cried all over you, I mean?”
His laugh was strained. “I thought you were luminous, sexy, and, judging from your eyes, smart as hell.”
“You were looking at my eyes?” Her tone was teasing.
He moved slowly, sitting up straight and making them both groan and squirm. “Among other things. You hit me hard, Nola. Right in the gut. When you asked me to stay on-site for the repairs, I felt like I’d won the lottery. Why did you do that, by the way?”
She nudged her hips against his. “Truthfully?”
“Yeah.” He seemed to be losing track of the conversation.
She smiled. “I was afraid to stay out here all by myself, and I noticed right away that you’re pretty easy on the eyes.”
He snorted. “I could have been an ax murderer.”
He still filled her, throbbed inside her, made her weak. “My grandmother trusted you. And she didn’t take BS from anyone.”
He started moving again, thank God. “And now that you know me a bit better?”
She squeezed him with her inner muscles and grinned, panting, as he bit out a curse. “I’m still withholding judgment . . . at least until you give me a spectacular orgasm.”
He tried to laugh, but the moment was slipping beyond his control and hers. He disengaged their bodies only long enough to pull her beneath him on the quilt and mount her again. He kept his gaze trained on hers as he forged his way in. They clung to each other, wondering, seeking. Was this raw passion real? Could it be trusted?
He reached between them and sent her into a shimmering veil of pleasure with one knowing touch of his fingers on her most sensitive, secret spot. She cried out and arched in his arms, gasping as her climax slammed into her. Enthralled by the warm, delicious aftermath, she was vaguely aware that Tanner strained against her, went stiff with a strangled oath, and collapsed on top of her, breathing every breath as if it were his last.
They might have lain there for hours, or perhaps only a moment. Time ceased to be important. She stroked his damp back, felt the sleek muscles of a man who worked a physical job. His broad back narrowed to powerful hips and a tight ass.
She felt a renewed tingle of arousal, and closed her eyes. How could she have anticipated this day that started with a fight, skated through a crisis, and ended with such sweet joy?
She held him close, filled with tenderness. What would she have done without him here . . . to calm her fears at night, to tackle her monster of a house, to rescue her from Marc’s misguided scheme, to give her this honest, no-holds-barred lovemaking?
She reached for the corner of the quilt and wrapped it around them. She liked knowing that he hadn’t withdrawn from her body. They were still bound, flesh-to-flesh.
Her mind drifted, refusing to think about the house, but imagining Tanner striding across the weed-choked fields, planting corn and squash and feeding a menagerie of animals in the barn. What would it have been like a hundred years ago . . . in the newest dawn of the twentieth century . . . knowing that progress was coming, but cherishing the past?
When Tanner finally stirred, she stroked his hair. “I guess you’re going to tell me now that your boss has made you work too hard.”
He pinched the nearest nipple. “Well, you made me hard. I’ll agree to that. Come on, woman. Let’s go find my bed.” He yawned mightily as he stood up, and she paused, still supine, to drink her fill. He might have posed for one of those classical statues, bone and sinew in perfect proportion. Though his cock might raise a few eyebrows were it to be displayed in a museum.
She allowed him to pull her to her feet, and then she clung to him for a moment, telling herself that the weakness in her legs was exhaustion. Surely a woman couldn’t be so reckless as to fall for a man in less than a week. Such things didn’t happen.
Tanner insisted on carrying Nola into the house. He left her shoes and underwear in the gazebo and refused to go back to the truck for her dress. His smile was a piratical slash of white as
he bounded up the stairs inside the house. “I like you this way,” he said. “Naked and warm and ready for anything.”
She yawned hugely, burrowing into his heat. “You may be warm. I’ve got goose bumps everywhere.”
He kicked open his door and deposited her on the bed. “I’d be happy to help with that.”
She had misjudged his fatigue and her own. Suddenly, everything seemed possible, and sleep was no more than a fleeting thought.
She opened her arms and spread her legs. “I was hoping you’d say that, Tanner. I really was.”
He was gone when she awoke the next morning. Somewhere in the distance, she could hear hammering. She cuddled his pillow to her chest and inhaled his scent. Almost immediately her body quivered as she remembered his possession, his power, his incredibly gentle and yet dizzyingly sensual lovemaking.
She was sorry he wasn’t here. And no matter how many hours of backbreaking labor it would require to bring Lochhaven into a new lease on life, at this particular moment, Nola would have preferred Tanner to be a slacker. . . .
Part of her wanted to go outside and say hello to him, but another part—the old Nola—really was shy. Last night had been pretty close to fireworks and earthquakes for her. But did Tanner feel the same? Men were an enigma. She’d learned that lesson first from Billy, been painfully reminded of it most recently by Marc, and now feared her objectivity where Tanner was concerned. Why was a man who owned his own business in another town willing to complete an old lady’s laundry list of repairs?
Her courage failed her, and instead of stepping out into the bright spring sunshine to greet her lover, she dressed for a trip to town. She had something on her agenda that couldn’t wait, namely interrogating Billy’s mother for some insight into his hostility toward Nola.
Instead of simply telling Tanner where she was going, she left him a breezy, affectionate note in the kitchen.
Dear Tanner,
I slept like a dream. Hope you did, too. I have an errand this morning and then after lunch will meet with the lawyer. I’ll give you a call and bring something home for dinner.
Later,
Nola
She hoped her carefully worded note hit exactly the right chord: not avoiding what they did last night, but not making a big deal about it either. It was just the kind of morning-after communication most men would be relieved to read.
She worried that her covert departure from the house felt a bit too much like a retreat, but she was soon distracted by the contemplation of what she was about to do. She had to decipher Billy’s weird attitude, and the most logical person to turn to for help was Billy’s mother. At one time the two females had been close. Billy was at work, and since his mom was more or less housebound, there was a good chance that Nola would find her at home.
She was right. Mrs. Inman answered at the first knock. She was in a wheelchair, and she seemed about a million times more frail than the last time Nola had seen her. Her husband’s terrible accident all those years ago had taken a toll on her health as well.
There was surprise on the older woman’s face . . . and wary caution. But she was cordial enough.
Nola introduced herself just in case things were fuzzy. “Mrs. Inman, I’m Nola Grainger. I wasn’t sure you’d remember me.”
The woman nodded. “Of course I do. I was sorry to hear about your grandmother.”
Again, the sharp stab of grief. Anytime someone offered their condolences, it made Nola aware that her grandmother was really gone. She wasn’t on a trip or in the hospital . . . she was gone. Forever.
Nola followed her hostess into the living room and took a seat on the blue brocade sofa Nola remembered from her days of dating Billy. The two horny teenagers had done some heavy kissing on that monstrosity. It was older and more worn now, but no less ugly.
Nola perched nervously. Now that she was here, she wasn’t sure how to bring up the subject at hand.
Mrs. Inman, like the good Southern lady that she was, took the conversation down a few safe paths . . . Nola’s renovations, the weather, the new shopping center that was supposedly being built in Resnick in the near future. Nola followed along politely, feeling more and more uncomfortable.
Mrs. Inman wasn’t being cold, but the blank look in her eyes might have been hiding any emotion at all.
Nola picked up when there was a lull. “How is your husband?”
The woman’s eyelids flickered, but she answered with composure. “He has good days and bad. He goes to physical therapy regularly. In the early days, it was a crippling expense, but Billy took his father’s business and modernized it. He’s made all sorts of changes . . . expanding inventory, advertising on that Web thing. We’re fine now, financially. Billy has been a godsend living here with us. I don’t know what we would have done without him.”
Nola bit her lip. Was she being warned off? And did Nola really want to tie herself to a man who already bore so much responsibility? If Nola and Billy were to marry, she’d want a family. And Billy came as a package deal . . . with not much time to be a father, it appeared.
She wondered where Billy’s dad was, but there was an occasional noise from the back of the house, so he was probably in the bedroom . . . perhaps watching TV. Nola cleared her throat. “I guess you’re wondering why I’m here.”
Billy’s mom looked at her, her gaze a bit sharper. “I know the two of you went out.”
“And you don’t approve of me.” Nola realized with a sinking heart that even if she convinced Billy to go along with her plan, she’d have a fight on her hands when it came to his parents.
Mrs. Inman shook her head, her mouth mulish. “Isn’t any of my business.”
Nola frowned. “I’m pretty sure you just told me it was.”
The other woman sniffed. “I don’t imagine you’ll be sticking around after you get your grandmother’s affairs settled. I hear you’re a big-shot photographer up in Chicago.”
Nola wasn’t sure how to answer, but opted for the truth, or at least part of it. “I haven’t made final plans. I want to keep the house, but it’s in bad shape. Evidently Grandmother hasn’t done anything much to it in a dozen years.”
“About the time you went off and left her.” Now the accusation was unveiled.
Nola felt a lick of temper and ignored it. “Most young people go off to school and start a new life.”
“Not Billy.”
“He didn’t have much of a choice, if I remember.”
His mother glared. “You can’t lay that at my door. The boy loves his daddy. He didn’t turn his back on us.”
Nola sighed. “I know. He always was a good man.”
“Well, you got shed of him fast enough.”
Nola’s mouth gaped. How in the hell was she being painted as the villain in this picture? “You’ve got it backward, don’t you? He forgot me in about fifteen minutes.” She remembered the humiliation as if were yesterday. “It hurt,” she said softly, her eyes fixed on the picture of the Last Supper hanging on the wall. “And he’s still so angry. I never have been able to figure out why he dropped me cold. I know your husband’s accident was traumatic for all of you, but it was as if Billy became someone else. A stranger. I loved him dearly, and the next time I saw him, he cut me dead. He wouldn’t take my phone calls; my letters were returned unread. It was as if I had been shut out of his life completely.”
Mrs. Inman flushed, and her hands ripped agitatedly at the afghan in her lap. “That’s the way you and your witch of a grandmother wanted it.” The gloves were off, and for the first time, Nola saw hatred in the eyes of a woman she had always liked.
Nola frowned, confused. “What does my grandmother have to do with this? Why is Billy still so angry after all this time? What did I ever do to any of you? Please tell me the truth.”
Billy’s mother stared at Nola, her eyes cold and bitter. “Did you know that your grandmother found the two of you together one of those last nights before you left for college?”
Nola w
ent rigid . . . remembering. But the only night she and Billy had ever been intimate in Nola’s bed was during one of her grandmother’s bridge club evenings. But perhaps Grandmother came home early. Oh, God.
“No,” she slowly. “I had no idea.”
Mrs. Inman sneered. “Your granny never said a word to you that night, but she summoned Billy to the house a day or two later when you had gone to Atlanta with a friend to shop for your cute new little college wardrobe.”
Nola felt sick. “What happened?”
“As if you didn’t know. Mrs. Grainger told Billy that her beloved granddaughter—you, missy—was smart and privileged and that you would be going places in this world. And you didn’t need a small-town hick boyfriend holding you back. She said you were too softhearted to tell him yourself and for him not to try to change your mind, because it would only embarrass you both.”
Nola trembled. “That’s not true.”
“Oh, yes . . . every word of it.”
“I didn’t know. I swear.”
Her accuser wasn’t convinced. “It’s understandable. You were only eighteen and egotistic and self-centered, as were most of your hotsy-totsy gang of friends. You couldn’t bear it that Billy wasn’t going off to college with you because of his dad’s accident, and you decided it was smarter to cut Billy loose so you could find someone new.”
“No.” Nola blinked back hot tears . . . shocked, heartbroken, mortified that this was the picture Billy Inman had carried in his heart all this time. Because of her grandmother.
“That’s not the worst of it. Your grandmother, God punish her soul, gave him a ten-thousand-dollar check to stay away from you. Most boys in his position would have torn it up and thrown it in her face. And he wanted to . . . bless him, my baby wanted to. But he was mature beyond his years, and he knew what that check would mean in terms of his father’s medical care. So he swallowed his pride and let that old lady browbeat him . . . as if he was no better than dirt under her feet.”
Mating Game Page 13