by Desiree Holt
“Easier said than done,” Grace muttered.
Breaking habits of a lifetime took more courage than she was sure she had. A week was one thing but more than that? She shivered with both anticipation and fear of loss of control. That was it, the sticking point. Opening herself up sexually and emotionally to someone like Ben let all her desires out of the closet where she’d hidden him. The control she’d maintained for more than twenty years was in danger of shattering and she didn’t know if she could survive.
“Grace?” Joyce’s voice seemed to come from far away. “Honey, are you all right?”
Grace shook herself. “I’m fine.” She forced a smile. “Thanks for the pep talk. I guess we’d better get Curt’s files together and send them to him.”
Joyce gave her a wicked grin. “Not so fast, as they say on television. I may be able to hang on to the old goat, once his hurt pride simmers down.”
“Well, if you think you can, go ahead. But be sure not to call him an old goat to his face.”
Joyce laughed softly as she closed the door.
Grace reached for the little boot pin nestled on her collar and rubbed it. She hadn’t been without it, even pinning it to her robe, as if the wisdom she needed to make the right decision would radiate from the exquisite little piece of jewelry.
And what if she tracked Ben down and he decided he didn’t want her anymore? Could she handle that?
Sighing, she opened a file on her computer and studied a spreadsheet. Rows of numbers ought to settle her down.
* * * *
Ben was shocked when he opened the door to his suite to find Clay Morgan standing there. His friend had said very little, just taken him by the arm, led him out to his truck and hauled his ass to the ranch. First thing when they arrived, Clay had his housekeeper put together a solid breakfast for the two of them, refusing to discuss anything until the food was gone.
Ben hardly felt like eating, but he knew with all the beer in his system he needed food to absorb it, so obediently he cleared his plate. But when he finished and the housekeeper had refilled his coffee cup, he leaned back in his chair and eyed his friend.
“Okay, let’s have it. Who tattled on me?”
Clay stared right back at him. “I wouldn’t call it tattling, exactly.”
“Oh? What, then?”
“Concern.” Clay set his cup down. “People are concerned about you. It’s obvious you’ve got a wild hair up your ass about something and too many people are afraid you’ll kill yourself riding the bulls if you don’t get your act together.”
“If that’s all it is, you can stop worrying. I’ll ride as well as I always have.” Ben knew his tone was belligerent, but he didn’t need people sticking their nose in his business. Especially since he was trying to figure out just what that business was.
“Sunday night’s a big night for you,” Clay pointed out. “It might be your last if you can’t focus and one of those big mothers stomps you to death.”
“I’m fine,” Ben insisted, swallowing the rest of his coffee.
Clay was silent for a moment, studying his friend. “Why don’t you call her? This stewing over it isn’t doing you any good.”
“Leave it alone,” Ben growled. He couldn’t tell Clay he’d made his move and now it was up to Grace.
“Ben, we’ve been friends for a long time.” Clay leaned forward, elbows on the table. “I never thought I’d see you this twisted up over a woman. She must be something.”
Ben shifted his gaze to stare out of the big window. “She’s everything and I treated her like it was nothing. Footloose and free—you know me.”
Clay made a rude noise. “So, quit sucking your thumb and do something about it.”
Ben just shook his head. “We’ll see. She’s…different.” His eyes glazed as images of Grace in sexual abandon flashed across his memory. “She locked herself up in a box for most of her life and I think finding out who she really is scared the pants off her.”
“Then you’ve got your work cut out for you. Meanwhile, I’m keeping you out of trouble until tomorrow night. You won’t be much good to anyone if you wreck yourself because you’re too drunk or too distracted. And tomorrow night is important if you still plan to go to Vegas.” He pushed his chair away from the table. “Come on. Let’s take a ride to the south pasture and check on the new calves.”
* * * *
“I told Joyce I’d hand this to you.” Melanie Keyes breezed into Grace’s office without knocking, a small padded brown envelope in one hand. She waved it at Grace. “UPS just delivered it. The cowboy’s sending you presents?”
Grace wasn’t sure if she was shocked or embarrassed. She stretched out a hand, but Melanie pulled hers back. “Uh-uh-uh. Not until you answer some questions first.”
Grace sighed. “Come on, Mel. I’m in no mood to play games. I’ve had a bitch of a day, and I want to go home and slide into a bubble bath. Give it here.”
Melanie flounced to the couch, far enough away that Grace couldn’t reach her without getting up and walking over. “You haven’t returned my calls, or even sent me an email saying you’re dead or something. I heard from at least six people that you were dating that disgusting idiot Curt Sanderson. I want to know what’s going on.” She crossed her legs. “After all, if it weren’t for me, you wouldn’t have met Ben Lowell in the first place.”
“I’m not sure if that was a blessing or a curse.”
“It can’t have been too much of a curse,” Melanie pointed out. “Ross said the two of you were glued together for most of the week.”
“Oh?” Grace arched her eyebrows. “And just how would Ross know?”
“Well, for one thing, he saw you there with Ben several times, and the two of you sure didn’t look like you were making war. He said Ben’s never been with any woman more than two nights. Ever.”
A tiny thrill skittered along Grace’s spine. Was that true? Had she really been the exception to his practice? But he made it plain from the beginning this was just a temporary thing. In his head, he was already buying that ranch in Wyoming and he’d never once indicated she might have a place there.
And hadn’t she been just as happy? Ben was an aberration, a step away from her safe, secure existence, where erotic love existed only in her dreams and the novels she read and the rest of her life fit neatly into its design. So Curt Sanderson had been a disaster. So what? There had to be other men out there, men older than she was, who could provide a stable, proper existence, men who wouldn’t turn her off in bed. She was forty-four, for god’s sake. What would she do with a man twelve years younger, a man into BDSM but who made her body sing and her blood race? Who made her laugh? Made her want more? She touched the pin on her collar, something that had become habit, and warm flooded her.
Stop it.
“I can hear your brain frying,” Melanie said, bouncing the little package in her hands. “Aren’t you even curious about what’s in here? I am.”
Grace shook herself mentally. “Ben Lowell was…interesting,” she said. “It was a great week, but now we each have lives to go back to.”
“You call this a life?” Melanie swept her hand around the office. “If it weren’t for your business, you’d have no life. You hardly date and haven’t for years. You’ve buried yourself in work and your kids. When do you get to do something for you?”
“Mel, listen. I…”
“It’s the age thing, isn’t it?” Melanie pushed.
Grace nibbled her lower lip. “That’s part of it. But—”
“Holy shit, Grace. Do you know how many women would give everything they own to be in your shoes? Besides, the older woman-younger man thing is all the rage right now.” She leaned forward and grinned conspiratorially. “And women reach the peak of their sex drive later than men do, so this ought to be just about right.”
“Honest to God.” Grace threw up her hands. “Is this a conspiracy? First Bridget, then Joyce and now you. Mel, who’s to say the man even still wants m
e? He’s footloose. Unfettered. Buying a ranch in Wyoming.”
“And you couldn’t go with him? You can sell the damn business, you know. And tell me Bridget and Ryan wouldn’t be delighted to see you have some kind of life after all these years.” Melanie flounced up from the couch and stood in front of the desk, still holding the little package. “Not to mention the fact that if he really wanted you out of his life, Ben Lowell wouldn’t be sending you a present.” She tossed it in front of Grace. “Go on. Open it.”
Grace picked it up and turned it over in her hands. She felt something square inside. Looking up at Melanie she said, “Okay. I’ll open it, but not until I’m by myself. And I promise I’ll think about what you said.”
“I didn’t steer you wrong before, did I?” Melanie grinned. “I practically had to drag you to the rodeo, and look how good that turned out.”
“All right, all right.” She flapped a hand at her friend. “Go on. Give me some privacy. I promise to give you all the gory details later.”
Melanie loomed over her. “Will you promise to take off that mental and emotional straitjacket you’ve worn for the past twenty years?”
“I’ll think about it. Go on. I’ll call you later.”
She practically had to push her friend out of the door, but when she was gone, Grace locked it, sat down again behind her desk and picked up the padded envelope. The return address simply said B. Lowell and an address in Houston. She wondered whose it was. A family member? Another woman? No, he wouldn’t do that, send her a gift while spending time with someone else. Would he? And what on earth could be in the package?
Well, Grace, you’ll never find out if you don’t open it.
Using an antique letter opener she’d picked up at an auction, she slit the top of the envelope and shook its contents onto the desktop. A small square box tumbled out. For a long moment she just stared at it. Finally, her fingers shaking, she undid the wrapping paper and the ribbon tied around it, lifted off the lid and caught her breath.
Nestled in a bed of cotton was a pair of exquisite earrings almost identical to the boot pin. But that wasn’t all. Keeping them company was a pair of what could only be called nipple rings, tiny boots hanging from the thin gold circles. She’d never worn them, but the stories she’d read had piqued her curiosity and driven her to do some research on the Internet. They were just like the pictures she’d seen.
Her face was so hot she was sure she was blushing, grateful no one could see her.
She turned each item over in her hands several times, feeling the delicacy of the designs. What did he expect her to do with them? Was this some kind of farewell gift? Think of me when you wear these. So long, it’s been good to know you?
She slid her hand into the envelope and discovered a sheet of paper that hadn’t fallen out with the box. She swallowed hard and forced herself to read it.
Grace,
I looked for a long time to find these, because I wanted to match that pin you’re so fond of. Your lucky piece. You are the only woman I’ve never been able to really walk away from. The one who made me realize how empty my life was before I met you. I’m so sorry you left the way you did, because I think we still have a lot to say to each other. I want to get off the road, Grace, but I want to take you with me. I know you have your life planned out for the next forty years, but if the woman who shared my bed with such wonderful abandon is knocking to come out of hiding, I’m here. You know who I am and what I am. Now it’s up to you. I’ll be in Houston until next Monday. If you show up at the arena wearing the jewelry, then I’ll know you’re willing to take a chance with me. On us.”
Ben
P.S. Age is just a state of mind. I think yours is much younger than mine.
She read the note four times, her body heating, her nipples tingling and her pussy quivering. Spend her life with Ben? Throw caution to the winds? Could she actually do it? She glanced at the calendar on the corner of her desk. Monday. Three days from now. Turning to her computer, she accessed the site for the Houston Stock Show and Rodeo, checking the standings. Sure enough, Ben was the leading contender in both his events. That meant he’d be competing for the championship again Sunday night.
She nibbled on a fingernail, her mind churning, until she heard the doorknob rattle followed by the buzzing of the intercom.
“Grace?” Joyce, of course.
“I’m here.”
“Why is your door locked?”
Grace sighed. “Just a minute.” She swept the jewelry into the box, stuffed everything into her purse and went to open the door.
“So?” Joyce stood there, a questioning look on her face. “Is everything all right? I didn’t know what to think. You never lock your door.”
“I’m fine. Come on. Oh, get the calendar first.”
Am I really going to do this? Old habits die so hard.
“Okay.” Joyce sat down opposite her, the calendar book open on her lap. “What’s going on?”
“Check my schedule through next Wednesday. Tell me what I’ve got that can be postponed until the following week then see what’s left. Look to see who I can hand those things off to.”
Joyce studied her for a long moment, obviously changed her mind about asking a question and gave her boss the information.
“That’s it,” she said, when the list was finished. “That should keep things flowing without a hitch.”
“Okay. Go ahead and make the calls and have people on standby. I…may be going out of town for a few days.”
Joyce stood, her lips fighting a grin. “Please tell me my prayers have been answered. That you’re going to do something completely impulsive and out of character.”
Grace leaned back in her chair and stared at her secretary. “Am I really such a dull person?”
“Oh, honey, no.” The woman’s face was instantly contrite. “You’ve just held yourself in for so long I wondered when it was going to be time for you.”
“Well, we’ll see what happens. If I decide to take a short trip, I’ll leave a message for you on the machine and your cell. Then you can move forward with this list.”
“Do it, Grace.” She leaned forward in her chair. “Reach out and grab onto life with both hands. Ride that roller coaster.”
Grace gave her a wry smile. “Let’s just hope I don’t fall off.”
* * * *
She barely slept that night, tossing and turning as every pro and con of the situation battled in her mind. Saturday wasn’t much better. First, she stood in front of her mirror, naked, juggling the nipple rings in her hand. One site she’d found on the Internet had actually been explicit about how to put them on.
Watching herself in the mirror, she pulled and tugged on her nipples, rolled and pinched them until they were swollen and distended. Gingerly she took the first ring and forced the nipple through the tiny circlet. The sight of it was so arousing liquid trickled out to the insides of her thighs and a pulse throbbed in her pussy. When she looked at her face, she saw slumberous eyes with heat dancing in them. When she put on the other ring, her body tightened in anticipation of something she knew was currently unavailable.
Damn!
She wished Ben were there to run his hands over her body, to fuck her with his mouth, his hands, his magnificent cock. To order her to her knees and urge her to take his cock into her mouth.
Enough, she told herself, setting everything down on the dresser.
She decided to clean the house to get her mind off her unsettled state. Scouring, polishing and vacuuming every visible surface exhausted her enough so that when night finally rolled around, she was worn out enough to fall asleep.
By Sunday morning, she was still wavering, but she kept hearing everyone’s voices in her head. And remembering how she looked wearing the nipple rings. Maybe everyone was right. If she didn’t do this, she’d never know what could have happened. She’d turn into an old lady before her time, and one of these days even Curt Sanderson would seem good to her.
T
hat image was enough to compel her to yank a suitcase out of the closet and pack. She had Ben’s cell phone number, but this had to be done, in person, with no advance warning. Show up, just as he’d said, and hope she wasn’t in for an unpleasant surprise.
She left a message for Joyce, another one on Bridget’s cell phone. Ditto Ryan and Melanie. Then she pulled up a list on the computer and methodically tried each number. By midafternoon she had the information she needed and was on the road to Houston, decked out in all her boot jewelry.
* * * *
Ben stopped at Smoky Joe’s to have one drink with his friends, Clay glued to his side, making sure he didn’t repeat the other night. But he had no stomach for another bender, or another buckle bunny. Even winning the all-around championship again tonight didn’t give him the same high he’d had in San Antonio. He had to give in and admit it. He wanted Grace beyond anything he could ever have imagined.
He’d checked with UPS and knew the package had been delivered, but he hadn’t heard a word from her. Of course, he hadn’t really expected to. If she was coming, she wouldn’t call first. He hated to think how he’d feel if tomorrow came and he had to pull out of the city alone.
He’d checked the faces in the arena tonight all through the various events, even when waiting to perform himself, hoping he’d catch a glimpse of her. He’d even gone so far as to tell the workers if a woman came looking for him to let him know right away. But he’d finished the night without any sign of her, collected his check, his points and his buckle and trudged off to have a drink he really didn’t want.
Clay, who had been his shadow all day, pulled up in front of the hotel to let him out.
“Maybe you should call her,” he told Ben, his eyes sympathetic.
“I made my move,” Ben told him, “and don’t ask me what it was. It’s up to her now.” He opened the door to get out of the truck.
“Come by the ranch in the morning. You’ve got three weeks until the next rodeo. You and Hotshot could use a little more R and R.”