by M. Q. Barber
The bell rang, high and low.
Her jump broke the kiss. “Jesus.” The offending doorbell button lacked the decency to apologize. Noisy nuisance. “Sorry about that.”
Chuckling, he eased his fingers from her hair and swept loosened strands from her cheeks. “Can’t say I’ve ever rung a woman’s bell with one kiss before.”
She fought down embarrassment and reached for a newer, not so timid feeling. The hot churning urged her to forget about the date, open the door, and invite him in. “You sure? If any mouth could manage, I’d bet on yours.”
His gaze flicked to the door beside her. Air hissed through his teeth.
“C’mon.” He grabbed her hand. “Into the pickup with you before my mouth lands me in trouble.” He had the dark-eyed, tense-mouthed look of a man who very much wanted to find trouble.
Maybe she’d invite him in for trouble later.
She squirmed with a little no and a lot yes, please. Standing on her front walk contemplating—
with a guy she’d known all of two weeks—
and what if he asked why she didn’t use the master bedroom—
and she didn’t have condoms handy, for God’s sake—
and shut up and get moving.
“Yup. Pickup. Time to go. Just what I was thinking.” She danced two quick steps from her door. “You coming?”
Open mouth, insert foot. She’d come in his truck. Lying in the bed beneath the stars with Rob’s solid frame beside her and over her and in her. He had beautiful fingers. Delicate instruments.
“Right there with you, Eleanora.”
She shook off the memory and let him guide her by the elbow to the passenger seat.
The side mirror revealed his hand skimming the heated metal of the bed wall as he rounded the truck. Pausing at the far corner, he tipped his head back, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath.
She held hers in tandem, breathing out when he did. What in the hell was this man doing to her?
He slid into the driver’s seat and cranked the engine. The vents blasted lukewarm air. Cooler than outside, anyhow. He backed them into the street. “Figured out where we’re going this time?”
“Absolutely.” She had, but straight answers subtracted from the fun, and she needed a lighthearted night. A subject far, far away from sex to give her panties time to dry out wouldn’t hurt, either. “You’ve Crisco’d a floor and we’re gonna go sock-sliding.”
He shot her a glance. “That’s a thing?”
“It is if you’re seven, the kitchen floor is linoleum, and your parents are gone for the night.”
“You were a wild child, Eleanora.” He tsked with a decent imitation of sincerity. “Who was minding you?”
“Teenage neighbor.” She and her sisters had tortured their sitters, battering them with incessant questions and making mayhem after the inevitable command to shoo. “She spent most of the night in the traditional way, tying up the phone and kissing her boyfriend. My sisters and I stood by the couch making ewww noises until she chased us out. We found something better to do in the kitchen.”
“Was your mama mad as a hornet at the mess?”
“More when she saw my fat lip.” She’d sported a pouty smile for days despite efforts to manage the swelling. “I slipped too close to the counter.”
“Ouch. You seem to have healed up nice, though. Soft and plenty kissable.”
Her laughter spilled out. She couldn’t pick a topic that didn’t lead back to romance to save her life. Not with Rob, at least. Riding in the car with David had been like traveling in a funeral train toward the end. “All praise belongs to a towel full of ice.”
“Ah. Yeah, that one’s saved me a time or two.”
She teased the story out of him as he drove, learning the myriad reasons behind the inadvisability of hanging a swinging rope from the barn rafters to play Tarzan—starting with trusting your brother’s skills.
“Boy Scout, my butt. He didn’t deserve his knot-tying merit badge, I tell you what.”
* * * *
The parking lot stood near filled as he swung the pickup along the rows and into a space. He helped her down from the seat, an excuse to tuck her hand in his own.
“Well?” A flashy sign illuminated the plain, squat building. Smokers clustered to the side of the bar entrance. Children skipped through doors ahead of their parents at the other end. “This about what you expected?”
She nodded, her ponytail bobbing.
He hadn’t seen her hair down. Pulled back when they met, and in some fancy twist that suited her work clothes at coffee, and now twice in a ponytail on their dates. He itched to spread her honey-brown locks in a loose, flowing halo around her face. “Ever been?”
“Once or twice.” She wrinkled her nose. “David didn’t like bowling. Too lowbrow for him. He wanted to teach me golf. Real golf, not mini.”
He glued his tongue to the roof of his mouth. No sense badmouthing her ex-husband, even if the man’s behavior screeched certifiable ass. She’d loved the idiot somewhere along the way. Probably.
“No, that’s not exactly true.” Head tilted as if remembering weighed her down, she struggled upright and squared her shoulders. “He bought me clubs and lessons for my birthday one year, after I made the mistake of saying we weren’t spending enough time together anymore.”
“Why didn’t he teach you himself if the gift was about togetherness?” He would’ve stilled his mouth, but the words fell out soon as the curiosity cleared the first synapse.
“He said we’d play once I got good enough to keep up.” Pursing her lips, she emitted a disdainful chirp. “I never did use those lessons. He never bought me a birthday gift after that year, either. Said he didn’t like me being so picky.”
Oh hell no. The temptation to pop the bastard roared loud as an F-16 in his chest.
“I know it’s not my business, but you ever notice when you talk about your marriage, it’s all about what your ex liked?” He rubbed his thumb across the peaks and valleys of her knuckles. The softness of her skin made a soothing contrast to the rigid frame beneath. “What about what you like?”
He braced for an explosive reply. Nosing around old relationships wasn’t always the wisest strategy. No, scratch that—prying never was. Women got right prickly about guarding their past. He’d dated one or two in his time who’d returned to a former flame after a few jealousy-making dates. But Nora had a unique way about her, a special something unlike the rest.
Her laugh cascaded like a hiccup, a series of stutters before her happiness flowed free and easy. “God, I needed to hear that. We tried the whole marriage counseling thing, but I never believed the counselor when she said the same damned thing.” She tossed her head with the furious discomfort of a new-bridled horse. “Never could answer the question, either. I put my life on hold to be what David wanted me to be. Having my career became the only thing I refused to concede. The longer I stayed, the more our mismatched visions chafed. When I started pulling away, he”—her volume dwindled to a thin whisper—“replaced me.”
He knew the sound of her shame, knew the taste, knew the blinding drunk anger and the long hours at work to forget. A decade past now, but betrayal scarred. “He cheated on you.”
Shrugging, she pulled away. Her hand slipped free.
“I’ve been there.” Sharing might help his honey girl open up. Fuck all if he’d let her believe herself unattractive or unwanted or cover herself in shame for her ex’s wrongheaded jackassery. “She left her email open, almost daring me to find out.”
A grimace twisted Nora’s face, but she clung to stubborn silence.
He tried again, beefing up his tone with deeper authority. “It’s not your fault he cheated.”
She shook off his declaration before he’d finished. “I’m not legally allowed to say those words.”
Falling silent, he slapped a neutral expression over the confusion and surprise tumbling beneath the surface. His gaze stayed trained on her unchanging face
.
A car belting country-pop passed on its way down the aisle. Children’s laughter sounded near the front doors.
She closed her eyes and held her breath. Thirty ticks passed before she bled her air out in a trickle. “My ex is an attorney.” Jaw and shoulders tight, she met his gaze. “We divorced over irreconcilable differences. I can’t discuss the terms.”
Nondisclosure clause.
The words flashed a game over screen in his head. He signed the annoyances on a regular basis, secrecy being an unavoidable consequence of his work. Handling encrypted data necessitated careful protections.
But here? No.
His gut told him her fuckwit of an ex-husband had bedded down with another woman. Which meant he’d used his legal knowhow or his connections to ram an unfavorable agreement down her throat. The guy had cheated on her and made telling anyone impossible for her.
He nodded, stuffing his anger down deep. No wonder she doubted her desirability and struggled with sexual shame. Trying to move beyond a betrayal she couldn’t talk about gave her no respite. The sharp edges gnawed at her self-worth and confidence.
“Oh, sure, I sign a lotta NDAs for work.” He kept his voice light. Making this harder on her wouldn’t help. Better to let her know he didn’t hold her reticence against her. “Nature of cyber security, you know.”
Of course, the agreements he signed compartmentalized information. They didn’t brutalize him emotionally.
“Ready to try bowling?” He held out his hand.
With a growing smile, she accepted his invitation.
He curled his fingers around hers as she asked playful questions about the secrets he kept. They approached the front door slinging a well-established call and response pattern.
“And is your chair comfy?”
“I’m sorry, miss, but that’s classified.” He used the forbidding tone he’d used to keep the slick sleeves in line once he’d gotten kicked up to staff sarge. The voice had shut the noobs up something fierce.
Nora giggled and played finger-footsie. Her relaxed body language gratified him more than the snap-tos and order-followers ever had.
“What kind of candy dish do you keep by your keyboard?”
“I’m sorry, miss, but that’s classified.” Releasing her hand, he opened the glass door and sent a blast of cold air over them both.
She shivered in retreat, plastering herself against him even as she stepped in front to enter.
He fought the urge to wrap his free arm around her.
“Co”—he coughed, courtesy of her interrupting shudder snugging her ass against his hardening dick—“Cold?”
Christ, if she didn’t step forward soon, he’d have a visible problem of the sort unwelcome in a family-friendly establishment.
“Half of me is.” Her voice matched the cozy warmth of her rounded glutes. “Feels good on both sides.”
He bit down on a groan, and she stepped away. He’d planned to have a cold beer or two tonight. Right now, a cold shower would do.
* * * *
Lighter than air. She led the way to the rental counter with Rob’s hand resting on her back, and her feet bounced in her shoes as if she danced on a cloud.
His penis had flexed.
Unmistakable, when the sudden temperature shift had startled her. She’d bumped into him, and he’d responded to her with desire. Emboldened by his interest, she’d spoken her mind. He’d nudged her backside with his—his cock.
She itched to yank his shorts down and shout her discovery to the beige panels of the drop ceiling. Her touch had gotten a man hard. He wanted to sleep with her.
Face heating, she glanced at the fugly patterned carpet. One date with him—more accurately, a single date in which she’d let him slip his fingers inside her and pleasure her better than David ever had—and she’d turned into a slut.
She craved sex with discomforting persistence, thinking of Rob as she sat at work and went over repayment schedules with new loan signers. She crawled into bed at night imagining his bulk beside her and wondering how he’d feel in her hands.
The loss of control shook her between terrifying thrill and welcome relief. The cat jumping out of a dark basement in a horror film when the audience expects the knife-wielding maniac.
Rob’s steady confidence and gentle handling raised her eagerness for the moments when he took charge as he had last week in his truck bed. He hadn’t treated her like used goods afterward, and he’d asked her out again without making her wait and wonder.
His behavior didn’t match the men Chelsea and the girls complained about, not the ingrates who ducked out in the middle of the night and never texted and not the moochers who emptied the refrigerator and downloaded porn on the girls’ computers as though they owned the place.
“Two pairs of shoes and two games apiece to start, please.” Rob rubbed her back in the space between her bra strap and the waistband of her denim shorts. “We’re joining the pair on lane sixteen.”
“We are?” Trotted out like an ornament. Smile and look pretty. Laugh, but not her unladylike horse laugh. Be witty, but don’t outshine the clients David meant to woo. They’d never become members of the elite upper class if she kept dragging him down. Rob hadn’t said anything about a double date. Nothing about the couple she’d be meeting tonight.
“Mrs. Kulp?” The man behind the counter smiled wide beneath a trimmed, graying mustache. “Almost didn’t recognize you without your fancy lady suits. This feller your husband?” He extended his hand toward Rob. “Jake Bruner. Your wife’s got a fine head for numbers.”
Shaking his head, Rob grasped the offered hand. “Rob Vanderhoff. Eleanora has a sharp mind, right enough.”
“Vanderhoff?” The older man’s gaze swung her way.
“I, uh, Mr. Bruner, I didn’t realize you’d be running the show tonight. I thought you wanted to spread the responsibility around. And it’s—” Digging deep, she drew forth a smile in return, a falsity tugging on her cheeks. “It’s Miss Howard now.” She flashed her bare left hand. “Things have changed since the last time you dropped by the bank in person.”
“That they have.” He patted the counter, and his wedding band clinked on the orange laminate. “Well.” Squinting at Rob, he pursed his lips. “Smart woman’s too much for some to handle, I suppose.”
She scrambled for something, anything, to escape a conversation guaranteed to drag her through awkward territory. “You know, if you want to refinance, we could talk about extending the loan to add your indoor skatepark proposal.” Discussing work put her on firmer footing.
Rob rolled his thumb in relaxing circles on her back.
“Is your grandson still practicing at the outdoor park in Ames?”
“He’s playing pin monkey tonight, Mrs.—Miss Howard.” Jake waved toward the lanes. “But now you mention it…”
The proprietor rambled on about the family and the business between checking their shoe sizes and requesting their own shoes in trade for fresh-sprayed loaners.
She lifted one foot and jammed her fingers behind her heel.
Rob touched her wrist. “Let me.” He sank to the floor beside her in a wide-set crouch and untied her tennies.
She tried to hold up her end of the conversation.
He stroked the back of her leg along her sock line.
Sucking in a breath, she leaned on her elbows.
Rob slipped her shoes free. His brief massage eased the tension from wearing heels at work all day. The firm press of his thumb in her arches made her toes curl and her thighs clench.
Laying her cross-trainers on the counter, he gazed at her with darkness swallowing the brown and gold of his eyes. His mouth never moved, but she’d swear he promised to run his hands from the soles of her feet to the hair on her head. Every inch. Strong fingers. Steady hands. Stroking her flesh as he had last Friday—
Bowling shoes clattered on the counter. “These oughta do ya.”
Rob pulled his stare from her and slid bills acros
s the counter for the rental. No discussion about who would pay. He seemed to accept the responsibility as given, but he didn’t flaunt or complain. He took care of things in his quiet, direct way.
David would’ve thrown the money out with a sneer or a joke, the way he’d tossed the house in her lap to buy her silence. Discussing his affair would lose her the house and cost her a penalty payment besides, neither of which fit in her budget.
But Rob had backed off. He’d let her statement stand, redirected the conversation, and made her feel comfortable. He took her feelings into account instead of badgering her. David used to interrogate her. Practicing contract law, he didn’t have much call for courtroom skills, though he’d sure enjoyed testing them on her at home.
Rob scooped up both pairs of shoes in one hand and returned the other to her back.
“C’mon, we’ll get you something nice and light to start with.” He guided her away.
She waved her belated thanks to the owner.
“Take things slow and ease into the heavier game.”
Mouth drying, she nodded. If he meant bowling, her body had missed the message. Her mind taunted her with the knowledge of his weight against her. What games did he want to try?
He could ease into her. A growing certainty promised she’d like that.
* * * *
He found her a ten-pounder fit for her slender feminine fingers, and she insisted on carrying the ball to the lane herself. Fair enough. She cradled the weight under her breasts like a gal who didn’t care about smudging her shirt with grease, a woman who wouldn’t balk when life got messy.
They stepped down to the pit for lane sixteen. Lucas sat slumped in the scorekeeper’s seat, flipping the bird, while Brian danced on the lane, shaking his ass. The digital scoreboard dangling from the ceiling flashed a pixilated image of a turkey doing the same. The place needed new graphics something fierce.
“Damn, man, put that away.” Wasn’t a time or place Brian couldn’t find troublesome ways to amuse himself. Least civilian life hadn’t fattened him up, or he’d truly pass for Thanksgiving dinner. Shit. He ought to cover Nora’s eyes before she decided blonds in plaid board shorts flipped her switches. “Nobody needs to see your tail feathers.”