by Dita Parker
The long vintage bar boasted a ridiculous amount of handcrafted beer along with liquors, wines and liqueurs for all tastes and occasions. She wasn’t much of a drinker, though. She spent most of her time on the dance floor upstairs running on rhythm. But there was no dancing until she’d sprinted upstairs and said hello to Bruno.
She wanted to ask her bartender friend whether anyone had been looking for her but didn’t bother. His odd expression as he greeted her told her something was up.
“Mademoiselle Marcotte, I thought you had fallen off the edge of the world. You’ve been sorely missed, you know.”
She had taken an instant liking to the thirty-something barman. He was flirty and funny without being pushy or sleazy.
“Why thank you, Bruno, it hurt me too, not being able to attend. Now dish it out. What’s new?”
Bruno jerked his jaw to his right. “Felix, for one.” He handed Lucie her favorite shot.
Felix?
Lucie turned her head to see MacCale sitting at a nearby table, dressed in black, looking devastating and toasting her. Snapping back to Bruno, Lucie threw back the shot. Her hand shook as she set down the glass. “Hit me again, will you?” He looked surprised but said nothing, only mixed her another SoCo and lime. “Has he been here all night?”
Bruno laughed. “Honey, he’s been here every night. He came around asking after a Lucie who supposedly worked here and I had to tell him you only frequent the place. But then you didn’t show up and he kept coming in night after night, getting more rattled by the evening. Tell me, Lucie, what does he have that the rest of us poor souls don’t, that you actually had to evade him?”
Disregarding a very good question, Lucie downed the shot before shooting Bruno a stern look. “You could have called and warned me.”
Bruno chuckled, the devil. “That would have killed all the fun. You need to let your hair down more often and he looks like the man to help you out with that.”
Oh, MacCale had made her let her hair down all right, then open her legs and frozen heart to him. That was the problem.
“I think I’ll just call you Brutus from now on, you traitor, you. How do you know he’s not some crazy stalker?”
“Is he?” Bruno feigned shock, grinning ear to ear.
Lucie wanted to smack him. “You said he’s been here every night?” What in the world could he want but to give her a piece of his mind for wasting his time?
“Yeah. And he is making both the boys and the girls go grrr since he doesn’t seem to be interested in either. Five days into this I actually thought about giving him a stick to beat them off but this is just too damn entertaining. Why don’t you wiggle that sweet tushy of yours over there and put an end to all the gossip.”
Unbelievable, Lucie thought. MacCale Moore gave a whole new meaning to the word determined.
Bruno lowered his voice. “Don’t look now but he’s getting up. Why don’t you gimme a big sloppy one and see how he likes that.”
Lucie slapped his arm playfully and tried to calm her nerves. She obviously still had a set. “You wish.”
“You know I do.” Bruno leaned over the counter and took hold of her chin. Lucie turned her head at the last second and Bruno’s kiss landed on her jaw.
“Damn!” His smile was as wide and warm as ever. “I’ll nail that one day. I know I will.”
Lucie patted him on the cheek, dug up a banknote that more than covered the drinks and turned to get up and face the music.
She looked over at where MacCale stood waiting, his impressive height and strong build doing funny things to her self-composure.
Come on, Lucie. You’ve seen hunks, you’ve had hunks, you’ve discarded hunks. MacCale Moore was no different. Except he was. The pit of her stomach, her tightening pussy, her hair almost on fire all told her that he most definitely was.
Trying to shake off the nervousness, Lucie walked to him leisurely, drawn by the hungry, provocative look in his eyes. She stopped a good and safe couple of feet before him and asked, “Having fun?”
He closed the distance, forcing her to look up.
“The party is picking up by the second. What took you so long?”
Lucie shrugged. “I’ve been busy.”
“Well, you’re obviously available now. Let’s go.” He grabbed her wrist. His touch was galvanizing and totally inappropriate considering she couldn’t go there. She couldn’t go anywhere with him.
Lucie pulled back and to her secret disappointment he immediately let go. “I just got here, Mac.”
“And I’ve been sitting here for seven nights straight, Luce. As was brought to my attention, you don’t actually work here, but from the hours I heard you put in you just as well might. You have been neglecting your friends, honey. And you’ve been avoiding me.” He was glaring down at her, the tension radiating from him doing nothing to alleviate her restlessness.
“Guilty as charged, on both accounts. I just never thought you would be as…what was the word you used? Tenacious? This borders on obsessed.”
“You have yourself to blame for that. Now finish what you started. Let’s go.” He took hold of her hand again but didn’t pull, only held it. Being touched so gently felt even worse than being dominated. Lucie knew how to counter an offense. MacCale left her feeling defenseless.
“That bossy act almost backfired the first time, remember?”
“Almost doesn’t count. You’re here. I’m here. Let’s go.” He still made no attempt to leave, merely held her hand and gaze in his.
He was turning the tables on her again, making her want him, crave him. She could feel the unwanted pull toward him swelling in her gut, the same relentless attraction she’d felt from the moment he’d first touched her. It made her question her judgment on several levels.
You can’t. Don’t do this to yourself and for once have some pity on them too.
Lucie drew a calming breath. Carefully modulating her tone, she said, “You don’t need me for what you came here for. I bet the bi-women here wouldn’t mind catering to your every fantasy. Bruno told me they’ve asked you out to play.”
“And who is he? You looked awfully cozy over there.” He sounded as jealous as she felt, thinking about all the women who had come on to him, touched him, wanted him…
“What is that to you, Mac?”
“No, that’s my line. Who is he to you?” His grip tightened to a possessive hold that matched the sudden dominance in his eyes.
He had no right. That he did it all the same both thrilled her and filled her with trepidation.
“He’s a friend.”
His frown turned deeper as he pulled her closer. “Friend as in coffee and chitchat pal or intimate friend?”
“None of your business, so back off.” Lucie tried to step back but this time he wouldn’t let go. He wrapped one arm around her waist and took hold of her face.
“Sorry, I’m past that point. And as for the forty fucks and counting I’ve been offered, I’m not interested.” His thumb was on her mouth, caressing her lips exactly as it had done that first night he had touched and branded her.
It felt good. It felt way too good.
“Stop messing with the lip gloss,” she tried weakly.
“Stop messing with my head,” he murmured.
Lucie shook her head in confusion. “Cross obsessed. I can’t even think of a word. Are you one of those types who only want what they can’t have?”
His eyes lasering into hers, Mac considered her. “May I remind you once again you started this? You came on to me at Boyd’s, propositioned me. If it hadn’t been for that unfortunate rubber incident, we would have made love on that divan or whatever the hell it was until dawn.”
Had he thought about everything that could have happened on that damn chaise? Had he tortured himself with visions of them, tangled bodies, the tangy smell of sex, fucking until daybreak as she had done?
“You might be an all-night kind of man but I’m a one-night kind of girl.”
“The hell you are,” came his flat reply. “You could have given me any name, any address. You gave me yours and invited me here instead. You thought the second I spotted a guy pretty as a gal or some man made a pass at me, I’d scatter. But I don’t scare easily. You thought I would. And you secretly hoped I wouldn’t.”
“Is that so?” Lucie asked, lost in his self-assurance and the animal glow of his dark, golden eyes. The man had the most unbelievable amber eyes she had ever seen, and she had seen some pretty peepers in her time.
“That is so,” MacCale said with conviction. “And I know why you come here.”
There was something wrong with him, something that made her hair stand on end around him. Vibes that made her wary and made her waver between fuck or flight.
She had met men like him over the decades and turned on her heels every time. Intuitivists, men interested in looking deeper into her soul, not only in what her body had to offer.
It gave her all the more reason to keep her liaisons brief and perfunctory. She didn’t want someone poking around her head or creeping into her heart. She didn’t need a shoulder or a lap, loving words whispered in heat that cooled with the sheets and the light of dawn. If that’s what he was offering, she wasn’t interested.
“You come here because except for the occasional woman who swings both ways, they leave you alone.” He sounded irritated, but it wasn’t anger that blazed in his eyes, only a steady and seductive heat. “You’re not interested in them. Neither am I. You want a man, here I am. Besides, you owe me a meal.”
If she went through with it, would he leave her alone? If she let him inside her pussy, could she make him forget about every other part of her?
She had honed her own drill to perfection, but this man didn’t play by the rules, he insisted on a set of his own, and for that alone he rated far beyond others on the danger scale.
Running out of excuses and alarmingly low on resolve, she tried explaining. “I can’t drive for a while. I just had two drinks.”
“I can. All I had is a Coke. I want a clear head around you, Lucie.” His palm slipped to the back of her head, anchoring her in place. He lowered his head, his breath fanning her neck, his lips brushing her cheek as he bent to whisper in her ear. “I want to remember everything. Make sure you remember everything too.”
There it was. Her ticket to freedom. The very words that should have sent her running from danger and the threat he posed. Except she didn’t feel threatened. She felt seduced.
“Just a nightcap and a late-night snack.” Lucie forced an insistence into her tone she didn’t really feel. “It’s a one-time offer only, do you understand?” She might live to regret trusting him. She sure as hell didn’t trust herself around him. “Do you understand?”
He studied her closely for the longest moment then let out an, “Uh-huh.” It was too noncommittal for her liking but obviously all she would get.
She took his hand back in hers. He squeezed it gently. “I’ll make it worth your while, I promise,” he said.
That’s what I’m afraid of.
* * * * *
“C.” Whatever Mac slipped the bouncer parked firmly at the entrance of the club as they stepped out killed the usual tirade of objections. “Miss M., Mr. M,” was all he said, accentuated with a courteous nod and the raising of an imaginary hat.
Lucie had expected some sort of tête-à-tête to take place. What she hadn’t expected was for C to simply usher them out. Or know MacCale by name. “What did you give him?” she asked.
He rolled a shoulder. “My sincere thanks.”
She had the awful feeling she was somehow being played. “You knew about the club. The gay and bi clientele.”
“So?”
“Bruno didn’t recognize you. And he knows everyone.”
“It’s been a while.” Another flippant shrug. “He didn’t work here back then. And before you ask, I’m not into guys. But I know some great guys who are, so yeah, I’ve been here before. Many times.”
Feeling silly, and not a little ashamed somehow, Lucie stuttered, “I-I thought—”
“Yeah, you thought. And assumed the rest. Disappointed?”
More like surprised, Lucie thought, her calm slipping fast. She had pegged him for the type who would get uncomfortable fast with advances coming from men and plain confused with the attention of the guys pretty as gals, as Mac had put it. “My bad,” Lucie quipped.
“Ah, forget about it.” Mac pulled her to him, gripped her elbows and tilted his head.
Poised for a kiss, Lucie stared at his mouth. What she’d been beating into submission all night—all week, dammit—reared its head with a vengeance. Excitement. Anticipation. Need. Longing. She couldn’t dismiss those feelings, no matter how watered they were or how weak they made her feel. They made her reach for him and touch him in return.
She pressed her hands to his chest. His flesh was hot, hot and hard as she spread out her fingers on his shirt, her eyes drifting over his face and to his eyes.
The heat was still there. So was that dreadful hint of inspection.
“Yeah, I’ll forget about it,” she said. “If you’ll forget about the stupid lip gloss and just go for it.”
His smile caught her square in the heart while his mouth made its way to hers. His lips made it a breath away.
“I’m afraid I can’t do that. Remember what happened last time?”
At Boyd’s? Did she ever.
“It’s gonna happen again,” he said. “I kiss you. Then I need to kiss you a little more. A little deeper. A little lower. All over. Your neck. Your breasts and belly. Your thighs. And if I kiss these lips right here,” he said, brushing his mouth over hers for a fleeting second, “I need to kiss those lips down there.” He pressed his hips to hers. He didn’t grind, he didn’t force her closer, merely held her where she could feel his cock swell against her belly.
“You owe me a taste of that sweet spot. And when I’m done nibbling on your pussy—” He kissed her lower lip but didn’t linger. He never finished the sentence, either, only took a step back along with several deep breaths.
If he needed a moment to deal with the hard-on, so did Lucie need one to try to put up the guard she had let drop around him. Again. She was going against one of her golden rules taking him home with her, but she needed the strength being on her own territory gave her now more than ever.
He couldn’t run the show. He could enjoy the ride, but she could never let him call the shots.
No matter how much pleasure that might bring her.
* * * * *
Had a silence ever felt that uncomfortable? Usually, the less said the better when it came to one-night stands. Now Lucie simply felt awkward.
They had talked very little walking to her car. She had said something trite about the bustle in the streets and Mac had commented on the to-go-cups in the hands of a boisterous group of people passing by and how spacious the downtown still felt for all the traffic and activity.
She badly wanted to ask him what he was doing in town for so long and when he would leave. She had found his name in the Ferguson family tree. His mother was a Savannahian, born and raised, as were his maternal grandparents. He had a brother, a sister-in-law and a niece, and he’d never been married.
She’d had to stop herself from going online and trying to find out more about him. The less she knew, the faster she’d forget about him. Except Mac had haunted her since Boyd’s birthday party.
“What?” Mac caught her staring at him.
He turned his eyes back to the road. Lucie turned to look out the passenger window and bit her lower lip.
Stop. Drooling.
The air was stifling and the Fiesta hopelessly too small for both of them.
Lucie opened the window. It would mess with the air-conditioning but screw that, she needed the breeze on her face.
This was a mistake. She should tell him to turn around, drive back to town and go home, wherever he was staying, and she would take a cab
to her place.
The words never came.
“You okay?” he asked.
“Never better,” she chirped. She never chirped. She didn’t blush or get nervous, and she sure as hell didn’t obsess over men.
You do now.
As if sensing her unease, he snatched her hand in his and laid it on her thigh.
“Having second thoughts already? I only want this if you do.”
Her poise MIA, her act falling apart, Lucie remained silent.
Snap out of it!
She had done this countless times. Why did it feel different with him?
Because of him, something about him. Whatever it was, it scared her as much as it drew her in. His watchfulness made her painfully self-conscious. That alone messed with her MO. He said he could be tenacious. She bet. She bet he wouldn’t fail at anything he put his mind to. If he was bent on seducing her and not the other way around as she had planned, how the hell would she survive it?
How the hell would she even fight it?
Ask him to turn around. Do it.
“The next left. That’s me.”
The drive from town took less than fifteen minutes, overgrown fields turning into forested land that hid the mansions and country houses Mac knew lay along the riverside. He veered off the two-lane highway onto Lucie’s driveway, a long passage of oaks arching over a dirt road. Moonlight dappled the Spanish-moss-festooned trees and road the ahead, Lucie’s open window letting in the cool breeze and a flowery scent so strong that whatever they were, there were plenty.
The road curved to the right, the pathway opening to a sweep of land. In the middle stood a simple but massive two-story house of pale clapboard poised high upon a brick basement, a double staircase leading up to the entrance.
So he’d been mildly surprised when she’d instructed him to drive out of town. She didn’t strike him as a country girl, or a native Savannahian. She had the manners and the air of mystery of a local but not the dress or overall demeanor of one.