They wandered slowly through the woods, kissing and touching like young lovers. They didn't get very far because they couldn't keep their hands to themselves. They nibbled and sucked and grinded against each other until they broke apart, panting and breathless, only to grab for each other again.
When they did walk, it was like walking a tightrope for Drake. The narrow footpath was rough and uneven, treacherous for a sighted person let alone a blind one. Many times, he wanted to reach out a hand or take her arm. He watched her each step with fearful eyes as her cane tapped and rapped around protruding rocks and tree roots. When she tripped, almost falling, he caught his breath and froze with indecision, so torn was he between helping the woman he loved, and letting her maintain her willful independence.
Finally, when he could take no more of the tightrope walk, he led her back to the parked Jag. When they reached it, she put out her hand to feel the cool metal there.
"I bet it's sleek and very fast," she said.
"It's fast. When Johnny gave it to me on my birthday, we took it out to the track. He floored the accelerator, and my baby went from zero to eighty in three seconds. Drake grinned and cocked his head to one side. "John has a real yen for road rage."
"Who's John?"
"My son," Drake answered, watching her experience the contours of the car by feeling with her hands. "My foster son. I met him in Saudi Arabia when I was serving as a special liaison for our women troops stationed there." He watched her stroke the hood, caressing its smooth, curved lines. She seemed to enjoy the slickness of the metal, using her imagination to visualize the glossy, polished finish.
"He sounds important to you."
"Yeah, he is. There's no one like Johnny Wheelwright."
"I hope I get to meet him someday. This is the grill, isn't it? I can tell. It's still warm and the metal is hard and firm. Like you?"
She asked the question with a seductive lilt in her voice. Her question, like her caress of the car, was a blatant invitation. He didn't refuse. He took her in his arms and kissed her.
Their mouths met with dueling tongues and deep-throat pants. As the kiss deepened, he pressed his body closer, leaning into her, prodding her. His hands roamed over her body and he reached up to fondle her breast. He tempted and teased it until the ancient male urge to complete the union overwhelmed him. He needed her. He needed to mate. The urge was making him hot and uncomfortable, like his skin was itchy and too tight. Touching her through layers of clothing was not enough. He needed more. He shed his jacket and pulled down the bodice to her dress, seeking flesh on flesh.
Caught in her own web of desire, Alexis pulled his jacket off and pushed up his shirt, but that was not enough. She wanted him out of his clothes, stripped naked, and her hands went to the buttons of his shirt. She fumbled with them, finding them too difficult, too bothersome. She felt his hands cover hers to help, but before he could, she grabbed a handful of the soft fabric and ripped down. The costly silk, not meant for such treatment, surrendered and the buttons flew into the dark corners of the night.
She buried her face in his curling chest hair, circling his areolas with her tongue. Her hand wandered to his belt. She unbuckled it and edged the zipper down, careful of the bulge that she found there. The zipper gave way and the bulge sprung eagerly into her hand. She caressed him, feeling the wetness at the tip.
When he pushed himself in and out of her tight hand, her legs went weak.
"We need to be careful," he said between kisses.
"Tell me you have a condom."
"In my pocket."
He released her to find his jacket where he had thrown it in his haste to be free from the clinging leather. It wasn't easy given the state of his arousal, for his prick was hard and jutting and begging for a home. He finally found it where it had landed and searched the inner pocket. He pulled the sealed foil out, threw the jacket down, and returned to her, protected.
She was standing by the hood of the car. Her hair hung in thick waves, curling madly from the humidity, to brush her shoulders. In one hand, she held her stockings and her panties. In the other hand, she held up her dress, carelessly, and one plump, ripe breast peeped through. Her nipple hardened at a sudden breeze, and his cock responded in kind.
"Ready?" she asked.
"More than," he replied.
Reaching for her, he pulled her dress up to her waist and then lifted her to the hood of the car. The metal was cold to her exposed ass, but it excited her, and she felt a delicious pang as juices flowed from her swollen vulva. She quivered and squirmed against the metal, ready, wanting release.
Drake lifted her again, placing her, with purposeful calculation, on the Leaper, on the silver hood ornament of the Jag. Her legs straddled it. Her inner core touched it. He grabbed her by the waist and rocked her once ... twice ... three times against the cold, stiff metal until her pink folds sucked it in, until her mind exploded with white light.
Before the savage waves of her climax subsided, he gripped her legs and pulled her towards the grill. He pushed her down, until she was lying on the hood. The warmth from the Leaper caressed her naked cleft and the cool smoothness of the fender teased her feet. He raised her knees high. She was open and exposed. She reached for him, wanting him. He mounted her, sheathing himself. Their mating was a fast, furious climb of desire. When they reached the top, they fell, joined and as one, only to climb again and again.
Later, reality returned and he eased himself out of her for the last time.
The sun was warring with the clouds in the sky-top Bristlecone Pines when they arrived at her home.
"What happens next?" Alexis asked. Uncertainty slipped into her voice as she wondered if their "relationship" would consist of a one-night stand.
"Next," Drake said, pulling her into his arms, "we spend time together."
Chapter 4
In the Silver Dollar lounge, Drake was waiting for Alexis to arrive. He glanced at his watch, idly spinning the stem. It was after seven. She was late, as usual, but he knew that she would be well worth the wait. He hoped that she would be wearing that little black number, the raven black dress with the tiny straps. It was one of his favorites. He planned to go dancing after dinner so he could nestle her in his arms, rest her head on his shoulder, stroke her naked skin, her bare...
He abandoned those thoughts, as the fantasy was as dangerous as the reality. Daydreaming made him hunger for her, made him want to seek her out, and there would be no dinner and no dancing or, at least, no dancing of the vertical kind.
Drake reached into the inner breast pocket of his suit jacket and pulled out Johnny's letter. It was wrinkled, crumbled, and in pencil. He smoothed out the pages, read it again and, when he reached the end, sighed with relief. Johnny still had a long way to go, but at last-at long last-Johnny was facing the demons of the past.
Drake's thoughts drifted back to that ugly time in Loving, Arkansas.
After Delta Force pressured Johnny into resigning his commission, the young man had turned bitter and resentful. Drake urged him to get help, but Johnny refused, electing instead to wander the back roads of the south, hitchhiking and sleeping in shanties. Tired of traveling on foot, he rented a car in Little Rock and headed west. He ended up in Loving, a jerkwater outback, pretentiously calling itself a county seat.
The state troopers stopped him for speeding. He should have taken the ticket and driven away, but he went ballistic instead. He provoked the troopers, egging them on, committing every insolent act to enrage them. Calmer heads prevailed-one of the state troopers must have realized that John was ill-and the former war hero ended up in a psych ward in four-point restraint.
Drake had gotten the call late at night from a Johnny in trouble.
"Drake, I need help. Will you come?" John asked. His voice was frail and thin, not sounding like the voice of a soldier of countless engagements. Drake had gone, dropping everything for the troubled younger man he loved like a son.
"Hellooooo!"
Drake's thoughts were interrupted by the purr of a female voice. He looked up to find his ex-wife standing by the table. She had a drink in one hand and a cigarette in the other. She cocked her head to one side before taking a long drag.
"Drake. I called your name three times. Where were you?"
"Uh ... thinking about Johnny."
"Johnny! What's that lunatic done now?"
Drake looked Beth over, wondering how he could have ever thought that he loved her. He should have known the difference between being in love and being in love with love. He had been a young and ridiculous romantic when he met and married Beth. He knew now that what he had felt was not real, that it was nothing more than an illusion. All of it dissolved into nothingness from the moment that he saw Alexis.
As if on cue, Alexis walked in. In her mind, she had mapped out the floor plan for the lounge. With the help of her visual sensor, she could walk through the lounge without using her cane. It took her hours to memorize the location of each chair, each table and each booth, but with Jessie Dane's help, she did so.
Drake watched Alexis pause at the lounge door, and he knew that she was confirming her location. While he appreciated this fact, he was more appreciative of how she looked and how much he wanted her out of her clothes and his bed. He would rip off that scarlet tiffany dress, uncaring that it was right out of Vogue and cost a mint. He would pull the scraps down, past her waist, to her hips, to her delta below, and his tongue would go to work while her drop-dead gorgeous legs, so recently flattered by that flaring skirt, were draped over his shoulders.
Alex walked to the table, her hips swaying to some unheard music, and every male head in the lounge turned to follow the beat.
"Hello, lover," Alexis said in her husky voice. She sniffed and then smiled. "Armani!" She turned her face up for a kiss. Drake complied, slanting his mouth across hers in a kiss that shot the temperature up in the lounge by twenty degrees.
"How you doing, Cash?" Beth said. She reached around Drake to grab Alexis' hand and pumped it, squeezing hard. A sneer curled her lip, and she threw back her head as if to say that she had tested Alexis and found her lacking.
Although Beth's behavior irritated Alexis, she didn't let her irritation show. She did wonder though if Beth was jealous. She knew that Drake had loved Beth once, but she was too self-assured to be threatened by that long-dead marriage.
Alexis was jealous, however.
And her jealousy was unique.
Alexis felt cheated. Beth could see Drake and she could not. The more time that Alexis spent with him, the more she hungered for just a glimpse.
If Alexis could see Drake, she would not be disappointed. His white-gold mane, brushed back in a peak from a wide brow, shouted of a man who was assured, confident, and at the top of his game. His slim, athletic body boasted the stamina for robust sex and screamed lover take me! In short, he was a man who worked hard, but who also played hard and who would certainly include his woman in the fun.
Drake seated Alexis, oblivious to the female attention that followed his every move. They sat close, whispering, their faces so close that they could touch lips.
"I'm glad that I ran into you, Drake," Beth said, giving him a look that she hoped would siren song him back into her bed. "Things are so terrible with the business right now." She leaned forward until her breast brushed his arm.
"Huh, well..." Drake said, moving his arm away.
"You always gave me such good advice. Did you know that about him, Alexis?"
"That was a long time ago."
"But I bet you're still good at it."
"Is KrazyKat in trouble?"
"You could say that."
"If anyone could help, it would be Alexis."
"No," Beth said. "I want you."
"But Alexis has the expertise."
"I don't want her. I want you. No offense, Cash," Beth purred.
"None taken," Alexis purred back.
"I don't know, Beth." Drake ran his hand through his hair. He disliked Beth's air of ownership and her rudeness to Alexis wasn't helping either. "I have other..."
"Perhaps I should leave you two alone to work this out," Alexis interrupted with a smile. Her smile widened, like the smile of the cat that ate the canary, a smile that never warmed the coldness in her eyes.
"Could we meet tomorrow?" Beth asked, as if Alexis had not spoken. "I hate to pressure you but..."
"Tomorrow?"
"No time like the present. In the morning."
"It's that serious."
"Oh yeah."
Drake leaned back into the leather cushions of the booth. He had formed KrazyKat Incorporated right out of law school, and the company had made him his first million. It had a special place in his memories of those days, and he'd hate to see it go under.
"Sorry, Beth," he said, shaking his head. "I can't. Alexis and I have plans..."
"Plans that can't be broken."
"A breakfast-in-bed followed by a little R & R."
"Oh, c'mon, Drake. I'm sure Cash can spare you for one morning."
"Nope, sorry. Alexis can't spare me."
"Whoa, wait a minute. I can speak for myself," Alexis said. "If Beth needs to borrow you, then you go. I can do without you."
Even as Alexis said this, her private fears assailed her. Part of her felt that she was growing too attached to Drake, always thinking about him, wanting him, and missing him, as if she were cold inside without him.
"Like I said, I am sorry, but Alexis and I do have plans."
He pulled back Alexis' chair and assisted her to her feet. With a hand around her waist, he escorted her from the lounge.
Beth was left standing there, dismissed and rebuffed. She couldn't believe it. There was a time, in the years after the divorce, that she had Drake at the drop of her handkerchief. All that had changed when Alexis came to town.
Beth finished her drink, then stood. She adjusted the scarf at her neck and flattened out a crease in her skirt. She assumed the mantle of a woman scorned perfectly.
"You'll pay, Drake Smith," she said. "You will pay."
Chapter 5
The Silver Room was Reno's premier restaurant. Located in a snug corner of the sprawling Silver Dollar Casino, it was one of Jessie Dane's best investments. The French cuisine was excellent, the atmosphere romantic, the music the hottest jazz licks this side of New Orleans. It was Drake and Alexis' favorite place, and they had just settled in for an evening of dinner and dancing, to be followed by sex all night long, when Beth walked in on the arm of Ted Peterson.
The months since Drake had last seen his ex-wife had not treated her kindly. Her company, KrazyKat Incorporated, had indeed gone belly-up, and he'd heard rumors that she was drinking heavily because of it. He had even heard that she blamed him for the lost of her company since he had refused her renewed requests for help. Whether the rumors were true, he did not know, but he knew that pay-back was her style.
From his seat in a secluded corner of the restaurant, Drake saw Beth scan the room. Her eyes locked with his arctic-blue ones. She nudged Ted with her elbow.
"Here comes trouble," Drake said to Alexis.
"How so?"
"Beth and Ted Peterson."
"The bartender? Oh damn!"
"Oh damn is right. They're on their way over."
Drake knew that Beth would take her time sauntering over because she loved to play the game of cat and mouse. When she finally steered Ted to the table, Drake rose to extend his hand. Ted did not make a move to take it.
"Well, if it isn't my special public defender," Ted said.
"Yes, it's Drake and Cash," Beth said, giving what she thought was her best condescending smile, but it was spoiled by the lipstick coating her bottom teeth.
"I bet you can't believe I'm here and not pouring," Ted said.
"I hope you both enjoy your evening," Alexis said. "Somewhere else," she added, speaking so low that only Drake could hear her.
"Oh, we will, we will," Ted said. H
is line of sight was at Alexis' breasts. He clicked his tongue. "I hit it big at the slots and Beth and I are gonna celebrate. Imagine if I'd hit years ago. Then I could have hired myself a real lawyer." Ted threw up his hands, palms out. "Just kidding. Just kidding. I know it wasn't your fault, Smith, that I got five years in a federal penitentiary."
"No, it wasn't. It was the fact that the feds convicted you of stealing money from your company's pension fund that got you the five."
"Yeah, well, that's ancient history. All's forgiven."
"Ted has such class," Beth said, running her hand down the lapel of Ted's jacket. "I wish I could be like that, but I can't help myself. I hold grudges."
"We all have our gifts," Alexis replied, heavy on the sarcasm.
"Ah, Cash. You were sitting there so..."
"Don't let us hold you up," Drake interrupted.
"...so quiet, like a little brown rat ... rabbit," Beth amended. "I was wondering when Drake would give you permission to speak."
"What?" Alexis said.
"Drake can be quite the dictacrat."
"Autocrat," Alexis corrected, a frown marring the porcelain of her brow.
"Whatever. My point is that Drake is-what's the psychological term-an enabler. Which is really great since he collects things, broken things, things that need fixing."
"I think that you had better leave," Drake said, stepping forward.
"You and what army, pretty boy," Ted replied.
"Drake and his broken toys," Beth sneered out the words. "If there's somebody in need of a fixing within a hundred miles, he's Johnny-on-the-spot. Speaking of Johnny..." She let the sentence linger, the implication clear. "If ever there was a man who needed help."
"I don't need Drake..."
"It must be tough for him though, with your illness and all. He put his lunatic son in an asylum, but he can't fix you." She bunched her lips together, mocking. "There's no cure, right, for your condition. What do you have again? Retinitis..."
Romantic Days, Romantic Nights Page 15