His focus shifted to another picture, the girls a few years older. Then another and another before zeroing in on a small photograph of two teenage girls, books clutched to their chests as they stood in front of the science building. He’d seen Sharon hundreds of times while growing up. They’d attended the same elementary school. The same junior high. The same high school. She’d been a permanent fixture, just like the brown-haired girl who stood next to her.
He stepped closer, peering at Madeline in one of her familiar flower-print dresses. She had the same dimples she had now, the same expressive eyes, the same full lips. The package was the same, but the force inside seemed completely different.
Bolder.
More provocative.
Dangerous.
At least to a man who’d vowed off one-night stands and gone without sex for over six months. For him, there’d be no more hot, sweaty, forget-your-name sex. Like the sort he was sure to have with sweet Madeline.
Easy there, Hoss.
He drew in a deep breath and tried to ease the sudden pounding of his heart. “Nice picture,” he said when he heard her moving around the dining room to his left.
“Sharon’s mom took that right after we won the science fair our freshman year,” she said as she walked up beside him. “We made glue out of all-natural ingredients—honey, flour, cooked sugar. It wasn’t such a big deal except that it formed a nearly unbreakable bond of atoms when the concoction reached a certain temperature.”
“Like superglue?”
“Supercement. I bet Mr. Vincent is still trying to get that stuff off his counter. Anyhow, we made a mess, but we also won. We actually had a write-up in the national science journal because of it. I was thrilled about the discovery, but Sharon was more jazzed about the picture that went with the article. Exposure, she called it.” At his questioning glance, she added, “She liked getting all dressed up and having her picture taken. She wanted to be a model.”
“Sharon?”
“I know she seemed very plain-Jane to everybody in town. It’s hard to change your image with people who’ve watched you go through baby fat and braces and bad haircuts. But she had really great features.”
He zeroed in on the picture again, and for the first time, he noted Sharon’s high cheekbones and nice smile. She was pretty, all right, but not half as pretty as the girl standing next to her.
“She was going to move to Dallas and sign with Ultra, the biggest modeling agency in town. They book every major runway show in the Southwest.” She stared at the picture and her eyes clouded. He sensed her loss even before he heard it in her words. “She never had the chance.”
“What about you?”
“What about me?”
“Did you have modeling on your mind?”
“Me?” She shook her head. “I thought about it, but only as something that could never happen except in my head. I thought about a lot of things like that. Like being a rock star or a famous actress.”
“Or the Incredible Hulk.”
She turned on him, a smile on her face. “You wanted to be the Incredible Hulk?”
“When I wasn’t dreaming about being one of the brothers from Bonanza.” He nodded. “I kicked a lot of ass in those dreams.”
“I know the feeling. I had this one fantasy where I could outsing and outdance Madonna. Reality-wise, I was more interested in cooking up new recipes for my dad.”
He turned and eyed the display of colored saucers spread out across the dining-room table. “Looks like you’re still cooking.”
“In the lab. I don’t get into the kitchen much anymore. I don’t have time.” He could have sworn he saw a flash of regret in her eyes.
“I know the feeling. I’m not much for cooking, but I can eat. There’s nothing like a bowl of candied sweet potatoes.”
A wistful smile touched her expression. “Sharon’s mom used to let us lick the bowl when she whipped the candied sweet potatoes the night before Thanksgiving.” She shifted her attention to the photograph. “Sharon would have been so jazzed that I’m working for V.A.M.P. She lived for their lipsticks when we were teens. She would get her aunt from San Antonio to smuggle in a whole box every Christmas—V.A.M.P. isn’t a brand you can find down at the Piggly Wiggly. Only in finer department stores.” She smiled. “We would try on every color.”
Silence settled in for a long moment before Austin asked, “You were with her that night, weren’t you? The night it happened.”
She didn’t answer. She simply stared at the picture for a long moment.
“It was just the two of us,” she finally said. “We were so excited about graduation the next day. It was the first day of the rest of our lives—that’s what Sharon said. We were out riding around in her daddy’s old boat of a car, talking about all the things we were going to do with our lives. Sharon was doing most of the talking—she always did the talking because she had so many things she wanted to do, and I was listening and then…” Fear flashed in her eyes and she shook her head, as if to rid herself of the sudden memory. “There’s really no use in talking about it. It’s over and done with.”
He nodded. “Maybe. And maybe not.”
Her gaze collided with his. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“That sometimes things live on inside of us. They keep going, on and on, until we say, ‘Enough.’ That’s the way it was when my dad died. I watched them put him in the ground, but that wasn’t the end of it.”
He turned and stared at the photograph, but he didn’t see the two smiling girls. He saw his dad and the rage and resentment that had lived and breathed in his glazed eyes. He heard the hate in his voice.
“He lived on inside my head for a good long time. I still hear him sometimes. ‘You’re worthless, boy. Worthless and useless, just like your mama’.” Not that it bothered him anymore. Not like Maddie’s memories obviously bothered her. He’d come to terms with his dad’s death. The old man and his opinion no longer mattered because Austin knew better.
“You’re not worthless.”
Even though he’d already come to know that on his own, hearing her say it sent a spiral of warmth through him.
“Not anymore.”
“You never were.”
He grinned. “I think your memory’s a little warped, Thumper.”
She cut a sideways glance at him. “My memory’s just fine. You were wild, not worthless. There’s a big difference. And don’t call me Thumper.”
“If the bunny slipper fits…”
“I hate you.”
“Good. Then maybe you’ll forget all about having sex with me.”
She arched an eyebrow at him. “I don’t have to like you to want to have sex. I just have to be turned on.” She licked her lips and his groin throbbed in response.
“So do I, and I’m not.”
She frowned at him before her expression eased into a challenging smile. “Not yet.”
Before he had a chance to say anything, she motioned toward the dining-room table and the five saucers filled with various colored substances.
He had the sudden urge to turn and get while the getting was good. The less time he spent with Madeline Hale, the better. His head knew that, but damned if he could get his boots to turn the other way. They followed her into the dining room. Her hips swayed to and fro beneath the fitted dress and his mouth went dry.
Soon Austin found himself seated at the table, his heart beating a furious tempo as Madeline walked from one side to the other, leaning this way and that as she arranged the saucers and launched a full assault against his good intentions. She teased him with a cleavage shot, then a slow, lingering brush against one arm and then the ever-popular hair toss. All moves he’d seen time and time again. But damned if he didn’t react like a hot and horny fourteen-year-old seeing his first full-grown woman in action.
“Okay,” she said a few moments later as she retreated just enough to give him some breathing room. “This is a basic sample test for smell, which means that
we’ll be focusing on this particular sense only.”
“Just smell.”
She nodded. “That means we have to eliminate as much stimulation as possible to your other senses. No seeing or hearing or touching or tasting. You need to be completely centered on this one sense. Clasp your fingers together and hold out your hands.”
She lifted a red silk scarf and an image flashed in his head of Madeline wearing nothing but that single red scarf around her slim wrists. His groin tightened and he shifted in his seat, searching for some extra room in his jeans. He didn’t find any, however. She was still too close. Too warm. And she smelled too good.
He held out his hands. The material surrounded his wrists and tightened. A few subtle brushes of her fingertips against his skin, and she’d tied the restraint in place. She pulled out another scarf and told him to close his eyes.
The silk scarf slithered across his eyes. Soft fingers brushed his cheek as she pulled the material tight and fastened a knot at the nape of his neck.
He’d never been blindfolded by a woman before. He preferred to feast his eyes and so he’d never opted for that little adventure. He hadn’t imagined it could be as good as watching a woman get really turned-on.
But the next few moments, as she moved around him, her arm brushing his, the soft sound of her movement close by, came pretty damned close.
With his vision and his sense of touch gone, he had only his hearing to focus on. His ears seemed to tune into every distinct sound. Her breaths just to the left of him, moving closer, closer…so close that it stirred the hair on the back of his neck, and another part of his anatomy.
He heard the clatter of plates in front of him and wondered if her arm extended around him. If she might accidentally brush him with her luscious breast when she leaned in just so….
Anticipation rippled through him and his blood rushed faster. It didn’t matter that he couldn’t see her. He knew she was there, and that she was turned-on, and it turned him on all the more.
He became acutely aware of his own body. He felt the heat of his palms. Heard the thunder of his own heart. Tasted the deprivation on his own lips. It was all he could do to sit still and wait for the sample test to begin, and pray to the Big Guy Upstairs that everything went as quickly as possible.
Out of sight, out of mind, he told himself.
Thanks to the blindfold, she was out of sight, and so he merely needed to push her out of his mind and focus on something else to regain his composure.
Like the way the sun felt beating down on him as he worked his cattle during a blazing hot summer. Or the pride that came from the knowledge that every inch of pastureland, every horse, every steer—they were all his.
His.
He tried to conjure the picture of his place, from the two-story log cabin he’d designed and built himself to the large barn and the two adjoining corrals.
Nothing worked. He still pictured her, and he still wanted her despite her being all wrong for him, with her tight red dress and her bold, provocative words.
In fact, he wanted her because of those things.
He’d always been a sucker for red-hot women in the past. An addiction he’d felt certain he’d managed to kick. Until now.
“Sniff,” she instructed him, her soft voice echoing in his ear, stirring his already heightened senses. “Breathe. Sniff again.” She grew silent for a few moments. “Now rate the scent anywhere from one to five, five being the most appealing, and give your score out loud.”
He concentrated on complying with every request. Sniff. Sniff again. Rate. Until he’d gone through the routine three different times. He was on number four when he leaned forward to sniff and his nose brushed soft, fragrant skin—
“I’m sniffing you,” he blurted, jerking back and nearly toppling the chair.
“Of course.”
“But I’m supposed to be sniffing the lotion.”
“You are. I’m rubbing the lotion on my pulse points. Different fragrances smell different when they mingle with the body’s natural pheromones. You have to smell it during the sample tests the way you would if the product were actually in use.”
He hated to admit it, but it made sense. Still he was wary. “You said smelling, no touching. I touched you just now.”
“It’s not my fault if you got too close.”
“I can’t see a damned thing. One minute you’re on one side of me, the next you’re on the other. How am I supposed to know if I’m getting too close?”
“What does it matter?”
“It matters.”
“Because you’re turned-on?”
He didn’t miss the hope in her voice. He frowned. “Because I’m dizzy, and bumping into things just makes it worse.”
“You’re really dizzy?”
“Way dizzy. I’m this close to losing my dinner.”
“That’s not good.”
“You’re telling me.”
“I suppose we could bend the rules just this once, in the name of good health. I wouldn’t want you to get sick. I’ll untie your hands. That way you can still feel things and maybe that will help you get your bearings.” Her fingers went to his wrists and the scarf fell away. “But make sure to keep the contact limited. This test is supposed to focus solely on smell.”
With his wrists free, he felt a small measure of control return. He drew a deep breath, then stood and reached for her arm.
“What are you doing?” she asked as he tugged her in front of him. Her soft breasts came up against his chest and her hips brushed his growing erection.
“Making sure you stay put.” He slid his hands around her waist and lifted her onto the table. Dishes clattered and wood creaked as she settled into place. Reaching behind him, he felt for his chair, then pulled it up close and sank down.
There was a moment of silence before her fingers closed around his hand. She guided his touch to her neck. “This sample is right…here.”
Her hand fell away as his fingertips trailed up the curve of her neck and then drifted lower. He traced the shape of her collarbone before leaning forward and drinking in her scent. Once. Twice. A third time.
“What do you think?” Her voice was breathless and soft and stirring.
“I can’t think.” Not with her scent filling his head and her heat seeping into his fingertips and his heart pumping so damned fast. “I don’t want to think.”
Right then, he wanted something altogether different.
He wasn’t sure what happened in that next instant. Maybe it was the blindfold that blotted out reality and made the future he’d planned for himself seem a distant, far-off dream. Maybe six months without a woman had finally caught up to him and scrambled his common sense. Maybe both.
He didn’t know. He only knew that he had to touch her. Right here. Right now.
His palms cupped the backs of her calves, his fingers curving around, molding their shape. He stroked, relishing the feel of her soft, smooth skin as he moved up, stroking the outsides of her knees, her thighs. He reached the hem of her short dress and halted, his fingers playing at the edge of the material. He smoothed his hands over the tops of her thighs and dipped inside, urging her legs apart.
Her breath caught as he touched his lips to the inside of her knee.
He licked and nibbled his way up the inside of her thigh until he reached…
“Damn, you’re not wearing any panties,” he growled accusingly, his lips just shy of the slick, damp folds between her legs. Her provocative scent filled his nostrils and his erection throbbed.
“I never wear panties. I mean, I do, but not with this dress. It’s too clingy and tight. Even a thong shows through.” Oddly enough, she sounded almost apologetic.
A crazy thought because she’d obviously changed from the girl he once knew.
He knew that, but there was just something about the tremble of her voice that made him want to believe her and chase away the sudden tension that filled her body, until all that remained was desire.
>
He slid his hands beneath her, cupped her bottom and pulled her to the very edge of the table.
He bit the soft flesh on the inside of her thigh, relishing her loud gasp before he touched his mouth to her. She cried out at the sudden contact. She gripped his shoulders, her fingers digging into his hard muscles.
He trailed his tongue up and down her slit. She tasted wild and ripe and he couldn’t get enough. He devoured her, licking and tasting and sucking every delectable inch until she cried out, her hips thrusting against his mouth.
He pulled back then, just long enough to yank the blindfold from his eyes. She stared down at him, her green eyes wild and full of wonder, as if she’d never felt a man’s mouth on her.
As if.
Keeping his eyes locked with hers, he reached out and slid his middle finger deep inside her before withdrawing and sliding back in. She was warm and slick and so damned tight around him. It took all of his control to keep from coming right there, but more than his own need, suddenly he wanted to fulfill hers. Because she was so turned-on and he knew by the desperation in her eyes that she needed release.
With his thumb, he pressed on her swollen clitoris and stroked. Back and forth. Up and down. The nub ripened and grew taut. Wetness flooded between her legs, easing the way for his finger that moved in and out. Soon her body tensed and her hips strained against his hand. Her lips parted on a loud moan and her eyes fired brighter, and she came apart.
The chair toppled backward when he bolted to his feet to lean over her and catch her cries with his mouth. He kissed her then. Deeply. Thoroughly. He slid one arm around her, holding her to him while he kept one finger deep inside. She clenched and unclenched around him in a delicious rhythm that made his erection throb so hard it hurt.
“I’m on fire,” she murmured against his lips.
He knew the feeling. He felt ready to burst into flames himself.
“You have to do something.” Her soft words were like a match to a fuse. “We have to do something.”
Suddenly he couldn’t move fast enough. He’d always been a man who could control himself with a woman, but just like that, he lost it. He wanted to be inside her. He needed it. And that was all that mattered.
The Sex Solution Page 9