Book Boyfriends Cafe Summer Lovin' Anthology 2015

by Melinda Curtis

  “And what about your husband? Why didn’t he come with you?”

  She blinked. “My husband?” No more lies between us. She heard the echo of his voice. She hadn’t lied to him, would never lie to him again, but she hadn’t told him the full truth. “My husband is dead. He died two years ago. He was a pilot. He crashed.” She tried to say it dispassionately, matter-of-factly, but it never, ever came out that way.

  “I see.” Aaron stepped closer. “That makes this easier.”

  “What?” she asked in confusion.

  His hands reached out, one went around her shoulders and the other around her waist to pull her inexorably closer. “This.”

  His lips, firm and insistent, closed over hers. Startled, her hands flew up to push him away. The needs that had been awakened in her since the moment she’d walked into his office overwhelmed any outrage she felt. Her palms slid over his crisp cotton shirt, paused, and then clasped at the back of his neck.

  Satisfied with her reaction, Aaron released a humming groan from the back of his throat.

  He tasted of sweetness, the mangoes they had eaten for lunch, perhaps, or maybe it was his own essence. It was delicious. He was delicious and she was instantly enthralled, pushing closer, wanting more. The force of her emotions was so strong, her entire body went weak and hot need uncurled within her core -- the core that was hot and ready for him, slick with her need, but separated by layers of clothes.

  She didn’t even try to make sense of this. It was what she had wanted, needed, from him all this time. She didn’t give herself a moment to debate the rightness of it, she simply went with it, kissing him back, desperate to taste and feel him.

  She whimpered into his mouth, setting off another round of devouring kisses.

  Aaron gathered her closer, picked her up so that she was completely at his mercy, and rocked her against his sex. Of their own will, her legs came up and locked around him. She felt him, hard and insistent and she almost had an orgasm right then. Never had she felt such need, been kissed by anyone who seemed to want to devour her, to climb inside her skin and make her part of himself.

  The hand that had been at her waist slipped down and then up beneath her blouse, skating over her skin, unhooking her bra, sliding around to cup her breast. His thumb flicked over her nipple and she bucked in his arms.

  “Aaron!” she cried.

  She thought she heard him make a deep sound of satisfaction, of triumph as he backed her up against his desk and lifted her onto its top. He settled her in place. Standing between her legs, he shoved up her blouse and her bra, leaned over and took her nipple into his mouth. Once, twice, he suckled. Becca’s head snapped back and she released a keening moan that seemed to inflame him even more.

  “Tell me what you want, Rebecca,” he insisted.

  “You,” she gasped.

  His lips came back to hers, his mouth flaming sweet, his tongue ready to dance with hers, touching, tasting, building her arousal to a fever pitch. His hands went to her breasts, his fingers teasing the nipples into hardness that yearned for the return of his mouth. He kissed her with total concentration and purpose as if he could bring her to satisfaction with his mouth alone – and he probably could, she thought in a sex-drenched haze.

  Every affection-starved nerve in her body sang with joy at his touch, the taste and feel of his mouth, the care and attention he paid to her breasts, lips, throat. Each place he kissed, suckled, nibbled sparked into life as if incited by electricity.

  She had never felt anything like this. Never known this kind of need, pleasure, bliss. She was starved, wanting, hungry for him, for the life she felt flowing back into her.

  Desperate, she brought her hands up to cradle his face, to bring his lips back to hers, warm, enchanting, intoxicating.

  He kissed her, then his mouth returned to her breasts, tasting, suckling, drawing her in, filling himself with her. Her hands grasped at the back of his head to keep him in place, keep him giving her exquisite pleasure.

  She kissed any part of him that she could reach, his ears, his temple, the lush thickness of his hair. She had never known anything like this. Never felt this level of intense, mind-blowing need.

  His hands slid over her back, cupped her bottom, and scooted her forward so that his erection bumped against her. She could feel his hardness coaxing her softness, cursed the clothing between them. She wanted him inside her, fulfilling her, giving all of himself while she gave all of herself, too.

  “Becca, tell me that you want me,” he insisted, his breath hot against her skin.

  “Yes, oh yes, I want you,” she whimpered.

  He trailed kisses from her mouth down her jaw to her neck, then followed the trail back up with gentle bites. She moaned with pleasure.

  “Tell me that you’ve wanted me all these years, ever since you were sixteen.”

  “Yes, always.” Oh please, she pleaded silently. She didn’t want to talk. She wanted his talented mouth back on her breasts. She wanted satisfaction.

  “Tell me you knew I wanted you, too, even though it was wrong because you were too young and your father would have killed me and shipped the pieces of my body back home.” His mouth devoured hers again before she could answer.

  “Yes, yes, Aaron, please!.” Impatient for more, she placed her hands on each side of his head, forcing his mouth from hers and back to her breast.

  But he didn’t touch her. Instead, he pulled back and looked into her sex-drugged eyes. “Then how could you think I could ever be with your sister?”

  Becca blinked, took a breath that pulled in more of his essence. Not that she needed more. He was all that she could see, touch, and taste. Her kiss-swollen lips opened and she shook her head a little to clear it. She tried to make sense of what he was saying. “What?”

  He looked into her eyes. His were steady, fixed on her. His voice was firm and controlled as if he didn’t want her to mistake anything he was saying. “It wasn’t me, Becca. I never touched your sister. I don’t know whose name she said when you thought she was dying, but it wasn’t mine.”

  With that, he scooted her back on the desk, pulled her blouse down to cover her exposed breasts, turned and left the room, closing the door behind him.

  Chapter 4

  Becca burned with shame. As soon as she had refastened her bra and straightened her clothes, she dashed upstairs to her room, terrified that she would meet one of the servants – or worse, Aaron, on the stairs. She had made it there without seeing anyone, dashed cold water on her face, and collapsed into a chair. She leaned back and threw her arm over her eyes.

  What had she been thinking? Kissing him like that? Begging him to make love to her? She burned with humiliation at what she had said and the pathetic need that had driven her to say it.

  There was an easy answer to that. She hadn’t been thinking. She’d only been feeling – his big, warm hands sliding over her, and that mouth, oh that talented mouth! She brought her arm down and crossed both of them over her chest, but she could still feel his lips surrounding her nipple, see his dark head bent over her, fully invested in giving her pleasure, exactly as she had been ready to take it.

  She was mortified at the pitiful need in her response to him, the sex-starved widow who was eager for attention from any man.

  Only he wasn’t just any man. It was Aaron al-Rashid, the man she had disgracefully harbored secret feelings for even though she believed he’d seduced and betrayed her sister.

  And now he claimed that he hadn’t been the one responsible for Jenny’s pregnancy, and ultimately for the chasm in their family.

  Becca shot to her feet and began pacing the room. How could he say something like that? Of all the nerve, of all the monstrous lies he could have told, that was the worst . . . .

  She paused, turned toward the dresser, met her own gaze in the mirror. Her lips were swollen from his kisses, her cheeks red from the stubble on his jaw. There was a line of faint red marks down her throat from his lips – and teeth. Her bre
asts were tender. She imagined they were red, too, though she wasn’t going to look. That was one thing she didn’t want to confirm.

  She had denied the needs of her body for years – intent on trying to live with the rift in her family, on being an honor student, an outstanding teacher, a good wife. She had succeeded at some of those pursuits and failed spectacularly at others, but through it all, she had hidden her feelings, forced down her own needs.

  That had all changed in Aaron’s arms. Now her body sang with the memory of his touch as if it had been waiting for him, only him, as if it knew him.

  And she did know one thing about him.

  Aaron hated lying, hated liars. He wouldn’t have told her anything less than the truth. If he said that he’d never touched Jenny, he was telling the truth. If he said that he didn’t know who had, then that was the truth, too.

  So, who was it? Becca thought back to the photograph she’d taken of the pilots, seated at the picnic table in her parents’ backyard. They had all been friendly, well-mannered, glad to be included in her family’s activities, to play chess with her dad and discuss jet maintenance with him. She couldn’t think of any time that one of them had shown any partiality to Jenny – at least not before Becca had gone off to camp. Obviously, one of them had, but she didn’t know which one.

  Sudden exhaustion washed over her. She couldn’t think anymore and she certainly didn’t want to feel anymore. Making her way to the bed, she kicked off her shoes and lay down on top of the lush spread, taking a moment before she drifted off to smooth her hand over the cool satin, imagining it was Aaron’s skin.

  ~*~

  She was awakened a while later by a hand on her brow, smoothing back her hair. Someone leaned over her and whispered, “Wake up, Rebecca. You need to have something to drink so you don’t get dehydrated again.”

  “No,” she murmured. “I’m having a nice dream.”

  “Oh? What’s going on in the dream?”

  “I’m with Aaron.”

  “Um hm. Tell me more.”

  “We’re in the kitchen.” She paused, yawned and snuggled down into the bed. “Aaron is on the table.”

  “On the . . . table?”

  Her eyes snapped open. “Yes, and I’ve got a knife so I can cut out your heart.”

  He grinned and held up a frosty glass of thick, peach-colored liquid. “Well, then you’re going to need your strength. Better drink this.”

  “What is it?”

  “A smoothie. Mango. I noticed how much you enjoyed mangoes at lunch.”

  Becca’s eyes shot up to his. Of course he had, and the smug look on his face confirmed it. She scooted up to the head of the bed, away from his disturbing closeness and took the glass. She was thirsty, and surprised to find that she was hungry. She put the straw to her lips and sipped. “It’s delicious. Did you make it?”

  “Yes. Something I learned in the states. I added protein powder.” He nodded toward the glass. “That’s got five hundred calories in it. Drink up.”

  “Of course it does,” she answered on a sigh. But she didn’t mind. The treat gave her something to do so she wouldn’t have to talk to him. She took another long drink, then glanced up to see that his gaze was on her lips, wrapped around the straw. The look was so blatantly sexual that she drew in a quick breath, coughed, and set the glass on the table.

  “Rebecca, we need to talk,” he said, standing up. His face was very serious.

  She knew where this was going and she refused to have this conversation while seated on the bed in case he got any ideas about joining her. She told herself the fluttering deep inside her was dismay, not desire.

  Swinging her feet off the bed, she skirted around him. Her linen outfit was wrinkled so she paused to smooth it out before she sat down, perching formally on the edge of a chair. She fluffed her hair away from her face and looked up to meet his amused gaze. “Yes?”

  “This afternoon . . . .”

  “You caught me in a weak moment. You . . . you already knew I was not myself, and what I told you was very . . . emotional for me.” She gave him the type of freezing look with which she graced her students when they were being disrespectful and out of control.

  He raised an eyebrow at her. “To quote a very appropriate Americanism – baloney. I could have had you right there on the top of my desk and you would have howled with pleasure.”

  She fought the shiver that ran through her at his words. “You wish,” she said, and it sounded lame even to her own ears.

  “That’s not what I want to talk to you about – although we’ll get back to it later. And we’ll finish our discussion about your marriage.”

  Her mouth dropped open. “My marriage? We weren’t talking about that, and we won’t.”

  “We will because when I make love to you, I want you to know it’s me and no one else.”

  Heat washed over her. As if she could ever make that mistake. She didn’t know how to respond. She thought it had been pretty clear that he was the only one she was thinking of when she’d been begging him to take her, to satisfy her. In fact, she had even admitted that she’d wanted him when she was only sixteen, too young and stupid to know what that meant.

  “No, what I want to tell you is that I had some contacts along the border make inquiries about Jennifer. Her group has never been to Wadi Akbar and may have moved from Sik Ru and no one is sure where they went. There are many ruins in that area. They could be at any of them. Or they may have moved somewhere else altogether.” He frowned. “Although I’m not sure why the government of Isbahar is letting them move around so freely. I’ve never heard of that happening before.”

  The seriousness of his tone alarmed her. She straightened, forgetting her own embarrassment, her annoyance with him. “Well, then how do I find her?”

  “You don’t. I’ve got people looking.”

  “That could take weeks! My dad is very ill. My visa is only for three weeks. I’ve got to find her and get home.”

  “I’m the minister of tourism, remember? I can extend your visa for as long as you need, but I think the best thing for you to do is to go home and let me handle this.”

  “No. No way. I promised my father I’d bring her back with me.” Tears filled her eyes. “I promised, Aaron.”

  He balled his hands into fists and placed them on his hips. Thrusting his head forward, he studied the tips of his shoes for several long seconds. “Then I’ll go look for her myself.”

  Becca scrambled to her feet. “I’m coming with you.”

  “Certainly not! You heard what Jamal said this morning.”

  “Only because you baited him. He never would have said that if you hadn’t made it sound like I’d be skipping into the jaws of hell.”

  “It’s Isbahar! That’s exactly what could happen.”

  “Even if I’m with you? You would protect me, right?”

  “I’m not even sure I can protect myself. Do you think the Isbaharian government is going to look kindly on a colonel in the Côte de Diamant Air Force Reserves driving around the countryside looking down wadis and under rocks to find a group of archaeologists?”

  She blinked, temporarily distracted. “You’re a colonel?” Every air force colonel she’d ever known was middle-aged and gray.

  “It’s a small force. Advancement comes fast,” he said dismissively.

  Still, she was pleased for him. She took a deep breath, reminding herself not to get distracted. “Thank you for offering to find Jenny. I’m so grateful that you’re willing to do this, but I’ve got to go, too. I made a promise. It’s my duty to find her.”

  “No.”

  “That’s it?” She threw her hands in the air. “What am I supposed to do? Wait around here drinking smoothies while you’re out searching, possibly being in danger yourself?”

  “And how would it help if I exposed you to danger, as well?”

  “We don’t know that there will be any danger, do we? I promise I won’t get in your way. I won’t do anything I sho
uldn’t. I’ll do exactly what you tell me.”

  He turned a steady look on her, one that had her blood heating up.

  “Within reason,” she amended.

  “Be ready in ten minutes. We have to go downtown.”

  He regarded her for a long moment, standing in that way she was coming to know, with his head thrust forward and his eyes on the floor as if he was studying a map that would lead him to the right answer.

  “Please, Aaron,” she urged in a small voice. “Don’t make me beg. It’s my sister.”

  He tilted his head back, met her gaze. “You’ll have to come with me to the Isbaharian embassy to get a travel pass, then. They’re issued for only a few days, so we’ll have to make it a fast trip.”

  She grinned at him, thrilled. “Absolutely. Whatever you say.”

  He gave her that look again.

  “Within reason,” she reiterated.

  “Ten minutes,” he said, and turned to the door.

  As soon as he left, Becca ripped off her slacks and top and put on a long crinkled cotton skirt of dark red, a tank top, and matching long-sleeved blouse. She didn’t know enough about this country to know what the rules of dress were. Since there were many tourists, though, she suspected that she as long as she dressed modestly, she would be alright. She wound a scarf loosely around her neck in case she needed it to cover her hair.

  She made it to the garage as Aaron was slamming his door and buckling his seat belt. What was with this man? Obsessed with punctuality, or was he trying to leave her behind? She suspected it was the latter.

  She made a dash for the Jaguar and tumbled inside as he started to roll. Righting herself, buckling her seat belt, smoothing her skirt, she asked in an annoyed tone, “Have you forgotten the manners your mother taught you?”

  “I’m trying to.” He reversed out of the garage, wheeled around the circular drive, and shot out into the street.