His Private Pleasure

by Donna Kauffman

  It had been hard enough the first time. But he made himself say it again. “Don’t leave. Not yet.” He pressed his finger across her lips, buying time to explain. He only hoped he explained it to himself at the same time. “I know I asked you to wait for me once before. I’m asking again. I’ll be back late tonight. Be here.” He slid his finger from her mouth. “Please.”

  Her lips curved slightly, but her eyes bored into his, and those nerves fluttered within them once again. “Why?”

  “You said you didn’t leave something until it felt finished. This doesn’t feel finished to me. Does it to you?” He pushed his fingers into her damp curls and tilted her head. “Does it, Liza?” he queried softly.

  She stared into his eyes for what felt like eternity, then slowly shook her head. He let out a breath he hadn’t even been aware of holding.

  “So? Does that mean you’ll stay?”

  Slowly, so slowly, her bow-tie lips curved into a smile that was definitely both lewd and lascivious. His heart picked up speed. He knew enough now to understand the promise behind that smile. And if physical bliss was all he could count on with her, then, for the time being, anyway, he was happy to take what he could get.

  He could push and nudge and prod for more later.

  “Twenty minutes to the airport?” she asked.

  Confused, he nodded.

  She reached around his waist and pulled the door open, even as she leaned in and kissed him. This time he was pretty sure he was the one with the dazed expression on his face. “Then that gives you twenty minutes to convince me, Sheriff.” She nudged him into the hall and pulled her keys from her purse. “You want to drive, or shall I?”

  DYLAN HAD TO ADMIT her little car was fun. He’d always gone for trucks, as tucking his long frame into a small death trap had never appealed to him. He supposed it was that remnant of renegade that got a hot thrill from the high speed and the tight way it hugged the mountain curves.

  He glanced at Liza, at her curls dancing wildly around her head in the wind. “I can see why you love this little demon,” he admitted. “Suits you perfectly.” All tight curves and high speed, indeed.

  She laughed. “Yeah, and you’re just hating it. You’ve got more demon in you than you think.”

  He shot her a grin. “Something about you just brings that out in me, I guess.”

  She buffed and examined her nails. “I try.”

  You succeed, he thought, turning his attention back to the road. Boy, do you ever. His focus should be on the meeting ahead. He hoped it went down smoothly and they got what they needed from Pearl without too much hassle. He needed to get back to town for the meeting with Tucker, then there was the council meeting the following day he had to prepare some notes for. And at some point, he needed some sleep. But all he could think about was when he’d get Liza alone again. Surprisingly, it wasn’t even about the sex, though he wasn’t going to lie to himself and say he wasn’t looking forward to the possibility of more of that, either.

  But just having her next to him on the drive to the airstrip, all sexy smiles and bouncy curls, made him feel good…and spiked his curiosity. It was as if there was some dormant part inside him that had dried out, like a sponge laid out in the hot sun for too long. And now he wanted nothing more than to fully saturate that long-ignored facet by absorbing every last bit of her. Being around her was like irrigating his soul.

  Jesus, Jackson, you have been out in the hot sun for too long. Irrigating your soul? He sounded like one of those Chicken Soup books.

  But when he glanced back at her again, took in her profile as she took in the stark scenery around them, with that oddly compelling mixture of clear-eyed wonder and sharply focused attention, it somehow didn’t feel as ridiculous as it sounded.

  “So, what got you into public relations in the first place?”

  There was a pause and he glanced over to find her looking at him somewhat warily.

  He smiled. “What? Is that such a strange question?”

  She shrugged and turned her attention back to the scenery. “No, I suppose not. Why do you ask?”

  She might as well have said, “What does it matter to you? Aren’t we just having sex?”

  “Do you always separate yourself like that?”

  Now she looked honestly surprised. “Like what?”

  “Well, I think I can safely say you are a woman who is pretty direct about things. Pretty honest about what she wants and not at all shy at going after it.”

  She didn’t smile, but simply nodded. “You’d be right.”

  “Which is all fine as long as you’re doing the directing.”

  She sighed. “Are we back to my supposed control issues again?”

  “Maybe. But I’m not talking about sex. You don’t seem to have any problems communicating with your body.”

  She didn’t take any offense at his statement, merely nodded in agreement. “I’ve never had anyone misread my signals, if that’s what you mean.”

  “See?” he said. “That’s one of the things that attracts me to you. You don’t play coy. You take a direct statement as it’s intended. No reading between the lines, assuming some other meaning lurks behind the words.”

  “Well, I do assume that by saying I can communicate with my body, you inferred that I don’t do all that well verbally.”

  “Oh, I don’t think you have any problem verbally when you want something.”

  “Clear and direct articulation of one’s needs is important in my former career. I happened to be quite good at it.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Meaning?”

  “As long as you’re in charge and directing the conversation toward your interests, you handle yourself with absolute aplomb.” He slowed and looked directly at her. “But let someone else try and direct the conversation, probe to the woman behind the words…and suddenly this wall comes down. Wham! That’s what I meant about separating yourself.”

  “Just because I don’t want to spill my guts to strangers doesn’t mean I can’t ‘let my hair down.’ Which is what I think you mean.”

  He swerved to the side of the road, making her grasp the door for balance. The dust from the gravel shoulder swirled around them as he swiveled his body as far as the tight compartment would allow. “Strangers? You honestly think of me as a stranger?” He lifted his hand. “And don’t tell me that sex isn’t the same thing as intimacy. I know that. And a lot of what we’ve done together has been about feeling good, not about forming some sort of intimate bond.”

  “You’re yelling,” she said calmly. But her blue eyes were wide and not so clear.

  “I know.” He took a moment, and a slow, deep breath. He looked out the windshield and tried to compose what he wanted to say, but the words came out in a tumble, anyway. She did that to him, too—jumbled him up. “The sex was great. Mind-blowing. Out of this world.” Then he looked at her. “But any two people who put their minds to it can probably achieve that.” He waited a beat, some part of him wanting her to refute that, tell him it had been different with him. Because, though he believed what he said, believed that a great part of what they’d had together was purely physical, it didn’t negate the feeling, the deep-in-the-pit-of-his-gut feeling, that beneath the tingling nerve endings and brain-numbing climaxes, there was another connection being made. One that had nothing to do with bodies talking to each other, and a lot to do with souls reaching for one another.

  But he couldn’t say that without sounding as ridiculous as he knew it had to be. Had to be. But somehow wasn’t.

  “You don’t mind me getting to know you in every carnal sense of the word,” he said quietly. “But the moment I try to get to know the intimate you, the stuff that makes up the best parts of what you are, or seem to me to be, you shut yourself off. Why is that? How is it that a person can be so good at facilitating the lives of others, at meeting the needs of others, and so fully close off her own needs?”

  She sat there for what felt like an eternity. Saying
nothing. Dylan thought about just pulling back on the road, heading to the airport and wishing her a good life. He could get a deputy to come pick him up when he got back. It would certainly be the smart thing to do. He already had one major complication to deal with, get rid of, so he could go back to his new, quiet, life. Why in God’s name ask for another? Hell, he was practically begging for it.

  “You think you’re pretty damn clever, don’t you?” she said at last. Almost too quietly.

  He looked to her, but her profile was averted, so he couldn’t see her eyes, or what was in them.

  “For someone who just met me, you seem pretty damn sure you have me all pegged.” She turned to him, and what he found was not what he expected. He’d expected irritation, maybe even anger. But not hurt. Never hurt. He didn’t know her well enough to hurt her, didn’t mean enough to her to hurt her, wouldn’t have if he did. Realizing that he did—and had—stunned him into silence.

  “I guess all those years grilling perps and witnesses makes you a pretty good judge of character. Because you’re right. Most people see the confidence, the directness, the control, and think I have my act together. Well, I do. Precisely because I know how to close myself off. I’ve been taking pretty damn good care of myself for a very, very long time. And I’m very good at it. Mostly because I learned early on that sharing pieces of yourself didn’t guarantee that others shared back. And pieces given away don’t always regenerate themselves. It seemed smarter to me, still does, to take special care with those pieces. Protect them, and therefore myself, from harm.” She turned away, looked straight ahead. “It’s worked out pretty well so far.”

  He stared at her proud profile and didn’t know if he wanted to yell at her, break through that wall with the sheer force of his will, or pull her into his arms and hold her, then demand to know who had so stupidly squandered those precious pieces.

  “So you took care of other people’s precious pieces,” he said, almost to himself. “Protected them, coddled them, made sure no one abused them.”

  She said nothing, but her shoulders rounded slightly. The rigid line of her neck softened a bit.

  “So, maybe the question shouldn’t have been why you got into your former line of work…but why you left it?”

  There was a long pause, then a sigh, then she said, “Why bother to explain further? I’m sure you’ll be telling me, anyway.” She looked at him, and some of the hurt was gone. But what replaced it was far worse. What replaced it was…absolutely nothing. It was like staring into a mask. “I know why I left Hollywood. Any shrink with a framed piece of paper on the wall could tell me without even seeing me why I left my former life. It was ultimately unfulfilling because in putting those pieces in protective custody, I’d effectively put myself away. My whole life was my job and I enjoyed it, I was good at it. But it wasn’t enough. I watched my best friend fall in love, talked myself into believing I was, too. I wasn’t. But what I learned was that I needed more than job satisfaction. Somewhere along the way, I’d lost myself. So I walked. Toward what, I have no earthly idea. I haven’t a clue what I want to do with myself now. I’m still figuring out who that self is and what will make her feel whole. But until I do, those pieces are going to stay under lock and key.”

  Now he did reach out. Even if she pulled away, he had to make the gesture. Because he simply couldn’t not make it. She stiffened, but didn’t recoil when he stroked his fingertips down her cheek, along her jaw. Very softly, he said, “Did you ever think that maybe you’re going to have to bust that lock if you ever want to find out who you are? That maybe it’s the risk of exposing those parts to the light of day that allows them to reflect back on you?”

  “I—I never thought of it that way,” she said with abject honesty, shifting slightly away from his touch. “But…” She held herself very still, then sighed. It was a deep, shuddering sigh that seemed to deflate her usually abundant innate strength. When she lifted her gaze to his, those oceans of blue were clouded with tears. “Maybe it’s been so long, I’ve forgotten how.”

  Her voice caught and Dylan could see that she was struggling very hard to hold it together. “Come here.”

  She shook her head, sniffed once and went to move away. “Just get back on the road. You’re going to be late.”

  “I don’t really give a flat damn at the moment.”

  His quiet vehemence startled a glance from her.

  “Right now my only concern is you.”

  She tried a cocky smile, and managed a shaky one. “I don’t need your concern.”

  “You need a whole lot of things.”

  “And I suppose you think you’re the man to give them to me, right? Well, I don’t need—”

  He tugged her against him, held her there. “Yes, you do need. Maybe that’s a good place for you to start. Admitting you need. That you’re not a completely self-sufficient unit. That it just might feel good when you share a part of your real self with someone who cares about you, who you care about. I know I do, Liza.” He bent his head to hers. “I think you know it, too.” He took her mouth, but rather than demand she respond, he gentled the kiss, coaxed her to respond, to give back to him. To give something of herself, even if it was just a kiss. A kiss not designed to seduce, but to comfort, to soothe. He realized he hadn’t had too many of those in his life. Maybe none. And he’d be willing to bet she hadn’t, either.

  “Maybe we both need to find a way to expose those little pieces,” he murmured against her lips. “I want to try. With you. And I want you to try. With me.” He kissed her again, and reveled in the joy of feeling her gradually respond, if not in words, at least in action.

  When he finally lifted his head, his own eyes were a bit cloudy. He didn’t try to analyze the emotions, the illogical reality of them, considering the short time frame of their acquaintance. At the moment, he only knew he’d found the most significant piece of himself. He was holding it in his arms. And he was damned if he was going to simply let it walk away.

  “Stay,” he said. “With me. Explore this, yourself, us, whatever. With me.” He brushed his hand over her hair. “Please.”

  She was quiet, tucked against his chest. He could feel her heart pounding, but her breathing had steadied. Just when he thought she wouldn’t answer him, she said, “I’ll stay.” His heart was already leaping, his pulse kicking, when she added in a soft whisper, “For now.”

  14

  STAY. Liza tried to keep her focus on the scenery as they turned onto the narrow road leading them to the airstrip. But it was Dylan’s request that echoed in her ear, and his hand covering hers—as it had for the remainder of the trip—that cornered her attention.

  She’d been teasing him earlier, when she’d hoped he’d convince her to stay. She’d wanted more playtime with him, sure, but that had changed the moment he’d started his little analysis. She should have known he wouldn’t play by the rules, that he’d keep probing at the parts of her she’d just as soon remain untouched. And she’d be a whole lot more pissy about it…if he hadn’t been so damn right.

  But that didn’t mean she wasn’t irritated. Or, dammit, intrigued. No one bothered to look behind her in-your-face attitude and see that she was more than the sum of her smart mouth and savvy brains. And now that someone had, she wasn’t quite sure what she was going to do about it. Or worse, what he was going to find now that he’d looked.

  This was one exploration she wasn’t sure she wanted to make. And yet in the weeks she’d been on the road to personal enlightenment, this was the first time she honestly felt like she was getting anywhere.

  Stay.

  “Dammit!” Dylan smacked the wheel and stomped on the brakes.

  Liza was jerked from her thoughts in time to grab the dashboard…and to see a small plane take off from behind the hangar-shaped white building and control tower they’d just pulled up to. “Would they take off without you?” she asked, confused. But there were no other planes on the ground. “I thought it was a private charter?”


  Dylan merely grunted and swung around the building, then slowed to a stop as they both spied a dark blue sedan pulling away from the tarmac. When it turned and started toward them, Dylan surprised her by placing his palm flat on her head and pushing her down. “Keep low.”

  “Wha—?” Whatever else she might have said was swallowed hard when he spun the little sports car around and headed back toward the main road.

  “Damn, damn, damn. I should have never—”

  Then there was honking coming from behind them.

  Another string of expletives floated through the air above her head, but the car slowed, and Dylan finally let up on her. “I’m going to kill that son of a bitch.”

  “Which son of a bitch would that be?” Liza asked calmly, as if she hadn’t just been crammed down into her tiny seat. She smoothed her dress, fluffed her hair.

  “Stay here,” Dylan barked, slamming the car into Park, then leaving it right in the middle of the road as he got out and shut the door with a resounding thump.

  “Sure, no problem, master sir,” Liza murmured wryly, then swiveled in her seat and watched him stride back toward the sedan. The window was down and an attractive Hispanic man was leaning out the window. His bright smile remained intact, despite Dylan’s immediate and lengthy harangue. She couldn’t make out exactly what he was saying, but with the arm gestures and rigid body language, Liza could only assume it wasn’t a friendly hello.

  He spun on his heel, leaving the man in midsentence, and stalked back toward her car. If Liza had thought she’d seen the dark, edgy side of Dylan Jackson, she now realized she hadn’t come close. And why in hell seeing him like this made her nipples hard, she had no idea.

  Then a woman leaped from the sedan and began running after him. Liza’s eyes widened in surprise, but she was smiling by the time Dylan slowed, then stopped, hung his head and took a deep breath before turning to face the woman. Not that Liza enjoyed seeing him in the midst of what was apparently a situation gone badly out of control, but he was just sexy as hell when he displayed this cop-with-a-heart side of him. She couldn’t help it.