I Cross My Heart

by Vicki Lewis Thompson

  That made her laugh.

  “Seriously! All through that interminable dinner I’ll be wishing I could be here having sex with you, and when we finally make it through the door, the last thing I’ll want to do is put a bed together before I can get some relief.”

  “Poor baby.”

  “Have them set it up in the living room.”

  “Is that an order?” She sounded amused.

  “Yes. Yes, it is. We are going to come through that front door, shuck our party clothes and christen my new bed. End of story.”

  “All righty.”

  “Which brings me to the next item on the agenda. Are you about finished in there?”

  “Almost. Why?”

  “Because I only need about five more minutes on this room. Then I’ll haul all the carpet and tacking strips out to my truck and be ready to hit the showers. With you. That can be our main course, and then we’ll get out the ice cream for dessert.”

  “You have this all mapped out, don’t you?”

  “Sweetheart, I’ve been dreaming about getting naked with you tonight ever since my eyes popped open at dawn. Get back to work so we can put this nasty chore behind us.”

  “You’re giving orders again.”

  He winked at her. “That’s because I’m getting agitated. But in a good way. Now move that sweet little fanny of yours.”

  Giving him a sloppy salute, she spun around and left. It was all he could do not to throw down his X-Acto knife and go after her. Dirt be damned. She had that kind of high-octane effect on him.

  But if he didn’t get all the carpet out, then she couldn’t realize her dream of polishing the floor in here. She seemed really set on doing that, and so he kept working. He’d pulled up the last tacking strip when she reappeared in the doorway.

  “I’m done,” she announced.

  “Me, too.” He pushed himself to his feet. “I’ll gather up everything and dump it in my truck. It might take two trips.”

  “Want me to help?”

  He glanced down at her bare feet. “I can do it. Once I’ve hauled everything out to the truck, I’ll strip down in the living room. Might as well keep the dirt contained as much as possible.”

  “Sounds like a plan.” She helped load him up and held the front screen door for him.

  He did have to make a second trip out to his truck, and when he returned from that, he was treated to the sight of Bethany taking off her clothes in the middle of the empty living room with the overhead light shining right down on her.

  She glanced up as he came through the door, and there wasn’t a shred of self-consciousness in her expression. Sometime in the past twenty-four hours, she’d become used to getting naked in front of him. He liked that.

  “I just dropped everything on the floor,” she said.

  “So I see.” His gaze drifted to the only clean places left—her nicely rounded breasts and the area protected by her shorts.

  “I’ll meet you in the bathroom,” she said. “The water takes a while to warm up.” She started to leave, which gave him a great view of her backside. There was something to be said for overhead lights.

  “Wait.” He leaned against the wall and pulled off one of his boots and his sock. “Let’s go in together.”

  She turned back with a smile. “You won’t get an argument from me. I like watching you take off your clothes.”

  “Likewise.” He pulled off the other boot and sock.

  “So I guess we’re not shy with each other anymore.” She followed his movements with her gaze as he unbuttoned his jeans and pulled down the zipper.

  “No, guess not.” Having her concentrate so intently on his crotch had a predictable result. When he shoved down his briefs and jeans, he released a very eager, very erect cock.

  “I like looking at you, Nash. I’ve never let myself really look at a man before. I was afraid it would seem too...bold.”

  “I like bold women.” He kicked away his jeans. “Shrinking violets bore me to tears.”

  “Lucky for me.”

  He walked toward her. “Lucky for me, too.” Other words ran through his mind, words that would point out how perfect they seemed to be for each other. He didn’t say them. Instead he slid his gritty fingers through hers. “Let’s hit the showers, sweetheart.”

  “Gee, do you think we need it?”

  “Nah.” He walked through the dining room still holding her hand. “But it’s the only way we’ll have shower sex.”

  “Don’t forget that the pipes rattle something fierce. I hope that doesn’t spoil the mood.”

  “Not at all. That means you can yell as loud as you want when I make you come, and nobody will hear you.”

  “There’s no one to hear me in the first place.”

  “Oh. Good point. Then I’ll pretend the rattling pipes are a drumroll signaling that your climax is about to arrive.”

  She squeezed his hand. “Keep this up and I’ll start thinking the rattling pipes add to the value of the house.”

  “Nice try. I’m not paying extra for lousy plumbing.” Too bad she wouldn’t be here when he fixed it.

  Once they reached the bathroom, she insisted on taking charge of the bathtub faucet because she knew the bathtub’s quirks. He watched her breasts quiver and bob as she fiddled with the faucet to get the temperature right. His pride and joy remained as rigid as ever. All it needed, apparently, was a little anticipation, and it rose to the occasion.

  Finally she straightened and drew back the shower curtain. “After you.”

  “Oh, no. I want you in there first. I’m hoping you’ll do that sexy female thing.”

  “What sexy female thing?”

  “You know, from the body-wash commercials. You turn your back to the spray, arch into it and slick your hair away from your face. But the commercials never show the good parts.”

  She rolled her eyes. “You’re ridiculous.”

  “Will you do it? It gets me hot.”

  She glanced pointedly at his jutting penis. “You’re already hot.”

  “Hotter, then. I promise I’ll make it worth your while.”

  Shaking her head, she climbed into the tub.

  When he climbed in after her, she was in the pose he’d requested, but she was shaking with laughter. “Bledsoe, you are such a dork. I don’t know why I’m doing this.”

  “I’ll show you.” He began with her uplifted breasts, kissing and suckling each one. She wasn’t laughing now, he noticed.

  As the pipes clanked and groaned, he moved down her water-slicked body until he sank to his knees, spread his hands over her backside and angled his head until he was in a perfect position. Then he took command. In his estimation, her groans were actually louder than the noise coming from the pipes.

  After two climaxes, she begged him to stop. “Or else I won’t have any energy left for you,” she murmured.

  It was a convincing argument. He ached like he hadn’t ached in years, and she had just the mouth to take care of that issue for him. They traded places, but he didn’t bother to do the commercially inspired arch. With a guy, it lacked something.

  As the water sluiced away all the dirt and dust that had collected on his body from the carpet project, she dropped to her knees in front of him and worked him over in a way that he would remember forever. She had such a talented mouth, such supple hands, and she cupped, squeezed, stroked and sucked.

  Finally, nearly mad with the pounding in his groin, he clutched the back of her head and pleaded with her to take him all the way. He’d never asked for that in his life, but this was Bethany. She humbled him.

  She also gave him what he asked for. He felt his cock touch the back of her throat. Her mouth had seemed so tender, so gentle, and yet she pulled an orgasm out of him that made him bel
low with the sheer force of it. Panting, he fought to stay on his feet.

  Somehow they managed to shut off the water and climb out of the tub without killing themselves. If he thought they’d do this ever again, he’d install grab bars. But it might be a singular event. Maybe that was for the best. Much more of this, and he’d beg her for more than an orgasm. He’d beg her to stay.

  13

  THEY NEVER MADE IT TO the ice-cream caper. Bethany suggested they save the experience for the next night and use the plastic covering that his mattress was shipped in to protect his new bed. He kept trying to convince her he was up for another round, but it didn’t take a genius to see that he was exhausted.

  He’d worked far harder on the carpet project than she had, and his day job was physically taxing, too. If he could have fallen asleep afterward, they might have indulged, but he had to drive back to the Last Chance. Everyone might know what was going on, but they didn’t have to advertise the fact by having Nash drag in at dawn.

  So once they’d both dried off, she pulled on a bathrobe and, in spite of his protests, went to get his clothes. By the time she’d taken his jeans out to the porch to give them a good shake and returned to the bedroom, he was sprawled on her bed, nearly asleep.

  How she longed to tuck him in and leave him there. But she knew he wouldn’t be happy about that in the morning. So she shook him awake and helped him get dressed. She worried that he was too groggy to drive.

  “I can make coffee,” she said.

  He smiled sleepily. “I’ll be fine. Nobody could fall asleep on that horrible road of yours. If you were selling to anyone but me, you’d have to get it graded. But I’ll take care of it after...” His voice faltered. “After you leave.”

  “Okay.” She didn’t want to think about that any more than he did. Once she returned to her routine in Atlanta, she hoped her memory of him would fade. Right now she couldn’t imagine that happening, but for her sanity, it had to.

  “I’ll pick you up at six.” He lingered by her screen door.

  “That’s silly. I can drive over.”

  “Well, you could, but then what excuse would I have for coming back after dinner?”

  “Oh.” She liked knowing that his brain was functioning, which meant he’d be okay on the drive home. “But won’t they all think it’s strange that you came to get me instead of me just driving over there?”

  “Not if we make a big deal about the condition of your road and the fact that you have a rental car.”

  “Nash, I drive the road all the time. I’ll be driving it tomorrow when I go pick up the floor polisher.”

  He frowned at her. “You’re not helping.”

  “Then why don’t you simply say that picking me up is the gentlemanly thing to do?”

  “Brilliant. Sarah will love that. She’s big on manners. Thank you. Excellent suggestion. So I’ll be here at six.”

  “What should I wear? Does everyone dress up?”

  “Not in a big way. Nice jeans. Nice shirts. Sometimes the women wear something with a little sparkle to it.”

  “But I’m supposed to be a city girl, right?”

  “Guess so. But I don’t know what—”

  “Never mind.” She wasn’t going to put the poor guy through any more discussion about her clothes selection. “I know what I’m going to wear. See you at six.”

  “Wish I didn’t have to leave.” He leaned down and gave her a soft kiss.

  “Yeah, me, too.” She watched him cross the porch and amble down the steps. When he reached his truck, he turned and waved as if he knew she’d still be standing there. Good instincts. “Drive carefully,” she called out.

  “I will.” He climbed in his truck, started the engine and drove away, taking that nasty carpet with him. As his truck’s red taillights disappeared around a curve, she battled the gnawing emptiness of missing him. With a sigh, she closed and locked the door. She’d have to get over that inconvenient feeling, but until she left for Atlanta, she might as well not even try.

  After she turned off the overhead light in the living room, she expected the room to be plunged into darkness. Instead, moonlight spilled through the living room windows and lit up a section of the bare floor. She smiled to herself. Now she knew where the new bed was going.

  As she slipped under the sheets of her own little bed, she gave thanks that plenty of hard work topped off with great shower sex allowed her to sink quickly into oblivion. Her sleep was filled with erotic dreams of Nash, and she woke up to a sunny day and the prospect of having a bigger bed delivered, one they could share for a little while tonight.

  The two guys from Jackson who brought the bed were cheerful and friendly, although they complained about her road. They seemed puzzled by her request that they set up the bed in the empty living room, but they went along with it. After they left, Bethany admired the bed, standing boldly in the middle of the room, from all sides. She’d asked the guys to position it so the footboard faced the front door. She wanted Nash to get the full effect when he walked in tonight at six. But later on, when the lights were turned off, the bed would be bathed in moonlight.

  The posts probably weren’t actual walnut, but they were stained that color. About five feet high, they were nicely proportioned. The headboard was plain except for a groove that ran about three inches around the perimeter. The footboard had a similar groove.

  Kicking off her sandals, she hopped up on the bed. It didn’t move an inch. Then she bounced a little on the mattress. It gave, but the bed itself remained solidly planted on the floor. Nothing creaked. Yep, this was the perfect bed for sex.

  Her thoughts strayed to Nash having sex on this bed with someone other than her, but she immediately banished the image. It was unproductive. “Happiness Is a Choice,” she muttered to herself as she climbed off the bed, picked up one of the large plastic bags that held the linens and began opening packages.

  A second bag contained two king-size pillows. If she’d been buying, she would have opted for several standard pillows instead of two humongous ones, but that was probably a woman thing. A guy would figure a king bed needed two king pillows.

  She smiled when she discovered the sheets and pillowcases were white. Also probably a man thing. Or a Nash thing. She had no idea what his favorite color was, now that she thought about it. Or when his birthday was, or if he had a favorite TV show, or whether he liked to dance.

  In some ways she knew him more intimately than she’d known any other man. But she had huge gaps in her knowledge of Nash Bledsoe. As she made up the bed, she thought about asking him some of those questions.

  And yet, that might be a mistake. Why find out when his birthday was if she’d never celebrate it with him? They weren’t destined to watch TV together, and his favorite color was of no consequence, either. Any yearning she had to learn more about him was evidence that she hadn’t faced reality. They had no future.

  For the next few nights, though, they had a really great bed. She’d told the delivery guys to leave the plastic they’d taken off the mattress. It lay folded in a corner in case ice cream came into play.

  The snowy sheets and white down comforter gave her an idea. Shoshone didn’t have a florist, but she’d noticed a red rosebush outside the Shoshone Diner. If they’d sell her a bloom or two, she could strew rose petals over the bed.

  Several hours later, she had rose petals on the bed, and a waxed and polished master bedroom floor to show for her day’s efforts. She hummed to herself as she stripped down for a shower. She’d laid a clingy black dress on her own little bed. It was part of the city-girl look she wanted to project at dinner tonight.

  The clanking of the pipes almost drowned out the sound of her cell phone, but that ring was distinctive. She didn’t take time to turn off the water as she dashed for the phone she’d left sitting on her pink-and-white dr
essing table.

  When she answered, the expected cool voice came on the line. “Please hold for Miss Knightly.” A thousand frantic thoughts ran through her head as she waited to hear Opal’s Southern drawl. Whatever her mentor had on her mind was important or she wouldn’t have called. They’d agreed that Bethany needed this week away from work so she could cut her ties to Jackson Hole.

  “Bethany, honey. How are you doing, girlfriend?” Opal’s deep voice, familiar to viewers all over the world, seemed to fill the little bedroom.

  “I’m fine, Opal.” Bethany took long, slow breaths. “What’s up?”

  “I need to inform you of something, but— What’s that racket I hear in the background?”

  “It’s the plumbing.”

  “The plumbing? Heavenly days, it sounds like you’re standing inside a cotton gin. Can you make it stop, or does it just do that all the time?”

  “I can turn off the shower.”

  “Then do that, please. I can’t think while that’s going on.”

  “I’ll be right back.” Bethany laid down the phone, ran back to the bathroom and shut off the water. Her heart continued to pound and she was short on air as she hurried back and picked up the phone. “It’s off.”

  “Praise the Lord. You need to get that fixed, honey.”

  “I know.” Her stomach was in knots. Opal didn’t ever call just to chat.

  “Here’s the problem.” Opal’s tone became more businesslike.

  Bethany was afraid she’d pass out. “What problem?”

  “My sources tell me that the folks at Real News 24/7 think they might have a story on you.”

  “Oh, no.” The hard-hitting show specialized in digging up unsavory details about celebrities. Bethany squeezed her eyes shut and prayed that Morgan hadn’t slipped up, or worse yet, Nash. “How did they get it?”

  “It seems that before he died, your dad raved a little about his daughter. Nobody believed the guy because he was often delirious, but a nurse talked to someone, who talked to someone else, and gradually a rumor that the author of Living with Grace had let her father die alone and in poverty made its way, like rumors often do, to Real News in New York.”