“It’s true,” he said, almost in a whisper.
Veronica slowly nodded. “I know.” How could she not? His love for her was written all over his face. It sounded in his voice. She felt it every time they touched.
He walked to her, his eyes never leaving hers, and kissed her. It was only a peck, the slightest brush of his lips over hers. In that small amount of contact, she felt it all: his tenderness, his desire, his longing, his love.
“Eww. That’s gross.” Timmy made a gagging sound, and Dean laughed, took the bowl Veronica held and turned back to the boy.
Veronica stayed in the kitchen for a long moment watching man and boy as they took their places at the dining room table. They began to talk about baseball and Timmy’s hopes that he could hit a homerun at next Saturday’s game.
This was how it could be, she thought. How it will be if she gave Dean what he wanted. As she watched the two males, something opened inside her. It told her she just might want the same things that her heart already had all the certainty it needed. It was simply waiting for her mind to catch up.
Chapter 8
“It isn’t as…trashy as I expected.”
Veronica wasn’t sure if she should be insulted or elated by her father’s words. What had he expected to find at her store? Pornographic pin-ups lining the walls, televisions playing B-rated flicks, peepshow booths? Probably. Yeah, judging from the expression of surprise and wonder on her father’s face that was exactly what he had expected to find.
“I like it,” her mother said as she looked around. “It’s classy.”
“It’s a sex shop,” her father said. “My daughter is running a sex shop. I don’t think I want to consider what that implies.”
Veronica laughed, albeit shakily. Her nerves had hit speeds over a hundred when her parents walked through the door. It was 2:00 on Tuesday afternoon, and though the store hadn’t been excessively busy that day, she had been relieved that they picked a time when there wasn’t a customer in sight. She expected the yelling to start immediately, the demands for her to close the doors, hang a ‘Going Out of Business’ sign. To her surprise, there hadn’t been any screaming, nor any demands. They exchanged hugs and kisses, the obligatory how are you’s and now her parents were checking out the store with…interest?
“How’s your profit margin?” her father asked.
Leave it to you to think of money first , Veronica thought, but she said, “I’ve been open less than a week, Dad. You know how it is with a new business. Opening day went better than I expected, and we’ve had a steady stream of customers nearly every hour. That’s the best I can tell you at this point. It’s still too early in the game to make any real predictions.”
“It’s never too early to make predictions in business,” her father argued. “You need goals, restrictions. I can help.”
If a circus clown had rushed between them at that moment riding an elephant, Veronica wouldn’t have been any less surprised. Her father offered to help her. Offered to help. He wasn’t attempting to take control, wasn’t trying to tell her what to do, or how it should be done. She wanted to say, Excuse me but who are you, and what have you done with my father? Instead, she said, “That would be…nice.”
“Your mother and I didn’t notice any of your stuff at the house. We…um…thought you were staying there.”
Here it came, Veronica thought. The shouting, the demanding, the insistence, it was all just a breath away. “I was, but I moved out yesterday.”
Her father slowly nodded. “Because we were coming home.”
It was a statement not a question, and Veronica felt a vise squeeze at her heart. “Yes,” she said simply. What else could she say? It was the truth. She couldn’t lie. If her parents hadn’t come back to town, she would have stayed in the house longer. She would have remained there at least until her condo was ready at the Green Leaf.
Or would she have? She wondered now as Dean leaped to the forefront of her mind. He was never really far away. Would she have moved in with him anyway? A part of her thought she probably would have. Maybe she wouldn't have moved in as quickly. No. She would have waited a while before jumping in head first as she had. Yet, there wasn’t anything about her new living arrangement that felt like a jump.
“Where are you staying?”
Veronica squeezed her eyes shut, took a deep breath, and said in a rush, “With Dean Wolcott.” When she dared to open her eyes again, it was to find her father staring at her. He didn’t look angry. There wasn’t any smoke spewing from his ears, his face hadn’t gone red as a tomato. He simply looked at her, studied her.
It felt like eons passed before he finally said, “Are you…involved with him?”
Okay, this was just…weird! Her father was talking to her. Talking! Not yelling, not challenging, not showing the slightest signs of disapproval. What the hell was going on?
“I am.”
“Are you in love with him?”
Now wasn’t that the question of the hour? “I—” Veronica hesitated, unsure exactly how to answer. She hadn’t exactly figured that out yet. Okay, not true. More like she hadn’t exactly admitted that to herself yet. But it was time. It was time to stop fighting it, to accept the fact that it had happened. She had fallen in love with Dean. She didn’t know exactly when it happened, couldn’t believe it happened so quickly. But it had. She was now certain of that, the impact made stronger by the realization that it felt so right. “I am,” she finally said.
“He’s a good man.” Her father nodded. “Really turned his life around. I have a lot of respect for him because of that.”
“Veronica, come here for a minute, sweetheart. Burt, you stay where you are.”
Veronica started, realizing only then that her mother had wandered off at some point while she talked with her father. Dazed, confused and more euphoric than she had ever been after a conversation with her father, she slowly turned and found her mother sifting through a rack of lingerie.
“Do you have this in my size?” her mother whispered when Veronica reached her. She glanced at Burt as if to be sure he wasn’t watching, and then held out a baby blue negligee. It was one of the least revealing items Veronica had in the shop, an ankle length piece made of satin and lace with a thigh high slit and low cut bodice. It was classy, sexy, and so not her mother, yet absolutely perfect for her at the same time.
“I—uh—yes.” Veronica pushed the pieces around on the rack until she found the negligee in her mother’s size, but instead of giving it to her mother, she clinched it in her hands, stared at her mother, and allowed all the bafflement she felt to show on her face. “Dad isn’t yelling at me.”
A wide, knowing grin spread across her mother’s lips. “I know.”
“Even when I told him I was living with Dean Wolcott. He didn’t hit the roof.”
“So that’s why we couldn’t find any of your stuff at the house.”
“And you aren’t saying anything, either.” Veronica glanced down at the negligee she still held and looked back at her mother. “You’re actually going to wear this for Dad?”
“Honey, I might be an old woman, but I’m not a dog. At least your father doesn’t think so. I think he will like this. Don’t you?”
Maybe she’s hoping you can show her how to spice up her sex life with your father . Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, Dean had been right! Veronica’s shock grew so heavy it dropped like a bomb before she could stop it. Before she knew what she said, she asked the one question that had been ping-ponging in her mind almost since the moment they entered the store. “Who are you people, and what have you done with my parents?”
Her mother laughed. “We had a long talk about you before leaving Florida…and about us, too. I stood up to him.” She visibly straightened her shoulders, lifted her chin, and took on the look of a woman who was proud of herself. It was a look Veronica rarely saw her mother wear. “Let’s just say that apparently you can teach an old dog new tricks.”
“Or scare them int
o him,” Veronica said, knowing that if her mother had stood up to her father after all these years that was exactly what happened. She had scared the shit out of him.
Her mother shrugged. “Whatever works.”
* * * *
Three Weeks Later
“I think we may have a problem with Lamont.” Tripp Barrett lined the middle of the three-man rod of the foosball table with the ball, spun the rod, hitting the ball hard with the middle man, and sending it sailing into the goal with a loud thwack.
Dean scratched his head, looked at the Lieutenant who simply shot him a grin, and reached for another ball. Dean was losing…as always. Now, the Lieutenant had managed to distract him with his talk of Bailey Lamont. As if he needed more of a distraction. “What kind of problem?” he asked as Barrett started the new ball in motion on the table.
“That call yesterday, the one at the hotel with the woman stuck in the elevator,” Barrett clarified because their shift had had several calls the day before. Silver Springs had been rocked with a thunderstorm from dawn until dusk. Streets became flooded, dangerous lightning started a couple of small fires, and power had been knocked out in half in the city for several hours. “The elevator was stuck between floors. I had to send Lamont in to give the woman a boost out.”
Another thwack sounded through the game room of the station house, and Dean realized Barrett made yet another perfect shot. Dean shook his head, sighed, and propped his hands on the foosball table. The game was over. He lost. Again.
“Thing is,” Barrett continued, mirroring Dean’s pose on the opposite side of the table. “I’m not sure exactly what the problem is. She nearly hyperventilated while she was in that elevator, but I don’t know if it was because she’s got a fear of the dark or a case of claustrophobia.”
Dean gnawed the inside of his cheek as he weighed the Lieutenant’s words. Neither was good for a firefighter though if he were given a choice of the two to have as a problem with one of his men—or women as in this case—he hoped it was fear of the dark. They rarely faced situations in total darkness. Even at night or inside a building, if they were fighting a fire, they at least had the glow of the flames for light. But claustrophobia, now that could be a big problem. Firefighters were often tossed into situations where the job they had to do was in an enclosed space, sometimes a very small, enclosed space.
“Have you talked with her?” Dean asked.
“No. Not yet. I thought about setting up a drill at the maze, blacking out the face mask of her SCBA and making her crawl through it.”
“Sounds like a good plan. If she does have a problem, the only way to get her over it is to make her tackle the fear.”
Barrett nodded in agreement. “Then you’re okay with the idea.”
“Yeah. Go for it. Take her to the maze yourself. I’ll go, too, if you want, but we shouldn’t have the others around. Too many people watching might make it worse on her at first. Take it slow and work her through it.”
A soft knock came from the doorway, and Dean saw Veronica leaning against the frame, her long legs bare and sticking out from under a skirt that was impossibly short and oh so tight, her blouse—a bright material in a riot of colors—was equally tight over her breasts and stopped just above her bellybutton ring. He felt his blood pressure instantly soar to record numbers. Man but he had to buy the woman some less revealing clothing if for no other reason than to keep himself from having a heart attack.
“Am I interrupting, gentlemen?” she asked as she sauntered into the game room.
“Looks like that’s my cue to leave.” Barrett grinned and stepped away from the table. “Veronica, nice to see you again.” His gaze swept over her before he turned and walked out of the room, closing—and locking—the door behind him.
“I didn’t mean to run him off.”
Dean moved to her, pulled her into his arms. “You come here looking like this and the guys have two choices. They can run and hide or they can tackle you. Since they have too much respect for me and know that I would beat them to a bloody pulp for laying one finger on this body of yours, they choose to run and hide. So, to what do I owe this pleasure of your visit?”
“I got a call from the Green Leaf office today. My condo will be ready by Monday.”
Dean’s heart plummeted to his boots. He stared at her, looked for any indication, any warning of what she was going to say next but found nothing. “Are you telling me you’ll be moving out on Monday?” he finally asked. God, he didn’t want her to move out. He thought they had progressed far enough in their relationship that he no longer had to worry about her leaving. So what if she would be moving into a condo in the same complex as his. He wanted her to stay under his roof. He needed her to stay.
“I’m telling you that I can,” she said slowly, her voice taking on a teasing tone. Her hands moved from his neck and began a slow slide down his arms. “If you want me to.” One hand slipped between them, trailed down his chest. Then she cupped him through his jeans and his brain dropped to his groin.
“W-what do you w-want?” Her other hand had joined the fun and made fast work of the button and zipper of his jeans. It was when her hand slipped inside and wrapped around his cock, that he started stammering.
“To be with you,” she said against his throat as she rose to her tiptoes, leaned in and began to kiss, nibble, lick, and explore.
“Veronica, baby, are you forgetting that we’re at the station?”
“Tripp locked the door when he left.” She squeezed his cock and his eyes rolled back in his head.
“Oh, God.” He breathed, his hands beginning to explore. They had snaked under the back of her blouse, moved upward, and he realized she wasn’t wearing a bra. That was all he needed, easier access to those luscious breasts. “Someone could still hear us.”
“So we won’t make a sound. It will heighten the excitement.”
Dean didn’t think it was possible to become any more excited with this woman, but that wasn’t the point that needed arguing at the moment. “Someone could still walk in. That door has a key. If we get—” She pulled his jeans and briefs off his hips and cupped his balls, all the while continuing her mind-numbing adventure with his dick. “I could get fired.”
“Then I could have you whenever I want you,” she said with an undiscouraged sensuality that had him breaking into a sweat.
“I’ll give you as much as you want, anything you want, when we get home tonight.”
“We’re babysitting tonight, remember? You have to pick up Timmy from school, and he’ll be with us until after the game tomorrow.”
Shit ! He had forgotten about that.
She rose to her tiptoes again, whispered in his ear. “I’m not wearing any panties under this skirt.”
Dean heard a low, barbaric-like growl escape from his throat, and then he lifted her into his arms even as he backed her against the nearest wall. In seconds, he was inside her, knowing she did it again. She knew he couldn’t resist her, and as always she got her way.
Not that he was complaining now. How the hell could he when being inside her felt so dammed good? Her arms were back around his neck now, and she pushed her elbows into his shoulders, lifting herself off his dick until he nearly slid out of her. She looked at him, and the warm swirl of emotion he saw in her eyes had his breath catching in his throat.
“I’m not moving out,” she told him in a determined whisper.
Thank you, sweet Jesus , was all he could think.
“I’m staying…forever.” She dared to move an arm, tenderly touched his cheek with the back of her fingers. “I love you, Dean Wolcott.” Then she relaxed her other arm, and her body slid down fast, effectively ramming him inside her to the hilt.
The shock of her words combined with the sudden, brain-jarring, instant pleasure of being so deep inside her rendered Dean speechless. But he could still think, still feel. Veronica Abbott loved him. The woman he had loved most of his life finally loved him back, and oh, the wonder of it all.
“Say it again,” he whispered.
“I love you,” she said, and he didn't need to see her face to know she was smiling. He felt the emotions the words held against the side of his neck. They seeped into his skin, traveled though his blood straight to his heart where he knew they would remain forever just as she would—forever in his heart, forever in his arms, and forever his.
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