Fast & Loose

by Elizabeth Bevarly

  So long. It had been so long since she’d felt this way…

  Just as she was about to give herself over to the tight little circles in her belly, Cole withdrew his hand and moved it forward, this time dipping it between her legs in front. Instinctively, Lulu opened them as wide as she could in the cramped confines of the car, but it was enough to allow him ample exploration. He slipped his fingers under the fabric of her panties and into her damp flesh, stroking her, flicking her, entering her again. She covered his hand with her own and guided his movements, broadening and increasing his strokes, pushing his finger deeper and faster inside her. As he penetrated her, she dragged her own fingers over herself, increasing her pleasure, and together, they brought her to a shattering climax. Lulu cried out in her completion, her entire body convulsing in the aftermath, then collapsed against Cole’s shoulder.

  For a long moment, neither of them spoke. Cole removed his hand from her panties but left it between her legs, brushing his fingers gently and slowly along the insides of her thighs. It was a tender gesture, one meant to bring her down more gradually, something a lot of men—even those with whom she’d had what she considered fairly serious relationships—had never bothered to do. For a long moment, she only let herself feel him surrounding her, stroking her thighs, brushing his mouth along her neck. Eventually, though, she had to come back to herself. And when she did, she immediately wished she hadn’t. Hadn’t come back. Hadn’t left in the first place. Hadn’t allowed to happen what had happened.

  Oh, God, what had she done? She’d just shared something with Cole—had experienced something with Cole—that she hadn’t with men she’d been much more serious about. This wasn’t like her. Lulu Flannery was cautious to a fault. She didn’t have orgasms on the front seat of rented cars while parked with a guy she’d barely known a week. Cole brought out that thing in her she’d thought she could keep leashed, and all he’d had to do was kiss her. She didn’t want that thing driving her, didn’t want it roaming free when she couldn’t contain it. Because it might lead to things like…

  Well. Like having orgasms on the front seat of rented cars while parked with a guy she’d barely known a week.

  As delicately as she could, Lulu crawled off his lap and to the other side of the car. Then she pushed her dress back down over her legs and pulled the top back up over her breast. She pushed her hair out of her eyes, straightened her posture, pressed the back of her hand to her mouth. And never once did she look at Cole. She couldn’t imagine what he was thinking. Unless maybe it was that he’d just gotten a lot more for his money than he’d anticipated.

  For a moment, neither of them said a word. Then Cole draped an arm across the back of the seat and scooted across to her side, too. So Lulu looked out the window and pretended she was somewhere else.

  Not one to run from the facts, however, Cole leaned in close and said, very softly, “Are you okay?”

  She managed to nod, but said nothing.

  “’Cause you suddenly don’t seem okay.”

  “I’m fine,” she said. But the words came out rough and hoarse.

  He said nothing for a moment, then, even more quietly than before, he said, “There’s nothing wrong with what just happened, you know.” When she said nothing in response, he added, “I mean, it was a lot more than a kiss, but…”

  Still, she remained silent, looking out the window. So he reached across her and pressed his hand to her cheek, gently turning her head to look at him.

  “If it’s any consolation, nothing like this has ever happened to me, either.” He lifted a shoulder and let it drop, then offered a small smile. “Well, not since I was seventeen, anyway.”

  “It’s not that, Cole,” she said softly.

  “Then what?”

  “That…what just happened…that’s not me.”

  “News flash, Lulu,” he said just as softly. “That was you.”

  She shook her head. “No, I mean, I don’t do things like…like that. Ever.”

  He gave that small smile again. “If you’re trying to flatter me, it’s working.”

  She wanted to laugh at the comment. Really, she did. But she couldn’t. She wished she could shrug off what had happened the way he had. Wished she could make light of it, the way he was. But what had happened went way too deep for her to be able to do that. She felt too many things right now, and she felt them deeply, and she couldn’t make sense of any of them.

  “Will you take me home now?” she said instead. “Please? Bree’s home. For real this time.”

  He opened his mouth to say something, seemed to think twice about whatever it was, and closed it again. He only nodded silently, moved back over to his side of the car, and turned the key in the ignition.

  They said not a word on the drive to Bree’s apartment, and when Cole told Lulu he would walk her up, she didn’t argue. After she unlocked the door, she turned to tell him good night, and he pulled her into his arms. He kissed her gently, tenderly, affectionately. A warm glow ignited deep in Lulu’s belly at the embrace, but she kept it banked low until he pulled back again.

  However, he didn’t go far.

  He dipped his head to press his forehead against hers and cupped his hands over her bare shoulders. She absorbed his warmth, inhaled his scent, savored his taste on her tongue. And when he said softly that he wanted to see her tomorrow, she told herself to tell him no. She needed some time. Needed to figure out what was going on. Needed to get a handle on herself and her feelings. Then she remembered she didn’t have time. In a matter of days, he would be gone. And she might never see him again.

  She told herself that would be a good thing. A small, quiet life like hers didn’t have room in it for a man like Cole. He was too big, too brash, too confident. He made her forget things she needed to remember. Things like…

  Oh, damn. She’d forgotten them already.

  “Come to my studio tomorrow,” she heard herself tell him. “If you come around four, I’ll be ready for you.”

  Eighteen

  BREE MADE IT ALL THE WAY HOME BEFORE CALLING herself an idiot. But that was only because she’d spent the rest of her driving time calling herself a fool, moron, dummy, imbecile, ignoramus, simpleton, dunce, dolt, jerk, dumbass, bonehead, blockhead, dimwit, half-wit, nitwit…

  Well, suffice it to say she talked to herself a lot on that particular drive home.

  And when she turned onto the side street by her apartment building and saw Cole Early’s Town Car parked at the curb, she halted her own car, folded her arms over the steering wheel, rested her forehead against them, and did her best not to cry.

  She just wanted to go home. She’d held herself together all the way back to her apartment, and now she wanted to lock herself in her bedroom and fall apart. She wanted to put on her pajamas, get the gallon of Neapolitan ice cream out of the freezer and the lasagna spoon out of the drawer, and she wanted to eat and cry until she was sick. She wanted to remember what it had been like to kiss Rufus once, and she wanted to dream about what it would be like to kiss him again. She wanted to pretend everything in her life was fine and ordinary, that she didn’t have to worry about the future, that when she woke up tomorrow morning, bloated and sticky, it would be to a day filled with glorious mundanity.

  She couldn’t do any of that if Lulu was upstairs with Cole. Not that she thought they were making use of her bedroom—she knew Lulu well enough to know that—but if Bree had to look at the two of them falling in love, which was what they were doing, whether they realized it or not, and know she would never have that herself, then she would do more than make herself sick on ice cream.

  So without thinking about what she was doing, she turned down the alley behind her building and up the street on the opposite side until she was heading back in the direction from which she’d come. She’d just drive around for a little while, she told herself. Until Cole was gone and Lulu was in bed and she could sneak in and feel miserable without anyone knowing. She popped a CD into the player without
even looking to see what it was, then smiled when the car was filled with the mellow crooning of Bobby Darin, one of her mother’s favorites. Bree started to sing along, to avoid talking to herself, not really paying attention as one song bled into another. Until Bobby started singing to her that all he could give her was country walks and a hand to hold and a love to warm the winter night. And then Bree was singing back to him that that was all she could give him, too. And all he wanted from her in return—and all she wanted from him—was to know they would adore each other for now and evermore. That was all.

  That was all.

  She wasn’t much surprised when she found herself pulling into Rufus’s driveway a little while later. Nor was she surprised that his lights were still on. She was even less surprised to see his silhouette appear behind the screen door when he must have heard her car.

  He looked surprised, though, when he pushed the screen door open at her approach. Confused and puzzled, too. When he said, “Bree? Is everything okay?” she put her fingers gently against his mouth and shook her head. Then she moved her hand and pushed herself up on tiptoe, curled her fingers over his jaw, and put her mouth on his.

  He didn’t question what she did. Maybe he was afraid she would stop. Maybe she was afraid of that, too. Maybe that was why neither of them said a word as Rufus took a few steps backward, into the house, and closed the door behind them. Maybe that was why neither of them stopped kissing the other, either.

  Rufus buried his hands in her hair and slanted his mouth over hers, first one way, then the other, again and again and again. Somehow, Bree registered the fact that they were moving. Across the living room, up the stairs, down the hallway, into his bedroom. She felt him tugging her shirt tail free of her skirt, found herself fumbling with the button of his jeans. It was dark in the bedroom, the only illumination coming from a tumble of moonlight outside the open window. She registered the chirp of crickets, the rustle of leaves, the disinterested bark of a neighbor’s dog. Then all she could hear was the rasp of Rufus’s ragged breath against her neck and the hammering of her own heart.

  The bed sheet was cool against her back when she fell against it, but his body was warm atop her. He hooked her thigh in one hand and wrapped her leg around his waist as he entered her, deep and hard and strong. She lifted her hips to meet him, matching his rhythm and gradually escalating it. And then he was coming inside her, and she was crying his name, and he was saying, “I love you, Bree,” and she was saying, “I love you, too.” Then he was lying in bed beside her, one arm curved protectively around her shoulders, the other hand tangled in her hair, and she was curling her entire body into his.

  And never in her life had Bree felt safer or more secure.

  RUFUS LAY IN HIS BED BESIDE BREE, ELBOW BENT ON the mattress, chin resting in hand, watching her sleep. He’d woken at five, nearly an hour ago, feeling sated and rested and content, in spite of having enjoyed what couldn’t have been more than a few hours of sleep. Now, the sun was just starting to come up, a slender ribbon of pale yellow light slipping through the curtains and slanting across the bed, leaving a stripe of illumination across Bree’s naked back. She lay on her stomach beside him, the sheet draped low enough to reveal the slope of her delectable derriere. Her black hair was a pile of tumbled silk on the pillow behind her, and one hand was curled loosely on this side of the pillow in front of her face.

  He had always thought her the most beautiful woman he’d ever laid eyes on. But in this moment, totally relaxed in the aftermath of a night of spectacular loving, she took his breath away.

  How could she think she could share moments like this with someone who didn’t deserve them? Who didn’t deserve her? Rufus had done everything he could last night to show her how good life could be with the most basic necessities. How could she want more than what the two of them had shared in this house? What more was there than what the two of them had shared in this house? She had everything she needed right here.

  Of course, that wasn’t the problem, he knew. It wasn’t her own needs Bree was worried about. It was her mother’s.

  He didn’t know why she had come back last night after leaving. At the moment, he didn’t care. All that mattered was that she had come back. That she had told him—and shown him—she loved him as much as he loved her. And that she was still here when he woke up this morning. Now all he had to do was show her there was no reason for her to ever leave again.

  As if cued by the thought, she began to stir, inhaling deeply and releasing the breath slowly, in a way he could only describe as contented. It was a good sign. Her eyes fluttered open, then closed again, then opened once more. It took her a moment to focus, to remember where she was, and he waited for signs of panic or embarrassment or regret. When her gaze finally found his, though, she smiled. Then she pushed her hand across the mattress and curled her fingers affectionately around his arm.

  “Good morning,” he said quietly as he covered her hand with his.

  In response, she only murmured a soft, satisfied sound and closed her eyes again.

  “You’ll have to forgive me,” he told her, “but I wasn’t expecting anyone for breakfast, so the pickings there are pretty slim.”

  Her eyes still closed, she said, “I find that hard to believe.”

  “What? That I forgot to stock up on Wheaties?”

  She smiled. “No. That you weren’t expecting anyone for breakfast.”

  He smiled, too. “Let’s just say last night was a very pleasant surprise.”

  She opened her eyes again. “It was, wasn’t it?”

  Telling himself not to do it, because he didn’t want to risk ruining the moment, he said anyway, “Do you remember saying what you did?”

  She studied him in silence for a moment, and he waited to see if she would use the question as an out. Either say no, she didn’t remember saying anything, or claim that what she’d said was the sort of thing everyone said in the heat of a moment like that.

  Instead, she said, “I remember telling you that I love you.”

  His gaze fixed on hers, but he said nothing.

  “And I do love you, Rufus.”

  He would have been relieved if it hadn’t been for the fact that she delivered the news in a tone of voice that was generally postscripted with a but.

  “But,” she said, and his gut clenched tight again, “it isn’t that simple.”

  Oh, well, if that was the only objection she had, then there was no problem. Because that was the beautiful thing about love. It was the easiest, most uncomplicated thing in the world.

  He kissed her on the crown of her head, then levered himself off the bed. He looked around for his clothes of the night before, but could only find his blue jeans. So he pulled those on commando style, loving the way her eyes darkened as she watched him do it.

  “C’mon,” he said as he zipped the fly and extended a hand to her. “I want to show you something.”

  She didn’t move, only narrowed her eyes at him. “What?”

  But all he said was, “It’s something I wanted to show you last night. C’mon.”

  She started to glance around for her clothes, too, reaching for a pair of panties that were puddled on the floor where they’d fallen. Before she could snag them, Rufus tossed her a T-shirt from the laundry basket sitting on the floor at the foot of the bed. “That’ll cover as much as you need covered,” he told her with a smile. “And it’ll be easier to get off again later.”

  “Rufus…” she said. But her voice held none of the mild irritation she used to use when she uttered his name after he made a vaguely suggestive comment. Instead, she kind of purred his name this time.

  It boded well for the future, he thought. Which was good. Because the future was what he wanted to talk to her about.

  She pulled the T-shirt over her head, and when she climbed out of bed, it fell to midthigh. Perfect. He didn’t bother with a shirt, since they weren’t going far. And he did have plans later that would make clothing unnecessary. No rea
son to overdo it.

  “What is it?” she asked as she padded along after him through the bedroom door.

  “You’ll see.”

  She followed him down the stairs and through the kitchen, hesitating at the back door when he passed through it and into the backyard.

  “It’s okay,” he told her. “Privacy fence.”

  She still seemed hesitant, but she tiptoed carefully out. It was too early for his neighbor on the left to be up, anyway. The guy worked nights at the Ford plant. And his neighbor on the right, a landscaper, got up before dawn and was long gone by now.

  “Okay, I’m out here,” she said as she came to a halt beside him, tugging the T-shirt lower, even though it was perfectly acceptable the way it was. He never figured Bree for the modest type. For some reason, he liked it that she was.

  “The way I see it,” he said, pointing toward the northeast corner of the house, “there’s enough space over on this side of the yard that we could build a good-sized extension onto the house. Big enough for your mom to have a bedroom and private bath, and a little alcove for a sitting area, too. That side of the house gets the evening sun, so maybe the whole sundowning thing with Alzheimer’s wouldn’t be as bad.”

  Bree studied him for a long time in silence, her dark brows knitting downward. “Sundowning,” she finally said. “You know about sundowning?”

  “I’ve been doing some reading,” he told her. “I still have a lot to learn about your mom’s illness, but yeah. I know about sundowning. About how some Alzheimer’s patients get more restless when the sun goes down. How that’s when a lot of them start to wander.”

  She nodded, but said nothing.

  “If that happens with your mom,” he said, “you won’t have to worry about her getting out of the house. All the doors have keyed dead bolts. And I can put keyed bolts on all the windows, too. She won’t be able to leave the house without someone unlocking something for her, and you can be in charge of the keys.”