by Anna Jeffrey
She sniggered softly. “Interesting. Christa told me that one of her exes said men think about sex every ten seconds. Do you do that?”
“I dunno. I’ve never timed it. Since I’ve been with you, I think about it more than I used to.”
He turned to his side, too, and pressed his front against hers, caressed her jaw with his palm and captured her eyes with his. “I’m not joking. This morning, while I was driving? I was remembering how it was sometimes when I was so deep inside you. Those few seconds when I felt like I couldn’t tell where I ended and you began and your pussy milked me dry. And I came so hard it was almost painful.”
He had looked into her eyes and told her he loved her many times, but he had never said anything quite like this. Her thoughts rushed back to the times when he rooted deeply into her and both their orgasms were so powerful and primal it was frightening, as if they had been so close the physical had penetrated some emotional barrier and their souls touched. Those rare moments brought her to tears.
“Nothing I’ve known in my life has ever been so good,” he said. “It’s addictive. This morning, I wanted it bad. I was tempted to come back here at noon and drag you home and eat your pussy until you begged me to stop.”
“Hmm. Sounds good to me.” She chuckled. “You just told me you were wrestling with bankers. I hope they didn’t know what you were thinking.”
“They had half my attention.”
She leaned and kissed his shoulder, then returned to lie on her pillow and press closer to him. “I know those times. I have them, too. But you’re talking like it doesn’t happen anymore.”
“It hasn’t for a while. I don’t want to go for it. I’m afraid of hurting you. Or him.”
“We’ll have it again. I won’t be pregnant much longer.”
“And that reminds me, after Colum gets here, we need to be more diligent about birth control. One baby right after another can’t be good for you.”
A tiny alert sounded in her brain as the many conversations they’d had about having four kids came back to her. “Women used to do it. They used to have a dozen kids, one right after another. I’ve seen old pictures where the kids look like stairsteps.”
“Women were worn out at young ages, too. Being pregnant so often is bound to weaken your system.”
“You don’t want four kids any longer?”
“I do, but I don’t want to sacrifice the health of the love of my life to have them.”
The love of his life. She loved hearing him say those words. “Don’t worry. I’ve been thinking about getting on the pill after Colum. That way, we can time the next baby better. If we wait until Colum’s a year old, you still wouldn’t be forty.”
“I’m not worried about that. It’s just a number.”
He kissed her long and lusciously, their tongues dueling. After they parted, he scooted down until they were belly-to-belly again and drew her thigh across his hip. They lay looking at each other, their eyes linked. She stroked his cheek with her finger. “I adore when you come home early to make love to me.”
They kissed again, tenderly nipping at each other’s lips, spreading kisses over each other’s necks and faces, the desire starting to ignite within her all over again. “I love that you’re addicted to me. Especially since I feel that way, too. Or maybe I’m so hot for you because I’m expecting.”
He grinned his cute little boy grin. “Nah. You were hot before.”
She smiled. “Before what? We barely knew each other when I got pregnant with Will.”
“But I knew you were hot. I knew it the very first time I saw you in that green dress. You had ‘come and get it if you dare, big boy’ written all over you and I got the message. I knew we’d be good together. I told you that. That first time in my condo, I was hooked.”
What he had told her was that at that moment, every other woman he knew vanished from his brain. Indeed, their first encounter on the cooking island in his condo had been erotic and memorable for both of them.
“Seriously, when I went to the doctor last week? While I was in the waiting room, I read a magazine article about sex during pregnancy. Women want it more. It’s hormones. And everything down there is engorged with blood. It’s more sensitive.”
“So, what are you telling me? For us to keep having fantastic sex, I’m going to have to keep you pregnant from now on?”
“No, silly. We always have fantastic sex.” She brushed his lips with hers. “And we always will. Every time is better than the last. I’m just trying to explain why I’m horny all the time right now.”
“I like you horny. But I know the deeper reason, don’t you?”
“Why?”
“Because whether I hit the bullseye or not, fucking with feelings is a hundred times better than doing it for the hell of it.”
Both of them had experienced the latter. Their cooking island encounter and the ensuing unforgettable two hours in his bed had been for the hell of it on both their parts. “Thank you for knowing that. And thank you for saying it.”
“Until you, I didn’t know there was a difference. There’ll never be anyone else, Shannon. You own me, body and soul. I hope you believe that.”
“I do believe it.”
And that was true, mostly. He had given her no reason not to believe him. Still, in the back of her mind, a vague doubt constantly niggled, fueled by her ongoing battle with self-esteem that had existed long before she met him.
The images of the two beautiful women from his past that she had actually seen floated into her mind. He had been with the blonde bombshell Tammy McMillan several years and until Mandy told her today, Shannon hadn’t known how much he had been affected by her betrayal. It was a stunning story. At twenty and eighteen, they were kids. Only a teenager would throw an engagement to a man like Drake to the wind. He must have felt love for her. Had he touched her deepest place? Had he felt an addiction to her?
He had never confessed to sleeping with the exotic-looking Heather Pennington, but Shannon had seen with her own eyes the woman’s possessiveness that revealed they had been intimate. The thought of another woman having his body and lying with him as they were now provoked an emotion as dark as Heather’s black hair.
All kinds of women, single and married, came on to him wherever they went together. Once at a party, while Shannon hung onto his arm, a woman he had never met even grabbed his crotch. He wore a wide gold wedding ring, but some female was always giving him the eye or flirting or “accidentally” touching him.
She was growing to accept those affronts as one of the hazards of being married to someone like him. Besides being handsome, smart and charismatic, he was mega-rich, successful on his own and highly respected in the business and finance world. Any one of those assets was a magnet, but all of them together were a potent aphrodisiac. Thankfully, Shannon had never seen him respond to another woman in a positive way.
Just then, Colum made an obvious shift just under her ribs. Her stomach rippled and she couldn’t keep from laughing. “Oh, my gosh. Did you feel that?”
Drake grunted. “I saw it. What’s he doing?”
“I don’t know. It’s felt like he’s riding a bicycle this whole day.”
“Maybe he’s looking for an exit out of there.”
She reached for his hand and placed it on her stomach at the bottom of her ribs. “His foot is right there. Can you feel it?”
He looked at her wide-eyed. “That’s amazing.” He continued to rub her stomach, feeling their baby’s foot. All at once, he smiled. “Do you suppose he’s got red curly hair like Will?”
“Oh, God, I hope not. One kid with my awful hair is enough.”
“I love your hair. Your face, your eyes, that cute little freckle on your cheek.” He touched her cheek just under her eye. “I hope all of my kids look like their mother.”
“I want them all to look like their daddy. And Will does. Except for his hair, he’s the image of you. Looking into his little face and his eyes is just like looking
at you.”
He reached for his watch on the bedside table “It’s almost time for supper. If I’m taking tomorrow off, I need to do some work in my office tonight. We should get up and shower.”
“I know. It’s getting dark. What time is it now?”
“Five-fifteen.” He kissed her hard and quick. “I love you. Never forget it.”
“Okay.” She smiled at him and slid her arm around his middle for one last hug. “By the way, I’m glad you came home early. We haven’t had afternoon sex in a long time. This was so good.”
“Better than this morning?”
“This morning, we were rushed. We didn’t have time for you to kiss me in all the right places.”
He gave her a devilish grin. “Maybe that’s why I thought about sex all-day. I left it unfinished. I’ll try to do better in the future. I took care of it just now though, didn’t I?”
Like a silly loon, she grinned back at him. “You certainly did, cowboy.”
He sat up, swung his feet to the floor and pulled her up. “C’mon. Let’s get ready for supper. Gloria said Will is going to eat at the table with us. If we don’t get there before he does, we could end up with baby food on the window panes.”
Chapter 12
In the suite Amanda shared with Pic, she forced herself to concentrate on the restoration of an old house on the DIY TV network. Shows of this type were the only reality TV she enjoyed. Still, she wasn’t sure how much of it was real and how much was made up for the sake of entertainment.
She lived in an “old house” herself. Parts of it were over a hundred years old. According to its history, it started as a simple two-bedroom house on the bank of the Brazos River. Over the years, it had been remodeled in various ways. When Pic’s mother lived here, she had spent years—and no one ever said how much money—remodeling and redecorating. Besides adding rooms, in some instances, she had torn walls down to the studs and started over.
Now, with seven bedrooms and nine bathrooms, The Double-Barrel ranch house wasn’t a mansion in the classic sense, but it came close enough. Five of the bedrooms were suites—one for each kid, one for Betty and Bill Junior. Each suite was the size of a small efficiency apartment, sans kitchen. In fact, as a student in Lubbock, Amanda had once rented an apartment smaller than her and Pic’s suite.
Amanda bit down on her lower lip, remembering. At that point in her life, Pic had married another woman and Amanda had been forced to abandon her teenage dream of one day living in this house.
She glanced at the time noted on the TV screen. Suppertime was long past due. Johnnie Sue had tried to feed her, but Amanda told her she would wait for Pic. And Pic was late. Not an unusual occurrence these days.
She hadn’t eaten a bite since lunch and she had swum twenty laps before coming home. Her stomach ached with the hollowness of hunger. Still, her only goal for this evening was to make up with her husband and sharing supper with him was a beginning.
Disappointment thrummed within her. And worry. Why hadn’t he come home yet? The rural highways were dark, winding and lonely. There were drunk drivers, more than usual at this time of year. Livestock sometimes escaped the fenced pastures and roamed the highways at night as well as deer and hogs. He could have a car accident and not be found for hours.
On the other hand, maybe he went to find his dad and got caught in an escape-proof trap, as sometimes happened with Bill Junior’s escapades. In the search through some of his dad’s haunts, had Pic found some old girlfriend and decided to renew acquaintances?
Any number of his former girlfriends still lived around Drinkwell and Treadway county, some married, some not.
Tales she had heard from the locals about her husband’s adventures after his divorce from Lucianne Shepler danced around in her mind. If Drake had been rampaging out of control after Tammy McMillan dumped him, after Lucianne Shepler left Pic, he had followed in his brother’s footsteps. Amanda had no firsthand knowledge of the stories. She had lived in Lubbock in those days and had her own marital problems.
Thinking of Pic and other women, Zochi McLaren’s appearance at last year’s July 4th employee barbecue barged into Amanda’s thoughts. Tanned and small and delicate-looking, with thick black curly hair hanging past her waist, Zochi had the kind of exotic beauty that caused people to stare.
At the picnic, they had stared all right. Every man there probably got a lecture from his wife after they went home. Zochi had been dressed like a half-naked island princess. The picnic guests thought her costume was aimed at Troy, who practically drooled when he met her. But Amanda knew better. With the support of Pic’s mother, the bitch from Austin had set her sights on the middle son.
And why wouldn’t she? Why wouldn’t any woman? Pic was a rich, good-looking, well-educated total cowboy. On top of that, he liked sex uninhibited and on the primal side. Men like him seemed to be able to spot those characteristics in common with some women. Women like Zochi McLaren were his for the taking. Had he taken? Something had happened between Pic and Zochi, but Amanda would probably never know what.
Don’t listen to gossip and don’t jump to conclusions. Pic wouldn’t cheat.
Yeah, right. Except for her father, there was no such thing as a man who wouldn’t cheat.
Troy had stepped in and saved Pic from his own weakness by whisking Zochi away to God knew where. Perhaps the nearest motel. The youngest son was reputedly as persuasive with women as he was with horses. They had disappeared from the picnic in Zochi’s car and not been seen the rest of the day.
After a report of vandalism at the old Lockhart homestead crashed the picnic, in an instant, Troy and Zochi’s whereabouts became a non-issue. Though Troy and Amanda were old friends, she had never asked him about that day.
Out of patience, she picked up her phone and pressed in her husband’s cell number. Three burrs with no answer. Then, “’Lo...”
He didn’t say, ‘Hey, baby,’ as usual, which stopped her. She forced her mouth into a big smile, feigning cheerfulness. “Hi, it’s me. Where are you?”
“Dusty’s. ... We’re havin’ a li’l Christmas toddy.”
Uh-oh. When Pic’s words started slurring, he’d had more than one toddy. Anxiety clawed through her empty stomach. She schooled herself to sound casual, as if a nine o’clock-at-night conversation with him in his cups at the wagon boss’s house were normal. “Is your dad with you?”
“Nope.”
“Oh. Johnnie Sue thought maybe you might be out looking for him. Have you eaten?”
“Nope.”
“Supper’s getting cold. Are you coming home soon?”
“Yep. Tell Johnnie Sue to go on home. I don’t care if it’s cold.” He disconnected.
She stared at the phone. Had he hung up on her?
Patience, Lord. Give me patience.
He was still mad, clearly. That he had ever been mad, in itself, was disturbing. Pic wasn’t prone to anger.
She stood, drew a deep breath and walked to the kitchen, found the housekeeper sitting at the kitchen table working a crossword puzzle. “Johnnie Sue, Pic’s at Dusty’s and they’re having a Christmas drink. He said for you to go on home.”
“You sure?”
“Absolutely.” Amanda filled a tall glass with ice cubes from the refrigerator door, then pulled out a pitcher of tea and poured her glass full. “I don’t know when he’ll be here. I can heat up supper. I haven’t forgotten how to use the microwave. Don’t worry about the kitchen. I’ll wash our dishes after we eat.”
The housekeeper got to her feet. “I’ll go then. It’s been a long day. I’m a little tired.” She gathered her satchel and her purse and shrugged into her coat. As she started out the back door, Amanda called her name and stopped her. “You didn’t hear from Bill Junior, did you?”
“Naw. Tomorrow, I’m gonna talk to Pic about it.”
Alone, Amanda stood rooted in place for a few minutes, thinking of her father-in-law. He had now been gone since Monday afternoon. Two nights and two days,
going into a third night. Did Pic know where he was and/or who he was with? She shook off those thoughts. Bill Junior’s drama on top of her own was the last thing she needed.
She waited sitting at the table in the kitchen, forcing herself to concentrate on grading book reports on “Macbeth” written by high school juniors. When she heard Pic’s pickup engine, she quickly gathered the papers into a neat stack and slipped them into her book bag, out of sight. No need for him to see her doing something that would only anger him more.
As he came into the kitchen, she stood. Large dried bloodstains showed on his shirt and jeans. A problem with a cow, no doubt. These days, Pic hardly ever got directly involved with taking care of the cattle, although he certainly knew how to deal with most bovine problems. Whatever happened must have been an emergency.
She managed a smile. “Hi. Busy day?”
“It was a sonofabitch. What did Johnnie Sue leave to eat?”
“She made a great supper. Baked pork chops and green bean casserole. She and I were the only ones here to eat at suppertime, but I wanted to wait for you.” Assuming her most efficient persona, she quickstepped to the cabinet. “I’ll get some plates.”
“I gotta wash up.” He left the kitchen for the utility room. After working with the cattle and horses, he always washed up in the utility room sink. One thing Betty had succeeded in instilling in her sons was not to bring hands and clothing covered with barnyard filth into the kitchen. Never mind bloodstains.
She prepared his plate and while it turned in the microwave, she set his and her places at the table. He came back into the room and took his seat without a word. She placed the warmed food in front of him, added a couple of Johnnie Sue’s homemade rolls and the butter dish and a tall glass of iced tea. As he started to eat, she fixed her own plate, then sat down adjacent to him. “I was worried about you.”
“I’ve been taking care of myself a long time. No need for anybody to worry about me.”
At the curt reply, she flinched inside. “I know that, but when you’re so late, I—”