Sidetracked

by Lola Karns

  “You barely know me enough to miss me.”

  “Maybe. But I missed talking with you. New York City sunsets dulled in comparison. You changed your hair. Purple.”

  A low rumble escaped her throat. The air around them crackled with sexual energy. There was no girlfriend hiding in the city. From the way he tilted his head, to the way he stood close enough for inhale and exhale to be audible, she had his full attention. This would be a night to remember.

  “More like Burgundy with some orange. I had to change color for the season and I didn’t want you to think I was a natural bluenette. Take my coat?”

  “You made me forget my manners.” He set the beer on the floor, arching an eyebrow inquisitively at her when he spotted the empty slot.

  “I was thirsty.” She shrugged.

  “Can’t have that.” He moved behind her, sliding the coat off her shoulders, revealing her bare arms. Her flesh burned where his fingers touched her. She might have gasped. “Can I get you something now?”

  “Yes, please.” Even facing the other direction, her body sensed when he stepped away. Part of her wanted to shout out ‘just you, naked.’ But her brain struggled for control, reminding her that she did want to get to know him and find out if he was worth spending time with for however long they were both in town. She glanced around.

  “Nice décor.” The orange and brown floral wallpaper was the same as ever. He hadn’t bothered to change much, another sign he was temporary and just passing through. If it worked, they could have fun, but without any expectations of relying on each other.

  “Mid-century modern is passé, and lumberjack chic is endangered of being overdone, so I thought I’d make a bold statement of seventy’s shame.”

  “Nice. Do you have shag carpet?”

  “In avocado green, natch.”

  “Excellent.” She clicked her tongue as they both restrained laughs. Even their humor was simpatico.

  He picked up the five pack and then extended his other hand. “Join me in the kitchen? I have a little bit to finish.”

  “Lead the way. But I have one favor to ask, no work talk of any sort. I need a break.”

  “Me too.”

  NOT THAT HE CONSIDERED himself a bad cook, but when she placed the first bite of steak au poivre in her mouth and closed her eyes for a long blink before purring ‘yum,’ it was as if he won a cooking contest.

  Conversation and beer flowed easily. No awkward preliminaries. Without the work-related chit-chat, opening up and exploring beyond the surface came easy. When she asked about how his visit went, he decided to be honest.

  “It was not a relaxing weekend.”

  “How does your family make you crazy?”

  “I like how you phrase that. Your family must make you crazy too.”

  “Can’t. They’re all dead” Her tone varied little from her regular flip one. Strange, but James’ believed her. His gut tensed at the thought of her being without family.

  “I’m so so— “

  “No. No apologies or sympathy. I’ve had enough and you never met any of them so why should you feel sorry. Anyway, you avoided my question. How?” The eyebrow arch showed she meant business.

  Where to start? “We’re a bit competitive.”

  “Do you have brothers or sisters?”

  “I have a half- sister in high school, she lives with my mom and her new husband, who is not my sister’s father. They’re fine but live in the wilds of Buffalo so I don’t see them often. The problem is my dad’s side based in New York City. I have a cousin three months older than me. Our whole lives our dads have encouraged us to be rivals more than friends. They competed against each other and managed to turn that into a successful business, so they expect Danny and I to be the same way.”

  “And you don’t like it?”

  “Not when I’m losing.”

  She laughed. “No shop-talk, but what’s your game?”

  “We compete at everything, golf, making money, girlfriends, cards, who can make the better omelet, who can make their dad yell louder from the sidelines. At least, when the dads aren’t playing too.”

  “How do you compete at girlfriends?”

  “When we go out, sometimes we’ve gone after the woman the other one expressed an interest in.”

  “Isn’t there a bro-code against that?”

  “Maybe, but it wouldn’t kick in until date two or three and that rarely happens.”

  “How pathetic all around. You both must be terribly dull if you can’t make it to date four.”

  “Probably. Even more shamefully, for parties we both try to bring the hottest hottie. The ones that make our fathers drool and our mothers shake their heads. Underwear models are a particular prize, but swimsuit models, aspiring actresses, and socialites are also acceptable.”

  She patted his arm, her eyes looking sad in spite of her smile and teasing tone. “Poor baby. Now I know why you looked so sad when I arrived. Your cousin ran off with your trophy girlfriend back in the city while you’re stuck here slumming it.”

  “That’s not what I meant.” He was angry with himself. Her words stung and rightfully so. “Danny and I went out on Saturday night, but I was bored.” That didn’t sound right either. But would the truth scare her? It sure as hell scared him.

  “My heart bleeds for you.”

  Damn. Even her eyerolls were adorable. There was no need to waste time pretending he didn’t care for her. He lifted his fingers to her chin, cupping her face with his palm. “I kept thinking about you.”

  A mischievous twinkle returned to her eyes as she leaned away from him. “And that bored you?”

  He bit the inside of his cheek in frustration. Trying to think before he spoke again, but she beat him to the punch.

  “Would you like a shovel or is a backhoe more appropriate?”

  “I really am messing this up, aren’t I?” She challenged him like no woman ever had done before. One evening on the porch and one amazing kiss and she invaded his mind. The well-coiffed women dressed in short skirts and high heels paled in comparison to the woman before him.

  “Indeed. If I were one of those vacant hot hotties you so admire, I would have wandered off with someone richer or more articulate by now. But I’m not. I’m still here.”

  “Do you have a lot of other choices?”

  She mimed digging with a shovel. Her over furrowed brow combined with a smirk making him laugh. She turned him into a blathering idiot, but he didn’t mind.

  “Around here, not too many with a full head of hair, or teeth. You do have your own teeth, still right?”

  Through bared teeth he pronounced them “All mine” but it sounded like “loll nine.” This was the weirdest conversation he’d had with a woman on a date. But also the most entertaining. “How about you? Any dentures?”

  “I showed you my chipped tooth. I didn’t bother with veneers and that’s what ruined my modeling career. I’m relieved I won’t be the cause of family strife.”

  “Huh?”

  “Your bizarre competition for women.”

  “If it makes you feel better, I fess up by the second date – whether mine or Danny’s.” Claire didn’t need to know that if he waited any longer and he needed a Mylanta chaser with his beer.

  “How’s that work out for you?”

  “I get slapped a lot. I deserve it.”

  “You do. I have the urge to slap you on principle. Maybe it will subside, maybe not.”

  “The guilt drives me to confess. It really is awful what we do.”

  “Then why compete?”

  James scowled and stared at the water stain on the ceiling. Sadly, the brown line refused to reshape itself into a valid excuse. “I don’t know. Tradition? Family bonding? Being pathetic?”

  “My money is on the last one. If you watched more sunsets, you’d be less foolish.”

  “You might be right.”

  Instead of responding with the sassy retort he craved, she looked at her plate and chased a pep
percorn with the fork tines. Maybe her thoughts were as jumbled as his. Silence stretched between them. He hoped she wasn’t reconsidering the other night, now that he’d confessed to being a jerk in the past. He shouldn’t have done that.

  “You might not believe me, but I don’t make it a habit to suck face with a man I’ve just met. I’m actually pretty selective, even when I’m outside of Belkin.” She lifted her gaze to meet his. Her pupils widened, even though the light hadn’t changed. The electricity between them continued to crackle, becoming something tangible against his skin. He had to know what she was thinking.

  “And?”

  Exhaling through pursed lips that managed to look both angry and puckered up kissable at the same time, she leaned forward. Her arms rested on the table beside their empty plates.

  “I don’t know what this is.” She pointed back and forth between them in a slow, graceful movement. “But you’ve got me all twitterpated and you seem just as flustered, so we owe ourselves the chance to see how it plays out.”

  In the seconds it took to push the table aside, two words escaped his lips: “Thank goodness.”

  Chapter 8

  A plate thunked to the floor followed by tinkling of shards, but they had already reached the point of no return. Claire welcomed his mouth as it pressed against hers, hot and tasting of beer and need. She met his urgency, leaning into the table. A line of dampness soaked into her shirt and the edge of the plate pushed against her ribs, but these were trivial discomforts. There’d be time for savoring and thinking later.

  She started to slide off the edge of the chair, so she stood, kicking it out of the way. Even the loud crash of metal on tile couldn’t stop the cascade of kisses. She needed him too much. His hand pressed against the back of her head; his fingers nearly as active as his tongue. As she moved to wrap her arms around his neck, he stood. She should have worn heels instead of sneakers. He was rather tall.

  Her body sizzled everywhere he touched, her hair, her back, her mouth. Each point of contact sent a new flash of heat through her body before taking refuge between her legs.

  His hair must have been cut with a razor at the nape of his neck. It was too short to plunge her fingers into and yet she couldn’t stop stroking the soft velvet. Perhaps it was the way he responded, like a cat arching its back for a pet. He craved the contact as much as she did.

  She slipped one arm around his waist. He trailed kisses across her cheek before suckling her ear lobe with his tongue. Her body became limp spaghetti as she gave herself over to the pleasure. If he weren’t holding her, she’d fall.

  Suddenly, they were moving. Her foot crunched something as he guided her backward, his legs nudging hers. His hard length pressed against her abdomen as their bodies ground together. She gasped as his fingers pushed up her shirt, finding the bare skin of her back. She needed his flesh pressing against hers. She tugged at his shirt, wanting him more urgently than seemed decent.

  Hips gyrating to an unheard music, he guided her around furniture until he moved backward. She sensed his muscles preparing to sit. Through her half-closed eyes, she noticed the couch in the front room. She composed herself needing to express a coherent thought, if not a sentence. She pushed back, trying to form words.

  “No good. Sheer curtains. Neighbors.”

  “Upstairs.” He was as out of breath as she was, and this pleased her.

  She wasn’t sure how it happened but by the time they reached the top step his pants were unbuttoned, and her tank top had disappeared. He swooped her into his arms, their lips constantly exploring each other. He tasted better than dinner.

  They collapsed onto a bed. She tugged frantically at his shirt, nearly getting caught in it as she whipped it over his head. He left a trail of hungry wet kisses down her throat, between the valley of her breasts and across her belly as he worked the buttons of her jeans. Once again, a conscious thought pushed its way through her pleasure.

  “Jacket pocket. Condoms.”

  “Nightstand.”

  She lifted her hips as she reached for the unopened box. Cool air surrounded her newly exposed flesh. She ripped at the carton with one hand. Warmth returned as James covered her with his body before meeting her mouth with his. Sighing at the pleasurable return of his mouth to hers, she dropped the box, spilling its contents everywhere.

  Her fingers gripped his muscular back as his kisses worked lower, across her jawbone. His hands slid across her hips. He understood what she wanted, what she needed from him. His breath, hot and moist tickled her ear.

  “You make me so hot, Claire. I want to make you glad you came over.” His fingers teased the curls between her legs, making her moan. “I want...”

  The man had her in agony. They could talk later, but her need for him was too great now. “I want you, inside me now.”

  Pulling back, his lips curled into a smirk. “You bossy vixen.”

  Instead of reaching for one of the packages littering the bed, he moved his hand a little lower, finding her pleasure spot. In seconds, he had her soaring. Her mind somewhere else as her body gave over to pure pleasure.

  She heard his warm hearty laugh. Grabbing one of the packs near her hand, she threw it at him. She wanted him to share this crazy ride with her. The man was so fast sheathing himself, she barely caught a peek before he rolled atop her.

  “You sure?”

  Her hand made a satisfying smack against his ass. “Get in.” He plunged his hard length into her welcoming body.

  “Yeeessss.” Their bodies rocked in urgent unison. Their mating was frantic, but there would be, she anticipated, other opportunities. Whatever this spark was between them, he seemed to be experiencing the same overwhelming lust. Golden flecks glittered in his brown eyes. She couldn’t look away. Nothing else mattered.

  His breathing grew erratic. He lowered himself so close, lips almost but not quite touched. He held her gaze, eyes a whirl of unreadable emotions. His body shuddered. He gasped as he found his release. She clung to him. An unfamiliar sense of pride swept through her. She did this to him; she helped him escape the drudgery of the world if only for a moment.

  Stretching himself out beside her, he draped on arm around her waist as he propped himself up with the other. He looked satisfied, but not sated. She knew the feeling.

  “That was fun.” He rumbled.

  She nodded her agreement, afraid words wouldn’t come.

  “But...”

  Her heart clenched. There was always a ‘but.’ Usually proceeded by ‘that was nice, but...’ So much for having some fun, or even a boyfriend until he left town.

  He tilted his head toward her, but she tried to focus on the ceiling. His actions confusing the words she knew would come next.

  “Once wasn’t enough. That was so fast, I didn’t get a chance to find out if you have a tattoo.”

  Turning to him, half in surprise, she kissed him, long and hot and slow. When she came up for air, she issued whispered a challenge in his ear. “I have three, but one is well hidden. Tell me about this one on your arm.”

  “Japanese for success. As for your challenge...” A lazy grin spread across his mouth as traced his fingers down her arm. Whether the words or touch made her shiver, she couldn’t say, but either reason worked. This would be entertaining. The two on her ankles were easy to find, but she wouldn’t tell him the hidden one was a micro-tattoo on the inside of her left middle finger. If he hadn’t found it by their third date, she’d explain why she had a rail-road crossing on her body.

  SHE SHOULD BE EXHAUSTED. As promised, he proved an attentive lover, but he’d only found two of her tattoos, the dove and the butterfly – peace and transformation, Grandma and mom. He had two of his own, Greek Fraternity letters and the Kanji symbol he claimed meant success. Laying under the covers in the stillness of the night her body barely wanted to move. He had nice sheets, the high thread count soft against her skin. The pillows possessed that perfect balance between fluffiness and firmness. The room’s cool temperatur
e gave enough incentive to snuggle for warmth but wasn’t uncomfortable.

  Rolling her head to the side, she watched him sleep. Her lover. She wanted to shout to the world that she met a wonderful man, one who could cook and make her laugh and make her toes curl in and out of the bedroom. She doubted he was ready to make such a declaration. She traced the tattoo on his arm, muscle memory kicked in. The symbol was familiar to her and it didn’t mean what he thought it did, but he needed the idea of meaning more than truth. He moaned and nuzzled her neck, hand cradling her bare breasts. “Stay.”

  The emotional side of her wanted to, but Claire knew better. Someone surely had seen her enter the old Russell place and if someone else saw her anywhere near the place in the morning, tongues would wag disapprovingly and she’d be labeled a tramp, at least by the old guard. Like mother like daughter. The community embraced her eccentricities only because she kept her reputation sparkling clean. James was good, but even he might not be worth that risk. She needed more time to be certain and she already took too many chances by coming to his house and staying as long as she did.

  The clock on the nightstand read two twenty-three. Perfect. She could get home with plenty of time for a little work and a quick nap before that stupid meeting. He twitched as she kissed his cheek but didn’t awaken. Quietly, she slipped on her clothes – mostly – she grabbed his shirt to replace her missing one- and then scribbled a note on the condom box. She plucked her dirty tank top off the steps. “I’ll put you in my pocket.”

  The kitchen was a landmine of broken pottery. Since the Russell place shared the same floorplan as Jo’s house, she had a good idea where to look for a broom. She tiptoed to the pantry to the left of the door.

  “Success.” An ancient broom with fraying bristles and a clip-on dustpan leaned in the corner. As quietly as possible, she swept the floor and straightened up. “He can do the dishes, but at least he won’t step on a shard barefooted.” After replacing the broom, she slipped out the backdoor, hoping no one had installed a super high fence or security lights on her route through the backyards.