More Than Skin Deep

MORE THAN SKIN DEEP An Ellora's Cave Publication, October 2003 Ellora's Cave Publishing, Inc. PO Box 787 Hudson, OH 44236-0787 ISBN MS Reader (LIT) ISBN # 1-84360-671-2 Other available formats (no ISBNs are assigned): Adobe (PDF), Rocketbook (RB), Mobipocket (PRC) & HTML HOT EARTH © 2003 VONNA HARPER MOSTLY SUNNY WITH A CHANCE OF BELGIAN CHOCOLATE © 2003 ELIZABETH JEWELL XAVIER © 2003 STEPHANIE BURKE ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book may not be reproduced in whole or in part without permission. This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. They are productions of the authors’ imagination and used fictitiously. HOT EARTH, edited by MARTHA PUNCHES MOSTLY SUNNY WITH A CHANCE OF BELGIAN CHOCOLATE, edited by ANN RICHARDSON XAVIER, edited by MARTHA PUNCHES Cover art by DARRELL KING.

MORE THAN SKIN DEEP HOT EARTH By Vonna Harper MOSTLY SUNNY WITH A CHANCE OF BELGIAN CHOCOLATE By Elizabeth Jewell XAVIER By Stephanie Burke

HOT EARTH Vonna Harper

Hot Earth

Chapter One This is where it happened. The words drummed inside Calina Rambo, but although she’d dreaded coming to the remote pear orchard, now that she was here, she felt…what…alive and in tune with herself. Part of it was because she was alone, something that didn’t often happen given her overloaded life, but the rest—all she had to do was look around to feel her surrounding’s impact. She felt both at peace and new, ready for change. It was dawn. Dew lay heavy on the grass, and wild asparagus plants grew at the base of the highly productive fruit trees. The orchard sounded rich with birds, and although the shadows between the rows were dense, she’d already spotted a doe and her newborn fawn. The wild pair had studied her for several moments, not fearfully, but with an innocent curiosity that added to her mood. Yes, this was where her father had had the accident that had eventually killed him and robbed a nine-year-old girl of her beloved papa. But the trees and fertile ground weren’t responsible. The orchard’s owner, Richard Wood, had been. Don’t go there, she warned herself. Papa died almost twenty years ago. Anger won’t bring him back. But she seldom returned to southern Oregon, and this was the first time she’d walked into the orchard that had defined, not just her father’s life, but hers as well. She might not be a migrant worker as he’d been, but because she was Mexican, it was her heritage. What was it her father had said when he’d been a robust, sunburned young man? That working with the land was hard but peaceful because the earth taught patience and grace. Back then she’d been too young to understand, but now with her senses zeroed in on what the earth produced, its sensual richness, she was starting to. She also felt closer to her father than she had in years. “Are you here, Papa?” she asked. “Did some part of you remain, waiting for me? Is that why I feel on the brink of—something?” She swiped at an errant tear and continued down the long, narrow path between two rows of trees that seemed to be reaching out to caress and energize her. Because the day promised to be warm, she wore cut-off jeans that revealed her long, dark legs. She was aware of their length and healthy strength. She hadn’t bothered with a bra and had knotted the oversized blouse under her breasts. Their weight tuned her into what it felt like to be a sexual creature. She had on expensive running shoes but no socks; her long, black hair was caught in a loose ponytail. The trees and ground cover spoke of vibrancy and life. No matter what her initial purpose, this morning had become about her body finding its place in the primitive setting. She rubbed her hands lightly, sensually over her bare midriff and thought about the difference between her tall, angular body and her dead mother’s lush curves.

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Did you ever come here, Mama? After Papa died, did you have the same need to connect with him I feel right now? She ran her hand lower, over her belly to between her legs. Did this place bring you to life sexually and remind you of what once existed between the two of you? Did—did you ever satisfy yourself here? Shaking off the unsettling question, she removed her errant hand and concentrated on her footing, but the small fire she’d just ignited made that difficult. The ground was rutted from farm machinery, forcing her to abandon any thoughts she’d had about getting in a run. Walking at a brisk pace kicked up her heart rate. It also left her with too much energy for thinking. How much longer would she have to remain in southern Oregon? Her mother’s will was pretty straight-forward, but there was still the matter of the house. Most important, her kid sister Benita needed— What was that? Uneasy, she slipped behind the nearest tree so she could watch whoever was approaching without being seen. The tree promised safety and strength, prompting her to run her hand lightly over the bark. It felt alive, like her—alive. From the way the newcomer walked, she had no doubt it was a man—fairly young if his long, confident strides were any indication. His body language said he understood the lay of the land and was comfortable with the uneven ground. He seemed as one with his surroundings, wedded to and part of it. At home. Obviously she’d been wrong to think no one would be out this early, disturbing her private time. She decided he was a worker getting an early start on the never-ending task of catering to the orchard’s needs. She could ask him how long he’d been working for Richard Wood and what kind of man his employer was. As for why she needed information about the man she held responsible for her father’s death— The newcomer had been in shadow, but now he stepped into the newborn sunlight, giving her a much clearer view of him. Her heart all but skipped a beat when she realized he wasn’t Mexican as she’d expected but Caucasian. What difference did it make? It wasn’t as if she didn’t come into daily contact with Gringos at work. But no matter how many times she did, there was always that first awkward moment while she waited for the white to comprehend she wasn’t some cowed illegal who barely knew a word of English but every bit as much an American citizen as they, complete with a career as a public health nurse. Added to the mix this morning was the fact that it was just the two of them in this isolated and erotic place. So? she argued with herself as the tall, too broad-shouldered man gazed around at his surroundings. When’s the last time you bumped into an axe murderer? No, hardly an axe murderer, she amended as she continued her study of the newcomer. Feeling like a voyeur—a condition she had no intention of changing for the foreseeable future— she noted that although his flesh wasn’t as dark as hers, he was hardly some pale, hot-house creature. She wouldn’t call him stereotypically handsome. More like, damn is that body hot! Licking her lips and pressing her hands against her middle until she felt the pressure in her groin—she wasn’t about to risk venturing lower again—she took note of muscled legs encased in jeans that looked as if they’d been in daily use for years. God, how she loved a healthy male body in jeans!

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His ass was neither small nor large, and had just enough curve to it to make the jeans work at keeping him covered. The way he was turned, she couldn’t see what was between his legs but a gal could dream, couldn’t she—especially a gal who suddenly felt like a sexual being when she hadn’t since she couldn’t remember when. Then there was that expansive back, the kind of physique a man got from doing physical things with his life. Well, you can get physical with me, big boy. Don’t ask me why, but I feel as if I’m in heat this morning. So if you’re of a mind to take advantage of my condition, go for it! Go for it! Although she shook her head at her crude and fortunately unspoken come-on, she made no effort to rein in her response. In truth, she wasn’t sure she could have. The damnable truth was, she hadn’t had sex for what, at least three months, and even when she’d been fucking and being fucked regularly, Jairo had been a wham-bam kind of guy. She had stopped seeing the Mexican radio station manager for a lot of reasons but an unsatisfying sex life had been among the top three. Since then. . . A stab of pain between her eyes caused her to wince. She rubbed the spot and then went back to massaging her midriff and consequently teasing her clitoris and getting its attention. The longer she watched the newcomer, the more aware she became of the heat between her legs—a heat that seemed as one with the sun’s promise. Was this the change she’d sensed earlier? For the first, last, and probably only time in her life, she’d jump a man’s bones, have her way with him, fuck him senseless. This was insane, stupid! She was an educated professional, a Mexican who never for a moment forgot the line she walked between her heritage and the world she lived in. Yeah, right! She’d never considered herself particularly sexual, but on this quiet spring morning with the scent of growth and life in her nostrils, sex pretty much said it all. Fantasy kicked in, and she imagined her and the orchard-born stranger coming together in silence and understanding and hot, heavy need. Staring into each other’s eyes, they’d shuck out of their own clothes, step closer, hold for a beat and then wrap their bodies together before sinking to the dew-wet grass. They’d act like animals in heat, wanting nothing in life except fucking and a couple of mind-shattering climaxes. There’d be no words, no foreplay, no questioning what they were doing. They’d simply go at each other, moving to the same silent rhythm, in-sync, their pace flawless, perfect. She’d spread her legs for him and welcome him into her, feed off him, hold him, hold him, hold him until he shattered her. When the sex was over, they’d stand, shake hands, and go their respective ways. Right! After about a hundred repeat performances maybe. She couldn’t guess how long she’d been watching her mystery man, her fuck-partner, when it hit her in the belly that he was coming her way. Frantic, she looked for somewhere else to hide, but there wasn’t any. Besides, she wasn’t a fugitive—just a little out of control in the fantasy department. Taking courage in hand, she stepped out from behind the tree and waited, trembling a little, but not from fear as he walked toward her. She couldn’t be certain of the moment he spotted her because his stride didn’t slow. The strange thing was he didn’t seem surprised. Was it possible that, like she did, their meeting felt predestined to him? Closer and closer he came, a prime male body presenting itself. Her belly knotted with a mix of fear, anticipation, and need, and she had to work at not licking her lips. Damn! He’s even

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better close-up, like a big cat stalking willing prey. Was that what she felt from the beginning—a predator’s presence? Or was it something else, something unfathomable? “I thought there was someone in here,” he said when he was close enough so she could see the reddish hairs above the V in his faded and unironed work shirt. His voice was deep and smooth; she felt its impact from neck to knees. “Did you?” she managed. Her cheeks burned; she couldn’t close her mouth. He nodded and didn’t so much as blink. “It’s an occupational hazard. Years of being here has put me in tune with my surroundings. I know when I’m alone and when I’m not.” That voice! So rich it truly rumbled out of his god-damn broad chest. “Years,” she repeated. “Then—then you’ve been working here for a long time?” “Working? Yes.” He’d looked her in the eye at first, but now he was taking inventory of everything south of her chin. His gaze licked over her, igniting and sensitizing every inch of flesh as he went. Damn, but it was getting harder to breathe! If he was looking for a big-breasted broad, he was going to be disappointed, she told herself, because she had to have something, anything, to think about so she wouldn’t yank off her clothes and launch herself at him. True, she filled out a B cup, and her breasts hadn’t started to sag, but they were hardly spectacular. If she put on a little weight, they might get up to a C, but given her metabolism, that wasn’t going to happen any time soon. He wasn’t packing around any extra pounds either. His bulk, if that’s what it could be called, came from his muscles. They weren’t the in-your-face muscles she’d seen in bodybuilder magazines. Rather, it was as if he’d been born with them, natural and right. Maybe this uncivilized land had given them to him. The bulge between his legs struck her in the same way, natural and right, large enough so she’d have her work cut out for her if she tried to cup her hand over it when it was engorged. What did she mean, if? Given half a chance— What was happening? She’d never, ever, felt like this before—as if she’d swallowed the female equivalent of Viagra. Had she suddenly become a nympho? If so, why? How? And most important, what in the hell was she going to do about it? “What are you doing here?” he asked, the question slamming into her already shattered thoughts. “I—why do you want to know?” His mouth twitched. “That’s a question I’ve never been asked, especially not by one of you.” “You?” she spat. Just like that, sanity returned along with anger. Damn it, why did he have to go there? “Mexican, you mean.” “Yes, Mexican. You don’t have an accent.” “What does that have to do with anything?” she challenged. Some of her awareness of him faded although she wasn’t sure how long that would last. Maybe he worked in the orchard as her father and uncles had, but he was a Gringo, a man accustomed to ordering migrant laborers around and taking advantage of them, a man with the power to threaten the peons under him with deportation if they dared stand up to him. She’d dealt with men like that before, and hated and despised them.

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“I’m not an illegal,” she told him. “If you’re a foreman or something, you can tell me to leave, but I have as many rights as you do. This country is mine, too.” He nodded but didn’t immediately reply. Something had sprung up between them, a wall or maybe a chasm. At the same time, she continued to feel unbelievably alive. She used to feel something like this as a child when she saw a scary movie or had a nightmare—as if her world had come into sharper focus and narrowed down to the basic issue of survival. The sense of being alive held her in its grip, not that she wanted to fight it. The morning air still held a hint of night’s chill; at the same time, she was being challenged by a heat for which she’d been searching for a long time without knowing it. She was, she acknowledged, a woman, female. “I don’t want to play the race card,” he said. “And I know you don’t either. So tell me, why are you here?” His voice had taken on a hypnotic quality. Maybe she should concern herself with trying to break free of its power, but she wanted and needed to become part of that power. “It’s a beautiful place,” she told him when it was he who was a beautiful male. Her toes were curling inside her shoes. She’d give a great deal to feel his hands on her. Hell, she’d give even more to feel his cock buried to the hilt inside her. “That’s the only reason you came? Because you think it’s beautiful?” “You don’t?” Her unrestrained breasts were getting heavier. There was no way he couldn’t see her suddenly hard nipples under the soft cotton. “Sometimes, but not enough,” he said. His gaze flickered to her face then returned to her breasts. “Usually I don’t take the time to appreciate it. This morning I do.” His fingers were curling inward; before much longer, they’d become fists, but what was she protecting herself against? “I saw a doe and her fawn,” she told him because it was the only thing she could think of. “And the way the sun looks when it filters down through the trees—I wish I’d brought my camera.” “You’re a photographer?” “A nurse,” she blurted. “A nurse who comes to an out-of-the-way orchard early in the morning so she can look for deer and—and what else?” I’m not sure, maybe my past. Maybe you. “What else?” he repeated and stepped closer.

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Chapter Two Calina’s legs trembled, but when she ordered them to put more distance between her and the stranger, they refused to obey. Now he was so close she could feel the heat radiating from his body. Her nipples puckered even more, and the fire in her belly kicked up a notch and a half. Noting his growing erection, she quickly looked away. The wind chased through the trees and made the leaves sound as if they were singing. She again smelled wet earth and grass. Then maybe the wind changed direction because now she could smell him—a quiet mix of soap and spicy aftershave. He’d already showered and shaved which meant he’d gotten up while it was still dark. Maybe he’d left a sleeping lover to come here, but she didn’t care. The truth was, she didn’t care about anything except doing something incredibly reckless like extending her hand toward him. After looking at it as if he didn’t know what to do with it—either that or he saw it, and her, as a line he wasn’t sure he dared cross over—he took it and drew her closer. Her knees shook so she wasn’t sure how much longer they’d hold her, but she didn’t want to go on standing anyway. “My name is Sayer,” he said. “What’s yours?” “Calina.” “It’s a beautiful name for a beautiful young woman. You’re real, are you? Not a figment of my imagination?” “I’m real. Are you?” “I’ve never felt more alive.” “It’s. . .” She wanted to study her surroundings, to do whatever it took to regain her grip on the real world, but she couldn’t pull her attention off him. “Neither have I,” she admitted. Don’t! her mother’s voice warned. Don’t; I beg you. Not with one of them. “You mean it?” he whispered. Mother, what. . . “Yes.” Yes! “I want to have sex with you, Calina.” Her head roared; it felt as if it might explode. Run! Get the hell out of here! Heed your mother’s warning. “I want to have sex with you.” “Do you? Calina, I’m not going to ask again because in a minute I’ll be beyond giving you an out,” he said. After kissing her hand, he guided it down toward his crotch. His eyes burned and probed. Instead of holding back, she boldly finished the journey. His jeans-trapped penis felt huge and warm. It waited for her. “If you have any doubts, you’d better leave,” he whispered. Mother, I know what you always said about not having anything to do with a Gringo in a position of authority, but my world is different from the one you lived in. And—and I’ve never felt anything like this. Mother? Where did you go?

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She waited for some hint that her mother’s spirit remained, but it didn’t come. “I won’t leave,” she told Sayer. “Do—do you understand what’s happening?” “No.” How could he? This thing flaming between us has gotten in the way of everything else. She was still taking inventory of his freely-offered sex organ and her reaction to the gift when, not asking permission, he untied her blouse and slowly pushed the fabric away from her breasts. She felt, not naked, but freed. Primal. He touched a nipple with callused fingers. “So soft,” he muttered. “Like silk. Dark.” “Everything about me is darker than you,” she managed. “I don’t give a damn.” She didn’t either, she admitted as she unfastened his jeans with unsteady fingers. Hurry! the wild creature she’d become demanded. Her temples pulsed, making thought nearly impossible. She wanted to study his body and make it real—to have a memory to wrap around herself on a sexless night—but her vision had blurred. It was getting harder to breathe, and strength seeped from her legs. Still not believing she was about to fuck a stranger, a Gringo, she eased the jeans off his hips and freed his penis. If he expected her to be shy or hesitant, he wasn’t going to get that; she was already too far gone for anything except needing to mate. Impale me! Let me swallow you! He drew her blouse off her shoulders, and she let her arms hang by her side so he could slip the garment off the rest of the way. He dropped it to the ground and lightly massaged her naked shoulders. She should look up at him; maybe that way this would become real. But it was easier to turn her attention and fingers to his cock. Like his chest hair, the hairs at the base were tinted with red, soft-as-silk, and wavy. Feeling anything but composed, she played there for awhile, taking some of the strands between her fore and middle fingers and sliding them up and down, creating faint friction. But intriguing as stimulating him was, when he turned his attention from her so-sensitive shoulders to the top of her breasts, she responded by pushing his jeans and shorts down farther and cupping his scrotum. His engorged cock was aimed at her belly; she leaned toward him until his tip kissed her there. This wild and primitive creature was her? Yes! Beyond all reality and civilization, yes! Cheeks and breasts on fire, she leaned in, increasing their contact. Unfortunately, her underpants got in the way. She whimpered in frustration. Ignoring that need but feeding another, he slid his hands to the undersides of her breasts and pushed up. Eager to gift him with herself, she arched her back and increased his access to her breasts. He pressed his fingertips into her flesh, and she did the same to him, teasing gently. When he switched to a stroking motion, she kept pace, brushing his scrotum with fingers ignited by electricity. He stood in the lowest point of a rut while she was on the center mound which made them nearly the same height. She needed to look him in the eye, but it was easier to keep her vision blurred—safer, more like it. Besides, she had enough to concentrate on keeping tabs on what was happening to her more than a little sensitive pussy. It felt as if she was sagging up in there, sagging and swelling at the same time. Caught up in the fantasy of feeling him nestled inside her vagina, she cupped her fingers over his cock. By standing on her toes, she managed to place it between her legs so he was cradled by her upper

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thighs, but her damnable shorts still blunted her pleasure. She tried squeezing him in there, but although she loved the way it felt, it wasn’t enough. “Wait,” she hissed and fumbled at her shorts. She stepped out of them and reached for her bikini panties, but he stopped her, crouched and removed them himself. She lifted one leg and then the other so he could take off her shoes. While he was thus occupied, she ran her hands through his coarse, thick hair, then used her hold to pull him back up. As he slowly straightened, he trailed his fingers over her calves, knees, thighs, between her legs. She panted. He settled his hands around her hips as if they belonged to him and thrust his cock at her. Desperate to swallow him, she tilted her pelvis at him and widened her stance so that— finally—his cock was nestled between her thighs. It felt huge and foreign and right. Moving up and down a little increased the friction. Her crotch ached and burned, ruled her. In a disjointed way, she acknowledged they hadn’t kissed, but the truth was, she didn’t want to. A fuck—a body-to-body fuck like animals in heat was one thing while foreplay like kissing—that was for lovers. They were a lifetime from a romantic relationship; she didn’t even know his full name or what he was doing here. As a bird cried out, he yanked off his shirt and wrapped his arms around her back, bringing her breasts in contact with his chest. They were a little off-center, her nipples pressing against the underside of his breasts. Now it was his turn to move up and down, creating a wonderful friction she felt all the way to her crotch. It hummed and then vibrated. They continued to rub and experiment and explore a little longer, moving in a disjointed way she found incredibly erotic. He could have easily drawn free from the shelter her inner thighs provided, but as long as he didn’t, she’d concentrate on the smooth, slick slide of cock against labia. Perhaps she’d stimulated him enough that his pre-come had leaked out, but most of the wetness, she had no doubt, came from her. It took an unbelievable amount of concentration, but she managed to widen her stance so her sex juices were no longer trapped inside her and could flow freely. Now his cock glided effortlessly over her labia. The breeze whispered over her bare back. She shivered and pulled in a lungful of air that tasted of growing things and sunlight. With her hands over his ass cheeks for balance, once again she arched her back. He was too close for his features to appear as anything except a blur, and yet she noted his strong bone structure, the way his intense gaze drew her into him. This wasn’t her! She’d never jumped a stranger’s bones. Yes, she’d fantasized about a mindless encounter, but that was a way to guide masturbation into a climax, not something on a real world wish list. Maybe it was the setting, not being able to think of anything except “yes” in response to his statement that he wanted to have sex. Maybe—hell, it didn’t matter. Only feeling him on and in and around her nerve endings did. They sank to their knees at the same time. She landed on a twig, grimaced, and scrambled around looking for a comfortable perch. By the time she’d done that, he was spreading out their clothes. When he’d created a hodge-podge of a blanket out of denim and cotton, she stared at it. They were going to have sex here, just like that, two intelligent human beings turned into animals. Of course they were; there was no stopping in her. “We need protection,” he said. “I’m on the pill.” “Not just that kind.”

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“I’m a nurse,” she reminded him. “If you think I’m a dirty Mexican—” “No! No, I don’t.” He tempered his voice. “The question is, do you trust me? I’ve always been careful, but I didn’t bring a rubber today because—hell, because I had no idea this was going to happen.” They were far enough apart now so she could see his eyes clearly. Only a fool would trust the look in a stranger’s dark eyes, but today she was a fool. “I trust you,” she whispered. He nodded and continued to stare at her, pulling secrets out of her while holding onto his own. She’d dated a handful of whites just as she’d had a few Mexican lovers. With those of her own nationality, her education level had been a factor; most Mexican men didn’t know what to do with a woman who had more schooling and earned a higher salary. As for the whites, she’d always felt the gulf between her background and theirs, her mother’s warning about Mexicans and Gringos living in different worlds, the chasms that could never be breached—should never be attempted. Gulfs and warnings and chasms be damned this morning. She knew nothing about this man except that she needed to fuck him, needed his flesh against hers, buried so deep in her she could taste him, an end to a hunger she’d never felt before. When he sat on the clothing and stretched out his legs, she repositioned herself so she now stood over him, her legs straddling his, looking down into his compelling chocolate eyes, feeling herself sliding into him, losing her separate self and becoming part of him. She didn’t dare ask how long that might last. Her throat dried. Need built. Feeling both free and trapped by a power beyond comprehension, she guided her hands between her legs and let her fingers dance at her pussy’s entrance. Mouth slightly parted, he watched. She felt nothing that could remotely be called modesty, because today, around him, there was no holding back anything. When her clitoris became so sensitive she couldn’t stand it, she worked her middle finger inside her. Her sex juices flowed. The raging need to be fucked gnawed at her sanity. “Tell me what you’re doing. I want to hear all about it.” He spoke with his hand on himself, his voice tight. “Readying myself.” “I’ll do that.” “No.” She stopped moving her finger so she could concentrate on him, and the moment she did, her vaginal muscles tightened, demanding satisfaction. “What’s going to happen between us is sex,” she told him although it was far beyond that. “As for foreplay—I don’t know you. I need to do it myself.” She thought he might make fun of her. Instead, he nodded and started pumping his cock. She resumed brushing her fingertip over the front of her pussy, teasing her clit but not touching it because the damn thing was so sensitive it sometimes pulled her into a climax without warning. Hoping to distract it a bit, she massaged a breast. Her cheeks were on fire; something pressed on her chest. She was only barely aware of the setting, birds calling and singing. She gazed at the trees and felt their timeless peace. Then she met Sayer’s hot gaze and acknowledged its impact on everything that made her a woman. Her legs ceased to exist; except for her flaming cheeks, she felt headless. She wasn’t thinking, just being. Her breasts ached. Sensation ground into her belly. Most of what she felt

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was centered on her pussy. She continued to stroke a breast. Her finger became a tireless worker, sometimes barely touching the so-sensitive fleshy walls of her pussy, sometimes pushing her up yet another notch with a quick, hard shove. Her ravenous vagina demanded to be filled. Without little thought to what she was about to do, she sank to her knees, her ass cheeks resting on his thighs. His cock ground against her belly; her legs cradled him. “Up,” Sayer ordered. When she straightened a little, he guided his cock between her legs, then leaned back, supporting himself with his arms. She hung over him until she’d become accustomed to the sensation of having his sex organ at the entrance to her own. Then, anticipating swallowing him, she took hold of him and directed him toward his destination. Although she ached to complete the union, she held back, hovered at the edge of selfcontrol. She could jump to her feet and run away! In a few days, or at least in a few years, she’d forget how close she’d come to insanely screwing a stranger, becoming a whore. Too late! With this man—only this man—she’d become a whore, a nympho. She’d never had sex sitting on a partner with her hands free to roam over his throat, neck, chest, and shoulders. It gave her a heady sense of power she felt everywhere but most of all between her legs. His ability to move was limited so she took control by squeezing his cock with her vaginal muscles. In her mind, she milked his sex organ. At the same time, she worked her thigh muscles so she alternated back and forth, straightening and relaxing, always bringing him with her. He was staring at her bouncing breasts so she cupped one and held it out, teasing him with it. At the same time, she pinched his nipple between thumb and forefinger and drew on it. He tried to stop her but lost his balance and fell onto his back. He started to sit up but wound up with his hands flattened over her thighs. Now whenever she lifted her body, he acknowledged her effort by pressing his fingertips against her muscles, a contact that traveled all the way to her labia. The corners of his mouth curved a little. She couldn’t call it a smile, and yet it softened his features and gave him a humanity she hadn’t seen before. You don’t know him; don’t try to tell yourself you do. I don’t care! At this moment, I don’t care. You will. “This feels good,” he whispered. “Damn good. You want to ride me for the rest of the day?” “Think you can take it?” she countered, grateful because his comment had silenced the voices. “I give as good as I get,” he replied and finger-walked a hand from her leg to what of her cunt wasn’t engaged in housing his cock. He found enough room between his pelvis and her ass to lay claim to her labia and began stroking it. Her lids dropped; her mouth sagged. She swallowed and sighed. He captured her clit, and she stopped in mid-thrust, perched over him, waiting. “There it is,” he whispered. “Ground zero.” “Careful,” she warned. “I’m, ah, pretty sensitive.” “In what way?” “I come—easily.”

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“Do you?” Was that a chuckle? She wanted to milk him some more, but that meant lowering her body until she crushed his fingers. He might retaliate by attacking her, a thought that made her shudder. What was this, a stalemate? Please don’t let it be a power struggle! “What is it?” he asked. “No-thing.” “I don’t think so. What I believe is I’ve stumbled across some vital information about you. Let me work on my theory.” No! she wanted to scream. Instead, she continued to clamp her muscles over his wonderfully hard organ as he slowly increased his control over her. She threw back her head, fighting his control and relishing it at the same time. “Getting close, are you?” He gently rolled her throbbing nub of flesh back and forth. “St-op.” He rolled some more. “You don’t want?” “No,” she whispered. “Yes, did you say? Yes?” Before she could wrap her mind around what he was doing, she felt a momentary freedom followed by a light snapping sensation. He’d flicked her clit. She threw her head back again, and sank lower onto him, briefly trapping his hand before he withdrew it. A hot wave glided up her entire body and took her with it. She gasped. His hands closed over her hips again, and he started to lift her off him. She squeezed his cock. “You—fight dirty,” he ground out. “So do you.” “You think so, do you? I’ll show you dirty.” Giving weight to his words, he reared up and pushed her away so she landed on her back on his legs. The movement caused him to slip out of her. She was still trying to get used to the feel of his legs pressing into her back when he spread them, and she wound up none-too-gracefully on the clothes, her head lower than her ass and legs. He was sitting up. Before she could determine what he had in mind, he grabbed her calves and lifted her legs in the air, resting the back of her ankles on his shoulders. She looked up at him, nearly laughing at the sight of him staring at her from between her legs. Then he scooted forward until his cock pressed against her inner lips. “Now who’s on top?” he asked. “You. On top but not in.” “A condition I’m about to remedy.” She could have pinched her ass cheeks together and kept him from spearing her again. Instead, feeling both out-of-control and on the brink of laugher, she lifted her hips, giving him full access. Because his cock and her pussy were slick, he slid in effortlessly, expertly. She stared up at the trees as he began pumping.

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He leaned over her, maintaining a firm grip on her shins which kept his cock from slipping out as his thrusts became more and more vigorous. With every push, she felt in danger of being pushed off the clothing blanket, but as long as he stayed with her, she didn’t care where they wound up. In this position, most of the work was up to him. Still she leaned to the side a little so she could run her nails over his taut thigh. She timed her feather-scratches to his thrusts. She was open, spread, his playground. He leaned forward even more which placed his cock against the front of her passage. His pace picked up, a man coming down the home stretch. Gathering her own strength, she arched upward. He pounded into her, his organ scraping along her vagina with most of the sensation centered near her clit. No, not just near! Touching. Kissing. Freeing. Her climax rolled over her. It stole her muscles and knocked her back against the ground. She was barely aware of his seed flooding her, barely heard him cry out. She cared not at all that instead of lowering her legs to the ground, he kept them on his shoulders and was no longer gripping them but stroking. Stroking. A lover’s hands. Not just sex.

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Chapter Three Sayer led the way out of the orchard, but although he couldn’t see Calina, she was the only thing on his mind. Having sex with her the way they had, absolutely blew his mind! True, he was a normal, red-blooded male, but never before had he looked into the eyes of a stranger and told that stranger he wanted to fuck her. He might think it—hell, he had thought it more than once—but to forget about the very real probability that he’d scare the woman half to death and come right out and say he wanted to screw. . . That was only part of why he kept stumbling on the uneven ground he knew as well as he did his own bedroom. Any woman with enough brains to tie her shoes would have either cut and run or kneed him where it’d get his attention. Instead, the slender young Mexican woman had given as good as she’d gotten. And if she’d told him the truth about being a nurse, she had a brain. So why had two civilized human beings gone after each other like dogs in heat—no conservative positions for them by God, but experimental, vulnerable, the kind of sex that called for trust. And what was going to happen next? Next? No, damn it! He sure as hell hadn’t been raised like that. What he should do was apologize and get her out of his life. As they came within sight of the county road, she tapped him on the shoulder. He turned but try as he might, he couldn’t keep his eyes off her casually-tied blouse. Neither could he forget how wonderful and safe and nurtured her breasts felt in his hands. Had she hypnotized him, taken away his sense and reason and turned him into—what—stud studly? “Ah, I need to make this clear. This won’t happen again,” she told him. “I’m only in Oregon for a few days.” “I understand.” Did he? “Look, ah, if—you’re sure about birth control?” She glared, and he readied himself for a slap. “I don’t sleep around, but neither am I willing to take chances.” Her eyes glittered. “The thing is, can I believe what you said about being clean?” “What are we discussing here? Whether I gave you certified organically raised fruit?” he snapped. “I’m not going to apologize,” she warned. “I’m a nurse. I understand the dangers.” Although he’d be a fool to take his attention off her clenched fists, damn it, he wanted to ask if she was interested in a repeat performance. With her dark eyes, exotic color, and healthy body, she all but exuded sexuality—that’s how it felt when he’d always, always honored the line between himself and Mexican women his parents had drawn long before he’d been old enough to question it. “I don’t lie,” he told her. “I may have a lot of faults, but lying isn’t one of them.” That seemed to satisfy her because she turned her attention to her car. “Where’s your vehicle?” she asked.

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He pointed. “Near a shed where we store the machinery.” “We?” She placed a hand over her throat as if protecting it from attack—from him? “You’re the foreman then? What is it? Mr. Wo—the owner doesn’t think a Mexican’s smart enough to do anything except the manual labor? He had to hire a white man to oversee them?” “The owner hires whoever he believes is most competent.” “Right. Look, I grew up around these orchards. My father worked in them for years.” Her stare intensified and became a challenge. “I remember him coming home sunburned and drenched in sweat, his hands bleeding and mud caked to his shoes and clothing. There was no health insurance, no job security. If he wasn’t out there at dawn every day, he didn’t get paid. His family didn’t eat. In other words, he had a job, not because he was competent, but because he needed work.” Did your father work here? On the verge of asking, he held back. He’d never see her again; there was no need to dig into the past. “You’re visiting?” he asked because he wasn’t interested in touching her comment. “Staying with relatives?” “At my mother’s house,” she said softly. “Settling her estate.” Just like that he wanted to fold her in his arms and hold her, simply hold her. “What about your father?” “Dead. Years ago.” She blinked rapidly. “I came almost every weekend while my mother was sick,” she all but whispered. “I wanted her to move down with me so I could manage her care, but she wouldn’t leave. I don’t blame her; her world was here.” He nodded. Then, although he wasn’t sure he wanted to, he told her his father lived in a facility for Alzheimer’s patients. “I guess we both know what it’s like to parent our parents,” he said. “Maybe that’s why we just did what we did—stress reduction via sex.” “Maybe.” She sounded as confused as he felt. “I have to go.” “So do I.” Then, not taking time to analyze it, he grasped her shoulders and drew her toward him. She could have resisted. If she had, he would have let go. Instead, she tilted her head so their lips came together fully, naturally. She wrapped her arms around his waist. Quickly, easily, as if they’d been doing so for years, they pressed their bodies together. She felt small and strong and warm along his length. His penis remembered how incredible it felt to house itself inside her and began demanding a repeat visit, but he resented the purely physical response. Yes, he could think of worse things to do than spending the day rolling around on the ground with her, but he’d never see her again; he wanted to end with—with what, intimacy? The word scared him. He fought it by concentrating on her warmth, the small but firm breasts pressing against him, the flair of her hips now under his control. With their mouths still sealed together, he pressed on her butt and forced her pelvis against his cock. She gave as good as she got, arching her back so he could fold himself over her. She was slightly off-balance but compensated by increasing her hold on his shoulders. One of them—he wasn’t sure which—opened their mouth and then the other did. Their tongues touched. He applied even more pressure to her ass cheeks. She widened her stance so if it wasn’t for their damnable clothes, he would have again slipped between her legs.

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If that happened, he’d lift her off her feet; she’d wrap her legs around his waist; he’d slide in fully; she’d ride him and ride him and ride him until they both went off again. Holy shit! They’d nearly had simultaneous climaxes back in the orchard! Could it happen again? Feeling out-of-control and as randy as a two-year-old stallion, he somehow found the selfrestraint to clamp his hands around her waist and pulled her off him. She stood looking up at him with her fingers now pressing into his biceps, branding him. “It’s dangerous between us,” she said breathlessly. “We set each other off.” “Yes, we do.” “Then—then it’s a good thing this isn’t going to happen again.” “Yes, it is.” Liar! “I don’t—I’ve never—oh, what the hell does it matter?” she demanded. Neither took a backward step. “It doesn’t,” he agreed although maybe he was talking to himself. His hands wound up on her bare middle. They wanted to stay there, to taste and test and record. At the same time, he needed to remember what the pulse at the base of her throat felt like so he ran a hand up over her breasts, lingering only a moment before touching the top of her collarbone. It took a few seconds, but he found the thin vein. Her pulse was strong but not what he’d call steady. “What are you doing?” she asked. I don’t know. “Your skin is so soft, like velvet.” “Oh.” She glided her finger over his throat. They stood chest to breasts, his once again swollen cock just touching her denim shorts. He blinked, but his vision remained blurred; he couldn’t be sure, but her eyes seemed to be at half mast. They’d explore each other with nothing more than their fingertips, the contact going no deeper than that. Then thoughts of how badly he wanted to fuck her again turned exploration into a battle of will with his baser self. At the same time, he was strangely content to simply feel her silken flesh and the blood flowing beneath his reach. She wasn’t just a female, a woman, a body; she’d become magic and mystery. He half believed he’d been waiting for this moment all his adult life. “I need. . .I should. . .” She fell silent. Don’t say you have to leave. I’m not ready for that. “What’s happening?” she whispered. Although he’d answered many hard questions in his thirty-three years, he didn’t have one for her. She ran her fingers up his throat, over his chin, reached his lips. He parted them, and she entered his own moist cave. After a moment, she ventured deeper. One finger became two, and he closed his lips around her just as her pussy had swallowed him. Her fingers moved inside him. He didn’t know it would be so disconcerting to look her in the eye. Now he was, he easily read her conflicted emotions, emotions he fully understood. On a purely sexual level, this was as good as it got, every man’s fantasy. But in his fantasies, the women essentially didn’t exist above the neck. If he’d looked into the dream-women’s eyes, he hadn’t seen more than their color and sex-born sheen.

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It was different now because he’d become aware, not just that this very real lady was turned on, but she was also intelligent, wary, confused, overwhelmed—like him. What places did her brain take her to? What had made her wary of him beyond the fact that they were strangers? Given some of the things she’d said, he had no doubt it had to do with her being Mexican and him white, but he’d be damned if he’d go there again. Instead, he’d suck on her long fingers and wish to hell they were naked again—more than naked, fucking, eating each other. “You’re staring at me,” she said. He nodded. “I don’t want that. You scare me.” “This shouldn’t have happened. I can’t—I don’t. . .” Bracketing her face in his hands, he kissed her again. His eyes closed, and he went inside himself where he found something small and warm. She’d become like magic, a sprite or fairy who might flit away at any moment. No way about it, he’d give anything to spear her again. At the same time, he wanted to stroke and caress and thank her for reminding him there was more to life than physical work and running a business, losing his father by inches. When he believed she’d go on kissing him without his having to keep her there, he ran his hands down her back. Reaching the swell of her butt, he let his fingers fan out. When he’d fully cupped her ass, he drew her closer, closer until his erect cock was housed between their bodies. Determined to grab as many memories as possible, he moved his hips first to one side and then the other, rubbing against her like a horny teenager. Their kiss went on and on. We can do it again. You can’t have had enough of me; you can’t! He broke mouth contact so he could ask the question, but before he could get a word out, she tensed. “Someone’s coming,” she whispered and slipped out of his grasp. Under her top’s loose fabric, he saw her erect nipples; she seemed to be having trouble catching her breath. Her head was cocked to one side, and she looked for all the world like a doe on the alert for danger. Now he heard it too. More than that, he knew who was driving the rattling vehicle.

***** A primer-colored pickup came into sight on the country road and pulled in next to Calina’s car. “Who is that?” she asked as a stocky, middle-aged Mexican stepped out and waved. “My foreman.” Calina heard the words, but it still took a few seconds for them to sink in. She stood with her arms tightly wrapped around her middle as Sayer and his foreman greeted each other. They spoke in an effortless mix of English and Spanish as they discussed the day’s work. The Mexican nodded at her, then stared and frowned. She nodded back but couldn’t bring herself to speak. Try as she might, she couldn’t keep her eyes off Sayer’s body—the one she’d fucked such a short time ago. She felt sick. “He’s a good man,” Sayer said when the man he called Hugo got back in his pickup. “I’d trust him with my life; in fact I have more than once.” 20

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Sayer held out his hand, and his eyes held an intense, intimate look. Fighting the bold message took an incredible amount of strength, but she forced herself to turn away. Her own vehicle looked a mile off, but it was also her sanctuary. “What is it?” Sayer demanded. “This is your orchard?” Her throat hurt. “Now it is. My father used to be the owner.” “Your father! Your father! God damn you!” She’d taken maybe two backward steps before he grabbed her and pinned her arms to her side. She clenched her fists to keep from trying to bury her nails in his flesh. “What the hell are you talking about?” His face was only inches from hers. “Your father murdered mine!” she all but screamed and tore free.

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Chapter Four Three days later Calina sat cross-legged on her mother’s bed going through financial records. Her mother might have died last month, but this was still her home and these were her personal possessions which made Calina feel both guilty and sad. Discarding utility envelopes and ten-year-old bank statements wasn’t difficult, but interspersed with the black and white elements of life were constant reminders of the wonderful woman who’d given her life and raised her and her younger sister after their father’s death. She’d left for college at nineteen and except for holidays and vacations hadn’t stepped inside this house since then. She’d known her absence would be hard on her mother, but Rita had still had Benita to raise. At the time, Benita had been ten going on eighteen, a handful who had kept Rita more than busy. In addition, her mother lived in a neighborhood filled with relatives and friends who functioned much like the small Mexican village Rita had grown up in. Being given a scholarship to attend a California university had seemed like a dream come true for Calina, a chance to get away from the close-knit, rural, but particularly conservative environment that had felt so confining to her back then. She’d dismissed her concerns about her mother’s empty nest by reassuring herself that between Benita and all the people she loved and could rely on, Rita would soon adjust to having her oldest child move away. Now, surrounded by the letters she’d written home over the years and her mother had preserved, Calina felt awash in regret. “I’m sorry, Mom,” she whispered, wiping away a tear. “I wish I’d been more sensitive to how much you’d miss me.” At least her mother hadn’t lived long enough to have to weather having her baby move away, Calina reminded herself. Benita would graduate from high school in a few months, but she planned on going to the local junior college and living at home for at least one year. That’s what she should be thinking about, Calina reminded herself as she stared at a yellowed newspaper clipping that showed a group of Mexican men—her father among them— planting new pear trees. Benita understandably didn’t want to stay here alone. Instead, she’d been pressuring Calina to let her move into an apartment with some friends instead of going to live with an aunt. “Not too likely, sis,” she muttered. “I know the way the boys look at you, and the way you look back. Hell, you’re doing more than looking if those birth control pills in the bathroom are any indication.” At the thought of birth control pills, she put down the old clipping and ran her hand over the cotton coverlet. Her mother had slept here alone all those years after Papa died. A striking woman, Rita hadn’t lacked for suitors, but she’d never allowed any of them to move in. Neither, as far as Calina knew, had she considered remarrying. Had her mother ceased to exist sexually once her husband died? That seemed impossible given. . .

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With an angry shake of her head, Calina finished her thought. Rita Rambo’s daughters loved sex. It made sense that they’d gotten their healthy libidos from their parents. Of course it did. After all, her father had been an invalid from the day he’d fallen off a picking ladder until he’d died a year later and yet Benita had been conceived in that time. All this thought of sex was getting to her—that and the damnable memory of the way Sayer Wood and she had gone after each other as if they’d been in heat. It was disgusting! More than that, it now felt as if she’d been fucking on her father’s grave, dancing with the devil. It wasn’t bad enough that she’d spread her legs for a wealthy Gringo; she’d done so with a member of the Wood family. Hands clenched, she slid off the bed and looked around for something, anything to distract her. Unfortunately, her gaze again settled on the ancient clipping that showed her father working in the Wood orchard. Were the memories everywhere? Yes, she acknowledged as a too-familiar warmth settled in her cunt. She’d had what seemed like endless erotic dreams about Sayer since the stupid and inexplicable encounter. If she’d been back home, she could have called Jairo and let him know she needed servicing. Instead, she’d been reduced to charging up her dildo and fighting self-disgust as she worked at getting some release. No, you couldn’t call Jairo! Just any cock won’t do, and you know it. Ever since you sucked Sayer Wood into you, no other man matters. It’s not going to happen again, all right! Get over it, now! “Easier said than done,” she muttered. How had her mother handled her lonely bed, she wondered as she grabbed yet another folder. Had Rita had a vibrator? If so, she hadn’t found it yet because if she had, she’d have already tried it out. Is that disgusting or what, using your mother’s substitute cock? The folder slipped from her hands, and she ran a hand between her legs and began massaging herself with her forefinger. She was again in cutoff jeans which made playing with herself more than a little awkward. Benita wasn’t due home from school for several hours. She’d have time to— The doorbell rang; she yanked her hand away and clenched it, feeling guilty. Hoping to hell she had no telltale flush to her cheeks, she padded barefoot through the small three-bedroom, one-bath house and opened the door. Sayer Wood stood there. No, not just stood, she amended as she debated whether to slam the door in his face. Unlike his casual jeans and faded shirt of the other morning, he had on dress slacks and a crisp lightblue button-down shirt. His hair had been carefully combed, and he had on sunglasses which at least saved her from looking into his eyes. However, her own weren’t protected. “You?” He shook his head as if he didn’t believe what he was seeing. “What are you doing here?” “This is my house, my mother’s,” she managed. “What are you doing here?” He yanked off his sunglasses and rubbed his hand over his eyes. He looked down at the folded paper he held, then stared at her again. “Can I come in?” “I don’t want—” “Neither do I, but we need to talk this out.” 23

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“You’re not going to get a repeat performance.” “Did I ask for one, damn it! Are you going to let me in?” No, she said in her mind. However, she opened the door farther. If she hadn’t stopped with a single backward step, she wouldn’t be so aware of his warmth and strength—at least, maybe she wouldn’t. The front door led into the living room. He stood taking in the well-worn furniture which included a sagging couch covered by a colorful Mexican blanket and a battered pear-wood coffee table one of her uncles had made. One wall had been paneled, and there were several inexpensive religious works on it. The other walls were covered with family pictures. “This is your mother’s house?” Sayer asked. “It was until she died. Now it belongs to me and my sister .” She should sit but not on the couch because he might decide to join her. He held up the paper, then let his hand drop to his side. “Do you live—” “No,” she interrupted. “Didn’t I tell you, I live in northern California.” “How long has your family been here?” “I don’t have to answer anything.” With that, she stalked over to her mother’s recliner and perched in it. He was still standing where she’d left him. His eyes had narrowed, and she thought he might break his sunglasses because he was gripping them so tightly. “Yes,” he said slowly. “You do.” Get out of here. I can’t think straight when we’re breathing the same air. He strode across the room and took the chair that had once been her father’s favorite. She wanted to order him to get the hell out of it. After putting both his sunglasses and the paper on the nearby coffee table, he stretched out his legs and began massaging his thighs. They looked too muscular under the thin slacks, as if there wasn’t enough strength in the fabric to contain them. The garment didn’t do enough to hide the reality of his cock. At least it hung limp. Great! You had to notice that. “How long did your mother live here?” he asked. “I’m not being interrogated,” she snapped when what she really wanted was to have a normal, unemotional conversation with him. But as long as his voice turned her on, that was impossible. “Look, if this is your sick way of trying to get me to have sex with you again—” “It isn’t, unless you want it.” I want. Damn it, I want. And if you don’t stop rubbing your legs, I’m not going to be sitting in this chair much longer. She must not have said anything because he cleared his throat and cocked his head as if he expected something from her. “What I’d like to know,” he said, “is how long this was your mother’s home.” A warning bell went off, but although she was wise in the ways of keeping herself out of dangerous situations—usually—she didn’t hold back. “Since my father died when I was nine,” she told him. “My—several of my uncles got the money together to buy it so she’d have a roof over her head.” “No, they didn’t.”

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Was it getting hotter? There was a painful pressure on her chest, and she knew as she’d seldom known anything in her life that she didn’t want to hear what he’d say next. At least he was no longer rubbing his legs, and if she put her mind to it, surely she’d stop noticing the fine auburn hairs on his forearms or his strong, broad wrists. “What are you saying?” she asked. He picked up the paper and unfolded it. “My father is still alive, but he’s unable to handle his affairs, and my mother never did, so I’ve been doing it for them. I came across this yesterday. It’s a deed showing that my father gave—gave—this house to a Rita Rambo.” Calina barely knew what she was doing as she got up and took the paper from him. She sat back down and began rubbing her own thighs. “The date,” she whispered. “That’s a few weeks before my father died. He—I didn’t know it then of course because I was too young, but his kidneys were failing as a result of his accident. I remember—his coloring was awful—one night he asked me to come into his room.” She felt strong, warm hands on her shoulders. Looking up, she belatedly realized Sayer had gotten up and now stood behind her. Despite herself, she leaned into his touch. “You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to,” he said. “If it’s too painful—” “It is, but I have to say it.” Before he’d touched her, she’d felt as if she was drowning in painful memories, but now they were a little easier to face. “That night when it was just the two of us, he told me he was dying. The doctors wanted him to go to the hospital, but he didn’t see any point in putting off the inevitable.” “Your father told you that?” This man she thought she hated, who she’d told herself she had every right to loathe, was trailing his fingers over her collarbone and rubbing his thumbs against the sides of her neck, and it felt wonderful. “Yes,” she whispered. “My mother was pregnant with my little sister, and Papa didn’t want to leave them, but he also didn’t want to drag out his dying. He—he told me if he lived long enough to hold his baby, it would be enough. He asked me to not mourn him too much because sometimes things happen we have no control over. We have to face reality. At least he got that one wish, barely. He died when my sister was two weeks old.” “My God.” Sayer pressed down hard enough that she winced and tried to shake him off. “I’m sorry,” he said as he gently massaged the spot. “I didn’t mean. . .” “It’s all right.” “No, it isn’t.” He was quiet for a moment. “After you told me what you did the other day, I got to thinking about my own father, at least what’s left of him. The way he is, he and I will never have the kind of conversation you did with your father. And my mother would have made the perfect southern belle. She doesn’t live in the real world.” Calina was on her feet and around the chair before she realized what she’d done. Going with her emotions, she took his hands and sandwiched his under hers. “I’m sorry. When my mother got sick, I was here as much as I could. We talked a lot, not the way my father did that one precious night, but about life.” “Life,” he whispered.

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He was close, too close. And it was all too easy to stand on tiptoe and wrap her arms around his neck and kiss him. Today he smelled like cologne, and there was no hint of whiskers. He tasted hot and male as he had the other day, and her response was no less intense. Shit, shit! Here we go again! It wasn’t just the orchard; it’s him. The warning wasn’t enough to stop her, in part because he’d already become an active participant in this dangerous and out-of-control action. Today she’d put on a sleeveless tank top and as before hadn’t bothered with a bra because she didn’t expect to be out in public. Still kissing her, he ran his hand along her waist until he reached the top’s hem and slid his fingers under the fabric. The instant she felt them on her flesh, she shivered and kept on shivering as he made his way up her back. Her own hands found his shirt buttons, but she had a hell of a time trying to unbutton them. Keeping her mouth on his, her weight up on her toes, and her body away from his so he could do what he wanted with her top took all her concentration—at least the part not tuned into what was happening between her legs. You’re one randy lady, a small segment of her splintering brain announced. No I’m not. I’ve never, ever lost control. Until now. The argument distracted her from what was taking place so she shut off her brain. Now that she was back to simply experiencing, she realized Sayer was trying to get her off him so he could pull her top over her head. “Too fast,” she managed. “I’m not ready—” “I am,” he told her. When she lifted her arms, he drew off the top and dropped it onto the recliner. She stood with her arms still reaching for the ceiling, her breasts right there for him to do what he wanted with them, flushed and cold all at the same time. She sucked in a breath and slowly lowered her arms. Because she didn’t know what to do with them, they hung at her sides. “You’re beautiful,” he said. “You’re just saying that to—” “I’m not playing games, Calina. I might not know what the hell’s happening between us, but games playing isn’t even on the radar scope.” He hadn’t taken his gaze off her breasts since exposing them; she looked down at herself. She’d always taken pride in their dark, rich color, especially the light brown nipples that said so much about her heritage. It felt unnerving to be half naked while he continued to look as if he’d just stepped out of a meeting. At the same time, there was something undeniably erotic about feeling like a flower child, his lover. “I’ve been dreaming about them,” he whispered and closed a hand around one breast, pressing it against her ribcage. He wrapped his other arm around her back and held her in place. The combined sense of security and being trapped confused her. Her hands went to his shoulder. “Dreaming and wanting to do this,” he said. Crouching, he closed his mouth over her free breast. His lips were damp as was his tongue which he used to moisten her nub over and over again until she couldn’t find where he let off and she began.

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She hung somewhere between reality and a mist-shrouded world as he took her nipple between his teeth. At first, all he did was cradle her nub; then, still controlling it, he drew back. Her nipple and then her whole breast came with him; she watched it happen through blurred vision. She felt a drawing along her ribcage and the strange sensation of having her nipple caught in the vice he’d created; there was no pain. “I didn’t want to see you again,” she admitted; her voice held a whimper. “I wanted you out of my life.” Releasing her breast, he gently rubbed it. “What you said right before you ran away, about our fathers; I don’t understand.” Tell him. Let him know that his father’s greed and negligence and disregard of his workers caused my father’s death. “I can’t explain, not this way.” “With us on the way to having sex, you mean.” He ran his hands under her armpits and pressed in, making her breasts look fuller and more erect. “I didn’t expect to find you here; I had no time to prepare,” he continued. “Being around you—hell, I feel as if I’m at stud—but only with you. I want this to happen.” He increased the pressure and slid his hands around her breasts, drawing them away from her and nearer him. “So do I,” she heard herself admit. “Damn it, but so do I.” “Now?” Now. The word was heavy with danger and promise. “Yes. Fast so I don’t have to think.” “Where?” “My bed,” she said and pointed. He lifted her in his arms and carried her the short distance to the long unused room with its single bed and the flowered curtains she’d made when she was a teenager. She’d wrapped her arms around his neck but let go long enough to close the door behind her. “Is anyone here?” he asked. “No. My sister will be home later.” He grunted, walked over to her bed and lowered her onto it. She lay with her head on her pillow and her arms at her side. Instead of joining her, he caught her wrists and pinned them to the mattress. Then he leaned over her and began licking the breast closest to him. A chill chased through her, and she arched toward him. She made no effort to free her arms but relished the helpless sensation. He could do whatever he wanted with her, pleasure her in every way. His tongue seemed to be everywhere at once, mostly centered around her now tautly puckered nipple. As the sensation ground into her cunt, she moaned and tried to lift her hips toward him. Chuckling, he turned his attention to her middle, lapping as low as he could until her shorts stopped him. Her moan became a groan; she couldn’t remain passive beneath him but did her best to levitate off the bed. “You’re in a hurry,” he told her. Before she could agree or argue with him, he released her wrists and quickly, smoothly unfastened her shorts. With marginal help from her, he stripped her from the waist down and tossed her shorts and panties to the floor. She reached for his slacks, but he pushed her hand away. “My turn,” he told her. “I’ve been dreaming of this since the other morning, and now I’m going to play it out. Tomorrow, maybe, I’ll figure out how you’ve gotten control of me.”

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I don’t control you; it’s the other way around. Beset by equal parts fear and anticipation, she clutched the coverlet and waited. He removed his clothing and carefully folded them and lay them on top of her dresser, made himself at home in her childhood room. His cock looked huge, taut, ready, demanding. “What are you?” she asked in an attempt to strike a light note. “A neat freak.” “Today I’m your mystery man, the dark stranger who has climbed in your window and found you sleeping in the buff.” He stepped closer. “You wake up enough to realize someone is in your home.” Another step. “But you’re still dreaming of having sex.” Another step. “And you can’t separate fantasy from reality.” I’m not even trying. Her nails bit into the fabric. “You’ve always wanted to fuck a man you know you shouldn’t.” He crawled onto the end of the bed, took her ankles and bent her knees so there’d be more room for him. “A man you both want and hate.” “I—I don’t hate you.” “Close.” After wedging her feet against his thighs, he pressed down on her inner knees until her pussy lay exposed to him. “A man who makes you uncomfortable both emotionally and sexually.” “You—aren’t you carrying this fantasy a bit far?” She needed to do something with her hands but what? “I’ve just begun, Calina. Just begun.” He was still staring at her, maybe memorizing her. Her clit twitched; she felt herself begin to leak. “You’re beautiful,” he said as he ran his fingers through her muff. She prayed he’d soon touch her clit. But did she want it? “Your hair is so dark down there.” “Genetics,” she whispered. Her voice sounded strangled; she wasn’t sure how much more she could get out. “Don’t,” he said with his nails barely fingering her labia. “Today I don’t want to talk about our different heritages.” “It—it’s part of us.” Her neck ached from trying to see him so she stared at the ceiling. “You’re a beautiful woman, Calina. And I want you. That’s all we’re going to talk about.” Why are we doing this? Why are we on this sagging single bed on our way to having sex? The sudden realization that he’d caught her labial lips between thumb and forefinger and was drawing on them stopped her questions, her ability to think even. She tried to sit up, but with her hips at this angle, she couldn’t. “What—you’re hurting.” “No, I’m not.” He relaxed his hold momentarily, then again took control. “I’d never hurt you, but I do need you to agree with something.” “What?” She reached out trying, and failing, to grab some part of him. “That what’s going to happen now will be done without race being part of it.” “And if I can’t?” “You have to.” Otherwise, maybe, he’ll walk out the door and leave me—leave me turned inside out.

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Even with everything she felt, she was aware of her mother’s presence. She heard her whisper that a decent Mexican girl understood her roots and remained true to them. She didn’t spread her legs for a Gringo, stayed with her kind, safe. Sayer slid a nail along the inner length of one lip and then the other, rubbed a knuckle over her vagina. “All right! All right.” “Good,” he said and released her sex. Before she could decide which muscles she’d have to control to accomplish anything, he slid closer, ran his hands under her ass and positioned her so her thighs rested on his and her buttocks were nearly off the bed. Blood rushed to her head. She was so close to him, so open. He lightly painted her with his fingernails, brushing by turn her labia, her clit, stroking at the entrance to her core. She struggled to stay a half step ahead of him, but her head had filled with blood, and she no longer existed anywhere except where he’d come to play. Warm fluid slid out of her and dribbled into the crack between her ass cheeks. He caught some of it and used it to bathe her clitoral hood. Deftly, he spread her lips again and replenished his supply and touched here, there, everywhere. An eruption hovered. Despite her inability to use her thigh muscles, she managed to scrunch away maybe a fraction of an inch. “You don’t like?” he asked. “It’s—intense.” “That’s my intention.” He’d stopped bathing her with her own juices when she’d tried to escape, if that’s what she had in mind. Although nothing prevented him from claiming her clit again, he now made a game out of coming close but not touching. His goal, she suspected, was to wash her entire pussy with the endless moisture she provided. Eyes closed and panting, she followed his progress, wondering when, not if, she’d fall over the edge. She felt so hot! Alarmed by her diminishing self-control, she struggled to take inventory. Her breasts felt cool and the electric current nibbled at her shoulders, but the rest of her was drenched in sweat. Oh shit! Too late she realized he was thumbing her clitoris. If she’d had time to prepare, maybe— maybe. . . “That’s your trigger, isn’t it,” he said as the tiny but powerful muscle there jerked and jerked. “The go switch.” The minute tremors continued, becoming ever stronger until she felt them throughout her body; she had no existence beyond her core. Now her throat and breasts and belly and thighs were flushed. She had to throw back her head in order to get enough air into her lungs. Desperate to stay on top of her about-to-explode climax, she tried to think of something, anything, but her being centered around that small, commanding part of her anatomy. The battle for sanity was short-lived; her climax won. Sobbing, sucking in air, she jerked and cried under his command.

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Chapter Five Lethargy had Calina in its grip. She was dimly aware that Sayer had positioned her so her legs, while hardly demurely together, were no longer splayed apart. He’d half climbed off the narrow bed and sat near her hips massaging her belly. “Like that, did you?” he asked. “It happened so fast.” “You haven’t answered my question. Did you like it?” Taking command of herself, she managed to prop her arms behind her so her upper body rested on her elbows. He gave her a look that was half curious, half proprietary. His cock jutted out from him, dark and huge. Aggressive in its hunger. “It felt good if that’s what you wanted to hear,” she acknowledged. “I didn’t really need to, Calina. Your body speaks without words. How do you feel about that, knowing I can read everything about you?” “Everything?” His features softened. “What matters between us—so far. Being able to play you is a heady experience for me, but I don’t think it’s the same way for you. Is it unnerving?” She couldn’t deny she felt off-balance because he’d taken her to climax so easily. There’d never been a man in this room and certainly never one on this bed with her. Sliding away from Sayer and his hands, she sat all the way up. Now the only way she could get close to him was by tucking her legs up against her and exposing herself. However, a girl did what a girl had to do. Once the task was completed, she reached out and without so much as a “by your leave”, closed her hand around him. “Nice equipment,” she told him with more confidence than she felt. “Not quite industrial size, but I imagine no woman has ever complained.” He watched her in the way of a man seeking reassurance that his most cherished organ was in good hands. “You are going to be honest with me, aren’t you?” she asked. She shifted her grip to assure herself of a secure hold. Then she cupped her other hand over the head and gently, carefully drew her hands apart, stretching him slightly. His stare intensified. His hands hovered near hers. “What’s the matter, Sayer? Don’t you trust me?” She applied a slight twisting motion. “I did you.” “No—you didn’t,” he hissed. He closed his hands over her wrists but didn’t try to pull her off him.

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“All right,” she agreed. “If we’re going to get technical here, I did have a few reservations.” A million of them if truth be told but whatever’s happening between us is even bigger. “You have heard of tit for tat, haven’t you?” She twisted in the other direction. “Careful.” “Oh, I’m always careful. Careful is my middle name.” Yeah, right, like you’ve ever played this game before or even thought of it. She returned his organ to its original alignment but kept both hands in play. “You know, I’ve never thought of this piece of flesh as something I’d want to own. It requires too much attention and changes shape without warning, but I’m thinking maybe I’d like to borrow it for awhile.” “What?” This was fun, an entertaining way of avoiding the hard question of what the hell was going on between them and the even harder question of what would happen once they addressed the connection between their parents—something she wasn’t sure she ever wanted or dared do. “Get on the bed,” she told him. “On your back the way you made me. It’s only fair.” He gave her a look she interpreted as make me, but when she again demonstrated her mastery of his cock, he muttered something she knew she didn’t want to hear and inched toward the middle of the bed. She gave him enough freedom of movement to complete the process but didn’t relinquish control until he was stretched out with his elbows braced behind him. “Don’t you trust me?” she taunted. “I was quite the submissive when it was my turn.” “You? A submissive?” “All right, maybe not.” Hm. What should I do? Still holding the head with one hand, she started lightly stroking his shaft. His cock fascinated her. The flesh was like velvet, like silk. But beneath that, his sex organ was almost as hard as bone and vulnerable and powerful at the same time. Seating herself near his hips, she ran her searching hand along his shaft down to his scrotum. She cradled that equally precious-to-a-man organ in her palm and lifted it, feeling its weight and potential. In there was his heritage and future, his potential for fatherhood, the family jewels. Of course she wanted nothing to do with having his seed planted in her, never that! And yet—and yet. . . Shaking off the unsettling thought, she devoted herself to fully pleasuring him. She shifted her grip so she now held the bulk of him cradled against her palm, and she used her other hand to stroke his scrotum over and over again, touching everywhere with fingers as light as feathers. Moisture beaded in his slit. She caught that and spread it over his balls. He fell back and gripped the spread. Changing position, she bracketed his cock between both hands and applied a stroking motion along the sides. He sighed. His cock became tauter, larger. More moisture appeared. Leaning low, she lapped it up. This is him—his essence. “I love your taste,” she told him to keep from being overwhelmed by the thought. He muttered something that probably wasn’t a word. His balls tightened and seemed to be trying to disappear up inside his body. The tiny twitches that reminded her of the way her body had acted when her climax was upon her fascinated her. She remembered feeling his sex organ in her, its strength and power; could she get herself to come by playing with him? 31

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Fisting both hands over his cock, she began pumping him. He tried to lift himself off the bed and struggled to thrust against the pussy wall she’d created with her hands, but although he semi-succeeded, she was doing most of the work. It was all right; she didn’t mind hand fucking him, loved it in fact. She could do this—this pumping, as long as it took. Yet more pre-come glistened on the head of his cock. She stretched out her tongue and lapped it. Her vagina ached and felt hot and hungry. With a speed and grace that impressed her, she scrambled onto the bed and straddled him. Eyes hard on her, he held his cock in place as she lowered herself over him and took him into her, going lower, feeling him slide deeper. Planting her hands on his waist to brace herself, she closed her pussy muscles around him, held him, rode him. Up and down she moved, up and down. She felt her ass cheeks vibrate; they slapped against his groin. He reached up and took command of her breasts. Sensation came at her from all directions. She felt him full and hard and heavy inside her. He stretched her until she no longer knew where she let off and he began; they seemed to share the same skin. He caught her nipples between thumbs and forefingers. Her thighs burned from the effort her muscles were putting out. The heat there flowed toward the heat in her center until it became all the same. She could do this forever, ride him and ride him and ride him until they both passed out. Or came. There it was! Her climax built again, marching closer, getting stronger. She picked up the pace. Using the muscles in his ass and thighs, she felt him do the same, banging into her rapid and disjointed. They were both sweating. She felt the first ripple of his release flow through his cock and closed herself down around him. Then her own climax took over, and she buried herself in it. Made it everything. Became one with the fire and power.

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Chapter Six “Do you remember what you said when you saw me outside your door? Do you still want me out of your life?” Sayer asked. Calina repositioned herself on the living room chair and tucked her bare feet under her. Neither had spoken as they got dressed. He’d returned to the living room first and had picked up the paper saying his father had given this house to her parents shortly before her father’s death. “Do you?” he repeated. “Something is happening between us.” He punctuated his statement by staring openly at her crotch. “Something neither of us has a handle on and might not be able to get out of.” “I don’t know what I want right now,” she admitted. He’d put on his socks but not his shoes and didn’t seem in a hurry to leave. He hadn’t asked what time Benita was expected home, not that she was interested in another wrestling match in her old bedroom—certainly not. He indicated the paper. “What do you know about this?” “Nothing. I thought I made that clear.” “If you recall, we got sidetracked. You really hadn’t heard—” “I told you, no. Besides, what does it matter?” Liar. “ It happened so long ago.” “Back then my father was struggling to make the orchard work. He didn’t have money to throw around. Hell, he could barely pay his own bills. And yet he bought and then gave a house to one of his workers.” “Not just one.” Much as she hated getting to this point, she had no choice. “We’re talking about my father.” “I know.” “Do you? He might have just been a laborer to your father, but I loved him. He was my hero and when he died—” “I’m sorry.” She didn’t want his sympathy; she couldn’t deal with it. “I want you to know about him. My father worked for yours since I was an infant—a poor illiterate illegal without legal rights who stood in the sun and rain six days a week from dawn until dark. His back—I remember rubbing it while he sat there with his fists clenched.” “Don’t!” Sayer glared. “I know conditions for illegals back then weren’t anything anyone could be proud of; they still need improving. But I’ve seen my father’s financial records from back then. He paid as well as most of the other orchardists, better than some.” The room seemed to be getting darker. As the past swept over her, she couldn’t remember why she’d wanted to have sex with this man. She wished to hell she’d never met him. She was

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being sucked into the past and the world that had shaped her mother’s beliefs. No wonder Rita Rambo had warned her to stay away from white men who wielded power. “Wonderful!” she ground out. “I’m delighted he was generous. Damn it, it was backbreaking work no one except people who had no alternative would do. Who were they going to complain to about working conditions? Migrants like my parents lived in the shadows, terrified of being found out, of angering the owners who could fire them at will and whim. Do you have any idea what it was like for a man with a family to support knowing he could be deported or jailed if he so much as looked at his boss the wrong way? How helpless he felt?” Sayer leaned forward; his bulk seemed too much for the small room. “Calina, I didn’t create the system; neither did my father. He was simply a man trying to earn a living.” “So was mine. Only in his case, the need to work killed him.” She took a deep breath that failed to steady her. Gathering her courage, she stared back. “No, that’s not the whole story. Your father’s negligence killed mine.” Sayer got to his feet and stalked toward her; she refused to give way. “What are you talking about?” he demanded. Determined not to give him any advantage, she stood up. He was so close she could smell the sweat their fucking had pained on him. Her body was too aware of his. “Three of my uncles also worked for Wood Orchard when my father did so I grew up hearing how concerned they’d all been about the rickety old ladders they used to reach the top of the trees. The ladders were wooden and had been left outside until the elements all but did them in. It was impossible to properly balance them because the ground was uneven, but what choice did they have?” She folded her arms over her chest. Gone was any post-coital lethargy. Instead, finally, she was facing the son of the man she’d always blamed for robbing her of her father. “Your generous father paid the peons under him by the bushels picked. If they didn’t meet their quota, they wouldn’t earn enough to pay the rent and buy groceries. That’s all my father wanted—to make enough money to put food in my and my mother’s mouths. In order to do that, he had to climb to the top of a ladder that shook under him. Again and again he scrambled up that damned ladder for ripe pears while the late summer sun beat down on him.” Sayer tried to put his hand on her shoulder, but she jerked away. How could she have fucked him? How? “One afternoon his luck ran out.” She hadn’t cried about this in years, but she was crying now. “My uncle Jose said the nails in the top step pulled out while my father was on it. He landed on his stomach, and it damaged him inside. A year later those injuries finally killed him.” “Calina, I’m sorry.” Don’t say that! I need my anger; it’s been my companion for so many years. “This was a mistake,” she said, looking around for his shoes. “I should have never let you in, and I sure as hell shouldn’t have had sex with you. I want you gone.” If she thought he’d have the decency to honor her feelings, she was mistaken because he grabbed her arms and pulled her so close his features blurred. “I’m not my father,” he whispered harshly. “Besides, why are you blaming him? Richard Wood didn’t climb that ladder.”

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“Get out of here! Get out!” She tried to slap him, but he held her immobile. Beyond all reason, she was responding to his nearness. “Not while you’re like this, I’m not,” he said. Was he feeling the same sexual tension? Maybe because his mouth had come too near hers and he’d stepped even closer so his penis touched her. “I’m not like anything,” she insisted although it was a lie. “This has been an emotional day. Going through my mother’s things, having you show up, talking about my father—” “Fucking the man you’ve declared the enemy.” “Yes.” He gave her back enough freedom so she could again see him clearly and dangerous parts of their anatomy were no longer in contact. It helped, a little. “How did I become the enemy, Calina?” he asked. “I came here because for some damn reason I decided I needed to try to piece together parts of my father’s life that are forever lost to me.” Don’t! Don’t let me care about you. “I was a child when your father was injured and then died. If you’re going to make it my fault, then I’m blaming you for his Alzheimer’s.” He was right; she sounded like an hysterical broad, a just-fucked and emotionally messed up broad. “Let me go,” she ordered. “I’m not going to attack you.” “I wouldn’t promise that if I were you,” he said on the tail of a mirthless chuckle. “There’s something combustible between us. No telling when it’s going to go off next.” “Let me go.” The moment he did, she took the required backward step but couldn’t talk herself into turning it into another. He shouldn’t look so rawly male without his shoes on, should he? “What was it like after your father’s accident?” he asked when it was the most dangerous thing he could have said. “He went to the hospital, right?” “No,” she whispered and slumped into her chair. “Why not?” “Uncle Jose said everyone tried to get him to go, but he was afraid the staff would learn he was an illegal and call the police. Eventually, when he was coughing up blood, he went. They— they examined him and determined he needed surgery.” “Did he get it?” She nodded. “It didn’t help. There’d been too much damage.” “What about the bills?” “Bills?” Sayer reached for her hands, and she let him take them. “I—I think after my father died the hospital gave up trying to collect.” “Either that or my father paid them.” By rapid turn, the room became cold and then hot. She stared at Sayer but didn’t really see him. “You don’t know that,” she whispered.

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“No, I don’t. But I do know he gave your parents this house.” That couldn’t be right; it couldn’t! Her uncles had provided for Rita and her young girls. That’s what she’d always believed. But Sayer had shown up here today with proof she was wrong. “Why?” she asked although maybe the question was for both of them. “Why would he do what he did?” “Maybe because he’s a good man, or at least he used to be.” “I don’t know,” she muttered. “I don’t know.” “My mother isn’t the most emotionally balanced person,” he whispered. “She needs things simple and smooth. Dad always called her fragile. Now most days he doesn’t recognize her.” His words tore into her, and she worked at bringing him back into focus. He’d had his father all the years she hadn’t, but he was losing his by slow, painful degree. No wonder he wanted to build as much of a memory as possible. She couldn’t help him do that, but she could stop making his search any harder than it needed to be. With that foremost on her mind, she stood up again. He still held her hands. “When I’m around you,” he said, “I feel as if I’m behind the wheel of a speeding car without brakes. I know it’s dangerous. At the same time, it’s the most exciting thing—” Whatever else he’d been going to say died under a heated kiss that went on and on. They started with their hands trapped between their straining bodies, but in the middle of it, he placed her hands behind her and placed them against the small of her back. She became, not exactly his captive, but certainly not in control. The more he leaned over her, the more she arched her back because her breasts needed to feel him. He kept her from losing her balance, and bit by bit, she came to trust him—either that or she was too distracted by the breast-to-belly contact to give a damn. They remained with their mouths sealed together, bodies gliding from side to side. Her breasts heated and swelled as did his cock. Eyes closed, she went into herself and found the fire that could become yet another climax. What time was it? It didn’t matter. Why had his father bought this house for her parents? That didn’t matter either. Only surrendering—giving her separate self to Sayer did. He pressed his hands into the small of her back and rubbed his knuckles against her spine, boring a line straight through to her vagina. She widened her stance, and he slid a leg between hers. Her thighs clamped against his; his did the same. “What the hell is this?” Shocked by her sister’s cry, Calina struggled to straighten. She would have fallen if Sayer hadn’t helped her into an upright position. He released her, but their legs remained tangled until she pushed him away. “What is this?” Benita demanded. “Sis, how could you?” “I’m—you’re home early.” Could she have said anything any more stupid? “Sorry.” Benita dropped her backpack onto the carpet. Her gaze flitted between her sister and the man. “I didn’t know I’d have to call ahead and give you warning. But him!” She jabbed a finger at Sayer. “Him?”

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“He—” Calina started. Then she shook her head and wrapped her arms around her middle. With the truth of what had been taking place evident in Sayer’s straining cock, she wouldn’t lie. “I’m sorry you had to see this,” she finished. She wanted to hug her sister but was afraid to try. “So am I. Fuck, I—oops, bad word choice since that’s what I interrupted.” “You didn’t,” Calina said and was instantly sorry. “Oh?” “We’d finished,” Sayer supplied. “What do you mean by him? Are you pissed because I’m white?” At this moment, Calina hated Sayer, not just because he’d told Benita they’d had sex but also because he’d brought up their separate ethnicity. Did he have any idea of the tightrope her sister had always walked? Not only was Benita a Mexican who’d been raised and educated in the United States which put distance between her and the majority of Mexican students, but she was the fairest member of the family. In summer, she tanned beautifully, but in winter, her skin became shades lighter than her older sister’s. Their mother’s skin had been a rich light brown that turned heads, and when she started high school, Benita had worn dark makeup so some Mexican boys wouldn’t call her a Gringo. “I don’t give a damn whether you’re a Gringo or a wetback,” Benita snapped. “You could be an axe murderer and I could care less—except I know who you are and what you stand for.” “What are you talking about?” Calina asked. “You don’t know, do you? How could you? You don’t live here any more.” Benita stepped up to Sayer and stared at his socks’ clad feet. “It’s not bad enough he owns the orchard where our father died. He won’t hire anyone who doesn’t have a green card stapled to his chest.” Calina was trying to comprehend when Benita whirled and started toward her room. “That’s right,” Benita continued. “This bastard’s old man killed our father. Now the son turns his back on decent, hard-working men and women. They can starve for all he cares.” Calina jumped when Benita slammed her bedroom door. She desperately needed to talk to her sister but not until she’d dealt with what she’d just learned. “It’s the truth?” she demanded of Sayer who had the audacity to stand there with his goddamn beautiful body calling to her. “You won’t hire undocumented workers? What do you care how someone got here as long as they do their job?” Despite the danger, she stepped closer. “They aren’t criminals! All they want is to work.” Before she could dodge, Sayer grabbed her wrists and propelled her backward until he pinned her against a wall. Then he pulled her arms over her head and held her so tight she had no choice but to endure his body pressing against hers. “I’m leaving,” he said. “Because you and your sister need to talk to each other. But before I do, I’ve got something to tell you.” “What? Excuses? Rationalization? If your father had had that policy, I’d be living in Mexico, uneducated, maybe selling my body to support myself.” “Shut up! Maybe you would be struggling to support yourself, but at least your father would be alive. That’s what you’ve been saying; don’t deny it. According to you, my father murdered yours.” With his anger and damn it, his sexuality, swirling around her, she wasn’t sure she knew anything.

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“You might get something out of wallowing in the past, but I can’t afford the luxury,” he continued. He ground against her. “The law has changed. In case you don’t know it, these days if the INS uncovers illegals, they do a hell of a lot more than just ship them back across the border. They also have the power to shut down their employer. Your sister’s right. If a worker doesn’t have a green card, I don’t hire him, not because I’m not compassionate, but because I won’t risk being put out of business. I don’t dare.” He released her and leaned away at the same time. For an instant she thought she’d collapse against him, but she managed to regain her balance. Her hand went to her throat, and she stared up at him, hot and hungry and more confused than maybe she’d been in her entire life. Then he picked up his shoes and walked out the door.

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Chapter Seven You’re better off without her. By his calculations, Sayer figured he’d told himself that a hundred times in the two days since he’d walked out of Calina’s house. He’d put in killer hours at the orchard and when he wasn’t there, he’d been at the home where he’d placed his father when the Alzheimer’s became advanced. He’d convinced his mother to take her sisters up on their suggestion that they all spend a few weeks in San Francisco where Aunt Margaret lived. Not having his mother around needing frequent reassurance that everything was under control was a relief, but she’d been good about seeing her husband. At least all that added work kept him from thinking about Calina. The hell it did, he admitted as he stood under the shower. He’d had an erection when he woke up which was a normal state of affairs, but the damn thing hadn’t gone away while he drank coffee and tried to read the paper. Now, it was becoming apparent, a cold shower wasn’t going to get the job done either. Being a practical man, he debated jacking off, but he’d done that yesterday, and the effect had lasted only a few hours. The long-term cure was to get Calina out of his system once and for all. The thing was, he acknowledged as he started soaping, how was he going to cleanse himself of something he’d never experienced before? Shit, he’d never reacted like this around a woman, not even when, at sixteen, he’d lusted after a well-endowed cheerleader. He wasn’t the only one who’d been blindsided by lust, he admitted as he gave his cock as practical a cleaning as he could given its condition. Calina had been no blushing virgin. Far from it. Although she’d looked a tad shell-shocked, she’d given as good as she’d gotten. Hell, they’d gone after each other as if they were both on Viagra. It made no sense! And mind-bending as the sex had been, he hated feeling out of control. By clenching his teeth and concentrating on everything he needed to do before he’d be back tonight, he managed to get through the shower. After drying off, he slipped on briefs and jeans. He’d just turned on the electric razor when the doorbell rang. Thinking his foreman had decided to meet him here instead of at the orchard, he flung open the door. “Since when have you not just barged—” he started, then stopped. Calina was wearing a sleeveless pale yellow sundress that contrasted incredibly well with her dark, rich skin. She’d caught her ebony hair in a barrette; he ached to run his fingers through it. He couldn’t tell and didn’t give a damn whether she was wearing makeup. She had on sandals, and her legs were bare. “I—” she started. “I’ll come back when you’re ready.” “No, you won’t,” he said. I’ll be damned if I’ll take a chance on not seeing you again. “I’m ready.”

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She stared at his naked chest. Her gaze started to flicker lower, but she stopped herself. “I wasn’t sure.” She’d clenched her hands and looked as awkward and scared as a girl on her first date. “I thought, if I waited until later, you’d be at work.” “Come in,” he said. Then although he knew he shouldn’t, he took hold of her bare, warm shoulder. God, he’d never seen a woman look more beautiful! The way whatever the fabric was draped her breasts, clung to her narrow waist and flat belly, and then flared over her hips before flowing around her legs— “I wanted to talk to you,” she said. Maybe it was his imagination, but she seemed to stay near him a little longer than necessary before backing out of his grasp. “Did you? The way we left it, I didn’t think you wanted—” “I’m still trying to deal with what I learned.” “So am I.” “Yes, I’m sure you are. Sayer, I was born and raised in the United States, but my family’s Mexican roots are part of me. Also, because I work with migrants, I know what their lives are like, the desperation that brings them across the border for jobs and a chance. If that’s denied them—” “That’s why you’re here?” He smelled roses, her perfume. Perfect. “So we can argue whether I should defy the law?” “No.” She took hold of the loose skirt fabric, making him wonder if she didn’t know what to do with her hands. Was it possible she wanted to touch him as badly as he did her? “That’s not it. The paper you showed me the other day, the one that documents the transfer of our house from your father to my parents, did you want it back?” That had brought her all the way here? He didn’t think so. “Let’s sit down, all right.” As he led the way from the entry into the living room, he wondered if she was drawing comparisons between the older but expansive and well-maintained farmhouse where he’d been raised and the little one she’d grown up in. “How did you know to look for me here?” he asked. He selected the recliner he’d bought to go in the house he’d purchased a few miles down the road. So much for plans; here he was, back in his childhood home. She explained she’d returned to the orchard and asked his workers. They’d told her he’d moved into what they called the big house when his father’s health deteriorated. “It’s a beautiful place,” she told him. “I-I it feels familiar, as if I’ve been in it.” “Does it?” “Maybe—do you think its possible my parents brought me here? No, I’m sure—maybe we just drove by.” “I don’t know.” “I can’t help thinking how wonderful it would be to grow up surrounded by pear and apple trees.” “It’s old and takes a lot of upkeep,” he told her because if he didn’t talk about something, he’d snatch her up and carry her into his bedroom—or take her right here on the carpet. “I guess.” After kicking off her sandals, she’d curled up on the end of the couch. Either she didn’t know how damned sexy she looked or she was deliberately testing his self-control. “The

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workmen told me you rented out your place and moved back here to take care of your parents. That wasn’t easy to do.” “No, it wasn’t. But they were there for me when I was growing up. Now it’s my turn.” Tears filmed her eyes. “I’m sorry,” she said and wiped them away. “I’m still getting used to losing my mother.” Touch her, hold her, comfort her. Fuck her, don’t you mean? “Your mother never said anything about how the house got in her name?” he asked when he wasn’t sure he gave a damn. “No. I believed my uncles had gotten enough money together to buy it.” She switched her gaze from him to the carpet. “Why did everyone lie to my sister and me?” “That’s why you’re here? To see if I know.” She nodded, and he was certain he’d never seen a more vulnerable woman in his life. She was what, maybe a hundred and twenty pounds and barely encased in a dress that reminded him of the summer sun. She looked like Tinkerbelle, only he’d never considered Tinkerbelle a sex symbol. “The paper I left with you was a copy,” he told her. “I showed the original to my father after I found it and took it with me when I saw him last night. It means nothing to him.” “I appreciate your going to the effort.” “My mother is with her sisters, but I reached her last night. When I told her about going to the house and meeting you and your sister. . .” “What?” Staring at the floor might be safer, but safe hadn’t gotten him to where he was in life. “I’m not sure. Twice she tried to change the subject. I could tell she was upset.” “Did she say what about?” Sitting was driving him crazy so he stood and paced over to the picture window. Although he’d always enjoyed the view, now he had no idea what he was looking at. “She begged me to let it go. She said it happened a long time ago, and what did it matter.” Turning, he stared at the sexiest Tinkerbelle in the world. “What do you think?” he asked, trying for a lighthearted note he didn’t feel. “Maybe she knew I’d take one look at you and drop my pants.” “She doesn’t know me, Sayer; she couldn’t. When will she be back?” “A few weeks. Look, if you’re thinking about talking to her—my mother has perfected avoidance. If something doesn’t fit into the safe cocoon she’s spun around herself, she pretends it doesn’t exist.” “A few weeks. I’m not going to be here that long.” Don’t say that, all right, not after walking in here smelling like roses and looking like you were born for me to fuck. “You really have to go back?” he heard himself ask. “No thought of moving here?” “My job.” She shrugged. “Sayer, where is your father?” “No.” To keep from erasing the distance between them at a dead run, he rammed his hands in his back pockets. Unfortunately, that accentuated his hard-on. It was her fault! If she’d worn

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sackcloth—”Your seeing him isn’t going to accomplish anything. Sometimes he doesn’t know I’m his son.” “I’m sorry, so sorry,” she whispered. Then she got to her feet with all the grace of a young doe and joined him at the window. She laced her hands behind her. “I’ve worked with a couple of Alzheimer’s patients, but that’s different from having it happen to your father. Sayer, please. I know it’s a long shot, but maybe if I took a picture of my parents, maybe if he saw and heard me—” Damn it! Didn’t he know better than to touch her he warned himself when it was too late. Her elbows were sharp and dug into his palms. In contrast, her breasts, he knew, would feel soft and alive. “Sayer.” She looked up at him; the sheen was back in her eyes. “You at least have your parents. All I have are my memories. Is it so wrong for me to want some answers about the past?” “You won’t mean anything to him.” Unless he senses the energy between us. “I understand.” Her breath was warm on his throat; the sensation burned all the way to his belly. “But my sister and I spent years blaming your father. Our mother—our mother never wanted to talk about it so all we had was what we learned from our uncles. Now it looks as if there was more to the relationship between our families than Benita and I suspected; you, too.” A woman’s tears never turned him inside out. He believed the female of the species had a different way of dealing with emotions from the male beast. Men punched things and got drunk sometimes. Women cried sometimes. But Calina’s tears—there wasn’t a single thing in the world he could do except try to dry them with his lips. The moment he touched the soft-as-velvet skin under her lashes, he knew he’d stepped over a line there was no retreating from, none at all. Not only did she tilt her head, she rose on tiptoe and slid her hands around his waist. It felt right to spread his hands over her buttocks. If she slapped him away he’d—he’d what? Fortunately he didn’t need to answer the question because she flattened her breasts against his chest and switched her hold to around his neck. He inhaled her intoxicating perfume, and was it just his imagination or was she trembling? She settled back on the balls of her feet, and he gathered more and more skirt fabric in his hands until he’d exposed her butt. Whatever they were doing with their mouths and tongues didn’t come under the pure definition of kissing; the joining was too frantic for that, and there was a hell of a lot of heavy breathing. Now that he’d collected her loose skirt at her waist, it didn’t take much to draw her closer and slide a hand between her legs from the rear. He had to lean over, and she had to arch away, but since they were both after the same goal, that didn’t take long to accomplish. She widened her stance in silent invitation. He ran his fingers over her cunt, both frustrated and fascinated by the silken fabric that stood between him and her sex. Bringing his forefinger into play, he probed until he found the opening to her pussy. She sighed and settled down around his finger, then started moving back and forth, rubbing herself against his finger. He inched his finger under the elastic. Her hot, moist labia waited for him, and he greedily claimed it. There was no way he could enter her cave like this, and teasing and testing at the entrance to where he ached to bury his cock pulled his balls into a hard knot. Thanks to his damned jeans, his physical condition was hardly comfortable, but as far as foreplay went—

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“Sayer.” She breathed his name against the side of his neck. “This isn’t why I came. I didn’t intend—” “Didn’t you?” He ran his finger over her labia. She sobbed and closed her legs a little, trapping his hand where he wanted it to remain. “Didn’t you?” he repeated. “Then why did you wear that nearly-there dress?” “It’s hot.” “You’re hot,” he countered. He didn’t think it necessary to tell her he was too. Afraid stretching the elastic would cause it to cut into her legs, he reluctantly withdrew. She moaned and shoved her ass toward his hand. He gladly accepted the invitation—that’s what it was, wasn’t it—and again cupped his hand over her cunt. As before, the silken barrier fascinated and frustrated him. The more he stroked, the hotter her flesh became; the fabric was becoming drenched. The smell of a sexually excited woman joined the rose cologne. He took the intertwined scents into his nostrils and down into his lungs. From there they touched every part of him. “You know what I want,” he muttered. “Damn you.” “You don’t?” She didn’t respond so he pushed home his argument by gliding his finger pad lightly from the front of her crotch to the rear . His arms were starting to ache from the awkward position, but he’d put up with it for as long as it took to get his point across. “All right!” She wrenched free and stood before him, her hands clenching her skirt as he’d done a short time ago. “All right!” “All right what?” he asked. “I want it too,” she said and turned her back on him. “Unzip the damn thing.”

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Chapter Eight Sayer had obviously been back in the farmhouse long enough to have turned his childhood bedroom into something suitable for a man. Calina took note of a royal blue and white spread on the queen-sized bed. Maybe she should ask if other women had shared it with him so she’d have a better sense of what kind of a man he was, but the truth was, she really didn’t care about anything except this minute. Go on, admit it. You knew what was going to happen when you knocked on the door. How could I? I wasn’t sure he’d be here, or if he’d want to have anything to do with me. Yes, you did. All you have to do is look at him to know you both need the same thing. Mentally shaking off the stupid argument, she stood near Sayer’s bed with her dress in danger of sliding off her shoulders. He’d unzipped it but hadn’t taken it off her. Instead, he’d pointed toward this room, and they’d walked into it without touching, two casual acquaintances keeping a date to fuck each other. “Take it off,” he said from his position just inside the door. With trembling fingers, she drew the soft, spring-like fabric away from her neck, then stopped. “I’ve seen you naked before,” he muttered. “You aren’t showing me anything new.” “I don’t understand why—why I have no control over what’s happening. Do you?” The question must have given him pause because he stared at her for several moments. Then he unzipped his jeans and left them hanging on his hips; his swollen organ strained against his briefs. “No, I don’t,” he told her. “All I know is, whenever I’m around you, I want sex—with you.” At least he hadn’t said fucked. Now if he’d call it making love—except they barely knew each other so they couldn’t possibly be falling in love. “My sister thinks I’ve betrayed the family,” she told him. “After you left—” “I can imagine.” “No, you can’t.” The dress had slipped off her shoulders; her hand was the only thing keeping it in place. He was right; he had seen her naked. But before she reached nudity, there were a few things she needed to say. “Our mother raised us pretty strict, at least she tried to. She always said she didn’t want people thinking we were a couple of hot-blooded whores.” “Your mother said that?” He rubbed himself, making her wonder how uncomfortable an erect but contained cock was. “She didn’t use the word whore, but we got the point. After you left, that’s what Benita called me.” “Shit. I’m sorry.”

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“She was right, you know. The way things are between you and me…” She indicated his penis, then briefly slid her hand between her legs. “After she calmed down, we started talking.” She had no idea how she was going to tell this man there was no accounting for feeling as if she was in heat whenever she was around him; she hadn’t had the words for her sister, or herself. “I told her you aren’t responsible for what happened between our parents and your father. The way she looked at me…” “What?” Determined to tell him as much as possible, she didn’t rush her response. “In some respects she reminds me of you. You’re both direct and your eyes—they’re the same color.” He let his jeans drop to the floor. “You want sex with me because I remind you of your sister?” “No, of course not.” Because it felt silly to clutch her dress to her breasts while he was next to naked, she let go of it. The garment hung up on her hips, then slid down around her ankles. Had she ever felt more exposed? “She’s upset about why you won’t hire anyone without a green card.” “I explained—” “I know you did, and I understand why you can’t take the risk—I’m sorry I reacted the way I did. I’m trying to get Benita to calm down, but she’s young. She’s passionate about what she considers life’s injustices.” “What are you passionate about, Calina?” Unable to decide whether she was relieved or bothered because he’d changed the subject, she answered in the only way that made sense—by removing her bra and tossing it onto a nearby chair. “Beautiful,” he whispered. “I love when you go without. That’s one of the things that appealed to me from the start.” “I don’t have much to contain.” She looked down at her breasts and was about to give them a dismissive shrug when she noted her nipples were erect. She brushed a finger over a hard nub. How could something so firm be so sensitive? “I’d like to do that,” he said and stepped up to her. His arms hung at his side as if he was in no hurry about anything. “You’re free about your body. That’s something else I like.” “Not usually. At least I wouldn’t call it free,” she tried to amend. “It’s just that other things are more important to me than the outer package, things like my brain.” “You have a fantastic outer package.” He closed his hands over her breasts, her nipples caught between his middle and forefingers. Warmth welled up from deep inside her, and she reached out blindly until she pressed her forefinger into his navel. Bellybuttons were such funny little things, each one different and basically non-functional. However, right now Sayer’s navel served as a conduit to other parts of his anatomy. Sensing he was alternating contracting and relaxing his thigh muscles, she kicked up her exploration by pressing with her nail while creating a circular motion. She was so intent on discovering what reaction she could get out of him that by the time it registered he was using his hold on her nipples to draw her breasts toward him, it was too late. He’d claimed them, held them in his grip. “What do you think?” His voice was a low growl. “You like the idea of nipple clips? Maybe I’ll buy you some, with a chain that loops between your breasts.”

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Erotic and unsettling as the thought was, she didn’t let it fully distract her from what she was doing. With a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth, she covered his navel with her middle finger and applied enough pressure that he sucked in his breath. “Why not,” she told him. “I’ll wear clips as soon as you get your bellybutton pierced. I’d like that—a gold ring with a jewel in it.” “Forget that!” Keeping one hand on her breast, he pulled her finger off his navel. He placed her hand in his mouth and sucked on her fingers, and she felt suspended between two potent sensations, unable to get on top of either of them. “Not fair!” She groaned. Her captured breast had become a direct link to her clit, but the current of electricity also connected with her saliva-dampened fingers. Confusing as the sensations were, they felt wonderful! Barely aware of what she was doing, she groped until she touched his cock. He still wore his shorts, but his cock poked through the opening. She tried to run a nail under the head, but her ability to coordinate any activity had been seriously compromised. He pressed his tongue against her fingers, pushing them out of his mouth. “This isn’t going to work,” he said. “What isn’t?” “Whatever the hell foreplay we’re trying to pull off.” Releasing her breast, he shook his hand. “I’m getting a cramp.” He nodded at what she was doing to him. “With everything that’s going on, I’m getting confused.” “So am I.” She was loathe to release his sex but really couldn’t do much with it as long as it remained half hidden. “All right,” he said. “I have a suggestion.” “Do you?” “Yep.” He gave her a self-satisfied grin. “I didn’t go to college for nothing. First thing, there’s a little more disrobing that needs to be done.” “Right you are.” Although her pussy demanded attention, it felt good to laugh, to have fun along with sex. She jiggled his cock, not that he needed to have that part of his anatomy brought to his attention. “Look at this poor thing, trying to come out of hibernation but having a hell of a time.” “I can’t argue with that. And this. . .” He pulled on her panties’ elastic. “What kind of a demonstration of my prowess am I going to be able to give you as long as this damn thing’s in the way?” “Demonstration? What did you have in mind?” “Wouldn’t you like to know, young lady? Wouldn’t you like to know?” It was her turn to say something, but her mind was a blank. “Aren’t you curious?” he asked. “I was—I was thinking about my game plan, what tricks I want to impress you with.” “Sounds interesting.” He gave her a sideways glance, then turned his attention to his cock or at least what of it her hand didn’t cover. “Do you need that right now, or can I let it out to play?”

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“Play away.” Giving weight to her words, she released him, stepped back, and folded her arms. She tried to assume a stern schoolmarm stance but that was difficult to pull off given how little she was wearing. Sayer removed his shorts and tossed them to the chair where her bra lay. “And to think I just went to all the work of putting them on,” he said. “You can again, when we’re done.” “If we ever get done. Your turn.” Committing to sex had always been easier for her if the man took charge of the disrobing— a way to remain passive instead of being perceived as the aggressor—but Sayer made no move to take off her panties. She tried to make slipping out of them as casual as possible, but her trembling fingers blew the act. “Nervous?” he asked when her panties joined his briefs and her bra. “I’m not sure. Something. . .” “No second thoughts?” Only about five million of them. “This isn’t why I came here,” she told him. She just wasn’t sure that was the truth. “I’m still trying to get my mind around—” “We can do that later.” Before she could comprehend what he had in mind, he took her around the waist and half lifted, half pushed her onto the bed. She sat on the side of it, her toes curling into the carpet. She didn’t know what to do with her hands so left them on her thighs. It was easier to stare off to the side than look up at him. He pushed her knees apart and slid in between her thighs. When he ran his knuckles over her throat, she sighed and leaned back to give him greater access. To keep from losing her balance, she braced her arms behind her. “My playground,” he whispered. He tracked his knuckles over her chin and throat, then down to her collarbone. “You, on my bed for my amusement. I could get used to that.” I could get used to being his playground. Her conclusion only grew as he moved to the V between her breasts. His knuckles and now his nails on her sensitive skin were hardly a possessive act. In truth, as far as fucking went, this was far down on the foreplay scale, but that didn’t stop her clit from getting in on the act. For some reason it became important to remain still, but to accomplish that, she had to practically bury her nails in the coverlet. Obviously not content with knuckle-play, Sayer slid his other hand along the inside of first one thigh and then the other. At times his fingers brushed her muff, the sensation vibrated inside her pussy. Staying still was becoming harder by the moment. “Got your attention, do I?” he asked. “Maybe I can improve on that.” He trailed his thumb over her labia, once. “What—” She started to look down at herself but wound up staring into his eyes. Had she ever gazed at him like this before, feeling connected to him? She didn’t know what his eyes were saying; it came to her as pure sensation. His message had a lot to do with acknowledging lust, but it went deeper. He pulled her hands off the bed and lowered her onto it so she now stared at the ceiling with her cunt open to him, her toes just touching the carpet. Eager and a little apprehensive because she was so vulnerable, she folded her hands over her middle, fingers tightly laced.

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He patted her hands. “You’re nervous?” “I’m in a somewhat helpless position. And I still don’t understand what’s happening between us.” “Neither do I.” He leaned over her and after bracketing his hands on either side of her body, he kissed first one breast and then the other. “When you walked in the door, I smelled roses. I love that.” “It—that’s the only perfume I use.” “Good.” He kissed her breasts again, his mouth soft and gentle. “You’re like a flower, a rose bud opening up.” “I, ah, are you a poet?” “Hardly.” His chuckle touched her nerve endings. “Sex—hell, I like sex. It’s one of my favorite things to do. But I’ve never felt like this. Not even close.” Leaning down so his cock pressed into her belly and his chest flattened her breasts, he ran his tongue over her throat. Shivering, she wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed her mouth to his, lips closed, warmth and caring briefly taking the place of lust. “I’ve never felt like this either,” she admitted. “Alive in a new way.” “Why do you think that is?” “I don’t know.” “Neither do I.” He ran a thumb from the base of her throat all the way down to her muff. The touch felt like hot-winged butterflies. “Oh my...” Realizing she no longer felt his hand, she reached out and caught it. She brought it to her breast, sighing when he covered the hungry nub. Mouth open, she moved to one side and then the other in an effort to increase the delicious sensation. Disjointed, she tried unsuccessfully to locate his other hand. She was struggling to turn her head and make her eyes focus when he pressed the heel of his hand against her mons. Just like that, a climax lapped at her; moaning, she lifted her pelvis toward him. “I could play here all day,” he muttered. He grasped her mons and jiggled it. In her mind she imagined her G-spot just beyond his reach. “Pleasuring you.” “You. . .” “Lost your focus, did you?” He still held her mons; at the same time, his forefinger played with her cunt. Using the juice she so liberally supplied, he moistened her labial lips and the space between her pussy and ass. There was even enough to bathe her uppermost thighs. It occurred to her that he was no longer rubbing her breast, but although she felt the loss keenly, holding that position had to be awkward for him. Besides, he now had both hands on her, confusing her senses and keeping her wonderfully off balance and tiptoeing at the brink of a climax. By turn he pressed down on her mons while slipping not one but two fingers of his other hand into her. Her cheeks felt on fire; a blaze burned in her throat, and flames licked at her breasts, but she felt those things only in a disjointed way; his hands demanded her attention center on her pussy. His playground. As far as she was concerned, he could play there for the rest of his life.

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By going onto her toes and clenching her buttocks muscles, she managed to lift her ass off the bed. She couldn’t keep that up long but maybe—maybe long enough for release to crash over her. She thought he chuckled, but then none of her senses were working right so maybe she was wrong. Dropping to his knees near the low bed, he scooted closer. His hips fit between her widespread legs. The new sensation intrigued her, but she missed his fingers on and inside her. She tried to sit up; he spread a hand over her belly and pressed down. “Not yet. I want to look at you, feel you, believe for a little while that you belong to me.” Belong to me. The words were both terrifying and a promise. “I want to do—things for you,” she told him. “Just lying here makes me feel—vulnerable.” He leaned over until she could see him clearly. “You feel vulnerable? Believe me, you aren’t the only one.” Their eyes locked. She had no wish to break the connection, to take back her own space and privacy. In his eyes she found a part of herself she hadn’t known she possessed. His chocolate eyes were getting darker. Despite the effort it took, she lifted her head off the bed. He met her halfway, their mouths coming together like the hot butterfly wings she’d felt earlier. Something softened deep inside; she felt like crying—maybe laughing. He ran his arms behind her and helped her up a little more but stopped when she hung suspended, dependant on him. She wrapped her arms around his neck and breathed in male sweat and desire. No thought or plan went into it, but somehow his lower lip wound up between her teeth, and she nibbled. She tasted him, tasted them. He slowly released his hold on her, and she slid back onto the bed. She couldn’t see him, but now his hands were under her buttocks so she took hold of his forearm. He slid her toward him until only about half of her ass remained on the bed. Her legs and back supported most of her weight; his cock pushed against her. “This is all right?” he asked. “You want to do it like this?” She’d have sex any time, any way he said until they were both in comas. Instead of telling him that, she nodded and scooted even closer. He manually separated her lips, and his cock slid in slowly, fully. Her nails might be digging into his forearms, but she couldn’t think. He was in her, home where he belonged. He filled her to capacity and then some, his cock angled so it rubbed against the front of her sex where she was the most sensitive. She felt thinskinned, as if only a single layer of flesh existed between him and her nerve endings. She couldn’t put a name to what she felt and didn’t care, tried to eat him by tightening her cunt muscles around his sex organ. “Damn.” He sounded as if he was strangling. “Damn.” “You don’t want?” “That’s the hell of it.” He thrust deep, deep, deep, flattening himself against her clit and labia. “I want twenty-four hours a day.” “Twenty-three,” she amended breathlessly. “We need to sleep.” Because the bed was low and his legs long, the alignment couldn’t be more perfect. By turning her head to the side, she reestablished the eye contact that had nearly undone her earlier. With the sex act adding to the mix, she felt herself melting and becoming part of him.

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His first thrusts had been slow and searching, a matter of getting the alignment right. But now he was deep inside her, his pelvis, hip, and cock-spear keeping her on the bed. Secure in a way he had her head, she caressed his arms while continuing to gaze at him. His pumping picked up. She tried to match him thrust for thrust. He was so fully in her she swore she felt him in her mouth. Faster and faster he came, sweat glistening on his chest, mouth open. Her breasts jiggled. Friction from the coverlet rubbed against her back, and her shoulders burned. He’d lit a fire in her. The more out-of-control his thrusts became, the less of her existed beyond her cunt. He speared her, stabbed her, burning her pussy and turning her into a wild thing. His features blurred. Still, she wanted him to know when she climaxed, needed to see the same in his eyes. Her breasts burned. She’d become drenched in sweat; her shoulders were being rubbed raw. Between her legs the fire increased. “Go!” she gasped. “Go, go, go.” “I’m doing—the best—I can.” There it was, curling warm and moist inside her. Although she wanted to lose herself in the climax-ripple, she kept her gaze locked on his. He stared back, his eyes burning. “Now!” he announced. His seed flooded her core. “Now!” She tried to concentrate on the sensation, but her clit jerked. At the sensation, she laughed.

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Chapter nine Calina couldn’t remember how she’d gotten up, but she had no objections to where she now found herself. She and Sayer knelt near the bed, their legs intertwined, arms around each other, sweat-soaked skin to sweat-soaked skin. He kissed all over her face. When he ran out of places to run his mouth, she nibbled on his chin. Now the eye contact had been broken, she kept it that way because she didn’t want to reveal how vulnerable she felt. Never before had she experienced anything approaching the emotional hurricane that washed through her from simply looking at this man—this Gringo. A small creature caught in a raging river had nothing on her; Sayer owned her, claimed her. She’d become more him than herself. Much as the change unnerved her, she reveled in the dark, smooth blending. Holding onto the glow that came in the aftermath of their mutual climax, she brushed her breasts against his and gave him yet another piece of herself. He groaned and leaned away, making her wonder if he intended to leave her and how she’d handle it. Then, sighing and shaking his head, he used his fingertips to make tiny circles around her areole. “You blow me away,” he whispered. “Absolutely blow me away. I feel trapped by you; yet, I want it to happen.” “I—I know,” she admitted. She felt, not just physically naked, but also as if she’d been stripped emotionally. If she asked him why that was, would he tell her? Did he understand the awesome force any more than she did? Unnerved all over again, she turned her mind to unimportant and yet essential elements about him. He had freckles on his shoulders and a small scar at the corner of his mouth. More scars were on the back of his hands. His knees were knobby, his thigh and calf muscles dusted with dark hairs. Work-hardened muscles and scars, proof he was human instead of some fantasy-born stud. With that thought, some of the real world began to return. She heard a clock ticking; her back itched from where the coverlet had rubbed against it. Sayer’s cock hung limp and useless, not that she had enough energy left for another round anyway. She had errands to run today, didn’t she? “I hate to say this,” he said. “But I’m expecting someone.” A woman? Maybe. “All right.” She made an effort to stand, but he kept her on the carpet with him. “I knew I was taking a chance on finding you here,” she muttered. “I shouldn’t—I shouldn’t have taken so much of your time.” What a damn dumb, stupid thing to say! “Don’t.” His voice held a warning tone. He caressed her throat. “I want you here. When I opened the door—I don’t understand why it’s like this between us, but if I could, I’d spend the rest of the day and night in this room with you, having sex over and over again.” He sighed, the sound vulnerable. Then he again shook his head; his newborn smile looked forced. “However— ” He indicated his penis. “The equipment is temporarily out of commission.”

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“That’s quite all right.” Striking a light tone felt safe. “I’m a little worn out myself. Besides, I need—I need to go.” He grabbed her arms, his grip fierce. “Where? When will I see you again?” “I don’t know. I have to finish work on my mother’s estate and—I have to get back home.” “No, you don’t.” He stood and helped her to her feet. He had his hands around her waist and was looking at her breasts. Just like that, her worn out cunt returned to life. Belatedly remembering what he’d just said, she pointed out that as a public health nurse for the county, she was hardly in a position to call the shots about when she would and wouldn’t work. “We need a bilingual public health nurse here,” he told her. His fingers trailed light-asmoth-wings over her hips. “One the migrant workers trust and who will advocate for them in political matters like the green card issue and why penalizing employers hurts everyone—one of them.” There it was, the race thing—the line her mother had begged her not to cross. “Sayer, I can’t change the system single-handed. Besides, I’m not an illegal; I’m not part of their world.” She couldn’t talk herself into ordering him not to touch her as if he owned her—as if he knew that’s what she needed. “Get someone who truly understands.” “I’ve been trying. It isn’t easy. Beside—” He leaned so close his features became fuzzy; his breath was warm on her cheeks. “I’ve found the one I want—you.” I could do that, quit my job and move here, return to my roots—lose myself in this man. But if she did, she’d have turned the promise she’d made to her mother into a lie. Now, half lost in this near stranger, she wondered not if but how her mother had known the draw would be this powerful. “I was on my way to my mother’s insurance agent when I stopped here,” she told him. “I’d like to shower before I get dressed.” “What if I tell you I don’t want you dressed, ever.” What a fantasy that would be—the rest of her life spent naked in these rooms, living for the moments when he spilled his seed inside her, sleeping beside him, showering together. Her cheeks felt hot, her lips numb. “I’d get cold in the winter without any clothes.” Her voice wasn’t as steady as she needed it to be. “I’d keep you warm; I promise.” “It’s a fantasy,” she whispered. “I know.” His features suddenly dark, he pointed toward a door. “In there. There’s towels in the closet next to the shower.” When she remained where she was, he cupped his hands over her cheeks and gazed at her, his expression maybe softer than she’d ever seen on a man; the darkness faded. “I’d love to join you, but if I did, we’d never get to what we both need to accomplish—although at the moment, you’re the only thing that matters.” “Don’t—say that.” “Why not?” “It’s—it shouldn’t be like this between us, so overwhelming.” “But it is.”

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She couldn’t think of anything to say so kissed him briefly, lightly, then fled. ***** To save on time as well as try to return a little of his equilibrium, Sayer grabbed a quick shower in the guest bathroom. He returned naked to his bedroom for his clothes and noted she’d taken hers into the bathroom with her. Maybe it was his imagination, but he swore he could still smell her. If she left and he never saw her again, would it help if he bought rose-scented perfume and sprinkled it on his pillow? The thought of never seeing her felt like a knife to his gut. Lust was a huge part of it; hell, lusting after Calina was hands-down the most mind-exploding thing he’d done sexually after he’d given up on the high school cheerleader. He tried to tell himself they needed space between them so they could get a handle on the insanity that had taken over, but his cock and other parts of his anatomy wasn’t having any of that. He wanted her in his life, in his bed, wanted his cock permanently housed in her pussy. And yet it was more than having an always-accessible sex partner, far more. The more part terrified him. Don’t cross that line, his father had long told him. You’re going to work with Mexicans as long as you’re part of this orchard and its culture, but no matter how much you admire and respect them, no matter that you need them as much as they do us, leave their women alone. The gaps can never be bridged. Don’t break your heart trying. But his father wasn’t him; his father had never met Calina Rambo. “Who’s coming?” Calina asked, shaking him out of his reverie. “Should I leave before he or she gets here?” “He. And it’s all right. You’ve already met my foreman.” “You’re sure?” She was back in that incredible body-floating yellow dress, her hair damp, long arms at her side. He fought not to look at the crack between her legs, to think about bunching the skirt around her waist and fucking her all over again. Before he could get his brain in gear, the doorbell rang. “What’s that about?” he muttered. “Usually Hugo just barges in.” “My car’s out front.” Her fingers curled inward. “This is going to be embarrassing.” “Only if you are,” he told her and walked out of the bedroom. He sensed her behind him. He opened the door to find his foreman standing there with a Styrofoam cup of coffee in one hand, a clipboard in another. Hugo cocked his head to one side. “You are decent?” he asked. “None of your damn business,” he retorted and stepped back to let his friend in. “What’s the matter? You don’t like my coffee?” “Your coffee sucks, jefe.” Hugo nodded, acknowledging Calina. He continued to look at her, his brow knitted. “Hola, senorita.” “Hola, Hugo,” she said, the soft Mexican words a song to Sayer’s ears. Years ago when Hugo and his father started working together, the two had met in the orchard, but they’d discovered the only way they could conduct business was away from the

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distractions and interruptions. While still a teenager, Sayer had started joining the morning gettogethers. Things had become complicated as his father’s mental sharpness deteriorated, forcing him and Hugo to meet secretly. Now the old habit of talking at the kitchen table had been re-established, with the younger generation at the helm. It still bothered Sayer not to have his father part of the orchard’s operation, but this morning, for the first time in months, he barely gave his father a thought. Instead of heading for the kitchen, Hugo continued to study Calina. “What is it?” Sayer asked. “If you have a problem with her being Mexican—” “It is not that.” Hugo glanced down, then looked at Calina again. “Senorita, the other day when I saw you in the orchard, I was not sure. You look familiar.” “I’m sorry. You’re mistaken,” she said. “I haven’t lived in the area for years. But my father worked here a long time ago. He died when I was nine. Is it possible you knew him? His name was Bernardo Paz Rambo?” Sayer couldn’t begin to describe the look that came over Hugo’s weathered face. The man had always seemed timeless, neither young nor old but part of the land and seasons. It might just be the light, but suddenly his friend appeared ancient. “Did you know him?” Calina sounded desperate. “I was so young when he died that except for relatives, I don’t remember the people he worked with.” “I knew him,” Hugo whispered. “I was there the day he fell.” Calina sank into the closest chair. “You were?” Hugo nodded. Then to Sayer’s surprise, he walked over to Calina and ran his callused hand over her cheek. “You look so much like your mama, beautiful like her.” Tears glistened in Calina’s eyes. She stared at Hugo. “You knew my mother?” Hugo glanced back at Sayer, his eyes heavy with warning. Sayer stepped behind Calina and rested his hands on her shoulders, thinking to give her strength for whatever Hugo was going to say. “I seldom spoke to Senora Rita,” Hugo said. He dropped to his knees in front of Calina. “Lusted after her, yes. Speak to her, no. She was married to a jealous man. And…” “And what?” Calina said after a moment, saving Sayer from having to prompt Hugo. “This is not for me to say,” Hugo muttered. “I do not talk about. . .” Hugo.” Calina sounded stronger, but Sayer wasn’t sure he could give himself credit for her renewed courage. She probably wasn’t aware of his hands on her “My mother is dead; both my parents are. If you can tell me anything about them. . .” Hugo sighed. He held out his hands and Calina placed hers in them. For his own part, Sayer gently massaged her shoulders, but felt distracted from the gesture. “Maybe it is time for you to know this. For both of you.” Hugo seemed to be talking to himself. “Calina, your mother was in love—with Richard Wood, Sayer’s father.” Had someone shot him? For as many as five heartbeats, Sayer honestly thought he had been. Then Calina’s trembling body distracted him. “What?” he blurted. “I don’t understand,” she said at the same time.

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Hugo looked up at him, then turned back to Calina. “Maybe it was not love, but when she came here—” “My mother came to this house? She always—she told me this was where el jefe lived.” El jefe, the boss. “I do not know about that,” Hugo said. “But when she came here it was always when Senora Wood was gone. The way she looked at Senor Richard, it was the look of a woman in love.” Calina shrugged as if trying to get out from under his grip. Realizing he’d increased his grip, Sayer tried to massage away the discomfort he’d caused her. Our parents fucked each other, just like we’re doing. “I can’t believe this,” Calina whispered. “It’s—the way she warned—I never thought— Hugo, you are sure?” Hugo looked like a man who’d stepped into something he wanted no part of. However, the quiet, intelligent Mexican had never shirked a task, no matter how hard. “Calina, I knew your uncles,” he said. “Good, hardworking men who, like your father, lived as they had when they were in Mexico. They labored in orchards and fields; their women stayed home and raised babies. That was how they showed their love for their wives; it was what the women wanted.” “That’s changed,” Calina said. “Nowadays, Mexican women work. They have to. My mother did after my father died.” “I know. Your uncles, sometimes they talked of how lonely and frightened your mother became. They wanted to make sure she would not have to go back to Mexico where you, she, and the baby would have to live in a house without electricity and her beauty would be used in a way she did not want.” Calina laced her long, slender fingers through Hugo’s work-hardened ones. “She was beautiful. I remember—what else did my uncles tell you?” “Sayer, I do not want to do this. I never thought—but Senorita Calina’s parents are dead and Senor Richard does not remember.” “No, he doesn’t,” Sayer ground out. “Hugo, why didn’t you ever tell me this?” “It was in the past. That is what I believed until I saw you and Calina together. Now, maybe, the past has returned.” ***** She must have gotten outside and to her car under her own steam, yet Calina had no memory of doing so. All she wanted was to drive away, anywhere, but Sayer had accompanied her. Now they stood in the driveway staring at each other. Despite the emotional risk, she took his hand and held it up so she could study the tanned, strong flesh. A short while ago these fingers had been on her breasts and in her; these fingers knew the feel and texture of her clit when aroused, had been bathed by her juices. “I don’t know what to say,” she told him. “All my life my mother warned Benita and me that a romance between us and a white man was doomed. I’d believed it was because she was Mexican heart and soul. But I was wrong. She spoke from personal experience.” 55

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“What happened between them?” Sayer muttered. “I never knew, never had any idea—do you want me to ask Hugo for more details?” “No, not now, at least. Maybe—my aunts and uncles must have suspected; they might tell—no, I need time.” “So do I.” He leaned toward her, and she knew he was going to kiss her forehead. At the last moment, however, she looked up, and their mouths came together. It should have been a kiss born of confusion and doubt, of secrets unwrapped and an unsure future. Instead, the hot power that had placed her on his bed a short while ago surged through her. She clung to him, mouth open, tongue probing, legs apart so one of his slid naturally between them. His hold on her was just as fierce. When he ran his thumbs down her spine and pressed into the small of her back, she thrust toward him. His arousal met her and demanded attention. “This is insane,” she whispered. “We shouldn’t—I don’t want—I don’t want to be turned on by you.” Sayer muttered agreement but continued to hold her against him. His cock challenged; in her mind, she unzipped him and directed his sex between her legs. She’d imprison him there and feed off him and grow strong again. But because simply being teased wouldn’t satisfy her, she’d find a way to strip off their clothes and close herself around him, make them one. “Don’t go,” he whispered. “Or if you must, come back later. I’ll get away. We can—talk.” She pulled his shirt out of his waistband and ran her hands over his ribs and took his essence into her. God, her body knew his so well! “We won’t talk. You know we won’t.” “Afterward. We have to.”

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Chapter ten Richard Wood lived in a facility devoted to Alzheimer patients. The grounds consisted of a large, lush lawn with flower gardens near the large brick building and around the parking area. There was one tree, a massive oak. The grounds were enclosed by a cyclone fence. “Does your father wander?” Calina asked as she and Sayer walked toward the building. “No, but others do. He likes working with his hands so he’s usually content to hang out in the craft room.” She nodded but couldn’t think of anything else to say. After thinking about it all day and being so distracted she couldn’t remember what the insurance agent had said, she’d called Sayer and told him she wanted to meet his father. He’d agreed to join her here after work, hadn’t asked what she hoped to accomplish, hadn’t warned her what and what not to say. She was grateful for his silence because she wasn’t sure she could explain herself. All she knew was she had to meet the man—or what remained of the man—her mother had loved. Loved. She still couldn’t put her mind around the concept. After all those years of warning her Mexican daughters that Gringo men lived in a different world, she’d touched that world. “Your mother was lonely after your father died,” Sayer said. “Young and alone. I hope you don’t blame her.” “When I was a little girl, I wanted her all to myself. There was even a time when I resented having to share her with my sister. Then when I got older, I wondered why she hadn’t remarried. She had suitors, lots of them.” “If she looked anything like you, I have no doubt of it.” She and Sayer reached for the front door at the same time. She started to withdraw her hand. Then the setting sun touched their respective forearms, and she stared at them. He did the same. “Working outdoors has permanently tanned me,” he said. “But my skin will never look as rich as yours.” “What about a pale-skinned woman? Surely you’re drawn to—” “Don’t go there,” he warned. “This is going to sound crude, but I don’t much give a damn. Your arm may be darker than mine, but my cock doesn’t care. And your flesh could be blue for all the difference it makes to me.” “You’re right. That’s crude.” “And honest.” Taking her hand, he brought it down toward his crotch. She didn’t fight him; in truth, she ached to press her body against his and make them one. “I’ve spent my whole life working with Mexicans,” he told her. “Three have named their babies after me. I’m honored; I love those children.” “Have you fucked any of the women?”

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Cursing, he yanked on the door and stepped inside ahead of her. She should tell him how sorry she was for the words, but maybe distance was what they needed to get through this meeting with his father. When the receptionist saw Sayer, she directed them to the crafts room which consisted of several tables strewn with fabric, paper, pencils, and crayons. There were a couple of aisles with watercolor pictures drying on them. Windows covered one wall, but because it would soon be dark, the overhead lights were on. Three men who she guessed were residents were at one of the tables. A young woman in a bright pink uniform helped one of the men string beads. Calina nearly cried at the thought of once-productive members of society stringing beads. Even before Sayer started toward the man at the far end, she knew who he was. Like Sayer, Richard’s shoulders were broad, his hands large. The older man had a full head of neatly trimmed white hair. He wore a button-down blue shirt and clean slacks. He needed a shave but other than that, he looked ready to receive visitors. Calina stood back so Sayer could have some time with his father but heard what they said to each other. Richard seemed fairly lucid. He remembered his son and proudly showed him what he was working on. “That’s great, Dad,” Sayer said. “I brought someone with me.” Richard looked around, his gaze both eager and nervous. Then he settled on her. Slowly, inexorably, a change came over him. He sat straighter, and his eyes filled with tears. “Beloved,” he whispered. “Rita?” Shaking, she perched on the vacant chair beside Richard. “How—how are you?” Sayer? Stay close. I need you. “It has been so long. I haven’t seen you in a long time, have I?” Richard touched her cheek. “You are beautiful.” “Dad?” Sayer whispered. “Do you know who this is?” “Of course I do, Rita Rambo, the woman I love.” Calina couldn’t bring herself to look at Sayer; still, she knew what she’d find—the same shock she felt. “I wanted to come before,” she managed. She hated deceiving Richard, but this might be her only opportunity to learn something about his relationship with her mother. “It’s all right. I know how hard it is for you to get away,” Richard said. “My wife—she isn’t here, is she?” “No,” Calina whispered. She felt numb. “I didn’t think so. Otherwise you wouldn’t have come. You don’t want to need me, do you?” She couldn’t think of a thing to say. “I understand.” Richard stroked her cheek again. “I don’t want to feel like this either, to love you so much.” Tears burned her eyes. She looked up at Sayer but couldn’t read his expression. “I—I can’t stay long,” she managed. “Do you remember how we met?” Richard frowned and glanced at his son. “Who are you?” he asked. “Where is my little boy?” “He—he’s outside playing,” Sayer whispered.

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“Good, good. I love that boy so much. You understand, don’t you, Rita? He’s why I stay with his mother—and because she—you know how she is.” Calina’s throat closed; she stared at Sayer, but he too remained silent. He looked half sick. “How is your husband, Rita?” Richard said. “The doctors—is that why you came? To tell me he died?” “Yes,” she whispered. “He’s dead.” “I’m sorry.” Richard started to pat her cheek again. Then his gaze traveled down to her belly. “You aren’t pregnant.” “N-no.” “Then—you’ve had our child?”

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Chapter eleven Calina sat next to Sayer on a bench at the far end of the facility’s ground. The sunset was fading; it would soon be dark. Richard’s lucidity, if that’s what it had been, hadn’t lasted long. Before either she or Sayer could gather themselves, he’d gone back to working on his painting. Sayer had tried a couple of times to get his father to talk about Rita’s baby, his baby too, but he’d only looked confused and fearful. Finally, Sayer had shaken his father’s hand, she’d kissed him on the cheek, and they’d left. They could have gotten back in their cars and driven away. Instead, they’d started walking aimlessly; moving seemed to help, at least a little. Then they’d seen the bench. “Do you think he’s right?” she asked when the silence had gone on too long. “Is it possible?” “That Benita is a half sister to both of us?” Sayer finished. He sat apart from her with his hands fisted on his thighs. “I don’t know. You said her eyes reminded you of mine.” “I never—it never entered my mind that she might not be my full sister.” “I never knew I had a half sister.” It was all too new, too foreign; she simply couldn’t absorb what they’d just learned and might not be the truth. “My mother—she was adamant Benita and I not have anything to do with white men.” “Why? Tell me everything.” “The way she talked, I thought she just believed it wasn’t right. When I was in high school, I wanted to date a white boy, but she was so against it I didn’t. She kept saying we’re different from them, and it wouldn’t work out. I tried to tell her I didn’t want to marry the boy, just go to a movie, but she put up this brick wall. I couldn’t get around it.” She’d been pressing her hands against her midriff. Sayer took the one closest to him and layered it between his hand and thigh. “Now, maybe, I understand,” she whispered. An owl hooted. The moon would be nearly full tonight, and the breeze felt warm on her cheeks and throat. She and Sayer had the area to themselves. It was different from the orchard, and yet there were enough similarities—the sense of growing things, closeness with the earth, connection to the seasons and life. “I—the day you and I met—I was so aware of my surroundings,” she said. “You’ve spent much of your life in that orchard so it probably didn’t make the same impact on you but—” “It did that day.” He turned toward her, and although she could barely make out his features, she met his gaze. “The moment I stepped out of my truck, I sensed something I never had before. It didn’t alarm me. Excite was more like it.” Her hand wasn’t near his cock, but she felt it change. She wondered if he knew her own sex organs were coming to life. Probably.

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“Then I saw you, and I understood,” he continued. “Calling it electricity sounds cliché and doesn’t go far enough. One look at you, and I knew my life had changed.” “I felt the same thing,” she told him, wondering where the courage to lay herself bare came from. “Sayer, is this what our parents felt?” “I hope so.” He spoke with his face so close to hers that she felt his every breath. “I know my father deserved it. My mother—there’s no depth to her. No passion.” She ran her fingers over Sayer’s cheek, chin, and throat, trying to make him real. He seemed partly human, partly an element of sky, trees, earth, grasses, even the unseen owl. She was becoming lighter, less earth-bound. At the same time, her body announced its primitive message. “My mother was a passionate woman,” she told him. “Still, I believed she lived a celibate life after my father’s death—if I thought about it at all—but I was wrong. Looking back I realize there was a sensuality about the way she carried herself, her laugher, how her eyes danced, her love of life.” “Her daughter has the same sensuality.” Sayer ran his hands over her shoulders, burning a path through the thin cotton layer. Heat traveled up the sides of her neck to her cheeks, reaching her eyes, even her scalp. More heat feathered down and out. It touched her hips and belly, growing stronger as it flowed over and into her. She felt her vagina swell and harden. “Not before—you,” she told him honestly. “You mean it?” He kissed her forehead and the tip of her nose, then tilted her head up and ran his tongue over her chin and jawbone. She moved with him, light as a feather and weighted with sensual heat at the same time. “I—you turn me on.” Trembling, she waited for his next move. When he only sat beside her in the shadows, breathing his warmth on her, sharing the air with her, she slid a hand around to the back of his neck and ran her fingers over his hair and flesh. He leaned his head toward her hand and sighed. “You touch me in places I’ve never been touched,” he whispered. “Not physically; I’ve been that route a number of times.” “I’m sure you have,” she told him although she hated to hear it. “I’m not going to tell you about my past sex partners, and I don’t want to hear about yours.” Past. The present—and maybe the future was for them. “It doesn’t matter.” Like him, she kept her voice to a whisper. “Nothing does except you and me, now.” “And the connection that began with our parents.” She cupped his face in her hands; he did the same to her. She both loved and hated the night that kept her from looking into his eyes. Night sanded away the external differences. The moon and stars didn’t care that she was Mexican and he was white. Neither did her heart, her cunt. “Sayer, my sister was conceived while my father was still alive. What happened? Did your father come to where they were living to see how my parents were doing? Did he and my mother look at each other—?” “The way we’re doing?”

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“Maybe yes, the way we’re doing.” Tears burned; one escaped and began to roll down her cheek. Sayer caught it and brought it to his mouth. “We’ll never know everything, will we?” he said. She was grateful for his words because at the moment she couldn’t speak. “What existed between them was buried with your mother and lost along with my father’s mind.” She fought down the sob that threatened to separate her from the growing and demanding storm between them. “I know what I want to believe,” she told him. “That my mother found a reason to embrace life in your father’s arms. Her husband—my father—was dying, but Richard Wood walked in the door and something—something wonderful happened between them.” “Something overwhelming, Calina.” Sayer began unbuttoning her blouse, his movements slow and uncertain. “Something they never truly learned how to deal with.” “No, they didn’t.” Her fingers felt as if they’d been rubbed with sandpaper, but she managed to find and release the fastening on his slacks. “That’s why my mother warned Benita and me to stay away from your kind.” “My kind? Calina, I’m only a man. Besides, the world they lived in has changed. You belong here as much as I do. You’re educated, a professional—free to love anyone you want.” Love? The word was new, powerful “What is it?” he asked. “What’s wrong?” “No-nothing.” “Don’t.” He pushed the blouse back on her shoulders and spread his hands over her breasts; they strained against her bra. “Don’t keep things from me, please.” “I can’t help it.” She kept her own hands on his waistband; it would take so little to touch his cock. “Things are happening so fast between us. It’s like an earthquake, a tidalwave.” “Yes,” he said, “it is. But whatever this thing is, it sustained our parents.” Much as she hated to, she shook her head. “It overwhelmed them.” “We aren’t our parents.” His tone was fierce. “We’re you and me, now, tonight. Neither of us is married to someone else. And I want to have sex with you.” That’s how it had begun between them. The other day in the orchard, they’d looked at each other and each had spoken the word sex and nothing else had mattered. Sayer’s cock—what made him a man—was within her reach. He could easily remove her bra and after that the rest of her clothes. They’d fuck in the dark on the ground; they knew how to do that. Was that all she wanted? Was it? “Calina? The first time I said those words you didn’t hesitate.” “I know.” Something whispered inside her; she recognized her mother’s voice. She couldn’t make out the words, but it didn’t lessen her belief that Rita was here. If she concentrated, maybe she’d hear the old warning that heartache waited for anyone who dared to cross from their world into another. But Sayer was right. She wasn’t her mother. She was herself—a woman sitting beside a man. “I feel so sorry for her,” she told Sayer. She spoke with her hands at his waist and his blood’s warmth flowing into her. “From what Hugo said, our parents’ affair went on for years. Did they love each other? What kept them together all that time?”

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“What kept them apart?” “I don’t know.” She rested her head on Sayer’s chest. They were going to have sex out in the open; she had no doubt. She also was in no rush. “Why couldn’t they find happiness?” He stroked her back, giving comfort and perhaps feeling it himself. “Do you want me to ask my mother?” “No. Not now. What’s between us is too new.” “We can do something about that. A start, anyway. Calina, do you want to go somewhere else? My place—maybe a motel?” “A motel’s for people having an affair. This isn’t what we have. At least I don’t want it to be.” “Neither do I.” He held her at arms’ length. “If my father was afraid to be seen in public with your mother, if he felt he had a reputation to uphold—I don’t know; maybe he was trying to protect your mother from gossip.” “It was too late. There was Benita, his daughter.” “Who everyone believed was your father’s child. Calina, I’m not going to apologize for my father’s behavior any more than I expect you to have an explanation for why your mother didn’t acknowledge Benita as his child. We can’t relive the past. I don’t want to.” “Thank you,” she whispered. Strange how lust had settled back to simmer while they were saying necessary things. Now, however, that had come to an end. “The first time we had sex, in the orchard, I felt as if the land itself helped create the mood. I feel the same way now.” “In other words?” He ran a fingernail along the top of her bra. “The earth is part of you,” she said and reached behind her and unfastened her bra. “It supports you, but it’s more, isn’t it?” He slipped the straps off her shoulders and revealed her breasts with their dark, hard nipples. “I’ve never considered earning a living any other way,” he told her. He ran his hands under her breasts, slowly gliding his fingers around the erect nubs. “That’s part of why I haven’t married. I was looking for a woman who understood how important the land is to me.” “Was?” His forefingers traveled over her breasts creating small, gentle circles. Sighing, she leaned into his heat. “I hope I’ve found what I’ve been looking for,” he whispered. “I’ve been looking too,” she admitted. Night was good. Being cradled in darkness made honesty easier and not just the kind of honesty words produced. She unbuttoned Sayer’s shirt and pulled it off him. The instant his arms were free, he returned to exploring her breasts. She loved his gentle caresses and the way he continually pleasured her in new ways. He hadn’t worn a T-shirt and because she’d already unfastened his slacks, nothing stood between her and her own exploration. Going deep inside herself, she imagined what it was to be a man with his lover’s fingers on his chest and belly. She might spend the rest of her life learning what Sayer felt when her hands were on him, but if it was anything like what she was experiencing. . . Smiling, she pushed his slacks as far down as she could. He started to stand, but she pressed on his hips, stopping him. If not for the night, she could now see his belly and pubic

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hair. As it was, she contented herself by slipping his cock through the opening in his briefs. Then she cupped him between her palms and gently stroked up and down its length. His hands stilled on her breasts. Then he seemed to give himself a shake and returned to massaging them, occasionally lightly pinching her nipples. Her throat felt hot and tight; by contrast, her cunt softened, readying itself for him. “This bench isn’t large enough,” he said. “And too hard.” “Do you have a suggestion?” “The ground,” she said easily, playfully. “The grass has just been mowed. It’s soft.” “There might be insects.” “Not a problem if we use our clothes. The only problem—” She pulled on the brief’s elastic, then let it snap back. “Is that we’re still wearing them.” “Some of them.” It felt good to stand, and although she started to reach for the fastening on her own slacks, she wound up folding herself against him, her hands cupped over his buttocks. He did the same, and they pressed together, mouths joined. When he moved to the side, she countered by sliding in the opposite direction, creating friction and energy through their garments. “Something’s wrong,” he whispered. Because his lips still touched hers, she felt as if she was being tickled. “What?” “We’re still semi-dressed. That wasn’t the plan.” “The plan.” His slacks’ fabric was so thin she felt his ass underneath. “I’m having trouble remembering what it was.” “Then I guess I’ll have to demonstrate.” When he let go of her buttocks, she felt the loss keenly. Then, although she wanted to do it, he finished undressing himself. Next he unhooked her pants and slid them down by running the backs of his hands along her belly and thighs. Nothing else mattered. Once he’d gone as far as he could while standing, she debated taking over, but he crouched and continued slowly exposing her legs. He stopped with the garment at her ankles so she lifted first one leg and then the other, balancing herself by gripping his head. “You changed from your dress,” he said. “It—reminded me too much of us.” “I love the way you look in it. Wear it again, please.” “I will,” she whispered. His fingers slid upward, traveling lightly along the inside of her thighs. Sobbing low in her throat, she widened her stance. Finally he took hold of her panties and eased them down over her hips. He stopped when they were bunched at the top of her thighs, slid his hand between her legs and ran his thumb again and again over her vagina. Throwing back her head, she pulled in clean, cooling air and stared up at the night’s first stars. She smelled just-mown grass and her own excitement. She was still caught between the two when he deftly tugged her panties the rest of the way down. “Can’t crouch like this much longer,” he whispered. “Sorry.”

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Before she could think what he wanted her to do, she sensed him settling onto his knees with his face near the apex to her legs. She slipped her fingers into his hair. His tongue—his tongue glided over her labia. Moaning, she increased his access to her. Sex juice slid out of her; he lapped it. “I’m ready,” she whispered. “I can make you more ready.” Now she felt his hands where his tongue had been, spreading her lips. Once he had, his tongue returned—licking, stroking her clit, dipping into her. “More ready,” she sobbed. “I’m—Sayer, please!” “Come down here with me.” Either she was good at obeying or he’d stripped the strength from her legs. Whichever it was, she settled onto her knees in front of him. It seemed to have happened in less than a second, but that couldn’t be right because he’d found time to arrange their clothing. “I’d like you on your back this time,” he said. “I have—an idea.” “An experiment?” she asked as she followed his suggestion. His shirt was under her back; her slacks protected her buttocks. However, if she stretched out her legs, there wouldn’t be room for him on the clothes-blanket. He knelt before her and bent and spread her legs, then scooted close to her ass. Sensing his cock trusting toward her, she tried to sit up and reach for it, but Sayer pushed her back down. Keeping one hand on her belly, he inched closer until she’d pulled her legs as close to her belly as possible. Her feet were in the air and against his side, held in place by his armpits. She could barely make out his features and could only imagine him smiling. Why wouldn’t he? He had her where he wanted her, caught between him and the ground. Leaning into her, he reached her breasts, something he did repeatedly. She rested her hands on his shoulders. When he flattened her breasts with his palms, she ran her hands down his arms. His cock ground against her sex, and although she tried to lift her butt off the ground so he could enter her, he inched away so now only his tip touched her clitoris. “Don’t you want sex?” she asked. “You’re in a hurry?” Instead of trying to answer, she let her fingers trail in to his chest muscles, all the while listening to what her body was telling her. The sense of vulnerability continued to make its impact. She’d never particularly liked it when her lovers chose a missionary position and had stopped seeing one man because he’d refused to let her be on top, but although having Sayer loom over her, teasing her wet folds and in command of her breasts, belly, and hips put him squarely in charge, she wasn’t afraid—didn’t feel diminished. Far from it, she admitted as he widened the distance between her legs and slid a hand down her belly to her mons. Whatever he wanted to do with her body, whatever he wanted from her, she’d give it. And try to give in turn, she vowed as once again she tried to lift her lower body in invitation. “Black hair,” he muttered, fingering her muff. He’d rocked back a little, decreasing the pressure on her lower legs and increasing his access to her cunt. “I love a black-haired woman,

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especially here.” He touched her, the contact a feathering graze that was over almost before it began. “S-Sayer.” “Sayer what? Do it again?” Unable to get her mouth to close, she nodded. He must have seen the movement because he again touched her there. This time the contact lasted a little longer; she felt it deeper. “Sayer!” “Ready?” Who needed words? Not her. By putting all of her admittedly limited ability to concentrate into it, she determined the angle of Sayer’s cock; when the time came for sex, she wanted to get right at it. As long as he played with her cunt, she’d be a fool to stop him, but his arm had to be in an uncomfortable position—at least for him. As for her— Was this man with his tanned and callused hands an artist? The talent must be in his soul because he treated her body as if it was a painter’s canvas, stroking here, brushing there, changing pace and tempo, even his equipment. By turn he used his forefinger, a knuckle. Even his baby finger briefly dipped into her followed quickly by his thumb. She floated with his touches, the placid lake she found herself on growing ever warmer and more encompassing. Her body seemed to be flowing, her labia drowning in her juices. “Wait. Honey, I-I’m getting a cramp in my shoulder.” Sayer shook the hand he’d been using to play her with. From somewhere, her plan, her resolve returned. She pressed her elbows against the ground and used the leverage to fully, if briefly, lift her buttocks. At the same time, she slipped her crotch toward Sayer. His cock kissed her clitoris, hung momentarily at the entrance to her vagina, then slid in— not because she’d skewered herself on him but because he was offering himself to her, gifting her with his cock. Her pelvis muscles trembled. As she sank back toward earth, she felt his hands slide under her ass. He effortlessly lifted her up and onto him; needing no direction, she wrapped her legs around his waist and crossed them at his back. Determined to make their mating even more secure, she took hold of his neck. Her butt rested on his thighs, their union complete. Sayer thrust. She stayed with him. His cock caressed the front of her pussy, his tip reaching for near her G-spot. Sobbing, she clamped her legs hard against him and rode with him. From this position, she was more a receiver of pleasure than a giver; the strength was with him. As for her, she held him with hands and legs and pussy muscles. Secure over and against him, she accepted his thrusts one after another until they all ran together, ending so deep inside her she could taste him. Her clit felt liquid and flowing. A breeze, cooler than before, tiptoed along her cheeks and throat. The night air added a fascinating mix to the countless sensations. She no longer had arms or legs; her brain was gone. She still had a heart. It hammered against her chest in time with Sayer’s pounding rhythm. Ride him. Ride him. I am; I am.

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Fire licked at her, maybe kissed her. It chased over her sex and ignited her breasts and belly. In her imagination, her cunt became a blossoming flower . She felt her vagina open itself to Sayer’s cock, spreading, offering. More flames covered her breasts. Heat ground into her. Her pussy muscles jerked once, twice, then spasmed. She gave up trying to count the contractions and simply lived with them, her fingers pressing into the back of his neck. His fingers bit into her buttocks, and he came at her again and again. Brand me! Make us one. She thought she climaxed before him, but wasn’t sure. ***** “I hear an owl.” Calina started to lift her head off Sayer’s shoulder, then gave up. In her post-fucking lethargy, she lacked the strength to do more than blink. “Do you think he approves?” she asked. “He wishes he was doing the same as us.” Although she wanted to hear the night creature, even more she needed to lay beside Sayer with their naked bodies sealed together. His spent cock was nestled against her labia; their legs were intertwined. Before long the breeze would cool their sweat, forcing them to get dressed, but for now she listened to the beating of his heart. “You called me honey,” she whispered. “Do you remember?” “Oh yes, I remember.” He kissed the tip of her nose. “How do you feel about it?” “I’m not. . .” “What is it?” She ran her fingers over his shoulder. “I don’t want to make light of anything. Sayer, you overwhelm me, but I love the feeling.” “I feel pretty overwhelmed myself.” His admission touched her deeply; she acknowledged his honesty by sliding her hand between their bodies and cradling his soft organ. It twitched. “Maybe this is what our parents felt; it had to be like this. Sayer, I—I don’t want to lose you.” “I won’t let that happen.” “I think—no, I know. Sayer, I’m going to move back.” His body stilled. “What is it?” she asked. “What are you thinking?” Instead of answering, he rolled her away from him and got to his knees. Shaking, she did the same. In the dark, she reached for him. “What is it?” she repeated. “You mean it?” he whispered with his hands now cupping her cheeks. “You want to stay here?” Leaving you would kill me. “Yes.” He drew her toward him, and they kissed—a long, slow message she felt in her satiated pussy. “Come back to my place with me, please,” he said. “Stay the night. Be there in the morning for everyone to see.”

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Her heart singing, she ran her fingers and palms over his chest. He was life and warmth, virile beyond anything she’d ever imagined. “Not just tomorrow,” she whispered. “I want more than that.” Sayer didn’t say anything; he didn’t need to. His hands cradled her naked breasts, stroked them, thumbed and fingered. Then he leaned into her and ran his tongue over the nubs, and she heard the owl. “He’s happy for us,” he muttered. “He wants this for us,” she said as her heart pounded and her pussy softened—getting ready to receive him again.

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Epilogue “How hard it must be for him,” Benita said. “Not really,” Calina told her sister. “At first it was, but now he has no memory of what he used to be.” Calina, Benita, and Sayer had come to the Alzheimer’s facility for Richard Wood’s birthday. Even if he didn’t understand what the celebration was about, the older man had enjoyed his cake and ice cream. Now they were all outside, Sayer walking ahead of the sisters with his arm around his father. When Calina had told her sister what she was going to do today, Benita had hesitated briefly, then said she wanted to come too. In the two weeks Calina had been back in southern Oregon, Benita no longer insisted she had no use for Sayer. Much of the change had begun when Calina admitted she'd never felt like this about a man—sexually alive and at peace at the same time. She wanted—needed—her only sibling to understand that she had fallen in love, to share in her joy. At first Benita had been skeptical, but she was going out of her way to get to know Sayer. Today was proof of how far she'd come. “He really is sweet,” Benita said, referring to Sayer's father. “I can tell he’s scared sometimes, but it takes so little to make him happy. And the way Sayer loves him—that means a lot to him.” “He’s secure and safe; that’s the main thing,” Calina said. “It’s the way it should be. After all, think of all the people he’s helped in his life. Sis?” “What?” Calina prompted. She couldn’t keep her eyes off Sayer’s broad, strong back and didn’t care whether her sister noticed. After all, she was living with the man. “I was such a shit. The way I treated Sayer—it looks as if I was wrong. He's a decent man, just like his father.” Richard is your father too, Calina thought but didn’t say. She and Sayer had decided Benita needed to know the truth soon, before Richard died—just not today. “You weren’t a shit,” Calina said as they caught up to Sayer and his father who were now sitting on the bench near where she and Sayer had had sex. “Just confused.” “Confusion’s my middle name. I’m getting used to it.” Benita sat on Richard’s other side and took his hand. Calina exchanged a look with Sayer, but Richard gave no sign he knew the young woman stroking his wrist was his daughter. Her heart ached with the thought of the unrealized relationship but regret wouldn’t change anything. They all had to live in the present. After a moment, Benita got to her feet and pulled Richard up with her. “I’m going to need more than a short stroll if I’m going to work off that cake,” she announced. “And I’d love some company. What if you come with me? We’ll leave these two—” She jerked her head at Calina and Sayer. “To entertain themselves.”

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Calina waited until Benita and Richard were out of earshot, then leaned into her lover’s side. “I think she’s going to be all right with it,” she told him. “It’ll shake her up, but she never had a father. Now she does.” “He isn’t a real father,” Sayer whispered. “We’ve all lost that.” “I’d give anything to give him back his mind,” she said as she placed Sayer’s hand between her legs. “But I can’t.” Sayer pressed his hand against her cunt, his forefinger going straight for her opening. “You’re wearing the dress again,” he said. “The one that drives me crazy.” “That’s all?” she asked with mock horror. “In other words, if I wasn’t wearing yellow, I wouldn’t turn you on?” “Hmmm.” Sayer took her hand and guided it over his cock. Under her practiced fingers, it woke up. “No. I guess it isn’t the dress. Definitely not the dress—more like the lack of one.” “Is that a proposition?” “You damn bet.” He continued to stroke her cunt through her panties and skirt; she spread herself for him. Giving as good as she was getting took concentration, but Sayer’s pleasure was important to her so she caressed him and made promises she fully intended to make good on tonight. “You make it right,” he whispered. “It hurts to see my father like this, but I think he’d be happy knowing I’ve found what was denied him.” She hurt for Richard and her mother, two good people who’d loved each other but hadn’t found a way to embrace that love. But Sayer was right. It was going to be different for them. She already wore the engagement ring he'd given her. They hadn't set a wedding day yet but agreed it would be small and casual—and they would honeymoon on the Oregon coast. It would have to be a long honeymoon because they both knew they wouldn't leave the house overlooking the ocean for the first few days.

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About the author: Vonna welcomes mail from readers. You can write to them c/o Ellora’s Cave Publishing at P.O. Box 787, Hudson, Ohio 44236-0787.

Also by Vonna Harper: Forced Hard Bodies Her Passionate Need Night of Fire (Equinox anthology) Thunder

MOSTLY SUNNY WITH A CHANCE FOR BELGIAN CHOCOLATE Elizabeth Jewell

Elizabeth Jewell

Chapter 1 Interstate 70, heading from Bergen Park into Denver, was roiling with late-morning mist. Alexa Walker watched it with some curiosity as she drove. It whirled and spun and drifted away in the mild breeze, as if some gigantic fog machine had been set loose on the highway. “That mist you’re seeing on the highway isn’t fog, folks.” The voice on her radio was deep and textured—one of the loveliest male voices she’d ever heard. It made her wonder what that voice looked like naked. That voice was probably tall and dark, with sculpted pectorals that made a t-shirt look pornographic, a tight ass and a dick that wouldn’t quit. It just wouldn’t be fair, otherwise. Who was she kidding? There was a reason why the guy was on the radio, after all. Because the voice was fantastic. He probably had, as they say, a great face for radio. She’d find out soon enough. Her assignment for today was to interview the owner of that voice, media darling Carter Allen, host of the most popular weather-related talk show in Denver history. Maybe in history, period. “So what is it if it isn’t fog?” Lex said aloud. She reached forward and turned the radio up a little. This would have been a good time for headphones, but they really weren’t safe on the road. Especially not with that voice. It would just thread through your head, make all your voluntary muscles seize up, and next thing you know you’d be wrapped around a Ponderosa pine. “No,” the voice said, velvet and pine smoke and—no that wasn’t even adequate. It was just indescribable. “No, that is not fog. That’s what’s called sublimation. The solid snow on the ground is turning directly into water vapor. Those of you who’ve recently moved in from out of state—go back home! No, I’m kidding. We love you all. Those of you from out of state may not have seen this phenomenon before. That’s because it generally only happens in extremely dry climates. Like—you guessed it—Colorado. Anyway, it’s my guess that our late April blizzard will be nothing more than a memory by the end of the day.” God, what a voice. He was probably four feet nine and a hundred eighty pounds. He probably looked like Elmer Fudd. She really, really hoped he didn’t.

***** Forty minutes later, Lex walked into the offices of radio station KPLX. Carter’s voice still echoed in her head. He’d closed off his show just as she’d gotten out of the car. She’d learned more about sublimation and that there was a thing called groupel that she’d never heard of before, which Carter was going to explain on his next show. She’d also developed a theory that it was possible to have an orgasm just from listening to Carter Allen talk. No wonder his show did so well in the female, eighteen to thirty-five demographic.

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The receptionist referred her to an intern, who led her to the elevator. “Mr. Allen’s office is on the third floor. He usually goes there right after he’s done with his show.” She pushed the button on the elevator and as the doors closed Lex said, “Is he as goodlooking as he sounds?” The intern closed her eyes a moment. “Oh, my God.” She looked at Lex again. “You are really going to enjoy this interview.” So. Not Elmer Fudd, then. Lex shifted a little on her feet, uncomfortable. She’d interviewed good-looking men before, though. She’d interviewed Broncos and Avalanche players and hottie-pants newscasters from Channel Nine. She could handle it. The intern led her down the hallway to Carter’s office, where she knocked. “Come in.” The voice. God, the voice. Lex swallowed. This was insane. She was really starting to hope this guy was ugly. The intern pushed open the door. “Carter, this is Alexa Walker from the Rocky Mountain News.” Lex stared. She couldn’t help it. Definitely not Elmer Fudd. Unless they’d changed Elmer Fudd and made him about six three with skin the color of good Belgian milk chocolate. “Hi,” said Lex, somewhat amazed she was able to form words. “You can call me Lex.” Behind her, she heard the office door close as the intern departed. Carter stood and rounded the desk. She’d judged accurately from his sitting height—easily six three. A little lanky, broad-shouldered, fashionably bald. He held out a fairly immense hand and Lex took it. His handshake was firm and warm. “Nice to meet you.” “Nice to meet you, too.” Lex hoped she wasn’t gaping. She was pretty sure she wasn’t. She might have been drooling a little, though. “I really enjoyed your show this morning. Spent half the ride down the mountain in that sublimation stuff.” He grinned, a wide, open smile that made him that much prettier. “Cool stuff we get in Colorado. You know what groupel is?” “No, I don’t.” “I do.” “And you’re not going to tell me?” “Of course not. It’ll come up in casual conversation at some point. Either that, or you can wait until tomorrow’s show.” He went back to his seat behind his desk. “Have a seat, Ms… What was it again?” “Alexa Walker. Call me Lex.” She took a seat in a chair across from the desk and opened her briefcase to retrieve a notebook. “Lex,” Carter repeated. “Like Lex Luthor?” “Yes,” said Lex. “Exactly like Lex Luthor. I’m a supervillain. You couldn’t tell by looking?” He laughed. “Yeah, you have a supervillainy air.” “It’s the shoes.” She settled back into the chair. “Now, according to your biography, you were born and raised in Denver?”

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***** “Okay, I’ve been trying and trying but I can’t seem to make ‘groupel’ fit into casual conversation.” Lex barely managed to get the words out through her laughter. Carter grinned broadly. He smiled easily and well, and between the voice and the white teeth and the muscular shoulders under his dark blue polo shirt, Lex was lost in the lovely aura of Carter Allen-ness. “How about this. What the hell is groupel?” Lex laughed. “That works. So what the hell is groupel?” Carter leaned over the desk a little, looking right into her face, his expression changing to the sincerity of someone trying to teach. “Have you ever seen stuff that looked like hail, but when you pick it up, it’s really soft?” “You mean that snow kind of thing that looks like Styrofoam pellets?” “Exactly. That’s groupel. It’s actually snow that’s been turned into pellets. Some people call it ice pellets, but it’s not really icy. It’s soft and squashy.” “Is that the technical description? Soft and squashy?” It was hard to converse with Carter, she’d realized, without laughing. A lot. “It is on my show. I like to make this stuff accessible.” He leaned back in his chair again, folding his hands in his lap. “Colorado has very interesting and complex weather, and I think it’s good when people can understand it. Especially kids. I really think mostly about the kids when I’m putting my show together. I’d like to hope that someday, somebody will come up to me and tell me they’re a meteorologist because of me.” “Kids, huh?” She glanced at the bio she’d compiled. “Are you aware that eighty-five percent of your audience is female, eighteen to thirty-five?” Carter gave her a look. If his skin hadn’t been so dark, she had the distinct feeling he would have blushed. “Yes, I’m aware of that.” “Do you know why that is?” “I have no idea. Maybe women just like the weather.” No blushing now, she thought, as a smile tweaked across his full lips. It wasn’t quite seductive, though. He was just being friendly. “You don’t think it could have something to do with your voice?” she asked. “It’s all I got.” He grinned again—he really had a lovely smile. “Look. I like to talk about the weather. They hired me to talk about the weather. People apparently like to listen to me talk about the weather. It’s all good, right?” “I think some people would probably be happy to listen to you talk about anything.” Oops. She really hadn’t meant to say that. Too late now, so she looked him right in the eye and went on. “I think you’re one of those guys who could read the phone book and make women swoon.” One of his eyebrows twitched. “You’re not swooning.” “I don’t swoon. Makes it hard to take notes.” “Good point.” He made a vague gesture toward her notebook, where she’d been scribbling as they talked. “Did you have any other questions?” Lex glanced at her watch. “I’m sorry—do you have to be somewhere? I was hoping to keep you for about another twenty minutes.”

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“No, no appointments. But I skipped breakfast and I’m about to keel over.” He paused, his eyes narrowing as he looked at her. “Maybe we could take the conversation elsewhere. Could I treat you to lunch?” “Sure. That sounds great. But I’ll treat. It’s my fault this has gone on so long. Plus the paper will pay,” she added with a grin. He took her to a burger joint. Not fast food, but nothing fancy, either. And, coincidentally, it turned out to be Lex’s favorite restaurant. “I love this place,” she said as they slid into a booth near the back. The restaurant was noisy, which would make it hard to ask him more questions, but if it had been fancy and quiet, it would have been even harder. He looked doubtful. “You’re not just saying that.” “No, I’m not. This is, honest to God, my favorite restaurant.” “Cool.” He picked up the menu. “I really should have asked first, I guess, but I just had a hankering for one of these double-burger cheese and onion things.” “I ordered one of those once. Couldn’t finish it, unfortunately.” She pulled out her notebook and laid it on the table. He pointed at it. “Are you gonna write that down? That I like a double-burger cheese and onion thing?” “Maybe.” She opened the notebook, glancing over the last page of barely legible shorthand. “Your female viewers might like to hear about your likes and dislikes.” “You think that would be good for the article?” “I think it would be excellent. So what turns on the hunky weather guy?” He laughed. “I don’t know. Why don’t you ask him?” “I am asking him.” She wrote, very carefully and neatly, so he could read it, double-burger cheese and onion thing. “How about sports. Are you into sports? Broncos fan? Avalanche?” “Nuggets. That way I never have to worry about having to schedule time to watch the playoffs.” “Plus—guys in shorts.” “Not a big draw for me, but whatever floats your boat.” Lex smiled and said, while writing it meticulously down, “Not gay.” “Love Barbra Streisand. My favorite musical is ‘Hello Dolly.’” She looked up to see his lurking smile, and drew a line through, “Not gay.” “Possibly gay,” she said, and wrote that down. He laughed. “Never hurts to keep a bit of mystery, right?” “I have to agree with that. What kind of music do you like?” “Hank Williams. Senior, not Junior. Johnny Cash.” She gaped at him. “Good lord, you’re whiter than I am.” “Hey, it’s good music. Loretta Lynn, Tammy Wynette. Oh, and Alicia Keys. Love her. The Indigo Girls.” “Okay, eclectic taste in music.” She chewed the end of her pen, staring at her notes, mulling over the next question. “What would be your dream date? I mean personality-wise, not where you’d go or whatever.”

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He leaned back in his chair, mulling the question. “Somebody who could listen to me ramble on and on about the weather for hours on end. Somebody with eclectic taste in music, who likes a double-burger cheese onion thing once in a while. Girl with a sense of humor.” “Ah. Girl. We’re back to not gay.” “Okay, I admit it. I’m not gay. But I do like Streisand.” “No harm in that. A lot of straight guys like Streisand.” She rolled her eyes. “James Brolin,” he offered. “Point taken.” The waitress approached them then, derailing Lex’s train of thought for a moment. She watched Carter as he ordered his gigantic hamburger, then she, without really thinking about it, ordered the same thing for herself. When she handed the menu back to the waitress, Carter was looking at her with an almost-smile and something a little too warm in his eyes. “Thought you said you couldn’t finish one of those.” “I’m game to try again.” He grinned. “A woman who’ll take on a challenge.” He pointed toward her notebook. “Write that down, too.” She wrote it down. He was flirting now, she was sure. And she was loving it. Nothing wrong with a little flirting. She doubted it would go anywhere. She’d finish her interview, say goodbye, and likely never see him again. But he was looking at her again, leaning over the table a little, his dark, dark eyes glinting with—something. “How about a little wager?” She set down her pen and met his challenging gaze evenly. “What do you propose?” “I got a thing tonight. Little get-together at my apartment. Nothing fancy, just an informal welcome home for my little brother and his wife. If you can’t finish the burger, you have to come.” Lex considered. Seriously, because she had no doubt she wasn’t going to be able to finish the hamburger. And she had a feeling Carter knew that, too. Why he couldn’t just come out and ask her, she wasn’t sure, but this made it safe. Made it a game rather than a flirtation or a seduction. He waited patiently, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He was phenomenally pretty, she thought. Not quite as pretty as his voice, but, damn, it was close. “Okay,” she said finally. “I finish the burger, I get to go home unscathed. I can’t finish it, you drag me off to some hideously boring, manly get-together.” She grimaced. “Will there be viewing of sports?” He laughed. “There very well might be.” With a delicate shudder, she accepted her fate. “It’s a deal.”

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Chapter 2 “Go, go, go, Lex!” Carter pounded the table with a fist as Lex forced down one more bite of her hamburger. A couple of other diners had taken surreptitious interest in the gastronomic drama. But it was over, and Lex knew it. “I give up.” She looked down at her half-eaten doubleburger cheese and onion thing, which she had torn into a variety of pieces. There was just no possible way she was going to be able to eat another bite. Carter, who had finished his—as well as a gigantic pile of French fries—about ten minutes ago, grinned. “Then you accept the consequences?” “I made the bet, and I’m a big girl.” She was also thoroughly, genuinely stuffed. “So what’s the plan? How do I get to this party?” He jotted directions down in her notebook. She recognized the street name; he lived in a nice area of town. “What time?” “Seven o’clock.” “Okay.” She looked at her watch. “I need to get to the office and organize my notes.” “Did you get everything you needed?” “I think so. Thanks very much for your time.” It seemed strange, shifting back into formal mode after they’d spent the last several minutes joking around over the hamburger. “Not a problem. I’ll see you tonight.” “Casual?” she asked. “Very.” She stood, and he followed suit, holding out his hand. She took it. It was large and warm and the contact made her palm tingle. She stared down, at his big, brown fingers clasped around her smaller, paler ones. His hand moved, pulled her closer, but just a little, so that she wasn’t certain it wasn’t her imagination. Then he let her go. “I’ll see you tonight,” he said.

***** Carter poured salsa into a bowl and tried not to look at the clock, but he looked at it, anyway. It was nearly twenty after seven. “You think she’s going to show?” Carter spared his brother a glance. Mark had a smirk on his face, and his blue eyes glinted. “I think she will,” said Carter. He picked up the salsa, a bag of chips, and a beer, and headed back into the living room, his blond brother trailing behind him. “We had a bet. She didn’t seem like the type to welsh on a bet.”

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Mark shrugged. He collapsed onto the couch next to his wife. “Maybe she doesn’t think you’re safe.” Kallie snorted. “You Allen men are as safe as they come.” Carter gave her an evaluating look. “I don’t know whether to be complimented or insulted by that.” “Take your pick.” She ran a hand over the rounded bulge of her very pregnant belly, and Carter wondered again what the baby was going to look like, with blue-eyed, blond-haired, pasty-white Caucasian Mark for a father and Kallie, olive-skinned and of Polynesian heritage, as a mother. Pretty, no question about that. They were a multi-shaded family, the Allens, thanks to adoption and open-minded dating practices. He set the salsa and chips on the coffee table. And the doorbell rang. He looked at Mark. “See? There she is now.” “Maybe,” said Mark. Carter went to the door and peeked through the peephole. It was, indeed, Lex, and his heart jumped when he saw her. He pulled the door open and grinned. “Lex. Glad you could make it.” She wavered a little on his doorstep, giving him a chance to look her over again. Her shoulder-length, black hair, which had been loose this morning, was pulled back into a ponytail, and there was a hint of uncertainty in her uptilted emerald eyes. In one hand, she held a plastic container of Safeway chocolate chip cookies. She lifted it toward him. “I didn’t know if I should bring anything.” He took the cookies. “Nobody here is going to say no to chocolate chip cookies.” Stepping aside so she could come in, he gestured toward his brother and sister-in-law. “This is my brother Mark and his wife Kallie. They’re in the process of moving back from Sri Lanka or something. I forget.” Lex did the expected double take, but mildly and rather gracefully, Carter thought. “Hi. Nice to meet you.” She also seemed a little more relaxed at the sight of Kallie. Carter had expected as much—pregnant women tended to make situations like this feel a good deal more comfortable. Lex looked at Carter. “I was expecting a bunch of guys and a lot of beer.” “Sorry to disappoint.” He headed into the kitchen with the cookies. “Have a seat. We’ve got chips and dip and there’s pizza in the oven. What can I get you to drink? Diet Coke?” It seemed a fair bet—it was what she’d drunk at lunch. “Or iced tea if you have it.” “Iced tea? What the hell’s that?” He glanced toward the living room in time to see her smile. “Diet Coke’s fine,” she said. He poured her a glass and came back out to the living room, setting the glass on the table. “It was Brazil,” said Mark. “Not Sri Lanka. We were doing some missionary work. Digging wells and building houses.” Lex eyed him with interest. “Tell me about that. It sounds interesting.”

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***** Lex leaned back in her chair, watching Carter put a DVD in the player. He bent over a little bit, and his jeans outlined a round, firm, very grabbable ass. She stared a split-second too long before shifting her attention to the TV screen. “So, what are the rules to this game again?” she asked. “There are way too many rules,” said Mark. Carter looked back over his shoulder as the DVD started to play. It was a compilation of old Star Trek episodes. “Crap, we’re doing original series?” Mark protested. “Next Generation is better.” Kallie lolled her head tiredly toward her husband. “You just want to look at Deanna Troi in lycra.” “Damn straight.” Lex chuckled. “How are you going to play, anyway, Mark? You don’t have a beer.” She hefted her own bottle of Heineken in demonstration. Mark shrugged. “I can’t drink. I have to be able to chauffeur my extremely pregnant wife.” “He’ll belch,” said Carter. He snagged his own beer from the table and plopped onto the couch next to Lex. Lex shifted. He was just a little too close. Or not close enough—she wasn’t sure which. “He’ll belch loudly,” Kallie added. “Yes, I will.” “Okay,” said Carter to Lex, “here are some basics. Take a drink if Bones says, ‘He’s dead, Jim,’ or if he says, ‘I’m a doctor, not a bricklayer,’ or some variation on that. Take a drink if Kirk kisses a girl, or if Spock calls Bones illogical, or if a redshirt gets killed.” “Redshirt?” It had been a long time since Lex had watched Star Trek. “Security officer,” Carter explained. “Guy in a red shirt. They always die.” “Okay.” Carter popped the top off his bottle of beer and continued. “Take a big swig if Kirk doesn’t get the girl, or if anybody refers to a twentieth century historical event. Got it?” “That’s it?” “There are lots more, but you get the gist. Let’s get started.” He cued up the first episode. “Jeez!” said Mark after a few seconds. “’Man Trap.’ I hate this one.” “Shut up,” said Carter. Forty-five minutes later, Lex had finished her first beer, and they were going on to the next episode. It seemed there really wasn’t much they didn’t drink to, but she’d tried to keep her sips small, since she was planning to drive home. Kallie had drifted to sleep, her head lolling against Mark’s shoulder, the container of Safeway cookies open in her lap, half-empty. Mark looked at her. “One more, then I gotta go.” “I should go now,” Lex put in. Not that she wasn’t having fun, but she had an article to write. “Oh, come on,” said Carter. “One more episode.”

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“Okay.” The next episode took two beers to get through. Spock kept saying “fascinating,” which was worth a sip, a couple of redshirts died, and there were two swig-worthy moments. Carter, Lex noticed, had a more liberal interpretation of “sip” than she did. He had five empties in front of him by the time they were done. He had also slung his arm over the back of the couch, nearly against Lex’s shoulders, and his thigh was right up against hers. Every time he moved, it rubbed against her. As a result, she had no idea what most of the show’s plotline had been about—only that she’d managed to drink a lot of beer. She was starting to feel a little light-headed, not to mention aroused. “That’s it,” Mark announced. “I have to take the sleepy pregnant woman home.” He nudged Kallie gently and she opened her eyes, blinking blearily up at him. Carter looked at Lex. “I’m gonna call you a cab.” “Do you think that’s necessary?” She wasn’t really drunk—just a little woozy. “Better safe than sorry.” He stood and stretched. Lex watched him as the movement pulled his T-shirt tight against his chest and stomach. There was some very nice muscle structure under there, if she wasn’t mistaken. He turned to take the few steps into the kitchen, to pick up the phone, granting her another pleasant look at his jeans-clad backside. Her hands twitched— she wanted to grab him, give that round ass a firm squeeze. She forced herself to look away, then stood as Mark helped Kallie up from the couch. “It was nice to meet you,” she said. “Nice to meet you,” said Mark. He shook her hand. Kallie smiled wearily and mumbled something friendly, then they gathered their jackets and headed out. Kallie took the box of cookies with her, seemingly unaware she even had it. Carter hung up the phone and saw his brother and sister-in-law off, then turned back to Lex. “The taxi will be here in about ten minutes. You can call me in the morning and we’ll make arrangements to get your car back home.” “That works for me.” She settled back into her place on the couch, and Carter sat next to her, a little farther away this time. “So,” he said, “are you wishing right now that you’d managed to finish that hamburger?” She smiled. “Not really. That was fun. You have a very interesting and multi-colored family.” She realized belatedly that that had sounded inappropriate, but he just laughed. “I was adopted. My mom and dad are white. Mark is their biological son. Kallie’s Polynesian. I also have a Chinese sister who’s married to a Navajo guy from Alamosa.” “That is one hell of a gene pool.” It might even be a more interesting article than handsome weather-guy makes good, but she didn’t think this was the time to ask him about it. “We might have to talk about that some time.” “On an official basis?” “Maybe.” He smiled, his dark eyes warm. “I’m thinking I like talking to you on a non-official basis.” She returned his sultry regard and said, much to her own surprise, “I’m thinking I’d really like for you to kiss me.” His smile faded. “Good God, woman, how drunk are you?” 82

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“Not that drunk.” He looked at her, as if judging her sincerity, his fingers twitching on the back of the couch. She stared at the lines of his full mouth, waiting for him to move, or laugh at her, or do something… “Oh, good grief,” she said finally, and grabbed him by the back of the neck, and pulled him into her, and kissed him. He lifted his arms in a warding gesture, but didn’t push her away. His mouth was unresponsive at first, so she pushed a little harder, and finally he softened, embracing her, kissing her back. His mouth was hot and tasted of Heineken. She traced his lips with her tongue and he opened to her, letting her explore him. His fingers dug into her back, clutched her closer. Part of her mind started asking the hard questions, like what the hell she was doing, and that maybe she should get to know this guy a little better before she stuck her tongue in his mouth. But the other part of her mind had more interesting questions, including what he looked like naked, and if other parts of his body were proportionally as large as his hands. She let herself sink farther into him, let herself go. He was making noises into her mouth, which at first sounded like sounds of protest, but shifted to something else as she began to stroke her tongue against his. His hands shifted down her back, moving under the hem of her blouse, finding bare skin, sliding up. His palms were big and smooth, hot. Fingers found the hooks of her bra, unfastened one— And suddenly he pulled back, gasping. “Stop, Lex,” he said. “Stop.” She lunged after his mouth again, but he pushed her away. “What?” “You’ve known me, like, fifteen hours. What are you doing?” “Kissing you.” She dipped her head again, but he dodged her. “You have no intention of stopping there, do you?” Mostly on top of him, she ground her hips into him. His firm, erect cock rolled against her, through his jeans. “Neither do you.” “Yeah, actually, I do.” He straightened a little, still trying to push her away. “You’re drunk.” “I’m not drunk. I’m just a little buzzed.” She slid her hands between them, rubbing his chest. He closed his eyes, clenched his teeth. “Don’t you feel it?” she said. “Feel what.” He still had his eyes stubbornly closed. “The chemistry. I felt it when I was interviewing you.” “Yeah, I felt it. You sure you want to cheapen that with half-drunken sex?” “I am not cheap.” “I didn’t say you were. But will you remember this in the morning?” “God, I hope so.” She slid her hands under his shirt, feeling the sleek, firm expanse of his abdomen. “Yes, I’ll remember. I told you, I’m not drunk. I only had three beers.” He opened his eyes and studied her face. “Will you respect me in the morning?” She grinned. “Probably not.” Her fingers reached his nipples, found them pebbled. She flicked them softly. “Why are you so damn noble, anyway?”

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His expression was far too sober. “I don’t believe in taking advantage, and I don’t believe in one-night stands.” “So we do this, then you remember to call me, and we’re all good.” Her thumbs rolled his nipples gently. She could feel his heartbeat against her chest, hard and a little too fast. His hips moved under her—a single, instinctive thrust. “You do this a lot?” he asked. “What, throw myself at men? Never.” “Then why?” Oh, this was ridiculous. What was he, Sir Freaking Galahad? She pushed herself away and sat up. “Fine. You don’t like me, you don’t want to, whatever. I’ll just go home.” His hand closed around her arm. “I didn’t say I didn’t want to.” She looked over her shoulder at him. He was so sincere. She wondered suddenly how old he was. Younger than she was, surely, by at least five years. So young and already so chivalrous. Somebody had raised him right, that was certain. She cocked an eyebrow at him. “Are you a virgin?” she said. “No!” Oh, that had hit him where it hurt. “Of course not.” “Then let me take advantage of you. Please?” He still looked dubious. “This isn’t just a curiosity thing?” “Oh, please. I’ve slept with black men before.” She paused. “Okay, one. And he had a white mother. But no, it isn’t just a curiosity thing. I mean, other than being curious about you. Because you’re you, not because you’re black, or Belgian milk chocolate colored, or six foot three, or because you have really big feet. It’s because—“ She broke off, suddenly realizing where she was going. His hand moved up her shoulder. “Because what?” “Because I like you. Because I’ve never felt the kind of zing I’m feeling with you, not even with the guy I lived with for two years.” He still looked dubious. “You’re shitting me. You’re just trying to get me into bed.” “Hell, yes, I’m trying to get you into bed! Or onto the floor, or the couch or whatever.” She paused, looking at him, taking in the sincerity and the mild confusion on his face. “But no, I’m not shitting you. Don’t you feel it? Because if you don’t—“ He leaned forward abruptly and kissed her. Soft and careful, slow. The movement of his lips against hers made her melt, made her want to weep. She pressed gently into him, feeling, exploring, her voice rising soft in the back of her throat as he pressed her mouth open and touched his tongue to hers— The doorbell rang. The taxi, she thought, and started to push away, but he pulled her closer, sliding his hands down her back, cupping her buttocks. He tilted her hips against him, and she could feel the hard ridge of his cock against her stomach. The doorbell rang again. “Hey! Somebody call for a cab?” Carter laughed into Lex’s mouth. “That’s really distracting.” “Get rid of him.”

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He kissed her again, as if he couldn’t stand to move away from her, then went to the door and opened it. He pulled his wallet out of his back pocket and extricated a twenty. “Here. She changed her mind. Sorry.” “Whatever.” The cab driver sounded less than pleased. Carter closed the door and turned back to face Lex. “You pissed him off.” “I’m not the one who told him to leave.” His eyebrows compressed a little, but a smile curved his mouth. “You sure you want to stay? He’s probably still here.” She just looked at him, smiling, then lowered her gaze to his fly. “What do you think?” He laughed. “I think I could take care of that myself if I had to, but damn, I really don’t want to.” “Then come here.” He did.

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Chapter 3 He came to her, and, to Lex’s surprise, bent and picked her up. She giggled, and he laughed. “What?” he said. “Nobody’s ever done that to me before.” “What, swept you off your feet?” “Not literally, anyway.” He headed toward the bedroom, shifting her a little. “Well, I’m afraid this isn’t going to be very graceful, because frankly you’re a little heavy.” She smacked his chest. “Bite me.” “Gimme a minute.” Half-stumbling into the bedroom—and Lex wasn’t sure if he was faking it or not—he deposited her less than gracefully on the bed and settled over her, then bent his head to her neck and nipped her. “I didn’t mean that literally,” she protested, laughing. “Sorry,” he said, and bit her again, a little harder this time. She writhed under him, grabbing his shoulders, and he bit up her neck to just below her ear. “You like that?” he asked. “God, yes.” He sucked her earlobe, ran his tongue inside her ear, while his big hands went to her blouse, undoing the buttons. She reached inside his shirt, pushing it up, until he had to lift his arms so she could shove it off him. He was beautifully made, all wide, dark planes and angles. She smoothed her hands down his abdomen, feeling the hard muscle, the smatter of hair that grew thicker under his waistband, where her fingers insisted on going. “Mmm,” he said. He pushed her blouse open, reached behind her to finish undoing her bra, and she shrugged as he maneuvered, until her bare breasts met his wide chest, and he said, “Mmm,” again, a little deeper this time, and added, “Pretty.” “Ah, we’re monosyllabic already,” she said. “’Pretty’ has two syllables,” he told her, and she had to concede his point. His hands slid under her, lifting her a little, and he dipped his head to mouth her breast. His tongue rolled across her ready nipple, laving, pulling, and she arched under him, clutching his head. He had a faint growth of stubble on his scalp and she smoothed her hands over it, feeling the soft scratch of it against her palms. His mouth pulled deeper, harder, until she cried out at the sensation arrowing through her body. He knew how to ride that line—pushing her right to the place where pleasure met pain, but not over it. Just rough enough, just hard enough, just attentive enough to read her signals.

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He worked her breast a few seconds longer, then let go, kissing down her stomach, soft and wet. She kept her hold on his head, not guiding him, just maintaining the contact. His lips walked all the way down to the beltline of her jeans while she shivered under him, then he headed back up to the other breast, where he latched on again and suckled. Ah, balance, Lex thought, gasping with the intense sensation. That was a good thing. But she couldn’t reach his jeans, which was a bad thing. She wanted to get his pants off him. Time for that later, she supposed, then stopped thinking as he sucked at her, then nipped her, just hard enough to make her draw a sharp breath of surprise at the pinch of his teeth on her nipple. Looking down, she found him looking back up at her, watching her face. She nodded and he nipped her again, a little harder, not too hard, and his mouth curved into a smile as she gasped again. A few more, excruciatingly gorgeous seconds with that breast, then he released her and walked his mouth again down her stomach. This time, she reached for her jeans and unfastened the snap, unzipped them, in case he might have any chivalrous ideas about stopping before things went too far. His tongue slid into her navel, circling it, thrusting into it, then he licked her belly as he pushed her jeans down. Heat pooled between her legs, thick and wet, and he cupped her there, his fingers pressing into her dampness. “What do you like?” he asked. “Anything that makes me come.” He chuckled, then shifted, catching his foot on her jeans to push them the rest of the way off her. As they went off the end of the bed—she heard them hit the floor—he lowered his head, setting his mouth against her damp panties and breathing into her gently. She shivered and her voice shuddered out of her as the heat of his breath collided with the heat of her arousal. She felt so heavy, so liquid, so ready. His fingers slid under the elastic of her panties and he drew them down, baring her, pushed them off her and tossed them aside. He kissed the tops of her thighs, ran his tongue along the crease of her groin, taking his time. This kind of chivalry, she liked. A lot. “Good?” he said, looking up at her. She looked down, meeting the smile in his dark eyes. “Good,” she said. It didn’t seem like enough, but the part of her brain that could retrieve vocabulary had shut down a long time ago. He petted her damp curls, fingers soft, the contact just enough to tickle, to make her crazy. Then he slid two fingers down between her labia and opened her up. She jumped as his tongue touched her clit, and her hips lifted instinctively toward him. He spread her wide with his fingers and licked, a slow, hot, languid figure eight, up around the hard, growing pebble of her clit, down around the mouth of her vagina, back up, over and over, soft, slow, hot, until her world narrowed to the spiraling sensation in her pelvis and the wet movement of his mouth. This was heaven, she thought, this was ecstasy, this was a man who really, really knew what he was doing. He slid a finger inside her, then two, still slow, thrusting. His fingers pressed up and she grabbed at his shoulders, her hips pulsing in time to the intense, burning sensation building inside her. His tongue moved a little harder, a little faster, against her clit, then he suckled her there, not too hard, just hard enough. She squeezed her eyes tight, pushing her head back

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against the pillow. Her breath was coming hard and fast and she forced it to slow down, to echo the heavy, pulsing sensation beginning in her abdomen. Almost there, almost there… His fingers pressed up, hard, and her body let go. Heat spread through her and her voice came out in a slow, vibrating sound full of lust and need and pure satisfaction. Her body clenched and pulsed, squeezing on his fingers, and she felt him chuckle against her sex. He licked her again, pushing her a little too far, and she laughed and grabbed his head, holding him still while she rode the wave. “Good?” he asked, his lips still touching her. “Oh, yeah,” she managed. She was still shuddering, aftershocking pleasantly, and she closed her eyes, feeling it, a rise and a pulsing contraction, a rise and a pulse… “What do you want now?” He spoke the words high against the inside of her thigh, his lips soft and wet. “I want you inside me.” Her answer was automatic, but then she opened her eyes and looked at him. “Is that okay with you?” He lifted his head and smiled up at her. “Oh, no, I hate that part.” She grinned and let her eyes fall closed again. “Give me a minute.” “You’re still going,” he said, his tone somewhere between surprise and amusement. He still had his fingers inside her; he pushed in deeper as another pulse passed through her. “I can feel it.” “Yeah.” Languid, satisfied for the moment, she said nothing else, waiting out a few more, fading shocks. Then she opened her eyes again and laid her hand on his where it still lay against her, his fingers still deep inside her body. “Okay,” she said. He slid his fingers out, passed his hand gently up over the curve of her belly, then lowered his head to kiss her there. “You still have your pants on, don’t you?” she said. “Um hmm.” His lips had walked up almost to her breasts. “We really need to do something about that.” With a soft chuckle, he pulled himself up on the bed to lie next to her and cupped her cheek in his hand. She reached for his jeans, unfastened them, and pushed them down. He had on cotton boxer briefs underneath, pine-green and straining over his erection. Cupping his cock in her hand, she stroked him through the cotton. He closed his eyes and made a satisfied sound in the back of his throat. “Condoms?” she asked. “I’ll take care of it.” He pressed into the curve of her hand, stroking into her. “No, I’ll do it.” He peeked at her through one eye. “You want to do that?” “Absolutely.” He reached one long arm behind him to the nightstand, pulled open a drawer and withdrew a packaged condom. She plucked it from his hand as he held it out to her. “Now,” she told him, “lie back and enjoy.” He quirked an eyebrow at her, but did as he was told, settling his head back into the pillow and stretching out on the bed. She pulled his jeans the rest of the way off him, exposing his

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long, muscular, brown legs. Took a moment to run her tongue up his shins before grasping the dark green boxer briefs and pulling them down, as well. His cock sprang free, hard and impressively in proportion to the rest of his large self. She shucked his underwear off his feet and moved back up his body, kissing up his thighs to his groin, his stomach, aware of his eyes on her, watching. Closing her eyes, she took him in through the touch of her lips—the coarse, curly hair on his abdomen, the smooth skin higher on his belly, his pebbled, rising nipples. He writhed a little under her, his breath coming faster as she traced her tongue back down his torso, dipped into his navel. She lifted her head to catch the head of his cock in her mouth, and he jumped, gasping. Reaching up, she caught his hand in hers as she brought him deeper into her mouth, drawing him as far as she could, applying careful suction. He tensed under her, as if holding back the urge to thrust. She laid her free hand—still holding the condom—against his stomach to still him, and worked him for a time with her mouth. His glans was smooth and a little sticky under her tongue, and, hard as he’d been when she started, he tautened even more under her ministrations. After a minute or so, he made a choking noise and she let him go. She wouldn’t mind having him come in her mouth, she thought, but not this time. This time she wanted him inside her. Carefully, she extricated the condom from its package and unrolled it down his solid length, cupping his scrotum as she did it, teasing him just a little, until she had him sheathed. Then she crawled up his body, kissed his mouth once, hard and deep. Reaching back, she closed her hand around his cock and slid the head inside her. He caught her shoulders and slid his hands down her back, pushing her down onto him. He came in deep, and she caught her breath at the sensation, as he filled her, deep and hard, solid. Looking into his face, she found him looking at her, straight into her eyes, and she smiled softly. He smiled back, then it changed to a laugh as she squeezed him hard, eased back up, clenching the length of his cock with her inner muscles as she moved on him. “Good?” she asked. “Don’t stop.” She rode him, faster and harder. He closed his big, dark hands around her waist and pulsed under her, pounding deep. Then, suddenly, he clasped her to him and rolled her over, braced himself, and thrust into her hard and fast. The quick movement startled her, but she adjusted quickly, lifting her thighs to press them against his sides. She cried out as the movement brought him even deeper. God, it was good, so deep and intense as he bent his head into her shoulder and just fucked her, one long, spearing stroke after another, faster and faster, and suddenly she flew apart under him, climaxing high and hard. He groaned, straining into her, an impossibly deep thrust, another, then he was gone, too, his breath coming out of him in a deep growl as he pulsed inside her. She clenched tight on him, feeling him come, and he pushed in harder, let his weight fall into her, barely braced above her on his elbows, his ragged breathing damp against her hair. He was still for a time, caught in his climax, and she let him have the moment. Her hands slid down his back, feeling the smooth, taut muscles under his sleek skin. Finally he kissed her forehead softly and lowered his face to kiss her mouth. She could taste herself on his lips, his tongue, and licked the salty flavor off of him until he drew back to look into her eyes with a soft smile. “Stay?” he said. 89

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She nodded. “Of course.” He rolled to the side and pulled her into him, his embrace soft and warm. The thought flitted through her head that she might never want to leave this spot. She curled into him, resting her head against his wide chest, listening to the beating of his heart.

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Chapter 4 She was still there when he woke. This surprised him, though he wasn’t certain why. She had, after all, told him she would stay. But it had all been so sudden, so odd. So damned good. She had rolled away from him through the course of the night, so that he no longer held her. He lay for a time, still a little bleary, looking at the graceful curve of her back. Her skin was the color of a good chai tea latte—creamy, barely touched with pale, toasted brown—her black hair a vivid contrast as it tumbled past her shoulders onto the light blue blankets. His fingers twitched; he wanted to touch her. And why shouldn’t he? He could still taste her in his mouth. After last night he had no doubt she’d be game for another round. But he wasn’t sure he wanted to ask for it. It seemed cheap, somehow, to just assume. He didn’t have to push her, though. Just a question, and an answer. Gently, he laid his hand on her shoulder, feeling the silky warmth of her skin. She’d been right last night—there was something here. Something zinging in a way he’d never felt before. Something that made him think he could find more than just good sex with this woman. She moved under his hand, rolling back toward him. A lazy smile curved over her mouth and she slid across the bed, into his arms. “Good morning,” she said. “Good morning.” He let his hand slide down her arm, to her elbow, and rest there. Her hair was mussed, her mascara smudged, and she had red bite marks on her neck. The sight of them aroused him, but surprised him, as well. He hadn’t thought he’d bit her that hard. They stood out against her pale skin, a crescent-shaped combination of a bite and a hickey. She pushed up on one elbow, looking over him at the clock on the bedside table. “What time is it?” He didn’t bother looking over his shoulder, and after a second she settled back down. “Sixthirty. Plenty early enough.” “Early enough for what?” She tilted her head and smirked. “Wouldn’t you like to know?” “Yes, actually, I would. Very much.” “You asked for it,” she said, and slid under the covers. Her fingers slid down his stomach, feather-light, making his skin light up. The fact he couldn’t see her under the blankets made it that much more arousing—he had no idea what she would do next. He half-expected her to go down on him, but she didn’t. Her hands bypassed his cock and slipped instead down his thighs, almost soft enough to tickle. But then her cheek rubbed down the length of his stiffening erection, her skin like silk on his. He shifted, giving her better access,

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and let his head fall back on the pillow. He didn’t want to watch, didn’t want to know what was coming. His hands clenched on the sheets and he closed his eyes, just feeling what she was doing to him. She slid her face down his thighs, her lips brushing his skin as she moved. At the same time, her hands moved up, fingers trailing again over his abdomen. She caught his nipples, rolled them until they were hard and he was gasping. Then her tongue slipped out, over his skin, over his legs, up his thighs, closer, closer— And passed by again, going instead to lick into his navel. His cock was canted off to the side just far enough to avoid contact with her cheek. The suspense was going to kill him, he was certain. He was also fairly certain he didn’t care. Her tongue moved in slow, hot circles next to his navel, moving gradually downward until finally—God, finally—it slid around the base of his cock, through his hair, tickling, then up, moving in short licks up the length of his erection. Sheer torment, wonderfully torturous. Tension flooded his pelvis, liquid, tightening heat. Involuntarily, he thrust upward, sliding his shaft along her tongue. She laughed. “Patience,” she said, her lips moving right against his skin. “Not my strong suit,” he answered. “Well, I’ll give you a break, then.” Her hand curled around his shaft and she closed her mouth over the head. He pushed back deeper into the pillow, fighting the urge to thrust as she eased her mouth down, suckling him. “Damn, girl,” he muttered, and she laughed again. The vibration against his skin made him shiver. She withdrew slightly, licking the underside of his glans, then took him deep. She was good at this. Her mouth wasn’t deep enough to take him in to the root, but she made up for it with her hands, one curled around his shaft, the other cradling his scrotum, thumb sliding between his testicles, over them, one at a time, fondling. He wasn’t going to last very long, at this rate. Apparently she didn’t want him to. She pulled him deep, working him, letting his cock go all the way to the back of her throat, over and over. Unable to help himself, he thrust into her mouth, gently at first, then harder when she made no protest. She laid a hand on his stomach, controlling his movement a little, but didn’t stop the thrusting or alter the rhythm. Heat clenched hard in his pelvis, spinning, tightening—he touched her hair to let her know what was coming. She didn’t pull back, though. Instead she let him slide all the way to the back of her throat and held him there. The orgasm took him and he let it, feeling the convulsive movement against his skin as she swallowed in time to his pulsing climax. Good God, but that was good. He hadn’t met very many women who would do that. He had a sudden and intense feeling that this was a one-of-a-kind woman, a once-in-a-lifetime woman. He pushed it back. Right now he just wanted to pay attention to the sex. When he had finished, she let him go, but lowered her head again to mouth his balls. He let her; at this point he was willing to let her do just about anything to him, just to see what she might come up with. After a moment, she lifted her head, pushed back the blankets, and he opened his eyes, looking down to see her satisfied smirk.

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“Breakfast?” she said. He smiled, trying to gather his breath. “Breakfast would be good.”

***** He took her out for breakfast. It seemed like the thing to do. She ate with great enthusiasm, and he couldn’t help thinking of the way she’d worked him over this morning as she devoured a generous helping of pancakes. She was such a pretty thing, with her tumble of black hair and her uptilted green eyes. The way she slanted a look at him as she sipped her coffee made him hard again. He drove her back to his apartment, but she didn’t come in. Instead she went straight to her car and gave him a warm smile as she drove away. Watching her go made him feel strange, like she took something of him with her. Weird. Involuntarily, he laid a hand against his chest. Zing, she’d said. He’d felt it, too. It was strange and exhilarating and completely unlike anything he’d ever felt before. No question about it—he was not going to let this go without further exploration. Looking at his watch, he wondered how soon he could call her without making himself look like a complete dork.

***** Lex’s fingers flew over her keyboard. This was one of the easiest interviews she’d ever written up, except she kept wanting to add, “and he’s really good in bed,” to every other sentence. She doubted her editor would approve. She still wasn’t entirely sure why she’d thrown herself at him like that. She really hadn’t been that drunk. Sure, he was gorgeous, but that was no excuse. It was the “zing” thing, really. He’d just lit her fuse like it had never been lit before. And God, but he was really really good in bed. The morning-after doubts still niggled, though. He’d more or less promised he’d call her, but he hadn’t said when. It might be too much to expect to get a call today. It would probably be fair to give him three days before she started to get upset. After all, what had happened could easily be filed under one-night stand. She wasn’t quite ready to do that, though. It had felt like more than that. It had felt like something she wanted to keep. And the way he had looked at her… “Okay, get it together, Lex,” she muttered. “None of that mooning crap. Just finish the article.” It occurred to her, as she continued to work, that, because of the interview, she knew a great deal more about Carter than he did about her. His interest in weather traced back to a grade school science teacher who’d made it fascinating, he spent as much time as possible in the mountains, he liked to read but he’d refused to tell her what kinds of books he favored, and he preferred dogs to cats. His role model was his late father, and he had never been married. Her brain almost automatically organized all the data, spilling it back out of her fingers into a reasonably logical progression of facts. She’d go back and tweak it later to make it more interesting. Right now she was just getting the bare bones of the article in place. As long as that framework was solid, the rest would be easy—

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Her phone rang. She jumped, startled, then looked around to see if anyone else in the office had noticed. Of course they hadn’t. Her heart pittered and then pattered a little. Surely it wasn’t him. She picked up the phone. “Hey, Lex.” It was her editor, Maura. Of course it wasn’t Carter. That would have been too much to ask. She’d only left him a few hours ago, after all. “Progress report?” Lex gave Maura a quick update. “Was the weather guy hot?” Maura asked. “I was wondering if he matches his voice.” Lex smiled. “He does. A lot.” “Hm. He’s probably gay then, huh?” Lex’s face went warm, remembering Carter’s tongue, diving between her legs. “I’m thinking probably not.” “Cool. Get back to work.” Lex hung up the phone and set her fingers back to her keyboard. The phone rang again. She stared at it. It rang again, which for some reason surprised her. And then it rang one more time, which convinced her it wasn’t her imagination, so she picked it up again. Maybe Maura had forgotten something. “Alexa Walker.” There was a pause, just long enough to make Lex frown. “Lex?” The voice was unmistakable. “Carter?” “Yeah. How are you?” “I’m fine.” She tucked her chair a little closer to her desk and bent over the phone, closing off the conversation as best she could. Cubicles sucked. “I didn’t really expect to hear from you so soon.” “I told you I’d call.” “I know, but—“ She stopped. “It’s good to hear your voice.” He chuckled. “Because it’s so damn sexy?” “Exactly.” Hunching the phone into her shoulder, she curled over it a little more. “I’ll never miss a weather forecast again.” He laughed again, but it sounded a little uncomfortable. “I was wondering…” he ventured. The pause went on a moment too long. “Yes?” “I know this is a little sudden, but—“ He stopped, and when he started again he spoke quickly, as if he were afraid if he didn’t say it all at once, it wouldn’t get said at all. “I have a cabin up the hill. It’s not quite finished yet, actually, but I spend the weekends there sometimes. Would you like to go? This weekend, maybe?” She opened her mouth, closed it again. Nothing coherent seemed to be happening in her brain. “I’m sorry,” he said, before she could form words. “I know, it’s too much. I shouldn’t have asked.”

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“No, no.” She still didn’t know what she was going to tell him, but she knew for certain she didn’t want him to hang up that phone. “No.” Silence fell again, straining along the phone line. “So…” he said after a time. “Yes. I’d love to.” She hadn’t thought about it nearly enough, hadn’t worked through the consequences of her answer, but she knew it was the right one. “Okay.” He sounded tentative still, as if he couldn’t quite believe she’d agreed. “Okay. I’ll call you later and we can make plans.” “Good. That’s great.” She gave him her home phone number and gently hung up the phone. A weekend in the mountains. A weekend in the mountains with a large, gorgeous meteorologist and his large, gorgeous cock. It really couldn’t get much better than that.

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Chapter 5 Carter picked her up after work on Friday. She had him come by her house, since she wasn’t far off I-70, just past Golden, on the fringes of Bergen Park, on the way into the mountains. Oddly, she felt somehow exposed when she invited him in, as if he might learn too much about her by seeing her foyer. As if he hadn’t already learned enough about her by touching and licking and fucking her. But he really hadn’t, as she’d realized when she’d written up her article. If somebody asked him to answer questions in any sort of detail about her, he wouldn’t know the answers to any of them. This was, she thought, why she normally considered one-night stands to be a very bad idea. “Nice house,” he commented, taking in the foyer. It wasn’t a large house, but it was comfortable and nestled into a gorgeous curve of the mountain. “Thanks.” She looked around, herself, trying to envision the space as he would see it. Was it too ostentatious? Too girly? She’d always thought it to be fairly understated, with a coat rack in the corner and a small wicker chair on the other side. “Um…would you like to come in for something to drink before we head on up to the cabin?” “Sure.” She led him through the living room into the small but well-appointed kitchen, again taking in her familiar surroundings with some trepidation. What would he think about her green marble countertops? She hadn’t picked them out, after all, and to be honest she’d been planning to have them replaced for about five years now. The cross-stitch sampler on the wall seemed suddenly quaint and maybe a little silly, even though she’d made it herself when she was twelve, or maybe because of that. “This is really nice,” he said, taking it all in. “Homey.” “Thanks.” She headed for the fridge and opened it, keeping track of him out of the corner of her eye as she did so. He was looking into the living room, at her large TV and the giant bay window that looked out toward the mountains. “Great view,” he said. “I like it. You can see the Continental Divide.” She looked into the refrigerator. “Do you want Coke or iced tea? There’s some lemonade in here, too, I think.” “Lemonade would be great.” He meandered into the living room, looking out the window. The sun had gone orange behind the line of the mountains, casting the entire view into an odd, fiery color range. “This is really just the most awesome view.” She smiled, hauling out the pitcher of lemonade. It had been in there for awhile, but it still smelled okay. Surely lemonade didn’t go bad, at least not the kind mixed up from powder. She retrieved two glasses from a cabinet, put ice in them, and filled them. “I’ll bet you have a great view from your cabin, too,” she said as she carried his glass to him.

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“Yeah. That view’s awesome, too. This one’s different, though.” He sipped his drink and smiled at her. “That’s one of the great things about Colorado. Every place you look, there’s a different view.” “So where is your cabin?” “Up past Bailey. It’s a pretty good drive from here. I thought we’d stop for dinner on the way. There’s a couple of places in Evergreen.” She shrugged. “Let’s just grab drive-through.” He nodded, looking pleasantly surprised. “Sounds like a plan.” They finished their drinks, then Lex grabbed the overnight bag she’d packed and followed him out. He took the bag off her shoulder before they made it to the door. As he was depositing the bag in the trunk, Lex said, “I want you to interview me.” He looked up, a perplexed expression on his face. “I’m sorry?” “I want you to interview me. I interviewed you, and now I know all kinds of stuff about you, but you don’t know much about me.” Closing the trunk, he nodded slowly. “Hm. An interesting idea.” “I thought so.” He went to the passenger side of the car. For a moment, she wondered what he was doing, then realized he was actually going to open the door for her. That was more than a little endearing. She smiled up at him as he closed the door behind her, and he smiled back. As he settled behind the wheel and turned the keys in the ignition, he frowned at her thoughtfully. “Okay, your name is Lex and you’re a supervillain. I know that much.” She laughed. “You remembered.” “Of course I did.” Silence fell for a few minutes as he drove the short but rather winding road back down to the highway. He still looked thoughtful. Finally, when they were cruising down I-70 at well over the posted speed limit, he said, “I know you’re a really good writer. I read a few of your articles. And I read your bio online.” “Really?” “Yeah. I was curious.” “Was this before or after our interview?” “Last week, right after you made the appointment. I wanted to know who I was dealing with. So I read some of your backlist and Googled you.” He looked at her sidelong, the flash of the whites of his eyes vivid against his dark face. “I know more about you than you think.” Lex’s smile faded. The look in his eyes was far too warm. It made her melty again, made her want to tell him to pull the car over so she could strip him and have her way with him in the back seat. But he, looking suddenly uncomfortable, turned his attention back to the road. “Not in a stalker sort of way, of course,” he said. “I wasn’t thinking that.” “Just making sure.” “So…what did you find out?”

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“Oh, nothing really that interesting. You graduated from CU with a degree in journalism, your parents live in California, and you collect porcelain unicorns.” “You found all that on the Internet?” He shrugged. “And a few other things, too. But those were the most interesting.” She wondered how her collecting porcelain unicorns could possibly be interesting to him, but decided not to ask. “So is there anything else you want to know?” He shook his head. “No. I’d rather find the other things out the old-fashioned way. By waiting and watching and asking questions at opportune times, not by sitting you down and grilling you.” This one really knew how to play the game, she thought, then retracted it. This wasn’t a game to him—she could tell. He was serious about it, serious about getting to know her. The thought made her smile. “You know…” He trailed off, not looking at her, and his big hands shifting on the steering wheel. “Just because of what happened last night, and just because you agreed to spend the weekend, it doesn’t mean…” He trailed off again. Lex cocked an eyebrow. She could think of several possible ways he could end that sentence, and she didn’t like all of them. “Doesn’t mean what?” “Doesn’t mean I expect you to…you know.” His eyes slid sideways again, barely looking at her. “Fall into bed with you?” “Well, technically, there’s no bed, but yeah, that’s what I mean.” She nodded, smiling. He was adorable, she’d decided. “Thank you.” Finally, he looked at her, gave her a decisive nod, and smiled. “Then we’re good?” Lex resisted the urge to put her hand on his thigh and squeeze. “Oh, we’re totally good.”

***** It was dark by the time they reached the cabin. Or at least Lex assumed they’d reached the cabin; when Carter stopped the car she couldn’t see anything but a dark stretch of dirt driveway illuminated by headlights. In any case, he got out, opened the trunk and began to unload, so she had to assume they were somewhere. And, as it proved, they were. The dirt driveway led up a slight rise to the front door of a small, log building. The front door was just an open doorway with no actual door in it. Lex could see windows on either side, also wide open, without glass panes. She hesitated, eyeing the impenetrable darkness inside. Carter strode in confidently, though, and after a few seconds a light flared inside. He looked back at her, grinning. “Come on in. It’s safe.” “Is it?” With exaggerated hesitance, she tiptoed through the door, looking around at the small room. “It’s…um…” “I know. It’s not done. You probably expected some carpeting and maybe a TV. Sorry.” He dropped his burden of suitcases on the uncovered concrete floor. “There’s a room upstairs. With a Queen-sized futon. It’s actually pretty comfortable. Blankets and everything.” “But no TV?” She made her tone excessively plaintive.

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He laughed. “No. Radio, though.” “What about a bathroom?” This actually did concern her a little bit. “Not really. Porta Potty type thing, behind the cabin. The plumbing’s not connected yet.” “You should have told me this yesterday.” She deposited her suitcase on the floor and crossed her arms, still taking the place in. The trouble light Carter had turned on hung from a hook in a beam that ran the width of the ceiling. The beam was, like the rest of the wood that made up the walls, rough-hewn from a log. It was beautiful, all elegant curves and angles where the logs met, seams made of notches obviously carved with care. The entire structure looked handmade, and she suspected it actually was. Carter looked chagrined. “I’m sorry. I should have said something, I guess. I’m so used to coming up here I forgot. There’s a hotel back in Evergreen. We can go back there and spend the night if you like.” “If I’m going back to Evergreen, I might as well go back home.” Belatedly, Lex realized exactly what she’d said. She looked wide-eyed at Carter, seeing the hurt on his face, although he tried gamely to hide it. “That’s an option, too,” he said. “I really didn’t mean it that way,” she said hastily, but she could tell the damage had been done. “Show me upstairs.” He nodded, smiling unconvincingly, and led her to the back of the main room. A wooden ladder had been built into the wall there, leading up through a hole in the ceiling to the upper level. “I’m going to add a staircase later, I think, but in the meantime this works, and it’s pretty stable.” He gestured for her to go first. Chivalrous, she thought. Either that, or he wanted her in front so he could ogle her ass. She supposed it really didn’t matter. At least this way, if she slipped, he’d be there to catch her. The ladder was, indeed, quite stable, attached as it was to the wall, and she made her way up and out onto the floor of the upper level. Carter joined her, heading for the opposite side of the room. Another trouble light hung from the ceiling above the bed; Carter crossed the room and turned it on. The upper level was about two-thirds the size of the lower level, and there was furniture here. The lower level had been bare. This actually looked cozy. The futon sat in the corner opposite the hole in the floor, under a wide window covered with plastic sheeting. Next to it was a small chest of drawers. “This is nice,” she said, and meant it. He looked at her, a little surprised. “Really?” “Yeah. Cozy, and I bet there’s a view out that window during the day when you can actually see.” “Yes, there is. You can see all the way to Pikes Peak.” “Then I can’t wait until morning.” She smiled at him, trying to make it not sultry and certain she’d failed miserably. His expression warmed. “I’ll take you on a tour of the property in the morning. I can show you how to tell deer poop from elk poop.” “Actually, I already know that, but I’ll pretend I don’t just for you.” 99

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“Cool.” He crossed to the bed and crawled across it to grab the plastic sheeting over the window. It was fastened up with duct tape, so he just pulled it down with a sharp jerk, folded it, and pushed it under the bed. “That’s only for if it rains. I don’t want to leave the place for the week and then come up on the weekend and find the bed soaking wet.” “Yeah, that wouldn’t be good.” He turned around, still sitting on the bed, and looked at her expectantly. “So, are you staying?” She considered a moment, then nodded. “Yeah, I think I am.” “Great. I’ll go get your stuff.” He carried her suitcases and his up the ladder and tossed them into the bedroom, then hauled himself back up. “So, I have some board games in the chest of drawers,” he said. “What do you think?” Board games. That was cute. It might even be fun. “Do you have anything that doesn’t take eight hours to play?” “Candyland.” She laughed. “Candyland?” “Yeah. For when my sister and her kids come up.” “Then let’s play Candyland.”

***** Lex got off to a good start in the game, but the Molasses Swamp proved her undoing, as she sat there turn after turn waiting for one of them to draw a red card from the pile. By the time Carter finally drew one, it was far too late, and he charged on to the finish, leaving Lex in the dust. At which point, much to Lex’s amusement, Carter jumped up and did an animated endzone dance, spiked an imaginary football, and held out his little red plastic person. “In your face, blue dude, in your face.” Lex laughed. “You’re insane. And I hate to admit it, but that wore me out.” “Trying to drag your way out of that Molasses Swamp can really take it out of you.” Grinning, he picked up the cards and the board and the plastic gingerbread people and put them all back in the box. “Sorry if I’m a little excited. I never win this game.” “Nieces and nephews are tough competition, huh?” “Two nieces, one nephew, and yes. They take Candyland pretty damn seriously.” He put the game back into its place in the chest of drawers. When he turned back, though, he couldn’t seem to quite meet Lex’s eyes. “Um, so you’re going to turn in, then?” She smiled a little at his discomfort. “Yeah, I was thinking I might. I’m pretty tired.” “Did you, um…want to share the bed?” “No, I think you should sleep downstairs on that concrete floor.” He blinked, then smiled. “I don’t think so.”

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“Cool. Then we can share the bed.” Standing, she stretched and cracked her back, which had stiffened up while she was mired in molasses. Her overnight bag still lay where Carter had tossed it; she went to it and unzipped it, fished out her pajamas, clean underwear, and a toothbrush and toothpaste. “No running water,” she said, looking at the toothbrush. “I brought bottled water. It’s in the cooler downstairs. The light’s still on. You can brush your teeth down there and change if you want.” She smiled again, shaking her head a little. “What?” he said. “It’s just a little funny that you’re chasing me off to change my clothes.” He looked away. “Whatever you’re comfortable with. That’s all.” Stepping up to him, she stood on her toes and kissed him. “You’re adorable. Really.” He made a face. “Is that a good thing or a bad thing?” “It’s a good thing.” She let her fingers trail over his face for a moment, then headed for the ladder. “I’ll be back in a second.” A few minutes later, she had completed her nightly ritual as best she could, and, comfortably clad in her lightweight pajamas, made herself comfortable in the bed while Carter went downstairs to get ready. He turned off the downstairs light when he was done, which made more of a difference upstairs than Lex had expected. And when he came upstairs and turned off that light, she could see almost nothing. Tonight was a quarter moon, she remembered. It wouldn’t get any lighter until morning. She watched his slightly darker shadow in the darkness, as he crossed the room to sit on the futon next to her. “I never get over how dark it gets up here.” “It’s the same way at my house. No streetlights.” He slipped under the covers. Automatically, she rolled toward him, into the heat of his body. “How tired are you?” he asked. She could hear the smile in his voice. “Pretty tired.” Her hand brushed over his chest and she used the contact to orient herself, snuggling into him. He shifted a little, settling in against her. “This is a nice little place,” she said. “Did you do all the work yourself?” “A lot of it. I’ve had help here and there.” His voice was soft, a little sleepy. He smelled good, of Old Spice deodorant and maleness. “It’s beautiful. It’s like a work of art you can live in.” He chuckled and snuggled her a little closer. “You smell nice.” “Thank you.” He was big and warm and solid next to her, a wonderful armful of man. His head turned toward her and she felt his lips wandering over her hair. One hand slid down her arm. Tired as she was, she rolled into him, let him pull her closer. His long, hard body pressed firm against hers, and she slid a hand down his back, the textures of his skin somehow more intense in the deep darkness. She cupped his buttock, feeling the round, firm muscle. His cock twitched against her stomach, but he wasn’t quite erect yet. She wasn’t sure she wanted him to be. This was nice, just lying in his arms in the darkness. His big hands moved gently over her body, down her back, her arms, cupping her hips, and the contact lulled her. His lips brushed her forehead, then he settled his face against her hair. 101

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After a time, she felt herself drifting into sleep. She thought perhaps his hands moved to her breasts, thought he might have whispered her name, but she wasn’t sure, as the soft, willing darkness dragged her under.

***** Carter held still for a moment, listening. Lex’s breathing had deepened and softened. She was asleep. He smiled, chagrined, and took his hand off her breast. So much for foreplay. Maybe he wasn’t exciting enough. Or maybe she was just tired, which would be the logical conclusion based on her previous response to him. She hadn’t seemed a bit bored at his apartment. It was nice, though, to just lie here with her cradled against him. She was small and warm and soft, her breathing a gentle rhythm against his chest. Her hair smelled like raspberries. He closed his eyes and slept.

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Chapter 6 Lex woke to the smell of smoke. Startled, she sat bolt upright in the bed. Carter was gone, though the place next to her where he’d slept was still warm. She pushed out from under the covers and looked out the open window, then drew a breath of relief. Carter was there, wearing only a pair of boxers, squatting next to a small fire, feeding bits of kindling into it. He had put it together in the center of a circle of rocks, and the smoke wafted up, straight into the window. “Good morning,” she called down. He looked up with a grin. “Morning.” Straightening, he stretched. “Ready for breakfast?” “Not quite yet. Will that fire take care of itself for a while?” “Probably. What do you have in mind?” With an evil grin, she lifted the bottom of her pajama top and flashed him her breasts. He laughed. “I’ll be there in thirteen seconds.” It actually took him closer to a full minute to make it up the stairs, but Lex decided not to quibble. “I was beginning to wonder if you’d lost interest,” he said, poking his head up through the hole in the floor. “Never.” She had let her pajamas fall back into place, but he was staring at her chest, where the low V-neck exposed, as she knew, a good expanse of cleavage. “Well, you did fall asleep on me last night.” “I’m sorry. I was tired.” He pushed the blankets back and sat on the futon next to her. “Plus I was just so comfortable,” she went on. “I felt safe.” He reached up to her, touched her face. “Is that a good thing?” “It’s a very good thing.” She leaned into him as he kissed her, seeking the depth and heat of his mouth. He had brushed his teeth again this morning—she could taste the mint. “What’s the fire for?” she asked as she pulled back. “Breakfast. It needs to warm up a while, then I’ve got some tinfoil hash to toss in.” “Sounds…interesting.” She’d been wondering what all he had squirreled away in the giant cooler he’d hauled out of the car last night. “It’s good.” His tongue traced her lips. “Trust me.” “I guess I’ll have to.” She moved into the kiss in earnest, exploring, testing all the ways her mouth could fit against his, all the different ways their tongues could dance together. His hands slid under her pajama top, lifting it away from her breasts, then he ducked back, breaking the kiss so he could look at her.

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“Beautiful,” he said, and he meant it. Her skin was pale and soft, and he could see the faint tracery of blue veins, darker around the areola, tracing curved lines up and over the graceful swell of breast. Pink, cream, rose colors, the nipple puckered and taut. He lowered his head, tasted her, ran his tongue in circles around her nipple. It hardened a bit more against his tongue, and he closed his mouth over her breast, suckling. She gasped softly, her hands clutching his shoulders, and pressed into him. He shifted from tongue to teeth on her nipple—she’d seemed to like that before. It was a delicate thing, though, to bite just hard enough, not hard enough to hurt. He gauged the pressure by the way she breathed, by the small sounds she made in the back of her throat. Her hands moved down his back, fingers clutching, and her soft, sleek body arched into him. Just a little longer, send her right to the edge— Then let her go. He let his mouth move across her body, to the other breast. He had left faint teeth marks on the opposite nipple, and she was writhing now, at the same time holding herself steady, bracing herself against his body. He caught the other nipple and set to work. “God,” she said a minute or so later, and he chuckled and let her go, kissing down her stomach, feeling the creamy velvet softness of her skin under his lips. He slipped his tongue into her navel, tasted it, licked lower, pushed her pajama bottoms down until his lips were tickled by soft, moist curls. She assisted his efforts, using her feet to push the pajamas off the rest of the way. He could feel her body responding, tautening under him, and he smiled a little to himself as, gently, he slid two fingers between her labia and opened them. He leaned back a little, again taking a moment just to look at her, at the moist, glassy-pink flesh. This wasn’t a complete mystery to him—he’d tasted her here quite thoroughly at their last encounter, after all—but it had been dark then, and he liked to look. The different gradations of pink, from the outer lips to the inner, the darker rose that framed the opening to her womb—it was a delicate and artistic arrangement of color and texture. He drew a finger along one side of her inner lips, watching fluid gather in response. A soft, creamy drop, and he lowered his mouth to lick it from her skin. She shivered, a hand reaching down to curve over his head, her fingers digging in a little, but making no effort to influence or guide him. He leaned back a little again and watched as he pressed two long, dark fingers into the depths of her, in and out, back in again, until they were buried all the way. Her keen was gratifying, and rose as he withdrew, curling the tips of his fingers up, finding the small bulge in the upper wall of her vagina and pressing there until she bucked a little and clenched down hard on his fingers. He worked her for a time that way, letting his lips rest just above where his fingers penetrated her, then, when her voice rose again and he felt her body clench just a little tighter, he slid his tongue out to touch the high, rounded pebble of her clit. She flinched at the contact, gasping, and he licked harder, rolling his tongue in circles until her hand clutched his head hard enough to hurt. Then he drew back again, teasing her, but also to look again, to take her in. The dark, pink colors of her labia faded back to form a taut, roseate pucker, and he touched her there, gentle, with his third finger. “Yes? No?” “God, yes,” she said. He smiled, wondering why he’d expected any other answer. She was a lusty little thing, that was for sure. Sliding his fingers out of her vagina, he shifted back. He was slick with her already, and one finger made an easy entrance as she relaxed into it. Careful, a little at a time, 104

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following her signals, until his finger disappeared inside her. Muscles clenched him again, then he closed his mouth over her again and went down on her in earnest. He went two-handed, pushing two fingers into her vagina, the single finger of the other hand still filling her in the back. Her rising vocalizations, half gasp, half incoherent non-words, gave him the distinct impression she liked what he was doing. It didn’t take her long, after that. Her body tightened, arched under him, then he felt the spasmodic pulsation of her inner muscles on his fingers, against his mouth, as she came, and came hard. The sound that wrenched out of her wasn’t quite a scream, but it was damn close, and he couldn’t help laughing. She rode the wave for a few seconds, then eased back down. He slid his fingers out of her and cupped his hand over her sex, feeling the heat and the twitching of aftershock. And she smacked him in the head. “What?” he said, startled. “That was not funny.” He laughed. “Yeah, it was. I’ve never made a woman scream like that before.” “I wasn’t screaming.” She sounded more amused than angry. “You keep telling yourself that.” “I will. I do have some dignity to maintain, after all.” “Why bother? Dignity’s no fun.” Her bright grin gratified him. “Speaking of lack of dignity, I think it’s about time you got your underwear off.” He crawled back up the bed to flop on his back beside her. “Help yourself.” She spread herself over him first, a warm woman-blanket, and kissed his collarbones and his throat and his chin and finally made her way to his lips, where she pressed his mouth open with hers and made a hot, thorough exploration of his tongue, his palate, the backs of his teeth. She kissed like a crazy woman. He liked that. When she had tasted about everything there was to taste, she leaned back and looked him in the eyes. “You taste like pussy,” she said. “I wonder why.” She chuckled. He bent his head back against the pillow as she nipped down his neck, testing his skin with her teeth. It occurred to him, rather dimly, since higher mental function was rapidly giving way to sheer lust as her mouth moved over him, that he had never felt so comfortable before with a woman. And he wasn’t exactly a virgin, but damn if this wasn’t rapidly becoming absolutely the very best sex he’d ever had. He closed his eyes, the better to absorb the sensation of her lips moving down his body, her hands pushing his boxers down and off of him. Her kisses tickled down his belly, but by the time her mouth reached his cock, he was certain this wasn’t what he wanted. She gave one hell of a blowjob, but he wanted inside her. Her tongue feathering against the head of his cock almost changed his mind. He let her trace the rim for a few seconds, but when she started to suckle him, he said, “Stop. Come up here.” She looked up without letting him out of her mouth, brows raised quizzically. “Yeah,” he said. “Come on.” 105

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Letting his cock slide free, she moved back up his body. Before she could align herself to him again, he grabbed her and rolled her under him, kissing her hard. Damn. Where had he stashed the condoms? But then her hands moved between them and the corner of a paper package scratched his stomach. She was, once again, a step ahead of him. It didn’t bother him a bit. One hand smoothed down his stomach while the other maneuvered the condom over him. When he was sheathed, she spread her arms out on the bed. He grabbed her wrists and plunged hard into her. She made an odd sound that made him think he might have hurt her. Concerned, he looked at her face, but saw only a contented smile. Encouraged, he bent his head and thrust hard and fast. She was tight and hot and even the minor barrier of the condom did little to dull the sensation of her body clenching down hard on him. Her breasts shoved up into his chest, her fists clenched above the manacles of his hands, where they pinned her to the futon. She was hot and deep and he lost himself in the claming of her, pounding her hard, and within moments was rewarded once again by her scream that wasn’t a scream, and the slow, intense shuddering of her body. He arched up to watch her face, to see the movement of utter satiation across her features. Then her eyes opened, met his, and what he saw there, deep and sweet and utterly accepting, sent him over the edge. His spine went taut and he let the heat flood through him, out of him, losing himself in the moment. He closed his eyes to ride the wave, and when he finally opened them again, she was smiling.

***** Carter tossed two carefully folded tinfoil packages into the coals at the edge of the fire. Lex, sitting on a nearby rock, watched with interest. “So, this stuff is good?” she said dubiously. He shrugged. “I like it. It’s just chopped potatoes, diced ham, some onion. It cooks up pretty good in the fire, which is the important part.” He sat on a rock on the opposite side of the fire and took her in. She had changed into jeans and a tank top. The knit tank hugged her braless breasts, and her nipples protruded against the cotton. He honestly didn’t think he’d ever seen a more beautiful woman. “Could I get some water?” He fished a bottle out of the cooler and passed it to her. She opened it, took a swig, and gave him an evaluating look. Her green eyes seemed a little too serious to him. “What’s wrong?” he asked. She shrugged. “Nothing, really.” “No, you’ve got a look.” “What kind of look?” “I don’t know. Just a look.” She smiled. “You said you read my bios online, right?” “Yeah.” “So you know how old I am.” Ah. He’d wondered when she would get to that. Grinning, he retrieved another bottle of water from the cooler. “Yeah. Eight years and four months older than I am.” 106

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Her eyebrows quirked. “That doesn’t bother you?” He shrugged. “My parents always told me to judge people by who they were, not by their race or their gender or where they come from. Or their age. So why would that bother me?” “Because it would bother a lot of guys.” “I’m not a lot of guys.” “I realize that.” Her tone was sincere, even warm. Then she added, “If you were, I would have just had sex with a lot of guys. Which could have been interesting, frankly.” He laughed. “You’re a nut.” “I know.” “I think I like that.” “Good.”

***** The tinfoil hash turned out to be much better than Lex had expected, and the rest of the weekend proved similarly surprising and wonderful. The biggest surprise was that they didn’t spend every waking moment in bed. Instead, he led her on hikes, showing her nearly every inch of the twenty-five acres he owned on the mountainside. He knew the land much better than she’d guessed a Denver-bred man would, but then, as they sat down for lunch next to an ice-cold rivulet over an incredible view of the Platte Valley, he told her he’d been working on this cabin nearly five years now. “I love it up here,” he told her. “The quiet, the smell, everything about it.” She could tell he did. It showed on his face, in the peacefulness and his easy smile. Even in the way he made love to her, in the deep, black night, surrounded by the sounds of night birds and the occasional rustling of an unidentified creature in the trees. When Sunday afternoon came, she hated to leave, but knew she had to. There was work, after all, and the daily grind of everyday life. Even in two days, though, she’d begun to wonder how she’d managed to live all these years without a Carter Allen to wake up with in the morning. “I’m going to miss this,” she said with a sigh as she tossed her luggage into the back of his car. “Me, too.” He closed the trunk and gave her an evaluating look. “What?” “This isn’t over,” he said. “You and me, I mean.” “I hope not. I like it so far.” “Me, too.” His attention drifted for a moment to the dark sapphire, cloudless stretch of sky, as if he were mulling something. “Question,” he said finally. “Ask it.” He looked directly at her, his expression far too serious. “My mom’s birthday is next weekend. There’s a party. Shindig sort of thing. You want to go?” Meeting his family. A serious thing, she thought, but it didn’t feel serious at all. In fact, it felt like the thing to do.

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“Sure.”

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Chapter 7 “Yes, Mom, I’m bringing a date to the party. Why do you want to make such a big deal about it?” Carter couldn’t help being amused at his mother’s reaction. He supposed it might seem like a big deal to her; it had been a long time since Carter had thought enough of a girlfriend to introduce her to his mother. Girlfriend. The word rattled around in his head a moment, drowning out his mother’s voice on the other end of the phone line. “I’m not making a big deal about it,” she was protesting. “It’s just been a long time since you’ve introduced me to a date.” “I know, Mom. But I haven’t known her that long, so don’t get yourself in a tizzy.” “I am not in a tizzy. Do you think you guys could bring a salad?” “Sure, Mom. Salad it is. Is Mark barbecuing?” They talked a few more minutes, then Carter hung up the phone, wondering if Lex had any thoughts about making a salad.

***** “Taco salad,” she announced when he picked her up. She held one very large Tupperware bowl, two smaller ones stacked on top of it, a bag of tortilla chips dangling from underneath. “Seasoned meat, lettuce, tomato, onion, and then I have salsa, chips and guacamole on the side. Oh, and olives. Will that be okay?” “That’ll be fine.” She actually seemed a little nervous, he thought. “There’ll be plenty of other food. You know, in case your salad sucks.” She rolled her eyes. “Gee, thanks. You make me feel so much better.” Grinning, he took the chips and the smaller bowls from her and put them in the car while she got in on the passenger side. “Why are you all worked up?” “I’m not worked up.” “You seem nervous.” “I’m not nervous.” She laughed nervous laughter. “Okay.” It was a twenty-minute drive from Lex’s house to the Allen house in Golden. Halfway there, in the middle of a bout of silence, Lex said, “Okay, I’m a little nervous.” “Why?” “Because I’ve known you a week-and-a-half and you’re taking me to a family gathering.” He shrugged. “Technically, it’s your second family gathering. So not a big deal, right?” “There is that, I guess.” “Right, so no need to be nervous.”

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“Right.” He gave her a moment, watching her collect herself, then couldn’t resist adding, “And next weekend we can go meet your folks.” Her wide-eyed stare was more than enough reward. He laughed. “That was really, really not funny,” said Lex, but she laughed then, obviously embarrassed by her reaction. “It was funny to me. I mean, the look on your face…” “I’m going to hurt you. A lot.” “Cool.”

***** Lex wasn’t sure why she was so nervous. Unless it had something to do with meeting Carter’s family after she’d known him only a week-and-a-half. It was one thing to be fucked pleasantly half-blind by a man you hardly knew—it was something else entirely to meet his mother. And his siblings, nieces and nephews, since they all appeared as they pulled into the driveway. It was a large, single-family home with a luxury most houses in this part of Golden didn’t have—a yard. Three children were playing in front of the house, a boy and two girls, all with black hair and features that spoke of Asian heritage. When Carter got out of the car, they ran up to him and grabbed him around the legs, fighting for the privilege of the first hug. The honor went to the smaller of the two girls, whom Carter lifted easily, settling her on his hip. “Honor,” he said. “How’s it go, little lady?” “It goes fine,” she said, giggling. “How about you guys?” “We’re good,” the other two said, then the boy added, “Play with us?” “Not right now.” Carter looked back toward Lex. “I have to introduce my friend, here.” The children’s attention went immediately to Lex, who uncomfortably shifted her huge salad bowl. “Hi,” she said. “This is Lex,” Carter told the children. “Lex, this is Honor, Grace and Ian.” “Nice to meet you,” Lex said, with as much seriousness as she could muster. “Nice to meet you,” the children muttered back, staring at her. Carter eased Honor back down to the ground. “I’ll play later, I promise. Right now I need to go say hi to Grandma, okay?” “Okay.” They sounded disappointed, but resigned. “Cute kids,” Lex said as Carter led the way into the house. “My sister’s. Here, let me take the chips.” She followed him into the kitchen. “So those are the kids who trounce you at Candyland?” “On a regular basis. You know that stint you spent in the Molasses Swamp? That was nothing compared to what they do to me. Hey, Mom.”

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Lex’s stomach lurched in trepidation as the older woman turned away from the kitchen counter. She didn’t look nearly old enough to be Carter’s mother, biological or otherwise. She was barely over five feet tall, with auburn hair cut in a short, flippy style that was anything but matronly. She smiled brightly at Carter, sparing Lex a brief, curious glance before embracing her son. “It’s good to see you, Carter.” Letting him go, she once again looked at Lex. “You brought salad?” “Mexican,” Lex said, gesturing with the bowl. Mrs. Allen came to take the bowl while Carter said, “Mom, this is Lex. Lex, this is my mom.” “Call me Beth,” said Mrs. Allen. She gathered the bowls and chips from Lex and Carter. Opening the larger bowl, she said, “This looks wonderful. Thanks so much for bringing it, Lex.” “You’re quite welcome,” Lex said, and Beth smiled, but for some reason Lex had the distinct impression Mrs. Allen didn’t really like her.

***** The afternoon was going swimmingly, Carter thought. Lex’s taco salad had proved a hit— the big bowl was empty and Mark had complained at the rapid disappearance of the guacamole. Lex seemed to have hit it off with Carter’s sister Faith, whose eyes had lit up when Lex had said suddenly, over her hamburger, “Ed, Faith, Grace, Honor, Ian. I get it! It’s alphabetical.” Carter was almost certain Lex was the first person who’d ever “gotten it” without having it spelled out, as it were. Leaving Lex in the back yard with the rest of the family, Carter went to join his mother in the kitchen, where she was stacking dirty dishes in the sink. “Let me do that,” he said. “It’s your birthday. Go sit down.” She gave him an indulgent smile and went to sit at the kitchen table while he took over the dish-stacking. “It’s nice to have everybody here,” she said. “Yeah. I haven’t seen Faith in ages.” He carefully arranged a stack of plates by size, fishing out the knives and forks, resisting the urge to ask his mother what she thought of Lex. She’d bring it up herself, if he was patient. “So, how long have you known Lex?” Okay, so no patience was necessary, after all. He looked over his shoulder, trying to judge his mother’s expression. Her face was neutral—a little too neutral. “A couple of weeks.” “You’re sleeping with her already, aren’t you?” Startled, he turned to face her. “Is that your business?” Beth nodded wisely. “That’s what I thought. That’s not like you.” She was right, but Carter didn’t want to dwell on that. “She’s special. Something really clicked between us.” Beth tilted her head a little, eyes narrowing. “Did she seduce you?” That look made Carter, at twenty-eight years old and six feet three inches, feel like a fourthgrader. “Um, a little bit, I guess.”

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“A little bit? How do you seduce somebody a little bit?” “I don’t know.” “Carter, is it too much to assume that you were actually there?” Okay, this was getting a little weird. Carter drew himself up to his full height, knowing full well it would do nothing to intimidate his mother. She crossed her arms over her chest and looked placidly up at him. “Let’s just say I didn’t take a whole lot of convincing. What’s your deal, Mom? Why are you getting all bent out of shape? I thought you’d like her.” “I don’t dislike her. I just don’t trust her.” “Why the hell not? You don’t even know the woman.” “How old is she, Carter?” This caught Carter off-guard, to the point where, for a moment, all he could do was stand there and stare at her. It had been so long since he’d gotten a dressing-down from his mother that he’d forgotten how unpleasant and disconcerting it could be. Finally his mother said, calmly, “Do you know how old she is, Carter?” “Yes, I know how old she is.” “Did it ever occur to you that a woman ten years older than you are might not have your best interests at heart?” “She’s only eight years older than me, for starters, and don’t you dare go accusing her of being any older than that, because I don’t want to have to clean up the blood when she scratches your eyes out and how the hell is any of this your business, Mom?” “I’m just concerned about you, is all.” Carter fought back a wave of anger. He had never felt so frustrated with his mother. At least not for a very long time. He did recall a similar surge of pure, confused anger when she’d told him he wasn’t allowed to drive in downtown Denver until he was eighteen. In spite of his efforts at control, his voice came out brittle and angry when he said, “You are such a hypocrite, Mom.” Her eyes widened—apparently he’d finally gotten through to her. “What?” “You might as well be bitching at me because she’s white.” Beth’s eyes sparked in pure fury. “How dare you—“ “Don’t you get all high and mighty now, Mom. You always told me to judge a person by who they are, not by their race or their gender or their age. Now look what you’re doing.” “I’m just looking out for you—“ “Bullshit. You’re buying into a stereotype. Just because she’s older than me doesn’t mean she’s predatory or whatever. What if she was eight years younger than me? Would you be down my throat then?” “Carter—“ “Oh, wait, no you wouldn’t. Because wasn’t Dad twelve years older than you?” He pushed away from the sink, throwing up his hands. “Forget it, Mom. Conversation over.” “Carter—“ But he stormed out of the kitchen, leaving her sputtering in his wake.

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***** Something was wrong with Carter. Lex hadn’t known him that long, but she knew him well enough to tell he was upset. He’d disappeared for a few minutes, saying he was going to go help in the kitchen, then had come back and flopped into a lawn chair next to her, arms crossed hard over his chest, frowning. She gave him a few minutes. Finally, he uncrossed his arms and leaned back in the lawn chair, taking a long, deep breath. “You okay?” she ventured. “Yeah. I’m fine. No big.” She laid a hand on his shoulder. “You feel really tense.” He grinned at her, but it looked forced. “You can rub me later.” “Count on it.” For a few more minutes, he sat brooding, then finally stood, shaking it off. “Up for some badminton?” he said, gesturing toward the yard, where the kids, Faith and Mark had a game underway. “Not right now. I ate a little too much. But you go ahead.” He nodded, then bent to kiss her warmly before heading out to join the others. She waited a few minutes, watching him get more and more involved in the badminton game, until the tension had leached out of him and he was completely focused on slamming the shuttlecock down his brother’s throat. Then, quite certain she was doing exactly the wrong thing, Lex got up and headed inside, to the kitchen. Kallie, Faith and Beth were in the kitchen now, Kallie sprawled over a kitchen chair while Faith helped Beth prepare coffee. “Decaf in this one?” Faith asked, indicating one of two carafes. “That’s a good idea,” said Beth, then, apparently hearing Lex enter, turned toward her. “Oh, hello, Lex.” “Hi,” said Lex. The other two women glanced at her, as well. Faith looked suddenly uncomfortable, but Kallie winked. “Um…” Lex went on, “is there anything I can do to help?” “Of course,” said Beth. “Carter started to wash the dishes, but for some reason he didn’t finish.” Her eyes held something odd, something that seemed to regard Lex sidelong even though Beth was looking straight at her. “Okay.” Lex stepped to the sink. The dishes were stacked neatly, but no water had been drawn. She turned on the faucet. “Should I just rinse them and put them in the dishwasher, or wash them all the way?” “Wash the small plates,” said Beth. “We’ll need those for the cake.” Lex let the water run for a bit, watching out of the corners of her eyes as Beth and Faith finished preparing the coffee. “Your kids are having a blast out there,” she ventured to Faith. Faith nodded. She still seemed a little uncomfortable. Lex almost wished she were in the dark as to why, but she had a strong feeling she knew exactly what was going on.

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“They enjoy their uncle Carter,” Faith said, “and they don’t get to see him as much as they’d like to.” Lex looked pointedly at the dishes, testing the temperature of the running water with her hand. “He’s a pretty special guy.” “Yes, he is,” Kallie chimed in. “I’m glad you think so,” said Beth, her voice a little taut. “Because I think so, too. And I don’t like seeing him get hurt.” Lex turned off the water and squeezed dish soap into the sink. It was as she’d suspected— Carter’s mother didn’t trust her. “I wouldn’t want to see that, either.” “Good. Then we all have Carter’s best interests at heart.” “Of course we do,” said Kallie. Lex looked back over her shoulder at the other woman, who had put her feet up on an unoccupied kitchen chair. She winked again at Lex. “No reason why we shouldn’t.” Faith perked up a little, finally, and looked at Lex. “Right. Because we all love Carter.” “That’s right,” said Lex. “We all love Carter. What’s not to love, right?” She looked up at Beth with a careless smile, to see an odd expression on the older woman’s face. “That’s right,” said Beth firmly. “What’s not to love?” Lex managed a laugh, but, once again, she had an odd feeling something had gone terribly wrong.

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Chapter 8 Carter spent the next few hours stewing over the confrontation with his mother. He’d never spoken so harshly to her, not as an adult, and he didn’t think declarations of, “I hate you,” as a toddler counted. It had left him unsettled. He didn’t like being angry with his mother, and, perhaps even more, didn’t like having his mother angry at him. The badminton took his mind off it for a time, but when his mother, Faith and Kallie appeared with cake and coffee, his brood-mode switched back on again. His mother seemed light and pleasant enough, accepting birthday greetings and kisses with aplomb. He went to her to give her a hug and his gift, and she hugged him back warmly, as if nothing had happened. But that was typical of her. She would hold it back until later, until it was, in her estimation, more appropriate. So he would wait, too. The afternoon settled into a groove, with Matt and Carter playing again with the kids, while Faith, Kallie and Lex sat in the shade chatting. Lex seemed to have hit it off with both his sister and his sister-in-law. But there was his mother, stubbornly picking up dirty cake plates even though it was her birthday, and watching Lex sidelong as she laughed with Kallie, who kept clutching her hugely rounded stomach as if she thought she might give birth on the spot. Faith was, as usual, a bit more reserved, but she, too, seemed to be enjoying Lex’s company. Carter couldn’t put it off any longer. He didn’t really think it was the right moment, but he followed his mother, anyway, picking up a few dirty cake plates and utensils as he went. He met up with her in the kitchen, where she opened the dishwasher and carefully arranged the plates inside. “Mom,” he said. She looked at him over her shoulder, her expression neutral. “Yes, Carter?” “I’m sorry.” He went to stand next to her, nudging her gently aside as he put his own dirty dishes into the dishwasher. “I shouldn’t have yelled at you.” She nodded, and Carter thought he actually saw some sign of contrition on her face. “I suppose I shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions about your friend.” He found it difficult to argue with that. “That would have been nice, yeah.” “It’s your life, and I should leave you alone to let you live it. You’re a grownup, after all.” “That’s right.” This seemed a little too easy, he thought. Maybe Lex had chatted with her while he was playing badminton, and managed to charm her in some way. “Besides,” his mother went on, “she said she loved you, so that makes it okay, I guess.” Carter started to agree, then closed it again as he registered what she’d said. “She said what?” But his mother was on her way out of the kitchen, back toward the yard, leaving Carter standing there with his mouth hanging open.

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***** He’d intended to take Lex back to his apartment after the party and cajole her into spending the night with him. He’d washed his sheets that morning and had bought a new package of condoms, some of those that said they had special ribs for the woman’s pleasure. He had no idea if that actually made any difference, but he figured it was worth the extra quarter or whatever in case it did. He had even made sure, that morning, that he’d put on clean underwear. Now he was seriously thinking about driving her straight home. He could barely bring himself to look at her as she got into the car, because he couldn’t stop wondering exactly what she’d said to his mother. She couldn’t possibly have told his mother she loved him. They’d only known each other for a couple of weeks, after all. Sure, the sex was incredible, and he felt a strong connection to her, stronger than anything he’d ever felt with anyone else, but that wasn’t love. That was just…well, whatever it was, it hadn’t incubated long enough to be called love. So either something was going on he didn’t know anything about, or his mother had gotten the wrong impression. Either way, he didn’t want to ask Lex, didn’t want to ask his mother—in fact, didn’t want to think about it at all. Except that he couldn’t stop thinking about it. He closed the car door behind her and climbed into the driver’s side, turned on the ignition. “Do you want to go back to my place?” He wanted to take her back to his apartment, wanted to sleep with her—though at the moment he was thinking about a more literal version of that phrase that actually involved sleeping. But he felt so unsure suddenly. It was like he’d stepped into a mud puddle that had turned out to be a pothole, deep and murky and drenching him up to his ass. “Is my place closer? We could go there.” He hadn’t thought of that. Damn. The good, ribby condoms were at his place. Maybe she had some. Or something else that she knew for a fact was good for a woman’s pleasure. And why was he worrying about it? He’d made her scream twice before without any fancy condoms. She was looking at him expectantly, he realized, and he still hadn’t put the car into drive. He did that, then pulled out into the road and said, “I think it might be a little closer. That’s fine, if that’s what you want to do.” So he drove back up I-70 toward Bergen Park. The drive was shorter but the silence was incredibly awkward. Or maybe that was just the silence in Carter’s head. But no, Lex looked a little uncomfortable, too. When they finally reached her house and got out of the car, she gave him an odd look and said, “I don’t think your mother likes me.” His automatic response was to laugh it off, but the effort didn’t sound convincing even to himself. “C’mon. What’s not to like?” Lex seemed to take the question seriously. She led the way to her front door, paused to put a key in the lock. “I don’t know. You tell me.” “Why would I know?” Lex pushed the door open and went inside, not looking at him. “She said something to you. That’s why you were upset when you came back from the kitchen.”

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Carter followed her into the house, pulling the door shut behind him. Maybe this wasn’t a good idea. Maybe he should just go home. “Does it matter?” he finally said. “Does it matter to you?” “I’m twenty-eight years old. Why would I be all hung up in what my mother thinks?” “Because I get the impression you love your mother a lot.” “Doesn’t mean she rules my life.” “I didn’t say that. I just asked if it bothered you that she doesn’t like me.” She paused. “She did say something to you, didn’t she?” “Look, whatever we’re doing, or not doing, it’s between you and me, and my mother has nothing to do with it.” She nodded, but she was still frowning. “Okay. That’s the way it should be, right?” “Right.” Maybe he should just ask her, straight out, if she’d said something to his mother. But, looking at the concern on her face, he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Maybe he was better off not knowing. So, instead of asking her, he caught her by the back of the neck and kissed her firmly, deep and long, leaving no doubt as to his intentions for the evening. When he let her go, she smiled up at him. “That’s better,” she said. He nodded and kissed her again, softer this time. “Yeah. I think so, too.”

***** She was naked in bed and so was Carter, and she was under him and he had his tongue in her ear, but somehow she thought his heart wasn’t in it. Mostly because his penis wasn’t. It was a little early in their relationship, she thought, for him to be so bored with her he couldn’t get it up. So he had to still be upset from this afternoon. And it left her with a dilemma. Should she say something, or wait it out and see if things improved? It was a hard situation. Or a not-so-hard situation, depending on how you looked at it. His lips moved down her neck, and he seemed no less attentive or detail-oriented than he had been in the past, but he hadn’t gotten past twitchy into a genuine erection. She wondered what he was planning. Maybe he thought if he worked her well enough, gave her a good enough orgasm without actually fucking her, that maybe she wouldn’t notice. If that was what he was about, it seemed on the surface to be a good tactic. But now she was distracted, both by the movement of his mostly-flaccid cock against her leg, and the nonstop yammering of her own brain, wondering what was bothering him. Should she wait for the possible orgasm, or ask him now if he needed to talk? Maybe he wouldn’t appreciate it if she pointed out his problem. Maybe if she waited, the problem would correct itself. Maybe she should lend a hand. Literally. But would that be the same as saying, “Hey, I noticed you can’t quite get it up, let me see what I can do about that”? The etiquette in situations like this was just so delicate. She slid her hands down his back, reaching for his buttocks. If she could get her finger in his ass, that might help, and it wouldn’t be as obvious as grabbing his cock. She couldn’t quite reach, though; he was too tall. Plus it might freak him out. He’d done it to her, though, so maybe it wouldn’t.

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What was all this thinking about? Horrible mood killer, the brain, she thought, then, Shut up, brain. You’re supposed to be an erogenous zone, not a buzz kill. It shut up for a moment, mostly because Carter’s hand was sliding down her stomach, over her hipbone, across the top of her thigh, finally landing softly between her legs. Clever boy, with his long, clever fingers, tickling against her hair, slipping between her labia. Two fingers, one on either side of her clit, stroking down, making her want them inside her but refusing to accommodate her. She squirmed under him, closed her eyes to absorb the sensation. When she opened them again, he was looking right into her eyes. “Is there something wrong?” she said, the words surprising her. She hadn’t intended to confront him. He smiled a little, his dark eyes placid. “Not now.” “But there’s a problem.” She shifted, trying to move away from his still-groping hand. He just pushed in a little more, sliding the tip of one finger inside her. “You can talk to me, you know.” “Later,” he said. “First you’re going to come in my hand. Then maybe we’ll talk.” There didn’t seem to be much point arguing with that. She forced herself to stop thinking about what might be bothering him, forced her brain to stop replaying the events of the afternoon over and over again. He aligned himself next to her, lying on his side, half on top of her, and kissed her, his tongue gently exploring her mouth while his fingers thrust and slid over and into her sex, until she was bucking her hips into his hand, trying to pull him deeper. He had three fingers inside her now, his thumb rolling against her clit, stirring the embers there, bringing fire to life. She let herself go soft and limp under him, focused on the rolling thumb, the thrusting fingers. Simple, straightforward, nothing fancy, but moving her steadily and surely exactly where she needed to be. So she let him. Let him coax her up and up, higher, into the fire, over it, through it, feeling the deep, liquid heat fill her and rise and tauten, until her body flew apart under the sure, solid touch of his big hands. He had incredible hands. He lifted himself over her as she hit her peak, watched her face, held her eyes with his as she came, shuddering against him, her body open, everything inside her opening to him. The feeling that flooded her almost frightened her with its purity. Her voice keened out of her without her willing it, sounding almost like a sob. He cupped her face with his free hand, gently stroking her cheek, then kissing her, his fingers still moving inside her, pressing, thrusting, working her just that little bit more as her body convulsed on him, as she writhed in his arms. Automatically, she reached down. He was hard now, though perhaps not as hard as he’d been in past encounters. No worries, then. She curled her hand around his cock, ran her thumb over the head, where it had wept a little. The slick fluid smeared under the pad of her thumb and he made a soft noise in the back of his throat, inarticulate and needy. Letting go of him, she shifted her hands, grasped his buttocks and pressed him forward, maneuvering him up until he sat straddling her chest. She lifted her head and licked the head of his cock, drew it into her mouth, touched his hips to press him forward. He caught on right away and lifted himself up onto his knees, bracing his hands against the wall as he thrust gently into her mouth. She pulled him in deep, as far as she could take him, clutching his buttocks, letting him set the rhythm. She could feel his body tightening, taut

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ripcords of muscle clenching and releasing under her hands as she slid them up his back. Looking up, she caught him looking back down, and he smiled a little, then his eyes went hazy and closed. She closed her eyes, too, the better to concentrate on the movement of his cock in and out of her mouth. He was careful not to go too deep, letting her keep control, and she drew him in a little farther at each thrust, until she’d taken as much as she could. She slid a hand between his thighs to cup his balls, maneuvering his testicles, feeling them tighten and rise as his thrusting became faster and more intense. Opening her eyes again, she saw his fists pressed against the wall, his head bent and his face set, teeth clenched. His breathing was fast and ragged, and suddenly he lowered a hand to touch her hair. Kind of him to warn her, she thought, especially after she’d swallowed him the last time. Many men would have assumed she’d want to swallow every time. Which she didn’t, necessarily, but she didn’t mind in this case mostly just because he’d warned her. So she pressed his ass with one hand, still holding his scrotum with the other, pushing him all the way in until the head of his cock rested against the back of her throat, and held him there, and let him come down her throat. He made a strangled noise and pushed his forehead into the wall, his hips jerking against her face. The hand he’d set against her cheek caressed her with incongruous gentleness, compared to the intensity of what was going on with the rest of his body. He came hard, and for what seemed like a long time. Tension, she thought, the kind that made it hard to get started, but made you blow like a volcano when you finally let it out. Something was definitely bothering him. She wasn’t going to let him get away with bottling it up anymore. Though she really hadn’t known him long enough to nag him, she had a feeling that, in this case, it was simply the right thing to do. Maybe even the only sensible course of action. Finally, he finished, and slid out of her mouth with a long, deep breath. He settled down on the bed beside her. His arms went around her, drew her in close, and he kissed her neck. “Okay,” she said. “I came in your hand, you came in my mouth. Time to talk.” “What exactly is it we need to talk about?” She looked into his face, and the way his gaze slid to the side told her he knew exactly what it was they needed to talk about. “You’re upset about something. We should discuss it.” He made a face. “Do we have to?” “I guess that depends.” “On what?” “On whether this is a relationship or just a fling.” She bit the inside of her lip after she said it, afraid she’d gone too far. They hadn’t really known each other long enough to call this a relationship. Although the intensity made her feel like she’d known him for weeks. Forever. His face went suddenly serious, his eyes studying her. “What do you think?” She swallowed hard. She really hadn’t meant to go here. It was too soon. They had gone too fast. She’d been stupid to seduce him on the first date. If she hadn’t, everything wouldn’t feel so

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odd right now. If she hadn’t, they could be in the first flush of lust right now, instead of lying here naked and emotionally exposed, trying to figure out how deep they really were. What point was there, right now, in anything but honesty? She looked right into his face and said, “I don’t think it’s a fling.” His eyes narrowed. “Did you tell my mother you were in love with me?” She gaped at him. “What?” “She said you said you loved me.” “Why—“ Lex broke off, her brain scrambling frantically back through the conversation with Beth. “I said…your sisters said something about how we all loved you. I said, yeah, what’s not to love. Something like that.” “Is it true? Do you feel that way already?” His voice was a little tight, the tone hard to interpret. “I don’t know.” “But you said you didn’t think this was a fling.” “It doesn’t mean I think I want to marry you.” This was not going well. She didn’t want to downplay what she felt for him, but she didn’t want to overstate it, either. He sat up and pushed back from her, and her heart sank in her chest, fast and hard, like going over the first dip in a roller coaster. “This is going too fast,” he said. He ran a hand over his head, rubbing his scalp. “Why? Because you feel something, or because you don’t?” She tried to keep her voice steady, but to her ears it sounded frantic. “Because I don’t know what I feel.” He pushed farther away from her, gathering the sheets against him. We jumped into this too fast, and yeah, I felt the zing, too, but I don’t know if the zing is enough. And I don’t know if a fling is what I’m after right now, so if that’s what this is…” He trailed off, his eyes bleak. “Maybe I should go home.” She sat up, pulling the sheet up over her breasts. “Why? I just told you I didn’t think it was a fling. If you don’t want a fling, then we don’t have to fling. We already flung. We can move on from the flinging.” “I don’t know if I’m ready for that, either.” Leaning over the side of the bed, he rummaged until he found his pants. He turned away from her, pulling them on. “What are you ready for, then, Carter? Running away?” His back tensed. “I was the one tried to get you to slow down that first night, if you’ll remember. Maybe that wasn’t such a bad idea, after all, huh?” He jerked his jeans on and stood. “I hope you chafe without your underwear,” she snapped. He wheeled on her, his eyes hard, then suddenly his face softened, almost into a smile. “You are a piece of work, Lex.” “So are you.” She wasn’t sure if she meant it as a compliment or an insult. “You sure you want to let this go?” “I’m not letting it go. I’m just backing off.” He picked his shirt up off the floor and shrugged it on. “You’re really leaving, then?”

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His fingers moved slowly on his buttons, fastening up his shirt. Reluctant, she thought, but she wasn’t sure. “Yeah.” “Are you coming back?” “I don’t know. Maybe.” He turned back toward her, and she wasn’t at all sure what she saw in his eyes. Something that verged on longing, as if he wanted or expected her to beg him to stay. She eyed him archly. “Don’t let the door hit you in the ass on the way out.” He sniffed. “I’ll try.” He took a few steps toward the bedroom door, then stopped, turned back. “I’ll call.” “Fine.” Another moment passed. He stared at her. “If you’re going to go, go. God.” She couldn’t help it. It was too much—it hurt so far down inside her she thought it might take major surgery to get the pain out. He nodded, the set of his mouth making her think he understood. And he left.

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Chapter 9 Over the next few days, Lex spent entirely too much time thinking about Carter. The story she’d written about him had appeared in the paper only a few days after their first encounter. She’d cut it out and added it to her portfolio, as she did all her articles. But now she found herself pulling out the big notebook full of newspaper clippings, reading the article, looking at his grainy black-and-white picture. At night she dreamed about him sometimes, the dreams fragmented and unclear, just pieces of him, feelings, sensations, the sound of his voice or the touch of his big hands on her body. Did that mean she was in love with him? Or just that she was pathetic? She really wasn’t sure, at this point. To make things worse, every time she tried to call her sister for advice, she got the answering machine. Belatedly, she remembered that Trish had gone on vacation and wouldn’t be back for ten more days. So Lex was on her own. Maybe she’d pushed too hard. She hadn’t really given Carter an ultimatum, but she’d certainly thrown things at him he wasn’t ready to deal with. She wasn’t even sure she was ready to deal with them. But she was also sure she hadn’t wanted him to just walk out. She wanted him back. And it had gotten to a point where she could barely even watch the weather anymore, much less tune into his show, without feeling hideously depressed. Even a warm, mostly sunny forecast made her sad.

***** Over the next few days, Carter spent entirely too much time thinking about Lex. Every time he picked up the morning paper, he thought about her. He dreamed about her, the dreams hot and intense, and he woke up sweaty and shaking more often than not. He could still summon her taste to his tongue if he concentrated hard enough. When he did, it made him hard, which was fine except for those occasions when the memory popped into his head in the middle of a radio broadcast when he couldn’t do anything about it. Did that mean he was in love with her? Or was he just horny? He really wasn’t sure. He did know, though, that he missed her. Horribly. The weekend after the disastrous birthday party, he went to the cabin. The quiet isolation of the place had in the past been a refuge for him. But now everything seemed wrong. Lex should have been there, gamely brushing her teeth with the water out of a bottle, not complaining about the Porta Potty, making that adorable grimace when she lost at Candyland. But she wasn’t there, and the way things were going, she might never be there again. Worst of all, he usually turned to his mother for advice on this kind of thing. But no way was he calling her about Lex. She’d just tell him all the same things again—that Lex was a dirty old woman just using him as a big, naturally-textured dildo. Well, maybe not in exactly those words.

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Eventually, he called Faith. She’d liked Lex—maybe she could give him some insight. “Yeah, I got the impression mom had some kind of a bug up her butt,” Faith said when Carter had explained the situation. “I don’t suppose you bothered to call her on it?” Faith rarely challenged their mother on anything. Carter wasn’t sure why, but it got on his nerves sometimes. “Well, no.” Carter could almost hear her squirming on the other end of the phone line. “I sort of sat there and felt really uncomfortable.” “So what’s your opinion? You liked her, didn’t you?” “Lex? I thought she was cool. And she handled Mom really well, even though she didn’t know what was going on, and even though I just left her swinging in the wind because, deep down, I’m a big wuss and an exceedingly bad person.” Carter chuckled. “Yeah, you really are.” “So what was it Mom didn’t like about her? Can’t be because she’s white…oh, wait, it’s because she’s older than you, isn’t it?” “Yeah. She’s older than me, so Mom thinks she’s just using me to satisfy her old-womanly urges or something. I don’t know. It’s crazy.” “Are you enjoying being used?” “Well, I was, until after the party.” “Shit, Car, you guys broke up?” Faith sounded genuinely distressed “More or less.” Saying the words made him even sadder. “Because Mom’s being a doof?” “More or less.” There was a long moment of silence on the other end of the line. Carter closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. He could almost smell Lex if he thought about it. She didn’t wear perfume, but her hair smelled like raspberries. Finally, Faith spoke again. “How do you feel about her, Car?” He opened his eyes, sighing. “I don’t know. I miss her like hell, that much is for sure.” “You should call her. Whatever happened between you two after the party, you should call her and apologize.” “What if it wasn’t my fault?” “Apologize anyway. It’s what men are supposed to do.” “Oh, bullshit.” “Trust me. Just call her and tell her you’re sorry.” “I’ll take that on advisement.” “You should.” He chatted with her for a time about the kids, but finally hung up not really feeling any better about the situation with Lex. You need to be a grownup, he thought. You need to make up your own mind. He needed to talk to Lex. He picked up the phone and dialed her number. But, weirdly, he got a busy signal. He hadn’t heard a real-life busy signal in ages. Everybody had call waiting

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and voice mail—why was he getting a busy signal? With a sigh, he hung up the phone. Maybe he could work up the nerve to call her again later.

***** Lex hung up her phone with a sigh. Since when did anybody get a busy signal? Didn’t everybody have call waiting and voice mail these days? Apparently not Carter, which, frankly, surprised her. She looked at the clock. He should be home by now, and it wasn’t too outrageously late. Maybe she should tempt fate and just drive over there. What was the worst that could happen, after all?

***** Carter watched TV for a while, but even his usual standby, the Weather Channel, couldn’t hold his attention. Finally he got up to poke through the refrigerator, hoping to find something edible. Two beers, a stick of margarine, and a jar of mayonnaise. Some milk that was so far past its use by date that it was probably cheese by now. Maybe he could call out for Chinese. Just as he slammed the refrigerator door shut, his doorbell rang. His heart lurched—but no, it couldn’t possibly be Lex. Still, he couldn’t fight back the tremor as he opened the door. It was his mother. She stood on the doorstep, her usual, small, immaculately groomed self, and said, “Hi, Carter. Can I come in?” He sighed. “Well, I guess I can’t stop you.” “You’re still mad at me, aren’t you?” She stepped past him into the apartment, tossed her purse on the couch. He watched her go by, trying not to glare. “Yeah. Little bit.” “Well, I came to apologize, so hopefully we can work this all out.” Carter trudged back into the kitchen. The beer was starting to look pretty good. “Too late, Mom. She broke up with me.” “You’re kidding.” He grabbed both beers out of the fridge and went back into the living room, handing one bottle to his mother. “Or I broke up with her. I’m really not sure which one it was.” “That’s too bad, Carter.” She didn’t sound particularly remorseful. “But I told you she probably wasn’t right for you.” “Oh, stuff it, Mom.” He flopped into the couch next to her. “It had nothing to do with her using me or whatever the hell you had in your head. It was something else, and I really don’t want to talk about it.” She gave him a look. “You’re aware, of course, that this beer requires a bottle opener.” Carter sighed. He got up again, retrieved a bottle opener from the kitchen, and handed it to his mother. She took it, eyeing the beer bottle. “This is terrible beer,” she said. “You should buy decent beer.” “How do you know it’s terrible? You haven’t even tasted it yet.” “I’ve had this brand before.”

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Carter wrenched the cap off his own bottle of beer and took a swig. He made a face. “Yuck. Not only is it bad beer, it’s old beer.” He set it down on the table. “You said you were going to apologize. When does that part of the conversation start?” “I’m sorry.” She put her beer, unopened, on the table next to Carter’s. “I had no business criticizing you or Lex. I was out of line.” “Yes, you were.” “And you were right, although you were a little rude, making your point.” “Sorry.” “It’s okay. I raised you to speak your mind. Just…a little more diplomatically.” Carter shrugged. “You pissed me off.” “Point taken.” She folded her hands together and twiddled her thumbs a few times. “So, do you love her? Or is it all a moot point right now?” He eyed her narrowly. “What the hell possessed you to tell me she told you she loved me?” “That was a very convoluted sentence, Carter. I’m not at all sure I know what you mean.” “You know damn well what I mean.” His mother looked suddenly very arch, which meant she was discomfited. “Oh, my God,” said Carter. “This is going to be one of those, ‘I did it for your own good,’ speeches, isn’t it?” “I thought if you heard her say that, even second-hand, it might scare you away.” “And what if we were meant to be together, and you broke us up for no good reason with your overly loose interpretation of her exact words?” “If you were meant to be together, then you’ll be together regardless of what I do or don’t say. Even a buttinsky mother can’t stop the turning wheels of fate.” “Great, Mom.” Carter leaned his head back against the couch and closed his eyes. He felt tired. Or maybe like somebody had run him over with a truck. “You’re an incurable romantic.” “I really am. So if you two are meant to be together, something will happen and you’ll be together. Nothing either of you will be able to do about it.” “I was being sarcastic, Mom. In a big way.” “I know. It doesn’t become you.” She picked up the bottles of beer and carried them into the kitchen. “I’ll just pour this out, and then maybe we can talk. See if we can fix your problem.” “The one you caused?” She made a face at him. Going to the sink, she poured the contents of the open beer bottle down the sink, then opened the other one. A loud hissing sound ensued, followed by, “Oh, dammit.” Carter stood and headed into the kitchen. “What happened?” “Your wonderful beer blew up all over my shirt.” She turned around. The front of her blouse—which looked to Carter like it was probably silk—was drenched with beer. “Lovely.” Carter didn’t know whether to be amused or disgusted. “Go on into my bedroom. You can borrow a t-shirt or something.” “Has your girlfriend left anything here I could wear?” “No, Mom, you didn’t let her stick around long enough to start leaving clothes here.”

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“Are you bitter?” “I really am.” He escorted her into the bedroom and found a shirt for her. She went into the bathroom to wash up and change. Carter was just settling back into the couch, wondering if he should offer to take his mother out to dinner, when someone knocked on the door. He got up and went to answer it. “Lex?” He stood there staring, unable to believe it was really her. “Is this a bad time?” She looked small and fragile, which was odd, because she’d never seemed to be either of those things before. Her hands twisted together, and her eyes were large and worried. “No. Come in.” He stepped back and watched her come in, still not quite convinced it was really her. She took a few steps into the apartment, almost to the couch, and turned around. “I wanted to talk to you. I tried to call, but I got a busy signal.” Carter frowned, surprised. “Really? I’ve got call waiting and voice mail—“ He broke off. “Wait a minute. I tried to call you and the same thing happened.” “Really? Because I have call waiting and voice mail, too—“ She broke off, as well. “When did you call?” “About an hour ago.” Lex nodded, the expression on her face mixing surprise, relief, and befuddlement. It was an odd combination. “I think we both called each other at exactly the same time.” Carter thought suddenly about the unstoppable hands of fate, and his heart jumped into his throat. “Freaky.” “Do you think it means something?” “I don’t know. But I think it means something that you’re here.” She took a breath, gathering herself. “It means I’m not ready for this to be over.” Carter studied her, her wide eyes, the flush to her face. “You’re serious.” “Dead serious. Look, I don’t know if I’m in love with you, but I don’t want to back out before I figure it out. If you don’t feel the same way, that’s fine, but tell me now, don’t wait until I’m really invested.” “You’re not invested now?” Carter’s voice came out a little too intense, because he was invested. He’d figured that much out over the last few days. “I am. I mean, I am, but you know what I mean.” “I have no idea what you mean.” “Yes, you do. I mean I’m not ready to exchange rings or walk down the aisle or add you to my bank account, but I’m not ready to sleep alone every night when I know you’re walking around this state and you’re the only guy who’s ever made me scream.” It occurred to Carter, vaguely, to wonder how much of this conversation his mother might be able to hear from the bathroom. “That’s a good thing, then.” “Damn straight it’s a good thing.” She took another step toward him, her eyes holding his, her breath coming a little too fast. “I dream about you at night, about your chocolate body and your cock inside me and it makes me start thinking about what our kids might look like, and I

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wake up thinking there’s no way I can go through another day without touching you. I can’t do this Carter. I want you. I might even want you forever.” She leaned into him and he automatically leaned back, kissing her. She tasted even better than he remembered, of sweetness and happiness and gloriously aroused woman. He pressed his tongue into her mouth, chasing after hers, his hand sliding down her back, cupping her ass… The bathroom door opened. His mother flurried out, one hand raised to block her view. “Not looking, not looking. Leaving.” Carter jumped back, and Lex froze, eyes wide in shock. “Oh, my God. She was in there the whole time?” “Yes, sorry, made me scream, chocolate body—I’m going, I’m going, goodbye.” Carter stared after his mother as, red-faced, she fluttered by, ran out of the apartment, and slammed the door behind her. He looked at Lex and burst into laughter. Lex laughed, as well, which relieved him. “Well,” she said, “I guess she knows I’m serious now, huh?” “I guess so. She may never recover from that.” “Let me know if you need me to chip in on the medical bills.” “Oh, you know I will.” He drew her in again, cradling her against him. “I want you, too. I’m not ready to let any of it go.” “Good. Then we’re on the same page.” She tilted her head back, looking up into his face. “Now, make me scream.” “You got it, baby,” he said, and picked her up, and carried her into the bedroom.

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About the author: Elizabeth Jewell is new to the world of erotic romance, but has been writing paranormal and contemporary romance for several years. On the personal front, she is married with two children. She is a voracious reader who also watches far too much TV! Elizabeth welcomes mail from readers. You can write to them c/o Ellora’s Cave Publishing at P.O. Box 787, Hudson, Ohio 44236-0787.

Also by Elizabeth Jewell: 6 Enchanted Princesses A Matter of Faces (Shifting Faces anthology) Lady of the Seals Legacy of the Snake The Regan Factor

XAVIER Stephanie Burke

Xavier

Chapter One “Good God, no!” he begged as he hopped off his bike, automatically jamming his keys in his back pocket, and racing towards the sounds of the taunts, the screams, the vile words that spewed into the night. He felt a cold sweat break out over his body as he raced as fast as he could towards the alley the woman had run into, expecting from the sounds of things to see the worst. How could any male call himself a man when he forced a woman? And it was even worse when a group of men chased a woman like a pack of mongrel dogs. Xavier’s booted feet skidded on the damp pavement as he turned the corner and raced towards the receding voices. Who knew that a restless ride on his bike would turn out like this? It was just by the grace of God that he had decided to take a quick ride through the city, and mere fate that caused him to pause when he saw a flash of pink streaming down the nearly abandoned streets. There were never many people around this part of Baltimore at night, and fewer around the warehouses and strip joints along Pulaski Highway. He just hoped that he wasn’t too late. Leaping over a few fallen garbage cans, still rolling from a desperate attempt to slow the attackers down, Xavier skidded in what the neighborhood kids called ‘garbage juice’ and saw some action dead ahead. Increasing his speed, he saw that the chase had ended, but the hunt was still in high gear. “Low-life scum!” the female was screaming. Just as he drew close enough to get a good look at the players, a huge body came sailing in his direction. Xavier barely managed to sidestep the tumbling mass of men, when a howl, not unlike a wolf, erupted, and a second body followed the first. “You want some of this?” she bellowed as she launched herself at a third man. But she pulled herself up short as the man drew out a gun. “You think you’re hot stuff, bitch? Let’s see how hot you are on your knees, sucking my…” He never got a chance to finish. Xavier leaped into action. Swinging his right foot up sharply, he connected neatly with the man's forearm and smiled as he heard the bones snap. Predictably, the man dropped the gun and fell to his knees, squealing like a pig. The fourth man turned to face this new attacker, and met the onslaught of a freshly launched fist that shattered his nose and spread the remains across his face. Blood spurted as the man folded like a deck of cards, muffled screams erupting from his mouth as both hands clasped his injured snout. Xavier quickly kicked the gun under a nearby dumpster, keeping it out of easy reach and looked around to see if any more were coming. Satisfied, he turned toward the woman…

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Just in time to block a fist intent on a bit of rhinoplasty of its own. “Tired of waiting your turn?” she sneered as she pulled back and planted herself in a ready position. She didn’t take on the stance of any form he knew, but it was the stance of an experienced street fighter. “Me?” Xavier felt compelled to ask as he stared at the woman, eyes wide in surprise. She was rather tall, he would give her that. Tall and slim. Her hair was natural, tied back with a beaded headband, and her brown eyes shot fire. She was a beauty, he decided, looking at her with an artist’s eye, but she was unconventional. Her skin was a solid cocoa brown, smooth with only a few blemishes, and her cheekbones were the high kind that meant she would age gracefully. Her lips were full, a deep rose color that begged to be kissed. Her body… Had he ever seen such curves squeezed into cotton and denim? Her pink T-shirt was Vnecked and valiantly struggled to hold in a set of more than ample breasts. There was the name of some bar embossed across the front, drawing attention to her breasts. Her rounded hips seemed to be dressed in some painted-on denim that made him long for a paintbrush. They led to a set of thick, shapely thighs and long legs that disappeared into a pair of black riding boots. By the time his eyes made the circuit back up her body, he had just enough time to duck the fist that came flying at one of those examining eyes. “Hey!” he called out. “Crazy female!” He dodged her strikes and moved back a safe distance. “You get a good look, lover boy? Cause that’s all you’re gonna get!” she snarled, advancing while trying to keep an eye on the two squealing men lest they recover. “I’m here to help, lady!” He sighed as one of the large dudes behind him made a sound. “Yeah…” she snorted, her attention divided between fallen bodies and his face. “Prove it!” “Prove…? Woman, I just ran the equivalent of three city blocks because I saw a flash of pink being herded toward this alley. I took out two guys who could press charges and throw my ass in jail. And I knocked a gun from the hands of some lunatic who wanted your oral services. What more can I do?” Alena stared at the dark-haired man standing there, an almost angry expression on his face. With the skill he showed in dodging and punching, she was sure that he could easily take her down and take what he wanted, if he wanted that from her. Even though he stared at her body like it was a piece of raw meat meant for a hungry jaguar, he had made no moves to attack her. Her instincts were yelling at her to trust him, and she always followed her instincts. “Okay, but if you get cute, Don Juan, it’s your ass!” “Jesus,” Xavier groaned before motioning her past the two mostly silent men and the two recovering ones. She began to run past him while he moved at a slower pace, not turning his back on the four men who still littered the alley. Once they turned the corner, he grabbed her hand and started running like his life depended on it. “Why the speed now?” she gasped as they took off through the maze of alleys and into the night. 132

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“Because there is one very pissed man with a broken nose back there who has access to a gun.” “So why didn’t you take it?” “And get my fingerprints all over it? No way. Not in the mood to be guilty until proven innocent.” “Oh,” she managed as they broke through the alleys and ran onto a quiet street. Once there, he led her to a large black bike that had badass written all over it. “Get on,” he breathed heavily as he pulled the keys from his pocket and hopped on the saddle. “Look,” Alena began, “thanks for the rescue and all, but I don’t really know you and…” “Get on the bike!” he growled, turning to stare at her with the most intense black eyes she had ever seen. That gaze held power, and strength, but more importantly, she saw…honor. Shrugging, she hopped on and hoped she wasn’t getting into worse trouble than what she’d had with the four wannabe thugs who followed her after work. Besides, it was one man. Surely she could take on one man. Even if he was distracting her with the most perfect body she had ever seen.

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Chapter Two The first few drops of rain caught them by surprise, but the deluge that followed instantly soaked them both to the skin. Alena whimpered as she leaned down against her savior’s back, then shot up, causing the bike to swerve dangerously as something occurred to her. “Where are we going?” she screamed, only to have her words torn away by the wind and the rain. He barked something, but she could only tell by the vibrations in his chest. The deep rumbling bass of the huge engine prevented any words that might have been spoken from being understood, and that suited her just fine. Sighing, she moved closer to him again, getting what protection from the elements she could. She would have to trust in him and in her prayers, because she was silently praying. Praying that she had done the right thing, that she would be okay, and that the honor she had read in his eyes was accurate.

***** The sound of the engine revving down pulled her out of her miserable funk. Though it was summer, the rain was cold and uncomfortable. It made her hair products and her make-up run down her face and sting her eyes. When the rain suddenly stopped, she looked up to find that they were in a garage. She jumped as the motor cut off and she realized she was in an enclosed place with a strange man whose name she didn’t even know. Before he could speak, she decided to be the aggressor; it was safer that way. “Just where am I and what are you planning on doing?” Her glare was heated enough to melt the polar icecaps and her hands were on her hips as she leaned forward, nearly shouting in his ears. “Because if you are thinking what I think you’re thinking, you need to know that I’m not that type of girl and this ain’t that type of party.” Her accusations were met with a strained silence as he slid down the kickstand and made to rise from the bike. “I said…” she started again, her voice loud and filled with authority. “Don’t you ever take a breath between words?” “I… What?” “Take a breath and exhale. Or are you waiting to do that?” Her mouth dropped open and her eyes widened as she stared at the man. How dare he speak to her that way? She could kick his little lily-white ass if she wanted! How dare he…climb off his bike and calmly walk away? Didn’t he know she wasn’t through with him? Maybe it was 134

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time she let him know she wasn’t through and no one ever walked away from her unless she first gave them permission! She hopped off the bike and followed the broad-shouldered man through a door that led into the house. She stormed in, uninvited, after him. “Wait! Wait you…you…man. What is your name anyway?” “Do you always run into people’s houses while you insult them, mami?” “Mommy? I ain’t your mama, boy! Do you know who you are dealing with?” “Actually, no,” he shouted. Alena followed the sound of his retreating voice through a rather tidy mudroom and then through another door, doing her best not to drip too badly. She knew she was reacting without her manners, but she didn’t need to multiply that sin by putting water stains on his tile floor. And a nice hand-painted tile it was, she decided as she used both hands to hold up the sodden remains of her Afro, the silk scarf that originally held it back dropping into her eyes. “Well?” His deep voice startled her, pulling her attention from the brightly painted floor tiles and drawing her deeper into the house. The next room she entered looked like it had once been a kitchen, but now appeared to be one huge studio. Her sodden condition, her misplaced anger, and her strange fascination with this man were all forgotten as she stared at the paintings that lined the walls, sat on easels, and were stacked against the corners of the room. There were so many of them. She inhaled and drew in the sharp scent of paint thinner and oils, chemicals that usually hung on the art majors at her school. Slowly spinning, she felt dizzy as the beauty of what she saw affected her. There were portraits of women, beautiful women in all stages of undress. Old women, young women, plain women; all made beautiful, all made equal, by the talent and skill of one artist. And there were still lifes of flowers, fruits, and vases - all plain, ordinary objects that seemed extraordinary through his eyes and on his canvas. And the landscapes! They were absolutely breathtaking. She slowly turned until one painting caught her eye. A small canvas, only about twelve-byfourteen, but the power it exuded! It was a picture of a little girl, a sad little girl whose big brown eyes were swimming in tears, her bottom lip seeming to quiver as she stared at a trio of retreating children, the one left behind. Alena could almost feel the child’s pain as she stared at the other children walking away, leaving her alone, betraying her. She blinked at that last thought. Why on earth did she get a sense of betrayal? Wonderingly, her hand reached out, wanting to caress that chunky cheek, wanting to help ease that child’s pain, if only a little. Her arms quivered and tears filled her eyes as her fingers lightly caressed… “What are you doing in here?” Alena jumped and jerked back from the painting, her eyes going to the man whose voice was suddenly thickly accented in anger. And her breath caught. 135

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The man was standing before her, long hair wet and curling around his shoulders; trailing down his back, his bare back. The thick muscles in his chest flexed as his fists clenched in the towel he held, his chest shining with dampness. She followed the muscle play and was caught by what had to be a tattoo, maybe two, encircling his left bicep, a dark tribal design more intricate than a Celtic knot and more graceful than any tribal had the right to be. For a moment, she missed the anger glinting in his eyes. Her gaze was following the cobblestone path that led past dark nipples to the sweet indention of his navel. It continued down the thin trail of hair that led to the waistband of his low-slung black jeans. That conveniently brought to her attention the huge bulge that pressed against the damp and slightly clingy denim. “I said, what are you doing in here?” he growled, drawing her gaze back to his. “I…” Guilt rushed in, making her blush. She knew she had invaded his personal space, but her pride kept her from looking away. Instead, she went on the offensive again. “What? Did you think I would try to boost something from you? That I’m here to steal your shit? Just because my skin is black don’t mean I’m a thief.” “Chica, don’t hand me that you-fit-the-description crap. My skin is a little less brown than yours, but that little less brown ain't getting me shit. In fact, it caused me a whole heap of trouble. So you can take that racist shit and shove it up that delectable ass of yours ‘cause I ain’t buying it. I asked you what you were doing because I am not accustomed to people waltzing into my place and snooping. And you can consider yourself lucky because I don’t explain myself often.” “Humph,” Alena snorted, embarrassed and put in her place. She rallied with, “I would consider myself reproached reproached if I knew who I was apparently offending and burdening.” “Xavier. Xavier Bustamante at your service. And may I have the pleasure of being introduced to the one who offends and burdens?” Alena rolled her eyes and fought back a relieved giggle. His anger seemed to be dissipating as he lifted the towel in an impressive display of musculature to slowly rub at his head, momentarily covering his eyes and breaking the spell that held her paralyzed. “Um, Alena Queen.” Xavier peeked at the woman Alena through the folds of his towel and decided that he liked what he saw. Despite the prickly attitude and the aggressive personality, Alena was really a nicely put together woman. His first impression of her being curvy was not exactly correct, he decided as he looked at her. Her breasts were large but firm in her sodden T-shirt, her skin an intriguing shade of cocoa that he decided was unique and all her. Her hips were a little heavy, well-rounded, just the way he liked them. And her ass… There was something to be said for a woman who had a fine ass like that. It was intriguing, watching her nervously look away and present her back for his unobserved inspection. Her back was…graceful was the only word that he could come up with. It curved like a swan’s neck, bending softly and flowing into her flaring hips, looking like the cradle of life. A

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decent ass was his one weakness, he thought as he watched it sway as she stepped closer to the painting. Alena sighed as she turned away from the good-looking man. Okay, so she wasn’t compromising her principles by ogling a white guy, but man, he was white enough. In the bright light of the kitchen-studio, she could see he had a distinct darkness to his skin that was not brought by frying his ass in the sun like a baby seal. Nor was it the orange color of the tanning beds a lot of the co-eds she knew flocked too during the first hint of spring. Xavier had some color up in him, and it wasn’t artificial. Judging from his accent, she decided that he was Hispanic. And judging from his attitude, she was in hot water. She had invaded his privacy, after he had helped with the wannabe thugs back there. And he had gotten her away to safety when one guy pulled out a gun. And she had thanked him by sassing him, marching into his house like she belonged, then staring at his stuff. Girding her loins, she turned to face him, an apology on her lips, when she got something dumped over her head for her troubles. “Hey!” her muffled voice was lost under a towel smelling of Spring Rain fabric softener. She peeled it back enough to glare at the man, but only caught a glimpse of his back as he walked away. “Don’t drip on my floor,” he called back as he disappeared down a hall. Loathe to follow and invade more of his personal space, Alena chose to glare at him instead, narrowing her eyes as she dabbed at her hair and face. Seething was the only way to describe her temper. She stood there, visions of a Latino’s death spinning through her mind as she stared at the spot he had occupied. Sure he was a hot bod and all that, but he needed a lot of work in the personality department. She blotted all the water she could, scrubbed the raccoon eyes off of her face, and wrapped the towel around her body. She was suddenly aware that the air conditioning was on and that she was in a very thin, very wet T-shirt. “Hey,” she called after a moment of standing there alone. “Xavier?” When she got no answer, she started to walk towards what had to be the heart of his house, manners be damned. She needed to get home and she had no idea where she was. “Xavier? Let me call a cab and this little black child will be out of your hair.” She paused in her attempt to follow, and decided it would be best to look for a phone in this room. She had invaded enough of his space and didn’t want to desecrate his house any more than she had to. Spinning around, she began a visual search that took in a huge refrigerator, a decent stove that looked as if it had never been touched, and more artist’s supplies than her college store had, but no phone. She was reaching for a pile of stained rags when his deep bass caused her heart to jump into her throat. “No need to take a taxi. I’ll take you home.” “I don’t want to be a bother.” “I said I will take you home. I only drove here first to get my car.” “Your car?” “It is pretty foolish to ride a bike in the rain, Alena. If I may call you that?” 137

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“Better than some of the things I’ve been called,” she muttered to herself. He paused for a second, tilting his head to the side and examining her, before tossing her a bundle of material. Instinctively, she caught the soft bundle, before shaking it out to see what he had given her. It was an oversized sweatshirt. Well, oversized for her, but on him, she decided that it would almost be indecently tight. “Be that at it may, bruja, it is getting late and the rain is coming down harder.” “I said,” she said, emphasizing the said, “I didn’t want to be a bother.” “Look, let’s get a few things straight. That chip on your shoulder is no match for the chip on mine. It is raining and it will be hours before a cab will come out here to fetch you, and I don’t want you here that long. The sooner I get you home, the sooner my obligation to you is over and I can get on with my life. Are we clear?” “I didn’t ask you to help me,” she groused as she tugged on the sweatshirt, tossing him the towel but glad to have something dry covering her. Over the course of their conversation, while he was being all alpha and stuff, her nipples had decided it was time to become amazingly hard. She tried to hide her blush in the shirt, not wanting to see a knowing smirk on his face. But her comment was the best she could come up with on such short notice. “¡Americanos!“ he spat. “I did you a good deed, beba. And when someone does you a good turn, you accept it gracefully to show your respect and gratitude.” Rolling his eyes, he started toward the door they had originally entered, not even bothering to see if she would follow. Quarrelsome woman. Rolling her eyes and mocking his “I did you a good deed” Alena followed, her lips in a pout. But that pout turned into a gasp of pleasure when she saw what he was uncovering. Sitting unnoticed towards the back, shining in its newly revealed glory, was none other than a ‘67 black-as-night, totally refurbished GTO, the muscle car of muscle cars. “My God,” she gasped, walking towards the car as if in a trance. “Do you know what this is?” “What? Not the low-rider you were expecting?” His sarcasm was thick enough to slice as he eyed the woman walking towards him. “Look, you brown mother-fucker. I am so sorry you have to wait another generation to blend in with the powers that be, but you have no right to get your tacos in an uproar over me.” The sudden racial slurs, coming from her in all her Afro-centric splendor, was enough to make him…burst into laughter. “Cariña, tacos in an uproar?” He began to laugh so hard it made him forget he was planning on taking his baby out into the rain to get this woman home because his everyday car was in the shop. Made him forget his prickly treatment of her was not because she was black, but because she was American. Made him forget his anger for a moment. It straight out confused her. “Get in the car,” he chuckled as a few stray tears ran down his face. His damp hair curled enticingly around him, a black halo for a dark angel.

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Blinking rapidly to break her fascination with the asshole, Alena opened the car door and slipped into its firm leather seats. In trying to dispel her attraction to him, she forgot she was riding high in her dream car, and that she should be plying him with a million questions because it probably would be the only time she got to ride in one. But she remembered as he climbed into the car, the small space quickly filling with his rich scent, and revved the engine. “You’re taking this car out in the rain?” “Be grateful,” he answered, his voice still filled with amusement. “My last girlfriend never even managed to make it into the passenger seat.” “I am not your girlfriend.” “Praise God for that!” The rest of the drive was made in complete silence, Alena pointing out the directions in which he had to turn, and Xavier thinking that her pout was kind of cute.

***** It was a quick ride, barely fifteen minutes from his rather suburban neighborhood to her school, fifteen minutes that a storm raged outside, and a hurricane was bottled within. “Thanks,” she all but snapped as he pulled into the circular drive of her dorm. Then she paused as she rested her hand on the car’s door handle. Then shaking her head, she opened the door and placed one foot outside, shifting her weight. “I really mean it,” she added sincerely as lightning flashed, illuminating her face. “Wait!” The loud command had an instant effect on her, freezing her in place as she looked questioningly toward him. In that second, in that very moment, Xavier saw what his mind had been searching for. That tilt of her chin, the expression in her eyes, the way her lips moved… she was it. “Wait,” he added again, a bit softer. “I need you.”

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Chapter Three “Oh no, you don’t!” Alena snapped, her eyes going wide as his words registered. “I already told you, this ain’t that type of party. Thanks for the rescue, but…” “Not like that!” he growled right back. “Are you crazy? If I wanted sex, I wouldn’t have to proposition a waterlogged damsel in distress who doesn't have the sense to keep her mouth shut and think when being offered a gift.” “If you are calling it a gift now…” “No! I want to paint you.” Alena’s mouth dropped open into a perfect oval as she stared at Xavier. Then it was her turn to explode into laughter. “You? Me? Paint? Oh God, that is rich!” She laughed so hard, she collapsed back onto the seat, shaking the car with her mirth. “You find something funny?” Xavier was growing livid! What was it with this woman? Didn’t she know who he was? Didn’t she know that she was laughing at his…his…vision? “You want to paint …me?” She laughed so hard, tears fell from her eyes. “You laugh at what I do?” “What do you do? For all I know, the real artist who painted those pictures could be on vacation and you are his…” “Gardener?” That shut her up. Jeez, this man had more racial hang-ups and defense mechanisms than she did! “I never said that,” she sighed. “So you’re a world famous artist?” “No. I am a tattoo artist.” “And you want me to pose for your next tattoo?” she asked, trying to puzzle out why he had so many paintings in his home if he were into tattoos! “No, I am an artist, but I do tattoos for a living.” “Okay. That makes sense.” Maybe he was trying to get his ends met like she was, any way possible. Why else would she be a bartender at a strip club? “And I want you to pose for me.” “I don’t know if I can do that, Xavier. When?” “Afternoons.” “Can’t. Got to work.” “I’ll pay you.” “Sure.” Starving artists, she thought. Then again, he was driving a nice car, had a nice bike, and access to a very nice house. Maybe it was…

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“And no, I don’t sell drugs.” She flushed with embarrassment. “Not every Latino you see is a Blood.” “I never…” “Look,” he interrupted, brushing aside her denials, “will you do it?” “Work, remember? Not all of us make good as a tattoo artist. Why do you think I was running down that alley? For my health?” “I told you I’d pay.” “I make two hundred a night in tips, and I work four nights a week.” “I’ll pay you fifty an hour, minimum of six hours five nights a week.” Alena’s eyes bulged as she did the mental math. Fifteen hundred dollars a week! The man was either rich, stupid, or into porn! But she had to take a chance! To have a cushy job for the evenings after her early morning classes, and still get home before midnight! “No nudity! And I ain’t no ‘ho, so no peep show parties. My clothes stay on!” “If I wanted you nude, I would have asked for nude!” “Are you serious? You had better not be playin’ me, Xavier! I have friends in low places!” He rolled his eyes at her thinly veiled warning. Again he asked his muse if it was certain this was the one, or had his artistic encouragement taken up smoking crack when not on duty. “I am not playing a game. This is my craft, Alena.” Nodding, Alena took a deep breath. “I need your social security number, your address, your tax ID number, your…” “Green card?” “You said it!” Chuckling at her spunk, Xavier shook his head before he answered. “I will bring you a proper contract to read over, and all the information you requested, tomorrow.” “Right at this spot?” “Right at this spot tomorrow at two.” “Good, my last class ends at one. I’ll bring a friend along.” “Fine.” “Fine, great, wonderful! I hope I’m doing the right thing in trusting you, Xavier. Because if you’re on the up and up, you may have saved my life.” “Not saved it, beba, merely altered it.” With those words ringing in her ears, Alena alighted from the car and watched as it disappeared into the dark stormy night, blending in with the nearly black skies. “I hope you are legit,” she muttered, staring as if all her hope was in that one hunk of metal. She turned to make her way into the dorm.

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Chapter Four “I hope you know what you’re doing.” The dour voice came from Elise, her best friend since high school. Elise was dressed in her imitation Brooks Brothers Lady Lawyer suit and was doing her best LA Law. “That’s why you’re here, girl,” Alena replied, again, for the hundredth time. “Well, someone has to look out after your black ass, and it looks like it’s going to be me.” “Why did I ask you to come along again?” “Because Elise knows best,” she intoned in her best Mommy Dearest voice. “Elise can kiss my…” “And because contract law is a specialty of mine. But I do take classes in other aspects of the law. Remember, this girl’s got skills.” “Yeah?” Alena arched one eyebrow as she stared at her friend, who came equipped with magnifying glass and briefcase, looking professional and just from her ethics class. “And I’m not charging?” “Ah! Now I remember!” Alena chuckled as she looked over at her friend, wondering how she ever managed to get her dreadlocks into that serious bun at the base of her neck. Elise chuckled back as she peered over the rim of her gold wire frame glasses, and nudged her friend with her shoulder. To go to this meeting, Alena had her wondrously natural hair hidden beneath a brightly colored head-wrap, and wore a long, gauzy, natural-colored shirt. The oversized tunic seemed to make her float and the scarf she had tied around her waist matched the head wrap, adding a bright splash of color to the neutral outfit. Her open-toe sandals were more open toe than sandal, but she could pull off the look. She nervously gripped the strap of a worn denim book bag as she looked down the street, then checked her watch again. Alena looked damn good, and she never even noticed. “So,” Elise sighed as she tore her gaze from her friend. “Tell me what white bread is offering again?” “He is not white.” “Thank God for small favors.” “Elise?” “What?” “If you go off on another one of your ‘The Man’ speeches, I’m going to send you away and take my chances.”

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“Fine!” Elise threw up her arms in surrender, a good-natured smile on her face. “I’ll behave.” “So help me, Elise, if you make me blow this…” “I said I would behave. Jeez! Okay! So tell me about not-so-white bread.” “His name is Xavier Bustamante and he’s a tattoo artist.” “Say what? I thought he was talking painting, you know, with a brush?” “He is. But everybody’s got to pay the bills, right?” “I guess. You know the average tattoo artist doesn’t do too badly in the income department. I’ve heard of a good one making over ninety-eight thousand a year. So is your boy any good?” “How would I know?” Alena answered as she chewed on her bottom lip, recalling the painting of that little girl. The pain had almost poured from the canvas. “I was only at his house long enough for him to get his car and get me here.” “I still say it was crazy of you to go with him in the first place. What if he had hurt you?” “You mean more than the four goons with the gun who chased me into the alley?” “You know what I mean. He could have caused you more harm than good!” “It was fight off one with no perceivable weapons, or fight off four with a gun. I think I’ll take my chances on the devil with fewer horns.” “It was still stupid.” “But no more stupid than working as a bartender in a strip club to pay off my last year’s tuition.” Elise sighed, knowing that this argument would end the same way it usually did. “I told you, I got your back, girl. You don’t have to work there.” “So I can accept charity or act like a gold-digger with you as my Sugar Momma?” She arched her eyebrow at the sudden flush on Elise’s face, but continued with her point. “I’m not going out like that, Elise. I work hard for what I have, and I refuse to let anyone or anything stop me. And when I get what I want, I can say that I don’t owe nobody nothing.” Elise nodded, sighing as she stared at Alena’s familiar face and changed the subject. “I understand. So, what are his terms again?” “Fifty dollars an hour, guaranteed six hours a day for five days a week. No nudity, no peep shows, everything legal and legit.” “Sounds too good to be true.” “Sounds like a man with purpose. And Elise, his eyes looked so honest.” “So did the devil’s when he told Eve to eat that fruit. And now we have menstrual cramps, labor pains, and have to put up with minimal wage jobs.” Alena’s laugher was high and catching, but eased off as the familiar black car rolled to a stop in the drive. “Damn fool,” Alena sighed. “Putting that piece of art on the road.” “You mean, paying for gas for that nineteen-nineteen get out and push.” “Shh!” Alena chuckled as the car stopped in front of them and the driver leaned over to stare at her across the empty passenger seat.

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“Xavier,” Alena intoned, growing serious as she stared into his big black eyes. “Alena.” She struggled to suppress a shudder as his accented voice nearly purred her name. Damn, but he had a sexy accent. She looked over at Elise to see if she noticed, and winced at the woman’s drawn expression. “Um, this is Elise Sanders. She is--” “Studying for the Bar,” she snapped as she glared at the man. So this was the mysterious tattoo artist. He didn’t look all that great to her. “And will be going over the contract you brought, if indeed you brought it.” Arching an eyebrow at her highhanded tone, Xavier shrugged and looked over at Alena. “You can call off your pit bull. I have the contract and you will find everything in order.” She didn’t know why, but Alena blushed as she nodded. Maybe it was Elise’s attitude or her rude behavior, but something was going on between all of them. “Pit bull? I’ll have you know…” “If you ladies will get into the car, I can take us someplace where we can go over this contract in comfort.” “Your house, no doubt.” “No,” Xavier replied, still not paying Alena’s friend, the would-be lawyer, much attention. He hated lawyers. He hated them almost as much as he hated… “I intended to take us to Phillip’s for lunch.” “Downtown?” Alena asked, wondering who was going to pay for this, though she loved the seafood there. “Unless you know of a closer restaurant?” “It’s a big expenditure,” Elise pointed out, growling internally as she stared at the man. “I’ll write it off,” Xavier replied, his voice sounding benign, his demeanor that of a king bestowing favors on his subjects. “You just can’t…” “Thank you. Phillip’s will be fine,” Alena cut in, glaring at Elise. Her gaze easily read, Get it under control, girl. “Fine,” Elise snapped and stared pointedly at the door. “Well, get in,” Xavier offered. “The engine is running.” “And I thought you were going to be a gentleman and open it for us,” Elsie added, just loud enough to be heard. “And I thought, such a liberated woman as yourself would look upon it as an attempt to usurp your power or as a comment on your inability to take care of yourself.” “Sounds like you heard the drill before,” Alena added, growing nervous in the tension that flowed between Elise and Xavier. “You know, the rank and order.” “Remember that girlfriend I mentioned?” he replied to her with a smile. “The one who didn’t get a chance to step foot into this car?” She smiled as she pulled the door open and pulled the seat back, motioning Elise to get in the back seat. No way would she trust her friend not to go for his throat while the car was in motion.

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“So I guess you made the poor girl walk,” Elise snapped as she gracelessly plopped into the back seat. “My girlfriend was the last of the die-hard feminists. She insisted on walking, rather than climb into a symbol of male penile envy.” “Penile envy?” Alena snickered. “Really?” “Not that I was very envious,” Xavier said with no small bit of modesty. Elise’s snort from the back seat was embarrassingly loud, but all Xavier did was grin. “And you can’t find out about it. That’s not in our contract.”

***** “I’m sorry,” Alena moaned softly as the car drove through the streets of Baltimore. “I have no idea why she’s acting this way.” Lunch was a disaster, and that was putting it mildly. They started off by reading the contract, surprising Elise by its professional preparation. Everything was listed there, including a release that would give Xavier the right to display any paintings with her image. In return, she was getting paid professional model’s fees and didn’t have the hassle of posing in front of a class. In short, she was getting everything she needed to get ahead, and Xavier was getting unskilled labor. After Elise looked over the contract and reluctantly gave her the high sign, she proceeded to go into full militant mode. The waiters were looking at them funny because they were with a man who was not necessarily black, probably thinking they were prostitutes. Okay, so maybe she was exaggerating the whole thing. But still… When Xavier asked if she had any dance training, Elise started in on the myth that all black people could dance or were only good for sports and entertainment. On and on it went, with Xavier making a comment and Elise seeing the monster of de facto racism in every word. When Xavier added that he was not even a native-born American citizen, but had dual citizenship through a Commonwealth, Elise started in again. She went on about how the Latin people moved in and worked for pennies on the dollar, preventing good Americans from finding jobs. At that blatantly racist comment, Alena had enough. She called for the check and for a taxi for her so-called best friend and hoped that Xavier wouldn’t hold a grudge. Elise could get back to campus alone, because she wasn’t going with her! Through it all, Xavier sat with a strange expression on his face, as if his worst thoughts had been confirmed, though he offered to drive her back. Now that he was taking her back to the campus, she hoped that he would not retract his offer. Well, that wasn’t exactly right either. She hoped that his feelings hadn’t been hurt, that he would not form a negative opinion of her whole race based on what Elise had said and how she behaved. She was used to being judged at a glance, and she hated that anyone else would be subjected to the same thing. “And you apologize for her?”

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His question caught her off guard. Of all things, the last thing she expected was this calm question. Anyone else would have been expressing anger or a cold dismissal. So she just gaped at him. “Your girl was trippin’.” Alena felt the need to blush again, but forcibly withheld it. She finally settled on. “Elise has issues. I suspect her parents watched The Color Purple one too many times when she was being conceived.” Xavier snickered at that one. “And now she doesn’t like men?” he asked, making Elise blink in confusion. “Of course she likes men. She just thinks that anyone who isn’t black is out to get her.” “If…you say so.” Xavier chuckled as he shook his head. There were a few things about Elise that he had noticed, but if her friend chose to remain in the dark, that was her own business. “What’s that supposed to mean?” “Nothing, chica. Nothing at all.” Alena wore a look of confusion until he stopped at the circular drive in front of her dorm. She was grateful for the fact that Elise was not there to add to the confusion. “Tomorrow, Alena.” “Tomorrow, Xavier,” she repeated as she climbed out of the car and slammed the door shut. “And bring that head-wrap!” She looked back over her shoulder, eyes widening in surprise, giving her the look of a startled doe. Then she nodded once before turning and making her way towards the door. Xavier watched as she disappeared inside and shook his head at himself. An obviously militant friend, an aggressive but ultimately sweet amateur model who probably couldn’t hold still if her life depended on it, and a swelling erection in his pants. What had he gotten himself into?

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Chapter Five “Don’t move!” he growled at her again. “You are not making this easy!” Alena rolled her eyes as she struggled to hold the weird pose Xavier had put her in. At first, she decided he was just being male when he came to pick her up in a huge monstrosity of a truck dedicated to poisoning the testosterone levels of any male in its immediate vicinity. Annoying and male, but he had put that precious car back in hiding so she didn’t say anything. When he blasted classical music like Mozart was Eminem, she said nothing, thinking that his musical tastes were varied. She liked just about all types of music, even a few country songs, not that she would let anyone in her dorm know. So that in itself was fine. But when she walked into that house and he handed her the bleached linen she was supposed to wrap around her body and the flaxen cord to hold it up, she decided he was certifiable. You had to be insane to try and get a woman to wear that and consider it clothing, but he pointed out that, like the contract stipulated, she would not be nude. Just precariously clothed. And it felt like it was about ten degrees in the place, not the atmosphere to go around in without a bra, risking the headlight problem! Sure it was fine for him to run around in a thin figure-accenting T-shirt, showing off the thick padding of muscle that would keep him warm and show incredible strength with every flex, but she was just plain cold! It would make her nipples hard…or give her an excuse for having hard nipples from watching his body move in those worn jeans as he bent to retrieve a huge sketchpad. “My ancestors are from Africa,” she pointed out as she held the offending piece of material as if it were a shield against the sexual urges slowly taking over her body. He snorted and mumbled something under his breath like, “So were a few of mine,” but he pointed to a room not too far inside the house and went back to organizing his canvases. Maybe it had been too long since she last got laid, she thought as she watched his package ripple within the confines of his tight jeans. No undies? With classes and her night job, she had neglected that part of her emotional health. Then she blinked as she stared down at her so-called dress. Now she was trying to justify her sexual attraction to the long-haired man! What was happening to her? In a huff, and more to get away from him than anything, she turned and stalked off to the room he directed her when she first entered the house, a guest bathroom. Expecting the usual squalor of a male sanctuary, she was pleasantly surprised to find the bathroom spotless. There was even a nice window treatment and decorative soaps! A man who kept decorative soaps! Heaven! Laying her ‘outfit’ across some plush color-coordinated towels, she quickly stripped off her street clothes and stared at the bleached linen in horror. This thing would make her ass look fat!

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But it would nicely show off her muscled legs. But her ass would look fat! And the natural color complimented skin that was not exactly high-yellow. But her ass would look fat! “I’m keeping on my bra!” she screamed back to him defiantly as she held the material against her chest and tried to figure out the mechanics. “No you are not!” his faint sounding voice called back, and she cursed under her breath. The damn bra had to go too! “If I didn’t need this job…” she snarled back, then slid her bra onto the pile of clothes she draped over a conveniently placed clothes hamper. The weight of her breasts against her chest was almost pleasant as she rubbed the pressure lines that had developed from the underwire contraption she used to prevent her breasts from dropping to her feet. She remembered what happened to big breasts when not properly held into position. She had seen this as her grandmother from the south aged. That woman could play Hacky-Sack with her boobs. The thought of her body doing that just plain terrified her! But as always the unrestrained feel appealed to her, making her feel natural and comforted by the slight weight that pulled at her back. It kind of made her feel…well, like a woman. And she loved being a woman. Sighing, she held one edge against her upper chest, right between her breasts, and began to wind the material around her, like she and her sister would wind their mother’s sheets around them as they played dress-up. Her mother never got angry at the wrinkled sheets and had sometimes wrapped herself up and joined in. She sighed at the memory. She really missed her mother and sister. But she wound and wound until the surprisingly long piece of material was fully wrapped around her body. She then reached for the rope thing. Recalling some pictures from childhood excursions to the Smithsonian’s Egyptian exhibit, she tucked one edge of her wrapping in to hold it in place, and then wrapped the cord around her waist, crisscrossing it between her breasts, and then wrapping it around her upper chest. It took several tries, and she finally understood why Egyptian rulers had hordes of servants, before she got it to hold up right. “My ass is going to look fat!” she groused to herself as she garnered up the courage to look into the mirror behind the door. “Well, now,” she breathed as she stared at her reflection in the mirror. Her head-wrap was on, as requested, and it went well with the bleached linen. But it was the makeshift dress itself that was the real draw. It was tight enough where she had tied the cord to let anyone know that she was all woman, but the rest just skimmed her figure, flattering her long legs and her shapely curves. “Must be one size fits all,” she mumbled as she held her hands to the side and turned this way and that, checking out the rear view in the mirror. “Those Egyptians were wise.” She was lost in contemplating her own reflection until there came a great pounding on the door. “Are you done?” “Are you Moses trying to get water from a rock?” she shouted back. A confused yet masculine “What?” 148

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“You’re striking that door like it was a rock and you expect something good to pop out of it. Hold your horses, buddy! Perfection takes time.” “I don’t want perfection!” Xavier shouted back. “I want you!” The door swung open so fast it almost hit him in the nose as he jumped out of the way. It had taken her a long time to wrap that cloth, and he was ready to begin. He had even allowed time to rewrap the cloth correctly, and his timetable was about to be compromised. But now he stared down into the brown eyes of death as she huffed out of the room. “What did you say to me?” she growled, getting up into his face. His mouth lost all moisture. She was positively stunning! The slightly yellow material, with its natural folds and wrinkles, brought out the creamy smoothness of her skin and made her complexion positively glow! Her eyes shot defiantly up at him, reminding him of a brave warrior while her form showed off why the Egyptians had a plethora of effective birth control methods. Her body was damn near perfection in form and figure, her shape well-rounded and lush. Her legs were strong, the muscles of her calves standing out in the knee length wrap, her toes unadorned and manicured neatly as they curled slightly from the cold tile even as she growled at him, a delicate feminine thing he would not have expected. He wanted to put a ring around one of her toes. It would be…cute. “I, uh, I said I was ready,” he stammered for a moment as he felt a hot rush of blood to his cock and swallowed deeply as he hoped to hide his reaction from her. If she knew the ideas that had popped into his head as he took a step back and viewed the whole show, she would have gone running and screaming as fast as she could away from him. How perverted was it to want to tie her up with that cord, unwrap her like a Christmas gift long overdue, and lick, slurp, and chew every inch of her exposed flesh? I bet she’d taste spicy, he thought. “But I wasn’t!” she snapped as she backed down a bit. That made his eyebrows snap together in annoyance. The crazy bruja! Who did she think was running this show? “Oh, so you are the prima donna now,” he growled, “when you haven’t even stepped foot on the stage.” “How hard can it be?” Apparently very. She swore that he put her in this uncomfortable position on purpose. Here she was, Alena Queen, destined to be the world’s best children’s author, bent over at the waist and peering over her shoulder like a the world’s biggest Egyptian tart! Flirting was one thing, but to have her butt stuck out, one leg bent forward “just so”, and he kept grumbling, and her breasts threatening to let gravity win the battle between weight versus want and pop free at any moment, made her want to kill him! “This is uncomfortable,” she called over to the man who was gleefully doing page after page of sketches, chuckling to himself.

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“That is why artist’s models get paid so much,” he called back in a singsong voice. Then he added thoughtfully, “What, chica, you think that I’m the world’s biggest sucker? That I was paying for just a pretty face and a hot body to play statue in some chair in the middle of a flower garden?” At her continued silence, he added, “Chica, you have been watching the wrong movies on television.” She grumbled back to him as she tried to hold that blasted flirtatious pose. “What was that?” he called back as he moved around her and took a different position to sketch. “I said, let me bend you over and show your ba-dunk-a-dunk-dunk to the world and make you stand in this ridiculous pose while someone stares at you and makes smart-assed comments.” “Ba-dunk-a-dunk-dunk?” “My rear? My posterior, my derriere, my ass, man!” “And a lovely ass it is.” At her growl, he added, “Really, it is! I know asses and yours is one of the lovelier ones.” The blush that immediately covered her face was not one of arousal, she tried to tell herself as she felt her walls begin to soften and prepare themselves for masculine possession. She hoped that this linen didn’t show a wet spot! “Speak of something else,” she squeaked as she tried to stop undressing him with her eyes as he hemmed and hawed over her ass. “You talk to me. Tell me about the real Miss Alena Queen.” “Me?” “You. It will help me add personality to my sketches. And move your head a little to the right,” he asked as he took a closer position to her, sitting on the ground getting a good side view. “Me. Hmm. Well, I am twenty-six and I have two majors in college.” “And they are?” “English Journalism and Early Childhood Education.” “Noble professions,” he gritted out as anger flared in his voice. “So I guess you want to be the one to get the big headlines, break the next big story?” “God, no,” she chuckled, wobbling a little but regaining her position before she toppled on her most touted ass. “I want to be a writer.” “Sensationalist?” “Nah, nothing like that. I want to write children’s stories.” A smile blossomed on his face again at her words. “I like children,” he sighed, as he added another stroke to the sketch he was completing and began to move into a different position in front of her. “So do I. When I was a little girl, I wanted at least five. There was only my sister and I, and that was fun, but I loved to have little babies to spoil. I was the younger of us, so all my baby practice was with dolls.” “Where is your sister now.” “Dead.” Her flat tone let him know to let the subject drop. 150

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“I’m sorry, beba. Your poor parents…” “Well, they ain’t feeling much either, cause they’re dead too.” “Alena!” he stopped sketching and dropped his pencil unnoticed to the ground. “No auntie, no family? To lose your whole family…” He felt a tear flow down his cheek as he tried to contemplate life without his familia. Where would he be without his mother’s fresh attitude and the loving advice she gave so freely! What would he be without his mother’s love and comfort? And his father! He remembered all the time his father spent with him and his brothers, teaching and playing when they were young, directing and correcting when they were older, and now that he was a man, just bonding and showing understanding, just being with him, supporting him no matter what. And his brothers and sister! He just couldn’t imagine not going to the beach in Miami with his family every time he visited, the barbeques, the dancing and playing. And when the younger siblings were sent off to bed, just having a drink with his parents and his older siblings, just enjoying the life that he had been given. He couldn’t survive without his family. And yet Alena Queen was. “If it would not be invading too much, tell me - what happened?” Sighing, Alena wished she had never opened her big mouth. “I don’t want your pity.” “Pity is the furthest thing from my mind.” “Short answer, practical joke. Long answer, murder.”

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Chapter Six “Murder?” He was stunned, incredulous - this was much worse than he expected. “Murder. Murder and a few good lawyers.” She was clearly not amused. “I’m sorry.” “You’re sorry? Feel sorry for my parents and my sister. They’re the ones pushing up daisies.” “You don’t have to if…” “Hell, I‘ll tell you,” Alena said as she broke her pose and dropped wearily to the ground, careful to keep a grip on her linen. “It’s no big secret anyway. I’m surprised you don’t hear about it in the news. It happened about ten years ago.” His eyes darkened, but his voice was calm and steady. “Ten years ago, I was…preoccupied.” “It was all over the news,” she sighed. “There is this footbridge, an overpass that stretches over I-695 near White Marsh.” She sneered the name of the small province known for its welloff citizens. “My parents were rushing to my gymnastics meet.” He lifted surprised eyes at her comment. “Yeah, I did gymnastics, and even competed for awhile. You don’t get gams like these,” she intoned in her best Mae West while lifting up one leg to display, “slinging drinks to non-tippin’ drunks in a titty bar.” He held back a chuckle and positioned his sketchpad to hide what her display of leg had caused. “Well,” she said, the smile dropping from her face, “I was there early, with the team, you know, and my parents were going be there when the actual meet started.” She sighed sadly and Xavier could tell she was getting to the painful part of her story. “They were riding along, minding their own business. I mean, I can tell you what probably was going on. Alanis would be bouncing in the back seat talking about her favorite apparatus or the music I had for the floorshow. Alanis,” she sniffed as a tear filled her eye. “Alanis was a dancer. She took gymnastics when she was younger, stopped when I started. And that girl could move. She spoke with her body, Xavier. My mom would be talking about the leotards the team would be wearing. She headed up the fundraisers to buy them and they were beautiful. My dad would be talking about how his daughter would be on the Olympic team next year, even though I was way too old to do it. It would have been talk, you know, just family talk.” Her nose began to burn and her eyes itch as she struggled to continue. “Well,” she paused to clear her throat. “Well, on this bridge, there were these, um, two kids. They said they were playing around. But one of them thought it would be a good idea to take this hunk of concrete from the bridge. You know, those things are always falling apart. So

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he decided to take a chunk of it and as he stated, ‘chuck’ it at the next car he saw. Unfortunately, a bright red minivan was too big a target to pass up.” “No!” “Oh yeah. He threw that chunk and it landed right in the windshield.” There was silence for a moment as the tears ran down her face and she sniffed hard, struggling to get her nerves settled and finish telling her story. “They said that my dad died instantly, some chunks of glass, um, severed his carotid. I had to look that one up. But what killed him was having chunks of his skull slamming into his brain after the concrete went through the glass.” Xavier inhaled deeply, tossing his sketchpad aside as he reached out and wrapped his arm around her shoulder. “Um, he lost control of the car and it ran into a, uh, an oncoming semi. They said no one suffered.” “¡Madre de Dios!” Xavier whispered, horror in his tone as he pulled Alena to him, her head dropping to his chest as she struggled to regain her composure. “It’s been ten years, you know? You’d think that I’d be over it.” “How can you get over something like that?” “Well,” she sighed as she used the flats of her hands to swipe at her red eyes, “you don’t get over it going thought the courts.” “What happened?” ”It seems that the boy who actually threw that concrete came from some rich family in White Marsh. His lawyer said that he was just expressing youthful exuberance. Youthful exuberance, my ass. This wasn’t the first time that asshole did something like this; this is just the first time he murdered somebody, a whole lot of somebody’s. But the jurors bought his bullshit. He killed off my family and left me all alone and he got a suspended sentence ‘cause he didn’t understand the dangers of what he was doing. That asshole was out on the streets four months after he took everything away from me. And the worst part is that I heard his lawyer agree with his father that my family would have just been another statistic anyway, that drugs or gangbangs would have gotten them sooner or later. And when they brought up the fact that I was an orphan, they said that the state should emancipate me, that there were no placements for a ‘child of color’ or one of my advanced age.” “¡Dios mio! Alena! That is not true! That is just a stereotype, just the uneducated guesses of ignorant people. And I am sure that anyone would want to take in a child as lovely and talented as you must have been.” “Yeah,” Alena sniffed as she rested for a moment more, took a little more comfort from his embrace, then pulled away. “Yeah, well, it’s history now. Water under the bridge.” “What did you do?” “Well, Elise’s parents were close to mine. So they naturally took me in until I was eighteen and went off to college.” “At least you had someone to turn to, some family.” “Yeah, Elise’s parents were great and Elise was…is… like a sister to me.” “You are close.” 153

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“Oh, the closest.” Alena grinned. “You should have seen her when we were younger. She is very pro-Black, I’m sure you noticed. And she wanted to start up the junior Black Panthers at our high school. Instead of tea-parties, we had make-believe peace marches.” She giggled as she looked over at Xavier who was fighting back a grin. “She started a riot in school once, claiming that the status quo was offending us by serving the fried chicken and watermelon salad combination.” Alena giggled as she recalled the messy food fight and the trouble that ensued. “And don’t get me started on her theories on black-cherry gelatin. Her grandfather was a Black Panther and I think he warped that child. But Elise was with me when the father made his comments. I still remember the riot she almost started in the court house.” “And now she’s followed you to school.” “Well, we started together, but I had to take a few months off every year. My parents didn’t have much insurance and what we did have went towards a civil suit that went nowhere. I had to work to pay my way through. Auntie Karol and Uncle Sam are great, but I couldn’t ask any more from them. So I worked during the summer to pay for fall classes. I teach gymnastics at a local school, but now the season is over so…” “So you bartend at a sleazy titty bar.” She chuckled at the sound of his accent saying those harsh slang words. “No, now I am a model.” “And not a very good one.” Xavier tried to give her a superior look but it was lost in the grin that twitched at his lips. Alena was a strong woman, stronger perhaps than any other woman he’d ever known, except of course, for his mother. And he couldn’t hold the pretense as she flashed him one of the most brilliant smiles he had ever seen. Her teeth weren’t perfect; she had a slight overbite and there was a small gap there, but that in no way distracted from her beauty. And her smell…she smelled like green apples, fresh, crisp, and sweet. He looked into her big brown bloodshot eyes and felt his heart lurch. More disturbing was the swelling between his legs that returned with a vengeance. “Hey,” she protested, her expression lightening as well as her mood. “Cut me some slack. This is my first day.” “And this is what I’m paying for?” he joked as he nudged her arm with his elbow before he retrieved his pad and rose to his feet. “And we are done.” “What?” “You are no good to me like this,” he said as he reached down a hand to assist her to her feet. “But…” she protested, thinking about the money that she was not going to get to help fill her nearly empty coffers. “No buts. Go get changed and I’ll feed you.” “Do you think you can fix everything with food?” she snorted as she took his hand and rose to her feet.

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Funny, she never realized that she only came up to his chin, and she wasn’t exactly among the ankle-biter population. “Not everything, but I can take this time to explain what I need.” “As long as you pay me.” “Pay you, mami? I’m feeding you.” “Well, I am worth more than that.” “Red beans and rice?” She snickered at that. “I was expecting more than that. I want some real Mexican food.” “Me too, but I’m not Mexican.” “Cuban?” “Nope.” ”You are Latino, or do I need to look towards the South Pacific?” “Porto Rican.” “The Commonwealth? Neat.” “Go change.” “Does that mean I get authentic Porto Rican food?” “It means that you have fifteen minutes to change and get back here or I’ll eat everything myself.” Chuckling, Alena walked to the bathroom, keeping a firm grip on her wrap, but she paused long enough to shoot him a look over her shoulder. Xavier was kind of hot, hot in a not-a-brother kind of way. But he was hot.

***** “So, where is the grub?” Alena asked as she emerged fully dressed from the bathroom. “It’s on the way.” “You don’t cook it yourself?” “No. I have people for that.” “Oh, you have people,” she giggled as she moved further into the converted kitchen. “So where are we supposed to eat?” “The dining room.” “You have a dining room?” Xavier rolled his eyes and gestured towards a doorway that led deeper into the house. She followed, her curiosity building as she wondered what kind of house Xavier would keep, if it actually was his house. “This is your house?” she asked as she stepped into a beautiful but practically empty room. “And where is the furniture?” “Yes, this is my house,” he said, sarcasm strong in his voice. “Now would you like to know something else, like my social security number or my penis size?”

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“Um,” she stuttered. Knowing his penis size could be helpful for the future. But then she put the breaks on those thoughts. Xavier was not for screwing. Xavier was, in essence, her boss. “Not touching that one.” Before he could answer, there was a knock at the door and Xavier went to answer it. She stayed, staring at the long wooden table that was large enough to seat at least six people and still have elbow-room. There was an interesting conglomeration of twisted metal and wire that served as a chandelier, though it seemed to fit right in to the stark, almost modern feel of the place. There was one large picture window that overlooked the side of the house and extensive flowerbeds there, that brought in the fading light of the day. Candles sat on a matching wooden sideboard and in sconces set into the walls. There was a single Oriental rug on the wooden floor, a floor that was polished to a shine so bright, you could see your reflection in it. The room was simple yet elegant. There was a single table runner running down the center of the table with a large bowl of fruit right in the center, underneath the chandelier. As she drifted closer to get a look at some of the exotic fruits in the bowl, Xavier walked into the room, an enticing spicy smell wafting from a tray filled with the food he carried. She turned and caught her breath at what she saw. Xavier had let his hair out. It flowed long and luxurious, slightly curly, down his shoulders and back, his face framed by the erotic silken fall. The muscles of his chest strained against the cotton T-shirt, rippling with each of his movements. His eyes were slightly closed, inhaling the scent of the food, looking like a man lost in the throes of ecstasy. A slow grin spread across his face as he stepped closer, his whole body seeming to glow in the pale light given off by the chandelier. He looked like hot nights and satin sheets, like sweaty bodies and an active exchange of other bodily fluids. Then he slowly licked his lips and Alena could not help but notice the length and thickness of his tongue. Which led to thoughts of her thighs wrapped tightly around his head, her hands tangled in that glossy black hair, seeing his eyes peer hungrily up at her from between. Then he winked. “Sit. Eat.” She sat. She ate. And she got the hell out of there as soon as manners permitted.

***** What does my mother know? Xavier snorted as he gently hung up the phone. It was his habit to talk to his mother when he was disturbed, and there was something about this woman that disturbed him. He wasn’t quite sure what it was, but she made him feel things, and that couldn’t be good. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he ran a frustrated hand through his hair before he rose to his feet and began to remove his clothing. A hot shower, a soft bed, and a dreamless night were just the things he needed to correct his perspective on Miss Alena Queen. But she did have a wonderful ass, he acknowledged. Even if it was attached to the smartest mouth he had ever encountered.

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He padded naked into the bathroom and started the water flowing from his showerhead. Nice and hot, he decided, as he waited impatiently for a few seconds, then slipped under the steaming water. He groaned as he felt the tension begin to ease in muscles that were tightened by being around her for so many hours! But as his mind flitted to her, he felt a warm tingling in his body. “No!” he gasped as he felt the syrupy sweet feeling of lust that began to seize his body. He looked down in disbelief as his cock lifted its head and looked back. “Alena?” he breathed, as if in disbelief. His body wanted Alena? As he watched, a persistent tingling grew in his balls. As they began to churn he knew that he had to do something about this sudden arousal or he would be walking funny the next day. Closing his eyes, he tried to picture the most erotic thing he could. He moaned lightly as his hands began to caress his chest, dropping low over his stomach. There she was. Lying on her back, big brown eyes staring at him. Naked, she arched her back a little, making her breasts with their dark tips sway and bounce. She licked her lips, leaving behind glistening flesh that would feel so hot and wet and tight on his dick. She grinned as she spread her legs a little, just enough to let him see the trimmed patch of hair that shielded her delicate pussy lips. Concentrating his gaze there, he could see that they were glistening, dewed for him, just for him. “Yes,” he moaned as his hand reached out blindly for the body wash, squeezing a bit in his palm before he worked up a good lather. Concentrating once more on his mental image, he watched as she spread her legs wide, her breath whispery as she called his name. “Xavier,” she whimpered. “I need you so damn badly. Come and fuck me, Xavier! Please! I need it bad.” Who was he to argue? He pictured her pouting in frustration as his hand firmly gripped the base of his now throbbing cock. “Shit,” he groaned as a flash of pleasure tore through his body, making his legs tremble as his balls churned. She was sucking on her finger now, her mouth working furiously as she applied suction and leered at him. She wanted his cock. She wanted it inside her mouth, she wanted to run her tongue along the head and pull it deeply into her throat. He moaned as he imagined how it would feel, that hot wet suction straining to pull his hot cream right from his churning balls. His hand began to move up the thickly veined flesh, his thumb rubbing over the head as he imagined her teeth nipping there. But she was not done. Her fingers trailed down her chest to pinch at her nipples. She gasped as her head arched back, a whimper rolling from her open and panting mouth as she tortured her own breasts with this pleasure-pain. Her head snapped back and her big brown eyes bore straight into his. “Fuck me, papi,” she breathed. “I need you so bad!” Her fingers left her swollen nipples and continued downward, through the trimmed curls that shielded her pussy from his view to tease at her swollen lips. “I want you to suck it for me,” she breathed as her fingers parted her glistening folds of flesh and exposed the milky-white head of her clit. “Right here,” she moaned as she dropped her thumb to rotate over the slippery hot button.

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“Fuck, yeah,” he groaned, leaning over as his fist slid rapidly up and down his cock. The time for playing games was over. He needed to bust a nut right now! “Do me!” his dream girl whispered as her fingers pulled away before two of them traced her weeping opening. “Xavier!” Then they plunged deep. “¡Ai, papi!” Alena screamed, her whole body lifting into the touch. Her heels pressed hard into the mattress as her hips arched up, swallowing her rapidly thrusting fingers, her screams of rapture flying from her throat. “Xavier, Xavier, Xavier! Please!” “Damn,” he grunted, sweat shining on his body as he felt his balls begin to lift. His fist was a flying blur, matching Alena’s fingers thrust for thrust as she pleased herself, her brown eyes begging him, him, for completion. “I’ll give it to you!” he panted as he stroked faster, harder, and stronger. His free hand slammed against the tiled wall for balance as he felt the muscles of his back tighten. “Yes, Alena! ¡Si, mami!” he growled as he felt his balls rise up at the first climatic pulses at the base of his spine. “Fuck that pussy!” she gasped as, in his imagination, Alena tossed her head back and screamed. “Alena!” he gasped as he felt his cock pulse, then stream after stream of white-hot cum was shooting from his cock, coating his hand and splashing against the walls, only to be washed down the drain by the running water. “Yeah,” he sighed as his cock rapidly became too sensitive to handle. He released his softening flesh as he exhaled deeply, relieved of the tension and the stress that had hounded him since Alena came into his life. Then his eyes flew open in shock. “Damn it!” he growled as he realized that his dream woman had morphed into that aggravating woman…and that she had led him to one of the most intense climaxes of his life. Shaking his head at his own sorry self, he continued to wash, cleansing away the sweat that shined his body far easier than he could rid himself of the detailed images of Alena spread hot and horny for him. Maybe, he thought, tomorrow would be better.

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Chapter Seven “Can I look?” “No.” “Why not?” “Because I said no.” “You are being an ass, Xay.” “My name is Xavier, and is it being an ass to want your model to shut the hell up and sit still?” “Oh! Can we say frustrated much?” “¡Bruja!” he snarled and Alena held back a giggle. She had been posing for Xavier for about a week now, and he was a maddeningly fun and frustrating boss. And she would even consider calling him a friend. Theirs was an intimacy born of a thousand conversations, of soft contact and an understanding voice. There was also the underlying sexual tension that neither thought to acknowledge for fear of what would happen to their burgeoning friendship. Holding completely still was a lot harder than she thought, Alena groused to herself, and she often got cramps in odd places. But Xavier swore that his sketching was almost done. And just in time, too! She was getting tired of holding the same poses for hours on end! If she thought she was getting a cushy job, she was sorely mistaken. Xavier was demanding in his orders, very exact and exacting. She was still having nightmares about the time he had her holding a huge ball overhead for hours. Every time she twitched, he screamed and started over. That day when he called a halt, she almost cried in thanksgiving. But today he had promised was the end of the torture and he would get his drawings on the canvases he had prepared the week before. She was anxious to see what form she took in his eyes. “Hey! I looked that one up! I am not a witch!” “Better than calling you a…” “If you state any word that starts with a B and rhymes with witch, I’m going to dot your left eye with my right fist.” Xavier chuckled at her threat, not concerned at all. He and Alena seemed to have developed a wonderful rapport. They would insult each other the times they were together, neither taking offence at the good-natured insults, and each trying to come up with the more creative burn of the day. “Would I do that?” he asked as he flipped the page and started yet another drawing. “If you thought you could get away with it, yes.”

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“Then you don’t know much about me or my people. We respect women, no matter how ornery or aggravating. I would never call you something vulgar. My mother would kill me.” “You a mama’s boy, Xavier?” “My mother makes you look as tame as an overfed pig.” Alena blinked at that, trying to keep her positioning on the bed, lying flat on her back, her head hanging off the bed, her Afro framing her face. What was his family like? He rarely spoke about them. “And don’t you move!” he added, shooting her a nasty glare. Xavier took his art seriously. He scribbled for a few moments, making a few last minute adjustments and then he nodded, satisfied. His last sketches were complete. Closing the pad, he grinned up at Alena, his whole expression changing into one of contentment. “Now I get to see?” “Now you get to sit so I can start my paintings.” “But we’ve been at it for hours,” Alena whined as she slid the rest of her body down off of the bed and flopped to the floor, the oversized T-shirt and shorts she wore flopping around her. While Xay’s shirt all but swallowed her, his shorts fit her in the hips like a glove and his tiny waist was about her size. It was odd having a man whose clothes fit her damn near perfectly, but she wasn’t complaining. She loved the smell of Xavier, a scent that even laundry soap and fabric softeners couldn’t kill. “Which is why we eat and I take you back. You know, I should be charging you gas money.” “I should be charging you gas money,” she mimicked, grinning, then pulled herself to her feet. Xavier gasped at the predatory look on her face, before she managed to hide it behind a glib smile. But the sight of her lithe body rising from the floor, all grace and exquisite muscle- play, nearly stole his breath. And the look she was giving him! Was this going to be the end of their benign play-acting? Her eyes radiated hunger and desire. He could see her nipples harden beneath the thin white T-shirt and for the hundredth time wondered how those tiny fruits would taste. He took one step toward her, mouth open to ask if she felt the way he did, if she was tired of playing games. But before he could react in any way, there were two sharp knocks on the door and it was flung open. “Xavier!” a deep voice called out. “You got that flash done, man? Your client called me and he is anxious… Oh! Excuse me! I didn’t know you had…company.” Alena quirked one eyebrow as the rather tall man with the rakish blond hair leered at her, the flash of hunger leaving as quickly as it came. “It’s not what you think, Mark,” Xavier sighed as he tossed his sketchpad aside and turned to stare at the man. “And I thought it was polite to wait to be invited in before you invade. Stupid American,” he sighed, though there was a lot of affection in his voice.

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“And what would I think, you having a hot bodacious babe running around in your shirt and nothing else?” “First of all,” Alena broke in at this point, well past the embarrassed stage, “you should know better than to judge a book by its cover. But then again, you are blond.” “Ouch! The kitty has fangs!” he gasped, still staring with interest at her legs below the overlong shirt. “And the kitty has a brain,” Xavier added as Alena geared up for action. “And this kitty has claws, white boy. Where do you get off coming into this house and casting aspersions on us? So what, you can’t get laid! That doesn’t mean every woman you see is easy or fair game. You don’t even know me, yet you just opened your big fat mouth and called me a whore by your actions.” Her eyes narrowed as she slammed her hands on her hips, her glare positively lethal as she stared at the speechless Mark. “And that assessment of my body, that I’m some bodacious babe, is an insult, you stupid idiot! If you want to compliment me, you give me a straight compliment out of those lips that I assume you use to kiss your mamma. And I would hope you don’t think that those paper-thin insults that cross your lips are actually compliments. Try that with your mother and see if she don’t slap you silly.” “Damn,” Mark gasped, his eyes glowing with admiration. “You sure pick them feisty.” “You bleached-blond idiot!” Alena screamed. “Me and the Latin Lover over there are not an item! I am his model!” “So is that what they are calling it?” Mark leered back. “You can model for me anytime. My number is--” “Nine-one-one if you finish that statement!” Alena hissed before turning on her heel and stomping from the room. “Now, why would you do that?” Xavier asked as he rose to his feet to stare curiously at his friend and business partner. “I have never seen her so riled up before and it is unlike you to insult ladies.” “Just wanting to see the caliber of the chick you’re diggin’ on, man,” Mark laughed as he moved to pick up the sketchpad. “So you boinking her, or what?” “That was crass.” Xavier winced because in that rather crude way, he was thinking about boinking her. “That was honest. Crass would be saying that you could have picked someone a little less ghetto and a lot more giving, but she seems like a good tumble.” “Mark, that was the dumbest thing that ever crossed your lips. And she is right. Do you kiss your mother with those lips?” “Yeah, but I don’t use tongue. So, is it true what they say about Black women? I could never get a sister interested in me long enough to find out first hand. And you never asked any of them to model before. I have to try that, appeal to the vanity a bit, get them softened up, and then move in for the kill, you dirty dawg!” Now Xavier was getting pissed. What right did Mark have to come into his home and stir up this hornet’s nest of trouble? If this is the way the typical American male spoke to women, no wonder the women were cutting off men’s penises and tossing them to the dogs.

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He opened his mouth to deliver a sharp retort, but before he could speak, a voice hissed from behind him. “Like you perverts would interest any sister with good taste.” Alena was dressed in the denim shorts and tank top that she’d worn earlier. Her eyes were narrowed in anger as she stared at the two men, hurt entering her eyes as she looked over at Xavier. She had thought that they were developing some type of friendship and from what had happened before Mark arrived, maybe a bit more. But now it looked to her that he was just another type of playboy, a bit more smooth than the rest, but a real player. “Alena,” Xavier began but was cut off by her icy glare. “Save it, Xavier. I knew this gig was too good to be true.” She shouldered past the two men, shooting Xavier one last look before she turned away pausing at Mark to whisper in his ear, “And it’s true. A sister like me could break your back, little white boy.” The sound of the door slamming was her parting shot as she fumbled for her cell phone, calling Elise for a ride, not wanting to admit it, but knowing that maybe she had been right about Xavier all along.

***** “I told you they were all alike!” Elise shouted, looking down at Alena as she sat on her frilly white bed spread, looking more like a little girl than an adult as she relayed what had happened. Moving to sit beside her friend, she patted her arm in comfort as she silently decided if this was the time to press her advantage. “I didn’t think Xay would be like that. I mean, he never gave any clue that he would be such a dog!” “They are all dogs, honey,” Elise smiled, pulling Alena around until her head rested on her shoulder. Feeling the comfort of that familiar embrace, Alena sighed and relaxed against her friend as she had done so many times in the past. “Not all of them?” Alena whined, again visiting that place in her memory when her trust had been shattered. “All of them. They are all snakes, sneaky snakes. That’s why I hang with you and Trichia and Sheryl, and a few other sisters. I avoid the men.” She wrapped her arms around her sad friend and ran her fingers up her arms. “They creep like fungus or mold, growing on you until you are forced to acknowledge them, if only to find the correct fungicide.” Alena giggled, the ticklish sensation making her pull away, but it brought a smile to her lips. “And after you acknowledge them, you can kind of forget they’re there. But then when you try to let them know that they are irritating you and breaking you out in rashes, they explode all over you, burning and making you tear at your skin to get them away!” Alena exploded in giggles, curling into a ball to get away from her friend’s grabby tickly fingers.

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“You are sick! Stop!” she shrieked, writhing on the bed, unaware of the picture she presented, looking tossed and soulful, her brown eyes sparkling as her cheeks filled with warmth. Leaning over her, Elise flexed her fingers in a threatening manner. “Stop” Alena shrieked again, her laughter explosive as her friend loomed over her. “And then they…spread!” she roared, just before she pounced. Alena’s head whipped back and forth on the bed, her body arching and writhing, her smile almost blinding in its intensity. Looking up at her best friend, she giggled as she licked her lips, dry from her gasping laughter, and tried to calm down. Elise stopped suddenly, all amusement draining from her face. “What?” Alena’s concern was instantaneous. Elise stared at those glistening lips, her breath caught, her eyes wide open. Didn’t Alena know what she was doing to her? Staring down at that face that haunted her nights and invaded all her fantasies, Elise felt the courage to finally take a chance. Sucking in a deep breath for courage, she lowered her head. Alena froze, confusion filling her eyes, and then their lips met. I have never felt lips so soft, Elise thought as her eyes closed and she gave into the warmth spreading through her stomach. Her heart pounded in her chest as her limbs began to quiver. This was her dream, her fantasy, her every desire made flesh, and she was in her arms. Alena’s eyes were spread so wide open she felt the tissues holding them in place strain. What the hell? Shock froze her in place until she felt a tongue touch her lips. No! “What the hell?” she screamed, breaking the lip-lock, as she placed her palms on Elise’s chest and shoved as hard as she could. Elise blinked, as the spell she was under was forcibly broken as she was shoved off the bed to plop unceremoniously on her butt. What had happened? “Are you fucking out of your mind?” Alena screamed as she swiped the back of her hand across her mouth, trying to wash away the disturbing feel of her so-called best friend’s lips on hers. A motion that, combined with her embarrassment, fear, and the pain of her breaking heart, served to majorly piss Elise off. “What? Your little brown boy is good enough to kiss but not me?” “What are you talking about? I never kissed Xavier and he never put the moves on me when I was down about something.” “Could have fooled me! That wetback got your nose all open. Look at you, jumping hoops for him, acting like some bitch in heat because his friend mouthed off. What, you planning on committing hara-kiri after saying it with flowers, like Ophelia in those damn DWM stories you like to read?” “What are you talking about, you crazy bitch?” Alena screamed, her mind noting a grain of truth in what Elise was saying, but her anger overriding all else. “You jonesen over that mother-fucker, Alena! Tossing off your own people for him. If it wasn’t for him…”

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“What? I would fall into your arms and everything would be peaches and cream? What in the name of all that’s sacred would make you believe that I flip-flopped that way, Elise? When have I ever showed an interest in any woman, especially you? When did I tear up my hetero card and invite you to turn me on? What were you thinking?” “I thought that you would be down on men.” Elise rose to her feet, all injured righteous indignation. “Well, you thought wrong.” “It’s that boy.” “Man.” “Whatever. Why you got to be trippin’?” “Me trippin’? What about you? You come up here, pretending to be my friend, then you’re all lips and tongue, attacking a sister.” “You wanted it.” “I never asked for that!” “You did, talking about how you hated men and shit. What was I supposed to think?” “You were supposed to think that I was a friend in pain. You were not supposed to take advantage of me. What the hell is wrong with you? I wanted it? That sounds like the rapist’s defense to me, counselor. I suggest you get the hell out of my room and go back to your ethics class and take a refresher.” “You dismissin’ me?” “I’ll make it clearer. Get the hell out!” Alena turned her back to her best friend and sister and stayed that way until the door slammed behind her. Only then was she able to break down, tears flooding her eyes, her shoulders shaking with racking sobs. Funny thing was, she only wanted one pair of arms around her to comfort her, and he was with his jerk-off of a friend.

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Chapter Eight “Why did you have to do that?” Xavier glared at Mark as the man smiled, bemused, as the hot chick stormed out of his house. “So, that is the woman you don’t care about that you keep talking about, even though you care nothing for her or her feelings?” “Shut up.” “Well, I guess you were wrong, about caring about her and all.” “Shut up. What you did was crass, man, crass and wrong. How could you do that to any female?” “Especially one that you claim to care nothing about?” Xavier glowered. “I was proving a point.” “That my partner is a pendejo?” “That you care more than you would like to admit. You should have seen yourself, all moony-eyed, hanging on her every word. You got it bad, man. Why don’t you just admit it?” Stubborn, Xavier shook his head. He didn’t feel that way about Alena. “All you talk about is Alena did this, or Alena did that. Half the regulars think that you’re married to the girl. If you care for her so much, what is the problem with showing it?” “I don’t…” “Is it the racial thing? I never thought that you would have a hang up about that.” “I don’t.” “Then if it is not the racial thing, why aren’t you out there trying to improve black-brown relations?” “It’s complicated, Mark. And you just made it more so. You insulted her and you insulted me. Alena is a sensitive woman who…” “Who was about to jump your bones when I walked through the door.” “No, she is sensitive and… What?” “Maybe you were lost in a cloud of your own hormones, but that Alena chick was about to jump your bones and go for a long ride.” “Why do you persist with this, Mark? And why am I listening? I should be pounding your face into the floor!” “You’re listening because you know I’m right. She likes you, Xay-Man! Why do you think she got pissed about a little teasing?” “That was not a little teasing.”

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“Well, maybe I overdid it a bit, but the point is, she was hurt that you didn’t hop up and pound my face, as you say, into the floor. She wants a lover who’ll fight for her.” “I am not looking for a lover!” Xavier finally exploded, shouting as he threw his hands up into the air. “I don’t need a lover, especially an American with more ass than brains! She is a bruja, Mark, a real witch!” “That you want!” “Carajo, man! I don’t want her.” ”Honesty, bro!” “Okay, so she is a sweet person! She has strength and has dealt with a lot, but that does not make her lover material.” “So only Porto Ricans have the lockdown on love?” “I didn’t say that.” “So your major objection is that she’s American, or is it because she’s black? Sounds like prejudice to me, bro, if those are your major objections. And here I thought the main qualification for a lover is that they love you back with the same intensity that you love them.” “She does not love me.” ”So she puts up with your surly attitude and your closed mouth for the goodness of her heart and a paycheck.” “A damn good paycheck.” “And a lot of aggravation. I posed for you before, dude. You are brutal.” “I would never be brutal to…” “Her. Why are you doing this to both of you? If you want the girl, go and get the girl.” “How can I trust her?” “I know! She has taken such great advantage of you so far, Xavier. Look at her trying to get more money out of you and stealing your art work and slapping her name on it too! Why that bitch! She’s just like the last one!” He briefly paused. “That was the past, bro, not Alena.” “Okay, so she had nothing to do with that crap.” “And yet you’re punishing the both of you. Real smart, Xay. I’ve never met a man as smart as you. Why, you should give lessons in picking up women, you Latin stud you.” “Okay, okay,” Xavier sighed as he threw his hands up in the air. “So I screwed up.” “And what are you going to do about that?” “I’ll go and get her. You know the way out.” “Indeed I do,” Mark called after the retreating back. “And don’t worry about that flash. I’ll call the client and…” ”No! I’ll take care of that too.” And then he was gone, chasing after the woman who touched something in him after spending so much time alone.

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Chapter Nine “Alena? You have a visitor!” Alena dragged herself out of her self-induced cocoon of misery and lumbered across the cold tile floor to the intercom that blinked at her from her door. Slapping her hand on the answer button, she growled, “Whoever it is can go to hell!” She was not ready for the melodic voice that purred back. “I am already there.” “Xavier?” Surprise made her voice go up at least three octaves. “Mami, will you let me in?” “If you don’t, I will,” the student working desk security called back, lust in her voice. “What do you want, Xavier?” “To speak with you, and not through this blasted box, chica.” “Fine,” she agreed reluctantly, not wanting her business all over the dorm where gossip spread like wildfire. She automatically ran her hands through her hair, then she realized what she was doing and what snake she was doing it for. Alena felt tense, wondering what begging ploy he was going to use to get forgiveness. She sat on the edge of her unmade bed and wondered what else could go wrong. Damn, but she was sinking deeper into misery than she thought possible. Eventually there was a tap at her door, and she reluctantly rose to let him in. “What?” She shouted in his face as soon as the door opened enough for her to give voice to her ire. “Is that any way to greet your boss?” “Fuck my boss. The man’s a horny asshole who has even bigger jackass friends.” “Well…” A flush raced across Xavier’s cheeks as he tried to remember the speech he rehearsed on his way over. Then he decided to take a page from her book. Be aggressive! “Guess what, chica? I am not responsible for what every man in the world does!” She blinked at having her own tactics thrown back in her face, but she was an expert at this. There was no way he could win! “Well, I didn’t see you,” she stabbed a finger in his chest, “making any effort to shut him the hell up!” “Well, before I could, you came in, mouth blazing and attitude growling, and stormed out. And don’t poke me in the chest.” “I poke you where I want to, Mister Mucho Asshole!” She demonstrated by poking him again, even harder. “And I wouldn’t have had to say anything if you weren’t standing there like some slack-jawed yokel at a whorehouse for the first time!” “Whorehouse?”

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“Are you calling me a whore?” Now her hands were on her hips and she was getting ready for action. “I didn’t say that!” “Well, you said something! Don’t make me have to get black on your brown ass!” She was beautiful, her face sparkling with life, her eyes blazing, her chest heaving in that skimpy tank top. “Don’t make me go Latino on your ass,” he retorted, tossing a leather bag to the floor, his breath heaving in his chest, his pupils dilating as he watched her lick her lips and lean forward aggressively. “What?” And before she could move again, he was jerking her into his arms, his mouth slamming on hers, his tongue forcing its way in. “Mmm,” Alena gasped, her eyes wide as she felt Xavier funnel all of his anger, his frustration into that kiss. Xavier was kissing her! Her whole body began to tremble as her eyes slowly closed, almost against her will. Xavier was kissing her…and she was kissing him back. Her arms reached around his body, her hands gripping the tight T-shirt he wore, feeling the heat of his body, feeling his muscles tense at the contact. “Alena,” he growled, his hands traveling down her arms to grip her ass. “What are you doing to me?” But Alena had no verbal answers. Lust quickly fueled her system as her hands reached down to cup his ass, to pull him tighter to her, to feel his growing length against her stomach. “Xavier,” she gasped. “Please tell me you have protection.” She was not yelling at him, screaming rape? She was not calling foul? Xavier pulled away from the lush sweetness of her mouth, and carefully examined her face. There was some sadness there, he realized, the trace of tears, a soul-deep hurt. “What happened?” Trembling, Alena shook her head and squeezed him tighter. “Alena?” “Make me forget, Xavier.” Her breathing was rough and her voice needy as she looked up at him with those big brown doe eyes. “Make me forget. Take away the pain.” “Alena…” And then her hands were in his hair, tunneling through to massage his scalp as she pulled his mouth to hers, wanting to lose herself in the oblivion of his kisses. Xavier understood her needs. Xavier would help her; he would be there for her when she needed him. Growling low in his chest, he wrapped one arm securely around her back as he dipped down and placed the other behind her knees. Xavier lifted her as if she were as light as a feather, as if she had no more substance than a dream, and then she was floating. He carried her over to her bed and carefully laid her in the center, his eyes promising wet, sloppy, hot things that would make her scream. “For now, mi corazón,” he breathed. “And then we get to the bottom of this.”

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“Stop teasing!” Alena demanded as she rose up to tug at the bottom of his shirt, lifting it over the washboard abs that trembled underneath, feeling his damp heat sinking into her skin. “And take this off!” “As my lady wishes,” he replied. With graceful moves, the shirt was slowly lifted then tugged over his head, making the muscles of his arms and chest contract as he lifted the flimsy cotton over his head. He tossed it over his shoulder, not caring where it landed, and ran his hands over his chest, stopping to close his eyes in pleasure as his fingers rubbed over the hardening brown nipples that tightened under her gaze. His eyes opened to half-mast as he stared at her, the hunger unmistakable. His hands trailed down his stomach to the growing bulge in his tight black jeans. Still gazing at her, his fingers trailed over his growing meat, his thumbs pulling the fabric taut and outlining his erection. “You want this, mami?” he said softly as his tongue trailed over his lips, leaving them shiny and glistening in the bright lights of the room. Muted, dazed, Alena nodded back, her heated gaze trailing over his body as the walls of her pussy clenched, leaking moisture into her quickly dampening panties. “I want you.” “How much?” he asked, lowering his body to loom over hers, his hands going to either side of her head, surrounding her with his intense heat and his male scent. “Tell me.” “A lot.” Her breathing was labored now, her eyes wide as this god of a man hovered above her. “Not good enough.” With a wiggle of his hips, he made a place for himself between her legs, spreading them enough so that his hips fit against the growing wetness soaking through her panties and her shorts. Then pressing his crotch against hers, his head lowered for another brief kiss, before he nuzzled her chin up, his tongue licking at her neck. “Mmm, Xavier,” she sighed, her arms wrapping around his nearly nude body, arching her neck up for a deeper caress. “You smell so good, mami,” he moaned before his mouth latched onto the sensitive webbing of skin between her shoulder and neck. “Xay!” she gasped as she forced more of herself into his mouth, shivering as he applied delicious suction and nipped at her flesh with his teeth. Her moans filled the room, making her shiver in ecstasy as her clothes became too tight, too confining, an annoyance to be rid of. Her legs slid up his denim-clad thighs, opening herself for more friction as their hips began an indecent grind against each other. She whimpered as her sensitive clit was abraded enough to send her desire spiraling higher, but not enough to bring her the release her body craved. Shifting his weight to one arm, Xavier let his fingers tug up her tank top, his sensitive artist’s hands caressing the trembling skin of her stomach, wondering at the softness of a woman who appeared so tough. “I want to touch you,” he begged as his mouth trailed

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downward to nip the tops of her breasts. “And when you are begging me for it, I’m going to power-fuck that tight little pussy of yours!” Alena gasped at the hot dirty words pouring from his mouth, but they turned her on so damn much! Then the top was pulled over her head and her bare breasts were exposed to his hungry gaze. Despite the lack of bra, she remained high and firm, tempting him to revert to his childhood as his mouth began to water. “My God,” he breathed, his fingers reaching out to graze one nipple. “Perfection.” His mouth sucked on her and she screamed her pleasure to the four walls! “Yes, Xavier! Suck them hard!” And he was, pulling the tender nipple into his mouth, grazing it with his teeth and soothing it with his tongue. As his mouth was working over her, his fingers trailed down the hot flesh of her stomach to the humid heat between her thighs. Sliding back a little, he let his fingers cup her pussy, groaning into her skin at the feel of the wetness that awaited him. “Yes, Xavier!” she growled, arching up sharply into his caress. “I love it when you say my name, mami,” he groaned as he pulled away from one breast and transferred his attention to the other. Alena’s fingers dug into his back, pulling him closer as her head whipped back and forth on her pillow and she bunched her hips hard. “Stop teasing me!” Xavier pulled back to look at her and almost lost his breath at her beauty. Her eyes were flashing both lust and fire, and her body trembled as she worked her hips against his hand. She was nearing the end of her control. “Make me,” he demanded, before he moved back and his hands jerked at her remaining clothes, tearing them from her body. Her hands were not idle. As he worked her damp shorts and panties down her legs, her fingers were tearing at the buttons that held his jeans closed. Then one hand was slipping inside to grasp at the soft hardness of his swollen cock. “Jesus!” he gasped as he froze. That was what Alena was waiting for! She pounced. Pushing him back on the bed, she worked his pants down far enough to give her something to play with. “Now, baby,” she purred, “the real fun can begin!” Before he could move to push her away, her hand was around the base of his cock and her tongue was tracing the veined surface. “You taste salty, Xay. Salty and sweet.” He grunted, pushing his hips up into her caress. But she pulled back, one hand around his base holding him up at eye level. “This is a lot to work with, baby,” she sighed as she mentally measured his length and girth. He had to be a good ten inches of thick man flesh. It would be a challenge, but the growling, sweating panther beneath her was worth the effort. Dropping her head quickly, she engulfed the mushroom cap of his cock, her tongue stabbing into the slit and tasting his precum as it bubbled to the surface. “Ahhhh, Alena,” Xavier gasped. “Do it! Do it, baby. Suck me!”

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But Alena let her tongue lash around the heat, hitting the knot of nerves below the head before her tongue gave kittenish licks to the soft skin that covered his swollen cock. She smiled as he writhed beneath her knowing caresses. She so loved torturing the man! Then she was licking him from base to tip, licking with the flat of her tongue, making his hips jerk as he cursed in Spanish and English. His hands moved down to tangle in the thick cottony softness of her hair, not forcing her head down, but gently massaging her scalp, connecting with her, showing his pleasure and appreciation of her actions. “Good boy,” she murmured. “You don’t know how good I can be.” She looked up the tense length of his body into his dark eyes, his midnight voice sending shivers through her. Instead of answering, she dropped her mouth, never breaking eye contact, and swallowed him to the root. “Alena!” he gasped, amazed that she could, then growled as she swallowed once, the muscles of her throat caressing his throbbing cock. Slowly she pulled back, letting him slide from her throat in measured lengths as her tongue lapped his flesh. Before he could recover enough to think, she did it again, burying her nose into his pubic hair and moaning in delight at his spicy scent. Again and again she did this until his toes curled and sweat poured from his body. “Enough!” he finally managed to growl. “When I come it’s going to be in your sweet pussy, Alena. Not down that wicked throat!” She pulled back and arched her eyebrow in challenge before he struck. She soon found herself on her stomach with a hot, horny Latin man hovering above her. There were two thumps as his shoes went flying before she heard the sound of his jeans being pulled from his body. Turning her head, she finally got a chance to see all of that magnificent body in the raw. There was another tattoo on his leg. Unlike the stalking jaguar on his shoulder, this one was a dangerous looking snake that curled around his calf. She watched the snake’s body ripple as he took a step toward the bed, drawing her gaze up. Up past the powerful thighs that looked to have hours of thrusting power in them, past the wet cock. She nearly came as she thought about it splitting her, filling her to the max. Up past the washboard stomach, the muscled chest and powerful shoulders, up past the wild hair and into the eyes of a sexual master. She froze as she saw the heated look in his eyes, and shivered as they raked over her naked form. “You have one hot ass,” he purred as he placed one hand on her back to hold her in place. She felt the heat of him settle over her. The hot wet feel of his cock sliding along her plump ass made them both groan, but his mouth at her shoulder, biting and lapping, made her tilt her head to the side, begging for more. Fire coursed through her veins and her legs began to shake as the feel, smell, the very thought of him, made her pussy soaking wet. She arched her hips up and back, wanting him to slip down enough to caress her dripping opening, but Xavier pulled back. “Not until you beg!”

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Then his tongue was flowing down her back, nipping at her sides, stopping at places that made her shiver and returning to them repeatedly. As he did this, his hips took up a slow steady grind on her ass, the large head of his cock tapping at her opening from behind, but not entering. “Next time I take you,” he purred into her ear over the loud moans and gasps that left her throat, “I am going to take you doggy style, Alena. I am going to lift that sweet ass of yours, hold you in place and ream your pussy from behind. Would you like that?” Her answer was to try and lift up to make it happen right now, but Xavier held her down as his fingers trailed over her ass, massaging the cheeks before sliding down the crack, brushing against the sensitive rosebud before he grasped his cock and rubbed it deliberately against her now drenched opening. “Please!” Her voice was faint and filled with longing as she felt herself giving in to the sexual frustration ruling her. “Please, Xavier!” “Please what?” he asked before he shifted his weight off of her legs, gripped her shoulders and flipped her over onto her back. Her eyes were wide and hungry, and dilated as she stared into his. Her lips were glistening from the flicks of the little pink tongue that flashed out to caress them, wetting what her panting breaths had dried. Her nipples were hard as diamonds, pointing straight up at him, begging for his attention, and her legs were a wild sprawl that invited him to enter. “Please,” she asked again, her hands slipping over her waist and down through the hair shielding her pussy. Her fingers parted as they caressed the lips, then she growled as she pressed them down, stimulating the sensitive folds for both of their pleasure. Then, like in his fantasy, her thumb dropped down to caress her clit, her fingers growing coated in her leaking dew. It was too much for him. Pulling her fingers away, he stuck them in his mouth, moaning at the taste of her as his fingers reached for his jeans. After a few seconds of fumbling, he managed to pull a condom out of the pocket, an extra large condom, dropped her fingers from his mouth and used his teeth to tear the package open. “You come prepared,” Alena recovered enough to whisper, and jerked as he dropped the wet condom on her stomach and dove headfirst between her legs. “You taste so damn good!” His words were muffled as his tongue traced over her folds of flesh, drinking in her dew, moaning at the first of many screams flowing from her throat. Then his tongue was lapping at her opening, sliding in as far as he could go, flicking her with his tongue. “Yes! Do me, Xay!” Alena bellowed as her hands tangled in his dark silky curls, tugging and pulling him closer. Her hips arched up as she gyrated against his caress, directing his tongue where she needed the stimulation the most. His tongue moved from her opening, licking her juices from his lips, and began to gently lave her clit. “Oh God, Xavier! Please!” she screamed as he felt the first ripple of her impending climax. Her legs began to stiffen and tremble as she felt waves of electricity shoot up her body. Then she froze as her inner walls gave one massive shudder and started rhythmically clenching. “Oh God, ohGod ohgodohgodohgod!” she murmured over and over as the waves of release tore though her.

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Chuckling, Xavier rose above her, reaching for the condom, and quickly sliding the pale lubricated sheath over his throbbing erection. “Still want me?” he asked a breathless Alena. Her answer was to lift her legs slowly, spreading them out into a split, before dropping them behind her head. “Holy shit!” Xavier breathed, before he was on her and his head pressed against her opening. “Okay?” he asked and her answer was to lurch up, trying to force him in. Slowly, he began to sink his shaft into a wet hot tightness, a perfection the likes of which he had never experienced before with any other woman. She was gloving him, sheathing him perfectly! He growled as inch after inch pressed inside her, spreading her, touching her every erogenous point. “More, yes!” Alena moaned, loving the delicious feeling of being penetrated, of being filled to overflowing. She shuddered as he pressed fully inside, his large balls slapping coolly against her ass in a contrast to all the heat they were generating. "Ready?” he whispered, his hands reaching out to grasp hold of her ankles as they lay above her head. She nodded, lost in a sexual daze. “Then let’s ride.” He pulled out until only the large head of his cock remained inside, then sharply plunged back in. “Yes!” Alena screamed as she threw her body against his, eager for more of a pounding. “More!” Xavier started a low but strong rhythm, gaining speed with each movement as the ridges of his cock caressed her internally, striking nerves and setting them on fire. Alena became one large sexual organ, her moans blaring as shockwaves of lust shot through her body. Then they were moving together in the age-old dance of thrust and parry, slamming into each other, increasing the pleasure and moving closer to nirvana. “Xavier!” Alena finally screamed as she felt her body building rapidly again. This climax refused to be denied or held back, and Alena welcomed the culmination of this amazing act. Faster and faster, Xavier moved, plunging into the heart of her. His back tingled, signaling his own release, his balls churned in their fleshly sac, his blood screaming for a release he could only find within her body. Then he felt it begin, the pressure that signaled his body to let go. “Alena! Mami!” he bellowed as hot seed shot from his body to be caught in the confining latex. Seeing and hearing his climax rush upon him was enough to drive Alena that extra degree and over the precipice. Her whole body snapped upwards as the screaming climax roared over her senses, bring tears to her eyes and a weightlessness to her body. “Xay!” she gasped then seemed to go boneless as his body gently covered hers. Her legs slid down his arms, down the sweaty body until they rested comfortably around his hips, pulling him even closer to her. “Beba, you are amazing,” he purred in reply. A few moments later, Xavier carefully rose from her, holding the condom as he pulled out and looked around for a place to dispose of it. Spying a box of tissues, he carefully removed one and wrapped it before tossing it into a nearby wastepaper basket. 173

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“I’ll take that out when I leave,” he whispered. “Leave?” Alena managed, cracking one eye open from where she was drifting in the clouds. “You trust me…” Xavier backed off as he read something spectacular in her eyes. “I’m not going to rush you off, Xay, not after that! Especially if I have a shot of getting it again.” Her joking words were belied by the serious look in her eyes. Reaching out for the leather bag he had earlier dropped on the floor, he reached in and pulled out a worn stack of papers in a tattered cover. “Here!” He thrust the papers at her, his eyes showing an almost fearful wariness as he looked from her to the stack in his hands. “What’s this?” “My sketches.” Seeing the faint tremble in his arms, Alena smiled and placed her hands on top of the large ones holding almost desperately to the drawings. “Show me later,” she murmured, reading the relief mixed in with the slight disappointment in his eyes. “After we rest up and we can view them with a clear head and an open eye.” He smiled at that and thrust the bundle protectively back into the bag. He settled on the bed beside her, wrapping his body around hers and holding her close. “I…” “I know,” she interrupted as she pulled the comforter over both of them. Soon she was lost in the most wondrous sleep she’d ever had.

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Chapter Ten It was the absence of the warm presence beside her that woke Alena up from the best sleep she’d had in months. That and the scratching sound. She blinked her eyes several times to clear her vision, then focused in on the blur at the foot of her bed. “Xavier?” “Shh. Don’t move.” “But…” “Woman, I am almost done. Can’t you lay still for a moment?” Figuring she could yell at him later, and she was too tired and sore to move anyway, Alena relented and let her body relax. “Finally. Cooperation!” She rolled her eyes at that one, languid enough to let his comments go. “And yes, I know you are itching to tear me a new one, but I need you to lie still.” A very loud indelicate snort was her response. “It is not easy for you, letting something you perceive as an attack go. I understand that. It is your nature to fight. You are a real fighter, Alena. That is one of the things I find most attractive about you.” Her eyebrow quirked. Conversation, actual conversation from Xavier? This was singular! The man was as closed-mouthed as a clam, except, she blushed to remember, when he was making love. Then he was the most vocal man she had ever met. She opened her eyes again, just to stare at the naked man at the foot of her bed, sketching on a stack of computer paper he had obviously found on her work desk. A determined look covered his face. “You know, this is not easy for me - trusting someone, I mean. It has taken me quite a while to even feel comfortable about having a model again.” Why? Her eyes easily asked that question as she stared at him, watching his face as his jaw tightened and his eyes narrowed. “It was a model who started a lot of…you would call it bullshit.” She opened her mouth to begin the barrage of questions, but he growled out again, “Don’t move! Caramba, woman! You are difficult!” She was difficult? She didn’t have loud-mouthed friends who spoke before they thought, or a problem opening her mouth to say anything more meaningful than insults. Well, maybe she had the insult problem, but she was a lot less guarded than him! “As I was saying before I was interrupted,” he continued as she snorted at his words, “a model started all my troubles and a few good reporters escalated what was a simple fraud into the scandal of the art world. You may not have realized, as you were occupied about ten years ago, but that damn female tore my life apart.” 175

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“What…?” “Did I ask you to speak? Lay down and be the beautiful lump that you are!” She let that one go because he tacked on beautiful, but her feathers began to ruffle. It was in the subtle tightening of her muscles and in the agitation in her fingers. “As I was saying, she was an art major who decided that it was a great idea to take credit for what I had done. Stupid I know, but she thought that she could get one over on the dumb wetback who barely spoke the language. She waited until I had three successful art shows, international acclaim, and offers from private dealers, before she went public.” Alena rolled her eyes, but held her tongue. There had to be more to the story. “Well, she expected me to roll over and give her what she wanted to shut her up, but I basically ignored her and went on with my work. I got a new model and started preparing for the next show. I was a bit too naïve, not taking her threats seriously.” “What…?” “Hush! Don’t move! I am getting to that. She took her sob story to the local papers, which, believe it or not, are always looking for a good scandal, especially when the target is so obviously un-American. They raised a few questions and before I knew it, I had private investigators checking out my family, going through my finances, taking over my life. My shows were being canceled and those private dealers who had wanted a piece of such a passionate new young artist disappeared into the woodwork.” Wow, she thought as her eyes widened. “Do you know how hard it is to get work in this country when everyone thinks you are a fraud? Do you know how much money you make per painting, how much an agent charges, or how quickly they can drop you because of some clause in a contract? Well, I went from having a healthy bank account, sending money home to my family on a regular basis, having a secure future, to having nothing but my bike, my house, and my beat-up old car. So I did the only thing I could do. I ran home to Porto Rico and my Mama with my tail between my legs and she sent me right back here. She told me, after kicking my ass, to fight and not to give in to tyranny. My mama has a way with words.” He eased up off of his sketching, cocked his eyes and critically viewed it for a moment, and just when she thought she was going to get the okay to move, he started to sketch again. She huffed, but a warning look from him settled her into her place again. “So I came back here and got a job as a tattoo artist. I know it is not as glamorous as attending gallery openings in my tux, but I had bills and a plan and I needed more capital. So I went to Mark and he immediately gave me a spot to work and apprenticed me for a year or so. And during that year, I managed to find a great attorney who decided to take my case for a minimal fee and started digging.” “All through this thing, not one iota of proof was produced against me. That made my lawyer suspicious, so he got the papers and demanded a court trial.” He added a few more sketch lines and then began to rub with his fingers, doing something that took his total control for a moment. “Well, she had managed to get a slide, I don’t know how, probably when I was preparing to paint her, but she got one and she reproduced one of my earlier works. Her mommy and daddy had enough clout to pull a few professors who swore that she had shown them that

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painting when she was admitted to university. Problem was, she did not pick the right painting.” “How…?” “Hush, woman! I am getting to that. She picked a painting that I used two years before her pocket professors swore she painted that picture. It was the painting I used as part of my portfolio to get into Bridgeview. If the puta had bothered to research, she would have seen that the piece was no good to her. But my lawyer just gave her enough rope to hang herself then presented the copies of my portfolio, including the dates.” “She, the professors that vouched for her, the reporters, they all wound up looking like fools, and I never even had to take the stand.” “So what happened?” Xavier shot her a look, but allowed her to move as he went back to his shading. “I won an exorbitant amount of cash from the little witch, bought half of Mark’s business, and vowed never to have another showing again. The collectors came calling, the critics claimed to know that my vibrant talent was mine and mine alone, vowed that they never believed her lies. But I had had enough. Just can’t trust you Americanos, not when it comes to something important.” “Excuse me?” “She did try to save face by claiming to be pregnant with my child, but I ignored that too. My lawyer threatened another suit, and her lies mysteriously disappeared.” “May I speak now?” “Yes.” “Good. Get over it.” Of all the things he expected her to say, that was not it. “Get over it?” “Well, duh! Get over it and yourself, man. Get a life!” “You have no idea what I went through!” “And it must have been tough, but look at what happened. You are a partner in a successful business, you have honed your art if what I saw was any example of what you have been doing lately, and most importantly, you retained your dignity. So yes, get over it!” That said, she rose to her feet in all her naked glory, and padded across the room for her robe. “I don’t believe you!” “I don’t believe you! Look at you, mister big bad artist! Hating Americans when your jackass of a partner is American and guess what? The woman you just screwed into the mattress is American! I guess we are good enough to screw and to use to get ahead, but not good enough to trust.” “I didn’t say that!” “Yes, you did! Not in so many words, but your actions prove it. You don’t trust me!” “I didn’t say that!” “Well, you trust me enough to split my legs like a wishbone and make a wish! I guess trust in other situations doesn’t matter.” “I do not think you would do these things, Alena.”

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“But I’m American!” “You are different!” “And you are prejudiced!” “I am not!” She tied her robe in agitated jerks before she looked up into his shocked expression. “Well, you are something close to it. Prejudice doesn’t have to be racial, Slim. It can be religious, ethnic, or political. In your case, you got a case of blue balls over all Americans because of what one bitch did to you.” “And the reporters…?” “Have you ever seen something reported on the evening news that took place around black folk?” At his nod, she continued. “And which black folk do they pick, Xavier? The most uneducated, poor, non-literate, ebonic blacks they can find! Then the whole world gets this picture of the black race! You know I actually had someone tell me that I didn’t act black? How do you act black? Black is what I am! So I don’t act like an American. An American is what I am, Xavier. How am I supposed to act?” Xavier sighed and tossed his makeshift pad of paper to the bed and rose to his feet. “Your words, they make sense, beba. I never looked at it from that perspective.” Anything Alena would have added to the acknowledgement of her correctness was lost as she got a good view of his naked body. He was sitting there naked and sketching her! His muscular smooth body was sitting there in an unclothed state, and she got out of the bed to put on a damn robe! Only one thing to do. The robe slithered to her ankles as she reached out and grabbed two good fistfuls of his hair and pulled him in for a kiss. “I was right,” she murmured before she let her tongue lave along his lips. “Maybe,” he conceded as he stepped in closer, dragging her naked body close to his, loving the feel of her bare breasts pressed against his hard chest. She was so soft in all the right places. “Maybe you were wrong.” “Maybe.” “Then what do I get as a reward for showing you the error of your ways?” “For giving me something to think about.” “For both.” His lazy smile was filled with a lustful heat. Then she was flying through the air, landing on her stomach. Giggling, she looked over her shoulder, her eyes glinting in delight. “So, we’re going to get rough?” “You like it rough, mami,” he purred as he buried his hands in her hair, pulling her head back as he bent over her, exposing her neck to his teasing kisses. “You’re so sure of yourself?” “You’re a big girl, beba,” he growled as one hand trailed down over her cheek, caressing her neck then dipping lower to cup one swinging breast. “What am I supposed to say to that?”

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He bent low over her back, letting his heat, the smell of him, the aura of barely leashed sexuality that surrounded him, wrap around her. She shivered and a low moan escaped her throat as she closed her eyes and inhaled, breathing him in. “When I call you mami,” he whispered, his warm breath sending tingles down her spine, “you are supposed to call me papi.” Uncontrollably, she arched up into his body, trembling at the feel of his hard cock against the quivering flesh of her ass. “You want me,” he whispered as his hands left her breast to travel low over her stomach and into the thin bush of hair that protected her folds. She moaned and tossed her head back as her arms turned to rubber. She braced her elbows on the bed and lifted her ass high, wanting more of the delicious contact with Xavier. “You want this?” he asked again as his fingers began to circle her clit, feeling her juices begin to flow. “Mmm,” she purred in answer, her hips following his motion and wanting more. His low chuckle made the breath leave her body as she struggled to catch her breath. “Just fuck me, brown-boy,” she growled, ignoring his chuckle as he began to grind against her ass. Xavier sucked in his breath at her actions, losing a bit more of control as he sank one thick finger into her wet pussy. “¡Dios mio!” he growled then pulled back enough to let his tongue travel over the salty skin of her back. “Xavier,” she gasped, slamming her body back, wordlessly begging for more penetration. “You are… I can’t!” “You can and you will,” he answered before he laid a small bite on of the flesh of her right cheek. Alena gasped at the bite, but moaned as his tongue laved the small pain away. Besides, his fingers were now pressing deeper into her, a second then a third joining the first and just barely touching her internal sweet spot. His other hand trailed down her back and around to caress the skin he had nipped, kneading her gently, growling at the soft resilient flesh. “You have one great ass,” he purred. “But I think I like what is between your thighs better.” He thrust his fingers deep inside her, drawing screams and gasps. God, he loved seeing her like this, submissive and begging beneath him. Her body was writhing and trembling. She was thrusting her hips up and back, trying to get more pleasure, dependent on him for the ecstasy her body was searching for. “Xavier!” she screamed. “Now!” His hand left off caressing her ass to grip his hard cock and give it a few pumps. The head was glistening and wet with his need, the whole length throbbing. With her tight wetness around his fingers and his hand stimulating his own cock, Xavier threw back his head and growled. He was ready.

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Releasing his hard flesh, he reached for his bag and another condom. Within seconds, he tore the package open and had his length sheathed within the cool confining latex. “Remember, baby,” he breathed as he bent over her again. “When I say mami, you say…” He trailed off as he positioned the swollen head against her wet pussy, removing his fingers to grip her waist tightly. Moaning, he rubbed the head against her clit, feeling her jump and shudder. “Please,” she whispered, her whole body shaking uncontrollably. There was a storm building inside her, and it was trying its best to rage free. Xavier, his hot hard cock, his musky smell, the unique taste of his salty skin, it was all feeding the raging tempest within her. She wanted it to break free, she wanted to soar with the wild winds and feel the electricity pulse within her veins. “Please, Xavier!” “Mami!” Hearing what he wanted to hear, her total submission to him, Xavier braced himself and slammed his full length deep within her. “Papi,” she wailed as fire exploded through her body. Xavier started an immediate hard rhythm, pulling her back into his every thrust. He paused for one second, adjusted his position, then slammed back inside, striking her sweet spot with unerring accuracy. “Papi!” Alena wailed again, throwing herself back, striving to increase his rhythm, wanting her satisfaction now. Sweat glistened on both their bodies as they moved faster and faster, his blood pounding in his head, her screams filling the air. A loud stream of Spanish erupted from Xavier’s throat. Calling out the names of several Saints as his pleasure rose and the passion began to take over, he lost himself to ecstasy. “Fuck me!” Alena screamed as she felt her muscles tense and tighten. It was coming! It was coming! She was going to… “Papi! Xavier!” she bellowed and her muscles clamped around his swollen flesh, milking it with intensity as shards of pleasure spiked her nerves. “Yes, Xavier! I’m there! I’m coming!” The sight of his Alena going wild beneath him, the feel of her muscles strangling him, the words she was screaming, were too much for his control. He felt his cock swell even larger, felt the seed churn in his balls, felt his hips slam down and lock. Then his hot cream was exploding from his body in never-ending spurts. The feel of his hot cum filling the sheath, combined with the clenching muscles of her pussy turned his spine to water. “Alena!” he gasped as his hips began to instinctively drive his cock deeper. Then he collapsed on top of her, remembering to roll to the side at the last minute. “Alena, mami,” he breathed, pulling out of her then pulling her body close to his. “Mmm, papi,” she sighed. Her first reward had left her screaming, causing a raucous round of clapping and cat calls from anyone walking down the hall past her door.

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Chapter Eleven Her third gift, a tattoo, paled in importance to his previous gift. Her second was that Xavier let her look though his personal sketchpad full of a few ideas. “No one, and I mean no one, touches my pads,” he solemnly informed her. So she reverently took the pads and placed them back in his hands. That he asked her to was enough for her. Then she tried to fix her mind on the idea of a tattoo. Not that she was scared or anything, but they did those things with needles! “It won’t hurt!” Xavier soothed as they climbed off his bike at the front door to his shop. “Not much, anyway.” “You didn’t say that before!” Alena took a step back, but a strong arm around her waist prevented her from further retreat. “What? Did you think it was going to be orgasmic? They do use needles.” “They do use needles,” she mimicked in her worst whiney voice. Still complaining, she let Xavier lead her into the converted house. Wincing, she slowly began to smile as she saw the huge television in what had to be the waiting room. Football was on. Go Ravens! The next thing she noticed was the scent of the place. Underneath the smell of potpourri, there was the hospital antiseptic scent that told of extensive cleaning and sanitizing. On the walls were page after page of bright colorful pictures. “Flashes.” “Huh?” “Those pictures are flashes.” She didn’t even know that she had spoken out loud, but at least she had the name of the things. Walking over to the nearest wall, she smiled as she saw a detailed drawing of a small fairy sitting on a tiger lily. “We have over a thousand, if you are looking for something special, or we can draw something up for a small extra fee.” She recognized that voice. Joy? Not! It was Mark. “Hello, Mark,” she fairly hissed, her eyes narrowing as all the things he said came flashing back to her. “If it isn’t the bodacious Alena Queen. Charmed, Milady! And you grace us with your royal presence.” “Knock it off, blondie.” Xavier growled as he wrapped his arm protectively around Alena. “You made your point earlier.” “Oh! Good! Then you got laid! Everyone, twenty percent off all ink!” he crowed into the empty room.

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“You are lucky that no one is here or you would have to honor that,” Xavier sighed, as he shook his head at his friend. The man was worthless! “And just because you ain’t getting any, there’s no need to advertise that fact, white boy.” Mark’s laughter was contagious as he examined the two. “So, you two work everything out, and no, I don’t mean in the sexual sense?” “We are working on it,” Xavier replied as he unwrapped himself from around Alena and moved towards his workroom, Alena following. “Hey,” Mark called out, catching her arm as Xavier disappeared behind a door. “You had better have a good reason for touching me.” Alena’s eyes were narrowed, her muscles bunching as she prepared to fight for her freedom. She couldn’t stand strange men grabbing her person. “I do,” Mark assured her as he quickly removed his hand and she turned to face him. “I want to apologize.” That piqued her interest. “I’m listening.” “All that shit…stuff I said before? I didn't mean any of it.” “So you said it because it’s a great way to pick up chicks?” “Hmm, I never tried that before! Mainly because my wife would bang her foot up my ass.” He grinned at the thought. Maybe he was into the kinky shit! “But,” he continued. “I said what I said for the Ice Man in there.” “Ice Man?” “My pet name for your boyfriend. Never met anyone so cool under fire. Unfortunately, the fire he was tempered in kind of singed his good parts a bit. He naturally has an unforgiving nature and what that slut did to him just made it all worse.” “And that pertains to me how?” Alena arched her eyebrow and stared at the man, waiting for him to tell her what she didn’t already know. “You are the first woman who has… I don’t know. You touched him. There is something about you that appeals to him like no other woman has. I mean, he’s had maybe two relationships after that court thing and each one passed so fast I hardly got to know the girl’s name, rank, and social security number. That was a joke,” he added when he saw her eyes narrow. “I understand you have a warped sense of humor, but again, what does all this have to do with me?” “Thank you for noticing my sense of humor. It’s refined, you know!” he added and relaxed a bit when he saw a grin tug at her lips. “Like crude oil is refined so that you can lube up squeaky machine parts?” “Something like that,” he laughed. “And I just wanted to let you know that you must be something special. I have never seen Xavier worked up like this over any woman. And I said all of that to get him to admit how he felt, Alena. He is not one to admit his emotions openly, and I wanted him to remember that he thought you were worth fighting for. I hope you feel the same way.”

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“I think he’s worth it, Mark,” Alena sighed. “I feel in my heart he’s worth the fight. But the question is, does he think I’m worth fighting for?” “He does, Alena,” Mark insisted as he took a step forward and gently clasped her hand in his. “He does. He just needs to dump that pigheadedness of his and not hide behind it. He may not look it, but he spooks real easy.” “Alena? Are you coming?” Xavier called from his room, impatience sounding in his voice. “Hold you horses, mi amigo!” Alena hollered back, rolling her eyes at his highhandedness. “And give me one good reason to accept your apology, Mark. Your heart may have been in the right place, but your foot was in your mouth, deep enough to be adjacent to the foot I was about to shove up your ass.” “Um, you are getting a tattoo today?” he asked, quirking his eyebrows and struggling to erase the image of her words from his mind. That indeed sounded painful. “I was planning on it. Though I know I gave in to peer pressure to get it, I always wanted one.” “I think this is worth an apology,” he said as he released her hand to dig into a black leather hip pouch he wore around his waist. He handed her a small bottle of gel. “Poppers or something to make me forget the pain? Mark, you shouldn’t have!” Her sarcasm was clearly evident as she held the bottle up to the light and stared at the pale green liquid. “Well, it will help you forget the pain, but it's not a drug. You are looking at a topical anesthetic, guaranteed to lessen the pain of tattooing with no adverse effects to the mind, body, or ink.” Her eyes widened in amazement. “We use it in cosmetic tattooing when we have to do large areas. So is that worth accepting my apologies?” “Honey, it’s worth me thinking about bearing your young! But you are married and I am off the market, and it would be a match made in hell!” “Why you always gotta be putting the white man down!” Mark sighed sadly, as he tried to give her big puppy-dog eyes. Alena’s laughter was loud and cheerful as she shook her head at the posturing man. “I am thinking that your wife has her hands full!” Alena giggled as she gripped the bottle and turned away. “And your apology is accepted on probationary terms. You open your mouth again and start spouting garbage, and I’m corking it with my fist.” “Yes, ma’am!” He saluted and clicked his heels as he turned and headed for the office, getting his schedule in order for the day. Alena walked towards Xavier’s work area, limbs shaking a bit as she tried to hide her fear. Well, nervousness was maybe a better word. She had a thing against needles on principle, and she hated pain. But she was determined to get this tattoo. Hoping that Mark hadn’t exaggerated about the pain-numbing properties of the gel in the bottle, Alena straightened her shoulders and marched into the room, ready to pick out her flash and ready to take the pain that would go along with the birth of her choice of tattoo. Maybe a phoenix being reborn from the ashes. She didn't know why that image struck a cord in her, but the idea spoke to her. Yeah, maybe a phoenix would be perfect.

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Chapter Twelve “I’ll call you tomorrow, as soon as the swelling goes down,” Alena groused as she wrapped her arms around Xavier’s neck, leaning into his strength and warmth, absorbing both, as they stood in the entrance to the dormitory. “It didn’t hurt much,” Xavier whispered, his lips ghosting over hers, dropping small chaste kisses that tingled as they traveled over her face. “You were not the one under the needles.” “It was one needle,” he corrected, hugging her tighter. “And it is barely three inches long. You can complain when we start getting into tattoos that run under your arms and across your back.” “Who said anything about getting another one?” she asked archly, shivering at the memory of those burning eyes staring at her body, caressing her skin, setting her nerves on fire. “People usually fall into two classes, the ones that keep getting inked and the ones who get one and only one for the rest of their lives.” “I think I fall in the one and only one category.” Xavier snickered and pulled her tighter into his arms, relishing the feel of her softness that could not be denied, even buried under the barrier of her clothes. “We will see.” “There is nothing to see, man! One is enough.” “You didn’t feel it.” His hands were slowly creeping down her back to let his fingers begin making caressing circles on her full cheeks, slipping into her back pockets and pulling her tight against his growing erection. “Okay, so Mark’s gel worked, but I felt sorry for those other people who got...inked today.” “Inked is an acceptable term,” he chuckled. “And those people were very satisfied with what they had.” “And no one minded me watching.” “People who get tattoos generally are the most non-judgmental people I’ve ever met.” “I noticed. And I also noticed that you didn’t have any trouble inking Americans and taking their money.” “Good business.” “They trusted you to stick needles into their body, and you trusted them to hold still and not ruin your creations.” “I see what you are attempting and…” “And just think about it, Xavier. All of us Americans can't be so contemptible. You are still living here, you know.” “Hummf,” he grunted, refusing to answer.

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“Just think about it, okay?” she giggled, pulling his head down to take his mouth in a hungry kiss. Her tongue invaded his mouth, marveling that he still tasted like fruity candy and the underlying essence of Xavier. “Mmm.” Her moaning response to him was extremely loud and arousing at the same time. She felt her body tighten as she pressed against him, feeling the rising passion flow in a burning path up her back and neck, settling in to remind her all that he was capable of delivering to her body. Pulling away from the kiss reluctantly, Xavier sighed as he let his fingers caress her ass one last time before he stepped away. “Tomorrow,” he moaned. “It is a weekend and you are going to spend some time with me.” “A big bad American like me?” “The erotic, exotic, beautiful black woman, you.” “And how can I turn down such a wonderful invitation, Xavier? You are so poetic.” He peered at her in the dim light. “What?” “Was that sarcasm or were you sincere?” “What do you think?” “I think I’ll be seeing you tomorrow.” “Good guess.” With one last smoldering look, Alena turned and made her way through the double glass doors that led to her dorm room. She had originally not planned on spending so much time with Xavier this weekend, but she had to take time to pick out her phoenix, and then get her nerves together to sit on the dentist’s chair and let Xavier wash, shave, and apply the blue tracing on her flash. It took another few minutes to get her nerves together to let him start the process. Then there was the numbed stinging as he applied the thick black outline to her left shoulder. The coloring process took a lot longer, but she was pleased with the results. Wincing at the raw sunburn-like feel of the new tattoo, Alena waved at the woman behind the security desk and made her way to her floor. “I told you muthas,” she sang as she fitted her key in the lock. “I ain’t never scared.” “Well maybe you should be.” Alena jumped at the sound of the voice and turned to see a seething Elise behind her. “Scared that my best friend might try to jump my bones?” she asked, then swung her door open, not really in the mood to have her good vibes blown to hell by the woman. “That was uncalled for.” Elise caught the door as it swung closed, and followed Alena into the room. “So were your actions, but that didn’t stop you.” “And you ran right into the arms of the man.” “No, I ran straight into the arms of a man, Elise. Something you apparently didn’t expect me to do.” 187

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“And after he did what you told me. You are pitiful.” “No, he actually came running to me, but that is not what is pitiful. What is pitiful is having someone make moves on you without your permission and then get pissed when they are rebuffed.” “And I bet you were all ears.” “Yes, out of respect for our friendship, I agreed to listen to what he had to say.” “And you won’t offer me the same consideration?” Sighing, Alena tossed her bag to her bed and sat beside it. “I’m all ears.” “Well, I just wanted you to know that what I did was hard for me.” “For me, too.” “I can imagine.” They shared a smile, their old camaraderie coming to the surface before remembered events slowly killed the amusement. “But I was sincere in wanting you, Alena.” “Why? Because suddenly I had someone interested in me and it looked like he was on the up and up?” “No. I’ve always wanted you, Alena.” “And you chose to let the feeling be known by forcing your tongue down my throat?” “Well, I was afraid.” “Afraid that I would reject you? Elise, you know better than that. I may not return your feelings, but you are my sister. I love you too much for that. It may not be the love you want, but it is almost as strong.” Elise looked angry for a moment, before a calculating light lit her brown eyes. “Not strong enough. You ran right to that man and apparently forgot all about me.” “Now, what are you trying to pull, girl? I don’t like your tone when you mention the man I’m seeing.” “More than seeing. I can smell him and sex in here like it was sprayed around like perfume. You trying to rub my face in it or what? Is this your way of getting back at me? Sleeping with the first pale man who acted like he wanted you?” “Excuse me, miss, but who asked you to come into my room in the first place? Who asked you to get all up in my business and try to dictate the terms of my existence?” “You did! When you came crying on my shoulder about that boy.” “That man! And all I needed from you was an ear to listen and a shoulder for support! I never asked for a tongue bath or the come-on, so check yourself!” “Why him?” Elise stood there, face pinched in anger, fists clenched tightly, and demanded answers. “Of all the guys you could have picked, why him? If not me, why not a brother? What are you going to do when his case of jungle fever fades and you are left with a broken heart?” “I don’t believe you!” Alena rose to her feet, her face twisted in anger and pity as she stared at the woman she thought she knew. “How can you ask me something like that? Why Xavier? Because he is a kind, compassionate man who understands loss and knows how to deal with it.”

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“He will never understand you, he will never understand what it is to be black, to be pushed around and talked about, and treated like a second-class citizen because of your color! He will never understand!” That gave Alena a pause. How could he understand? It was not easy being black, let alone a black female, and that was something he would never understand, that no man would understand. But… “He understands enough, Elise, especially after dealing with you.” “I never--” “Gave him a chance. You never tried to see things from his point of view. How do you know what he understands and what he doesn’t? Do you have to be the one getting shot in the head to understand that it hurts? Do you have to be the one overdosing to know that it isn’t pleasant? Do you have to be the victim of a rape to understand it’s wrong?” “If you are saying that I--” “All I am saying is that you need to watch what you say and think before you speak, Elise. What kind of human being judges someone based on the color of their skin?” Then Alena grabbed Elise's arm and forcibly turned her to face the mirror. “That is the person who preaches justice and law for everyone, and yet can’t get her mind out of the civil rights march of the sixties.” “You don’t understand!” Elise stared at her face, eyes red-rimmed and trembling. She stared and she tried to understand why Alena didn’t want her. “I understand that you are a hypocrite! Keep lying to yourself, girl. Then maybe one day you might actually believe that bullshit yang you’re spouting. This has nothing to do with Xavier. This has nothing to do with any other man. This has to do with you and me. Rather, the lack of you and me, ‘cause I don’t swing that way and it ain’t gonna happen.” “If it wasn’t for him--” “I would still be busting my ass making Thug Passions for the assholes in that titty bar. I would still be overworked, underpaid, and struggling to make all my summer courses and still trying to find the funds to start the fall.” “If it’s money--” “I am not a ‘ho or a gold-digger, Elise! I never take what I don’t earn. I work hard for Xavier, and I get paid well. But that has nothing to do with understanding and friendship.” “He will never understand you.” “Maybe, but know this. He understands that the way to my heart is not through anger, threats, and physical assaults.” Elise sucked in a deep breath at that, and then turned to face the woman she loved. “So that‘s it? That's the way it’s going to be?” “So that’s the way it’s got to be.” “And you tossed me over for a man.” That was the straw that broke the camel’s back, as far as Alena was concerned. “No, you selfish bitch!” she shouted, losing her patience with people who refused to see the truth when it was right in front of their eyes. “There never was, and never will be, a you and

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me! What drugs are you on, Elise? I am not attracted to you in any way, shape, or form! You are not what I go to sleep dreaming about at night! You are not the one that fills me with fantasies! And you are damn sure not going to be the one to warm my bed at night! Get your shit together! We will never be together like you want, and I am seriously doubting our friendship right now!” “You don’t mean that?” “Better believe it, bitch! Now get the fuck out of my room! I don’t need to see your face for a good long time!” “You can’t mean that!” Tears rolled down Elise’s face as her friend’s words blossomed in her mind. Then cold anger took over. “You will be sorry! When he tosses you out on your fat black ass, don’t come crawling to me! I won’t be there!” “Who asked you to be?” Alena screamed back and walked over to the door, wrenching it open, and pointed to the hall. “Leave!” “You’ll regret this!” Elise growled as she left. “Not any more than I already do,’ Alena snarled as she slammed the door shut, sounding the death-knell on their friendship.

Chapter Thirteen Xavier rolled over in his bed, Alena’s words flowing through his mind. The knowledge that she was dropping, as she would put it, made sense though it was at odds with what he’d believed for so long. Maybe it was stubbornness that prevented him from changing his thinking. Maybe it was refusal to believe that she could be right. Maybe there was a grain of truth to what she said. Or more than a grain, actually. He knew he was guilty of painting everyone with the same brush, so to speak, but he had good reason. The press, the lawyers, his so-called friends who deserted him at the first hint of scandal… It was hard to trust again. More than that, it was dangerous. But there was something about Alena. She made him want to believe. And that could be more dangerous where his heart was concerned.

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Sighing, he punched at his pillow before rolling over onto his back, one hand absently stroking his chest while the other rested behind his head. Alena. He closed his eyes only to be plagued by images of her smile, her laugh, her face twisted up in passion. There was so much about Alena to love. He remembered the sounds she made while twisting beneath him in surrender, the sharp gasps that escaped her throat as her legs spread wider in an effort to get him closer to her aching heat. Then when she peaked, her eyes seemed to grow even wider, her breath caught, her lips parted in a silent scream as her nails dug deeply into his back. He thought of the murmuring sounds she made as she rode out the waves of her climax before her body went limp and unresisting in his arms. Alena was special. No wonder he loved her so much. He closed his eyes as fingers trailed below the sheet that was tented by his swollen cock as he replayed all that was Alena in his mind. His other hand slipped beneath the thin covering to wrap around the thick base. He groaned as he knocked the sheet away and fisted his erection in a tight grip. Alena was his, he decided as he began to move his fist up and down, slowly, drinking in the sharp friction that produced such pleasure. His hips arched up and sweat began to sheen over his body. For as long as he wanted her, she would be his. He closed his eyes as dribbles of precum slid down his length, easing some of the friction and easing his gliding fist. His low moans filled his room as he closed his eyes and pressed his head deeper into the pillows. Alena was so sweet, her taste so addictive, her passion so contagious. His fist pumped faster as he recalled the sight of her soft folds, all deep pinks and gold, and glistening with the moisture of her own dew. Her clit was tiny, milky white, and utterly responsive to his every caress, his every lick and kiss. Wet, she got so wet for him. Her thighs wrapped around his waist perfectly. And when she was on her hands and knees begging him to fuck her, her ass quivered so delightfully, it became the perfect cushion for pushin’. “Alena,” he moaned, as his fist began to tighten and his free hand dropped to tug at his balls to give just enough pain to heighten the pleasure. Alena was his, he thought as his hips began to lift into his thrusts, fucking his hand as he would his woman. Alena was just about perfect and his body hungered for her. His arms began to tremble as he kept up the harsh rhythm, twisting his wrist as he moved to give more stimulation as his blood raced in his veins. He could picture her, eyes closed, mouth open as she screamed out his name. “Xavier, papi! Fuck me!” Her voice echoed through his mind as he suddenly lost all control. “Yes, Alena,” he gasped as he felt the first wave of seed travel up his shaft and explode from the head of his cock. “Hmm, so good,” he moaned as shot after shot coated his stomach and his still pumping fist. 191

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Slowly, he eased off his motions, letting the pleasure settle deep into his mind as his body began to relax against his tangled sheets. Only Alena did this to him, and he had no idea why. But, he decided as he reached out for a tissue from his night table, he would find out.

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Chapter Fourteen Alena whistled as she made her way to the cafeteria. Sunday was going to be a good day, she decided. It was time to lay the past to rest and start over. She was going to spend the morning with Xavier, after she got herself some breakfast and tried her best to put the events of the past evening behind her. In deference to the hot August sun, she wore only a mid-thigh length tank dress of thin gauzy material in a nice natural shade. It was loose, cool, and comfortable. Around her forehead rested a headband of tan and white shells and beads, holding back her wild Afro that so represented the essential Alena. Around her waist hung a men’s white dress shirt, the perfect cover-up if the air conditioning in the mess hall was a bit on the high side. On her feet were her stacked platform wedge sandals, a throwback from the sixties, but a pair of shoes that made her legs look yards long and sleek as hell. Earrings of old beaten gold coins hung at her ears, adding a bright splash of color to her natural outfit. She was dressed for comfort rather than sex, she thought as she slung her huge straw bag over her shoulder. Inside were all the essentials a woman on the prowl needed to prowl successfully. She grinned as she reached up and touched the small tattoo on her shoulder. It was a bit itchy, but she decided that meant it was healing. She had rubbed lotion into the tattoo this morning and again admired the bright colors against her skin. Inhaling deeply, she looked around at the summer flowers in bloom on the campus grounds. Today was a good day to be alive, to be free, to start over. And she had a feeling that Xavier would open up a little more, that he would trust a little more, that he would give her a reason to keep fighting for what they had. Was it a relationship? Was it infatuation? Was it a passing thing that could quickly fade? No. What she was feeling was real. What he expressed to her was real. They were working on something much more meaningful than a quick lay or a summer fling. She had the feeling this was going to be big. Smiling as all these positive thoughts flowed through her head, she crossed the parking lot, walking behind the huge library on the short path to the mess. She had no sooner moved a few feet ahead when the first voice caught her attention. “So this is the bitch that thinks she is too good for the brothers.” Rolling her eyes, she kept walking, doing her best to ignore the ignorant asses who made the comment. She was feeling too good to give a damn about someone else’s hang-ups. She took a few more steps when another voice was added to the first. “Stuck-up ‘ho. Running around with her light-bright-nearly-white sugar daddy, then comes back to this campus acting like she’s hot shit. I never liked that bitch anyway.”

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Well, fuck you too, she thought as she quickened her pace. Let them say what they liked, but no one had better lay a finger on her. “I say we teach that bitch to find her place and stick to it.” “Touch me, and you’ll be one FUBAR motherfucker,” Alena hissed as she stopped to face the two who thought they knew her so well. With no small surprise, she noted that it was two of Elise’s hanging partners, Tricha and Sheryl. “What?” she insisted as she braced herself for a fight. “Got lots of lip when you talking behind a sister’s back, but when you are faced with the person you dissin’, you ain’t got shit to say. Stupid project ‘hos.” There was silence, then a voice from behind caught her attention, right around the time the fist connected with the back of her head. She had time for a gasp of pain, then the three were on her, punching and kicking as she fell to the ground. But Alena Queen was never one to go down without a fight, and this was one of those times she proved it. She felt herself falling, but pivoted so that she landed on her back. She managed to twist to avoid the worse of the blows and grabbed one of the girls by the leg, knocking her off balance and making her fall into another one of her attackers. Screaming in anger, she swung out with her right arm, hitting the third girl in the stomach as she tried to jump out of the way. “Bitch!” She had no idea who said that, but as she rolled to her feet, something slammed into her head and she lost her hold on reality.

***** Shaking, Elise stood in the shadows and watched what she had wrought. She expected to feel vengeance, to feel justified, some sense of justice, but all she could feel was pain and regret. Revenge was supposed to feel sweet, damn it! But all she felt as she stood there and watched them pound the hell out of what had once been her best friend, almost a sister to her, was pain and guilt. She never meant for things to turn out this way! She had not, but then Alena kept pushing her, teasing her with her provocative outfits and that “I don’t know that I’m sexy” attitude, so that she finally snapped! She recalled the taste of Alena on her lips, the sweetness in her kiss, and the softness of her skin, the soft gasp she made just before she pushed her away. The bitch deserved what she got! But then if that was true, why were there tears in her eyes? And why was her body trembling like a crack-head going through withdrawal? Her heart lurched as each blow fell, her body ached as if she was taking the beating herself, and yet she could not force herself to stop it, or to turn away and leave Alena to her fate. She had not meant for her friends to take this so personally and she admittedly had exaggerated the story of what had happened. But it was her pride, damn it, her pride had been injured! No one ever turned Elise down when she wanted something and Alena was not going to be the first. The stuck-up bitch!

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So maybe she had exaggerated when her friends saw her leaving, silvery tears tracking down her face. She had to salvage her image. She told them that Alena had changed, that she had flipped over to the lighter side of things, that she has said some insultingly disgraceful things about black people and about their once happy little clique. It was meant to relieve some of the anger and humiliation that she felt. And she had exaggerated, like that kid calling wolf. She had told them that Alena said their problem was they were too black, not good enough to catch the eyes of a white man. She had told them that Alena called them all ugly mistakes, that they would never make it in the real world because they were not light enough. She had a wonderful time telling about how Alena bragged about her rich artist friend, that he was going keep her around because unlike those uppity niggers that were wasting their time getting an education that they would never use because they were too Afro-centric, she was going to rise to the top on the coattails of a known racist and a man who couldn’t give a damn about anything but the dick in his pants. Oh, she had lied, and her lies fell like candy to a bunch of hungry children, so fast did her friends suck it all up. She had laughed when they told her that they were going to teach the uppity Uncle Tom where her place was, and that when they finished with her, no man would ever look into her face with anything more than disgust. She had laughed when she heard that, reveling in the fact that Miss Alena Queen would be so hideous after their treatments that she would come crawling to her, begging for what scraps of affection she would toss in her direction. But now, those thoughts, those actions, seemed childish and wrong. Watching the savage beating that Alena the Innocent was getting made her stomach churn with her own guilt. She loved her. She hated her. She despised her. She worshiped the ground that Alena walked on. And for her, Alena felt nothing at all. It was then that Elise realized that the opposite of love wasn’t hate, it was indifference. Alena was indifferent to her, and that hurt like hell. As she pondered, the beating finally stopped, with one of the girls spitting in the face of the downed figure. Elise winced at that show of the ultimate disrespect, but remained silent as the three giggled to themselves and raced off down the path, away from the scene of the crime. Slowly, as if drawn against her will by some powerful magnet, Elise pulled herself from behind the tree where she was hiding, and took a step towards Alena. Her face burned and heat flashed through her body. She grew dizzy, but she forced herself to move closer to examine the consequences of her rash actions and anger. The closer she moved, the more tears trailed down her face. Sobs dried up in her throat, but she forced her body to move, to see what she had caused. The smell of blood took her almost by surprise, as if she expected such a beating not to open the skin or break bones, but she still took another step closer. “Alena?” she managed to gasp, as if the downed woman could answer. “Alena?” Another step, then another. Alena was lying on her side, her back to Elise, still as death.

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“Alena, baby?” her voice whispered through her throat as she took one final step. “Alena, oh sweet Jesus, no!” Elsie found herself covering her mouth to hold in her bile as she got a good look at Alena. The shells, the pretty shells that had adorned her headband, were scattered around her face, the delicate strings that held them snapped and torn. One earring lay a few inches away from her body, torn from her ear by an errant fist or shoe. Her white shirt lay twisted around her body, turning crimson as it soaked up the blood that seemed to be surrounding her like an aura. Her face, oh God, her face! It was…broken. “Alena?” Elise cried out, her hands reaching out to her friend but her body refused to move any closer, to acknowledge that this was her almost-sister! Then there was screaming, piercing yowls of pain, heart-wrenching screams of agony that filled the morning air and left a chill down her spine. Again and again that banshee screech echoed over the campus, bringing people at a run! Only when she felt arms surround her, pulling her up against some comforting body, did Elise realize that the screams came from her.

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Chapter Fifteen “Where is she?” The roar filled the halls and brought security at a run. Xavier Bustamante was losing his temper, his patience, and had never been so scared in all his life. Tears filled his dark eyes as he stared at the nurse, who had a sad look of understanding on her face as she waved the guards away. “I’m sorry, sir, but I can’t allow you to go in. Only family is allowed to enter at this time.” “But she has no family!” Xavier tried to explain. “I am all she has!” Sighing, the nurse stared at the distraught young man. He was dressed in a pair of suit pants and a snazzy polo shirt, dressed for brunch, it seemed. His hair was in disarray as if he had run his fingers through it countless times and his face seemed oddly ashen, changing the true rich olive tone of his skin in his grief. He was in serious pain and there was no way he could hide it. “I understand, sir, but I am sure you understand that we have policies about this sort of thing. Only a…fiancé…would be given the privilege, if not a family member.” She purposely stressed the word, as if hinting to him. “I…” Xavier blinked at the woman’s wording, then the light bulb went off in his head. “I am her fiancé!” “Then why didn’t you say so?” the woman said as she quickly filled out the information on a pass and handed it to him. “She’s in critical care, but we’re going to move her soon, as she has improved greatly in such a short time,” she added as she saw the man pale even further. “But you have to understand, sir. She took severe trauma to her face and upper body. She may not recognize you if she is awake. But then, you may not recognize her.” “But she is alive?” “She is alive and stable, sir.” “Then what the fuck do I care about looks?” The rather vulgar exclamation brought a small smile to the nurse’s face as she directed him to the room. She continued to smile as she watched him hurry off. “Some women get all the luck,” she sighed before turning her attention to the next person needing her help.

***** She seemed so tiny on the bed, tiny and alone. He was almost afraid to enter the room. With her back curled, Alena seemed like a child to him, a small, lost child in need of help. And he wasn’t there to help her when she needed it the most.

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He remembered going over to her dorm and finding it swamped with police. When he made his way to the security desk, the student officer recognized his face and began to sob the story of what had happened. The smile had melted off his face as he ran his fingers roughly through his hair, cursing loudly and drawing the attention of the officers who still lingered. When they discovered that he and Alena were dating, they immediately began to question him, crowding him, and all but shouting accusations at him. For one moment, one grueling eternity of a second, he was back to being that young man terrified by the press and angered at the accusations. But he recovered himself and began to answer the questions, provide his alibi and get the name of the hospital she had been taken to. They wouldn’t tell him how badly she was beaten, only that she had been assaulted by multiple people from the looks of it. His heart was breaking as he raced through traffic to the nearby hospital where she had been admitted, and now he stood inside her door, not knowing what to say or what to do. “Don’t.” He jumped at the sound of the frail voice, but easily recognized it as Alena’s. “Don’t what, mi corazón?” “Don’t look at me.” He stepped closer, his nose assaulted by the antiseptic smell of hospital, and got just that much closer to his woman. “Why not?” There were several tubes and wires around her body. The closer he moved, the more muffled her voice sounded. The heart monitor beeped slowly with her heart, the little green line jumping every few seconds, and several clear lines dripped fluid down an IV. He prayed that there were painkillers in one of the bags because he didn’t want his baby to suffer. “Because…I’m ugly.” She whispered the last, so sunk in her misery she never even noticed his approach. His hand touched her back and she jerked as if in pain, almost causing him to pull back. But instead he moved closer, ignoring the cold metal of the bed rail that pressed into his hip. “You could never be ugly to me, baby. Don’t you know you are my sunshine?” Her shoulder tensed, she gave one gasping shudder, then the sound of her low sobs drowned out the persistent beeping of the heart monitor. “I tried to fight them off,” she sobbed. “I tried, Xavier, but there was a third one and she got me by surprise.” “I bet you were marvelous,” he responded, his voice tight as he fought back tears of his own. His baby had been outnumbered three to one? The injustice of it all! Why did it take three to attack his delicate flower who was no threat to anyone? “They kicked my ass.” There was a watery chuckle but she pulled further away as he tried to turn her onto her back, so he could look at her. Afraid that she was going to hurt herself, he stopped trying to move her and instead placed another steadying hand on her shoulder. “There were three of them,” he said, gently massaging rock-hard muscles he knew were going to pain her for some time to come. 198

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“The things they said, Xavier. They were wrong about you.” “Me?” He froze in terror. Did she take this beating because someone didn’t like the fact that he was seeing her? “They lied, Xavier. I know you would never use me! I know you would never hurt me.” But he had! He had not offered her his whole trust, and when he decided that she had earned that trust, he tried to open his heart to her. What kind of man was he? How could he have done this to her? She had given him her everything, had been honest with him. She had urged him to see the wrongness in his thinking, that she was the norm, not the exception. Yet he had not seriously heeded her words until his mind decided that she was trustworthy, totally ignoring the pleas of his heart. “Alena, I am so sorry,” he said softly, wanting to take her in his arms and make the whole world right again. “You didn’t kick me in the face, Xavier!” she sighed, though he could tell she was still crying. “You didn’t hold me down and beat me. This is not your fault.” “They beat you because of me, because of what we are doing?” “No. They beat me because of…” The gasp at the door made Xavier turn around. Elise stood there, pale and shaking, as she observed the two of them together. She had managed to convince the nurse on duty she was Alena’s sister. “Elise,” Xavier allowed, knowing how she had hurt Alena with her unwanted advances but convinced that she was still the closest thing to a sister Alena had. But Alena's reaction was far from peaceful. “You did this!” she hissed, and the heart monitor beeped faster as her anger caused her heart to pound. “I-I…” “What? Come to gloat?” “What is going on?” Xavier was confused but drawing nasty conclusions about that word “gloat” as he stared at the stricken woman standing in the doorway. “I can hear you, Elise,” Alena continued. “I can smell your stench from over here.” “Alena…I…” “You didn’t know what they were going to do to me? You didn’t know that they were spouting the rhetoric that you always spout? You didn’t know that they would take extreme pleasure in fucking up my face? What didn’t you know?” The words were spoken in a calm voice that was even more terrifying than her earlier sobs. “I didn’t know, Alena.” “Liar. What? Did you think that I would come running to you and fall in your arms begging for the scraps you wanted to throw me, Elise? Thought I would turn into your lesbian pin-up girl, ready and eager to serve?” “What the hell is going on here?” Xavier snarled, his expression turning dark as he noticed the growing guilt on Elise’s face. “I didn’t mean for it to go that far, Alena.”

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“You only wanted me beat down a little?” “I…” “You? You did this?” Xavier’s anger was instantaneous. Rage darkened his vision and all he could picture was wrapping his hands around Elise’s skinny little neck and squeezing. “I didn’t mean for it to go that far. I never knew they would do this to you.” “This? You mean turn my face into street pizza, Elise? Break two ribs, Elise? Break my fuckin’ nose, Elise? Break my wrist, Elise?” ”Alena…” Elise began to cry as she stepped into the room. “Please…” “Get out of here!” The voice that emerged from Xavier’s throat was barely human. “She is my sister. I have to…” “Leave before I forget that you are a woman and give you what you deserve.” “Alena…” Alena stiffened, then turned to face the two people in her room. Xavier sucked in a deep breath as tears flowed freely down his face. “¡Madre de Dios!” Both her eyes were swollen and purple. There was a stiff white brace holding her broken nose in place and still her skin swelled terrifyingly around it. There was a clear boot print on one cheek and the other was covered in dark bruises. Her bottom lip was split; one dark black suture held the flesh closed. Her brown eyes, almost lost within the swollen depths of their sockets, blazed with a hatred Xavier didn’t think his little bruja was capable of feeling. “Alena!” Elise gasped, her hand going to her throat in disbelief. “Now that you’ve seen what you wanted to see, feel free to gloat.” “I never meant for this to happen.” “Fuck what you meant, Elise. I can’t prove that you put your friends up to this, and I have no way of knowing if they will ever get caught for doing this to me. But you had better not show your face anywhere around me, ever again, sister.” “You don’t mean that…” “The hell I don’t! Be thankful that I am strapped into these IV’s and monitors, or I would climb out of this bed and kick your ass personally. You’re always talking about how others tear the black race down! Well, think about this. Our major problem seems to be a lack of unity! Like crabs in a pot, when someone does well for themselves, there is always someone there to pull them back to earth. The slave masters knew that when they had house slaves and field niggers, and it’s still holding true today. Thank you for showing me where you think my place is, Elise. Too bad I don’t agree with you.” “I never meant to hurt you, Alena.” “Well, you did, and you don’t listen so well. So let’s try this again. Get the fuck out, Elise. I never want to see your skinny ass again.” When he opened his mouth again, Xavier’s deep voice froze her in place. “You heard her. Leave now, Elise. I hope you burn in hell for doing this to someone who is supposed to be like a sister to you. May you never have any peace or know forgiveness for this betrayal.” Stiffening, Elise turned to leave, tears flowing freely down her face.

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“By the way, I told the police my suspicions, Elise. I hope that law degree you were fighting so hard to get has something to do with criminal law. You’re going to need all the help you can get.” When Elise’s footsteps were a memory, Xavier turned to look at his woman, his hurt little soldier. He had to forcibly resist the urge to hold Elise down and snap her neck like a chicken’s. “Baby,” he whispered as he approached the bed. “It will be okay.” “No, it won’t, and you can leave now.” “What?” “I don’t want your pity, Xavier. I don’t want you here out of some sense of obligation. I know that your honor will keep you here, even if your stomach turns at the sight of me.” “Alena, be reasonable.” “I am. You never trusted me, and I don’t want your guilt holding you where you don’t want to be.” “But I want to be by your side, Alena. Through the good and the bad. That is what people who love each other do.” “You don’t love me, Xavier. You don’t even trust me! What do you know of love?” “I know that I would move heaven and earth for you, Alena. I would give anything to take your place right now. You don’t deserve to suffer alone, and I will not leave you here!” “Well, you have to. Visiting hours are almost up.” “I refuse to leave you alone. I came here to be with you, and here is where I am staying.” Sighing, Alena turned her back to him and settled painfully into the hard hospital bed. “I am too tired to argue with you, Xavier. Do what you want.” She sounded sleepy, nearly out of it. The emotional upheavals, the drugs, and her body’s desperate need to heal were all taking their toll. “I’ll be right back, sweetheart. Don’t go anywhere.” “What a joker you are,” Alena sighed, as a few more tears tracked down her face. She was dozing before he walked out the door and dead to the world when he returned.

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Chapter Sixteen There’s a tree limb scratching against the screen, Alena thought as she attempted to move into a more comfortable position. But there was no comfortable position. Her face felt like one big swollen balloon. There was a numb ache that had settled over her body and she found it difficult, if not impossible, to breathe through her nose. She tried to force her eyes open and discovered that action was nearly impossible as well. What had happened? Then she remembered. Feeling depression closing its taloned grip on her soul, she decided to think of something positive. No need for make-up for this year’s Halloween contest. She now could describe in great detail what getting the cowboy-shit stomped out of you felt like. Hallucinogenic drugs legally and cheap? She had new respect for Farrah Fawcett’s character in the movie Burning Bed. She learned a new use for sharp biting wit and sarcastic humor when faced with an unbelievable and undesirable situation. And that about summed it up nicely, she thought. But the scratching continued and she was curious as to what was causing it. Turning her head a little, she managed to force her eyes open and into focus. First she saw the metal IV pole and the clear plastic tubing that led presumably to her arm. Then she managed to focus beyond that and saw a huge white…something. Jerking, she sat up a bit more, and there he was. Xavier. Didn’t she tell him to leave? “WWhat are you…?” “Don’t move.” “Xay?” “Don’t move, woman! Don’t you ever listen?” “You can’t be serious?” Was that fool of a man planning on drawing her like this? He liked gargoyles? “I draw what I see, and when I look at you, I see beauty.” “Have you been sipping my IV fluids, Xavier? I’m torn up, man!” Her voice was a bit weak, but gaining strength every second. She wanted to know what was going through that crazy Puerto Rican’s head. “You are beautiful, Alena. No matter what, the outside reflects the inside.” “My insides say that I have two broken ribs and a fractured wrist, Xavier. And that neatly matches the ground beef I have for a face!” “The swelling will go down in a day or two. Your doctor says so.” “And how did you get my personal information?” “My mother. She read your chart for me.”

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“Wait! Your what?” “My mother. She was good enough to come when I called. She is as worried about you as I am.” “Wait! Mother? Xavier? I am not up for meeting anyone’s parents!” Her right hand automatically went to her hair, but she paused when she realized that her hand and wrist was encased in white plaster. That’s right! She was right- handed, and it was automatic for her to throw it up to try and protect her face. “My mamma thinks you are beautiful.” “She was in here?” Alena all but squeaked. “Yes, she came in as they were moving you to a semi-private room.” “They moved me?” “You don’t remember?” “No.” “You asked that they pin the back of your gown closed because you were not giving free shows…and that the only person who could observe your ass was me, because I was your artist.” “I did not!” “You did. Then you informed the orderlies that you could do splits.” “Well, I can.” “And that you could put your legs behind your head during sex.” She gasped. “Then you told them to ask me if they didn’t believe you.” Groaning, Alena tried to sink through the mattress and into the floor. “And that is when my mamma said that she had raised a good son if I could make you want to put both of your legs behind your head…during sex.” “Kill me now!” “None of that, beba. Not after they took so much time to put you back together.” “How long have I been here?” “Just a day. You also have a mild concussion and they wanted someone to wake you every two hours.” “You did?” “I did. Don’t you remember begging me to get into bed with you?” “I did not!” “You most certainly did!” That was a new voice. “Mamma!” Xavier laughed as the woman walked into Alena’s line of sight. His mother had long dark hair, pulled back into a loose bun. She had the same black eyes she so loved on Xavier. She was short and had a mischievous smile on her face as she observed the shocked young woman on the bed. “You said he made love like a demon and I said, that’s my boy!”

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She spoke with a pronounced accent, though her words were understandable enough to make Alena want to cover her face with her pillow. “Mamma!” “Now be a good boy and go eat something. I worry about you.” Xavier blushed like a little boy, but placed his pad on his chair and quit the room, closing the door softly behind him as he left. “Now, why you tell my boy to go away?” Her eyes bored straight into Alena's and her voice was steadfast. “He told you that, too?” “He tells me everything. So why you chase him away?” “Well look at me! Xavier only wanted me because he was attracted to this face he could draw. Face gone, reason for him being here is gone. I have enough problems and I don’t want to add a broken heart to them.” “And you’re so sure he will leave you?” “That or he will stay out of guilt. Or pity. And I don’t know which one is worse.” “And you know that he feels guilt for this…this atrocity? And he pities you now?” “Xavier doesn’t trust me, Ma’am, Miss…what do I call you before I tell you the rest of the intimate secrets of my life?” Her frustration was clear as she looked at the tiny woman who’d given birth to such a huge man. “Call me Zuca, dear. And you are so sure he doesn’t trust you?” “He apparently doesn’t trust any woman who is American and he hates scandal.” “And he let you see his sketchpads?” “I’m sure you have seen them, but I never looked.” “But he offered them to you?” “Yeah.” She looked confused and the pain in her head was fiercely making itself known. What did the woman want to know? “Alena, I have never seen Xavier’s sketchpads. He has never offered anyone the honor of observing them.” Alena slowly blinked as she stared at Zuca. “No one?” “No one, not even his own mother, the stubborn pigheaded boy. But he did offer to give me a nice tattoo.” “He gave you a tattoo?” This woman didn't look the type to want to be inked! She looked too PTA! “Oh yes! For Mother’s Day! I have a nice jaguar on my back. Mi esposo loves it. Isn’t he a sweet boy?” “Yeah, sweet. He’s never let anyone see his books?” “No, dear. And I think that alone is telling, do you not? And he offered them to you! So why didn’t you look?” “It’s not my place. When he really wants me to see, he’ll show me himself, not hand over his sketchpads. They are like a piece of his soul, you know?”

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Xavier

“So he handed you a piece of his soul. And he did this before this assault on your person?” “You mean before I got the shi…stuffing kicked out of me? Yeah. He gave them to me day before yesterday.” “Before this attack.” “Before the attack.” “So he had no reason to pity you then, no?” “No. I was on top of the world.” “And now?” “I am stuck under the sole of the shoe of the world.” “And here he stays, with a woman who he gave his sketchpads to, who he gave his soul to, and you tell him to go away.” That startled Alena. She never even looked at the situation that way. “I-I didn’t mean to!” “You care for my son, yes? It is plain to see.” “Yes.” “Then stop trying to send him away, because, believe me, the stubborn child won’t go. And take a chance, Alena.” “But it hurts! Losing your heart hurts.” “As much as being kicked in the face?” She shot Zuca as evil a look as she could manage. “No?” Zuca carried on as if Alena never spoke. “So how bad will taking a chance hurt? And if he acts stupid, I will fix it so that he can’t sit for a week! He may be bigger than I, but I am still his mama and he obeys me.” The woman crossed her arms over her ample bosom and nodded her head once pugnaciously. That brought a smile, then a wince to Alena’s lips. “So, you rest. I go get Xavier and send him back in to you. You are good for my boy. Though I believe you are as stubborn and pigheaded as he is. But you accept that in people you love, yes?” “Yes,” Alena agreed, getting nervous as she thought of facing Xavier with what his mother had helped her understand. “Good.” Then she was gone, calling down the hall, “Xavier? Stop pouting! And fix your face. That young lady would like to see you now and you had better fix this mess, young man! I think I like that girl! She has spunk.” Alena fought back a chuckle as Xavier poked his head into the room. “Is it safe to come in now? You will not kick me out or throw your bed pan at me?” “Bed pan? Man, I’m getting up and walking to the bathroom.” “That is because you are filled with a steady flow of pain killers. When they wear off, you will be a shuddering lump on the bed.” “You think so?” “I know so, mi corazón. So, did you have a nice visit?”

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“Your mother is a steamroller disguised as a lady.” “She likes you, too.” “You gave me your sketchpads.” “You didn’t look.” “It wasn’t my place to look. That would be an invasion of your privacy.” “But--” “But if you offered to show me, to tell me about them, and point out your favorites, well, that would kill some time until I go home.” She looked at him, a question in her dark eyes, her face tensing as she waited. His sketchpads. They had been his only outlet for years. Each contained a piece of his spirit. She refused to look before but now was asking him to show her. As if she knew the importance of those pieces of paper and their carbon markings. Could he willingly offer so much of his person again? Could he trust her? Easy answer, he already did! He knew it in his heart; he knew it in his soul. It just took a while for him to voice the words. And he realized that it wasn’t the attack or the fact that she was in the hospital that convinced him of this. He had begun to trust her the day she told him off in the rain and complained about him taking his muscle car out of the garage and into the storm. Something had always fascinated him about Alena, and he knew that this fascination had turned into something more. Lying with her only enhanced what he was feeling. “I-I would gladly show you my pictures, Alena.” They were the hardest, yet the easiest words that he ever said. “I will share with you the pieces of my soul.” Slowly, he crossed the room, his dark eyes intent on the small figure on the bed. That same figure encompassed so many hopes and dreams for him. Gently he ran his fingers through her tangled hair, careful to avoid most of the bruising. And even slower, he lowered his face to hers, placing a gently brushed kiss against her swollen lips. “Xavier?” “I’ll share my soul with you, Alena,” he whispered as he kissed her again. “I trust you with it, my soul and my heart.”

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About the author: Stephanie is married to the most wonderfully maddening Irish Viking ever created and has given birth to two children, affectionately known as The Viking kittens. Stephanie’s main support in her writing career has been her wonderful parents who are always willing to take her spawns, uh, children for a weekend so that she can work, her older sister Teresa, the stuffed chicken, and of course, her Irish Viking, Dennis. Stephanie loves to write paranormal and fantasy characters with a lot of humor, because there is no such thing as enough laughter in the world. She also loves to write erotica, just to shock people, but in her heart she is a romance fanatic...

Stephanie welcomes mail from readers. You can write to them c/o Ellora’s Cave Publishing at P.O. Box 787, Hudson, Ohio 44236-0787.

Also by Stephanie Burke: Craven’s Downfall (Wicked Wishes anthology) Hidden Passions Volume 1 Hidden Passions Volume 2 Lucavarious Merlin’s Kiss Miznari (Things That Go Bump In The Night 3 anthology) Seascape Take Me With You (Threshold V1) Testrios 1: Keeper of the Flame Testrios 2: Dangerous Heat The Slayer

Discover for yourself why readers can't get enough of the multiple award-winning publisher Ellora's Cave. Whether you prefer e-books or paperbacks, be sure to visit EC on the web at www.ellorascave.com for an erotic reading experience that will leave you breathless. www.ellorascave.com