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