The Journey

THE JOURNEY

Deirdre Phillips watched the steam curl off the surface of her latte, while she tried to shut o ut the squawking arrival and departure announcements that echoed through the cavernous building. An exploratory sip of coffee burned her tongue, and she sighed. Thirty-six hours on a train—some vacation. A movement nearby caught her attention. A red-and-black plaid shirt draped easily over broad shoulders, then tapered to disappear into a trim waistband. Deirdre sat up a little straighter, focusing on the wellworn denim wrapped around the nicest butt she’d ever seen. The bluejeaned legs stopped in mid-stride, and Deirdre’s gaze zoomed up to the owner’s face. Wide cheekbones, strong jaw dusted with early morning beard, dark eyes fringed with enviable lashes, and a head of neatly trimmed blue-black hair. Oh, man, no one is that good looking…

THE JOURNEY BY DREAMA FAIRE

AMBER QUILL PRESS, LLC http://www.amberquill.com

THE JOURNEY AN AMBER QUILL PRESS BOOK This book is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locations, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination, or have been used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, locales, or events is entirely coincidental. Amber Quill Press, LLC http://www.amberquill.com All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be transmitted or reproduced in any form, or by any means, without permission in writing from the publisher, with the exception of brief excerpts used for the purposes of review. Copyright © 2005 by Dreama Faire ISBN 1-59279-389-4 Cover Art © 2005 Trace Edward Zaber

Layout and Formatting provided by: ElementalAlchemy.com

PUBLISHED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

Thanks to my husband and partner in crime.

THE JOURNEY

THE JOURNEY

Deirdre Phillips watched the steam curl off the surface of her latte, while she tried to shut out the squawking arrival and departure announcements that echoed through the cavernous building. An exploratory sip of coffee burned her tongue, and she sighed. Thirty-six hours on a train—some vacation. A movement nearby caught her attention. A red-and-black plaid shirt draped easily over broad shoulders, then tapered to disappear into a trim waistband. Deirdre sat up a little straighter, focusing on the wellworn denim wrapped around the nicest butt she’d ever seen. The bluejeaned legs stopped in mid-stride, and Deirdre’s gaze zoomed up to the owner’s face. Wide cheekbones, strong jaw dusted with early morning beard, dark eyes fringed with enviable lashes, and a head of neatly trimmed blue-black hair. Oh, man, no one is that good looking. The man tossed his duffel bag on the floor and began searching his 1

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jeans pockets, concern sharpening his features. The anxious expression turned to a frown as he opened his jacket and began checking those pockets. A second later, he pulled out a wallet, and his body language visibly relaxed. As he grabbed up the duffel bag, he glanced at Deirdre, a foolish grin brightening his face. Then, he walked away toward the ticket windows. Deirdre’s cheeks felt warm and her stomach did calisthenics. Sexy wasn’t the right word to describe this guy. She couldn’t even remember the last time someone had affected her like that—certainly not Stephen. Poor Stephen…good company, but definitely not the man to light her fires. She closed her eyes and exhaled softly. Fires that had been doused long ago. “God-awful hour, isn’t it?” Deirdre’s eyes snapped open. Mr. Great Butt sat two chairs away, an engaging smile forming little parentheses at the corners of his mouth. Heat flooded across her cheeks and she nodded. He unfolded a newspaper and crossed those long legs, every movement sending little skips through her pulse. She took refuge in her coffee, trying to control her lustful thoughts. She glanced at the huge clock over the ticket counter just as the speakers crackled the news: the seven o’clock to Washington DC would be delayed another thirty minutes. The stranger’s voice had a nice timbre. “Where are you headed?” Again, she was unprepared for her body’s responses to him. One look at those warm brown eyes, and her insides quivered again. “Burlington, Vermont.” “Really? So am I.” That smile should be outlawed—along with everything else he owns. He stood up and grinned down at her. “Guess I’d better get some coffee. Want yours refreshed?” He headed toward the coffee shop, his muscular behind and thighs 2

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rippling invitingly beneath his jeans. Deirdre snatched up her purse and rummaged through it until she found a small mirror, then grimaced at her reflection. Her cinnamon-colored hair frizzed in every direction, hampered only slightly by a large barrette. Hazel eyes—her only redeeming feature—peered back at her from beneath a furry arch of eyebrows. A ski-jump nose, slightly red from the last vestiges of a cold, and a too-wide mouth completed her look. Deciding she could do nothing to improve her appearance, she slipped the mirror back into her purse, then scanned the terminal. A stir murmured through her belly as she spotted the handsome stranger striding toward her, a cup of steaming coffee in each hand, a gorgeous smile lighting up his face. “I forgot to ask what you were drinking, but your cup smelled like hazelnut. That okay?” Hell, you could bring me a cup of mud and I’d drink it. She smiled. “Perfect. You’re quite the detective.” He eased into the seat beside her and grinned. “It comes naturally. I’m a business analyst.” “Here in Atlanta?” “Georgia State. I teach in the MBA program.” Deirdre’s pulse skipped. He lived right here in town—what possibilities. She stole a quick glance at his profile. Right. Like he’s being anything other than polite. “I live out by the campus,” she said. He shook his head. “Isn’t that wild? We’ve probably passed each other dozens of times, but it takes a stupid bus trip to meet up.” He offered his hand. “I’m Bruce Long.” His fingers felt soft against hers. “Deirdre Phillips.” The loudspeaker blared—the train to DC was ready to board. Bruce stood up and winked. “I guess this trip won’t be so boring after all.” 3

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His long legs covered the ground quickly, and Deirdre had to hurry to keep up. Outside the terminal, arriving and departing trains hissed and groaned as they eased along the tracks. The air was heavy with the odor of grease and people and pigeons, and Deirdre wrinkled her nose. She hated this atmosphere that made her feel as though she were skulking through the back alleys of some run-down city. Nothing like the bright openness of an airport terminal. A soft shudder ran across her shoulders, and she focused on Bruce’s butt as he climbed up into the train. What would those tight buns look like naked? Heat rushed into her crotch. She’d sure like to find out. Suddenly, she noticed his peculiar expression. Warmth flooded her face and she laughed. “Sorry, daydreaming.” He gave her another speculative look, then disappeared into the passenger section. Disappointment wriggled into her thoughts as she hurried to follow. Did he plan to sit with her? Why didn’t he wait? A minute later, she stood beside him in the aisle while he stuffed his bag into the overhead compartment. He gave one final shove, then turned and reached for her bag. “You want the window? Sometimes it’s a little chilly, but the view’s great.” Thirty-six hours with a charming, sexy man. Now, if she could just keep from screwing it up. She shed her jacket and scooted into the seat. Through the window, the station scene seemed like a silent movie. Hundreds of people scurried toward waiting trains or moved determinedly toward the terminal, most of them balancing bags and cell phones, but all of them keeping a watchful eye on the huge clock mounted high on the building. Why is life such a rush? Why couldn’t things slow down a little? Would it be so bad to be out of touch for an hour or two? She slid her hand into her purse and turned off her cell phone. “Where do you work, Deirdre?” 4

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“I’m an events coordinator with the Atlanta Tourism Board on Peachtree Avenue.” He cocked his head. “What’s in Vermont?” “My mother. I promised I’d come home for Thanksgiving this year.” “How’d you end up in the South?” “When I finished college, I took a job with the planning committee for the ’96 Olympics.” She looked down at her fingers. “It was such a horribly emotional experience, I felt a deep tie to Atlanta.” “Where were you when the bomb exploded?” Deirdre’s chest tightened, her breath coming in tiny puffs—a familiar reaction to any reminder of that day. “I had just punched out and was headed across the parking lot. I missed being in the middle of it by seconds.” She looked up. “Some of my colleagues weren’t so lucky.” A vise crunched down on her throat. She hadn’t talked about the attack in a long time, but the personal pain of the memory still slammed into her like a wrecking ball. Her youthful exuberance for life and a promising future had disintegrated with one young man’s misfortune. Bruce reached out and took her hand. “I’m really sorry. I cannot imagine how you felt. I moved to Atlanta in ’98, but I could see the scars on the city.” He squeezed her fingers. “It’s a helluva world we live in now.” A rumble shuddered through the seat as the train backed away from the platform. Bruce exhaled, leaned his head back, and closed his eyes. Deirdre stared at their entwined fingers, savoring the warmth and intimacy of such a simple gesture of friendship. His fingers were long and slender and his nails well trimmed and clean—not hands that had seen physical labor, but rather more like a musician’s. When was the last time she’d held hands with someone? It had been too long. She stole a glance at him. His eyes were still closed, his chest rising and 5

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falling evenly with each breath. How can men just fall asleep any time they wanted to? She leaned her head back and gazed out the window at the scenery flying past. The greens and yellows of open countryside had replaced the blur of black and gray industrial sprawl outside Atlanta. The train’s rocking movement lulled her and she dozed lightly, holding hands with a stranger. Warmth caressed her neck and hair, and delight darted through her fuzzy dream. In her fantasy, the handsome stranger from the train station nuzzled her neck and whispered erotic suggestions in her ear. She moaned and nestled into him, then awoke with a start. Bruce’s face was inches from hers, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “Want some breakfast?” Heat flashed across her cheeks and she snatched her hand from his, acutely aware of the wetness between her legs. Without thinking, she licked her lips. He grinned. “Is that a yes?” God, why was he looking at her like that? Almost like he could read her mind. An instant replay of her earlier thoughts sent another flush of warmth over her face and a murmur through her pussy. Bruce stood up and stretched, providing a tantalizing peek at his smooth belly. The murmur in her crotch grew to a shout. She grabbed her purse and slid out of the seat, tripping over her own feet and crashing into Bruce’s chest. His strong arms surrounded her like a noose and, for a moment, she stood still. His shirt smelled like outdoors and wood fires. She inhaled deeply, trying to capture the scent to remember later. He loosened his grip and jerked his head toward one end of the coach. “Dining car is thataway.” A few minutes later, they faced each other across a small table. She’d regained some of her composure, but the unsettling inner stir 6

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promised to escalate. When the train steward had retreated with their order, Deirdre smiled brightly. “You never told me why you’re going to Burlington.” He chuckled. “Bail my brother out—again.” “He’s in jail?” Bruce laughed out loud, a wonderful rumbling chortle. “No, no, he’s starting a business and needs my advice. This is his third attempt at entrepreneurship. Maybe it’ll be the charm.” “If it doesn’t revolve around tourism, Burlington’s a poor choice.” “Exactly! I told him that…he should’ve stayed in Rutland, but, no, he wanted to try something avant-garde, away from the ski resorts. Says he’ll have less competition.” “Did you grow up in Rutland?” “No, we lived in Poultney, but a few years after my father died, my brother convinced my mom to move with him to Rutland, then last year, to Burlington. He’s a bit of a dreamer—smart as a whip, but unrealistic sometimes.” Deirdre gazed at the strong features filled with empathy. Such a gentle, considerate man, and he’d been just down the road all those years. “When did you leave home?” “Every weekend. Killington called me. I worked there while I attended Green Mountain College, then transferred to UV for my MBA, and then I headed for Atlanta.” “Don’t you miss ski country?” “Yeah, but the career opportunities aren’t there—” He winked mischievously. “—and the women aren’t nearly as pretty as those in Georgia.” Deirdre’s composure disappeared again, but breakfast arrived, sparing her the need to find an appropriate response to what she now recognized as Bruce’s personal interest. *

* 7

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Deirdre sat back and sighed. “That was wonderful. Now I need a nice long nap.” Bruce grinned. “I vote for that!” She focused on the deep dimple that appeared on each side of a mouth that looked as though it would be heaven to kiss. Abruptly aware of the silence, she glanced at his eyes, glimmering with recognition. Damn it! Am I so readable? She looked away. “There’ll be plenty of time to sleep on this trip.” “You like to travel by train?” “I hate it, but I just can’t drive so far by myself. I get too tired. “ “Why not fly?” A cold chill wrapped around her, penetrating her skin and seeping into her gut. Her heartbeat accelerated, falling out of rhythm and sending a sickening wave through her chest. She took a deep breath, pursed her lips, and slowly exhaled to stop the sensation. “I can’t…not since 9/11.” Bruce reached across the table, sympathy softening his gaze. “I know. Me neither.” He sat back, a light flush creeping across his cheeks. “I usually drive, but my car’s in the shop.” The dimples appeared again. “Lucky me.” A few minutes later, Deirdre headed for the lavatory. Inside the tiny cubicle, she closed her eyes and leaned against the door. The excursion into her fear had left her weak-kneed. Or was it Bruce’s nearness? Either way, she felt disarmed and vulnerable. In the mirror, her usually pale skin showed a rosy tint, even in the obnoxious fluorescent lighting. Decision time. The wetness between her legs urged her to abandon her usual propriety, follow her desire to explore and experience the intriguing stranger, consequences be damned. If she did, she’d probably never see him again, even though they lived in the same city. The same huge city, an easy place to disappear. She briefly wondered what men really thought of women who fell 8

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into bed at the first invitation, then she laughed out loud. What an imagination! On a train filled with people, the circumstances would make her decisions for her. When she returned to her seat, Bruce was snoring softly. Taking care not to disturb him, she edged past his knees. As she stepped over his foot, his hand slithered beneath her skirt and gently squeezed her thigh. An arrow shot through her and she almost lost her balance. She scrambled into her seat and turned, trying to look appropriately indignant. His eyes were closed, but a wicked smile twitched at the corners of his mouth. She stared for a second then settled back into her seat to sort out her true feelings. Mere minutes ago, she’d considered seducing him. A tangle of opposing thoughts raged as she stared out the window at the passing countryside. A mileage sign whizzed past: Charlotte, 50. The thought of Bruce’s hand on her leg sent another gush of pussy juice into her panties. Could she stand thirty-six hours of this agony? Beside her, he stirred and yawned. “Are we there yet?” His demeanor camouflaged any remorse for his inappropriate behavior, and Deirdre decided to follow suit. “It’s starting to rain. I suppose the weather will be crummy the whole trip.” “No, if it snows, I can ski when I get home!” He tilted his head. “Do you ski?” “Not me. I hate the cold weather, the snow, and all the hassle that goes with it. That’s another reason I stayed in Atlanta.” A draft of cold air swept off the window and she shivered. Bruce leaped to his feet. “Here, let me get a blanket.” He rummaged in the overhead compartment and found a soft gray blanket and tiny pillow. He looked down. “Do you want to trade places? You might be a little warmer.” “No, thanks, it’s all right. I like looking out the window.” He shook out the blanket, then leaned over and draped it across her 9

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body. “There. If you need another one, I can—” “Really. I’m fine. Thank you.” She glanced away, embarrassed, but pleased by his concern. “Back in a minute. Gotta pee.” She fought the urge to visualize what his cock might look like. Her pussy pulsed softly and she slipped her fingers between her legs to caress her swollen mound through her panties. In her current condition, she could probably come before he returned from the bathroom. She pulled the leg-band aside, then jerked involuntarily as her finger touched her hard clit. She closed her eyes and slipped a finger into her juice. “Phew, that’s better!” She nearly threw the blanket off onto the floor. Her cheeks throbbed with mortification at being caught, although he couldn’t possibly know, but she glanced furtively at his face anyway. His expression revealed nothing as he reached into the overhead again. “I’m gonna take one of these, too.” He dropped into his seat and draped the blanket across his lap, then pulled a magazine from his briefcase. With a quick smile and a wink, he turned his attention to the glossy pages, leaving Deirdre to struggle with the agony in her crotch. A few minutes later, she dozed, dreaming of wild sex with Bruce. Beneath the warm cocoon of the blanket, her body quivered with desire, her soaked panties pressed against her flesh—an insistent reminder of the man beside her. Something warm moved against her shoulders, and she roused. Bruce had slipped his arm around her and his face was so close she could feel his breath on her cheek. He smiled tentatively. “You were whimpering. Having a bad dream?” The gentle pressure around her shoulders felt good and she nestled into it. “Not exactly.” 10

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He leaned into her hair and whispered, “Maybe a good dream? Filled with lust?” A powerful pulse rammed into her cunt, taking her breath away. Now or never. Do it, don’t look back. Before she could respond, he slipped his hand beneath the blanket. Deftly, his fingers slid over her bare torso and lifted her bra over her breasts. She gasped, stunned by the living dream. “Shhh, don’t wake the neighbors.” His fingers moved quickly to her rigid nipples, while he nibbled her neck. “Mmm, you taste good.” She buried her nose in his hair, inhaling the musky scent of a man in heat. Her crotch lit up like a bonfire, and she grasped her other breast, urgently kneading the nipple. Bruce moaned into her neck. “Oh, yeah, do that, baby. Get yourself so horny you want to scream.” He raised his smoldering gaze. “I guarantee I can make you scream.” His promise sent a battering ram through her pussy. “Oh, God, yes,” she whispered. Bruce grabbed her hand and dragged it into his lap. The bulge in his jeans exceeded all her fantasies. She grasped the denim mound and squeezed and pushed and rubbed, while she contracted her pussy muscles, willing herself to come. As though he could read her mind, Bruce slid his hand beneath her panties and found her clit. She rocked her hips against his fingers, struggling to remain silent. From the corner of her eye, she spotted the train conductor moving toward them. “Stop, someone’s coming.” “I hope it’s you, baby.” “No, I mean it.” Bruce ignored her and slipped his finger inside her. “Just pretend we’re asleep. He’ll go on by.” Deirdre closed her eyes and willed her heart to stop hammering. 11

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The long fingers she’d examined that morning were expert at what they were doing now. Inside her pussy, Bruce’s finger probed and pushed, searching for her button, and she pressed her mound against his exploration. He withdrew the finger and massaged her clit against the bone beneath. Shafts of lightning raced into her, shattering her control as the pressure built. He stopped and grasped her clit between his finger and thumb, then squeezed lightly. She jerked hard and moaned. “Don’t moan in your sleep, or we’ll have to stop,” he whispered. She opened her eyes to the disapproving expression of the conductor. She jumped and straightened in her seat. Bruce yawned and stretched, as though he’d just awakened, then looked up at the man. “You need our tickets?” The craggy face continued to scowl. “Yep. Washington in an hour.” Deirdre found her purse in the disarray of blankets and avoided looking at the trainman while he punched the ticket. The ache in her crotch made thoughts of much of anything impossible. A quick glance at the mound under Bruce’s blanket revealed that he, too, was not ready to stop. The conductor stayed close by, validating tickets for the remaining passengers in the area. Bruce threw Deirdre a wry look. “Guess we’ll have to continue this later.” She looked away, suddenly embarrassed. What was she thinking? Getting laid, that’s what. However, the interruption put a damper on her ambition, and she wondered if the opportunity would present itself again, and what she’d do if it did. Fifteen minutes later, the conductor disappeared into the next coach, and Bruce patted her leg. “Want to lie down for a while? You can put your head in my lap.” His expression told her exactly what he intended. No way. That’s going a little far. She’d never sucked a cock before, and this wasn’t the 12

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place to learn. “No, I’m okay. We’re almost there anyway.” Bruce took her hand and lightly caressed the soft skin over her knuckles. “You have nice hands—soft, feminine…” He winked. “Strong.” She giggled. “I can’t believe I’m doing this. I’ve never—” He put his fingers to her mouth. “Shh. Don’t tell me anything. I’ll find out for myself.” Her clit twitched and her heart skipped a beat. Be my guest. Bruce looked at his watch. “You know, this train stops in a suburb of DC where there’s a great restaurant.” He tilted his head and smiled. “You want to go out for some dinner?” “Wouldn’t we miss our connection at Washington?” He shook his head. “This close to the Capitol, the trains run every half-hour.” Part of her desperately wanted to say, “Yes, yes, yes,” while her better judgment counseled her. Regardless of the past few hours, Bruce was an unknown. She’d picked up a stranger in a train station! Had near-sex with him on the train, and was now considering disappearing off everyone’s radar. What if he was some kook who’d escaped from a mental institution? Or worse, a closet serial killer who routinely preyed on women traveling alone? A cell phone chimed and Bruce sighed. “Damn! I thought I turned it off.” He retrieved the phone from his briefcase and flipped it open, shaking his head when he saw the number on the screen. “These people don’t know the meaning of the word vacation.” Deirdre’s earlier concern began to fade as she listened to him directing the caller to a file cabinet that held some lost report. A minute later, he closed the phone. “The head of the department is a real dunderhead. I left him a 13

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memo about that file two days ago.” He stood up. “Gotta hit the john again.” He sauntered down the aisle. Deirdre chewed her lip for a second, then reached into his briefcase and pulled out the phone. She had to know for sure before she made any rash decisions. She hit the “last call” button, and then sighed in relief at the display. “Fred Akins, Georgia State University.” *

*

*

Deirdre took a deep breath and followed Bruce down the steps to the platform at Oxon Hill. It was five-thirty and the suburban station was crammed with commuters, but the pre-holiday mood was different than the usual nine-to-five-get-outta-my-way atmosphere. “Mario’s is a couple of blocks away. Since it’s raining, we’ll take the bus.” Her heart gave a little thump at the reminder she was stepping outside her mold. A glance at Bruce and the thump repeated itself. He was absolutely the handsomest man she’d ever met. And considerate. And interesting. And available. This wasn’t a whim, it was insurance. She’d be so charming and irresistible he’d want to be with her all the time when they returned to Atlanta. “Deirdre? You okay?” His puzzled expression sent a flush of embarrassment across her cheeks. “Yeah, I’m just getting my land legs.” After a short bus ride, they hurried through the drizzle and ducked into a small restaurant. Inside, the tantalizing aroma of spicy Italian food and the cozy warmth of the intimate bistro made the perfect setting for the prelude to Deirdre’s plans. Bruce leaned back in his chair and exhaled. “Feels good to take a break from the trip, huh?” Deirdre felt energized and returned his bold gaze. “Indeed.” The waiter delivered antipasto and two glasses of red wine. When 14

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he’d taken their order and disappeared, Bruce raised his glass. “Here’s to a great Thanksgiving.” If you only knew. “It’s certainly starting out right.” “Do you get back to Vermont often?” Deirdre took a sip of the spicy wine, then shook her head. “Not really. Mom and I get at each other’s throats pretty quickly, so visits aren’t much fun.” She set the glass down. “I should probably call her. My phone’s been turned off since I left.” “I wouldn’t—I learned a long time ago setting a precedent like that only makes things worse when you forget, or simply don’t feel like it.” “You have problems with your mother, too?” “It goes with the territory of growing up and moving into our own lives, don’t you think? I mean, given their way, most mothers would prefer to have their children stay in the same town, marry some local, have a bunch of kids…you know.” “How well I know. That’s why I’m dreading this visit. Mom’s on her soapbox again that I should come home and settle down. According to her, there are new people in the community—translate that into ‘single men.’ I’m sure she’s planning to fix me up again.” Irritation sent a prickly sensation across Deirdre’s shoulders. “I can choose my own men, thank you very much.” “Have you?” “Have I what?” “Chosen?” Oh, hell, what kind of question is that? Does he mean himself? His roguish smile unsettled her further. She took a quick sip of wine, playing for time, forming an answer. Bruce chuckled. “Are you involved with anyone?” “No.” Only in my memories. Sadness swept over her, followed by determination. Time to let go of the past. “How about you?” He nodded. “I promised myself I’d take my time finding the right 15

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person. Gave myself a deadline of waiting until I was at least twentyeight.” He shook his head slowly. “Kids today are too young…they make the wrong decisions, or worse, don’t make any decisions, just fall into unsuitable relationships. They have babies together, don’t bother to get married…what a mess.” He glanced up and smiled apologetically. “Sorry. As a teacher, I see a lot of it. I’ve tried to use those observations to support my own goals.” Deirdre’s voice cracked. “How old are you?” “Twenty-six.” His dark eyes smoldered. “I have been known to change my plans.” The waiter appeared with steaming plates of lasagna swimming in marinara sauce and heaped with creamy melted cheese. Suddenly famished, Deirdre pushed her warring thoughts away, determined to satiate all her hungers before the night was finished. *

*

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Over tiramisu and coffee, Bruce entertained her with stories of campus life, and the crazy things college students did while away from parental scrutiny. Deirdre felt wonderfully relaxed and comfortable in his company. How nice it would be to have someone like him around on a regular basis. It wasn’t like she didn’t have a social life. She had plenty of girlfriends, but, one by one, they were getting married and disappearing into domestic bliss. Of course, there was always Stephen, but she couldn’t go near the thought of permanence with him, even though he’d been by her side through the worst of her nightmares. She glanced up at Bruce as he talked and a ripple ran through her belly. If they ever became an item, would she be able to keep him happy? Beneath the table, something touched her leg and she jumped. Bruce’s mischievous smile sparkled across the table. “Am I that boring?” “Oh, no! I’m sorry…really, I was listening.” 16

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He leaned forward on his elbows and lowered his voice. “Did you like it on the train?” Now! Be bold and sexy, make him want you, and keep wanting you. She smiled seductively and looked directly into his eyes. “What do you think?” “I can do better.” He rose and nodded toward the door. “C’mon, let’s get out of here.” Outside the door, Bruce pulled her close, his breath tickling her ear. “You know, we could spend the night here, then catch the early train tomorrow.” Excitement coursed through Deirdre’s chest. His embrace filled her with longing. She wanted the night to never end. Looking into his eyes, she nodded silently. Heart thumping, Deirdre stepped into the overly warm motel room, sharply aware of Bruce behind her, hearing the rustle of his jacket as he closed the door. In the space of the chilly walk from the restaurant to the motel across the street, desire had fled. What could she be thinking? If she turned around now, she could still leave. It would be embarrassing, but so what? Bruce slipped his arms around her waist and gently pulled her to him. He nuzzled her neck, her hair muffling his voice. “You smell good enough to eat.” His touch and suggestive tone fired up the boilers again, and she dismissed thoughts of flight. He opened her coat and slipped it off her shoulders, deftly tossing it onto a nearby chair. His erection pressed against her butt, his slow, undulating movements sending a flash of heat into her crotch. She moaned and leaned her head back against his shoulder. His hands slipped beneath her sweater, and she shivered from the quick draft of cool air against her burning skin. Reaching up, she caressed his head, delighting in the silkiness of his hair, the warmth of his skin. He reacted immediately, pulling her bra up 17

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over her breasts and grasping each nipple between his fingers. He rolled and pinched and pulled, sending paroxysms of exquisite discomfort through her clit. “I’m gonna fuck you so hard you’ll never forget it.” Deirdre heard the wanton huskiness in her own voice. “And I’m gonna let you.” Bruce spun her around and took her face in his hands. She gazed into his eyes simmering with need, but also something else she couldn’t quite interpret. In slow motion, his face moved closer and she closed her eyes, lifting her lips to his. The kiss she’d fantasized about was softer, sweeter, sexier, more powerful than any imagination could conjure. She kissed him back, feeling as though she’d known him forever. He slipped his arms around her body and pulled her close, his tongue teasing around the edges of her lips. She opened her mouth and welcomed the deep kiss, setting off a volley of fireworks in her crotch. His grip tightened then he broke the kiss and, in one swift motion, yanked her sweater off over her head. “Take off the rest.” Fumbling with the bra hooks, she stared at the bulge in Bruce’s jeans, imagining the release of a huge cock that would plunge into her cunt and take her to places she’d never known. Slipping her skirt down over her hips, she watched him unzip his pants, then glanced up at his face. His taunting gaze took her breath away. The dimples appeared in his cheeks as he slid the jeans down and stood before her in naked glory. She stared, heart thundering. His cock was thick and long, the dark pink skin pulled taut over large throbbing veins. A drop of moisture glistened at the tip. Her pussy released a gush of juice and her clit twitched sharply. He peeled off his shirt, then spread his legs and crossed his arms. “Suck me.” Just like that? In her moment of indecision, Bruce reached down and fondled his 18

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penis, stroking the length of it. “Come on, baby, it’ll be good. You’ll see.” She moved toward him, suddenly wondering if she could do this. She stood in front of him, staring down at the rigid shaft, trying to get up the nerve to get down on her knees and do as he asked. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.” Her gaze snapped back to his face. He smiled and pulled her to him, his hot flesh pressing against her belly. Another deep kiss, then he murmured, “Let me make love to you.” She reached between them and touched him. “Yes…please.” He stepped back and picked up something from the table. Deirdre swallowed hard, watching him smooth a condom down the length of his penis. A minute later, he gently maneuvered her backward toward the bed and pushed her down onto the mattress. He gazed down at her nakedness, appreciation and lust glowing in his eyes. She couldn’t tear her gaze from his erection, anticipating the feel of it inside her. He spread her legs wide and nodded. “Beautiful cunt. I see you’re ready for me.” She closed her eyes. No one’s ever talked to me like this. Mixed emotions roiled through her. Old-fashioned modesty battled with primal need. Bruce’s hands moved up the insides of her thighs, inching toward her open crotch. She couldn’t open her eyes. How could she watch him do what he was—ohhh! Her eyes flew open and she stared straight into his as he kneaded her clit, sending sharp arrows of delight deep into her belly. She pressed against his fingers, and he pushed harder, grasping the hard nub and squeezing until she thought she’d scream. “Oh, my God, yes, do it harder!” Was that her saying those things? He dropped onto his knees and slid his hands under her butt. His head disappeared from view as his mouth covered her pussy. Involuntary spasms rocked her hips into his torture. Deep inside, an 19

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ache grew, pressing against her core, mushrooming into a pounding pain. Bruce nipped and sucked harder, holding her hips firmly, keeping her clit captive. She arched her back, pressing against the sweet agony, focusing on the swiftly approaching tidal wave. Explosive surges racked her body as she opened herself to meet the ultimate sensation. Bruce’s voice whispered in the wake of her passion. “My turn.” Pulling her legs up over his hips, he plunged into her. She gasped, overwhelmed by the length of cock inside her. She drove her hips against him, feeling his groin slam against hers, his shaft filling her completely, a sensation so phenomenal she could barely breathe. He eased down on top of her. His hot breath caressed her earlobe. “You feel so good. I want to stay inside you all night.” He rose up on his arms and slowly, teasingly, started moving. Each time he pulled out to the edges of her throbbing labia, his eyes would darken with lust. His voice was thick with passion. “Want more?” She’d nod frantically, then he’d plunge back into her and start the tease again. As he tormented her with her own passion, ecstasy soared. She felt his surging need, and knew he would climax any second. She thrust her hips up hard to meet his, capturing his eyes with a look to bare her own soul. Sparked by the bold move, his control disappeared and basic instincts took over. His eyes closed and the vein at his temple stood out. A fine sheen of sweat glistened across his forehead as he pumped harder and deeper. She tried to move with him, but the weight of his body pinned her to the bed, making her a helpless receptacle for his raging lust. A deep groan started in his throat, transforming into a wail as he exploded inside her. He thrust sharply against her one more time then, breathing heavily, dropped down to lay his head on her shoulder. She closed her eyes, savoring what had to be the best sex of her entire life. 20

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A moment later, he kissed her shoulder. She felt his smile against her skin as he whispered, “Baby, you are unbelievable!” *

*

*

Deirdre lay in the crook of Bruce’s arm, listening to him snore softly. There must be an instant nap trigger that goes off when a guy has sex. At that hour, she should be asleep, too, but her head hummed with countless images and thoughts about the experience, brief flashes into her past, and titillating postulations about the future. She nestled against his warm shoulder and looked up at his serene features. If she had anything to do with it, she’d like to see that face beside her every night. She felt healed. She slid her hand lightly over his smooth chest, then down his torso. Her fingers curled around his flaccid penis, and a murmur started in her belly. Bruce stirred, his voice thick with sleep. “Go to sleep, hon. We have to get up early.” He rolled away from her and, in seconds, resumed snoring. She pouted into the darkness for a moment, then snuggled up behind him and closed her eyes. *

*

*

She awakened to brilliant light slicing through the drapes and the sound of the shower. For one instant, she didn’t remember where she was, then the delicious memory washed over her and she snuggled down under the covers. Perhaps she could entice him into a quickie before they headed back to the train station. Her pussy responded immediately. She slithered her fingers into her crack and caressed the exquisitely tender nub. Her flesh was hot, highly sensitized from her erotic workout. The bathroom door opened and she quickly withdrew her hand. Bruce grinned. “Good morning, sleepy head. If you hustle, you can 21

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have a shower before we leave.” “I could skip the shower in favor of something else.” A shadow passed briefly over his features, sending a distress signal through Deirdre’s gut. He shook his head, reaching for a comb. “Nice thought, but we’ll have to hustle to make our connections.” Their eyes met in the mirror and Deirdre thought she’d throw up. He’d gotten what he wanted—there’d be no happy ever after, no evenings by the fire, no— “I’ll run out and get us some coffee.” He quickly shrugged into his jacket and disappeared out the door, leaving Deirdre alone with her remorse. Her first instincts had been right. A one-night stand. Nothing more. Anger flared up at the memory of his carefully worded conversations, phrases and innuendoes that seemed to promise something more than a fling. Shame and embarrassment immediately replaced her outrage. She had no one to blame but herself…she was a grown woman, capable of making good decisions, but her judgment had taken a detour, fueled by years of loneliness. The familiar hollow ache settled into her chest. In the warmth of the shower, she reconstructed everything she’d learned about Bruce in the short time they’d been together. Erotic detour aside, he was the kind of man she’d hoped to meet. Perhaps they could start over, once they returned to home ground. She stepped out of the steamy bathroom to find Bruce sitting by the window, reading a newspaper. Two Styrofoam cups sat on the table beside two doughnuts. He glanced up and smiled. “There was a complimentary breakfast in the lobby. I brought you something.” The earlier edge was gone. He seemed relaxed, even nonchalant. A spark of hope rekindled Deirdre’s determination to pursue the relationship. She smiled her prettiest. “Thanks…how thoughtful.” 22

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His eyes twinkled. “Have to replace all that energy you burned up last night.” Heat flooded her cheeks, but she grasped the chance. “You did all the work.” “It’s a tough job, but somebody has to do it.” He turned back to the newspaper, and her optimism flagged. She sat down and sipped some coffee, watching him through her lashes. His eyes narrowed at something he was reading, and irritation threaded into her thoughts again. What the hell…jump in there and find out. “What all will you be doing while you’re in Vermont?” He looked up, confusion bringing his eyebrows together. “Huh? Oh…mostly going over the financial aspects of my brother’s latest pipe-dream.” His features softened. “Hopefully, I can slip away for some skiing.” Why can’t you slip away to meet me? Deirdre recognized his careful exclusion of the obvious. She took a bite of doughnut, trying to be optimistic. She still had the rest of the trip to try and salvage this. The rain had stopped sometime during the night, but the temperature had dropped considerably. Deirdre shivered as she hurried along the sidewalk, trying to keep up with Bruce’s long strides. They located the Vermont train and pushed through the morning rush of passengers flooding into Washington. A few minutes later, Deirdre flopped down into her seat, then looked up at Bruce. He stood in the aisle, a peculiar expression changing the angles of his face, making him truly seem a stranger. “Deirdre, I have some work to do.” He hefted the briefcase. “I’m going to sit in the club car, if you don’t mind.” So this was the way he’d end it. She nodded numbly. “Sure, go ahead.” He strode briskly down the aisle and disappeared into the next coach. She leaned her head back against the seat and stared out the 23

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window, blinking back burning tears that had suddenly appeared. Pulling the collar of her coat up around her neck, she huddled down. Instantly, the scent of sex wafted up and filled her with sadness. She had to face it—this one was unfixable. Overtaken by lack of sleep and emotional turmoil, she slipped away into dreamland. Four hours later, she awoke with a start as the train’s brakes complained against the iron rails. She was melting, her neck felt damp, and her body heat had intensified the scent of the night’s debauchery. Through the window, she saw a station sign for Albany. Less than halfway there. God, I wish I could bring myself to fly. She gazed out the window as the train stopped. Perhaps that could be her New Year’s resolution. With a sigh, she dug into her purse and pulled out her cell phone. The screen sprang to life, and she groaned at the four voice-mails from her mother. She didn’t bother to listen to them, just dialed and waited, bracing herself for the guilt trip. “Deirdre! Where are you?” “Hello to you, too, Mom.” She bit her lip. Rotten start. “I’ve been calling and calling. Why weren’t you answering your phone?” “I got a very late start and, somehow, the phone got turned off. I’m sorry.” Damn it! Why do I always manage to apologize for something within the first minute of every conversation? “I’ve been worried sick. The weather has turned nasty here—we have over a foot of snow.” Bruce will be thrilled. Images of his lean body flying across the slopes sent a wave of sadness through her heart. “I’ll be there about five. Want me to take a cab?” “Of course not. I’m perfectly capable of driving to the train station! You always act like I’m feeble or something.” Deirdre closed her eyes. “No, Mother, I’m just trying to be 24

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considerate. I’ll see you tonight.” She watched the display fade, feeling like she’d re-entered the hamster wheel of her youth. “Just had to do that, didn’t you?” She nearly jumped out of her seat at the nearness of Bruce’s voice. She glanced up, her breath catching in her chest at his dark good looks. He smiled and dropped into the seat beside her, then reached out to pat her hand in a fatherly fashion. “It’s okay. I get caught in the same bind occasionally.” His touch sent tingles racing up her arm, and she was again aware of the musky scent emanating from her clothing. Could he smell it, too? “Did you get all your work finished?” “Yeah. The department issued a new set of policy manuals last month and I simply haven’t been able to find time to read them. So, that’s out of the way.” He stretched and yawned. “Now, I’m gonna catch up on my sleep.” He threw her an apologetic grin, then closed his eyes. Through the window, Deirdre watched the heavily populated countryside speed past, her thoughts racing at the same rate. At least he’d come back to sit with her. Maybe there was some hope after all. Before this train ride was over, she’d get up the courage to ask him, point-blank, what last night had meant to him. *

*

*

As the train worked its way north, the countryside changed dramatically. From the urban sprawl of New York, the scenery morphed into rolling hills covered with leafless trees, and the ground grew whiter and whiter. A sign indicated that Poultney was forty miles ahead. Deirdre’s stomach did a flip-flop, not so much in anticipation of the homecoming, but more from the anxiety she felt about confronting Bruce. She glanced at him, still sleeping. His dark lashes lay against his 25

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ruddy cheeks, and his sexy mouth begged to be kissed. Her gaze moved down toward his lap, her brain picturing his cock in all its glory. What if she just laid her head in his lap like he’d suggested the day before? Her pussy throbbed and she giggled out loud. Lord, but he’d made her feel good! He stirred and sat up. “What’s so funny?” He squinted out the window. “Where are we?” “Ski country. Not far from Poultney.” She gave him her most engaging smile. “Looks like you’ll get your wish. Mom says they have over a foot of snow.” “Outstanding!” He stood up. “Come on, let’s grab something to eat. I’m famished.” She followed him down the aisle to the dining car and they slipped into the same booth they’d occupied the day before. His manner gave her the confidence she needed. He was open, friendly…she could do this. After they ordered sandwiches, she leaned forward and looked into his eyes, composing her features into an earnest expression. “Bruce, I want to ask you something.” A flicker of wariness passed over his eyes, then he nodded. “Sure, fire away.” Her chest tightened and breathing became difficult. Maybe this would be harder than she’d thought. “Uh…last night, I mean, was that just…” Oh God, I can’t do this. Bruce’s hand moved across the table and closed over hers. “Deirdre, it doesn’t change my perception of who you are. This isn’t the dark ages…women have needs that are just as strong as men’s.” A bit of relief threaded its way into her thoughts. He’d exonerated her loose behavior, but did it mean he was interested in a relationship? She couldn’t tell, but she couldn’t bring herself to ask him. *

* 26

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The end of the long trip came quickly, leaving Deirdre flustered and afraid she’d never see him again. As the train pulled into Burlington, she gathered up her purse, then turned to face him, willing away the butterflies in her stomach. Before she could speak, he pointed out the window. “There’s my brother. God, look at all this snow!” He grinned at her. “Hey, you have a great visit with your mom.” Panic set in—he was just going to leave! “When are you headed back to Atlanta?” “I have a staff meeting early Monday morning, so I’m outta here Saturday night. It’s the pits, but teaching ain’t like it used to be.” Deirdre’s heart fell. Unless she cut her own visit short, she wouldn’t even see him on the trip home. She smiled bravely. “Well, Happy Thanksgiving. Maybe we’ll run into each other again sometime.” His smile was dazzling. “Maybe…You never know.” Deirdre trudged across the platform, keeping an eye on Bruce as he wrestled his bag into a van. An old station wagon pulled into the parking lot and she sighed. Mother was always late. “Dee-Dee! Over here!” Her mother’s shrill voice echoed through the crisp air, and Deirdre shot a quick glance at the spot where Bruce’s brother had parked. The van was backing out and she searched the windows, wistfully hoping Bruce would look back and wave. She hugged her diminutive mother, planting a kiss on her cool cheek. “Have you been cooking up a storm?” Fran Phillips climbed behind the wheel and nodded. “Oh, yes. We’re having guests for dinner. I’ve made a new friend.” Deirdre glanced sideways at her mother’s bright smile. Obviously, the new friend had brought some pleasure into her life—she hadn’t looked so happy in a long time. “Male or female?” 27

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Fran laughed. “Deirdre! What a question! A lady, of course. I’m too old for that other foolishness.” A flicker of sadness passed over her features, and Deirdre’s heart lurched. Her mother had never looked at another man in the fifteen years since her husband had died. Such devotion, such love. Would Deirdre ever know such happiness? It was beginning to look bleak in that department. An image of Bruce flashed into her thoughts and she pushed it away. No use tormenting herself. Twenty minutes later, the old car turned into the driveway of the house in which Deirdre had grown up. Snow changed the way everything looked, but beneath the white mantle, carefully tended flowerbeds surrounded the house and bordered the walkways. In early spring, crocus, hyacinth, and narcissus provided a much-needed riot of color and a heavenly scent. Forsythia bushes would form sunbursts of yellow at each corner of the house, and the branches of the lilacs would bend low beneath a mass of purple buds. Warmer weather brought dahlias, irises, gladiolus, and asters—a truly old-fashioned flower garden. The front door of the small bungalow was festooned with one of her mother’s handmade willow wreaths, entwined with grapevine and dried flowers from the summer garden. A bit of nostalgia echoed through Deirdre’s chest, a pining for the familiar, a need to be comforted—but for what, she wasn’t sure. A few minutes later, the familiar scents of home wrapped around her, drawing her lonely heart deeper into a web of melancholy. “Dee-Dee, look what I made, just for you.” Her mother’s smile glowed like a small bonfire as she pointed at the kitchen counter. “Oh, wow, can I start now?” Deirdre leaned her face close to the glistening pecan pie and inhaled deeply. “I hope you made more than one. I don’t intend to share.” “You sit down. I’ll cut you a piece.” 28

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Her mother bustled about the small kitchen, expertly slicing the pie, serving it onto a plate, carefully folding a paper napkin. So precise, so confident in what she was doing. Deirdre’s throat tightened. Her mother’s obvious delight over the visit was painful to acknowledge. The poor woman lived up here in the tundra all by herself, while her only child pretended she could only be happy somewhere else. Fran set the pie in front of Deirdre with a flourish, then kissed the top of her head. “I’m so glad you’re home.” Her voice caught. “I’ve really missed you.” “I know, Mom. I’ll try to get here more often.” With the first sweet bite of thick, caramelized pecans, Deirdre closed her eyes, immediately transported back to her childhood when the delectable dessert was part of every Sunday dinner. After her father died, pecan pie appeared only on special occasions. “Fabulous. You never lose your touch…Who all did you say was coming for dinner tomorrow?” “My new friend, Sadie, and her son. They moved here about six months ago. I met her in the reading group at the library.” The old irritation sprang into the companionable moment, and Deirdre chewed thoughtfully. A lady and her son. Of course—another fix-up-Deirdre plan. She gazed at her plate, idly segregating a solitary pecan from the gooey mess, then moving it around with her fork. Bruce’s face drifted into her line of vision. After him, she’d have a hard time finding anyone who’d measure up. “Deirdre?” “Huh?” “I said, why were you so late?” Deirdre suppressed a chuckle. What would her prim and proper mother think of her bawdy escapade? She shifted in the chair. “We were extremely busy at the office, and I didn’t make the early train.” The lie made her feel exposed and ashamed. Her mother’s eyes 29

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dimmed a little, and she nodded her head almost imperceptibly. How does she always know when I’m not telling the truth? “Well, no matter. You’re here now, and that’s what counts.” Her mom smiled and picked up the empty plate. “You get a good night’s rest. We have a lot to do tomorrow before noon.” A few minutes later, standing in the middle of her old room, Deirdre was transported to the past. She gazed around, dumbfounded. Nothing had changed. The room had been preserved exactly as she’d left it. The wallpaper with the tiny pink rosebuds had yellowed a bit with time, but the crisp white gauze curtains at the window looked freshly washed and starched. She walked slowly to the bed and sat down, running her hand over the nubby chenille coverlet. Her old, dog-eared, stuffed bunny perched on the pillow, his one eye staring accusingly at her. Why was coming home so damned hard? She’d lived somewhere else for almost ten years, yet the window of time snapped shut the minute she returned to her mother’s house. And what did she have to show for keeping that distance? An enviable job, a beautiful apartment, decent car. Things— just trappings. The worst part about it was, her mother knew. No amount of embellishment could hide the fact Deirdre’s life was empty. “Damn it, this is ridiculous!” She stood up and walked to the window to study the snowscape outside. Burlington is a small town. How hard could it be to find him? As soon as Mom’s company leaves tomorrow, I’ll start looking. If nothing else, I can camp out at the train station on Saturday morning. Decision lifted the weight from her mind and she climbed into her childhood bed, pulling the stuffed bunny close and whispering, “Did you miss me?” *

*

*

Deirdre moaned as Bruce’s hands cupped her breasts. His mouth closed around a taut nipple and heat flared between her legs. She 30

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grasped his head and pulled him hard against her, clenching her thighs rhythmically with each pulse of her clit. “Oh, God, I need you now!” Her eyes flew open, and she stared at the ceiling bathed in wintry morning light, then exhaled slowly, aware of the dampness between her legs and the soft thrum deep inside. She beckoned Bruce’s image and slipped her finger into her cunt, amazed at how slippery it had become while she dreamed. Withdrawing the slippery finger, she touched her clit, writhing at the sensation. She glanced across the room at her suitcase on the chair, then quickly scrambled out of bed to rummage through it. A moment later, she sat back down on the chenille coverlet and spread her legs wide. The thick, ribbed vibrator sprang to life with an inviting hum, and she took a deep breath. As the tip of the toy touched her clit, she gasped and pulled it away, teasing herself. She touched the hot nub again, then exhaled sharply. She was so horny she’d come right away if she continued. She climbed up on the bed and rose to her knees, legs spread. Positioning the vibrator directly beneath her pussy, she lowered herself until the device stayed upright by itself. She took a deep breath and turned it on. The rumbling tip sent electric shocks shrieking through her, and she started to breathe heavily, trying to hold back as long as possible, yet crazy to explode. As the pressure built, she lowered herself onto the large, humming dildo and rocked against it. She whimpered and moaned, wanting to cry out, but controlling that urge. The orgasm blasted through her loins, rocking her to the core, and she exhaled loudly. A sharp knock on the door preceded her mother’s voice. “Dee-Dee? You awake?” The door opened and Deirdre quickly tried to flip the switch on the vibrator, but didn’t have time. Her mother stepped into the room, her smile bright. “Good, you’re 31

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up. I thought I’d fix French toast for breakfast.” Deirdre struggled to sit still, while deep inside, the vibrator throbbed, sending excruciating tremors through her sensitized flesh. God, get out of here. I’m about to scream! “I’ll be down in a bit. I need a shower.” Her mother moved to the window and tweaked the curtain back to look outside, then turned, puzzlement knitting her eyebrows together. “What’s that sound?” “Sounds like equipment outside somewhere.” “Hmmph. Sounds like it’s here in the house.” Fran hesitated a minute, then shrugged. “Oh, well. I’ll see you downstairs.” While her mother leisurely walked toward the door, stopping to straighten the lamp on the dresser, Deirdre’s second wave of orgasm began to build. She clenched her cunt muscles around the vibrator, squeezing rhythmically, and praying she’d be alone when it happened. She began to rock her hips, watching her mother’s back carefully, in case she turned around again. Finally, she left the room, and Deirdre concentrated on enjoying the double feature. That was exciting, having her here while I’m masturbating. The erotic thought sent her over the edge, and as the intense surge moved through her body, she pictured Bruce ramming his beautiful cock deep into her. Thirty minutes later, she followed the heady aroma of roasting turkey, and sat down at the kitchen table, refreshed and relaxed. A good orgasm was the answer to everything. “You look as though you slept well, dear.” Her mother set down a plate of French toast swimming in butter and maple syrup. “We have a lot to do, and I need you to run down to the convenience store. I forgot to buy whipping cream for the pumpkin pie.” She frowned. “I hope they’re open today.” She opened the oven to baste the turkey, and Deirdre attacked her 32

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breakfast, her thoughts turning to her new, bold plan. If she got a private minute, she’d take the phone book upstairs to see if the Longs were listed. Or, maybe she could look it up while she was out. Behind the wheel of the old station wagon, Deirdre’s thoughts wandered down memory lane. The car glided slowly along the main road toward town, and she reminisced about all the times she’d driven that road, young and carefree, filled with dreams, sure the future would bring glamour, excitement, and love. Her dreams had all fallen into place in Atlanta: the perfect job and a wonderful man. She swallowed the lump rising in her throat. A dream shattered in one instant by an act of mindless terrorism. Since that time, she’d never been able to close the raw wound in her heart, or allow any emotion to touch her. Until Bruce. Something was different with him—more than hot sex—something akin to the feelings she’d had long ago. A true emotion and, apparently, wasted on the wrong man. No, you don’t know that. Find him, and this time, keep your panties on. Half an hour later, she plunked the whipping cream down on the kitchen counter. The wonderful smells in the kitchen made her stomach growl. “I’m not sure I can wait. How ’bout if I just have a teensy piece of pie?” Her mother scowled fiercely. “You know better than that, missy. Go see that the dining room table has everything we need.” She picked up the whipping cream and turned back to her cooking. Deirdre wandered into the dining room and surveyed the beautifully laid table. Her grandmother’s handmade lace tablecloth draped over the old mahogany pedestal table, the gleaming wood peeking through the openings in the tatted pattern. Worn, but still elegant ivory-colored china painted with pale pink roses marked each place at the table, and the old silver-plate had been polished to a soft shine. Real linen napkins were threaded through silver napkin rings, and cut-glass water goblets 33

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finished off each place setting. “Mom, are we having wine?” “In the cellar, honey.” As she descended the wooden steps into the basement, Deirdre’s thoughts turned to their guests. Perhaps the wine would help her get through the afternoon. A man who still lived with his mother didn’t hold much promise. Besides, he lived in Burlington. Bruce’s face appeared in her mind’s eye. Suppose he lived in Burlington and they hit it off? Would she move back? She shook her head at the foolish suppositions about someone who’d walked away after a night of passion, without so much as a backward glance. The morning passed quickly, and at noon, the doorbell rang. Voices drifted up the stairs, and Deirdre took one last look in the mirror. By the time she reached the front door, her mother was taking coats and chattering happily. “Deirdre, this is my friend, Sadie, and her son, Randy.” Oh, swell. I’ll need two bottles of wine for this one! The young man was about five-two—at least a head shorter than Deirdre—and round like a snowman. His dark hair was thinning on top, but he had nice eyes and a shy smile. He offered his hand. “Nice to meet you. Your mom has told us a lot about you.” Sadie held out a large bouquet of chrysanthemums. “Fran, it’s so nice of you to have us in for dinner.” She turned to Randy. “Go see what’s—” The door opened and Deirdre’s pulse froze as Bruce stepped over the threshold, pulling off his gloves. “The darn key was stuck in the lock.” A gust of wind blew snowflakes through the doorway, and Sadie grabbed his arm. “For Pete’s sake, Bruce, get in here and close the door. I don’t know where your manners went since you moved down 34

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south.” Pleased recognition replaced the surprise in Bruce’s eyes and he offered his hand. “Hi, I’m Bruce. Nice to see—er, meet you.” His touch sent a delightful shiver up Deirdre’s arm and she smiled. “Likewise, I’m sure.” She gave him a pointed look and stepped back, trying to control her racing pulse. “Please, go into the living room where it’s warm.” She took his jacket and opened the hall closet door. With a quick look at his retreating figure, she buried her face in the soft fleece and inhaled, savoring his distinctive scent. Her body responded immediately to the musky maleness, snatching her back to a night of ecstasy. Her crotch grew warm and she giggled softly. It would be a long afternoon. She headed to the kitchen, listening to the relaxed banter drifting from the living room. Bruce’s baritone prevailed, interrupted occasionally by his mother’s nervous titters. Deirdre grinned. Poor Randy—he’d obviously been swallowed up in the shadow of his charismatic brother. “Dee-Dee,” whispered her mother, “we need another place setting. Sadie called while you were out, and then I plumb forgot. Can you do it quietly, so they won’t notice?” Deirdre slipped into the dining room and began adjusting place settings to make room for one more. How incredible was this? Perhaps Fate hadn’t abandoned her completely. One way or the other, she’d get a moment alone with Bruce. A few minutes later, she settled into a chair by the fireplace and took a sip of hot buttered rum, trying not to look at Bruce every other minute. His voice held a tease. “You look kinda familiar, Deirdre. Were you on the train from DC yesterday?” You brat! Okay, I can play this game.” Yes, I was. I think I 35

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remember seeing you in the club car. You had papers spread all over the table.” She smiled demurely. “Shame on you for taking work on a vacation.” Delight sprang into his eyes. “Have to get it when I can.” Oooh, that was bad! Sadie interrupted the repartee, her face glowing with motherly pride. “Bruce is helping Randy set up his new business.” Deirdre threw a quick glance at Bruce, then addressed his brother. “What kind of business are you starting?” “It’s a ski accessories outlet and coffee house.” “What a great combination.” Randy beamed, then glanced at his brother. “The coffee house was Bruce’s idea. That way, I’ll have some business in the summer, too.” Deirdre’s flair for tourism planning kicked in. “You should try to have some entertainment on weekends. That would work year ’round.” She grinned, really getting into the conversation. “In fact, when you’re operational, I can include the information in our Vermont ski packages.” Randy’s face lit up. “Wow! That would be fabulous!” He turned to Bruce. “Can you help me with that?” Bruce threw Deirdre an appreciative look. “Absolutely.” Fran stood up. “Sadie, would you come out and help me? We’re about ready to eat.” Deirdre started to rise, but her mother shook her head. “No, honey, you stay and visit.” God, Mother, how obvious was that? Bruce set his empty glass on the table, then lounged back on the sofa, a wicked grin provoking those darling dimples. “So, Deirdre, where do you work?” A small prickle of irritation crossed her shoulders. Why was he making such a big pretense? A quick glance at Randy’s subdued 36

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expression gave her the answer. This day had been planned for the younger son’s benefit, and gorgeous big brother had waltzed in and taken over. Bruce’s consideration stunned her, but would it make him completely unapproachable? “In Atlanta. And you? Are you from Washington?” He smiled his thanks. “No, actually, I live in Atlanta, too. What an amazing coincidence.” Fran appeared in the doorway. “Time to eat. I hope you’re all hungry—I have enough to feed an army!” The atmosphere in the small dining room sparkled with lighthearted chatter, delicious aromas, and the clink of silverware on china. The two older women started a conversation about the book selection at the library, and Randy chimed in, obviously also an avid reader. Deirdre concentrated on the blend of delectable flavors, occasionally glancing at Bruce, who carefully avoided her direct gaze. A few minutes later, something nudged her ankle, and she almost dropped her fork. She looked up, but Bruce was concentrating on cutting his turkey. However, a wide grin belied the focus of his attention. His toe moved up beneath the hem of her skirt, then nudged her calf, and she took a deep breath. The game was on again. When everyone had declared a moratorium on even one more bite, Fran rose from the table. “We’ll have dessert in the living room. Dee-Dee, you check the fire while we clear the table.” In the living room, Bruce’s soft voice was close behind. “DeeDee…I like that.” Her heartbeat escalated and she whispered savagely, “I can’t believe this is happening!” He smiled sincerely. “I’m really glad it did…Hey, looks like we need more wood.” He wiggled his eyebrows lecherously. “I’ll help you.” 37

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Deirdre trembled as she shrugged into her parka. “The wood’s around to the side of the house.” As soon as the front door closed behind them, Bruce grabbed her arm. “Deirdre, we need to talk.” She looked down at his hand, then searched his face. “About what? It was obvious yesterday that you didn’t want to see me again.” She pulled away from his grasp and trudged through the snow toward the woodpile, her pulse thundering in her ears. Bruce’s steps crunched behind her. When they were well out of sight of any windows, he took hold of her shoulders and turned her to face him. “I can explain. In fact, I called here this morning to see if we could meet.” He chuckled. “Little did I know. Anyway, about the other night…” He fell silent, sudden indecision changing his features. Deirdre resisted the urge to say something to fill the void. While she waited, she studied his face. In this setting, he seemed different, almost shy. The memory of his embrace, his kisses, their lovemaking sent tremors shuddering through her body, and her throat tightened. She wanted him—not just physically, but emotionally. She wanted to walk through Piedmont Park hand-in-hand, share pizza at the kitchen table, watch television late into the night, snuggle beneath the covers, do all the things couples took for granted. Things she’d jeopardized with one wrong decision. Bruce exhaled sharply, his breath curling through the crisp air. “I owe you an apology. I’ve…never done anything like that before and, afterwards, I didn’t know how to act.” He snorted in self-derision. “Obviously…anyway, I didn’t expect to feel the way I did.” She searched his face. “What do you mean?” He kicked at the woodpile, dislodging the snow. “In the morning, I wanted to take it back, have a chance to get to know you the right way. I was so embarrassed, wondering what you thought about a guy who’d let his pecker run amok.” 38

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She reached out and touched his arm. “I was just as much to blame. God, you can’t imagine the thoughts I was having about you, even before you sat down beside me in the train station.” His eyes widened. “Really? You don’t hate me?” She stepped up close and gazed into his anxious eyes. “Far from it.” She rose up on her toes and brushed his cold cheek with a kiss. “I’d like to start over, too.” He pulled her into his arms and nuzzled her ear. “We’ll have thirtysix hours to do just that.”

39

DREAMA FAIRE

Dreama Faire lurks behind a woman with wire-rimmed glasses, nononsense business suits, and sensible shoes, but both hearts hammer the same breath-stopping beat: romance and erotica. In her visible life, Dreama’s professional career spans over eighteen years in the legal field. In addition to her Amber Heat story, The Journey, Ms. Faire has written a steamy full-length novel and is working on an erotic romance novella. Dreama’s website is http://www.dreamafaire.com. Readers can contact her at [email protected].

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