All ONES: The Complete Collection

by Aleatha Romig

  "If the last twenty-four hours are a true guide, I'd doubt you've ever been called one even behind your back," I reply.

  Though his smile keeps me focused, I can't stop the realization that twenty-four hours have nearly passed and our weekend is dwindling away.

  "Would you like to know the real reason I want to remove those cute little shorts?" Duncan asks.

  I shift against the bark as his words, combined with the shimmer in his gaze, warm my skin. "I'm not sure."

  Duncan lifts the hand he's still holding to his lips and kisses the end of each finger, sending shivers from each point of contact directly to my core. My eyes flutter and thighs press together as I try to stay focused.

  It's as he sucks my pinkie into his mouth that my lips part and I gasp. I swear I can feel it all the way to my clit.

  When my eyes open, Duncan's smile has grown. "That's why."

  "What?"

  "Those noises you make are like Viagra."

  Before I can stop my gaze, it drops to his shorts. Pushing against the nylon is the outline of his obviously hard cock. "Duncan." I nod toward the house in the distance. If the corn were fully grown, if this were late summer, we'd be totally hidden. But since it's the end of May, the area is open. "They can see us."

  He looks the direction of the house. "You're being paranoid. It's too far away."

  "Look at the second floor. The room my grandma stays in is the one on the far end. I wouldn't put it past her to be standing at that window right now with a pair of binoculars."

  His chest shakes with laughter. "She's something else. You know, we could give her a reason to break out her vibrator."

  I let go of his hand and stand. "Eww. Stop. I'd forgotten that awful conversation and now it's all coming back."

  As he stands, he turns away from the house and adjusts himself.

  It's my turn to laugh. "Problems?"

  Duncan reaches for my hand and we resume our walk along the path. The breeze rustles the leaves of the trees, which are bright and green and fresh as spring. After a few more steps, he stops.

  "Listen."

  I do, but all I hear is the wind and leaves, maybe an occasional woodland creature, a squirrel or chipmunk rustling through the underbrush of the nearby woods. "What do you hear?"

  "Nothing." He gazes right and then left. "I think I get why Kevin doesn't want to leave here. It's peaceful."

  "It is. It can also be boring."

  He begins to laugh again. "At the risk of upsetting you again, I don't think it's possible to be bored with your grandma around."

  When I don't respond, he tugs my hand. "Come show me."

  "Show you? Show you what?"

  "You said you're going to show me the farm. I want to see it. What was it like growing up here? What did you and Kevin do when you were kids?"

  Tilting my head toward the trees, I say, "There's a lake, a strip pit really, through those trees. In the summertime we spent hours swimming there." The memories come rushing back. "We even had this rope swing. You could swing way out over the water and when you let go, you'd go down and down."

  "How deep is it?"

  I shrug. "I have no idea. Once it dropped off, it just went down."

  "And you couldn't see the bottom?"

  "No," I answer with a giggle. "It's not a pool."

  "Will you show me?"

  I look up into his face, searching his features. "Why?"

  "Because there wasn't anything like that where I grew up, and I want to see it. I want to know more about you."

  I turn back toward the house and weigh my options: a nice walk with Duncan through the woods and down memory lane, or back in the house with my family. I let out a deep breath. "Okay, let's go."

  He reaches again for my hand and I lead him into the woods. Looking down at our feet, I recall we're both only wearing flip-flops. "Be careful of burrs," I warn.

  "Burrs? Are those bugs?"

  I point at a small green plant. The leaves are pointy, but it's the small, prickly-looking balls that can really grab ahold. "See that little plant. They're worse in the summer when they get all dried out."

  Duncan nods as he steps carefully away from the prickly threat, scanning the ground as if I'd told him there were mines instead of weeds.

  Under the canopy of leaves, the sun breaks through in long rays of light. As we get closer to the lake, we pass in and out of the bright shafts only to emerge again to the dimness of the foliage. All at once the trees end and a flat meadow filled with sunshine is all that separates us from the lake. The early morning fog is completely gone, burned off by the sun, and the sky is a stunning shade of blue.

  Hand in hand we walk to the water's edge.

  I point to a giant tree near the shore. "That's where we had the rope swing."

  "What happened to it?"

  "It probably rotted away."

  "That's too bad. I was going to dare you to do it again."

  "Dare me?" I ask. "That water is probably something like fifty degrees."

  Duncan's eyes widen. "Well, there goes the idea of a swim."

  "Are you afraid of cold water?"

  "No. I had something else in mind but...well, you know what happens in cold water?"

  I laugh. "I think even with a little shrinkage, you'd still be impressive."

  "Impressive," he says, wagging his eyebrows. "That's much better than what I was called earlier."

  We both slip out of our flip-flops and ease our feet into the cool water. The ground beneath the surface is soft and our feet squish into the sand and muck.

  Duncan's face is priceless as he takes one step and then another in the shallow water.

  "What do you think?" I ask.

  "I think your family could have built you a pool."

  "Oh, this was more fun."

  Movement under the surface catches our attention. "Was that a fish?"

  I nod my head and laugh. "You are such a city boy."

  My remark earns me a splash, dotting my t-shirt and shorts with sprinkles of cold water.

  A little while later, sitting on the shore, Duncan stands. Before I can ask where he's going, he bends down. When he turns, he's holding a half dozen or so bright yellow daisies. The flowers grow wild in the meadow, creating islands of gold within the sea of long green grass.

  "For you," he says, handing them all to me as he adds a kiss to my cheek.

  I reach for the flowers.

  "So many?"

  "So many firsts. My first walk with you in the woods, my first visit to your childhood lake." He laughs. "My first wild freshwater fish."

  "Wild?"

  He nods. "Didn't you see it? It jumped right out of the water. We're lucky we escaped with our toes. I've been on deep-sea charters that haven't yielded such dangerous fish."

  Shaking my head, I roll the stems between my fingers and remind myself that this is pretend. "Thank you for saving me from the wild fish. Oh, and for my flowers."

  "No… Thank you for showing me this place. I like learning more about you."

  I lie back on the grass and stare up at the sky. Suddenly, my view is blocked as wide shoulders and a sexy grin lean over me. "You don't have to do this," I say. "All these sweet things."

  "You're right. I don't." Duncan reaches for my chin and lifts my lips. With our noses nearly touching, he says, "And I don't have to do this either...but I want to." Our lips unite.

  His kiss is soft and slow. With only a feather of a touch, he pushes away the sadness of our pretend performance and brings back the fantasy. I whimper as I lift my face, pushing upward, wanting more of him, and longing to feel his skin against mine. The heat builds as he adds more pressure. He tastes like coffee with a hint of bacon. It's when his tongue seeks entrance that I decide to stop worrying about what will happen when we get back to New York and enjoy what is right in front of me.

  My fingers lace through his thick, dark hair as I pull him closer.

  He sits up and looks around. "Can your grandma's binoc
ulars reach way out here?"

  "No," I say with a giggle, "but unless you knew this was going to happen, that box we picked up at the store is back in my room."

  I can see the contemplation as he presses his lips together and his emerald eyes scan me slowly from head to toe. Like lasers to my flesh, his gaze ignites my skin. The heat builds, from the warmth equivalent to the sun's rays to smoldering white-hot coals in milliseconds. Finally, he says, "Then let me see you."

  "You can see me. I'm right here."

  "Kimbra."

  The way he says my name—rolling from his tongue, deep and commanding—pinches my insides to a painful pitch. "Duncan?"

  He reaches for the hem of my t-shirt and lifts. I don't argue; instead, I sit upward allowing him to remove it and then the camisole underneath. "Fucking perfect," he assesses as he dips his head lower to my breast.

  I gasp as he teases my nipple, sending electricity straight to my core.

  I push him back. "No way."

  His eyes open in question.

  "No way is my top coming off and yours is staying on. Take it off, Mr. Willis."

  His grin quirks upward. "Fuck. Every time you walk in my office from this day forward, I'm going to replay that line in my head."

  His biceps bulge as he reaches for the back of his shirt and lifts the t-shirt over his head, revealing his toned chest and abs.

  I run my fingers down his torso to the indentations that accentuate the V near the band of his shorts. "Very nice."

  His laser vision is back and my body reacts. Without so much as a touch, my nipples pebble to hard nubs, and Duncan nods his approval. "No, beautiful. Better than nice. Fucking perfect."

  Chapter Fourteen

  Kimbra

  With our clothes back where they belong and the grass removed from my hair, we walk back toward the house. As if we both need the connection, our fingers intertwine and we move through the trees in sweet silence.

  At the lake's edge, we'd made out like two horny teenagers, not like two adults who'd fucked like rabbits the day before. The urgency was different. We’d been together, united, the closest two people can be, but today we wanted more.

  With the gentle breeze blowing across the water, we'd moved tentatively, tenderly exploring one another and taking in what we've missed in our five-month-long nonexistent courtship. Using all of our senses, we kissed and licked, teased and satisfied. Nothing was out of bounds as we touched and sought more. The only thing we didn't do was have actual sex.

  Though the lack of condoms was our excuse, the reality seemed deeper.

  There is something sensual in learning about one another, whether discovering that I'm insanely ticklish on my stomach or that Duncan's warm breath behind my ears causes my entire body to erupt in goose bumps.

  I also learned a few important facts about him, ones that don’t appear in Buchanan and Willis’s dossier.

  Duncan Willis is also ticklish, but his secret spot is the soft skin behind his knees. And when he's erect, his impressive penis points upward. On his left arm, he has a small scar from a dog bite from when he was young. Lastly, in the sunlight the gold flecks in his eyes become more prominent.

  Together we lay in the sunshine and watched wisps of clouds float overhead. We playfully argued about the pictures they created. Where I saw a dog, he saw a horse. I suppose it's true what they say: size matters.

  We may have even napped until a deer rustled the grass nearby.

  If last night in my bedroom had been the most erotic experience of my life, the way we spent the morning was the most sensual. Our bouquet is growing. The flowers are multiplying at unknown rates. Each one is different—unique. The boundary between reality and make-believe is blurring. Soon, the vase with our flowers will overflow and shatter.

  Once again back on the path to the house, Duncan pulls my hand and stops. "Before we get back to your family, I want to tell you something."

  I take a deep breath, ready for whatever he's about to say. Maybe this is all too weird. Maybe he wants to go back to New York today. Hell, he has a plane. He could do that. Maybe he wants to come clean to my family and tell them that this is all pretend.

  I lift my gaze to his, expecting the worse. "What do you want to tell me?"

  "I know the weekend has only started..."

  I hold my breath, refusing to cry.

  "...but it's—"

  I can't take the suspense. "If you need to leave, I understand."

  His eyes spring wide. "What? Leave? No." He lets go of my hand and reaches for my shoulders. "Is that what you want?"

  "No, but this is all so different than what you're used to. You can admit that."

  Duncan nods. "It is. And I'm having the time of my life."

  "You are?"

  "I am. And I wanted to tell you—"

  "Kimberly Ann, Kimberly!" My mother's voice calls from the porch.

  Duncan kisses my forehead. "I'm having a great time. Stop worrying."

  I nod against his soft t-shirt, recalling every line and ripple of his toned chest beneath the fabric.

  Mom's arm is waving as she repeats my name. "Your cousin has called a hundred times. Where have you two been? What am I supposed..."

  I look up and grin. "Well, I hope you enjoyed the quiet, because I bet it's the last we'll have it for a while."

  Duncan laces our fingers back the way they'd been. "Bring it on, Kimberly Ann."

  “Bride to Be” is printed in sparkling font on Scarlett’s bright white sash. Although she’s already had numerous bridal showers and even a bachelorette party, Sheila, Scarlett’s older sister, decided we all needed girl-time tonight. She also decided that the best place to do that would be down the street from where the guys are holding Kurt's bachelor party.

  We’re in downtown Indianapolis at an incredibly popular hangout. The place is packed and the music is blaring. By the way Shelia is downing her drinks, I would venture to guess that there’s more to tonight than meets the eye. More than likely, Sheila is as interested in keeping an eye on her husband as she is in partying with her sister and cousins.

  Truthfully, I don’t want to be here, surrounded by thousands and thousands of race fans. I also don’t want to go down the street and check on Jimmy, Sheila’s husband. I don't want to find out if he's watching the dancers and not touching.

  The real reason I don't want to be here is that I don't want to know what Duncan is doing. I keep telling myself this is pretend. I know we aren't really boyfriend and girlfriend. I know that come Tuesday at work, my carriage will turn back into a pumpkin and I'll only have one shoe.

  It's a crappy analogy, but it works.

  This fairytale, this fantasy that being with him creates, will be over. So what if he drinks with my brother and cousins and touches some dancer? Before this weekend, before I asked him to come here with me and be my plus-one, before I blackmailed him, he was touching some office slut in the women's bathroom. I doubt he'll have the willpower or restraint to turn down some good-looking dancer wanting to give him a lap dance.

  Nevertheless, if I don't see it, I can pretend.

  "Kimmmberly," Sheila whispers as my name elongates in a twist of her thick tongue. "Let's go, you and I, next door and make sure Kurt is behaving." Her words slur together. Although Scarlett, our cousin Jillian, and I have all been sipping our first Long Island iced teas of the night and Susan is drinking Coke, Sheila is on her second pitcher. That's how they serve them at this club, in little individual pitchers.

  "I'm sure Kurt is fine," I say, even though I know she's not worried about Kurt. Finding her husband, Jimmy, in a compromising position is not high on my to-do list.

  "Oh, come on," she continues with her head bobbing. "You're the hotshot, the big-city businesswoman with the good-looking, rich boyfriend. I'm sure if Kurt is doing anything to enjoy his last night of unmarried freedom, you can boss them all around and make it stop." She nods in agreement with her own words as she takes another long drink of her Long Island. "Y
ou always have been the bossy one."

  "What?" I ask, more than slightly offended. It has always been Sheila who bossed the rest of the cousins around, always saying she was older and had that right. Apparently, as older approaches thirty, it's no longer a badge of honor.

  "Don't listen to her," Scarlett whispers. She pulls me away from the high-top table, leaving Sheila whispering to Jillian and Susan. "Kimbra, thanks for coming home. It means a lot." She tilts her head back toward Sheila. "She's...well...she and Jimmy have had some tough times lately."

  And seeing her perfect sister have the perfect wedding...I don't say that. Though I wouldn’t be surprised if all the activities have added to Sheila and Jimmy's problems.

  Nevertheless, it isn’t Scarlett’s fault that Sheila married right out of high school. And it isn’t her fault that Sheila hasn’t become pregnant for a second time. According to my mom, what she heard from Aunt Laura—Sheila and Scarlett’s mom—is that Sheila and Jimmy's difficulty becoming pregnant for a second child has reawakened issues in their marriage.

  Their little girl is five and cute as can be. She’ll be Scarlett’s flower girl. But Jimmy wants a boy.

  "It happens," I say, acknowledging Jimmy and Sheila's issues.

  Scarlett rubs my shoulder lovingly. "I'm so glad you finally found someone who puts up with you. And he's handsome too!"

  I know she means that as a compliment, but it doesn't sound like one.

  "Can you...?" She glances back at Sheila who wipes her cheek. "Can you go down the street? I shouldn't and it would be better if she didn't."

  "Fine," I say, biting back all the things I want to say. I deserve some kind of medal for my restraint. "I'll go."

  My thoughts fill, wavering between compassion and resentment, as I grab my purse, leave my family, and weave through the maze of tables and people. Maybe, just maybe, the perfect lives that everyone seems to live here aren’t all they appear.

  Maybe in some way I envy what Scarlett is about to have. And perhaps Duncan is right, and in their own way, my family envies me.

  The addition of nearly half a million people to the Indianapolis area for the 500 race makes navigating the bar as well as the downtown sidewalk seem less like Indiana and more like Times Square. I think again about how stupid it is to have a wedding this weekend, but then again, Scarlett wasn't thinking of her guests when she planned the date.