by Virna DePaul
He doesn’t seem to recognize me, for which I’m eternally grateful. I’ve changed my image dramatically since my days of being in the public eye. My paint-covered clothes, piercings, and tats all make me look like I’m some sort of grunge artist, not country-western’s former golden girl with her halo of bleached blonde hair, thousand-dollar jeans, snakeskin cowboy boots and tight-fitting plaid snap-front shirts. It’s a good cover—one I’ve used for years, ever since Kara Hester, country-music phenomenon, disappeared without a trace.
She’s going to stay gone, too.
Tonight, I’m just plain old Kara, feeling just as antsy and excited as I’d felt before my very first performance. I can’t shake the feeling that something life-changing is going to happen. Something that involves Mr. Declan Kiss.
When we get to my faded yellow Volkswagen van, I dig around in my mess of a glove compartment, looking for the first-aid kit I’m sure is buried in there, somewhere.
“Here it is!” I yank out a rather old but still usable tin from my touring days. My van is fully tricked out, from a full-sized bed to a sink, a mini-fridge, and a tiny camp stove. There’s even a pop-up and a space on top for me to throw my sleeping bag when I want to sleep out under the stars.
I tug open the side door and wave Declan inside. “Sit. Let me play nurse.”
Declan grins. “I’m resisting the urge to make a comment about playing doctor.”
I snort, but let him see I’m smiling. “If that’s your best pickup line, you’re dead in the water. Now get in there and sit on my bed.”
He shrugs, and crawls inside to sit on the bed. “Your bed, huh? In that case, have your way with me, Nurse Kara.”
“Hand over the scotch,” I say as I flip on the interior light.
He holds up the bottle and swishes it in the air. “Need liquid courage to put on a Band-Aid? If that’s the case, I can’t say I’m all that impressed with your medical training.”
I rip open a gauze patch, then swipe the bottle from his hands and uncork it. His eyes go wide when I splash scotch on the paper towel.
“Have you forgotten how good that scotch is?”
“I can’t find the antibiotic ointment that’s supposed to be in the kit, I’m out of water, and we have no idea what germs are hidden in that bluff you decided to throw yourself over—”
“I was saving you.”
“—but it’s best if I clean that cut. Now hold still. This might sting a little.”
“You do have your lines down, Nurse Kara,” he mumbles. Brushing his dark hair from his forehead, he exposes the wound. I gently remove the sand lodged in the cut on his forehead and Declan sucks in a sharp breath.
“Steady, big boy,” I murmur as I continue to work the sand from the wound. Good—it’s not too deep and the bleeding is slowing already.
Earlier tonight, I’d walked into that sucky bar in a mood. Carter, my former agent, had texted me—how he’d found my number, I had no clue. Only my parents and a handful of my childhood friends had my new cell number, and none of them would give it to Carter.
But someone had, and when Carter’s name had come across my radar, I’d almost had a panic attack. When I’d started in the music business, I’d been young and oh so naive. Barely nineteen, starry-eyed, and eager to please. Carter had gone right to work grooming me, polishing me. I’d become a star, almost overnight, thanks in part to my talent but also to Carter’s manipulations.
At first the fame felt glorious, but after a while, when I’d look in the mirror, I’d only see what Carter made of me. I’d become a shell of who I’d been, and when I’d told Carter that, when I’d told him I needed to find myself again—the girl who loved her family, who wanted to climb trees and swim in the river and play her vintage six-string Gibson—he’d gotten ugly.
It had taken more courage than I thought I had in me to walk away, and I wasn’t taking any chances on Carter roping me back in. I’d blocked his number and I’d thought a double on the rocks would calm me down. When the Douchebag Twins had come onto the scene, my mood had gone from sour to explosive in under five minutes. The walk on the beach had given me the breathing room the bar hadn’t, and then when Declan had come tumbling down the hill, all intent on saving me even though he’d had the wind completely knocked out of him, my bad mood had completely disappeared.
Now Declan has shifted on the bed and I’m standing between his strong, hot thighs. With me standing and him sitting, we’re the same height. I gaze right into his eyes, and it heats me like I’ve touched an actual flame. Suddenly, my clothes seem too tight, too hot. I want to strip myself bare. Instead, I dribble scotch over another clean gauze pad, then swig the rest from the bottle.
Damn, the scotch hitting my veins feels good, but being between Declan’s thighs feels even better. I inhale a deep breath, and based on the twinkle in his gaze, he knows just how he affects me.
“You don't need stitches,” I say.
“Good. You won’t have to take me to the ER.”
I raise an eyebrow. “You think I’d hang out all night in an ER with you just because you hurt yourself trying to play gallant knight?” I tease.
Suddenly Declan’s calves wrap around mine and his hand slides under my hair to cup the back of my head.
“Yeah, I think you would, actually. And I know this, because I’d stay all night in an ER for you,” he murmurs. “With no agenda. With no expectations. For no reason other than to make sure you were okay, I’d stay.”
I can tell he’s speaking the truth, and I wonder if he can feel me trembling at his touch.
“That,” I breathe, “is a great pickup line.”
“It’s not a line.”
We stare at each other for a moment, then I take a deep breath and say, “Maybe it’s not. You seem pretty noble. Me? Not so much.”
His hand tightens slightly on the back of my head. “No?”
“Nope. I tended to your injury, and now I’m going to ask for payment for services rendered.”
“What kind of payment?”
“Well, Declan Kiss. How about you use your imagination?”
3
DECLAN
I’m captivated by Kara—how she smells, how I know she’ll taste, the way her breasts are right there in front of me, ripe and ready to devour. My heart pounds and my cock throbs and, as ordered, I’m definitely using my imagination. My mind is filled with a slideshow of options with which to pay her back for seeing to the cut on my head. Most involve intimacies that go way beyond kissing, but I’m a gentleman, so I’ll start there. Even as I lower my head, however, I’m struck by feelings of both relief and trepidation. On the one hand, I need to taste her, but instinctively I sense that kissing her will be a pleasure I’ve never experienced before, one that could easily turn into obsession.
The thought makes me hesitate.
I don’t obsess about women and while I routinely make clients into superstars, it comes with a price. I work a ton—my busy work schedule is the whole reason I ended up in the hospital and then here. Put another way, my job is my life. I don’t have time for a woman who’ll expect things from me other than a good time in bed, and I don’t have time to expect anything from a woman beyond that myself. Kara’s given no indication she wants more than this moment but—
“You’re bleeding again.”
Her words make me blink, bringing me back to the present and the realization she’s blushing. She steps back, her movements stiff and self-conscious, and it’s obvious she’s embarrassed, interpreting my failure to kiss her as rejection.
I’m an asshole, I think, and already I miss her heat. “Kara—”
“I said you don’t need stitches but I never said no Band-Aid. Hold on.” She moves jerkily and begins to rummage in her beat-up first-aid kit. “Damn. None here. I’m sure I have a few somewhere, though.”
“Kara, I want to—”
“I want to get you fixed up to thank you for coming to my rescue, even as unnecessary as it was. Okay?” Her pre
cise words and piercing stare tell me she doesn’t want to discuss why I hesitated to kiss her, and I give in for the moment. Let her finish playing nurse, then I’ll do what I should have done, push aside my damn worries, and give her the best goddamn kiss of her life.
“Fine,” I say.
“Good. Now, here—hold this on your cut for a moment.” She hands me a gauze pad.
As Kara conducts what seems to be an archaeological dig, hunting for a Band-Aid or possibly duct tape, who knows, I check out her old VW bus more closely. It’s filled with knick-knacks and musical instruments and sheet music and God knows what else. Hand-made curtains are pulled back from the windows and beyond them the bluff I’d fallen down blocks off the view from the beach houses. A dream catcher hangs from the rearview mirror, while beaded necklaces are slung over the headrests. The car smells like patchouli and pine, and I have to admit, I’m enjoying the nouveau hippy vibe. There’s something comforting about being in a place that has no pretension.
Gretchen’s car, a sleek little black sports model with heated leather seats, was the complete opposite of Kara’s homey van. And where Gretchen had her fancy Bluetooth and satellite radio, Kara only has a cassette player. I blink. We’re well into the twenty-first century, and this girl only plays cassettes?
I want to ask Kara questions, like why is she living in a van, what do each of her tats mean, and how come she looks like she’s stuck somewhere in the 1970s. I want to know where she calls home, how she got that soft southern accent, and if she has a boyfriend, but I’m transfixed.
Under the dim, yellow glow that illuminates us both, I study her further. There’s a light smattering of freckles over her nose and cheeks and a tiny diamond in the loop of her nose ring. As she digs around the van, she worries her bottom lip and I desperately want to feel the softness of her mouth on mine.
Why the hell had I hesitated to kiss her? What if she doesn’t give me another chance?
“Here we go!” She pulls out a bandage and cheerfully waves it about, as if she’d just planted the flag on the moon. She steps back to her earlier position between my thighs and busies herself with taking off the gauze patch, checking out my cut, and placing the bandage on my head. I can tell she’s on edge, unsettled by what had happened, or rather what hadn’t happened, between us.
So am I. Despite my earlier hesitancy, I’m primed and ready to get back on the right track with her. Everything about her calls to me—not just her beautiful face, but her determination. The way she won’t put up with anyone’s bullshit.
I want to give her all the pleasure I can give. To take pleasure in her moans. I just need to make sure we’re on the same page first.
Kara finishes smoothing the edges of the bandage with gentle fingers. When she brushes her hand on my skin, leaving trails of fire in her wake, I can’t restrain myself any longer.
I catch her hand in my own. She’d grabbed my arm earlier, but now I notice the calluses on her fingers—guitarist’s calluses. I already knew from spotting the guitar in the van that she plays, and she’s played for a while to get calluses like that.
I stroke the palm of her hand with my thumb, and when her tongue touches her bottom lip again, I’m lost.
I place her hand on my right shoulder as I snake my arm around her waist. The first-aid kit clatters to the floor as I pull her against me. When our mouths meet, it’s like fireworks. Electricity snaps and crackles, and I deepen the kiss.
I need to taste her. Claim her. I need her like I need nothing else.
The thought almost makes me back off again, but I push it aside.
This is just a hook up with a girl in her van in the dead of night, nothing more, nothing less. Don’t get involved, I tell myself. Don’t want to get involved, my mind adds as an order. This is going to be one night, and one night only. My beach vacation fuck.
Hopefully that’s what she wants too.
I pull back from the kiss and ask, “I want you so much. Only hesitated before because I need to be honest. I can’t give you more than this night.”
Understanding and relief dance across her face. “This night would be just perfect. Now shut up and kiss me.”
I oblige.
She makes a soft noise in the back of her throat as my tongue touches hers. She tastes like scotch—a little caramel, maybe anise—and I want to keep tasting her. I trail my fingers through her silky long hair. Scotch and silk—what a combo.
I need the release, and based on her reaction, she needs it, too. I want to lie her down on the bed, but it’s small and narrow, surrounded by all her stuff. I chuff out a laugh. “I can’t believe I’m trying to have sex with a girl in a vehicle like I’m in tenth grade again. Only that time I was in my girlfriend’s parents’ Mercedes.” I haul her onto my lap, and we both groan when my hard cock presses against her. “Now I remember why I only did it once.”
She kisses me, lapping at my mouth. The wiggle of her hips is driving me crazy. If she’s not careful, I’m going to lose control before we’ve even gotten this party started. I moan, deep in my throat.
“Do you want to stop? I don’t want to injure you again.” Her eyes sparkle as she touches my cheek. “We wouldn’t want you to break a hip or something.”
I tickle her side, which makes her laugh-yelp. “Don’t play with fire,” I tease with a growl. “You’ll get burned.”
She digs her nails into my shoulders. “I’m already on fire.”
I don’t need any more encouragement. Flipping the overhead light off, I strip her of her shirt. The clouds have moved off and the moon provides enough light to see each other, but it’s shadowy. Vague. I kiss down her throat until I reach her sternum, and I inhale her scent.
Her nipples are peeking already through the silk of her bra, and I tug on one bud as I taste the salt of her warm skin. She lets out a surprised gasp when I pinch her nipple before rubbing it between my fingers.
“Declan...” She clutches me.
It’s not enough. I need bare skin. I quickly unhook her bra and toss the garment onto the floor. I can just make out the pale mounds of her breasts, the dark nipples at each tip. I suck one nipple into my mouth, increasing the pressure, and tremors run through her body.
God, I just need to fuck her. I need to pound inside her until we’re both sweaty and gasping, pour myself into her until I can’t feel my body. And as I take from her, I need to give.
Her nails dig into me harder as I lick her other nipple, then blow cool air onto the wet peak. “I knew your breasts would be amazing. They look beautiful.”
“You turned off the light. You can’t even see me.” There’s a smile in her voice.
“You’re gorgeous in the moonlight. Plus, I can feel, taste, smell...and yes, see. I can see how your nipples beg for my mouth, how hard they’ve gotten just from me touching you. Can you come from me sucking on your nipples?”
“I don’t know,” she says breathily. “I’ve never had a guy try it.”
“That’s a shame,” I say, only it’s not. Part of me is glad no one before me has tried it. “We’ll save that for Round Two.”
“Round Two?”
I grin. “You agreed—one night. I aim to use all the minutes in this night that I can.”
“Nice logic. But maybe hurry it up.” She scrambles off my lap and begins to unbutton her pants.
I chuckle, then grab my shirt and yank it over my head in one move. As I work on unbuttoning my jeans, Kara strips out of hers. There’s not much room to maneuver in the small space of the van, and she ends up kicking me more than once.
“You done kicking me?” I ask as I pull her back onto my lap.
She’s still wearing her panties, but those are easy to push aside. I delve underneath and discover she’s soaking wet. I grit my teeth. God, she’s silky soft and so hot. She gasps when I barely touch her throbbing clit.
She leans her forehead against my chest. Riding my hand, she’s lost to everything but my touch, and it only fuels my own desperation. I want t
o feel her coming, her juices dripping from my fingers. My pulse pounds in my temples and echoes in my cock. Circling her clit, I hear her gasp for air.
“You gonna come for me?” I whisper in her ear. “You close?”
“God, yes, Declan, don’t stop. I’m so close…” She stops talking when I press a finger deep inside her. The combination of rubbing her clit and moving my finger inside her tight sheath sends her into a tailspin. She comes with a burst of wetness that makes me swear. Shuddering and moaning, she almost falls backward, she’s so lost in pleasure.
I let her ride out her climax, waiting as the shudders first rack her body and then slowly subside.
“You want more.” This is not a question.
She’s still panting, but manages to say, “I want it all.” This is not a request.
I pull my finger out of her pussy and place her on the bed, then I stand. I dig out my wallet from my back pocket and toss it to her. “Condom.” I bark the word as I shove my unbuttoned jeans down my legs, letting my hard cock free.
Kara finds one of the foil packets—thank God—and hands it to me, then pulls off her panties and lays back on the small bed as I sheath the latex down my cock.
I climb on top of her and poise my cock at her entrance. Holding Kara’s gaze in mine, I push.
She’s tight—so tight—and my eyes roll back inside my head at the sensation of her tight walls closing around my cock. I’m not going to last. My last coherent thought is that I’m glad I got her off already, because I’m not sure I can wait for her to come a second time.
Once I’m fully inside her, we both still for a moment. Her hands open and close on my chest like some kind of flower. Kissing her shoulder, I mutter, “Fuck, baby.”
“Eloquent.”
I want to laugh but now Kara is undulating—small movements, but enough to set me off. Digging my fingers into her hips, I pound into her, stroking her from the inside. With each of my strokes, her breasts move too, and I’m mesmerized. I can’t stop myself from sucking one of those nipples into my mouth again as I pump into her. She gasps my name, and it only eggs me on.
