Dream House

by Jean Brashear

  A faint, breathy moan purred from her throat.

  Then she slicked her tongue over his mouth.

  Opened her eyes and stared at him while sliding her tongue over her lips, tasting him. “Yum.”

  Every other thought in his head vanished. He bent to the task of kissing her socks off.

  She responded in kind, and for endless seconds, they were locked in an unashamedly carnal embrace.

  Then she slapped one hand on his chest and stepped back. “You mop and I’ll finish over there.”

  Her glide away from him was pure sex kitten. Micah welcomed the surge of heat, grateful for the respite. With any luck, they’d both feel better in an hour.

  Then he watched the sway of those hips.

  Okay, two hours. Minimum.

  He began mopping…and found himself smiling.

  Jezebel was just about to lose her nerve, when the jukebox started. She talked a good game, but it had been a long time for her, and she’d nurtured the idea that when she next had sex, it would be with someone who mattered.

  But he’d leaped to her rescue. She considered the misery and loneliness she’d read in his eyes, felt the echo of her own. Whoever he was, the denizens of the bar approved of him. No matter how raucous the byplay between them and her, they were very protective of her. She hadn’t asked anyone for his story, but it was clear from their reactions that though most of them gave him wide berth, it had to do with consideration, not fear.

  And though she’d made a lot of mistakes in her life, she had excellent radar for human nature.

  His hand on her shoulder jolted her. “Dance with me,” he said.

  She blinked. “Dance?”

  “Yeah. You know, two people stand close, move around the floor?”

  Despite his casual tone, she saw nerves in him, too, and the knowledge warmed her. “You got a name?”

  He seemed surprised. “No one told you?”

  “I didn’t inquire. People deserve privacy.”

  “Tell that to a small town.”

  “A lesson I’m learning. My name’s Jezebel Hart.” She held out a hand, though a handshake seemed awkward. But where were the rule books for an occasion like this?

  He clasped hers in his own and somehow made her feel delicate, not a reaction she was used to. “Micah Smith.”

  They stood there for a moment as self-conscious as any she could recall.

  Then it hit her. Micah Smith. The man who’d built the house she treasured. For the wife he’d lost, along with their unborn child.

  Oh, lordy. No wonder she’d picked up on his sorrow. The story was a local legend—how he’d locked himself in that place for months, then finally left town.

  Obviously, he still wasn’t over the tragedy.

  And this was definitely not the time to bring up her intention to buy his cottage.

  Besides, his mother, Marian, was in the hospital, she’d heard earlier tonight. Lots of women in the town had given Jezebel a cold shoulder, but his mother wasn’t one of them. Their paths hadn’t crossed much; when they had, though, Marian had been nothing but polite and helpful, even warm.

  He must be half out of his mind with worry, and she could tell that he was on the verge of running out the door, no matter how lonely he was, or how haunted.

  He needed the respite. She could give it to him.

  She seized the initiative. “Pleased to meet you, Micah Smith. So are we going to dance or what?”

  He studied her with suspicion, as though on alert for pity.

  She made certain he found none, only challenge.

  Finally, he exhaled in a gust. “Yeah. We’re going to dance.” But his shoulders stiffened as he took her in his arms, keeping a careful distance between them.

  This man was hurt, all right, and it went deep. He held her as if he hadn’t done this in a very long time.

  Jezebel was more accustomed to fending off advances, not putting forth her own, but innate compassion had her longing to reach out. She bridged some of the gap between them, then lightly turned her forehead into his strong throat, coming as near to a hug as he’d likely let her.

  He tensed at first, but when she didn’t move again, he eased a little. She had a sense of time holding its breath to see what would happen.

  Meanwhile, her own body couldn’t seem to help reacting to his. He was all man, tall and powerfully built, if gaunt. Big enough to handle her, which was a novel experience. She towered over most males and had long ago learned to use that in her favor.

  She wasn’t sure what to think of Micah Smith. Restless and angry one minute; heartbreakingly sad beneath. Lonely when she was sure he didn’t have to be, not when he could kiss like that. She had a sense of being given a lit stick of dynamite. She had no wish to worsen things for him, but she wasn’t sure how to avoid it.

  “You ever relax? I can practically hear your brain clicking.”

  Her head rose in surprise. “I relax.”

  “How many hours have you been on your feet today?”

  Her forehead wrinkled. “Why do you care?”

  “It occurs to me that you might prefer to get off them.”

  He was worrying over her. She had to step carefully or she’d start to imagine more than this was.

  She cast a cocky smile. “Is that a come-on?”

  He blinked. “Would it work?”

  She told the truth whenever possible. “Given the way you kiss, it just might. You up for a hard night of sweaty sex, cowboy?”

  She’d expected a quick acceptance, but he surprised her. “I don’t know.” He stared off over her shoulder.

  She snagged him back. “Let’s check.” She plastered herself against the front of him and stood on her toes to kiss him.

  After an initial hesitation, he took charge.

  And Jezebel’s head swam.

  Sweet mercy, was all Micah could think. He had an armful of woman, ripe and willing, and most of his brainpower had evaporated like mist in morning sun.

  But he couldn’t, in conscience, chance a repeat of what had happened with Erica. He broke off the kiss and held Jezebel at arm’s length. “Only sex, right?”

  “Huh?” Her eyes cleared gradually. He caught a flash that might have been hurt, but if so, she traded it instantly for a smile. “Of course. Just scratching an itch.”

  “You sure?”

  She tilted her chin. “You used to women falling in love with you on sight, is that it?”

  He had to chuckle. “Not hardly.”

  “I’ve never understood why men assume they’re the only ones who can appreciate the value of a good tango in the sheets without getting their hearts all torn up. I’m no delicate violet, Micah.”

  Charlotte had been, but this woman could not be more different. Determined not to think about Charlotte any more tonight, he gave Jezebel’s knockout figure a slow scan. “A tropical hibiscus is more like it, all scarlet and showy and stop-your-heart gorgeous.”

  “So are we through examining our navels?” Her grin was pure mischief.

  And contagious. With an easier heart than he’d had in days, Micah smiled. “Yeah, I believe we are. Let’s try this again.”

  He brought her close and tortured himself by cruising his mouth just above her skin. She smelled like glory. Felt like heaven, all those abundant curves, that temptress hair. “I have to paint you,” he muttered. He could already visualize her, a siren in vivid carmine and gold, cobalt blue and the exact green of those stunning eyes.

  She slid her hands into his hair and tugged. “Talk later. Kiss now.” With strength garnered from carrying heavy trays of glasses, she pitted her impulse against his control. “It’s been a long time for me.” She stood on her tiptoes and snapped the bonds of his self-discipline.

  Half-blind with craving, he grasped her hips and lifted her. “Wrap those long legs around me, damn it.”

  “I’m too heavy.”

  “Nuh-uh.” He quieted her protest with his mouth, hitched her up and walked them to the nea
rest booth, every step rubbing his groin against hers and ratcheting the heat between them higher. He settled her on the table’s edge, reluctant to lose the friction. He grasped for what fleeting control he could muster, painstakingly unbuttoned her blouse and nuzzled each new patch of flesh revealed.

  Jezebel moaned and sank back on her elbows, the long line of her throat displayed as her hair tumbled behind her in glorious profusion.

  Micah paused to simply enjoy the sight. “You take my breath away.”

  Heavy-lidded, she smiled and arched her back. “Come here, and I’ll take your virtue next.”

  He gave a hoarse shout of laughter. Fun had been in short supply for a long time. He savored it.

  He pushed one hand into his pocket and hoped to heaven he’d replaced the condom in his wallet. When he found it, he brandished it like diamonds.

  Jezebel looked disappointed. “Only one?”

  “We’d better make it count, huh?”

  “Oh, we will, I promise you that.” She cast him an impish grin. “But I have more if you’re up for it.”

  His jeans were so uncomfortable he would surely die, and he couldn’t help feeling grateful to her for keeping this simple and natural. Playful.

  He cocked one eyebrow as he divested her of her boots. “I don’t believe you should worry on that score—” Her jeans followed, and he sucked in a breath. “Where’s the fine jar?”

  “What?”

  “Sweet hell, Jezebel—” He stopped and simply stared. The plain white cotton underwear couldn’t disguise the bounty before him.

  He was more than surprised when she crossed her arms over her chest and sat up.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  It was her turn to stare into the distance. She closed her eyes and bit her lip. “Nothing.”

  “Talk to me. What did I do?” When she remained silent and reached for her shirt, he cast about in his mind for the culprit.

  And the significance of the simple cotton underwear hit him. With a name and figure like hers, she probably had guys slobbering over her all the time. Just because she had the appearance of a sex goddess didn’t mean she felt like that inside.

  He brushed her hands away and began buttoning her shirt himself. “I’m sorry. I guess men always swallow their tongues around you, don’t they?”

  A flick of surprise. “Most of them have no idea what my face looks like. They never get past my chest.”

  He lifted her chin. “Your face is as gorgeous as the rest of you, but I suspect there’s more inside, isn’t there?”

  Wary eyes greeted his. “What gives you that idea?”

  “Tell me about the No Profanity jar. What do you do with the proceeds?”

  She shrugged. “Nothing special.” She bent to grab her jeans.

  He stayed her hands before she could don them. “That’s not my bet. And why is it that you have the rule, anyway? People come to bars to drink and raise hell.”

  She tossed that magnificent mane and jutted her chin. “No, they don’t. They come for family.”

  He goggled, but it dawned on him that she was dead on the mark. “I’ll be damned.”

  “That’s eight dollars you owe me now.”

  “No,” he said quietly. “I also owe you an apology.”

  She stilled. Exhaled. “You make it tough to be upset with you.”

  “Not if you get to know me. There are women in New York happy to confirm that.” He paused. “Would you rather I go?”

  She studied him for long seconds.

  “No big deal.” He turned away.

  “Micah.”

  He halted, still facing the door.

  “Sometimes just getting through the night is important.”

  He stiffened. “I don’t need your pity.”

  “I wasn’t referring to you. Or not only you.”

  He heard her approach, and he still didn’t move. She wrapped her arms around his waist from the back, and he attempted to ignore the feel of her, but it wasn’t working.

  “You’re free to leave, but I won’t make you regret it if you stay. I know about your wife, and I’m not out to take her place. No one could.”

  He swallowed hard and shut his eyes against the kindness in her voice.

  “Go on, then,” she said. Cool air slid between them as she retreated. “I won’t beg.”

  He relented. Saw need in her, too, beyond the physical. “Come here.” But he bridged the gap first. “You’re right, but consider yourself forewarned. I won’t be here long, and I’ll never let my heart get involved with a woman again. If you can accept those conditions, then tonight nothing exists but you and me. No past, no future. Deal?”

  He waited, sure she’d throw him out. His proposal was, after all, a damn cold-hearted way to go into what could only be physical release. He’d be attentive and give her what he had to offer, but it wasn’t much.

  Suddenly, he was exhausted; weary in soul more than body. This woman probably deserved better, and in another existence, maybe he would, too. But he’d had the kind of love you only get once in a lifetime, if you’re very lucky, and he’d squandered it.

  He looked away from the green eyes that studied him so intently. “Never mind. I wouldn’t agree, either, if I were you.”

  She detained him with one hand on his elbow. Slowly, she softened against him. One hand slipped into his hair as she drew his head down toward her.

  The love-goddess body brushed over the front of him, and heat rose again between them.

  And that husky bedroom voice answered at last.

  “Deal.”

  Chapter Four

  She kept him close to her as they left through the side door. Micah was glad for the contact, because once she’d brought up Charlotte, he was about two steps away from running. His body was absolutely sure of what it wanted; his mind, still more logical than he’d like, was barely half-convinced. His heart? That cursed organ persisted in surviving, no matter how often he’d tried to starve it out of existence, and it was miserable. Torn between the battering of guilt and a yearning to escape the loneliness that was his self-imposed prison. Afraid that finding even a moment’s surcease was so wrong that the punishment would be levied in some cosmic toll—perhaps his mother’s health.

  All the way around the building, his pace dragged. “Where are we going?”

  Jezebel dropped his hand. “I’m headed in there,” she said, indicating a door on the back side of the bar. “But you’re leaving. You don’t want to be here, and I’m not that hard up.”

  In the light from the parking lot, he could see her cheeks stained with color. Shame rose. “No.” His voice was hardly audible. He cleared his throat and tried again. “I do want to be with you, Jezebel. If you’ll have me.”

  She remained still, placing on him the burden of convincing her.

  And his fears that this would be another Erica situation eased. This woman had more control of her emotions. With Erica, sex had been all thunder and fury and drama to hide a terrifying vulnerability. A heart that demanded an answering opening of the self from him…something he would never again share. All that was tender in him had died with Charlotte.

  Jezebel’s looks might be flamboyantly sexy, but he had a sense of a stalwart inner gate that guarded the woman inside. She might share her body, but she would not easily expose her core.

  Which was a relief. Jezebel could protect herself, he felt certain. Lonely she might be, but not needy, and therefore, not a threat.

  She wouldn’t have to be alone tonight, and neither would he. Micah locked away any misgivings and let body speak to body, the only language in which he was fluent with women.

  Taking a chance, he slicked his tongue down her neck and taunted the delicate slope of her collarbone.

  She inhaled sharply. Dug her fingers into her jeans. Micah smiled and began to work his way into the teasing hollow of her cleavage, gently separating the panels of her shirt once more.

  Her hands rose from her sides, then flut
tered helplessly downward again. She murmured something in that unbelievably erotic voice, and Micah’s body reacted.

  “Keys,” she said, as her back arched. “Dropped them.”

  He caught a glint of metal. Anchoring one hand on her hip to prolong the contact, he bent and retrieved them. “Which one?”

  Her unfocused gaze aroused him unmercifully. He scrambled to follow the pointed finger and jabbed that key in the lock before returning his attention to her brain-draining mouth.

  Jezebel moaned and gripped his hands, placing them squarely on her very abundant breasts.

  Her very natural breasts, he registered in the millisecond before he quit thinking at all.

  After that came a ballet of farcical proportions as they did their best to get inside and move across the floor without relinquishing one micron of contact with the other’s body. Micah saw nothing of his surroundings, had only the vague impression of a hissing cat and a scrambling dog. He carted Jezebel across a blessedly small space toward the bed she indicated between devouring kisses, her legs locked around his hips, his hands filled with hers.

  He managed to kick the door shut before he fell onto the bed with her, and they proceeded to thoroughly lose their minds.

  Sighs and moans and whispers…fingers trailing over curves, hands grasping hardness. The glide of his tongue over her sweet inner hollows…her raven curls sliding across his belly.

  “Micah, now. Please, now. I can’t—”

  Instead, he drew her along on another wild ride into bliss.

  At last, she unbalanced him, pinned him to the mattress and straddled him, condom brandished with a smile gleaming triumph. Nipples erect, skin blooming rose, hair a-tumble, she poised above him and began to apply the protection with her mouth.

  Micah bucked teasingly to unseat her, and reveled in the novelty of this woman who made him remember how to play. With Charlotte, everything had been so serious—

  No. Not Charlotte. Don’t think about—

  But he couldn’t help reacting.

  Jezebel noticed, and froze. Withdrew.