Hold on Tight

by Deborah Smith

  Dinah burst into soft laughter and he looked up, smiling under troubled eyes. “I like it when you laugh,” he told her. “I don’t like upsettin’ you.” He paused. “Like last night.”

  “Oh, Rucker.” Her heart aching, she knelt beside him on the room’s stained green carpet. “I don’t like upsetting you either. I didn’t enjoy that.”

  He paused in his assault on the soda machine, his hand still inside its metal maze, to look at her with bittersweet yearning. “Will you sit beside me at the pep rally?” he asked in a mock-shy tone. “I’m scared to be around all these teenage girls alone. They have a lot of hormones and they like mature men.”

  “Then you have nothing to worry about,” she assured him dryly. “Oh. By the way, your possum came back. If you want him—”

  “My baby!” he exclaimed gleefully, grinning. “My little dumpling wants to stay with its daddy? I never thought—” The machine emitted an ominous metallic click. “What the …” Rucker’s grin faded as he tried to pull his hand out of the dispenser opening. “Aw, come on, this is ridiculous.” He pulled harder.

  Dinah’s eyes widened in alarm. “Are you stuck?”

  “Nah. When I was a juvenile delinquent I used to rig these machines and … dammit!”

  “You’re stuck,” she confirmed.

  He looked at her with a deadpan expression. “I’m stuck.”

  Dinah sat down on the floor, tucking her feet, in their mauve pumps, under her. He sat down, too, awkwardly, then leaned his shoulder against the machine. He crooked one leg under him and drew the other up so that he could rest his free arm on it with at least a degree of jaunty aplomb. She lifted the dispenser door and slid her hand inside, contacting Rucker’s large muscular wrist.

  “Let me see.” She slid her fingers up his wrist to the imprisoned hand. “I might be able to help.”

  “It’s hopeless,” he said wistfully. “Don’t be brave.”

  “You’re trapped between two cans and the rack that holds them. Oh, Rucker, I better go get the janitor.”

  “I don’t need to be mopped or swept. I need to be rescued.”

  She began to laugh. “Some macho man!”

  He frowned in grand fashion. “Even John Wayne, God rest his fine soul, couldn’t have conquered this damned sneaky machine!”

  “I wish I had a camera! I wonder how many magazines and newspapers would love to have a photograph of Rucker McClure being eaten by a soda machine!”

  “Aw, Dee, you mean thing.”

  She laughed harder. Dinah clasped his shoulders and leaned forward, unconcerned that she was cackling like a deranged hen. Through years of beauty competitions she’d been rigidly trained to modulate her voice and her laughter. Now that training deserted her, but oddly she didn’t mind. She made boisterous squeaking sounds and rested her forehead against his shoulder. No other man in the world could provoke me this way, she thought suddenly.

  “You’re … in-incredible!” she yelped. “Fantas … tic!”

  “Well, howdy do,” he retorted dryly. “Women get turned on by the strangest things.” Then his free arm swept around her waist. Shocked into silence and gulping for breath, Dinah tilted her head back and stared at him warily. “Forget the janitor. Stay here and console me,” he ordered. His voice dropped languidly. “The least you can do is give a prisoner a little entertainment.”

  Her lips were parted in surprise when his mouth covered them. Without thinking, Dinah made a soft, grateful sound. He echoed it in gruff harmony and twisted his mouth on hers with slow, erotic intent. Several long seconds passed as indecision warred with affection and desire. Finally Dinah sighed in defeat. I can’t resist a man trapped in a soft-drink machine, she thought raggedly. It’s not fair. She slipped her arms around his neck and kissed him back, darting her tongue into his mouth to taste and excite, brushing her lips over his mustache, nuzzling the delightfully coarse skin of his cheek.

  “You were just scared last night,” he told her. “You know we ought to be together. This proves it.”

  “Oh, Rucker, it doesn’t prove a thing,” she whispered. “Except that you need someone to protect you from vicious soda machines. You appeal to my nurturing instincts.”

  “I’m takin’ applications for a body guard,” he said hoarsely. “You just got the job.” He kissed her hard, and his hand slid around to the front of her dress. Dinah gasped against his mouth as she pushed his hand, away.

  “Rucker, I would never do anything … in the school weight room,” she protested firmly.

  “Everyone’s gone to get ready for the pep rally,” he countered. He grasped her hand and they shared a look full of intimate communication. “Be just a little wild, Madam Mayor,” he drawled in a sensual tone. His eyes taunted her to relax. “I’m trapped in the dad-blasted soft-drink machine. I can’t be too much of a threat.” He wiggled his captured arm and grimaced.

  Dinah’s breath punctuated the still air with soft, raspy sounds. “We’re not compatible …”

  “Then we’ll just be having a little meaningless fun, won’t we?”

  He cupped her breast through the fabric of her dress. “Now that,” he whispered, his face close to hers, “feels like an A-plus beautiful bosom, teacher.”

  Shivering, Dinah buried her face against his neck and clutched his coat collar. “It’s been a long time,” she said in a voice that vibrated with emotion.

  “Since a man touched you? I’m glad.” His thumb flicked back and forth, igniting exquisite pinpoints of excitement. “This is so special. We’re special together.”

  “It won’t work between us, Rucker.”

  “Tell me why. Tell me those secrets you keep bottled up.”

  “No secrets,” she said too quickly.

  “Ssssh. Whatever they are, they don’t matter to me.” He began kissing her neck. “My proper, elegant beauty queen,” he whispered into her ear with teasing rebuke. “I’m just a rowdy dirt-dauber from the wrong side of the tracks, and I don’t know how to be proper. Or elegant. All I know is that I’m fallin’ in love with you and I want you to fall in love with me.”

  Dinah pulled away from him, conscious of where they were, even though the school was deserted. The teacher in her came to the fore. “I can’t.… I can’t.…” she pleaded.

  “You can’t at least admit that you want to make love with me?” He took hold of her hand. “That’s the simple part, Dee. The physical want is the simple part. I know we’ve got no problem there.”

  “But everything else …”

  “Would work itself out.” He pulled her close again and placed slow, damp kisses along her collar bone. Dinah closed her eyes, caught up in the wonderful sensations of his mouth. “You want me, Dee,” he challenged softly, his breath ragged.

  Dinah felt as if reality had deserted her. Her emotions, her needs, her soul were being drawn out of her by the man whose mouth continued to tantalize her. “I’ve never been irresponsible,” she murmured. “Kissing in public! In the weight room! Oh, oh, your mustache …”

  “Like it?” he asked.

  “Like it,” she answered in trembling tones.

  “Your skin smells like tea roses,” he murmured. “And you taste like sweet cream.”

  They leaned as one against the soft-drink machine, and Dinah’s head draped back. She closed her eyes and lost track of time as he nuzzled her. Dinah couldn’t help smiling. She was beyond regret.

  The soft-drink machine clicked and rattled. Rucker’s head came up and Dinah opened her eyes groggily. They shared a look of speculation. “It turned you loose,” she said between short breaths. “You’re free. We can get up now.”

  “No, no. I’m still trapped.” He shook his head fervently, trying in vain to look sincere. She chuckled. The pleasure in his eyes was a potent aphrodisiac. “Oh, Dee,” he said in a low, vibrant voice. Then he slid his arm around her waist again. “Kiss me one more time,” he whispered. “Then I’ll let you go.”

  It was a slow, chaste kiss, and yet it left
her shivering with more desire than ever. “That’s enough,” she said desperately. “Please. I want to stop.”

  His hand slid out of the drink machine. It held a can. His eyes tempting and amused, he pressed the icy metal lip to her shoulder and traced a dewy line down to her collar. He popped the can open and held it out, smiling knowingly. “Bet you never expected a soft drink to bring you so much excitement,” he quipped. He glanced at it. “Decaffeinated, even.”

  Smiling weakly, Dinah took the can. She was too drained to resist what he suggested next, and he knew it. “Sit with me at the pep rally,” he coaxed. She nodded. “Have dinner with me.” She nodded again. “Sit with me at the football game tonight.” She nodded a third time. “And then …”

  “Stop while you’re ahead,” she warned softly. The man might think he’d settled all her doubts and left her ripe for seduction, but he was wrong. A slow, patient smile curved his mouth.

  “I’m ahead,” he agreed. “So I’ll stop. For right now, at least.”

  Wally Oscar was president of the Mount Pleasant Chamber of Commerce. He owned a combination country-antiques shop and gas station on the outskirts of town, and therefore catered successfully to hordes of tourist traffic. He had a shock of white hair that, due to some law of physics which Dinah had never fully analyzed, stood up in odd little tufts. Wally Oscar always looked as though he’d been recently electrified, she thought.

  “That’s a danged good one!” he bellowed as the Mount Pleasant Wildcats made a first down. He jumped up, then plopped down. His knitted scarf fell off his squat little neck.

  “A danged good one!” Rucker echoed. Dinah watched in rapt amusement as the two men turned to each other and shook hands.

  “Want another snootful?” Wally asked slyly. He gestured with one gloved hand toward the thermos bottle stationed between his loafers.

  Dinah smiled puckishly as Rucker twisted his head and caught her eye. His expression contained a gentlemanly question. “I don’t mind,” she assured him. “I just don’t understand how you can bear to drink grain alcohol mixed with coffee.”

  “It’s a real man’s drink. In college, we called it a ball—well, uh, a real masculine name.” His breath came out frosty in the cold night air. Under the colorful stadium blanket that they shared, his big hand squeezed her fingers possessively. They smiled at each other.

  “Go ahead and have another ‘snootful,’ ” she told him. “I’m glad you’re having a good time, like a real man.”

  She was having a good time too. The night was clear and crisp, the game was going in the Wildcats’ favor, the bleachers were full of happy, nosy townspeople who kept winking at her, and the man beside her made no secret of the fact that he treasured her company. She knew this moment couldn’t last, that she and Rucker McClure couldn’t last, but she refused to think about that right now.

  Wally plunked a set of radio earphones on his head and began humming to himself. Rucker edged closer to her so that their legs touched from hip to knee. He rubbed his knee against hers. “You look great in those blue corduroy pants,” he told her. “I’m glad you changed clothes. I liked your purple dress, but I like pants better. Especially with that nice sweater.” He peered in admiration at the white, ribbed-neck sweater that peeked between the halves of her leather coat. Dinah smiled. She suspected that he liked the sweater because it was snug, but he wasn’t going to say so in public.

  “My dress, sir, was mauve.”

  “Nah. Light purple. Don’t be prissy.”

  Dinah huffed in mild rebuke but didn’t argue with him further. They’d developed a light, perfectly pleasant and perfectly safe camaraderie since the soda machine incident, and she wanted to preserve the mood. He’d gone back to the motel to change into jeans, a bulky Auburn University sweatshirt, a creaky, brown aviator’s jacket, and his jogging shoes. He’d picked her up at her house and they’d eaten dinner at a family-style restaurant, where they talked amiably over plates of fresh fish, steaming vegetables, and fluffy biscuits.

  He told her that he didn’t care for astrology, TV weathermen, computers, dentists, and getting up early in the morning. She agreed with him on astrology and dentists but said she loved computers and could tolerate the rest. He kept bringing up little things people in town had mentioned to him about her—how quiet she’d been when she first moved there and how puzzled everyone was that she wanted to build a life in such a tiny place.

  Dinah tactfully sidestepped his attempts to learn what lay in her past. She told him the neutral facts—that her father had been president of one of Georgia’s largest banks, that she’d had a privileged, happy childhood, though she’d been shy, bookish, too tall, and ungainly. He’d never been shy or bookish, but he had been too tall and, in his words, “thinner than cheap spaghetti,” so they talked about those things.

  And now he sat here perfectly at home, as he seemed to be wherever he went, glorying in the night and the game and her presence, singing along as the Wildcat band belted out a pop tune, and she wanted to hug him tightly without ever letting him go. “You know,” he told her after the band finished, “I’d forgotten how wonderful a small-town football game could be.” He glanced at Wally, found him still preoccupied with his radio, and handed his cup of doctored coffee to Dinah. “Get rid of it diplomatically, Dee,” he urged in a whisper. “It’s awful. It always was. I’m old enough to admit that now without bein’ embarrassed.”

  “Another real man bites the dust.” She nearly sputtered with laughter as she sat the cup down by one of her high-heeled leather boots. Casually she let her toe tip it over so that the contents cascaded toward the grassy earth far beneath the metal stadium benches. “Good work,” Rucker praised as she handed the empty cup to him. His other hand, the one under the blanket, curled tighter around hers. He looked down at her in a way that made cozy pleasure wind around her rib cage. “You make me remember how much fun life used to be,” he told her solemnly. “Before I got a lot of money and moved into a yuppie house with yuppie neighbors. Before I lost my roots.”

  “Rucker,” she teased gently, “you may have a long vine, but your roots are always evident. Believe me.”

  He chuckled. “How do you know whether I have a long vine or not?” he asked coyly. “Want to find out?”

  Dinah made a garbled sound as she analyzed what she’d said. “No comment,” she muttered.

  “Well,” he drawled in smug, comical satisfaction, thrusting his chest forward, “I’ll take that as a maybe.”

  Dinah pretended to watch the game, while her mind churned over decisions. She had no clear-cut answers about him anymore, only disturbing maybe’s that brought no sense of security. Maybe if she told him the truth about the scandal that still lurked in her background, he’d keep it confidential. But maybe he wouldn’t. Maybe he was as wonderful as he seemed, or maybe he was a glib con artist like that other reporter, Todd Norins. Maybe he’d bring something wonderful into her life. Or maybe he’d bring disaster. Her good mood began to evaporate.

  On the way to his car after the game he was approached by one person after another who wanted his autograph. Dinah watched with brooding intensity as he signed football programs, paper cups, and napkins, trying to come to a decision about him. Several women kissed him, and some made no attempt to hide the gleam of invitation in their eyes. Dinah was amazed to find herself squinting at them in a predatory assessment. This jealousy is a Very bad sign, she thought anxiously. I have to nip it in the bud.

  “I didn’t smooch those gals back, you noticed,” he pointed out proudly when they were seated in the Cadillac.

  Dinah made sure her answer sounded confident and blithe. “You should have. You’re a likable rowdy with an eye for the ladies. It doesn’t bother me in the least. The public loves it.”

  “Hmmm.” He looked at her shrewdly. “I smell an insinuation.”

  Dinah spent a long time arranging her stadium cushion, purse, and blanket. “Why should I feel possessive toward you? I’m a very secure person, a
nd besides, we’ve only known each other a few days. We don’t have any kind of understanding.”

  He turned to face her, planting one big hand on the back of the car seat and one on the dashboard. It was an aggressive posture, and Dinah’s pulse increased nervously. Even in the dim light of a street lamp she saw the sudden anger in his eyes. “What the hell was all that supposed to mean?” he demanded. “Don’t dillydally with me. Madam Mayor. Spit it out.”

  “I just want things to be clear between us before we get back to my house.” Dinah kept her voice very neutral. “There isn’t going to be a repeat of the infamous weight-room scene. There isn’t going to be anything at all.”

  He was lethally silent for a moment. “What happened?” he asked in a low, tense voice. “What rule did I break in the past hour that changed your attitude toward me?”

  “No rule,” she answered, forcing her voice to remain calm. “My attitude’s no different now than it was before.” She took a steadying breath. “I was caught off guard this afternoon. We had a nice time tonight. But that’s as far as it goes. You’re a journalist. I’m a politician. That combination can’t be anything but unstable. Plus, we come from different backgrounds. We don’t like the same music, the same food, the same television shows, the same books—”

  “Dee,” he interrupted, his voice deadly soft, “you’re a damned snob.”

  “No!” She shook her head fiercely. “Don’t you dare accuse me of that! It’s not true!”

  “The hell it’s not. I see it now, plain as day.” He faced forward, cranked the Cadillac’s engine, and slammed it into gear. “I’ve got no use for your elitist arrogance.”

  Dinah was so stunned by his elegant choice of words that she stared at him in silence as he whipped the car out of its spot in the teacher’s parking lot. An odd sense of awe swelled her chest. Don’t ever underestimate the depth and power of this man’s intellect, she warned herself. She shook her head angrily, frustrated by his unfair accusation and all too aware that she’d hurt him. He pointed the car toward an exit.