Caught by Surprise

by Deborah Smith

  His hands were deliciously strong on her sides as he helped her turn and arrange herself face down on the rumpled bed. She felt very vulnerable.

  Brig sat down beside her and stifled the thick, inarticulate sound of pleasure that rose in his throat. She looked so tempting with her blond hair tossled on a white pillow etched in pink eyelet and her head turned to one side so that he could see her flushed face. He wondered if her complexion would look that way after sex, then reminded himself sternly that she was hurt.

  “Excuse me, love,” he said, and with no more than that warning he pulled the back of her T-shirt up to her neck. “Excuse me, love,” he said again, and deftly unhooked her bra.

  Millie gasped lightly. “Your apologies are suspicious.”

  His accent deepened. “Ah, but me heart’s good.”

  He flattened his hands beneath her shoulder blades and stroked down to the top of her blue-jean shorts, enjoying the smoothness of her skin. With one forefinger he traced a tiny dark mole in the small of her back. “Beauty mark,” he noted softly. “Beautiful back.” Brig, pressed his fingers into the area just above her shorts and rubbed small circles.

  Millie shifted languidly, wishing that he didn’t make it so easy to forget caution. His touch untied her muscles and drew sensations from low in her body.

  “Do you know what’s best for this kind of muscle strain?” he asked.

  “Ice pack,” she murmured, and found that her lips had trouble forming words. What was the man doing? Mesmerizing her?

  “Nope. Moist heat.” He bent over and placed his damp, hot lips into the curve of her back.

  Millie shut her eyes tightly and willed herself to protest. The words were almost spoken when he slid his mouth up her spine, dabbing each vertebra with the tip of his tongue. Speech, she realized quickly, was an impossibility. Nothing had ever felt so good.

  Brig stopped at the base of her neck and nibbled gently. Then he reversed the journey, tracing her spine back down to the edge of her shorts. When he circled her beauty mark with his tongue, she simply moaned and gave up.

  “You can stop doing that in about a million years,” Millie whispered.

  “No harm in it, eh?”

  “Plenty of harm. But I’m only human.”

  “Female human. Without a doubt.” He began kissing her shoulder blades, his breath brushing her skin in warm puffs. The fingers of one hand trailed up and down her spine. “Woman with all sorts of womanly feelings.” His fingers curled around her waist and stroked upwards to the sides of her breasts. She shivered as he rubbed lightly. “Melisande,” he whispered in a husky tone, “this part of you is so soft and delicate.” He chuckled, the sound strained. “I’ve got just the right hard parts to go with your soft ones.”

  Millie tried to take a breath, only to hear a shallow, ragged sound. “Stop. Oh, please, stop.” She raised her head and pushed clenched fists into the bed.

  He pressed her down again. “Sssh. Relax. Well talk about safer things, love.”

  She sighed heavily. “Nothing is safe with you.”

  His hands moved with wicked skill over her back, coaxing her to relax again. “I can behave,” he assured her. “Now, let’s see … the navy. Tell me why you left the navy.”

  Millie hugged the pillow under her head and tried to arrange her whirling thoughts. After a moment, she said quietly,. “The military still isn’t a good place for a woman. No matter how competent you are, you’re still a woman doing a man’s job. Everyone treats you like some sort of experimental toy. Sexual harassment is a way of life.”

  “But you’re not a quitter. What made you give it up?” She frowned and was silent. He grasped her shoulders and squeezed. “Talk, Melisande. I keep secrets like a miser keeps money. You’re safe with me.”

  Tears came to her eyes. She did feel safe with him, even though he kept up a running assault on her resistance. “I was assigned to the shore patrol at one’ of the Pacific bases. There weren’t many women there, and I was the only one who wasn’t a secretary or a nurse. The commanding officer decided I was eccentric, and he made my life miserable. He cornered me one night and said he was going to teach me how a normal woman enjoys a man.”

  Brig’s voice was rough. “I reckon you showed him that a normal woman can fight like hell.”

  She smiled against the pillow. “He didn’t walk without limping for two days.” The smile faded. “I filed a complaint, and there was a hush-hush investigation. He got away with a slap on the wrist and I ended up looking like a troublemaker.”

  “Damn, Melly. Damn.” He kissed the back of her neck in sympathy and rested his coarse masculine cheek there. They were both silent for a moment.

  “Brig? No one but you knows that story. I didn’t want my brothers to find out that I was attacked. Kyle and Jeopard work in navy intelligence—very important stuff, and they have solid careers. They think I left the navy because I got tired of sexism, which is basically true.”

  “But why—”

  “They’d have located that officer and beaten the hell out of him,” she explained grimly. “They still might, if they found out. I won’t let them risk their careers that way.”

  “I like your brothers, and I haven’t even met them.”

  “If you think I’m a tough cookie, you should meet Kyle and Jeopard.”

  Brig stroked a hand over her hair, letting his fingertips brush her forehead. “Sounds like a good family to be part of. I’ve never had a close family. Never missed it, until lately.”

  “Lately?” she murmured.

  He chuckled. “I get pictures in my mind of babies with blond hair and Aussie accents.”

  Her eyes flew open and she started to speak, but he pressed a restraining finger against her lips. That intimate contact was enough to make her close her eyes again. Brig traced her lips with his fingertip.

  “There’s a good girl,” he whispered. “She knows when to just listen.”

  “Poof,” she said against his finger, blowing an exasperated breath.

  He laughed hoarsely. “Poof yourself, love. I’m a patient man.”

  “Who talks a nice tale.”

  He patted her rump. “Nice tail.”

  “Stop it, convict.” Trembling, she raised her head, squinted at him in sincere warning, and brushed away the conniving finger that was now drawing invisible lines along her jawline. “I mean it, Brig. I’m still a deputy.”

  “I know. I’m just givin’ aid to an injured law officer.”

  “My fanny isn’t injured.”

  He sighed. “Too bad.”

  The resigned look he gave her was so calculated and so ridiculous that she buried her head in the pillow to hide her smile.

  “I know what you’re doin’,” he said coyly. “Because you got a dimple beside your mouth, and it only shows up when you smile. I can see that dimple.”

  “Bullfeathers,” she said, her voice muffled. He ran his hands down her bare sides, tickling. “Brig!” She twisted away and sat up, then stared down at herself. Her T-shirt and bra were bunched under her arms. Brig’s gaze went unabashedly to her full breasts. Amusement shown in his blue eyes, but under the amusement were more primitive emotions.

  Millie calmly crossed her arms over her chest. “My bosom isn’t injured, either,” she assured him. She tingled all over, as if he’d pulled her apart carefully and left her that way, aching for the time when he would put her back together.

  He took a deep breath and smiled nonchalantly. Now was the time, he thought, to let well enough alone. He’d accomplished a lot in the last few minutes. Restraint was hell, though, because he’d never wanted anything so much in his life as to wrap his arms around her voluptuous little body and kiss her exasperated mouth.

  “Melisande, if you tense up, your back’ll hurt.”

  “My back is fine.” She winced a little as she said it.

  “Lay down and cover your rosy nekidness before I strain my eyes from tryin’ to peek. I’ll get my guitar and play you some songs.�
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  “The roof—”

  “Can wait a while.”

  He left the room, whistling. Millie rearranged her bra and T-shirt, then lay back on the bed. Her back was aching, and a deliciously cool breeze was drifting in from the large window nearby. She watched the white curtains flutter and listened intently to the distant sounds of Brig moving about her cottage. What would Jacques and Melisande think of this rugged, take-charge man? Millie knew instinctively that they’d feel a kinship with him.

  He came back carrying his guitar and a tall glass full of beer. He laid the guitar on the bed near her feet, inhaled the breeze, and rubbed his bare chest briskly. Millie watched him through slitted eyes, trying not to look as affected as she felt. He had no belt for his white work trousers, and they hung below his navel. It was a wonderful navel … she shut her eyes.

  “Feels great in here,” he said heartily. “Place doesn’t even need an air conditioner.” He held the beer aloft and toasted solemnly. “Great-great-great-granddaddy and grandma, you did a helluva job.”

  He downed half the beer in one swallow, then sat on the bed and handed her the glass. He propped pillows behind her and then picked up his guitar. Millie sipped beer and watched his large, work-roughened hands cradle the instrument lovingly.

  “Now, Miss Melisande,” he said in a low, soothing voice, “Just you take it easy. Any requests?”

  She bit her tongue to keep from saying in a moment of utter recklessness. Yes, but you’ll have to put the guitar down. “Nope.”

  He nodded, and began to play.

  Rucker McClure took one hand off the steering wheel, let it creep slyly across the rental car’s plush seat, and curled his fingers into the skirt of his wife’s yellow sundress. She had her head bowed over a thick hardback titled Political Reform in South America, and her long, chocolate-colored hair hung forward in gentle waves, hiding a face with classical features.

  Rucker inched the material of her skirt up until he could see most of one golden thigh. He smiled, pleased with his subterfuge. His fingers hovered nearer their conquest, ready to sample the beautiful leg.

  “Sir, I know what you’re up to,” she said in a husky, educated voice, without looking up from her book. “And if you don’t behave, I’ll throw you in the backseat and take advantage of you.”

  “Oh, yes, ma’am,” he drawled in the deep accent of the rural South. Then he slipped his fingers over her thigh and lazily caressed the smooth, warm skin.

  “You asked for it.” She snapped the book shut, tossed it to the floor, and twisted quickly toward him. One hand roamed devilishly over the front of his faded jeans while the other grabbed his jaw. Tilting his head toward her, she nuzzled his dark mustache and gave him a smacking kiss on the mouth, then burrowed her face against his neck.

  “Dee, don’t you dare leave any marks!” he protested comically, as she growled and placed gentle bites along his throat. “Millie’ll be shocked!”

  She laughed softly. “She told me a long time ago that nothing you can do shocks her.” Dinah Sheridan McClure, known to her husband as Dee and sometimes, when Rucker wanted to provoke her, as DeeDee, paused between kisses long enough to add, “This is a vacation. I’m entitled to be wild.”

  Rucker turned the car off the main road down a sandy driveway that wound into a hardwood forest. “Not right this minute! Straighten yourself up, woman!” he ordered, grinning and shoving her hand away from the zipper on his jeans.

  “You always ask for trouble. Now you’ve got it.”

  “I’ll walk funny when I get out of the car! Whoa!”

  Chuckling, she moved back to her own side and sat quietly, smiling at him as they pulled up to Millie’s cottage. They stared at the remnants of the giant tree that still sagged against one corner of the structure, and their teasing mood faded.

  Both feeling a little anxious, they hurried to the porch. The wooden door stood open, and when Rucker tested the screen door, it was unfastened. There were no sounds but the rustling of breezes in the forest and the chatter of birds.

  Rucker and Dinah shared a worried look. He knocked loudly. “Millie?” No answer. His mouth grim, Rucker pulled the door open.

  They stepped into the silent cottage and glanced around the living room. Pacing his steps carefully, Rucker moved down a short hallway to the bedroom, Dinah tiptoeing right behind him. He halted at the bedroom door and she peered over his shoulder. They stared for several long seconds.

  “Well, I’ll be damned,” Rucker said loudly, and began to grin.

  Dinah slapped his shoulder. “Rucker, sssh.”

  “Wake up, Miss Hunstomper!”

  Miss Hunstomper. Millie hadn’t heard that affectionate term since she stopped working for Rucker McClure. It was the name by which he’d referred to her in his columns. Now it made her eyes fly open.

  She was on her back, and the first thing she saw was Brig’s head, his hair mussed. All she saw was hair, because he had his face practically buried between the mattress and her left breast. She could feel his slow, even breathing even through her T-shirt. He lay on his side with his legs drawn up below her hips. He was curled around her. Millie’s legs were propped on top of him, the back of her knees draped over the top of his thigh. His arm lay across her stomach.

  Still disoriented from deep sleep, she jerked her head toward the bedroom door and squinted her eyes. Only one deep, familiar voice could do justice to Miss Hunstomper, and it belonged to the tall, mustached man in running shoes, jeans, and a sport shirt.

  Rucker. Dinah. Reality flooded back. Humiliation followed. “Brig!” She sat up and shook Brig’s shoulder harshly. “Wake up!”

  He yawned, didn’t open his eyes, and tightened his arm across her stomach. “Aw, Melisande, go back to sleep. I’m harmless.” He yawned again. “You went to sleep … and I got sleepy watchin’ you. Love, you’re fantastic to cuddle. Like a little koala bear.” He went back to sleep.

  Millie’s face burned. She glanced at Rucker and Dinah. Dinah had her husband by the arm, trying to tug him away from the door.

  “I’m sorry, Millie,” she said, looking chagrined. “We should have called first. We just flew into Gainesville this morning, and we’re on our way to visit Rucker’s mother. We stopped by the jail to see you, but the sheriff said you were off today.”

  Millie sighed. “Don’t go. Wait a minute.” She bent over and spoke loudly in Brig’s ear. “I have company!”

  He stirred finally, shoved himself up to one elbow, ran a hand through his hair, then tried to focus on Rucker and Dinah. “G’day, folks,” he murmured.

  “Good lord,” Rucker said softly. “I know you.”

  “Give me a second, and maybe I’ll remember who I am.”

  “He’s Brig McKay,” Millie said quickly, and pushed herself away from him. She swung her legs off his thigh and rose from the bed. “He’s serving a jail term, but today he’s supposed to be working on my roof. Brig, this is my old boss, the writer, Rucker McClure, and his wife, Dinah.”

  “Yeah! Hello, mate! Did you like the beer?”

  “Loved it. What’s the story here? Looks like a great one. What are you doin’ in jail?”

  Millie glared at Rucker. Her life was truly falling apart. “You’re not going to write about this. I’d like to keep my embarrassment private.”

  “He won’t write about it,” Dinah assured her.

  “But I’m sure nosy enough to want some explanation,” Rucker added.

  Millie nodded, defeated. “Let’s go in the kitchen and fix some tea.”

  “Tea settles her nerves,” Brig added solemnly.

  Rucker and Dinah left two hours later, considerably better informed than upon their arrival. Before their departure, Dinah drew Millie into the privacy of the bedroom, grasped her shoulders, and looked down at her knowingly.

  “There’s a lot going on between you and Brig McKay.”

  Millie hesitated a moment, then gave up. “I guess that little scene in the bedroom confirms it.” />
  Dinah shook her head. “Not just that. It’s the way he watches you. You said once that you hoped some man would look at you the way Rucker looks at me. Well, you’ve found that man.”

  That idea sent a disturbing wave of hope through Millie. At the same time, she couldn’t forget the odds against having a permanent relationship with Brig. She shook her head. “He needs a Barbie Doll. I’m a G.I. Josephine.”

  The smile that flitted across Dinah’s mouth disappeared as soon as she saw that Millie was serious. “I’d say that you’re not giving him a chance.”

  “You’re wrong.” Millie hugged her. “I’m on the verge of throwing in the towel and following him like a lost puppy. Do you know what I mean?” She stepped back, watching Dinah nod and smile gently.

  “Even when I was most terrified of letting Rucker into my life, I couldn’t stop wanting him.”

  “It’s frightening. And I’m not used to being afraid of anything or anyone.”

  Dinah patted her shoulder. “It’s good to be afraid of someone who has the power to hurt you. But just remember—he has the power to make you happy too.”

  Millie was still mulling over those words as she watched Rucker and Dinah leave. When their car disappeared around a bend in the driveway, she turned toward Brig, who stood beside her. Thankfully, he’d put his shirt back on soon after Rucker and Dinah’s arrival. At least she wouldn’t have to concentrate so hard on keeping her gaze above his neck.

  “Back to the roof,” she said firmly. “No more nap time.”

  The tiniest of smiles played on his mouth, but he said nothing. When they were back on the roof, he sat down to oil the chain saw blade. As he worked, he commented casually, “Rucker and Dinah have got something special.”

  Millie, who had just knelt by a limb she intended to cut, looked up with a thoughtful expression. “I’ve never known two people who loved each other more.”

  “But they’re not exactly a perfect pair, you know. Her bein’ the mayor of that place in Alabama. What’s the name of it?”

  “Mount Pleasant.”

  “Yeah, and bein’ so scholarly and an ex-beauty queen. She’s the kind of woman you’d picture marryin’ an ambassador or a professor or somethin’. Instead, she’s married to a hell-raisin’ old farm boy who made good. And it works just fine.” He cocked one brow at her. “Isn’t that interestin’? A mismatched couple sort of like you and me, eh?”