Redwood Bend

by Robyn Carr

  She nodded, her eyes glassy and wide. “I need that, too.”

  “I’ll go easy…”

  “Don’t go easy…”

  He gave it his best effort, moving into her slowly, but she grabbed his butt and pulled him into her and he lost his mind. His hips began to move, hers moved in concert and they were slamming against each other in a magnificent rhythm that took about ten strokes to make her freeze and hold him, cry out his name and squeeze down on him with all her internal muscles.

  “Holy…” He couldn’t speak any further. All that escaped him was a powerful groan as he held himself for a moment, then pumped his hips and joined her. He pinched his eyes closed and held her hips. As the pleasure slowly let him breathe again, he kissed her everywhere—her eyelids, her lips, her cheeks, her neck, her breasts…

  And he held her, stroking her hair, her neck, touching her beautiful face. “Are you okay, honey?” he whispered.

  “Hmm,” she said, giving a little nod, her eyes closed. “Possible rug burns....”

  “My God, Katie…I wanted you so bad, I didn’t even get you to the couch. I think I went insane.”

  She giggled. “When a girl says yes to you, she better stand back, huh?”

  “Come on, sweetheart, let me get you to bed…”

  “Just a minute, Dylan,” she whispered. “I’m trying to grow the bones back in my legs… Can’t we be still for just a minute more?”

  “Yes,” he said, placing gentle kisses everywhere he could reach without separating them. “My God, I’m having aftershocks.”

  “I’m weak,” she said softly. “Pleased, but totally limp…”

  After a minute passed, he carefully lifted her and she looped her arms around his neck. “Don’t worry about growing your bones back. You’re not going to have to walk for a while,” he whispered. He carried her to the bed with his lips locked on hers. He put her down and climbed on beside her, pulling her into his arms. “Yeah, this is going to work better. Yeah, I like this,” he said, settling his lips against her neck and his hand over her breast. “Now we start over. Nice and slow.”

  Dylan felt Katie stir against him and he instinctively pulled her closer. He wanted her again.

  “Best sex of your life?” he asked in a whisper.

  “I’m not ready to commit,” she whispered back.

  He chuckled. “Was for me,” he said.

  “But…”

  “Seriously,” he said. “And it was for you, too.”

  “Don’t go getting a big head, just because I had a couple of orgasms—”

  “Four,” he said. “I gave you four and helped myself to two.”

  “You’re counting?” she asked, rising up and looking down at him.

  “I’m going to keep counting, too. I think you can reach your personal best.” He grinned at her.

  “Aren’t you tired?”

  “I was sleeping, until you started wiggling around…” He nuzzled her neck. “I can do better. Just trust me…”

  “We made love on the floor,” she murmured. “Ten feet from the bed…”

  “Hmm. I think I lost my mind a little bit. Are there rug burns?” he asked, trying to roll her over. “I’ll give them a little kiss…” He found a couple of pink patches on her rump and did kiss them sweetly. Then he rolled her back and his hands and lips began to move over her body again.

  “Boy, am I glad the rumors weren’t true.”

  “What rumors?” he asked, his voice muffled.

  “There were lots of them. I think the worst one had you in a drug-induced coma in an institution in New Zealand…”

  He lifted his head from her breast. That one had appeared in The Star twenty years ago, shortly after Adele took him out of Los Angeles. “You know,” he said. She nodded. “How long have you known?”

  “Well, I strongly suspected at the flat tire, then at the bar I was more sure, then when you told me your last name and a little about yourself, right before you kissed me, I was positive.”

  “And you didn’t say anything?”

  She shrugged. “It appeared you didn’t want to talk about that Dylan Childress. If you’d brought up your Hollywood career, I would’ve said something. I admit to being curious about which parts are true, which aren’t. The press and rumors were pretty horrible. Liquor and drugs, an unbelievable number of girlfriends, crazy behavior, vandalism and general delinquency…”

  “I was just a stupid kid…”

  “I always wondered which parts of that were true…”

  “Probably too much of what you read was true…”

  “I read about the terrible incident that seemed like the end of it all—Roman’s drug overdose.”

  “An accident,” he said. “I’m sure it was Roman being stupid, trying to get high, not get out.”

  “And that’s when you kind of disappeared,” she said.

  “My grandmother got me out of there, away from the insanity. She didn’t know what else to do, I think. She thought I needed to rehab, to put it simply. How many people around here know?”

  “Les knows, but she won’t out you. I bet the number of Virgin River women who were in love with you when they were twelve is pretty limited. You probably don’t have to worry.”

  He smiled at her. “You? Were you in love with me?”

  “Oh, God, wildly. Madly. I sincerely believed we would meet somehow and you would marry me. But you went away and I threw you over for Jason Priestley. Later I threw him over for the Backstreet Boys. Then I got interested in boys my own age who were real. I had to finally accept the fact that Jason Priestley would never take me to the prom.”

  “The Backstreet Boys,” he muttered. “Priestley—I can live with that. But the Backstreet Boys? Jesus, Katie.”

  “It was a rough time…”

  “So now will you tell everyone you can think of that you had sex with Dylan Childress? The ex-star?”

  “Is that what you’re used to?” she asked, knowing the answer.

  “It’s happened. That’s why there haven’t been that many…”

  “Like who?” she asked. “Who does a guy like you hook up with?”

  He gave a little shrug. “Women who didn’t want a boyfriend. Never local girls—they want to get married. Almost strangers, but not total strangers. Sometimes I’d meet someone when we flew charters—there was an expiration date on those relationships. I was kind of hit and run…involved with people I probably wouldn’t see again…”

  “How original, for a playboy,” she said. “Well, this may come as a shock, but I haven’t ever let myself get involved with someone like you before, someone who absolutely swears he can’t be committed. In fact, I don’t think I can build much self-esteem by bragging that I nailed an actor—especially one who promises to ditch me as quickly as possible. That really undermines my self-image, which I’d rather bolster.” She thought for a second. “I might get some interesting press out of the fact that I threw up in your plane… I think, since I’m awake, I’ll have a quick shower. That way if you’re still here when I’m done, I’ll be all fresh and sweet and you can resume counting.” She lifted an eyebrow and slid away from him, stalking across the bedroom stark naked. Head held high.

  Damn, he thought. Look at her. She gave her long hair a toss and gathered it on top of her head before entering the bathroom. And he was hard again. She was way under his skin.

  He rolled onto his back and stared up at the ceiling. Well, there was an upside, he thought. Now that it was all out in the open, she would understand where he was coming from, why he was a bad relationship risk and was doing her a favor by not getting involved with her or her kids. She would know all the names in his familial periphery—all those Hollywood losers who couldn’t stay out of trouble or make a normal family life work. And obviously she’d heard all the rumors about how much trouble he’d been in, how unreliable he was....

  If you’re still here when I’m done…

  He could spend a little time with her, as long
as it didn’t get too serious. As long as he explained, with consideration for her feelings, why he’d have to move on. And she’d be fine with that because she was no longer a twelve-year-old fan girl.

  And he leaped out of bed and went to the bathroom. The shower was running and he stepped inside. “You’re not going to get away with this,” he said.

  “What?”

  “Showering alone while I’m still counting.” And he took her lips just as he took the soap out of her hands.

  Katie was making coffee in the kitchen when the door to the cabin opened and the boys came in. “Shh,” she said. “Be very quiet. You can go to your bedroom and change clothes for summer program if you’re very quiet.”

  Right behind them, Conner stepped into the cabin.

  “Well, you’re not Leslie, now are you?”

  “There’s a motorcycle outside your cabin.”

  “Yes, Conner, I know this,” she whispered. “Please don’t wake him.”

  “Why? Did he have a rough night?”

  “Don’t go there unless you really want to know, because if it will back you off just to give you the grim details, I’ll do it,” she said.

  “Don’t,” he said, closing his eyes. “I don’t want my ears bleeding… Do you know what you’re getting yourself into?”

  Unlikely, she thought. But she said, “I’m a grown-up.”

  In the bedroom, Dylan felt the sunlight on the back of his lids and thought, whoa, that last session they’d had had really knocked him out. God, she was going to kill him, she was that good. He slept like the dead. And in the distance, he heard soft talking. Phone call to a girlfriend? He smiled to himself—guys always got the bad rap for locker-room talk when really, the girls were worse. They couldn’t wait to get their friends on the phone and describe every detail.

  He felt eyes on him. He opened one blue eye and met with four brown ones.

  “Did you have a sleepover, too, Dylan?” one asked.

  “Did you forget about your pajamas, too? Because we had to sleep in our unders because we forgot about them.”

  “Did you have to sleep in your unders?”

  He lifted his head. “Katie!” he yelled.

  She darted into the bedroom and when she saw her sons, she put her hands on her hips. “Is this where you keep your school clothes?” she asked. “Go change, right now.”

  “Mom, did Dylan have to sleep in his unders?”

  “Did he forget his pajamas?”

  Her lips twitched as she struggled to keep from laughing. “Well, for heaven’s sake, will you look at that. He must have. I wouldn’t have noticed, since I’m more polite than you—I gave him privacy and slept in the other room, since he’s a guest.” She shuttled them out of the room. “Get changed now—you don’t want to be late.” Then she looked at Dylan and covered her laughing mouth with a hand.

  “Not funny,” he said grumpily.

  “Funny,” she insisted. “You can have the cabin to yourself—get up, go back to sleep, whatever. I’ll be gone about a half hour. Coffee’s on. I’ll bring back breakfast from Jack’s.”

  “Then I have to go,” he said.

  “Of course,” she said with a smile. “I understand completely.”

  My God, he thought. Did she take nothing seriously? Here they’d romped the night away in complete carnal pleasure and at first light he’s caught naked in her bed by her children! They’d be in therapy until they were twenty.

  But of course they hadn’t seen anything… He was covered, Katie claimed to have slept in the other room and the clothes he’d left on the living room floor the evening before were neatly folded on the top of the chest of drawers, his boots standing politely on the floor. Even the dresser drawer where she kept all the extra condoms was closed; no wrappers on the night side table. Katie had tidied up and taken a shower; the ends of her hair were still damp and she wore jeans and a sweatshirt.

  But they knew he’d been there. Was that a bad thing?

  He took a shower and while the spray ran over him he closed his eyes and remembered the last shower here, in the middle of the night, with Katie. And with the help of a little soap and shower gel, he had her up to seven while he lingered around four because she couldn’t keep her soapy hands off him and he didn’t have a condom in the shower and he lost his mind and damn! She really was going to kill him. And he was going to die with a smile on his face.

  But how did she do that? Show him the sex goddess when they were alone and that primly amused young mother in the light of day? She was like two completely separate women in one skin. He was going to have to get out of here before it became any more obvious he couldn’t be without her in his life. Over breakfast they would talk, he would thank her for being the best sex of his life, tell her truthfully that he’d never forget their “date” and then he’d head for L.A. or Montana.

  When she walked in with a brown paper bag, she was smiling. “Preacher’s omelets are so huge, we can split one…”

  “Okay,” he said weakly.

  “What’s the matter?”

  “Nothing.” Everything.

  “You have a very strange look on your face.”

  “Crap,” he said. He took the bag from her hands, put it on the counter and threw her over his shoulder, her laughter pealing out through the little cabin as he carried her back to the bedroom. Once there he pulled off her clothes, put his hands and lips on every inch of her body and took her to eight. And nine.

  “My God,” she said, breathless and glistening. “This has to stop! At least long enough for nourishment!”

  He laughed at her and said, “That omelet’s cold anyway. It’ll keep ten more minutes. I have to ask you something.”

  “Shoot.”

  “How screwed up are your kids going to be about finding me in your bed?”

  “They didn’t even mention it, Dylan. I suspect they thought nothing of it.”

  “But we’re not married or anything…”

  “Neither are Conner and Leslie, where they spent the night last night, although they are an established couple who live together. But the boys are very curious—if they’d had questions, they would’ve asked. It was a first for them, however.”

  “A first?”

  “You’re my first sleepover since they were born. They never even witnessed their own dad in my bed.”

  “Oh,” he said. “You got your guys out the door before the boys were up?”

  She laughed softly. “You’re my first since Charlie. I was open to the idea, but never met anyone who qualified. I hope that’s not too much pressure…”

  He leaned toward her until his forehead was resting against hers. “Nine,” he said.

  “I was faking seven and eight,” she said.

  He smiled at her. “Good fake. Your whole body shook. So, can you talk about him? Can you explain about your marriage? Even though we’re…” He ran a hand down her naked body.

  “Of course. I’m not cheating on him. What would you like to know?”

  “How was marriage? Romantic?”

  She laughed. “Sometimes, but not always. See, Charlie was a soldier, and not just any soldier, but Special Forces. Highly disciplined, expertly trained and dangerous in many settings. To say he was rough around the edges would be an understatement. He was a man with a very special commitment. It took remarkable strength and conviction for him to do his work. And, it took a unique kind of commitment to be married to him. For example, one night at a bar a young soldier saw pregnant me and said something off-color—I think it was, ‘Holy fuck, mama.’ And Charlie slapped him around. Almost knocked him out without leaving a mark—Green Beret. He knew how to do scary things like that, but with me he was so gentle, so wonderful. He was upset that the man used that language in front of me. Yet just a few hours later he yelled, ‘Katie! Where’s the fucking towel!’” She shook her head and laughed. “His language—the worst. I’m afraid if Charlie was still alive my boys might be saying things like, ‘I can’t fucking tie m
y shoe.’ But there was never any question about how he felt about me.”

  “Do you think you’d still be married today if he was alive?”

  She took a moment to think. “Some groups like Green Berets, Rangers, SEALs, that sort of thing—they do have trouble in marriages—they were gone a lot, had a lot of combat issues, some of them had trouble with that line between rough and gentle with their families. Not Charlie, though. I never doubted how much he valued me, loved me. I think I felt more respect from Charlie than I had before in my life. And I always felt safe with him. Yes, I’d like to think we’d have lasted. Forever.”