by Terry Odell
"You had a party." When he noticed the empty case of champagne, his eyes darted to her left hand. He wasn't that blind. He'd have noticed a ring. His breathing steadied a little.
"Mom and Bob got married this afternoon. We had the reception here."
"I'm sure they'll be happy."
"They are."
In the kitchen light, he looked more closely and saw the strain, the shadows under Frankie's eyes her carefully applied makeup hadn't hidden.
"Okay, Frankie." He got up and went to the cabinet for mugs. She rose, but he motioned her down. "I'll get it. You said we needed to talk. So start talking." The gruffness in his tone surprised him, and he almost apologized. Almost.
"I'm not sure where to start." She laughed a quiet laugh. "You'd think I'd be babbling a mile a minute, because it's obvious we're both nervous."
He set both mugs on the table and sat next to her this time. "Okay, I'll start. Why did you push me away? Was it because of my job?"
She shook her head. "You were the one who disappeared, you know. I was confused. I needed to think, but you didn't even call."
He lowered his head and put his hands over hers. They were cold and trembled a little. "I was hurt. I ran."
"Hurt? What happened? I thought you were all right."
The alarm that crossed her face touched him. "Not that kind of hurt. You made it clear you didn't want to see me. I believe your exact words were, 'Ryan and his friends have important jobs to do. They're probably not going to come back for a long, long time.' I've heard them in my head since the helo landed."
"But you came back."
"I did. I've also been hearing something Dalton said to me."
"Which was?"
"That I've been doing a lot of running away lately. And it doesn't solve problems. So I'm not running anymore. I'm here, and we're going to work out what we're both trying to ignore."
"Which is?"
"That I'm in love with you. That one way or another, I'm going to spend the rest of my life loving you. You're the reason my heart beats, you're the next breath I take. I'm not giving up. And you might have noticed, when I decide to fight, I don't back down."
A corner of her mouth turned up. "I've noticed. But—"
"No buts. We'll talk, we'll figure it out. Maybe not today. Maybe not tomorrow or next week, or six months from now, but I'm not letting you out of my life. Or Molly. You're both too much a part of me."
"Why didn't you say it before? That you loved me?"
He backed off and regrouped, organizing his thoughts. "Because I was afraid to admit it. Afraid to let anyone too close. Afraid of the pain. But the emptiness hurts worse." He looked into her eyes. This was where she was supposed to throw her arms around him, kiss him and say she loved him, too, and she'd follow him to the ends of the earth. Instead, she pulled her hands out from under his and picked up her coffee mug.
He waited, afraid of what he'd hear. Which turned out to be the all too familiar sound of feet scampering across the floor. He took a deep breath and found a smile. "Hello, Molly. Is the movie over already?"
She climbed into a chair across from them. "I'm tired of it. Are you done doing grown-up talking? I want some chocolate milk."
Frankie looked at him as if to say, You want to change your mind?
He shook his head. No way. Can't scare me off that easily.
"I don't know," Frankie said. "You've had lots of sweets today."
"A little glass? Please?"
Frankie made a Mom face he recognized. The one that said, "You win, but I'm not a pushover."
She sighed. "Okay, the blue cup. Half. Then a bath, then bed."
Molly seemed satisfied with the compromise. She looked at him and he melted at her round, blue eyes.
"Can Mr. Ryan read me a story? And Little Wolf, too?"
He pushed his chair back. "I'd love it, Angel. Now, you can show me how to make chocolate milk. Your mom's tired, and we should let her rest."
Molly pointed him to the cabinet where he found a small blue plastic cup. She opened the refrigerator and carried a bottle of chocolate syrup to the table. He brought the milk, and poured and squirted under her supervision. He handed her the spoon. "You stir."
She did, then licked the coating of syrup off the spoon. He eyed Frankie, who was watching with a bemused expression.
"Bath next," he said. "Right?"
"Can you do bubbles?"
He gave Frankie a questioning look. She nodded. "She knows where everything is. Just make sure the tub doesn't overflow."
"Come on." Molly tugged at his arm, and he followed her upstairs.
Half an hour later, with Molly bathed, storied, and already asleep, Ryan went downstairs. He found Frankie on the couch in the den, studying the new camera. When he sat next to her, she set it between them like a shield.
"She's out," he said. "I didn't even finish the story."
"She's had a busy day." She tapped the camera. "Thank you again. I think it'll do everything but cook dinner."
"It's the eye of the person behind the lens that makes the picture."
When her eyebrows lifted, he confessed. "My brother's words."
"Your brother. His cabin. Does he know? His pictures? Are they all gone?"
"Yeah. But he's got the negatives in storage, so it's not a total loss. And I never said thanks for fixing the trail access for Pop."
"Don't worry about it. I'm glad I could help. I like your father."
Ryan recalled his father's words. "I do, too. He told me there were some things worth fighting for." He moved the camera to the coffee table. "Talk to me."
"About?"
"Us."
She stared at the ceiling. "I'm trying to get a handle on things."
"What things?"
"Who I am. What I want. Nothing is the same. I've been thinking, too."
Ryan forced himself to stay calm and hear her out. Then he'd argue her into seeing his side. "Go on."
"I've always lived my life for someone else. I had to fix things for people. They had to be happy. But I never really thought about what made me happy."
"Let me make you happy."
"That's not all of it." She got up and paced. "I always figured I'd fall in love with someone who would be a father for Molly—that was always what I looked for. I never really considered what I wanted for me. And in your line of work, you wouldn't be around. And there would always be the chance you wouldn't come back."
"I could get hit by a bus crossing the street on the way to an office job, you know."
"Don't try to make fun of me. This is hard."
"Sorry." He repressed the desire to intercept her pacing, so he could hold her.
"Well, I keep thinking how important your job is. You can save so many lives. But Molly is the one life I put above all the others."
"I understand."
She flopped into one of the easy chairs across from the couch. "After everything that happened last week, I realized how trivial my own problems were. Mom's happy, she doesn't care about the missing money, which it turns out wasn't much of her savings after all, and things are set for your father and his trail rides. I'm in love with you, too. And I was worried for nothing, except when they kidnapped Molly, and then I was really scared and—"
She'd said it out loud. In the middle of a Frankie-babble, but she'd said it. She loved him, too. "Whoa. Take a breath."
She gave a sheepish grin. "Guess I'm back to normal."
"Normal enough to sit next to me?"
She curled up next to him, and he inhaled her scent. Spicy, musky, and Frankie, with an undercurrent of coffee. The erection he'd been trying to ignore strained against his zipper.
She fingered the buttons on his shirt. "But the real reason I couldn't deal with you wasn't you. It was me."
"What do you mean?"
"When everything was happening, after Molly was safe, I liked the feeling of power. Being in charge of those two men. Pointing a rifle at them. The rush, you called it.
And I didn't like that I liked it. I've never liked violence. A little fantasy adventure, but this was real, and everyone could have been killed, and I liked it. When I decided to leave the cabin, even though you said to wait, I felt in control. Scared to death at the same time."
Her lips were parted, her eyes deep blue pools. "And how do you feel right now?" he whispered into her neck.
"Hot. On fire. Aroused. I want you to touch me everywhere. I want to touch you everywhere. I want you inside me, and I want—"
"Frankie." He covered her lips with his. It seemed the best way to stop her babbling.
Her tongue delved into his mouth. One hand fumbled at the waist of his pants. The other worked to unbutton his shirt.
"Upstairs?" he said when she gasped for breath.
"Too far. Brenda's room."
With a bed. And a door that locked. He unzipped her dress along the way.
He flipped the light switch, illuminating the room. Unlike a week ago, the bed was made. "This time, I want to see you. I want to watch you come."
"Then look at me." She ground her hips at his groin.
Finding restraint he didn't know he possessed, he broke the connection. "Slow down, honey. Let's not rush this."
He sat her on the bed and knelt behind her. Lifting her braid out of the way, he planted kisses down her neck. She tilted her head. The pulse at her throat danced. He lowered the sleeves of her dress and kissed her shoulders. The thin straps of her bra were next. His fingers found the clasp at the back and flipped it open. He reached around her, his hands caressing her breasts.
"I love you, Frankie. You and Molly rescued me from a life of emptiness."
She arched against him. "I fell in love with you when you paid more attention to Molly than to me at the ranch."
He slid the dress down to her waist. She started to stand, but he pressed on her shoulders. "Wait." He untied the ribbon at the end of her braid, then slid the rubber band off. One strand at a time, he undid the plait, running his fingers through her hair when the braid reached her scalp. He buried his nose in her hair. The fruity smell was pure, unadulterated Frankie. She may have changed her perfume, but she used the same shampoo. "Lie back. I want to enjoy you."
He took her nipple into his mouth, tugging it into a taut peak. She writhed, tossing her head from side to side. She made little sounds, half groan, half squeak, that had him stiffer than he thought possible.
"Mmm." He laved her other breast. "You taste delicious. Tonight, I want to taste you all over." He raised her hips and slid the dress past a tiny triangle of silk covering her delta of golden curls.
Her scent ratcheted his own arousal up another five notches. If he wasn't careful, his fantasy of slow, languorous lovemaking would be shot to hell. His fingers toyed with the inches of bare flesh between her panties—if that scrap could be called panties—and the elastic tops of her stockings.
She kicked at the dress, and he eased it down, letting it caress her legs as it traveled down their nylon-clad lengths.
"Ryan," she gasped. "I'm going crazy."
"Good. That's part of my plan." One at a time, he unrolled the stockings from her legs, then kissed his way north. He tugged at the scrap of silk with his teeth. "I want this perfect for you."
She yanked at his hair, trying to push him away from his target. "I'm not sure I want—"
"You tell me to stop and I will. But this is my fantasy. Later, we can do yours, okay?"
"But I don't have a fantasy."
"Of course you do. Everyone does." His tongue found the nubbin it was looking for and twirled circles around its base.
"Oh…my." Her hands stopped pushing and started pulling him closer. Her hips bucked, and he followed the rhythm she set. "Oh, my ohmyohmy."
Her thighs gripped him. He suckled her core, and she arched her hips one more time, then shuddered.
He scooted up beside her, his fingers tracing lazy circles around her navel. "Dang it."
"What?" She sucked in deep helpings of air.
"I forgot to watch. Guess we'll have to do it again." He grinned.
"What about my fantasy?" she said, grinning back. She shoved him onto his back and popped the button of his pants.
Chapter 31
Frankie reached for Ryan's zipper. His eyes twinkled, his mouth turned up, but there was an undercurrent of unease.
"You're not afraid, are you?" she asked.
He brought her hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles. "No. But be careful, okay?"
When she tried to lower the zipper over the bulge at his fly, she knew why he was nervous. "Maybe I should let you do this."
"It's your fantasy. Do whatever you like."
She hitched herself to the head of the bed and arranged the pillows behind her back. Crossing her hands behind her head, she leaned against the headboard. "Let me think for a minute."
"Thinking kind of spoils things." He scooted up next to her and nuzzled her breast. "Times like these, action is a better approach."
She nodded in agreement. "But I'm learning as I go here. Until a few minutes ago, I'd never fantasized about what you just did. If I even thought about it, it was, like…gross."
"And now?" She detected a trace of concern in his voice.
With a forefinger, she traced his eyebrows. "I never imagined I could feel like that." She shook her head, enjoying the sensation of her hair floating free after being confined all day. Each strand ignited a spark under her skin. She recognized the jittery sensation as the same one she'd felt when she'd held a gun on Smith and Jones. Control. Power. But now, it didn't frighten or confuse her. With the same voice she'd used then, she said, "All right, cowboy. You're going to do what I say, understand."
He cocked an eyebrow. "I think you're scaring me."
"Good." She leaned forward. "First, only one of us is naked. That's not in my fantasy."
"I can take care of that." He reached over his head for his shirt collar.
"No. Stop."
He let go of his shirt, obviously confused. "Okay, Now I know you're scaring me."
"No talking. Get off the bed. Stand back."
The expression on his face was half amused, but he complied.
"Strip. But slow. Real slow," she commanded. "And seductive." Her pulse throbbed as she watched him undo the remaining buttons on his shirt. "Don't look down. Put those eyeballs right here." She made a V with her fingers and pointed to her own eyes, clenching her teeth to keep from laughing when Ryan's mouth dropped open. She shrugged. "Hey, I found out I like being in control. Now, a little hip action, please."
"Frankie," he croaked.
"I said no talking. I'd put on some music, but there's no player in this room, so you'll have to provide it. Humming is acceptable."
"You've got to be kidding," he mumbled.
"Hey, you said you'd act out my fantasy. I'm kind of making it up as I go along. Improvising, you know. Haven't you ever been to a strip club?"
His face reddened. "Yes, but they were women."
"So, I'm sure you can make the necessary adjustments. Pretend it's an undercover assignment." She crossed her legs at the ankles. "I'm waiting."
He swore under his breath, but she let it pass. His back was to her now, his head bowed, and she could see his ribcage expand and contract as he took several deep breaths. For an instant, she wondered if she'd gone too far, but the delight that filled her made stopping impossible.
When Ryan turned around, his shirt was buttoned to the neck. His thumbs were hooked into the belt loops of his khakis. His eyes bored into hers like glowing embers. He licked his lips. Her temperature escalated along with her heart rate. Somewhere beneath the pounding in her ears, she thought she heard the melody of Let Me Entertain You. She wasn't a hundred percent sure which of them hummed it.
His hips gyrated from side to side while his fingers toyed with the top button of his shirt. One by one, he unbuttoned them, with a forward jerk of his hips as each inch of chest became visible.
Once
he reached the last button, he spun around, shrugged the shirt off, twirled it above his head and tossed it on the floor. She was having trouble breathing. His hands met at his waist, dropping to his zipper. She gave up on breathing while he released himself. It dawned on her that he wasn't wearing anything under his pants, and she gasped.
"Come here," she whispered, reaching for him. "Forget the slow part. Get those pants off. Now."
Before he did, he dug into a pocket and showered her with a handful of foil condom packets like so much confetti. Gloriously naked, he closed the remaining distance to the bed, stopping inches from her, his erection towering from his groin like Boston's North Church steeple. She found her breath, and with trembling fingers, cupped him. Stroked him. And with no more hesitation, took him into her mouth.
Her tongue explored his length. Smooth as satin, rigid as steel. She licked a drop of salty fluid from the tip. He groaned, and she anchored him with her hands at his hips.
"Am I doing this right?" she asked.
He groaned. "Honey, it's your fantasy, but yeah, you're doing fine."
She shifted to her knees and took more of him into her mouth. His hands at her head set the rhythm. His gasps of pleasure enflamed her.
"Hon, unless your fantasy is supposed to end in about ten seconds, I'm begging you. Stop. I want to finish in…um…the more…Oh, God…more…traditional…"
She wanted him there, too. She relinquished her hold on him. He was sheened in sweat, and his eyes were glazed. But in their depths, she saw what she'd seen in Bob's eyes this afternoon. She fumbled on the bed for a condom.
Ryan snatched it from her hands, tore the packet open and sheathed himself.
He slid inside her, and when the earth shattered around her, she kept her eyes open and watched him come.
*****
Frankie pillowed her head on Ryan's chest, twirling her fingers through the coarse hair. "You begged."
"Like a man on death row."
"I liked that. Big strong cowboy begging the schoolmarm." She rose to one elbow and searched his face as he lay there, relaxed and sated, and wished they could stay that way. All the 'what if's' she'd been sorting through jostled for position in her brain. Resigned to reality, she settled back onto his chest, where she couldn't see his eyes. When she looked at him, all the reasons it couldn't work scattered like a flock of pigeons in the park. "All right. Fantasy time is over. We haven't finished talking."
