by Thianna D
She didn't find it as amusing as he did.
"Are you sure?" Her aunt asked.
"He's sure. We've got it covered," Abby shouted.
"I wish she'd decide whether she's going to play cupid or guardian dragon," Abby muttered.
"She plays both well," Harris murmured.
"It's like she has a sixth sense or something."
"ESP," he agreed in a hushed voice.
"Why are we whispering?" Abby asked, keeping her volume low.
"Because Cupid the Dragon is in the other room," he mouthed.
Abby giggled. Laughter caught in her throat when Harris slid his palm under her loose-fitting top and splayed his hand over her lower back. His thumb drew lazy circles. "And because you're so sexy when you think you're acting sneaky." He dove in for another kiss and cupped her ass cheeks, pulling her against the cradle of his hips. Against her tummy, his erection stretched long and thick.
His breath teased her senses as his tongue played with her mouth.
Abby moaned. When Harris came up for air, she hooked her fingers into the V of his sweater, touching skin and curly hair. She wound a springy whorl around her finger. Marshalling her courage, she peered at him through her lashes. "Do you plan to spank me?" she asked, as if kneading her ass didn't provide enough of a clue.
"Yes. How do you feel about that?"
Like she'd transformed into pudding or something equally gooey. Like she very much needed to lean against him because her legs wouldn't support her.
"I think I would like to try it," she admitted, and watched as a flame ignited in his eyes. She wet her suddenly dry lips. "Will you…will you, uh, use the spanking bench?"
"I bought it with you in mind, but we won't use it until you're ready. We'll start easy and slow. An over-the-knee hand spanking. I want your first time to be intimate, more pleasure than pain."
Ruthless butterflies beat their wings in her stomach, but her panties dampened. She pressed her thighs together. How could something so scary be so exciting? "When?"
"Soon." He lifted his hands from her ass to her waist. "Waiting is like foreplay. It's part of the anticipation. Do you trust me to decide when that is?"
The way she felt right now, if he asked her to jump off a bridge she'd probably do it. She nodded. "Yes, I do."
Approval flared. "Good. Trust is very important. I promise I won't hurt you, Abby."
"Isn't it supposed to hurt?"
"Yes, but in a good way. Not all pain is the same." He pressed a kiss to her mouth, and set her away from him. "Let's get these dishes done before your aunt investigates."
While he rinsed, she loaded.
"I'm going out of town for a tournament for a few days," he said.
"A tournament? Wow! I'm impressed." She'd assumed he played tennis for fun. "So you play professionally?" She supposed there were tourneys for amateurs, but wasn't up on the tennis world.
"Yes, I play for money." He made wry face. "Of course I don't always take home the big purse, but I win more than I lose. The car wash has turned out to be lucrative, but for a long time, tournaments accounted for my sole source of income."
Harris added a dish tab to the machine, shut the door, and started it up.
"How long will you be gone?" Abby asked.
"A few days. May I see you on Friday? I'd like to take you to dinner."
Abby cocked her head to the side. "You don't want me to make macaroni and cheese?"
"Oh yes, but not on our first official alone date."
Abby giggled. "Not a double date with Aunt Quincy?"
"I like your aunt. She's a nice lady. I liked your Uncle Joe too. But no, we should solo next time."
Abby's pulse raced with possibilities, probabilities. A week ago she'd sought a place to hide, could not have imagined dating so soon. Now, she counted the days until she could see him again. Kiss him and more. Would he try to spank her on their date? Would she let him?
She didn't know if she'd like the pain part, but her body tingled when she contemplated lying across this man's lap. Abby tossed the dish rag with which she'd been wiping the counters into the sink.
Harris stalked toward her and stopped before their bodies touched. Heat radiated off him, blazed in his eyes. "Does dating me make you nervous?"
Dating. Kissing. Spanking. Having sex with a man other than Dale. All of it. She might be able to fake poise and nonchalance, but for how long? Besides, lying would get her nowhere but into trouble. The man could read her like a book. "A little," she admitted.
"Because of spanking?"
"Partly. And because dating in general is big step for me." She twisted her hands. "But I like you," she admitted. Her experience with Dale had undermined her self-confidence. When you thought you knew a person, and everything you believed turned out wrong, how could you trust again? It wasn't only Dale who had failed her, so had her judgment.
But one mistake didn't mean she should cut herself off from all men for her entire life. She was a normal, healthy woman with an active libido. And an even richer fantasy life, if she cared to tell the whole truth. Shouldn't life be an adventure? She did not plan to creep through the years like an old lady on a Sunday drive, but throw herself into new experiences with heart and soul so her last words were, "Woo hoo! What a ride."
A hunch told her Harris could give her that ride.
"We won't do anything you're not comfortable with." Harris brushed a knuckle over her cheek. He'd misunderstood her hesitation. But his small touch incinerated her reservations. She swayed toward him, and he caught her, crushed her mouth under his. When he released her, he left her breathless. "We'd better rejoin your aunt," he said hoarsely.
He held open the swinging kitchen door, and Abby preceded him into the living room.
"Well, there you are!" Aunt Quincy said. "I feared you two had gotten lost…"
Chapter 4
Dale Delaney tugged his ball cap low over his forehead and slumped in the front seat of his SUV and surveyed Amore, the Italian restaurant across the street. Three people had stopped to ask if he needed assistance. He doubted friendliness motivated their inquiry. "May I help you," was code for, "Who are you and why are you here?" Assholes. It was none of their damn business!
He didn't understand how Abby could stand living in a town as provincial as Corbin's Bend. He didn't know much about the community, other than it was located in the middle of nowhere. Conscious of Quincy's and Joe Lauder's silent reproach, he'd found excuses to avoid accompanying his wife on her visits to Corbin's Bend during their marriage. In retrospect, it would be hard to prove the Lauders wrong in their disapproval since he'd fucked up so royally. He'd hurt Abby and destroyed their marriage, ruining the best thing to ever happen to him. From the moment he'd laid eyes on her in their ninth grade social studies class he'd coveted her attention, her smiles, her love. Until gambling seized him and awakened an insatiable lust. Desperation had driven him to violate his best intentions, his heartfelt promises. Out of love and trust, Abby had put his name on the deed to the house she inherited from her maternal grandmother, and he'd used it as collateral for a loan so he could enter a high stakes poker game.
He lost the game, the house and Abby.
Climbing out of the hole he'd dug for himself had proven much harder than falling in, but he had curtailed playing online poker by virtue of the fact that that his internet service provider had disconnected his account for nonpayment.
If it was the last thing he did, he vowed to buy back Abby's house and restore her faith in him.
Dale peered into Amore's large picture window, a perfect frame for his wife's gentle beauty, a showcase for the smiles and laughter she directed at another man. Jealousy curdled the milkshake he'd slurped down on the drive to Corbin's Bend.
She'd wasted no time in replacing him!
A voice of reason cut through the anger tightening his gut. He had to accept responsibility for his actions. He had ruined their marriage, and even after losing the love of his life, it s
till had taken him a while to get his shit together. But he'd found a near fulltime gig moving furniture and occasionally supplemented his income by delivering pizza.
Gambling could be a bitch of a mistress, and she had held his balls in her hand. But he was on top now. He had a big poker tournament coming up that would be his ticket to win Abby back. Despite the interloper—he glared at the asshole sitting across from her, he felt positive. When Lady Luck smiled, you couldn't lose….
He glanced at Abby. Soon, babe. Soon.
Dale started the ignition.
Amid the clack of dishes, the din of conversation and Volare playing though the restaurant speakers, a screech from outside the restaurant caught Harris's attention in time to spy a rattrap SUV peel away from the curb. He didn't recognize the vehicle as a local's. Strange. As it disappeared down the street, it slipped from his mind. More important matters beckoned.
Her eyes sparkling, Abby leaned forward, her sexy lips curving into a happy smile. Her greeting when he arrived to pick her up had been warm and affectionate, and her receptive welcome had turned up the heat on his libido, which had simmered since dinner at Aunt Quincy's.
"I forgot to ask you," she said, in a low husky voice. "How did your tournament go?"
"Very well. I beat out most of my opponents." The 200K he'd won had been worth the ten grand buy-in.
"Where was it held?"
"Vegas," he answered.
"Wasn't it a little hot there to play?"
"It's not too hot yet in May, and I was inside in the A/C most of the time."
A tiny frown creased her brows, but before he could inquire about it, the waiter appeared with their meals.
"For the lady, eggplant parmesan." With flourish, the waiter set a dish in front of Abby. "And for the gentleman: sausage, peppers, and polenta." He served Harris.
A cheese grater appeared in the waiter's hand. "Would either of you care for some fresh grated Romano?"
"Please," Abby said, and Harris nodded.
He cranked the grater over their plates, then refilled their wine glasses with Chianti and slipped away.
"It smells wonderful," Abby said.
"It sure does," he agreed. She smelled wonderful too, he'd noticed immediately when he picked her up for their date. Like vanilla and flowers. Her scent invited him to bury his face in her neck, and inhale. Instead, he'd been forced to settle for a quick kiss under the watchful eye of Cupid the Dragon. But they were alone now. "I thought of you a lot this week."
"You did?" Her smile of pleasure turned flirty. "What did you think?"
That he wouldn't rest until he had her naked in his bed. Over his knee and under his hand. He couldn't wait to test his hunch that her ass would bloom with color.
He leaned closer. "I thought about…spanking you," he admitted in a low voice, his discretion more for her comfort than necessity. They were all spankos here, eliminating a need to hide or pretend. He'd noticed several ladies—and a man or two—easing themselves into their seats at the restaurant. But out of deference to Abby's feelings, he chose to be circumspect.
Arousal sparked in her eyes. If they'd been further along in their dinner, he might have hustled her out of the restaurant. She raised her glass of Chianti to her lips and peered at him over the rim. "Have I been a bad girl?" Huskiness infused her voice.
"Very bad," he teased. He hoped she wouldn't order dessert. He planned for her to be dessert.
Abby lowered her lashes and began to eat. She raised a forkful of breaded eggplant to her mouth. After swallowing, she cut another piece and said in the most nonchalant tone, "I tried some of the spanking implements at Auntie Q's."
Only his experienced poker face kept him from spewing polenta across the table. Yes, she had been very bad. "And how did you try them?"
"I smacked them against my thigh and my butt." She twirled long strands of pasta around her fork.
"Which ones?" He riveted his gaze on her face.
She chewed slowly. Very slowly. Swallowed. She took a sip of wine. "Some of the paddles. A leather one, a couple of wooden ones. The ones with holes do sting more. And I tried the flogger thingee."
"On the bare?" he asked hoarsely. He would never be able to erase the image she conjured. Would never want to.
"I wish," she said. "But no. I was in the shop. Anybody could have come in."
Harris shifted in his chair. His erection did not fit well in his trousers. "So how did you like it?"
"I liked imagining you were spanking me."
God, she was killing him. Or trying to. He leaned back and picked up his wine glass. He swirled the liquid and pretended to study its legs. "You should know two things," he drawled. "First, I am pleased you are so receptive to the idea of spanking. And second," he glanced around before returning his gaze to her face, "no one in this restaurant would blink if I bent you over this table and spanked your flirtatious ass."
Her eyes widened. "You wouldn't."
Harris laughed. "Try me."
What had she unleashed? With confidence in her womanly wiles boosted by memories of their kitchen kisses, Abby had flirted shamelessly in the restaurant. But now that she and Harris had pulled into his garage, courage had fled leaving her to handle the bill. She didn't know who that brazen woman in Amore had been, but it wasn't this jumpy innocent clutching the car armrest. My first time going to a man's house. Would Harris expect sex?
Of course, he would. And based on their conversations, most likely he planned to spank her too. She had assumed she was ready, but now she didn't know. What had seemed so natural, so thrilling, had turned… scary. Only the lack of a getaway car kept her from turning tail. He'd picked her up, and would have to drive her back to Aunt Quincy's when she was ready.
Like now?
But he'd opened the passenger side door and waited for her. Abby took a deep breath. Get a grip. Don't be such a baby. She slid out of the vehicle.
"This way." He gestured to the cemented path leading to entrance of his house.
If Harris intended to bed her, shouldn't he have touched her by now? Maybe played a little grab-ass? Perhaps a little aggression, possessiveness would calm her nerves. Abigail, settle down now. On the other hand, any sudden moves had the potential to send her running into the night. But Harris was as suave and polite as he was dominant, and he kept his hands to himself.
But since he hadn't hesitated to kiss her in her aunt's kitchen, perhaps this didn't mean what she'd thought it meant. Maybe he had etchings to show her. Maybe besides owning and running a car wash and playing tennis, he painted. And here's a lovely one of Corbin's Bend at sunset…
After unlocking his front door, he motioned for her enter. Despite her panic, she stared with unabashed curiosity. An umbrella and a tennis racket shared the same space in a tall ceramic urn. Given Harris's professionalism, she would have expected him to take better care of his sporting equipment—but then tennis divas had a reputation for racquet abuse, so she guessed it didn't matter.
A few steps from the foyer, she sank into the thick shag carpeting of his living room. Perpendicular to a gas fireplace, modern umber leather sofas faced off across a massive stone coffee table. Bold contemporary paintings splashed vibrant color onto an otherwise neutral palette. Mounted atop a pedestal in the corner stood a marble piece modern art, but not so abstract she couldn't recognize a butt when she saw one.
And kitty corner from the ass sculpture stood the antique spanking bench, out of place among the contemporary accoutrements, but perfectly at home considering what she knew of Harris. He liked abstract art, tennis, and spanking. She gulped and turned her attention to the wide sliding doors, blackened by the night. Had Corbin's Bend been more developed, he would have had a nice view of city lights, but here he overlooked the foothills. In the morning, he probably could catch sight of deer and jackrabbits.
Right now she felt like a nervous long-eared rodent pursued by a hungry coyote. No, that wasn't fair. She glanced at Harris. By word and deed she'd given him the im
pression she wanted to be here. She twisted her sweaty hands. Her gaze slid the length of his body from his intense, dark eyes to the breadth of his shoulders, to the bulge in his trousers. She interlocked her fingers and wished in vain she'd had more experience. She hoped she didn't embarrass herself by doing something stupid. Would he be disappointed if she didn't come? Sometimes an orgasm happened, sometimes it didn't, and given her case of nerves the odds were on the latter. Dale had never said anything, but often she'd sensed he'd taken her failure to come as an indictment of his prowess.
Harris brushed her hair away from her shoulder. "We don't have to do anything you're not ready for," he said softly. "We can sit and talk, have a glass a wine."
She took a breath. "That's not exactly what I was thinking, but close. Are you psychic?"
He chuckled. "No. But you're twisting your hands like you're wringing out a dish rag."
Abby glanced down. She'd tangled her fingers so tightly her knuckles had blanched. Embarrassed, she unclenched her hands and looked away. "I'm sorry. I'm new at this. You must think I'm an idiot." After the way she flirted in the restaurant, to freeze up now painted her as a tease or a twit. You're not ready for the big league.
With a gentle finger beneath her chin, Harris nudged her face toward his. "You're beautiful and sexy. No pressure." He kissed her softly.
"Come, sit down." He took her hand and led her to one of the sofas. She sat, and he aimed a remote at the fireplace making it flare to life. He moved then to a sleek black cabinet and poured a dark coppery liquid from a decanter into two snifters.
"Cognac." He handed her one and then settled beside her, stretching an arm behind her head and propping his feet on the coffee table. He cupped his glass in his palm and sipped. Relaxed and casual—like he brought a woman home every day.
Abby swirled her brandy, and sniffed. Rich. Warm. Like a sultry perfume. She took a hesitant swallow. A pleasant burn followed the path of liquid from throat to stomach. "Heady stuff."
"Yes," His eyes glittered, and she realized he feigned relaxation for her benefit.
