Texas Kissing

by Newbury, Helena

  It took me over a year of painstaking work to become an expert. I must have made and destroyed a few thousand fake passports and driver’s licenses before I finally had a set that were perfect.

  Then I gathered up my savings and, one morning, I simply walked out of a fire exit at college and disappeared.

  I knew my uncle would be looking for me—he couldn’t risk just letting me go. It was about more than just the fear of me going to the FBI and testifying against him and the rest of the mob—I’d betrayed him by leaving and he’d never, ever forgive that.

  The irony was that I was far too scared to go to the FBI. I couldn’t face my uncle across a courtroom and recount what he’d done to Annette, or all the contract killings and extortions I’d heard about. I couldn’t face all those months in hotel rooms and safehouses during the trial, wondering when someone sent by my uncle would get to me. Maybe if I’d had someone with me, someone to support me, but not on my own.

  I could change my name but I couldn’t change my face, so I stayed the hell away from cameras and looked for a way I could earn a living—something I could do from home, with minimal contact with people.

  Fortunately, I’d accidentally taught myself a very marketable skill. I bought the bus and set up in Texas, convenient for meeting with the Mexicans. They were always in need of fake passports.

  My fake IDs became known in the underworld as the best around and I made them for criminals from Russia to Japan...but never, ever for the Mafia.

  And I never let myself get close to anyone again.

  Lily

  Now

  I sat there in the darkened car for a full half hour before I finally had myself under control. The drive home helped—it was familiar, relaxing. It helped me remember that I was thousands of miles away from New York. I didn’t kid myself that I was safe: I’d never be safe, with my uncle out there looking for me. But I was as safe as I’d ever been.

  As the memories receded, the anger started. It was almost a relief.

  I hadn’t had a full-on breakdown like that in months, and it was all because I’d forgotten the rules. I’d gotten lazy and careless and let myself believe that I could start some kind of thing with some guy. As if it was possible for me to be happy.

  As if I deserved it.

  I parked beside the bus and stomped inside, slamming the door behind me.

  Or I would have done, if I hadn’t lived on a goddamn bus. I had to hit the key fob remote and then stand outside, fuming, while the door did its agonizingly slow pump...hiss and folded open. And once I was in, I found that bus doors don’t really slam, either, so I had to settle for mashing the button as hard as I could.

  Now I was even more frustrated. With him. With me. Mainly with me.

  I turned on the coffee pot. It was getting late but I needed to work. My stupid attempt at a night out had put me behind. What I do pays well and there’s no need for me to take on as many jobs as I do, but staying busy keeps me from thinking about the past.

  I fell into my seat and picked up where I’d left off. But working didn’t vent my anger or quiet my brain. Stupid! I trimmed an edge that wasn’t quite straight. Idiot! I checked the printing. Moron! I tested the hologram. Stupid, idiotic, moron acting like a freaking teenage girl—

  I threw down the passport and stomped to the kitchen to get coffee, adding lots of milk so that I could drink it immediately. I stood there glowering at my own reflection in the darkened window, glugging the entire mug. I resisted the urge to hurl it at the floor.

  It wasn’t Bull. Or it wasn’t just him. Yes, he’d been cocky and presumptuous and annoying as hell. But that was him—that was what he did, every day. Judging by what I’d seen at Lucky Pete’s, his brand of dim-witted, over-muscled arrogance was exactly what the local girls wanted. I couldn’t blame him for being him. The person acting out of character was me.

  And dim-witted wasn’t fair. The slow talking and that broad accent were misleading—I’d seen the sharp intelligence in his eyes. He wasn’t dumb...just stubborn as hell. Simple, in the good sense of the word. Uncomplicated.

  Pretty much the polar opposite of me. One of the many reasons we’d never work.

  Why the hell had I gone there in the first place? What had possessed me to sit with him and drink with him and—Dear God!—ride a freaking bull in front of him? I leaned against the counter, put my palms over my eyes, and groaned at the memory.

  It was an infatuation. That’s all it was. It was just because I’d been sleeping alone for so long. A simple maintenance problem that could be taken care of with a long bath and a vibrator. In the morning, I’d feel much better.

  I decided that I’d finish off two more passports. They were Russian ones, for Luka, the arms dealer, and Russian ones were easy—it wouldn’t take more than a few hours.

  Luka. I’d met him a handful of times over the last few years. With his chiseled jaw and his sharp suits and that accent... Not my type, but he was gorgeous in his own way. I hadn’t seen him in months—he was probably busy bedding one of his Russian blondes. Life seemed to be one long party, over in Moscow. I bet he’s never had to go on the run, I thought miserably.

  Yes. A few more hours of work and then I’d get in the tub. I’d hit my...ahem, reset switch and everything would be just fine.

  When I sat down again, though, I found I couldn’t concentrate. The caffeine hadn’t really kicked in yet and the combination of tiredness and frustration had me frowning at the little bits of paper and rubbing my eyes. Even with my magnifying glass, I couldn’t seem to align things quite straight. Nothing would stay in its proper place.

  I rested my head on my forearms and gave a silent scream. I knew that this was coming from somewhere deeper down. This wasn’t just about Lucky Pete’s or a stupid bull—either bull. It was about the limitations I’d placed on my life, that night in New York when I’d made my decision. It was about the path I’d chosen to keep everyone else safe.

  I had to convince myself that I didn’t really like him. That it wouldn’t work. That the whole thing was stupid. Because the alternative—that I wanted him and could never have him—that was too painful to think about.

  I only intended to close my eyes for a few seconds. But sleep dived on me from a thousand feet, plunging me down into the depths.

  Sleep is the time when the memories of New York sometimes stirred, uncoiling and lunging up at me as nightmares. But I’d cried all my guilt and pain out, for tonight. So something else took their place, something deeper, warmer and more primal.

  As the caffeine finally kicked in, stirring up the day’s memories to swim around me, I dreamed.

  Lily

  “Oh, Mary. You have such a lovely home,” said Peggy-Sue.

  I smiled at our little homestead. I’d always liked it here. Close enough to town that I could easily ride in to see friends or attend my quilting circle, yet far enough away that we were private. Green fields and a river and a couple of horses. Everything we needed. “Come inside,” I told Peggy Sue. “I’ll fix us some iced tea. And then you must help me package up the slates and chalk for the start of school tomorrow. Those children won’t teach themselves.”

  Just as we sat down, though, the door crashed open. “Woman!” bawled Bull. “I’m going to root you like you’re a mare in heat.

  “Husband!” I squeaked. “We have company!”

  “Oh my!” yelped Peggy-Sue.

  Bull ignored us both. He picked me up and threw me over his shoulder, carrying me towards the bedroom. Then he kicked the door closed behind us and tossed me on the bed. My long skirts flew up around my hips revealing all sorts of complicated petticoats and bloomers. I wasn’t quite sure how I was going to get them off.

  Bull filled his fists with lace and cotton. With one heave of his powerful shoulders, I was bared.

  I stared up at my husband, panting. He was shucking his pants down his thighs and brandishing himself in one hand, moving towards me. The hot press of his manhood parted my sex and—<
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  Lily

  “Heavens!” I said and opened my eyes.

  Reality slowly oozed back. But my mind was still awash with a safe, snug little house and a big, strong....husband?!

  My groin ached with the remembered stretch of that first penetration, his cock thickly hard. I could still feel the heat of him inside me.

  I groaned and sat upright. I had a horrible feeling that—yep, I’d been drooling.

  I stumbled to the mirror. I had a Department of Homeland Security hologram stuck to my forehead. The tamperproof kind, where it leaves a mess behind when you peel it off. Great.

  What the hell had all that been about?

  Me, in the old west? Why was I called Mary? Why was I a schoolmarm, in some kind of domestic bliss? That wasn’t me!

  All that was avoiding the main issue, though. I’d dreamt of him. I could feel my face reddening, hologram and all. I’d never dreamed about a guy before. I mean, movie stars occasionally but not a real guy. Not someone I knew.

  And in the dream, I’d wanted him. Wanted him so hard that I’d let him take me even though it was inappropriate and bad timing and wrong.

  I leaned against the kitchen counter and stared out at the night. This was getting completely out of control.

  Antonio

  Erico was playing golf. That meant he was in a shitty mood, but then he was in a shitty mood most days, since the rumors of the trial started. When he saw that I’d arrived, he slapped the guy he was playing against on the shoulder and told him to go ahead without him. We walked out of earshot and then stood pretending to watch as the guy teed off or teed up or whatever the fuck it is you do in golf.

  “I got a job for you,” said Erico. “I want you to find Tessa.”

  I blinked and fought the urge to say what? because that’s one of the many things that annoys Erico. “How?” I said at last.

  “I don’t care how. Just find her. I got the FB-fucking-I crawling up my ass. The house is probably bugged. The trial isn’t just a rumor, any more. I got word this morning—it’s happening.”

  My chest tightened. If the Feds were really going to move against Erico, I was probably on the list, too. “I looked for her when she left,” I reminded him gently. “We couldn’t find her then.”

  “Well, try fucking harder. You want the Feds to find her first?”

  I thought back to the little bitch’s friend, the one we’d suicided. “No.”

  “Then get to work.”

  Bull

  She was beautiful—long legs, gorgeous dark eyes. Getting on top of her was going to be amazing.

  I spoke right into her ear. “Now I know you don’t know me,” I told her. “But all your friends do. You ask any of them and they’ll tell you. I’m real gentle, ‘long as you behave yourself.”

  She gave me an uncertain look. Her eyes grew even bigger when she saw what I had in my hands.

  “Don’t you worry about the rope,” I said. “That’s only there if we need it. But we don’t need it, do we? You’re going to be real sweet with me, aren’t you?” I ran my hand over her neck. “Don’t be scared,” I said. “I’ve done this with all your friends.”

  And I mounted her.

  For a moment, I thought I’d judged it right because she was passive and willing under me. But then I was flying through the air, barely hanging onto my hat as I cleared the fence and landed, sprawling, in the hay.

  “Well goddamn,” I said mildly. “I thought we had a connection.”

  The horse put her nose through the fence and snorted disparagingly at me. I clambered to my feet to try again.

  I know where I am, with animals. Always have. Animals are simple creatures and I don’t say that in the sense of looking down at them. I’m a simple creature. That’s why we get on so well.

  Animals are driven by instincts and needs: food, shelter, safety. People, though—they’re just a mess of contradictions and women are the worst of all. Trying to work out what a woman’s going to do next is like trying to predict the path of a paper dart in a tornado.

  Case in point: Lily.

  One minute, she was into me, the next she was running. One minute she seemed to hate me, the next she was wrapped around me, soft and eager. She was the most frustrating woman I’d ever met…

  ...and yet I hadn’t stopped thinking about her in three days.

  I kicked the fence, being careful not to spook the horse. I still couldn’t believe I’d pushed Kirsten away. Was I nuts? Kirsten, with her tight little body and that way she had of riding me, circling her hips like a goddamn belly dancer and gripping me between her thighs like I was a bronco trying to throw her off. We’d go like that for hours, out in the barn of her dad’s huge ranch, both of us bathed in sweat and her hair gleaming in the evening sun. Just the thought of her cute, perky breasts was enough to get me hard.

  Or it had been, until Lily. Now, Kirsten didn’t interest me. I’d always loved that toned, tanned stomach with its little silver and diamond navel stud, displayed so proudly in crop tops and tied shirts. But now all I could think about was uncovering the creamy curves under Lily’s clothes. I wanted to strip her, slowly and carefully, exposing her inch by inch until she was nude. And then I wanted to run my hands all over her, cupping her shoulders, rubbing up and down her spine, stroking the outside and then the inside of her thighs until I knew every damn part of her, until she trembled and moaned under my touch.

  I sighed at the horse and pulled the rope taut between my hands. “Now, are you going to cooperate?”

  The horse stared back at me. If it could have raised an eyebrow, it would have.

  Lily sure as hell wouldn’t cooperate. Part of me wanted to teach her a lesson—tie her and pull her over my knee and spank her ass until it glowed red and then roughly fuck her into submission. But she’d have to be into it, of course.

  God, imagine if she was. The world stopped for fully five seconds as my mind turned over the possibilities.

  No. She was way too innocent for that kinky shit. And right now, I’d take missionary position with the lights off, I was so hard for that girl.

  I climbed up on the fence and put a comforting hand on the horse’s jaw. “How about we start over?” I said. “I’m Bull. I’m going to ride you. We can do it the hard way or the easy way, but I’m going to break you, no matter what.”

  Dealing with horses really isn’t that complicated. Gentleness and force—it’s just a matter of using the right combination. Too gentle and you don’t make any progress. Too strong and you’ll scare them.

  I stood there staring at the horse for a moment. It’d been three days. Maybe it was time to try again with Lily...but this time, with a gentler approach.

  I don’t do gentle. Not with women. Some guys are all poetic: starlight this and tranquil that. I’ve never been much good with words.

  But maybe it was time to start.

  I pointed at the horse. “Don’t you go nowhere,” I warned. And pulled out my phone.

  Lily

  I’d spent three days making passports and determinedly not thinking about him. Then, that morning, the air conditioning had gone on the fritz, so I was busy fixing it. I do my own maintenance, not because I enjoy it or I like the challenge but because I can’t have a maintenance guy poking around the bus and discovering tens of thousands of dollars worth of fake documents.

  Because fixing the air conditioning meant digging into the bowels of the bus, from the inside, in July, without a/c, I’d taken most of my clothes off. I had the blinds drawn anyway to keep the worst of the sun out, so I figured it didn’t matter.

  That’s why, when the phone rang, I was inside a claustrophobic crawl space, on all fours in my bra and panties, trying to keep the sweat out of my eyes while I tightened a loose hose. I listened to the ring tone and frowned, confused.

  I have several phones on the go at any one time, “burners” I can use for business and periodically throw away. I color-code them with electrical tape.

  Except this wasn
’t the green phone I used to call the Mexicans, or the red one I used to call the Japanese, or even the blue one I used to call the Russians. This was the plain, boring one without any tape on at all. The one I kept for my normal, non-business life.

  The one that never rang.

  I backed out of the crawl space and grabbed the phone, expecting it to be a telemarketer. “Hello?”

  “Been thinking about you,” said a deep Texas rumble. I almost dropped the phone. “How did you get this number?” I said when I’d recovered.

  “Well now there’s a story. I had to do a whole heap of calling around. Eventually, I got it from Greta, at the library. I figured you probably read.”

  “She shouldn’t have given that out! That’s confidential!”

  “I threw myself on her mercy. I told her I wanted to woo you.”

  “Woo me? That’s what you call it?”

  “She’s eighty-three, Lily. What did you want me to say, that I want to rip off your panties and fuck you until you bite my shoulder?”

  The phone slipped out of my hand and I fumbled it three times before I got it to my ear again. “Why are you calling?” I asked, my face scarlet.

  “I wondered if you wanted to drop by the stables?” he said. “See the horses?”

  “I don’t like horses,” I said.

  “Who doesn’t like horses?”

  I tried to put into words why I didn’t like them, but it sounded stupid in my head. So I just said, “Me.”

  “So don’t come for the horses.”

  “Why else would I come?”

  Silence. A deep, hot, throbbing silence. I swallowed.

  “What are you doing?” he asked. “What are you wearing?”

  That goddamn voice—dust and sweat and whisky-raw heat. It twisted deep into my mind and made me go mushy inside.