MYSTERY LOVER

by Vicky Lewis Thompson

  At the very moment he admitted to himself there was something going on between them that never had before, she broke the connection and stepped away. I'm fine. Thanks." She climbed back on her stool. "Guess I'd better finish up. The day's not getting any younger."

  What was that he'd seen in her eyes? It was almost as if she … no, that was ridiculous. B.J. wouldn't think such thoughts about him, any more than he should be thinking that way about her. They'd grown up together, for crying out loud.

  He ought to leave her alone and start fixing the fence. "What's wrong with the tractor?"

  "Busted thermostat." She leaned over the fender again and reached down into the guts of the tractor.

  Jonas had never been big on engine repair. He could do it if necessary, but he'd rather fiddle with things that had a pulse. Still, watching B.J. positioned like that was very intriguing. He'd never leaned a woman facedown over the fender of a car, but B.J. was giving him ideas. She'd probably never done it doggy style, either. She had the perfect buns for it, not too skinny and not too plump.

  "If you're gonna stand there, you can hand me the wrench."

  He picked up the wrench from where she'd laid it on the far end of the fender, took hold of her outstretched hand and put the wrench into it. The minute he touched her hand he felt a jolt of recognition. God, he was losing it if the warmth and texture of B.J.'s skin reminded him of Sarah. The two women couldn't be any more different.

  "Thanks," B.J. muttered. "Listen, you don't have to baby-sit me. I can do this."

  Well, maybe they were alike in one way, he thought with a wry smile. They both liked to be in charge. With B.J., though, he felt irritated that she stubbornly wouldn't accept his help repairing the tractor. He could be of some use. Leaning over this fender with her and wrestling with the greasy engine had a certain amount of appeal this morning, strange as it might seem. But she wasn't having any of that.

  On the other hand, he would be more than happy to let Sarah take charge of their lovemaking tonight. That promised to be one of the most thrilling experiences of his life. Only eleven and a half hours to go.

  * * *

  Chapter 4

  «^»

  By the time B.J. opened the door of Sarah's rented cottage at seven that night, she felt like a secret agent. If she could really pull off this caper, she might want to consider a career in undercover work. She hadn't had this much fun in years, although keeping Jonas literally in the dark was turning out to he quite a challenge.

  Secrecy was especially difficult in her case, because until now, her life had been an open book. In a way, though, that played to her advantage. She'd be the last person in the world anyone would expect to set up a mysterious sexual rendezvous under an assumed name. That was more like Keely's style.

  Although, if Keely were here, she might not be so surprised at her little sister's antics. The two of them had relished hiding in that cave to plot and scheme when they were kids. Then again, Keely might have been impressed with B.J.'s inventiveness. As the big sister, Keely has been so quick to come up with ideas that B.J. had always let her lead.

  She'd always let everybody lead, she thought, closing the door and setting down her bag full of props. But not tonight. Tonight she was running the show, and what a show it would be.

  Her pickup truck was hidden behind the renovated garage that Sarah used for a studio. Sarah liked having a separate building to work in, which was why this place had appealed to her. That and the relative isolation. The house sat on twenty acres of unimproved, cactus and sagebrush-studded land that might become a housing development someday, but served as a perfect artist's retreat until then. One side of the property bordered Twin Boulders land, which made Sarah and B.J. neighbors.

  They'd met in the hardware store at the beginning of the summer when they'd both gone shopping for welding equipment. B.J. had been fascinated to discover that Sarah used a welder for creating sculptures instead of mending broken machinery, and she'd asked to see Sarah's work. After her first visit, she'd dropped by for coffee a few times, but they'd both been too busy to spend much time with each other.

  B.J. had never mentioned Sarah to Jonas, which was turning out to be a good thing. This charade could be her one and only chance to make love to Jonas without risking her heart or her pride. She intended to make the most of it.

  Thunder rolled overhead as she turned on the air conditioning. Luckily the house was small and would cool off quickly. It hadn't rained all day, although dark clouds had threatened a storm most of the afternoon. She'd hoped it would hold off until after Jonas arrived. The little house had a tin roof. Rain on that roof would add to the sensual atmosphere she was going for.

  Sarah had rented the cottage completely furnished, which made B.J. feel a little more comfortable about this escapade. At least she wasn't making free with Sarah's stuff. Besides, the only thing she intended to use was the sturdy four-poster in the bedroom, and she'd brought all her own linens.

  A quick glance at her watch told her that she had less than an hour before dark, and she had no doubt Jonas would be right on time. Reaching into her bag she pulled out a silk scarf, opened the front door and tied the scarf loosely around the brass knob. A rush of adrenaline left her shaky. This would be so scary. And so incredibly cool.

  * * *

  It had been the longest day of Jonas's life. Several times he could have sworn that the sun had stopped moving entirely. Other times he shook his watch, certain that the battery had died. By six he'd showered and shaved and changed clothes three times. Then he discovered he couldn't eat the perfectly good meal Lupita put in front of him and Noah.

  "This must be a helluva date," Noah commented as he forked up another mouthful of enchiladas. "I've never seen you go off your feed on account of a woman before."

  Jonas was so distracted, he hadn't realized his lack of appetite might alert his brother. "Oh, we'll probably grab a bite to eat, so I didn't want to stuff myself before seeing her."

  "Gonna tell me who she is?"

  "I don't think she wants me to."

  Noah leveled a stern look at him. "You know I try not to butt in—"

  "Oh, yeah, right." Jonas grinned.

  "I said I try. I don't always succeed. And in this instance, I have one thing to say. If this woman is married—"

  "Not married." Jonas was hurt that Noah would even bring that into the conversation. "You ought to know me better than that."

  "You're right." Noah looked apologetic. "Sorry, bro. It's just that you don't usually keep me in the dark, especially when the lady in question is important enough to change clothes five times."

  "Three. And it was only on account of the weather. I couldn't decide if it would rain or not."

  Noah eyed his brother over the rim of his coffee mug. "Can't wear a blue shirt in the rain, that's for sure."

  "Do you think the blue shirt looks better?" Jason glanced down at the black one he'd finally settled on. "I still have time to change back to the blue."

  Noah stared at him. "You're kidding, right?"

  Jonas met his brother's gaze and warmth crept up from beneath his collar. He was behaving like an idiot. Tonight wasn't such a big deal, especially for a guy as experienced as he was. "Of course I'm kidding." He flashed Noah a confident smile. "Doesn't matter what color it is. What matters is how easy the snaps work. Can't have her ripping one of my best shirts."

  Noah chuckled and shook his head. "Well, I'm glad one of us is getting some action."

  "If you'd stop working so hard and take an evening or two off, I could fix you up with one of several very nice women."

  "Thanks, but no thanks." Noah sipped his coffee, his gaze amused. "I doubt I could live up to your reputation."

  "I'm serious, man. It's not healthy for a guy to go without sex as long as you have." Jonas pushed back his chair.

  "How do you know how long it's been? Are you keeping track?"

  Jonas stood and picked up his plate to carry it to the kitchen. "Don't hav
e to, in a town this size. If you took up with somebody, it would get out sooner or later."

  "You might want to keep that in mind with your mystery lady. People will find out eventually. So why not tell me now?"

  "Nobody will find out if tonight is all there is to it." Jonas didn't like to think about that, but he had to admit the possibility that he was about to become a one-night stand.

  "Oh, sure. You can't tell me that you fussed with your wardrobe for an hour for a woman you're gonna see once. You want this one bad, bro. You're not gonna be satisfied with one night of fun and games, and you know it."

  Jonas did know it. He thought about that steamy episode in the cave and the blindfolded experience ahead of him. He would want a rematch, all right, but would she? For the first time in his life, he felt out of his depth with a woman.

  "Then again, maybe you won't want to see her again," Noah said quietly. "I need to mind my own business."

  Jonas blinked. He couldn't remember the last time Noah had eased up on him like that. His eager nervousness must be written all over his face. Damn. Any more of this and his rep as a cool guy would he shot.

  He shrugged. "Easy come, easy go."

  Noah rose and clapped him on the shoulder. "Right. But good luck tonight, anyway. I have a feeling this one's special."

  Jonas started to argue and knew it was hopeless. After all, Sarah was special. He couldn't remember when a woman had excited him so much.

  Once he left the dinner table, he had nothing more to occupy his time so he decided to drive around until it was dark enough to use his headlights. Usually driving his truck with the radio tuned to a country station calmed him down, but not this evening. He hadn't felt this vulnerable since his first junior high dance. No, check that. The junior high dance had been a cakewalk compared to what he was feeling now.

  At last he switched on his headlights and started toward the Hawthorne place. In order to get there, he had to drive down a dirt road. Luckily the road had good drainage and had dried completely from yesterday's rain. He drove it slowly, partly because he wasn't sure it was dark enough yet, and partly because he'd washed his truck today and didn't want to get dust on it. Maybe he wouldn't be allowed to see Sarah, but he figured she'd be watching for him.

  Even if his heart was beating as fast as a rabbit's, he didn't want her to see him sweat. He wanted to make an entrance, his black truck gleaming, the engine purring the way only a V-8 could, and his sound system delivering the sweet vocalizations of Faith Hill. He wanted Sarah to know she was dealing with a class act.

  A powdery film of dust settled over the truck, because it was impossible to drive on a dry dirt road and not have that happen. Oh well. His custom paint job would show through a light layer of dust so long as nobody wrote their name in it. He'd still drive up lookin' good. Not much farther now.

  He spied the house up ahead. A porch lamp cast a circle of light, but otherwise the house seemed completely dark. His stomach pitched as he realized she might have changed her mind. Instead of standing by a window waiting for his truck to appear, she might not even be home.

  Then a few drops of rain fell. Only a few, but enough to create a polka-dotted, blotchy effect in the layer of dust. As he parked in front of the little cottage, the porch light reflected off the grimy-looking surface of his truck's hood.

  At least his excellent sound system held up, the rich tones floating out the truck's open windows. But before he could shut off the engine, the Faith Hill song gave way to a loud commercial concerning jock itch.

  So much for his entrance. But his entrance wouldn't matter if she wasn't even home. Then the breeze picked up and something fluttered at the doorknob. He looked closer. A red scarf was tied loosely around it.

  His blindfold.

  He grew light-headed and dry-mouthed with excitement. Oh God. This was really going to happen. His movements were jerky as he shut off the truck's engine and rolled up the windows. It was a wonder he even remembered to do that.

  He started to get out when a gust of wind lifted the brim of his hat. Taking it off, he laid it on the seat before climbing out of the truck. If there was one thing he wouldn't need tonight, it was a hat. This was the wildest thing he'd ever done, and maybe he was crazy for agreeing to it, but he had to find out what awaited him on the other side of the door.

  Mounting the steps to the small front porch, he glanced at the two cane-bottomed rockers and the mat in front of the door. It had Welcome carved into the short pile of the rug, and he'd seen several like it at the hardware store. Everything looked so ordinary, so like the front porches of other women he'd called on – everything except that red scarf tied around the doorknob.

  Now he could see why no light showed from the house. The curtains in the living room were closed, and he'd guess all the other windows were covered, too. She'd turned the house into a cave.

  With trembling hands, he untied the scarf from the doorknob and discovered his blindfold was made of silk. As he put it over his eyes, he imagined he could already feel her soft hands on him, her full lips, her tongue… By the time the blindfold was secure, he had a raging erection.

  He turned his head to make sure he couldn't see. If this was the way she wanted the game played, he'd follow her rules – for now. He hadn't been blindfolded since the days when he'd played kissing games at boy-girl parties, and he'd forgotten that taking away the ability to see made all his other senses sharper.

  A wind chime tinkled nearby. He hadn't noticed the sound before, or the steady chirp of crickets, or the smell of the light rain falling. It pinged overhead on the porch roof, and he remembered that the house was roofed with corrugated tin.

  Taking an unsteady breath, he raised his fist and rapped gently on the door.

  The knob squeaked, and cool air surrounded him. He smelled something heady and sensual and heard the soft wail of a saxophone.

  "Hello, Jonas."

  Her husky voice sent shivers of anticipation down his spine. "Hello, Sarah."

  She took his hand and drew him inside. "Come."

  "Be careful, or I just might."

  She laughed. "See if you can hold off for a little while, or this will be a very short evening."

  "Believe me, I'm working on staying in control." Her laugh sounded nice – familiar, too, as if he'd heard it before.

  But that couldn't be right. She hadn't laughed while they were in the cave, at least not that he remembered. Of course, maybe they'd happened to be in the Roundup Saloon on the same night but sitting in different booths, or they'd been in the Mini-Mart some afternoon shopping on separate aisles.

  Yeah, that explained it.

  She held his hand in both of hers. "Are you happy to be here?"

  He trembled. "You have no idea."

  "I'm happy, too." She brushed her lips over his knuckles.

  The gesture reminded him of how he'd kissed her hand in the cave, and his heart thudded rapidly at the thought that she might be planning a complete reversal tonight. And that would mean … that his dreams would come true.

  "I appreciate your trusting me to be in control." She ran her tongue into the crevice between each finger.

  He shuddered. Obviously she had some sexy moves all her own. "No problem."

  "I'd like you to be passive tonight, but if at any time you feel uncomfortable with the situation, let me know and we'll make adjustments." She took his little finger into her mouth and sucked gently.

  That worked him up but good. She probably had twice as much experience as he did. "All—" He cleared the tightness from his throat. "All right."

  "First of all, I want you to let your hand go limp, as if you were a puppet, and I'm the puppeteer."

  He nodded. Allowing his hand to go limp was one thing, but he didn't think his penis would ever be limp again. He relaxed the muscles of his hand.

  "Good. Now, through touch, I'll let you 'see' me, so to speak." She held his hand against her throat.

  He could feel her pulse beating a quick ta
ttoo against his fingertips. Maybe she wasn't as in control as she sounded. "Do you … want me to undress you?"

  "That won't be necessary." She drew his hand down over her collarbone to her bare breast.

  His breath caught. She was already naked. His fingers flexed automatically, wanting to caress her.

  "No," she murmured. "Remember, you're only a puppet." She drew his hand to her other breast. Then she placed her hand over his and closed his fingers over her ripe warmth. "Mmm. Very nice."

  Her taut nipple pressed into his palm, driving him crazy. He loved the shape of her breasts, remembered the taste of them and her whimpers of delight when she'd allowed him to suck… "Sarah, let me—"

  "Be the puppet," she whispered, easing his hand down between her breasts, turning it so his fingers led the way over her flat belly.

  He groaned when he encountered soft curls. He wanted—

  "I'm the puppeteer," she reminded him softly.

  When she guided his hand lower, he had to clench his teeth to keep from curving his fingers and seeking her moisture. The seductive scent of her arousal rose to taunt him and his groin throbbed relentlessly. The rain fell harder, drumming rhythmically on the roof.

  She flattened her hand over his and pushed against his middle finger, settling it into the groove that held her pleasure point. The delicate protrusion pulsed against his finger as she pressed him in tighter and gasped in reaction.

  He trembled with the desperate need to do something. "Sarah."

  "Be … still." Her breath came more quickly as she rubbed his finger back and forth.

  "Let me hold you."

  "No. This is … how … I want it. You are my boy … toy."

  He should be insulted. Instead he was turned on beyond belief. He wanted her to use him, torment him, draw out the pleasure. His head spun and he clenched his free hand at his side to keep from reaching for her and spoiling her fantasy of a man totally at her beck and call.

  She gripped his shoulder. "Soon," she whispered, increasing the friction. The rain played a faster tattoo on the roof. "Oh … yes … yes." Squeezing his hand against her drenched curls, she slumped forward, panting wildly as she leaned her head against his chest.