Optical Delusions in Deadwood

by Ann Charles

  His gaze dipped to the front of my dress. “We still do.”

  Electricity crackled through my veins, leaving me even hotter and more bothered. “What do you want to do about that?”

  “Finish what I started.”

  “Where?” When his eyes traveled farther south, I chuckled. “I meant, did you have a more private location in mind?”

  “I hadn’t gotten that far.” He took a step back, shaking his head. “You keep distracting me with that dress.”

  “You mean this plain old thing?” I sat up and ran my hands down the front of my dress, taking my time on the curvy parts.

  He groaned. “You’re killing me, Boots. Pick a place. Now.”

  “Your hotel room.” My decision was two-fold—one for more privacy than Calamity Jane’s could offer, two for an answer to where he was now living.

  His hesitation was obvious—and unsettling, like a cold can of soda pop shoved down my undies. Why didn’t he want me to know where he was staying? I waited to see what excuse he gave.

  Doc’s gaze lifted from my dress to meet mine. “My hotel room isn’t available at the moment.”

  Why? Because some big guy with the holey socks and a hunger for pizza-bearing blondes was sleeping in it?

  “Okay. No hotel room then.” As much as I wanted to know where he was spending his nights, I wanted his body more. I’d deal with the hotel room later, post-satiation. “Then let’s go to your office.”

  He hesitated again. At least he held my stare, I’d give him that.

  My gut flip-flopped from excited trembling to anxious queasiness. “What’s going on, Doc?”

  “You don’t want to know.”

  Now I had to. I slid off the desk. “Yes, I do.”

  “How about your Bronco? We could take a ride somewhere.”

  “No. Let’s go to your office.” I grabbed my purse, limped over to where my other shoe still lay next to the victimized whiteboard, and slipped it on.

  He beat me to the front door, holding it closed when I pulled on it. “Trust me, Violet. This is not a good idea.”

  “What’s going on over there?” I tugged again, but he was stronger. “And don’t tell me you’re painting, because I’m not buying that. You painted last month.”

  “It’s not that big of a deal. Just let it go.”

  “If it’s not a big deal, then let me see what’s over there.” Or who. This time, when I pulled, he relented. Surprised I’d won the battle, I frowned up at him. “Why so secretive, Doc?”

  Poker-faced, he opened the door, ushering the way. “You’ll see.”

  I had goosebumps in spite of the warm summer night. “Hold on, let me lock up.”

  He waited, then led me into his darkened office, clicking the deadbolt behind us.

  I reached toward the light switch and he captured my hand, stopping me. “No lights.” He let go and walked toward the front windows.

  Why no lights? What was he hiding in here? Uncertain, poised in the shadows, I listened for a sound, a sign of someone—or something—holed up in the dark with me. But my ears felt cotton-filled. Doc’s office walls muffled everything—the throbbing party bass, the growling Harleys, the drunken shouts. Everything except my heart, which pounded in my ears like a pissed-off landlord. I hoped to hell it wasn’t about to get torn out and stomped on by a redhead.

  Doc’s usual stuff was right where it had been the last time I’d been in here two weeks ago. No smells of fresh paint, no hint of perfume, nothing but stale varnish and subtle whiffs of Doc’s cologne.

  I turned to Doc, who was closing the blinds, blocking out the streetlights, making it even darker. “Why don’t you just tell me what’s going on?”

  “And ruin the surprise? Where’s the fun in that?” He walked past me and disappeared into the shadow-filled back hall. “Follow me, Violet.”

  I slipped out of my shoes—I didn’t know why—and tiptoed after him. The bathroom door hung open, the room empty as far as I could see. Farther down the hall, a beacon of dim light spilled from the one room I’d been in before. Gearing myself for what I was about to see, I tensed and rounded the doorway.

  The sight before me had me scratching my head.

  “See?” Doc said from where he lounged in a big blue beanbag, his forearms resting on his raised knees. A pile of books sat on the floor on one side, and an upside-down crate held a lamp and bottle of wine on the other. “Now, do you understand why I didn’t want you, of all people, in here?”

  My tunnel vision faded. I glanced around the room, which was filled with boxes and luggage—the green set I’d caught a glimpse of through his window a few days ago. His shirts and pants hung from a makeshift clothesline strung between the floor-to-ceiling bookshelf and a hook on the opposing wall.

  My heart cheered, fluttering now that it was out of danger, even though my job might not be out of harm’s way since I knew what Doc was up to and how it went against Jane’s rules.

  Crossing my arms over my chest, I leaned against the doorframe. “What were the thumps I heard earlier?”

  “If you mean the thumps that occurred before you threw the stapler in my general direction and told me to go to hell, it was just a pair of boots I’d tossed that hit the wall.”

  “I did not tell you to go to hell.”

  His grin appeared. “It was unspoken.”

  The low light added shadows to his face, outlining the contours of his cheeks, the cleft in his chin. Damn, I wanted him—enough to take stupid risks just to have him.

  “How long have you been living in here?” I asked.

  “A week. The hotel kicked me out when the bikers started rolling in. Something about previous reservations.”

  “So this is your secret—you’re breaking your lease.” I knew the fine print in his lease after one desperate day last month when he wouldn’t return my call and I’d flipped into stalking mode, something about which I wasn’t particularly proud. “If Jane finds out, she’ll evict you. She’s a stickler for rules.”

  “Yeah, I get that feeling from her.” He leaned back into the beanbag, arms behind his head, legs out and crossed at the ankles.

  “Are you planning to stay here until I get the keys to your house?” Which would be in a week or so unless we hit a snag.

  He nodded. “But now it’s a problem for you as much as me.”

  Very true. If Jane learned that I knew Doc was living here, breaking his lease, she’d be pissed. Pissed enough to fire me? Probably not, but with only one sale almost under my belt, I didn’t relish finding out. On the other hand, it was just for another week. “As far as I’m concerned, you’re using this as a storage room until you move into your house.”

  He lifted a brow. “I don’t want to get you into trouble with your boss.”

  “She’ll never know.” Jane was going to be gone for more than a week, anyway, shouldering her divorce mess. She’d probably be sleeping with a shot glass on her nightstand for the next month. I doubted she’d notice a Texas-sized meteor falling from the sky unless it landed on her soon-to-be-ex’s head.

  I dropped my purse on a box and shut the door, sealing us in, snug as bugs … on a bag of beans. “Where’d you get the beanbag?”

  “Down in Rapid. It’s more comfortable than the floor.” He watched me stroll toward him, openly admiring. “Have I mentioned that I want to tear that dress off you with my teeth?”

  I straddled his legs, standing over him, empowered by the hungry glint shimmering in his gaze. “You may have alluded to it.”

  He sat up, his fingers wrapping around my ankles and then gliding up my calves. “Where were you tonight before you came swinging for me?”

  I didn’t feel like wasting time on any more secrets. “Mudder Brothers Funeral Parlor.”

  His fingers froze on the back of my knees. “What were you doing there?”

  “Somebody died. Your fingers stopped.”

  “Who?” He went all Clint Eastwood on me—narrowed eyes, scrunched brow—and pul
led his hands away. Damn it.

  “Eloise Tarkin.”

  “Hmmm.” Dirty Harry Doc still had his squinty eye on me. He leaned back. “How did your dress get ripped?”

  Boy, he didn’t miss much. Then again, he’d been getting pretty handy over at my desk. “Hiding in a crate.”

  “Christ! Do I want to know more?”

  “Not right now.” I reached under my dress and wiggled out of my panties with as much pole-dancing grace as I could muster, dropping the black satin to the floor. “About that predicament of ours ...”

  “Damn, Boots.” His voice came out raspy. “That’s sexy as hell.”

  “Really? Then what do you think of this?” I slid a black bra strap down one arm.

  “Bad thoughts.”

  “And this?” I shrugged the other one down.

  “Very bad thoughts.”

  I reached behind me and unclipped my bra through the velvet. Then I slipped the bra completely off, drawing the piece of satin and lace out through my low neckline, and dangled it from my finger. “What about this?”

  “I’ll show you.” He jackknifed upright, grabbing my bra and throwing it behind me. His hands wrapped around the outsides of my knees, then skimmed up my outer thighs, sneaking under my dress. His fingers climbed higher, exploring, his palms burning. All teasing left his face. His eyes darkened as he watched me. My breath quickened when his caresses grew bolder, came closer; skimming, enticing, tormenting.

  My knees trembled, threatening to buckle. The fireworks crew in my head had all the powder kegs in place, fuses ready for lighting. I anticipated his touch, couldn’t wait for it, moaned in eagerness as his fingertips teased just out of reach.

  A glancing stroke sent me reeling. “Doc, touch me.”

  “Not yet.”

  I gripped his shoulders. “Please.”

  “I like it when you beg.” He strummed, stealing my breath.

  “Paybacks are hell, you know.”

  “I’m counting on that.” His hands slid down to the back my knees. He tugged on me. I folded, my shins sinking into the beanbag, my thighs straddling his.

  Eye to eye now, I assessed my new position. First of all, there was too much space between us. I remedied that, scooting closer, my thighs hugging his hips, his pants the only barrier.

  He groaned as I nestled against him, searching for a better fit. “Am I hurting you?” I asked.

  “Immensely.”

  “Good.” I adjusted again, this time with purpose.

  He stared at me, his jaw tight. “Not yet, Vixen.”

  I conceded for the moment, but his T-shirt had to go. I wanted to ogle his body, rub all over it, taste it. I grabbed the hem. “Take this off.”

  Shrugging it off, he tossed it behind me. “Anything else?”

  “Yes. Lean back.”

  He indulged me, resting on his elbows. I took a moment to study his torso in the lamp light and decided the contours required a hands-on examination. I walked my fingernails up his ribs. Then I swirled in circles back downward, trailing the dark hair that sprinkled his abdomen. The flames inside me licked higher, hotter, as his muscles rippled in response to my touch. I reached his waistband and his hand stopped me.

  “My turn.”

  I spread my arms wide. “I’m all yours.”

  A growl rumbled from his chest. “You will be.”

  Breath bated, I waited. His assault started on the last place I expected—the inside of my wrist. His lips caressed. Then he worked his way up to the soft skin of my inner elbow, his tongue tickling, making me squirm as something low in my belly quivered. By the time he reached my shoulder, I was coated in goosebumps, writhing in lust.

  His onslaught shifted to my mouth, his lips coaxing mine, his teeth gently tugging. I tried to entice him deeper, feeling bereft, wanting so much more. But he resisted, his tongue elusive.

  “Doc,” I whispered.

  “Yes, Violet?” he kissed around his words.

  “I need you to touch me.”

  “Where?”

  “Start here.” I grabbed his hands and planted them on my breasts.

  His groan sounded pain-filled. “I’m trying to take it slow.”

  “There’s no time for that.” I undid his pants, reaching inside.

  At my touch, his control evaporated. His mouth grew rough, devouring. As I hiked the bottom of my dress up, he shoved the top part down, his hands squeezing and tugging and tweaking and massaging.

  A couple of well-placed rubs by me encouraged him to kick off his pants. He gripped my hips, easing me down onto him. I sighed as pleasure spread through my veins. Grazing my nails down his shoulders and triceps, I shifted to allow his mouth more access.

  He didn’t disappoint. His lips trailed down between my breasts, then sought more. His tongue circled, flicking as he tasted. His hips grinding as he pulled me down harder, faster.

  “Damn, Doc.” I gasped, rocking along with him. “I love it when you multi-task.”

  “Violet.” His voice was gruff, strained.

  “Yes?”

  “You’re incredible.”

  His compliment shot me higher, made me want to give even more. I tipped his face to mine. Throwing aside any last inhibitions, I sought his mouth and matched our dance with my tongue. My hands slipped around to his back, where I clawed and marked him as mine. My lips dipped to his earlobe, his neck, his shoulder, my teeth sinking into his flesh. Then I crested, straining against him, shuddering, gasping his name.

  “You are so damned hot, Boots,” he rasped when I finished. He grabbed my hips and pulled me down hard, tight against him as he arched backward, all rigid tension.

  I rode the waves, watching pleasure ripple over him. Then his body sank into the vinyl, visibly relaxing. His breath slowed to match mine.

  His dark gaze drifted down to my bared midriff and back up. He tucked his arms behind his head, reaching for the bottle of wine. “You sure know how to break in a beanbag.”

  I leaned forward, resting my forearms on his chest. “What can I say? When you tease me, I get a little hot and bothered.”

  “When you get a little hot and bothered, I can only think of one thing.” He shifted his pelvis tellingly, and then held out the bottle of wine toward me, his eyebrows raised.

  I took it and sipped, the fruity blend on my tongue reminding me of Doc’s kisses—warm and wild. In the cozy silence, my phone vibrated in my purse.

  “You need to get that?” he asked.

  I didn’t want to move, break our connection. “They’ll call back if it’s an emergency.” My kids knew better than to call twice in a row if it concerned only chickens or the need for more glue.

  He tucked a curl behind my ear. “Good, because I don’t think we’re done here.”

  I poured a splash of wine on his chest. “Oops, I’d better get that.” I licked it up and felt his instant response.

  “Vixen.” He reached for me. “Come here.”

  Several wine-flavored kisses and a lot more rubbing and touching later, I lounged on my back in the beanbag, satiated for the time being. Doc’s cheek rested on my belly while he traced figure eights on my hipbone.

  I stroked his head, combing his hair with my fingers. A book in the stack next to the beanbag caught my eye: Haunted Deadwood.

  “Doc?” Our newfound intimacy emboldened me. “Will you come with me to the Carhart house?”

  His finger stopped. “What for?”

  I didn’t really have an answer. I just wanted him there for some reason. “You’ll see something I haven’t.” Or can’t.

  “Something dead?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe.”

  “You don’t believe in—”

  “I know. I know.” Truth was, I was starting to be less sure what I believed in when it came to ghosts. Things no longer seemed so black and white. The edges were blurring, turning an ectoplasmic gray. “Just humor me.”

  “I’ll consider it.” He suddenly pushed to his feet, grabbing his j
eans from the floor.

  I gawked, as any red-blooded female would, at the sight of Doc’s naked, muscled body.

  “Don’t look at me like that, Violet.” He picked up his T-shirt. “Or we’ll be starting all over again.”

  Watching him step into his pants sobered me, reminding me of the outside world. I didn’t want the lightness of the moment to end, to have to return to the weight of real life.

  “Don’t move,” he told me, heading for the door. “I’ll be right back.” My phone vibrated as he passed. He paused. “You want to get that?” At my nod, he tossed me my purse.

  I dug my cell out, my gut panging at the sight of Natalie’s name on the screen. I let it go to voicemail. Then I checked who’d called earlier and saw her number again.

  “Shit.” Taking a deep breath, I called her back.

  She answered on the first ring. “Violet, where are you?”

  There was no way in hell I could answer that truthfully. “Leaving the store. What’s going on?”

  “I’m heading to Doc’s.”

  What? “Wait!” Oops, wrong word. “I mean, why?”

  “I realized tonight as I was watching Bogart that I’ve been going about this wooing business all wrong.”

  I scrambled to my feet, snatching my dress from the box it had landed on after Doc had peeled it off me with his teeth and flung it behind him. “All wrong?”

  “I’ve been trying to win him with Betty Crocker, which is so not the real me.”

  “The real you?” Where were my underpants? I lifted the beanbag and found them, a bit dusty.

  “You know me. I don’t win men by feeding them. I win them with sex.”

  “Sex?” I stepped into my undies while searching the room for my bra.

  “Yeah, sex. You do remember what sex is, right? It’s that thing you do when you’re naked with a man.”

  “Sex, right.” I found my bra on the floor behind some stacked boxes. “I vaguely remember it.”

  Natalie chuckled. “Someday, we’ll find a man to give you a refresher course.”

  “I’ll pass. Sex is overrated.” A voice in my head guffawed at that doozy of a lie.