Black Hills Baby

by Debra Salonen

  He was the man to do it. He didn’t know how he knew that, but he did-–once he got her out of her clothes.

  “You’re still dressed. Serious oversight on my part.”

  He kept his tone light to make sure she didn’t take the observation as a criticism. “Fortunately, I’m quite practiced at removing women’s clothing. I won a Daytime Emmy for it. ‘Best new actor-slash-boy-toy in a featured role.’”

  He sat up, dragging the sheet with him to keep from exposing himself. She had some catching up to do on several levels and his hard on was just going to have to wait.

  He gently pushed her onto her back, then paused a few heartbeats for dramatic effect. “The top of the blouse is the best place to begin because it’s strategically placed. A slight brush of the heel of the hand across the breast. Intentional or accident? the audience wonders.”

  She looked around. “What audience?”

  “Good point. The seducee wonders.”

  “Are you sure you’re the seducer? What if I told you there’s a strip of condoms in my tote bag?”

  The mischievous glint in her eyes made him laugh out loud then swoop in for a kiss. “I’d say I lo…I think you’re wonderful,” he smoothly amended. “Now, back to the play-by-play.”

  She sighed. “Could we speed things up just a bit? You’re naked and I want to be.”

  He shook his head. “Everybody’s a director. I’m coming to the naked part. Shirt first…” He finished off the buttons. “Then bra.” He delicately nudged the soft flannel panels apart…to reveal bare skin and perfect breasts. “What? No bra?”

  He made light of the fact but inside his head he couldn’t quite get around the idea. His body reacted without conscious thought. Her skin was a luminous shade of peach. Her breasts, full and perky, with rosy nipples all puckered up as if saying, Kiss me, you fool.

  He touched them first. Just to make sure they were real. So real. She inhaled deeply, bringing them closer to his face, his mouth. He outlined one nipple with his tongue. It danced under his playful manipulation while Libby squirmed in response.

  “Can I change my Native name to Dances With Nipples?” he murmured, his mouth watering from the barest taste of her.

  “That…feels…go-good,” she said on a staccato release of breath.

  He leaned closer, slightly pinning her legs and pelvis with his weight, then took the nipple in his mouth and suckled. Her chin arched and she groaned. One of her hands moved in his hair, urging him closer. The other trailed up his bare arm to his shoulder. Her leg looped over his hip.

  She might not think she knew how to play this game, but her body had all the right moves down pat, he thought, levering her thigh a little higher. He reached down with his free hand and applied pressure to the juncture between her legs.

  “Oh,” she moaned. “Why are my jeans still on?”

  She sat up and looked at him, her languid half-closed eyes giving him a sexy, pouting appraisal. “Boy-toy-of-the-year needs my help, I think.”

  She quickly shrugged out of her shirt, tossing it carelessly toward where she’d been sitting, and then wiggled free of her jeans and underpants. He caught a glimpse of white against the blue as both pieces of clothing went sailing past his head.

  “Much better,” she said. “Where were we?”

  He laughed. “You aren’t as shy and demure as I thought.”

  “Apparently you bring out some latent wanton wench in me.”

  “Wanton works for me. Come here, me pretty.” He closed one eye in a Johnny Depp impression and gave a piratelike leer.

  Her feminine giggle sealed his fate. He was hers. Heart and soul. And now, he got to prove it-–even if he didn’t dare tell her how he felt.

  ---

  “I…I bought a book. O--ordered it online. A h…how-to on s…sex.”

  She couldn’t believe she was admitting something so private and silly, but Libby had decided if she ever got the chance to make love again, she was going to do it right. The book had been frank and unapologetic about a person’s right to not only have sex but enjoy it.

  “Did you read it?”

  Cooper was lying partly on top of her. Enough that she could feel the length of his erection against her thigh, but he hadn’t made any attempt to straddle her, as either of her previous partners would have.

  She nodded.

  “What did it say about foreplay?”

  He moved his chin with its hint of five o’clock shadow back and forth on her breast bone in the valley of her bosom. The friction went straight to her core.

  “The author was in favor of it,” she said striving for normalcy.

  “Me, too,” he said, smiling that famous grin that made her heart stop momentarily.

  She knew what the book said, but she was curious about how he perceived that part of the sex act. “Why?”

  He rubbed his nose along the underside of her breast, ever so softly tasting her skin. “Discovery. How else are you going to know what the person you’re making love with likes? How else can you tell her what you like?”

  He caressed her ribs.

  “I like that. D…do you?”

  She splayed her fingers against his warm skin and pressed firmly to feel each bone of his rib cage. He shivered slightly. “Oh, yeah.”

  His hand traveled over her bare hip and she sucked in a breath involuntarily. His smile encouraged her try the same thing on him. In the past, she might have hurried right down to his you-know-what, since she’d been told that men liked to “get the show on the road,” as one of her lovers had put it. But Cooper moved languidly--as though he was memorizing every inch of her.

  So she took her sweet time, too. And, oh, there was so much to feel. His body was perfection--but not perfect. Her fingers paused when they found a tiny divot near the small of his back.

  “I had a suspicious mole removed,” he said. “Too much sun. Makes living on the beach a bit challenging.”

  She put his hand on her thigh, rubbing his finger across an inch-long ribbon of scar tissue. “The bottom fell out of a canning jar. I was wearing shorts. Blood and peaches all over the kitchen. It was a mess.”

  “Poor baby,” he murmured, inching down to kiss the spot. Then he kept going, turning her slightly so he could tenderly caress backs of her knees.

  Shivers raced upward and outward. She closed her eyes, reveling in this new and amazing sensation. She could feel herself opening, moist and eager.

  Patience builds anticipation, the book had said. She’d had no idea what that meant until now.

  He cleverly worked his way along the inside of her thigh, drawing closer to the mound of curly hair at the junction of her thighs. Was this the point where he’d suddenly bury his face in her crotch and expect her to rejoice in orgasm?

  He must have sensed her sudden tensing, because he lifted his head and looked at her a moment. “Your turn to find my erogenous zone. Zones,” he corrected. “There are at least two major ones.”

  He flopped on his back, arranging the pillow under his head then dropping his arms flat, palms up. His naked body lay exposed to her complete appraisal. So…she looked.

  “If I looked that good naked, I’d never get dressed,” she said, not meaning for the words to come out. But they did.

  He smiled, but there was a serious look in his eyes now. He’d put himself out there, and it was her turn to take the plunge. So she explored. With her eyes, then her hands. She started at his ankles and worked her way up, detouring around the most obvious erogenous zone.

  She let her hair trail over his penis and she heard him suck in a sharp breath. She liked the sudden sense of power his response gave her. She’d never felt in control of her lovemaking experiences in the past, but now she had him where she wanted him, and they both knew it.

  Boldly she ran her tongue along the inside of his pelvis and upward to his bellybutton. His abs rippled in response. She glanced at his face and saw him grimace with pleasure. “Found one,” she chortled triumphantly.
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  He licked his lips and let out the breath he’d been holding. “Definitely.”

  She tried his nipples next, but even teasing them with her teeth, as the book had suggested, didn’t earn her that coveted response. She moved on to his neck. She buried her nose against his skin and inhaled. She loved his scent -- masculine and delicious. She worked her way up to his right ear lobe.

  His whole body clenched.

  “Bingo,” she whispered, running the tip of her tongue around the outer rim.

  “Common. I know. But…oh…” The word was lost in a shiver as she worked the delicate lobe between her teeth. His moan triggered something inside her she’d never felt before. A need that for once seemed to match her partner’s.

  She kissed him and reached for the part of him she’d only touched with her hair. He explored, too, gauging her body’s readiness with first one finger, then two. With a low, hungry moan, he asked, “Condoms?”

  “Bottom of the bag.”

  He worked fast, his languid pace behind them. He sheathed himself as she watched. His hands liquid and sure. The sight of him took her breath away, but in heady anticipation, not fear.

  And once he entered her, the answer she’d always sought was there. In his breadth and instinctual response to her rhythm. The one she hadn’t even known she possessed. And, moments later, to her breathless joy and only slight amazement, she experienced exactly what the book had spent two chapters explaining.

  Chapter 14

  Libby carefully stretched and opened her eyes. Her internal alarm clock served her well, she realized, confirming the time with Cooper’s watch on the bedside table. He was sleeping on his side, facing the wall. An hour or so earlier, they’d been spooning. A position that had naturally led to a joining unlike anything she’d experienced before in her life. Her heart raced just thinking about it. So natural, so easy.

  Sex with Cooper had been fun, exhilarating, almost second nature. She never froze or felt foolish, awkward or embarrassed. She didn’t know why that was except to put the credit on him. He’d been easygoing, gentle and self-deprecating. If something didn’t work, he made her laugh, turning the joke on himself.

  She’d never had more fun in bed. Her only regret was they were in the cabin. She wished they’d spent the night in her bed so she could relive the memory each night when she closed her eyes. This truly had been the experience of a lifetime. She didn’t regret a moment of it, but now it was time to get up.

  She slipped out from under the covers, gasping at the morning chill. She picked up her discarded jeans, undies and shirt. She’d never forget the look on his face when he realized she wasn’t wearing a bra. A bold move on her part but one that had paid off. He’d lavished praise on her breasts all night long. The poor man probably never got to see a nonsurgically embellished pair, she thought with a naughty grin.

  As she prepared to leave, she noticed the foot bath sitting to one side, still filled with disgusting-looking, grayish water. She’d have to leave it for Cooper to clean up. She did grab the towels to add to the laundry at her house, though. As she started to stuff them into the bag, she paused. An unopened condom package sat staring up at her.

  How is that possible? We did it three times.

  The first, which she would forever call their foreplay game. The second, when she was on top--a revelation unto itself. And then the third, when they were both still partly asleep.

  “Oh, no,” she murmured.

  Cooper made a soft snuffling sound and rolled over. His hair was sticking up in every direction, like a little boy’s. Her heart swelled to fill the inside of her chest. God, she loved him. And when he left in two days, she’d carry this precious memory close to her heart, letting it shade the perceptions her child would form of his or her father.

  He’d promised not to go back on their deal for any reason. He’d even hinted that he had more to tell her about his plans for the future, but they’d been too busy making love to talk.

  She stuffed the towels into the bag and shoved her feet into her loafers. They’d managed to discuss the health factor, and she felt reasonably safe, even though she would have preferred that they’d used protection every time. The chance she’d get pregnant from that one time seemed remote, if not ridiculous. But since she was going to use the IVF with his sperm once he left, why even think about it? The fertility doctor would tell her if he’d been less than honest with her diseasewise.

  Half an hour later, she hurried out the door of her house and started her car. She was going to be late for the first time since she’d become postmaster. Probably thanks to the lack of sleep, she just didn’t seem able to stay focused on what she needed to do: shower, dress, eat... She felt jittery inside. As though small earthquakes were going on all around her and she was the only one who seemed to notice.

  Had the stars realigned themselves in the night? Quite possibly.

  She parked in her usual spot, grabbed her purse and got out. Then remembered her keys, which were on the seat. She quickly retrieved them, grateful she hadn’t locked the door, and walked to the rear door.

  Both rural carriers were waiting.

  “You sick?” Clive asked through the steam of the mug he held to his lips.

  She could smell the butterscotch-flavored java from four feet away. “Just overslept.”

  “Not like you.”

  She unlocked the door and went inside. Everything was the same...yet different. She couldn’t put her finger on it.

  She started a pot of coffee and kept out of the way of the carriers as they did the initial sorting that she usually had done by the time they arrived. She didn’t hear a word of their chatter until Clive said, “Hey, lookee there. Your fancy boy’s got his picture on the cover of the National Perspirer.” His name for the periodical several of the patrons on his route received.

  “He’s not my fancy b—" she started to say, but her words got caught in her throat when she read the headline over the blurry photo that was indeed an image of Cooper standing in the doorway of Gran’s cabin.

  Coop's New Love Nest?

  She tried to laugh, but the sound came out strangled. Talk about art imitating life. Whoever took this shot couldn’t have known that she and Cooper were going to be fooling around last night–-she hadn’t even known it.

  “Pure trash. They make up everything. You know that.”

  “I told you word would get out about him being here,” Clive said. “You can’t keep a lid on that forever. Although you still haven’t told us why he’s here.”

  And she wasn’t about to. Not yet. She didn’t trust people to understand-–especially since she wasn’t quite sure how she felt at the moment, either. Last night had changed things. She knew that much, but she couldn’t say would happen next.

  Clive kept reading. “Says here he’s making a pilot for a TV show about a postmistress who goes on the Internet to hire a guy to be a sperm donor. Don’t they know you’re a postmaster, not a postmistress?”

  All the blood ran out of Libby’s head and pooled in her feet. She swayed and had to grab the edge of the sorting desk to keep from falling over. She grabbed the paper out of his hands, nearly shredding it in the process.

  “Hey,” Clive groused, “That’s Milly’s paper. She’ll have my head if you tear it.”

  Libby didn’t give a damn. She needed to read the article and dashed into her tiny office, closing the door behind her.

  “No, no, no,” she muttered, willing it not be word-for-word what Clive had just read. “A mistake. A lucky guess. Please don’t let it be the truth.”

  The leak was attributed to Cooper’s ex-wife. His first ex-wife. Infancy, Libby thought bitterly. The name suited. A bitch who sold out Cooper to get her name-–and a small color photo–-on the front page of this rag.

  He told her. She could picture the two of them reading Libby's online ad out loud. Laughing.

  Her face felt fiery-hot. Humiliation surged through her veins, as powerful and intense than what she’d f
elt in his arms the night before. “The bastard came here planning to use my story as the basis for a television show,” she whispered. “A comedy.”

  She continued reading, her mind besieged by a monsoon of emotions. Fury. Hurt. Dismay. And finally…panic. When she read the closing quote: “I’ll probably be joining Coop on-site in Sentinel Pass soon. He’s been there scouting locations for our upcoming shoots. Think Mayberry meets Bedrock.”

  Her brain flashed to the image of his amused murmuring when she pulled into the parking lot of The Flintstones theme park in Custer. Her stomach turned over as the undeniable truth hit her.

  “Not the town, Coop. Me? I deserve whatever ridicule comes from what I did. But not Sentinel Pass.” If she’d had more than a few sips of coffee that morning, she would have vomited all over the standard bulk mail.

  She read the entire article again. Only two direct mentions of the town’s name. Maybe the Pass’s remote location would keep the newshounds at bay, she thought. For a little while. Until she could figure out what to tell the people she had inadvertently betrayed.

  But that small consolation didn’t ease the horror of Cooper’s subterfuge. She’d trusted him with her most intimate secrets. She’d opened herself up to him in every possible way. Would her character on his show be as naïve? Would he use what happened between them last night?

  A small sob burst from her lips. The pressure of unshed tears made her squint in pain, but she refused to cry. There’d be time for that later-–after she called her PMR to take over so Libby could go home and kick Cooper Lindstrom the hell out of her grandmother’s cabin. The lying dog could damn well keep his sperm and go directly to hell.

  ---

  Coop awoke feeling as if the weight of two full-grown elephants had been removed from both his shoulders. He could take a deep breath and feel the air go all the way to the bottom of his lungs, instead of getting stuck halfway there because of a tightening in his chest.

  Worry. Grief. Fear. Constant companions since his mother’s death seemed to have left the building. He didn’t understand how one night in the arms of woman he barely knew could produce such a radical shift in his perspective, but he knew this change was due to more than sex alone.