by Lee Taylor
What the heck. They were stuck here in this small hotel off the beaten track. It would be hard to avoid each other.
He felt badly that he still couldn't recall her real name. He'd have to phone Gary.
Wait a sec! Gary! How had his client ended up here? It was too much of a coincidence. Gary was supposed to come but had reneged at the last minute. Now this broad was here.
His brother had set him up.
He chuckled. She probably had no idea.
~~~
Jessie had never perspired so much, but she was proud of herself for rebuffing Atherton. "I don't think so," she'd said. Maybe Thanks but no thanks would have been better--more bite to it.
Or should she have just walked away and said nothing?
His insistent staring at her breasts had turned her brain to putty.
With trembling hands, she peeled off her swimsuit and stood under the shower. She crossed her arms over her breasts, clutching her upper arms as lukewarm water cascaded over her, not caring if it got any hotter.
What a ridiculous reaction to a bug! Drawing attention to herself--something she avoided like the plague. And of all people to bump into--Gary's jerk of a brother, Mr. Too Tall and Handsome, especially with his hair wet. Thank God her suit hadn't slipped off her breasts completely when she'd collided with him. Hopefully he hadn't been aware of the moisture flooding between her legs at that moment. He did have an impressive chest, and looked to be in great shape for an older guy. Her clit was still throbbing.
Wait a minute! Gary's brother? Gary must have known the idiot would be here.
She turned her back to the water, seething. Gary had set her up.
La da da da dee da.
Stop that! He might play beautiful music, but he was an asshole. And she was stuck here with him in the middle of nowhere in a small hotel. The chances of avoiding him were nil. But she would, even if she had to stay in her room and immerse herself in writing.
She turned off the water and wrapped a bath towel around her body, cinching it tightly under her armpit. She glanced around the room--stunning tropical mural that covered one whole wall, small table that would serve as a desk, no TV--the perfect writing cave. She need never bump into the inconsiderate man who left his dogs alone to annoy his neighbors while he went on vacation.
She wondered how poor Binky and Bonky were faring. Had he left them alone again?
She'd go to the restaurant later for a quick supper and use the Wi-Fi to email Gary with a piece of her mind.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Michael had finally remembered the woman's name after hours of puzzling. He'd flown into Houston while reading the book, and his brain had registered somewhere that her name was a different city in Texas. Dallas! Probably not her real name, but what the heck.
After a quick shower and shave, followed by a splash of Acqua di Parma, his favorite cologne, he wandered into the restaurant, intending to apologise for his rude behavior. He was disappointed not to find her there, but hopeful she would turn up. Where else was there to get decent food? He greeted Julio, then settled onto a bar stool. "Atlas, por favor, mi amigo."
They chatted about this and that as Julio prepared drinks for other guests who drifted in after watching the sunset. It was a pleasure to see someone so in love with their job.
"No play music tonight?" Julio asked.
"Not tonight."
Suddenly, the bartender winked at Michael, cupping his hands to his chest and lifting them slightly in a gesture men everywhere understood.
Michael turned in his chair in time to see the woman he was waiting for draw a shawl tightly around her shoulders, clutching it to her breast with one hand. In the other she carried a small laptop. The shawl covered the top half of what looked like a short sundress that showed off long legs.
She hesitated when she saw Michael.
He was afraid for a moment she might flee, but Julio grabbed a menu from the pile on the bar, and rushed to greet her. "Señora," he gushed, putting his hand to the small of her back, guiding her to a table.
Michael felt a sharp stab of jealousy and an insane urge to see what Julio had seen before she covered herself with the shawl. The Panamanian was probably Michael's age, married, for God's sake, with five kids. Flirting with single white women probably earned him good tips.
She smiled, chatting with the effusive Julio. The shawl fell from one shoulder as she accepted the menu, revealing a hint of cleavage. Michael's hormones went into overdrive. What was it about this woman that turned him on? He watched her lips as she placed her order, imagining her uttering the word Sir.
He'd read her book--was that it? Was he fantasizing about doing to her some of the things her hero had done in the book? Too right, though he'd heard most writers of erotica were actually cold bitches. She'd probably punch him if he made a move.
But he had to apologise. She thought he was a moron. He grabbed his beer and a menu, then sauntered over to her table. She was pounding the shit out of the keyboard of her laptop. A frown wrinkled her brow when she looked up and saw him. He indicated the empty chair across from her with his beer bottle. "Can I join you? Seems a bit silly sitting at separate tables."
She chewed on her lower lip for a second or two, gathering the shawl tighter. Then she nodded. "Please yourself. I'm going to have a quick bite then go back to my room. I came to use the WiFi to email your brother."
Michael laughed as he pulled out the chair and sat down. "You've figured it out too, I guess."
She smiled, but it wasn't a warm smile.
He held out his hand. "Shall we start over, Dallas? I'm Michael Atherton, your typical arrogant male."
She frowned, and for a moment he thought she might refuse to shake his hand. He wished he could remember her real name.
He breathed a sigh of relief when she put her hand in his. "Dallas Lancaster," she said. The warmth of her skin travelled up his arm, her sultry voice did something weird to his solar plexus. It was suddenly vitally important she take off the shawl.
He came to his feet, walked behind her, and lifted the material from her shoulders. "Let me help you with that."
A little gasp escaped her lips as she looked up at him, but she said nothing.
The low cut sundress emphasized the round fullness of her big breasts. His cock stood to attention. He draped the shawl over the back of her chair, then regained his seat, adjusting his chinos to ease the discomfort. "It's too hot to be wearing a cover up."
She chewed her lip again, glancing down self consciously at her breasts. Did she not know how magnificent they were?
"Don't worry," he said. "You're beautiful." He wanted to add that the dress showed off her breasts to perfection, but thought better of it. Too soon.
Julio hurried over to take their orders, ogling Dallas, telling her how lovely she looked. For a moment his hands actually hovered suggestively over her tits. Michael couldn't blame the guy, but it annoyed him, just like when Julio fondled his flugelhorn. He drummed his fingers on the table until the philandering Panamanian left.
He leaned forward, gripping his knees to prevent himself reaching out to stroke the backs of his fingers over her exposed flesh. "Listen, I want to apologise for my rudeness when we first met. I was under a lot of stress, but that's no excuse."
~~~
Something about Michael Atherton's husky voice did strange things to Jessie's tummy. And the commanding way he'd removed her pashmina without asking, his fingers lightly brushing her shoulders--well, she'd have to go to her room at the first opportunity and change her panties.
She was nervous about the dress. Its bold pattern of big black and yellow flowers on a white background was something she'd never wear back home. Her breasts were too big for the low cut design, kept in place with only flimsy ties around the neck. It necessitated not wearing a bra, a big step for Jessie, but Michael Atherton looked at her with such lust, she suddenly felt beautiful and sexy. It was obvious Julio's attentive comments irritated him.
She averted her eyes from his insistent stare. "You were rude. I did you a favor, and I didn't appreciate your attitude. Why did you leave your dogs to fend for themselves?"
He grimaced, raking a hand through his thick hair. "I didn't. They belong to my wife. She was supposed to take them to a kennel."
Despite her determination not to like this man, Jessie's heart fell. "You're married?"
Why had she asked him that? What did she care if this handsome man with a full head of hair and a chest like chiseled rock was married?
"Divorced. I should've said ex-wife."
Her thoughts went back to the sparsely furnished house, and the neighbor's comment about somebody called Linda. "Oh."
"You?"
"Twice."
"Ah. Married and divorced each time, I assume."
Jessie didn't want to find him charming, but he was. She made an attempt at levity. "You know what they say. Marry in haste, repent at leisure."
To her dismay, the smile left his face. "That's certainly true in my case. I married again too soon after my first wife's death."
"She died?"
Michael nodded. "Cancer--ovarian."
Jessie shivered, not knowing what to say. He'd lost his wife to a horrible disease. "I'm sorry. It must have been difficult."
He stared at the table. "Yeah. Thanks. It was. Especially for her. Tell me about your husbands."
That took her aback, but she saw no harm in polite conversation. "My first husband was twelve years older than me. He'd left the priesthood because he wanted a family. He was intelligent and loving."
Michael arched a brow. "But?"
"Eleven years of marriage ended in an amicable divorce after he fell in love with someone his own age, and I discovered I no longer needed a father figure for a husband."
Why was she telling him all this?
"You had children with him?"
"Two, both grown with kids of their own."
Michael steepled his hands, tapping his fingertips together. Had she put him off with her candor? He was probably thinking of a way to politely end the conversation with Grannie Dallas.
They sat in uncomfortable silence for several long minutes. Julio brought the bottle of red wine Michael had insisted on ordering, and opened it with a flourish. He was about to pour the first glass, but Michael stayed his hand. "Gracias, I'll do it."
For some reason she couldn't fathom, she didn't reach right away for her glass after Michael poured it. It was as though she had to wait for him. After all, he'd bought the wine.
Finally, she couldn't stand the silence any longer. "And your second wife?"
Michael narrowed his eyes and leaned back in his chair. Her stomach lurched. She'd evidently said something to upset him.
"I don't want to talk about her. And I'm not uncomfortable with silence."
That got her back up. Was he telling her she talked too much? "Well, I am," she declared.
He smiled. "You talk then. I'll just sit here and stare at your beautiful breasts."
Now she definitely had to do something about the panties. His words and his smile had ignited a fire in her veins. She opened her mouth to tell him he was rude, crass, forward, full of himself, but sound refused to emerge.
Julio appeared with their food. Michael turned his head slowly and glowered at him. The Panamanian took his eyes off Jessie's breasts and left with a hasty buen provecho.
"Bon appétit, indeed, Dallas," Michael whispered, picking up his glass of wine, and touching it to hers. "Here's to Panama."
She gripped the stem of the glass and took a sip of the Chilean wine. "I'm glad they have this here. It's one of my favorites. I buy it quite often at home."
He nodded, sipping his wine. "What about your second husband?"
"Arrogant and lazy sums him up. As I said, marry in haste--"
Michael laughed heartily, drowning out the boom, boom, boom of her heart.
She would have to be wary of this man. There was a possibility he'd read her book and was acting all macho because he thought it was expected. Why else would he call her Dallas? Or maybe Gary had told him about the kind of material she wrote. Better to set the record straight. "Dallas is my pen name, Michael. I'm Jessie Halliwell. Dallas Lancaster doesn't exist."
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Michael leaned his palms and forehead against the cool tile of the shower stall, studying his toes as the cold water cascaded off his back.
Jessie! Of course that was her name. She'd introduced herself at the house, but he'd brushed her off. He remembered Gary telling him her name too. What his brother hadn't mentioned, and he himself had stupidly failed to realize at their first meeting was that Jessie Halliwell was a beautiful, intelligent woman with a great sense of humor. But she had inhibitions that needed to be dealt with. She was too self conscious about her breasts for one thing. She seemed to have no notion of how sexy she was.
Then there was that book. Was she a submissive at heart, searching for the right Dom? She may think Dallas Lancaster didn't exist, but he'd bet she did, buried deep inside Jessie Halliwell. The notion had tormented him all evening as he watched her gradually relax a little, enjoying her laughter. She'd talked briefly about her husbands, and he'd known immediately they weren't the men for her.
Her first husband had lived a celibate life and probably had no idea that a woman needed to be readied with foreplay. Her second husband sounded like a jerk.
Perhaps his own yearnings had put these ideas into his head. It was too good to be true that the perfect Sub had been delivered into his hands.
He'd wanted to push her to take off her panties right there in the restaurant and pass them to him. The aroma of female arousal that teased his nostrils led him to believe they'd be soaked.
Her reaction to his removal of her shawl had been encouraging, but he'd proceeded cautiously, not wanting to alarm her. She seemed to understand the implicit message that she not sip her wine until he allowed it.
She'd mentioned ordering a brownie and ice cream for dessert, but he'd dissuaded her, telling her of his heart attack and subsequent healthier lifestyle. She'd acquiesced without a fuss.
Every physical instinct had urged him to kiss her goodnight, but he'd managed to keep his hands off her. Let her wait and wonder.
All in all it had been an evening full of pleasant surprises, including how easily he'd slipped into a comfortable Dom role with her. But now he had to do something with his arousal, otherwise he'd get no sleep, knowing she was in the very next guest room.
~~~
Jessie fell asleep after tossing and turning, preoccupied with thoughts of Michael Atherton. Cripes, he was right next door, probably showering by the sound of things. She buried her face in the pillow, trying to rid herself of the image of him naked. Given his height and well-muscled physique, he probably had a big cock. She lay on her back, arms stretched over her head, clamping her legs together as her inner muscles clenched.
She woke early after a fitful night with the same restlessness consuming her, preening naked in front of the mirror like some sex kitten, slapping herself on the butt before hopping into the shower. She soaped her breasts. For years she'd been self conscious about them, but Michael was right, they were magnificent. Her nipples hardened, her back arching as she soaped between her legs.
She couldn't deny she liked Michael, but an uneasy feeling that there was more to him than met the eye made her nervous. He'd exhibited dominant behavior in small, subtle ways, almost too much like James, the hero of her book. In her fantasies, she craved a man to dominate her in sexual matters, but feared actually meeting such a man. Theory was one thing, reality was another. Surrendering control was a daunting prospect, though she'd had the best orgasm of her life at Scallywags. The memory of it was enough to plunge a girl over the edge. She felt again M's chest against her back, his husky voice, the heat of the flogger, the bliss of--
"Mmm. M for Master," she murmured.
She toyed with the idea of giving in to
the urge to play with herself, but Michael's disapproving face loomed in her subconscious.
M for Michael.
What?
She turned up the cold water tap, struggling to control her breathing. She'd come here to write, not indulge in a sexual fantasy.
Once the soap was rinsed off, she toweled her body briskly, but her heated skin only served to remind her of the flogger.
Oh, what the hell.
She collapsed onto the bed, bent her knees, and quickly brought herself to orgasm, sliding her finger inside as far as she could once she climaxed. As the aftermath rippled through her, she felt better, calmer, but it wasn't nearly as satisfying as the orgasm she'd had with M.
Maybe if Michael had watched her pluck one nipple while she played with her clit.
Shit, she was becoming obsessed with the man. She barely knew him, and he'd demonstrated a distinct lack of suitable material at their first meeting. He'd acted like a big bully. But then there was his music.
~~~
Jessie had a lifelong fear of water but watching others having a wonderful time in the shallow waters of the bay had reassured her it was safe. Michael had also convinced her in the course of last evening's dinner that the bottom wasn't rocky, there were no drop-offs. The waves might look big, but once they receded, the water only came up to your thighs. He'd made a crack about the waves peeling down his shorts, resulting in more throbbing in the clit area.
Intending to enjoy the ocean, she pulled on a different swimsuit after another quick shower. She'd have breakfast, then frolic in the water. She wished she had someone to share the fun with, but Michael hadn't offered. He'd been wearing shorts when they first met, but she'd been so flustered, she'd noticed nothing but his chest, and his handsome face, and his full head of thick hair, and--
It would've been nice if he'd kissed her goodnight at the door to her room, but he hadn't done that either.
She donned a beach wrap and stepped out into the hallway. If Michael Atherton wanted to play it cool, she would oblige.
