by Erika Wilde
He kissed her temple, tasted the salt of perspiration on her skin. “Don’t go all shy on me now, sweetheart,” he drawled, persuading her to trust him with gentle humor instead of forceful demands. “Show me what you like, what feels good…”
With an unraveling sigh, she relaxed and taught him the secrets of her body. Let him learn firsthand what pleased her and demonstrated the seductive rhythm that turned her on the most while he continued the slow gyration of his hips, his lazy in-and-out penetration. Within minutes he recognized the signs of her approaching climax, the provocative catch of her breath and the way her inner muscles tightened around his shaft and coaxed him deeper and deeper still. Her intimate caresses built to a faster, more urgent crescendo, and a long, low moan reached his ears. She pushed her bottom against his hips, opened her legs wider, straining and arching into him as she greedily took her own pleasure and came all over the length of his cock.
Watching her embrace the orgasm shuddering through her that was a direct result of her own ministrations was the most erotic sight he’d ever seen and sent him soaring over the edge with her. His heart pounded erratically in his chest, and he plunged hard and fast, experiencing a need so raw and untamed that it shook the very foundation of his soul.
And then he was lost…in sensation, ecstasy, and everything that was Jo Sommers.
* * *
Reality intruded much too quickly for Jo’s liking—and along with it the reminder that she had a man’s innocence to prove, and a brother to convince of her competence. The two points were going to be a hard sell to Cole, she knew, considering the evidence Cole believed was stacked against Dean.
Gut instinct didn’t account for much when compared to her past actions and she resented the way those mistakes continually overshadowed Cole’s views and opinion of her abilities when it came to her doing a job. But contacting her brother was unavoidable, especially when she’d been out of reach for hours, and just as soon as they reached some kind of civilization, took care of the truck, and found a place to stay for the night, she’d make that dreaded call.
After forty-five minutes of walking in sprinkling, misty rain while sharing an umbrella, the farmhouse that finally came into sight as the two of them crested a hill had Jo releasing a tired and grateful, “Thank God!” The skies above were gray and leaden, the weather humid and unpredictable, and the threat of yet another storm lingered in the air.
“Thank God is right,” Dean agreed, holding the umbrella to protect them against the wet elements as they crossed the deserted highway to the other side of the road where the farmhouse sat in the distance. “I was about to suggest we head back in the opposite direction to the freeway and hitch a ride into Medford.”
Jo groaned at the thought of hiking all the way back to the interstate, but the notion had crossed her mind as well considering their limited options. “We got lucky, and hopefully whoever lives here will be able to call us a tow truck and get the Suburban to a service station.”
“And us to a restaurant,” Dean said, flashing an easygoing grin at her. “I need food. Real food.”
She sidestepped a puddle between them and was amused when he kept the umbrella over her head and let the rain drizzle on him for that three-second split. “That granola bar just didn’t do it for you, huh?” After they’d gotten dressed, they’d eaten another quick snack before heading out for help, just to have something in their stomachs.
He rolled his sexy green eyes. “That chocolate-covered granola bar barely put a dent in my appetite,” he said wryly.
His physical hunger might still be raging, but their sexual appetites had been mutually appeased, she knew, remembering everything that had transpired in the back area of the truck. The man was an incredible lover, so attentive, generous, and passionate. As a result of his focused attention on her and her pleasure, she felt impossibly mellow, every one of her five senses relaxed and wholly satisfied.
They made their way down a well-traveled gravel road bordered by two fenced-in pastures with grazing horses, and passed a newly painted red barn, along with a pen of chickens, goats, and a separate garden of fruits and vegetables—a far cry from the hustle and bustle of the city that she was used to. A few minutes later they cleared the front porch steps to the house. While Jo put away the umbrella, Dean rapped his knuckles loudly on the screen door that opened into a living room.
An older man wearing a pair of faded jean overalls appeared in their line of vision. Dean unexpectedly slipped his palm into hers and intertwined their fingers together. She had no idea why he insisted on holding her hand, but she couldn’t say she disliked the intimate gesture.
The man stopped on the other side of the door, a frown furrowing his bushy gray brows as he looked from her to Dean. Not that Jo could blame him for being wary. No doubt he didn’t get many unexpected visitors at his off-the-beaten-path farmhouse.
“Can I help you?” he asked, his voice deep and gruff, though his brown eyes reflected a genuine kindness beyond all that caution.
“Who’s at the door, Frank?” a soft, feminine voice interrupted. A plump, pretty older woman with graying brunette hair came up beside her husband, wiping her hands on the floral apron wrapped around her waist as she peered curiously at the two of them.
“Don’t know, Iris,” Frank replied, pushing his fingers through his thinning gray hair. “That’s what I was trying to find out.”
“Hello,” the older woman said pleasantly, her smile warm and friendly. “Are you two lost?”
An engaging grin lifted the corners of Dean’s lips. “Actually, my wife and I are traveling from Seattle to San Francisco to visit family, and our vehicle broke down a few miles back with a blown radiator hose,” he explained to the couple before Jo had the chance to speak at all. “We were stranded during the storm, and you’re the first sign of civilization we’ve seen on this road. We were hoping you could help us out.”
His wife? Visiting family in San Francisco? Jo had to physically restrain herself from gaping at Dean for his blatant lie.
“Nope, there isn’t much on this stretch of road,” Frank agreed, scratching his temple. “In fact, the nearest service station is in Medford, about fifteen miles ahead on the interstate.”
“Frank, mind your manners,” Iris scolded gently. “There’s no sense in them standing out in this damp, muggy weather after everything they’ve been through.” She stepped in front of her husband and opened the screen door wide in a friendly small-town welcome. “Come on in, and we’ll see what we can do to get you back on the road and safely to your family.”
Dean inclined his head gratefully. “Thank you, ma’am, we really do appreciate that.”
“Yes, thank you,” Jo said, and followed Dean inside the small but cozy house.
The rich, redolent scent of hearty meat and vegetables curled around them, along with something sweeter, like baked apples and cinnamon. Not surprisingly, Dean’s stomach growled loudly, obnoxiously, making Jo bite back laughter and Dean extend an apology for his rumbling belly.
Iris’s eyes widened at the ravenous sound, though she waved away Dean’s embarrassment. “There’s absolutely nothing to apologize for. You must be starved after waiting out the storm then walking to our place. Let’s get the two of you fed.”
“Oh, no, really, that’s not necessary,” Jo insisted, certain she felt the very hungry man standing beside her squeeze her hand in protest.
“There’s plenty, and we insist, don’t we, Frank?” Iris didn’t give the other man a chance to answer. “What with living out in the country and no neighbors nearby and my children scattered about the state with their own families, it’s not very often that we get company. And it would make me feel so much better knowing that you two left here with full stomachs.”
“Then we’d love to join you for supper,” Dean said eagerly before Jo could refuse again.
“Wonderful.” Iris beamed happily. “You two have a seat in the dining room right in there. Frank, you come help me put ever
ything in serving dishes and bring it out to the table.”
The older couple disappeared into the kitchen and Dean led the way into an adjoining room where they sat next to each other at two of the six chairs at the oak table. Jo turned to Dean and took the opportunity alone to express her disbelief over his fabrication of their relationship.
“Your wife?” she whispered incredulously as they waited for their hosts to return. “What was that all about?”
He blinked guilelessly. “Would you rather I told our only source of help that you’d taken me into custody believing I was a felon waiting to stand trial for grand theft auto and that you’re taking me back to San Francisco to clear my name?”
She swallowed laughter at his matter-of-fact tone and acceded to his point. “No, I guess not. But acting like a married couple is a bit extreme, don’t you think?”
“What can it hurt?” He shrugged lazily and brought the back of her hand to his warm lips for a kiss—for show should their hosts be watching, or out of genuine affection, she wasn’t sure. Either way, it felt good, and she enjoyed the attention. “Frank was leery enough of us showing up on his doorstep, and it probably put them at ease and gained their sympathy for our situation, so why not?”
She sighed as he let go of her hand, unable to argue with his logic. “And you get a free meal out of the deal.”
“Which you nearly sabotaged,” he said, sending her a mock disgruntled glance. “After the physical exertion you put me through this afternoon, I need sustenance. And whatever Iris is cooking smells so much better than the fast food you’ve been feeding me.”
She wrinkled her nose at him, not the least bit insulted by his complaint. “Poor baby. Enjoy supper, and don’t expect any gourmet meals when we get to Oakland, either, because it won’t happen.”
He looked disappointed. “You don’t cook?”
“I can microwave a frozen meal really well.” Picking up the paper napkin at her place setting, she spread it on her lap. “I learned that particular talent from Cole and Noah when I was about ten.”
“That’s certainly not a skill to be proud of,” he teased. “Even I can do better than frozen dinners.”
“Quick and easy is my motto. I don’t have the time for anything more.”
He draped his arm along the back of her chair and leaned close so that it appeared they were having an intimate conversation. “I’m thinking you spend way too much time on the go chasing bad guys and not enough time giving slow and thorough a try.”
Were they talking about cooking, sex, or nurturing a relationship? She wasn’t certain, but either way she bristled at the insinuation that her job and choice of lifestyle were affecting any of the three, no matter how much it might be true. “It’s all by choice. My choice,” she clarified.
The defensive note in Jo’s voice caught Dean off guard. He held her gaze, which glimmered with too much stubborn pride. The woman was way too sensitive about her occupation and the need to defend what she did for a living. He’d only meant that she might try to open herself to other possibilities, ones that might include more than their brief time together, but he lost the opportunity to explain when Frank and Iris entered the dining room carrying platters of fragrant food.
Minutes later, Dean was digging into a plate filled with tender pot roast, potatoes, buttered vegetables that no doubt had been homegrown, and fresh buttermilk biscuits. His moans of appreciation and verbal compliments made Iris blush, though it was obvious that she enjoyed his praise.
Iris poured more iced tea into her glass and refilled her husband’s. “Be sure to save room for apple cobbler.”
“Not a problem there,” Jo said, casting Dean a sweet smile that contradicted the playful provocation he saw in the depths of her eyes. “My husband is like a bottomless pit when it comes to food.”
“There’s nothing wrong with a man having a healthy appetite,” Iris said, defending Dean’s voracious hunger.
Dean bestowed one of his most charming smiles on his hostess. “I just don’t get meals like this very often at home,” he said truthfully, though his statement also served to goad Jo, his wife, right back. “So it’s a real treat for me when I do.”
“Consider this an open invitation to stop by anytime you’re passing through to visit family.” Iris broke open a biscuit and slathered butter on one steaming half. “Now tell me, how long have the two of you been married?”
“Just a few months,” he replied, not missing a beat.
“I knew it!” Iris glanced excitedly at Frank, who was busy concentrating on his meal. “Didn’t I tell you that these two still had that newlywed glow about them?”
A small smile quirked the older man’s mouth, softening the harsher lines etching his features. “Yep, you certainly did.”
“Oh, to be young and in love and to experience the bliss of being newly married again.” Iris placed a hand over her heart and sighed dreamily, obviously remembering those early days with Frank. “Though our first year together was the best in so many ways, I do have to admit that it was also the toughest.”
“In what way?” Jo asked as she pushed her fork through her vegetables, her tone curious. “That is, if you don’t mind me asking.”
“Not at all.” Iris dabbed her mouth with her napkin, warming to the subject. “My Frank has always been the strong, silent type and a man of few words. He prefers to think of it as being contemplative, but a good amount of it is due to sheer stubbornness, I’ve come to learn—and accept.”
Frank hrmph’d in response as he ate a bite of roast, but didn’t deny her claim.
She placed a hand on her husband’s arm in a loving, soothing gesture. “We didn’t have much when we first married, and times were certainly very lean. Through the hardships we had many disagreements, and one of the most important lessons we learned was that in order for us to make our marriage last and be happy together we had to compromise on certain issues. Give and take equally, and find a common ground.”
Her words struck a chord in Dean, one that made him realize that compromise had been one of the essential ingredients missing from his own parents’ marriage. “That’s very sound advice.”
Iris smiled gently. “It’s made a huge difference in our relationship and has carried us through forty-three happy years of marriage.”
“Forty-three years,” Jo said, her tone soft and wistful. “That’s wonderful.”
“We think so,” Iris said, speaking for both her and her husband. “And don’t forget to make sure you both take time in your busy lives for each other, to keep the romance in your marriage fresh and exciting.”
Dean set his fork on his empty plate and pushed it aside. “We’ll be sure to do that,” he said, wishing his own parents had had someone like Iris to offer them that particular piece of advice somewhere along the way. Not that his father would have made the time easily, but possibly their marriage would have been much different if his mother had insisted on more attention, and his father had compromised even halfway.
Frank took a long drink of his iced tea, then swiped his napkin across his mouth, done with his supper. “I think the boy here is ready for some of your apple cobbler, Iris.”
Dean recognized a switch in topic when he heard one, and apparently so did Iris, who said no more on the subject of love and marriage. “I’d love some cobbler,” he replied, unable to pass up such a delicious treat.
“I’ll clear the table while you serve up dessert,” Jo offered. Standing, she stacked their dirty dishes then followed Iris into an adjoining room.
While the two women were in the kitchen, Dean addressed the problem of Jo’s Suburban being stranded. “Do you know of a local towing service I could call?”
“No need to call anyone,” Frank said, shaking his head. “I have a towing hitch on my truck and I’ll take the two of you and your vehicle into Medford.”
“You really don’t have to do that.”
Frank’s brows rose comically. “After everything you just heard during
supper, do you really think that Iris would let me get any peace if I didn’t see you two newlyweds safely into town myself?”
Dean laughed at the other man’s dry sense of humor that held so much truth. “No, I suppose not. Thank you. You both have been very kind and hospitable considering you weren’t exactly expecting company.”
“I should be thanking you.” Frank leaned back in his chair, a hint of a smile making an appearance. “I think you made Iris’s evening, and I’ll reap the benefits.” He followed that up with a sly wink.
The four of them spent the next half hour enjoying warmed apple cobbler with French vanilla ice cream and light, friendly conversation. Too soon it was time to leave, and Iris insisted on sending them off with a care package of leftovers should Dean get hungry later that night, which Jo assured the other woman was a definite possibility. After a round of warm hugs from Iris, she pressed a piece of paper into Dean’s hand with their phone number and extended an invitation to stop by anytime.
With one last wave, Dean climbed into Frank’s truck next to Jo, his wife, and wondered if he was the only one feeling an indescribable tug of longing after their visit with Iris and Frank, the only one coveting the special relationship the older couple shared.
He sighed. Considering Jo’s practical, independent views when it came to men and relationships, probably so.
CHAPTER TEN
They dropped the Suburban off at a service station in Medford to be repaired first thing the following morning. By the time they’d checked into a motel one block over, another thunderstorm had moved in. Leaving the registration office, Jo and Dean hightailed it to their assigned room just as another downpour hit, dampening their hair and clothes all over again.
Laughing at their bad luck, Jo closed the heavy metal door, locked the bolt, and put Dean’s wrapped package of food on the small table in the corner for him to feast on later. He dropped their bags at the far end of the king-sized bed and turned to her with the same private grin he’d been wearing since leaving Iris and Frank’s place.
