Lori Wilde - [Cupid, Texas 02]

by All Out of Love

  “Well,” he murmured, running a finger up her spine, “I wouldn’t call this a task but it seems my new position as chaparral cock is a step up from water strider.”

  “I’m glad you approve of the promotion.”

  “That’s not all I approve of,” he said, and lightly sank his teeth into her shoulder.

  “No?”

  “Hang on.” He got up off the bed to retrieve another condom.

  A nanosecond later he was back in bed with the condom on, cradling her in the crook of his arm. Her head was nestled against his chest and she could hear the steady thumping of his heart.

  Home. It felt like home in his arms.

  No. She must not think like that. Could not afford to think like that. It was simply too dangerous. The urgency of their previous mating had died down and in its place was a gentle softness. His fingers massaged her scalp. His lips touched her temple and he nibbled at her skin.

  Immediately, her body responded.

  “Relax,” he whispered, smoothing his palm over her shoulder, moving his mouth from her temple to her earlobe.

  But how could she relax when he was running his other hand over her breasts, lightly playing with her nipples? He shifted and his mouth followed his hands, his tongue suckling gently on her beaded peaks. And there went those exploring fingers, tracing down her midriff and sliding between her thighs, his masculine fingers finding her feminine moistness and tenderly slipping inside her.

  He didn’t make a misstep. Every stroke took the intensity up a notch. He kissed the underside of her chin, his lips wickedly hot. Then he turned her on her side and bumped his hip against her butt. He bent her right leg and edged in closer, positioning himself to sink into her feminine center from behind.

  Now, with him deep in her moist wetness, she felt every twitch of his muscle. He lit her up, a match to gasoline. She had no thoughts beyond wanting him deeper, thrusting inside her as far as he could go.

  “Ah, my Lace,” he whispered. “My beautiful, beautiful Lace.”

  In that moment, something monumental inside her moved. It was an emotion unlike anything she’d ever before experienced. She couldn’t name it, but she felt it to her soul.

  He moved purposefully, the rhythm easy and languid. He was, after all, a purposeful man. She whimpered and pressed against him, urging him to pick up the pace, but he only laughed and went even slower.

  The pressure built, tight and heavy. She was acutely aware of every breath, every pulse beat. He cupped her buttocks as he slid in and out, building momentum, working toward something grand.

  His hands pulled her helplessly against him. Rocking. Rocking. Soft mewling sounds escaped her throat, slipped into the darkened room to mingle with his pleasure-induced groans. His mouth burned the back of her neck, hot and erotic, tender and loving, but he never lost the rhythm. Their bodies were joined, fused, perfectly matched. Each movement elicited more delight, more surprise.

  He rolled onto his back, took her with him, turning her around until she was astride him. Their gazes met and Lace dropped into the exciting comfort of his eyes. He locked his hands around her waist, helping her move up and down on his hard, long shaft.

  Swept away, she quickened the pace. Pierce met her challenge, raising his hips up, digging his heels into the mattress, giving her a ride to end all rides. He kept at it, chasing her pleasure with a devotion that dizzied her.

  Higher and higher he drove her toward climax. She smiled at him and he laughed with delight. At the peak, she cried out his name over and over.

  He followed right behind her, and together they flew high, soared the wind currents, and touched the stars.

  He held on to her waist as she buried her face in his neck. She drew in the scent of him. This was the smell of their lovemaking. They clung to each other, quivering and spent.

  Pierce stroked her, murmured sweet nothings until her heart rate returned to normal and her body had stilled.

  “I’ve never felt so special,” she whispered.

  “That’s because you are special.” He lifted her chin, looked deeply into her eyes again. “Lace Bettingfield, you’re one in a billion.”

  Chapter 17

  Anthesis: time of flowering.

  SUNLIGHT pouring through the window nudged Pierce awake. He groaned, reached for the covers, and pulled them over his head before he remembered where he was. Smiling, he snaked a hand out from under the bedspread, searching for Lace’s warm round body, only to come up empty-handed.

  He ripped the covers off, sat up to find himself alone in her bed. An ache of disappointment settled in his gut. He’d planned on getting up before she did and making her one of his special omelets. Where had she gone? He got out of bed, picked his trousers up off the floor, and stepped into them. Feeling like a giant dork, he went in search of her.

  “Lace?” he called, moving from room to room. Her entire house was an arboretum. There were plants everywhere, including the bathroom. He smiled.

  He found her in the kitchen, sitting in the one clear spot, eating mini shredded wheat and strawberries and reading a three-inch-thick botany book.

  “Good morning,” he said.

  “Cereal on the bar.” She waved a hand without looking up.

  He’d never had a morning-after moment where the woman wasn’t hanging all over him. Usually, he was trying to think of a graceful way to move on, but Lace seemed as if she barely noticed he was even still in her house. Last night had been amazing and he’d thought they were working on something monumental, but now he wondered if he’d been deceiving himself.

  “Coffee?” he asked hopefully.

  “Sorry, I don’t drink it. Want me to go see if Shasta has any?”

  “No, that’s okay.”

  “Bowls are in the cabinet, silverware in the drawer underneath.”

  Pierce poured himself a bowl of cereal, and since there wasn’t any other place to sit that wasn’t occupied by a plant of some kind, he stood while he ate, bracing his butt against the kitchen counter.

  Lace snaked a brief glance over at him, her gaze resting on his bare chest before sliding down the length of his trousers to take in his bare feet. Was it his hopeful imagination or did she just shiver with sexual delight?

  “You have a PhD, didn’t you already learn all that stuff?” he teased.

  “Learning never stops. Don’t you learn new football plays or whatever they’re called?”

  “I do.”

  She turned back to the textbook.

  He felt richly dismissed. “Is this how you usually spend your mornings?”

  “What you see is what you get,” she said.

  “You read at the breakfast table?”

  “No reason not to.” She spooned a bite of cereal in her mouth. “Other than the half-naked man in my kitchen, this is a totally normal morning.”

  “You have a guest, isn’t that reason enough to change your routine?”

  “I wasn’t put on earth to entertain you.”

  He chuckled. She crossed her legs and stared so hard at the textbook in front of her, he knew she couldn’t be seeing a single word she was reading. He padded across the terra-cotta floor to stand behind her. Her shoulders tightened and she curled her hands around the textbook.

  “What’s so fascinating?” He leaned over her shoulder.

  “Meiosis,” she said.

  “What’s that?”

  “In jock-speak?”

  “English will do.”

  She couldn’t help laughing. “Plant sex.”

  “Nice,” he said, clearing off the chair next to her by moving the flowering plant in the seat to the floor and plunking down beside her. “Plant porn. Read me something.”

  She snorted, rolled her eyes.

  Ah, the eye roll. She was feeling insecure. “No, no, I’m serious. I’m taking an interest in things you like.”

  “You’re just interested because I used the word ‘sex.’ ”

  He grinned. “And that’s bad because?”


  “It’s not bad.”

  He propped his elbows on the table, then cupped his chin in his open palms. “I’m all ears. Read to me, baby.”

  “Ha, you’ll fall asleep in five minutes.”

  “This is sex we’re talking about,” he said, wrapping his legs around hers underneath the table. “Sex is never boring.”

  “Fine. Here goes.” She cleared her throat. “Meiosis is two-part cell division in an organism that reproduce sexually.”

  “Encouraging beginning. Keep going,” he urged, and filched a strawberry off her plate.

  “You don’t want to hear this.” She closed the book.

  “Ah, but I do.” He opened it back up. “Honestly.”

  She looked skeptical but said, “There’s meiosis one.”

  “Is that like the missionary position or something?”

  “It’s nothing like the missionary position. They’re plants.”

  “This is more complicated than you might think.”

  “No, it’s more complicated than you might think.”

  “That’s what I just said.” He leaned in to nibble her ear. “What’s meiosis two?”

  “Meiosis two is … is …” she stalled out.

  “Uh-huh?”

  “Stop doing that. I can’t think.”

  “That’s the general idea. You think too much. Let go and just feel.”

  She pulled back, pushed her glasses up on her nose. He loved those glasses. They made her look so studious, but they did get in the way of kissing. He lifted them off her face, set them aside.

  “What are you doing?”

  “This.” He kissed her substantially, drawing it out.

  She responded, but just barely. He stopped. She blinked at him, owl-eyed. “Really, the breakfast tête-à-tête isn’t necessary. You’re free to go about your day.”

  Okay, that was a stab to the ego. Last night had been special for him. Apparently, it hadn’t been as special for her. “You don’t want me here?”

  “It’s not that.” She curled the edge of the textbook page.

  “What is it?” He laid his hand on hers so she’d stop curling the page and look at him.

  Her eyes were unreadable. “I don’t have any expectations, Pierce.”

  “Why not? Last night … well … I’m just going to admit it. You were … Together we were … It was like winning the Super Bowl. That kind of thing only comes around once in a lifetime.”

  “What are you saying, Pierce, that you want to start dating?”

  “Yeah,” he said. “I’m saying exactly that.”

  Slowly, she shook her head, and his heart sank to his shoes. “I don’t know about that.”

  “What are your doubts about taking the next step?”

  “You were dropped by the Dallas Cowboys. Your father is sick. You still don’t have full use of your leg back. It hasn’t been all that long since you were dumped by your girlfriend—”

  “Six months,” he interrupted, “and it wasn’t a big loss. I knew she was not a long-term kind of woman.”

  “Your head is not in a good place to make a long-lasting decision. Let’s just enjoy this thing for what it is.”

  “Which means?”

  “Sex.” She smiled impishly. “And often.”

  “Isn’t that the same thing as dating?”

  “There’s no need to label it.”

  He should be happy that she was proposing a sex-only relationship. Normally, he would be over the moon at such a proposition. Why then did he feel so disappointed? “All right. I agree.” For now. “When can I see you again?”

  She put her glasses back on, tilted her head. “The gardens are reopening, so I’ll be busy with that most of the week.”

  “I thought that in spite of the fund-raiser you were still short money.”

  Her eyes met his. “Melody called this morning. A donor who wants to remain anonymous has pledged a million-dollar endowment to the botanical gardens.”

  “You don’t say.”

  “What do you know about that?”

  He shrugged. “Why would you think I would know anything about it?”

  “The name on the caller ID that came through on Melody’s phone this morning was Frankie Kowalsky.” Her eyes misted. “Pierce, I do so appreciate the donation, but it’s far too generous. You’re out of a job, you need to save your money.”

  “Sweetheart, I’m worth thirty times that. It’s a tax deduction for me. Don’t even try to turn down the money.”

  “I wouldn’t,” she said. “I want this too much.”

  “I just wanted to make you happy.”

  She gulped visibly and for a moment, he thought she was going to cry. “You did,” she whispered. “You have no idea how much.”

  “Lace,” he whispered.

  “For you to give that much money to save the gardens for me—” She broke off, tears spilling from her eyes.

  And then she was in his arms, showering him with grateful kisses, and he realized why she’d stuck her nose in a book the morning after they’d finally made love. It was because her emotions had so overwhelmed her that she hadn’t known how to express them. She’d fallen back on her security blanket—books and plants. She was scared. He got that. He was scared too, but you couldn’t get a touchdown if you didn’t go for it.

  He captured her lips, and things took off from there. They made love on the kitchen floor, hot, quick, and savage, and then they went back to bed and did it all over again.

  “SO,” ZOEY SAID to Lace at the Wednesday meeting of the Cupid letter committee meeting. “What’s going on between you and Pierce Hollister?”

  Aunt Delia had been discharged from the rehab hospital and today they were meeting at their great-aunt’s house. Framed autographed photos of Elizabeth Taylor, James Dean, and Rock Hudson looked down at them from the paneled wall of Delia’s living room. Delia was dressed in a gloriously fuchsia robe and sitting in a straight-backed chair with her legs propped up on a hassock, her walker nearby. Everyone else ringed around her.

  Lace shrugged. She was hesitant to admit anything because she knew her family and friends would jump to conclusions, but honestly, this was Cupid. She knew the rumors had already been swirling.

  “Well?” Zoey prodded.

  It was time she came off the fence. Until she stopped trying to protect herself from getting hurt, she had no chance of developing something meaningful with Pierce. That left her with two choices. Either break it off clean, no more sex, or dive headfirst into this thing and let the chips fall where they may. She decided to dive.

  “We’re seeing each other,” Lace confessed.

  The whole room erupted in a whoop of enthusiasm. The volunteers hugged her and asked a million questions and laughed and hugged her some more. For better or worse, she’d publicly made it official. She and Pierce were an item.

  And in the end, she wound up grinning and believing that maybe, just maybe she and Pierce had a shot at something special. If great sex equated to long-term bliss, they were destined to be together for two hundred years.

  After things calmed down, the group finally got down to business.

  “Lace,” Carol Ann said, passing a pink envelope over to her. “Here’s another one from Hero Worshipper.”

  Lace suppressed a groan and opened the letter.

  Dear Cupid,

  I did what you sugguested and tried to forget about my soulmate, but now he’s dating someone else! If I hadn’t listenned to you, I could be the one he is goin out with!! I should be the one he is goin’ out with. How do I know if I have a chance with him or not if I don’t ever try? I’m gonna stop sitting on the sidelines and make a move. What do you have to say about that?

  —Hero Worshipper

  “Do you want to give your answer some thought and take it home?” Carol Ann asked.

  Lace shook her head. “No. I’ll answer her right now so it can be printed in the Friday edition of the greensheet.”

  While everyone el
se went through the remaining letters, Lace composed an answer to Hero Worshipper on her notebook computer and answered her as if she were writing to her fourteen-year-old self.

  Dear Hero Worshipper,

  You are right. Who am I to tell you how to run your life? I have recently come to realize that you can’t find love if you refuse to play the game. Yes, go ahead. Make a move. If he spurns you, it may hurt, but at least you will have seized the moment. Many people let love slip through their fingers because they are simply too afraid to take a chance. Be bold. Be brave. Good luck. I wish you all the best.

  —Cupid

  Lace emailed the letter to Carol Ann. She and Pierce had made a date for Saturday and she was going to take her own advice and tell Pierce what was really in her heart. She wanted more than sex. More than dating. She wanted him. Wanted to build a future together.

  She was all in.

  ON SATURDAY, PIERCE picked Lace up at the botanical gardens at five. He’d been counting the hours until he could see her again. He had a grand seduction planned. He and Lace would be completely alone, just the two of them.

  Steaks were marinating in the refrigerator, charcoal lined the bottom of the barbecue ready to light, asparagus sat trimmed and cleaned for the grill and drizzled with the balsamic reduction he’d made earlier that day, foil-wrapped baked potatoes were in the oven, and there were Parker House rolls he’d picked up from the local bakery. He’d also bought a bouquet of seasonal flowers, and they were in a vase on the kitchen table. A trip to Mon Amour Vineyard yielded a bottle of pinot noir that he’d already opened so it could breathe. He could scarcely wait to show off his culinary skills for a woman who appreciated food.

  He opened the passenger door of the King Ranch and held out a hand to help her inside. She was wearing jeans and a light blue blouse than made her eyes stand out. He could not stop staring at her.

  “What?” she asked, and suddenly looked shy. “Do I have dirt on my face?”

  “I just can’t get over how beautiful you are.”

  “I’m sure you’ve been with plenty of women much more beautiful than I am. You’ve dated actresses and models.”

  “Maybe so, but you’re beautiful both inside and out.”