A Necessary Lie

by Lucy Farago

  “I don’t drink much,” she said.

  “Really? I wouldn’t never have guessed.”

  “Now you’re just making fun of me. But you know what?” She wagged a finger at him. “I don’t care.” She went to take another sip from an empty glass.

  “I’m just teasing,” he said, pushing aside her drink. “Sure you don’t want another one?” He’d happily carry her home, but he could just as easily put them both in a cab.

  “No. I’m going to be hungover as it is from all this sugar. I should have stuck to beer like you did.” She picked up his empty bottle, squinting as she read the label. “This is light beer.”

  “Gotta watch my waistline.” He motioned for the waitress to bring them their bill. At least the refried beans in their enchiladas would soak up some of the alcohol she’d consumed.

  She snorted. “Why? Everyone else is watching it for you. She’s watching,” she said, nodding to the table behind them. “They’re watching.” She tipped her head toward the ladies beside them. “The guy in the corner is watching.” She waved a lazy finger at Cowboy. “And the bartender with the big boobs is watching. Not the other one. I guess he has more discerning tastes.”

  He hadn’t really noticed but was amused she had. “And that bothers you?”

  “Nope,” she said, stressing the ‘p.’ “You’re not my man.”

  He grinned at her attempt at a southern drawl. “And if I were?”

  Her eyes grew wide before blinking several times. She drew in closer and in a whisper said, “Then I’d have to kill them.” She closed one eye and fired a make-believe gun, blowing at the imaginary smoke on the tip of her index finger.

  He laughed. Damn, she was cute. “Yeah, Wyatt Earp ain’t got nothin’ on you.” He handed the waitress his credit card and waited for her to print off the bill, which he then signed and added a generous tip. Ryan was a good tipper, after all.

  “I’ll have you know,” Grace said, “I have perfect aim. My daddy paid for lessons. I had some of the best men on the force teaching me.”

  That didn’t surprise him. “Well, when your head clears up, we’ll go to the range and shoot a few.”

  “You can shoot?” she asked, clearly forgetting who she was talking to.

  “I’m a Texan. We learn to shoot before we can walk.”

  She giggled. “Guess so.”

  He grabbed his hat from the empty chair he’d placed it in on and slipped it back on his head. “Sure. I can see how you’d forget something like that.” He was definitely calling a cab. “Let’s go, Calamity.” He stood and, taking her elbow in his hand, helped her up.

  “I loved that movie. Doris Day is one of my favorites.”

  He had no idea what she was taking about. “No, Calamity Jane was an actual person.”

  She gasped. “Don’t tell me you never saw the movie?”

  He led her to the front and, lucky for them, a cab waited on the curb. “No, and I thought you didn’t watch movies?”

  “I don’t. Not the ones they make today, anyway. But I like oldies. They made those before people were assholes.”

  He opened the door for her and gently shoved her in. He didn’t watch old movies. As a kid he’d been busy stirring up shit, then later trying to stay alive. Television was a luxury he didn’t have. “I’ll take your word for it.”

  “No, we have to watch it.”

  He scratched the nape of his neck, wondering how best to humor her. “Sure. We’ll go find us a copy tomorrow.”

  “No,” she insisted. “Tonight. There’s a video store a block from the hotel. I’ll bet they have it. This is Texas. They love Westerns.”

  On the drive, she proceeded to explain how Calamity was in love with Wild Bill Hickok, her frenemy—which took three tries before she’d said it right and he understood. But Calamity wasn’t very girly and she didn’t realize she loved her best friend.

  “Because she wasn’t very girly?” That was a dumb reason not to realize who she loved.

  “No, that’s because she likes to fight Indians. And she thinks she’s in love with this other guy.”

  “I’m confused. What do Indians have to do with who she loves?” Cowboy caught the cabbie snickering to himself.

  “No, that’s why she’s not girly. Pay attention, will ya?” She slapped his knee.

  They were going to need coffee.

  “Oh wait,” she shouted, pointing out the window. “There’s a video store. Stop.”

  The cabbie looked at Cowboy through his rearview mirror, eyebrows up in question. Cowboy nodded from him to stop. Luckily, there was an empty spot right in front and Cowboy was able to convince Grace to stay put while he ran in. It didn’t take long to locate a copy. She was right. This was Texas and they loved their Westerns.

  She continued to try to explain the movie, but when his confused questions started to frustrate her, she gave up. “You’ll just have to wait and see.”

  He was actually looking forward to seeing this movie. Not that Doris Day did it for him, but Grace, the girl who didn’t care for current box-office hits because they distorted reality, was excited about a corny movie. He’d buy a truckload of old hits if it kept her smiling exactly as she was now. Then again, three house-special margaritas may be playing a major role in her giddiness.

  *

  They agreed to use Cowboy’s room, which coincidently happened to be down the hall from Grace’s. But unlike her room, he had a suite and a big-ass flat-screen. Grace wasn’t sure how he’d gotten them popcorn and candy, but as she popped a kernel in her mouth she didn’t care. He done another nice thing for and she should take it at face value. Right now, she didn’t care about much. In the back of her mind, thoughts of Jessie were always there. Maybe that’s why she’d ordered a third drink. It wasn’t fair to Jessie, her trying to numb the worry, but what more could she do for her tonight? Tomorrow they’d take another look at what little they had. She watched as Daniel adjusted the volume on the screen.

  This man was a stranger to her and he was helping to find a woman he had no connection to. He’d managed to get that waitress to answer questions she’d clearly been uncomfortable in giving. He finagled the clerk at the shoe store into telling them the exact time Jessie had bought her the boots and even managed to find out when Jessie had checked out of her hotel. And now here he was, subjecting himself to an old musical. All for her. No man would go through all this effort just to get laid. At least, no man that looked like him. Those women in the restaurant were proof he didn’t have to put in much effort to get a woman interested. So what were his motives? Did he have a motive? Jessie was proof that good people did exist.

  Daniel took a seat beside her, handing her the glass of ice water. “What year is this movie from?”

  “I’m not sure. Let me Google it.” She went to retrieve her phone from the purse she’d dumped on the credenza, then remembered it had died sometime during dinner. “Phone is dead. No Google for me.”

  “Would you like a charger? We have the same phone.”

  “Sure, that’d be great.” The only call she was expecting was from her father telling her he’d found Jessie, and it would be a good idea not to miss that one.

  Daniel went into the bedroom and came out a few minutes later with the charger in his hand. “There’s a plug in this coffee table, left side.”

  “You’re kidding.” Who’d invented that?

  “I guess your room doesn’t have one?”

  She shook her head. “My room doesn’t have a coffee table.” The paper had agreed to cover her expenses, which normally didn’t include suites in fancy hotels. George, however, had decided to splurge and let her stay here. He too probably felt some guilt over Jessie’s disappearance. She plugged in her phone and once again made herself at home on the couch.

  As the opening credits played across the screen, he settled in close beside her, propping his socked feet on the coffee table, like they were old friends. Oddly, it was nice.

  She couldn’t say t
his was her favorite oldie, but it was up there. Unfortunately, five minutes into the movie, she’d regretted opening her big mouth and admitted to something few knew.

  “You do not,” he’d said.

  “I do. I also know all the words to Seven Brides for Seven Brothers, another Howard Keel movie… and The Sound of Music. But that one doesn’t count. Everyone knows that one.”

  “I don’t.” He slanted his head, clearly thinking she’d lost it.

  “Okay, I’ll give you knowing the music for Calamity might be odd, but Julie Andrews? Come on.”

  “I didn’t watch TV.”

  “That isn’t television. It’s history.”

  He laughed. “You’re crazy and I expect you to sing along with Doris over there.” He nodded toward the big screen.

  “I don’t do very well with an audience.” Her friends tended to make fun of her when she sang to the radio in her car. Not that she cared. These movies were classics. Not liking them was akin to not liking a first-edition Jane Austen or a vintage car.

  But as each song came on, he elbowed her until she sang along. At first her voice was barely audible, no more than her mouth moving, to prove she did indeed know the words. Then his face lit up more and more, like she was the best performer in the world and he her biggest fan. By the time Doris’s last song hit the screen, Grace, Miss Day, and Keel were in sync.

  At the end of the movie Daniel applauded. “Best show of my life.”

  “Sarcasm is not appreciated.” She tossed one of her M&M’s at his head.

  “No sarcasm implied,” he said, sounding earnest.

  She wasn’t buying it. “I figured you for a Van Diesel fan. Fast cars… fast women.”

  “I don’t go for fast women, and I’m not talking about the movie.” With his index finger and thumb, he plucked the yellow candy off his chest, where it had landed, and brought it to her lips. “I meant you.”

  Her jaw fell open. He slid the chocolate inside, then stunned her even more by bending down to press his mouth to hers. When he used his tongue to push the candy deeper inside, the floor to her world bottomed out. He tasted like cherry and salt, and most of all like holy-shit, the-man-could-kiss. Someone needed to come up with a jellybean that flavor. It would sell out. She’d be the first to line up and buy it. When he pulled away and focused his ice-blue eyes on her lips, she couldn’t breathe.

  “Grace?”

  “Hmmm.”

  He bent to her ear and whispered, “Chew.”

  It took a few seconds to register he’d meant the candy, which she did with a loud crunch.

  “Good?”

  “I love M&M’s,” she said, her voice sounding tinny to her ears.

  “Wasn’t talking about the candy.” He brushed his thumb over her bottom lip.

  “Oh.” She laughed nervously.

  “You know what, Grace?”

  If she could get her brain to work she might be able to come up with a response, but as it was he was too close, too beautiful, too making her head swim. All she could muster was a head shake.

  “I’ve developed a taste for chocolate. Can I have one of yours?”

  Numbly, she nodded, about to hold up the bag when he kissed her again, his tongue taking that taste. Her fist closed around the candy bag as her mouth opened to him. She could blame the tequila. But she’d be lying. The margaritas had begun to wear off and the soft haze that had started out as the effects of alcohol were now cowboy induced.

  He brought a hand to her waist, slipping it under her t-shirt and around to her back. Warm and manly, his fingers urged her closer. She complied. Ignoring the clatter of candy-covered chocolates falling from her grip, she wrapped her arms around his neck, heaved herself up, and straddled him. Movie snack was forgotten, so too were her father’s warnings about trusting too quickly without knowing enough. When Daniel squeezed her ass and thrust his rock-hard erection against her core, she told herself this was just sex. She wasn’t signing on to marry the guy, and even though he had over a good foot on her, she could lay him flat in three seconds if things went anywhere she didn’t want them to go.

  Grabbing a fist full of hair, Daniel tugged and exposed her throat. She loved the fact that he paid so much attention to her neck. Delicious tremors shot down her spine and settled in her tailbone when he licked and nipped from collarbone to collarbone, lavished open-mouth kisses first on one side of her neck and then the other before returning to her mouth, only to start all over again. She tangled her own fingers into his hair, peppering his forehead with kisses. In his arms he rocked her gently, tipping her back, pulling at her t-shirt to reveal more skin as he cupped, squeezed, and stroked her breast. It was hard not to notice the thick rod between her legs, the one his rocking caused her to ride. She’d never been more turned on. Eager for more.

  She didn’t know how long they’d kissed like that, but at some point she’d had enough. The nerve endings on her throat and shoulders couldn’t take anymore, while the rest couldn’t get enough. But he read her mind. He stood, her glued to his body, the message in his eyes clear. They were going to have great, mind-blowing sex. The universe couldn’t create a man that kissed like him—looked like him—and make him a dud in bed. Please, she thought, don’t let him suck. She needed this to be good. Needed something positive, something to keep her going.

  “Grace?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “You sure you want to do this?”

  She’d never been more sure of anything in her life. “Uh-huh.”

  “Then, honey, you’ll have to let go.”

  He took his hands off her butt and it was then she realized he’d taken them into the next room and to the bed. She grinned unapologetically and, still clinging to his neck, unclamped her thighs, her feet dropping to the mattress. “But I like my legs around you, cowboy.”

  His eyes darkened. Did he like to be teased, urge onward and yes, upward, with sultry encouragement? She wasn’t much for dirty talk. Honestly, it was a tad embarrassing. Mostly because she didn’t think she’d be any good at it. She was a straight-to-the-point girl. How sexy could that be?

  “If we take our clothes off,” he said, “I’ll make sure your legs are so tight around my hips…” He brushed his fingers over her swollen mouth. “… that you’ll never want to let go.”

  She released him and, with a step back, pulled off her t-shirt and threw it at his head. He caught it and, bringing it to his face, inhaled. “Damn, you smell good.”

  Then with one quick motion, he grabbed her ankle and yanked. She fell, her stomach flip-flopping as she landed on the bed. Laughing, she propped herself onto her elbows and was very happy to watch as he unbuttoned first his shirt and then, yes oh yes, the button on his jeans.

  “Are you going to take your pants off?” he said, unzipping his fly. “Or do I have the pleasure of doing that?”

  It wasn’t that she was debating the question. She was simply too distracted by the way that shirt fell off his tanned body—and the amount of bulge peeking out from atop his Calvin Klein’s—to answer. And when those jeans were disposed of, his abs crunching and all that delicious stuff, and when his fingers were hidden by an elastic waistband, she swore drool pooled on the corner of her mouth as good old Calvin hit the floor. Speechless. Utterly speechless.

  “Grace, I know I’ve been a tease about you going off to la-la land far too often, but please tell me you haven’t changed your mind and you’re not thinking about your next story.”

  In reply, she looked him square in the eye… then pointedly slid her gaze down that drop-dead gorgeous example of God’s gift to women, taking a few extra seconds to enjoy the more endowed part of him. When she was done, he understood la-la land was the furthest place her thoughts had wandered to.

  He didn’t wait for her to take off her pants. He crawled over her and did the honors himself, and when she was naked and pressed so tight against him she couldn’t move, he closed his mouth over hers. She was surprised at how well they fit together wit
h him being such a tall man. This time it was his body wrapped around hers, one hand in her hair, the other on her ass, his erection pulsating against her belly. If she’d forgotten to breathe, it didn’t matter. He did it for her.

  “Fast or slow, Grace?” he said in between deep kisses. “Tell me now. Either way I promise you more afterward, much more.”

  “I’ll keep you to that promise.” If she was going to lose herself in this man, she wanted it all night long.

  Quicker than her sluggish brain could process, he pinned her arms over her head and, with a wicked grin, dipped his head and sucked hard on one nipple. “Fast?” he repeated. “Or slow?” he asked, then helped himself to a leisurely lick around her other breast.

  She drew out a gasp as he stroked her other nipple with tiny flicks of his tongue.

  The sensation was so exquisite she should have been embarrassed by her loud groans. She wasn’t a screamer. Feeling good while having sex made sense. But to lose control, to give away your power? Either the handful of men she’d slept with had never been talented enough to make her want to shout hallelujah and amen, or subconsciously…

  His hand slid south and mimicked his tongue with slow, teasing sweeps then tiny rapid flicks. “Mmm.”

  “Slow then?”

  Honestly she didn’t much care. He’d promised more and she suspected Daniel was a man of his word. She wanted it fast. She wanted it slow. She wanted only to think of this cowboy. That’s what she wanted—him. “Tell me you have condoms.”

  He lifted his head from her breast. “Now what kind of guy would you think I was if I carried condoms?”

  With everything she had, she pushed him off her, then scooted to the top of the bed, using a pillow to cover herself. “I’m going to kill you,” she said, far calmer than the heart pounding in her chest.

  His lips curled and with the slow grace of a lazy panther, he got up and went into the bathroom. Out of sheer curiosity, she watched him leave and couldn’t help but notice that when naked, his strut was far superior. That man’s ass was meant to be stared at. When he returned a few seconds later, once again she couldn’t help but notice how in proportion his… body was with his long legs. She tugged her lower lip into her mouth. Even though the sculpture of David was seventeen feet tall, it was the closest thing she could compare him to. In fact, if not for Daniel’s rich skin tone, she’d say from the neck down they were twins… with one major exception. Because, leaning on one hip in the exact same way David was sculptured might pump up the similarities, what lay between those hips put them miles apart. Michelangelo’s finest masterpiece had nothing on Daniel in that department.