by Jill Knowles
A small pile of kumquats made him stop in his tracks. Eagerly, he grabbed a bag and started filling it, taking a large portion of the displayed fruit. I love these things. He chose a pair of good-sized ones and brought them to his nose, inhaling ecstatically. A middle-aged woman stared at him, mouth open, color staining her cheeks. Dax looked at his hand, puzzled. Oh. The orange fruit nestled in his palm looked like a pair of testicles. Shrugging, he winked at the woman and took another sniff.
Her blush deepened, and she hustled away.
He continued on, down the snack aisle for trail mix, jerky, and crackers, then up the drink aisle for sports drinks and soda. The image of Maggie’s pursed lips as she sucked on her straw came to him unbidden, taking him from semi-aroused to diamond hard and leaking in seconds. Dax bit back a moan. He wasn’t sure how much more of this he could take.
A loud crash sounded from the next aisle over. “You stupid bitch!” a man’s voice roared.
“It was your fault, asshole,” a woman answered. “Now, skedaddle before I turn you over my knee.”
The sudden influx of chaos caught him by surprise. Unprepared, he let it wash through him and into the bottles in front of him. Pop. Shit. Pop, pop, pop. The lids burst from the soda bottles, and fizz sprayed everywhere. The liquid quickly saturated his shirt and jeans. Lovely. He snorted. Ah well, at least it’ll hide the wet spot next to my zipper.
Dax ducked and ran for it, hoping to escape the aisle before he was completely soaked. His cart crashed into that of a florid-faced young man, and the two baskets hooked together.
“Watch where you’re going.” The man took a swing at Dax.
Dax caught the fist before it could connect, holding it in place. “Maybe you should calm down.”
“Bastard.”
“Not according to my mother.” The man’s arm strained forward, but Dax held firm.
“Let go of me, faggot.” The young man jerked his hand away and stomped toward the front of the store, abandoning his cart.
Dax sighed, rubbing a hand over his eyes. Behind him, the fizz-hiss of escaping soda was slowing. I haven’t had energy get away from me like that in years. He grinned, energy tingling throughout his body. He’d made the right decision in coming to Keily. This town was a powder keg waiting to explode.
“Don’t mind Greg, young man. He’s all blow and no show.”
Dax looked up, smiling at the elderly woman who stopped in front of him. “I was noticing that.”
Her eyes widened as she gazed past him at the wet, sticky mess in the drink aisle. “Oh, dear, we’d better call someone.”
“Yeah.” Dax yanked his cart free of Greg’s abandoned groceries and followed her toward the checkout stand. Things were starting to spin and change.
“Definitely the right decision,” he murmured.
Chapter Six
Dax pulled the dove gray silk shirt from its hanger and held it up. Too dressy? He wanted to impress Maggie without looking like he was trying to impress her. The silk was beautiful, but, he decided regretfully, a bit over the top for a first date in a restaurant that had black leather seats at all the booths. Chuckling, he remembered his stunned reaction when he went there for lunch on his first day in town. The black seats were accompanied by pale green wallpaper that had multi-width, forest green stripes. Green velvet stripes. The tables all had black and green-checkered tablecloths, and the art on the walls tended toward pastoral scenes from Ireland. He’d felt like he was in a leprechaun leather bar.
Snorting, he hung the shirt back up and chose a navy blue Henley, which coupled with a pair of black cotton slacks, should be just right. The long sleeves on the shirt would cover the almost-healed scratches left over from his battle with the manzanita, and the soft material fit closely enough to provide a subtle display of his physique.
He laid the shirt, his slacks, and a clean pair of sky-blue cotton boxer briefs on the bed, then stripped and jumped in the shower. Unlimited hot water was one of his favorite things about staying in hotels all over the country. When he traveled, he shamelessly indulged himself in long, wonderful showers. Sometimes, he even sat in the bathtub with the shower turned down just enough to spray a bit of water on his feet, put the stopper in the tub, and basked in the heat and water. The very best of those times involved a good book and strawberry ice cream.
Not today, though. He had about an hour before he was due at the Shamrock. He didn’t have time for a long soak, but a nice, long wank wasn’t out of the question. He picked up the body wash and squeezed some into his palm. The scent of citrus and spice curled around him, twining with the steam. After rubbing his hands together to create lather, he smoothed the soap down his body, lingering in the hot spots like his armpits, the base of his spine, and the backs of his knees. He avoided his nipples, testicles, and cock until last, then rubbed his left hand across his shaft on the way to cupping his balls. While he rolled and caressed his velvety balls, his right hand pinched and teased his nipples. Moaning, he spread his feet apart a bit for balance and leaned his head back against the shower wall. He drew in the scents of citrus and his own musky, spicy pheromones, concentrating on the delicious sensations swamping him. Still ignoring his straining cock, he let his hand trail up his body, until both hands were tormenting his nipples. He tugged on the rings piercing him, letting the need grow urgent before giving in and dropping a hand to his cock. Gripping almost too tightly, he pumped slowly, building himself up to a fever pitch. When he was just on the edge of coming, he tugged sharply down on his balls, staving off his climax. He brought himself almost to release multiple times before surrendering to the pleasure. Biting his lip to stifle his cry of completion, he spilled his load, shuddering as shock after shock of bliss coursed through him.
* * * * *
Maggie surveyed her reflection in the mirror. The burgundy velvet tank-dress hit her at mid-thigh and showed off all her curves. Her silver necklace emphasized her smooth, tan skin, the garnet pendant resting just above her breasts drawing attention to her generous cleavage. She pondered putting on the matching earrings, but decided to leave the small silver hoops she usually wore on, instead. She didn’t want to be too dressed up, in case Dax showed up in jeans. A pair of low-heeled, strappy burgundy sandals completed the ensemble. Margaret Jane, you look spectacular. She blew herself a kiss in the mirror, careful not to smudge her “spiced cranberry” lipstick.
She needed this. Despite her belief that a woman didn’t need a man in order to be happy, it was nice to feel wanted. Especially now, when her life was starting to unravel and ugly memories kept fighting their way to the surface. Tonight was for flirting, laughing, and -- maybe -- lust. Maggie vowed to leave her problems at home and simply enjoy the evening. And if she ended up spending the night with Dax? Well, that would be just fine.
Picking up her small black “date” purse, she tucked it under her shoulder and started out the door. D.X. “Dax” Hunter wouldn’t stand a chance.
* * * * *
If he asks, the answer’s “yes, please.” She licked her lips when she saw him, her mouth suddenly dry. Woof. He stood at the hostess station, his back to her. Maggie took the opportunity to study him without those knowing eyes on her.
A soft navy Henley clung in all the right places, showcasing the broadness of his shoulders and the torso that tapered down into a narrow waist. Black slacks hugged an ass that should be worshipped as a thing of beauty. He wore low-heeled, black leather boots, a particular kink of hers. There was just something about a man in boots that made her cream. Just as she opened her mouth to call his name, he turned around.
“Maggie.” The word was almost growled out. He sauntered toward her, sex on legs.
“Hello, Dax.” She offered him her hand and was both charmed and aroused when he brought it to his lips for a courtly kiss.
“You look ...” His gaze swept up and down her, pupils dilating. “Scrumptious.”
“As do you.” She could already feel a hint of wetness between her thighs as
she contemplated spending the night with this man. His nostrils flared, almost as if he could smell her arousal. Maggie leaned forward, inhaling the rich scent of citrus and spice that clung to him.
Corinne, the Shamrock’s hostess, cleared her throat. “If you’ll follow me?”
Dax offered Maggie his arm as Corrine led them to their table. The well-developed muscles underneath her hand were a pleasant surprise, as was the fact that even though she was three inches taller than him in her heels, and probably outweighed him by fifty pounds, she still felt very feminine beside him.
They were seated at a table in the back, where the lights were dim. Soft music played, and each table had both a bud vase with fresh pink carnations and an unlit candle in an amber glass holder. Dax seated Maggie in one of the dark oak chairs before sitting opposite her.
Corinne turned her face just enough that Dax couldn’t see the wink she gave Maggie, and said, “Fritzi, your server, will be here in just a moment.”
“Thank you,” Dax murmured, glancing briefly up at her before his gaze came back to Maggie’s face.
Silence stretched out between them, oddly comfortable, though turbo-charged with sexual tension.
“Hello, I’m Fritzi. I’ll be your server tonight.” Fritzi plunked a menu down in front of Maggie, but handed Dax his already opened. “Our specials tonight are the prime rib, chicken in white wine sauce, and baked teriyaki salmon.” She leaned forward, giving Dax a view of her meager cleavage. “Would you like something from the bar?”
“Maggie?” He glanced at her, a slight smile playing around his lips.
“Iced tea, please,” she said.
“And for me, as well. No lemon.”
Fritzi smiled at Dax, gave Maggie an unenthusiastic look, and walked away, an exaggerated sway to her hips.
“Sorry about that,” Maggie said in answer to the brow quirked at her. “Fritzi was the head cheerleader when we were in high school. I was the chubby girl who got good grades.” She smiled ruefully. “She and I have never gotten along.”
“Now, she’s a skinny waitress, and you’re a lush, beautiful career woman. I can understand why she’s jealous of you.”
“Wow. That was ... really corny. Flattering as hell, but really corny.”
Dax cracked up, his laughter sparking her own. “I aim to please.” He nodded toward the menu. “Shall we?
“Sure.” She opened the menu, glancing at the dinners. The amazing sexual tension had been broken, or at least put on the back burner, and she could just relax and enjoy herself.
He pushed his sleeves up to just below his elbows, and Maggie noticed faint scratches on his forearms. Those were much worse yesterday. He heals fast. I’d love to know what he uses.
When Fritzi returned with their drinks, Maggie ordered the chicken marsala -- her favorite -- and Dax chose the prime rib.
After making his selection, Dax picked up the candleholder and tilted it toward their waitress. “Would you mind?” He set it down on the edge of the table closest to her.
Smiling through gritted teeth, Fritzi pulled a book of matches from her apron pocket and lit the candle. “Will there be anything else?” Her tone implied that there had better not be.
Dax looked up at her, blinking his eyelashes in a fashion that could be mocking, though Maggie wasn’t sure. “Thanks.” He nodded toward the candle. “Makes it more romantic, you know.”
Fritzi gave Maggie a look that clearly asked what a hottie like Dax was doing romancing the local librarian and said, “I suppose.” Her professional mask slid into place when she looked back at Dax. “Your meals should be ready soon.” She stalked away, apparently too annoyed to wiggle her ass.
A tiny part of Maggie wanted to let Dax think the worst of their waitress, but she stepped firmly on it. “Fritzi’s parents own this place. It’s been in their family for over fifty years. Eventually, it will belong to Fritzi and her younger sister.” Assuming the town survives that long.
“Really.” He gave her a rueful look. “I avoided joining either one of my family’s businesses.”
“Oh?” She leaned forward, eager to learn more about the intriguing man seated across from her. “What do they do?”
He took a drink of his tea before answering. “My father’s family owns the Hellion Casino down in Las Vegas. My mother’s people are in private security.”
“And you’re a writer.”
“And I’m a writer,” he agreed. Linking his hands together on the table in front of him, he added. “I need the creativity freelancing gives me.” He leaned forward, his dark blue eyes intent. “Last week, I was in Florida, doing a write-up on biking the Pinellas Trail. When I’m finished here, I’m trying to decide between whitewater rafting in Hell’s Canyon or glacier climbing up in Canada.”
The sparkle in his eyes got brighter with each place he named. Maggie found it incredibly sexy, and was relieved to know that at most, she was setting herself up for a brief -- and hopefully passionate -- summer fling.
* * * * *
After a delicious dinner, served by an increasingly snippy Fritzi, it was time for dessert. Maggie had to keep her napkin in front of her face and pretend she was coughing, as Dax made their waitress recite the list of pies for the second time.
“It all sounds so good,” Dax said, smiling fatuously up at Fritzi. “Maggie, what do you think sounds best?”
She put her napkin down, hoping she could speak without laughing. “I’m just going to have a root beer float.”
“Genius.” He beamed up at the waitress. “Make that two.”
After Fritzi stomped away, Maggie dissolved into giggles. “Oh, jeez, Dax. You’d better leave her a good tip, or she’s going to put a contract out on you.”
“She’s earned it.” He stood and moved to the chair next to her, scooting it closer. “We could have ordered one float with two straws.”
Maggie rested her head against his shoulder. “You have a thing for clichés, don’t you?”
“I embrace my penchant for clichés.” He nuzzled her earlobe, his breath warm against her skin. “I figure they’ve become clichés because they’re good.”
“You have a point.” She rubbed her cheek against the soft material of his shirt, enjoying the spicy, citrusy tang of his scent. The low thrum of arousal she’d felt throughout dinner intensified.
“Your desserts,” Fritzi said, placing two tall glasses on the table, one in front of Maggie, and the other in front of the chair Dax had abandoned. “Will that be all?” At Dax’s nod, she put the little black folder holding the bill onto the table.
“Thank you,” he said. Sighing, he stood and went back to his place. “I suppose I should behave.”
“At least until Fritzi’s calmed down. You’re lucky she didn’t dump your float over your head. I don’t think she’s used to being teased by men.” She surveyed the treat in front of her. It looked fabulous. A creamy head of ice cream and foam topped the glass, a bright red cherry balanced precariously on top. She rescued it before it could sink into the glass and popped it into her mouth. Mmmm. Delicious. She placed the stem on her napkin and took a drink, glancing up at Dax as she did so. And nearly snorted root beer out her nose.
He was licking the foam from the crimson fruit, his tongue flicking out in leisurely strokes.
Oh, my. She swallowed and wiped her lips.
He was sucking the cherry now, his sultry, heavy lidded gaze never leaving her face.
The heat between her legs intensified with each teasing motion of lips and cherry. If she didn’t defuse some of the tension, she was going to explode. “You’re ...” The huskiness of her voice took her by surprise. She cleared her throat and tried again. “You’re really in the zone for that cliché thing.”
He gave one of those sensuous chuckles and said, “You haven’t seen anything yet.” He ate the cherry, washing it down with a drink of root beer float, and then put the cherry stem in his mouth.
Maggie couldn’t look away as he concentrated for ab
out twenty seconds, then removed the stem from his mouth. It had been tied in a neat double knot.
She pushed her float away. “I, uh, I think it’s time to go.”
Dax placed the cherry stem on the table and stood, offering his arm. “Shall we?”
“Yes.”
He pulled his wallet from his back pocket and took out several bills, tucking them inside the folder.
* * * * *
Dax walked Maggie to her car. “I would very much like to make love with you,” he said, hoping he wasn’t moving too fast.
“That sounds lovely.” She unlocked her car. “Where are you staying?”
Squashing down the desire to shout out his triumph, he said, “The Eagle’s Nest, room one-oh-eight.”
“I’ll meet you there.” She leaned forward and brushed a kiss across his lips, then climbed into her car.
He licked his lips, tasting root beer and a hint of crisp apples. He watched until she pulled away from the curb and jogged to his car. He pulled into the motel parking lot just behind her and jumped out of the Jeep to open her door for her, using a bit of his preternatural speed.
“Gallant,” she said, letting him help her from the car.
“I try.” He fumbled for his key, very glad he’d straightened up and left the bathroom light on when he finally got the door to his motel room open.
As soon as he closed the door behind them, Dax pushed Maggie up against the door and claimed her mouth in a searing kiss. Her tongue dueled with his, meeting each demanding stroke with one of her own.
He wrenched his lips away from hers, pulling her into a hug as they both panted.
“Problems?”
“I want to savor this,” he said, pushing back and taking her hand. He led her to stand beside the bed, then slid his hands to the hem of her dress. “May I?”
