Dirty Deeds: Standalone sexy romance

by Lorelei James

  “Awards mean nothing.” When Nathan blanched, she clarified, “I mean, now I’d trade every designer outfit and cheap plaque for one day of Val’s crazy life.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Yeah. Wouldn’t my mother throw a conniption fit if she knew the source of my envy was a housewife?” She looked right in his eyes. “Val and Richard have it all, don’t they? Love, happiness, great sex…” She frowned. “However, the jury is still out on why they feel compelled to reproduce like rabbits.”

  His deep chuckle warmed her from the inside out.

  “I thought Val would end up a competitive, driven lawyer, and not the type of woman content being a lawyer’s wife and a mother.”

  “Much as your mother sees you as the career woman she couldn’t be?”

  “I guess.”

  “Val would have made a great attorney, but her focus changed once she met Richard.”

  Tate nodded. “I’ve never known anyone so truly happy with their life until I spent time with Val. She wants everyone on the planet to experience that same level of contentment. I think that’s why she’s pushed me so hard to try teaching art classes. She remembered how much I wanted to do it when I was younger. If nothing else comes from this mini-sabbatical, she showed me that if my graphic art career is over, my life isn’t. I can move in another direction.”

  He went completely motionless. “Which direction were you planning on moving, Tate?”

  A chirping sound echoed in the foyer. Nathan’s cell phone. Thank God. For once she welcomed the interruption and leapt up to answer it.

  Nathan grabbed her ankle, and she tumbled back to the floor right on top of him. He banded those beefy arms around her. “Going somewhere?”

  She wiggled and thrashed, but his long, muscular legs pinned hers as effectively as his dark gaze. “To get your cell.”

  “I’m not supposed to let you answer the phone any more today under penalty of death, remember? Besides, it’s probably just my mother checking to see if I’m still slaving away.”

  “You usually are,” she retorted when the phone continued to trill. “Fine. Ignore it. But I can’t loll around naked all night. I need to get dressed. Now let me go.”

  “Not on your life. Stop pushing me away, Tate. I care about you. Every part, even the stuff you keep hidden. Especially the stuff I’m finding we have in common.”

  Nathan’s eyes answered every question she’d avoided asking him since the Bobcat episode. And it scared her to death.

  The landscaping was nearly finished. She’d have no excuse not to list the house and get back to her real life in Denver. Why did that eventuality fill her with dread? Why was she wishing for the time to explore a relationship that wasn’t based on sex?

  His manhood twitched and hardened underneath her belly. A rush of moisture answered. Her heart might be confused about what it wanted, but her body wasn’t.

  She whispered, “Don’t go all sweet on me now, Mr. Romance. I’d rather you made me scream.”

  He lifted a brow. “You said you were getting dressed.”

  “I changed my mind.”

  “Good. Then there’s hope for me yet.” He seared her lips with a voracious kiss and branded her skin with the feverish touch of his hands. Without preamble he slid her body down the length of his and fit himself inside her with one decisive push.

  “Yes,” she hissed, grinding into him.

  “I can’t get enough of you,” he groaned. “Even when I’ve just had you, I want you. Even when you’re driving me crazy, I want you.”

  He swallowed her moans like they were much-needed oxygen. His callused fingers burrowed into her buttocks as if the sweat sheening their bodies weren’t enough to hold them together. He broke away and growled in her ear, “Does that feel sweet?”

  “Am I pushing you away?” she countered, gliding her slick skin across his and rolling on top of him. Rodin’s sculpture Paolo and Francesca came to mind. Now she knew why that erotic piece had always held her fascination: the position put her in control. Tate planted her hands next to his face on the floor. “Harder, faster, more. I want it all, and I want it right now.”

  Then all thoughts zoomed from her head as Nathan sat up and hooked her ankles at the small of his back. He kept her on his lap, wrapped around him as he impaled her with each deepening stroke of his cock. Shudders of absolute ecstasy racked her body.

  The earth stopped but for the points where their bodies connected and pulsed as one. A lifetime passed before he joined his mouth to hers in a heartfelt kiss that showed her the sharing of hopes and dreams was as intimate as the sharing of bodies.

  In that instant, Tate knew she hadn’t found nirvana. She’d found love.

  Although the night air was balmy, Nathan shivered as he climbed into his truck.

  Tate had sent him packing again. He’d wanted to spend the night—the whole night—with her. Waking up together. Indulging in passion when she curled her lissome body into him in the early-morning hours. But she’d given him some lame excuse and shooed him out the door. It confused the hell out of him.

  He’d given her space she seemed to need after they’d lost control in the Bobcat. He should’ve been the one embarrassed, coming in his pants like an overanxious teen. To that end, he’d foregone any pretense of romance. Instead of acknowledging that their relationship had changed, she blithely continued on as before, spreading sunshine over every avenue of his life. He’d be content basking in the glow if it weren’t for the fact he’d nearly completed her landscaping project.

  And if it weren’t for the other fact he was hopelessly in love with her.

  Telling her proved the major problem, although he had spilled his guts pretty good tonight about the kind of life he wished he had. The kind of life he now envisioned only with her.

  Damn. Nathan knew she’d be gone the minute the ink dried on the realty contract marking her house sold. Tate was a city girl. Even when she feigned nonchalance about her career and the strained relationship with her mother, an undercurrent of anxiety colored her every action—with good reason. He had nightmares about her reaction when she discovered his deception. Mostly, he was mired in guilt on why he hadn’t confessed when he’d had ample opportunity. Then again, whenever he brought up the future—hers or theirs—that blasted woman changed the subject.

  They’d have to address these issues soon, because her time in Spearfish was running out and his luck was wearing mighty thin.

  The next afternoon as Nathan and Tate took a breather from planting trees, her cell phone rang. “Hello? Paul? No, no, that’s fine, you weren’t interrupting anything.” Tate raked a dirty hand through her hair and started to pace, ignoring Nathan’s quizzical stare.

  Her heart pounded. A trickle of dread replaced the sweat running down her back. This couldn’t be good news. She could count on one hand the number of times her supervisor had called her on a weekend.

  After listening to Paul’s ubiquitous small talk, she forced a dry chuckle. “Okay, I’m stumped on why I’m getting your personal attention on a Sunday.” She grabbed a pen and paper and wrote furiously. “How soon do you need it?…No, that’s fine…Six full pages?…Sure. No problem. I’ll expect it tomorrow then…Of course FedEx delivers here.” She laughed. It sounded fake. “I’ll call the minute it arrives. Bye.”

  “What’s up?”

  “I don’t know.” She stared at the phone as if it might disappear. “That was the head of my department. He’s sending me some big rush project. Top priority layout for one of the firm’s biggest clients.”

  Nathan guzzled the glass of water and wiped his mouth. “I wouldn’t think suspended employees got those kinds of projects.”

  Tate sniffed. “They don’t, and I certainly haven’t before today.”

  “So what does that mean?”

  “They’re giving me a chance to redeem myself?”

  He went cross-eyed staring at a dirt smudge on the end of his nose. “Think it’s a good sign?”


  “Either that”—she crossed to him and wiped off the spot he missed—“or Paul will deem whatever I create as lousy and use it as an excuse to can me.”

  “Would he really do that?”

  “With glee.”

  When Nathan’s cell buzzed, Tate stared out the kitchen window, relieved for the disruption.

  This whole spur-of-the-moment assignment felt hugely wrong. It wasn’t luck that’d landed this in her lap. Projects of this size were lined up months in advance. Was this a test?

  Another problem niggled. Of all the partners in the firm, Paul had wanted to fire her immediately—not golden-boy Malcolm. Not only had he questioned the legality of her proposed extended leave, he’d never believed in her ability to handle the designs of their prominent clients in the first place. So why was Paul dangling this plum assignment in front of her now? To see if she’d blow it? Then he’d have concrete proof to convince the other partners to cancel her contract at the reinstatement hearing.

  It galled her. After years of questioning the sacrifices she’d made in her life for the career she’d never really wanted, everything ultimately boiled down to one man’s decision.

  Tate steeled her resolve. So, she just wouldn’t fail. No matter if she had to spend the next week working nonstop, she’d blow everyone’s socks—and Paul’s argyles particularly—right out of Arapahoe County.

  Nathan’s strong arms wrapped around her. “You really need this project to dazzle them, don’t you?”

  “Yeah.” Her reply sounded lackluster even to her own ears. She snuggled into him, wondering when he’d sensed she needed to be held. “Sounds like I’ll be surgically attached to my drafting table.”

  “Then come to Val’s with me tonight. My mom is making her famous pot roast with all the trimmings. I know Val, Richard and the brats would love to see you.”

  A family dinner. It’d been months since she’d passed pleasantries along with the potatoes. She missed her parents, but not that irritating feeling of their restrained tolerance. A wave of homesickness enveloped her. But where was home? Tate wasn’t sure she knew anymore.

  Her dinner that night with the LeBeau/Westfield clan only added to her confused state. What would it be like to be part of such an accepting, loving family on a permanent basis?

  Nathan had been aware of her melancholy upon returning to her house. He teased, tickled and taunted her until she chased him outside and they rolled around in her backyard like a couple of frisky puppies. Sex between them had been intense and spontaneous but never silly and fun. She giggled, imagining the odd places on her body she’d discover grass stains.

  Afterward, they stargazed on a blanket, wrapped in the secret world of lovers—hushed whispers, stolen caresses. The simplicity of this intimacy filled her soul with joy and sadness. Leaving Nathan would be the hardest thing she’d ever done. But she had no choice. And besides, he hadn’t mentioned he wanted more from her.

  For the next few days, Tate scarcely moved from her dining room table. She’d reluctantly called Grace and cancelled her art classes. She’d miss her students, their enthusiasm, pride, and yes, even the pencil shavings and spilled paint. Teaching had taught her far more about herself than the little she’d been able to impart to her students.

  Grace had been strangely brusque but understanding of her dilemma. All was not right with her friend, but Tate didn’t have the time to push for answers Grace wasn’t inclined to give.

  Elated with her project design and the fact she’d slipped under Paul’s deadline by a full day, Tate returned the package via overnight delivery. Any decision regarding her career was out of her hands now. She’d delivered her best work, and if it wasn’t good enough, she could stop running from her past mistakes and start her future with no regrets.

  Later that week, Nathan checked to see that the new retaining walls at Tate’s house had held through the torrential downpour. The tiny patches of buffalo grass soaked up the moisture. Even the bushes and trees had sprouted in the past week. Good. When the committee inspected the work tomorrow, everything would be green and lush.

  Thunder rumbled; lightning crackled. The hair on the back of Nathan’s neck prickled, and he ran for the shelter of Tate’s porch.

  Inside the pitch-black house, he called, “Tate?”

  No answer.

  As his eyes adjusted, he crossed through the living room and dining area into the kitchen. He half-expected to see Tate standing at the back door, a filmy white gown frothing at her ankles, a tiny nymph mesmerized by the powerful beauty of the storm.

  No sign of her downstairs as he moved through the main floor in silence.

  A damp breeze blew through the opened windows at the far end of the hall. Her erotic scent beckoned him up the staircase.

  He paused at the doorway leading to Tate’s bedroom. He watched the curtains billow and curl against the wind, sending humid air swirling into the room. Small puddles glistened on the wood floor as raindrops pelted the screen.

  His fingers fumbled against the wall, searching for the light switch.

  “Don’t,” she warned in a hoarse voice. “Leave it dark.”

  “Tate?” he said, striding toward a muffled sniff beneath the rumpled covers. “What’s wrong? Honey, are you sick?”

  He eased onto the bed. Only the top of her scalp was visible beneath the down comforter. His fingers swept the blonde spikes from her forehead. “If you’re cold, I can shut the window.”

  “Leave them open. I’m not cold. I like the smell of rain.”

  The soft sounds of falling water mixed with the quiet hitches in her breathing. Gently, he peeled the covers back. When he glimpsed her tear-stained face, her sadness sliced straight through him.

  “What?” he asked, holding her chin, letting his cool fingers brush her damp cheeks. He ignored the rapid beat of his own pulse. “You afraid of the storm?”

  “No. The storm will blow over.” Tate’s head nestled farther into the pillow, but her lips trembled. “I’m afraid this won’t.”

  The room stayed silent except for the beat of rain on the windowsill. It felt like Chinese water torture, the steady drips of rain against the agonizing wait for Tate to speak.

  She exhaled. “I heard from the agency today.”

  Nathan’s stomach turned at her flat tone. He didn’t have to ask to know it had been bad news. After kicking off his boots and removing his shirt, he slid in beside her, ready to offer any kind of comfort she needed.

  She moved into his arms automatically, clung to his neck and sobbed. Great gasping breaths followed a torrent of tears that soaked his chest and broke his heart. He held her, murmuring calming words, stroking her, kissing her until finally she settled down.

  Tate’s breath floated over his chest in a hesitant stutter. “Nathan. Please. Don’t go.”

  “Ssh. I’ll stay right here.”

  “Promise?”

  “I promise. Just rest.” A few hiccups later, her breathing slowed. When had Tate ever allowed herself to need him? To need anyone? Nathan’s hold on her tightened. With Tate snuggled against him, he drifted, content in ways he’d never dreamed possible. Wishing for things he’d long forgotten he had ever wanted.

  A crack of thunder jolted him awake. Disoriented by the tickle of silky hair under his chin, Nathan glanced down and saw Tate trying to sit up. She couldn’t move with his arms banded around her stomach. “Relax.”

  “What time is it?” she said groggily.

  “I don’t know.” He lazily stroked the soft bare skin above her abdomen. “I think the power went out. You okay?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Want to talk about it?”

  Tate shuddered. “I’d rather not relive my blubbering-idiot routine, thank you very much.”

  “Don’t apologize,” he said, drawing in her sweet, warm fragrance mixed with the clean scent of rain. “Although I had fantasized that the first time I was invited into your bed your cries would have been from pleasure.”

  After a sec
ond of silence she placed a small kiss on his biceps. “It could be pleasure. But as you can see, my bed is not exactly seduction central. Plain cotton sheets, not satin. A goose-down comforter, not a silk duvet. And I don’t look the part of a temptress in this ratty old T-shirt. Maybe if I wore a slinky scarlet negligee, I’d appeal to your romantic nature?”

  Nathan rolled on top of her, silencing her protests with a scorching kiss. “Look at me. It’s never been about that, and you damn well know it.”

  Her eyes widened. “That coming from Mr. Romance? I thought you’d be appalled at my utter lack of frills and imagination for the boudoir.”

  “No.” He seized her gaze. “The appalling reason you haven’t invited me into your boudoir, my sweet Tate, is because you knew once I’d been in your bed, I’d never leave it. And then you couldn’t deny what is between us.” He kissed her thoroughly, with a measure of harshness, melding their mouths until their very breathing became one. Until she shifted restlessly beneath him.

  “Fine. Now that you’re here, make yourself useful and touch me,” she said, provocatively arching her hips.

  Nathan pinned her hands above her head to ensure he held her undivided attention. “Make myself useful? My, aren’t we flip. Why are you so scared?”

  Tate squirmed, but not from arousal. “I’m not scared.”

  “Uh-huh.” He kissed the frown lines between her eyes before relocking his dark gaze on hers. “Physically no, you’re very confident. We’ve made love in every conceivable place, in every conceivable way, in the last few weeks, and it’s been phenomenal. But emotionally, it’s a different story.”

  “What more do you want?”

  “This.” His voice dropped to a low whisper. “I’ve fantasized about this, Tate. You, under me.”

  She tried pushing him away. He held firm.

  “Let me get this straight,” she said crossly. “After all the Kama Sutra stuff we tried and the damn near contortionist ways we’ve done it, this is what you fantasize about? Sex in missionary position?”

  “No.” He nipped the corner of her pouty mouth, nuzzling the pulse beating erratically near her temple that gave away her panic. “I’ve fantasized about making love to you while looking into your eyes, face-to-face, heart-to-heart. Since you can’t escape from me in this position, you can’t help but see the way I feel about you.” Every emotion, fear especially, clenched his gut hard at his admittance, but for once he didn’t try to hide it from her.