by Anna Jeffrey
“You wouldn’t,” he said, taking the bottle from her and opening it. He poured two stemmed glasses half full and pushed one toward her. She picked it up and sipped. “It’s really good.”
She stole a glance at his fly. It was bulging. Yet another visual came to her of him standing in this very spot, fly open and erection jutting only inches away from her sex. And her naked and whimpering and pleading and reaching for him. Heat crawled up her neck. She tried not to look at him, but she couldn’t stop herself.
“What?” he asked.
Tension—sexual tension—thrummed between them. She turned away. “Nothing.”
“Don’t do me like that,” he said softly. He leaned down, lifted her chin with his fingertips and tenderly kissed her lips. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”
“I wouldn’t dare.”
“Coward,” he said, his eyes capturing hers, his delectable lips inches away.
“Totally.”
“Don’t you know I’m remembering the same thing?”
Sex on the cooking island? Did he really remember?...Or had he read her mind?
Drake knew what she was thinking. Ever since the night of the TCCRA party, he hadn’t been able to go into his kitchen without remembering her stark naked under the light that hung above the cooking island. Now that she was here again, he couldn’t keep from reaching for the button on her jeans. And just like that they were kissing and undressing each other.
In a matter of minutes, they were half naked on the living room sofa and she was astraddle his lap. Her chest was bare, his mouth was latched onto one of her firm rosy nipples and his marble-hard cock was buried in her wet, hot pussy all the way to her heart. They huffed and pumped to breathless orgasms.
Afterward, they sprawled on the sofa in a full frontal body hug, both spent. “Not quite as edgy as that Mexican joint parking lot, but close,” he rasped out.
“The temperature needs to be colder,” she said.
“I’m glad I had a rubber in my wallet.”
“You didn’t have one in the parking lot?”
“I don’t carry them. But I put one in my wallet after that parking lot.
She giggled. “I wonder if I should believe you.”
She sat up and bent forward, sorting her clothing. She was still wearing one leg of her jeans and panties. He propped himself on his elbow watching her, relishing how the firelight cast shadows on her flawless skin. Before she put on her bra, he leaned and kissed her nipple, then her tattoo. “My yellow rose of Texas.”
“I hate the thing,” she said as she hid her beautiful breasts in the beige lacy cups of her bra.
The rose still showed at the edge of her bra. He traced it with his fingertip. “Don’t hate it. I think it’s sexy.”
“So you said.”
“And I don’t want you to share it with anyone but me.”
She laughed and reached to the floor for her sweater. “I do my best not to share it with anyone. Ever. I’ve always hated it.”
“Why did you get it?”
“Too many beers, too few brains. It seemed like a good idea at the time.” She pulled her sweater over her head.
“I was afraid you weren’t going to show up tonight,” he told her, helping her tug her hair from her sweater neck.
She pushed her foot through the panties and jeans, stood and pulled them up. “Why? I said I would.”
“You were so hesitant on the phone. And when you were late, that convinced me.”
“Would it have mattered so much if I hadn’t made it?”
“Yes.”
“It’ll always be that way, you know. I have to consider my business and my grandmother before I think about what I might want to do. Since it’s just sex, I guess it’s no big deal if it has to wait at times.”
“Right,” he said curtly, wishing they could skip dinner and move from the sofa to his bed. But he stood up, pulled up his jeans and shorts and zipped up. “Those potatoes must be charred by now.”
“I’ll hurry,” she said and quick-stepped toward the guest bathroom.
He went to his own bathroom and washed up. He hadn’t expected sex tonight, had resigned himself to the fact that they wouldn’t have time. She never stopped surprising him.
He returned to the kitchen and was removing the potatoes from the oven when she came in. “I don’t know if they’re edible,” he told her.
He took the potatoes to the cooking island, laid them on a piece of foil wrap and enclosed them into a foil package. Then he looped an arm around her shoulder. “Why did you go to the other bathroom?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. Privacy?”
“You don’t think what we just did was private?”
“I guess I’m not ready to share a bathroom.”
“We’ll work on that.” He began to season the steaks with a flourish.
“I didn’t know you could cook.”
“Just easy stuff. I have to. I can’t eat every meal in a restaurant. I don’t even enjoy going out that much. I’m putting you in charge of the salad. Everything’s in the fridge.”
“Peeling and chopping. Woman’s work, huh?” She walked over to the refrigerator and saw it full of food. “Wow,” she said. “I don’t believe for a minute you went to a grocery store and bought all of this.”
“Think I’m too dumb?”
“I think you’re too busy.”
“My housekeeper buys the groceries. She shops on Mondays.”
“Oh, well that explains it.”
As she bent over the refrigerator shelves, he walked over behind her and slid his arms around her waist. “Most of it will probably get thrown away since I’m leaving town tomorrow.
“Too bad,” she said, reaching into the refrigerator, her bottom tight against his groin.
“How hungry are you?” he asked. “I could be persuaded to go without dinner.”
She giggled. “Come on, now. I hate to see good food wasted. You know? Since you’re going to be gone a week, you should take all of this with you.”
She dragged out lettuce and tomatoes, a cucumber and a green pepper, salad dressing. She straightened, her arms full of victuals, turned in his arms and thrust the bottle of salad dressing between them. “Grab this before I drop it.”
He did, his fingers brushing her breast. They carried everything to the cooking island. He picked up the steaks and his glass of wine. “Back in a jiffy,” he said and started for his balcony.
As Shannon tore and chopped vegetables, she thought about privacy. And intimacy. And doing it on the Drake Lockhart’s leather couch, then casually sharing the preparation of a meal. Having an understanding and making an agreement to be his mistress, more or less.
The whole thing was almost as much a surreal experience as the evening after the TCCRA ball. She grabbed her own wine glass and swallowed a huge gulp. “Lord,” she mumbled to the air, still unable to believe she was doing this.
He returned to the kitchen and pulled placemats and silverware out of drawers. “If you want bread, I picked up a loaf of fresh sourdough from the deli up by my office.”
“That’s okay. I try not to eat too much bread.”
He went outside again and soon returned with the steaks that looked to be grilled to perfection and they sat down to eat.
“How was the weekend?” she asked, then instantly regretted bringing it up.
He had already cut into his steak. “It was good. A lot of birds this year. All of us limited out. Do you like quail?” He popped the bite of steak into his mouth.
Now he was casual. The intensity was gone.
“I never get a chance to eat it.” She tasted her own steak. “Lord, that’s good steak,” she said.
“Hm. I got it at a butcher shop out on the West Side. The butcher’s a friend of mine. If I call him, he picks out choice cuts for me.”
“Cooked to perfection,” she said, giving him a smile.
“How was your weekend?” he asked. “The Realtors’ party in Camden
?”
His tone had an edge. “Good. I was worn out, but my grandmother loved it.”
“Worn out?”
“I guess I didn’t telI you. I had drop-ins on Friday. I was the only one in the office, so I showed them property all of Friday and into Friday night. And all day Saturday.”
He sat looking at her, then finally said. “I see.”
“I sent you a message that I was tied up. What did you think I was doing?”
He cleared his throat and sipped his wine. “What I thought doesn’t matter. Hope you wrote a deal.”
“I did. A good one. Drake, it does matter. You thought I lied to you. If you must know details, I didn’t get home until nearly eleven o’clock Friday night. And I worked all day Saturday. I barely had time to get dressed for the party. Grammy Evelyn and I met my sales team and their husbands, who were arm-twisted into dancing with me, and even with her. So that we didn’t feel left out, you see. I went home alone to my lonely bed.”
“Okay, fine.” He smiled. “Thanks for clearing the air.”
He stood and picked up his plate, started for the kitchen. She had finished eating, so she stood, too, picked up her own plate and followed him. “I said I’d be loyal in this pact. And I will. I wouldn’t have made that promise if I hadn’t meant it.”
His taut jaw relaxed. “Shannon, I—”
She stood on her tiptoes and kissed his lips. “Don’t say anything. We don’t have to talk it to death. We understand each other. Let’s just get these dishes cleared away. It’s time for me to
go home.”
He drew her into his arms and kissed her. “I hate that.”
They dealt with the rest of the dishes together and in silence. When everything was either put into the dishwasher or stacked in the sink, she said, “I really do have to go.” She reached for his hand. “Walk me to the door. Tell me good-night.”
They walked together to the front door, he pulled her coat out of the entry closet, helped her into it, turned her and kissed her again. “Merry Christmas,” he said softly, clutching her coat collar under her chin.
“You, too.” She smiled up into his eyes. Casual. Nothing heavy when they were saying good-bye. “You’re going to your family’s ranch tomorrow?”
“I’m taking my mom down. It’s always kind of a family reunion. You?”
“Grammy Evelyn and I’ll be going to my sister’s. She always cooks Christmas dinner.”
“I’ll be back next Wednesday,” he said.
Instantly Shannon’s thoughts shot to her offer on the five-acre corner. The owner should be back in town by then and she would learn about her offer to buy the property.
“I’ll call you,” he said. “We can talk about New Year’s.”
She hadn’t given a thought to a New Year’s celebration. “What about it?”
“Spend it with me?”
Her pulse rate bumped up. “Where?”
“Here. I hate going out on New Year’s Eve. Everybody’s drunk and insane. It’s on Saturday. Stay the weekend with me. I’ll come get you and take you home on Sunday. I promise you we’ll sleep in a real bed and take all the time we want to. I’ll try to figure out how to fetch you without being seen. We can have dinner delivered and watch a movie….And whatever else comes up.”
That could mean another lecture from Colleen, but she laughed. “I’d love to spend New Year’s with you. Especially the whatever comes up part.”
He laughed. “I’ll call you when I get back after Christmas and we’ll make a plan.”
She pulled away and looked into his face. “I have to go.”
“I know,” he said. “I hate it, but I know.”
They kissed good-bye again before opening the front door, a long deep kiss that left them both full of longing. He rode downstairs with her and walked her to her Sorrento. “Buckle up,” he said as she positioned herself behind the wheel. She obeyed and buzzed down the window. “Be careful driving,” he said. “Now that I’ve found you, I don’t want anything to happen to you.”
“Thanks for dinner,” she said. “Best steak I ever had. Wine was good, too.” He gave her a lopsided grin. “Everything else was good, too,” she added, grinning back at him.
“Be careful,” he said again and she drove away.
His words echoed in her heart and mind all the way back to Camden:
Now that I’ve found you, I don’t want anything to happen to you….Now that I’ve found you, I don’t want anything to happen to you….Now that I’ve found you, I don’t want anything to happen to you.
She was suddenly brimming with Christmas spirit. Tomorrow she would go shopping and buy gifts for everyone.
And she could hardly wait for New Year’s Eve.
Chapter 25
The next morning, Drake awoke in a great mood. Last night with Shannon had been more than he had expected. He thought about her through his shower and breakfast. He couldn’t get her off his mind. Before leaving his condo, he sent her a text: Merry Christmas again.
A few minutes later, a text came back: Ho, ho, ho to you, too.
As forecast, the next day was bright and sunny, with a temperature in the sixties. The trip to Drinkwell for the holiday was an opportunity for him to drive his Virage. All the way to his mother’s home, he continued to think of Shannon. How could he not? In the passenger seat rode a plastic bag full of food he had taken out of his refrigerator. If Shannon hadn’t said he should take it with him, he wouldn’t have thought of it. She was right. It was a shame to waste food.
He arrived at his mother’s house early. When she saw the bag of groceries, she said, “Good heavens. What’s this?”
“Food out of my refrigerator,” he said. “Valentina shopped on Monday and it seemed a shame to let it go to waste.”
His mom laughed. “I’m so proud of you, Son. I’m glad to see that what I used to tell you kids when you were little made an impression.”
Drake grinned inwardly. Sometimes his mother humble beginnings sneaked through and presented a dichotomy to the way she now lived. “I well remember it, Mom. ‘Eat all of your food and consider yourselves lucky. Somewhere in the world, a hungry child would like to have this much to eat.’”
“That’s right,” she said. “And we should never forget it, especially in this season of giving.”
Her bags and gifts filled the sports car to its roof. The family custom was to give to various charities instead of exchanging gifts with each other, but Mom always gave small very personal gifts to each of them, along with homemade cakes and candies. It was a good thing he kept plenty of clothing and personal items down at the ranch all the time because he had no room to carry another single object after he finished loading her stuff.
“I swear, Son, it would be easier to take my Escalade.”
“We’re fine, Mom. I don’t get to drive this car much.”
She was jolly and chatted cordially as they motored out of Fort Worth, headed southwest.
When they reached the outskirts of Camden, Drake did his best to not so much as look at Shannon’s billboard rising beside the highway.
But his mother saw it. “Piper. Pretty girl. Do you know her?”
“I rarely run into residential Realtors,” Drake answered, glad to be speaking the truth.
“You’re in the same business. I just thought—”
“Commercial brokers and residential brokers don’t do the same thing,” he said, hoping to end the conversation.
“I remember some Pipers in Camden,” his mother continued. “I seem to recall Bill Senior buying hay from them.”
Drake didn’t respond. He didn’t dare follow this thread, lest he reveal something to his mother he didn’t want to.
He slowed as he drove on into the heart of town and the heavier traffic. He stopped at a red light in front of Camden’s only strip center and almost directly in front of Casa Familia, where he had gone to supper with Shannon.
“This shopping center,” his mom said, pointing toward the
strip mall. “It sits on what used
to be Piper land. So does the Walmart store. I remember when this was all a hay field on both sides of the highway. It was such beautiful farmland and Pipers had irrigation right out of the lake, which was what made their hay superior to most.”
Drake wondered if he had just learned something about Shannon’s family’s history. “Common story with these old farms, Mom. One by one, they’re being sold off and turned into shopping centers and subdivisions.”
“I know. And it worries me. If we cover up all of our good farmland with buildings and asphalt, where will we grow our food? And cattle? My God, you know how much land it takes to feed a cow.”
With his family’s livelihood being agriculture, Drake had had similar thoughts about real estate development. Still, the cheapest and most easily developed land he could find, which invariably turned out to be farmland or pastureland, was what he sought to buy for his projects. A site that was flat and easy to work with was what all land developers wanted.
That inconsistency in attitude made him a hypocrite, he realized, but he had learned to live with it. “It’s all about money, Mom.”
“I know. Everything’s about money. If you’ve got it, you’re trying to keep it and if you don’t have it, you’re trying to get it. I might not have a business head like your father, but I lived with him long enough to figure that out.”
As they left Camden, getting closer to the Double-Barrel, his mother began to talk about his dad and how wonderful their marriage had once been. She hoped to reclaim that happiness. And she didn’t miss the opportunity to remind Drake that he was now thirty-five and missing a lot in
life by being a workaholic and a bachelor.
When they came to a stop in front of the ranch house, Dad was on the front porch. He saw Mom in the car, strode straight to the passenger door and opened it. “Betty.” he said, offering her a hand out of the low-slung car.
She beamed a thousand-watt smile at him. “How are you, Bill Junior?”
Dad smiled back at her. “Better now that you’re here.” He tucked her hand into the crook of his arm and started for the house, leaving Drake to unload the car.
