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I’ll Be Seeing U

Page 6

by Dianne Castell


  “How about I’ll call him tomorrow?”

  Lawrence bit his bottom lip, reached into his pocket and held up a key with O’Fallon engraved on a pewter towboat. “If you went to see him tonight you could return this. It’s the house key and I forgot to give it back. He said it was important not to lose it because some guys were after their baby. Why would someone be after Bonnie?”

  “Seems her mom’s on the run because she has information on a fraud scheme.”

  “Holy cow, no kidding. Poor little baby. Maybe I’ll be a PI when I grow up and help people like her mom. Since Preston’s staying with us I can ask him all about it.”

  “Do it over cobbler. Your grandmother has some cooling. Go wash up and you can have a piece before you go to bed.”

  His little face pinched together. “Do I have to have a piece? How about an apple, can I have an apple instead? Or a carrot? I’ll eat a carrot.”

  Cynthia put her finger across her lips in shhh fashion, leaned closer and whispered, “You’ll hurt your grandmother’s feelings. She’s really trying to be a good cook, Lawrence. There’s ice cream in the freezer. Drown the cobbler in it. You won’t taste a thing.”

  “There’s not that much ice cream in the world. Mr. Wright said dinner was delicious. It was like rubber. Quaid’s dad was grilling a steak for them for dinner when I left. Tomorrow they’re having fried chicken. He gave me steak right off the grill. Oh, Mom, you should have been there. I think Grandma forgot to cook the peas. Is there something wrong with Mr. Wright, how could he not notice? Why would anyone want to pay to stay here and eat this stuff?”

  Cynthia considered the steak and real fried chicken and her taste buds wept. “Mr. Wright’s just being polite and he seems to like your grandmother. They’re the same age and have things in common so they get along.”

  “He winked at her—I saw him. She laughs at his jokes. They’re really bad jokes, Mom.”

  And that wasn’t the only thing bad. She still had the key situation to straighten out and she did not want to see Quaid, after her kissing frenzy. “I could take you to drop off the key.”

  “I’ll miss Nova. It’s the one on the Hubble telescope and nebula.”

  “Guess that doesn’t have anything to do with Nebula purses. They come in black, tan and gold this season.” He laughed. They were closer now than ever. ’Course if she didn’t get something going in the employment department she and Lawrence and Mother would be very close and starving. “Okay, it’s a shower, cobbler, Nova, bed.” The towboat medallion felt heavy in her palm.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Perfect.” Except she had to return a flipping key.

  But an hour later as she walked down the path that led to the docks the only thing flipping was her stomach. How could she face Quaid? How embarrassing. Should she apologize? Sorry about the kiss, I had… What? Primal lust overload? Hormonal meltdown? Not been laid in a year? Two? Ugh!

  The empty docks stretched before her, two tows roped to pilings. She’d never been to the docks before. She shouldn’t be here now. Mercury vapor lights came to life; the last sun rays turned the Arkansas shores red and gold, leaving the Mississippi black and mysterious. “Hello?” she called, trying to sound confident.

  A light shone through the office window; Quaid sat at a desk, bent over a clipboard. He was busy, she should go…except…except he looked so incredibly handsome and she had that darn key. Handsome had already gotten her in trouble. Heck, it had been getting her in trouble for years, Quaid was just the latest installment.

  Opening the door she went in, winding her way through the deserted office to the glassed-in one at the end. She tapped on the door and entered as he looked up. She focused on the back wall. One glimpse of those green eyes and she risked another kissing attack. “Here’s your key, thanks for hiring Lawrence, he can go to the ridge whenever you want, bye.” There, she did it. Done. She turned away.

  “Hey.” He stood, she walked till he snagged her arm. “I won’t bite.”

  Yeah, but she might and that was the God’s honest truth. She was pathetic!

  “Is everything okay with Lawrence? Not like him to forget the key.”

  “He has Nova on the brain.”

  Quaid grinned, making her feel at ease till she looked in his smoldering eyes, and since there was no one else around and they weren’t smoldering for the water cooler…that left her. Oh, boy. “I really should go.”

  “Why’d you come?”

  “The key…your house…Nova.”

  “What you brought isn’t the key.”

  She fished in her pocket. “I forgot it.” With luck the earth would part and swallow her whole. How could she forget the key? Lawrence had Nova-itis, she had Quaiditus. Nova-itis had a cure.

  Without letting her go, Quaid rounded the desk and drew up in front of her. “Interesting.”

  “Absentminded.” Lust ate her brain cells. How was she going to get over this man—and she had to do that right now. Men were the bane of her life…remember.

  He hooked his finger under her chin and turned her face to his. “I’m glad you came.” He smiled a little. “And I’m glad you forgot the key.”

  “Why?”

  He slowly brushed his lips against hers as if testing her response. “Maybe you’re here for another reason?”

  “This is not the reason.”

  He kissed her lightly and she kissed him back, her body doing an August burn even in air conditioning, her lips…hungry. “I’m so much older than you.”

  He smiled and it wasn’t the kind that made fun but the kind that appreciated. “It’s not the years, it’s the mileage. You’ve had bumps and so have I.”

  He kissed her again, his mouth lingering. He touched her cheek and she shivered.

  “Cold?”

  “I wish.” His lips claimed hers in a kiss that took her breath away as his arms slid around her back bringing her tight against him. Chest to chest—his firm, hers heavy and wanting. Oh, Lordy, did she want! Quaid O’Fallon sure could kiss, except no tongue. Okay, where was the tongue? She really wanted the French kiss and before she could stop herself, she French-kissed him. And he returned the gesture, his palm sliding to her bottom, pressing her into him.

  Been a long time since she felt a man hard and ready for action and no matter how much she proclaimed she could live without sex…right now it wasn’t possible.

  “You are so fine,” his voice thick and smooth, reminding her of a double latté with extra whipped cream.

  “My life is complicated, Quaid.”

  He backed her to the desk, the edge catching her right under her derriere. He hitched her onto it, her legs dangling, his mouth consuming hers, her legs parting, her body waiting. Hussy!

  He didn’t seem to mind. He turned out the light on the desk and whispered, “We don’t need an audience in case the Arsenic cast comes by.” He stepped away and she felt abandoned. “You’re leaving?”

  He took the bell from the desk and put it on the counter, and then the lamp and the clipboard.

  “What are you doing?”

  He swiped his arm across the desk, sending pencils, books, papers flying to the floor with a crash, leaving the desk bare and her heart beating in her throat. “The maid will clean it up tomorrow.”

  “You have a maid?”

  “Yeah.” He scooped her into his arms. “Me.” He sat her on the desk, this time her legs there, too. He unbuttoned his jeans.

  “This is so not a good idea.”

  “That’s pretty much how I live my life and you didn’t come here to return a key, Cynthia.”

  She leveled him a look. “What makes you so sure?”

  “This.” He kissed her hard, with lots of tongue, proving himself totally right as he lay her back on the desk, her hair flowing over the edge. She felt incredibly sexy, a little wicked, a lot turned on.

  “You are so beautiful, have been all your life. I’ve wanted you since the first time I lay eyes on you, Cynthia.”

>   “I’m a conquest?”

  “You’re desired.” He pulled a condom from his wallet and she considered protesting except how could she say no to such manly attributes so ready for action—especially when she wanted action too?

  She couldn’t! She sat up and slid off her panties. He grinned. “I could have done that. Would have been happy to.”

  She held out her arms. “We have to hurry before I get rational.”

  “You’re not rational?”

  She tossed her panties and they landed in a soft heap on the Bootsy B bell. “Is that the action of a rational forty-year-old from New York? I think mothers go to hell for doing stuff like this.”

  “Mothers are women.” He eased her back, then hitched himself onto the desk and positioned himself over her, his eyes now black as the darkness surrounding them. “Wrap your legs around me, Cynthia. I need to know you want this as much as I do.”

  She bit her bottom lip.

  “Do you?”

  She touched his cheek. The stubble roughness against her fingers and desire humming in her veins made her almost giddy. Without answering, her legs circled his waist. He smiled and the tip of his erection touched her heat. She jumped.

  “That hurts?”

  “Impatience.”

  “Me too,” he answered in a rough voice. Then he eased himself into her, her body expanding to accommodate him, and it hadn’t accommodated in a long time, and had never expanded quite this much.

  “You’re so…tight, sweetheart.”

  “Out of practice.”

  He grinned. “Good.” Then he eased into her a bit more, then pulled out.

  “Quaid?”

  “Practicing.” He kissed her, his tongue imitating his lovemaking as he entered her again, his erection so hot and hard she nearly combusted from the sensation. She couldn’t wait for any more trial runs and she tightened her legs, bringing him into her completely. She climaxed, surprising the hell out of herself. So fast, so intense. She gripped his shoulders as Quaid thrust inside her again then again, his muscles clenching, his body throbbing and pulsing inside her, an incredible experience she didn’t want to end, but way too fast. After two years she did not want fast. Drat!

  His head sagged forward and she ran her hands under his shirt, his back muscles shuddering and damp with perspiration. He rested his forehead against hers. “Damn, girl. You are something else.”

  “I just couldn’t hold back, I’m sorry I…you—”

  He kissed her. “I wasn’t registering a complaint, Cynthia. Every ounce of you enjoys sex. Your body was made for it, you’re made for it. It was like…”

  “The first time?”

  His gaze met hers and he studied her for a moment. “Yeah,” he said in a slow easy voice. “Like the first time.”

  She licked her lips. “I’ve never been made love to like this. My ex was a small man, in more ways than one. I didn’t realize that till…you…till…He was my first, my only, but I’m forty for God’s sake, you’d think I’d know better, have a little more experience but I don’t and—”

  He kissed her again, stopping her protest, reassuring her and making her feel truly wanted and desirable.

  She gasped. “Oh my God, I hear voices.”

  “Damn, play practice is over early. The night attendant for the office isn’t due for another half hour.” He rolled off her and disposed of the condom, wrapping it in paper and tossing it in the trash can.

  “It’s dark,” she whispered as she sat. “No one should be able to see us.”

  He zipped up and dove behind the desk, snagging her along the way as he went. She landed in his lap and he whispered in her ear, “There’s a half moon shining in that window like a big old spotlight. We don’t want to take chances.” He nuzzled her nape and added, “Unless you want to be tomorrow’s main topic of gossip around here and have to explain to Lawrence. Just be real still.”

  Footsteps and laughing approached as he nibbled her neck. How could she be still with him nibbling? And kissing! He slipped his fingers under her blouse, across her ribcage, easing under her bra. “Quaid? You can’t do this,” she whispered on a quick intake of breath.

  “Hmmm?” he replied next to her ear, his other hand sliding up her thigh.

  “Quaid!”

  “Shh,” he cooed, his fingers dipping into her still wet patch. He delved deeper, her legs spreading while his fingers massaged her nipple, his thumb rubbing her clit. Voices and footfalls sounded right in front of the office. He kissed her shoulder and his fingers—one, then two inside her—making her quiver in his arms. If the actors looked inside they’d see a ball of fire behind the desk. How could she be so ready for Quaid again?

  She bit the back of her hand to stifle her cries as another climax claimed her. Quaid’s body cradled her, protecting her. She lay there in his arms, her limbs rubber, sort of like Ida’s chicken. Quaid said, “I think they’re gone.”

  “Who?”

  “The actors. While we’re behind the desk.”

  She turned her head and studied him through the darkness. “How could you do this to me? What the hell am I doing?”

  “I’d consider it a pleasure to remind you.”

  She untangled herself from his arms, straightened her skirt and scrambled to her feet. “Where are my panties? I need my panties.”

  He stood beside her. “Are you okay?”

  “Bottom line, I’m an idiot.” She smacked her palm against her forehead. “Whenever I get a man in my life it goes straight to hell. Oh, it may take a while but eventually, it’s all hell. How could I do this? Did I not learn anything from the last disaster?”

  “I’m only half of the equation but this didn’t feel like a disaster.”

  “I swore and swore I was going no-male and then you show up with your…great equipment and I melt.”

  “Great equipment? I think I’ve been used.”

  “It won’t happen again. I can’t afford it.” She went for the door.

  “Cynthia?”

  She spun around. “No more sex, I mean it, Quaid. You’re incredible, I’m sure you’ve heard that before, but I have to be strong or something else rotten will befall the Landon women and I can’t—”

  He tossed her the panties. She caught them and looked at the yellow swatch. “Oh, Lord, I so need therapy. I should go see that Doctor Phil guy.” She ran through the deserted offices like some stupid flustered teenager, headed out the door and down the dock, not daring to look back. She stuffed the panties in her purse, fired up the Buick, and made for home. She’d been here four days and already involved with a guy, and guys were trouble…always.

  She parked in front of the house and plunked her head on the steering wheel. Okay, it was over. She’d had her fling with the local wolf—ohmygod, what a wolf—and now she could go on. A quiet night with bad peach cobbler, she could handle that. She walked up the steps and opened the front door as Ida scurried into the hallway, eyes huge, dripping wet, draped in a towel. “Oh, thank God you’re home. I think I killed him.”

  “A bug?”

  “No, Preston Wright.”

  “The cobbler was that bad?”

  Ida looked wounded as a puddle formed around her. “My cobbler’s wonderful. I killed Preston with a vase from my bathroom windowsill. He tried to climb into the shower with me, of all things.” She put the back of her hand to her forehead and looked ready for a swoon, southern style. “Mercy me, I never dreamed he was that kind of man.”

  “You seem to be going through your share of vases lately. I wonder what that’s all about.” Cynthia dropped her purse on the walnut sideboard. “Where’s Lawrence?”

  “Asleep, I checked.”

  “Well, thank the Lord for that. Probably scarred him for life.” Cynthia followed Ida into the bathroom; Preston sprawled out naked on the tile floor, was enough to scar her for life. Cynthia covered his backside with a towel, a senior buttock was not a thing of beauty…at least to her. “He’s breathing.”

 
; “I didn’t waste him?” Cynthia arched her brow in question and Ida shrugged. “We were watching Magnum reruns together. Guess I got caught up in the lingo.” Cynthia ran a glass of water in the bathroom sink and dumped it on Preston.

  He sputtered and coughed and opened his eyes. “What happened?”

  “What in the world were you doing in the shower with my mother?”

  Preston staggered to a sitting position and grabbed the towel tight around him with one hand as he ran his fingers through his hair. He looked at Ida, not quite focusing. “I thought you wanted me.”

  Ida’s eyes nearly popped from her head and Preston continued, “In Rockton there’s a house of special pleasures, shall we say, called Lord and Ladies. Kind of a secret place, run by a guy named Landon if you get my drift. I heard about it while working on a case up there.”

  Ida sagged against the wall. “Holy mother of pearl.”

  “Then I got here and that Quaid O’Fallon guy said the women at Ivy Acres were Landons and would make me feel right at home. I just assumed—”

  “Well, my stars,” Ida said, “I imagine I broke my first vase over that poor man’s head the other time for this very same reason. He must have heard the Landon name too. I’m ruined.”

  Preston looked more dazed than ever. “This has happened before?”

  The Curse of the Landon Women had come to roost again. Let a man in your life and this is what happens. Cynthia said to Preston, “Are you feeling sick to your stomach, do you see one or two of everything?”

  Preston nodded. “One. I’m okay. Magnum got knocked out all the time and I think I was more dazed than anything.” He gave a sheepish grin and rubbed his head. “Looks a lot better on TV than it feels in real life.”

  “I don’t think you have a concussion—the vase was thin bone china.” Cynthia pointed a stiff finger to the door. “But I think you should leave.”

  Preston shrugged his pale shoulders, which looked as if they’d never seen sun in Hawaii or anywhere else. “I didn’t mean any harm. After teaching thirty years and doing everything by the book, I’m looking for a little adventure outside the books, a bit of…action and—”

 

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