You Dropped a Blonde on Me

by Dakota Cassidy

  Len’s head sank into her hand in shame, but her body tingled—and it wasn’t with embarrassment. On the contrary, she was absolutely without a shred of indecency. Though every act she and Adam had committed could be considered such.

  And they’d committed. Whoa, had they ever. All night long until her muscles ached and her jaw hurt from clenching back her screams of delicious orgasm.

  Her low groan filled her office. She wanted to feel remorse for having her first one-night stand ever. She even wanted to feel remorse that it had been with a man she’d originally thought was on Finley’s payroll.

  But she didn’t. Not entirely.

  Because it had been brilliant.

  Meeting Adam at Wendt’s began as curiosity, to decipher his purposefully cryptic parting shot. His bold demands, his refusal to explain his sudden presence all intrigued her. Sliding into a booth in the darkened interior of the bar was a fact-seeking mission. After an appletini or three, he hadn’t just intrigued her; he’d left her breathless.

  He was funny, powerful, Cracker Jack smart, and shared far too many interests with her. The reassurance that he wasn’t in fact stalking her, but in Riverbend on business, and had been in the village the night they’d met to visit a “friend,” left her feeling less and less like he had anything to do with Finley.

  When Adam flattered her by telling her he’d happened to see her as he drove past the rec center and finally got up the courage, after following her around town, to introduce himself, Len was already halfway to the fantasy their night became. She never bothered to ask the friend’s name—by drink three, Len was too lost in the intimacy the booth they sat in created.

  Next, they were in the lobby of a Holiday Inn Express, booking a room like some illicit, giggling couple in a movie. Which had all led up to some of the naughtiest, most mind-smashing sex of her entire adult life.

  Oh, Jesus. She was such a sinner.

  Of course, Len soothed herself, almost all of her adult life was spent married to a man twenty-three years older than her. She’d had two lovers prior to Gerald, in college, before being swept off her feet and voluntarily quitting college to marry him.

  Her husband’s memory crept in, sweet and with a still sharp hint of the ache his loss had created. Guilt drove her to look his picture in the eye. He’d been a wonderful lover, but it had been a long time since she was held in the arms of a man—much less one as virile as Adam Baylor.

  She and Gerald had enjoyed a fulfilling, intimate relationship before his cancer had gotten in the way. Until he’d died, leaving her financially insolvent and more alone than she’d ever felt in her life.

  He didn’t just die, Lenore, her conscience whispered in painful reminder.

  No. He hadn’t just died.

  Thankful for the reprieve when no one picked up at Mona’s, Len slunk down in her chair and let her head fall over the back of the chair, stretching her neck muscles.

  “I brought coffee. I figured you’d need it as much as I did after last night,” Adam said, throaty and deep, not looking at all like they’d torn up a hotel room bed, sunk-in bathtub, and small balcony. He was as cool, together, and refreshed as if he’d had eight hours of sleep.

  The sonofabitch.

  Len’s eyes snapped shut. Last night had all been a major mistake. She knew no more about him today than she did yesterday. To boot, she’d slept with a complete stranger.

  “I know what you’re thinking.”

  “How Amazing Kreskin of you,” was her cool reply, though every muscle in her body was coiled with tension.

  Adam leaned over her desk, gripping the arms of her office chair to pull her against the fake wood. “You’re thinking last night, and early this morning, I might add, was all a big mistake, and it’s something you’re never going to do again.”

  Okay, so he did have Amazing Kreskin-like properties. Len kept her lips clamped shut, but her eyes were wide open, soaking up every last inch of his tailored suit and his thick, slicked-back dark hair.

  She made an extra effort to continue to keep her eyes open when vividly remembering that hair, mussed and falling over his forehead, while they rolled around some surface or another. When she spoke, it was measured, and meant to puncture his haughty smile into oblivion. “Actually, I wasn’t thinking about you at all.”

  Adam’s lips formed an amused upward tilt. “Let’s clear something up. First, your friend is safe from me, if that’s what’s troubling you in the cold light of day. I gave some thought to the accusations you launched at me at the village the other night, and it occurred to me you might have buyer’s remorse today. I don’t know your friend and I’m not a spy for this Finley guy. That said, don’t kid yourself into believing what we did won’t happen again, Len. It will. I’ll call and you’ll answer,” he said with some more amusement and Neanderthal arrogance woven between his words.

  Adam’s back was almost out the door when she caught her breath enough to get her ass out of the chair and lob something at his big, fat head.

  His chuckle because she missed rang in her burning ears.

  Maxine glanced at the laminated sheet with the instructions for each exercise Georgia McHale had given her and frowned. Was that move the ball over your head to the right and bend at the waist, feet spread in line with your shoulders? With a critical eye, she compared Mrs. Lipknicki’s motion to the cartoon character on the laminated sheet. “Oh, that’s good, Mrs. Lipknicki! Look at you!” she praised with a warm smile. “That’s right, keep your feet shoulders’ width apart.”

  “This isn’t how Georgia does it,” Maude Grandowski complained.

  Planting her hands on her hips, Maxine nodded her commiseration, gazing out at the ten swimming-cap-covered heads awaiting her next instruction. “I know I’m no Mrs. Lawrence, but bear with me, will you? I’m only filling in so we don’t have to miss watercize altogether.”

  “Because you’re broke,” Mrs. Arnold said from the back row.

  Broke. Broken. All the same.

  Maxine shook her head. Damn it, those negative thoughts had to stop and stop now. She was only as broken as she let herself be. Displays like the one with Campbell last night, and her ridiculous overreaction to her embarrassment after being in such a vulnerable position—okay, a half-naked position—had given her raw, jangled nerves too much outdoor voice. This morning, upon reflection over coffee and a narrow-eyed, clearly disapproving Mona, that point had been driven home.

  The moment she left watercize, she was going to call Campbell and apologize. Maybe she’d turn the tables and invite him for coffee. A peaceful cup of joe, minus a touchy date. And if he turned her down, it would serve her optimistic, dream-slashing self right.

  Her eyes met Mrs. Arnold’s dead-on. “That’s exactly right, Mrs. Arnold.” Why bother to deny it? There wasn’t a soul in the village, housebound and on an iron lung or not, who didn’t know the truth about where she stood. “I’m broke, but I’m working hard not to be broke anymore. So help a girl make a buck, would you? If we all work together, I’ll figure this out and you’ll all get the workout you deserve.”

  “Give the kid a break, Darla Arnold,” Mr. Hodge warned, swishing the lukewarm water of the heated pool with fluid arms. “She’s just trying to make ends meet. Plus, she looks better in a bathing suit than you bunch of wrinkled old hags.”

  Maxine’s eye went wide, stifling a gasping chuckle. Intervention. Before these women made the Titanic’s sinking look tame. “Now, Mr. Hodge, you behave, and apologize to the lovely ladies. I understand everyone’s frustration. I’m not very good at this, but I’m trying. With your help, I’m sure I’ll be able to get it right. So everyone pitch in, okay? All suggestions welcome.” Looking up, she scanned the small crowd.

  Wide-eyed silence prevailed.

  “Oh, c’mon now. I am trying.” She was. Jesus.

  “Maxine?” Mrs. Arnold called again from the back.

  “Yes, Mrs. Arnold?”

  “Turn around, honey.” She used two pruny fi
ngers to make a swirling motion.

  Maxine swished around in the hip-deep water to find Campbell, standing at the edge of the pool by the wide steps, sharp eyes assessing her.

  Oh.

  Suddenly, she felt naked, even in her borrowed red, white, and blue bathing suit with the spray of fireworks across the hip. Her hands went self-consciously to the front of the suit, holding the exercise sheet in front of her breasts where the stiff cups gaped because they were too big. Apologies and offers of coffee slipped right out the window. “Uh, is everything okay?”

  “Nope.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “You and me, we have a little something to settle, Max Henderson.”

  The ladies of the group twittered in breathless coos.

  If he meant settle their little spat last night by showing up during a chance for her to make money and when she had on a bathing suit that looked like it had come from the Esther Williams era, he had another thing coming. Though a moment of grateful passed when Maxine remembered she’d decided to forgo the swim cap with the red foofy flowers on it.

  “Settle? Now?”

  “Right now,” he said, stomping down the pool steps and into the water to tower over her.

  Shocked, her mouth fell open. Campbell Barker was standing in the middle of the shallow end of Leisure Village’s pool, fully clothed, work boots and all, wanting to settle something. Her hand dropped from her chest, the exercise sheet falling to the water and floating away like a discarded candy wrapper. Her thoughts scattered, then came together in a moment of complete clarity. Apologies were in order. “Wait! You were right last night. I owe you an apology—”

  A glimmer of the devil in his eyes came and went before his lips turned back into that stern line. “Apologize later. Right now, we have something else to settle.”

  “Wha . . . what do we have to . . . to settle?”

  “This,” he hissed, wrapping a strong arm around her waist and dragging her to him. Placing a hand on her ass, Campbell fitted her to him.

  And then, he did it. In front of God and seniors.

  He planted the lips she’d waxed poetic about before falling asleep with tears of regret in her eyes on her mouth with a force that sucked the air from her lungs.

  Her eyes, wide open at first, her arms dangling limp behind her, Maxine prepared to pound out her outrage on the hard wall of his chest until . . . Well, until she realized the only thing outrageous about this was that she was having the living daylights kissed out of her, and she was still hanging from his arms like a wet noodle instead of throwing her whole body into it with the kind of zeal it so deserved.

  You know, Maxine, like you did last night out on that rock you have a knot in your back the size of the Grand Canyon from?

  Her nipples tightened, beading against her damp suit, boring holes through it while the warmth he’d stirred in her last night returned tenfold.

  A hand she couldn’t believe was hers tentatively crept upward, curling into the back of Campbell’s neck when he parted her lips and let his tongue caress hers, dipping, stroking until she matched his forceful, delicious passion. Campbell coaxed, wooing her mouth, bending it to his will, creating sharp ripples of undeniable pleasure in places she didn’t know were capable of tingling.

  Her leg desperately wanted to wrap itself around his waist just like she had last night to feel his hips against hers.

  The moment she thought she’d die of a kiss so good her eyes indeed warbled was the very moment he ripped his mouth from hers, dumping her with a splash back into the pool.

  Surprise made her pop back up out of the water, sputtering and shoving her hair from her face. The skirt of her bathing suit floated in awkward tufts around her waist.

  Campbell’s eyes, glossed with amusement, gave her that cocky once-over. He leaned into her and said, “Figured I’d better drop by and show you what you missed by storming off last night. From here on out, when we end a date, I fully expect a kiss good night, not the kind of guff you gave me. Consider that your warning. Oh”—he stopped as though reminding himself of her earlier statement—“all apologies are accepted between the hours of seven and midnight. Don’t miss your opportunity.”

  Stomping back out of the pool, he turned and gave a quick wink to the group and smiled with a salute to every wide-eyed, mouth-hanging-open watercizer. “Bye, ladies. Oh, and you, too, Mr. Hodge.” Splotches of water trailed behind him as he sauntered his way across the tile to the exit door. Sexy, confident, wet T-shirt and all.

  The pool area exploded with raucous whistles and clapping. Mr. Warren thumped the diving board with his feet as the gentlemen from the other end of the pool slapped their hands against the tiled edges.

  “Well, girlie. That was a man staking his claim if I ever saw one,” Mr. Hodge said on a gruff laugh. He clamped a hand on her shoulder, giving it a shake while handing her the instruction sheet she’d dropped. “Close your mouth there, Maxine, and let’s get this show on the road. I gotta get home before The Price Is Right’s on.”

  Amid the whispers of “how romantic” and “if only I were thirty years younger,” Maxine somehow managed to corral the Campbell supporters back into watercize submission.

  Focusing on completing the task at hand was difficult at best while she alternately fumed and swooned. His mouth against hers, the wet heat he’d created down low . . . Maxine was thankful for the water holding her up, as her legs went soft just thinking about that kiss.

  In front of thirty or so villagers who wouldn’t just be calling her broke, but a broke slut.

  Goddamn it.

  When she got her hands on that presumptuous showboater, she was going to . . .

  Something.

  Yes, she was going to do something—as soon as her head cleared and her heart stopped jumping in her chest like it was attached to strings only Campbell Barker could tug.

  Something . . .

  Campbell stripped off his soaking wet shirt, catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror of the men’s locker room. He gave his reflection a smug smile that instantly wavered.

  Last night the plan was to never go within a hundred feet of the luscious but totally nutty Max Cambridge. And it had been a good, solid, well-thought-out plan. Not to mention probably one of his smarter ones. She was the crusher of hopes and dreams, after all. Not only that, she was a bundle of nerves and irrational trains of thought.

  But seeing her in the pool today amidst all the seniors in her outdated bathing suit, hot as the day was long, Campbell was struck by just how not ready he was to give up the chase for the elusive butterfly. He’d known going in Max was a mess, but he’d gone in anyway only to end up angry because she wasn’t healing and learning from her mistakes fast enough to suit him.

  Foul ball. Some took longer than others to come to terms with their old insecurities.

  That was when the choice had become crystal clear—he still wanted her even with her tunnel vision on relationships, and he was determined to change her mind about the way a man should treat a woman.

  So he’d set about changing her mind.

  In the middle of her watercize class.

  No doubt, Barker, he chided his reflection, you’re going to be in for some shit for that little impulsive stunt.

  But that only made his grin wider.

  Connor stopped dead in his tracks in the parking lot of his high school. He gave a sideways glance to his left and right then scanned the area.

  His gait was slow as he shoved his books under one arm so he could dig out the keys to the car from his pocket. Stopping short, he faced his father in the glare of the late June sun. He held up the keys with a sullen glance down at Finley. Topping his father by two inches helped him to hold his ground—the ground Finley was about to yank out from under him. Yet his height made him feel less like he was helpless and weak.

  With a shake, Connor offered the keys to him. “I guess you’re here for these?” What else could he want? He’d taken everything else. But wait,
his father hadn’t taken it, he reminded himself, calling up the memory of their last phone call—Connor’d just refused to accept it.

  Right.

  Finley jammed his hands into the pockets of his trousers, eyeing his son with that arrogant, bossy look Connor wanted to punch off his face. He knew it was wrong. He knew his mother’d freak out if she knew he’d even thought something violent like that, but it was how he felt. He wasn’t as much of a kid as his dad would like to believe. He got what his father was doing to his mother, and he didn’t like it so much.

  Finley’s perfect hair ruffled in the humid breeze. “What makes you say that, son?”

  Connor’s chin lifted when he jutted it in the direction of his father’s Caddy. “Why else would you bring Joey with you if he wasn’t going to drive the car back for you?”

  “Joey’s good company,” he said with his infamous “How can I put you in a new car today” smile. The tight, fake one he gave the customers he still occasionally dealt with.

  When his father didn’t hold out his hand, a sign in his eyes his dad was messing with his head yet again, Connor reacted. Knowing it was disrespectful, knowing his mother would give him shit for doing it, he did it anyway, dumping the keys at Finley’s feet. Screw the power struggle. He didn’t need his father to hold crap over his head anymore. The car had been on borrowed time anyway. He knew it, and his father got off on letting him know it.

  Finley looked down at his feet where the keys lay, his eyes narrowing, but it was his silence, furious and cold, standing between them, that almost made Connor cower.

  Almost.

  “Take it. Take the stupid car. I don’t care anymore!” he yelped, unconcerned if everyone at Crest Creek High heard him. They all already talked smack about him because his mother was broke and they lived in a retirement village. But he just didn’t care. He was sick of feeling like he owed his dad something because he’d chosen to stay with his mother.