Step Into My Parlor

by Jan Hudson

  She picked up her purse and wrap from Spider's bed, managing to accomplish the feat without a lingering glance at the red sheets. Doing a shuffling sashay, he linked his arm with hers, and they left the room with Spider bouncing and singing a nasal, "Deep within my heart..."

  A few minutes later, they climbed out of the Silverado and walked through the crowded parking lot to a pink stucco hacienda with a tile roof and Christmas lights in the bushes. A bright yellow sign over the entrance proclaimed it to be the San Antone Rose.

  Thumping country music and shouts of "Ahh-hh-ha!" hit them as the door opened. The energy of the room bounced off the walls and set adrenaline surging through her blood.

  Three bars, liberally decorated with neon cacti and maps of Texas, were doing a brisk business. People were everywhere, and a disc jockey spun records from behind a stuccoed wall covered with Tex-Mex graffiti. Most of the place was so smoky and shadowed that for a moment Anne couldn't see clearly. Spider bent near her ear and shouted, "Hang on to me, and we’ll find the others."

  "Hey, Spider!" someone yelled from across the room.

  They peered through the crowd to see Roscoe waving his baseball cap, and, with a bit of judicious twisting and weaving, they found their way to the table near the dance floor. Anne greeted Roscoe and Trish, then smiled as Spider made introductions to Wally and Lisa.

  Barely were they seated when a cocktail waitress in a cowboy hat stood ready to take their orders. "It's Saturday night. Longnecks are fifty cents for another hour."

  "Beer okay?" Spider asked Anne over the bustle of bodies, loud conversation, and floor-shaking music.

  "Fine," she answered after checking the drinks of the others, all of whom were holding tall bottles. With antlered deer heads, longhorns, and Mexican posters mounted on the walls, the atmosphere hardly seemed appropriate for the white wine she preferred.

  It was difficult to talk over the noise of the room, but she thanked Lisa, a redhead in a kelly-green sweater and slacks, for the decorating help. "I really appreciate it."

  Lisa gave her a broad smile. "I was glad to do it. I hope you like it. God knows, the shape that room was in, anything would have been an improvement. Sorry I didn't have more time, but Spider said it was a rush job. I’ll come one day next week and help you finish it if you'd like."

  "I'd love it."

  "Come on, sugar, let's do a little two-stepping." Spider grabbed Anne by the hand and pulled her up.

  "But I don't know how."

  "Nothing to it. Watch my feet," he said as they headed around the railing of the dance floor. He did a few steps and said, "You do that and I’ll do the rest. It's easy once you get the rhythm."

  After a couple of false starts and lots of laughter, she discovered it was easy. And fun. They were soon two-stepping around the room with the counterclockwise flow of the other dancers. Spider's lead was strong and sure, and he was an excellent dancer.

  "You're really good," she said.

  "Sure I'm good. I had years of practice tippy-toeing away from all those beefers in the pads and helmets."

  "Modest, too."

  He laughed, twirled her around, then brought her back to his arms.

  Between sipping beer and laughing with the others at their table. Spider taught her to polka, and Roscoe insisted on showing her the Texas swing. Wally, who was even taller than Spider and must have weighed three hundred pounds, led her into a waltz. He was amazingly graceful. In no time at all, she learned to recognize songs by Willie and Waylon and Reba and Randy.

  "It's time for a pit stop," Trish said, and the three women left for the ladies' room, the third trip in as many hours. "It's the beer," Trish explained to Anne, dodging a shoe-shine girl in skintight jeans and cowboy hat who was doing a show of her own.

  "You and Spider make such a cute couple," Lisa said as they washed their hands. "And the way he acts, he must be crazy about you. I’ve never seen him quite so taken with any of the other—"

  Trish poked Lisa and rolled her eyes.

  A strange emotion, quick and clutching, seized Anne. If she hadn't known better, she'd have thought she was jealous. Silly, of course, since she and Spider were only friends. Anne managed to laugh at Lisa's faux pas and they returned to the table.

  Everyone danced, tried their hand at several of the games in the corners of the room, and drank more beer. Anne couldn't remember when she'd had so much fun. Spider's friends were genuine, caring people who gathered her into their intimate circle as if she'd always belonged.

  When a slow ballad began. Spider grabbed her hand. "Come on, they're playing our song."

  Anne laughed as she trailed behind him to the dance floor. "You idiot, we don't have a song."

  He pulled her into his arms. "We do now."

  "I think I’ve had too much beer," she said, snuggling into the perfect spot against his body. "I'm getting very relaxed."

  "That's okay, sugar. I’ll take care of you. Just lean on me."

  Even as big as he was, she seemed to mold exactly into the contours of his frame. His head bent slightly and her forehead resting on his cheek, they moved in slow, synchronized rhythm. So close that not a speck of daylight showed between them, she followed his lead as if they'd been dancing together all their lives.

  Spider took the soft hand he was holding, brought it to the nape of his neck, and left it there. Both arms around her, he pulled her tight. He closed his eyes and savored the exquisite torture of Anne in his arms. God, she felt good. He would pay for this later, but for now, he was in hog heaven. If the song went on forever, it would suit him fine.

  "You smell like flowers and sweet, sweet woman."

  Sighing, she rooted her forehead against his cheek and wiggled her body against his, trying to get closer. He almost went up in smoke.

  "Spider?"

  "Hmmmm?"

  "I think I'm getting turned on."

  "I know I am."

  "Is that good?"

  "Probably not."

  "Do you mind?"

  "Hell, no."

  She sighed. "Me neither."

  They stayed on the floor for another song. Couples two-stepped around them, but they swayed on to the beat of their own slow, seductive music. By the time the song ended, beads of perspiration rolled from his hair and he was rock hard and ready. If it had been anybody but Anne, he would have dragged her out to the parking lot and made wild love on the front seat of the Silverado.

  But it wasn't just anybody. This was Anne. Married! a part of his brain shouted. Remember your promise.

  Promises, hell, he was on fire! And hurting bad. He'd never in his life wanted anybody the way he wanted her. Every curve of her body was burned into his memory. The smell of her made his mouth go dry. And she wanted him; he knew she did.

  But he forced himself to smile and say, "It's late. You about ready to go home, darlin'?"

  She stared up at him with big brown eyes gone dark and sultry. "I'm ready when you are."

  She sat snuggled against Spider as he drove home. He'd barely said a word, but she knew he wanted her. She'd have to have been a fool not to have felt the evidence that had pressed against her when they'd danced. And Anne Foxworth Jennings—oops! Jennifer Anne Webb—was no fool.

  Despite all her best intentions to keep their relationship platonic, she had changed her mind. Maybe there wasn't a future for them, but there was certainly a mind-blowing present. And she meant to take advantage of it. A man like Spider might only come along once in a lifetime, and she didn't want to pass up the opportunity.

  She laid her hand on his thigh.

  He flinched.

  She giggled.

  "I like your friends. Spider. They're lots of fun."

  "They like you, too. They're good people."

  She slid her hand up farther. He grabbed it and pushed it back down. "Woman, what are you doing to me?"

  She giggled again.

  "I think you had too much to drink."

  "Uh-uh." She cozied against his shoul
der, rubbing her cheek across the leather of his jacket. No wonder he liked to wear the jacket; it was sensuously soft. And if she lived to be a hundred and three, she'd never forget the delicious, virile smell of him.

  He stopped the truck. "We're home."

  Handling her more delicately than if she were fine porcelain, he helped her out of the pickup. As she watched him unlock the front door and turn off the alarm, she studied the dark set of his jaw, the sinuous curve of his lips, the deftness of his big hands and long fingers. She could imagine those hands on her bare skin, and desire for him uncoiled low in her body. This was the night that she would make love with the sexiest man on earth. And damn the consequences.

  "Step into my parlor, sweet thing," Turk said.

  Anne laughed. "I’ll never forget the time I first heard that. I was terrified."

  "And now?"

  She smiled. "I'm not terrified."

  He locked the door behind them and reset the alarm. Anne wondered if they would go to his bedroom or hers. Should she shower and put on the slinky gown she'd bought at the resale shop? Perhaps they would simply undress one another slowly, kissing, touching, exploring as they went.

  With a hand at her back, he guided her through the shop and down the hall. Her heart pounded, and her breath was shallow. She'd didn't think she could wait for a shower. She wanted him now. They stopped at her door, and she looked up at him. He smiled.

  "Good night, sugar." He gave her a brotherly peck on the cheek. "Sleep tight." He turned and started back down the hall.

  Stunned, she called after him. "Where are you going?"

  "I'm going to work out on the Nautilus equipment for a couple of hours."

  Humiliation still stung as Anne stepped out of the shower, dried, and pulled on her sexy new gown. She muttered to herself as she stomped through Spider's room and across the hall to her own. She climbed into the undulating water bed and yanked the covers over her head. But she couldn't sleep.

  She heard Spider when he came down the hall; she heard the shower running; she heard the muffled oaths as he punched his pillow.

  She was wide-awake. And she had to go to the bathroom. It was the beer. She tried to ignore the urge, but it grew more desperate.

  The only way to the bathroom was through Spider's room. She got up and tiptoed to the door. Everything was still, so she eased across the hall, trying to be as quiet as possible.

  When she'd finished her business and was sneaking out of his room, Spider growled, "I'm awake."

  "Sorry," she said. "It's the beer."

  For a long time after she left. Spider lay there inhaling her lingering fragrance. He ached for her so badly that he was tempted to handcuff himself to the bed to keep from getting up and going after her.

  An hour later, he was wide-eyed. He was obsessed with the idea of running his tongue over every square inch of her skin. Lord, he couldn't take this much longer. He was going out of his mind!

  He heard her tiptoeing to the bathroom again. Involuntarily, his gaze fixed on the closed door. When it opened and he saw her, he felt like he'd been clipped by King Kong. She was wearing something long and flimsy, but she might as well have been naked. The light behind her made the gown transparent, and he could see every lush dip and curve.

  "Damnit, woman!" he roared. "What are you trying to do to me?"

  "I'm sorry. I was trying to be quiet. It's the beer."

  He slung his arm across his eyes and muttered a string of curses. "I'm dying. You're killing me."

  The bed dipped and he looked up to see Anne sitting there, a worried look on her face. Light from the bathroom outlined her like a halo. She was a blond-haired angel; she was a honey-mouthed temptress. She was his, and he wanted her. Now.

  She put her hand on his bare chest. "Spider, what's wrong?"

  "What's wrong? I want you so bad it's tearing my guts out. That's what's wrong."

  She chuckled. "Is that all?" Her hand made a lazy circle. "That's easily remedied."

  He grabbed her wrist. "But I promised."

  "I release you from your promise."

  She-bent and touched the tip of her tongue to his nipple. It streaked over him like a flash fire, and he almost bowed double.

  Holding her face in his hands and his control by a hair, he said, "Darlin', you're married. I don't mess with married women, remember? Never have. I had it done to me, and I damned sure don't mean to do it to anybody else."

  She smiled. "Sugar," she drawled, "I'm not married."

  "You're divorced?"

  She shook her head slowly. "I've never been married."

  “Then who in the hell is Preston?"

  Eight

  "Your stepbrother?"

  She nodded and raked her fingers through the silky black curls on his chest.

  His eyes, heavy-lidded and sparking blue fire, bored into hers, and his voice was a deep growl. "Sugar, you've got a hell of a lot of explaining to do." He grabbed her under the arms, and she laughed as he dragged her across his body and flung her onto the cool red sheets beside him. With a lightning-fast move, he rolled and trapped her, one hand propped on each side of her head. "Later."

  Lips parted and tongue poised, a feral noise rumbled deep in his throat, and his mouth covered hers in a searing, devouring kiss. She moaned and her arms clamped around his broad back. The hot kiss went on and on amid groans and insatiable tongues thrusting and touching and plunging.

  He tore his lips from hers and kissed and licked a frantic path down her throat. His tongue was like fiery velvet. And when it reached the rise of her breasts, the sensation arched her back and wrenched a breathy moan from deep inside her.

  Nuzzling the soft swell, he dragged the straps of her gown down and pushed the filmy fabric to her waist. His tongue drew a hot, wet trail along the underside of each breast, circled and circled each hardening peak.

  "Oh, darlin', you taste like sweet heaven."

  He drew one nipple into his mouth and gently suckled. Each pull tugged at her sanity and heated her blood. She gasped from the wonder of it, and her palm pressed and slid down his back to his tight, bare buttocks, then back up again.

  "Let's take this off," he said. "I want to look at you." She lifted her hips; he peeled off the gown and tossed it to a fluttering heap on the floor.

  His eyes and his hands swept over the length of her. "I've dreamed of this. I’ve lain awake in this bed and imagined you here. Lord, you're even better than my dreams."

  She tried to speak, but she was breathless with longing for him. His every movement was erotic. He was taut muscle and raw, dark beauty. And magnificently aroused. All she could do was whisper his name.

  His eyes flashing and his lips parted, he knelt at her feet, ran his hands up the outside of her legs, and watched his dark fingers move over her pale skin. Grasping her ankles, he lifted her feet to his mouth. He kissed the ball of each foot and set her heels, one on each of his shoulders.

  His fingers began a slow slide along the insides of her legs. Ankles, calves, knees, thighs, higher; then he lingered, his thumbs gently brushing the length of exposed flesh and soft curls. Strangely, she felt no shame or embarrassment, only intense hunger and a heady sense of feminine power and pride.

  She whimpered with the delicious agony of his touch as he worshiped her body with his hands and eyes.

  Shuddering, he closed his eyes and sucked in a trembling breath. "Babe, I wanted this to last. I wanted to touch and taste every bit of you, but you're wet and ready, and I can't wait much longer."

  He opened his eyes and looked at her with pupils gone wide with desire. His magnificent body glistened with the fine sheen of arousal.

  "I want you, too, love," she whispered. "Now."

  Rolling to the edge of the bed, he reached under the mattress. In a moment he was back, nudging apart her legs, bending to kiss her lips with a savage yearning.

  "Woman, you set me on fire," he groaned as he scooped her buttocks in his big hands and lifted her from the slippery satin
sheets.

  He tried to enter her slowly, but Anne wrapped her arms and legs around him. "Fill me," she urged. "Please."

  With a hard thrust, they were joined. Flesh in flesh, and caught in a wildfire. Plunging and meeting, demanding and taking, there was nothing quiet or gentle in their lovemaking. It was raw and savage and earthy. He drove hard and she demanded more, rising to meet and move and twist and cling, seeking greater pleasure.

  She bit his shoulder and scraped his back. Wet with passion and slick with striving, she urged him on to a release that seemed just beyond her grasp.

  He slipped a hand between them to stroke an aching spot. Her whole body lit, glowed, then burst into an explosion of exquisite sensation. She sucked in a cry and arched to the source of her pleasure.

  "Sweet love," he murmured, pausing until the spasms of bliss subsided into soft ripples. Then he began to stroke again, with his hand, with his body.

  "Oh, Spider," she gasped in surprise as the pleasure began to mount. "It's happening again."

  He chuckled and licked his tongue across her mouth before he plunged it between her lips. When her climax burst once more, he cried out with her, his face a mask of exquisite agony, his body bowed, tense and still, as if focused on the pleasure ripped from his nerve endings.

  They lay quiet, still joined. His forearms held some of his weight off her, but he didn't move for the longest time. His head was nestled in the crook of her shoulder, and his ragged breath tickled the base of her throat. She stroked his back, loving the feel of its broad expanse beneath her fingers.

  She teased his left earlobe, smiling at the gold spider she felt there. He'd worn nothing else since she'd given it to him. She ran her fingers through his thick hair and pushed a few errant strands from his forehead. Still he didn't move.