Til There Was U

by Dianne Castell

  He slid his hands under her buttocks, taking one smooth round cheek in each palm, lifting her slightly and bringing her firmly into him. He took her faster and deeper with each hard thrust, building their desire into a wild fury until he climaxed in a mind-numbing haze of passion as the world swirled around him like the Mississippi on a rampage.

  Effie couldn’t breathe, her body rigid with release as passion pounded through her hot and furious. Having sex with Ryan wasn’t supposed to be so intense. What happened to basic? Fast? God knew the furious part was there.

  Her head sagged onto his shoulder. Speaking was impossible and not necessary . .. ‘til she opened her eyes, focused and spied a tow rounding the bend. “Ohmygod.”

  “I know, sugar.” His voice was thick and deep. “Me, too. You are incred—”

  “Boat!” She felt him tense as his head snapped up.

  “Boat?” He looked at her, then turned his head and stared out the window. “Oh, shit!”

  Slowly he eased himself from her, her body missing the profound intimacy more than she thought possible. Course, getting caught with her pants down—actually they were completely off, as was every other piece of her clothing—took precedence over intimacy, no matter how profound.

  He snagged a paper towel from the console and disposed of the condom while she dove for the floor, below the window line, to keep out of sight.

  “You okay down there?” he asked.

  “Better than up there with you. Can you imagine the gossip? You’re supposed to be the father of one woman’s baby, and here you are poking another for all the world to see. Rory doesn’t need to deal with talk like that. He’s got more than enough on his mind.”

  She handed Ryan his shirt, and he slid it on as she yanked on her bra and panties, shorts and blouse.

  The radio came to life with, “Mississippi Miss this is Tennessee Tootsie. You needing some help getting off that there towhead? Over.”

  “Tennessee Tootsie, this is Mississippi Miss. No problems here. We’ll be getting under way shortly. Over.”

  “Rodger that, Miss. You take care now, you hear.”

  Ryan gave a little salute as the big diesels rumbled on by. He looked down at Effie. “We have to get out of here.”

  “This gives a whole new meaning to the word quickie.” She stood and dusted off her backside. “Guess we should have gone below to the work quarters. We wouldn’t have had the.threat of an audience.”

  Ryan cupped her chin in his palm and looked deep into her eyes. A slow smile spread over his face, and he smoothed her hair from her cheek, his fingers lingering seductively at her temple, turning her insides to mush. “Any river man worth his salt who didn’t get an answer on the radio call would have come on over to investigate. We could have had a face-to-face audience and been the talk of every barge on the Mississippi. That could make getting over each other more difficult because of all the comments flying around.”

  She swallowed, mesmerized by his touch, his look. “It wouldn’t matter because it didn’t work. I. .. I’m not over anything, Ryan. I want more.”

  His eyes darkened. “More as in ... ?”

  “Sex,” she whispered, then let out a deep breath and waved her hand around the wheelhouse. “This made everything worse.” She grabbed the front of his T-shirt in her fists and brought her body tight to his. “Much worse,” she ground out as desire pumped through her again. How’d that happen so fast, so intense?

  He swallowed and loosened her fists from his shirt. “You’re just suffering from . . . afterglow deprivation. No time to let the feeling of good sex sink in. Like eating fast and still feeling hungry. Your brain doesn’t have time to compute that you’re satisfied. That’s the problem of quickies—no afterglow. No satisfaction.”

  “So, you feel the same way I do? Now what are we going to do? Things are worse instead of better between us. Neither of us is satisfied about anything.”

  He stood tall. “Guys don’t do afterglow. We operate in the moment. I’m satisfied, curiosity gone.” He held out his hands. “When I meet up with you back in San Diego we’ll be like .. . pals.”

  “Pals.” She nodded, trying to convince herself. Then she looked him over. No pal she ever had was built like or looked like or had sex with her like Ryan O’Fallon. “I’m going down on the deck. Pack away all those work vests. The deckhands on the Annabelle Lee didn’t use a one, and the coast guard didn’t stop by either. Wonder why?”

  “Happens sometimes.” He handed over the work vest. “I’ll get us off this towhead, and we’ll aim for home. Hold on when I rev the engines in reverse. It could get bumpy.”

  She remembered her back bumping against the high captain’s chair as he took her again and—

  Effie tore open the door and stepped outside. She inhaled a deep breath, filling her head and lungs with river air instead of Ryan’s enticing male scent. She descended the stairs, the heat from the setting sun scorching her skin ... like Ryan’s touch.

  Why couldn’t she let it go? Forget his scent and his touch. Think afterglow! Think about something else! Just be satisfied! She was not satisfied!

  The tug steamed up river, and she stood at the bow as the wind blew through her hair and the setting sun streaked the sky. Okay, she could concentrate on those things . . . until she looked up at the wheelhouse. Thank the Lord she was leaving tomorrow because here on the Mississippi, Ryan O’Fallon, hunky riverboat captain and astonishing sex partner, was totally and completely irresistible, and no afterglow in the world could change that.

  What she had to do was figure out how to live with it.

  The tug chugged on, rounded another bend. The sun was dipping below the horizon as she spotted O’Fallon’s Landing. Back to the real world of work and family and responsibilities.

  Was that Rory and Max on shore with the stroller? She returned Rory’s wave as the tug neared the dock, then kissed the pilings as the engine died. She tossed Rory the ropes, or lines as they said on the river, and he slipped the loops over some big metal knob-looking things used to keep the tug in place.

  Rory helped her off the boat, and she said, “Are you the official welcoming committee?”

  “It’s how I get Bonnie to sleep. I bring her down to the river, we listen to the tugs—I think she knows the difference between a line hauler and a lunch bucket now—and she’s out like a light. How’d you and the river get along?”

  She thought about how she’d felt when she got on the tug and how she felt now. More colors swept the sky in the last throes of sunset. “It’s really beautiful out there.” And she meant it, every single word.

  “The river’s not always like that,” Rory offered. “Can kick up one hell of a storm.”

  She bent down and scratched Max behind the ears and took a peak at Bonnie, her little blue eyes half closed.

  Rory turned to Ryan as he came onto the dock. “What happened to you today? I must have had ten captains telling me you were aground around Rosedale. Thought I sent you there to help the Annabelle off, not get stuck yourself.”

  Ryan raked his fingers through his hair. “It’s been a while since I worked a tow, Dad.”

  “Hogwash. You got river flowing through you just like the rest of the O’Fallons. What did you do, fall asleep at the switch?”

  Ryan’s eyes hardened a fraction. Not that anyone else would notice, but Effie did. She’d worked with him long enough, seen him handle difficult situations and be calm on the outside and know he was steaming inside. For some reason he was in steam mode. He said, “That’s you more than me, Dad. The Landing is your place, not mine.”

  “Actually,” Effie cut in, suddenly feeling bad about running the barge onto the bank and causing words between Ryan and Rory. “It was all my fault we wound up on that sandbar. Ryan asked me to take the stick while he reconnected a plug, and I was watching the shore and not paying attention, and before I knew it, bam. We were stuck.”

  The bam might have been a little over the top, but Rory looked as if h
e bought it. She slipped off her work vest. The evening heat wasn’t much better than the afternoon heat.

  “Seems to me...” Rory countered. Then his voice trailed off as he looked from Effie to Ryan and back again. A slow grin split his face, and he stroked his chin and chuckled softly. “Well, I’ll be. Forget I said anything. My apologies. You two just keep doing whatever you need to be doing. I’ll see you up at the house. Come on, Max.”

  He turned the stroller toward the road, and Ryan called, “What the hell’s that supposed to mean?”

  “It means I want Max to come along just like I said.” Rory chuckled again.

  Effie whispered to Ryan, “He knows! I don’t know how, but he does. We were careful, timed it right. No tows around to see anything. How?”

  Ryan looked at Effie, and his eyes widened a fraction. “Your blouse is on inside out.”

  “So is your shirt.” Their eyes met, and her insides suddenly felt heavy and warm as she thought of the afternoon.

  “Thank heavens you’ll be gone tomorrow.”

  “For sure!” Going to San Diego was her only hope of getting over Ryan. “So now what?”

  “We eat. I’m starved. Sharing one bag lunch didn’t do much for either of us. And then you pack.”

  “I didn’t unpack.” She watched as he swiped his brow dotted with sweat that hadn’t been there a moment ago, and she added, “I’ll get an early flight.”

  ———

  Effie lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling, watching shadows and wishing for sleep. She’d worked on the shopping mall project for a few hours to get her mind off Ryan. When that hadn’t worked she tried reading Huck Finn. After today she could relate to a raft on the Mississippi, but smoking cigars was a new one. She’d have to try that.

  Still not sleepy she counted the ticks of the grandfather clock echoing up the staircase, recited the alphabet backward and thought about her “special place” that she’d learned about in pilates.

  Yeah, well, that might work at the gym, but it sure didn’t work with Ryan sleeping ten feet away. The only special place she could conjure up was the wheelhouse of the Mississippi Miss and having wild, hot, earth-shattering sex with Ryan.

  She remembered his hands on her, his fingers in her, then him in her, every inch of him stretching her, filling her with himself and . . .

  She threw off the sheet and jumped out of bed, her sweaty body suddenly cool in the air-conditioning. She had to get out of here or go loopy. She pulled her gym shoes from her bag. Her nightshirt was good enough covering for two A.M. Besides, she’d packed everything but her traveling clothes.

  She crept down the steps and slid out the front door. Humid air fell like a damp blanket around her, the only relief a slight breeze off the river. Crickets and frogs set up a summer chorus as she made for the flowers by the side. She could think about them instead of Ryan; least that was her plan until Conrad’s Ferrari zoomed into the drive, taking her thoughts there.

  What was Thelma doing out so late with Conrad-the-snake? This was a good time to see how far he’d slithered into Thelma’s life. Effie hunched behind a big concrete urn of impatiens, Max suddenly at her side, the two of them watching as Conrad helped Thelma from the car.

  Chapter 9

  Bodies close and talking the way lovers do, Thelma and Conrad walked toward the porch ‘til Conrad snagged Thelma behind a big oak and kissed her senseless.

  Effie whispered to Max, “I’d say the guy’s a first-class prick for kissing Thelma like that, except she’s enjoying it so much.”

  Max growled.

  “I agree. Thelma in lip-lock with Conrad is not good.” Effie waited ‘til Thelma went inside and the Ferrari zoomed off. Effie patted Max as the engine sound faded away. “Keep watch out here. I’ll see what’s going on inside. If Conrad comes back, bite him.”

  Quietly she let herself in, saw that the kitchen light was on, kicked off her shoes and headed down the hall. With any luck she’d find Thelma and not Rory raiding the fridge and get the lowdown on Conrad.

  “Effie?” Thelma spun around. “What are you doing up?” She held up a glass of juice. “Want some?”

  “Couldn’t sleep. Thought I’d come down and get some of those cookies you baked this afternoon.” She sat at the table.

  “How did you enjoy your first encounter with the Mississippi?”

  “Fun, exciting.” Making love to Ryan O’Fallon incredible. “How was your date with Conrad? Did you enjoy your dinner at the country club?”

  Thelma poured juice for Effie, then snagged the cookie jar off the counter. “Didn’t make it to the club.” She sat at the table and pulled out a macaroon. “You won’t believe this, but instead of eating there we stayed at his house and designed a brick patio.” She laughed and bit into her cookie. “We’re going to do it ourselves. If we wait for the contractors to get around to the job, the summer will be over.”

  Effie stopped her glass halfway to her mouth. “Wait a minute. Conrad Hastings is going to put in ...” She took a sip and swallowed, giving herself time to consider this latest development. “Conrad’s going to dig in the dirt with a shovel? Put down bricks in neat little rows? Get sweaty and hot and messy?”

  Thelma let out another quiet laugh that brightened her whole face, making her look young and in love. Young was fine; the in-love part sucked monkey butts. “I sort of talked him into the patio idea. Tonight we grilled steaks on his daddy’s old grill and had foil-covered baked potatoes. We even toasted marshmallows on sticks for dessert like kids. Do you believe Conrad’s never had s’mores?”

  “Conrad grilled something as in not ordering it off an expensive menu from some restaurant?” Alarm bells jarred Effie’s brain. Guys like Conrad didn’t change, and they didn’t fall in love, except with themselves or somebody who had something they wanted.

  Thelma beamed. “I know.” She clapped her palms to her cheeks. “He truly is a changed man, Effie. For as long as I can remember I thought of Conrad Hastings as an insufferable snob.” She tipped her head as if considering her words. “No, not a snob, closer to an insufferable ass.” She laughed outright and took a bite of cookie. “But he’s so different now. I think he’s matured, not shallow and not so impressed with himself. He’s fun to be with and will do anything to please me.”

  What the hell!

  Thelma looked back to Effie as if suddenly remembering she was there. “I don’t understand how or why this is all happening to me, but Conrad makes me so very happy. He’s sweet and charming and kind and ...” She stifled a yawn. “And he tires me out, and I’m sure you’re tired of me rambling on and on about Conrad Hastings.”

  Thelma popped the rest of the macaroon into her mouth. “I better get to bed. Bonnie will be up at the crack of dawn. Are you still leaving for San Diego tomorrow? You said you had last minute mall plans you forgot about to finish up today.”

  “Sure, tomorrow.”

  “It’s great having you around here.” Thelma put her juice glass in the sink, then came back to Effie and took her hand, holding it between hers. “Girl talk is wonderful. My parents never paid me much mind, mostly wondering where their next drink was coming from. The O’Fallons gave me a live-in nanny job when I graduated high school. Mary, God rest her soul, was busy with the kids, and I was shy, so we didn’t talk all that much. Then she died, and Rory and I raised Ryan, Keefe and Quaid. I’d forgotten what a conversation without work and boats and cars was like. The O’Fallons are manly men through and through.” She winked. “Not that I have to tell you that. See you tomorrow, at least tomorrow morning.”

  Thelma headed for the stairs. Effie froze, the cookie like paste in her mouth. Today I had great sex with Ryan O’Fallon must be tattooed on her forehead. How’d everybody know? The curse of the inside-out blouse, no doubt. Except Thelma hadn’t even been there to witness the blouse incident or been around Rory to have him fill her in on what had happened.

  Effie downed the last of her juice. She was paranoid, that was it. Not ever
yone on the Landing knew or even cared about her and Ryan’s sex life. Well, not exactly sex life so much as a sex encounter. She had to get over it, and the best place to do that was in San Diego, far, far away from here.

  But what about the Thelma-Conrad issue? It had gone from curiosity to swept off her feet. Not good with someone like Conrad. Thelma was a grown woman and, like Ryan said, very capable of making her own decisions.

  But was she really? Especially when it came to this man. He was snowing her like a blizzard in the Rockies, and Thelma didn’t have a Dearborn and Emmerson in her past to make her the wiser. “Damn. Now what?”

  Effie headed for Ryan’s room. She’d have to tell him what was going on with Thelma and Conrad and bequeath the Save Thelma Campaign to him.

  Quietly she turned the doorknob of his bedroom and tip-toed to the side of his bed. A sheet covered him from the waist down, his naked back bathed in creamy white moonlight. She hadn’t counted on this. Don’t look!

  “Ryan,” she whispered, her eyes shut. “Wake up. I need to talk, just talk, so don’t get any ideas.”

  He didn’t move. “It’s the middle of the night. The only idea I have is sleep. You should try it.”

  One eye cheated, and she studied his broad bare shoulders, firm smooth back that tapered to his waist, a hint of ass showing above the sheet. She swallowed. That man had such a fine ass, and here it was inches away just waiting for her touch. Her fingers itched. No looking and no touching. “This is important. Screw sleep.”

  “I’d rather screw you.”

  Both her eyes flew open as he snagged her around the thighs, and she swallowed a yelp as he toppled her onto his chest. She was nose to nose with him, his eyes dark as midnight, his lips a breath away. “What are you doing?”

  “I want you.”

  “No, you don’t. You said you were over me. That you were cured. That men don’t need afterglow. And I’m leaving tomorrow. All’s well. You said your only idea was sleep.”