At least, once word reached back East, her parents would keep their word and never bother her again. She hesitated, waiting for the regret any decent daughter would feel, but it didn’t come.
Maybe instead of applying for dancing girl, she should jump right to fallen woman.
Clearly she had no morals to lose.
Felicity turned into her driveway Monday night and struggled not to look at his house. It didn’t matter if John had returned or not. How did his comings and goings affect her life? They’d had one special night together and instead of being angry she should take it for what it was and be grateful he’d reawakened her from the long darkness after Pierre’s death.
She headed into the house and left her keys and jacket in the hallway before hitting the button on her answering machine.
“Felicity, this is Eric. I find myself in possession of two tickets to the ballet on Wednesday. I know it’s short notice, but I won them in a charity auction and they just arrived. I remember you once mentioned you enjoyed ballet, and it’s a Russian company with quite an excellent reputation, so clear your schedule and we can attend the production and then enjoy dinner at Le Chat. I’ll pick you up at seven.”
The sharp beep startled her, and she stared at the machine. Eric usually called her cell or emailed. Somehow her landline seemed so much more serious. Formal. Foreboding.
How silly.
She loved the ballet.
And Pierre and she had dined at Le Chat many times. She had not been since he died, but his absence should not stop her from going to her favorite restaurant. He had made her promise with his last breath not to give up living after he passed.
She’d promised through a blur of tears, but she’d never intended to follow through on the vow. Still… perhaps she took a step in the right direction.
“Pierre, you old goat,” she said, shaking her fist at the ceiling, “give me a sign. If you think I should go out with Eric, do something… make the lights flicker or levitate something.
She waited and nothing happened. With a sigh, Felicity decided to go make some ramen for dinner and trudged toward the kitchen. As she passed the window facing John’s house, she glanced out. From the almost clear night sky, lightning flashed, thunder roared, and rain flooded down.
A sign?
She returned to the phone and hit redial. Eric’s machine picked up, and she spoke before she could stop herself. “Thank you for such a lovely invitation. I will see you on Wednesday at seven.” Hanging up, Felicity pulled the drapes closed to shut out the weather and the house beyond. “Good-bye, John, and thank you.” Pierre had always known what was best for her.
John shifted in his seat as he approached the outskirts of Corbin’s Bend. Riding in a truck for so many hours made his back ache. He never minded the soreness after a day in the saddle, but those days were gone for good. And he hadn’t usually had to wrangle an uncooperative mare into an unfamiliar stable. Thunder had not been as happy to see him as Lighting. Stupid horse. Didn’t know what was good for her.
Unable to resist, he’d stopped on his way back long enough to get a look at the ranch where he’d spent most of his life, and he wished he’d kept to the highway. He’d never have recognized it if he hadn’t seen the sign still over the gate. The stables had been replaced with a giant steel barnlike structure from which trucks and ATVs and farm equipment streamed and the ranch house… gone.
The bastards tore it down. Replaced it with a smaller steel building holding who knew what. Probably hormones and chemical feed.
All the warm nights gathered around the table faded to a memory he’d never be able to regain. He’d known the place would change, that his time with the Circle X had ended, but the visual made it real.
His life in Texas was over. Friends, ranch family… Mrs. Carson’s delicious cooking. Condensed to the notebook in his Corbin’s Bend kitchen. Only Big Steve’s email updates on her health kept him in touch with them at all. Even Cooky had settled in with his daughter and her family and seemed to have moved on.
The wipers swiped back and forth, unable to keep up with the sudden downpour. A streak of lightning seemed to point at his home. Or maybe at Felicity’s.
At the thought of her, his heart lightened a little. He’d left the past behind, but his pretty neighbor represented the future. He hoped she wasn’t too disappointed he’d taken off after their night together, but she’d soon learn a cowboy and his horse were an inseparable team.
Splashing through the gutter at the base of his driveway, he parked and glanced over at her home, torn between going inside his and going over to claim a welcome home kiss and maybe warm her bottom to cheer them both up. A smile curled the corners of his lips at the thought, but with no lights showing in her living room windows, it would be irresponsible to wake her. A doctor’s unpredictable schedule could cost her sleep, and he didn’t want to keep her up when who knew when she’d last had a good rest.
Tomorrow, he’d make something from Mrs. Carson’s cookbook and lure her over for a good meal. He had plenty to do in the morning, but he had chicken and the makings for dumplings thanks to his shopping trip the week before and he could simmer the goodness in the slow cooker all day long. He’d see her tomorrow.
A gentleman would never wake a lady so late.
Mrs. Carson, a woman he’d come to see as more of a mother than the one who raised him, would never approve of his pausing in his own doorway, turning around and heading straight to her front step.
Or his knocking. Softly. Three times.
If she didn’t answer, he would assume she slept and return home to his nice comfy empty bed. Maybe a little harder knock would be all right. Or two. But not the bell. If it was as loud as his, it could wake the dead, much less a sleeping physician.
Did she sleep in the nude?
He dropped his hand to his side and clenched it. Still no light showed through the front window, and, with a pang, he realized she might not be at home already in bed. Sure, he’d skirted her car on his way to her door. But Felicity might very well be out for the evening.
Or the night.
Brinngg. Bringgg.
Fuck gentlemanly. Mrs. Carson often claimed the hands—including him—wouldn’t know a manner if it hit them in the head.
As his heart thudded in his ears, a light flicked on at the back of the house and he drew a full breath. Soft footsteps preceded Felicity, in a thigh-length football jersey and knee socks padding into the living room. She paused before approaching the door and he hoped she wouldn’t call someone and report a prowler before she saw him, or maybe even after she did.
It was late and no matter how good, they’d only had one evening together.
But, no, she peeked out the window and then disappeared.
A long moment passed while he wondered if she’d decided to go back to bed. He’d hoped to see her eyes light up when she saw him, but her expression hadn’t changed at all. Of course he’d only had a brief glance.
As he’d decided to go home and stop by in the morning, the door jerked open and his dark-haired neighbor faced him. No delight brightened her face; no smile curved her lips. What on earth had he done to upset her so? Did she regret their evening? Had he been too pushy with the spanking? She’d seemed eager to continue.
“Good evening, Felicity.”
“John.” Icicles dripped from the single word. He must have screwed up big time. But how?
“I wanted to let you know I got home.”
“Fine, thanks.” She started to close the door and he grabbed for it, holding it in place. She released it but tapped a foot. “It’s quite late.”
“Felicity, did I do something to make you hate me? I thought we had a nice time and I… well, shoot, I missed you, and I wanted to tell you how my trip turned out.”
Her head tilted and a tiny frown line crinkled between her brows. “Trip?”
Taking her arm, he guided her into the living room. No sense in standing out in the cold for nosy neighbors to hea
r every word they said. Besides, he planned to kiss her in a moment and for sure he didn’t want to do that out on the stoop, under her bright porch light, in the middle of the night. “It was a lot of highway miles, but I got back as quickly as I could.” He winked. “We seem to keep getting interrupted, pretty lady.”
Felicity didn’t fight him as he led her toward the couch and sat, tugging her down next to him. She wasn’t enthusiastic, either, but he’d take what she allowed him until he got some answers.
“Felicity, what’s wrong? Last time we were on a couch, things were much warmer. In fact, I seem to recall warming your bottom but good. If I don’t get some answers pretty quick on why you’ve changed your mind, I might have to do it again to encourage you.”
She leaned away from him, but her eyes sparked before she could hide the reaction. At least she wasn’t disinterested.
“No, John, we aren’t close enough for you to warm any part of me. I thought we did have at least the very beginnings of an understanding, but then you head out on a trip when we had plans and don’t let me know at all.” A flush colored her cheeks and disappeared into the neckline of the jersey, which had ridden up to show just about all of those long, shapely thighs. The knee socks outlined her calves and somehow were way too sexy to ignore. “What was so important you had to go without even the courtesy of leaving a message?”
But what she’d said sank in. “I left a message.”
“I have a machine. Nobody else has trouble using it.” Sass. His palm itched.
“You might recall you did not give me your phone number. Not for your home or cell phone.”
“Then how, may I ask, did you intend me to find out your plans? You could have left a note on the door… but you didn’t, did you?”
He struggled for calm. “No, I didn’t. I called the hospital.”
“I got home after nine, and I… you what?”
John sat straight and looked her in the eye. “I called your place of employment and was assured you would be told I called and had to leave town on an emergency trip. I even told them why.” Reaching out, he lifted her chin and held it tight.
“Nobody gave me the message.”
“I see.” He held her in place, playing his own card. “So when you returned home at nine the next night, had you attempted to call me and let me know you couldn’t make our date?”
She blinked. “No, I was… I was tired and never…”
“And you didn’t have my phone number, did you?”
She shook her head, left to right and back again.
“Therefore, when you returned home, you were very sorry and wanted to let me know you regretted missing our appointment?”
Chapter 7
Earl tossed back his third whiskey of the afternoon, glad not to see Audrey in the environs of the saloon. Perhaps she’d seen reason and planned to leave on the next train. His brother would be delighted to see her for any number of reasons. She was lovely, with her glorious hair and pale skin even the Western sun had not touched. She was intelligent and would make a perfect wife, hosting society parties and providing perfect children to carry on the family name.
But, mostly, Royal would take pleasure in possessing something—someone—his brother treasured above all others. The man had everything he could desire. He’d inherit it all when Father died because if Earl hadn’t been cut out of the will by now, he would be soon. Father wouldn’t leave his heavy furnishings, his properties, his wealth to the son who defied him at every turn.
Did Royal love Audrey? Maybe not, but he’d take care of her, treat her well, give her anything she desired. Earl’s love couldn’t buy her jewels and dresses. She’d be stuck in a foreman’s cabin at best, wearing calico and buying one new bonnet a year.
Royal would give their children a fine education and what could Earl give them? A few years in a one-room schoolhouse and a life on the frontier? If she even survived childbirth—in Boston she’d be attended by the finest midwives and, if necessary, physicians. He waved the bartender over and took the bottle, hoping to find the bottom of it and the oblivion dwelling there. But as he lifted his eyes to the mirror behind the bar, his world crashed.
Audrey stood in the doorway, speaking to a man who pointed toward the back of the room. What the devil! He shoved to his feet, sending the barstool flying as he spun to march across the room and get to her before she did something they’d both regret.
He called their date an appointment now? Felicity cringed. She’d been so angry for so long and he’d… “How do I know you called the hospital?” His face darkened and she regretted her outburst. Things were getting ugly fast, and when remembering their evening together, she regretted the turn they’d taken. “Never mind. I believe you.”
“But when you got home late, having missed our date… were you sorry?”
At least he referred to it as a date again. “I was tired, very tired. Then I saw your house, dark and empty, and your truck gone, and I guess I got mad.”
His eyes softening, he tugged her closer and cupped the back of her head in his big palm. “Pretty lady, did you think I’d gone out with someone else because you were a little late? Do I look fickle?” He chuckled. “Never mind. This conversation has gotten off on the wrong foot. Shall we try again?”
Heat raced through her as she took in his face in the shadowy living room. The hallway light reflected off its planes and valleys and she lifted a hand to touch the scruff on his cheeks and chin. Was it sandy, matching the rest of his hair, or shot through with gray. Many men had a gray beard long before age showed itself on the top of their head. The roughness scraped her palm, sending shivers up her arm and straight to her core.
How had she ever thought she could do without him? Her heart raced at the realization she teetered on the edge of a cliff so high, if she fell off, she’d never survive. Imaginary pebbles skittered under her feet, tumbling ahead of her to the bottom as she forgot about falling and leapt.
“Let’s skip the conversation and get right to the good stuff.”
Tangling her fingers in his hair, she dragged him down and crushed her mouth to his. Firm lips parted, allowing her tongue between to explore the warmth inside. She traced his teeth and touched his tongue, stroking it with hers. It felt like an eternity since their single evening together, but their connection surpassed anything she’d ever experienced. The past floated away, replaced by the intense present.
She’d been dead for so long, afraid to feel, afraid to experience, and he’d wrenched her from a cold crypt and breathed life back into her lungs until she lived again, her heart thudded again, pounding in her ears. She rose on tiptoe, her nipples tightening on contact with his body, the layers of fabric between them an irritation she wanted gone as soon as possible. But their kiss held her captive, her exploration of his mouth a world unto itself. His unique flavor set her taste buds on fire.
As her knees wobbled, strong hands clamped at her waist steadying her. Tall, thin, wiry, and although not fresh from a shower, the faint scent of perspiration was overwhelmed by the leather, manly scent she associated with him. He must have just returned from wherever he’d been. And come right to her.
Releasing his hair, she twined her arms around his neck and held on as he took control of their kiss and she submitted, with no desire to fight him. His tongue drove inside her mouth and twined with hers in a masterful play, dizzying and sublime. How long had she had to take charge of not only her patients and her job but every aspect of her own life?
With no help and no support.
And no touching. God, how had she survived without anything but the occasional hug from a friend? Eyes closed tight, she held on for dear life as he ravaged her mouth until she had no breath left and darkness began to fuzz around the edges of her vision. Just as she feared she’d pass out from lack of oxygen he broke away and scooped her up with a hand under her knees. “Bedroom?”
She jerked her head toward the doorway she’d come from and buried her face in his chest, a
shirt button digging into her cheek. Yes, the bedroom. Take me there now and do anything to me. She hadn’t said it aloud, was not so bold, but prayed he would be. He strode into her bedroom and she had a fast, momentary cringe. Unlike her living room, the bedroom was less than tidy. The maid came on Tuesday. But if a few shoes tossed around and a little dust could drive him away, he was not anywhere near as turned on as she was.
Dropping her onto the bed, he stepped back and gave her a lascivious grin. “Anything under your jersey?”
“Other than the knee socks?” She swallowed at the heat in his eyes. “Umm… no.”
“Then I guess you don’t have to strip for me quite yet.” He sat down on the edge and patted his lap. “I kind of like the socks.”
Felicity bit her lip. “I get cold feet in bed at night.”
“If I stay over, you can warm them on me, but right now, I want to warm something else.” He patted his lap again.
Fluid dampened her thighs. “Is… I mean, what did I do wrong?”
“I’d say you didn’t trust me, but we haven’t known each other very long, so I won’t punish you for that.” John’s smile tightened. “But if I have to ask you to get over my lap a third time, this might go from pleasure to punishment. It’s up to you.”
Felicity scrambled to lie over his thighs, heart beating so hard she feared cardiac arrest. How could this man, almost a stranger to her, get all her juices—both figurative and literal—going with a word? His Wranglers were rough against her upper thighs, and she balanced with fingertips on the floor.
“Lift a little,” he said, and when she complied, he folded her jersey to the middle of her back. “Sweet bottom, but too white. Not a sign of our play the other night. I need to fix that.”
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