Whirlwind Romance: 10 Short Love Stories

by Alicia Hunter Pace

  She glanced over as Ray made another sound “I’m so sor—”

  He stopped her with a raised hand. “If Ray’s determined to get something, he’ll get into it. This isn’t the first time he’s eaten something that made him sick. I don’t know if you could’ve dragged him away if you tried, so please, stop torturing yourself.”

  She stopped pushing the food around her plate. “I don’t know how you can be so incredibly Zen about it,” she said, softly, “it’s obvious you love those dogs.”

  He smiled at her. “Zen. That’s a funny way to describe me, given my history.”

  She cocked her head “Oh? Why’s that?”

  A tiny frown furrowed his brow. “Asher sent you here, yes?”

  “Yeah.”

  “So you know my story.”

  She shook her head. “No. I’ve been trying to figure out how you know him. I can’t imagine he knows too many farmers.”

  His expression hardened. “I haven’t always been a farmer. I know Asher because I produced a few Spade albums. I’m Nathaniel Robbins,” he said, carefully.

  Shock widened her eyes and she dropped her fork. Nathaniel Robbins? As a legendary guitarist for half a dozen bands and record producer, the man had worked intensively with all the biggest artists behind the scenes and in the studio. He was responsible for the sound of a generation of music—her music. Then he’d had some major meltdown. She searched her memory banks. Was he the producer that had flipped out and been incarcerated for some kind of violent attack? Jesus. What had Asher sent her into? She gulped and before she could stop herself, Ava blurted, “Weren’t you in prison for assault?”

  • • •

  He pushed his plate away, sickened that his name provoked that expression of fear mingled with shock so evident on her face. For years, his reputation inspired curiosity, respect, even reverence among his peers. Since his breakdown, however, his name was viewed with fear, disgust, or worse—a kind of titillated fascination. “Not in jail. And not assault.” That was one urban myth that refused to die. “Unless you can commit assault on a sound studio—that I did. I was institutionalized—hospitalized, briefly.” He waved his fork.

  “Should that reassure me?” Her back was stiff, shoulders pressed against the wood backing of the chair.

  A bitter laugh escaped him. “Maybe not, but I’m harmless and sane—now at any rate.”

  She sat back in her chair. “I’m sorry. But … but that’s good, right? I mean, weren’t you pretty out of control with the drugs and stuff—at least, that’s what I think I read.”

  “I was self-medicating some issues. I’m sober now.” Even after five years it was uncomfortable to say the words to a stranger. It was hard to admit his brain chemistry was so severely fucked up that he needed daily doses of medication to keep the mania at bay. But he didn’t regret it, not for one minute. His life had been a horror show, without peace or hope. He’d spent weeks that he could barely remember in bed curled up in the fetal position. But he’d gotten his shit together, made a normal life for himself. Or at least, this was as close to normal as he was ever going to get.

  “Asher didn’t tell you?”

  She shook her head. “He gave me the name of your farm, that was it.”

  “Good old Asher,” he said, affectionately.

  She choked on her water. “He’s a manipulative son-of-a-bitch.”

  Nate smiled and lifted his glass. “That too. So, what’s your story?”

  “I own a small company that contracts with non-profits to do fundraising events in Los Angeles,” she waved her fork, “I live in Santa Monica.”

  “What kind of events?”

  “I do Asher’s fundraiser—”

  “Ah, the Arthritis one? That’s huge.”

  She nodded. “Yep. It’s one of our biggest but we have two dozen annual events.”

  “And you like it?”

  Do I?

  “Yes,” she said, haltingly.

  “There’s a ‘but’ in there.”

  She lifted her head to find him watching her with those intense, intelligent eyes.

  “I started off small time, you know? In a beach town doing weddings and races for charity and the like. Then my friend, Kate, met up with this guy, Alec Sawyer—.”

  “The guitarist who was with Reeking Bliss?”

  She nodded.

  “I know him. Good guy. Great musician. He still sober?”

  “Yes. Through him I met Asher and moved to L.A.. Asher helped me get set up.”

  His expression turned stony.

  Her brow furrowed, then she laughed and put up a hand. “No, no. Not like that. Asher and I are not…we weren’t together. He’s just a friend and colleague.”

  His expression cleared at her explanation. “Oh. So where’s the problem? Independence, satisfying work—sounds rewarding.”

  “Thanks. Yeah, it’s great, but,” she met his sympathetic eyes, “the job has swallowed up everything else. I have no time for my friends or family anymore, I rarely date. It kills me to say no to groups who are doing so much good in the world, you know? So I keep saying yes and I’ve become a victim of my own success,” she said, glumly.

  “Ah. That I might know a little something about,” he said with a wry grin.

  “Yeah?”

  “Oh yeah. But my motivations were a lot less noble. I traded in everything—friends, and health, you name it, for my ego, legacy, artistic vision, whatever you call it. I thought I was the only one capable of eliciting a certain sound from a particular group and rarely turned down bands I wanted to produce. Work disconnected me from everything that mattered.” He looked pensive, as though he was remembering, then shook his head dismissively. “Not that things are that extreme in your case, of course.”

  “No,” she said, softly, “I’m afraid that’s exactly where I’m headed.”

  His measured gaze captured hers, empathy and something more in its depths, and she stared back, a heartbeat too long. Awareness coiled through Ava and left her tense, unnerved and intrigued by the intensity in his dark eyes.

  • • •

  They had just finished clearing the table when Ray made a sound from his bed near the couch. Nate went to check on him and Ava followed. “He’s okay. Asleep. Knocked out and snoring.”

  She shifted, suddenly very aware of how alone they were in this quiet farmhouse. “So, I guess I should probably call a tow truck.”

  “Garage’s closed by now.”

  Of course it was. This day just kept getting better. How long would she be stuck out here in Podunkville? “Can we get the car fixed tomorrow?”

  “Fixed? No. They don’t work on weekends around here and that could be a big job. But we can get it towed Monday. I’d say it’ll be ready Wednesday.”

  She moaned. “Are there rental places?”

  “I could drive you out—there might be one a few towns away, but Ray—”

  “No, no. You can’t take me if Ray is … ” Ava trailed off. She couldn’t recall seeing any motels in walking distance, and with no shoes … “Would you mind putting me up for the night?”

  “No, I’ve got plenty of room. I already asked Doc to let Marty—that’s the better of the two mechanics in town—know you’d need a tow and repairs. We’ll figure it out.”

  Ava sat silently next to him. “I don’t know how you can ever forgive me,” she whispered.

  “There’s nothing to forgive.”

  She stared down at the dog, miserable. “But what if he gets worse? I heard you tell the vet you’d put him down.”

  Nate rubbed his chin. “I don’t want him to suffer, but I don’t think it’ll come to that, and if it did, I don’t blame you.” Ava sighed, her eyes still glued to where Ray was curled up. Then Nate reached over and lifted her chin with one long finger. “Look at me.”

  She searched his serious eyes.

  “Ray doesn’t blame you and neither do I. It’s just one of those things.” He leaned closer, his mouth now but a few br
eaths away. “Let it go, Ava.”

  The low growl of his command made her stomach flip. Her gaze locked with his, the air suddenly shifting, becoming charged around them. God. It had been so long. So long since she’d connected with anyone in any way. So long since she’d been touched, kissed, desired. And judging by the longing suddenly sketched into the sharp planes of his face, he desired her too. His eyes were sharp, focused with an almost intimidating intensity. Maybe she could have this, with him, just once. She leaned forward, into the heat of him.

  Nate’s head bent and he captured her lips. Her stomach clenched and the overwhelming ache of arousal swept through her.

  Her lips met his again and again; she reached out, pushing at his chest until they backed against the couch. Ava pushed him down to sit, and then she was straddling him.

  He thrust his tongue into her mouth, ravaged her, and she gasped. It was hot and hard and out of control. She urged him on, running her hands through his thick, soft hair, gripping the back of his head.

  His mouth caught her moans, and those deft fingers found the button on her jeans and unzipped her. She rubbed herself against the thickness of his erection, trapped against his thigh, straining against his jeans. She struggled to release him from the confines of his pants, her mouth glued to his.

  His free hand went under her shirt to her breast, freeing it through the fabric of her bra. He stripped her shirt off in one motion.

  She retaliated, wrestling his off. She closed her eyes as his lips left hers to trail down her throat, to her collarbone, licking and sucking his way to the pebbled nipple. He sucked the peak into his mouth so hard it was almost painful. She moaned and locked his head to her with her arm.

  His hands went to her hips to grind her harder against the hot strength of his arousal, his mouth still torturing her nipple.

  His hand found its way inside her unzipped jeans and delved into her soaked cotton panties. One long finger stroked her seam and she pushed her hips mindlessly, bucking into his hand, frantic. He stroked her with expert fingers, round and round, his mouth moving back up to capture the panting gasping sounds she was making as she rocked on his hand.

  Her legs went numb and she realized with a dazed disbelief that she was about to come. Ava stiffened, her back arched, and she came with a long, hoarse cry. She collapsed against him, panting.

  She swam back up to awareness, flushed and tense with mortification. He lifted her chin and she met his intense gaze, the planes of his face sharply defined by desire.

  His body was immobile, but she could still feel him pressed against her, still fully aroused. She shifted around and reached into his unzipped jeans. He raised his hips and she freed him, wrapping her hand around his throbbing thickness. He was huge and hot. She stroked him, tentatively, and he gasped out “Ava,” surging into her hand.

  He raised his head and she gasped at the look in his intense, heated gaze, his deadly serious flushed face.

  “Ava,” he whispered again.

  Her mouth went dry.

  He growled low in his throat and lurched into her hands, both of them now wrapped around him. She licked her lips, gazing down at his thick, throbbing cock. Slowly, without breaking eye contact she slid off of him, off the couch, onto her knees. He was shaking his head no, but his passion-glazed eyes were desperate.

  She yanked his hips closer to the edge of the couch and her eager mouth. It wasn’t that she hadn’t done this before, it was that she’d never enjoyed it so much and she’d never, ever, felt so in control, so powerful. There was something so raw about him, about the experience, yet there was no shame or embarrassment.

  The now slick tip of his turgid flesh pressed against her lips. Slowly, so slowly, his eyes tracking her every move, she took as much of him as deep into her mouth as she could. He closed his eyes and let out a sound of anguish. His large hand held her hair back from her face, his gentle grip at odds with the strangled sounds he was emitting, indicating the end was near. He tried to pull her away, to prevent her from taking all of him, but she manacled his wrists as best she could with her hands, holding them away, her lips and tongue urging him on until he came with a hoarse shout.

  • • •

  Nate made a conscious effort to slow his breathing.

  What the hell had just happened?

  More importantly, what the hell was he going to do now? He rubbed a hand over his eyes. When he opened them, she was looking up at him, face flushed, expression unreadable.

  He didn’t want to make things worse by saying the wrong thing and he was pretty sure that expressing shock and/or gratitude qualified as the wrong thing, so he stood and hiked up his jeans, pulled Ava to her feet and took her up in his arms. He brushed a kiss on the top of her head and led her up the stairs.

  He got her a toothbrush, a travel-sized tube of toothpaste, a bar of soap and a towel out of the linen closet. “I’ve got … some things to check on,” he said, shuffling his feet.

  “Oh, okay. I’ll just…” Ava gestured to the guest bathroom.

  He nodded, distracted, as he backed away. Where had he put the damn condoms? He entered the master bathroom and rifled through the toiletries in the cabinet and under the sink with something approaching desperation. Nothing. He checked again. Shit. They had to be here somewhere. Wait. Had he even unpacked them? Probably not. He hadn’t been that optimistic. There were still a few taped up boxes from when he’d moved in stacked in the guest room closet.

  He moved quickly down the hall. She was still in the bathroom. Good.

  • • •

  Ava brushed her teeth and rinsed her mouth. Now it was awkward. Did he not want to sleep with her? After what they’d done downstairs? God, this was confusing. She perched on the edge of the tub, staring into space. Standing, she peered out the window. Maybe he was taking care of the animals? She heard him outside the door, the wooden floor creaking and she froze. He must’ve entered the guest room.

  Minutes later she heard him walking back down the hall, then the sound of water through the pipes in the old house. She opened the door. The guestroom door was open and the bed made. So that’s what he’d been doing. She frowned. Was she supposed to sleep in there? She crept down the hall and heard the shower running.

  Be bold, Ava. After what happened downstairs, do you really think he’ll reject you?

  She entered the master bedroom, where a massive king sized bed took up most of the room. She spent an inordinate amount of time studying the dreamy pastel abstract painting on the opposite wall. Spotting a bedside table stacked with books, she rifled through them.

  She stared down at the book in her hands. Temple Grandin’s Animals in Translation. Surely, the fact that he was reading one of her favorite books was a sign?

  She stripped, opened the bathroom door, and stepped through. Steeling herself, she drew back the curtain. He was leaning against the tile wall as the water pulsed down on his huge, hard body; his head turned to look at her, hot longing in his eyes. She smiled, stepped in, and took the soap out of his hand.

  Ten minutes later, without the benefit of towels, they staggered out of the bedroom, soaking wet. He tossed her up on the bed and reached into his bedside table, pulling out a small box of condoms.

  “I was in a panic searching for these,” he admitted.

  “Oh,” she said as the light dawned “That’s the thing you had to do?”

  He looked sheepish. “Yeah, that and I didn’t want to assume—”

  She interrupted, laughing. “God forbid you should assume anything after what we did downstairs.”

  “Yeah, well,” he handed her the three-pack. “The good news is I have them. The bad news is they’ve been around so long they’re expired.”

  “I didn’t know they could expire.”

  “I guess it’s about four years, ‘cause that’s how long ago I bought them.”

  “And you haven’t used them?” she said, uncertainly.

  “Nope.”

  She bit her lip. “Are y
ou telling me it’s been four years—?”

  “Closer to five,” he admitted.

  “Good God,” she breathed.

  “Pretty much,” he replied, drily.

  She examined the package, desire warring momentarily with common sense … until it won out. “Well … they’re barely expired.”

  He grinned. “Somehow I knew that’s what you’d say.”

  She pushed back the heavy down comforter and sat on the edge of the bed while he stood over her, watching, his chest heaving as she tore open the packet, pulled out the rubber disc. She took him in her hand and he grunted. She cupped his balls, already taut against his body, and put her mouth on him.

  He backed up a step as a shudder ripped through him and said hoarsely, “Whoa. I can’t … don’t do that, I’m barely hanging on just looking at you.”

  She met his intense green gaze, rolled the condom on and he pushed her back on the bed, into the soft, cold white sheets. She shivered, though whether from nerves, excitement, or the chill in the room, she couldn’t have said. “You feel so good,” she murmured, her hands stroking his huge body shoulder to thigh, lingering to yank his hips hard against her. There was so much of him, and he radiated heat like a woodstove.

  He pressed his mouth to her, holding his body above her with his hands on the bed. She arched and moaned beneath him, wanting the press of his flesh against hers. He rolled off to the side and stroked one shaking hand down the front of her body—stopping to cup one breast and toy with her nipple, rolling it between his fingers, his eyes half shut with arousal.

  She bit her lip, holding back a moan.

  Never breaking eye contact, he ran the wide palm of his hand down over her stomach as her muscles there twitched and fluttered. He slipped his hand over her and used the wide palm of his hand to rub her, sliding one finger into her; her body clenched around it and he drew in a sharp breath at her gasp. Another finger joined the first as his thumb circled her.

  “I know you want to take it slow,” she gasped out, “but let’s do that next time. I want you inside me ... Please Nate.”

  She stared up into his face, memorizing every line, the skin stretched taut with pleasure, his cheekbones flushed.