Life Is A Beach / A Real-thing Fling

by Pamela Browning

  “Open your eyes, Karma.” His command came as a surprise, but she obeyed it. Slade’s face was so close that she could have reached out and flicked his lips with the tip of her tongue. A crazy notion, one that she should ignore. But the funny thing was, she found herself doing it. Without thinking about it, without even knowing why she did it, she slid her tongue out of her mouth and touched it daintily to his lower lip.

  “Oh, Karma,” he said, and while she was still regretting this ridiculous thing she had just done, wishing she could scratch her neck, wishing she didn’t always ruin everything by doing something stupid, he folded her into his arms.

  He was undone by her, by her simple sensuality. Through the familiar scents of stable, of horses, of hay and feed and saddle leather, of rain and green growing things, Slade could only smell the fresh sweet scent of Karma, and it was the scent of a woman who was ripe and ready for love. The quiet involuntary moan in the back of her throat let him know that she liked this, that she wanted it. He had known that, of course. He really did believe he knew what she was thinking. Right now, for instance, she was wishing he’d nuzzle her neck, and so he did. He let his lips roam upward to the curve of her jaw, to her lips.

  She didn’t realize that she was kissing him back until her arms went around him, urging him closer. He smelled of soap, and sunshine, and of his own undefinable scent—something woodsy, leathery and a little bit dangerous. His hands came up and slid the straps of her sundress of her shoulders. The fabric fell away, and then his palms were reverently cupped around her breasts, lifting their weight, his thumbs caressing her nipples.

  Her pulse beat in her ears, and it said, “Yes, yes, yes,” all the while her common sense was telling her no. She wavered, knowing that this was not the proper time or place for making love, except that at the moment any time or place seemed right.

  Slade dipped his head to kiss one breast, then the other. “Karma,” he said. “Oh, Karma.” His breath seared her nipples, made them hard. She went giddy with the sheer voluptuousness of her body, with the knowledge that he could have her here and now, right up against the wall. If she’d let him. If she said yes.

  She clutched at her dress, pulled it up.

  “Slade, we should go back in. The rain’s letting up.”

  He brushed her hands aside so that the fabric fell down again. “Not yet.”

  She swallowed and made herself think. It wasn’t easy, not with his hands working sweet magic upon her body, his words wrapping themselves around her mind and tangling with her resolve. “I told you how I feel about making love in your parents’ house, and I won’t go sneaking around.”

  “What if I told you that they wouldn’t mind?”

  “I would mind.”

  “Do you mind this? And this?” He nipped at one nipple, tweaked the other.

  “No,” she said, making it a moan deep in her throat. Her hair fell out of the scrunchie and lay hot against her neck.

  He chuckled. “That was the kind of ‘no’ that I can live with,” he said. He straightened, and to his surprise, she said meekly, “Could you—could you kiss my neck again, please?” A watery sun peeked out from behind the clouds; the rain had stopped, and the only sound was the dripping of water from the roof.

  “Your neck?”

  “It—it itches,” she said, and at that he laughed out loud. He lifted her hair and buried his face in her neck, playfully rubbed his late-day beard growth against the tender, soft skin from her temple to her jaw, nibbled lightly and felt her answering pulse beating against his lips.

  His impulse was to sweep her into his arms and carry her into an empty stall, making a saddle blanket their bed. But, “That’s quite enough, thank you,” she said into his hair.

  He couldn’t help laughing as he held her away from him, willing his body to subside. She jerked the shoulder straps of her dress up and smoothed the wrinkles out of the bodice.

  “Anything else you want? Anything else you need?” He knew what he needed, knew that she could supply it as no one else could.

  “A kiss before dinner,” she said with a certain primness that only made him wild for her.

  “Just one?” He liked teasing her, liked the consternation that always flitted across her features during the split second during which she tried to figure out if he was serious or not.

  “Maybe two.”

  “And after dinner? My parents go to bed really early.”

  “We’ll see,” she said, lifting her lips to his.

  He grasped one of her hands and moved it lower until her fingers touched the hardness beneath his jeans. “I want more than a kiss,” he said, his voice gone rough and husky. She didn’t pull her hand away, and he felt himself throbbing against her palm. She felt it, too. There was no way she could not.

  “Oh,” she said as if surprised. “Oh.” But she didn’t remove her hand.

  He kissed her then as she had asked him to do, a warm, deep, velvety kiss, a kiss that made him dizzy, made the world disappear, made him weak in the knees and overwhelmed by desire for her body, all of it.

  But it was more than a kiss. It was a promise of things to come.

  And he felt that promise in her kiss, too.

  “SO,” SAID NORTON AT DINNER as he passed the hearts-of-palm salad. “I hear you’re going riding tomorrow.”

  It was a scene of normality that surpassed surreal in the aftermath of what had happened earlier in the barn. Karma, still off balance, had no idea how Norton knew about their plans. “Well,” she said, buying time as she dished salad into the bowl beside her plate, “I haven’t ridden a horse since I was a kid.”

  “She’s going to ride Millie,” Slade said.

  “Are you sure you don’t want to ride my Harley? Take a tour around the ranch that way?”

  “Ma, it scares the wildlife.”

  “Yes, well, a horse moves too damned slow,” said Norton. “By the way, Karma, I’m not sure Slade told you that when you two are married, we’re going on a two-month motorcycle tour of the eastern United States.”

  “But—” Karma began, mentally telegraphing a harried call for help to Slade.

  Bambi held out a plate loaded with short ribs. “I know you two probably want a simple wedding, since Slade has never been fond of ceremony. The thing is, we want you to take that Alaska cruise, and then we’re off on our own adventure. Ribs, dear?”

  “I don’t think so,” Karma said faintly, though they smelled wonderful. The ribs were glazed with teriyaki sauce, and it was all she could do not to salivate all over the plate.

  “Roast beef, then,” said Norton, hefting a huge platter toward her.

  Slade continued forking beef into his mouth as if there was no tomorrow, but he looked interested in Karma’s crisis of conscience. It was clear, however, that he wasn’t going to explain that she was a vegetarian or help her to remain one.

  “I think I’ll pass,” Karma said faintly.

  “Well, of course there’s the chicken, but I must say it’s a travesty to eat chicken on a beef ranch.”

  “You could try it,” Slade suggested under the guise of being helpful, but she sensed that he wanted to laugh at her dilemma.

  Karma considered her predicament. Why hadn’t Slade told his parents that she was a vegetarian? She shot him a helpless glance, which went unheeded as he helped himself to a huge helping of mashed potatoes, and then she reached for the chicken.

  “Josefina fries it in peanut oil. It’s better than any fried chicken I ever ate,” Norton said, smiling approvingly as she selected a leg and a wing. “Taste it. Tell me what you think.”

  She lifted the chicken leg to her lips, studying the crust, trying to seem nonchalant. She regarded it for a moment, then sank her teeth in. The crust crumbled delectably onto her tongue, setting off little bursts of flavor. Her taste buds awakened to a new treat. She didn’t have to think about it to make her teeth slide the tender meat from the bone, gently and then not so gently. She thought that never in her life had she
tasted anything so good.

  “Well?” demanded Norton. “Is it as good as I said it was?”

  Karma could hardly speak for chewing and swallowing. “Oh, yes,” she breathed before taking another bite. The chicken seemed imbued with a hundred flavors she had never tasted before. It slid into her stomach, which sang songs of praise to the cook. Her brain segued into a hosanna of joy. Her mouth couldn’t seem to stop biting off more tender flaky chunks of chicken, her teeth couldn’t seem to stop chewing, her throat couldn’t stop swallowing. Before she knew it, she had devoured the meat off not only the drumstick but a wing and a thigh, and she had started in on a breast.

  Josefina, a slim, wiry Hispanic woman with eyes that sparkled when she talked, stuck her head out of the kitchen. “My chicken is good, no? I use secret spices, better than the Colonel’s. I will bring more.” She disappeared into the kitchen again before Karma could say that she’d had enough.

  Not that she had. Not that she wanted to eat anything else—nothing else tasted anywhere near as good as that fried chicken; not the potatoes mashed with cream, butter, and green onion tops fresh from Josefina’s garden, not the salad, not the fresh beans prepared with almonds or the fluffy yeast rolls.

  Throughout this orgy of eating, Karma distractedly fielded interested questions from Bambi and Norton. “You have a business, don’t you? I assume it’s the kind of operation that you can pick up and bring with you to Okeechobee City,” said Norton.

  “Oh, don’t bother her with details like that,” scoffed Bambi. “I’m sure she has that all planned out, don’t you, Karma?”

  Karma’s mouth was full, so she didn’t answer.

  Norton grinned at her. “Of course, you may want to take up gardening. All these plants around the house take a heap of care, don’t they, Bambi?”

  If they only knew that the only thing Karma had ever been able to grow with any success was mold in her refrigerator, they’d give up on the idea of Karma’s becoming a gardener. She was prepared to make a statement to that effect, but, amazingly, Bambi went on to the next topic, which was the planned motorcycle tour.

  Slade made a face at her when both of his parents weren’t looking, and she knew she would get no help from his quarter. But apparently, as long as she continued to feed her face and Bambi and Norton could keep up an intermittent but ongoing discussion about their planned tour, extensive conversation was neither needed nor expected.

  When Karma could absolutely eat no more, Bambi leaped up from the table and began to clear it. Karma started to help, but Josefina appeared as if by magic and shooed her away.

  “Josefina rules,” Norton said to her in an aside. “She must like you. She’s eager for Slade to marry, you know. Says she wants some children around here. That’s okay with you, isn’t it?”

  Karma’s mouth dropped open, and Bambi, who was passing by en route to the kitchen, patted her on the shoulder. “Don’t let him rush you. It’s up to you and Slade to decide when you’re ready for kids.”

  “You’d better tell them we’re not engaged,” she hissed at Slade, darting a furtive glance toward the kitchen door when the others had disappeared behind it.

  “You tell them.”

  “I—”

  Bambi and Norton returned to the dining room, the kitchen door swinging behind them. “Now you two will want to be alone, so Norton and I are going to do our own thing for a while,” Bambi said.

  Norton slid an arm around his wife’s waist. “We’ve told Josefina to go home to her family, and we’re going to clean up.”

  “Oh, let me help,” Karma said, thinking that if she could be alone with them, she could explain.

  “Absolutely not,” said Norton, looking stern. His face softened. “Plus Bambi and I like doing things together, don’t we, babe?”

  “Karma and I will sit around the pool, maybe have an after-dinner drink,” Slade interjected smoothly.

  “Fine idea,” said Norton approvingly.

  “You’ll find your clothes unpacked when you go back to your room, Karma, and if there’s anything you need, please ask,” Bambi told her.

  “Th-thanks,” Karma stammered. There didn’t seem to be any way to talk to these nice people. They kept talking at her, not with her. It was frustrating.

  As his parents again retreated into the kitchen, Slade went to the bar between the dining and living rooms and swung the upper cabinet doors open. “What would you like to drink, Karma?”

  “Nothing,” Karma said, feeling agitated and manipulated and annoyed.

  “How about kahlua? It’s Ma’s favorite.”

  “Fine.” She went to the window and stared out at the night.

  Slade handed her a small glass and took her hand. He carried a snifter of brandy.

  “Come with me,” he said.

  The air was warm and heavy with humidity outside the air-conditioned confines of the house, and it smelled of water and green things growing. The pool was dark in the moonlight, its outline shadowed and still.

  Slade pulled two lounge chairs close together near the pool house, a small structure that housed an apartment for guests as well as bathrooms and changing rooms for swimmers.

  Karma took a sip of kahlua. “Slade, I don’t know how to react when your parents say things like ‘It’s up to you to decide when you want kids.”’ Her imitation of Bambi was so accurate that Slade chuckled as he pulled her down onto the lounge next to his.

  “You reacted perfectly. Josefina makes great fried chicken, doesn’t she?”

  “Yes, but stop changing the subject. We were talking about kids.”

  He cocked an eyebrow. “Oh, I’m in favor of them. I’d like to see a couple of munchkins running around here. How many boys and how many girls do you reckon you want?”

  He was exasperating, but it was hard to muster enough anger to tell him off. Out around the pond, bullfrogs were cranking up a chorus, making it hard to think.

  While she was framing a tart retort, he picked up her left hand and studied the fingers one by one. He paused at the ring finger, circling it loosely with two of his. “I don’t care how many boys and how many girls,” he went on. “I’d like to wait at least a year before the first one, though. So that you and I can get to know each other.”

  She felt her breathing stop. So far, there had been a lot of teasing but nothing concrete. Was this a marriage proposal? It wasn’t as if she’d had a lot of experience in fielding such offers.

  He appropriated her glass and set it beside the snifter on the table. Then he turned toward her on the lounge, making it squeak loudly. “Come over here,” he said.

  “Bambi and Norton…” she said, glancing toward the wing of the house where she believed their bedroom to be.

  “…fall asleep as soon as they hit the mattress,” he said, finishing her sentence. The windows in that wing were dark, the draperies pulled shut. His hand reached over and cupped her chin.

  “I’m absolutely crazy about you,” he said. “Not only do I think of you every waking moment, but you’re the one I’ve been looking for all my life.”

  “It’s not me,” she said. “It was never me. Someone blond and tiny and with a good singing voice, that’s what you specified on your registration form.”

  “You are blond,” he pointed out. “But I’ve never heard you sing.”

  “You don’t want to. I sound like those bullfrogs out there in the pond.”

  “I’m not much of a singer, either. No big deal. By the way, I thought we’d head out early tomorrow morning so I can show you some of my special places around the ranch. But for now, can’t we stop talking?” He feathered a line of kisses down her cheek, inhaled a deep breath. “You smell so good, Karma. Your skin is so soft.”

  “Oh, Slade,” she said, giving up on trying to converse, giving in to the warm slow heat rising from deep in her belly. It was so easy to surrender to the sensations that she was learning to enjoy so much, to let her mind go numb and her will go weak under the onslaught of his kisse
s. Helplessly, longingly, she opened her mouth to his, trembling with excitement as his hand slid up from her waist to contain her breast. This was slow, too, as if they had all the time in the world.

  Outside, the night beat around them, the fecund scent of saw grass and mud and cypress stirring something primeval in her breast, the chir of crickets and tree frogs and other denizens of the swamp echoing her own heartbeat. They might have been miles from civilization, from people. Her heart seemed to swell with the pleasure of wanting and with the sweet urgency of need.

  When he reangled his body, she moved fluidly to meet him, her arms circling his neck, surrendering as he pressed her backward onto the lounge. She had tried to be sensible, and she had told herself that he wasn’t for her—but none of it had worked. Had she been too deep in denial to realize how incendiary their relationship could be if they both went with the flow? If they threw away all their preconceptions and took each other for who they were and what they were, good sense be damned?

  She heard the peacocks, sounding as if they were far away. “Help, help!” they cried, and she thought it was too late now. She was beyond help, was set on this course that she had chosen, and she was glad.

  Slade slid her sundress strap off her shoulder and kissed the place where it had been. Then he was peeling the dress away, murmuring in the hollow of her throat, and she was helping him remove his clothes too. It was cool in the pool house, and dark, and she felt hidden away from everyone in the shadows, even from the moon and the starry sky above. Only the two of them, only their breathing, only the two of them exploring each other with a kind of edgy excitement.

  He toyed with her nipple, angled his bare leg between hers. Somehow all that remained between them was a thin bit of fabric. Slade’s hand rested there, waiting, she knew, for her assent. Not that she wanted to speak. She was too caught up in sensation, in the drive to feel him, all of him.