Mating Game

by Maynard, Janice

  He didn’t even wait for her to enter the house. He drove off down the driveway as if he were fleeing the gates of hell.

  Weary and cold and at the end of her rope, Nola walked up the steps and let herself in. Somewhere in the back of the house a single light burned, giving her enough dim illumination to find the stairs. At this point, the darkness was her friend. She didn’t want to have to face the mess her life had become, nor the possibility that she was going to fail in her quest.

  When Tanner appeared suddenly in front of her, she gasped and held a hand to her heart. “Damn it. You scared me.”

  He was wearing a shirt for once, perhaps in deference to the new chill in the air. His hair was tousled, as though he had repeatedly raked his hands through it. The faded jeans that brushed the floor over his bare feet were threadbare and well-worn. He crossed his arms over his chest. “Are you okay?”

  The gentleness in his voice breached her defenses. “Yes . . . no . . . I don’t know.” Her throat was tight and her eyes stung.

  “I take it the date didn’t go well.”

  “No,” she whispered. “It didn’t.”

  He didn’t say another word. He merely scooped her into his embrace and carried her up the stairs. She let him pamper her and baby her, because she was so very tired and so very glad she wasn’t alone in the house.

  He waited for her to change into her thin cotton nightgown in the bathroom. When she reappeared, he was sitting on the edge of her bed.

  He frowned. “That won’t be warm enough for tonight.” He picked up the afghan from the foot of the bed and wrapped it around her shoulders. “Come sit with me.” He backed up against the headboard and settled her between his legs.

  She wanted to finish what they had started earlier in the day, to bask in the warmth of his uncomplicated male hunger, to feel him between her legs. But she was embarrassed. She still smelled of another man’s touch.

  Tanner held her carefully for a long time. Occasionally, she felt his lips brush the side of her neck.

  At long last, he spoke. “Do you want to talk about it?”

  She told him then, haltingly, in bits and pieces . . . the story of a youthful love affair and its inexplicable end.

  Tanner murmured words of encouragement now and then, asked the occasional question, but for the most part, he listened in silence.

  When her story wound down, she turned her cheek to his chest, soaking up the warmth of his presence. He stroked her hair with his hand, their bodies so close she could feel the steady thrum of his heartbeat.

  Finally, he sighed and spoke. “Was this reunion supposed to make you decide whether or not you want to stay in Resnick indefinitely?”

  He was intuitive, and he had picked up on her feelings, but he didn’t know the whole story.

  She couldn’t think of a suitable answer, and after a few moments, he continued. “Would it be so terrible to sell the house? I didn’t want to dump on you right off the bat, Nola, but Lochhaven needs far more than a couple of gallons of paint and a few new gutters. You’re looking at major repairs . . . significant money. Perhaps you ought to consider letting it go.”

  She knew there was truth in his words, but she couldn’t bear to hear it. She picked up his hand and played with his fingers. “You don’t understand. It’s more than a house. It represents generations of family, my family. People who didn’t pack it in when times were hard. I’d be letting down all those ancestors if I walked away because this is too much for me. I have to try, Tanner. I have to preserve the history and the legacy.”

  “You’re sure about that? You won’t change your mind?”

  She thought about it for a moment. Did she have it in her to be selfish and walk away? Losing the money was significant, but truthfully, she’d do fine without it. What she couldn’t face was the knowledge that if she let the house and the land be sold off, she would be saying goodbye to the home her grandmother had created for her.

  She sighed. “No,” she said, feeling fatalistic and sleepy and a little bit amused at her own stubbornness. “I won’t change my mind.”

  She took his hand and placed it on her chest. He cupped her breast, rubbing her nipple through the thin barrier of her nightgown. She caught her breath audibly.

  His lips brushed her ear. “What do you want, Nola? Tell me.”

  She felt the urgency of his erect cock at her back and realized with a singing sense of joy that perhaps he had not gone to another woman tonight after all.

  But she had—gone to another man, that was. And she owed Tanner honesty if nothing else. “I need you tonight,” she said softly, half turning in his arms and burrowing deeper into his chest. “But I nearly made love to another man a little while ago. What does that say about me? Nothing good, I think.”

  Her self-deprecation didn’t faze him. He found her mouth and kissed her long and slow and sweet. When he had completely stolen her breath, he smiled against her cheek. “It says you’re confused and hurting and searching. Let me help you, Nola. I’ll make us both feel better.”

  He didn’t bother removing her gown. He simply shoved it to her armpits and stood up to remove his clothes and put on the condom he took from his pocket. Her room was in darkness . . . only the night-light in the hall broke the gloom. But she could see him . . . the wide shoulders, the broad chest, the heavy penis that stood firm and erect between his masculine thighs.

  She lost her breath when he settled between her legs. He bore his weight on his forearms as he nibbled at her collarbone. She lifted her hips, but he wasn’t inclined to rush. His erection throbbed between them, full and strong. In other circumstances, she would have wanted the lights on, would have been determined to see him . . . all of him.

  But she was off balance from the evening, and now felt oddly shy.

  Tanner licked his way from her throat to the valley between her breasts. His breath warmed her flesh when he spoke, his words gruff. “Your skin is like velvet, Nola. . . . I’ve never seen anything so lovely.” His hair fell into his eyes. She couldn’t see what he was thinking, couldn’t read his emotions. He was so gentle. She knew that he was capable of hungry passion, but tonight he gave her tenderness. And it was what she needed so badly.

  He was a stranger, a wonderful stranger. But good Lord, when he slid inside her and began to move, rainbows unfurled, choirs sang, and butterflies cartwheeled in random patterns of color and light.

  His breathing was harsh, and his hands were all over her. He touched her as if they were the end of the human race and this was their last act in life. His body heat dispelled any cold she might have felt. The afghan fell to the floor. Her nightgown ripped at a seam. In that moment, she would have done anything he asked.

  He put his hands under her ass and lifted her into his steady thrusts. The new angle made her moan. Never, not even with Marc, had she found her sexual peak so easily, so blindingly. Later she would remember and be embarrassed that her raw cries split the night air. But for the moment, all she could do was feel his determination, experience his power, survive the storm.

  Tanner was silent, except for his gulps of breath and his rasping curses as he pounded his way to release. Thank God he took her with him . . . again. He knew just how to grind his hips and give her nirvana.

  The heat built to a fever pitch, and she actually screamed when her body jerked helplessly in an orgasm that made her clutch at him and say his name over and over: “Tanner, Tanner, Tanner.”

  In the aftermath, she shivered with something that was neither cold nor fear . . . more like shock and bewilderment.

  Her marriage quest ceased to matter. Her sad, confusing evening with Billy was forgotten. Nothing was real except for the man who lay heavily upon her, his semierect flesh still buried deep inside her.

  Eventually, Tanner scooted off her and onto his feet, dressing quietly.

  She had no pride left. “Won’t you spend the night with me?”

  He shook his head. “The bed’s too small. You need your rest.”<
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  She was prepared to beg, but she sensed he wouldn’t be moved. Besides, this wasn’t a relationship where two lovers cuddled and shared conversation in the aftermath of lovemaking. This was sexual expedience. Scratching an itch. The thought made her sad, but she shoved it away. Tanner owed her nothing. She was probably just another notch on his bedpost.

  She pulled her nightgown to her knees and huddled beneath the covers. He leaned over to give her a brief kiss. “Good night, Red.”

  She reached for his hand. “Thank you,” she said, her words barely audible. “I’m glad you were here tonight.”

  He straightened and shrugged. “You would have been okay in any case. You’re a strong woman.”

  “Even strong women like to be held and comforted.”

  His expression was unreadable in the dark. “Do you want me to adjust the heater?” It was a gas unit that had been installed in the sealed-up fireplace, along with others in the house, in the early seventies.

  “It’s okay,” she replied sleepily. “I’ve set it so it won’t click on until it gets really cold near morning. Grandmother and I always bundled under blankets and quilts to save on fuel costs. And as long as I don’t have to step out of bed in an icy room at dawn, I’ll be fine.”

  He nodded. “Whatever you say.”

  She knew he probably wouldn’t even turn his heater on. She couldn’t imagine him ever being cold.

  He paused in the doorway. “You’ll feel better in the morning. You need to sleep, Nola. Close your eyes.”

  She obeyed without protest, hearing the soft clunk as he shut her door. Outside, the rain had started up again. It pounded steadily against her windows, the sound soothing her residual turmoil. She had almost drifted off when she realized she had forgotten to lock the front door. And she had never heard Tanner go back down. Well, shoot. The thought of climbing out from under the covers was not appealing.

  After a moment’s hesitation, she closed her eyes again. With Tanner in the house, she wasn’t scared. Nothing was going to hurt her.

  Six

  The pain in her temples woke her. Something was wrong, but Nola’s head was fuzzy and she couldn’t focus. Thin morning light shone through the windows, but she didn’t feel at all rested. She felt nauseous.

  She looked toward the door. Why was it closed? She’d gotten up to go to the bathroom around six, and she was positive she had left it open so she could see the comforting night-light, the one that chased away the shadows and allowed her to sleep peacefully.

  She tossed the covers aside to sit up and groaned as her head swam dizzily. Then she heard a steady beep and realized what else had awakened her. The carbon monoxide detector plugged into the wall was sounding off at regular intervals. Shit.

  She stumbled to the door and turned the knob. Nothing happened. She jerked at it frantically. If she passed out, Tanner would never find her in time. She tried holding her breath, but that only made things worse. The throbbing in her temples made it hard to think straight.

  Twice more she wrenched the knob, and twice more she failed. Sobbing now, and more scared than she had ever been in her life, she turned urgently toward the windows, her only way out. She already knew she couldn’t raise either of them. Over the long winter, as usual, the old wood had swollen and warped, and she had planned to ask Tanner to chip them loose for her. No time for that now.

  She spared one fleeting thought for her grandmother’s ire at breaking the century-and-a-half-year-old glass. But this was no time to worry about preserving history. In another few minutes, Nola’s personal history would be over and done.

  Trembling, tears rolling down her cheeks, she picked up the wooden vanity chair and heaved it at the glass. Her aim was off. She made a dent in the wallpaper between the two windows. Weaving on her feet, she grabbed the chair again, moved closer, and smashed it through the large glass pane.

  Immediately cold, fresh air filtered into the room. She grabbed the case of her pillow and wrapped it around her hand so she could lean out without gashing herself on the broken glass. It was the sweetest air she had ever breathed. She concentrated on inhaling and exhaling evenly, unsure how much of the noxious, odorless gas she had in her system.

  Her thin nightgown was no protection at all, and overnight the mercury had dropped to near freezing. But she couldn’t tear herself away from the wonderful, life-giving breeze.

  Suddenly she spotted a familiar figure coming down the drive. Tanner. Oh, God, Tanner. She leaned out and yelled for him. He heard her immediately and picked up his pace. He’d obviously been out running, clad in a black muscle shirt, thin black track pants, and matching cross trainers.

  He looked like a military man on a covert mission. She knew he had heard her the first time, but she called to him again . . . she couldn’t help herself. She was thankful he didn’t waste time yelling questions at her. He entered the house, thundered up the stairs, and yanked at her door from the outside. She heard him curse, but it took him two more tries to wrench the panel free of whatever had it stuck.

  When he stepped into the room, the carbon monoxide monitor was still beeping slowly, but in seconds, with the addition of the clean air from the hall and the new cross draft with the open window, the shrill noise died away.

  Tanner grabbed her close, his big hands on her shoulders. “What the hell happened?”

  She burrowed into his hard chest. “I don’t know.” She gulped. “I woke up with a wicked headache. . . . I could swear I left the door open. . . . I . . .” She burst into tears again, totally overcome by the realization of what had almost happened.

  Tanner muttered an imprecation and grabbed the afghan from the floor to wrap around her. He bundled her up and deposited her back in the bed while he examined the heater. He turned the dial to off, and gingerly tugged at the hot metal so he could see the back.

  She saw his face change. “What is it?”

  He was frowning now, studying something and poking at the exhaust vent. “This is clogged with torn paper. No wonder you had a problem.”

  She went cold again, this time not from the frigid air. Incredulity filled her voice. “Someone did this to me?”

  He shook his head slowly. “Don’t jump to conclusions. It could have been a mouse building a nest. Have you used this unit since you came home?”

  “Of course not. We’ve had warm weather until this morning. And the unit didn’t kick on until the last hour or so. I went to the bathroom around six. I know it wasn’t running then. And, Tanner . . .” She bit her lip. “I’m sure I left that door open.” Her voice was hoarse and her eyes watery, but she had gathered a shred of composure.

  She couldn’t process what had happened. Had someone really tried to harm her? And if so, why?

  Tanner was shaking his head slowly. “The door could have closed on its own. You know how drafty this old house is . . . and the change in air pressure as the front came through could have made the doorframe fit poorly. This shredded paper could be the work of an animal. It was all probably an unfortunate accident.”

  She swallowed hard. “You really think so?”

  He rose from his crouched position and smiled as he approached the bed to sit down beside her. “You’re safe, Nola.”

  She let him hold her, leaning on him unashamedly. She was no clinging vine, but surely she deserved a brief respite from her mental turmoil. Her head still hurt and her stomach roiled, but relief was her primary emotion. She was damned glad to be alive.

  Tanner stirred after a few minutes. “Get dressed,” he said, his voice gentle. “You need to go to the hospital and get checked out.”

  She protested automatically. “I’m fine, really.”

  But he was immovable. “I want to see you in the hall ready to leave. I’ll go as is. Carbon monoxide is nothing to fool around with. You may need some oxygen or breathing treatments. And afterward, when we get back, I’ll board up the window.”

  “I wish I’d had another choice,” she said sadly, eyeing the mess she had
made.

  “Don’t worry about it. I’ve got a contact who works in historic restoration. Maybe we can find a good match for the glass.”

  Tanner went to his own room, presumably to get his keys and wallet. She dressed quickly, not entirely sorry that he was pushing the issue of her getting checked out. She still felt wobbly, and the thought of trying to eat made her ill.

  They met outside her bedroom ten minutes later and walked down the stairs together, with Tanner supporting her elbow. Outside, the sun was already warming things up nicely, and the jacket Nola had brought along would soon be superfluous.

  She was just getting ready to step up into Tanner’s truck when a man walked around the side of the house.

  Nola gaped. “Marc? What in the hell are you doing here?”

  He frowned when he saw Tanner, but he answered her readily enough. “I couldn’t let you come alone down to Hooterville without checking on you. And I missed you, darling.” He pulled her into his arms and kissed her enthusiastically. Nola was the one to end the embrace.

  She stepped back and studied the new arrival. He wore charcoal gray slacks, polished wingtips, and a cream linen blazer with a matching collarless shirt. The two men couldn’t have looked any more different if they had tried.

  Nola belatedly remembered her manners. “Marc, this is Tanner Nash. He was doing some work on the house for my grandmother, and I’ve asked him to continue. Tanner, this is Marc Overmyer, a . . . a friend from Chicago.”

  Neither man looked happy, but they grudgingly shook hands. At any moment Nola expected them to unzip and start comparing the length of their man parts. Good Lord . . . what was it about testosterone?

  She was still feeling shaky, and she sure as hell didn’t need this right now. “Where is your car, Marc?”

  He wrinkled his nose in disgust. “I printed out a map from one of those online things and it brought me up the service road at the back of your property.”