Smooth talking stranger

by Lorraine Heath

  It was the wrong thing to say. She felt it immediately. A subtle tightening of the muscles beneath her fingers, a distancing between them that had nothing to do with physical closeness. She thought about how much it would hurt if he suddenly said, “Yeah, neither was Louise, or Margaret, or Mary.” If he spoke of any other woman in his life. And she desperately wished she’d stopped with the smile or used her mouth to kiss him rather than to speak.

  “I’m sorry,” she murmured. “I’m not thinking about—”

  “Don’t worry about it.”

  Cupping the back of her head, Hunter guided her face into the comforting nook of his shoulder. She liked being here, liked being within the reassuring circle of his arms. She wanted to leave ghosts and the past behind as the slow country song wove around them. The lyrics told of a man who’d realized too late that he hadn’t appreciated his woman—not until she’d fallen in love with another. She could write her own lyrics about a woman who lost her chance at love because she failed to recognize what was right in front of her—a man who made her believe she was attractive, made her feel like a woman.

  Jack had never looked at her with desire. They’d never been anything more than friends.

  Hunter was lover material. But would he want to be more than that? Could she become involved with a man who didn’t? Having only had one man in her life since she was fourteen, she was at a disadvantage. She’d never experienced rejection—except for Jack. And his rejection hadn’t come as a blow to her heart. It was more along the lines of disappointment.

  When the song ended, Hunter drew her up against his side with his hand clamped firmly, possessively, against her waist, and led her to an empty table along the side of the room. He pulled out a chair for her and after she sat, he lowered his head to hers intimately, whispering as though to share a secret. “I’ll be right back with drinks.”

  She watched him walk away. When the crowd swallowed him up, she turned her attention to the dance floor, where other couples were still dancing. It had been a long time since she’d thought of herself as part of a couple, since she’d had a man’s undivided attention. She’d forgotten how much she enjoyed it. The opening of doors, pulling out of a chair, fetching of the drinks. Little things that spoke of togetherness. As her gaze drifted over other men, she was aware that none snagged her interest as Hunter did, and she found the loneliness creeping back in, could hardly wait for him to return to her.

  A shadow passed in front of her, and she looked over—realizing she’d offered a welcoming smile a little too soon.

  The man was rangy and probably not as tall as his hat made him appear. Although he was nice looking, he didn’t appeal to her. She remembered how when she’d first looked up at Hunter last night, she’d been immediately intrigued.

  “Hey, darlin’, what’s a pretty little lady like you doing all alone when we got music playing?”

  His words came out slightly slurred, which made her uncomfortable. She was accustomed to crowded playgrounds and amusements parks, not unwanted attention at a nightclub. She suddenly desperately wanted Hunter to return. She glanced over her shoulder.

  “Hey, darlin’, I’m talkin’ to you.”

  He wrapped his hand around her arm. She jerked free.

  “I’m not alone,” she said.

  He grinned crookedly. “Two chairs, one empty. That’s alone for right now. Come on and dance with me.”

  He leaned down as though to grab her again, and she held up her hand to stave him off. “I’m sorry, but I’m not interested.”

  “How do you know if you ain’t tried it? Come on now, be a good sport and show me a good time.”

  “The lady’s not interested.”

  The voice resonated with authority. Two glasses appeared on the table before she was even aware Hunter had returned. He angled his body so the other man had to look around him to see her.

  “This is between me and her,” the man said.

  “It might have been, but now it’s between you and me.”

  “I just want a dance.”

  “What you’re going to get is trouble if you don’t move on.”

  Grinning, the man held up his hands in supplication. “All right. All right. I sure as hell don’t want no trouble.”

  He turned, and then his fist was flying back toward—

  Before Serena could even issue a warning, Hunter had the man flattened against the wall behind their table, the man’s swinging arm wedged behind his back and raised so high that she thought it might pop out of the socket. She’d never seen anyone move as fast with such force and control as Hunter had.

  She couldn’t hear what was being said, but the man’s eyes were bulging and his head was bobbing. Hunter stepped back, and the man swiped his hat from his head. He did appear considerably shorter without it.

  “My apologies, ma’am. No insult intended. Y’all have a nice night now, ya hear?”

  He walked off and Hunter took his seat.

  “Sorry you had to go through that,” he said.

  She wasn’t. She hadn’t enjoyed the man’s hassling her, but she had to admit to being impressed by Hunter’s response to it. This morning she’d had the impression of power leashed. It was obvious that Hunter knew not only how to protect himself, but how to protect her. Seeing him in action was an aphrodisiac. Reaching across the table, she laid her hand over his. “That was the sort of thing I was afraid was going to happen last night while I was alone. What did you say to him?”

  “Most of it I can’t repeat in front of a lady.”

  “Give me a hint.”

  “That he was half a second away from hearing bone snap.”

  “You would have done it.”

  He shook his head. “Probably not. With drunks the threat is usually enough.”

  “But you could have done it.”

  “Sure.” He turned his hand over, wrapped his fingers around hers, and stroked his thumb in a circle over her skin. “But I wouldn’t have liked doing it.”

  “What do you do for a living?” she asked.

  “Right now I’m between jobs.”

  He said it easily, without any shame or discomfort, but she knew it couldn’t be easy for a man when the slow economy caught up with him. No matter how confident a man was, losing a job had to be a blow to his ego. She squeezed his hand in comfort. “I’m sorry. This damn economy. I keep thinking it’s going to improve, but I know so many people who have been laid off. If there’s anything I can do—”

  He pressed his finger against her lips. “You can not worry about it, enjoy your drink, and dance with me again.”

  She smiled. “Sounds like a plan.”

  Although she thought she’d enjoy dancing with him more than drinking her margarita. With the straw, she stirred her drink.

  “Tell me about your son,” he said.

  She lifted her gaze to his, saw genuine interest in his eyes. “He’s my favorite subject.”

  “I figured that out earlier.”

  “You seem good at figuring things out.”

  “I’m good at reading body language.”

  An understatement. She’d learned last night that he was extremely skilled at communicating with his body.

  “People communicate more with their facial expressions than they do with their words,” he added. “Your face lit up earlier when you mentioned Riker.”

  “He’s my pride and joy. He’s a good boy, but he wants to grow up too fast.”

  “Everyone wants to grow up too fast.”

  “Did you?”

  He nodded slowly. “Joined the Army when I was seventeen. Thought I was tough. Discovered I didn’t know what tough was.”

  “You were certainly tough earlier—with that cowboy.”

  “Can’t abide bullies. Especially drunk bullies.”

  She sensed he had a history there, something he wasn’t saying. “Were you the skinny kid who got picked on?”

  “In some ways, at some point in our lives, we’re all the skinny k
id who gets picked on.”

  “You really think so?”

  “Sure. At that point, though, we all make a decision: we can become a bully ourselves, or we can stand up to him, or we invite him to take another kick.”

  “Sounds like a metaphor for life.”

  He shrugged and grinned at her. “I get stupidly philosophical when I drink.”

  “Not stupidly.”

  His grin vanished. He planted his elbows on the table, leaned toward her, and trailed his finger along her arm. Warm shivers danced over her skin.

  “You get relaxed when you drink,” he said.

  She nodded. “I don’t want to get quite as relaxed tonight.”

  “I’m good with that.”

  Oh, he was more than good.

  “I made you laugh last night,” she said.

  “I enjoy a woman who makes me laugh.” His eyes darkened. “I especially enjoy you.” He closed his hand around hers. “Let’s dance.”

  He took her back out to the dance floor for another slow number that had them barely moving. She wasn’t certain that they were truly dancing. They were simply holding each other close.

  And she did love the way he held her, the way her body fit against his, as though every dip and curve she possessed had been fashioned with him in mind.

  When the music increased in tempo, they retired to the table, ordered more drinks, and simply enjoyed each other’s presence, as though each were grateful that for tonight at least, neither was alone. When the music slowed, they returned to the dance floor.

  After the lights flooded the club, signaling its intent to close, they headed to the parking lot.

  “Where are you parked?” he asked.

  “Over here. Back row.” It had been the only place left by the time she’d arrived. A shadowy place that even the streetlights couldn’t reach. But nestled up against his side, with his arm anchored around her waist, she felt no apprehension. She knew she was safe, protected.

  She’d come here with expectations of seeing him again, being with him again. He hadn’t rushed her home as she’d anticipated he would, but had given her an evening of slow dancing and not quite as many margaritas.

  But as she stopped beside the minivan, doubts suddenly assailed her. She didn’t know protocol, was suddenly unsure. Did she simply follow him? Did she tell him that she’d follow him? What if he’d decided he didn’t want her tonight?

  Turning, she lifted her gaze to his, shadowed by the night. “Well—”

  He cradled her face between hands she remembered only too well and lowered his mouth to hers. The heat was immediate, the sparks as bright as any fireworks launched on the Fourth of July. His tongue swept through her mouth while his thumbs caressed the corners. Her trembling knees grew weak, and she wondered where she’d find the strength to maneuver the gas pedal and brake. Her body grew hot as sensations swirled through her.

  He ended the kiss as abruptly as he’d begun it, his harsh breathing echoing around her, his forehead pressed to hers. “You want to go in my jeep or follow me?”

  “I’ll follow.”

  Chapter 6

  Serena paid more attention to the road they traveled, trying to memorize a route that was fairly straightforward.

  He turned off the road onto a dirt trail that led through trees to the large log house she remembered. She’d warned her father—after she’d tucked Riker into bed—that she might be late again and he shouldn’t wait up. Nor should he worry.

  Hunter had left the porch light on. He brought his jeep to a halt and she stopped her van behind it. Briefly, she wondered if maybe she should have had another margarita. She wasn’t nearly as inebriated tonight, not nearly as relaxed as she’d obviously been last night.

  She gathered up her purse and opened the door, not surprised to find him already standing there waiting for her. She wanted to be sophisticated, but she suddenly felt like a country girl brought up on Methodist sermons.

  He slipped his arm around her, anchoring her against his side, his hand cupping her waist. “You all right?”

  She wanted to laugh hysterically, but didn’t. “Why are you so good at reading me?”

  “You’re easy to read. If this isn’t what you want—”

  “It is,” she rushed to assure him.

  “All right.”

  She thought she heard relief in his tone, an absence of the gruffness in this voice that she’d come to associate with him. They walked in tandem to the house, up the steps. He relinquished his hold as he unlocked the door and shoved it open.

  No alarm system beeped to be turned off. She had a feeling that he didn’t need one, could protect himself without any problem. He hadn’t left any lights on inside, but moonlight along with the porch light spilled in through the bared windows. With the faint glow of both she could distinguish shadows and shapes as she walked inside. She heard the door close and realized that she was grateful for the darkness. Within it, she could be a woman that she wasn’t in the light.

  She turned to face him and found herself wrapped in his embrace, his mouth hot and hungry, his hands equally so. She dropped her purse to the floor and wound her arms around his neck, pressing her body against his. Kicking off her shoes shortened her by an inch, but didn’t cause him to lose contact. His growl vibrated between them.

  He began backing her up, his mouth trailing greedily along her throat while he tugged her shirt out of her jeans.

  “Don’t leave any marks,” she rasped.

  “What?”

  “On my neck.”

  His tongue replaced his lips, licking, soothing, and dipping into the V of her shirt. Then he was unbuttoning her shirt as eagerly as she was unbuttoning his. Both shirts fell to the floor as they reached the stairs. He stopped momentarily, slipping one strap of her bra off her shoulder, his lips following the curve of her shoulder and then the lacy edge of her bra, his warm breath wafting over her skin, sending shivers along her spine, leaving dew along her flesh. He closed his mouth over her nipple, his tongue swirling over the lace, and she thought it couldn’t feel any more erotic if he were actually touching her skin.

  The sensation was heavenly, enticing. She released a tiny whimper and wondered how much longer her legs could support her. He trailed his finger along the top of the lace and nudged it down until nothing kept his questing mouth from suckling her flesh, while his hands sought out the clasp. Then her bra was gone.

  He dipped down, slipped an arm beneath her knees, lifted her, and carried her up the stairs, impatience evident in each stride, in the tense muscles of his shoulders beneath her fingers.

  Instead of laying her on the bed as she’d expected, he set her beside it, standing, while he knelt before her. He unfastened her jeans, tugged them down. Then his mouth was against her lacy panties as it had been against her bra, teasing, suckling, his tongue stroking, promising to go more deeply. He guided her onto the bed, spread her thighs further—

  “I can’t do this,” she said suddenly, clamping her knees together.

  He stilled, his harsh breathing echoing between them, his hands against her outer thighs shaking—much to her surprise.

  “Look, if I’m getting too personal here—”

  “No, it’s not that.” Too personal? She’d already slept with him for goodness sakes. How much more personal could it get? Crossing her arms over her chest, she felt like such a fool. “I’m sorry. I can’t do any of this.”

  She surged to her feet, had to put a hand on his shoulder to steady herself so she wouldn’t topple over—she’d come up so fast, her balance off. “I need to go home.”

  He grabbed her hand, halting her retreat, and for the first time, fear swept through her.

  “Was I going too fast?” he asked.

  He was only silhouette and shadows, but she heard sincerity in his voice—along with bafflement. She was embarrassed, ashamed, mortified. She’d tried to convince herself that they had something special, but too many doubts remained.

  “It’s
not you,” she said quietly. “It’s me…” She couldn’t believe she was using that argument. “I can’t do casual sex. I thought I could. After last night…but I can’t. I know you probably didn’t get the impression last night, but I’m a little old-fashioned. I don’t even know your full name.”

  “Fletcher. Hunter Fletcher. And yours would be?”

  The moonlight revealed a sadness to his crooked grin that almost made her cry, the temptation increased by the absurdity of his question. She’d thought he was the one holding back, not sharing, and she’d been just as bad. “Serena Hamilton.”

  He studied her as though he thought he should have known her name. With a sigh, he rose and sat on the edge of the bed. He had yet to release her hand, but she could sense an easing in the tension in him, as though he were accepting that what he’d had with her last night wasn’t what he was going to get tonight.

  “Do you think you could just lie on the bed and let me hold you?” he asked. “Just for a few minutes?”

  It was such a simple request, delivered with such sincerity.

  “Will you keep your jeans on?” she asked.

  He chuckled. “Yeah.”

  “I know you must think I’m a nutcase—”

  “No, I’m actually not surprised.”

  “You’re not.”

  “I was surprised you came home with me at all.”

  “I shouldn’t have.”

  “I’m glad you did, though.” He stretched out on the bed and scooted back a bit. “Come here.”

  She thought about running downstairs and retrieving her shirt—

  “Do you want to grab a shirt out of my closet?” he asked.

  “How do you always know what I’m thinking?”

  “I told you. You’re easy to read.”

  “But it’s dark, and we’re in shadows.”

  “I spend a lot of time in the dark, trying to judge things. Come here.”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “It’s not important. Come here,” he urged.

  Tentatively, she eased onto the bed, rolled onto her side facing him, with her arms crossed over her chest, to provide a little distance from the intimacy. She was surprised and grateful that he didn’t immediately put an arm around her.