Smooth talking stranger

by Lorraine Heath

  Whenever he kissed her, she felt as though he was giving everything he had to give, holding nothing back. He communicated with his kiss more than he ever did with words. She felt treasured, appreciated, beautiful.

  She felt that this moment was theirs, that no one could ever take it away from them. That she’d been waiting for him.

  He drew back from the kiss and pressed his forehead against hers. “Is there any chance after you put your son to bed that you and I could sneak away for a little late night dancing?”

  She knew he wanted more than dancing. His arms were looped around her, his hands hooked at her lower back, keeping their bodies touching. Why deny what she so desperately wanted?

  “I’m all sticky,” she said. “I’d need to shower—”

  “I have a shower at my place.”

  “Let me put Riker to bed, gather up a few things, and let my dad know that I’m going to be out for a while.”

  Chapter 12

  Hunter had never considered himself a coward, but he’d contemplated waiting in the jeep or on the porch. But in the end, he’d accepted her invitation to wait inside.

  Which of course meant waiting with her father.

  “Have a little Southern Comfort,” her father said, setting a glass on the little table beside him.

  “Thank you, sir.”

  Her father sat in a recliner, popped up the foot rest, and settled back. Hunter took the glass he’d been offered, took a swallow, and nearly coughed. Straight Southern Comfort.

  “Too strong?” Larry asked.

  “No, sir, it’s just fine, thank you.”

  Larry glanced over at him, and Hunter had a feeling he was being scrutinized from the top of his head to the heels of his shoes.

  “Rena said you’re going to go out and watch the lake?”

  The question wasn’t as innocent as it sounded, and Hunter knew it. The old man made it sound like he couldn’t figure out why anyone would look at a lake or even suggest doing so. It rang more along the lines of, “You’re gonna do what?”

  “Yes, sir, I have a very nice view of the lake and when the moon is out, as it is tonight, it’s a pretty sight. I thought Serena might enjoy”—he cleared his throat—“looking at it.”

  Nodding, her father narrowed one eye and Hunter wondered if he was practicing looking down the barrel of a rifle.

  “She’s a grown girl, my daughter.”

  “Yes, sir.” She most definitely is that.

  “Too old for me to be telling her what to do.”

  Thank God. Hunter was beginning to wonder if they should send fathers with daughters in to do their interrogations.

  “But I don’t want to see her get hurt.”

  “Neither do I.”

  “You ever been married, son?”

  “No, sir.”

  “You ever contemplate it?”

  “Not until recently, no.”

  The old man narrowed his eye again.

  Hunter heard footsteps, glanced over his shoulder.

  Serena had come down the stairs between the living room and kitchen. “Riker is ready for bed. He wondered if you’d like to come up and say good night.”

  Hunter had never gotten out of a chair so quickly. If the choice was between a father or a boy, he was going with the boy. “I’d like that.”

  He excused himself, crossed the room, and followed Serena up the stairs. Photos lined the wall. Her as a baby, a gapped-toothed child, a young girl, a young woman. In every picture she looked happy.

  “I’m sorry if my dad was interrogating you,” she said in a low voice.

  “I’ve had worse.”

  “I was afraid he might have run you off,” she said as she reached the top of the stairs and turned to face him.

  “I’m not in the habit of running.”

  She stopped in front of him. “Even when you’re scared?”

  “Especially when I’m scared.”

  She smiled and led him into a room on the left. The boy was sitting against the headboard, wearing his glove, and tossing the ball into it. His beagle was curled at the foot of his bed.

  Hunter suddenly wasn’t sure why he was in this room or what he was supposed to do. He didn’t think it was his place to yell at the kid to go to sleep. That had pretty much been his experience with bedtime routine: “Go to sleep!” Lights out. Then darkness and loneliness and wishing someone were there. Even if it was only a spotted beagle. Reaching out, he petted the dog only because it was something to do.

  “He likes you,” Riker said.

  As though to demonstrate his master’s astuteness, the beagle licked Hunter’s hand.

  “I like him, too.”

  “Do you have any dogs?”

  “No. It wouldn’t be fair to the dog. I travel a lot.”

  “I pet sit.”

  “Riker, that’s in Hopeful, not here.” She glanced over at Hunter. “He takes care of the neighbors’ pets when they go out of town.”

  “Ah, so there’s another resourceful entrepreneur in the family,” Hunter said.

  “What’s that mean?” Riker asked.

  “Someone who has a business.”

  “If you moved to Hopeful, you could get a dog and I could take care of it when you’re out of town,” Riker said.

  “Riker, I thought you just wanted to thank Fletcher again and tell him good night. Not try to talk him into moving to Hopeful.”

  “But if you moved to Hopeful,” the boy said, his imploring eyes on Hunter like prison searchlights, “we could go to more ball games and you could teach me more karate.”

  He suddenly sat up straight, as though someone jerked him upright. “I know! You could be an entrepreneur, too. You could have a business. Kick-Butt Karate!”

  Hunter grinned. He’d thought the father was bad. Shoot! This kid was going to have his life planned out before the lights went out.

  Laughing, Serena placed her hands on her son’s shoulders and eased him back down. She brought the covers up, patting him here and there, lovingly, tenderly. Something Hunter imagined she’d done a thousand times.

  “There are several flaws in your plan,” she told Riker.

  “Like what?”

  “Well, first of all, I don’t think a business should have ‘butt’ in its name, and you don’t need to be saying it.”

  Hunter found it interesting that she hadn’t mentioned that Riker didn’t need to be encouraging Hunter to move to Hopeful.

  The boy looked back at him. “We’ll come up with another name.”

  “Riker, it’s time for you to say good night,” she told him.

  “Ah, Mom—”

  “Ah, Riker.”

  The kid rolled his eyes and turned onto his side. “Good night.”

  “Good night,” Hunter said. But it seemed lacking and he thought there was something else he should say.

  He watched as Serena bent down and kissed her son’s head. “Good night. Sweet dreams.”

  That was it. Sweet dreams.

  He followed Serena out of the room. She turned off the light as they entered the hallway and a night-light glowed near the boy’s bed.

  “You can wait here or go visit with my dad while I get a couple of things,” she whispered.

  “I’ll wait.”

  He watched her disappear into a room down the hallway, then he glanced back into the room where the boy was sleeping. He was still wearing his baseball glove. The dog had curled up to nestle against the boy’s stomach.

  And for the first time in his life, Hunter had a clear sense of how important his job was. He wanted this boy to always be able to sleep with sweet dreams.

  Serena sat on the passenger side trying to relax, trying not to feel as though she was doing something she shouldn’t. She wouldn’t have this problem if she was in Hopeful. She could hire a babysitter, she wouldn’t have her father issuing a warning to be careful as she headed out the door.

  Be careful? It was a little late for that.

  Somewhere a
long the way, she’d thrown caution to the wind. She knew she couldn’t stay here forever, but while she was here, what was wrong with enjoying herself, enjoying the man beside her? She’d anticipated that they’d have another night together.

  In a small canvas tote, she’d placed a toothbrush, a fresh set of clothes. In her purse she was carting around an unopened pack of birth control pills. She’d called her doctor in Hopeful and asked that a prescription be called in here. Now she was just waiting for the arrival of her period—which should be any day now—so she could begin the countdown for when she should begin taking them.

  So having sex on a regular basis was a possibility that she’d accepted. And having accepted it, she needed to stop feeling guilty that she was on the verge of having it. It would simply be much easier not to feel guilty if her father didn’t suspect.

  “I don’t think Dad bought the gazing at the lake excuse,” she finally said.

  “We will gaze at the lake, so you told him the truth.” Hunter reached across and squeezed her hand. “Relax, Serena. If you change your mind once we get out there, I’ll be content that you’re just with me.”

  She smiled with gratification. Sometimes he said the most unexpected, sweetest things. But she had no plans to chicken out this time.

  Hunter pulled the jeep to a stop. He hadn’t left any lights on because he hadn’t realized he’d be out this late. But he knew every inch of his property, his house. He got out of the jeep, walked around, and opened her door. When she stepped out, he opened the door, took her in his arms, and kissed her.

  He’d go slowly tonight. He wouldn’t rush her. He wouldn’t give her any reasons to begin doubting that she should be here. He’d court her, enjoy her, show her that they could have more than hot and heavy sex.

  But as her mouth moved against his, he knew his restraint would be tested. She tasted so good, felt so good. He couldn’t determine why she was so different from all the women who’d come before her.

  Maybe because there was an innocence to her. Strange to imagine that a woman who’d been married, who had a child, could harbor any sort of innocence. But it was there. The small town feel of a country girl. She may have grown up near Austin, but there was nothing big city about her.

  And he liked that. Liked it a lot. And it didn’t hurt any that she was sexy as hell.

  Pulling away from her, he reached into the jeep, grabbed her bag, and closed the door. Without a word, he slipped his arm around her and guided her to the house. Once inside, he closed the door, locked it, and kissed her again, delivering a promise he intended to keep.

  He loved the way she toed off her shoes, just as she had the first and last night that she was here. As though that were her signal—let’s get it on. She wasn’t wearing heels tonight so she lost very little of her height.

  “Shower?” she whispered when he broke off the kiss to get a better angle.

  “Right, shower.”

  He began backing her across the living room, an intimate dance, their lips locked, their hands exploring through their clothes.

  They passed by the couch, with the large window spilling moonlight over it, and he thought, There. Why not just make love to her there?

  Because she wanted a shower. The downstairs bathroom was closer. Shower there, then the couch. Then he remembered his plan to take it slowly. Not to rush her.

  What an idiotic plan.

  But it was in place, so he’d carry through on it. He dipped down, lifted her into his arms, and headed up the stairs.

  She settled her head into the nook of his shoulder. “Do you always carry women up the stairs?”

  “Only you.”

  “Really?”

  He heard the doubt in her voice, wondered why it mattered that she didn’t believe him, wondered why she didn’t.

  “It just seems right,” he said.

  “Right?”

  “To carry you.”

  He reached the top of the stairs, strode into his bedroom, momentarily considered taking a detour by the bed, but went on through into the bathroom. He lowered her to the floor and switched on the light.

  The light was harsh, and he wished he’d kept it off, but once his eyes adjusted, he thought he might run through the house and turn on every light. Her lips were swollen, coated in dew. Her skin was flushed. Her eyes were sultry.

  He kept finding himself distracted from his objective. Get her showered.

  He walked around her, opened the door to the walk-in shower, and turned on the water. The visor was gone, and her shoes, but otherwise she was dressed as she’d been for the ball game.

  She held his gaze as she reached down and slipped off one sock, tossed it aside, and then did the same with the other. Very slowly, she unsnapped and unzipped her shorts. She wiggled out of them. She was wearing skimpy white lacy underwear.

  Oh, yeah.

  Serena had never considered herself much of a seductress, but standing here now, watching his nostrils flare, his eyes darken, she felt powerful and in control. It was a heady notion. The knuckles of his hand gripping the door were turning white.

  She thought she needed some sort of bump and grind music as she grabbed the hem of her tank and eased it up, a quarter of an inch by a quarter of an inch. She was in no hurry. Up, up. He was mesmerized. She didn’t think he was even blinking.

  She pulled the top over her head, surprised by her brazenness. And excited by it.

  He’d said carrying her up the stairs had seemed right. Standing here now, slowly undressing for him seemed right as well. Over the pounding of the shower, she could hear his breathing grow ragged.

  She removed her bra, then wiggled out of her panties. He could have been a statue he stood so still as she walked around him and stepped into the shower. The warm water pelting her felt good after an evening in the humid night air.

  “Are you going to join me?” she asked.

  She might have laughed at the speed with which he tore off his clothes, except that as he stood revealed before her, she realized that she’d never seen him completely naked in the light. Or if she had that first night, she had no memory of it.

  And she certainly thought she would have remembered gazing on magnificence such as his. His defined muscles rippled with his movements, and every aspect of his body—every aspect—looked rock hard.

  She remembered touching him and how glorious it had felt. But she didn’t remember the sight of him. Now, she knew she’d never forget it.

  He stepped into the shower, swung the door shut, and wrapped his arms around her.

  “I told myself I was going to go slow,” he said, “but I just can’t seem to accomplish that where you’re concerned.”

  “I’m glad.”

  It did seem to her that everything with them was like a freight train rushing past. But as long as it didn’t crash, wasn’t headed for disaster, she was content to be here in his arms.

  The feel of soapy hands traveling over her skin was as sensual as anything she’d ever experienced. He didn’t rush as he lathered her up, then used his hands to direct the flow of water. When the soap was rinsed away, he trailed his mouth over the places where the soap had been.

  She’d never in her life enjoyed a shower more. Taking the soap, she lathered her hands before moving them over his body. Unlike hers while he’d washed her, his hands didn’t remain still. He caressed and squeezed. He skimmed and cradled. It was as though he couldn’t get enough of her.

  When all the day’s grime was gone, he knelt before her. The water continued to pour over her body, rained down on his uplifted face. With his large hands, he cupped her backside before he pressed his mouth between her thighs.

  She braced her hands on his shoulders while he stroked her intimately with his tongue. Spirals of pleasure shot through her.

  She dropped her head back and let the sensations build as he skillfully plundered. She had the impression of a warrior laying claim to all he intended to conquer. She thought no words would ever be able to adequatel
y describe what she felt right now. A tensing, an easing. An increasing, a lessening.

  Each sweep of his tongue carried her higher, before she dropped just a fraction. Her legs weakened, she began to quiver…

  The water sluiced off her, his fingers dug into her hips, his mouth worked its magic, every sensation built until everything demanded release…

  And then she shattered with a cry that echoed between the shower walls.

  She was vaguely aware of the shower door opening, his movements as he grabbed his discarded jeans, searched through his wallet…

  He donned the condom, eased her down, and guided her until she’d enveloped his sturdy length. She didn’t know where she found the strength, thought she might melt into a pool of nothing, but she somehow managed to hang on, to wrap her arms around him as he pumped himself into her, his body tensing, his arms closing tightly around her as he made a final thrust, his guttural groan following in the echo of her cry.

  He continued to spasm as his harsh breathing filled her ears. She could feel the rapid pounding of his heart as the water rained down. She laid her head on his shoulder, content to remain here forever.

  Lying in bed with Serena nestled up against his side, and the moon spilling in through the window, Hunter was still trying to figure out what had happened in the shower.

  The sex part he understood. That was no mystery.

  But the rest of it…the possessiveness he’d felt, the joy because he’d brought her such pleasure…it had almost eclipsed his own sexual satisfaction. He’d always been determined that a lady left his bed content but he’d never found as much satisfaction as he did in Serena’s cries, had never felt that everything he’d done was exclusively for her.

  That he’d benefited as well was a bonus.

  But all he’d truly cared about was pleasing her. He couldn’t stop himself from grinning. He’d never had it so great. With his hands wet, the condom had been a damned nuisance, and he’d been tempted to forego it but the last thing he needed was the responsibility of a kid…it was one thing to take someone else’s son to a ball game, but to have his own son?

  What did he know about fathering?