Spicy with a Side of Cranberry Sauce

by Rachell Nichole

  He rubbed her back and chuckled. “Okay. We can fix that,” he said. He led her to the table, and she sat down. “I’ll be right back.”

  He disappeared down the hall into the rest of the apartment, and she took a deep breath. She hadn’t really meant to come unprepared for her interviews. She knew kids; she knew how to work with them, how to teach them. And once she got started talking about that, she’d be fine. But it was like a switch had been flipped inside her head, allowing her to look more than two or three days into the future and wonder. She knew wondering about the future was dangerous. But it might be the only way to survive.

  Questions plagued her as she sat and waited. She hated playing the what-if game.

  Mason stepped back into the room. He’d changed out of his jeans and T-shirt and into a full gray suit. It looked fabulous on him. “Ms. Easton. Thank you for taking the time to come out here and meet with me today,” he said, extending his hand.

  Role-playing?

  She stood and shook his hand. “Of course, Mr. Rider.”

  “Please have a seat.” He waved his hand before him and sat across from her. He set the yellow pad of paper and a pen on the table and smiled. She wanted to thank him for doing this, but breaking character would make her laugh. This wasn’t the kind of role-playing she thought she’d be doing with him, but maybe they could play Naughty Secretary after.

  “So, Amy, tell me a little bit about yourself.”

  “Well, I grew up in the Northeast with my dad, and I’ve been working with kids for as long as I can remember.”

  He picked up the pen and scribbled something on the pad. She couldn’t see it from her side of the table. Was he just doodling, or was he a method actor? She’d have to wait to find out, because he fired a follow-up question.

  She answered it and the one that came after. With each one, she became more relaxed. More herself. He grinned.

  “See? You’ll do just fine tomorrow,” he said.

  Yeah, as long as they didn’t ask her where she saw herself in five years. That question always tripped her up. But she didn’t want to worry him with more of her issues. He’d gone above and beyond anything she’d ever expected. That was one good thing about her life. If she never expected anything, she could be pleasantly surprised when the world didn’t suck. He turned the pad of paper toward her.

  One Month Plan was written at the top. Along the side, he’d written the dates of the coming four weeks. Down at the bottom, by December 25, he’d written, Spend Xmas with Mason and his family. The note made her smile instead of cringe. That was right; she was going to spend Christmas with him. That was three weeks away. She could plan something three weeks into the future. It wouldn’t kill her. She hoped.

  She took the offered pen and wrote Interview beside tomorrow’s date. For Tuesday she wrote flight home. Mason reached out and squeezed her hand. She made an effort to calm her heart and moved down the list. She only added insignificant things, like buying Christmas presents. She’d gotten something small for her dad and something for Martha and Mason, but what she’d bought Mason would be insufficient. Too impersonal.

  She knew him now much better than she had when she’d been Black Friday shopping. After she was finished with the list, she put the pen down and looked at the paper. Her heart constricted. She could do this. She had to. She could no longer allow her past to interfere with her future. It was her inability to plan ahead, to turn in an entire year’s worth of lesson plans to the principal, that had helped lead to her contract not being renewed for another year. She wouldn’t let that happen again.

  “How do you feel?” Mason said.

  “Terrified,” she whispered, raising her eyes to his. The blue made her jolt, like it always did when he gazed at her with such intensity.

  “It’s okay to be terrified,” he said.

  His voice was so solid, so reassuring she couldn’t help but believe him. This was a big deal for her, though, and she needed to forget her terror for just a little while. She slid the pad of paper aside and grinned. “Can we play Naughty Secretary now?”

  “God, yes.” His whole demeanor changed. He sat up in his chair, straightened his tie, and looked at her. “Ms. Easton. Where is that fax? You better have done it properly this time, or you’re fired. And there’s only one thing you’ll be able to do to save your job.”

  She grinned. “Oh, but Mr. Rider, it wasn’t my fault,” she said, standing. She moved around the table and sat on the edge of it before him. “Please, sir, can’t I have another chance?”

  “I don’t know. I think you really need to show me your dedication to this company.” His eyes darkened. She would enjoy showing him her dedication and much more.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Mason burst through the door into his apartment. Where was Amy? She hadn’t answered when he’d called his landline earlier. He’d been dying all day to know how her job interview had gone. He found her on the couch, one leg tucked under her rear and a book in her hands.

  “So?” he asked. He couldn’t wait any longer to find out.

  She smiled, but it wasn’t the same megawatt grin he’d gotten used to. His heart fell into his stomach. Those idiots. If they couldn’t see what an incredible teacher she was, they didn’t deserve to have her.

  “It actually went pretty well,” she said. But she didn’t elaborate. She didn’t seem happy, despite that it had gone well. Did she not like the school after having seen it? He didn’t understand. “Thank you for last night.”

  He raised his eyebrows. Was she thanking him for their little office tryst?

  “Not that, perv! For asking me questions and helping me prepare for the interview. During which I did not blow my prospective boss. Who was a woman, by the way.”

  He blushed at her crude phrasing. Yes, she’d gone down on him, and she’d had sex with him on his “desk” as punishment for her lack of faxing skills. She’d let him tell her what a naughty girl she was and how disappointed he was in her abilities as his secretary. He’d loved every minute of it, and she’d certainly enjoyed herself, if the smirk on her face was any indication.

  He shook his head. She grinned and stood up. After setting the book on the end table, she came toward him and wrapped her arms around his neck. Oh, yeah, a man could get used to coming home to this every night. She kissed him, a deep, sensuous roll of her tongue against his. He groaned at the taste of her. She was leaving in the morning, and he would have to give her up.

  But it wasn’t morning yet, and he was going to enjoy her affections until the second she went through security at the airport and he was forced by men with guns to let her go. He’d taken the morning off so he could go with her and say good-bye. Because even though he would see her in just a few weeks in Austin, this was the end for them as lovers.

  She rubbed her fingers against the stubble of his jaw. He’d shaved this morning, but he had a good amount of five-o’clock shadow.

  “I love…” she whispered.

  His heart stopped.

  “This,” she finished.

  “What?” he said. He had to have her clarify. Did she love waiting for him to come home? Kissing him?

  “This,” she said again, running her hand back and forth over the short hairs on his face.

  “Mm, yeah, that feels nice,” he said.

  She nodded and leaned up to kiss her way along his jaw, his cheek, his nose, and finally his lips. He stayed still beneath her assault, letting her tongue glide across the seam of his lips before he opened his mouth to hers. She deepened the kiss, rocking her hips against his pelvis. He groaned at the feel of this firecracker in his arms. She wrapped herself around him and pushed the coat from his shoulders. She was just as eager to have him as he was to taste her.

  He let her strip him bare, holding his desire in check. She seemed to need to touch him, to explore his body with her fingers, her tongue, even the edges of her teeth. There was a touch of desperation in her exploration. She remained fully clothed in a pair of tig
ht yoga pants that hugged her rear. She hadn’t minded a bit of spanking last night while they played Naughty Secretary. He trailed his fingers around her left butt cheek as she licked his nipple. He moaned as she flicked it with her tongue and then moved to his other one.

  “I’m going to miss this,” he said. She froze with her mouth still locked around his nipple, and he still cupped her behind. She straightened and looked at him. Her hazel eyes were wide, her eyebrows arched just a little too high. He hadn’t meant to say it. The words had just kind of slipped out. He couldn’t take them back now. His statement hung in the air between them. Way to ruin the mood. He’d been rock hard only a few seconds ago, but as the doubts swirled through him, he could feel the blood rushing to his brain instead of his groin. He held his breath, waiting for her to say something. Anything.

  “Me too,” she whispered.

  His shoulders sagged as air seeped back into his lungs. He caressed her backside, holding her close.

  “Amy, if things were different, if you hadn’t been the girl in my mother’s kitchen with the cranberry sauce…” He didn’t know if he could finish. What? They’d live happily ever after? Not likely. Certainly not with his track record of weeklong relationships and sweaty flings. He couldn’t sustain a real relationship. But God, for the first time, he wished that were different. Wished he were different. But he was his father’s son.

  She moved away from him, and he shuddered. Had he ruined the few hours they had left with his confession? She took his hand and turned around. She led him down the hall and into the bedroom, then shoved him none too gently back on the bed. He lay there, waiting.

  “If things were different, we wouldn’t have met. And that would have been a shame,” she said.

  At last he could take a full breath. She stripped for him. It was a slow slide of fabric against skin and erotic as hell. There was no music, but she thrust and writhed as if to a rhythm only she could hear.

  “Even if it had been different, I don’t know if I could have given you romance and flowers like you deserve,” he said.

  She laughed, but it was a hollow kind of sound. “Do you know me? Romance and flowers, honestly?” She shook her head. “I could maybe give a month or two. But with my lack of thinking ahead, that’s about my limit. Mason, stop looking so damned guilty, would you?”

  He couldn’t help it. She climbed into the bed beside him and put her arms around him. Her body was warm, soft.

  “We maybe would have made it a few months.” She nuzzled his neck and placed a gentle kiss there.

  “I don’t know if I could have even done that. I don’t do well with the more, you know? The other stuff that comes after sex. I think that’s part of the reason I hate Dad so much. I’m terrified that I’ll do to some woman what he’s done to my mother.”

  She nipped his ear. “You’re not your father. Have you ever tried to have a real relationship, long-term?”

  “No. Not really.”

  “Then you should. How do you know you’d be bad at it?”

  “How do you?” he said.

  “Touché.” She sighed. “Let’s not play the what-if game anymore. We’ve agreed that this would be it for us. No use torturing ourselves.”

  She was right, of course. “But all I can do some days is play what-if,” he said.

  She lifted her head. “Well, let’s see what we can do to shut off that part of your brain, shall we?” She straddled his hips and angled his growing erection toward her entrance. When she impaled herself slowly on him, he forgot everything but Amy.

  * * * *

  “So you’ll send the letter next week?” Amy said.

  “Yes. I won’t forget. Promise.” He clutched her hand in his and dragged her suitcase behind them with the other. It was going to be quite a wait to check her in for her flight and get her through security. He couldn’t help but be happy about that, because it meant a few extra minutes with her. Once they reached Austin, they would have a very strict no-touching policy in place. She’d soothed him with her body and words last night, showing him what might have been. It was a good-bye, one he would remember for a long time to come. Maybe even forever.

  “I’ve got the tickets for Dad and me. We’ll be down on the twenty-fourth. What happens if your mom calls him after she gets the letter?” She sounded nervous.

  “She probably will. All you have to do is convince him she wants to see him again. That you talked to her and bought the tickets and that you’re both coming down for Christmas.”

  “That easy, huh?” she said. He smiled and brought her hand to his mouth to kiss it. Her cheeks turned a rosy pink at the look he gave her.

  Yes, darling, I am imagining you naked and wrapped around me. He probably would every time they were in the same room. Christmas would be a whole new realm of torture.

  They inched closer to the desk. With each passing minute, his throat grew raw; his chest ached. God, this was even harder than he thought it would be. She didn’t say anything else as they moved through the line. Did she feel the same sense of dread that had been plaguing him since he awoke that morning?

  He’d said good-bye to lovers before, mostly with a smile on his face as their time together came to an end. Or they’d leave him after realizing he wasn’t kidding when he told them there wouldn’t be kids or white picket fences in their futures.

  None of them had left him with this hollow ache.

  He stood to the side while Amy checked in for her flight, finally having to release her hand. The lack of her warmth was physical, terrifying in its intensity. She checked in her bag and turned to him, a bright smile on her face. But he knew what she looked like when she really smiled, and this wasn’t it. She was putting on a front. Whether for him or for herself, he wasn’t sure, but it pained him to see the forced cheer. He reclaimed her hand.

  “Security’s this way,” he said. He tugged her along toward the gates, spotting an alcove by the bathrooms. He pulled her into it.

  “Mason!”

  He wrapped his arms around her and captured her mouth with his, blood searing his veins. He’d held her that morning, made slow love to her, but still he wanted more. He was beginning to fear he’d always want more where Amy was concerned. She kissed him back with the same fervor, locking her body around his and moaning into his mouth. Public, damn it. They were in the middle of the airport. He needed to get himself under control. Had to stop. But he couldn’t.

  After a few moments, she pulled back from him, her gaze darting around. The commotion of people coming and going surrounded him again. He rested his forehead against hers, his breath coming in gasps. She clutched his shoulders, her body shaking against his.

  “I have to go,” she whispered as if she were telling him she was dying. Maybe she was. Maybe she felt just as torn up inside as he did. But she pushed him away. He took two steps back, and her hands fell to her sides. She hiked her bag up onto her shoulder and straightened her shirt. He stood there immobile as she pulled herself together. Her cheeks were flushed, her lips swollen and red from his attention. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. When she opened them again, her eyes were hard. He’d seen that look there before and knew her stubborn streak had taken over.

  She wasn’t going to let him touch her again, and a little part of him died inside.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Amy stepped off the curb in front of the airport and into Dad’s arms, fighting the tears that had been clawing to get out since she’d turned back to wave her final good-bye to Mason. When he’d kissed her with such desperation in the terminal, she’d almost broken down. Almost told him to screw the plan, sacrificing her father’s happiness for a chance at hers, despite the fact that she knew she couldn’t give Mason tomorrow. Instead she’d pushed him away.

  “Ames, what’s wrong?” Dad said, forcing her back into the present.

  She didn’t know where she’d gone there for a moment, imagining what her life could have been like coming home to Mason every night. He could
come in and help her set up her classroom, help force her to make a year’s worth of lesson plans. Dad gave her shoulders a gentle shake. He’d never done well with too much emotion, so she tried to keep it off her face, tried to keep the tears at bay. But she could feel them prick the back of her throat anyway.

  “It didn’t go well, huh? I’m sorry, honey. I know you really wanted one of those positions.”

  He thought she was upset over the jobs. Of course, he had no idea what she’d really been doing in Colorado.

  “I got the job. With the Denver city district.”

  He smiled and hugged her again. He lifted her up and spun her around. It was more joy than she’d seen from him since getting back from Texas two weeks ago.

  “Oh, honey, that’s great!”

  She laughed at his enthusiasm. He set her on her feet and took her wheeled suitcase. “Car’s this way,” he said. She followed him to his green Impala and told him about the interview on their way home. It was hard to tell him all that and not say a word about Mason. When they pulled into the driveway, she turned to him.

  “Have you heard anything from Martha?”

  “No,” he said. That was it. No explanation, no emotion. Nothing. They went inside, and he made them dinner. She sat down to eat but had no appetite.

  “Listen, Dad, there’s something I want to talk to you about. But I don’t want it to make you upset.”

  His eyes widened. “When was the last time you saw me upset?” He took a drink of water.

  He had a point there. Okay, here goes. “I’m sorry I was so mad at you when Mom died.”

  He sputtered, water dribbling down his chin. “Honey, that was a long time ago. And you weren’t really mad at me; you were just mad. At everything. So was I, for that matter.”