by Leslie Kelly
That, she realized, was what was really keeping her awake. How could Mick have been so close to her earlier that day, touching her with such sultry skill and pleasure, looking ready to gobble her up like the wolf he was, then watch sexy movies alone in his house while she lay right upstairs?
Unless he was completely unaffected by her. Unless that little smile he’d given her when he’d left the trailer today hadn’t meant what she’d thought it had meant.
There was really only one way to find out. Not entirely sure what she meant to do, Caro slipped out of bed and made her way through the upstairs hallway. She avoided the creaky spots on the wooden floor, and stepped over the second step from the top on the staircase, which also creaked.
She approached the rec room, lit only by the flickering light of the television. Closing her eyes and taking a deep breath to prepare herself for the worst—the worst probably being seeing Mick enraptured by six triple-D breasts filling up his TV screen—and walked up behind him.
She cast one quick glance at his form on the recliner, quick enough to see he was asleep.
How jaded must a man be to fall asleep during a porno?
Then she took a closer look at the TV, and recognized a familiar toothpaste commercial. The unopened movie box was on the floor, over by the entertainment center where he’d been squatting when she’d left.
He’d tricked her. Played a wicked prank to get her to leave him alone with his big beautiful TV. He hadn’t watched any porno movie. As the commercial faded, she realized he’d been watching a basketball game.
Sneaky rat. Even as she thought it, though, a part of her was glad he hadn’t watched the movie while she was upstairs in bed. That would have bothered her. Tremendously. Still, that didn’t let him off the hook for stealing her TV time.
She instantly thought of a way to get even. Knowing Mick, remembering his intensely sexual nature, she knew exactly what to do to make him crazy when he woke from a light sleep probably full of the horny dreams men like him always had. Yeah, she knew what to do.
Give him exactly what he’d asked for.
CHAPTER EIGHT
LIKE THAT FIRST NIGHT, Mick knew the moment Caroline entered the room. He’d been dozing, bored by the game. He’d drifted off thinking about their shared dinner, wondering what she was thinking up in her room. Wondering if their thoughts had been the same.
Doubtful. Not unless she’d developed a thing for silk scarves and edible body paints. Somehow, his traitorous brain hadn’t gone for the simple sex scenario. It’d gone straight to usual third date stuff—light bondage, amazing oral sex. Headboard slamming and loud screams of pleasure.
Damn, this would never do. He was getting hard again, sitting here in his chair, while she crept around like a sneaky little mouse, launching her silent attack on his TV.
He half thought she was about to start flipping channels and steal a quick Dharma and Greg rerun while he was asleep. So her next move really startled him.
She picked up the video box. She opened it. She took out the tape and popped it into the VCR.
He gulped, almost unable to watch.
Then she did it. The little witch pushed play.
No. No, no, no way in hell was she gonna get away with sneaking down here to watch his bad porn. If she’d wanted to get off like that, she could have snuck the tape back up to her own room, where there was a perfectly adequate small TV.
As he continued to watch through half-lowered lashes, Caroline hit the fast forward button until the screen filled with bodies in various states of dress. Not that he was looking. Not that he cared. Mick had never cared for X-rated movies, never needed them, truth be told. That was why the majority of the ones in his entertainment center were unopened.
But, oh, God, did they bring to mind real sex. Right now. Sex with her, the woman standing here, backing quietly away from the television as she dropped the empty video box to the floor.
So much for keeping his mind off the things they’d done together. It was hard enough trying to forget the way he’d once been able to make her come just by cupping her through her jeans and sucking deeply on those sensitive, perfect nipples. He’d been remembering, thinking about it every day when he watched her leave in the morning and come back at night. So how the hell could he not think about it now, when the room was full of sex and lust and moaning people writhing in pleasure?
He wanted to be one of them. Ached to be one of them. Just as she’d damn well known he would when she turned on the tape.
She turned around just as the boom-chock-a-wang-wang music got into full swing. Their eyes met and her hand instantly rose to her throat. “I thought you were asleep.”
“I wasn’t.”
She edged around the chair, keeping well out of distance as she tried to ease out of the room.
“Sorry to disturb you.”
He shook his head, tsking as she tried to turn and walk out. “Leaving so soon?” he asked, hearing the low rumble of intensity in his own voice.
She nodded. “I, uh, forgot something.”
He paused for the length of one heartbeat. “Your vibrator?”
Even in the darkness he could see her blush. “I never…”
“You should. You need to get off, babe. You need it badly. I can see it in your eyes.”
She looked away. “You’re delusional.”
He laughed softly. “Right.”
“I told you I forgot something.”
“Forgot to turn yourself invisible while you snuck down here to get a porn fix?”
Her mouth fell open. “I was not!”
“Then what were you doing, Caroline?”
She glanced around helplessly, taking one more step toward the door. “I…um…nothing.”
“You could have done nothing up in your room.”
She crossed her arms and tilted her head back in false bravado. “I thought I heard a noise.”
He hit the mute button on the TV remote. The silence was louder than the movie had been. Then he whispered, “What kind of noise? Moaning? Screaming? Panting?”
Her bottom lip disappeared into her mouth and she proceeded to chew a hole in it.
“What did you hear, Caroline?” Keeping his voice silky smooth, almost hypnotic, he rose to his feet and stood beside her. “Helpless whimpers? Soft sighs of pleasure? Sweet whispers or the slick sound of skin sliding against skin?”
“Stop it.” Her voice was weaker than her protest.
“How about wet kissing?” He stepped closer, until their bodies were separated a distance no wider than a lock of her beautiful chestnut brown hair. As he spoke, his breath touched her face. He saw tiny goose bumps arise on her skin and her eyes drifted closed.
“Cries for more?” He raised his hand and ran the tip of his finger, only that and nothing more, along the collar of her pajamas. “The tearing off of clothes? A woman’s voice begging for release?”
She whimpered, low and soft, deep in her throat. Mick knew he should stop. Knew it. But he couldn’t. “That deep moan a woman makes when she’s finally filled to the hilt by a thick, hard cock?”
“Oh, God. Please stop.”
Though his words were inflaming him as much as they were her, Mick couldn’t stop. “What’s wrong? You want to see it, but you don’t like somebody saying it?”
She shook her head mindlessly, her eyes still closed. “I don’t want to see it.”
“Oh,” he said as he ran his hands down her arms, pulling her even closer until their bodies brushed against one another with pure electricity. “You don’t want to see it. Don’t want to talk about it. You must just want to do it.”
Her reply was mumbled, unintelligible.
“Admit what you were doing down here.”
He waited for a moment, not stepping back, letting her continue to feel his breath, his presence, the warmth of his body so very close to hers.
Finally she did. “I was going to put the movie on and leave, letting you wake up to see it. To, uh…”<
br />
“Torment me?”
She nodded. Then, finally opening her eyes, she took a step back. He let her go. For now.
“What makes you think that would have tormented me?”
Her eyes shifted to the screen, then immediately back again, obviously shocked by what the man and woman on the screen were doing now. “It was a stupid idea.”
She continued to move, to try to slide sideways out of the room, away from the power and heat that had flared between them. But she wasn’t going to get away that easily. Moving so quickly she didn’t have time to react, he took hold of her arm. Her mouth fell open but he didn’t give her a chance to resist.
“You can’t leave without getting what you came for.” Tugging her with him, he sat down in the chaise again and pulled her onto his lap. “You wanted to torment me. To make me watch this so I’d sit here and think of you upstairs. Think of us and the things we used to do to one another.”
She tried to stand up. He held her firmly around the waist, keeping her hips against his groin, and her bottom firmly on his lap. On his erection, which she undoubtedly felt.
“Mick…” His name ended on a moan as she pressed against him in a helpless, ancient invitation of woman to man.
“Shh.” He took her chin and turned her face toward the TV screen.
Caroline didn’t want to watch, had no interest in watching. What appeared on the screen was nothing compared to what was happening here, now, in Mick’s arms, against his body.
He felt divine. Hard and hot and perfect, just like he had years ago. But now he was stronger, maybe a tiny bit dangerous. Not the good-natured young guy, but a man in full control. A man who knew how to make a woman lose her mind.
“Are you watching?” he whispered, his words only slightly louder than the crazy beating of her own heart.
She shook her head.
“Look,” he ordered.
She obeyed, unable to resist. Glancing at the screen she saw a flash of intimacy that made her shake in his lap. A man’s head between a woman’s pale white thighs. Kissing her, licking her.
She jerked, unable to prevent her body’s response to the shockingly sexual image, and got a sultry, wicked laugh in return. He knew what he was doing to her. Knew it. Loved it.
“I really do hate you,” she mumbled, nearly incoherent.
“I know. This is just about the TV again, right? You’re only here because of my TV.”
“Uh-huh.”
Then she couldn’t say anything else. She closed her eyes again, focused only on what was happening here and now, not on the big screen. Mick was doing the most delightful things with his mouth. His whispers caressed her neck, his lips so close they brushed the skin there, and when his tongue slid out to flick at the pulse point, she writhed against him.
His hands moved across her, lightly, letting the silk fabric of her pajamas create incredible friction against her skin. His touch varied, a quick stroke of the thigh, a leisurely hand curving around her waist. And all the while he continued to whisper, to kiss her neck, her jaw, her throat.
She turned to give him better access, still never opening her eyes, not until his mouth moved to hers. They exchanged a deep, slow kiss and when she tasted his tongue for the first time in years, she gave a long, shuddery moan of pleasure. He captured it with his mouth as they shared breaths and wet, deep tongue thrusts.
Mick’s kiss had always made her weak in the knees. Now it made her weak in her entire body. So weak she sagged against him, which made it that much easier for him to continue the lethargic caresses.
“You’re still so beautiful,” he murmured as he moved his mouth down to her throat again. His fingers were working the buttons of her pajama top, but she had no will to resist. When it fell away, she opened her eyes to watch Mick lower his lips to her breast. He kissed, nibbled and stroked her until she was ready to scream at him to take her in his mouth.
She pushed against him in silent demand, and his laughter only inflamed her more. “Please, Mick.”
Instead of giving her what she wanted, he went for the death stroke. His other wicked, naughty hand slid up under the opening of her pajama shorts and cupped her between her legs. She jerked against him as his palm created instant delight where it rubbed against her.
“Oh, God, yes,” she said on a moan as waves of pleasure built inside her.
Then he moved his lips to one nipple and sucked deeply and she gave herself over to it, willing her explosive climax to carry her over the edge.
But before she reached that peak, Mick gently pushed her off his lap and stood. She stared at him, dazed, confused, wanting more. He bent down and she reached up, ready to wrap her arms around his neck so he could carry her up to bed. It was crazy and dangerous but she wanted him. Now.
He didn’t pick her up. Instead, he brushed one light kiss along her hairline. “Caroline?”
“Umm-hmm?” was the best she could manage.
His whisper was soft and barely penetrated the haze of lust in her brain. “I think you’d better invest in a vibrator.”
Then he walked out of the room.
HESTER TOMLINSON hated everything to do with the reality TV show invading Derryville. But that didn’t mean she was any less curious than everyone else in town. Especially on Saturday, the official kick-off day of shooting.
“I didn’t think the president himself could get Decatur Street shut down. How’d these folks manage to do it?”
The question was asked by Maxine MacDonald, one of the wealthy matriarchs of Derryville. And, unfortunately, a reality TV show junkie. Hester had criticized the show to Maxine once. Only once. She knew well enough not to bite the hand that donated to her.
“I imagine if you have enough money, you can buy anyone,” Hester replied, knowing Maxine was too dotty to recognize a backhanded insult.
She and Maxine stood by the front window of Darlene’s Dresses and More, watching the crowd scurrying around outside. There were cameras set up at either end of the intersection, a mobile home parked in the parking lot of the post office and people yelling their fool heads off all over the place.
“Are you sure this color looks all right?” Maxine said, sounding anxious. “It won’t look too cheap on TV?”
Hester, who couldn’t believe someone with Maxine’s money and standing would want to be seen on a cheesy television show, gave her a supportive smile. “You’re fine. And classy.” She cast a quick look outside and frowned. “Unlike most of these other fools.”
Everyone in downtown Derryville, it seemed, had put on their Sunday finest for today’s show. Women were wearing Easter dresses complete with flowered hats. Ellen Snipes was wearing her grandmother’s wedding dress—aged lace, moth-holes and all.
She even swore she saw Ed Racine, who owned the diner, dressed in a black suit that looked suspiciously like his ancient tux. The one he’d been wearing during his wedding to Louisa Jean Mayfair, who’d up and left him with a stack of bills and the diner so she could go off to the big city and become a famous hair salon owner. Ed had been pretty far away, though, so she couldn’t tell for sure.
Nitwits. A bunch of nitwits. Most of them didn’t seem to care that they were wasting an entire Saturday, just for a chance to get on TV.
She hated that they were all obsessed. She hated more that she had no part in it. Everyone seemed to have forgotten how things were supposed to be done around here.
It was while staring into a crowd of people gathered outside the bank that she saw a face she recognized. She froze, certain she was imagining things. Then she inched closer to the window, leaning toward the glass to get a better look.
The crowd shifted, moved, parted. And she saw the face again.
“Impossible,” she whispered, wondering frantically if the group was cast or crew, onlookers or journalists.
“What?”
She didn’t even respond to Maxine, because she’d suddenly begun to shiver. Of all places, of all people.
A cold finger of
fear curved up her back. Fear of her past. Fear for her future. Fear of that person—someone who had no business being here.
Slowly, quietly, not even caring that Maxine might think her rude, Hester slipped away from the window, through the store and out the back door. It was all she could do to remain calm as she walked away, through the alley toward the church. She kept looking over her shoulder, thinking, wondering.
I might not be recognized. Of course I wouldn’t.
But what if she were? What if she hadn’t changed enough, hadn’t gone far enough? Heaven help her if that was the case.
Because being recognized might very well cost her her life.
“I THINK THE COOK from the diner dug up his dead grandfather to get that suit.”
Caro whirled around from the small desk where she’d been sitting and saw Jacey Turner, the lead camera operator, wearing a look of bemusement. Following the young woman’s stare out the window of the RV—which they’d moved downtown for today’s shoot—Caro saw the diner owner in question. He was wearing an ancient-looking tux with a yellowed dress shirt. The pants were a few inches too short, the jacket much too tight. “I don’t know,” she replied. “I’d say he fits in just as well as everyone else here.”
Jacey probably heard the note of resignation in her voice. Caro couldn’t help it. Resigned to lunacy. Lunacy on the set. Lunacy in her private life. Lunacy all around.
“Why on earth did all these people show up dressed like this?”
“I have no idea. Renauld is having a hysterical fit right now over by the fountain. Not only is it supposed to be sometime near Halloween, it’s also supposed to be this century.”
Jacey snorted a laugh. When she did so, her face softened, making her look much more the early-twenties young woman Caro knew her to be. And less the vampire wannabe.
When she smiled, Jacey was very pretty. Not that the girl would appreciate hearing it. Aside from being a kick-ass camera operator, Jacey was known for one other thing: her attitude.
“So you’ve finished your meetings with all the cast members?”
