Nick All Night

by Cheryl St. John

  She had no idea. She knew nothing about him. Not really. Sure, he’d had dreams—who didn’t? But he’d had responsibilities, too. Still did. Her question angered him. “Do you think you’re happier than I am because you went after more?” he asked.

  She sucked in a breath and looked away quickly.

  “Is more all it’s cracked up to be?” he persisted.

  She shrugged a shoulder finally. “I’d better go in.”

  She took a step to move away, but he caught her wrist.

  Turning back slowly, she glanced up at his face. Moonlight accentuated the moisture glistening in her eyes. He was an idiot. He hadn’t meant to hurt her. “Hey,” he said. “I’m proud of you for making something of yourself.”

  “Don’t be,” she replied.

  He dropped his hand from her arm. “Let’s walk down around the corner and see if we can spot any muskrats in the creek.”

  “What about Jamie?”

  “He’s fine. Dad’s still awake.”

  Surprising him, she said, “Okay.”

  They walked across his backyard, down a block and cut across a steep bank that led down to Penny Creek. The grass was high, and he walked ahead of her, flattening a path. Beneath his bare feet, the grass was cool. Near the water’s edge, they stopped and studied the bubbling water as it flowed over rocks and limbs in the moonlight.

  “Remember when we thought we’d catch one?” he asked. “We made a trap out of my dad’s tomato cages and some chicken wire.”

  Ryanne laughed and found a flat rock to sit on.

  Nick sat beside her.

  “I remember we sat along this bank and discussed how Mrs. Kingsley got a baby in her stomach.”

  He nodded.

  “I was right,” she told him. “I knew from the girls in gym class that it had something to do with taking all your clothes off.”

  He laughed out loud. “I so did not want that to be the truth. I could not picture my parents together with their clothes off. Shame on you. There you were, the older one, filling my head with sex talk.”

  “Yeah, well, you’re the one who told me about condoms.”

  “That wasn’t until seventh grade, and you were in ninth. I just wanted to make sure you didn’t do anything stupid.”

  “Not likely.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Meaning, I never did more than kiss a boy until college.”

  “Seriously?”

  She nodded.

  “Then what did you do in college?”

  She shook her head and made a motion of waving him away. “Oh, no. You’re not getting any sex stories from me.”

  “So you had sex?”

  “No! Well, I… Shut up.”

  “So you didn’t even have sex in college,” he surmised, pleased with himself for pulling it out of her, and pleased with the information for some reason. “You were too busy cracking the books, weren’t you?”

  “There’s nothing wrong with that.” Her chin came up.

  “You’re right.”

  “What about you?” she asked.

  “What about me?”

  “How old were you?”

  “Twenty-one.” He turned his head to catch her reaction, if any.

  She was studying him with a frown. “But wasn’t that about when you got married?”

  He nodded.

  “Oh wow,” she said, taking a breath.

  “What?”

  “You saved yourself for marriage?”

  “Not exactly. I just didn’t…there wasn’t anyone—anybody—I wanted to get involved with.”

  “Until Holly.”

  “Until Holly,” he agreed.

  “And what about after Holly?” she asked. “Still saving yourself?”

  “You’re getting kind of personal here.”

  “You started it.”

  She amused him more than she could know. This was so like the conversations they’d had all their lives. So different from anything he’d ever shared with anyone else. And he didn’t mind the intimacy one bit. “I’ve dated a few women since Holly.”

  “Dated?”

  “You know.”

  “Really? Ha! Who?”

  He stood up at that. “I’m not going to tell you who!”

  “Why not? Are you ashamed?”

  “No!”

  “Embarrassed?”

  “No.”

  “What then?”

  “Well, you just don’t need to know,” he said finally. He moved to the edge of the water, used his toe to find a rock, and threw it into the creek.

  “Okay,” she said from behind him.

  Another splash sounded.

  “’Spose that was a frog?” she asked.

  “Maybe.”

  They listened in companionable silence.

  “Birdy?” she asked softly.

  It took a minute to figure out what the question was, and when it dawned on him Ryanne was still questioning him about his sexual partners, he turned to her. “No!”

  She found a rock and threw it herself. “Good.”

  That stumped him. “Why?”

  “Just wouldn’t want to picture you and Birdy, that’s all. I’m supposed to be having lunch with her soon.”

  “And thinking about that would spoil your appetite? Gee, thanks.”

  “No,” she said, humor in her voice. She was standing higher than him, and reached out to place her hand on his shoulder. “Let’s drop it.”

  As an instinctive reaction, he raised his hand and wrapped his fingers around her wrist. Beneath his touch her bones were delicate, her skin soft. She wore a light powdery fragrance that wasn’t overpowering or flowery, and he liked it on her.

  That same electrical current that had passed between them earlier arced now, and their easy camaraderie vanished, replaced by a tension so thick and tangible he found it difficult to draw a breath.

  “Nick,” she whispered, almost a question, almost a caress.

  She raised her free hand and touched one fingertip to the corner of his mouth.

  This was Rye, his friend. This was a desirable, sexy woman whose touch set him on fire. He couldn’t remember ever wanting anything as badly as he wanted to kiss her right then. She was right. He did want more.

  So he did exactly what he shouldn’t do. He pulled her wrist toward him, and when she leaned forward, he wrapped his other arm around her waist, drew her against him and covered her lips with his.

  Chapter Six

  Ryanne was so surprised that she couldn’t think right away. And when her thoughts did slide into focus, she realized she was standing on the creek bank—one hand on Nick’s shoulder, the other fisted in the air—kissing him. A dizzying quiver ran along her brain stem and turned her insides to jelly.

  She shouldn’t be doing this—they shouldn’t be doing this. This was Nick, and this just wasn’t right.

  All the contradictory feelings she’d had for him—all the looks he’d given her, the remarks he’d made—flowed into place and made it clear that this moment was what all that had been leading toward.

  His lips were warm and full and gentle, his strong arm against her back a solid support, not a restraint. She moved her hand from the soft knit of his shirt to the side of his neck and spread her fingers over the warm solid flesh, finding his short silky hair with her fingertips.

  Bringing her other hand up, needing to hang on, to touch him, she found the gaping sleeve of his shirt and slid her palm beneath the fabric and across his warm, sleek-skinned shoulder.

  At her touch, he drew in a breath, barely breaking the contact of their lips. It was enough separation to make her experience the acute loss, and to be relieved when he circled her with his other arm and drew her closer. As one, their lips fused and the kiss took on more heat, more intensity. Ryanne could barely think for the exhilaratingly sensuous feelings his mouth and his nearness were creating in her. She skimmed her palm down his shoulder blade, his skin a titillating caress to her newly awakened perception.


  Without conscious consent, she gave herself over to the pureness of taste and senses, taking oblivious pleasure in an entirely new, entirely exotic happening. Oh sweet heaven, the man could kiss. He plied her mouth with prolonged sweetness, nipped the edge of her lower lip, plucked and pursed and played until her head grew light and her body heavy.

  Nick brought both hands up to the sides of her head, leaving her clinging to him for support, and cupped her face, ran a thumb over her jaw, then forced her away to look into her eyes.

  Ryanne raised her eyelids as though drugged. In the moonlight, she noted the sheen of his dark hair, the heat in his gaze…the night air cooling her lips. She licked them once, tasting him. Wanting him.

  This time when he lowered his head, the touch of his lips was familiar, like a caress she’d missed and longed for. It was easy to lose herself, to close off reality and simply indulge.

  And that’s what kissing Nick was like, an indulgence…like a calorie-laden, hot fudge sundae with whipped cream and red, ripe strawberries. Like the most pleasurable thing imaginable…a forbidden delicacy that wouldn’t be regretted until later.

  She leaned into him, then urgently groped for his wrists and brought his hands up over her breasts. He broke the kiss. They stood that way, Ryanne’s eyes closed tightly, her lower lip caught between her teeth, pressing against his hands as he cupped her breasts in his palms and kneaded.

  Nick had lost all reason. The urgent—almost pained—expression on Ryanne’s lovely face, the feel of her soft full breasts, everything about this unexpected encounter had him aroused to a fever pitch. This hungry need for her took his breath away, robbed him of his common sense. He recognized it, and knew better. But right at this moment—this erotic, mind-numbing moment—he didn’t care.

  He’d always felt something special for her. But the feelings had been tender. Innocent.

  These primal urges were anything but innocent. He wanted to strip Ryanne’s clothes from her sexy little body and satisfy himself in her right here and now. And the most frightening realization of all at this moment was that she seemed all too willing to comply.

  He tested his theory by running his thumbs over the tight buds of her nipples. She sucked in a breath and her body trembled. Her breath caught in feathery little hiccups. Mercy!

  He remembered what she looked like in those skimpy panties, and swallowed hard. “Rye?” he said softly.

  Her eyes fluttered open. In the moonlight, her brow furrowed in a questioning frown.

  “What are we doing?” he asked, his voice sounding ragged to his ears. When he heard it, his brain was jogged into a moment of lucidity. This was the girl who couldn’t wait to leave for greener pastures, the woman who had aspirations and dreams that didn’t include him or his obligations. If he could have sex with her without getting his head involved, he might think about it, but he knew how he’d felt about her before. And he wasn’t up to subjecting himself to her desertion once again. “What the hell are we doing?” he asked again.

  This time he released her and backed away.

  After swaying in the darkness, she caught her balance as though orienting herself. She stuck the fingers of one hand in her hair, pulling it away from her face, and stared at him, her eyes wide. “Oh my…”

  “We are going to forget that,” he said, and turned away to stare at the creek.

  She didn’t say anything. The frogs had begun a cadence that filled the silent void.

  Finally, her trembling voice reached him. “I want to be friends, Nick.”

  She’d always wanted to be friends. He almost laughed at the futility of getting himself mixed up with her again. “I know.”

  “I’ll forget if you will.”

  Like there was a chance in hell of that. “Okay.”

  “I’m going home.”

  “I’ll be right behind you.”

  The grass swished and she moved away. Nick turned and watched her walking up the bank. After a moment, he followed, staying behind her as she hurried through the neighborhood and reached her mom’s place.

  She entered the house and closed the door. Nick sat on a bench on his back deck and watched the downstairs lights go out and another come on in her bedroom.

  What disturbed him in addition to being more frustrated than ever was the fact that she’d have done it. He really believed she would have had sex with him, taken a moment of pleasure—heck, maybe weeks of pleasure—and then headed blissfully back to her successful, busy life.

  And here he’d be. Picking up the pieces of his life. Going on. Existence as usual. Maybe he should have gone ahead. If she had no reservations, why should he? He could take care of his itch and have no added obligations, an idea that had appealed to him in theory of late.

  Well, hell, maybe he still would. If the opportunity arose again.

  By ten the next morning, Nick had completely vetoed the idea of another physical encounter with Ryanne. He needed to give his brain a little more control and his body a lot more space. He was sitting at his desk at the sheriff’s department, reading the mail the dispatcher had opened for him, when the phone rang.

  “It’s Ann Marie Vincent,” Sharon called, her hand over the mouthpiece. “Eddie’s at it again. Want Bryce to take it?”

  Nick stood. “No, tell her I’m on my way.”

  He grabbed his hat and headed for the door.

  Five minutes later, he was driving up the graveled lane to the Vincent place, a small house with peeling paint that sat on an acre of land. Ann Marie worked afternoons and evenings at the Three B’s Bar; her husband, Eddie, worked nights at the nearby soybean plant. Their only child, a son, would be a fifth grader at Elmwood Elementary when school started in the fall.

  Nick had been to this house too many times to count. He parked and ran up the cracked walk. Through the screen door, he could hear the man shouting. Without bothering to knock, he yanked open the door. “Ann Marie! Eddie!”

  The living room appeared unscathed, the worn carpet, upholstery and spindly-legged tables looking as pathetic as always, the portable television tuned to a game show. “Did you call him?” Eddie’s angry voice rang from the kitchen.

  Nick strode toward the sound, his gut clenching with apprehension at what he might see. The first sight that met his eyes was food strewn across the floor and streaked, as though it had been walked through. A pork chop lay under the edge of one counter, peas smashed everywhere.

  Ann Marie was sitting at the table, her head buried in her hands, her dark hair covering her face. Eddie, obviously drunk, told her to shut up, and stared at Nick with glaring defiance. “You can get the hell out of my house,” he said.

  Nick crossed the room. “Ann Marie, are you all right?”

  She didn’t look up.

  He placed a hand on her shoulder, and she flinched, then tossed her hair back and looked up at him, shame and grief and hopelessness prominent in her glistening eyes. The corner of one and her cheekbone were turning black and blue, and a trickle of blood ran from the corner of her dry, cracked lip.

  Helplessness and anger washed over Nick in a nauseating wave, and he tamped down the emotions to let the lawman in him take over.

  “I’m all right,” she said. “Just take him in to cool off for a while.”

  Eddie threw a plate across the room and it crashed against the doorjamb. “I wouldn’t need to cool off if you’d learn to fix me a decent meal! I work all night long and I come home to leftovers! A man has to eat to stay alive! How the hell do you think the bills get paid around here?”

  “Yeah, well, I work, too, Eddie,” she said tiredly. “It’s not exactly a picnic at the Three B’s, no matter what you think. And I don’t get any help around here.”

  “How do you think other women do it?” Eddie asked. “Other women work and still fix decent meals.”

  “Maybe their husbands don’t spend the grocery money on booze!”

  “I got a right to relax!” he shouted, and stomped toward the table, slipping o
n the mashed peas and lurching forward.

  Nick shot out a hand and restrained him. “Back off, Eddie.”

  “She’s mouthy, you hear that?” he shouted, catching his balance. “The bitch deserves everything she gets.”

  “No, she doesn’t.” Nick still held him by a shoulder. “Nobody deserves to get hit for voicing an opinion.”

  “She never had an opinion worth wastin’ breath on.” Jerking from Nick’s grasp, Eddie threw open the back door and stomped out.

  Nick leaned both palms on the laminated tabletop and appealed to the woman. He’d known her most of his life, had gone to school with her, and these domestic scenes made him sick. “Press charges this time. Do it for yourself. Leave. Go to your mother’s. Do anything, Ann Marie, but don’t stay here and let him do this to you.”

  “I can’t take Dylan away from his friends, disrupt his life. And I can’t go to my mom’s. She never liked Eddie.”

  “Me taking Eddie in for a day isn’t going to fix things, and you know it. It’s like putting a bandage on a severed artery. You both need some help. Make him get it.”

  Ann Marie looked away. “I can’t do that, Nick. He doesn’t mean to get like this. He can be real sweet most of the time. It’s just the alcohol.”

  “And that’s what he needs help with. If you press charges, a judge will have him evaluated, maybe force him to go into treatment.”

  “It’s like quitting smoking,” she argued. “You have to want it before it will work. And it probably wasn’t the best supper I’ve ever fixed him, you know?”

  Nick straightened and stood with his hands on his hips in exasperation. They’d had this discussion a dozen times in the last year. He always wondered why she tried to reason with Eddie, and here Nick was, trying to reason with her. Ann Marie was right about one thing, though—she had to want Nick’s help before he could give it to her. But he sure as hell didn’t want to come out here and find her beaten senseless—or worse yet, dead. His hands were tied as long as she refused to take the necessary steps. “Don’t be a fool, Ann Marie.”

  She stood and went to the sink. “Thanks for coming, Nick.”