Nick All Night

by Cheryl St. John

  Down the highway, Duane Quinn chased a couple of the odorous creatures; loose feathers flew in the sunlight.

  Taking a drink of sun-warmed coffee from his cup on the console, Nick picked up his cell phone and made a few calls.

  By noon the driver had been informed that his guess was correct. Nobody wanted to deal with this, and the shipment was being written off. His freight company couldn’t get anyone out to help clean up until the following day.

  Nick put his plan into action, and nearby farmers and businessmen arrived to carry away crates of free turkeys. An assembly line was set up at the Cooper farm, and turkeys were killed and dressed until late that night.

  Every citizen who had a freezer soon had it stocked full, as did as the merchants who owned commercial freezers—at the store, the café and the steak house.

  Nick got home late that evening to discover Ryanne with Jamie. “Hi, guys.”

  “Hi, Dad!” Jamie ran to give his father a hug, but backed away, wrinkling his nose. “You stink.”

  “Where’s Pop?” Nick asked Ryanne.

  “Helping with the cleanup somewhere,” she replied. “I told him I’d be glad to come stay with Jamie.”

  “Thanks.”

  “No problem. We had dinner a little while ago. I saved you some.”

  “As long as it’s not turkey.” He looked her over with new appreciation, hoping she hadn’t had a change of mind or any regrets about the night before.

  She blushed under his gaze, then wrinkled her nose. “Go take a shower,” she suggested.

  He did, a long one, standing under the spray and letting it pound out the weariness in his shoulders. Jamie sat on the vanity and watched him shave, asking questions, chattering about his own day.

  Ryanne had served up a plate of spaghetti for him, with a green salad on the side, and she and Jamie played on the computer while he ate.

  Nick put in a video for his son, and after about half an hour, tucked him into bed. When he returned to Ryanne in the family room, she was looking through a photo album.

  Nick relaxed into the cushions of the comfortable leather sofa and propped his crossed ankles on the trunk.

  Ryanne wore a tender expression when she turned to him. “Some day, huh?”

  “My life went from ecstasy to torment in a matter of hours.”

  “Ecstasy, you say.”

  “Pure.”

  She smiled and moved over to snuggle up beside him. Nick wrapped his arm around her shoulders and kissed her temple. With the album in her lap, she nestled her head on his shoulder and rested her palm over his heart. Nick picked up her hand and kissed her fingers.

  They sat that way, comfortable, comforting, for a long, easy time. Finally, Ryanne shifted, sitting up and turning her attention back to the photographs.

  “What are you looking at?”

  “I found a stack of old albums, and I brought a few over to show Jamie. Here’s us.” She lifted the book and showed him a photograph of the three of them—Ryanne, Nick and Justin—playing on the beach at Lake Okoboji. In the shot beside it, they rode brightly painted horses on the old-fashioned carousel at the amusement park. “We went there several summers, didn’t we?”

  Nick nodded.

  “My dad spent all his time near the cabins reading, but your dad took us fishing and boating.”

  Nick had avoided pictures of his younger brother, avoided the painful memories they dredged up. Ryanne turned to him, intuitively understanding. “This is painful for you?”

  He nodded.

  She closed the album and set it on the floor. “Maybe if you talked about it, about Justin, it would help.”

  “Like you talk about Mason?”

  That shut her up, though Nick hadn’t intended to be cruel. She meant well, but she hadn’t shared much about her life while they’d been apart, and there were things he didn’t want to talk about, either.

  “Birdy called me today,” Ryanne said, changing the subject.

  “Yeah?”

  “We’re having lunch tomorrow.” She nestled back into Nick’s embrace. “It seems really weird seeing her after all this time.”

  “Seemed weird seeing me, too, didn’t it?”

  “That’s because you are weird.”

  She’d made him smile, and he hugged her with appreciation for understanding his need for privacy. “Like Birdy’s not.” He nuzzled Ryanne’s cheek, and she turned her face to his.

  She ran her index finger over Nick’s lower lip; he ducked his head to give her a quick kiss. She did it again, and this time when he kissed her, she wrapped her arm around his neck and hung on.

  Being a woman with a will of iron and a fierce independent nature, she found that needing someone was foreign to her. Therefore Ryanne didn’t understand this wild urgent wanting she felt for this man. How he instinctively knew the measures of delicacy and strength that wound her tighter and tighter, she couldn’t fathom, but he proved it again with kisses that went from tender and seeking to forceful and possessive. Somehow he anticipated each degree of intimacy until she was delirious with the pleasure of his kisses and his stroking hands.

  His mouth left hers and they breathed the same air, anticipation and eagerness making her breathless. “I can’t leave tonight,” he said. “My dad’s not here.” He kissed her, and just as acute disappointment threatened to wash over her, he suggested, “We can go up to my room.”

  She took his hand, and he turned off lights. She climbed the stairs ahead of him, Nick running his hands over her bottom. At the doorway, he kissed her. “I’ll check on Jamie.”

  “I’m not going anywhere.”

  He moved down the hallway.

  Ryanne stepped into Nick’s darkened room. Not locating a switch on the wall, she made her way by the moonlight filtering in through the window, and turned on a bedside lamp.

  No trophies lined the bureau or the shelves above it. The stuffed lizard and model cars were gone. The furniture was contemporary oak—a wide king-size bed, not too tidily made, and an open armoire revealing a TV and a stereo. A comfortable overstuffed chair sat near the window, with two stacks of books on the table beside it.

  Ryanne picked up the one on top: A Sleep Manual, written by an M.D., Ph.D. The one beneath it was a mystery novel by a popular author. She spotted a Blue Book of auto prices, and another car book. On the other stack, the title Mars and Venus in the Bedroom leaped out at her. She flipped it open and noted that the receipt being used as a bookmark was only two days old. A smile inched up the corner of her lips. An ink pen and a tablet lay beneath the book, and her fingers itched to unearth it and see what was written.

  The door closed softly behind her, and she turned to find Nick approaching.

  Ryanne set down the book. “He’s asleep?”

  “The kid sleeps like a rock.”

  “You’re an eclectic reader.”

  His gaze flickered to the stack of reading material and back to her. Nick reached for the lamp and plunged the room into darkness. “Look,” he said, taking her hand and leading her to the window.

  Through the open drapes, her mother’s house was plainly visible. Ryanne could even see the window fan running in the dining room, though the house was dark. She’d left while it was still light.

  “I can see right into your room when you have the light on and the curtains open,” he confessed. He stepped close behind her and wrapped his arms around her.

  Ryanne leaned back against his hard male strength. “At least you don’t have a pair of binoculars or a telescope set up here.” A minute later she added, “Do you?”

  “No. But there’s a Camcorder in the closest.”

  “With a telephoto lens, no doubt. Have you seen anything good lately?”

  He chuckled. “Not lately. I got quite an eyeful when I was about fourteen, though.”

  She turned in his embrace. “You did?”

  “Um-hmm.”

  “You never said anything.”

  “Like I was going to tell
you I’d seen your boobs. Sometimes I wondered if you did it on purpose.”

  She pulled back and gaped at him. “Why would I do that?”

  “To make me crazy.”

  She punched him in the arm. “You take that back. I’m not an exhibitionist!”

  He captured her hand and laughed. “Yeah, well, I’m not a voyeur.”

  She allowed him to tug her back into his embrace, then she fitted her body along the length of his and looked up at him. He raised a hand to thread his fingers through her hair. “I want you, Rye. Are you okay with this?”

  She appreciated the freedom to change her mind, but she wanted it as much as he did. She glanced toward the door.

  “I locked it,” he said.

  She met his eyes. “I’m okay with it.”

  He kissed her, and she melted as she had before. He led her to the edge of his bed and urged her to sit. When she did, he slipped her sandals from her feet and rubbed one foot sensuously, then the other. Kneeling, he trailed his palms up her calves, sending a shudder through her already half-aroused body.

  Ryanne touched his cheek, still in awe over this unexpected and thoroughly enticing new development, still shocked to find out she was more than okay with it. She was downright starved for it.

  Chapter Nine

  Leaning forward, Nick kissed both her knees, then one thigh. She had entirely too many clothes on, but she didn’t want to rush him. He was doing just fine. And as if she’d thought it aloud, he reached for the buttons on her sleeveless summer shirt and unfastened them from top to bottom. He hooked a finger in the center of her bra between her breasts. “A bra this time.”

  “I usually wear one.”

  “But not on our drives.”

  She grinned and shrugged out of the shirt. “Not then.”

  “Is this one of those miracle bras? Because I don’t think you need one.”

  “A miracle or a bra?”

  He leaned forward and kissed the exposed flesh above the lacy cup. “Either one.”

  She bracketed his face and luxuriated in the sensation of his mouth on her skin. Ah, the pleasure this man gave her was pure rapture for a body and a heart that had never known the arousing possibilities. He made her feel. He made her come alive, become aware of herself in a way she’d never been.

  Pulling away long enough to tug his shirt over his head, Nick returned to nuzzle her along the edge of her bra. Ryanne wondered if her touches felt as good to him, and knew they must when she caressed his muscled shoulders and elicited a soft groan. Feathering kisses up her neck, he cupped her breast and kneaded it through the lacy fabric. “Front or back?” he breathed under her ear.

  “What?”

  “The catch. Front or back?”

  “Oh. Back.”

  He reached around and loosened the hooks, and Ryanne dropped the undergarment to the floor. His lips traveled an erotic course across her collarbone and over the crests of flesh, making her anticipate, making her hold her breath.

  He guided her into the center of the bed, removing the rest of his clothing and joining her, only to sit on his knees and admire her in the shaft of moonlight. His broad shoulders and narrow waist and hips made a tantalizing silhouette in the shadows. He skimmed her thighs with silky strokes, raised a knee and kissed strategic spots along her ankle, calf and the inside of her thigh, then repeated the caresses on the other leg.

  Gently turning her over, he continued the onslaught of inflaming kisses across her shoulders and down her spine, to the backs of her knees, the small of her back… She lost her breath and her sense of time and place here with him. She became a creature of acute senses, her skin tingling, her body warm and throbbing…aching for more of his touch.

  “Nick,” she said with a ragged sigh.

  “What, Rye?”

  “You’re killing me.”

  Lying alongside her, he half covered her with his naked body and whispered into her ear, “What a way to go, eh?”

  Pulling free of his weight, she turned impatiently to embrace him. She kissed him with fierce ardor, her need heightened to an intense peak by his inciting gentleness.

  He cupped her through the silk of her panties; she gasped against his mouth, pressed urgently against his hand.

  He made quick work of slipping them off, touched her again, intimately, knowledgeably, taking her mouth at the same time. Ryanne’s entire body tensed and hummed with soaring pleasure. She gripped Nick’s shoulder, pressed her feet into the mattress and plunged into ecstasy with all-pervasive shudders.

  When she finally came back down to earth, Nick was kissing her neck, taking tiny nips of her earlobe and rubbing his palm in a circle over her abdomen.

  Embarrassed over her complete abandonment to the feelings he created, she tucked her head down and curled her body.

  Nick brushed her hair aside. “What’s the matter?”

  “What you must think of me,” she said against his chest.

  “I think you’re the sexiest woman I’ve ever known,” he said without hesitation. “I think you’re beautiful and smart and passionate—even though you never knew it before—and it turns me on completely to give you pleasure.”

  Ryanne raised her gaze to his, trying to see his eyes in the darkness, but reassured by the sincerity in his voice. She touched him, finding him hot and wanting. He coaxed her to move over him, sit astride and take him inside her.

  It was her turn to test the limits of his endurance, take him nearly to release and then pause to let the tide pass. She didn’t feel she had to match his energy now. Though the lovemaking was good, it was different, unhurried, and she indulged in the opportunity. Before, she’d experienced an increasing enjoyment as he took her to the top of a mountain. Now she was dancing on top of the world with him.

  “If you want me to wait, slow down,” he warned her, gripping her thighs.

  She leaned forward so her breasts grazed his chest, but didn’t slow.

  Nick cupped her buttocks and helped her movements. She felt him pulse inside her, and she relaxed, resting her cheek against his shoulder. Beneath her breasts, his heart pounded, eventually slowing. Lazily, he caressed her back, her shoulder and neck…her cheek. His hands fell idle. His breathing evened out, deep and rhythmic, and Ryanne rested there for a long time, feeling safe and wanted.

  Finally she moved to his side, and his hands fell loosely to the mattress. Tugging a sheet up over them both, she lay beside him, listening to him breathe. Minutes later, she, too, slept.

  Dawn crept through the drapes Nick had never gotten around to closing the night before, turning the inside of his eyelids a rosy hue. Without opening his eyes, he sensed the difference in the room—in his bed. Snuggled along his side was a silky warm, feminine body. The scent of musk and woman was overpowering his senses. Thinking back to his last memory, a jolt of surprise brought him to wakefulness.

  He’d fallen asleep.

  Nick opened his eyes, almost disoriented in his own bedroom. He remembered nothing of trying to fall asleep, no thoughts, no relaxation practices. The last thing he remembered was ultimate satisfaction and the joy of being with Ryanne.

  She slept on her side, facing him in an endearing tangle of sheets and smooth bare limbs, her honey-blond hair a riot of waves across the pillow and one side of her face. God, she was beautiful. Her golden-dark lashes rested against creamy, fair skin, and her lips were pink and deliciously puffy. One pink nipple peeked out above the hem of his forest-green sheet.

  He’d fallen asleep!

  Nick tried to remember what time it had been. Not later than eleven—twelve at the very latest. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept that many hours in a row, and he’d never awakened feeling so rested and at peace. And they’d made love only once.

  He glanced at the clock in the predawn light. It would be at least another hour or so before his dad or Jamie roused.

  Without disturbing Ryanne, he used the bathroom; she was still sleeping when he returned. He kissed her sho
ulder, inhaling her scent, branding it on his brain so he’d never forget when she was gone. Burying his nose in her hair, he let the smell and the memory of the night before arouse him.

  She stirred and opened her eyes. Recognition swept over her and her cheeks tinged a rosy pink. A woman who blushed. He took her hand and kissed her fingers. “Sorry I fell asleep on you.”

  “You weren’t on me.” She grinned.

  “You know what I mean.”

  “You were beat. I kept you up late the night before.”

  “You didn’t do so bad at keeping me up last night, either.”

  “Awake. I meant awake.”

  “In fact, I’m up now.”

  “Already?”

  “Already.”

  “But I should go before your family wakes up.”

  “We have time.”

  “Oh, my. Did you learn these things from that book?”

  “Which book?”

  “You know which book. Oh, my-y.”

  They would have had time for her to get away if Nick hadn’t found more inventive ways to keep her in his bed. As it was, when Jamie knocked, Nick had to hurry out and close both him and his son in Jamie’s room long enough for Ryanne to tiptoe down the stairs.

  “Coffee’s on!” Mel called from the kitchen.

  Guiltily, as though she was a teenager caught in the act, she slipped out the front door and darted across the side yard.

  Forty-five minutes later, she was sitting at the kitchen table in her lightweight robe, her hair drying, when Nick stepped off his back deck and unlocked the door of the cruiser parked alongside the garage.

  Ryanne carried her cup of coffee to the front porch and returned his wave as he pulled into the street and drove past. That simple little encounter made her heart flutter as though she were a foolish schoolgirl with her first crush. Each day and every meeting with Nick was more dangerous than the last. She was in serious peril of losing her iron control and doing something stupid. Like getting emotionally involved.

  She didn’t need any more complications, and he was definitely turning into a complication. Maybe it was time to pull back, cut her losses before anyone found out. This morning had been a close call. If Mel or Jamie knew, she would feel obligated to make some sort of commitment, for propriety’s sake, and she couldn’t do that. Neither did she want Jamie to get any mistaken hopes about her being a permanent part of his life.