by Alicia Ryan
It didn’t work.
“I can’t give you everything you want,” she said, finally.
She saw Phillip’s chest rise and fall. “What can you give me?” he asked quietly, dropping his hands to his lap.
She rose and extended a hand to him, and he took it in a gentle grasp, moving around the piano stool to follow her off the stage, out the door and down the hall to her room.
She opened the door and pulled him in after her. He shut the door behind them and looked around.
“Yeah,” she said. “It’s not exactly the Ritz.”
“What’s a ritz?”
“Oh, never mind. It’s a swanky hotel.”
“Swanky?”
“Posh?” she tried. “Fancy? Upper-crust? La-Ti-Da?”
“Fancy did translate. Thank you.”
She grinned. “That’s a relief. I don’t think they make a time-traveler’s dictionary.”
“Back to that, are we?”
“Why not? A good, decent guy like yourself...well, he’d feel obliged to show the poor, stranded girl from the future a good time, wouldn’t he? Try to comfort her, make her feel at home?”
“Is that what I’m doing?”
“A little. She likes human companionship.”
“That’s not exactly distinguishing me from the herd.”
She laughed and pulled him forward. “More than you know.”
He looked around again. “Are you aware it’s freezing in here?”
She shrugged and looked over at the tiny pot-bellied stove in the corner of the room. “I’ve kind of gotten used to it. That thing is a health hazard. It takes forever to light and puts out more smoke than heat.”
Phillip pulled his hand from hers, grabbed a few pieces of wood from behind the little stove, threw them inside, along with a handful of sawdust, and used a match to light the sawdust under the logs.
“Oh,” she said. “You mean that’s why there’s sawdust over there?”
Phillip shot her a look she wouldn’t have appreciated under other circumstances. He also stood and adjusted a knob on the pipe that went from the stove up into the ceiling.
“That should solve your smoke problem. The flu was closed.”
“Oh. Thanks.”
He came back over to her. “Why didn’t you say something? I didn’t know you’d been freezing to death in here every night. Why didn’t you tell Jack?”
She shrugged. “I just thought it was more fantabulous 1800’s technology.”
“Roxanna...”
“What?” she cried, throwing up her hands. “Where I’m from, if we want heat, we flip a switch and, presto, there’s heat.”
“Really.”
“Yes, really. A furnace-thingy heats hot air and a motor blows the hot air through vents in all the rooms. Trust me, you’d love it.”
He shook his head. “You know, sometimes...I think you might be a lunatic.”
“That may be the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.” She batted her eyelashes in an over-dramatized mimicry of flirtation.
He laughed. “No. You’re incredibly beautiful. I think that’s the nicest thing I’ve said.”
She reached up and untied the ribbon that held her hair back. When it fell about her, the laughing look in Phillip’s eyes changed to something edgier.
“Your voice makes me want to worship at your feet,” he offered.
She raised her brows, thought for a moment, and then set about undoing the first dozen or so buttons of her dress—just enough to give a hint that she had breasts underneath. Much less than was revealed every night by her other dresses.
“Every image you sing about burns into my mind. You make me see the most wondrous things.”
She sat down on the bed and scooted back until she was leaning against the stone wall.
“Your turn,” she said, pointing at him. “Take off your coat and...whatever else you call all that stuff. I want you half-naked.”
He cocked a brow at her. “Just half?”
She gulped in a breath, banked down the sudden flare of desire, and warned herself to be far out of town if Phillip Branham ever fulfilled his extremely flirty, naughty potential.
“Baby steps,” she explained.
“I see.” He took off his outer coat, a vest, some sort of scarf, and, finally, his linen shirt. “Am I now half-naked enough?”
Oh, he was dreamy, she thought. Definitely dreamy. Must be the boxing. Piano playing didn’t carve muscles like those. If it did, she was going to start dating an entirely different set of guys when she got home. If she got home....
She pushed that thought aside in favor of the handsome, half-naked man in front of her.
“Come,” she said. She folded one leg under her and patted the bed in invitation.
He came closer but didn’t sit.
“Turn around,” she said. “Sit with your back to me.”
He obeyed, leaving a still respectable distance between them.
Roxanna reached out and ran her hands across and down the sumptuous landscape of his back. She kept her touch light, but Phillip stiffened, and she halted her caress.
“Can I touch you?” she asked.
For a moment she thought he was going to decline, but then his head nodded, and she took it as permission to resume her exploration of his sculpted physique. When she ran her fingers up his neck, he leaned back into her touch and gave a soft groan. Sliding her hands down, she caressed his arms, but that was as far as she could reach.
Which was completely unacceptable. So she reached down, bunched her skirt up around her and slid forward so one leg was on either side of him. And she slid her hands under his arms to stroke his chest as she planted the lightest of kisses on his shoulder blade.
He sucked in air in a loud hiss. “Roxanna...”
“Yes?”
“What are you doing?”
She ran her flat palms across his nipples and placed another kiss in the center of his back.
This elicited another groan.
“We’re going to do something you’ve never done before,” she said, kissing him again.
She repositioned herself on her knees so she could reach to kiss his neck. The kiss she left there wasn’t a light one. It was wet, hungry.
“That...” He arched his head back as she kissed him there again. “That doesn’t exactly narrow the field.”
“What?” she asked.
“The field of things I haven’t done is fairly large,” he explained.
“Oh, right. Well, like I said, baby steps.”
She leaned down and rubbed her still-clothed breasts against his back as she trailed kisses from his neck up to his ear.
When she slid her tongue into his ear, he almost arched up off the bed. Both his hands fisted in the flimsy blanket.
“Holy Christ,” he said after catching a breath.
“Aren’t you not supposed to swear or take the lord’s name in vain or something?”
He barked out a laugh. “If you’ll keep a list, I’ll be sure to confess it all on Sunday.”
She sat back. “Really?”
He turned to look at her over his shoulder, wearing a mischievous grin. “No, probably not. I’d face certain hellfire before I’d tell anything like this...” He looked meaningfully between them in their compromising position... “to Father Calvert.”
“Can we not talk about priests?”
“Right,” he said, turning around. “Where were we? Oh yes, you were leading me down the path to hell, I believe?”
Roxanna sighed and scooted back from him. “No, I most definitely am not going to do that.”
Phillip turned to look at her. “I was joking,” he said.
“But you weren’t really.”
He closed his eyes. “I have sinned with you in my mind in every single way you’ve ever sung about, every single night since I first met you. You’re not leading me anywhere. I’m already there.”
She didn’t move or say anything, and he opened h
is eyes to look at her. And it was a look filled with such longing, Roxanna thought her heart would break.
“Please,” he said, “show me it can be real.”
From where she now sat, his lips were just a stretch away, and she leaned up to close the distance between them. His arms came around her, and hunger flowed from his lips to hers.
It was several minutes before she could clear her head enough to remember what she’d been about when she’d come up with this idea. When she slid around behind him again, he would have turned with her, but she chided him. “Nope,” she said. “You face forward, Mister Branham. It’s my turn to play.”
He obeyed and was rewarded with a trail of hot kisses down his back, interspersed with flicks of her tongue. On her knees again, she leaned forward to kiss his ear, his jaw, his throat, and to run her hands over his defined chest. He moved eagerly into every touch, expressing his surprise or pleasure with the most endearing cries and moans.
As she sucked at a sensitive spot on his neck, she ran her hands lower—down his abdomen and along either side of the erection she could see through his tight trousers.
He threw his head back onto her shoulder with a groan that could in no way be called endearing—heart-stopping or head-spinning, maybe, but not endearing. Only little kids were endearing. And Phillip was a man. A man who needed to be touched.
When she tried at first to be gentle, he bucked up into her hand.
“Roxanna,” he ground out. His head was still back, his eyes closed tight.
She licked up the side of his neck and, as soon as she heard his intake of breath, wrapped her hand around his straining cock.
“Oh, God,” he moaned.
When she didn’t move, he turned his head and tried to capture her mouth with his.
“No, no,” she replied, smiling. “My turn to touch, remember?”
“Then touch,” he ground out. “For God’s sake, touch.”
“More?” she asked, doing her best polite voice.
“More,” he affirmed, nodding, eyes closed once more.
“You’ll have to undo the buttons,” she said. “I can’t reach both sides.”
For a moment she thought he hadn’t heard her, and then she realized perhaps he hadn’t appreciated that more nakedness would be involved. But his hesitation faded quickly, and as soon as his heated flesh was in her hand, he was again leaning against her, gasping for air.
Slowly, she began to stroke him, and his breathing settled into a rhythm with her movements.
“You’ve really never done this?” she asked.
He shook his head.
“Never thought about it?”
“Oh, I’ve thought about it.”
“How’s it comparing?”
“My imagination, as I believe I’ve mentioned, is severely deficient.”
“So this is good, then?”
“So good.”
He was breathing ahead of her now, and she picked up her pace a bit. He was getting close. She wanted it to be memorable—not over too soon, but she wasn’t trying to torture him, either. He’d had enough of that.
She sped up her caresses again. This time, his hips picked up the tempo, rising to meet her downward strokes. She gripped him tighter and nipped with her teeth at the taut skin across his right shoulder.
“Phillip,” she said.
“Yes?” His eyes were open now; he was watching where their flesh touched, watching as they moved together.
“Let’s pretend again.”
He glanced quickly at her. “What?”
“Let’s pretend you love me.”
On a heavy groan, he closed his eyes once more and thrust up into her hand. “Yes,” he sighed.
“Say it.”
“I love you,” he replied, increasing the pace of his thrusting. She obliged him, and he began to cry out at every motion. “Yes,” he said again. “I love you, Roxanna. I love you so much.” He threw his head back. “God, I love you.”
And then his body tensed against her, his hips thrust up off the bed, his release coming fast and hard and leaving him trembling and gasping for air. He shuddered, and the large arms on either side of her looked in danger of not supporting him. When he sat up, she could see the hair at the nape of his neck was damp with sweat.
She was surprised when he stood, but he only moved to get a towel from her night table. He wet it with water from her small pitcher, and then he used it first to clean her hand before tidying himself. Even after his breathing had long returned to normal, he continued to sit, silent, between her legs, his eyes closed, his muscled back betraying the occasional quiver.
She eventually shifted around to sit beside him. “Are you okay?”
He slid back, turned slightly and, cocking one leg while leaving the other on the floor, flopped down onto her bed, whereupon he promptly flung his arm across his eyes.
Which, Roxanna realized, gave her free rein to study his full lips, marbled chest, and still open fly.
She cleared her throat. “Are you okay?” she asked again.
“Please define ’okay’,” he said.
“What?”
“I’ve heard you say it before. This seems like the appropriate time to ask for an exact definition.”
“Uh...sorry.”
“You’re asking if I’m sorry?”
“No. I mean...’okay’ means alright. I was asking if there was anything wrong.”
“Then I think I’m okay.”
“Good.” He still had his eyes covered. “Roxanna?”
“Yes?”
“Did this...does this mean anything?”
She sighed, realizing she hadn’t thought this plan through far enough. “I can’t let it mean anything,” she said, finally.
“Because of Darren.”
“Yes.” She suddenly couldn’t look at him either and began to study the wood grain on the door.
“So what...what are we, exactly?”
She glanced sideways at him. “Uh...friends?”
He scoffed. “I may not have had a lover, so I suppose I can’t testify as to what that is like, but I do have friends, and that...is not this.” He dropped his arm and raised himself on both elbows to look at her.
“You have friends?” she asked, unable to resist.
He returned her smile. “Of course. I’m well-bred, I can converse on numerous topics, I play the piano better than most, I’m dependable, have excellent table manners, and I recently have it on good authority that I’m a very attractive man. My friends are legion.”
She laughed.
“I’m sorry you don’t have friends here, Roxanna. Tell me about your friends at home.”
“Oh, that’s a short story.”
“It can’t be. You have too much life not to have friends buzzing about.”
“I have two friends. Girls who work at the same bar as me. They’re nice.”
“What do you do for fun?”
She gave a wry smile. “See, you’ve found me out. I’m the unexciting one. I don’t do much outside of work. I pick up extra hours so I can make rent. I read trashy romance novels. I sometimes break the rules and sunbathe on the roof of my apartment.”
“You? Break the rules? Somehow I’m not shocked.”
She glared at him. “You know, sarcasm doesn’t suit you.”
“I’m just learning,” he replied. “Wait...what constitutes sunbathing where you come from? It’s not in fashion here.”
She closed her eyes and thought back with a smile. “Laying flat out on a lounge chair, letting the heat soak into your skin, your bones—sweating and waiting for a rare breeze or a squirt from a water bottle.”
He stared at her, looking puzzled once again. “And what constitutes sunbathing attire?”
She gave him a grin. “Nothing you’d find appropriate, I assure you.”
“Tell me.”
“Let me guess. You guys still have women swimming in like full gowns, right?”
“That’s right.”
“Well, the swimsuit has gotten rather smaller. You might say minuscule.”
“It must cover less than the dresses you wear.”
She gave him a questioning look.
“There’d be some sort of lines otherwise, yes?”
“Oh, right. Well, if there’s no one else about I...uh...take measures to keep the tan lines away.”
It took a moment, but she knew he understood when his mouth dropped open. “You sun yourself naked?” His voice was about an octave higher than usual.
“When I can. Which, in Vegas, is about nine months out of the year.”
“I want to believe you.”
She looked at him. “That I lie out naked?”
“That you’re not a delirious waif lost here somehow from the nether regions of America.”
“I’d like you to believe me.”
“Darren believes you, doesn’t he?”
She nodded.
“Because he has some reason to, doesn’t he? Some part in your situation.”
“Yes.”
“Is that the hold he has over you?”
“Hold?” she asked.
“Why you’re his lover—because he could somehow get you back home?”
She opened her mouth to deny it, and hesitated, but only ever so briefly. Phillip caught it, however.
“That’s reprehensible,” he told her. “You don’t have to do that.”
“No,” she said. “There’s a lot more to it. I’ll admit that was part of my initial reason for...seeing him, but...” Her voice trailed off. “There’s more to it than I can explain.”
“You feel something for him.”
“Yes, I do.”
“Do you love him?”
She gave a wan smile. “Like I said, our...relationship...is not a simple one.”
Chapter Fifteen
“Do you mind telling me what he’s doing here?” Andrew asked.
Darren raised a bleary eye to his other half, who was sitting cross-legged at the end of his bed and looking rather put out.
“It was none of my doing, I assure you,” he responded, dropping his head back to the pillow. “What time is it?”
“Going four.”
“And this couldn’t have waited? Neither of us is going anywhere for a few hours yet.”
