by Ruby Laska
“Excuse me?”
“I mean, it’s not like Miranda would take you off the A-list if you confessed you didn’t play the game, would she?”
Dorothy settled her glass carefully on the little table next to the glider, glad for the diversion. “I suppose not,” she said. “But everything has to be perfect. Lots of people, people more qualified than me, know what the situation is. That Miranda’s looking to step down.”
Mud waved a hand dismissively. “You can’t tell me it’s all Miranda who you’re doing this for. You know, the perfection thing.”
“Oh?”
“Nah. It’s you. You’ve always been that way.”
“I have not,” Dorothy retorted, then bit her lip. Curse the man, he knew her weaknesses better than anyone she’d ever known.
“Have too. You never could stand to do anything halfway. Don’t you remember how you used to work at the crossword puzzle in the Sunday paper? Had to finish them even if it took you all day.”
Dorothy glared. “You make me sound compulsive.”
“But what I really don’t get,” Mud continued, “is why leave Gilford Mills? You’re the genius behind GilTec, after all. You must be worth zillions to them.”
Dorothy colored at his compliment, was inexplicably moved by it. She hadn’t known he followed her business exploits. “I was just one of a team,” she allowed. “GilTec was something of a happy accident. We were actually experimenting with hydrophobic membranes—”
“Hydro-what?”
“Hydrophobic—billions of pores per square inch, too small for a drop of water to pass through but hundreds of times larger than a molecule of water vapor. So as it turns out, rain can’t penetrate but moisture from perspiration can.”
“Making it perfect for schmoes like me who don’t have the sense to stay off the course in bad weather.”
“Right.” Dorothy smiled. “But you know I was only in research for a year. I’ve been in sales ever since.”
“How come? You can’t tell me you didn’t have the brains for it.”
“Thanks—I think.”
She’d tell him the truth—if she knew what to say. How do you put that kind of a feeling into words? In her white lab coat, she’d always felt like she was still under her parents’ watchful eye. The lab itself reminded her too much of home, or at least like the familiar landscape of her parents’ offices. Science excited them, but she’d never match their accomplishments.
She had to be the best at something. Not merely good but the best. And now she would. For the first time in her life she’d be able to feel like she’d lived up to her family’s expectations. Her parents were in Europe now, doing research, but she relished the idea of calling them up and sharing the big news...
“Hey, enough about me,” she finally said. He’d been doing this all night. Asking her these questions, personal things she’d never shared with anyone. And reminding her of incidents she’d managed to finally forget.
“Mean vinaigrette,” he’d commented, after sampling the salad. “Kinda reminds me of that time you dug up that skunk, and then got it in your head to take a vinegar bath. Man, I don’t know what was worse, the skunk or the way the tub smelled like salad dressing for the rest of the summer.”
He’d laughed, that deep, hearty laugh that held nothing back. He wasn’t mocking her, exactly, but she felt exposed. Vulnerable.
So Dorothy had tried harder. She kept trying to steer the conversation to Mud. Men loved that—she’d seen it work dozens of times out in the field. Get a man talking about himself and he’d be ready to sign just about anything.
Not Mud, though. Every artful inquiry she made was parried.
“How are things at your shop?” she’d inquired as they walked home from the little Italian restaurant where they’d had a quick dinner.
“Oh, you know—golf’s golf,” Mud shrugged. “I mean, every season there’s the latest, greatest thing. Everybody’s got to get into titanium, or the latest video. But it’s all basically the same thing. You got it or you don’t, and lots of folks are willing to part with a heck of a lot of cash to figure out which they are.”
He was off on another tangent before she could even catch her breath. And somehow she found herself answering questions instead of asking them, telling Mud things she hadn’t realized were even true until he asked.
The silence lengthened. Mud kept up a gentle rhythm, toeing the glider now and then when it slowed. He sighed contentedly and eased back against the cushions, throwing an arm casually around Dorothy’s shoulders.
The silence wasn’t uncomfortable, exactly. It wasn’t a blind date sort of silence, the kind that can only mean two people have absolutely nothing in common, the kind that sent Dorothy rushing headlong back into her work vowing never to date again.
No, it was almost the exact opposite: a comfortable silence. Too comfortable, in fact. Dorothy was all too aware of Mud’s forearm settling against her neck, of the way his fingers drummed absently on the back of the glider, occasionally grazing her skin. It would be the most natural thing in the world to just ease over slightly, nestle into the crook of his arm, let the rocking lull her into an embrace—
“No!” Dorothy didn’t mean to say it out loud. But only the fiercest self-reprimand was going to jolt her out of the dangerous lure of Mud Taylor. Like that other Dorothy in a field of poppies, it would be so easy to let herself go and be swept along by that current of pure lusty attraction.
“No, what?” Mud regarded her with one eyebrow lifted, a small smile working at the corners of his mouth. “How’d you know I had something to ask you?”
“I—I was thinking about something else. I’m sorry.”
Mud slid his thumb along her neck and this time there was no question the touch was deliberate. He ran his fingers through the soft, feathery strands that grew at the nape, looping the short strands around in slow circles.
“A guy could be offended,” he accused, his voice roughening. “Sitting here about to propose to his gal and all, and she’s thinking about her job. Hydro-whatevers. Or about another guy. You two-timin’ me, Dot?”
Dorothy’s eyes flew open. His touch on her neck was like liquid heat, entering her skin and luxuriously coursing through her body, pooling deep inside somewhere. It was all she could do to keep from arching against him like a cat, summoning those fingers to keep working their magic.
But had he just said—
“Excuse me?”
“I said, here I was about to ask you the most important question a guy can possibly ask, and it would be nice if you were paying attention when I did it.”
Mud shifted, reclaiming his hand from her neck, and stretched awkwardly to reach into the pocket of his khaki pants. Dorothy’s heart lurched as she replayed his words in her mind. Propose to his gal.
“Uh, thought I’d lost the damn thing. Okay, here we go.” The glider gave a terrific lurch as Mud slid off and knelt down on the concrete patio, one knee on the ground. “Dot, will you have me?”
Dorothy reached a hand automatically to his shoulder to steady the glider. Aware that her mouth was agape, she quickly snapped it shut. “You want—” she said faintly.
Mud held up a tiny box, the velvet covered lid propped open to reveal a ring that, even in the moonlight, sparkled a luminous green: an enormous emerald flanked by slender diamonds. When Dorothy didn’t move, Mud patiently took her hand in his own and slid the ring on her finger, then held it up to admire.
“Good fit,” he said.
Dorothy allowed her hand to be turned this way and that, her fingers limp in his. She would have been more surprised if Mud Taylor had sprouted wings and flown around the back yard.
A trick. There had to be some sort of trick, a colossal joke on her. Much like the ones he’d played on her decades ago: crawdads in her sink, frogs down her shirt. Only this one was playing dangerously close to her heart.
“It’s...lovely, “ she said suspiciously.
“Yeah. I sure thou
ght the thing looked real. I imagine it’ll fool most folks, at least for a few days.”
So it wasn’t—Dorothy wanted to smack her forehead with her palm. Idiot! What on earth had made her think that Mud would buy her a real ring—especially one that looked like it would cost tens of thousands of dollars? The same stupid hopeful streak that had made her think Mud cared for her when she was thirteen, when he’d kissed her down at the dock.
“I—excuse me,” she said, jerking her hand back. “I just remembered I have to, to go inside. To check something.”
She left Mud kneeling on her patio and raced inside to the safety of her powder room, jamming the door shut and sliding the lock. For a moment she took deep breaths, and then she lifted her left hand and regarded the ring in the light.
It was an amazingly good copy. Perhaps a trained eye could tell the difference, but the faux gems had a fiery gleam, the platinum band shone brightly.
Tapping on the door, inches away, jerked her attention back. “You okay in there? I didn’t, uh, offend you or something, did I? I just thought, you know, make it authentic and all, you ought to have a ring.”
“That was very thoughtful,” Dorothy mumbled. “I just had something in my eye. Won’t take me a minute.”
“Uh huh.” Mud’s skepticism came through loud and clear.
“C’mon, open up, Dot. I’ll give you a hand with your eye.”
Dorothy sighed. She couldn’t stay locked in her bathroom forever, not when she was up against Mud’s determination. She unlocked the door and inched it open.
Mud edged a foot in the door and swung it open. Then he tucked a finger under her chin and lifted. “Let me see,” he demanded, examining her eyes as she obliged and opened them wide. They were clear as could be, the inky brown irises large and expressive.
What the hell; he’d play along. He’d clearly spooked her with the ring. Maybe she’d misunderstood, thought he’d, what? Proposed for real? Nah, that was ridiculous. She must just not want him giving her anything. Wanted to keep it strictly business. That would be just like her. Well, he knew how to handle Dot.
“I think I see it,” he said, running a thumb under her lower lashes. “Some sort of a speck or something. Hold still. You know, that thing didn’t cost me a cent. Got a friend who makes costume jewelry. Old friend. We go back a ways. She said I could just borrow it as long as we need it.”
“Uh huh...ow,” Dorothy said. She was blushing furiously, drawing away from him, but in the tiny bathroom there was really nowhere to go. Mud realized she was backed up to the sink, steadying herself with her hands on the porcelain rim. He could smell her perfume, lit by the heat of her embarrassment. His knee brushed against her thigh as he pretended to sweep away the imaginary speck.
And then his hand lingered on her cheek. Because suddenly she wasn’t pulling away. Almost imperceptibly, she closed the distance between them. Her lips parted and he could hear her breathing becoming shallow as she gazed up at him, her eyes wider still.
“You’re a beautiful woman,” he mumbled, his voice thick with a sudden desire that caromed through him like a runaway train. What he didn’t say was that in the eyes of the woman in front of him he still saw the girl, the mysterious, madding girl child who had been his best friend until he’d ruined it all with a kiss.
But it was the woman he kissed this time. He claimed her lips without another lucent thought, gave himself up to the current that ran between them. She met his demands with an urgency of her own, sliding her hands around his waist and drawing him to her, arching back to expose the smooth expanse of skin beneath her chin. He tasted her gladly, savoring the line of her jaw with lips and tongue and teeth as her low moans urged him on.
Dorothy slid a little further back, her legs suddenly unable to support her. The alarms that had rung out their disapproval were stilled now, doused by the urgent need released by his kiss. Mud’s jaw scraped her throat lightly as he returned to her lips, and the tiny pinpoints of pain exploded into mysterious pleasure.
She welcomed his kiss, tasting deeply, hungering to meet him ever more urgently. She was vaguely aware of her legs sliding to make room for him to hold her. When he seized her hips and lifted her to the sink she held on, feeling the hard, demanding pressure of his desire and meeting it with her own need.
This kiss...was new. Adult, unlike any other she’d ever experienced. It erased, at least for the moment, her doubts, their history.
“Dot,” Mud murmured in her ear, the heat of his voice shivering pleasure against her skin, “there isn’t room in here for where I think we’re headed. Can we—”
“Upstairs,” Dorothy managed to whisper, and immediately felt herself lifted into the air. Mud shouldered the door wide, holding her limp as though he’d rescued her from a fire, and took the stairs two at a time.
“In there—” She motioned to the bedroom, but Mud had already shoved the door open with his foot, then settled her with incredible tenderness on top of the bed. In the near darkness she saw his silhouette hesitate.
“I’m not—if this isn’t what you want, Dot, just—”
“I want this.” Her words were whispered, but they were urgent.
And she didn’t have to tell him twice. Mud knelt over her, his roughness of moments ago replaced by a tenderness that approached reverence as he trailed a hand from her cheek down the line of her throat. He splayed his fingers across her collarbones. “I can feel your heart pounding,” he whispered.
He bent and continued the trail he’d made with his lips.
Slowly he kissed his way to her breast, teasing through the soft cotton and thin fabric of her bra. Dorothy arched against him, maddened by the touch, wanting more. She grabbed one of his hands and guided it under her shirt, helped him slide the stretchy cotton over her head. He removed her bra deftly, dispatching the clasp with a flick of his fingers, and the slightest warning flickered at the edge of Dorothy’s mind.
He knows what he’s doing. Because he’s done this a thousand times before.
But the warning was stilled when Mud bent to take her nipple into his mouth, swirling it with the heat of his tongue, then releasing it only to savor the other, all the while working his hands underneath her to cup her against him fully.
Dorothy pressed against him. The fabric of his pants did little to disguise the urgency of his need. Unthinking she slid her fingers into his waistband, and around, loosening the buttons with fumbling fingers. But Mud closed his hand around hers, pushing her gently but insistently away.
“We’ll get to that in a minute,” he said. And then he was sliding lower, hands grazing her sides, leaving furrows of sensation as they made their way to her stretch skirt. It slid off in one motion, taking her panties with it, and Dorothy lay exposed to Mud in the bars of moonlight coming through the window. And she forgot to be self-conscious as he pulled back to admire her.
Even when he bent to trace the taught plane of her stomach with his hands, and then his mouth, she skipped breathing not from modesty but from anticipation, from cresting need, and when he trailed his hand unhurriedly down, finally coming to rest among her hollows, she could stand it no longer.
“Please, Mud,” she whimpered. “I can’t—”
“Hush,” he breathed, and then his voice melted into her. Dorothy gave herself up to the sensations raining down; she arched against him and could not say how it was that he guided her so skillfully to the peak of need stronger than any she’d ever felt.
And then, over, to the other side, crying out in astonishment as much as pleasure as waves of sensation consumed her, from the depths radiating out until it seemed her entire body was on fire with it.
Gradually, gradually she descended, the sharp pleasure easing into a sensation of having melted into a giant puddle. A not at all objectionable sensation it was, except that as her surroundings slowly returned back she was suddenly aware of the beads of perspiration at her brow. And she had cried out—loud, if memory served her, several times in fact. All this f
rom a woman who had endured—there was no other word for it—her few previous sexual experiences with something akin to indifference.
She never knew it could be this way: this messy, this inelegant, this unrestrained...this wonderful.
Dorothy went very still and closed her eyes. “I—”
But Mud hushed her again, by touching her lips with his finger, and Dorothy opened one eye to see him regarding her with a grin that even in the darkness revealed nearly all of his perfect white teeth. “No time for talking, Sugar,” he said. “We’re not done yet.”
And to Dorothy’s amazement, they weren’t done. She wasn’t done. She wouldn’t have thought it possible, but his touch as he slid back up to hold her inflamed her all over again. He skinned off his pants easily, kicking them to the floor. His briefs followed, flung away as Mud’s eyes never left Dorothy’s.
Those eyes held a question, which Dorothy answered by wrapping her arms around him and drawing him closer, hesitantly at first, then more insistently as he found his way to the core of her pleasure. She could not help but cry out in response to the sensation of being joined so intimately, as her body rushed of its own accord to meet Mud’s thrusts.
Immediately he stopped. “Did I hurt you?” he asked in a voice sanded rough with sensation and emotion. Dorothy whimpered again, but it was not pain that made her bit her lip.
She shook her head, but words wouldn’t come, so she just twined her arms and legs tighter, holding Mud so close she thought she’d never let him go.
And he understood.
Together they moved, lifting and falling in the quickening pace of their passion. As Dorothy felt herself once again on the edge, Mud understood and urged her over, joining her cries with his own.
They lay together, drawing air in deep, hungry breaths, their bodies slowly cooling. Dorothy was vaguely aware that her limbs still mingled with Mud’s, his arm thrown over her waist to keep her from moving too far away.
“Ah, Dot,” Mud muttered, his eyes closed, a ghost of a grin dancing on his lips. “If I’d known you were capable of those kind of fireworks, I would’ve dragged you to my lair long ago.”
