by Ruby Laska
Dorothy’s breath caught. She knew what he meant: the lovemaking had been extraordinary, the kind of passion that comes only rarely into a life.
But she heard something else in his words as well.
Something she didn’t want to deal with just yet. Not now, not now, she pleaded in her mind. Can’t I please just enjoy tonight?
And she did manage to banish the thought after it had only done a little damage, reclaiming most of the joy and deep satisfaction of their lovemaking to lie for a long time in Mud’s arms.
But somewhere the thought was lodged, deep inside, and it had already begun to gnaw away at her.
Mud could have had her. Any time he wanted her, in fact, though she’d deny it to the death. But he’d rejected her love once before.
And Dorothy knew he would do it again.
Mud drove home through a heavy rain. The full moon that had illuminated the evening was gone now, hidden behind a thick blanket of clouds. The red glow of the clock in the dashboard read 3:15 am.
Dorothy had dozed in his arms, but Mud had remained wide awake. He’d watched her, savored the way her eyelashes fluttered and her lips moved slightly, as though she were acting out her dreams. Without waking she nestled closer, snuggling her body next to his, and he carefully arranged the blankets around her.
Mud had no idea how long he’d lain there, watching her sleep, when he made up his mind to leave. Dorothy would understand. He had to get over to the shop in the morning and set things up for the weekend, make sure Gus and Tony had the place under control. He had to pack for the weekend.
And, most important, he had to figure out what the hell had just happened to him. Well, not to him; he’d certainly played an active role in the seduction or whatever it was that had taken place.
No, he was pretty clear how they’d ended up in the sack together; the better question was: What exactly was happening to him now?
Because from the moment his senses calmed down enough to let rational thought return to his pleasure-numbed brain, he’d realized that he felt different.
Different from any other time he’d made love to a woman. Different from the way he’d ever felt about any woman before.
More stirred up. Less sure of himself. A whole lot less sure of himself, truth be told. Like control had slipped away from him, like he was entering territory that was marked with huge Danger signs.
Mud tapped out his nerves on the steering wheel, doing a counterpoint to the Ella Fitzgerald on the sound system. Well, criminy, it was Dot, after all. That was weird enough right there. He knew her when she lost her two front teeth. He’d seen her in a training bra, in braces, in bad perms. He just knew her too well, that was it.
But in all the years he’d known her, he’d never seen the look on her face when she held him and whispered his name, when the world was about to explode into a million brilliant fragments and all he wanted was to be with her, be inside her, when it did.
Mud Taylor actually shook with something akin to fear as he sped through the last few miles toward home. He’d done a lot of foolhardy, macho, stupidly brave things in his life.
But he’d never done anything as terrifying as it felt to be falling for Dorothy.
CHAPTER FOUR
Dorothy didn’t wake up all at once. Instead, a slow, delicious bloom of senses drew her from her dreamless sleep.
The cool percale of her sheets slid lightly along her skin as she stretched luxuriously. A thrumming sensation in the tender recesses of her body—much too exquisite to be called pain—reminded her of the lovemaking she and Mud had shared only hours earlier.
And, most of all, she savored his smell. A wonderful, heady, warm scent that she breathed deep in her lungs and exhaled only reluctantly, eyes shut so she could concentrate on savoring it.
“Mmmm,” she breathed, dimly aware of the husky sound of her own voice. It sounded greedy. Voracious, even.
“Mud,” she finally murmured, sliding over to his side of the bed.
She found it empty.
Dorothy’s eyes flew open, and she froze, the air suddenly chilly as it wafted past the batiste curtains. She lifted herself on one elbow and looked all around the room.
And then slowly sank back down, the sensations that had flooded her only moments ago dissipating into nothing, mere chimera. Mud was gone.
She’d been foolish enough to imagine he’d stay. That he’d been affected by the night they shared, that they’d built something significant between them. Right, she castigated herself. He’d be back any minute now, carrying a tray with the paper and a pot of coffee. He’d remember she drank it heavy on the cream...he was so darn thoughtful that way.
Dorothy flung the sheets viciously away from her, casting off at the same time the dream that had been building in a pathetic, love-struck burst of hope. Moments ago she’d actually imagined that the King of the Lotharios would somehow stay pinned down in her bed when the last of their sighs had faded, their ardor cooled. Well, she deserved to wake up alone, if she were as gullible as that.
Dorothy massaged her temples, a powerful headache coming on. Sighing, she reached for her robe. If only today weren’t the big day. She could really stand to mainline some chocolate, shed a few tears and indulge herself in a big pity-party. With effort, she might be able to remind herself of Mud’s myriad flaws, and eventually her fling with him would be just a blip on the radar, a misguided nod to old times’ sake.
But with a sinking feeling in her stomach that was laced with raw panic, Dorothy realized that even a good week-long bender wouldn’t get rid of the pain that was just beginning.
Last night wasn’t just sentimental, not for her, anyway. It may not have been premeditated, but it certainly hadn’t been casual, either. When Mud’s lips had touched hers, she’d crossed some line that she could never go back over again.
The last time he’d kissed her, when they were barely more than children, Dorothy had somehow gathered every last shred of caution and run. Run from him as fast as her skinny adolescent legs could carry her. Because she’d known, with a rare insight that would take years to be honed into a woman’s intuition, that Mud could hurt her worse than any other man she would ever meet.
That first kiss had been nearly innocent, slow and just a little salty. Their curiosity had been barely touched with something else, something neither could yet name. Mud’s lips, surprisingly soft for a boy whose every inch was motion and sharp angles and quick wit, brushed hers, then hesitated before exploring with greater confidence.
Dorothy remembered the way his hand had rested at the small of her back, pulling her closer with just the slightest pressure. How she’d closed her eyes and longed to dive in and drown in the strange pleasure she sensed would follow. And how she’d run, knowing even then that Mud couldn’t give her what she needed.
But this time she’d simply let go. The taste of him was astonishingly familiar, and as welcome as air to her lungs. She hadn’t made a decision, exactly, but it had been made nonetheless.
She loved him. And this time it wasn’t going to go away.
So there was nothing to do but send Mud away instead.
“You want to do what?” Mud gripped the phone tightly, and clenched his other fist around the folded shirt he’d been about to stack with the others in the suitcase, ruining the pressed linen.
“Call this whole ridiculous thing off.”
Mud could hear the strain in Dorothy’s voice, the thin tones rising into a higher register.
“I don’t know what I was thinking. I’m just going to call Miranda and—”
“And lose your only opportunity to land this job? Forgive me for saying so, Dot, but have you lost your mind?”
The silence that greeted him was as frosty as if Dorothy herself was glaring out of the receiver, but somehow Mud couldn’t quite absorb her anger. Blame it on the residues of the night before, the way he couldn’t think a single cogent thought without an image of Dot flashing through his mind. Dot’s long lashes flutte
ring as he drew a finger along the contours of her face. Dot’s long, creamy neck exposed to his kiss as she threw her head back and sighed. Dot’s eyes widened with pleasure, her mouth a soft-petaled ‘o’ as they plunged together towards ecstasy...
“Look,” Mud tried, lowering his voice and sitting down on the edge of his bed. “I know last night was, uh, probably a little unnerving for both of us.”
“That has nothing—”
“Hush up a minute. I’m not sure where I am on all this myself. But that’s no reason to go and throw the baby out with the bath water. I made you a promise to help, and I’m going to damn sure do my part.”
“I don’t need your help.”
Mud detected the smallest catch in her voice, heard her inhale, shoring up her thoughts the way she did when she was getting ready to send home her key point.
“I’ll do fine on my own.”
“Huh. My ass.”
Mistake. The minute the words were out of his mouth, Mud knew he was going about this all wrong. But hell, he hadn’t had much sleep, his thoughts were a mess, and the woman had caught him by surprise. Blindsided him.
More silence.
Mud kicked a stack of shoes across the room.
“What I mean is that you can’t pull this thing off without me. What are you going to do, say I got the chicken pox? Come on, don’t you think Miranda’s going to get suspicious when you can’t produce a living, breathing body?”
“I’ll just—I’ll tell her the truth.”
“Yeah? You think she’s going to hire a woman who’d lie her way into the company?”
“Well, I wouldn’t have to if you hadn’t—if you were the kind of person who just did what he was supposed to do, you know, took a little responsibility for once in his life...”
Mud cracked his palm against his forehead. Responsibility. That got to him as none of her other words had. He was plenty responsible—but only to himself. It was the whole reason he steered clear of making promises in the first place.
But this was one promise he knew he had to keep.
“If an Albright ever needs anything, son,” his father had said to him days before his death, “you be there for them. Be there! Now promise me.”
And Mud had, compelled by his father’s brief burst of coherence before he slipped back into the fog of the painkillers waging their final battle against the cancer. His father’s devotion to Max Albright was everything. And it extended, unfortunately, to his daughter.
Dorothy’s voice brought him back to the present.
“— don’t need any two-bit entrepreneur telling me how—”
“Whoa there, sugar, don’t go getting hostile on me,” Mud protested, trying to focus back in on her words. “I’m just trying to help.”
“You can help me by just forgetting this whole thing and letting me take care of it my way.”
“Dot—”
“Because remember that I am the professional here, and I think that I might know just a little bit more about how to handle a Fortune 500 executive—”
“All I’m saying is—”
“—than an overgrown teenager who peddles golf balls for a living and can’t make it through one crummy week without letting his hormones take over!”
Mud let her finish. He picked up a tie, a silk number he’d been partial to ever since buying it in Pamplona the year he’d run with the bulls. He rolled it carefully up, listening to the faint exhalations as Dot no doubt paced around the room clutching her cellular phone. Then he unrolled it with equal care.
“Dot,” he said quietly. “There ain’t no plan B here. I’m what you got.”
“I don’t care.”
“I care, damn it.” He seized the tie and crumpled it into a ball. “And even if I didn’t—I made a promise that if you ever needed anything I’d be there, come hell or high water. And baby, I’d say we were in that ol’ high water about now.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. And besides, this is nothing I can’t handle.”
But the tremor in her voice betrayed her. Mud winced, longing to do something, anything, to comfort her. She was so bent on being brave, but he knew that under that tough shell was vulnerability. Last night the barriers had come down, but today the wall had been rebuilt higher than ever.
And he was responsible.
“No.” Mud’s voice was barely more than a whisper. “I may have screwed everything up between us, I don’t know. But what you need to realize is that when you asked me for help a week ago, Dot, you gave up your only chance to send me away.”
And before she could reply, he clicked off the connection, listening to the silence long after he replaced the phone on the bedside table.
“Oh my gosh!”
Janelle, owner of Perfect Ten Nails, talked in exclamations as a matter of course. But now that she was holding Dorothy’s left hand up to the light streaming through the salon’s windows, she seemed nearly transported in her delight. “That thing must be what, three carats?”
Dorothy merely nodded, wishing she’d remembered to take the ring off before leaving the house. It had taken every ounce of her concentration just to finish packing, after she’d made such a debacle of brushing off Mud. Well, he’d been right about one thing, anyway—she simply didn’t have a plan B. Confessing to Miranda now was a sure way to get herself black-balled from any future moves in the industry. There was nothing to do but plow ahead with the scheme and pray that she and Mud got through it without any more interaction than was absolutely necessary.
Ever since Mud had first wrapped his arms around her on the golf course, Dorothy could sense control slipping away. It was a feeling so alien she longed to fight against it, yet her hunger for Mud would not allow her any defense.
Perhaps she couldn’t control the hurt and regret that tore at her now. But she could at least cover them up so that no one would ever know. Tonight when she shook Miranda’s hand, she wanted her future boss to see only a confidant career woman in the full bloom of romance. Dorothy would do what she needed to make that happen.
That meant keeping her appointment for a manicure and facial, for a start. Besides, there was always the chance that Janelle would take her mind off things for a while, as she had so many times before.
“Excuse me, girl, but when exactly did you find yourself a man to give you this engagement ring? Last hundred or so times you’ve been in here I don’t believe you told me about anyone coming around regular.”
“It was...kind of a surprise,” Dorothy managed weakly as Janelle eased her hands into warm suds.
“Well, I guess so. But obviously you said yes. I mean I don’t blame you, a rock like that. The guy’s got bucks, huh?”
Dorothy merely nodded. Ordinarily she prized her sessions with Janelle, who called things exactly the way she saw them. Janelle was honest, she was funny, and most importantly, she was one of the few girlfriends Dorothy could claim, given her schedule.
Today, though, she wished Janelle would keep her curiosity to herself.
“So, what’s he like?
“He’s, um, well, he’s perfect,” Dorothy mumbled. “Have you got any new colors?”
“French,” Janelle responded without looking up from her work. “You’re going to be a bride, you get the French. Classy. Besides, quit trying to change the subject. What kind of perfect?”
Dorothy slouched down in the comfortable chair and closed her eyes, giving herself up to the pleasure of the warm water and Janelle’s expertise. What kind of perfect was Mud? The kind whose smile came out of nowhere, quicker than lighting and more natural than drawing breath? The kind whose touch could ignite flames in seconds, whose mere voice raised shivers along her spine?
“Blond,” she managed. “I guess. Kind of dark blond. Fairly tall.”
Janelle glanced up at Dorothy and shook her head. “You don’t sound too enthusiastic about him, hon.”
“We...had a fight, sort of.”
“Oh, is that it.” Janelle grinn
ed, pushing back Dorothy’s cuticles with a practiced ease. “Lover’s quarrel. It just makes making up that much more fun. Spicy like. You should see me and Darryl, you know, after a big one.”
Dorothy could feel a blush blooming on her cheeks. The thought of making up with Mud led too easily into thoughts of making love with him.
“It’s just that I don’t think we’re compatible,” she said more fiercely than she intended.
Janelle paused and regarded Dorothy frankly. “Well, now there’s compatible and there’s compatible, y’know? Do you click?”
The latter word was uttered with an exaggerated wink that left little doubt as to what Janelle meant.
“We click fine,” Dorothy mumbled, cheeks aflame. “We’re just totally different, in every important way. Lifestyle, tastes, ambitions...”
“Hey, that just makes it sweeter, the old opposites attract thing. You think I’d want a man who was just like me? Forget about it! Can you imagine!”
Janelle giggled good-naturedly, but despite her cheerful reassurance Dorothy felt herself slip a little deeper, into the gloomy doubts which had followed her from the moment she found herself alone in the bed she had shared with Mud the night before.
“Look, Janelle. I’ve known him for a long time. We have a history. The first time we...came together, it meant a lot to me. But not to him. He found someone else just when I was falling—”
Dorothy hesitated; she was going to say ‘falling in love’. But could a young girl really feel something as deep and real as romantic love?
“...falling for him,” she finished.
Janelle’s mirth disappeared as suddenly as it had bubbled up. She folded Dorothy’s hands between her own and held them tight. “You poor baby,” she said. “Now you’re just scared to death it’ll happen again. And I don’t blame you, with a guy who’s played around in the past. But you know a man like that waits until he’s ready, and I mean really ready, to settle down. They don’t make a commitment until they mean it. ‘Course some never do.”
