“I don’t think so…It’s not so different from how I look after spending a night with you.”
It was true. He couldn’t resist her hair. Winding his fingers through those dark strands, pulling her head back when he kissed her, or god help him, holding onto it when she did all those wicked and wonderful things with her very skilled mouth. For the last two weeks, Irma insisted that Dixie move back into her house. No sex. She’d said it would make their wedding night feel special. By special, she’d actually meant sex-starved.
“Well, you’ve made an honest man of me now. The fun is over. Missionary position, in the dark, and no more orgasms…Only the boring and unfulfilling sex of married people. Or so I’m told, by everyone.”
She turned in his arms, her hands sliding over his waist, down to the growing bulge of his erection. “Is that so? Do you really think we’re capable of boring sex?”
He laughed, even as he was reaching for the zipper at the back of her cream, lace dress. “Dixie, I don’t think you’re capable of boring anything. Even oatmeal tastes better when you’re around…and you know how I feel about oatmeal.”
She pushed his hands away and finished unzipping the dress herself. “So romantic. Oatmeal. My goodness, it’s no wonder you stayed so single for so long!”
When she got the dress unfastened, he pushed it from her shoulders, the fabric slithering down to reveal undergarments that he had no name for, but an undying appreciation of. “I’ll never figure out how to get you out of that stuff, but it looks fucking amazing.”
“So don’t get me out of it…Just work around it,” she said, as she pulled him toward the bed.
Nick followed her down onto the mattress, kissing every exposed inch of her skin. By the time he was done, they were both panting and needy. Tugging at the cups of the bustier, he freed one breast and then the other. He laved each nipple in turn, caressing with his tongue, teasing with his teeth. When Dixie gasped and moaned, while he sucked the taut peaks deep into his mouth, he knew he never wanted any woman the way he wanted her. Just the idea that she would be his forever, the enormity of it, simply wouldn’t sink in. “I love you, Dixie. Finding you is the best thing that ever happened to me.”
~*~*~
Dixie stared up at him for a moment, too moved to speak. Finally, she mustered, “I love you too. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to tell you or show you how much…When you were shot, and I didn’t know—those were the longest hours of my life.”
He smiled down at her, looking so unbelievably handsome. “You just need more faith, baby. You’re my good luck charm.”
Dixie couldn’t stop the laugh. “You say that now…you haven’t survived the holidays with Irma and Frankie yet.”
“I don’t really want to talk about Irma and Frankie right now.”
The tone in his voice, low and gravelly, told her just how much he wanted her. Reaching down to the waistband of his pants, she freed the button and then slowly slid the zipper down. “What do you want to talk about?”
“I don’t want to talk at all.”
Dixie closed her hand over him, lifting her hips in invitation. Nick needed very little encouragement. He tugged her panties aside, his fingers coasting over her damp flash for just a moment, and then he was parting her, easing himself into her.
Dixie closed her eyes, her head falling back as she savored the sensation. It felt so perfect, so right to have him inside her. While he began to move, she brought her legs up, locking them around him, drawing him deeper, holding him closer. He kissed her neck, her shoulders, and she arched into him, clinging to him, her hands fisted in the silk of his jacket.
Each stroke as he surged into her ratcheted the tension in her to new heights. Her toes curled, her muscles drawing tight in anticipation. He moved faster, pressing deeper, as his mouth found hers. His teeth scraping gently over her lower lip. Dixie cried out as the pleasure crested, wave after wave coursed through her.
Nick’s body tensed against her and she felt the hot rush of his release. His head dropped forward, resting against her breasts, the sound of their ragged breathing filling the room.
“Well, Mr. Jameson,” she said after a moment, “I think married life is going to suit me just fine.”
He smiled, pressed a kiss against her neck and rolled over onto his back, obviously content. “That’s fine with me, Mrs. Jameson, because I’ve no intention of letting you go.”
NOBODY BUT YOU
Seraphina Donavan
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
This is a work of fiction. All characters, places, businesses, and incidents are from the author’s imagination, or they are used fictitiously and are definitely fictionalized. Any trademarks or pictures herein are not authorized by the trademark owners and do not in any way mean the work is sponsored by or associated with the trademark owners. Any trademarks or pictures used are specifically in a descriptive capacity.
©February 2015, Seraphina Donavan
No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form (electronic or print) without permission from the author. Except for excerpts embodied in reviews.
CHAPTER ONE
Gripping the hammer tightly in his hand, Boone Caldwell grinned with satisfaction. He was driving the last nail in the last board of his new countertop. It might not have excited some people, but that put him one step closer to having his shop off the ground.
Opening a tattoo parlor, as his grandmother still called it, wasn't exactly the most traditional route he could have taken. But he'd fallen in love with tattoos and had spent his twelve-year stint in the military sucking up every scrap of knowledge he could. From Thailand to Afghanistan to a couple of hellholes in South America, he'd learned, he'd absorbed, and when he'd finally come home, he'd apprenticed.
For another three years, he'd lived in a city he hated, studying and learning the craft. He'd spent every spare dime he had buying up hams to practice on. The people at the grocery store must have thought he was feeding an army. He chuckled a little, recalling the odd looks he'd gotten every time he'd gone through the checkout line.
The nail sank into the board with a satisfying thud. He ran his hand over the smooth wood. It would need sanding and then a couple of coats of high gloss black paint and it would be perfect. The Inkwell would be open for business by the end of the week.
“Put your shirt on!”
The feminine voice was filled with more command than any drill sergeant he'd ever encountered. Turning to throw a rebellious glance at his sister, he replied, “Or what?”
Lucy glared at him, her hands on her skinny hips and looking so much like their mother it was scary. “Or the woman whose name is tattooed on your chest is going to walk in here any minute and see the proof of your adolescent obsession!”
Boone reached for his discarded T-shirt. “Shit!”
Tugging the shirt over his head, he repeated the curse for good measure. “Shit!”
Lucy's toes were tapping on the hardwood floor. “You should just cover it up! Put something on there,” she suggested.
No. The response was immediate. It wasn't the woman. He'd gotten over his infatuation with the woman who'd inspired the tattoo a long time ago. Or so he told himself on a pretty much daily basis.
The tattoo itself had meaning for him. He'd been in a lot of dark and scary places over the years. Guns and bombs going off all around him while he watched his friends die. In those moments, he'd put his hand on his chest, over that tattoo, and he'd think about home. Thinking about Caroline and all the things he'd always dreamed of had brought him out of hell, and he wasn't ready to let go of that yet.
That's what it represented to him. Safety. Security. Being in a place where the world was right. There was no way in hell he'd change anything about it. He'd just keep his damn shirt on.
The door opened and she walked in. It was like a punch in the gut. Her blonde hair was still long though styled differently. It fell in soft waves over her shoulders now. The ridiculous curves of her body might
have become a little fuller over the years, but that didn't do anything to detract from their appeal. She smiled at him, and he thought he'd swallow his tongue. Caroline Matthews-Ainsley left him as punch-drunk as always.
“Hello, Boone! It's been so long,” she said, rushing forward to give him a hug.
Caroline had been Lucy's best friend in school, and even though she was only two years older than Boone, she'd always treated him like a little brother. He'd felt a lot of things for Caroline over the years, but none of them had been familial. Of course, she was married, and it didn't matter how crazy he was for her, that was over the line.
“Hey, Caroline…It's a little late, but congratulations on being Charlottesville's best looking First Lady.”
The fact that she'd married William “Never Bill” Ainsley just made his skin crawl. He was like the bad guy in every eighties teen movie. All golden hair and star quarterback on the outside and Darth Vader in the middle.
Lucy made a choking sound, dragging her finger across her throat in a silent, age-old, but still effective threat. He frowned at her then glanced back at Caroline. The smile was still there, but it wasn't quite right. The warmth had left her eyes and she looked—broken, he decided. She looked broken.
After a second's pause, Caroline spoke. “I guess you've been so busy working in here that the gossip hasn't reached you yet—William and I are divorced, or will be soon at any rate.”
“Oh, fuck.”
Her smile curved upward then, into something ugly and a little mean. “He was doing that too…with his secretary.”
Boone shoved his hands into his pockets and rocked back on his heels. He hadn't just put his foot into his mouth, he'd chewed up and swallowed both of his damned combat boots. “I'm sorry, Caroline. I didn't mean—ah, hell. I'll just shut up now.”
Lucy came forward and placed her bony arm around Caroline's shoulder. It was the same pose in a dozen snapshots of them taken as children. “Too bad you couldn't have reached that stellar decision about five minutes ago,” Lucy said acidly. “We'll be next door if you want to come over and tell us how much weight we need to gain or lose, and how these pants do nothing for our asses. Maybe you can give us each a couple of paper cuts and pour salt in 'em!”
Caroline chuckled, and Boone felt the tension ease in him. He'd gladly take Lucy's brand of sarcasm if it meant making Caroline feel better. Still, it pissed him off a little that Lucy had kept that tidbit to herself. It was the kind of information that ought to be passed along. Of course, that was partially his own fault. Every time Caroline's name had come up in the conversation, he'd snapped at her. It had gotten to a point that hearing about her, thinking about her when he knew she'd never be his, had just been too much.
“Lucy, be nice to the poor boy. He's only been home for a month, and he's been working day and night in here!” Caroline admonished softly.
One word stuck out for him in her defense. Boy. He was thirty-two years old. He'd been shot three times. He'd killed more men than he cared to count, and he had a trunk full of medals he couldn't even stand to look at. But he was a boy to her, and that was never going to change. It made him so damned mad he wanted to punch something. But since he wasn't about to destroy what he'd been working so hard to put together, he figured getting out would be the best bet.
“I'm heading over to the PitStop for a beer,” he said. “I need a break.” And he needed to get the hell away from the woman he could never have.
“Be careful, Boone,” Caroline offered. “It really was good to see you again.”
“My foot in my mouth,” he said with an easy smile that didn't reach his eyes. “Just like old times.”
Grabbing his jacket and keys, Boone left the building. Climbing into the old step-side truck his grandfather had left him, he headed for the bar and enough beer to drown his sorrows.
~*~*~
Caroline left the tattoo shop, crossing the hall into the other small storefront that housed Lucy's bakery. The building had once been a small department store, offering women's clothing on one side and men's on the other. Boone had helped Lucy buy the building and start her bakery. He'd signed over his half of the life insurance policy they'd gotten after his and Lucy's parents had been killed, and he'd done it without a second thought. As far as brothers went, he was just about the best anybody could ask for.
He's not your brother, and he looked damn good. Ignoring the voice in her head, the one that had been saying all sorts of things only worthy of being ignored, she offered up the apology that had to be made. “I'm sorry I haven't been by lately. Or called. Or texted. Or responded to your texts…and heaven knows I'm staying away from the pitfalls of social media right now. If one more person tells me how sorry they are, I swear to god, I'm going to climb the water tower buck-ass naked and shout to the whole town that I'm glad the son of a bitch is gone!”
Lucy laughed, the throaty sound seeming at odds with her stick-like frame. No matter what, Lucy never gained weight. Even when she'd been pregnant, she had just looked like a skinny woman carrying a watermelon under her shirt. If she weren't Caroline's best friend, the hatred would have run deep.
“The water tower is rusted as hell because your smarmy ex pocketed the money that should have been used to paint it. I hope you're up to date on your tetanus shots.”
Sinking onto one of the white, wrought-iron chairs with its striped pink cushions, Caroline laid her head on the small bistro table. “I need a cupcake. Or a dozen. Then I won't be able to haul my fat ass up the water tower.”
Lucy reached into the glass-fronted display case. Another errant thought about Boone and all the wonderful things he'd done for his sister popped into Caroline's head. He'd found the display case at a flea market years ago and had helped refinished it while he was home on leave and Lucy's pregnancy hormones had been akin to demonic possession.
When her friend produced one chocolate cupcake, placed it on a small plate, and walked over to the table, Caroline tried not to salivate.
Lucy placed the treat in front of her. “One cupcake. Then you're going to stop feeling sorry for yourself and tell me what that needle-dicked bastard has done this time.”
Caroline looked at the cupcake. “I can't pay you for this. My dad has cut me off…I signed the divorce papers this morning and he flipped. Said I was throwing away all that we'd worked for.”
“You earned the cupcake for putting up with my bitchy ass all these years…Although I'm not sure if I'm talking about your soon-to-be ex-husband or your father. Speaking of your father, has he missed the part where your husband killed his political career by stealing from his constituents and sleeping with his married secretary?”
Caroline felt the tears starting then. “According to my father, it's my fault. If I'd taken better care of myself and not gotten so fat, my husband wouldn't have strayed and his half-wit secretary—who incidentally can't tie her shoes without instructions—wouldn't have been able to sway him. But the real problem—” She stopped abruptly, unable to continue.
Lucy looked at her. “And what?”
The words came out in a rush, running over top of one another. “And-you're-the-only-friend-I-have-and-I've-been-awful-to-you-but-now-I-need-a-place-to-stay.”
Lucy shook her head. “My house would drive you crazy. Between Charlie screaming at the television, the dogs barking, the twins wailing, and the constant sound of video game gunfire accompanied by the random funk of a teenage boy…But I may have a solution.”
“Really?”
Lucy grinned. “Come with me, and bring your cupcake.”
~*~*~
Boone stared at his second beer. He'd been sitting at the bar for almost two hours, but getting drunk had lost its appeal. Maybe it was the horrible band or maybe it was the fact that the local college kids were slumming it in the dive bar, but he just felt old and tired.
“Suck it up, buttercup. There's more where that came from.”
Before Boone could even respond to his sister's taunt, she
tugged the beer bottle from his hand and drained what was left in it. Afterward, she grimaced and wiped her mouth. “Wuss. You know it's a party foul to let your beer get warm.”
Boone took the bottle from her and signaled the bartender for another one. “I think it's a party foul for the mother of a sixteen-year-old to use the words ‘party foul.’ Why aren't you still hanging out with Caroline and bashing anything with a penis?”
Lucy shrugged. “Penises are fine. It's the men attached to them that are the problem.”
Boone shuddered. “It weirds me out for you to say that word. Let's just forget it?”
“What? Penis?” She laughed. “There are other words I can use instead!”
“No. Definitely not. Not now. Not ever,” he said emphatically. If she was going to continue hanging out, he was going to need something stronger than beer.
The bartender placed another longneck in front of him, and Lucy promptly stole it. With a weary sigh, he just shrugged and signaled for yet another beer. “Is there some reason you followed me down here? Other than to get drunk off the shit I'm buying for myself?”
She patted him on the back. “You, little brother, owe me. You owe me so big that you're going to paint my entire shop all by yourself.”
Sipping the beer that finally made it into his hand rather than his sister's, he said, “You mean like I did last time?”
“I paid you!”
“You bought me pizza…which your bottomless pit of a kid scarfed down half of,” he reminded her. “Now, what is it you think I owe you for?”
She wore a smirk like a cartoon cat with a yellow feather hanging from its mouth. “You owe me, Boone, because Caroline is now your roommate.”
He set the bottle back on the bar. He couldn't swallow because his heart was in his throat. “What the hell did you do?”
“She needed a place to stay…It seems that Needle Dick's legal problems have resulted in her losing her house. Her delusional father believes it's her fault that her shitty husband cheated on her and kicked her out of his house when she signed the divorce papers.”
The Seraphina Donavan Collection: Contemporary Page 11
