The Thrill of It All

by Christie Ridgway

  With his cock hardening against his thigh, he squeezed shut his eyes, trying to close down the screen in his mind. It was Ashley he’d kissed this morning, Ashley who would be his wife. That was his plan, his purpose! Felicity of the feathery hair and fiery mouth was trouble to forget, an obstacle to go around.

  And, with any luck, a woman on her way back to L.A.

  He refocused on the half of the phone conversation he could hear. “A product conference meeting tomorrow? No, um, hmm. Can’t we reschedule that for the uh, week after?”

  Damn! That didn’t sound like a woman heading back to the job.

  “Well, yes, I could return today, if you think the meeting tomorrow is necessary….”

  She bit her lip and Magee stared at her mouth, willing her to agree and get out of his life. Dollface, it’s necessary!

  As if he’d said it out loud, her gaze found the open doorway and from there latched on to his.

  He couldn’t look away. It happened again, like it did every frickin’ time. Lust, desire, gotta-have-it, gotta-have-her, whatever you wanted to call it, swamping over him. Connecting them.

  He saw her bottom lip drop as her breath quickened. His cock went harder when he saw her fingers tighten on the top button of her shirt.

  She wasn’t for him, he reminded himself. He’d changed, and now there were things that mattered to him beyond sensation and thrill. He had a purpose now, a plan to give his life meaning.

  But damned if he’d never been so hungry for female skin, for hot, wild, wet sex.

  For her female skin.

  For her.

  Suddenly she started, blinked. The phone, he could hear her mind working. I’m on the phone. “Drew, yes, yes. Of course, the new scenery is helping out, just as I said it would. Uh-hmm. I have been getting new ideas.” She blinked again. “Where? You want to know where I’m getting the ideas?”

  Her desperate gaze found Magee again. Now he knew why she’d wanted to reschedule that product meeting. She didn’t have any new ideas. But he shook his head, no help to her at all, the firing points of his brain fried by the current sizzling between them.

  “From, uh…uh…from climbers. Climbing.” The words stumbled out of her mouth. Rolling her eyes, she half-turned away from him.

  He might have felt sorry for her, except she seemed to be getting her concentration back while there was still nothing in his mind but the need to get her naked.

  “See, I, um…” Her hand snatched a pamphlet off the bulletin board hanging over his desk. “I heard about the National Outdoor Products Trade Show in Palm Springs this coming weekend. That’s what, uh, piqued my interest.”

  Jesus, Magee thought, as she read aloud some particulars off the pamphlet, she was good. Adding words like “splashy” and “playful” to the dry descriptions of some of the products in that sweet, trust-me tone of hers, she made dusty camping equipment sound interesting.

  “So that’s what I’ve been doing, Drew,” she concluded. “Thinking about GetTV night and day. But you’re right, maybe I should come back….” Her voice trailed off as she returned to listening.

  Magee inhaled a long breath, feeling that tide of lust start seeping away. Okay. Good. Instead of getting her in the sack, he’d be getting to say his goodbyes.

  He wrapped his hand around his still-steaming coffee. Lifting it to his mouth, his grip slipped. The burning brew dumped down the front of his shirt.

  “Hell!” The fabric seared, blister-hot, against his skin. He leaped to his feet and grabbed the hem of his shirt.

  Sorry, mate, but you’re both being blithering idiots.

  Simon’s voice flashed in Magee’s mind, but was gone by the time he’d yanked the shirt over his head. He glanced over at Felicity, and found her staring at his bare chest, her mouth hanging open.

  Her head bobbed slowly up and down. “Yes, that’s right,” she said into the phone. “Believe me, it’s hot. It’s very, very hot. And those angles—” She broke off. “What? What?”

  Closing her eyes, she listened for a few more moments, then carefully set the receiver back in its cradle. Still standing in the other room, she glanced over at Magee, glanced away.

  “Oh, for goodness’ sake, put your shirt back on,” she said.

  He bristled. “I’ll have you know—”

  “I’m staying. He wants me to stay.”

  “What?”

  Shaking her head, she walked out of the office. “I was certain he’d tell me to come back. You know, take the decision out of my hands. I was just babbling on about the trade show, trying to justify why I’d stayed this long, and…”

  “He bought it.”

  She heard the flat-out disgust in his voice, he figured, because she frowned at him. “I didn’t plan—”

  “Dollface, please.” Christ, he felt even more a fool because he’d been this close to thinking that fate knew something they didn’t. And he should have known it wasn’t mere sexual chemistry. He’d experienced that before, and it had never come along with this sticky connection that felt more than physical.

  This had to do with her. She’d worked like a charm—hah, hah—on him, hadn’t she?

  “I’m telling you, I didn’t plan—”

  “Maybe you don’t know just how talented you are,” he said, his voice cold. “So let me be the first one to tell you—though really, how couldn’t you know? Because it’s what you do, isn’t it? You’re an expert at bullshit. You’re an expert at making us believe you have exactly what we need.”

  Eight

  Peter made it up the porch steps of the house that Ashley shared with Magee. Gripping his left crutch hard, he leaned the right one against his side and lifted that hand to knock on the door.

  In the distance, he heard the theme song to SpongeBob SquarePants and quick footsteps. “Who’s there?” Ashley’s voice.

  “It’s Peter.”

  He imagined her surprise. It was Ashley’s night off and Peter had the evening free, too. But Magee had a long shift at the Bivy, so Peter had decided to take advantage of that and spend some time with Ashley and her daughter. He hadn’t called first.

  The front door swung open. Ashley’s gaze was trained to wheelchair level, and he saw her little start of confusion before her eyes lifted. “Peter?”

  Tingles broke out all over his skin, maybe even on the hollow logs that his legs had become. It had been so long since Ashley had looked up at him. “I’d forgotten how good erect is,” he said, grinning at her.

  “What?”

  He laughed, at her startled expression and at how clumsily he’d expressed himself. “I’m sorry, that came out wrong. The crutches and braces are something I’ve been working on and this is the first time I’ve tried them outside of my own place.”

  “Oh.” Her gaze swept down his body, bringing another wave of tingles in its wake. “What are you doing here?”

  For the first time he realized what she was wearing. Instead of the usual jeans she wore at the Bivy, her long legs were in black pants. With something lacy and feminine on top and her purse under her arm, it was obvious she was preparing to go out.

  “Do you have a…date tonight?” He hoped to God he looked as if he didn’t care. The last thing he wanted was for her to feel sorry for him.

  “No. I was going to spend a couple of hours at—” She shook her head. “No place important.”

  “I don’t want to interrupt….”

  “No.” She looked back as another pair of footsteps clattered toward the front door. “Anna P. will be happy to see you.”

  But what about you, Ash? He wanted to ask the question, but couldn’t. Not yet. First he had to make sure she was seeing him as Peter-the-man, not Peter-in-the-wheelchair.

  She stepped out of the way as Anna P. let out a shriek of welcome and scampered toward him. “Petey!”

  He rolled his eyes at her mother. “Only for your girl, Ash. I did unspeakable things to my sisters’ stuffed animals whenever they called me that.”

&nb
sp; “Petey!” A small pair of arms wrapped around his knees.

  Hell. Locking his elbows, he pushed down on the crutches, struggling to keep his balance. It stabbed his heart, that he couldn’t feel the hug, but he’d stab himself before he let it topple him. Sweat broke out on his forehead just as Anna P. stepped back, setting him swaying again.

  “Where’s your wheels?” She peeked around him, as if she thought he was hiding his chair—his wheels—somewhere.

  “I’m moving around this way tonight.” Her face fell and he had to grin again. For Anna P., the wheelchair was an incentive, not a detriment, to love. “But to make up for not taking you on any rides tonight, I brought pizza. Maybe you could get it for me?”

  She whisked past him, beelining for the open door of his specially equipped van and the pizza box he’d left on the passenger’s seat. Juggling the box and muscling his next-to-useless legs to the front door had been one of those impossibles that he’d learned to accept after the accident.

  “You’d better come on in,” Ashley said. “Since it looks like we’re having pizza for dinner.”

  He stood where he was. What would she say of the halting swing-and-shuffle that was his current—even after lengthy practice—version of walking? An image of his father’s sneer popped into his head, accompanied by his father’s voice. Men, Peter, don’t hesitate.

  Yeah, but they also didn’t get B’s in biology or go green at the smell of formaldehyde on dead frog skin or flunk out of medical school, either.

  He was still stalling when something caught Ashley’s attention and she hurried past him toward his car. “Anna P., let me help you with that!”

  With her back turned, Peter took his first clumping movement forward and swung over the threshold. As fast as he could manage, he made his way to the living room couch. He was settling onto the cushions just as mother and daughter shut the front door behind them.

  Whew. Perfect timing, he thought.

  “I’ll get plates and napkins,” Ashley said. “Do you want something to drink?”

  “Water?” Tension had parched his throat, making a beer sound even better, but he wanted to keep his wits about him. Magee had upped his anxiety level with talk about buying him out of their partnership in the bar. Though he hadn’t mentioned anything about it since, Peter had his own worries on the subject and he wanted to see what he could find out about how it related to Ashley and the future.

  He could still smile, however, as Anna P. clambered up on the sofa beside him. “What kind of pizza is it?”

  “The kind you always ask for. Hard-boiled egg and banana.”

  She laughed, looking so much like Simon that his gaze moved to the collection of framed photos on the wall behind her. There was her dad, Peter’s good climbing buddy, standing on the summit of Mt. Whitney, of Annapurna, and of Everest, one arm slung around Peter and one around Magee. The three members of the 3-D Club—Danger, Debauchery, and Demons.

  “Here you go.” With waitress expertise, Ashley returned to the room balancing all three plates, napkins, and glasses. Noting the direction of his gaze, she looked over her shoulder at the photo-covered wall. “Is something the matter?”

  Peter shook his head. “Just reminiscing.”

  She handed the plates around and took a seat in the chair opposite him. “Private reminisces?” she asked, half-smiling, “Or is this one of those stories I just have to hear?”

  He laughed. “We put you through that a lot over the years, I guess.”

  “It’s what I treasured most. The three of you safely back from your latest adventure, each of you trying to top the other with the most outrageous story.”

  “You were always our best girl.”

  She looked down at the untouched slice of pizza in her hand.

  If Peter had a working leg he would have kicked his own ass with it. He didn’t want to set himself up as a rival of Simon’s—he didn’t see himself that way. The truth was, years before Peter had done exactly what his father had always belittled him for. He’d hesitated, and right under his nose it was Simon who had walked—hell, run!—in and snatched Ashley away.

  Once upon a time it might have bothered him that she’d loved Simon first. But over that long, bleak night in the crevasse he’d come to know that love was flexible, while his time here on earth was not. He’d take whatever of both he could get from Ashley.

  “D’licious,” Anna P. piped up, chewing her pizza with obvious relish. “Petey, you’re the best.”

  “Thank you, tiger.” He reached over and tapped her nose. “If only I’d known before that pizza is the way to a woman’s heart. I might not be a single and a lonely man today.”

  “Are you, Peter?” Ashley glanced over at him, then stared down at her plate as if it fascinated her. “Are you lonely?”

  His heart leaped. At the bar the other night, she’d expressed curiosity about his sex life. Now she was asking about his emotional life, surely another hopeful sign.

  But tread carefully, pal, he told himself.

  He set his slice of pizza on his plate and wiped his mouth and fingers with his napkin. “For the year or so after my accident I was too consumed with rehabilitation and readjusting to feel loneliness. But now…well, I’m not sure ‘lonely’ is the right word.”

  He ran one palm down the side of his thigh. That he couldn’t sense his own touch still jolted him at times, but God, it was damn good to realize that he’d made it past the bouts of bitterness and depression that he’d experienced after the injury. Now he had the energy and enthusiasm to pursue these other feelings that had nothing to do with his disability.

  “I come from a big family—you’ve met two of my five sisters—and because of my dad’s medical practice he wasn’t home much. My mom coped by letting chaos reign, so I’m accustomed to constant noise and activity and company. When I’m by myself I sometimes feel…not exactly lonely, but as if something’s missing.”

  Ashley nodded slowly. “Or someone.”

  Peter took another stab to the heart. “Ah. You’re lonely, Ash?”

  Her gaze drifted over to her daughter and she smiled sadly. “I don’t think it’s fair to complain when I have my Anna P.”

  “There’s a lot that isn’t fair, Ashley.”

  “I try to drown that thought out whenever I can,” she said, standing abruptly.

  She was towering over him again, like she did when he was in the wheelchair, undermining his confidence. Her hand reached for his plate and his shot out, his fingers closing over her wrist. Her eyes jumped to his and he saw something desperate in them.

  “What’s wrong, Ash?” he asked. “Something’s bothering you.”

  She shook her head.

  “What is it?” he insisted.

  Her eyes closed wearily. “You remember how Simon was. Decisive, full of plans, sure of himself.”

  “He took very good care of you,” Peter agreed.

  “I counted on that. I miss it. I need it.”

  Peter didn’t know what to say. She was right, Simon had been an unignorable force, and his take-charge personality had overrun the quiet, gentle Ashley. But still, Simon had been gone for months at a stretch on climbing expeditions and during those times she’d managed her own life just fine. Had she forgotten that?

  But then, every mountaineer knew that each challenge began as a mental one. You were only as strong as you thought you were.

  He released her arm and let his hand drop to one of his dead legs. “I’m sorry, Ash,” he said, for want of anything better.

  After they finished the pizza, she returned their plates to the kitchen, leaving him to tally up his points in resignation. He might have come in standing like a man, he thought, closing his eyes, but he wasn’t certain she was seeing him that way.

  A pained cry from the kitchen had his eyes flaring open. He looked at Anna P. “Quick, go check on your mom, tiger,” he ordered, reaching for the crutches propped alongside the couch.

  It was probably a gimp world reco
rd, the speed of his trek down the hallway. He didn’t remember it or even think about the ungraceful sight he must have made, bursting into the kitchen with his thump-shuffle-slide.

  Ashley stood over the sink, her hand wrapped in a dish towel, Anna P. looking up in concern. “Mommy cut her hand, Petey.”

  “It’s nothing, I just grabbed the wrong end of a knife by mistake.” Despite the “nothing,” she hunched her shoulder to wipe a tear off her cheek.

  “Let me take a look at it,” Peter said, his stomach rolling over in his belly. “Anna P., can you bring me some Band-Aids?”

  “We got SpongeBob ones, I’ll get ’em.” She ran off.

  Peter dragged himself across the linoleum as Ashley hunched her shoulder again, drying another tear. “Ash, how bad is it?”

  When she didn’t answer, his stomach rolled again. “How bad?”

  She shook her head. “It’s not.”

  But she was crying. Reaching her, he leaned his body against the sink and let one crutch fall. He twined his free arm with her hurt one, pulling it against his side and pinning it there with his elbow. Then, holding his breath, he slowly unwrapped the towel from her hand. Don’t be sick, pal. Don’t be sick.

  As the towel dropped into the sink, his breath released in a long whoosh. “It isn’t bad. Not bad at all.” It was only a small cut, barely oozing blood.

  “I told you.”

  “Yeah, you did.” He was so relieved for both their sakes that he dropped his cheek to the top of her head and rubbed it against her silky blond hair. Her forearm was pressed against his side and his big hand still cupped her smaller one. It felt so good, so comforting and soothing, to hold her like this.

  But the man inside his crippled body was clamoring to get out. Peter lifted his head. “Ashley?”

  She looked up. He took a moment to appreciate that again, and then he let his mouth descend to hers.

  His breath backed up in his chest at the sweet, warm taste of her. He thought gentlegentlegentle, because Simon wouldn’t have kissed her gently and he didn’t want his kiss to be compared to any other man’s. Moving his mouth across her cheek, he heard the faintest of moans and it drew him back to her lips, drew him in. Gentlegentlegentle. He felt her kiss him back.