The Kiss That Counted

by Karin Kallmaker

  The Kiss That

  COUNTED

  Karin Kallmaker

  2008

  Writing as Karin Kallmaker:

  Christabel Finders Keepers

  Just Like That Sugar

  One Degree of Separation Maybe Next Time

  Substitute for Love Frosting on the Cake

  Unforgettable Watermark

  Making Up for Lost Time Embrace in Motion

  Wild Things Painted Moon

  Car Pool Paperback Romance

  Touchwood In Every Port

  Writing for Bella After Dark:

  In Deep Waters 1: Cruising the Seas

  18th & Castro

  All the Wrong Places

  Tall in the Saddle: New Exploits of Western Lesbians

  Stake through the Heart: New Exploits of Twilight Lesbians

  Bell, Book and Dyke: New Exploits of Magical Lesbians

  Once Upon a Dyke: New Exploits of Fairy Tale Lesbians

  Writing as Laura Adams:

  The Tunnel of Light Trilogy:

  Sleight of Hand

  Seeds of Fire

  Feel free to visit www.kallmaker.com

  Visit

  Bella Books

  at

  BellaBooks.com

  or call our toll-free number 1-800-729-4992

  Copyright © 2008 Karin Kallmaker

  Bella Books, Inc. P.O. Box 10543 Tallahassee, FL 32302

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  First Edition 2008

  Printed in the United States of America on acid-free paper

  Editor: Katherine V. Forrest

  Cover designer: LA Callaghan

  ISBN: 10: 1-59493-131-3

  ISBN: 13: 978-1-59493-131-4

  For Maria, Kelson and Eleanor. Once again, Moogie is done. For now.

  Special thanks to the on-the-spot reference sources, especially Lori Lake for the last minute discussion of ballistics. Heartfelt gratitude to the most important people in this writer’s creativity—the readers who make the blood, sweat and tears worth it. Finally, my deep appreciation to Katherine Forrest for gently and frmly challenging me to do better.

  Twenty. Who knew? Little perennials, where did they come from?

  About the Author

  Among Karin Kallmaker’s more than twenty-fve romance and fantasy-science fction novels are the award-winning Just Like That, Maybe Next Time, Sugar and 18th & Castro along with the bestselling Substitute for Love and the perennial classic Painted Moon. Tw o dozen short stories have appeared in anthologies from publishers like Alyson, Bold Strokes, Circlet and Haworth, as well as novellas and dozens more short stories with Bella Books. She began her writing career with the venerable Naiad Press and continues with Bella. Her novels have been translated into Spanish, French, German and Czech.

  She and her partner are the mothers of two and live in the San Francisco Bay Area. She is descended from Lady Godiva, a fact which she’ll share with anyone who will listen. She likes her Internet fast, her iPod loud and her chocolate real.

  All of Karin’s work can now be found at Bella Books. Details and background about her novels, and her other pen name, Laura Adams, are at www.kallmaker.com.

  Chapter 1

  Gracie's, the fair trade and all-things-organic coffee bar halfway between CJ's office building and Abby's medical center, was crowded with afterwork couples. CJ scanned the room and exits again, then reluctantly brought her focus back to Abby.

  "I am not a sexual drive-thru, CJ. You can't just call me up when you want a roll in the hay." Abby licked whipped cream off her stir stick with no sign of her usual pleasure.

  But you're here, CJ Roshe wanted to say. Takes two to tango to any tune, she might have added. Given the din of cutlery and conversations, she could have even pretended not to have heard what Abby had said.

  Instead, she tried a distraction. "Between your residency schedule and my wall-to-wall meetings, we aren't able to get together that often."

  Abby didn't fall for it. With a level look across the steaming cups, she said, "Seven weeks."

  Okay, distraction wasn't going to work. Elements of the truth—for instance, that CJ had only realized yesterday how long it had been since they'd gotten together—were not what Abby wanted to hear. Abby's assessment of their relationship was accurate, after all, and CJ wasn't going to pretend otherwise. But she wasn't going to take the whole blame. Abby, deep in the demands of medical residency, hadn't called for a date either. Still, what was the point of hashing over their dysfunctional relationship, especially when the one thing that was more than functional was what they would both be pleased with by morning? Maybe they didn't have to have their usual argument before they adjourned to a more private setting.

  "I know." CJ leaned forward to rest her arms lightly on the tiny table. One finger traced the back of Abby's hand. "Seven weeks."

  Abby's shiver was palpable. Her problem was that she couldn't admit they were about sex. For some reason, that was a bad thing in her book. It wasn't as if either of them was seeing someone else, so what was the big deal? Why was sex supposed to lead down the aisle to ever-after and white picket fences? Regardless, those options weren't available to CJ and she had never told Abby they were.

  A clap of thunder announced the arrival of another summer afternoon downpour, and the café's air grew humid and warm in spite of the air-conditioning. CJ watched the ritual of new arrivals shaking off water from their shirts. Denver in August made a raincoat unthinkable; it was drip-dry season.

  After another quick visual sweep of the premises, CJ glanced at Abby again. If Abby was truly peeved she would have drawn back from CJ's touch. CJ's pulse stirred as she watched faint mottling creep up the pale throat and chest, enchantingly displayed by a revealing blouse. CJ was almost certain she'd once before unbuttoned that very blouse with her teeth. It was a guarantee that Abby hadn't been wearing a silk blouse on call at the hospital, in the same way that the collar of CJ's tailored shirt hadn't been undone to the top of her cleavage while she'd been at work.

  "I'm not—stop that, CJ."

  CJ stilled her finger. "Have I ever misled you?"

  "No," Abby admitted. A fare of anger marred her lovely face as she tossed back her shoulder-length brown hair. "No, you've been quite honest that I'm in your life to fuck when you feel like it."

  "You can call me whenever you like."

  "And hear that sexy voice of yours telling me to leave a message."

  "Someday you'll find that perfect one you want, Abby. Dearly beloved, diamond ring, the whole deal." Blah, blah, blah, CJ thought. "In the meantime, why not enjoy yourself?"

  "You mean why not let you enjoy yourself with me."

  "Are you saying you don't enjoy it too?" CJ couldn't help the sardonic lift to one eyebrow and the pointed look at the alluring curves revealed by the clinging silk.

  Abby flushed again and CJ was certain Abby could hear the echo of some of the earthy things she had said during their last tryst. "You know that I do. I just wish—"

  "That's not going to happen. I'm not made that way." I can't ever be that way, CJ added to herself.

  Abby regarded her sadly. "I know."

  Yet we have to have this conversation every time, CJ wanted to say. "Would you like to get some dinner?"

  "No." Abby's little sigh was a mixture of chagrin and resignation. With a glimmer of a smile, she added, "You know what I want."

  CJ always tried to be truthful. It made lying easier. "I really want to spend the night with you, too."

  "The whole night, huh? Let's go to your place bec
ause you make better breakfasts."

  CJ squeezed Abby's hand. "Breakfast, and everything leading up to it, will be my pleasure."

  Abby picked up her handbag and as CJ rose she surveyed the crowded café to confirm that the route she'd noted earlier was still the best way to exit. No one in her line of sight had a studied nonchalance that set off her internal alarms, but her gaze lighted on an average-looking man in an average-looking suit with his tail so far between his legs that she thought, Someone just broke his favorite toy.

  She glanced at his companion, then looked away. Looked again, looked away, then stared. Platinum hair hung to her mid-back, straight like sewing silks and catching the light like diamonds. A sleek, shimmering blouse the shade of Kentucky bluegrass set off pale, rose-tinted skin. A nose too long to be conventionally pretty highlighted eyes of crystal-sharp blue. And that wide, curving mouth…

  "Are we going?"

  "Sure, yes." CJ hid her discomfiture and glanced at the Nordic beauty again. She'd have no trouble at all calling up the woman in her memory. She wouldn't mind if those long legs and vibrant eyes showed up in her dreams. The woman was smiling sweetly at her companion, who looked as if he wanted to crawl under a table to lick his wounds.

  As the door closed behind her, CJ resisted the urge to look back one more time. The voice in her head sounded just like Aunt Bitty when she was hunched over her tarot cards. Dreams, the voice said, will be the closest the likes of you will ever get to a fantasy woman like that.

  Abby tended to drive more slowly than CJ did, and they got separated on the way to CJ's apartment. She drowned out her petty annoyances over the traffic with a sweet and sultry Diana Krall CD. She left behind the carefully griddled Victorian streets of the old historic district near the Capitol, and wended her way east, easing onto the long, wide avenues that proclaimed Denver a city of the Limitless West. Her pace increased as she turned onto Colfax. Like most other commuters she was headed for the sprawling network of the multi-lane boulevards.

  From there, most drivers would crawl onto the interstates that gave the illusion of all destinations being only a short drive away, that everywhere worth going was connected to Denver. Unlike most of the other commuters, however, she wasn't headed toward a newer bedroom community like Aurora or Centennial, but a small 1950s-era apartment complex, still within the city limits, that had so far escaped the makeovers of its neighbors.

  Her gaze moved constantly from the traffic to the speedometer to the rearview mirror as she drove past posh condominium complexes that offered pools and rec rooms, and gentrifying neighborhoods where former small lots were being combined for more opulent homes. She was happy with her nondescript second-floor apartment. It wasn't a place where anyone would look for her. And, giving her the kind of peace of mind she craved, her apartment had a rear exit.

  CJ pulled into one of the guest parking spaces so Abby could take the designated spot close to CJ's door. Nearby cars were all familiar, as were the other people arriving home from work. She ran through the rain, which had eased to a misty drizzle, and was up the stairs and inside her door in record time. She quickly went to the tiny second bedroom she used as a home office to plug in her various portable electronics and make sure the phone rang directly to voice mail.

  With only a few minutes at most before Abby arrived, CJ opened the unlabeled folder that never left her desk. A faded newspaper clipping floated to the floor and she stuffed it back with the others before running one finger down the handwritten list of a dozen names and amounts. She studied it every night, almost without fail. Once a week she opened the safe in the back of the small closet and added to its contents. Nine of the names now had lines through them and she allowed herself a tight smile. The first person on the list was the reason she'd settled in Denver, and here she was, eight years later, hunkered down, selling commercial real estate like it had always been her career choice, and slowly but surely crossing names off this list.

  When she heard the uneven putter of Abby's car, she tucked the folder into the top desk drawer. From the front window she could see Abby's VW disappearing under the covered parking. Everything else below, the little she could see anyway, looked the same as it had earlier.

  She selected some sultry Ella on her way to the door, opening it just before Abby knocked. She pulled Abby inside and neither of them seemed to care that a small grocery bag and Abby's purse ended up on the floor in their haste.

  "Please, baby," Abby whispered. "Let's go."

  "Hold on, sweetie, let me close the door."

  CJ ended up with her back against the now locked door with one foot on the groceries, which were probably Abby's favorite sticky rolls.

  "What's taking you so long to get me naked?" Abby grinned between kisses.

  "Let's at least get to the couch." CJ was relieved to see Abby's sense of humor had returned. Sex ought to be fun, fantastic fun, and with Abby it most certainly was.

  Once Abby made up her mind, she was like a racer at Indy with a green fag. The fire of her mouth, the taste of her, always roused a similar urgency in CJ. They fell on the sofa not all that gracefully, clothes still in the way.

  Abby laughed, said, "That's my hand," then made that little noise that confirmed that CJ had found a nipple through the blouse. After that, everything was natural and heated, Abby's head tipped back in offering and CJ's mouth nuzzling into one of the most delightfully heaving bosoms she'd ever had the pleasure to know.

  Goose bumps dusted Abby's arms, and the texture brought a highly pleasurable tingle to the tips of CJ's fingers. Abby was special, and maybe CJ would care more if she wasn't always aware that at any moment she would have to leave without a word. All it would take to get her running for the nearest state line was a glimpse of an old but still familiar face or an authoritative knock at the front door. She wouldn't mind if Abby never forgot her, but she'd feel badly if she left Abby with a broken heart.

  "There's nothing better than this," CJ whispered. She took her time dipping into Abby's mouth, then other places that were as wet and welcoming.

  Abby's reply was a familiar and pleasing croon, and her hands cupped the back of CJ's head with another rising sound of pleasure. What more did there need to be? It didn't just feel good, it felt wonderful.

  Within a few minutes Abby was calling out her name with the abandon that pleased CJ in deep places that didn't seem reachable at any other time. CJ pulled Abby into her arms and kissed away the aftershivers of pleasure, silencing, too, the softly murmured, "CJ" that Abby continued to repeat. Moments like these, when there should only be sweet words and intimate touches, loving caresses and easy smiles, were the only times it ever bothered her that Abby used the name of a woman who didn't exist.

  Chapter 2

  "So it's not like I want to be an associate forever at such a small law firm. I have aspirations." Brent's earnest expression made his eyes go soft.

  He was just like a baby fawn, Karita Hanssen mused. What on earth was she going to say to head him off?

  With a fabulous sense of timing, the barista barked out, "Two skinny mochas, Turkish, capped," and Brent gallantly fought the line to secure them, presenting hers with a flourish and courtly bow.

  "Thank you, kind sir." Karita got up to doctor her coffee, preferring it sweeter and milkier than Gracie's standard preparation. Stirring in the organic sugar she pondered her options. Brent was going to ask her for an official date and that would be awkward. They worked together and interoffice dating had been declared "the worst thing I ever did" in the three cases she knew about, one very recent. Her job, facilities management and reception in a downtown law firm, was exactly right for her and she wasn't going to jeopardize it.

  Her grandmother, watching lovingly from heaven above, no doubt was thinking that Brent was a lawyer, and that made him good husband material, well worth trading a mere job for. But Gran would also know that Brent's real drawback was his gender, poor fellow. That wasn't his fault, of course, so she'd have to let him down easy. H
e was very sweet and she didn't want to bruise him. There was no point to bruising people—the world had enough boo-boos without her adding to the total.

  Thunder rumbled a warning as she stirred and watched traffic on the congested downtown street outside the bistro. Tw o years and she was still getting used to summer in Denver. Minnesota had trained her for heat, thunderstorms and humidity. Colorado had the heat, but the air was so dry most of the time that afternoon showers still seemed abnormal.

  As if to make a lie of her thoughts, another thunderous warning ushered in a downpour, rapidly filling potholes and sending people scurrying off the street for shelter. She wiggled her toes in the pumps she wore to work, wishing she'd had time to change out of them into her all-purpose clogs before meeting Brent. But wet feet were a small price to pay—the evening skies would clear, the temperatures would fall and the air at home, two thousand feet up from Denver, would be fresh and pure. She laughed quietly to herself as a mixed-breed shepherd paused in the rain to shake off water, much to the vexation of its umbrellaless owner.

  Okay, her coffee couldn't get any more stirred and Brent, sweet-as-a-puppy Brent, was still waiting. She turned back to their table with a smile fixed in place.

  "Let me get that for you," the man at the condiment station offered as her napkin fluttered to the ground.

  "Thank you." Karita accepted the napkin and interpreted the flicker of interest in the man's eyes. He had a wedding ring on his finger and she was willing to bet a picture of two-point-seven children in his pocket.

  She was sometimes tempted to tell strange men—as she'd not see them again—the simple truth. How would this fellow react to "I'm a lesbian elf, so run along to your wife."

  So she wasn't really an elf, a fact she was still getting used to. She'd believed it with all her heart as a child, and secretly cherished the hope all her life, that it was true, even when part of her knew it simply couldn't be. At twenty-seven she still had lapses of longing to possess just a little bit of magic.