Читать книгу Under the Autumn Sky - Liz Talley - Страница 11

CHAPTER THREE

ABRAM TOOK LOUISE’S hand and led her through the throng of people carousing in the bar. He didn’t fail to miss the curious glances, and occasionally envious stares, tossed their way. He also didn’t fail to hear the voice in his head saying, Don’t do anything stupid, Coach.

It sounded like Coach Holt’s voice and should have stopped him cold, but, for once, he didn’t want to listen to anyone who would talk him out of something more with Louise.

So he’d taken the wrong exit and ended up with a cold beer and a hot woman? How was that anything other than incredibly lucky?

No harm. No foul. No problem.

“Where are we going?” she asked, as he pushed open the front door, whisking them into the cool night air.

“Just somewhere a bit more private.”

She stopped and looked around. “But we’re in the middle of nowhere.”

He glanced around. “I don’t plan well.”

She laughed and his balls tightened. He could suggest going back to the motel, but it didn’t seem right. Too fast. Too obvious. And she didn’t seem like that kind of girl. Even if she had a body made for sin and a face made for salvation.

She pointed behind him. “If I remember correctly, there’s a pier over there. It goes out to the lake. We could take a moonlit walk. That’s date-appropriate, right?”

“It’s perfect.”

They linked hands and started through the high grass toward the nearly hidden pier. Thick, tangled brush grew unchecked and he wondered how she knew the pier sat nearby. He pulled at some vines, clearing the path. The vines gave and he caught his breath. The length of the old wood jutted out onto Lake Chicot, opening to a brilliant star-studded velvet sky.

“It looks like it’s steady enough,” Louise said, testing the wooden stairs with one red high heel.

He placed his weight on the wood. “Yeah, it’s fine.”

Louise bent down, slid her shoes off and set them on the bottom step. Her unpolished toes wiggled as she flexed them. “Ah, feels good. Besides, I don’t want to end up in the water. Too cold tonight.”

For the first time since they’d slipped out of Rendezvous, he noticed the chill in the air. “It is cool. Are you okay with being out here?”

Louise gave him what he thought was an unpracticed siren’s smile. “As long as you keep me warm.”

His body tightened and he grew erect. Hell. It had been a while since he’d been with a woman. His on-again, off-again playmate Alison was currently in off mode and he rarely went to bars looking for temporary comfort. He spent most of his time in the athletic facility surrounded by men. And he never picked up chicks on the road. This was a first for him.

“I can handle that,” he heard himself say. Which surprised him because his body had obviously gone into auto sex pilot.

“Good.”

He curved an arm around her shoulders, dropping his hand to her waist, which he stroked lightly. She sank into him as they climbed the steps leading to a sky of stars. The lake smelled earthy and primal, and the sound of cicadas along with the gentle lap of the water struggled to be heard over the music spilling from the honky-tonk they’d left moments ago. Altogether, Abram couldn’t have designed a more romantic spot.

They didn’t speak. Merely strolled to the end of the pier and stared out at the black water.

Louise glanced up. “Beautiful, isn’t it?”

He looked at her. “Yeah, you are.”

She jerked her gaze to him. Her eyes were a stormy blue, deep like the glittering stones his mother sometimes wore. He forgot the name of them, but they were just the color of Louise’s eyes.

He wanted to kiss her.

So he did.

Dipped his head and caught her pretty pink lips.

She sighed before turning into him. He felt her breasts rise as she pressed her soft flesh into his chest. Something struck inside him, flaring, heating. He slid a hand to cup her cheek, noting how smooth her skin was, tilting his head so he could deepen the kiss.

She accommodated him, opening her mouth, giving him a taste of the spicy rum she’d had earlier. She tasted like sheer heaven, sheer molten heaven.

He pulled back and studied her. “You taste good.”

She pressed a hand to her lips. “Do I?”

He pulled her down so they sat on the edge of the pier. She snuggled next to him, dropping her legs so they dangled next to his.

“This is like a fairy tale,” she said, glancing at him. The shadows had pulled back into the night, leaving her face luminescent in the moonlight. Her skin glowed against the ripeness of her lips, against the depths of her eyes. Her blond hair shone like a curtain on either side of her face. He was fairly certain he’d never seen a woman so delicate and lovely. “I feel like a fairy princess. It’s strange.”

“It probably sounds like a cheesy pickup line, but I think this is some crazy fate thing.”

“Fate disguised as magic,” she said.

“I took the wrong exit, you know.”

“What?”

“I missed my turn and took the exit for Chicot State Park thinking to wind my way back to Ville Platte. But I saw Rendezvous and decided to stop for a beer.”

“So fate brought me a Prince Charming. For one night only.”

“For one night only,” he repeated.

She took a breath, almost like a steadying breath. “Can we dance?”

“Out here?”

She nodded. “It’s been so long, and it was so nice to be held in your arms. We can hear the music from Cooter’s. Listen. It’s George Strait.”

He cocked an ear in the direction of the honky-tonk. “So it is.” He held out a hand with a questioning crook of an eyebrow.

She took his hand. Her reflective smile looked slightly sheepish, as if she knew they were acting silly. Okay, they were. But so the hell what?

She melted into his arms and under the night sky, he held her close, drawing in the silky scent of something flowery, and swayed to the faint sounds of the steel guitar. She fit him well, her head tucking under his chin, her breasts hitting him right at his solar plexus, her hips brushing the rising result of being so close.

She hummed along to the music, stroking her hands over his back, as if she knew that drove him crazy, taking him to the place he wanted to go, but was afraid to say aloud.

The song ended but still they swayed, their footfalls barely rising as they shuffled over the worn boards.

“My feet are cold,” she murmured into his shoulder.

He raised his head from where he’d been contemplating the delicateness of her ear. “We should go.”

“No,” she breathed. “I don’t want this to end. Not yet. It’s not midnight.”

He laughed. “Fine, but let’s go back. We can sit in my truck and I’ll put the heater on your toes.”

She shook her head. “I’d rather have cold toes. It’s too perfect here.”

He pulled her down, crossing his legs and settling her into his lap. She curled into him and he wrapped his arms around her. “I was right. You’re stubborn.”

Her laugh was light, but she didn’t respond to his comment. Just tucked her cold toes beneath the hem of her too-long jeans and settled against him. He could feel the beat of her heart, the rise of her breath, and was struck at how absolutely strange this moment was.

Who was this man cradling a woman he’d met an hour ago on an old rickety pier in the cool Louisiana night in a place he neither knew nor intended to find?

Not the man most would recognize as the unyielding Abram Dufrene.

She linked her arms behind his head and looked up at him. “Kiss me again?”

Why had he gone so long with his lips away from hers? Really. Should she have to ask?

He lowered his head and gave her what she asked for.

And did it so well, it left them both breathless.

“You are a good kisser,” she breathed, dotting small kisses on the scruff of his jaw. Each tiny brush of her lips inflamed him.

“Not bad yourself,” he muttered, running his hands down her back to her hip, stroking the curve through the denim. He really wanted to see her breasts. They were likely works of art, rounded, pink-tipped with angel kisses, so he started kissing his way down her neck, knowing his thoughts were absurdly poetic. This was what the night had created in him.

Louise’s head fell back, spreading her golden hair across his thigh. He groaned his approval as he reached her collarbone and tugged the fabric of her shirt aside to reveal a serviceable white bra.

It made him smile.

This woman, as lovely as she was, appreciated comfort. He didn’t need the allure of lace, not when what lay beneath was much more valuable. He tugged the strap, but nothing popped free. He tugged again. Same result.

“Here,” she said, wiggling and reaching behind her back. One grunt and the bra fell loose.

“Thanks,” he said, returning to his pillaging. He slid the neck of the blouse aside and was rewarded with a perfect plump pink-tipped breast. He wasted no time laying claim to it, and noted self-satisfactorily her hiss of pleasure when he closed his mouth over her hard nipple.

For a moment, he simply nuzzled her, sucking her into his mouth while stroking her into a fever. She unfurled her long legs, turned and wrapped them around his waist, allowing her bottom to cradle his erection, giving sweet friction to them both. He groaned and lifted his head from her breast and looked down at her cradled in his arms, cold toes forgotten, eyes closed, breathing like she’d finished a wind sprint.

“We can’t do this,” he said, sinking his head down to rest at the top of her breast.

She jerked, opened her eyes and struggled to lift her head. “Why not?”

“We’re strangers.”

“So?”

He shook his head. He knew most men wouldn’t have stopped, but something prodded him. His upbringing. His common sense. The fact he didn’t have a condom.

“So you’re okay with just one night?” He tried to sound playful. Most women wanted dinner, movies, talk of swapping keys before a willingness to fade away into a memory. He’d never in all his thirty-one years had a one-night stand. Not even in college. “No woman wants that.”

“This woman does.”

* * *

AND SHE MEANT IT.

She’d gone far too long without having the real deal. It was beyond time to uncork the champagne of her sexuality. In fact she was approaching epic spinsterhood. She needed to get laid and what better way to do that than with a handsome, sexy, no-strings-attached stranger?

He wouldn’t meet her eyes at the grocery store and then turn away.

He wouldn’t show up on her doorstep with flowers and a DVD she had no interest in watching.

He wouldn’t marry one of her friends and cause her to have one of those I-know-what-your-husband-looks-like-naked moments.

It was perfect.

A gift from fate. For one night only.

“I’m serious. I don’t expect anything other than this little magic moment.” She licked her lips as insurance. The romance books beside her bed seemed to indicate that licking her lips would inflame a man beyond reason.

He shook his head. “This is crazy.”

“You don’t want me?” She knew he did. Could feel the evidence against her bottom. She glanced down, caught the time in the glow of the waxing moon. 11:13 p.m. She had less than an hour. Okay, she had more than an hour, but for the sake of the whole magic fate thing, she’d rather it be tonight. On her birthday. With him.

“Of course I want you,” he said. “Too much.”

“Then shut up and kiss me,” she said, hooking his neck and bringing him down so she could kiss him.

His lips met hers and her pulse went wild.

This was what she’d been missing, not counting that time with Bud Hargon when he’d prematurely ejaculated before getting the job done or the time when she’d layered her bed with rose petals and had just gotten naked with Cole Lanier when Waylon had come in with a busted lip, wailing like a banshee.

Until tonight, Louise Boyd had been a virgin.

But she wasn’t missing another opportunity for deflowering.

“I don’t have a condom, Louise,” Abram said, nibbling her lower lip. “But we can please each other in other ways.”

She shook her head. “No, I want the real deal. The whole shebang. That’s what I need. That’s what it’s gotta be.”

He stilled. “You make it sound like—”

He lifted his head and searched her gaze. Something dawned on him. He understood. “For crap’s sake, Louise, you’re not telling me you’re a—you’re a—virgin?”

She didn’t blink. Was that really any of his business? No. It was hers. And when he said it out loud like that it made her feel pathetic. “You make it sound like a crime.”

He lifted her off him, setting her onto the cold wood of the pier. “It’s not a crime. It’s sort of surprising, and it’s not something I…I think you should…”

He closed his mouth. Then he swallowed. She could see quite clearly he had no clue what to say. It should have been sweet, endearing even, but it just pissed her off. It’s not like she hadn’t tried all this before. She had. But it hadn’t worked.

“What? I should save it for someone special? Is that what you were going to say? My future husband maybe?”

He blinked.

“Well, it’s not special. It’s a burden. You don’t need to know the particulars, but I’m not a freak. I couldn’t date for many years because of stuff going on in my life, and when I could date again, well, things never progressed. For heaven’s sake, I’m a twenty-seven-year-old, decent-looking woman. I should be able to get laid.”

She shoved herself up, rising more like a winged harpy than a fairy princess. Frustration made her dangerously angry.

Abram sat there looking like a fish that had landed on the pier. If he had started flopping and gasping, she wouldn’t have been surprised.

“Louise,” he said, climbing to his knees. “I didn’t mean it that way. I don’t think anything. I just don’t—”

“Don’t trouble yourself to screw me. It’s no big deal. I can go another three years without a date. By then I’ll be thirty. Hey, maybe I could hire someone. A gigolo to service me. Won’t that be novel?”

He stood and grabbed her arms, giving her a shake. His charming grin was gone, as was likely his erection. He looked annoyed. “If you really want me to get the job done, let’s go. I’ll stop by the gas station, grab a box of condoms, and we’ll head to my motel room in Ville Platte. I’ll screw you until your head bangs against the headboard. Maybe we can keep the other motel guests awake all night. Then I’ll leave in the morning after I shower. Sound romantic enough for you?”

She wanted to hit him. Tears formed in her eyes, and that pissed her off even more. She looked around at their magic, romantic spot that wasn’t even remotely beautiful anymore. Dead plants floated on the surface and spiderwebs clung to the railing. A mosquito bit her on the neck. She slapped at it.

He shook his head before lifting a finger and wiping away a tear that must have escaped. “You don’t deserve that, Louise. Some stranger, some crappy-ass hotel room. I’m not saying you need champagne and strawberries, but don’t give it up to me, baby. You’re worth more than that. Give yourself to someone who cares about you. A guy who’s not a random stranger.”

She brushed his hand away. “Don’t worry. I won’t force you.”

And then she slid past him, feeling like crap. Feeling worse than crap. She’d let him in on her most embarrassing secret. He’d seen her desperation and longing, and though he hadn’t flung it in her face, he hadn’t done anything to help her with it.

“Louise,” he called after her. “Stop. I don’t want to leave it this way.”

She didn’t stop. Kept going. She couldn’t have stopped if she tried. The liquor she’d gulped down to give her boldness, churned in her stomach along with what was left of her pride. She reached the end of the pier and grabbed her shoes, not bothering to put them on even though the damp grass made her toes numb with cold.

She would get someone to give her a ride.

If she had to, she’d call Waylon and have him come get her.

She stomped up the hill, hearing Abram coming behind her. But she didn’t turn around. Kept moving toward the light of Rendezvous, toward the merriment. The loud music. The normalcy of the real world.

Abram grabbed her elbow. “Hey, wait a minute.”

She turned. “Look. I want to forget about this. Okay?”

He didn’t say anything.

“I don’t know you. You don’t know me. We were two strangers who became nothing more to each other than…strangers.”

“I hurt you.”

“You don’t have enough power to hurt me because you don’t mean anything to me. All you are is a missed opportunity to get this monkey off my back.”

“Damn,” he breathed, shaking his head. “You don’t hold back.”

“I’m being truthful. You’re a nice guy, doing a nice thing for a desperate chick. Saving me from myself and all that. Don’t feel guilty and don’t lose sleep over me.”

He shook his head again. “Come on, Louise, I didn’t want things to end like this. Tonight was good. I enjoyed meeting you.”

She inclined her head and gave him a sad smile. “I guess it wouldn’t have been so bad being your honky-tonk Cinderella if I hadn’t gone and made a fool of myself.”

He lightly touched her cheek. “You didn’t make a fool of yourself. Let me take you home.”

“No, I can get a ride. I’m sort of embarrassed and feeling emotional right now. It would be too uncomfortable for us both. Enjoy your stay in Ville Platte. It was nice meeting you.”

She didn’t wait any longer.

She turned and walked out of his life, thinking she was doubly glad he was a stranger. After all, what girl would want to live out the embarrassment of seeing a guy who didn’t want to sleep with her, or rather couldn’t, around town all the time?

It would be brutal.

She climbed the porch swinging her shoes and trying to come up with a plan for getting home. Her pride hurt too much to slip the vampy come-hither shoes on, so she set them near the railing and pulled her cell phone out of her pocket. She’d call Waylon. He was likely up playing war games on the computer anyway.

“Louise, stop being stubborn and let me drive you home.”

She looked at the time on her phone. 12:00 a.m. “Too late. The fairy tale is over.”