Hold on Tight (11 page)

Still puzzled, he carried her to the plush white couch in front of the fireplace and sat down with her on his lap. She curled her legs on either side of him in a kneeling position, then reached for the sleek leather briefcase propped against one of the couch’s arms.

“If you start gradin’ history papers, I’m gonna dump you on the floor,” Rucker threatened mildly.

Dinah could feel the color rising in her face as she flipped the latch. “No,” she said softly, “it’s not that.” She reached inside the briefcase and felt around hurriedly, her pulse pounding harder with every second. When she withdrew her hand, she watched him look
down at it curiously. His eyes widened and he exhaled with a rough sound. He put his hand out, palm up, and she deposited her gift with great care. Their gazes met.

“Are you sure, Dee?” he asked in a gruff tone.

Dinah cleared her throat delicately. “We had a sex education seminar for the seniors last week. These were leftovers.” She paused, sounding almost defensive. “Someone had to take them home. The biology teacher didn’t want them.”

Sensual tension was a magnet that kept their eyes locked. “Are you sure, Dee?” he repeated.

Her chin came up proudly. “Yes.”

He kissed her thoroughly and slowly, twisting his mouth against hers in a way that was both rough and tender. “I’ll take the plain ones,” he whispered, nodding toward the items he clenched in his fist. “The pink ones look sissy and the purple ones would make me feel like a carnival ride.”

Dinah looked at him plaintively. “This is very difficult for me, admitting that I want you … want you to stay.” She paused, her heart pounding. “That I want you.”

His eyes were full of urgency as they searched her face. “I’ll make it easier, Dee.”

He swiftly rearranged her body so that he held her in his arms. Then he stood up, lifting her, and covered her mouth with another hungry, demanding kiss. The night shrank to nothing but the two of them, the nearness of two overwrought bodies, the communication of blue eyes and green, the silent, tender messages that flowed between them. He started toward the back of the house, his stride quick.

This is the right thing to do, she thought with one last shred of clear thought. I won’t have any regrets.

He walked into her darkened bedroom and paused, getting his bearings amid the sleek contemporary furniture. Moonlight angled across the queen-size bed by the far wall, illuminating its satiny gray coverlet. The air was fragrant with the mingled scents of feminine colognes and the spicey pine burning in the living
room fireplace. He went to the bed and laid her down in the moonlight, then stood looking down at her, breathing heavily. Dinah stretched out slowly, feminine instinct guiding her movements to be languid and inviting. Even in the dark she knew that his unwavering gaze mapped everything she did.

“Come here,” she whispered.

“I don’t take orders from women.”

“I see.” Dinah smiled, sensing the erotic game he wanted to play. “Pull your shirt off,” she commanded. “
That’s
an order.”

“Make me, beauty queen.”

She leaped up, her hands quivering, and wrestled his sweatshirt over his head. He fought with feigned resistance and lost gamely, then watched as she slung the garment onto the floor and climbed back onto the bed.

Dinah lay on her back again and felt her breath aching for passage. She swept her eyes over his magnificent chest covered in dark, thick hair. He carried a lot of his weight in that chest and the broad shoulders above it, but he was well proportioned. She watched a muscle quiver in the flat terrain at the edge of his jeans.

“Undress for me, Dee,” he drawled in a tone as languorous as warm whiskey. “And then I’ll undress for you.”

Her body flooded with anticipation and surprise. Making love was supposed to be a politely orchestrated event, she had always thought, performed with the utmost delicacy and restraint. But neither delicacy nor restraint had a part in what was happening between her and Rucker.

“All right,” she answered.

“Do it slow.”

Pleasure shot through her at that sensual command. She began to comply, her eyes never leaving his shadowed face. “You’re beautiful,” he murmured. Then seconds later, “High-topped panties. You’re sweet.” And then, drawing out the words with an audible sigh of pleasure, “I knew that would be a fantastic bosom.”

When she was naked, she put her arms behind her on the pillow. He was a dark, mysterious, and compelling shadow above her, a shadow that bent suddenly and grasped her ankles with big, calloused hands. She jumped, startled. “Easy, easy,” he cajoled. His hands slid lightly up her legs, molding themselves to the curves. By the time he reached the smooth joining of thighs to hips, she could barely keep from writhing. His fingertips swirled deeply into the patch of dark, curly hair at the top of her thighs, then parted her legs and sought the moist, hot folds there. Dinah moaned and closed her eyes.

“It’s not a great deal of fun being naked alone,” she teased in a barely audible voice.

“You won’t be alone in a second.”

He moved away. Dinah opened her eyes and watched him strip off his shoes, socks, and jeans. “Plain BVD’s,” she commented, mimicking his earlier perusal of her underwear. “How sweet.”

“I get no respect,” he said playfully. Rucker removed them in quick, fluid motions, then stood naked before her, his hands by his sides, his chest moving with deep contractions.

After a moment of rapt study, Dinah whispered in a tender voice, “Oh, Rucker, you’ve got my respect.”

What little restraint there was between them disappeared in a bonfire of passion as he came to the bed and lowered his body onto hers. Dinah twisted, loving the delicious sensation of his weight pressing her down and the feel of him naked. They kissed with fierce, hurried motions, again and again, while her hands feathered over his back like butterflies, lighting atop the powerful, flexing muscles there.

He groaned and grasped one of her hands gently, then rolled off her and lay on his back. “Dee, take care of me, so we’ll be safe.” Puzzled, Dinah watched as he fumbled for something on the far side of the bedspread. Then she realized that he was retrieving one of the small packages that he’d dropped on the bedspread when he put her down earlier.

Affection and tenderness filled her until she thought
she could rise and float on the moonlight. For all his blustery chauvinism and macho rowdiness, he was the best kind of man, because his words made it clear that she wasn’t alone in this important responsibility. She took the package from him, then bent over his body and trailed damp, adoring kisses across his stomach. “That’s not the kind of takin’ care I meant,” he protested in a gasping voice, as his back arched.

“I’ll get to the point eventually,” she promised.

“The point’s ready.”

She laughed weakly. Several minutes passed before she let him grab her in an impatient, trembling embrace. He slid a hand between her legs and stroked her expertly until she sagged against him, her fingers convulsing in his chest hair. “You shouldn’t la-di-da with me,” he said, smiling into the kiss she gave him. “I won’t put up with it.”

But suddenly she was beyond teasing. “Rucker,” she whispered in a tiny voice. “Rucker, please.”

His smile faded and he rolled her onto her back quickly, then nestled himself between her thighs. “Dee, this is the beginning of something wonderful,” he whispered hoarsely.

“Something … wonderful,” she agreed in a dazed tone, her head thrown back and eyes closed in bliss. She gasped as the turgid, smooth length of him slid inside her.

And then there was no more need for words, no more need for anything except rough movements followed by gentle ones, incoherent sounds of pleasure and the passionate struggle to share the core of joy that bonded them. They crested in a glorious moment when she begged Rucker to hold her tighter than ever, and he did. He gasped something so torn with passion and release that it wasn’t until a few seconds later, as they lay trembling quietly in each other’s arms, that she realized what it was.

My glorious possum queen
. After she considered that strange compliment for a moment, she hugged him very hard and smiled tearfully against his shoulder.

•    •    •

The September morning was cold, barely touched by sunlight yet. Dinah huddled under her coverlet and blankets, feeling deliciously warm, in contrast. Something that smelled burnt and felt coarse brushed the soft underside of her nose. She wrinkled her upper lip, squinted, and pushed it away. It was replaced by something soft and tickling. She tried to brush that away, too, but it kissed her.

Her eyes opened wide. “Hmmmm,” Rucker crooned against her mouth. “Good mornin’.”

A sweet sense of anticipation melted through her as she looked up at him. He wasn’t under the covers, he was kneeling beside her on the bed wearing only his jeans. “You have a nice morning face,” she whispered. Dinah studied his half-closed eyes, the ruddy skin still flushed with sleep, the tossled hair, and slight beard shadow. “Very rumpled and sexy.”

He chuckled. “Only problem is, I look like this ’til about noon.” He kissed her again, this time longer. Then he brushed her tangled brunette hair back from her forehead and stroked her cheek. “Sleeping beauty,” he murmured, his eyes roaming over her features. Dinah reveled in the pure adoration. She’d won dozens of titles, but she’d never felt so beautiful as now.

“Look,” he said. He held up a piece of blackened bread. “I said the other day that I’d make you burnt toast for breakfast.”

She laughed softly. “Thank you.”

“I’m jokin’. I made a good breakfast. Sit up.” He kissed her one more time and then began arranging pillows behind her. Dinah pulled herself upright and he carefully placed a plate on her lap. It was heaped with scrambled eggs and half a dozen pieces of nicely browned, not burnt, toast slathered with assorted jams. Rucker scooped raspberry on his fingertip, then dotted both her nipples with it. “Hmmm. Look at all the little goosebumps around the two big ones,” he murmured. “I love cool weather.” He leaned forward and cleaned the jam away with his tongue.

Dinah shifted as a white-hot rush of desire warmed her inside and out. The intensity of it surprised her.
After all, the night had been long and vigorous. Much like Rucker, she thought with rakish appreciation. She giggled.

“Now, that’s a cute little sound for Madam Mayor to make,” he teased. “I’d like to hear more of it.”

Dinah covered her mouth, sincerely dismayed at the silly sound that had bubbled from it. “I’m not much of a giggler.”

“All girls giggle. It’s in their hormones.”

“Be quiet, sexist oaf.” They grinned at each other. He sat down beside her as she stared at the huge mound of food. “I hope we’re going to share this,” she noted.

“Yep.” He retrieved a fork off her night stand, looking around as he did. “It’s like one of those German furniture shops in here,” he commented. “All contemporary.”

“Scandinavian,” she corrected drolly. “You mean Scandinavian.”

He shrugged happily. They shared the fork, and he managed to drop food on her breasts with suspicious regularity so that he had to nibble and lick it off. By the time they finished she was practically sitting in his lap, and his jeans were undone. As her fingers tantalized him he groaned with pleasure.

“Where are our little friends?” he whispered into her ear.

Dinah smiled breathlessly at him. “All we have left are the purple ones.”

He sighed with grand resignation. “The humiliation I go through to take you to ecstasy!”

After ecstasy—and it was ecstasy, she admitted when they lay blissfully quiet—they fell asleep again. When Dinah woke the next time he was propped up in bed, writing fervently on a big yellow pad balanced on his updrawn knees. The covers were tucked low around his waist, and he presented a very heart stopping masculine sight. But foreboding stirred inside her and chased away her sensual thoughts. Dinah lay very still and studied him, her brow furrowing in a quizzical frown.

“Doing a critique of me?” she asked with forced lightness.
He glanced over at her briefly and smiled. “You inspire me to write. Ssssh.” He returned to his work. Dinah frowned harder. This was a new side of Rucker. He’d traded his lolling, carefree drawl for the crisp voice of business. His intense aura of concentration belied his image as a laid-back man. Obviously, he had a very serious, professional attitude where his writing was concerned. Always the journalist, she thought fearfully. Always the storyteller. And I’m a story. I let myself forget that.

She raised up on one elbow, feeling tension erase the shadows of sleep. “Are you really writing about me?” she persisted.

“Uh-huh. Good stuff, don’t worry. Ssssh.”

“For publication?”

“Well, not the stuff about your tattoos,” he teased. “And not about us,” he hurried to add. “That’d be too personal. Just about you. The way you run your town, and your life up here in Mount Pleasant. I’m gonna do a whole chapter about you and the town. I’ve been thinkin’ about it the past few days. Now I’m sure.”

“A whole chapter?” she repeated, her voice airy with fear. He didn’t notice.

“Oh, yeah,” he answered cheerfully. “For my next book.
Southern-Fried Gospel
. It’s already under contract.” He reached over and ruffled her dark hair with an affectionate gesture. “Let me work for a while, baby doll. Go back to sleep. Cute thing, you. Ssssh. This is important.”

Baby doll
. She stared at him with increasing anxiety and now a little annoyance. She was being dismissed like some fluffy playmate. “I think I’ll take a bath,” she muttered.

He kept writing. “Uh-huh,” he said vaguely. “Feed my possum, please.”

Dinah stayed in the bath tub a long time, thinking of ways to dissuade him from his determination to make her a celebrity. He absolutely could not write about her. What if Todd Norins saw the book and became curious enough to follow up on his old suspicions?

Dinah dressed in a creamy white jogging suit, plaited
her hair in a braid, put on light eye makeup, and padded barefoot out of the bathroom, her heart racing. Rucker was dressed in his jeans and Peevy-torn sweatshirt from last night. He lay on his stomach amid the bed covers, writing so fast that she wondered how he’d be able to read the results. She sat on the foot of the bed and cleared her throat.