Intermission (3 page)

My fingers gripped into his steel arms as he released my
breasts and planted his hands on either side of me, boxing me in and driving
into me harder and deeper and faster still. All the while his eyes never left
mine and that’s what took me most completely.

I cried out as Miles carried me to high peaks of ecstasy
that had me gasping, near to begging if I could’ve spoken. Just when it was
becoming too much, he followed me. His hands gripped my thighs and his face
became a manly tangle of blond hair and flexed jaw and his animal growl became
something coherent. “Josie Josie
Josie
,” he breathed.

Slowly, still whispering my name, he collapsed on top of me,
and the pair of us cradled each other while our hearts beat a crazed yet
synchronous rhythm.

Afterward was as near a perfect moment as I could remember.
A cool breeze wafted through my bedroom windows along with the songs of
crickets. My head was resting very naturally on the expanse of muscle between
Miles’ neck and his shoulder, my body half draped over the rest of him. He held
me close, his lips against my forehead. We were quiet for long enough that I
would’ve thought he’d fallen asleep but for his hand stroking my hair.

Then I recalled something. I looked up, finding Miles’ blue
eyes already on me. “What were you saying before?” I asked. “Something about me
being an answer to a question?”

Miles smiled at me. “How about I tell you tomorrow,” he
said, “and maybe that way you’ll let me stay here with you tonight.”

I’d been wondering without wanting to about whether he’d
stay or not. I knew I had to give him up in a matter of days. I’d already
resigned myself to the fact that after this weekend I’d likely only be able to
see Miles Masterson on my DVD player. Now he was saying he wanted to stay. And
I had to admit I wanted him to.

My fingertips went to his lips, liking the smoothness of
them. “Did you feel my boot in your butt at any point?”

He chuckled. “I didn’t, no.”

I put my head back on his shoulder. “Okay then,” I said as
he cuddled me close. Very okay then.

I’m not accustomed to waking up to the good smell of coffee.
I don’t have an automatic pot and Riley was never the type to do for himself.
The next morning, though, the scent of fresh brew, along with memories of the
evening past, had me smiling before my eyes were even open.

Locating my T-shirt and shorts in pools of sunlight on my
floor, I got somewhat dressed and smoothed my sex-mussed hair before I went
looking for Miles. I expected to find him in the kitchen but the coffeepot was
alone. The only place left was the living room.

He didn’t hear me so he didn’t turn around, and I got to
take in what looked like the rear view of a men’s underwear photo shoot. Miles
was naked but for his black boxer-briefs, and they were pretty brief. His blond
hair and lightly tanned skin fairly glowed gold in the sunlight flooding my
living room. I was taken aback anew at the sculptured muscles under his taut
skin, leading down to an athletic butt designed perfectly for grabbing. As
Miles stood casually sipping from one of my mugs, he looked like a Nordic god
on a coffee break.

He was checking out one of my paintings and I figured he’d
move on to my shelf of books next, or something else. He didn’t. He was staring
as if transfixed at the oil I’d done of Lake Jessup last spring, when there was
still frost lacing the surface but buds were popping out on the trees
surrounding it. Miles seemed as captivated as I was when I’d taken in the scene
myself.

Only when I walked over to him did his gaze break. I tilted
my head up for a kiss but instead of giving me one he asked, “Josie, did you
paint this?”

“I did,” I admitted with a small amount of hesitation. “The others
too.”

He grinned with admiration. “Shit fire, Josie, they’re
amazing. This one, and the one over there of the mallard duck, and that one of
the church steeple in town,” he said, shaking his head. “Josie, they’re
beautiful.”

I felt myself blushing with a tad of pride until Miles said,
“You didn’t tell me you were an artist.”

Artist
.The word never had sat too comfortably
with me. Before I’d made it into art college, it was a goal I wondered if I
dared dream. I was just a girl from a small town no one had ever heard of.
Could I make it in a famous art school in New York City? I had guts enough to
find out. Then a group of people who called themselves artists easily, as
though entitled by birth, made sure I knew I wasn’t one of them.

“I’m no artist,” I growled. “I’m just a web designer who
likes to paint.”

The unintended harshness of my tone silenced Miles, who
looked at me with surprise. I took his hand. “Sorry,” I said. “Bad memories.”

He squeezed my fingers back. “I’ve been called a good
listener,” he offered.

I shook my head. “No need to ruin a beautiful morning.”

Miles regarded me for a moment more before he kissed my
forehead. “How about I make a run to the Bear Claw and get us a bag of honey-dipped
crullers?”

I nodded. “Best get ’em while you can. The Claw is closing
down at the end of summer.”

From the look on Miles’ face anyone would’ve thought I’d
whacked him. “What? But that’s the best bakery in Mayfield County. My
granddaddy used to take me there every Sunday after church. Why in blazes would
they close?”

“Times have been getting tough around here,” I said. “Haven’t
had much commerce since the mills in Harris County shut down a few years ago.”

A troubled look darkened Miles’ fine features. “I haven’t
been here in a long while. I had this image of Mayfield County frozen in my
mind, like the pond in your painting. Perfect, the way it was when my family
moved away.” He sighed. “I’ll get us some breakfast while I can, then.”

I looked past his impressive frame at my cuckoo clock. “Another
time, maybe. All the crullers are gone by nine and it’s almost eleven.”

“Shit,” Miles whispered. “And I’m supposed to be halfway
through a stack of scripts my agent sent me to read. Said she needed an answer
on the ones I want to audition for by Monday morning.” Then mischief played in
his smile. “Didn’t know I’d be so distracted,” he said, reaching for me. “And I’d
like to get distracted again.”

“Slow down there,” I said, taking a step back. “I won’t be
accused of scuttling anybody’s big movie career. Go on home, read your scripts.
Pick your next project. Just make sure it isn’t another slasher movie. You don’t
want to get stuck in that groove, and besides, you’ve got some talent. Go for
something surprising, like a drama. Something with bones to it.”

Miles listened to me with a serious look. “What are you
doing today?”

I shrugged. “Hadn’t any particular plans.”

“Read my scripts with me,” Miles said. “Help me pick out
some good ones. I could use an objective set of eyes. Especially pretty green
ones like yours.”

“Who, me? I’m no expert on career advice for actors.”

“No, you’re a smart person who goes to see movies,” he said.
“Come on, help a struggling actor out. I’ll buy you lunch.” He moved closer,
his fingers slipping under my T-shirt to stroke my waist. “Or find another way
to make it worth your while.”

He had me there. “Tell you what. It’s a beautiful day out.
Go home and get the scripts while I make us a picnic lunch. We’ll meet up in
two hours at the Daisy Chain.”

“The intersection of dirt roads in the hills? I know it,”
Miles said. The man’s smile alone could’ve lit me up for days but the kiss he
gave me that followed made me feel as though I were shining.

The hills overlooking Hawthorne were in late-summer
splendor. Lush green grasses waved like watered silk in the cool breezes coming
down from the mountains. The green was occasionally interrupted by crowds of
dusky-pink bee balm, bright-orange tiger lilies and white-and-yellow daisies.
Apple trees and blackberry bushes grew unchecked here, making the resident deer
and birds fat and happy. The Daisy Chain was a wild knot of unpaved roads known
best to those who lived around Mayfield County, so there wasn’t much traffic
but for picnickers like us, and today Miles and I were alone.

As Miles took in the surroundings I had a chance to admire
his broad back filling out a blue T-shirt and his cute butt in a pair of
khakis. I was as impressed by the view of him as he was by the scenery but I
loved his appreciation for this place. Hawthorne might not be Hollywood but to
look at Miles he was seeing something more magical than any movie crew could
create. “This is even better than I remember it,” he said, his smile another
thing of beauty. “I’ve really missed this place.”

“Why didn’t you come back and visit?” I asked as he joined
me on our picnic blanket, a patchwork quilt made by my nature-loving Gramma
McCabe for this very purpose.

Miles shrugged. “Always meant to. After my family moved to
San Diego, I got into acting in high school and started getting work in
commercials. Hollywood’s the place to be if you want a career in movies. But I
always missed Mayfield County.”

I smirked. “Hollywood not exciting enough for you?”

“A tad too exciting sometimes,” he said. “And cutthroat, and
fake. I’m a Mayfield boy at heart, Josie. Going from here to LA was like going
from Lake Jessup to a shark tank.”

I nodded, knowing the feeling well from my brief time
downstate in New York City. “I see you have your homework,” I said of the two
stacks of scripts Miles had brought. “You start reading while I put out the
fried chicken and sweet-corn salad.”

“Whoa my God, real food,” Miles said, grinning. “You can’t
get anything with gluten or fat in LA. It’s all raw fish and wheatgrass.” He
looked at me with gratitude and then handed me half of the scripts. “You look
through these.”

My lips twisted with doubt. “Miles, what do I know about
scripts? I won’t be able to tell you what’s good from bad.”

“Josie, there are people in Hollywood who want to steer me
one way or another, usually the way that works best for them, but not always
for me,” Miles said. “I didn’t just miss the food from around here. People in
Mayfield are straight shooters. You’ll tell me true. C’mon, townie, I need your
help.”

I took the pile of ten or so scripts. “All right. I’ll give
it a shot.”

Miles ate heartily of the chicken and salad I’d made, and
the
kummelweck
pretzel rolls I’d picked up at the Bear Claw on the way,
and we washed it all down with chilled apple wine. By the time I was slicing
into a peach cobbler I’d baked in record time I was almost through my stack of
scripts. “Here,” I said, handing Miles a slice of cobbler, “and give me a few
of yours.”

“You done already?” he asked.

“They’re all crap,” I said, licking my fingers of peach and
cinnamon. “Just stupid slasher movies like
Cabin Fever
, the one you just
did.”

“Most of my pile’s the same,” he said. “That’s what I was
afraid of when I took
Cabin Fever
. Doomed to be the king of getting
killed.” I laughed as he mimed stabbing motions at himself. Then he held up the
script he was reading. “This is the one my agent really wants me to take. It’s
a small part but it’s in a summer blockbuster about machine aliens that crash-land
on Earth, and all hell breaks loose.”

I frowned. “Hasn’t that been done about a dozen times? That’s
as bad as doing another slasher movie. You can act, Miles. I’ve seen you. You’re
better than this bullshit,” I said, flicking a hand to knock over my reject
pile.

Miles handed me a few more from his stack. “Then find me
something good, townie.”

As bumblebees flew around their pick of wildflowers, I
sighed and commenced to read again. Part of my reluctance to returning to the
task was something I’d realized while looking through the last few scripts. If
I did find a good one, Miles would leave Mayfield all the sooner.

I knew when I met him that he was only in town for a short
while to visit his parents. That was all right with me. I surely wasn’t looking
to get attached to anyone and we’d had some fun. Really good fun. I’d thought
that would be enough for me.

But as I sat here with him in one of my favorite places, it
felt comfortable and right to have him near. He was easy to be with. He was
sweet and appreciative and he didn’t put on airs just because he was a movie
actor living in Hollywood. He’d thought of me as an artist. He’d also known to
leave me be when I didn’t want to talk about that.

And Miles was incredible in bed. He was out to impress me
but he also had the desire to connect with me. We’d wanted each other from the
moment we met and while some might call a quick tryst fucking, sex with Miles
felt like more. Like making love.

I looked up from the script and into the distance, seeing
nothing of the pure blue sky or the pines and maples reaching for it.
Bullshit
,
I thought angrily. I’d known Miles for all of a day. We’d fucked a couple of
times and it had been good, that was all. I wasn’t about to give my heart to
anyone so he could smash it and leave me to pick up the pieces, like before.
That had been more than enough for me.

My eyes were back on the page I hadn’t been reading when I
felt a hand on my ankle. Miles was in deep concentration, his blue eyes darting
as he read, a lock of blond hair straggling over his brow. Without looking away
from the page, he’d reached over and rested his hand on my leg. His thumb
caressed my skin, the feeling far different than the way we’d touched each
other before. There was nothing sexual about this. It was just affectionate
contact. And I liked it. I liked him.

I told myself it was good that Miles would soon leave
Mayfield, before I got stuck on him. I was willing to admit only that I didn’t
want that to happen quite as fast as next week.

I turned my attention back to the script I had in my hands. At
least this one had a promising title—
Lawman
.The first couple
pages weren’t bad either. Then they started to get good.
Damn
good. “Hey,”
I said. “Miles.”

He looked up and for some reason my heart tumbled when his
eyes latched on to mine. “This is it,” I said, putting my script in front of
the one he was reading. “This is the one.”

He looked at the cover. “It’s a TV series.”

“It’s a great TV series. A small-town sheriff has high
ideals and shaky morals. He’s a ‘by any means necessary’ kind of guy. He does
good but he has to truck with bad guys to get the good work done. It’s got plot
twists you can’t see coming but that make total sense for the characters.”

Miles’ sexy mouth twisted in a smile. “And you didn’t think
you’d be good at this. I knew you would.”

Ignoring his praise, I went on. “It’s perfect for you,
Miles. You come from a small town. You know how the relationships work. You
could really bring something to this character. Depth, heart. Read it. You’ll
see.”

I put my arm around Miles’ shoulders and read along with
him. The second time I was even more convinced, imagining him in the role,
seeing it as clear as if it were being filmed before my eyes. Halfway through
the script Miles whispered, “Shit fire.” He looked up at me. “This kicks ass.”

“And you could kick its ass clear into the next county.”

“You really think so, Josie?” He looked at the script again
and then at me. “It’s a tough role. This guy runs the gamut of emotions. Some
of his biggest scenes don’t even have dialogue. Everything would be playing out
on his face.”

“This face,” I said, caressing his high cheekbones with my
fingertips. “Miles, you were meant to be this sheriff.”

“You sure I wasn’t meant to save the world from evil
mechanical monsters?”

I took the blockbuster script from him, turned to a random
page and read a line. “‘Look out! The Mechs are coming!’” Miles tried not to
laugh at my overly dramatic delivery. I turned to another page. “‘I’ve got to
override the Mech systems or we’re
doomed
!’” I drawled. At this point we
were both in giggles.

“Are you making fun of the man who saves the world from the
evil Mechs?” he said, trying to get the script back from me. I kept it out of
his reach until he rassled me into his arms. He sat cross-legged and stretched
me over his lap, facedown. “You making fun of me, townie?” he asked.

“I’m making fun of this stupid character,” I said, still
laughing.

“You keep mocking the man who saves the world from the
Mechs,” he said, hitching my sundress up to bare my bottom, “and I might have
to spank you.”

I turned around just enough to let him see the sly look in
my eyes. “I hope the Mechs blast that fool to pieces. Ow!” I giggled with
surprise when Miles’ hand smacked my butt. I’d worn a thong and that soft strip
of pink cotton didn’t protect my bare skin from his hand.

When Miles saw me laughing he smacked me again, making me
yelp. “That’s what bad girls get,” he said. Then he started stroking my butt
and down my thighs and back again. “This is what good girls get,” Miles said,
his voice showing his arousal.

I relaxed and put my head on his knee. “Well, now you’re
acting like the sheriff,” I noted, “laying down your own laws.”

“My land, my laws,” he declared in a no-nonsense voice. “You
plan on cooperating with me, ma’am?” I felt him pulling off my thong.

“Yes, Sheriff.” I lifted my hips so he could pull my
underwear off completely and rested them back down again, my skin tingling as
his hand trailed up my inner thigh.

“Ma’am, I caught you speeding,” Miles said, “reading through
those scripts too fast.”

I tried to suppress a smile as I took on my role in our own
script. “Sheriff, please don’t arrest me. I don’t want to go to jail.”

“We might be able to work out another arrangement,” he said,
putting one hand on the small of my back.

Then I felt the fingers of his other hand skim lightly over
my seam.
Mmmm.
I loved the way he didn’t rush things. “Sheriff, whatever
are you doing?” I purred, wriggling my hips to encourage him.

“If you don’t want to go to jail, you’d best do as I say, ma’am.”
Two long, thick fingers slowly probed my honeypot. I was already slick for him
and he slid into me with ease.

I let out a moan, not scripted, and my hips squirmed to get
his fingers deeper inside me. “Sheriff, don’t,” I said, thinking and acting
quite the opposite. Miles’ fingers spread my honey all around my pussy then
invaded me again. He moved slowly inside me then outside to stroke my pearl
then back inside. I gasped as he kept up this smooth motion, rubbing me and
fucking me with his fingers. Adding to the excitement was him holding me down
on his lap, as though keeping a struggling prisoner in check.

“You look dangerous,” Miles said, noting how close I was to
coming. “I’d best pat you down for weapons.” He withdrew his fingers slowly and
pulled me up so I was kneeling and then he got on his knees before me. This
gave me a chance to see that I wasn’t the only one very turned-on by our
roleplaying game. Miles’ glorious hard-on was evident through the thin fabric
of his khakis.

“Hands up,” he commanded and when I lifted my arms he pulled
my light sundress over my head. The cool mountain air on my bare breasts made
my nipples harden before Miles’ wide eyes. “I knew you were carrying weapons,”
he said with husky desire.

“You mean these, Sheriff?” I gathered my full breasts in my
hands, aiming my nipples at him.

He exhaled a laugh as he smiled at me. “You’d best hand
those over, ma’am.” His arms wrapped around my waist to pull me close and I fed
him first one nipple then the other. He sucked at them with passionate greed.
It turned me on even more to watch him succumb to the kind of desire that didn’t
allow for technique. He licked and sucked hard and his hands frisked me all
over before he grabbed my ass.

He looked up at me, panting. “You’re under arrest,” he said.
“Turn around and spread ’em.”

Still aching with need from the way he’d finger-fucked me, I
quickly got on all fours. “Spread ’em wide,” Miles said from behind me, nudging
my thighs apart with his knees. I heard a zipper being undone. I was so wild
for him I couldn’t playact anymore. I heard him tear the wrapper off a condom
and a few seconds later Sheriff Masterson eased his thick nightstick into me.

“
Ohhhh
yes, yes, Miles, I want all of you,” I said,
temporarily out of character but confessing the truth.

He grabbed my hips so he could control his maddeningly slow
entry and withdrawal. “You still resisting arrest?”

Not on your life
, I thought. “Yes, I’m resisting, I’m
guilty!”

Miles’ forearm locked in front of my hips to steady me. He
ground against my butt to push his cock deeper into me. I cried out from how
damn good it felt. He stayed tight against me but moved around so his
steel-hard tool caressed me inside. Oh no, this couldn’t get better.

Then he reached around and started rubbing my clit.
Oh
God.
His fingers slipped over me in all the right ways. My arms trembled as
they held me up but the pleasure was so pure and intense I was afraid to move.

At the sound of my ecstatic gasps Miles resumed moving in
and out of me, slow at first and then with a tempo that told me he wanted me
more than he wanted to tease me. His grunts of increasing pleasure said the
same.

He was fucking me steadily now and his nimble fingers were
coaxing me to come. I wanted this incredible feeling to go on but knew that
letting Miles take me further might be more than I could handle. A cry built in
my throat.