Dear Sir, I'm Yours (3 page)

“When?” He tightened his grip on her arm and stepped closer, which allowed her to sidle closer to her truck.

She backed toward the seat, still scanning for the keys. There, on the floorboard. She stretched down, hoping her sweaty arm might slide right out of his grip, but no such luck. “I e-mailed you.”

Which was true. But she also knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he never read his e-mail.

“The internet is the bane of my existence.”

Despite the frustration and hurt ringing between them, she had to smile. He’d said that often in class, cursing the loss of formal letters and communication written intelligently and politely. He believed letter writing was a lost art. She certainly wouldn’t tell him about the stacks of letters she’d written to him over the years and never mailed.

With a quick yank, she finally slid free, dove for the keys and climbed into the seat. Conn wedged his shoulders inside so she couldn’t slam the door on him. Ignoring him, she started the truck.

“Are you even going to look at me?”

“I can’t,” she whispered, staring at her white-knuckled hands on the steering wheel.

“Why not?” He slowed his speech to that seductive Texas drawl that always curled her toes. “Truth, Rae. You promised to always tell me the truth.”

She bit her lip, shaking her head. She couldn’t lie, but she didn’t have to say anything, either.

“All right,” he sighed. Her shoulders sagged with relief. “But don’t think I’m letting you off the hook entirely. You’re going to tell me why you left one way or the other.”

Staring straight ahead, eyes hot and burning, she whispered, “Let me go, Conn.”

“Not on your life, darlin’.” He leaned in, bracing his forearm on the seat beside her. Her heart pounded so hard she swayed, dizzy. “Don’t let Miss Belle down. She needs someone to help her get this old barn into shape by her grand opening, and she obviously likes you. Don’t let our difficulties keep you from helping her.”

“Do you live here?” She hated her fragile, shaky voice, but she didn’t dare take slow, deep breaths. Not with him so close. If she breathed deeply, she might catch a scent of his cologne. Just thinking about it made her mouth water.

“No.” He brushed her cheek with the back of his fingers. Shuddering, she closed her eyes, fighting the answering surge of need pulsing through her body. “Take the job, Rae. I won’t interfere, but I do want to see you.” His fingers settled beneath her chin, slowly, inexorably forcing her to meet his gaze.

A mountain fell on her chest, crushing her. She couldn’t breathe beneath the onslaught, the weight and agony of the memories. His hands, his voice, his eyes. Unforgettable.

“I have just one question I need answered, and then I’ll let you go. All right?”

She nodded, tensing for a fight. Too bad she’d climbed behind the steering wheel. She wouldn’t be able to get a good kick at him.
I can slug him, though.
She curled her right hand into a fist.

The pad of his thumb slid over her lower lip and every muscle in her lower body clenched. Her fingers uncurled and the urge to punch him melted away. Oh God, not a kiss.

How could she fight the very thing she’d dreamed about for five years? She had the insane thought that a single kiss would irreparably seal her to him forever. That she’d never be free of the desire she felt for him, no matter how much heartache he caused her.

No matter how much he hurt her again.

He leaned toward her, his lips parting slightly.

She flinched back as far as the seat let her, merely an inch or two. But it was enough. His face closed down, grooves lined his grim, flat mouth, his shoulders and head drooped, and his eyes shadowed with defeat.

A small sound escaped her mouth, startling her. Disappointment. Regret. She wasn’t sure. Five years ago he hadn’t kissed her, not really. Now, he’d never kiss her. She’d never know the mastery in his mouth, the texture of his lips, the stroke of his tongue.

His head whipped up and his gaze locked on her. His eyes slowly heated, his mouth curling. Now he leaned back toward her slowly with smug certainty, holding her gaze. A switch flipped in him, in her, smoldering from his eyes to her body. “Do you want to find out what I taste like?”

Damn it all to hell, he was arrogant and demanding and she’d never wanted anything more in her entire life than his mouth on hers, right here, right now. Her heart pounded a staccato beat inside her head. Despite the bitter history that lay between them like a wasteland, she still wanted him.
Idiot.
She croaked out, “Is that your question?”

Heavy lidded, his gaze settled on her mouth. “No. You already answered the first question.”

Hovering over her mouth, he reached across her. Her body jerked alive, tingling and trembling at the hope of his hands. Instead, he snagged something from the seat and brought it up where she could see it. Her business card.

“I’ve been dreaming about how good you’ll taste for five years, darlin’.” He flicked the card and slid it into his shirt pocket. “Go home, wherever that is. Think about how good I’ll taste. Then come back to Beulah Land tonight and help Miss Belle.
I
—” he stepped back and shut the door for her, “—will call
you
this time.”

Daddy’s beat-up truck didn’t have air conditioning, so the windows were rolled down.

Staring at Conn, it was all she could do to put the truck in gear and drive away. But she did.

She had to.

Self preservation. She’d learned that lesson from him first and from her ex-husband second. The driveway curved in front of the house, past the grand if peeling front porch. Miss Belle waved a piece of paper as she drove by. “Dinner’s at six o’clock, dear. Wear a dress!”

Rae groaned out loud. It was the damned contract she’d signed. Why, oh, why hadn’t she said no?

Conn had never expected to find the student who’d given him a failing grade on the greatest test of his life crawling beneath Miss Belle’s porch. For years, he’d tormented himself about what happened to Rae after that day in his office, so he was fully prepared for the heavy flood of agonizing guilt.

Yet as soon as he’d seen her, the brutal battle to maintain his self control resumed with a vengeance. Letting her drive away was the hardest thing he’d ever done in his life, with not kissing her senseless in that dusty old truck a close second. Perhaps it’d been a blessing after all when she’d disappeared. He’d already done enough damage.

His stomach churned with burning shame. She should have kicked him a lot lower than in the chest when he’d dragged her out from beneath the porch. In fact, he should have lain down on the ground and let her stomp him into a bloody pulp instead of scaring her off yet again.

Standing on the porch with that knowing look that always said his grandma knew exactly what mishaps he’d gotten himself into, Miss Belle arched a brow at him. “She suits you.

Strong enough to challenge you yet fragile enough to make you work at tenderness, she has a quiet, natural beauty.”

Hell, there wasn’t a single thing
quiet
about Rae Jackson. From her long brown hair gently curling down her back to her big, dark, solemn eyes that windowed the sweetest, most honest soul in the world to her rounded curves framed in jeans, she made him crazy enough to howl at the moon and snarl at anybody who dared look at her. All right, so maybe she was the quiet one and he was the noisy bastard. He’d change that once he got her into his bed.

Ah, but the acid churned even harder, burning a hole in his gut. She’d never trust him enough to come to his bed. Not after what he’d done. Every semester he’d walked into class after class, hoping to see Rae sitting behind a desk. Another year, another regret, another heartache. “How’d you find her?”

“Never you mind. What did you do to scare her away for so long?”

His jaws ached and he clenched his hands into fists at his sides. He’d been a damned fool, that’s what. He’d pushed Rae too hard, too fast, like an eager college boy and not a man ten years older and well used to controlling himself. A semester of polite and proper flirting had taken its toll and that last day…

That day played in his mind every damned night.

Miss Belle tsked. “The better question, then: Are you going to do it again?”

“No.” His voice came out as raw and rough as gravel. Grimly, he blocked the vision of Rae bound to his bed and spread out for his attention. Slow. Safe. Gentle. If dominance and submission play terrified her, he’d do missionary the rest of his life and die a happy man. “I won’t hurt her again.”

“Do I have your word on that?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Miss Belle smiled and he suddenly felt a great deal of sympathy for Rae. She had no idea what she’d gotten herself into by agreeing to work for his formidable grandmother. After all, he’d learned from the best.

“If you hurt my property manager again, then Colonel Healy will haunt you instead of me.”

Conn laughed, shaking his head. Some days Miss Belle really did seem senile—after all, she was nearly ninety years old—but he’d decided a long time ago to play along. Who knew?

Maybe the dead Colonel really did talk to her. Or maybe she was just as wickedly clever as always. “Has Grandpa’s ghost been tormenting you again?”

“Not a day goes by that man doesn’t stick his nose into my life despite being dead half a dozen years now.” Miss Belle huffed and whirled about in a cloud of pink fluff. “Dress up for dinner tonight.”

His heart leaped, but he tempered that hope with caution and regret. With his control wrecked all to hell, the last thing he wanted to do was scare Rae again. “Do you think she’ll actually come back?”

Miss Belle replied over her shoulder, “Colonel Healy says you can bet your life on it.

Oh, he also suggests reciting poetry.”

Poetry? Well, after all, it had been a Romantic Period class that had first brought Rae to him. If he remembered correctly, she’d always been partial to Lord Byron. Perhaps—

Popping her head back out the door, Miss Belle whispered conspiratorially, “Not for her, silly, for you. Poetry will help keep your mind off her unmentionables.” With a wink, she disappeared into the house.

If that was the case, he’d better start with the first canto of
Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage
, for it was going to be a very long night.

Dear Dr. Connagher:

Months have gone by. The fall semester has started. Did you walk into class hoping to
see my last-minute registration? Or were you relieved not to see me sitting there in that white
mini-skirt you hated so much? Do you miss me barging into your weekly office hours, tongue-tied, naïve, and hoping you’ll shut and lock your door again?

Daddy is doing better every day, but we’ve accepted the fact that he’s never getting out of
that wheelchair. When he was electrocuted, the surge of power shorted out parts of his brain.

As well as losing a hand and foot, he’s broken inside, where he can never be fixed.

I’m trying to get over you. I’m lonely, and it’s been so long since I saw you. Since I sat
in your class listening to your incredibly sexy voice reading Shelley and Byron. Since I came to
your office every week to soak you up like a greedy sponge.

I’m dating someone, Daddy’s assistant. I’ve known him for years. He’s safe, Conn. I
need safety right now.

But why do I feel so guilty, as though I’m betraying you? You made me promise to
always tell you the truth, no matter how terrible and frightening.

Well, here’s the whole, ugly truth. You shorted me out on your desk that day. I’m in an
emotional wheelchair because of you, Conn, and I’m afraid I’m ruined for any kind of
relationship ever again. I’m broken, deep inside, where I can never be fixed.

Except possibly by you.

Why am I still writing you? Honestly? Because I have no one else to talk to. What, do
you think I could just walk up to Daddy and say, “The last day of school, my English
professor bent me over his desk, spanked me, and gave me the best orgasm of my life. And
then he gave me an A.”

That’s unfair, I know. You were so terribly careful to make sure my grade was
determined by an unbiased third party who had no idea what happened in your office that day.

You never gave me the A.

You gave me a whole different test, didn’t you?

Truth? I’d let you do it again. Sometimes I want you to do it again so badly I can’t
breathe, I can’t think, for needing you. And that scares me more than anything.

~ Rae

Stepping out on the back porch, Rae quietly shut the door behind her in case Daddy was sleeping. He loved to spend as much time outside as possible in the summer, soaking in the heat. Soon it’d be too cold for him outside, and he’d be imprisoned in the house, dying a little faster each day.

He turned his head, smiling crookedly, his mouth working hard to say a single word.

“Rae.”

Nobody outside of the family probably would have understood him. Smiling, she hugged him, inwardly crying at his slight body and paper-thin skin. He was so frail, so unlike the Daddy she’d known up until five years ago.

“Hello, Daddy.” She sat in the rocking chair beside him, holding his hand.

They sat quietly for awhile, just staring out over the rolling green hills. Fields crisscrossed the horizon like a patchwork quilt of green, yellow, and brown tilled dirt. The neighbor’s horses neighed, whickering back and forth, and somebody’s dog barked.

“I got a great job offer today.”