Falling For A Redneck (4 page)

The temptation to chase Dirk down the hall and harangue him was strong, but the peeking faces of her co-workers and the smirk on Mrs. Fairchild’s face stopped her. Already she’d made a big enough spectacle of herself. His chastisement could wait until later because, after all, she knew where he lived.

The rest of the afternoon passed in a blur
, probably because she kept reliving the kiss. Marissa couldn’t stop herself from touching her lips with her fingertips, the ghostly remembrance of his embrace so clear, and whenever she thought of the way he’d pressed his groin against her, she shivered--and her cleft quivered, wet and aching.

Unacceptable.
First thing she planned to do when she got home was take a hot shower and scrub herself clean. Arousal by the man would not be tolerated. If, after a cleansing, the sensations remained, she’d try some yoga to clear her mind and body of him. A new technique for a unique situation since she’d already discovered cleaning her already spotless house hadn’t quite worked. She just wished she could figure why she suffered this insane attraction to her next-door redneck. He so wasn’t her type. Not even close. Yet when he kissed her, she lost all reason, which begged another question.
Why does he keep kissing me, and why do I keep allowing it?

Twice now
, she’d allowed him to lay hands on her, and twice she hadn’t done a single thing to stop him. Hell, she’d not even pushed him away.
Am I so starved for sex that my body craves the attention of any man who notices me?
No, that couldn’t be it because no one else had that effect on her.
So why him?

Maybe I should just do him and get it out of my system.
Marissa almost gasped at her own thought, but the idea wouldn’t leave. Instead, it grew into a mental video of him stripping off his shirt and revealing his wide chest and bulging arms. All too clearly, she saw herself dropping to her knees, a position of supplicant to his masculinity and tugging down his zipper with her teeth. Then…

Oh thank God—five o’clock.
The commotion as people watching the clock hightailed it out of the building snapped her out of her erotic reverie. Marissa lit out of the office, charging down the hall like a bull, ignoring her co-workers, and jumping into her car. Not since her ex-husband’s perfidy had she felt so frazzled. Confused. Sexually frustrated. Subservient.
Which is the most confusing part of all. What happened to my vow to never put myself at the mercy of a man again?

She had to deal with this. Nip it in the bud.
Once she got home, she’d confront Dirk and give him a taste of her sharp tongue. After all, he couldn’t just waltz into her place of work and treat her like some cheap doxy. What if he hadn’t stopped when he had? Would he have swept her off the desk and taken here there in full view of the staff walking by, his hard body, pumping between her thighs as pencils went flying?

Marissa vacillated between arousal and anger.
How could she prepare a proper tirade when all her internal rants ended with him throwing her down and having his way with her?

She slammed her steering wheel hard with her hands
, earning her odd looks from the driver of a car passing her. But the brief jolt of pain cleared her mind for a moment, long enough to reach her street before
he
started creeping into her thoughts again.

Pulling into her driveway
, she noticed his sat empty.
Darn, he’s not home yet. That’s okay, it gives me time to prepare what I’m going to say to make sure he understands the boundaries, like no kissing me in my workplace or at home or ever.

Resolved in mind, even if her body didn’t seem to agree, she got the Windex out and began washing her front windows, inside first, then when she was done, the outside.
I am not waiting for him. They just need a good cleaning
, she told herself even as she kept surreptitiously peeking up the street for his car.

When he did finally arrive
—silently, the jerk—she sat precariously perched on top of her stepladder, washing the upper reaches.

“Nice view,” was all she heard before
, startled, she fell off the top of her ladder, right into a strong pair of arms.

Shocked, Marissa could only gape at Dirk’s amused face as he drawled, “After our showdown at your office today, I must admit being surprised that you’d fall into my arms like that.”

“Put me down,” she demanded, too flustered to retort, her body tingl
ing at his closeness.

S
till grinning, he obliged, setting her on her feet. His hands lingered a tad too long on her body. She moved a step back and took a deep breath. “While I thank you for catching me, thus saving me from injury, I wouldn’t have been falling in the first place had you not snuck up on me.”

“How do you figure I sneaked?” he asked, crossing his thick arms over his chest, still looking at her with a trace of a smile on his lips.

“I didn’t hear you?”

“Yes
, you seemed to be lost in your own little world there. Thinking of me, were you?” he said, a masculine, knowing glint in his eye. Oh, how she longed to wipe the smug look off his face.

Instead, her cheeks heated.
Marissa hated herself for blushing.
How did he know I was thinking about that stupid kiss of his again?
“Was not,” she replied childishly. “Actually, I am glad I’ve run into you. I wanted to talk to you about what happened today at my office.”

“Anytime you want a repeat, just let me
know,” he said, inching closer—temptingly closer. “I’m more than happy to oblige.”

Marissa
retreated, ignoring her body, which screamed,
Take me now!

She’d deal with her
treacherous libido later. First, she needed to deliver the speech she’d prepared. “There will be no repeats. I find you repugnant and have no desire to have you lay your hands, or any other parts of your anatomy, on me.”

“Your mouth and body say otherwise
.” He didn’t hold her gaze but eyed her lips, and her breathing hitched.

“I am not attracted to you
despite what you think. And even if I were, which I’m not,” she amended quickly, “I am not interested in a physical affair. You are my neighbor, and as such, we need to embark upon a courteous, yet distant relationship. That means no more kissing. Actually, I’d prefer not to have to see or talk to you.”

“Why
? Afraid you’ll lose control and ravish me? I’d be more than willing.”

Marissa just gaped at him. He really thought highly of himself and his charms. His very masculine charms snugly encased in tight
, indecently molding denim. Shaking her head, Marissa took a deep breath, striving for a patience she didn’t feel. “You are being deliberately obtuse. I don’t want you. I don’t want to have sex with you. I’d rather never see you again.”

“Well
, that might be kind of difficult, seeing as how I still need that permit.”

“Fill it out and send it to my office,” she snapped.

“Why, so you can just shred it again?” He shook his head. “Not happening, princess. I think I’ll bring it in personally.” He leaned in closer, so that his lips hovered temptingly close to hers. “You know, have a little tête-a-tête with you so you can explain to me exactly what I’m doing wrong.”

The thought of his big masculine presence, overwhelming in the close proximity of her office
, made her hot and wet with anticipation. Then she went cold with fear that she might lose control again and let him take liberties. The vision of pencils flying came back, and she mentally slapped herself.
Get a grip on your hormones.

“Tell you what,” she said crossly. “Fill it out and drop it in my mailbox here
.” She waved at the white mailbox by her front door. “I’ll give it a look over, and if I see anything wrong, I’ll write you a note and drop it back in your box.” That way she’d get him out of her hair and avoid being in his disturbing-to-her-libido presence.

“That sounds like a plan. Pity
, though… I was really looking forward to working
closely
with you on this.” The grin he tossed at her as he tucked his thumbs in the loops of his pants drew her attention down.
Oh my.
She didn’t know why she felt flattered that her presence affected him. It seemed she wasn’t alone in her unseemly attraction.

Again, her cheeks burned
, and she raised her gaze quickly, hoping he hadn’t caught her less-than-subtle peek.

Of course he had
, and his mouth stretched even wider, his eyes twinkling with mirth and, if she wasn’t mistaken, a smoldering fire. Marissa shivered, her nipples tightening.

I
f only she could let loose for once. But no, her body’s reaction to him was only a passing fancy. Something she’d take care of in the privacy of her bedroom and send her libido back into its cold, hibernating state.
It’s what I want—I think.

“I’ll get to work on those forms today,” he said
, walking away from her with a swagger that drew attention to his muscled ass. “And thanks, for
everything
.” He glanced back over his shoulder, his smug smile saying he’d caught her staring—again.

Damn it!

Marissa’s arm pumped, back and forth, like a piston. The black riding crop landed with stinging precision on her client’s exposed ass.

Seething with anger, she kept replaying the day
’s events.

Stupid rotten jerk! What is it about him that makes me so damned horny?

Marissa didn’t know the answer to that question, and that pissed her off. She used that anger to give her seven o’clock the beating he craved.

Only when her arm finally tired, and his ass resembled a bright red tomato with raised stripes
, did she stop. Her client winced as he straightened. Without a glance in her direction, he headed for his wallet and pulled out an extra two hundred dollars.

“That was
marvelous, Mistress,” he lisped, bowing down to the floor and groveling.

Marissa said not a word
—she didn’t like talking to her subs—she just gave him one hard lash of thanks before she went out the door.

Coming out of the tawdry motel, coat tucked tightly around her ensemble
—a full-body PVC suit in bright cherry red with razor-sharp stilettos—she threw her hockey bag in the trunk then came around to get into the driver’s side. About to start the engine, she noticed a scrap of paper tucked under her windshield wiper.

Stupid flyers! Probably some “
God will save you” crap.
Where was God six years ago when her world fell apart?

Clambering out
, she ripped the piece of paper off the windshield then stopped, frozen, unable to crumple the missive when she noticed the writing. Writing she’d seen previously on that menacing note she’d received.

Bitch. How many lives do you intend to ruin with your perverse antics? I warned you to stop. You did not heed me. Now you will pay the price.

Again, no signature, and, unlike the first note, this time Marissa couldn’t help a frisson of fear. Someone had followed her. Had to be. Her client this evening had no wife or dependents. No one to care that he enjoyed being walked like a dog then flogged for being bad.

This new threat
set off warning bells in her head. Obviously, someone delusional had chosen to target and stalk her. For a brief moment, she thought about taking the threat to the authorities—after all, her pro-domming activities were legal—but the humiliation they were sure to put her through made her balk. Legal didn’t mean people would treat her with respect. People thought BDSM, and automatically equated her with prostitution. They assumed it gave them a right to look down on those involved in the lifestyle. Marissa didn’t care what people thought, but she also saw no reason to subject herself to their ignorant disdain.

But what should she do about the threat?

Perhaps she should stop for a while, much as it galled her to give in to this blackmailing. However, a little break might prove beneficial. She’d noticed herself losing her vicious edge in the last couple of weeks. Her always-present anger finally seemed to have settled down. And instead of a thrill when she made these men submit, she now felt a sense of shame and even a touch of disgust. A vacation from it all would allow her to re-evaluate if she wanted to continue or perhaps pursue a more intimate relationship with a submissive, one to feed her dominant side and her need for pleasure. She had enough money socked away now for a rainy day; she could afford to lose her second occupation.

And hopefully lose
the one following her around, threatening.

Marissa jumped into her car, locking the doors, shaken to the core. She eyed the shadows in the dimly lit parking lot of the motel suspiciously. Did her stalker watch her still
, crouched in the shadows, waiting for an opportune moment to pounce?

The
fear pissed her off. With a squeal of tires, Marissa whipped out of the lot and drove home. She squashed her trepidation with thoughts on what she’d do to the little bastard stalking her once she got her hands on him.

She was enjoying a particularly cruel fantasy where she strung him upside down then whipped him with her cat o’
nine when she got to her house and had to slam on her brakes at the edge of her driveway. The reason? A kid’s bicycle, sprawled on the ground in the middle of her driveway and, of course, not a kid in sight to move it.

Grumbling under her breath about lazy, irresponsible kids
who couldn’t take care of their belongings, she got out and righted the bike. It didn’t have a nametag, but Marissa could guess whom it belonged to—her redneck neighbor’s kid. A redneck she hadn’t stopped thinking about since their last altercation.

And speaking of the devil.

“Oh hey, princess, that’s Avery’s bike. I guess he forgot to put it away,” said a now familiar voice.

As Dirk
strode over to take the bike from her, his swagger much too hypnotic, Marissa saw red, but she tamped down the passionate kind for the angry one. “You are such a hillbilly. You can’t even get your goddamn kids to clean up after themselves,” she screeched, giving in to her irritation and ridding herself of the last lingering traces of her fear. “It’s not bad enough your kids are disturbing my once peaceful yard, but now I’ve got to move junk when I get home so I can park!”

Dirk’s face turned hard, his dark brows beetling together as he snarled back. “What’s got your panties in a twist
, princess? Feeling a little frustrated, are we? I’ve got something that’ll fix that,” he replied with a leer as he grabbed his crotch.

Marissa’s jaw dropped. He hadn’t just done that.
How—how crude.
And sexual frustration had nothing to do with her tirade. She just wanted to be respected—property and body. Of course he’d think this was all about him.
Pig!

“If I were sexually frustrated, you’d be the last
person I’d turn to. I’ve got a battery-operated toy that does the job as good as a man—better, actually. This has nothing to do with my sex life, but everything to do with the fact that your brats keep terrorizing my space. Maybe you should send them back to their mother since you don’t seem to be doing such a good job of parenting.”

Her barb hit home
, and she took a step back at the thunderous mask that dropped over his features and turned his eyes into glacial chips. “What would you know of parenting?” he asked as he took a menacing step toward her. Six-feet-something of bristling anger and muscle that, to her disgust, made her tummy turn over. “Thank God you never became a parent. I bet sperm heads the other way when it sees your shriveled-up bitchy excuse of an egg. Any man would be nuts to want to have children with you.”

The barb h
it home. Tears pricked her eyes because, unknowingly, he’d come so close to the truth.

“Well
, you don’t have to worry,” she said, somehow managing to control the choking feeling in her throat as she held the tears back. “God’s made sure I’ll never become a mother. I’ll leave that particular endeavor to lack-wit rednecks like yourself.” With that parting shot, she turned on her heel and strode blindly into her house. The tears in her eyes clouded her vision but thankfully didn’t fall until she’d shut the door and leaned on it. She sank to the floor with shaking shoulders.

He’s right. I’d be a horrible mom.
It’s probably why God punished me.
And the flood she’d spent six years stemming, poured down her cheeks.