Mine 'Til Monday (6 page)

And to Dorothy’s amazement, they weren’t done. She wasn’t done. She wouldn’t have thought it possible, but his touch as he slid back up to hold her inflamed her all over again. He skinned off his pants easily, kicking them to the floor. His briefs followed, flung away as Mud’s eyes never left Dorothy’s.

Those eyes held a question, which Dorothy answered by wrapping her arms around him and drawing him closer, hesitantly at first, then more insistently as he found his way to the core of her pleasure. She could not help but cry out in response to the sensation of being joined so intimately, as her body rushed of its own accord to meet Mud’s thrusts.

Immediately he stopped. “Did I hurt you?” he asked in a voice sanded rough with sensation and emotion. Dorothy whimpered again, but it was not pain that made her bit her lip.

She shook her head, but words wouldn’t come, so she just twined her arms and legs tighter, holding Mud so close she thought she’d never let him go.

And he understood.

Together they moved, lifting and falling in the quickening pace of their passion. As Dorothy felt herself once again on the edge, Mud understood and urged her over, joining her cries with his own.

They lay together, drawing air in deep, hungry breaths, their bodies slowly cooling. Dorothy was vaguely aware that her limbs still mingled with Mud’s, his arm thrown over her waist to keep her from moving too far away.

“Ah, Dot,” Mud muttered, his eyes closed, a ghost of a grin dancing on his lips. “If I’d known you were capable of those kind of fireworks, I would’ve dragged you to my lair long ago.”

Dorothy’s breath caught. She knew what he meant: the lovemaking had been extraordinary, the kind of passion that comes only rarely into a life.

But she heard something else in his words as well.

Something she didn’t want to deal with just yet.
Not now, not now
, she pleaded in her mind.
Can’t I please just enjoy tonight
?

And she did manage to banish the thought after it had only done a little damage, reclaiming most of the joy and deep satisfaction of their lovemaking to lie for a long time in Mud’s arms.

But somewhere the thought was lodged, deep inside, and it had already begun to gnaw away at her.

Mud could have had her. Any time he wanted her, in fact, though she’d deny it to the death. But he’d rejected her love once before.

And Dorothy knew he would do it again.

Mud drove home through a heavy rain. The full moon that had illuminated the evening was gone now, hidden behind a thick blanket of clouds. The red glow of the clock in the dashboard read 3:15 am.

Dorothy had dozed in his arms, but Mud had remained wide awake. He’d watched her, savored the way her eyelashes fluttered and her lips moved slightly, as though she were acting out her dreams. Without waking she nestled closer, snuggling her body next to his, and he carefully arranged the blankets around her.

Mud had no idea how long he’d lain there, watching her sleep, when he made up his mind to leave. Dorothy would understand. He had to get over to the shop in the morning and set things up for the weekend, make sure Gus and Tony had the place under control. He had to pack for the weekend.

And, most important, he had to figure out what the hell had just happened to him. Well, not to him; he’d certainly played an active role in the seduction or whatever it was that had taken place.

No, he was pretty clear how they’d ended up in the sack together; the better question was: What exactly was happening to him now?

Because from the moment his senses calmed down enough to let rational thought return to his pleasure-numbed brain, he’d realized that he felt different.

Different from any other time he’d made love to a woman. Different from the way he’d ever felt about any woman before.

More stirred up. Less sure of himself. A whole lot less sure of himself, truth be told. Like control had slipped away from him, like he was entering territory that was marked with huge Danger signs.

Mud tapped out his nerves on the steering wheel, doing a counterpoint to the Ella Fitzgerald on the sound system. Well, criminy, it was Dot, after all. That was weird enough right there. He knew her when she lost her two front teeth. He’d seen her in a training bra, in braces, in bad perms. He just knew her too well, that was it.

But in all the years he’d known her, he’d never seen the look on her face when she held him and whispered his name, when the world was about to explode into a million brilliant fragments and all he wanted was to be with her, be inside her, when it did.

Mud Taylor actually shook with something akin to fear as he sped through the last few miles toward home. He’d done a lot of foolhardy, macho, stupidly brave things in his life.

But he’d never done anything as terrifying as it felt to be falling for Dorothy.

CHAPTER FOUR

Dorothy didn’t wake up all at once. Instead, a slow, delicious bloom of senses drew her from her dreamless sleep.

The cool percale of her sheets slid lightly along her skin as she stretched luxuriously. A thrumming sensation in the tender recesses of her body—much too exquisite to be called pain—reminded her of the lovemaking she and Mud had shared only hours earlier.

And, most of all, she savored his smell. A wonderful, heady, warm scent that she breathed deep in her lungs and exhaled only reluctantly, eyes shut so she could concentrate on savoring it.

“Mmmm,” she breathed, dimly aware of the husky sound of her own voice. It sounded greedy. Voracious, even.

“Mud,” she finally murmured, sliding over to his side of the bed.

She found it empty.

Dorothy’s eyes flew open, and she froze, the air suddenly chilly as it wafted past the batiste curtains. She lifted herself on one elbow and looked all around the room.

And then slowly sank back down, the sensations that had flooded her only moments ago dissipating into nothing, mere chimera. Mud was gone.

She’d been foolish enough to imagine he’d stay. That he’d been affected by the night they shared, that they’d built something significant between them. Right, she castigated herself. He’d be back any minute now, carrying a tray with the paper and a pot of coffee. He’d remember she drank it heavy on the cream...he was so darn thoughtful that way.

Dorothy flung the sheets viciously away from her, casting off at the same time the dream that had been building in a pathetic, love-struck burst of hope. Moments ago she’d actually imagined that the King of the Lotharios would somehow stay pinned down in her bed when the last of their sighs had faded, their ardor cooled. Well, she deserved to wake up alone, if she were as gullible as that.

Dorothy massaged her temples, a powerful headache coming on. Sighing, she reached for her robe. If only today weren’t the big day. She could really stand to mainline some chocolate, shed a few tears and indulge herself in a big pity-party. With effort, she might be able to remind herself of Mud’s myriad flaws, and eventually her fling with him would be just a blip on the radar, a misguided nod to old times’ sake.

But with a sinking feeling in her stomach that was laced with raw panic, Dorothy realized that even a good week-long bender wouldn’t get rid of the pain that was just beginning.

Last night wasn’t just sentimental, not for her, anyway. It may not have been premeditated, but it certainly hadn’t been casual, either. When Mud’s lips had touched hers, she’d crossed some line that she could never go back over again.

The last time he’d kissed her, when they were barely more than children, Dorothy had somehow gathered every last shred of caution and run. Run from him as fast as her skinny adolescent legs could carry her. Because she’d known, with a rare insight that would take years to be honed into a woman’s intuition, that Mud could hurt her worse than any other man she would ever meet.

That first kiss had been nearly innocent, slow and just a little salty. Their curiosity had been barely touched with something else, something neither could yet name. Mud’s lips, surprisingly soft for a boy whose every inch was motion and sharp angles and quick wit, brushed hers, then hesitated before exploring with greater confidence.

Dorothy remembered the way his hand had rested at the small of her back, pulling her closer with just the slightest pressure. How she’d closed her eyes and longed to dive in and drown in the strange pleasure she sensed would follow. And how she’d run, knowing even then that Mud couldn’t give her what she needed.

But this time she’d simply let go. The taste of him was astonishingly familiar, and as welcome as air to her lungs. She hadn’t made a decision, exactly, but it had been made nonetheless.

She loved him. And this time it wasn’t going to go away.

So there was nothing to do but send Mud away instead.

“You want to do what?” Mud gripped the phone tightly, and clenched his other fist around the folded shirt he’d been about to stack with the others in the suitcase, ruining the pressed linen.

“Call this whole ridiculous thing off.”

Mud could hear the strain in Dorothy’s voice, the thin tones rising into a higher register.

“I don’t know what I was thinking. I’m just going to call Miranda and—”

“And lose your only opportunity to land this job? Forgive me for saying so, Dot, but have you lost your mind?”

The silence that greeted him was as frosty as if Dorothy herself was glaring out of the receiver, but somehow Mud couldn’t quite absorb her anger. Blame it on the residues of the night before, the way he couldn’t think a single cogent thought without an image of Dot flashing through his mind. Dot’s long lashes fluttering as he drew a finger along the contours of her face. Dot’s long, creamy neck exposed to his kiss as she threw her head back and sighed. Dot’s eyes widened with pleasure, her mouth a soft-petaled ‘o’ as they plunged together towards ecstasy...

“Look,” Mud tried, lowering his voice and sitting down on the edge of his bed. “I know last night was, uh, probably a little unnerving for both of us.”

“That has nothing—”

“Hush up a minute. I’m not sure where I am on all this myself. But that’s no reason to go and throw the baby out with the bath water. I made you a promise to help, and I’m going to damn sure do my part.”

“I don’t need your help.”

Mud detected the smallest catch in her voice, heard her inhale, shoring up her thoughts the way she did when she was getting ready to send home her key point.

“I’ll do fine on my own.”

“Huh. My ass.”

Mistake. The minute the words were out of his mouth, Mud knew he was going about this all wrong. But hell, he hadn’t had much sleep, his thoughts were a mess, and the woman had caught him by surprise. Blindsided him.

More silence.

Mud kicked a stack of shoes across the room.

“What I mean is that you can’t pull this thing off without me. What are you going to do, say I got the chicken pox? Come on, don’t you think Miranda’s going to get suspicious when you can’t produce a living, breathing body?”

“I’ll just—I’ll tell her the truth.”

“Yeah? You think she’s going to hire a woman who’d lie her way into the company?”

“Well, I wouldn’t have to if you hadn’t—if you were the kind of person who just did what he was supposed to do, you know, took a little responsibility for once in his life...”

Mud cracked his palm against his forehead. Responsibility. That got to him as none of her other words had. He was plenty responsible—but only to himself. It was the whole reason he steered clear of making promises in the first place.

But this was one promise he knew he had to keep.

“If an Albright ever needs anything, son,” his father had said to him days before his death, “you be there for them. Be there! Now promise me.”

And Mud had, compelled by his father’s brief burst of coherence before he slipped back into the fog of the painkillers waging their final battle against the cancer. His father’s devotion to Max Albright was everything. And it extended, unfortunately, to his daughter.

Dorothy’s voice brought him back to the present.

“— don’t need any two-bit entrepreneur telling me how—”

“Whoa there, sugar, don’t go getting hostile on me,” Mud protested, trying to focus back in on her words. “I’m just trying to help.”

“You can help me by just forgetting this whole thing and letting me take care of it my way.”

“Dot—”

“Because remember that I am the professional here, and I think that I might know just a little bit more about how to handle a Fortune 500 executive—”

“All I’m saying is—”

“—than an overgrown teenager who peddles golf balls for a living and can’t make it through one crummy week without letting his hormones take over!”

Mud let her finish. He picked up a tie, a silk number he’d been partial to ever since buying it in Pamplona the year he’d run with the bulls. He rolled it carefully up, listening to the faint exhalations as Dot no doubt paced around the room clutching her cellular phone. Then he unrolled it with equal care.

“Dot,” he said quietly. “There ain’t no plan B here. I’m what you got.”

“I don’t care.”

“I care, damn it.” He seized the tie and crumpled it into a ball. “And even if I didn’t—I made a promise that if you ever needed anything I’d be there, come hell or high water. And baby, I’d say we were in that ol’ high water about now.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. And besides, this is nothing I can’t handle.”

But the tremor in her voice betrayed her. Mud winced, longing to do something, anything, to comfort her. She was so bent on being brave, but he knew that under that tough shell was vulnerability. Last night the barriers had come down, but today the wall had been rebuilt higher than ever.

And he was responsible.

“No.” Mud’s voice was barely more than a whisper. “I may have screwed everything up between us, I don’t know. But what you need to realize is that when you asked me for help a week ago, Dot, you gave up your only chance to send me away.”