Standoff (22 page)

"The Catholic ladies weren't about to be outdone by the Baptists," he told her.

"You've all been very kind."

"Not at all, Ms. McCoy. Weren't for you, it could've gone a lot worse. None of us wanted Rojo Flats to be put on the map by something like a massacre." He touched the brim of his hat as he backed out, pulling the door closed behind him. "You want anything, call the desk.

Otherwise nobody'll bother you. Rest well. I'll be back for you later."

Ordinarily the first thing Tiel did upon entering a room was switch on the television set. She was a news junkie.

Whether or not she was actually watching the screen, she was always tuned to a twenty-four-hour news station. She fell asleep to it, and woke up to it.

Now, she moved past the TV set without even noticing it and carried her toiletry bag with her into the minuscule bathroom. The shower was barely large enough to turn

around in, but the water was hot and there was plenty of it. Standing beneath the steaming spray, she let it pound against her skull before shampooing. She lathered lavishly with her imported soap sold exclusively at Neiman's. She shaved her legs, avoiding the lacerations on her knees.

She used her hair dryer only long enough to blow out most of the water, then bent over the sink to brush her teeth.

All of which felt wonderful.

So why did she feel so lousy?

She had just filed the most important story of her career. Nine Live was as good as hers now. Gully had said so.

She should be dancing on the ceiling. Instead her limbs felt as though they weighed a thousand pounds apiece.

Where was the fizzy high she derived from a good news story? Her spirit was as flat as three-day-old champagne.

Sleep deprivation. That was it. Once she had napped for several hours, she would be right as rain. Her old self.

Recharged and ready.

Back in the bedroom, she took a tank top and briefs from her suitcase and put them on, set her travel alarm clock, then turned down the bed. The sheets looked soft and inviting. It occurred to her that her knees and palms might bleed on them, but she was beyond caring.

When she heard the knock, she took it for another ping in the air conditioner's mechanism. But when it was followed by a second, she moved to the door and pulled it open.

CHAPTER

16

He stepped inside, closed the door behind him, removed his sunglasses and hat, and set them on the table beside the untouched basket of goodies the ladies from the Catholic church had prepared for her.

He smelled of sunshine and soap; he was freshly shaved.

He had on clean but well-worn Levi's and a plain white shirt, a western tooled-leather belt, and cowboy boots.

If a team of mustangs had been pulling Tiel in the opposite direction, they couldn't have stopped her from throwing herself against him. Or maybe he reached for her. Afterward, she didn't recall who moved first. And anyway, who initiated it was unimportant.

All that mattered was that he drew her into an all-encompassing embrace. Her body was flush with his, and they held each other tightly. Her brimming tears flowed freely and were absorbed by the cloth of his shirt. He covered the back of her head with his wide hand and pressed her face into his chest to cushion the sobs that issued from her in short, noisy bursts.

"Did he die? Are you here to tell me that Ronnie is dead?"

"No, that's not why I'm here. I don't know any news about Ronnie."

"I guess that's good."

"I guess."

"I couldn't believe it, Doc. That sound. That horrible, deafening sound. Then to see him lying there so still, amidst all that glass and blood. More blood."

"Shh."

Comforting words were whispered across her hairline, along her temple. Then the words ceased, and only his breath, his lips, drifted over her brow, touching her damp eyelids. Tiel raised her head and looked at him through tearful eyes. Reaching up to touch his face, she made a small sound of want, which he echoed.

A heartbeat later, his lips were on hers. Insistent and hungry, they rubbed hers apart. Their tongues flirted, stroked, before his dominated. It claimed and explored her mouth. Tiel's hands met at the back of his neck. She threaded her fingers up through his hair and submitted to his kiss, which was symbolically, blatantly sexual.

As though boosted by a powerful stimulant, her senses quickened. Each sensory receptor was sharpened to a fine point. She had never felt more alive, yet she was also a little afraid. Like a child at her first carnival, she was dazzled and dazed by the sensual onslaught, enthralled by it, overwhelmed by it, apprehensive of it, and yet eager to experience it.

His belt buckle gouged her tummy, but it wasn't an unpleasant sensation. The cold metal turned warm against the strip of bare skin between the hem of her tank top and her bikini line. Strong and confident, his hands settled on her lower back and pulled her closer.

He kissed his way down her throat. She angled her head to one side, and he feathered her earlobe with his breath, his tongue. Following the course of her head, she turned her body slowly, enabling him to kiss the side of her neck, her shoulder. Lifting her hair, he kissed her nape. The touch of his mouth there sent shivers of delight up her spine.

With her back to him now, she leaned against his wide chest while his hands smoothed over her front. He pressed her breasts beneath his palms, cupped them, reshaped them, before his hands continued down to her rib cage—which he was almost able to encase. At her hipbones, his hands rested.

Tingling with arousal, her movements against him were feline, shameless, inviting. He responded by slipping his hand into the front of her briefs, down, down deep into the vee of her thighs.

When he found her center, she murmured his name, turned her head, and sought his lips with hers.

They kissed while his fingers continued to caress, separate, penetrate. She came up on tiptoes, her body arching outward, straining toward his hand, until her shoulder blades were propped against his collarbone and her head was grinding into his shoulder.

She placed her hand over his, urging his fingers higher.

But that still wasn't good enough. She wanted to be close to him. As close as she could be… and she wasn't nearly close enough.

Turning suddenly, she molded herself to his front. The sound that rumbled from his chest was low, animalistic, arousing. He palmed her bottom and lifted her against his middle. They fit like two pieces of a puzzle. Perfectly.

Snugly. Breathtakingly. Tiel raised one leg and rested it on

his hip. As they kissed lustily, he stroked the underside of her thigh.

Then he carried her to the bed. It was only a distance of a few steps, but to Tiel it seemed to take forever before she felt him stretched out alongside her. She readjusted her body beneath his weight.

He pushed his fingers into her hair and held it off her face. His eyes, practically liquid with desire, seemed to pour over her features. "I don't know what you like." His voice was raspy. Even more so than usual. She wished it were tangible so she could feel it abrading her skin like the sand that had blown across her earlier.

Her fingertip traced the shape of his eyebrow, followed the length of his straight, narrow nose, outlined his lips. "I

like you."

"What do you want me to do?"

For one dreadful moment, she feared she would lapse into another crying jag. Emotion made her chest and throat tight, but she managed to contain it. "Convince me

I'm alive, Doc."

He began by removing her tank top and lowering his mouth to her breasts. He kissed them in turn, but lightly, teasingly, and he continued sipping at them until they were ready, and then he applied his tongue. Watching this was an incredible turn-on. She began to feel increasingly restless and hot. Pressure gathered in the lower part of her body.

Then his lips closed around her hard nipple. The silky heat, the tugging motion of his mouth, felt erotic and empowering.

She couldn't keep her hips and legs still, and when her knee nudged his crotch, then stayed to prod lightly the fullness there, he grunted with a mix of pleasure and pain.

Suddenly he was off the bed. He undressed hastily. His

chest had just the right amount of hair. His skin was taut.

Muscles were well defined, but not grotesquely so. His belly was flat. His penis jutted aggressively from the juncture of tapering hips and strong thighs.

Just as he placed one knee on the bed, Tiel sat up. Her fingertips followed the trail of silky hair that bisected his belly down to the fan of denser growth. The shaft was warm, hard, alive; the tip velvety in texture. Without a single nod toward shyness, he allowed her to study him.

Then she wrapped her arms around his hips and hugged him close, so that her head was pressed to his lower chest and his sex was nestled between her breasts. It felt delicious.

But after a moment, he groaned, "Tiel…"

Gently he eased her back onto the bed. He leaned over her and removed her underpants. He paused for a moment, his eyes focused on her with frank interest. Then he bent down and kissed her just above the line of her pubic hair. It was a lazy, sexy, wet kiss that prompted her to reach for him with unabashed longing.

He stretched out on top of her. Her thighs parted naturally.

He slid his arms beneath her back and hugged her to him.

And then he entered her.

They were twined together naked, without even the benefit of the bedsheet to cover them. The air conditioner was blasting cold air into the small room, but their skin was radiating heat.

Tiel actually felt feverish. She lay sprawled atop him, her head on his chest, one arm flung over his waist, one knee securely lodged in his crotch. He was breathing evenly and contentedly, idly stroking her hair.

"I thought I had hurt you."

"Hurt me?" she mumbled.

"You cried out."

Yes. At his initial thrust. She remembered now. She turned her head into his chest and nuzzled him. "Because it felt so good."

His arms tightened around her. "To me too. That thing you do—"

"What thing?"

"That thing."

"I don't do a thing."

He opened his eyes and smiled. "Yeah you do."

"I do?"

"Hmm. And it's bloody great."

Blushing, she returned her cheek to his chest. "Well, thanks."

"The pleasure was mine."

"I'm exhausted."

"So am I."

"But I don't want to sleep."

"Me either."

Several moments passed, a time of sweet reflection.

Eventually Tiel stacked her hands on his sternum and propped her chin on them. "Doc?"

"Hmm."

"Are you asleep? Is it all right if I ask you something?"

"Go ahead."

"What are we doing?"

He opened only one eye to look at her. "Do you want the scientific nomenclature, the polite phraseology, or will twenty-first-century vernacular do?"

She frowned at his teasing. "I meant—"

"I know what you meant." The second eye came open, and he tilted his head on the pillow to look at her from a better angle. 'Just what you said earlier, Tiel. We're con

vincing each other that we're alive. It's not all that uncommon for people to want sex after a life-threatening experience.

Or after any reminder of their mortality, a funeral for instance. Sex is the quintessential affirmation that you're alive."

"Really? Well that's the most fan-fucking-tastic assertion of the survival instinct I've ever experienced." He chuckled.

But Tiel grew quiet, introspective. She blew softly against the chest hairs brushing her lips. "Is that all it was?"

He placed his finger beneath her chin and lifted it until she was looking at him again. "Anything between us would be complicated, Tiel."

"Are you still in love with Shari?"

"I love the good memories of her. I also hate the painful ones. But, if you're suggesting that I'm fixated on her ghost, let me assure you that I'm not. My relationship with her—good, bad, or indifferent—wouldn't prevent me from having another."

"You'd marry again?"

"I'd want to. If I loved the woman, I would want to make a life together, and to me that means marriage." After a moment, he asked, "What about your memories of John

Malone?"

"Like yours, bittersweet. We had almost a fairy-tale romance.

Probably married too soon, aglow with passion, before we really knew one another. If he hadn't died, who knows? Career paths might eventually have led us in different and irreconcilable directions."

"As it is, he'll remain in your memory as the martyred

Prince Charming."

"No, Doc. My memory isn't clinging to a flawless ghost either."

"What about that Joe?"

"That Joe is married," she reminded him.

"But if he weren't?"

She thought about Joseph Marcus a moment, then shook her head. "We probably would have had a thing going for a while, and then it would have fizzled. He was a diversion, not an affair of the heart. Nothing serious, I assure you. I can barely remember him."

She levered herself up and combed her hands down his chest. "You, on the other hand, I'll remember. You look exactly as I imagined you would."

"You imagined me naked?"

"I confess."

"When?"

"When you first came into the store, I think. In the back of my mind, I was thinking, 'Whoa. He's yummy.' "

"I'm yummy?"

"Very yummy."

"Why, thank you, ma'am," he said, speaking in an exaggerated drawl. Eyes moving to her breasts, he added,

"You're right tasty-looking yourself."

"Oh, I'll bet you say that to all the girls who straddle your lap."

Smiling, he reached for a strand of her hair and rubbed it between his fingers. Gradually his smile relaxed, and when he spoke, his tone was more serious.

"We've been through a lot together, Tiel. A birth. A

near-death. Tense hours of not knowing how it was going to play out. Trauma like that does something to people. It binds them."

His words echoed her earlier thoughts on the subject.