Venus in Blue Jeans (14 page)

“You should be proud of her.” Cal’s voice was still quiet. “She kept her head, got the cat into a carrier. Docia saved the cat’s life.”

Her father exhaled, staring into her eyes. “I am proud. I’m always proud of her. Most of the time, anyway.”

Then why the hell don’t you show it sometimes?
Docia took another breath, trying to loosen her throat. “Dessert anyone?”

As the three of them stood in the doorway, once the Dinner From Hell was over, her father put his hand on her shoulder. “I don’t know if anything’s going on here or not, Docia. I mean your cat getting shot, this book dealer disappearing, all that. If anything else happens you let me know, all right?”

What her father could do about Nico getting shot or Dub disappearing wasn’t clear to Docia, but for once he wasn’t saying she was overreacting. It was as close to an apology as she was likely to get. “Thanks, Daddy.”

He leaned forward somewhat stiffly and kissed her cheek. “All right, then. You take care of yourself now.”

“Yes sir.” She gulped. “I always do.”

Her father clasped Cal’s hand and said something manly and noncommittal. Cal had to bend down to hear him.

God, Cal was gorgeous. Docia stood for a moment, her heart thumping, and stared. Deep bronze highlights shone in his coffee-colored hair. His beard was a shade lighter, she realized suddenly—more reddish. Laugh lines crinkled around his eyes when he smiled. His skin was faintly tanned from working out in the sun.

Oh, watch it, Docia, you are on the verge of getting in way too deep. We’re not doing this anymore, remember? You know it doesn’t work out!

He’d spent a hellish evening watching her snipe at her father, but he hadn’t gotten up and walked out.
On the verge, nothing!
She was already in over her head.

They left her father at the door of the Silver Spur, then headed up Main toward the bookstore. Docia limped slightly. Her arches felt like they were on fire. After half a block, she found a cast-iron bench in front of the city park and pulled off her shoes. “It always takes me a couple of hours to remember just why I stopped wearing heels,” she groaned.

Cal took one shoe out of her hands, holding it up to the light. “How tall are these heels, three inches?”

“More like four.” Docia rubbed the sole of her foot. She’d have blisters to deal with tomorrow, to say nothing of sore feet for the rest of the weekend.

Cal handed back the shoe. “Was it worth it?”

“I guess I made my point. Of course, I’m not entirely sure what that point was supposed to be.” Docia shrugged.

Cal grinned. “If your goal was to look like every fifteen-year-old boy’s idea of the perfect woman, I’d say you made it.”

Docia leaned back against the bench, letting the shoes drop from her hands onto the concrete. “Why are you so nice? You’ve just been through probably the worst family dinner ever, and you didn’t even flinch. You must have the world’s sweetest family.”

Cal’s smile dimmed for a moment, and he looked away down the street. “I come from the Midwest. We’re bred to be nice. Part of the DNA. Families don’t really come into it.”

“So no family fights?”

Cal leaned back against the bench, spreading one arm behind her shoulders. Docia felt the faint reflected warmth against her back. More electricity.
Stop it, Docia!

“Family fights are just more subtle. We don’t get to be as openly hostile, being so nice and all, so it takes more time. But it drives you just as crazy.” He turned to look at her again. “Want to tell me what was going on back there?”

Docia closed her eyes, leaning back against the smooth muscles of his arm. “Just sparring. My mother and dad are separated because, frankly, my dad couldn’t keep his pants zipped. Mama finally got fed up and kicked him out. But as she pointed out to me the other night, it’s not my problem. Of course, there were a few other issues besides that.” She shook her head. “We’re still a little touchy with each other.”

Cal raised an eyebrow. “No sisters or brothers?”

Docia shrugged. “Just me. Means I get to be the center of everybody’s battles.” She stood again, tucking the shoes under her arm. “Maybe I’ll drop these off in the Goodwill box over on Spicewood. What do you think?”

“I think some Goodwill customer’s going to decide Santa Claus came in June.” He grinned as they walked back up the street.

“They’d have to wear size-eleven shoes,” Docia said. “Not exactly a widespread phenomenon. On second thought, I’d better hang onto them—it’s too hard to find anything in my size.”

Docia kept her eyes on the sidewalk, pretending to watch out for bits of glass and gravel rather than meet Cal’s gaze. His gaze did far too many strange things to her equilibrium. The iron streetlamps glowed against the blue-black sky. Faint music drifted through the night from an open-air show at one of the bars.

“Did your father help you get your shop started?” Cal’s voice was soft.

Docia shook her head. “No, I did it on my own. Drew up a business plan and everything.” She grimaced. “I had to get a loan to fix the place up, though, and for operating expenses for the first year. It pretty much wiped me out at first, but we’ve done pretty well since then.”

Cal nodded. “Startups are a bitch. Believe me, I know. I’m still paying off Horace.”

They turned the corner by the bookshop and headed up the block toward the apartment door. “Your father must be proud of you for how well the bookstore has done,” Cal mused, “since he’s in business himself.”

Docia’s smile faded a little. “I don’t know. I don’t talk about business with my father.”

“I guess he’s pretty successful, though, right?”

A distant alarm sounded in her head. It was always possible Cal had never heard of Billy Kent before tonight. On the other hand… “He’s had some lucky breaks.”

Cal nodded. “Yeah, he looked like he had.”

She turned at the doorway, looking back to finally meet his gaze. Time to make a move. “Would you like to come up?”

Cal’s pulse immediately switched into jackhammer mode, while his blood made the usual quick trip to his groin. “Sure.” His voice sounded rusty. He swallowed. “That’d be great.”

He stumbled a bit on the stair behind Docia as they climbed, trying once again not to focus exclusively on her ass.
Lummox!
This was not going well. He could only hope his coordination came through when he needed it.

Docia turned slightly to look back over her shoulder. “I can make coffee. Or there’s some port that Ken got me to buy that’s pretty good.”

“Whatever you want,” Cal choked out. He was mesmerized by the way the fabric in her long, silky pants rippled along her calves and down to her bright pink toenails as she climbed the stairs.

Another five minutes and he’d need a napkin for the drool.

Docia unlocked her door and stepped inside. From somewhere deep in the apartment, Nico gave a questioning chirrup. She grinned. “Honey, I’m home.”

“How is he?” Cal was glad to hear his voice sounded close to normal. Or as normal as it could when he couldn’t seem to keep breathing without conscious effort. At least his blood was circulating through the rest of his body again.

“He’s good. You want to take a look?” She opened the bathroom door where Nico sat in solitary splendor on the bathmat.

A black lace bra and matching thong hung from the shower curtain rod. “Crap,” Docia muttered, grabbing them quickly.

Cal sighed. His body went back on red alert. He hadn’t been this randy since junior high.

Docia brought a bottle and a couple of glasses into her small living room while Cal took a seat on the couch across from the limestone fireplace. Swirling patterns in blue and crimson danced across the rug at his feet. Far overhead, the pressed tin ceiling disappeared into darkness.

“Nice place. I like the ceiling.”

Docia nodded. “I hate stooping. Don’t you?” She poured red wine into the glasses, handing him one.

“Aw, hell.” He shrugged. “Stooping comes with the territory. Planes are the worst.”

“Tell me about it.” Docia grinned. “Ever get stuck in a middle seat on a long haul flight?”

Cal shuddered. “Don’t remind me. Usually the person on the aisle takes one look at me and offers to trade. It’s either that or they get to share my knees for the duration of the trip.”

“And then people in front scoot their chairs back, and there you are, going, ‘Hello? Large person here’.”

Cal raised an eyebrow. “Large?”

“According to the national ideal.” Docia sighed. “The national ideal is five-foot-three-inch blond women who fit into middle seats just fine.”

Cal put down his glass, sliding his arm along the back of the couch. “Docia, no man in his right mind would want one inch less of you.”

“Good. Because not only am I not changing, I don’t want to. I like my size the way it is.” Her gaze drifted over his torso, down his legs to where his boots crossed at his ankles. “I like yours too.”

Cal pulled a sofa pillow across his suddenly straining crotch. “Woman,” he muttered, “you’re going to be the death of me.”

Docia grinned. “That was the general idea. At least in a figurative sense.”

Chapter Nine

Cal took a moment to look at her. Her copper curls floated around her face and shoulders. Her white silk blouse hung slightly open, so that he could see a sliver of peach-colored lace peeking out. Her deep green eyes met his, and her face was suddenly illuminated by their light.

Venus.

His gut tightened almost as much as his groin.
Oh, yeah. Nothing like a little performance anxiety to pep things up.
As he watched, Docia’s lips edged up slightly, and another jolt hit his solar plexus. Whatever doubts might be assailing his mind, his body was definitely ready to go for it.

He reached for her, then slid his fingers into the silken softness of her hair, pulling her gently toward him, lowering his mouth to hers. Her lips had an echo of sweet wine. His tongue plunged deeper into her mouth, touching, exploring—teeth, tongue, warm, wet depths. She gave a small purr of pleasure as she turned her body against his, slipping her arms around his neck and pressing her soft breasts against his chest.

Cal moved his hands downward, sliding them beneath the edge of her blouse, touching, stroking. Smooth, satiny flesh. Silk warmed by Docia’s body. His hand cupped her breast so that it filled his palm like a ripe peach. He flicked his thumb across her nipple, feeling it jut hard against his fingers.

“God, Cal,” she murmured.

Her hands moved down from his neck. Then she pulled his shirt free and slid her hands underneath, brushing across his chest. One palm rested for a moment on his heart while a warm fingertip pressed against one nipple. Threads of heat flowed from where her fingers touched him.

He shifted his shoulders, pushing her back against the sofa cushions. The soft mounds of her breasts pressed against his chest again. His shaking hands fumbled at the top button of her blouse, trying to slip the small fabric-covered disk through its hole and failing. Then her cool fingers covered his, and the button slid free.

And the next and the next.

Cal looked down at peach-colored lace and silk outlined against the shimmering paleness of her skin underneath. His breath caught in his throat. “Docia, you’re so beautiful.”

Even as he said it, he knew how miserably inadequate the words were.
You’re exquisite. At this moment, you’re everything I’ve ever desired in a woman. I’ve never touched anyone like you before. Please God, don’t ask me to stop.

When she spoke, her voice was a hoarse whisper against his ear. “Cal, we can’t do this here.”

For a moment, he was lost, trying to find his feet again. Had she suddenly developed second thoughts? And if so, why right now, in the name of heaven!

“What?” he murmured. “Why not?”

Docia giggled, a quick throaty sound against his chest. “We can’t both fit on this couch. Not two people our size. Gravity alone is going to do us in before we get much further.”

“I’m glad one of us thinks this is funny,” Cal muttered and then snickered. In another moment, they were both chuckling breathlessly, their foreheads pressed together.

Docia pushed against his shoulders. “Come with me, Doc. I have the greatest oversized bed you’ve ever seen. I promise we’ll both fit into it with plenty of room left over.”

The bed was big enough for the two of them, plus three or four other average-sized citizens of Konigsburg. Not that Cal was eager for a sextet at that particular moment. A stack of red and blue pillows covered one end of the bed. Tall posts supported some kind of white canopy overhead.

Cal wasn’t really noticing the details right then—he had too much he needed to do, like breathe.

And he couldn’t seem to stop touching her.

Even as he reached for the remaining buttons on her blouse, he couldn’t help grazing his fingers along the smooth white skin of her collarbone, his thumb sinking into the small indentation at the base of her throat.

Docia laughed softly, emerald eyes shimmering in the semi-dark, then pulled the blouse from her shoulders and dropped it behind her. “Your turn.”