Wildly Inappropriate (12 page)

"I'll do my best to see to it you can take care of her, you know that. You start by finding out for sure what's wrong with her. I can start by sitting down with this buyer and see what the offer is, okay?"

Chapter Nine

Dan knew why he hadn't burned down the farmhouse and built a new place the way his brothers had done. Like his father, he still hoped Cammie would come back and he wanted the house she'd loved to be here for her. He'd looked for her at Rafe's funeral, because over the years, he'd decided she'd left because Rafe had been too demanding, but he thought she might come back to see him into the ground. She hadn't come.

Cammie had been the one to insist Rafe paint the house yellow. She'd loved and cared for this place with a passion Dan thought only Lila might understand, coping cheerfully with the creaky plumbing and the drafty rooms, swearing she preferred having a fire in the fireplaces to turning on the oil furnace. He tended her flower garden, expanding it as the years passed just to have something to fill the time after work, once he'd given up on finding a woman who could handle living with him.

He turned down offers from land developers like Brian Case without a moment's hesitation. The brothers were content with the profits from the garage. It was successful, if you didn't want more than you needed. Neither Eric nor Colton wanted to see the old farm become some bedroom community.

Cammie wouldn't have wanted that even though it seemed she'd finally traded the quiet rural life she'd seemed to love for something she obviously loved more. Dan had decided that Cammie had met someone else and that someone had picked her up that day. It was the only conclusion that made sense. He'd watched Rafe become old and bitter and wondered whether the mean spirit the old man had begun to exhibit had been there all along and Cammie had buffered her children from it.

Dan remembered her, on her hands and knees, wiping the kitchen floor with a sponge. In his memory, Cammie had been singing, as if doing the chore made her the happiest woman in the world. He and Eric raced into the kitchen, their shoes muddy from playing in the orchards. But it'd been Rafe who yelled at them to get their shoes off and stop tracking dirt into the house, not Cammie. Job security, she'd called their careless ways.

Dan ached for her. They all did, he guessed, but as the oldest, Dan remembered Cammie the best.

Must be Cynda's singing that was making the old wound ache so much, he decided. She finished her song and began another. It surprised him she wasn't singing some pop song, but she selected another hymn and dredged up another memory of Cammie, giving Dan the evil eye for pinching Eric as they rose from the uncomfortable wooden benches in the old Methodist church that Rafe refused to attend because he'd been brought up a Baptist. Dan saw her pushing her hymnal into his hand and pointing to the music with a motherly shake of her head, but smiling at him as she rested her hand on the swell that was the unborn Colton.

He was the keeper of the ghosts, it felt like sometimes, keeping her house and her things.

The sound of Cynda's singing got louder as he heard the tap-tap of her shoes coming down the hall. She poked her head into his office. He felt guilty for ignoring her tonight, but once he'd left the hospital and picked her up at the salon, he had too much on his mind to make small talk. She'd been quiet until she'd started singing. He saw she held the pup. The song faltered on her lips.

"Don't stop," Dan begged. "Those songs remind me of my mother." He couldn't help but tell her again the only words he'd said to her since picking her up, "You look beautiful, Cynda." She did, so beautiful she made his chest ache to look at her. The braids flattered her face, making her look like an exotic queen. She still wore those wildly inappropriate purple shoes it had secretly thrilled him to buy her. Combined with the peach-colored dress, her outfit reminded him of the bird of paradise flowers in the garden.

Which took his thoughts back to Cammie. Which in turn made him worry about Colton and Lila. It would thrill Cynda, no doubt, to hear Dan was ready to talk to her buyer, but he didn't mention that. Partly because Colton didn't know for sure whether Lila had cancer. If he were honest, the larger reason was he wasn't ready to let Cynda go. He could pretend for just a while longer that she was here because she wanted to be with him, not because she wanted a nineteen thousand dollar commission.

She'd surprised him in so many ways. She could hold her tongue, for one, and it had taken courage to face down that raccoon. Most of the women he knew would've run screaming for the house. Some might've thought to call him, but he'd been out at the scene of Lila's wreck and might not have made it home in time. Daisy couldn't see well but she'd have fought to save her pup. He didn't know whether her booster shot would've saved her had she repeatedly bitten a rabid animal. His dog was worth the price of her shoes. And the smile from Cynda, well, that was priceless. Not to mention the frank look of envy from the shoe salesman when Dan caught him staring at Cynda's ass.

Then there was the way she let him take control. She was a natural for his brand of sex. She sang like an angel, too. She seemed to him a lot more like a kindergarten teacher than a real estate salesperson. She'd hardly tried at all to give him a sales pitch.

Brian Case had chosen well this year, indeed.

* * * *

Though she typically wore jeans, the feminine dresses from the trunk made her feel like a princess. Her smile faded as she noted the distress on his face. She eyed the ditches his fingers had made through his dark hair. "What's wrong?" she asked timidly.

"Wrestling ghosts tonight." His smile was twisted. "They're winning."

Cynda handed him the pup and stepped out of the room, fetching a glass from the kitchen cabinet as she began the second stanza to her favorite hymn. She dropped a few ice cubes into the glass, then filled the glass with dark liquor from the elegant crystal decanter on the sideboard in the dining room that sat between the kitchen and the fancy parlor. Placing the glass in front of him on his desk, she took the puppy from his lap and knelt by his feet, still singing "Amazing Grace".

Leaning her head against his knee, she sang as best she knew how, hoping to comfort him. Though this wasn't the evening activity she'd looked forward to all day, she wanted to make him feel better. The hurt in his expression was plain.

Just before her mind went blank on what song to choose next, he spoke. "I think I'll take a shower. Thank you. It helped me a lot to hear you sing."

She watched him walk out, admiring how wide his shoulders were, but noting the slight stoop that wasn't normally present, as if whatever burdened him was almost more than he could bear.

She could think of one more thing she might do to make him feel better. Waiting until she heard the old pipes rattling inside the walls, Cynda took the pup back to Daisy and slipped off the pretty dress in his bedroom. Laying the garment every customer in the hair salon had admired carefully over the velvet-covered chair in the corner by the fireplace, she bent to slip off the most expensive pair of shoes she figured she'd ever own.

Cynda pulled open the glass shower door and stepped in behind him, her hand meeting his on top of the bar of soap sitting on the ceramic shelf mounted into the tiles. He glanced over his shoulder. "No, Cynda. I'm afraid I'm not in the mood."

"Shh," she replied, wresting the soap from his hand. "Don't fight this, just let it feel good." She stuck her hands around him to wet them, then rubbed the soap into lather before placing them on his shoulders. She tried to knead out the kinks in his strong muscles. His huge body blocked the water, but the steam felt nice. He was incredibly muscled. Taking her time, she simply enjoyed touching him as she worked, feeling him begin to relax after a bit. He braced his hands against the end of the stall and dropped his head underneath the warm spray. She worked her way down to his narrow waist then across the taut muscles of his ass, grinning a bit as she slid her fingers into his crack. He chuckled and she knelt, growing bolder. She washed the huge column of each muscular leg. His body hair felt silky to the touch.

Lathering her hands again, she cupped the large sac hanging between his thighs, soaping it gently. He groaned, but he didn't order her to stop, so she massaged his balls for long minutes, cradling them in her palm. Her fingers brushed against the base of his shaft and she smiled when she felt the firming flesh.

Soaping her hands again, Cynda tugged his erection down and wrapped her fist around it, the soap easing the slide of her hand along the length of the thick column.

She debated, as she stroked him, on whether to help him orgasm. Not all men liked what she had in mind, but he felt free to handle her body any way he liked. She decided she'd never know unless she tried. She picked up the bar of soap with her free hand, twisting it in her hand, coating her fingers. Laying the bar on the floor of the shower, she slid the edge of her hand along the crease of his ass. He tightened his muscles slightly, but he didn't speak, so she persisted, seeking his entrance. He bent forward a bit more, as if encouraging her. Her small forefinger easily penetrated his pucker. She increased the speed of her hand on his cock, making sure to stroke him from the root to the wide head as she began to finger his ass, seeking the small walnut-shaped gland she knew would give him pleasure.

"Fuck, yeah," he groaned when she found it, widening his stance as far as the confines of the shower stall allowed.

There was power in this act, too. He made her feel weak yet strong. Though she'd come to him basically as a whore, he'd yet to treat her like one. Somehow, due perhaps to his insistence on dressing her like a lady, she now felt like one, when she'd never seen herself that way before. Her feelings swirled around like the steam as she thrust into him, her thoughts straying to their time on the mountain. Maybe she could be rougher, she decided, adding another finger and increasing the speed of her thrusts.

"Fuck, Cynda, I'm coming," he growled unnecessarily, since she could feel his cock jerking in her hand. Cynda eased her finger from inside him, but continued to milk his shaft, careful to soften her strokes as he ejaculated. He finally dropped his hand over hers, stilling her movement. She held her hands between his thighs to rinse them and playfully pressed a kiss to one cheek before she stood.

If a stiff drink and coming like a freight train doesn't help him relax, he's beyond my help
.

He stood under the spray for several minutes, but when she went to open the shower door, he reached for her arm. "Your turn."

"It's okay, I just wanted to make you feel better."

He frowned.

"Yes, Daniel."

Though it seemed to Cynda his eyes darkened, his touch wasn't sexual. He simply washed her. He didn't miss an inch of her skin, right down to the soles of her feet, but she felt more like his child than a lover.
More like his.

Unsettled by that thought, she allowed him to dry her before obeying his direction to get into his bed. She turned toward the windows rather than lie facing him and tried to dial back her emotions.

When he curled around her, slipping his arm beneath her head, she decided that somehow, the rules of their game had changed. Or was it she who was changing? She thought about what he'd said about controlling whether or not a person changed you, but this felt like one more thing she had no control over.

His hand cupped her jaw and he turned her toward him. His lips felt hot against her temple. When his lips moved to her cheek, her heart began to beat harder than it had when she'd first seen the drooling raccoon. His pressed a kiss to the end of her nose, making her smile in the dark. Then his lips brushed hers and it felt like she'd forgotten what air was for. He kissed the way he did everything else, with a strength that made her feel weak in all the best ways. For some reason, in the midst of all the feelings he was stirring in her, she thought about his grandfather's peach with the ruby flesh—the one that clung so tenaciously to its center and had skin that made people itch.

Chapter Ten

Eric and Colton came through the back door together, unannounced. Dan froze, caught in the act of scooping peach cobbler into a bowl.

"I'm telling you, Colton, just bend Lila over something and fuck her brains out. Straightens 'em out every time," Eric assured their brother.

Colton snorted, taking a seat at the kitchen table, but to his dismay, Eric spied the cobbler. Dan shoved the bowl into his brother's hands and stalked to the table. He'd already eaten half the dish anyway.

"She has a concussion, dumbass." Colton growled.

"Fucking won't hurt her head," Eric argued. "She can do that lying down." He shot Dan a puzzled look before jerking open the silverware drawer to grab a spoon. He opened the next drawer, where Cammie had always kept a stack of napkins, meaning that's where Rafe had kept them and now Dan. "Didn't know I was on Lila's wrong side," Eric muttered. "Why'd you get a cobbler and not me?"

"I dunno, because you say stupid shit?" Dan growled. "Can we make a plan for moving these damn tubs since you guys are here?" Colton had predictably caved about the tubs since he thought Lila had cancer. Dan feared she did too. His concern had escalated since Colton called earlier to say he'd overheard a nurse telling Lila the oncologist would be in to talk to her soon. He obviously hadn't shared his concerns with Eric.

"What the hell is this?" Eric demanded.

Dan stared in horror at Eric waving the black dildo in the air. He used it like a rapier, poking it back and forth toward Colton's face. Eric grinned at Dan as Colton shoved his chair back.

"You know what they say, Dan. Once you go black, you can never go back," Eric taunted.

Dan hoped like hell they hadn't awakened Cynda. The phrase was commonly used in this part of the South, but he'd never spent a minute wondering whether a black person might find the phrase insulting. He didn't have time to dwell on that, since both his brothers were grinning like goddamn monkeys looking at a truckload of bananas, obviously waiting for him to explain.