Dancing on the Wind (20 page)

the nearly knee-high weeds to either side of the car. He swung his legs off the seat with

his cock thrust straight out through the opened fly of his jeans and snatched at her

pants. Thankful she was wearing slacks that had an elastic waistband, he yanked them

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down her long legs and she kicked them away. He tore off her panties and grabbed her,

lifting her onto his cock in one smooth, fluid movement.

“Goddamn,” he whispered. “I can’t keep my cock outta you, woman.”

She wrapped her legs around him as he pushed her up against the open car door

and began to thrust his hips upward, impaling her deeply upon his shaft. Clinging to

his neck, she sank her teeth into the strong column, unaware she’d drawn blood until

she tasted the saltiness on her tongue.

Not that it bothered Fallon. If anything the sting of her bite spurred him to a more

frenzied movement, and his hips became like jackhammers driving into her. The car

shook from the force of his movements, and when they came, they came together in a

blinding rush of release that brought a howl from his throat and a low growl of

satisfaction from hers. The ripples of her vaginal walls around his pulsing cock seemed

to go on forever, and when the last little squeeze came, they were both soaked with

sweat.

Spent, his head on her shoulder, his knees shaking from the intensity of his climax

and the force of his thrusts, he struggled to breathe. She was wrapped around him like

an anaconda and he never wanted to break free.

“That’s. What. You. Get. For. Touching me there,” she managed to say.

“I’ll try to restrain myself from now on,” he replied on a long, satiated sigh.

“Don’t,” she said.

They stood that way for a while longer until they heard rustling in the grass around

them.

“Snakes,” he said. “I can smell them.”

“I don’t like snakes, lineman,” she said, craning her neck back and forth in an

attempt to see the sneaky varmints.

He turned so he could lower her into the seat and retrieve her pants. “They don’t

bother me unless they’re ghorets. Then I’d have a real problem with them.”

“Ghorets?” she questioned, flinching as his semen oozed from her and onto the

leather seat. She squirmed, not liking the sensation at all.

He stuffed himself back into his pants, zipped up his fly and then bent down to pick

up her pants.

“They are a type of serpent I hope to God we don’t have on Earth,” he said. “They

are the only thing Reapers truly fear. A single drop of their venom would be enough to

kill a human, but it would only make me so sick I would wish I could die.” He handed

her pants to her. “Sorry, I don’t have anything for you to clean up with.”

“Where’s my panties?”

He looked on the ground, found the undergarment and picked it up. As she cleaned

herself, he went around to the driver’s side.

“Try to keep your hands off my package while I’m driving,” he said as he opened

the door and got behind the wheel. “I don’t drive a car all that well to begin with.”

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Charlotte Boyett-Compo

“I’ll try, but I’m making no promises,” she said as she wiggled into her pants,

having tossed her soiled panties into the weeds.

Clothed, she pulled the seat belt around her then looked at him. “Seat belt,” she

said. He’d not been wearing his while she drove, but she hadn’t noticed until they’d

stopped.

“I hate seat belts.”

“Seat belt,” she insisted.

“Nag, nag, nag,” he complained, but did as she ordered.

All the way to the restaurant and back that evening they were unusually quiet,

simply content to be with one another. When they arrived back at the Exchange, they

reluctantly parted. She had studying to do and he had a cold shower with his name on

it waiting.

* * * * *

“And then you let the entrails drop from your palm and onto the mark’s belly,

sweeping it aside so no one will get a good look at them,” Breslin instructed.

“People actually believe this stuff was growing inside them?” she asked, marveling

at the piece of sheep’s intestine in the palm of her hand.

“They want to believe, Keenan,” Breslin said. “That’s how Bolivar hoodwinks them

so completely.”

Keenan yawned then mumbled an apology.

“Another late night with lover boy?” Breslin smirked.

“No,” she said. “I spent the evening alone.”

“After you got back from Marshalltown,” he stated.

Bristling under his angry look, she dropped the entrails into a container and went

over to the sink to wash her hands. “My private life is my own, Zack,” she reminded

him. “What I do with it is none of your business.”

“It’s my business if your hanky panky jeopardizes the mission,” he replied, coming

over to the sink. “You’ve got to keep your mind on the assignment or Bolivar is going to

eat you alive.” He reached for her but she sidestepped him. That didn’t deter him and

he tried again, this time managing to get a grip on her arm. “Listen, Kiki. I want you

back. I know I…”

“Let go,” she said, eyes hard as she stared into his face. “I mean it.”

“We could make it work. It got a bit out of hand back then, but that was only

because you were driving me crazy with not accepting my proposal. Your mom and

I…”

“Leave my mother out of this!” she said, savagely breaking free of his hold. “That

was most of the problem to begin with!”

“I can’t help it that she liked me,” he said. “She thought we were good together.”

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“
She
didn’t know
you
!” Keenan snapped, and jerked a paper towel from the

dispenser to dry her hands.

“We’re going to be working closely together down in Georgia,” he said, his voice

full of wheedling. “Why can’t we just patch things up and go back to the way it was?

You know I love you. I’ve always loved you.”

“Well, I don’t love
you
,” Keenan said. “I don’t think I ever did.”

Breslin shook his head. “You don’t mean that. We were good together.”

“No, we really weren’t,” she said, and tossed the used paper towel forcefully into

the trashcan. She turned her back on him and started away.

“I’m going to get you back,” he told her. “I will!”

“Dream on,” she said as she shoved the training room door open and walked out.

All the way to the lounge she cursed the Fates that had brought Zack Breslin to the

Exchange. In her heart of hearts she’d known she hadn’t seen the last of him. To have

him here now was driving her crazy. Having to work with him again was driving her to

drink.

“A tequila setup,” she told the barman as she approached the bar.

“Bad day, Agent McCullough?” he asked, not surprising her that he knew her

name.

“It’s Keenan and yep, Hank, it’s been a bitch of a day,” she said, handing over her

ID card for him to swipe down the register. She looked around. “Your bar waitress still

out?”

“She’ll be in around five,” he replied as he handed back her card. “Drop some

money in the jukebox, Keenan. I’ll bring your order over to you.”

She thanked him and headed for the jukebox, selecting slow, melancholy songs that

matched her mood. Taking a seat in the same booth she and Matty had shared, she

kicked off her shoes and put her feet up on the seat, leaning into the V between the

booth’s back and the wall, and closed her eyes. She heard the heavy thud of glass on the

table and mumbled another “Thank you” without so much as cracking an eyelid. After

a few moments, she opened her eyes and took three consecutive shots of tequila—

wincing as each after burn scorched a pathway down her throat. One more shot and she

leaned back again, closing her eyes, her thoughts so morose a fierce grimace settled on

her face.

How long she sat that way, she didn’t know, but when she opened her eyes, Fallon

was sitting across from her, nursing a beer straight from the bottle.

“Hey you,” she said.

“Hey.” He slowly smiled. “Do you know you snore?”

“I wasn’t asleep.”

“Yes you were, and you were snoring.”

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Charlotte Boyett-Compo

“No, I wasn’t. You must be having trouble with your hearing,” she said, reaching

out to pour another shot of tequila.

Fallon watched her complete the ritual with the salt and lime and shook his head.

“You’ll get wasted like that,
lhiannan
.”

“It’s Hump Day, lineman,” she said. “I need to unwind a bit before I head up to my

lonely, horny little room.”

“Is that an invitation to join you in your lonely, horny little room to hump you?” he

inquired politely.

“Well,” she said, pouring another shot. “You did say you couldn’t keep your cock

outta me, remember?” Her words were beginning to slur.

“Only too well.” He took a swig of his beer then leaned forward with his elbows on

the table. “What’s wrong?”

She poured a third shot, but before she knocked it back, he shot out a hand to cover

hers and keep the glass on the table.

“What’s wrong?” he repeated, caressing her slender hand.

“Memories,” she sang. “Light the corners of my mind…”

“What did asshole do?”

She snorted. “You’ve got to stop calling him that.”

“No, I don’t. What’d he do?”

She sighed and slumped back in the booth. “Reminded me of a time I’d just as soon

forget.”

“Which was…?”

Her mouth tightened. “When he asked me to marry him.”

That surprised Fallon and he slid his hand from hers. “What did you tell him?”

“I told him no,” she stated then emphatically repeated it. “I told him
no
.”

He watched her fling back the third shot. “Why?” he asked, and jumped when she

slammed the shot glass on the table.

“Because I didn’t want to marry him, Fallon,” she snapped.

“Him or anyone?”

“Him!” she spat. “I didn’t want to marry him because he was pushing me into it.

My mother was pushing me into it. Hell, even my priest was pushing me into it and

Breslin is a fucking lapsed Catholic with two ex-wives!”

Fallon whistled. “Boy gets around, don’t he?”

“My mother had the wedding all planned. She had the engagement party already

booked at the country club. She was consulting wedding dress designers.” She glared at

him. “Designers, for shitsake! Do you hear what I’m saying?”

“I think so. You don’t like designer wedding gowns.”

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She continued as though she hadn’t heard him. “She had swaths of material for the

attendants’ gowns. She had a photographer on standby and a caterer and a fucking

limousine service, and she’d booked us a suite at a fancy-schmancy resort down in the

Caribbean!”

“Sounds like she was living vicariously through you,” he said gently.

“She fucking nailed him, Fallon!” she shouted.

“Keenan, shush!” Fallon hissed at her.

Heads turned toward them but thankfully there were only a few people in the

lounge. Both the bartender and the waitress were studiously avoiding looking at

Keenan.

Keenan lowered her voice but her eyes were ferocious as she spoke.

“Don’t you understand? She fucked him! My own mother fucked the man I was

dating! In my fucking room on my fucking bed! Now do you see?”

“More than I wanted to,” he mumbled.

“I didn’t love the son of a bitch,” she said, shaking her head. “I really didn’t, but he

was my partner and the sex was good—really, really good.”

“A little more info there than I wanted to hear, McCullough,” he grumbled.

“But for my own mother to hump him?” Tears filled her eyes. “How could she do

that, Fallon? How could she do that to her own daughter?”

“You know for a fact that this happened?” he queried.

“I saw them!” she yelled.

Fallon winced. He knew matters were only going to get worse and she was only

going to get louder if she kept drinking. He swiped the bottle of tequila from the table

and scooted out of the booth.

“What the fuck you doing?” she demanded. “Gimmee back that goddamned

bottle.”

“Let’s take this back to your place, okay?” he said in a low voice. “You don’t need

to air your dirty laundry in here.”

Where she was finally registered with Keenan and her face took on a pinched look.

“Oh shit,” she muttered, looking around shamefully.

“Come on,” he prompted, and waited for her to slide out of the booth. She had to

snake out an arm to catch herself since she stumbled when she stood up.

“Sorry,” she apologized.

“You’re not used to drinking, are you, baby?” he asked, sliding his arm around her.

The liquor had gone straight to her head.

“One-drink Kiki,” she said. “That’s what they used to call me.”

“And how many shots did you have before I joined you?”

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Charlotte Boyett-Compo

“Donknow.” She wiped the back of her mouth with her hand, she wavered, then let

her head fall back to look at him. She grinned lasciviously. “Hot damn, boy. You are

one mouthful, you know?”

He shook his head. “You’re drunk, baby.”

She put up a hand and poked him in the chest with her index finger. Lowering her

voice, she gazed at him through her eyelashes. “Actually, you’re more than a mouthful,

but that ain’t a polite thing to say, you know?” She giggled. “And right tasty too.”