Desired (Miranda's Chronicles Book 1) (8 page)

I was exhausted. I was slick with sweat. My bones had liquified. But I hugged him tightly to me, breathing in his distinctive scent. “Oh, my God, Tack,” I whispered. “Oh, my God….”

He lay half on, half off me. He, too, was covered with a sheen of perspiration. We lay there in silence for long minutes.

“Jesus, Miranda,” he mumbled finally, his voice hoarse.

“I know,” I said. From somewhere, a stupid giggle popped out of my mouth. “You shouldn’t have set that goal.”

“We didn’t get there yet,” he gasped out. “But the night’s still young.”

Oh, God
.
Could I keep up?

He rolled to my side and hauled me with him until we were front to front. His knee thrust between my legs and he caught my thigh and took it across his hip. He pushed my damp hair back from my face with trembling fingers and looked at me with soft eyes. “You’re something else.”

“I don’t know what’s come over me. I never was before.”

A hint of a smile tipped a corner of his mouth. “I don’t know how I held out so long. I must’ve wanted to be sure it was good for you. Back there at Skyline, I was scared to death you’d say no.”

My chest almost wouldn’t hold my swelling heart. I strummed his ribs with my fingertips, smiled up into his midnight eyes that now looked calm and serene. “Now I ask you. How many women have ever said no to you?”

“Enough.”

“How could that be when you have so much to offer? And you’re so persuasive?”

“You think so?”

“I do. You certainly persuaded me.”

“I think what I am is stubborn. When I really want something, I have a hard time taking no for an answer. It’d make my day if you said you wanted this as much as I did.”

I pressed my fingers into his thick back muscles, lifted my head and gave him a warrior-woman kiss. “I wouldn’t be here otherwise.”

“You said sex had to have some meaning.”

“That’s how I feel. I can’t help it.”

“Fucking me has meaning?”

Everything inside me stilled. What was he asking me? For some reason, I believed that the next words I said were important. I looked soul-deep into his eyes and said, “Of course it does.”

Tack didn’t reply, which sent a little stab of disappointment through me.

You scarcely know each other,
my snarky inner voice snapped.
What did you expect?

He reached over to the bedside table, picked up his watch and checked the time. “We should order supper before it’s too late.”

He rolled to his feet and dealt with the condom, then walked to the bathroom, giving me a view of a narrow white butt and wide tanned shoulders. Thick slabs of muscle flanked a deep valley that traveled the length of his spine. I could fall in love with his body even if the rest of him had no appeal.

I flopped to my back, staring at the ceiling. My thoughts whirled so fast I couldn’t grasp so much as one thing that seemed real. What
was
that?

It was fucking
, my inner voice chided.
Don’t make the mistake of confusing it with lovemaking.

I couldn’t count how many times I had come. My body had never been so thoroughly used, titillated and thrilled.

I had planned on getting dressed and going home, but now, maybe not. I wasn’t sure I could walk, much less drive my SUV.

When I heard the flush of the toilet, I turned to my side, propped myself on my elbow and rested my head on my hand, waiting for his return. He came out of the bathroom, giving me a full frontal of all that God had given him.
Good grief!

He took my breath. He truly could be a Greek statue.
His tanned torso was toned and padded with defined muscle. Black hair dusted well-developed pecs and whorled down to his groin. He obviously didn’t wax or shave his body, which was fine with me. Abs
rippled down his stomach.
He had those ridges of muscle that traveled from his waist and disappeared into a perfect delta of pubic hair.
He was the most perfect specimen of manhood I had ever seen up close and personal.
I drank him in.

His penis, still stretched and deep red, nested in a thatch of black, black hair. As incredible as it seemed, I started to think about having it inside me again.

He gave me that familiar half-grin. “Like what you see?”

“What’s not to like? You must work out.”

He knows he has great body,
my snarky inner voice put in.
How many women have seen him like this?
And is one of them waiting back in Midland
?

I shoved those questions right out of my mind. No one had twisted my arm and forced me to be here.

He ran his fingers through his hair as if my remark had embarrassed him.
“A little. It’s a habit left over from the army. I don’t go to a gym or anything. I’ve got some equipment in my house. And I work around the ranch sometimes. Cowboying is a pretty good workout.”

Reaching the bedside table, he rummaged in the drawer. His penis was the perfect level for me to reach out and caress him, but I restrained myself.

He came up with a Ruth’s Chris menu, sat down on the edge of the mattress and studied it.
His wavy hair stuck out
in a dozen directions. I couldn’t keep from giggling. He looked at me across his shoulder. “What? What’s funny?”

I gave him a teasing grin. “Your hair. It’s going every which way.”

He grinned back at me. He had the cutest grin. His face was so classic and perfect, but when he grinned, it took on a “little boy” look.

“I’ll order steaks.”

“Great. As long as you don’t expect me to go out and kill a cow.”

“Another time, maybe.”

“Something small is okay with me. I usually don’t eat a big meal this late in the evening.”

“What, then? A filet?”

“That’s fine.”

He picked up the wine list, scanned it quickly, then looked at me.

“Whatever
you
like,” I said.

He returned to the list. “I’m not an expert on wine. When I eat steak, I usually order burgundy or anything red. There isn’t much I don’t like.”

“Red wine with red meat. Isn’t that what they say?”

He smiled, leaned down to me and gave me a sweet kiss. “Is that what they say? Who is this they anyway?”

While he ordered dinner and the wine, I picked up the bar menu. Working in a bar and living with my mom’s drinking, I had developed a strong caution about alcohol for myself, but I enjoyed making creative cocktails. Of all of the drinks the menu offered, a blueberry mohito appeared to be the most benign. I knew how to make mohitos, had tasted one, but I had never made one with blueberries. I started to imagine how I could make it and serve it at Smoky Joe’s.

After he hung up and started to return the menu to the drawer, I handed the bar menu to him.

“Do you want a drink?” he asked.

I shook my head. “The wine will be enough for me. I don’t drink much.” I scooted to the opposite side of the wide bed. We had made a wreck of it. “I should find all of my clothes before they bring the food.”

I got to my feet and reached down for my cami that had somehow gotten to the floor feet away from where I peeled it off. A sweet, deep ache manifested itself between my legs along with a new experience—my clitoris was tender and slightly sore. This night had been full of new experiences and I had the feeling they hadn’t ended yet.

I crossed the room to the closet. Sensing his eyes on me made me self-conscious. I dragged a hotel terrycloth robe off a hanger, hid my nakedness and ducked into the bathroom. My reflection in the wide vanity mirror over the sink looked as ugly as I feared it did. My eye makeup was smeared, my pale complexion looked mottled. I doubted I owned enough makeup to cover the whisker burns on my chin and around my mouth. My hair looked as if I had been in a hurricane.

Tack’s travel toiletries bag sat open on the end of the counter and I spotted a small hairbrush. I helped myself to it and brushed out the most obvious tangles. If I had my barrette, I could clip the top layers back into a ponytail, but the clip was, no doubt, somewhere in the bed.

I gave up on the hair and tried to wipe the mascara from under my eyes with a washcloth and warm water. Afterward, I looked only slightly better.

I finished washing up and returned to the bedroom. Tack had put on his jeans, but the fly was open and I saw that he was commando. I found that sexy beyond belief. I gave him a teasing grin. “Be careful zipping up. I wouldn’t like you wounded.”

He looked down at his fly, then back at me and grinned as he zipped up. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

I walked around the spacious room, picking up my clothing. He came to me and took the garments from my hands, laid them on the foot of the second bed, then untied my robe and slid his hands underneath. I loved his warm hands on my bare skin.

He gently caressed my waist. “I don’t want to think you’re with somebody, but it’s hard for me to believe you’re not.”

Don’t pass up the perfect opening,
my inner voice said.

“That goes both ways, you know. It’s hard for me to believe you don’t have a wife and a houseful of kids back in Midland.”

“No kids. Just an ex-wife. These days, seems like everybody’s got an ex-something.”

Of course he had an ex-
something
. No guy as attractive as he was would have escaped a union of some kind. How long were they together? Couldn’t have been long. He wasn’t that old. I judged him to be over thirty, but under thirty-five. And why didn’t he have kids?

“My ex-wife is a long way from Midland,” he added. “And I don’t have any other exes.”

We kissed long and sweetly. When we stopped, I looked into his eyes, cocked my head and asked, “How far is a long way?”

“Germany.”

Quick mental exercise. Aggie class ring. ROTC.
Aha. She’s in the army.
“Oh. That
is
a long way.

He released me and picked up his shirt from the chair where he had tossed it. He no sooner had pulled it on and buttoned it before the food and the mouthwatering aroma of grilled steak arrived. The steward rolled in a small table on which our meal was laid out, then bustled about, arranging dishes, lifting lids and opening and pouring wine. He moved chairs from the table on the far side of the room. As he started to leave, Tack handed him bills, the denomination of which I couldn’t see.

Tack held my chair for me and I sat down. “Hmm. Heavenly. I haven’t eaten at Ruth’s Chris in a very long time.”

He took a seat opposite me, picked up his wine glass and sipped. “Try the wine.”

I sipped. “Tastes good to me. I don’t have a trained palate, you know.”

We settled down to eat. I searched for a place to start a conversation. “What about the condo? Did you and Drake talk about it?”

He picked up a roll that looked to be softer than a pillow. “A little.” He smiled. “I’ve known Drake a long time. I know how he is. We’re
dickering
.”

So my warning him about Drake’s competitiveness wasn’t necessary. “Oh, good. Which one are you
dickering
on?”

“The big one on the twentieth floor.”

Oh. My. God
.
A mansion in the sky
.
Twelve Million dollars
. Besides the price, the size variance between the 2,100 square-foot unit on the seventeenth floor and the 6,000 square feet on the twentieth was huge. Why would he need so much room?

I gave him a look. “Seriously? Drake said you wanted a small pad.”

“A small pad is all I need for myself. But then I started thinking about the investment and my sister in Killeen. She’s got four kids. Her husband’s in Afghanistan. They live frugally. If I had a bigger place, she and the kids could have a good place to stay when stuff is going on here in Fort Worth. Killeen isn’t that far away. Or she and her husband could use it as a getaway when he’s home. He’d be insulted if I offered them money, but providing a nice place for them to take a break now and then is a small thing I can do for them.”

He had buttered the roll he picked up. Arching his brow, he offered it to me.

I frowned, considering. “Hmm. I’ll bet the bread here is scrumptious. I usually don’t eat bread, especially with butter, but yes, I’ll take one.”

He smiled, placed the buttered roll on a plate and slid it to me. “Not a drinker, don’t eat bread and butter. Why so much discipline?”

“Controlling my weight is important to what I do.”

He picked up another roll, pulled it apart and started to butter it. “I thought you were a real estate agent. Now I’m curious. What is it that you do?”

“You
would
ask.” I laughed. “I’ve never been able to describe my business. And even if I try, half the people I tell about it don’t believe I could be making a legitimate living.”

He looked at me, roll and butter knife suspended, his eyelids narrowed. “Oh, yeah? Try me.”

“Well…I’m not a Realtor. I’m an event planner. And a part-time bartender and sometimes model. I help Drake Lockhart out occasionally when he has something special going on.”

“Every bit of that calls for more conversation. How does somebody get to be doing all of those jobs at one time?”

“Total accident.” I cut into my steak and tasted it. “Yum. This is cooked to perfection.”

“You were about to tell me about what you do.”

For some reason, I did want him to know a little about me, but only surface information. I sipped my wine. “Okay, I’ll give you the short version. When I got out of college, I couldn’t afford to sit and do nothing while I sent out resumes and waited for Corporate America to open its arms to me. I had a part-time idiot job with an energy company. I had hoped for an internship or something to develop there, but I must not have known the right people.

“Anyway, one of the big wigs needed to have a cocktail party. He was a widower and without a wife, he didn’t know where to begin. He was whining and angsting about it all over the office. So one day when I was helping him find something in the filing cabinet, he said, ‘If you’d put this party together for me, Miranda, I’d pay you a couple hundred bucks.’

“I guess he thought that because I was young and just out of college, I knew all about partying. He was joking, but he had no idea how precious that amount of money was to me at that time. So I joked back with him. I said, ‘Mr. Burrows, the way things are right now, I’d do almost anything for two hundred dollars.’”

Tack was watching me intently. “So what happened?”

“He said, ‘Go for it, little lady. Let me know what you need.’ So I did.”

Tack smiled and shoved a bite of steak into his mouth.

“Where I come from,” I continued, “cocktail parties are something you see in old movies. I watched a couple, got some ideas. In college, research was something I was good at, so I spent the better part of a weekend digging out information online and at the library and on Monday morning, I presented Mr. Burrows with a plan. He liked it, so he arranged for space. I subcontracted with caterers and liquor wholesalers and organized a cocktail party for three hundred people. And to my amazement, it was a huge success. Mr. Burrows got compliments from all directions. And there you have it. A star was born.”

I sipped my wine again. “Anyway, after that, I put my name out as a small event planner. That was a few years ago. Now I have a company I call Gala and I’m busier than I ever thought I’d be. I’m starting to move up to bigger and more specialized events. The whole thing is a total accident.”