Gift Wrapped for Christmas: A Contemporary Romance (22 page)

“What
are you going to do today?” She asked, fingers tiptoeing across his abdomen and
heading south.

He
grabbed her hand to halt its progress and brought it to his lips. He must be
mad not to want more sex, but the price was too high. He knew what would happen
afterward; she’d want to get to know him better. It was only natural he
supposed, but it was more than he could take. He’d dated a few women since
coming home and they all wanted to pry into his private life, to find out why
he couldn’t talk, and each one in her own unique way wanted to “fix” him.

He
kissed her hand again and tenderly touched her cheek, trying to soften the
refusal. He liked her, he really did. She was gorgeous to look at, and
intelligent, but he didn’t want to get personal and she did. In that respect,
she was no different from the others.

He
grabbed his BlackBerry.
Leaving town today
, he typed and showed it to
her.
Sorry
he added,
Had great time last night
. He didn’t have to
tell her that he’d only just decided to take his friend up on his offer of a
bed for the summer–in exchange for working in the vineyards.

She
gave him a sad smile. “You’re not going to call me again, are you?” It was more
of a statement than a question.

He
smiled back, and shook his head. It was one thing he’d learned a long time ago;
don’t complicate your life with lies.

“I
thought not.” She kissed him lightly on the lips. “You’re a nice guy, Bradley
Jamieson. If you come back to town and change your mind, I’d love to hear from
you.”

And
with that, she slipped into her clothes and was gone. Bradley stared at the
closed door for several long minutes after she’d left and wondered if his life
would ever get back to normal.

* * *

It
didn’t take long for Bradley to get organized and on the road. He’d texted Matt
at the winery and been assured that he was still welcome. He’d laughed at the
next line: ‘Will that old beast make the trip?’

The
Norton was Bradley’s favourite means of transportation. There was something
freeing about being on the bike and it had been thoroughly serviced over
several weeks the previous month; Bradley trusted it to make the trip.

It
was noon by the time he left Comox. He planned to cross the ferry at Nanaimo
and drive into the Fraser Valley tonight. Motels were plentiful in the area;
hopefully he’d have a good sleep and make it to the Okanagan around noon the
next day.

As
he crossed the bridge from the Comox side of town to Courtenay, the Snowbirds,
Canada’s aerobatic team, streaked across the sky, practicing one of their
manoeuvres. The Tutors were small compared to the F-18s that Bradley had flown
in Afghanistan, but he still stopped to look every time he heard a jet engine.
He paused by the side of the road to watch them, marvelling at the precision
flying. The aircraft dispersed and he gunned the motor, sliding smoothly into
traffic. It was times like this that he felt guilty. Trained at great expense
to be a fighter pilot, he was useless now. Okay, so he wasn’t to blame, but
that knowledge didn’t help in the dark of the night, when he woke up to the
horror of his memories, knowing that in his dream he’d been trying to scream,
but unable to make a sound.

He
rolled onto the five o’clock ferry with the other bikers, sent to their usual
spot at the front. ‘First on, first off’ was their mantra. It was all part of
the freedom of traveling by bike. He made his way to the upper deck, claiming a
spot on one of the lifejacket storage containers. Here, with his back resting
against the hull of the ship, he could watch not only the departure, but the
eclectic mix of tourists that flocked to Vancouver Island every year. Virtually
every European language was represented today, along with the ever-present,
much-travelled Aussies and Asians. He sat back and closed his eyes, soaking up
the sun. He hadn’t bothered to shave before leaving home, and he counted on his
appearance to fend off anyone who would otherwise want to talk.

“Excuse
me, is this seat taken?” He couldn’t quite place the accent. He opened one eye
and shook his head. Her shoes identified her as European. There was something
about their footwear that gave them away every time. That and the accent, of
course. If he had to guess, he’d say she was Dutch. He made a broad gesture,
indicating that she should make herself comfortable, and closed his eyes again.
She pushed her backpack against the bulkhead, then sat back, resting against
it. Her scent invaded his nostrils; it was something fresh, light and decidedly
feminine.

Don’t
even think about it
, he told himself.

She
raised a hand in greeting and a young man came and sat beside her. Bradley
smiled to himself; he didn’t know whether to be disappointed or relieved.

* * *

Bradley
Jamieson was one of those rare men who really loved women. At least the ones
he’d been involved with told him he was a rarity, and judging by comments from
the men he’d served with, they were right. The couple beside him were chattering
away in a language he didn’t recognize, and he relaxed, thinking back to his
younger days.

He’d
grown up in Comox, home to Canadian Forces Base Comox. It was inevitable, he
supposed, his desire to become a pilot. He knew every aircraft type that flew
in and out of CFB Comox–American as well as Canadian. But even back then, he’d
known that you just didn’t walk through the gates and sign up. As a matter of
fact, you were lucky if they even considered you, and a degree or two always
helped.

And
so in the summer holidays, while his friends went fishing or chased girls, he
worked at every job he could find, saving money for his education. The grocery
store paid the best; he made himself available for work any time they called,
but it wasn’t enough. In between, he mowed lawns and did yard clean-up.

It
was a hot summer day when he first noticed her...really noticed her.

“Bradley”
she called from behind the screen door. “Could you help me with something?”

He
looked up, trying to recall her name. Oh yes, it was Mrs. Fraser. Her husband
worked at the base, and according to her, had little time to spare for yard
work. He’d noticed her several times that day; she seemed to be watching him
through the kitchen window. He hoped she was happy with his work.

He
wiped the sweat from his brow as he walked up the back steps. She opened the
screen door and stood there, almost as if she were posing. She had on some sort
of a top that tied under her breasts, leaving her midriff bare, and incredibly
short shorts for an older woman. At least she seemed older to him. He tried not
to look at her, but she had an amazing body and she wasn’t shy about showing
it.

“What
is it?” he said, looking around.

She
walked across the kitchen and he noticed that she was wearing what the school girls
called ‘wedgies’ on her feet. They made her legs go on forever. He swallowed
painfully.

She
bent over as if to lift a cardboard box from the floor. “This box is too
heavy.” He could see the crease of skin where her legs joined her buttocks and
got an instant erection.

She
straightened up and turned back to him. “I was hoping to move this out to the
storage shed, but it’s just too heavy.” Her gaze dropped to the level of his
crotch and her lips parted. “Would you do it for me?”

“Sure.”
He didn’t know how he got the word out; his tongue felt thick and clumsy in his
throat. She stood back a bit and he picked up the box. “The storage shed,” he
said, trying not to look at her cleavage.

“Yes,
and then come back in. I’ve made some lemonade.”

He
practically ran to the shed and shoved the box into the first spot he could
find. It was all he could do not to race up the steps when he got back to the
house.

“So,”
she said, handing him a glass of lemonade. “Do you have a girlfriend?”

He
swallowed half the glass in one gulp. He wasn’t quite sure where this
conversation was going. “Sort of,” he said, wondering if she could tell he was
stretching the truth.

“Aha.”
She took a small sip from her glass, eyeing him over the rim. “And what do you
do for fun?”

“I,
ah, well, we...” How could he explain the fumbling and groping in the back seat
of his friend’s car?

“Do
you have sex?” She came closer. There was a musky smell about her. It was
unfamiliar but oddly arousing. “I mean, I hear about young people these days
and it all sounds so different from when I was your age.” She placed her glass
on the counter then took his glass and placed it beside hers. She was so close
to him now that her breasts were almost brushing against his chest. At least
when she was this close she couldn’t see that he was hard again.

Or
maybe she could. She ran a finger over his lips and his mouth dropped open. She
slid the finger inside his mouth and then withdrew it, putting it in her own
mouth. He was afraid that he was going to come right there, in her kitchen.
That would be mortifying and he closed his eyes, trying to regain control.

She
touched his face again with her fingertips, tracing the line of his jaw, then
down his neck, resting her hand against his chest. Her fingers tweaked his
nipple, and he groaned aloud.

“You’re
really a very handsome young man,” she said. Her voice had changed. It was
husky, and when he dared to look into her eyes they had darkened. She slid a
hand lower and cupped his erection. “Would you like to make love to me?” she asked,
running her hand up and down the length of him.

He
could only nod.

“Then
come with me,” she said, and walked up the half flight of stairs in the
split-level home.

He
followed her into a cool, dark bedroom. “What about your husband?” he croaked.
He wanted her more than he’d ever wanted anything, but he didn’t relish being
beat up by an irate husband.

“He’s
out of town on deployment,” she murmured, stepping out of her shorts. She was
naked underneath. Her halter top soon followed, and she stood in front of him,
naked. Her pubic hair had been trimmed and he stared at it. He’d never seen
anything like that before, not that he had much experience with naked women.

“Know
what I was doing this morning while you were working outside?” She lay back on
the bed, watching him undress.

He
could care less what she’d been doing. All he could think about was what was
being offered and he wanted to get it before she changed her mind.

“I
was watching you and wondering what it would be like to make love to you.”

He
tore off his shorts and his erection sprang free.

“Oh,
come to mama,” she said, reaching for him. “I don’t imagine you want to wait
any longer, do you?”

He
thrust into her. Once, twice, and then he exploded like nothing he’d ever
experienced before. He lay there for a few moments, catching his breath, and
then raised his head. “I’m sorry” he said, and meant it. “That wasn’t much good
for you, was it?”

She
smiled. “No, but you show great promise. Next time will be better.” She rolled
out from under him and took his hand, guiding it to her innermost recesses. “In
the meantime I’ll show you a sure fire way to please a woman.”

And
she did. That afternoon and many more throughout that magical summer. She was
an inventive teacher and he was an eager student. By the time school started
again and her husband had returned from his posting, Bradley had acquired more
sexual experience than most men gain in a lifetime.

* * *

The
ferry shuddered as it moved away from the dock. Bradley opened his eyes,
disoriented for a moment. Then he remembered where he was. He supposed he
should go and get in line for some food. He didn’t mind the wait; it was
something to do during the crossing. Besides, he needed some energy and his
wits about him for the hectic pace of traffic on the mainland.

End of Excerpt

Fallen
Angel is available at Amazon.com:

http://www.amazon.com/dp/B006GEQ1AC