I Run to You (12 page)

Rafe’s palm felt warm and masculine. A little
moan of need and desperation escaped her lips .He lifted, watching
her face while; his hand inched closer to the juncture of his
thighs.

Brook bit hard on her lip, her heavy lids not
quite shielding her desire when she parted her legs a bit more.

“You’re beautiful.”

She released her lip and swallowed, husking,
“So are you. God, Rafe…I…”

The little smile he gave her was incredibly
sensual. His fingertips were easing under the damp lace, finding
the wet heat of her sex. He didn’t penetrate, he teased her, the
pad of his finger played there until her moans were rolling
together, overlapping, one over the other.

He glided the pad upwards in her slick heat
and abraded her swollen clit while, dipping his head, alternating
between suckling her nipples and nipping her lips, flicking his
tongue along the seam of her mouth.

It was too much.

Brook had no control. He was too good. The
storm just swept her up.

Rafe dipped his finger in her moist sex
again, gliding it up to rub and chafe her clit firmer. His
beautiful lips were wrapped around, and suckling her nipple,
harder. The heat seemed to contract, to draw, and then implode—
rushing through her head, to toe like white scorching fire... It
had her dizzily floating, flying, and sexually splintering in a
delicious way.

It decelerated into warm silken waves that
just kept flowing through her.

Brook turned instinctively toward him
sometime during the last ripples of her climax—vaguely aware of his
speaking Spanish, whispering, in husky tones, while he held her and
soothed her.

Eventually she mumbled, “That was selfish of
me.”

Rafe gently forced her head back, capturing
her gaze. “I promised myself I’d do that, a long time ago.”

“I want you.” Her hand moved down, skimming
over the hot erection straining the material of his trousers.

He groaned something, but rose slightly,
capturing her hand, moving it away. He next got himself up to a
sitting position on the edge, by her hip, Rafe rasped, “It’s time
for me to go, Cariño”

Brook took his soft kiss, and sat up too as
he got to his feet. He went to her bath and returned, looking as if
he had splashed cold water on his face. The edges of his hair were
wet. He had raked his hands through it.

“Walk me to the car?”

She grasped his hand to delay him by the
door. “You don’t have to go.”

“I do.” He kissed her and then met her gaze.
“We’ve just got started. You will regret doing anything more on a
first date. And I don’t want regret from you.”

“But—”

“I’ll live.” He laughed sexily and tugged her
hand to pull her into him, hugging her tightly, the both of them
embracing while he whispered in her ear, “I like your body, your
scent, the way you feel and move. I like your sweet, sweet,
breasts. I could feel when we danced what you were feeling. I like
that too. Feeling your tongue in my mouth—if you could have read my
wicked mind…”

She laughed, muffled.

He went on, “What I gave you was tame
compared to what I wanted to give you. Making love, mi amor, is
like a feast, we should savor each little nuance and flavor.”

She sighed and nuzzled his shoulder. “Someone
like you should give lessons to the rest of the men in the
world.”

He chuckled but murmured, “Sometimes raw,
intense sex is the only thing that will do. We have just gotten
started. Slow burning, feeling, tasting, touching, I like that.
Don’t you?”

“I’m a woman, aren’t I?”

He released her, taking her hand though.
“Come on, it’s time for me to leave.”

She walked him to the car then leaned down
when he rolled the window and cupped his face, kissing him.

His eyes were a little glassy when he started
the engine.

“Rafe. I—Damn— I feel selfish.”

“Don’t. I got a little of what I wanted. It
was really my mouth I wanted down there. Now, go in, before I pull
out.”

She muttered playfully, “You say that— and
leave.” But, Brook went in, watching his headlights through the
window after she had gone inside.

Leaning her temple against the pane, she
sighed but then smiled, happy—glad,—more than she could express,
that finally, she had answered one question—she definitely could
feel attraction, desire, and hunger, for another man.

Thank you God. She pulled away and headed for
the bath. Life would be normal. She was going to have a healthy
relationship with a man. She was completely over the past—and
Coy.

Chapter 6

Ashley met her, when Brook showed up for
work, the next day.

“Man.” Brook laughed after they hugged. “You
haven’t changed at all. How do you manage not to age?”

“Divorce.” Ashley laughed and handed her a
half apron. “I recommend it.”

“I haven’t gotten married yet, but I’ll keep
it in mind.”

Carrying her Starbucks espresso to the bar,
Brook and Ashley joked around while they set up for what was likely
to be a slow, weekday crowd. It was the weekends, Friday and
Saturday, mostly, when the place was packed.

Other than having a new hairstyle, the red
stuff now in a choppy chin length, Ashley Villers really hadn’t
changed much in seven years. She was still hyperactive, amusing—and
Brook got most of the local gossip from her without asking.

She said, after they finished and were
relaxing on stools, “So you and Rafe—finally?”

“Yeah. We had our first date last night.”

Ashley grinned. “Women will hate you. But I
am glad. I talked to Madeline yesterday.”

Brook groaned.

“Yeah. She told me about Coy coming by—all
that.”

“He’s in that family. I knew that, when I
came back.”

“And you’re older, worldly, and soooo over
him.” Ashley’s brows were raised.

Brook insisted, “Very, Completely.”

“Um.” Was all the red head said before she
changed the subject to some of the other Coburns. They talked until
Nick came in, and then gossiped with him too.

Brook was almost a head taller than Ashley
was. Today she had worn black slacks and matching tank, her most
comfortable shoes. Ashley had on a cute black skirt and blouse,
cowboy boots.

After a few customers came and went, Nick
started a conversation, asking Brook about the bars and clubs she’d
worked in—laughing at her re-told horror stories of the time she
served drinks wearing micro shorts and a tiny top—Brook did that a
whole week at that club, before she decided it wasn’t her thing.
There were too many places to be hired, and though the tips were
not as good, she at least was not mooning someone every time she
bent over.

Customers picked up at the Tavern around
noon, with the after lunch crowd. Brook tried not to see their
questions as being nosey. She answered them in a breezy way,
knowing though, that sometime over the years she had probably been
the main source of town gossip for many people. Ha. She was one of
those girls that went overseas, and got all wild with sex and
drugs, no doubt.

During the work hours, she interacted with
Nick and Ashley, wondering with perfectly normal curiosity if the
two were, or had been, involved. Nick was a handsome man, still
wore a close-cropped goatee, and had beautiful hazel eyes. Ashley
was one of those fireballs who was energetic and smiling all the
time.

Opposites.

But hey, sometimes—

It was impossible to guess, since their
working relationship was so good.

For all his humor, Nick still had a bit of
Wall Street conservative in him-that guardedness under an urbane
and witty facade. He did not flirt. He teased in a dry manner. Hard
to read. Ashley—was so upbeat it was hard to tell which was
flirting and which was her normal ebullience.

“You did all right, kid,” Nick told her at
the end of the shift.

“Kid? Gah, when are you guys going to stop
calling me that.”

“When you’re sixty—maybe.” Nick winked and
handed her the tips. “Not so good today, but you’ll rack up on
Friday.”

“I don’t need the money,” Brook said
honestly.

“I know. But you should take what you earn
graciously.” He grinned then leaned back against the bar, his arms
folded causally. “I don’t need this job either. But I enjoy
it.”

“You’re a natural.”

“You’re a lot like Madeline,” he observed.
“Growing into yourself, in a good way.”

“I’m flattered you think so.” She got her
purse. “She loves you guys.”

“It’s mutual,” Nick admitted and then waved
her to the door. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

Brook left, yawning. It was not a hard day,
but she had not slept until the wee hours.

She got home, showered, climbed into bed, and
fell in a deep sleep.

Rafe called the next morning as she headed to
work. He wanted her to come by and have dinner when she got
off.

“I’d love to.”

“We’ll eat in my office. You don’t have to go
home and change. I know you’ll be tired.”

“It’s just getting used to working again,”
she admitted.

“Heard anything from the Doc?”

“No. That reminds me though; I need to find
out if I do have a job there. I guess I’ll stop in there next
week.”

“You’d rather be doing that, wouldn’t
you?”

“Honestly, yes. But, it looks like it’s not
going to be what I thought it would. It may be closing sooner than
later.”

“That’s the rumor.”

“I’m here.” She pulled into the lot.

“See you this evening.”

She clicked off and got out, carrying another
coffee and starting another day at the Tavern. Truthfully, it was
almost too fun to be called work, given that she worked with Nick
and Ashley.

Getting into the groove of her day, Brook
began to memorize the regulars, their favorite drinks, talking more
easily with them.

She was having a nice, normal day—when
someone mentioned Karla.

Standing at the bar, she met Nick’s eyes as
he heard the two men talking about old Bill marrying the Boggs
girl. The words stripper and addict were thrown in there. Exotic
dancing was not a term this kind used. If there was a pole, you
were a stripper. She understood Karla had been busted once and it
made the local news. It was too damn bizarre to be hearing that. Of
all the things she’d felt about Karla, she would never have guessed
those would be her choices.

She served up the drinks, going back and
forth several times while the conversation went on. The gist of it
was, people thought old Bill was a fool. It appeared that Karla was
already spending his money on fancy clothes and cars—cars she drove
younger men around in.

Eventually, Brook would run into her.

Tense by the time the shift was over; Brook
was not very talkative as she shared a more informal meal with
Rafe, sitting at the leather sofa in his office. She picked at the
salad and sipped lemonade.

“You’re beat.” His hand smoothed back her
hair.

“I’m sorry.” She sat up and put the plate
down. “I’m lousy company.”

He kissed her leisurely, and then pulled her
back to laze against his shoulder. “You working this weekend?”

“Meeting at Renee’s, the farmhouse, with some
girls. Saturday morning, before Renee’s evening shift at the
Tavern.”

“Are you sure you’re up for it?”

“Yeah. I’m just acclimating.”

He laughed and held her awhile, then sat up.
“Go home and rest.”

She stood. “Sunday. You busy?”

“No.”

“Come by the house, noon?”

“Love to.” He walked her out the car. After
kissing her again Rafe murmured, “Don’t cook for me though. I’ll
bring something.”

“You afraid of my cooking?” She started the
engine.

“No.” He grinned, then tapped the door, “Call
me, whenever.”

“I will.”

Brook drove home feeling guilty. She had not
been very good company. She should not let Karla—or talk about
her—bother her. Nevertheless, they had once been like sisters. She
still could not believe where Karla’s life ended up. She did not
understand it. She did not understand Karla not making good choices
to stay in that precious boy’s life either.

Chapter 7

Coy dropped Levi off at school Friday and
went through the drive though—for another strong cup of coffee. He
had some things to do for his Uncle Mitch, picking up supplies for
the men working out at the old mill. Although Mitch’s contracting
business had slowed down, he had asked Coy when the concert hall
was finished, (And they were calling it The Old Mill,) because the
locals had for a hundred years—Mitch asked if he’d handle the
booking and marketing.

Coy agreed to.

He could do that and still take either job he
was offered, one broadcasting the local sports events, the other
teaching at the High School. For now though, he was the go-for, and
what he could not find in town, he’d ordered on line.

He got about that, filling the truck bed up
from several hardware and tool stores, before snapping the cover
down over them.

Pulling his sunglasses down over his eyes, he
was digging his keys out of his denims pocket when a new car swung
in across the street, at the post office. Coy knew when the engine
shut, the door opened, and that backless stiletto hit the
ground—that it was Karla.

She got out, smoothing down a too tight, too
short, green dress, so snug across her ass that he could see the
outline of her thong. He shook his head, intending to leave before
she spotted him. She had on sunglasses and her hair was dyed whiter
blond, curls piled up in some high puff and falling down her
back.

Having his door open, he glanced across,
watching her walk to the door, musing that her already large
breasts had grown a couple of sizes with implants that she was too
young to have needed.