Ugly Ducklings Finish First (13 page)

The thought made her shiver. “Wiley,
now
.”

“You are so utterly beautiful, Payton. There are no words...”

“Wiley.” She stroked a loving hand down the wall of his chest, past the drum-tightness of his abdomen to dip under the boxer-briefs to wrap around his white-hot, steely length. “You don’t need words with me.”

A tortured groan ripped from him as his head flung back in agonized pleasure. Like a drowning man reaching for a rope, he caught her hand before she could push him over the edge even as his body surged into her touch. “Payton...damn you,
don’t
.”

Her hips arched, inviting him. Enticing him. “I need you inside me.”

His resolve seemed to crumble at last. Speech no longer seemed necessary as he released her long enough to shed the remainder of his clothes and slide protection in place. And as he returned to ease down between her legs, she could only wonder how she would ever have the strength to let him go once they had become one.

Tears slipped from the corners of Payton’s eyes as he at last entered her, the fusion of their bodies miraculous. Sinuous. Fluid. They moved together as if they had been doing so for decades, centuries, eons. Beneath her hands she felt his muscles quivering, his breathing erratic. The power of pleasure built like a hurricane beneath the deceptively easy pace, and Payton reveled in it. She rose to meet him with every deep stroke, her legs twining around the backs of his as he buried his mouth in her throat. The pressure deep in her belly tightened to an excruciating point, and for a moment she wondered if she could die with pleasure.

The passion flowed from seeking to demanding, to frenzied desperation. Graceful moves became sharper, fiercer, as they chased the elusive pleasure. All at once it burst over Payton a moment before Wiley joined her, shattering their world as together, they realized the true meaning of completion.

Chapter Thirteen

Rhythm. There was always a rhythm to it—slow and easy, or hard and driving. It thrummed through Wiley’s blood as the sweat glistened on his skin and darkened his hair.

Man, it was good to be alive.

“I don’t trust that smile.”

Wiley grinned wider. “You shouldn’t.” Waiting for just the right moment, he dribbled the basketball from one hand to the other, feinted right then spun left, leaving Donovan in the dust as he went up for the slam. For a moment he hung on the rim and listened to the other man turn the air blue.

“Foul! Technical foul for hanging on the rim.”

“This is street ball, old man. You want stupid-ass rules like that, go watch an NBA game. Out here it’s war. What’s the score now?”

Donovan’s eyes were dark as he shot the ball at Wiley. “Fourteen-seven, ball hog.”

“I can’t help it if I’m good.” He fired a fifteen-foot jumper that would have been nothing but net if the high school’s outdoor courts actually had nets on their rims. “Make that great. There’s nothing on this earth you can do to stop me. I’m feeling lucky.”

“You’re disgustingly chipper today.” Not bothering to run after the ball when he was getting whipped so badly, Donovan took his time retrieving it. “I wonder why.”

“I ate my Wheaties. Hurry up, you old fart.”

“Watch it,” Donovan warned, dribbling the ball back as if he had all the time in the world. “If I were a betting man, I’d wager your good mood has something to do with what the local grapevine’s been buzzing about.”

“Yeah? What’s that?”

Donovan shot him a bounce pass. “Just that the good doctor spent the night at your place last night. So tell me—who slept on the couch?”

“Go to hell,” Wiley shot back, alarmed. “How does anyone know about that?”

“Patrick Mulligan’s kid has the evening paper route out your way and he spotted her car. The mailman saw it early this morning. Hell, I got word about it through my wife, who heard it from one of the day-care moms. I guess people put two and two together and came up with four.” Donovan paused when Wiley swore. “Is the math wrong?”

“That’s none of your business, or theirs.”

“Okay, okay. You’re right, you shouldn’t allow people who don’t matter to interfere in something like this. Including me.”

“You do matter.” Wiley angled a shot and grimaced when it clanged against the rim. “It’s just that what I feel for Payton...well, it’s different. Your shot.”

“About time.” Catching the ball, Donovan dribbled it in a slow, easy rhythm. “Different how?”

“I dunno.” Wiley squinted in the hot glare of the sun and refused to meet Donovan’s eyes. “It’s just different. Payton knows me as well as you do. I’ve always been able to be myself with her, even when we were in school. I never had to work at being the Coyote. She’s always accepted me as I am, even when I’m the worst frigging jerk that ever walked the earth. I like that.”

“Anyone would.” Donovan took a shot that used all the rim before dropping. “I guess you’ve never had a woman as a friend before. What’s the score?”

“Sixteen-nine. And you must have Alzheimer’s. I’ve had plenty of women friends.”

“No, you’ve had plenty of
women
. That’s why Payton is so different in your mind.” He bricked his next shot, then swore when Wiley swarmed all over it. “Take it from an old married man, pal. When a woman knows you from your worst side to your best and doesn’t run away screaming, everything’s different. She becomes a trusted friend. And if you take that friend to bed...well.” Donovan took a swipe at the ball and came up with it. “Any man who did that would be getting into some pretty deep water.”

For some reason, Wiley flashed back to the private, perfect harmony he’d witnessed between Alex and Trina Xavier. “That’s cool. I’m a good swimmer.”

“Then there’s nothing to worry about.”

“Worry?” Wiley forced a laugh. “Donovan, Payton and I are nowhere near as serious as this conversation. We’re just going to enjoy each other until she leaves for Houston.”

“Does she know that?”

“She’s the one who suggested it.” And the coldness of the arrangement rang hollowly through him. “I know what I’m doing.”

“Famous last words.” Spinning, Donovan made a left-handed peep shot against the weathered backboard. “Sixteen-eleven. I’m catching up.”

“In your dreams.”

“What about the possibility of Payton coming to Bitterthorn to practice medicine?” Donovan asked after he missed his next shot, only to have Wiley come away dribbling to reset. “Hopes are high now that you and she are together.”

“I wouldn’t hold my breath.” Wiley stepped back and sank a three-pointer. “She has a partnership in Houston, remember? Nineteen-eleven, hotshot.”

“Damn it. Well, maybe it’s for the best. If she stayed, things would become a lot more serious between you, which isn’t what either of you want. Right?”

“Right.” The automatic agreement sounded off to Wiley’s ears, though he wasn’t sure why. They’d both agreed complications were the one thing they wanted to avoid. But it wouldn’t be a complication if she stayed, really. Virtually everyone in town would be her patient, and the work would be exhausting, but he understood her well enough to know she’d revel in the challenge. He could see her wearing that solemn frown he found outrageously attractive as she came home full of stories about her day. They would share these stories as they made dinner, unwind in front of the fireplace, perhaps make love there...

“Nineteen-thirteen.”

Blank-eyed, Wiley looked around. “What?”

“Now I know how to beat you. Just mention Payton’s name and watch you zone out. Are we still playing, or what?”

Playing? The word echoed like a taunt in Wiley’s head, if only because it seemed to be an apt description when it came to summing up his life. “Yeah, we’re still playing. I was a little distracted.”

“Dude, you were off in dreamland. Thinking about what it would be like if she stayed?”

Wiley sighed and wished Donovan didn’t know him so well. “I have too much on my plate to even think about the possibility. Give me the ball, cheater.”

Donovan bounced it to him. “I suppose you do have a few things on your mind, at that. Have you had any more vandalism craziness?”

“Nope, and Sheriff Berry has been about as helpful as a box of rocks. I’m hopeful now that the reunion’s behind me, whoever I pissed off will calm down and go back to forgetting I exist.”

Donovan frowned, his dark eyes growing darker as he absorbed this. “Didn’t the Hulk-smash episode on all your windows happen after the reunion?”

“Yeah.” And that was the real fly in the ointment for his theory. “But I can’t ignore the fact that the vandalism came hand in hand with the invitation to the class reunion. What’s more, there haven’t been any more problems since my windows got smashed, so I have a feeling whoever was targeting me has already lost interest.” At least he could always hope.

“So you’re sure it was someone you went to school with?”

“I can’t be sure about any of it, but the sheriff thinks that’s the only thing that makes sense. Aside from the harassment starting up when the reunion invitations went out, the graffiti spray-painted on my house referred to my old high school nickname.” He sighed, dribbling low as his friend tried a moving screen. “Let’s face it, man. I wasn’t exactly a choirboy in my youth.”

“That’s putting it mildly. And Carlos’s case? How’s that coming along?”

“I’m meeting with a bank commissioner in San Antonio tomorrow.” With an illegal elbow flying, Wiley pushed Donovan back. “If nothing else, it’ll shed light on the banking here in town.”

“Are you wanting a full investigation into the foreclosure?”

“Foreclosures.” Seeing an opportunity, Wiley skirted around Donovan for a layup. “I still don’t know if I can get to the bottom of it, though. That’s twenty-one, by the way.”

Donovan swore before following Wiley back to where they’d parked their cars, wiping a forearm across his sweaty brow. “I saw Alex the other day. He promised he’d try and get Carlos to the Rodriguezes’ block party tonight, but he said not to get any hopes up.”

“I wonder if we’ll be as crotchety as Carlos is when we’re that old.” Wiley reached into the Corvette’s passenger’s side and came up with a minicooler filled with iced-down sports drinks. “How can anyone say no to a block party?”

“I know I can’t.” Donovan accepted a bottle and drained nearly half of it in a few swallows. “Leslie Ann wanted to know if you’re bringing Payton.”

“Absolutely.”

“She’s a good sport, driving in all the way from San Antonio.”

“Actually, Payton’s going to be staying at my place for the rest of her time here.”

Donovan went still. “She’s staying with you?”

“She went into San Antonio to get her things, which is why I’m killing time here.” Wiley leaned back against the car and eyed his friend. “Come on, Donovan. Don’t go small-town on me now.”

“Dumbass, it’s not that. Are you sure bringing her into your home is the safest thing to do, considering what’s been going on in your life lately?”

“We talked about that.” Wiley’s brows drew together. The fact was, he wasn’t sure it was the right thing to do. But when he’d brought up his reservations and saw Payton’s immediate uncertainty, he knew she suspected it was nothing more than an excuse to keep her away. But with the reunion now behind them and no further signs of vandalism appearing, he’d caved in to the need to have her near. “She only has a few days left in this part of Texas, and we want to spend as much of that time together as we can. And when we’re not together, Payton plans on spending time with her mother.”

“I’m sure Deborah will be happy about that.” But Donovan’s expression remained somber as he searched Wiley’s face. “I’ve never known you to bring a woman into your home, and under these circumstances... Payton can’t hurt you, can she, Wiley?”

“No way.” He tried to laugh off the suggestion, but even he could hear the strain.

* * *

To put it mildly, Payton decided, living in another person’s house was a new experience. In fact, everything about the past twenty-four hours fell into that category. Having her mind blown by spectacular, screaming-the-walls-down sex topped the list, right along with craving it again—and again—until she lost basic motor function. Maybe having sex with the Coyote turned normal women into nymphomaniacs.

It certainly had with her.

Turning nympho had to be the reason why she’d been so insanely thrilled when Wiley gave her a house key and invited her to think of his place as her own. After all, moving in with him hadn’t been her intention when she finally gave in to her desire. She’d just wanted to have a short-term affair. A fling, some would say. Ninety-six hours longer than a one-night stand.

Payton grimaced. Ugh. She should have stopped at fling.

After unpacking, she found herself wandering to the living room to study Wiley’s graduation portrait again. With a smile like that, it was no wonder she’d fallen for him. No, she corrected, snapping her head to the side to dodge the errant thought. She hadn’t
fallen
. Falling in love with the wrong kind of man was totally unacceptable. Her parents were proof that loving the wrong person could turn love into a soul-killing weapon. No way was she stupid enough to follow in their miserable footsteps. What she felt was lust. Pure, healthy lust.

How else was a born-again nymphomaniac supposed to feel?

A rattle at the front door had her heading down the hall. For a moment she and Wiley stared at each other before he pocketed his keys, closing the door behind him.

“This is so weird.” Wiley wandered up the hall to where she stood, hauling a battered gym bag off his shoulder as he went. “I have the strongest desire to say ‘honey, I’m home.’”

Her tension evaporated as she eased into his arms with a laugh. “Tell me about it. I never imagined I’d feel so awkward.”

“We’ll get used to it.”

“It’d be better if we didn’t.” Payton tried to say it lightly, but she could feel her smile turn brittle. To fight off the gloom, she brought her lips to within a breath of his. “Tell me, Counselor. Do you always dress in shorts and a San Antonio Spurs jersey for court?”

“Sure. The basketball court.” As though he couldn’t resist her with their bodies so close, he dropped his mouth to the line of her jaw. “I beat Donovan at a game of one-on-one.”

“Basketball?” Payton’s eyes fluttered closed at the warm suckling of his mouth, and she nearly lost her train of thought. “Weren’t you in court today?”

“The hearing I had scheduled was postponed until Monday.”

Monday. She would be gone by then, back to Houston. Back to her life.

Out of his.

Blindly Payton brought their mouths together, crushing the odd spurt of panic with a kiss. His response was immediate, and a moan of pleasure sighed out of her as his tongue invaded her mouth. The seduction behind the kiss scoured away every thought but him, and it nearly broke her in two when he tore his mouth away long enough for him to delve into the bag he’d dropped at their feet. He came up with his wallet and a condom before he rose and pressed her up against the wall. His mouth found hers once more even as her feet left the floor, his arms tightened around her in a hold that made her feel both cherished and devoured. His mouth never left hers as he positioned his arms under her hips while the crush of his body pushed her legs apart.

“I missed you.” The growing hardness in his shorts surged against the apex of her thighs. She gasped out loud as his hips thrust as if he were already gloved inside her, and her hidden cleft became hot and wet with need. “How can I miss you so much when I only left you hours ago?”

The memory of their morning loving, combined with the blatant mating pulse of his hips, sparked a voluptuous unfurling deep inside her. Payton wrapped her legs around his waist, her hands biting into his tensed shoulders for balance. “I want you.” Exquisite sensations poured into every cell like a narcotic, drugging her to everything but the burning need for sensual satiation. “I want you, Wiley. Now.”

A feral growl erupted from Wiley as her words seemed to push him from the razor’s edge of everything that was civilized. Triumph mingled with desperation as he curled his fingers on the neckline of her simple white linen dress and yanked. The screech of fabric tearing cut through the silence as he exposed a pale, perfect breast veiled with ivory lace. Like a starving man he took it into his mouth, material and all, abrading the point with teeth and tongue in the same rhythm of his thrusting hips.