Wild Ride: A Changing Gears Novel (8 page)

“After you’re finished with Eric,” she said to her cousin, come on back and find me. We’ll talk.” The antiques shop was only around the corner. A five-minute walk at most.

Gillian took a deep breath, nodded, and followed Eric.

“You didn’t tell me your cousin was a babe,” Duncan said as he placed a hand at the small of her back and urged her to her office.

“I’ll introduce you next time,” she said, speeding her pace to evade the warm hand on her spine. “She’s newly single.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I don’t want to sleep with her. I want to sleep with you. But looks run in your family.”

They got to her office before she could think of a retort that conveyed all she wanted it to: One, I’m never going to sleep with you; two, I don’t look a bit like my cousin; and three, don’t ever treat me like we’re intimate in front of people I know. Since nothing sufficiently comprehensive and crushing sprang to mind, she ignored his remark completely.

He set the bulging brown paper sack on her desk. “There’s your lunch.”

“That was very—”

“Nice of me, I know.”

“Actually, I was going to say, interfering. Officious, even.”

“Nonsense. I did it for my own purposes. I’m a very athletic lover. You’ll need your strength if you’re going to keep up.”

In spite of the warmth that stole through her, she wanted to smack him. “I’m not—” She closed her lips hard before going on, recalling what had happened the last time she’d claimed she wouldn’t be sleeping with him

Humor danced along with the sexual allure in his eyes. “You’re learning.” He took the seat opposite her desk and reached for the bag.

“Thanks,” she snapped, “but I can feed myself.”

“My lunch is in there, too.”

She gaped at him, and then at the window that overlooked the library. “You can’t eat in here.”

“Why not?”

“People will see us. It will give them more to talk about than the dead guy.”

He shrugged, leaned over and closed the blinds.

“Would you stop that? Now they’ll think I’m—we’re–” She snapped the blinds open and rolled them up, while Duncan opened the paper sack and retrieved two cans of juice. Orange for him. Apple for her. She would have chosen apple—if anyone had asked.

He handed her a submarine sandwich wrapped in waxed paper. “I got you ham and cheese,” he said, taking out a second sandwich, “but there’s turkey if you prefer.”

She wanted to grab the turkey, but the truth was she did prefer ham and cheese. She bit into it, chewed and swallowed. “There’s no mustard in this sandwich,” she said.

He stopped chewing. “You wanted mustard?”

“No. I hate mustard. But you don’t know that!”

“Beauty of a small town,” he said, sitting back and looking smug. “I asked Elda what you usually have.”

Of course he had. He’d wandered across the street to gossip central and ordered her lunch, no doubt in a loud, booming voice.

She’d have poked him in the eye with her sandwich, but she was too hungry.

“Your cousin looks pretty good for a junkie,” he said as he munched.
She felt as though she’d been kicked. “How did you know she’s—”

For a second he stopped mid-chew and stared at her. “Sorry. Like I said, it’s a small town.”

So, he’d talked more than book club with the sisters. Of course, she knew that Gill was often the subject of gossip, but she’d have protected her self-destructive cousin from strangers knowing if she could have.

“Are you worried addiction runs in the family?” she asked him, though why she should care for his opinion, she had no idea.

“Don’t be an idiot or you won’t get dessert.”

She groaned. “Don’t tell me Elda made her white chocolate and macadamia nut cookies today?”

“She did.”

“I am almost ready to forgive you for scribbling on one of my library books.”

He snorted. “I paid for that book three times over. If you’ve forgiven me, does this mean I can bring pens into the library now?”

“I’m grateful, but not that grateful.” He’d thought she was joking when she confiscated his pens on arrival this morning.

After a fierce argument, she let him keep a single pencil, figuring she could always erase pencil scribbles.

“Why don’t I come over tonight?” he said as she moaned with pleasure halfway into her first bite of cookie.

“You think you could compete with white chocolate macadamia nut cookies?”

“I’m such an egotist.”

Since that was pretty much her assessment of his character, she kept her mouth shut, enjoyed her cookie, and tried to convince herself it was better than sex.

Her quietly blissful chewing was interrupted by Gillian, who halted in her office doorway. “Oh, I’m sorry. You’re—”

“I was about to leave,” Duncan said, rising out of the single chair as Gillian entered the small office. He held the back of the chair and motioned Gill into it like a maitre d’ at a fancy restaurant.

“Want a cookie?” Alex said.

“Elda’s white chocolate and macadamia nut?” A nod, a shared glance of ecstasy, and the two were munching happily.

“So, how are you doing?” Alex asked around a mouthful.

“Okay. Sorry I lost it on the phone the other night.” When Gill was like this, sensible and in control, Alex remembered how much she liked her. She only wished she were like this more often.

“It’s okay. I know you need someone to talk to sometimes.”

Her cousin nodded and flipped her hair over her shoulder. It caught the light and gleamed like rich honey.

“I’m pretty busy today. I can’t chat for long.”

Gill pulled in a full breath and straightened her spine. “I want to help.”

“Okay. Help with what?” She was hoping she’d help with the garden in the old Victorian. Gillian had always had a flair for growing things and their grandmother’s pride and joy garden was an overgrown mess.

Alex had a vague feeling that there were things you were supposed to do for the garden in the fall. She couldn’t remember, but Gill had always been good with plants.

“Here in the library. I want to volunteer.”

Alex felt as though she’d developed a sudden case of tinnitus. She knew it was Gill’s announcement that had the Westminster chimes ringing inside her ears, only they were hideously out of tune. About as discordant as her library would be if an addict starting messing with the books.

“I’m, well, I—”

“Please, Alex. I need to do something now I’m alone. I can’t sit in the house all day—I’ll go crazy.”

“But you never even come into the library to take out a book. Why do you want to volunteer here?”

The minute the words left her mouth the answer came to her. Of course, she wanted to be close to Eric. Her needy, clinging cousin wanted to plant her kudzu vine roots in the area where her ex worked now that he’d hacked himself free on the home front.

Gillian blushed, a telling sign. “I tried to volunteer with Meals on Wheels and Reading to the Blind. They both turned me down. I’m going to have to get a job, and no one will ever hire me if I can’t prove I’m a reliable volunteer.”

Are you? Alex wanted to say, but didn’t. Her shoulders felt tight as she thought for a minute. There was no way she could tell Gill she didn’t have need for volunteers, not with the poster on the wall appealing for them.
Eric was going to have a cow.

But Gill needed a few extra chances, and at least at the library Alex could keep an eye on her cousin. “All right. I can give you a few hours a week. But it won’t be glamorous. You’ll start by cleaning the baby board books—getting the dried arrowroot cookie and baby body fluids off. If you still want to be a volunteer after you’ve done that, we’ll talk.”

“Great,” Gillian beamed as though she’d just been offered the chairmanship of Microsoft. “When do I start?”

“Tomorrow,” Alex said, hoping to hell she was doing the right thing.

Alex paced her apartment almost tripping as she tried to undress and pace at the same time. She wished for a moment that she smoked, for the distraction.

She also wished the library weren’t a public building. Day after day of going to work—watching Duncan Forbes arrive on the dot of nine, sometimes already standing outside waiting when she opened the doors, was wearing on her nerves.

If only he’d be obnoxious, or deface a few more books, she could keep him out. But after that first day, Duncan Forbes was the model library patron. If you discounted the way he kept undressing her with his eyes, taunting her constantly without ever saying a word. And when he spoke, he made the simplest declarative sentence sound like a come-on.

Since he was always her first customer, he had his choice of the limited seating and he chose the table and chairs with the best view of her office and the book counter.

No wonder she was thinking about him so much—the man was forever shoving himself within her field of vision. She had to do something about him. But what?

If he was a creepy stalker, she’d get rid of him. But the man surrounded himself with books and his laptop. He’d lose himself for hours in research and there was a rhythm to the tapping on his keyboard that she was beginning to recognize. Halting spurts meant he was taking notes, or finding his way. Then the rhythm would change and she could tell he was in the flow of writing.

In her time here as librarian she was fairly certain nothing more serious than a term paper had been composed, so it was oddly exciting to know that a professor was writing a scholarly book in the Swiftcurrent public library. When she was in charity with him, she considered suggesting a book launch party when it was published.

Did he know how much more he turned her on when he was all bookish and scholarly than when he was hitting on her?

If she didn’t feel the prickle of attraction every time their gazes met, she wouldn’t mind so much; but she did—an attraction so hot she was amazed the desiccated pages of older library books didn’t burst into flame. Sometimes he disappeared for a few hours at a time. She had no idea where he went, but she knew instinctively when he left, and she felt the moment he returned. It was driving her nuts.

He’d invaded her library, her book club—she still gritted her teeth when she recalled how he’d charmed all the women in the club as though they were his own personal harem, talking about Thomas Cromwell as though he’d personally known the man who’d been at Henry VIII’s court. And making incisive, intelligent comments that definitely lifted the level of the book club discussion.

Worse, he invaded her dreams, so she woke each day increasingly cranky and sexually unfulfilled.

His words taunted her as much as his presence. When he wasn’t outright telling her she’d soon be sleeping with him, his glances were sending the message subliminally. She’d thought Gillian might give his thoughts a new direction, but, apart from a cheerful hello to her newest volunteer, he hadn’t shifted an iota of his attention from Alex.

And Gillian was another reason she was pacing. She’d volunteered twice, and done fine. Better than fine. She’d cleaned the gross baby books, then dusted the books without complaint and without messing anything up. She’d helped out at toddler story time and seemed to enjoy it, but Alex wasted so much of her attention checking up on her cousin that she got even less done when her new volunteer was around.

Between worrying about Gillian, wishing the team of detectives could solve the murder, and feeling as though her clothes were being peeled off every time Duncan glanced her way, she was in desperate need of a little tension release.

The last thing Duncan Forbes had said today when he left the library was, “Call me.”

She snorted in the quiet of her apartment. As if.

Except that she really, really wanted to.

Swiftcurrent had a lot to recommend it. It was safe, quiet, clean, and neighbors looked out for each other. It was close to recreation—there was fishing, river kayaking, hiking, climbing at her doorstep and only a couple of hours’ drive had her at the spectacular Oregon coastline. She was also close enough to Portland that she could shop, get her hair cut, have her city fix any time she felt like it.

But one huge drawback to Swiftcurrent, and the main reason she was planning to leave, was its lack of interesting single men. Apart from Tom Perkins, who was a nice man but not her type, there really wasn’t anyone around her age and decent who wasn’t already married.

That had to be why Duncan Forbes was getting to her.

She didn’t even like him all that much. Even when he was doing something nice for her, like bringing her lunch the day she was too busy to leave, there was an accompanying attitude, as though it were all part of some grand seduction, that drove her crazy.

But when he wasn’t irritating the hell out of her, he was attracting her with his combination of rugged outdoor pirate looks and the studious concentration he exhibited when he was tapping away on his computer, checking something on the internet, reading, or making notes. Somehow, he’d become a part of her life in almost every way but the one she most wanted.

What if she simply did what he’d challenged her to do? Called him on his cell and suggested — what? A movie? There was one movie theater in town which showed two new films a month. New being the biggest stretch of a word she’d ever seen. The film currently playing had won the Oscar for best picture last year.

Dinner? There was the steak house and one gourmet place in a country inn half an hour outside town. That was it. Besides, she didn’t want to contribute to the gossip in Katie’s Kut ‘n’ Kurl, the grocery store, or Elda’s Country Café. She probably generated enough gossip without doing anything; Lord help her if she actually gave the town gossips fodder.

She finished undressing and jumped in the shower, noting how sensitive her skin felt under the cascading water, her nipples pebbled, desperate for any action at all, even the water sluicing over them. How pathetic.

She might as well face the truth. She didn’t want to see outdated movies or eat restaurant meals. She could do those things any day with a number of women friends.

She wanted sex.

With Duncan Forbes.

And She wanted it now.

Once she was out of the shower and wrapped in her terry cloth robe, she’d made her decision. Men like Duncan Forbes didn’t come to Swiftcurrent every day. Passing him up would be like not ordering the latest reference books for the library—and that was practically a crime.

She picked up the phone, recalling his earlier comment that she’d feel less slutty if she dated him first. The gorgeous truth was she could eat a meal with the man, go home alone and be assumed to be having an affair; or she could skip the meal, jump his sexy bones and, unless he blabbed, no one in town would know. Keeping a secret in Swiftcurrent took cunning and guile, but she’d been doing it one way or another since she was sixteen.

A small smile curled her lips. She’d trade battered oysters and coy glances for orgasms and secrecy any day.

Since his card was sitting on her desk beside the phone, it took her no time to dial his cell number. He answered on the second ring, businesslike and clipped. “Forbes.”

“Hello. It’s Alexandra Forrest.”

“Alex?” His tone changed with gratifying speed to unbusinesslike and sexy.

She rolled her gaze. “Yes, Alex.”

There was a short pause as she tried to work out what she wanted to say. In the background she heard traffic noises. He must be in his car.

He took care of the awkward pause by saying, “Are you taking me up on my offer to take you to dinner?”

She drew a deep breath and felt the oxygen pump to every erogenous zone in her body. “No. I’m taking you up on your offer for sex.”

The second pause was a lot longer than the first and she enjoyed every nanosecond of his obvious shock. But he rallied fast. “Great. When?”

Alex was a great believer that there’s no time like the present. “How about now?”

“I’ll be there in sixty seconds.”

“Sixty seconds?” There was a good five miles between her place and the cottage he was renting. Unless he had super-natural powers. She heard a truck go by on the street outside her place and then heard its faint echo from the phone clasped to her ear.

It was her turn for shock. She strode to the window, snapped open her California shutters, and stared out at the street. Sure enough, the beige rental that spent so many hours in the Switfcurrent library parking lot was at this moment parked across the street from her apartment and Duncan Forbes was sitting inside it with his phone to his ear.

He glanced up and even across a road and through two windows the force of his gaze sizzled her where she stood. “What are you doing there?”

“Coming to see you.”

“What a coincidence,” she said faintly, but he’d already disconnected.

Now that he was on his way, she was less sure about her great idea. Sex with Duncan Forbes? What if it was awful? She’d have a terrible time giving him the brush-off if he insisted on showing up at the library every day.

She paced once more, too wired to care she was in her robe, her hair a wet mop brushed back from her face.

A knock sounded on the door and reflexively she checked her watch. Fifty-four seconds.

She made him wait another fifty-four while she dashed to the bathroom, dragged a comb through her hair and applied lip gloss and a tiny dab of perfume behind her ears. Then she answered the door.

He looked more gorgeous than ever with the carnal gleam in his eye and a certain energy pulsing around him that had her response system on full alert. “Is this a social call?”

“No. Business,” he said, stepping inside.

Her brows rose. “What kind of business do we have together?”

“Unfinished business.” And he pulled her to him and kissed her.

With a little moan, she let go, let her head flop on his shoulder, her lips part, and her body close in on what it had craved since the first moment she’d caught him looking up her skirt, both boyishly disconcerted and appreciatively grown up.

And every minute they’d spent together, between then and now, she realized, had been a kind of mental foreplay. They’d been toying with each other at the library each day, swapping scorching gazes, the ions of the air around them so charged she was amazed her pores didn’t steam.

“I have wanted you since the first second I saw you,” he said, echoing what she’d been thinking.

“Me, too,” she finally admitted.

After two weeks of foreplay, she was as aroused as she’d ever been. Her body shot from zero to incendiary the instant he touched her. He pulled the robe’s tie with a quick jerk and she moaned, deep in her throat.

His hands plunged beneath, cupping her breasts, which showed their gratitude for the attention by hardening immediately, the sweet ache spreading. Her nipples were almost painfully pinched by desire and as he touched and stroked them, they grew even more sensitized, sending darts of excitement everywhere.

He never stopped kissing her, his mouth hungry on hers, his tongue demanding a response which she eagerly gave. She was one open garment away from naked. He wore far too many clothes. She could help him solve that problem, which she did by attacking the buttons on one of his endless creased, natural-fiber shirts.

The linen, or hemp or whatever it was, radiated heat from his body as she unbuttoned him with urgent haste. He was still way ahead of her. She’d barely revealed his belly, hardly taken in the sight of a nicely muscled, satisfyingly hairy chest, when she felt a hand slide down her belly and between her legs.

“No, wait,” she gasped, even as she slipped her feet wider apart to give him easier access.

“You’re so wet,” he murmured against her lips.

Oh, and she was going to get a whole lot wetter, and fast, if he kept touching her like that.

Her hands were trembling so badly she fumbled the last few buttons, her whole attention focused on the sensation of his spread fingers sliding back and forth across her lips, so poutily eager they were practically kissing him back. She felt them swell and grow heavy, as he used two fingers to massage the outer lips and with a lighter touch, stroked her clit with his middle finger.

She was going to come so fast he’d think she was starving for a man. Which would be the absolute truth, but a woman had her pride.

But what was pride compared to the orgasm she felt building inside her like a tsunami?

The force of the wave seemed to start in her toes, travel up through her feet, her ankles, calves and thighs. Completely losing coordination, she ripped the final button, pulling him against her so their chests rubbed.

She was trembling all over, trembling so badly she couldn’t tell him, couldn’t stop the wave that built, crested, and seemed to hold her aloft, timeless, motionless, perched on the edge. In the distance she heard panting and tiny whimpers and knew they came from her mouth.

“Let go,” he said, his voice low and rough in her ear. “I’ll catch you.”

She might have still hung on but the sneaky devil brought his other hand into play, thrusting two fingers inside her even as he picked up the pace with the rubbing hand.

Alex had never fainted in her life, but she felt close to it now. There wasn’t enough oxygen in her system to supply her overworked lungs, her pounding heart, and her engorged clit.

He pushed inside her and stroked her at the same time and she cried out as the wave broke and literally knocked her off her feet.

He must have quick reflexes and great coordination, for she’d hardly begun to sag when he’d shifted, throwing one arm around her back and the other underneath her collapsing knees.

“I’ve got you,” he assured her as he hefted her into his arms as though she weighed no more than the rag doll she was currently imitating.

She felt wonderful—weightless, drowsy, and bobbing along on a warm ocean current. When she came back to herself, she realized she actually was bobbing. He was walking with her in his arms and his destination was her bedroom.