World Enough and Time (8 page)

“Wouldn’t most people’s normal patterns change if they’re confessing to a crime or writing a suicide note?” I asked. “I mean, I would think stress changes the way people think and speak.”

“Sure,” he said. “But there are indicators that it’s someone else’s speech pattern. Like, the order of certain words. Say if someone usually says ‘then we’, but their confession is full of ‘we then’. It’s subtle, but enough to raise questions.”

“Wow, I’ve never heard of that. Sounds like an interesting job.”

“I like to think so.” He shrugged. “It’s probably excruciatingly boring to some people. I find it fascinating.”

“I can see why,” I said. “I didn’t realize that field even existed.”

“Neither did I, until a few years ago,” he said. “I was asking an advisor about majors and all of that, and said that I was interested in linguistics, but didn’t know what the hell I’d ever do with it. He gave me some information about forensic linguistics, and I never looked back.” Connor took a drink. “So, as long as we’re talking about careers, what made you decide to train horses for a living?”

I shrugged. “I grew up around them. My family has a cattle ranch outside of Cheyenne, and horses were just part of the business. Figured I’d just keep doing the cattle thing, but a friend got me into jumping, and then another got me into dressage.”

He rested his elbows in front of him and folded his hands under his chin. “Now, forgive my ignorance, but what exactly
is
dressage?”

I laughed. “If I try to explain it, we’ll be here all night.”

“Are you suggesting I’m unintelligent?” He put a hand to his chest in mock offense.

“Not at all,” I said. “It’s just that hard to explain unless you know a thing or two about horses.”

“Which I definitely do
not
. Just, you know, in layman’s terms.”

I turned my nose up and sniffed haughtily. “Dressage people are
above
‘layman’s terms’, Mr. Graham.”

He chuckled and rolled his eyes. “Dear God, it’s one of those sports, isn’t it? The snobbiest of the snobs?”

Nodding, I laughed. “Yeah, basically. But at least you called it a sport, so I’ll forgive you.”

“Well, it’s in the Olympics, isn’t it?” he said. “I do believe being a sport is a requirement for that.”

“You’d be amazed at how many people don’t think it’s a sport, since they think the horse does all the work.”

“I’ve wondered about that, to be honest with you.” He grinned. “So I assume you’re going to tell me that’s not the case?”

“Most definitely not,” I said. “I use everything when I ride. Legs, abs, butt—”

“Explains a lot.” He winked and picked up his drink.

I laughed. “Yeah, so, the horse definitely doesn’t do all the work.”

“Okay, so it’s definitely a sport, then,” he said. “But, what is it, exactly?”

I pursed my lips, then took a breath. “Well, the name originates from a French word meaning ‘training’. It's kind of like figure skating or gymnastics or ballet; the horse and rider learn patterns and movements that become sequentially harder as you move up the levels.”

“And the purpose of the patterns and movements?”

“To demonstrate that horse and rider are working together, basically,” I said. “Like dance partners. As if they’re thinking with one mind instead of one responding to the other’s cues.”

“I suppose that’s a bit more complicated with an animal than another human?”

I laughed. “I don’t know. Sometimes I think it’s easier to get on the same page with a horse than most humans.”

He chuckled. “For some reason, I don’t doubt that at all. So how many levels are there?”

“You start with Training Level, which is relatively simple, then there’s First through Fourth. After that, you move into the upper levels like Prix St. George, Intermediaire, and Grand Prix. Grand Prix is where you start seeing Olympic-level competitors.”

“So where are you, as far as a level?”

“Depends on the horse,” I said. “I’m working with a few at Training Level, a few at some of the mid-levels. I’ve competed as high as Prix St. George, and I’ve got one now that’s getting ready to move into that level.”

“Sounds like it might be fun to watch.”

“I’d suggest coming to a show if I didn’t think it would bore you to tears,” I said.

“Actually, it sounds kind of interesting. If you don’t mind my showing up, I might just take you up on that.”

“Your funeral,” I said. “Two weeks from now, I’ll be up on Whidbey Island for a few days. I know it’s a bit of a drive, plus the ferry ride, but—”

“I’d love to.”

“Don’t blame me if you’re bored,” I laughed. “I can usually drag a guy to one show, but after that, he’d sooner chew off his own arm.”

He grinned. “Well, assuming you’ll be dressed the way the dressage riders dress at the Olympics…”

“You’ve watched it?”

“I’ve caught it a few times, tried to figure out just what the hell it was,” he said. “But I certainly noticed those outfits.”

“Filthy man,” I said.

Another grin. “Isn’t that why you’re out with me?”

“Damn right.” Then I paused. Awkward silence threatened to set in, and I remembered the unanswered questions lurking in the back of my mind. “Speaking of which…”

His eyebrows jumped. “Hmm?”

“Okay, so, if you’re leaving in a few months, that means this…” Gesturing back and forth at the two of us, I trailed off, not quite sure how to put it into words.

“Could get a little complicated.”

I nodded. “So it’s probably something temporary. Which is fine for me. I mean, you’re moving, and I’m still fresh out of another relationship.”

“As am I.” He paused. “In all honesty, I’m perfectly okay with doing this and knowing it’s just a short term thing.”

“I don’t have a problem with it,” I said. “As long as we’re on the same page. Same expectations.”

“Which boils down to going out, having fun, and having a lot of sex, right?”

I laughed. “Exactly.”

He smiled. “Well, I’m okay with that arrangement if you are.”

“I’m definitely not complaining about it.” I leaned forward and rested my forearms on the table. “So, I guess if it’s just a short term thing, then maybe we should use the time we have and get in as much as possible.”

The smile became a delicious grin. “You know, I love the way you think.” Then he looked past me and gestured to get someone’s attention. “Check, please.”

Chapter Ten

Connor’s apartment was closer than mine, so we went there. When he got out of the Jeep, though, he cursed under his breath.

“What’s wrong?” I asked, closing the Jeep door with my hip as I pulled my purse onto my shoulder.

“Roommate’s home.” He nodded toward another parking space. “I thought he was out tonight.”

“Should we go to my place, then?”

“You think I can wait that long?” He smiled and put his arms around me. “We’ll just have to be quiet.” His kiss was gentle, but more than enough to make my pulse race.

“I think you’re seriously overestimating my ability to stay quiet in bed with you.”

“You’ll just have to try.”

His stubble brushed my chin, and I shivered. “Maybe you’ll have to keep my mouth occupied then.”

He laughed softly. “Oh, I will.” He kissed me, teasing my tongue with the tip of his. Then he broke the kiss and whispered, “Come on, let’s go.”

Upstairs, after he’d let us into his apartment, the tinny sounds of televised voices came from down the hall. When we stepped into the living room, two guys sitting on the couch looked up from watching a movie.

One lifted his arm off the other’s shoulders and stood. “Oh, hey, Connor. Didn’t realize you were going to be home tonight.” He extended his hand to me. “You must be Dani.”

“I am.” I shook his hand.

“This is Evan, my roommate,” Connor said. He gestured past Evan and added, “And that’s Robin.” The guy still sitting on the couch offered a wave and I smiled back.

Evan looked at me again, stroking his chin with his thumb and forefinger, his brow creased as if he was deep in thought. “So
you’re
Dani, then. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

I eyed Connor. “Have you been talking badly about me?”

Connor pursed his lips and inclined his head slightly. “Define ‘badly’.”

Putting a hand over his mouth, Evan widened his eyes in mock horror. “Oops, I wasn’t supposed to say anything, was I?”

“Anything about what?” I tried not to laugh.

“Oh, wait,” Evan said. “Maybe she wasn’t the one you told me about.”

Connor rolled his eyes. “Yeah, okay—”

“I mean, she doesn’t look like the type to wear a strap-on—”

“Connor Graham!” I smacked him playfully. “You
told
him about that?”

Connor glared at both of us, then rolled his eyes again. He tugged at my arm, trying to lead me out of the living room. “All right, you, I don’t want him filling your head with dirty thoughts.”

“No more than you already—”

He clapped a hand over my mouth. “And that’s enough out of you.” Pulling me down the hall, he said, “Good night, Evan, Robin.”

“Good night, you two,” Evan called after us, chuckling on his way back to the couch to rejoin Robin.

I laughed against Connor’s hand as he half-dragged me down the hall. In the bedroom, he released me, and I feigned innocence as I said, “But I was having fun talking to him.”

“Yes, I know you were.” He put his hands on my waist and kissed me. “Entirely too much fun.”

“You just want to be the one filling my head with dirty thoughts, don’t you?”

“You’re damn right I do.” He put his arms around me and kissed the side of my neck. “Actually, I’d rather act out those dirty thoughts.”

“Hmm, but then I might not be able to be quiet.”

“I’ll make sure you stay quiet.” Before I could respond, he kissed me full-on. As soon as he did, need replaced playfulness. Enough bantering. We both knew what we wanted.

Moving slowly across the room to his bed, we left a trail of shoes and clothing behind us. He tried my bra strap. Tried again. He cursed in between kisses, so I reached back and unsnapped it with ease. Once it was loose, he slid it down my arms and dropped it aside. Then he cupped my breast, running the pad of his thumb back and forth across my nipple. When I released a soft moan, his kiss deepened. Intensified. A hand on the back of my neck held me close to him, but I wasn’t going anywhere, not when he kissed me like that.

A low growl emerged from his throat, vibrating against my lips, and he pulled me even closer. This long, desperate kiss kept us from making more than the softest of sounds, but it was self-defeating: The more we kissed like this, the more aroused we became, and the less either of us would be able to stay quiet.

Breaking that kiss didn’t help, especially not when Connor leaned me up against the bed and pressed his cock into my hip. He made matters worse when he gathered my hair in one hand and swept it over my shoulder while he kissed the other side of my neck. His hand stroked my hair once before continuing down to my chest and there it paused to tease my nipple again.

Our eyes met, and his darted toward the bed, then back to mine. No words were needed. We got into bed and quickly picked up where we’d left off.

Though he kissed and touched me just the same as he had a moment ago, I was coming unglued. We weren’t just fooling around and teasing each other. We were in his bed. All he had to do now was put on a condom. Then I could have him, and I could find out just how difficult it would be to stay quiet with him deep inside me.

Connor wasn’t in any hurry, though. As soon as his hand left my breast, starting a slow, gentle downward motion, I knew what he had in mind, and I could barely breathe. His fingers crested my thigh, then slipped between my legs, gently parting them. Two fingers slid inside me and he pressed the heel of his hand against my clit, circling gently with each slow, beckoning stroke.

“Jesus, Connor…” I sucked in a breath. “That’s—”

“Shh,” he whispered, kissing the underside of my jaw while his fingers continued teasing me.

“I can’t stay quiet when you’re doing that.”

“Do you want me to stop?”

Yes. Wait, no. Don’t… I… I can’t think when you breathe on me like that… and touch me like that… and…

He grinned against my neck. “Just tell me to stop and I will.”

“Don’t you dare.”

A breath of laughter tickled my skin. “Then you’ll just have to stay quiet.”

“I… can’t…”

“You can. We have to,” he murmured beneath my ear. “So they don’t hear all the things I’m doing to you.” His fingers made one long, slow stroke over my tingling G-spot before slipping out to tease my clit.

I bit back a whimper that might very well have become something much louder. I wanted him to stop teasing me and let me come, but if he did, staying quiet would be out of the question. And he was doing it on purpose, using his mouth and fingers to orchestrate unbearable levels of frustration.

“I love all the sounds you make,” he whispered in my ear, “but I want them all to myself.” Amusement added a lilt to his voice,
almost
masking the unsteadiness that announced his own waning control. “I know it’s hard to stay quiet. God only knows when you touch me, it’s hard not to let the whole damned city know about it.”

The whimper escaped this time, but he muffled my voice with a deep kiss before it got too loud. His fingers slipped into my pussy again, this time staying there, moving back and forth across my G-spot while the heel of his hand pressed against my clit. My hips pushed back, moving with his hand, seeking more as every touch and tingle became more intense than the last. Only his kiss kept me from crying out, and just when I reached the very precipice of control, his mouth left mine. Before I could protest, he spoke, making matters even worse.

“I’ve been waiting all day to hear you come,” he said, his lips brushing mine. “But since I can’t” —a little harder. A little faster— “I’ll just have to settle for
feeling
you come.”

And just before I came, he kissed me again, the taste of his mouth simultaneously keeping me silent and driving me over the edge. Since I couldn’t cry out, the energy that would have been released in my voice flooded my veins instead, intensifying my orgasm, nearly levitating my body off the bed while Connor held me and kissed me and just. Wouldn’t. Stop.