Bravo Unwrapped Page 9

  He went for ingenuousness. “No cornfields around here.”

  To which she replied, “I am not reassured.”

  Still, she ran upstairs and got her jacket and followed him out to the rented SUV. He drove them to a certain place along the highway, pulled to the shoulder and turned off the engine.

  She looked over at the sharp drop-off a few feet away from her passenger window. “I’m really getting worried now.”

  “There used to be a trail leading down to the river from here.”

  “Do I have any kind of choice in this?”

  He let his silence speak for him.

  She rolled her eyes. “Oh, fine. Let’s go.”

  So they got out and he led her to the edge of the bank. “See the trail?”

  “Unfortunately, yes.”

  They went down, batting aside fir branches and dogwood bushes as they stumbled along. At last, they emerged onto a shadowed rocky promontory at the river’s edge.

  “Oh,” she said, stuffing her hands in her jacket pockets against the afternoon chill. “I get it. You’re going to drown me.”

  To that remark, he only suggested pleasantly, “Have a seat.”

  She sent him one of her how-did-I-get-myself-into-this? looks, but she did sit on the rock. He dropped down beside her. For a few minutes, they just sat there, staring out over the water. Quiet together.

  It was nice, really, Buck thought. Just the two of them, here, in this spot he remembered so well. When she shifted beside him and pulled her jacket closer around her against the cold autumn wind, he turned from the view of the opposite bank and studied her profile: strong jaw, full mouth. She’d gotten her nose from her father. A commanding nose. It was red at the tip from the cold.

  She asked, still not looking at him, “What, by the way, are we doing here?”

  “This was once my favorite swimming hole.” He pointed at the shallow rapids upstream. “You can cross there, carrying your stuff, if you’re careful and steady on your feet. I used to. I’d take a towel. And maybe a worn-out old pack containing my shirt, my shoes—and a beer or two boosted from Ma’s fridge when she wasn’t looking.”

  “Shame on you.”

  “Yeah, I was bad. I’m not denying it. I’d come here and cross to the sandy side. I’d swim, I’d guzzle my two warm beers and take a nap in the sun. I’d dream about what a big shot I was going to be someday, about how everyone in town who ever called me a loser would one day be kissing my ass….”

  She turned to him then, tipping her blond head to the side, resting it on her drawn-up knees. Her hair, loose and curling slightly, fell along her denim-covered thighs and brushed the tops of her knee-high suede boots. He wanted to touch it—her hair.

  He wanted to touch all of her. Slowly. With great care. He leaned back on his hands so they couldn’t reach for her.

  She said, “Glory told me that on your graduation night, you went in the Pizza Parlor naked.”

  He studied her some more, now she was facing him: that mouth, those eyes like blue smoke. “What else did Glory tell you?”

  “That you almost burned down the grocery store having a cigarette.”

  “Did she tell you what kind of cigarette?”

  She tried not to smile—he saw her mouth twitch. “No, she didn’t mention that. But she did say you couldn’t keep a job.”

  “Sad but true.” He waited, wondering what she’d have to say about his wild and mostly wasted youth. But she didn’t speak, only lifted her head and looked out over the water again. He asked, “So what did Bowie do that has Glory more pissed off at him than ever?”

  “I don’t know, not for sure….”

  “Take a stab at it.”

  She picked up a pebble and threw it out into the water. It hardly made a splash. “Well, he did tell her father that she’s pregnant.”

  Damn. Bowie. All torn up inside and making one wrong move after another. “You’re sure?”

  “Yeah. Or at least, that’s what Glory said he did.”

  “Not smart of him.”

  A slight frown took form between her smooth brows. “Sometimes you do surprise me.”

  “Because?”

  “Well, after what you said last night—about how Bowie would marry her no matter what, since she’s having his baby—I would have guessed that you’d be just fine with him going to her father.”

  “Maybe I would be fine with it—if Bowie’s talking to her father had a chance in hell of doing any good. But it doesn’t. Bowie knows she’s not the type to be pushed around, by her boyfriend or by her father. Plus, Bowie had to realize her father wouldn’t keep quiet about it.”

  She actually smiled at him then, that wonderful mouth blooming wide. “Yeah. Glory said that her father told her mother and her mother told—”

  “All six of her sisters.”

  “Who promptly told everyone else.”

  Buck grunted. “I just can’t figure what gave Bowie the wild idea that Little Tony could make Glory marry him.”

  “Little Tony?”

  “Lots of Tonys in the Dellazola family. Old Tony—that’s the guy on the bench. Tony, Jr.—Old Tony’s son, Glory’s grandfather. And Little Tony.”

  “Glory’s dad.”

  “See? You’re catchin’ on. And let’s not leave out Anthony, Glory’s brother—and Anthony’s son, baby Tony.”

  She shook her head at the idea of all those Tonys and then said, “Well, Bowie’s a desperate man, I guess.”

  He moved a fraction closer to her.

  She sat very still. The wind took several strands of her hair and blew them across her mouth. She smoothed the strands behind her ear and looked at him warily. “We should go back now.”

  “Back where?”

  “Oh, come on. Where else? The B & B…”

  “You don’t like it here, in the shade on this freezing rock, across from the deserted beach on which I drank a large number of stolen beers during my troubled, misspent youth?” The strands of hair blew across her mouth again. She reached up. He caught her wrist.

  “Buck…” It was a warning.

  One that he didn’t heed. “Let me.”

  Several seconds went by. He held onto her wrist, felt the cool, silky texture of her skin, thought about how he had missed the hell out of her for six damn years and, the whole time, kept telling himself he didn’t. Six whole years, during which he’d pretended that he couldn’t care less if he ever saw her face again.

  But then there was that night in September.

  And he finally realized he was through pretending.

  She whispered, “Watch it,” and pulled her hand free of his grip.

  What she didn’t do was guide those strands of hair out of her mouth.

  He asked, “May I?”

  She swallowed. Her nod was almost imperceptible.

  He took his time about it, leaning closer, sucking in the scent of her, brushing the pads of his fingers against her upper lip and across the satiny skin of her cheek. “There.”

  She drew in a tiny gasp of a breath and her eyes were softer, smokier than ever, the way they got when he kissed her, when he did to her all the things she’d made him promise he wouldn’t. “No sex, remember?” She whispered the reminder.

  “I remember.” Sadly enough. “But don’t worry. This isn’t sex.”

  “It’s what leads up to sex.”

  “Not necessarily.”

  “Whatever. It’s too close for comfort.”

  “Did I promise you comfort?”

  “No, Buck. You didn’t.”

  He told the naked truth. “I want to kiss you.”

  She swallowed, caught a corner of her lower lip between her pretty teeth. “Bad idea…”

  “No. Not so. Good idea. Excellent, even…” He leaned even closer, until he could feel her breath across his mouth. “You want to kiss me, too. You know you do.”

  “Damn you, Buck….”

  It wasn’t a no. So he went for it. He leaned that quarter-inch clo
ser and covered her mouth with his.

  Nine

  B.J. sighed.

  Good, Buck thought. He wanted her sighing. He tasted her lips—the softness, the sweetness. He kissed her with care, with tenderness. With barely leashed desire.

  Much too soon—within seconds—she pulled away. He looked down at her kiss-pink lips, her flushed cheeks. Her eyes were softer than ever now. Those eyes betrayed her. They begged him to kiss her some more.

  But then she said in a husky whisper, “I mean it. I want to go back now.”

  He rose and held down his hand to her. She let him help her to her feet.

  That night, B.J. and Buck met his two middle brothers at the Nugget for dinner. A couple of big, good-looking bachelors, Brett and Brand each possessed an actual sense of humor—unlike the morose and temperamental Bowie.

  “We were the boring Bravo brothers,” Brand, the lawyer, told B.J. Brand had gold hair a shade darker than Bowie’s and hazel eyes.

  “Meaning we worked hard in high school and then went on to get our degrees and do our internships,” Brett explained. He had darker hair than Brand’s, though not as dark as Buck’s. “And we now have—wait for it—real jobs.”

  “Bowie and Buck are the wild ones,” Brand said. “As you’ve probably noticed, Buck has succeeded in shocking the hell out of everyone in town by turning out okay, after all.”

  “Gee, thanks,” said Buck.

  “The jury’s still out on Bowie,” Brett added, sounding rueful.

  “Signs are not favorable.” Brand looked somber.

  Buck said, “Give the kid time. He’ll work through all this crap.”

  His brothers only looked at him, their expressions frankly skeptical. Buck shrugged and asked Brand how he liked being in partnership with their uncle Clovis.

  “It’s all right,” said Brand. “I have the office pretty much to myself. Uncle Clo is all but retired now….”

  B.J. let the brothers talk. She was busy with her salad, anyway. Raging hunger had struck out of nowhere again, same as last night. Her salad was incredible. The best she’d ever tasted.

  Brett lifted an eyebrow at her. “This girl can really pack it away.”

  Beside her, Buck chuckled. B.J. only grunted and went on shoveling in the food. When her steak came, she ate it all. And two dinner rolls slathered with butter. And her baked potato with sour cream and chives, as well—oh, and the salty, crumbly bacon bits. To die for. She ate every last yummy one, pressing her fork on them to get the last few off the plate after the potato was gone.

  She’d be running down the hall in her silk sleep shirt tomorrow morning, on her way to give the toilet a big hug. But that was tomorrow. Right now, while she could, if it wasn’t nailed down, she was eating it.

  It was all gone much too soon. Nadine cleared off their plates and served coffee to the men, herb tea to B.J.

  Brett said, “I hear you work at Alpha magazine.”

  B.J. nodded. She was still chomping her final piece of bread. She swallowed it and caught Nadine before she got away again. “About the rice pudding?”

  Nadine nodded. “Lots of cinnamon and raisins. You want some?”

  “Oh, yes. Please.”

  Nadine glanced around at the Bravo boys. “Anyone else?”

  The men all shook their heads. The waitress trotted off.

  Brand said, “I understand that L. T. Carlyle’s your dad?”

  “That’s right.” B.J. dunked her teabag in the little metal teapot and wished that Nadine would hurry up with that pudding.

  “L. T. Carlyle,” said Brett in a musing tone. “A living legend, and that is no lie.”

  Buck said, “B.J.’s the features editor at Alpha. One of these days—and it’s not going to be all that long, trust me—she’ll be running the whole enterprise.” He sounded so…proud.

  B.J. forgot all about the rice pudding as she felt her face start to color.

  Omigod. The horror. She was actually blushing with pleasure.

  She had to face it. The guy was getting to her. They were barely twenty-four hours into her two weeks of virtual slavery to his every whim—and she blushed when he said something nice about her?

  And what about that kiss? a disapproving voice in her head inquired.

  What kiss?

  You know what kiss.

  The kiss she’d been trying not to think about since it had happened—out there on that icy rock by the river in the afternoon.

  But that hardly counts, she tried to reason. It was only a little, tiny, brushing breath of a kiss….

  Stop, the disapproving inner voice commanded. No more excuses. You’ve done what you’ve done and a kiss is a kiss, no matter how brief.

  She had to quit kidding herself. Her situation was nothing short of dire. A slippery slope and she was on her way down.

  He’d have her in one of those bondage collars before you knew it. In a bondage collar, on a lead. He’d be trotting her up Main Street. It would be, Sit, B.J. Stay.

  She took great care not to look at him, to concentrate instead on dunking her teabag until it sank. If she looked at him, she just knew she’d grin like an idiot and drool like a fool.

  “Alpha’s great,” Brand was saying. “In-depth articles. I like that.”

  “And don’t forget the Alpha Girls,” said Brett.

  B.J. sighed. “Nobody forgets the Alpha Girls.”

  Hey. That hadn’t sounded half-bad, now, had it? Cool and collected and totally unconcerned.

  And her blush was definitely fading.

  On second thought, she shouldn’t let herself over-react. Altogether, she was handling herself fine. Doing splendidly, really.

  Nadine appeared with her pudding. B.J. dug in. Oh, it was good! For a minute or two, she didn’t hear a word any of the Bravos said, she was so busy having an orgasm in her mouth.

  Then Brett said, “TopMale’s not bad, either.”

  B.J. sat very still, a bite of pudding halfway to her mouth. Had Brett read the man-eater article? Did he know?

  But then Brand said, “Oh, come on. Alpha sets the standard. It’s been that way for twenty years.”

  Outside the restaurant, B.J. and Buck said goodbye to his brothers. Then, just as the night before, they headed down Main side-by-side on their way to Commerce Lane and the bridge that would take them to the Sierra Star.

  Buck said nothing until they’d walked between the rows of unlit pumpkins and up the steps to the front porch. Then he caught her hand.

  She stiffened. But she didn’t pull away.

  Truthfully, it felt so…

  Well, there was no other word for it: right. It felt right, to have his hand clasping hers. Exciting. And yet companionable, too—slippery slope, be damned.

  “B.J.?” He pulled her over to one of the wicker settees and tugged her down beside him.

  Careful, she thought. No idiot grins. And absolutely no drooling. “What now?”

  His white teeth flashed in the darkness. “You’re so tough.”

  His teasing gave her the excuse she needed to pull her hand from his. “Believe it.”

  “Don’t worry,” he said. “Brett knows nothing…”

  She felt her cheeks flame—and not from pleasure, this time. At least, in the dark, he couldn’t see her shame.

  What to say now?

  Play dumb. Maybe he’ll take the hint and drop the subject. “About?”

  “That obnoxious article by your ex-boyfriend.”

  Deny everything, cried a desperate voice in her head. But somehow, she couldn’t. She looked out toward the rows of pumpkins marching away from them down the walk and heard herself say in a very small voice, “I really know how to pick ’em, don’t I?”

  He touched her chin. She let him guide her face around until she was looking at him. “Hey, you picked me. Once.”

  She pushed his hand away. “And look how beautifully that turned out.”

  “We had some good times, you know we did.” He sounded so hopeful. His dark
eyes gleamed.

  And he was right. They’d had some very, very good times. Sundays in bed sharing The Times, afternoons in the park strolling the trails by the carousel, talking late into the night about any-and everything…

  And the sex. That had been spectacular. Unforgettable. The best of her life.

  And why was she thinking about sex? “What was the question?”

  “I said, we had some good times.”

  She heard herself make a low noise of agreement—after all, he was right.

  He declared, “And it’s not your fault that Wayne Epperstall is a weasely little bastard.”

  “Wyatt.”

  “What?”

  “His name is Wyatt—and yes, he is a weasel. He’s even got a slight overbite. I thought it made him look sweet and sensitive when I first met him. I thought he was sweet and sensitive, if you must know.”

  “You thought wrong.”

  “Yeah—and I guess this means I can’t kid myself any longer. You did read the damn article, didn’t you?”

  “That’s right. I read it. And after I read it, I considered having a long, up-close and personal talk with what’s-his-name.”

  “Wyatt.”

  “Yeah. Him. I considered beating the everlovin’ crap out of Wyatt. But then I thought again. I decided he wasn’t worth the effort.” He took her hand once more. She let him have it. Yes, it showed weakness. But at that moment, she just didn’t care. He turned her hand over and stroked her palm and she let him do that, too. It felt really, really good—much better than it should have. Electric. Warm. Wonderful. He added, “But I’m open to suggestion. Say the word. I’ll rearrange his overbite for you.”

  She sent him a look from under her lashes. “If I wanted his teeth broken, I’d do it myself.”

  “That’s the spirit—and take it from me. Though it’s possible that someone in the Flat could have read that article, it’s not possible that anyone could know it’s about you.”

  “Half of Manhattan knows.”

  “This isn’t Manhattan.”

  “No argument there.”

  “And the good news is, by the time you get back to the city, everyone will be talking about something else. Wyatt and his spiteful article will be seriously old news.”