Susan Connell - Tall, Dark And Temporary

He appeared in no hurry to rush out the door. If anything, he looked as if he was enjoying their conversation and wanting more of it.

Taking the photo from him, she tapped it lightly against her palm. A ripple of misgiving moved through her. Was she crazy? Nick couldn’t possibly be interested in the domestic details of her ordinary life. Turning away, she headed back to the corkboard.

“She can’t make up her mind between her tap shoes and her new red ones. But enough about that,” she said, firmly securing the photo to the board with the pushpin before turning to face him again. “You’ve been away so long, Nick. What brings you back to Follett River now?”

“Work,” he said, replacing his inquisitive expression with that impossible-to-read smile.

Every time he looked at her or spoke, pangs of pleasure erupted low in her belly, then spiraled out slowly to her breasts and thighs. She attempted to ignore the last and most powerful sensations as she walked back to him, but the closer she got the more intense they became. By the time she reached him, it was all she could do to grab hold of the table and not him.

“I was talking to your cousin at my class reunion last winter,” she said as she concentrated on her white-knuckle grip. “Rory said something about you being on the road a tot. What kind of work do you do?”

“I’m in construction.” He placed his hand on the table next to hers. “I’m here with the Murano Group for the River Walk project. Have you heard about it?”

“Everyone has. It’s the main topic of conversation with us local business owners,” she said, trying not to stare at his well-tanned, hair-roughened hand resting on a layer of powdered sugar beside her fair-skinned one. She closed her eyes. Instantly, images of him stripped to the waist and standing in a layer of sawdust slipped unbidden into her mind’s eye. With one hand firmly gripped around a piece of lumber, he was hammering nails with strong, even strokes. The scene was taking place out at the old warehouse, the sun blazing across his perfectly tanned shoulders. Rivulets of sweat were trickling down his spine and into the waistband of his jeans. She licked nervously at her lips as she opened her eyes. Her gaze darted from his hands to his face and back again. “I always thought of you doing it, I mean, doing something outdoors.”

“I’m indoors a lot, too.” A frown that did nothing to diminish his good looks fell across his face as he snapped his fingers. “The business owners’ association. That reminds me,” he said, checking his watch. “I have a few more things to take care of tonight. Will I see you at the hotel tomorrow night for the meeting the Murano Group is hosting?”

“I’ll be there.”

“Good. I’ll look for you,” he said, turning to go. One step toward the door and he slowed to a stop. “Oh.” Turning around, he raised his index finger and smiled. “Didn’t you forget something?”

He was coming toward her again. Just like before. Ten years hadn’t tarnished his appeal. If anything, she was even more attracted to him now. Dangerously attracted.

“What?” she managed to ask.

As he closed the space between them, she reached back with her other hand to brace herself.

“I guess it slipped your mind once we started talking,” he said, his deep voice vibrating nerve endings she thought long dead. “That’s okay. I’ll just help myself.”

He kept on coming closer until she was bending backward and he was reaching past her, his arm gently brushing hers. Her lips parted in a soft gasp as his chest grazed the tips of her breasts. A second later he was pulling back with a cream puff in his hand.

“Got it.”

“Nick Buchanan,” she said with a breathless laugh meant to hide her disappointment. “You haven’t changed a bit.”

“Don’t be so sure,” he said, winking at her as he headed for the back door.

The bang of the screen door punctuated his exit as smartly as the flourish of a magician’s wand. Megan stood alone in the kitchen, aware of a sudden and immense silence. For one delusional moment, she wondered if she’d conjured up his surprise visit. Then she glanced down at the tray of cream puffs. Nick Buchanan had been there. One was missing. And so was another piece of her heart.

Two

“Come on, Rebecca,” Megan murmured. “You never used to be late to anything. Don’t start now.”

Pacing inside the Hotel Maxwell lobby the next evening, Megan alternately glanced at her watch, then rimmed its band with her fingertip. Ten minutes and counting until representatives from the Murano Group were scheduled to start their meeting for business owners, private investors and the local media about the River Walk project. Everyone expected to attend the well-publicized meeting had arrived except Rebecca.

And Nick Buchanan.

Megan stopped to look toward the glass-and-brass revolving doors. The last thing she wanted was to run into Nick. It had been almost twenty-four hours since she’d seen him. Plenty of time to sort through and make sense of her reaction to his surprise visit, but not quite enough time to feel altogether comfortable with the decision she’d come to.

Maybe it was a tad excessive, but avoiding a roustabout construction worker who spent his life on the road was the smartest thing a woman in her position could do. The smartest and the hardest.

She tried convincing herself that the thoughts he’d stirred up by his surprise appearance would settle down by the time her radio buzzed her awake the next morning. But the buzz she was experiencing eight hours after his visit had been going on long before her radio alarm.

Enticing dreams about Nick left her feeling as if she were in a modified version of Goldilocks and the Three Bears. Tossing and turning in her single bed, the once comfortable piece of furniture was suddenly too big and too small.

The truth was undeniable. Nick Buchanan, the bad-boy charmer of ten years ago, the centerpiece of her sexiest fantasies, the man she was losing valuable sleep over, was back in her life and majorly capable of distracting her from her goals, if she let him. She tugged at her watchband. Those fantasies! She had to put a stop to them.

Closing her eyes, she settled both hands over her rib cage and tried pulling in an even, calming breath. Without warning, Nick’s naughtiest smile slipped into her mind’s eye. The tantalizing rush of pleasure cascading through her a second later caused her lips to part and her resolve to rapidly soften. That naughty smile of his was hinting at something memorable. Nibbling at her lips, she gave in to a luxurious sigh as the vision behind her eyelids began surging to life.

They were in the café kitchen alone, sometime after midnight. Soft music drifted around them as they made minimal efforts to keep on dancing. Pressed against Nick’s masculine form, she felt light-headed with growing desire. After all these years, being this close to him was too much, yet it wasn’t enough for her. Sliding her hands down his back, she gazed up at him.

“Nick,” she whispered, unable to keep the aching need out of her voice. Drawing her nails against the small of his back, she gently nudged him with her hips.

“Please, Nick.”

“You’ve been alone for such a long time, Meggie,” he said as he set her away from him and against the worktable. “I don’t want to hurt you. We have time.”

“I don’t want to be alone anymore,” she said, brazenly slipping her hand between them to press against the hard evidence of his arousal. “You want me, Nick. I can tell you want me. ”

“Hell, yes, I want you,” he whispered on the end of a groan Staring down at her with half-closed passion-hot eyes, he sealed his lips to hers with a quick, hungry kiss. “Keep touching me like that, and we aren’t going to make it to a bed.”

She kept touching him like that. “I don’t need a bed, Nick. I need you. Right here. Right now.”

Cursing the state of his arousal, he pulled away from her, then swept the worktable clear. Pastry trays were still clattering on the floor as he lifted her onto the edge of the table and began to answer questions she’d only dreamed about.

Her eyes flew open, then continued to widen as several highly erotic possibilities of what might happen next began forming in the steamier recesses of her imagination. The tips of her breasts, the tops of her thighs and every inch in between tingled.

She looked guiltily around the lobby, scolding herself for thinking about what kind of a lover the real Nick would make. Transitioning into full-time catering to insure a financially secure future was supposed to be the only thing on her mind. Her busy life was complicated enough without Nick, thank you very much. Especially after that letter from her landlord last week, warning her about the rent increases.

Staring at her reflection in a nearby mirror, she shook her head at the jumble of thoughts crowding in. She had to keep herself directed toward goals that could and would come true. Not toward self-indulgent flights of fancy that were getting completely out of hand.

But how had those self-induced visions become so achingly explicit? They weren’t inspired by any sexual experiences she’d had. No, sex with Andy had never hinted at anything so... interesting.

She rubbed at her temples. If the reality of Nick was half as potent as the Nick in her fantasies, she could be in trouble. She sighed. Big trouble. Of course, she had no intention of placing herself in a position to find out just how big. Besides, wasn’t it painfully obvious that she was anything but a wild, hot seductress? Her lips suddenly thinned with annoyance as she narrowed her eyes toward her reflection.

“Pull it together, Meggie,” she mumbled. “Come on, just like you always do when things get dicey. Think about that sweet little girl who needs you. And how nothing is more important than making a better life for her.”

“I heard that mumbling.”

“Rebecca!” Megan whirled around to face her.

“Hey, girlfriend, I thought you would have gone in and gotten us seats.”

“I told you I’d wait for you here,” she said, looking over Rebecca’s shoulder toward the revolving doors. Thankfully, Nick was still nowhere in sight. “Where have you been?”

“I’m still on my honeymoon.”

“But you were married months ago,” she said, taking her by the elbow and drawing her across the empty lobby. “How long is a honeymoon supposed to last?”

Rebecca gave her a devilish grin. “As far as I’m concerned, as long as Raleigh can.”

Megan’s breath caught in her throat. A second later she was stealing a glance at her friend. Was it true? Was the kind of wild, unbridled passion she’d only imagined really possible?

“Meggie, darling, I always could make your ears turn red. Couldn’t I?”

“Your talents know no boundaries, Reb,” Megan said, shaking her head with genuine amusement as she reached for the door to the meeting room.

“That’s what Raleigh keeps telling me. You want to fill me in on what that conversation you were having with the mirror was all about?”

“No.”

“Are you sure?”

“Trust me. Your eyes would glaze over. Let’s just go inside and find seats,” she said, grabbing two programs from the table near the doors.

As they headed for the front of the room, she couldn’t help herself. She made a quick scan of the room looking for Nick. Maybe she’d missed him. Maybe he’d slipped in a side entrance to the hotel. Taking a seat in the front row, she began fanning herself with the programs.

Maybe he wasn’t coming. She wouldn’t be surprised. If he was anything like he was ten years ago, missing this meeting would be right in character for Nick. She pictured him in his jeans and leather jacket, roaring down the highway to who knew where. Wind whipping through his hair, his thighs tightly gripping his motorcycle, that hell-bent look in his eyes....