Between the Sheets (5 page)

Someone jumped in with a question about teamwork, and Bailey played the moderator card, moving the conversation in a different direction. I caught Krista with her elbow on the table and her cheek on her fist, giving Randy a look that was one part speculation and three parts sympathy.

Clearly my acting partner kept more in his pocket than his pack of Winston Lights.

When Bailey dismissed us, Randy was one of the first people out the door. I followed, every one of my protective instincts firing. Which was totally crazy, since I’d only known him for a day.

Talk about your easy engagements.

I caught up with Randy on the beach. He stood with his back to the lodge, his arms crossed, giving the water a sardonic smile. Krista bleated at me from the path to the cabins. I ignored her.

I crossed the line where the stones and broken shells gave way to smooth sand. Randy must have heard me, but he didn’t move. My first impulse was to wrap my arms around him. Could be an invasion of his privacy. Could really piss him off. Could be what he’d expect of a girlfriend.

My hands overlapped on his belly and I pressed my forehead in the warm hollow between his shoulders and his neck. He stiffened, inhaled, relaxed.

“Dude’s a dick,” he said.

I flattened my palms over his ribs. I didn’t know what to say, so I kept quiet and held him close. His ginger curls brushed across my brow and I burrowed deeper into his musky, smoky scent.

He covered my hands with one of his and stuffed his cigarettes in the back pocket of his jeans, bumping my lower belly with his knuckles. “We should go to the break-out sessions.”

“In a minute,” I murmured against him.

“If I’m late they’ll just have more to bitch about.” He squeezed my wrist and stepped away. “Let’s go.”

Guess I’d overreacted. I dodged his eyes with a quick inspection of the ocean. “Okay. Yeah.” We barely knew each other. “Let’s go.”

Because I wasn’t, in fact, his girlfriend.

I’d made it about four steps when he bumped into me. “Thanks.”

“For what?” Our hands tangled and our feet tangled and I almost stumbled.

“For keeping up the act.”

Oh yeah.
We hadn’t just shared a moment. We were ACTING, in capital letters. I had no right to the squishy, warm feelings burbling around inside.

“Hey, we’ve got some time between the break-out sessions and the concert this afternoon.” He tugged on my sleeve, playfully pulling it a little further off my shoulder. “Still wanna go hike?”

“Oh my God, how awesome.” I hadn’t had a decent run since before the softball game on Thursday. I needed an exercise fix worse than any junkie. A good hard hike would help me manage the emotional overload.

We hit the lobby and he planted a quick kiss on my temple. “Go play with your Orff instruments and I’ll see you in a while.”

“Sure.”

He didn’t see my half-assed wave.

I ducked into the first grade-school-appropriate workshop I came to. Fortunately I didn’t know any of the participants, so no one asked me how long I’d been dating the hot redhead.

Not sure how I would have answered their questions.

Two hours later I was on the front porch of my cabin. I’d draped my peasant blouse over a chair so it wouldn’t wrinkle and changed into a pair of cropped khaki pants and an orange tank top with a plaid shirt open over top of it. I had my Merrill boots and a water bottle and if Randy didn’t show up in about ninety seconds I was heading out without him.

He came jogging along the path with only seconds to spare. “Nice pigtails,” he said, raising his eyebrows at my hairstyle on his way into his cabin.

A minute later he came out. He’d changed out of his jeans into a pair of shorts, and he had a water bottle in one hand. “On my way in yesterday I passed a trailhead about a quarter mile away.”

“Let’s go.”

Side by side, we headed for the main road, settling into an easy pace and a companionable silence. Except for the way my skin tingled whenever he accidentally brushed against me, things were good. And when my skin tingled, things were great. I couldn’t help but notice the firm curve of his butt and the reddish gold hairs covering his muscular calves.

I busted him checking me out, too.

“So you really make your kids listen to Scottish pipes?” he asked.

“Shut up. They love Albannach.” I laughed, warming up, muscles loosening. We reached the trailhead and the promise of shade under the pine forest.

“This might be dumb,” I said, “but I don’t even know where you teach.”

“Parkridge High.” He paused at the entrance to the trail and took a deep breath. “Fucking smokes.”

I let one raised eyebrow voice my opinion.

“I’ve been the band director there for the last couple of years, and Chelsea McMillan’s got the choirs.” He started walking, waving me on with a shamefaced grin. “The principal wanted one of us here, but she’s on medical leave.” Another guilty smile. “Douchebags like Kirk piss me off so bad I usually steer clear of this scene.”

Aha!
So that was why I’d never seen him at these things before.
“I’m not sure how Krista talked me into going.”

“It’s better than torturing children with bagpipes.”

“Hush, you, or I’ll make you walk faster.”

Laughter laced his wheezy cough. “All right. I’ll behave.”

The trail curved up the side of a ridge in a series of lazy switchbacks. Big cedars and fir trees surrounded us, their energy dampening our voices and silencing our footsteps. When we reached a clearing, we stopped for a breather. On one side, the ground dropped several hundred yards to the rocky shoreline. I slipped off my pack, shivering a little when the breeze hit the sweaty patches between my shoulder blades.

Randy reached for a cigarette.

“Seriously? Dude, some forest Nazi’s going to shoot you.” My schoolteacher’s voice got the better of me as I scolded him.

“Just a couple of puffs and I’ll put it out.” With a soft scratch he struck a match, but turned away as if he was ashamed for me to watch him light up. “You’re not the only one who gives me shit about it.”

“And I’m probably not the only one who tells you to quit, then.”

The end of the smoke crackled on his inhale. “My girls lecture me daily.”

Girls? Daily? What?
I must have been giving him my open-mouthed fish stare again, because he started talking before I responded.

“I think you’re the only one here who doesn’t know.” He stuffed the pack away with a shake of his head. “Sky Valley High class of 2000. Won the Quincy Jones award for best jazz player in the state. Had a full ride to Berklee in Boston, and the only things I cared about were my horn, my girl Mary Pat, and getting high.”

He paused, as if he wanted to let his words sink in. “One night a month before school started, MP and I tore it up. We were so lit I wrapped the passenger side of my car around a light pole. I stood trial for vehicular assault and driving under the influence. She’s a paraplegic.”

Hadn’t seen that one coming
. I made a sound somewhere between sympathy and a prompt, finding a salmonberry shrub to examine so he wouldn’t see me blinking through the tears.

“So yeah, needless to say, I didn’t go to Berklee. My parents got me into rehab, and now I teach high school kids to play instead of being the big session guy in New York.” Our eyes met. His gaze was guarded, uncertain, as if my reaction mattered.

A mix of sadness and anger roiled my gut. Damn that P. Kirk Asshole for taunting a guy who’d been through so much. I used the anger to lock down my expression, because tears would embarrass us both. “I’m sorry.”

He relaxed and reached for my hand. Regardless of whatever else happened, this moment was
not
an act.

“It took MP less time to forgive me than it did for me to forgive myself.” His words were aimed at the dirt, like we were pushing his limits for sharing.

“Do you keep in touch with her?”

He twined his fingers through mine. “Yeah. She and her girlfriend live about a mile from me.”

“Um …”

“You know, so they can harass me about smoking.” Stroking the back of my hand with his thumb, he tugged me closer to his body. “We’re better friends than we were lovers.”

His chuckle gave me permission to exhale.

“They’ve got two kids now, which keeps them out of my hair.”

“For sure.”

After another long drag, he stubbed out the cigarette.

“Seems like it’d mess with your wind.”

“Try playing trumpet.” His hoarse cackle illustrated the point.

“Nah, I’ll stick to my harp, thanks.” I uncapped my water bottle, like I was going to use it to douse the growing intensity between us. “You play anything besides trumpet?”

“Sure do.” He took a step closer, then another, his moves as sleek as the opening gesture of a tango. “They say kissing a smoker is like licking an ashtray.”

So much for self-disclosure. I shied away, arms across my chest, not quite ready to dance. “Wow, sounds appealing.”

“You already had a taste.” He shadowed my movements, his voice a sexy rumble. “Maybe you’ll want to try it again.”

“Maybe.” Like sometime between now and when we all had to go home.

“Let’s hang out here for a while.” He pulled me over to a sunny stretch of grass.

Maybe I’d find out about kissing an ashtray a lot sooner than I expected.

The hush around us thickened, as if the trees were watching to see what we’d do next. We sat cross-legged in the grass, surrounded by a low pulse that either came from the ocean below us or possibly from the crazy pounding of my own heart. Randy’s glasses did little to filter the intensity in his gaze, and I reached out, touching his arm where the bottom edge of his tattoo showed beneath his sleeve. “Is this your only tat?”

The heat in his grin doubled the speed of the low pulsing sound. “Um, no.”

My hand fell to my side as I opened and closed my mouth, trying for a snappy comeback. Something in my belly was having a little conniption fit. Krista said I should try something new, and
Cosmo
told me a Sex Diva should be BOLD, be CONFIDENT, be DIRECT. I didn’t always follow others’ advice, but this seemed like a
carpe diem
kind of moment.

I swallowed hard before I spoke. “Can I see them?”

“What?”

“Your tattoos.”

The predator returned full strength, and my breath caught on the inhale.

“Some of them,” he said.

A couple of birds zipped across the path behind us, chasing each other through the trees. Randy slowly pulled his shirt off and stretched out in the grass, resting on his elbows. The vine around his upper arm became a powerful dragon and wrapped over his shoulder, its claws holding some kind of knot-work symbol over his heart. My finger traced the pattern in the vine before my brain identified the movement. His skin was soft, warm, and when I added a second finger, he exhaled heavily through his nose.

I breathed faster, mouth open. Tried to moisten my lips with the tip of my tongue. Froze in the heat of his predator’s gaze.

“It’s not fair,” he said. “I’m half naked, and you’re not.”

He had a point. I shrugged out of my plaid shirt. My hiking shorts were not really Sex Diva wear, but his eyes were fixed on where sweat had stuck my thin tank top to my chest. I rose onto my knees. He stretched further till he was almost lying in the grass. My skin was moist all over, and not just from the hike.

No acting class anytime, anywhere ever taught anyone how to deal with the palpable energy between us. His smile said
come and get it
,
and since we weren’t playing by the rules, I did.

I leaned forward, tensed every muscle for control, and kissed the knot over his heart, making the gesture as delicate as possible. Teasing us both. I planted a hand on either side of his chest. Bold. Confident. Direct.

Melting.

“What’s it mean?” I shifted to lay a fingertip on the symbol I’d just kissed.

He shrugged. “Strength. Power.” He tipped his head up, giving himself a double chin to see where I was pointing. “I fought the dragon and won.”

I crawled over him. He stretched, slow and supple, the way a cat does after it’s been asleep for a while, and ended up with his head resting in his hands and his elbows spread wide. “Are you going to kiss me or not?” he asked.

“You’re all laid out like some kind of steamy sexy banquet.”

He chuckled from deep in his belly. “I could say ‘eat me,’ but that would be a pretty painful joke.”

I bent lower, laughing, getting as close to his lips as I could. Rather than kiss him, I stuck out my tongue and licked.

I mean, a Sex Diva might be bold and all, but teasing was good, too. With a sudden move, he tipped me onto my ass. He got an arm around me and rolled, and before I caught my breath he was the one on top. “Now,” he said, almost a snarl, “are you going to kiss me or not?”

Rubbing my knuckles across the scruff of beard on his chin, I caught the hinge of his glasses and pulled them off. “Sure.”

Our kiss in the lobby had been playful, as if both of us were surprised to find ourselves lip to lip.

This one was serious.

Randy moved in, all pro-skilled lady-killer confidence, but when our mouths touched, we both got real. His kiss had heat, and fight, and sweetness, and when he moved away, his brows were drawn like he couldn’t quite believe what we’d done. When he moved toward me a second time, my mouth opened and I flicked his bottom lip with my tongue.

That did it.

Striking fast, he locked his lips on mine, crushing me under his body. We made out like high schoolers, stretched out in the grass and bathed in sunshine. Yeah, he tasted a little like cigarettes, but when he held my face with both hands and destroyed me with his lips and tongue, I all but melted. I covered his hands with mine, twining my tongue in his, grinning a little at the rough burn of his beard against my chin. Underneath the cigarettes I tasted Man, and loved the reminder of how good it could be.

He shifted his weight and I rubbed my thigh against his hardness, which set off a flaming bottle rocket in my belly. My feminine bits were buzzing with need and my hands were free to roam and I reveled in the way his muscles tensed under my touch.