Kathleen Creighton - One More Knight

He did those things, and when he heard her gasp, then he finally lowered his mouth to take what she’d offered him-the most vital and vulnerable part of herself…the side of her neck. Closing his mouth over the taut cords, he pressed his tongue against her pulse, timing its frantic cadence to his own. And then began to suck gently.

Heat and pressure weighted his body; his head seemed to fill with a soughing sound, like the rush of wind through trees. Still, he felt her trembling, heard her voice saying, very faintly, “Oh…God.”

And then another sound. A long, eerie wail.

Bubba .

Troy held himself still while the breath drained from his lungs and his head slowly cleared.

“What is that animal?” Charly growled. “A damn wolf? ”

“He knows we’re here,” mumbled Troy. “Musta heard us, I guess.” He eased his arms from around Charly’s body, half of him thinking he’d like to kick the damn dog into next week, and the other half telling him it was just as well he’d interrupted when he had. He didn’t know what it was about that woman, but in close enough quarters she was downright dangerous. Touching her did have a way of making him forget where he was.

He kept his hand on her back, though, as they made their way through the Emergency parking lot to where he’d left the Cherokee.

“What do you want to do now?” he asked, fishing for his keys. “You hungry?”

“Lord, no,” she said in a voice thick with revulsion, clip-clopping along in her high heels. She threw him a look. “Are you?”

“Nope.” Not for food, anyway. “Just askin’.”

He unlocked the doors for her, and she climbed in while he was giving Bubba a halfhearted scolding and getting him settled down in the back with the suitcases.

“Why don’t you put him in the middle seat?” Charly asked, sounding impatient. “There’s more room.”

“You want him slobberin’ all over you?”

She made an angry, snorting sound. “I’m washable. Those suitcases aren’t.”

“Well, okay,” said Troy, “but remember, you asked for it.”

Naturally Bubba was thrilled to be allowed back into the seat he considered to be rightfully his. And the first thing he did was wallow on over to personally thank the woman responsible for his good fortune, which meant burying his nose in her hair and licking and snuffling on the very same part of her Troy’d had his own mouth on a few minutes ago.

Charly stood about a minute of it, then muttered, “Okay, dog, that’s enough. Sit .”

To Troy’s amazement Bubba instantly went and flopped down on the seat and stayed there, grinning from ear to ear.

Shaking his head and muttering “I’ll be damned,” Troy climbed behind the wheel and started up the truck.

Charly angled a look across her shoulder to him. “Let’s go back to the motel. I’d really like to get out of these clothes.”

Well, now. He thought there were probably half a dozen ways she could have said that, and most of them wouldn’t have meant anything other than what the actual words said. But the way she chose wasn’t one of those ways. Her voice seemed to come from way deep in her throat, with a certain burr to it that affected him about like long painted fingernails drawing lazy patterns on his naked back.

He paused with his hands on the wheel and turned his head toward her. He couldn’t see her eyes, since they were in shadow. But in the lights shining in from the parking lot he could see sweat glistening on her throat and across the top of her collarbone, giving her skin a translucence that reminded him of the insides of seashells-what was it called? Mother-of-pearl.

“Okeydokey,” he said. And noticed, as he put the Cherokee in gear, that the same burr that had been in her voice seemed to have taken over his now, too.

Young as the night was, B.B.’s Barn was already jumping when they pulled into the Mourning Springs Motel and parked in front of number 10. A good ol’ rockabilly beat was thumping, and faint whoopin’ and hollerin’ sounds could be heard even from across the street. A couple of MSPD patrol cars were parked out front

“Well, it’s Saturday night,” said Charly when Troy remarked on the activity, eyeing the patrol cars. “What did you expect?”

“You want to go over for a while? Have a beer? Bite to eat? Dance?”

She shook her head, then swiveled it back to him. For a long moment they looked at each other, just looked…and listened to the sounds of distant revelry and intimate tensions, of drums and pulses and breathing sounds all mixed together. Without his being aware of movement, the space between them seemed to shrink…the beat of the drums got louder, became deafening. No-not drums. It was his own heartbeat he heard.

Her mouth was there, his for the taking, and there was probably nothing short of a missile barrage that could have kept him from it. He pushed his hand under her hair, cradling first her sweat-damp nape, then moving on up to the back of her head, weaving his fingers through her hair like a shuttle through a skein of silk. And slowly, slowly, he brought his. mouth to hers. It was a journey of inches that seemed to take a lifetime, while inside him the heat and hunger mushroomed and the suspense became an exhilarating high, like the rush of adrenaline just before a jump.

Their open mouths met, melded. Became one indistinguishable whole. Her breathing quickened; her pulse throbbed beneath his fingers. Their body rhythms merged and accelerated, rising to the same inevitable crescendo.

She felt lush and ripe in his arms. The sweat on her skin gave it a slippery, giving feel, as if he could melt right into her and lose himself there. It wasn’t the first time he’d kissed her, God knew, but it felt like it. And at the same time, it felt like coming home.

He wasn’t sure what it was that stopped him; his brain wasn’t exactly capable of analytical thought just then. But suddenly there he was, pulling back, easing himself away from her, turning slowly in his seat until he was facing front again, and his whole body pulsing and pounding like an overheated steam engine. He sat there staring through the windshield, trying to focus his eyes and get his mind functioning again-and all he could hear was that damn hillbilly band across the street.

That must be it, he thought, feeling dazed and jangled, like a man who’d just come within an eyelash of walking over a cliff. There was something about a honky-tonk bar and a cheap motel that sure could make a man lose sight of the paths of righteousness.

He didn’t know when he’d ever felt so lousy. He could feel Charly shivering in the seat next to him and knew that in another second she was going to say something-ask him what was wrong, or maybe suggest they go inside. If she did, he didn’t know what he was going to tell her. He didn’t know what was wrong, and he sure as hell didn’t want to go inside.

Which was hard to figure, considering he’d never wanted a woman as much as he wanted her, not in his whole life. If it was possible for a man to die from an overdose of desire, then he was surely a goner. But-and this was what didn’t make a whole lot of sense to him-he didn’t want her like this . Not a repeat of last night, mind-blowing as it had been. That had been then . This was now. The closest he could come to explaining it was that there’d been a lot of water under the bridge since, and for him, at least, it had brought them to an entirely different place. Much as it surprised him to realize it, mindless sex just wasn’t going to do it for him. Not tonight. Maybe never again.

It was then, as he sat there with the cold shakes of adrenaline withdrawal crawling through his insides, that he heard it: his brother Jimmy Joe’s voice.