Dawn Atkins - At Her Beck and Call

Silence fell. She should go home, get some sleep before her first day of work, but something hovered in the air between them, energy and possibility, and she wanted to pursue it, as crazy and wrong as that might be.

“Take me out there,” she heard herself say.

“You want to go to the resort?”

“Sure. Show me all that economic potential.”

“It’s dark.” But he was smiling.

“There’s a moon. Come on.”

He paused, studied her, then nodded. “Okay. Sure.”

His startled delight overcame her doubts. This might be a bad idea, but at the moment, it seemed worth the risk.

AUTUMN CLIMBED INTO Mike’s sleek and sexy Saab 9-2X wagon—weren’t these cars designed by jet engineers?—and they drove with the windows down, the sunroof open, allowing the warm breeze to blow through and the stars to spin by overhead.

“I’ve never been here at night,” Mike said, turning at the sign marking the entrance to the Desert Paradise Golf Resort. He parked in the gravel lot and opened her door for her. She climbed out and looked around. The moon was bright enough to let her see the main building, the casitas, the courts, the empty pool.

A gravel path lined by mile-high date palms led to the golf course. It was quiet except for the crunch of their feet in the gravel and the distant swish of cars on the highway. Soon they reached the clubhouse parking lot. Before them lay the low rolling hills of the course. Here and there were stands of eucalyptus and mesquite trees, along with landscaped areas.

A puff of warm air lifted her hair and she smelled the iron and earth of the pond, which, because it was part of the area’s irrigation system, still held water, Mike had explained. It was a smear of shiny darkness ahead of them. Without rain, the grass was short and dry.

“It’s peaceful out here,” she said, tilting her head up at the moon, very conscious of Mike’s closeness, the way he tracked her every move. It was almost embarrassing how alive she felt standing here with him.

“Puts things in perspective,” he said, looking at her.

And made the attraction more vivid, she realized, dragging her eyes from his face. “I love summer nights in the desert. There’s still heat, but it’s gentler, like the desert is saying, You put up with my broiler all day, so take a breather, relax, enjoy the beauty, the silence, the serenity.”

“Very poetic.”

“Not really. I just love the desert, I guess.” She paused. “So hitting balls gets rid of frustration, huh? Maybe we should send Jasmine and Mark out here.”

“I’m afraid they’re too far gone.”

“Love at first sight, according to Jasmine.”

“Do you believe in that?”

“Not really. Though an attraction can be intense.” Like the one between them at the moment.

“Yeah, it can.” His voice was so low and heated that her stomach dropped to her knees.

“So, what does one do about that?” She was grateful the moon wasn’t bright enough to reveal the hot blush on her cheeks. She wasn’t one for turning red, but right now she felt like a stoplight.

“Hope it burns out before anyone gets hurt,” he said.

“Is that the voice of experience?”

“You mean have I ever had my heart broken?” He smiled wryly. “I’ve avoided that mistake. How about yourself?”

“I’ve managed.” She’d had a couple of close calls. The first guy—Anton—seemed to like that she was a stripper and she’d let her guard down. When his parents planned a trip out to see him, she’d redecorated her living room, bought good china, planned a gourmet meal, even though she was a shitty cook.

Meanwhile, he stopped calling. Returned after his parents left with some lame excuse and she knew she was his girl on the side, his secret vice. She’d been hurt, insulted, pissed, told him to go screw himself. Mostly, she was furious at herself for going blind, for being weak.

She’d been a mess in the aftermath, barely recognizable as the kick-ass woman she worked so hard every day to be.

The second guy was a skirt-chaser, who reformed for her until she caught him with a day-shift dancer. He’d begged for forgiveness, complaining about all the temptations at the club. What flipped her out was how much she’d built her life around him, nested in, building a house of matchsticks, ready to explode with a bit of friction on a hard surface.

Since then, she’d kept it simple with guys who wanted only a hot connection, no morning-after calls and no regrets. And since starting school, she’d had no interest in even that and sex had been on the back burner.

She didn’t want to talk about any of her history with Mike, so she shifted the focus to him. “I would think you’d have a Mrs. Mayor by now.”

“I’d like that. Very much.” His abrupt vulnerability surprised her. She’d expected a teasing reply.

“Really?”

“I haven’t had a lot of free time.”

“There’s always time to—date.” Or to have sex at least. Though maybe Mayor Mike was old-fashioned. Maybe he dated a respectful number of times before he got naked with a woman.

Mmm, naked. Don’t picture him. Don’t. Don’t.

“I’ve made it a priority the last few months, but nothing serious so far.”

“I can’t imagine the single women of Copper Corners aren’t lining up for the mayor.”

He grimaced. “I don’t want women lining up.”

“No social climbers need apply?”

“The town has a population of twelve hundred, Autumn. Mostly families. Single people head for the cities. And, as to social climbing, we’re pretty much a single-story town.”

“There’s always a ladder, Mike. Don’t kid yourself.” She knew that from hanging on the bottom rungs in high school and later, as a stripper, set apart from the straight world, even though she knew herself to be a moral person.

“I don’t treat people that way.” He held her gaze, telling her he meant it. There was something rock-solid about the guy. She still didn’t want to hear his opinion of her other career. He might disappoint her and she wanted to respect him a while longer. At least as long as she worked for him.

“What are you looking for in a wife?” she asked.

“What you’d expect. A partner, someone with similar values and interests, someone committed to family and home.”

“What about looks? Attraction? Passion?”

He shrugged. “That’s part of it.”

“But mainly, you want someone to bake your bread and match your socks and keep the home fires burning?” She was teasing, but she felt an undercurrent of irritation and…envy? What was that about? She would never tolerate life as some man’s little woman. That would be a prison sentence—life without parole.

Of course men weren’t lining up to ask her to bake them pies, by any means. Autumn was all about sex and heat and animal drives. And she liked that, knew that, trusted how it worked. It was simple and human and satisfying.

She loved that she could render men speechless and desperate with a slow spin, a soft slide, a loosened bra. She loved that a hint of nakedness, the suggestion of contact, made them as hard as the chrome poles she danced around. She loved that.

“I’m not sure what you’re getting at, but I want an equal partner, not domestic help.”

“So you’re willing to share your pants?”

“If she’s into that, sure,” he said, making it sound deliciously sexual. His joke showed her he wasn’t a secret chauvinist. “What about you? What do you want in a husband?”

“I don’t want a husband. Or a boyfriend for that matter. Sometimes being alone is…better.” Maybe she didn’t know the difference between lust and love. Or maybe she was like her friend Sugar and didn’t have the happily-ever-after gene. Well, the old Sugar, anyway.