Mayday (9 page)

He knew she was close. So he made sure to keep his gaze on her face as he wedged his cock against her clit and rubbed from side to side, altering the rhythm abruptly. A moment later, he got his reward when her hard breaths became short cries of pleasure and her face twisted in orgasm. Against his cock, he could feel her pussy spasm.

Her arms and legs shook as they clamped even tighter around him, and she buried her face in his neck as she moaned. He kept nudging her gently with his cock, letting the motion entice every last twitch of pleasure from her.

If he was judging it correctly, she'd just come hard. Thank God. Step One in his Make Up for Previous Sucky Bedtime Performance Plan: Complete.

After a few more seconds, her body went limp against him. Her arms and legs loosened, but she still clung to him with every limb, her face nestled against his throat. Wrapping his own arms around her back, he let his hips still and stroked her, soothing her with his hands until her breaths became slow and even once more.

“Wes?” she mumbled against his neck.

“Yeah?” He kissed the top of her wet head.

“What about you?” she asked.

She nudged her hips forward just a bit, and he bit off a groan.

“Today wasn't for me,” he said. “Besides, much as it pains me, I have a phone meeting with a City Council member pretty soon. He couldn't do it earlier, no matter how much I begged. And I begged a lot, trust me.”

When she lifted her head from his neck, her eyes seemed a little unfocused. Dazed. If it wouldn't have looked undignified, he'd have probably danced a little victory jig in the water at the signs of lingering pleasure in that gaze. Even though, at the moment, his cock felt like someone could use it for any purpose requiring a tool of extraordinary, unbreakable hardness.

“Are you sure?” she asked. “I could do . . . something.”

He lowered his head and brushed his mouth against hers one last time, giving her lower lip a lingering lick. “I'm sure,” he said. “Up you go.”

He gave her a boost out of the pool, making sure to grab a good hold of her ass as he did so. By the time he'd climbed out himself, she'd already pulled her suit back up over her arms, much to his displeasure. Stepping carefully on the slippery tile, she walked over to her bag and grabbed her clothing. With a shrug, she just put it all on over her wet suit.

“Would that still be considered dry humping, given the circumstances?” she asked. “Or does the pool invalidate that description?”

“I'm . . . not sure,” he said. “Honestly, it's not an issue that's ever come up before.”

“So you don't bring women here all the time?” she asked without looking at him.

He reached over and clasped her cheek, gently turning her to face him. “No. You're the first. I've never done anything like this here.”

“Really?” she whispered.

He grinned. “Really. No previous humping at the pool. Either dry or wet.”

“Huh,” she said. The dimple appeared in her cheek, and he touched it lightly.

“I plan on more new experiences for both of us,” he told her. “Soon.”

“I don't know whether to feel excited or frightened,” she teased.

He paused, waiting to respond until she caught his eye again. “Both, Helen,” he told her, his voice rough with sexual promise. “You should feel both.”

And when he saw her eyes widen behind her glasses, he couldn't help it. He aimed that feral grin at her again, because it just felt so damn good.

T
he next morning, Wes collapsed into the padded chair behind his desk at City Hall with a satisfied sigh. For once, a plan of his was progressing smoothly. Even better, the plan concerned the woman who'd haunted his dreams for months. Best of all, the next steps in the plan involved getting her progressively more naked. He couldn't wait. And neither could his intransigent erection.

Clicking open his e-mail account, he skimmed through a few standard messages. A couple of new sponsors for the May Day Celebration that weekend; a few requests for his presence at various committee meetings. Nothing to worry about, thank God.

When a brisk knock against his partially open door caught his attention, he looked up to see Bea Carter standing there. She wore a fitted purple suit over a subtly patterned shirt, and she'd swept her graying black braids into a neat bun high on the back of her head. Clutching a handful of papers, she looked at him closely. Assessingly.

“Hi, Bea. Nice of you to visit. What can I do for you today?” he asked, rising from his chair.

She strode forward and offered a firm handshake. “I hope you have a few free minutes. Sorry I didn't call ahead, but I wanted to keep this meeting quiet.”

He tried to keep the confusion from his face, with only limited success. “Sure. I have some time before my next committee meeting.”

She put a hand on the edge of the door. “May I close this behind me?”

“I . . . of course,” he said. “Please take a seat.”

After shutting the door with a firm click, she sat down in the cushioned chair in front of his desk. “I come here representing myself, as well as three other members of the Clearport City Council. You already have my contact information, of course. Here are the names, phone numbers, and e-mail addresses of the other three.”

She passed him one of the papers she held in her hand. A quick glance at it told him it contained exactly what she'd described and nothing more. Just three names and contact information.

“Okay,” he said slowly. “I'm a little confused. How may I assist you and your three colleagues?”

She cleared her throat and rested the remaining papers in her lap. “We four members of the Clearport City Council have been watching and cheering on your efforts to revitalize Niceville's downtown area for over a year now. We were particularly heartened to hear about your recent success in convincing your City Council to invest more money in downtown infrastructure and institutions. Especially since they resisted you for over three years before you pushed through your agenda. We were very impressed by your work.”

Wes shook his head, bemused. He'd had no idea anyone outside of Nice County—other than Bea, at least—was paying any attention to his mayoral agenda and its successes or failures. His chest puffed out a bit, even as he shifted in embarrassment at the praise. How many years had passed since he'd felt part of a larger world?

Too many. Way too many.

“Thank you for your support,” he said. “I'm still not sure, though, exactly what—”

She leaned forward in her chair and cut him off. “To put it plainly, Clearport needs the same sort of effort and results as you've achieved here in Niceville. My colleagues and I haven't been able to convince the majority of our Council to approve increased funding for our downtown.”

A sympathetic grimace crossed his face. “Well, I certainly understand that feeling. I'm sorry to hear it.”

She inclined her head in acknowledgment of his words. “Even worse, our mayor has also resisted any changes to our tax system or expenditures. However . . .”

With a long pause, she eyed him again as if sizing him for a suit.
Or . . .
something else.

“Our mayor will be leaving office in November due to term limits,” she said. “As I understand it, you will also be vacating your position as mayor then, for exactly the same reason.”

A farfetched idea began to coalesce in Wes's confused thoughts. Was she . . . ? Surely not.

Her hands gathered up the remaining papers in her lap and passed them his way.

“I've compiled some general information for you about Clearport's history, current economic circumstances, and political system. As you'll see, Clearport has no residency requirements for mayor. You could move there and run for office the same day, if you wanted.”

The papers fell from his hands to the desk as his head snapped up to look at her.

She looked back, her eyes and voice steady. “And that, depending on what I see over the next several days, is precisely what we'll be asking. With your help as mayor, we believe our group on the City Council could sway the majority into voting for increased investment in our struggling downtown. You are a persuasive man and well-respected in your community. We need someone like you in Clearport before it's too late for our city.”

He sat up straight in his chair.
Holy shit.
Did this mean he had a real future outside Niceville again? The sort of future he'd imagined for himself so long ago?

“We think you could get elected,” Bea said. “No well-known candidates are expected to run. If the events this upcoming weekend draw a large crowd of both tourists and locals and make money for your downtown businesses, we'll make sure word of that spreads in Clearport. You'll come in as a man with a reputation for getting things done and saving smaller, struggling communities in our region.”

She smiled. “A sort of Mayday mayor, if you will. Someone to call for help when cities like Niceville or Clearport are going down. And if you're successful in both places, I suspect other communities in the mid-Atlantic region would also come calling. You could pick and choose where to go next.”

As a boy, he'd covered himself in his favorite blanket and listened to his parents' bedtime stories. Every night, sitting at his bedside, they'd spoken in hushed tones about their own failed ambitions. And every night, they'd also revealed their hopes for his future.

Those hopes had all revolved around a life spent elsewhere. One that was lived beside the water, instead of in the mountains. One in which no one could deny his success. One in which his future reached beyond the bounds of Nice County, unencumbered by an early marriage or children.

That future had sounded wonderful. Idyllic. So as long as he could remember, he'd dreamed of leaving Niceville as a success. A winner. But he hadn't believed it was possible. Not for him. Not for almost two decades now.

It could happen. It could really happen. But until it did, he needed to play it smart.

Overwhelmed, he searched for the right response. “I'm flattered, of course. And interested. But I'll need some time to study the information you've given me and talk to a few people before I can give you an answer.”

She crossed her legs neatly in front of her. “We expected no less. During my visit, you can contact me at any time to ask questions you might have about Clearport and our current political, economic, and demographic situation.”

“Forgive me,” he said. “But I don't think I can make a decision this major based on one person's input. I'd need to see Clearport for myself and do my own research.”

A pleased smile crossed her narrow face, her white teeth flashing brightly against her dark skin. “Also understandable. And that's why we're inviting you to visit. If you can clear your schedule, we'd actually love for you to come next Thursday. We have a City Council meeting that night, and attending it would give you a better idea of what you'd be facing.”

He tried to remember his schedule for the upcoming week. Nothing too urgent, from what he could recall. “That might be doable.”

“Let me be blunt, however,” she said. “I'm not here just to visit my brother and answer your questions. I'm also here to conduct a final assessment of you and your efforts in Niceville before we officially invite you to run for mayor. I plan on watching the activities this weekend closely so I can study your leadership style and evaluate the success of your initiatives. If what I see impresses me, we'll offer our support for a mayoral candidacy. If it doesn't, we won't.”

He let out a long, slow breath. When he looked down at his hands, he could see they were shaking as adrenaline surged through him.

“Also, my colleagues and I don't want word of my visit or your possible candidacy to spread prematurely,” she noted. “Our opponents on the City Council should have as little notice as possible, so they don't have a lot of time to locate and field their own candidate.”

“That certainly makes sense,” he said. “I promise to discuss your visit only with a few people I trust.”

“Good. We'd be very disappointed if we lost the element of surprise.” She rose from her chair, reaching out for another handshake once he'd stood as well. Her grip was strong, her fingers cool. “Now let me give you some time to think.”

“Please let me know if you need anything from me,” he said. “I'll be busy with the festivities this weekend, but I can make time to meet with you again. And I'll be sure to call you if I have any questions.”

She opened the door to leave. “I can't tell you how much I'm looking forward to seeing some old-fashioned May Day activities. Clearport hasn't celebrated the holiday for almost a century and a half.”

“Why?” he asked.

Her face creased with another bright smile. “Because two months after that last celebration, the general store ran out of shotguns. Lots of premature babies born early that next year too.”

He couldn't help grinning back. “That's a real coincidence.”

“Yes,” she said, her voice dry. “Coincidence.”

With a final wave, she headed down the hall, her sensible pumps clicking on the stone floor. Just as she disappeared behind the closing doors of the elevator, his computer beeped. His meeting had started five minutes ago, and it had started without him.

He should go. Even though he didn't need to make a presentation, he'd promised to attend. He didn't break promises. Not ever.

But...

He needed to tell someone, even if he could only talk for a couple of minutes. At first, he thought of his parents and reached for his phone. But then he found his finger somehow tapping Helen's name on the contacts list instead.

“Wes?” she answered, her voice a little breathy. “I didn't expect to hear from you this morning.”

A stupid grin spread across his face. “I just had the best news. This lady from—”

His smile died as it occurred to him.

He couldn't tell her. At least not right now.

She'd just decided to trust him and his good intentions again. She was still skittish. He knew it. If he told her he might leave town in less than six months, she might change her mind. She might back away from him again, unwilling to get involved with a short-timer. She might even think he only wanted her as a fling until he left.

He couldn't stand the thought of not exploring where a relationship with her could go, of not seeing her lovely face in his life and his bed. Just as he couldn't stand the thought of not exploring where this new opportunity in Clearport might take him on a professional level.

But he didn't want to lie to her, either. The absolutely stupidest thing he could do to a brand-new relationship with a nervous woman was keep something this major from her. She deserved better than that from him, and he refused to hurt her again.

A quick phone call, however, wasn't the right venue for this conversation. He needed to tell her in person. As soon as possible. He couldn't imagine that word of the potential offer from Clearport would leak out, but stranger things had happened. And he didn't want Helen to hear the news from anyone but him.

He could ease her worries and keep her by his side. He just couldn't do it right now.

“Wes?” she asked, sounding concerned. “Are you still there? Is everything all right?”

“Umm . . .” he said. “I wanted to tell you that the May Day celebration got a new sponsor this morning. Niceville Java and Intimate Emporium decided to provide free hot coffee during the setup tomorrow and the evening events on Sunday, as well as discounts on store merchandise both days this weekend.”

Not a lie. That news had come in one of the e-mails he'd skimmed earlier.

“I have conflicting reactions to that news,” she said.

“In what way?” he asked, breathing a sigh of relief when she didn't question his story.

“On the one hand, free coffee,” she explained. “Folks will love that. On the other hand, discounted sex toys. Do you really want the celebration associated with vibrating silicone replicas of penises?”

“As opposed to wooden replicas we can dance around?”

“Touché,” she conceded.

“It'll be fine,” he said. “If people haven't gotten upset about the local coffeehouse-slash-sex shop before now, I don't see why they would start this weekend.”

“Okay,” she said, doubt in her voice.

The bell dinged on his computer, warning him again of the meeting in progress.

“Look, I have to get to a meeting. But don't worry. Everything will be fine.” He paused. “I'm sorry we can't go out this evening. I'll call you late tonight, after my lessons end. And think of me during the day.”

She cleared her throat. “I . . . don't believe that will be an issue.”

His words emerged in a gravelly whisper. “I'm going to think of you. Specifically, how beautiful you looked when you came. The sounds you made. How hot your pussy felt against my cock, even through two layers of swimsuits. How hard your nipples got when I pinched them. How loudly you moaned. The way you scratched my back.”