Optical Delusions in Deadwood (23 page)

      Doc’s kisses had the same effect—only I wasn’t touching down.

      He lifted me onto my desk, his fingers skimming up my bare legs, roaming over my knees, and inching north—taking my hem with them. His lips left mine, slid to my collarbone, brushed across my shoulder; his beard stubble scratched, tickling with a delicious fervor that surged clear to my toes.

      The scent of his skin surrounded me, filled my head, melted away all last traces of coherent thought besides what I needed—craved—from him. I tipped my head back, giving him an all-access pass to my neck. He obliged, starting with a lick, then a graze of his teeth, then a nip. His lips moved to my earlobe, his breath jagged in my ear, his plans for me whispered teases, stirring me into a dust devil.

      “God, Doc!” I gasped and pulled his mouth back to mine, ravaging this time, patience long gone.

      The piercing sound of horns and whistles dragged me back down to Earth. I pulled away from Doc’s lips. “Do you hear that?” I asked, blinking, trying to make sense of the noise, of time and space.

      Nodding, he glanced toward the front plate glass windows. “Shit.” He grinned down at me. “Wave to your fans, Violet.”

      I looked out the windows and died a little death, envisioning my casket draped with humiliation and sprinkled with a handful of mortification. My whole body roasted. With a beauty queen runner-up smile, I waved at the group of bikers idling in the street in front of the office.
Show is over, folks. Nothing to see here ... yet, luckily.

      After a lot of hoots and hollers, clapping and engine revving, the leather-clad crew bid us adieu and motored off toward town.

      Damned Jane and her belief that blinds were bad feng shui. The fluorescent lights must have lit us up like a red-light-district window show.

      I leaned back on my palms, my face still steaming with embarrassment, and looked up at Doc’s cockeyed grin. There was way too much airspace between us now, but any less and I’d have to touch him—I couldn’t help it. “That was close. Much longer and we might have had a predicament on our hands.”

      His gaze dipped to the front of my dress. “We still do.”

      Electricity crackled through my veins, leaving me even hotter and more bothered. “What do you want to do about that?”

      “Finish what I started.”

      “Where?” When his eyes traveled farther south, I chuckled. “I meant, did you have a more private location in mind?”

      “I hadn’t gotten that far.” He took a step back, shaking his head. “You keep distracting me with that dress.”

      “You mean this plain old thing?” I sat up and ran my hands down the front of my dress, taking my time on the curvy parts.

      He groaned. “You’re killing me, Boots. Pick a place. Now.”

      “Your hotel room.” My decision was two-fold—one for more privacy than Calamity Jane’s could offer, two for an answer to where he was now living.

      His hesitation was obvious—and unsettling, like a cold can of soda pop shoved down my undies. Why didn’t he want me to know where he was staying? I waited to see what excuse he gave.

      Doc’s gaze lifted from my dress to meet mine. “My hotel room isn’t available at the moment.”

      Why? Because some big guy with the holey socks and a hunger for pizza-bearing blondes was sleeping in it?

      “Okay. No hotel room then.” As much as I wanted to know where he was spending his nights, I wanted his body more. I’d deal with the hotel room later, post-satiation. “Then let’s go to your office.”

      He hesitated again. At least he held my stare, I’d give him that.

      My gut flip-flopped from excited trembling to anxious queasiness. “What’s going on, Doc?”

      “You don’t want to know.”

      Now I had to. I slid off the desk. “Yes, I do.”

      “How about your Bronco? We could take a ride somewhere.”

      “No. Let’s go to your office.” I grabbed my purse, limped over to where my other shoe still lay next to the victimized whiteboard, and slipped it on.

      He beat me to the front door, holding it closed when I pulled on it. “Trust me, Violet. This is not a good idea.”

      “What’s going on over there?” I tugged again, but he was stronger. “And don’t tell me you’re painting, because I’m not buying that. You painted last month.”

      “It’s not that big of a deal. Just let it go.”

      “If it’s not a big deal, then let me see what’s over there.” Or
who
. This time, when I pulled, he relented. Surprised I’d won the battle, I frowned up at him. “Why so secretive, Doc?”

      Poker-faced, he opened the door, ushering the way. “You’ll see.”

      I had goosebumps in spite of the warm summer night. “Hold on, let me lock up.”

      He waited, then led me into his darkened office, clicking the deadbolt behind us.

      I reached toward the light switch and he captured my hand, stopping me. “No lights.” He let go and walked toward the front windows.

      Why no lights? What was he hiding in here? Uncertain, poised in the shadows, I listened for a sound, a sign of someone—or something—holed up in the dark with me. But my ears felt cotton-filled. Doc’s office walls muffled everything—the throbbing party bass, the growling Harleys, the drunken shouts. Everything except my heart, which pounded in my ears like a pissed-off landlord. I hoped to hell it wasn’t about to get torn out and stomped on by a redhead. 

      Doc’s usual stuff was right where it had been the last time I’d been in here two weeks ago. No smells of fresh paint, no hint of perfume, nothing but stale varnish and subtle whiffs of Doc’s cologne.

      I turned to Doc, who was closing the blinds, blocking out the streetlights, making it even darker. “Why don’t you just tell me what’s going on?”

      “And ruin the surprise? Where’s the fun in that?” He walked past me and disappeared into the shadow-filled back hall. “Follow me, Violet.”

      I slipped out of my shoes—I didn’t know why—and tiptoed after him. The bathroom door hung open, the room empty as far as I could see. Farther down the hall, a beacon of dim light spilled from the one room I’d been in before. Gearing myself for what I was about to see, I tensed and rounded the doorway.

      The sight before me had me scratching my head.

      “See?” Doc said from where he lounged in a big blue beanbag, his forearms resting on his raised knees. A pile of books sat on the floor on one side, and an upside-down crate held a lamp and bottle of wine on the other. “Now, do you understand why I didn’t want you, of all people, in here?”

      My tunnel vision faded. I glanced around the room, which was filled with boxes and luggage—the green set I’d caught a glimpse of through his window a few days ago. His shirts and pants hung from a makeshift clothesline strung between the floor-to-ceiling bookshelf and a hook on the opposing wall.

      My heart cheered, fluttering now that it was out of danger, even though my job might not be out of harm’s way since I knew what Doc was up to and how it went against Jane’s rules.

      Crossing my arms over my chest, I leaned against the doorframe. “What were the thumps I heard earlier?”

      “If you mean the thumps that occurred before you threw the stapler in my general direction and told me to go to hell, it was just a pair of boots I’d tossed that hit the wall.”

      “I did not tell you to go to hell.”

      His grin appeared. “It was unspoken.”

      The low light added shadows to his face, outlining the contours of his cheeks, the cleft in his chin. Damn, I wanted him—enough to take stupid risks just to have him.

      “How long have you been living in here?” I asked.

      “A week. The hotel kicked me out when the bikers started rolling in. Something about previous reservations.”

      “So this is your secret—you’re breaking your lease.” I knew the fine print in his lease after one desperate day last month when he wouldn’t return my call and I’d flipped into stalking mode, something about which I wasn’t particularly proud. “If Jane finds out, she’ll evict you. She’s a stickler for rules.”

      “Yeah, I get that feeling from her.” He leaned back into the beanbag, arms behind his head, legs out and crossed at the ankles.

      “Are you planning to stay here until I get the keys to your house?” Which would be in a week or so unless we hit a snag.

      He nodded. “But now it’s a problem for you as much as me.”

      Very true. If Jane learned that I knew Doc was living here, breaking his lease, she’d be pissed. Pissed enough to fire me? Probably not, but with only one sale
almost
under my belt, I didn’t relish finding out. On the other hand, it was just for another week. “As far as I’m concerned, you’re using this as a storage room until you move into your house.”

      He lifted a brow. “I don’t want to get you into trouble with your boss.”

      “She’ll never know.” Jane was going to be gone for more than a week, anyway, shouldering her divorce mess. She’d probably be sleeping with a shot glass on her nightstand for the next month. I doubted she’d notice a Texas-sized meteor falling from the sky unless it landed on her soon-to-be-ex’s head.

      I dropped my purse on a box and shut the door, sealing us in, snug as bugs … on a bag of beans. “Where’d you get the beanbag?”

      “Down in Rapid. It’s more comfortable than the floor.” He watched me stroll toward him, openly admiring. “Have I mentioned that I want to tear that dress off you with my teeth?”

      I straddled his legs, standing over him, empowered by the hungry glint shimmering in his gaze. “You may have alluded to it.”

      He sat up, his fingers wrapping around my ankles and then gliding up my calves. “Where were you tonight before you came swinging for me?”

      I didn’t feel like wasting time on any more secrets. “Mudder Brothers Funeral Parlor.”

      His fingers froze on the back of my knees. “What were you doing there?”

      “Somebody died. Your fingers stopped.”

      “Who?” He went all Clint Eastwood on me—narrowed eyes, scrunched brow—and pulled his hands away. Damn it.

      “Eloise Tarkin.”

      “Hmmm.” Dirty Harry Doc still had his squinty eye on me. He leaned back. “How did your dress get ripped?”

      Boy, he didn’t miss much. Then again, he’d been getting pretty handy over at my desk. “Hiding in a crate.”

      “Christ! Do I want to know more?”

      “Not right now.” I reached under my dress and wiggled out of my panties with as much pole-dancing grace as I could muster, dropping the black satin to the floor. “About that predicament of ours ...”

      “Damn, Boots.” His voice came out raspy. “That’s sexy as hell.”

      “Really? Then what do you think of this?” I slid a black bra strap down one arm.

      “Bad thoughts.”

      “And this?” I shrugged the other one down.

      “Very bad thoughts.”

      I reached behind me and unclipped my bra through the velvet. Then I slipped the bra completely off, drawing the piece of satin and lace out through my low neckline, and dangled it from my finger. “What about this?”

      “I’ll show you.” He jackknifed upright, grabbing my bra and throwing it behind me. His hands wrapped around the outsides of my knees, then skimmed up my outer thighs, sneaking under my dress. His fingers climbed higher, exploring, his palms burning. All teasing left his face. His eyes darkened as he watched me. My breath quickened when his caresses grew bolder, came closer; skimming, enticing, tormenting.

      My knees trembled, threatening to buckle. The fireworks crew in my head had all the powder kegs in place, fuses ready for lighting. I anticipated his touch, couldn’t wait for it, moaned in eagerness as his fingertips teased just out of reach.

      A glancing stroke sent me reeling. “Doc, touch me.”

      “Not yet.”

      I gripped his shoulders. “Please.”

      “I like it when you beg.” He strummed, stealing my breath.

      “Paybacks are hell, you know.”

      “I’m counting on that.” His hands slid down to the back my knees. He tugged on me. I folded, my shins sinking into the beanbag, my thighs straddling his.

      Eye to eye now, I assessed my new position. First of all, there was too much space between us. I remedied that, scooting closer, my thighs hugging his hips, his pants the only barrier.

      He groaned as I nestled against him, searching for a better fit. “Am I hurting you?” I asked.

      “Immensely.”

      “Good.” I adjusted again, this time with purpose.

      He stared at me, his jaw tight. “Not yet, Vixen.”

      I conceded for the moment, but his T-shirt had to go. I wanted to ogle his body, rub all over it, taste it. I grabbed the hem. “Take this off.”

      Shrugging it off, he tossed it behind me. “Anything else?”

      “Yes. Lean back.”

      He indulged me, resting on his elbows. I took a moment to study his torso in the lamp light and decided the contours required a hands-on examination. I walked my fingernails up his ribs. Then I swirled in circles back downward, trailing the dark hair that sprinkled his abdomen. The flames inside me licked higher, hotter, as his muscles rippled in response to my touch. I reached his waistband and his hand stopped me.

      “My turn.”

      I spread my arms wide. “I’m all yours.”

      A growl rumbled from his chest. “You will be.”

      Breath bated, I waited. His assault started on the last place I expected—the inside of my wrist. His lips caressed. Then he worked his way up to the soft skin of my inner elbow, his tongue tickling, making me squirm as something low in my belly quivered. By the time he reached my shoulder, I was coated in goosebumps, writhing in lust.

      His onslaught shifted to my mouth, his lips coaxing mine, his teeth gently tugging. I tried to entice him deeper, feeling bereft, wanting so much more. But he resisted, his tongue elusive.

      “Doc,” I whispered.