Kind of cool.
Yes, she’d be glad when these things were resolved. Yes, she’d be glad when the jewels were returned to their rightful owners. (Especially her diamond to herself). And yes, she’d even be glad to know where Frankie Morrell was. Though, as more and more time passed, I believed the latter was the least of her concerns.
She and Mrs. P were dressing up for a night on the town. Cotton Carson, though he couldn’t attend with the two ladies himself this evening, had gotten tickets for Mother and Mrs. P to dinner theater, live band, five course meal — the works.
That male attention was helping Mom become her old self again. Not that she needed the male attention, but, well, it was kind of nice. Kind of fun.
I was staying in this evening. Dinner was microwaved macaroni and cheese. No live band unless I broke out the musical spoons. As for male attention … well, Dylan was on his way over. But we’d be white boarding it all the way.
I had on hand enough dry erase markers to make even the most industrious kindergarten teacher green with envy. We’d be working our asses off this night.
He’d have to sneak past Big Eddie, who would wonder what his security guard was doing there after hours. But at least I didn’t have to sneak him in past my mother.
I was glad she knew. And in a dumb, giddy way I wouldn’t admit to under threat of death, I kind of wanted Dylan to get there tonight before Mother and Mrs. P left for their evening out.
Mother had confronted me with my interest in Dylan/his interest in me.
“I know things, Dix,” she’d said.
I’d responded appropriately with another chin-spraying ‘pfffft’ (quickly becoming my trade-marked move), but Katt Dodd smiled anyway.
And smiled all the more when Dylan did show up at the door before she and Mrs. Presley left.
It wasn’t the coffee he bore (though that set my own heart just a jumping). It wasn’t the stack of notes he had tucked under his arm. Nor was it even the circle-a-word book he dropped off to Mrs. P just to be … well, just to be Dylan. It was the way he looked at me. That’s what put a smile on my mother’s face. Okay, maybe it was also the way her tough-as-shoe-leather daughter looked at Dylan. Maybe that made her smile a bit, too.
Well, it was good to see him.
“Hello, Dylan,” Mother said.
Dylan shook her offered hand.
“I never did get to thank you for Cotton Carson’s attendance at court the other day. Dix tells me you arranged it. And I’m very, very grateful for that.”
“My pleasure, Mrs. Dodd.”
“Katt. Call me Katt. Dix has told me so much about you, I feel as if I know you already.”
For the record, I’d not told my mother ‘so much’ about Dylan already. She was one to tease.
“Did Dix tell you how good looking he was, Katt?” Mrs. P asked.
“Why, she did, Jane. And she was right.”
“Did she mention tall? Handsome?”
“Oh, yes.”
Dylan wasn’t blushing. But he was grinning ear to ear.
Me? Well, I didn’t blush but….
“How come your cheeks are turning red, Dix?” Mrs. P asked.
“Just hot in here, Mrs. Presley,” I answered.
“Hormones,” she said. “Gotta watch out for those hormones.”
Did I mention I couldn’t wait for Mother and Mrs. P to get out the door?
~*~
Dylan and I did get down to work as soon as they left. Well, once I had coffee in hand and cupcakes (Mother made more, bless her heart) passed out. Now, with caffeine and sugar sufficiently perking our systems, we were ready.
We had to crack this thing wide open before the family jewels ended up in a pawn shop somewhere. Yes, the police were surveying those dens of iniquity carefully, not just for mom’s ring but for the other missing items. Still, the longer that diamond was missing, the slimmer the chances of getting it back.
I swallowed down a bite of cupcake remembering my promise. Mom had such faith in me. I’d find that ring if it took forever.
So Dylan and I brainstormed. We charted. We looked at this from every angle until my head pounded. But be damned if I could figure out just how Big Eddie was dumping the stuff. Damned if we could figure out who his accomplice was.
Around ten, Dylan and I took a break. Not a wine break. And we sure as hell didn’t need another coffee break. The cupcakes were gone. But we just had to break to clear our heads a bit.
While we’d been working, Dylan had started the evening sitting across from me. Then he’d moved beside me on the pulled out sofa bed, and then well … closer beside me.
Planned? Hell no. We’d just been that into what we were doing.
But as we took our much-needed break, it was then that I realized how close I actually was to Dylan Foreman. And damned if I didn’t see it in his eyes, he was realizing it, too.
“Dix, about the other night….”
He didn’t have to explain which night. It was there in those gorgeous liquid brown eyes of his. As we sat there on the very same sofa bed, close, alone, it was all coming back to the both of us.
It happens sometimes when the stakes are high, and you’re with someone you’ve been completely open with. Scarily open.
Briefly I wondered if he was trying to hedge his way out of the situation. Make excuses why it shouldn’t have happened, and why it would never happen again. This wasn’t just me letting him off the hook. This was me jumping the hell off it. If Dylan was looking for a way out, then a way out I would give him.
“Really Dylan, you don’t have to say anything.”
So he didn’t.
He didn’t say one word as he pulled me into his arms.
Wordlessly — oh, Lord, breathlessly — I went.
Just like that, we were prone again, body to body in the sagging center of my mother’s sofa bed.
His kiss was exquisite. Slow and unhurried, lush and luxuriously sensual, like that time months ago when he’d kissed me for the first time. He kissed me like only a man who truly enjoys kissing can kiss a woman. He kissed me like every woman dreams about being kissed, slow and thorough and sweetly arousing. And I tried to be easy and unhurried, too. To enjoy the slow build. I really did. For all of about fifteen seconds. Because, God help me, I was sooooo far beyond needing a slow build. My poor, sex-deprived hormones were clamoring to get on to the main event.
Unable to do anything else, I answered his sensual invitation with ferocious sexual urgency. To my undying gratitude — which I expressed with an approving moan — he came back at me with a rough and ragged passion that matched my own. His mouth was suddenly hard on mine, demanding that I accept the invasion of his tongue. And oh, God, did I! I accepted the thrust of his tongue as avidly as my body was aching to accept another invasion. Meanwhile — yes! — his hands swept over my body with unmistakable carnal purpose. Like he owned it. Like it was his to control.
With no warning, he rolled me under him (God, yes!), and I almost came. And this despite the fact that neither of us had shed a single article of clothing. The feel of his weight pressing me into the mattress, the heavy pounding of his heart against mine….
Then he raised himself on his arms, causing his lower body to press into mine, at the juncture of my parted thighs. And no way was that a flashlight I was feeling. I moaned and arched against him.
Dylan groaned. “It’s the uniform, isn’t it, Dix?” His words were teasing, but his voice was satisfyingly hoarse, the gaze that roamed my face gratifyingly intense. “Go on, admit it. The security guard getup makes you hot, doesn’t it?”