Paulina Rostakova’s Adventures
AUGUST 9
5:55 a.m.
Warsaw, Poland
There are times when I’m surprised we’re still alive. Then there are times when I’m convinced we’re immortal. Fortunately, the latter isn’t my normal state of mind. Although I did have to admit that I was filled with nothing but admiration for Dixon after he’d disabled the men Dad had engaged to put the fear of god in me.
“That man was on the ground again!” I yelled when we bounced over the edge of the curb and onto the street outside the Moscow hotel. “You beat the crap out of him, didn’t you?”
“I wouldn’t say that,” Dixon answered, popping up from the floor of the backseat, where he’d been thrown when I gunned the car and crashed through the parking lot barrier. He looked back, his hair ruffled in the breeze. “We’re going to have to pay for that, you know?”
“For the guys who attacked us? I don’t see why. They must have some sort of insurance.”
“No, for the barrier.” He climbed over into the front seat, sliding down into it, swearing, rising up, and pulling his goggles out from where he’d sat on them. He donned them, then turned to look at me.
I giggled.
“What?” he asked.
“It’s the goggles. They’re bad enough with your driving hat on, but by themselves they’re kind of . . .”
“Roguishly handsome?” he asked, lifting his chin.
“Steampunky.”
“Yes, well, I can’t help that. My cap is back in the hotel room.”
“I told you to leave it in the car like I did with my hat. Would you gather up some of my veil, please? It’s choking me.”
He obliged, pulling it from where it was streaming the length of the car and wadding it up onto the seat, sitting on it to keep it from billowing out again. “I suppose we’re going to drive all night.”
“We shouldn’t. We only had a few hours’ sleep, and we were sorely in sleep deficit before that, but I have to admit, this escape was super exciting! I kind of got my adrenaline going, and now I’m all Rawr! Let’s take on the world!”
He flexed his fingers and examined his knuckles. A couple of them were scraped. “I’d rather not, if you don’t mind, although I admit the scene did wake me up fully. Roger won’t be pleased with our change of plans, though.”
“Probably not, especially since I saw Tabby and Sam’s car in the garage, which means they made it to Moscow and were probably sleeping.”
“I’ll text him and update him as to recent events,” Dixon said, and pulled his phone out of his pocket. A half hour later, he showed me the response.
WTH? the text read. Why are you trying to sauber the program?
“Sauber?” I asked, glancing quickly at the phone.
“Sabotage, I expect, is what he meant. Ah. Another one. Will you stop trying to drive me insane and wait for the film crew? Hmm. He seems to have disregarded the part of the explanation where I pointed out we were in danger of our lives.”
“Did you tell him you went James Bond all over those goons’ asses?” I asked, flashing him an admiring glance.
“Of course not. I’m British. We don’t talk about our James Bond episodes,” he said in a very correct voice, his expression prim.
I laughed, aware of a sensation deep in my stomach that was warm and squidgy and wonderfully exciting. “Dixon,” I said, not realizing I was speaking until I heard the words, “I think I’m falling in love with you.”
He said nothing for a minute. A very uncomfortable minute.
I slid him a glance out of the corners of my eyes.
“Well?” I asked at the end of the minute. “You’ve got to have some sort of a reaction to that statement. You can’t just brush off an ‘I might be falling in love with you’ comment. It’s a law that you have to reply. Please do so now.”
“Ah,” he said, and didn’t look at me.
I glanced in the rearview mirror and managed to get us to the side of the road without accident.
“Why are we stopping?” he asked.
“Because an ‘ah’ is not a proper response to what I just said. Dammit, Dixon! I said I was falling in love with you!”
“You said you thought you were falling in love with me. That’s not the same as actually doing the act,” he pointed out.
“Stop being pedantic,” I said, frowning a little.
“I’m sorry if you feel that pointing out the obvious is pedantic, but there is a difference between thinking you’re falling in love and actually doing so.”
“And this is what I get for trying to have an adult relationship where I speak my mind and am honest and aboveboard with my thoughts and feelings and yearnings for your naked flesh on my naked flesh. Particularly my female bits. They miss your male bits. A lot.”
“Are your female bits perhaps confusing a perfectly normal and healthy lust for the more substantial and long-term love?” he asked.
“No!” I punched him lightly on the arm. “Dammit, Dixon. Is it your fiancée? Is it too soon? Not that I think nine years can in any way be considered soon, but still, people grieve at different rates. Is it because of her?”
He sighed, about to deny it, but stopped and finally said, “Yes. But not in the way you think.”
“Oh? In what way, then?”
He toyed with the material covering his knees for a few seconds. “I told you about this, but you were asleep. I didn’t love Rose. I’m not sure I ever truly did, even at the beginning when we first met and were together. She always seemed to take charge of the relationship, leaving me feeling as if my thoughts and preferences didn’t matter. I was more or less without a say in the way our future was planned.”
“That doesn’t sound like you,” I said with a little frown, and pulled out into traffic again.
“It isn’t. Or rather, it wasn’t then, but I lacked the confidence in myself to recognize what was wrong with our interactions. It’s easy to see now that I allowed myself to be swept along with her visions, but that was not the case at the time. There was also a little oppositional defiance issue in that my parents disliked Rose intensely, and I was going through a rebellious stage.”
“I tried to have one of those,” I said with a little sigh at the memory of the time I tried to live on my own with only the money I made waitressing. I was a horrible waitress. “Not only was I a failure at it—my father made himself so sick with worry that I decided it wasn’t worth it. It’s hard to be defiant when the people who love you are so unhappy.”
“You’re luckier than me, then, because I clung to my defiance until I realized the situation was too complicated to bow out of with any sort of dignity. And then Rose became ill, and I couldn’t leave then because . . . well, I just couldn’t.”
“You’re a really nice guy—do you know that?” I kept my eyes on the road, but was very aware of Dixon’s small movements next to me. He was making little “I’m embarrassed by your praise” twitches of his fingers. “I think it’s admirable that you were there for your fiancée when she needed you most.”
“She didn’t need me. She hated me by the end, and I didn’t blame her one bit. I wasn’t any too fond of myself.”
“Don’t beat yourself up because you made mistakes,” I told him from the wisdom of many years of therapy. “You can’t control what other people think or do, and you certainly aren’t responsible for either.”
“No, but if I had backed out earlier . . . if she had met someone she really should have been with . . .”
“Bah. The world is full of ifs, and none of them are worth a damned thing. So how does the fact that you’re not grieving for your lost love mean that you can’t tell me that you’ve fallen for me just like I’ve fallen for you? And keep in mind if you tell me you haven’t fallen for me, I am in control of this vehicle and I can easily see to it that you tumble out of it. While I’m driving. Fast.”
He laughed, relieving the sense of worry that had filled me ever since I had made my declaration. “And I know you would never accept a profession of love made under the threat of death or dismemberment.”
I cocked an eyebrow at him. “And . . . ?”
“And?” He looked somewhat surprised. “And I believe that you know what my feelings are.”
I wanted to stop the car again just so I could look at him, but I’d be damned if I’d appear desperate after just telling him I loved him. I pondered what he’d said, gnawing my lower lip as I tried to determine if I was missing something. Should I know what he felt for me? Oh, I knew he was fond of me and enjoyed our sexual escapades, and he liked talking to me, but did he feel the same sense of burgeoning love that gripped me with painful fingers every time I clapped eyes on him? Did he think of me at all hours of the day, like I did of him? Did he mentally store up things to discuss with me, just as I did?
Dammit, why couldn’t he answer my question the way I wanted him to?
“So . . .” I hesitated, fighting my pride with the need to get some clarity. “So you’re not closed to the idea of a romantic relationship beyond that of a purely physical nature?”
“No. When the time is right.”
“Huh?” Now I really was confused.
“I won’t make the mistakes I did in the past. I will do things properly. I will declare myself and my affections. I will propose on one knee. I will be married in a ceremony where both families are in attendance, and it will be a celebration of our commitment to each other, and not a showcase bereft of good taste and emotions beyond greed and one-upmanship.”
A sick feeling gripped my stomach. Was he saying I wasn’t the woman of his choice? In my tired state, I didn’t have enough brainpower to figure out just what it was he was trying to say. Was he gently letting me down? Or was he indicating that, at some point, he would follow his strategy and we’d live happily ever after?
I glanced at him, unsure how to respond.
He sat back easily, his fingers relaxed on his knees, his hair blown back from his brow by the wind.
Dear god, he was handsome. That straight nose, the bluish gray eyes that could go from pretty to steamy with just a bat of his lashes. And his jaw—oh, that jaw. I loved his jaw, almost as much as his chest. And his legs. And butt. And pretty much every other part of him.
Dammit, I loved him. There was no denying the fact—I wanted to wake up next to him every morning. I wanted to argue with him, and make up, and laugh and sing and dance with him. I wanted to hold him in the night and see his eyes light up with laughter when I teased him.
I just wanted him.
We drove on in silence. Dixon didn’t seem to be bothered at all by our conversation, but I was badly confused and worried. And since I’m not a person who does either in silence for long, I finally blurted out, “Do you want to see me after the race? Or is this just a fling?”
The face he turned to me expressed utmost surprise. “What?”
“You heard me.” I gritted my teeth and glared out the windscreen. The weather was starting to turn chilly for August, with cloud cover over the moon, leaving the night dark and uninspiring.
Pretty much like my life at that moment.
“Yes, I did, but my question was aimed more for why you would ask that than what your question meant.”
“Man, you’re going to make me ask it right out, aren’t you?” I sighed, figuring my dignity didn’t stand a chance against my raging curiosity. “The person you’re talking about, the one you want to propose to—are you saying that’s someone you’ve yet to meet, or someone you know now?”
The look he gave me was chiding. “Do you really have to ask?”
“Yes. Yes, I do. That’s why I’m asking it,” I said through clenched teeth.
His lips twitched. “Do I strike you as a Lothario?”
“Dammit, Dixon, answer the question!”
“Which one?”
“Gah! So help me, I will pull this car over and . . . and . . .”
“And what?” he asked, tipping his head to the side.
“Something you’ll be very sorry about!” I finished, almost sputtering, so annoyed was I.
“Pull over,” he said.
“Huh?”
“Pull over.”
I glared at him for a second, then did as he asked and pulled onto the shoulder. “Look,” I started to say, but got no further. Dixon was out of the car and coming around to my side, holding open the door for me.
“Are you kicking me out of my own car?” I asked, slowly climbing out.
“You have a very odd picture of me if you can declare your love and admiration for me in one breath and then suspect me of trying to get rid of you in the next.” He pulled me forward into an embrace, his arms solid around me and the feel of his body so perfectly right for mine.
He squeezed my butt and gave me a quick peck before pushing me into the passenger seat. “You’re tired and overwrought. Why don’t you rest, and I will drive for a few hours?”
“I’m not overwrought! I’m a bit murderous, but not overwrought, and you only have yourself to thank for that state of mind,” I growled.
“I’m sorry if you’re so unhappy right now.” He reached into the back for the lap blanket we kept there, mostly to take naps on. “Here, you cover up and rest, and I’ll drive for a few hours.”
I gave up at that point. I don’t like to think of myself as a quitter, but I’d asked him point-blank several times, and if he didn’t want to answer the question, then so be it.
The big idiot. “Roger will be pissed if we don’t go find a hotel and park ourselves so they can find us.”
“To hell with Roger,” he said with blithe abandon.
I bit back some rather scathing comments and settled back, confused, emotionally vulnerable, and fearing a future of unrequited love, but realized that now was clearly not the time to discuss the future, so I tried to put the matter from my mind.
In the end, we did find a hotel, but only after we had crossed the border into Latvia.
I had hoped for some rompy time once we were snuggled into bed, even if the man refused to talk relationship. Dixon, however, had other ideas. When I emerged from a soak in the tub to warm up all my extremities (the misty rain had turned into a heavy drizzle that seemed to seep through my clothes to my skin), he was sound asleep, snoring up a storm. I stood looking down at him, wondering how I had started this adventure determined to find my wings at last and go my own way without ties to any family, and now here was a man who was so much a part of me, I couldn’t even imagine life without him. And I had no idea if he reciprocated those feelings.
“You are just going to have to see reason,” I said, snuggling into Dixon. He mumbled in his sleep and rolled on his side, his leg and arm over me protectively. I scooted in even closer to his chest, enjoying the scent and feel of him. “That’s all there is to it.”
We slept for almost twelve hours. Not intentionally, as I explained to Sam and Tabby, who had caught up to us by the following morning.
“Roger is about an hour ahead of us,” Tabby said when we got dressed, and stopped at the hotel breakfast area for a little food. “The Essex team had an issue this morning when two of their tires blew at the same time and they only had one spare left. Roger had ordered the remaining tires stockpiled in Germany to be driven to Daugavpils.”
“That’s close to us, isn’t it?” I asked.
“About forty miles,” Dixon answered, looking at the map pasted into our logbook. “Damn. I was hoping we were ahead of them after all that driving.”
“You were for a while. Then Roger mentioned how you’d driven to Moscow a day sooner than planned, and they drove all night to catch up.” Tabby shrugged. “I guess Dermott and Clarissa were really annoyed by that. Roger, of course, gets by without any sleep.”
Dixon and I exchanged guilty looks at the mention of the second camera team having to play catch-up. “We should apologize again for racing off without you,” I started to say, but Tabby waved it off.
“It’s all right. We kind of enjoy hunting you down. It’s just good you can’t go over fifty.”
I made a face.
Dixon asked, “How did the Essex team pass us if they were missing a tire?”
“They got a temporary one from a local car dealership. I guess it makes the car shimmy something horrible because it doesn’t fit right, and they can’t drive over thirty miles per hour, but Sanders refused to wait for the actual replacements to arrive, so they’re determined to be in Daugavpils when the spares arrive.”
“That sounds highly dangerous,” I said, glancing at the clock. “It shouldn’t take us long to get past them if they can only do thirty. Let’s see how much ground we can put between us and them.”
“You haven’t looked outside, have you?” Sam, a bagel in his hands, stopped by to comment. “It’s pouring buckets out there.”
“Ugh. We’ll have to put the top up on the Flyer,” I told Dixon.
“Worse, we’ll be sopping wet by the time we stop.” He rose and stretched. I was momentarily distracted by the sight of that movement on his chest, even though it was covered by an undershirt, shirt, vest, and coat. Really, the man was entirely too sexy for his own good. I narrowed my eyes on him, wondering if I was going to have trouble with women coveting him.
Tabby was chatting and joking about us needing to wear rubber suits in order to drive the Flyer when I turned my gaze on her. I knew from past conversations that she’d had both male and female partners, and now here she was with her hand on Dixon’s arm while she joked.
I stood up, not wanting to draw attention to the fact that she was handling my man—because I liked Tabby; I truly did—but I wasn’t about to put up with other women fondling him right there in front of me.
“What’s wrong?” Dixon asked me when Tabby turned to gather up some food to go.
“What makes you think anything is wrong?”
He cocked an eyebrow at me. It was my favorite eyebrow, too. “You’re glaring at Tabby as if she just took your favorite toy.”
“Good call, Mr. Sexy,” I said with much meaning, and went off to rearrange the storage boxes on the car so that we could put the convertible top up.
We’d had to use the top once in the U.S., but not since crossing the ocean. Putting it up required a complicated dance of turning cranks, hurriedly checking prop arms, and then cranking a bit more. One person had to guide the front part along its path until it was finally settled over the front seats.
“Do I want to know—” Dixon asked, following me out to the car.
“No. And I’m not jealous, just in case you were wondering, although you could keep your forearms to yourself, you know. You don’t have to go flaunting them everywhere, so women are forced to touch them because they can’t resist temptation.”
“Sweetheart,” he said in a drawling voice when I started to unsnap the cover that tucked the hood away. “I’m going to say this just once, but I hope you heed me: you have to stop smoking crack first thing in the morning.”
“Oh, ha ha, very funny.” I glared at him over the width of the car as we rolled down the cover. “I bet you’re eating it up, you man, you.”
“Eating what up? Hang on—this arm is stuck. There it is. Go ahead, both verbally and physically.”
“I bet you love Tabby throwing herself all over your person.”
He paused in the act of snapping one of the roof arms into place and had the nerve to look at me like I was the one encouraging strange women to feel me up. “Are you serious?”
“Yes. No. Oh hell, I don’t know anymore. I just don’t like the fact that you’re so handsome women are going to be flocking to you. It’s going to be hell living with a man who could beat women off him with a stick.”
He stared at me for the count of five, then burst into loud, lengthy laughter.
I waited it out with a jaded look plastered all over my face.
“Oh, Paulie,” he said finally, mopping at his eyes. “Only you could imagine that anyone, anyone else in the world would think I’m handsome.”
“You are,” I said, annoyed that he didn’t understand what a burden I had to bear with his manly beauty. “You have a nice nose, and that jaw that makes my knees feel like they are made of pudding, and your eyes are so pretty, I just want to scream. And your chest! Holy hellballs, Dixon, your chest could make a sinner of a saint. I won’t even mention what your ass could do to people!”
Still chuckling, he came around the car and took me in his arms, then kissed me on my nose. “You are the sweetest woman I know, and I have a very nice mother, sisters, and sisters-in-law. Thank you for thinking I have such a devastating effect on the female population of the world, but I can reassure you in all honesty that the only woman who ever hit on me was drunk and thought I was someone else.”
“Don’t try to sweet-talk your way out of this,” I said, allowing myself to be mollified nonetheless. I’d have to be made of concrete not to be swayed by the lure of his voice and body and hands while he gave me another kiss, this one steamy enough to make me moan into his mouth. My tongue danced around his, and I was thinking seriously of us going back to the room and giving in to our base desires when he finally dragged his mouth away from mine.
“Now that is a kiss that will keep me going through the day,” he said, squeezing my butt before returning to his side of the car.
“Just so long as you don’t allow other women to put their hands all over you,” I said grumpily, smiling to myself because it was clear that he was on his way to being in love with me. No one could put up with the things he put up with unless he was smitten.
Ugh. I hate it when I try to be cheery with myself.
Driving the Flyer in a heavy rain was a serious pain in the ass. It was hard at the best of times, but trying to see through the driving rain with no wipers on the windscreen made for tense driving. And then there was the fact that we had no side windows, so the wind and water blew in, soaking us and making our driving goggles fog up. By the time we reached Daugavpils, we were soaked and uncomfortable.
“Worse,” I told Dixon when we stopped at one of the authorized gas stops to refuel, “there’s no sign of the blasted cheating Esses.”
Dixon glanced toward the car. “I’m glad you said that out of range of the dash cam. We should be careful to keep our opinions to ourselves, at least until Roger proves that they are the ones causing the issues.”
“Hrmph.” I snorted and made use of the station bathroom before we got back in the wetmobile and headed into Lithuania.
The weather got worse and worse the longer we drove, thunder greeting us when we crossed the border, along with rain that rode the wind until it was almost horizontal hitting the windscreen.
“This is miserable,” I said after I finished an hour’s stint driving. My arms ached, my hands were cold even in the leather driving gloves, my veil was sodden and dripped water all over me, and my face hurt from squinting to see through the rain.
Dixon and I swapped seats without getting out into the monsoon. He’d been doing the bulk of the driving duties simply because it was hell to steer the Flyer in the onslaught, but I was beginning to think we had better find a spot to pull over and see if we could wait out the storm when Tabby texted me.
August 8
From: Tabby
FYI our car just started making horrible grinding noises and the temp is rising. We’re turning around and going to the last petrol station we saw.
August 8
To: Tabby
Oh no! Are you guys OK? Should we turn around?
August 8
From: Tabby
Lord no. We’ll catch up once we have a mechanic look at it. Texting Roger to warn him.
I told Dixon what was happening.
“Ask her,” he said, peering through the rain, his jaw tight, his fingers white on the steering wheel as he fought to keep the car from veering off the road in the face of the blinding wind and rain. “Ask her if the Essex team got their spare tires.”
“Maybe we should stop for a bit,” I said, eyeing him with concern. “We can’t keep going on like this. We’re both wiped out, and we’ve only been driving for five hours.”
“I’ll be damned if I get any farther behind them. We’re so close, I can almost feel them.”
August 8
To: Tabby
Dixon wants to know where the Esses are. I know you’re not supposed to tell us, but I assume they are in front of us.
August 8
From: Tabby
Yes. Not far, though, according to Roger.
I contemplated keeping that fact from Dixon, since I knew it would keep him behind the wheel longer than was wise, but he was a grown man and he knew his limits. “They’re not far ahead of us.”
“Good.” A grim smile played with his lips. “This storm is going to be just the break we need. The Zust will have an even harder time than the Flyer in it.”
“Why?” I asked, reviewing the mental image of the Essex car.
“It’s smaller and lighter. I bet this wind is all but tossing them around the road.” He shifted the car into the highest gear, which let us zoom along at a dazzling fifty miles an hour. He brushed at the moisture on his goggles. “Cover yourself up with the blanket, love. No sense in you getting pneumonia.”
A warm, fuzzy feeling swept over me at his words. My father had always been overprotective, but I’d never until that moment appreciated how nice it was to have someone concerned for my well-being. I pulled the lap blanket over so it covered his legs as well as mine, and snuggled into his side. “Let me know when you need a break.”
Two miles later, we hit the detour. Evidently the storm had been raging in this area for a day and the bridge over a river had been damaged by some flooding upstream. We were rerouted off the highway to a single-lane road that wound through farmland, heading first one direction, then another, but slowly meandering toward a return to the highway.
Or at least that’s where I assumed the road led. The sky was so dark, we’d had to turn on our headlights in order to help see, even though it was only four in the afternoon. We bounced along behind a small car that eventually turned off at the entrance to a farm. I felt oddly alone as the Flyer struggled down the pothole-riddled road.
“This is—ow!—horrible,” I said, wincing when I bit my tongue at a particularly bad rut. “This road is more hole than paved surface.”
“If it wasn’t for the Essex team—” Dixon started to say, then suddenly swore and wrenched the steering wheel to the side. Looming up out of the near dark was the black shape of a person who was waving his arms. Beyond him was the familiar bulk of an antique car.
“Speak of the devil,” I said under my breath when Dixon pulled up and Anton leaned his head in, water streaming off his hat onto Dixon’s lap.
“Road’s flooded ahead,” he said, his breath coming in short gasps. “We only just got the Zust winched back out of it. Thought we might see you.”
“Hullo,” Sanders said, shoving his head in as well. “We thought we’d see you sooner rather than later. Road’s impassible ahead. Stephen is talking to the local farmer to see if we can stay the night with him. Shall we declare a temporary truce?”
“Temporary?” I said, my ire rising.
Dixon patted my hand and said, “That sounds like the sensible thing to do. Is there somewhere we can park the cars out of the rain?”
“That’s what Stephen’s asking,” Sanders replied, and withdrew his head when another figure stumbled around their car toward us.
“You haven’t seen Dermott and Clarissa, have you?” Anton asked.
“No. Why?” I felt my nostrils flare, even though I knew it was a far-from-attractive look. “Did the Esses do them in, too?”
Anton didn’t even look at me when he answered. “We lost sight of them about an hour back. They were ahead scouting out the road, but then the bridge closed and I think they were on the other side. What?” This last was said in response to a call from Sanders. “Ah. Good.” He leaned back in to say, “Looks like the farmer said we can park the cars in his barn.”
“What do you think?” I asked Dixon when he carefully backed up the Flyer, turning the great white car to follow the small black Zust down the driveway. “Can we trust this truce that Sanders mentioned?”
“Not for a red-hot minute,” Dixon said immediately. “I’ll sleep in the car tonight.”
“We’ll both sleep here,” I said, knowing full well I wouldn’t be able to sleep while he was guarding the car.
“No need for you to get a crick in your neck, too.”
“There’s every need. For one, I want to be with you. For another, we’re partners in this race and we’ll take turns staying awake and guarding the Flyer.”
He flashed me a look that made me go all warm and fuzzy again inside. “Have I told you today how wonderful you are?”
“No, but we’ve had a hell of a drive, so I forgive you.”
A very nice couple was on hand to greet us and show Dixon where to put the car (the Zust got the parking spot inside the barn, so Dixon had to make do with a freestanding carport arrangement where the couple’s tractor normally sat), then hustled us all inside, where we were given vast quantities of soup and very strong tea.
We changed out of our wet clothing and, since no cameras were around, put on jeans and sweaters. The storm continued to rage, and we spent a few comfortable hours tucked away in the farmhouse, listening to the wind and rain try to beat its way in to us.
“You can sleep with me in my room,” the daughter of the house, a pretty girl of about fourteen named Mirea, said in English when night finally claimed the already dark sky. Fortunately, with the darkness came an abatement of the storm. “Mama said the men can sleep downstairs.”
I looked at Dixon. He nodded. “That would be lovely. Thank you.”
As I followed her upstairs, I heard Dixon say to Sanders, “This truce of yours means we’ll all be sleeping in the house, I assume.”
“Of course,” Sanders answered. “Where else would we sleep?”
I didn’t trust him any farther than I could spit, and hoped Dixon didn’t, either.
Mirea chatted away for a good half hour before finally getting into bed. “I’ll just sit here in the chair for a bit,” I told her. “Then I’ll check on the car. You don’t mind if I come and go, do you?”
“No,” she said rather doubtfully. “But I have a nice bed. Mama and Papa just bought it for me.”
“I’m sure it’s wonderful, but our old car is very delicate, and it has to be checked a lot to make sure it’s OK,” I fibbed. “And Dixon is tired from doing most of the driving. Whew. Thank god the rain is letting up. I hope it means this storm is finally passing.”
A half hour later I slipped down the back stairs and out through the kitchen, then scurried around to where the Flyer was parked. It was covered up to the windscreen in mud and dead bugs, and the interior was almost as wet as the exterior, but it was home, and I crawled over the front seat to claim the back when I landed on something soft that moved. “What the hell? Dixon?” I asked, freezing, half in horror and half in surprise.
“Paulie?”
The blanket beneath me shifted, and the vague image of Dixon’s face came into view in the dim light from the house. “What are you doing here?” I asked.
“Protecting the car. I assume you had the same thought as me.”
“That the Esses are bastards and not to be trusted any farther than a snail can spit? Yeah, I had that thought.” He shifted so I could sit on the seat. “But you are pooped. You shouldn’t be out here.”
“Neither should you. You’ll be much more comfortable in a real bed.”
“You’re the one who fought the Flyer all day in the rain. You deserve some serious rest.” I made shooing motions at him. “Go back to the house and get some sleep. I’ll guard the car.”
Even through the muted darkness, I could see the jaded look on his face when he said, “I prefer that you sleep in comfort, which means you need to return to the house and get a good night’s sleep.”
I sighed and slapped my hand on the seat. “We aren’t really going to have an argument about who goes back to the house, are we?”
“No, but that’s because I’m too tired. Would you mind moving to the front seat? My leg is cramping with you sitting there.”
“Oh, I like that, Mr. I Want You to Be Comfortable. The front seat isn’t anywhere near as comfy as this one.”
He nudged me with his toes until I gave in and clambered over to the front seat. “I know it’s not, but you’re smaller than me, and you’ll fit there better.”
I peered over the seat back at him. “We could lie there on the comfy seat together, you know.”
“Are you, by chance, propositioning me, madam?” I couldn’t see his eyebrow rise, but I felt it had done so.
“Depends. Have you ever made out in the backseat of a car?”
“I can’t say that I have.”
“Well, I have. When I was sixteen, and Dad had a newly emigrated friend of a friend whose name was Misha. He was blond and gorgeous and smelled like rum, and man alive, did he teach me things about kissing.”
“Ah, it’s Misha I have to thank for the way your tongue sets fire to my blood?”
“It’s only fair since your tongue makes my knees turn to marshmallow. To hell with it. You can just be uncomfortable.”
I climbed over the seat again, but this time I first removed the heavy blanket from Dixon, then draped it like a blanket fort over the seats so we were hidden from view. I proceeded to do an intricate and cramped shimmy that rid me of my T-shirt, jeans, and assorted undergarments. “No, don’t get up. You can sleep on the seat—after I’m done having my wicked and wholly wanton way with you—and I’ll sleep on you. Damn, man, you got out of your pants fast!”
I wasn’t even through speaking before Dixon, evidently realizing what was on my mind, had shucked his shoes, socks, pants, and underwear. I helped him pull his shirt over his head before sitting on his thighs, feeling the lovely smooth, warm flesh of his belly and ribs. “I approve of your plan,” he told me, taking my breasts in both his hands, which simultaneously pleased my boobs to no end and made me put an immediate halt to my idea of tormenting him with an endless array of touches, licks, and kisses so steamy he’d be putty in my capable hands.
“Putty!” I said mindlessly, writhing around when he sat up enough to take one breast in his mouth.
“Putty is good,” he said around a mouthful of nipple. “I like putty. I like both your putties.”
“I like a man who likes my putties. Breasts. Nipples. Whatever you want to call it, I like you liking it, but you’re not letting me like you.”
He stopped molesting one very needy breast, and I felt, rather than saw, the question in his eyes.
I slid my hands up to gently pinch his nipples. He froze beneath me. “You make me so mindless with pleasure that I can’t do the same to you. Lie back. No, my boobs are fine now. Wet, but fine. They’re happy and want me to return the favor.”
“I don’t have the same sort of nerves in my nipples that I understand women have in theirs—” he started to protest, but the second I bit down ever so gently on one, he almost came off the seat.
“Putty!” he shouted, and dug his fingers into my hips when I attended to the second nipple.
I giggled. “I was trying to say that I was putty in your hands, but that’s all that came out. Dixon?”
“Dear god, woman, you’re stopping?” He lifted his head, presumably to glare at me. “Now? Right this minute?”
“Yes, but only because I’m going to make your eyes bug right out of your head in the very best cartoon manner.”
“You are? How are you— Lord, yes!”
I had slid down his legs while he was speaking and taken his penis in both hands. “Now, let me see if I can do this in the dark.”
“Sweetheart, you can do anything to me you want in the dark,” he said with a profound note of gratitude in his voice.
“Really? I’m going to remember that when the race is over and I want to tie you down so I can use any number of sexual devices on you.”
“What sort of sexual devices?” he asked, sounding very interested. That made me pause for a moment. We hadn’t ever talked about adult devices, and although I had a single woman’s usual collection of items that kept me from jumping every man I saw, it hadn’t occurred to me that he might have a male-oriented version of my box of toys.
“Do you like toys, too?” I asked, inadvertently waggling his penis as I spoke.
“Depends on the toy, and why are you using my dick to gesture with?”
“Oh.” I looked down to where I could barely see the dark blob of his body. “I talk with my hands. Sorry. I expect you’d rather have action now than chitchat anyway, right?”
“Are you, by any chance, nervous about something?”
I sighed and gave his penis a friendly “so glad you understand me” squeeze. “It’s the fact that someone could lift the blanket and see us. I’ve never been an exhibitionist.”
“Would you rather we tried to get sleep instead?”
Absently, I tickled his balls. “No. I don’t think anyone is going to peek in. And I really am desperate for you. The way your wet shirt stuck to your chest all day—I know it must have been horribly uncomfortable, but holy hellballs, Dixon, it just made me want to lick your entire chest.”
He squirmed beneath me, his hips moving with little jerks. “Paulie,” he said after a moment where I was remembering his wet-shirt-covered chest. He sounded breathless, as if he had been out jogging.
“Hmm?”
“If you don’t stop in the next five seconds, you’re bound to be disappointed with my performance.”
I stared at the blob that I knew was his head and wondered what the hell he was talking about, until it struck me that his hips were moving faster and faster. “Wow, you really are anticipatory. And so hot. And dammit, are you bigger?”
He laughed, a rough laugh to be true, but still a laugh. And with some maneuvering, he managed to let his fingers go wandering in happy territory, where he was greeted by my intimate parts with much cheering and celebration. “I assure you I’m the same as I’ve always been.”
“Tingle-making,” I said, wiggling delightedly when he hit an exquisite spot in my intimate parts. “Oh dear god, man, what you can do with just two fingers and a thumb!”
“I’d be happy to show you what my mouth can do in addition to my fingers.”
“Another time,” I said, biting back a groan of purest pleasure. “Would you mind if we did foreplay later? Right now I just want to do an internal measurement of how much bigger you’ve gotten.”
“No, but I warn you that I won’t be good for long,” he said, his body moving beneath my thighs, his hands moving around to my back, positioning me where he wanted me.
“Good, because that little twirl with your thumb just about pushed me over the edge. Dear god, you are bigger!”
“It’s just the angle,” he said, panting, his hips moving jerkily while I tried to find a rhythm that worked for both of us. “And if you continue to squeeze me when you sink down, you’re going to be very sorry!”
I laughed. “You’re the only man I know who can threaten to make me sorry while thrilling me to the tips of my toes.” I swiveled while I moved, enjoying the sensation of him so deep inside me, all my little muscles clinging to him, unwilling to let him go, and yet rejoicing with the movements. I leaned down to kiss him, feeling an overwhelming sense of lightness and happiness that I’d found this man. He was everything I wanted, funny and caring and smart. He wasn’t the least bit needy, but his comfort with himself didn’t lead to arrogance or narcissism. If anything, he was too modest, not realizing just what a wonderful, warmhearted, sexy-as-sin man he was.
“I love you more than anything,” I murmured into his mouth just at the moment when his fingers gripped my hips, his body arching underneath me. The short, bucking movements sent me flying into my own orgasm, and it was only when I managed to kick-start my mind a long, long time later that I realized that he hadn’t responded.
Dammit, what was wrong with the man? Why couldn’t he admit his feelings.
Unless I was totally wrong about what he felt for me.
Oy.