Chapter Six
“We have to eat.” Xavier left the top down on the convertible as he unfolded himself from the seat.
“Yes, but do we need to eat in 1850?” Jaime studied the signs in the parking lot as she adjusted her headband, trying to smooth the wayward strands as best she could without being too obvious about it. The wind had done a number on her hair, but the whir of the highway had kept Xavier from talking and trying to get out of his promise to drive straight home.
“You can’t whine. This is on the way. The highway cuts the Living History Farm in half.” With an irritated shake of his head, he slung his camera bag over his shoulder and then walked towards the Welcome Center without her.
Great. Just great. Not only did he pull them off the road and into a time warp, but he was still in a snit about something he’d agreed to. Truly, the sooner they got home and were out of one another’s company, the better.
Even in her flip-flops and having to navigate her way through the throng of families crossing the gravel lot towards the entrance, she caught up with him just as he paid for their admission. He handed her a map as if he expected her to be right by his side.
“How long can we stay before you start to complain?” he teased, unfolding his map as he walked towards an authentic prairie gothic church. “Wait, you already complained.”
“Oh, you are a laugh riot.” She paused at the church, catching his arm as they came upon the scene. A couple in period dress stood before a minister and a handful of others who also looked like they’d just stepped out of a history book. “I think it’s a wedding,” she whispered.
“Tin wedding,” he whispered back, pointing to a few lines on the back of the map. “They hold them twice a day to show how couples celebrated their tenth anniversary.”
“How romantic is that?” Her heart gave a little squeeze and she brought her hand to her chest.
The minister finished speaking and the people surrounding the couple applauded. After a chaste kiss, they were given tin cups and trinkets.
“I don’t know. Allison seems to be in love with her silver service. I don’t know that tin would cut it with her.”
Jaime shook her head, not wanting to admit he was right. Her sister had put as much effort into her bridal registry as she had the seating chart for the reception. Jaime wondered where Xavier would be sitting, and quickly tossed the thought away. It didn’t matter.
“They have fresh ice cream in 1850, but we have to head to 1900 to see the baked goods.” He looked up from the map, smiling like a kid on the first day of summer vacation.
She looked at him incredulously, wondering if he realized the method in his madness. It might shock him to know he wasn’t as free-spirited and spontaneous as he assumed. She’d begun to notice he was as efficient as possible in his amusements. They weren’t even halfway to Oregon and they’d taken in more activities than she would have dared plan into an entire trip.
“Okay. By your expression I can see we’re only going as far back as the farmhouse. The pioneer log home is out.”
With a laugh, Jaime shook her head. “I’ll make you a deal.”
He groaned. “I don’t make out well on your deals.”
She tried to keep her smile from looking too self-satisfied. “We’ll stay as long as you want and go as far back in time as you desire if, and here’s the catch, I can drive through the night.”
His green eyes widened. “You want to drive through Nebraska in the dark? You don’t want to see any of it?”
“Seen it, smelled it, and trust me when I say it looks just like Iowa and Wyoming. You won’t miss a thing except the smell of cow mixed with summer heat.” She pulled a face to punctuate her point.
“You’ll do everything without complaining?”
She nodded, afraid of what everything entailed, but still giddy at her bargain.
“Have you ever milked a cow?” Xavier didn’t wait for her answer, just marched off the church lawn and into 1870.
…
Women were not meant to be understood. Especially American women. When Jaime had insisted on changing into her pajamas before they got back on the road, he’d swallowed a groan at the idea of having to pretend he wasn’t turned on by her tank top and panties while she drove his stick shift into the semi-darkness. While she changed, he put the top up on the car and then looked through the list in the journal. It felt funny, finishing a to-do list someone else wrote for you, but he was glad to be crossing so much of it off.
Standing on the edge of Lake Michigan, he’d worried that having Jaime with him might thwart his plan. Women manipulated situations based on who he was, on what he could do for them. Jaime hadn’t seemed to know what he did, but Carla was a fashion buyer, one with Marie-Chloe pieces in her closet. It was entirely possible she’d made the connection and passed the information on.
When Jaime had pushed for details of his life, he’d been rocketed back to Europe, to women who knew the score and wanted to play the game. He was so tired of the game.
He closed his eyes and leaned back in the passenger seat. He needed a break from always looking for ulterior motives. The constant guard he had to keep up. For just a moment, he didn’t want to think about what everyone wanted from him, or that no one cared to see him through the veil of money, prestige and power.
When Jaime came back to the car, she wore more clothes than he’d ever seen on her. Lounge pants patterned with pink hearts, a long-sleeved red tee and socks so thick they looked like sweaters for her feet.
Xavier slid lower in the passenger seat, not saying a word as they hit the road. He watched Jaime drive from the corner of his eye. Maybe all the clothes on the women at the living history museum had had a negative impact on her. He loved that she was usually bare from the top of her head to the high rounded mounds of her breasts. Breasts that were completely camouflaged in this get-up.
Not that he should care. She said she wanted to get to know him, which always got in the way of a good time. He wanted to keep things light and easy, and explaining to anyone why he was driving across the country would tread into territory that was heavy, dark and would lead to more of the same.
That had been his life for the last year, and he needed to leave it behind. Make some new memories, bright shining moments of summer to hold him through the rest of the year while he battled the storms raging between his father and sister.
He shifted in the seat, knowing if he kept his mind in Paris, he’d never fall asleep. Instead he watched Jaime as she drove, cute wire-rimmed glasses perched on her nose, her hands wrapped tightly around the steering wheel. The picture of the perfect driver, her profile lit up by the headlamps of the passing cars.
“Why are you staring at me?” Jaime asked, never taking her eyes from the road. “Think I’m going to mess up your rental insurance rates?”
He owned the car, but she didn’t need to know the details. “Are you sure you want to do this? Drive through the night?”
Jaime raised a dome-lidded drink she’d picked up at the Welcome Center, the chocolate swirls showing through the clear plastic. “I’m all caffeinated and ready to roll. You just try not to snore. I’ll wake you for the sunrise somewhere in Wyoming.”
“I don’t know how you can drink coffee that cold.”
“It’s espresso blended with ice cream. Ice cream is always good.” She fiddled with the radio, finding yet another country-music station. The girl had a gift for tuning in songs he couldn’t stand.
He forced the thought to the back of his mind, closed his eyes and focused on something more pleasant. Like the way Jaime had tried to milk a cow while wearing a skirt, or that she hadn’t seemed to mind when a toddler tugged on the same white skirt with berry pie on his hands. He’d never been with a woman who wouldn’t have thrown a fit at that. Instead, Jaime had met the little boy on his level and listened intently as he stammered through his life story. It hadn’t been brief, and yet she’d never rushed him through his disjointed ramble. Even when the boy’s mother tried to apologize, Jaime had waved her worries away with a smile and kept listening to the child.
The boy had been as taken with Jaime as he was. When she wasn’t being ornery, the girl was a great date. The kind of woman who would be game for anything, anywhere, anytime.
This journey had started with finding his mother’s list of things she’d wanted to do―drive cross country, make ice cream, see the Smithsonian, experience a living history museum, go to the top of the Statue of Liberty―but thanks to the Jaime-induced frustration, he was building a list of his own.
Ever since he’d had to watch her round hips sway up the narrow stairs at the haunted hotel, he’d had an obsession with having her climb stairs in front of him. The possibilities of positions were limitless.
And Spanish, when had he ever wanted to have sex with someone who could talk dirty to him in Spanish? He needed to know what it was she and Carla had been talking about, and then do it.
…
“I can’t go on like this another minute.” Jaime pulled the car over, or perhaps he was dreaming. Her lips curled in a hungry smile as she undid her seatbelt and he stopped caring. Real, fantasy, either way, things were about to get good.
He’d pushed the passenger seat all the way back so he could stretch out his legs. Moments ago he’d felt cramped, but now there was room for her to climb to the floor with the grace of a cat, sliding between his spread legs and kneeling in front of him. With her hands on either side of his hips, she pushed up, her breasts heavy on his chest, her breath warm on his lips.
“I want you.” The low, sultry purr of her voice went straight to his groin. “I’ve wanted you from the first day.”
Threading his fingers through her hair, he pulled her mouth down onto his, the kiss instantly deep and hot. His free hand reached beneath the hem of her top, finding a bare breast. Her ripe nipple felt hard against his thumb as he pressed and rubbed, forcing the kiss faster and harder with the rhythm.
She pulled away, lifted the shirt over her head and gave him a glorious view of her naked flesh. The strands of her dark hair twined around her brazenly exposed breasts. The desolate highway was silent beside them, but at any moment someone might speed by and catch quite the show.
On instinct, his hands covered her, protecting her tantalizing offer from prying eyes. The softly curving mounds felt heavy in his palms, her nipples pressing for more. The world melted around them as her tongue glided across his lower lip, tracing to the corners of his mouth. He grew so hard he had to shift for more room.
Jaime took advantage of the opportunity to lift his shirt, her fingers sending waves of sensation through him as she ran them up his chest. He pulled off the shirt and tossed it behind them.
He wanted so badly to touch her, to end the ache pulsing in his groin by taking her here and now. The only thing he wanted more was to see what she had in store for him. Her fingers smoothed over the sparse hair gathered at his breastbone, his skin heating at her caress. His nipples tingled and hardened, and as quick as he could imagine her lips pursed there. The tip of her tongue traced the delicate circle while her hands followed the thin trail of dark hair lower.
She pushed off his loose shorts as if they never existed, lowering herself so she was face-to-face with the evidence of his desire. Her small hand gripped around the base of his shaft, keeping him from going insane with lust. He leaned back in the seat, spreading his knees as far as he could to accommodate her. Keeping one hand on her breast, he tweaked her ripe nipple to encourage her to continue.
“I want you, J’aime. I always want you.”
Soft kisses teased the inside of his thighs, his lower stomach, making him beg for more. Finally, her tongue flattened against him, so hot he had to hiss to contain the pleasure of it. A wicked smile crossed her full lips before she ended his torture by taking him in her mouth. He thrust gently to her rhythm as she worked him with her lips, tongue, hand, his fingers threading into her silken hair.
His body began to tighten as her talented tongue flicked and sucked, licked and pumped. He abandoned himself to the pleasure, his breath coming in sharp pants, words of gratitude spilling from his lips.
…
As soon as she found an internet connection, Jaime was going to do some serious translating of modern French slang. Xavier had been talking in his sleep for the last half hour, and from what she could make out, he was having one amazing dream.
About her.
She squirmed in her seat, checking the clock, the speedometer, praying for a distracting road sign. Anything to get her mind off the man having a wonderful time without her.
“J’envie de toi. Je toujours te veux.” The sleepy mumble did little to hide the connotation. “J’aime ton corps, tes lévres, tes seins. J’aime. J’aime.”
She swallowed, but her mouth was too dry. Of course her drink had been empty since the Nebraska state line. This had to be some kind of torture, having to sit next to a man as he described how much he liked your body.
“Suce moi, fumer le cigar.”
She quirked a brow, unsure how to translate that one. He made her feel horny and incompetent at the same time. But what could she do? Nudge him awake and tell him he talked in his sleep? What if he asked what he’d been saying?
“J’aime,” he ground out, shifting in his seat and spreading his legs wider. She would not look to see if he was having one of those dreams. He had to be.
“J’aime.”
Why did her name have to sound as if he was saying I love? He could be dreaming about anyone, and then how embarrassed would she be if she woke him. No, best to keep going and get to Oregon as quickly as humanly possible.
“Maudit.”
He reached for her then, his hand wrapping around her thigh and squeezing, hard. She swerved as the translation flashed in her mind. He was having quite the naughty dream. His hand rubbed a lazy circle, his head lolling from side to side.
That meant he’d been dreaming about her, right? Her eyes widened at what he’d fantasized of her doing, then widened more as panic flashed through her faster than the blue lights flashing in the rear-view mirror.