Courageous. Diana Palmer
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speed of whitetail deer—which was the anthropologists’ take on the innovation.
She was so engrossed in it that she forgot the time. A tap on her door startled her. She glanced at the clock and grimaced as she turned off the television and ran to answer the door.
She opened it, flushed and pretty with breathlessness. Grange, in a dark suit with a bow tie, stared at her with flattering speechlessness.
“Will I do?” she asked hopefully.
“Honey, you’ll more than do,” he said in a soft, deep tone which, combined with the unexpected endearment, almost burst her heart with joy. He smiled. “Ready to go?”
“Yes!” She grabbed her coat and started to slip it on.
Grange got behind her and helped, letting her slide her arms into the silky fabric underlay of the rich wool coat with its mink collar.
“Mrs. Pendleton sent it down,” she said. “I guess she knew that I wouldn’t have a coat fancy enough to go with this dress.”
He didn’t let go. His big hands contracted on her shoulders.” That was nice of her.”
“Yes. She’s a sweet person.”
“So are you.” As he spoke, his thumbs eased the coat back. His head bent and he kissed her, tenderly, right on her neck where it joined her shoulder. He felt her shiver, heard her shocked intake of breath. “You taste like candy,” he whispered, and his lips opened on the soft, warm flesh.
She leaned her head back, her breathing unsteady, her eyes closed. His hands moved to her waist. He turned her, ever so gently, and his mouth traveled to her throat, past the pearls, down, slowly, down to the very edge of the fabric over her breasts, and moved there in a sensual caress that shocked a defenseless little moan from her throat.
“I could pull the bodice down,” he whispered, his head spinning, “and slide my lips over your breasts until I found that sweet hardness hiding there.”
She shuddered. She arched back, helpless, hopeful, breathless with anticipation as he began to move the softly shaped fabric out of his way. She felt his mouth open, felt the warm moistness of it pressing against the swell of her breast. She moaned. Her body trembled as she arched again, pleading for relief from the tension that grew to unbearable need in seconds.
“What the hell,” he ground out.
His hand came up and found the zipper, eased it down. He pulled the fabric away and looked at the rosy, hard tips of her pretty breasts for just an instant before his mouth went down and covered one of them.
She cried out helplessly, which only made him more hungry. His mouth opened on the sweet flesh, his tongue traced the nipple, dragging against it to produce sensations Peg had never felt in her life.
Her nails bit into the fine fabric of his suit jacket. She was spinning like a top, burning, aching with desire that she’d never even dreamed of before this.
Somewhere a truck engine sounded loud even in the heated silence of Peg’s room. She heard a door slam.
“It’s … Dad!” she exclaimed hoarsely.
He barely heard her. He lifted his head, his eyes riveted to the stiff nipple. He cupped her breast and bent his head again to explore the soft flesh with his mouth. “Dad?” he whispered.
“Dad,” she managed to say, and moaned.
His hand contracted gently around her soft breast. “Damn.”
“Damn,” she echoed with a shaky laugh.
He lifted his head with a steadying, deep sigh. He held the bodice away from her breasts, smiling warmly at the faint red marks he’d left there in his passion. “Beautiful,” he whispered.
She flushed. Her body felt stiff and swollen. She wondered if his did, too.
With a rueful expression, he reached behind her and reluctantly zipped up the dress, hiding what he’d done to her. Fortunately no marks showed over the bodice.
She looked at him with awe.
He touched her soft mouth with his forefinger. It wasn’t quite steady. “We’d better go,” he said huskily.
She nodded.
He went out of the room and she came out behind him, retrieving the small evening bag the designer had also loaned her from her dresser on the way.
They were in the hall on the way to the front door when Ed came in. He looked from one of them to the other. They looked oddly flushed, but quite presentable.
“What a pair,” he mused, smiling. “You look like socialites.”
“Thanks, Dad.” She grinned.
Grange chuckled. “Well, like impostor socialites, maybe. None of us working stiffs are likely to be mistaken for the real thing.”
“I like us just the way we are,” Ed replied. “Have a great time.”
“We will,” Peg assured him. “See you later.”
“We’ll be home by midnight,” Grange said complacently, smiling at Ed. “I’ve got a lot to get done tomorrow.”
Ed nodded solemnly. “Even more reason to enjoy tonight.”
“Yes.” He took Peg’s arm. “Let’s go. We don’t want to be too late.”
Peg winked at her dad on the way out.
Grange didn’t speak on the way to the civic center in Jacobsville. He’d lost control of himself entirely back there. It had been a very good thing that Ed had come home when he did. Only a few steps to the bed, and he’d gone without a woman for a long time, a very long time. Added to that were Peg’s visible feelings for him, and his weakness for her. All that, with her bedroom door standing wide-open and so inviting. Just as well that Ed had saved them from themselves, he thought.
Peg was nervous. His silence did that to her. She had no resistance to him. She wanted him desperately. But he wasn’t a playboy and he didn’t want to get married, so where did that leave them? He was going away in a few days. She might never see him again. It was devastating, after what had happened back at the house. Her breasts were still tingling.
She glanced at him covertly. Had she made him mad? Was she too responsive? Should she have protested? But, why? He was experienced enough at least to realize what she felt for him. But he kept saying she was young. Did he mean, too young for him? Was her age the barrier to anything more serious than some heavy petting?
“Stop torturing yourself over there,” Grange mused, glancing at her with twinkling dark eyes.
She jumped, and then laughed. “How did you know?”
“You’re twisting that evening bag into a very odd shape.”
“Oh!” She laid it flat and smoothed it, grimacing. “It’s a loaner, too.”
“A loaner?” he inquired.
“Yes. Like the dress and shoes. Cinderella gear.” She leaned toward him as far as the seat belt would allow. “It transforms at midnight into rags. Just so you know.”
“You’d be pretty even in rags.”
She flushed. “Really?”
He glanced at her warmly. “Really.” He forced his eyes back to the road.
She watched him, worried and curious. “Do you guys have automatic weapons and rockets and stuff, like in those merc movies?” she asked suddenly.
He glanced at her and chuckled. “Yes. But intelligence gathering and coordinating native groups with ours are my stock-in-trade.”
“Oh. Then you don’t have to, well, go in shooting, right?” she asked, just to clarify the point.
Why worry her unnecessarily?