The Lover. BEVERLY BARTON

he’d been wrong.

      Just because someone hurts you, disappoints you, breaks your heart, doesn’t mean you should stop looking for love, stop searching for the one woman to fulfill your fantasies.

      He hummed quietly to himself as he opened his eyes, laid the pearls down inside the white gift box and closed the lid. He would deliver these tomorrow, along with the note.

      After pulling out the desk chair, he sat, picked up the black ink pen and stared down at the white note paper. Hmm … what to say … what words would seduce Thomasina? She was a romantic at heart, so she wouldn’t respond well to anything crude and earthy. Not yet.

       Please accept this small token of my affection. Pearls for a lovely lady.

      There, that should do it. All he wanted to do was whet her appetite for more.

      He put the note inside the envelope and wrote her name across the front, then laid the message aside. The note and the pearls were always the next step in his courtship, then the sketch came later. But he was so eager to move things along, not to take weeks to court her, that he felt he should go ahead and send the sketch along with the note and pearls.

      He opened the middle desk drawer and brought out his sketch pad and pencil, then closed his eyes for just a moment—long enough to picture her in his mind. His eagerness transferred to his drawing as he quickly sketched Thomasina’s face, her flowing dark hair, her sweet smile, her long, slender neck, the curve of her naked shoulder.

      There, that’s enough. Stop.

      He laid the charcoal pencil aside and took a deep breath. Thinking of her naked, of her lush breasts, the nipples peaked, her flat belly, her nicely rounded hips, and that thatch of dark hair between her thighs aroused him unbearably. But he couldn’t draw her that way. Not yet. It wasn’t time.

      Accept the pain. Make it your friend. Remember that waiting for her makes the moment you first come together all the sweeter.

      Tomorrow, he’d find a way to deliver his note and little gifts. It shouldn’t be a problem. She drove into Adams Landing every Saturday morning and went to Robyn Granger’s gym.

      Ron went around to the back door and pecked on the glass. When he’d called Abby to cancel their weekend plans, she’d been disappointed, but she’d understood. After all, he was a deputy, and the Stephanie Preston murder case was the biggest thing to happen in Adams County in a good ten years or longer.

      He waited for Abby to come to the door; then when she didn’t, he pecked again and called her name softly. He had parked down the street and come down the alley, taking every precaution not to be seen. But hell, it was eleventhirty— who’d be up at this hour staring out their windows?

      “Abby, honey …”

      He heard footsteps inside the dark kitchen, then the distinctive click of the deadbolt being unlocked. The minute she opened the door, he rushed inside, kicked the door shut behind himself, and grabbed her.

      “Slow down,” she told him, then giggled when he grabbed her ass with both hands and yanked her up against his hard-as- a-rock penis.

      “I can’t slow down, baby. I want you too much.”

      He kissed her neck as he rubbed her mound against his arousal.

      “You can at least wait till we get to the bedroom,” she said. “I’ve had a long, rough day and I don’t want to wind up with my butt on the floor or slammed up against the wall.”

      “Ah, baby, you like it any way you can get it.”

      When he lifted her up off the floor, she wrapped her legs around his hips and tossed back her head when he opened his mouth and covered one breast through the thin material of her shorty pajama top.

      Clinging to him, whimpering and talking dirty, Abby encouraged him to hurry as he carried her out of the kitchen, up the hall and into her bedroom. After tossing her onto the bed, he stripped off his clothes, and by the time he came down over her, she was naked and ready. Without saying a word, she reached out, encircled his dick and slid a condom over it. No matter how turned on Abby got, she never forgot to make sure she was protected. He liked that about her, that she took care of herself instead of expecting him to do it.

      He thrust into her with one powerful lunge and nearly came right off the bat. She was hot and wet and tight. When she bucked up, he clutched her buttocks and held her for half a second before retreating and plunging again.

      “I’m not going to be able to hold it much longer, baby,” he told her.

      She slid her hand between her legs and stroked herself. “I’ll just help things along.”

      He paused, allowing her to go at it, all the while whispering in her ear, talking the talk, exciting her. In only a matter of minutes, she came in a frenzy, crying, shivering. He jack- hammered into her for a couple of seconds, then came, the top of his head exploding as he jetted into the condom.

      Once he was spent, he rolled off her and onto the bed beside her. She cuddled up against him and said, “Get some rest. Next time I’m not going to let you off the hook so easily.”

      Ron reached over and stroked her belly, then delved his hand between her thighs. She was damp and sticky. When he fingered her clitoris, she whimpered.

      “Set the alarm, will you, babe? I need to leave here before sunrise. We don’t want to run the risk of somebody seeing me sneak out your back door.”

      “I’ll set it for four,” she told him. “That’ll give us time for a good morning fuck.”

      Chuckling, Ron closed his eyes and hugged up to Abby, spoon-fashion.

       Chapter 6

      Ever since her younger daughter had returned to Adams Landing and opened her own business—Robyn’s Fitness Center—Brenda Granger had made a point of taking an active part in several classes Robyn offered. Brenda’s favorite was the Saturday morning session where a group of women went from doing stretches together to alternating on all the various equipment—everything from the treadmills to the stationary bicycles. After the first hour, they took a water break, then after the second hour, many of them stayed on and had lunch together. Robyn provided fresh salads with low-fat dressing and yogurt for dessert.

      Since Brenda had kept herself in shape all her life and had been blessed with a great metabolism, she hadn’t needed to worry about her weight until she went through menopause; then ten extra pounds had crept up around her hips and abdomen before she knew it. It had taken her two months of diet and exercise to get back down to what her husband laughingly referred to as her fighting weight.

      As she stood back and watched Robyn, in her much-too-skimpy exercise costume, Brenda sighed, then took a hefty sip of bottled spring water. Her younger daughter resembled her a great deal, with a slender figure, full breasts and curly, jet-black hair. Thankfully, Robyn had also inherited her great metabolism, as well as her love for physical exercise to keep her fabulous body toned. She had gotten her height from her six-four father, just as her sister, Bernie, had. Robyn was five-eight, and Bernie was just a tad over five-nine.

      Poor Bernie had not inherited her mother’s slender build or her great metabolism. Ever since childhood, Brenda’s elder daughter had been large boned and tended to gain weight easily, as R.B. did. Bernie was as much her father’s daughter as Robyn was her mother’s, in looks and temperament.

      But both girls were equally disappointing to a mother who longed to see her daughters happily married and producing some grandchildren for her. After all, neither she nor R.B. was getting any younger. A woman of fifty-eight should already have several grandchildren.

      At least Robyn was dating regularly, although Brenda didn’t always approve of the choices she made. Bernie, on the other hand, dated infrequently and seemed to let every good prospect slip through her fingers.