Under the Autumn Sky. Liz Talley

pulled her down so they sat on the edge of the pier. She snuggled next to him, dropping her legs so they dangled next to his.

      “This is like a fairy tale,” she said, glancing at him. The shadows had pulled back into the night, leaving her face luminescent in the moonlight. Her skin glowed against the ripeness of her lips, against the depths of her eyes. Her blond hair shone like a curtain on either side of her face. He was fairly certain he’d never seen a woman so delicate and lovely. “I feel like a fairy princess. It’s strange.”

      “It probably sounds like a cheesy pickup line, but I think this is some crazy fate thing.”

      “Fate disguised as magic,” she said.

      “I took the wrong exit, you know.”

      “What?”

      “I missed my turn and took the exit for Chicot State Park thinking to wind my way back to Ville Platte. But I saw Rendezvous and decided to stop for a beer.”

      “So fate brought me a Prince Charming. For one night only.”

      “For one night only,” he repeated.

      She took a breath, almost like a steadying breath. “Can we dance?”

      “Out here?”

      She nodded. “It’s been so long, and it was so nice to be held in your arms. We can hear the music from Cooter’s. Listen. It’s George Strait.”

      He cocked an ear in the direction of the honky-tonk. “So it is.” He held out a hand with a questioning crook of an eyebrow.

      She took his hand. Her reflective smile looked slightly sheepish, as if she knew they were acting silly. Okay, they were. But so the hell what?

      She melted into his arms and under the night sky, he held her close, drawing in the silky scent of something flowery, and swayed to the faint sounds of the steel guitar. She fit him well, her head tucking under his chin, her breasts hitting him right at his solar plexus, her hips brushing the rising result of being so close.

      She hummed along to the music, stroking her hands over his back, as if she knew that drove him crazy, taking him to the place he wanted to go, but was afraid to say aloud.

      The song ended but still they swayed, their footfalls barely rising as they shuffled over the worn boards.

      “My feet are cold,” she murmured into his shoulder.

      He raised his head from where he’d been contemplating the delicateness of her ear. “We should go.”

      “No,” she breathed. “I don’t want this to end. Not yet. It’s not midnight.”

      He laughed. “Fine, but let’s go back. We can sit in my truck and I’ll put the heater on your toes.”

      She shook her head. “I’d rather have cold toes. It’s too perfect here.”

      He pulled her down, crossing his legs and settling her into his lap. She curled into him and he wrapped his arms around her. “I was right. You’re stubborn.”

      Her laugh was light, but she didn’t respond to his comment. Just tucked her cold toes beneath the hem of her too-long jeans and settled against him. He could feel the beat of her heart, the rise of her breath, and was struck at how absolutely strange this moment was.

      Who was this man cradling a woman he’d met an hour ago on an old rickety pier in the cool Louisiana night in a place he neither knew nor intended to find?

      Not the man most would recognize as the unyielding Abram Dufrene.

      She linked her arms behind his head and looked up at him. “Kiss me again?”

      Why had he gone so long with his lips away from hers? Really. Should she have to ask?

      He lowered his head and gave her what she asked for.

      And did it so well, it left them both breathless.

      “You are a good kisser,” she breathed, dotting small kisses on the scruff of his jaw. Each tiny brush of her lips inflamed him.

      “Not bad yourself,” he muttered, running his hands down her back to her hip, stroking the curve through the denim. He really wanted to see her breasts. They were likely works of art, rounded, pink-tipped with angel kisses, so he started kissing his way down her neck, knowing his thoughts were absurdly poetic. This was what the night had created in him.

      Louise’s head fell back, spreading her golden hair across his thigh. He groaned his approval as he reached her collarbone and tugged the fabric of her shirt aside to reveal a serviceable white bra.

      It made him smile.

      This woman, as lovely as she was, appreciated comfort. He didn’t need the allure of lace, not when what lay beneath was much more valuable. He tugged the strap, but nothing popped free. He tugged again. Same result.

      “Here,” she said, wiggling and reaching behind her back. One grunt and the bra fell loose.

      “Thanks,” he said, returning to his pillaging. He slid the neck of the blouse aside and was rewarded with a perfect plump pink-tipped breast. He wasted no time laying claim to it, and noted self-satisfactorily her hiss of pleasure when he closed his mouth over her hard nipple.

      For a moment, he simply nuzzled her, sucking her into his mouth while stroking her into a fever. She unfurled her long legs, turned and wrapped them around his waist, allowing her bottom to cradle his erection, giving sweet friction to them both. He groaned and lifted his head from her breast and looked down at her cradled in his arms, cold toes forgotten, eyes closed, breathing like she’d finished a wind sprint.

      “We can’t do this,” he said, sinking his head down to rest at the top of her breast.

      She jerked, opened her eyes and struggled to lift her head. “Why not?”

      “We’re strangers.”

      “So?”

      He shook his head. He knew most men wouldn’t have stopped, but something prodded him. His upbringing. His common sense. The fact he didn’t have a condom.

      “So you’re okay with just one night?” He tried to sound playful. Most women wanted dinner, movies, talk of swapping keys before a willingness to fade away into a memory. He’d never in all his thirty-one years had a one-night stand. Not even in college. “No woman wants that.”

      “This woman does.”

      * * *

      AND SHE MEANT IT.

      She’d gone far too long without having the real deal. It was beyond time to uncork the champagne of her sexuality. In fact she was approaching epic spinsterhood. She needed to get laid and what better way to do that than with a handsome, sexy, no-strings-attached stranger?

      He wouldn’t meet her eyes at the grocery store and then turn away.

      He wouldn’t show up on her doorstep with flowers and a DVD she had no interest in watching.

      He wouldn’t marry one of her friends and cause her to have one of those I-know-what-your-husband-looks-like-naked moments.

      It was perfect.

      A gift from fate. For one night only.

      “I’m serious. I don’t expect anything other than this little magic moment.” She licked her lips as insurance. The romance books beside her bed seemed to indicate that licking her lips would inflame a man beyond reason.

      He shook his head. “This is crazy.”

      “You don’t want me?” She knew he did. Could feel the evidence against her bottom. She glanced down, caught the time in the glow of the waxing moon. 11:13 p.m. She had less than an hour. Okay, she had more than an hour, but for the sake of the whole magic fate thing, she’d rather it be tonight. On her birthday. With him.

      “Of course I want you,”