Still Irresistible. Dawn Atkins

time they’d made love in the springs and slept under the stars together. He could still picture her breasts spilling out of the half cup of that heart-dotted bra, innocent and brazen at once.

      Deck took the turn through the rock formation. The springs steamed in the moonlight. He kept going to the private spring, where he laid out his bedroll and towel, cracked one of the Coronas, stripped to the skin and slid into the water.

      The heat felt good. He lay back and let out a long, slow breath. Sipping cold beer, he let his mind go.

      It snagged immediately on the sight of Callie loping toward the barn on Wiley. This was the Callie he remembered as a kid, racing on Lucky, hair flying, a little scared but pushing on. He’d loved her determination, her energy. She’d been so lively, so full of fun. She just made him grin.

      He missed her. Maybe she was still there under the big city act, the rush and self-importance. She said she’d missed riding. Probably missed the ranch, too. Would she stay?

      Never. She needed more. That was why he’d let her go once she’d gotten through the worst of her sadness. She’d been bored. She wanted to be in town, hanging at the diner with the cheerleaders and football players.

      He had better things to do than watch guys fling French fries down girls’ blouses or race each other in their tricked-out trucks. He’d let ranch chores slide to be with her, blown his grades.

      Callie had gotten what she needed from him, so he sent her back to her life. It hurt like hell, but he’d done the right thing. She’d seemed stung. He didn’t get that. What was the point of dragging it out?

      He pictured her in that goofy cowgirl outfit, the jeans so tight that Deck could hardly mount Brandy without causing himself injury. Holding her, brushing the dust from her ass, he felt the old hunger times ten. In fact, if she were here right now, he’d—

      “Deck?”

      He popped up, startled to find his fleeting fantasy standing there at the edge of the spring in a silky-looking black robe and flip-flops. She held towels and champagne in a bucket, a mason jar over the neck.

      “I didn’t think anyone would be here this late,” she said, her gaze jerking around, telling him she was embarrassed.

      “You took my advice,” he said, surprised by that fact.

      “I don’t suppose you’re wearing a suit…?”

      He shook his head, grateful the water was opaque with minerals. “You?” He nodded at her robe, so thin he could make out her nipples. She was naked under there, all right.

      She shook her head.

      Great. Just that slight bit of cloth between him and her bare beauty. He had a hard-on so fierce he feared it might break the surface. “I’ll leave.” As soon as he lost his erection.

      “No, no. You were here first.”

      “It’s your springs.”

      “Don’t be silly.” She bit her lip, uncertain as she often was around him. “You shouldn’t have to leave.”

      “We could…share,” he said. “I’ll stay on my side.” He held up his hands. Like, what, he was going to jump her? His face felt hotter than the spring water, which hovered at one-oh-five.

      “I…guess so.” She laughed nervously.

      “I’ve got another beer….” He nodded toward it.

      “I have a whole bottle of champagne we can share.” She bent to set down the bucket and her towels, the robe parting to show the curve of one breast, the top of a thigh.

      She stood and started on the knot, then looked at him pointedly, circling a finger. Turn around.

      “Oh. Yeah.” It was just that he wasn’t quite sure he hadn’t dreamed her. She seemed ethereal, like she could drift away like the mist of steam off the springs.

      He pivoted to brace himself on the rough stones and waited, catching the quiet swish of fabric, the grind of her bare feet on the sand, then the small splash when she let herself into the water, her soft moan as the heat hit her.

      God. He recognized that moan. He’d made her do that many times. Fighting to look neutral, he turned back. He had a great poker face, but with Callie all bets were off.

      She’d filled out a little, her breasts were rounder and she was a half-inch taller, but her shape was the same.

      Touching her had been heaven.

      “This feels so good,” she said, leaning her head into the concave place in the rocks where they used to make love.

      Don’t think about that….

      He cleared his throat. “So, champagne…You’re celebrating.”

      “Trying to.” A smile flitted across her face. “I’ve got a lot of work ahead of me.”

      “True,” he said. It was nuts, but he’d keep his asshole blurts to himself. Instead he reached across the water for her bottle. “Shall I open it?”

      She removed the mason jar and let him take it. “We can share the glass or you can drink from the bottle.”

      “The bottle’s fine for me.” Deck popped the cork, the sound sharp in the desert silence. He poured Callie a dose, then tapped the neck of the bottle against her glass.

      “To old times,” he said.

      Her eyes flared and she shivered. No way was she cold in this water. Something else was going on and when she echoed his toast, her voice shook.

      SIPPING THE CHAMPAGNE Deck had poured, Callie felt hotter inside than the steaming water that lapped at her shoulders. Deck’s eyes locked on, gleaming in the moonlight. Startled, she backed into a hollow in the rocks, the perfect indentation…

      Uh-oh. This was where they’d made love.

      Did Deck remember? He was looking at her that way.

      The last thing she needed with water wrapping her in warmth like the best of all hugs, was Deck naked, a mere arm’s length away. She gulped more champagne, realizing too late that its fizzy deliciousness would unravel her inhibitions, making things worse.

      Deck gave her a slow, big-as-the-sky smile. “Very nice…”

      It wasn’t until he lifted the bottle that she realized he’d meant the champagne, not her. Whew.

      “I robbed the ranch’s supply. I’ll have to replace it. Ernie’s carries champagne, right?”

      “Even hicks enjoy the finer things. We don’t all toss back a brew, then go shoot up highway signs for a good time.”

      “Come on. You know I don’t think that.”

      He shrugged. “You left.”

      “And you stayed,” she snapped back, defensive suddenly.

      “To each his own.” Was he jabbing at her, defending his choice, or being nice?

      “As long as you’re happy.” Did that sound condescending?

      “Exactly.” Picking up the tension, he softened his next words. “Cal says your company’s doing well. You set up parties for celebrities, right?” He lifted an eyebrow, like he couldn’t believe she did that for a living.

      “I do events, not just parties. There’s more to it than cocktails and tenderloin satay.” She held out her glass for more champagne. In Manhattan, top event planners were movers and shakers. Out here, though, she could see how it might sound, well, silly. “Human culture is built around points of celebration.”

      “Okay….” Another eyebrow shift.

      “Events can make or break a new company, a product, hell, a relationship. In the right atmosphere, the right combination of people, food, setting and entertainment, deals