Disclaimer: Please be forewarned that this story contains explicit and graphic sex between two consenting adult females. If you are under the age of 18 or live in a place where this type of story is illegal then please stop reading now.
CHAPTER THIRTY
Jamie became aware of the silence and for a moment puzzled over it. It slowly registered on her sleepy brain that this morning, the quiet had not been interrupted by barking or a wet nose pressed against her bare back. Startled by that recognition she sat up, and the previous night and earlier morning came flooding back. Darcy. She was at Darcy’s. Feeling the pleasant lethargy in her legs, she leaned back against the pillow and and could not stop the smile from drifting across her face. She looked at the sheets tossed at the foot of the bed, their clothing carelessly dropped on the floor, and felt the heat return as images of their night together flooded back vividly. Then her heart stuttered as she also remembered the truth uncovered: she was in love with Darcy. It wasn’t supposed to be that way. She pounded the pillow then hugged it against her as her stomach took a deep, diving dip. Her smile was replaced with a worried frown. How was she going to handle that? The thought of that squeezed her heart with a mixture of wild pleasure, hope and fear.
But where was Darcy? How could she leave her without a word? Had she left her this morning in order to avoid dealing with what had happen? It wouldn’t surprise her if that was in fact the case. Darcy had never been particularly good at sticking around when the moment got too touchy-feely.
She pondered with nervous uncertainty the change in their relationship. Maybe Darcy was regretting everything and was now hiding downstairs, hoping she would leave without confronting her. Her mouth firmed with embarrassment. She hated feeling insecure and vulnerable. She swung her legs around and looked for something to put on, grabbing the blue bathrobe that was thrown over the back of a chair in the corner and padding out of the bedroom. The robe smelled like Darcy, and she felt the want for her tangle with her annoyance.
She was about to go to the kitchen to try and scrounge up a cup of coffee when she heard the key jingle against the door. Her heart jumped and she was unable to stop the relief and the sheer joy of the moment from spreading.
When she caught sight of Jamie, Darcy froze in the doorway and for a moment there was awkwardness. Darcy wasn’t so certain she’d smoothed away the edges by the time she made her way back upstairs. She had taken extra time to recover by going for a short drive. She was determined not to acknowledge the grief that had slashed its way into her heart despite the locks.
"You’re up." Darcy interjected into the strained silence, then cursed silently as a blush crept over her face.
"Yeah, I was about to go search for coffee."
Darcy stepped in and closed the door behind her. In her hand she carried a white paper bag. She lifted it up with a wry grin. "Already ahead of you. I also got you some fresh croissants." She had given up on the idea of trying to cajole her chef into feeding them, the confrontation with her mother having made her lose her appetite. Seeing Maggie was a hard reminder of the promise Darcy had made to herself: to succeed, on her own terms; to live precisely how she chose to live, and never, never to place her hopes, her needs, her wants in the hands of another. She fought to hide her misery from the searching gray eyes and instead sidestepped it neatly by crossing back to the kitchen.
Undecided, Jamie stood watching her retreat, feeling disappointment spread. She was now convinced that Darcy regretted everything. She can’t even look me in the face.
Darcy returned and caught the worried look on her face, but misread it. Suddenly feeling shy, she handed her a coffee. She cleared her throat then with shoulders hunched admitted softly, "I went out this morning and grabbed your beast." It was hard to remember her promises when Jamie looked like she belonged here in her home.
The soft admission startled Jamie and she turned to stare at her. "You did?"
The look of tenderness that crossed her face had Darcy shifting from foot to foot. "He’s downstairs getting a treat." She shrugged embarrassed. "I figured you might worry about him."
Jamie smiled at her, touched by the thoughtful gesture. Darcy missed it as she turned to fiddle with the collar of her shirt. After placing her cup on the small table, Jamie crossed to her and wrapped her arms tight around the tall woman. Darcy’s arms automatically circled around to hold her. Their eyes met then and Jamie’s thumb softly traced her jaw line. "Are you sorry?" She held her breath waiting for the answer.
Darcy didn’t pretend she didn’t understand the question. She stared back at her for a moment, into the warm gray. "No. You?"
Jamie shook her head. "No."
Still they continued to stare at each other, almost uncertain as to what should be the next move until Darcy closed the gap and kissed her. They kissed, eyes open watching each other until the kiss deepened and changed, the texture of it becoming more urgent. They pulled away, reluctant to break the moment.
"It’s still there," Darcy whispered.
"Oh, yeah. I’m not over it yet." Jamie grinned as she felt the arousal triggered by the kiss warm her. She would worry about her heart later. But not now.
"Me either. Listen James, I do have to work this afternoon but maybe later, if you’re free, we could…" Her voice trailed off uncertainly.
Her offer warmed Jamie. "I have some work to do around the house, but why don’t you come by later?" Jamie offered. They smiled at each other, then Jamie watched Darcy’s eyes deepen and change as they raked over her.
"You look good in my robe."
"It smells like you."
"Does it?" Darcy reached over and her hand fisted in the front of the robe and pulled Jamie closer. She kissed her, but because of the time had to be satisfied with a mind numbing kiss that left Jamie weakly holding on.
"Jesus, Darcy where in the world did you learn to kiss like that?"
"Little Timmy McAllister, fourth grade," Darcy replied with a soft laugh. "The rest is just inspiration. I guess you inspire me, James."
Jamie’s mouth curved at that. "Good to know."
***
As she sanded the steps of her front porch, Jamie wore jeans faded to white at the stress points and a bright blue sweater with the sleeves rolled up to her elbows. She had kept busy all day, trying to keep her mind from venturing too often toward Darcy. It worried her, this sudden certainty about her feelings for her. It bothered her that her day - as full as it was - had been taken up with thoughts of their night together, of the way she had looked at her when Jamie left for home. It scared her that she had no idea how Darcy felt or how long she would stick around. More terrifying was the thought of losing their friendship if it didn’t work out.
Frustrated with the direction her thoughts had taken, she stood up and threw the sand paper down. She blew out a breath and her eyes narrowed against the setting sun as she saw the familiar red car turn onto her street. She didn’t like the way her heart stuttered and started to race either. Her mouth turned down in annoyance. Damn it, I am completely losing control. Then Darcy stepped out of the car and flashed her that familiar wicked grin, and Jamie forgot about being worried or annoyed.
Darcy crossed to her and her eyes were a vivid blue as they very slowly took a survey of Jamie’s body. By the time her eyes reached Jamie’s face, Jamie was shaking.
"You keep looking at me like that and I swear I won’t be responsible for my actions."
Darcy continued to look at her. "Like what?"
Jamie smiled at her, pulled off her sweater and threw it on the porch. When she reached for the top button of her jeans, Darcy felt the muscles in her stomach clench. Jamie continued to smile at her as the button was loosened. Darcy felt the blood roaring in her ears as she crossed the driveway with her eyes locked on Jamie’s fingers.
"I want to do that," Darcy said hoarsely as she stepped onto the porch and her hand stopped Jamie’s movement.
Giving her one long look Jamie turned and stepped back into the house. "Coming?" she asked Darcy over her shoulder.
"Almost there," Darcy muttered.
***
"What’s going on with you and Jamie?"
"What? Nothing. Just hanging out. Having fun," Darcy answered defensively.
"Mmm…" Lauren, who had stopped in at the café with the intention of finding as many of the details from Darcy as she could pull out of her, continued watching her.
"What? What are you thinking?"
Lauren smiled blandly. "Nothing. Friends often have sex together."
The blue eyes flashed. "It’s not like that, Lauren."
The anger pleased Lauren but she kept her face carefully blank. "No? How is it then? You are having sex right?"
"Yes. No," Darcy frowned as she felt the blush warm her cheeks. "We are enjoying each other and I don’t want to jinx it by talking about it."
Lauren looked at her. Darcy tried to avoid her eyes. After a beat she met them with a sigh. Lauren smiled, seeing more in those blue eyes than she ever thought possible. Her fingers touched Darcy’s hand. "I’m glad Darcy."
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
As soon as Darcy opened the door, she heard it and winced. This time Abba was blasting through Jamie’s house. For a moment, standing in the doorway, Darcy thought of turning right around and leaving, unable, and unwilling to cope with anymore of the 1970’s. The need to see Jamie overruled her abhorrence. Frustrated that Jamie seemed to have control of her thoughts and needs, she sighed heavily as she climbed up to the second floor, following the music.
"You have got to change decades, Saunders, I beg of you."
Jamie, busy painting baseboards in the spare room, turned with a grin.
"Never. My house, my music." She brandished a paint brush, her smile teasing. "Do you want to fight about it again?"
Darcy’s mouth curved, tempted. The idea was appealing but she was wearing her favorite jeans. "Not particularly. I just don’t understand this strange affinity with that decade. It boggles the mind."
Jamie stepped over a slumbering Monster to get to her. "I looked good in platform shoes." Her eyes crinkled with amusement as she studied Darcy’s disgusted pout. Just as quickly, her amusement faded. Something was happening inside of her, a quivering but not that lustful shiver in the belly. This was around her heart, and more ache than pleasure. With sudden certainty about what she wanted, Jamie took the plunge.
"You know what I think?"
"What?"
"You should move in with me. Then maybe I’ll let you choose the music."
"Move — move in with you? Have you lost your mind?"
"Anyway, there’s plenty of room for your stuff here."
Darcy’s frown was fierce, her eyes baffled. "I’m not moving in with you."
Now that it was out, Jamie felt almost giddy. "Yes, you are."
"James, I can recommend a good therapist. There’s absolutely no shame in seeking help for mental instability."
"I’ll keep that in mind. God knows I haven’t been clear in the head since I got tangled up with you, Stretch. We can make an appointment together, after you move in."
"I’m not moving in with you," Darcy snarled. There was panic now, little slivers of it dancing down her spine.
Jamie recognized the panic but it was too late to back down now. "Yes, you are. Because it’s what I want, and I always get what I want."
The panic had turned to anger to mask the terror Darcy was now feeling. "If you think I give a single damn about what you want right now-,"
"Because," Jamie continued unperturbed, "I’m as crazy about you as you are about me."
The certainty behind the words left Darcy speechless.
"That shut you up didn’t it? It’s time, Darcy, we started dealing with it instead of dancing around it."
"I’m sorry." Darcy’s voice shook. "I don’t want this."
The hurt came quick and sharp to Jamie’s heart. "I’m sorry you don’t want it too, because it’s the way it is. Look at me," Jamie framed her face with fingers that shook slightly. "I wasn’t looking for it either. But it’s been there for a long time. Let’s see where it takes us." She lowered her mouth, inching closer. "Just us."
Just us, Darcy thought. She wanted to believe it, wanted to trust all the soft and liquid feelings that were flowing through her. To love someone and have it be strong and true. To be capable of it. To be worthy of it. She wanted to believe it.
Jamie sensed the struggle and took her hand and pulled her to the bedroom. This Darcy could understand. They undressed slowly as the moonlight shimmered over their skin. Jamie listened to the way Darcy’s breath caught, released, caught again when Jamie touched her. When Jamie pressed her lips to Darcy’s heart, Darcy wanted to weep. Jamie took her hand, holding tight. No one else, Jamie thought, had ever unlocked her this way.
"This is different," she told Darcy, and her mouth pressed down as her lover shook her head. "This is different. I love you, Darcy."
Darcy’s vision blurred with tears. Her lips trembled with words she didn’t know how to say.
"I love you," Jamie repeated.
Darcy’s breath caught again as sensation swamped into her, tore at her breath. Fear and joy bursting. "Don’t."
Jamie laid her lips on hers, the kiss gentle. "I love you." She kept her eyes open and on Darcy’s, watched tears swim and shimmer.
"Jamie." It was said helplessly. Darcy felt her heart quake, seem to spill over. Then her lips clung as her mouth opened under Jamie’s. "I love you back."
"Say it again."
Darcy shook her head, her only sign that she had heard the request.
"I like the way it sounds. I want to hear it again." She felt the tension in Darcy’s form and hid a smile. "There’s no point trying to take it back. You won’t get away with it."
"People say all kinds of things in the heat of passion." Full-fledged panic had returned. Darcy scooted away, and nearly made it off the bed.
"Heat of passion? You start using clichés like that, I know you’re fumbling." In one easy move Jamie flipped her back on the bed and covered the long form with hers, her legs pinning her lover down. She saw Darcy’s eyes darken, the pupils dilating. A sure sign of her arousal. "Say it again, Stretch. It’s not as hard the second time." Jamie’s mouth nipped at a bare shoulder, a hand rubbing a hard nipple.
Darcy shifted, trying to move from under her, and was taken aback by Jamie’s strength. For the first time she could remember, her own nudity left her feeling uneasy and exposed.
"Whatever I might be feeling at the moment doesn’t mean..." she gasped when Jamie’s finger found her wet. "God! I hate when you look at me like that. All amused patience. It’s insulting."
"And you’re trying to change the subject, Darcy."
"Don’t you understand?" Darcy bunched her hands into fists and felt her body heat as Jamie started to move against her. "I know what I’m capable of. I know my strength and weaknesses. I’ve never been good with long term anything. I’ll just screw this up."
"No, you won’t. I won’t let you."
Darcy’s hands grabbed at Jamie determined to push her off. "You overestimate yourself."
"No. You underestimate yourself."
It was that, Darcy realized as she stopped fighting, that simple and quiet faith in her that left her helpless. Their eyes met and Darcy saw it. The strain and the nerves in the quiet gray looking back at her. Her answer mattered. Her hand came around to touch Jamie’s face.
"Dammit. You win."
"I always do."
Darcy frowned at that. "Don’t push it."
Jamie’s only reply was a smile against her neck as her fingers slipped into her again, finding Darcy wet and ready.
Darcy’s eyes closed at the wave of pleasure that rose up at her touch. "But I’m not moving in."
Jamie’s fingers started to stroke her. "Okay. But you will."
"I said..." Darcy stopped as Jamie’s mouth closed on a nipple.
Jamie lifted her head with a smile. "You said?"
"Don’t stop," Darcy whispered helplessly. Don’t stop touching me, don’t stop loving me, she thought.
"Never."
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
The roadhouse was tucked back from the road. Inside there were six booths ranged down one wall. In the middle were about a dozen tables with mismatched chairs haphazardly pushed together and forgotten. The bar was black with age and the floor, a beige linoleum faded to gray. The lone waitress was young and bird-thin, her hair a bottle blonde gone bad. Someone was crooning about lost love from tinny speakers. To Alex’s ears it sounded like Willie Nelson, but then again she was no country music fan and everyone sounded like Willie to her. Fingers tapping impatiently on the surface, she sat at the table waiting for Barney, who had become her unofficial investigator. The waitress slowly made her way to the table and Alex’s nose twitched at the cloud of cheap perfume.
"What’ll you have?" Her too red lips stretch in a vague imitation of a smile as her gum snapped.
"What’s good here?"
"Nothing." Her gum snapped again.
Alex looked at her and had to smile. "Okay what’s safe?"
"Coffee."
Alex nodded. "I’ll have that then."
The woman returned with a pot and poured her a cup, throwing some creamers on top of the wobbly table. Alex toyed with the spoon, irritation growing at the wait. At the very least he could have come on time, she thought in annoyance. After an hour of fruitless waiting and too many songs about lost love, she gave up and vowed she would kill him the next time she saw him. The jerk probably got drunk somewhere else and forgot about having made plans to meet me. She threw some money on the table and left.
Yet Barney had sounded so urgent when he’d called. He had found something more about Reynolds’ death, related to his extra curricular activities, but didn’t want to meet at any of the joints he usually frequented. Whatever it was that he had discovered had scared him, made him uneasy. That had gotten Alex’s attention. Now as she stepped out into the evening and stared into the inky sky, part of her was disappointed. She had wanted something, anything to kick-start her stalled investigation into Jamie’s father’s death. She was at a dead end and it didn’t sit well with her at all.
She heard footsteps moving quickly away from her and turned, half expecting to see Barney. That was when she saw the car parked along the alley next to the restaurant. Because the beat up Chevy looked familiar, she slowly made her way to it, her nose wrinkling as the smell of rotting garbage wrapped around her.
She could see someone sitting behind the wheel and as she neared, she saw that it was Barney. "Well, it’s about damn time you showed up. I was about to give you up for..." Her voice trailed away as she reached the car, the reason for his tardiness readily apparent. Barney was very dead, a bullet hole gaping out of his forehead.
She sensed movement behind her but didn’t have time to react before an iron forearm was clamped around her neck. A searing pain scalded her back just above her waist. She tried to jab her elbow backward but didn’t connect with any significant force. Why did she feel so weak? She felt her knees start to buckle and the arm around her neck let go. Alex fell to the pavement. Pain rocketed through her skull, then oblivion rolled in like a dense fog. She saw it coming, welcomed it.