The Christmas Wedding Ring

The word came from nowhere and he wished it back there. But once it had formed in his brain, it sort of got lodged, as if it were not going to budge any time soon. He thought about how soft she would be. No angles or sharp hip bones, just smooth skin. Her breasts would spill over his hands. Without wanting to, he imagined cupping the generous curves, tracing the pale skin until she was writhing beneath him.

He could feel the heat of her right now. Dammit, obviously that was the problem. Their positions on the bike forced her right up against his butt. Was it his fault she was so warm? Even though he knew it was his imagination, he thought he could inhale the sweet scent of her body. They were both wearing jackets, so there was no way that her breasts could press against his back, yet he would swear he could feel their weight. Her hands—he just wanted her to move them a little lower. If only she would rub against him until—

“Until what?” he muttered, knowing she couldn’t hear him. “Until you get so distracted you’re a road hazard?”

But the images would not be denied. They flashed through his brain. Pictures of her under him, her thighs and belly a pillow for him. Of her above him, her breasts bouncing with each thrust. Of—

He swore again. Long and graphic, using words he’d nearly forgotten he knew. The solution was simple. When he got back home, he would call one of the women he dated on occasion and find a little relief. In the meantime, Molly was just a friend. He didn’t do relationships and he doubted she’d ever played fast and loose in her life. Besides, this was pure speculation. The truth was, when faced with the reality of seeing her naked, he doubted she would actually turn him on.

“You go to hell for lying same as stealing,” he muttered to himself.

So he ignored the feel of her against him, ignored the heat and the imaginary scent. There was, he acknowledged, a certain pleasure in the wanting. It had been a long time since he’d actually wanted something he couldn’t have. If nothing else, he was building a little character. Lately, life—and women—had gotten too easy. The kind he chose—those who weren’t interested in anything but the game—were always available. They wanted something from him, and as long as he provided it, they would give him anything in return.

Miles later, he’d almost grown used to the discomfort of the wanting. In fact he found a perverse pleasure in it. Good thing Molly couldn’t tell. Knowing he was turned on would probably scare her to death. Not that she was virgin. At least, he didn’t think so. Dylan frowned as he realized he didn’t know anything about Molly’s personal life. She could be married with a half-dozen kids. Maybe he should have asked a few more questions. He shook his head. Right now, it didn’t matter. They were going away, not starting anything together. When the two weeks were up, he would have made his decision about what to do with his company, and she, well, he hoped she would have solved her problems, too.

It was about an hour later when he drove down the 101 off ramp and circled under the freeway into the small town of Carpenteria. He pulled to the side of the road.

“We’re here,” he said. “What do you think?”

Molly looked around. “I thought we’d go farther north. We’re, what, about twenty minutes south of Santa Barbara?”

“That’s right. I rented a house on the beach for a couple of days. We can extend our stay here or head out. It’s up to you. I’ve spent time here before. It’s a nice little town. Off-season, like now, it’s quiet. Just locals, with few tourists. We can head up to Santa Barbara for the day. There’s plenty to do.”

She nodded. “I like it.”

“Good.”

He drove down the street. He was familiar enough with the town to find the real estate office. Molly stayed on the bike while he filled out the two short forms and paid with a credit card. When he stepped back on the bike, she frowned.

“You’re not going to get all macho on me, are you?” she asked. “I want to pay my half.”

“That’s what we agreed on.” Dylan shoved the credit card receipt into his jacket pocket. “I figured we’d each pay for some stuff, then at the end of the two weeks, we’ll total our expenses. Whoever paid the least writes the other a check for half the difference. I don’t want to hassle with money every day. Agreed?”

She grinned at him.

“What’s so funny?” he asked.

“I can’t believe you’re the same guy whose idea of a business transaction used to be illegally racing a quarter mile for beer money.”

“We all have to grow up. Even me.”

“I’d say you’ve more than grown up, Dylan.”

She had, too, he thought as he slid back in the seat and felt the heat of her body. He’d managed to calm down some while in the real estate office, but after about thirty seconds of his butt nestling against her open thighs, he was ready again. If he hadn’t already promised nothing would happen between them, and if he wasn’t convinced it would be a bad idea for both of them, he might just want to find out how great it would be to make love with Molly. But he knew better.

Their house was small and old-fashioned, probably built in the mid-fifties. The sides were wood, the windows small. He doubted the whole thing was even nine hundred square feet. A far cry from his home up in the hills, but he liked it. The other houses on the street were also rentals and most of them were vacant. He and Molly would have peace and quiet. The best part was, their backyard was the beach and, beyond that, the Pacific Ocean.

“Home sweet home,” he said as he turned off the engine. The cry of a seagull cut through the sudden silence.

Molly unstrapped her helmet and pulled it off. Her hair was a mess, all loose from her braid. The wild wavy curls blew around her face. She pushed them away impatiently.

“I can smell the ocean,” she said. “It’s nice.”

He climbed off, then held out a hand to her. She hesitated before taking it, but when she swung her leg clear of the seat and tried to straighten, she grabbed hold more firmly. “What happened?” she asked, taking a shaky step. “I feel like I’ve been at sea.”

“You’re stiff from the ride,” he said. “You’re not used to being on a bike, so you were pretty tense the whole way up. Plus you’re using different muscles. Walk around. You’ll stretch out.”

She bent her knees a couple of times, then walked back and forth in front of the bike. He tried not to watch but found his attention drawn to the way she filled out her jeans. Her rear was nice and round. He figured he could get a good hold of her there, or maybe on her hips.

Dylan swore under his breath, then made himself concentrate on unpacking their few belongings. Let it go, he told himself. He had no business thinking about messing with her. Enjoying the ride up from L.A. was one thing, but it was time for some self-control.

The lecture helped...a little. He managed to avoid thinking about her curves, even when she unzipped her jacket, exposing the soft, red sweater she wore underneath. The swell of her breasts was only of passing interest. At least it would stay that way if he quickly averted his eyes.

“I’ve got the key,” he said gruffly, then had to clear his throat. He led the way, mostly so she wouldn’t see his arousal pressing against the fly of his jeans.

There were two steps up to the wooden porch. The front door looked flimsy, but Dylan figured they didn’t have anything worth stealing, so it wasn’t going to be a problem.

Inside, the house was a little musty. Molly went to the rear windows and opened the mini-blinds. They had an instant view of the ocean. She caught her breath.

“It’s so beautiful. The sky and the water are the perfect color of blue.”

She smiled at him, an ingenuous smile that expected nothing in return. Oddly enough, he found himself wanting to give her something. He, who considered himself the last great cynic alive.

She wrinkled her nose. “I’ll bet this place hasn’t been lived in since summer. Let’s get it aired out.” She pushed open the windows, then glanced around. “It’s small but nice.”