(Standard disclaimer still applies. Hope the rating does, too....)
==========================
Writing with Mort Rainey was one of her better ideas, Nadine congratulated herself. Between the two of them they'd knocked out the first three chapters in a little over two weeks, and Chapter Four was coming along nicely. The style was a departure from anything either of them had done before. Funny as hell, Nadine thought with a grin, pecking away at her keyboard, which was sitting on Rainey's desk. Man's got a bent sense of humor, once you get to know him. She stole a glance across the loft at Rainey, who was proofing Chapter Three. Did she really know him, even now?
Small things still nagged at her. Not the half-baked murder accusation -- Rainey might be a little neurotic, but she just didn't see him as a cut-throat killer. No, it was that accent, coming and going, ditto his libido -- there were flashes of that heat that had drawn her the time he'd embraced her, but most of the time...nothing. They were writing partners, that was all. Not that that was a bad thing!
Rainey caught her looking and raised an eyebrow. She smiled and turned back to the screen. The trouble was, she wanted more than just a writing partner. Sometimes she was certain he wanted the same thing, especially when he'd aim those Bambi-brown eyes her way and call her Miss Nadine in that slow drawl. Gawd, it was enough to make a woman take up writing trashy romance novels just to get it out of her system.
Moments like that made her wonder if she was crazy, or if she'd just spent a little too long writing "Gemini Descending", because it was like he was a completely different person. There was Rainey, the preoccupied writer who popped his jaw all the time and had the sex appeal of graham crackers, and there was...that other guy, the one with the dangerous gleam in his eye, the one whose clothes she wanted to tear off so she could do the nasty with him.
(Of course, if I were writing it -- ) Nadine reminded herself that she had written it, that was the point. (You're a writer, not a pshrink. That was fiction. Fiction is your job. This is real life, honey. Are you sure? Oh, shoot, he's just repressed, you're the one who's nuts!) She snuck another peek at him in the old armchair, his laptop across his knees. He wasn't focused on the screen, that was for sure. Then he straightened up, shaking himself like a wet dog and squarely meeting her gaze. He smiled lazily, and for Nadine, every nebulous suspicion coalesed into a rock of truth.
She wasn't with Mort Rainey anymore. This man was a stranger...a very intriguing stranger.
"I think it's time to call it a night, Miss Nadine," he said, southern now, never taking his eyes from hers. Rainey's eye contact was usually fleeting, this stranger's was direct.
"It is getting late," she agreed. It was eleven p.m., they'd been at it since noon. Or rather, she and Rainey had been at it since noon.
He rose gracefully from the chair, moving smoothly; Nadine watched in a trace. Rainey always seemed to be tense, this guy was completely at ease in his skin. Looking down at her, he rested a hand on her shoulder, strong fingers finding a tender spot and kneading it. "How about we hit the hay?" he suggested. "Stay here tonight, we can get an early start in the morning."
"That sounds good to me," Nadine said, her heart pounding. "Just tell me one thing -- who the hell are you?"
The man in Rainey's body laughed. "Why, whatever do you mean, Miss Nadine?" he teased.
Nadine smiled back at him, as if she hadn't been debating the matter endlessly until a moment ago. "How about we cut the crap?" she countered pleasantly. "You're not Mort Rainey, and we both know it."
He nodded slowly. "I was wondering how long it was gonna take you to figure it out. Knew you would. You're a smart lady."
"I've had my suspicions from the start. So, again: who are you?"
"My name's John Shooter, and I'm pleased to make your acquaintance."
"What should I call you?"
Shooter grinned at her. "Well, Miss Nadine, I don't think Mr. Rainey would take too kindly to you accidently calling him by my name." She nodded like automatically. "On the other hand, as you so rightly pointed out, I ain't him. I wouldn't care to hear you calling out his name in an intimate moment." Nadine blushed.
"So, what say we compromise. How about you just call me Shoot. You say it often enough that if it slips out, ol' Mort isn't gonna have conniptions." He leaned close, murmuring, "Every time I hear you say shoot, I get hot. Feels like you're talking to me, not him."
"Shoot." She tried it out, maintaining eye contact. "Shoot...." His left hand still resting on her shoulder, Shooter's right hand caught hers and drew her easily upward. Without quite being sure how it happened, Nadine found herself in his arms, this time face-to-face -- and every bit as up close and personal. He kissed her then, thoroughly, and she let herself savor it. He was a terrific kisser. If he did everything that well -- ! His fingers paused with her shirt half-unbuttoned.
"Are you sure this is what you want?" he asked quietly. "I don't want you feelin' like you have to say yes. I'm in no hurry." By his smile, he already knew what her answer would be.
"Shoot, I've just been waiting to be asked. And for a proper introduction," she added dryly.
"I'm askin'."
"Shoot, I'd be delighted." Nadine hung on to him for dear life, her head swimming as he kissed her again, maneuvering her up against Rainey's desk until the edge of it bit into the backs of her thighs.
Shooter peeled her out of her clothes easily as a man peeling a banana; discarding the garments and focusing on the treats within. At the same time, she tugged off his sweater and shirt, fumbling with his belt, half-wild with impatience. "Easy there, little lady," he crooned. "It ain't goin' nowhere."
When they were down to bare skin, looking at each other for a long, breathless moment, Shooter tilted his head toward the bedroom. "Let's do this right," he suggested. "Much as I'd like to lay you out over this here desk, I reckon we'd both be more comfortable in a proper bed."
Nadine nodded agreement; she didn't trust her voice right then. Anything that came out was probably gonna sound like a cat in heat, which was about how she felt. His tawny physique surpassed her fondest imaginings, and she was trying not to stare, but....
(Ohhh, ohhh, ohhh! I get to play with that!) She tried to suppress her giggles and failed.
"Somebody's all hot and bothered," Shooter sing-songed, his hand at the small of her back as he led her to the bedroom. "Guess I'm gonna have to take care of that for you, hmm?"
Rainey's bedroom had light-colored wallpaper with an all-over pattern of dark green leaves and a brass bed covered with blankets and quilts. Shooter tumbled her onto the big bed, lying atop her and gazing down, dark brown eyes searching hers intently. "Last chance, Missy."
"Please, Shoot. I want this. I've been wanting this...wanting you."
Shooter smiled, and gave her what she wanted.
===================
Heh, heh heh.
Gee, that was fun to write!
.
.
.
.
.
(And you will notice that I did -NOT- have Shooter say "Easy on the goods, there, darlin' -- " since that would have been glaringly OUT OF CHARACTER!!! Savvy?)
==========================
Writing with Mort Rainey was one of her better ideas, Nadine congratulated herself. Between the two of them they'd knocked out the first three chapters in a little over two weeks, and Chapter Four was coming along nicely. The style was a departure from anything either of them had done before. Funny as hell, Nadine thought with a grin, pecking away at her keyboard, which was sitting on Rainey's desk. Man's got a bent sense of humor, once you get to know him. She stole a glance across the loft at Rainey, who was proofing Chapter Three. Did she really know him, even now?
Small things still nagged at her. Not the half-baked murder accusation -- Rainey might be a little neurotic, but she just didn't see him as a cut-throat killer. No, it was that accent, coming and going, ditto his libido -- there were flashes of that heat that had drawn her the time he'd embraced her, but most of the time...nothing. They were writing partners, that was all. Not that that was a bad thing!
Rainey caught her looking and raised an eyebrow. She smiled and turned back to the screen. The trouble was, she wanted more than just a writing partner. Sometimes she was certain he wanted the same thing, especially when he'd aim those Bambi-brown eyes her way and call her Miss Nadine in that slow drawl. Gawd, it was enough to make a woman take up writing trashy romance novels just to get it out of her system.
Moments like that made her wonder if she was crazy, or if she'd just spent a little too long writing "Gemini Descending", because it was like he was a completely different person. There was Rainey, the preoccupied writer who popped his jaw all the time and had the sex appeal of graham crackers, and there was...that other guy, the one with the dangerous gleam in his eye, the one whose clothes she wanted to tear off so she could do the nasty with him.
(Of course, if I were writing it -- ) Nadine reminded herself that she had written it, that was the point. (You're a writer, not a pshrink. That was fiction. Fiction is your job. This is real life, honey. Are you sure? Oh, shoot, he's just repressed, you're the one who's nuts!) She snuck another peek at him in the old armchair, his laptop across his knees. He wasn't focused on the screen, that was for sure. Then he straightened up, shaking himself like a wet dog and squarely meeting her gaze. He smiled lazily, and for Nadine, every nebulous suspicion coalesed into a rock of truth.
She wasn't with Mort Rainey anymore. This man was a stranger...a very intriguing stranger.
"I think it's time to call it a night, Miss Nadine," he said, southern now, never taking his eyes from hers. Rainey's eye contact was usually fleeting, this stranger's was direct.
"It is getting late," she agreed. It was eleven p.m., they'd been at it since noon. Or rather, she and Rainey had been at it since noon.
He rose gracefully from the chair, moving smoothly; Nadine watched in a trace. Rainey always seemed to be tense, this guy was completely at ease in his skin. Looking down at her, he rested a hand on her shoulder, strong fingers finding a tender spot and kneading it. "How about we hit the hay?" he suggested. "Stay here tonight, we can get an early start in the morning."
"That sounds good to me," Nadine said, her heart pounding. "Just tell me one thing -- who the hell are you?"
The man in Rainey's body laughed. "Why, whatever do you mean, Miss Nadine?" he teased.
Nadine smiled back at him, as if she hadn't been debating the matter endlessly until a moment ago. "How about we cut the crap?" she countered pleasantly. "You're not Mort Rainey, and we both know it."
He nodded slowly. "I was wondering how long it was gonna take you to figure it out. Knew you would. You're a smart lady."
"I've had my suspicions from the start. So, again: who are you?"
"My name's John Shooter, and I'm pleased to make your acquaintance."
"What should I call you?"
Shooter grinned at her. "Well, Miss Nadine, I don't think Mr. Rainey would take too kindly to you accidently calling him by my name." She nodded like automatically. "On the other hand, as you so rightly pointed out, I ain't him. I wouldn't care to hear you calling out his name in an intimate moment." Nadine blushed.
"So, what say we compromise. How about you just call me Shoot. You say it often enough that if it slips out, ol' Mort isn't gonna have conniptions." He leaned close, murmuring, "Every time I hear you say shoot, I get hot. Feels like you're talking to me, not him."
"Shoot." She tried it out, maintaining eye contact. "Shoot...." His left hand still resting on her shoulder, Shooter's right hand caught hers and drew her easily upward. Without quite being sure how it happened, Nadine found herself in his arms, this time face-to-face -- and every bit as up close and personal. He kissed her then, thoroughly, and she let herself savor it. He was a terrific kisser. If he did everything that well -- ! His fingers paused with her shirt half-unbuttoned.
"Are you sure this is what you want?" he asked quietly. "I don't want you feelin' like you have to say yes. I'm in no hurry." By his smile, he already knew what her answer would be.
"Shoot, I've just been waiting to be asked. And for a proper introduction," she added dryly.
"I'm askin'."
"Shoot, I'd be delighted." Nadine hung on to him for dear life, her head swimming as he kissed her again, maneuvering her up against Rainey's desk until the edge of it bit into the backs of her thighs.
Shooter peeled her out of her clothes easily as a man peeling a banana; discarding the garments and focusing on the treats within. At the same time, she tugged off his sweater and shirt, fumbling with his belt, half-wild with impatience. "Easy there, little lady," he crooned. "It ain't goin' nowhere."
When they were down to bare skin, looking at each other for a long, breathless moment, Shooter tilted his head toward the bedroom. "Let's do this right," he suggested. "Much as I'd like to lay you out over this here desk, I reckon we'd both be more comfortable in a proper bed."
Nadine nodded agreement; she didn't trust her voice right then. Anything that came out was probably gonna sound like a cat in heat, which was about how she felt. His tawny physique surpassed her fondest imaginings, and she was trying not to stare, but....
(Ohhh, ohhh, ohhh! I get to play with that!) She tried to suppress her giggles and failed.
"Somebody's all hot and bothered," Shooter sing-songed, his hand at the small of her back as he led her to the bedroom. "Guess I'm gonna have to take care of that for you, hmm?"
Rainey's bedroom had light-colored wallpaper with an all-over pattern of dark green leaves and a brass bed covered with blankets and quilts. Shooter tumbled her onto the big bed, lying atop her and gazing down, dark brown eyes searching hers intently. "Last chance, Missy."
"Please, Shoot. I want this. I've been wanting this...wanting you."
Shooter smiled, and gave her what she wanted.
===================
Heh, heh heh.
Gee, that was fun to write!
.
.
.
.
.
(And you will notice that I did -NOT- have Shooter say "Easy on the goods, there, darlin' -- " since that would have been glaringly OUT OF CHARACTER!!! Savvy?)