ONCE IN A BLUE MOON (BLUEBONNET, TEXAS Book 2) (16 page)

"Alright then. Our time is up. If you need me over the holiday weekend, Ty, you know you can call me."

He nodded and let himself out, stopping at the front desk to schedule his next appointment. He’d just make some excuse about why Betti couldn’t come, or reschedule it, or quit going or something. He’d think of something. Dad would just have to understand.

Out in the truck, he tried Bettina on the cell phone, but no one answered. On his way home, he swung through H-E-B and grabbed four kinds of soup, Sprite, chicken and...on impulse, some flowers.

 "Bettina, honey?" Ty called out, setting the bags on the dining room table.

Stone, cold silence greeted him as he went to check the bedroom. The bed was unmade, the sheets all rumpled.

No Bettina.

Next, he checked the other three bedrooms. Still no Bettina.

She’d gone to work!
He spun around and back out to the front porch. He car hadn’t moved.

Don’t panic.

He walked the wrap-around porch.

Breathe.

And came to a dead halt on the back porch.

Out in the yard, in a little patch of sunlight, lay his wife in a chaise. She must have dragged it down off the porch. Despite the fact that it was November, the day was clear, crisp and sunny. This was Texas after all, and in Texas the weather changed its mind more often than a lady.

Relieved, he slowly crossed the porch and stepped down into the yard, his boots crunching the occasional leaf as he went. Bettina lay sound asleep with her fist tucked up under her chin. Her nose was still red from crying and her lashes still wet. She must not have stopped after he left, and he angrily wondered what had set her off to begin with.

On silent feet, Ty made his way back to the house, called his mom, who reluctantly promised to tell his dad he wouldn’t be back, then changed his clothes. He put the groceries away, made himself a sandwich from the last of the brisket and sat on the back porch to eat, so he could keep an eye on her.

While he ate, he thought. About his conversation with Bettina the day of their wedding, and about what Dr. Ritter had said.
Sex, money and communication.
Now he had a better idea of what Bettina had been asking for. Not just sex. And he couldn’t just
try
and make their marriage work, he had to
commit
to it. Affection did matter. Rhea hadn’t been affectionate, even when she was young.

He enjoyed being near Bettina, and the sex was just a huge side benefit. She was independent. She didn’t cling to him except for earlier, but hell, she’d been upset. She made him laugh, and he didn’t have nightmares when they slept together. He’d quickly figured out that having her near kept the Rhea Demon away.

He didn’t miss Rhea, and if he were honest, could admit he hadn’t for a while. The pangs he’d previously felt at the thought of never having her back in his life weren’t there. And maybe they hadn’t been about her, but about being alone. The end of his dreams. What he’d thought he wanted.

He was going to be a dad. Bettina had asked for a real marriage, and not just in the bedroom. That’s what she meant, that’s what she wanted, and that’s what she deserved.

* * *

Ty awoke in a panic to the sounds of cooking and what smelled like a cake baking. Rhea.
No, Bettina!
After she’d woke up from her earlier nap, he’d fed her soup and stretched out on the couch with her for another. Pregnant women needed their rest.

Dusk crept in through the living room windows, the television was off and he could hear music. Sounded like Sheryl Crow. He breathed a sigh of relief and headed for the kitchen where he found Bettina puttering at the counter and quietly singing along. He leaned against the corner of the refrigerator to watch, afraid he’d startle her.

Not only did she sing, she shook her terry-cloth covered ass. Until she finally turned around and caught him grinning at her.

"What? You don’t like my singin’?" She held out a spoon full of red juice and Ty had no choice but to open wide and swallow.

"Raspberries." He licked his lips at the twangy taste.

"Found ‘em in the freezer." She grinned. She still looked a bit pale but better than she had that morning.

"You just looked cute, is all." He shrugged and stuffed his hands in his pockets.

"You like me all domestic, huh?"  Snapping a lid on the berries, she stored them in the fridge.

"Much better than heating up a plate and eating in front of the television." He nodded at the table she’d set. Red place mats, bright blue plates and green glasses with bubbles in them. Mexican glass. Ty thought it looked cozy.

He watched her hover over the chicken and circled behind her, leaning against the kitchen sink for a better view. Her hips swayed from side to side as she flipped chicken and stirred what smelled like macaroni and cheese.

Who would have thought cooking could be so sexy?

He grinned, then bit his lip, praying she didn’t turn around and catch him. Twice in five minutes would be too hard to explain. But he’d never had Kitchen Sex before.

She turned around, and his eyes slowly traveled upward. Behind her, the stove slowed it’s sizzle and pop. She’d turned the burners off and now smiled at him, invitingly, while slipping off the jacket that matched her fancy sweat pants. Next came the dark purple t-shirt.

"See something you like?" Her hands cupped the lavender bra barely that held her lush breasts in check.

He swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry, his jeans unbearably tight. "Absolutely."

She unsnapped it and slid it off, floating across the floor and into his arms. Mouths met and tongues melded. He wanted her. Right there in the kitchen. He wanted to lean her over that pretty table and bury himself inside her.

He led her to the table and pushed the chairs aside....

"Ty. Earth to Ty." Bettina stood in front of him, fully dressed and snapping her fingers.

His grip on the counter’s edge was almost painful, his face burned with need and embarrassment and his erection throbbed.
Please don’t let her notice.

"What?"

"Would you pour us some tea?"

He nodded, the grin tearing across his face again. He cupped her face with both hands and planted a big smacking kiss on her surprised lips, then yanked open the refrigerator door. Behind him, he heard a giggle. Tuning it out, he poured the tea, placed the pitcher on the table and moved to lean against the counter in the same spot. This time, she turned and kissed him for real but with her shirt on.

All the tumblers on some invisible lock clicked into place and a door in his mind swung open. Something about her, there, at that moment just felt incredibly right. He ran his hands down her back and cupped the cheeks of her ass. He felt something more than lust, but that, too.

He kissed her like he hadn’t kissed anyone in forever, and in a way, he hadn’t. There wasn’t an inch of her that he couldn’t feel, but it wasn’t just sex he wanted. It was something deep and soft and warm and comfortable that he felt snuggled in his wife’s arms. Finally, he pulled free, coming up for air. "The chicken?"

"It’s done," she whispered, voice husky.

"We should eat." But he didn’t want to let her go. He kissed her again, his lips devouring her soft, full ones. "I want you. God, I want you, Bettina."

"Oh, Ty." She arched her neck and he found that tender spot from last night. That same one that made her squirm and squeal. She chattered nonsense even as he bit her and her fingers unsnapped his jeans. Then he felt her hands on him. Her long skillful fingers wrapped around his cock.

His own skimmed the waistband of her sweats before plunging inside, no longer shy as he squeezed lush curves through her silky panties. "You have the nicest ass."

"Is that what started this?" she teased, her voice soft and husky.

"Absolutely." He nodded and, in between kisses, yanked the t-shirt over her head, grappling with her lacy, purple bra until he finally got it unhooked. He pushed her pants down and paused to admire every long, curvy inch of her. His fingers dipped between her thighs until he found her swollen clitoris. Her flesh was tender and wet. She moaned and pursed her lips, hips arched and nails digging into his arms as she clung to him.

"The table," she gasped, pulling away. "Or here?"

"Table." He nearly fell untangling his jeans from his feet. Bettina dragged him to the table and pushed him down in a chair. "No!"

She paused in the middle of straddling his lap and frowned down at him. Her breath came in short puffs. He leaned forward and rested his head on her belly, savoring the musky scent of her warm flesh.

This was his fantasy, after all. He slowly stood up and caught one pert nipple in his mouth. Clutching her to him, he swept the dishes out of the way and pushed her back against the table. She wrapped her legs around his waist, her hand on his cock, guiding him inside her before she was even on her back. A shiver ran down his spine.

God, she felt good.

It’d been a long time since he’d been in charge in more ways than one, but he finally got it right, his strokes long and smooth, and she met each one. He wrapped an arm around her, his face buried in her neck, kneading one breast with his free hand.

This was ten times better than any fantasy.

"Hurry, Ty. Oh, God."

Her nails dug into his back, driving him on. "Oh, Bee."

"Yes, Ty!"

He leaned down and pulled a tight, puckered nipple in his mouth. God she felt like heaven.

Soft and wet, tight and lush, ripe, slick, hot and warm.

"Faster."

Faster he went while trying to hold back his own orgasm, afraid he’d leave her behind.

Beneath him she screamed and bucked and clung to him, taking him over the edge with her. He flew, his heart stopped, he couldn’t catch his breath as he slammed into her, praying he didn’t hurt her. The more he let go, the higher he climbed, and the further he lost himself. He shouted to match her screams. His body tense, he couldn’t stop thrusting until, with one long, loud moan, he felt the grip on his chest and lungs ease up. He could breathe.
Jesus!

A ghost walked across his grave and he shivered again. He still had his face buried in Bettina’s breasts and was almost afraid to look at her.
Damn, what if I hurt her.

Somehow he’d gotten hold of one of her legs and clutched a handful of ass. He slowly released it and opened his eyes. Ty looked to the left and right. They’d cleared the table and probably broken all her pretty dishes.

Shit.
She was crying. Beneath him, he felt her shudder from the sobs. He couldn’t leave her like this. Slowly he raised his head. Tears streamed from her closed eyes and her face was all scrunched up.

"Bee? Baby? What’s wrong?" He scooted up, no longer worried she’d be mad but scared to death he’d hurt her. Or worse yet, the baby. She took a couple of deep breaths, and her eyes fluttered open. He stroked her hair away from her face. "Did I hurt you?"
God, I hope not.

She shook her head no.

"Then what is it?"

She looked at him, as if struggling for words, then cried harder. He made to get off her, but she yelped and clung to him. His thighs began to shake from standing bent over.

"Baby, I’m too heavy. Lemme get up, okay? I won’t leave you."

She nodded, and he slipped free and stood upright, bringing her with him.

"Wrap your legs and arms around me and hang on."

In the bedroom he laid a silent Bettina down on the bed and curled up next to her. Even with a red nose, she looked pretty. He pulled her close, and she rested her head on his chest. "Better now?"

"Yeah?" Her voice was thick with tears.

"I’m sorry if I was too rough." That had to be it. Just had to.

"You...you weren’t any rougher than I was." She smiled up at him, her green eyes crystal-clear. "I think I scratched you pretty bad."

"I’m fine. Are you sure?" He caught her gaze and held it, mesmerized, then slowly rolled her over, cupped her face and kissed her long and deep.  The exact opposite of what had happened earlier in the kitchen.  

Ty sipped at her lips, gently exploring the feel of them beneath his, every nuance, the supple texture of her lower lips caught between his, her mouth opening beneath his and her sleek velvety tongue teasing him in return.

"Absolutely," she replied with a grin.

Chapter Fifteen

ALIENS, ICE CREAM, AND GIRLFRIENDS

When I woke up the next morning Ty was gone again. I stretched and smiled, one thought flittering through my mind.

Ty
Boudreaux is a horn-dog. Correction, he’s my horn-dog.

And Rhea had called him clueless. Shy maybe, but nowhere near clueless. Especially, on the kitchen table. I fanned myself and giggled, heading for the kitchen where the smell of coffee tickled my nose.

He’d even cleaned up the mess we made. What a night!

The bouquet of flowers he’d brought me was nowhere in sight. I think they fell victim to our kitchen gymnastics.

What had happened to my husband? Had he been captured by aliens while he was out doing...whatever? Something had changed. I just couldn’t put my finger on what. I still had no idea where he’d gone in the middle of the day or what time he’d gotten home, and I refused to ask. The clouds that normally shaded his green eyes were long gone. A successful outing? I knew damn good and well he hadn’t gone to get feed, but for once I chickened.

No, I obeyed Rule Number Ten:
Don’t Ask Questions You Don’t Know the Answer To.
Sort of like being a lawyer.

I didn’t know the answer and I damn sure didn’t feel the need to give him another opportunity to lie to me. Despite all his TLC, my Inner Skeptic was still shouting warnings about the other shoe dropping, a feeling I didn’t much care for.

I’d woke up from my nap yesterday to find him sitting on the back porch, reading a book. He’d even offered to read to me. I declined with a smile. That was a bit much. Then he’d fed me, kissed my fingers and dragged me inside for another nap—with him. And hadn’t left me all afternoon.