Consumed By You Read online

  She squeezed his arm. “I love that you had someone there for you. Who could be that person you needed.”

  Travis nodded and swallowed hard. Maybe he was holding back painful memories. It had to be painful, losing a parent. He was a tough guy, who didn’t show too many emotions, so even the barest sliver revealed tugged at her.

  “I did need someone. Henry was definitely that guy. He meant a lot to me. He was the one who taught me how to play cards, too,” he said.

  Her eyes widened. “He really did have a big impact on you.” She took a beat, then asked, “Is he still around?”

  “He’s retired. Moved to San Diego. I hear from him now and then. He’s enjoying the sun and the surf and his woman. He and his wife have been married for forty years.”

  “Same as my parents,” she said.

  “What about you? Anything special to Violet’s name?” he said, tipping his chin to her black and white border collie. Violet’s head tilted to the side, and she raised an ear when she heard herself being discussed.

  “You’re a good girl,” Cara said to her best friend. She turned her attention back to Travis. “I wish I had a great story like that. And truth be told, I once thought about naming her after my birth mom.”

  “You did?”

  “I was twelve when I thought that. That was when I had my”—she stopped to sketch air quotes—“birth mom phase.”

  “What’s a birth mom phase?” he asked with a laugh.

  “Oh, it’s just that time when I asked more questions and all. My parents were great. They answered everything they could, though their info was pretty limited. My birth mom was from Nevada, she was sixteen when she had me, and that’s all I knew. But I had this fantasy that I’d find out her name, and we’d have picnics and go shopping, and I’d name a dog after her at some point, since we always had dogs growing up.”

  “Did you ever? Find out her name? Don’t tell me it was Violet because that would be too wild a coincidence for us to have both done something kind of similar,” he said, gesturing from her to him and then to their dogs.

  She smiled and shook her head, a bit of a wistful sigh escaping her lips. “I just picked Violet because it’s my favorite color and it’s a pretty name. And as for the phase, well, like all good phases, I grew out of it.”

  “Did you ever find your birth mom? Did you want to?”

  She shook her head. “No. Even though it was a closed adoption, there are processes in place now and I could probably track her down, but I decided I didn’t have to. There’s nothing I really need to know. I’m just glad the fates aligned when I was born and my parents were the ones who got to have me,” she said, shooting him a smile.

  “Me, too,” he said softly, and then took her hand off his arm and threaded his fingers through hers. Squeezing her gently. Tugging her close. If she thought her heart was dancing earlier, that was nothing compared to the way it swayed toward him as he said, “Because that means you wound up in my hometown.”

  Oh dear lord. Her heart soared off like a kite.

  Then he kissed her. It wasn’t the heated, crazed kiss in the doorway. It was sweeter, softer, gentler. It was an evening kiss as the sun dropped below the horizon, and it spoke of the two of them, and how they were coming together in more ways than she’d intended.

  That was the big problem.

  She was getting in over her head. Having a two-week tryst with Travis Jansen might not have been her brightest idea. As the night rolled on, and he helped clean the dishes, and kissed the back of her neck, and handed her a chocolate chip cookie that he’d baked for her, she knew her heart was far too involved. When the clock ran out in another week, she was sure to leave this fling with a big old wound in that organ in her chest.

  Because it was so much more than a fling.

  …

  Maybe there was something in the water. He’d need to get a water testing kit. Conduct an inspection. See if there were chemicals that were making his brain play tricks on him.

  Because as Travis drove home, he could distinctly recall having instructed his brain to focus solely on the sex. And the sex had been spectacular, so he’d really like some answers as to where the hell his damn heart had hid his calm, cool, rational mind for the evening. He’d like to know why the hell he’d shared that stuff with her about Henry. He had some questions for himself, too, as to why he’d acted all domestic, not to mention intimate in a way that went well beyond the physical, and why on earth he’d let those words about how glad he was that she lived here tumble free.

  But the reality was this—he was glad she was here. She made him happy.

  That was the big problem.

  He had no idea what to do with a woman who made him feel…something.

  Not a single fucking clue.

  He turned into his driveway and slammed his car into park. He dropped his forehead to the steering wheel and blew out a long, frustrated sigh.

  Something wet was on his face. Something slobbery and long. Travis looked up to find Henry licking his cheek. He laughed and pulled the little guy in for a quick hug.

  “Let’s take you for a walk. Clear our heads,” Travis said, and the two of them hopped out of the car. Henry was already leashed up, so they headed down his street, their path illuminated by streetlamps that glowed faintly, casting sickles of pale yellow light on the sidewalk. Every crunch of his boots on the sidewalk echoed; every click of Henry’s nails sounded. They were man and dog alone in the inky black night, blanketed by the quiet of their small town—the very town he’d said he was so damn glad Cara had arrived in many years ago. He shook his head. What had gotten into him?

  Henry stopped to sniff some flowers edging a neighbor’s lawn, and Travis quickly tugged his leash so the dog wouldn’t be tempted to water them. Instead, Henry found a fire hydrant around the corner where he left his mark.

  They walked on through the night, block after block, quiet sleepy section of town through quiet sleepy section of town, until they’d wandered smack-dab into the town square. Travis scratched his head and uttered a huh.

  He hadn’t planned on coming here, but somehow this was where his feet had taken him—to his friend who’d been a lot like him. The Panting Dog was closed for the night, but when Travis peered inside, he spotted Becker behind the bar, cleaning up. Megan must be feeling better, and that thought brought a smile to his face. Henry parked himself in a sit and whimpered loudly. Travis imagined the dog was asking, What are we doing?

  “That’s a good question, buddy. What are we doing?”

  Travis didn’t have any answers, so he rapped on the glass.

  Becker looked up, nodded, and came out from behind the bar to unlock the door.

  “How’s Megan?”

  “She’s better. Sound asleep now, so I came back to finish up some work. You need a beer? Cause you look like you need a beer.”

  A smile flickered briefly on his face. “Is it that obvious?”

  Becker clapped him on the back. “It’s nearly one in the morning, and you don’t live that close to my bar. It is that obvious. Just don’t tell the health inspector I let a dog in,” Becker said as he locked the door behind them.

  “Henry keeps all my secrets,” Travis said as he pulled up a stool and sat down, the dog sitting at his feet.

  Becker poured a beer from the tap and slid it across the counter. Travis knocked back a long swallow, savoring the taste. The two men didn’t say much, but there wasn’t much to say. Travis was living in a foreign land, with his two feet in the middle of a swamp of uncertainty.

  “So,” Becker began, taking his time with his words, it seemed. “How was your night with Cara?”

  There was no ribbing in his tone this time. The man wasn’t giving him a hard time like he’d done at his house earlier that evening. This question was as straightforward as they came.

  “It was good,” Travis answered, because that was the full truth. His time with Cara was incredibly good.

  “And is it good or bad
that your night was so good?” Becker asked, as he wiped a rag across the counter.

  Travis took another drink, enjoying the fizz of the pale ale. “That, my friend, is the question.”

  His buddy shot him a small smile. “I take it the answer is hard to come by?”

  “It is.”

  Becker tucked the rag under the sink then rested his palms on the counter. “You’ll figure it out soon enough, and when you do, I trust it’ll be worth it.”

  Worth it.

  But what was so worthwhile about feeling this way? About operating without any compass to rely on? He wasn’t so sure if he even wanted to dig more to find out. The kind of excavation required was too daunting.

  He set down the glass, trying to center himself, to find some roots back to the things he knew—the cards, the firehouse, his friendships.

  “Want to play a round of poker?” he asked. Because cards always made sense, even when everything else blinked in and out of focus.

  Becker shook his head. “Can’t. After I close up, I need to get home to Megan. Another time.”

  Another time.

  The way things were changing around him, “other times” were becoming fewer and farther between.

  Chapter Sixteen

  The next few days rolled by in a hot summer haze of sex, food, and dog lessons. It was bliss for Cara, especially as she tried her best to ignore the inevitable expiration date that loomed.

  For starters, just three nights after their dinner date, Henry demonstrated his quick learning by sitting on each corner before crossing the street during the training walk.

  Then they returned to her house, where she fed Travis her risotto with snap peas. The addition of dinner to their fling happened naturally, like a new unwritten item on the daily agenda, and one that suited them both. A working man, with a working man’s appetite, Travis liked to eat. Cooking was one of Cara’s true passions, and having someone to share a dish with made it all the better.

  “What are you doing to me, woman?” he said as he finished the first serving and ladled a second one onto his plate. “Your cooking is too good.”

  She beamed, and after the dishes were washed and put away, he showed her other uses for her kitchen counter. Amazing how that surface provided the perfect angle and height for multiple orgasms. Or maybe it was just that Travis had made it his specialty to deliver them to her.

  By the next Monday, Henry had started to come when called, an important milestone for a dog’s training. To celebrate, Cara whipped up fettuccine with figs and goat cheese.

  “You’ve put a voodoo hex on me by making me like food that doesn’t have meat,” Travis declared, as he finished a fig while they ate dinner on the deck.

  “You’ve figured me out.”

  “Did you learn all this from the Food Network?” he asked, gesturing to the dishes on the table.

  She nodded. “Amazing what TV can teach you.”

  He narrowed his eyes at her. “And you sure you weren’t just watching for Bobby Flay? Admit it, you had a crush on him,” he said, staring at her intensely, as if she’d reveal a secret.

  She laughed and shook her head. “I swear I only watch for the food. As a matter of fact, I learned how to make the best eggplant Parmesan in the world from Mr. Flay. Maybe if you’re good, I’ll make that after the next lesson.”

  He placed his hands together as if praying. “I’m a lucky man. My dog is learning how to steal the show when he goes on stage, and you’re feeding me the best meals ever. Are you sure there isn’t anything I can do for you? Well, besides make you come more times than you can count,” he said with a wink as he polished off his dinner.

  She leaned forward in her chair, letting her long hair brush against his arm, knowing that undid him. He groaned, low and raspy, giving away his quick rise on the scale of desire. “That seems pretty reasonable,” she said in her best sultry voice. “But since you asked, my dryer has been rattling loudly on the high efficiency cycle. Can you fix it?”

  Twenty minutes later, the dryer was remarkably silent as it tumbled through clothes, and Cara was loud as can be as he showed her how highly efficient he was at cycling through all the non-bed surfaces in her house.

  After he left that night, she locked the door and hummed a Jane Black tune as she wandered into the kitchen to turn on the dishwasher. For the briefest of moments, she imagined he was still here, brushing his teeth in the master bathroom, sliding under the sheets, waiting for her. She pictured returning to him, night after night, doing all these domestic things together, and then all the dirty things after dark, too.

  Everything.

  The images were so intoxicating to her commitment-craving heart that they started to feel real, like she could have this kind of life with him.

  “Don’t be foolish,” she muttered.

  She squeezed her eyes shut, as if she were waking herself from a dream. That fantasy life with him could never happen with him. She had to practice some self-control.

  She stabbed the start button on the dishwasher, shaking her head in disgust at her runaway thoughts. Here she was, playing house with him, feeding him, treating him like he was on the path to becoming the man of her future. But he was merely the man of the present, and she needed to keep him in that box. This kind of affair was a tropical vacation. It was waterfalls and lagoons, hammocks and aquamarine waters. Blissful, intoxicating, and also completely illusory. It was ticking ever closer to the end, and in a week she’d reenter reality.

  She picked up her phone from the kitchen table and scrolled through messages from clients, answering a few before bed. She spotted a note from Joe. The nice guy. The one who actually wanted a future.

  Looking forward to seeing you soon. Still up for ‘Dinner, Take Two’? No more bad jokes from me. I’ve got all new material.

  She laughed lightly. He had a decent sense of humor. He was kind. She wrote back to confirm their next date. “Looking forward to seeing you next Tuesday! Can’t wait to hear the new material. I bet it’s fab!”

  As she added the date to her calendar, she noted that dinner with Joe fell two days after the fireman’s auction.

  Perfect timing. The scheduled date kept her on the straight and narrow, blinders on, her focus solely on what it should always have been with Travis—living life for the present, so she could move forward into a new future with someone else.

  For a few more days, she had the lease on Travis Jansen, and she intended to use it to the fullest. Soon, so very soon, he’d be gone from her head and her heart.

  He had to be.

  …

  The days flew by so fast that Travis wished he could stop time.

  He hated for this to end, because a fling with Cara was the greatest thing ever known to man.

  Hell, he’d like to exist forever in this bubble of mind-blowing sex, eye-rollingly delicious food, and fantastically-good time spent with the prettiest, sharpest, sweetest woman in the world.

  That woman had also worked wonders with his dog. In a short time, Henry had transformed into a model canine citizen, and Travis had become addicted to Cara’s cooking.

  Okay, fine. He was addicted to her body, too, and to making her come over and over. He couldn’t stop touching her and taking her to new heights. Even though their sell-by date loomed ever closer on the calendar, he had more in mind for the woman he was unable to resist.

  They finished the day’s training session with Henry, practicing his “special trick” for the auction in Travis’s driveway. Henry nailed it, and Cara cheered.

  “So do I get the eggplant Parmesan now, since Henry has mastered all his obedience lessons?” he asked, as they walked across his lawn.

  She smiled faintly but shook her head. “I’d rather skip the meal and go straight to the main attraction. Meaning, let’s just have dessert.”

  He groaned appreciatively. She was the tastiest dessert he’d ever had, so tonight’s menu was fine by him. He wanted her food, but he wanted her more, especially when she p
ressed her body to his the second they reached his front porch. Her hands dipped into the back of his jeans as he fumbled at the lock, then darted around to the front of his briefs as soon as the door opened.

  “Damn, you’re a feisty one right now,” he said as he unclipped Henry and dropped the leash by the door. The dog trotted up the steps to his water bowl on the kitchen floor.

  “I am, and I want you now,” she said, her eyes glittering with desire.

  “Fuck dinner. Fuck food. I want you more than all the eggplant in the universe,” he said roughly as he lowered his mouth to her lips, kissing her hard, and with the kind of pressure that he knew drove her wild. In mere seconds, she was writhing against him in the entryway, wrapping a leg around his thigh. He tugged her closer, kissing her deeply as she moaned and moved with him. He lowered his hands to her ass, so round and curvy that he simply had to smack it.

  She yelped playfully.

  That was a very good sign. “Evidently, I haven’t spanked you enough. Allow me to rectify that.”

  “Oh please do. I insist.”

  “Your insistence will be rewarded,” he said, as he smacked her rear. Her eyes lit up like a neon sign blinking more. “You do have the most smackable ass I’ve ever seen. But let’s just slide these off so I can test it for sure,” he said, unzipping her jean shorts. She quickly pushed them down to the floor, leaving them in a denim puddle, and he swatted her once more.

  She cried out in pleasure, a gorgeous, sexy moan escaping her ruby red lips. From the living room, it sounded as if Henry had joined in with a bark of his own.

  He ignored the dog, because the sight of Cara in front of him, half-naked, and ready for more of his open palm was enticing. Besides, the entryway seemed as good a place as any for a quick round of spanking and fucking, and fucking and spanking. He ran a finger against her mouth, his appetite for her multiplying as she parted her lips and sighed sexily. A flush darkened the bare skin above her tank top.