doing in there, drowning?
He hurried down the hall and banged on the door. “Challie!”
“What?”
“Oh,” he said dryly. At least she hadn’t drowned. “What’s taking you so long?”
“Can’t a woman bathe privately? I like to soak. Go away. Leave me alone.”
Then, Donnie heard a suspicious sniffle. “What’s wrong now?”
“Nothing. Go away.”
“I’m coming in.” The door was unlocked since he’d busted the jamb earlier.
“Get out! Get out!” She heaved the bar of soap.
Donnie ducked. The soap hit the wall behind him, cracked in half. Pieces ricocheted into the sink. The washcloth followed. Water went everywhere, splashed across the mirror and, damn it, on his clean floor.
What the fuck? Drawing himself upright to his full six-foot height, he settled both fists on his hips. “That’s enough.”
She had the nerve to fish through the water and pitch a sponge.
He ducked again, just not in time. The sponge smacked the side of his head, spraying him down. “I’ll take a paddle to your ass if you throw one more thing.” He wasn’t beyond giving her a good spanking. Women needed them at times.
Her eyes turned glassy, then narrowed to thin slits. “You go ahead and try.”
Luckily, she had nothing left to throw, except the mean look on her face spoke volumes. Were those tears dripping down her cheeks? Challie yanked the shower curtain closed.
What the hell was he supposed to do now? He despised tears, hated seeing a weepy woman. They used them to control a man. Donnie let no one control him. Except Tedesco on occasion. He should leave the bathroom. Go about his business. Ignore it, he thought while picking up the soap pieces, sponge and washcloth, which he used to wipe the floor. Yep. Close the door and find a magazine to read. Or a book. There were lots of books on the shelves: mysteries, westerns, nonfiction…all sorts of dull, outdated reading material, including several stupid romance novels. Somebody had dragged their old lady here.
Donnie pulled the shower curtain back. “Challie, I didn’t mean to hurt you. Don’t—” Shit. What the hell was he supposed to say? He didn’t know how to stop a woman from bawling. “Weep.”
“I don’t ever cry.”
Her back was straight as a steel beam. Kneeling beside the tub, Donnie ran his finger down her spine. “Yes, you were. I saw tears.”
“Tub water.”
“Prove it. Turn around and look at me.”
Another sniffle escaped. “I want you to leave me alone.”
Like hell. He grabbed another washcloth from the rack, dipped it into soapy water, squeezed some of the moisture down her spine and lathered her rigid body. She finally relaxed; her shoulders weren’t bunched any longer, hiding her neck. Knotted muscle had smoothed out. He forced her to turn toward him, but not without a hassle. Challie fought him every step of the way, splashing water everywhere. As wet as his clothes had gotten, he should’ve stripped and climbed into the tub with her.
She’d tied up her hair in a cute ponytail. A few locks had escaped the thick bundle. Damp, they stuck to her neck and shoulders. When he set them free, the strands curled into bouncy, loose waves. He liked seeing a woman’s hair hanging free, but Challie wasn’t just any woman. She was going to be his wife, if only for a little while.
They never spoke, not even when he parted her legs and gently ran the washcloth between them, wishing to feel her silkiness with unencumbered fingers.
Once the water had cooled, the bath lost its bubbles. Donnie pulled the plug from the drain. He grabbed the oversized blue-striped towel, shook it out and held it up. With satin-smooth skin drizzling with water, didn’t Challie realize how much she turned him on? Shit, he wanted to fuck her again. Duke was ready, manufacturing process complete.
Once he dried her body, he planned to take her to bed. No full penetration this time. No matter how much he wanted to fuck her brains out. With a condom. Damned thing better hold every drop of cum he’d stored after the last eruption.
“I need to shower to rinse completely off.”
Hell. “What about the bath? Didn’t soaking do the job?”
“Baths are only for soaking. After a while, it’s like sitting in your own filth. Hate filth.”
She hated a lot of things. Did she hate him for hurting her?
“I need privacy.”
Well, shit. He’d fucked her. He’d bathed her. Now, she wanted privacy? He wanted some ass. In the shower, if necessary. Did a rinse job for two fit into the equation?
Standing naked without showing the least bit of embarrassment, Challie tipped her head to one side and attached her hands to her hips in a familiar pose.
He got the picture. Donnie’s shoulders sagged. Guess what he wanted didn’t fit into her linear reasoning. Sighing noisily, he handed her the towel.
She took long showers.
Tapping his fingers in a four-note tune, Donnie waited. The old Sports Illustrated was as boring as reading an encyclopedia. When reading didn’t take his mind off sex, Donnie just sat there, stroking his cock, keeping Duke in readied condition.
By the time Challie finished doing whatever the hell she had to do that took so damn long, all the hot water would be gone. He’d have to wash himself with cold water, in the sink. Then take her to bed.
She finally emerged. Fully dressed: jeans, long-sleeve shirt, tennis shoes. How the hell could he fuck her in all those clothes? It’d take him too long to peel off the damn jeans; he’d blow his wad before they reached her ankles.
“I’m going to take a walk. I’ll make you a snack when I get back.” She sauntered out the front door.
What the hell? All this damn time he’d sat here horny and she decided to take a damn walk. Did she even notice he had a hard-on? Did she even care? Oh, no. “I’m going to take a goddamn walk,” he mimicked badly. No woman walked away from him. All chased him. All wanted what he had to give.
Except this one.
Fine. She’ll be begging for my meat to fill her pussy. Meanwhile, what the devil am I supposed to do with Duke?
Donnie huffed. He got up, wandered into the kitchen and looked out the window.
Challie had never seen such beautiful country.
The sky was endlessly clear. The prairie’s cool breeze was refreshing, unpolluted. Animals grazed in the distance. Quiet. Complete silence.
She’d better enjoy the scene while she had the chance. Her homeland was nothing like this place. In South Africa, many tribes lived in rundown shacks. Some owned tents. Unfortunate others survived in the open. But the land and view were never as spectacular as Montana.
She spun circles, arms spread wide, grin on her face, inhaling the sweet scent of Montana. Odds were this visit was her last to the state. Mrs. Tedesco had said they’d probably spend a week or so and Fontana’s guests would arrive in a few days. Having visitors would keep her mind off leaving and off what had happened earlier. Every time she thought about Fontana, she sizzled inside. She couldn’t think about sex again. For gosh sakes, she didn’t know his first name! Of course, he didn’t know her real last name either.
But he’d taught her the best of sex and what it’s really like when it’s really good. She’d keep the memories tucked away in her mind forever.
Yawning noisily, she swatted at a buzzing fly. Challie started down the dirt road toward the hills. A variety of huge trees and fences divided the property. Up ahead, she caught sight of a big, brown