Sheltering Dunes (Provincetown Tales Book 7) Read online

  “I know. I agree.” Tory rested her cheek on Reese’s breast. “What else did you hear that’s worrying you?”

  “Women who have had preeclampsia are likely to have it a second time.”

  “That’s true. But we’re lucky—I work with a superb doctor every day. Nita will be watching me like a hawk over here, and I’ll be seeing Wendy at least twice a month from the fourth month on. I promise.” Tory popped the button on Reese’s waistband and worked her way down to the next one. “And at the first sign of anything going wrong…” Tory dipped her fingers into Reese’s briefs and pushed down, stopping just over her clitoris.

  Reese sucked in a hard breath. “You can’t promise—”

  “Yes, I can. I know what I’m facing. I promise I won’t let anything happen to me during this pregnancy. I won’t put you through that again.”

  Reese held on to the railing so hard she was afraid she’d crack the boards. Her knees were wobbling. She was going to drop any second. “I need you.”

  Tory played her free hand up and down Reese’s hard abdomen, then gripped the waistband of her jeans and tugged. “I know. I need you too. Right now I need you to be all mine.”

  “I’m always all yours.” Reese grasped Tory’s wrists before she lost all focus. “Let’s go inside. Time to get the little swimmers on their way.”

  “Mmm.” Tory leaned into Reese. “Rumor has it a well-timed orgasm will give them a running start.”

  “That can be arranged.”

  Tory laughed. Reese took her hand and walked out of the shadows into the safety of home.

  *

  Flynn traveled west on Commercial, threading her way through the early-evening throngs. After Labor Day the tourist traffic cut down, but October was a popular month—the last gasp of Indian summer when the leaf peepers still flooded New England and the town geared up for Women’s Week, one of the biggest events of the year. With Columbus Day weekend still a while away, most of the stores and restaurants were open and shoppers and sidewalk crawlers took advantage of the unseasonably warm early fall evening to stroll the streets. She slowed in front of the Shoreline restaurant. The plate glass windows were dark, and inside, chairs were piled on the small tables that filled the storefront. She knew Mica wouldn’t be here—the restaurant, popular with locals and tourists alike, closed after a late lunch hour. Still, she had come to check, a bubble of expectation in her throat. And just as she had known, her anticipation was greeted with empty silence. The steeple clock at Town Hall chimed eight, and the unoccupied tables and chairs reminded her she hadn’t eaten dinner. She didn’t cook much, preferring to grab a sandwich or a piece of pizza after shift.

  She turned and started back to the center of town. On impulse, she deviated down the board sidewalk to the Piper Bar. Midweek, off-season, the place was fairly deserted. A few locals sat at the bar, several couples swayed on the dance floor adjoining the rear deck, and a few others occupied tables around the edge of the room. One bartender worked the bar. Flynn slid onto a stool and waited.

  “Help you?” A redhead in a tight black T-shirt with a sequined peacock over her breasts slapped a cocktail napkin in front of Flynn.

  “A beer. Whatever dark you’ve got on draft.”

  “Sure thing.”

  The redhead turned away, and Flynn studied the napkin, remembering the last time she’d been here. She’d had a date with Allie. Their first date. They’d danced and walked home hand in hand. They’d kissed on her sofa, and the kisses had led to more. But Allie had stopped her when she might not have stopped herself, and that was unusual for her. She wasn’t a go-all-the-way-on-the-first-date sort of person. But Allie had made it easy to forget who she was. Allie made it easy to forget a lot of things.

  “Here you go. Three fifty.” The bartender set a glass in the center of the white napkin, and a dark ring spread out around its base from water dripping down the sides of the glass. Flynn extracted a five from her wallet. “Keep the change.”

  “Thanks, hon.” The bartender hesitated. “What’s your name?”

  “Flynn.”

  “I’m Marylou. You’re new in town.”

  “Been here almost a month,” Flynn said.

  “Planning to stay?”

  “Yes.” Until she’d had the question put to her, Flynn had never actually considered her answer. But she was staying. Not because she had nowhere else to go, although her choices were somewhat limited. But this town beckoned to her. She felt at home here.

  “Good to hear. I’ll see you around, then.”

  “You will.” Flynn pulled at her beer and watched the activity behind her reflected in the mirror over the bar. A door on the far side of the dance floor opened, and someone came through carrying a cardboard box of liquor. Flynn narrowed her eyes. She wasn’t imagining things. Mica crossed to the bar and carried the box around behind it.

  “Hey, Marylou,” Mica said, “you want me to bring up a case of the Captain next? It looks like you’re low.”

  “Why don’t you just grab a couple of bottles,” Marylou said as she pulled up a draft.

  “Okay.”

  Mica set the box on the bar and started to stack the bottles into racks underneath. She worked quickly, as if she’d done the job before. Tory King had been right. Even in the dim, red-tinged light from the neon brewery signs hanging along the bar, the bruise around her left eye was apparent. She had the beginnings of a shiner that was probably going to be pretty dramatic in the morning.

  Flynn slid down several bar stools, dragging her beer with her, until she was opposite Mica. “I would’ve thought you’d be too sore to work tonight.”

  Mica jumped, her eyes darting rapidly to Flynn before all expression fled her face. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “We met early this morning.” Flynn lowered her voice. “When you had that accident on your bicycle.”

  “Yeah,” Mica said, “I know who you are. Like I said then, I’m fine.”

  “Okay. I’m glad.”

  “I’ll bet.” Mica pulled the empty cardboard box off the bar and turned away, threading her way down to the opposite end, where she rapidly pushed her way through a door leading to the alley outside.

  Flynn debated going after her and then decided whatever the reasons Mica had left the clinic, whatever demons chased her, were none of her business. She drained her beer and set it carefully onto the cocktail napkin.

  “Buy you another?” Allie settled onto the stool next to Flynn. She wasn’t in uniform now, and she looked young and fresh in a scooped-neck long-sleeved tee, hip-hugger jeans, and low-heeled boots. Her raven hair was loose around her shoulders.

  “Hey,” Flynn said, looking past Allie around the room. She didn’t see Ash Walker anywhere. “How are you doing?”

  “I’m good. What about you?”

  “I’m good too. Shoulder okay?”

  “It gets stiff now and then, but it’s healed up.”

  “Good.”

  “So, how are we doing?”

  Flynn smiled. “I think we’re doing okay. How are things with Ash?”

  Allie smiled, the kind of smile a woman in love smiles. “You know we had a past, right? Before I went out with you.”

  “Yeah, I figured that from some of the things Ash told me. And—well, the way you looked at her. You couldn’t see anyone else.”

  Allie blushed, a rare sight. “Jeez—uncool of me. Okay, well, I’m sorry about the way things turned out with us—”

  “No, there’s nothing to be sorry for. We had a couple of really terrific dates. And I’m really glad for you.”

  “You’re really scary nice, you know?”

  “No, I’m not, but I can still be happy for you.”

  “Someday you’ll have to tell me why you think you don’t deserve it too.”

  Flynn frowned. “Deserve what?”

  “Happiness.”

  Chapter Six

  Reese leaned on her elbow, slowly stroking Tory’s abdomen. Tory
’s face glowed in the muted light, a softness about her eyes that pulled at Reese’s heart. “You look beautiful right now. How do you feel?”

  Tory turned on her side, keeping her hips slightly elevated on the pillow underneath her lower back, and kissed Reese. “I feel wonderful. How are you?”

  “Sort of”—Reese lightly kissed Tory’s breast above her heart and took a deep breath—“in awe, I guess. I like doing it this way, better than in the office.” She rested her cheek between Tory’s breasts and wrapped her arm around Tory’s middle, melding the lengths of their bodies. “When I think about Reggie, and what a miracle she is, and that you did that—you created her for us.” Reese’s throat closed and she shut her eyes tightly, the surge of wonder warring with the rush of terror that always came over her when she thought about how precious Tory and Reggie were.

  Tory’s fingers came into her hair, gently stroking the back of her neck. “You know, none of this would be possible without you. You create the certainty in my life, the safety in our home, the promise of our future. You give me the strength to take this all on. I couldn’t do this without you.”

  “I love you,” Reese whispered.

  “Oh, darling, I love you too.” Tory nestled closer, grasping Reese’s free hand and guiding it over her abdomen and between her legs. “Remember the part about giving the swimmers a helping hand?”

  Reese’s hips tightened and heat kindled in her belly. She raised her head and found herself in Tory’s eyes. “Oh, I remember.” Watching Tory’s face, she slowly stroked over the delicate folds and lightly caressed her clitoris.

  “Mmm, that’s good. You’re so good.” Tory wrapped her arm around Reese’s shoulders and raised her hips further. Breathing more quickly, she pressed her hand over Reese’s, guiding her fingers to the sensitive spot that always made her come. “As much as I love it when you tease me, I don’t want to wait.”

  “You feel so soft, so warm,” Reese murmured, continuing to tease, refusing to speed up and stroke harder where she knew Tory needed her. “Sure you can’t wait?”

  Tory nipped at Reese’s chin. “Damn you. You know what I need. Right now.” She skimmed down Reese’s back and kneaded her ass. “I want you to come with me.”

  “Do you.” Reese slid her legs over Tory’s, pressing her center to Tory’s smooth, firm thigh. She was throbbing, aching, her clitoris pulsating urgently. She almost always came when Tory did—she couldn’t hold on when Tory was so totally hers. “I’m yours, you know. You’ll make me come with you.”

  “Yes, yes, yes. Do it now. God, I love you.”

  Tory buried her face in the curve of Reese’s shoulder as her hips rose and fell to the perfect cadence of Reese’s strokes. “Now, you’re making me come now. God. So good.”

  Reese tightened her grip and held Tory close, never letting up as Tory’s hips bucked and she cried out, a breathtaking peal of joy and fulfillment. Shuddering on the edge, Reese struggled to keep her eyes open, wanting to see every second, wanting nothing in her mind, in her body, in her soul except Tory and the promise of life to come.

  *

  Mica ripped the cardboard box apart, flattened it with her foot, and stacked it with the others next to the Dumpster in the alley. Ten thirty. She still had another half hour to work. Maybe when she went back inside, Flynn would be gone. She didn’t want to see her questioning eyes or hear her soft, too-understanding voice. The quiet tenderness in her tone was too hard to ignore. Yeah, right—and too damn misleading. Mica grabbed another box and pulled it apart. Flynn had no reason to care about how she was feeling—even though it was a different kind of come-on than the girls who had tried to pick her up usually used. Pretty freakin’ effective too. Maybe if they’d pretended to pay a little more attention to her, had looked at her like Flynn did—like she was really there—and spent less time being worried about how sexy they were, she might have tumbled to one of their invitations. She was glad she hadn’t. She’d made enough mistakes getting hooked up with Hector, but what choice had she had back then, anyhow? Just sixteen, needing to fit in, needing some protection from the men and boys in the neighborhood who were eyeing her like prime territory to be claimed, needing the support of the girls who were so different from her but the only friends she had. And later she had family to think of—family to protect. She had to join the 13, and the way to join was by hooking up with a guy. Lucky for her, Hector had claimed her right away, and she hadn’t had to be passed around from guy to guy the way a lot of the new girls were. Lucky for her too that Hector had other women, had kids with other women, and he hadn’t pushed her to have one for him. Lucky, yeah right. That was her—lucky, all right. The weight of Hector’s body pressing down on her, smothering her, drove her breath from her chest and she gasped. The relentless choking pressure of him driving into her throat made her gag. Her head spun, and she grabbed the side of the metal bin for support. Not now, God, not now. Her heart galloped and spots danced before her eyes, even in the dark.

  A crunching sound at the mouth of the alley grated over her skin, and she jumped, sucking in air, her chest heaving. Someone approached in the shadows, slow heavy footsteps, cautious, searching. Searching for her maybe? She expected them to come, even though with each passing day she started to hope they wouldn’t. She’d seen what happened to other girls who tried to get out of the life. They always came back, either on their own or on the end of someone’s chain. Hard to break free when all you’d ever known was the gang, when the only ones who’d ever taken care of you—even though you paid a price—were others just like you. Others who understood the laws of the street—you paid in flesh to survive, whether you were a woman or a man. The men paid with blood, the women paid with their bodies. Everyone paid with their souls. She’d run when she had nothing left to give and she couldn’t pretend anymore not to see what Hector was doing. She’d waited too long, and now she knew too much.

  Easing back toward the closed door of the club, Mica kept to the shadows, willing herself to be swallowed by the dark. Reaching behind her, she felt along the cold steel door for the handle, desperate to be quiet, desperate to disappear. Sweat broke out on her forehead and ran down her face. Her stomach curdled and fear settled deep in her pelvis. She wouldn’t let them take her. She’d rather die than go back. She gripped the slick knob and turned it. The metallic click ricocheted around the narrow alley, louder than a gunshot. She froze.

  A deep male voice grunted, “Hey. Where you going, baby?”

  She shoved the door open with her shoulder and practically fell into the haven of the bar. She slammed the door, spun around, and scanned for an escape route. The red lights over the bar, glaring like the light bars on cop cars, hit her in the face and blinded her. Unable to focus, she scrubbed at her eyes. Which way to run? Out the back, onto the deck, and down to the beach? She might be able to hide under the piers or make it to a dark alley. Or across the dance floor and out the front door? Still plenty of people around this time of night—maybe she could hide in plain sight. She couldn’t stay here—if that was Hector’s man out there he wouldn’t care who got in his way. You didn’t run from Hector and you didn’t return empty-handed. She raced around the end of the bar and skirted across the nearly empty dance floor toward the exit. If she got out to the street before he did, she might just be able to blend into the crowd.

  “Hey!” Marylou called. “Hey, Mica? Where you—”

  Flynn stepped into her path. “Mica? What’s the matter?” Flynn extended a hand as if to touch her, but dropped it and fell in next to her, hurrying to keep up. “Are you all right?”

  “Go away,” Mica said. “Don’t touch me.”

  “I won’t. I promise. Just tell me—what’s wrong?”

  Mica looked back over her shoulder. The door to the alley remained closed. There was no lock on it. If he’d wanted her, he would’ve come in. Maybe she was safer inside. Maybe he was just waiting for her to come out. She stopped just inside the door, next to the stool where the bouncer sat o
n the weekends. She peered through the open door and didn’t see anyone on the sidewalk outside. Panting, she pushed her hair out of her face. “Nothing. Nothing is wrong. Go away.”

  “Look, you don’t have to tell me anything, okay? I’m not asking any questions.” Flynn backed up a step, as if knowing Mica needed space. “Just tell me one thing. Are you safe?”

  Mica stared. She was so used to being physically dominated, the small gesture calmed her, but she wouldn’t be fooled by kindness. “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “I know something’s wrong. You wouldn’t have run out of the clinic this morning otherwise.”

  “I already told you.” Mica pulled her defenses back around her. With every second that passed and no one came for her, the panic subsided. “I don’t have any money, I didn’t want to go there in the first place. It’s as simple as that.”

  Flynn nodded. “Okay.”

  Mica narrowed her eyes. “Just like that?”

  “Why not?”

  Maybe because you don’t look stupid, and you should know everybody lies? Mica put her hands on her hips. “What planet do you come from?”

  Flynn smiled. “New Hampshire?”

  Mica laughed. “Maybe that explains it.”

  “Explains what?”

  “Never mind. I have to get back to work.”

  “I thought you worked at Shoreline.”

  “I do. In the morning. I work here at night.” Mica headed back to the bar and Flynn followed. The brunette who had joined Flynn earlier was still sitting at the bar, watching them. Mica hated being watched. She stopped and glared at Flynn. “What do you want now?”

  “Another beer?”

  Flynn smiled, and man, she was beautiful when she did. Even in the partial light, her eyes were unbelievably blue. Deep and dark and really sexy. Mica remembered watching her that morning, leaning over the man on the table in the room across the hall. Flynn’s face had been so intense, as if what she was doing was the only thing that mattered in the world. As if that man was the only person who mattered. The way she’d touched him had been so gentle, but so powerful. Mica heard the words again—Our Father who art in heaven—remembered them from long ago, the sound echoing in the silent vastness of the church. Words that she learned meant nothing, maybe even worse than nothing. Lies, about tenderness and love and salvation. Watching Flynn with that dying man made her wonder for one fractured second if there wasn’t some tiny flicker of good that still flared somewhere in the world. She snorted at her own stupidity. Start thinking that way and you’d end up under someone’s boot. Or worse.