Authors: Ruby Laska
Tags: #Literature & Fiction, #Women's Fiction, #Contemporary Women, #Contemporary, #Romantic Comedy, #Contemporary Fiction, #Romance, #Contemporary Romance, #Reunited Lovers
Mine 'Til Monday (17 page)
He made it to the club in minutes, felt the perspiration break out on his brow. Impatiently he gave his tie a hard tug, popping the top button of his shirt in the process. A uniformed doorman looked at him suspiciously.
“A woman,” Mud panted. “Pretty. Short, up to here.” He gestured at his chin. “Dark hair, brown eyes. She here?”
“She...well, she might be,” the old gentleman said, narrowing his eyes suspiciously. “May I ask what she is needed for?”
“No,” Mud shot back, impatience and determination besting his reserve.
The doorman stood a little straighter and frowned.
“I mean, I need to talk to her.”
“The lady is indisposed.”
“Indisposed where?”
No answer, just a further tightening of his mouth. But Mud noticed that the man quickly glanced down the hallway to the locker rooms.
“Locker room? That where she is?”
Mud knew he’d guessed right when the man’s face screwed up another notch until it looked as though he’d bitten into something terribly unpleasant.
“Thanks, pal,” he called over his shoulder, racing down the hall.
“You can’t—you mustn’t—”
But Mud could and he would. He’d come this far, and he wasn’t about to lose her now. He spotted the “Ladies” sign painted in elaborate script, put his shoulder to the door and burst through.
And found himself face to face with the woman of his dreams, wearing nothing but a few wisps of ivory satin. Dorothy made a choking sound and snatched a towel, awkwardly trying to wrap the it around herself, but not before Mud had a chance to drink in the sight which had haunted his dreams and his every waking hour.
Dorothy’s burnished golden skin, taut and flawless, against the satin. The delicate lace edges at her hipbone, the swell of her breasts. Even as the image burned his vision, Mud felt the stir of longing more powerful than ever.
“I found you,” he murmured.
Dorothy tugged savagely at the corner of the towel, twisting it into a makeshift caftan. Still, she felt as exposed as if she stood naked in front of him, and crossed her arms protectively across her chest.
How had he found her? Oh, but Mud never failed to find what he wanted, did he?
“Go,” Dorothy managed, her voice nearly toneless.
“No. I can’t. Not without you. Dorothy—” Mud took a step toward her, and for a fraction of a second Dorothy understood how easy it would be to meet him, to close the distance between them and melt into his arms, his life, his promises.
She wavered, and Mud took another step. He knew. Just by looking at her he somehow knew. It was like he could see into her soul, Dorothy thought, and she shivered involuntarily.
It should feel like trespass, like violation, to be regarded as he was regarding her. But somehow...it didn’t.
Dorothy was conscious not of the near-nakedness of her body but of her thoughts, her desires.
And she wasn’t sure she wanted to hide them anymore.
“Dot...” Mud’s voice was husky. “I mean Dorothy...”
Her eyes widened hearing her name, her given name, come haltingly from his lips. They widened even more as he cleared his throat and made a vain attempt to straighten his tie, looped now below his skewed collar.
And then he knelt before her.
“Dorothy, I realize I don’t deserve to ask this of you,” he murmured.
It felt like one by one the threads holding her body upright were loosening, and Dorothy sank to the bench. Her face was nearly level with Mud’s now, and only inches away. He lifted his eyes to hers and held her gaze, and all uncertainty melted away leaving passion, raw, burning passion.
“...but I want you to marry me. I want you to be my wife. Will you? Say you will, darlin’, Dot—I mean Dorothy—I give you my word that I’ll work hard to be the man you deserve.”
Mud swallowed hard but didn’t look away. Dorothy was aware vaguely of knocking on the door, of voices in the hall, of a faucet dripping steadily nearby.
Marry him?
“Oh, I almost forgot.” He held something up then, a small something, a sparkly something. Glints of green and gold flashed as he took her hand and slipped a ring on her finger, a ring not so unlike the last one he’d given her, yet very, very different indeed.
“The real thing, this time,” he said.
“Oh,” she breathed. Yes. Yes. Somehow she couldn’t quite form the word, but he must have seen it in her eyes, because the next second she found herself deftly scooped up and swept into the air.
Mud gave a whoop of joy. “Yeah!” he shouted, spinning her once full around before planting a kiss that left her breathless.
She allowed herself a smile then. A grin. An ear-to-ear, all-out, lovin’-life kind of a grin.
“I’ll marry you, Mud, if you promise me one thing.”
“Anything, sugar, anything!”
“Don’t ever call me Dorothy.”
Mud threw back his head and laughed. Then he arranged his features into a solemn expression just long enough to promise.
“All right, Dot,” he murmured solemnly before giving her another memorable kiss for good measure.
Ruby Laska grew up in the heart of rural Arkansas, the youngest of four sisters who shared a passion for state fairs, Vince Gill, and the local library. Now she lives and works in the not-so-small town of Little Rock, where she and her husband share their home with three rescue greyhounds. When not writing, Ruby loves to bake in her restored 1952 Chambers oven, and won a blue ribbon for her lavender shortbread last year at the Pulaski county fair.
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