Rocky Mountain Hideaway (To Love Again Book 2) (4 page)

Tray reached for the spoon, offering Isabel more creole before adding more to his own plate. Isabel could see he had more to say.

“It’s as if I’m finally alive. I didn’t realize how bored I was on the farm. I knew I didn’t want to stay there, but until I found psychology I had no idea what else I might like to do.”

Isabel saw this as the opening she had missed last time. “What do you plan to do?”

“I haven’t decided yet, to be truthful.” He pushed a shrimp through the sauce on his plate. “I want to practice, and I think I might want to work with children.”

“Children?”

“Children who have been traumatized. Help them find their way out. Find their way back.”

“Sounds like a passion.”

“It is. But I still have a lot to accomplish before I get there.” Tray poured more red wine into the heavy goblets while Isabel studied the lines of his face. He had a strong jaw and almost perfect nose. A profile that could launch a ship. She wondered how such a young man had grown up to be so sensitive. Of course, she knew that his father’s early death had contributed. Watching a loved one die either pulled a family together, or pulled it apart. Apparently in Tray’s case, it had brought them together.

Isabel drank deeply from her glass and considered how to move the evening along. She was in no rush, but things had turned serious and she wanted to lighten the mood. She knew the scene was set for the next part of the evening. After her shower, she had laid out her props and now there was nothing to do except move Tray closer to the stage.

CHAPTER SIX

“Back in a bit,” Isabel said, rising and leaving the room. Tray watched her go, the terry robe slouching off her shoulders. How she managed to make it look sexy, he didn’t know. But with the cinched waist, and teasing glance of shoulder, it looked sexier than any fine lingerie she might have modeled for him.

He was surprised how much he had revealed over supper. He hadn’t wanted to talk about his father or his family with Isabel. She was a psychologist, after all. What would she be thinking about him?

It hadn’t been the year since his father died that had been the hardest on him, but the years leading up to it. With the family in so much turmoil, for a while it had seemed that peace would never come back into his life. Sadly, no one could agree on what was best for his father, and Tray seemed to be the only one who wanted to listen to his father’s opinion. The man knew he was near the end and wanted to make his own decisions about how he would die. Somehow, they’d managed to put it behind them, and unite as a family in the final days of his father’s life, but the sting of the final conversation with his sister Sheryl remained with him. Forgiving was one thing. He knew that forgetting was another.

When he’d first gone to college, he’d drifted through his classes. He’d been so glad to get off the farm, and truth was, it was his father who’d had the dream of college, not Tray. Tray had found himself coasting - a typical, under eager college student. He hadn’t done well that first year, and it was only mid-way through the second year - when he found psychology - that things had started to click for him.

Then came the fatal phone call that Tuesday afternoon in the dorm. Tray remembered standing in the hallway, phone pressed to his ear, jaw slack. And his mother repeating: Are you there, Tray? Are you there?

Three long years later he had the ranch in good running shape and had been able to bring some peace to his father’s last years. But those three years had also almost killed him. Watching his father die was painful enough, but the diagnosis had been six months. When that stretched into a year, the doctors said again he only had six months. He’d had six months, six times, before they finally said goodbye. By that time, even the most desperate in the family had been ready to let him go. It was unbearable to see him in so much pain and he wasted away into a shadow of the man Tray had worshiped growing up.

It hadn’t taken Tray long to wrap up his business on the farm. His brother was ready to take over. Michael had a new baby and was happy to settle in with their mother. Luckily his wife was agreeable, too. No one wanted to leave Mom alone in a house that had been filled with a loving husband, and children, and so much laughter for so many years.

Tray packed his things into his Camaro and left for college. A deja-vu of his departure five years earlier. Only this time, he was driven. He couldn’t study enough, couldn’t research enough, couldn’t finish his degree fast enough. His father had wanted him to go to college: something he’d never had the opportunity to do. ‘Get off the farm, boy,’ he would say. ‘Find something you love, and see the world. Grab a girl – make her your own.’ Tray used to laugh, thinking the old man a sentimental fool. A walking, talking top-40 song. But now, he had every intention of making that sentiment come true.

It would start with Isabel. If he could build his confidence with women, he’d be able to find the right woman to settle down with. He had two terms left and then he’d begin his graduate studies. He was hoping to get married along the way. Maybe to another psychology student. Maybe to someone completely different. He knew that opposites attract.

Maybe that was all he was feeling with Isabel. He hoped so, because he’d made a promise to not get emotionally attached in the middle of this. But he was finding it increasingly difficult. Isabel was such a cutie patootie. That fiery crown and quirky smile. Those perky breasts.

Where was Isabel, he wondered. She’d been gone for almost twenty minutes. He got up, cleared the table, loaded the dishwasher, stoked the fire, and still no Isabel.

“Isabel,” he yelled up the staircase. “Is everything all right?”

“I’ll be down in a shake,” she yelled back. He loved hearing her voice, so light and soft – even when she was yelling.

He poked impatiently about the living room, dimming lights and lighting fresh candles. When she did come back, he wanted the setting to be romantic. His head was still reeling from the episode in the Jeep on the drive out. Never in his life had he’d done anything so erotic. He thought things like that only happened in books and magazines. He certainly hadn’t expected something like that to happen to him.

“Everything is set.”

Isabel’s voice came from the top of the stairs, where she stood in almost total darkness. Tray’s eyes adjusted slowly to the dimmed light and made out her profile. She had ditched the terry robe and was wearing something much shorter, much flimsier. His pulse quickened and the heat flushing his body was not from the fire.

“Ready for our first lesson Tray?”

“Uh, now?” He heard himself asking stupidly. Of course now, he could hardly wait for now.

“Unless you have other plans,” countered Isabel. “We could play Rumoli or crazy eights…”

“No. I’m ready.” He moved quickly across the room, not taking his eyes off Isabel. Her shapely legs were bare under the sheerest of emerald nighties. The nightie was scalloped at the hem and barely reached her thighs, the material hugging the swell of her buttocks. The strain of her breasts against the clingy material was sexy as hell.

“One of the nicest things you can do for a woman, is to take a nice slow bath together.” Isabel grabbed his hand and lead him down the hallway toward the ensuite off the master bedroom.

Small candles flickered from every surface. In the ensuite, the tub was filled to almost overflowing and layers of foamy bubbles spilled up the sides. An open bottle of wine, along with two glasses, sat on a small table.

“When did you do all of this?” he asked, filled with wonder. She was an amazing woman in more ways than one.

She laughed. “One of the first things to remember in the art of seduction is an element of surprise. It’s important to make something feel really special – and often you can do that just by doing something that’s unexpected.”

“You can say that again.” He whistled softly, looking around him, taking in the details.

“And it’s in the details,” continued Isabel, as though reading his mind. “Tell me what you’ve noticed so far.”

Tray looked around the room again. “The lighting - candles everywhere. Where did they come from?”

“Another good thing to remember. Plan ahead. I brought them with me.”

“You already had this in mind?”

Isabel laughed again, her hair cascading down her shoulders as she threw her head back. “Of course, I had to have some idea where I would start.”

“But this is amazing, Isabel.”

“What else do you see?”

“The bath is already drawn. I’d say by the lotions and bottles that you have some potent oils in the water …” He looked around the room, trying to take everything in. “The wine and the glasses. How did you get them in here without me seeing you?” He was sure she hadn’t been out of his sight since before dinner.

“Again, planning is everything.” Her eyes reflected the thousand tiny lights flickering around them. In the softness of the light, Tray would have sworn there was only a few years between them. She was grounded and had the experience of an older woman, and there was a vibrancy and confidence about her that Tray found immensely appealing.

Isabel’s eyes didn’t waver from his. “The little table - you covered it. You haven’t missed a thing.” She nodded and he felt the familiar excitement start to rise. “So what’s next, teach?”

“The only thing missing is music.” Isabel flicked on the mp3 player sitting on the vanity and strains of Simon and Garfunkel filled the room. So kookooka choo Mrs. Robinson, Jesus loves you more than you can know…whoa, whoa, whoa.

Tray marveled at the playfulness of this incredible woman. He laughed, but couln’t hold himself back any longer. Some things didn’t need instruction. He stepped closer, folding Isabel into his arms, and reached for the hem of her nightie. “Let’s get you out of all these clothes.” He couldn’t wait to see her naked again. Last night had been so rushed, so filled with urgency. Tonight, they could take their time with no interruptions.

He slid the soft material up over her hips, revealing her stomach, her breasts, and tossed the material to the floor. Cupping Isabel’s shoulders, he leaned back at arm’s length to take an appreciative look. His eyes drank her in, raking up slender legs, catching on the triangle of copper hair, sliding over a rounded belly, curving across full breasts and up the length of her neck where his eyes met his hand as he cupped her chin and leaned in to take her mouth with his.

Isabel yielded to his embrace and her full lips pressed softly into his.

“Mrs. Robinson,” he murmured, “I had no idea you would be this gorgeous.”

Isabel laughed and nuzzled into Tray’s chest, pulling lightly on his chest hair with her teeth. “And I didn’t expect you to be so…um, fully developed.” Her hand dropped to caress the bulge of denim harnessing his erection. Tray grunted with desire.

“Now, you’ve seen how to set the scene. Everything is in place, the candles lit, the wine breathing, the bath drawn. And you have your love object naked…” Isabel squealed as Tray bit her neck playfully. “Pay attention, this is important.”

“You have my full attention.” He snapped to a rigid stance and saluted Isabel. She was so beautiful, how had he managed to get himself into this, he wondered. If he could use those same skills in his psychology practice, he shouldn’t have any trouble at all getting things off the ground. But right now, he was saluting Isabel from above and below. He winced as she put pressure on his throbbing member.

“The polite thing would be to get naked with your lady friend,” she murmured, fumbling with his belt.

Without hesitating, Tray peeled his t-shirt over his head and threw it in the direction of the corner. Grabbing Isabel’s hands, he placed them around his neck and quickly unzipped his jeans and unclasped the belt buckle. He stepped out of the jeans, kicking them to the side. “Is this what the lady wanted?” he teased, running his hand down Isabel’s shoulder and grazing over her taut nipple. “I think I may need instruction all the way through.” He grinned wickedly as he tweaked her other nipple, eliciting a sharp gasp.

Isabel curved her body into his, his erection pressing against her stomach. She rocked softly back and forth and gazed up at him. “It’s important to know that you’re both aroused and ready to go to the next step. There’s no point in rushing things.” She raked her nails lightly down his back and squeezed his buttocks to pull him closer to her.

“Isabel.” Tray groaned as she rocked her hips into his. “I am aroused. I am ready.”

“I’ll decide that, big boy,” she shot back playfully. Tray gasped as her cold hand found it’s way inside the waist band of his boxers and she trailed her nails down the length of him. With a quick movement, she pushed the shorts to his thighs freeing his cock which jumped on it’s own accord, like a spring-released child’s toy.