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Only one thing could do that. And three minutes later, when her phone rang, it did. When Miss Emily called to tell her she was taking Hank to the emergency room in the next town, Allie didn’t pause, didn’t consider one thing other than getting to her son.
It wasn’t until many hours later, when the doctors had declared her baby boy just fine despite having consumed half a bar of soap at Miss Emily’s, that she even remembered the promise she’d made to the dark-eyed Roma King. And realized it was too late—much too late—to fulfill it.
Chapter 5
Two weeks later
Having lived in Florida for the past several years, Damon had grown to love the beach. At home, in Jacksonville, he lived a short five-minute drive from the ocean and had spent a lot of his spare time there—swimming, running, catching an occasional beach volleyball game with friends. So this latest appearance with the carnival, in a small ocean town in Delaware, should have felt like coming home. It should at least have improved his mood.
No such luck. His mood had been pure crap for a couple of weeks now, ever since he’d been aroused to the point of madness by a sexy little brunette, then stood up by her that same night. Allie Cavanaugh’s sultry whispers and helpless sighs had gotten him hotter than he’d ever been in his life.
Damn her for not following through.
“Hey Mr. Gypsy King, how’s it hanging?”
He stiffened, wishing he hadn’t been seen by Jonesy, one of the old-time barkers who ran the ring-a-knife game. Jonesy was hard-core all the way and lived up to every negative carny stereotype ever created. From the stringy, graying hair, to the scars and prison tattoos, he was the kind of guy parents warned their kids about when they let them go off alone at the fair.
“That little cock tease still got you tied up in knots?”
“Shut the hell up,” he snarled.
“I mean, she was hot, I give ya that, but nothing unique. I’d swear I saw a skank looked just like her on the beach this morning.”
Allie and skank were not two words that went together, nor did Damon think there was any way the woman had followed him here. She’d had her chance with him two weeks ago in her own backyard and she’d made it clear she didn’t want it.
“You know, some other carnival ho would do just as well.”
“Go away.” He shot the man a glare, not slowing his pace as he maneuvered through the gauntlet of games lining either side of the midway. It was mid-afternoon, the second day of their appearance in Dalton Beach, a small town near Rehoboth, and the crowds hadn’t started pouring in yet. So the barkers were busy calling out insults to each other—and whoever passed. Lucky him.
“Hit a nerve, huh?” Jonesy said with a phlegmy chuckle.
“Not even close.”
The barker left his booth and followed him. “You know, if you’re still all het up, I know a couple of the sideshow girls who’d take care of you. I could arrange it…for a small fee.”
Damon knew the sideshow girls would take care of him for free, given their many offers. “Don’t you have kids to fleece?”
“Too early. Kiddies are waiting for Daddy to get home from work,” Jonesy replied. Damon noted the absence of any denial by Jonesy about the fleecing part.
Paulie prided himself on running a clean operation, but Damon wasn’t sure everyone had gotten the message. From bottle caps behind the woven slats of baskets—which would cause any ball landing in them to pop back out—to hoops too small for a basketball, some shady carnival traditions managed to stay alive.
“Now, about my offer—”
“Forget it.” Finally, knowing how to shake the other man off, Damon stopped. “I’m going to the security trailer for a meeting with Paulie and the local police. You coming, too?”
Bingo. Without another word, Jonesy made a sharp U-turn and went back to his booth. Feeling as if he’d just scraped something from the pony ride off the bottom of his shoe, Damon made a mental note to talk to Paulie about the man.
But for all his distaste for the messenger, the message had hit home. Damon spent the rest of the day thinking about the fact that his sex drive had returned with a vengeance. He was dreaming wild, erotic things every night—waking up hard and sweaty, reaching across his bed for someone who wasn’t there. Winding up frustrated, with her face in his brain and her name on his lips as he fucked his own hand to get relief, which was never enough.
He needed to get laid. And while he couldn’t see himself getting it on with the multi-pierced sideshow manager, or one of her girls who liked to dance on glass or lie on beds of nails, he didn’t imagine it would be hard to find someone to help him slake the urge. This was a beach town, during the Fourth of July week. There would be lots of bikini-clad vacationers just as anxious to make a sexy mistake they would regret later but couldn’t bring themselves to care about now. Surely someone would appeal to him.
With that in mind, once the sun went down and the midway lit up, he kept his eye out for any interesting woman who might pique his interest. Unfortunately, none did. Because in his head, he kept seeing the one woman he truly wanted. Allie.
He had a bad case for her. Bad enough that he was considering going back to Trouble at the end of the run to confront her. He wanted to know why she’d led him along, then not followed through. Especially when he knew she’d wanted him just as much.
She was so much on his mind that night that even while he was on stage, performing, he glanced over the crowd and thought he saw her face. That wasn’t unusual, though—hadn’t he been seeing it every place he looked? Especially in his bed, staring at him with ravenous hunger in those big blue eyes, begging him to take her, to put her out of the misery she’d caused them both.
As he chose his next volunteer, a strange tingling started in the back of his neck. He felt as if he were being studied. Stared at. By someone interested in more than the performance.
