Truly, Madly, Deeply

“I loved every minute of being in that back seat with you,” he added quickly, then shook his head. “Or should I say, every second. But once I was inside you, the sensation was better than I ever dreamed it could be…. I’m afraid I went a little crazy.”

Erica’s tension became more centered, setting up a deep throbbing between her thighs. Outside the truck, a cricket began to chirp. If she closed her eyes, she could imagine they were back on that country road.

“Turns out I have the same reaction now that I had ten years ago,” Dustin said softly. “Get me alone with you in the dark, and all I can think about is being inside you.” He paused and cleared his throat. “I know we’ve had good sex, and you said we’ve wiped out the old memories. But I really can’t agree.”

Erica opened her eyes and looked at him. In the shadows, he could still be that eighteen-year-old boy she’d had such a crush on.

“I’m not asking you to go back to my hotel,” he said. “I realize now that what I’ve wanted all along is for you to climb into the back seat of this king cab with me and re-create one of the most important moments in my life. Only, this time I want us to do it right….”

Dear Reader,

What a thrill to be linked to that terrific continuity series, TRUEBLOOD, TEXAS! So many lives have been touched by the Finders Keepers Detective Agency, founded by Lily and Dylan Garrett, descendants of Isabella Trueblood. And like the Rio Grande surging toward the Gulf of Mexico, the saga grows wider and richer with every story. And wilder, too! Somehow, I doubt good old Isabella ever imagined a pursuit quite like this one….

Because now TRUEBLOOD, TEXAS is heading into Blaze territory! It doesn’t get much hotter than Texas in August. And the torrid encounters between Erica Mann and Dustin Ramsey sure resemble spontaneous combustion….

And the heat wave is going to continue into the fall. Next month Tori Carrington sets Houston on fire in Every Move You Make. And then in October, Debbi Rawlins fans the flames in Hands On. So don’t miss out. Join us for a Blazing good time, TRUEBLOOD, TEXAS style!

Enjoy,

Vicki Lewis Thompson

P.S. To drop me a line, or find out about upcoming releases, visit my Web site at www.vickilewisthompson.com. And please check out tryblaze.com!

Truly, Madly, Deeply

Vicki Lewis Thompson

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To Sebastian, my most excellent writing partner.

You’re a great cat.

Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Epilogue

Prologue

PEERING AT THE COMPUTER screen, P.I. Jennifer Madison muttered a few swear words in her native Spanish. The investigative software she’d installed was malfunctioning yet again. Finding Erica Deutchmann should have been a snap, but computer glitches were turning it into a two-day nightmare.

Then, miraculously, the program coughed up the information she’d been struggling to find.

“Ayiyi! There she is, living in Dallas!” The minute the triumphant words left her mouth, she cringed. Sure enough, the baby in the crib next to her desk woke and started to cry.

“Ah, baby Annie, your mama didn’t mean to shout.” Quickly activating the print icon on her computer screen, Jennifer rolled her chair to the crib and reached for the wailing baby as the printer began to hum.

“What happened?” Still holding a whirling automatic toothbrush, her husband Ryan charged into the home office. “Is Annie okay?”

“She’s fine.” Jennifer held Annie against her shoulder and rolled the desk chair back and forth. “But you’re getting toothpaste all over.”

Ryan glanced down at the toothbrush and shut it off. “Whoops.” He swiped at the droplets on the door. “But I heard you shout and then Annie started to cry….”

“That’s my fault.” Jennifer stood and carried the baby over to Ryan. “I got excited when I finally found Erica Deutchmann, and I scared Annie. She’s okay, now, see?” She turned so that Ryan had a view of the baby as she settled back to sleep on Jennifer’s shoulder.

And the agency was all hers now that Morales and Budnicki had both retired. She loved being in charge. She’d closed the downtown office and moved home temporarily, but now that Annie was two months old, Jennifer was looking for a new office close to home, a place where she could meet with clients a couple of days a week. With her recent software problems and the time spent office-hunting, she was way behind. No, she really couldn’t have Ryan staying at home. He needed to be out inspecting his drilling sites so she could do her job.

“I see.” Ryan’s voice softened with love. “She’s so sweet, Jen. I hate going to work. I’d rather stay home with you guys.”

“I wish you could, too.” Although to be truthful, she wondered if she’d get any work done if Ryan stayed home. They’d both waited impatiently for the doctor’s permission to have sex again, and abstinence had made them ravenous for each other. It seemed as if whenever Annie slept, they got it on.

Ryan placed a soft kiss on the baby’s head. “At least one of us can stay with Annie.”

Jennifer laughed softly. “Too bad it’s the one with the big mouth. I get involved in what I’m doing and forget she’s right there next to me. Well, I guess I’d better put her down and let you scrub the toothpaste off your shirt so you can get on with your day.” She walked slowly to the crib and eased Annie back into it.

“I could call in and say I’ll be a little later than I thought.”

Jennifer turned to discover that tenderness for the baby had been replaced by good old-fashioned lust directed at her. If she looked into his eyes for very long she’d give in to that sexual pull. Making love to Ryan Madison was one of the best things life had to offer.

Slowly she shook her head. “Now that I’ve found Erica, I need to call Dustin Ramsey right away.”

Disappointment clouded his expression. “He couldn’t wait a few hours?”

“I projected I’d have this information two days ago. Considering how influential the Ramseys are in Midland, I want to make the best impression I can.”

Ryan sighed dramatically. “Everyone told me it would happen sooner or later.”

“What?”

“My wife would get bored with the same old routine. Maybe it’s time for me to buy some sex manuals and—” The rest of his sentence was obliterated as Jennifer threw herself into his arms.

“Take me, you wild man. Take me, now.”

He grinned down at her. “What about Dustin Ramsey?”

“He can wait a few more hours.” She grabbed a fistful of Ryan’s shirt. “Did I ever tell you that the smell of toothpaste gets me hot?”

1

Dear Erica,

My boyfriend loves it when I give him oral sex, but he’s stingy about returning the favor. Should I keep him or dump him?

Sincerely, Sugarlips

ERICA DRUMMED her fingers on the edge of the keyboard while she contemplated her answer. Then her clock chimed the half hour, reminding her that Dustin Ramsey would show up in thirty minutes, and her stomach began to churn.

She needed to make use of this time before he arrived. Her newsletter was due at the printers by noon tomorrow. If she’d had any backbone whatsoever, she’d have told Dustin this wasn’t a good time for him to make the trip from Midland. The first of next week would have been better.

But no, she’d been too dumbstruck by the call, too eager to see him after all this time. Too awed by the great Dustin Ramsey, just as she had been at eighteen. Now she was so nervous about the meeting that she couldn’t concentrate on her work. Her New Age mother would tell her to “live in the moment” and stop obsessing, but Erica hadn’t perfected that yet.

With a sigh, she rolled her chair away from the battered desk. Then she stood and wandered around her small living room, adjusting the cushions on her flea-market rattan furniture. She also should have suggested meeting him at some neutral location instead of going along with his too-intimate suggestion of coming to her apartment. She couldn’t imagine that soon he’d be standing on her sisal rug. Once she’d left Midland ten years ago, she’d never expected to see him again.

Never wanted to see him again, either. In her view, if you had embarrassingly bad sex with a guy there were only two options—hang in there and try to get it right, or avoid each other forever. She would have voted for Option A if she’d had an ounce of sexual confidence. Instead she’d allowed Dustin to dictate what happened next, and he’d chosen Option B. She could hardly blame him. Virginal and fumbling, she’d been more of a liability than an asset in the back seat of his Mustang on that warm April night.

Years later she’d realized that a more experienced woman could have changed the wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am into a night of ecstasy for both of them. She could have taken charge of the situation by teasing him, petting him, suggesting varied positions, moving the action outside, even performing a striptease. Instead she’d simply spread her thighs. No doubt a savvy guy like Dustin had been bored, so bored that by now he’d forgotten the whole incident. Unfortunately, she believed him when he said he’d looked her up to discuss a business proposition, something to do with her newsletter for singles.

She could have told him that she’d started Dateline: Dallas on a dare and that she planned to abandon it the minute she landed a juicy hard-news slot on a major daily. But then he might have changed his mind about discussing this business proposition, and she couldn’t resist the possibility of spending a little time with Dustin. She’d never been able to resist that prospect.

Ten years, and she hadn’t progressed an inch when it came to that guy. Damn it. She forced herself to return to the computer. Sugarlips was the only one who could save her.

When she eventually gave up the newsletter, she’d miss writing replies to the letters column. She’d miss the free food from the restaurants she reviewed, the complimentary movie tickets, and the free drinks handed out by West End nightclubs hoping for a mention. She’d had fun this year making lemonade out of her inability to land the job she really wanted, but she had to agree with her parents that Dateline: Dallas was on the superficial side and a waste of trees.

As she typed, she smiled at the writer’s self-description.

Dear Sugarlips,

Your guy is loafing on the lead, girlfriend! You might try enticing him with flavored oils, but my gut feeling is that you’re dealing with a sexually selfish dude. I’d give him one more chance, but only one. If he fails that test, it’s Dumpsville, baby. Good luck.

Erica

Saving both letter and reply to a new file, she moved on to the next letter.

Dear Erica,

My boyfriend has no staying power, and I’m left unsatisfied. He says I should be able to come sooner, and I say he should be able to last longer. Who’s right?

Sincerely, Frustrated Franny

Erica began typing with more enthusiasm. On this particular subject, she was a certified expert.

DUSTIN RAMSEY STOOD outside a three-story brick apartment complex on McKinney Avenue, the results of Jennifer Madison’s investigation tucked into his briefcase. The sweat trickling down his backbone had little to do with the August heat and a lot to do with anxiety. Because of the ninety-five-degree temperature he’d left off the tie, but a business deal required a jacket as a bare minimum, and he’d also worn his best snakeskin boots.

He might feel like a fraud on the inside, but on the outside he would look like the professional businessman he should be, given his heritage. People in Dallas paid attention to clothes. He’d left Midland at dawn, and the knot of tension in his gut had tightened with every mile.

No doubt about it, he was in deep shit. If he’d asked to be involved in the family business instead of screwing around on the amateur auto racing circuit, he’d have known that his dad was flushing the family fortune down the toilet. It was a common story in West Texas—oil barons unable to compete with the cheap crude coming out of the Middle East.

As if that wasn’t disaster enough, Clayton Ramsey had used precious money to buy two weekly newspapers, one in San Antonio and one in Houston. Apparently Dustin’s father had always longed to be a newspaperman. Dustin had been oblivious to everything until eight months ago, when a stroke had left his father unable to talk.

Thrust into power, Dustin had considered auctioning the land to developers, selling both newspapers, setting his parents up in a town home and calling it good. But the tears in his mother’s eyes and the hopeless droop of his father’s shoulders changed his mind. He’d use the land as collateral to rebuild Ramsey Enterprises and hang on to his father’s newspapers. Somehow.

The notice for his ten-year high-school reunion had come about that time, which had started him thinking about Erica. He’d goofed off in every class, barely passing, until the semester he took chemistry and ended up as Erica’s lab partner. She’d challenged him to do better, and by God, he had. It was his lone A in a crowd of C’s.

He must have had some dumb idea that his performance in that chemistry class would transfer to his seduction of Erica in the back of the Mustang. She’d been blond, leggy, slightly drunk and unbelievable sensuous. He’d been…a virgin. A bumbling, eager, too-quick-to-come virgin. While all his jock buddies had managed to get laid in some form or fashion by the time they were juniors, Dustin hadn’t.

Naturally he’d let everyone assume otherwise, shy about revealing the romantic streak that had made him want to wait until the moment felt exactly right. That moment hadn’t arrived until April of his senior year during a keg party at Jeremy’s house. Jeremy threw a party every time his parents left town, and usually the guests were limited to football players and cheerleaders.

But in honor of his senior year, Jeremy had invited the whole damn school, including brainiacs like Erica. A couple hours into the party, Dustin had come up with the brilliant idea of asking her to take a drive into the country, and they’d ended up in the back seat together.

He still winced every time he thought about his abysmal performance that night. What a total disappointment he must have been for a knowledgeable girl like Erica. What a deep disappointment he’d been to himself. To think that the homecoming king, star running back and most eligible bachelor in school was a lousy lover. He hadn’t been able to face Erica after that.

Ten years later he could forgive himself a little bit. He’d been naive to think that he could be instantly good at sex the way he’d been instantly good at every sport he’d ever tried. Hand-eye coordination was all well and good, but sex involved coordinating a trickier part of his anatomy. Besides that, he’d been intimidated by Erica. He’d tried too hard.

Okay, now he was better at sex. Without bragging, he could say that he was damn good at it. Several women had told him so. He should be able to forget that he hadn’t given Erica Deutchmann, his first lover, an orgasm. But he couldn’t forget, and he wanted a rematch. That was a big part of why he was here.

It wasn’t, however, the main reason. His reputation as a party animal had attracted other party animals. Now when he had to get serious, he had no friends to rely on. But during that chemistry class, he’d learned that he could rely on Erica. She was intelligent and ambitious, just the sort of person he needed on his side during this business crisis.

He wasn’t at all surprised to find her publishing a wildly successful newsletter for singles all by herself. Once Jennifer had uncovered the information about Dateline: Dallas, Dustin had contacted a couple of his racing buddies who lived here, and they’d said everybody over eighteen and under forty knew about the newsletter. It was savvy, sexy and just plain fun.

Erica had tapped into a gold mine, and that was exactly the kind of drive and initiative he needed as part of his campaign to reorganize Ramsey Enterprises. He already had printing capability in San Antonio and Houston. Revenue from a hot newsletter could shore up the bottom line for the weeklies his father was so attached to.

Plus, if everything worked out, Dustin would have many opportunities to erase old memories and create new ones with Erica. It was a good plan, and it had to work. Yeah, the strategy might look like a Hail Mary pass in the last minutes of the game, but it was all he had going for him.

He took a deep breath and headed for the set of glass double doors leading into the building. Before he left Dallas, he would prove to Erica that he was capable of excellence in business and pleasure.

Inside the building he discovered stairs and no elevator. Damn. He liked the idea of whisking up to the third floor in an elevator before he could lose his nerve. Taking off his jacket, he started up.

By the second flight he’d convinced himself that this was the most insane idea he’d ever had. Erica wouldn’t be interested in sharing either business or pleasure with him. She’d sounded sort of distant on the phone. He’d been obsessing about her for years and it was possible she barely remembered him.

Still, he’d see this through. He might have screwed around most of his life, but he wasn’t a quitter. That’s why he’d scored so many touchdowns in high school—point him toward a goal and he was unstoppable. He’d just never seen any other goals worth the effort. Until now.

On the third floor he paused and put on his coat. Hefting his briefcase again, he started down the carpeted hallway toward number 310. His heart pounded like a sonofabitch, and not from the climb, either. He hadn’t been this nervous since…since driving out into the country with Erica.

He stood in front of her door for a good thirty seconds, working up to pushing her doorbell. Finally he squared his shoulders and did the deed. Footsteps sounded on the other side of the door.

When she opened it, he managed an automatic smile. He was a Ramsey, and Ramseys always led with a big, Texas-style grin. But he was afraid his eyes popped.

At the high school reunion a month ago, he’d had a chance to see how ten years had treated his classmates, and not a one of them had blossomed like this. Erica had been pretty back in high school, but not especially stylish, wearing both her blond hair and her denim skirts long. Now both were short. Very short.

Her hair was cut in the jaunty style so popular now, and her jungle-print skirt and black tank were the kind of seductive clothes that women wore these days. Not many wore them with this kind of flair though, because not many had been blessed with a long-legged, full-breasted figure that would never go out of style. She wore large wooden earrings and open-toed mules. Urban chick all the way.

He quickly checked her left hand and found bright red nails but no engagement ring. That was a relief.

“Hey, Dustin. It’s been a long time, huh?”

Way too long. “Sure has. You’re looking terrific.” It was lame, but the best he could do considering his jangled brain and dry throat.

“You, too.” Her tone was cautious. “Come on in.” She stepped back and gestured for him to enter.

“Thanks.” He could understand her caution. She wouldn’t want him to get the wrong idea, like maybe she was interested in a date. Assuming she remembered their history, he’d be the last person on earth she’d want to date, old Instant-o-matic Ramsey. Although he was mesmerized by the curve of her breasts and intoxicated by the exotic fragrance she wore, he managed to walk past her and into the room with what he hoped was confident ease.

He kept his voice casual. “So why didn’t you come to the reunion?” She’d cost him precious money by staying away. He’d expected to hook up with her there. When she hadn’t showed up and nobody had known her whereabouts, he’d tried the phone listings in various Texas cities, never suspecting she’d shortened her last name to Mann. He’d had to hire Jennifer to dig up that information.

“Reunion? Oh, yeah, I guess it is ten years, isn’t it? I didn’t get the notice, probably because of my name change.”

“I wondered why you decided to change it.” He inhaled her perfume with relish. It was much more blatant and sexy than what she’d used in high school. Her makeup was more out there, too—pouting red lips and dramatic black lashes, even though he knew for a fact she was a natural blond. While taking off his Jockeys in his room after that fateful night with her, he’d found a blond hair tangled in with his darker ones.

“When I was in journalism at U.T. I decided I wanted a more dramatic byline.”

He nodded. “That sounds like you.” Dazed as he was by Erica, he had trouble focusing on his surroundings. Vaguely he registered a bright, sunny living room with lots of bookshelves, rattan furniture that gave the apartment a tropical look, a counter defining a small kitchen to his left and a hallway leading to the bedroom and bath to his right. Over her sofa hung a huge picture of some kind of flower. The rosy colors inside the flower made him think of sex, but anything would make him think of sex right now.

On an old wooden desk sat her computer, still turned on. The desk was cluttered with paper and advertising flyers. “I see you’ve been working on the newsletter.”

“Yeah, deadline coming up.”

He set down his briefcase and wandered over to the desk. He’d already seen a couple of issues, and he knew the advice column was the juiciest part, with the letters usually focused on sex. He glanced at the screen.

Dear Frustrated Franny,

You deserve long and delicious bouts of sex with many orgasms. Teach your guy to go the distance. Here’s one technique:

“Would you like some iced tea?”

He glanced up into those gray eyes of hers and swallowed. He’d give his cherished Harley jacket to know what she was thinking, now that they were face-to-face again. He’d become more experienced, but so had she. For example, she knew techniques for prolonging an erection. He might not have the edge, after all.

Wired as he felt, he could use two fingers of Jack Daniel’s to settle him down. “Tea would be great.”

She broke eye contact, as if she wanted to preserve her secrets. “Have a seat anywhere you like.”

“Okay.” He walked over to the sofa and sank down on the soft cushions. It would be an excellent make-out sofa, but he had a long way to go to overcome his previous reputation and be allowed to test-drive it.

“Are you hungry?” she called out again. “I have cookies.”

Sharing food with a business associate was always a good thing. He should keep his wits about him and remember tactics like that. “What kind?” he asked, remembering one of the other tricks of the food maneuver.

“Fig Newmans.”

He must have misunderstood her. “Fig Newtons?”

“Better. These are the organic version put out by Paul Newman and his daughter Nell.”

“Oh. Sounds good.” The cookies might be made from seaweed and tofu, but he’d eat the damned things. Urban chick or not, Erica obviously was still into the environmental stuff. He glanced at the magazines on the coffee table and noticed they were back issues of Mother Earth News.