LITMIR.BIZ

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I have to be at by eight in the morning. And I couldn’t explain to my parents why I was coming in just to change for work.”

      “You couldn’t just tell them that you’d been with me?” he asked, with a sudden edge to his voice.

      “Well . . . they’d want to know all about you. And what could I say? What do I even know about you?”

      He pushed my arm away and rolled over, reaching for his jeans. He sat up with his back to me, pulling them on. “What do you need to know about me?” He spat it out, like I’d just insulted him horribly. “You wanna know if I’m an ax murderer? You think something like that about me?”

      “No!” I cried, confused and upset. “No, I don’t think anything like that! But, Rebel—I don’t even know if . . . well . . . if you’re married!”

      At that, he turned and gave me a long, level look. “If that mattered to you, then why are you here?”

      My mouth dropped open. I could think of nothing to say. Because he had a point—a very good point: If that mattered to me, why was I here? Questions began to crowd my brain. What on earth was I doing? Sneaking around, having wild sex with a man I didn’t even know—a man who spent his life, for all I knew, roaming the country, seducing women in every town.

      We dressed in silence. Rebel jerked the blanket up from the ground, rolling it into a manageable mound, then struck out toward his trailer, leaving me to find my way out on my own.

      The next day was Friday. All day at work, one thought kept haunting me: The carnival would be gone on Sunday. Rebel would be gone . . . forever. My life would be back . . . normal. By four-thirty, I knew what I had to do.

      When I got home, I told my parents that I was going to the fair with Kelly and Michelle, who shared an apartment, and would spend the night with them at their place. Then I threw a change of clothes into a duffel bag and left.

      I left the bag in my car when I reached the fairgrounds, got out, and headed for the Death Machine, my stomach turning flips. The turmoil I felt is indescribable. I was going on blind faith, after all. For all intents and purposes, I was placing my life in the hands of a stranger. But I had to find out—was Rebel someone I couldn’t, shouldn’t, let go? Was he worth the upheaval in my life?

      As I approached him, Rebel glanced up at me. Then, wordlessly, he continued with his work, adjusting a bolt on the machine. The invisible barrier was up again—I could feel it. I just stood there, patiently, and eventually, he looked at me again.

      “What are you doing here?”

      “I had to see you. Does the offer—does it still stand?”

      “What offer?”

      “The offer to stay the night,” I said softly.

      He looked at the ground, then back up at me—a long, assessing look. I began to feel even uneasier as I wondered what was going through his mind.

      “You’re not afraid someone will find out?” he asked pointedly, the edge still there.

      “No. I want to be with you,” I said, hoping my uncertainty didn’t show. “I—I want to know you better.” It slipped out before I thought.

      “Oh. Still not sure about what you’ve gotten yourself into, huh? Well, you don’t need to worry, cuz you’re not in anything. I’ll be out of here in two days, and then you can go back to your regular little existence and forget you ever knew me.”

      “I don’t think so,” I said quietly.

      “You don’t think what?”

      “I don’t think I’ll ever be able to forget you,” I said.

      He hesitated a moment, then reached a hand out to me. I took it and he pulled me to him. And there, in broad daylight, where anyone in the world could see, he kissed me long and hard, and held me tight.

      That night, I wandered around the fair, stopping by the Death Machine every so often, though Rebel was so busy he had little time to talk. Friday night, the fair was jam-packed with people. It seemed like just about everyone I knew was there. I can’t deny it; it made me uncomfortable. There was something furtive about my connection to Rebel, something I couldn’t quite pull out and deal with. At this point, I wasn’t ready for anyone from town to find out about Rebel and me. Mentally, I chided myself. After all, this was exactly what he’d been talking about. But it wasn’t shame I felt, exactly, when I saw someone I knew as I was standing next to Rebel during one of the infrequent lulls at the roller coaster. I didn’t know what it was. I hoped that by tomorrow, though, I’d have it figured out. Tomorrow would be my last chance.

      As I wandered through the crowd, that thought kept repeating itself over and over again in my mind . . . tomorrow would be my last chance. But, suppose I did get it all worked out in my head. Then what? Would I talk Rebel into quitting the carnival? Would he consider settling down in our little town and becoming a regular citizen? Would he be the same person I’d fallen for if he made that change?

      As the carnival lights blinked out that night, the surge of passion I felt watching Rebel as he shut down the Death Machine pushed all other thoughts from my head. I burned for him, and tonight, I knew I wouldn’t be rushing to get home. Tonight would tell the tale.

      I couldn’t wait to have his hands on me. The lights went out then, and as he finished locking up, I pressed myself against his back. I heard him catch his breath. Then his head rolled back, eyes closed, as his hands reached back and found my thighs. I swayed gently against him. His hands slid under my miniskirt. My arms were wrapped around him, my hands caressing his muscular chest. Then my hands moved downward, down to that special place that told me how much he wanted me. Rebel moaned lowly, then turned and clasped me to him. As he bent to kiss me, he slid down onto the roller coaster entry ramp, pulling me astride him. He slid my panties off, and then handed me a condom.

      “You do it,” he said huskily.

      There we were, where anyone might see, only the darkness to hide us, and I didn’t care. As I rolled the sheath onto him, I could feel my excitement building to an uncontrollable pitch. Our coupling there on the entrance to the Death Machine was even more passionate than before. I hadn’t known these depths were in me. I couldn’t imagine ever giving him up.

      When it was over, and we’d caught our breath, Rebel helped me to my feet. He slid his arm possessively around me and led the way to his trailer. He stopped me just outside the door and made me close my eyes and wait while he went inside. I felt light-headed. I’d surrendered myself to whatever the night would bring.

      Rebel popped out of the door and came to me, looping an arm around my waist and holding my hand as he ushered me into his place. When I opened my eyes, a warm glow enveloped me. Rebel must’ve placed fifty candles around the small room. The couch was made out into a double bed, on which he’d spread luxurious, black silken sheets. Cool jazz emanated from speakers in all four corners.

      As a tenor sax wailed seductively into the night, Rebel lifted me in his arms and placed me gently on the bed. Then, with a mock flourish and a wicked grin, he produced two wineglasses and a bottle of wine. As I lounged on the bed, sipping my wine, he opened the refrigerator and removed a platter containing a wedge of cheese, crackers, smoked oysters, and olives and carefully placed the platter on the bed beside me.

      “I’m all sweaty. I’m gonna jump in the shower. Care to join me?” he asked.

      I hesitated momentarily, but a duet shower sounded very good. “Sure,” I said.

      What came next at first astonished me, then felt wonderfully sexy. Rebel picked up two towels, took me by the hand, and led me outside.

      “Where are we going?” I asked.

      “You’ll see,” was all he said.

      Then he led me around behind the trailer to a wooden platform with a large, circular rod overhead supporting a shower curtain that encompassed

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