by Jill Winters
As her gaze drifted lower, she sucked in a breath when she got to the pronounced bulge in his pants. Staring at it, Gretchen licked her lips, still unable to speak, feeling the hot, soaking wetness between her legs. Rick moved forward, closed his hands over her bottom, and she ended up flat on her back.
They were on the bed now and he was on top of her. She opened her legs, spread them around him, rocked up to feel some of him, all of him. She thought she would die if she didn't get some satisfaction soon, and he was breathing hard, slid his hands up her naked belly, giving her shivers and chills before they closed over her breasts. "Oh, man..." he said roughly, and groaned as he massaged them, ran his thumbs over her hardened nipples. "You're so beautiful," he whispered huskily. Burying his head in the crook of her neck, he mumbled something unintelligible. It sounded like "apple," but that couldn't be right. Who could think straight at a time like this?
Gently squeezing her breasts together, Rick lowered his head, pressing his face against her cleavage. Fondling one breast while he sucked the other one deep into his mouth, he let his free hand trail lazily down her belly to her side. His fingers lingered at the edge of her thong but didn't go any farther.
Moaning, Gretchen kept rocking her pelvis, tilting her hips off the bed, and the more he aroused her, the more she scratched her nails against the smooth, hot flesh of his back, the harder she grasped his shoulders, the more she bucked her lower body against his. She wanted to run her hands over his butt, but she couldn't reach that far. He was too big, and she wanted to beg him to touch her where she needed him to touch her, wanted to tell him how she ached—the ecstasy and wanting both so acute—but instead, her head rolled restlessly on the comforter and her eyes slid closed as Rick suckled her other breast.
Finally, her clawing and moaning got to him, broke his leisurely pace. He started tugging at her thong. She lifted her hips up to help him, but he was too impatient; he yanked it down past her knees and then cupped her crotch with his big, warm palm.
For a few seconds he stayed just like that, breathing raggedly, as though trying to regain his control. Then gently—so gently—he ran his finger over her opening, moving so slowly, so thoroughly, she felt like she could die from the pleasure. The more he stroked her, the more wet heat that seeped between her legs. Vaguely she wondered if she should be embarrassed; she'd never been this turned on in her entire life. Still it seemed impossible to be embarrassed when Rick was spreading liquid fire through her lower body, when he was on the verge of going deeper, when she was dying to come and even close to doing it.
"Please... please..." she said.
"Don't worry, I'll please you, baby, believe me," he murmured thickly, and in such a husky, confident voice, she bit her lip and waited.
He slid a finger inside her, slowly and gently, and she sighed blissfully. He withdrew and did it again, and just as he got an intoxicating rhythm going, he slid two in. The sensation was so acute, so electric, she cried out—then panted harder, waiting for more. Boy, he was right. He did know how to please her—very well, and they'd barely begun. Fluidly, he continued to touch her, making her body quiver, until she nearly shook with hot, rippling tremors, and biting her lower lip hard, she struggled, on the verge of convulsing.
"Yes," she moaned as he licked the shell of her ear. "More..." Distantly she heard the jingling of keys. Then the front door opened and closed. Gretchen jerked in surprise, and Rick stopped what he was doing, his hand stilled between her thighs, his other still cupping her breast, and in the silence over their heavy breathing was the sound of someone dropping her clanging keys down on the front table, then walking closer, down the hall, and oh—damn it—why was Dana home?
Shimmying quickly, Gretchen tried to move fast enough out from under Rick, who rolled off her, but the damage was done. There wasn't time to hide. Gretchen was stark naked with her bedroom door wide open, and Rick had his shirt off—hey, when had he opened his pants? In any event, like all good humiliations, this one happened fast.
"Gretchen, are you still awake—oh!" Dana yelped, slapping her palm over her mouth, her eyes growing huge with surprise. "Oh, I'm so sorry! I didn't realize—um, bye!" she said, turning to go, then doubled back to grab the doorknob and close Gretchen's door behind her.
"Oh my God," Gretchen croaked as flaming heat suffused her cheeks, and she could barely swallow the hard lump of emotion that clogged her throat. Shaking her head, she brought her hands to her hot, flushed face and said, "I'm so embarrassed. My cousin just saw me naked."
With a soft laugh, Rick reached for her, hugged her to his chest.
"It's okay," he said, stroking her back as she buried herself against him.
A moment or two passed before she looked up at him. He seemed to be waiting for her decision: to continue or wait till next time?
"Maybe we should call it a night," she said, because she was too self-conscious with Dana home now, and anyway, her shameless exhibitionism had kind of killed the mood.
"Okay," he said, brushing a gentle kiss across her lips. He wasn't pressing the issue, though when he stood to zip up, she saw that his erection was straining hugely against his pants. "I'll get going," he said, grabbing his sweater off the floor. While he was at it, he tossed her her nightgown.
When she went to walk him out, they realized that his coat was still in the living room. "Sorry about tonight," Gretchen said when they finally reached the door.
"Don't be," Rick said and leaned down to kiss her again. It was a tender, lingering kiss, one that made her almost change her mind about him staying. "You know what they say about firemen..." he added. Shifting over, he nipped her ear and practically purred right into it, " 'We find 'em hot—and leave 'em wet.' "
He winked at her and left. With a shaky breath, Gretchen slumped against the door.
Chapter 22
The next day was Wednesday and Susanna was her usual frazzled diva with a dependent twist. "What do you think of my new skirt?" she asked Gretchen, who was sitting on the settee in the dressing room, rubbing a coffee spill out of the cloaklike jacket that went with Susanna's skirt. (She'd offered to do it since her boss was easily stressed out by such debacles.)
Now she glanced up and smiled. "It's pretty," she said simply.
What more could you say about something teal, linen, and floor-length? The less said, the better. The jacket that matched was cream colored with teal trim on the sleeves and a Nehru collar.
"How's that spot coming?" Susanna asked, crossing over to sit at her vanity.
"I've almost got it all out," Gretchen said.
"After that, I was thinking of trying something different with my hair. Some kind of up-do. Could you help me?"
"Sure... You mean for your taping this afternoon? Because the studio hairstylists will do whatever you want. You know that."
With a scoff, Susanna started brushing her hair, making eye contact with Gretchen through her reflection in the mirror. "They annoy me," she said distastefully.
As always, Susanna's frilly pink dressing room was heavily perfumed with fresh flowers. The arc of lights that framed the mirror imbued Susanna's reflection with a soft, muted glow and made her seem almost delicate.
There was a light knock on the door. "Yes?"
Abe ducked his head in. "Susanna——oh, hi, Gretchen, how are you?"
She smiled. "Hi. Fine."
He looked at Susanna again, who'd spun in her chair to face the door. "Listen, I ran that idea by Joel—about you guest starring on Brett's show in May? He said they're planning to spend May plugging the upcoming Hawaii special, so thematically, the month is blocked off However, Joel mentioned the possibility of you doing something sooner.
"How much sooner?" she asked, eyes wide, sitting forward on her seat, anticipating.
"I'm not sure. Joel wants to come to the set tomorrow and talk to me more about it. Between you and me, I think he wants to check out your taping firsthand to get more of a sense of how you work and how your physical style in the
kitchen will mesh with Brett's. Still, it's looking good. I just wanted to give you an update."
"Thanks, Abe," she said. "As I'd said to you, it was really Gretchen's idea, but she didn't feel comfortable bringing it up to you herself, and while I'm casual either way, I have to admit it couldn't hurt to get a little extra exposure."
What a phony! Gretchen forced a poker face in the light of such blatant pretense. But admittedly, Gretchen had dropped the ball on that particular errand, and she had to hand it to her boss: When Susanna wanted something, she found a way to get it.
Abe turned to go, but Susanna vaulted out of her chair. "Wait! Abe, can I talk to you for a second?"
"Sure," he said, stepping into her dressing room and shutting the door.
"It's kind of... personal. About you." Trying to be subtle, Gretchen rose to go, but Susanna said, "No, stay, Gretchen. I might need you to help me with my pantyhose in a minute." Huh? What did that even mean? Help her on with it, or off? And why, dear God, why?
"What is it?" Abe asked appearing a bit confused.
"Well, there's been talk. It's just vicious gossip, but I thought you should know about it." Ugh. Why wasn't Gretchen surprised? "There's been some rumor that you have been... well, seen with Ellie Galistette. Of course, I'm sure it's all business, but you know how people are—they turn everything into something sordid and ugly."
"Uh..." Abe glanced down for just a moment. "To tell you the truth, Susanna, the rumors are correct. Although I must say, I'm surprised my relationship with Ellie even ranks up there as newsworthy with the gossip circuit."
"R—relationship?" Susanna echoed, clearly stunned. "You mean it's true? You and Ellie are—an item?"
"Yes, it's true. I apologize for not telling you sooner." This guy was a priceless testament to diplomacy; he was willing to apologize to Susanna for neglecting to tell her something that was never any of her business to begin with. "We wanted to keep it discreet because of... well, my previous relationship with Misty. We didn't want it to affect Ellie's job. I guess now we're ready to be more open..."
Gretchen bit her lip, the implication of what Abe had said sinking in instantly. Now that Misty was dead, he didn't have to worry about upsetting her—didn't have to worry about her finding out that he was dating her assistant. Or "apprentice," as Ellie had said.
"I hope this won't affect how you feel about Ellie," Abe added with mild concern. "I assume she's representing you now." Again it went unsaid: now that Misty was dead.
"Well, yes... yes she is," Susanna said, clearly far from recovered by the unexpected turn the conversation had taken. As far as Gretchen could tell, Susanna had been trying to earn some kind of gratitude from her producer for alerting him to false rumors. She loved being in the know and she'd ended up being the clueless one.
Politely, Abe excused himself and left. When he was gone, Susanna murmured, "Well, I'll be damned." (No comment.)
All this talk about Misty got Gretchen thinking about the murder and what Rick had confided to her—that it was really part of a plot against Brett that had gone awry. She thought about Rick's suspicion of Susanna, and though the idea seemed so far-fetched, Gretchen still pondered it...
What could Susanna gain from Brett's demise? Yes, she'd be the top dog at TCN again in terms of ratings, but Susanna was a grown woman—surely she had adult perspective here. Surely she realized that there could always be another Brett around the corner.
"Hey, Susanna, I was thinking," Gretchen said, rising to bring her cleaned jacket to her. Right away, Susanna turned around, giving Gretchen her back, and held her hands out wide, waiting to have the jacket slipped on for her. "We should really do a show about mushrooms," Casually, Gretchen tilted her head so she could see Susanna's profile and gauge her reaction.
Confused, Susanna said, "What do you mean?"
Was it really that complicated? They usually featured a particular ingredient as a theme for an entire episode.
"Mushrooms," Gretchen repeated. "All kinds. Exotic ones, too. We could even have you give a spiel about the types to avoid. Or you know, what mushrooms go best with beef, fish, chicken. Which mushrooms make the best stock—um, which mushrooms are... poisonous."
She still wasn't seeing a reaction, but then, abruptly, Susanna did an about-face. "Well, how do I look?"
It was all Gretchen could do not to roll her eyes and say, Get over the teal linen drapes, honey, we've got bigger issues!
"Great. So what do you think about my idea?"
"Um... to be honest, I'm not terribly interested in mushrooms.
They've never had a central place in my oeuvre—so I'll have to pass on that one. Come on. Let's go back to the set."
When she swung open the door, Cady Angle was scurrying away from it, but she hadn't moved quickly enough. "Cady! What are you doing?"
"Oh," she said, freezing on the cusp of the short stairwell that led up to Susanna's set. Glancing over her shoulder, Cady said, "I was just... I was wondering if you'd seen Marjorie."
"No, I haven't."
"I haven't either," Gretchen spoke up quickly to help deflect Cady's embarrassment about being so blatantly caught in the act of eavesdropping. Maybe she really had come to ask Susanna about Marjorie, but it seemed doubtful—why would Susanna know where Cady's producer was? And why scurry guiltily away when the door opened? She'd obviously come after Abe had left, so you had to wonder what she'd been listening in on that she'd find remotely interesting. Just Gretchen subtly asking Susanna about mushrooms (okay, maybe not so subtly).
"Well, thanks anyway," Cady said, smiling congenially, and turned to continue on her way, cutting through Susanna's set. (The only way to get to Susanna's dressing room was through Stage C; however, there was a fire exit at the end of the short corridor. Apparently Cady wasn't so flustered as to try to escape that way, which was good.)
"Why would I know where Marjorie is?" Susanna challenged, not letting the girl off that easy. If Cady were going to scramble away pusillanimously, she wasn't going to do it with dignity.
"She said she was running up to the eighth floor," Cady explained, inching up the steps as she answered. "That was about an hour ago, so I just wondered..."
"Susanna, we should go," Gretchen said, reminding her boss of the time. Cady used the distraction as her ticket out, waving and disappearing from sight. It was obvious that Susanna put her on edge, but that was hardly an atypical reaction.
They left, but an hour later, Gretchen was back. She couldn't shake the feeling that Susanna had been less than honest with her earlier on the mushroom question. Once she slipped inside the dressing room, Gretchen went right to the bookshelf that stretched across the wall, above the settee. This was where Susanna had all her cookbooks lined up, including the several from the beginning of her career that were now out of print.
After several minutes of flipping through tables of contents, Gretchen came up empty. Besides the expected array of recipes for standard dishes like chicken and veal Marsala, stroganoff, and stuffed mushrooms, it appeared that Susanna had been telling the truth: she wasn't big into mushrooms.
The door opened, and Gretchen jumped, snapping the book in her hands closed. "What are you doing in here?" Susanna asked, dark blond eyebrows arched in surprise.
"Oh... Susanna... um, hi." Kneeling on the settee, facing the wall and floundering, Gretchen couldn't have appeared guiltier. "I was just looking at your old cookbooks," she explained, holding one up to make the point. "I wanted to see about your mushroom recipes, because I'm telling you, I really think we've got a show there!" she said cheerfully.
With a dramatic look of incredulity, Susanna said, "Gretchen, you have to stop with this obsession you have with mushrooms. Now, I'm not interested in that idea, and I'd appreciate it if you'd get back to your work!"
"Right," Gretchen said feebly, sliding the book back in its place on the shelf "Of course. No problem. Totally understand." She started to go, assuming Susanna meant work as in paperwork, order forms, supply s
heets, etc., and she did have plenty of that waiting for her in her office on the second floor. But that wasn't what Susanna meant.
It involved pantyhose. Don't even ask.
* * *
That evening, after most people had left for the night, Gretchen was walking around the curved hallway on the eighth floor when she heard whistling in the near distance.
The whistling got louder, until Gretchen turned and saw Brett Pellucci rounding the bend behind her, alongside a big hulking man with a brown complexion and an exotic-looking face. When their eyes met, Brett stopped the whistling to flash a smile. Dwarfed by his companion, Brett looked much shorter than usual—almost childlike. It was an inadvertently diminishing moment for him (think Jason Priestley on the beach in Calendar Girl—if you dare).
"Hey, Gretchen," he said, coming closer. "What are you still doing here?" The Massive One followed. He had hoop earrings in both ears, hair slicked back from his face, and deeply indented pockmarks on his cheeks and chin. "By the way, this is Epau—Epau, Gretchen," Brett said. Gretchen said a friendly hello, which Epau met with a stoic nod.
"He's, uh, my cousin from Hawaii," Brett elaborated. "He wanted a grand tour of TCN, and..." Standing on his toes, he managed to clap Epau on the shoulder. "Well, how could I refuse my own flesh and blood, right?"
"Right," she said amiably. "Well, that's great, have fun." She motioned toward the door to Stage C, several yards from where they stood. "I just have a couple more things to take care off before I can head home. Nice meeting you," she added, looking at Epau, who nodded again. "Have a good one," Brett enthused with a wink, then looked buoyantly into Epau's chin. "C'mon, Cuz!"
When Gretchen entered Stage C, she crossed over to the kitchen set and was surprised to find Kit there. "Oh, hey, Gretchen. How's it going, honey?"