by Christa Wick
"Had some offers," he answered, omitting that the actual number had exceeded two dozen. "But all the contracts read the same. There was no such thing as being 'off the clock.' Anything I developed would have been their intellectual property, not mine."
Standing, he took two tokens from the box then fed them into the slot as a test. The balls dropped. He grabbed the racking triangle and arranged them two and three at a time as he continued talking.
"So I dealt with drunk tenants taking a shi…uh, piss in the potted plants. I worked on my programs while the night owls did their laundry at two in the morning, the machines banging away against my studio wall hard enough to wake the dead."
"But not hard enough to disturb you," Velda softly interrupted. "You could always tune out anything."
Any fun to the story evaporated like water splashed on lava. Velda may not have offered an intentional jab, but Shane knew. "Anything" included tuning her out.
She glanced away, her mouth strangled by a wry twist.
"None of that made it into your official profile," she said after a few more uncomfortable seconds of silence passed.
A clipped laugh splintered the seal of Shane's lips.
"It might have made for a better story, but it all seemed rather ignominious."
A second, self-conscious laugh escaped him. "Maybe I'll save it for the kind of autobiography men like me write when we’re sixty and consumed with navel-gazing."
She trained a gentle smile on him. "Men like you?"
"Yeah," he shrugged. "The ones who are old and all alone in their castles."
Chapter 6
Rescued from the awkward moment by a troupe of teens discovering the pool table functioning once more, Velda suggested she explain the volunteer rules to Shane. Knowing half a dozen mothers would be prepping dinner, she led him to the kitchen. Tucked against the wall, she and Shane spent an hour reviewing the handbook, then she sent him back to his luxury hotel for the night with homework.
Velda had sorely needed a public place for the day’s final meeting with Shane, one with lots of eyes and ears. His indirect confession of profound loneliness nearly gutted her. She had turned instantly vulnerable—until she remembered how her own chronic loneliness had forced her return to Florida.
She had left during Christmas break between his first semester of graduate school and his second. At the start of the school year, they had moved into a large house full of other students. She and Shane shared a room. He spent his days in class and the CIS lab. No longer in school, Velda hunted for a job that suited her sociology degree when she wasn’t temping as a secretary.
Looking back, she could see the utter naivety of expecting Shane to spend more time with her once they lived together. Filled with a motley sort of academics and suffering from a ridiculously slow bandwidth, the house gave him mental hives. To work on the encryption protocols and programming that had since made him a billionaire, he escaped daily to the university’s CIS lab, the lab only CIS students could use.
Things came to a boil shortly before the second semester started. At least it came to a boil for her. Shane was oblivious. He would come back from the lab, fuck Velda to temporary forgetfulness, sleep and then be gone by morning light more days than not.
It all became too much when he didn’t return three nights in a row. Velda only knew he was alive because the condescending undergrad student manning the CIS lab’s front desk confirmed Shane’s presence inside. Feeling like nothing more than a warm, fluffy fool, Velda packed her bags and left. Just as Shane had through undergrad and grad school, she made herself immune to the text queries and attempted phone calls during her long bus ride home. As soon as she reached the Florida state line, she changed her number.
Bit by bit, she put Shane in her past. She couldn’t delete him, but she could overwrite him. She did that with the only thing she could throw her broken heart into—the shelter. First as a volunteer, then as a paid coordinator, then as the only staff member after her mentor died.
With the families fed, Velda retreated to her “suite” within the shelter at eight. She always laughed when she thought of it that way. Like the other rooms, it measured seven-by-ten with a two-by-five closet. But it was the only room with an attached bathroom.
She locked the door and headed straight for the tub. Surprisingly, the water ran hot. She could guess why. Many of the residents feared another “explosion” in the common bathrooms. Better to let someone else test it first. Plus the teens were spending the good behavior tokens they had accumulated while the pool table was out of order.
Whatever the actual reason, she didn’t question her good luck, just turned the water on full blast and poured in two capfuls of bubble bath she had splurged on at the corner dollar store.
She stripped down then slid into the tub, “ouching” and “aahing” at the same time as the hot, bubble-slick water covered her skin.
Leaning her head against the cast iron rim, she closed her eyes and took a deep, steamy breath. She took another, and another. On the fourth deep breath and release, her fingers began to tap against the tub.
The water should have washed Shane from her mind. That was a big fail. She was still thinking about him—only the heat was sending her thoughts in directions she didn’t want to go.
Like how he was even sexier than when they were lovers. She couldn't pin down the difference other than knowing it wasn't the beard. She had seen that in news coverage and instantly lamented its presence.
It wasn’t the fancy clothing, either. Heck, he hadn’t shown up in a suit for his first official day as a volunteer. He wore jeans and a t-shirt, both loose enough to work in but doing nothing to hide his sculpted body.
Closing her eyes, Velda pictured how Shane’s biceps bulged as he wrestled the shower arm loose. Her fingers stopped their impatient tapping against the tub to gloss against her outer thighs. From there, they surfed toward the inner thigh area, her memory replaying the way his tight ass had looked as he crouched before the token box.
Pulling his phone from his back pocket, she had wanted to take a soft bite of his shoulder. He smelled that damn good despite the shelter’s lack of air conditioning. Part of it was his cologne, different from what he had worn in college. But the most overwhelming scent was his alone, a heady musk that had never failed to make her horny whenever she caught a whiff.
Velda snorted at the idea of her long-dead libido roaring back to life. She must arm herself against his scent. Maybe she could kill two birds with one stone by dousing herself in some unpleasant perfume. She would no longer be able to smell him and he would want to keep a wide berth.
Not that he wanted to cozy up. She wasn’t going to fall into that trap. Their conversation the day before made it perfectly clear that Shane had shown up with a fat check intended to make her feel small, to let her know she had lost out on a golden payday.
Her mouth pulled down at the corners. Shane had never been one to rub anyone’s nose in anything, not even when the person deserved it. She doubted he had changed that much.
Sadly, she doubted he had changed at all. Before the thirty days could begin in earnest, she was certain some challenge at his company would pull Shane away. Or, with his brain unfettered while he did menial work around the shelter, he would come up with an even better encryption protocol and be back in front of his computer in a flash. By the time he next remembered her, Velda would be in her eighties—or dead.
Scowling at her inability to relax, she leaned forward, let some of the partially cooled water out and refilled the tub with hot water. Her hands returned to her thighs. Cutting Shane’s head from the picture that had formed in her mind, she concentrated on his other bits and how they had fitted with her bits.
One hand snaking between her plump labia, she used the other to squeeze at her breast, its thick nipple trapped between her thumb and index finger.
For some reason unfathomable to Velda, her overgenerous curves had never been a deterrent to Shane finding her sexy. B
ut his affection for her, however much she craved it, had caused problems in college. Other women tried to make her hate her body. Some of the male students figured she must be an absolute sex freak to snare a guy like Shane. That made for a lot of harassment.
And a lot of truth.
For Shane, she was a freak in bed. They could go for hours. And something equally large matched the billionaire’s big brain. Long and thick, he knew how to use it. He didn’t expect Velda to do all the work just because he brought the tool.
Nope, not Shane. He liked getting his hands dirty. He loved using his mouth, too. His whole mouth—lips and tongue and teeth. He would gently gnaw and suck for hours, guiding her from one orgasm to the next, fingers jockeying with his tongue in a bid to drive her crazy.
Fuck, Velda sighed, fingers manipulating her flesh. She was ready to explode from the combination of her out-of-practice strokes and the memory of a man she had loved with all her heart.
This, she admonished, her hands plucking at her clit and one nipple. Focus on this. The heat has been gone for so long, don’t chase it away with bad memories.
Biting at her lip, she nodded and stroked a little harder.
Chapter 7
Shane poked his head through the attic's access panel. He spotted Velda bent over a pile of boxes, her magnificently lush bottom swaying as she opened lids and examined the contents. A tight braid gathered her thick brown hair. The braid persisted in falling off her shoulder. She persisted in tossing it behind her each time.
He could have watched forever, but she would eventually turn around and catch him spying. Plus, standing on a fold-down ladder with a fast growing erection and rubbery knees was a bad idea.
He rapped the floor twice to draw her attention.
"Reggie said you were up here."
Braid whipping around, Velda swung to face Shane. Her full bottom lip dropped in surprise. Her breasts bobbed up and down as she tried to recover her breath.
If she didn't stop looking so delicious, he would need to spend the rest of the day hiding his burgeoning dick behind a clipboard or toolbox.
"I left a job list with Mrs. Carter," she said, breasts still heaving.
"Finished it."
Velda lifted her hands in frustration. "I know you're a computer wizard, but that was a full day's work. Maybe two."
A smile ate at Shane's cheeks. Reading the list Georgia Carter handed him had been an assault of sorts. Velda severed their relationship because of the time he spent programming or building computers capable of handling his code.
Immersed in work, he could go days without eating, nearly a full day without taking a piss. He had often bordered on dehydrated during college because drinks weren't allowed in the university's CIS lab.
Neither was Velda—or ringing phones that would have reminded Shane that the woman he loved was getting annoyed with the neglect.
Yet, her task list intentionally placed him in a room filled with computers. And not just any computers. The blocky machines at the shelter were brutally outdated both in their components and the software they could no longer run. She wanted him to sort out all five of the antiques.
Clearly, it was a trap or punishment. He didn't know which. But he finished everything in under two hours.
Sort of.
His smile grew wider. "I'm done."
"How?"
"I ordered parts. You'll be rid of me for a few hours when they arrive. But, today, I did all I could short of a merciful bludgeoning."
Fresh strain furrowed Velda's brow. "Parts?"
"Don't fret," he said. "You won't get a bill. Consider it a bonus donation with no attached conditions."
The sharp lines in her face didn't smooth at his explanation—or the reminder that he had bribed her into accommodating his presence.
"What did we need?"
"New computers. New software." He sighed. "Don't get me wrong. Teaching office skills here is great. But the women will be timed during interviews. Your software is ancient, some of it by four releases. Not just bug fixes or little changes, either. Entirely different command menus and built-in shortcuts."
With an uncomfortable shrug, he drove the point home.
"The existing software is setting them up to fail those tests."
"Oh…" She sat down on a box and rested her chin against one fist. "I haven't managed to teach anyone anything in over a year. Either the computer or the software crashes too soon."
A sneeze from all the dust Velda had stirred up momentarily dispossessed her. She followed it with a sigh and a wave of her hand.
"I thought that would keep you busy for the day."
Almost choking on her admission, Shane coughed.
"Is that so?"
She didn't notice his change in tone. Just waved her hand again.
"I'll be down in a bit with your marching orders. I just need to think on it."
He gestured around the dusty attic.
"Looks like a task I can help with."
She shook her head, panic creeping across her broad-cheeked face.
"My insurance won't cover anyone other than staff up here and—"
Shane climbed the rest of the way up the ladder.
"I signed a waiver, sweetheart. Plus, you're the only staff this place has. It's not fair that you're the one carrying the heavy load all the time."
"Fair trade-off for never having been punched in the face," Velda parried. "Anyway, this will take longer with two people. Barely enough room for me to move around and I'd really like to sort through what can be thrown out. It can't stay here during the roof repairs. But there's no good place to store it."
"It will go faster with two people." He walked to one of the dormer windows then smiled over his shoulder. "I promise."
Studying the abandoned building on the opposite side of the alley, he shook his head. Velda didn't need a new roof, she needed a new building away from this part of Jacksonville.
"We're on a bus line," she said, reading his head shake. "We're in a school district that will enroll the kids. Other neighborhoods try to make them sit out a term, if not the rest of the school year."
She drew a deep breath, released it with a tremor that ran through her entire body.
"No one wants to invest in kids they figure will be in jail within a few years."
Shane stared at his shoes for a few uncomfortable seconds. Like Velda, he had grown up dirt poor with no father around. His mother didn't value education. Another era, one without computers, he would still live in the old neighborhood, surviving payday-to-payday. Inherently gifted with a security mindset, he might have found himself in jail.
The dizzying heights he had scaled made it easy to forget what he left behind. Velda had remained the one thing he couldn't purge from his memory.
Finding his voice, he gestured at the stack of boxes.
"What do you need?"
Her expression said it all. She wanted him to leave and not come back.
That wasn’t going to happen.
Reaching into her back pocket, she retrieved latex gloves matching the ones she wore and handed them to Shane.
"Lift a lid and see what's salvageable. You might want to jostle the box before opening. I startled a few mice already."
Nodding, he donned the gloves, the latex warm from her body heat.
He gave the first box a light kick as Velda opened a lawn bag and peered inside. Nothing moved within the box, so he examined the contents.
"Mismatched dishes," he announced.
"We only know they are mismatched after we've gone through all the boxes. And no one cares if that's the only choice for their empty cabinets when we finally find them someplace more permanent to live."
"True," he agreed as she tossed the lawn bag near the access panel.
"Mildewed cloth," she muttered. "Can't even tell what's what. Probably need to wear masks for this."
Nose wrinkling, he considered cutting another six-figure check just so she wouldn't be up in this mess
. Before he could float the option, a loose board snagged her foot.
Shane sprung forward, tried to catch Velda before she fell on a second pile of mystery bags. The rescue attempt half succeeded. He managed to spin her around and fall onto the pile first.
She landed against him, air leaving them in a whoosh. The pile shifted, threatened to spill their bodies on whatever hid beneath. Shane threw his weight in the opposite direction, his hands securing Velda's round bottom to keep her moving with him.
Coming to a stop, he realized what he had done—what he was still doing by keeping his hands on her ass, the grip tightening as fresh blood flooded his cock.
His gaze locked on Velda's. Sudden heat flared in her emerald depths. Before she could slide away, his hand shot up and secured the thick ponytail.
Touching her like that, one hand gripping her lush ass, the other capturing her by the hair, triggered exquisitely carnal memories locked inside Shane.
Displaying dominance in their sex life, he had loved coming home to find her hair braided. Night after night, he had wrapped the thick rope around his fingers then rolled Velda onto her stomach. Never was it the evening's first fuck. With his size, Shane needed her slick and delirious before he slid into the hot, sweet pussy from behind.
He couldn't do that at the shelter. Not on the dusty bags. Not without her consent. Didn't matter that she couldn't hide the lust that had instantly ignited in her gaze.
Maybe it wasn't lust, he mused. Maybe it was light glinting off dust motes. They had stirred up a lot when they fell. Hell, they had stirred up a lot more than dirt since he walked into Velda's kitchen and found her hurt, bleeding, and furious to see him.
He had come there to move into a new phase of life by getting over the past, not rekindling it.
But now?
Now she felt like an inferno against him, her heat searing his flesh. He could feel where her thighs cupped his hips, feel the press of her smoldering mound against his aching cock.