by Janice Sims
The kitchen was modern and fitted with stainless-steel appliances. She could tell he liked to cook. The placement of his island and cabinets were all for his convenience. He even had a long shock-absorbing mat in front of the sink and stove that offered relief from back pain should he be standing a long time at the work stations. “Your kitchen is very efficient,” she said.
“I know,” he said regrettably. “It’s a bit sterile. But now that I’ve brought an interior decorator home I’m hoping she’ll give me a few tips to liven it up.”
“Color,” was Lana’s reply to that. “A deep, masculine brick red or maybe a forest green. But I like it. You’ve got good taste.”
Ten was peering in the refrigerator. “Are you thirsty?”
“Yes,” she said. She usually was after a long flight.
He handed her a bottle of spring water and took one for himself. Lana had left her bags in the living room by the door. She stood now wearing her favorite yellow sundress and a pair of macramé espadrilles, her legs and arms appeared even more golden-brown than before. Her shiny hair was in its natural curly state and it perfectly framed her face.
To Ten, she looked even more beautiful than he’d remembered her. Her warm brown eyes were looking deeply into his. She set her water bottle on the island and moved in. He casually backed against one of the tall stools around the island and set his bottle down, too. He sat atop the stool he’d backed into. Lana walked between his legs, and his arms enveloped her. Foreheads touched. Mouths met in tentative kisses. Little things that enticed, tested the limits of their patience, but were not really satisfying because both of them knew they were not going to be entirely happy until they were lying naked in each other’s arms. But this was nice, too.
He inhaled her essence, his nostrils flaring. Her scent was heady. Like the initial effects of a drug. The good part, before you come crashing down.
“A bath would be relaxing,” she murmured against his mouth.
Ten, already hardening, grew harder at the thought of seeing her naked. He took her by the hand. “Right this way.”
He took her to his en suite bathroom, past the king-size bed, which she noticed was neatly made. The shower was huge and glass enclosed, and could easily accommodate two people. “No bathtub, huh?” she asked, looking around them.
“The other bathroom has a bathtub,” he said. “Would you prefer a bath?”
“Is it big enough for two?”
“Nah,” he said regrettably. “We’re too tall to fit in it comfortably.”
“Then the shower’s good,” she said, and began unbuttoning his shirt. This done, she ran her hands over his chest, relishing the feel of taut muscles and warm skin against her palms. She sensually tweaked his nipples between eager fingers. Peering into his eyes, she said, “I want to know everything that gives you pleasure.”
“You’re doing pretty well without my help,” he said, his desire mounting with every passing second. He ran his hand up her thigh. Under the sundress she was wearing a very brief pair of panties. He slipped his hand in front, inside the waistband, and Lana trembled with anticipation. He found her sweet spot and Lana moistened in an instant. He massaged her clitoris. Lana spread her legs wider. The man meant business. He was gentle but insistent. She grew wetter, his finger delved a little deeper, but maintained its lovely pressure. “Your pleasure gives me pleasure,” he whispered as he bent and kissed her. His tongue claimed hers, manipulated it for her maximum enjoyment. She sighed and fell into him, opened herself to him. As the intensity increased in her feminine center, he could feel her release coming. He backed off, and let her feel as though pleasure was to be denied her. She tensed. Then he redoubled his efforts and brought her home. She called for him, her voice hoarse with satisfaction. For a moment, she closed her eyes. Opening them again, she looked him straight in the eye. “I’m a lucky girl.”
“You’re about to get luckier,” he said, pulling her dress over her head. Her bra was next. Then her panties, which had earlier only been moved aside while he had his way with her. Now she stood before him in only the high-heeled espadrilles. He knelt and removed the shoes, making her feel like a princess whose prince had first taken every stitch of clothing off her body before letting her try on the glass slipper.
While still on his knees, he kissed her belly then rose to begin removing his own clothes and shoes.
Lana pressed her body close to his. His hard penis throbbed against her belly. She grabbed handfuls of his ass, which only made him more erect. Then he picked her up and carried her to the bed. They’d have to skip the shower for the time being.
He rummaged in the nightstand drawer and withdrew a latex condom, which he quickly rolled onto his member. He was so ready to take her he could barely stand it.
Lana shamelessly spread her legs, welcoming him inside of her. “Lana, Lana,” he breathed as he entered her. She was speechless. She continued to ride the rising tide of their pleasure, her body in tune with his. Each thrust felt like it was rendering her asunder. She welcomed it. She wanted to be brought to the precipice and then forced over it. Not safe in his arms, but in peril of totally losing it.
She clung to him, her legs wrapped around him. Deeper and deeper Ten went, plunging with slow, sweet deliberation. He felt the muscles of her sex clenching around him. Holding him tightly, increasing his enjoyment to the point that all he wanted to do was to come and shout. But he wasn’t going to come until he felt her convulsing beneath him again. Until her eyes took on that sleepy, dreamy aspect that told him she was fully satisfied.
She was panting softly, her legs loose and relaxed, not as tightly wound around him as before. She pushed against him, arching her back. He felt the muscles of her sex clench and unclench repeatedly. Then he knew she’d climaxed. She continued to push against him as if offering herself up to him. His thrusts had become deeper and more rapid.
The orgasm claimed him. Perspiration dripped off his brow onto her chest. She held him in her arms. They convulsed together.
She finally spoke. “I planned on seducing you in the shower.”
He got up and pulled her to her feet. Sweeping her into his arms, he said, “The shower it is.”
Laughing, Lana wrapped her arms around his neck and held on. Life was definitely not going to be boring with Tennison Isles.
In the shower they lathered each other’s bodies and took turns rinsing the soap off with the removable shower nozzle. “This is a great invention,” Lana joked at one point. “I’m sure the inventor never thought people would be having sex with it when he dreamed it up.”
A few minutes after they had gotten out of the shower, Ten was hard again. They’d gotten to his apartment around four that afternoon and they stayed in bed making love and talking until half past eight. After which their hunger pangs made them get up to go to the kitchen in search of food.
Ten made cheese omelets and toast, which they’d eaten in bed while they watched the Turner Classic Movies channel. The Learning Tree, Gordon Parks’s iconic film, had just gone off, and the closing credits were running.
“The way the characters were written seemed unrealistic,” Lana said.
“True, the characters were kind of stereotypical,” Ten agreed. “But you also have a white law-enforcement officer who was depicted as a racist. That was brave on Gordon Parks’s part. I’m surprised the movie even got made back then.”
Smiling at him, Lana said, “You would notice the cop.”
They were sitting in bed cross-legged. She was wearing one of his big T-shirts whose hem fell to mid-thigh on her and he was in pajama bottoms. “Can’t help it, it’s in my blood,” said Ten.
“You never wanted to be anything else?” she asked, stretching her legs out and reclining against the headboard.
“Oh, sure I did. When I was a kid I wanted to be the Black Panther.”
; “A black panther?” asked Lana, smiling. “You mean one of those radical black activists from the sixties?”
Ten laughed. “No, baby, the Black Panther, T’Challa,” he said enthusiastically. “He was a superhero. His origin was African. He was a prince who defended his people. His family ruled the kingdom of Wakanda for centuries. He was cool. He was also badass.”
“Are you talking about a comic-book superhero?”
“Yes, you mean you’ve never heard of him?”
“Was he a Marvel superhero like Captain America, Iron Man and The Hulk?”
“He’s Marvel, yeah, but of course not nearly as well-known as those dudes. Obviously, since you’ve never heard of him.”
“Why isn’t he in those movies they’re putting out every few months?”
“It’s a conspiracy,” Ten accused the Hollywood movie machine.
Lana was thoroughly enjoying this. Her man was a comic-book geek. She delighted in learning new things about him. “It is,” she said of his conspiracy theory. “Couldn’t Hollywood pump out at least one movie about a black superhero? I’m going to write somebody as soon as I get out of this bed!”
Laughing, Ten pulled her to him and wrapped her in his arms. “That won’t be for a while.” He kissed her and Lana forgot all about the Black Panther.
Chapter 13
Lana went back to her apartment on Monday. Ten dropped her off before reporting to work. It was very early and there were no news vans parked outside the Victorian. When she got inside, the first thing she did was open windows to air out the one-room apartment.
Although only about eight hundred square feet in size the apartment felt spacious because she kept clutter to a minimum and used furnishings that were classically styled. The colors on the walls gave the room the illusion of space. After opening all of the windows, she switched on the TV set mounted on the wall above the fireplace’s mantel.
The weatherman said it would be in the lower eighties today. Not bad for late August.
Then, to her surprise, a rebroadcast of an interview with Jeremy was aired. The very reporter whom she’d spoken with a few weeks ago, Gary Randall, was sitting across from Jeremy in what was probably a common room in the county jail. Looking very pleased to be speaking exclusively with Jeremy, Gary Randall asked him how he was faring.
Jeremy, ever the opportunist, smiled into the camera. “They’re treating me well, Gary. I can’t complain.”
Indeed, he looked in the peak of health. He had blond roots, his hair having grown out since she last saw him. And his skin appeared tanned and healthy. She’d expected him to look sallow but he must be allowed time out in the sunshine to have maintained his tan.
“That’s not all true, is it, Mr. Corday?” Gary asked with a smug look. “You’ve been complaining that your wife, I’m sorry, your ex-wife, hasn’t come to see you since you’ve been incarcerated.”
“I’m sure she has better things to do with her time,” Jeremy said humbly. “I haven’t exactly been the best husband to her. Once I was in here I was given access to old newspapers and I’ve read how the media went after her while I was on the run. Yes, I admit it, I ran.” His expression was contrite. Lana sniffed derisively. All they needed now was for a priest to come in there and absolve him of all his sins. He looked like an innocent choirboy. “I know I have no right to ask anyone for anything, but I’m asking the public to stop blaming her for something I did. She didn’t know what I was up to. She’s totally innocent. If she’s watching, I want her to know I’m sorry for conning her along with everybody else.”
Okay, now she was not only surprised, but shocked. Why was he being magnanimous? What did he want from her?
“I think she’s been justified,” was Gary Randall’s considered opinion. “I went to Kitty Hawk, North Carolina, recently to speak to several people who were in the bank the day you were captured. They say she played a pivotal role in your being brought to justice.
“Do you feel betrayed by her?”
Jeremy looked at Gary Randall as if the reporter should be ashamed of himself to suggest such a thing. “She did the right thing,” Jeremy said, the sincerity pouring off him in waves. “I have no conscience. Lana was my conscience. She was my weakness, too. I never would have gone to the bank that day if I hadn’t put my complete trust in her. The FBI lucked out when they recruited her.”
“Like King Kong, you were brought down by a beauty,” Gary observed.
“You loser,” Lana said under her breath.
“I suppose you could say that,” Jeremy said, briefly looking away from the camera to give the reporter a pointed glance, “If you want to sound like an idiot.”
Gary cleared his throat. “You say you have no conscience. Are you disappointed you got caught?”
Jeremy laughed. “Of course I’m disappointed I got caught. I’d rather be spending that 250 million on some Caribbean island. I’m a con man. But I’m also realistic. I’m guilty and I’m going to pay for my crimes. So be it. Am I going to apologize to the people I cheated? No. I promised them easy money, and they got taken. I feel a little bad for the retirees I conned but most of my clients were rich bastards who deserved what they got.”
“If you feel that way,” asked Gary, “why should the public want to do you a favor and lay off your ex-wife?”
“Because they aren’t without a conscience like I am,” said Jeremy reasonably. He rose and called for the guard.
Gary Randall smiled for the camera. “I guess our interview is over.”
Lana switched off the TV.
Less than a minute later, her phone rang. It was Ten. “Pete just phoned me and told me Jeremy’s on TV right now.”
“I saw it,” Lana told him. “I don’t know what to make of it, but I saw it.”
She gave Ten the gist of the interview. “He’s got nothing to gain from what he did” was his opinion. “Maybe he really is sorry for the way he treated you and is attempting to atone for it.”
“It’s nice you can give him the benefit of the doubt,” Lana said. “But I’m not ready to do that.”
“I’m not trying to rush you through the process,” Ten said. “I have a meeting in a few minutes. Talk to you later, sweetheart.”
Lana smiled. “All right, see you tonight.”
Shortly after she hung up, the phone rang again. This time it was Gia. “Gia,” she cried, happy to hear from her friend. “How are you?”
“I’m so glad you’re back,” Gia told her. “How’re you? You sound good.”
“I am good,” Lana told her.
Gia rushed on, “My in-laws were here all July and they loved the house. What’s more, I recommended you to several of my San Francisco friends. Have you listened to your messages?”
Lana perked up. “No, I haven’t gotten around to doing that.”
“Then get to it, girlfriend,” cried Gia. “Let’s go to lunch soon.”
Lana said goodbye, and checked the display on the answering machine. There were fourteen messages. She immediately pressed the play button.
The first message was from Grant. “Lana, why didn’t you tell me you were in the Outer Banks helping the FBI nab Jeremy?” He laughed. “Was that story about your father being sick true? Call me.”
The rest of the messages were either from people who wanted to hire her, or people who wanted to rehire her. She got some satisfaction out of hearing from people who had dropped her without waiting to learn if she were innocent or guilty. Now they were saying things like “I never believed a word they said about you.”
A woman who had been hiring Lana for the past six years to redecorate her house with each season change cooed, “Darling, call me. I’m at the mercy of a decorator from hell! I need you desperately.”
The same woman that had stopped taking her calls eight months ago
.
Lana decided she would call her, but not today.
She listened to the rest of the messages. Every one of them was positive and rich with possibilities. And this had happened prior to Jeremy’s so-called plea for the public to give her a break. Maybe her business would survive, after all.
For the next few weeks, Lana got back into her work routine. She enjoyed nothing more than accepting the challenge of transforming a room into a place that not only reflected the taste of those who resided in it but was functional and beautiful. She often worked late, but she and Ten made the time to see each other in the evenings when he was in town. He had been told that he was being considered for the position of special-agent-in-charge of the San Francisco office, however in the meantime he and his team were on the trail of a killer, Augustine Rush. Rush was a physicist at the University of California. He’d learned his wife was cheating on him and snapped, killing her lover, a colleague of his at the university. Lana was again reminded of the fact that snap decisions often ruined your life. He had been a respected member of academia. Now he was a fugitive.
That night, Ten had phoned her and told her he was on the way to an address right in the city because Rush had been spotted there.
“Be careful. I love you,” she told him.
“I love you,” he’d murmured with sweet intensity and hung up.
She’d gone back to the drafting table in the corner of her apartment where she made sketches of ideas she had for rooms she was designing. A cup of coffee sat to the side and she had music playing low.
* * *
Meanwhile, across town, at the San Remo Hotel on Mason Street, Ten, Pete, Carrie and Eduardo were deciding how best to enter the building. Ten had Carrie and Eduardo go around back in case Rush tried to flee via the fire escape. The hotel was a renovated Italianate originally constructed in 1906. The rooms were built around an atrium.
There was no need to go inside the hotel to get to Rush’s room. The outside stairs gave them access. Ten and Pete scaled the stairs and Ten knocked on Rush’s room door. “Augustine Rush, this is the FBI, open the door!”