“El, it’s Tish. We’ve run out of Count Chocula cereal, I couldn’t find any at the store, which means we’re going to have a lot of pissed-off people in the morning.”
She’d missed her long-dreamed-of kiss over Count Chocula? “You called me about that?”
Big sigh. “No, there’s more. The moving guys dropped by, said they need a deposit to move Dark Gothic Roast to its new location. I told them it’s not a done deal, but they said they need a deposit, which is refundable, to hold that time slot.”
“Okay, fine, write a check.”
“Where are they again?”
Tish, short for Morticia, was great with people, organized, but her memory was riddled with more holes than a body-piercing parlor.
“Office desk, third drawer down on the right.”
“So, when’s our big move again?”
“We’ll probably be relocating in a month, tops. Just waiting for the loan approval.”
“Groovy. How’s it going?”
“Can’t talk. I’m on a Ferris wheel.”
“You? On a Ferris wheel?”
“Yeah, me. Bye.” She hung up, not wanting to waste a single moment more of Bill, who was staring up at something.
“Figured out why we’re stopped.” He pointed upward. “It’s one of the lucky couples who get extra time at the top.”
Ellie looked. Over the edge of the seat at the very top, a bikini top dangled from someone’s hand.
“What happens on the Ferris wheel,” murmured Ellie, “stays on the Ferris wheel?”
Bill chuckled. “Not if she lets go of that top. Hey, what was that about relocating?”
“If my business loan goes through, I’ll be moving the coffee business. I was waiting to hear before sharing the news with anyone. Even my brother doesn’t know yet.”
“To where?”
If she told him the complete truth, he’d lose it. So she fudged. “Inland.”
The ride started up again. This time when Bill wrapped his arm around her, she cuddled next to him but didn’t hide her eyes. Instead, every time they crested over the top of the ride, she drank in the awe-inspiring view of the coast and beach and endless ocean.
The fourth time around, as they started to crest, the ride slowed…and stopped.
She gasped, turned to Bill.
“Let’s see if what happens in the Ferris wheel stays there,” he murmured, wrapping his arms around her.
Up high, the blazing sun warmed her skin, but that paled compared to the heat exploding within her.
Bill smiled down at her and she responded, as best her trembling lips could. Foggily, she realized she was gripping his shoulders, as though if she didn’t hold on for dear life she might float away.
He turned his head slightly, lowered it, angled his mouth to hers. She raised her mouth to his in silent compliance, moaning slightly at the pressure of his warm, firm lips. Tasting him, she leaned right into him, her body quivering with anticipation.
He didn’t stop at a quick, chaste kiss, but eased her mouth open and slid his tongue inside. His tongue was smooth and nimble, flicking the corners of her mouth, sliding across her teeth, seeking and searching, an explorer claiming the new land.
Her tongue joined in, sinuously curling around, over, under his. The dance slow, inviting, gentle, its pleasurable sensations rippling through her until they pooled hot between her legs.
No big surprise. Bill Romero knew how to kiss.
Pulling back, he threaded his hand through her hair. “Like spun gold,” he murmured.
For a moment she wasn’t sure what he was talking about. Oh, right. The beach babe hair.
He lifted several strands and kissed them. “I feel like a miser with his fortune.”
“Yeah, well, not everything that shines like gold is gold.”
He blinked, let her hair slide from his fingers. “Ellie, you going heavy on me?”
She smiled. “That was my half-Irish side. It spouts heavy thoughts sometimes.”
With an amused look, he cupped the side of her face, lifting her head slightly so she was looking directly at him, then let his hungry gaze travel slowly over her breasts, down her torso, settling in that region between her legs. Being up here alone, away from prying eyes, she felt aroused and bold. What happens in Malibu stays in Malibu.
She spread her legs slightly, a quiet dare. Your move.
He made a guttural sound that resonated down to her very nerve endings.
“Nice,” he murmured. He lightly touched the fishnet stretched over where he was staring. “I have an idea.”
Just imagining what he might be thinking made her go wet. “Yes?” Hardly a question. She was so hot, so worked up, she was game for anything.
He reached for her and she tensed in anticipation. “I’ll take this,” he said, slipping her cell phone from her hold.
“You want to call somebody at a time like this?”
He chuckled under his breath. “No, I want to take some photos for that Hot Shot game. My phone doesn’t have a built-in camera, but I noticed yours does.”
She wasn’t sure whether to feel turned-on or pissed off. What happened to that great, warmer-up kiss? That boogie-till-midnight oath?
He peered at the phone. “I’d rather get down and dirty, but it could get dangerous trying to pull our clothes back on while plummeting back to earth.”
Much better. She pointed at the phone. “Press the button that says Camera, then point and shoot. Here, let me get a shot of your dragon.” She took it, showed the image to Bill in the miniscreen, then handed it to him. “Your turn.”
“Hmm…can you turn away just a little? Enough to get a shot of your Queen of Evil tattoo?”
She shifted, her breath catching at the expanse of sky and sea, a little afraid, a lot excited to be testing herself in more than one way. “How’s that?”
“Perfect…I’ll just slip your bikini bottom down a little…oh, yeah…”
She shivered as his warm fingers brushed against her tushy.
“Okay, turn back.”
As she did, he rose slightly in his chair. She grabbed his leg. “Bill, you can’t stand—”
“Till da ride stops, I know. I’m not standing, just hovering a little higher than usual.”
“No wonder you got kicked off the ride,” she whispered, not wanting to look down, see how far he could fall.
And yet, when she looked back at him…she was impressed. Not only with his gutsiness, but his obvious calling as a director. He had a way with the camera, moving just so until he framed the shot, a man with a vision that would not be denied.
Holding on to the back of their seat, he leaned back against the bar. “Bend over a little…let me see that spiderweb tattoo through the fishnet.”
She quickly did as told before her last sight of Bill Romero was him pitching into the sky.
He clicked as he talked. “Great…Lift your fishnet…fantastic…now, show me that wicked little spiderweb tattoo…good…can you take a deep breath?”
She leaned back slightly and inhaled deeply, causing the edge of the spiderweb to swell slightly over her red bikini top.
“Nice,” he murmured. “A little more?”
She pulled the edge of her top down, just a little, exposing more of the tattoo.
“More,” he said.
It was exciting being up here in their private little world, playing this sexy game. This was a new Ellie, not the one who put others first, but a woman putting herself first as she indulged her fantasies.
No judgments, no repercussions. Just free to enjoy and experiment and…
Be bold.
She pulled down the bikini top, showing more of the tattoo, more of her breast.
“That’s good,” murmured Bill, taking another photo.
She pulled it down farther.
Her nipple, hard and aroused, popped out. The impact of cool air tingled against her skin, the sensation hardening her nub.
Bill all but crashed back i
nto his seat, his mouth open. “Oh, yes, baby,” he murmured, tracing his blunt nail around the pebbled areola, his sensual touch shooting heat straight to her groin. Holding down her top, she sucked in a shaky breath watching his dark hand against her exposed white flesh, watching his circling path tighten, draw closer to the nipple.
“Do you like that?”
“Yes,” she shuddered.
He lightly flicked his finger over the nipple. She gasped with pleasure.
Suddenly, metal clanked. As the ride shuddered, began to move, she started to pull her top back up.
“Not so fast,” growled Bill. He leaned down and took a gentle bite of the fullness, then trailed a sensuous path to the nipple, which he flicked, once, twice.
Wind rushed past, sounds from below sharpened.
“Bill,” she murmured.
“Not yet…”
His big dark hand squeezed her breast, guided its pebbled nub into his wet, warm mouth. It felt forbidden to be doing this so exposed, in danger of being caught, which only excited her more as she watched him lap and suckle.
The sounds of the festival grew louder.
“Bill,” she gasped.
He raised his head and smiled at her, a look of sleepy arousal in his eyes, before quickly pulling the bikini cup back over her breast and smoothing the fishnet covering back over her.
When the car stopped, they sat primly side by side holding hands, like two innocent schoolkids at the end of a field trip. They nodded politely to the guy, still chomping on the cigar butt, smiled to the ticket taker.
Once they were out of earshot, Bill tugged her closer.
“The Ferris wheel is not only my favorite ride,” he murmured, nuzzling his chin on her head, “it’s now my favorite fantasy, too.”
7
SEVERAL HOURS LATER, after hooking up with Matt and Candy, and Sara and Drew, at the Hot Shot Photo contest booth, and everyone getting the text number for downloading photos, Ellie and Bill had meandered through the rest of the festival, taking photos, noshing on pretzels and later cotton candy, but mostly enjoying each other’s company.
Night had fallen. Overhead, stars littered the dark sky. In the distance, lights of homes dotted the Santa Monica Mountains. Party hounds, tanned and laughing, were heading to some of the beach hot spots for drinks and more festival games.
Ellie and Bill paused in front of a fenced-in area with a dance floor. Over the gate was a sign, in bright pink and purple letters, Good Vibrations Contest, Wednesday, 7:00 p.m.
Ellie, her lips moving as she silently read the rules, suddenly laughed.
“Listen to this,” she said. “‘How good, good, good can you be to the tune “Good Vibrations”? You can be a dancing maniac, a juggler, a mime, just be good! Contestants will be judged on ingenuity, creativity, and ability to keep the beat. Sexy, yes! X-rated, no! We’ll play the Beach Boys hit version, or bring your own! Couples win double the points!’”
“Thinking of entering?” asked Bill.
“Maybe. I’ve raked in points by being hired as an extra, thank you very much, then nailed more points at Truth or Bare. Maybe some of the photos you and I downloaded from the Ferris wheel might place, but meanwhile, I should find other contests to enter, try and pull in more points for Team Java Mammas.”
She was already planning how she’d spend the rest of the week without Bill, which saddened her.
“Good Vibrations, huh?” He scanned the rules. “What are you thinking of doing?”
“Have no idea.”
“I have an idea. Play on your Queen of Evil tattoo.”
At first she wanted to laugh, but maybe he was onto something. She thought about some of the dressier clothes she’d packed. “I have a burlesque skirt. If I give it a good tug, the Queen of Evil will show.” She paused, wondering if that came out the way it was meant.
“You do burlesque?”
“No, it’s a style of skirt. Although I’ve seen Dita Von Teese do burlesque. You Tube has videos of her performances, some Burlesque 101 stuff, too. I could watch them, copy a few moves.”
“Dita Von Who?”
“Von Teese. She was married to Marilyn Manson.”
“That shock-rock guy?”
She nodded.
He gave his head a disbelieving shake. “He looks like Night of the Living Dead who needs some serious makeup rehab. I didn’t even know he dated women.”
So not funny. She could take the time to explain Marilyn Manson’s performances were tongue-in-cheek, but why bother? Bottom line, just as he’d never understand or appreciate Lou Reed, or the girls from the hood with their tats and makeup, he’d never accept her lifestyle, either.
All the more reason to stick with the midnight cutoff.
“Bill!” called out a male voice.
Jimmie came jogging up to them. “Glad I found you.” He stopped, catching his breath. “Would’ve called, but my cell ran out of power.” He nodded hello to Ellie, turned back to Bill. “Hey, Sullivan hates the setting for the first shoot, wants a new location.”
Bill muttered an expletive.
“I know. He always does this. Figured you’d want to know before you got a big surprise tomorrow at 5:00 a.m.”
“Sullivan’s a micromanaging idiot.”
“True. But he’s our micromanaging idiot boss, unfortunately.”
Bill blew out an exasperated breath. “Gordon’s given me directorial power over the next few days, including final approval on all locations, to test my wings. Sullivan’s last-minute bullshit could not only screw things up, but make me look bad.”
Jimmie put his hand on Bill’s shoulder. “I know, man. If you want to try and talk sense to Sullivan, he’ll be back at his trailer in an hour.”
“I’ll be there.”
Jimmie smiled. “That’s the spirit. Hate to run, but promised the wife I’d let some guy named Majello read our brains.”
“Thanks for finding me.”
Jimmie smiled. “You’ll handle this, Bill, just as you handle everything. You’re going to be a director, whether it’s on this shoot or elsewhere….” He gave his pal a knowing look. “I tell ya, indie film companies are the way to go. I’d even let you have top billing. BillJim Productions.”
Bill grinned, his dark cloud lifting. “Get outta here. Bev’s waiting.”
With a wave, Jimmie jogged away.
Bill looked at Ellie. “Sorry.”
“Work happens. I understand.”
“So…where were we?”
The night air floated around them, bringing with it scents of corn dogs and the ocean. Nearby, people laughed and clapped at one of the ongoing games. It had been fun, a day to remember, but it was over.
“It’s time to go home,” she said softly.
“Yeah, appears that way, doesn’t it?” He scratched his chin. “Your beach house is nearby?”
“Fifteen-minute walk, but you have your meeting—”
“No. A gentleman escorts his date home, and that’s what I’m doing. Besides…”
“What?”
He ran his hand down her arm, looked deeply into her eyes. That’s all it took, a touch and a look, and she felt her body go weak with wanting. For all her mental calculations on the pros and the cons of what they were doing, or what he’d think if he knew the truth, sometimes what was going on between them boiled down to something hot and needy that had nothing to do with the mind, and everything to do with the body.
“Like you need to ask,” he murmured huskily, linking his fingers with hers. “C’mon, I’m walking you home.”
ALMOST FIFTEEN MINUTES later, they stood on the porch of the beach house. Down by the shore, some diehards were boogie boarding, squeezing the very last moments out of the day. From a nearby beach house, the sultry beat of an old Doors tune, “Light My Fire,” was playing.
Bill stepped closer. “Sorry.”
“For?”
“Not being able to stay and light your fire.”
“It’s okay.”
>
“No, it’s not. I wanted to make love with you…” He trailed a finger down the side of her face, then played with her hair. “How about our moving that midnight cutoff to tomorrow night?”
His musky, cinnamon cologne was wreaking havoc with her thought processes. It was shadowy under the porch awning, although the lamp highlighted the lower half of his face. It was impossible to decipher the look in his dark eyes, although she felt him watching her, waiting for an answer.
Now was the time. Just say it.
“We’re so different,” she began.
He gave a so-what shrug. “But in some ways, we’re the same.”
She hadn’t expected that. “Such as?”
“We both appreciate those classic films of Hollywood’s Golden Age. We like to hang out in security guard shacks and eat their food. C’mon, how are we so different that you can’t see me tomorrow night?”
“I didn’t say that!”
“But you were starting to.”
“Okay.” She paused. “I like Marilyn Manson.” She was wussing out, but considering he’d be leaving any moment, she didn’t want to hit him with the fact she’d been faking the whole beach babe bit all day long. Instead, she’d test the waters, let him know that something he laughed at, she respected.
He reared back his head slightly. “You don’t say.”
“I say.”
He lowered his head, barely suppressing a chuckle. He met her gaze. “I put my foot into it, didn’t I?”
“Yes.”
“He’s really straight?”
“Yes.”
“I shouldn’t have made that comment. Sorry.”
His honesty could sometimes be disarming. And charming.
“But you have to admit, Ellie, the guy can sure dress weird.”
“What’s weird to some might be creative and artistic to others.”
He paused. “Well said. I’m sorry I said he looks like—”
“Night of the Living Dead who needs some serious makeup rehab.”
“I’m impressed you remember verbatim.” He cleared his throat, made a two-fingered Boy Scout sign. “I won’t make any more disparaging remarks about Marilyn Manson, you have my word.”
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