Lois Lane Tells All

by Karen Hawkins

  “It happens all of the time. Here—” Susan stepped past him and punched the lobby button several times in a row. “Sometimes this’ll unstick it.”

  “Not this time.” His voice was directly behind her, and she realized that she’d touch him if she leaned back the tiniest bit. The air seemed to grow heavy and she knew without a word being spoken that he felt the same way.

  She slowly turned and looked up at him.

  Her breath stuck in her throat. Why was he looking at her like that? As if he was overcome with … with … desire?

  The air thickened even more. His warm hand tightened gently over hers. “Susan?” His voice was soft and deep, so seductive that she couldn’t breathe, yearning for—

  No, she shouldn’t think it. He didn’t mean—

  His lips grazed her ear, his warm breath sending shivers across her. “Susan? Your Dear Bob column … If you wanted me to take off my shirt, you only had to ask.”

  She closed her eyes as he trailed his lips from her ear down to the neckline of her shirt. She hadn’t meant to write a Dear Bob column about Mark, she really hadn’t. But it had been late and she’d been working at her desk alone and she’d been consumed with thoughts of him, and—well—it had happened. She was a bit surprised that he’d even seen it, because he never mentioned the column at all.

  Apparently she’d been mistaken. Still, she couldn’t quite regret it, especially with Mark nibbling on her ear in a way that set her entire body aflame, crazy for his touch. His fingers threaded through her hair, stopped by her hair band. She tugged the band from her hair, letting it spill around her.

  “Yesss.” He buried his face in her hair and engulfed her, pulling her against him so that his chest rested against her back, his thighs warmed her ass, and his swelling cock pressed insistently into the small of her back. She watched in the reflective door as he ran his hands over her arms, down to her thighs, then slipped under her arms to run back up her hips, her waist, and on to cup her breasts.

  It was as if she had a private viewing of her own seduction. Her body quivered and she pressed back against him, gasping as his thumbs found her sensitive nipples. He continued to kiss her neck, his warm lips teasing her. She arched against him, her hands roaming behind her, finding his cock, and gently cupping his length through his jeans.

  He moaned and turned her in his arms. At that, all restraint was gone. They kissed as if this was their one and only chance to be together, as if they were starved for the taste of each other. Within seconds she had his jeans unbuttoned and was pushing them down his hips, tantalized to discover he was neither a boxer nor a briefs man. Mark was no less adept at peeling off her jeans, though he left the scrap of lace that comprised her panties in place.

  She helped him pull his T-shirt over his head. She gawked. He was as well muscled as she’d imagined, his shoulders broad, his chest hard, his stomach a testament to what must have been thousands of crunches. “Oh my,” she breathed, running her hands over his abs.

  He grinned. “I feel the same way about these.” His hands molded to her breasts over her shirt.

  “I’m not that well endowed.” It was hard to speak clearly when sparks of pure lust shot through her entire body.

  “They’re perfect,” he said fervently.

  She started to reach for her panties, but he stopped her, holding her close, caressing her back. “Leave them on for now.”

  “But I—”

  He kissed her. As he did so, he rolled her shirt up, his fingers brushing erotically over her bared skin even as his kiss deepened, his tongue as insistent and demanding as his actions.

  Dear Lord, get this man alone and undressed and he becomes powerful, aggressive, and passionate!

  He broke their kiss only long enough to tug her shirt over her head. He recaptured her lips immediately as he expertly undid her bra with one hand and tossed it to the floor. The first brush of his bared skin and chest hair against her already sensitive nipples made her moan against his mouth.

  He began to nip and caress his way down her neck, her shoulders, pausing to drive her crazy by sucking on first one, then her other nipple. She sank her fingers into his thick hair, arching against him, into his mouth. She caught a glimpse of herself in the silvery door, her head thrown back, her hair flowing, as Mark moved down her body, his broad shoulders and back blocking her nakedness as he kissed down her stomach to her hot pink lace panties.

  Kneeling before her, he gently lifted one of her legs and placed it over his shoulder, then he began to kiss her through her panties, his tongue bold and forceful. She moaned. There was something so decadent about the fact that she still wore her panties. Something naughty and outrageous and oh so delicious.

  He lifted the edge of the lace and slipped his tongue beneath it, finding her clit and making her writhe. She dug her hands into his hair. “No more! I can’t take—please!”

  Laughing softly, he tugged her panties down and she kicked them off. She reached for him, then hesitated. “Wait.” She looked around the floor of the elevator, at their fallen clothing and the discarded folder and newspaper, and found her purse. She dug through it desperately, exclaiming in glee when she located a silver packet.

  A condom. Mark winced. Good God, he was crazed to even think of having sex without a condom, but Susan reduced him to an unthinking mass of nerves.

  She ripped open the package with her teeth and yanked the condom out, her face determined.

  Mark laughed softly and pulled her to her feet. “Give that to me.” He slipped it on, unrolling it as quickly as he could. Then he was lifting her, pressing her against the elevator wall, and pressing into her.

  Susan clutched him to her with her legs, wrapping her arms about his neck as she pressed onto his fullness. She gasped as he slid home, calling his name as he thrust against her, his strong hands warm on her bare ass, moving more and more forcefully. They gulped their passion, their movements desperate and heated.

  Mark knew only that his cock was finally where it belonged—deeply embedded in Susan. He moved faster, holding her firmly as he took her. Her head fell back; her lips parted as a shudder racked her body from head to foot. She gasped his name as she clutched him … and that was all it took. The world seemed to stop as his own orgasm shook him and he thrust into her one last time, letting her aftershocks drain him dry.

  It took a while before he could think again. When he did, he slowly lowered her to the ground, holding her to him. He rubbed his cheek along her hair, savoring its softness, marveling at her smooth, taut body.

  Once Susan could think, she wondered what one said to a man who’d just fulfilled every sexual fantasy she’d ever had. Thank you for the incredible shagging. She’d just screwed the living daylights out of her boss, and loved every second. Her body still quivered.

  Mark stirred. “I suppose we should dress and try to get the elevator going.”

  She reluctantly began to dress.

  Mark did the same, first removing the condom and tying a knot in the end of it. “That should do it.” He caught her gaze and grinned. “If he gets out of here, we’ll call him Houdini.”

  Susan had to laugh. “You’re horrible.” She zipped up her jeans and pulled on her shoes.

  His grin widened. “I know.”

  She chuckled and fixed her hair, checking her reflection in the mirrored door. “OK. I can pass inspection in a dim room.”

  “How about me?”

  “You look great.” He had a glow about him, a sense of relaxed, swaggering well-being that told its own story.

  She couldn’t help but feel a little proud. She’d caused that look on his face, and the very idea made her grin so wide, it was a surprise her cheeks didn’t hurt.

  Mark looked at the elevator panel. “I suppose now we should put our energies toward getting out of this elevator.”

  “It usually begins working on its own in a few minutes. Try it again, only this time, hold the button for a while.”

  Mark pressed the
lobby button, and after a deep shudder, the elevator continued its sloooow progression to the bottom floor.

  Susan adjusted her T-shirt where it was twisted to one side, casting a cautious glance at Mark.

  He caught her gaze and smiled, his expression calm and reassuring.

  “So,” he said casually, “how do you think Ray’s working out as our receptionist?”

  They maintained a steady flow of small talk out to the parking lot.

  Mark walked her to her Jeep, where she tossed her stuff into the passenger seat, wondering if she should say something. But what? She didn’t know how he felt and—

  “You don’t lock your door?”

  She shrugged. “Sometimes.”

  “Is that wise? Someone could steal it.”

  “Mark, look at my vehicle. It’s a 1998 Jeep Cherokee. Who would want it?”

  He looked surprised, then burst into laughter. “I suppose you’re right.”

  She grinned back at him. “Besides, it wouldn’t take any time to break into it, even when it is locked. Watch.” She locked the door and closed it. Then she rattled the door handle as hard as she could. When she stopped, there was a soft click and she opened the door. “See?”

  “Good God! I’d get that fixed if I were you.”

  “Mark, unless flames are pouring from a car this old, you don’t fix it. If it leaks, it leaks. If it creaks, it creaks. You just enjoy its personality and quirks. In its own unique way, it’s maintenance free.”

  He threw up a hand. “Don’t even come near my Mustang.”

  She laughed. “It’s a Jeep thing. You just don’t understand.”

  “I understand plenty.” His eyes twinkled. “I understand that you’re a country girl and I’m a city boy. I lock everything.”

  Even your pants? Her cheeks heated at the wayward thought. What’s wrong with me? I should be content now. But she wasn’t. Instead, she felt a stirring of heat.

  Afraid she might blurt out her thoughts, she forced a smile. “Well! Time to go!”

  His smile flickered. “Oh. Yeah. It’s late. I’ll …” He shrugged, looking at a loss. “I’ll … see you tomorrow.”

  “Of course. Bye!” She sounded so blithe that she almost grimaced. Maybe next time you can add, “Thanks for the wham-bam! It didn’t mean a thing to me.”

  He walked to his car, parked a row behind hers.

  Why couldn’t she just be herself around Mark? Why was it that every time things seemed interesting, she ruined it with a glib comment or a sharp “I gotta get outta here”? Not that she wanted to stay, for she didn’t. A fun, passionate fling suited her just fine—she just wished she were more dignified about it.

  Dispirited, she started her Jeep and slipped it into reverse. She looked in her mirror and caught Mark looking back at her, one hand on his open trunk.

  The Jeep rolled out of the parking spot and she set her foot on the brake. It went right to the floor as if she’d pressed air.

  Her eyes widened. The Jeep kept rolling back, straight toward Mark, who’d turned away to put something in his trunk.

  Oh God, no! She stomped the brakes harder. The pedal went straight to the floor once again, this time even faster.

  She jerked her gaze back to her rearview mirror. Mark’s broad shoulders were centered in her mirror like a bull’s-eye.

  She slammed the palm of her hand on her horn.

  Mark whirled around. His eyes widened, then with the speed of a desperate man, he jumped into his open trunk.

  Bam! Bending metal and breaking glass sounded from behind her. Mark! Where’s Mark?

  She threw open her door and ran to the back. Please let him be OK! Please, please, please—

  “What in the hell are you doing?” Mark climbed from the trunk, his glasses hanging from one ear, his shirt ripped at the arm, a scratch across one rock-hard muscle.

  “My—my—brakes didn’t work! I put it in reverse and then my foot went to the floor and—and then you were standing there and I couldn’t—” She fought a sudden desire to burst into tears.

  Mark gave a muffled curse and reached for her, but she sidestepped him. If he so much as gave her a concerned look, she’d shatter into a thousand pieces.

  To keep her desperate hold on her emotions, she pointed to the Jeep. “I—I tried to stop it, but—” She took a ragged breath and closed her eyes. Breathe, damn it! Just breathe!

  That helped. She opened her eyes to find Mark regarding her somberly. Then he strode past her and leaned into her open Jeep door.

  She took the time to regain control over her scattered emotions. She’d thought for sure he’d been killed, or at the least badly hurt. She’d have never forgiven herself if he had. But he’s OK, she told herself. He’s OK, and so am I.

  She bent to examine the damage to Mark’s Mustang. One rear light was smashed and the bumper was buckled, and the rear corner was dented by the hitch on the back of her Jeep. She winced.

  The sound of the Jeep hood being unlatched made her turn. Mark was leaning over the engine.

  He opened the brake fluid reservoir. “There’s no fluid.”

  “But I had it in the shop just two months ago.”

  He looked at where she’d been parked. “There’s brake fluid all over the ground. A hose must have broken.” He lay down on the pavement and made as if to slide under her Jeep.

  “Treymayne, your shirt—”

  “It’ll wash.” He wiggled under the Jeep until only his legs were visible.

  Damn it, she should be the one under there. It was her Jeep and—

  He wiggled back out, scowling, his hands black with grease.

  She went to the back door of her Jeep and removed a roll of paper towels, yanked off a handful, and handed them to him.

  He wiped his hands. “Someone cut your brake lines, Susan.”

  What? “How do you know the lines didn’t just come unhooked?”

  “Because they’re sliced in two, straight as can be, not a jagged edge showing. Both of them.” His jaw was hard. “Susan, someone tried to kill you.”

  Chapter 9

  The next morning, Mark stood at his office window and looked down at the Jeep in the parking lot. A tow truck from Don’s Tow and Mow had arrived and was now taking it from the lot. The sheriff’s office had thoroughly gone over the vehicle, drawing the attention of nearly every damn person in town.

  It was a wonder Nick managed to solve any crimes; as soon as he put up the crime tape, every person in Glory came by to gawk. The worst ones were Tundy and her Murder Mystery Club. They’d been loud in their disappointment that there was no body at the crime scene and were now pelting poor Nick with a hundred questions.

  The entire thing was unsettling. Damn it, Susan could have been killed. It would bother him like hell if something had happened to her. He didn’t even want to think about what might have happened if she’d driven that Jeep out of the parking lot. He wasn’t sure which bothered him more—the thought of her on one of Glory’s crooked, narrow roads in a vehicle with no brakes, or her cavalier attitude about the whole situation.

  She’d flatly refused to call the sheriff, saying she’d rather die than pull him from his home over such a trivial event. Mark had grumbled the entire way to her house, his bad mood increasing when they met Susan’s father staggering up the front walk. Damn it, someone should be taking care of her, not the other way around.

  First thing this morning, he’d called Nick. Hopefully the sheriff’s involvement would make Susan take the incident more seriously.

  While the accident itself had shaken her, he hadn’t been able to impress upon her the seriousness of the event. She’d merely shrugged and said she didn’t believe it was “all that,” mentioning a time someone had rolled her yard with toilet paper after she’d written an article criticizing the high school band.

  How could any of their very few and very unimpressive investigations tick off someone enough that they’d want to off the Examiner’s top reporter? He simply couldn’t
fathom it.

  Sighing, he raked a hand through his hair. Susan Collins was as stubborn and unforgettable as a woman could get. It wasn’t just her passion, though that was incredible, but her intelligence and wit and a dozen other things that he couldn’t name. He was beginning to like her far more than was smart, a fact he’d realized because of his strong reaction to the idea that someone was trying to harm her. “What a complicated mess,” he muttered.

  Pat stuck her head around the corner. “I just need a few pictures and we’re set; I’ve already written the story.”

  “What story?”

  She came into his office, tucking away her old-fashioned reporter’s notebook. “About the attempted murder.”

  He stared blankly.

  “The Jeep? Susan? Your own reporter, for God’s sake!” She shook her head in disgust. “I just got a quote from Don from Don’s Tow and Mow, and someone definitely cut the lines and—”

  “Pat, we can’t print that story.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because it’s about us. We can’t write the news and be the news, too. That’s conflict of interest.”

  “Not if I write it. I wasn’t involved like you and—”

  “I’m not involved with Susan Collins.”

  Pat blinked. “Not with Susan, with the accident. The Jeep hit your car, didn’t it?”

  “Oh. Yes.”

  “What did you think I meant—” Pat’s brows rose. “Oh. Why would you think I’d suggest that?”

  Mark nearly slapped his forehead at his own stupidity. “Pat, we’re not going to run this story.”

  Pat stiffened. “We have to—”

  “No.” He raised a hand for emphasis. “As far as I’m concerned, it never happened. Confine your reporting efforts to the stories you were assigned.”

  Pat’s face turned nearly purple. “You can’t just ignore what happened! We have to print it! It’s our duty and—”

  “What’s our duty?” Susan came in, looking cool and collected in a pale green shirt and her usual worn jeans, her hair loose about her shoulders.

  Pat quivered in indignation. “Our accountant”—she loaded the word with scorn—“says we’re not going to cover the story about how someone tried to sabotage your Jeep.”