Soft Sounds of Pleasure

by Eden Connor

  Amy had shown up about the time she had written the final thank you note, sailing into the void when the few people who had cared had stopped calling and all Lila wanted to do was scream. Or die. Out of the blue one day, Amy had rung Lila's back doorbell and poked a pizza box into Lila's hands when she opened the door. "I don't cook, and I can't afford to take you out to lunch," Amy said, "but if you have time, I wanted to tell you my favorite story about Pete Walker."

  Lila had recognized her, of course, since Tucker and Pete had been close friends. Amy was always around when Charlie played baseball, sometimes as one of his umpires. They shared the pizza while Amy related a tale involving an incident at a youth football tournament where Pete had volunteered to help Tucker run the concession stand. The ink on Amy's driver's license had still been wet, but Pete had casually tossed her the keys to his new car and asked her to run to the nearest grocery store for more hot chocolate mix.

  "The look on Dad's face," Amy said with a belly laugh, "was pure horror, but I made it there and back, and Pete Walker was my main fantasy man after that. I had a huge crush. Did you know that?"

  "Not a clue," Lila said, stunned but laughing for the first time in weeks.

  "Well, I figured out he wasn't available and I grew up, too, I suppose, but the least I can do is repay his faith in me. I always liked you both, Lila. And I'm not going to let you sit here alone and cry. Pick a movie. I can go any night after Wednesday." Amy had the entertainment section in her back pocket, and she pushed it across to Lila.

  They saw a movie, Lila's first trip to the movie theater in years, because Pete felt self-conscious about having to sit in the aisle. And Amy had kept showing up, badgering her when she claimed she didn't feel like going out, dragging her out of the house.

  For the last couple of months, every time they went somewhere, Amy would look around and point out this or that man. "What do you think about him?" she'd ask.

  While she and Amy thought alike on a wide range of topics, and they had more in common than she would have ever suspected, but when it came to men, their tastes diverged quickly after managing to agree on Pete Walker.

  "I think you need glasses," was Lila's usual reply, gouging Amy with the universal dig all baseball umpires endure.

  Today, Amy slid into the restaurant booth her typical fifteen minutes late. Lila wondered if Amy saw any irony in the fact that enforcing tardy bells was part of the teaching gig, but bit her tongue. "Sorry I'm late," Amy huffed, plunking down keys, her wallet, and her cell phone.

  "I have all day," Lila replied drily, eying the scattered possessions. Amy shed belongings the way Charlie's last dog had shed hair. If her friend could get back all the time she spent running around looking for her strewn stuff, she'd still be sixteen, Lila figured. "There's a store or two here selling this new-fangled invention called a purse."

  Amy made a face. The young woman was a dyed-in-the wool tomboy, but if she ever became motivated to polish up her looks, a damn fine framework existed. Her friend had glossy black hair, but it was so thick it overwhelmed her elfin face, and her father's velvety brown eyes hid under childish bangs.

  They had already ordered when Amy interrupted Lila's idle chatter to begin "the game." She pointed toward a place behind Lila's head. "Do you see that guy in the blue shirt?"

  "No," Lila said, "since it would mean wasting the effort to turn around and look."

  The short brunette huffed. "You are too picky. No wonder you never go out with anyone but me."

  Lila dropped her eyes to the table, but couldn't suppress her smirk. She couldn't resist teasing her friend. There was no reason not to tell her, after all, she'd decided. She casually turned. Seeing the man Amy had picked out, she turned around and wrinkled her nose. "I could do better. So could you for that matter. Why him?"

  Amy shrugged. Lila knew the guy didn't matter to her friend. She had a steady boyfriend she had plans to marry after she started teaching. But Amy thought Lila it was time for Lila to get off the bench and back into the game and had said as much several times recently. "I like his looks. And his shirt."

  Lila nearly choked. "His shirt? They wear the ones we buy for them, Amy. The shirt is irrelevant."

  Amy laughed a lot, and she laughed at Lila now. "They need to start out with some sort of taste. I hate guys who wear t-shirts all the time. I like men who wear shirts with collars. I see enough t-shirts at school." She glared at Lila. "You pick for a change, Miss Smart Butt. I want to see your idea of better."

  Amy's youth made her give too much weight to superficial things, Lila decided. "When your tire had a nail that time, did you go where I sent you to get it looked at?" Lila asked, refusing to look at any more men in the restaurant.

  Amy's eyes lit up, any thoughts of Blue Shirt apparently evaporating. "I sure did. Ah, I agree. The scenery there was better. The guy you sent me to was h-a-w-t hot. He was really nice, too. He stopped what he was doing and fixed it right then."

  Lila grinned.

  Amy studied the smirk on Lila's face. Lila watched her friend's laugh lines turn to a squint and then saw her dark brows disappear under her heavy bangs as her mouth rounded. "If by 'do better' you really mean you're doing him, I'm going to kneel at your feet, damn it. He was so gorgeous I was wishing I had lipstick and a push-up bra." Amy never wore either.

  Lila leaned over, pretending to inspect floor at her side. "The carpet's clean enough to kneel on, I guess." She had rendered her friend speechless and couldn't resist another shot. She winked. "And you said I was too picky."

  Amy's mouth finally closed. "I'd be ashamed to take my clothes off in front of a man that good-looking."

  Lila felt her cheeks turn the color of the salsa. "As it turned out, that was a non-issue."

  Their food arrived and Amy snatched Lila's silverware away. "I'll eat, you talk," she ordered.

  Lila glared across the table, deciding her best defense was a good offense. The only way out of having to cough up every detail was to keep Amy off balance. "Show some pity, you little brat. Give me that fork. I'm burning a ton of calories trying to keep up with a man that young."

  Amy sobered as she handed the silverware roll back. "Not only do you have nine inches of height on me, but now you've found the perfect diet as well?" Her black hair swept her shoulders as Amy shook her head fiercely. "That's just wrong. Bragging is so rude."

  Lila peeled away the paper strip and unrolled the napkin around her silverware. "You're right, let's change the subject."

  Her friend's competitive nature showed when she spoke again. "Not a snowball's chance, Lila Walker. I know where he works. I swear I'll let the air out of all four of my tires in De Marco's parking lot and get the deets straight from him if you don't spill."

  Lila blinked. "Deets?"

  Amy waved a hand. "You know, details."

  "I am frequently thankful my child is already out of school when future teachers like you use words that aren't words," Lila informed Amy primly.

  "Use this," Amy said sweetly, throwing up one middle finger.

  Lila and Amy parted company on the sidewalk outside the mall after Amy had bought her boyfriend a shirt rather than the cute purse Lila tried to persuade her to spend her money on. She heaved a sigh of relief as Amy pulled away and ducked back inside. She intended to buy lingerie and had amused Amy enough for one day.

  Once she'd made her selections, she tried on several items and decided on two pretty sets. Redressing quickly, she gathered up the silky, barely-there items and handed them to the clerk. As she followed the woman to the register, Lila was fumbling for her wallet, her head down and her thoughts on the following day's "lunch."

  "Do you have one of our charge accounts?" the clerk asked.

  "No, and no thanks," Lila replied absently, jerking the purse open wider as her fingers found the familiar outline of her wallet, thanks to some assistance from her eyes.

  "Mrs. Walker! What a surprise, how's Charlie?"

  Lila's head snapped up, and her heart simpl
y stopped. There, behind the register, about to help fold and bag her new lingerie while Lila's salesperson rang up the purchases, stood a former girlfriend of Charlie's.

  "As far as I know, he's fine, Ashley, thanks," she managed to stammer. Her heart raced as if she'd been caught stealing the lingerie.

  She watched as Ashley held up the first lacy item before wrapping it carefully in tissue paper. "A gift for my niece," was the first thing that popped into her head to say.

  To her relief, Ashley replied she wished her aunt had Lila's taste, and they kept chatting about Charlie and incidents Lila recalled from the time when her son and this pretty young woman had been a couple. She paid and reached to accept the pink and white bag from Ashley, thinking to make a graceful exit.

  "Do you remember the time I begged Charlie into going to my family reunion?" Ashley asked as she handed Lila the bag.

  Charlie had come back suggesting there were several different strains of insanity running through Ashley's family tree. "I remember," Lila said with a chuckle.

  Ashley gave Lila a knowing grin. "I'd swear he told my grandmother under stringent cross-examination he had no female cousins."

  Lila looked at the older clerk in exasperation, embarrassed to have been caught lying about such a silly thing. "Okay, I'm busted, but please tell me you have to sign some sort of confidentiality agreement to work here."

  "We sure do, sweetie," the older clerk replied. "And I'll make sure Ashley here reads hers again."

  Ashley's laughter was unrepentant as she hurried around the counter to give Lila a hug. "I couldn't resist. Charlie always swore he never caught you in a fib." As she squeezed her tightly, she whispered fiercely, "Good for you, Lila. After what you went through with Charlie's dad, I hope he's a real stud."

  Lila held her tongue and finally made it out of the store. Had absolutely everyone speculated about her sex life, or lack of one, once Pete had been paralyzed? Humiliation made her angry. Anger made her defiant. Defiance led her to try on a short, hot pink dress made for a woman twenty years younger that caught her eye in another store window. The Devil made her buy it, and his minions pointed out the matching sandals were on sale, too.

  Chapter Thirteen

  By ten-thirty Saturday morning Lila was twisting like a pretzel in front of her bathroom mirror. The new dress was a simple little shift made of ultra-soft cotton knit, just a fitted, extra length t-shirt with a deep scooped neckline in front. It was casual, cute, and very sexy but a good deal shorter than she typically wore. The color was flattering, but her critical eyes easily discerned her shamelessly eager nipples because the bra was so sheer and the fabric of the dress so fine. Thanks to her first-ever thong, there weren't any visible panty lines in back though.

  Her other problem was that she'd never been invited to the home of a single man before for the unstated purpose of sex. So, was it a bad thing if she looked like she knew what was on the menu?

  The dress would come off easily enough, and thanks to a few tanning sessions on the deck, she didn't need hose. She slipped into the new sandals and gave the unfamiliar woman in the mirror a final look.

  For four years of almost total focus on Pete's surgeries and rehabilitation, plus her usual mothering and household duties, she'd ignored her own needs for the most part, and the neglect had resulted in her hair growing longer than she'd ever worn it.

  By the time she'd staggered into the salon with the thought of being presentable for the funeral, her hairdresser had convinced her not to cut it to her chin, layering it instead so it could curl. This was the first time she'd ever bothered with the elaborate blow dry and fluff routine, but her efforts with the round brush and a bit of make-up had resulted in a look that would have passed for mid-thirties, even to her critical eyes.

  Not bad, she decided. The dress she wore wasn't any shorter than shorts. She could buy a few more like this, and maybe she'd go somewhere she knew she'd run into Pam or Cindy, her former friends, and make them really glad they'd protected their innocent husbands by branding that scarlet "A" on her undeserving breast.

  Maybe, while she was at it, she might tell them how to find the glowing gates of Hades, too.

  The idea was so appealing it brought a sparkle to her eyes as her front doorbell chimed. She hurried to glance out her bedroom window, relieved to see Colton's truck rather than someone else her mother-in-law sent to invite her to their next church revival. She also noticed the neighbor across the street strolling down her driveway, presumably to get her mail. Or a better look at the man driving the truck that had been in Lila's driveway so often lately. How clever of her to kill two birds with a single stone, Lila thought, chuckling. Mrs. Bishop was older than her by two decades, and never missed much that happened in the neighborhood.

  Lila grabbed her purse, hurrying down the front steps to open the front door.

  Colton turned around as she finally was able to open the rarely-used door, his hand frozen in mid-air, she supposed from waving at Mrs. Bishop.

  He raked his gaze from the top of Lila's head to her feet and back up before he spoke. "You look… gorgeous, and edible. Like watermelon. Think your neighbor would mind if I just fell to my knees and worshipped you right here?"

  Lila tipped her head to see around him, realizing Mrs. Bishop was still pretending to sort through the mail. She laughed, as pleased by his flattery as she was annoyed by her neighbor's frank curiosity. "They don't pay my bills or taxes, so I doubt I'd give her a vote," she replied firmly, dismissing the matter. "Why the front door?" she added, curiously.

  "Because I wanted to avoid the raging hard-on being on your deck seems to give me," he said honestly. "But you shot that plan all to hell."

  Feeling giddy, she struck a pose in the doorway. "So, I take it you like the dress?"

  His eyes raked over her again. "Love the dress," he assured her. "Cute little shoes, too."

  Lila hadn't worn a "little" shoe since she'd first learned how to stand on her own two feet. "You're dangerous," she informed him. "What man notices shoes without prompting?" Or wondering how they'd been paid for, she added silently. Or adding up how many pairs she owned. God, this not-married thing was good. She didn't owe him any explanations and was free to revel in the frank admiration on his face.

  He stared at her. "You look like a bite of juicy candy and you call me dangerous?"

  If he kept that up, her cheeks were going to match her dress. "Well, do you want to come inside, or are we ready to go?"

  "I come inside and that dress will never see daylight," he said hotly. "And lunch is being served at my place."

  She stepped out on the porch and pulled the door closed behind her. Mrs. Bishop appeared bolted to her mailbox Lila saw as Colton tucked her hand in the crook of her arm and escorted her down the sidewalk to his newly washed truck. Lila wiggled her fingers in greeting as they drove past the staring woman.

  "I know her," Colton realized aloud. "Older Lincoln Town Car, dark brown."

  Lila laughed. "Guess you're outed now. Your reputation for specializing in hot young things may never recover."

  "If anything, you just enhanced my rep."

  Dangerous, she reminded herself. The trick here was to remember he said things like that all the time and she wasn't the last woman who would hear them. The leaves on that orchid already looked less healthy somehow, reminding her that her time with Colton would end. But it pleased her that he sat at the stop sign longer than oncoming traffic required, simply looking at her.

  Lila was the one staring when she stepped into the great room of his home. A huge fireplace made from locally available limestone dominated the opposite wall, bracketed by a pair of tall bookcases, the colorful ribbons of their spines drawing her eye. Exposed beams trussed the vaulted ceiling. The furnishings were minimal, masculine, and comfortable-looking, obviously selected for function. The floor was old brick, shiny with urethane and scattered with what appeared to be hand-hooked cotton rugs. There were no window coverings, but the long, winding drive
and absolute privacy of the setting made them unnecessary. She approved of the way all the woodwork was stained rather than painted, standing out against the creamy color of the walls. "Oh, my God, I love this," she exclaimed with delight. "It's stunning."

  "Thank you," he replied simply, taking her hand. "I built it; come see the rest."

  The great room flowed into an open eating space, defined by square columns and wide knotty pine flooring set in a herringbone pattern. She could only stare at him in admiration when he explained that all of the flooring had been reclaimed from various cotton mills in the area, many of which were being demolished since they had closed, the effect of an entire industry lost to cheaper overseas labor. She could see the entire floor because, like her dining room, this one was also empty.

  A well-appointed kitchen was next, separated by a tall granite-topped counter that served as a bar used for eating, based on the four stools in front aligned so perfectly, Charlie's Parris Island drill sergeant would have approved. The color of the granite reminded her of Colton's eyes just before he climaxed. The counter and the books that were everywhere were actually the only things in the entire house that weren't monochrome, but she tried not to redecorate the place in her head, painfully aware she was only passing through.

  A hallway led past a powder room and an empty laundry room to a master bedroom of gigantic proportions. The room was dominated by a huge bed. The tasteful brown and vanilla bed furnishings revealed the mattress and box springs rested on two stacked rows of deep drawers. Tapered posts rose from the floor just off the corners of the bed to the ceiling. Elegant molding finished the charming effect at floor and ceiling.

  "I wonder what kind of wood this is," she mused aloud, trailing her fingertips down the hard plane of one column. "It looks like some kind of fruitwood." The things he so casually mentioned he'd done with his hands awed her with the degree of skill exhibited. There were some unexpected facets to this incredible man.