Guilty Pleasures

by Stella Cameron

  Mr. Nasty Ferrito, with his definite but oddly appealing limp, walked right beside her, his hands crammed into the pockets of his tight, many-times-washed jeans. “I owe you an apology, Polly,” he said.

  “You owe me privacy.”

  “Everyone has a right to privacy. I don’t want to make a nuisance of myself.”

  She could feel him. Dam it, she could feel him in places she shouldn’t even be aware of on a bright, sunny day, on a very public sidewalk—with a total stranger.

  What a stranger.

  What a man.

  “You’re a nuisance, Mr. Ferrito. Thanks for the apology. I accept it. Good-bye.”

  “I’ve never done this before.”

  She stopped.

  So did Nasty Ferrito.

  “You’re bothering me,” she told him. “You may be a perfectly nice person, but you frighten me.” No, no! Why did her mouth keep saying things she’d had no intention of saying? “I mean—”

  “Oh, Polly.” Distress actually softened his cool, brown eyes. He slipped a big, warm hand beneath her arm. “I’m sorry. You’re going to let me buy you some coffee.”

  “I don’t drink coffee.” He made her tingle, actually tingle. This was nuts.

  He smiled. No man should look that appealing just because he smiled. “Beer?” he suggested. “A martini? A fuzzy navel? Sangria? A missionary’s downfall? A tropical itch?”

  She wrinkled her nose in distaste.

  “Lemonade.”

  “No, thank you.”

  “I’m a pussy cat. Honest. Ask anyone. Ask my partner, Dusty.”

  A pussy cat? A six-foot-something, blond, brown-eyed, tanned, all-muscle pussy cat? “I don’t think so.”

  “What do you drink?”

  “Tea,” she said without thinking—again.

  “Tea it’ll be,” he told her, smiling—again.

  The result was the same as before, her mouth opened but she couldn’t think of a thing to say. He couldn’t be the one making the calls. Distracted, she let him steer her along the sidewalk.

  “I guess the place on the corner serves tea?”

  “I’m going to Another Reality,” Polly told him, gathering some of her composure, but still not enough to be as discreet as she ought to be.

  “Voodoo dolls and fortune-telling,” he commented. “I know the place.”

  “Belinda and Festus don’t sell voodoo dolls,” she told him, feeling defensive on her friends’ behalf.

  He held her arm a little tighter. “I’m sure they don’t. I was just repeating something an idiot told me.”

  His remark mollified her slightly. If he was dangerous, threatening-type dangerous, she’d feel it. All she felt was… She felt hot.

  “They go in for tea there, don’t they? Didn’t I hear that?”

  “Yes,” she told him. “But you won’t like it.”

  “How do you know?”

  Without missing a beat, they both turned down Kirkland Avenue toward an area of shops fronting the water.

  “I like tea,” Nasty persisted. He pointed along the first of three sides of store windows. “Our shop’s over there. You’ll like my partner Dusty. Once you get used to editing his language.”

  “He doesn’t speak English?”

  “He speaks English. Colorful English, if you know what I mean.”

  What would Nasty Ferrito, who thought he had to warn her about “colorful” English, think if he knew what she’d once been? Polly hummed softly. No one must know about that, not here. Parents wouldn’t want their children to watch a show hosted by a woman who’d once been considered an undesirable. And the man on the answering machine? What would he do if he found out? Leave her alone at last—or decide she was even more of a challenge, even more a creature to be saved?

  “Penny for ’em, Polly.”

  She stopped walking. “I didn’t say I wanted to go anywhere with you. So, if you’ll excuse me?”

  “Do you find me really objectionable.”

  “No.”

  “Ugly?”

  He wasn’t going to give up. “No.” She shouldn’t be glad, but she was.

  “Is there a boyfriend somewhere?” His gaze became too intent.

  “No,” Polly said, and crossed her arms.

  “Would it be terrible to sit in a nice, safe shop and drink tea with me?”

  She thought about it. “I guess not.”

  Nasty’s smile did its magic act again. “Terrific. After you.” He reached around her to open a door.

  She hadn’t noticed they were already outside the dream-catchers, crystals, and dusty books-filled windows of Another Reality.

  Nothing terrible could happen to her in Belinda and Festus’s shop.

  Sounds of thunder rolled from speakers high on the walls of the crowded shop. Lightning crackled. Coyotes howled. Burning incense raised a pungent, vaguely blue haze overall.

  “Hokey,” Nasty remarked without inflection. “Maybe they do carry voodoo dolls.”

  “Polly!” Belinda, joint owner of the shop with Festus, flew toward her—a remarkable feat for a woman as stately as Belinda. “You came just in time. Another minute and I intended to send Festus to find you. Where is our darling Bobby? He isn’t back in school yet, is he?”

  “Not quite.” Polly raised her voice over a fresh rumble of thunder. “He’s with my mother at Hole Point.”

  “Ah, dear Venus. How are the belly-dancing courses doing?”

  “Very well,” Polly said, avoiding looking at Nasty. “She told me to remember her to you.”

  “Festus is upstairs. I’ll call him down in a moment. He’s like a child with his new dome. The silly man stays up almost all night watching his beloved stars.”

  Polly didn’t know Belinda or Festus’s last names, and she wasn’t sure of their relationship to each other. They did share the living quarters above Another Reality, and, in an enclosed loft space, Festus pursued his passion for astronomy.

  Belinda fluffed out the yards of tiny purple-and-orange pleats in her floor-length gauze skirts. She made an odd face at Polly, then hitched at the voluminous, hooded tunic she wore over the skirt.

  Leaning toward her friend, Polly raised her brows in question. “I expect you’d both like tea?” Belinda asked. Her fulsome voice vibrated with emphasis.

  “Oh.” Flustered at her own omission, Polly grasped Nasty’s very substantial upper arm and said, “This is Nasty Ferrito.”

  “I know,” Belinda said. “The shop with all those things for under the water.”

  “Dive shop,” Nasty said, pleasantly enough. “Interesting place you’ve got here.”

  “We like it,” Belinda said regally. Her narrow, green eyes made sure she’d never forget an inch of Nasty’s person. An audible sigh issued from her full lips before she picked up a small hemp bag tied with green twine and pressed it into Polly’s free hand. “Carry this with you at all times.”

  Polly knew better than to ask what it was.

  “Sexual stamina,” Belinda announced as she turned away. “I swear by it. And you’re obviously going to need it.”

  The flaming heat in her face mortified Polly, but not as much as the fact that she dropped the bag.

  Nasty picked it up and gave it to her again. He didn’t say a word, and he didn’t grin. Polly liked him for that.

  “Sit down, sit down,” Belinda instructed waving them toward three rickety card tables arranged around a potbellied stove in the center of the shop. “I’m going to have to rethink Serenity.”

  Nasty pulled out a metal chair for Polly and took one for himself. “Serenity? Is that code for something?”

  “It’s tea,” Polly told him. “Soar to Serenity tea.”

  “Let’s get off to a better start.” He sounded so earnest. “Last night was a disaster.”

  “We didn’t get off to a start at all.”

  “But we’d like to, wouldn’t we?”

  Would she? Yes. Yes, darn it all, she would. Polly couldn’t hold his gaze. S
he looked at his mouth. The bottom lip was much fuller than the top, the outline very distinct. The corners turned up a little. Ironic in a man who rationed his smiles. When he did smile, dimples in his lean cheeks were an irresistible surprise.

  “Wouldn’t we, Polly?”

  He wore a soft denim shirt very well. With a physique like his, he’d wear anything well… or nothing.

  She hummed and hefted the little hemp bag in her palm.

  “You hum a lot,” he said.

  “Do I?”

  “Yeah. You do it on the show when you’re demonstrating something, too. And you would like to start something with me.”

  “You have incredible nerve.”

  “Only when I need incredible nerve.” He hooked his arms over the back of his chair. “And only when it’s worth what it costs me to do what doesn’t come naturally.”

  A man’s chest wasn’t supposed to be so fascinating to a woman. In fact, men always said women weren’t turned on by men’s bodies.

  Polly sniffed, and murmured, “Shows what they know.”

  Nasty looked around. “Who?”

  “No one,” she said, amused at her own behavior. Whatever sex appeal was, this man had enough for an army of men. His legs pressed against the jeans, made hard ridges where very developed muscles flexed. The fabric was bleached in places— places more prominent than other places.

  Another rush of heat to her face embarrassed Polly. “What doesn’t come to you naturally?” she asked, covering her own awkwardness.

  “Making the moves.” Not a shadow of humor touched his features now. “Saying the right things, in the right tone of voice. Flattering a woman. Doing the things a woman needs and wants from a man—if he wants to mean something to her. That kind of thing.”

  Polly had often been pegged as a chatterer. No smart words came to mind right now, but she couldn’t help liking his direct approach.

  “I was out of line last night,” he said.

  A stick of incense smoldered in a holder at the middle of the table. Polly picked it up and sniffed, then coughed.

  “It wasn’t because I meant to be out of line. Like I’ve said, I haven’t had much experience saying the right things to a woman.”

  “I believe you.”

  “Ouch. I deserved that, I guess.”

  Incense nauseated her. She put the holder on the next table.

  “It never mattered before.”

  Polly studied him.

  He tipped his chair onto its back legs and jiggled. “It matters now, and I don’t care if I make a fool of myself telling you.”

  “You don’t know me.”

  The sight of the tip of his tongue, curling over his top teeth, made Polly swallow hard. He said, “One day I’ll explain why I do know you. Not all the details, of course, but a good deal. Everyone has special skills. Judging people is one of mine. I’m good at it.”

  “You’re humble, too.”

  “I’m honest. You’re a very special woman. All the more reason why I shouldn’t have pushed you the way I did.”

  “Why did you?”

  “I wasn’t getting through to you. And I didn’t want you to go. I didn’t handle the situation well. I’m going to do better from here on.”

  From here on. He didn’t know anything about her, but he spoke as if they had a future. “You’ve picked me. That’s what you’re telling me. You’ve picked me and, as far as you’re concerned, that means I’ll automatically pick you. Interesting theory.”

  Nasty leaned across the table so suddenly she jumped. He pulled her hands out of her lap and held them beneath his on top of the table. “Desperate theory,” he said. His voice was deep. “I’ve never thought I could fall in love before.”

  The rush Polly felt was as if ice had passed across her skin. Goose bumps shot over her arms and legs. Deep inside she trembled. “You can’t say something like that,” she whispered. “You can’t.”

  “I just did.”

  “But you shouldn’t.”

  “I did.”

  “You don’t think you could love me. Crumb! That sounds mad.”

  “There’s nothing mad about me.”

  “There has to be. I’m a stranger.”

  “I’ve watched you for weeks.”

  “But you don’t know me.”

  “I’m going to.”

  This was the stuff of movies, not Polly Crow’s life. He sounded—obsessed? Oh. “I’ve got to go.”

  “I’ve scared you. Again.”

  “Please let me leave.”

  “If I do, I’ll have blown it. You’ll never let me talk to you like this again.”

  How right he was. “No.” How much she wanted him to be wrong. How much she wanted… what did she want? They were strangers. He was a fantastically beautiful stranger, but facts were facts. He behaved as if he was obsessed with her— like the whisperer on the answering machine.

  “Polly, forget I just made an ass of myself by saying something you can’t be expected to take seriously. Just tell me you’ll see me again. And again. And again.”

  “I’m a—”

  “Please?”

  “I’ve got a son.”

  “I know. I’ve seen you with him. He looks like a nice kid.”

  “The best. He didn’t have an easy time of it when he was little. Now he’s my life, and I intend to make sure he knows it. No one’s ever going to be more important to me than Bobby.”

  “Little boys grow up into men. Then their mommies had better have someone else to love.”

  “I’m used to being alone.”

  With his forefingers, he followed the tendons down her wrists and over the tops of her hands. “I’m used to being alone, too. I do it real well. No challenge anymore. I shouldn’t have assumed you didn’t have a husband just because I haven’t seen him.”

  Her hands trembled. “I don’t have a husband.”

  “Somehow I didn’t think you did. What did you mean about numbers? And scrambling numbers? You’re talking about someone making crank calls, aren’t you? A man?”

  He was steadily lulling her into careless trust. “It doesn’t matter what I meant. Some things go with the territory. They aren’t nice, but they don’t worry me.” The occasional fib could be excused.

  “You could have fooled me. You were as jumpy as a cat. Come to that, you still are.”

  “I’m never jumpy. You catch me off guard is all. One minute you’re nowhere, then you’re right in front of me—or behind me.”

  “Sorry. In future I’ll whistle or something.”

  “Don’t!”

  “You don’t like whistling?”

  “It’s creepy.”

  “Yeah?” He seemed fascinated by any revelation about her, no matter how insignificant. “Do you like to swim?”

  “Sure.” Polly couldn’t swim, but it embarrassed her to admit as much.

  “Ever done any diving?”

  “No.”

  “Would you like to learn?”

  “I don’t know.” Even if his eyes were cold—or remote, maybe—he looked at her as if she was important. “Here comes Belinda.”

  “If some crank’s making calls, I want to know about it, Polly.”

  Now he sounded possessive as well as obsessive. “There’s nothing you need to know.” He’d actually told her—a woman he was speaking to for only the second time—that he thought he could love her. “Belinda! You didn’t have to bring food, too.”

  “Of course I did, child.” If Belinda was a day over forty-five Polly would be amazed, but she often treated Polly as if she were her granddaughter. “Taste this.” She set down a tray, placed cups in front of Polly and Nasty, and poured pink tea from a black pot scattered with silver stars and moons.

  Polly drank some of the sweet, fruity-tasting brew and watched Nasty over the rim of her cup. At times like this it might be nice to have his gift for expressionless stares.

  “What do you think?” Belinda asked. She tossed her long, dark, single br
aid behind her back. “Be honest with me. I’ve been working on this a long time.”

  “Interesting,” Nasty commented.

  Polly pursed her lips to contain a giggle.

  “You’re the first to try it.”

  “We’re honored,” Nasty said, still deadpan.

  Belinda set a plate of small, dark red cookies on the table. “These are made of the same ingredients. Baking intensifies the color.”

  There was nothing for it but to try Belinda’s offerings. The taste was similar to the tea, but stronger.

  “Good,” Polly said. Not great, but not bad. Sometimes kindness became more important than comfort anyway. “What are they?”

  She held her breath and felt Nasty do the same.

  “Cherry,” Belinda said. “I dried them myself. And honey, lots of honey.”

  Polly stifled a giggle of relief.

  “And ginseng, and powdered deer antler,” Belinda continued. “The libido is bound to find a new wellspring of vitality. You will let me know if I’ve got the proportions right?”

  “Will do,” Nasty said promptly. “Won’t we, Polly?”

  Belinda raised her chin regally. “I’m going to call the tea, Ever Ready.”

  Polly’s laughter joined Nasty’s. She popped a whole cookie into her mouth.

  Umbrage expanded Belinda’s considerable bosom. “Why that should amuse you, I can’t imagine. No matter. I have a little gift for you, Nasty. What a very odd name that is.”

  “It suits him,” Polly said, smiling into her tea and feeling increasingly bold. She’d try to forget his ridiculous declaration. “He likes to do and say awful things to get people’s attention. Very nasty.”

  “Really? How unusual.”

  Nasty waited until Polly looked at him. “If that’s what you want to believe?” He gestured submission. “How about one of those diving lessons? We’d start in a nice, warm pool.”

  “I’ll think about it.”

  Belinda dug into a concealed pocket and produced another small hemp bag. This she dropped, very deliberately, into Nasty’s lap.

  He looked at it.

  So did Belinda.

  So did Polly.

  “A gift,” Belinda said. “It could not have been for anyone but you.”

  “How kind,” Nasty said.

  “Because you belong to Polly.”

  “Belinda!” Polly choked and coughed.