Impulse

by Lass Small

  Only the Yankees joined her and Chas to swim. True Southerners know full well only Yankees and idiots swim outside that early in the year. Chas was so warm-blooded he could probably break ice and dunk himself without realizing the cold.

  How marvelous it would be to sleep with a man like that. And she would soon know what it was like. By Saturday. The day after tomorrow.

  Although Amy was dark haired, she had a redhead’s complexion. Her skin burned and didn’t ever tan, so she used sunscreen, and she didn’t sunbathe. Therefore, she seldom swam outside.

  So it wasn’t remarkable that she swam at an indoor club and her suit was a practice Speedo. It was perfectly comfortable. Although it was cream colored, it was cut high in the neck, front and back, and it fit down over her hips for swimming comfort.

  It was, indeed, comfortable. However, as feminine attire, it didn’t begin to compare with the other suits on display.

  Chas smiled at her as she reluctantly took off her toweling robe. Then he gasped, “My God, you could be naked! It’s like a second skin.” His eyes glinted and his smile widened.

  She blushed in pleasure. But for a modest woman, why should she like it that she looked almost naked to him? She reasoned she liked his saying that because he might not be too reluctant to submit, if it pleased him to look at her.

  It certainly pleased her to look at him. She had to do it in quick glances because she had to resist the need to stare at him. He was something! He was so beautifully male. No one would mistake him for anything else. A no-waist-wedge. Nicely hairy. Muscles. His bathing shorts were like those of all males.

  She was getting a little excited about him. Some unusual licks of feelings coiled and uncoiled deep inside her body. She had to swallow and blink.

  She could swim quite nicely and she didn’t mind getting wet, so they played recklessly. She tried vigorously to drown him. He handled her without any effort at all. He chuckled. He had a great laugh.

  His hands were a little careless but not groping. He let her take a breath before he pulled her down in the magic waters, and he kissed her very uncousinly.

  She might be able to get him in twenty-four hours! That would be some sort of record, she was sure of it. Men weren’t the only ones who had their wily way. So did Amy Abbott Allen, the man-izer.

  They said men notched their bedposts. How would she keep track? A pencil mark on her closet wall. A perfect solution. That would be discreet.

  Then only she would know the full extent of her conquests. Her reputation would remain intact, and her mother wouldn’t start searching for a Presbyterian convent.

  Now why wouldn’t people be as tolerant of a woman, who was a man-izer, as they were indulgent and titillated by a man who was always after women? Prejudice. Everyone should fight prejudice.

  It rather pleased Amy to think she was taking up the Women’s Cause in seducing Chas. It gave a nice tone of unselfishness to her indulgence.

  She sneaked a peek at him. How brave of her to seduce him for womankind. She laughed.

  He looked up and grinned back. “What’s funny?”

  She replied, “The day. The sun. Your ineptness in swimming?”

  He took her to the bottom of the pool again. And again he kissed her. As they surfaced, and she pushed back her black hair, her blue eyes were almost hidden by her water-spiked lashes. She said, “See? You’re on the bottom of the pool all the time. You don’t know how to stay on the surface!”

  She almost made it to the edge of the pool before he caught her. She laughed and gasped for breath, knowing what he’d do— again— but instead he held her across his arms and moved her about the pool in the most charmingly peaceful way.

  He was powerful. His muscles roiled as he used them in handling her. His movements were so effortless. Seemingly effortless.

  It no longer pricked her conscience when his family called her “cousin.” How quickly she had adjusted to being a part of them. From her lazy pool bed, with Chas her movement and buoyancy, Amy saw Connie and Matt walking along the latticed path as it wound near the pool.

  They were speaking intently, unaware of their surroundings. Connie wouldn’t look at Matt, although he took quick, serious glances at her. Amy thought they were quarreling.

  If Connie didn’t want to move in with Matt, what was their problem? Then Matt started to leave Connie, and she put out her hand and stopped him. How strange. If Connie didn’t want Matt, why did she stop him? Was she holding out for marriage?

  Maybe Connie should just...have an affair, Amy decided, as she would with Chas. And she smiled at Chas, who smiled back in a very smug way. Amy wondered what he’d think when she made her move.

  Very kindly she put her hand up and smoothed his wet hair back from his forehead, and he made a purring sound. Somehow that startled her, but then she remembered Chas was a Cougar.

  They probably made all sorts of jokes about being feline. Feline sounded too feminine. He was a lion. Mountain lion, cougar, puma. A loner. Dangerous.

  And there was a sensual lick going through her body again? It was a little scary.

  They got out of the pool, and she put on her robe. But Chas wrapped her head in a towel and put another around her shoulders. He put on his own robe and roughed his hair with another towel. “Let’s go back to our room.” He said it so naturally!

  There was no reason to get into a quake over the idea of it. She ought to be giving him alluring glances and inviting smiles. She was a little cold in the March air. She’d wait until she’d showered, washed her hair and was dressed. Then she would begin.

  What if he turned her down flat? There wasn’t the time to wait for clues of reciprocating attraction. It was very like men traveling. No time for the preliminaries, just, “How about it?”

  She found she had some qualms over the abruptness of her past refusals. She could have been kinder. She’d always been so insulted, she’d been rude. What if Chas said to her, “Get lost, dummy!” as she’d said that first time. Or her exasperated, “Good God!” not even a week ago.

  Men couldn’t score every time. They were bound to meet some Amy Abbott Allens here and there. It must be dreadful for men to be turned down. With all this sweat of preparation, if it was her lot to be the man, and Chas as a woman did agree, she’d probably shrivel up with nerves and wouldn’t be able to do anything! Why did men keep trying?

  Chas said, “I don’t want you to chill. You get in the shower first. Do you need your back scrubbed?” His inquiry was polite.

  She blurted an, “Oh, no!” and closed the bath door. She scrubbed her hair. She’d never shared a hotel room with anyone. She never had to sort out shampoo or razors or anything like that. How strangely intimate to see Chas’s things mingled with hers.

  She blow-dried her hair before she realized she hadn’t brought in her clothes. There was a knock on the door and she jerked on the wet swim robe, clutching it to her before she asked, “Yes?”

  “I have a choice of things for you to wear.”

  She opened the door and laughed. He leaned forward and smiled as he said, “You look charming.”

  In something of a fluster, she chose a long, silky, T-shirt type pullover that came to her calves. It was a splashy blue and lovely. She again closed the bath door, replaced the robe with the gown and put on enough makeup to simply look healthy. She tidied the bath and walked out, saying, “It’s all yours.”

  He was still smiling as he looked down her body. “Very nice.”

  “Am I supposed to help you find something to wear?” How bold she sounded!

  He wondered, did she know what sort of reply he could give to that? “I have slacks and a shirt. Do they meet with your approval?”

  “Well, I’m not sure. What else do you have?” She smiled, but she bit her lower lip. She needed some practice. She felt so blatant!

  He led her into the bedroom, her bedroom, and opened her closet to reveal his clothes hanging intimately next to hers. “The tux is for the wedding, but there’s plen
ty of time to have it freshened and pressed.”

  “A bit formal,” she decided.

  “Blue suit? Shirt and tie?”

  “Well, I’m not quite that formal.”

  “Slacks and shirt?” He grinned.

  “Perfect.”

  He laughed and rumpled her hair, and she laughed an excessively delighted little female laugh that startled her. She’d never in all her life laughed in that asinine way!

  He said, “There’s a bunch going across the street to the Oyster Bar for supper. Or we can go for shrimp and oysters and then come back here and order a pizza. It’s a neat bar. Shall we go for a while? There’s a dance floor. Wear stout shoes.” And he went to the shower.

  She took advantage of his greater height and wore heels.

  * * *

  The Oyster Bar was a two-story building and the bar was upstairs. The entrance was two story and painted a very dark blue with antique farm tools set high on shelves. The wooden stair was sturdy and there was a strong handrail.

  Around the bar were tractor seats, and the room was large and painted the same dark blue. There were tables for four, with single, low lights above each of the booths around the wall, and there was a bandstand.

  There was a large video screen with rock and roll, country-western and sixties songs everyone knew. They all sang along. No one could notice the volunteer singalong, because the bar was a loud, party place. The oysters were served in ice-filled tin trays. They were delicious.

  And Chas danced with Amy.

  He danced perfectly. So perfectly that other cousins came and demanded he dance with them.

  Chas smiled kindly and said, “How about later?” Or he said, “Not now.”

  After the cousins had tried, strange women felt free to come up and invite Chas to dance.

  Amy was surprised at the feelings the women’s conduct aroused in her. She was possessive. But again he kindly turned the women down. Not “No” but “Perhaps later.” He never did dance with anyone but Amy.

  It was heaven to dance with him. He knew exactly what he was doing, so he could do it effortlessly. Amy didn’t really care if they danced or not, although she did appreciate his skill. She would have been just as thrilled to simply be held against him. He held her perfectly. He felt so good against her body. His arms were enclosing, and his breath was sweet.

  He twirled her and dipped, he did the Peabody, he could dance any step. He made her look terrific. It was his skill in leading her, she only followed his directions as his hands moved to guide her.

  As he brought her to him after a dip and moved forward to her backward steps, in male aggression, she laughed— secure in his arms— as she looked up and asked, “What did you do to learn to dance so well? Are you a closet gigolo?”

  “My mother was adamant. She said, ‘All your life you will be in circumstances where you can dance. It beats sitting and drinking and listening to drunks. Learn to dance.’”

  Chas looked down into Amy’s face as he hesitated deliberately in his step, holding her. Then he added, “I’m glad mother is right again. I’m glad she hounded me into learning. I despised it at first. But I enjoy moving to the music with you. I like moving with you.” His voice was husky and low as he held her tightly to him on the crowded floor in the noisy room.

  His comment was very close to flirting. There had to be something she could reply that would hint that she was interested in him. She should have paid more attention to the men who came on to her.

  She tried to remember what they had said and how they had handled themselves. She’d never been interested enough to really listen and respond. She lacked tactics.

  Were there books? When you got to The Joy of Sex you were pretty far along. There had to be some intermediate maneuvers before you actually had a man in bed.

  Chas held her close to him there on the dance floor and said in that smoky voice of his, “I’m hungry.”

  “Shall we go back for the pizza now?”

  He smiled, so amused about something, and replied, “Why not?”

  They took their leave discreetly, exited the bar, recrossed the four-lane busy road at the light and went back to their suite. He didn’t rush her at all. He was skilled in working with strange women.

  They sat on their balcony, sipping wine, as they discussed the complex, the weather, the night and the coming wedding. They went on to current news, and he fetched the bottle of wine.

  With the end of their second glass, he suggested ordering the pizza. She was agreeable. He inquired, “Surely you’re not an anchovy devotee?”

  She apologized, “Yes.”

  “My God. They set up the entire anchovy distribution just in the hope of pleasing you?”

  She returned placidly, “I’m worth it.”

  His lashes came down to conceal the fires that leapt in his eyes. “How do you justify making the entire rest of the world say, ‘Everything but anchovies,’ just so they’re available for you?”

  “I travel.”

  “And you know Martin Durwood.”

  “Only because of an inquiry I did.” She found she didn’t want to lie. There was nothing against being misleading, but she couldn’t lie outright to Chas.

  “In your surveys and inquiries, do you choose designated places?”

  “Pretty much.”

  “Who do you work for?”

  “Several...organizations.”

  “Amy Abbott...” Did he deliberately pause? “Are you the Pilgrim the name implies?”

  “Ah, yes. An innocent.” That was the truth! “Actually, the Pilgrims would have been strong women who had to have spines of steel to have gone onto the Mayflower and survived here. We’ve been around that long in this country.”

  “Women in general, yes, but you mean your own family?”

  “Oh, yes.”

  “Mine, too. Besides Billy Cougar, or whatever his name really was, we’ve been here all along.” He watched her.

  “If this is Show and Tell, tell me about Charles Cougar. What do you do?”

  “The family is involved in many things. I happen to be in manufacturing. It’s a thankless job. Not the romantic sort to entrance a lady. It deals in facts and figures, unions and contracts, deadlines and overruns on occasion.”

  “What would you prefer to do?”

  “Manufacturing,” he replied simply. “I find it a challenge. I have a great sense of supplying things people need. I love it. I only meant it’s rarely something for social conversation.”

  “You have no desire to be a pirate?” That had been what she’d expected him to say, and she could have believed his doing that much more quickly than for him to be contentedly bogged down in the nitty-gritty of manufacturing, for God’s sake!

  “A pirate!” He raised his unruly eyebrows. “I’m a law-abiding man with no tolerance for cheats. Ah, here’s the pizza. Sit still.”

  He moved too smoothly for a law-abiding man. He moved like a dangerous man. He was like one who knew how to get from here to there, see everything in between and not be seen himself.

  He said he was law abiding and had no tolerance for cheats. Cheats like Amy Abbott Allen who had insinuated herself into the Cougar clan? If he found her out, before she vanished into oblivion, how angry would he be? What would he say?

  He returned to hand her one of the kitchen towels instead of a paper one that would blow away. They sat companionably, sharing the pizza and wine.

  He was relaxed and his conversation was amusing. He looked around, but he only rarely looked at her.

  When he did look at her, Amy felt it to her core. Her body reacted to him so strongly that she began to doubt if she wasn’t quite stupid to become involved even so casually with Charles Cougar.

  He tidied up the debris, and Amy began to think how awkward it would be to say she would be going to bed. It was the first time in her entire twenty-four years she’d been in this particular situation, alone with a strange man.

  He was extremely, potently male. Wha
t if she said, “Come on to bed,” just like that? She looked at him in speculation.

  He glanced up at her as if her look commanded his response. Then he handed her the cable guide. “I think there’s a film at ten that I’ve been wanting to see. Take It Easy with Me!”

  She was jolted by his words. He knew what she intended for him? He knew she planned to seduce him and he wanted her to be kind? “What?” she asked in some embarrassment.

  “Have you seen it? I understand it’s above the average. Shall we give it a try?”

  He wanted her to watch TV? That was a shock! He must feel quite safe with her. She found his feeling safe was a little annoying. She felt a bit petulant but opened up the guide and there it was listed: Take It Easy with Me! It came on in ten minutes.

  He put some brandy on the end table before he busily opened out the sofa bed! Then she realized he was telling her in a very ordinary way, “Why don’t you get the other pillows from the bedroom? We’ll watch in perfect comfort.” He stopped and gave her a look. “You do want to watch it, don’t you?”

  “Sure.” She thoughtfully went in to the bedroom and returned with four additional pillows. What a scene for a seduction! Pillows, TV, bed opened out. Yeah.

  Could his seduction be tonight? Her nerves shimmered. She couldn’t possibly seduce him tonight.

  She wasn’t ready mentally. She could get in some serious kissing, and see if he responded. She’d hate to have him bent back over her arm and have him say, “No,” to her. She’d die.

  “Take off your shoes before you get into my bed.”

  Get into my bed? That’s what she was doing; she was getting into his bed. Just to be comfortable in order to watch the movie. Take It Easy with Me!

  She was filmed with sweat as she shivered a little. This was a nerve-rending business. By Saturday, when she actually seduced him, she was going to be a complete wreck.

  “Shall we leave the sliding door open? It makes it cool and cozy. I’ll get one of the blankets.” Without comment he extinguished the lights behind the kitchen bar, leaving only one lamp on at the end of the sofa bed.