“Get out, Cin.” The wobble in his voice was getting bad.
“I could sit right here.” She perched on the table, parting her thighs so he could see a flash of lace. “The table’s the right height. Or we could do it on the chair. I love playing horsie. Or I could lean against the wall, and stick my ass out, like this.” She turned, demonstrated.
He shook his head. She laughed at him. “Liar. Don’t you want to see my Brazilian wax job? I had the girl trim my pussy hair into a heart shape. Want to see?” She put her hands on her waistband.
“Out!” he bellowed, surging to his feet.
“Not without checking you out.” She grabbed the waistband of his sweatpants, yanked. His dick sprang up, bobbing and waving.
Cindy pursed her lips in a silent whistle. “Whoa. You’ve been keeping this big, bad thing hidden in your jeans for all these years?”
She gripped his cock, stroked him. He tried to suck air into his shuddering lungs. “I told you not to joke with me about this—”
“Who’s joking?” She sank to her knees and took him in her mouth. He sucked in a shallow gasp, and stopped breathing altogether.
He didn’t last long. A few excruciating strokes, a few teasing swirls, and it was a landslide, an earthquake, a catastrophic explosion, molten lava spurting. He was startled to find himself still on his feet.
Cindy was wiping her mouth, gazing up. She looked startled.
“Uh, wow,” she whispered. “That was explosive.”
He yanked his pants up. Turned his gaze away.
“You’re a virgin, aren’t you?” she asked. “I always wondered.”
Right. Like he could admit that to her. He knew how that would play. She’d have been all worried for poor sex-starved Miles. She would have tried, out of sisterly compassion, to get him laid with one of her sluttier girlfriends. Whichever of them was game for a mercy fuck.
His eyes stung. “I don’t need your pity. Just leave me alone, OK?”
Cindy rose to her feet. “I don’t pity you. You don’t deserve pity. Don’t think I did this for you. You don’t deserve it, you nasty prick.”
“Then why’d you do it?” he asked, though he knew he would hate the answer. Her nonchalant shrug made her tits bounce tenderly.
“Because I felt like it. You know what a selfish bitch I am. Have a nice life, Miles.” She turned. The door to the stairs slammed shut.
He sank into his chair, and burst into tears.
Cindy sprinted through the kitchen, pretending not to hear whatever Miles’s mom called after her. She couldn’t make out the words. She was blubbering too hard. Bone deep, shivery shaking.
That had been so weird, so kinky. Out of nowhere. The impulse to come on to him had been so strong. So wrong.
She grabbed her bike and swung her leg onto it. She wobbled and swerved, dashing hot tears from her eyes. The taste of him was still in her mouth. She needed a drink of water in the worst way, but it wasn’t like she could ask Miles’s mom for a glass. Gee, thanks, Mrs. Davenport. You know how it is when you swallow.
She was so wound up. Her crotch tingled against the bike seat. She’d genuinely wanted him to yank her cutoffs down and go at her like a stallion with that thick, excellent thing. Like, who knew? The best kept secret in Endicott Falls, hidden in Miles Davenport’s baggy pants.
Why did she keep doing this? Throwing herself at him, begging him to be her friend again. Lashing out like a spoiled baby when he shoved her away. She was a glutton for punishment. Well, she’d definitely made an impression with this stunt. Whatever he thought of her, he wasn’t going to forget this in a hurry.
She laughed bitterly to herself, trying to keep her eyes wide open so the wind in her face could dry the tears leaking out.
She was so sick of being treated like a bimbo. Granted, she wasn’t the superbrain that her big sister Erin was, but her scores on all those tests back in school had always put her up in the top tenth percentile.
Not in the same egghead club as Erin or Miles, maybe, but not a drooling vegetable, either.
She’d just gotten too comfortable playing the cute ’n sexy card. But what did she have to show for it? A string of badass ex-boyfriends, one of whom she’d barely escaped from with her life. An ex-best friend who hated her guts…even when he was coming in her mouth.
Yeah, being cute had enhanced the quality of her life, big-time.
She should tone her looks way down, maybe. Wear horn-rimmed cat-eye glasses, big baggy sweaters, combat boots. Ditch the makeup. Might as well go all out, and just shave her head while she was at it.
But the idea made her so anxious. If she wasn’t getting attention from the guys, what did she have going for her? What was she, anyhow?
Not much. Just a random girl. Not real special. Not real bright.
Miles would tell her she was doing her poor-me routine again. She snuffled with soggy, ironic laughter. Thank God for her sax. At least she could do one thing that was cool, and real, and all hers.
She started down the long descent into Edgewood Circle, a super wealthy enclave of Endicott Falls, and coasted past the manicured Victorian home of the college president. She’d played receptions with the Vicious Rumors there, back in the good old days when Miles was doing sound for them. Back when he still liked her.
She was so curious about these mysterious projects Miles was working on. He got off on the dark, creepy vibe, Goth freak that he was, and there were always plenty of creepy vibes to go around when those McCloud guys embarked on one of their bizarre adventures.
Weird, that they’d forbidden Miles to ask Porky questions. Too bad he couldn’t take her along. She’d be his secret weapon. If she wore her stick-on silicon boob pusher-uppers and a micro-mini, she could pry anything out of old Porky. That type went nuts for bubbleheads. Bubbleheads made them feel so godlike and smart by contrast.
The impulse came to her out of nowhere, just like the impulse to jump Miles’s hot bod had done. Almost as stupid, no doubt, but still.
The McClouds had forbidden Miles to ask Porky questions, but nobody had forbidden silly Cindy to do anything. And they might be surprised at what a simpering sex object might pry out of a man like Porky. For all their charisma and experience, she had something they didn’t have. Two somethings, bouncing on her chest, and all the bells and whistles that went with them. She knew how to use them, too. It was her most highly developed skill. Other than playing sax, of course.
She swerved at the next corner, onto Linden Street. Porky’s house was famous for how garish it was in a town full of fussy Victorians. She peeked at her watch, buzzing with excitement. She could do this and still have time to spiff up for her gig with the Rumors tonight. They were opening for Bonnie Blair, at the Paramount. A super important gig. She had to look stunning, and that took some time.
Speaking of which. She glanced down at her skimpy attire, and concluded that she was perfectly dressed for this little adventure.
She leaned her bike on the stone wall that bordered the lawn, and walked down the drive towards the house, trying to ignore fluttering in her belly. An attractive Hispanic lady in her fifties dressed in the uniform of domestic staff answered the doorbell. She looked Cindy up and down, and gave her the Death Star look. “Yes?”
“Is Professor Beck at home?” Cindy attempted a friendly smile.
The lady’s mouth tightened to a grim line. “What’s it about?”
“I’m a former student,” she explained. “I wanted to ask some questions about a project of mine.”
“Wait here.” The door closed smartly in her face.
Cindy shrugged inwardly. No point in getting uptight about it. Dress like a devil slut, get treated like a devil slut. Simple.
Her musings were cut short when the door was yanked open again. This time, Porky was behind it. His initial puzzlement quickly warmed into an appreciative leer, but there was no recognition in it.
Just as well. She didn’t really want him to remember her D+.
&n
bsp; She zapped him with her incandescent bubblehead smile, and he waved her right on in. He flung a fleshy arm around her shoulders, fingers in position to start their sneaky downward creep, and led her through a series of luxurious rooms. She wondered how a place could stink of money and still be so butt-ugly. The place had a cold, professional vibe that suggested a decorator’s high concept design, not a home. Like the lobby of a wealthy lawyer’s office.
He led her down broad marble steps into a sunken living room, and plunked her down on one of several plushy, cream-colored leather couches, grouped around a low, gleaming ebony table which was longer and wider than a queen-sized bed. A stark, spiky red flower arrangement was perched in the exact middle of it.
“So, my dear, what can I help you with? And would you refresh my memory again? I have so many students, you see. I remember your lovely face, of course, that’s unforgettable.”
“I’m Cynthia Riggs.” The eyelash treatment, a tit-enhancing tilt to the rib cage, and a slow, deliberate recrossing of the legs, a la Sharon Stone. “I just graduated this June. I took your course two years ago. It was totally great,” she gushed. “I’m not a science type, but you made it so interesting somehow. Even kind of beautiful. That may sound dumb to you, but I just don’t know how else to describe it.”
“Thank you.” He sat down close to her so their legs almost touched. “But you didn’t come here just to give me compliments.”
She giggled. “Um, no. It’s about a personal project of mine.”
His knee made contact. “I love personal projects.” His eyes glowed with fascinated curiosity, lit up from behind by plain old lust.
“I could probably have asked other people these questions, but I decided to come to you, first.” She gave him a fluttery sidelong glance. “You’re so, like, approachable, you know?”
His arm shifted so that it touched her bare shoulders. “You can’t imagine how much pleasure it gives me to hear that, Cynthia.”
She let her lashes sweep down. “I’ve been doing some writing lately, and I’m getting really into, like, biographical projects? And I got to thinking I could, um, write a biography of a local person?”
He frowned. “A historical personage, you mean?”
She shook her head. “Oh, no. Modern day.”
“That’s fascinating, but it’s not my field,” he said regretfully. “If you like, the director of the Young Writers’ Workshop at the Arts Center is a personal friend of mine. I would be delighted to introduce him to such an attractive, well-spoken young woman.”
“Oh, thanks!” she burbled. “That would be fabulous! But actually, I didn’t want to ask about writing. I wanted to ask about the person I mean to write about, because you actually, like, knew him.”
Porky’s eyes widened. “You tease me. Who is this mystery man?”
Here it was. The deep end of the pool. She took a deep breath, and dove. “Kevin McCloud.”
Everything changed. The temperature of the room plummeted. The smile on Porky’s face flash-froze in the meat locker chill.
Suddenly, his fingers weren’t inching down below her collarbone anymore. His arm was up on the back of the couch. His knee was a full two inches from hers. His mask of fascinated curiosity was gone, along with the lust that had animated it. His eyes had gone totally blank.
She was spooked. She felt very young, and very alone, and very stupid to mess with stuff that wasn’t her goddamn business.
He cleared his throat. “You might be mistaken about my knowing this person, Cynthia. That name doesn’t ring any bells in my mind.”
Yeah, right. Liar, liar, pants on fire. It rang car alarms in his mind. She widened her eyes. “I heard you guys knew each other,” she said earnestly. “Back when you were doing research at University of Washington? And he was student teaching for you for a while, right?”
His eyes flicked away. “Ah. So we’re talking a good long while back? It is a somewhat common name, after all…oh, wait. Are you by any chance referring to that poor young man with the mental problems? The one who took his own life some years ago?”
“Yeah, that’s him!” Innocent, blinky-blinky puppy dog eyes. “God, it was, like, so incredibly sad, huh? So you did know him, then?”
“In a way.” He frowned. “But that’s a terrible story. The waste of a promising young man’s life…it’s better off left in the past. Don’t dwell on it, for God’s sake. What got you interested in that person?”
She grinned, teeth clenched. Damn. She’d been afraid he was going to ask her this, and she had no good answer ready, so she just used the one she’d overheard Miles suggest to Connor on the phone.
“Actually, I found one of his personal notebooks,” she explained. “I’ve been studying it. It’s incredible. He was such a genius, you know?”
“That he was,” Porky muttered.
“Anyhow, I thought there might be a book in it,” she went on. “I thought I might investigate into why he might have offed himself.”
“Oh. Well, I’m sorry to disappoint you, but the truth is sad and obvious. I suspect he might have been afflicted by his own extreme intelligence. Many geniuses are, sadly. History abounds with them.”
Porky was relaxing, warming up again. Back in the saddle.
“Oh, so, you remember a lot about him, then?” She beamed.
Porky blinked rapidly. “It’s, ah, coming back to me. You know how it is. Pull a memory in the database, and you find the connected ones.”
Dewy, hopeful eyes. “So could you answer some questions, then?”
His smile faltered. “I hate to disappoint such a lovely creature, but I don’t know what else I could tell you. He’s been gone for a long time.”
“Well, a couple things in the notebook puzzled me,” Cindy said. She steepled her hands and put on the cute-little-girl-recites-her-lesson look. “It referred to work he was doing at the Colfax Building.”
Porky’s brow looked shiny. “Ah. Well. I…I don’t really know what he did with his time when he wasn’t teaching.”
“Have you ever heard of anything called the Midnight Project?”
His Adam’s apple bobbed. “It, ah, might have had to do with neurological research. I believe the project folded long ago. Dried up due to lack of funding. The Colfax belongs to the college now.”
“Oh, I know that. I’m working up there this summer,” she confided. “Band camp. I teach saxophone to the kids.”
“Really?” He rallied, grinning weakly. “So you’re a musician, as well as a writer. A young woman of many talents. I’m dazzled.”
Cindy glowed and fluttered for as long as she could string it, and gave it one last college try. “Do you know who funded the research?”
“I’m so sorry, Cynthia. I’m afraid I don’t.” Porky grabbed a device that was clipped to his belt, and pushed a button. “Emiliana? Would you bring us some iced tea and a plate of your pecan puffs?”
He replaced the thing on his belt, and cleared his throat nervously. Cindy cast around for some bubbly noise she could pump into the silence before the guy freaked out on her. “Love your house,” she offered lamely. “Gorgeous place. It’s so big.”
He looked around, like he’d never seen the house. “Ah. Yes.”
The Hispanic lady appeared, tightlipped as ever, bearing a tray with a frosty glass pitcher, two glasses and a plate of cookies. Porky was grateful for the interruption. “Ah, thank you.” He held out the plate. “Emiliana is new to me. Her predecessor just retired, but not before finding someone excellent to replace herself. There’s a network of people out there that you would never find at an employment agency. Try the pecan puffs. It’s clear you don’t have any problems with your figure.”
The cookies were fab, the tea was cold and sweet and good, and Porky kept gamely on with the sticky stream of compliments, but she could tell his heart wasn’t in it. He almost leaped for joy when she said she had to scoot. He saw her promptly out, not touching her at all.
She hopped on her bike a
nd took off for the campus. She wasn’t sure what, if anything, that she’d gleaned from that, other than that the mention of Kev McCloud made old Porky so tense, he actually stopped hitting on her. Which was to say, severely tense. Hmm.
She stopped at the Colfax to get her sax from the practice room, and turned when she heard somebody calling her name. It was Bolivar, Javier’s uncle, the janitor at the Colfax. He had a huge grin on his face.
“Javier came by here a little while ago. Told me you got him a good demo recorded,” he said. “He just sent off his application.”
“That’s great,” she said. “Keep your fingers crossed. He’s got a good chance at the scholarship. It would be great experience for him.”
Bolivar beamed. “The music, it’s good for him. Keeps him steady. He’s a good boy, Javier.” He paused. “Thank you for helping him.”
She was embarrassed. “Nah. It’s no big deal, really—”
“You helped him get the sax. You give him extra lessons free. His lessons go two hours sometime, he tells me. He’s a lucky boy, and you are a nice lady,” Bolivar announced, as if daring her to contradict him.
Lots of people might take issue with that statement, but still, it was awfully nice to hear someone say it. He was turning to continue on down the hall when a thought came to her, of what Porky said about Emiliana, and the unofficial network of workers. “Ah, Bolivar?”
He turned, still smiling. “Hmm?”
“This may sound weird, but would you know anybody who was on the janitorial staff of this building fifteen years ago? Around August.”
Bolivar’s smile faded. “Depends on why you want to know.”
“Oh, I just want to talk to the person,” she assured him.
Bolivar’s eyes went very cautious. “Is this about the curse?”
Cindy’s stomach fluttered. “Curse?”
“When I took this job, people said the place is cursed. But Javier needed a dentist, his mama was having another baby. I didn’t have time to worry about no curse. Didn’t want to know. Still don’t.”
Edge Of Midnight (The Mccloud Series Book 4) Page 28