Plum Girl (Romance)

  Immediately, she spotted the pink Post-it stuck to her monitor. She snatched it off, and her pulse quickened a little when she read it.

  Lonnie—I must've missed you. Call me, D.

  Dominick had stopped by to surprise her and she'd missed it because of that joke of a meeting. How typical. She fell into her chair and grabbed the phone receiver. She dialed Dominick's office number and waited. Please not the voice mail—

  "Dominick Carter." Her heart jolted. She wondered when just the sound of his voice would stop having that effect on her. She could just picture him on the other end, cerebral looking in his glasses, and sexy as hell.

  "Hi, it's me," she said simply, but her voice defied her attempt to act casual, and dropped a lusty octave lower.

  "Hey," he replied, sounding very pleased that she'd called. "Where were you before?"

  "Oh, pressing meeting. Twit wanted to let us know that from now on the firm will be under his own despotic rule, and then he asked if we understood English."

  "What?" Dominick laughed.

  "Well, that's the condensed version," she said brightly. "So what's new with you?" When can I see you? When can I lick you? Unconsciously, her body language mimicked her thoughts, as she clutched the phone tighter to her ear and leaned her mouth as close to the receiver as she could.

  "Not too much," he said. "I wanted to ask you to lunch today, but I have a meeting. And since I took those two personal days last week, I've got to catch up on a lot. I'm going to be working late, I have a feeling."

  Her heart sank. "Okay."

  "I'm sorry I won't be able to see you tonight, for New Year's Eve."

  "No problem." She tried to sound cheery, even though she really felt somewhat deflated. It wasn't New Year's Eve, which always sucked and was obviously continuing in that tradition. It was just... she knew this thing with Dominick was too good to be true. Here they hadn't seen each other in almost two weeks, and obviously, he was losing interest. Why else would he give her the beginnings of an I'm-going-to-be-busy-for-a-while, don't-call-me, I'll-call-you, blow-off spiel?

  "How about tomorrow night?" he asked.

  "Huh?" Now she was confused. "W-what about tomorrow night?"

  "Want to go out tomorrow night? Well, stay in, actually."

  Her heart immediately rose back to the surface. She smiled into the phone and said, "Hmm... What did you have in mind?"

  He laughed. "I've got a lot of things in mind, but they don't all have to happen tomorrow night." She clutched the phone even closer and smiled into it. Had any man ever had this strong of an effect on her? She honestly didn't think so. Suddenly, it was all becoming clear. Terry had been her transitional man, and Dominick was the real thing. The one.

  He said, "I was thinking I'd make you dinner at my apartment." And get laid after. Okay, so Dominick was a nice guy; that might not be part of his plan. But even if it was, Lonnie had no problem with that. In fact, the thought of his naked, sweaty body on hers seemed like the best idea she'd had in a while.

  Yet she wanted to see him on her own turf. She was still a little gun-shy (so to speak), and the comfort of her apartment would help put her at ease. So she offered, "How about I cook you dinner this time? Peach says I have to get over my disdain for our miniappliances."

  "Oh... okay," he agreed. "What time should I come over?"

  "How's seven thirty?"

  "Great. I'll bring wine."

  "Okay." She felt her pulse between her legs, and gave him her address.

  "What are you going to do for New Year's?" he asked. She knew she should probably make up some great-sounding plans to keep him guessing, but it wasn't her style.

  "I don't know, maybe rent a movie," she said. He then suggested that she rent Mobsters, claiming it was really good. Her heart turned over in her chest; how cute was he? Of course Mobsters looked like ten-year-old crap, but still, for some reason, she found his suggestion unbelievably adorable.

  "So, I'll see you tomorrow night," she said.

  "Absolutely."

  "Okay. Bye."

  "Wait—red or white?"

  "Red."

  "My kind of woman."

  "You have no idea," she teased.

  "Christ, I can't wait till tomorrow night."

  "Bye," she said again, and they both hung up at the same time.

  Lonnie leaned back in her chair and felt like fanning herself off. She knew this blood-boiling reaction was over-the-top, but what could she do? The attraction seemed to get stronger every time they talked. It wasn't Dominick's looks, although she definitely liked those. It was everything.... It was him. It was them. They clicked. She sighed happily.

  "Lucy!" Well, that didn't last long. Beauregard Twit's booming beckon was unmistakable. "Lucy, come in here A-SAP!" he called from his office. Lonnie went to Twit's office, knocked lightly on the ajar door, and pushed it open. Beauregard was at his desk, writing.

  "Did you need something?" she asked him.

  "Yes," he answered matter-of-factly. "What time is it? My clock's broken."

  "Oh." That threw her off. "I'm not wearing a watch; I'll go check." Inwardly rolling her eyes, she went back around the corner and looked at the clock on the wall. Then she bustled back to Twit's office to give him the vital data. "It's eleven o'clock."

  He clasped his hands together under his chin and looked upward, contemplating the information. Then he said, "Let me know when it's eleven fifteen, will you? Best." He went back to writing. "Best"—which Lonnie assumed was supposed to be an abridged version of "best wishes"—was Twit's favorite closer. Basically, it was his very suave way of saying "This conversation is terminated, now beat it."

  Lonnie went back to her desk and started entering Twit's hours in the payroll database. Within moments, her phone rang. "Twit & Bell," she answered. She'd stopped saying "Beauregard Twit's line" after Delia had forwarded Lunther's phones to her, too.

  "Hey," Peach said.

  "Hi!" Lonnie was glad it was her sister and not Twit wasting more of her time.

  "What's going on?" Peach asked, and Lonnie filled her in on her morning so far. Then Peach told her about Iris Mew and the Chestnut Hill charity circuit.

  "Oh, I forgot! I asked Dominick over tomorrow night. Is that okay?"

  "Yeah, sure. It's about time you guys got your groove on," Peach noted.

  "He's just coming over for dinner. I'm not planning anything beyond that," Lonnie explained, as she made a mental note to shave her legs all the way up and pick up more strawberry body lotion.

  "Mmm-hmm. Well, whatever. I think that sounds great. And, don't worry about me being in the way—"

  "I wasn't."

  "—because tomorrow night I made plans with Matt," Peach finished.

  That was news. "When did this happen?" she asked.

  "Well, I'd given him my e-mail address at the party, but then I hadn't heard anything, so I sorta forgot about it. But today he sent me a message asking me if I wanted to go to the Bruins game tomorrow night." There was a pause, and Lonnie could hear a muffled voice in the background. Then Peach said, "No, you're wearing that one. Hold on, Lonnie." Her voice was farther away when she said, "Cheryl, you have a great figure. People would kill for your heaving bosom, so stop hiding it. You're wearing that one."

  "Peach?"

  "Yeah, sorry. Cheryl's just having cold feet about tonight."

  "Why, what's tonight?" Lonnie asked curiously.

  "Remember that catering thing we were going to try to set up?"

  "No."

  "Oh, I thought I told you. At Iris's tea social, I overheard a woman mention her housewarming party next month. So I got the idea for Cheryl to cater the party. Well, first we have to convince the woman to have the party catered. You see?" Peach finished, obviously cheery at the prospect of Cheryl's culinary debut.

  "So Cheryl's interested in professional catering now, or...?" Lonnie asked.

  "Weelll... ," Peach said, and Lonnie understood the subtext perfectly: No, but I'm pushing her to
ward it, for what I deem is her own good. In some ways, Peach was like their mother, and Lonnie knew that ultimately, they both meant well. That still didn't make it okay. "She loves to cook, and I told you that she freelances her recipes to make a living. So, I asked her: 'Why not freelance your talent?' Anyway, we got in touch with Iris's friend, and she's meeting Cheryl for dinner to discuss the possibilities."

  "So, how does Cheryl's 'heaving bosom' factor in?" Lonnie inquired.

  "What? Oh, no, that's something separate. This dress looks adorable on her and"—her voice rose higher—"she's just gonna have to trust me!"

  "By the way," Lonnie interjected, remembering Twit, "what time is it?"

  "Quarter after eleven. Well, a little past."

  "Oh! I gotta go," she said hastily.

  "No problem. I'll call you later or see you at home."

  Lonnie carelessly chucked the receiver back into its cradle and hustled to Twit's office. She pushed open the door, but Twit wasn't there anymore. Could he actually have realized the time on his own? It seemed too much to hope for, but Lonnie just shrugged and headed back to her desk.

  Halfway there, she heard a persistent beeping noise. It was strident and relentless, and it didn't take her long to realize it was the fax machine run amok. She darted over to it, and tried to figure out why it was beeping. There was no incoming fax. Then she noticed the tiny green paper out light flashing.

  Quickly, she grabbed a hunk of plain white paper that was stacked next to the machine, and slid it into the appropriate compartment.

  And she saw something. Under the chunk of paper she'd just grabbed, was a sheet with writing on it. She picked it up and skimmed it. Oh, no! It was Twit's confidential fax! It read:

  The Office of John Pally, Private Investigator

  CONFIDENTIAL

  BT: I received your payment. I'll be out of state for a while, but we should be set. JP

  Here are the names:

  Ann Lee

  Sandra Neemas

  Courtney Adams

  Mabel Wills

  Lonnie immediately panicked. It was a gut reaction, but a fairly logical one, considering how many times Beauregard had asked her about the fax. Each time she'd said it hadn't arrived, and it had been sitting there the whole time. The date on top got cut off, so she wasn't sure the exact day it'd come in, but somehow it had gotten lost under the stack of white paper next to the fax machine. Now that she thought about it, it made sense how it could happen. Twit's fax line was always flooded with menus and fliers, so staff members often swung by to sift through the items that came in. That was why Lonnie had to straighten the table regularly. Somehow, this fax must have gotten lost in the shuffle. Great, now what? Twit was going to kill her!

  Then again...

  He hadn't asked her about the fax this week. In fact, the last time he'd mentioned it was at the holiday party. He didn't even bring it up at Lunther's wake—which would be grossly inappropriate for the average person, but remarkably slick and discreet for Twit. Maybe he'd gotten the information he'd needed another way. Or maybe the fax was no longer relevant.

  Really, was there honestly any need to call Twit's attention to the fact that the fax had been misplaced if he didn't even care about the damn thing anymore? Okay, that settled it; she wouldn't tell Twit about the fax unless he asked her again. She looked down and reread it. And then the other shoe dropped.

  Ann Lee.

  What did it mean? Lonnie didn't recognize the other three names on the list, but her curiosity was definitely piqued. If only the fax had given a clue as to what happened to Ann Lee. Why did she leave Twit & Bell? Where did she go?

  Impulsively, Lonnie decided to make a copy of the fax for Montgomery. She didn't know what the list of names meant, but she figured he'd want to take a look. He'd told her to keep an eye out for anything "off," and this mysterious list of women's names seemed to qualify. She had to make a copy quick, before Twit accosted her. Since he wasn't at his desk when she'd last checked, that meant he was lurking around somewhere. And he'd demonstrated several times in the past that he was not averse to snatching things directly out of her hand.

  Checking over her shoulder, Lonnie hastened past the water cooler and darted around the corner. Furtively, she slid the fax onto the photocopier and pressed print. Of course, nothing happened. Then several loud beeps and buzzers sounded. Desperately, she laid her arms on top of the machine, in a half-baked attempt to muffle the noise. She looked around for Twit again. Good, still no sign of him. She focused her attention back on the copier, warming up flashed incessantly on the touch pad, and the whole machine convulsed into an industrial, metal-slamming-on-metal symphony.

  "Be quiet!" she whispered urgently to the machine, and checked over her shoulder three more times before her copy finally slid out. She grabbed it, along with the original, and rushed back to her desk. She folded both copies up and put them in her bag, figuring, at this point, Twit would be none the wiser.

  Lonnie had no idea what any of it meant, or if it meant anything at all. But she was starting to suffer from that gut thing Montgomery had mentioned, and she just knew something strange was going on. Why had Twit hired a PI? What did Lunther's former assistant, Ann Lee, have to do with it? How was she connected to the other women on that list?

  And why had Twit stopped asking about the fax after the holiday party?

  Chapter 17

  "I'll be right back." Lonnie left Dominick on her sofa while she went into the bathroom, shut the door, and leaned all her weight against it. She took a deep breath and tried to calm her nerves. Tonight was the night. She could feel it. And she was terrified... in an exhilarating kind of way.

  She crossed to the mirror and looked at her reflection. Before Dominick had arrived, she curled her hair just enough so it would hang down in loose waves. She'd tried not to overdo it with the mascara and Plum Daiquiri lipstick; she hadn't put on blush because her cheeks were already flushed with anticipation.

  Now, over two hours later, everything she'd felt before Dominick arrived had only intensified. And it showed. Her wavy hair was untamed, her cheeks were rosy pink, and her mouth was wine stained and ready.

  So far the night had been perfect. They'd had linguini with red clam sauce, Parmesan biscuits, and a bottle of cabernet sauvignon, while they'd shared random personal stories and Lonnie struggled to stay focused on the conversation. Honestly, she tried, but her mind just wouldn't cooperate. When Dominick told her about his family, she imagined running her tongue down his body. When he talked about religion, she pictured him sweaty and thrusting. (She really felt guilty about that one.) And when he asked her whom she considered a strong role model for women, she forgot the question because she was busy picturing herself biting his perfectly rounded butt. Well, not hard.

  Hey, it wasn't her fault that everything he did was so arousing. Then again, maybe she was just sex starved. Okay, make that more than likely. Now, as she looked in the bathroom mirror, she hoped tonight was the night. Knowing that everything was officially over with Terry only made her feel more liberated and uninhibited than ever. Or maybe that would just be her convenient excuse to tear open Dominick's clothes with her teeth.

  Earlier, she'd gone to the drugstore to buy a box of condoms (just in case) and the saleswoman's eyes lit up approvingly. Apparently, Lonnie had shopped there for four years and had never bought anything more interesting than the Star. Hell, the CVS cashier was rooting for her—that should count for something.

  All right, enough stalling. She took a few more deep breaths, stepped out of the bathroom, and walked toward Dominick. She smiled as innocently as she could and hoped it would help mask her dirty mind. He smiled back casually, but his eyes—black and scorching—bore through her with an intensity that wasn't difficult to read. He was sitting in a relaxed posture, with one arm spread along the back of the sofa.

  She sank down next to him, but jerked forward just as her back hit the cushion. "Oh, I forgot!" He raised an eyebrow questioningl
y. "Dessert," she said, and rose to her feet again. She went into the kitchen—which was more of a minialcove with a ministove and a minifridge—and retrieved the pastries she'd bought in the North End yesterday afternoon.

  "What's this?" he asked eagerly, courteously. Throughout the night, he'd complimented her on her cooking, her apartment, her taste in books, and her sense of humor. He acted enthused by her; he made her feel appreciated. The only thing he hadn't complimented was her appearance. Lonnie hated herself for caring about something that superficial, but she'd wanted so much to look good for him. Hot.

  "Do you like pastry?" she asked, and sat down next to him again.

  "I like everything," he replied, and peered curiously into the box. He took out a chocolate cannoli and bit into it. After he swallowed, he said, "Aren't you going to have any?"

  Lonnie ignored his question, and zeroed in on the powdered sugar that dusted his lower lip. For a new twist, dessert was the last thing on her mind. Before she could chicken out, she made her move. She leaned in to him, and slowly, methodically, brushed her thumb across his lip. He stared directly into her eyes while she touched him. His breath came up shorter and her heart beat faster. Both fell silent as she moved her thumb on his mouth rhythmically, and an electrifying sexual awareness scorched the air between them. Suddenly, Lonnie felt something hot and wet on the tip of her finger. Dominick was lightly flicking his tongue on her as she traced his lip.

  The wet heat of his tongue immediately stirred a matching reaction between her legs, and without thinking, she pushed her thumb farther into his mouth. He sucked it, and she held back a moan. She moved her body until it hovered over his, and straddled him. Instantly, his arms coiled around her, and his eyes closed as her finger slid in and out of his mouth, plunging deep while he licked and sucked it.

  Then Lonnie took her hand away and licked up the bare trace of powdered sugar on his mouth. That's when his composure broke. Within two seconds, they were all over each other, breathing hard, kissing, licking, and sucking. Lonnie spread her legs wider, sinking as far into his erection as she possibly could, and let out short, breathy moans when he rocked himself against her. It wasn't enough. She shoved her long skirt all the way up, so he could grind right into the damp crotch of her panties.