by Sylvie Kaye
She followed his lead, and soon they were submerged in the smelly, floral water with the whirlpool jets whining. He managed to manipulate their positions so that he sat straddling her back and not facing her flat chest. She leaned against his chest, her eyes closed. She seemed content. Maybe he wouldn't have to screw her after all.
He ran the washcloth over her shoulders and neck, splashing warm water over her fair, freckled skin. She seemed complacent enough so he went for broke right away.
"Maybe we can work on my portfolio at the office, during our breaks and lunch instead of wasting our off-hours."
She peered over her shoulder. “I'd see a lot more of you then."
"Oh, yeah. Our evenings would be free to do more of this.” He was lucky she couldn't see his eyes. They surely expressed his disinterest.
She nodded. “I'd like that."
"My office is too central, though. We should use yours. You don't mind sharing your computer and password with me, do you?” He feigned an affectionate tone.
"I'll tell you mine if you tell me yours,” she purred, then blurted out, “My password's peanut butter."
"I'm changing mine to jelly,” he crooned in her ear. “First thing in the morning."
She laughed, her delight apparent.
Leaning back, he gave his tight muscles and taut nerves over to the relaxing water jets. He couldn't believe finagling her password had been so simple. He didn't even have to gaze into her eyes lovingly. Or screw her.
* * * *
"Over here.” Huddled in the darkness of a sprawling live oak alongside the river, Google waved Spence toward him with a penlight.
In the still air of the humid evening, a musty smell of dust and electronics and close quarters clung to the bespectacled man.
"Glad you could see me.” Spence cocked his ear toward the opposite bank of the river where a thick mist hung low on the water. He listened for noises, wanting to ensure they were alone. Voices carried on the water.
When the only sound came from an owl hooting somewhere down river, he turned his attention back to his informant.
Google stuffed one hand into the oversized pockets of his oversized pants and shrugged his slouched shoulders. “Not sure how much help this is, but I promised to pass along whatever I came across."
"I appreciate it.” He clapped Google's shoulder, soft from too many hours at the computer and no apparent type of manual labor. “One man's trash is another's treasure,” Spence muttered, wondering if that qualified as a Doriaism.
He smiled inwardly at the warming reminder of Mercy. She'd ingrained herself into his stark life in a short amount of time. He'd miss her when she flew back East. His craving for her was never far from the surface, no matter how deep he tried to bury the emotion.
Google opened his mouth, his pearly veneers catching a glint from the penlight when he fumbled deeper into his pants. “I was hacking vehicle and license bureaus last night when I came across a registration for a boat in Parker's name.” He fished a scrap of paper from his voluminous pocket. “Here's the make, model, size. She's called Mermaid. Thought it might be something."
Spence took the crumpled, raggedy scrap of paper and tucked it into his shirt pocket. “Can you find out where the boat's docked? Parker could be as close as the nearest marina."
"I'll keep working on it. I've made your case my pet project. I was called a geek back in high school so I know about persecution firsthand.” He shrugged. “I can relate to yours."
Spence dug a few bills out of his jeans, but Google shook his head. Pushing his glasses back onto his nose, his wire-rims gleamed against the jogging penlight. “I'm okay right now. I made a kill—ing,” his voice stammered on the last word. “The corporate rookie I mentioned the other day finally came across with a password and the dough. He needs my special brand of computer savvy, and I demanded megabucks for making me wait.” He poked his chest out with pride. “Consider the tip on the boat a freebie until I find out more."
A nerve in Spence's cheek jumped. What kind of scam was Cindy's schmuck-of-a-boyfriend pulling that relied on computer hacking? Was she in on it, too? A rustle on the other side of the misty river wiped his curiosity away, fast. He had his own nemesis to worry about.
"Thanks,” he said, grateful for Google's generosity.
Looked like he'd sold his horse for expense money too soon.
The snitch's cell phone let out a muffled ring from inside the pocket of his roomy pants. “Gotta take this?” he apologized. “Check back with me tomorrow. Same time, same place."
[Back to Table of Contents]
Chapter Twenty-one
"My mother called while you were in the shower,” Mercy said, savoring the fresh-perked aroma of her morning coffee while waiting for her bagel to toast.
From across the room, seated at the circular glass-topped table, Cindy flashed an eager grin over the rim of her cup. “Did she mention me?"
"Yes, she sends her love and misses you. She said to give you this.” Crossing the kitchen, she hugged her parent-starved friend. “She's vexed because she still hasn't heard from my uncle, and I had nothing new to offer. I talked to Lenny and a few of the other employees and regulars last night. Nobody knew the name or whereabouts of my uncle's sick friend."
"Not to trivialize her distress over his exact location, but Parker's probably wrapped up in concern for his ailing friend. She's just uptight over you having to return home without a check to finance your future.” Cindy frowned. “If he stays away too long, you'll miss this year's college semesters."
"Let's talk about something more pleasant.” She'd already talked the subject into the ground with her mother. “How did things go with Jay? I noticed melted candles in the bathroom."
Cindy flitted her blue-mascaraed lashes, which matched her blue platform shoes. “We cuddled. We kissed. All by candlelight in gardenia-scented water. It was so romantic."
Mercy smiled. “I'm happy for you."
"Not to preach, but when you date a good guy you get romance and permanence.” She gestured to the toaster where smoke poured out.
Mercy popped the burnt bagel and scraped butter onto its blackened surface while Cindy chatted on about Jay. “To give us more time to spend with each other in the evenings, Jay suggested we access my computer at work to produce his art portfolio."
"Is that wise?” Mercy asked.
"I remote in from home when I work on projects for the company over the weekends."
"For the company being the keywords.” She hoped Jay wasn't taking advantage of her friend's good nature.
"I wish you'd pursue someone as solid and secure as Jay.” Cindy waved away the seared smoke circling their heads.
"Spence suits me fine for now.” Heat thundered through her body at how well he suited her. Mercy bit into the charred, buttered bagel for the sake of something to do other than stand and shiver with delight at the mere thought of his sexual abilities.
"Better to be safe than sorry,” Cindy tossed out the Doriaism. “You can't blame me for wanting to see you in a safer relationship. Someone without Spence's life experiences. Jail. Death. What do you talk about? I mean, you have nothing in common."
"He's just like everybody else. A person with problems, and he opens up to me.” She stood at the granite counter instead of sitting where Cindy could see the concern that certainly tainted her eyes.
With a clunk, Cindy dropped her cup onto the saucer and shook an accusing finger at her. “You're falling for him, and after I warned you."
Denying that he'd gotten to her, that her heart not only empathized with his emotions but twisted in love knots whenever he let his façade down, Mercy shook her head. “He seems needy in the friend department. I thought we might remain friendly. Phone, write, or maybe email if he has a computer. After I get back to Pennsylvania. Or when I'm away at college. Or from wherever I may end up once I launch a new career."
"You want more than a pen pal. You want to stay in touch with him because you're fall
ing in love with him."
Mercy brushed imaginary crumbs from the front of her nightshirt and checked her toenail polish for chips, looking anywhere but at her friend. “I care about his well-being,” she said. “What kind of person would I be if I engaged in intimate acts of passion with him but didn't feel any compassion for his misfortune?"
"However heroic his cause may seem, it'll lead to trouble. When you leave, don't look back. Promise to forget him."
"I can't promise."
"I was afraid you'd say that."
* * * *
When Spence arrived that evening, Mercy hustled him right back out the door. “We can't stay. Cindy's expecting company."
"I thought I smelled the scent of female attack dog in the air."
"Ha. Ha.” Mercy swatted his arm but hooked hers through it on their way to the elevator and down to the parking lot. Once they were settled in his truck, she asked, “Are we going out to your place?"
She did like the comfy feel of his house, and the relaxed persona Spence took on when they were out at his ranch. So what if she liked him more than she wanted to admit? She suspected he liked her more than he'd admit. Why else would he confide in her?
Besides, all that ‘liking’ between them certainly hadn't hindered either of them in the sex department.
"Nope,” he said, an odd edge of determination in his voice. “How about a movie instead?"
He never failed to surprise her, in bed or out. “A movie?"
"The rectangle screen with moving pictures in living color with surround sound.” He gestured with his hands, forming an oblong before starting the engine to the truck. “Bigger than a TV, smaller than the barn."
"Smart ass,” she mumbled. But the prospect held some promise. A dark theater, plush seats, groping hands, heavy breathing. She licked her lips. “Great for foreplay."
He chuckled and leaned over to kiss her before pulling out of the lot.
And that was as close as she got to any foreplay. The cinema was dark all right, except when bombs and fireworks exploded on the screen, which was throughout most of the film. The plush seats were hard and narrow. The only groping fingers were slicked from buttery popcorn. Lots of heavy breathing went on though, with the audience sucking in their breath and exhaling during the multiple on-screen pyrotechnics and battles.
Toward the end of the feature, Mercy managed to push her disappointment aside. The evening was the most low-key she'd spent with Spence, yet felt kind of nice. He smelled great, like a woodsy aftershave. And familiar. His soft, husky-voiced comments sounded companionable while his arm resting on her shoulder felt comfy.
She was beginning to feel warm and fuzzy over him. And far too loving. She wiggled away. Absently, he reached over and pulled her back.
After the show, she figured him for some action, but...
"It's too far and too late to drive out to the ranch,” he said. “And I have to meet someone within the hour."
She noted he was dressed in black again, which meant he had late night business in the city. With a snap of an idea, she smiled, digging through her handbag until she came away with a crumpled piece of leather, initialed with a P, attached to a shiny gold key. “My uncle has a place in the city. We can go there."
"I didn't know you knew anybody in San Antonio besides Cindy."
"I do. And he's not home.” She jangled the key.
"I'll have to be minuteman.” Spence flashed her a provocative smile. “What's the address?"
She told him and relaxed against the seat while he maneuvered the truck into the busy traffic. His nearness in the movie house had been a tease, only stirring her appetite. She craved to feel his powerful arms hold her tight against his chest while she matched her breathing and her heartbeat to his. She wanted to feel his hot flesh and bone against hers.
Which all sounded more romantic than lusty. But a little romantic fantasy along with the sex could only spice things up, couldn't it?
* * * *
Once Spence passed a few cars and steered the truck into the right lane, he asked Mercy, “How did you like the show?"
"The licorice Nibs were good."
He laughed. “I suspected you weren't into action-adventure when you spent more time at the concession stand than in your seat.” But she'd been a good sport and hadn't whined, like some women he'd known before his jail term. The movie had been a great distraction for him. For the first time in ages, he'd felt like a normal person enjoying an ordinary amusement.
"Let's just say I didn't mind going for the popcorn and drinks.” She leaned toward him when she spoke, and he caught a hint of her perfume, or maybe it was the shampoo she used. But she smelled seductive.
"Here I thought you lived to serve me.” A few services she could perform for him ran through his mind. He loved the way she serviced his cock. Her mouth fitted tight over the head, pumping with her hand at the base while she ran her tongue along the throbbing vein of his shaft. His dick itched with desire at the mere memory.
"I do live to serve you, for several more days anyway.” She flitted her eyelashes demurely.
"We'll see.” He let his voice dip into a thick, sexual tone, shying away from how much he'd miss her when the week ran out.
And not just sexually. He'd miss her smile. The way she made him feel when he held her hand or kissed her. The way she made him feel by merely walking or sitting beside him.
Somehow, being with her blurred his hard edges, made him feel softer on the inside. Not callous and cold like he'd become over the past two years.
Mercy responded to his suggestive tone by reaching over and stroking his thigh. Her hand felt hot through the dark denim of his jeans, and she succeeded in giving him an instant boner.
"Later, babe,” he murmured, shifting on the seat to ease his discomfort.
"Later.” But she didn't let up.
"Nice part of the city.” He nodded toward the houses shadowed by post oaks and pecans to divert her attention until they reached their destination and he could act on his carnal appetite.
As she peeped out her side window, she stopped massaging, but didn't remove her hand from his inner thigh. His hard-on stayed on alert.
Mercy squinted through the windshield to make out the houses in the dark. “That one has a nice stone front,” she said, kneading his thigh muscle again, and his revived erection began getting harder to deal with in his seated position.
He missed the street and had to circle back. “What house is your uncle's?"
Her pretty blonde hair shimmered in the streetlight as she shook her head. “I'm not sure. I've never been here before. My uncle's been away since I arrived. But he left an open invitation and the key."
"8082, 8084, 8086,” he recited the house numbers as he downshifted the truck to a crawl.
"There it is.” She pointed to a tree-lined, brick driveway with a house set well back from the street. 8088. He pulled the truck into the empty drive and shut the motor off.
The neighborhood was quiet. The shrill of katydids and the rustle of a stray cat prowling in the shrubs were the only sounds other than their own breathing. The sweet aroma of oleander drifted in through the open window, but once he helped Mercy from the truck, her scent filled him, seeping into his pores, pulsing the blood in his veins.
At the front stoop, she plopped the key into his hand without touching his palm. But her very presence and the heat from her body were enough to keep him turned on.
Jiggling the lock, he opened the door and halted. “No alarm.” He groped along the wall in the foyer until he hit a light switch. A dim-lit chandelier glimmered above them.
"I imagine the bedrooms are in the back of the house,” she whispered, her voice low and luring. She moved ahead of him down the hallway.
He slapped the door shut and followed her. Catching up in a few strides, he grabbed onto her wrist and tugged her backward every few steps to kiss her neck and cop a feel.
Her breasts were a handful, the flesh soft and firm, her nip
ples hardening in immediate response to his flicking thumb. Each time he smacked a light kiss to her tender neck, she laughed. He liked the tinkling sound. It sounded wholesome and sincere.
The women he'd been with since he'd served his time had faked their laughter, along with their orgasms. He hadn't cared then. But since Mercy, he'd be hard set to go back to the way things were.
He'd been celibate in jail. He could do so again, until he settled up with Parker and then what? Nothing. His heart slammed at the answer.
Mercy peeked into one room and then another, opening and shutting doors. Finally, she kept one open. “This must be the guest bedroom. There's nothing personal in sight."
She was right. No pictures, jewelry, books. They entered, leaving the glow of the hall chandelier behind. As he shut the door to the bedroom, darkness closed in around them, except for the sliver of moonlight filtering in through the curtain. She stood still, apparently waiting for her eyes to adjust.
Leaning against the door, he encircled her waist with his hands and turned her to face him, tugging her lush figure up against him. He groaned at how her supple curves fit his body sexually. His half-hard cock sprang back to life with a raging stiffness. Evidently, her persistent hand during the truck ride had been more than enough foreplay for him.
He jerked at her blouse and pulled it over her head and off. Bunching the soft fabric in his hand, he held it near his face and inhaled her sensuous scent.
An aroused glint shone in her eyes. While still holding the blouse, he captured her slender wrists and tugged them behind her back.
She arched her spine and thrust her breasts forward until they rubbed against his chest with a slight but provocative friction. Her nipples peaked pebble-hard against the silky material of her bra. When she tilted her chin upward, her breath fanned his jaw, moist, heavy, and sweet.
Tempting as she was, he didn't take her mouth yet. He twisted her blouse around her wrists and tied the fabric off into a knot behind her back.
Brazenly, she moistened her lips, running the enticing, pink tip of her tongue along the seam of her mouth with deliberate slowness. Then her tongue slipped from sight, and she sucked her bottom lip between her pearly teeth, baiting him to make her open up to him.