by Lori Flynn
She was leery at first, but before long, Christian had her eating kibble from his hand while Maria laughed mopping puddles from the hardwood floor. Lily played, maneuvering her cast, tripping over her long ears, while batting with her new toys. Olivia’s eyes filled, taking it all in.
As the puppy yawned, Olivia assembled the crate Dr. Hunter insisted on and placed it in a vacant corner of her bedroom. He’d endorsed it as a useful tool. She saw it as another cage. Instead, they snuggled in her roomy bed, where now and again through the night, a warm, wet tongue rewarded her face for the decision.
Olivia simply smiled when Dr. Hunter inquired of her evening the following morning when she returned Lily to his care. Her smile deepened to laughter at the end of the day when Lily hobbled to her side.
“Let’s go home, Lily,” Olivia said, lifting the puppy and placing a kiss on her brown head.
With Lily secured in her seat, she’d just merged with afternoon traffic when her cell vibrated.
“I have what you need, Olivia,” Ben said in a husky voice.
She tightened her grip on the wheel. “I’m glad you called. Are you free tonight—that’s if you’re still game to try my cooking? There’s someone I’d like you to meet.”
“I’ll be there. Who’s the mystery guest? I’m not big on surprises, Olivia.”
“Dinner’s around seven.” She grinned, quickly disconnecting the call.
*
Once dinner preparations were in progress, Olivia showered and dressed. She wore a long flowing skirt and matching top since the early March breezes off the water kept a chill in the house. Lily seemed content in the kitchen, taking in the pleasant aromas.
“Stay,” Olivia ordered a short time later, implementing the hand sign they’d practiced twice that day. “Our guest has arrived and, since I’ve given the staff the night off, I need to answer the door.”
Turning on her heel, she was flushed when she greeted him. She became warmer still as he moved in close, brushing her cheek with his lips, offering a bottle of wine. Her eyes closed as she breathed in his virile scent.
Ben’s eyes searched the room, his neck crooking from side to side. As if on cue, sliding into the foyer dragging her pink cast was Lily. Before he had a moment to react, she sought shelter behind Olivia’s leg, trailing a puddle in her path.
Olivia didn’t know whose reaction tickled her more as she gathered Lily and sprinted for cleaning supplies.
“Ben, this is Lily. I adopted her a few days ago.”
His eyebrows raised in unison while a slow smile lifted the corner of his mouth. “Hold on. Lily is who you wanted me to meet?”
“You look shocked. Coming from someone who professes to know all things concerning my life, just who were you expecting?”
“Certainly not a dog,” Ben drew a deep breath. “It would seem my highly evolved imagination may have gotten the better of me. She’s beautiful. You’ll have to tell me the whole story over dinner. It smells great, by the way.” Ben leaned in closer, scratching Lily’s head.
“Thank you, and I’m working on getting her housebroken. According to the experts, I need to walk her every hour, when she eats or drinks and every time she wakes up or is ready to sleep. It sounds as if we’ll be living on the lawn for a while. As for dinner, I believe it’s ready. I hope you’re hungry.”
While they ate, Olivia shared the sad story of finding Lily in the night drop-off, helping him understand her request for the endowment. Ben explained the legal ins and outs of each document as they polished off the bottle of wine. Olivia cleared the dishes to the sink, leaving them to soak.
They settled on the floor, thoroughly entertained by Lily. The puppy hadn’t grasped the concept of fetch, gathering the toys thrown her way, rather than return them. After a time, Lily bravely ventured to Ben, falling asleep curled in his arms.
“She sleeps upstairs in my bed. It looks like she’s out for the night,” Olivia whispered as softly as she could with the wine thickening her tongue.
“Do you think it safe, trusting a half-drunk man in your bedroom?” Ben whispered, lifting the slumbering puppy.
“I don’t think I have anything to worry about if you’re only half a man. Wait—is that what you said?” Olivia asked, bringing her hand up and stifling her giggle but then was unable to control her burst of laughter.
Finding her laugh infectious, Ben joined her, pursing his lips so as not to wake Lily. At the staircase, he shifted the puppy to one hand, taking hold of Olivia’s in his other. Together, they climbed to her room. When lowered to Olivia’s bed, Lily curled on the pillow and returned to sleep.
“I don’t want to overstay my welcome,” Ben whispered.
Olivia smiled before the light dimmed around her. Hard to explain was the sudden onset of the ringing in her head. As it intensified, she feared her brain might implode. She braced herself against the foot of the bed. It faded. With her vision blurred, all she heard was the familiar distant tapping of her mother’s stiletto heels echoing through her ears.
She thought the episode was over as quickly as it came. The chiming of the clock proved her wrong.
The sensation of her tongue pushing deep inside Ben’s mouth as her leg wrapped his upper thigh shocked her. Stunning her more, while her left hand roamed freely through his hair, her right actively engaged down the front of his pants in an erotic massage. She had his full attention.
Ben drew her closer, deepening their kiss as her head cleared. Her body stiffened. Shaken to the core, Olivia stepped back. Her mouth burned, and her emotions whirled.
“Ben, I…”
“Don’t finish that sentence. Don’t say you can’t,” Ben said, slowing his breathing. “I’ve waited so long for this, and tonight you surprised me.”
She shook her head apologetically.
His face spoke for him. He stormed from the room, slamming the door with a force that made Olivia flinch. When she heard Ben’s car speed away, she collapsed on her bed and pounded the mattress with her fists. Lily whined, licked her face.
She knew she needed help and courage to level with Jill and Melody. But how could she confess this, when it only made her more fearful of exposure?
Chapter Seventeen
Delila
Come nightfall, those on the less affluent side of town, who lived and worked not so much for satisfaction but survival, surfaced. Delila Jennings thought herself one of them. And she felt the same rush whenever she entered her apartment.
The modestly priced high-rise helped make supporting herself manageable. Delila knew the escort business wasn’t for everyone. Most disapproved of her chosen profession. Opinions don’t mean shit unless I’m paid to listen to them, she thought.
She chose the building for its location, situated between the airport and nightlife. While security was a factor, she considered the absence of a doorman, who could disclose her comings and goings, a plus. All in all, Delila thought she had found the perfect place to call home. She looked out over the murk of the city from a window that ran the length of the wall and then unlocked the desk drawer that held her ledger and turned to her employer’s number.
She dialed from a prepaid burner and then returned the ledger to the desk, engaging the lock while waiting for the woman’s throaty response. “Vivian, it’s Delila. I know it’s late, but I’m working tonight. Any calls for me?”
“Let me see. Your stockbroker from Denver called. He just flew in and wants to meet you for drinks. He’s staying at the Hilton just a few blocks from you,” Vivian said. “I could have a car to your door within the hour.”
“Tell Denver I’ll be there.”
“And Delila, remember that I insist on the car service to ensure your safe arrival as well as your return. Use it. No excuses,” Vivian said.
Delila rolled her eyes. “It’s not always that easy. Sometimes clients pay for extra services. Timing a car’s trickier than hailing a cab.”
“This agency obtains income strictly as a booking and dispat
ching service,” Vivian screeched into the phone. “Whatever you negotiate on the side is your business.”
Delila knew what her clients expected, required. They remembered her name when they returned to town if she did her job.
Fragrant bubbles tickled her nose as she sank deeper in the claw-footed tub. The steamy water worked to loosen her muscles. She dried off, applied her makeup and massaged lotion over her willowy frame. Delila slipped into the black lace panty and matching demi-cup bra, then released the zipper on the garment bag, and shimmied into a snug black cocktail dress ending with the beginning of her thigh. Pink stiletto peephole pumps helped complete the look, along with an opera length strand of rose-colored pearls.
While dabbing her wrists and neck with Joy, her favorite perfume, the intercom announced the car’s arrival. Delila glanced in the full-length mirror. When her blue eyes peered back, she did little more than sweep the blonde hair that barely brushed her shoulders, behind her ears and pulled at her spiky bangs. Adding the cell phone and lipstick to her clutch, she took a quick breath and headed for the door.
*
Delila braced against the shower wall as the scorching water lambasted her tender skin and weary muscles. Her date had lasted three hours and had felt like a week. She pushed into a soft silk robe, a gift from an appreciative client, retrieved the burner phone and placed her mandatory check-in call to Vivian.
“It’s Delila. I’m back, a bit bored but still kicking. Denver’s wife had dumped him, so he turned on the waterworks. I can’t say I blame her. I was ready to leave him myself.”
Vivian groaned into the phone. “I trust you were sympathetic. The most brainless clients can still pick up on attitude. Are you available tomorrow night? There’s a huge bash happening in South Beach, and I’ve had a request for you.”
“That sounds too good to pass up. I’ll certainly try.”
“I know you like to come and go as you please, Delila, but I need a firm commitment. Can I make this date for you or not?”
“Getting out is hard for me. But I’ll be there. Maybe you should schedule a date for yourself, Vivian. You need a good tweak. Your attitude sucks.”
*
After dark the following day, Delila ducked into a quaint Italian delicatessen just up the street from her apartment. True to her word, she’d show up for her date, but as usual, food was first on her mind. Famished, her stomach snarled.
“Ciao,” she greeted the elderly couple stationed behind the counter.
They’d welcomed her like family, encouraging her effort to speak Italian, offering her samples. When Delila circled toward the register, her basket of delicacies spilled over the brim with an array of cheeses, a slice of tiramisu, and a gourmet pizza. The last items she added were homemade almond biscotti and a bottle of wine, on display within arm’s reach of the counter.
“Hai pensato a tutto,” the old man said, looking over the items she’d collected.
“You’ve thought of everything,” his wife translated when she noticed Delila’s blank expression.
“Grazie, ciao,” Delila waved, carrying her packages from the store.
She nibbled the biscotti as she walked. The aroma wafting from the pizza had her scaling her apartment stairs two at a time. Delila unlocked the desk, grabbed her ledger, and arranged a pick-up time with Vivian while uncorking the wine. After recording the information on a new burner phone, she brought the pizza and wine into the bathroom and drew a bath and then took her time dressing.
The car service dropped her at the entrance of the venue. Delila took a seat at the bar, absorbing the opulent scenery, where a fragrant jasmine and citronella scent filled the air. The party was an A-lister’s dream, as South Beach movers-and-shakers mingled with Hollywood’s brightest up-and-comers.
This would be her third date with Vinnie, there to proctor what could only be a shady deal. Delila kept her distance while he spoke with his cohorts unless he decided otherwise. She was mindful of Vinnie’s approach. The blind could see him, she thought. Tall as he was wide, his dark hair and eyes weren’t what defined him—but his nose. It protruded several inches from his face.
His strong arms circled her waist. He squeezed her affectionately before he clasped her hand and led her to a raised platform. By the sudden levity in his stride, she surmised his business had been lucrative. Asking dwelled out of the scope of her job description. Instead, they danced—something he loved watching her do.
“Look at you, Delila, you’re gorgeous, smart, and you move like a slinky. I know I’ve said this before and sound like a cliché, but where have you been all my life?” Vinnie pulled her close, running his meaty hands up the backs of her thighs.
In elementary school, was the first answer crossing her mind. She wisely stopped short of sharing it. Instead, she said, “Let’s go find you another drink. I’m a few ahead. You don’t want me partying all by myself, do you?”
“I wouldn’t mind as long as I could watch.” Vinnie grinned. Distracted by the flash of a camera, he nodded at the paparazzi that’d photographed them and would wish they hadn’t. Delila waited while Vinnie’s entourage guaranteed his wife wouldn’t see those troublesome pictures. Thinking it best to put his mind back on their date, she thrust out her chest.
“We can get you that drink right over there.” Delila took Vinnie’s arm, leading him across the crowded Plaza.
“On second thought, what I want more is in this direction,” Vinnie said, pulling her with him through an unlocked pavilion door to a dark, cool room, securing the lock behind them. Using his bulk, he pressed her tight against the wall. His tongue darted deep in her throat, his nose just missing her eye, while the fingers of his free hand fumbled their way to her panties and then pushed inside her.
“Just what I paid for,” Vinnie chuckled.
He dragged his lips from hers, answering his buzzing phone, seemingly undeterred, placating his saintly wife. Without missing a beat, he nudged Delila by his bulging belly to her knees, thrusting himself into her opened mouth.
Delila knelt, focusing on her earnings, as Vinnie carried on his pedestrian conversation.
“Did you get Tony to the pediatrician to recheck that ear infection? When’s your mother coming?” Vinnie said while pounding at the back of Delila’s throat, over and over again.
*
Delila returned home at daybreak. She’d partied too hard, drunk too much tequila, and was hung over, although she hadn’t closed her eyes. She stored her toiletries and used the burner phone to check in with Vivian. After securing the apartment door, she dropped the phone down the hallway garbage shoot, pausing until she heard it engage before heading for the stairs.
She couldn’t stay and sleep it off. She knew better. She had a car to return—before anyone noticed it gone.
Chapter Eighteen
Olivia
Strong ocean breezes ruffled Olivia’s hair as she nursed her last cup of morning coffee. Settled at a marble table on the veranda, she eyed Lily, who explored the wet sand while she worked on her list. Since Jill and Melody had left word of an impromptu weekend visit, arriving that very afternoon, Olivia found herself in a crunch for preparation time.
“We need to go now, Lily,” Olivia called.
The small beagle, her injured leg again in a cast since having endured a second surgery days before, limped quickly up to her. “Good girl, Lily,” Olivia said, giving her a rub behind her long brown ears. After the advice of many manuals, she was finally housebroken.
She’d heard nothing from Ben. It had been three days. She swallowed hard to hold back her tears.
Olivia hadn’t forgotten her plan. It twisted her stomach. But confiding in Jill and Melody seemed her only hope for help. How would they react? Should she tell them that although she watched her diet and retired at a reasonable hour, there were days when she woke even more exhausted, with cigarette smoke layered through her hair and the taste of alcohol on her lips? Any physician worth his weight in salt would have no choice b
ut to commit her. And what would it take to solve the mystery of the bruises on her inner thighs and breasts? In truth, she hadn’t finished working through just what she’d tell them when the time came.
Olivia shook her head to clear it and cut through the airy kitchen. She paused when Maria slid what looked like another list over the smooth granite counter top.
“I’m going shopping this morning, Maria,” Olivia said. “I’d be happy to pick these things up for you. It seems you’re in the mood for Italian food.”
“That isn’t mine. I found it on the counter earlier this morning and assumed it was yours.”
“I remember now,” Olivia averted her eyes as she lied. “I was trying to put together a menu for Jill and Melody’s visit. I told you they were arriving today, right?” As Maria nodded in agreement, Olivia took both lists and scurried up the stairs.
Once in her bedroom, she noted the familiar lacey writing and then put it with her list. Purchasing the items would avoid the inevitable call of concern from Maria to her grandmother. She’d never heard of the wine on the list and couldn’t pronounce it. With a deep sigh, she stepped into the shower.
Wrapped in a generous towel, Olivia opened her closet to select an outfit that best suited her mood. The walk-in was a study in organization with garments separated by color, texture, and purpose. Since she didn’t own a straitjacket, she settled for a peach sundress and sandals. A garment discarded on the hardwood floor grabbed her attention. When she held it before her, it stopped her in her tracks, paralyzing her in fear.
“Not again. Where the hell did this come from?” Olivia said aloud, breathless.
The strapless gold and beaded dress hung no more than a few feet long, much shorter than anything she would wear. Checking for security tags, relief flushed over her when there were none. The fact it had been worn and smelled of the overwhelming floral perfume that often lingered in her bathroom disturbed her.