by Casey Hagen
He craned his neck and met her eyes. “A male escort?”
She shrugged, the motion lifting those full breasts of hers, catching his eye. “Sure, with those looks you’d stoke a few fires.”
“Do I stoke yours?” he asked. He held his breath a second, hoping he hadn’t pushed them out of the banter zone.
A slow glide of her lips curving into a smile was his only answer, but it was answer enough.
He took a relieved breath. He didn’t know what this was with her, but he knew for sure he didn’t want it to end. Not yet. “I won’t say I haven’t spent some of my money, but for the most part it’s been invested. If my career is over, I’ll live comfortably for the rest of my life,” he said, answering her question.
She cringed. “Yikes. You sound like you’re reading a pamphlet.”
He held out his hands. “What do you want to hear? That if I lose my career, a part of me will die with it? Well, there it is. I said it.” And he wished he could stuff the words back down his throat.
“You won’t know who you are, or what you’ll do with yourself,” she whispered.
He jerked his head up and down, swallowing hard. “Yeah, that sounds about right,” he said quietly.
She titled her head against his shoulder. “Aren’t we a pair?”
“What about you? What do you do?”
“I take care of people…or, at least I used to. Now, I don’t.”
“What do you want to do?”
She sighed, and her eyelids fluttered shut. “I want to put on a dress that’s far too young for me and go dancing until the wee hours. I want to drink margaritas and sing at the top of my lungs. I want to drive up the coast with my music blaring and my hair flying loose in the breeze, no worries about pesky seatbelts. I want to ride in a hot air balloon and drink champagne while watching the sunrise.” She smiled. “I want to let the past go and feel alive again. It’s been a long time.”
And he wanted to give it all to her. “What are you doing tomorrow night?”
“I’m eating a pint of Ben & Jerry’s Chunky Monkey and watching Dirty Dancing.”
He tried to hold it back, but the laughter slipped from his lips anyway. “Is that a hard commitment?”
She bobbed her head and puckered her lips. “Might be; I penciled it in on the calendar and everything.”
“Well, there you go. You used a pencil…totally erasable. How about I pick you up, we grab dinner, and go dancing. Wear the dress. We’ll cross one off your list, and if it works out maybe we’ll cross off a few more while I’m here.”
“Are you asking me out?” she said with a laugh.
“Oh, you’re damn straight I am.”
“Before you commit to the asking, you should know something…I kill my husbands,” she said.
He leaned away from her and turned his whole upper body in her direction, sure that he had heard her wrong. “What?”
She gave him a slow head bob. “Yeah, it’s the darnedest thing. Each of them, in the first five years of marriage, got sick and eventually died.”
She made it sound like she had a collection of them. “Each of them…how many are we talking about here?” he asked.
“Two,” she chirped.
Coincidence. He was almost sure of it. He turned back to the sea and watched the seagulls swooping in circles over the waves. “Well, they’ve left you free to wander the streets, so I would say you’ve been cleared of fault.”
“I’m bad luck,” she said.
“I’ll take my chances,” he replied.
She sat up and crossed her legs. “Well, maybe since you’re coming in with an injury, you’ll be exempt from my mojo.”
“Ah, a silver lining. Now, stop stalling and answer the question.” He narrowed his eyes. “Wait, what’s your name?”
“Maureen LaCroix. L-A-C-R-O-I-X,” she spelled.
“Maureen… I like it. Now, why are you spelling it?”
“In case you want to do a background check before you commit to your offer.”
“Listen, I’m going to level with you. I like you. You’re hands-down the most fascinating woman I’ve ever met, and I can’t wait to see how those legs look in that dress you mentioned.”
She bit her plump bottom lip. Wisps of dark, silken strands broke free from her hat to dance across her cheek. “You’re crazy.”
“Maybe I am, but what a way to go,” he said.
She studied him with those olive eyes of hers. With a couple blinks her face softened, letting him know he’d won her over. “Fine, you’ve got your date. Meet me here, though.”
“Afraid to give me your address?”
She pushed up onto her feet and brushed the sand off her. “For the first date? Yes. Does six o’clock work for you?”
“Perfect.”
“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go let Ben & Jerry down easy,” she said, picking up the canister next to her.
“Hey, what’s in the container?” he called to her as she walked away.
“My husband,” she said before turning away and heading for her car.
Chapter 2
“I’ve done something absolutely insane and I need your help,” Maureen said into the phone when her sister, Laura, answered.
“Oh, this can’t be good. Do I need to get bail money?”
“No, but we need to go shopping for a dress. Today. Now,” Maureen said as she glanced at the clock. She had ten hours before she had to be ready.
“A dress? You have the biggest wardrobe I’ve ever seen. You have tons of dresses.”
Scrambling about the house, she pinned the phone between her ear and shoulder as she searched for everything she needed: nail kit, razor, mud mask, hair color… good God, she would be exhausted by lunch.
The house had been in shambles since Laura and Bryce had moved in with Jack. With the extra space, Maureen had pulled her furnishings out of storage to go through them and decide what stayed and what went. She hadn’t finished.
Not even close.
“Yes, and those dresses were fine for dates with men two decades older than me. To them, I was young.”
“Wait, you have a date?”
Duh.
Maybe she should just get a mani-pedi and stop at a spa for a wax and facial. She could have her full-blown panic attack in public and entertain the masses. Some snotty teenager popping gum, listening to Taylor Swift on her iPod, getting pointed-tip acrylics glued to her fingernails could whip out her iPhone and have Maureen loaded on YouTube in minutes. By dinner she’d have a million views, and she and Dominic could debate who was more famous over dessert.
Not that she was eating dessert because, well, the aforementioned Chunky Monkey. “Unfortunately, yes. A date.”
“It’s about time! Who’s the lucky guy?”
“A baseball player for the Miami Marlins,” Maureen said, abandoning the supplies she had gathered. Hell, half of them were probably expired anyway. The last thing she needed to do was bleach her upper lip with jenkety shit and give herself a chemical burn.
Laura laughed hysterically on the other end. Her high-pitched squeal pierced Maureen’s ear- drum, followed by a snort and a shuddering sigh as she caught her breath.
“Are you done?” Maureen asked.
“Be serious. Who is he?”
“Dominic fucking Centore, shortstop for the Miami Marlins.”
Laura gasped. “You’re serious?”
“Yeeesssss. Do I sound this panicked when I’m dating one of my usual guys? Think about it. When I pick them two decades older, I’m the youngest dish they’ve been with. Dominic is still in his twenties… I’m in crisis mode here. I have ten hours to find a dress that will knock my almost-forty-year-old body back at least a decade. If I’m really lucky, two. I need to shave, moisturize, tweeze, get my roots done, buy sexy underwear, and find a bra that will raise the girls back into the northern hemisphere after the last few years of southern drift,” Maureen rambled before sucking in a panicked breath.
“Okay, hang on a minute. One thing at a time,” Laura said.
Oh, and she could use some liposuction in her ass. She could totally fit that in, right? Because that date with Ben & Jerry’s was more like a monogamous relationship for the last ten or so months, and she was pretty sure the chunky—maybe even the monkey—had drifted straight to her ass.
“Oh, God, I can’t do this. I’ll just cancel.”
“Oh, no… oh noooo you don’t. Don’t you dare! You’ve had yourself in this damn funk for almost two years. This isn’t how I saw you coming out of it, but you know what? It might actually be better. You stay right where you are. I’m coming to get you and we’re going to Naples to find you that dress.”
With her nephew, Bryce, in school, Maureen grasped at her last hope to get out of Laura taking her shopping. To get out of the date altogether. “What about Amelia?”
“She has a father who would love nothing more than to have an excuse to take her to the office for the day, and his assistant, Roseanne, will be all too willing to spoil her rotten,” Laura pointed out.
“Are you sure? I really can just cancel.” Because even if she did everything to look drop-dead gorgeous, what happened if she took her clothes off?
Jesus, was she planning to take her clothes off?
It had been two years. Two years since William had the heart attack that killed him, right in the middle of rigorous foreplay. Specifically, a blow job with a new technique courtesy of sexplanations on YouTube.
Maybe it was best to keep her clothes on.
And her mouth to herself.
“If you cancel, I’m telling Mom,” Laura said, in that same sing-song tone she had said it in when they were kids. The turd.
There was no getting out of it, because she sure as hell had no intention of sitting with her mother at their next bi-monthly brunch getting the stink eye about missed opportunities, wasted chances, and expiring ovaries. Not that Maureen wanted kids. Well, she had at one time, but hello… forty looming in the future and all. “Shit. I’ll be here waiting, but hurry, dammit!”
She thought back to the conversation with Dominic on the beach. What was it he said?
Long, smooth legs… that was it.
Okay, she needed to look up dresses that accented the legs. She logged on to her computer while she waited for Laura. She typed in ‘classy sexy dress’ and hit enter.
She selected an image search and immediately ruled out at least half of what popped up. Who the hell designed these things, anyway? A good portion of the dresses were see-through lace, and from the looks of it some of the models were wearing dresses a couple sizes too small for their bodies.
She had enough problems without that nonsense.
Maybe a checklist was better. She poured a cup of coffee, turned off the pot, and sat at the round table tucked into the sunny little nook in the kitchen that let in the bright Florida sunshine each morning. She tapped her pen on the yellow legal pad she had left there to make lists of what furnishings to sell, which to refinish, and the ones that were good to go to a new place as is.
That is, if she ever got around to buying a place. She had the money. Because, well, two dead husbands. Husbands who’d had lucrative careers. She couldn’t buy a mansion on the edge of the ocean, but with careful investing she could support herself in a modest home for the rest of her days. Only, she hadn’t decided where to buy or build that modest home. She waffled between close to Laura or maybe leaving the island all together. She thought she would have come up with something to do with the rest of her life before she made her final choice. Maybe start an event-planning business, or find a cause to volunteer her time. Something to anchor her to a place. Anyplace.
But she hadn’t.
Depressing. So, instead of examining her floundering life too closely, after all, that’s what her mother was for, she’d go back to the dress.
She spotted something intriguing on the computer screen before she could start scrawling on the paper. A twist on a high-low dress. Only, the high and low parts were on the sides. This dress had a high neckline, which worked to hide any trouble areas of her cleavage, because, let’s face it, at thirty-five they start to look a bit like someone let some air out. It took a bra to create the illusion of fullness on the tops. The dress was also sleeveless, which she loved, since they had held onto the warmth longer than normal, and one thing she loved about herself was her arms.
Whether it was genetics or all of those months taking care of Bryce and then helping with Amelia, she had a Michelle Obama thing going on. Not quite as phenomenal, but she’d take it.
But the best part of the dress was the skirt. One side was cut mid-thigh, and as it crossed to the other side the material did a sharp dive, coming to a point a few inches past the knee.
It was unlike any dress she had seen, and an intriguing mix of bold and modest.
Laura knocked and pushed her way through the front doorway, stopped, and put her hands on her hips with a big shit-eating grin on her face. “I’m so proud of you,” she said before snatching Maureen out of her chair and hugging her tight.
“You act like I’m losing my virginity tonight.”
“Close enough. You’re boldly going where you’ve never gone before. I expect to hear every detail.”
“Aren’t you experiencing enough of your own skin sliding between the sheets that you don’t have to tap into mine?” Maureen asked as she dumped the last of her coffee into the sink. It didn’t seem to fair to drink the caffeine in front of her sister, who had been evicted from the caffeine train… again.
She glanced up at Laura and spotted that disgustingly dreamy smile on her face, reminding herself that her sister got it whenever she wanted, and with a hot silver fox on a motorcycle no less, and decided to take the rest of the coffee in a travel mug to go. Laura deserved to watch Maureen enjoy the brew.
“Before we head out, what do you think of this?” Maureen asked, turning the laptop to her sister.
“Oooh, I love that. Very chic.”
“I found it at Deneer’s. I want to try it on before we bother looking at anything else.”
“I’ll put it in Waze and we’ll go straight there. Now, let’s load up. I want to hear all about this hot meeting with Dominic Centore.”
They hopped into Laura’s SUV and headed across the causeway that led right into Naples. Maureen told Laura about sitting at the beach and the way Dominic joined her. Now that she was reflecting on the event instead of living it, she marveled at the unconventional nature of how they’d linked up. Especially how she’d left it.
“Oh. My. God. You had William with you? And you told Dominic?”
“When he asked me what was in the container, what was I supposed to say?”
“I don’t know, but I know one thing: props to Dominic if he shows up tonight after that.”
They found a front space at Deneer’s, a small boutique in the center of Naples known for higher-end women’s clothing. More specifically, cocktail dresses.
Ginger and lemon combined in a light scent to greet them when they entered. Clusters of clothing organized by level of dress sat nestled in various corners of the store, leaving the center wide open, padded benches surrounding a center column. A coffee table sat before the benches, with an array of finger foods and gourmet candies.
A petite blond ducked her head out of a doorway in the back. “I’ll be right with you ladies. Please, help yourselves.”
“How sadistic is that?” Maureen said, pointing to the rich foods ripe for the taking.
Laura shrugged. “I don’t know—I could eat.”
“Yeah, well, you’re eating for two so it’s easy for you to say,” Maureen muttered as she followed Laura to the bench.
“Three,” Laura said around the truffle she had popped into her mouth.
“Three what?”
“I’m eating for three,” Laura said, and then burst into tears.
“Twins?”
“Yes,” she said, wiping tears
off her cheeks with the palm of her hand.
“Well, go Jack,” Maureen said with a smile. She knew that look on Laura’s face. She’d seen it when her first husband, Ken, had died and she was faced with the prospect of raising Bryce on her own.
Terror. Sheer terror.
But she also knew that if anyone could handle twins, it was Laura.
“What are you afraid of?”
“It’s two babies. Twice the diapers, twice the feedings, twice the chances of colic. Amelia will be two. Jack works full time. How am I going to do this?”
Laura would be thirty-three with four kids. Maureen would be forty, her dead husband still sitting on her mantel. “You’re going to hire some help,” Maureen said with one arm around Laura, and picking up a slice of cucumber with smoked salmon and dill. She popped it into her mouth and told herself it was chocolate cake.
It was not chocolate cake.
“We’ll be down to one income.”
“Yes, Jack’s. He owns the company. I’m sure you can afford to at least hire someone part-time.”
“Maybe. Dammit. I’m sorry. This was supposed to be about you, and I went and blurted the news. I haven’t even told Jack yet,” Laura said.
“Yeah, about that. Don’t tell him I was the first you told. You had a weak moment, but I’m sure your intention was to tell him first. What he doesn’t know and all that.”
“You’re the best sister in the world,” Laura said, giving Maureen a watery smile.
“Yes, I am. And you owe me. So you’re going to be one-hundred-percent honest when I try on this dress,” Maureen said, taking her sister’s hand.
“Thank you for your patience, ladies. My name is Angelica. What can I help you with today?”
Maureen brought up the dress she’d seen on her phone. “Do you have this here in the store? It said so online, but—”
“Yes, we do.” She looked Maureen up and down. “A size eight?”
“Yes, if I’m lucky,” Maureen said with a gulp.
“Why don’t you head on in to the changing room over there and I’ll bring it to you,” Angelica said with a reassuring smile.