For Your Love

by Caine, Candy

  “Of course,” Heather said.

  Martin took her over to a red coupe from the SLR-Class and opened the driver’s door for her to admire the hand-tooled leather interior. The sticker had a price tag of $452, 750. The car was a beauty and his personal favorite. “This is an AMG hand-built car with a supercharged 617-horsepower 90-degree V-8 engine that reaches a top speed of 208 miles per hour. I don’t think you’re concerned about the speed, but it does get 18 mpg. What do you think?”

  “I’d like to take it for a test drive.”

  “Of course. Follow me, please,” he replied taking her back to his cubicle where he could photocopy her license.

  “May I see your license?” he asked in his most conciliatory tone.

  Trying to prevent the smirk from forming across her face, Heather opened the tote and fished inside for her wallet. She opened it and tried to hand the wallet over to Martin, but he raised his hand to stop her. “Please remove the license for me.”

  Heather complied and gave it to him. Instantly, the color drained from his handsome face and was quickly replaced by a deep flush. This was accompanied by a flurry of sputtering, akin to the backfiring of an engine. After a long beat, he was capable of speaking. “I had no idea.”

  The grin Heather had repressed before blossomed into a wide smile. “Now let’s see if I’m able to fool our PI friend outside.”

  “I’m game,” he said as he handed her back her license. “Anything in mind?”

  “How’s about some early afternoon delight?” she whispered huskily.

  Martin’s cock jumped to attention. “Let’s go,” he grunted, grabbing the car keys for one of the demos.

  As they passed one of the other salesmen currently on the phone, Martin got his attention and told him, “Garrett, I’m taking an early lunch. Call me if something important comes up.”

  When they exited the salesroom, Heather looked directly in Haywood’s direction. He didn’t seem to respond and continued to fiddle with whatever he had in his lap. If he was going to stay in this line of work, he had to find a less conspicuous car. How many people park in a Mercedes car lot with a rusting Chevy clunker?

  Martin led her over to a luxury sedan and unlocked the driver’s door for Heather. She slid behind the wheel to give their ride some legitimacy. After they gone a few blocks without a tail, they both turned to each other and shared a laugh.

  “I guess he didn’t recognize me.”

  “I guess not, buttercup. However, I do suggest we make this a quickie.” Martin slipped his hand inside her rain coat and under her blouse, gently squeezed her breast, fanning his thumb over her nipple.

  Heather gasped. “You’re right, I have some more wild goose chases lined up for our super sleuth this afternoon.”

  “Did anyone ever tell you that you were evil?” he said, running his other hand down lower until he was covering her mons with the heel of his hand pressing on her clit.

  “And that’s my best feature,” she said as she squirmed with pleasure and gave out a deep, throaty laugh.

  Chapter Six

  Two weeks after her first day at the gym, Carla took Blondie out for a walk. Then she drove to the gym. She thought about her first training session with Joey. It hadn’t been as bad as going to the dentist, but pretty damn close. The exercises he made her do might have been simple ones, but for someone as out of shape as she’d been, they were grueling. Over the weeks the exercises had gotten more difficult, but she wasn’t aching as much. Joey had told her she’d soon see some results and that would be the impetus to keep her on track. It would keep her coming to the gym regularly. He was right, but that was only one of the reasons she started frequenting the gym even on days she didn’t have to meet with Joey.

  Richard Stein was the other reason. Ever since their coffee date, she kept thinking about him. Carla couldn’t explain it. He popped in and out of her dreams invading her sleeping mind, as well. Being married to another man made her feel guilty about having these thoughts. But despite the guilt, she continued to have them.

  After the runaway treadmill fiasco, Carla had poured out her heart to Richard and he’d actually listened. He’d made her feel as if they’d been friends forever. But that was not a good enough reason for her to keep thinking about him.

  Was it because of his driving intelligence? Immersed in children’s books as she was all day, she found sparring with his keen mind refreshing. No. That wouldn’t explain the tingling in the pit of her stomach when she thought of him.

  It had to be the attention he paid to her that she so sorely lacked. Her own husband, Martin, hardly spoke to her. When he did answer her questions, it was little more than a grunt. Martin came home late practically every night and planted himself in front of the TV until he went to bed.

  Though she hardly knew Richard, she missed him. She hoped to bump into him again, but seemed to keep missing him. Perhaps, he was stuck in court and couldn’t make it to the gym. She’d consoled herself with the thought there was always tomorrow. And she’d kept her hopes up for two weeks, becoming more disappointed with each passing day when she hadn’t caught a glimpse of him.

  Then yesterday she’d seen him at the gym. She and Lynne had just completed a grueling half-hour on the bicycles and were about to head into the locker room to shower when Richard, obviously on his way out, noticed her and waved. Carla felt a smile creeping over her face as she waved back. Lynne couldn’t help but notice him there—after all, he was bigger than a bread box.

  “Who’s that tall cutie waving at you?” she asked Carla.

  “The guy?”

  “No. The woman next to him who looks like she’s never met a French fry she didn’t like. Of course, the guy.”

  “Oh, you must mean, Richard.”

  “Richard?” Lynne’s eyebrows rose.

  “The guy I’d mentioned to you. Don’t you remember? The corporate lawyer who prevented me from becoming a human guided missile.”

  “Oh, yeah. Next time, try getting shot out of a canon.”

  “Ha, ha, very funny.”

  “I thought so,” Lynne replied, seemingly proud of her witticism. “He married?”

  “Who?”

  “Are you going to start that again?”

  “No, he’s not, but I am—or have you forgotten?” Carla said.

  “As long as you don’t.”

  “How can I with all this daily torture to remind me?”

  “Which is beginning to pay off,” Lynne reminded her.

  Grinning, Carla answered, “I know. I’ve already lost almost six pounds.”

  “And it’s starting to show.”

  “If only Martin would come home early enough to notice.”

  “He will, you’ll see.”

  Now that memory faded as Carla parked in the gym’s lot. After putting her things away in a locker, she went out to the elliptical bikes. Her heart bounced in her ample chest as her brain telegraphed the happy message to her eyes. Richard was on one of the bikes. He gave her a big smile that warmed her as she mounted the bike next to his. God, when was the last time Martin gave me a smile like that?

  Afterward, they walked together to the locker rooms. Carla surprised herself by asking him if he had time for coffee.

  “How’s about a quick lunch,” Richard countered.

  “Sure. Something’s got to keep this svelte body humming,” Carla replied, which caused Richard to smile, as his eyes raked her body. Carla felt her breath quicken and her cheeks grow warm.

  Richard seemed to catch himself and glanced down at his watch. “Be out here in ten minutes. I have to meet a client this afternoon.”

  She saluted him and said, “Will do,” before rushing into the locker room.

  Richard was surprised to see her out there in less than ten minutes. Her hair was tied in a ponytail, revealing her graceful, tender neck, which looked tempting enough to kiss. He purposely kept his eyes from her lips.

  “Am I late?” Carla asked, breathless as if she’d b
een running.

  Richard smiled as he casually placed his arm around her back and guided her toward the door. “You’re pretty quick for a woman.”

  “Sounds sexist,” she said, teasingly.

  “Nope. Just a fact, ma’am. And a compliment.”

  “Can’t argue with that. Where are we heading?”

  As Richard opened the front door, he replied, “Follow me to the 5 and Diner.”

  The 5 and Diner was a retro-styled restaurant that transported its clientele back to the 50s with affordable good food. Though the place was known for its burgers and shakes, its menu offered something for everyone, including those on diets.

  Richard ordered a burger and fries, while Carla picked a salad. They talked amiably while they waited for their food.

  “It’s nice to talk to someone who isn’t a lawyer or a client,” Richard said.

  For Carla, it was nice to have someone to talk to other than Blondie. Lynne was now working longer hours and it was harder for them to get together. And Martin was never home, not that he was a conversationalist. “Writing children’s books, your mind tends to work on a different wavelength. Let me know when my subject matter becomes silly.”

  “At least your books don’t need a translator as you do with some law briefs written in legal speak,” Richard said.

  “That’s for certain. In a picture book, a word having three syllables is unique,” Carla said as their food came.

  “I wish I could sit here all day and talk to you,” Richard said, wiping his mouth with his napkin.

  “I enjoy talking to you, as well. Perhaps, we can do it again.”

  “Okay, then. We’ll try to go for lunch whenever we bump into one another at the gym,” Richard declared.

  “I second the motion, counselor,” Carla said, smiling.

  Chapter Seven

  Though Heather outwardly tried to give Martin the impression she was having the time of her life pulling the wool over Haywood’s eyes these past few weeks, inwardly she was uneasy knowing that Orson had hired a PI. She knew the terms of her prenup. If Haywood gave Orson proof of her infidelity, she’d be out on her ass. She thought vaguely that she needed to do something about protecting her investment in Orson.

  Heather realized she was taking a chance of losing everything by continuing to see Martin, but a girl had needs. Martin fulfilled those. He was the perfect lover. She knew he’d be careful, because he had just as much to lose as she—perhaps more. Even so, as pleasing as he was, he couldn’t compete with the memories she kept of her one true love, Salvatore, with whom she had a torrid affair in Italy before she met Orson. There was nothing she wouldn’t do to be with Salvatore again, though she hadn’t heard from him in years.

  Being as discreet as possible, Heather and Martin erased all their text messages. Calls were erased as soon as they were ended, as well. As an extra precaution, Heather never left her cell phone unattended where Orson might find it.

  Heather thought she could probably gain from Orson’s having her followed. Why not spend more time at home? Perhaps she could convince her darling hubby that all was well and that he could call off her tail. And if she was really good, he might be persuaded to get her a present, like the diamond wristwatch she saw in the jewelry department at Neiman Marcus. Whoever said you couldn’t have your cake and eat it, too?

  * * *

  When Hemmings drove into the garage, the first thing he noticed was Heather’s car. His calculating mind began to keep score. Since he’d hired that PI, he’d found her at home more and more often at night. What was the cagey broad up to? Again he paused to wonder if she knew he was having her followed.

  As usual, he slowly opened the door to the den, half-expecting the mini Jaws to attack him. Instead, all he heard was a couple of yips and glimpsed a flash of pink, but he was left unmolested. He looked up to see Heather standing at the top of the stairs stroking Lovey. She was dressed in the sheerest of black negligees. He felt his mouth grow dry at the sight of her.

  “Hello, darling,” she purred, posing wantonly. “I ordered out for dinner. Chinese. Hope you don’t mind.”

  Swallowing hard a couple of times, Orson found his voice. “What a pleasant surprise.” What he actually had wanted to say was, “Why are you here? Dumped by your lover?”

  Heather gave out a throaty chuckle as she sashayed down the stairs. “You look so surprised to see me. I do live here, you know.”

  “Sometimes I’m not too certain.”

  Ignoring his sarcasm, she gave him a look that stopped any other negative thoughts cold and purred sexily as she went to set the dining room table. “Change quickly into something more comfortable before the food gets cold.”

  Dinner turned out to be pleasantly reminiscent of the kind they’d shared together during the early years of their marriage. She sat so close to him that he felt her heat on his thigh. Every so often, she’d stroke his thigh, never quite touching his thickening shaft, sending exciting vibrations zinging through his body.

  Afterward, they retired to the den and sat cuddled together sipping wine as romantic music played softly in the background. Orson felt so hot and excited that the chilled wine warmed as it slid down his throat. Just as he didn’t think he could take much more of this seduction, she unzipped his pants and took him in her hand. Ringing the tip of his engorged penis with the pads of her fingers caused him to gasp. Heather smiled and began to stroke him expertly. With a growl he pulled her down on the rug, his big body covering hers. The love they made was so exciting that he could hardly remember why he’d hired a private investigator in the first place.

  * * *

  Heather’s thoughts were quite different in nature as she clasped his body to hers with her legs. She thought of being compensated for all this tiresome sex with a man she could no longer stand. The only thing that kept her there was the money. With a little luck, Orson will have a stroke or heart attack. She consoled herself with that thought as he grunted like a rutting pig. She wanted to scream.

  God, how she wished he were anything like Salvatore—or Martin.

  * * *

  The following day, Haywood followed Heather to the Fountain Hills Branch Library on N. Montana Drive. Haywood, living in Gilbert, hadn’t been to this library before. Assuming this library was similar to his and had only one way in and out, he parked where he could safely watch the door without being obvious.

  Her long blonde hair was loose and caught the sun’s rays making it shimmer. For one quick moment, he wondered how it would feel to run his fingers through it. Then he remembered how he’d had the same desire years back. His eyes filled with tears of pain as he recalled how hurt and embarrassed she’d made him feel. That day had resulted in an emotional scar that covered a deep wound that had taken a very long time to heal. He shook his head as he tried to rid his mind of the thought, reminding himself why he was there and how much he’d like to even the score.

  As Haywood sat in his Camaro cleaning his nails and keeping his eyes on Heather’s car, he thought about the pretty African-American real estate agent he’d met the other day. Although petite she was shapely and had a nicely rounded ass. Her clothes were real fancy and everything about her shouted class. She wasn’t like any of the girls he’d ever dated. He knew she was trying to get him to rent an apartment, but he sensed she liked him a little, too. She seemed to be a real nice person underneath her aggressive real estate persona and not just a phony bitch trying to use him. No, she appeared to be the polar opposite of Heather.

  He’d consoled himself with this sobering thought years ago: if you stripped away Heather’s beauty, all you’d find was an empty cookie jar, devoid of all sweets. That woman was just icing over a rotten cake. Sure he’d hoped to find something bad on her to report back to Hemmings to even up the score. He was human and she had once mortified him, but hey, he wasn’t low enough to make something up. She’d eventually get what was coming to her. Mama always told him what went around came right back at you.

 
; People came and left from the rustic-looking facility. Mothers with small children in strollers and men with briefcases paraded past. Others left carrying books and DVDs. But, no Heather. He couldn’t fathom her doing anything as strenuous as research, so he pictured her comfortably curled up on a sofa reading a book. Did people still come to read books in the library? He had no idea that Heather had been the woman with red hair wearing a black leather coat, who’d walked out the front door ten minutes ago to hook up with Martin who’d been parked out of sight.

  * * *

  “How many more times is he going to fall for the same act?” Martin said as Heather slipped into his car.

  “With that putz, there’s no telling,” she said, leaning over to kiss him.

  Time was of the essence and Heather wanted to wring all the sexual pleasure she could from their tryst. Having sex with Orson and his Viagra-reinforced, limp noodle was so unexciting. Even with the drug, she had to work hard at times to get him going. There was no denying how much she enjoyed having sex with Martin. Just the thought of his hands on her body got her pooling in her panties. With him, she didn’t have to fake her orgasm as she did with Orson. Therefore, the minute the door of their hotel room was closed behind them, she was pulling off his suit jacket and unloosening his tie.

  “Want it that bad, baby? Come ’ere,” Martin said, pulling her closer. He crushed her mouth with his as he pushed her against the wall. Slipping a hand under her skirt, he ripped off her flimsy panties, turning up her heat level two notches.

  Heather had already unzipped his slacks and freed his penis. Martin lifted her up against the wall and entered her. Pumping into her, he slid his lips down her slender neck. She threaded her fingers through his hair as he pounded into her causing the painting on the wall to jump and bang back and forth.

  Grunting, beads of sweat gathering along his forehead, Martin thrust deeply into Heather. Feeling his cock pulsating inside of her as his balls smacked against her thighs and clit, she moaned and thrashed her head from side to side, swept away on an arc of electricity. As ecstasy flooded her entire being, she simply gave in to the pleasure.