by June Whyte
“Well, you are,” I said and then before things got too schmaltzy, I indicated the screen on my laptop. “Take a look at this. While you’ve been dealing with forensics, I’ve been busy too.”
“Who are we looking at?”
“It’s Mary Foster—alias Sweet Lips Barbarella.”
“What? Derek’s wife was on the game?” Simon’s eyebrows did a hike. “Bloody hell, and that weasel Derek said she wasn’t interested in sex.”
“Perhaps she didn’t have the energy when she came home. And Derek may not have known about his wife’s secret life. Mary might have told him she worked nights at McDonald’s or as a cleaner at a local factory.”
“Believe me, honey, a husband would soon find out if his wife spent her nights on her back playing whoopee with other men. And anyway, what about all that loot she’d be earning? Sweet Lips would make more money in one week than you and I would make in a month.”
“But if Derek found out and murdered her, who tried to run him down with the four wheel drive?”
“Unless it wasn’t Derek they were after.”
Not what I wanted to hear…
“And what about Jack?” I asked him, purposely steering him away from the chilling subject of who the driver of the Subaru was actually aiming at. “If he was one of Mary’s clients, she could have been blackmailing him.”
“Can’t see that bothering Rivers,” mumbled Simon and leant over to clear the computer screen before switching off the power button. “Anyway, that’s enough on the subject tonight. Let’s leave the questions until tomorrow. Instead, I’m going to feed you pizza and then we’re going to chill out and watch Wile E. Coyote set up his latest ACME magic in a vain attempt to slow the Road Runner down so he can catch him and eat him.” He stood up and wandered towards the kitchen. “Hope you’re hungry. I bought a family-size pizza. How do you want me to heat it? Microwave or oven?”
I scrambled to my feet and followed him. “Nuke it in the microwave, Simon. It’s quicker. I’ll pour the wine.”
Two hours later, on the floor between Simon’s outstretched legs, I leaned back against his chest. Three glasses of wine and a shoulder massage that had me purring like a contented cat had left me feeling pleasantly drowsy. My couch-potato dog, Horace, stretched out on the couch snoring—an empty pizza box beside him—had already called it a night. On the television screen it appeared Wile E. Coyote had blown himself up for the fiftieth time and the roadrunning ostrich was streaking into the distance. Again.
I yawned.
Simon took the empty glass from my hand and set it on the floor beside us. “You ready for bed, darlin’?”
I nodded.
“And you’re sure about this?” he asked, his lips gently nibbling the back of my neck and setting the fine hairs on fire.
I nodded again. Couldn’t speak.
“In that case,” he murmured, using the tip of his tongue to create tiny circles that headed toward my right ear, “how about I undress you very slowly and put you to bed—and then set about tasting every morsel of your delicious body.”
Oh. My. God.
Arms wrapped around me, Simon stood up, bringing me along with him. He turned me around, found my mouth with a kiss so soft, so sweet, it took my breath away, and then scooped me into his arms and carried me towards the bedroom, somehow making me feel like a slip of a girl instead of 65kilos of middle-aged woman.
“Simon,” I said laughing as he angled my body through the bedroom doorway and almost caught my legs on the frame. “For goodness sake, put me down. Come on, you can stop the he-man stuff. You’ll be no good to me if you do your back in.”
“Thank God.” He grinned as he let me slip to the ground and then held his back in mock agony. “But I thought all women liked to be mastered.”
“Simon, I’m not all women and you’re not twenty-five anymore.”
“Tell me about it!” He raised one eyebrow and then proceeded to tug my jumper over my head. “But don’t give up on me, honey. You’re about to find out that a man who jogs five kilometers a day and works out at the gym three days a week is still a tiger in the sack.” He tossed my jumper over his shoulder and as I watched it curl in the air and land on top of my dresser, an icy chill grabbed at me. Was this a line Simon used on all his female conquests? “Especially when that woman is as special as you are,” he went on. “I can’t believe I’ve known you all these years, Dani, and yet haven’t noticed how beautiful you are.”
Now that was more like it.
And then my brain stopped thinking completely as he unclipped my bra, let it drop to the floor, and bent to rub his lips around my nipples until they were standing to attention, demanding more. And more he gave them. His mouth, hot and wet, suckled and lathed both nipples as though they were delicacies in a French patisserie, making me squirm and moan and arch against him.
“Ready for me to taste more of you?” he asked, his voice thick with lust.
When I nodded, he half carried me to the bed and we both fell on top, arms and legs interlocked. “Love your slacks,” he told me sliding them down over my legs together with my black lacy knickers. They both pooled on the floor beside the bed. “Especially when they’re off.”
Oh, God. Naked, I watched his eyes drift down to my feet and then travel slowly over my body until they almost reached my face. I closed my eyes. I didn’t want to see the revulsion on his face. I didn’t want to defend the cellulite on my hips. I didn’t want Simon to suddenly pretend our friendship was too valuable to spoil by having sex with me.
And then my eyes flew open and I gasped, as his hot tongue licked the arches under my feet, tickling the soft skin and making me squirm and giggle. Ignoring my laughter, his lips continued to creep up my legs, kissing their way towards my inner thighs.
Keep going…please, please, keep going.
And he did. His mouth, dynamite on the soft skin inside my legs, drew closer and closer to his ultimate destination.
I should be doing more, I thought as I purred and whimpered and groaned and lay back like a jelly enjoying every touch of his tongue. But who’d have thought Simon would come up with moves like this. And it felt sooo good and I’d been without sex for sooo long and maybe….
A louder moan escaped my lips and my brain shut down. Instinctively, my thighs parted—as his tongue, his mouth, and his hot breath reached the vulnerable spot between my legs and sucked at the skin and the folds—then thrust deep inside—his tongue and mouth caressing, licking, tasting—causing an ache in my groin that had me gasping and calling out don’t stop until I could stand it no longer, and exploded in an orgasm that rocked the room.
Ooh boy!
“Glad you enjoyed that,” he said, his dimple bobbing as he smiled that smile a cat gets when it’s just finished licking a bowl of cream.
Smug. Very smug. Hey, I had moves of my own, and although they might be a tad rusty, it was my turn to make Simon scream for mercy. “Okay, you can button up that tongue of yours, Templar, cuz now it’s your turn to squirm,” I warned him, both hands pushing against his chest until he rolled off me and onto his back.
Kissing my way down his body until my head lay between his legs, I touched the hardness of his swollen penis with the tip of my tongue and smiled when it jerked and grew thicker. Yeah. This was power. Butterfly kisses had him groaning. Lathing had him squirming, and when I took his heat inside my mouth and began to suck, his hand shot down and pulled me up and over onto my back where he captured my mouth with his. “Condom,” he panted and rolled off me to stretch down to the floor where he fought to get inside the pocket of his trousers.
“Do you always carry a spare in case you get lucky?” I asked, taking it from him and undoing the packet.
“No. I whipped into the chemist on the corner while waiting for my forensic mate to show up,” he admitted. “I didn’t want to be caught unprepared, especially when you’d already asked me to stay the night.”
“Lie still and let me dress you.”
“And you’d better be prepared to give me one, big boy, cuz tonight breaks a two-year drought for me.”
His fingers ran down over the contours of my stomach and found the wetness between my legs. “In that case, climb aboard the stallion of your dreams,” he said, slipping two fingers inside me.
Heat like I’d never felt before had me riding his fingers, slipping in and out, the fire building to a crescendo. “Please, Simon…now,” I moaned, my mouth hard against his lips while hot desire for him bubbled over.
As his hardness slipped slowly inside me, I moaned again. Oooh, my God. Although I wanted him to burst my dam, create another universe, send me to the moon and back—I also wanted this feeling of bliss to go on forever. “Simon,” I whispered. “I know this is only lust but it isn’t a one-night stand, is it?”
“Not for me, darlin’.”
“And we’ll still be friends in the morning?”
“Will you shut up, Dani?” he gasped, panting and groaning as he pulled slowly out and then plunged all the way in again.
Wrapping my legs around his waist, I arched against him, urging him in even deeper. No matter how far he thrust inside it wasn’t enough. This man who’d always been a friend—who smelled of pine cones and earth and who was now deep inside me making me feel warm and protected—was the man I’d been searching for. The man I wanted to spend the rest of my life loving.
But I also knew Simon Templar of the love ’em and leave ’em philosophy, was a man who ran from relationships—ever since Penny dumped him almost thirty years ago.
19
Friday, 6:30 a.m.
When I woke the following morning my first thought was—Simon’s gone! and I let out a whimper. But before the whimper could turn into a wail, the tantalizing aroma of sausages cooking on the griller wafted in from the kitchen and teased my nostrils.
I had no fairy godmother—especially one who dropped in to cook breakfast for me in the morning. Which meant—drum roll—Simon had not crept out of bed as soon as it was daylight and scooted off home. Instead, he was in my kitchen right now, planning to surprise me with a delicious breakfast, followed by an even more delicious morning of lovemaking.
Bliss….
After spooning against Simon’s warm body during the night in between bouts of breathtaking sex, the coldness of the sheet beside me was a reminder of the poisoned pumpkin bread and the fact that someone out there was hell-bent on turning me into a statistic.
Reluctant to journey down that rocky road again, I swung my legs out of bed, stood up and stretched like a cat. There was a fullness between my legs, a lovely feeling of satisfaction tinged with slight tenderness. Smiling, almost purring, I stuffed both arms into my blue candlewick dressing gown and, while tying the belt, danced towards the bedroom door.
Doing a boogie along the passageway like a love-sick teenager, I poked my head around the kitchen door and grinned. There was Simon in front of the stove with one of my barbecue aprons tied around his middle, declaring he was The Sweetest Cook in Town. He was busy turning sausages with a fork while my dog—the dog who declared undying love to me at least ten times a day—glanced briefly in my direction, then went back to gazing adoringly at the man with the meat.
“Better have your shower, Dani, your sausages are almost ready,” said Simon, breaking off a piece of cooled sausage and feeding it to my dog. “Jack Rivers has an eight o’clock meeting at Gape followed by a flexi-day, so he could arrive home any time after nine. Oh yeah, and I’ve hung a grey dustcoat with an AGL emblem on the front over the rail in the bathroom. Put it on. If we leave here at seven o’clock, we’ll be ready to move into the rendezvous position the moment our target moves out.”
Woah…
And here was silly me thinking we’d engage in some long drawn-out morning sex—just to prove last night hadn’t been a one-off.
Simon slid two plates on the table, eyes barely flicking in my direction. “How do you like your sausages, Dani? Medium or well done?”
“No sausages for me. I only eat toast in the mornings,” I grumped, glaring at both Simon and my traitorous canine. “And coffee. Gallons and gallons of the strong brown stuff.”
“Caffeine is bad for you,” he sang out as I stamped off toward the bathroom like a five-year-old denied a treat. “Shall I squeeze some oranges for you instead?”
“Oranges remind me of pumpkin. I want coffee!”
Under the shower, after rethinking what Simon had said, I calmed down. He didn’t mean it. All this business of…if we leave here at seven we should be ready to move into the rendezvous position the moment our target moves out stuff was a joke to wind me up. Get me hot and panting for him. He’d certainly succeeded in doing that. Letting the shower wash away the tension, I soaped and rinsed and waited for Simon to appear beside me wearing nothing but a cheeky grin. Any minute now, he’d slip in and offer to scrub my back and any other areas that needed his special attention. And then he’d take me hard against the shower wall, with the warm spray running over our backs and our wet bodies fused together as we climaxed.
All fantasy…
The closest Simon got to me was when he banged on the bathroom door five minutes into my shower, telling me to hurry up, time was ticking away and my sausages had gone cold.
Was this his way of saying last night’s sex wasn’t as good for him as it was for me? Or that things were moving too quickly and he needed another ten years to prepare himself for a real honest to goodness relationship?
Men! I thought as I slipped the ugly grey AGL dustcoat over my jeans and pullover.
Just when you thought it was safe to go out in the water again….
* * *
Huddled in Simon’s car on the corner of Jack Rivers’s street, I shivered and drew the collar of the dustcoat up around my ears. Two minutes ago, the weatherman on the radio said in his bright early morning voice that it was 6 degrees, with a maximum of 12 degrees for the day. Immediately, I’d attempted to turn on Simon’s car heater only to discover it was on the blink. Being an ornery male, he’d probably refused to get the heater fixed when it conked out, believing hardship to be a great character builder. Either that…or he didn’t want to spend money on trivialities when there was a sure thing running in the fourth race at Angle Park that night.
I shivered again and leaned closer to Mister I-Can’t-Be-Hurried. “Jack will be late for his meeting if he doesn’t leave soon.” Put your arm around me you big lug, hug me, keep me warm.
“Mmm,” grunted Simon, his mind definitely not on keeping me warm. “It’s almost eight o’clock.” He shook his head and scowled. “What a stuff-up!”
“Perhaps he’s sick.”
“Jack’s never too sick to be at the forefront of a big scoop.”
At that moment, our quarry dashed through the front door and sprinted to his car, overcoat and laptop bumping against his legs as he ran.
“Right,” said Simon handing me a clipboard as soon as Jack’s Audi had disappeared around the corner. “It’s party time.”
Some party! We were breaking into a house at eight o’clock in the morning—not midnight with its added bonus of darkness. As I slid from the car and stood on the footpath, my heart beat so fast it threatened to crash through my chest. While Simon locked up, I tucked the clipboard under my arm and checked for signs of movement on the street, slowly doing up the buttons on my fake AGL dustcoat as I surveyed the area. Only one scraggy dog and three humans. They were all scrambling into a silver station-wagon. Looked like an overworked, harassed mother getting ready to take her two squabbling kids to school.
Once I’d managed to slow my heart rate down to just a tad over normal, I glanced across at Simon and gave him a shaky smile. He winked his acknowledgement before setting out along the footp
ath—head up, arms swinging—every bit the knowledgeable employee from AGL. If Simon hadn’t been with me I knew what I’d be doing right about now. Not hurrying to keep up with him. No, I’d be burning rubber, driving as fast and as far as I could to get away from here.
I had a bad feeling about this mission.
A really bad feeling.
Outside Jack’s house, I stopped and took a deep breath. Simon, still radiating confidence, must have noticed me standing there with my feet nailed to the footpath. He turned back. “You okay?” he asked tipping his head to one side and reminding me of an appealing Cocker Spaniel I once owned. “Don’t worry. This’ll be a piece of cake. All you need to do is look official. If anyone stops us to query what we’re doing, leave it to me. You and I are here to read the meter and check out the reason Mr. Rivers’s electric bill was so high in his last reading. Right?”
“Okay,” I said, looking furtively over my shoulder. “Sorry, but I guess breaking and entering isn’t one of my better talents.”
He ran one finger lightly down my cheek. “Don’t worry about it, Dani. You have other talents.”
Wow…
“Ready?”
I straightened my shoulders and nodded. Time to get serious. We had a mystery to solve and time was running out. A woman had been murdered, someone had attempted to kill or maim her husband with a lethal 4WD, and that same someone had planned to eliminate me via a poisoned loaf of bread.
Definitely time to get serious.
I glanced down at the clipboard Simon had passed me before we’d climbed out of the car, and began to laugh. He’d sketched a cartoon of Wile E. Coyote—a racing form guide clutched in one hand and wearing Simon’s favorite baggy jumper—chasing after a stick-figure Road Runner dressed in my kick-ass red dress and killer shoes.
“You’ve made my legs too skinny,” I muttered under my breath as we marched toward the front door, looking for all intents and purposes like two AGL workers with a prearranged appointment to visit the householder. “And old Wile E. is way too handsome.”