by Fawn Lowery
“He forgot the condom!”
“Ssssh!” Lorna cautioned. “Don't broadcast it to the whole company.”
“Holy cow, Lorna,” Amber said, shaking her head. “I'm really sorry I sent the jerk over to your house. I should have just bought you a jigsaw puzzle...or something.”
“Yeah. Twenty-five hundred dollars is a lot of money to spend on...on...”
“Cock,” Amber finished the sentence for her, a snicker jumping from her throat. “Sorry. But it seems so ridiculous. How in hell could a man in his line of work forget that he had to put a condom on before he went to work?”
Lorna giggled in spite of things. “It's not funny—but in a way it is.”
“I guess you can laugh about it—if you don't end up pregnant,” Amber said.
“And to top it all off, he left his bag of sex toys behind.”
Amber shook her head in disbelief. “I guess maybe he really did retire.”
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* * *
Chapter 9
Lorna felt like such a liar by the end of the day, even though she hadn't confided in anyone except Amber about Lance Bishop...or rather, Ramon. Even when Lorna went to her car in the parking garage at the end of the day, Shelly Morgan slid into the passenger seat and gave her a hearty cheer. The echo of her voice in the open spaces of the garage was enough to make the hair on the back of Lorna's neck stand up.
When she finally managed to pull into her own driveway at home, she vowed she had to figure a way to deal with all the attention she was getting at work. If only Amber had given her a puzzle—anything except what she had splurged on.
There was a message on her answering machine when she let herself into the front foyer of her house. Tom Graham, the IRS agent she had grappled with last week, called to inform her more proof of her deductions were needed. She sighed in exasperation when she heard the condescending tone of his voice.
“Pompous bastard,” she muttered as she grabbed a pen and jotted down the receipts he claimed to need from her. “It'll take me hours to get all that together.”
Graham had claimed she wasn't officially being audited, and Lorna had given him a sassy remark in turn. He'd turned rude shortly afterward, convincing Lorna that he was lying about the audit.
“He's out to get me,” she said, bristling. “Well, if he wants a fight—”
Her temples throbbed. The day had been long and tedious, with trying to dodge all those who were responsible for her evening with Ramon and her normal duties for the business. She had been in business for six years and most of her employees were those she hired when she opened the downtown store. They were all friendly, dependable people who worked hard to make Adams, Incorporated a reputable retail clothing business. They were family—people she cared about.
She suddenly thought of Mary and ran her fingers through her hair in agitation. She needed to stop worrying about things she couldn't change. But that was easier said than done.
Lorna fixed a quick dinner then set about gathering the business receipts Tom Graham had asked for. As she headed for the study, she glanced in the direction of the black leather valise Lance Bishop had left behind. Gritting her teeth, she marched across the room and leveled a hefty kick to the satchel.
“How dare he come into my tormented existence and add one more thing for me to worry about!”
Lorna was all set to take on the IRS. She was ready to be as rude and nasty as Tom Graham had been to her at their last meeting when the knock came on her office door. She pulled in a steadying breath and strode across the floor, prepared to yank open the door and charge into battle.
But Tom Graham wasn't there. A tall, striking man with dark hair and inspecting green eyes looked down at her as though she were a bug on the carpet.
“Miss Adams,” he said in greeting. “I'm Carl Browne. I'm with the IRS. I believe you have some documents for me.”
He made no motion to step inside Lorna's office. Since she had been expecting Tom Graham, she was caught completely off-guard. She stared at him for a moment, her thoughts somewhat scrambled, before stepping back and inviting him into the room. Maybe a confrontation wouldn't be necessary after all—but he had given her a rather condescending look to start things off.
“Mr. Graham sends his apologies that he couldn't be here today.”
“Of course he does,” Lorna mumbled. She snatched the stack of receipts he had come for off her desk and thrust them at Tom Graham's stand-in. “Tell him he wasn't missed.”
The man laughed and took the sheath of papers. “Tom tends to rub people the wrong way sometimes.” He cocked his head and looked appreciatively at Lorna. “He says you were rude first.”
Lorna bristled at his words, and then decided not to pursue the matter further. She had enough to worry about without becoming involved in a long-distance argument with a man she'd sooner shoot than look at. She crossed the room and politely dismissed Carl Browne.
“I'll be in touch,” he said, then paused in mid-stride. “I must say that my colleague was right about one thing, Miss Adams. Despite your objections to being audited, you are indeed a beautiful woman.”
Lorna was stunned by his comment. A short laugh leapt from her throat and for a moment, she was speechless.
“I'd like very much to buy you dinner—”
“I'm busy,” she blurted out, and then hurried to think up an excuse should he press the issue. In a disturbing flash, Lance Bishop's face danced before her mind's eye.
Carl Browne smiled and nodded his head. “Maybe another time,” he said. “I'll be in touch.”
Lorna gritted her teeth. Had he expected her to accept his invitation? And was he expecting sex after the meal? Did he think she'd try and persuade him to drop the investigation into her finances if she slept with him?
“I hate men,” she grumbled as she glanced at the calendar sitting on the corner of her desk. It had only been one day since she'd fucked Lance Bishop with no protection. If she'd ever been in a hurry for her period to arrive—it was now.
The telephone was ringing when Lorna let herself into her house. She switched on the lamp in the living room and grabbed the receiver.
“Let's grab a bite to eat and take in a movie,” Amber invited.
Lorna grimaced. The day had been difficult and she really didn't want to prolong it—even though Amber was fun to be around.
“My treat,” Amber tacked on.
“I remember the last time you treated me,” Lorna jokingly remarked.
“I'm not offering you sex, for Pete's sake!”
Lorna laughed in spite of things. Maybe an evening out with Amber would take her mind off her troubles.
“All right. I'll be ready in fifteen minutes.”
“I'll pick you up and we'll try out that new place on the beach.”
Alfie's Crab Shack was a quaint little place decorated with strings of Chinese lanterns and large pictures of ocean fish. It offered indoor and outdoor seating. They decided to sit outside on the patio where they could watch the ocean. It was still quite mild in the evening, the smell of the saltwater mingled enticingly with the aromas of frying fish, and onion-infused hush puppies.
They ordered drinks and settled back to await their dinner order. Lorna had changed out of her business suit into a red flowered sundress and strap sandals. And Amber was dressed in cut-off denim shorts and halter-top. The warm breeze cooled slightly by the ocean, fanned their bare shoulders and brought a sense of serenity to their senses.
“Have you been sleeping better at night since you got the sleeping pills?” Amber asked, staring across the table at Lorna. She reached out and patted Lorna's left hand. “You know, you're my closest friend and I love you a lot.”
Lorna gave her a quick smile. “The dreams about the car crash haven't disappeared though they may have gotten a little less frequent.” She sighed. “I don't think I'll ever be completely free of them.”
Amber gave Lorna's hand a little squeeze. “You c
an always call me. I'm here for you.”
Lorna was very grateful to have Amber for a friend. They had known each other since college and when Lorna revealed her plans to open an exclusive clothing store for women, Amber had voiced her delight in helping her achieve her goal.
“Thanks. I know I can count on you.”
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* * *
Chapter 10
Lorna was happy when Sunday arrived. It was the only day she took off from the store and the only day she allowed herself any time for relaxation. She woke with the sun and got out of bed. She'd only had one dream last night. She gave her head a shake as she padded barefoot down the hallway to the kitchen. One about Lance Bishop had vividly interrupted the dream about Mary's death.
She started coffee brewing and plopped down in a chair at the small breakfast table. In her dream, she had been playing a sex game with Lance. She had been tied to her bed, her legs spread wide and her ankles bound to the bedposts.
She released a relieved sigh. Thank God, she didn't have bedposts on her bed. It had been only a dream after all. But, oh my God, what a dream!
Despite her attempts to dash the memory, the dream seemed to come at will. Lance had tied her up so securely she couldn't get loose. Just the attempt to loosen the bindings seemed to bring forth the most erotic feelings that coursed through her insides like bolts of lightning.
“Holy cow,” she muttered and got up to get herself a cup of coffee.
In an effort to rid her mind of the dream, she opened the glass sliding doors and stepped out on the deck. The ocean was beautiful in the early morning light. Its deep blue depths lay serene beneath a placid surface. Off in the distance she spied a small boat bobbing along on the current. A fisherman or a weekend visitor to the shore, she guessed. She watched the boat until it became a tiny speck on the horizon, then she stretched out in a chaise and sipped her coffee.
A week had passed and still she hadn't gotten her period. The thought sent her into a nervous fit. What if she was pregnant—with a professional stud's baby?
She smoothed her right palm across her belly. Suddenly the dream about Lance tying her to the bedposts surfaced. She remembered being so aroused, so expectant of his touch on her naked body. A shiver of unadulterated lust raced through her insides.
What if she had taken full advantage of that evening with Lance—Ramon? The name Ramon suited the sexual image he portrayed. She remembered how sexy he looked in his skintight shorts, how long and beautiful his erection had been. She had to smile when she recalled him cooking in the nude.
“Hi, neighbor.”
Lorna jerked her head around, and spilled coffee in her lap. “Shit!” she spat, jumping off the chaise. She brushed one hand at the wet spot on the front of her robe, and then quickly grabbed a fistful of fabric when the robe gapped open, exposing her short pajamas to Mark Louden's ogling eyes.
Mark stopped at the edge of the deck and propped his forearms on the wooden railing. Pokey hiked his leg and peed on one of the supporting posts. “Any plans for the evening?”
“Nope. I've no plans all day or evening.”
“Then come on over. I'm having a clambake. The gang from the bar will be here and there'll be all kinds of fun.” He winked one eye at Lorna. “You never know. You might get lucky.”
“The IRS is trying to screw me, Mark. Why would I want to come to your orgy?”
“Because my orgies are always fun, honey.”
She smiled slightly. “Your sex parties are loud and unorganized.”
Mark laughed loudly and shook his head. “Everybody gets laid. Isn't orgasm the object of the game?”
His tone had taken on a decisiveness that Lorna wasn't altogether comfortable with. Next, he would be challenging her to organize the whole affair and placing her in a predicament she didn't want to be in. It would be smart to let the subject drop while she could still extricate herself from the conversation.
“Thanks for the invite, but I'm busy.”
“You just said you didn't have any plans,” he quickly reminded her.
“Plans aren't definite, but I'm expecting someone to drop by.” She felt her stomach churn with the lie.
Mark smiled broadly. “Bring him over. He might enjoy a good orgy.”
Lorna's head whipped around. “What makes you think I might be expecting a man?”
He shrugged one shoulder. “A woman?”
A note of uncertainty sprang up in Lorna. Had it been so long between boyfriends that her closest neighbor wondered about her sexual preferences?
“I've got things to do,” she suddenly announced and scrambled up from the chaise. “And don't let Pokey piss on any more deck posts!”
Lorna whiled the day away, lounging in her pajamas for hours. She had finished her paperback novel and mulled over the ending. The bad guy got killed and the hero won the heroine. She loved happy endings.
“I'd love to be happy,” she mumbled, poking the book into a paper bag to drop off at the donation center.
Her stomach was gnawing at her backbone for want of food so she headed down the hallway to the kitchen, only to pass by the leather valise Ramon—Lance—had left behind. She came to a halt; her eyes pinned on the satchel.
“What's in there?”
Her curiosity getting the better of her, she knelt and unzipped the bag. She supposed since he had left it behind, he didn't want either the bag or its contents, so they were ultimately hers to do with as she saw fit, though she supposed the charity center wouldn't care to have any of it.
She opened the zipper, then picked up the bag and emptied its contents on the tile floor. An assortment of colored things spilled forth—numerous objects of leather and chains, colorful feathers of various sizes, a spongy little red velvet pillow that closely resembled female buttocks, sex movies on DVDs starring Buck Naked and Sheila Tits.
“You've got to be kidding,” Lorna muttered as she sorted through an assortment of silk panties, G-strings and thongs. And there was Ramon's little red heart-shaped apron he had surprised her with in the bathroom. There were three boxes of condoms, each promising to tickle a lady's fancy, and even a dildo with a bulbous purple head.
“What? No Kama Sutra,” she commented, shaking her head and grinning.
Well, Ramon had come prepared for just about anything a woman could think up. Too bad she hadn't really given him a chance.
The thought lodged in her brain.
She had given him a chance—she'd even been willing to strip out of her clothing and go nude. She recalled feeling risque, at least for as long as it took for Ramon to screw her without a condom!
Anger seemed to burst forth like Mount Vesuvius spitting out lava. Of all the inept studs—she had encountered the king of the lot!
A knock on her door brought her swiftly back to the present. She paused, as though listening for further proof of a visitor. Then she heard the knocking again, punctuated by the doorbell ringing.
Someone was at the front door.
She wasn't expecting anyone, and in the back of her mind, she hoped it wasn't Amber. She wasn't in the mood for girly chitchat.
She saw the red BMW parked in the drive before she saw the man on the porch. A sensation akin to rage surged through her insides. Quickly, she yanked the front door back on its hinges, her eyes shadowed by a frown of epic proportions.
“How dare you return to the scene of the crime!”
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* * *
Chapter 11
Lorna knew it was Lance Bishop, a.k.a. Ramon, because she recognized his car, but when she laid eyes on him, she realized he had undergone a complete metamorphous. The worm had become a butterfly.
He leaned one shoulder against the doorjamb, his arms folded across his chest, looking every bit like a male model posing for a fashion shoot. He wore a crisp white dress shirt with a navy blue pinstriped tie and navy blue slacks. And perhaps more startling than his mode of dress, was the short-cr
opped haircut he sported. He was hardly the same man who had appeared at her door a week earlier in a purple shirt and spandex shorts. This guy looked like a businessman.
A man to be reckoned with. Her eyes swept his length. “You got a haircut,” she said, more to herself than him.
“Yeah, it was time for a change,” he replied. “Am I going to be a father?” he asked in a rather calm tone. He levered himself off the doorjamb and slid his hands into the pockets of his slacks, his dark eyes pinned on her face.
“I don't know yet,” she answered and turned from the door.
Lance followed on her heels, closing the door.
“I never thought I'd see you again,” Lorna confessed. She winced at the half-lie. She'd been so worried that she might be pregnant, she hadn't thought beyond that one humiliating fact.
“I'm a man of my word,” he stated.
She listened to the sound his shoes made on the tiled floor as he followed her to the living room. What would she say to him? He looked so much different from the last time she had seen him that she was completely thrown off-guard. Then she spied the leather bag he had left behind and the contents strewn nearby and felt her cheeks flame.
She heard him laugh behind her and halted her feet. “Did you come for your bag?” she snapped, turning to face him.
His humorous look was all too obvious and momentarily she was smiling, too.
“I guess our baby will have a healthy curiosity,” he remarked, stooping to pick up the strewn contents.
“I'm trying not to think about it,” Lorna informed him.
She turned on her heel and headed for the kitchen. It wouldn't do for her and Lance Bishop to be in the living room together. God knew it was too close to the bedroom. The way he looked—well, she could quickly lose her sense of priority and give in to his sensuality.
“So, why are you here?” she demanded, taking a seat at the kitchen table.
“I came to see if you're pregnant,” he reminded her.
Lorna stared at him, her gaze roving over his lean body as he finished packing the leather valise. He zipped the bag, and then came to sit at the table with her. His dark eyes skimmed over her face, almost caressingly, before settling on her mouth.