Step Into My Parlor

by Jan Hudson

  "You bought something for me?" His tone was incredulous.

  She nodded and gave the box with the earrings to him. "After all you've done, I'm embarrassed that it's so little." He took them and looked down at them for a long time, his face expressionless. "They're little spiders. They're only gold-filled, and I know you usually wear the cutlass, but..."

  He looked up, his eyes glittering like blue diamonds. "They're beautiful, Annie. And the nicest gift I've ever received."

  A slow smile spread over his stubbled face, and he moved toward her. His head dipped just a fraction, then paused. A medley of emotions played over his face as his gaze met hers.

  Taking the cutlass from his ear, he handed her the box. "Put the new one in for me, sugar." He sat down on the piano stool and pulled her between his outspread knees.

  Heat pulsated from his body, warmed his scent, and bombarded her with sensation. His hands, resting lightly on her hips, seemed to burn through the fabric of her jeans. Her fingers trembled as she put the gold spider in his earlobe. Her mouth dried; her breath quickened. Sensual awareness, potent and ready to ignite, hung between them like a curtain of smoldering gauze. Pictures clicked and flashed through her mind. Red satin sheets. Nude, passion-slicked bodies. Blue eyes and a hungry mouth and skin on skin.

  She tried to pull away, but her feet wouldn't function.

  He looked up at her, his pupils wide and black, his gaze blatant with desire, but he didn't move. It seemed like forever that they stayed there, un-moving. Finally, he sucked in a deep breath.

  "Thank you, dear friend." He stood, gave her a quick peck, and stepped back. "You hungry? I'm starved. I think I could eat about ten pounds of pork ribs, slow-smoked over hickory and dripping in barbecue sauce. How about you? You like Texas-style barbecued ribs?"

  She smiled at his valiant effort. She knew he wanted to kiss her. More than kiss her. Didn't she want the same thing? “I don't know if I’ve ever eaten any."

  "Well, you haven't lived until you've tasted Shorty's barbecued ribs. Powder your nose, and we’ll go wrap our eyeteeth around some."

  Spider's mouth watered as he caught the distinctive smells of hickory-cooked meat drifting over the parking lot. After that business with Anne and the earrings, all his appetites were revved up. He was one big walking, talking ache. He'd rather be filling her than his belly, but maybe indulging one hunger would take the edge off the other.

  He laughed at himself as he steered her toward Shorty's. Who was he kidding? A plate of ribs was a poor substitute. Just having her beside him turned his gut wrong-side-out. He was almost to the point of not caring if she was married. Almost.

  The thick, smoky aroma hit them full in the face as they walked through the door of the crowded barbecue joint. A small place with not more than fifteen scarred tables crammed together, it had rough wooden floors and neon beer signs on the walls. Willie Nelson's twanging wail and the click of pool balls in the side room mixed with the drone of a full house.

  "Hey, Spider!" several people called.

  "Hey there, partner," he called back, giving each a wave and a smile.

  "Do you know all those people?" Anne asked as he seated her at an empty table in the corner.

  "Only a couple of them to speak to."

  She smiled. "You really are a celebrity."

  "Nah, I'm just a good ol' boy that a few folks recognize. Hey, Shorty," he said to the five-by-five man who approached. "How's the ticker?"

  "I’ve lost fifty pounds and had to give up cigars, but it's still ticking." He grinned and swiped one beefy hand on his big white apron, adding another sauce smear across his girth. "How's it going, man?" He held out his hand.

  Spider took the hand that was offered. "Can't complain, Shorty." He' introduced Anne to the jovial man, and Shorty tipped his wool plaid golf cap to her.

  "What can I get you folks tonight?"

  "Two big rib plates and a pitcher of beer."

  "Comin' right up."

  When the hefty man strolled away, Anne asked, "Does he have heart problems?"

  Spider nodded. "He had a bypass a few months ago."

  "I'm not surprised. Everything in here must be loaded with cholesterol. I've noticed that you eat too much of it, too. You need to eat more fish and green vegetables."

  He grinned, tickled that she was fussing over him. "I guess I need a wife or a mother around to crack the whip over me. You interested in the job?"

  "I'm too young to be your mother," she said, suddenly becoming very interested in the salt shaker.

  He let it pass.

  "Roscoe said you have a degree in communications."

  "I do. Does that surprise you?"

  She was quiet for a minute. "A bit, I suppose. He said you could have had a career in sports broadcasting or in the movies."

  "Would you like me better if I was Don Meredith?"

  "Who is Don Meredith?"

  He laughed. "Another Texas boy. An ex-Cowboy who went the TV-and-movie route. Sugar, I know all the ten-dollar words if I want to use them, and I clean up pretty good, but New York and LA don't have a thing I want. This ol' boy was glad to get back to Houston. And after I learned what I was doing, I found that I liked the pawnshop business. I don't have to wear a monkey suit if I don't want to, and I don't have to suck up to anybody. Maybe I could make more money doing something else, but I've got enough for the things I need. And I like knowing that my friends are real people who accept me for what I am, not a bunch of parasites who latch on to me because I've got a big bankroll or my name in lights."

  Anne nodded and stared off into space. "Wealth isn't what it's cracked up to be."

  "You've got that right, sugar." He paused as Shorty's oldest son served their food. "All I need is a big plate of ribs, a pretty lady to share it with, and I'm happy."

  She reached across the table and laid her hand over his. "You're a good man, Spider. And the best friend I've ever had."

  He beamed. "Thank you for the compliment. You're special to me, too." He patted the soft, slender hand, then touched the earring in his lobe. The memory of how it got there started him swelling all over again. Before she could see the agony of desire in his face, he forced a carefree grin. "Now eat up, darlin'. When you taste this stuff, you're going to think you died and went to heaven."

  Her big brown eyes widened as she looked down at her platter. "I can't eat all this!"

  "Give it your best shot. I’ll handle the leftovers." He tucked the corner of a big napkin in the neck of her sweater and did the same with his own. "There's no way to be neat about this. Just dive in."

  He picked up the biggest rib and proceeded to gnaw the meat off the bone, trying not to laugh when she gingerly lifted one sauce-laden piece and. holding it daintily with two fingers, nibbled at the smoked pork.

  "You know, this is good."

  "Told you."

  Even though he polished off three to her one, she soon got the idea and attacked the barbecue with the same gusto as he did. He wanted to laugh and kiss her right in the middle of Shorty's Barbecue Joint.

  He nearly went crazy watching her eat. Every time she licked her lips, he wanted to groan and say. "Do that to me, babe." She got a little spot of sauce on her chin, and he watched it for the longest time. If he'd done what he ached to do, he'd have climbed over the table and removed it with a long, slow swipe of his tongue.

  With less than half her meat gone and barely a dent put in the potato salad and beans, Anne sat back in her chair and sighed. She held her sauce-covered fingers up and said, "I can't eat another bite." She looked down at her bib. "And there's not a clean place left on my napkin. Yours is still white. How'd you do that?"

  "Like this." He leaned over, captured one of her hands, and brought it to his mouth. With careful strokes of his tongue, he bathed her index finger, then, looking into her eyes, drew it slowly into his mouth and sucked.

  She swallowed a little gasp, but she didn't pull away. When he started to move to the next finger, she suddenl
y jerked her hand from his.

  "I've got the idea." Pushing back her chair, she said, "Excuse me, I'm going to the ladies' room."

  He watched the sway of her cute little bottom as she beat a hasty retreat. Every swing of her hips fanned the flames higher. His fingers fondled the bit of gold in his earlobe. Two hours on his Nautilus machine tonight wasn't going to help a damned bit.

  Seven

  It was Saturday morning. Anne sat at the yellow table in Spider's kitchen waiting for her nails to dry. Molly, who had been thrilled with the toilet water Anne had wrapped and given her, had taken pity on Anne's poor polishing technique and taken over the task.

  Preparing for a function at the White House would have produced less anxiety. It was silly to be so jittery, she told herself. She had met and liked Roscoe and his fiancée, Trish, who had done her hair. Lisa, the decorator, and her husband, Wally, who had played football with Spider, were joining the group. She was sure they were all nice people. But even though the activity that Spider had planned with his friends was still hours away, she was as nervous as she had been for her first prom date.

  "What does one wear to drink beer and boogie?" she'd asked Spider the day before.

  He'd laughed. "We're not going anywhere fancy. Wear something comfortable. How about that red jumpsuit? The sexy one?"

  Molly had agreed that it was perfect for the occasion, yet she still felt somewhat out of her element and unsure of herself. But at least she felt safe. She'd been here for over a week and there was nothing to indicate that Preston had traced her to Houston. If her car or identification had been found, Preston's trackers would have been poking around by now.

  Yes, she was safe from her stepbrother for the time being, but Spider was another story. Though overtly he had been the soul of propriety, she could feel the sexual attraction between them smoldering only a millimeter beneath the surface. She knew that if she pushed the tiniest bit, he would have her between his red satin sheets in a blink. The trouble was, she was having a hard time not dragging him there. Every day, she found Spider's heady sensuality harder to resist. Every night, her dreams were blatantly erotic and filled with images of a black-haired rogue whispering in her ear and doing incredible things to her body. Red satin sheets would be her downfall. She was obsessed with them.

  Glancing over to the drier, she watched the red culprits tumble round and round in the drum. The sheets and her emotions had a great deal in common.

  The day seemed to drag by. Spider was working with his accountant, and the shop was busy. As she walked through the displays checking for hidden treasures, she noticed the little gray-haired lady in the mink cape.

  "Hello," Anne said to her. "Mrs. Bremmer, isn't it?"

  The woman smiled. "Yes, and you're Anne."

  "May I help you find something?"

  "Oh, no, dear, I'm just browsing. Don't mind me." The grandmotherly woman smiled sweetly, and Anne returned her smile.

  Since there was so much activity in the Pawn Parlor, Anne decided to poke around the warehouse attached to the back of the shop. Something caught her eye as she wandered through the stacks and shelves of merchandise. She laid down her clipboard and dragged a step stool to a corner shelf. Standing on tiptoe, she pushed aside a radio and reached for the porcelain clock that had been half-hidden.

  "What are you doing?" Spider shouted.

  Startled, she teetered, but big hands clamped around her waist and held her steady. "You almost scared me to death. I wanted to look at that piece up there." She pointed to the ornate clock and stand. "I think it may be a Meissen."

  He lifted her down to the floor. "I’ll get the clock." He retrieved the dusty piece and set it on a crate. "Why didn't you call Boots or me? You shouldn't be climbing around this mess."

  "Spider, I'm perfectly capable of lifting a clock. All week you’ve been treating me as if I'm helpless and fragile. I'm not. I'm supposed to be working for you, but how am I going to earn my keep if you do everything for me?"

  "Sugar, you've more than earned your keep this week. Why, your commission on the green candy dish alone will more than repay the money I loaned you.”

  "It's not a green candy dish; it's an Oriental jade censer. And what commission?"

  "Ten percent of the profit on anything out of hock that's sold."

  Eyeing him suspiciously, she asked, "Is this a policy you invented for me, or does it apply to everyone?"

  "Why, sugar, you can't honestly believe I'd invent something like that just for you."

  He looked innocent. Too innocent. She wanted to say yes, she certainly did believe he would. Since she'd been here, he had become more and more solicitous of her. In fact, his behavior bordered on hovering. But she sighed and decided to ignore the issue for the moment.

  "In any case, the jade isn't sold yet. The gallery's client is coming in Monday to see the censer and the rug."

  "Oh, yeah, I forgot the rug. See, that's another commission. You can afford to take it easy. Why don't you go paint your nails or something."

  "Spider, I've already polished my nails, and I'm not sure that it's a Chichi prayer rug that I found."

  "Sure it is. It looks just like the picture in the book you got from the library. You're more than earning your keep, darlin'. I'd never thought of calling the galleries and offering them a commission on sales." He took her by the arm. "Why don't we go get an ice-cream cone? I’ll bet you like pistachio."

  With the same slick style he'd used all week, he tried to coax her away from the work she'd been trying to do. None of her arguments seemed to make a dent in his determination to treat her like an honored guest instead of an employee. This time she put her foot down.

  "Spider, I don't want any ice cream. I want to clean this clock and check its markings. It reminds me a great deal of one my mother had on the mantel in her bedroom. If it is a Meissen, and in good repair, it's very valuable."

  He frowned at the porcelain piece, lavishly decorated with flowers and cherubs and surmounted by a Roman god. "I can't imagine why anybody would pay good money for this thing. It looks like something you'd win at a carnival. I think it's been here since we took over the place, but if you want to clean it up. I’ll help. Where do you want it?"

  He picked it up in one hand, and Anne squealed at his cavalier treatment of what might be a rare prize. "I’ll take it," she said, retrieving the clock and holding it carefully. "Spread that towel on the worktable, please."

  When the towel was spread, she placed the piece on the table and began removing years of dust and grime. While she worked. Spider, fingers tucked under his armpits, leaned against a refrigerator and watched.

  "You said your mother had a clock like this?"

  "Mmmm."

  "She have a lot of this kind of stuff?"

  "Quite a bit."

  "What's a thing like that worth?"

  "I'm not sure, but if it is a Meissen, I'd estimate somewhere between three and five thousand dollars."

  "Good Lord!"

  She laughed. “They aren't carnival prizes."

  "You told me your mother died last summer. Did she leave everything to you?"

  "Yes, she did." Hands stilled, eyes narrowed, she looked up. "What is it you're asking? If I have a house full of valuable antiques, why am I penniless and hiding out in a Houston pawnshop?" With a pang she thought of her own gallery, which she'd created on her own.

  He gave her one of his slow, sexy grins, but there was a you-caught-me twist to it. "Now, sugar, don't get testy. I know you don't like to talk about your business, but I have a natural curiosity. You ought to know by now that you can trust me."

  Looking down at the clock, she resumed her cleaning. Yes, she trusted him. She wasn't ready to tell him everything, but she did owe him at least part of the story.

  "I am the sole heir to my mother's estate, including the house and furnishings. But I don't have access to them. Unfortunately, Preston lives there, and he controls everything I have."

  "Oh, yeah. Preston
." He spat the name in disgust. "I don't see why you don't get a good lawyer and kick the slimeball out."

  "That's easy for you to say, but—" She stopped and forced herself to take a deep breath. "When Vicki gets back, that's exactly what I intend to do."

  "Sugar, you don't have to wait for Vicki. Hell, this town is crawling with hotshot lawyers. Why, I’ve got a friend—"

  "I’ll handle this, Spider. In my own way. The subject is closed. Hand me that book on porcelains."

  He grinned. "Yes, ma'am."

  Spider knocked on the bathroom door. "You about ready, Anne?"

  She gave her blond hair, freshly washed and brushed into the style she'd grown to love, a final pat, took a deep breath, and opened the door.

  His eyes raked over her once, then went back for seconds. He let out a low wolf whistle.

  "Are you sure this looks okay?"

  She chewed her lip and fiddled with the long purple-and-red paisley scarf that belted the jumpsuit. Never in her life had she been so worried about her clothing, but then, she'd always worn classic styles of understated cut and neutral color. Why she was so nervous, she couldn't imagine, since Spider was dressed in his usual boots and jeans with a black T-shirt and his faithful leather jacket.

  "Turn around."

  She made a slow pivot. She could almost feel his gaze burn through the supple red challis. "Darlin', if you looked any better, they'd have to cart me away in a body bag." He gave her a slow smile that almost blistered her nail polish.

  She laughed and hooked her arm through his. "Spider, you do wonders for a lady's ego."

  "Got your dancin' shoes on?"

  She held out her foot to show him her taupe wedges. "But I've never done any—what's it called?"

  "Kicker dancing. I guess they don't have many honky-tonks in your neck of the woods. Don't worry, you'll catch on."