Hot Mail

by Maynard, Janice

  When he called the Statlerville postmaster and swore him to secrecy, Ethan alluded to the possibility of mail fraud. The middle-aged man was beside himself with excitement. It was all Ethan could do to impress upon him the need for discretion.

  The idea was simple. Ethan, to keep things on the up and up, took a personal day. He entered the post office by a back door thirty minutes before opening. The postmaster told his staff of three that Chief Oldham was investigating a private matter and was not to be disturbed. Ethan was then ensconced at a small table near the monitor that played the feed from the live cameras.

  It was deadly dull work. By ten a.m. he already had a headache. He took bathroom breaks only when absolutely necessary, and each time afterward he rewound the tape to make sure he hadn’t missed anything.

  He ate a pack of peanut-butter crackers from the vending machine for lunch and washed them down with a Coke.

  The day dragged on. Though many people used the Statlerville “local” slot to post items, none of the envelopes being dropped in resembled Ethan’s valentines. And in truth, there were only a few females who were conceivably the right age to be the woman he was looking for.

  And then at one thirty, things got interesting. Jane entered the lobby of the post office. He waited for her to walk up to the counter and buy stamps. But she didn’t approach the postal employees at all.

  Instead, she loitered in the outer lobby. Ethan hunched over the screen with the grainy gray image and studied the woman who was acting so strangely. It was Jane all right. No mistaking her tall, graceful posture.

  Finally, she approached the “local” slot and took an envelope from her purse. She looked surreptitiously to the left and right, ascertained that no one was watching her, and dropped her mail into the Statlerville chute.

  Ethan’s jaw dropped. It couldn’t be . . . could it? As he watched, stunned, Jane hurried to the front door, opened it, and disappeared outside.

  He ran his hands through his hair and stood up, his heart pounding. On the inside, where employees held court, the slot opened into a narrow metal bin. Jane’s letter, or whatever it was, lay on top of a day’s worth of mail. The envelope was baby blue. Sadly for him, the piece of mail had landed upside down. There was no way to read the address without picking it up.

  And since Ethan was not an authorized postal employee, if he were to bend over and touch Jane’s envelope, he would be committing a felony.

  If national security was at risk, Ethan could make a judgment call. Under the circumstances, he was shit out of luck. It was one thing to bend the rules for a personal matter. But tampering with the U.S. mail was a bridge too far.

  He always had the option of asking the postmaster to pick up the piece of mail and show Ethan the address. But that would require more explanation than Ethan was willing to give. And if the envelope did have his own name and address on it, what would he do then?

  His only real option was to go home and wait for tomorrow’s mail delivery. Which sucked, because he was fresh out of patience.

  He closed up shop and gave the postmaster a garbled explanation about what he had or had not discovered. Ethan felt his neck getting red as he stumbled through the awkward conversation. As soon as he decently could without being rude, he exited the building with relief. Since he had the day off, he dropped by Sherry’s house, but her car wasn’t in the driveway.

  Frustrated and hyped up on adrenaline, he went home and paced the floors. The possibility that Jane might be sending him erotic valentines shook him to the core. He was partly excited, partly confused, and completely stymied. If it was her, why resort to cryptic notes? Why not just tell him how she felt?

  On a whim, he picked up the phone and dialed her number. Wanting to hear her voice was uncomfortably needy. But it wasn’t out of line to call the woman with whom you just shared a night of smokin’-hot sex . . . right?

  After all, they’d been so exhausted, they barely heard the alarm go off this morning, and they had both jumped out of bed and scrambled to get ready for work.

  It was only later that he remembered he was taking the day off, and then it was too late to go back to Jane’s and coax her into bed again.

  She answered on the second ring, her voice slightly breathless. “Paper Pleasures. May I help you?”

  He grinned, holding the phone to his ear and opening the fridge to reach for a beer. “It’s me,” he said simply. “Thought I’d see how you were doing.”

  A long silence on the other end. And then the sound of Jane clearing her throat. “Ethan . . . hello. I’m fine. How about you?”

  He popped the top on his beer and took a swig. The subtext beneath the platitudes was making him hot. He adjusted his crotch. All he could think about was getting Jane naked again.

  He set down the can and walked into the living room. As he sprawled on the sofa, he decided to play dirty. “What have you been up to this afternoon? Running errands, I guess, while Mrs. Fitzhugh was there.”

  If he hadn’t been listening so intently, he might not have noticed the flustered note in Jane’s voice. “No,” she said, her voice painfully breezy. “I’ve been working all afternoon on bills and orders and such. I might head out for a pizza after we close.”

  Ethan blinked, not believing what had just happened. Jane lied to him. But why? Unless she didn’t want him to know she’d been anywhere near the post office. He thought about asking if he could tag along for the pizza outing, but there was no way he’d be able to look her in the eye without demanding an explanation.

  And there was still a possibility that he was wrong. Maybe Jane really had been working hard all afternoon, and had forgotten one quick trip to the post office . . . or didn’t consider it worth mentioning.

  He gripped the receiver. “I missed you today.” The words came out of nowhere, startling even him.

  Jane voice was softer now, and he could swear he heard her smile. “Me, too.”

  It was his turn to speak, but his throat closed up, and he didn’t know what it was he wanted to tell her. Everything in his head was all jumbled. Last night had been the most incredible night of his life. It was that simple and that complex.

  Something had changed or was changing. He and Jane had things to work out. But not over the phone.

  He thought longingly of Jane and pizza and sex. But he shored up his resolve. “I’ll see you tomorrow night then. And dinner’s on me. Goodbye, Jane.

  Her response was barely a whisper. “Bye, Ethan.”

  Sherry took a sip from her glass of iced tea and realized that her hand was shaking. After finishing a leisurely dinner, she and Randy had moved into the living room and were now sitting on the sofa together, a safe distance apart. Something was wrong. Ever since she had opened her front door and invited him into the house, things had been awkward. They had talked about the weather and politics and even the flu epidemic, for heaven’s sake. It was more boring than listening to C-SPAN.

  This wasn’t how she had anticipated the evening unwinding at all. She thought they would flirt and laugh and get to know each other better. And later . . .

  Randy glanced at his watch. “Dinner was great, Sherry. But I’d better be heading home.”

  Shock punched her stomach. He couldn’t leave. Not yet. Not when she had bathed and perfumed and primped just for him. She was wearing a pretty faux-cashmere dress in deep burgundy. It was a grown-up dress, not at all suitable for PTA meetings or church or even a business affair. It was a “date” dress, and beneath it, she wore her brand-new underwear.

  But Randy had barely noticed, damn it. For the last two hours he had been as jumpy as a cat in a room full of rocking chairs.

  She frowned. “So soon?” She thought about leaning over to show off her cleavage, but couldn’t quite bring herself to do something so silly. She wet her lips. “We could watch a movie.” She was laying her pride on the line, but she didn’t want him to leave.

  He wasn’t even looking her in the eyes, and she suddenly realized that he h
ad crossed his legs and was sitting oddly upright, his face a mask of discomfort.

  Holy cow. Did he have an erection? The possibility made hot color bloom at her throat and flash to her hairline. How was a woman supposed to know if a man wanted her? She hadn’t dated in two decades, and back then all it took was a backseat and an overload of hormones.

  She scooted a foot closer. “I never thanked you properly for being so sweet to me when I was sick. I don’t know what I would have done without you.” She kept her voice soft and low.

  Now it was Randy’s turn to flush. He shot her a glance and swallowed so hard she saw his Adam’s apple bob nervously. “Ethan would have showed up eventually. But I’m glad you’re feeling better.” Any more stiff, and the words would have shattered on the floor.

  It was do-or-die time. Sherry placed a hand on his thigh. The muscles jumped beneath her fingers. She leaned in to him. “I was kind of hoping you would spend the night, Randy.”

  As soon as the last word left her mouth she felt like fainting. Her eyes squeezed shut, and she prayed for a puff of smoke to swallow her up. She had never in her life done something so bold. Not in any context. Unless you counted the day she had stood up to her parents and told them unequivocally that she would not give her baby up for adoption.

  Randy hadn’t made a single sound. She opened one eyelid and chanced a peek at his face. He looked like a fellow police officer had used a stun gun on him, his eyes blank and glassy.

  “Randy?” Now she stroked his thigh, marveling at the firm muscle beneath the fabric of his casual slacks. The boner was no longer a what-if. His pants were tented at the front, his excitement plain to see.

  It gave her a weird feeling. Thankfulness mixed with happiness and soft awe. To know that this man wanted her melted her heart.

  Encouraged by the fact that he had made no move to leave, she scooted closer until they were shoulder to shoulder. He might have been carved out of stone. Maybe he thought she was a tease and would freak out at the last minute the way she had on the riverboat.

  She reached up and kissed his cheek. “It would be nice if you helped me out here. I’m not in the habit of throwing myself at men.” Despite her bravery, her voice wobbled. Maybe she had misread the situation entirely. Her stomach flipped and settled in a tight knot.

  He sighed, a huge rattling gust of breath that seemed to come from his gut. Finally he looked at her, really looked at her. His gaze was unguarded, allowing her to see his hunger, his shock, his pleasure. He took her hands in his, and even though she saw excitement in his expression, it was banked, overlaid with a look of concern. “Are you sure about this? You seemed pretty adamant that night on the boat. I don’t want to take advantage of you.”

  She squeezed his fingers. “Feel free,” she said, her voice husky. “And yes . . . I’m sure. I like you Randy, a lot. You’re sweet and gentle and sexy, and God knows how, but you’ve made me feel like a woman for the first time in forever.”

  The moment hung, poignant and pregnant, between them. And then he kissed her. Like on their first date, the kiss was neither tentative nor awkward. Their lips met in easy harmony, seeking and taking, exploring and giving. She wanted to cry and laugh, because it was so perfect.

  He cupped her breasts through the soft fabric of her dress. She moaned, feeling her nipples harden and strain toward his touch. “Randy . . .” She didn’t know what she was saying. Or asking.

  But thankfully, he took control, lifting her in his arms and carrying her to her bedroom. All the way down the hall, he never took his eyes off her face. His intense scrutiny made her blush, but not nearly as much as when he set her on her feet at the foot of her bed and started undoing the buttons on her dress with restrained eagerness.

  When he slid the whisper-soft garment from her shoulders and down her body so she could step out of it, he got his first glimpse of the new lingerie. He cursed beneath his breath, and his hands clenched in fists at his sides. Slowly, his hot gaze roamed from her toes up her silk-clad thighs to her waist and then to her breasts.

  She stood frozen, feeling both terribly vulnerable and feverishly excited. He traced a finger along the lacy edge at the top of her merry widow. She had gooseflesh there, even though the room was reasonably warm.

  The expression on his face was dazed, longing. His eyes met hers. “You’re beautiful, Sherry. Exquisite.” The raw sincerity in his voice brought tears to her eyes, but she blinked them away.

  No more thinking about the arid past. Here, with Randy, she felt sexual, ripe, ready for anything.

  He led her to the bed, not bothering with the lamp. The light from the hallway spilled into the room. Together they lay down on the soft comforter, hands touching, exploring, caressing.

  She felt the need to warn him, perhaps in a remnant of feminine anxiety. “I haven’t been with anyone but my husband. I don’t want you to be disappointed.”

  He heard her plea for gentleness, for reassurance, and he smiled down at her, his gaze filled with tender amusement. “Not gonna happen,” he muttered, bending his head and nuzzling her cleavage. “I’m already so primed, I’m in danger of disappointing you.”

  She giggled finally, releasing the tight hold she had on herself. It was okay. This was Randy. There were no expectations, no hoops to jump through, nothing to prove. He wanted to make love to her. She wanted him, too. And she needed to show him how wonderful he was and how much he made her yearn.

  It was easier after that . . . and infinitely more intense. Every spot he touched on her body brought a million little nerve endings to life. Skin and bone and muscle she’d thought nothing more than ordinary sang with sensuality. It was like waking from a long, troubling dream and feeling sizzlingly alive.

  Randy was still clothed, and she decided that was a shame. She worked at the buttons on his shirt, his belt, his zipper. His chest heaved through it all, his hands clenched in fists at his sides as she knelt over him, intent on her mission.

  Finally, he rolled off the bed and finished the job, shedding socks, shoes, and clothing with clumsy haste. His body was pleasing to the eye, sturdy and strong. And between his legs, that part of him she had fantasized about rose stiff and eager.

  When he rolled on a condom, she didn’t stop him. She trusted him, no matter if he had been with other women. Randy would have a clean bill of health. She knew it. But this was not the right time to tell him that pregnancy was not an issue.

  She swallowed a gulp of trepidation and held out her hand. He joined her, resting on his side still on top of the covers, and ran his hand down the silky fabric that covered her ribcage. “Do you want to keep this on?”

  She wasn’t sure of the correct answer. “Do you want me to?”

  His quick smile was rueful. “Yeah. You look damn hot.”

  The answer was what she needed to hear. She wiggled out of her panties and tossed them aside. Now, clad in nothing but the merry widow and the thigh-high stockings, she felt like a seductress. It was heady stuff.

  He moved over her, not giving her all his weight, but covering her body with his. The heat pouring off of him warmed and soothed the last of her nerves. Even the stiff erection probing her hip was more exciting than alarming. His lips touched hers.

  Oh, glory. She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him back. She loved the way his hands tangled in her hair, the slight catch in his breathing when she daringly nipped his tongue with her teeth.

  He buried his face in her neck, and a hard shudder racked his frame. “God, Sherry, I want to make this special for you, but I don’t think I can hold off. I swear the next time will be better.”

  She bumped her pelvis against his. “Wow. Already talking about the next time. We must be doing something right.”

  Her teasing broke the tension momentarily, and he reared up to look at her face. The slam of emotion that took her breath away was frightening. She couldn’t feel this much this fast. She wouldn’t allow it.

  He locked his gaze with hers as he shifted his
hips and lodged his firm, hard flesh at the aching spot between her legs. She was plenty wet, but the first steady push made her wince.

  He stilled, his breathing ragged. “Stop me if you need to.” The look on his face said it might kill him, but she had no intention of stopping him. Not now.

  He moved deeper, his watchful eyes gauging her discomfort. She managed not to wince, but it was an effort.

  Damn. Maybe if she had indulged in the use of some adult toys in the last decade she wouldn’t be so damn out of shape, so to speak.

  She wiggled her hips. “More,” she stuttered, trying to breathe. It felt like he was never going to fit, his eager rock-hard flesh parting her tight passage steadily, making her ache in the best possible way.

  Finally, he was all the way in. They both breathed sighs of relief. His complete and total possession left her floundering in a sea of confusion. She had asked for this, wanted it beyond reason. And now that it was here, there was fear mixed in with the passion.

  How could she give him up? How could she let him walk away and think to herself that this was nothing more than scratching a sexual itch?

  He started to move, and she forgot to worry, forgot to breathe. The sensations were incredible. Everywhere her body stretched to accommodate him, her sensitive flesh gripped his shaft eagerly, squeezing, stroking, trying to keep him inside her.

  Again, she heard him curse. He thrust more quickly now, shaking the bed, shaking her soul.

  The power in their joining stunned her. The beauty in their instinctive rhythm captivated her.

  A hot stream of raw physical pleasure trembled in her belly, spread upward and outward, and connected with a pop and a sizzle to the spot where their bodies met.

  She gasped as she felt the orgasm build and swell. It hovered just offstage, taunting her with the empty years, her young body barren, bereft both of fertility and of release. Badly, so badly, she wanted it. Wanted the sheer physical oblivion promised by his bold strokes.