Hot Mail

by Maynard, Janice

  He slid a hand between them and found her clitoris. Her body jerked and arched from the electric shock, and with a strangled cry, she exploded, dimly aware that his shout followed on the coattails of hers.

  The sweat had not dried on their bodies when he said the cruelest thing of all. “Marry me, Sherry.”

  Without processing her panicked response, with no filter at all, she let fear take hold, her voice far sharper than she intended. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

  Fifteen

  Randy might have been wallowing in the glow of male postcoital smugness, but he wasn’t stupid. The physical connection between them remained intact, his flesh still inside her. But his two quiet words had snapped the emotional bond like a matchstick.

  Sick at heart, he rolled off her. Deep hurt made him want to lash out, but he tempered his bitter response. “I’m guessing that’s a no.” The sarcasm was something he couldn’t or wouldn’t disguise.

  She shot off the bed like he’d attacked her, escaping into the bathroom and shutting the door with a quiet motion that might as well have been a mighty slam. While she was gone, he turned on the light, found his shoes, socks, and clothes, and got dressed. He felt nauseated, angry, and scared shitless. Sherry McCamish had the power to destroy him. He’d fallen hard the first time he saw her. And every day since, she had wormed her way into his heart and made him dream about a future that clearly didn’t exist.

  He contemplated walking out, but he couldn’t do it. So he sat motionless on the side of the bed and waited. When she returned, she was covered from head to toe in a thick black terry bathrobe. The color seemed symbolic—a death knell for their budding relationship. Her knuckles were white where she clutched the lapels.

  He shrugged. “Any explanation you’d care to give me?” He said it with insolence, barely able to look at her. He felt like a fool.

  Sherry hovered in the doorway to the bathroom, her lips pale, her skin even more so. “You said something impulsive, and it shocked me.”

  He shook his head slowly. “Not impulsive.” He made sure his voice was flat, impassive. If he let go of the anger, it might spew out and make things worse. “I’ve thought about marrying you ever since the day we first met.”

  She frowned. “That’s ridiculous.”

  He thought he was numb, but the dart found its way to his heart. “Again, thanks.”

  She twisted the ends of her belt. “Randy, you can’t possibly be serious. I’m nine years older than you. You want a family and I had to have a hysterectomy after Debra was born. We might be attracted to each other, but that’s all.”

  “I’m not attracted to you,” he said slowly. “I’m in love with you.”

  If possible, she went even whiter. “You’re not.”

  His control wasn’t as complete as he would have liked. “Don’t fuckin’ tell me what I feel.”

  She looked like the wall behind her was the only thing holding her up. Her throat moved as she swallowed. “I’m sorry.”

  He bowed his head, feeling sick. “Do you care for me at all, Sherry?”

  Her silence was deafening.

  He got to his feet, the pain so deep and black in his gut he could barely breathe. “Next time you decide you want to break a decade of celibacy, do me a favor and call someone else.”

  She went to pieces when he left, sobbing and screaming and wetting the mattress with her wild, panicked tears. Twenty years of penance, and with one false step, she had screwed up again. Only this time, the sin was far worse. She couldn’t claim getting caught up in the moment as she had at seventeen.

  This time she was a grown woman with years of life experience and plenty of perspective. She had deliberately made the choice to use sex as recreation . . . to prove something to herself. And her selfish lack of consideration for Randy’s feelings was unforgivable.

  She debated calling him back, making him listen as she explained the right he had to marry a young woman who could bear him children.

  But she knew he would argue and try to wear her down. And since the bright, shining future he was offering was what she wanted more than life, she might in the end grow weak and accept.

  But it would be wrong. And one day when he realized his mistake, she would have to suffer through another divorce, another failure.

  The only saving grace was that she had managed to choke back her genuine response. Did she love him? Of course, she did. How could she not? He was everything a woman could want in a man. The real deal, through and through. But if she had admitted that, had told him how she really felt, he would have used it against her. And she wasn’t sure she was strong enough to resist him if he had begged.

  Though it was barely nine o’clock, she stumbled through the house, turning out all the lights and finding her way back to the bedroom in the dark. Feeling old and broken and dead inside, she climbed under the covers, closed her eyes, and prayed for the oblivion of sleep.

  Ethan made it through Friday on autopilot. And he couldn’t wait until the end of the day. He raced home at lunchtime to check the mailbox. Thank God, the carrier had already delivered.

  He reached in and pulled out a stack of mail. With jerky hands, he riffled through it. There in the middle, as pretty as you please, was a baby blue envelope.

  Sweet Jesus . . .

  He glanced at his watch. He had a few minutes. With his heart bouncing around in his chest, he unlocked the door and went inside. Deliberately taking his time, he dropped the mail on the coffee table, took off his coat, and sat down hard on the couch.

  He slid the blue envelope free and placed it on top of the pile. Then he stared at it, willing it to reveal all its secrets.

  Finally, he picked it up and opened it. The sender was upping the ante. She meant business.

  Ethan, My Love,

  I’ve waited in vain,

  My heart full of pain.

  I thought that by now

  You’d have figured out how

  To find my true name

  And to finish my game.

  A girl shouldn’t be,

  As you might foresee,

  A sly, lustful tease.

  But you won’t believe

  What’s right under your nose

  And my frustration grows.

  Just give me a chance

  In passion’s sweet dance.

  I’ll be all you desire.

  Our passion a fire

  That blazes so bright

  We’ll cling to the night.

  I won’t wait endless days.

  There’s a price you must pay.

  Once the treasure is lost

  My heart turns to frost.

  He read it three times. The fact that his hands were slick with perspiration didn’t occur to him. But he was shaken. He tucked the card back in the envelope and slid it with the other three into his inside jacket pocket. The earlier notes were definitely dogeared, a sign of how much time he’d spent studying them.

  For the rest of the afternoon, he worked in a fog. The truth was staring him in the face, and he couldn’t quite wrap his head around it. Jane had been sending him naughty, seductive valentines. And the first one had been mailed a day before the night of the initial break-in. Which meant if Jane had indeed been the sender, she had mailed a valentine to a man she had barely spoken to in four years. It didn’t make sense.

  Never make assumptions. Let the evidence speak for itself. He tried to step back and assess the situation objectively. But it was damn hard. Now, each time he reread one of the notes, he digested the words in the context of a mental picture of Jane naked in his arms, which tended to shoot his objectivity to hell and back.

  By the time he went off duty, he still hadn’t come to any conclusions. The only thing he knew for sure was that he had seen Jane mail a blue envelope—one that showed up in his mailbox a day later.

  He ran home, showered, and shaved, all the while struggling with indecision. Should he go to Jane’s and act as if nothing had happened, wait for her
to confess? On the other hand, wouldn’t she have already said something if she was the sender? After all, he and Jane had been sexually intimate for a week now, plenty of time for whispered confessions of true love.

  It stood to reason that if she was sending him explicit valentines, the time was right for her to come clean. And based on her admission that she’d had a crush on him four years ago, surely it wasn’t that much of a stretch to think she might be in love with him now.

  Or was that his ego talking?

  And then a nasty thought occurred to him. The whole thing might be a coincidence. He had seen Jane mail a blue envelope. But after it passed through the Statlerville slot, the envelope had flipped upside down. Ethan hadn’t seen the address. The fact that a blue envelope showed up in his mailbox today could conceivably be nothing more than a damn coincidence.

  He didn’t want to believe it. His brain rejected the idea. He wanted the hot, suggestive notes to be from Jane, not from some weirdo stranger. But wanting it didn’t make it so.

  When he was clean and had stuffed a few personal items in a duffel bag, he picked up his cell phone and tossed it from hand to hand a few times. If he wasn’t feeling so damn awkward, he would call and offer to pick up dinner. But now he didn’t know what the hell to do. He didn’t know if he was coming or going.

  As he held it, the phone vibrated sharply, startling him so much that he dropped it on the carpet. Feeling foolish, he bent and grabbed for it before whoever it was hung up. The caller ID made him smile.

  He flipped open the phone. “Hey, Jane.”

  She sounded cheerful, open, not at all like a woman who was trying to seduce him with erotic valentines. “Ethan, we never talked about dinner, so I wanted to let you know I put a roast and veggies in the oven this morning. If you don’t mind, bring something for dessert, and we’ll be all set.”

  He gripped the phone. “Sure. No problem. I’ll see you about six thirty?”

  “Perfect.” And then she hung up.

  He cursed under his breath. How in the hell was he going to go over there and pretend he hadn’t seen her at the post office? And how would she react if he admitted to spying on her? Not that his covert activities had been directed at her in particular, but still . . .

  He shut down that line of thought as best he could and concentrated on the task at hand. Jane was cooking for him . . . again. The least he could do was bring a dessert that would show her he remembered the past, that he knew her likes and dislikes.

  As he slid into the car and headed for the grocery store, his mind was a blank. And then it hit him. It was almost February. And he knew just what to get.

  Jane was having some serious second thoughts. Why had she allowed Ethan to talk his way into staying at her apartment tonight? Despite what he said, she really doubted there was much chance that her vandal would return to the scene of the crime.

  The way she saw it, she was in far more danger from Ethan. Every moment she allowed him into her life was just going to make it that much harder to see him go.

  She was already nuts about the man, and now that she had been in his bed and he in hers . . . now that she knew what it was like to be the focus of all that steely-eyed determination . . . well, she was in big trouble. She was in love with Ethan. And she was terribly afraid that all he felt for her was sexual attraction laced with a strong dose of nostalgia.

  She didn’t want him to make love to her for old times’ sake. She didn’t want him to make love with her because he was fond of her and they were both healthy, young adults in their prime. She wanted to be his one and only, the love of his life. She wanted to be his Valentine. For keeps.

  She was still in the shop when Ethan arrived. It was a deliberate move on her part. With the front door still unlocked, and away from the intimacy of her upstairs apartment, she was able to greet him casually.

  It was a balmy early evening, and he came in wearing jeans and a gray cotton sweater that matched his eyes. His black hair was still damp from the shower he had obviously taken before coming over. Her stomach curled in anticipation as she imagined his hard chest covered with soap, his big hands stroking over his torso, cleaning up just for her. Imagining their bodies twined together in her bed made her breathless, so instead of greeting him with a breezy kiss, she stayed behind the counter, where she was straightening some gift bags.

  She smiled brightly. “Guess what. Cupid’s been at work already.”

  Ethan stilled midstep. He carried what looked like a cardboard cake box in one hand and a small bag from a local discount store in the other. “Cupid?” He had an odd look on his face. Almost as if he was expecting her to say something in particular.

  She frowned inwardly, but kept her expression friendly instead of lustful, as she was feeling. It was a terrible cliché, but he looked good enough to eat. And she was a hungry female.

  He was waiting for her to continue. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and grinned. “Do you remember the window guy you sent over to replace the glass—Tony somebody? Well, apparently he and Mrs. Fitzhugh hit it off, and now they’re going out on a first date tonight. I think it’s really sweet.”

  Ethan rolled his eyes. “What is it about women and the need to play matchmaker?”

  She held up her hands. “Don’t look at me. You’re the one responsible for this. I’m an innocent bystander. But I do feel happy for her. She deserves a little romance in her life.”

  He set the cake box on the counter and waved a hand. “Turn around. I have a surprise for you.”

  She hesitated. Surprises weren’t always good. But Ethan looked so eager, she obeyed. She heard the rattle of the plastic bag, and then he spoke again. “Okay, you can peek now.”

  When she faced him, he was smiling at her with that look she remembered from years past—the sexy, teasing, happy expression that made her go all soft and yearning inside. She licked her lips. “What is it?”

  He tapped the box. “This is German chocolate cake . . . for later. But the real dessert is this.”

  He handed her a folded piece of thick white paper. She opened it slowly, and hot moisture filled her eyes. He remembered. Glued to the paper was a series of candy conversation hearts. They spelled out a sentence. Hey, Hot Stuff. Will You Be Mine? Kiss Me. I’m Yours.

  She swallowed the lump in her throat. Every year for the longest time Ethan had bought her multiple boxes of the colored candies. She’d loved eating them, and she and Ethan had laughed together over the silly phrases.

  She looked at him, her eyes still misty. “Thank you. This is sweet.” She wouldn’t torment herself by wondering if there was any deeper significance to the carefully crafted message. It was enough that he had taken the time to try to please her with a fond memory.

  He handed her the bag with an abashed grin. “I got you a six-pack of boxes. That ought to last you until Valentine’s Day.”

  She couldn’t help herself. She abandoned the relative safety of her position behind the counter and hugged him tightly, feeling his strong arms come around her and lock her to his chest. It touched her deeply that he recalled her simple enjoyment of the childish treat.

  Beneath her cheek she could feel the steady beat of his heart. Strong. Dependable. That was Ethan.

  The kiss happened slowly. A lazy, gentle mating of lips and tongues and whispered breaths. He feasted on her mouth, his hunger banked, giving her romance in keeping with a string of colored candies.

  She wanted to believe he was wooing her. And for the moment, she allowed herself to be courted, cherished. There was a certain sense of wistful regret in the kiss, at least for her. Even if Ethan could never love her as much as she did him, it was clear that she meant something to him. They had been friends before. They were friends again—this time friends who had gone one step farther to intimacy.

  But ultimately, it would not be enough. Unless he could give her his heart.

  He shifted his feet, pulling her tighter into the embrace. His erection pressed between them, ea
ger, hard, ready to get started.

  Ethan’s hands were tangled in her hair, his fingers pressing into her scalp, angling her head so he could take the kiss even deeper. The scent of his soap and the warmth of his body made her dizzy.

  The yearning that flooded her chest actually hurt. She came very close to blurting out her love, but something held her back. Some small part of her brain that remembered what it was like to be hurt.

  The sudden tinkle of the bell over the front door, followed by a gusty breeze and feminine laughter, broke them apart.

  Jane turned, automatically glancing at her watch. “Sorry. We’re closed.”

  But the visitor was not so easily dissuaded. Ethan’s sister, Sherry, was unapologetic. “I saw Ethan’s car outside. But I didn’t expect to find my brother lip-locked with you, Jane.”

  Jane managed not to blush. At one time she and Sherry had been close, but after the rift with Ethan, the two women had drifted apart. She smiled at the older woman. “Lock the door behind you, and come on in. Are you shopping or visiting?”

  “Both, if you’ll let me. And I’m sure my baby brother will tell me to mind my own business, right?”

  Ethan kissed his sister’s cheek. “You’re a smart woman, Ms. McCamish.”

  Jane smoothed her hair where Ethan had disheveled it, and tried not to rush their visitor along. “Anything in particular I can help you with?”

  Sherry was already perusing the displays on the first aisle. She glanced over her shoulder. “Debra’s twenty-first birthday is in a few months, and I’m hoping to throw a big coming-of-age party for her. So I’m thinking invitations, decorations, guest favors—the works.”

  Jane nodded, the businesswoman in her momentarily taking charge. “I can fix you up with all of that.”