Susan Donovan

by Public Displays of Affection

  “Actually, there is something going on with Charlotte, honey. It’s the new neighbor. She’s a little threatened by him, I think.”

  Ned sat up without warning, causing Bonnie to nearly tumble from the bed. He pulled her up next to him.

  “The guy in the black Mustang?”

  “Huh? I don’t know anything about a Mustang.”

  “Yeah, well… the kids gave me the whole scoop on him.”

  “The kids?” Then it dawned on her. “Have Matt and Justin been spying on him?”

  Ned laughed. “I never reveal the identity of a confidential informant. You know that, dear.”

  She grinned. “A black Mustang, huh? Wow. That would make a pretty picture.”

  “Don’t think he’s gonna be sticking around long, either. The boys say he’s already packing up to leave.”

  “But he just got here.”

  “Maybe Minton doesn’t suit him.”

  Or maybe he figured out who Charlotte is.

  “That’s too bad.”

  Ned laughed at that. “Oh, yeah? Did you have plans for him?”

  “Not me. No way.” Bonnie kissed his bald head. “I’ve got all the man I can handle right here.”

  Charlotte didn’t even bother with the Triscuits that night. She pushed open the swinging pantry door with her knee, reached for the squirt cheese, and aimed the spout directly into her open mouth.

  She leaned up against the kitchen counter and gloried in the way the salty, creamy, sharp pleasure melted on her tongue. She swallowed with a moan of contentment.

  It occurred to her that if any of her clients saw her, they’d fire her. The registered nurse who advocated a diet based on legumes, complex carbohydrates, and eight servings of fruits and vegetables a day was bingeing on a snack food made in a laboratory of artificial ingredients she could barely pronounce.

  What a hypocrite.

  She needed sex.

  She needed Joe.

  She wanted Joe.

  She’d already blown it with Joe.

  But maybe she wasn’t to blame. Maybe just the touch of him again—his hands and mouth on her—was too much for her to handle. Could it be she’d had a psychotic break, right there in the driveway?

  Charlotte liked that theory and celebrated with one last squirt of cheese. Now she was thoroughly disgusted with herself. She put the can of cheese on the pantry shelf and shuffled to the family room couch, where she flopped down and covered her eyes with her crossed arms.

  Maybe she wasn’t attractive anymore. Maybe men like Joe weren’t interested in nearly middle-aged mommies with laugh lines and stretch marks. The injustice of that made her sigh—how come Joe had only become more of a hottie in the last thirteen years, while she’d turned into a sex-crazed, wrinkled hag?

  Nature sucked.

  But maybe it was just that she was sweaty that night and she didn’t smell quite as sweet as he remembered and her hair was plastered to her head from the sprinkler. Maybe she’d be more appealing to him if she dabbed herself with her best perfume, wore her shortest skirt—the black one that hit midthigh—and stockings. Maybe if she went over and asked to borrow a cup of…

  Shit.

  What was the point? She’d messed up. She couldn’t appear on his doorstep in a skirt now. It would be too obvious, not to mention downright pitiable.

  Charlotte closed her eyes and tried to relax. But she was slammed by her own memory instead, treated to a play-by-play of what had happened thirteen years ago, what had gotten her into this mess in the first place.

  “… some men are put on this earth simply to make women happy….”

  The images rushed into her head in high-definition clarity, in bright color, and in painfully exact detail.

  Her legs had been shaking as she took the exit off the parkway that day. She watched in the rearview mirror as the man drove right up on the bumper of the Miata, his smile getting bigger and brighter.

  She felt like a fish on a hook, aware that she was a fish who was asking for it, opening her little fish mouth and pulling out her own little fish cheek so the hook could find purchase in her flesh.

  Charlotte had known she was taking a huge risk, but right at that moment, it didn’t matter.

  It was a small parking lot with about twenty spaces marked by diagonal white lines. A wooden National Park Service shelter displayed a map under Plexiglas. She saw two other cars but no other people—they must have been out walking. And the man had pulled right up next to her. When she got the courage to look over at him, he’d taken off his sunglasses.

  She felt the hook pierce her, but it didn’t just sink into the flesh of her cheek—she was also hooked deep down in her gut, and it was a fatal wound.

  His eyes were dark, shining, and full of the promise of pleasure. She wasn’t completely ignorant. No, she’d never actually done it, but she knew seduction when she saw it, and the way he smiled at her with that chiseled mouth was primal and dangerous and full of entitlement.

  She couldn’t swallow. She couldn’t move.

  He opened the door of the black Jeep, and she watched his long legs swing out before he hopped down with the grace of an athlete. He was the most amazingly male creature she’d ever seen. He hooked his sunglasses into the belt loop of his worn jeans, and her eyes followed his movement, giving her an excuse to look at his long, lean lower half.

  She couldn’t breathe. She made some sort of squeak and she heard him laugh in appreciation. Then he was standing at the side of her car.

  “Hello there.” His voice was deep and dangerous. His voice was the sound of sin. And then she watched as the devil himself put his hand on her door latch.

  “I think I’ve got something you want.”

  Oh God, she couldn’t look into his eyes. If she looked at him, it would be all over for her. She’d plummet into the abyss.

  But all she could think was: One slice… one slice… for the rest of my life… one puny, stingy, dried-up slice of sex…

  “Do you want it, baby?”

  She felt the hook pulling her, turning her head, and the car door was opening, and she placed her hand in his and he pulled her to her feet and she tried, she tried so hard not to raise her eyes to his, but suddenly he shut the door behind her and backed her up against it.

  “Everything you need is right here in my front pocket.”

  His body was hot and hard and she kept her gaze downcast in order to avoid those dark eyes. Unfortunately, she’d somehow picked the junction of his pelvis and her stomach on which to fix her stare.

  She knew there was no way she was going to get out of this in one piece.

  “All you have to do is reach in and pull it out.”

  She wished he’d stop talking. His words were too hot and too sexual and she was getting a little dizzy.

  He probably did this to women all the time.

  He was obviously the kind of man who chewed up females and spit them out. The kind of man she’d always avoided. The exact opposite of Kurt Tasker, who was going to be her husband.

  One measly slice…

  She raised her chin, looked way up, and swore she heard a loud click as her eyes connected with his.

  “It’s yours if you want it.”

  He was probably a few years older than her, but not many. His skin was a smooth, rich olive. She wondered if he had Hispanic ancestry. He might be in the military—his hair was buzzed that short, and he held himself like he meant business. She watched his smooth lips spread into a wide smile, revealing a set of straight white teeth.

  Or maybe he was a male model.

  Then he pushed a little harder against her, and it was suddenly clear that this was not a game and this was not a fantasy and that she may have just done something that would turn her into a newspaper headline.

  “I know kung fu,” she lied.

  “Lucky him,” he replied.

  “Don’t hurt me.”

  The man laughed at that, bringing his hands to the sides of her face. H
e gently caressed her cheek with one set of hot, rough fingers. “I’m one of the good guys.” Then he softly touched her hair. “Besides. You’re just about the sweetest little piece I’ve ever laid eyes on.”

  That did it. She was horribly offended. And really, really turned on. Her brain was boiling and her body was catching fire, because Kurt had never said anything that impolite to her. He told her she was beautiful and he called her sweetie and told her he loved and respected her, but nothing like this.

  “Ask me for it, dumplin’.”

  The words were forming in her mind. Her mouth was opening. Her lungs were providing the air….

  “Give it to me,” she said.

  One of his eyebrows shot up. “You talking about your little notebook, or something else?”

  She liked this teasing. Kurt didn’t tease her. Apparently, teasing excited her. A lot.

  She pressed her hips against him.

  “Something else,” she whispered. His hands had taken a slow, hot slide down her neck, along the slope of her bare shoulders, down her arms, and he’d just laced his fingers into hers. His hands were huge.

  “Tell me more.”

  Oh God. This was it. It was finally going to happen to her. She was finally going to know.

  “I want to have sexual relations with you.”

  The man laughed, and her heart sank. That had probably sounded like something a virgin about to get her nursing degree would say. Because that’s exactly what she was. She turned her face away in embarrassment.

  “You are a wild little thing, aren’t you?”

  That made her turn back around, and she was in such shock from those words that all she could do was nod her head in silence.

  The man scanned the parking lot, released one of her hands, and pulled her toward the trees near the overlook. She followed, stepping over brambles in her sandals, trying not to think too much, trying to be brave, feeling the thud of her heart in her throat.

  He stopped under a big tree already in full leaf. He turned to her and tugged on her hands as he lowered himself to the ground. He sat, leaning his back against the tree trunk, and smiled up at her.

  She was confused. What did he want her to do?

  “Straddle me.”

  She sat on him, her legs spread over his, and she looked down at her bare thighs against his jeans and for the first time worried about what she was wearing. A peach-colored tank top and a pair of camp shorts—certainly nothing revealing. She wondered if they’d take their clothes off or stay mostly dressed.

  “I want to see every inch of that beautiful little body of yours,” the man said, running the fingers of one hand down her tummy, then hooking them inside the waistband of her shorts.

  She nearly swooned.

  Kurt had put his fingers in her several times. It had never been enough. Nowhere near enough.

  “What’s your name, baby?”

  That question sliced through the brain fog and caused her to gasp. Panic cut through her. She tried to get up, but he put his hands on her hips and held her in place.

  “Look, it’s okay if you don’t—”

  “I don’t have a name and neither do you, all right?” she snapped.

  He smiled at that and stroked her hair. The mix of pleasure and uncertainty was unbearable.

  “Fair enough.”

  Then he reached around and cupped her head in his hand and pulled her to him. His mouth was on hers before she could prepare herself, and the sensation was nothing less than apocalyptic.

  Kurt didn’t kiss her like this. The man’s mouth was soft but persistent, and his lips opened over hers, and he sucked at her lips and tongue, and she found herself doing the same to him, and he just kept asking for more, and she gave it to him.

  He bit her gently. She felt his fingers undoing the clasp of her bra under her shirt, then moving to the zipper of her shorts. He was so smooth. Clearly, he’d had lots of practice. In a way, she was glad—glad because if she was going to have one shot at wild sex, it was good that it was with a man who might actually know what he was doing.

  Then it occurred to her that she was by the side of a road, where anyone could come across them. She pulled her lips from his and looked around nervously. “What if someone sees us?”

  He nodded and surveyed the area. “I’m not usually one for public displays of affection myself, but I think we’re pretty well hidden.”

  Then he put the flat of his palms on her belly and slid them up under her loose bra. She gasped—his hands felt so hot! Then it occurred to her that she didn’t have a condom—of course she didn’t have a condom! She’d never had a condom in her life! She froze beneath his touch.

  His hands stilled. “Are you okay?”

  “No. No, I’m not!” She knew she sounded borderline hysterical but couldn’t help herself. “I don’t have a condom! I can’t do this without one!”

  “Ahh.” He smiled at her, then dragged his hands from her breasts down her back, insinuating them into the back of her shorts, cupping her bottom. “I have some,” he whispered.

  Charlotte felt herself relax into his grip, get lost in the pull of the man’s smile. Then he rose and whispered in her ear, “But you’re so small. I don’t want to hurt you.”

  She trembled. He kissed her again. She allowed herself to touch him—his hard shoulders and upper arms, his neck, his chest—and the physical sensations began to blur until they were going at each other like they intended to consume each other, a rush of mouths and hands and breathing until he ripped off her clothes and she ripped off his and they made a little bed in the weeds and she was dying of impatience as he tore open the condom wrapper with his teeth.

  Not a moment too soon, he was once again leaning against the tree and she was once again straddling him, but this time she was rolling a condom down his unbelievably beautiful penis and she was suddenly grateful for the required public health education courses she’d had to suffer through.

  He pulled her up by the waist and positioned her over him. She tried not to shake. She tried not to have any regrets. And before she knew it, he was pushing inside her, and she tried her best to hide the shock she felt and breathed through the burning pain, inch by inch, until it transformed into molten pleasure.

  And as she rocked on him and ground against him, she watched his greedy mouth move all over her pale breasts. She felt him kiss and suck her neck and face and lips. And she smiled up at the sky through the leaves, through her tears, breathed in the honeysuckle that seemed to be everywhere, and knew she’d made the right decision.

  It was everything she’d hoped for. This man and his mouth and hands and cock were just what she craved.

  She looked down into the bottomless dark eyes of this stranger and he smiled at her with joy. Then he urged her on, using words that appeared in no nursing text she’d ever read.

  “God, your little pussy is so damn tight,” he moaned. “Come all over me. Let go, you sexy thing. I want to feel you bust it.”

  That’s when she had her first orgasm in the presence of another human being. And boy, was it ever better than going solo.

  She had many more before it was done. He had three. And they stopped only when they ran out of condoms and she was late to meet the plane.

  They left their nest in the weeds and she stood by the Miata again, the man pressed up against her, just where they’d started. Strangely enough, she didn’t feel awkward. They both knew what this had been about. She would never be sitting by a telephone that didn’t ring. They would never pass each other in a hallway and have to look away.

  “Good-bye,” she said.

  She saw him frown, start to say something, then just offer her another of his perfect smiles. As an afterthought, he reached in his front jeans pocket and pulled out the little notebook.

  She laughed as she took it from him. Then she threw her arms around his neck and practically jumped him,

  kissing him so hard she thought she heard something crack. Then she hopped back into
the car and pulled out of the parking space so fast she burned rubber, never looking back, tasting the blood on her lip.

  That little trip down memory lane had exhausted her. Charlotte dragged herself off the couch and out of the past and headed up to bed, where she’d likely dream it all over again.

  Chapter Eight

  “I really don’t want to hear this, Roger.”

  Joe’s supervisor sighed into the phone. “Two weeks. The Cincinnati office is expecting your help. I’m expecting you to stay alive. So you’ll give us two weeks.”

  “I’m getting a hotel, then. On the other side of town.”

  “The hell you are!”

  Joe had known his boss long enough to suspect he was at the end of his patience. Roger’s next comments confirmed it.

  “Listen. You will remain right there, where we know you’re safe, for two fucking weeks, that’s fourteen fucking days, and you can do damn near anything for fourteen days, so just suck it up and do it, Bellacera.”

  Roger hung up, and Joe stared at the phone in his hand.

  How was he supposed to live next door to Honeysuckle Mama for two weeks? Especially after what happened the other night? After he’d made the brilliant decision to hold a gun to her head and then kiss her? And how could he stay here after she’d practically begged him to take her right there in the driveway?

  He was strong, but not strong enough for this.

  Joe put the phone in the cradle and scanned the bedroom that served as his office, and the boxes stacked against the wall. Two weeks. How could he occupy himself for two weeks? Yes, he was committed to brainstorming with Cincinnati Field Office Supervisor Rich Baum and his agents about a sudden influx of Mexican-made crystal meth into the suburbs. He’d talk on the phone with the assistant U.S. attorney handling the Guzman case. He’d get in two good boxing workouts a day. He’d take naps. He’d keep an eye on Charlotte.

  He’d like to keep a few other body parts on her, too—like his lips and his hands. It took every ounce of restraint he had the other night not to give that woman everything she wanted and then some. He couldn’t stop thinking about the intensity of that kiss. The instant his lips made contact with hers, he’d been flung back in time. In his mind, he was right back under that tree, under her spell, underneath her sweet body.