Raspberry Crush

by Jill Winters

  How had she gotten here? she wondered hazily, lifting her pelvis off the table in rhythmic motions, totally succumbing to lust, grinding hard with Seth, and practically having sex through their clothes. How would it feel without clothes? If he yanked her jeans down now, would she even try to stop him?

  They were both nearly panting; it seemed inconceivable that a kiss had gotten so out of control so fast. Make that a shoulder massage. Make that stopping by to investigate the death of... What was his name again? Oh, who cared?

  Seth tore his mouth off hers and lifted himself up on his hands. As he rocked his body against hers, he whispered raggedly about how good she felt, how much he wanted her, how she drove him crazy... but Billy could barely hear over the blood thundering in her veins and her heart pounding like a bass drum in her ears. She couldn't remember the last time she'd felt so excited—not with her ex-boyfriend Ryan, and so far, not with Mark.

  Mark!

  Oh, Christ—she'd forgotten all about him! She was totally betraying him, even if they weren't officially exclusive yet.

  Abruptly, then, she pushed on Seth's shoulders to move him off of her. But he was so turned on, he didn't seem to realize what was happening. An anguished-looking expression crossed over his face as he continued to pant and pump his hips.

  Then he leaned down to kiss her, but Billy turned her head... leaving Seth to trail kisses across her cheek and down her neck.

  "Ohhhh..." she moaned traitorously again as Seth licked her pulse point.

  But somehow she shook herself back to reality. "Seth, wait," she said, and gave his arms another shove.

  "Wha...?" he said, pulling back, confused.

  "Wait," she said again, and started to sit up.

  Seth rolled off her and onto his feet, his blond hair rumpled, his face flushed, and his expression dazed. "What's wrong?" he asked huskily, plowing his hand through his hair.

  For the first time Billy could feel the flaming heat on her face and the pull of her inner thigh muscles, which were definitely not used to that kind of stretching. "I'm sorry; I can't do this," she said, and climbed down from the table. Her tailbone was a little sore, too, but that was probably a good thing. Knowing that this encounter hadn't been all ecstasy-filled rapture might help ease her guilty conscience later. A girl could hope, anyway.

  "What's wrong?" Seth asked again, his voice gravelly. "What is it—that other guy?"

  "Yeah," she replied. Of course it was. Mark wasn't actually her boyfriend yet, but that appeared to be where they were headed, so how could she have simply forgotten his existence, even for a few moments? She was a grown woman; there was no excuse for this kind of impulsiveness. And when she thought about the way Mark's huge and ecstatic default grin would falter if he knew she'd made out with her ex-boyfriend, her heart just sank. "I'm sorry; I never should've let this happen," she said, straightening her sweater, which had gotten twisted, and brushing some hair out of her eyes. "I've got to go."

  "Wait," Seth said, following her out of the kitchen and through the hall. Gently he caught her arm as she reached the foyer. "Billy, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to come on so strong—"

  "Don't be sorry; let's just forget it," she said, turning around and catching a glimpse of Seth's erection, which was still straining hugely against his jeans. Definitely time to go. "Listen, I'll see you around... you know, Churchill or whatever... um... take care."

  Her exit scene was marred when she yanked hard on the front door, only to spring forward because the door was locked. "Here," Seth said, coming up behind her and unlocking it. He must've sensed she was frazzled—nearly shaking—as she stepped out into the cold. Earlier she'd wished she had the guts to attack Seth, but now she could see that she hadn't been nearly ready for that. Too much sensory overload. Too much longing. Too much emotional baggage that came with knowing Seth again.

  She inhaled the fresh, cold air, hoping it would help, but instead her chest constricted. It was as though a giant fist were squeezing her lungs, making it hard to breathe. Irrational tears stung the backs of her eyes as the fist closed on her throat, making it hard to swallow.

  It was all flooding back to her now. The way it had been back when he was hers—the way it had hurt when he left. The way it would hurt when he left again and went back to his real life in Seattle. Emotions rumbled inside her, fast and turbulent, as she thought about Seth, and how the air around him always felt like a thick force field.

  If she stepped through it again, she'd be lost.

  Chapter 16

  By the time Billy got home, she was frantic with guilt. The last thing she needed was an interlude with a very pissed-off Lady McAvit.

  "Well, thanks for jinxing my tomatoes."

  "What?"

  "Forget it," the woman muttered, scrunching her pruny face with disdain, and brushed regally past Billy in the front hall of their brownstone.

  "No, really," Billy said, trying to keep her voice extremely even, calm, solicitous—in other words, taking Melissa's advice and kissing ass.

  Pausing at her open apartment door, Lady McAvit said, "Ever since your mongrel got into my greenhouse, my tomatoes have been wilting and shriveling up on the vine." Billy couldn't help noting the similarity between McAvit and her vegetables. "I want you to know I'm filing a complaint with the management company. Pets may be allowed in this building, but there have to be some limits," she snapped and slammed the door shut in Billy's face.

  Some limits? Did that include vandalism? The woman was certifiably insane! Furiously, Billy raised her sore arm and knocked hard on Lady McAvit's door. No answer. "I want to talk to you," she called, and knocked again. "Did you smear tomatoes on my window? That was you, wasn't it?" Still no answer. Billy released an infuriated sigh. "You'd better leave me alone or I'll file a complaint, too—with the police."

  Darting up the stairs, she slammed the door to her apartment angrily and went straight for the phone. She paused before she dialed Mark's number, though, because she wanted to calm her nerves before she talked to him. God, she hoped his cell was working again, because she really needed to talk to him, and it was the only phone he had. Three rings and Mark answered. "Hello?"

  "Hi, it's me," Billy said, sinking into the rocking chair by the door. She brought her feet up so she could curl her cheek comfortingly against her knees. "I need to talk to you."

  "Hey!" Mark greeted her, super jovial as always, which only made her feel worse. "What's up, cutie?"

  "Um, can I come over to your place? I need to talk to you tonight—in person." She wanted to confess what had happened with Seth, and apologize. And she wanted to find out where he stood with her after her confession, which she could see only in person.

  "My place?" Mark echoed, his inflection wavering. "Um... well, why don't you just tell me over the phone? It's late and everything...."

  "I know it's late," Billy said on a sigh. "But it's kind of important, Mark."

  "So let's talk now," he offered cheerfully. "What's on your mind, cutie? I'm here; talk away."

  "But why can't I just come over to talk to you?" she asked, confused.

  "Listen, Billy... it's just not a good time."

  Since when? What happened to "I'm here, talk away"? "What do you mean?" she asked with frustration. "I'm telling you that I want—"

  "Look, this is all too much for me tonight," he interrupted.

  "Huh?" How could this phone call be "too much" when she hadn't even gotten into the part about kissing her ex-boyfriend yet?

  "It's just been a tough day, and I'm really tired," Mark added, sounding nearly frantic to get off the phone. "I'm sorry; I've really got to run."

  "What's that noise?" she asked, picking up voices in the background. "Do you have people over?"

  "No, it's my TV," Mark said quickly. "Anyway, I think I just need a little breathing room, okay? It's not you; it's me. Um, you're a great girl; you really are—don't change, okay?"

  "Mark, what the hell are you talking about!" she nearly yelled. "You'r
e not making any sense."

  "Look, I think it's best if we just lie low, taper off, and regroup for a while," he went on hurriedly, "but we'll do lunch real soon—my treat! Bye, Billy."

  Then he hung up.

  For endless minutes Billy sat in her rocking chair with her forehead pressed to her knees, not fully grasping what had just happened. What planet was she living on? Here she'd wanted to talk to Mark about what'd happened with Seth—she'd wanted to apologize, because she'd had all these doubts about where they stood. And now, it seemed, she stood alone.

  Suddenly her phone rang, and Billy's heart jumped. "Mark?" she said on a startled breath, assuming it was him calling right back. (Assuming he wanted to explain his behavior, like maybe that he'd forgotten to take his anti-psychotic asshole medication.)

  But the line was quiet. Dead, almost... except there was no dial tone. There was only the barest trace of breathing on the other end.

  "Hello?" she said, waiting for a response as uneasiness crept into her chest. Unnerved by the quiet, she swallowed a hard lump of anxiety. "Mark?"

  No answer. But just as Billy was about to hang up, someone finally spoke. "Go away," the low voice hissed. "Just go away."

  With her heart slammed against her ribs, Billy dropped the phone.

  * * *

  "So you're telling me there's nothing you can do?" Billy said incredulously as she hugged Pike, who must've sensed her fear, because he was wagging his tail, on full alert.

  "Look, I'm sorry," the police officer said for the tenth time, sounding more bored each time he said it. "If you get more calls, we can put a trace on the phone. But don't be surprised if the call was made from a pay phone anyway—we get that all the time."

  "Great," she mumbled. She'd also told him about the tomatoes on her window, but he hadn't exactly been rabid for details.

  "Like I said, we'll talk to your neighbor, but unless the call's traced to her home or office, we've got no proof it was her. What does she do for a living?"

  "Besides terrorize me?" Billy said, frustrated. "How do I know? She's psycho tomato woman."

  "So there's no one else you can think of who'd be playing pranks on you?" he asked in more of that flat, bored tone. Billy didn't appreciate his attempts to minimize vandalism and a threatening phone call by referring to them as "pranks."

  "I can't think of anyone except my neighbor," she said honestly.

  "An ex-boyfriend maybe?"

  Please, Seth would never, ever do anything to hurt her, or even scare her. And Mark was a decent guy, too, even if he had just dumped her. The only other ex-boyfriend was that guy Ryan, but Billy couldn't imagine he'd spent even one minute thinking about her in the last two years. "No, definitely not an ex-boyfriend."

  "Ex-girlfriend?" the cop asked with a less than covert snicker.

  "No," Billy said, rolling her eyes. Pervert.

  "Fine, well, you can come down to the station tomorrow to file an official complaint. In the meantime, keep your doors locked."

  "Yeah, thanks, genius."

  "What?"

  "Nothing."

  "And if anything turns up, we'll let you know. But don't be surprised if—"

  "If you don't find out anything, I know," Billy said, and hung up the phone. She sighed. Honestly, she hadn't meant to take out her fear on an innocent civil servant, but her nerves were shot tonight. First Lady McAvit picked a fight with her downstairs. Then Mark told her he needed space. And now a threatening phone call and some ineffectual bureaucracy, to boot.

  Sighing again, she hugged Pike closer, and decided to do the only thing that might make her feel better. She reached for the phone and called her sister.

  * * *

  The following day Billy filled Melissa in on the latest savagery with Lady McAvit, and the mysterious "prank" call.

  "So what are the police going to do?" Melissa asked as she reached for a stack of new napkins from the supply shelf.

  "Absolutely nothing," Billy replied with lingering resentment.

  "Well, I guess there's not much they can do," Melissa offered sympathetically. "So you're sure it's your neighbor then? This all seems so over-the-top for some little old lady who gets her kicks growing indoor tomatoes."

  Billy smirked at that, although truthfully, Melissa's sentiments matched her own. In fact, all night she hadn't been able to get it out of her mind: It was too over-the-top for Lady McAvit. They'd lived in the same brownstone for over two years; she'd never shown a trace of zealous vigilantism. So why now?

  It might sound crazy, but the truth was...

  Last night it had occurred to Billy that the vandalism and the threatening call coincided exactly with her decision to look into Ted Schneider's murder. It didn't make much sense, since she hadn't even gotten to talk to the deputy—the only person she'd told her suspicions to was Seth... right? But still, she couldn't shake the possibility that there was a connection. Was it possible that someone was trying to scare her away from snooping? Was that what the raspy, whispering voice had meant by, "Go away"?

  But who could know what she was up to?

  It was very possible that whoever it was had used tomatoes out of convenience; if Lady McAvit had forgotten to lock her greenhouse again, anyone could've swiped some of them and thrown them at Billy's window.

  She considered telling Melissa her theory, but decided against it, because it wasn't her place to blab Aunt Penelope's business, a concept that Adrienne had never quite grasped.

  "What are you working on now?" Melissa asked, motioning to the cake on the table.

  "Oh..." Billy said, turning back to it. "Window by Matisse." Melissa shook her head, smiling, and Billy grinned back. "Isn't it funny?" Ever since the jubilee, word of mouth about the Renoir cakes had spread and Bella Donna had begun getting requests for famous-painting cakes. Of course, Donna always cleared those orders with Billy first.

  Between that and the streetscape, Billy should be having an awesome time, but last night's phone call kept playing in her head. And whenever her mind took a break from that, it switched over to the erotic encounter on Seth's kitchen table—rerunning graphic images of them entwined and frantic and barely in control.

  Just then Georgette slammed the kitchen door open and carried a bin of frosting to the walk-in freezer. Huffily, she threw the freezer door open, dropped the bin down, kicked the door closed, and stomped back to her lair.

  Melissa shot Billy a questioning look, then shook her head. "She has had such an attitude lately. Ever since my promotion. Have you noticed?"

  Of course. Who the hell hadn't? "No, not really," Billy said, trying to stay diplomatic.

  "Ech, she is so annoying," Melissa went on, rolling her eyes with disgust. "It's like, don't blame me because you're old and fat and your husband left you."

  "Melissa!"

  "What?"

  "Come on, that's mean."

  "Well, what's her problem?"

  Shrugging, Billy said, "I just think maybe she's not crazy about all the new recipes."

  "Well, I'm sorry, but this isn't a cafeteria. We can't serve mac-'n'-cheese and Tater Tots all day long." Reserving comment, Billy reached for the pastry bag. "What?" Melissa said.

  "Nothing," Billy replied. Just... sometimes the things you say.

  "Whatever," Melissa said with a shrug, and carried her stack of napkins to the front. As soon as she was gone, Georgette angrily kicked open the door from the kitchen. There was flour on her pink Superfly glasses, and her white pompadour was in savage disarray.

  "I heard every word that bitch just said," she declared with steely, biting hatred. Guilt pitted in Billy's gut as embarrassment stained her cheeks. God, she hoped Georgette wasn't too hurt by what Melissa had said—and she hoped she didn't think that Billy felt the same way. "I was a cafeteria lady for twenty-two years and I'm damn proud of it."

  "Oh, really, don't pay any attention to Melissa," Billy said feebly.

  "I swear, one of these days," Georgette added seethingly, "I'm going to
kill that girl!"

  * * *

  "Hold the elevator!" Billy called as she frantically rushed into the adult-school building, hoping she wasn't too late on her first day of class. She was supposed to meet her mom and her sister over fifteen minutes ago, but she'd taken the B line from work, and, predictably, the subway had crawled the entire way. "Wait, please... please hold that...."

  The scrawny man in the elevator ignored Billy's pleas, staring ahead as though he didn't see or hear her, and then very obviously reached up to press "door close." The elevator sealed two inches from her face. "Thanks a lot," she grumbled after it was too late to matter, then took the next one to the seventh floor and skirted around the hallway to find her classroom.

  As soon as she entered the room, she was hit with the déjà vu of high school home ec. Tiny desk-chair contraptions made up half of the room; kitchen appliances and countertops made up the other. From what she could tell, the students in the class ranged from mid-twenties to mid-fifties. In front, a woman with a short blond coif and an apron was speaking to the class.

  Carefully Billy crept along the wall, discreetly trying to find an empty seat. "Thank you for joining us," the teacher said loudly. Billy froze as all the students turned their heads to notice her. Tonight was the first of six sessions of "Intro to Refined Cooking," and so far she wasn't off to a great start.

  "Oh, thanks," Billy said, smiling feebly. "Sorry I'm late." Then she made brief eye contact with her mom and sister, who were seated in the front row. Corryn grinned at her, while Adrienne shot her a chiding look before turning back to her notebook. Just then Billy noticed the little weasel who'd shut the elevator on her, sitting on the other side of Corryn.

  "Ow!"

  Billy whipped her head around. "Oh, sorry!" she whispered, realizing that she'd accidentally kicked someone's foot, which had been sticking out in the aisle. A few people angled their heads back to look, and the teacher paused dramatically. Once Billy dropped down in an empty seat in the last row, the teacher resumed her lesson. "As I was saying, my name is Judy Smith, and for the next six sessions I'll be teaching you some wonderfully inventive and lusciously delicious techniques for enhancing your recipe oeuvre."