The Perfect Solution

by Day Leclaire

  “Look where I am again,” she complained.

  He looked, and that one glance stole his reply clean away. She sat perched on the cushions, her hair in a tousled mass of ringlets that drifted well below her shoulders. They even covered her breasts, all but the blush-pink tips that poked impudently through the curls. Her hands were folded in her lap, covering the scrap of silk that passed as panties. Tinted stockings inched up impossibly long legs, taunting him with trim ankles, slender calves and dimpled knees. The taunting ended at the palest, prettiest, most kissable thighs he’d ever seen on a woman.

  Dragging his ripped shirt off his shoulders, he yanked open his belt, unzipped his trousers, kicked off his shoes and stripped down to skin. All the while, Jane sat there like a properly trained scientist, wide-eyed with well-placed curiosity, her lush mouth parted just enough for him to see her clever little tongue.

  “Your turn,” he announced.

  “Yes, please.”

  He’d do this in an orderly fashion, he decided as he joined her on the cushions. That should appeal to the scientist in her. He’d start at the top and work his way down. He filled his hands with curls and her mouth with his tongue. It was a great way to start. She moaned, cupping his raspy jaw in her palms. Tipping back her head, she offered him greater access and he seriously thought he’d lose control right then and there. But he couldn’t stop. Loving her mouth consumed him. He wanted it to be right for her. Perfect. He wanted her to know that she was more than just a scientist.

  She was a woman.

  Finally he tore his mouth from hers. “That was my first stop. Time for this bus to move on to stop number two.”

  Her brow crinkled in delightful confusion. “What’s stop number two?”

  “I’ll show you.”

  He worked downward. Methodical. Orderly. Desperate. Her breasts beckoned, pouting at the length of time he’d spent on her mouth. It seemed appropriate to make up for his lapse in manners. He plumped, he suckled, he scraped the taut buds with his teeth.

  “That’s bus stop number two,” he thought to mention.

  “Please, Flynn, I can’t take any more. Go to three. Hurry!”

  “Bossy little thing, aren’t you?” He wandered from her breasts to her belly. “Bet people jump when you use that tone of voice, don’t they?”

  “I’m begging you. Please!”

  “Tell you what. I’m a generous guy. Why don’t we get these panties and garter belt off and I’ll see if stop number three doesn’t show up.”

  “Yes,” she sobbed. “Off, off, off.”

  He released her garter. Hooking his thumbs in the waistband of her panties, he dragged the scrap of silk downward, taking her stockings along with it. She lay beneath him, as open and eager as any woman he’d ever known. For someone so uptight, she sure let down nicely.

  “Anyone getting off at stop number three?”

  “I am! Flynn, please. I need to get off!”

  “Yes, ma’am. Just let me get the doors open and off you go.”

  He parted her thighs, slipping a finger into the fragrant center of her. She was hot and moist. Dipping inward again, he circled the pearl at the apex with his thumb. The simple touch left her shrieking.

  He grinned. “That good?”

  “Better. Oh, Flynn. You’ve got to do something.”

  Who was he to argue? He applied himself with greater diligence. Her shriek had turned to a groan and she shook her head back and forth. “No. No, no, no. Not that. I need more. I need—”

  “Tell me, sweetheart. What do you need?”

  “Park the damn bus!”

  “What...now? But we haven’t even gotten to the fourth stop yet.”

  “Titanium. Forty-seven point eighty-eight. Vanadium. Fifty point nine four one five. Chromium. Fifty-one point nine thirty-eight. Manganese—”

  “What the hell are you doing, woman?”

  “Listing,” she burst out. “Listing the transition metals.”

  That was a new one, even for him. “I’m making love to you and you’re listing transition metals? Have you lost your mind?”

  “No!” She groaned. “No, but I’m going to explode if I don’t distract myself. I can’t stand any more. I—”

  “Oh. Well, if that’s all. I can take care of it.”

  His thumb found the slick nubbin again and he flicked it once, twice. On the third stroke she shrieked, louder this time, coming apart in his arms. The tremors seemed to last forever, ripping through her, tearing her to pieces. He held her until the final spasm had died.

  “Now it’s my turn. We’re going to get back on that bus and start over. Only this time we’re taking the express.” He reached behind him, fumbling for his trousers. Yanking his wallet from his pocket, he flipped open his billfold and...

  Nothing. Shit!

  Wild-eyed, he grabbed Jane’s shoulders. “Condoms,” he shouted.

  She smiled drowsily. “Hmm?”

  “I. Need. Condoms!”

  “Okay.” She waved a hand in the general direction of the foyer.

  “What?” He looked over his shoulder. “The hallway table?”

  “No.”

  “That chest thing with the doors?”

  “Nope.”

  “What? Where?”

  “The drugstore.”

  He forced air in and out of his lungs. No. She couldn’t be serious. Okay, he had one last hope. “Are you on the Pill?”

  “Can’t. Makes me sick.”

  He threw back his head and let out a roar he suspected echoed through every corner of Salmon Bay. If he were a betting man, he’d be willing to lay odds that Paulie was laughing himself silly right this very minute.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  “I’LL BE DAMNED,” Hickory murmured. “Right there on the lawn.”

  Rube blinked in astonishment. “Oh, my. That’s not like our Jane, is it?”

  Dipstick thrust between them, peering out the window. He voiced his own opinion with a low, drawn-out whine.

  “Not even a little. She’s acting totally out of character.”

  “She did it, didn’t she?” Rube released a yelp of delight. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a fistful of sour balls and tossed them into the air. Dipstick scrambled after the unexpected treat. “Yahoo! She actually did it. Yes, she did. Her perfume works.”

  “Can’t be sure,” Dogg rumbled.

  Hickory slammed his cane against the floor. “What else could it be? It’s certainly encouraging.”

  “Encouraging. Yes.”

  “But not conclusive proof. Is that what you’re saying?” Hickory pulled the drapes closed, affording the lovers some privacy. Though considering they were grappling around in the front yard in full view of anyone strolling by, his consideration was undoubtedly wasted.

  “Maybe. Maybe not.”

  Hickory sighed. “Thanks for your clarification.”

  Rube slipped past and stuck his head through the narrow gap in the curtains. “My, oh, my,” he breathed.

  Hickory hooked his cane in Rube’s belt and towed him away from the window. “Still... Even if the night’s events aren’t a result of her potion, there are some side benefits for Jane. I guess we could call it a bonus.” He smiled at the thought. “We didn’t take that into consideration when we purchased Mr. Morgan. Did we?”

  “No bonuses tonight.”

  “Dammit all, Dogg!” Hickory glared. “Your predictions can be so pessimistic. Are you telling me they’re not going to—”

  “Yes. They’re not.”

  “Hell.”

  “No?” Rube pouted, cautiously unhooking Hickory’s cane. “Why not? They looked so eager. Yes, they did. Very eager. Want me to check?”

  “No, I don’t want you to check.” Hickory reacquired his wayward brother before he reached the curtains and propelled him toward the couch. “Dogg doesn’t know for sure that nothing will occur. He’s just making a prediction based on random elements combined with assumptions of probable behavior.”r />
  “I’m right.”

  In a practiced move, Hickory tossed the cane toward a freestanding mahogany coatrack. The gold ball on the handle caught neatly on a hook and swung wildly back and forth like a giant pendulum before clattering to the floor. He sighed. “Dammit. What could go wrong? What random elements have I overlooked?”

  “No protection.”

  “Oh, please.” Hickory threw himself into his chair, dismissing his brother’s comment with a sweep of his hand. “A man of Flynn’s experience comes to a party without his gift wrapped? I find that difficult to believe.”

  “Better for Jane if they wait.”

  “More dangerous, you mean,” Hickory shot back. Dipstick approached with the cane and deposited it at his feet. “It allows their relationship to progress instead of remaining a meaningless fling, doesn’t it?”

  “Yes.”

  “So what do we do now? If he’s reacting to her perfume, then what’s happening makes perfect sense. But what if it’s not her scent? What if there’s something more between them?”

  Dogg shrugged.

  Rube sucked on his sour ball, his anxious gaze drifting toward the closed curtains.

  Hickory sat silently, contemplating the atomic reaction decorating the tip of his cane. Then in another swift movement he sent it spinning toward the coatrack again. This time it caught the hook. He chuckled. “I know how we can find out for certain. Come with me.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “To the lab. We’re going to determine whether it’s the potion or natural combustion. I’ve been giving this problem with her perfumes a great deal of thought and I believe she’s missing a secondary reactant. Maybe tonight she found it.”

  “Another reactant.” Champagne hissed as Rube poured the sparkling wine into three crystal flutes. One by one, he dropped in three sour balls. “My goodness. Now, that’s an interesting idea.”

  Hickory’s eyes narrowed. “If there is one, I suggest we find it before someone else does.”

  Dogg nodded, issuing a dour prediction. “Mick.”

  Hickory nodded. “Yes, Mick. Come on. Let’s get to the lab.” He led the way while his brothers and Dipstick followed. The instant they stepped outside, the dog abandoned them to snuffle in the bushes. To Hickory’s disgust, he found the lab unlocked. “What the hell are we paying Morgan for, anyway?”

  “To catch Barstow. Can’t catch him if he doesn’t try and steal something,” Dogg offered. “Can’t steal anything if things are locked up.”

  “More importantly, where does she keep the perfumes and who has the key?” Rube demanded. He prowled around the lab and poked chubby fingers through neatly organized shelves. “Does she even lock up her samples?”

  “Yes, she locks them up, and I have the key,” Hickory announced. He put down his glass of champagne and crossed to one of the temperature-controlled cabinets. Pulling a slender billfold from his back pocket, he flipped it open and swiftly selected one of the implements it contained. Then he neatly picked the lock.

  Rube released his breath in a long sigh. “Hickory, my dear brother, you never fail to surprise. When did you learn to pick locks?”

  “Just because we’re related doesn’t mean you know everything about me.” Hickory abandoned the cabinet and crossed to a nearby computer station. Sitting at Jane’s desk, he typed rapidly. “And let’s not forget that we won’t be sharing my lock-picking skills with Jane.”

  “Can’t do it much longer,” Dogg reminded him. “Not once Morgan installs the security system.”

  Hickory shrugged off the comment. “I’ll make sure he gives us the necessary codes. Now, let’s see...” He scanned the latest entry. “According to the notes on her computer—”

  Rube’s mouth dropped open. “You’ve raided her computer?”

  “I’m raiding her computer as we speak. Why do you think I’m sitting here? Because I was suddenly overcome with the uncontrollable urge to play Freecell?”

  Rube frowned. “But to raid Jane’s computer—” He tsked in displeasure.

  “If she didn’t want anyone reading her notes, she’d encode them.” Hickory shut down the computer and returned to the cabinet. Running a finger along the glass vials, he plucked one free. “According to her notes, she was testing LP-9 tonight. And according to my notes, LP-9 corresponds to an active pheromone sample.”

  “But... But that’s supposed to be a blind study,” Rube protested.

  “It is blind.” Hickory smiled blandly. “For her. Next I’ll take a small sample and we’ll put together one of her perfumes.”

  “Number nine. Out of sequence.”

  “Yes, Dogg. I found that intriguing, too, especially considering her numerical sequence fixation. Two always follows one and three always follows two. She doesn’t like doing things out of order.” Hickory paused in his preparations. “Our fault, I suppose.”

  “But she used number nine.”

  Hickory nodded. “I suspect it means she’s attracted to Morgan.”

  Rube poured more champagne and then slipped an extra sour ball into his flute. “Oh! I get it. LP-9...love potion number nine. Isn’t that sweet?” He waved the magnum of champagne at Hickory. “Is it ready?”

  “Just finishing now.” Hickory sniffed the perfume. “I do believe this is a new blend. It’s quite extraordinary.”

  “Too bad we don’t have anyone to test it on.”

  “I have that all taken care of,” Hickory assured him.

  “We have a test case?” Rube blinked in surprise. “Really? Who?”

  A rattle of metal buckets sounded from the front of the lab. Hickory returned the vial to the cabinet and picked up the atomizer he’d prepared. “I believe our subject has just arrived,” he announced with a complacent smile.

  Rube’s eyes widened. “Mrs. Motts? You’re going to test it on—”

  “The cleaning lady,” Dogg confirmed.

  “Don’t mind us, Mrs. Motts,” Hickory called out.

  The cleaning woman paused in the doorway and gave him a no-nonsense look. “I never do, unlike most in this town.”

  “Really?” He leaned against the workbench nearest her and slowly placed the atomizer on it. He adjusted it ever so slightly, turning the glass spray bottle so it glinted beneath the overhead lights, catching her attention. “Scientists don’t worry you?”

  “Nope.” Her gaze fastened on the bottle. “I mind my own business and thank you to mind yours.”

  “Quite.” He nudged the atomizer in her direction and waited. It didn’t take long.

  Her expression turned wistful and she took a telling step closer. “Is that Miss Jane’s latest perfume?”

  “Why, yes.” He sniffed the air. “It has a most unusual fragrance.”

  “She does make up some yummy ones.” The cleaning woman hesitated. “I confess, I have a true weakness for female geegaws like perfume and such. Do you...do you think she’d mind my giving it a little try?”

  “No, Mrs. Motts,” he said as innocently as he could manage—which probably wasn’t too innocent. “I’m sure she’d be delighted to have you sample it.”

  She wiped her hands on one of her rags, shifting from foot to foot, but not coming any closer. “Miss Jane’s always been good to me. I wouldn’t want to do anything to upset her.”

  “Ah, yes. In that case, we’ll keep this our little secret.”

  “Well, now. If you’re sure it won’t do any harm.”

  “Didn’t say that,” Dogg muttered.

  Ignoring him, Mrs. Motts reached for the atomizer and generously spritzed herself with the scent. “Oooh-eee. Don’t that stink pretty?”

  Hickory took a deep breath. “Why, yes. As a matter of fact, it does.” Helping himself to more champagne, he eyed her over the rim of his crystal flute. “And now let’s see if that’s all it does.”

  “So what now?” Rube whispered as Mrs. Motts propped open the door to the lab and dumped a pile of cleaning rags on a nearby worktable.

  “N
ow we wait.” Hickory made himself comfortable in Jane’s computer chair. “And we observe.”

  Rube topped off their glasses, then reached into his pocket for more sour balls. Candy wrappers floated around his feet. “One or two?”

  “None.”

  “One it is.” The odor of tart lemons filled the air.

  Hickory sighed. “Someday I’m going to be able to enjoy a glass of champagne without lemon sour balls ruining the flavor.”

  “Oh, no. It’s nowhere near as good.” Rube took a long swallow and sighed with pleasure. “You should know by now that sour balls go with everything.”

  Dogg grunted.

  “See? Dogg likes them.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. I’d know that grunt anywhere. Dogg hates them.”

  “No, no—”

  “Incoming,” Dogg warned.

  An instant later Dipstick thrust his nose into the lab. Spying company, he erupted through the door and barked a happy greeting.

  “Oh, no you don’t, you mangy mutt.” Mrs. Motts fended him off with her broom. “You’re not going to make a mess of my floors like those other times. I’ll take my mop to your furry hide. See if I don’t.”

  Dipstick responded with an immediate tongue-washing, managing to do a thorough job despite her threats, which were completely spoiled by an almost girlish shriek of laughter. Spying Rube, the animal gave the cleaning woman a final lick before galumphing across the floor toward his candy-sharing friend. Skidding to a halt, Dipstick tried to paw his two hundred pounds into Rube’s pocket. When that didn’t work, he knocked over Dogg’s champagne flute and lapped up the wine before happily crunching on the sour balls. Then he thanked the three with wet doggie kisses.

  “That animal is a menace,” Mrs. Motts announced, the minute she’d recovered. She snatched up the perfume and doused herself with it again, pausing long enough to scowl, as though daring them to criticize her liberal use of the atomizer. “And he licked off all the good stuff, too.”

  “Saturate away, my dear,” Hickory said dryly. “I’m sure there’re a few molecules of air around here you haven’t managed to contaminate.”