by Rie Warren
“Famished, baby.”
He pulled an indigo satin dressing gown over my shoulders.
Huh? So, hungry wasn’t a euphemism for let’s get it on? Since when?
Ever the gentleman, he tied the sash about my waist. “I’d considered keeping you naked through dinner.” Oh shit. Did I say gentleman? Adjusting the lapels to showcase my cleavage and the cravat of pearls, his hands wavered. Pushing them through his hair, he gave me a boyish smile. “I think that’s about all I can handle at the moment.”
I twirled my fingers down his chest and tugged on his belt. “Aw, you hungry, baby?”
He pressed against my hip. “Starving, Shay.”
Regardless of his obvious, straining erection, he was intent on food, the kind eaten at a table. From the dining room, I heard a scramble, a crash, and, “Damn it!”
Just like when he’d dropped his cell, mid-phone sex. Sexual frustration would do that.
In the kitchen I found him standing over shattered plates swimming amidst pools of food. He crouched over the debris, squinting at me. “Sorry.”
“It doesn’t matter.”
He nodded to the phone. “Andolini’s?”
In a routine so very normal it was endearing, I placed the pizza order while he cleaned up, a smile on my lips when he shooed me away from the mess.
Outside I sipped my wine, searching my pockets for smokes. But I didn’t have pockets. I had his robe on. I sniffed the collar. Another smile curved my mouth when I thought about his tie-tying session.
“Looking for these?” He flicked the 100’s to me, bowing to light my cigarette. “Sorry about the food.” Stepping from foot-to-foot, he shoved his hands into his pockets, shy as a boy on his first date.
“I’m not.”
He sent me such a sweet smile it lit my heart. “I had it all planned out.”
“Planning’s overrated.”
He folded me into him until we were flush. “Seems so.”
“Besides, I like pizza. I’m not a fancy type of girl.” Stubbing out my cigarette, I turned to give him a flirty kiss. I glanced down at the pearls nestled by my breasts. “But as far as fancy goes, these are gorgeous.”
He complimented the girls instead of the necklace, “That they are.”
We took our meal to the crow’s nest, having our pizza picnic on a soft flannel blanket.
He served me a slice. “Pardon my fingers.”
I wanted to tell him his fingers didn’t need any pardon, more like given their own wing in the Hall of Fame, especially after what they’d done to me earlier.
We fumbled for another slice, our hands brushing and pulling back, returning to battle over the piece with the most toppings.
We goaded each other over books we read and shows we watched, his CNBC, my reality TV.
The night contracted around us, bringing us closer.
I wished I’d known Reardon before his marriage to Leila, before his brother had gone off to war.
I wished…
He was mine, and we were each other’s firsts.
“What do you do for fun?” He sprawled beside me.
“Watch television–”
“Bad television,” he joked.
“Shut it,” I threatened. “Listen to really loud music sometimes, but I can’t sing for shit. Hang out with Au...Addy.”
“Addy?”
“Yeah, Adelaide. Known her since I was in rompers. She runs The Drugstore in the Old Village, since her momma passed. I help her out, but it ain’t really what I’d call fun.”
“It isn’t?”
“No. She makes me serve the snootiest customers.”
“Ah, I can see how that would be a problem for you.”
“You makin’ fun of me, Mr. Boone?”
He held up his hands. “I wouldn’t presume. Miss Shay, please do continue.”
“She takes me to task over stocking shelves and mopping the floors.”
“Hmm, torture.”
I flew to his lap, throwing my arms around his neck. “Keep it up, buster.”
“What you gonna do?” He grabbed my waist.
“Maybe I’ll torture you.” I repositioned myself directly over his cock, swirling my hips.
Sitting me farther back on his thighs, he groaned. “Yes, that would be hard.”
My smile was victorious, until his next words. “Weren’t you going to mention August DuBose?”
I sputtered, “But you...he...how did you–”
“Remember the day in my study before the party?”
“Yeah?”
“Let’s put it this way, you’re not as good as you think at pantomime.”
My eyes narrowed. “Shrewd.”
“Part of my job. Plus, you were very, very bad at the mimin’–”
“Okay! I get it.”
Tracing a line from my elbow to my wrist, he lifted my fingertips to his mouth. “And you like gardening, of course.”
I curled my scrubby fingernails over. “Yeah.”
“You do it a lot?”
“I made a garden for Delilah. It’s where I go when I need to be with her.” A few tears took off down my face as I rubbed my cheek against his chest.
“Sounds beautiful.” He rocked me gently while the pain eased. “I’d like to see it sometime.”
“I wish you could.”
He nodded, his lips downturned.
“Remember what I said, about infertility and infidelity runnin’ in my family back when I told you about Delilah?”
“Yes.”
“I recently found out my daddy had an affair.”
“When?”
“I was ten. Momma had had her third miscarriage. I guess, he just couldn’t, it was too much.”
His arms tightened around my back. “When did you find out, before or after you met me?”
“Right after.”
“Do you think?” He squirmed. “Shay, if you’d known before, would you have made a different decision, about me?”
“I don’t know.”
Worry creased his face. “Then I’m glad you didn’t find out first.” Scrubbing a palm down his face, he sat up straight. “Shit, I’m a selfish bastard, aren’t I?”
“No, I–”
“I wish for your sake it had never happened. That’s what I should’ve said.”
“It’s okay.”
“No, it’s not.”
“Reardon.”
“Leila had an affair too.”
“What?”
He shook his head at my outrage. “I was to blame.”
“It’s never totally one-sided.”
“Is that what you really believe?” Reardon’s hands cupped my face.
I ducked away. “Not really. I know who’s at fault in my case.”
“Not true. Not from what you’ve told me. Palmer has some answering to do. And so do I.”
“Is her affair the reason you got divorced?”
“No. It was over long before that.”
A small movement was all it took to connect our lips. I raised my head and closed my eyes, pressing up until the glide of our mouths made us both gasp.
“Bedtime.” He stretched to his feet, bringing me with him.
Downstairs, the only light came from the moon bathing the vast bed in a warm white glow. I turned in time to see Reardon pulling on boxer briefs. “What are you doing?”
He raised his hand to the back of his neck. That pendant of his was sent swinging. “Putting you to bed.”
“But what about sealing the deal?” My hand dropped down his front, bringing him to full erection inside my fist.
He took my fingers off his cock. “It’s not right, Shay.”
“Who the hell are you to decide?”
“This isn’t just a job. I don’t want you fucking me because I got you to sign some damn contract!”
“Oh yeah? And this isn’t a friggin’ game to me either.”
“No, no it’s not.”
“This is what you wanted! What
you’ve pai–”
He pressed his fingers to my lips. “Don’t. Don’t you say it. You know it’s different now.”
“You don’t want me.” The cruel truth gutted me.
“Fuck. Are you blind?” His hips jutted forward. His lips were one decisive slash. “But not now, not tonight, and not like this.”
“Because of what I said about my daddy?”
“No.”
“Leila’s affair?”
“No, Shay.”
He tensed when I neared. I opened my robe and his rumbling groan vibrated through me. My mouth brushed his chest. “Don’t you want this?”
He panted, licking his lips.
“Don’t you feel this?” I pushed inside his briefs where he surged into my palm. “Fuck me.” I wet my other hand and lowered it to his balls.
“Ah, God. No.” Jumping away, he roared, “This is not what I want!”
I crashed to the floor. This is not what I want. You are not what I want, not...I want. Losing Delilah, Palmer’s year-long refusals, learning about my daddy’s betrayal...discoverin’ after all that fucking trauma what I wanted.
Angry sobs exploded from my chest.
Arms came around me. His voice soothed me. “Don’t, oh Christ, don’t, Shay. Shh, please, darlin’, please.”
Not tonight, not what I want.
“That’s not what I meant. You know that’s not what I meant.”
He was warmth.
I was so cold it hurt.
I relinquished myself to him.
Once the wracking sobs slowed to hiccups, he lay me on the bed. Reardon spoke clearly. “I am not rejecting you.” He laughed uncertainly at the sight of my body, the robe tangled aside. Covering me with a sheet, he shook his head. “That’s not even possible.”
“Imma explode if you don’t have your sinfully hot way with me soon, just sayin’.” I sniffled pitifully.
He regarded me from a chair beside the bed. His hands hanging between his legs, he hunched forward. “Here’s the thing. I don’t want to have sex with you.”
I rolled away from him. He tugged me back, grabbing my hand. “I want to make love to you. I want it to mean something. And I haven’t…”
“When was the last time?” I whispered.
“Can’t remember.”
Oh, Jesus. “C’mere, baby.”
Snuggling together, he whispered to me in downy tones, like a lullaby.
Notions that were true and genuine and beautiful.
For a few short hours, I had him. And it felt like love.
* * * *
Another busy week passed. Texts, sexts, clandestine phone calls shuttled between me and Reardon. A quick meet, greet, and grind rounded out Hump Day nicely.
Our relationship was beginning. Palmer pretended mine and his wasn’t ending. His awkward caresses and the odd kiss to my shoulder irritated me.
“Mmm, hmm. He ain’t stupid, baby girl,” was Addy’s take on it the following Saturday. She passed me the bucket and mop and pointed to the patchwork tile floor of the store. Her housedress matched the flourishing blossoms of a greeting card I picked up and replaced: gaudy as hell.
Rinsing out the mop, I muttered to myself until her warm brown hands were on my cheeks, her cherry pit eyes stark and truthful. “Y’all ain’t gonna find any disapproval here, Miss Shay. Anyway, I know you got the imp o’ Satan on your shoulder.”
“Augie.”
“Yas’m. That be the one.”
Once I finished Spic-n-Spanning the tile, she urged me out the door. “Go on and scoot now, and have a good time with your fella.”
“But I’m not seein’ my fella,” I protested.
“Gotcha.” She had–I should’ve said I don’t have a fella. “And yes y’are seein’ him.” She pushed a white box decorated with a gingham bow across the counter. “And you be seein’ Augie, too. Tell him he and I need to have us a good talk-to soon, been missin’ that sumb–”
The door rang with the day’s first customers and she switched tracks midstream, “Well, how-do, the Tillmans? Ain’t this jist a fine, fine day right down here-a?”
Happy as the proverbial pig in mud, I swung into the reserved space next to Reardon’s Land Rover at the back of Rad-Slaughter. Whirling the box of goodies from Addy, I entered the swank offices only to be waylaid by the blonde blow-up doll again.
I dodged left. She parked her ass in front of Reardon’s door. Bitch better move it because I am not above a little hair pullin’ or face scratchin’.
The double deluxe doors opened, and his throat clearing gained my arch nemesis’s attention. “Mr. Boone, she’s not in the appointment book, and she didn’t sign in.”
He stopped her with one hand and one eyebrow raised. God, it was so hot seeing him in command. “I understand, Miss Leggett.” Leggett? Seriously? Bet that was a bogus pornstar name. “However, for future reference, Miss Greer is always welcome to interrupt me.”
Dis-missed.
The doors closed behind us, I tsked. “Workin’ on a Saturday?”
He reclined with an eat-you-up expression. “Always working, Miss Shay.”
He was fully suited, freshly shaved and mighty damn fine, and he had to know the way he said Miss Shay sent flames shooting up my legs and setting fire between my thighs.
“So what they say is true?”
He cocked an eyebrow in question.
“No rest for the wicked.” I blinked innocently.
“None at all,” he agreed, toying with the hem of my sundress. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
I lifted the lid of Addy’s box. Pinching a sloppy chunk of blackberry cobbler, I licked the juicy blue-black filling. “Brought some sweets.”
Reardon’s breath hitched. “God, that looks good.”
“Mmm.” I lasciviously swirled my tongue along the icing. “Addy made it. Want some?”
“Please.”
“Such good manners, baby.” I fed him a giant piece of the scrumptious crumbly cake.
When his mouth was good and full, I added, “And, I’m just makin’ sure She-Ra out there keeps her filthy mitts off you.”
A flurry of crumbs blew out of his mouth. “She-Ra?”
“Sheila,” I affected my best Aussie accent. “Whatever.”
He chuckled. “Her name is Cheryl.”
“Well, she ain’t no oil painting.”
“You certainly have a way with words, darlin’.”
I preened.
“And Miss Leggett is an excellent assistant,” he gently chided.
I pouted.
Dipping low, I kissed away a smear of blackberry juice from the corner of his lips. “I parked in your lot too, hope you don’t mind?”
“Not at all.”
Reluctantly throwing out the empty pastry box–tempted to lick the bottom–I caught Reardon watching me, an indulgent glimmer in his eyes.
“Where you off to then?”
“Farmer’s Market on Marion Square.” I headed to the door, where he joined me.
“You want company?”
“I’d love it.” I leaned back as he gripped the handles, caging me against the door. “You think you can handle Augie though? ’Cause I’m spendin’ the morning with him, and he thinks you’re one helluva hot commodity.”
His fingers curved over my hips. “You two have a good time. But you let Mr. DuBose know I’m a one woman man.”
“Will do.”
Walking me across Miss Leggy’s territory, he asked, “See you tonight?”
“You can bet on it.” I winked at him over my shoulder to see him leaning against the doorway.
“Oh, believe me, I am.”
That goddamn better be the I’m finally gonna get some look.
Crossing the street, I turned for a last look to find him standing in his office window, a shimmering shadow. I touched my heart before blowing a kiss and backed away, smacking into a tall wall of linen, rich cologne, and two hands halting my progress.
“Too busy og
lin’ Mr. McFuckMe to pay attention to where you’re goin’?” Augie performed a sweeping bow in Reardon’s direction.
“Can it, Casanova. He knows all about little your crush.” I took his elbow, losing us in the maze of stands and tents shading hundreds of handmade goods, gourmet foods, and oodles of plant varieties.
“Don’t know what you’re callin’ little, honey.” He stopped to perv on a good-looking guy’s ass. Both our heads tilted to the right as we checked him out. “Obviously you haven’t seen–”
“Stop it right there, Augie. We are not talkin’ about your…” I leaned in close to whisper, “endowments.”
“Endowments are for the arts, honey. What I’ve got is more monumental.”
“August!” I grabbed his arm and marched him off. “Let’s feel up some veg, already.”
Inspecting the zucchinis and summer squashes, we traded the usual suggestive remarks, which inevitably led to more talk about Reardon.
“Our tycoon get a taste of poon yet?”
“Let me tell you, the trustafarian is definitely a vagetarian.”
“I’m to take it he’s a real mogul of the muff?”
“Yeah, Richie Rich likes a good–”
“Isn’t this charming?”
How was it possible for a voice to ooze like vile slime? “Slaughter, to what do I owe the inconvenience?”
“I saw you coming out of HQ and had to say hello.” He bent over my hand.
I had a mind to knee him in the balls.
Unfortunately, he straightened too soon, putting his hand out to Augie. “The esteemed Mr. DuBose, I presume?”
Augie did me proud. “You must be Slaughter, the pig’s trotter I’ve heard so much about.”
Slaughter’s boisterous laugh was as false as his intentions. “Ah, so the effete companion has some cojones. Delightful. Tell me, Miss Greer.” He aimed his sharp eyes at mine. “What do you think of our lovely Miss Leggett?”
“Serviceable enough for the office, but not in the runnin’ anywhere else.”
“Sure ’bout that?”
“As sure as I am you must lead an incredibly dull life to spend so much time tryin’ to piss me off.”
“I think I like you.”
“Feelin’ not mutual.” Fuck-face.
He heaved a disheartened sigh. “Time was you couldn’t see our Reardon for the pussy.”
“Interesting analogy. But he’s changed.”