MacGregor, Cynthia - An Appetite for Passion (BookStrand Publishing Romance)

by An Appetite for Passion (lit)

  Well, now she knew what her assignment was. Two minutes later, she was in Jeff’s car, leaving hers behind at the storefront. They had a load of flyers with them and were headed to the gates of the flea market, where they would talk to people on their way in or out, handing out flyers and trying to explain to the electorate at large why Ron Larrimore was the better candidate.

  At least, that was the plan, but after just forty-five minutes, the skies opened. “Let’s wait it out in the car,” Jeff suggested. “It may blow over quickly. I’d hate to give up, go back to headquarters, and then have the sun come out five minutes later.” So they sat in the car, talking.

  “Is this your first time volunteering for a campaign?” Jeff asked.

  “Does it show?”

  “Your enthusiasm is boundless...the mark of a neophyte. We veterans know better than to volunteer so eagerly, so willingly, so much.”

  “You should talk—I think you live at campaign headquarters!”

  “But I’m crazy! What’s your excuse?”

  “I don’t think you’re crazy. In fact, you remind me a little of my friend Lylah.”

  “Is that good or bad? You did say ‘friend,’ not ‘enemy.’”

  “You’ve both got weird senses of humor. I like that in a person.”

  “Then you’re saying I am crazy! Point proven!”

  “What are you, a lawyer or something?”

  “Almost...I mean, I almost became one.”

  “What happened? Why didn’t you become a lawyer?”

  “I didn’t have the patience—or the money, I guess—for that much school. So at eighteen, I changed careers before I started. I became a lunatic volunteer. And an accountant for a living,” he added.

  “A lunatic accountant.”

  “Most definitely. Though I think I spend more time as a volunteer than as an accountant.”

  “What do you volunteer for when it’s not political season?”

  “There’s always something. One thing I do is entertain really sick kids in the hospital. You’re looking at the one, the only, Marbles the Clown.”

  “Mild-mannered accountant by day, you zip into the nearest phone booth when summoned by a doctor, change clothes into your clown outfit, which you’re wearing under your business suit, hop into your Clownmobile....”

  “Wrong superhero. Clowns ride tiny tricycles.”

  “I can see you on it now.” Kari laughed.

  “Wait’ll you see the real thing.”

  “Well, invite me along then. I work a mean sock puppet.” And Kari made her two hands talk to each other about the uncooperative weather, to Jeff’s amusement. As the rain pelted the van, the two of them laughed like loons. Kari hadn’t laughed that hard since the last time she’d gotten together with Lylah.

  “You’re fun!” She pronounced her verdict enthusiastically. “You’ve got to get together with us the next time Lylah and I do dinner...oops, not the next time—that’s tomorrow, and I’ve already got it half prepared, and there’s just enough for the two of us. But the next time after that. You two will get along famously.”

  “I accept,” Jeff said, bowing his head mock-gravely.

  Was there such a title as “second-best friend”? Kari wondered if she had found hers. She was truly enjoying Jeff’s company, and she felt very relaxed with him. Like Lylah, he was both fun and easy to be with.

  The clatter of rain on the van’s roof seemed to ease up a little. Kari looked out the window...still raining, but it definitely looked like it was slowing. “I almost went out and left a window open,” Jeff said. “I have a friend who ruined his computer that way.” And then they got into a discussion of computers with Jeff explaining why he favored Macs over PCs. Kari decided that even when Jeff was serious, he was enjoyable.

  The rain stopped abruptly, and the pair climbed out of the van and returned to handing out flyers.

  Monday morning dawned still grey, though dry. Kari got out of bed a half hour earlier than her former wake up time, as had recently become her habit, so she’d have time to read and answer her email before leaving for work. There were two letters, one from Max and one from a pen pal named Vicki. She read the letter from Vicki first, skimming quickly through it and saving it to answer later.

  Max’s letter commanded her full attention. This one she didn’t just skim. In fact, she didn’t even merely read it—she devoured it. Then she prepared to answer it, but as she started typing, she noticed her “E” key was sticking. Cursing all the way through the letter, she got through it as best she could, but clearly she had to do something about that damn key.

  Leaving the computer in the shop was not an acceptable option. Without the computer, Max would be out of reach. She suspected, anyway, that this was something Steve could fix for her...which would cost a hell of a lot less than the shop would charge her, too. Steve would work on it for free. She’d only have to pay for any parts or supplies.

  She reached Steve at the campaign office. “Do you have any plans for tonight?” she asked. “I’m having a little computer problem—my ‘E’ key is sticking, and I don’t know what to do about it. Of course, Lylah’s coming over for dinner at 7:00. You could come with her...I could stop at the store and pick up some more food, and you could join us...or you could even run over beforehand if you didn’t want to eat with us.”

  Kari didn’t really want him to join them. She was looking forward to laughing and being silly with Lylah, who was never as much fun when Steve was around. But she couldn’t be ungracious.

  “I’ve got plans for dinner,” Steve said, and Kari brightened, but only momentarily. “So I couldn’t come over tonight. And I’m kind of busy tomorrow, too. If you can’t get anyone else to look at it, I’ll try to run by on Wednesday night. By the way, you might want to call Lylah.”

  This last sentence was tossed off oh-so-casually, so much so that Kari’s antennae went up. “Oh?” she asked, her voice rising.

  Steve didn’t take the bait. “You can probably catch her at work now,” was all he added, leaving Kari to wonder what was up.

  What was up was that Lylah wasn’t feeling “very peppy,” as she put it, “or very hungry these days...and it would be a shame to waste a perfectly good dinner. Besides, Ginny has a load of baby clothes...hand-me-downs...that she said she could bring by this evening for me to look at. Since I couldn’t see any point to eating when my stomach feels so blah, I said, ‘Sure.’ I meant to call you earlier. I’m glad Steve said something.”

  Kari remembered her conversation with Jeff, whose areas of expertise included computers. Maybe he could rescue her from her current predicament. The one with the computer, that is, not Lylah’s no-show. Though, as much fun as Jeff was, he might even develop into a good friend as well as an emergency computer repairman.

  Digging through her purse, Kari located Jeff’s phone number. His machine answered. “Politicians aren’t supposed to accept bribes,” she said to the machine, “but since you’re not a politician, I hope you’re susceptible to bribery. This is Kari Crandall. Would the promise of a delicious dinner tempt you into coming by my house to fix my computer this evening? Stuck ‘E’ key. Don’t know what to do about it. And you’re a Mac person, so you should know your way around my keyboard.

  “I have the fixings for a yummy dinner, and no guest coming. A friend cancelled. Her loss can be your gain. Am I tempting you? And if you can’t come for dinner, can you at least fix the machine?” she pleaded. “I called my other Mac guru, but he gave me the cold shoulder. Help!” Then, she left her home and office phone numbers.

  At a little after 1:00, Jeff called her at work. “I checked my voicemail at lunchtime and found you on it. I don’t know,” he tormented her. “Is the dinner going to be worth it? I need to know the menu before I’ll commit.”

  “You rat!”

  “What time do you want me there?”

  “Give me a chance to go home and cook.” And read Max’s latest letter in private. “I’ll see you around 7:00?�
�

  “Seven it is. Give me your address and directions to your house.”

  Rushing frantically, Kari got home by 6:00. By 6:15 the dinner was cooking. By 6:30 she was in good shape to take a “Max break.” She logged on and found his letter.

  My dear,

  Just home from work. I wish you were here to greet me. Now, that would perk me up after a long, tiring day. Nothing is amiss; just a hard, exhausting day. But how nice to know I will at least be “talking” to you at the end of it.

  Say, that makes me think—why don’t you send me your phone number, and I’ll call you one of these nights? What time do you go to bed? I’ll call you at bedtime and we can “get in bed together.” It won’t be as good as feeling your soft, velvety skin against mine, feeling the warmth of your body, cupping your full breasts in my strong hands. But it will do till the real thing...which I hope will happen soon.

  I long to cuddle to you—both face-to-face before we make love and spoons position as we drift off to sleep afterward. Before, I’ll hold you facing me, feeling your soft breasts pressed against the strength of my chest, feeling your bush blend with mine, insinuating my thigh between your thighs and tantalizing your love nest with the pressure of my leg. I am eager to consummate our passion.

  You must tell me your favorite position(s), and your favorite forms of lovemaking.

  My sweet Kari, think of me as you go about your evening. (You said a friend was coming over, didn’t you?) And I’ll think about you too, and try to get back online to write you a good-night.

  Yours,

  Max

  She keyed in a quicker reply than usual, mindful of the dinner that would need attention shortly, and frustrated by that damn “E” key, which kept sticking. She told him of the change in plans for the evening—the sticking “E” key, Steve’s unavailability to help, Lylah’s cancellation, and Jeff’s willingness to step in. She detailed the menu she was serving Jeff. “I wish you were the guest instead of Jeff. What’s your all-time favorite food?” she asked him. Then, she gave him her phone number, chatted briefly about her day, and told him she’d answer his questions about sex later. Signing off, she dashed back into the kitchen.

  Dinner was a half-hour from ready when Jeff showed up on the dot of 7:00. “Sheesh! Such perfect punctuality!” she said. “Your patient awaits you in the living room. You can get this chore out of the way now, or relax now and ‘operate on the patient’ after dinner. But either way, your hand looks empty. What sort of drink should I put in it?”

  “Now, and scotch on the rocks,” Jeff answered.

  Pleased that he was going to look at her computer right away, Kari fixed two drinks while Jeff sat at her computer with the bag he’d brought with him. He got the problem solved quickly, and they relaxed and talked while dinner finished cooking.

  Jeff had changed clothes before coming over and was wearing jeans, a blue sport shirt...and, of course, his perpetual grin. Kari had changed into a muumuu, blue and gold and purple, comfortable and bright, complimentary but informal. She hadn’t felt she had to dress to impress Jeff. So she was surprised when he said, “That’s a very pretty-colored dress. It brings out the color of your eyes.” Lylah had once said the same thing about the same muumuu, but she hadn’t expected Jeff to notice. Men usually didn’t.

  Dinner was perfection. Jeff did justice to her cooking, scarfing down seconds of everything, even the veggies. “Are the recipes a trade secret?” he asked. “Not that I think that, in my hands, they’d turn out as good as you made them, but I’d sure love to try.”

  “He cooks, too!” Kari marveled.

  “I’m full of surprises.”

  “Well, dessert’s not homemade. It’s sinful, but store bought.”

  “Too bad I didn’t know about tonight in advance. I’d’ve contributed the dessert. I bake a mean pie.”

  “Apple?”

  “Among others. Hey...I could whip one up now. Unless you were planning on kicking me out right after dinner?”

  “Is that a serious offer?”

  “I have been known to tease on occasion...but, yes, that was a sincere, legitimate offer.” He reached for his barely used paper napkin and withdrew a pen from his pocket, writing, COUPON. GOOD FOR ONE APPLE PIE. ANY NIGHT IN OCTOBER...INCLUDING TONIGHT. He wrote in decorative letters with fancy flourishes, and when he’d finished, he put the napkin on the table in front of Kari.

  “I’ve never been known to turn down an apple pie,” she said.

  “I passed a supermarket two blocks from here,” Jeff said, standing up. “I assume you have flour?” Kari nodded. “Salt?” And he continued reciting the list of ingredients, making note of what he’d need.

  Kari had been bummed out over Lylah’s cancelling their get-together...again. But Jeff was as much fun as Lylah, and he liked to cook and bake. She had laughed her way through dinner with him, nearly choking on the Mushrooms Florentine at one point when he made an irresistibly funny joke just as she was swallowing.

  He was back from the supermarket in no time, and as he prepared the dough and filling, rolled out the dough, and got the pie in the oven, he kept up a running commentary that had Kari doubled over with laughter.

  They settled into two chairs in the living room while the pie scented the house with apple and cinnamon. Kari was drooling long before the pie came out of the oven. Jeff talked about politics, about the forthcoming election, about why Larrimore really was preferable to Badley, about the other races in the election, about previous political campaigns, and about the need to get more people involved.

  When the pie was ready, Kari was surprised to see it was 10:00 already. “Do you take your pie with cheese or ice cream?” Jeff asked. “Or should I first ask which you have in the house?”

  “Actually, the answer to your first question is ‘neither’ and the answer to your second question is ‘cheddar cheese and chocolate ice cream,’ but it’s usually American cheese or vanilla ice cream on apple pie.”

  “No problem—I take mine plain too. I’m a purist when it comes to apple pie. I don’t believe in ruining the taste with anything extraneous. If it’s a good pie, let it be, and if it’s a bad pie, don’t bother.”

  “Well, this’ll be a good pie...I can tell by the smell.”

  Kari’s nose wasn’t wrong; the pie, when it had cooled off a little, tasted as good as it smelled. Jeff had even cleaned up the kitchen when he first put the pie into the oven, a fact at which Kari had marveled.

  Jeff was very unlike most guys she had known...he seemed more like one of her woman friends. When he looked at his watch and said, “It’s about that time,” she felt regret that the evening was over...until she realized Max might be waiting for her “inside her computer.”

  “Don’t forget tomorrow,” Jeff reminded her as he put his hand on the doorknob.

  “I’ll be there,” Kari replied. “What time do you want me?”

  “Whenever you can conveniently get there. Grab a bite after work and come right over if you can.” Then, he opened the door, letting the night air swirl into the apple-scented house. Up high, Kari saw the moon, diminished since the other night. Again, she had the thought that it was the same moon that was shining down on Max. And she closed the door hurriedly after Jeff so she could rush to her computer, log on, and check for incoming email.

  My dear,

  I spent a pleasant evening. Lamb chops, peas, and mashed potatoes for a simple but satisfying dinner, then painted one room. I’m determined to repaint the whole house, but I’m doing it one room at a time when I feel like it, instead of making a must-do, hurry-and-finish, major project out of it.

  Tonight I did the dining room. At the rate I’m going, by the time I finish the last room, it will be time to start over again with the first room.

  Then I settled in to answer my email. Enjoyed your letter, but I’m eager to read your answers to my sexual questions. Do tell me what you like so my fantasies can be more accurate.

  Tell me, too: Are your breasts do
ughy or firm? Both are good, but I want my fantasies as accurate as possible when I take myself in hand and relieve the pressure that thinking of you has built up in me.

  Since “meeting” you online, I find I need to relieve the pressure much more often. My thoughts are filled with you at all hours. You pop into my mind at work, at play, at rest. You reside in my mind, in my heart, in my fantasies. You occupy a special place in my imagination.

  What I feel for you goes beyond the physical alone, but I can hardly deny that that is where the results are most visible. The embarrassing protrusion in my pants in the middle of doing business is testament to your strong hold on me, and proof that my mind has wandered from work once again in the midst of what are supposed to be business hours.

  If I can get there this coming weekend, are you free?

  Yours,

  Max

  Well, if he was having to “take himself in hand,” as he so delicately put it, there probably wasn’t any other woman in his life at present. Relieved, and excited at the prospect of seeing him in the flesh, she felt very up as she wrote her reply.

  Hi, Max,

  I, too, had a good evening and am as hungry for you as you are for me. Jeff was able to fix the stuck “E” on the computer. I’m in good shape to keep writing you. I was concerned the “E” would stop working altogether. Then how could I type, “Yes—I’ll make sure I’m available this coming weekend!”—a sentence requiring seven “E”s?

  Do you really think you can be here? When will you know for sure? I’m counting the days—hours—minutes till you get here.

  And I’m not going to answer your sexual questions. You’ll have to meet me face-to-face to learn the answers. (Have I given you more incentive to get here quickly?)

  Meanwhile, call me one of these nights...soon!