Hot Legs

by Susan Johnson

  “Liv, meet Bobby Serre. Bobby, Lavinia Duncan. He’s in town looking for the stolen Rubens. Liv is my high-priced lawyer friend. And come in,” Cassie said, feeling guilty about sending Liv on her way when she hadn’t seen her or returned her calls for days.

  “Nah. I’ll call you later. Nice to meet you.” Liv turned back to her car.

  “Come in and have a drink,” Bobby offered, responding to Cassie’s invitation with politesse. “There are lawn chairs on the back deck at least. We can sit there.”

  Is he sweet or what? Cassie thought. “We might even have some leftover pudding.” She nodded at Bobby. “He cooks. Can you believe it?”

  Liv was having trouble believing movie-star types actually came to Minneapolis and, more pertinently, were standing in Cassie’s driveway. Minnehaha Parkway would never be the same. “That’s great,” she said, keeping her voice even with effort. The man was gorgeous, and in those shorts and T-shirt, you could see just about everything he had to offer. “What kind of pudding?” she asked, because even in the presence of glamorous celebrity-type men, pudding held a strong attraction.

  “Butterscotch with whipped cream. Made from scratch.”

  “Wow,” Liv softly pronounced. “From scratch. Did she order you from some wish book?”

  “My grandma was a great cook. I learned from her.”

  “Modest, too. Pinch me. I must be dreaming.”

  Bobby laughed and Cassie said, “Come in and try some,” and moved toward the door. “We just came from an unpleasant duty visit for Arthur’s sake. I’m feeling the need for some pudding myself.”

  Bobby felt some other needs, but restrained himself. It was still early.

  “What are you doing for Arthur on Sunday?” Liv said to the back of Cassie’s head.

  “Attending his daughter’s birthday.”

  “Since when are you invited to Arthur’s parties?”

  “Since Bobby came into town.” Cassie led them into the kitchen. “He was invited, and I was persuaded to tag along.”

  “Ah,” Liv said, her mind-reading abilities top notch. She was pretty sure what Bobby Serre’s powers of persuasion might be and why he was employing them. Cassie was one of those astonishing beauties unaware of her looks. But Bobby Serre wasn’t blind. And if Liv’s nose for gossip was still fully functioning, these two were an item. She almost said, “You two are perfect together,” but didn’t, of course, because she wasn’t thirteen and fervently romantic. She was, in fact, as cynical as a divorced female attorney who had scaled the slippery heights to partner could be. “So tell me what you two have been doing.”

  Two deer in the headlights was maybe a stretch, but their sudden constraint was palpable.

  “With the theft, I meant,” she diplomatically added, sitting on one of the counter stools. “Any progress?”

  Cassie quickly replied, “Not a whole lot. Bobby’s interviewing staff etcetera, and I’m making some calls around the country for him. But there’s no certainties yet.”

  “It’s early in the investigation,” Bobby noted, moving to the refrigerator and opening the door. “Something like this could take time.”

  “How long—ballpark guess?” Liv kept her voice bland, her curiosity piqued on several levels.

  Bobby turned with two bowls of pudding in his hands and the door swung shut. “Hard to tell. I doubt it’s professionals. We haven’t had any movement on the illicit market. But you never know.”

  Liv had been a trial lawyer long enough to read people with a certain degree of expertise. Or maybe her cynicism made her look at people harder. Bobby Serre didn’t seem to be saying what he was saying. Or if he was, he was leaving something out. “Have you been doing this long?” she asked.

  “Quite a while.” Setting the bowls down, he pulled open a drawer, took out three spoons, handed them around, and sat down next to Cassie.

  “You’re company. You get your own bowl,” Cassie said with a smile, pointing her spoon at Liv. “Besides, I’ve already eaten two servings.”

  For the next few moments, a small silence descended as spoons moved from bowl to mouth, the quiet punctuated only by small sighs of satisfaction—female variety.

  “I hope you don’t have to leave too soon,” Liv said, scooping up the last remains of her pudding, lifting her gaze to Bobby. “This is world-class cooking.”

  “We still have tons of people to interview, don’t we?” Cassie said, glancing over at Bobby.

  He smiled. “Unless we can narrow down the search some other way.”

  Liv got one of her little intuitive flutters again.

  Cassie grinned. “He knows what he’s doing, and I’m just taking orders.”

  “And doing it very well.” The look Bobby gave her would have melted all the ice cream in the city. His gaze swivelled to Liv. “Cassie’s been a great help manning the phones.”

  And as if on cue, his cell phone rang.

  Pulling the phone out of his shorts pocket, he glanced at the screen. “If you’ll excuse me,” he said with a polite smile. “One of my contacts.” And he walked from the room out onto the adjoining deck.

  Following him with her gaze, Liv gave an appreciative whistle once the deck door closed and the women were alone. “I’m not kidding. He must have come from some fantasy catalogue. The man is flawless.”

  Cassie smiled. “He is.”

  “And? Fill me in. And don’t tell me you’re just friends because I can see very clearly that you’re a whole lot more than friends.”

  “I don’t want anyone at work to know, though. So don’t tell anyone.”

  “How about him? How does he feel about keeping it quiet?” Maybe that was the oddity she was picking up on. Maybe Bobby Serre wanted to keep this little liaison secret for reasons of his own.

  “He agrees.”

  “Why?” Realizing her tone was whip sharp, Liv said with a smile. “Sorry. Bad memories of Don.”

  “I know. Don’t worry about it. And the only reason Bobby and I are being cautious is because of Arthur. He’s so incredibly gross about anything that smacks of sex. I swear he’s an arrested adolescent—not a day over fifteen.”

  “That must be real charming for his various wives. Now give me a blow-by-blow because my sex life of late leaves a lot to be desired, and if I can’t get any myself, I’ll settle for a secondhand turn-on.”

  “Well, to begin with,” Cassie said with a small sigh, “he’s spectacular in every conceivable way. He’s gentle and inventive, and he knows just exactly where and when to touch you, if you know what I mean.”

  “I’m not sure I do, but I’m listening,” Liv said with a grin. “Tell me.”

  And while the ladies were discussing the finer points of hot sex, Bobby was telling Jorge in the vaguest possible terms that he might have a lead.

  “Cut the bull,” Jorge muttered. “If you know something you know something. Do you trust me or not?”

  “Of course I do. The thing is, there’s a woman involved.”

  “Shit. Why didn’t you say so? Fine. You tell me whatever you want when you want to. And I hope you fuck your brains out.”

  “I’m trying to, believe me.”

  “So screw the Rubens. Wherever it is, it’s not for sale, it’s not even a whiff in the air. It can sit wherever it is until the cows come home.”

  “Seriously, I’ll get back to the theft in a few days.”

  “It doesn’t sound as though she’s going to last long, but then they never do with you, do they, Bobby?”

  “She’s really beautiful and different—not slick.”

  “So? You thinking about babies, compadre?”

  Bobby laughed. “No. She’s just hot, that’s all.”

  “And that’s different for you, how?”

  “Okay, okay, I get the point.”

  “Enjoy yourself, man. There’s nothing wrong with twenty-four-hour sex, but you don’t really want to meet the folks. That screws up all the fun.”

  “And you should know.” J
orge had been married three times.

  “Don’t forget, I was at your wedding and saw Claire’s parents.”

  “Don’t remind me.”

  “I’m reminding you for a reason. I’m hearing something in your voice when you talk about this lady that’s making the hair on the back of my neck rise. Just a warning, my friend. They still want to talk in the morning, they still want to give you advice, and the price of divorces is rising every year. Enough said?”

  Bobby chuckled. “Maybe I’d better leave her house right now while my bank account is still intact.”

  “Don’t laugh. It could be a real pricey piece of ass.”

  “Thanks for the warning. And with your track record, I’m taking it to heart, believe me.”

  “You’re not leaving her house, are you?” Jorge grumbled.

  “I think the saying is—not while I still have breath in my body. Wish me luck.”

  “Shi-it. As if you need luck with the size of your dick.” The men had shared a small orgy a few years back in Miami.

  “Thanks, Jorge, but I’m not your type.”

  “With enough Jack Daniels, who knows?” Jorge drawled.

  “Me for one,” Bobby muttered. “Keep your distance.”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah, and you let me know what’s going on up there with the Rubens. I have customers who are willing to buy it if it shows up.”

  “Sorry, Jorge. I promised Arthur I’d find it.”

  “Has he beat my record yet?”

  “Nah. You two are tied—both on wife number three. He can afford it, but you could spend your money more wisely.”

  “Business is good, Bobby. You don’t know how many drug lords and arms dealers want to upgrade their status. Everyone wants a museum-quality painting or two to add to the collection of shit stuff in their mansion. Who am I to refuse a man’s aspirations for upward mobility?”

  “You’re lucky you’re still alive.”

  “I’m not sure you should be cautioning me. I hope you carry.”

  “Sometimes. Not here.”

  “Would your new lady throw you out if she knew you were proficient with your custom 9mm Beretta?”

  “It might be wiser not to mention it.”

  “So next time I talk to her, I’ll be real polite.”

  “Damn right you will.”

  “Do I detect some soul-stirring emotion here?”

  “No. You detect the best sex I’ve had for a long time. And now I’m done with this conversation. Good-bye, Jorge.”

  But Bobby stood out on the deck for a moment after he’d snapped shut the cell phone, struck by an uncomfortable sensation that the world was closing in on him. Or perhaps more that the freedom he relished and required might conceivably be at risk. It was a transient, hypersensitive feeling he almost immediately brushed off—blaming Jorge for riding him about women and marriage.

  Luckily he was expert at disconnecting from serious emotion.

  Five years of marriage to Claire had taught him well.

  But he definitely felt some kind of feeling as he reentered the kitchen and saw Cassie’s smile. Although this was more familiar and below the belt.

  “I told Liv she could stay for supper if she wanted,” Cassie noted. “We actually have groceries in the house.”

  “But I said no because I’d be in the way,” Liv said with a grin.

  “No you wouldn’t. Tell her, Bobby. Tell her she’s welcome.”

  Under any other circumstances, he would have taken issue with his plans for sex having been disrupted, but when Cassie looked at him like that, he felt a singular wish to please her. There was no explanation, or at least not one he cared to pursue. “Of course you’re welcome to stay. We bought some tuna that’s damned fresh this far from the ocean. I could grill it.”

  “If I had a grill,” Cassie pointed out.

  “Okay. I’ll poach it with some dill.”

  “See? See how clever he is?” Cassie exclaimed. “I’m absolutely in awe of his cooking skills.”

  “It sounds great, but I promised Kelly I’d play a couple sets, and she’s waiting as we speak. So thanks.” Liv’s gaze swung to Bobby. “I appreciate the invitation.”

  “Anytime,” he said.

  Like he might be here for a while, Liv thought, feeling better for Cassie, who deserved some happiness after her problems with Jay. And maybe there really were nice, kind, caring men in the world who looked like movie stars. Maybe she’d have to reassess her thinking. Maybe it was a glass-half-full kind of world after all. “Call me,” she said to Cassie. “When you get time.”

  “Come for dinner tomorrow,” Bobby offered.

  Jeez, that half-full glass was filling right up to the freaking top. “Thanks. Maybe I will.”

  “Six-thirty,” Cassie said.

  Bobby nodded toward the empty dining room. “We’ll buy a table and chairs.”

  “No we won’t.” Cassie scowled at him. Her bank balance was three hundred twenty-two dollars.

  “We’ll figure out something,” Bobby smoothly said. He hadn’t actually checked his bank balance for years, but he was guessing he could afford a table and chairs. “Drinks at six-thirty.”

  “Thanks.” And Liv really meant it. She almost rushed up to him and gave him a hug but didn’t want to give anyone the wrong impression. Especially Cassie. She hadn’t seen her so happy in a long time.

  As the sound of Liv’s Navigator firing up reached the kitchen, Cassie said, “I hope you don’t mind I asked her in?”

  “Not at all.” Bobby smiled. “It’s early.”

  She smiled back. “Isn’t that nice?”

  “Yeah,” he whispered, closing the distance between them and pulling her into his arms. “Nicer than hell. So what do you want to do?”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” she murmured, reaching up on tiptoe and giving him a kiss. “Something sexual I thought. As my reward you know . . . for being a body shield.”

  “Speaking of bodies, I’ve been wanting to take this off ever since you put it on.” He began unbuttoning the metal buttons on her jacket. “Your big boobs are being crushed.”

  “It’s supposed to be tight.”

  “Like your jeans. Those will have to come off, too.” He eased her jacket down her arms and tossed it on the counter. “Then you can breathe again.”

  “How considerate. That must be why I like you.”

  “Yeah, I figured you were into considerate men.” He grinned. “From your screams.”

  She smiled. “I’m just expressive.” He had her jeans and panties half way down her hips. She kicked off her shoes, and he suddenly got taller.

  “And a whole lot more accessible now,” he murmured, stripping her clothes away. “As soon as I get this off.” Un-snapping her black lace bra with finesse, he lifted it away.

  “You’re good at this.”

  He turned back from tossing her clothes on the counter, his brows raised.

  “Taking women’s clothes off.”

  He gave her a guarded look. “What do you want me to say?”

  “Tell me you happen to be nimble fingered and I’m the first.”

  Was she serious? “You’re the first,” he said, going with his gut. She looked serious.

  Maybe it was Claire, the bitch, and what she’d said. Maybe she needed lies right now. Maybe after that far-away look in his eyes on the boat and the afternoon from hell at Sarah’s she wasn’t in the mood for stark reality. “Am I really?” she said with a smile. “How perfect.”

  He laughed. “It’s perfect for me, too.” His gaze traveled down her lush nudity and back again to met her eyes. “Especially now . . .”

  “And you owe me.”

  “I know.”

  “So I can ask for things.”

  He grinned. “Things?”

  “You know.”

  “Give me a hint,” he said with a sexy smile.

  “For instance,” Cassie said, surveying the kitchen. “Let’s try the counter.”

  “Try?�
�

  “Have sex on the counter.”

  “It won’t hold me.” He didn’t want to crack her granite counters.

  “Are you saying no?”

  “Not at all,” he said, picking her up and depositing her on the center island counter.

  “It’s cold!”

  “You’ll warm up.”

  He was stripping off his clothes, and he was right. She was really warming up. She squirmed faintly, the cool stone slick against her bottom.

  In about ten seconds flat, he was lowering her down on her back. And from the looks of it she wasn’t the only one who had been waiting for Liv to leave.

  Pulling her bottom to the edge of the counter, he placed her feet on his shoulders and smiled. “Anything you want to ask for?”

  “That.” She pointed.

  “Where do you want it?”

  “Here.” She pointed.

  “Let me get this straight. You want my big cock in your tight little pussy. Is that right?”

  She nodded. How did he do it? Those words, the image, his low, husky voice; she was practically coming already.

  “Come on, babe. Someone who likes cock as much as you. You can say it.”

  “Please.”

  “Please what?”

  “That’s not fair.”

  “You don’t strike me as the inhibited type.”

  “Maybe I am.” But parts of her apparently weren’t inhibited. Her vagina was hot, hot, and throbbing.

  “Not this.” He ran his finger up her dewy cleft as if he knew. “Say it and you’ll get it,” he murmured.

  She said it like the words were racing for their lives, but he gave her credit for trying and, putting action to words, gave her what she wanted. And what he wanted. And showed her that it was possible for her to come five times in a row without passing out.

  She looked around her kitchen afterward, wanting to etch the memory—time, place, day, and incredible feelings. Who knew there were those degrees of pleasure? Well, maybe he knew, but she had been outside that particular loop until now. “That was . . . really fine—I’m practically speechless,” she murmured. “It was so perfect. I may not ask you for another thing all day.”

  “Maybe you’ll reconsider,” he whispered, brushing her nipples with the most delicate touch. “It’s still early . . .”