LAST OF THE RED-HOT MAMMAS
DIANNE CASTELL
Honey, this has nothing to do with falling madly in love or happily ever after or a meaningful relationship. This is about you needing to feel a man’s weight on top of you, strong arms around you and getting yourself in a better state of being before someone locks you in a closet and throws away the key!”
Gloria listened to Sue Ellen—sister, best friend, and business partner—sitting on the other side of the marble counter in the back room of Scrumptious Savannah. “Your point being? ”
“You need to get yourself laid!” Sue Ellen’s eyes rounded and she slapped her hand to her mouth. “Heavenly days, I can’t believe I blurted that out. At least the tearoom’s closed for the day and no one heard, but it’s true enough all the same. We’re starting to lose customers.” She leaned across the counter. “It’s because two years is a mighty long time to go without and I’m guessing you probably can’t recall the last time you were with a man.”
“Excuse me?”
“Honey, you need therapy. Man therapy.”
Gloria assumed a beady-eyed, older-sibling to younger-sibling stare and growled, “I’m forty, Sue Ellen. My chances of finding Mr. Right are less than getting struck dead on the street by a meteor, and one-night stands mean I’m a barfly over at the Blue Note. Yuck!”
Sue Ellen folded her hands beside a stack of cooling cakes. “Then . . . maybe . . . perhaps . . . you should just go and hire yourself a professional and hear me out before you blow a gasket. Get yourself one of those escort services Lovell used when he was out cheating around on you and rediscovering his youth. You need to rediscover your femininity.”
“A service? Have you been tipping the wine instead of putting it in your sauce? Besides, I shop, I pluck, I shave and dye, and I adore chocolate. I am feminine!”
“It’s not as bad as it sounds as long as you choose carefully. I read all about it in Cosmo. ‘Ten Steps to Finding the Perfect Gigolo.’ ”
“Holy mother.”
“Lovell ruined you when he hooked up with the twenty-something tart in Atlanta. I should have cut his heart out with a spoon like I planned on doing.”
Gloria held up her hands. “I survived the divorce . . . and my other little problem. I got custody of Dacey against Lovell and his highfalutin lawyers. You and I started Scrumptious and it’s doing right well, except for the five pounds I’ve acquired by tasting everything. I won.”
“You need to be thinking about fulfilling your wildest dreams.” She reached into her apron pocket and pulled out a string of condoms. “Indulge yourself. Oh please, for me, for the whole blessed town?”
“For heaven’s sake!” Gloria stuffed the packets in her purse to get them out of sight. She stood, hands to hips. “Of all the conversations we’ve had, this is the most outlandish. Even beats the one with us kidnapping George Clooney so we could have him all to ourselves.”
“I haven’t given up on the George idea.”
“You’re married, Sue Ellen. The Clooney ship has sailed.”
Pouting, Sue Ellen slid a paper across the desk. “I can tell you’re not listening to me one teeny bit, so you might as well take the meeting over at Magnolia House and land us that wedding catering job. I have these Savannah Dream Cakes to ice up for the high school bake sale tomorrow. Room 234. They’re picking out accommodations and welcoming baskets for the bridal party and, for crying in a bucket, be nice. We can use the business.”
Gloria batted her eyes. “Sugar just melts on my tongue.”
“Too bad it’s not some man melting in your arms,” Sue Ellen muttered as Gloria slammed the door behind her. She stopped. Okay, that was a little over the top . . . the slam, not the man part. She was a little touchy these days. Maybe if she ate more chocolate that would take the edge off her overactive libido. Could she find that much chocolate in all of Savannah?
Crossing Abercorn to Broughton, April sun peekabooed through mossy oaks then settled on pink, purple, and white azaleas blossoming everywhere. Savannah does springtime, there was nothing better . . . except maybe a man in her life.
No men! Concentrate on Magnolia House with its scrolled ironwork and oodles of Southern charm. She couldn’t concentrate, period! The elevator stopped on the second floor, the door to room 243 open across the hall, the maid inside. “I’m all done now,” she said, breezing through the door as Gloria entered. “Just needed to drop off some goodies.” She winked and closed the door.
Okay, this was better. Business, all business, except for the wink. Maybe the maid thought she was the bride? Gloria put her purse on the desk and her eyes focused on a bottle of champagne chilling in a silver bucket and a plate of chocolate -dipped strawberries. Nice welcoming package for the wedding guests . . . except for the note saying, Take a ride on the wild side and enjoy yourself. Sis.
Oh . . . dear . . . Lord! Gloria’s knees buckled and she grabbed the edge of the desk for support. A hotel room? Champagne? Wild side and a wink? Sis!
The room did a quick spin, Gloria’s vision blurred and she stumbled out of her heels and staggered into the bathroom, closing the door. She ran cold water into the marble sink and splashed her face.
What was Sue Ellen thinking? If George Clooney walked through the door she’d pass out. Except it wouldn’t be George but some male of a paid nature from Studs-R-Us. She needed to get out of here! She splashed more water, then yanked open the door to . . . to tall and delicious standing by the desk, reading the note. His head snapped up, blue eyes widening a fraction as his gaze met hers.
Now what? Flee? Fantasize? Faint dead away! Except . . . except he was really nice to look at. Not Clooney or Pitt handsome, but hunky all the same. About her age with blue eyes and a slow half smile that unexpectedly warmed her heart. Didn’t look like a gigolo. Like she’d know!
“Uh, hi,” he said and held out his hand. She took it, a re flex from meeting clients, except no client ever made her heart jump. “Well,” he said, waving the note. “I’ve got to say you’re not exactly what I expected.” He smoothed back his short-cropped brown hair that didn’t need smoothing. “I meant that in a good way. I think. I’m sort of new at this. Make that brand new. Good lord, what the hell am I doing here?”
“That’s my line.” She considered strangling Sue Ellen with her own apron. “Sisters have a way of butting in when they shouldn’t. I’ll just leave.” She shoved her feet into her shoes but got the left shoe on the right foot, tangled her legs, and Blue Eyes held her arm to help her balance.
Time stopped, probably because she hadn’t been held in a long time. His eyes darkened to cobalt and he wasn’t breathing. Or maybe she wasn’t the one breathing?
“Oh, what the hell.” He sighed. “I’m here, you’re here, and you’re really pretty, no matter how corny that sounds.” Then his lips took hers, his arms slid easily around her back, bringing her body tight to his, and corny was suddenly the best word in the English language. Her heart skipped around in her chest and the sensation of being kissed—and it was really a good kiss—drowned out any protest.
How the heck could this have happened? Because he was paid! Duh! But not enough, because this kiss was rapidly escalating to sensational. Always nice to get your money’s worth, and then some.
She tripped on the half-on shoe and grabbed his firm shoulders, trying not to whine like some inexperienced teenager.
“You smell like vanilla and cinnamon.”
“Savannah Dream Cake.”
His eyes twinkled now, a great grin on his delicious mouth that she needed to taste again. “You are every man’s dream and right now you’re mine.”
“Me?” She’d never been someone’s dream girl before, and if she was
ever going to break off clandestine affair 101, now was the time.
“Oh, yeah, you. Definitely you,” he said in a throaty voice. “I can’t believe I’m here and maybe I shouldn’t be, but . . . but I don’t want to leave . . . you.” Then he let her go and flung off his shirt, revealing fine pecs and abs and . . . and now he was kicking off his shoes while undoing his belt.
Holy crap! Could she do this? His pants hit the floor leaving him in gray skivvies and nothing else. How could she not do this? Sue Ellen had paid good money. She owed it to her sister to see this through, and what there was to see was downright terrific, and the covered part looked wonderfully promising.
“My goodness.” Or badness. What was a woman supposed to say to a near-naked man while looking him over like a Savannah pastry? He gave her a come-hither look, a devilish smile, and crooked his finger.
Yikes! It was now or never. Could she? Would she? Forget never! That put her in the meteor category and she so preferred the celestial body in front of her. Do it! Just do it! a naughty voice said inside her head. Where’d that come from? And did she care? Her body was okay . . . now . . . Not perfect, but better than she thought it would be. What the hell! She kicked off her one shoe and it landed in the champagne bucket.
“Oops,” she giggled and blushed as he grinned, putting her at ease. She pulled off her suit jacket, then her blouse, sailing it over his head.
Blue Eyes’s grin grew. “You are a tease.”
“Nice undies.” Nice package expanding underneath!
Her skirt pooled at her feet and he let out a whistle. “To borrow a line, nice undies.”
“Bet you say that to all the girls.” She added a little hip action and head tossing. Soccer mom does flirt.
“No other girls.”
At least not for the moment, she thought as he snapped her into his arms, his breath hot on her lips, his skin warm and yummy and next to hers, the aroma of spice and spring and delish man invading her senses. He kissed her, adding some tongue. Lord have mercy, the man gave great tongue! Her insides burned clear up to her eyeballs. How long had it been since she’d been kissed like this? “You are too much for me,” she panted.
His hips pressed to hers again, his erection hard and throbbing. She couldn’t remember the last time something throbbed besides a headache. God bless rent-a-stud!
He shuffled her back till her thighs met the edge of the bed then toppled them onto the mattress. Both laughing, he broke the fall so as not to squash her. A gentleman and a stud. He smoothed her hair from her face. “You . . . are a complete surprise. Fun, exciting, not pretentious.”
“Too chunky?”
“Too perfect.”
“Far from perfect.” He unsnapped her bra, nuzzled up the flimsy material, and she froze. Oh, God! What if he noticed, got turned off or . . . But he didn’t say a word or even slow down with the nuzzling, and when he kissed the dip between her breasts all what-ifs vanished. “I’m falling apart here,” she whimpered.
He levered himself up, his eyes blue and fathomless and genuine. “Me, too, sugar.”
Her brain fogged and her sex drive roared. “Take me now?”
“I can do that.” He looked around.
“Hey, I’m right here.”
“Protection.”
“My purse.” She nodded at the desk. “There.”
“Good girl. Lovely girl.”
There was a time when she doubted she’d ever hear a man say that to her. He kissed her quick then rolled off, landing on the floor with a solid thud. This really must be his first time. A virgin gigolo, how sweet.
She peered over the edge of the bed. “Are you okay?”
He glanced at the bulge in his briefs. “Everything that’s important still seems to be working.” He winked, reddened, then scrambled to his feet, got her purse and unceremoniously tugged off his briefs. His technique really needed work. Then he turned back to her, ready for action, and the action part didn’t need any work at all. Blue Eyes was built for action.
“I’m usually not this clumsy,” he said, at least that’s what she thought he said. “The problem is that you’re beautiful and charming and I can’t think straight.”
“You’re really beautiful yourself.”
His eyes followed hers to his erection and this time he turned crimson. She’d never felt more tender toward a man in her life. Her darling gigolo. She held out her arms, growled, and he dove on top of her, the bed creaking as they sank into the softness. She laughed and so did he, but as he slid into her in one long, hard thrust, the last thing on her mind was laughter.
“Oh God!” she gasped, arching her hips and taking him in, her legs tightening around his back. He thrust into her harder, filling her in places she’d never had filled before. Lovell had been . . . lacking! Of course, with him being her one and only, she hadn’t realized that till now. But he had been lacking . . . a lot! Her body clenched. “Holy crap? Holy crap!”
“Is that a good crap?” He took her again, his voice strained.
“The best! Do it, do it now!” Then she climaxed in an explosion of pure, long-overdue euphoria of mind and body . . . especially the body, little pieces of Gloria shattering all over the room.
“Incredible,” he finally whispered in short, hot breaths, his lips next to her ear, his torso mated to hers. “Best sex I’ve ever had. I mean that, I really do.”
“Ditto. You are amazing.”
He kissed her cheek and she stroked his damp hair. “I didn’t think you’d be so . . . caring or so enthusiastic.”
“I thought the same about you.” He gave her a sweet smile, the kind that said it had been as enjoyable for him as for her, and that it wasn’t just a job. Then again, maybe that’s what she wanted to think.
He sat. “Let me clean up and we can enjoy the champagne. ” He paused, peered deep into her eyes while dragging his finger down her middle, stopping at the indent of her navel. He planted a soft kiss there. “You are something to celebrate, in and out of bed. How’d I get so damn lucky to wind up with you?”
She felt sexy and feminine and a little wicked and truly desired . . . at last! And it was great! He closed the bathroom door and she stretched out on the bed, heaving a big sigh except . . . except . . . Okay, now what? She quit stretching and bolted upright. Toast him for being a fabulous stud and she a needy woman?
Ouch! She needed to keep this fantasy perfect, just as it was right now—the red-hot mamma and the hunk—and not spoil it with forced conversation and strained moments and too many questions. Scrambling out of bed, she yanked on her bra, panties, blouse, and skirt, then grabbed her jacket, shoes, and purse, leaving all the money in her wallet for a tip. Then she slunk out of the door and into the elevator across the hall.
When the double doors closed she hit the stop button, dressed, tried to do something with her bird-nest of hair, then continued down to the first floor. Don’t run, she ordered herself as the doors parted and she stared straight ahead. Walk naturally. But there was nothing natural about hooking up with a paid escort at Magnolia House.
She did the Southern amble out the front door, made her way to Abercorn and through the back door of Scrumptious. She collapsed into the chair she’d occupied an hour ago. Had it been just one short hour?
“Well, did you get it?” Sue Ellen asked, not looking up as she added pink rosebuds to the white-frosted Dream Cakes. “That was really fast.”
“Get it? I suppose that’s one answer. And it was too fast and what in holy blazes did you think you were doing, Sue Ellen?” Her voice approached a screech.
Sue Ellen glanced up. “Uh, getting us a catering job? Helping us pay bills.” She did a double take. “And what in the world happened to you? You look like you were shot out of a cannon.”
Gloria buried her head in her hands. “How could you do this?”
“Sugar, butter, vanilla, a little coloring. Voilà, you get icing and—”
“Don’t play dumb with me.” Gloria slapped her hands flat
on the marble countertop. “The man, Sue Ellen, the man! The rent-a-stud! Champagne, strawberries, walk on the wild side? Sound familiar? It was all there just like you ordered up and I can’t believe you did this to your very own sister.”
Sue Ellen licked pink icing from her thumb. “What are you talking about?”
“The gigolo!”
Sue Ellen stopped, eyes huge, a dollop of pink on the tip of her tongue. She swallowed. “Huh?”
“The least you could do is look ashamed or squirm or . . . or something. The innocent routine isn’t working.”
Sue Ellen put down the icing cone. “Honey, what exactly happened over at that hotel?”
“I got my needs met just like you paid for!” Gloria banged her forehead on the counter. “I’m officially a Savannah slut. Bet tour buses start stopping outside and guides start pointing and saying, ‘See, there. The local hussy!’”
Sue Ellen said in a too-quiet voice, “I swear on Grandma’s bread pudding recipe, the one with the rum, I have no idea what you’re talking about. And I think I’m really sorry about that.”
Gloria snapped her head up, her eyes an inch from Sue Ellen ’s. “Oh . . . my . . . God!”
“Somehow I don’t think it was a religious experience.”
“If you didn’t buy him, then . . . then who the heck was he?”
“Since your eyes are shining and you’ve got color in your cheeks, I’d say he was really, really good. Gives a whole new meaning to room service. Who knew room 234 would see so much action?”
Gloria felt her heart stop dead in her chest. “234? Don’t you mean 243?”
Sue Ellen sucked air between clenched teeth.
“Holy Moses, he must have thought I was what I thought he was! And sent there by a sister. Probably his.” Gloria slapped her palm to her forehead. “See, this is why there can be no more men for me. They screw up my life. I just proved that beyond a shadow of a doubt. I’m going home now to a glass of something strong and I’m going to forget today ever happened.”
But the next morning as she followed Dacey up the high school steps to drop off Dream Cakes for the bake sale, Gloria knew she hadn’t forgotten squat. The events at Magnolia House were burned in her brain for all eternity.
Last of the Red-Hot Mammas Page 1