by Jule McBride
It was awfully quiet. He had an iPod and dock somewhere, but he wasn’t wasting time rummaging for noise when they could make their own. The do-me voice was all the noise Bruno needed. Her voice turned questions like “Is this your car?” or “Can I turn on the radio?” into hardcore. Now she waggled a finger at him so he leaned against her, put the finger in his mouth and suckled. She tasted creamy and salty and just plain good.
“I think you missed some road signs, Mr. Electricity.”
While it was true the Road Rover’s GPS had not led Bruno to the exact coordinates she’d offered, he hadn’t missed any important signs. His two PhDs might not be in breathing, but he was still an expert in sighs, pants and whisperings. Leaning to look into her face—she was a short little wisp of a woman—he eyed her solemnly. “In my infinite wisdom, I realized your evening would get a whole lot better if we took this detour.”
“The detour is for my benefit?” she whispered throatily, her head back, neck exposed in invitation, the voice curling fire in his belly. “When did your infinite wisdom decide I need this benefit?”
“When we got in the Road Rover and you said, ‘Isn’t it about time you got off the grid?’” She’d sounded sort of like the woman in the commercial, but a whole lot sexier.
“Your Infinite Wisdom swore you’d take me home.”
He smiled at being called that. “And I will...TMA.”
She giggled nervously as he slid both hands under the shoulders of the coat and removed it, not taking his eyes off hers as he tossed it onto the boxes. She said, “Promise?”
“All kinds of things.”
The sweat-drenched blouse had dried in the car, and now the fabric was limp as he ran a finger downward, unbuttoning. Exhaling raggedly, he let his eyes rove. She was average height, but stacked, spilling out of her underwear. It just didn’t get better than this. He cupped a breast through a lacy light green bra, and a second later, a throaty groan tore from his throat. Too much fabric was between them, his slacks, her tights, and presumably her panties, but his thigh had found her crotch again and he was loving the feel of the dampness and the heat.
“God, you’re wet,” he whispered.
She nuzzled her face against him, using her cold, ski-jump nose to further open his shirt, her hair unbelievably soft on his skin, her cheeks chilly but warming as they swam in chest hair. His senses heightened, and a sudden gentle scrape of knotted metal from her earring felt like a leather whip.
“Feel free to keep talking,” he urged, not finding a hard edge anywhere on her as he explored. D.C. women could be gym-obsessive, their bodies as hard as rocks and possessing all the pliability of store mannequins, but this woman had soft cushions every place. “I’m going to be honest. It doesn’t matter what you say, because your voice is so fucking sexy...so say anything...”
“Anything.”
If he hadn’t been so horny he would have laughed. “Now try something.”
“Something.” As he bent to look into her Bambis again, she whispered, “Quit looking at me.”
“Why? Are you nervous?” Oh, yes, he really wanted to keep this woman talking. Her sudden shyness was another surprise, too. She was more comfortable if he just ravished her, and it brought out the worst in him, making him want to prolong the agony of seduction. Leaning, he slowly licked the very tops of her breasts, where the mounds of flesh began to crest. If he hadn’t known about her stupid day job, he’d think she hadn’t seen the light of day in eons. Pushing the blouse off her shoulders, he looked at the bra a long moment.
“You’ve got great taste in underwear.”
The voice was scarcely audible, the best it had sounded yet. “You have to lean a lot.”
He came closer, letting her feel the feathery heat of his breath on her neck long enough to build anticipation, then he whispered, “You’re short.”
She giggled wildly as if it was the funniest thing she’d ever heard. “No...” She poked his chest. “You’re tall.”
He hoped she wasn’t about to get argumentative. Drunks did sometimes, and she’d had a few too many. Not that he was taking advantage; she knew what she was doing. He said, “And now for your hair ornaments.”
That prompted another gale of giggles, since the ornaments were pencils. Having overheated while dancing, she’d taken them from the bar and used them to bind up the wild strawberry strands. As disheveled hair cascaded over her shoulders, he simply dropped the pencils, letting them clatter on the kitchen floor.
“I’m too short,” she announced, a hank of hair falling across her cheek. Since she looked so concerned, he kissed away the stray hair, then kissed her eyes shut. Unclasping the front hook of the bra, he closed a thumb and finger on a nipple, caressing, rolling, pinching until he stifled her sigh by covering her lips with his. Plunging his tongue, he let the kiss get good and wet.
When he pulled away, she murmured against his mouth. “Your back probably hurts from all the bending you have to do because I’m so short.”
“It’s very painful,” he whispered.
“Oh,” she returned contritely. That turned into oh, oh, oh, when he rustled a hand under her skirt and inside the tights. Twining long fingers in her curls then cupping her, he groaned. She was really wet. Slicking a finger, he glided it over her clit and said, “If we were lying down, I wouldn’t have to keep bending over just to kiss you.”
“Because I’m so short...”
He could barely talk. “Right.”
Another shudder. “I see...”
He pushed a thick finger inside her, watched her eyes glaze, then he settled his mouth over an aroused nipple. Her little moan sent something as hot as molten lead to his groin. Dammit, every time he thought he had a handle on this woman from the backwater, he lost his grip again. She’d gone from boring hygienist to hardened party girl, to cutie-pie-empath, and now the only thing he felt was raw desire. Her every incarnation was killing him. He could not predict TMA at all. He wasn’t even sure he was going to get her into bed tonight, in which case there would be no morning after, and that had to be a first.
“It’s just a promise,” she whispered.
“What?”
“It’s never as good as the kisses.”
Yeah, right. To prove otherwise, he thrust another finger inside. In and out until she whimpered. “It’s always better than the kisses.”
“You’re wrong about that, Mr. Electricity.”
“Want to bet?” Abruptly, he retrieved his hand from where it was sandwiched between her creamy skin and the body-hugging tights. He started dragging her behind him, into the hallway. “I’m feeling a strong need to show you something.”
“What?”
“My bedroom.”
She giggled again. At least he’d put sheets on the bed. Not that it would have mattered at this point. Her giggle cut off abruptly when he simply pointed at the mattress. Her eyes widened, but she plopped obediently on the edge, her blouse pushed off her shoulders, the bra open in front, her breasts swaying as she scooted backward, the short skirt hiking as she moved. He considered a moment, deciding what he wanted to do first. Then he followed her, lying on top, covering her body with his. He went for slow, wet languid kisses on her breasts. He tongued the tips, lightly biting the nipples, while he kicked off her high heels and dealt with her skirt and tights. Before he got to her panties, she was undressing him, too.
“Say something with your porno voice,” he requested.
“Kisses are just promises,” she whispered back, slurring a little. “The rest is never as good. Never.”
That bothered him more than it should have. But soon, she’d be teetering on the brink of orgasm, of course, and he’d keep her in agony until she retracted that statement. Yes, there were numerous things he felt compelled to do with her before getting out the condoms. Those he had unpacked. He couldn’t wait
to be inside her, when everything would be reduced to wild heat and soft sensation.
“What are you waiting for?” she whispered.
“I’m deciding what to do to you first,” he admitted, his voice husky. Before his mouth found hers again, he said, “Tonight, we’re going to make sure kisses take a backseat to our main events.”
* * *
She was gone?
Women never left TMA. Rolling over, he retrieved an earring from the sheets, then he went to the window to confirm she hadn’t tried to give herself a ride home in his helicopter. His Road Rover was still here, too, although he’d left the keys in it. You could do that here. He hadn’t heard one car alarm since he’d been in Blackwater Inlet. He frowned. He would have heard her call a cab, right? Well...maybe not, given that he’d slept like the dead. But why hadn’t she asked him to give her a ride? Most women would have used that as an excuse to get to know him better. He went to the kitchen, thinking she’d left a note. She’d probably signed it, so he’d know her name. But no...
TMA, most women wanted sex, then breakfast. At the least, a ride to their car. The woman who’d kept calling him Mr. Electricity had left, though. He was still trying to piece together fragments he’d heard over the music last night. Something about unwelcome incidents and loving her work. He could swear, as she’d drifted off, she’d whispered, “The Learning Investment.” What was that about?
And why hadn’t she stayed? The dental office wasn’t open today, and he’d made her come more times than even he’d thought possible, so her leaving didn’t make sense. Had she left a note in his coat pocket? His breath caught when he realized she’d taken the coat. He didn’t care about clothes, but the coat was special. A gift. He loved that coat. He quit worrying about it when he pictured the clothes she wore by day. Definitely, she had a dependable side and would return things she borrowed. Tomorrow after he asked about the coat, he was going to undress her, removing the sweater set, lab coat, and the ridiculously practical shoes she wore to her office.
“Maybe the note’s in the mailbox,” he decided, not yet able to accept she hadn’t left one.
* * *
Ari had never been so happy to see her blue Mustang, the only car left in the lot. A freezing drizzle was falling for her morning-after walk of shame. Great. Why hadn’t she driven her other vehicle? Both were well-known, but the backup ride didn’t flash neon like the Mustang. She shivered, icy pellets stinging her cheeks as she soldiered on, reliving last night. Mr. Electricity had delivered all the bells and whistles, and now she told herself it only seemed that way because she’d been tipsy. No man was that good, especially with a woman he didn’t even know. Surely her overactive imagination was embellishing.
Since the temperature was in the thirties, she’d had no choice but to borrow his coat after she crept out of bed, and she hoped she wasn’t ruining it. He was such a giant that even with her high heels, the hem was practically sweeping the pavement. Well, maybe that was an exaggeration, but it was a good thing Charley Carlton had asked her to the prom the year before he’d started helping his father with the family dry cleaning business. If she dropped off the coat, he’d rush deliver it.
Almost there. She limped faster even though she was never going to outdistance images from last night. His mouth had been hot to the point of scalding, blistering here, here, and here. Wet tongue, hot lips, teeth biting... She gasped. He had done a few things she’d only read about, hadn’t he? And the passion hadn’t guttered and gone out like the flame of a spent candle, the way it usually did. And she’d put her address in his GPS!
“Trying to make sure I got home.” Which meant he knew where she lived. She stared harder at the Mustang up ahead. Another ten-degree drop and they’d get snow. It was so cold. Cold made her think of hot. Hot made her think of him. “I wish I had sunglasses,” she whispered, picturing Evert Roberts, who she’d known since grade school. He worked at the sunglass kiosk in the mall now. Not that there was any sunshine, but even the dark gray clouds were making her eyes ache.
Fortunately, not many people lived on this road, just the newcomer and elderly Higginses who were probably having their after-church lunch at Golden Corral by now. No doubt, they’d spotted her car as they’d passed. Maybe since the Higginses went to church, there had been an act of God, and they hadn’t noticed the Mustang, in which case they couldn’t mention it to Mom and Dad Mad who always sat in the pew behind them.
Packing boxes had been everywhere in the guy’s house. He was moving in, not out. He’d said he wasn’t sure he was staying in Blackwater Inlet. What a liar! When her heels clicked onto the parking lot, she sighed in relief, wishing the guy hadn’t looked even more handsome this morning, flexing all his big, stupid muscles in his sleep. Lying flat on his back with the sheet across his hips, he’d clasped his intriguing hands on a very flat belly below a mass of silky chest hair. Just remembering how those hands had touched her, she felt the kind of panic that kept the Shoemakers in business. Her own voice played inside her mind like a TV commercial. “Be sure to contact your doctor if you feel drowsiness, anxiety, pain in your abdomen or groin...”
She did feel pain in her groin...a pang, anyway. Her voice sounded awful, too, and she had work to do! She’d soundproofed a walk-in closet to use as a studio, but she had an unwanted echo in there, and if she didn’t get rid of it, she’d never land the National Federation of Teachers account. Maybe she hadn’t done voice-overs on the order of “You’ve got mail,” or “Nationwide is on your side,” or “Fifteen minutes could save you...” well, you know. She’d gotten a lucky break with Road Rover, though, saying, “Isn’t it time you got off the grid?”
The ad had gotten her an agent and a union card, so she didn’t need a man turning her brains to mush right now. It was too late, though. She never should have danced with the guy. Now she wanted to go back to his house, wake him up and see if he wanted to make love. She had to know if all the bells and whistles were in her imagination, or if her response had been some fluke. Until she knew, she wasn’t going to rest easy.
“I’m going straight home though,” she coached herself. And the day after the upcoming Final Incident, she was leaving. All her life, she’d been planning to move from Blackwater Inlet, and now, thanks to her success with Road Rover, she could do so. Nothing was going to get in the way. And this man could. He’d been that good. Which was why she had to stay away from him. She’d even gotten more drug adverts, lately. The stranger thought she had a sexy voice, but she did medical droning extremely well, and drug companies paid big.
Her most important job was making sure her next adventures took place far away from Blackwater’s gossip network. By now everybody in town probably knew she’d slept with a stranger, but in Raleigh, there would be no prying eyes. She could hook up with better studio techs, too. One more day of recording scripts about depression and she truly might have to ask the Shoemakers for medication. If she could get the National Federation of Teachers gig, things would really fall into place. Their tag was “The Learning Investment.” She’d practiced the words a million times. She heard them in her sleep. Well, maybe not last night...
Ignoring the sensual pang emanating from the dampness the man had left, she muttered, “The keys!” She’d left them in her jacket! In the bar! But no...relief flooded her when she thought of Titus who owned the automotive shop. They’d never dated, but had shared enough meaningful, late-night conversations that he’d put a magnetic key holder with an extra key under her bumper. She’d never had to use it, but maybe...
It was there! “Thank you, Titus,” she whispered as she got into the car and turned the key in the ignition. “What a liar!” she whispered again as the windshield wipers engaged. Pants on Fire, Mr. Electricity, whatever his name was, was no over-nighter. It looked like he was here to stay. At least Boondocks had been loud, so he probably hadn’t heard her ramble on about work. Then, of course, the onl
y sounds at his house had been groans and moans and sighs. And it was his house. Jimmy Bartlett lived in Charlotte now, but he’d sold it for his grandparents who’d moved to a retirement home. Jimmy had been in Larry’s jewelry store when she was getting the earrings that were now lost in the bed sheets. Well...she could live without the earrings, she thought. She didn’t even want them now. In fact, she hated them. If Larry hadn’t come over with the earrings when he did, Jimmy would have finished his story about selling the house, and Ari would have been forewarned.
And why was a helicopter in the backyard? “It wasn’t there to life-flight me,” she whispered. Wasn’t that really all she needed to know?
Searching the Mustang’s interior, she found her cell, then cursed softly. Seven messages, mostly work. She was a day late on MP3’s, not that she couldn’t catch up, but since Road Rover, work was pouring in. Paulie and Sally had found her jacket. Good. She stopped scrolling. Emily Madden, aka Mom Mad. Dad Mad was the principal of the high school and Mom Mad oversaw the library.
With a groan of frustration, she pressed the phone to her ear. “Aribella Madden, are you alright? Call me as soon as possible. The Higginses said your car was at Boondocks, so you must have had car trouble again.”
“The Learning Investment,” she whispered. Getting the contract would impress her folks. Her gut told her the slogan was going to be as big as “Just do it.” Better than “A mind is a terrible thing to waste.” If she landed the account, her parents could tell their friends their black sheep daughter was doing something more with her life than explaining erectile dysfunction to the masses.
As she drove off the lot, Ari adjusted the rearview mirror, putting Pants on Fire in hindsight. She could swear he’d solicited physical responses she’d only read about in Cosmo magazine. Pushing away the memories was no use. Definitely, she wanted to drive to his house and wake him in a very nice way. Suddenly, a part of her didn’t care about Raleigh, or packing, or Road Rover, or the upcoming Final Event. All these years, she’d dreaded the morning after letdown. But for the first time in her life, she didn’t feel it. She just wanted more. She wanted him.