Loving Jilly

by Sylvie Kaye

He held his breath, hoping to curb his wild urge to roll a few of her pearls and plant a few kisses. On her throat, her nape, and work his way down her spine, unzipping her somber dress as he went.

  He exhaled, refocused on her face. Her chin was cocked at an angle. She seemed to be waiting. Probably not for him to make his move but to speak. “You look nice,” he said off the top of his head.

  "Thank you.” She glanced at her wristwatch.

  If she'd been trying for sedate with the pearls, black stockings, and dress, she'd missed her mark. Her neck, her figure, and her never ending legs tugged at his groin. Her black stockings had him guessing...pantyhose or garter belt?

  Thoughts of her wearing nothing but a black garter belt and the pearl necklace hammered at his brain like a ball peen. The pearls accentuating her velvety throat and the garter belt accenting her... “Never mind."

  "What?” she asked.

  "Just wondering aloud.” He looked into her face to see if she'd read his lusty thoughts. Her eyes weren't blinking and the dazzling blueness tugged at his heartstrings. In no time, she had him lusting after her heart.

  She muddied his thinking. She had him wanting both meaningless sex and a meaningful relationship. Anyway, he was almost sure he wanted both. Then again, maybe he didn't, what with her dressed for visiting a funeral home and all.

  "What exactly goes on at a viewing?” he asked to change the direction his mind kept straying to. “Aside from passing out water and tissues and just plain passing out?” He cleared his throat. “My family cremates."

  "I can tell you.” With an attention-getting thump of her cane, muffled only slightly by the oriental carpet, Aunt Vinny entered wearing a black pantsuit and a smile. A camera dangled around her neck. She looked more like a tourist than a mourner. “Come here, Zachary.” Gingerly, she settled herself onto her rocking chair.

  Grateful to put some distance between himself and the cause of his chakra-racing fantasies, Zack hotfooted over. A blast from the air conditioner and Aunt Vinny's knowing stare did the trick.

  "There's not as much ceremony at a wake,” she said when he got closer. “At a viewing everyone catches up on each other's health and, of course, remembers the deceased.” She bowed her gray curly head for a moment. When she looked up, her brown eyes sparkled. “Then we exchange gossip."

  "Sounds like quite the event.” Outside of canasta night, he'd bet it was. That explained the camera and the twinkle. Morbid curiosity made him want to go along for a firsthand peek. Too bad he wasn't wearing his dark suit.

  A black clad Aunt Adele joined them moments later, carrying a box of Kleenex, obviously for the hanky unfortunate. On her heels came Aunt Gloria, who also wore black with somber blackbirds replacing her golden hummingbird hair ornaments.

  The group, including him, filed outside to pile into the aunts’ car, an aqua 1960 Plymouth with enough wing span for a takeoff. “Nice car.” He let out an appreciative whistle.

  "This is Papa's automobile,” Aunt Vinny said, pride in her tone.

  He gave a brief thought to asking where their illusive Papa was when Jilly jangled the car keys. “Here."

  "I've never driven a classic before. Never even seen one like this except on a calendar.” As he slid behind the steering wheel, he asked, “How's the gas mileage?” If the old bomber got more than seven miles to the gallon, he'd dance naked on Bourbon Street wearing only his hardhat.

  "It's not fuel efficient.” Aunt Gloria shook her head.

  After slipping the key into the ignition, he fumbled around, hitting the wipers, turn signals, and lights before Aunt Adele leaned forward and pointed to the push buttons for the transmission. “Start it in neutral."

  He pushed N and the motor turned over with a bang as loud as a gunshot. None of the ladies flinched so he figured the noise for a regular occurrence. When he pushed D for drive, the car clunked forward and crawled down the driveway at a dismal pace. Leaving the relic at the boneyard along with unfortunate Cousin Neville could be considered a mercy killing.

  Jilly directed him the three miles to Fullmer's huge, white-columned funeral home with a not so huge parking lot. Zack circled the block several times until he found a spot long enough to accommodate the clunker.

  Jilly went into the building with the aunts. “Once they're settled, I'll be right out."

  Zack sprawled his arm along the back of the aqua bench seat, watching twenty minutes tick by on the dashboard clock. The idling car heated up and cooled down as the air-conditioner droned to stops and starts.

  He closed his eyes to shut out the sound and the heat and his yearning. What had he'd gotten himself into? Were the carpentry, delicious dinners, and Jilly worth the hassle?

  After Jilly seated the aunts onto front-row, maroon velvet chairs, they tsked at the paper cups of water she handed them. She affirmed one last time that the funeral director, Mr. Fullmer, had indeed done away with civilized glassware before she put their lady friend in charge of the box of tissues. Hannah grinned, pleased with the responsibility.

  Outside, away from the pall of the funeral bouquets, Jilly breathed in the warm but fresh night air. The heavy humidity had begun to lift, which was a relief as the air conditioning in the Plymouth worked hit-and-miss. The stockings she had on clung to her skin, but going barelegged in a dress was considered gauche in her aunts’ eyes, and it wasn't worth upsetting their delicate health over the issue.

  Too tired to flutter any lashes, she climbed into the car and smiled across the expanse of the seat at Zack. Over the past two days, she'd strutted her naked legs in shorts, batted her eyelashes, rolled her pearl necklace, and let him know in no uncertain terms how attracted she was to him. The next move was up to him.

  "Great make-out car,” he said in a deep voice.

  Talk about getting straight to the point, an asset she admired, amongst others of his. Apparent physical attributes aside, his interest in her aunts’ activities and his patience with their quaint ways were also admirable traits.

  "Lucky Grandpapa can't hear you say that,” she teased. Regardless what Aunt Adele advised, she planned on breaking it to Zack about Aunt Vinny's little eccentricity before he found out and fled, as others had been known to do.

  "Where is the old dude anyway?” He winked.

  Spurred on by his saucy good humor, she jumped in. “Grandpapa passed away years ago."

  "But,” his jaw slackened a bit, “Aunt Vinny talks about him like he's still here."

  "Aunt Vinny talks about all of our deceased relatives in the present tense. Once a person knows the family history, as to who's of this world and who's passed on to the next, it's easier to follow."

  "Grandmama, is she gone, too?"

  Jilly nodded.

  "Cousin Neville?” His brows knitted.

  "I saw him inside. Definitely gone.” She patted his hand, which was a stretch across the Plymouth's wide seat.

  His hand was large and warm and stirring. Longings for a masculine touch flared in her for an instant. But, now was not the time to stray from the topic.

  "Cousin Marvin, the guy with the bookcase?” he asked after considering.

  "Gone, too."

  He nodded his head as if he understood, but the dull gray in his eyes told her he remained clueless. Still, he'd handled the news rather well.

  When he pushed the transmission button and the car sputtered to life, she said, “We'll have dessert when we get home.” As if that would make everything better.

  The minute she'd uttered the words, she knew she sounded like Aunt Adele. Ann was right. She really needed to spend time with people closer to her own age.

  Glancing over, she sized up her only prospect at present. He was big, even in the Plymouth, yet lean and muscled. Both his forearms and upper arms were strong and taut, flexing as he veered the car around a corner and onto the thoroughfare. His T-shirt outlined his broad chest while his jeans defined his well-developed thighs and an ample bulge beneath his fly. He made her rethink the theory that good things
came in small packages. He had a mighty and attractive package, accent on the mighty. She stifled a satisfied grin.

  He tossed her a quick, sideways look. His soft eyes and warm smile made his overall packaging even more delicious. Her heart sighed. Spending time with him wouldn't be any hardship, if he ever asked her out.

  "What's for dessert?” His smiling mouth devoured her.

  Offering herself up as an after dinner treat made sudden, perfect sense. On a second, saner note, waiting until after a first date seemed more advisable. No matter how limited her time schedule or how tempting his hard body, a lady didn't do it on the first date—or ever according to Aunt Gloria.

  "Cherry torte,” she said in a provocative tone.

  With a sweeping motion, he swerved the car beneath the canopied entrance of a hotel. Holding up a finger to indicate he'd be back in a moment, he slipped from the car and headed toward the hotel office.

  The heavy car door slammed shut before she could voice any kind of objection. Or suggestions. She knew he was the strong silent type, but no first date, no sweet talk, no foreplay. Whipping the old Plymouth into a hotel lot was too quick even for fast-talking, walking, time-limited Jilly. The motor idled, but the air conditioner had stopped working. Sultry heat and doubt closed in on her.

  What to do? Drive on home alone. Pass up her sole chance in ages for male companionship. While indecision danced through her head, Zack strode back from the registration office toward the car. Tall, handsome, radiating with masculinity, he had her panties curling at the waist, begging to be peeled off. In a knee-jerk reaction, she crossed her legs, only to uncross them again. Years might pass until another opportunity with such potential—who was she kidding, such animal magnetism—swaggered her way again.

  Just as she convinced herself to go for it, he opened the car door, tossed a carpentry tool between them onto the bench seat, and bounced in after it. “I prefer this awl over the one I had with me.” He steered for home.

  Disappointment rippled through her, but she tamped it down with meaningless chatter. “Are you staying at Hotel Maison while you're in Orleans?” She figured he did more than store his tools there.

  "Yeah. Not all the comforts of home, but six months of maid service aren't hard to take.” He grinned, a big white, even toothed grin. Geesh, even his teeth were sexy.

  Between his hunky presence, the on-and-off again air in the car, the mishap at the hotel, and the hot climb up the apartment steps, she welcomed the cooling blast from the air conditioner as she unlocked the front door.

  "Coffee?” she asked over her shoulder as she made her way down the hallway toward Aunt Adele's gleaming white kitchen, minus several sooty cabinets.

  "Instant's fine,” he said.

  "Not with my aunt."

  To save time, she filled two mugs with water so she could get back to her tax planning studies and Zack to his awl. Then, she wouldn't have completely wasted an evening.

  When she opened the microwave, he leaned over and whispered near her ear, “We won't tell her."

  His warm, wispy breath sent naughty tickles in every direction, but mostly downward. Ripples raced from her ear to her breasts, tightening her nipples and melting her crotch before hitting bottom to scorch her toes.

  All from his mere whisper. Why hadn't he whispered at the hotel instead of here? Here, in her aunts’ house where she could never misbehave. And, oh, how she craved to.

  With a silent moan, she slipped out of her black pumps and groped for the stepstool, putting herself well out of his whispering range. She climbed a few steps to sift through one of the overhead, singed cupboards. Did Aunt Adele even have instant coffee?

  Out of reach on the back of the shelf, a jar teased her fingertips. She edged forward and made a grasp. As she teetered, Zack made a grab for her, his strong, broad hands gripping her waist to support her. His fingers felt large and hot, sending delicious notions through her. Stroking, penetrating ones.

  She closed her eyes, not wanting to speculate where his head was. She was pretty sure if she turned in his arms to climb from the stool, his face would have a face off with her most intimate womanly wishes.

  Slowly, his strong hands turned her toward him. He stared up at her, his chin resting on her pubic bone, searing a spot that was already way too hot. Their eyes made charged contact. Nothing seemed to exist but the two of them and the stool beneath her feet.

  Time stood still. Not even the tick of the clock broke through the heavy silence. The only sound was their breathing in sync with each other. She wished she had turned the radio on. The strong sense of quiet intimacy made her uneasy. This same sense of unusual calm had fallen over her the last time he'd touched her. She wasn't sure what to make of it.

  Something dinged a few times.

  The microwave.

  Something thumped a few times.

  Aunt Vinny's cane?

  "My word.” Aunt Vinny sounded breathless. Her cane poked at one of the white squares on the black-and-white linoleum as she stopped to gasp.

  Jilly all but jumped out of Zack's arms in her hurry to get down from the wooden stool. She scampered over to help seat her aunt on one of the white enameled kitchen chairs. “Why are you home? Are you ill?"

  Before Jilly even asked, Zack handed Aunt Vinny a glass of water. With shaky fingers her aunt lifted the water to her quivering lips.

  "You're trembling. Did something happen? An accident?” Jilly kept her hands close in case the glass slipped. Where were her other aunts? She tried not to panic while she waited for Aunt Vinny to speak.

  "No accident.” Her aunt patted Jilly's cheek. “I felt queasy right after I snapped a few photos. Sister Maria Louisa drove me home."

  Sister Maria Louisa was not a good sign. The old nun resembled a beaked, black raven. Ravens near a sick person meant no recovery.

  Jilly frowned at the notion. She was beginning to think more like her aunts everyday. She really needed some friends who didn't qualify for a senior citizen discount.

  "It's indigestion,” her aunt said. “I told Adele she over spiced the jambalaya. Then we rushed to arrive at the funeral parlor on time. I'm sure a seltzer will fix me up."

  Jilly doubted anything as minor as heartburn would bring her aunt home from a viewing early, but she agreed on one condition. “If it doesn't help, I'm calling Doc Charbonnet."

  "A bromo will help, dear. I felt fine until I stood on tiptoe and leaned over to snap a picture of Cousin—"

  "Don't try to talk.” Jilly cut her off. If Aunt Vinny finished her sentence, she didn't know what Zack would do. He'd only recently gotten his mind around the news about Grandpapa. Who knew what he'd think about her aunt's photo fetish?

  She slipped the camera from around her aunt's neck, knowing the film held at least one shot of the funeral flowers and a parting snap of Uncle Neville in the casket for the family album, which Aunt Vinny kept and no one else cared to browse through.

  Zack took the camera while Jilly mixed the bubbling concoction and handed the glass to her aunt.

  "I hated to leave,” her aunt said in between sips.

  Jilly was sure she did. Aunt Vinny took pride in the peculiar picture-taking responsibilities she'd taken over from her sainted mother, Jilly's Grandmama, and a long line before her. A duty no one else wanted to perform and which would probably die off when her aunt did.

  Another word about that particular family album—or worse a peek at it if her aunt got it into her mind to show Zack their relatives, deceased and alive—and he'd be gone before any carpentry or dating started.

  "I'm finished, dear.” Aunt Vinny held out the empty glass, glancing from Jilly to Zack and back to Jilly.

  A sudden pang of guilt struck Jilly. Here she'd been, working herself into a steamy lather over Zack's masculine hands and other even more male parts, while her poor aunt practically had to hitchhike home.

  "We were about to have dessert. And instant coffee,” Jilly confessed.

  A smile broke out on her aunt
's face. “I love instant. I have it whenever Adele isn't home. I don't have the heart to tell her how dreadful her perked chicory tastes."

  Jilly ignored Zack's wide-eyed interest in the inside info as she reached for a delicate China cup and saucer.

  "Make mine larger, dear. Fill the white Anchor Hocking mug with the blue-and-yellow forget-me-nots to the brim. There's no telling when I'll get this opportunity again."

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Chapter Five

  A mug of coffee and two pieces of cherry torte later, while Zack rinsed cups and plates at the sink and Jilly stacked them into the dishwasher, a much sprier Aunt Vinny made her way from the kitchen toward the parlor and the soft creak of her rocker.

  "I suspect the cherry brandy in the dessert has something to do with her renewed vitality,” Zack whispered, nudging his hip closer to Jilly's, taking in the sweet aroma of musk and vanilla her body gave off.

  Jilly smiled, her lips moist and lush, and he wanted to do more than brush against her. Whenever he got this close to her, his control took a nosedive.

  "Add in her super-sized coffee and no wonder she has a sudden energy spurt,” she said and they shared a laugh, low and intimate.

  "She sipped so slow I thought we'd never get a chance to be alone.” He put his arm around Jilly's waist to draw her near enough to kiss. She felt supple and willing beneath his hand.

  "Come along, children.” Aunt Vinny's voice echoed from somewhere down the hallway.

  Zack dropped his arm away. Not likely the woman saw through walls, but she seemed good at reading his intentions and had an uncanny knack for intruding at the peak moment.

  In a flash, they finished stacking the dishwasher and joined Aunt Vinny in the parlor. His heat from earlier had cooled. So had Jilly's, if her retreat to a neutral corner of the room was any indication. As she settled at her desk to crack the books, he snatched up the squeeze bottle of wood glue and went back to work on the bookcase.

  After bonding and clamping the ornate wooden pieces, he measured the kitchen cabinets and inspected the fire damage. A few cabinets could be salvaged with some sanding and painting while others needed new doors and shelves and general rebuilding.