by Sylvie Kaye
"What happened?” Jilly eyed her aunts.
"Matilda Mouey made a disparaging remark about Adele's shortcake.” Aunt Gloria's back became even more rigid. “The woman insinuated that sister's cake oozed of booze."
Probably did, but Zack kept the thought to himself and continued wiping up cake as he listened.
"Why everybody knows Matilda is the tippler. She can't even stand on her own two feet. She fell over drunk on her face and tried to blame it on Adele's cake."
"When Gloria told her she'd had one-too-many, the old sow crudely called her a dyke.” Aunt Vinny's crochet hook worked with renewed force.
Dyke. These ladies were brutal. His eyes bugged at the image of Aunt Gloria in the throes of passion with anyone, man or woman.
Aunt Vinny wasn't done. “Then Matilda added that I'd had one-too-many engagement rings while Gloria and Adele never had any. Why I never even kept the ring,” Aunt Vinny clucked.
Jilly looked at Aunt Adele, who still stood near Aunt Vinny's side, for verification of the story. “She didn't exactly fall on her face, Jilly Boo. Matilda tripped over Vinny's cane."
"Don't worry, dear. The clumsy cow didn't damage Mama's cane.” Aunt Vinny turned her nose up at Matilda who sat at the next sales table.
Zack had never witnessed the brawling side of the proper old ladies before. Intrigued and amused, he lingered when he knew he should sneak away for the sake of his dating arrangement with Jilly. Although adverse to secrets, he had little choice no thanks to the persistent aunts’ constant interference.
His ears perked up when Hannah returned from an apparent spying foray at the enemy table to give Jilly a sympathetic hug and a report. “Some of Matilda's friends are blaming Vinny, saying she tripped Matilda on purpose with her cane. Can you believe that?"
He nodded yes, and Jilly flashed him a squint-eyed glare that put him on notice to behave.
"Matilda has always been jealous of Adele,” Aunt Vinny said. “Not only of her baking skills. Tildy had the hots for one of our Adele's suitors."
The hots. Zack chuckled as he bent to scoop up the rest of the soggy shortcake from the floor. Jilly put her finger to her lips in warning to shush up.
"She accused Adele of stealing her boyfriend, insinuating she'd done it before, and to her own best friend. Adele would never resort to such behavior. She never knew Greta was involved with the man.” Aunt Gloria sniffed.
Who was Greta, he wondered? And was she amongst the living or the dead?
"Did you see how she sliced that loaf of banana bread?” Aunt Vinny asked, seeming to make a three-hundred-sixty-degree turn in the conversation. “Cousin Minnie once told me what it means to cut bread in such an uneven manner."
"What's it mean?” Zack tossed the last of the wet cake into the trash.
Jilly looked at him as if she couldn't believe he was this caught up in the drama. She threw him another glare, the preschool kind that threatened a time-out.
Cousin Minnie? he mouthed.
Dead, she mouthed back.
He went back to cleaning up puddles of water.
"Slicing bread unevenly means Matilda's been spreading lies.” Aunt Vinny stopped her thread mid-hook. “Zachary, what are you doing here?"
The aunts and Hannah all turned to stare at him. Jilly bit her bottom lip. No thanks to his nosey curiosity their secret dating had been uncovered after one measly meeting. He'd never get Jilly alone again.
With quick thinking, he hiked his wallet out of his back pocket. “I remembered Aunt Adele mentioning the bake sale. I stopped by to pick up one of her famous desserts."
"Praline brownies are all we have left since that drunk,” Aunt Gloria paused, “since Matilda fell over the chair, the water pitcher, and the table."
Aunt Adele shrugged indignantly before shoving the remaining brownies into a box. When she finished, she smothered the chocolatey, nutty aroma with the lid of a cardboard carton and wrapped it with string. “Put your finger here, Zachary."
He did as ordered, and she pulled the cord tight, only knotting it off after the tip of his finger turned blue.
"Ow.” He wriggled free.
Aunt Adele's brown eyes twinkled.
He paid, grabbed up his box of brownies, and waved goodnight. As he wriggled between Jilly and the enemy table, he whispered near her ear, “Fill me in on what I miss."
"Gossip monger,” she whispered.
Once out of the aunt's sight, he blew her a kiss, betting she wished to kiss off the ladies’ uprising as easily.
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Chapter Seventeen
Jilly got out of Eric's car at the corner near Zack's hotel. “Sorry, I can't wait with you, babe. A client called last minute,” he said.
"I appreciate you dropping me off at all.” Jilly wished him luck with his business appointment and blew him a kiss as the BMW pulled away.
While a steady stream of rush hour traffic darted by, she stood on the sidewalk, the cement warm beneath the thin soles of her sandals from the day's heat. Fishing through her handbag for a pen and tomorrow's grocery list, she added the pecans Aunt Adele mentioned during dinner.
Next, she pulled out an emery board and filed the fingernail she'd broken getting a carton down from a high shelf in the storage room for Aunt Gloria. The cardboard box had been filled with what appeared to be her aunts’ old journals and diaries. The ladies must intend to revisit fond memories tonight.
A yellowed letter in smudged ink had caught Jilly's eye. She could swear it was written in Aunt Adele's handwriting, but it had been addressed to My Darling Daughter. Jilly must've been mistaken, but she'd been in too much of a hurry to check closer. Maybe another time.
But wasn't that snooping?
Still, she shrugged, it was human nature, and she was human. Perhaps, she'd come across a journal from her mother now that she knew the box existed.
Jilly blew on the filings. There, her nail was fixed.
In a dark blue blur, Zack's truck swerved in next to the curb. As he revved the engine, he swung open the passenger door. She hopped up and into the air-conditioned interior.
She hadn't seen him in a couple of days, and the sight of him reminded her of how much she missed him. He looked rugged and work weary. Mussed and spent, like after sex. Her heart picked up a beat.
"Sorry, I'm late. I had to tie up a few ends on the job site. An inventory problem and a late call from Big Al."
"I wasn't waiting long.” She gathered his father was a trial both on and off working hours. Sort of like her aunts some days so she understood all too well.
"Mind if I make a stop at the hotel to wash up and change?"
"No.” She didn't mind one bit. She craved being alone with him. What better place than in his room?
After a few blocks, and a left turn, they were at Hotel Maison. A few minutes later, she sat cross-legged atop a gold-and-white striped bedspread, sniffing in the aroma of a scented candle while listening to the melodic sounds of Buddhist chimes. Both relaxing but nothing stopped her world like Zack's touch when he wasn't on the move or they weren't engaged in sins of the flesh. Her pulse quickened on the second thought.
Jilly ran her hand over the soft pillowslips of the large bed. She'd never been in a man's hotel room before. She felt deliciously decadent. So much space and privacy and freedom. Her last boyfriend shared a place with two roommates, a dog, and an ever-ringing phone to which her aunts had the number.
Between the soothing candlelight and music, the tension from the day quickly drained from her, leaving her mind free to ponder Zack, and his family.
Besides Big Al, the apparent tyrant who ruled the dynasty, Zack had his mom and his brother Stan both at home. Jilly wondered what it was like to have a father and mother, or even a brother, for that matter.
"Does your brother look like you?"
He finished untying his dusty laces and heeled off his scuffed work boots. When he stood, he emptied his pockets onto the bed, dropping his wallet onto he
r lap. “Check for yourself.” He ducked into the bathroom, and she smiled to herself. The billfold was still warm from his back pocket and his hot butt.
She scattered the bent snapshots from his wallet in front of her on the bed alongside a Big Al's Construction Company key ring, laden with scads of keys. She toyed with the red plastic, hammer-shaped holder. Odd that it didn't read Big Al and Sons.
She picked up the photo of an older woman and a man. His parents she supposed. His mom looked younger than her aunts, thin, pretty, but tense. His dad was big and grim.
Zack had his mother's glittery gray eyes, his father's size, and a smile like no one else on earth. His grin made Jilly feel good for no particular reason and that was quite a gift.
The other picture was a recent shot of Stan. His name and the date were scribbled on the back in black ink. He was tall, broad-chested like Zack, but blond. The green pickup truck he posed next to appeared brand new. Stan's eyes were gray, too, but with no glitter, and his smile never reached his eyes.
A cloud of steam and the fresh scent of soap filtered out from the bathroom followed by Zack.
"Your brother's cute.” She glanced from the photo to Zack and back. “In a blond sort of way, but I prefer darker hair with touches of gray."
"Gray?” Zack balled up the white terry towel he'd used to dry his hair and tossed it at her, overhand, like a basketball player.
She swatted the towel away easily. His broad shoulders were strong, naked, and still damp. Glistening and promising. He was barefoot and wearing clean jeans. He clapped a citrusy aftershave to his cheeks, the scent wafting on the moist air, mingling with the musky aroma of the burning candle.
Too bad he was dressing instead of undressing.
After swiping the fog from the mirror, he flicked a comb through his hair. He stopped to count the silvery strands in his sideburns and winked at her. “They claim blonds have more fun."
"You're enough fun for me."
"That's not saying much. You're used to hanging out with old folks.” He grinned at her through the mirror.
If he'd come nearer to the bed instead of keeping his distance, she'd show him how spry she could get.
She wriggled her index finger at him. “Come here and I'll count the gray hairs on your chest for you."
"No grays there.” He rubbed his hands over his bare chest and sucked in his stomach. But he didn't have to. He had no flab, only a lean belly with a trickle of dark hair that led to heaven, or maybe hell. He was so devilishly desirable.
Jilly turned away before his naked nearness and his pulsing strength melted her resolve. Their lovemaking had been hot and swift the other night at the lagoon, once he gave in to her hurried demands. Tonight, she intended to give him what he wanted. She had hours, and she was more than willing to let him take his time.
She picked up his drivers’ license. Lots of info on there. Age, thirty-four. Birthday, March eighth. That made him a Pisces like Ann, who touted the sign as romantic, creative, compassionate, and spiritual. All admirable traits.
"Cute mug shot. Are you wanted for something?"
"Let me see that.” With a clankity clank of the metal hooks from the hangers banging together, Zack grabbed the first shirt at hand. Shoving his arms into the sleeves, he plopped down on the edge of the bed. He squinted at the photo license Jilly held up. “I need a closer look.” He held out his palm.
"Uh-uh.” She laughed. “Maybe there's a reward if I've got the right man."
"You've got the right man.” Zack lunged and wrapped her in his arms.
She smelled of woman. Her mouth was so close and tempting, Zack fought off the urge to advance. For once, she wasn't rushed, and he intended to take full advantage of the fact. He intended to connect with more than her libido.
She moistened her rosy lips. “I wanted to say about the other night in the park..."
Her breath near his face was minty and kissable, and madly distracting, but he managed to say, “Go on.” He kept his voice low. Whatever she wanted to say wasn't coming easy, and he didn't want to scare her off.
She looked away. “I, a, it..."
"It's been a while for you, huh?” He'd guessed as much. His gut clenched just remembering how frantic their lovemaking had been.
"Yes,” she mumbled. “Well over a year."
He clasped her face in his hands, his thumb moving against her jaw line in comforting strokes. “No wonder you were in a rush.” He drew her to him. Their lips met, softly, quietly.
He kissed her upper lip. He kissed her lower lip. He kissed both her lips. His tongue explored hers, and he lost himself in the sensual textures of her mouth.
When she flung her thigh over his to get even closer, he resisted, wanting more from her than physical contact. He wanted to touch her on a higher spiritual plane and weave their polarities into a harmonious whole.
Restlessly, they rolled around on the king-sized bed. He took deep breaths to keep a grip on his priorities.
"Now that your years of frustration have been satisfied, let's go slow.” Extended foreplay could bring about a heightened union between them. Open her heart to him. Open his to her. They could explore the possibility of love. Loving Jilly had become a strong possibility for him. But a one-sided love wasn't an option.
She nodded, willing to indulge him in putting the brakes on.
In the next hour, he answered her questions and explained all he knew about chakras—how the energy centers in their bodies had colors, tones, and alignments.
She seemed interested, if not fascinated. Sitting across from her on the bed, cross-legged, he focused on her face. While the CD chimed in the background, candlelight intensified the blueness of her eyes. But it was the sporadic brush of her knee against his that distracted him the most.
Determined to utilize the most potent energy in the body, the sexual energy, he refused to allow her disquieting nearness, the sigh of her breath, and her mesmerizing eyes to rush him into action. He moved on to explain meditation to her and show her breathing techniques for relaxation, knowing firsthand had badly she needed to slow down, savor, and enjoy touch, sex, food, heck, everything.
She didn't seem to mind watching his demonstration. Her sultry eyes followed the process as his chest rose and fell beneath his open shirt. Underneath her gaze the coarse hair trailing from his chest to his groin prickled.
Briefly, his mind strayed to a more energetic, arousing activity, but he snapped it back. When he reached out to touch her, she licked her parched lips.
He rested his large, warm hand on her chest and coached her. “Your turn now. Breathe in. More. More."
As she did, he felt her body heat burn into his palm through the thin cotton of her blouse. Felt the button beneath his hand and her pounding heart. He ached to fondle and knead her breasts. He and Jilly hadn't indulged in much foreplay above the waist the other night, and he craved to continue the sizzling exploration at his leisure. First he had to prepare her to open up to the tantric experience he so desired. One so meditative and intimate it could form the consummate union.
He didn't allow his fingers to stray and open the button searing his palm or to slip inside her blouse and bra. He forced his hand to drift to her diaphragm. “Hold your breath."
He felt her breathing halt, her chest expand and become still. He slid his hand away from her tempting breasts and down to her abdomen. “You can let all the air out now."
With a soft whoosh, she emptied her lungs. Melting against his hand, she provoked him to slide it lower. His willpower proved stronger than the lure of instant gratification, and he placed his hand back onto her chest, starting the meditative breathing process over again.
"Inhale, hold, hold, and exhale. Again, inhale, hold...and exhale."
"I'm feeling breathless and heady.” Her voice sounded smoky, and he fought for restraint.
In no time, the touch of her body and her breathing got to be more than he could bear. Her body felt scorching beneath her clothing. His baser, lower
energy center was spinning out of control.
She searched his face. Her eyes glassy and questioning.
"Want to get naked?” he whispered, locking eyes with her.
"Yes."
He uncrossed his legs with deliberate slowness so as not to break the sensuous spell surrounding them. When he knelt in front of her, his weight dipped the mattress. She exhaled slowly, without coaching from him.
After slipping his arms from the sleeves of his shirt and tossing it aside, he slid a finger into the placket of her white cotton shirt. Not to unbutton it, but to pull her closer. She swayed toward him, as if totally entranced in the moment. His heart raced.
Leaning into her, he cradled the sides of her face in his large palms. He griped her hair, his fingers grazing her scalp. A moan slipped from her lips.
She stiffened at the unexpected when he kissed the top of her head. “The crown chakra,” he murmured. Her hair silky and sweet smelling in his hands.
"Nice,” she whispered, but her tone was far from enthused.
To refresh her memory, he said, “Its attribute is thought and represents beliefs."
With her fingertips feathering over his bare torso, and his muscles quivering beneath their cool softness, his thoughts strayed to the lagoon again and the intimate acts she was capable of initiating and completing.
Shutting his eyes to squelch the thought, he lowered his head, kissing her lightly on the forehead between her eyebrows. He felt her eyelashes flutter. Her skin was warm and tender, his kiss lingering.
"The third eye chakra,” he said, moving away. “Intuition and dreams. Eyesight and focus."
"Speaking of focus,” she purred in a wispy voice. “Are we getting to the naked part any time soon?” She rested her hand on his nipple, which pebbled beneath the contact. “Sexual tension is shredding my nerves like a razor."
"Good.” He nodded as her eyes widened. “Stay in the moment. Open yourself up to every sensation."
"I thought we were going to open buttons and zippers.” Her hand trailed down his chest, her fingers grazing his fly before she rested them on her thigh.