by Pam McKenna
After a long minute he risked a quick peek at the house. Good. They’d all gone inside. A sharp rapping on the passenger-side window made him jump. He turned to see the black woman glowering at him through the glass, those beautiful eyes now more ice than liquid. She rotated her finger, traffic-cop style, wordlessly commanding him to roll down the window.
John didn’t even consider disobeying. He pasted a lame smile on his face as the window slid down and a furnace blast of steamy summer air whacked him in the face.
She did not return his smile. “What address are you looking for?”
“I, uh…” He tapped the open map. “I took a wrong turn somewhere. Can’t seem to find my way back to the parkway.”
“Maybe that’s because you’re looking at a map of Cape Cod.”
Embarrassment stung John’s face. Before he could compose a response, the woman said, “People take note of strangers in this neighborhood. It’s not a place where you want to be hanging out for no legitimate reason.”
“I understand,” he said. “I’ll, uh, be on my way now.” He put the car in drive.
“Don’t you want to know how to get to the parkway?” Only now did a smile begin to show itself, and it wasn’t a pleasant one.
He sighed. They both knew he wasn’t lost, yet he patiently listened while she gave him meticulous directions. He thanked her and watched her cross the street and the front lawn of the house. A curtain twitched in a first-floor window. A small face peered out—the little girl with the pink backpack. What would the coming days and weeks offer her and her mother?
“Ms. Carpenter?” John called. He found himself standing next to his car, slamming the door closed.
She paused on the big wraparound porch and turned to face him.
What am I doing? I can’t be doing this.
He took a deep breath. “I’m a friend of Kay Denehy’s.”
Janet Carpenter came to attention at the mention of her friend and former college roommate. She waited. John’s heart slammed painfully as he made his way to the house and took the porch steps two at a time. His inner voice was still giving him what-for, hollering at him to jump back in his car and burn rubber. He looked at the window again. The little girl still watched him, her expression too solemn and wary for her tender years.
He stopped in front of Janet. “My name is John Randall. I’m a lawyer. Kay said you might welcome some pro bono legal help.”
She shook the hand he proffered even as her knowing gaze turned him inside out. “Those wrong turns can be a bitch.”
“Yeah, well…”
Janet retrieved a cell phone from her jeans pocket. She flipped it open and thumbed buttons. “If she doesn’t pick up, you’ll have to wait. Or come back later. And I’ll need to see some ID. Does she still take an early lunch?”
“I, uh, I don’t know.” Janet was calling Kay, he realized with a start. Of course. She wasn’t about to let him through the front door without verifying his story. He watched helplessly as she held the phone to her ear, wondering if it was too late to jump this runaway train.
Janet offered her first real smile as she spoke into the phone. “Hey, blondie. I’ve got a friend of yours here.”
* * * * *
Kay watched John set aside Maurice Sendak’s classic children’s book Where the Wild Things Are and morph into a Wild Thing himself. He half crouched in the living room of the South Shore Domestic Abuse Shelter, arms flailing, eyes rolling, teeth gnashing. He looked more ridiculous than menacing, and little Sofia Herrera squealed with laughter. “I’m Max,” the six-year-old declared, having just sat through a dramatic reading of the story, courtesy of John Preston Randall, Esq. She said, “I’m a big boy and I’m gonna be your king.” John the Wild Thing reared back in mock alarm, prompting another burst of giddy laughter from the child.
Her mother, Eva, smiled at them from the hallway entrance where she stood next to Kay. “John is a…good man,” she said, struggling with her second language. “He has niños? Uhh…” She gestured toward her daughter, groping for the word in English. “Childs?”
“Children? No,” Kay said as John let Sofia chase him around the room. “He isn’t married.”
Eva smiled knowingly and lowered her voice. “Maybe you and him…?” She linked her forefingers.
“No, it’s not like that. We…we’re not…” How had they got onto this awkward topic? “We’re just friends.”
“I see more.” Eva nodded sagely. “I know.”
Well, at least Eva’s disastrous marriage hadn’t soured her on romance, Kay thought. That boded well for her future.
What boded even better for Eva’s future was the legal aid John was providing, gratis. During the past few weeks he’d worked hard on behalf of the shelter’s residents, securing orders of protection, assisting with child custody and financial-support battles, and representing some of the women in family court. He’d also persuaded a young associate and two paralegals at his firm to volunteer a few hours a week.
John had had three meetings with Eva, and Kay had sat in on all of them, translating everything he said into Spanish. It was crucial that Eva comprehend the legal intricacies and make informed decisions. This wasn’t the time to practice her English.
When Janet had phoned Kay in early July with the news that John had volunteered his legal expertise, she’d been speechless. Over a month had passed since their one remarkable night together and she’d been convinced she’d never see him again. For the rest of the day after Janet’s call, Kay was barely able to focus on her lesson plans. By the time school let out and she drove to the shelter, John was firmly established as a member of the shelter “family”. She found him in the kitchen, simultaneously munching a peanut butter sandwich, tossing a tennis ball to Alfred, the resident three-legged mutt, giving instructions to his paralegal via a hands-free earpiece and jotting a list of injunctions to be filed ASAP. He looked like he’d been there forever.
More than that, he looked happy. Happy. Kay had never seen him like this, doing what he’d been trained to do and clearly loving it—loving the sense of purpose, she suspected, the knowledge that he was doing something that would make a difference in people’s lives. She’d steeled herself to act nonchalant in his presence, businesslike, and instead found herself struggling to chew back a grin. He answered it with a wry smile of his own.
“Peer pressure.” He shrugged. “All the kids are doin’ it.”
Eva and Sofia had arrived that very day, and Kay had immediately been pressed into service helping John explain the order of protection he intended to file on their behalf.
Now, as she watched him read to and play with Sofia, their night of kink and bondage seemed light-years away. But she had no doubt that when she fell into bed that night, it would be John’s handsome face she’d see in her mind’s eye, his strong hands and hard body she’d imagine exploring her, commanding her, holding her poised on the razor’s edge between pleasure and pain. As always, she would give her fantasies full rein as she stroked her vibrator over her throbbing clitoris and fucked her famished pussy with it.
The vibrator was new. Before John, she’d never considered owning a sex toy of any kind. Now she bought batteries at a warehouse club for the volume discount.
She’d taken care with her appearance today as she always did when she knew she’d be seeing John at the shelter. Her makeup was subtle but flattering and she wore a pale blue linen sundress that showed off her sun-bronzed shoulders and legs. Her hair was twisted up in a clip in deference to the heat, but she’d spent a ridiculously long time in front of the mirror redoing her do, aiming for just the right pretty but carefree look. And another five minutes loosening a few strands to fall artfully around her face.
She wished she could be indifferent to how John saw her, but there it was. She might as well wish for the clocks to turn backward so she could change her mind about going for a walk on the beach that night two months ago. But despite everything—the sense of loss, the bittersweet agony
of being with him but not with him—she couldn’t bring herself to wish it had never happened.
Kay jumped as something icy touched her bare arm.
“Where are you, blondie?” Janet asked, handing her a tall glass of iced tea. “You look like you’re in another world.” She gave a glass of tea to Eva before tugging Kay’s arm. “Time for a break—come on.”
They carried their tea and a bag of tortilla chips through the kitchen door to the sprawling back lawn. Two young women sat on a bench in the shade of a massive oak tree, chatting and watching their children rub the dog’s plump, furry belly. Like the residents, Alfred had been abused and then rescued, in his case mere hours before he was scheduled to be put down at the pound. After all, who wanted a gimpy mutt already turning gray around the muzzle?
Janet Carpenter, that was who. Her instincts had been rewarded when Alfred had proven to be loyal, sweet-tempered and preposterously patient with children. Janet swore he must be part Border Collie—no one could beat him at herding a gaggle of shrieking, scampering toddlers.
“So?” Janet said as they settled at a patio table shaded by an umbrella, out of earshot of the others.
Kay didn’t ask what she meant. They’d known each other too long. “So nothing,” she said, not meeting her friend’s eyes. “So we’re not going to talk about it.”
Janet grinned. “Oh, this is gonna be good.” She popped a chip into her mouth.
Kay glanced at the screen door to the kitchen to make sure he hadn’t followed them outside. “For God’s sake, Jan, it’s not like that.”
“Bullshit.”
“Not anymore,” Kay grumbled.
“I knew it!” Janet slapped the table, causing tea to slosh out of the glasses. “Tell me everything.”
Kay groaned and dropped her head into her hands. “It was one time.”
“Wait a minute. What?” Janet reared back, incredulous. “Kay Denehy in a one-night stand? I don’t believe it.”
“Yeah, well…” Kay shoved a couple of those artfully messy strands behind her ear. “Maybe I’ve changed.”
“Maybe you just needed to get laid,” Janet said. “It’s allowed. You don’t have to declare everlasting…whatever with a guy to get your rocks off.”
Kay gave her The Look as she lifted the frosty glass of tea. “And you know all about this how?” Some expert on one-night stands. Janet had met her husband Neil in junior high and married him the day after college graduation.
“Let me see.” Janet’s tone was dry as dust. “I might have learned a thing or two from the dozens of sexually active women I’ve counseled over the years.”
Kay tipped her head, giving her that one. “It just kind of…happened. With John.”
“When?”
“Right before Memorial Day. I didn’t see him again until he started volunteering here a few weeks ago.”
“Your decision or his?”
Kay sighed. “His. He…” She looked toward the door again, making sure. “He has issues.”
“As in emotional problems?” Janet frowned. “Because if you’re telling me the guy’s unstable, he shouldn’t be working with—”
“No, no, nothing like that. It’s more in the way of baggage,” Kay said. “Big, heavy baggage that he can’t stop lugging around. I can’t really talk about it. It has to do with a client, so there’s the privacy thing.”
“Well, all I know is, that man has it bad for you.”
“Jan—”
“You don’t think I can tell? And the feeling is obviously mutual.” Janet raised an eyebrow, daring Kay to disagree. “So my question to you is, what are you going to do about it?”
“I don’t think there’s anything I can do about it.” Kay shrugged. “On the plus side, I think volunteering here is doing him good.”
“Not as much good as it’s doing us. Thank you for bewitching him with your feminine charms, blondie.” Janet raised her glass in a toast. “Now if you can just sleep with a gynecologist, a family-court judge and a roofing guy, we’ll be set.”
* * * * *
Kay parked in her driveway and trudged across the front lawn. Her purse strap slipped off her shoulder as she juggled sacks from the supermarket, and by the time she reached the front door she was even more irritated than she’d been during the half-hour drive from the shelter to her house. Felicia, observing from her customary perch behind the living-room window, said something catty and swished her tail.
John had left without saying goodbye. When Kay and Janet had come back inside after their tea-and-gossip session in the backyard, he’d been nowhere in sight. Eva had passed along his message—he had some work to do and would return next week. What, he couldn’t be bothered to seek Kay out for a kiss on the cheek? That was how it had been between them the handful of times they’d met up at the shelter—a chaste peck and then it was down to business. Then a repeat of the frustrating little ritual a few hours later when they went their separate ways.
Kay felt cheated. She wanted that dopey kiss on the cheek! If that was all she was destined to get from the sexiest man she’d ever known, then she wanted every damn peck she had coming to her.
One of the grocery sacks—the one with the eggs, naturally—slipped from her grasp on the front stoop as she scooped her mail out of the box and worked her key in the lock. Once inside, she shoved the milk, yogurt and surviving eggs into the fridge and let the nonperishables languish next to her untouched mail while she poured herself a glass of cabernet and flopped onto her couch.
The hell with him. What possessed her to invest all this emotion—the anticipation of seeing him at the shelter, the longing, even the anger—in a man who could never be anything but a cherished memory?
She needed to get laid. She needed to find some sexed-up hunk who would fuck her brains out and make her forget all about her one and only one-night stand.
Like that could ever happen. Kay kicked off her sandals and gulped half her wine in one long swallow. Not that she couldn’t get some hot guy in her bed this very night if she really wanted to. It was that forgetting thing. How did you forget the man who’d introduced you to an uncharted realm of pleasure you never knew existed?
If it was a take-charge Dom she was after, there were others out there, but none of them was John.
Felicia leapt onto the couch and commandeered her mistress’s lap for a sharp-clawed nesting session. Kay shooed her away and forced herself to her feet. She had to finish putting away the groceries. And she hadn’t touched the mail.
She tossed the first envelope aside. Car insurance. Then came a packet of local store coupons. The next one actually brought a smile to her lips as she recognized the return address in Boca Raton. Grandma’s latest blow-by-blow on life in sunny Florida and the old fart she was currently dating.
Kay was about to open Grandma’s letter when she noticed the envelope under it. Her smile faded. It was a compact cream-colored envelope marked only with the word “Kay”. She recognized the distinctive bold handwriting from all the notes John had scrawled on yellow legal pads during their meetings with shelter residents.
The envelope was lumpy—it held something besides paper. She turned it over, fondled the unyielding bump, put it down. What kind of game was he playing? Obviously he’d hand-delivered this thing after leaving the shelter that day. Was that why he was in too much of a hurry to say goodbye? So he could beat her to her own mailbox?
Fuck it. She tore open the envelope. A tiny drawstring sack fell out, no more than an inch in length—worn burgundy silk secured with a tasseled gold cord. She drew out a cream-colored note card with John Preston Randall in embossed gray letters across the top.
The handwritten note was succinct—Take off your panties. Open the vial and spread one drop of the oil on your clit. Once you’ve done this, do not touch yourself again. Go to the front porch and wait.
Kay stared openmouthed at the note for a full minute. Finally she gave herself a mental shake and opened the little drawstring bag. It hel
d a rounded miniature bottle, pale green and obviously very old. She peered closely at the Asian-looking design painted on it—an apricot on a leafy stem. She hesitated only a moment before twisting the tiny stopper from the bottle. She sniffed it—a pungent herbal aroma, not unpleasant but nothing she’d care to dab on her wrists.
But that wasn’t where he’d told her to dab it.
Just reading his outrageous instructions caused her pussy to pulse with heat. A dozen questions chased one another through her stunned brain. Why? What did he want? Should she? What then?
Kay gripped the edge of the counter, closed her eyes and sucked in a deep breath.
Don’t think. This was not the time for thoughtful rumination. That much was a no-brainer, even if she couldn’t get a handle on the rest of it.
She lifted the skirt of her wrap-style sundress, hooked her thumbs in her underpants and stepped out of them. She tipped the dainty bottle and watched an amber drop settle on her fingertip.
Kay’s other hand went to her pussy lips, which she spread wide, exposing her clitoris. Here goes. She touched the oil to the little bud. After a few moments she let out the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. Okay, it felt kind of good, nice and slippery but otherwise nothing special. She swirled it over her clitoris, then recapped the bottle and shimmied back into her undies.
She tossed back the rest of her wine. Well, what was the point of—
Oh. She went still. Was it her imagination or…?
Her eyes went wide. It was not her imagination. It started as a crawly heat, subtle but definitely there.
By the time she topped off Felicia’s food and water dishes and retrieved her purse from the little console table in the foyer, the heat had turned into an unmistakable tingle. Her clitoris was now sitting up and paying attention, and a sensual warmth suffused her pussy. This was getting interesting.