by Joan Hohl
“Me.” Tina made a grab for the soap.
Eric straightened his longer arms, holding the bar aloft, inches above her reach, laughing while at the same time thrilling to the feel of her wet body sliding against his.
How could this be? he asked himself, confounded by the strength of his body’s response. He was thirty-three years old, for pity’s sake. After the double workout he and Tina had put each other through, Eric would have thought he’d be flat on his back, physically and mentally exhausted, not stimulated, ready and eager to repeat the exercise.
Yet here he was, renewed life surging inside him with each stroke of his lathered hands on Tina’s water-slicked body, quivering in response to the glide of her soapy hands on his aroused flesh.
It was unreal. But it was fun.
The baffling question was...was it the circumstances, the availability of the woman? Or was it the woman herself? Eric had a scary feeling that it was the woman herself.
But, damn, the woman herself felt wonderful, every slippery, slidy inch of her.
Despite the confining enclosure, and the awkward positioning, the pleasure mutually derived from the erotic encounter was bone deep and infinitely satisfying.
“I don’t believe this,” Tina said in tones of combined confusion and amazement.
Join the club, Eric thought wryly, grasping her waist to lift her from the tub.
“Does kind of blow the mind, doesn’t it?” he said, ignoring his own water-slick condition in favor of vigorously applying a towel to her dripping-wet hair.
Tina’s reply sounded like mumbled gibberish muffled by the folds of the towel.
“What?” Eric lifted a corner of the cloth to peer at her. “I didn’t hear you.”
“I said, you are smothering me,” Tina groused, yanking the towel from his hands.
“Oh, sorry.” Eric gave her his most contrite, ingratiating smile.
Tina was noticeably unimpressed. Tossing a wry look at him, she bent her head and wrapped the towel turban-style around her sodden hair.
Grabbing another towel from the wall-mounted glass rod, he stepped closer to begin drying her body.
She stepped back. “I’ll dry myself,” she said with daunting asperity. “I’d rather you didn’t touch me.”
Now that really did blow Eric’s mind. Unmindful of the runnels of water dropping off his body to soak the bath mat, he stared at her in sheer disbelief, not only of her statement, but also of the searing pain of rejection he felt in reaction to it. “Are you serious?” he demanded. “How can you say that, after the last several hours we’ve spent together?”
“I can say that because of the last several hours we’ve spent together,” Tina retorted. “Knowing what drying each other could lead to,” she went on, “I’m not at all certain I could survive another episode with you.”
“Wear you out, did I?” Eric grinned, suddenly feeling good—no, terrific—and famished.
“Well, actually, yes,” Tina admitted, slanting a sparkling look at him.
“Wore myself out, too,” he confessed, chuckling. “And worked up an appetite, as well.”
“So did I.” Tossing the towel into the wicker hamper in the corner, she walked out of the room.
“What do you have to snack on?” Eric asked, dropping his towel on top of hers before trailing after her. “Was there any chicken left?”
“Some of the white meat,” Tina answered absently, pulling on a quilted robe. “Might stretch to two sandwiches,” she mused aloud, slipping her feet into fuzzy mules before walking to the vanity table to brush her hair.
“You have lettuce and tomatoes?” Eric asked, stepping into his jeans.
“I think so.” Tina frowned at her reflection in the mirror. “I should blow-dry my hair,” she muttered, tugging the brush through the long, wet strands.
Eric finished shrugging on his shirt, stepped sockless into his shoes, then headed for the door. “I’ll make the sandwiches, you do your hair thing.” Whistling softly, he started ambling toward the kitchen, only to pause to call back to her, “You want the works, Tina?”
“Sure,” she called back to him. “If I’m going to stuff my face after midnight, I might as well go all the way.”
All the way. The tail end of her remark replayed inside Eric’s head as he gathered the ingredients and began making their sandwiches.
The words from the song of the same title came to him, and he sang them beneath his breath while he buttered four slices of bread, then slathered them with mayonnaise.
“All the way. All the way,” he softly sang the song’s ending, staring into space, the sandwiches half made.
Tina had gone all the way with him tonight, Eric reflected, frowning at the tomato he held in one hand and the slicing knife he was holding in the other.
She had given herself to him freely, unconditionally, in complete and sweet surrender. A memory chord of response tingled down Eric’s spine.
He had set his sights on Tina, deciding he would have her, very soon after their first meeting...which he had coolly and deliberately orchestrated.
Yet he had not taken her, but had joined with her; he had not made love to her, but had made love with her. Eric understood and acknowledged the shadings of difference between the two concepts. The first represented greedy self-gratification, the second a desire to share caring, as well as pleasure.
Absently slicing the tomatoes, Eric finished making the sandwiches, then rummaged through the cabinets, hoping to find a bag of potato chips, while mulling over the possible ramifications of his deductions.
He cared for Tina. Really cared for her, Eric realized. He cared for her in a way that could, he feared, very quickly become meaningful.
A sobering thought. One that—
“Snack ready?” Tina asked, ending his reverie, as she walked into the kitchen.
“Yes,” Eric answered, relieved at having his uneasy train of thought derailed.
“Good. You want seltzer water or milk?”
“Milk.” Eric turned to smile at her, and felt his breath catch painfully in his throat. With her hair a shining golden halo around her freshly scrubbed face, the innocent look of her did more than rob him of breath. It had the strangest, ache-causing effect on his heart.
“What are you looking for?”
“Huh?” he asked...like a clod.
Her smile was gentle, increasing the ache in his heart. “I asked if you were looking for something in particular in the cabinets.”
“Oh, yeah. You have any chips?”
“Three cabinets down,” she instructed.
The chips were found, and swiftly dispatched, along with the sandwiches and several glasses of milk. Tina brought up the subject of sleeping arrangements while they worked together clearing away the debris.
“Ah...hmmm...are you, uh...thinking of staying the night?” she asked, quickly turning away, ostensibly to stash the milk and mayo jar in the fridge.
“May I?” Eric replied, hopefully.
Tina hesitated; Eric held his breath. “You may as well,” she said, unknowingly allowing him to live by allowing him to breathe again. “If you want to.”
“I want to,” he said. “I want to sleep with you, wake up with you.” Eric caught himself just in time before adding every night for the rest of my life.
Tina turned to look at him, her brown eyes soft, her smile tremulous. “I want to sleep with you, too.”
Eric felt like whooping. He didn’t. Instead, he forced himself to be practical. “What time do you have to get up in the morning?”
“Around seven-thirty.”
“That’s a good time for me, too,” Eric said, recalling his appointment with his informant. “I have to go into town early, so I can drop you off at the shop.”
Tina shook her head. “The shop’s closed on Mondays, but I still want to get up early. I can get my car from the garage anytime after they open at eight.”
“Okay.” Eric shrugged. “I’ll drop you at the garage b
efore I go into town.”
His stomach was full. The kitchen was clean. The hour was late. He held out his hand to her.
The temperature in the bedroom felt to be somewhere around forty degrees or so. Goose bumps prickled Eric’s skin as he shucked out of his clothes. Tina, on the other hand, appeared unconcerned with the cold. A wry smile tickled his lips when she removed the quilted robe. She had not only dried her hair while he made their snack; she had also slipped into a long-sleeved, high-necked, voluminous flannel nightgown—the kind his grandmother favored.
“I was chilly,” Tina said defensively.
“Uh-huh,” he murmured. “Are you actually going to sleep in that tent?”
“Yes.” She said, lifting her chin defiantly. “Do you have any objections?”
“No.” Eric grinned. “It is your bed.”
“And I intend to sleep in it.”
“I hear you,” he said, his grin dissolving into soft laughter. “I’m not...er, up to anything else, anyway. That is, anything more than a good-night kiss.” He arched a quizzing eyebrow. “Okay?”
“Okay.” Tina’s lips twitched.
In a concession to her sudden modesty, Eric crawled into bed beside her wearing his briefs. The good-night kiss they shared was short in duration, but oddly tender and comforting. The instant their lips parted, Tina whispered good-night and turned onto her side, her back to him.
Eric lay on his back, contemplating their kiss, his shoulders and chest exposed to the chill air. A shiver had him reaching for the blankets, tugging them up to his collarbone.
He was sleeping with a suspect.
The thought jarred him from his reverie. Some undercover cop you are, Eric chided himself. Turning to her, he curled his arm around Tina’s waist and curved his body into the warmth of hers, spoon-fashion.
Well, hell, he definitely was a cop, he mused around a wide yawn, snuggling closer to her pliant body. And he certainly was undercover...or covers, as it were.
Eight
“Dinner?”
“Fine,” Tina answered calmly, repressing an impulse to leap into the air and shout, Yes, yes.
“Are you in the mood for anything in particular?” Eric’s voice again sounded disembodied coming from behind the black helmet. “Italian, Chinese, Greek?”
Tina removed her own helmet and ruffled her flattened hair. “No. Are you?” she asked, handing the helmet to him, then smoothing her palms down her wool slacks.
“Seafood,” he said, balancing the bike between his thighs as he turned to fasten the helmet to the saddle. “Lobster tail, and maybe a dozen or so steamed clams to start.” He turned in time to catch her smile. “Let’s not go through that routine again about my appetite,” he warned, amusement evident on his voice. “Does a seafood restaurant meet with your approval?”
“Yes.” Tina gave her smile free rein, just out of sheer good spirits. “What time?”
“Six too early?”
“No, six is fine,” she said, reluctantly raising her admiring gaze from his muscular legs to his tight butt to his slim waist to his broad chest and shoulders and up to the dark mask concealing his expression from her.
“Knock it off.” Eric’s voice was low, rough edged, revealing his response to her visual evaluation of his physical attributes. “I’ve got to get moving, and you’ve got to get your car.” He indicated the repair shop behind her with a movement of his head. “I’m going to let you chauffeur for me this evening.”
“How kind of you,” she drawled, surrendering to the laughter bubbling inside her.
“Yeah, ain’t it?” Eric’s muffled laughter mingled with hers. “I’m a real sweet guy.”
“Your modesty underwhelms me,” she gibed, swinging around and heading for the repair shop. “See you at six,” she called over her shoulder. “And drive carefully.”
“I always do,” he called back to her on a note of inner laughter.
Oh, sure, Tina thought, wincing as he roared away from the curb and down the road. She suffered a few moments of anxiety for his safety as she recalled the harrowing ride he had given her on Friday morning, weaving in and out of the rush-hour traffic. Then, on deeper reflection, she also recalled his expertise in handling the monster machine and she relaxed.
The car was repaired and ready for her. Tina was feeling so good, so lighthearted, she didn’t even balk at the sizable bill the mechanic presented to her. Smiling serenely, she wrote a check, handed it to him, claimed her car and, humming softly, drove away.
Not at any time did the tires leave the road. And yet, riding the winds of euphoria, Tina felt as if she were soaring, the car’s tires cushioned by fluffy pink clouds.
It was a lovely sensation, heady and warm. Tina didn’t even feel the bite of approaching winter in the stiff autumn breeze that had pushed yesterday’s storm clouds away.
The sunlight was weak but glaring, sparkling on the rain-washed air. Tina was sparkling, too. A casual observer might have concluded that she was in love.
Tina herself had not as yet arrived at that earth-shattering conclusion. She felt good. She felt happy. She felt deliciously satisfied, emotionally and physically.
* * *
Eric sat on the rumbling but motionless bike, one foot propped on the curb, his watchful expression hidden behind the dark visor. The center-city morning traffic inched past him on the street, while the pedestrian horde surged by him on the sidewalk.
From his position a quarter of a block away from the intersection, he searched the crowd for the familiar figure of his informant. When he spotted the man, Eric lifted his foot and moved the bike forward along the curb, timing his movement to coincide with the man’s arrival at the corner.
The contact had the innocent appearance of a driver requesting directions.
“What’s the word?” Eric muttered, glancing around, as if thoroughly confused.
“There’s been one small shipment,” the informant said, raising an arm and pointing, as if indicating his verbal directions. “I hear the demand for more is high, and that there’ll likely be one or two more small shipments before the big one’s delivered.”
“Thanks.” Eric extended his right hand, slipping several bills into the informant’s palm.
“I’m sure you’ll have no trouble now, sir,” the man said in a louder voice.
The traffic light flicked to green; Eric waved his hand in a quick salute, then gripped the handlebar and shot through the intersection.
Ten minutes later, Eric drove the bike down the ramp to the underground parking garage beneath a large apartment complex, and brought it to a stop in the two feet of space between the wall and the front bumper of his midsize car. Venting his frustration by kicking the stand into place, he strode to the elevator and rode it to the fourteenth floor.
All the while, his informant’s words replayed in his mind: Before the big one’s delivered.
Delivered.
Delivery.
Damn, Eric fumed, letting himself into his one-bedroom apartment. He’d known there was something fishy about that furniture delivery on a Sunday night.
Too bad he hadn’t been able to get the license number on that truck, Eric railed in disgust. Because he’d be willing to bet a ten-spot against a plugged nickel there’d be no listing of an Acme Furniture Co. in the directory.
It didn’t take long to confirm his suspicion. There were listings for Acme Dry Cleaners, an Acme Siding Company, Acme Markets, but no Acme Furniture.
Big surprise, Eric thought wryly. Setting the directory aside, he sat staring out the wide window, not seeing the panoramic view of the art museum and the distinctive buildings on boathouse row along the river.
The informant had guessed that there would be at least one, maybe two, small deliveries before the big one.
How big? Eric wondered, adrenaline surging through his system. He had been right to take a flier on this tip, and he’d be there to intercept the big one. All he had to do was wait them out, extend his vacation if n
ecessary, but wait them out. The haul would be worth the wait.
Deciding that after the next delivery he would call his superior and invite him in for the kill, Eric grunted with satisfaction and pushed the button on his answering machine to replay the tape.
There were a couple of messages from friends, demanding to know what hole he had disappeared into, then one from his mother. Unlike the commonly held stereotype of the complaining parent, Maddy Wolfe never whined about being ignored. A smile erased the grim set of his lips as he listened to his mother’s brief, directly-to-the-point message.
“Eric, assuming you are still alive, since I haven’t heard anything to the contrary, will you give me a call within the foreseeable future? I have some good news.”
Laughing softly, and deciding it was in all probability now the foreseeable future, Eric reset the machine then picked up the receiver and dialed his mother’s number. Maddy answered on the fourth ring.
“Hello?”
“Hi, beautiful,” Eric drawled. “It’s me, Eric, your still-alive offspring.”
“Gosh, I’m so glad you told me,” Maddy said, matching him drawl for drawl. “I’d have never guessed.”
Eric absolutely adored his mother. In his admittedly biased opinion, Maddy was the most with-it woman he knew. And he loved the rare occasions when he already knew a juicy piece of information before she could tell him herself.
“Does the good news you mentioned have anything to do with Jake’s love life?” he asked, too casually.
“Oh...” Maddy said on an exhalation of consternation. “You too? When did you talk to Cameron?”
“Yesterday,” he answered, frowning. “And what do you mean, me too?”
“I had a call from Royce not a half hour ago,” she said, which explained everything.
Eric laughed. “Big bro stole your thunder, did he?”
“Doesn’t he usually?” she asked rhetorically. “I swear, that brother of yours is more a mother hen than I am.”