41
Beck had changed everything for me.
He was my precious miracle, and I was a mama bear wanting to cuddle with her cub in a quiet cave all our own and experience the world again through him. Spending time with Beck was satisfying, and fulfilled a part of me that had been empty for so long. He was my center, my joy. I could let go of my many fragments of unhappiness by focusing on him and his happiness.
Eric and I separated, and he and Pam got married within months of the divorce. I can’t say it didn’t hurt, it did, but I was glad he was happy. Pam quit cheerleading, opened a children’s dance studio in Brentwood and had a baby girl the following year. A part of me envied Eric and Pam’s getting on with it and moving full steam ahead with their lives.
Although I enjoyed my work as a stylist and wardrobe designer, I decided I wanted something other than the LA rat race for me and my boy. All that celebrity crap and the constant shifting waves of what was trendy and what was not didn’t intrigue me the way it had initially. Eric let me have the house in Rapid where I stayed and raised Beck. I’d grown to love the area. Rapid City was an odd combination of mountain city with desert sand. Beck and I enjoyed hiking and exploring in the Black Hills. The dense, sweet, earthy smell in the air from the variety of evergreens, the dirt actually shining and shimmering from the mica were magical to us. It was our special corner of the world.
At home, I designed and made my own clothing line, a few expensive pieces both formal and more funky casual, and sold them in LA via trunk shows and through stylist friends, especially Kelly who had gone on to great success. Whenever I was back in LA to bring Beck to see his dad for winter break or the summer, I’d stay for several weeks and network with Kelly’s help.
From the beginning it was obvious that Beck was a born musician. Playing the guitar and the piano were instinctive for him. He had an ear for music, and he composed and played all the time even before he started taking formal lessons. His talent was something special, something beyond an ordinary aptitude. He wanted to follow in his dad’s footsteps, and I knew deep in my gut he would surpass his dad’s level of artistry, and hopefully, success.
Eric was doing well as a producer based in LA. Whenever Beck visited him, he went with his dad to work and met lots of people and saw how the industry operated. The music business became second nature to him.
After finishing junior high in Rapid, Beck auditioned for an arts high school in LA. He was over the moon when he got it, and Eric and I were so proud. Beck moved to his dad’s in California, and I endured an empty nest much too early. I desperately missed my son, but I wouldn’t deny him his dream. I would never do that. It was his time. It was also the way of parenthood, wasn’t it?
I needed to focus on moving ahead with my own life and work.
I took the plunge and sold the house in Rapid and bought a much smaller one in Meager. Meager was small, quiet, an old pioneer settlement in the Black Hills that had seen better days when ranchers and farmers were more plentiful in these parts. There was a sense of comfort to me that this was Tania and Grace’s hometown, even though neither of them lived here any longer. The town seemed sleepy and worn around the edges, yet there were signs of some renewal. We were a good fit.
With the extra money from the sale of the house, I opened my own store on the main street of town. My shop was one of the first new businesses to open up on Clay Street after decades of the traditional stores dying a slow quiet death. The pre-war general store had eventually become the five and dime and now, it too had been silenced. Only a post-war family-owned gas station and Peppers, the Western boot shop that had served generations of families, remained sturdy fixtures. A diner that still had tables and chairs from the fifties had closed recently and then quickly reopened as a trendy coffee house complete with freshly made baked goods. The locals loved it, and so did I.
Meager began to get noticed on visitors’ tours through the Black Hills, especially during Sturgis Rally time. Younger families were moving in, and the town seemed to be on an upswing.
Opening a store was a risk I was willing to take. Hell, the rent was very low to begin with. My own boutique with my own designs was a dream come true. I started out with clothing for special nights out, hoping to attract a lot of the thirty-somethings who were looking for something different and had the money to spend. The bulk of my stock was loungewear—robes, sexy pajamas, slip dresses, a few unique accessories and the lingerie.
I’d kept working on corsets. I loved working on cut and silhouette and also the finer details, the fastenings, the decoration. Every time I was back in LA I’d find amazing new fabrics and forged relationships with the suppliers. My focus veered to creating lingerie—fantasies of delicacy and the sublime, intimacy come to life.
The first month I saw next to no business. One afternoon, as I lit a cinnamon incense stick on the small table I had in the center of the store, a tall, attractive, African American woman strode in. She was beautiful—long sleek black hair, no makeup except for deep red lipstick. I blinked. Naomi Campbell had nothing on her.
“Isn’t this a novelty?” she said in a velvety voice full of genuine wonder as she explored the boutique, her gaze darting over every display.
“I suppose it is for Meager,” I replied.
She admired a corset and matching robe on an antique mannequin torso dress form. “I’ve never seen anything like it.” She eyed the colorful hanging gauzy material I had decorated the store with to create a sensual and out of the ordinary ambiance. “And I’m from Milwaukee, meaning a big city, not from around here.”
“What brought you here?”
“Work. I manage the Tingle, the adult entertainment club in town.”
I’d heard that the Tingle was owned by the One-Eyed Jacks.
“I hear it does very well,” I said. “Good for you.”
“Thank you, yes, business is good.” She smiled again, her beautiful face beaming a genuine sincerity that warmed my insides. “I’m Cassandra, by the way.”
“Good to meet you, Cassandra. I’m Lenore.”
“You just opened, right? How’s business so far?” Her fingers slid up and down a diaphanous purple robe.
“Like you said, I’m a novelty. They come in to gawk at my goodies and at me.”
She turned, her light brown eyes finding mine. “When I first got here, I was a novelty too, but the people in this town are welcoming, maybe a bit reserved at first. In this store, you’re offering something brand new, something they really want deep inside. Temptation on the edge of illicit.” She let out a small, rich laugh.
“I like the way you think.”
“I like your style.”
I like this woman.
Cassandra tried on a variety of bras and nighties. She bought my most elegant push up bra and panty set made of burnt gold lace which looked incredible on her sleek cocoa skin. She took a handful of my business cards. “I’m going to pass these out to the girls at the club and a few friends.”
“I custom make pieces too. I can go as demure or as kinky as a client likes.”
“Always good.” She took her shopping bag from me. “I enjoyed this. We should get together for a drink sometime.”
“I’d love that.” I walked her to the door.
The next day, a platinum blonde around my age, wearing huge black sunglasses and pale lip gloss strode in. She glittered. Standing in the center of my shop, she slid her glasses up over her head and scanned every piece in the boutique, every panty, every bra, every corset, robe, baby doll, every sex toy. I kept on trend. A consumer demand for erotica was blossoming for a variety of items that once could only be found in sleazy sex shops or catalogs.
“Hi there,” I said.
She scanned me from the top of my blue and purple dyed hair, down my form fitting cropped top and low slung harem pants to my high-heeled sandals. “Tell me you’re Lenore.”
“I am.”
“I’m Alicia.”
“Welcome.”
“I’m pinching myself here. I’ve been waiting for you to open.”
“I’ve been open for about a month now.”
“I’ve been out of town for a few weeks. My mom had cataract surgery. She lives in Texas.”
“Oh. She okay?”
“She’s fine.” Alicia swished her long, straight, blonde hair as she moved by the table littered with colorful wisps of panties, the stands with bras dangling from them like overgrown blossoms. “Cassandra called me last night and told me how special your store is. I had to come see for myself.”
“Are you looking for anything in particular? If you’d like to try anything on, please do.”
She fingered a bustier, checked the label. “You made this?”
“I did. My design.”
Her blue eyes lit up. “I want to try them all on.”
She did.
Two hours and two cups of mint tea later, Alicia bought a bralette, a bustier, and a slip nightie. She paid in cash. “I’ll be bringing my girlfriends here.”
“Thank you.”
“I like your tattoos, by the way. Did you get them done around here?”
“A couple of them, yes. I went to Ronny’s in Deadwood. Do you know him?”
“Oh, did you?” She grinned, a well groomed eyebrow lifting. The Cheshire cat would have been proud. “Ronny is the best. He did mine. He does all of ours.”
“Your family?”
“Yeah, the club.”
“Ah.”
Was Alicia a One-Eyed Jacks old lady? Meager was their home base. I’d seen them around town on occasion, of course, but I hadn’t met any. They weren’t a huge multinational institution like the Smoking Guns or the Flames of Hell. Only three chapters from what I’d heard, and not as over the edge outlaw either, although that was relative, of course. They were definitely less ostentatious, more low-key.
Their clubhouse was on the outskirts of town, tucked behind a small patch of woods and a rise of the Black Hills. I didn’t feel antsy about being in the same area as a bike club anymore. Med was dead and gone. I’d read about it in a newspaper article a while back. His throat had been slit, his body found in a motel dumpster. Whoever had done it had wanted his corpse to be found and for the good news to be known far and wide. Had it been Finger? Had he been the Reaper, or had Med just pissed off the wrong person at long last, a person who would lash back? Whoever it was, the knowledge had me sleeping better at night.
Alicia snapped her oversized leather handbag shut. “I’m the president’s old lady.”
President’s old lady. I gritted my teeth at the sound of that phrase. Alicia loved her position, her title. “Well, it was great to meet you, Alicia.”
“You too, hon. I’ll be back with the rest of the girls to show them what you’ve got.”
I handed her the purple shopping bag with her purchases which I’d wrapped in lilac colored tissue paper. “Look forward to it.”
Alicia was true to her word. She came back two days later with Mary Lynn, Dee, and Suzy, all One-Eyed Jack old ladies. They oohed and ahed, tried on plenty of items and purchased a number of them.
“I need these velvet cuffs in my life,” Dee said, adding them to her bra and panty set by my cash register. “I love surprising Judge whenever possible.”
“That’s the way. Good for you,” I said, ringing up her purchases.
Alicia and her friends became frequent visitors. They often came by the store for tea and a laugh. We went out frequently for ladies only get togethers at the local bar, Pete’s Tavern, and for terrific meals and wine at the restaurant of the newly opened vineyard in nearby Hill City, which I always enjoyed.
Potential customers began to come into the store more regularly. At first they treated the shop like a museum, then I’d invite them to sit on my lemon yellow sofa and share a cup of tea with me and a chat. Soon enough, I noticed the change come over the ladies when they’d spot pieces they liked. The initial moments of denial would fade, and then there was—“Maybe I can be this.” Then they’d try a piece on and that look of “oh wow, I feel good in this. I could rock this. Yes, yes, dammit, yes.”
I enjoyed those moments myself, and I loved providing that speedy joy for others. Like beautiful frosting on a cupcake that you want to admire yet lick into at the very same time. A secret, often sinful treat that gave you a lift, that changed your perception of you. That beauty and joy all started on the inside, as far as I was concerned.
I wanted women to feel beautiful in their skin when they saw and felt their bodies being adorned by these webs of color and texture. Sleek or flowing, graceful or edgy, every piece came from my imagination. Like what the tattoos on my body did for me, I wanted to provide women with possibilities for their unique beauty and sensuality, and for them to revel in that glory. A glory they usually weren’t in touch with, had little or no awareness of, or simply denied. The bulk of my inventory quickly became lingerie. “Lenore’s Lace” had come into its own.
Cassandra encouraged me to advertise, and I came up with a marketing idea—another step in my liberation and transformation. I hired a photographer, who Ronny suggested, and had him take sexy shots of me wearing my pieces. We shot one day in my store, and another out in the woods with the autumn leaves as an amazing backdrop. It was freezing cold, but so worth it.
“I love them!” Mary Lynn said over coffee at the Meager Grand Cafe down the block. She shuffled through the proofs I’d brought with me to show everyone. “You are quite the wildcat—look at this one, you guys, prowling through the forest on all fours hunting down her man.”
Cassandra laughed. “Damn, look at that. Roar, baby.”
Alicia took off her reading glasses. “Why didn’t you show that beautiful face of yours in any of these? It’s a crime to keep your face hidden in every shot. My God, your eyes, woman! Your ass is certainly a holy gift, don’t get me wrong, and your legs, your back, but—”
“Right? What workout do you do? I need to know,” said Dee.
“I’ve been doing yoga for years.” I jumped on Dee’s question, avoiding Alicia’s. “But I really like the Cardio Pump and Burn class Craig teaches at his studio down the street. Being a former stuntman, he totally knows what he’s doing.”
“Ugh, I’m too chicken to take that class,” said Dee.
“No thanks. Pilates and running for me,” murmured Cassandra.
“We have a treadmill in the garage, but I keep forgetting to use it. Kicker loves reminding me that I was the one who insisted we spend the money on it.” Mary Lynn rolled her eyes.
“Why don’t you tag along with me and try Craig’s class, Dee? You’re going to feel on top of the world after, I promise,” I said, sipping my double espresso with a hit of cream.
“Okay, you’re on,” said Dee.
“How can you not have a man, for Pete’s sake?” asked Mary Lynn. “You must be fighting them off.”
“We can introduce you to a few men,” Dee said.
“That’s all right. Really,” I replied.
“You don’t like bikers?” Dee laughed. “Golly, why?”
“I had a biker boyfriend once,” I said. “First love. Didn’t end well.”
“Really? Which club?” asked Mary Lynn.
I ignored Mary Lynn’s question. “I was sixteen, ran away from home with him, lots of fun, lots of trouble, then he took off with someone else.”
“What a jerk, sorry,” said Dee.
I shrugged. “Real life.”
Alicia studied me, her fingers stroking the handle of her coffee mug. I averted my gaze and focused on Mary Lynn’s lively chatter.
“Well, that’s all right,” Mary Lynn said. “We know tattoo artists, rodeo cowboys, bartenders, restaurant owners, a doctor, lawyers, a beer brewer, a landscape designer...” Her eyes danced. She was on a roll.
“I appreciate it, but don’t worry about me. I’m not a nun or anything,” I said.
“Oooo…Names,” said Mary Lynn on a giggle.
“I’ve been out with Caleb from Ronny’s shop a few times,” I said.
Dee blinked. “Whoa, really?
“Caleb?” Cassandra said.
“Uh oh. Why?” I asked.
“Everyone tries to score with Caleb, and very few have achieved the dream,” said Mary Lynn.
“I didn’t realize,” I said.
“Fuck,” Alicia muttered. “He’s so damn hot.”
“He sure is,” I said, winking at her.
Her lips parted, but she had no comeback.
“That hair…those biceps…” Mary Lynn murmured.
“That ass!” Dee laughed loudly.
“I think we need another round of coffee.” Cassandra grinned.
“Lenore, you should come to the barbecue we’re having at the club in a couple of weeks,” said Dee.
“Yes, you should,” said Alicia.
I swirled the last of my coffee in the mug. “I don’t know.”
“It’ll just be our chapter, families only. Nothing too crazy,” said Dee.
Mary Lynn rolled her eyes. “Yeah, never is.”
I liked these women. I liked them a lot. I didn’t have many friends here in town. A number of casual acquaintances, but not real friends. However, I didn’t want to go to a club party, family style or no.
“That’s real sweet of you guys.”
I would come up with of some sort of plausible last minute excuse and not go.
That’s what I did best.
Over four years had passed, and I had settled into Meager very nicely. I enjoyed the quiet. I was designing and creating at my own pace, paying my bills, and had made good friends. Social media was beginning to explode, and I took advantage, bettering my business online.
One afternoon Alicia came to the store with a friend I hadn’t met before. “Lenore, this is Grace.” Alicia removed her sunglasses, gesturing at Grace who stood stiffly at her side. “She’s an old friend from the club who’s back in town. She needs a pick me up, and I’m treating her today.”
Tania’s best friend, the Grace I’d been hearing about for years and years, the woman whose heartbreak had been emotional signposts along my own path.
A slight smile passed over Grace’s slim face. She was tired. Her clouded hazel eyes shifted around the store, taking in the swags of multicolored gossamer fabric that flowed down from the walls, the large piece of handmade stained glass hanging in the front window which filled the boutique with jewel-colored light.
“What a beautiful store,” she murmured.
“Thank you.”
I assessed her figure and quickly pulled pieces for her to try on, and she did so quietly. Alicia kept chattering though, more than usual. She pointed out a few kinkier pieces for Grace to try, but Grace refused. In fact, she didn’t say much at all, but Alicia took no mind.
Something was off.
Grace decided on a few items, and Alicia paid for them. Grace thanked me, taking the shopping bag I handed her, and quickly exited the store. She went out to Alicia’s car which was being commandeered by two One-Eyed Jacks.
“Grace came back to town recently. It’s been sixteen years since she’s been home,” Alicia said, shoving her designer wallet back in her large handbag. “Her sister’s been battling lung cancer, and she’s real upset. We just came back from the hospital in Rapid, and I thought I’d cheer her up by stopping here.”
I glanced out the front window. Grace was talking on her cell phone, her body stiff.
“You’re a good friend, Alicia,” I said.
We moved to the doorway, Alicia telling me she wanted to organize a night out with me and Grace and the ladies, but movement on the sidewalk caught my attention. Bear, the heavy set biker in the front passenger seat, snapped out of Alicia’s Cherokee, a hand on Grace’s arm and guided her into the vehicle’s backseat. He darted towards us, his bro in the driver’s seat talking on his phone.
“Alicia, we gotta move. We got to get Grace and her nephew to the hospital right now. Shit looks bad.”
“Oh dammit,” murmured Alicia.
“Go, honey,” I said. “Let me know.”
Alicia waved absently at me as she rushed towards her car and got in. In the seat next to her, Grace only stared straight ahead. She was numb. More tragedy for this woman. Always more tragedy.
Grace’s sister died the next day, and the club gathered for the funeral and burial at the town cemetery within the week. Alicia told me that Ruby had been a part of the club in the old days. She’d gotten over a drug addiction and went on to become a drug counselor, a wife and a mother to a young son. My heart ached for Ruby, for her boy who would grow up without her. So much inexplicable loss. Alicia mentioned Grace would stay in South Dakota now and help her brother-in-law raise him.
Within a few months, the gloom of this tragedy was unplugged by the good news that Grace was getting married. She was with Lock now, the Road Captain of the One-Eyed Jacks, an austerely handsome and quiet Native American. An unexpected second chance, a new bright future. What more could anyone want?
What more, indeed.
One cold winter afternoon, I walked a customer to the front door, when I saw Grace leaving Pepper’s Boot Shop down the street with a huge shopping bag in her hand, a wide grin splitting her face. Her light brown waves shook over her thick leather coat as she moved quickly into the Meager Grand Cafe. The need to talk to her overwhelmed me. I flipped the “Be right back” sign on the front door and locked up my store.
I found her settling into a small table in front of the big bay window of the cafe, a steaming mug of frothy coffee in front of her.
“Grace, hi.”
“Hey, Lenore, how are you?”
“Could I sit with you a sec?”
She sat up in the sofa. “Of course. Please.”
“I heard about your engagement to Lock, and I wanted to say congratulations.”
“Oh, thank you. We’re really excited. It’s happening fast, but when you know, you know.”
My breath hitched suddenly, a coil of emotion taking me by surprise. “Absolutely.”
Her head slanted a few degrees as she sipped her coffee. Had she heard the thickness in my voice?
I cleared my throat. “I don’t know what you have planned for a dress and all, but I’d love to make you something special for your wedding.”
“Lenore, that’s so sweet of you. You don’t have to—”
“Oh, I do. Please. I want to. I’d love to make your special day even more special.” I took in a quick breath and steadied myself. “I love that you’re getting your happily ever after. I really do.” I struggled to maintain a grin, but my wobbly lips gave me away.
“Yeah, me too. Me too.” She reached out and grabbed my hand. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah.” I rolled my eyes, sniffing in air. “No. It doesn’t matter.”
“It does,” she whispered, placing her other hand over mine. “It does to me.”
A sense of calm came over me, looking in her eyes, feeling her strong grip on my hands. Grace Quillen was a good soul.
“I’m really happy for you, Grace. After everything you’ve been through, the little Alicia’s told me. We don’t even know each other really well, but I feel like we do.”
“Maybe one day you’ll tell me all about what you’ve been through. We think keeping it bottled up is a good thing in the beginning, that we’re in control as we’re picking ourselves up off the floor. But then one day you take a good hard look in the mirror, and you don’t recognize the person staring back at you.”
“No, you don’t,” I breathed. “But I’m used to her now.”
Grace let go of my hand and sat back in her cushioned seat. “You know, my sister was a very wise woman. Just before she died she told me to let go of the ghosts and get on with joy. It seemed impossible to me at the time. But she was right.”
“Hmm.” I averted my gaze and rubbed my fingertips along the edge of a napkin that lay on the table. “If you have a minute or ten, come by my store before you head home so I can take your measurements and you can tell me about your wedding dress. Since I heard the news, I’ve been drawing a corset in my head for you.”
She sat back and tugged her coat on once again. “Let’s go. I can’t wait to see what you have in mind. I’ll get a cardboard cup for my coffee.”
She wasn’t going to push me. She knew the signs all too well.
I created a corset for Grace in a super sheer cream colored tulle decorated with intricate floral embroidery. The barely there bra was a padded silk quarter cup, and the bones and waistband of the piece were bound with smooth silk.
Three weeks later, as Grace came down the aisle of the church in Meager, holding on to her father, a slight wobble to her walk on her high heels, her figure looked divine in the elegant, strapless, pleated, off-white wedding dress she had chosen. I was thrilled to be at the wedding and witness her and Lock’s happily ever after come true. Full circle.
I took in the high beamed ceiling of the old church. I didn’t believe much in God. I’d never even been inside a church before this. There was never much talk about Him when I was growing up, or any reference except for the tiny gold cross my grandma wore around her neck and never took it off. Sometimes I caught her murmuring to herself, hands clasped together and I’d watch her in these peculiar, intimate moments. I never asked, and she never shared, but I knew it was special to her, meaningful.
At the front of the church, Grace and Lock exchanged vows and rings under the guidance of a pastor. All their friends and family leaned forward, listening, participating in the ritual. Simple, beautiful. A stop in the daily grind of life to be thankful, and to mark that thanks forever with a blessing.
There was a strange harmony at work in the world to have gotten me here to this very place with these people.
I clasped my hands together like Grandma used to do. “Thank you,” I whispered. I scanned the crowd. I had braced myself for seeing Tania at the wedding, but she wasn’t here. I’d been looking forward to it, actually. I missed her. I missed Beck, I missed—
My gaze caught on a pair of velvety brown eyes that smiled at me.
Tricky.
I returned his smile.
Tricky was a One-Eyed Jack who worked with Lock at the club’s car and bike repair shop. He had a thick mass of dark hair which usually fell in his brown eyes, giving him a sultry, but innocent look. I squirmed on the pew. He was maybe fifteen years my junior which put him in his late twenties. Whenever we saw each other, our exchanges usually segued into flirting.
After the ceremony, the celebration continued at Dead Ringer’s Roadhouse, a historic and favorite biker haunt off the highway in between Rapid and Meager. Once she arrived, Grace immediately tossed her high-heeled sandals at me, Dee, and Alicia, and gleefully slid on her new western boots Dee had ready for her in a shopping bag. Grace jumped to her feet with a loud, exultant “Yes!” Lock came behind her and swept her up in his arms, kissing her hard as he took her over to the huge dance floor. We whistled, clapped and hooted as they took their first dance as husband and wife.
We drank, we danced, sang along to old and new hits. I met Grace’s dad and her brother-in-law, Alex. I explained a couple of my tattoos along the insides of my fingers to her adorable nephew, Jake.
“Hey, Lenore.”
I swiveled around in my seat. “Hey, Tricky.”
Up close, Tricky inspired a little flutter in my tummy. Along with his toned body, he had a weary swagger to his step which gave his cute features a harder edge. He wiped his hair back as he settled into the chair next to mine. A white scar gleamed on his forehead, a scar from a knife fight when he was a prospect from what Mary Lynn had mentioned to me. Cute met sexy on a ledge.
“You having fun?” he asked.
“I’m having a great time. You?”
“Me too. You look fantastic, by the way.” His gaze trailed down my body.
“Thank you.” I crossed my legs, revealing them in the long split up my midnight blue dress that had a halter top along with a tiny silver shrug.
His finger traced over the skin of my shoulder, revealed by the thin cashmere shrug that had fallen back. I held his molten gaze.
“Aren’t you warm?” he asked.
“Getting there.”
“Oh yeah?”
I giggled. “Yeah.”
He leaned in closer to me, his lips tipping up into a grin, inches from my own. “How about I help get you there?”
It had been a while since I’d kissed a man, been touched, had sex. I would indulge in the odd one night stand here or there, when the mood struck, when I’d meet someone I was attracted to. But that was that, and I preferred it that way. Uncomplicated. Live it, then keep moving on. Leave nothing behind.
After my divorce I was mentally exhausted, and I’d decided to not get emotionally involved again. I didn’t have anything to give anyhow. Ask Eric. It was just as well. My heart was a particular bitch. I couldn’t kid myself about that.
Tricky’s coffee brown eyes gleamed at me, not in a predatory way, though. Eager. Anticipating.
“I bet you would,” I replied, my fingertips tracing his jawline.
He kissed me, and I kissed him back. Tequila and beer flavored my tongue from the warm, slick slide of his. Arousal pitched inside me.
His hand went down my side, curving gently over my lower back, heating my flesh through the thin material of my dress. “Dance with me,” he whispered against my ear, and a shiver shimmied over my skin.
I rose from my chair, and taking his hand in mine, led him to the dance floor. We stayed close for the rest of the evening. Hours later, he took me home, and like overheated teenagers, we made out in his Jeep the second he’d parked in my driveway.
I pulled back and opened the car door to the icy cold winter night. “Let’s go inside.”
“You sure?”
“I’m sure.” I grinned, slamming the car door.
I unlocked my house, tossed the keys on the console table and released the straps of my dress letting it slide down my body to the floor.
He let out a low groan at the sight of me in my lacy silky underthings. “Holy fuck.”
“Oh, I hope so.”
“Oh, I’ll make sure of it.”
He lifted me up in his arms, kissing me as he held me, walking us over to my sofa. He laid me down, bending to kiss me.
I pushed at his chest with my knee and he stumbled back. “Take your clothes off.”
His eyes flared, his body went rigid. He grinned and did as he was told.
“Uh-uh.” I said. “Slowly.” My hand slid between my legs and he let out a groan, the muscles of his torso contracting.
He went slower.
“Hmm. Like that.” I enjoyed the revelation of his body as he took off his clothes, one piece at a time, his eyes intent on me.
Tricky was hot, and I was in need.
Naked, he hovered over me, pushing my legs apart.
I took in a breath. No qualms, no regrets. Good times.
Or so I thought.