Crazy Ride

by Nancy Warren

  Crazy seemed to be the operative word here. It’s how she felt, too. Like all her calm sanity had deserted her and left nothing but blind passion in its place.

  And crazy or not, blind passion was feeling pretty good.

  Her skin seemed to scorch at his touch. Was it her imagination or was she more sensitive? Her taste sharper? Maybe it had simply been too long since she’d let herself go like this.

  After they’d worked themselves up to the hot and bothered stage, she heard cheerful twin “goodbyes” from the aunts and then the thud of the front door.

  She glanced at Joe to see his eyes cloudy with passion, his pupils dilated and reflecting the candle light.

  “We’re all alone,” she said.

  “I feel like a teenager whose girlfriend’s parents just left.” He paused to look at her with a quizzical grin. “Except those two seemed like they really wanted us going at it in their absence.”

  “What was your first clue?”

  “I’d have to say it was when I realized Lydia had put cock rings around the napkins. That seemed like a pretty broad hint.”

  “Knowing Aunt Lydia, she’d say it’s a shame to see them go to waste if no one’s going to use them.”

  “And the napkins were certainly nice and stiff.”

  She grinned at him and reached for his hand. They could make love right here, but her aunts didn’t keep late hours. The last thing she wanted was to keep listening with half an ear for the sound of them coming home.

  “My room,” she decided.

  “Anywhere,” he replied.

  They held hands as they sprinted up the staircase which didn’t even squeak in protest. It had been built to withstand great passion.

  Built to encourage it, not that the heat burning low in her belly needed any encouragement. She felt that if he touched her there, if he so much as looked too hard she’d go off like a firecracker.

  She led him to her room. It had belonged to her great great grandmother, the madam, and she loved the room. It was big and housed a huge in your face bed. The mattress was new, but the bed – like all the antiques in the house -- was original. The windows gave a view of leafy trees and overlooked her garden.

  “Great room.”

  “It’s the madam’s room. It’s an honor to be invited in, you know.”

  “Oh, I know.”

  He kissed her again, half teasing, mostly serious. “I’ve never had sex in a brothel before.”

  She chuckled. “Glad to hear it.”

  “So,” he said, running his lips down her neck so she shivered and his words rumbled against her skin, “what’s the protocol here? Do I pay my money first or after I’m satisfied?”

  “Oh, honey, you’ll be satisfied. And I charge on a sliding scale. Depending on what you bring to the table as it were, you might get a hefty discount.”

  “I thought you were here to service me?”

  “You thought wrong, bucko.” Since he was currently rubbing her breast in a way that brought her all kinds of pleasure, she assumed he was merely teasing. She sure hoped so. She was planning to vent a little of her sexual frustration tonight, not add to it.

  He went for her buttons with almost fanatical haste. From the way his cheeks had flushed and his hands shook, she knew he was as anxious as she.

  His breathing was loud in the big bedroom, almost drowning out her own and sweat dampened his brow. Oh, yeah, she was turning him on all right.

  That thought alone heightened her excitement. She felt the tips of her breasts tighten and tingle as he rushed his way through the buttons.

  “Unh,” he said, or words to that effect, when he spread the edges of her blouse and discovered that she wore no bra. He made another strangled sound when he touched his lips to her breasts – as though he’d been robbed of speech.

  Normally she liked to take the undressing part slowly, dragging out the anticipation. But not tonight. They’d teased and denied each other long enough. Her blood felt like it was sizzling under her skin – she was beyond horny, her need to be filled almost painful.

  He was obviously feeling the same, so they went at each other with frantic speed, dragging off clothes, nipping, licking, biting whatever they uncovered.

  He was surprisingly buff for a desk jockey, she discovered. A definite bonus. She hadn’t been sure what she’d find under his clothes. If he’d had a full computer setup complete with secretarial service under there she wouldn’t have been surprised.

  But no, there was nice, warm, male flesh. He had muscles where a woman liked to see muscle, and not a lot of show-offy bulk.

  Her gaze slid over nice shoulders, pecs and hard abs that suggested he wasn’t always on that damn cell phone. He spent time working out. And beneath the abs, the lean hips and, oh, my gosh that guy is hung…

  “Does he meet with your approval?” Joe asked. He was teasing but she thought maybe she’d embarrassed him too. What was wrong with her staring at a guy’s package like that?

  “I’m sorry. Frankly, it’s been a while. I’m re-familiarizing myself.”

  He grinned down at her wolfishly and she realized all of him was up for the job. “I’ll familiarize you. Don’t worry.”

  And he tipped her back onto the bed. He started to kiss her breasts but she was too needy – she was so desperate to be filled it was an ache. She reached over and opened her bedside drawer than handed him a condom. “Please,” she said, “I can’t wait.”

  “Thank God,” he said. In seconds he was ready, then he rolled over and against her and then up inside with the power and surge she craved.

  “Oh, yes,” she said. They fit so well together it was like the missing puzzle piece sliding into place. There was none of the awkwardness of a first time, the tilt of hip slightly off, or the fit not quite right. He slid into her body as though it had been made for him.

  She closed her eyes and prepared to enjoy herself.

  And then didn’t enjoy herself at all.

  Within moments, the long, drawn out pleasure she’d hoped for was no more. He grabbed her breast with about as much finesse as a vise shows a two by four. A couple of flailing thrusts inside her body, a sound between a grunt and a groan, and he collapsed on top of her, panting against her neck like the little engine that couldn’t quite make it to the top of the hill.

  She lay there underneath the dead weight of him, stunned.

  That was it? All the passionate kissing and fondling downstairs had led her to believe he was a promising lover, and he turned out to be the biggest dud of her life.

  She squirmed her hips a bit, hoping for something, anything to put her out of her burning misery. But there was no response.

  He didn’t even have the courtesy to move off of her, just lay there, panting.

  And suddenly all her pent up excitement sublimated into bitchiness. “Female orgasm is a concept you might want to explore sometime.”

  Maybe there were women who could get off on two strokes and a clawing at the breast. She didn’t seem to be one of them.

  She should have realized this whole thing was hopeless when he chose his cell phone over kissing her. A man who didn’t have enough sensuality to distinguish a tuna sandwich from beef and who could spend all day in her garden and not remember a single flower – well, what had she been thinking? On the sensuality scale, this one rated do not resuscitate.

  He whispered something in her ear; she assumed an apology, but it was so faint she couldn’t make out the words.

  “What?”

  “Can’t breathe,” he panted.

  He should try it from her perspective, laying flat with his whole weight pressing on her. Her lungs must look like a pair of Pringles.

  What did he mean exactly, ‘can’t breathe’? His breath was loud enough in her ear, like an old man about to snore.

  He groaned as though he were in pain and a drop of sweat plopped onto her shoulder.

  “Are you okay?” she asked, finally calming down enough to wonder if he had more wro
ng with him than his sexual technique.

  “Sick,” he managed.

  Oh, no. “What do you mean, sick?”

  “Chest. Hurts,” he managed.

  Shit. There wasn’t much she could do from underneath him, and of course there was no help to be had in the house since both the aunts had gone out. She heaved and shoved at the dead weight of him until she got him rolled off her and onto his side, then she pushed him onto his back.

  She reached out and flicked on a light and realized with a shock that he looked as pale as though a vampire had given him a very long goodnight kiss. His forehead was damp and his breathing definitely off.

  “Show me where it hurts,” she said as calmly as she could.

  “Chest,” he gasped. And his arm flopped onto his chest like a dead fish. Left side of his chest.

  Oh, my God, she thought, he’s too young to have a heart attack, but then she thought about his lifestyle of constant stress and wondered. “Any pain in your arm?” she asked, crossing her fingers that the answer would be no.

  He nodded as though speaking were too much of an effort, then with a gasp said, “Left arm.”

  Shit. Shit. Shit. Rapidly she reviewed her options. If she called 9-1-1 she was looking at 20 minutes for the ambulance to get here. She could drive him to the hospital herself in that time. But what if he died on route? He really didn’t look all that hot.

  “I’ll be right back. Hang on. If you die in my bed, I’m going to kill you,” she warned him.

  Beaverton boasted a fairly new hospital that served the region. Gord Hartnett wasn’t only her former lover, he was also her friend. She called him while she threw on her clothes, briefly described the situation.

  “The ambulance is out on a call. It’ll be faster if you drive him in yourself. I’ll meet you there.”

  “Thanks,” she said, knowing if anyone could save Joe it was Gordon.

  She ran down the stairs, pulled her car around to the front door and left it running, then she sprinted back up the stairs. Please don’t die, she silently pleaded as she dealt with the condom, cleaned him up a little bit and pushed him into the hotel robe she kept in the closet. She managed to get the tie fastened with shaking fingers and helped him push his feet into shoes. Together they staggered down the stairs.

  “I’m all right,” he insisted. “I feel better.”

  “When you can stand up straight and say that without wincing with pain I might actually believe you,” she said, bundling him into the car.

  “I don’t want to go to the hospital.”

  “They can give you something to make you feel better,” she said. She tried to sound confident, like his condition was the equivalent of a scrape needing a Band-Aid when she secretly suspected he might need the paddles and the cardiac jumper cables that scared the pants off her when she saw them on TV.

  She got him belted into the passenger seat of her car and he slumped against the seat. His breathing wasn’t as loud now. Was that a good sign?

  Please don’t die.

  She drove faster than she’d ever driven in her life, thankful that she’d grown up here and knew every bend in every road. There wasn’t enough population to worry about traffic.

  She drove with her hands gripping the wheel, her entire being focused on getting medical help. Please don’t die.

  “Are we going to a real hospital?” Joe’s voice startled her.

  “Of course,” she said cheerfully. Whatever she did she had to make him feel confident that he was going to be okay.

  Joe made a sound like a faint snort. “It’s probably some guy named Freddie who got a plastic doctor bag when he was a kid and now he thinks he’s an MD. He’ll stick a purple thermometer up my ass and give me forty year old candy pills to make me all better.”

  If he could get all that out without gasping, he must be breathing a little easier. Her hands loosened their grip on the steering wheel and she let her foot ease off the gas pedal. It wouldn’t do either of them any good if she smacked up the car. “I called the best doctor in the area. He’s a friend of mine. He’s meeting us at the hospital.”

  “Turn the car around.”

  “Are you going delirious on me?”

  “No. But I swear if Napoleon or Edit Piaf tries to touch me they’ll be slapped with a lawsuit faster than you can say malpractice.”

  “Trust me. Dr. Hartnett’s an excellent doctor.” He’d been a good lover, too, but she was surprised how little she missed him.

  “You’re the only one around here I do trust,” he said softly.

  She turned her head and smiled at him. “How’s the left arm?”

  “Tingling.”

  “Chest pain?”

  “It feels like somebody’s squeezing it in a vice. Hurts like a sonofabitch.”

  “Hang on and try to relax.”

  Like that was possible. In the dark car she felt the tension in his body.

  “You’re going to be fine,” she promised him softly, hoping she was right.

  “Em…”

  “Yes?”

  “If I die, call my assistant at the number you’ll find on my business card. Her name is Anna. She knows where my will is. She’ll take care of everything.”

  He patted his pockets, probably looking for his damn business card. Even on the way to the hospital he was trying to do business. No wonder he was having a heart attack in his thirties. He realized he was wearing a robe. “Wallet. Where’s my wallet?”

  “I picked it up off your bureau. Don’t worry. This isn’t New York. You’ll be taken care of and we’ll sort out insurance later. If I need the business card I’ll dig it out. But I’m not going to need it.”

  Thankfully, the small hospital drew into view and she drove straight up to the emergency door.

  She was glad she’d phoned ahead when a stretcher came wheeling through the emergency door manned by a couple of paramedics. Dr. Hartnett ran alongside.

  They loaded him on the stretcher while the doctor peppered him with questions. Joe was in good hands. She’d got him here alive. For that she was grateful. Realizing she still held the wallet Joe had thrust at her, she called, “I’ll park the car and check Joe in.”

  The doctor waved to let her know he’d heard and understood, but it was obvious he was more interested in Joe’s health than the status of his health insurance.

  She bet he wouldn’t get this kind of treatment in New York.

  She got back in the car to move it and realized her hands were shaking and she was dizzy. Only then did she realize how scared she’d been.

  If ever a man had had a wake-up call, that man was Joe Montcrief.

  If he lived through this she was going to make it her personal mission to teach him how to relax. And if he hated it too bad. After what he’d put her through she was going to show him there was a better way to live. She liked him too much to watch him kill himself with work and stress.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Lydia hadn’t felt this nervous since -- well, it had been years. She ran her hands down her hips. As though she could suddenly make them smaller, or her varicose veins disappear, or the lines on her face erase.

  She’d come on a fool’s errand, she realized, and feeling like a silly old woman trying to reach back to her youth, she turned slowly away. But her carry-bag bumped her knee as she did and the half-full wine bottle she’d snitched off the dinner table clanked against the flask with Dr. Emmet’s cordial.

  Oh, the hell with it. If she wasn’t foolish now, when did she think she was going to act crazy? In the great beyond?

  Pulling herself to her full height of five-feet four inches and pasting a smile on her face, she knocked.

  A long time passed and she thought maybe no one was home. She was debating whether to knock again when the door opened and a man stood there.

  For an age he stared at her, then he said, “Lydia.”

  “Hello, Eddie.” Now what? She’d got to his doorstep on sheer guts and bravado. Now she didn’t know wha
t to do or say.

  He blinked at her a couple of times from behind his glasses and she wondered if he was waiting for her to ask for a donation or something.

  “I came for a visit. If that’s okay.”

  “Lydia,” he said again, and she realized he was falling back in time, as she did when she looked at him. Oh, he’d aged, who hadn’t? But his kindly, wrinkled face was as dear to her as when it had been unlined and anxious. His eyes were faded, and hidden behind glasses now, but they were still his eyes.

  “Welcome,” he said finally and opened the door all the way.

  He led her to a stuffy living room that smelled stale. She could hear the sounds of a game show from somewhere down the hall. She perched on a chair and wished she’d gone with Olive instead. Who was she kidding? The past was gone. Over. Best left to memory.

  “How have you been, Lydia?”

  “Fine. I’ve been fine.”

  Somebody must have won something on the game show for she heard cheering and clapping. A glance at the mahogany coffee table told her Eddie didn’t dust much. Even the half dozen Scotch mints in the crystal candy dish sported a layer of dust.

  His wife must have decorated this room, she thought, and he probably hadn’t changed a thing. He probably never came in here. “I was sorry to hear about your wife.”

  “Thank you. It takes a while to get used to.”

  She nodded and squeezed her ankles and knees together.

  “Would you like something to drink?”

  “I—” She’d brought the wine and the cordial, but now it didn’t seem right. “Maybe later. I only came by to say, well, it would be nice if we could be friends.”

  “Friends.”

  He looked slowly up at her and she felt a layer of dust float from her own life. “I’ve thought about you so many times,” he said.

  “Have you?”

  He nodded.

  “You could have come to call.”

  “I didn’t want to presume,” he said softly. Of course he didn’t. She should have realized. He’d always been shy, maybe that’s what had first endeared him to her. A lovely man who saw himself as so much less than he was.