“Nothing’s changed.” She wasn’t being facetious. Nothing had changed. A large artificial Christmas tree hung with ornaments from her childhood, loomed in the corner. The Christmas angel sat askew on the top, looking serene despite the precarious perch. A flash of yellow on the floor next to the window caught her eye. Oh my God, even her fluffy teddy bear lay where she’d dropped it the night she’d…
“No changes allowed in the lease. Can I get you something to drink? Beer? Wine? Soda?”
While she wavered, unsure whether to take him up on the offer, he pressed her. “Don’t say no. I haven’t had much company in the past few months. I need to practice my hosting skills before I go back out into the real world.”
“A soda, then. Thanks.”
The snap and hiss could have been any of the hundreds of memories of her mother opening a can of beer for her father after work. A sense of sadness and loss enveloped her. She’d come here to find a sense of her mother, but was assaulted instead by an even stronger desire to reconnect with her own self.
She remembered what he’d mentioned about the lease. “What isn’t allowed?”
“Any changes to the apartment. I mean, I guess I can change things around, but everything has to be as it was when I moved in, or I forfeit the substantial security deposit.”
To live somewhere and not leave any impression of your presence seemed incomprehensible. “Why would you live here?”
Frank handed her a can of soda and took a slow sip of his beer before answering. She sensed he was stalling for some reason.
“Like everyone else who’s lived here in the past twenty years. A fresh start.” His mouth twisted in a painful smile. “My wife died a few months ago. I guess you could say this is just a layover until I head on to the rest of my life’s journey.”
She understood the need to get away from the familiar, to escape from painful memories. What she didn’t understand was why her old apartment was kept like a shrine caught in some bizarre time warp.
“I’m sorry for your loss.” The words came to her lips automatically.
Frank dipped his head in silent acceptance. Amanda was suddenly overcome by the need to convince him of her sincerity, to connect to him in some manner. “My mom just died a few weeks ago.”
“Is that what sent you on this quest?”
Was it? She supposed so.
Thankfully, Frank didn’t wait for her answer. “Well, look around all you want.” He motioned with his can and then plopped down on the stiff uncomfortable couch instead of the large black leather recliner that was once her father’s throne. Odd, although the majority of the furniture was well-worn, the chair appeared almost new.
Accepting Frank’s invitation, she headed into the depths of the apartment. The bedroom at the end called to her, but she would save that one until last. Thankfully, all the doors were open, allowing her to peer into her parent’s room without actually entering.
Pink chenille pillows tumbled across the old-fashioned white eyelet bedspread. A trio of prints, roses in full bloom, marched across the wall over the headboard. Smiles, laughter, tickle fights. Where had the mother who’d slept in that bed gone?
The next room had been the guest room, although when she was a child, no visitor had used the accommodations. Since she had no memories attached to the room with the large brass bed, she moved on.
Feet dragging, she paused and took a deep breath before crossing the threshold into her room. Twenty years seemed to evaporate in the blink of an eye. In the corner, she pictured her five-year-old self sitting in front of the doll house. A scattering of building blocks and stiletto-heeled doll shoes still lurked on the rug as if awaiting the return of their playmate.
The dresser where her dolls had once reigned now sported a trio of pictures in shiny gold frames. Frank, sporting a cap and graduation gown, flanked by an older man and woman, had his arm draped over the shoulders of a dark-eyed beauty. In another, he wore a tux while standing proudly beside the same lovely woman sheathed in a creamy white wedding gown. Beside them, she spied a photo of Frank, wearing a uniform and carrying a large red valise emblazoned with a white cross, perched on the running board of an ambulance.
Her tiny closet was crowded with uniforms, jeans and shirts, not the frilly pink dresses her mother had insisted she wear. Her pink bedspread, wadded into a ball and shoved into the corner, had been replaced by a thick red and black plaid comforter. Frank had been sleeping in her bed!
****
The beer fizzed on Frank’s tongue leaving an odd aftertaste. He picked up a book from the side table. Santa steered a full complement of tiny reindeer across the cover. An odd sense of déjà vu swept over him. Tonight was it, the infamous night before Christmas. In years past, when no creatures stirred, it was because the current resident leapt six stories to their death. Well, not tonight.
Four years ago he was the paramedic to answer the call to this address.
A suicide.
Bereft, grief-stricken, lost and lonely, an old lady had taken her own life. Frank understood that suicide happened. Only when it happened the next year, and the next, all originating from the same apartment, did Frank start to wonder about the incidents. Coincidence? Three, maybe. Twenty, no way. But could he get the already overworked police interested? Stymied by the fact that suicides weren’t a crime, even when he’d pointed out the trend, they’d pronounced it coincidence.
Now Amanda Spaulding, the sole survivor of that twenty-year string of coincidences, showed up at his door on Christmas Eve. She was five years old when she’d fallen or jumped from the large window on his left. Had she shown up like some harbinger of doom to set the cycle into motion? Or was the curse one of the residents’ own making? Were they just looking for an excuse to end their own lives? If so, why this apartment?
Frank had no intention of committing suicide, nor did he think Mr. Humphrey’s had, either. Last year, Frank had sensed a presence in the apartment when he’d come here to save the man. Something evil lurked here, he’d felt it then, but he didn’t feel it now. No menacing aura hung around Amanda, if anything, she wore a mantle of sorrow and confusion. He took another swig of beer and struggled to swallow.
Last year, he’d been lucky to not work Christmas Eve. Instead, he’d left his own cheerful apartment to try to save an old man. Frank’s failure to do that left an indelible mark on his soul. Since that night, he’d researched a plethora of statistics and case studies involving suicide. Taking one’s life wasn’t limited to adults. A frightening number of children as young as five were known to take their own lives. The police considered the apartment to be not the cause but the excuse. What better than to blame a supposedly cursed apartment for one’s own weakness? To compound the issue, the apartment, owned by a local mortuary, was only available to bereaved spouses, making the succession of deaths all the more believable.
After Laura died, Frank knew what it was to not want to live anymore and fought his depression with his obsession about ‘the suicide apartment’. He’d been emotionally prepared for failure the day he’d set out to rent the place. To his amazement, the apartment was available. He’d taken out a year’s lease. Time to get his life back on track is what he’d told Mr. Spaulding, the mortician, all the while wondering if the stodgy unsmiling man was a serial killer.
The impulse to follow Amanda around the apartment was strong. He longed to see what she looked at, touched, perhaps get some clue as to why she’d survived when no one else had.
As if his thoughts had conjured her, she reappeared, her face pale and the hand holding her soda shook.
Concern for her leapt unbidden. “You okay?”
“Yeah.” She sat beside him, gave him a wavering smile before her face crumpled. “No, no, I’m not okay.” Tears flooded her eyes. Despite his suspicions about her, he allowed her to sink against him, bury her face in his chest and sob.
Many women’s, and a few men’s tears had decorated his shirts over the years, but this was only the secon
d woman who had ever cried on his bare chest. The first had been his wife, Laura.
Frank couldn’t say he’d never looked at another woman while he was married. Oh, he had. However, he’d never acted on a lustful impulse. Wrapped up in grief, he hadn’t thought about being with a woman in months. How could Amanda’s sudden appearance change that?
Granted, Amanda’s luscious curves fit against him in a way Laura’s athletic form never had. The oversized red sweater she wore slipped provocatively over one shoulder. Pushing the fabric down further would reveal expanses of soft skin and the full mounds of her breasts. He wondered what kind of bra she had on beneath. Lacy and black? Perhaps fire engine red? Thinking about it made him harden. Once he’d conjured up the errant erotic thoughts, he couldn’t banish them.
Picturing himself tasting, touching, and then taking Amanda’s willing body, he stifled a groan. After his wife’s senseless death in a traffic accident caused by some foolish man texting while he drove, Frank had sealed off his heart and emotions with hurt thicker and more adhesive than duct tape. Why hadn’t he thought to build up any defenses against physical attraction?
He stroked down Amanda’s back and her sobs subsided. Trying to rein in his libido, he analyzed Amanda’s looks, wondering where the attraction lay. She wore her too-black dyed hair in a jagged cut that suggested the stylist had been Edward Scissorhands’ first cousin. The multiple and infected piercings in the cartilage of her ears appeared to be more the sign of a rebellious teen than a grown woman. He longed to take some antiseptic to the raw spots.
The surge of protectiveness startled him. Seeking further, he determined that some of her features were beautiful. She had sea green eyes with a slight almond shape, and her lips were pink, pouty, and thoroughly kissable.
He probably would have been able to resist the mad impulse to taste those lips if she hadn’t chosen that exact moment to look up at him.
Chapter Two
His lips pressed hard against hers while his tongue probed, possessed. He tasted of hunger, lust, need. Amanda felt the echo of her own want deep in her throbbing core.
In one fluid motion, she straddled him. She cupped his face in her hands, deepening the kiss while she positioned herself against his hard-on. Thank goodness he responded, fisting his hand in her hair, pulling her tight. If he would’ve pushed her away, she didn’t know what she would say.
Apologize? That seemed lame in relation to the circumstances. Frank had lost his wife. And God knew she was still reeling with confusion over her mother’s death. Sex wouldn’t magically banish her conflicting emotions, but would certainly ease the pain for a few hours.
Frank’s hands weren’t tender—they were rough and possessive as he squeezed her breasts, then thumbed the sensitive peaks through her sweater and bra. Amanda broke their kiss to rip the fabric over her head. In a flash, he reached behind her to undo her bra. Once the garment was unhooked, she shimmied out of it and gave him a seductive smile.
Her reward was his groan and the throb of his cock against her sex. God, she felt alive, more than she had in years. The lovers she’d taken hadn’t been men she’d liked, they’d been chosen to piss off her parents, especially her mother. The more unwashed, anti-social, or dangerous—the better. Looking back, Amanda felt a pang of regret for all that she’d lost, but promptly squashed it. Although the New Year was just around the corner, no one said she couldn’t get a jump start on her resolutions with this incredibly sexy guy.
Soft feathery kisses stroked down her neck and she arched, anticipating the warmth of his mouth on her breast. He licked her left nipple and then blew on it softly, watching with hungry eyes as the peak hardened. When he finally sucked it deep into his mouth, desire shot to her core. She ground her sex against his arousal, imagining his thick cock entering and then filling her. The surge of need nearly sent her right over the edge.
Lifting herself up, she reached for the snap of her jeans, anxious to rid herself of the confining clothes. His fumbling fingers joined hers, then, she remembered that pesky resolution. Physical satisfaction was the answer to her body’s needs, but what about her emotions? With a slight feeling of regret, she playfully slapped his hand away. She wouldn’t go all the way with him, not tonight, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t have fun.
“Naughty, naughty. You wouldn’t want to get dropped off Santa’s nice list, now would you?”
He reached for the waist of her jeans again. “Amanda, I was naughty before nice was even invented.”
She giggled. “Even so, I’ve decided that this year, I’m going to be good.” She worked her hand down the waistband of his sweats to caress the thick length of his cock. “Very, very good, indeed.” The heat of his flesh made her wet with desire, and the ache in her core became an almost physical pain. Slipping off the couch to kneel between his legs, she tugged his sweatpants down, freeing his gorgeous cock. She ran her fingers through the curls at the base and then swirled them up toward the bulging head. Touching her tongue to her lips, she watched as a diamond bead of liquid formed at the tip.
Amanda leaned over and tasted. Frank’s fingers tangled in her hair, but despite her own urgency, she wasn’t going to let him set the pace. Instead of taking him in her mouth, she explored the ridged underside of his penis with her tongue and teeth. The musky sent of his arousal almost made her forget her resolution. It would feel so good to have him inside her.
But then what? she reminded herself. What about tomorrow? The next day, New Years Eve, even. Wouldn’t it be nice to have a date for that new start instead of just a hook-up? Refusing to give in to the temptation to rip off her clothes and jump onto that silky hard erection, she focused instead on Frank’s heavy balls.
Sucking first one and then the other deep into her mouth, Frank’s legs spread wide and his breathing came in pants, his fingers feathered through her hair, keeping them connected. She ran her hands across his thighs, the hair tickling her palms as she headed toward his backside. Then, with the tip of one finger, she explored the rosebud of his anus. His hoarse cry was her reward. If he liked this, he was really going to love the rest of her ministrations. Her mind wandered, taking their lovemaking further and further from her newly made resolution. Perhaps he had some lubricant in a cabinet somewhere—flavored even. Chocolate would taste heavenly.
The peal of the doorbell startled them both to stillness.
Frank cursed, shooting her a questioning glance. “You don’t have any other siblings wanting to walk down memory lane on a Christmas Eve, do you?”
“Nope. Only child.” She scooped up her shirt while he surged off the couch, pulling his sweatpants back into place. They remained tented over his arousal. Amanda suppressed a sigh of impatience and hoisted herself up off the hard floor. A glance at the clock over Frank’s shoulder warned it was nearly midnight. Who would be coming by at this time of night? Certainly not Santa Claus.
The doorbell rang again, followed by several loud knocks. Frank pulled her back in for one last hard kiss. “Be right back.”
“I’ll be waiting.” She slipped down the hallway, out of sight from the door, and hugged her shirt to her breasts. Hopefully, this would be a short interruption. She was anxious to get back to her future lover, enjoying every inch of his body. Excitement made her shiver with impatience.
The door sighed open.
“Why, hello Mr. Spaulding,” she heard Frank say. Shit, shit, shit. Not only an unexpected guest, it was her father! Had he followed her? Panic guided her fumbling hands to the neck of her shirt, spreading the opening to slide over her head. Where was her bra? Her gaze shot over to where they had made-out. The gauzy lace lay at the base of the couch. Panic flared hot in her chest. Oh God, what if her father saw it there and found her here?
Anger straightened her spine and she dropped her shirt. So what if her overprotective father caught her having sex with his tenant? She was a grown woman with her own life.
“Merry Christmas to you, too.”
The door
whispered shut. Amanda waited a few seconds and then peeked her head around the corner. Frank tossed an envelope onto the breakfast bar.
“What did my dad want?”
“He gave me a Christmas card.”
A sense of disbelief enveloped her. “A Christmas card?”
“That’s what he said.” Frank shrugged. Dismissive, he walked over to her, covered her breasts with his hands while his lips brushed down her neck. “I didn’t open it. I’m afraid I’m not much in the Christmas spirit.” His murmurs sent thrills down her skin.
She just wanted to enjoy the feel of his touch, get back to having his hands and his mouth all over her body. Instead, the niggle of unease heralded by her father’s arrival increased, making it impossible to ignore.
“I don’t understand why the apartment has been kept the same. It’s spooky.”
“I guess that’s the way your father wants it.”
“No.” Amanda remained unconvinced. “Dad is always mixing things up at work, trying new florists, new casket manufacturers, why, if someone thought up a new method of cremation, he’d be the first in line to utilize it. But this…” she waved her hand to indicate the apartment. “This feels like someone else’s idea.”
“Your mother’s, perhaps?”
Amanda considered then dismissed the possibility. “My mom was a society queen, interested in clothes, jewelry, philanthropic causes, things that would get her noticed and talked about. I’m not even sure she knew Dad held on to the apartment. I only found out because I was going through some of her papers, trying to get her affairs in order, and grabbed one of his folders by mistake.”
'Twas a Dark and Delicious Christmas Page 6
