by Tawna Fenske
Violet sat back, triumphant, desperate, hungry.
“Now?” she gasped.
Drew grinned and flipped her over again, and Violet savored the weight of him once more. His chest was rough against her breasts, and she felt her hip bones pushing hard into him.
He sat up a little, his weight shifting as he reached across her to yank open his desk drawer.
“Good thinking,” she gasped as he tore open the condom packet with his teeth.
“I’ve only got a few brain cells still functioning,” he said, releasing her just long enough to sheathe himself.
He slid into her hard, so sudden it stole her breath. She arched against him and cried out, rising up to meet him as he thrust into her again.
She wrapped her legs around him, pulling him against her, wanting to hold all that sensation.
He moved slowly at first, gentle after all that roughness. She pressed her heels against his tailbone, urging him on, lifting her hips.
“So soft,” he murmured against her throat. “You’re so soft.”
Violet gripped his shoulder blades and moaned, moving under him as he began to thrust harder, deeper. He was balancing his weight on his hands, trying not to crush her, but Violet wanted to be crushed. She pulled him down to her, kissing him deeply, pushing herself up against him.
“God, Violet.”
He thrust into her again, hitting something that made her lose her breath. She gasped as he moved again, rocking into her harder.
Oh, Yes!
She began to lose her grasp on all the other sensations around her. She barely noticed the rug grating her elbows, the scent of leather, the hum of a long-forgotten ’80s pop tune from the sound system on the other side of the locked door.
All she noticed was him. The movement of his hips, the slam of his heartbeat against hers, the sticky heat of his skin.
“Oh, God!” she shrieked as the first wave of sensation crashed into her, knocking her backward as she gripped him tighter.
“Christ!” he gasped in her ear, and drove deeper into her.
Violet screamed and raked her nails down his back, lifting her hips to take all of him, to contain the sensation.
He moved against her endlessly as her brain let go of reality, churning in a swirl of stars and cherry-hued light as she screamed his name again and again and again.
Chapter 19
Drew had always prided himself on not being the sort of guy to conk out immediately after sex. He was an old pro at postcoital pillow talk. He was even willing to spoon when the occasion called for it.
But the occasion of his first coupling with Violet called for IV fluids and a good long nap.
He awoke on the sofa in his office feeling parched and a little confused. Where was he? Where were his pants? Was it time to open the bar?
He looked down to see a waterfall of dark hair spilling across his chest, and his whole body relaxed in an instant.
Violet.
To hell with his pants and the bar.
Drew reached down and stroked her hair, enjoying the silky feel of it sliding between his fingers.
“Hmmm,” Violet murmured in her sleep, and burrowed into the crook of his arm.
Drew looked at her for a moment, still a little awestruck. How had this happened?
Not that he wasn’t glad. But after years of post-divorce determination never to get involved with another high-strung, type-A female, it was taking a few moments to adjust to the sight of one naked in his office.
He took in the perfect curve of her waist, the softness of her breasts on his chest, the flowery scent of her hair.
Okay, maybe it wasn’t such an adjustment.
“Did you just smell my hair?” Violet murmured.
“No.”
She sat up and gave him a sleepy smile. “Yes you did.”
“Then why did you ask?”
“To see if you’d lie.”
Drew grinned and kissed her forehead, aware that he probably had terrible morning breath, but willing to take the chance. “You caught me red-handed on that one,” he said. “Probably better call the cops to arrest me.”
He expected her to laugh, but instead, she sat bolt upright, her eyes frantic.
“What time is it?”
Unexpectedly dazzled by the sight of the world’s most beautiful breasts, Drew took a moment to realize she’d asked a question.
He took another moment to realize his watch had been flung somewhere across the room. Maybe his pants were near his watch?
Violet jumped up, covering her perfect breasts with her perfect arm while she searched madly for a functional timepiece.
“Is the clock on your desk right?” she asked as she picked up the vintage Mickey Mouse alarm clock.
“Should be. What does it say?”
“Only six. Thank God. I have time to go home and shower before my first appointment.”
Drew grinned and reached for her. “You told me earlier that your first appointment isn’t until nine. You have time for more than a shower.”
Violet flushed pink from her cheeks to her… well, other cheeks, but she didn’t resist as he hooked his arm around her waist and pulled her back down on the sofa with him. He grabbed the quilt that normally rested on the back of the sofa—thank God for Sam’s homey touches—and pulled it over them.
“You know,” Violet said as Drew began to kiss his way down her throat. “This has to be the least romantic courtship in the history of the planet.”
“How do you mean?” he asked, not really caring as his lips approached the slope of her breast.
She moaned a little and squirmed in his arms, but kept talking. “Well, you wooed me by juggling toilet paper, plunging the toilets, and building a wheelchair ramp for my mother—a woman you’ve been feuding with for the last decade.”
“I wouldn’t say feuding, exactly—”
“And of course, I seduced you by nearly knocking myself unconscious on a stripper pole.”
“Always a fantasy of mine,” he murmured as his tongue found her nipple. “Unconscious amateur strippers falling into my arms.”
Violet gasped and arched her back, and Drew pulled her tighter against him, cupping his hand around the outside of her breast so he could savor the weight of it in his palm.
She moaned—part desire, part frustration, apparently—and pushed his hand aside. Sitting up on the couch, she gave a regretful sigh.
“I really have to go,” she said, her breath a little ragged. “Sorry, but this appointment I have this morning at nine… well, it’s complicated.”
“Complicated how?”
She looked at him, not speaking for a moment. She seemed to be hesitating.
“Hey, don’t worry about it,” he told her. “We don’t have to talk about work. In fact, we should probably make that a rule.”
“Rule?”
“I don’t know what’s going to happen between us, but one thing I do know is that we need to stay the hell out of each other’s business, right?”
Violet didn’t say anything, but she nodded almost imperceptibly.
Drew planted a kiss on her hip as he rested his chin against her thigh. “Look, it’s not a secret your mom isn’t a fan of my business, and God knows I’m not wild about you two messing with people’s lives over there with pseudopsychic stuff.”
Violet’s expression darkened, and Drew considered the possibility that it might not be wise to insult a woman’s mother and profession with one’s genitals exposed. He tucked the quilt tighter around his waist and looked up in time to see her open her mouth to protest.
“Drew, I—”
“Sorry. Look, I didn’t mean that the way it sounded. I don’t know what you do over there. It’s not my business, and I’m sure you don’t want to be involved in anything I’m doing over here, right? Let’s just agree to leave work at work, okay?”
Violet looked at him for a moment, then stood up and began pulling on her clothes. “Okay. Fine. Your business is your bu
siness, and my business is… well, accounting. But for right now, my business is my mother’s, so I’m going to keep doing that for at least a little while longer.”
“Sure,” he agreed, watching a little sadly as she began to dress, covering all the body parts he’d been hoping to fondle again. “So more importantly, when will we be getting naked together again?”
Violet looked up at him. Her smile wasn’t as wide as it had been a few moments earlier, but it was still a smile.
“Soon,” she said. “Tonight maybe?”
“How about now?”
She laughed and finished tucking her blouse into a skirt that looked a whole lot more wrinkled than it had when she arrived. The blouse was missing at least one button, and her hair was tousled into knots.
He’d never wanted her more.
“Oh, before I forget… you want me to take that paperwork now?” she asked.
“Here I am mentally undressing you, and you want to talk about paperwork?”
She smiled again. “You can bring it over later if you want. I just thought since I’m here…”
“Sure, might as well multitask,” he said, rolling off the sofa with mock indignation. “A little striptease, a tryst on the office floor, and a bit of accounting.”
Violet gave him a light swat on the butt as he leaned down to grab his boxer briefs off the floor. “It’s okay, I can get it later,” she said.
“No, I might forget later. Just give me a sec.”
Drew pulled on his briefs and found an empty cardboard box in the corner. He reached for his inbox and began filling the cardboard carton with receipts and ledgers and a few other random bits of paperwork he’d been neglecting.
“You don’t have to do this if you’re busy,” he told her. “Honestly, I’d rather remove my own armpit hair with my teeth than handle someone else’s paperwork.”
“A lovely image, but I actually enjoy it. I live to handle paperwork.”
He stepped closer to her and set the box down on the edge of the desk. “If there’s anything else of mine you’d like to handle, just let me know.”
She grinned up at him before standing on tiptoe for a kiss. “Later. I’ll handle whatever you ask me to.”
“Promise?”
“It’ll be my pleasure.”
***
It was eight thirty by the time Violet got home and showered, changed, and returned to the shop to prepare for her visit with Detective Smeade.
She still had no earthly idea what she was going to tell him.
She looked at the underwear and makeup case he’d left on the coffee table, wishing there was such a thing as auras or vibes or whatever the hell Moonbeam claimed to be able to read from inanimate objects. Picking up the makeup case, she held it for a minute, just to see.
Nothing. No singing band of angels, no flashes of clarity, not even a funny feeling in her fingertips.
Violet sighed and set the case down. She eyed the underwear for a moment, but decided against picking it up.
To rat out Drew’s employee, or to keep her mouth shut. That was the question. And Violet wasn’t sure about the answer.
She spotted the Magic 8 Ball he’d given her and picked it up. Maybe this was the ticket. A simple question, a simple answer. Violet turned it over in her palm.
Ask again later.
“Go to hell,” Violet said. She set the ball down and sighed.
Well, she might as well do a little tidying before Detective Smeade showed up. She noticed the half-wilted tulips Chris had brought a week ago and took them over to the sink to add some water. She took a rag and dusted off the Buddha statue. Returning to the seating area, she grabbed the box of Drew’s paperwork and started to tuck it inside the cabinet.
That’s when she noticed the piece of paper on top of the pile.
She reached inside, her fingers shaking a little.
“Jerry Jester,” she read, pulling out the job application. Desired position: entertainer. Desired salary: I’d do this for free. Most recent position: license-plate manufacturer, Oregon State Penitentiary.
Violet winced and kept skimming, certain this had to be a mistake. What were the odds? Here was all of Jerry’s contact information. His home phone, his address, his social security number, for crying out loud.
Okay, so she hadn’t talked to Drew about it. She’d meant to, she really had. But after the fiasco with Jamie, after they’d woken up naked on the sofa together, after his speech about staying out of each other’s business… well, it hadn’t seemed wise.
How would she even broach the subject? “Thanks for the roll in the hay, and by the way, I’m thinking of telling the cops your favorite new employee is a criminal.”
She looked down at the application again. Maybe it was a sign. Sort of like the music. Maybe she was just supposed to take this information and run with it.
If the guy was guilty, he’d go to prison and Drew would be relieved of an untrustworthy employee. If he wasn’t… well, if she didn’t say anything to Drew beforehand, he wouldn’t know to be pissed at her for making false accusations.
Violet bit her lip and took one last look at the application. Then she set it back in the box and shoved the whole thing into the corner beside the cabinet.
She was making herself a cup of lavender tea when the door chimed and Detective Smeade came strolling in. He was carrying the briefcase again, looking rumpled but eager.
“Hey, Violet. How’s it going?”
“Good, thanks. Can I get you some tea?”
“None for me, thanks. Look, I’d love to stay and chat, but I’ve got something urgent I need to deal with this morning. Did you have any luck with the… with the auras and stuff?”
Violet bit her lip. She held the steaming mug between her palms, hesitating.
She saw him steal a glance at the clock over her shoulder. “Violet?”
“Yes.”
“Yes what?”
“Yes, I had a… a vision.”
Detective Smeade’s eyes widened. “And?”
Violet swallowed and gripped the mug tighter. “My vision told me that the man you’re looking for is named Jerry Jester. He lives at 3434 Borthwick in Northeast Portland.”
Detective Smeade stared at her. “Oh, my God. Wow. Moonbeam’s never able to give us such specific details. This is really… Hold on a minute, let me write this down.”
He fumbled in his breast pocket for a small notepad and a piece of paper and Violet felt an instant stab of regret.
Shit. Why had she given him so much detail? Couldn’t she have just given a first name and a street? Or hell, just a last name. There had to be several dozen Jesters in Portland.
“This is confidential, right?” Violet asked, taking a few steps closer to him. “I mean, I wouldn’t want anyone to find out that I was the one who—”
“Don’t worry, Violet,” he said, clicking his pen closed and shoving it back into his pocket with the notebook. “We’ll hold this in the strictest of confidence. You don’t have to worry about any dangerous criminals coming after you.”
“Dangerous criminals. Good.”
“If I could just grab those items from you, I’ll be on my way.”
“Right,” Violet said, turning to grab the makeup bag and the underwear on the table. “Here you go. They were very… um, helpful.”
Detective Smeade stuffed the items into his briefcase and smiled at her. “Obviously. You have a great day now. And tell your mom hi for me, okay?”
“Sure.”
“Thanks again, Violet.”
She said nothing as she watched Detective Smeade hustle out the door and down the street. The door hadn’t even swung shut all the way when Drew came waltzing in.
“That guy was in a hurry,” he said with a glance back over his shoulder. “Did you bite him or something?”
“My client. He had another appointment. How’d you know I wasn’t in the middle of a reading?”
“I’m psychic,” he said, stepping close eno
ugh to brush her arm with his fingers. “Also, I walked by and saw you standing here by yourself, staring out the door.”
Violet smiled, feeling some of the dread drain from her body. She looked at Drew, feeling her hands and feet begin to tingle at the thought of what they’d been up to on the other side of the wall just a few short hours ago.
The things that man can do with his hands—
“Hello? Earth to Violet?”
“What?”
Drew grinned at her, and Violet felt the tingle spread.
“I just wanted to drop off a few more receipts,” he said. “I found them under the desk when I was tidying up. I also found a button that belongs to you, but you’re not getting it back until you agree to have dinner with me tonight.”
“So this is a hostage situation?”
“I like to think of it more like blackmail. You don’t have any ethical problems with that, do you?”
Violet felt a sharp stab to her spleen, but she managed to smile. “None at all. How about seven?”
“I’ll pick you up at your place. That way if you decide you just want to get naked and eat chili out of the can, we’ll have the option.”
“Are you always this romantic with women you’ve just slept with?”
“Nope. Just you.”
“I’m touched.”
“You will be,” Drew said, and leaned down to kiss her.
The room whirled a little, and Violet gave up feeling guilty and just kissed him back. When Drew finally pulled away, he touched the side of her face and smiled into her eyes.
“We’ll continue this later. Right now, I’m meeting Jerry to talk about taking over all the bachelorette parties he’s covering after Jamie’s gone. That’s turned into a logistical nightmare.”
Violet grimaced and took a small step back. “Good luck with that.”
“Sure. Here, you want me to throw these in the box with the rest of them?”
Violet followed the direction of his gaze to the box tucked in the corner by the cabinet. Before she had a chance to say anything, he was striding over to it and peering inside.
Shit.
Did he even know he’d given her Jerry’s application? Would he notice? Would he connect the dots back to her when the cops came looking for Jerry?
