Indiscreet Ladies of Green Ivy Way

by Kress, Alyssa

  ~~~

  Hagar knew she had to get a look at Anja's laptop. On Sunday Anja had come to the lab, but only for a short visit. Hagar saw her walk in, spend about twenty minutes inside, then walk out again.

  When she'd walked out, she'd looked like the cat who'd eaten the canary. Happy, satisfied, triumphant.

  Whatever Anja had been working on, it was done.

  On Monday, when Anja didn't even bother coming into the lab at all, Hagar panicked. Anja had taken all of her samples from the lab and cleaned away every scrap of her work. Obviously finished, she hadn't left a crumb behind. No clue what it had all been about.

  Fortunately, Hagar had managed to swab another sample — a tax — the day before. Whatever this was, she had the latest version.

  But what was it?

  Hagar could only pray she hadn't waited too long to find out.

  Telling herself to act purely social, she called Anja at her hotel mid-morning. She breathed a sigh of relief when Anja answered, not yet checked out. Hagar then suffered through the necessary chit-chat before she dared to make the oh, so casual suggestion. "So, are you still interested in an island party?"

  Anja laughed, low and husky. "How did you know? I could use a good party right about now."

  Safely out of sight in her own living room, Hagar lowered her eyelids in satisfaction. "Would tonight do?"

  Anja agreed that tonight would do very well.

  It took Hagar a few hours to arrange the necessary elements for a party, and then she was standing outside the door of Anja's cabana, a bottle of the native rum in one hand and a straw hat on her glossy black hair. Reminding herself to remain nonchalant, she knocked.

  Anja smiled widely as she opened the door. "I've been waiting for you." She was wearing an island-style wraparound dress and a colorful kerchief in her hair. Hagar supposed some lucky island man would end up with his hands full tonight.

  Meanwhile, she held up the rum. "I'd thought we'd get a head start."

  Anja chuckled and took a step back. "By all means."

  Hagar walked into the airy hotel cabana, eyes quickly scanning the room. Relief and excitement mixed headily as she spotted Anja's laptop sitting on the same table that held the telephone.

  Hagar made certain to set the rum down on the other table, the round one with the two wicker chairs. "Do you have any glasses?"

  "In the bathroom," Anja said, and turned. "I'll go rinse them out."

  While Anja stepped into the bathroom, Hagar took a stealthy step toward Anja's laptop and flipped the lid open. Covered by the sound of water pouring from the faucet in the bathroom, Hagar watched the screen flicker to life.

  Almighty God. Hagar's eyes widened at the title of the document on the screen. This — this was beyond anything she could have hoped. Amazing. Brilliant, if true.

  And lucrative. Oh, so lucrative.

  The water in the bathroom shut off. Hagar flipped the laptop closed. Hopefully she could get a better look, a longer one, sometime during the party. With Anja occupied, Hagar would have time to bribe someone to open the hotel safe. For right now, she slipped back to stand beside the other table before Anja strolled back into the room, bearing the two glasses from the bathroom.

  "To a successful year," Hagar told Anja, lifting her glass after pouring the rum.

  "Ah." Anja looked, once again, like the cat who'd eaten the canary. As if she didn't need to wish for success, she already had it.

  Considering what Hagar had seen on the laptop, it was an expression that was well justified.

  "To a happy, healthy year," Anja said, and lifted her own glass.

  Hagar hid her face in the sweet-smelling rum. It was her philosophy to make friends, for one never knew who might come in handy at some point down the road. It so happened Hagar had other friends, friends who might pay her dearly for obtaining what Anja had made.

  Oh, it was all coming together, all the waiting through all the years. Hagar's smile was every bit as satisfied as Anja's had been. Yes, it was indeed going to be a happy, healthy, and successful year for her. And, like Anja, she didn't even need to wish for it.

  ~~~

  "Oh, boy," Brittany said, a panting exclamation on Monday night as both she and Peter fell onto their backs in her king-size four-poster bed. "Oh, boy oh boy. That was — Hell. Do you have any idea how late it is?"

  "No." Peter gazed in pure happiness at the lacy print of the canopy stretched over the bed. Sparkles of pleasure were still raining through him from the recent climax. But somehow the intimate press of Brittany's hip against his own was giving him nearly as much pleasure; her comfort with him, the personal acceptance.

  Not that he wouldn't be ready to give her up in three months. A frown briefly threatened his contented expression. Yeah, sure he'd be done in three months, even if the very thought made him want to turn and fold Brittany back into his arms. The intensity of pleasure and emotion he'd been experiencing the past few nights could be credited to their being on the upswing in this thing. Right? Eventually his characteristic inconstancy would kick in. He'd lose interest. In three months he'd be ready to say goodbye.

  Right? Sure. That had to be right.

  Brittany's sweat-moistened hip pulled away as she twisted in the sheets to squint at the radio clock on the other side of the bed. "Two in the morning," she announced. "It's friggin' two in the morning."

  Peter's smile toward the lacy canopy returned. "I assume that's an exclamation of pride and wonder at my stamina."

  "It's a statement of amazed complaint, that's what it is. How could you do this to me?"

  "I'll tell you how." Peter turned on his side to grab her. "I do it through my incredible endurance...and ingenuity, and sensitivity, and skill..." With each noun he punched a kiss, moving from Brittany's sweet shoulder down toward her collar bone.

  Laughing, she squirmed and then held his head to her chest. "It'd serve you right if I told you to make me come again."

  "It'd serve me right, too." Peter was nuzzling the softer flesh at the top of her breasts and wondering if he ought to take her up on it. He might be able to manage another erection.

  "You are a nut," Brittany declared, and with a fist in his hair pulled him off her. "As it is, we're both going to be exhausted tomorrow."

  "But oh, so happily exhausted."

  She smiled at him, releasing his hair to trap his stubbled cheeks between her hands. "However did I find you, huh?"

  Her eyes looked into his with such sudden, unexpected tenderness that Peter's grin dropped right off his face. An arrow of pure emotion went through him.

  But it was just the novelty, he assured himself. He'd never had a lover like Brittany. She was tough as nails on the outside, soft as an over-sweet peach inside. That's what made him...react so. Just the novelty.

  Carefully recovering himself, Peter retrieved his jaunty grin. "I'm the one who found you, doll, and all because you let the paint start peeling off your major life investment."

  Brittany laughed and released him. "That's what I get for being lazy."

  "And cheap."

  Brittany swatted him. "It is definitely time for you to go home."

  "All right, all right." Peter rose to a sitting position and tapped her on the nose. "I'll go home now...but only to give you the opportunity to rebuild your energy for tomorrow night."

  "You're a sex maniac."

  Peter pretended to consider that. "Yes," he then said. "I believe I am."

  Brittany made to swat him again, but Peter evaded her, scooting out of the bed just in time. "Fine, you got me up, oh so fair and docile maiden. So now tell me...where the heck did I leave my clothes?"

  "Your clothes? Ah, black-hearted knight...I believe you left them in the bathroom, right before ravishing me in mine own shower."

  "Did I do that?"

  Brittany's laugh followed Peter as he walked into the master bathroom. He whistled as he found various items of his apparel and drew them on. The whistling covered a growing sense of sorrow.
He didn't want to leave. On the contrary, he wanted to go back to Brittany's warm, if tangled, bed and fall asleep with her nestled close against him.

  Hell of a thing.

  Once dressed, Peter glanced about the bathroom, vaguely looking for an excuse to delay his departure and, cheerful again, found it. Grinning, he peered into the mirror over the sink. She'd actually cut him with her teeth. And, wouldn't you know, right beside the jugular? Leave it to Brittany. "Fair maiden!" he called.

  "What?"

  "You need to come dress the wound you made on your fair knight."

  "I made a wound?" Brittany sounded distinctly pleased, but she did get off the bed. Throwing on her blue robe, she padded into the bathroom. "Oh, yeah," she muttered, moving Peter's chin to the side so she could view the cut. "Would ya look at that?"

  "Don't just look at it. Put something on it."

  Brittany released Peter to give him a disgusted look, but then moved to the side to slide open a mirrored medicine cabinet. "And by the way," she said, "you're not 'fair knight.' You're 'black-hearted knight.'"

  "Thanks," Peter said.

  She smiled and began removing things from the medicine cabinet. "I'm pretty sure I have something in here. Ah!" She set down one last extraneous item, a small glass cylinder. She put it on the sink directly in front of Peter before reaching up to draw forth a small bottle of antiseptic.

  Peter, however, was staring at the little glass cylinder she'd set in front of him. It had a handwritten tag that said "Marchmont" attached to one end by a thread. He felt the wheels in his brain begin to turn, albeit dazedly.

  "What is that?" he asked, then winced as she dabbed his cut with a tissue soaked in antiseptic.

  "What? Oh, that?" She laughed and picked up the little glass cylinder, turning it so the liquid inside spilled first one way and then the other. "It's custom-made perfume. My neighbor, Anja, gave it to me, stubborn woman." Brittany shook her head as she set the tube down again. "I've told her over and over that I don't wear fragrances."

  Anja had given it to her? Feeling like he was moving through tar, Peter picked up the tube and stared at it. It was exactly the same shape as tubes he'd seen at the lab, and the liquid inside was clear, water-like, just like the fluids he'd seen at the lab.

  Anja's virus?

  But no, it couldn't be. Anja wouldn't have given Brittany her virus, and claimed it was perfume! Or wouldn't she? His hand began to shake. The virus wasn't supposed to be dangerous unless it was loaded with some DNA, but still...

  Holding the cylinder, Peter cleared his throat. "Uh...do you mind if I keep this?" He spoke without thinking, just wanting the thing out of Brittany's house.

  The look Brittany threw him was as baffled as his question deserved.

  Peter realized he'd better think fast. "I — uh, one of my foster mothers, one of the good ones, she adores perfume, and the more exotic the better."

  Brittany's look of bafflement didn't much ease, but she waved a hand. "Sure...I guess. If you think she'll enjoy it, then be my guest."

  "I appreciate it." Peter folded the cylinder into his palm and transferred it to the big side pocket of his overalls.

  "Anyway, your wound has been dressed, dark-hearted one," Brittany declared, and stepped back.

  Now that he had the virus safely away from her, Peter found himself overwhelmed by a sweeping sorrow. He was pretty sure he'd just found the clue Anja had given Brittany. If this was, indeed, the virus, he'd have no further reason to come here, no reason to paint her house, no reason to laugh with the kids or — or just be here.

  Not even three months. He hadn't even had that long.

  "Thank you, fair one," Peter replied, barely managing not to choke before he reached out to embrace her.

  "Oh, it wasn't that big a deal," Brittany muttered, clearly more baffled than ever.

  Peter closed his eyes tightly, not feeling baffled at all. In fact, he was seeing more clearly than ever. He wasn't ready to leave Brittany or the boys. He wasn't ready now, and he was painfully certain he wouldn't have been ready in three months, either.

  He held her as long as he dared without completely spooking her, while the cylinder felt like a ten-ton weight in his pocket.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  "Would you like another scone?" Late on Tuesday afternoon, Shana sat at the glass-topped table in her backyard and held up a silver tray arranged with various pastries purchased from the local bakery.

  "No, thank you," Dash replied. "But I wouldn't mind another cup of tea." He held the china teacup over the plates and napkins.

  Oh, so civilized, so polite. Shana picked up the teakettle and poured him some more Earl Grey. This plan of hers was not working. After two restless nights with too many thoughts chasing each other in her brain, Shana decided she needed to see Dash again after all. She'd invited him over for 'high tea' this afternoon in a desperate effort to lay down some boundaries. No, more than that — to draw a firm line in the sand. He'd gotten himself into her head and she was determined to get him out again. She intended to tell him they were not going to have a relationship.

  So far she hadn't been able to get to the point. Instead, she was sitting in her own backyard feeling nervous and awkward and trying to make things nice for him. Idiotic. She didn't want things nice. She wanted things off.

  Shana set down the teakettle and watched Dash take a sip. Her big plan had started to fall apart as soon as she'd answered the front door. Standing there with his mild-mannered smile, Dash had looked at her in the way that made it seem as if — as if — he understood her. It was crazy. He couldn't understand her. She barely understood herself most of the time.

  But that hadn't been bad enough. No. He'd taken one of her hands and leaned forward to kiss her — on the cheek. Could you beat that? On the cheek! But for all that, it hadn't been a platonic kiss. Oh, no. Shana couldn't explain how, but that peck on the cheek had been heart-stoppingly provocative and...even more. More what Shana couldn't say. But knowledge of the more had lurked in the clear blue eyes gazing at her from behind his wire frame glasses.

  "Um, I've set things up in the backyard," she'd informed him. Then she'd tripped — actually tripped! — while stepping back to show him the way.

  Oh, how she hated this man.

  Now, at the table in the backyard, she remembered her hatred and cleared her throat. "Dash. There is something we need to discuss."

  He looked over the rim of his cup at her. "Okay."

  'Okay.' Not causing contention. Not making this in any way easy for her by starting a fight.

  But, fine. She could go on. Folding her hands in her lap, Shana proceeded. "Sunday night you made an...intimation that you expected to have some kind of relationship with me."

  "No, I don't expect anything," Dash gently corrected. "I wouldn't presume that far. 'Want' would be a better word. Yes, I want a relationship with you."

  Shana blinked a few times and straightened her shoulders. He was doing it again. Backing down. Giving her nothing to fight against. "Ahem. Well. Be that as it may, I feel it my duty to inform you that — that nothing of the sort is going to happen."

  His reaction was a quietly questioning look.

  Damn the man. Couldn't he fight? Shana drew in a deep breath. "It's not. I'm not interested. There will be no relationship."

  "But Shana." Dash's tone was as mild as his expression. "We already do have a relationship."

  "We do not."

  He blinked behind his wire frame glasses. "Oh, it's in no way a binding relationship, or even yet monogamous. Or physical. But it is a relationship."

  Shana managed to unclench her gritted teeth. "How is that?"

  He blinked some more. "Well, we know each other's names. We talk to each other. We've enjoyed at least one evening together. And here we are right now in your backyard having a perfectly pleasant interaction."

  Shana breathed in and out very carefully. "I do not call this interaction pleasant."

  "You don't?"

 
"No." But even as she said it she knew it wasn't true. She was only having a bad time now because she didn't want to admit how pleasant it actually was to sit out here with Dash, sensing the undercurrent of his attraction to her, yet not feeling she had to do anything about it. Just talking. She could talk to him, and he listened. In fact, he was listening right now. Quite patiently, very attentively listening.

  Shana emitted a deep groan and dropped her face into her hands.

  "Perhaps it would help," Dash spoke up, in his calm, quiet way, "if you could elucidate exactly what is unpleasant about our interaction here."

  Shana groaned again into her hands.

  "I'm afraid I'm not able to translate that into common English."

  Now Shana laughed into her hands. The laughter turned into another groan as she raised her face. "You. Are. Stubborn. Don't you understand? I don't do relationships. I do affairs, intrigues, trysts."

  "Ah." His head tilted. "Perhaps you're due for a change of pace, then."

  "Perhaps not. I — I don't even know how to do a relationship." Shana's face turned red at this unconsidered revelation.

  But Dash didn't appear the least surprised by it. On the contrary, he looked as if he'd already guessed as much. "Mmm." Leisurely, he raised his gaze to the leaves of the eucalyptus tree above them. "Maybe that's what will make this so interesting. Because, you see — " With a strange smile he lowered his eyes to meet hers. "I don't have much experience, either."

  Shana found herself staring at him. A strange, tingling sensation rippled over her. He didn't have much experience with relationships, either? Really?

  Hastily, she drew herself out of the fantasy, shaking her head. "It doesn't matter. It won't work." It would be too iffy, and possibly too important.

  "It might not work," he admitted. "But you don't know."

  "Dash."

  "Shana." He smiled. Then he did something truly terrible. He reached across the table and took her hand. His hold on her was both gentle and firm. It was both sexual and...and that more thing again. "You don't have to promise me anything. Just don't shut me out. Say hello when you see me. Say yes when I ask you out for dinner. Allow yourself to...have a good time with me."