Blind Date

by Cheryl Anne Porter

  “Ah. Point taken, ma’am. In that case, you’re a dance-hall girl.”

  “Whatever, Joe.”

  Done torturing her and himself, Joe placed a pecking kiss on her nose and, with quick practiced movements, rolled off her, applied a condom and rolled back to her. Her knees bent and parted, she held her arms out to him in clear invitation, one Joe accepted. He moved up and over her, slowly lowering himself onto her pelvis. She clutched at his shoulders, her eyes half closed, her lips parted.

  Almost of its own accord, Joe’s sex pushed against her, seeking entry into her warm and willing body. Holding himself up on his elbows, watching her face, drinking in her delicate features, loving how she wantonly tossed her head from side to side, Joe entered her, sliding in smoothly, filling her.

  A great shudder seized his body and it took all he had not to succumb right there. She was so hot and tight. And then…she lifted her hips, taking him more fully inside her. Her body tensed around his shaft and sexual urgency exploded in Joe’s body, whipping his very blood into foam. Beyond thought, reason and finesse, he pumped his hips in long and steady strokes that had them both making the unmistakable noises of passion being consummated. Meg wrapped her legs around his hips. Joe responded by pounding into her, knowing instinctually that he wasn’t hurting her, even though her fingernails raked his back and she groaned deliciously.

  And then…it was there. The moment. The heightened tension. The increased sensitivity…and the peak instant when Joe thrust one last time and held himself rigid over Meg. She took over the thrusting motion with her hips and brought them both to a shouting crescendo of release so hot that it threatened to set off the fire alarm mounted in the ceiling.

  With one last, weak motion, Joe collapsed atop Meg, burying his face in the crook of her neck. They were both so slick with lovemaking’s sheen that he figured he’d slide right off her and onto the floor, where he would stay until he passed out or died. But Meg had her arms up under his and wrapped around his back, as if holding on to him for dear life. That was good enough for him. Joe laid there, one big charred hunk of love.

  About a millennium later, when he was certain he would live, not that he much cared either way right now, Joe raised himself and smiled down into Meg’s beautiful face with her dark eyes, pert nose and expressive mouth. She’d never been more beautiful to him than she was at this moment.

  A wave of sweet tenderness and fierce protectiveness unexpectedly seized Joe, giving him that feeling that told him this woman was the one who could toss his heart right over a high cliff in gale force winds…and make him love it. Son of a gun. He’d met his match. A willing victim, Joe chuckled as he gently pushed back dampened tendrils of Meg’s long dark hair from her very pink cheeks.

  “What’s so funny, cowboy?”

  “Nothing. All I have to say is…damn, woman.”

  Sighing, Meg nodded, tipping her tongue out to wet her lips. “I’ll say. You’re pretty good at this, too.”

  “Thanks. I was trying out some of my new stuff.”

  Meg bumped a shoulder against him. “So, you want to do it again?”

  “Yes, until I’m a hundred and seventy-four years old. But I’d settle for all night tonight.”

  Meg rolled her eyes. “Braggart.”

  “Not me. But I do have a certain reputation to maintain.”

  “I see. Well, I have one thing to say about that.”

  “An endorsement?”

  “No. You’re on my hair, stud.”

  “Oh, hell, sorry.” Joe shifted enough to disengage his body from hers and pull himself off her. “Excuse me a minute, okay?” With that, he rolled to the side of the bed, got up and padded naked around the king-size bed to the bathroom to divest himself of the condom. After washing up, he came back into the bedroom.

  “You sure do have a nice butt, Joe.”

  He stopped short, pivoting so he could see her. Covered by the sheet, Meg lay propped up on her side, her knees bent, her head supported by a hand. Her elbow rested against the mattress. But it was her dark eyes, bright with mischief and boldness, that captured his attention.

  “Are you always this forward, lady?”

  “Yes. You ought to see me in art museums checking out the ancient statues of naked gods and kings and Greek wrestlers. Have you ever noticed how it’s never their package that’s gotten lopped off somehow over the centuries? Just their noses or arms or even their whole heads, but not that particular part?”

  “Ouch. But no, I can’t say I have. And, by the way, have you ever been thrown out of any museums for unseemly behavior?”

  Meg shrugged. “Once or twice. Hey, I can’t help it if I was curious.”

  “Yeah, I bet you were. Are you still?”

  She rolled over onto her back and held her arms out to him. “Come here and I’ll show you…”

  THE NEXT AFTERNOON as they headed back to Tampa in The Stogie, Meg reflected that they hadn’t done it until Joe was a hundred and seventy-four, but they had done it all morning, until dangerously close to check-out time. All in all, a good compromise. Sitting next to him now, her hand resting on his bare thigh below the hem of his khaki shorts, she smiled dreamily as she reveled in the achy soreness of her muscles and the swollen throbbiness of a certain other place.

  “Man, those guys just don’t give up. They’re still back there,” Joe said, breaking into Meg’s reverie.

  It took her a moment….”Oh. Our official escort, you mean?”

  “Yep. In a big black stretch limo. They’re about as subtle as a sledgehammer for people who’ve been on our tail since the hotel. Like we wouldn’t spot them.”

  “I don’t think they care if we do.” Meg smiled and suppressed the impulse to glance over her shoulder. “But is it really them, Joe? They could just be innocent rich people or newlyweds in a rented limo.”

  “Could be. But the driver, from what I can see in the rearview mirror, is a big muscled guy dressed in black.”

  “Really? Can you see if it’s one of the guys I ran into by the elevators?”

  “It might be. He’s staying too far back for me to tell.”

  “You know what? I am so over them. I don’t even care who they are. Pull over to the shoulder, Joe. If they stop behind us, then we’ll have our answer—”

  “And then what?”

  “And then I’m going to get out and give them a piece of my mind and pepper spray them like I should have done last night.”

  “There’s a good plan.”

  “Well, you think of something, then. You’re the one who brought them up. I was sitting here happily thinking about…” She’d barely caught herself before revealing her innermost thoughts and had to finish lamely with “…stuff.”

  But it wasn’t lost on him. Joe nudged her with his shoulder. “Stuff, huh?”

  Meg pinched his thigh. “Turn the page, Joe.”

  Though he laughed at her teasingly, he heeded her warning. “Okay, forget the car behind us. New topic.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like all these exotic flowers and the jungle vegetation and big, leafy palm trees everywhere.” His window was rolled down so he could rest an elbow there. Earlier he’d told her he wanted to work on his trucker’s tan. “Complete culture shock, you know, coming from Denver. Makes me feel…”

  He’d paused, frowning as if searching for a word, one Meg was happy to supply.

  “Tropical? Like you might want to wear a grass skirt and a coconut bra?”

  He grinned over at her. “Well, I would, but the big kids on the playground would tease me. However, I would like to see you dressed like that.”

  Ever cooperative, Meg shrugged her willingness. “Okay, but you’d have to wear a Stetson and chaps for me. And nothing else. Well, except for cowboy boots.” She pictured that little vision in her mind’s eye—and started adding to it. “And spurs. Oh, and a gun. A big, shiny six-shooter strapped to your hip in a holster. And maybe—”

  “And maybe try out for the Vi
llage People? All I said was I like your palm trees, and the next thing I know, I’m suited up for a pornographic cattle drive.”

  Meg chuckled. “So, I take it there aren’t a lot of those in Denver? Palm trees, I mean.”

  “No, I’d say there are about as many palm trees in Denver as there are inches of snow in Florida.” Joe breathed in deeply, contentedly. “Man, smell that air. I never knew before that you could actually smell sunshine and warmth. Wow. I am really going to miss all this.”

  Miss all this? Meg froze in place, despite the warm air billowing through the car’s interior. “What do you mean—” she had to stop and swallow hard “—you’ll miss it?”

  Joe glanced over at her. “Are you all right? What’s wrong?”

  She sighed. “Where are you going, Joe?”

  Joe frowned his obvious confusion. “We’re going back to Uncle Maury’s, remember?”

  Meg shook her head. “Not that. The bigger picture. Are you going back to Denver? Is that what you mean?”

  He looked at her as if he’d never seen her before. “Well, yeah. Of course I am. I live there. But we still have a week before—”

  “Stop this car, Joe Rossi.”

  “What?”

  “You heard me. Stop this car.” Anger and betrayal wormed their way into Meg’s heart. She scooted across the seat, as far away from him as she could get, until her shoulder was pressed against the passenger door. She fought her seat belt. At last she had it undone and—

  “What’d I say? What’s wrong, Meg?” Joe reached out for her, but Meg batted his hand away. Looking thoroughly confused, he returned his hand to the steering wheel. “Okay, I’m not even going to pretend I know what’s going on.”

  “Oh…ha! You know exactly what’s going on, mister. And if you don’t, you should. And I said stop this car right now.”

  Joe glanced from the road to her. “Where, exactly? We’re in three lanes of traffic and about to get on a long bridge. Just tell me what’s wrong or what I did.”

  Meg poked out her bottom lip. “How can you not know what’s wrong? You just breeze into my life, whisk me away from my home, break up my romance—”

  “Break up your romance?” Joe looked at her as if she’d just sprouted horns. “Oh, please. You broke up with Carl a week before you ever met me.”

  “All right, fine, but then you take me to hotels and weddings and make mad, passionate love to me—and now you’re just going to abandon me and go home? Just like that?”

  Apparent enlightenment dawned. “Oh, honey, is that why you’re upset? Come on, Meg…no, it’s not like that at all.”

  His obvious striving for a reasonable tone only further irritated her.

  “I live in Denver. My job is there. My family’s there. It’s not easy to simply—”

  “What about Maury? He’s your family, and he’s here. And there’re lots of construction jobs here, too. Year-round.”

  “All that’s true. But…hell, Meg, I don’t know what you want me to do. I love Denver. The mountains, the snow, the cold. The wild West is all I’ve ever known. And you and I are still so new with each other that we haven’t even—”

  “Don’t you dare say you have to think about us, Joe Rossi, because we both know what that means.” Meg looked up and away, determined, by sheer will, that the tears blurring her vision would not fall. When they did, anyway, she turned away from Joe, staring out the window to her right as she miserably wiped them away.

  “Meg? Are you crying?” He sounded surprised, even upset.

  “No,” she said, a sob catching in her voice and giving her away.

  “Oh, man,” he drawled, sounding sick about it, “now I’ve made you cry.”

  The Stogie suddenly jerked to the right, forcing Meg to grab for the door. Startled, her tears instantly dried, she looked to Joe, whose eyebrows were lowered dangerously. “What are you doing? Where—”

  “I’m doing exactly what you said earlier. I’m pulling over. And this time you’re going to listen to me—for once.”

  11

  AS IT TURNED OUT, Joe’s timing for reaching the end of his emotional rope was impeccable. Because at hand was an easy exit off the highway, which he took—none too smoothly—onto an unpaved, sandy road that ran the length of a long, narrow strip of beach that ended where the bridge ahead began. Dotting the sand, along the gleaming water’s edge, were tall, leafy, protective stands—clumps, really—of mangroves.

  Every natural break between the water-loving plants boasted a car, minivan or truck parked in it. Not surprisingly, then, the area teemed with swimmers, sunbathers, picnickers, boaters, daredevils on Jet Skis, and families with pets and kids. A Sno-Kone truck, a hot-dog vendor and a guy renting Jet Skis completed the picture. All right, so it wasn’t the best place for a private conversation, but too bad. This was where it was going to happen.

  The Stogie, being what it was—a magnet for old-car enthusiasts—already had the attention of about half the men on the beach. Only too aware of his audience, Joe brought his ride to a stop alongside the hard-packed sandy track. He was embarrassed to admit, even to himself, that they looked more like the Clampetts pulling up in front of their Beverly Hills mansion than some race-car driver coolly pulling his purebred machine into the pit for service.

  Still, several men whooped and hollered, raising their plastic cups high in salute. Totally self-conscious, Joe cut the engine and waved across Meg to what he hoped were his admirers. Only then did he register the uncertainty stamped on her expression. He sat back.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing against all these nice people here, Joe, and I’m really not a snob, but, well…there’s a reason the cops are always patrolling this little strip of beach.”

  “I can believe that.” Again, he looked around her, considering the beachgoers ranged up and down the sandy spit of land to their right. As far as he could see, they’d pretty much returned to their business. Or pleasure, he supposed. “But they’re not bothering us, and since we didn’t come here to join them for a wienie roast and a day of drinking, we should be okay. But if it gets ugly, there’s always your pepper spray, right?”

  Joe had sought to reassure her a bit, but Meg had no smile for him. Instead, she sat there facing forward, her lips pinched together. The very image of a woman not reassured. Well, great. Not knowing whether to be mad, concerned or amused—maybe all three—Joe ran his gaze over her. Dressed in shorts and a halter top, her dark hair up in a windblown ponytail that left baby curls framing her temple and the nape of her neck, she looked about fourteen years old.

  Joe had to swallow back a chuckle that threatened. No doubt, she’d take it wrong, maybe think he was laughing at her, when the truth was, he would be laughing at himself. Why? Because Meg Kendall turned him and his emotions every which way but loose. He wanted to shout his joy and his frustration with her. Just grab her up, hug her tight and kiss her all over. She was so damned cute and exasperating. She did the strangest things to his heart, like make him want to fight the whole world to keep her safe. Or do stupid tricks to win her love.

  “Okay, so we’re here,” she said abruptly, still staring out through the windshield. “What am I supposed to be listening to for once, as you put it?”

  He stared at her unyielding profile. “I can’t figure this out, Meg. Why are we at each other’s throats?”

  She turned her head to look at him. “That was rhetorical, right, since the answer is so obvious?”

  Joe hated it when women said that, because it was never obvious to him. Never. “Rhetorical. Okay, sure, why not?”

  “And that was, too?”

  Shooting her a ha-ha look, he sat back against the seat and pushed his fingers through his hair, too late realizing that with the wind from the rolled-down car windows, it must already be standing on end. I probably look like Stan Laurel right now. And why not? This was certainly another fine mess he’d got himself into. Trying again, Joe glanced Meg’s way.

  “So, you
want to get out and talk?”

  “Unless you have dueling weapons with you, and then I’d rather do that.”

  Her continued sarcasm spiked Joe’s temper. “Really? Well, we might be in luck. From the looks of some of those good ol’ boys over there lurking around that big gnarly pickup truck, I’d say more than one of them could come up with some illegal weapons we could use, if you want me to go ask.”

  She shrugged. “Go ahead. But maybe you should take my pepper spray in case they get rough with you.” Her chin in the air, like that of some snooty poodle, she got out of the car and slammed the door closed behind her.

  Insulted, Joe called out to her through the open window, “Hey, you, I can take care of myself. I do work in construction, in case you forgot. But, thanks, my masculine pride is still firmly intact.”

  “Who cares?” She leaned her butt against the rear passenger door and crossed her arms.

  “I care.” Not about to be the one sitting and sulking in the car, Joe got out, only to have his senses immediately assaulted by the relentless sunlight beating down on his head, the mocking cry of seagulls and the scent of the salt-tangy air. Ticked off, he pivoted to his left, intending to circle around behind the back of the antique vehicle and go have it out, once and for all, with Meg. But the sight that greeted him stopped him in midstride.

  About twenty or thirty yards back from where Joe had brought The Stogie to a halt, the big black stretch limo sat idling. Somehow, he hadn’t given their tail another thought once he’d pulled off the highway. He supposed he’d figured it would just continue on. Wrong. The car seemed to crouch menacingly low to the ground, like a wildcat bunching its muscles to spring on a promising meal. If there was any good news here, it was that the big guys inside hadn’t gotten out…yet.

  “Oh, man, just what I need,” Joe muttered.

  He walked around to where Meg still stood in the same pose, hips leaned against the car door, arms crossed. She spared Joe a glance as he stopped in front of her, putting his hands in his shorts pockets. Just to gauge her mood, he said, “We have company.”