Sex on Tuesdays

by June Whyte

  Nothing happened.

  I turned the key again. Same result. My fickle car had let me down. This time there wasn’t even a tiny chug-a-chug or even an apologetic cough. Only complete disinterested silence.

  “Blast! Can’t be the battery, I replaced that last week. And the spark plugs are new,” I told Edward, as I scrambled out and stomped around to lift the bonnet.

  Frustrated, I peered into the bowels of the car. The motor appeared normal. Covered in grease—still attached—made of metal. Dubiously, I checked the coolant levels—seemed okay. Oil on dipstick? Check. Other than that, I didn’t have a clue. I sighed, and wiped one greasy hand across the bridge of my nose. “I’d better ring the RAA. Again. Must be close to running out of roadside services.”

  Edward lounged against his gleaming sports car and surveyed me with a thinly disguised twinkle. “You could be waiting for an hour for the RAA. Why don’t I get onto my mechanic and then drive you home? Patrick will tow the car to his garage, take a look, and get the car back to you first thing in the morning.”

  “But Edward, I can’t put you to all that trouble—”

  “No trouble,” he broke in, plucking his cell phone from one of his inside coat pockets. “Patrick owes me.”

  “But—”

  “Don’t worry, Dani. I’ll take care of it.” Already tapping in numbers, he withdrew to the far side of his car and spoke into the phone for several minutes.

  “All under control,” he assured me, smiling as he tucked the phone back into his pocket. “I’ll drive you home, and Patrick will have your car fixed and in your driveway before you leave for work in the morning.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Megan would skin me alive if I left you here in the car park on your own at this time of night. Now, come on; hop in,” he said opening the passenger side door of his car for me. “I don’t know about you, but I’m seriously in need of a nice glass of red.”

  A nice glass of red?

  With these scary words buzzing around in my brain, I ducked under Edward’s arm and slid into the front seat of his car. The inside of Edward’s BMW smelt of new leather and his distinctive cologne. And as I fastened my seat belt and forced myself to relax, the luxuriously soft feel of the upholstery wrapped itself around me.

  Nothing to worry about, I told myself, catching at my bottom lip. Not a thing!

  After all, there was no red wine in my cupboards—nice or otherwise—so I wouldn’t be obliged to invite Edward inside for a drink.

  13

  Wednesday, 11:30 p.m.

  Cruising through the night, I let the soft music wafting from the car’s player and the warmth from the heaters lull me into a contented drowsy state. Even Edward’s chatter contributed to my lethargy.

  He must have asked me a question, and not getting an answer, decided to tap me on the shoulder. Blinking, I opened my eyes.

  “Hey!” His voice was husky, as though talking through a haze of smoke. “You’re not falling asleep on me, are you?”

  “Mmm?”

  “Doesn’t say much for my scintillating conversation.”

  I hurried to convert my slack-mouthed drowsiness into a smile of apology. “No, no, I’m just resting my eyes,” I assured him, blinking rapidly. “Look, I’m sorry, Edward—it’s your car. Purrs like a kitten and runs so smoothly it’s making me sleepy.” I stretched my shoulders awkwardly. “Plus, today has been one very long, very eventful day.”

  “Care to tell me about it?”

  I shook my head. “Too long and too complicated. And anyway, I don’t want to spoil what’s been a lovely night.”

  “Try me. I’m a good listener,” he said in that deep gravelly voice that had me wanting to spill my guts to him—probably learnt the technique in Gangster 101.

  “Let’s just say I’m embroiled in the middle of a mystery that’s sucking me in way over my head. And I really don’t want to be there.” I snuggled deeper into the soft leather seat. With his gangland contacts, Edward could very well be a big help. On the other hand, I’d known him all of three hours—how did I know he wasn’t involved?

  Time for a subject change.

  “Why do you hate being called Eddy?” I blurted and immediately wished I could swallow my words. According to Megan this subject was way off-limits. And I was currently trapped in Eddy’s car travelling 100ks an hour on a lightly populated road in the middle of winter. Holding my breath, waiting for the explosion, I closed my eyes.

  Instead, Edward laughed. A laugh that came from deep down in his well-built swimmer’s chest. I flicked my eyes open. Surely that meant he wasn’t going to reach across, remove his gun from the car’s state-of-the-art glove box, and drill a hole between my eyes.

  “Megan been making me out to be a mega-villain, has she?”

  “Um…well…”

  “Don’t worry, it’s no big deal—merely embarrassing. Story goes, my Nanny always called me ‘little Eddy’ right up to and into my teens, and I loathed her for it. Made me feel like I was still in nappies. Hell, the old bat even embarrassed me when my friends came over.” He paused—as though this scene still caused old wounds to re-open. I watched his hands strangle the steering wheel. “Naturally, the other boys teased me rotten about it. Anyway, to cut a long story short, I finally convinced my parents to sack the woman. And ever since that day, I’ve insisted on being called Edward.”

  With a shiver at the emphasis on insisted, I wondered what happened to those who forgot. Cement boots in shark-infested water? Target practice for hoods with L plates? Snack time for his tank of piranhas?

  Edward’s mobile let out a piercing ring. I jerked, startled. Apologizing for the interruption, he switched the phone onto hands-free speaker and continued driving. “Yes. Who is it?”

  “Edward, darling, it’s Sasha,” said a breathy female voice. “You’d better get home, pronto. I think you have an intruder.”

  “You’re joking.”

  “No, I’m out the front waiting for my itsy-bitsy Brutus to do a tinkle before going to bed. There’s a light on in your study, and I know you’re not home because your garage door is open and the car’s gone.”

  Edward slowed the car to a crawl and guided it off the road into a dirt siding. Without turning off the motor, he continued talking. “Sasha, it can’t be a burglar. No one can get into my house, because the security system’s switched on.”

  “All I’m saying is you’d better come home and check it out. There’s a light on in your study, and I’m sure I saw a shadow move across the blind a moment ago.”

  “Bloody hell!”

  “Darling, would you like me to ring the police?” asked the breathy voice. My imagination attached the voice to an exotic dancer with legs up to her neck.

  “No police!” Edward yelled making me jump. “And I don’t want you going anywhere near my place, Sasha. Go back inside your own home and stay there. I’m on my way.” He switched off his phone and turned to me. “I’m sorry, Danielle. My neighbor Sasha watches too many crime shows on television, but I really should check this out before I take you home. Do you mind?”

  Yes! I want to go home! Now!

  “Of course I don’t mind, Edward. Your neighbor has reported seeing a burglar. Of course you need to go home and see if everything’s okay.”

  “It won’t take long,” he assured me, pulling back onto the highway and flooring the accelerator.

  By the time the car squealed to a stop outside Edward’s mansion in the leafy streets of Burnside, I was wide awake. Oh yes—and totally on the ball. Not only ready to deal with a pesky burglar but also any or all of Edward’s quirks, oddities, foibles or eccentricities.

  How? Well, I just wouldn’t get out of the car.

  Edward, in full attack mode, leaped from his vehicle. I half-expected him to scale the ivy-clad walls like Spiderman and crash his way through the study window, Uzi blazing. “Danielle, stay in the car,” he instructed. “And lock the car doors when I leave. I don’t want you get
ting hurt.”

  Fine. I didn’t want me getting hurt either.

  Through the window of the car, I watched Edward’s shadowy form move nimbly towards the front door and, like a puff of smoke, disappear inside. The light in the upstairs study still blazed. Perhaps the greedy burglar—so absorbed with filling his big black sack with Edward’s goodies—hadn’t heard the car pull up. For the burglar’s sake, I hoped he was long gone.

  Five long minutes ticked past, seeming like an hour. No screams or gunshots coming from the house. Nobody flung from the upstairs study window. No blood-stained burglar running for his life through the front doorway.

  And then the car beeped and my door opened.

  “Unghh…” I yelped, and my heart quit beating for a full five seconds while my breath hooked on my tonsils.

  “You can relax now, Danielle. There’s no one in the house.” It was Edward returning from his man hunt. “I must have forgotten to turn my study light off.”

  “Oh.”

  Struggling to get my heart back to its normal rhythm, I surveyed the man draped against the passenger side door. Suave and cool in his silky grey suit and his charm-school smile, his near-black eyes burned into mine. “Guess I had other things on my mind when I was leaving for the theatre tonight,” he whispered.

  I gulped and began to blabber. “So…thank God it wasn’t a thief, hey? I had visions of a robber in a ski mask running off with all your valuables.”

  His eyes grew blacker in the light from the car, and one fist tightened by his side. “If it had been an intruder he wouldn’t have gotten far.” I shivered. And then his engaging smile returned, crinkling the fine lines on each side of his eyes. “Danielle, my dear, now we’re here, I could really use that glass of wine I was hankering for a while ago. Would you care to join me?”

  No! No! No! A truckload of diamonds wouldn’t get me inside your door!

  “Um…love to, Edward.” I stammered, plastering a fake smile on my face while settling my nerves back into their box, patting them down and giving them a Tylenol.

  Ever the gentleman, Edward helped me from the car, placed one hand lightly on the small of my back, and led me toward the front door. It was a classy, beautifully tooled oak door. Probably paid half a million dollars to have the damn thing shipped over from Buckingham Palace.

  Once inside, I blinked at the lavishness and size of the reception area. As big as a small church and professionally decorated, the entrance hall was done out in an ethereal blue with polished wooden flooring.

  “Take your coat off, my dear. It’s quite warm inside,” said Edward leading the way through an archway that opened into a softly carpeted room complete with bulky lounge suite, glass-topped tables and the largest plasma television I’d seen outside of a glossy magazine.

  Although an inviting fire crackled cheerfully in the grate, I pulled my coat around me. No way was I exposing my flabby arms to this gangland Adonis. “I’m fine,” I assured him examining a painting on the wall. It resembled a Picasso I’d seen in the art gallery on North Terrace. Three weird eyes, a couple of thick noses, and splashes of vivid color that could have been made by a child throwing paint at the canvas.

  After pouring two glasses of wine, Edward Granger strolled toward me, completely relaxed and totally at home within his own body. He set the glasses on the nearest coffee table, and I watched his eyes move slowly from my hair down to my shiny red sling-back shoes. Then, with a flirtatious smile that curled my toes and left my tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth, he slipped his grey suit jacket off and hung it neatly on the back of a chair. Like a male model, he smoothed his silk tie and then lowered himself onto the elegant berber couch and crossed one sharply creased trouser leg over the other. His hot eyes traversed my body again, before indicating with a nod of his head to come join him on the couch.

  This man was gorgeous.

  Sophisticated.

  And reminded me of the bad boys my mother used to warn me about as a teenager.

  Not that she ever needed to worry. The bad boys in my youth were never interested in me. I’d been too shy, too plain, too naive. Bad boys were only interested in big boobs, short skirts and a promise of copious shagging.

  So why was this grown-up bad boy eyeing me as if I was a mouth-watering chocolate cake oozing masses of cream? It was enough to make me twitch.

  Ignoring Edward’s raised eyebrows, I dropped into a single lounge chair and reached for my glass of wine. It tasted smooth on my tongue, fiery hot as it coursed the length of my throat. There was something to say for alcohol in a dilemma. The smoothness loosened the tongue and the fire initiated courage.

  “Tell me something, Edward,” I began in the same tone of voice I would use to ask him if he wanted anything from the corner shop. “Exactly what are you looking for in a woman? I’m not sure I understand why you agreed to go out with me on a blind date. Surely, with your opulent lifestyle, you regularly beat women off with a stick.”

  Smiling one of those bad-boy predator’s grins that almost had me wetting my pants, Edward took a sip of his wine and lazily unfolded his body from the couch. Once upright, he bent down to place the glass back onto the table before gliding toward me on his five hundred dollar loafers. “You underestimate yourself, Danielle,” he purred, reaching my chair and holding out one manicured hand in invitation. “Why don’t you stand up, my dear and I’ll help you remove your coat. You look hot.”

  Oh God. He was right. I was burning up. Hell, if I didn’t get away from the blazing fire and from this gorgeous hunk of a man in the next ten seconds, I could end up stretched out naked on the expensive looking Oriental rug in front of the fire, enjoying every one of his bad-boy techniques. A little voice, probably the leader of my twitchy hormone pack, sighed inside my head before letting out a sharp expletive. “Isn’t that precisely what you’re looking for?” the voice queried in exasperation. “If not, I give up!”

  Okay, I’d ditch my coat. I drained my glass and stood up, not surprised when my legs wobbled dangerously beneath me.

  “Here, let me.” Edward’s voice was gruff in my ear. His breath hot on the nape of my neck, his hard body pressed against mine. Leisurely, as though he had all the time in the world, he reached around me and undid the bottom button of my coat before turning me around to face him. With each successive button, his exploratory fingers brushed against me, lingering and swirling and drawing ever increasing circles until both hands finally cupped my breasts.

  “Phew! It is getting hot in here.” Breaking away, I shrugged out of my overcoat and dropped down in my chair. Not being accustomed to the tricks and ploys of bad boys, I needed a breather before deciding whether to travel that rocky road or not. Megan might have been completely at home in this situation, but Edward was moving a little too quickly for me.

  With a thin smile I held up my empty glass. “I wouldn’t mind a top up.”

  “Of course, my dear.” As Edward strolled across to the drinks cabinet I noticed how aroused he was. Wow! To think I could do that to Edward Granger—every woman’s idea of a hot sexy date. Perhaps I should just relax and let things take their course instead of allowing the old uptight Dani to spoil my fun. After all, the new me was in the market for a man. And the new me could quite easily adapt to travelling in a BMW, to the comfort of five-thousand thread sheets and hot spa baths in far-off Alpine lodges.

  With a subtle shrug of one bare shoulder, I leaned into the luxury of the soft leather chair, crossed my legs at the ankles, and hefted my boobs forward. Note to self—go shopping in the morning and buy one of those push-up bras Megan’s always advising me to buy.

  I eyed Edward’s erection as it pressed against the crutch of his silky grey trousers—begging to be let out. Oooh, yes. That could be mine if only I let the new me take over. I ran my tongue over my wine-wet lips….

  And the phone rang.

  Crap!

  “Don’t go away,” croaked Edward, handing my refilled glass to me before sculling his own. “I’m
expecting a business fax from the States in my study. Why don’t you finish your drink, make yourself at home. I won’t be long.”

  Make myself at home?

  Okay. I could do that. I slipped my red sling-backs off my feet and with a glass of wine in my hand, padded across to the sofa Edward had recently vacated. Snuggling into the corner, I tucked my feet under me and settled back to enjoy my second glass of red. It was time to let my hair down. To relax. After the day I’d had, things could only get better.

  A few minutes later, the thud of Edward’s feet on the polished wooden floor of the hallway had me undoing the ties on my halter neck dress. If that didn’t make it easier for seduction nothing would. Still intent on seduction, I slid my empty wine glass onto the coffee table and plastered a sultry expression on my face. Then, batting my eyelashes, I shot a playful, come-hither glance over my shoulder at him.

  And almost choked.

  Edward Granger lounged against the doorway in nothing but a pair of grey silk socks, sausage grinder on high alert, leather riding whip tapping suggestively against his naked thigh.

  Oh. My. God.

  As I bungee-jumped off the sofa, the top half of my dress plunged and bunched around my waist. Not being a good time to stop and retie the halter straps, I ignored the chill on my skin, snatched up my shoes, bag and overcoat, and barrelled toward the front door. No way was I hanging around long enough to discover whether I was meant to be the beater or the beatee in Edward’s warped game of slap, smack and beat the crap out of someone’s backside.

  Last thing I heard before I slammed the front door was Edward’s little boy voice, calling out to me. “Aw, Danielle, come on back and spank little Eddy. He’s been a very naughty boy and needs to be punished.”

  Yeah…well tell that to your shrink!

  After the overpowering heat of Edward’s lounge-room fire, I was suddenly out on the street, miles from home, teeth chattering with cold. And there was no one but myself to blame. If I hadn’t listened to the over-sexed leader of my hormone pack, I wouldn’t be in this miserable mess. A stark naked Little Boy Lost bleating to be spanked inside the house, and a frigid Arctic wind blowing a gale outside.