"Fine, but I think it's okay if you kiss me." His muted chuckle sounded rusty coming from deep in his chest. He lowered his mouth and brushed his lips against hers, moving them from side to side.
Roxy expected his kiss to be rough, demanding, since he'd been drinking. What she got was a gentle exploration of her mouth. Jake's kiss was slow and languorous, as if he had all the time in the world to finish it. They were suddenly lying together on her soft bed. He positioned her head where he wanted it with his hands, capturing her mouth in the kind of kiss he had never done before. He took his sweet time, torturing her with his tongue in the process. As he stroked the sides and roof of her mouth, Roxy's desire escalated, and she relaxed completely and joined in the sex play.
So much for good intentions.
Slow—oh, he was so damn slow. Nothing seemed to rush him even when her tongue challenged his. She slid her arms around his neck, clamping them tight.
She felt his wicked laughter simply as vibrations in his chest against her nipples.
God! The man knows how to kiss when he puts his mind to it.
Her bones melted like warm butter, oozing like liquid heat under her skin. She longed to capture this moment forever. She should give him up if she was smart, but she knew she'd never feel this way again. Already the musky scent of his damp skin and slickness of his sweat was intoxicating, arousing, exciting her senses. His bristly cheek rubbing against her smooth one felt like heaven. She couldn't help it. She wanted him to suck on her breasts right now; they were full and aching for his touch. It was almost more than she could tolerate.
Instead, he captured her face between his big palms, this time, kissing her so deeply, so passionately, she almost fainted from the extraordinary beauty of it. He was very thorough, and the kiss lasted and lasted until she had to catch her breath.
Panting and breathless, she ducked her head, not looking at him. She freed her arms from around his neck and slid her spread fingers down his chest. His nipples grew hard as she pinched the copper-colored disks. She'd jump out of her skin if he didn't suckle her soon. She finally took hold of his wrists and yanked on his hands, putting them on her until they clamped around her breasts.
"I'm trying to respect your 'no sex' command," Jake muttered in all seriousness, leaning away from her and holding her gaze. "But don't push me too far, Rox. Right now, I need to fuck somebody really bad. And that's you. So gimme a break, will you?" He pulled back farther, and released her.
"If you recall, you're the one who cut us off." He had the nerve to tap a blunt finger against her chin after that mind-blowing kiss. "I know what your body wants and what you're fighting, sweetheart. Is it the wrong time of the month, maybe?"
His eyes were dark and unreadable. She wasn't sure what he meant, but he shrugged his shoulders slightly. "Well, never mind." His next comments were almost throwaway lines. "When you find the problem, just say the word. I'll fix it. Like the leak in your other plumbing."
He rose and straightened up, pausing next to the bed, staring down at her.
Roxy saw his tented cotton underwear when he stood up.
He wiggled three fingers of his right hand in a taunting goodbye wave at her, as much to say, Bye, bye, babe. Too bad. You're not getting anything else from me tonight.
"I'm going back to the couch. Back to sleep." He turned and stalked from the room. Her surprised look fastened on his muscled back, tight buns, and strong legs.
Damn him. Damn him to hell.
She fell back against the pillows. Her heart felt badly bruised. In those final few minutes with Jake, she had come to the horrible realization of what would make her world complete. Not a magnificent raise in pay, not a title to stroke her ego at work, or a published novel in the New York Times Top Ten. It was a permanent relationship with Jake Plummer, marriage, and kids.
* * * *
The sunlight filtering into her bedroom woke Roxy. She leaned over to read the clock. Eight o'clock in the morning. Probably time to get up and face the pissed-off dragon. The house was quiet. She wondered if Jake was still asleep. Roxy yawned, stretched, and stood up to pull on some clothes. She left the bed as it was; she'd make it up with fresh sheets later.
She padded out of her room and ducked into the bathroom, shutting the door gently behind her. She washed her face, combed her hair, and pulled it back into a ponytail. Going back out again and turning along the short hall, she went into the great room. She was surprised when she didn't see Jake lying or sitting up on the pullout couch. The lazy bum hadn't even put on the breakfast coffee because she hadn't smelled it.
He must've gone out. Maybe he went down to the dock. Or maybe he went for a boat ride. His clothes were gone, so obviously, he was dressed.
Roxy strolled to the bank of picture windows and looked out at the lake. She didn't
see any boats bobbing on the water either in the cove or on the main part of the lake. Jake was nowhere in sight.
She turned and went into the kitchen to make coffee, put out the bacon, eggs, and bread and butter for breakfast. When the coffeemaker finished gurgling, she poured herself a mug of coffee and sat down at the kitchen table. She jumped up again when she remembered the daily paper would be in the plastic sleeve next to the mailbox on the road. Going barefoot, she strolled out to pick up the paper. That was when she saw Jake's car was gone.
A slight frown puckered her forehead. She shook her head, perplexed, wondering where he'd gone. As she made it back to the house, she wasn't certain if she should start breakfast or postpone cooking it. She decided to wait a bit longer. Returning to the kitchen table, she sipped her coffee and flipped open the paper. She checked the wall clock every ten minutes for the next half hour. It was almost 9:00 a.m.
Well then, the hell with him. I'm hungry. I'm eating breakfast without him.
Chapter Fourteen
That was the last Roxy saw or heard from Jake that weekend—or for the next two weeks before Labor Day weekend.
Obviously, the short and very erotic and soul-searing liaison between her and Jake had been nothing more than a monstrous mistake. He must've blamed her unwitting remarks, forgetting her reasons, not conceding there was a reason for his own male ego trip. Did he then flush any logic and good sense down the toilet to decompose in the septic tank?
She should have known Jake needed to be stroked, his sometime ego babied. Look what happened with Grady.
Roxy couldn't believe losing Jake a second time hurt so much. She sat in her apartment staring at the telephone, waiting for it to ring, as if she were sixteen again. When Jake walked out without a word, she'd been positive she'd see or hear from him later that day. She also fully expected him to show up on her doorstep the following weekend. All the while, she had rethought her decision not to have sex with him until she knew the score. Now she wondered if she had made the biggest blunder of her life. Had she shot herself in the foot by not letting him use her?
She'd made no demands, but just the same, he'd let her think theirs was more than an extended one-night stand. He'd called her sweetheart. She wondered how many other women he fooled into thinking they might mean something to him. How many had fallen for Jake Plummer and gotten dive bombed for their trouble?
The painful emptiness she lived with in her guts during those weeks drained her energy. She couldn't concentrate on her work. It took her twice as long to read a manuscript than before. She brought assignments home, stayed up late to finish, since she could scarcely sleep. If she didn't perk up, her supervisor would be looking for a replacement—instead of promising Roxy a better-paid position as senior editorial assistant.
Even Roxy's long weekends weren't helping. When she arrived at the Mirror Lake house on Thursday evenings, everything that happened between her and Jake resurfaced to haunt her. Several times she had resorted to the dildo, pretending it was him making love to her, but that didn't work either. It just made it worse. Jake had pleasured her so sweetly, so exquisitely; had taken her into another realm of ecstasy where
she couldn't function, couldn't speak, couldn't breathe for those long, wondrous minutes. No lousy dildo could compensate.
All she could hope for was that her anguish would eventually fade and allow her to forget him and let her focus on her goals again.
* * * *
On Thursday Roxy got caught in another of those flash, summer, electrical storms as the train pulled into the station. She ducked into the dinky building to avoid getting drenched. She dropped her purse and briefcase onto one of the wooden benches and peered at the pounding rain coming down outside. In a few minutes, the storm weakened. The view across the street from the railroad tracks cleared, and Roxy saw the Plummers' truck parked in front of the small store that sold newspapers, books, magazines, and other sundries. Carter's Spot also dispensed buttered bagels and coffee in plastic cups to droopy-eyed commuters heading for another busy day in the Big Apple.
The rain slackened, then stopped altogether. The setting sun peeked out from behind clouds as the rain-washed sky brightened, coloring the horizon in shades of gold and orange. Roxy gathered her things and started out of the station toward the nearby parking lot to pick up her car. She glanced across the street again before halting to unlock the door. The sight hit her in the chest. Breath caught in her throat. She hadn't seen Jake for two weeks. Now he was standing on the sidewalk gabbing with Desiree Smith. Desiree had gone to high school in a nearby town and had been another local cheerleader.
Desiree was a striking redhead. Beyond that, she had the body of a showgirl. She was facing Jake, her fingers stroking his muscular forearm. Roxy's stomach spasmed. She tore her gaze away and jammed her key into the lock. Yanking open the door, she climbed into the car, her heart pitter-pattering like mad in her chest. It took several minutes before her heartbeat slowed. She twisted the key in the ignition and pulled out of her parking spot without looking again. One look was enough.
By the time Roxy arrived at the lake house, she'd calmed down. The ache in her insides hadn't eased, but she was breathing normally.
Something she said to Jake years ago echoed in her head.
I hate you, Jake Plummer. Damn, damn, damn.
Damn you, Jake. You and your delicious good looks and scrumptious, inviting body. You with those big callused hands that did wild things to me in my bed and had my emotions and my body on fire. And don't forget that well-trained mouth of yours that almost drove me crazy.
Oh, Jake! Why should I hurt so much? How can I be so stupid twice in my lifetime?
But she couldn't regret having sex with him. One time had been incredible. But then she did it again and again. And she still wanted to do it some more … ad infinitum. She cursed her weakness, knowing Jake Plummer wasn't the man she should think about marrying.
Roxy slammed out of her car and stalked down the path to the lake house. As she bent to unlock the back door, she noticed a piece of paper stuck between it and the doorframe. She opened the door and grabbed the folded sheet, figuring it must be a flyer from the Mirror Lake Association. A rustic camp for underprivileged kids was located at the far end of one of the large, secluded coves. Some of the older campers were paid to deliver flyers to the Association's members. Notices weren't allowed to be stuffed in mailboxes.
Roxy looked at it after she put her things on the kitchen table. The flyer advertised a "gala Labor Day weekend" at the lake's clubhouse and beach. There'd be competitions for the younger set, swimming and diving meets set up by age groups, volleyball games for both genders at the two clubhouse courts, and a cookout and dance later Saturday night. A sailboat race was set for Sunday, plus a pair of back-to-back softball games for active adults. A fireworks display would end the summer activities Sunday evening. Monday, Labor Day, would be a day of rest and relaxation before beginning the grind back to work again.
Roxy paused in the kitchen when the telephone rang. She almost jumped out of her skin. It was rare that anyone called her at the lake.
Could it be Jake? Probably not. They were finished. Caput!
More likely, it was her parents with word on their arrival. Roxy sucked in air, her heart stuck in her throat. She swallowed, calming herself, before picking up the receiver.
"Hullo?"
"Is this the Diamond residence?"
She didn't recognize the female voice on the other end.
"Yes. Whom did you wish to speak with?"
"Roxanne." A brief hesitation. "Is this you, Roxy?"
"Who is this?"
"Oh, good gravy, I'm so glad I caught you at the lake. This is Bella Carmody…Anabel." Another hesitation. "From high school. Do you remember me?"
"Bella? Oh my gosh, of course. How are you?"
"I'm fine. How are you? It's been a while."
"Nearly ten years, right?"
"Yeah, time flies when you're having fun, Rox," her former classmate said, letting go with the deep laugh Roxy remembered so well.
"Well, I should hope so. What's new with you, Bella? Are you married?"
"Nope. Still hanging loose. But before we chitchat, let me tell you why I called. It's real short notice, Roxy, I'm sorry. But about ten of us want to get together. We figured it'd be fun to have it at the bash at the clubhouse this Saturday night. It's kinda like a reunion. All of us are hoping to see you again. Can you come?"
Roxy was the one who hesitated this time.
If she didn't have a date, especially at the dance, she'd feel strange. "Ah gee, that's too bad, Bella, I don't think so. I'm here without a date. I've been baby-sitting the house for my parents, or I wouldn't be here at all."
"Hey, that's cool. I don't have a date either and neither has Gabby Torelli or Sue Froude. The three of us are going stag. So can you. Okay? There might be a few unattached men from town that we can drag onto the dance floor. Remember Cindy Dunn, our class matchmaker? I bet she'll strong arm one of them for each of us. Maybe there'll be some hot new guys there." Bella chortled. "We all wondered what happened to you, Roxy. I hope you'll throw on something slinky and come join us."
"Well…"
"Listen, think about it, huh? I'll call you back early Saturday morning. You can let me know then. Or will you be down at the meets?"
"I can't. I've got some things I have to do here."
"Okay, but we'll talk Saturday and decide where we can meet. Okay?"
"Okay." Roxy chewed on a torn fingernail. "And, Bella? Thanks for the call. It's nice to hear from you. It's been too long. We did have some fun, didn't we?"
"We sure did. Do you remember…" She snickered into the phone. "Well, let's talk about that on Saturday. I'm looking forward to seeing you. 'Bye now, Rox."
"'Bye."
Roxy replaced the receiver in the cradle and stared at the phone. Should she or shouldn't she?
It took her a few minutes to decide. It might be fun to see her old friends again, she thought. We were a close knit group, but we drifted apart after graduation, what with my going to college and getting married soon afterward, then moving to New York. An out-of-the-way thought popped into Roxy's head. Whatever happened to Robbie White, her sometime "boyfriend"? Did he still live around here? And was he married?
When Bella called her Saturday morning, Roxy decided to go.
* * * *
Roxy did some light dusting. She expected her parents back around Labor Day, but she didn't have a firm day or time. They hadn't called to say when. It was just like her parents to surprise her and show up on the doorstep. Roxy took the Tuesday after Labor Day off from work just in case.
Roxy drove into town after lunch. The business district had one dress shop, so she decided to see if she could pick up something suitable for the dance. Her working clothes wouldn't do, and she had only jeans and other casual stuff with her.
Something slinky, Bella had said.
Well, not slinky, but maybe eye-catching at least. I'm not the slinky type, Roxy thought as she entered the shop. She paused at several of the racks, riffled through them, but nothing appealed. She strolled farther into the st
ore, about to ask the sales lady if there was anything else she could show her.
"I rolled out my Sale rack ten days ago," the woman said, nodding to a large, circular stand holding what looked to Roxy like leftover blouses and dresses. The owner smiled invitingly. "I know after Labor Day these items will be difficult to move, so I'm offering a large discount on what is left, if you care to look through. My fall stock is bursting at the seams, and I must make room." She walked a bit closer, inquiring, "What did you have in mind?"
"It would be great if I could find something on sale. I usually don't go to dances, but there's one at the clubhouse tonight…"
"Ah, that's right," Wanda of Wanda's Boutique said, riffling through the dresses. "What size are you, miss?" she asked.
"Seven or eight," Roxy answered.
"Oh, too bad. This would have been perfect. But it's a size six." Wanda held up a deep bronze-colored, halter dress. Its neckline dipped almost to the waist; its filmy skirt floated on the air when Wanda whipped it off the rack. She flipped the back to show that it was also backless.
Roxy's greedy eyes glistened. "I've lost some weight. It might fit. Do you think I could try it on?"
"Of course. The fitting rooms are in the back. Meanwhile, I'll see if there is something else that might do."
Roxy was almost sure if the dress fit, she'd buy it. There was nothing in her closet to compare. Since she decided to attend the dance, she wanted to make an impression on her high school buddies. Even at 60 percent off the original price, the dress was expensive and something she would probably never wear again. But, what the heck, she thought. I deserve something to cheer me up. If Robbie White came to the dance, even if he was married—well, it would still be great fun.
.
* * * *
Roxy lazed in the hammock for most of Saturday afternoon, reading a thick, boring manuscript in fits and starts. She took a cooling swim later and ate a light supper. She had no plans to attend the cookout at the club, only the dance.
The Plumber's Helper Page 12
