Unfortunate Miss Fortunes, The

by Crusie, Jennifer; Dreyer, Eileen; Stuart, Anne

  She popped the snaps on her overalls and let them fall to her feet and Crash said, “You shouldn’t do that all at once, I get dizzy,” and she laughed, taking off the rest of her clothes, watching him strip, too, trying to keep the tears from starting, and then she pulled him down to the ground with her, shivering because the air was cool with the approaching storm. He was hot against her, his hands gentle on her again, and she closed her eyes, remembering him, trying to remember him forever, the taste of him and the scent, the way his skin scraped on hers, the way his mouth covered hers, the way his hips fit into her. They were made for each other, both strong and tall, and she said, “Do it hard,” the way she had the first time she’d brought him up to the mountain, and he laughed the way he had then, and he said, “We’ll do it every way we can,” just like he had then, and she closed her eyes tight and thought, Don’t cry, he’ll think it’s because he’s doing something wrong, and he was doing everything so right.

  “I love you,” she whispered into his skin, and he whispered, “I love you, too, and God, I’ve missed you, Mare,” and he moved his hands over her, remembering her, touching her everywhere. She shifted against him, thinking, Yes, you fit there, and Yes, that was right there, and Yes, I loved feeling you there, rolling against him and shuddering as he discovered her all over again. Then she bit his earlobe and he bent to her breast, and she sucked in her breath as he worked his way down her body, and she arched under him, her eyes wide open as the oak tree moved above her, the leaves pulsing as he gently bit her stomach and moved lower, then lower still, licking into her, and she breathed with his rhythm and the oak leaves did, too, and the branches heaved as her blood pounded harder and she twisted her fingers into his thick hair. Oh, God, she thought, and began to rock, and the earth did, too, and so did the branches as he held her hips trapped and she felt the pressure everywhere, in her fingertips and behind her eyes and most of all there, until she writhed and reached up and saw the branches above her writhing, wildly, almost snapping, and she stopped herself just in time before they broke. “No,” she said, and pulled on his hair, and he looked up at her, confused.

  “Make love to me,” she said, breathless, and he said, “I was,” and she said, “No, condom, inside me,” and he reached for his pants, and she thought, I hate having power, and let her head fall back and looked up at the tree that at least had all its branches still in place. Heavy suckers, too. You never did that before, she told the tree, and realized that to keep all those branches up there and not plummeting down on them, she was going to have to fake an orgasm. With the man she loved. Who was perfectly capable of blowing her mind. Literally. And who was going to leave her on Monday.

  Life sucks and so do you, she told the tree, and then he was beside her again.

  “Something you want to tell me about?” he said.

  “I tried,” Mare said and kissed him, pulling him down to her as she licked inside his mouth. “You taste good.”

  “I know,” he said. “That’s you.”

  “I know. I just taste better on you.” She rolled against him, and said, “Let’s try the old-fashioned stuff. You know, you inside me, moving in and out.”

  “Old-fashioned is good,” he said, and tried to roll so she was on top.

  “No, real old-fashioned,” she said, pulling at him so she’d be on the bottom. Missionary position. Harder to come that way. Plus, she could keep an eye on that damn oak tree.

  He let her pull him over her, balancing above her on his hands, and she wriggled underneath him, wrapping her legs around him, feeling him hard between her thighs.

  “You sure you’re okay?” he said, and she moved her hand down his stomach and let her palm slide against him, taking him gently while he sucked in his breath.

  “I’m thinking yes,” she whispered, tilting her hips and guiding him to her, and then he eased himself inside, and she drew in her breath and thought, Oh, God, I forgot how much I love him on top of me.

  He moved into her slowly, the way that always made her shudder, with his mouth on her neck, on that nerve that always made her shiver, and she looked up at the oak, checking on those branches as her eyes unfocused and thought, Oh, Christ, there was a reason I cried for him for a year, and lost herself in him, stroking her hands over his back as he moved inside her, tracing the lines of his muscles the way he loved as his fingers traced hers, biting the place on his shoulder that made him crazy as he whispered in her ear, tilting her hips at the angle that made him moan as he moved deeper inside her and made her gasp, loving the scent and the taste and the sight of him, drowning in the rhythm they made together, and five years fell away as if they’d been nothing, as if he’d never been away at all, except this time the throb and the heat and lust he built in her, the incredible grinding need she had for him had an ache behind it—he’s going to leave me—and even while the flutter in her blood began to itch and then to sear, even while she clenched herself around him, arched up into him and rocked hard against him—yesyesyesyes—even as the oak tree waved above them like a storm, all that time she was hanging on—don’tcrydon’tcrydon’tcry—because it was too much to bear, he was going to leave again, he’s going to leave, all that glory, she was never going to have it again, never again, never again, never again, she rocked with rhythm of it, and so did the ground and the tree and her blood, and her breath came quicker, little gasps as he moved in her, hard in her, never again, neveragain, neveragain, again, again, again—tighter and tighter and then it all broke and she cried out in his arms, and held him to her, felt him shudder against her, too, and something soft as tears rained down on her, covered her as she sobbed but didn’t cry, great gulping breaths as she fought back real tears and rocked in his arms, breathing, “I love you, I love you, I love you,” over and over again, trying to get her breath back, holding on to him for dear life, afraid to let him go.

  “I love you, too,” he said finally, when his breathing had slowed again, and then he picked something off her shoulder. “What is this?” he said and held it up.

  Mare focused on it. Something blue. “A flower?” She looked up at the oak. It had bloomed, little blue flowers everywhere. Violets. She looked over to the meadow and saw a bare patch in the wildflowers there. That’s where my tears went. I didn’t cry, I pulled the violets into the oak.

  Crash started to sit up, and she held him tighter. “Don’t leave me.”

  He pulled her closer, their damp bodies sliding together, and brushed the blue petals from her hair. “I thought that was an oak tree.”

  “Oh, yeah, now you’re a botanist,” she said. “Kiss me.”

  He did, and she kissed him back and thought, My heart is breaking, and for once, drama queen of the universe though she was, it was true.

  Xan stood in the middle of the room, silent in liquid silver silk, gripping the see glass that hung around her neck like a pendant as she tried to slow her breathing. Deep slow breaths, from the diaphragm, cleansing breaths, because if she didn’t, she was going to turn Vincent into something unfortunate, and that would be too good for him.

  “You’ve really completely lost your sense of humor, darling,” Vincent said, flicking an invisible speck of dust from his satin lapel. “Jennifer meant nothing by that remark.”

  “I’m sure she didn’t.” Jennifer was such an airhead, she didn’t have the concentration to mean anything by any remark. Xan opened the cupboard hidden in the silver paneling and took out a plain glass decanter of deep red wine, burgundy, like blood. I’m in the mood for blood.

  “When she said her grandmother had known you, she didn’t mean you were the same age as her grandmother,” Vincent went on, his smile sly.

  “Of course I’m near her grandmother’s age,” Xan said, taking down two goblets. “But Vincent, you’re older than her grandmother. Her grandmother slapped you for taking liberties when she was a teenager.”

  Vincent’s smile vanished, and Xan filled the goblets.

  “Jennifer is a silly girl, but she’ll get old
er and wiser.” Xan handed him a glass. “Everybody does.” She looked at Vincent’s stupid, smiling face. “Well, they get older anyway.”

  “I don’t think you quite understand,” Vincent said, taking his wine.

  “I understand.” Xan picked up hers and leaned back against the paneling, knowing the silver background was kind to her, along with the goddamn candlelight. “You’re turning into an old goat chasing much too young women who probably laugh behind your back.”

  Vincent sipped his wine and then checked his reflection in the silver mirror on the wall. “No, you really don’t understand.” He smoothed back his already smooth white hair. “Jennifer has agreed to become my wife.”

  Xan’s hand tightened on her glass. “You proposed to that bubblehead?”

  “Two days ago. I think you and I had about run our course anyway, don’t you?”

  There was a rushing in her ears and the room shimmered a little. That would be the blood rush, Xan thought. And, of course, the rage. I’m being discarded by a moronic bastard before I could dump him. I really have to stop letting my work get in the way of my social obligations.

  “I know this comes as a shock.”

  “Only because I didn’t get there first,” Xan said and drank more wine.

  “Oh, please.” Vincent drained his glass and put it down on the table in front of her. “Everyone knows you’re mad for me. That’s why I waited until after tonight to tell you. I knew tonight was important—”

  “Wait a minute.” Xan straightened. “Are you telling me that everyone at the gala knew about this except me?”

  “Well, Jennifer wanted to show people her ring.”

  Xan looked at his slack, arrogant face and thought, You were this close to getting out of here alive.

  He shook his head at her, smugly with faux sympathy. “I’m afraid there’s nothing else I can do for you. My future awaits.”

  “Sit.”

  “Really, Xan,” he began, straightening his white tie, and then he sat down, surprised.

  “I’ve been seeing you for exactly three weeks, Vincent,” Xan said, not bothering to hide her contempt anymore, which was not only a great relief, but also a great pleasure. “During that time you were arrogant, boring, stupid, and only mildly interesting in bed.”

  “Well, I guess we’re not taking rejection very well, are we?” Vincent said, still trying to get up.

  “Vincent, nobody takes rejection well except the bottoms in S and M pacts, and even they want it their way. Even so, I would be delighted to let you go on disappointing dim-witted, barely legal Jennifer in every way it is possible for a man to disappoint a woman except for one thing: you have just humiliated me in public.” She leaned forward. “That was dumb, Vincent.”

  “Oh, and now you’re going to punish me.” Vincent waggled his fingers at her. “Big scary witch. Well, I have powers, too. So take this!”

  He flung out his arms and nothing happened.

  “You had powers, Vincent,” Xan said. “Now I have them. It was the only reason I was seeing you at all. You didn’t think I was sleeping with you for your wit and charm, did you?” He gaped at her and she went on. “I took your powers, Vincent. I earned them. Three weeks with you was like three years with anybody else.”

  “My powers?” Vincent looked around. “What did you do with them?”

  “I put them under my pillow,” Xan said, exasperated.

  “You can’t do this!” Vincent said, not smug for the first time in his life. “Do you know who I am?”

  There was a rattling behind the paneling, and Xan said, “Oh, hell,” and looked at Vincent. “You’re a cockroach,” she said to him.

  “Name-calling is so middle-class,” Vincent said.

  “No, Vincent,” Xan said. “You are a cockroach.” She waved her hand and he turned into a cockroach on the table in front of her, and while he sat there stunned, she leisurely upended his empty wineglass over him. He scrabbled at the sides of it then, trapped there, the only thing human about him, his weak, pale gray eyes.

  Xan sat back with her own wine as Maxine stumbled through the paneled doorway holding a frog.

  “It’s Jude,” she screamed. “Turn him back.”

  “Jude,” Xan said, looking at the frog. “Why am I not surprised.”

  “We were stealing the purple necklace just like you told us—”

  “A moment, please,” Xan said. “That was not ‘us’ I told to steal the necklace, that was you.”

  “I couldn’t get them to give it to me, so I went and got Jude,” Maxine said, almost sobbing. “And he was wonderful. But then that blond guy—”

  “Elric,” Xan said, thinking, Elric wouldn’t have looked twice at that bubblehead Jennifer.

  “—threw him out into the yard and he was a frog—”

  “Well, it happens,” Xan said, and waved her hand.

  “—and I caught him and brought him—”

  Jude rose up from the silver rug, as naked and beautiful as the sunrise, and Maxine stopped talking and gaped.

  “Ciao,” Jude said, looking panic-stricken.

  “What happened?” Xan said, unmoved.

  “The middle sister,” Jude said. “She hit me and I turned.” He cast a nervous glance at Maxine.

  “She can do that,” Xan said, trying to be kind. “She doesn’t have control of her powers.” She waved her hand and he was dressed again. “As long as you’re here, aside from failing completely at taking the necklace, what’s happening?”

  “Dee and Danny were very cozy at dinner,” Maxine said, talking fast, still not taking her eyes off Jude. “Dee had two martinis, so she was very receptive.”

  “Martinis?”

  “I did it for you, Xantippe,” Maxine said, talking faster. “I knew martinis would loosen Dee up so I served them for you. They were going up the mountain the last I saw of them. And Lizzie and Eric—”

  “Elric.”

  “—Elric were in her bedroom, so that’s good, right?”

  Wonderful, Xan thought bitterly, ignoring the scrabbling inside the wineglass.

  “But I don’t know what happened to Mare after work.” Maxine looked at Jude who shrugged.

  “She went home,” he said. “I tried to get her to come out for a drink, but she said no.”

  “She must be nuts,” Maxine said explosively.

  Xan picked up the see glass and polished it with her sleeve.

  “Dee,” she said, and saw Dee weeping in her bedroom, and sighed. Dee was always going to be the most difficult.

  “Lizzie,” she said, and saw Lizzie sleeping with Elric beside her. Lizzie didn’t deserve what she was getting. It wasn’t fair. Just a slight miscalculation and it would no longer be a problem.

  “Mare,” she said, and saw Mare rise up under a dark-haired man on the mountain, flushed with passion while blue flowers rained down on her—

  “Bloody hell!” Xan said, and rose up to glare at Jude. “What the hell have you been doing?”

  “I don’t think she likes me,” he said, licking his lips.

  Maxine licked hers, too.

  “You listen to me,” Xan said, grabbing Jude’s tie and pulling him close. “You’re her true love and you’re letting her get seduced and confused by some blast from her past. You get down there and you give her everything she’s ever wanted so she realizes that you’re what fate intended for her, do you understand? Everything she’s ever wanted. Whatever she wants, she gets.”

  Xan gripped the tie tighter, trying not to panic. Everything was very finely balanced—if Mare went off with the wrong man, one Xan couldn’t influence, then everything might collapse, all her careful plans, the youth and energy she so desperately needed might be denied her. She couldn’t let that happen. It could not happen—

  “I think Mare wants him,” Maxine said, craning her neck to see into the glass where Mare was thrashing in the arms of the dark-haired lout.

  “You do realize that if I have to come down there, I won’t need
the two of you,” Xan said quietly as she let go of Jude’s tie.

  “We’ll make it happen,” Jude said, taking Maxine’s arm.

  “You bet,” Maxine said, turning for the door and knocking over the wineglass on the table as she did.

  Vincent made a break for it and hit the floor; Maxine saw him and screamed, “Cockroach!” and stepped on him; and silence filled the room.

  “Ew,” Maxine said, looking at the bottom of her shoe.

  “Scrape that off on the Dumpster, will you?” Xan said.

  “You bet, Xantippe,” Maxine said.

  “I’ll get right on Mare,” Jude promised.

  “Lovely thought,” Xan said and waved her hand.

  A moment later she watched Maxine scrape Vincent off onto the Dumpster in Salem’s Fork.

  “Jennifer owes me,” she told the see glass and went to bed.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Lizzie moaned. She was asleep, but she could hear the sound she made—a soft sound of pleasure and protest. She didn’t want to wake up—the dreams were too delicious. Sexual dreams, so powerful that she felt her body spasm in her sleep, this time so real she could have sworn she was actually being touched. And this time the phantom lover had a face, a body, the mouth of a fallen angel and the eyes of a sinner. It wasn’t real, but it was wonderful, and she didn’t want her sister dragging her away from such a deliciously sinful fantasy. Some distant part of her brain could hear Dee in the front room, and the noise filtering into her subconscious.

  But she pushed the noise away, snuggling deeper into the bed, into the silky sheets, into the arms of the man who touched her …

  Her eyes flew open. He was asleep beside her, and her head had been resting on his shoulder, his arm draped loosely around her. The covers were pulled up to his waist, but from what she could see he was naked.

  They weren’t her sheets. Instead of the percale with the tiny flowers, her bed was now covered with sheets that were either silk or a cotton of such an astronomical thread count that it might as well be, and the color was deep, rich purple. The color she never wore, the color that she secretly loved. She moved slowly away from him, so as not to awaken him, and sat up in the bed, looking down at him in shock and awe.