In Deep Shitake (A Humorous Romantic Suspense)

by Patricia Mason

  Listening intently for Heather to exit, Mo jumped when her cell phone song sounded. At the same time, the stall door pushed in with a jerk.

  A woman dressed in naughty nurse garb waited on the other side. “Oh. Sorry,” the nurse said, not sounding at all sorry.

  “Occupadito,” Mo improvised, trying to keep up the pretense that she didn’t speak English for Heather’s benefit.

  The nurse turned a quizzical expression on Mo, scanning her up and down with a fish-eye. She probably wondered why Mo stood there doing nothing.

  “Scusimente,” Mo stated in her pretend language, pulling the door shut again. By the time she rummaged into her pocket for the cell phone, it had stopped ringing. The number the phone displayed for the missed call had been blocked. Cinnamon sticks.

  The outer door to the ladies’ room opened and closed again. She peeked out of the stall and saw Heather had departed. Mo rushed after her and the outer door flew inward—pushed by a fast moving figure—almost hitting her. Stepping back, she avoided a collision with the door but wasn’t so lucky with the figure. Mo found herself face-to-fur with a plushy cartoon-like chipmunk. Then the chipmunk removed its furry head, revealing another rodent beneath. Stewart Milton, reporter not-so-extraordinaire, stood there wearing his usual shitake-eating grin.

  “Milton. What the duck l’orange are you doing here?”

  “The better question is what were you doing in here with Heather Davies? Did it get physical?” His eyes sparkled with glee. “I can see the headline now: Celeb’s Fiancée and Mistress Throw Punches Over the Porcelain.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” Mo scoffed. “I’m not Ross Grant’s mistress.”

  “Then what are you? The public has a right to know the status of relationship.”

  “Oh no they don’t.” Mo shook her head. She snatched up the chipmunk head and rammed it into his chest. “Now get out.”

  The grin filled with the metaphorical brown substance returned. “I’ll leave for now, but I won’t go far. This Ross Grant story is too good to pass up.” With that, Milton pushed his way out the ladies' room door.

  Mo let out the breath she hadn’t known she was holding and glanced at herself in the mirror. Placing her palms on her face, she found her cheeks were hot to the touch. Turning on the faucet, Mo let the water run before scooping soothing coolness onto her skin. Finally ready to confront the crowd in the convention center, she straightened and prepared herself to walk out the door.

  Before she could touch the handle, the door flew inward again as another figure rushed through, sending Mo stumbling backward. Strong arms came up to grab her by the shoulders which kept her from bouncing against the wall. She recognized those strong arms.

  “Ross.”

  He shoved the Phantom mask up. “Listen,” he said in an urgent whisper, “I just overheard Clarence give out an address where we might find something.”

  “Find what?”

  “I don’t know, but it seems to have something to do with why he wanted you to break into my car. I think he—”

  The restroom’s outer door began to swing inward again.

  “Bollocks,” Ross grumbled and rushed Mo into the first stall. After squeezing himself in the small space with her, the stall door shut at his back. He held Mo to him, saving her from balancing over the toilet bowl.

  Awareness of his body pressed against hers zinged through Mo. He was all hardness and strength as his body touched hers from the tops of her thighs to her chest. She hoped he couldn’t feel how her breasts tightened through the rough cloth of the clown—er, ninja—costume. His musky warm male scent mixed with a hint of expensive cologne enthralled her. Mo’s skin sizzled. Her body buzzed, it was so alert and sensitive to his. His full lips, so succulent they begged for a bite, were nearly touching her forehead. She had read somewhere that sexual attraction was based on pheromones. Ross must be drenched in them.

  His breathing had quickened. Was it from the exertion or was he affected by her proximity also? She hoped for that latter option.

  The two of them listened as someone else entered the restroom. Heather's voice echoed against the tile. “I can’t hear a thing. Just a sec.”

  Mo peeked around Ross through a small slit at the stall door opening and saw Heather speaking into her cell phone hands-free device again.

  “That’s better. Now what is it?” She paused and then said, “No. Absolutely not. The cake has to come from Delphine’s. She is the baker to the stars, you know. I don’t care how expensive it is. And the photographer has to be Narducci. He is the definitive in guy right now. You’re the wedding planner. You should know these things, darling.”

  Ross’s jaw clenched and he frowned, creating a few sexy lines between his brows.

  Heather paused before speaking again. “It has to be perfect. A girl only gets married once…at least the first time.” She giggled gleefully at her joke. “No. You don’t need to bother my fiancée with any of this. He’s leaving the details to me. He’s so in love that he hasn’t even asked for a pre-nup.”

  Mo looked quizzically at Ross. He emphatically mouthed the word “no” and shook his head. Were they getting married or not? Surely Heather couldn’t be planning such an elaborate wedding to Ross with absolutely no encouragement from him? Heather was either getting married or completely delusional.

  “Remember, we must project the right image. It’s not only our wedding but publicity for the new film.” Heather listened to the other person for a few seconds before adding, “Perfect. Kisses.”

  Mo peeked out again. Heather fluffed her hair and made a pouty face in the mirror. The actress pulled the cell phone out of her purse and then pushed in a number.

  “Clarence. Where did you go?" Heather demanded with a pout. "Why aren’t you answering your phone? I know we just spoke, but…well, call me.” She touched the ear device, cutting off the call before throwing the phone back into in her purse.

  You’re Beautiful trilled again. Cheesecake. Mo was definitely sick of that song.

  “You’re talking to Heather. Oh it’s you, darling. Well, to be honest, I thought it was my sister’s boyfriend, Clarence. We got separated at the convention. Anyway, it’s a long story. Why do you ask?” Heather leaned over the sink to stare closer at herself in the mirror. She ran a finger around her lips, wiping an imaginary smudge from her perfectly lined lips. “No, everything is fine with Ross. In fact, I talked to my wedding planner only moments ago.”

  Heather abruptly straightened away from the mirror and placed a hand on her hip. “Who told you that? No, forget it. It doesn’t matter. I’ve already seen the picture of Ross with that brunette. Some local reporter showed it to me this morning.”

  Did Heather refer to her? Mo’s eyes flew to meet Ross’s gaze. He smiled down at her. What did that smile mean?

  “Why would I be worried?” Heather chuckled. “I mean really. She has tolerable legs, I guess, but that’s the only thing she has going for her.” Heather laughed harder. “She’s old and positively pasty white. My goodness! She’s not even pretty with all that stringy hair. Believe me, she’s absolutely no threat… just his business acquaintance I’m certain.”

  Mo cringed at Heather’s assessment of her attractions, or lack thereof. She found herself staring at the hollow where Ross’s throat met his chest. Mo couldn’t meet his eyes anymore. Son of a beef patty. Why should she become teary? What difference did Heather’s opinion make? Who cared what that bulimic bleached blonde on stilts thought about anything? But the sad truth was Mo did care. Like she’d cared about the opinions of all those popular girls in high school.

  Did Ross have the same opinion? She was really only a business acquaintance. And even that acquaintance was pretty darn tenuous. Here she was, lusting after a man for the first time in… ever…when he probably thought her a dumpy old maid. He had been forced to hang around with her to safeguard his film project. And she looked like a clown. The thought mortified her. Mo furiously blinked back tears.

&n
bsp; No. She didn’t care, Mo insisted to herself. She wouldn’t allow herself to care anymore.

  “You don’t look like a clown,” Ross whispered into her ear.

  Oh my good gumballs. What had she said? “Yes I do,” she couldn’t help mumbling.

  Strong fingers came to tilt up her chin. Intense blue eyes stared into hers. “Then I seem to be extremely turned on by clowns.” He gently kissed her on the tip of her nose. “Or maybe it’s only one in particular”

  His teeth nipped lightly at her ear lobe and all her intentions to distance herself exploded in the fire of physical sensations her body was experiencing.

  “Wha…” Her question stopped as his lips came over hers in a searching kiss. Momentarily startled, heat shot through her from head to toe as if she had been plunged headfirst into a hot tub and couldn’t come up for air. Let’s face it. She didn’t want to come up for air.

  Ross must have found what he sought because his mouth angled over hers and the kiss deepened. Mo’s eyes drifted shut as she enjoyed the feeling.

  His tongue plunged into the cavern of her mouth, caressing hers. Not being able to hold back any longer, she wrapped her arms around his waist. Her hands explored his back between the cape and his white dress shirt, delighting in his muscular strength.

  Clutching him close to her, she met the strokes of his tongue with counterstrokes of her own in a bold duel. He tasted of breath mints and man. Delicious, minty, man.

  His hands clutched her buttocks, bringing her into even closer contact with him. His hardness prodded against her stomach, making her quiver. Mo gyrated herself against him.

  “Mo,” he groaned as he broke his mouth away from hers. “You don’t know how much I’ve longed to kiss you since I first saw your spectacularly exquisite derrière sticking out of my sunroof.”

  “You're not the only one with longings," she said. "I’ve wanted to do this ince you pulled me out of that sunroof.” Mo lightly nibbled his Adam’s apple and then licked a trail down the exposed skin on his chest. Mo ran one hand down his back and then delved into the top of the tuxedo pants to caress him. “And I’ve really wanted to do this.”

  Her hand was making a deeper foray when the stall door pushed violently inward, slamming into Ross. They stumbled awkwardly into a position leaning over the toilet bowl against the far wall. Ross held Mo to keep her from falling on top of the seat. To Mo’s embarrassment, her hand was still shoved down the front of Ross’s pants.

  "Son-of-a—" Ross yelled.

  “There they are, officers. Arrest them.” The naughty nurse stood outside the stall door, pointing an accusing finger. Apparently her naughty was all on the outside.

  Mo's thinking was still lulled into a haze of lust, but she was coming out of it when two security guards Mo didn’t recognize appeared at the nurse’s side. They must be the temps.

  “Couldn’t you two perverts get a room?” Miss Naughty Nurse ranted. "It’s disgusting. Men groping each other in the ladies' room? For goodness sake. Couldn’t you at least confine yourself to the men’s room?”

  Thankfully, Heather was nowhere to be seen. However, behind the security guards stood a familiar figure. Milton—reporter-cum-chipmunk—raised a camera over one guard's shoulder and then snapped an unknown number of photos.

  Mo withdrew her hand from Ross’s pants. Too late.

  Ross shouted. "Hey you, wanker. Get back here."

  “Thanks for the photo op,” Milton called and then scuttled away like the little ratatouille he was.

  Chapter Nine

  “That was so not my fault,” Mo shouted to Ross from a few feet behind him.

  Ross knew she had to run hard to keep up with his furious stride through the convention center parking lot, but he didn't care. Hot rage consumed him, just as hot as the lust that had flared in that bathroom stall.

  And while he hadn’t lost his temper at Mo, he knew she read his brooding behavior as silent castigation.

  He was being loutish and he knew his behavior resulted from anger. Not only at Mo, but at himself. How could he have placed himself into a position so foolish? There were bound to be repercussions when those photos hit the media. Not to mention the story of Ross Grant being thrown out of the city’s convention center. At minimum, his actions would appear as if he’d cheated on his fiancée. He could practically see Heather’s performance as the wounded party.

  “You’re being very unfair about this, Ross,” Mo called again.

  He tried to ignore the twinge of guilt he felt at her words. Worse than the negative publicity this whole thing might generate, was the fact that for the first time he’d allowed passion to rule logic and had succumbed to temptation. Ross usually had complete control. He prided himself on making every decision based on reason. He had never let a body part other than his brain do his thinking before. Looking like an infatuated idiot was not something he could easily laugh off.

  “In the spectrum of completely blameless to guilty as hell, with blameless being a rating of one, I am a negative one-hundred,” Mo tried to joke.

  He wanted to laugh, but he beat down the feeling mercilessly. Mo was completely wrong for him so why did she feel so right? It wasn’t as if she was the most beautiful woman in the world in an objectively assessable way. And he’d always preferred green-eyed blondes. But Mo, with her chocolate brown eyes, dark hair, slightly crooked nose and too wide mouth, affected him like no other woman. She somehow had a beauty, even when hiding in a clown outfit, which pulled at him. And now she had the power to jerk at his insides at will. He didn’t enjoy that feeling in the slightest.

  “Neither one of us are to blame," she continued. "If we need to blame someone else, how about Milton?”

  Ross didn’t break stride and refused to answer.

  Taking his silence as an answer, she said, “No, you’re right. He’s too easy to blame. We need someone else.”

  When they’d been in that bathroom stall together, Mo had overwhelmed his senses. The touch of her lush body against his, the patchouli fragrance of her soft white skin, the handful of freckles across her nose which were only visible up close, but close enough to drink from her full, pink lips. Bloody hell, he found himself affected by the memory alone.

  “We should both blame Leo. It’s really his fault, if you think about it.” She caught up with Ross as he reached the Mercedes. “Blaming Leo for breaking things worked when I was a kid. It could work this time, too.”

  He almost melted. “I shall drop you at your office and we needn’t see each other again,” he said with as much coldness as he could muster.

  His comment produced a glare from Mo. “Oh you shall?” She said mimicking his accent. “I see his Royal Highness the King of Jerks has made a reappearance.”

  Opening the passenger side door, Ross waited for her to climb in. She stood stubbornly, her arms crossed over her chest as she continued to stare him down.

  “If you’re expecting me to curtsey or something you’re about to be disappointed,” she said with a pout.

  “I just want to get in the sodding car,” he growled. "We need to crack on."

  “What about Clarence? What about Heather? And what about Heather with Clarence?” Mo asked. “Don’t you want to know what’s going on?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because the ‘finding out’ has been disastrous,” he said.

  “I don’t understand you.”

  “Fortunately, you don’t have to understand. Get in the car." He waved an arm toward the opening. "The sooner I’m out of your blasted presence, the better.”

  Blinking rapidly, Mo visibly gulped before returning to a belligerent expression. “At least tell me the address Clarence gave. I’ll investigate the situation on my own.”

  What harm could it do? Divulging the address wouldn’t continue the ties between them. He’d still be free to proceed with the pre-production planning for his film with no Imogene Tuttle anywhere in the picture. “The address was 528 Gaston.�
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  Mo blanched. She swayed for a moment and then her knees started to buckle. Oh Lord, she was going to faint.

  Ross grabbed a hold of her arms. “Mo?”

  Her legs steadied and she pulled away.

  “What is it? What’s wrong?” he asked.

  “That’s my address.”

  It seemed the connection had survived his attempt to cut it, because he felt a distinct tug at his heart. “Oh, love.” He started to reach for her to ease her distress.

  This time she couldn’t jump in the car fast enough. “Let’s go.”

  * * * * *

  Now it was Mo’s turn to be silent and brooding. Ross had been unable to coax any response with his reassuring platitudes. She only spoke to provide him terse and concisely worded directions to her home. Ross had never before fully understood the phrase that described someone as being ‘perched on the edge of their seat’ until now. Mo seemed ready to fly the instant they reached their destination.

  What would they find at Mo’s house? Had Clarence's contact already been and gone? Would ‘whoever’ still be at the house? Would they have come at all?

  Driving as fast as he could over un-familiar terrain and avoiding as many red lights as possible, Ross pulled the car to a stop barely ten minutes later. Mo threw open the door and, with a hand on her arm, Ross restrained her from jumping out. She started as if she’d forgotten him beside her in the car.

  “Don’t go in there alone. I’ve called the police. We should wait for them to arrive.”

  “You wait here if you want. I’m going in.” Mo tugged her arm away and then leapt from the car as Ross unfastened his seat belt.

  “Bloody woman,” Ross grumbled as he climbed out of the car to chase after her. “You’re going to get yourself hurt.”

  Mo made it to the porch and then up the stairs to the front door before Ross could even cross the street. He followed her up the stairs. She had stopped at the door, which stood ajar.