“Play matchmaker, huh?”
I giggle. “I guess you could say that.”
“Hells bells, kiddo. You got enough on your hands to lasso Michael. Why would you worry about someone else?”
I scoot forward on the sofa cushion and ask in a low voice. “Do you really think I’m his type? I mean, yes, there was a little, well, involvement the other night, but since then he seems to be pulling back from me.”
“Remember what I just told you about the man in the gallery? How he’s coming after you so you won’t make him feel inferior?”
I nod.
“Michael is a babe in the woods, not yet broke in. Oh, he had some girl who did him wrong, yeah, but so what? His confidence has been shaken, and now he’s afraid to come on too strong or get too close.”
“Oh.”
“Sweetie, if you’re interested, don’t just put a worm on a hook and wait on the bank for the fish to bite. Put a goddamned anaconda on that hook and don’t make any bones about what you want. Go after him!”
This is entirely the opposite of what I was brought up to do. I’ve been taught to be subtle and the coquette—not to let on to any man that I’m interested but wait to be invited. “You sure about this, Aunt Olivia?”
“Been married six times, haven’t I?” she answers.
“You have?” Okay, I’ll give her the benefit of experience, but maybe relationship maintenance isn’t her strong suit. “Oh, well, I’ve never been married at all. Almost, once, though.”
“What happened?”
“You know, I’m not really sure. He stood me up at the altar, and that’s the last time I’ve heard from him, not that I want to.”
“There you go. You didn’t take charge of the relationship. If you had, you’d know why he wasn’t there.” She fluffs her caftan to make a point and then tastes her lemonade. “Mort!” she hollers. “Get me the Vodka. How’s a girl supposed to quench her thirst with this piss water?”
Mort enters the room, a bottle in his hand, and adds some to her glass. She taps his hand to be more generous, and I see him roll his eyes. “Mort, grab a glass of that there piss water and join us.”
“Oh, no, I couldn’t.” His refusal is lukewarm at best.
“The hell you can’t. I can see you’re thirsty. Don’t tell me you’re not into the liquor cabinet at night. I’ve seen you.”
Mort looks offended but leaves and returns with another glass of lemonade and a vodka bottle. He pours liberally and takes another seat, putting his feet up on a tufted, velvet ottoman. I notice the tension has left the room, and we’re suddenly like old friends trading bar stories.
“Reminds me of husband number three … or was it four? Doesn’t matter.” She is in her element, and I settle back to listen. “He was a priest.” My eyes open wide. “Well, not when I married him, of course, but before that. You know those Catholics like to run Bingo parlors and of course, I’m always up for a good gamble. Well, Teddy … that’s his name … Teddy is in charge that night, and they’re supposed to have a special Bingo deal. It’s coming up on some holiday, and they’re all going to be fasting soon, so they want to do it up right until the bell if you get my drift. So, they have refreshments. Teddy gets this big ol’ bowl and fills it with punch, and then he added his own little punch if you follow.” Mort and I both nod and listen. “Well, he never did have much holdin’ him back, and I think he added a whole fifth. Now, the first couple o’ people take a taste and wrinkle their noses, but they come back anyway. I knew what was going on and got myself a big paper cup so I didn’t have to keep traipse’n up there. Well, wasn’t long before there was a line at the punch bowl, and then everything went to Hell crazy. You had people hollerin’ Bingo when they didn’t have a number covered, and some o’ them couldn’t see straight enough to know when they won. I just made the rounds and traded cards—cleaned up that night, as I recall,” she was saying, a distant and amused look on her face.
“Well, by the time the night was over, there wasn’t a soul fit to drive. A couple o’ cops from the local precinct were there and had to be taken away in their buddies’ squad cars. The church finally got their Sunday school bus outta the garage and loaded everybody up—ran ’em all home like a taxi service. Was the funniest thing I’d ever seen, and o’ course, I fell head over heels for ol’ Teddy. Now, his reputation was sort o’ tarnished over this, and the church suggested maybe he was better cut out for bartendin’ than preachin’, and he agreed. I hung out with him for a while and got him to ask me to marry him. Let me tell ya … ain’t nothin’ like breakin’ in a forty-year-old virgin to make your ego bust through the roof! Jesus! Well, at least that’s what he kept hollerin’ all night long. Plumb wore me out. Had to divorce him ’cause o’ that. He just couldn’t keep his hands off me … or any other woman either. Too bad, too. Teddy got to practicin’ and got to be a damned good lover!”
Mort is howling with laughter, and I’m sitting there, too shocked to even smile. I’m not sure how to react. Michael, on the other hand, who had just come into the room, did.
“Aunt Olivia,” he says, “you shouldn’t overwhelm Mac. I don’t think she’s used to your … shall we call it enthusiasm?”
“Oh, shit, she don't care, do you, sweetie?”
She’s looking at me for support, and all I can do is shrug. I want to laugh out loud, but this was so unlike any tea party I’ve ever been to that I’m not sure how to act.
“Mac, I’ve got something to show you down at the cottage. Why don’t you come along with me?” Michael says, and I realize he thinks I’ve come to see him and is trying to save me from what he believes is unsavory Aunt Olivia. Nevertheless, I nod politely and set my glass down, standing up. “I guess I’ll take my leave,” I say politely and bowing a bit. I’m not sure why I’m doing it, but I think it has something to do with mocking Mort. He’s such an easy target.
“Thank you, Aunt Olivia. Your advice is priceless, and I think you’re wonderful. You should be on stage somewhere.”
Mort begins choking on his drink, and I rush to pat him on the back. He’s holding up his hand that he’s okay, and Michael frowns, grabbing my hand and pulling me out the patio door to head down toward the cottage.
The grounds are lush and a deep green. There doesn’t seem to be any shortage of watering or grounds-grooming here. Massive palms gracefully lean toward the west, and I can smell the salt of the seawater in the air. I can feel a pleasant breeze. I wish I could just sit down on the ground and rest for a while; maybe absorb some of what Aunt Olivia has just suggested I do.
“I’m sorry you had to witness all that,” he says.
“What? Why? Oh, no, I thought they were both hysterical. I like them—both of them, but your Aunt Olivia, I have to say she takes the cake.”
“You might say that,” he mutters as we arrive at the guest house and go inside. Everything is spotless, as it was before. I find it hard to believe that Michael, a single man, is so neat and tidy. I even comment on it.
“Everything here is so neat. Hard to believe you’re a guy living alone.” As soon as the words are out, I’m embarrassed. Maybe he has other women, and they come by and tidy up for him. I have no way of knowing that, but he’s been cool toward me.
“What’s wrong?” He sees the look on my face.
I switch gears quickly. “Nothing, now. I came to get some advice from Aunt Olivia.”
“Really? I can’t imagine what that might be.”
“Oh, just some of the customers are coming on to me, and it’s bothering me.”
His head snaps around to look at me. “Did anyone hurt you?”
“Hurt …? Oh, no, nothing like that. Just this one weird guy came in today and was rubbing my arm and asking me to go out with him.”
“What’s his name?” Michael demands to know.
“His …? Oh, don’t be silly. It’s nothing like that. Just some eccentric customers that I wasn’t sure how to handle myself. Aunt Olivia gave me some tips, though, and I h
ave to say I’ll give them a try.”
“What kind of tips?” He is getting us more of that lemonade and gesturing for me to sit down. I’m wondering if the lemonade is spiked, and I giggle.
“Nothing to repeat. Just girl talk.”
“Oh.” He sits down next to me on the sofa and hands me a glass. He’s very close to me, almost leaning over me. I am surprised when he leans forward and kisses me, long and deep. I love it.
“Wow!” I exclaim when he pulls away.
“What?”
“Has anyone ever told you you’re a good kisser?” I’m trying to remember Aunt Olivia’s advice. I know there is a moment in the making, and I don’t want to let the opportunity pass by.
“Doesn’t matter. You have very kissable lips.”
I can feel he is trying to take control, and this is where I normally back off. So, I go on the offense. I grab his shirt collar with my hand and pull him toward me, kissing him back, slowly and deeply. As I kiss him, I begin to lie back, and within a few seconds, he’s lying on top of me. He rolls off and to his feet, and just like before, scoops me up and takes me into his bedroom. I don’t resist but pull at him. He seems a little surprised but isn’t asking any questions.
His hands slide beneath my blouse and unfasten my bra. He fumbles with the buttons of my blouse, but in a few moments, has pulled it off as a single unit and is kissing my breasts and sucking on my nipples. It sends lightning bolts of desire downward, and I begin wriggling beneath his attention. “That feels so good,” I murmur softly. His answer is to pull off the rest of my clothes, as well as his own, and he lies next to me on the bed, studying my body.
“You’re like a porcelain doll,” he comments as his hand smooths my skin, and he nibbles at tender places. As I watch, his member becomes erect, and knowing that it’s intended for me and that space inside me is making me gush with wanting him. Michael leaves the bed momentarily to close the drapes and the door, hitting a switch that floods the room with soft Jamaican music. He returns to my body and begins caressing my tummy, his fingers reaching lower with each stroke.
I can’t help myself, but my legs open, and I want to strain toward his fingertips, coaxing them to hurry and touch that moist, electric spot where my legs meet. He knows this and is taking his time, building the suspense until it’s all I can do to keep from grabbing his hand and feeding his fingers into me. I hear him chuckle softly, and then my dream is realized as he parts the tender flesh there, and his finger slides inside. I’m moaning and straining against him, wanting to pull him more and more deeply inside.
His weight shifts, and now he’s hovering over me, his eyes searching mine for approval. I reach my arms upward, pulling him down and into me, and we both sigh with relief as the joining brings us together.
The music is the score our bodies follow, and as I keep my eyes closed, I almost feel as though I’m doing a sinewy dance on the bed, and Michael is answering each of my moves. With the deep rhythm of the drums, he is keeping time, driving his hips downward so as to plumb me to my back. I feel completely out of my own body, caught up in the music and the growing erotic chills that are about to explode.
Michael is moving faster now, taking control of my body as I surrender to his movements. As he pounds into me, I answer by arching upward, each of us encouraging our bodies to reach the peak at the same time.
Then it happens. The convulsive throes of pleasure overtake us, and we become the elemental creatures intended a million years earlier. There is no music, no muted sun through the drapes, and time has fled. It is only me, and Michael.
I’m lost, and as he rolls off me, I want to reach out and keep him close to me. Even though he puts his arm beneath my head, cradling me on his shoulder, I still want to be closer, to roll inside him and let him take me with him wherever he goes. Aunt Olivia’s advice has fled from my head. I only want to belong to Michael and feel a desperation to be that woman. I’ll do anything to have him.
Chapter 12
Michael
If our lovemaking was a storm, we are entering the world of continual rainbows. I’m missing her already.
Watching as Mac’s car pulls away down the drive, I head up to the main house to find Olivia and Mort three sheets to the wind. They’ve finished the Vodka and are now side by side on a sofa, a bottle of Scotch between them.
“Well?” Olivia pipes up.
“Well, what?” I answer, not sure if I want to bother talking to either of them at this point.
“Did you bed her?” Olivia slobbers, and then bursts into peals of laughter. Mort starts laughing but swallows it quickly as he sees the dark look on my face.
“I don’t think that’s your business. You’re hired here to play a role, not manage my life,” I say curtly.
“True, true … that may be true. But tell you what, my boy,” she half mumbles, half rambles on. “You’re gonna lose that girl if you don’t be careful.”
“What are you talking about? What did you say to her?”
“Nothin’ … I swear it was nothin’ … well, not much, anyway. Did I, Morty?”
“Morty” is having problems sitting up straight so he hardly makes for a good witness. “Listen you two … sober up now and stay out of my private life, got that?”
I’m angry as I go into the kitchen looking for some dinner. The anger isn’t just at them, but with myself, as well. I feel like I’m bungling things with Mac, even after what just happened at the guest house. I don’t want to lose her and that these two clowns seem to think that’s what’s going on, bothers me. I make myself a couple of sandwiches but look longingly at the steaks that are marinating on the fridge shelf. Mort is in such a stupor it’s hard to tell when he might be able to cook dinner, so sandwiches will be it.
I pass the living room on my way back to the guest house, and to my shock, I see Mort kissing Olivia, her hand in his lap, rubbing furiously. She has to be ten years older than he is, but hey, it’s not my business. I move on as quickly as I can sneak by and try to shake the image from my head as I walk down the lawn.
I find myself wondering what Mac will be like in fifty years. I hate that she had to leave. I want her all the time, and not just for sex. There is chemistry between us that we can’t even put into words. She has agreed to spend some time with me this weekend. This is Friday night, and by all rights, she should be here and staying with me at the main house all weekend. I want to spend the kind of time together that couples get when they’re considering each other for the longer term. What? Did I just think that?
* * *
As we agreed, Mac arrives at the guest house at about ten the next morning.
“I’d like to drive if you don’t mind. Why don’t you pull your car up next to the garage?”
She smiles, and with a shrug, does as I ask. She climbs into my Porsche, and I guide it down the drive. I can see Mort standing outside the house door, dressed in his driver’s uniform, a look of regret and maybe a little fear on his face. I’m thinking he may have spent the night with Olivia and woke up with regrets and a hangover. His punishment is that he has to live with both.
The first stop on our route is The Emporium, as Mac wants to show me where she works. Margaret is manning the store alone it seems, and Mac takes advantage of reminding Margaret that she and I met when Mac was being interviewed. Apparently, Mac feels the need to reinforce that she has a husband, and honestly, I’m only too happy to play the role. While we’re talking, a very unpalatable man who I eventually figure out is drunk, walks into the gallery. He must hear Mac’s voice because he comes in our direction and wraps his arm around her shoulders. I see her flinch, and I step forward, extending my hand, and saying, “I don’t believe we’ve met. I am Mac’s husband.” I easily dwarf the man and am considerably younger. He notices the same thing as he drops his arm from her shoulders and backs off. “It’s nice to meet you. You’re a lucky man,” he says, and then there’s a pause. “Oh, Margaret,” he says, as though he had come to see her all along,
“where is that piece by Priestly you were showing me the other day?”
I hear Mac sigh in discouragement, but she gives me a smile of thanks. I gather this is a man who’s been bothering her. “I think we can go now, sweetheart,” I say. She doesn’t resist as I put my own arm over her shoulders and escort her outside to the car. “That was him, wasn’t it?” I inquire, and she nods in response.
“I’m sorry. He has a drinking problem, but he gives me the creeps. He has no right to manhandle women.” She is being honest, and I commend her mentally for having more guts than I do.
“I completely agree. If he bothers you again, just let me know.”
“Michael, I know you would step up without thinking twice, but that guy has a lot of money and a lot of connections around town. He could ruin your business if he wanted to.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t worry about that. I can take care of myself.”
Our next stop is for lunch at a small seafood restaurant a friend of mine owns. We go in and sit down while a waiter brings a bottle of wine and begins to pour each of us a glass.
“How are you doing, Roberto?”
“I am well, Mr. Michael. We have not had the pleasure of your company for some time now.”
“That’s right. I’ve been busy, you see. Let me introduce you to Miss Duncan. Bring her anything she wants, and treat her well, Roberto.”
Roberto’s head swivels and he takes in Mac’s appearance. “This will not be a problem, Mr. Michael,” Roberto confirms. I know he has an eye for beautiful women and that he will be only too happy to see to her every need.
“I didn’t think so, Roberto.”
Mac and I relax in the coastline atmosphere, talking about the things we love and what we want to do with our futures. I begin to see why she has such a draw for me. Her goals and objectives are not very far from mine, although they lie in different fields of interest. I can see that she has a creative spirit and finds joy in expressing this. While my creative spirit may not be as visible as hers, when I conclude a successful business deal, I feel a sense of similar fulfillment. I explain this to her, and she agrees.
Dangerous Daddy Page 38
