Hat Trick

by Morris Fenris

  It took only long enough to turn back the nubby silk spread before she returned to haul him once more upright and afoot. Even dressed in just a white tee shirt and snug black body trunks, even half or almost fully sloshed as he was, Jeff cut a fine figure: muscles where it counted, wiry brown hair where it didn’t, heft and weight and size where it counted even more.

  Her mouth went dry. For tonight, just for tonight, this magnificent male animal was all hers, to do with as she wished. She, too, might be in sad shape tomorrow. But there was still tonight.

  After she had settled him in bed, covered him as gently and tenderly as a mother with child, and darkened the lights, she grabbed her purse and returned to the lobby.

  “Thanks so much for giving me time upstairs,” she gratefully told the desk clerk. “As you could see, my guy is a little—um—under the weather and needs to sleep it off. I appreciate your being so understanding.”

  “Of course, madam. These things do happen, don’t they?” The elderly man offered a sympathetic smile that said he’d seen it all.

  “Well, not usually to me, but I get your meaning. I’m going to the car for our luggage now, but I just wanted to thank you once again.”

  “No problem at all. Please let me know if I can be of further assistance.”

  And therein lay the benefit of having made detailed plans in advance, with preparations done accordingly and stored in the Fusion’s trunk for use. Her pretty blue carry-on, complete with sturdy wheels and adjustable handle, contained everything needed for a stay in the city. A change of clothing, nightwear, toiletries and necessities; even items for the target of her intentions: a robe, fresh new shirt still in its original wrappings, and a small canvas bag catering to masculine needs.

  Once upstairs again, Olivia shut herself in the bathroom and exchanged her day’s outfit for simple but charming white cotton garb. Although the gown resembled an old-fashioned corset and petticoat combo, complete with lace, everything fit quite comfortably.

  Jeff, apparently dead to the world, had not stirred.

  Nor did he stir when she eased into bed beside him, cuddled up spoon-fashion around his big limp body, and did what her fingers had been itching to do for too long a time: a loving, caring brush through the rough semi-curls, from forehead to temple.

  She sighed. Snuggled closer. Rested her cool cheek against his broad back, closed her eyes, and drifted off to dreamland.

  He came to with a lurch. Ugh. Head feeling split open in the manner of a ripe watermelon about to be cracked. Mouth filled by a nasty wad of old sweat socks. Insides roiling around like the cart of an out-of-control roller coaster. Either he’d been struck down by the worst case of flu in history, or a whole bar shelf of hootch had laid waste to his innards.

  Groaning slightly, he managed to sit up and peel one eyelid open to look any which way but directly at the brassy sunshine pouring in through tall windows.

  Where in the hell was he?

  Imposing, sumptuous room that he’d never before set foot in. Clothes draped over an unfamiliar chair. Surroundings, however well-appointed, of some surreal scene.

  Risking pain that shot down from his jaw muscles to his stiffened neck, he turned his head.

  “Oh my God,” he breathed.

  Beside him lay Olivia Bower, beautiful as Eve in dishabille, smiling up like an angel.

  “What have I done?”

  A fleeting thought whisked through the impaired circuits of his brain: Blackmail? Had she snapped photos while he lay unconscious? Did she plan to confront his wife with this bombshell, to present the conclusion that both partners in the marriage were deeply flawed, capable of the same sins, for whatever nefarious purpose?

  And just as quickly whisked through again to disappear. No. That was not Olivia Bower—an honorable, scrupulous individual, in all facets of her life, if he had ever met one.

  Stretching luxuriously, she sat up with the white sheet clutched modestly to her bodice. Clearly Olivia wasn’t feeling any ill effects from a hangover!

  “Livvie,” he croaked in a voice rusty with disuse.

  “Yep. The very same. And a hello to you, too, Jeff.” Her smile widened. “There, on your night stand, you’ll find a glass of water and a small bottle of aspirin. Help yourself.”

  “Aspirin. Bless you. Bath—room…?”

  A languid wave of Olivia’s arm indicated the direction of the facilities whose creature comforts she had already taken advantage of, a little while ago.

  A silent clock ticked away the minutes while Jeff swallowed two of the miracle-cure pills for vague all-over pain, headache, and the morning after shakes, then a third. Then, dragging himself off the bed, he staggered away, bumping into the wall and furniture along his route. Soon came the sound of water rushing, another loud but heartfelt groan, and a thump of clumsiness as something heavy hit the floor.

  Eventually he staggered back again, face and hair still damp, to collapse beside her.

  While he rested upright against the headboard, in an effort to quell the screaming meamies that had set up camp inside his outraged cranium, Olivia slipped from the bed and moved toward a phone upon the teakwood desk. He could hear her quiet voice but paid no attention to words or tone. The meamies wouldn’t let him.

  “I’m afraid to ask about what happened here,” he finally managed to wheeze.

  Deliberately, in deference to his condition, she refrained from laughter. The lace panels of her gown floated with every step as she returned, barefoot and charming, to the bed.

  “No need to worry, your virtue has not been compromised. I’ve ordered room service, Jeff. You’ll feel better with some hot coffee in your stomach, and some solid food for breakfast.”

  Jeff scrunched up both eyes against the morning light. “Whaddya mean, not compromised—? You tellin’ me I—spent the night in bed—with a beautiful lady…and didn’t take advantage—of the situation—? Man.” He let out a rasping sound of protest. “Must be worse off—than I—figured…”

  “You were in pretty bad shape last night,” she admitted.

  A slight settling of mattress and comforter, as she rejoined him against the pillows, once more disturbed the equilibrium of his inner workings, and he clenched his teeth against a possible repercussion.

  “However, I must confess that I was partially to blame for your condition. At the time, it seemed, given your state of mind, and the shock you’d been dealing with, to be the best solution. And you did get a good night’s sleep, didn’t you?”

  “Yeah, I must have. Don’t remember a thing past your physically hauling me outa that restaurant. Liv—” he paused, thinking it over while the various aches and pains began slowly to dissipate, “you sure nothing happened between us?”

  Shifting position, she moved to cradle his tousled, bewhiskered face in both hands while she looked him straight in the eyes. “No, Jeff. Even if you might have forgotten, I wouldn’t have. Nothing happened.”

  “That’s good.” Jeff’s bleary gaze searched the sweet features he had once, so long ago, committed to memory—and then dismissed. “Making love to you again would have been fantastic. Absolutely fantastic, no doubt about it.”

  “But—?”

  “But—complications. If I had—then my behavior would be no better than Annajane’s. What I’ve been complaining about, the lack of trust and loyalty. I’d be using the same excuses she’s been using for her—her extracurricular activities.”

  “Her affairs.” Olivia had never been one to prevaricate.

  “Her affairs,” agreed Jeff quietly. Taking her hand in his, he raised it to rest against his stubbly cheek, then lightly kissed the fingers. “Do you understand that, Livvie? Does it make sense?”

  “I can’t sleep with you because my wife is sleeping around.” Baldly put. Or an excuse, for whatever reason, not to get involved with some romance from the past? Something not quite pain, not quite satisfaction, flicked across the fibers of her heart with a silent twang. “Yes, Jeff, I think I understa
nd. You have changed.”

  “God, I hope so,” he whispered. “Been trying, Livvie.” Against the dull pounding of his head, he managed a weak smile. “Maybe you had more influence over me than you realized, back in the day. I only know that I’m seeing things more clearly, since you came back. Realizing that what I have isn’t what I really want.”

  “What—do you know what—you really want?”

  “Getting close. I’m getting awfully—close to knowing—exactly—what I want…”

  To prove it, he pulled her into his arms as if she were a life preserver thrown to him during an ocean squall, and held on tight. Olivia clung to him, to the hard muscled body that she had never stopped missing, as if the reverse were true.

  “Jeff…”

  “Yes, sweetheart.”

  Finally, he bent toward her, and, with great tenderness and great yearning, searched out her mouth with his own. The kiss held all that she remembered from the past and all that she hoped for into the future. Warm, passionate, arousing, a mere prelude of what was to come. Almost.

  But, after a desperate clasp and lift to the breast that fit so perfectly into his palm, as if he couldn’t help himself, after another kiss more eager and fervent, Jeff freed himself. Carefully, from the embrace that might have held a king’s ransom, and reluctantly.

  Heart racing like a trip hammer, breath coming in fits and starts, Olivia let out a small mew of disappointment.

  “That’s just—a sample,” he told her on a ripple of weary laughter. “Don’t tempt me—any more, right now, woman. I’m not a saint. If we keep this up, you’ll see all my fine resolutions go crashing in the dust. We need to make plans.”

  “Plans.”

  “Yeah. But, first, I need that coffee to clear the cobwebs outa my brain. And, Livvie—”

  “Yes, Jeff?”

  With a chuckle that somehow managed to sound reverent and risqué, all at once, he suddenly leaned down to nuzzle against the side of her bare throat. “I’ve been having some really—um— impure—fantasies lately. There’s you and me in bed together, and you’re naked except for one of those fantastic little hats you wear. And, man, I get so turned on I can’t concentrate on anything else. Kinky as all get out, huh?”

  She was spared from answering by a knock at the door and the call, “Room service.”

  Over a leisurely breakfast of coffee, croissants and marmalade, and fluffy omelets stuffed with all sorts of fresh vegetables, and a plate of French toast lightly dusted with powdered sugar, they discussed the immediate future.

  “I still can’t believe you had all this planned some time ago,” marveled Jeff from his comfortable sprawl at the coffee table, as he forked up mushrooms and broccoli. “Just waiting for the right moment. I mean, clean shirt for me, underwear and socks, and shaving kit and all.”

  “I didn’t know what might come along, at some point,” she replied serenely. “I just wanted to be prepared. And with what you’ve been going through for the past week—well, it seemed the perfect time to step in and take over. Short of having you committed to an asylum somewhere for treatment, I thought you might be better served by an intervention.”

  Smiling, he reached over to brush his fingers along the curve of her cheek, sliding a loosened tendril of reddish-brown hair behind one ear as if he had every right to do so. “Your intervention was perfect, Livvie. You may just have saved my sanity.”

  Silence for some little while, as both savored the late morning sunshine, the occasional rush of traffic outside, and each other’s company. Olivia felt very housewifely, pouring more coffee, offering another dab of marmalade, sharing the sugar and cream. Just like a married couple. Except they were not. And, even if they had not done the actual deed, in some ways last night and today just held the taste of an illicit meeting.

  “I assume you’ll be going back home when you leave here?” Jeff said quietly, out of the blue.

  A sense of letdown curdled her last swallow of croissant. “Well. Um. Yes, I guess so.”

  “That’s good. Okay. I have to go see Annajane. I want to know where we stand, and what’s ahead. I kinda think that’s a big fat zero, Liv, but I need to cut the ties before I can move ahead, and I have to talk to her, first, with a clear conscience. Not coming to her straight from a wonderful session of lovemaking with another woman. Please tell me you understand my thinking.”

  Oh, dear God, she’d been down this route before. The trip had been so painful and devastating that she had almost fallen apart, and her life almost ruined. Only strength, and perseverance, and the solid underpinning of her family, had brought her back. Was she, after all her arrangements meant to settle past wrongs in their present renewed relationship, about to be subjected to the same ordeal again?

  “Olivia, don’t look at me like that!” he ordered sharply, concerned. “You’re white as a sheet!”

  Blinking back tears, she answered automatically, “Sorry, Jeff. What color would you prefer I be?”

  In one quick lithe movement, without hesitation, he shifted to the couch beside her to give the comfort and solace she apparently needed. Positions reversed, once again. And shouldn’t that be the mark of a good partnership, that each provide the other support, whenever necessary?

  “Liv. Livvie, listen to me.”

  Drawing in a deep breath, he tightened hold around her bare shoulders. The thin batiste gown concealed so little, for all its modest lines, and revealed so much; he couldn’t help surrendering, just briefly, to the temptation placed right here in his arms. Naked skin. So much accessible naked skin. An easy skim of his hand down her throat connected with Olivia’s collarbone, lingered for a moment, then swooped to the irresistible upward jut of her bosom.

  “Oh—Jeff—please…”

  Instantly he went rock-hard. All his attention had centered on what should be off-limits; he wanted nothing more, right now, than to plant his mouth directly onto the very center of that breast, fabric notwithstanding, suck in, and tug fiercely. Jeff was a sensual, lusty man, and forcing himself to hold back from taking what he so urgently wanted was torment, indeed.

  “God in heaven!” he muttered, breaking out into a sweat.

  Then, pulling abruptly and painfully away, he surged upright.

  Olivia reached out to him with a little moan of distress. He was ready, oh so ready; and so was she. And, at this point, she had no willpower, nor pride, left.

  “Oh, no, you—you don’t, you—bride of Satan,” he chided with a rueful half-chuckle. “Not now, Livvie. Not—yet. Gotta keep my distance.” Still breathing fast, he plunked himself and his visible readiness into the chair opposite. Only to spoil his good intentions with a leer.

  She wanted to smack him. And praise him. Damn, but she hated having to stick to principle!

  “All right. I know I won’t like it, even if I respect it, but tell me your plan.”

  “Liv, I truly believe my marriage to Annajane is over.” Leaning forward, with both elbows lodged on both hairy thighs, he was the picture of intensity. And intent. “But we’ve got to get that set straight. I want you to go back to your home, while I go to mine, so I can square matters away and try to reach a solution. Then—then, once that’s behind me, you and I can see—well, we can talk some more.”

  Talk. Not as in squaring away their own future together. Just talk. He was being very careful in his choice of words, and in what he was saying to keep hope at a minimum.

  Or was it for his own protection? If a divorce were imminent, Annajane would have all the ammunition she needed with the revelation that another woman might be involved in the breakup. If Jeff wanted to keep what he had, and more, he would not make any plans for a second entanglement, just when he was trying to get free of the first.

  Olivia straightened her spine and lifted her chin. Very well. It could go only so much farther…

  “If this—between you and your wife—is—ended…where does that leave you—financially?” she dared to ask. Which meant, how will money affect your
decision?

  “Probably broke,” he admitted cheerfully. “Well, no—that’s not really true. Close to it, though. Although I make a pretty good salary, almost all of the net worth belongs to AJ. You’re probably aware that she comes from the upper crust—the really top of the heap—so she holds the cards. Especially since I signed a pre-nup.”

  “That doesn’t sound very fair for you, Jeff.”

  “Well—” With a shrug, he glanced down at the platinum wedding ring still wrapped around his finger, “—I figure I can muddle along somehow, make a decent living doing something I like, even if she cuts me loose penniless. What d’ you think, Livvie?” His gaze, bright as a squirrel’s, shifted back to collide with hers.

  Over the uneven beating of her heart, she managed a smile. “I think, Jeff, what I’ve always thought. That you can do absolutely anything you set your mind to.”

  Breakfast finished, he disappeared into the bathroom to shave and shower and dress. Once the space was free for Olivia, he resolutely refrained from demanding entrance for a few glimpses—and a few caresses, along with, if possible, a few tastes—of the wet silky skin he was picturing behind the closed door.

  “Down, boy, down,” he implored of his importunate body parts. Which were imploring right back, It’s been so long since the last time that we can’t even remember what to do!

  “Were you talking to someone?” Olivia innocently asked as she emerged, fresh and neat as a bandbox and twice as pretty. “I thought I heard your voice.”

  “Uh—no. Just—uh—thinking aloud.” Having given up on wearing the wrinkled tie, he was struggling with a belt which refused to cooperate, even despite a few cuss words to help it along.

  “Here, let me help.” She readjusted a loop to accommodate and stepped back while he fussed at the buckle. “I see the shirt fits.”

  “Sure does. Good guess as to size.”

  Not a guess. A memory. One more, zinging forward out of the past, like a bee set to sting.

  They left the room in good order, about noon, walking hand in hand to Olivia’s Fusion where it was parked in the hotel lot. From there, it was a quiet, reflective trip back to the office building of Thomas Yates Investments.