Vic stared down at her hand. A tiny muscle moved at the back of his jaw. “She says your father killed your mother.” He glanced up.
Mimi didn’t reply.
“But then people say a lot of things that aren’t true,” he added hastily.
Mimi gave a pat to his chest, then walked away. Rubbing her arms, she wandered toward the large wall of windows in the back of the living room. They looked out on a stone patio. A man-size grill stood in one corner. A glass-topped patio table and chairs occupied the center. It all looked very efficient, very angular. “Well, maybe she’s right there, too,” Mimi answered softly. “I mean, he didn’t physically open the bottle and hold the pills that she overdosed on. But he might as well have.” She kept staring outside. Rows of azaleas were planted in front of the walls, but the boxlike space still resembled a well-manicured prison.
Vic came up behind her and put his hands on her shoulders. “Let’s not talk about this.”
He pressed gently to turn her around, and she complied, giving him a sad smile.
She sighed. “Gladly.” Then she cocked one ear at the sound of Roxie mewing from the top of the stairs. “I think Roxie is trying to tell us something, but she refuses to come downstairs.”
“You’re right. It’s almost her bedtime, and she expects her cuddle upstairs. I’m afraid that despite my earlier protests, I spoil her rotten—or at least, that’s what the rest of my family says.”
Mimi smiled slyly. “You know, a girl could really fall for someone like you.”
“Any girl?”
“Well, if I had to hazard a guess, I’d say some girls in particular.”
“Anyone I know?”
“I tell you what. How about we oblige Roxie and go upstairs. That way you can show me your cuddling technique.”
He grinned. “You appreciate a good ear rub, then?”
“That’s not bad, but I can think of other places I’d like more.”
He slipped his hands from her shoulders to her back, massaging her lightly and drawing her near. “Such as?”
Mimi wet her lips. “My feet. I really like a good foot massage.”
Vic blinked. “Somehow that wouldn’t have been my guess.”
“I guess I’m unpredictable.”
He angled his face one way and then the other. “One of your more endearing qualities.” And then Vic did the unpredictable. He swooped her up in his arms, crossed the living room and the hallway, and began carrying her upstairs.
Mimi let her head fall back. “This is all very Rhett Butler of you. I’m not exactly a small person.” She laughed.
“Honey, I bench press women like you for breakfast.” He was almost to the top and not even panting.
“But it’s closer to dinnertime,” Mimi noted.
“Then I’m truly just getting started.” He reached the top landing.
Roxie got up and danced a four-pawed jig around his feet.
“Okay, girl, you can come into the bedroom—for five minutes tops. And then it’s private time,” Vic announced to the dog.
“You think she’ll understand?” Mimi asked, quite enjoying the feeling of a hunky male effortlessly transporting her down the short hallway.
“Trust me. She’ll get the message.” Vic kicked open the door to his bedroom and crossed the carpeting to the bed. He deposited her at the end, allowing her to sit with her legs hanging over the edge. He sat next to her, and Roxie trotted in to face them both. “Five minutes,” he warned again, pointing to his watch.
It was bizarre, but Mimi could have sworn that Roxie nodded. That was just before she jumped on the bed, somehow wiggling her way in between the two of them.
She gave Vic a slobbery kiss on the face, then did a twitch jump, sending Mimi falling backward. The dog landed with her front forelegs on Mimi’s collarbone and proceeded to nuzzle her cheek, kiss her chin, finally rolling over lengthwise between Mimi and Vic and exposing herself with no inhibitions.
Mimi laughed. “I can see why people have dogs to greet them when they come home.”
Vic leaned back and gave Roxie a good tummy rub. “You’re shameless, you know that?”
Roxie leaned her head toward Mimi.
“And you’re also incredibly disloyal,” Vic chided. “Who feeds you? Who walks you? Who takes you to the vet?”
At the last question, Roxie whined.
Mimi chuckled. “Maybe you should have omitted the vet part?” She gently ran her hand down the silky fur of the dog’s ear, mesmerized by its softness. “You’re some lucky dog, you know that?”
Roxie emitted a gurgling sigh, simultaneously moving a hind leg rapidly back and forth as if scratching her tummy. The movement caused her to brush up against Mimi.
“Hey, you’re tickling me,” she protested.
“I think you found her sweet spot,” Vic said with a catch in his voice.
Mimi looked over.
Vic was resting on an elbow and staring at her.
“What?” she asked. Then she noticed his eyes focusing downward and she craned her neck to see. “Oh, I see.” Roxie’s scratching had loosened up the self-tying belt on the dress. One side of the bodice hung open, exposing only her thin, flesh-colored camisole. “Oh,” she repeated again. Under his intense scrutiny, her nipple hardened into a tight point.
“Roxie, I think your five minutes of fame are up,” Vic commanded.
The dog tried wagging her tail. It flopped back and forth on the quilted bedcover.
Vic stared sternly.
Roxie went for batting her long, lush lashes—the ultimate in guilt-inducing-cuter-than-cute behavior.
“Roxie.” His voice became more disapproving.
The dog scrambled to her stomach, then hopped off the bed, stepping on Vic in the process.
“Oomph,” he exclaimed and grabbed just above his crotch. “That was close.”
Mimi watched the dog pad out of the room, then turned on her side to look at Vic. “Any commands for me?”
“Like you’d take commands.” He gently inched his index finger to open the top of her dress, revealing both breasts. “On the other hand, if you have some directives…” He lowered his head and rubbed his cheek against one breast through the silky material. Then he shifted the fabric and began feathering light kisses around the small mound, before using his tongue to lathe her nipple to a sharper peak.
Mimi caught her breath when he took it completely in his mouth and suckled deeply. When he moved to the other, she pressed her eyelids shut, absorbing the sensations. And when he finished, he straddled her body and shimmied up, his head even with hers. Feeling his cool breath on her face, she reluctantly opened her eyes.
“Nothing to say?” he asked playfully.
She swallowed. “I think you’re doing pretty well all on your own.”
“In that case.” Vic sat back on his haunches and slipped off his jacket and began methodically undoing his buttons.
Mimi saw that his pupils were dilated and her chest rose and sank as she watched him undress. He didn’t disappoint. Muscles contoured his chest and sculpted his arms. A smattering of brown hair formed a triangle, setting off his light brown nipples.
Vic moved for his belt, and Mimi reached up to help him. Together, their fingers fumbled with the button at the waistband. She pushed his hand aside, and lowered the zipper herself. “Bossy,” he exclaimed.
His erection jutted out against his boxers. She ran her hand up and down the length through the knit material. Then she looked up. “Are you complaining?”
“Hardly.” He pressed his hand atop hers before moving aside to kick off his shoes, trousers, socks and finally underwear.
Mimi swallowed as he came back to her completely naked. “You’re quite…ah…coordinated.”
“As a football player, I was particularly known for my hands and my timing.” He began to methodically strip the dress off her body.
Mimi raised her arms and wiggled out of her camisole. But when she lowered her hands to take off her bikini bri
efs he stopped her.
“Let me.” Slowly, tortuously, he slid them down her legs, slipping off her sandals as well when he reached her feet. Then he snaked back up and stopped with his hands on her hips. He used his thumbs to gently massage the juncture of her legs, the circular motions finding her most sensitive area.
Mimi gasped. “You’re right about your hands.”
“Well, that’s only the start of things.” He lowered his mouth to tease her intimately.
And after that, she forgot all about football.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
THE NEXT MORNING, Mimi sat on a stool in Vic’s kitchen munching a piece of toast with peanut butter and nursing a mug of strong black coffee. She crossed her bare legs and lazily swung one foot. She wore underpants and his blue Oxford cloth shirt, buttoned haphazardly.
Vic definitely thought that was two garments too many—especially as he watched her lick the peanut butter. He stifled a groan.
He ignored a nudge against his leg, right below the hem of the pair of gym shorts he’d slipped on.
The nudge came again.
Vic reluctantly tore his eyes away from Mimi and glanced down. Roxie. Who else? He reached for the jar of peanut butter and used a knife to scoop out a small amount. Then he got off the chair and plopped the dollop into Roxie’s stainless-steel dog dish.
Mimi leaned to the side and watched, holding on to the counter top—Absolute Black granite in a honed, matte finish. “Very masculine,” had been his mother’s assessment.
“You know, beneath that gruff exterior lies a very tender being,” Mimi said.
“If you’re implying I’m a sucker for big brown eyes and a few strategic prods, you’ve got that right.”
“I noticed,” she said, pursing her lips.
Vic immediately abandoned the dog for Mimi. Leaning over like that, he couldn’t fail to notice how the shirt gaped open. He caught a tantalizing glimpse of her breasts. Mimi’s lanky, coltish figure, with her narrow hips and small breasts, seemed more luscious—more real—than the surgically and cosmetically altered women who usually latched onto football players.
Vic always thought there was something desperate about the way they tried so hard to look sexy. Whereas Mimi wore no makeup, barely brushed her hair and clearly didn’t give one wit about her wardrobe. She wasn’t even self-conscious about the small chip on the side of her top tooth.
“Oh, that,” she’d replied some time last night. “I got that from one of our first matches when I was a freshman. After that, I learned how to play dirty, too.” She’d laughed and rolled over on top of him.
She was right, Vic thought, recalling their lovemaking. She had learned how to play dirty, all right.
Never mind whom he’d been involved with in the past—she was the sexiest woman he’d ever met. But it was more than her look—or lack of caring how she looked—that made her so fantastic. It was her attitude—the mixture of fearlessness and vulnerability. And over the course of the past few days the fearlessness that she always displayed on camera was coming out more. Still, though, the vulnerability, the sensitivity was there—no matter how hard she tried to mask it with smartass comments or her take-no-prisoners attitude. And that was probably the part of her that Roxie responded to, Vic figured.
Just as Vic took a sip of coffee from his mug—the Best Uncle mug that Tommy had given to him for his birthday—he had a lightbulb moment. His dog? His dumb dog? And he wasn’t being cruel here—Roxie was not the brightest—but in this instance, she was a lot quicker than he.
Mimi Lodge was The One. Okay, so he didn’t know her in fine detail—well, he did, but not in that sense. But in his gut—a part of his body he rarely called upon for advice. Somehow, someway, she was his soul mate. Someone he could spend the rest of his life with. Because she made him realize that he didn’t need to always wear a blue Oxford shirt. Maybe there was even a world beyond blue? And maybe he could get close to someone and not always feel responsible—not that he didn’t want to share. But he knew that when push came to shove, if bad times surfaced amidst the good, she would be able—no, she’d jump at the opportunity—to do her share.
This realization had hit him in a flash. Just long enough—and radical enough—for the coffee to go down the wrong way. He pounded the mug to the table, sputtering and coughing.
Mimi immediately sprang from her stool and came over. “Raise your hands. Open your airway,” she ordered, then started slapping him on his back.
He did what he was told, and the spasms petered out. At last, he breathed in deeply.
“Are you okay?” she asked, clearly worried.
He coughed. “Better than you could possibly imagine.” The truth was, if he had to die right now, he’d die a very happy man—the happiest he’d ever been in his whole life.
On the other hand, he had no intention of dying. Not by a long shot.
Vic turned toward her and looked down at his shirt, buttoned with only a minimum of modesty. It was too inviting to pass up. He wiggled his fingers mischievously and snaked his hand inside the slit. “Care for some morning exercise?”
“I’m usually more a water person.” Mimi gulped when his hand found her breast. “Though I could be persuaded.”
“How would you react if I told you I have a very large bathtub, with all sorts of jets and whirlpools that I’ve hardly ever used?”
She pressed her body up against his. His hands rested between them. He could feel her heart racing through his palms. His own doing a rapid tattoo.
“It sounds very therapeutic,” she said, her voice smoky. She went up on tiptoes and kissed the underside of his chin.
Vic wasn’t sure he could make it to the second floor. “I can think of several other areas that could use that kind of kissing ministrations. Old football injuries.”
“I’ve never thought of myself as having healing lips.”
“Honey, you don’t know how therapeutic you are.” Vic rubbed his body against hers, letting his jutting arousal inside his shorts tease her stomach.
“Uncle Vic, Uncle Vic. It’s raining. It’s raining,” a high-pitched voice shouted. A door slammed shut. “No Parade. No Parade.”
Vic and Mimi jumped apart.
“What?” she squeaked.
Vic barely kept from swearing.
“Uncle Vic. Uncle Vic.” The shouting and the stamping of rubber-soled feet grew as their owner approached the kitchen in the back of the house.
Tommy, all three feet of him, stopped at the threshold with his eyes wide and his yellow rain slicker dripping in a circular puddle around his green rubber boots. He raised his arm and pointed. “Who are you?”
Vic rubbed a hand across his bare chest. “Tommy, it’s not polite to point. This is Mimi.” He nodded toward Mimi who was rapidly buttoning up her shirt and pressing the shirttails flat against her long legs. “Mimi, this is my nephew, my sister Basia’s son, Tommy.”
Mimi stepped from the safety of the island and held out her hand. “Hi, Tommy. I’m a friend of your uncle’s.”
Tommy shook hands solemnly, his head bobbing up and down in rhythm. “How come you’re Uncle Vic’s friend? You don’t look like a boy.”
Mimi blinked. “I’m not. Boys can be friends with girls, too.”
Tommy nodded as he took in the information. “There are girls at nursery school.” In Tommy’s version, “nursery” came out “nussry.” “One has a cubby next to me.”
That seemed to be the end of the discussion because the next moment, Tommy went running to Vic and gave him a bear hug around his knees. Then abruptly, he pounced on Roxie who was lying on the tiled kitchen floor in front of the humming refrigerator. The dog heaved a large sigh but otherwise tolerated being smothered by thirty pounds of boy.
“Mommy says no Parade,” Tommy announced without letting go of Roxie’s neck.
Vic decided to take pity on Roxie and opened a lower cupboard. He pulled out a box of dog biscuits. “Hey, bud, I bet Roxie would like some treats. Ho
w about you come over here and get some? And then you can tell me how you got in here.” He looked skeptically at Mimi, who shrugged.
Tommy reluctantly let go of his death grip and ran to Vic. He held his hands out. “I took Mommy’s key ring from the key basket. I know your key ’cause it’s blue.” He looked at Mimi. “I know my colors.”
“That’s fantastic,” Mimi answered. She crossed her hands across her chest.
Vic placed three biscuits in Tommy’s hand. Usually, he only gave Roxie one, but he figured that the dog deserved hardship pay. “Where are the keys now?”
“In the door,” Tommy answered with a slow shake of his head.
“Okay, you give Roxie these and then you better run back home and return your mom’s keys. I’m sure she’ll be looking for them—and you.”
Tommy gazed at the biscuits. “One, two, three. See, I can count, too,” he said proudly.
“That’s great. See if you can give all three to Roxie. But then you better go home.”
Tommy turned and looked up at Mimi. “You can give her one, if you want?”
“Oh, thank you,” Mimi said and knelt next to Roxie.
Tommy handed her one. “You’ve got boobies. Not big like Mom’s,” Tommy told her in a very serious voice.
“Tommy.” Vic raised his voice.
“That’s all right,” Mimi said in a normal tone. “Girls have breasts, especially when they get older.”
“Then you must be old,” Tommy said, intently staring at her.
“Not that old, but old enough.” Mimi held out the biscuit for Roxie and let her lick it greedily off her hand.
“You gotta make her sit first,” Tommy instructed. He held his arm up stiffly. “Sit,” he commanded loudly.
Roxie lumbered up, then sat. Her lips sagged on the side.
Tommy rewarded her with one biscuit, and the dog crunched loudly.
“High five,” Tommy commanded when Roxie sniffed out the remaining treat.
The dog lifted a front paw and shook hands with Tommy.
Mimi clapped. “Good girl. You’re a clever dog. And you’re a very good dog trainer,” she complimented Tommy. Then she looked at the refrigerator doors and studied the snapshots stuck to the stainless steel with various magnets. “Hey, is that you in the picture?” She pointed upward toward a photo of Tommy blowing candles on a cake. A young woman hugged him from behind and helped with the candle blowing.
The Company You Keep Page 20
