Hot Mail

by Maynard, Janice

  Instead of dreaming of a future with a man who adored her and a house full of babies, she’d turned all the love in her heart to raising her daughter. The temptation was there to spoil Debra, even on a limited income. But somehow she had managed to rein in her unhealthy impulses, and had been a fairly strict mom.

  She’d done the job of parenting the best she knew how, and she was proud of her daughter.

  Randy’s lips brushed her cheek, and she made a little sound of surprise. He touched a spot below her ear with the tip of his tongue. Her knees threatened to buckle. Arousal, unexpected but heady and sharp, filled her bloodstream. His hands moved over her back, warm and firm.

  “You are so beautiful and so sweet.” His whisper in her ear made her choke back a moan. She had forgotten the twist of sexual desire, or maybe she had tried to. But nothing she experienced alone in her barren bed came close to this.

  He found her mouth. The kiss was hot and passionate. But it was too much. Too soon. She panicked and pushed out of his arms.

  “I’m sorry, Randy. Please take me home.”

  Ethan cursed softly under his breath. All hell was breaking loose at the station. Apparently, several lots of this year’s flu vaccine had been duds. The strain going around had hit his ranks with a vengeance, and he was scrambling to cover shifts.

  He’d been less than useless to Jane. If he had his way, he’d be over there right now, helping her deal with the mess that was still surrounding her. But duty had to come before his personal life, no matter how much it chafed.

  The investigation into the so-called “fire” at Jane’s was ongoing. The initial investigators had recovered a number of viable fingerprints at the scene, but when they ran the prints through several databases, no matches showed up. Which meant the perp was a first-time offender.

  On the one hand it reassured Ethan that Jane wasn’t in danger from a career criminal. But in another way, it worried him. Which law-abiding citizen in Statlerville was so angry with Jane that he or she wanted revenge?

  The other thing pissing Ethan off was more aggravating than important. Since last week, he’d been planning on staking out the main post office tomorrow, Thursday, in hopes of determining the identity of his mystery admirer. Even in the midst of chaos, the naughty verses stayed in the back of his mind.

  He was intrigued. He admitted it. And more than once, he’d almost told Jane about the two erotic valentines he had received so far. But he remembered what she said about being jealous of his fiancée four years ago, and he finally decided to keep his mouth shut.

  He hadn’t been sleeping well. He’d dreamed about the sexually explicit notes again and again. And the last few nights, Jane had played a starring role as the author of his titillating mail. Which made no sense at all, except for the fact that the two women were getting mixed up in his head, in his subconscious. Jane. The phantom seductress. One a friend. The other an intriguing stranger whose secret he was determined to expose.

  But he was out of luck this week. He’d be lucky to find time to check on Jane, much less spend several hours hanging out at the post office.

  He ground his teeth together and strode toward the command center. He was the assistant chief of police. He had a job to do.

  Jane was sick to death of seeing and touching wet, crumpled stationery. The stench of the decomposing paper, combined as it was with the lingering smell of the noxious smoke, gave her a headache that wouldn’t go away.

  Mr. Benson had been over each day to check on her. He’d contracted with a professional cleaning service that specialized in smoke damage and related problems to come in and attack the building from top to bottom. They were to start Friday evening and work straight through the weekend. But in the meantime, it was up to Jane to sift through the mess of inventory and decide what, if anything, could be salvaged.

  Her renter’s insurance would cover some but not all of the replacement costs. It would be perhaps a year before her budget would recover from the loss. And she wasn’t entirely sure it was worthwhile keeping the shop open.

  Her personal belongings upstairs were another worry. Even though she had a washer and dryer, it had seemed far simpler to empty her closets and go to the Laundromat so she could wash everything at once. And she had already discovered, much to her dismay, that some fabrics required a second cleaning to eradicate the smell.

  It was slow, exhausting work.

  Ethan had come by in the evenings, offering his help. But it had been after nine each time, and she could see the exhaustion in his face. The flu epidemic was making his job hellishly complicated. And as wonderful as it would have been to lean on him, her concerns were not nearly as important as the responsibilities he bore.

  Still, she missed him. At first she wondered if her impulsive invitation to have sex had spooked him. She’d barely spoken to him since they parted company on Sunday. But then she’d read in the newspaper about the unprecedented number of officers who were stricken with the flu, and she had breathed a sigh of relief.

  Ethan wasn’t avoiding her. He was working his ass off.

  She could relate.

  Thursday she took a few minutes midmorning to drink some coffee and have a snack. She hadn’t been eating or sleeping well—the inevitable result of stress. She sat at her kitchen table for a half hour and jotted an attempt at a sex poem. She really didn’t have the time, but she was reluctant to let her erotic-mail campaign lapse, and besides, she needed a break.

  She’d brought a few sheets of thick handmade paper upstairs with her, enough to do four more notes. Pockets of undamaged material remained here and there in the store. The items were too few and too scattered to sell, so she would keep them for her personal use.

  When the last of her coffee was gone, she read through her third verse one more time. It was her most earthy, in-your-face attempt yet. Would Ethan be aroused by it? Would he read it again and again and wonder whose hand had written it? Would the words lodge in his psyche?

  She didn’t have time to rifle through the boxes of junk downstairs and find decorations. This note would have to fly on its own. Still, the paper was nice. It was lemon-colored, lightly speckled with orange and gold dots. Sort of like the freckles that appeared on her nose and cheeks the first time she courted the summer sun each year.

  It was a good five hours later before she finally made it to the post office. She’d had to take a shower before she could leave the building. Not only had she smelled like smoke, but her clothes had been filthy. All that wet paper left little gluelike blobs that stuck to anything they touched and turned into concrete if she didn’t remove them before they hardened.

  This time she didn’t feel as self-conscious about mailing her letter. Was this how criminals reacted? Did they get so accustomed to the rush of adrenaline that it ceased to make them nervous when they perpetrated a crime?

  She strolled up to the “local” slot, took one last look at her letter, and boldly slid it into the opening. Immediately, her heart felt lighter. She had a good feeling about these notes.

  In her imagination, she saw Ethan’s face when she finally came clean about her secret. His dark eyes would flare with passion. He’d sweep her off her feet. . . . Oh, poop. Maybe not that. She sighed, catching sight of her reflection in the plate-glass window as she exited. She towered over the white-haired senior citizen who smiled and walked ahead of her down the steps to the parking lot.

  It all boiled down to one simple truth. No matter how intrigued Ethan became with her string of notes . . . no matter how long a history she and Ethan shared as friends . . . it was all for naught unless he was attracted to her. And when it came down to the end, he might prefer cute and cuddly to a reasonably attractive beanpole.

  Maybe if she could wear couture clothes and go to fancy parties and wear slinky dresses cut to her navel . . . maybe then she would appreciate her height and be confident enough to hold her head high.

  But it was hard to give up a fantasy. Men liked to be protectors. Ethan had to
ld her that himself. And what better way to prove a man’s masculinity than for him to change lightbulbs, carry packages, reach for things on the top shelf, and coddle his smaller, weaker mate.

  Well, hell, she wasn’t small. And she surely wasn’t weak. So if that was what Ethan wanted in a woman, she was out of luck.

  On the other hand, if she could convince him that they would be far more exciting as lovers than as friends, the consequences might be unprecedented. And really, really exciting.

  Nine

  Ethan knew he was a stubborn man. It was a trait that had served him well in many situations. That and his insistence on studying every aspect of a case before making any strategic moves.

  So he covered all his bases before he confronted Jane at her shop Friday afternoon. He had chatted with Mr. Benson and ascertained the cleaning crew’s schedule. Jane had to be out by five p.m. Ethan was waiting by her car at four forty-five. Given the flu situation, he still had to work the weekend, but tonight was all his . . . and Jane’s.

  She stopped dead in her tracks when she saw him. “What are you doing here, Ethan?”

  He shoved his hands in his pockets and leaned a hip against the hood of her light green Hyundai. “Waiting for you.” He reached out and took her suitcase and a carry-on from her hands. “We’ll take my car.”

  She dug in her heels literally and metaphorically. “You’re not making sense.”

  He grinned, feeling lighthearted and in an unexpectedly good mood. After the week he’d had, it was a miracle. But Jane had that effect on him. Like always.

  He tossed her luggage in the back of his Jeep. “Mr. Benson told me you were going to a motel this evening. So I’m taking you home, beautiful. Consider it my civic duty. If it will soothe your conscience, feel free to dust my junk, alphabetize my spices, or iron a few shirts so you won’t feel beholden to me.”

  Her lips twitched. “Is that what you think we women do for the men in our lives?”

  “Am I?”

  “Are you what?” She was looking down, fastening her seat belt, so he couldn’t see her face.

  He resisted the urge to touch her. Instead he turned the key in the ignition. “The man in your life.”

  He recognized the exchange for what it was. They were flirting. It felt weird but good. Jane didn’t bother to respond to his last sally. But she stared out the front windshield with a small smile on her face.

  For once, he was sorry they lived so close to each other. He’d have liked an excuse to drive for hours with Jane as his captive. An uninterrupted block of time.

  But he’d make do with what he had.

  Jane gave him a funny look when he insisted on carrying her bags into the house. She glanced at the mailbox. “Do you want me to get your mail?”

  He froze midstep and nearly stumbled. Unbelievable. He’d forgotten it was Friday. “Um, don’t worry about it. It’s probably catalogs and bills. No rush.”

  He strode to the door and unlocked it, hoping like hell she would follow. He exhaled a sigh of relief when he realized she was on his heels.

  Inside, she hovered in the hallway as he took her stuff to the guest room. When he returned ten seconds later, she was still where he had left her.

  He waved a hand. “Make yourself at home. I’ll order us some pizza if that’s okay.”

  She ignored his directive and followed him into the kitchen. He refused to admit, even to himself, that it made him nervous when she watched him dial the phone.

  He rattled off their order without asking for her input. And then he blinked when he realized he had requested their old standard duo: one medium Hawaiian and one large supreme. He hung up the phone and felt his tongue swell with sudden nerves. He’d planned things out to get Jane here. And it had worked.

  But what the hell was he going to do with her now?

  She was standing in the doorway with her arms wrapped around her waist. Her long legs were encased in soft, well-worn denim that did great things to her ass. The brown fleecy jacket she wore was unzipped, revealing the cinnamon tank top beneath.

  Everything about her stance and her clothing was casual. But the whole package was dynamite. She was beautiful in a bone-deep, completely natural way. It made him restless and unsettled and horny.

  And since he hadn’t quite yet decided how he felt about lusting after Jane, he deliberately turned his mind to safer avenues. “You want to watch the game?”

  He didn’t have to elaborate. Everyone in town knew that the University of Tennessee men’s team was playing North Carolina tonight.

  Her face lit up. “Sure.”

  She teased him about his brand-new big-screen TV. He adjusted the volume and joined her on the sofa. “You’re just jealous.”

  She snorted and curled into her corner with an afghan. “Men and their toys. Why is it that bigger is always better?” Even her laughter made him horny. And he wasn’t going to let that one pass.

  He propped his feet on the coffee table. “It is, trust me. And I’m surprised you don’t agree.”

  It was the most sexually provocative thing he’d ever said to her. She blinked, and he saw her lips open and close as if she couldn’t quite come up with a snappy response.

  He let the silence build, wondering if she would finally make a comeback. But Jane was mute, her eyes glued to the television screen. It wasn’t until the food arrived that she spoke again, and then it was only something mundane about drinks from the kitchen.

  They ate the warm, gooey pizza sitting side by side. Jane abandoned her afghan and joined him in the middle of his big leather couch, their hips almost touching. He could smell her light perfume, and honest to God, he lost his appetite . . . for pizza.

  He knew, in some analytical corner of his brain, that something was going to happen tonight. It might be good and it might be bad. But it would definitely be a watershed moment.

  He brooded all during the ball game, watching Jane squeal and bounce and cheer as the Vols whittled away at the other team’s early lead. He must have acted normally on the outside, because she didn’t appear to notice anything odd about him.

  His chest was tight and his throat was dry. After all this time, was he really going to take a chance on ruining the relationship that had so recently been resurrected? What were the chances this would play out the way he wanted it to? One in a hundred?

  Jane stripped off her jacket. He’d turned up the heat when they came home, and with the excitement generated by the game, she was flushed, her skin luminous.

  He had one eye on the television and one eye on the way her thin tank top outlined her full, perfect breasts. Not too big. Not too small. Perfect. The kind of curves a man fantasized about holding, licking, burying his face between. He coughed and took a long slug of his beer.

  The game went into overtime.

  Ethan cursed inwardly.

  At the beginning of the second overtime, he realized that someone up there had a warped sense of humor.

  Two seconds before the final buzzer, Tennessee’s famous forward made a perfect nothing-but-net three-pointer and the fans went wild.

  Jane ended up in his lap.

  It was lunacy born of adrenaline. She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him enthusiastically. “They did it.”

  She wasn’t sure Ethan shared her excitement. He’d been oddly silent for the last hour. And now that she had more or less attacked him, he seemed stunned.

  But before she could draw back in embarrassment, he came out of whatever funk he’d been in. He dragged her the rest of the way into his embrace, leaned back into the sofa, and arranged her legs on either side of his hips. “They sure as hell did,” he muttered. And then he kissed her back.

  If she ever had the opportunity to observe a nuclear detonation from a safe distance, Jane was pretty sure it would feel like this: a brilliant flash of light, a blow of energy to the chest, and then a mushrooming cloud of intense heat. Ethan might have been shocked by her kiss, but he wasted no time catching up.

/>   His tongue slid into her mouth. He tasted like pizza and passion. There was nothing tentative about his embrace or his kiss. He took her mouth as if it was his to claim, his to plunder.

  She smoothed her hands over his chest again and again, just because she could. Even clothed, he was hard, with warm skin over sleek muscles. She trembled violently, her heart racing. Ethan was kissing her. She was kissing Ethan. Was this why he had invited her here tonight? Was this why she had accepted?

  She whimpered and tried to get closer. In some corner of her brain, she knew she might regret what was happening. They had barely even come to terms with the rebirth of their friendship, and now they were playing tonsil hockey.

  And she had no idea at all if he felt even a fraction of the emotions that were singing through her veins. She loved him. She had loved him forever, it seemed.

  But Ethan was a man, and men enjoyed having sex.

  He nipped her throat with his teeth, and she groaned. It didn’t matter what his reasons were. She was tired of waiting and wanting and wishing. It was time to live in the here and now.

  He took her breasts in his hands, and her brain shut down. Period. Gut instinct took over. The need to mate was as violent and urgent as her need to survive a fire the week before. She honestly thought she might die if he didn’t make love to her tonight.

  He was hot to the touch, his broad shoulders clad in a thick sweatshirt. She grasped the hem and pulled it up his chest, watching impatiently as he leaned forward and helped her take it off.

  Oh, God, he was beautiful. She had forgotten how much. His skin was naturally bronze due to a Cherokee ancestor back in the family tree. A light dusting of dark hair arrowed down his sternum to the belt that cinched his jeans.

  She studied his flat, copper-colored nipples, dazed by their beauty. When she lowered her head and tasted each one, he bit out a curse and buried his hands in her hair so hard that she winced.