by Mardi Ballou
HOOK, WINE AND TINKER
An Ellora’s Cave Publication, January 2004
Ellora’s Cave Publishing, Inc.
PO Box 787
Hudson, OH 44236-0787
ISBN MS Reader (LIT) ISBN # 1-84360-781-6
Other available formats (no ISBNs are assigned):
Adobe (PDF), Rocketbook (RB), Mobipocket (PRC) & HTML
HOOK, WINE AND TINKER © 2004 MARDI BALLOU
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book may not be reproduced in whole or in part without permission.
This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. They are productions of the authors’ imagination and used fictitiously.
Edited by Raelene Gorlinsky
Cover art by Darrell King.
Hook, Wine and Tinker
Mardi Ballou
Chapter One
Gwyn Verde bustled around the kitchen, getting her tiny cottage ready for what she fully intended to be a very special night with her boyfriend, Pete Payne. Superb food and even more superb lovemaking. And finally, last but not least, romance, the crucial third leg of the triangle. Pete did great with eating…food. As for their lovemaking…what it lacked in quality it made up for in quantity. But starting tonight, she was going to shoot for quality too. Which meant adding the romance. All the essential ingredients combined and intertwined, just like in her cooking.
She stirred wine into the already simmering tomato sauce, added basil, thyme, oregano, and enough garlic to sink Dracula. She sniffed appreciatively, anticipating how great the sauce would be on the handmade pasta, fresh from the gourmet shop’s refrigerator. On her way home from her job at a travel agency, she’d picked up a Chianti that blew her wine budget for the month and a tiramisu guaranteed by the baker to make the tongue “weep with joy”.
Gwyn’s two settings of Lenox china, antique sterling, and Waterford goblets now graced the small, round dining table, covered tonight with cream damask and matching napkins. Cream colored tapers in sterling holders stood on either side of a bouquet of red and white roses. She’d rearranged each piece several hundred times until she was totally satisfied. Heck, her house gleamed and smelled like a romantic wet dream.
Looking at the clock, Gwyn realized she’d better hustle to be ready when Pete arrived. To stay relaxed, she thought longingly about the exotic interlude to the Fantasia Resort in Bali she’d packaged for one lucky couple’s romantic getaway just that afternoon.
Romantic getaway. Weren’t those among the sweetest words in the English language? She wanted to be headed off for a romantic getaway—with Pete, of course. Lots of places would do. But she dreamed of going to one of the Fantasia Resorts—billed as the places where fantasies and more were guaranteed. Naturally, fantasy fulfillment wouldn’t come cheap, even with her travel agent discount. On the other hand, she and Pete together could swing a few days in lovers’ paradise. After all, Pete was a computer programmer for the company that owned Fantasia Resorts. He’d probably be able to get an even better deal than she could.
Everything about Fantasia Resorts breathed romance. She could just picture herself there with Pete, who had a lot going for him, if only… At six foot with a slim build, sandy brown hair, and azure blue eyes, he could have modeled or maybe even taken a shot at Hollywood. But Pete was oblivious to his good looks—which had its pluses and minuses.
Unfortunately, Pete was oblivious to a lot besides what a hunk he was. While Gwyn was twenty-eight going on twenty-nine, Pete was thirty going on seventeen. Which was great in the bedroom, where he had the stamina and perpetual horniness of a randy teenager—but, alas, a teenager’s total lack of sensitivity and awareness. “Slam bam thank you ma’am” had distinct limits she hadn’t been able to cure him of—yet. She wanted more, both in the bedroom and outside it. Pete brought to life the old adage: “You can’t have it all.” Being a realist, she was willing to compromise. Just not about having romance in her life. Not any longer.
With dinner in progress, Gwyn moved to the bedroom. Black silk sheets, fat red roses perfuming the air, a mellow saxophone crooning love songs in a continuous loop on her CD player. That was as good as it was going to get. Now it was time to work on herself. She soaked in rose and jasmine-scented bubbles. Then she emerged from the tub, rubbed musk-scented cream from head to toe, and applied Pete’s favorite perfume, vanilla extract, to all the strategic spots—behind her knees and ears, inside her wrists, between her breasts, and in the sensitive folds between her thighs and her waiting core.
She slipped into her brand new killer black dress and studied herself in the mirror. The dress hugged her curves, clinging to her perfumed breasts in a way that said, Touch me, Sniff me, Fuck me, Love me. At five foot two, she loved how tall she felt in her high strappy sandals. She twisted her long blond hair up, clipping one of the fresh red roses over her right ear. Full makeup to emphasize her green eyes and shapely lips. She smiled. She cooked like Julia Child and looked like a short Uma Thurman. Okay, slight exaggeration on both counts. But she looked and cooked pretty darn good—and better than ever tonight.
She was way ready for Pete. But was he ready for her? She looked at the clock, and began to pace.
A half hour late, he rang the bell. Gwyn bit back her annoyance. After all, Pete was chronically late. She knew that. She could live with that, if he’d just start meeting her other needs.
Pete stood in the doorway, grinning and holding up two plastic garment bags. Gwyn’s heart began to race. Maybe he had some sort of romantic surprise in mind. She loved surprises.
“Hey, baby, am I ever glad to see you!” he exclaimed, racing in, dropping the garment bags onto Gwyn’s black leather couch, and grabbing her into a clinch.
Feeling his erection pressed against her, Gwyn murmured, “I guess you are.” She rubbed herself against him, savoring the promise of his hard cock.
He broke away from her, following his nose to the kitchen. He pointed to the simmering sauce and said, “Let’s hold dinner.” He looked her up and down. “First things first.”
Knowing how much Pete loved food, Gwyn took his desire as a positive sign. Heck, the sauce could sit. Would probably taste even better. She’d just need to boil the pasta for a few minutes. And she could do that after…
Pete was nuzzling her, nibbling her neck, connecting with her in all her most sensitive spots. “Mmm,” he said. “You smell real good—like warm cookies just out of the oven.”
“You can smell me over the sauce?” Gwyn asked, surprised and pleased that he was paying such careful attention.
He waggled an eyebrow. “Hey, when Mr. Battery is ready to go, all the senses race into high gear.”
“Mr. Battery?” Gwyn asked, wondering if Pete was somehow referring to her vibrator. They’d had a few brief conversations about gadgets and their uses, but Pete hadn’t seemed real eager to include her vibrator in their lovemaking.
And he wasn’t now. He pointed downward to his burgeoning erection. “Yeah, you know. Ever Ready.” He chuckled.
She looked where he pointed and admired the visual. He was always giving his penis new names, some more interesting than others. No matter what he called it, the man had an available hard-on on demand.
Gwyn turned off the burner, and Pete led the way into her bedroom. She paused in the doorway, waiting to see if his newly heightened senses responded to the seductive scene she’d set.
Nope. “Hey baby, let’s get naked,” he yelled, rapidly discarding his clothes in random piles.
A flash of disappointment riffled through Gwyn. Lowering her voice to its huskiest, most seductive pitch, she said, “Pete, I’m wearing a really special dress. And trust me, what’s under it is
even more special.” She licked her lips. “Why don’t you undress me?”
Pete was already lying naked on her silk sheets, his erection rising like a periscope from his sea of wiry pubic hair. He sat up and looked at her, grinning. “Oh, baby you know I always fumble with the doodads. Heck, with you looking all gorgeous like that, I’d probably tear something. Get out of those duds and come here.”
Okay. On to Plan B. “Pete,” she purred, “watch me while I strip.” She went into prime bump and grind mode.
Pete said, “Hurry. Mr. Battery’s ready to pop.”
Having experienced how rapidly Mr. Battery could pop, she quickly but carefully took off her sandals, dress, the sexy teddy, the lacy garter belt, the silk stockings with the perfect seams up the back, and her black thong, and stacked them on the dresser.
He was still half sitting up, watching her, his cock in hand. “Come here, baby,” he called. “I’ve been waiting for you all day.” He lay down when he saw her approach.
With a sigh, she stretched out next to him. As he kissed her, she let go of some of her frustration. She’d wanted a seduction scene. So it had taken all of three seconds for him to be seduced. She had to realize change took time. Mmm, that felt so good, what he was doing with his tongue, licking his way down from her mouth to that valley between her breasts, where he lingered for several seconds.
He groaned. “Oh baby, I can’t take any more. I gotta come into you.”
He wedged his thigh between her legs. At his touch, Gwyn felt herself begin to grow wet. “That’s it, baby,” he said, as he rubbed his thigh into her moisture. “Oh, yeah, you’re so hot.”
She arched her hips upward so her waiting folds rubbed against his thigh. Umm, yes. He was just at the right angle to get her clit. She rubbed harder and felt the beginning of a fast flash orgasm. Pete pulled away, and Gwyn reluctantly put her climax on hold.
Pete bit the top edge off a foil packet, pulled out the condom, and stretched it over his throbbing cock. “Ready, babe?”
Gwyn stifled a sarcastic comment about her abandoned come, opened her legs, and wrapped them around his slim hips. She gasped as he thrust into her even more quickly than usual, then began to savor the feel of him in her. Oh, yeah. She could tell he’d been waiting for this. Well so had she. “Pete, slow things down a bit.”
He grunted a protest but managed to ease up a bit. Oh, that was so much better. He had this way of moving his hips so his cock touched every sensitive surface in her hungry core. She clutched his ass tighter to maximize her contact with his thick cock and nearly shrieked with pleasure when he began to tongue her ears, to bite her lips. She was really getting into it now.
And then he spasmed, and she knew he was going to come. She sped up her own rhythm to try to catch up with him. She was climbing up that mountain, the swirling sensations taking her up to that peak… He grunted again, released a small torrent, and collapsed on top of her.
Gwyn gritted her teeth. She’d almost been there. Again. She got caught mid-slope and was left hanging. Again. “Pete,” she called out hoarsely. He rose, grinned, and rolled off her, careful to keep the condom secure around his still half-stiff mast.
“Pete,” she called again. Her clit was throbbing, in search of a release that suddenly was receding further and further from possibility. “Pete, I need…”
He looked at her, his smile broad with satisfaction. “That was great, Gwyn.” He stretched. “Let’s go have some chow, then more sack time.”
“Pete,” she whimpered, “I’m not quite there yet. I need more from you. Now.”
But he was already out of bed and throwing on his clothes. “I’m starving,” he said, stomping out to the kitchen. “Feed me, woman. Then we’ll play some more.”
Gwyn strongly considered getting the real Mr. Battery out and giving herself what she needed. Would Pete even care?
After several moments of internal debate, Gwyn decided she’d cut Pete a break, go on with dinner. This wasn’t the first time she’d ever put up with some frustration, and realistically she knew it wouldn’t be the last. But this time, they had the whole evening ahead of them to banish her immediate frustration. Lots of opportunities to come. Literally. Now that he’d gotten his edge off, he’d surely be more responsive to her needs.
Now that they’d been to bed together, it felt kind of stupid to put on the killer dress and elaborate underpinnings again. Instead, she took out a pair of bikinis, decided to forego a bra, and threw on some jeans and a T-shirt. More reasonable outfit for cooking anyway.
Pete was already in the kitchen, guzzling her expensive Chianti. “That’s supposed to be for dinner,” she protested. “And you’re just supposed to sip.”
He shrugged and parked himself near the stove. “So, we almost ready to eat?”
“Hey, Pete, lots of opportunities here to help.” Not that there was a lot left to finish, but it would be nice if he’d do more than stand there, watch her, and drink wine.
He made a face and continued standing in exactly the same spot. “Come on,” he said. “I had a tough day. Besides, I get off on watching you cook.”
She stifled her impulse to fling the wooden spoon she was stirring the sauce with at him. But Rome wasn’t built in a day. And she’d rather concentrate on building his skills for romance than as a cook. Once she had the sauce simmering again, she set the water boiling for the pasta. She got the salads and breadsticks out, put the pasta on, and made a final check.
They were soon seated across from each other. Pete poured them each some of the remaining wine. “To us,” Gwyn toasted.
“To Halloween parties,” Pete responded, clinking glasses with her.
“Halloween parties?” Gwyn put down her goblet.
Pete swallowed his wine. “Yeah. That’s why I brought the stuff over,” he said, pointing to the garment bags Gwyn had temporarily forgotten about.
“What about Halloween parties?” she asked. Usually when Pete talked about parties of any kind, they involved giant TV screens and the Super Bowl or the World Series.
Pete inhaled some pasta. “Wow! This is great!”
Gwyn nodded modestly. “Thanks. So what is this about a Halloween party?”
He finished chewing and said, “My boss is throwing a party on his huge yacht tomorrow night.”
“Your boss? On his yacht?”
“Yeah. It’s docked here in San Diego.”
She frowned. “Your boss, Joe Schmendrick, has a yacht?” Gwyn had met the mousy little guy once at a picnic. She’d pictured him more as the rubber ducky in the tub type than someone who’d own a yacht.
Pete shook his head. “Not my supervisor. The big BIG boss. Dominic Laredo. The guy who came up with the Fantasia Resorts concept and owns everything. He sails around all the time. Comes to land to collect his money and check out what the little folk are doing. This is the first time he’s docked here in San Diego in months. We’ve set some new sales records for the resorts and this is his way of thanking us, along with raises, of course. He wants all his employees from the local office to come to his party—in costume. He’ll have big prizes for the ones he likes best.”
“Sounds like an overgrown kid,” Gwyn muttered. She took a sip of her wine. She found something ridiculous about supposed adults putting on costumes and hanging out at a party no one over thirteen belonged at. On a deeper level, she found something delicious and possibly dangerous about people choosing to masquerade as other people. She wasn’t sure how she felt about being in that kind of mode with Pete. “Do you have to go?”
Pete stopped chewing. “We,” he said. “I really want to go. Should be fun. Anyway, we have to go. When Dominic Laredo says ‘come to my party’, people who want to keep working for him don’t stay away.”
“In other words, it’s a command performance. Okay. So aside from forcing people to come to his parties, what else do you know about this Laredo guy?”
Pete shook his head. “Just what everybody else except you knows. Eccentric you
ng billionaire and all that. I’m sure you’ve read about him in all those magazines you’re always looking at. Gwyn, you’ll love the party. I got us great costumes.”
Right. The garment bags. What could Pete possibly have come up with for them? Romeo and Juliet? Lancelot and Guinevere? Maybe this would be the way to see if any romance lurked in his heart. “All right. I’ll bite,” she said.
“Wait ‘til we get to bed for that,” he leered.
She rolled her eyes.
“So you want to see the costumes?”
“I can hardly wait.” Gwyn coaxed a bit more wine from the bottle into her glass. Pete didn’t seem put off by her sarcasm. He jumped up and grabbed the plastic bags, opening the first to indicate green nylon tights, a tunic in a slightly darker green, and cap with a feather. Gwyn’s heart sank. Neither Romeo nor Lancelot.
“You’re going as the Jolly Green Giant?” she asked. What was she going to be? Frozen lima beans?
He laughed. “Good one, Gwyn. But you’re joking, right?”
She didn’t want to appear dim, but that really was what she thought of.
“I’m going to be Peter Pan,” he said.
Oh great, she thought. The quintessential lost boy. That fit.
“And you,” he said, lifting the other plastic cover, “are going to be Tinkerbell.”
Groovy. Just what she needed. To traipse around some spoiled rich guy’s boat dressed like a flitting fairy.
“I don’t think so,” she said, looking at the tiny pink costume made of a cheap, clingy polyester. No bra under that one. Pink iridescent wings fluttered as Pete moved the costume around.
He pouted. “Come on, Gwyn. Be a good sport. You know Peter Pan is my favorite story. And these are great costumes. Rented them for half off—even before Halloween.”
“Who else would want them?” she asked, fingering the cheesy fabric of hers. “Forget about it. I’m not going dressed in this.”
