by Rie Warren
When he handed me a glass, I pooled the caramel-colored liquid around until it coated the sides of the tumbler. I took a bracing drink. “Branch and bourbon.”
Reardon’s eyes crinkled. “Had you pegged right.”
“My momma says a stiff water and whiskey’s the cure for what ails ya.”
He raised his glass. “To your momma, fine woman to have made you.”
We watched each other, alcohol alleviating the anxiety, aroused anticipation building.
“Lord help you if you ever meet her.”
Polishing off his drink, he ignored my statement.
Friends, family. Off limits.
Right, I knew the rules.
He grabbed my hand. “Come. I’ll give you the grand tour.”
Grand Tour? Were we going to Europe?
Apparently not. Our jaunt was quick.
“Kitchen.”
Uh-huh. Iron Chef-style kitchen.
“You cook?”
“Yes.” He was busy sampling my tits and ass with his hot eyes.
Oh, Hell. He meant between the sheets.
Parlors, powder rooms, library, dining room–Ding Dong, I wanted him to wine, dine and 69 me on the long table–guest rooms.
This place had more rooms than the Dugger-momma had offspring, and at last count the infamous super-reproducer had nineteen kids.
Everything was seamlessly appointed, minimally decorated. Dashes of his personality revealed by a dog-eared book lying atop a cushion, running shoes shoved under a side table, a Southern Boating magazine folded back on a glossy black marble hearth.
He finally slowed before a set of carved double doors whose handles were old-fashioned brass, a skeleton key hanging from the jagged-tooth lock.
Inside, the chamber was a calming dark blue. Lamps were lit, their glow echoing the setting sun outside. A cascade of books slanted in the top-heavy curve of the Leaning Tower of Pisa beside a divan.
A second door led to his bedroom.
Slate, with a touch of saffron.
Cool, yet fiery.
His humidor and a flat lacquered box sat on the dresser.
A mosquito net canopied the king sized bed, adding to the libidinous tropical feel.
Hot.
Passionate.
He folded his arms and leaned against the dresser, a scandalous glint in his eyes.
I tested the mattress, bouncing twice.
When I lay back, I understood the reason for the gauzy canopy; it hid the mirror, set into his ceiling.
Holy Hell.
At his pregnant silence, I said, “Well, it’s big.”
He sniggered at my innuendo. “You don’t say?” He cocked his leg, drawing my gaze right to the big thing we weren’t discussing.
My pulse roaring, I licked my lips.
He let out a long breath. “My bathroom’s through there.” He gestured to a final door. “Meet me on the balcony when you’re ready.”
Even though I got lost at a turn or two, I made it outside before him.
I lit a cigarette, joining my smoke to the bottom-heavy clouds sketching the skies at sundown. A jag of lightning, then three more, leant a ghostly backdrop to the steeples that made Charleston the Holy City of the South across the harbor.
A French picnic–cheeses, fruit, charcuterie, a chilled bottle in a leggy bucket–was spread between two chaises pulled together, heaped with pillows and velvety throws.
Romance. Seduction.
Just like he’d promised.
I stubbed out the cig, finished my bourbon, and bobbed a finger of cheese into my mouth. I groaned at the texture, the flavor. Oh my God...could cheese cause orgasms? For sure this was no Cheez Whiz. I brought the platter to my lap and nibbled away. My nerves eating away at me.
I was lost inside myself when Reardon joined me in jeans and nothing else. Every muscle in his arms and upper body distinct. The curlicues of hair on his chest pointing to his trim waist. The ducktails on his neck damply curling, he’d come wet from a redneck rinse-off.
He traced my cheek to the corner of my mouth, then retreated to a lounge chair, adhering to the invisible barrier set by my protective posture. “You’re too far away, Shay.”
Moving forward, I settled between his bent knees.
A deep sigh lifted my chest.
Comfort.
Human touch.
He wrapped his arms around my waist. “That’s not what I meant.” He lifted my hair to suckle my nape. Chills scattering all over my body, I wiggled closer. I heard him through the pounding of my heart. “Though this is nice. Is it okay?”
Resting against him, I nodded.
“What were you thinking about?”
I whispered, “My husband. But I wouldn’t want to bore you.”
“I highly doubt anything you said could bore me, but I don’t want to hear about you and him.”
“Help me forget?”
We traded innocent anecdotes along with bites of food and sips from glasses until I was a bit tipsy, a lot happier. Bright stars studded the black sky when I turned in his arms, bracing myself on his thighs. “I have to go home.”
“Time’s up?”
“It wouldn’t do to be late. He–”
“Tell me he doesn’t hurt you.”
“Not like that. He won’t even touch me.”
“More fool him.” Reardon held me against him, making damn sure I knew how much he liked touching me.
“You think?”
He sat me back. His fingers circled dangerously close to my nipples; my nipples were dangerously close to begging for more.
“You…” His lips met mine, a tantalizing brush.
“Me?”
His tongue slid to the bow of my lip, then he sucked my bottom lip between his. “Should never…”
“Ever?” I circled my hips to his grunt and thrust.
“Never be left wanting.” He took my mouth in a deep kiss, sinfully mating our lips and tongues.
“Uhh,” I cried, and he captured it, twisting his head and sealing our mouths with a slick chase of his tongue after mine.
We strived against each other, grabbing, kissing, nipping. When he lapped a path along my neck, I rubbed my lips against the softness of his earlobe. “You want me.”
“Yes.”
I undulated on top of him, riding the hard cliff of his cock. I reached below, brushing my fingertips up his length.
“Fuck, Shay.” He stilled my hips, lifting my hand from his groin. The same as Palmer pulling me off him only hours earlier.
I fumbled backward. “I’m sorry.”
He made me look at him. “Don’t you ever apologize for that.” He laughed shortly. “It’s either stop now, or don’t stop, all night.”
“Oh!”
“Yeah.”
He didn’t let an inch of space separate our bodies while we hugged. “You’ve had too much to drink.”–Please, whiskey, wine...Yeah, suddenly I did feel a little dizzy– “I’ll call my car company.”
“Car company?”
He watched me with a quirk of well-kissed lips as understanding dawned. Right, of course he’d have a chauffeur service under the banner of Radaman-Slaughter.
“Junior will be here in five.”
“Junior?”
“Junior’s my most trusted driver, darlin’.” He fell into the southern boy patois. “Known him since he was no more than a youngun collectin’ oysters on the shoals at McClellanville.”
“Ah, yes, there’s always a Junior.” I pressed my lips to his. “And usually a Bubba too.”
“That’s the truth. I’d take you myself, but–”
“That’s not a good idea.”
Outside, he boosted me into a Land Rover next to the pleasant-looking young Junior.
Reardon’s breath shivered far too close to my mouth as he said goodbye. “I’ll see you Thursday. Bring an overnight bag and a bathing suit and tell…” His eyes screwed up. “Him you have a business trip.”
“Bathin’ suit,
huh? Maybe I prefer skinny dipping.”
He kissed me lightly, closing the door. Rapping on the tinted glass, he motioned me to roll the window down. “Text me when you get home, darlin’.”
My smile was huge. “I would, but my phone’s six years old, and I’m not sure how to text, baby.”
Chapter 5
Full Disclosure
By the time I rendezvoused with Reardon for our getaway, my heart was sore from a whole new heaping of hurt between Palmer and me.
When I asked him to get my suitcase from the crawlspace situated over the eaves of the house–the stuffy room piled with boxes of tiny, tissue-paper wrapped clothing, all brand new, all washed in preparation–the same pain squeezing my heart saturated his eyes in sadness. His Adam’s apple bobbed, his shoulders sagging even more.
He slid back the latch on the door, and I caught his arm. “I’ll do it. I shouldn’t have asked.”
He yanked away from me. “I got it, Shay.”
My heart banged the entire time he was in there, shutting out any noise he made shuffling the latest boxes to reach the luggage at the back.
I grabbed the suitcase, then his hand, helping him to his feet. “Thank you.”
“Welcome.” He sidled past me, using a handkerchief to sweep up sweat or tears, or both.
Before I left the room, I looked out the window at my garden. It was so tranquil out there, the flowers nodding softly, the statuette glistening with dew and sun. So unlike the gloominess inside our house.
Packing for my trip with the beau-boss posed other problems, silly ones easily remedied by a trip to The Drugstore. But that meant running the gauntlet with Addy.
I’d crept to the lunch counter, trying to maintain a low profile. “Pssst.”
Addy swatted at a nonexistent housefly.
“Damn it, Adelaide!” I shouted.
Her hand thumped to her chest. “Lawd A’mighty, Miss Shay, y’all like to give me an attack of the angina! What are ya doin’ skulking around like dat?”
I leaned close. “I got some purchases to make.”
“What’s that, girl? Purchases?” Her bosom rose with a deep breath, much like her eyebrows did.
I slid several colorful boxes across the counter, keeping them under the cover of my hand.
She snaked the boxes away, squinting at them before smiling broadly. “Fine choice of lady’s lube, yes ma’am!” Her voice boomed out over the store’s four aisles, aided by the unnecessary mic situated directly under her mouth.
A few people in the lunch crowd gave low whistles. One mom clapped her hands over her son’s ears, mouthing prayers in case whorishness was catching.
Snatching Madam’s best back–Juicy Lube and Uberlube–I stabbed Addy with my eyes, which weren’t very effective weapons.
Instead of taking a direct hit of humble pie, she grinned and shook out her long black beaded hair.
While she inspected me under the guise of fixing my usual lunch of sweet tea and egg salad, I inspected the colorful pictures and helpful diagrams on the boxes.
Between mouthfuls, I ignored her.
“Y’all workin’ now?”
I bent over my plate.
“Y’all ready to say goodbye to Palmer, honey?”
I steeled myself. “I have a job. I can’t talk about Palmer.”
After adding my purchases to the account set up decades ago for my family, her brown hand found mine. “You don’t need to tell me nothin’. I can see y’all are workin’. Mmm hmm, workin’ for the man.”
“How do you do that?”
“What’s now?” She swept behind the counter.
“How do you know?”
“I jest do. So did my mammy. Y’all remember her?”
“Some.” I glanced to the corner where the spindled rocking chair teetered on its own. “I recall her sittin’ there, smokin’ her pipe, noddin’ her head.”
“Yes’m. Cassandra was her name on account she could see things like the Greek goddess. Her own mammy knew as soon as them newborn eyes of hers opened.” She laughed until her huge bosom shook with maximum Richter scale force. “Now, she also believed she could speak them tongues, talk to the animals and such.”
“Why didn’t you marry? Why didn’t you have any children of your own?”
“Some of us just is what we is.” She brushed it off, that hole in the heart I recognized. “I got me my man, in the off-season. An’ I like it that way. Got my place in dis world. I got my own chile right here.” She rubbed her hand over mine again. “’Sides, some things jest don’t take, do they?”
No, they don’t.
“You an’ me? We gotta settle ourselves with it.” Pulling me against her big soft body, she sent me on my way with a wallop to the back of my head. “Now git. Y’all got some livin’ to do.”
* * * *
I was as frazzled as my Honda–which wouldn’t even start in summer if I dared park anywhere but in full shade–when I saw Reardon waiting for me beside some unaffordable two-seater convertible.
Transferring my bags to his car, guiding me into the passenger seat, he didn’t meet my eyes, and he definitely wasn’t meeting my lips.
When I ignored him in return, he glowered in my direction, because he was way too posh for a simple glare.
Reticent Reardon pissed me off. I didn’t sign on for this shit, I’d come into it for Reardon, romance, RAWR. “What? I’m not even late.”
Shifting out of the parking spot with masculine ease that made me sort of want to ride him right then and there, he focused on the road, his mirrors and lastly, me, as we tore up 17 North. “You don’t understand, Shay.” His not-from-the-Kmart-collection sunglasses hid his eyes. “I don’t do this.” He waved a hand between us.
“Because I do this all the time?”
His impenetrable coolness cracked. “No, I–”
“Y’all mean you’ve never taken one of your–”
“I’ve never brought a woman to the beach house.”
“Well, if you’re gonna sit there like a big baby, you can drop me off at home.”
“Big baby?”
“I meant baby,” I purred, like his sleek car.
That finally got big laughs. Hell, if I had to put this much effort into getting a smile, the payout on my investment better be big. And by big and payout, I meant his cock.
We passed my local Circle K, and his eyebrows pinched together. “I didn’t think you’d come.”
“Dude,” I said.
He looked at me like I had a debilitating case of the crazies, which was fine; obviously he did, too.
“Seriously, I’m a done deal.” I toed off my sandals and did the southern thing, sticking my foot out the window.
“I’ve been thinking about you, darlin’.” His lazy look over my legs and suggestive words reeled me in. “I’m not a man who has to take matters into his own hands.”
My heel hit the side view mirror, tilting it to the pavement.
Reardon had masturbated, over me.
Takes one to know one, my MIA conscience supplied.
In his office? Yeah. Under the mirror in his ceiling? Hell yes. His slacks open and arms bulging as his erection ran between his fist, picking up the pace…
I shifted in my seat. He winked and shifted gear, the sleek knob held between his fingers. I spent the next hour regaling raunchy fantasies inside my head, more and more turned on.
We cruised through Georgetown. A ghost town of mill workers, steel, and poverty, the streets a ragtag vision of closed-down factories obscuring pretty tucked-away cornerstones of history.
From boomtown to bust.
A few miles further on, we idled at a gabled gate.
“Shay?”
“Yeah?”
“We’re here.”
Winding through swamp and cypress and deer crossing the narrow boulevard, I glimpsed giant houses camouflaged by dense woods.
DeBordieu.
People whispered about this place like it was some kind of Pro
mised Land, the Holy Grail to the old rich.
The scenery unfolded from the Francis Marion Forest to the Atlantic seaside. I breathed the brine of ocean, the earthiness of woods. “The land is so beautiful, it must be the borderland of God!”
Reardon parlayed, “Lafayette on d’abord Dieu.”
“I ain’t just a pretty face, Mr. Boone.”
“And I know it full well, Miss Greer.”
It was only a mile or so back, where leggy pine trees relinquished their turf to showy palms. We crunched along a shelled driveway to a rustic manse bordering the ocean. The weekend cottage stood tall on stilts with an untidy seaside appearance, extending its embrace toward the ocean. The boom of surf mingled with chirpings from colonies of colorful birds soaring this way and that.
Getting out of the car, I slapped my hand over my heart. “Oh my.”
“I knew you’d like it.” Reardon kissed my palm and tugged me along the white shale up three flights of steps into the house.
“It’s, it’s–” I stuttered and stopped right inside the door, inhaling the scent of cedar rising from fragrant paneling. Turning in a circle, I ingested everything. “It’s–”
“My home.” He leaned against a crazy end table made of a lamp with a yellowed waxy shade on legs fashioned from...were those antlers?
Skipping across the hall into the kitchen where the appliances were dated and the fridge buzzed in time with the flickering overhead light, I dashed beyond the bar, discovering every nook and cranny.
A cathedral ceiling arched over a huge walnut slab table sided by sturdy timber benches in the dining area. Into the lounge, I jumped on the couches, leapfrogging the cushions, loving the scratchy feel of old wool against my bare feet. Under a TV too ancient to call itself anything but Stone Age, I opened the cabinet doors and found a mishmash of board games, Life, Scrabble, Trivial Pursuit. On top, shells of all shapes and sizes mounded against rows of ships-in-bottles.
As I danced, the dust cavorted. Perhaps Temperance wasn’t all that after all.
Hugging myself, I saw the beachside porch.
I walked outside, into heaven on Earth, shaking my head. This man always had a view.
He stepped behind me, encircling me in his arms, watching the endless ocean and the unpeopled sand below our perch.
