Polly wanted more than survival, but she didn’t say so. "There you go,” she teased instead. "That's what I’ve been telling you. You need a new hairdo and some new clothes. Change.”
Edna thought it over and then gave a decisive nod. “Let’s do it. I’ll put it all on my charge card."
The business phone rang. Edna propped it against her shoulder and without batting an eye reverted to Lilith.
Polly listened for a minute. God, she got turned on herself by what Edna was saying. It had been way too long since she’d taken anybody to bed. And maybe that was the way to get Turner out of her system once and for all.
She moved into the kitchen and called Terry on her cell, got Edna in for a styling that afternoon, and then began her own day's work. When Bruce called that afternoon and asked if she’d like to go out for dinner on Friday, she shocked him almost speechless by accepting.
“Maxine, would you have dinner with me on Friday?”
Harry wasn’t looking at her, and his tone revealed that he wasn’t at all sure how she’d respond.
“Please? I thought we’d go back to the restaurant where we first met and maybe start over.”
Harry was smearing peanut butter on bread as Maxine spooned vegetable soup into Graham. On the way home from the park, Harry had asked if she’d like to see where he lived, which was how they’d ended up in his kitchen.
Graham was slumped in the high chair that Harry had brought up from the basement. The baby was rubbing his ears and yawning so often it was almost impossible to feed him. Maxine knew she shouldn’t have let Harry talk her into giving the kids lunch here, but she hadn’t been able to resist spending just a little more time with him. And she’d been curious about what his house was like.
It was a lot like hers: older, full of toys, Salvation Army modern decor. She loved it.
“What do ya think, Maxine? Should we start over?”
“Yeah. I’d like that. Starting over, I mean.” She glanced over at him and caught the gratified look he shot her. She grinned. “Damn, I blew that, didn't I? I should have pretended to think it over longer, played hard to get. I’ll have to practice being mysterious.” She gave him a suggestive glance. “I’ll start Friday.”
"Could we put off the hard to get?" He handed Sadie a carefully quartered sandwich and gave Graham a portion. The baby squished it in his hand, dropped it to the floor, and yawned again.
Harry got up. "Sadie, keep an eye on the baby for a minute, okay? I want to show Maxine something.”
Sadie nodded, fixing her eyes on Graham and trying not to blink.
Maxine gave Harry a quizzical look as he gripped her hand in his and pulled her to her feet, leading her down the hall and into the living room.
“What?” She gasped as his arms came around her and drew her into a fierce embrace.
"Shhhh,” he murmured. “I need to kiss you."
His lips were on hers, warm and firm and certain.
Something melted inside her, and she put her arms around his neck, touching the thick, springy hair on the back of his head, letting her fingers outline his ears and the strong line of his jaw.
He made a sound in his throat and dragged her closer to him, one large palm between her shoulder blades, the other in the small of her back, sliding slowly, enticingly down until he was cupping her bottom. He slid his hand inside her shorts, inside her underwear, and her skin burned.
Her breath caught as she felt the hard ridge of his erection. He was pressing it urgently against her, and she pressed back because it all felt so good, his hand on her bare skin, urging her forward.
“I want you, beautiful woman,” he whispered against her mouth, his voice low and thick and dangerous. "I’ve wanted you since the first time I ever heard your voice.” He kissed her chin, her nose, her eyes. “It’s nearly killing me. I watched you today in the park, bending over to pick up Graham, that round ass of yours just teasing me. When you ran after the Frisbee, your breasts bounced, and I could hardly walk, I wanted you so much. It’s a wonder I didn’t get arrested for having a hard-on."
She had to giggle, even though her heart was hammering and her body throbbed. She rocked against him, teasing, unable to subdue her own cravings.
“I’m renting a room at the hotel on Friday,” he murmured against her lips. “Say that you’ll spend the night with me.”
“Daddy? Daddy, come here; this baby’s sleeping sitting up." Sadie’s tone was scandalized. “Daddy?”
They could hear her pushing back her chair and, a moment later, trotting down the hallway.
Harry groaned and withdrew his hand from Maxine’s bottom, but his arm stayed around her.
She shook her head at him and gently pulled away just before Sadie burst into the room.
“Daddy?” The little girl sounded anxious. “That baby needs to go for a nap," she insisted. “He can sleep in my bed, okay, Daddy? I don’t need a nap today, right, Daddy?"
Harry sighed and turned his attention to his daughter. “Sorry, sport, but you do need a nap.”
Sadie’s bottom lip shot out and her face began to crumple. “I do not. I’m a big girl; I’m not a baby.”
Maxine hastily intervened. “Sadie, you are a big girl, but Graham needs to sleep in his own crib,” she explained, aware of the Technicolor vibes that went right on zipping back and forth between her and Harry. “Maybe you and your daddy would give us a ride home now?”
Instead of agreeing, Harry leered at her and twirled an invisible mustache. “Only if you answer yes to the question I asked, my pretty one. Otherwise well have to hold you and Graham for ransom, right, Sadie?"
“Right, Daddy.” Sadie giggled and clapped her hands.
"I’ll think it over,” Maxine purred. “Threats never work on us girls, right, Sadie? Maybe I should call a cab.”
"Rats, foiled again.” Harry swung Sadie into his arms, and then leaned forward to plant an unexpected kiss on Maxine’s lips, which made Sadie giggle and demand a kiss too. He gave her a huge smack, and then said to Maxine with a groan, "The suspense is gonna kill me, to say nothing of the cold showers."
"I suspect you’ll survive until Friday," she said in a heartless tone. But as they collected children and keys and diaper bag, Maxine wondered if she would.
Polly was in a foul mood by the time Bruce Turner rang the doorbell Friday evening. Deciding what to wear, normally an exciting process had become a major pain in the ass with her leg in a cast.
“I’m not gonna sacrifice expensive silk trousers by slitting one leg open to accommodate this flaming thing,” she fumed. "And I’m not gonna wear one of those stupid jogging suits, either. I’m sick to death of jogging suits.”
“So wear a dress.” Maxine was getting ready for her own date.
“They’re all short, and I'd need to wear panty hose because my legs are white as a fish belly," Polly whined. “But panty hose’ll look ridiculous stretched over this cast, and with stockings the garters dangle on the left side."
“So start a new trend and wear just one stocking.” Maxine was losing patience; it showed in her voice. Before Polly could protest, she took scissors and neatly snipped off the garters that dangled uselessly down Polly's thigh.
“This is economical, the stockings will last twice as long wearing only one,” she said brightly, handing over a lace-topped cream stocking.
Underneath her narrow little blue sundress, Polly’s garter belt kept hitching up. Between that and the sight of her one ridiculously pale bare thigh peeking out from under the short skirt, she felt thoroughly pissed off instead of sexy by the time she was ready.
She was also nervous, and that made her even crankier. She hadn't been nervous about a date since she was fourteen and on her way to the junior prom with the captain of the debate team. Since then she’d dated captains of industry, brilliant lawyers, and minor sports heroes without the slightest tremor in her gut, so why should a lowly baby doctor make it necessary to apply extra deodorant?
Edna was ta
king a call in the kitchen and Maxine was putting Graham to bed when the doorbell rang shortly after seven. Harry wouldn’t arrive for another half hour, Polly knew, so it had to be Turner.
She was ready, but she wasn’t eager. She wiped her damp palms on a tissue and cursed Edna, Maxine, the crutches, and the stupid custom of dating as she made her way to the door and yanked it open.
Chapter Sixteen
"Hello there, Hopalong.” Bruce was smiling, and he handed her a bouquet of violets tied with a yellow satin ribbon. She had a weakness for violets. She didn’t let him see how much she liked them.
Or how much she liked the way he looked.
He had a mouth that could only be described as indecent, and the golden beard accentuated his lips. He was always smiling. That, combined with the undeniable fact that his shoulders were massive, his waist narrow, and his hips lean, meant that he qualified as a boy toy, she assured herself. And after tonight, she'd have him out of her system.
"Come on in,” she said. “Thanks for the flowers.” She left him standing in the living room and stumped into the kitchen, violets clutched in one hand. She found a water glass and carefully arranged them. They smelled sweet and innocent, and for a moment she wished she were.
“Where’s Maxine and Edna?” He was peering around, obviously curious.
"Turning tricks in the back bedroom,” Polly snapped. "That’s where they keep the S-and-M stuff.”
“Oh, of course, how stupid of me.” One eyebrow lifted sardonically and he nodded. “Well, I hope they’re practicing safe sex." He reached politely for her purse and her jacket, but Polly snatched them away, forgetting momentarily about her precarious balancing act on the crutches.
“Whoops, careful there, Counselor.” He grabbed her by both forearms to keep her from falling, and his hands on her bare flesh sent tingles shooting through her. She felt her nipples stand at attention against the flimsy cotton of her dress, and she knew by the way his eyes flickered down and then quickly up again that he’d noticed. He didn’t release her immediately, and the intensely interested look on his face made her decide not to smack him with one of the crutches.
Damn, she fumed silently, allowing the moment to go on and on. Damn, damn, damn. She wanted him.
What she’d admitted to Edna was an understatement. Bruce Turner didn’t turn her on a little bit. This was big-time, ten on the Richter scale. For the first time she understood what romance novels meant when they described a touch as electrifying. And on her arms, for heaven’s sake. What the hell would happen when he touched a real erogenous zone?
The man was a walking sex bomb, and at the moment she felt like a match on the verge of spontaneous combustion. But she really ought to get through dinner before she seduced him. It was not classy to jump his bones in the first hour.
It was comforting to see that he wasn’t unaffected. The perpetual twinkle had faded from his dark brown eyes, replaced by what could only be outright lust. His breath sighed out and his big hands drew her closer instead of releasing her, sliding around to her back to draw her to his chest, bringing her weight fully against him. Feeling safe, feeling supported, feeling horny as hell, she let the crutches drop to the carpet and enjoyed the moment.
He lowered his head slowly, giving her ample time to pull away, but she didn’t want to.
She wanted him to kiss her, and when his lips finally came down on hers, she wanted more. Much, much more. And quickly. She tightened her hold on his neck and deliberately pressed her hips into his, rocking gently, teasing herself every bit as much as him.
Damn, the man knew how to kiss. His mouth was firm and confident on hers, applying just the right amount of pressure, using his tongue a little. She didn’t even mind the beard; it was surprisingly soft and exceedingly sensual against her skin. He tasted musky, erotic.
She opened her lips a little more and used her own tongue, touching the arch of his upper lip, pushing inside just the slightest bit, exploring his teeth and delving deeper, totally engrossed in the process. He tasted rich and smoky and sexy, and yes, she was definitely going to take this man to bed tonight.
They’d go to her apartment, she’d say she had to pick something up there. She probably did, at that; she didn't think she had any condoms in her purse.
She was really starting to get carried away when he drew back. After a moment spent getting her libido tamed enough to think, she decided he was deliberately insulting her by stopping first.
“Shouldn't it be the woman who stops?" Her voice was annoyed, but it was also huskier than she'd expected it to be, and she cleared her throat and scowled up at him, still having to rely on his arms to support her.
“I thought we settled all that with equal opportunity legislation,” he said with an easy grin, somehow managing to hold her steady but not too close while reaching down and retrieving her crutches. “Besides, I didn’t want to get my face slapped for making a serious move on you before we’ve been out together three times.”
Three times?
“What rule book did you read? Because it must have been ancient history,” she snapped as she got balanced on her crutches again. She knew her face was flushed. Her whole damned body was flushed.
Never mind. If she knew anything about men, it was the fact that their crotches and their brains never worked at the same time. It would be simplicity itself to seduce him later this evening. “Okay, Turner, go ahead and play hard to get,” she muttered, adding in a more audible tone, “So if we’re going, Doc, let’s get gone.”
He gave her a mock bow and swung the door wide. She stomped out, head high, crutches swinging, but she had to proceed with caution on the steps. Much as she hated to admit it, his presence at her side was comforting.
“You rented a van?" She’d sweated over how she’d manage gracefully getting in and out of the sports car he’d surely have insisted upon from the insurance company.
“I have two vehicles,” he explained. "My grandma is in a wheelchair. I like to be able to take her out for dinner on my days off. She’s in a care home and she enjoys getting out once in a while. With the van, I can just wheel her in, wheel her out. Makes life less complicated for both of us.”
Kind, she ticked off reluctantly on his report card.
So he had a heart beneath that hairy, manly chest. So what? She’d soon find out where his weaknesses lay. She always had before. By the time she was through with him at the end of the night, he’d qualify for one of the general unflattering headings in her own history book:
Self-absorbed. Cheap. Angry. Boring. Predictable. Unimaginative. Premature ejaculator. One- shot Charlie.
But what he’d just said lingered in her mind, and with the usual stab of guilt and sorrow and pity, Polly thought of her own mother. It would be so wonderful to take her mother out to dinner when she visited in Winnipeg. Her mom was in a care facility, too, but Janet Kelville’s mind was far too confused to chance taking her anywhere. She was as likely as not to think she was being kidnapped and scream the place down.
He opened the door of the cherry-red van, and before she could object, he’d removed her crutches, picked her up, and smoothly settled her on the soft leather seat.
So he was strong; so the playboy physique wasn’t just to show off at the beach. So what? He was probably insufferably vain about it.
“I’m taking you to my favorite restaurant," he said as he started the van.
Confident, damn his eyes.
“I didn’t think they served food in the delivery room."
He laughed and shook his head. “That place tops my list of favorites, all right, but not for dinner. I’m hoping we can avoid the delivery room tonight.” He frowned. "None of my moms are actually due today, but in this business that’s no guarantee.”
“So where are we going?” She’d never admit it, but just being dressed in something besides a track suit and getting out of the house for a couple of hours was a turn-on, regardless of the fact that her one bare leg looked ridiculous above
the cast. She felt that the other one went a long way toward making up for it, with the delicate stocking and that tantalizing bit of garter she was making sure showed under the hem of her dress.
But he was concentrating on driving.
Oblivious, she noted, feeling piqued.
God, she badly needed to get her life back if it mattered so much to her that a doctor noticed how sexy she was. Maybe it was simply her own abstinence that made Turner seem so attractive.
“Where are we going?" she asked again.
“It's a surprise," was all he’d say. He turned on music, softly classical, gave her a smile, and drove in silence.
Tasteful. Doesn’t need to fill the air with empty words, she added reluctantly.
The surprise was obviously located downtown, but he seemed to know every side street and alleyway that would avoid the heavy traffic, which made the drive interesting.
As they turned onto Robson, Polly began to get anxious. In this location, he was probably taking her to one of the city’s nicer restaurants. She worked not far from here, she’d eaten in almost every one, and she was certain to know somebody. She didn’t want to see anyone she knew tonight; being on crutches was a humbling experience. She didn’t feel like answering questions and putting on a sassy front. She didn’t want everyone staring at her one bare thigh.
But he pulled off Robson onto a side street, then nosed the van into an alleyway and somehow slid it into a parking spot that seemed far too small.
“It says, ‘Private parking.’ You’ll get towed,” she pointed out, but he just came around and helped her out, making sure she had a firm hold on the crutches before he released his grip on her arm.
Stubborn. Probably hopelessly bullheaded.
"Right in here.” He led the way down the dark alley to an unmarked door in a brick wall, opened it, and stood aside as she hesitantly stepped inside.
At first glance it was bedlam. She was in the kitchen of an Oriental restaurant. Steam billowed up from cauldrons, and the tangy smell of fresh seafood filled Polly's nostrils. Her ears rang with what seemed a loud and violent argument being waged at full voice among the dozen or more cooks. They were deftly stir-frying greens in gigantic woks, tipping baskets of live lobster into cauldrons of boiling water, scooping steaming rice into bowls, slipping carefully bundled wontons into fragrant pots of broth, all the while hollering aggressively.
ARE YOU LONESOME TONIGHT? (Running Wild) Page 13
