by Candy Caine
“Oh, nooooo!” Carla cried out as she flew off the back of the machine like a cowboy being thrown from an angry bronco. She landed on her rear with a solid thump.
“Are you hurt?” a deep voice asked, as her rescuer looked down at her.
“Only my pride,” Carla replied, gazing up into a pair of green eyes sparkling behind black square-rimmed glasses.
“Here, let me help you up,” he said, offering his hand.
She extended her arm, but she was still a little shaky and lost her balance, her weight pulling him down on top of her. He wasn’t able to get up easily and the more he tried, the harder it got—especially with them both laughing. They both realized how ridiculous they must have looked, with her squirming under the guy in a vain attempt to get up and the poor man trying to get off what must have felt like jiggling Jell-o.
Finally, he rolled off and they sat there laughing until the gales of laughter subsided. The guy had a marvelous laugh, full-hearted and catching. Each time they stopped laughing to catch their breath, they looked at one another and burst into uninhibited laughter all over again. They laughed until the tears flowed.
Mr. Tall blindly felt the floor around him and found his glasses, but before he put them on, Carla got a glimpse of the long, thick eyelashes fringing his almond-shaped, green eyes making them more spectacular. When he looked directly at her, they nearly took her breath away.
“Give me your hand,” he said.
Carla gave him both and with a mighty tug he finally hauled her to her feet.
“Let’s go sit down over here,” he said, as he led her to an empty wooden bench nearby.
“I’m so sorry,” Carla said, feeling like an idiot, tears of mortification filling her doe eyes and her sweet, round face now flushed.
“It’s okay.” He said. “We both survived.”
“Not really. I feel so…so incredibly clumsy. You go out of your way to save me from being splat on the wall and I nearly yank both your arms out—not to add, making a scene that rivaled Abbott and Costello.”
He held up his hands and gave her an adorable crooked little smile. “I needed a good laugh. My name is Richard Stein.”
“Klutzy Carla Millhouse.” They shook hands.
Carla got nice vibes from this man, liking him instantly. He was quite tall, a little over six feet she’d guessed, with high cheek bones covered by taut olive-toned skin giving him an exotic Mediterranean look. Okay, Antonio Banderas, he wasn’t, but if she was in the market—which she wasn’t—she wouldn’t put a bag over his head in bed. His striking green eyes were warm and yet filled with impish mirth. Sitting there, she had to tilt her head back to look up at his face. He didn’t have a pumped body like Joey, but looked fit probably from working out at the gym often. And his chest had felt hard against hers. The rest of his physique looked well-proportioned, as well.
The guy was definitely attractive in an understated way. Carla noticed his dark-brown colored hair had specs of silver at the sides. He seemed to smile easily and often with full, soft, sensual looking lips. His teeth, even and white, contrasted pleasingly with his olive skin. The deep cleft in his chin matched the cute dimples in his cheeks.
Suddenly, Carla had this desire to reach over and grab this guy’s face and kiss those tempting lips. When she realized what she was thinking, she gave herself a mental slap. A quick glance at the gold band on her finger helped remind her she was off the playing field.
“Would you like to go get some coffee?” Richard asked. He had a deep voice that sent a little shiver through her, heaping on more guilty thoughts.
“I’m…married,” Carla blurted out in reaction to those very sinful unmarried thoughts.
A slow infectious grin crept across his face like an early morning sunrise. “It’s only a cup of coffee, not a date.”
Oh, boy, did he read my mind? How embarrassing. Then as it dawned on her they were only thoughts, not deeds, her anger over Martin’s infidelity resurfaced like pond scum. “You’re so right!” she erupted. “Sharing a cup of coffee with another man is a helluva lot more innocent than what my husband’s been doing lately,” she muttered, startling Richard.
“Ouch!”
Carla flushed crimson. What was wrong with her? “Sorry. I didn’t mean to blurt that out, but I’d love to have coffee with you, Richard. Only, I insist on paying as a small token of thanks for saving my life.”
“It wasn’t as dramatic as that.”
“Depends on from whose point of view you’re looking,” Carla replied quickly.
“It’s probably none of my business, but it sounds as if you need to talk.”
“Only if you’re not a divorce lawyer,” she quipped.
He chuckled. “Close, but no cigar. I’m a corporate lawyer.”
After changing out of their gym clothes, they had coffee in a small Internet café nearby called “Call Me”. People with laptops sat at round tables as they sipped their coffees and lattes. It would be Carla’s last latte for a very, very long time. As if the tangible guilt of indulging and having a drink dripping in calories wasn’t enough, she began to fear she’d been impulsive and had second thoughts about being with this total stranger.
And yet, there was something about Richard that put her at ease giving the impression she’d known him a long time. It was like finding a favorite old worn pair of jeans tucked away in a dresser drawer. And she rather liked that feeling.
After they’d gotten past the fact that she wrote children’s books and how her friend, Lynne, had set up an exercise program with Joey, the conversation took a more serious turn.
“So Carla Millhouse, why are you so angry?” Richard asked.
She couldn’t believe it. There she was, the same person who refused to try on clothes in a communal dressing room with other women, telling a complete stranger the sad story of her marital discontent.
Richard was a good listener asking questions only when necessary to clarify something she’d said. It would seem that all that was missing was a couch. At the moment that was a good thing. The vibes she was getting from this guy made her think of other uses for the couch. Perhaps she missed sex more than she thought and blamed her wayward thoughts on that.
“Just because you may have put on some weight is no excuse for Martin to cheat,” Richard said.
Carla bit her bottom lip. “I know, but I shouldn’t have let myself go.”
“What’s he? Some kind of perfectionist?” Richard asked. He could already tell Martin needed an arm broken.
“I guess you can say that. He’s in great shape and quite handsome. I’ve seen other women turn their heads to look at him.”
Richard frowned. Maybe he should throw in a kneecap for good measure. “Sounds like he might be to full of himself or maybe he’s going through some kind of mid-life crisis. You did say he was going to be 38.”
“With Martin, I guess anything is possible. It just gets so lonely sometimes even with Blondie, our yellow Lab,” Carla said.
“I take it you have no kids.”
Shaking her head, “Not a one.”
“It sounds,” Richard said mildly, “like you’d want to have children.”
“More than anything, but Martin’s not ready. I fear that by the time he is, it’ll be too late.”
Richard put a comforting hand on hers. “That’s too bad. I think you’d make a terrific mom and can picture you romping in the park with a couple of kids.”
Carla’s face lit momentarily. “Yeah, I’d probably be a great mom.” She sighed. “Maybe in my next life.”
“Have you spoken to Martin recently about starting a family?” Richard asked, still touching her hand. “No. I gave up trying to reason with him,” Carla answered. The quiver in her voice was quite evident.
God, what a jerk! “Richard patted her hand. “It appears you truly haven’t closed the chapter on having a baby.”
Carla smiled at him ruefully. “Truthfully, I’ve always wanted to have kids, but like I said, perhaps
in my next life. This one’s done for.”
Richard’s bottle-green eyes looked directly into hers and said, “Never say never.”
She glanced at the time and realized she’d been out longer than she’d planned. She should be heading home to finish the story she’d promised her agent. Besides, poor Blondie, her mush of a yellow Lab, must be crossing her legs by now.
Richard noticed her looking at her watch. “Gotta go?”
She nodded. “Thanks for the shoulder.”
“My pleasure. I enjoyed the company.”
“Just don’t send me a bill.”
He laughed. “I look forward to running into you again at the gym,” he said taking her hand in his.
She noticed how warm his hand felt and yet she felt goose bumps race up her arm. She gave him a smile and nodded. Yes, seeing him again would be very nice.
As Carla drove home, she realized she couldn’t wait to start working with Joey. She wanted to lose the weight as quickly as possible. She might not be able to control everything in her life, but she sure as hell could do something about her appearance. Perhaps she’d see Richard at the gym the next time she went. She held on to that thought a moment longer and broke into a wide, open smile.
* * *
Walking to his car, Richard Stein smiled as he thought about Carla Millhouse and the way her soft body felt under his when they rolled around on the floor at the gym. She smelled like wild flowers. He wondered how she’d taste. He’d felt her ample breasts brushing against his chest. Were her nipples dark or coral pink? Richard was startled to find himself semi-aroused from his thoughts.
What the hell was he thinking?
She was just a sweet, sad woman with a narcissist jerk for a husband. He really liked her. Why did all the nice women end up with men who didn’t appreciate them? Her husband, Martin, obviously had no idea what a gem he had. A guy could get lost in Carla’s brown Bambi eyes. Even a little overweight, she was an attractive woman—more than attractive. Martin better wise up and start treating her better before someone stole her from him. Then realizing where his thoughts were heading, Richard ruthlessly shut them down.
Chapter Five
A tall, thin, boyish-looking, blond-haired man in his early thirties, with a face full of freckles, rapped his large knuckles on the open door of Jessie Thompson’s small cubicle of an office. She looked up to see her cousin, Haywood, standing in front of her grinning from ear-to-ear like some dolt. The only thing he was missing was a stalk of hay through his teeth.
“Wipe that idiot grin off your face. You’re already fifteen minutes late and my boss is big on punctuality.”
“Sorry,” he replied, replacing the grin with a look of sincerity. “I really do appreciate your getting me this job.”
“Just don’t screw it up. My neck’s on the block here. And remember, we’ve never met before.”
“I know. Ma’s already drummed all that into my head.”
Jessie rose from her seat and motioned for him to follow her. On the way to Hemmings’ office, Haywood asked how Jake was doing. Jessie stopped walking and tensed. Still angry about his latest debacle, she looked at her cousin and replied coldly, “He’ll live.”
Orson Hemmings was at his massive oak desk with his back to them when they entered after knocking. He was on the phone and swiveled around in his large leather chair, holding up a manicured finger to indicate he’s be with them shortly before ending his conversation. Haywood looked around the spacious office with its plush carpeting and leather sofa in front of a wall cabinet filled with awards and models of high priced cars.
“Mr. Hemmings, the Private Investigator is here,” Jessie said hoping he wouldn’t notice the time.
Orson rose and shook Haywood’s hand with a strong grasp that made the younger man wince. “Thank you. That’s all, Jessie,” he said, ushering her out and closing the door so quickly, he nearly hit her with it.
He must be pissed, she mused. How she wished she was a fly on the wall and able to listen in to their conversation. With the door closed, she couldn’t hear a word. It was that damn soundproofing he’d installed. There was no reason for her to hang out there so she returned to her office. She could almost place money on the fact that Haywood would fill her in on the goods later. Now if Heather had the good sense to behave, things could be back to normal and Haywood would end up with some genuine PI experience and good money in his pockets.
* * *
Heather had already called Martin and informed him about the PI. He shared the same adventurous spirit as she did and they decided to have some fun at Haywood Wish’s expense. If the guy had any pride, he’d remember how shabbily she’d treated him years ago and want revenge. But he was no match for her. Screwing with his head might be more fun than she’d had in a long time.
Hemmings usually left the running of the Mercedes Benz showroom to Martin while he lunched, made deals or golfed. Being the poster boy for wheeling and dealing, he often multitasked and the three were often done at the same time. Today was no different and Hemmings left early to keep a lunch date.
Martin called Heather to let her know that Hemmings had left the dealership. With her husband out of the way, Heather decided to see if Haywood was still the dimmest bulb in the socket. He was parked a few houses down on the other side of the street. When she walked Lovey earlier that morning, she noticed a beat-up old Camaro, that seemed to have barely survived some demolition derby, parked in her prestigious neighborhood in Fountain Hills, where the houses ran into the millions and everyone drove expensive cars. It stood out like a fully-dressed person in a nudist colony. She figured it had to be Haywood staking out her house and decided to have some fun.
At 10:00 am, Heather left the house. The rain that had been predicted finally came down steadily. As she emerged from the turnoff leading to her house and made a right heading toward the main street, Haywood started up his car. It coughed and sputtered before showing more healthy signs of life. He remained several cars back not wanting to alert her. He was unaware that that flag had already waived.
Heather drove to the Scottsdale Fashion Square located on East Camelback. She could take him on a merry jaunt through Nordstrom’s, Neiman Marcus or Gucci, but she decided to go directly to Victoria’s Secret. She parked on the ground level. Wearing a mischievous grin, she made her way to one of her favorite stores. Only it didn’t go as she planned.
In order for Haywood to be embarrassed and feel out of place, he had to actually enter the store. When Heather nonchalantly looked for the guy, she discovered him perched on a bench outside directly facing the doors.
Damn! Too easy for him. She put down the silk panties and headed for the exit.
Heather walked a while longer through the mall, stopping in several stores, before exiting and heading back to her car. Then she started the engine and drove straight to the Mercedes Benz showroom as if she were going to see her husband. Haywood, having no clue that Hemmings wasn’t there, stopped outside, watching, as she pulled into the lot and went inside. He then drove into the lot and parked in a spot that allowed him to watch both the door and her car. Settling in, he took out his iPod and plugged it into his ears.
Heather had gone directly into the ladies room and removed her beige rain coat. She opened her tote and took out a black wig and glasses. Pinning her hair up, she put on the wig and admired her handiwork in the mirror. Hmm, she thought. Reaching back into the tote, she took out a deep, crimson shade of lipstick and ran it over her lips. “I vant to suck your blood,” she vamped to her image. That’s better. One last thing, she thought, as she doused herself with an overpowering new Gucci scent. She then turned her rain coat inside-out to its black side before putting it back on. Finally she finished the transformation with oversized, black-framed glasses. Hardly recognizing herself, she was ready to find out if she could fool Haywood.
She walked into the showroom and headed for Martin’s desk. The other salesmen were occupied with patrons. Sensing and perhaps smelli
ng her presence, he looked up and asked if she needed help.
“I’m interested in a coupe,” she purred.
“Any particular model?”
Heather realized that Martin had no clue to who she was and decided to string him along a little more. “The prettiest and, of course, the most expensive.”
“Of course,” he replied giving her his 140-watt salesman smile. “Follow me and I’ll show you what’s available. Of course, if you don’t see what you want we can order it for you.”
“Of course,” Heather said.
Martin took her over to a red coupe from the SLR-Class and opened the driver’s door for her to admire the hand-tooled leather interior. The sticker had a price tag of $452, 750. The car was a beauty and his personal favorite. “This is an AMG hand-built car with a supercharged 617-horsepower 90-degree V-8 engine that reaches a top speed of 208 miles per hour. I don’t think you’re concerned about the speed, but it does get 18 mpg. What do you think?”
“I’d like to take it for a test drive.”
“Of course. Follow me, please,” he replied taking her back to his cubicle where he could photocopy her license.
“May I see your license?” he asked in his most conciliatory tone.
Trying to prevent the smirk from forming across her face, Heather opened the tote and fished inside for her wallet. She opened it and tried to hand the wallet over to Martin, but he raised his hand to stop her. “Please remove the license for me.”
Heather complied and gave it to him. Instantly, the color drained from his handsome face and was quickly replaced by a deep flush. This was accompanied by a flurry of sputtering, akin to the backfiring of an engine. After a long beat, he was capable of speaking. “I had no idea.”
The grin Heather had repressed before blossomed into a wide smile. “Now let’s see if I’m able to fool our PI friend outside.”
“I’m game,” he said as he handed her back her license. “Anything in mind?”
