Some Rough Edge Smoothin'

by Louisa Trent

  Curious now, she asked, “Why do you live in a trailer? I mean, you certainly can't need to, money-wise.”

  He shrugged. “I like having a house on wheels. That way, I can weigh anchor, or in my case, utility connections, and move on anytime I want. My office is also housed in the trailer. It makes things easier.”

  “No posh office in town?”

  “Nope.” His eyes bypassed hers and rested like two ebony butterflies on the bouquet of flowers on the table. “I've been on my own since I was thirteen, and I like keeping my stuff around me. I guess that makes me something of a turtle-

  huh? Carrying my house with me wherever I go.” He laughed.

  Seraphina wasn't fooled by the laugh. “On your own since the age of thirteen! But you were only a child,” she said softly, unable to hide her sympathy for this complicated man. “What about your parents?”

  “My parents were common-law. You know, they weren't legally married. I never knew my mother; she took off when I was only a few months old. And my old man tried his best, but he was, well, he was...not cut out to be strapped down with a kid 24/7. He'd go away for days, weeks at a time. The weeks started turning into months. Eventually, he took off too. Who could blame him?”

  “I could,” she said in righteous indignation, charity cast to the winds. “I could blame them both. I wish they were here right now so I could give them both a piece of my mind about parental responsibility. You just don't take off on a child!”

  He coughed. “Um-how'd we get on this subject, anyway? This is no way to talk to a pretty lady who's invited a guy over for a meal.”

  She was stunned. “Yes it is! We're getting to know one another. Sharing backgrounds is part of it.”

  “I'd rather not, if you don't mind? Makes me uncomfortable.”

  “I apologize for making you feel uncomfortable, but if I ever run into either of the two parents-and I use that term loosely-who abandoned you, I'd tell them exactly what I thought!”

  “No chance of that happening; they're both dead.”

  She gasped. “I'm so sorry! What a terrible thing for me to have said!”

  He shrugged. “You didn't know. Neither did I, not for a long time.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “When I first started making some money, I checked into their whereabouts. I figured, maybe I could help them out. Financially. Get them cleaned up. Send them to a good rehab program someplace. Hell, I don't know. I had to do something. They were my flesh and blood! But I was too late. They had both O.D.'d years before. Heroin. Back then, drugs were easy to get on the Southside. They still are.”

  “I'm so sorry,” she said again; it was all she could think of to say.

  “Here we go being polite to each other again. I'm beginning to think we keep apologizing because we're so different from each other.”

  “Not so very different-”

  “Honey, you have no idea.”

  And then her dinner guest was backing up. “I left...uh...something in the truck. Give me a minute, okay?”

  Before she could say, ‘Don't go’ Tomas Ruiz was racing through the door.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  What the fuck was he doing having dinner with Sera? Tomas asked himself as he paced around outside in the dark.

  Talking about his gritty childhood! What the hell kind of dinner conversation was that to be having with a nice woman?

  His childhood was his hot button. Sure, he had some money. But he didn't always. In his head, he was still dirt-poor. And deep down inside himself, he knew that people like him didn't associate with people like her. They never rubbed shoulders. They didn't walk the same streets. The people he knew, his friends, never graduated high school, never mind college. They sure as hell weren't music teachers.

  Music was an extra. People he knew were struggling for the basics, like food and a job and a decent neighborhood to raise up their kids. Playing an instrument was a luxury few kids on the Southside, even kids from intact families, got to explore.

  His inbred edginess had probably hurt her feelings.

  Tomas was real sorry about that, but there were some things a man like him didn't ever talk about. Like, the things that drove him. The stuff that ate him up inside, even now, years later.

  All his fault if he'd hurt her feelings. It was the man's responsibility to keep things in check.

  Lately, he seemed to lose it whenever he was with Sera. It was bye-bye muy suave vato and hello bumbling idiot.

  The lady kept catching him by surprise. Sometimes she seemed so innocent, and then other times, she'd do or say this worldly-wise kind of thing and knock him for a loop.

  He'd just have to be more careful with her, that's all, Tomas decided while he paced the drive. Sera meant no harm. She was just pouring on the questions, doing a ‘getting to know you routine', not comprehending that he didn't want anyone getting to know him, didn't want anyone getting inside his head, under his skin, not that way, not that deep.

  He'd have to keep things in check because he wanted to go on seeing Sera-

  Wait. Make that, he needed to go on seeing Sera.

  There was the Riverfront Project to think of. His men were depending on that protect, and other jobs that would come after, for their bread and butter. Sera could help him get that job. He just needed to stay in control around her.

  It'd be tough. Damn straight, he never had to deal with this kind of dilemma before. By now, he and a date would've been in bed, and sex would pretty much have ended any deep conversation.

  Tomas raked his hand through his still damp, shower-washed hair. He couldn't go back inside that kitchen again until he got it together. And the thing was, when talking about the past, he never had it together. And knowing Sera, she wasn't fuckin’ gonna let it go. She wouldn't let up.

  He had to stop her, get her to back off. Way off. But how?

  Damned if he knew.

  He was about to bolt when the porch door opened and Sera called out softly, “The rumor is that you're having dinner with me tonight, Tomas.”

  Too late now to make his escape. “Be right in. I have to-uh-get something in the truck first.”

  Tomas grabbed what he needed from the glove compartment, and then hands jammed in his pockets, walked back up the stairs.

  Sera met him at the threshold. “Are you okay?”

  “I'm fine. Careful of that last step. Man, I gotta get to these rotten stairs this week-”

  “Tomas, forget the stairs for now.” She cocked her light brown brow at him. “You know, call me silly, but I think you ran from the house because you didn't want to talk about what happened after your father left.”

  “Not much to tell, and what there is, I'd rather not.”

  Tomas stepped back into Sera's aromatic kitchen.

  “And if you gotta know, I ran to the truck to get these.”

  He brought his hand out of his pocket, revealing the box of condoms. “I figured after dinner we'd need ‘em, and I didn't want to interrupt the romance with a trip out to the truck at a critical moment.”

  She stared at the small box. “Why not the economy size?”

  Her finger was drawn down his chest. “Unless-are my expectations too high?”

  Placing the box of twenty-a respectable number for any male past the age of eighteen-back in his pocket, Tomas drew Sera close. A hand closed around the nape of her beautiful neck and leaning into her, Tomas took Sera's slightly parted mouth.

  His plan misfired. She didn't pull back, as he expected she would. She didn't try to keep him out when his tongue made the giant leap from a friendly kiss to a bedroom kiss. Her mouth, if anything, opened to him, inviting him inside.

  There was that loop again that Sera kept knocking him through. He just wasn't prepared for the passion of Sera, the heat of Sera, the damn, sweet womanliness of Sera.

  He lost it. Again. His mouth ground against her mouth, his lips squashed against her teeth, his tongue squeezed halfway down her throat, his dick, already erect, rammed against his fly.


  It was either break the kiss or unzip.

  Like he was flinging himself off a girder swinging ten floors ups, no hope of a making a landing without some broken bones, Tomas fell off Sera's lips. Panting, chest heaving, his gut all tied up in knots, he staggered back against the wall.

  Man, he had to get out of the house. Had to push himself out the door. Had to get away from her fast before he put it to her right there and right then.

  Her lips. Christ, her lips. They were so damned soft. Her mouth was so giving. This was so much worse than he expected.

  Edging toward the screen, he rasped, “I'm way out of line here. I should leave-”

  She stalked him like quarry. One step, then another, until she was under his chin. “I know what you're doing, Tomas, and it won't work. Not with me.”

  She smiled serenely, like a statue of the Madonna, completely unfazed by the kiss. While he was dying, falling apart, unable to breathe, needing to get out of the damn house before he made a grab for her, because that kiss...that kiss was the end of his world as he knew it.

  What the hell did she mean it wouldn't work? What ‘it’ was she referring to? Not his cock. That it was working just fine.

  And then he didn't care what it she meant, because she was looking at him all expectant, like she really wanted to be kissed again, and fool that he was, his hands unclenched-a big mistake, that-and he fell right back into the softness of her mouth.

  It felt so right kissing Sera.

  Her arms went around his neck, wound around his neck. To make the fit more intimate, he took a step closer, and his big hands started roaming. Filling his palms with her bottom, he drew her tight against his erection, letting her know that he wasn't her kind of nice, that he would never be her kind of nice.

  Rather than slapping his face and telling him just where he could get off, which is what she should have done if she'd had any sense at all, she opened her legs and cradled his dick.

  This was going too fast. Much too fast. Since it didn't seem to him like she was gonna stop it, that meant he was gonna have to stop it.

  He broke the kiss. Again. Forced himself to move away from her. Again. His heart feeling like it was gonna bust wide open. Again. How much could a man take before he exploded, before his cock rammed right through a metal fly and into a woman who didn't appear to know a dangerous situation even when that dangerous situation was prodding her belly?

  Tomas's normally agile hands dropped like lead to his sides. “Before we start something that there's only one way to finish, you've gotta understand what you're letting yourself in for. I want to be square with you.”

  She nodded. “Excellent idea, discussing this like adults.” She took a step closer.

  He pinned her with a look, and took two backward steps. “Sera, I don't want to take advantage of you. We need to get things straight first.”

  Problem was, Tomas had never been in this place before. Generally, women liked him. Generally, he liked them. Generally, they just did IT, and had a helluva good time. Generally, there was no discussion, either before or after. What was the etiquette in a situation like this?

  He didn't think there was any etiquette.

  By the time he realized what she was up to it was too late; he was already jammed into a corner and there was no place further for him to retreat. “Wh-what are you doing?” he stammered.

  “Turn around,” she said.

  “Wh-what?”

  “You heard me, mister,” she scolded.

  “But why,” he sorta whined.

  “I want to give you a back massage.”

  Since Sera had come into his life, he hadn't kept any of his weekly sessions with Lucille of the magic fingers and the cat o'nine tails, and so yeah, his spine did feel a little outta whack. But that wasn't the reason he turned and faced the wall. He did an about face because it was either that, or have her belly make the acquaintance of his dick. He never had that problem with the leather-wearing Dominatrix.

  “You're so tense!” Sera said as she rubbed between his shoulder blades. “I read somewhere that there are these pressure points on the human body, and if an acupuncturist inserts a needle-”

  Tomas let out a high-pitched squeak.

  Sera tssked, her fingers digging into the back of his neck. “Don't tell me a big strong man like you is afraid of needles?”

  No, he wasn't afraid of needles; he was afraid of Sera's tits and what he wanted to do to them. Their round softness was smashed against his back, and since he was looking at the wall, there was nowhere to escape them.

  “Could we maybe not talk about this?” he asked. Christ, her nipples were getting hard. He had to end the conversation and get the hell away from her.

  “I thought it was rather an interesting process. I mean, the needles were quite long and-”

  “Woman, the guillotine was rather an interesting process too, unless it was your neck on the block, and I don't want to talk about rolling heads right now either, if you don't mind.”

  He shook like a dog after swimming in a mud hole and Sera fell off of him.

  “Look-this isn't gonna work. I should...you know...leave...”

  “I don't want you to leave, Tomas. You're right; we really should talk first. Let's start with the condoms. “

  She shook her head. “Overkill, Tomas. Two condoms would have done the trick. Anything more was a sure indicator that you had an ulterior motive. Your purpose was to get me off the topic of your youth, and your method was to get me angry.”

  “Damn!” he said, playing it low-key. “I knew I should've gone with subtlety.”

  Humor wasn't working; Sera was giving him another one of her schoolmarm tssks. “Tomas, I hate to criticize, but you're nothing but a snob!”

  Was that her idea of criticism?

  He dumped the humor and acted hurt, pretended to reel under the weight of her censure, anything for an excuse to leave.

  “I've been called a lot of things in my time, but snob isn't one of them,” he replied adding a sniff at the end for good measure.

  “But you are a snob! You have this preconceived notion of what I'm supposed to be like and that's what you're reacting to. You're certainly not reacting to the real me, the woman cooking you dinner, the woman who just kissed you.” She wagged a finger at his nose. “Cut it out!”

  Then Sera was shaking her head, and the schoolmarm tssking was turning into a pained sigh. “You know, this is all my fault. I shouldn't have pressed you for personal information, Tomas. I should have kept our conversation superficial. Anything more was impolite.”

  Superficial. That was the ticket!

  Only superficial wasn't what he wanted either, not if superficial made Sera sad. He hated it when Sera looked sad.

  “After my old man took off, I got involved in some bad stuff,” he blurted. “Gangs. Fights. Trouble with the cops. I served some time for assault-I beat in a guy's skull for trying to rape a young prostitute I knew. The dude didn't want his wife to know he was banging little girls so the charges against me were later dropped. It's just luck that my record is clean.”

  He watched her back away. Nothing abrupt, just a slow, inch by slow inch sort of withdrawal. He doubted she even realized she was doing it. But he knew. He'd seen that look too many times not to know it for what it was.

  “Don't be nervous, honey,” he said, softly so as not to frighten her further.

  Her chin came up. “I'm not nervous.”

  She was plenty nervous, but he gave her a hoarse, “Good,” anyway, hating the way the emotion he always tried to hide was creeping into his voice. “One nervous person is enough for any kitchen.”

  “You're nervous?”

  “Terrified.”

  “Of what?”

  “Of doing or saying something that will spoil our evening.”

  “Don't be silly! You never could,” she replied with a tremulous smile.

  “Whew-what a relief! If you had ordered me out of this house with your kitchen smelling
as good as it does, I would've been in tears for sure.”

  Sera moved to the sink, washing an already spotlessly clean but one hopeless wreck of a broken-down countertop. That cracked top had to be replaced. After the stairs, the kitchen was his next project. Women liked nice kitchens-

  To break the tension, Tomas asked Sera quietly: “Can I do anything to help?”

  “You can slice the bread while I strain the spaghetti.” She pointed to the drawer behind him. “The knife is over there.”

  He went to the drawer under the breadboard, pulled out the sharpest knife he could find, and began making long, easy slices in the crusty loaf.

  “Lately, I haven't felt much like cooking,” she said, by way of small talk. “I used to enjoy creating appetizing meals, but it's hardly worth the time when you're cooking for only one person.”

  Suddenly her husband was there in the kitchen with them. Tomas didn't know how it happened, but there he was between them, like a ghostly chaperone. The man she loved was dead, and that's why Sera didn't feel like cooking any more. That's why she had kissed him so hot; Sera missed her husband. His mouth was just a substitute for the mouth she mourned for.

  Steam rose from the pot and circled Sera's head like a halo as she strained the boiling spaghetti water into the sink. Wisps of golden brown hair crimped into tiny corkscrews all over her forehead and her face grew pink and dewy from the warmth. Sera was so beautiful. Angelically beautiful-

  Tomas twirled the knife, making the blade spin in a revolution before he caught its narrow hilt. He was proud of his hands. His fingers were fast and well coordinated. Maybe he could've learned to play the piano, if he'd had the opportunity.

  Sera looked over her shoulder, warily eyeing the glint of the twirling knife blade. “Where did you learn to do that?”

  He carefully placed the knife down beside the breadboard. “Sorry.”

  “But where did you learn...?” she insisted.

  “Here and there.” He cut her questions short. “It's a skill like any other, Sera. Not a skill maybe I would have chosen, but I'm stuck with it now.” He took a deep breath. “Are we gonna be pussy-footing around each other all night? Because if we are, I'm telling you right now, my digestion won't stand up to it. If you look at me like you're about to jump out of your skin every time I do something outside your experience we're in deep trouble here.”