by Donna Fasano
"That one." He pointed to the biggest lever. "Got to be the main switch, don't you think?"
It was so silly, but Lauren had the funniest feeling in the pit of her stomach; she was both excited and nervous, and she had the craziest urge to laugh.
She looked from the lever to him. "You really think it will work?"
He tossed up his hands before resting them on his thighs. "As old as this thing is, it may not. But we won't find out until you give it a try."
The smile on her face couldn't have been bigger as she reached for the rubber handle. It took two hefty tugs to loosen the lever and lift it into the on position.
No music played and no lights flashed, but ever so slowly, the platform began to move. The wood creaked and thumped as the carousel came to life.
Lauren let out a tiny shout, pinched the fabric of Greg's t-shirt and gave a quick tug, urging him to move. "Come on! Come on!" She jumped onto the platform, her heart thundering, and she laughed when she saw he'd followed her lead. She felt like a kid at her first carnival.
The inner-most circle of Arabians danced slowly, up and down. She and Greg fell into the fancy sleigh located in the center ring. Next to them a circus zebra undulated, its motion reminiscent of a gallop.
Gazing from one animal to another, she sat there shaking her head in complete and utter wonder.
"Oh, Greg," she whispered on an exhalation. "Can you believe it? It works. It really works."
She shifted on the seat and looked at him, knowing full well that the delight thrumming through her shined in her eyes.
A champagne lunch in a hot air balloon.
A new shed and a clutter-free garage.
A thousand multi-colored lights to brighten her Christmas.
And now a merry-go-round overflowing with prancing animals.
This man was filled with surprises, some practical, others utterly thrilling.
Lauren reached up and placed the flat of her hand on his chest. Later, when she had time to analyze the moment closer, she would realize that touching him was her first and fatal blunder, but right now she was too caught up in the enchanting surprise he'd given her.
The kiss started so astonishingly quick that she hadn't time to think, let alone notice which of them had initiated it. His mouth was lusciously hot and moist, heavenly against her lips. She parted for him, and immediately tasted a faint peppermint sweetness on his tongue.
Greg had always been the best kisser.
The old wood slats scraped the dirt floor in places and the cogs beneath the platform ticked as Lauren shifted yet again, parting her knees until she was straddling Greg's lap. She felt the heat of him seep through the fabric of her trousers when he cradled her bottom in his palms. The merry-go-round spun, but the resulting breeze did nothing to cool the fire flaming inside her.
She pressed herself against the hardness of him, and the soft groan that issued from deep in her throat harmonized with the grinding of the metal mechanics. Their kiss turned wild, almost frantic. She slid her fingers up his shoulders and neck, delving them into his thick, black hair. He kneaded her thighs with his strong hands and then slid them down to massage her butt, pulling her more tightly against him.
The need to feel his skin against hers became overwhelming. She drew away from him and tugged at his t-shirt. Gathering the fabric in trembling fingers, she was relieved when he helped her pull it off his body.
His hands were on her, everywhere it seemed; her thighs, her waist, her arms, her breasts. She'd only succeeded in unfastening three of the buttons on her blouse when they were kissing again; hard, hungry kisses that made her feel weak and trembling and needy.
"Lauren," he whispered against her mouth.
Don't talk. Don't talk! She wanted to shout, but couldn't seem to find her voice.
She kissed him again to silence him, slid her fingers up his neck, over his jaw, but on the outskirts of her brain something felt. . .off. Odd. Out of sync.
Lauren tried to ignore the feeling, closing her eyes tight, shifting her weight forward, running a palm across the back of his neck. However, the peculiarity—whatever it was—only became more pronounced, refusing to be discounted.
Lifting her chin, she gazed through the strands of hair that had fallen across her face. Evidently, Greg thought she was offering him her neck, and he nuzzled the sensitive skin with his lips and tiny nips of his teeth. Heat shot through her, liquid electricity flowing through her torso and limbs. Inhaling a ragged breath, she reached up and pushed the hair out of her eyes. When he dipped his tongue into the hollow of her neck, she sighed and nearly forgot all about the weird sense that something was wrong. All she wanted to do was surrender to the hot pulse that beat deep in the center of her being.
But then she saw it, and her eyes went wide. She sat back, her gaze darting from the prancing animals to the workbench on the far side of the barn as they passed by it.
The merry-go-round was traveling in reverse. The horses, tigers, bears, zebras were all circling tail-end first as if competing in some bizarre, backward race.
Lauren felt a cool breeze on her bare chest and realized that Greg had finished unbuttoning her blouse, evidently oblivious to the fact that she'd stopped participating in the foreplay.
Just as his hands glided over her lace-covered breasts, she said, "Stop." Her voice was dry and hoarse and had come out as a mere whisper, so she repeated the order.
He let go of her, his gaze darting to her face.
"What is it?" he said, his tone husky with desire. "What's wrong?"
It was as if the clicking and grinding cogs snickered at her; jeering in some secret circus cipher. Then she realized why she felt that way. The reverse motion of the merry-go-round was a huge, ironic metaphor for what this single, rash deed would do to her life.
Is this what she wanted? To make love to her ex-husband?
Although this episode of luscious horniness most probably would assuage her need—solve her Big O problem—what would it do to her and Greg's relationship?
Would he expect them to get back together?
Would she expect them to get back together?
Her eyes went wide and she planted the flat of her hand on his chest.
"I won't go backward." She pushed herself off his lap and staggered a step or two before regaining her balance on the moving platform. Her blouse hung open and her face flamed as she fully grasped the enormous gaffe she'd nearly made.
"What?" Greg scooted straighter on the seat, combing the fingers of both hands through his tangled hair.
He looked as if he were awakening from a haze. Guilt pinged her like a storm of freezing hail, but it was much too late to do anything about that now.
Lauren sidestepped the zebra, her arm brushing against the peeling black paint on its nose, and she stepped off the revolving carousel. She hurried toward the sawhorse where she'd left her purse and keys.
"Lauren!"
Greg must have turned off the conveyor because the rhythm of the groaning and ticking slowed. Only after shoving her arms into her jacket did she begin to fasten the buttons on her blouse. She was still working the buttons when she turned to face him.
She had no idea what to say to him, how to explain her crazy behavior.
He was sliding his arms and head into his t-shirt as he stalked toward her.
"You're fired," she told him, bluntly. She buttoned her blouse all wrong and the hem hung cock-eyed. "I want you out of the barn, Greg."
Out of my life, she wanted to add, but didn't. There was no sense in hurting his feelings. She just wanted him away from her. Someplace where she didn't have to see him. Didn't have to be affected by him.
"I know I told you that you could stay. But I've changed my mind. You've got to go." With that, she snagged the strap of her purse and turned toward the door.
"Lauren, wait. Can't we talk about this?"
He caught up with her and reached out for her forearm.
"Why are you angry with me?" Confusion
knit his brow. "I, uh, I only did what I. . ." His tone lowered as he gently finished, "What I thought you wanted."
God, how she had wanted it! She'd nearly climaxed while straddling his lap and she'd still been fully dressed.
Her skin burned, but it wasn't with need—it was with embarrassment.
"I'm not angry with you, Greg." She pulled her arm out of his grip and headed for the door. "I'm angry with me."
Chapter 9
Given the choice between two evils,
I always choose the one I've never tried before.
~Mae West
"I'm sorry, Ms Woods. I can't help you." Lauren folded her hands on her desk, silently guessing she wasn't the first lawyer in town to refuse to help this young woman.
"But you have to. If I'm convicted of a crime, I'll lose my scholarship."
Glancing at the forms in front of her, Lauren said, "I've read the police report. You don't have a leg to stand on."
Diana Woods self-consciously shifted her casted foot a couple of inches to the right, and Lauren instantly regretted her choice of words.
Her mouth turned down apologetically. "Let me rephrase, Ms Woods. You can't fight this and win when you were caught red-handed."
"But I wasn't. I didn't have anything on me when the police caught me." The declaration was made with a good amount of smug pride. Then she muttered, "I'd have gotten away if I hadn't tripped down those stairs and broken my damn ankle."
The report filed by police stated that Diana possessed no stolen goods when they apprehended her. But there had been enough evidence for an arrest, and the precise phrase to describe her capture would not have been 'red-handed' but 'red-butted.'
Diana woods had filched the T-bone from the Stop 'N Shop's meat department by tucking the steak beneath her jacket and into the back waistband of her pants. It had been her bad luck to slam into the chest of the strip mall's security guard on her way out of the store. The guard had become instantly suspicious of her guilty countenance and had detained her. When the shop's owner appeared and accusation had been made, Diana fled the scene. She'd ditched the meat somewhere along her escape route, but the evidence had been clear.
"You had blood all over the backside of your jeans," Lauren pointed out.
The nineteen-year-old didn't flinch. "You could argue that it was my time of the month."
"Were you standing on your head at some point that day?" Lauren leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms. "Or do you have some deformity that causes you to menstruate from the small of your back?"
Diana's blue eyes narrowed slightly, and Lauren could tell she was seriously debating her answer.
"Before you speak," Lauren cautioned, "you should seriously consider the consequences of going into a court and lying to a judge."
The young woman's cast scraped against the hardwood floor. "But I won't be lying."
"Ah, I see." Lauren nodded. "You want me to lie for you."
Over the course of her career, this wasn't the first time the suggestion had been made to Lauren that she go into court and lie to a judge. Expressing the request in a blunt, no-nonsense fashion, as she'd just done for Diana, was usually enough to have these people feeling contrite and backing down. But the tactic wasn't working today.
"That's exactly what I want," Diana said, looking somewhat relieved. "The other lawyers I've talked to haven't seemed to understand that."
Lauren's smile contained very little humor. "Oh, I'm sure they understood perfectly." Then she repeated, "I'm sorry, Ms Woods. I can't help you."
"But I'll lose my scholarship."
Lauren sighed. "We've been over all this." She stood, resting her fingertips on the top of the desk.
"Please, please, if you'll just listen to me. I need that scholarship," Diana stressed again. "It covers my tuition. The money I earn from my job barely pays the rent. I have very little money left over for food and utilities. I have eaten almost nothing but rice and noodles for three years. Do you have any idea what that's like? It was my birthday. I wanted a little protein. Is that so evil?"
Evil, no. Illegal, yes. But Lauren remained silent.
Diana Woods frowned, evidently upset that Lauren showed no pity. The young woman struggled out of the chair and reached for her crutches.
"I can see you're not going to help me," she told Lauren.
"If you're determined to lie about what happened, then you're right. I can't help you."
Diana hobbled to the door, the rubber tip of one crutch thumping into the jamb. "I'll find someone. I will. I need that scholarship."
Norma Jean's voice was cheery as she ushered the young woman out the front door.
Lauren went to the window overlooking the back parking lot.
"You okay?" Norma asked, and without waiting for a replay, she said, "I want to compliment you on your patience. That girl's a piece of work, isn't she? I can't believe she thought you would lie for her. To a judge, no less."
Norma had obviously been eavesdropping.
"She wasn't interested in a thing you had to say. If you ask me, Diana Woods is her own worst enemy."
Making her way back to her desk, Lauren nodded. "You can say that again."
* * *
"You are planning to restore those animals, right? And sell them off, one by one?" Scott Shaw, Sr couldn't seem to take his eyes off the merry-go-round. "I don't know much about antiques, but we must be looking at a small fortune."
Now here was a man with some business sense. Hearing him voice the very same conclusion she'd come to did Lauren's heart good. "There's a guy coming next week to give me an estimate. Apparently, he's talented with an airbrush."
Scott climbed up onto the platform. "This thing's amazing. Where did come from?"
"I don't really know."
His gaze darted from one animal to another, and she could tell from the look on his face that he was doing some earnest deliberating.
"You'll need a base of some kind," he told her.
Lauren hadn't thought of that.
"I'm not an engineer, but I'd think you'd need something substantial to keep everything upright and stable. Kids love to climb. A sturdy wooden box, maybe?" Scott's eyelids tensed slightly as he looked at her. "You know a good carpenter?"
The symmetry of his features—cheekbones, eyes and brows—made for a very attractive face. Lauren felt overheated and focused her gaze elsewhere.
During their previous meetings, he'd worn dark business suits. But this morning he'd shown up at the barn in khakis and a thick, cable knit sweater in a mottled brown that fit him well and looked great with his tawny hair.
"As a matter of fact, I do," she said.
He nodded, his attention once again on the carousel animals. "So we're, ah, doing some sanding today? Getting these babies ready for paint?"
"We?" She smiled. "I'm surprised to see you. I was expecting your son."
Scott stepped off the merry-go-round and walked toward her. "Oh, Scotty will be along shortly, I'm sure."
Lauren didn't have the heart to tell him that his son had only turned up for work a few times and he'd logged in less than eight hours total. At this rate, it would take the young man months to earn back the money his father had paid Lauren.
His woodsy cologne tinged the air when he came close. Scott reached out and took a lock of her hair between his fingers and thumb.
"He told me he was working for you today," he said softly. "And since I haven't been able to talk you into going out with me, I thought I'd come here. Spend some time with you. Offer up a little free labor so you can see what a great guy I am."
"I might have missed you. I'm not always here when Scott comes. We've set up an honor system. He keeps a log of his hours in the notebook over on the workbench."
"I didn't know if you'd be here or not." His tone was silky soft as he lifted her hair first to his nose, then briefly to his cheek. "But whenever I take chances, lady luck often smiles on me."
His mouth pulled back into a small, sex
y smile, and he let her hair flutter through his fingers.
"Lady luck, huh?" She parroted the phrase simply because she wasn't sure what else to say. His blatant flirting left her a little discombobulated.
"Yeah. I don't know if I've told you this but—" he inched a little closer "—I've wanted to kiss you since we first met."
He was near enough that she could see the steel-gray that flecked his blue irises, and his warm breath brushed her cheek.
Surrendering to temptation would be all too easy. All she had to do was lean toward him the slightest bit. Or reach out and finger the sleeve of his sweater. A simple smile would be all the signal necessary to let him know she was receptive.
Rather than doing any of these things, she chose instead to remind him, "Your son could walk through the door at any moment. You don't want him seeing us acting. . ." She paused, searching for just the right word. "Reckless."
The reality of the situation didn't sober him in the least.
"Scotty's a big boy. I'm sure he's seen worse."
Her mouth flattened quirkily as she did her best to suppress a grin. She shook her head.
Scott's tone softened to a whisper. "Lauren, I haven't been able to get you out of my mind."
The sincerity in his expression made her smile, but she still wasn't willing to let him take her to the place he wanted to go. She reached up and patted his cheek softly. "I have a solution for that."
His eyebrows lifted slightly, unconcealed curiosity—or was that desire—brightening his baby blues.
Lauren grinned as she lifted her hand and tilted her head. "Work."
He looked down at the fresh square of fine sandpaper she offered and he laughed.
They made small talk as they scraped and sanded a snarling lion, Lauren working on the head and mane, Scott focusing on the tail end. He questioned her about her divorce, and she commented on it vaguely, focusing on how the resulting financial situation forced her to move her father in with her for the time being. She learned Scott was an insurance broker and that he specialized in providing life and health insurance for the employees of large companies. Selling insurance wasn't his only responsibility. He also managed the group of people working at the brokerage firm who assisted with corporations' employee enrollment and helped to resolve benefit issues. He described himself as a people person who actually enjoyed the long hours he was required to work; he was a problem solver who found his job satisfying. It didn't hurt that the pay was excellent.
