by Donna Fasano
His whispery breath skittered across the sensitive skin at the curve of her neck. She could smell his cedar-laced cologne, the smooth-shaven skin of his jaw enticing her to reach up for a touch. Lauren took a moment to study his features. He had a nice mouth, expressive eyes that could go from lively to sultry in an instant, and she knew if he were to smile, his cheeks would dimple.
She shook her head, slowly, emphatically. "I wouldn't mind at all," she murmured and knew without a doubt that she was being completely and utterly honest.
He placed a butterfly kiss on the corner of her mouth, and then another. Then his lips covered hers, warm and soft and moist. He traced a light line up the full length of her neck, the heat from his fingertips sending a shivery cascade over her back and arms. He slid his other hand around behind her and made small, massaging circles on the small of her back. She felt herself relaxing into him, her hips and belly making full contact with his.
Need sprouted deep within her, sensitizing her skin and setting her heart racing.
He teased and tasted her lips with his, and the gentle suction of his mouth against hers made her want to groan. Although he was restrained, this was by no means a chaste kiss. He lingered, gentle and hesitant, as if memorizing the taste of her on his tongue, the feel off her lips on his. He placed one final fleeting kiss on her mouth and broke contact. Then he slid his thumb over her chin, the curve of her jaw.
Lauren opened her eyes slowly, disappointment leaving her in a quick, breathy exhale. "Wow," she whispered. "That was very nice."
Scott only smiled, but his blue eyes lit with pleasure. He opened her car door for her. "Night," he said before turning and walking away.
* * *
When she let herself into the house, the low murmur of the television told her that her father hadn't yet gone up to bed. She walked into the living room and he lifted a hand in greeting.
"Been taking it easy tonight?" she asked.
He nodded in answer, reaching up to scrub at his broad forehead. "Got a little headache going. I hope I don't have a sinus infection coming on."
"I'll go get you a pain reliever and a glass of water." Lauren took in the newspaper that was piled in disarray on the floor by his chair. She scanned the nearby end table. "Have you been reading the news without your glasses, Dad? The strain of squinting might cause a headache."
He automatically reached up and patted the top of his head where his glasses were often perched, then he searched his lap and the tabletop, too. He scowled, clearly unappreciative of her pointing out that his pain might have nothing to do with his sinuses.
"Found your note," he said, gruffly. After a small pause, he asked, "Went out on a date, eh? You have a good time?"
She sensed he had other, more probing, questions he would rather have asked, but he didn't and she was grateful for that. Tapping her small clutch against her thigh, she contemplated her answer.
Anxiety had her nerves frayed raw before she'd left the house tonight; she'd dreaded the thought of venturing out into the dating world. And with good reason, it turned out. She'd been bored to tears listening to Scott's 'work talk' and she was certain she'd likewise tortured him.
But then they had strolled out into the autumn evening. They had paused by her car for that goodnight kiss. A kiss that had been excruciatingly sweet.
Lauren inhaled deeply and offered her father a bright expression. "You know," she told him, "it wasn't half bad."
Chapter 13
It's been so long since I've made love,
I can't even remember who gets tied up.
~Joan Rivers
"Your Honor, my client, Britney Renee Colbert, is petitioning the court for an Order of Protection against her husband, Robert Walter Colbert, also known as 'Bub' and 'Bubby.'" Lauren stood next to Britney, a woman in her mid-twenties whose wafer-thin body could probably have been knocked over by a stiff wind. "Mr. and Mrs. Colbert have been married for eighteen months and have cohabitated for the entirety of their marriage."
Judge Brooks' expression was kind as he asked, "Mrs. Colbert, can you tell me the nature of your abuse?"
Britney fidgeted, tugging at the sleeve of her blouse, swiping too-long, mousey brown bangs out of her eyes. The skin on both her boney wrists was banded with sickly shades of yellow. "Sir, my lawyer told me you were gonna want to know what Bubby did to me. I don't want to get him into trouble. I just want him to go see someone. He needs help."
Lauren had coached her client to stick to the facts, had warned her that if she wanted legal protection from the state of Maryland she would have to issue a statement against her husband. The kindness that had softened the judge's mouth only an instant before all but disappeared. Now, he just looked tired.
"Mrs. Colbert, it seems to me you're the one in need of help. I don't have the authority to force your husband to seek counseling or medical treatment, unless you're willing to file a complaint. I'll also issue a writ of protection for you. If and only if you convince me it's warranted."
Britney sighed and lifted her hands beseechingly. "He doesn't drink all the time. Bub is just having a hard time—"
"Mrs. Colbert." Judge Brooks stopped her with an upraised hand. "I'm not interested in hearing about your husband's difficulties. Today, we want to focus on what this court can do for you."
The judge shot Lauren a warning glance and she could only shrug. If Britney refused the legal advice she'd paid for, there was really nothing Lauren could do.
The young woman's jaw jutted to one side. "He wouldn't let me leave the house. But only because I threatened to pack my bags and go for good." Her tone went snippy, as if she was peeved that the legal system was forcing her to tattle on her husband. "I won't have sex with him when he's drinking. I put up with a lot, but that's one thing I put my foot down about. But my rules make him angry when he's had one too many. If he'd just get some help with his drinking. Isn't there anything you can do?"
"I've already explained what I'm able to do." The judge's brows lifted in warning. "Please don't waste this court's time."
It seemed that young Britney's life was swarming with excitement, while Lauren's was anything but. Oh, that kind of commotion wasn't what Lauren was looking for, not by any means. However, it sure would be nice to contemplate an evening out and not face utter tedium.
She and Scott had seen each other six times over the past two weeks and the only thing keeping Lauren interested were the mind-blowing kisses that ended each evening. Those fantasy farewells had grown steamier and more arousing with each successive date. Just thinking about kissing that man was enough to make her pulse thump even now.
"Bubby isn't a waste of time," Britney staunchly asserted.
"If I may, Your Honor," Lauren cut in. Her client needed a little assistance or she wasn't going to get the protection she needed. Lauren reached for the legal pad and pen sitting on the table. "Last Tuesday, Mr. Colbert—" she read from the paper "—shoved and slapped his wife. He bound her hands and ankles together to keep her from leaving their home. After several hours, Mrs. Colbert was able to free herself and fled to the local women's shelter. The following day, Mr. Colbert went to the shelter, and when Mrs. Colbert refused to see him, he rammed his truck into the front door. The police were called and Mr. Colbert was arrested for drunk and disorderly conduct."
When Britney had shown up at her office this morning, Lauren's schedule had already been packed. However, she'd agreed to see Britney and accompany her to court when the desperate young woman had said Greg had sent her. Apparently, the director of the women's shelter had called Greg to fix the damaged front door, and Greg had, in turn, recommended to Britney that she come see Lauren for help.
Britney frowned at her, hissing, "You make it sound so bad."
Lauren ignored her. "Mr. Colbert shouted threats of physical violence against his wife as the police hauled him away. Mrs. Colbert didn't tell me that, Your Honor, but I read it on the report I obtained from the police this morning."
Ju
dge Brooks nailed Britney with hard stare. "Is this true?"
Finally, the woman's cool reserve cracked and tears filled her eyes. "Yeah. Yeah, it's all true. I'm scared. I love Bub. But I'm afraid he might hurt me. He just needs to get through this binge, Judge. Once he does, everything will go back to normal."
Normal. What was that, anyway? Lauren wondered. Her 'normal' had certainly shifted and changed over time.
Before trouble had trounced on her and Greg, their normal had been pretty magnificent. Yes, he'd been busy running his business and she running hers, but when they came together, he'd filled her life chock-full of spontaneous fun and excitement.
Once they'd split, her 'normal' had become nothing but work; clients, lawsuits, court appearances. Not that that was a bad thing, she mused. She enjoyed her job. But playfulness, silly acts of frivolous amusement—something that had never come naturally to her—had become non-existent the day she'd asked Greg for a divorce.
Now that she was dating Scott, 'normal' had once again changed, but rather than the routine becoming livelier, as a woman would naturally expect when she had a new man in her life, it had remained mainly monotonous. Scott's modus operandi was, unfortunately, predictable. The long hours they worked usually necessitated their meeting at some restaurant or other, and as they ate, they discussed their workdays. Her clients' legal dilemmas, which she found fascinating, made his eyes glaze over, and she was bored rigid hearing his insurance tales.
Once they'd gone to a movie after dinner, and Lauren had decided there was nothing more tiresome than the ho-hum dinner-and-a-movie date. They'd sat next to each other in the dark, not touching, not talking, not even sharing popcorn since they'd just eaten. She wanted to get to know this man, wanted him to get to know her, but for some reason that didn't seem to be happening.
She and Greg had rarely gone to a cinema center. Most of the movies they watched had been rented. Blockbuster afforded a much cozier, private setting in which to enjoy their favorite genres. . . everything from psychological thrillers to romantic comedies. Greg would call her out of the blue and whisper, "Naked movie night?" and she would spend the rest of the day anticipating all the sexy excitement promised in the short question. A smile pulled at her lips until she remembered where she was, what she was doing.
She missed the 'normal' that Greg had brought to her life. The realization made her muscles go slack and the ink pen slipped from her fingers, clattering to the floor. She bent down to retrieve it, her head going woozy with the sudden insight. Her legs felt suddenly weak when she rose up, and the luxury of a chair being impossible at the moment, she locked her knees in place and clutched the legal pad to her chest.
Okay, so her ex had brought a great deal of exhilaration and fun into her life. He'd also brought plenty of heartache. Not on the same scale that Bubby Colbert brought to poor Britney's, but still. . .
Scott might not be the most exciting man to come down the pike. But he was ambitious and successful. He wasn't the kind of man who needed to be bailed out of trouble. At least, she didn't think he was. And she might not ever find out exactly who he was if she couldn't get the man to talk about something other than his job.
The sound of the gavel startled her.
"Counselor, the Temporary Protective Order is granted," Judge Brooks said. "Robert Walter Colbert is hereby ordered not to abuse, threaten to abuse, contact, attempt to contact or harass Britney Renee Colbert. He is to remain away from her place of employment and/or residence for the next thirty days. Mrs. Colbert, I hope you use this time to make some serious decisions about your situation."
"I will," Britney promised, wiping the tears from her eyes.
"Thank you, Judge." Lauren turned to collect her things.
Britney hovered near the defendant's table, brushing at her bangs and pulling at one sleeve, then the other, to cover the bruises on her wrists. Her gaze hopped from Lauren to the double doors to some other part of the courtroom and back again as if she wasn't sure what to do or where to go. "Guess that solves my problem." She shrugged. "At least for the next month."
"I'll see that your husband is served with a copy of the order. If you need me, you've got my number." Lauren snapped her briefcase shut, silently wishing every woman's 'man troubles' could be so easily solved.
* * *
The autumn breeze that cooled the evening air that very same evening did little to temper Lauren's heated skin or the need thrumming through her body. Scott broke off the sultry kiss, his breathing as labored as hers.
"You're killin' me," he whispered, his voice rusty.
"I'm killing you?" She could barely get the words out.
Lauren had endured yet another dinner at yet another restaurant where conversation had been sparse and unproductive. She knew little more about him now than she had when they'd arrived. Sure, she could give up. She could tell Scott she wasn't interested in seeing him any more, that they had little in common and that she didn't see the relationship going anywhere. But Lauren firmly believed they did have at least one commonality.
They both enjoyed kissing.
And, good mercy, Ms Percy, the man was an extraordinary kisser!
"You want to go to my place?" he asked her. "I could. . .ah, put on some music, and. . .and. . .um, open a bottle of wine."
Clearly, his true desire (which she was absolutely positive matched her own)—that they tear off each other's clothes and race for the bed—was making it difficult for him to think of any other activities to suggest.
"That sounds wonderful." Her breathing was still thick as she lifted her chin so he could nibble on her neck a moment longer.
He pulled back and looked at her, hunger raging in his heavy-lidded blue gaze. "Follow me." He swallowed and tried to smile. "We'll be there in twenty minutes, tops."
Not more than half an hour later, the soft strains of a woodwinds concerto drifted on the air, glasses of deep red merlot sat untouched on the coffee table and Lauren and Scott were once again muzzling, having foregone even the house tour in order to get right to the business of enjoying the comfort of the couch.
Scott cradled the back of her neck with one hand while his other roved slowly and freely over her body; cupping her breast, sliding over her waist and hip, massaging her thigh. Lauren was certain he meant to tease her to the point of insanity.
Come on, come on, she wanted to urge. Let's get naked. Now!
She'd spied the budge in his trousers, knew he wanted the same thing she did. Still, the seconds ticked by, she'd given him every sign she could think of, yet he seemed perfectly content to kiss her and touch her—with way too much fabric between them.
What were they? Eighth graders?
Granted, she hadn't dated in a lot of years. What did she know? Maybe this was the 'in' thing. Maybe couples didn't go all the way anymore. Maybe they simply kissed and teased each other until they went stark raving mad.
What a load of bull! Of course, couples did it. Human behavior couldn't have changed that much in seventeen years, for cryin' out loud. What was wrong with this man?
The question should have waved red flags in her brain, but she was too pre-occupied at the moment to pay attention. Her nipples were puckered tight enough to give her headache, her pulse throbbed hot and heavy in her deepest, naughtiest places, and the only way to inhale much-needed oxygen was to drag it onto her lungs. Finally she could take it no longer.
"Scott—" her voice sounded strained even to her own ears as she freed two buttons of his shirt "—let's go to your bedroom."
He pulled back, and something that looked suspiciously like trepidation flashed in his eyes. Later, Lauren would realize that that, too, should have been a warning sign to be heeded.
"You want some sex?" he asked, eager as an energetic puppy.
The peculiar phrasing of his question made her grin. He spoke as if sex were something he carried around in his pocket, something to be doled out like breath mints or sticks of chewing gum.
"Yeah," she told him, h
er chuckle throaty and sensual. "Actually, I do. I really, really do." Earlier she'd tossed her purse onto the floor next to the leg of the end table and she bent to reach for it. "I even came prepared."
Buying condoms wasn't something she'd ever done before. During her married life, Greg had taken care of that chore when she hadn't been taking the pill. And for the thirteen months she'd been separated—and completely celibate—there had been no need for birth control of any kind. But Norma Jean had pointed out her Big O problem last month, and then she'd started playing suck face with Scott so she'd decided she'd better get her butt to the pharmacy to buy a box of Trojans.
She'd quickly discovered that the prophylactic counter offered a variety of overwhelming choices. Lubricated. Non-lubricated. Smooth. Thin. Ribbed. Ultra ribbed. With and without spermicide. With and without 'tingling' lotion. She even found one with a vibrating ring attached, for goodness sake. Condom companies sure had made advances.
While she'd stood there pondering the pros and cons of each little package of worry-free pleasure, a lanky teen had approached and come to a halt beside her. He'd snatched a box from the shelf, then turned and looked at her. Then he'd offered her a knowing grin.
Twenty years ago, she might have felt embarrassed, but that day she'd experienced a surprising empowerment. She'd smiled back, and then nodded as if to say, "Yes, I'm doing it." The young man had chuckled before ambling down the aisle toward the cash register.
Lauren held up the square, gold-colored beauties for Scott.
His mouth cocked sexily and he said, "You did come prepared."
He plucked the two condoms from her fingers and then he stood, reaching out his hand. She slid her palm into it and he tugged her off the couch.
It was only after she crossed the threshold of his bedroom that she noticed things began to go awry. Masculine furniture with its straight lines and dark stain filled the spacious room. The thick, burgundy-colored spread that covered the king-sized bed looked inviting.
