A large empty bottle of rum was on the seat beside him. He was sipping from a second, half-full bottle. What looked like a short bicycle cable was looped tightly around his penis and testicles and secured with a locking device. Another bike cable was strung through the first, its two ends threaded through the car’s steering wheel and then fastened together.
Rodriguez took a long look and then shook his head in disgust. “What bloody next?”
“We’ve been trying to figure out how to get him out of this,” one of the young policeman said, obviously trying to sound professional, but the scandalized expression on the shift sergeant’s face did him in. A burst of laughter quickly became a cough.
“Those locks have a tubular key,” he added when he’d regained control. “Waldo here says he threw it into the bush somewhere over there.” The officer gestured toward the thick undergrowth at the side of the road. “We’ve looked for it, but we can’t locate it. We called a locksmith. He says he could pick an ordinary lock, but these special tubular keys aren’t doable.”
Shannon heard him let out another snort of suppressed laughter.
“Craziest call I’ve ever been on,” he said. “A guy hiking along this road came across him and called us. Waldo says he’s been here since about three this afternoon. Had a fight with his girlfriend.”
“Now, why would you go and do something like this, Waldo?” Shannon heard John say in a reasonable tone to the man in the car.
The guy turned his head and looked up at John with sagging basset hound eyes. His voice was slurred and he burped long and loud before he said, “I’ve hurt too many women with this thing. This’s the only way I can think of to stop myself.”
“Oh, yeah? Well, it seems just a little extreme to me, Waldo,” John remarked.
“Extreme?” Rodriguez was building up a head of steam. “Extreme? Try totally bonkers. What kind of a dumb prick—” He caught himself and swore under his breath. “Okay, let’s go find that so-and-so key so we can get back to supper.”
Shannon joined the others, crawling around on her hands and knees in the underbrush in a futile search for the lost key. Every so often she got the giggles, and she could hear the others trying to muffle their laughter, as well.
Finally, after some discussion between Rodriguez and the policemen about how to proceed, John got a hacksaw out of the tool kit and started to work through the end of the cable attached to the wheel, amidst curses and squeals of pain from Waldo.
“Just hang in there, sir,” John kept saying, which made it harder than ever for the firefighters and the policemen to stifle their laughter.
When Waldo was finally free of the steering wheel, they gently loaded the unfortunate victim, along with the cable still circling his swollen privates, into the back seat of the cruiser. The police had offered to drive him to Emergency at the hospital.
Shannon tried to stop laughing and couldn’t. “How do you think the docs in the E.R. will handle this one?”
“Probably give him a sedative and elevate the injured member until the swelling goes down,” Spike said. “Or they could call somebody who’s into S and M, This sort of thing must happen now and again.”
When the police car drove away, hilarity swept through the crew of firefighters, and it was all they could do to load the tools back into the truck. Rodriguez shook his head, swore under his breath and never cracked a smile, which added to the whoops of laughter that erupted all the way back to the station.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
SHANNON FELT GIDDY by the time the shift ended.
“Who’s for a beer at the B and G?” someone asked.
She felt half-drunk already just on laughter, and she could see that John did as well. Each time they caught one another’s eye, they broke into guffaws.
“Beer sounds good to me,” he agreed. “You’re coming, aren’t you, Shannon?”
“Absolutely. I just have to call and make sure Willow feeds the dogs.”
Willow was home, and she assured Shannon she’d already fed Cleo and Pepsi, so Shannon changed into her street clothes and joined the group heading to the Courage Bay Bar and Grill.
Inside, everyone grouped around the bar, and the story of Penis Man went the rounds. Several of the policemen had already heard about it from their buddies, and soon everyone was retelling war stories.
Shannon sipped her beer, listening and laughing. She’d noticed that John claimed the bar stool beside hers. After a while, he leaned over so his lips were close to her ear, and under the noise he murmured, “I’m hungry—we missed dinner. How about joining me upstairs?”
“Sounds good.” She slid off the stool and he followed her as she threaded her way through the crowd over to the stairs that led to the rooftop patio.
It was midweek and the place wasn’t crowded. They were given a table with a spectacular view of the ocean. The three-piece orchestra was just setting up and the air was balmy and fresh, scented with the odors of the flowers in the pots all around the patio, and the breeze from the water.
As she sank down into her chair, Shannon smiled across at John. “How perfect is this?” She still felt giddy, and buoyant, and excited. Maybe she’d only imagined that John was keeping his distance?
“I special ordered the ambience just for us.”
“You should have warned me. I’m not really dressed for the occasion.” She had jeans on with a sleeveless blue blouse, and runners on her feet.
“You look just fine to me.” The way he said it sent goose bumps down her arms.
The waiter came and John ordered a bottle of wine, and together they studied the menu. “I’m having filet mignon,” he said. “Join me?”
“Sounds like a great idea.” She sipped her wine and felt herself relax fully.
“I had no idea firefighting would be so much fun,” he said.
She gave him a sharp look. “What, you mean it wasn’t fun back in New York?”
“We had our moments, but not like today.”
The band started to play something slow and romantic.
“Dance?” John held out a hand, and when she hesitated, he said, “Your foot’s not still sore, is it?”
“Not the least bit. But I can’t do this with runners on.” She bent over and took off her shoes.
“Me, either, come to think of it.” John took off his own runners.
When he stood up, she slid into his arms.
“No broken glass in sight,” he assured her. “And I’ll try not to step on your bare toes with my bare toes.”
He didn’t. He was a great dancer, smooth and easy to follow, definite about leading. Being in his arms reminded her of kissing him, of being held against his chest as he’d carried her that night on the beach. She let the music fill her, moving instinctively in whatever direction he did. He was incredibly graceful.
She looked up at him. “You took lessons in this. You’re really smooth.”
“My mother taught me when I was a little kid.” There was a sad note in his voice.
“She must have been an exceptional teacher.”
“She was. She…she did a lot of dancing when she was younger. She wanted to be an actress.”
“That’s so funny. Well, not laughably funny, but a coincidence, because my mother used to sing in pubs and restaurants all up and down the coast. That’s what she was doing when she met my dad.” Shannon rested her head against him, letting the music take her for a while. “What’s your mother’s name, John?”
“Naomi.”
“That’s lovely—Naomi Forester. And you said your dad was John.”
“Yup. I was named after him.” Had there been the slightest hesitation there, or was she imagining things? Relax, O’Shea. Enjoy the moment. She cuddled up to him, resting her head against his chest again, loving the way it felt to be folded in his arms, enjoying the feel of the smooth floor beneath her bare toes.
They slow danced to a Sinatra number, and then the tempo picked up. They looked at one another and sat down.
Fast would spoil the mood, and their salads had arrived. Shannon was hungry, and they ate for a while without saying anything.
“That story in California Woman…” John began.
“Oh, no,” Shannon groaned.
“You were pretty evasive about your love life.”
“I should think so,” she said forcefully. “Who needs their entire romantic history spelled out for everyone to drool over?”
“That juicy, huh?”
She knew he was teasing. “Scandalous. See, I had this massive crush on one of my teachers, Mr. Carlisle, in the third grade. But that didn’t go anywhere, alas, because he only liked older women. Then my first kiss came along when I was eleven. One of Sean’s friends caught me when we were playing tag, and planted one. That didn’t turn out too well, either, because before I could really get into it, Sean caught us and socked the poor guy in the head, and my admirer never so much as looked at me again. And he must have warned his friends, because hardly anyone came near me most of my teens. When some brave soul actually did, my brothers intimidated the hell out of him.”
“There must have been someone brave enough to take on the O’Shea brothers.” John reached across and filled her wineglass. He wasn’t joking anymore when he said, “You ever get serious about anybody, Shannon?”
Truth or dare? She decided on truth.
“Once, yeah. Only once. Back in college. Jared was a really great guy, a graduate student from France. He had the looks, the accent, the brains. I really fell for him—brought him home at spring break to meet my family. He was charming, they were charmed.”
“So how did he break your heart?”
“Wow. I didn’t think the scars were still visible. It was a long time ago.”
“They’re not. But he must have done something, or you’d still be with him, right? You don’t strike me as a love ’em and leave ’em sort of lady.”
“It was nothing, really. A little temporary amnesia, is all. He forgot to mention that he had a wife and two kids back in Perpignon.”
“How did you find out?”
“Believe it or not, I found a photograph. In his dresser drawer. I was looking for something else—” condoms, she remembered clearly “—and there it was.”
“I hope you set your brothers on him.”
“I was too ashamed.” Even now, the memory embarrassed her. “There were signs, I just didn’t pay any attention.” She finished her dinner and laid her fork down. “How about you, John? You ever fall in love?”
He nodded. “Like you, just once. She was a friend of my mother’s, thirty something. I was sixteen. I asked her to marry me and she refused. Broke my heart.”
Shannon studied him to see if he’d give some indication that he was joking around, but there was something about his expression that told her he wasn’t. So she nodded and didn’t ask if the woman was his first sexual partner. She could guess. “And since then?”
“Nope. Footloose, that’s me. Barefoot, too, at the moment.” The waiter appeared. “You want dessert, Shannon?”
She had a moment before, but the word footloose seemed to have some negative effect on her appetite. “No, thank you. I should be getting home.”
“Got your car?”
He knew she didn’t, the sneak. “Nope. I’ll just put my shoes back on and jog. It’s not far.”
“It’s dark. Better let me drive you.” John was suddenly too busy scribbling his name on the credit card receipt to look at her, and she knew that this was the moment of decision. She could accept the ride home, invite him in, get naked and proceed with her devious, dirty plan for getting at the truth, or she could run like hell—literally—away from him.
Run, O’Shea. Any sane woman would. “Thanks, John, but I…”
Was she losing her nerve? Was she a woman or was she a wimp? What about those fine high-minded vows she’d made about finding out who this guy really was? Screw your courage to the sticking post, Biceps. Did she have decent underwear on?
“Yes, please, I’d like a ride.” Round and round and round we’ll go and where we’ll stop—Well, it wasn’t the stopping she was contemplating. It was the going.
While he was tying his shoes, she went over the routine in her head. Let’s see, she hadn’t done this in a very long while. How did it go again?
You started by saying in a throwaway tone, “Would you like to come in, John? How about some coffee?” And music—mustn’t forget music. Something slow and moody, with a heavy back beat. Seduction took time, and grace, and deliberation. Did condoms come with an expiration date? The ones she had were probably antiques.
Except John kissed her before he even started the car, and she had trouble getting her breath when he finally revved the engine. She could feel the tension building as they drove the short distance to her house.
She was breathing hard, and she needed to touch him, so she put her hand on his thigh—lightly, just in case he lost his place—but she probably wouldn’t have had to. He put his hand on top of hers and moved it farther north. One thing about the guy, he was nothing if not single-minded. And he was wonderfully aroused.
In front of her house, he turned off the car and was kissing her again before the motor even died. They pretty much kissed all the way inside, which made walking hazardous. Shannon had to walk backward and he had to lean forward, which wasn’t up to anybody’s safety standards, especially around corners and on that cursed ramp at the back door, but God, it felt good.
With the tiny part of her brain that was still functioning, Shannon realized that Willow was probably home, because the dogs were in. As soon as she got the kitchen door open, they barked and pawed at her legs and competed with John’s mouth for her attention. Shannon ignored them and went right on kissing.
She broke off long enough to lock the kitchen door and curtail Pepsi from trying to chew off the laces in John’s shoes, but she figured since there was no question they were eventually heading for the bedroom, she might as well skip the whole coffee, music and conversation thing and proceed with the main event.
Now he was running his hands all over her. Walking backward and leading the way down the hallway to her room, she tripped on Cleo, but John caught her before she fell. He sort of lifted her up and over the damn dog so she was barely touching the floor all the way into her bedroom.
Pepsi managed to get in ahead of them. He jumped up on the bed and nipped Shannon’s hand when she picked him up. She yelped, then grabbed him none too gently and dumped him in the hall.
“I’ll deal with you later,” she warned, and he bared his teeth and growled at her. Cleo was now in the bedroom, lying on her back in the middle of the rug, waving her legs in the air.
“Can you move her? She won’t walk when she gets like this.” Shannon knew she sounded breathless. She felt irritated and hot and sexy and impatient as hell. She was definitely going to send these animals back to Lisa. Later.
“Can do.” John took Cleo’s paws, but the dog was deadweight. Shannon grabbed Cleo’s back legs, and with considerable effort and some grunting on both their parts, they towed her out the door. Both of them scurried through the bedroom door and Shannon slammed it shut and locked it for good measure.
John drew her close and kissed her again. She tugged his shirt up and out of his jeans and ran her hands up and down his back, trying to figure out where the condoms were. Probably in the bathroom. A lot of good they’d do there. Although they were likely full of moth holes, anyway.
“Mmm, you have such great…skin.” Her hands were trembling.
“And you.” He pulled her shirt over her head without unbuttoning it, and ran his hands from her shoulders to her waist and back up. “Nice bra.”
He was being sarcastic. It was a white cotton sports model.
“Nice pants.” She reached down and rubbed her hand across the front of them.
He drew in a breath through his teeth and backed her up against the door, kissing her, running his mouth down her neck and using his tongu
e where her bra covered her nipples.
“I really like that,” she gasped, aware that the dogs had started howling and pawing at the door panel, but more aware that John was unfastening her jeans and sliding them down her legs and off.
The door was hard against her back, and it sounded as if the dogs were going to come right through the paneling.
“Bed?” she suggested, and he growled in agreement. She stripped off her bra in one easy upward motion.
“I’m crazy about you,” he said, taking off his pants and shirt and boxer shorts, and breathing as if he’d been running. He extracted something from his pants pocket. “What the hell is the matter with those dogs?”
“Jealousy.” She could see he was ferociously aroused. He was the most beautiful man she’d ever seen naked. Maybe even clothed. Her voice was shaky now as well as her hands, but she tried to stay rational and relate to what he’d said before the bit about the dogs.
“Crazy is good. I like crazy—” Her breath caught and her words stopped because his fingers had slid under her panties and inside, making her shudder and forget how words joined together.
He lowered them onto the bed and kissed her again, hot and frantic, and she nipped at his lip and wrapped her legs around his naked hips and moved, wanting speed instead of technique. But he resisted. He moved his mouth down to her right breast and suckled as if they had all the time in the world.
God, he was slow. She struggled with her panties, slithering out of them.
Cleo and Pepsi howled and scratched as John’s lips moved from her mouth to her throat, to her ear, and then to a place on the side of her neck she hadn’t even known was there.
The dogs whined and started a barking contest as he did enticing things to her nipples with his tongue. She closed her eyes and writhed against him because she was burning up. This put a whole new meaning to spontaneous combustion.
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