by Maddy Barone
Stella shook her head decisively. “No. Let’s look at my stuff.”
Denise mentally measured he sister’s generous bust, narrow waist, and wide hips. “We’re not the same size.” And, she added to herself, we have very different tastes in wardrobe. As in, I like to keep my boobs inside my clothes, not popping out over the top.
Stella held up one scarlet-tipped finger. “Just wait.”
She vanished into her room and came back in two minutes with an arm draped with clothes. Denise tried to hide her misgivings. Stella laid three outfits on the bed. She pointed to a strapless gown of champagne colored silk with an overlay of cream chiffon.
“That one would be beautiful on you.”
It was elegant. Too elegant. “I don’t have the right kind of bra for that,” Denise said. “And no extra money to buy one.”
Her sister nodded, and moved her finger to indicate the second dress, a sheath of burgundy velvet with a wide boat neck outlined with rhinestones. Denise studied it. Except for the rhinestones, it looked too sedate for her flamboyant sister. She picked it up and stared at the back. There was no fabric, only a few ribbons that would cross over her shoulders and waist. The front had cups built in to hold the breasts, but they were clearly too large for her figure. She carefully put it back down.
“Not my size,” she said, relieved to have a good excuse to pass over that one.
Stella held up the third dress. “This one is actually the one I like best for you.”
Denise examined it with interest. The sleeveless wrap dress in chocolate brown seemed less glamourous than the other two at first glance. A second glance showed the weight and gloss of the satin and the flirty flare of the skirt. The crossover on the bodice was outlined in gold, and there was a narrow belt at the waist in the same gold.
“I never wear it, because brown isn’t my color,” Stella said. “But it would be great on you.”
Denise took it and looked it over. It had a back. The skirt had a built-in petticoat of stiffened brown netting. The V neck was deep, but she had one bra that plunged. Her grandmother’s gold locket would hang at the perfect length in the V. Would her black military pumps work? No, those horrible shimmery gold stiletto heels she’d had to buy for a friend’s wedding would be better.
“Try it on,” Stella commanded.
Almost eager now, Denise crawled into her closet and found the gold shoes, then dug in her bureau for the bra she never wore. Stella helped her slip the dress over her head and settled it around her before zipping up the side. The bodice was slightly loose over her breasts, but the diagonal lines of ruching helped hide it. The waist was snug but not tight. The hem of the skirt hit her just above her knees. She slipped on the gold shoes and immediately remembered why she hated them so much.
Stella squealed. “It’s perfect! You look awesome in brown. And those shoes! Oh my God, they are to die for.”
A warm glow of pleasure spread through Denise. “Die for? Yeah, these shoes are going to kill me.”
“Come look in the mirror.” Stella tugged her over to the full-length mirror on the back of the bedroom door. “See? You are beautiful in that dress. The brown makes me look dull, but see how creamy your skin looks against it? The neckline makes your throat look elegant, like Audrey Hepburn.”
Denise looked. She blinked. “It does look nice.”
“Nice! It looks fantabulous. And if we do your hair like this, drawn up in a roll at the back of your head, we can show off your long neck. A lot of curls wouldn’t suit you. I mean, it would suit your face, but not you. You like things a little more classy. That’s why this dress suits you too. A little flirty, but in a classy way. Not stuffy, not too formal, not too flashy. Just pretty, with an understated elegance.”
Denise caught her breath. Her flirty, gaudy-dress-wearing sister did understand. “Thank you.”
“I’ll do your makeup and hair on Friday before I go to work. I don’t have to go in on Friday until 7:30.” She must have sensed Denise’s alarm because she laughed and slapped her lightly on the arm. “Relax, Sissy. I can do understated elegance just fine.”
Denise stared at herself in the mirror, too enthralled by the sophisticated woman looking back at her to protest being called Sissy. “Alright. Thank you.”
Stella winked. “Just wait until the muscle man gets a look at you in this!”
“It will be a change from the shorts and T-shirt I’ll probably be wearing on Thursday night.”
“You’ll knock his socks off.”
On Thursday night after a quick shower, Denise put on a T-shirt and cutoff jeans. The beer was in the fridge. Thanks to Stella, the living room was vacuumed and dusted. And, maybe best of all, Stella was at work.
The buzzer rang at five minutes after six. Brutus identified himself and soon was at her door, a large pizza box balanced on one broad palm. There was a dark shadow on his jaw. Dirt? She took the pizza and craned to examine his face. The shadow was swollen.
“Oh, no,” she said. “What did you do to yourself?”
He waved his hand. “It’s nothing. Ready to eat?”
“Please tell me what happened.”
He shrugged. “It’s nothing to worry about.” He lifted the pizza a little higher. “Where should I put this?”
“In the living room, on the coffee table. I’ll be right there.”
She grabbed paper plates and napkins, and two longneck bottles of beer, and carried them to the living room. Brutus had already claimed the pink chair, but when she came in, he moved to the couch beside her.
“You can stay in the chair,” she told him.
“Later. For now, let’s eat and watch the pre-game show. Hope you like meat lover’s pizza.”
“You bet.”
They finished off the extra-large pizza and two beers each before the game began. Brutus settled back in the pink chair and patted his thigh. “Come sit with me. The chair is big enough for both of us.”
There was a slightly nervous note in his voice, as if he was afraid she’d be offended by the invitation. She gave him a big smile. “Sounds comfy.”
He stood, scooped her up, and sat again, with her sitting crossways over his lap. She couldn’t resist smoothing her hand up his biceps, over his shoulder to his pec, and letting it come to rest over his heart. She could feel it throbbing in his chest. She raised her hand to lay it over the bruise at the edge of his chin. “What happened?”
He waved a hand. “Sometimes my job gets a little physical.” He dodged her gaze.
“Oh. I thought it might have been a fight.”
“A fight for me to give a victim oxygen.”
“Oh, poor Brutie.”
She touched a butterfly kiss to the bruise. She had this gorgeous man all to herself, every muscled inch of him. She skated her fingers down his throat to first button of his polo shirt.
“You don’t mind if I touch you?” she asked.
He coughed. “No. Would you like me to take my shirt off?”
The hopeful note in his voice made her laugh. “I know the air conditioner isn’t the best, but it’s not that hot in here, is it?”
“I am burning up.” He grazed his fingertips over her cheek. “It’s all your fault.”
She made as if to get up. “I’ll go turn the A/C up.”
He pulled her down. “Uh-uh. You stay here and watch the game. Look, the Rangers just got a hit.”
She couldn’t have cared less. “Good job, Rangers,” she murmured.
She turned so she was straddling him, her weight on her knees, her shins on either side of his thighs, and slipped her hands under the hem of his polo shirt. His belly was hard. She moved her hands higher, feeling the ridges of his six-pack clench. Her fingers tunneled through the crisp hair on his chest and circled the nipples hidden there.
“I’ve wanted to touch you like this since that first night at Billie’s when you fell over my sister.”
“Really?” His voice was hoarse. “I’ve wanted you to touch me just as
long.”
After playing with his nipples for a minute, she went back down until her fingers nudged past the waistband of his jeans. He shuddered beneath her.
“Still watching baseball?” she asked.
“Baseball?” he muttered. “What’s baseball?”
She laughed. “You’re funny.” She leaned over him and reached for the lever that that reclined the chair, and with a thump they were nearly horizontal.
“Nice trick,” he said, looking up at her with smoldering eyes.
“Yep.” With him in it, her pink chair had never looked better. “But, you know, you haven’t touched me yet.”
He batted his thick, stubby eyelashes at her. “I was waiting for an invitation.”
“Consider yourself invited.”
His hands were infinitely gentle when he cupped her face and pulled her down. “I haven’t kissed you yet, either.”
His kiss was as gentle as his hands, just a whisper of lips over hers. She braced her hands against his chest and kissed him back. The feel of all that taut muscle under her hands made her greedy for him. “More, Brutie,” she said against his lips.
His tongue nudged at the seam of her lips and the sensation sent heat flooding through her. She let him in. He moved in her mouth, not quite aggressive, but very sure, his tongue stroking along hers, his hands holding her face, the strength barely leashed beneath her.
She was completely lost in the kiss when the jangle of keys outside her door made her raise her head. Stella’s giggle sounded in the hallway. Beneath her, Brutus growled. The sound of a key being jammed in the lock froze Denise for a split second, but the clink of the key turning had her leaping off Brutus and onto the couch like an Olympic gymnast. With a disgruntled expression, Brutus jerked the lever and the chair lurched upright. They sat primly apart, gazes fixed firmly on the TV.
Stella came in, still giggling. She gave Denise and Brutus a finger wave with one hand. Her other hand was clasped in that of the man who followed her in.
“Come on, baby,” she cooed at him. “This way.”
Stella’s bedroom door shut behind them with a snick. Denise stared at the door with disbelief. She turned to Brutus. He was glowering.
“Did she just bring a man home?” she hissed at him.
“Who cares?” he growled. “Why did you jump up like that? We’re not teenagers caught necking on couch when the parents come home early.”
“Well, no.” Denise shifted on the couch. “I mean, we’re adults.”
She was going to say more, when her sister moaned loudly in the bedroom. Her wide eyes met Brutus’s.
“I was enjoying myself,” he growled.
“Me, too,” she said mournfully.
The bed in the next room squeaked. Denise could feel the heat of a blush wash into her cheeks. She reached for the TV remote and turned up the sound. The bed settled into a rhythmic pattern of squeaks and thumps.
“Geez,” Brutus muttered, crossing his arms over his chest. “Hasn’t that guy ever heard of foreplay?”
Denise slapped a hand over her mouth to keep the laughter in. “Maybe they did that in the car.”
Brutus heaved deep breath of disgust. “Idiots.”
Stella let out an especially loud, drawn-out moan. Short panting moans followed, accompanied by male grunts. Brutus placed his hand over his face and shook his head. Denise wanted to bury her head under the couch cushions.
When Stella screamed, “Bodie! Oh, yes, Bodie!” Brutus stood up and snatched the remote to click off the game.
“Head over to Billie’s?” he suggested tersely.
She grabbed her keys. “Let’s go.”
When they were in his truck and on the road to Billie’s, Brutus shook his head.
“I know that guy. Bodie. He’s with one of the other stations. The Five Seven, maybe. He’s a sleaze ball.”
“Great.” Denise leaned her forehead into her palm. “I can’t believe she brought a guy home. She’s been in Dallas less than two weeks, and she’s already found a guy to take to bed. I wonder how long she’s known him?”
Brutus glanced at her. “Does it matter?”
She shrugged. “I guess it’s none of my business. She’s a grownup woman who makes her own choices.”
Brutus pulled into the lot at Billie’s and parked before leaning a forearm on the wheel and looking at her. “How long do you need to know a guy before you go to bed with him?”
Some invisible speck of something got stuck in her throat. She coughed. “Me, personally, or just people in general?”
He leaned a little closer. “You, personally.”
“Oh.”
He reached out and ran one fingertip along the line of her jaw. “If your sister hadn’t come in, how far would we have gone?”
Denise suppressed an urge to squirm, staring at the thin spot in her jeans over the knee. She honestly wasn’t sure, but maybe all the way. Not that she could tell him that. Could she? “I liked what we were doing. We haven’t known each other that long, but I’m super attracted to you.” She drew a deep breath and raised her eyes to meet his. “I’d like a little more time to get to know you more. It’s only been a little over a week since we met.”
He nodded, face neutral until a small smile turned up his mouth. “You’re attracted to me?”
The slightly incredulous note in his voice made her frown. “Yeah, I am. Couldn’t you tell by the way I climbed on you in the chair?”
He smiled a little sheepishly. “I was too busy enjoying myself to catch that.”
The memory of the heat and strength of his big body beneath her made her catch her breath. “Why wouldn’t I be attracted to you?”
He waved his hand at his face. “Not a pretty boy here.”
She made a rude noise. “Who wants a pretty boy? I want a man.” She opened her door. “Let’s go have a beer and watch the rest of the game.”
They talked about little things like dogs, the weather, and the game they watched the Rangers lose, and how they liked their steaks cooked. All the while, Denise was intensely aware of Brutus. The bob of his Adam’s apple in his throat when he drank from his beer bottle made her mouth dry. The play of muscle under his shirt made her want to touch. Did he honestly think he wasn’t attractive? Just sitting here watching him made her wish Stella had stayed away.
He drove her home and walked her to her door. “Good night, Dee.”
She smiled at the nickname. “Good night, Brutie.”
He bent to give her a long, gentle kiss. “I’ll pick you up tomorrow night.”
“Thanks.” She turned the key and eased the door open. The apartment was dark and quiet. She flashed a quick grin over her shoulder. “By the way, you are the sexiest man I’ve ever laid eyes on, and I feel like I’ve gotten to know you pretty well now.”
His mouth dropped open. She closed the door quietly and leaned against it in the dark.
From the hall, she heard Brutus mutter, “Hot damn!” A second later, she heard his boots on the stairs.
Chapter Six
Denise rushed home from Dog Heaven the next afternoon, anxious to get ready for the double date with Brutus’s partner. She hadn’t seen her sister since she came in last night with a man in tow. She’d hoped he’d left while she and Brutus were at Billie’s, but when she’d gotten up in the early hours to pee, she found the toilet seat up. She wanted to tell her sister firmly that no men were allowed overnight. That would be hypocritical, though, since she’d had Brutus over, and if Stella hadn’t come in they might have gone a lot further than a little petting in the chair.
Stella was there waiting for her. The kitchen table was clear except for a bunch of bottles of hair products, curling irons, a blow dryer, and an open case showing rows of various types of makeup. “Oh, good,” she said as Denise came in. “Hurry and take your shower. Come out in your robe. We’re running a little behind, so please hurry.”
Denise glanced at the clock. “Brutus won’t be here until six thirty. We have
an hour and a half.”
“I know.” Stella sounded agonized. “But we can do it if you hurry.”
Denise hurried, although she’d never taken an hour and a half to get ready for anything in her life. How could it possibly take more than fifteen minutes to dry her hair and put on a little lipstick? Okay, maybe twenty to get dressed.
As soon as she came out of the bathroom in her robe, Stella took charge. Feeling embarrassingly cowed, Denise sat down and let her sister do what she wanted.
“First, hair,” Stella decreed, pulling a basket of brushes and the hair dryer to her. She went through the cans of hair product on the table, muttering about volume and hold. Denise sat like a rabbit afraid to move for fear of the hunter. She inhaled the scent of coconut and pineapple when her sister worked some foam through her damp hair. Over the sound of the blow dryer Stella complimented her hair.
“It’s not too thick,” she said cheerfully, “but it’s in great condition. You should have some highlights put in. Some blond streaks would give it nice depth.”
Stella parted it in different places, wrapped it around a curling iron, tugged it, and jammed pins in it for another twenty minutes, then sprayed enough hair spray on it to supply an eighties hair band for a month. Then she started on makeup. Denise looked up, looked down, parted her lips, and opened her eyes wide on command. An hour and fifteen minutes after she’d gotten out of the shower, Denise’s hair and makeup were done and she was allowed to stand up. Stella had the dress ready.
When the dress was zipped and Denise had stepped into the gold shoes, Stella stood back with her hands clasped below her chin. “Oh, you look wonderful.”
Denise smiled to hide her trepidation. “Wonderful?”
“Absolutely. Come on.” Stella grabbed her arm and towed her to the mirror on her bedroom door. “See?”
Denise looked at the mirror. Stared. Leaned a little closer. The woman in the mirror looked strong and elegant. Her hair was pulled loosely back and was twisted into a low bun just above her neck. Her eyes were a pop of blue between thick lashes. Denise’s complexion was not that smooth and even, but she didn’t even look like she was wearing makeup. Even her lips looked mostly natural, just a hint of pink shine. The dress gave her the illusion of a waist, even though she was built on slightly pudgy lines with a small chest and narrow hips.
