Whole Lotta Trouble

by Stephanie Bond

  “I was thinking,” she said, her voice wavering.

  “Yeah?” His voice was hoarse and held a note of anticipation.

  She wet her lips and summoned her courage. “How about we sleep together so we can get past this awkwardness?”

  Ten seconds of agonizing silence went by. She was wondering how she could pass off her forward behavior as sleepwalking when he said, “I think that would be constructive.”

  She went to him, and they found each other for a kiss that began as a tender exploration but quickly increased in intensity because they both knew where it was leading. He caught her up in his arms, pulling her against his warm body, molding her hips to his. Through the thin layers of fabric between them, his erection burned into her stomach. Tallie moaned, and moisture pooled between her thighs in answer to his call. She splayed her hands over his warm, smooth back, reveling in the expanse.

  He kissed her thoroughly, sliding his hands up and down her back until she lifted one leg and hooked it around the back of his knees. He picked her up and lowered her to the couch, easing himself on top of her. Tallie moaned and ran her hands down his lower back, slipping her fingers inside the elastic waistband of his boxers, pushing down his shorts with her hands and feet, then pulling him into the vee of her knees. His sex surged against the fabric covering her and he kissed her hard, thrusting his tongue against hers, as if sampling the rhythm she enjoyed.

  He skimmed his hands over her stomach and lifted the skimpy top over her head. Her nipples budded instantly, and she inhaled in anticipation of his touch.

  “Tallie, you’re beautiful,” he said, his voice thick with lust.

  Her body shook with a shiver of pleasure. He captured her hands in his, entwining their fingers and raising them over her head, obliging her to arch, pushing one breast into his waiting mouth. She gasped as he drew in the nipple, and urged him to apply more pressure, to take more of her. He was sensitive to her noises and seemed content to devote himself to her breasts, sucking, biting gently and flicking his tongue against her nipples.

  Then he kissed her jaw and her mouth, sliding his chest over hers, squeezing her fingers between his into the pillow behind her head. She lifted her hips to rub against his erection, and he moaned into her mouth. He broke the kiss long enough to whisper, “You’re killing me.”

  “I want you inside me,” she murmured.

  “Not nearly as much as I want to be there.”

  “Do you have protection—other than your gun?”

  “Give me a minute to find my wallet.” He pushed himself up with a grunt.

  “I don’t know if I can wait that long,” she said, immediately missing the weight of his body.

  “Don’t start without me.”

  “Too late,” she said, pushing down her pajama pants and panties and toeing them off. Her curls were damp with wanting him.

  He exhaled forcefully, keeping one eye on her while he searched for his wallet, his hands growing frantic. She welled with feminine satisfaction and admired his solid profile, his powerful chest and legs, his jutting erection. He found the prize and rolled it on in record time, then strode back to her and lowered himself on top of her again, sliding skin on skin, sex to sex. She stretched like a cat and opened her knees. He reached down and stroked her with his hand, delving into her folds. Their moans mingled when he encountered the wetness collected for him. Her body jerked when he found her pleasure site. He stayed there until he proved his point, sending her into a fierce orgasm, at the height of which he thrust into her, sending her to another level of pleasure-pain.

  He held himself in check until she recovered, then slowly began to pump his hips. She gasped and sank her fingers into his arms and back, then urged him into a faster and harder rhythm. The fullness of him inside her, rubbing, sliding against already sensitive flesh sent her into another wave of orgasms, this one deeper than the last. In the throes of her release, he stiffened and groaned, burying himself inside her, murmuring her name against her neck as he spent himself.

  Slick with perspiration, they lay together until the chill of the air settled onto their bodies. Then he gingerly disengaged and stumped his way to the bathroom. Weak from exertion, Tallie sat up and patted around until she found her underwear and tank and pulled them on with shaking arms, her heart skipping like a scratched record.

  So that’s what all the fuss was about.

  She was in big, big trouble.

  Chapter 27

  Felicia walked into the crowded chapel wearing dark sunglasses and stopped, allowing the lenses to adjust to the low lighting. No way were the wire-rimmed Guccis coming off, lest everyone know she’d been weeping all night for the man in the casket.

  The casket.

  At the front of the chapel sat a closed casket the color of steel, covered with a huge spray of red roses. At the thought of Jerry lying inside, bile backed up in her throat and her feet were paralyzed. It was simply unimaginable that someone with his youth and zest could be dead. Her heart thudded in her ears, and she felt light-headed.

  “Take my arm,” a man said.

  She looked up to see Phil Dannon, his arm extended, his expression one of gentle concern. Her mind flew to the bloodstained folder that he’d given her Thursday night, but Felicia couldn’t reconcile the handsome gentleman next to her with a cold-blooded killer. And it was nearly inconceivable that he would do such a thing and then come to her bed.

  Then a thought struck her like a thunderbolt: unless he’d come by looking for an alibi.

  “Felicia?”

  She swallowed, and because she didn’t want to make a scene—or fall down—she tucked her hand beneath Phil’s arm and allowed him to lead her near the front to a pew where Suze sat, looking like she’d been whitewashed. Felicia hesitated but slid into the pew next to Suze. Phil sat next to her. She was sandwiched between her warring writers, either of whom might have killed Jerry.

  Suze sat erect and unmoving, except to occasionally tap a tissue to her nose or eyes. She had traded her red for black and looked ten years older than when Felicia had last seen her. Phil seemed equally inert, staring straight ahead, although not at the casket. Was he nursing a guilty conscience about Jerry? About their lapse? Had he and Suze gotten back together?

  Remorse hit Felicia like a slap in the face. She had condemned Suze for having an affair with Jerry, yet her own behavior was ten times worse…Jerry had rubbed off on her. Felicia inhaled deeply and glanced around the chapel, recognizing the partners from Jerry’s agency, and midlevel editorial representatives from most of the major publishing houses—the top brass had obviously opted to stay away in view of the way Jerry had died. She spotted Jané Glass sitting next to her boss, Seth Johnston, Jerry’s workout partner. Jané fidgeted nervously, gnawing on her nails like a preteen. Unease tickled the back of Felicia’s neck—the woman was a time bomb.

  More people entered the chapel, and Felicia saw Tallie, looking hurried and flushed. Felicia’s heart welled with affection—Tallie was so fundamentally honest, the guilt had to be killing her. But hopefully, when the memorial service was over, the worst would be behind them.

  It had been the only thought that could compel her to get out of bed this morning.

  The audience, she wryly noted, was about eighty percent teary-eyed females. No doubt most of them had slept with Jerry, or had wanted to. He had left an acre of broken hearts in his wake…hers wasn’t so special. She glanced from face to face—slender redhead, petite blond, lush brunette…had one of them killed Jerry? Considering how many people Jerry had crossed personally and professionally, it could be anyone in this room…or a total stranger.

  She pushed the thoughts from her mind—she didn’t want to work up another migraine, not after her episode over the weekend. Julia’s caretaking notwithstanding, Felicia didn’t want to experience that kind of physical pain again.

  A suited man came out of a side door and walked to the front pew to shake hands with a man and woman in their sixties in the front ro
w. Felicia presumed they were Jerry’s parents. She recalled that they lived in a Chicago suburb. They had to be devastated, first by their son’s death, then doubly so by the manner in which he’d died. Her thoughts went to his personal effects. They were likely to find all manner of sex paraphernalia, maybe even drugs—maybe even nude pictures of herself—in his possession unless the police had already taken everything away.

  She put her thumbnail between her teeth and bit down, then remembered Jané’s nervous habit and clasped her hands in her lap.

  The minister started the ceremony by asking everyone to stand and bow their head in prayer. Since Jerry had been more devilish than saintly, she wondered what he would think of people praying in his honor. Knowing Jerry, he’d be much more concerned about the turnout than the ceremony itself, and what he was wearing, even if the casket was closed.

  It was the typical Manhattan memorial service—prayer, eulogy, message, prayer—all in less than thirty minutes. She didn’t shed a tear. It was easy to remain stoic in public…it was when she was by herself that the debilitating grief descended.

  But when she filed past the casket at the end of the ceremony, she wavered. She couldn’t stop picturing him inside the casket, a placid smile on his powdery face, his eyes closed forever, his hands crossed over his abdomen. A photo of Jerry sat on the head of the casket—tanned and beautiful, he was smiling into the camera. Her camera. She had taken the picture when they had gone to the shore for a long weekend, then she’d had it blown up and framed for his birthday. Her knees buckled slightly and she tripped. To her horror, she fell against the casket, rocking it on its pedestal as she ended up face-first in the god-awful roses.

  A collective gasp created a vacuum in the chapel, and even the organist missed a note. Felicia flailed for footing, and someone grasped her by the arm and righted her—Phil. “Are you going to be all right?” he murmured, patting her shoulder.

  It occurred to her that he—and probably everyone—thought that she’d thrown herself onto the casket. Indeed, people were looking at her as if she’d lost it. Her face flamed. “I’m fine,” she whispered.

  She wanted to evaporate, or at least run out of there, but she made her feet keep moving with the flow of people, toward Jerry’s parents. They were smartly dressed and polished, although their faces were lined with grief. In Jerry’s tall, distinguished father, she saw what Jerry would have looked like as an older man…if they had built a life together. When it was her turn to greet them, they shook her hand warily, and she had the crazy urge to explain herself…to admit that she’d hoped someday to be their daughter-in-law…to tell them how much she’d loved him. But they looked past her to the person behind her, and the moment was gone.

  Swallowing the lump in her throat, she made her feet move forward and down the aisle toward the exit, discreetly noting where Jané and Tallie were in the line. She’d wait outside the chapel; no one would think it unusual to see them together at the service. She wanted to check Tallie’s state of heart and Jané’s state of mind.

  Suze and Phil came out together and walked toward her. Felicia summoned a small smile—she still had to work with them.

  “This is so awful,” Suze said, holding a shredded tissue to her red nose.

  Felicia nodded, murmuring appropriate words.

  “How are you holding up?” Phil asked.

  Some of her irritation with him, she knew, was irritation with herself for sleeping with him. He was only trying to be nice, but right now she wanted to be left alone. “I’m fine,” she said, then decided to turn the conversation in the direction of business. “How’s the book coming, Suze?”

  Suze blinked, then gave a little nod. “Fine.”

  “We’re working on it together,” Phil added, telegraphing a message to Felicia with his eyes.

  They were back together…well, thank God for small miracles. The sooner they returned to firm professional footing, the sooner she could put what had transpired between her and Phil behind her. “There’s time, but you should be thinking about representation—if you’re going to stay with your agency or shop for another one.”

  Suze frowned. “Felicia, Jerry isn’t even in the ground.”

  Felicia bit her tongue. Suze wanted to lecture her about protocol? She wanted to scream at her that she was the one who had loved Jerry…. She was the one who was pained over the thought of Jerry going into the ground. “I’m only looking out for what’s best for you,” she said stiffly, then gave Suze a pointed look. “We need to move on.”

  Suze shifted uncomfortably, then pulled on Phil’s arm.

  He hesitated. “Felicia, are you sure you’re okay?”

  “No,” she snapped, then inhaled. “Phil, could I speak to you for a moment…privately?”

  He squirmed, but nodded. “Suze, why don’t you wait for me in the car?”

  Suze looked back and forth between them, but nodded and walked away.

  “Is this about the other night?” he asked. “Because I think we can both agree that it was a one-time event, best to be forgotten.”

  “Yes,” she agreed quickly. “But Phil…the file folder you left at my house—”

  “Yeah, what about it?”

  She looked him squarely in the eye. “There was a bloody fingerprint on the back.”

  His expression clouded. “Blood? Where did that come from?”

  “I was wondering the same thing.”

  He looked confused, then his eyes widened. “Wait a minute…you don’t think that I…Felicia…I didn’t kill Jerry.”

  Felicia pressed her lips together. “Where did the blood come from, Phil?”

  He shook his head slowly, then looked away, as if searching his memory. Suddenly he looked back, his expression clear as he held up his hand. “I remember. I got a bad paper cut on the folder, here between my finger and thumb.”

  Felicia glanced at the web of flesh, but the cut would have healed by now.

  He gave a little laugh. “Listen, Felicia, Jerry was an SOB, but I had no reason to kill him.”

  She searched his eyes and realized that he didn’t know about the affair between Suze and Jerry. “Right,” she said with a little smile, then sighed. “I’m sorry…my imagination has been in overdrive lately.”

  “It’s a tough day for all of us,” he said gently. “Everything is okay between us, right?”

  She nodded. “Right. Call me later this week to let me know how the revisions are going.”

  He nodded and walked toward Suze, who was standing next to their car.

  Felicia averted her gaze. God, what a mess she’d made of things. Several people she knew spoke as they passed, giving her pitying looks. She ignored them, scanning the milling crowd for Tallie and Jané, craving a cigarette for the first time in years. A police car and an official-looking dark sedan sat at the curb—escorts for the family, she supposed. Jané came out of the chapel and spotted Felicia, then made a beeline in her direction. Real subtle.

  The woman was a frenzied mess, her wiry hair on end, her garb looking like she’d been to a garage sale and worn it all away. She looked exasperated. “What’s with throwing yourself on the coffin?”

  Anger sparked in Felicia’s stomach. “I tripped.”

  “Yeah, whatever,” Jané said. “Have you heard anything new?”

  “Just what I read in the papers.”

  “I heard from a friend that Ron Springer might be involved.”

  “Apparently Ron is missing,” Felicia said. “And the police are looking for a connection.”

  “Well, at least it takes the pressure off us,” Jané said.

  Felicia frowned and glanced around. “Would you like to say that a little louder?”

  Jané glared and lifted her hand to gnaw on her nails.

  Felicia narrowed her eyes. “Jané, where exactly did you go after we left the hotel?”

  Jané stopped biting. “Why?”

  “Curiosity.”

  Jané spit out a bit of nail. “I went home. W
here did you go?”

  “Home.”

  Jané pursed her mouth. “Then I guess we’re in the same boat if either one of us needs an alibi.”

  Felicia had that uneasy feeling about Jané again. Had the woman gone back to the hotel room and finished off Jerry? There was no doubt the woman was…different. But while Jerry scheming to plagiarize from one of her authors was abominable, it wasn’t exactly worth killing over.

  “Have you talked to Tallie?” Jané asked.

  “Briefly, on Saturday. She’s worried about Ron, too.”

  Jané glanced at the police car sitting at the curb. “I’m still worried she’s going to spill the beans to her boyfriend.”

  “She won’t,” Felicia said, although she, too, was worried. “There she is now.” Felicia raised her hand to get Tallie’s attention. Tallie saw her and began to thread her way through the crowd, but Felicia saw the pinched expression on her friend’s face and experienced a momentary stab of panic. Had Tallie confided in her cop friend?

  “Uh-oh,” Jané said, staring at the curb.

  Felicia turned to see Detectives Riley and McKinley emerge from the dark car and head in their direction. A tall, stern-faced uniformed officer climbed out of the cruiser and followed the detectives. Felicia’s heart dropped into her stomach. This couldn’t be good. But as the men drew closer, she realized they weren’t focused on her or Jané…they were trying to intercept Tallie.

  Chapter 28

  Tallie made her way nervously toward Felicia and Jané, knowing they were going to freak out completely when she told them about the phone tap: Somewhere, someone knew what they’d done. It was time they went to the police and admitted everything. They were innocent; they had made a mistake by not coming forward immediately. But what worried her as much as anything was what Keith would think of her when he found out what she’d done.

  Then, as if she had conjured him up from thin air, she saw him in uniform striding toward her. Her heart jerked, belying the fact that it had been only a few hours since she’d seen him. They had indulged in an early-morning romp, then they’d taken a shower and left at the same time, with him extracting promises that she would be careful until he could get to the bottom of the wiretap. He’d said he would come by later to check out her business phone, then he’d said good-bye with a wink.