Heath rolled his eyes, furrowing his brow. “I’ve decided I think you look just fine without makeup—and so does every other woman on the planet.”
Really? He could see past her blotchy, sometimes dry skin and see “fine”? Fancy that. “And that’s lovely—but if I didn’t wear makeup, you’d have no job. So pay attention. Now, hold the lip liner like this.” Wanda put the pencil between her thumb and forefinger as an example. “Then you follow the outline of my lips—like this.” She did it without looking in the mirror.
“What if the woman you’re putting it on has no lips—like say, Linda?Your lips are really full. Not all women are so lucky.”
Wanda fought a raspy breath.That he thought her lips were full and that made her lucky, made her hormones do the Mexican hat dance. For the past five days they’d been in this small, small guest bathroom, going over his application techniques. Having him use her as his model, hovering over her while she caught glimpses of his well-muscled chest as his shirt gaped open, was killing her. His hands on her chin, the way he stuck the tip of his tongue out of the corner of his mouth when he was concentrating, would be the death of her. “You just have to work with what you’re presented with, and never make them feel anything less than beautiful for it. I did say this wouldn’t be easy, didn’t I? But you thought you had it all figured out. It was just selling goop, according to you. But it involves far more than you think. It isn’t just how much you can sell, it’s about making women feel good about themselves, and that takes a special kind of patience. So man up.” She wiped off the liner with a tissue and handed him the pencil, smiling. “Your turn.”
Heath leaned forward, his face directly aligned with hers, concentration written all over it. He placed a thumb by the corner of her lip and began to stroke the pencil over her mouth. His breath fanned her face, his white teeth gleamed under the large bulbs over her medicine cabinet, his tongue did that thing it did when he focused. Wanda found herself closing her eyes, luxuriating in the calloused touch of his thumb, swallowing hard when he brushed it over her lip to wipe away the excess lip liner. Her nostrils flared at the musky scent of his cologne, her lips parted of their own volition, memories of their one and only almost kiss flashed in vivid Technicolor in her mind.
When he used the brush applicator to blend the lipstick with the liner, his knuckles grazed her cheek, and a groan, unbidden and totally unavoidable, escaped her lips. “Am I hurting you?”
Hurt-schmurt. “Nuh-uh,” she managed to squeak from the back of her throat. Wanda clenched her eyes shut, fighting the rising heat in her chest that always seemed to make her heart jump whenever Heath was near her.
She felt rather than saw him take a step back. Her eyes popped open to find him doing the stare thing. “How do I look?”
He cleared his throat. “Good. You look really, really good,” he responded with a strange, husky quality to his voice. Instantly, he looked away, his eyes straying to his Rolex. “I’d better go—it’s almost three thirty. I have some things I have to do.”
Wanda cocked her head at him, but didn’t ask the question that had been burning on the tip of her tongue every single day for five days. Where the hell did he have to be and why was he always in such a rush to get there? He left every day at four thirty on the dot with the exception of today. He must have a girlfriend. But she didn’t want to think about that.
Wanda rose, tripping on the bath mat at her feet. In the small space of her guest bathroom, she fell right into the hard wall of Heath’s chest. Her fingers immediately gripped at him to keep herself from falling, but when her hands fell palms flat on his chest, her breasts crushed against the solid muscle, her legs gave way. His arms, strong, supportive, bloody hard as a rock, encircled her, bracing her against him as they fell into the wall. Wanda’s fingers curled into his shirt, allowing her to feel the merest hint of what was beneath.
The press of his hips to hers through her thin pencil skirt told her he felt the same chemistry she’d thought was only something she was experiencing.
’Cause it was all right there between those hard thighs—waving hello from all parts tropical.
Holy way bigger than anything George had ever packed.
She could feel every nuance of the rigid outline, and while it wasn’t going to make her run screaming from the room, it definitely had more impact . . .
Did they really come bigger than George’s? She’d often wondered if he’d been full of shit when he’d told her size didn’t matter. Maybe it didn’t, but it sure felt like it just might. Her sexual experience only extended to George, and clearly, she’d been on the short bus.
Literally.
Heath hauled her upward by her upper arms, because it would seem she was sinking. Her head fell back so she could begin to apologize, but his eyes, filled with emotions she was unsure of, halted her words. His breathing became uneven, their chests bouncing against one another’s in a rhythm Wanda could actually hear.
“It’s three thirty. I have to go,” he said, but didn’t move.The stillness between them mesmerized her into remaining immobile.
She stammered. “O-okay. Then go.”
“I’m going.”
“No, you’re still here,” she whispered. Believe it—he hadn’t gone anywhere.
“Now I’m really going.” Again, he didn’t move, but then, neither did she.
Wanda gulped audibly. “Bye.”
“Bye.”
Neither of them let go. “When y-you say good-bye, that means you follow it up with l-leaving.”
“And I’m going to do that. Soon.”
“Define soon,” she said, hating the squeak in her voice.
“Right now.” He dropped her abruptly, righting her with hands that barely touched her, then he slipped out of the bathroom on steady feet. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” he called from the living room.
She stood there for a moment, makeup scattered everywhere, her pulse skittering unevenly, her body flush with zinging heat, gathering her wits. She just didn’t know if she had it in her to see him tomorrow.
But there was only one tomorrow left—and then she wouldn’t see him anymore.
He’d be certified, and she could resign from Bobbie-Sue.
And right now, she just didn’t want to think about it.
So there.
Her phone rang, sharp and jarring. She managed to uproot her feet and make a dash for it just in time to see on the caller ID it was from her doctor’s office. Her hand shook when she reached for it, then pulled back, coming to rest at a tight fist by her side.
She knew what they wanted. She knew what they wanted each time they’d called in the past weeks. Tears began to swim in her eyes, but she swiped them with an angry finger.
They wanted to help her prepare to die. To make her comfortable—maybe try and talk her into some end-stage hocus-pocus like chemo or surgery to prolong the inevitable.
She didn’t want to prolong her death.
She just wanted to live.
“Oh, sir. Please say this is all a nightmare I’ll soon find myself awakened from.”
Heath and Archibald stood on the curb. The cold early evening air grew chillier as Arch gave him a scathing look.
Heath slapped him on the back uttering a good-natured chuckle. “Don’t be so negative, Arch. It’s cash, my friend. This means tomorrow, instead of waiting in line at the soup kitchen for lunch, you’re getting a Happy Meal, and you know as well as I do, even if you call it ‘food designed for primates’ out loud, you secretly love a good Chicken McNugget—with honey mustard sauce—and don’t tell me you don’t. Now tell me that’s not livin’ large.”
“Sir?”
“Uh-huh?”
“If I’m seeing this correctly, your car has a rather large feminine protection product, with wings—wings?—sprawled across its side with the logo ‘The Best Ever . . . Period’ on it in massive, neon letters. Might I ask what led you to this newest level of degradation?”
Heath rubbed his fi
ngers together under Arch’s hawk-like nose. “Money, Arch. Cold, hard cash. Almost a grand. Until my first Bobbie-Sue paycheck comes in, it’ll help feed us. Maybe we’ll even buy some clothes so we don’t have to keep finding creative ways to wash what we have on our backs. It’s not enough to rent a place to live, but it’s definitely better than what we had before— which was squat.This here”—he spread his arms wide—“is called wrapping.The company wraps the car, and I advertise the product. Advertising feminine protection products pays higher than say, an energy drink.” Heath slapped the hood of the car with pride. That the feminine protection pad on the side of his car looked like a big, white bird taking flight, and took up half the driver and passenger side doors, didn’t trouble him in the least.
Archibald’s face, lined with wrinkles in the waning sunlight, was thoughtful. “A thousand dollars, you say? To advertise feminine protection products on your vehicle.The world has gone mad and taken you with it.”
“Aw, c’mon, old man—it means you can have whatever you want for dinner tonight. I bet you won’t mind the wings so much when you can have a cheesy stuffed gordita.”
Archibald perked. “It’s a gordita supreme, Heathcliff, and really? Whatever I want?”
“Yep.You’re warming to it, aren’t you?”
“Does it mean I have to actually get into the car with wings to go get whatever I want?”
Heath popped open the passenger side door, sweeping his arm wide. “Yep. After you.”
Archibald slid into the car with a stoic expression and a slump of his defeated shoulders. Several people passing along the sidewalk stopped to stare for a moment, making him slide farther down the seat. “Oh, Heathcliff,” he groaned.
Heath fought the impulse to flip these gawkers the bird as he, too, got into the car. He wasn’t ashamed to do what he had to do. A grand was a grand. Then the paycheck from Bobbie-Sue, and it meant a deposit on an apartment. Okay, so it wouldn’t be in the best neighborhood, but it would be theirs, and they wouldn’t have to show up at the shelter by five every night to ensure they had a cot.
Now that was livin’ large.
He looked over at Archibald and grinned, hoping his optimism pierced Archibald’s pessimism. “Look, Arch, I’m our only hope at this point, and you damned well know it.You’ve had no luck finding a job—nowadays, you’re past retirement age, and I hate to say it, but it’s working against you. You shouldn’t have to find a job, anyway—you should be playing golf and chess with your buddies in a retirement village. But now, I’ve got one. It may not be what I’d have chosen if I had my way, but it’s making us some money. If Wanda can live off her Bobbie-Sue paycheck, so can we.”
Heath shifted positions, facing Arch head on. “I mean, do you really think I want to sell makeup? I don’t think I can tell you how sick to death I am of color wheels and auras and all the other crazy shit these women do to earn a living. I really, really don’t give one whit about what color lipstick these women wear or whether it matches their outfits. Call me a slug for saying that, but it’s true. I’m a man—we don’t care how you wrap the package, just that we get to unwrap it. I’m doing my best to be sensitive and open to these women and their makeup crises so I won’t be labeled a Neanderthal, but it isn’t easy. It’s just friggin’ makeup as far as I’m concerned. I will say, I admire them. Most of them. Some of them? Not so much. Some of them, like that batshit crazy Linda, are vipers.”
“All but the fair Wanda, sir? You’ve been very creative in keeping yourself in her presence.You speak fondly of her oft. I take it she’s not, ahem, batshit crazy.”
Heath shot him a warning glance. That moment in Wanda’s bathroom was seared into his brain. Her almost too slender body pressed so close to his you couldn’t have gotten a paper clip between them played back in his memory. Yeah, he hadn’t been thrilled being left with Linda, but he was even less thrilled that he wouldn’t see Wanda anymore. A week ago he didn’t think he wanted to be involved with anyone because he was in no position to wine and dine. This week had brought hope.
He didn’t plan on Wanda dumping him like she had, but the dumping had brought an odd feeling of losing something he couldn’t explain why he needed.
So he’d hatched the plan to pretend he needed help with his technique. It’d happened somewhere between seeing Wanda’s sweet, round ass leave Bobbie-Sue and sticky lips Linda laying one on him. He got the technique—totally. He could blend at a hundred paces—he just dug doing it in Wanda’s bathroom where she didn’t have a choice but to be close to him.
But right now, he wanted to keep this bizarre desire to be near her to himself and plan how he was going to add getting her to go out with him to his roster of things to accomplish. “She’s not up for discussion—what is, is our situation. It’s the only job I could find, because neither of us are skilled at any twenty-first-century work, and we sat around on our asses way too long, thinking we had an eternity of riches before us. If we have to supplement with crazy crap like wrapping the old Yugo, well, I’m not ashamed to do what needs to be done to get us out of this hole.” Heath thumbed his finger over his shoulder at the brick building behind them.
Arch reached up and slapped Heath on the back. “I know you’ve made sacrifices for the greater good, Heathcliff. After what’s happened, I’ll always be grateful that you’ve kept me by your side—degradation and humiliating ordeals aside. But I have a question. Will you always sell cosmetics? Surely there are other things you’d enjoy doing for work.”
Heath nodded. “I have a plan, Arch. I want to get a degree, go to night school, but degrees cost money, and for now, hawking lip gloss is what will give us the helping hand we need. I can’t even think about much else until we at least have a place to live.”
Archibald gave him a curt nod, erecting himself in the seat to find more people staring at him curbside. He rolled down the window, sticking the upper half of his body through it. “What? Have you never seen a feminine protection product?Young woman over there, do put your eyes back in your head. Surely you’re familiar with such products!”
Heath leaned over him, sending an apologetic look to the poor woman Archibald had verbally attacked. Heath grabbed the older man’s collar and dragged him back inside. “Chill, Arch,” he commanded, rolling the window back up.
Archibald sniffed, harrumphing as he brushed at his formal black jacket with a brisk hand, his round cheeks flushed. “Gawkers!” he yelled through the closed window, flipping his middle finger at them, spittle flying from his lips to land on the windshield.
Heath had to fight to keep from roaring his laughter. “Archibald Crane. Did you just flip that lady the bird?”
“I did, sir, and I’d do it again given the chance.Where has all the class in the world gone, I ask you? To stare is rude!”
“I hate to tell ya this, Arch, but I think, at least for the time being, we’re going to be subjected to a lot of staring.We do have a feminine protection pad with wings on the side of our car. So get over it and think about the cheesy gordita instead.”
Archibald cleared his throat and breathed deeply, his composure returning. “You’re right, sir. I’ve completely forgotten my manners. Carry on.” He rolled his hand in the familiar way he’d always done when he departed a room.
Heath turned on the ignition and headed down the street toward the nearest Taco Bell. “Life doesn’t get any better than this, Arch. We have a ride, and now we have money to buy food. It can only be downhill from here.”
“I will admit, it beats the slop they call food at the soup kitchen.”
Heath’s chuckle filled the small car. “That’s the spirit, Arch. Won’t be long now before we have a place to hang our hats.” And maybe a place to bringWanda, his dark side said.
Yeah. Maybe.
He was beginning to see a future—it was dim, it definitely wasn’t stable, but a flickering light at the end of the tunnel had begun to come into view. In that light, he saw himself spending more time with Wanda.
&nbs
p; If she’d just let him.
He knew she was hesitant whenever she was around him, but the why of it wasn’t clear to him. She was divorced, and the asshole had cheated on her—that made for gun-shy. Totally understandable, but according to her, she was over it. No matter how many times they’d been in close proximity this week while he applied that dumb makeup she didn’t need anyway, she’d firmly slapped up a wall between them, bringing a screeching halt to his lustful thoughts.
Each time he figured he’d just come out and ask her about her personal life, if she was dating anyone, she got that sort of freaked look in her eyes—almost like she knew he was going to move in for the kill. So he’d eased off, but today was enough for him to decide in this new life he’d been given, he wasn’t going to waste a moment of it, and he wanted to get to know Wanda. Time wasn’t an eternal thing for him anymore. His nature was to be direct in all situations, but he felt the necessity to use kid gloves with Wanda.
Whatever was up with Wanda, it wasn’t because she wasn’t attracted to him. He had some residual perceptions left over from his old life, and he felt her awareness of him. Loud and clear. She wasn’t his superior anymore, if that had ever made a difference anyway. She was fair game—and he wanted his playing piece.
But you’ll have a lot of splainin’ to do if you get involved with the pretty lady, Heath, his conscience reminded him.
Yeah. There was that. That’s exactly why he’d halted what he’d come close to making happen in the bathroom. Because she needed to know about him and his circumstances before they went any further.
He’d have a lot of explaining to do even if it weren’t Wanda he wanted to be involved with.
He’d have a lot of explaining to do, period.
CHAPTER 8
“So before we go anywhere, I have an announcement to make.” Marty smiled coquettishly, perching herself on the arm of Wanda’s cream-colored sofa. Her face had a healthy glow to it, and her eyes were sparkling a deeper blue tonight. “And in no way do I want this to detract from our mission—which is to find out about this Heath guy. But I have to tell you guys or I might explode—literally and potentially, figuratively.” She plopped Muffin, decked out in her fuzzy pink sweater with the words Bitch In Heat written in rhinestones, on the floor. Muff took off after Menusha, yapping and snarling.
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