by Dawn Atkins
“I can do that. No problem.”
She couldn’t quite get herself to leave. “It’s the Milford, Steiner and Littlefield prints, some catalog stuff, and the Simone and Balistero proofs.” She forced the words over her desert-dry throat.
“No problem,” he said again, his eyes locking on hers. Get naked and get up here. She could just swear that’s what he meant.
“That’d be great,” she said. She could see herself moving her hands slowly down his strong back, over his round backside, thick thighs and tight calves, shiny with oil, the curly hair sparkling in the gold light of the warm room.
Even the bottoms of his feet looked delectable. Broad but with a graceful instep. She was drawn again to his backside. She felt like weeping with longing.
Rick’s eyes closed.
Samantha’s eyes closed, too, and a lovely fantasy flitted across her brain. She was naked, coated in Mona’s massage oil, slithering all over Rick’s back, then rolling him over so they were face-to-face and as slippery as seals who hadn’t had sex in a really, really long time.
His hands were on her breasts, sliding down her stomach and down…there. Her sex, which felt like a tiny water balloon, filled and heavy, ready to burst.
“Uhhh…”
Who groaned? In horror, Samantha realized it was her. She’d moaned out loud. Damn. She backed up, caught herself on the counter, bumping the volume knob on the CD player. Enya’s honey voice roared out.
“Sorry, sorry.” She turned it down. “My stomach’s been bothering me.” She moaned again, rubbing her tummy. As if anyone could mistake that aroused sound for indigestion.
“I’ve got time after this if you need a massage, Sammi,” Mona said, laughter in her voice.
“No. No. I should go….”
“It feels as good as it looks,” Rick said, his voice a rumble of relaxed pleasure. Didn’t this get to him? She felt as though they were playing pretend-this-doesn’t-excite-you chicken and she’d just lost.
“So, turn over, Rubber Muscles Man,” Mona said, “so I can do your front.” She patted him lightly on the shoulder.
Rick frowned. “I, um, think one side’s enough.”
Mona paused, then something registered. “Okay. Sure.” She looked straight at Samantha. Another beat and Samantha figured it out, too. Rick had an erection. Because of her? She had to hope so. Mona had told her that once in a while men got hard-ons on her table. She ignored it, sticking strictly to the “civilized” muscle groups, and it was never a big deal.
“We’ll let you dress,” Mona said to Rick, and motioned for Samantha to leave with her.
“Look what you did to that poor man,” she said as soon as they were outside the door. “And you with your moan.”
“It just slipped out.”
“He likes you.”
“How do you know?”
“He told me so. And, hell, I could see he had you in three Kama Sutra poses in his mind just saying hello.”
She moaned again. “But it’s no use. He has a girlfriend.” Her disappointment swelled, filling her chest with pain.
“He told you that?”
“Yes. After I threw myself at him.”
“You threw yourself at him? I’m proud of you, girl. I never thought you’d have the nerve.” Mona hugged her.
“But so what? He’s taken.”
Mona considered the idea, tapping her lip. “I didn’t get that vibe. Maybe they’re about to break up.”
“He was very firm.”
“Oh, he was firm, all right.”
Samantha slugged her on the arm, then shook her head, staring at the door behind which Rick was covering his gorgeous, oil-slick body. She sighed and changed the subject. “So, what’s happening with you and Mr. Regular?”
“He’s still regular,” she sighed. “I have to practically pour him out of the shop every day, he’s so loose. He must be doing great at rugby.”
“He’s not coming here because of rugby, Mona. Give the guy a chance. He’s decent, he’s kind. He’s loyal.”
“So is a beagle, but I’m not dating one.”
“How can you give me advice about men when you’re locked up as tight as…what? The trapezius on a gymnast! That tight.”
“Ooh, muscle names. Excellent, Sammi.”
“See, I listen to you. Now listen to me.”
“It’s not professional to date a client.”
“So send him to another therapist.”
“I make him feel good, so he has a crush on me. Big deal.”
“He brings you lunch, he listens to your problems and he tells you his. That’s a relationship, hon.”
Before she could protest further, Rick emerged, dressed, but rumpled and pink in the face. “Thanks, Mona,” he said. He twisted his head from side to side, testing his neck. “I haven’t had this much mobility in a while.” He shrugged his shoulders. “Everything’s looser.”
Then his eyes snagged Samantha’s. Not quite everything. “Thanks for paying for this,” he said.
“My pleasure.” And her agony.
“You were right. I hardly know my own name.”
It’s Rick, Rick, oh, Rick. “I’m glad you enjoyed it,” she managed to say. At least she’d gotten a new fantasy for her checklist—oiled-up, naked massage. She sighed. She’d better start looking for a man to fulfill her fantasies before she was tempted to jump Rick with the nearest quart of Mazola.
“THIS IS RICK WEST, calling for Bedroom Eyes Boudoir Photography. We recently sent you a packet?”
“Yes, I recall that,” Wendy of Wendy’s Weddings replied.
“That’s terrific. We think that tasteful, intimate photographs would enhance your clients’ wedding experience.” Rick couldn’t believe how easily the words boudoir and intimate rolled off his tongue today. He could practically feel the testosterone draining away. “We’d be happy to draft a proposal and meet with you.”
At least Samantha believed in it, so it wasn’t completely stupid. He looked over at her, bent over the scheduling computer. His gaze snagged on the gold locket resting between her breasts, then shifted to the creamy swells that rose and fell with each breath. He craved the sight of her like a cold beer on a hot day. From here he could easily inhale her perfume and hair and warm skin.
He could still hear that raw moan in Mona’s room. He knew how she felt. On top of that, he’d had the royal humiliation of the women knowing he’d stacked wood right there on the table.
Some undercover cop he was.
“Huh? Uh…Oh, you’re interested?” Staring at Samantha’s chest, he’d missed Wendy’s response. “We’d be happy to do that,” he said, recovering. “Absolutely. When can we meet?” He pushed his chair over to Samantha, making the counter shift a little. He’d have to fix the damn thing one of these days.
“How interested is she?” Samantha whispered.
He shot her a thumb way up.
She silently clapped her hands, then bent to click through the scheduler while he called out dates, the locket dangling before his eyes.
When he hung up from Wendy, Samantha beamed. “If we score this account, you should get a commission.”
She’d told him hooking up with wedding planners was a key component of her marketing plan, and this was the first successful callback he’d made since he’d started working for her four days ago.
“I’m just doing what you pay me for.” Except his real job included eavesdropping on every phone call, snapping shots of passing perps, assessing every word she said for lies.
Screw it. Right now, the Wendy’s Weddings meeting felt more important than a closed case and he didn’t care what that said about how good a cop he was.
Samantha was adding a note to the appointment, keying in the address, and he sat there, watching her, unable to move away. He zeroed in on that damnable locket, hanging in the air over her chest. It was the size of a silver dollar, carved with leaves and flowers. “You wear that a lot.” He braced it against his palm.
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br /> “Every day.” She backed away so the locket slipped off his palm and bumped softly against her breastbone. Whatever was inside, she didn’t want to talk about. “I’d better get busy on the proposal.”
“Sure,” he said and found himself staring at where she’d gone for long seconds after she’d disappeared.
The front door buzzed and he turned back to see Valerie standing there. “Sammi busy?” She looked excited.
“She’s in her office.”
She rushed past him and he waited a few seconds before following her to see what was going on.
“The stuff’s here, Sammi,” he heard her say. “I want you to sample it before I agree to sell it.”
Sample it? He doubted it was anything illegal, but he had to be certain. He listened in the hall, waiting for the women to exit out the service door, then followed, cracking the door in time to see them step behind a white panel truck, parked beside the Dumpster—away from prying eyes or just for shade?
A woman opened the back door, which blocked all three from his view. He figured out a question to ask in case they heard him approach, then moved silently toward the truck.
“If you’re going to sell this stuff, Val, don’t waste any on me,” Samantha was saying when he got close enough to hear.
“There’s plenty more where that came from.” The seller.
Paper rustled, then Samantha said, “Mmm.”
His next step crunched gravel, so he knew he’d have to make his presence known. With the fleeting hope he wouldn’t catch Samantha with a coke spoon up her nose, he rounded the van in time to see her wrap her lips around the head of a penis on a stick. It was Pepto-Bismol pink and she bit the tip clear off.
Ouch. He resisted the urge to protect his ’nads.
Beside her, Valerie nibbled on a cream-colored breast with a pink nipple, also on a stick. The seller was holding out a small pastry box.
“Hey, Rick,” Samantha said, chewing slowly, holding up what was left of the cock. “Care for a taste?”
He raised his hands in polite refusal. “I’m good.”
“You sure? Belgian chocolate. Yum.”
The sight of her pink tongue curling around that shaft made him go weak in the knees.
“What do you think?” Valerie asked him, picking up a plump breast from the box and tilting it for him to examine. “For bachelorette parties and bridal showers? Would you be interested?”
“Me? No, but…” He shrugged.
“I think it’s a great idea,” Samantha said, snapping off two solid inches of the cock pop, making him wince.
“White, milk or dark chocolate,” the seller said, pointing at the items. “The pink is cherry-flavored. We offer breasts and cocks, of course, but also pussies. Small, medium or large. And hard-candy versions of everything.”
“Oh, you mean suckers?” Samantha said, looking right at him. “All-day suckers?”
“Yeah,” the confectioner said, not even cracking a smile. “We rotate the stock so you never have stale product, but the hard-candy pops have a longer shelf life.”
“Wouldn’t want a penis to go stale, would we?” Samantha asked.
“God, no,” Valerie said, getting into it. “And an out-of-date pussy…unforgivable.”
Rick shook his head while the girls laughed.
The candy maker rolled her eyes. Real mature.
“Did you need something, Rick?” Samantha asked.
“Uh, yeah. Media cards. Extras?”
“In the top drawer in my desk,” Samantha said. “Sure you don’t want a boob to go?” She held one out, its pink nipple shaped like a Hershey’s Kiss.
“I’m fine. You just enjoy.”
He headed back, smiling, and relieved, too. If drugs were changing hands at Mirror, Mirror, they weren’t doing it out of a panel truck filled with edible genitalia. He should be disappointed, of course, because the sooner he found something wrong, the sooner they’d close the case.
Mark was bringing him the report on the bust at Moons at the end of the day, so that might suggest a lead. And next week, he would talk to Sylvestri’s bookkeeper Lester Tabor.
But the truth was he was relieved that Samantha appeared to be innocent of any crime. He wanted her to be innocent.
Way too much.
SAMANTHA AIMED HER JETTA for home, biting off the tip of the all-day cherry penis she’d been sucking for Rick’s benefit as she backed out the door. Cherry flavor exploded in her mouth and she smiled, remembering the way Rick had stared, jaw hanging, as she performed a few racy tongue moves. He was deliciously shockable.
A pang of desire stung her again. Why did he have to be taken? She could so easily picture him in her chocolate-dripped-on-bodies fantasy. Butterscotch, too. Maybe an entire hot-fudge sundae. Think of the whipped cream…and what they could do with the cherry on top.
She’d been waiting for the right guy to act out her fantasies. And Rick would be perfect.
But he was taken, dammit.
Her fingers stuck to the steering wheel—cherry drips—so she felt for her purse for a tissue. It wasn’t on the seat beside her. Or on the back-seat floorboards. Hell, she’d been so busy backing out the door doing her lick-fest, she’d only grabbed her keys, forgetting her handbag altogether.
Damn. She whipped into a U-turn and headed back to Bedroom Eyes, blinking against the glare from the setting sun. The traffic had thinned and the air was cool in the fall dusk. Rick should be gone by now—he’d been locking up when she’d left.
Except as she turned onto the block, she could see his Jeep was still there. A guy in a beat-up white sedan parked beside him was handing Rick a folder. She slowed, then waited for Rick to drive off. It would ruin the effect if he saw her hurrying back in for her purse.
When he was gone, she pulled into the lot and parked a few spaces away from the sedan. The driver was sitting there talking on a cell phone.
When she stepped out to leave a few minutes later, though, he was changing a tire. And not happy about it, judging from the swearing he was doing.
“Flat tire?” she asked.
“Yeah.” Then he saw her and blanched, as though she’d caught him doing something terrible. “Yes. Rolled over a nail, I guess.” He struggled to his feet, dropping the wrench, wiping his hands on his pants.
“It’s all the construction we’ve got going on around here. I can let you inside to call a service station if you need to.”
“No thanks. I’ve got it.”
“I saw you talking with Rick. You’re a friend?”
“A friend?” Tension flickered in his face. “Sure. Yeah.”
“Rick works for me. I’m Samantha Sawyer.” She extended a hand.
He started to shake it, then looked at his dusty palm. “Sorry.”
“And you are?”
“Mark. Trudeau. Rick’s friend, Mark Trudeau.” He said it in a strange way. Nervous guy, it seemed.
“Pleased to meet you, Rick’s friend, Mark Trudeau.”
“Likewise. I’ve heard a lot about you from Rick.”
“You have?” What had Rick told him?
“Sure. It’s all good. Rick likes his job.”
“I’m glad. I was afraid he’d be bored.”
“No, no. He’s having a great time.”
“That’s good then.”
But she could tell there was more he knew or wanted to say. Had Rick mentioned the kiss? Maybe not if Mark knew Rick’s girlfriend. What was she like? Samantha wondered.
Silence fell and Mark rubbed his hands on his slacks. “I’d better get back to this.” He motioned at the tire. “My wife’s expecting me.”
“Let me at least get you something cold to drink,” she said and went inside for a Dr Pepper. By the time she returned, he was putting on the new tire.
“Thanks,” he said, taking a long swallow.
“So, you know Rick well?”
“Well enough.” He didn’t seem to want to say more, but her curiosity was strong.
; “How long have you known him?”
“I guess three, four years.” He paused, noticed her interest and continued. “Yeah, he’s over to the house a lot. He likes my wife’s cooking. And my kids. Gets into the video games with my son.”
“Does his girlfriend come, too?” Might be a clue to how serious they were. Valerie hadn’t picked up a “taken” vibe from him, after all. “Does she like video games?”
“His girlfriend?” As soon as the words were out of the guy’s mouth, regret rushed across his face.
Mark didn’t know about her. Which meant one thing. “Rick doesn’t have a girlfriend, does he, Mark?”
Mark shrugged. “Could be new. Rick’s a private guy.”
“I don’t think that’s it.” Not at all. Come to think of it, Samantha had been the one who’d mentioned someone else and there’d been a flicker of confusion before Rick had jumped on it with apparent relief. Why had he lied? What did he think she was going to do? Try to have his love child? Get her old-fashioned parents to arrange a shotgun wedding?
“Me and my big fat mouth.” Mark looked physically ill.
“I won’t tell him you blew his cover. Don’t worry.” She tried to laugh. “I don’t get why he thought he had to lie.”
“Rick keeps people at arm’s length.”
“Maybe.” He’d literally done that after the kiss—held her away, both arms extended, fighting her and temptation.
“I’m no shrink, but I’m sure it’s—what do they call it?—fear of intimacy? Gloria and me are always after him about getting involved with someone.”
“I guess I can see that.”
“Rick’s a straight arrow. Lotta rules of conduct. No hooking up at work for sure.”
“I bet that’s it. Yeah.”
“It’s not personal, I know that. He likes you, like I said. Speaks highly of your work and your integrity and…you know….”
“Sure. I know.”
Relieved, Mark got busy with his tire again.
She knew Rick was attracted to her, so it wasn’t that. Maybe he thought she’d make too much of the sex. She should have been more clear. Maybe if she’d said straight out, I want sex and only sex, she’d be in bed with him right now, instead of listening to his buddy cook up excuses for him.
