Her face was red, her eyes wide and dark. “Fine. I’ll do it. For him, not you. I need all the registration information.”
Opening the car door, he grabbed the folder off the seat. “Here’s all the paperwork. I appreciate your help.”
She snatched it from his hand, turned, marched back into the house, slamming the front door. Without the leaf blower to cover it, the noise reverberated through the neighborhood.
What the fuck? He didn’t want to sound like one of those guys around the coffee pot bashing his ex-wife, but Bettina had always been moody. Her moods had sometimes lasted days, even months. Divorce hadn’t changed much. Last month she’d been fine; this month she was making up for it. Maybe it was having Rafe underfoot for the summer. Except that he spent the mornings in football camp. Whatever. Women and teenagers were beyond him.
But Lola, now she was a whole other issue. He wanted to call her. Now. But she’d have the twins hanging around.
Instead, he sent her a text, a dirty, filthy, sexy text. And he felt a hell of a lot better.
15
“I’VE NEVER SEEN SO MUCH STUFF.” LOLA GAWKED.
It was Saturday evening, and she and Charlotte were wandering through the relatively empty lingerie department at Macy’s. Or perhaps it only felt empty because it was so vast and had only five customers, including her and Charlotte. She found it utterly overwhelming, racks upon racks of bras, panties, stockings, garter belts, body shapers in all sizes, colors, styles, and brands. How did anyone actually choose?
A young blond woman at the counter asked the clerk for a particular designer, and, as Lola watched completely amazed, the salesgirl led her right to the rack. She wasn’t sure how even the clerks could know where everything was.
Charlotte held up a leopard print thong. “This is cute.”
Lola agreed. Animal prints always had sex appeal. “I’ve already got a couple of pairs. But they’d look great on you.”
Charlotte shuddered and put them back. “I can’t afford Macy’s unless I’m looking in the 75-percent-off clearance rack.”
That’s where Lola usually looked, too. But she wasn’t shopping to buy. She was looking, wondering, fantasizing. What would Gray like her to wear? She fingered the strap of a sexy red demibra overlaid with black lace. The cups were far too big for her, even in the smallest size. She didn’t want to emphasize her lack of proportion.
She moved on to a rack of neon boy shorts.
Charlotte put a hand in front of her face. “Oh my God, they hurt my eyes.”
Lola wasn’t the shopping type, going to the mall only when she absolutely had to. When she was younger, different story, but now, there were too many choices, too much stuff she simply didn’t need. She was only here because she’d taken the boys to dinner at Chili’s, which was at the mall. She hadn’t felt like cooking. She’d invited Charlotte to pay her back for the other night when she’d done the baby-sitting—though God forbid Lola should actually say that word in reference to the twins. Of course, the twins had wanted some arcade time before heading back home. So she and Charlotte were shopping.
Lola examined a pair of bikinis with a pretty pink flower at a strategic point. She didn’t like bikinis.
“Way too boring for you, darling,” Charlotte drawled.
Lola preferred a thong and no panty line.
The day had been kind of a bust. She’d gone to the plant all ready to confront George. Or at least test things out. He wasn’t in. It was probably the first weekend he and Frank had taken off in weeks. Now she’d have to tackle him on Monday when everyone was there.
Then, of course, there’d been Gray. He hadn’t even acknowledged her on the football field, as if the last thing he’d wanted to do was introduce her to his son. After that scene at his house the other night, she understood why, but that didn’t stop the odd ache that had surrounded her heart. Not good. She wasn’t supposed to get achy about the man. She wasn’t supposed to get her feelings hurt.
She hadn’t told Charlotte any of that. She hadn’t told Charlotte about the phone call or the flowers or her problem with George. She hadn’t even said she was looking at underwear that would impress Gray. And Charlotte didn’t ask. She was waiting her out, knowing everything would eventually flow forth.
“Ooh, I found the perfect thing.” Charlotte held up a thong with a small ruffle along the back elastic. Made of sheer lace, it was practically see-through.
Yes. Gray would love that. He’d pull it off her with his teeth. Reaching out, she flipped over the ticket. And damn near had a heart attack. “For a scrap of lace?” she gasped.
“It’s cheap for hot sex that lasts all night long,” Charlotte countered.
“I couldn’t.”
“Of course you can. It’s only money. And when was the last time you paid more than a couple of dollars for panties?”
“Never.” But Lola took the small hanger, stroked the ruffle, put her fingers behind the lace, and saw that it was indeed see-through.
“Live a little,” Charlotte whispered, the naughty little devil on her shoulder.
She was thinking, she was deciding, she was almost there—
Her phone chirped with an incoming text message. It was probably the twins saying they were done. She hung the panties back on the rack, then retrieved her phone from her purse.
It was not Harry or William. Her heart beat faster. It was Gray. She glanced up at Charlotte, who was looking at her with a knowing gaze.
“Go ahead,” Charlotte mouthed as if Gray might hear. “Read it.”
Lola opened the message and absorbed his words.
I want to tie you facedown on my bed, blindfold you, and take you with your legs spread wide for me.
A flush heated her entire body. He’d written a full sentence, no shortcuts. As if he were whispering in her ear.
“Oh, you must tell me what that says,” Charlotte hissed.
Lola hugged the phone to her chest in case Charlotte tried to grab it.
“Tell”—Charlotte narrowed her eyes—“or I will never speak to you again.”
Lola didn’t believe her, but she told Charlotte anyway. “He wants to tie me facedown on his bed and have his wicked way with me.”
Charlotte put a hand to her chest. “Oh, I like this guy. He is so hot. And I bet he’ll do it, too, the next chance he gets.”
He would. He’d already tied her up and taken her on the couch.
“Okay, type back that I say he should put a pillow beneath your hips and—”
“Charlotte,” Lola snapped.
She shrugged. “Okay, fine, spoilsport.” She grabbed the see-through ruffled thong off the rack. “Take a picture of this and ask him if he wants you to wear it for him.”
“You’re joking.”
Charlotte sighed. “Clearly you are not used to sexting.”
“Sexting?” she echoed.
“Sex texting. Now take a picture and send it to him.” Charlotte extended her arm, and fluttered the hanger like a matador waving his red cape at a bull.
Lola’s pulse raced as she pushed the camera button and framed it up, only the tips of Charlotte’s fingers showing. She snapped the picture and hit Send, then typed a brief message.
Shall I buy this for you?
He was quick to reply.
Do I have to wear them or will U?
She laughed.
“What?” Charlotte hissed.
“He wants to know if I’m going to make him wear them.”
“Oh yes, I really, really like him. Tell him he has to wear them for you, of course.”
She could actually imagine all that masculinity trapped behind see-through lace. “Oh my,” she said on just a wisp of breath.
“Oh my is right. Now tell him.”
She didn’t question that she was taking pictures of lingerie and sexting like a teenager—though she could only hope that teenagers did not sext; they were too young. It was fun, it was sexy. It took the edge off an otherwise not-so-great day
. She typed:
What size are you?
Extra extra large.
Lola read back his answer, and she and Charlotte laughed together.
Then a second text followed the first before she had a chance to reply.
Buy his and hers.
They went into peals of laughter. The salesclerk glanced up. A woman six racks over turned their way. On the other side of the cash register, a man—balding, midforties, a bit of a paunch—examined a pair of silky boy shorts. She hoped they were for his wife or his girlfriend, but after what Gray wrote, she couldn’t be sure.
“Oh, you have to buy two pairs,” Charlotte said, wiping at her eyes.
But Lola was busy typing.
If you put on the panties, then I’m going to spank you in them.
“What are you saying?” Charlotte wanted to know.
Lola sent the message without telling.
U can spank me or make me wear women’s panties, not both.
She bit her lip as she read his reply.
“What, what?” Charlotte elbowed her and tried to peer at the phone.
“He says I have to choose. I can either spank him, or I can make him wear women’s underwear.”
“Oh baby, you have to spank him. That is so hot.”
Lola noticed the one man in the department had moved closer. He might actually have been trying to eavesdrop.
She typed without saying another word.
I choose spanking. When do I get to do it?
He typed quickly on his end because his answer was almost immediate.
Only after I have U in front of a room full of people.
She held the phone to her chest.
“What did he say?”
She couldn’t tell Charlotte that one. It was too kinky. “He reneged. He said he likes spanking me better.”
“Just like a man.” Charlotte rolled her eyes. “Get you all worked up on sexting, then rip the rug out from under you. But”—she lowered her voice—“I love the spanking thing.”
To Gray, Lola typed:
IF I do that, will you let me spank you?
When, not if. I will have U before an audience, my beautiful sexy little slut. R U sure U really want to spank me?
She felt wet on the inside, like the creamy center of a chocolate truffle. She wasn’t truly sure she’d want to. Taking his cock in her mouth, that was the kind of power she liked. On the spanking spectrum, she preferred to be on the receiving end.
No, I like it mucho better when you do it to me.
After all, she was the one who got the orgasm.
Your wish is my command. Gotta go now.
“He’s gone,” she said, keeping the last exchange to herself.
Charlotte leaned on a rack. “Well, well, well, you have found yourself a live one. I like this guy.”
She pulled Charlotte away, heading for the center aisle. “He’s kinky,” she said softly.
“Hey, wait, the panties. You have to buy them.”
“He doesn’t need them. He’s going to spank me instead.”
“For you. You can’t get the guy all worked up with a photo, then not come through with the goods.”
“They’re ridiculously expensive.”
“Splurge.”
In the end, she splurged. As a sex therapist, Charlotte recommended that couples treat themselves. They should experiment. They should even get a little kinky. Though Lola figured that having sex with an audience might be too kinky even for Charlotte.
* * *
“WE BROUGHT YOU FLOWERS, AUNT LOLA. TO MAKE YOU FEEL better about the dead ones you got.” Harry did both the speaking and made the offering.
They were by the fountain in the center of the mall where they’d agreed to meet.
“You got me flowers?” Honestly, she couldn’t believe it.
“What do you mean dead flowers?” Charlotte asked, her tone harsh.
“Somebody left Aunt Lola a bunch of dead flowers on the front mat the other night,” William supplied. “She seemed really bothered by it.
Darn it. She wasn’t going to tell Charlotte about those. And William was exaggerating about her reaction. “Thank you, boys, that was totally unnecessary, but very sweet.” And very scary because it was so unlike them. What did they want? They were planning something. What? It had to be something bad. Because she absolutely did not trust them. But of course it would have been impolite to question them after they’d bought her a present.
“I didn’t see a flower vendor in the mall,” she said conversationally, thinking, thinking, and ignoring Charlotte completely.
“Oh, Arby came by to show us his new—”
Harry socked William in the arm, cutting him off and finished the sentence for his brother. “His new iPad. And he drove us over to the grocery store. They’ve got a big selection of flowers over there.”
Weirder and weirder.
“What dead flowers?” Charlotte snapped. William had already answered, but that wasn’t enough.
“Somebody made a mistake. Or it was a prank or something.” Then she shook a finger at the boys. “And you know, it’s much more likely it was one of your friends playing a joke on you.” Or them playing a joke on her.
“Guys don’t give guys flowers, even dead ones, not even as a joke,” Harry said soberly. “We know it bothered you, so we wanted to get you something to make you feel better.”
She didn’t get it. They were being far too nice. She hadn’t needed to rag on them to clean up after themselves in the kitchen since the night they’d made sandwiches. All right, she was totally afraid to open the door to the hall bathroom, which they were using exclusively, but all in all, they weren’t acting like themselves.
They were like Stepford kids.
She hoped she figured it out before she turned into a Stepford aunt. “All right, let’s head home.”
Charlotte held her arm. “What about these flowers?”
The boys bounded ahead, heading out to the parking lot. “It’s not a big deal.”
“Some weird dating ritual from the coach?”
Lola laughed, both amused and relieved. “Believe me, that’s not one of his weird dating rituals.” But he sure as hell had a lot of other ones, most of which she found quite exciting.
“Good. Because I like him. I think he can be really good for you, Lola. I haven’t seen you this excited about a guy since”—she shrugged—“never.”
Yeah, Gray was good for her. As long as things stayed simple. But in the long run, there were way too many impediments, his son being the biggest of them all.
16
IT WAS MONDAY MORNING, AND SHE WAS ON HER WAY TO HER confrontation—no, call it fact-finding—with George. The boys were knuckling down with their online driving instruction. They were probably cheating and doing it together, but that actually might help reinforce what they learned.
The Bluetooth rang with a new call. She pushed the button and called out, “Hello?”
“Where are you?”
Gray’s voice. She melted inside. Ahead of her, the light turned yellow. She pulled to a stop and concentrated on him as she waited. “Driving,” she told him.
“I want you here in five minutes.”
She bit her lip, smiled. The guy in the next car glanced at her, looked away, did a double take. As if he somehow knew she was just about to get sexual. “Where’s here?”
“My office.” He rattled off the address.
It was in Mountain View close to Shoreline. She’d done a job there, knew the area. “That’s going to take twenty minutes.”
“I’ll be counting. And for every minute you’re late, you’ll get another spank on your pretty little ass. When you arrive, lock the door, walk to my desk, and bend over to accept your punishment.”
The light turned, and he was gone. She blew away the car next to her and pulled in front so she could make the turn to the freeway.
Suddenly, going to Fletcher and fact-finding with George didn’t seem all that
important. And just for good measure, she’d be five minutes late so Gray would have to add that extra spank. Hey, wait. The boys were at home. They hadn’t done anything wrong today.
That’s exactly what Lola told Gray twenty-three minutes later, after his secretary had closed the door behind her. “You haven’t even seen them today, so how could they have misbehaved?”
There was no question who they were. “There have been countless times they’ve misbehaved. I couldn’t possibly call you for every single infraction.” He narrowed his eyes. “This makes up for all those I missed.”
The office was large, with a four-person conference table, framed maps of the world and the U.S. on the wall, bookcases, filing cabinets, and two chairs in front of the very large wooden desk behind which he stood.
“That’s not fair,” she complained. “You can’t backdate punishment.”
He slowly rounded the desk, his gaze on her. With each step that brought him closer, her skin heated, her heart fluttered, her breath puffed a little faster. When he dressed in shorts and a polo, the play of muscle and sinew as he moved raised her pulse. In jeans and a casual shirt, he stole her breath. But he was absolutely delectable in a dark suit, white shirt, and gray-and-black-striped tie, his chin freshly shaved and kissable.
“If I’m remembering correctly, I told you to lock the door.” He pointed one finger. “You haven’t done that yet. And if you want to be able to sit down when you leave here, you better lock it now.”
She wanted that door locked because she needed his hands on her. It was the only reason she backed up, turned, locked it, and came back to him. He’d also told her to bend over the desk, but she stopped less than two feet away.
He didn’t seem to mind. “Good girl,” he said with exceptional softness. He held up his hand. “My palm has been twitching to have at you.”
“You’re diabolical.”
The Naughty Corner Page 14
