She's a Sinner

by Lynn Shurr

  Steve ripped off the first strip with gusto. Tom arched off the table but stifled an unmanly scream. Braced for the rest, he simply dug his fingers into the edges of the table and hung on until the pain ceased.

  “First time, honey?” Steve asked.

  “Probably the last, too. I think I’ll pass on the full package. The things we do for love, huh?”

  Steve tossed his artfully tousled and streaked hair. “You don’t need to tell me about that. Let me rub some lotion on to take away the sting.”

  “That’s okay. I’ll take a tube of that stuff home. I might need more later.”

  “Excellent. I’ll put it in one of our signature bags and add it to your tab while you dress.” Steve took his black-clad and very buff body from the room.

  Tom dressed in a hurry but picked up the tube Steve indicated and slathered himself with the cream before putting on his white T-shirt with the discreet Sinners logo available to all at the Sinners gift shop. It stuck to his chest. Jesus, his pit hair had been pulled out by the roots, too, and smarted like the devil’s torment for the damned.

  Steve returned. “My, that shirt really shows off your physique.” He held out the little black bag with Deke’s Body Works emblazoned across the chest of the golden figure of a well-built man. “Come again and ask for me.”

  “I wouldn’t let anyone else wax me,” Tom said. What he meant was never again! He shoved the suggested gratuity into a little brown envelope on his way out, wondering why a guy had to tip after being tortured, and headed home.

  On the way, he detoured to Gambino’s Bakery and purchased a half-and-half doberge cake, six moist layers, half with lemon filling, half with chocolate and the top decorated the same way. He thought it matched the little chess table in a way. Besides, no one should have to bake their own birthday cake, and with Alix at the spa, she had no time anyhow.

  By the time he got back to the condo and stashed the cake in his room, his chest ceased to throb and the red burn faded from his skin. Checking in the bathroom mirror, Tom thought his muscles looked sleek, but damn if a whole mass of freckles he’d forgotten about since late adolescence hadn’t reappeared on his pale skin. He certainly hoped Alix liked freckles more than body hair because he had plenty to offer.

  Well, he needn’t have hidden the cake in his closet because Alix buzzed in at six and with no more than a wave of the hand and a “Hi, gotta get ready” and disappeared into her bedroom until Vince arrived to make off with her. Tom hoped that didn’t lead to making out with her as he retrieved the antique table and porcelain from Arturo and set it up in her room beside the slipper chair. True, the view was still of a parking garage, but now Alix had an elegant little area to sit, have tea or coffee, and read magazines, not that he’d ever seen her thumb any but copies of his Sports Illustrated.

  Putting the cake in the refrigerator to make sure it didn’t slough frosting, he sat to wait and wait and wait. Around ten, he placed the cake resting on its frilly doily and cardboard base on the small French table in the belief that Alix would be home soon. He waited. Midnight arrived before the elevator door slid open and footsteps sounded in the foyer: the thud of Vince’s wingtips, the tap of the heels worn by Alix. Muted conversation ensued too low for him to hear. Tom in his stocking feet crept closer to the door until he could put his eye to the peephole. The back of Alix’s head blocked the view as if she leaned heavily against it. He could see only the strands of her blonde hair through the glass. Was Vince pressing her other side? They weren’t saying a word now. Tom put his ear to the door convinced he’d hear sounds of struggle. Nothing.

  His hand shot for the latch, giving it a hard, sudden turn. Alix fell into him and both hit the hardwood floor with Vince plummeting down on them, making her the center of a man sandwich. Luckily, Vince caught some of his substantial weight on his hands and rolled aside. The first to regain his footing, he offered Alix a hand, sneaking only a rapid glance at the pair of black lace panties exposed when her skirt flew up in the collision. From the bottom of the pile looking over Alix’s shoulder, Tom glared at him.

  Sitting and leaning on his elbows, he said, “I didn’t expect that. Thought I’d invite you both in for cake and coffee since it is Alix’s birthday. Glad I broke your fall, Legs. Everyone okay?”

  They had no time to reply before the security system on the door beeped like a bomb about to explode. Tom got off his duff and hurried to reset it. “So,” he said, “anyone for cake?” Beneath his shirt, he felt fairly certain those newly exposed freckles had disappeared beneath a sheen of red.

  “I couldn’t possibly eat another morsel,” Alix said, a little huffy.

  “Yeah, four courses and a dessert. More than even I could put away.” Vince gestured to a scattering of takeout boxes, some oozing red sauce like blood onto the hardwood. “We bought you some leftovers. That’s the spaghetti and meatballs and chicken cacciatore.”

  Alix raved over her meal. “I think the herbed chicken was even better, not to mention those oysters. They served them breaded in a skillet and topped with parmesan cheese. I’m afraid I ate all the marinated crab salad. I didn’t know there would be so much more to come.”

  “Yeah, I go there lots and know to pace myself. There’s still some spaghetti bordelaise left, though. The old folks who run the place kept bringing out dishes for Alix to try. Me, I’m nothing, but she’s a real celebrity, ya know,” Vince said modestly as he scooped a couple of weighty boxes from the floor and took them to the fridge.

  “It was the quaintest place, old-fashioned with checkered oilcloth on the tables and Chianti bottles holding candles that must have been there forever with all the wax dripped down the sides. They brought me tiramisu with a sparkler stuck in it for my birthday. Vince got up and sang for me. Then, some of waiters did opera pieces. We ended up with corny Dean Martin songs, everyone joining in. I had so much fun!” Oh, how her eyes sparkled for Vince, his voice, and his choice of restaurants.

  Tom retrieved the rest of the leftovers, stowed them away, and returned to mop the floor with a paper towel. “You were at the restaurant all this time?”

  “Sure, long drive out and back, all that eating, then the sing-along. Where else would we be?” Alix stared down at her flirty black skirt. “I didn’t spill a thing on myself until you opened the door. Now my dress smells like garlic.”

  “I’ll pay for the dry cleaning. Glad you had a good time.” He tried very hard to mean that second part. “Coffee?”

  “No,” Vince answered. “We had espresso at the restaurant. Guess I’d better get going. See you Monday. Or maybe tomorrow, we could…”

  “She needs her rest, Vince. So do you since you work out harder than either of us. Better get going.”

  “Monday, then, and next Saturday.” Vince cocked that finger pistol at Alix and pulled the trigger, surely his most annoying habit.

  “I’ll look forward to it.”

  “Let me show you out. I have to reset the alarm.” Tom led the personal protector to the foyer and snapped the door shut behind him.

  Alix stretched, and Tom followed the length of her body with his eyes as the dress rode up. To think, his hand had rested on one side of the pair of black lace panties she wore under it for a few seconds.

  “Guess I’ll turn in.” Alix walked down the hallway to her suite.

  “Me, too.” But Tom lingered waiting for her cry of surprise.

  It didn’t sound exactly the way he’d heard it in his mind. “Thomas Cassidy Billodeaux, are you responsible for all this?” came out more like a reprimand. Tom moved down the hall and lounged in her doorway waiting for a reward for his thoughtfulness and patience. “Guilty,” he said.

  Alix raised the fragile cup in her large hands. “Tom, do I strike you as the kind of woman who sits at tiny tables and drinks tea out of delicate vessels like this? One stumble on those ridiculous throw rugs my mother made me buy, and I could wipe out the whole setting because I’m a big, husky girl. That table is spindly, beautiful, and m
ost likely very expensive. It probably survived the French Revolution, but doesn’t stand a chance with Alix Lindstrom in the room. You should take it back before I destroy it accidently.”

  Alix waved the teacup in the air by its gilded handle. “I’m a white coffee mug kind of person. I can’t drink out of this and feel comfortable. It might snap in my hands.”

  Tom went hot, then cold, as if his body couldn’t decide whether to be embarrassed or afraid. “Your mother said you needed a sitting area. It’s a birthday gift from me. You don’t need to be afraid to use the teapot. That’s only a replica.”

  Alix set the teacup gently on top of the dresser, safely out of the way. “My mother doesn’t understand me and evidently neither do you.”

  “Yeah, well, you aren’t husky or outsized. I don’t know why you see yourself that way. When you kick a punt, you are more graceful than Brian Lightfoot. I could watch you all afternoon. You are beautiful as a whooping crane. But if you keep going out to dinner with Vince at all those Italian places you’ll have to watch out for husky.”

  That stopped her tirade dead in its athletic cleats. Alix tipped her head back and let loose with one of her booming, unfettered laughs. Tom failed to see what was so very funny.

  “If you’d compared me to a swan, I would have called that a complete pile of B.S. But a whooping crane, yes!” Alix flapped her long arms, hit the edge of the chess table, and set it to wobbling dangerously. She steadied the teapot and caught the cake before it smashed to the floor. “You did get the cake right. I dote on doberge. I wish I weren’t too full to eat some tonight. Let’s put it in the fridge and have it for a decadent breakfast.”

  “It has both chocolate and lemon layers.” Tom felt grateful he’d gotten one thing right. But no, he wasn’t giving up on changing how Alix thought of herself. “Would you simply sit in the chair and sort of get the feel of the table. You can play chess or checkers on the top, too. The pieces go into those drawers underneath.”

  Clearly humoring him, Alix shook her head and took a seat in her blue slipper chair with her long legs stretched out to one side. Her skirt rode up to mini-dress length. Her toenails polished in red peeped out of her black pumps. Tom’s mouth filled with saliva that had nothing to do with the doberge torte sitting before him.

  “Well?” she asked. “I have to admit I don’t know how to play chess, but I’m a killer at checkers after playing with my dad and Morfar all those years at the hunting camps.” Alix touched the surface of the table, and it trembled again. “See, it knows it’s in danger.”

  Tom swallowed before he spoke. “I can teach you chess, but just stay there for a minute.”

  First, he rolled up the white throw rug nearest the sitting area and shoved it under her bed. Then, he left the room and searched the drawers in the kitchen until he found a box with a cardboard flap he could rip away. Folding the piece in half, he returned to jam it under the unstable leg of the Louis Quatorze table. He prided himself on not trying to get a glimpse of those black lace panties while he knelt before her. “Touch the table.”

  It remained stable even when Alix drummed her fingers on the onyx and ivory inlay. She smiled in a way that warmed his heart. “With the throw rug hazard out of the way, this table should survive another century.” Tom forced himself to get up and stand beside her.

  Alix rose to full height. “You are so dear. Thank you for my presents, Tom.”

  She cupped his face with her long, cool fingers. The kiss wasn’t lady-like no matter how soft and hot her lips. They fit perfectly atop his. Her tongue delved, and he tasted the coffee liqueur of the tiramisu and the warmth of garlic beneath it. Had she kissed Vince like this out in the hall before he opened the door? He needed to stop wondering and wrap his arms around her to show he could do it better. Before he did so, Alix stepped back.

  “You’d better put the cake in the refrigerator. Can’t wait to have some in the morning,” she said.

  Still stunned, Tom lifted the doberge from the table. “Good night, I guess.”

  “Yes, good night.”

  Hands shaking, he wondered how he ever got that cake of many layers back to the kitchen and himself to his bedroom and a cold shower.

  ****

  Alix stripped out of her dress and flung it over the slipper chair. Too bad no one had gotten to see much of her skimpy underwear tonight. Way too soon to show it to Vince and just not the right time to expose herself to Tom who definitely displayed signs of jealousy. Tom treated her so delicately and respectfully, she pondered if he would ever make a move. But two could play at saying thank you and following it up with a more than thankful kiss.

  Alix shed that wonder of a bra and the sexy panties and shrugged into the oversized tee she used as a sleep shirt though it barely covered her bottom. Lying under the blue and lace comforter, she put her hands behind her head unable to sleep. She swore she’d been a little in love with Tom Billodeaux since she’d started her scrapbooks. Sexy Joe and stunning Dean didn’t attract her, but Tom, always burning bright in those family pictures amid the brunettes and the blondes and smiling with his leprechaun’s grin, stood out, different, like her. She’d mooned over him as if he were some adolescent rock star. Now, he slept on the other side of the condo.

  If only she weren’t stuffed full as a woodchuck storing up fat for winter tonight, all Vince’s fault. To be honest, she’d seen him as a guy who could get under Tom’s skin, but then, he’d turned out to be so much unexpected fun. He didn’t treat her as if she might break, and his aggressive kiss at the door hadn’t led to any unwanted groping, though it might have if Tom hadn’t turned the knob. She’d found herself saying yes to a second date with Vince, exploring where that might go, not counting Tom out, but not wanting to pin her whole life on an infatuation that might not be returned.

  Distantly, she heard Tom’s shower running. He rarely bathed at night. Not her concern. Both men had left her hot and bothered and unable to sleep. She reached beneath her covers and took care of her needs by herself.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Wearing his robe and loose plaid pajama bottoms, Tom sat by Alix as they scarfed down two large hunks of doberge for breakfast, or maybe brunch, since both had slept in late. The air conditioner cycled on and made his depilated chest feel kind of chilly. He shivered.

  “You okay? You aren’t getting sick or anything?” Alix polished off her slice of lemon doberge and started in on the chocolate, saving the best for last, she’d said.

  Tom made a mental note that she preferred chocolate. “No, I’m sitting under an air vent.”

  “Good, but there is something different about you today.” She scanned his face and failed to look at the V of naked chest.

  He had to say one thing for being hairless. The crumbs from the cake slid all the way down those slick muscles and sifted like sand into his crotch. Not very comfortable, but he refrained from shaking them loose. Should he do the big reveal now or save it for a special occasion like the aftermath of the moonlight cruise he planned for them?

  Both had downed large glasses of milk. Alix got up to move on to coffee. “You want some?”

  “Sure.” He’d save the surprise if she didn’t notice on her own.

  Alix’s cell phone rang. It wasn’t early, but her folks rarely called on a Sunday before one. As she punctured the pod in the coffeemaker and lounged against the counter waiting for the brew to drip, she answered. “Oh, hi, Vince. Yes, I had a great time, too. Nope, not too tired no matter what Tom said. We both slept late. Okay, meet you there at one.”

  Damn Vince Barbaro for being sensitive enough to call her the day after a date. “What was that all about?” Tom stood to take his milk glass to the dishwasher and rid himself of some of the crumbs as they filtered onto the floor.

  “Vince asked if I wanted to walk in City Park this afternoon. We’re going to run up the steps of the art museum like Sylvester Stallone in Rocky.”

  “It will be hot as Hades. You should stay out of the sun as m
uch as you can. You aren’t used to this climate.”

  “Don’t mother hen me, Tom. Vince said the steps aren’t nearly as steep as the ones in Philly. Besides, we are going inside to cool off and see an art exhibit.” Alix took her cup from the machine and doctored the contents with more milk.

  “You’re an art connoisseur?” Tom slammed a pod of dark roast into the machine with far more force than needed.

  “Hardly, but who knows? I might develop a taste for it.”

  And for Vince. The water sputtered through the pod and sizzled onto the spot where a cup should have been. Tom grabbed for a mug like the ones Alix felt comfortable using to catch the boiling water. “I thought I might teach you to play chess this afternoon rather than run around in the heat.”

  “We’ll do that later. Time for both. I should shower now and wash my hair.” Alix bolted her last few bites of cake.

  “Say, I thought next Saturday we could go on a moonlight Mississippi cruise. It’s nice after dark on the water.”

  “Sorry, I promised Vince I’d go out with him. He says he has special plans.” Alix took her mug and started for her room.

  “Alix, can I ask why you’re going out with Vince so often? Are you attracted to him?”

  “I’m going because he asked, and no one else has. I wasn’t all that taken with him, but Vince sort of grows on you.”

  Like jock itch. “Okay, I understand. Enjoy your afternoon.” Considering the cold shower he’d taken last night, he hardly needed to bathe this morning. He heard the water drum in Alix’s bathroom. She did like long showers when an entire football team wasn’t waiting for her to finish. Tom went into his bedroom and found his phone. “Hey, Xo. Wassup?”

  His sister spoke over the noise of bypassing traffic. “Unlike you, I went to Mass at old St. Louis. Now, I am enjoying a reward of hot beignets with lots of powdered sugar on top at Café du Monde. Do you and Alix want to join me?”

  “No, we had birthday cake for breakfast.”