by Maria Geraci
7
The bar of soap fell from her hands. Join her?
“Um, sure.” What else could she say? No, I don’t want to shower with you. I just want to have sex with you. Preferably in the dark. Somehow, she didn’t think Steve would find that too sexy.
He must have undressed in record time, because the next thing she knew, he was holding her in his arms. “Relax,” he whispered.
She tried to take his advice and let out a pent-up breath. He bent down and kissed her. It was a gentler kiss than the ones in the kitchen, and after a few seconds, she began to respond. She’d been so nervous earlier she hadn’t taken in any of the details. He was big and hard and tasted good. She broke off the kiss and let her gaze travel over his broad shoulders, his thick arms. His chest was nicely muscled with a light scattering of dark hair that narrowed into a thin line all the way down to his . . .
Yup, definitely big and hard.
Hap-py Birth-day, Kitty.
She couldn’t help grinning like a sex-starved idiot. He grinned back as if he could read her mind, which wouldn’t have been too great a feat at this point.
He scooped up the soap and lathered it, running his slippery hands over her breasts, down her belly, and in between her legs. He touched her clit, lightly pressing it with his finger. “Was Officer Bob right? Are you a bad girl, Kitty?”
A giggle bubbled up in the back of her throat. That line had sounded ridiculous coming from Officer Bob. But when Steve said it, his voice dark and rough, his hard body pressed up against hers, it was something altogether different.
“I . . . not usually,” she stammered.
She immediately sensed it wasn’t the response he was hoping for. But “Yeah, I’m a bad girl, all right” just wasn’t something that came naturally out of her mouth. She wasn’t a prude, but he had been right. This was all happening a little too fast for her.
She closed her eyes and concentrated on the warm water and Steve’s fingers. Unable to help herself, she let out a laugh.
“You sure you’re not drunk?”
Why did he keep asking her that? “I’m positive. Please, don’t stop.”
He kissed her again, his hands working their way down to cup her bottom as he pressed his erection against her belly. “You have a great ass,” he murmured against her lips.
She broke off the kiss to stare at him.
Did he mean great as in fantastic? Or great as in big? No one had ever told her she had a great ass before. Surely he couldn’t be telling her that her butt was too big. Not at such a crucial moment. “So do you,” she said lamely.
He laughed as if he thought her comment strange. “Um, thanks.” Maybe no one had ever told him he had a great ass before either. But somehow, she doubted that.
She picked up the bar of soap. “Your turn.” She lathered it over his arms, over his tight stomach. “I thought all plumbers had beer bellies,” she said, feeling the need to lighten things up.
“I’m not a plumber,” he rasped.
“Oh.”
Before she could think of a response, he guided her hand over his erection. After less than a minute of stroking, he broke away and slipped out of the shower without saying anything.
Her heart flopped to her knees. Where was he going?
He came back a few minutes later. This time, he was gloved up.
Dear God. She hadn’t even thought about a condom. She really sucked at this one-night-stand thing. “Good idea.” Her heart began to pick up speed again. She had assumed they would mess around in the shower and leave the big finale for the bedroom. Apparently, Steve the Non-Plumber had other ideas.
He pressed her against the tile wall and slid his hands under her bottom, lifting her off her feet. The motion took her by surprise.
“This is the part where you wrap your legs around my waist,” he said, sounding a little exasperated.
“You . . . you won’t drop me, will you?”
“Not unless you plan on making some wild crazy-ass gyrations. Then I can’t guarantee anything.”
“I was just planning on the usual gyrations,” she said.
The corner of his mouth twitched up slightly. “Then I think I can handle it.”
He braced his legs apart and adjusted her hips to slowly lower her over him. She closed her eyes and held on tight as he began rocking her up and down.
Suddenly nothing else mattered.
Not the feel of the cold tile against her back or the apprehension of being semi-suspended in midair by a man she’d only just met tonight. A delicious heat swiftly rose, causing a tight laugh to form in the back of her throat.
How had she gotten to this point so fast? Of course, she hadn’t gotten laid in over a year. Her G-spot was probably set on some type of split trigger detonation. Either that, or Steve the Non-Plumber was just really good.
She tucked her head in the crook of his neck to muffle her giggles as the wildfire died down.
A few seconds later, he let out a low groan, pumping into her one last time. “Shit,” he muttered, lowering her feet to the floor. “Sorry. I’ll do better next time.”
He held her by the waist until her rubbery legs could adjust to support her weight. The warm water fell over them as he rubbed his hands over her back causing a languid drowsiness to wash through her.
Did he say “next time”? And what exactly had he apologized for?
The water suddenly stopped.
She opened her eyes and squinted at the harsh bathroom light above them.
“No towels?” he asked, glancing at the empty towel rack.
“They’re all on the floor,” she said, still feeling dazed. She pointed to the heap of wet towels in the bathroom corner. “I used them all to soak up the water from the toilet.”
“I’ll be right back.” He trekked out of the bathroom, naked and dripping water. By the time he returned, the dreamy afterglow had worn off and goose bumps had spread over her arms and legs. He used a sheet, the one she’d ordered from the Pottery Barn catalogue with the little red sailboats, to dry her off, then blotted the water off his own body.
She was just starting to feel warm again when he opened the medicine cabinet, pulled out the crumpled-up thong, and tossed it at her.
Kitty caught it with one hand. He’d known it was there all along!
“Put it on.”
“But—”
“I’ve waited all night to see you in that. And where’s that pink thing with the feathers?” he asked, glancing around the bathroom floor.
“My boa?”
“Yeah, put that on too.”
Okay. That sounded a little weird. But the man had just given her an orgasm. With stand-up shower sex, no less. The least she could do was humor him.
She slipped on the thong and had barely gotten the boa around her neck when he bent over and wrapped one arm around the back of her knees, swinging her over his shoulder like he was Tarzan and she was Jane.
“Oh my God!”
With one smooth movement he deposited her directly in the center of the bed.
The lamp on the nightstand cast a soft glow over the room. Steve gazed down at her with a pensive look on his face. She felt kind of silly, lying there with the pink feather boa wrapped around her neck. Was he going to use it to tie her hands to the bedpost? She suddenly felt all warm and languid again. He’d caught her watching the toenail-painting scene in Bull Durham. Was he going to—
Before she could think too much, he came down onto the bed and kissed her, and then his mouth found her breasts. And she could only think a little bit as he inched his way down, his tongue trailing over her ribs, to her belly button and then finally to the top of her panties. She lifted her hips to take off the thong, but he placed his palm over her tummy to gently press her back into the mattress. “Keep it on,” he said, right before he flicked his warm tongue over the cool silk.
A tiny snicker escaped her throat.
His mouth stilled. She raised her head to find him staring at her.
“I’m not drunk,” she said, for the third time that night.
He smiled. “I know. I get it now.”
Then he placed his mouth back between her legs and began to eat her through the pink-and-black-polka-dot thong until she forgot all about her breasts being too small or her ass being too big, and all she could do was laugh.
Later that night, Kitty’s last coherent thought as she drifted to sleep was the sound of Joey Pappas’s voice saying, “This is Kitty Burke. Back in eighth grade, she let me stick my tongue down her throat. And according to my cousin Steve, she laughs when she comes.”
8
The shrill ringing next to Kitty’s ear forced her to crack her eyes open. The obnoxious bright light leaking through the blinds was the final insult. She pulled the pillow over her head and hit the snooze button, but the ringing continued. She was about to bitchslap the alarm clock when she realized it was her phone making the noise.
“Hello?” she whispered, wincing at the squeaky roughness coming from her throat. She sounded like a Chihuahua on crack.
“Katherine, is that you?” her mother asked.
Kitty bolted upright. She quickly scanned the room. There was no sign of Steve the Plumber.
No, she thought, he wasn’t Steve the Plumber.
He was Steve of the clever hands and the magical mouth and the rock-hard—“Hey, Mom,” she said, clearing both her throat and the image that last thought produced in her head. No matter how old you were, talking to your mother while thinking about sex was just gross.
“Happy birthday!”
“Thanks,” Kitty said. She froze when she spotted a large red apple propped on the pillow from what had been Steve’s side of the bed. Weird. It was exactly what Kevin Costner had left Susan Sarandon after sleeping with her in Bull Durham.
Kitty cradled the receiver under her chin and felt around the sheets for a note.
But there was nothing.
No slip of paper with I had a great time or Can I call you? scribbled on it.
At least Kevin had had the decency to leave a note along with his apple.
For a second, she felt like she’d been kicked in the teeth. And then she quickly analyzed the events of last night. The sex had been spectacular, no doubt about that. But there was no future with an out-of-work non-plumber who was only going to be in town temporarily. So what was the point of seeing him again?
Last night had been a one-time deal. It was definitely better to wake up to an empty bed. Much less awkward this way.
“Katherine, are you still there?”
“Yeah, I’m here,” Kitty said, biting into the apple. It was crisp and juicy and her stomach rumbled in appreciation. Steve’s version of breakfast in bed wasn’t too shabby. Of course, neither was his version of anything else in bed.
“I was worried about you,” continued her mother. “I called the office, but I got your voice mail. Then I tried your cell, but you didn’t pick up on that either.”
The office consisted of Kitty and her assistant, Becky. But Becky was taking the day off. She and her boyfriend, Brad, were going to Disney World for the Fourth of July holiday weekend.
Kitty squinted at the clock.
It was five minutes to eleven. Fuck!
She tossed the apple onto the bed and jumped to her feet. “I . . . I must have overslept.” How the hell she was going to explain that to her ten a.m. appointment?
“On a workday? Are you sick?”
“I’m fine. Mom, I’m sorry, I really have to go.”
But Dana Hanahan Burke Lewis Cartwright wasn’t a woman easily cut off. “When are you coming to visit me?” There was a pause. “I take it your father hasn’t called to wish you a happy birthday yet?”
“You know Dad never remembers the actual day. Besides, he’s in Greece right now and the time thing is all messed up.”
“Greece? How nice for him.”
“He’s a pilot, Mom. It’s his job.”
“Whatever. You know, sweetie, St. Augustine is just a five-hour drive. I’m dying to show you what I’ve done to the condo.”
“Look, Mom, I really have to go. Give Larry a hug for me.” Larry Cartwright was her mother’s third husband. He was a retired Oneida flatware salesman and had made a good enough living that he could spend his retirement golfing and taking frequent vacations to the Caribbean. Kitty liked Larry. He was a nice guy and he made her mother happy. He also kept her mother out of Whispering Bay—which made Kitty happy. Not that she didn’t love her mother. But Whispering Bay just wasn’t big enough for the both of them.
“Larry would be thrilled to see you, you know. You’re like a daughter to him.”
“How’s Pam?” Pam was Larry’s daughter by his first marriage. She was around Kitty’s age, married, and pregnant with her fourth child.
“Big as a house and due any day now. It’s a shame she never lost the weight she put on carrying Henry two years ago. They’re going to have to roll her into the hospital to have this one.”
“Well, that’s great, Mom. Call me when the baby’s here. I have to go.”
“All right, darling. Have a wonderful day. Oh, and, Katherine, by the way, did you put the house on the market yet?”
“Mom, I’m almost out the door. Bye!”
She would deal with her mother and the house situation later.
Still feeling a little disoriented, she looked around the room. Something was wrong. Despite the fact that the ceiling fan was at full blast, it was hot as Hades.
The air conditioner.
How could she have forgotten it was broken? But there was no time to worry about that now.
She grabbed the cell phone from her purse and hit her search list. Her heart steadied a bit when she discovered she had Ted Ferguson’s number. Thank God for Becky. She must have programmed the number into Kitty’s phone.
He picked up on the second ring. “Ferguson.”
“Mr. Ferguson, this is Katherine Burke. I can’t tell you how incredibly embarrassed I am, but—”
“Miss Burke, when I say ten, that’s what I mean.”
Kitty gulped. “I have no excuse other than the fact I overslept.” At his silence, Kitty felt emboldened to go on. “Please, let me make it up to you at lunch. Can you meet me at the Harbor House in an hour?”
“That place is a zoo. We’ll never get a table.”
“I’ll have a table. Overlooking the water. I promise.”
“Make it thirty minutes,” he said and hung up.
Thirty minutes!
She ran to her closet and flipped through all the brightly colored clothes until she found the right outfit. A somber just-above-the-knee black skirt and a sleeveless cream-colored shell. It seemed a little stark for summer, but she had started off on the wrong foot with Ted Ferguson and this outfit screamed “serious businesswoman.”
The next step was the bathroom. There was no time to shower. Of course, technically, she had showered last night. A warm flush crept up her spine. Focus, Kit.
She caught a glimpse of her first morning self in the bathroom mirror and moaned. The humidity in the house had caused her hair to frizz, making her look like a cross between Medusa and Roseanne Roseannadanna. She threw on some deodorant, brushed her teeth, splashed water on her face and some Chanel No. 5 on her neck (a little boring, but it was her standard professional smell). Minimal makeup could be done in the car. She fished around the sink area for her hair clip, but there was no sign of it.
Then she remembered she had gone to bed wearing the hair clip and the pink-and-black-polka-dot thong. And the boa, of course.
She ran back into the bedroom. The pink feather boa was looped around the bedpost. She looked around the sheets and on the floor for the hair clip. It was under the bed next to one of the designer pillows that matched her duvet comforter. How it ended up there, Kitty could only imagine. She took an extra minute to search for the thong, but it was nowhere to be found, so she gave up, picked up her briefcase, and made one last dash to
the closet for shoes.
She usually wore the black skirt with a pair of low-heeled, open-backed slings that were practical in the Florida heat. But the shoes made her feel frumpy, and for some reason, she didn’t feel like wearing those today. She rummaged in the back of the closet to find the four-inch black stilettos she reserved for a hot date night and dusted them off.
She was almost to her car when Mrs. Pantini appeared in the driveway. “Happy birthday!” the older woman cried cheerfully. Mrs. Pantini wore a pair of loose exercise pants and her standard New Balance walking shoes. Her chin-length salt-and-pepper hair was pulled back with a headband and her skin glowed with perspiration.
Kitty frowned. “You haven’t been walking, have you?” Mrs. Pantini made a trek to the beach every morning, but never this late. The heat was just too stifling. “I really wish you’d consider joining my gym in Destin. They have an awesome indoor walking track,” said Kitty.
Mrs. Pantini made a face. “Who wants to drive all the way to Destin just to walk? Besides, it’s only now getting hot,” she said, handing Kitty a small wrapped box. “I was going to wait till this evening to bring it over, but I saw your car in the driveway and I was hoping you’d have a chance to open it before heading into work.”
“You didn’t have to buy me anything!” Kitty gave her a quick hug, then tossed the gift alongside her briefcase in the passenger seat of her silver BMW convertible. “I’m sorry, but I really don’t have time to open it now. I overslept and missed an appointment this morning.”
Mrs. Pantini’s blue eyes widened. “Overslept? You?” Her face split into a knowing grin. “That wouldn’t have anything to do with the red pickup truck parked in front of your house this morning, would it?”
So, Steve had stayed the night. Then why hadn’t he woken her before leaving?
“That was a . . . repair man,” Kitty blurted. “My air conditioner’s broken, and he was giving me an estimate. I must have fallen back asleep after he left.” She made a mental note to call a real repairman as soon as her meeting with Ted Ferguson was over.
