Louisa Trent
Bittersweet
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Louisa Trent
Bittersweet
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Louisa Trent
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BITTERSWEET An Ellora’s Cave Electronic Publication in association with author: Louisa Trent MS Reader (LIT) ISBN # 1-84360-161-3 Mobipocket (PRC) ISBN # 1-84360-162-1 Other formats (no ISBNs): Rocketbook, HTML, Adobe All Rights Reserved. http://www.ellorascave.com © Copyright Louisa Trent, 2002. This book/e-book may not be reproduced in whole or in part by email forwarding, copying, fax, or any other mode of communication without author and publisher permission. Edited by Cris Brashear & Martha Punches
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Chapter One Detective Cameron Wyler figured Maine was just about picture postcard perfect. The state boasted cute little seaside hamlets, rocky gray cliffs that bumped into a sparkling ocean, acres of green firs that pinpricked an always clear blue sky, and quaint antique colonials that lined the country lanes like so many white poker chips in a row. The unspoiled beauty of the landscape nearly brought a tear to his jaded brown eye; he was that homesick for the gritty back streets of Boston. Then again, tourist stuff, like hitting the beach or taking advantage of scenic photo ops meant zip to him. Cameron—Cam to his friends—wasn’t on vacation. And even if he were doing the vacation thang, he sure as hell wouldn’t be doing it up here in Maine. He’d be getting down in Bermuda, where his lightly creamed coffee complexion would blend a little better with the locals. His mama, now she was a darkly beautiful woman from Africa’s shores; his daddy was black—Irish, that is; their five kids were a colorful rainbow, everything from white to…well, him. Winter or summer, he didn’t need tanning lights to keep the brown glowing; his tan was all-over natural. So no, he wasn’t up here in the boonies to catch any rays. He was here strictly to recuperate, under protest, from a work-related injury: Namely, a bullet he took in the hip and head trauma. In other words, he had a boo-boo on his leg and a major headache. No biggie, as far as he was concerned. Wounded or no, he could still pull his weight in the department— The brass down at headquarters thought differently. When his psych eval slid across their desktops, it was: “Cam, you need to be someplace nice and quiet for awhile, someplace where you can avoid stress—”
Hell, he ate stress. Had it for breakfast, lunch and dinner. Topped it off with equal parts boredom and danger, and gobbled it down with a slice of sweet potato pie for dessert. Ask his bleeding ulcer how well he thrived on stress. But—he didn’t want to be a liability to his fellow detectives. Because, hey, every once in a while he did feel a little woozy. Moderately disoriented. A lot paranoid. And apart from all the emotional crap and the concussion induced junk, he was still dragging his bad leg. He sure didn’t want anyone to feel as though they had to cover his ass while working a case— So, cool. He was down with some stress-free R&R. No place on earth was less stressful than Maine. And if by some fluke of coincidence, the woman he needed to locate also happened to be holing up in Maine, well, the top dogs down at headquarters didn’t have to know nothin’ about that, now did they? The screen door to Nelley’s Bar and Grille slapped open, allowing the noxious fumes of the Saturday Night, ‘Fry and Die’ Special to escape, and Cam craned his neck.
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Maybe this time, he’d make the right connection. Fat chance. It was just another joyful gent weaving his way home to the missus at the end of Happy Hour. Cam let out a yawn. Surveillance had never been his forte. After an hour of slumping against his Jeep’s chrome, he was ready to call it quits, if not for the remainder of his career, at least for the rest of the night. There was only so much saturated fat and tobacco smoke ambience a man should be expected to inhale, especially if that man had one doozy of a migraine. Five minutes more. He decided, rubbing his throbbing temples. And he’d pack it in, head back to the cabin. Cam rounded the brim of his black ball cap over his eyes, folded his arms across the broad expanse of his dark nondescript shirt, tucked his bearded chin under, and let the moonless night swallow him whole. Half an hour later, he was still chillin’. Only now, his hip was throbbing like a sonofabitch and his concussion-induced headache was making the single bulb over Nelley’s door blaze like Vegas diamond wattage— Under the glare of the light, he saw a lone woman come tripping out Nelley’s door. On her tail and moving in fast, looked to be a Mack truck. Only this eighteen-wheeler was wedged in a too-tight muscleman T-shirt. Cam knew just where this courtship was going. The scenario was as old as the word no. He’d lay odds that after having his advances scorned inside the bar, Lover-Boy had decided to move his wooing outside to Nelley’s parking lot. This really pissed Cam off. However, teaching manners to a two-ton Romeo was not exactly how he’d planned on spending the evening. But, there was always a but in his line of work and it was usually his sorry butt and it was usually on the line, Cam knew he had to do something. The woman was clueless to the fact that she was being pursued; her hair feathers were flopping over her eyes and obscuring her line of vision. Uh— hair feathers? Most hookers have gimmicks, from polka dot hot pants to red Betty Boop lips. Gloria, the hooker he was looking for, liked to wear feathers in her hair. Her professional trademark, so to speak. Hair feathers. That was the extent of the information Cam had on Gloria. The hooker was so new to the business that she had yet to acquire either a rap sheet or a mug shot. What Gloria did have was street smarts. When she noticed that something strange was going down in her Mission Hill apartment building, she’d promptly phoned the information into the Boston Police Department. As a result of Gloria’s tip, a serial murderer had been brought down. At a horrible price.
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Harry, the best partner and friend a man could ever have, had been killed. In light of Harry’s sacrifice, Cam’s own snagged bullet and concussion seemed hardly worth mentioning. Anyway, after her pimp showed up dead in the city morgue in an unrelated, gangland-style execution, a be-feathered Gloria had decided to pack her bags. According to the word on the streets, she’d hopped the first dog bus she could get out of Park Square, destination Portland, Maine. Following up on his lead, Cam trailed the Greyhound north into L.L. Bean country, where thanks to the swift application of a fifty-dollar bill, the bus driver recalled that a passenger, sporting feathers in her hair, had disembarked in downtown Portland earlier that same week. Deducing that Gloria would need to turn a trick or two to finance her stay in Maine, Cam immediately started cruisin’ the local rum dumps for working girls. This took all of one night. The only quasi-disreputable bar in the state of Maine was Nelley’s. Which went to explain why he was squinting in pain in the back parking lot instead of putting his cranky self to bed for the night. The woman leaving Nelley’s wasn’t dressed like a hooker, though. Unless dowdy was the style for hustlers this season. But with a skull that was throbbing, a hip that was killing him, and so dizzy he could hardly see straight, never mind think straight, it was either check her out or check out. Gritting his teeth, Cam threw it into high gear. Not a smart move. The spike of fire lancing down his leg nearly dropped him to his knees. Why-oh-why hadn’t he become a dentist like his well meaning, but orally-fixated parents wanted? Hell, no. Not him. He’d majored in Criminal Justice, got a Masters in it too, and looking for glamour, went to work for Boston’s finest. What the hell had he been thinking? There was no glamour in getting rolled over by an eighteen-wheeler in hormone overdrive, no glamour at all. But utilizing his superb, multi-faceted—and some might even say, ambidextrous— negotiating skills, Cam reached one hand into his back pocket for his wallet while simultaneously tapping a burly shoulder inscribed with the heart tattoo, ED LOVES MOM. “You know, Ed,” he began all smooth-like, “it’s not nice creeping up on ladies in dark parking lots. Your mommy wouldn’t like it. And it really annoys the heck outta me too.” To prevent imminent flattening, Cam hastily forked over the cash. “Here. Take this. For the inconvenience.” Ed pocketed the roll of twenties, and trolled away, a satisfied man. Another inter-personal conflict peacefully resolved. Cam turned his attentions to the object of Ed’s affections.
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The hooker stood trembling at the far end of the parking lot, her feathers all ruffled. Right before he’d interrupted her creep-stalker, the hooker had turned around, saw that someone was following her, and froze. Apart from the trembling, she was still frozen. Cam snailed over. “You doin’ okay?” “I’m fine. But I don’t know how to thank you. I didn’t even realize that I was being followed until right before you interceded on my behalf.” Despite the classy voice and the polite answer, he could tell the lady was losing it. Since his shoulders were available, and plenty wide enough, Cam didn’t hesitate. “C’mere,” he said, opening up for a hug. “I’m being such a baby,” she tearfully gurgled, and collapsed against him. “There’s been a lot of that going around. I’m getting over a bad bout of it myself.” He did some commiserating patting. “Must be the change of seasons or something. I’d offer you a tissue, but I’m fresh out. Went through a whole box single-handedly yesterday.” “You must be teasing.” Yeah, right— “Hey, I’m getting in touch with my sensitive side here. Don’t make me whimper in public to get validation.” Cam snuck a peek under the plumage to see how the love goddess was doing. Pale was how she was doing. Probably in shock. He thought, cuddling her closer, sharing his body warmth. If he’d learned anything from his work, it was not to be judgmental about what a person did to survive, either emotionally or financially. He didn’t approve of selling sex, but life was hard, especially on women, and he’d seen too many hard luck stories in his time to condemn how a woman made it through life. He only wished he were better at this sort of thing; Harry had always been the one who provided the tea and sympathy to the tearful. “Don’t be afraid,” he thought to say. “No one’s gonna hurt you.” It was a promise he had no right to make. He didn’t know her; she didn’t know him, which was just as well since hookers were notoriously skittish around cops. They were just two suffering bastards grieving over their respective losses—his partner, her pimp—who happened to collide on a dark and gloomy night when they were both feeling down. He couldn’t keep her safe, not in her line of work, but maybe the cash reward would help make a change in her life. She batted at her feathers, then fixed her little evening bag over her shoulder. The bag, he quickly noted, was initialed ‘G.P.’ on the upper left-hand corner. For ‘Gloria the Prostitute’? Cam thought evilly. “Here. Let me,” he said, and brushed the hair decoration back where he thought it belonged. “There. That’s better. Now I can see you.” “Bad idea, the feathers. I saw the look in a magazine and thought I’d copy it.” “Those Elle articles can be damned dangerous.” “Actually, the article was in the National Geographic.” He gave her the look.
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“No really. There’s this highly prolific subgroup of birds that nest on the Galapagos Islands. The females use feather displays to attract the male of the species. I thought there might be an applicable correlation to human dating behavior.” An applicable correlation to human dating behavior… Gloria sure talked fancy. And why did he feel as though he’d just gotten a lecture? Okay. So Gloria was a little flaky around the edges. Definitely way out there. Cam still gave her the nod. “The Galapagos, eh? I see where you’re going with this. Nelley’s. The Galapagos. They’ve got a lot in common. They’re both wild kingdoms, right?” “Exactly! My very point.” She smiled. Her smile was infectious and he grinned back at her, despite the ache in his leg. So, the love goddess wore cheesy hair feathers? Big fucking deal. It didn’t mean she was totally nuts…They were only feathers. Besides, he happened to dig kooky chics— Gloria tilted her head in a cute, concentrating way. “You aren’t from around here, are you?” “Geez, what gave it away? The style or the skin?” She turned beet-red. “Maine is racially diverse!” He gave her the full homey treatment, “Girl, what you talkin’ ‘bout di-verse? See any brothers in this parking lot, ‘sides me?” But she looked so damned embarrassed—and cute—that he took pity on her. “Maine is diverse, eh? That’s great, ‘cause so am I. I’ve got more ethnicity represented in me than the U.N.” He couldn’t tell her anything more about himself. He’d made a lot of enemies over the years, and with a hip blown out from under him, he was a sitting duck for anyone with a score to settle— He’d hit the bank before leaving Boston and withdrawn some cash from his personal savings—Gloria deserved every last penny of the reward and it’s what Harry would’ve wanted him to do. Cam’s plan was to drop her the money on the sneak, then split, before things got sentimental. But how? There was only one way he knew of. “How about going back to the motel with me?” he asked. She pointed at the well-worn path through the trees. “The Evergreen?” “I’ll get us a room,” he said quietly. “You’re a little shock-shaky. And I could use a rest.” She stared at his hip. “Your leg is bothering you, isn’t it?” “A little.” He shrugged. “The old football injury is acting up.” “Swing your arm over my shoulder.” “Okay,” he answered, too weak to protest.
Louisa Trent
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Chapter Two Miss Gertrude Prescott groaned aloud, “What on earth am I doing here?” “You all right, honey?” her rescuer asked. “Just dandy.” She fiddled with the silly feathers she’d stuck in her hair to mimic the mating displays of the birds she was studying. And where had her taste been when she’d stuck them in her hair? “I talk to myself all the time,” she added. “Maybe you should see someone about it.” She gave him a withering look. “What?” He grinned. “Did the shrink double-book that day?” Her mouth twisted. “Geez, I’m sorry. That crack was uncalled for. There was absolutely no need for me to be flip. I’m having what you might call a tough day. A succession of tough days,” he added. “Which is all the more reason why I should’ve understood that you’re having a tough night.” He slung his arm around her shoulders again. “We’re right around the corner in Nine.” “Nine is one of my favorite numbers. It’s right up there after eight.” She groaned. Third grade humor. She’d been teaching the lower grades way too long. What was an adult topic of conversation? Sex! She remembered sex. Sort of. Unless a woman is extraordinarily lucky, by the time she reaches the age of thirty there’s usually a man in her past she’d just as soon forget— Bob was hers. They’d met freshman year in college. Bob was an Archeology major; she was an Undecided. About a lot of things. Except Bob. She’d loved him, heart and soul. Eight years later, he was still her one and only lover. She had never understood what he saw in her. Witty and clever and good-looking and outgoing, Bob was a golden-boy. He’d dumped her. Naturally. To pursue an Egyptian dig… and the cute daughter of the dig’s wealthy project leader. She’d caught them in Bob’s bed, the one she had just made up with clean sheets after vacuuming his apartment and finishing up his thesis. It was then that she understood what Bob saw in her. That’s when she took the pledge. Never again, she vowed, would she place herself in a vulnerable position. Never again would a man use her. Never again would she come in second best to a prettier woman or to a man’s ambitions.
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Of course, that still didn’t explain why she hadn’t had sex in eight years; she’d vowed to be wary, not chaste. Granted, she’d been busy with her ornithology studies and immersed in her teaching career. Still, she hadn’t been that busy. She could’ve squeezed sex in there somewhere. She hadn’t. She didn’t think the experience with Bob had left her frigid. She knew she wasn’t a lesbian, a perfectly valid lifestyle, just not the right one for her. Actually, she enjoyed men; she still dated from time to time. She’d even been in close proximity to the occasion of sex a few times since Bob. However, when push came to thrust, she always pulled back. There was within her a certain stubborn, horribly old-fashioned reluctance to go to bed with a man she didn’t feel something for. She didn’t mean romantic love, since Bob had rather effectively squelched that fairy tale notion. But she did want to feel something beyond the obvious hormones. Respect. Admiration. Liking. Those would be nice feelings to have about a potential lover. When she was younger, she used to think that of course she’d get married someday. Everybody got married at least once, for goodness sakes! Now she wasn’t so sure. Taking another chance on a man was risky business and Gertrude Prescott was not a risk taker. So why was she exposing herself to potential danger by going to a motel room with a perfect stranger? Darned if she knew. Except—in this instance, the perfect stranger was a perfectly nice man. Some might even classify him as a hero. He had saved her… At Nine, her hero inserted the plastic key-card, pushed the door open, and stepped inside to flip the wall switch. His jaw dropped jaw. “I haven’t seen this much red since Fiery Return of the Intergalactic Gladiators.” “FRIG!” she exclaimed. “I saw it on video only last week.” She helped him to the middle of the room; his limp had noticeably worsened. Warming to the subject matter, and forgetting her terrible shyness, she said, “Didn’t you think the movie was a classic example of pre-pubescent male fantasy? The overly large swords, the monolithic structures in the background, the scantily-clad handmaidens, the idealized concept of planetary warfare—” “Honey—I went for the special effects.” “They were nice too,” she replied, sorry now that she’d ever told him she saw the movie. “Really phenomenal. Computer technology has certainly advanced.” She sounded so pretentious. Nerves, of course. Nerves always made her sound like a twit. What must he think of her? She examined the room’s red shag rug. Her rescuer lifted her chin. “It’s nice. You know, that we both like sci-fi movies.”
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His voice was sympathetic. Warm. Blissfully, unquestionably accepting. Her eyes fluttered upwards to his in gratitude. Suddenly she wished she knew his name. “We haven’t introduced ourselves—” “No names, okay?” It was probably just as well. They were only briefly passing through one another’s lives. No need to get personal. The overhead light bulb, harsh in its bare brightness, shone down onto her rescuer’s hair, which was black and wiry. His eyes were dark too, his gaze straightforward, almost hypnotizing in intensity. “Me and my nervous chatter.” She sighed at his male beauty; she did not need to fall for another gorgeous man. “I’m making a mess of this, aren’t I?” “I can tell you haven’t done this too many times before.” “I’ve never done this before,” she confessed. “Never?” She shook her head. Miss Getrude Prescot did not make a habit of picking up men. She did not frequent seedy bars and she did not take strange men back to raunchy motel rooms. “You’re my first.” She was going to add, ‘One night stand’. But didn’t. Too presumptuous. How did she know if this nice man was having lustful thoughts about her? Maybe this smoldering attraction was one-sided, merely a figment of a frustrated spinster’s imagination. And if he was thinking what she was thinking, could she do it? Could she have sex with a stranger? “About being your…er…first man of color. I’m deeply honored.” He scratched his brow. “I think.” She wasn’t talking about the differences in their skin tones; she didn’t mean that at all! But she let it go. She was driven by another need now, the urgency stronger than her need to explain. “I have to touch you. May I?” Her hand trembled as it rose to his jaw. “Touch me?” “Your face—” “I haven’t shaved in a while—” “It’s all right,” she whispered. Transfixed by her own daring, she glided her palm over his jaw. It was a good jaw. Strong. Solid. Dependable. With an unexpected dimple at the chin. She could tell he’d lost a great deal of weight recently. His cheeks were gaunt, slightly concave. His eye sockets were hollow, as though he hadn’t been sleeping well. Had he been sick? She traced the strong arch of his nose, then moved to his sensuous lips—He caught her wrists, preventing further exploration. “That’s enough, honey. I’m the shy type—” “Me too.” Shy. Self-conscious. Too sensitive by far.
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“Why don’t you take a seat until you stop shaking,” he said softly, and backed her up to the bed. She sank onto the coverlet. “Velour,” she said inanely, and plucked at the hideous fake velvet. “Fire engine-red velour. This room could use some water doused on the flames.” She tilted her head to the sound of raucous laughter coming from the room next door. A man. A woman. Squeaking bed springs. Flames. “And some major sound-proofing,” he grumbled, when the adjoining wall started to knock. He washed a hand over his eyes. “I apologize,” he said formally. “Please don’t.” She wrapped her arms around her waist. Suddenly she was so cold. Her near assault tonight had taken its toll. “I like the room’s warmth. Rooms, houses— they have personalities, don’t you think?” He shrugged. “Too bad this room’s personality doesn’t include a chair.” He gestured to the empty space beside her. “Mind if I take a seat?” “Of course not. Your injury must be bothering you.” He slumped onto the mattress, about a yard away from her, and regarded her through narrowed eyes. Pain? Suspicion? A little of both, she decided. His impatience told her his debility was recent. He was not at that merciful stage of acceptance yet. Poor man. “Is it your leg or hip?” “Mostly the hip.” He paused. “Listen, if you don’t mind, I’d rather not talk about it. Tell me about the movies you like instead.” Dozens of movie reviews later, he said, “Geez! It’s almost two in the morning. I lost track of time. You’re easy to talk to—” Trudy inched closer, close enough to inhale his breath. Cinnamon-flavored coffee. She’d been surrounded at Nelley’s by stale bodies and stale liquor and stale cigarette smoke. The reek clung to her like a guilty conscience, while her companion carried nothing on his person but the fresh scent of the night air and the spice from his coffee. “If you ever need a friend I’m here for you,” she said, her mouth almost touching his mouth as their heads came together against the bed’s headrest. Her skull crashed into something hard. “Ouch!” She pulled away, rubbed the tender spot on her scalp under the feathers. “What was that?” “The bed’s a vibrator. You just smacked into the coin box.” He played with the slot. “Don’t see many of these anymore. This bed is a vintage model.” “The Evergreen was built in the fifties and hasn’t been remodeled since.” His smile was mischievous little boy. “Wanna go for a ride?” She scrambled to the edge of the mattress and started searching underneath for her purse. “Why not? My treat.” Friday was her day for cafeteria duty, and as third graders were notoriously forgetful about unimportant details like lunch money, she always kept spare quarters to ‘lend’.
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She found the bag, palmed some coins—dropping a few on the red shag rug in her excitement—then plugged a quarter in the slot. The bed started to bump and grind. Remembering their noisy neighbors on the other side of the wall, she giggled—a ladylike chuckle at first, followed by a full-fledged guffaw. And then something really idiotic happened; she started to cry. Oh, not big blubbery tears, nothing as undignified as all that, just unremitting streams of moisture, until her cheeks were dampened. “Honey? What’s wrong?” How could she tell this nice man that she was what was wrong? All wrong. For Nelley’s. For the Evergreen Motel. For ever thinking she could have sex with a stranger, even a very nice stranger. Other people had one-night stands, not her. A gentle hand probed her scalp. “I don’t feel a bump.” “I’m not crying because I hit my head!” she snapped. “Sorry.” His hand fell away. “I didn’t know what else to do.” Because he was being so sweet and dear, and she was being just incredibly awful, she cried all the harder. She was bawling now. Ugly, messy, loud, shoulders-shaking, self-pitying tears. “I shouldn’t be here with you,” she slobbered, and huddled into herself, half expecting him to pull away in disgust. He didn’t. His arm went around her. “You’re right. You shouldn’t be here,” he said, accepting the truth of her words at face value, neither trying to talk her out of them or uselessly trying to make her feel better. “What you’re doing is dangerous. You nearly got yourself jumped tonight, honey.” He whispered against her ear, “Find another way. You’ve got choices.” Her shoulders were squeezed. “You might not think there’s another way right now, but there always is.” She used the back of her hand to wipe her face. “I must be a mess.” “No. Beautiful. All the way down to your soul.” His clean, flannel shirt beckoned. She buried her wet nose in its soft folds; her head was tucked under her rescuer’s chin. She could hear his heart, loud and strong, infinitely brave. Everything hers was not. He let her hide her face for a while. Then, he tilted her chin up with the crook of his finger. He touched her eyelids with warm, firm lips. Tracing a trail on her wet-sloppy cheeks, he found her mouth, and hesitantly, kissed the seam of her smudged lipgloss. The kiss was cinnamon-coffee flavored, and ended much too soon. She wanted more. She wanted…him. Just for the night. For some reason, this man was no stranger to her heart. “Please?” He touched a strand of her hair. “I can’t.” “Why not?” His glance didn’t quite meet her eyes. “My leg.”
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He was holding himself awkwardly on the bed, his athlete’s body stiff. He’d need help. Instinctively, she knew he hated what he perceived to be his lack of grace, his limitations, and that he’d be too proud to ask for that help. He pulled away. “I don’t want to hurt you. “You wouldn’t.” “I could,” he muttered. “And I’m not talking only about my leg. I’m not about to take the chance.” “It doesn’t matter—” “It does matter!” he exploded. Then his mouth descended on hers. Hot. Furious. Demanding this time. So—this is how it will be. She thought with a sigh of resignation. There was anger in his kiss, but Trudy knew this man would never hurt her. His anger was self-directed. Why? For being less than what he thought he should be? Less than what he once was? Less than perfect? She wasn’t perfect either. Far from it. Pent-up passion exploded within her and she answered him back, hot kiss for hot kiss. And it came to her as she felt his frustration, as his fingers ripped through her plain brown hair, scattering the metal clips everywhere, that his debility was more than body deep. Something was bothering him. She wished she knew what that something was. She wished she could help him as he was helping her, for as he gave her the precious gift of his own need, she felt her shyness dissipate. There was no room for shyness in the spiraling heat of his passion. Holding nothing back, letting go of the right or wrong of it, she lavished her mouth over his, giving into a hunger she had never known before. That hunger was consuming her. She caressed his broad back, the taut muscles rippling under her palms, letting him know in the only way she could, through her fingertips, through her mouth, that she didn’t expect, need, or even want perfection in a lover. “Yes. Yes. Yes.” He groaned, warm and moist in the hollow of her throat. “My weight. I can’t support myself and you’re too tiny to take me. I’d crush you.” “You’ll crush me if you don’t.” This stranger was absorbing her, cell by cell. She was losing herself in him. Scary. Wondrous. Life-affirming. His lifted away from her clumsily. She whimpered at the loss of his heat. “Don’t go. Please don’t go.” He was breathing hard. “Why don’t you go get ready in the bathroom, honey?” Without another word, she rose from the bed. Once inside the bath, she scrubbed her tears down the rusty drain, undid the ridiculous feathers, fluffed some ooompf into her lank, mousy brown hair, and lastly, removed her clothing. She wished she had gorgeous hair. A gorgeous body. A gorgeous anything. She wished she could turn a man on with just a look, a smile, a promise. She knew she couldn’t; she wasn’t that kind of woman. Trudy Prescott was totally forgettable. She groped her way back along the wall, as naked as her emotions. The room was empty.
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Of course, he’d left. Of course, he hadn’t wanted her. She was plain and studious and woefully self-conscious, completely lacking in sex appeal, while he was kind and warm and funny, and yes, gorgeous. Her knight in shining armor had probably already forgotten her. The bed was no longer vibrating. Trudy stumbled towards it. With a sweep of her hand, she fanned a neat pile of one hundred-dollar-bills until the money resembled green leaves on the red coverlet. A bouquet of fake velvet roses. She thought, and let the tears fall.
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Chapter Three After toughing his way through twenty creaky squat thrusts, Cam Wyler’s injured leg muscles were doing a retaliatory twitch dance. To cut himself some slack in the pain department, he closed his eyes, took a nice deep breath, and plugged into some quickfix, bio-feedback. God love Harry. His partner had been one of those health-food fanatic white dudes. The man was forever scarfing down nuts and berries and sprouts—wholesome, organic stuff like that. He was also heavy into relaxation techniques, like yoga. It was Harry who warned Cam years ago that he was ‘the quintessential, over-stressed, type-Apersonality-heart-attack-waiting-to-happen kind of guy’— So saying, Harry had forced Cam to learn meditation. Cam now had the technique down pat. He always visualized the same thing: cool blue skies; big, white puffy clouds; and a pretty pink rainbow. Harry, the big sentimentalist, had approved. His partner had even gone so far as to compliment Cam, saying the imagery he’d selected had many ‘therapeutic benefits’. For once in their salt and pepper partnership both men had agreed on something. But what Harry never knew, and what Cam refrained from telling him, was this: underneath that pretty pink rainbow were high-kicking showgirls. The ladies were wearing swinging red tassels on their tits and not much else, and they were bumpin’ and grindin’ and struttin’ their stuff in a twenty-four-seven blackjack casino on the strip— Man, he loved this meditation stuff! It always worked like a charm. His head and hip were still killing him, naturally— pain management being a clever, albeit highly over-rated concept—but he felt much better, just for thinking of Harry. Before the warm meditative glow wore off, he reached for the glass of water and swallowed the meds the nice docs at City Hospital had prescribed. Pain pills made him groggy, woozy, out of it. But without them, physical therapy was impossible. Either way, it was a lose-lose situation. Until the meds kicked in, he’d just have to push through the throbbing pain. Cam started in with some faltering deep knee bends. He’d hated them in the Marines, and he hated them still, but like the square corners he made in his bed sheets every morning, he did them. On bend number ten, he was whimpering like a Red Sox fan at playoffs. He groaned his way through four more sets of reps before throwing himself down on the floor to do sit-ups. Fifty. Then push-ups. Fifty. Harry was dead…Harry was dead…Oh, God, Harry. Why couldn’t it have been him instead? He didn’t have five kids and a wife.
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Everybody said Harry’s death wasn’t Cam’s fault, that he’d done a real fine job cracking the serial killer case. He’d even made it to the front page of the Boston Globe— Everybody was looking for a hero these days, somebody they could look up to. Well, he hated to disappoint, but he sure as hell didn’t fit the profile. Heroes don’t break into cold sweats late at night, every night. Heroes don’t lose it at the drop of a hat. And heroes don’t go berserk on live TV and break the nose of a certain slick news commentator in front of a few hundred something thousand viewers just because that newscaster happened to mention that it was a real tough break how Harry Donlon got himself shot to death— Nope, heroes don’t do stuff like that. But Cameron Wyler had. It took the entire TV crew to pull him off the twerp. He still couldn’t believe the creep’s insensitivity. Harry’s whole family was there in the audience and the guy says his partner’s getting butchered was a tough break? Didn’t anyone get it? It should’ve been Cameron Wyler who got shot dead, not Harry! But no, he gets tagged a hero. He was no hero! He’d let Harry down. His elbows heaved like pistons. Shoulders quivering sweat dripping down his back, T-shirt soaking wet and sticking to his skin, Cam didn’t end it. He didn’t call it quits until his hip gave out and he collapsed on the floor, face down. He thought he’d died and gone to hell. His body was on fire. Teeth clenched against the hot waves of agony, Cam dragged himself to his feet, lurched to the window. He slouched there, forehead resting against the cool glass, hoping to find something, anything, please God, to take his mind off the relentless torment. When would those damn pills kick in? He didn’t care if they did wipe him out. He needed to zone out, to forget, just for a few minutes how Harry had looked dead in that alley… Cam took a deep breath and looked around for a distraction, any distraction. The cabin he was renting came with no running water, no toilet, no power, no smog, no skyscrapers, and no traffic—unless you counted the moose, and he wasn’t. Stretched out before him was the majesty of nature’s vast beauty, miles of unadorned, unspoiled scenic wonder, the kinds of scenes depicted on calendars, greeting cards, and Andrew Wyeth prints. Man, he hated the country. He was city, through and through. He missed the hustle and bustle, and hell yeah, the frenetic beat of urban life. Apart from the chirping crickets that kept him awake half the night, Maine was too damned quiet for his tastes. There was something wrong when a town’s traffic lights could be counted on the fingers of a one-armed street swindler, but moose could be seen on every corner. The natural order of things was just plain skewed. He didn’t care how beautiful the scenery was! He’d never been so bored in all his life. He’d taken to counting the flies on his cabin’s rustic beam ceiling for entertainment—
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Steven King lived up here in Maine. What did a wickedly good horror writer like Steve use for inspiration? Cute baby bunnies? He had not a clue as to how the locals put up with so much damned bucolic splendor. Didn’t they ever crave action, or at least the sight of another human being? Did they all sit around and knit? “In another week, I’ll be talking to myself—” Cam shuddered at the echo of his voice in the cabin. They said solitude was good for the soul. Not this man’s soul. A week of inactivity was sending him right up the wall. He was jumpy. Seeing things. Had the gunshot wound splintered his mind as well as his hip? Had Harry’s murder turned him paranoid, with just a touch of delusion thrown into the mix to make things interesting? Were those bushes really moving or was he flipping out altogether? “What the hell,” he muttered when a vaguely humanoid critter leapt out of the bushes and edged to his Jeep. Too big for a raccoon. Too small for a moose. But cunning enough to open the Jeep’s door, crawl inside, and start fiddling under the dash. His isolated cabin was so deep in the woods that his four-wheel-drive had a hard time maneuvering the terrain. As far as he was concerned, two narrow grooves in the dirt did not a street make. So how come he had company when Smoky the Bear couldn’t have made the trip? Cam grabbed his holster from the kitchen table and swung it onto his shoulder. He limped to the cabin door and cracked it, real slow. When his visitor didn’t look up, he shuffled across the yard, the snub-nose of his revolver pointed at what he could now plainly see was a kid in a gray hooded sweatshirt. “Freeze!” he roared. The kid turned to ice. Cam hauled upwards on his fleeced hood. And got no where fast. The arrogant runt refused to budge. Puny arms wrapped themselves around his prized leather upholstery and ten chewed-up fingernails dug in deep. Cam saw green. Four-week’s-worth-of-green. A month’s paycheck had gone into that custom interior. “For your information, that’s not cheap imitation vinyl under your paws. That’s Corinthian leather. Damage it, and I’ll take the cost of repairs outta the hide on your scrawny butt!” In answer, the punk’s nails clawed the cow skin. Cam suffered those jagged strips for all of ten seconds before he took the kid by the scuff of his hood and heaved him out the door. Cam sandwiched the kid between car metal and man metal. Adrenaline on meltdown, his post-op stamina bottomed out, Cam had nothing left over but bluff. “Spread ‘em,” he rasped.
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He waited. Nothing. Idle threats over, Cam shouted, “Dude, you got an auditory deficit? Been listening to too much heavy metal? I said, make like a felon and do it yesterday!” Tiny hands reached for the sky; skinny legs did a split. “That’s more like it,” Cam said, masking gratitude behind cockiness. “For a minute there, you were acting like you’d never been patted down before.” Danger averted, situation under control, Cam stored his firearm back in its shoulder holster, then commenced with the usual pat down. At the kid’s jutting shoulder blades, he asked conversationally, “So tell me, pal, who you working for?” The kid kept mum, but he did jump about a mile when Cam roamed his vertebrae. “You’re a nervous little thing, aren’t ya? Popped my lock quick enough though. Looked to me like you were about to plant an electronic device under the dash.” The kid swung his head back and forth in denial. The motion made Cam dizzy. Uh-oh. The pain pill was finally kicking in. Dizziness was one of the weird side effects. “Yeah, right! This is all just a terrible misunderstanding. You’re really a boy scout who got lost in the woods. Your den leader and the rest of the troop will be catching up real soon.” Cam palmed the kid’s side. “Still not talking—eh? Well, get ready for an unforgettable thrill. You’re about to be frisked by the master.” Not a squirming inch went uninvestigated. Cam palmed the kid’s spine, under scrawny arms, over a slender rib cage, feeling, pressing, stroking, cupping…breasts. Breasts? A high-pitched yelp. A soprano squeal. A shill cry of outrage. And she wasn’t taking it any too well either. In the ultimate humiliation, Cam lost his balance and fell on her. “Are you buffing the chrome with me or is this your idea of showing a girl a good time?” she ragged on him. Woozy as can be and seeing double, he levered himself off her. “Okay. Turn around real slow.” He grumbled, mortified, “You should’ve said you were female!” “I didn’t think sex was relevant.” “Take my word for it, sugar, sex is always relevant. And why are we talking sex anyway? You one of those nympho white girls who like being manhandled by AfricanAmerican men? Is that what you’re into? Maybe you like being shaken until your teeth clatter?” “Perhaps in a former life. My orthodontic work couldn’t withstand the abuse in this one.” The woman was small-boned-fragile, maybe a hundred pounds soaking wet. Even in his weakened condition, he could have done her some serious harm. “You think this is funny? This is not funny! I do not abuse women!” “I know,” she said, softly.
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“Huh? You know nothing about me, lady.” His eyes narrowed. “Or do you?” Where had he heard that sultry voice before? Frowning as he tried to remember, he said, “Lose the hood and the attitude.” “Will you settle for one out of two?” she cracked pushing the hood off her head. He knew her! But the deja vu feeling got lost in his brain fog when her hand went to her midsection. “Oh, my goodness. I’m beginning to feel a bit nauseous. Car sickness.” “My Jeep was parked, lady! You can’t get motion sickness in a parked vehicle.” “Tell that to my motion sickness. Are you familiar with projectile vomit?” she asked sweetly. Oh, yeah. Very familiar. His brother’s baby had a problem drinking formula, only no one thought to tell Uncle Cam. He discovered it all on his own while niece-sitting one night. Horrified, Cam tottered backwards. “Don’t tell me you’re gonna—not all over my wax finish, you don’t.” “It’s a distinct possibility. I remember not too long ago feeling similarly inclined and I just couldn’t seem to stop. I was unwell for hours. Finally, I had to…” He interrupted. “Aw, lady, please. That’s more than I need to know.” “You did ask—” Worn down, worn-out, he practically whined, “Tell me why you were breaking into my vehicle!” She ignored him in favor of pointing to his shoulder holster. “Is that gun real?” “What do you think?” In a real snotty tone, she said, “What I think is that verbal evasion is counterproductive, particularly the kind of verbal evasion which involves answering a question with another question. I realize your query was primarily rhetorical in nature, but I mean, really, if I knew the answer, would I have bothered to ask—?” Cam’s head was pounding. Didn’t she understand the seriousness of the situation? Didn’t she have the sense to be intimidated? What was it with her major sense of entitlement, anyway? “The gun is real. There, I answered your question, now answer mine: What were you planting in my Jeep? Some kind of electrical devise—right?” “I assure you, the only thing I know how to plant is a bed of petunias.” “C’mon now. You broke into my Jeep for a reason. Let’s hear it.” “I didn’t break in.” She scratched her nose. “The front door was already open.” “Your butt was pointed up in the air, and you were going over my car like a pro. Now, I want to know: Who sent you?” “Sent me? Are you insane! No one sent me.” “You work alone?” “Well—I suppose in a manner of speaking—” She stopped. Her mouth turned mulish. “Who gave you the right to interrogate me anyway? This is a free country and you cannot treat me like a common criminal. I’m innocent until proven guilty.”
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“Interesting theory. Tell it to your lawyer. I don’t give two cents about your civil liberties. All I care about is that I caught your butt red-handed in my car.” He cocked his head to the side, rethinking that last statement. “Well—you know what I mean.” “I’m an elementary schoolteacher. Of course, I understand your garbled rhetoric. Deciphering boy-speak is part of my job function. Grammar and the male brain are mutually exclusive. Every educator knows that, for heaven’s sake!” She smiled, all smarmy-like. “Here’s a helpful elocution hint: Try thinking of what you want to say before you speak. Your words will make more sense.” He smirked. “What? Yeah. Right. Whatever—” He paused. “Whatd’ya mean you’re an elementary schoolteacher?” “Just what I said. What is it about that simple declarative sentence you do not comprehend?” “I comprehend plenty!” he said heatedly. “P-l-e-n-t-y. I’ve just never heard such a lame cover before. Next you’ll be telling me you were up here gathering leaves for your class bulletin board.” She said, all sing-songy-like, “The autumn colors are particularly nice this year.” He mimicked her tone. “I don’t particularly care.” “There is absolutely no need for sarcasm.” “Forgive me. When I catch someone trying to hot-wire my vehicle, it brings out the worst in me.” He knew it was going to hurt, but like the ruts on Storrow Drive, his frown deepened with heavy usage. “Start talking.” “Inappropriate facial expressions are entirely lost on me,” she said, hands primly folded at her waist. The sing-songy voice. The clucking. The snippiness. The multi-syllabic words. The primly folded hands. The bossy lecturing. She was getting on his nerves big-time, and not only that, she was beginning to remind him of his third-grade teacher. He never could pull anything over on Miss Morris. He robbed his throbbing temples. “Keep those arms skyward!” “There’s absolutely no need to shout.” When her arms were once again flapping in the breeze, he reluctantly resumed the frisk. She wiggled. “Stop that!” “Hey, I’m not enjoying this, you know. I’m looking for weapons here, lady.” “I’m not hiding a gun where you’re searching and you know it.” “Can’t be too sure. You could have a weapon concealed anywhere on your person, then use it on me when my back is turned.” She rapped his fingers. “Lady, get real. I’ve been hit harder by my brother’s two year old.” “Stay away from me!” Both hands came up in front of her face, and she was bouncing on the balls of her feet. What the hell was she trying to prove? That she was a girl boxer or somethin’?
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“It was the scrawny butt comment—wasn’t it? That’s why you’re miffed. Tell ya what I’m gonna do, to make amends, you tell me who sent you, and maybe, just maybe, I’ll let your scrawny butt go.” Her hands came down; she stopped bouncing. “No one sent me. I found you all on my own. Now stop frisking me. I’m not carrying a piece.” “A piece? A piece of what?” He guffawed. “Chocolate cake?” “You think I’m packing heat and I’m not.” “What I think, lady, is that you’ve been watching too many bad cop shows on cable.” He patted the waistband of her corduroy jeans. “Clean,” he pronounced. Then, “Turn around. Put your arms on the hood of the car. And do not scratch the finish.” “This is ludicrous!” she exclaimed while turning. “My name is Gertrude Prescott and I’m a third grade teacher at Central Elementary School.” He patted the corduroy nap until the soft pile stood straight up, pausing over her back pockets to say, “Hmm. What have we here, Miz Third-Grade-School-Teacher?” “If I have to define each and every part of my anatomy for you, we may very well be here for the rest of this evening! And I…and I have things to do at home. Important things. Lesson plans. Homework assignments. I…I have a cat!” “Stop it, you’re breaking my heart.” He stepped away. “Okay, you’re clean. Hand over some ID and I’ll let you go.” She didn’t move a muscle. “Don’t tell me,” he said with a barely suppressed moan. “No ID. Right?” “I have an ID. A driver’s license. It’s back in my car. You can walk down and get it. It’s only about a mile or so,” she said, breezily. It might just as well have been a hundred. Cam shook his head in despair. He didn’t want to keep her, but he couldn’t let her go either, not while there was even a slim chance that she was not who she said she was. “You’re coming with me,” he said. Something wasn’t adding up right and he needed to get to the bottom of it.
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Chapter Four On Trudy Prescott’s way to school the previous Friday, as coincidence would have it, she just so happened to stop by and chat with her next door neighbor, Mrs. Hodge, a lovely woman but a horrible gossip. Mrs. Hodge just happened to mention that her dear friend, Mabel Collins, was renting one of her retreat cabins to an out-of-state vacationer. In random conversation, it came up that the name of the tenant was Cameron Wyler, that he was from Boston, that he walked with a pronounced limp, that he owned a red Jeep, and that he was staying in the rental cabin situated off fire lane #5. Oh, and he was also of African-American descent. Since her rescuer was from out of state, walked with a pronounced limp, there had been a red Jeep parked in the dirt lot that night at Nelley’s, and oh, he was African American, she put two plus two together and wound up being frisked for her ability to do simple arithmetic. Had she followed through on her original plan, which was to knock on the cabin’s front door, hand back the money, and leave after delivering the scathing diatribe she had rehearsed, aloud, all week, she would not be in this present predicament. Halfway to the cabin door, panic had set in, and she’d decided to leave the money in the front seat of her hero’s unlocked Jeep. Either Cameron Wyler was completely bonkers, or in a really comical case of mistaken identity he had taken her for a prostitute. That had to be the reason why he’d left her a bouquet of money on the bed. What other explanation could there be—other than he thought she, Trudy Prescott, an elementary schoolteacher, a serious-minded bird watcher, was a hooker? She glared at him. “What do you intend to do with me?” “I’m thinking maybe torture.” “Stop toying with me, dammit!” “Yo! That’s pretty harsh language coming from a teacher. What would the school board think? Not that I believe for a minute that you actually are a teacher,” he went on. “Not without proof. And don’t tell me you know all the state capitals frontwards and backwards or that your penmanship is damn fine or that your multiplication tables are wicked good or that your basic…your basic…” “Skills,” she supplied. “Thanks. Or that your basic skills are just peachy keen, ‘cause that ain’t gonna do it. I need hard proof.” “If it will set your mind at ease I’ll go get my ID and bring it back to you.” “What kinda fool do you take me for? If I let you go, that’ll be the last I ever see of you. So wake up, Dorothy. There are too many friggin’ pine trees ‘round here for this to be Kansas. In case you haven’t caught on yet, I’m detaining you until you tell me the truth.”
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“Let’s get one thing clear: You are not detaining me! If I stay, it’s because I’ve chosen to stay.” “Consider yourself my guest,” he replied, and placing his hand under her elbow, escorted her through the screen door and into the cabin. With a wobbly flourish, he bowed at the waist; his arm made a grand panoramic sweep from left to right, as though he were presenting her with Buckingham Palace, not a single room cabin with gaping chinks in the log walls. “Welcome to my humble chapeau.” “The word for house in French is chateau, not chapeau. Chapeau means hat,” she supplied. Then she grimaced. She was becoming what every third grade elementary teacher feared: a caricature of a third grade elementary schoolteacher. “I was goofing on you. That was a dumb, tired joke from an old movie.” Cameron Wyler sounded tired. No, worse than tired. Worn out. Sick. What was wrong with him? “Next time, tell me in advance and I’ll be sure to laugh,” she said softly, but not sympathetically; her hero would be insulted if she showed him sympathy. “A dumb, tired laugh to match your dumb, tired joke.” He pulled out one of the two chairs in the cabin. “Sit!” he ordered while rubbing his forehead. Cameron Wyler had deteriorated terribly since that night at Nelley’s. Her heart went out to him. “Are you feeling all right?” “I have a headache.” “Perhaps you should take something for it. Other than me, of course.” He ignored her attempt at levity. “Who you working for, Dorothy?” “The Sutton Board of Education. And I told you, my name is Gertrude Prescott. Not Dorothy.” “We met the other night at Nelley’s, right?” Time to ‘fess up. “That’s correct.” “Your name isn’t Gloria? You aren’t a hooker?” She beamed; they were making progress. “Precisely!” “Gertrude’s no name for a hooker, lady! Let’s try it again, but using the truth this time: What do you want with me?” “Me? Want with you? I want nothing, absolutely nothing, from you, sir!” Imagine still insisting she was a hooker! What was he? Delusional? Oh, dear! He was delusional. The man was weaving on his feet. Obviously, he was not in his right mind. Why had she decided to return the money in person? Why hadn’t she simply left the money in an envelope with Mabel Collins, the woman who had rented him the cabin? She could have given it to her tenant when he returned the keys. She hadn’t done so, because she had wanted to see him again, despite the fact that he had ducked out on her, despite the fact that he had mistaken her for a hooker. More fool she. And it wasn’t the first time.
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“I am a teacher, not that other…occupation. I have no nefarious purpose for being here. I was simply taking a walk, in the woods, as I often do, and saw your bright red, highly conspicuous Jeep, and decided to investigate. I have I curious nature. I meant no harm. And I do apologize for trespassing in your private property.” She grinned. “Fancy meeting you again! Small world, isn’t it?” “This spot is completely isolated. It’s too far off the beaten path for a walk. Maybe you’re not a hooker, but you sure as hell followed me up here.” Her hero lit a dusty kerosene lamp, “You’re dressed warm, but not warm enough for camping outdoors. That means you expected to get in, do the job, and get out real quick.” He stroked a finger along her cheek. She swatted his hand away. “Stop it! I know what you’re doing. You’re playing games with me. Trying to intimidate me sexually. Well, let me tell you, buster, it won’t work.” “Ho—now you’re on to me! But here’s the thing; I really like playing games. ‘Twenty Questions’ is my favorite. We’ll start with something real easy. Where do you live?” “On River Street in Sutton. In a small, white Victorian.” “Figures,” he grumbled. “The house has adorable red hearts on its shutters and it’s within easy walking distance of the school where I teach. “ “You live alone?” “Yes.” “No live-in-lover?” “No.” “So, on a Saturday night if you didn’t answer your phone, the caller would probably assume you were out on a hot date. Come Sunday morning, if you still weren’t home, the natural assumption would be that you really liked your date, and decided to go back to his place to spend the night. In other words, no one is going to notice that you’re missing.” “Everyone notices everything in Sutton. My absence will be duly noticed and noted when I am not seated in my usual pew tomorrow in church. I never miss Sunday service and I never spend the night away from my home.” “There’s always a first time, lady. Maybe a guy swept you off your feet and into his bed and so you missed church. Stranger things than that happen.” “Not to me! I am a schoolteacher in a small town. I have my reputation to consider. This isn’t Sex in the City, you know. Sutton, Maine is not Boston, Massachusetts.” He sprung into action. “How’d you know I’m from Boston? I never mentioned at The Evergreen that I was from Boston!” “You…your license plates. You have Massachusetts plates. I just assumed Boston. You seem like a city-person. It was a wild guess.” “Uh-uh, no way. You said it with absolute certainty. Now, who sent you? And why are you here?”
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The man was crazed! She couldn’t possibly tell him that she had indeed followed him! A creative excuse, based on truth, was in order. “I belong to the Audubon Society.” “Say what?” She wet her dry lips. “I’m a bird watcher. I track hawks. That’s what I was doing walking in the woods far from the beaten path.” “Geez, and here I thought Maine was boring. Do you have binoculars?” “Er—” “Okay, yes or no? Pick one. I don’t give a rat’s posterior which one.” “No.” “Now, we’re getting somewhere. Next question: Who told you I was here?” “Suffice it to say that a little birdie whispered your location in my ear. We’re both busy people and I don’t want to bore you by classifying all my feathered friends.” He chuckled. “You’re just full of surprises, aren’t you? And here I thought you were this timid little thing and turns out you’re cucumber cool.” He picked up a strand of her hair and wrapped it around his finger. Tossing her head, she dislodged his hand. “Don’t do that!” “Oh boy, now I’m scared. You know what? I suspect no one will report you missing until Monday after school. That is, if you really are a teacher.” At the end of her patience, she jumped out of her seat. “I am a teacher!” “Don’t do that! Get back in your chair!” “It’s apparent to me that you are ill and that you are in pain, and the last thing I want to do is hurt you, but I will be forced to use my self-defense skills if you persist in this manner.” “Like you did outside with that knuckle rap? Wowsa, that really smarted. And now that we’re talking defense, let me tell you a little something: Folks who brag they know self-defense don’t know shit. Folks who can defend themselves never broadcast it. They sneak up on their assailant when it’s least expected.” She reclaimed her seat. “Of course. You’re quite right. It was braggadocio on my part to claim I could defend myself against you when it must be abundantly apparent that I cannot, that I have no self-defense skills, that I am completely at your mercy.” “No need to apologize, honey. It was a valiant effort.” He wiped a none-too-steady hand over his eyes. “Look at me! I’ve forgotten my manners,” he said weakly. “Would you care for a drink of well water?” Limping to the sink pump, he jerked the old-fashioned handle a few times, producing enough water to fill a dented cup. He placed it on the table in front of her. “Please forgive the modest refreshments. If I’d known you were coming by to off me today, I would’ve stocked up on Perrier.” “I couldn’t off a fly never mind a human being. Now who’s guilty of using tired cop dialogue?” He scowled, and slumped into a chair next to hers. “Drink your damn water.” She brought the cup to her lips. Looking up over the rim, she said, “Thank you, Cameron.”
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“Cameron? Thank you, Cameron?” “Do you prefer being called, Cam?” “How do you know my name?” Trudy looked everywhere but at him, and did some quick thinking. “I saw your car registration in the glove compartment. It was made out to Cameron Wyler.” “Great answer. Only I don’t leave my registration in the glove compartment. Now tell me who you really are! I need hard answers, not these fakes. I’ll get them out of you, no matter what it takes! Now tell the truth, for both out sakes!” Trudy stared at him. “Just what I need right now, a man with a proclivity to rhyme.” “Huh?” “Why don’t you close your eyes? You look tired, Cam. I could get you a cold compress—” “Don’t placate me, lady. That’s annoying as all hell. Yeah, I could use some shuteye but you’ll try to escape as soon as my lids fall.” “You have my word. I won’t leave, not until I know you’re all right.” “Hey, you’re not leaving ‘cause I say so.” She didn’t want to do this, but… Fanning a hand in front of her face, Trudy asked, “Is it just me, or is it hot in here?” “Take off your sweatshirt if you’re warm.” “Good idea.” She pulled the thick fleece material over her head, balled it up, and let him have it. She was at the door before he’d vacated the chair. “Don’t bother to get up,” she said, from the threshold. “I’ve got an old football injury. It’s been acting up. That’s why you got away. I’m usually pirouetting all over this cabin. Handstands and everything.” She took a deep, teacherly breath. “No one keeps me anywhere against my will. If I really wanted to leave, I’d be already out the door. In your weakened condition, you’d never be able to give chase.” “You little fool. I wouldn’t have to chase you. I have a gun. My marksmanship is excellent, weak leg, pounding head, or not.” He wasn’t making this easy for her. “You’d never shoot me.” She walked towards him. “You’re just not the type. You’re not ruthless. You’re certainly not a killer. If you’re concerned that I’ll try to escape while you’re resting, this is what I’m going to do: I’ll allow you to tie my wrist to yours.” “What!” He pushed all the way back in his seat. “Whatd’ya take me for? I’m not tying anything of yours to anything of mine.” “Do it,” she said coolly. “I insist.” “You’re one weird lady, ya know that? But sorry to disappoint, I don’t do bondage on the first date. Besides, I left my velvet cuffs at home.” Goodness! She was feeling oddly flushed all of a sudden. Her whole body was quite warm. Quivery too. Silly, really. This wasn’t really about bondage. Though certain
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human courtship behaviors were apropos to her bird mating studies and did merit further investigating for her research paper, now was not the time to experiment with dominance and submission. Ethics aside, her subject was sick and needed to rest. “In this movie, I forget the name, the heroine’s bra was used in lieu of a restraint.” She reached under her jersey in back to undo the plastic fastener. “The…er…underwire on this one has the strength of armor.” He scrambled up out of his chair, and captured her wrists. “As much as I groove on chain mail, don’t do it, baby. A man in my condition couldn’t stand the thrill. The excitement alone would probably kill me.” “How about my belt?” She shook her wrists free and undid her belt buckle. “You’re certifiable, ya know that?” “Pardon me for mentioning this, but you don’t seem entirely stable yourself. Now, you need to rest.” She drew the belt through the loops. “And I’m going to make sure you get that rest.” “There’s no need to do this. That belt is probably your favorite. I know how it is with you women and your accessories.” He forced out a tired chuckle as he fell back down into his seat. “That belt is most likely a fashion statement. You don’t want to part with that.” “Oh, but I do.” She wrapped the belt around one wrist, then grabbed his hand, and latched them together. She handed him the dangling end. “There. All done.” She dragged her chair beside his, then sat down, shoulder to shoulder, her arm rubbing his arm. “Relax. Everything is under control.” “If you’re my hostage, how come I’m the one who feels trapped?” he grumbled. “It’s all in the eye of the beholder. Now, I’m going to close my eyes and take a nap. I suggest you do the same. If I move a muscle, you’ll feel it.” “I can’t believe you learned how to manacle somebody from watching a movie, baby…” His eyes were already closing. “You’d be surprised at what I’ve learned from the movies,” she answered. But Cameron Wyler didn’t hear her. He was asleep.
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Chapter Five His hostage’s fidgets woke Cam up. First, she’d cross her ankles. A minute later they’d be uncrossed. Cross. Uncross. She was wiggling around like a worm after a rainstorm. There was a cast-iron stove in the corner that he fed on a regular basis with wood. But this was Maine, and it was autumn, and nights got chilly… Maybe his guest was cold. She had taken off her warm sweatshirt to throw at him. He grinned in memory. He was reaching for a blanket to throw over her when she roused. “What are you doing?” she asked. “I thought maybe you were cold.” “Thanks, but don’t bother. I really should be running along. Lucky Lucy must be starved by now. She’s not a very good mouser.” Her smile was indulgent. “Lucy’s basically a house cat, but I take her outside for a walk when she’s been cooped up too long.” “Since when do cats need to be walked?” “Lucy is a little reclusive. She gets shy around other animals, and she doesn’t always fit in. And sometimes, she gets nervous if she goes too far from the yard, or if I’m not home when I’m supposed to be home. I really should leave—” And there was nothing Cam wanted more than to wave bye-bye to this strange chick from the cabin door. Too bad he couldn’t. She knew his name, where he was recuperating. She knew he was weak. She could ID his Jeep. If this lady wasn’t Gloria—hell, even if she was Gloria—she had an awful lot of explaining to do. She was back to fidgeting again. Her hiking boots were doing a little tap dance on the floor. And now he had a pretty good idea what that meant. All that water and no trips anywhere. “Speaking of walks,” he began, tip-toeing into the sensitive area. “How ‘bout we take one?” “No thank you.” Fidget. Fidget. “It’s just that, you know, I couldn’t help but notice that you’ve been a little restless— “ He sighed. Where was his couth when he needed it? He rephrased the delicate question. “Would you care to use the facilities?” “I’m fine,” she gritted through clenched teeth. “Like hell you’re fine! I know a little something about women and I’ve never been with one longer than an hour before she heads for the little girl’s room. I never understood what you gals do in there, but it’s a mighty popular place.” He hoisted her up with his free hand. “Even teachers must have to…” “There had better be a euphemism following that preposition.”
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He scowled. Dragging out parts of speech? She had to be a teacher. “If you had to go, you know, you shoulda said so!” “You’re rhyming again.” “I rhyme. You ramble. I’d say we are equally irritating.” He started toward the door. Since they were attached at the wrists, she had no choice but to follow. “Dorothy, at the end of the yellow brick road there’s this groovy little outhouse I want you to check out. You can tell all the munchkins about it when you get back to OZ.” He had to do a lopsided jog to keep up with her. At the door with the crescent-moon, he stopped. “Go on.” She was folding her arms under her bosom, but thought better of it when his hand tagged along for the ride. “Well?” she snipped. “Well what?” He eyed their co-joined wrists. “Sorry!” he exclaimed, all male gruffness, and started working on freeing her. “Hurry!” “I’m going as fast as I can.” “Not fast enough.” Hurrying always made him clumsy. Now, however, probably wasn’t the best time to draw her attention to his lack of fine motor skills, not when she was hopping in place, her female agitation turning his fingers to thumbs. “This buckle won’t budge. Tell ya what, I’ll just turn my back—” “You do and I’ll just kick your—” “Un-un-un. Euphemisms, remember? Listen, I’ll close my eyes. I don’t mind…” “Listen, I do mind.” “I think you’re carrying this modesty routine too far. Something could…you know…explode if this buckle stays jammed much longer.” “Any exploding done around here will be done on your side of the belt. Keep working on it!” “Fool woman,” he grumbled under his breath while jiggling the catch. “Hanging onto a belt that serves no functional purpose. You probably only wear the belt ‘cause it matches your shoes or something and…” “Pardon me, but perhaps if you weren’t blathering to yourself, you’d be able to hear me tell you that the buckle has this little do jiggy thingy that gets stuck sometimes. Jostle it a little. No, no. Not up and down, “ she cried jumping up and down. “Side to side. It usually comes free when I do that. Hurry, hurry, hurry!” “Okay, okay, relax,” he grumbled. “Do jiggy thingy? How the hell am I supposed to know what that is? Can’t use the correct terminology and then expects me to…” “Wait a sec…I think I’ve got it!” The belt came away in his none too steady hands.
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“Don’t do this to me ever again,” he said, louder than necessary, considering their proximity. “Don’t do this to you! Get out! Get out of this outhouse immediately!” “I’m going, I’m going,” he said, backing out. “Don’t have to ask me twice.” With more dignity than he could have mustered under similar circumstances, she slammed the door in his face. The outhouse was primitive. He wouldn’t have been surprised if she ran out of there, screaming. He sure had. When Dorothy rejoined him, he politely inquired, “So—howd’ya like the…uh…powder room?” “Splinters.” She shivered. “Let’s get you back to the cabin,” he said. “You must be cold.”
***** After washing her face and hands at the outdoor pump, Trudy immediately raced for the cabin and the wood burning stove. Cameron Wyler closed the cabin door, then stalked to where she stood, teeth chattering. “C’mere,” he said, and pulled her against his side. Too numb to resist, stone-cold inside and out, she allowed herself be enveloped in his arms. She was freezing. He was hot. The hug was a question of survival. Or so she told herself. The hug was so reminiscent of that night at Nelley’s that her knees went weak. He’d rescued her that night, he’d shared his warmth with her, and he had been utterly kind and protective. She’d felt something on that vibrating bed when he’d kissed her, dammit, and all the time he’d thought she was a lady of the evening. He’d pitied her. That’s why he’d left her a bouquet of money on the bed. Now he was doing it again, pitying her. He rubbed her hands between his, then blew on them. That one, warm puff triggered tremors inside her body! She tried to pull away. “No, don’t,” he said, holding her tighter. “Stay. Only until your chill is gone.” Trudy tilted her jaw against Cameron’s soft flannel shirt. She could hear his heart beat, just as she’d heard it at The Evergreen. That strong, steady rhythm sounded so reliable, so dependable, so forthright against her ear that she had to ask, “Why are you in hiding?” He caught a stray strand of her mousy-brown hair around his finger. “Who says I’m in hiding?” “I do. You’re the quintessential city person. You would no more choose to commune with nature in a cabin than I’d choose to spend time in a Boston high rise. So—what did you do? Did you break the law? Are you a criminal on the run? It couldn’t have been anything violent. You’re not the violent type. So, what was it? Did you embezzle money?” she asked, recalling the crispness of those hundred dollar bills.
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He laughed. “Man, what an imagination! For your information, I’m no criminal. I’m a police detective.” “Excuse me?” Then, she placed his name. “My goodness! I read about you in the papers. You broke the serial murder case in Boston! You’re a hero!” A finger was pointed at her nose, and that digit was shaking. “Do not call me that!” The newspapers had called him the ‘renegade cop’, the wild card in a murder case who hadn’t played by the rules, but who had managed to stop a serial killer. The press had labeled him a hero…until the night he’d come apart on live TV. Apparently, he’d suffered a breakdown on the air. And the cameras kept right on rolling, filming every last, heart-wrenching minute of his emotional meltdown. “You lost your partner in the incident, didn’t you?” “Harry. Yeah, he was killed.” Trudy touched his arm. “I’m so sorry.” He nodded. “Harry was good people.” Letting go of her, he went to the pot-bellied stove, opened the cast-iron door, and tossed in another split log. He fanned the small flame into a much larger one. “You’ll feel warmer in a minute,” he rasped. A heap of suppressed emotion was in that hoarse statement. “I’m an excellent listener, Cameron. Most teachers are. Why don’t you try me?” Dark eyes stared at the leaping oranges and reds of the fire. “I don’t want to discuss it. For all I know, you’re a plant sent here to wheedle information from me.” “Sent here by whom?” He shrugged. “I don’t know. The mob, maybe.” Gloria knew a lot of stuff, maybe she knew too much. After all, her pimp was on ice in a Boston morgue, a ganglandstyle murder— ”I’m a man and you’re a woman. Guys talk after sex. Pillow talk. After being seduced. If that’s your plan, think again.” “How many times do I have to tell you? I am not Gloria. I am not a woman impersonating Gloria, either. I am not here to wheedle some hush-hush police secrets out of you.” She paused. Then, “Cam, I want you to look at me. “ When he did, she said, “Do you really think the mob would send a woman like me to seduce a man like you? Don’t you think they might have someone on their payroll a little more appropriate for that sort of activity?” “You mean a little darker.” “That is not what I meant! And shame on you for suggesting it! But do I look like a femme fatal?” He said nothing. “I rest my case.” “Well, I for one would rather rest my weary bones,” he said, yawning. “Let’s hit the sack.” “Wait a minute,” Trudy cried, eyeing the solitary bed in the room. “I’m not going to bed with you!” Cameron carried the lantern to the rustic nightstand. “I meant to sleep, nothing else.”
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“I’ll sit up in a chair, thank you very much.” The kerosene lamp made a dull thud when it met the top of the table. The ancient mattress creaked when Cam sat on the edge. He crooked a finger. “C’mere.” She’d read in some journal that desire starts with a tingling awareness. Well, she was tingling from head to foot. “You go to bed. Don’t give my comfort another thought.” He smiled. “Come to Cam, baby.” Oh, she wanted to. Did she ever! She didn’t, of course. Nor did she head for the hills, as she should have done if she had any sense. Instead, she stood there and waited for him to make a move. He took his time getting up. Took his time moving across the floor. Took his damned sweet time picking her up in his arms. As he limped to the bed, his leg dragging across the rough plank floor, it occurred to her that he was depleting his physical reserves on making a silly point. How could she have been so selfish? “Put me down, you big strong man!” she squealed like a girly-girl. Every man needs his ego stroked occasionally, and Cam, more than most, was in desperate need of some female reassurance. She twittered, “I realize you can easily over-power me with those bulging muscles of yours.” “Glad you do,” he said, much mollified. “I was beginning to wonder what I’d have to do to impress you.” He tossed her on the mattress. “You’re sleeping in the bed. Human nature being what it is, you’ll try to escape if I don’t keep you close by.” He picked her fallen chin up off her chest with the tip of his index finger. “I’d do the same thing myself in your position.” “But you’re not in my position, are you? You’re not flat on your back with a very large man hovering above you. You’ve never been made to feel weak and small and helpless. No, you’ll never know any of those vulnerable emotions will you, Cam Wyler? And do you know why you won’t? Do you? Hunh? Do you? Because you’re not a woman, that’s why!” He cocked a brow. “Guess not.” “Is that all you’re going to say after I’ve bared my very soul? ‘Guess not’.” “Woman, you emote way too much. Which side of the bed do you want?” She said nothing. She let her frown speak for itself. “Right side it is then,” he said, shuffling around to the other side. Trudy struggled to sit up, but the move only made her sink deeper into mattress’ marshmallow-softness. Her back was rounded, her arms were thrown wide in abandonment, her corduroy-clad legs were inelegantly splayed. She wanted him desperately. “I cannot spend the night in this bed with you.” “Why not? Schoolteachers need sleep the same as everyone else.”
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“Teachers are held to a higher moral standard by the community,” she said, doing some quick thinking, and hoping he’d accept a heavy dose of hypocritical prudery as an excuse. “That’s why I cannot possibly sleep with you.” “The community’s not here now. It’s just you and me.” Dark brown eyes twinkled. Devilously. Deliciously. She would not take advantage of Cam in his weakened condition. She would not scream, ‘Take me’ at the poor man. She would not! She had her pride. “I know very well who’s here,” she snapped. “Okay. Okay. There is one alternative to us sleeping in the same bed.” “What is it?” she asked suspiciously; those eyes of his weren’t twinkling for nothing. “Hand over your clothes. Naked, you’d never make a break for it.” He scratched the dimple in his chin. “Although, you might get chilly sitting up in the chair. The temperature dips pretty low in the cabin at night.” He grinned. “Believe me, I’m only thinking of your comfort by suggesting the bed.” He started taking off his boots. “So, what’s it gonna be, mattress or goose bumps?” “Go to hell.” “Bed it is.” Her mouth twisted; Cameron Wyler had no idea who he was dealing with. But, oh, he would. She started pulling her jersey over her head. “What?” His hands were on his hips. “You planning on throwing that at me now too?” “No,” she said, her head disappearing down into the turtleneck. “Wait a minute! What are you doing?” “Getting naked.”
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Chapter Six “You can’t do that!” “Watch me.” “I’m not watching you! What do you take me for? Some kind of degenerate pervert?” She laughed inside the jersey’s cotton folds. He sprang for her. “Stop it!” He yanked the turtleneck back in place. “What is this thing you have about whipping off your clothes? You’re worse than a sweaty jock in a locker room,” he said, all male outrage. Cam was a gentleman through and through. Trudy had counted on that very reaction. Her captor hadn’t finished blustering before she launched her attack. Rolling to the edge of the bedding, she raised her knee to his crotch. It went no further. How could she knee him where it would hurt when the man was already hurting? While she debated the morality of hurting an already injured man, Cam pinned her to the mattress. “Cute—real cute,” he rasped. “Now be a good girl or I’m gonna have to…to…” “Do what Cam?” She panted. “Tie my wrists above my head to the bed posts? Tie my ankles to the foot posts?” Strip off my clothes and make mad, passionate, very consensual love to me? She started feeling flushed again. “Hey, you suggested that belt thing, not me!” He ducked her flailing fists. “Now take it easy before you hurt yourself.” Hurt herself? She’d show him! In a breathless voice, she said, “I’ll be good. I promise.” “That’s more like it.” Her eyes darted to the door behind him. “What are you looking at?” He chuckled. “Oh, I get it! You’re bluffing. Playing possum. Pretending someone is there.” “That’s right. That’s what I’m doing. No one is there. I told you I work alone.” “Er—yeah, right.” He turned toward the door. When he did, she pushed. He fell to the floor. “You’ll be sorry you did that!” She already was. But to save face—his, not hers—she showed him no sympathy. “When will I be sorry? Which century are you referring to? Will there be human life forms as we know them on the planet or will we all be disembodied computer chips by then? Oh, pooh! Leave me alone. Go find someplace else to sleep.” Propelling himself off the floor, he straddled her. They sank together in the middle of the mattress. Their eyes locked. His were dull with fatigue. Hers were…
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She didn’t know what hers were, but they better not have been smoldering. Cam Wyler was far too tired for a romp in a marshmallowly soft bed with a frustrated spinster. She gently wiggled her hips. To unseat him, no other ulterior motive. He groaned. “Don’t—do not—move—like—that.” His neck dropped. “Please? I want to. Man, do I want to. But I’m in no shape for this.” She knew. Her hips went still. She gazed up into his face, her respiration gone shallow. “I’m so sorry, Cam.” He frowned. “You’re not a hit-woman, are you? You didn’t follow me up here from Boston to whack me, did you?” “No. Cam, I am not your shade,” she said, tremulously. He chuckled. “Good Lord, woman, the word is shadow! As in Peter Pan losing his. Seeing that you’re an elementary teacher, you must know that story backwards and forwards” “Peter Pan lost his shadow and Wendy sewed it back on. I just read the book to my class. I’ve always loved it.” Cam was so close, his breath stirred the fine hair around her temples, so close their noses touched in an Eskimo kiss, so close she felt him tremble. Was he trembling because of his injury? One thing was certain: He wasn’t trembling because of her. She wasn’t the type of woman who inspired trembling in men, especially not dangerously attractive men like Cam Wyler. She reached up and stroked his face; she stared into his dark, disturbed and disturbing, eyes. He caught her cold hand between his warm palms. “Stay in the bed with me. I won’t hurt you. My hip hurts. My head is pounding. All I want to do is get some sleep. Okay? I’m no threat to you. I’m harmless.” No threat? Harmless? A handsome, wounded hero in bed with a nurturing woman who hadn’t had sex in eight years? Nah! No danger there. “Okay,” she said quietly, her fingertips already missing the texture of his skin. He rolled away from her and took an anguished breath. “I’m keeping you here because with my hip the way it is, I have to be careful. But don’t be afraid of what you’re afraid of—okay?” “I’m not afraid of what you think I’m afraid of.” Nope. Not with Cam. The guy had honorable stamped on his forehead. She was afraid of something entirely different with Cam. He stretched out on his back on the mattress. “When did taking a woman hostage get to be so complicated? I’m letting you go in the morning. You are way too much work.”
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“That’s not the reason you’re letting me go. You’re letting me go because you know I’m telling the truth.” “Maybe.” She nodded. “Definitely.” “You sure are bossy enough to be a teacher!” He sent her a soulful look. “But you’re too pretty.” Pretty? No, she wasn’t pretty. She was smart. She was kind to children. Most especially to those children who said the dog had eaten their homework. She was an excellent teacher, if she did say so herself. But pretty? She thought not. “Why do I feel you have an ulterior motive for mentioning my pulchritude?” “Your pulchritude!” Cam got up on one elbow. “I’d never say an off-color remark like that to a lady. Never! I must be more tired than I think. I’m no choirboy, but there are certain things a gentleman just doesn’t say. I apologize for letting that ugly word slip out. My mama would whip my butt if she knew. I swear, I didn’t mean it! “ She snorted. “Now, that I do believe.” “Got ya! I really had you going there for a sec—didn’t I?” The grin he flashed her was boyishly engaging. Trudy missed seeing it when Cam blew out the kerosene lamp and tucked them in. But she also liked being with him in the dark, enclosed in their own little world with the wool blanket up over their ears and glimmers of static electricity bouncing around them like fireflies. He chuckled and said, “Gertrude Prescott, huh? That’s one helluva big mouthful of a name. What’s your nickname? Gert? Gertie?” “Miss Prescot.” “Trudy it is,” he chided from within the warm cocoon he’d created for them. Her hero seemed to have the knack for bed tucking down pat; there wasn’t a draft anywhere. Because of all the media coverage he’d received after breaking the serial murder case and his subsequent killing of the murderer, she knew Cam Wyler wasn’t currently married. Was he divorced? Did he have a family somewhere? Did he put a little girl or a little boy to bed at night? She turned her jaw to him in the dark. “Do you have children?” “I’m not married.” “That’s not what I asked,” she persisted. “I asked if you had children.” “If I had a kid, I’d be married. End of story. Now go to sleep.” For some fortunate people like Cam, everything was black and white. In Cameron Wyler’s clearly defined world, there was only guilt or innocence. Right or wrong. In his world, bad people got what they deserved. In his world, the right people met each other, fell in love, got married, and had children, and lived happily ever after—in that exact order. She wished she lived in Cameron Wyler’s world. It sounded like a lovely place. In her world, prince charming had trod on the ugly duckling’s heart to get to the pretty fairy princess. As a result of his two-timing, the charming and handsome prince
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had not only won the fair damsel’s hand in marriage, he had also received corporate funding for his last archaeological dig, thanks to his wealthy, well-connected father-inlaw. The prince’s happily-ever-after included getting the dig filmed by National Geographic. Naturally, he had a starring role in the production. When Trudy heard that, she’d decided on the spot to have her magazine subscription cancelled. She eventually cooled down and went to see the movie at her local I-Max theatre. When the credits rolled on the screen, she left the theatre admiring the work of the man, if not the man himself. “I’ve always liked the dark,” she whispered to the man she did admire. “At night, we’re all on equal footing. We all stumble around, bumping into walls, trying to find the way, trying to find our own personal truth. In daylight, sometimes the truth is right before our eyes and we don’t see it.” “It is what it is. Let’s not get all metaphysical here. Especially when I’m trying to get me some sleep. G’night Trudy.” And then her hero was snoring.
***** When Trudy awakened the next morning, her nose, the only part of her protruding from under the thick pile of wool blankets, was icy but the rest of her was toasty. She owed her warmth to Cam: Sometime during the cold night, he’d gathered her close, sharing his body heat. Again. He was making a habit out of warming her and she could get very used to it. Too used to it. She sniffed the frosty air, inhaled the pleasant aroma of burning wood, and fluffed the bedclothes. “Don’ do that,” Cam grumbled. “You’re lettin’ in a draft.” He snuggled closer, his bearded chin in the ticklish crook of her shoulder. “You feel good, baby.” Trudy closed her eyes. She had never slept with a man before, though she’d had sex with Bob. Twice. She’d had no prior experience and so it had not been particularly great sex. Not adventurous sex. Not spontaneous sex. The sex had been clinically correct. All the parts had been appropriately plugged in. They hadn’t cuddled either before or afterwards and she hadn’t come— She wanted to come. She wanted mind-blowing, ear-popping, nails-raking, thighsshuddering, pulse-racing, messy-screaming-orgasmic sex. She also wanted to cuddle and giggle and talk dirty. What would it be like to wake up with a warm, slightly edgy, sometimes cranky, always cuddly man every morning? What would it be like to wake up with this man? Would the novelty wear off after a few years—say fifty—or would it always be this wonderful? “You’re hot, woman,” he growled.
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She was hot? First pretty, now hot. It was too much to absorb. On a heady rush of womanly power, she stroked his arm. “Good morning, Cam.” “Hunh? Who are you?” Who needed self-esteem, anyway? “I’m the woman you’re holding hostage. Remember me now?” “O-mi-god! Did I…? Did we…?” Big groan. Lots of phony sorrow. Trudy rolled her eyes. “I was so tired last night. I thought you were a woman. Otherwise, I never would’ve—” “You only thought I was a woman? You’re a real charmer in the morning, you know that?” “I mean a real woman, not a hostage.” He lifted a strand of her hair and ran it under his nose. “So honey—how was I?” “Fast asleep. Just as soon as your head hit the pillow.” “We didn’t—?” “We most assuredly did not!” “Then how come I feel almost human today?” “Maybe because it’s a beautiful new day and you’re glad to be alive.” Cam flipped her over and gawked down at her in disbelief. “Someone else used to say that same thing to me.” “Your partner, Harry?” she asked softly, taking an educated guess. “Yeah. Harry. After a real bad night on a job, when things looked bleak, he’d look at me with his baggy, swollen, hound-dog eyes and then he’d clap me on the back and say those exact same words. It never failed to aggravate the livin’ hell out of me.” “You two must have been very close.” “Closer than close,” he admitted. “Harry was more than just my partner. The big, ugly, dumb ox. Harry was like family. He even named his last kid after me.” “It was nice of Harry to name his last child Cameron.” Cam looked perplexed. “Who’d name a little girl Cameron? Naw, Harry named her Sunshine.” “Sunshine? Why on earth do you think she was named after you?” Cam said, straight-faced. “Because of my sunny disposition, of course. When the baby popped out, Harry took one look at her face in the delivery room and she reminded him of me.” “But Cam,” she said, between giggles. “Babies are born red-faced and screaming. They’re extremely irritable. Haven’t you ever seen those horrible newborn pictures from the hospital?” “That bad, huh? Now that was Harry all over, always with the sense of humor.” Cam started to pull away. Trudy wouldn’t let him. “Tell me more about Harry. Sometimes it helps to talk.” He paused, looked at her almost hopefully, and then shook his head. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me this morning. Talk doesn’t help. Nothing helps.”
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“It poured last night,” she offered. When all else fails, when the big issues are just too painful to tackle, the wise and patient teacher takes a temporary detour into small talk. “The cabin’s tin roof makes everything sound louder than it is,” he explained. “Every time a squirrel drops an acorn up there, I want to hit the floor.” To her blank expression he said, “Before I was a cop, I was a Marine. It’s reflex to seek cover when a grenade goes off. Stuff like that gets drilled into you and it’s hard to shake.” Drills. Rules. Regulations. Laws. Black and white methodology. The news reports said that Cam had broken every rule in the book to crack the serial killer case, and in the process, his partner, Harry, had died. Was it any wonder he was feeling guilty? The single time he hadn’t gone by the book, his friend was killed. What must that have done to him? He must feel as though he was being punished… Cam swung his legs over the edge of the mattress. “When you’re ready, you can leave.” Trudy was stunned. “Just like that?” “Yep. Just like that. Harry always said, ‘go with your gut’, so that’s what I’m gonna do. Go home, Teach. Feed your cat.” She smiled. “I would have liked your partner.” “Yeah, well. Harry would have tolerated you well enough too.” Of all the compliments Cameron Wyler had paid her, that by far was the finest and the most sincere. There would be no second chances. If she didn’t reach out to Cam now, it might be too late. “I heard your live interview on TV, Cam, and I want you to know, that I think your anger against that broadcaster was justified. I would have broken that unfeeling bozo’s nose too.” “And you’re an authority on mental stability, I suppose? Talk about the acorn calling the peanut a nut!” “Peanuts are not nuts; they’re legumes,” she automatically corrected. “Good God! Why did I ever doubt that you were a teacher?” “Tell me what went wrong that night, Cam. Please? Tell me about Harry.” “I’ve already been through this with the BPD head docs. I’m fit to return to duty just as soon as my leg heals. Hell, I’ve got a certificate proving my sanity. You got a similar certificate, lady?” “Don’t get defensive, Cam. We all need someone to talk to from time to time. Even a big tough detective like you.” He gave her a tiny weak smile. “You’re a nice lady, and thanks for trying to help, but I’ve got it under control.” Regardless of the happy-go-lucky face Cameron Wyler presented to the world, inside she knew he was suffering. He hadn’t lived up to his own strict code of ethical behavior and he couldn’t forgive himself for the transgression. The man was carrying
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around an abundance of survivor’s guilt. He needed to talk to someone or he might explode. Trudy wasn’t a mental health professional, but she knew paranoia when she bumped into it. In his case, it was probably justifiable, considering the type of world they lived in and the kind of job he did. She wouldn’t have been at all concerned… except Cam was carrying a loaded gun. An on-edge cop with a gun was a tragedy waiting to happen.
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Chapter Seven Cam didn’t know how long he’d been asleep. An hour. An hour and change. Half a day. Since his arrival in Maine, he’d gotten out of the habit of wearing a watch. In Boston, he’d always been obsessed by the passing of time, by the tic of the minute hand, far too busy with the details of living to reflect on who he was and where he was going in life. In the boonies, that obsession to get things done, to accomplish everything he needed to accomplish, to jam-pack twenty-five hours of stuff into a twenty-four hour day, fell away, leaving him with nothing to do but think. Thinking was painful. He didn’t like thinking. Lately, since Harry’s in-the-line-of-duty-death, he’d been mired in a muddy brown funk. Maybe his pervasive melancholy was bringing out the latent philosopher in him. Or maybe it was just his post-operative depression talking. Then again, maybe it was a decade and a half of burnout finally catching up with him. But whatever it was, things were crashing down on his head. He was doing a lot of reflecting. Soul-searching. Asking himself the tough questions. Thinking a whole lot about the meaning of life in general, and about his career path in specific, and though he was digging deep inside himself for the answers, he kept coming up empty-handed when it came to solutions to his personal dilemma. He only knew this: he was no longer happy doing what he was doing and he needed a change. A big-time. Major-league. Change. He also needed to get away from the cabin for awhile— Cam set out on a walk, strictly for the exercise. His game plan was to stretch the cramps out of his leg and hip with a brisk, no holds-barred hike. He figured he’d be good to go for a couple of miles, maybe more. Less than a quarter mile later, he couldn’t go on. He was too exhausted to take another step. When would he get stronger? When would his depression lift? A sad monkey was riding his back and Cam wanted him off. Real men didn’t get down in the dumps. Ex-Marines kept a stiff upper lip. Former cops and current detectives didn’t admit to feeling low. Tough, macho guys didn’t give into attacks of the weepies. Cam guessed that these days he wasn’t measuring too high on the manly scale; unable to support his weight, he collapsed on the pine needles, spent and tearful. A sun-warmed hunk of rock serving as his backrest, he was soon fast asleep. He dreamt about a sliver of a woman with a light brown cap of hair and a husky voice that oozed seduction. In the dream, he kept staring at her mouth. Her plump mouth. Her full mouth. Her lush mouth. Her lips were pink and sensuous; the kind a man could lose himself in. He could just about taste the kiss. Could just about feel the quick, raspy texture of her
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enthusiastic tongue. That kiss was wet. Deep. Giving. It was a kiss given by a woman who didn’t mind a little smudged lip-gloss. She felt soft in his arms. Small breasts, but nice ones, melted into his chest. He wanted to fondle them. Even in his sleep, he’d felt vaguely embarrassed about that. Not because he was dreaming about doing the wild thing, but because he was dreaming about doing the wild thing with an elementary schoolteacher. In terms of sex appeal, schoolteachers were one step up the dull ladder from librarians. Every guy capable of a wake-up erection knew it. Yet, here he was playing out a lust scenario behind his closed eyelids about one. Cam moved in a testosterone-oriented world. Apart from his mama, he’d grown up in an all male household—his dad, him, and four brothers. He’d gone to all-boys schools. Even his career path had been almost exclusively male. Marine. Cop. Detective. So, naturally, over the years he must’ve heard about every off-color joke there was about every type of woman there was: Farmers’ daughters. Daughters of the American Revolution. Anybody’s daughter, except the daughter of the gent he was shootin’ the breeze with. Barmaids. Housemaids. Meter maids. Nurses. Stewardesses. Cheerleaders He’d never heard a dirty joke about a schoolteacher. Schoolteachers do not make for sexy joke material. And here he was dreaming about one— Just went to show the precariousness of his mental state. Cam started to laugh. He’d taken a schoolteacher to a seedy hooker motel, kissed her on a vibrating bed, and when she went to the john to freshen up, split after leaving her a wad of cash on the red velvet coverlet for services rendered. Man, she must have been ripped! Why didn’t she let him have it when she was at the cabin? She had a smart mouth on her—why didn’t she bring him down a peg or two? Terror struck Cam’s heart. Pity. The softhearted schoolteacher felt sorry for him. That was why she didn’t tell him what a stupid ass he’d been that night at The Evergreen. She probably figured he’d be crushed by the set-down. Bird watching his ass! She’d probably traced him to the cabin to check up on him. How she’d ever found him was a mystery— And how pathetic was that, anyway? Sophisticated and urbane and slightly jaded, Detective Cam Wyler had become an object of sympathy to a small town schoolmarm. Well, he might be in tough shape physically—okay, emotionally too—but his mama hadn’t raised no cads: He owed Miss Getrude Prescott an apology and some major groveling. Afterwards, he’d tell her—politely—that he didn’t need any of her do-gooder, condescending pity!
***** Sex, Gertrude Prescott told herself, is merely a primitive biological function, a throwback to caveman times when the process of procreation ensured the continuation
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of the human race. Mating hadn’t fully evolved yet and that’s why sleazy bars like Nelley’s were in existence. But with cloning and test tubes and scientific enlightenment, sex would go the way of the slide rule, its primary purpose obsolete and inefficient. And romance? Well, hearts and flowers, while unarguably necessary to the selling of Valentine cards, were not necessary to sex. The whole concept of love was merely psycho-social conditioning, anyway, a convenient way of explaining hormonal surges. And as to alleviating oneself of those pesky and embarrassing surges, one simply found a man who wasn’t a total Neanderthal, hopped in the sack, turned out the lights, and— Trudy shook her head. That just wasn’t her. She did believe in love, at least in the possibility of love. Cam had helped her realize that there were still romantic knights in shining armor riding around in their trusty red Jeeps trying to make the world a better place. She could easily fall for Cam Wyler and set herself up for another heartbreak—a deeper heartbreak this time. Good thing he’d cut her loose. “Hey, Miss Prescott.” Trudy turned around slowly, an appropriate teacher’s smile on her lips, and faced the third grader. “Hey yourself, Rupert. I almost didn’t see you standing there behind your locker.” Her student’s freckled-face crinkled into an impish grin. “You weren’t supposed to. I was hidin’ “ It was Wednesday, the middle of the week, in the middle of the day, in the middle of Central Elementary School’s first floor hallway, light years removed from her weekend adventure with Cameron Wyler. And though she was worried to death about the injured man up in the woods in that cabin, and thought about him constantly, little Rupert was in need of her undivided attention now. Worried or not, her student’s needs had to be addressed. “Hiding?” Trudy nodded, sagely. “I see. Why?” “So I won’t be seen.” Duh! “You know, Rupert, I used to hide all the time in school. In the girl’s room. In the custodian’s closet. Under my desk.” Rupert had enormous blue eyes. He widened them at her. “You did?” “Uh-huh. My favorite hiding spot was behind my locker too. Some days, when I was feeling particularly shy, I’d miss the bus because I’d wait until everybody left the school before I’d leave.” “I do that too,” he admitted. Trudy smiled. Getting kids to admit their fears was half the battle. Sometimes, once fears were talked about, they dissolved like Kool-Aid in water, still there, but in a less concentrated form. With talk, with some behavior modification, with understanding, and a whole lot of loving support, the fears sometimes went away altogether. Not all the time. But some of the time.
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“Shouldn’t you be catching the bus home right about now?” she asked and checked the old-fashioned school wall clock. “You don’t want to miss your ride again. Last time, your mom was very upset when you were late getting home from school.” “I’ll make it,” Rupert lisped from behind a missing front tooth. “The driver knows me now. He always waits if I’m late.” “I see.” Trudy did see, only too well. Rupert was bright, but almost painfully shy, and so she’d worked out an arrangement with the grandfatherly bus driver. Al Tobeson was to wait until Rupert felt comfortable enough to leave the security of his locker before closing the bus doors, and the seat behind the driver’s seat was to remain vacant until Rupert filled it. Rupert was intelligent enough to realize it was no accident that that particular seat was always empty, but neither teacher, nor student ever spoke of it. It was their little secret. “Homework looks easy tonight,” he added, conversationally. “The homework always looks easy to you, Rupert!” Trudy grinned. “And that bus won’t wait forever,” she gently reminded him. “I know.” He giggled, finally slamming the locker door shut. “Not forever. Just for me!” And with that, Rupert Brooks took one last look to make sure the coast was clear of bullies, both real and imagined, before scampering down the hallway and out the back door of Central Elementary school. The kid was shy, but coping. “There you are!” Trudy smiled at her friend. “Hi, Jane.” “Don’t you, ‘Hi, Jane’, me. I’ve been trying to track you down all week. I called you Saturday night, then again on Sunday morning.” “I wasn’t home.” “As soon as people get answering machines, suddenly they’re never home.” “I wasn’t avoiding you; I really wasn’t home.” “Did I mention that I called after church on Sunday to find out why you were a noshow and you didn’t answer then either—” Jane stopped the inquisition to stare. Her friend walked around her, looking her up and down. “You’ve done something with your hair! You lightened it!” “Too much?” Jane took a backward step. “No. It’s sassy.” She reached out a hand and snapped a lock. “You’ve got some bounce happening too.” “It’s a perm. The hairdresser suggested it.” “She pitched you in the right direction. You should have made the leap to blond years ago. Now if you’d only burn your dowdy jumpers and baggy tights and those corduroy jeans you’re so fond of, and buy yourself some vamp-wear—” “I did. Yesterday.” Jane gasped. “You’ve met a man! That’s what this transformation is all about. Who is he? Tell me everything. What’s his name? He can’t live in Sutton.”
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Her mouth puckered. “Hmm—does he teach in Portland?” she asked, craning her neck up and down the beige corridors for any lurking staff members. “Did I mention that I tried calling Saturday night and Sunday morning early?” “You mentioned it.” Jane’s brows lifted; her eyes bugged. “So?” “So…what?” Jane ssssssed like a snake, a habit of hers. “Where were you?” “I was with a man.” “I knew it! Start dishing. Tell me everything. Leave no detail out, no matter how trivial.” Jane counted off points of discussion on her fingers. “Where did you meet? What’s his marital status? Did you—” Jane’s gaze was speculative. “Do the deed?” “I’d love to talk, but there just isn’t enough time now. Maybe tonight? After the meeting? Okay?” “This must be soooo good.” Jane rubbed her hands gleefully together. “Okay. After the meeting it is. And I’m glad we’re having it at your place, not in the cafeteria. We’ll be able to talk afterwards, femme to femme. I’ll come early to help out! How’s that?” “Honestly, everything is under control. Paper plates and cups simplify things, and I’m buying all the baked goods at Bertha’s Bakery on the way home today, so I’m all set for desserts.” Trudy pushed a crumbled tissue into the stretched sleeve of her navy blue cardigan sweater before buttoning herself into it. “Though, maybe you could lend me your coffee maker. Mine’s about ten cups too short.” “Sounds like my Fred. Good thing I have a thing for gnomes.” “Shame on you, Jane. Fred is a wonderful guy.” Trudy reached inside the door and flicked off her classroom lights. “By the way, how’s the morning sickness?” “Miserable. We did a science project today—you know, the one on fish eggs—and I thought I’d die. One more month and I should start feeling normal again.” Jane covered her mouth with a hand. “If I survive so long.” “Being pregnant must be wonderful,” Trudy said wistfully. “Give me a hint. Is it Howard? I know you two went out for coffee the other night.” “That man is a toad. Just because he teaches Human Sexuality at the high school he thinks he’s an authority on the subject. Chapter Twenty in his course work manual must be ragged and dog-eared from reference.” “Okay, I’ll bite: What’s in Chapter Twenty?” “Optimal Sexual Positioning. Right after coffee and a blueberry muffin at the diner, he wanted to try out a few. Positions, that is. In his car no less!” Jane’s horsy laughed bounced off the beige cement walls. “Only a few?” “Initially yes, but he wanted to work his way through the chapter, start to finish.” “And?” “I think he’s still walking funny.”
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“Landed him a kick right in the center of his universe, did you?” “Optimally—yes. And it was difficult to accomplish since the steering wheel kept getting in the way of my raised knee.” “Trudy you are priceless! And now that I know it’s not Howard, my curiosity is really piqued. Oh, well,” Jane said on an elongated sigh. “I should go home and cook the gnome his dinner. Your mystery lover will have to remain just that until tonight. Sniffle Sniffle.”
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Chapter Eight “Lucky Lucy! I’m home,” Trudy called as she raced up the porch stairs and through the pink door of her little white Victorian on River Street. Once inside, with the door closed on the outside world, the day’s tension slipped away. It was always that way with her. She loved the gingerbread house with its pretty scalloped shingles and its fussy, ornamental facade. The jig-jagged, pink trim was a painter’s nightmare, or she’d been told. She couldn’t have cared less. The red cutout hearts on the shutters were unashamedly precious, as were the matching heart-shaped stained glass windows on the entirely useless second floor turrets. The house had enough wasted space and superfluous embellishments to make architectural purists shudder in despair. And once again, she couldn’t have cared less. This was the home where she’d been born, where she’d been loved and cherished and over-protected, an only child of doting older parents. She could never leave this house; it held too many happy memories of a perfect childhood that had ended tragically and much too soon. Trudy placed her bakery bags on the floor. “Where are you, you big fluff ball?” she cried, her husky voice ricocheting up and down the high-ceilinged hallways. The white angora peeked out from behind a chiffonier, which was tucked into a corner of the front entryway. After determining that it really was her mistress finally home from school, the snobbish cat stuck her elegant nose up in the air and glided across the polished oak floor, stopping a few paws short of the halfway mark. This was a huge concession on the cat’s part. Ordinarily, Trudy went to Lucky Lucy, commoner to Royalty. Lucy was a queen among cats, a fact she never allowed her lowly subject, Trudy, to forget. “What would her ladyship like for dinner?” Trudy asked, heading straight for the kitchen. “How about some nice sardines?” At Lucy’s regal purr, Trudy opened a tin and plopped the contents into the heartshaped cat dish that was always kept on the pink linoleum floor. Trudy couldn’t stay and chat with Lucy as she generally did after school. There wasn’t time to discuss Rupert Brooks’ academic and social progress or relate Jane’s compliments on her new hair style or repeat, once again, every moment of the time she’d spent with Cam Wyler as she’d done at least once a day since Sunday afternoon. She’d bored her cat silly with her sexual fantasizing over Cam. His gentle touch—the frisk had been gentle. The playful bondage—co-joined wrists counted. The verbal sparring—bad jokes were included under this broad heading, as humor is often a precursor to foreplay. Finally, sleeping together—no matter that all they had done was sleep; spending the night on the same mushy mattress qualified. Why, anyone overhearing her running narrative to Lucy might construe that Cam Wyler was crazy about her—
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Or, just plain crazy. Trudy thought her concern for her confused, and confusing, hero rising once again to the forefront of her thoughts. Lucy’s meow, more scold than a purr, however, reminded Trudy that worried or not, she had to get things done for the teacher’s meeting that night. She changed from her shapeless school jumper into one of her new outfits: A clingy purple suede dress with a daring, leg revealing slit up the side. That done, she promptly forgot about her appearance. She had a buffet table to set with paper and bakery goods, flowers to arrange—this time of year it was mostly asters and mums, picked straight from her garden—and, of course, she had to make sure Lucky Lucy was tucked into her bed for the night. Done with all that, all that was left to do was to put on her shoes. Trudy raced for the bedroom. She slid the purple spikes on her feet and then checked her look one last time in the mirror. “You’ve got the most incredible violet eyes, Trudy Prescott,” said a deeply masculine, openly admiring, voice from behind her. She twirled. “Cam!” Her hero was leaning against the far wall. “G. P.—those were the initials on your purse. I’d been looking for a hooker, Gloria. She also likes wearing hair feathers.” He shrugged. “Mistaken identity. Sorry.” “Apology accepted.” She backed up a step. “Why are you looking for a prostitute?” “Gloria did a favor for me back in Boston. My turn: What were you doing at that bar?” “I’m an ornithologist on the side—” “Say what?” “I’m a bird watcher,” she explained. “I’m writing a research paper correlating human dating behavior to the mating habits of birds. I hope to get it published.” “No sh…No fooling!” She frowned. Cam seemed surprised. Was he experiencing short-term memory loss from the blow to his head? “Cam, I did mention this when we met—” “I know you mentioned the Galapagos but I figured you were pulling my leg, the good one.” “No, I wasn’t. I’m very serious about my bird studies. So—you really did think I was a prostitute. That’s why you took me to The Evergreen. For a trick?” “I don’t do that kind of thing, Trudy. I took you to that motel because you were upset. Once you felt better, I was going to hand over the cash reward I had for Gloria, then leave. It wasn’t about sex. Until I kissed you.” His eyes narrowed to her mouth. He shook his head. “So, anyway, how’d you find me up at the cabin?” “Sutton is a very small town. Everyone knows everyone else’s business. I found out from a neighbor, in passing, that you were renting that cabin. I wanted to return the money.”
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Trudy backed up and hit wall. “Your Jeep was open, just like I said it was, and I thought I’d leave the cash there. But then you started yelling at me.” Sidestepping to her dresser, she picked up the envelope that was propped against her milk glass lamp. She waved it at him. “See! Here it is. The money. All of it. Take it.” He lifted a brow at the envelope, but didn’t reach for it. Trudy dropped the envelope. “You can take it when you’re ready to leave. There’s an enormous amount of cash in here.” He shrugged. “I figured Gloria could use the money to start over in a new line of work.” “I see,” she said, uneasily, and reassessed her hero. Cameron Wyler’s strong, handsome face was unshaven, but his black hair was still trimmed short and neat. However, his clothing was badly rumpled and his unzipped leather jacket revealed his shoulder holster. He was never without his weapon. Even in bed, he’d worn it. But it was his heavily shadowed eyes that sent a nervous chill scurrying down her spine. Purportedly, he’d suffered a breakdown. He had all the classic signs of paranoia. Was he dangerous? He might very well be. He’d broken into her house; he was standing in her bedroom. She’d fantasized about a knight in shining armor, a kind hero who’d rushed to her rescue— Had she been mistaken about this man? “Are you okay?” Cameron Wyler asked. “You look frightened,” he said softly. “Do I frighten you?” “Yes.” “I’d never hurt you.” Eyes closed, heart pounding, she nodded. At that moment, she honestly couldn’t tell if it was from fear or if it was from the awful attraction she felt every time she and Cam were together. Backing up slowly, her vertebra hugging the wall, Trudy asked, “Why are you here, Cam? Now? Tonight?” “I wanted to explain about the money. I wanted to apologize for The Evergreen.” “You broke into my house for that? Didn’t you think that skulking in my bedroom would scare me?” “I climbed in through the window instead of ringing the bell because at the cabin you seemed real concerned about your noisy neighbors and your reputation and everything. I didn’t want to make things difficult for you.” He chuckled. “I’m glad you told me about the red hearts on the shutters. I wasn’t up to climbing in more than one window tonight.” She considered herself to be a happy, reasonably well-adjusted adult woman who happened to be attracted to a man in a way she had never been attracted to a man before. After eight years of abstinence, she was also dangerously in need of a therapeutic fling.
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Not a one-night stand. She’d already concluded she was not the type for one of those. And not a wild, impassioned, tempestuous entanglement either. Those tended to be messy at the end. What she wanted was an orderly affair of short duration with a similarly inclined gentleman. Those pesky hormones again? Oh, yeah. And something more too. It was the more part that scared her. Whatever the cause of her attraction for Cam, the attraction was there, and it was very real. It was also very one-sided. Cam might be suffering from some sort of delusion, but she certainly was not. Whether their meeting was all about a mistaken identity, whether there was a prostitute named Gloria or not, was hardly relevant. Cam did not see her as fling material— Just as well, she supposed. Cam was ill. Physically. Emotionally. He needed a pal, not a lover. A friendship, not an affair. Intellectually, she understood this. Too bad that inside her there was this compulsive, gnawing, burning-hot urge to strip off Cam’s clothing, then her own, and make up for eight years of chastity … Trudy clasped her hands behind her back lest she go for his buttons and zippers. Strong, that was the ticket. Strong is what she needed to be. Nice ladies, particularly nice elementary school teachers, didn’t admit to base urges, never mind giving into them. She must be cheerful and warm—not too warm—and be the friend Cam needed her to be. “Well, sport, regardless of how you entered my home, you’re here now, so you might as well stay for a while to rest,” she said, briskly. “You look dreadful, by the way.” “Gee, thanks.” Cam took a shaky step away from the wall. “But staying any longer is probably not such a hot idea.” He rubbed his temples. “I haven’t exactly been myself since Harry’s death. Not that I’m dangerous, because I’m not, but see, I have what you might call low spells and I’m not good company when I’m feeling, you know, down in the dumps.” “I don’t expect you to entertain me, Cam. Nor do you need to pretend to be cheerful around me. I want you to stay because we’re friends. We are friends, aren’t we, Cam?” She smiled softly, non-threateningly. “Unless I’m being presumptuous and you have other friends in Maine you’d rather visit?” He snorted. “You’re the only person I know in this moose-riddled state.” He took another step, a teetering one. Was his limp worse than before? “What happened?” she asked, tone even, not revealing her alarm.
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“I fell. At the cabin. I guess I pulled a muscle or something. I looked in your medicine cabinet for an ace bandage but all I found was a package of Band-Aids. With stars. And unicorns. And other scary stuff I didn’t recognize on ‘em.” “They’re for my class. I bring them to school in case of playground accidents. Scuffed knees. Cut fingers—” “You must be a great teacher.” “I am,” she replied, immodestly. “You must be a great detective.” “I used to be; I’m not so certain anymore.” Cam seated himself, gingerly, on the very corner of her pink ruffled bed. Every muscle in his body was taut, stressed. Trudy’s heart went out to him. He looked so confused, so anguished, so very alone. His black and white world was falling apart around his ears and the poor man didn’t know how to cope, not with his own ambivalence, not with those pesky gray areas. Cam was grieving not only the loss of his partner, Harry, but for the loss of his own innocence. He was a man drilled to believe that if you went by the code, the system worked. The system hadn’t worked in the case he had been working on, and so he’d gone outside that code, and now his friend was dead. What a burden of guilt, of rage, he must be carrying inside him! “Tell me about that night, Cam. Tell me about the night Harry was killed.” Cam smoothed her pink bedspread between his fingers. “Why? You must’ve read about it in the papers, seen the TV reports …” His voice trailed off into nothingness. “Yes, I did. Now I want to hear it from you. In your words. Put me there, Cam.” “Why would I want to do that?” “You’re a concrete type of person, Cam, and that’s fine, but things in our psyches are stored in the abstract and sometimes talking helps to give them form and substance…” He held up his hand. “Whoa, there! You just lost me, Teach. I guess I was looking out the window and not paying attention.” “We all erect boundaries, defense mechanisms, if you will, so that we can roll out of bed in the morning without the fear of being hit by the occasional…er…random moose. If we didn’t do that, we’d all live in fortresses, we’d never lower the drawbridge, we’d never cross the moat, we’d…” “I get the analogy, Trudy. The light bulb’s a little dim but the there’s still some juice going in.” “Oh, sorry! I didn’t mean to cast any aspersions on your wattage. So anyway, all of us, from time to time,” she said, looking smack dab at him, “shy away from certain truths because we find them difficult to accept.” “Are you talking to me? I’m not in denial. I face things straight on.” “Do you?” she asked, hands folded neatly at her waist. “Do you really, Cam?” “Yeah, I do. Do you?” “Oh, don’t turn this back on me!” “Then, get outta my head. I feel so violated when my brain waves are probed.”
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“I wouldn’t dream of probing your gray matter.” She wrinkled her nose. “Too dusty for me. All those nasty cobwebs floating about. And the constant barrage of phallic symbols—my goodness, I’d get dizzy from ducking them all.” “Ha ha. Very funny.” He touched her folded fingers in almost a caress. “Seriously, if I stay here, do you trust me not to hurt you?” Trudy forced out a dry laugh, and said, “Trust? That depends on your definition of the word.” “You know trust, as in believing in the intrinsic honesty and goodwill of people.” “In that case, I think not. I haven’t believed in that notion for a very long time.” “Now that’s sad. But how about if I narrow the definition to include only me?” He grabbed her hand and held on tight. “Do you trust me not to hurt you?” “I know you don’t want to hurt me, Cam. Let’s keep it at that.” She pulled away. “I’ll go see if I can find some bandages,” she said too brightly, and fled.
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Chapter Nine Cam sat gingerly on the very edge of Trudy Prescott’s pretty pink bed, so he wouldn’t get the coverlet wrinkled. He’d never seen so many damn ruffles. They were everywhere. On the bedspread. On the curtains. On the chair pillows. He’d been in a few ladies’ boudoirs in his time, but never had he been in a pink, ruffled palace like this one. The room both intrigued and disturbed him. Intrigued, because the décor was so feminine. Disturbed him, because he knew that the woman who slept amidst all these ruffles couldn’t possibly understand the first thing about bad people and malicious deeds. Hell, she most likely couldn’t stomach watching the evening news. Trudy Prescott was a gentle soul, a schoolteacher; she had never been touched by the hard realities, the heaping helpings of grimness that life sometimes dished out. Yet, he’d come here to her. Why? Cam’s eyes bounced from the ruffles to the numerous pictures lining the walls, his eyes narrowing in on the framed photos of a middle-aged man and a woman. Trudy’s parents? And there was the cat, Lucky Lucy; he’d remember she’d called her pet. There were about a zillion photos of that damned feline. Lucky Lucy with birthday balloons and presents; Lucky Lucy asleep; Lucky Lucy chasing a mouse toy; Lucky Lucy dressed up like a baby…Cam was not a cat lover himself, but anyone could see Trudy was devoted to that animal. Cam craned his neck to the open door of her bathroom and sighed his appreciation. Trudy was standing at the medicine cabinet, a sexy, purple stiletto dangled from her raised foot. He didn’t have a foot fetish, but man, that pointy shoe was enough to make him want to lick her insole from dainty toes to high-arched heel. She was wearing a curve-hugging, purple suede dress that came with thigh-high slits. Mercy! That dress made him want to sit up and beg. He had all to do to keep his tongue in his mouth. Her hair was different too. Blonder. Fluffier. He wanted her. He’d wanted her at The Evergreen. He’d wanted her at his cabin. He wanted her now. Only he was leaving Sutton and returning to Boston, just as soon as his medical leave ended. He couldn’t make her any promises, the kind of promises a man should make a woman like Trudy before taking her to bed. Hell, if his hip improved, he’d be back on the job he loved. Cam caught himself. Did he still love the job? Not the way he used to love it. And, if because of his injury, he were stuck behind a desk, instead of in the field, it would no longer be the same job. But detective work was what he did, who he was. If he didn’t have the job, what would he have? What would he do with the rest of his life? He was only thirty-five years old, too young to retire… But not too old to start over.
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The thing was, his whole identity was tied up with being a cop, a detective. Pretty scary to think about quitting the force and trying something new… And it was more than just the job. He wasn’t a whole man. And he wasn’t talking about only the bullet wound and his bad hip and limp leg; his head wasn’t screwed on right either, not since Harry. But he liked Trudy Prescott. He liked her a lot. She’d kissed hotter than a summer’s day at Fenway Park. And sleeping with her had been like cuddling up with a kitten. A soft kitten with sharp claws. She kept them pulled in—most of the time. Luckily, he didn’t mind the occasional scratch. His eyes strayed once again to the photos of the cat. Trudy had to have a maternal streak a mile wide. He mused while rubbing his leg. “Are you in pain?” Trudy was quick to ask, her head stuck out the bathroom door. Since his injury, he was always in a certain amount of discomfort, but the level of that discomfort was pretty consistent. “Just a cramp,” he replied. “I don’t like to complain—” “All men say that while they’re complaining.” When she turned away, he tagged her with a dirty look, then grinned. The woman had a mouth on her— “Maybe I can find something in here on the shelf for cramps.” She started sorting through little bottles. Yeah, right. A couple of those PMS pills wouldn’t touch this sucker— “Don’t bother looking,” he called. “I have pain killers, but I don’t like to take them. They make me dizzy.” “I doubt I’d notice the difference.” She slammed the cabinet shut. “No bandages. I could go to the store and pick some up.” “I don’t want to bother you.” Her hands went to her slender hips. “You know, it was no accident that I described my house and told you the name of the street. I would’ve told you the number but I thought that might be too obvious, even for you. I wanted you to find me, Cam! If I hadn’t wanted you to find me, I never would have made such a big deal about the red hearts on my shutters.” He was floored. “You let that description slip intentionally?” God, she was tiny. He’d never been with a woman so tiny…or so white. “Cam,” she said stern as stern can be, “I’m tired of looking at your guilty face. Let’s get things straight once and for all. I can take care of myself. You could not have retained me at the cabin if I had not permitted it.” “Yeah. Sure. Right. Anything you say, baby.” Would he even fit inside her? Trudy had no hips, no ass, and what he had was something to brag about— “Do you remember at the cabin when I told you that I was feeling nauseous?” “I’ll never forget it, baby. Got me to back off fast—”
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“That’s correct. Do you know the surest way to get an assailant to change his mind about rape?” “Well, hell. I’m with the BPD. I know about rape prevention. I even taught the class a few times. What we always tell women to do is feign illness. Threaten to vomit—” He stopped. Looked up at her, sheepishly. “Oh—” “Yes. Oh. I do know self-defense, Cam. I stayed with you because I chose to stay with you. You found me because I wanted you to find me. Now let’s stop all this shillyshallying, shall we? Stay! I want you to. I think you need to talk to someone and I’d like to listen.” This was wrong. Wrong time. Wrong place. Wrong kind of woman. He wasn’t staying in Maine very long, only until he got his head straightened out and his leg limbered up some. He sure as hell wasn’t staying in Maine long enough to finish anything he started in this bedroom tonight… But he felt something for Trudy. And it was more than just wanting sex; he’d gone without longer than this. What had brought him to her doorstep, or rather to her window, was this gut feeling that he could be real with her, that he could talk to her in a way he had never been able to talk to a woman before. The thing was, though, that for all her bravado, Trudy was scared. Oh, she was trying to hide it, and she was doing a decent job, still, fear was there in her eyes. He frightened her. He played with her pretty pink spread, rubbing it between two fingers. It took all his courage to look up. When he did, he saw that a concentrated look had fallen over Trudy Prescott’s features, a look that went way past serious into something else. She was motionless. Hardly breathing. Her eyes were so dilated, there was very little violet remaining around the pupils. He heard her swallow. “I know about feeling guilty, about feeling responsible, when someone dies. Tell me about Harry,” she whispered. It was hard talking about it. Harry’s death was an open wound that wouldn’t heal. Harry’s death was the sad monkey riding his back. But before he could prevent them, the words spilled out: “Harry was laying face-down in a pool of blood. He wouldn’t have liked that, so I rolled him to his back. Then I checked his vitals, but there was no question but that Harry was gone. No one could have survived his kind of injuries. Still, I went through the motions. Clocked his pulse. Listened for a heart beat. Nothing.” It was as though he were in two different time zones, past and present. The details that were happening in the present were registering in slow motion: Trudy leaving his side. Trudy walking to the bathroom. The metallic squeak of the sink faucet being turned on. The splash of water in the basin… Next thing he knew, Trudy was standing in front of him, glass in hand. “Drink this,” she said, all bossy-like. His hand was shaking when he extended it to take the glass. His fingers felt heavy, clumsy as he held the glass, drained the glass with a slow-motion tilt of his head. “Thanks,” he said, and sunk into Trudy Prescott’s velvety-soft eyes.
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Trudy had eyes like purple pansies. He used to see those spring flowers growing all the time in Back Bay gardens, the kind of peaceful gardens he’d always walked by much too fast to really enjoy. He was tired of walking by fast. Why was he hurrying through life? “I’m thinking about redecorating my bedroom,” she offered. “I’m beginning to hate pink. And why did I ever do my entire room in ruffles?” He put the empty glass on the floor. “Pink’s okay.” “I was thinking of something a little more wicked. More sensual. Maybe a burnt gold. And absolutely no ruffles.” “Ruffles are okay.” “I need a change.” She sat down beside him. Technically, Trudy was in bed with him. Again. This was the third time. And she was close; her shoulder was brushing up against his arm. He liked being in bed with Trudy. Cam took a deep breath. “I’m on extended sick leave. I’m in Maine because I figured I’d kill—pardon the expression—two birds with one stone. You know, thank Gloria for her help in the serial murder case and at the same time, recuperate from my injury. The docs said I needed someplace quiet.” She was watching him intently. Too intently. Hell, she thinks I’m nuts, a whacko. She thinks she’s got a strung out cop on her hands. He rose from the bed. Heading for the bathroom, he called over his shoulder, “I could use a bath. Mind if I use your tub?” “Be my guest.” “I almost forgot how good indoor plumbing is,” he said, turning on the faucet. “Look at that! Hot water. It’s like magic.” She followed him inside. “Welcome back to civilization.” Sitting on the edge of the tub, he began taking off his shoes and socks. “Purple.” “I beg your pardon?” “Your bedroom. When you redo it, use purple. You look good in the color and it matches your eyes.” He thought for a minute. “Get some leopard skin too. You know, the fake kind.” “I’ll bear that in mind when I accessorize,” she said, dryly, and eyed his bare feet. “I’ll leave you alone now.” “What! No bubbles for my bath? No rubber duckie?” She crossed the threshold, and reached overhead to a white wicker shelf. “How do perfumed bath crystals sound?” He fluttered his lashes. “Heavenly.” Scowling at his falsetto, she began sprinkling pink, gelatinous-looking beads on the water; a flowery scent rose along with the steam and filled his nostrils. Under the cover of perfumed fog, Cam pulled her close, the hard slant of his jaw resting against the softness of her breasts. “Ummn, nice. Pillowy.” “You’ve frisked me—remember? I think we can both agree that I’m hardly pillowy.”
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He nuzzled her. No, she wasn’t pillowy, not in the strictest sense of the word. Her breasts were small and high. Girlish, rather than womanly. They’d disappear in his big palms. “You’re so sweet,” he crooned into the flowery mist and nuzzled her breasts. He wished Trudy wasn’t wearing a bra. He wished she wasn’t wearing anything. He wished they could get in the tub together and play something silly, like sink the torpedo, or something. He’d happily sink his torpedo into Trudy. The blood in his veins was rushing, pounding, beating that age-old mating song. He was exhausted, but he was still aroused. “Let’s get naked and play in the bubbles together,” he said, his hand inching up her silky leg. “Cam,” she squealed, when he got to her knee. “Be-have.” “I like you, honey. And you like me, right?” “Yes—” “And we’re both adults—” “One of us is. The other one has a pulled muscle and shouldn’t start something that will be too painful for him to finish.” She was probably right, but his hand moved upward anyway. Damn! His fingers snagged on pantyhose. Why did women only wear garter belts in his fantasies? “I know exactly what you’re doing,” she said breathlessly. “You’re testing limits to see how far you can get with me. Well, I might as well tell you up front, you won’t get very far.” She wagged a finger at his nose. “I’d never do anything so calculating. I respect you too much. I’m just…just…trying to distract myself from the pain in my leg. Sex is good physical therapy, don’t you think?” “That’s not what you said at the Evergreen when I all but threw myself at you and you left me naked and teary-eyed in the bathroom.” His hand dropped immediately from her silky thigh and lunged for her hand. “You cried?” He laced their fingers together. “I’m so sorry, Trudy! I never wanted to hurt you that night! It’s just that—neither one of us was in any kind of shape for romance. And I thought you were Gloria! I didn’t want you…no, I mean…her to think I was paying for sex, when the money was meant as a reward.” He said sheepishly. “Besides, I’m pretty conservative when it comes to—er—dating. A handshake goodnight is about as intimate as I ever get first time out with a woman.” Cam tottered to his feet; his fingers were at his belt buckle. “You felt vulnerable in that motel room, so I’m returning the favor. It’s the least I can do under the circumstances. You’ll be less scared of having me spend the night if you see I’m no threat to you.” He dropped his jeans to the floor with a cocky smile. “I’m just your average guy.” “An average guy with a very large gun.” “Thanks for noticing, baby.” “I meant the one in your holster.”
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Rolling his shoulder, he let that leather holster slide down his arm, placing his weapon on the floor beside his jeans, close enough to the tub so that he could reach for it if he had to. The shirt joined the clothes on the pink ceramic tile. Finally, he stripped off the boxers. “There! I’m defenseless. Completely at your mercy. Tired. Hurting. Weak…” She eyed his erection. “Fully functioning…” “Yeah, the docs said I should be fit for active duty in that department. Still, I was worried—until I frisked you, and discovered you weren’t a boy.” He winked. “I’m not worried any more. Thanks, honey. It took a load off.” “Glad I could help.” She didn’t back off. A good sign. “There are clean towels in the linen closet,” she whispered. Getting naked for the first time with a woman since his injury wasn’t easy. Getting naked for the first time ever with a white woman made him sweat. Especially, when he caught her eyeing the ugly jagged scar that ran from his mid-thigh to hipbone. “It’s not as bad as it looks,” he offered. “I’m so sorry, Cam,” she said, wiping an accumulation of moisture from the corner of her eye. “Don’t cry, honey.” “I’m not crying.” “You looked a little…sad there for a minute.” He dragged his leg over to the tub. “I won’t always have a limp, you know.” “Of course you won’t.” She gave the reassurance too fast; she said the polite words like she didn’t believe them for a second. And something inside him died at her lack of candor. He didn’t want her scared; he didn’t want her pity either. She stared into his face. “And it wouldn’t matter if you did have a limp. You’re a fine man, Cameron Wyler.” “Women always go for the vulnerability act.” “Would you stop it? I’m not frightened of you! I was a little taken aback when I saw you in my bedroom, I admit it, but my apprehension is gone now. Your one reason to drop your pants in front of me has been used up.” “Oh, I can think of another reason.” His tight muscles relaxed. “Wanna stay and wash this fine man’s back?” “Forget it,” she said tearfully, and still not moving away. Trudy stayed even when he lowered himself with a clumsy splash into her oldfashioned tub. At least she hadn’t rushed forward with an offer to help him; coddling would have been the final indignity. While she hung on by the door, he proceeded to lather up with a soapy washcloth. Her inability to leave made him smile. “I guess a skewed kind of fate brought us together that night at Nelley’s, huh?” “I don’t believe in fate,” she replied and turned towards the door.
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“Hey, call me a romantic, but I happen to believe in blind trust and in fate too, for how else, my lovely Trudy, do you explain our meeting, a meeting that never should have been? You never should have been at Nelley’s that night. And if the world was a nicer place, I wouldn’t have been there either.” Cam lifted his shoulders above the feminine bubbles and propped his large feet up against the back of Trudy’s too short, too pink, tub. He slid back, knowing he looked ridiculous; that was his intention. He did not want her frightened of him. Wiggling his soapy feet on the tub’s rim, he bestowed on Trudy a look that held none of his usual reserve. “I’ve decided to take your presence in my life as a rare gift, and in exchange for the wonder of that gift, I promise I’ll earn your trust.” He grinned. “Now shoo, pretty lady, while I finish my bath.”
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Chapter Ten Trudy closed the bathroom door reluctantly behind her. Goodness! What a charmer Cam Wyler was! She thought, and fanned her warm face. And what a lot of romantic drivel he spouted! Fate. Trust. Bunk! She didn’t believe his nonsense for a minute. He did make her laugh, though. And she was wildly attracted to her slightly dented knight in shining armor. She’d wanted to feel something beyond the obvious hormones for the next man she slept with. Respect, admiration, liking—she felt all those things for Cam. He was just what she needed. She fanned her face harder as she recalled his body hair. She’d never seen such a wealth of soapy curls! Cam’s sable, tight, corkscrew-curls snuggled under his arms, on his chest, arrowing from his waist, down over his flat belly and disappearing under the water’s surface. She knew what was under the water’s surface. Cam Wyler was not apologetic for his arousal. He didn’t try to hide his masculinity, nor did he flaunt it. His sexuality was just there, a part of the virile man he was. His hip and leg were scarred. He had other scars too. The intrinsic danger of his work showed in every nick, line, and furrow on his body. But there were laugh lines on his face, radiating from eyes a warm, rich, whiskey brown. There was a look of compassion around his sensuous mouth. And try as she would, she detected no cruelty in him. None. Her houseguest was no sexual predator, and she was no wilting virgin. His masculinity didn’t frighten her; it excited her. His touch had been erotic, but gentle. The pleasure of him had made her toes curl. That was fine. She was in the market for curled toes. And though he carried the wounds of a violent profession on his body, Cam was not a violent man. Confused and hurting, but no threat. Their goals were the same. He wanted sex. She wanted sex. So—they’d have a good time together. Some laughs. She had him pigeon-holed as a charmer and so wouldn’t fall for any of his sweet-talking nonsense. They’d have a short-lived affair, she decided. And then, as soon as his hip and emotions healed, he’d return to Boston to the career he was married to. Her hormones would be satisfied for another eight years or so, and they could go on with their respective lives. No complications. No misunderstandings. No heartbreak at the end. Smiling, everything all neatly worked out; Trudy made her way back to her cupcakes. She’d just finished arranging them into a perfectly symmetrical chocolate pyramid when the doorbell rang. Jane’s mouth was moving before the front door was all the way open—
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“I tried to get here sooner, but Fred, for some strange reason, was feeling unusually amorous tonight. So, after the meatloaf and green string bean casserole—” She stopped. Interjected, “Did I ever give you that recipe, Trude? It’s really quick and easy. First, you open up a can of—” “You already gave me the recipe.” “Oh! I thought maybe I had.” Jane shrugged out of her good coat, the blue wool with the geometric black buttons. “So anyway, after dinner, we adjourned to the den to make love on the pool table…” Trudy coughed. “You and Fred. On the pool table?” “I couldn’t tell the gnome’s shiny bald head for all the billiard balls. The green felt will never be the same again,” Jane reflected, and swiped the top cupcake from the pyramid. She took a wolfish bite, then licked her frosting-coated fingers before holding up her blue wool coat. “Can I throw this on top of your bed, hon? You won’t have enough room in your hall closet for everyone’s things.” Remembering her naked houseguest in the tub, Trudy tackled Jane before she made it halfway down the hall. “Let me take that.” Trudy snatched her friend’s favorite coat. “To avoid…er…embarrassment, I don’t want anyone going in my bedroom tonight.” Jane winked. “Hiding a hot guy in there, eh?” “Of course,” Trudy breezily replied. “He came in through the window. He’s huge and naked and fully aroused. I took pity on him and agreed to keep him as my love slave. I can’t wait for you boring teachers to leave so that we can go at one another.” Jane hooted. “You just don’t want anyone disturbing the dust bunnies under your bed.” “You know me only too well. I’ve been meaning to do some housework, but you know how it is—you vacuum, and a month or two later, why everything’s dusty again.” Trudy sighed. It was a running joke between them. Jane and she were notoriously bad housekeepers, and proud of it. “To hide my dirty secret, I’ll put everybody’s things in the recently dusted library. How’s that?” “Your house, hon,” Jane said off-handedly, and took another enormous bite out of the cupcake. “Anybody else here yet?” “Excluding the huge and naked and fully aroused man in the bedroom, you’re the first.” Jane dogged Trudy to the library. “Goody. Then we have time to discuss this reallive mystery man in your life, good ol’ what’s-his-name.” She frowned. “What is his name, anyway? Do I know him? I hope he doesn’t teach gym.” “He is not a P.E. teacher! He’s not a teacher at all. And it was just one night—” Her front door chimed. “Excuse me, Jane. I’ve got to get that.” “Wait a minute—” “Later!”
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Jane seethed under her breath. “You can’t escape me, ya know.” Trudy did know: Jane would haunt her until she accounted for every minute of her lost weekend. And Jane wouldn’t be the only one to ask where she’d been. Sutton was a small, close-knit community where everyone knew everyone else’s business. Some of the teachers who were due to arrive any minute were birdwatchers, some belonged to the same church she attended; there were bound to be questions about her disappearance from the Saturday night Audubon Society meeting at the library and her Sunday morning absence from church. How would she explain where she’d been to everyone? Trudy didn’t have time to mull over an explanation, because soon, her cozy front parlor was filled to capacity. Her ‘lost weekend’ immediately found its way into the small talk. Horrible at making excuses, and worse still at lying, she was getting herself backed into a conversational corner when suddenly an abrupt hush fell over the room. All eyes turned to the arched doorway of her living room. Her eyes followed suit. And widened in horror. In the doorway stood her disarmingly moist and handsome houseguest, clad only in a robe, her femininely pink terry robe, the lace trim of which barely covering his mat of chest hair. There was a loud gasp. Hers? A collective female sigh. Definitely not hers. Why hadn’t Cam stayed in her bedroom? Why-oh-why was he wearing her robe? And how could a man look so incredibly male while wearing a lace-edged, pink wrap? With a swish of lace, Cam waved. Every eye in the house flew to the doorway. Then came back to her face. His face. Her face. Back and forth. Like spectators at a ping-pong tournament. “I didn’t realize we were having company over tonight. Guess, I should’ve dressed, huh?” He made a moue of self-depreciation with his sculptured lips, and the room exploded in female twitters and knowing male guffaws. The chocolate chip cookie in her hand crumbled down the front of her plum dress. When Trudy wiped the crumbs away, she hit the plastic cup, also in her hand, and it teetered, spilling coffee all over Principal Dewey’s horribly dated shoes. “I’m so sorry,” she mumbled, sinking to her knees, and buffing at the spill on his wingtips. Her life, as she knew it, was over. Her career was down the tubes. Her peaceful, if dull, existence in Sutton was finished. All because Cameron Wyler had decided to expose his manly charms to a roomful of ultra-conservative educators.
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Balling up the coffee-stained napkin, Trudy tossed it in her wicker waste paper basket, then addressed her guests from her position on her knees. “Everybody, I’d like you to meet…” “I’m Cameron Wyler, Trudy’s Audubon Society houseguest, Boston Chapter. Trudy has been conferring with me about her paper. My specialty is the Galapados Islands.” That said, Cam rushed forward and helped her to her feet. Was he swishing? “Smile,” he whispered into her ear. Her tight and trembling lips lifted a bit. “There’s a good girl,” he complimented. “Do not—” She started to say…patronize me, but didn’t quite complete the thought because his hand, the one dripping with lace, went about her waist, and she was tucked into his pink terry side. Supporting her like that, Cam worked the room. The picture of charm, he started talking birds, and no one was any the wiser that he was quoting directly from the National Geographic magazine that he must have been reading in her bedroom. No one was paying attention to her. Everyone’s attention was glued to Cam. To his masculine good looks, his rapier quick wit, his engaging repartee…his ever-loosening pink terry wrap. He shook hands. He laughed. He elbowed. He bonded. He fabricated his love of birds. “I’m not ashamed to admit that I’m smitten with the little feathered creatures,” he said, swishing some more. She’d like to smitten him. Where did he get off pretending to be gay? “Cam,” she spat. “Shouldn’t you change?” “Oh, that’s right! I’m not decent,” he simpered. “I’ll go get dressed, then call Mom for that pot roast recipe you wanted to try tomorrow night. Mom just adores Trudy.” “Oh, no! Don’t go,” her colleagues gushed. “Not yet!” Jane, the traitor, interjected, “Trudy, you go call. Leave Cam here with us!” “I’d love to stay,” the charmer schmoozed,” but I can’t disappoint Mom. That little lady waits by the phone every night for my call.” Every person who’d ever been a mother, known a mother, or had a mother, was won over. There wasn’t a dry eye in the room when he backed out the door. Except hers. Her eyes were dry and watching the clock. In less than an hour, her last guest would have left, and she could tell Cameron Wyler what he could do with his damned pot roast recipe.
***** Trudy didn’t bother to knock. She trounced through the bedroom door, itching for a battle. Cameron Wyler, big, tough, and occasionally surly, detective was seated crosslegged on her bed, atop her ruffled bedspread, wearing her bathrobe, reading one of her National Geographics. He looked up, all innocence. “Hi baby. Did your friends leave?”
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She slammed the door behind her. “Do you even have a mother?” “Everyone has a mother, Trudy,” he said soulfully. “A mother who waits by the phone every night for her son’s call?” “I may have exaggerated just a smidgen there—” “I just bet you did.” Cam put the magazine carefully aside. “I come from a tight family, and I do call my mama a lot. I enjoy our conversations. I also talk to my old man. It just doesn’t sit well with me when I don’t check in with my parents. They’re getting up in years and all. Someday, I may not be able to reach them on the phone—” “Oh, Cam.” Tears welled. He handed her a tissue from the nightstand. “See, they’re retiring to a resort community in Florida. What with golf and tennis and boating, those two active kids will never be home.” “What!” she screeched. “You’ve gotta learn how to lighten up, baby. Ever try meditation? I’d be glad to show you how. First, you wear something nice and loose.” He patted the front vee of her robe. “Something like this.” “That’s my robe.” “It works for me, don’t you think?” She wiped at her lashes. “I don’t know what to think any more.” “That’s okay. You’re too serious anyway. Now me, I think I’ll definitely be adding pink to my color palette. The shade adds a dewy glow to my complexion, don’t you think?” That’s when she slugged him. “Ouch! That hurt.” He rubbed his shoulder. “I’m wounded, you know.” “You know nothing about birds and you are not gay!” “Did I ever tell you about the time I had to dress up as a woman?” She kicked off her purple shoes. “I don’t think I want to hear this.” “You know, baby, I could give you some real relaxing chants.” “Cam, you are not gay and you wouldn’t know a finch from a foul.” “So anywhoo, like I was saying, I had to dress as a woman. It was when I was a green cop on the force. I knew I was a helluva lot cuter than Harry so it made sense that I’d be the one elected to wear the high heels and hot pants. The shoes were size eleven, double E, sling-backs and I couldn’t get used to walking on them—” Now he had her attention. “Why did you have to dress as a woman?” “To catch a man, naturally.” “Why wasn’t a female police officer used?” “Geez Trudy! Are you trying to wreck this story or what? So, anyway, Harry had to hold me up at first. I couldn’t even make it across the floor without lurching into furniture. But I tell you, by the end of the week I had the best high heel wriggle in all of Boston and I had the pinch marks on my fanny to prove it.” “I’m afraid I don’t understand. Were you able to apprehend the suspect or not?” “Huh?”
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“Did you, or did you not, catch the criminal?” “Uh, Trudy—the story was pointless. It had no redeeming social value at all. It was only supposed to make you laugh.” She frowned. “Why tell a pointless story?” “All right. All right. Yeah, we caught him. The guy turned out to be attracted to ugly women and that’s why I got selected. I tell you, the creep was all over me. I couldn’t shake him off with a stick. It was really hilarious. Harry and I laughed about it for a week afterwards. Damn—I miss that clown!” Her eyes misted all over again. “I know you do.” “I really liked your friends, Trudy. They weren’t half-bad,” he paused, “for teachers. Some of them even knew how to laugh at a funny story.” He looked at her pointedly, then reached over and grabbed her hand. “Could I explain why I embarrassed you in front of your friends?” “You realize you embarrassed me?” “I’m not a complete a moron. I know I embarrassed you. But I didn’t know what else to do. You were getting pretty beat up in there, what with all the questions about where you were over the weekend. You seemed a little tongue-tied so I just thought I’d help out.” “You were eavesdropping!” “Well, yeah. Naturally. It’s what I do.” She wrinkled her nose. “I don’t think I like what you do.” “I don’t like it myself at times. Detective work isn’t always clean.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Listen Trudy, you’re a teacher in a small town. Because of me, because I kept you overnight at the cabin, you were put on the hot spot. And now I’ve moved in with you. Like you said, Sutton isn’t Boston. I was only trying to save your reputation. By giving you a cross-dressing, bi-racial, bird-loving friend, I did.” That’s when she marched into the bathroom and slammed the door behind her.
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Chapter Eleven An hour later, Trudy marched back out of the shower, covered from neck to ankle in an ugly, brown, men’s-tailored robe. Her head was bowed. “I just want to say that I’m sorry. I had no right to strike you. I don’t understand what’s come over me recently.” He could afford to be magnanimous. “You’re only human. Everyone has a boiling point.” She looked up at him. “But I’m a teacher. I’ve been trained to suffer in silence. I’ve learned to keep my professionalism regardless of what obnoxious behavior I encounter.” “Now just wait a minute, baby! You’re not calling me obnoxious, are you?” “I mean,” she continued, “idiotic and juvenile antics bounce right off me. I know how to deal with sophomoric mentality. Why should this time be any different?” Was this her idea of an apology? “Hey, who you calling sophomoric?” “You, Cam,” she said, shaking her head sadly. “You’re sophomoric. And obnoxious. And juvenile. You’re a textbook case of arrested development if I ever saw one. I never should have let you get to me.” She sniffed. Oh, man! Now he’d gone and upset Trudy. Time to grovel. “Please, baby! I’m sorry.” Trudy still looked upset. He went heavier on the groveling. “You’re absolutely, one-hundred percent right. It will never happen again. I swear it, honey. And I admit to all those things you said about me. I am obnoxious. And sophomoric. And juvenile. Just don’t cry, okay?” “You can be patronizing and high-handed too, Cam. I forgot to mention that.” “And I can be patronizing too. Very, very high-handed.” “Gotcha!” She smirked, violet eyes sparkling. “Geez, you’re easy. And here I thought you were street, Wyler.” “Hey, you turned that all around!” “Turn around is fair play.” “Yeah, but guys do underhanded stuff all the time. If you women start doing it too, the order of nature will get thrown all out of balance,” he whined. He didn’t mind that Trudy was gloating; it was the loving way she kept stroking that men’s robe that concerned him. The robe was real broken-in looking. Kinda ratty too. Some guy had spent a lot of nights wrapped up that cheesy horse blanket and he wanted to know who that someone was and if he was still hanging around Trudy. And if the dude wasn’t still hanging around Trudy, then how come she didn’t toss that ratty old robe out in the trash? Trashing ex-lovers’ robes was what women were supposed to do when an affair was over so that these sorts of issues didn’t come up. Old robes in the trash. That was the rule. Trudy had broken the rule.
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“I need a toothbrush,” he mumbled, holding his borrowed pink robe modestly closed and trying to ignore the delicate scent of Trudy wafting up to his nostrils. “Do you keep any spares around?” “Oh, scads. Didn’t you see them in the medicine cabinet when you were scrounging around for a bandage?” “No.” She shrugged. “Well, they’re there. Top shelf. Help yourself.” Yeah. Top shelf. Hang a right at the cache of condoms. Cam moaned at himself in the bathroom mirror. Why was he being like this? He was never jealous, never unreasonable about sex. He understood that responsible, single woman kept spare toothbrushes on hand for overnight guests. Condoms too. What was the big deal? “I have extra razors too,” Trudy called sweetly, and released the towel she’d wound around her head. Bending at the waist, she proceeded to dry her hair. “Thanks,” he said, tight-lipped. Any idiot could see that ugly brown robe was too big for her. She could easily trip and fall over it. It was a safety hazard. He had to speak up: “Trash that robe.” Her nose poked out from the towel. “What are you babbling about now?” Sex. He was babbling about sex. Because he was jealous. Of the guy who had once worn that brown robe. A sheen of sweat broke out on his forehead. Heat coiled up inside his belly. Uncomfortably aware of how out of practice he was when it came to matters of dating, he brushed his teeth, rinsed his mouth and the sink, and stomped back into the bedroom. Climbing laboriously back onto the top of Trudy’s bed, he sat there, confused and aroused. Finally, he hauled a pillow over his lap to hide his less than subtle reaction to the sight of Trudy bending at the waist while she ruffled her damp hair with the towel. Her breasts were shifting under that ugly brown robe and it was driving him crazy with lust. He reached for a second pillow and piled it on his lap too. Trudy eyed him, a blond curl falling over a beautiful violet pupil. “Don’t get too comfortable on that bed.” “Don’t worry about that!” he scoffed. “I’m not comfortable at all. “ “Good, because you’re sleeping on the couch tonight. You won’t even have to take those pillows. I have spares.” Did she have spares of everything? “I can’t sleep on a lumpy couch. I’m bruised. My leg. My hip. My… “ “…ego,” she supplied. She was raring for an argument and he didn’t want to do fight. He wanted to make love to Trudy. Sweet love. Leisurely love. Healing love. “Trudy, your bed is huge. We could share—”
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“I’m not sleeping with you in that bed.” “You slept with me at the cabin—” “We did not sleep together at the cabin! Not the way you mean.” “But you wanted to in the way I mean at the motel—” “That was different. I didn’t know you then.” “You mean to say, you would’ve then because we were strangers—” “That’s right. And now I won’t, because you’ve ruined everything. We’re not strangers anymore. We’re friends now. And friends don’t have sex.” His mouth opened, then snapped shut. Then opened again. “We could have friendly sex. You know, the kind where the lovers talk and laugh during the good parts.” “Stop wheedling! The answer is no.” “I wasn’t wheedling.” “What do you call it?” “Whining. I was whining.” Considering that he was getting the boot, Cam felt a little bashful about creaking his way out of the bed in a thin bathrobe that revealed the hard reality of his condition. Pillow clutched to midsection, he asked, “It’s because you’re mad at me, isn’t it? That’s why we can’t have sex. It has nothing to do with us being best buds.” “Who? Me? Mad? Actually, I’m way past that lukewarm emotion. My friends liked you and you jerked them around. How do you think your deception makes me feel?” “Sad? Very, very sad?” Trudy made a very, very mad face then. “Uh-oh. I sense some major hostility happening here. I guess this means no goodnight kiss, huh?” “You—you—” She picked up a ruffled pillow from the bed, and fired it. He ducked. “Suppose I need you during the night and you’re not here? Suppose my leg starts to hurt or something and I call your name and you don’t hear me? What then? Could you live with the guilt?” She pushed him out the bedroom door. “Now let me think.” She tilted her head. “Yes.” He wound up in the parlor, staring down at the couch. There was nothing wrong with the couch. He’d slept on far worse. But the couch didn’t come with Trudy. He rubbed his hip. Winced. Rubbed again. Harder this time. He looked up. “Weakening yet?” Her chin jutted. “Sometimes, Cameron Wyler, you peeve me. Sometimes, you make me so angry I could just spit. “I once dated a girl who spat. Hortense, her name was. Whatta gal.” “I give up,” she said. “I absolutely give up.” She turned and walked away. “Make up your own damned bed!” He was still laughing when she slammed her bedroom door.
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Hell, after the hard time he’d given her, he wouldn’t have been surprised if she dragged a bureau in front of it— Cam’s laughter was replaced by a soft smile when a few seconds later Trudy cracked the door about an inch— To make sure she could hear him should he call out to her in the middle of the night? Or, was it because down deep, she was beginning to trust him?
***** The next morning, Cam awoke to the aroma of fresh coffee perking, corn muffins baking, and a spoiled cat scratching at the legs of the sofa he was stretched out on, his bare feet overhanging the overstuffed arm. Like everything else in the house, Trudy’s furniture was old and a little worn and unbelievably comfortable. You could tell a lot about a person from the place they called home. Cam thought Trudy’s little house was quirky, just like her. Nooks and crannies and sloping floors abounded and added to the antique’s uniqueness. He’d always hated those ostentatious contemporary houses with their boring, box-shaped rooms. But a place that looked like it had a history, that looked like it had been lived-in by real people, appealed to him. This house was full of character, and it had its fair share of surprises too, just like its owner. After a great night’s sleep, Cam felt more rested than he’d felt in a long time. Not that he was about to admit that to Trudy. Hell, no. He planned on giving Trudy a performance worthy of an Academy Award. “And don’t you blab on me either,” Cam whispered to Trudy’s feline. Forgetting his injury, he hopped into a pant leg and yelped in real pain, not the acting kind. Trudy came running. “Are you all right?” “Yeah,” he muttered, rubbed his hurting hip. “Give yourself a chance to heal. You’ll be up chasing the bad guys in no time.” “The bad guys? You mean the ones wearing black hats?” “I didn’t mean to sound simplistic. I was just trying to be…well…cheery,” she said, looking anything but. Now he’d gone and hurt her feelings. “Forget I said anything,” he grumbled. “I’m just being a lousy patient.” She patted his arm. “You are not! You’ve been through a lot, that’s all.” The feline nosed around his socks. “Look at Lucy!” Trudy enthused. “She wants to play. You should see her with this rubber squeaky baby toy I bought for her. She just loves it if you throw it up in the air then—” “How come a nice lady like you isn’t married with kids?” Cam asked, cutting into the doting cat narrative.
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Trudy dried her hands on her apron. “Women today have choices. Some of us decide not to marry and have children of our own. Instead we become Big Sisters or impromptu Aunts or…or…schoolteachers. We become important in the lives of children in different ways than a maternal one.” “I understand, and that’s just fine. In fact, I applaud it. But I get the distinct feeling that you crave kids of your own.” She shrugged. “I’m very busy.” She gestured toward the kitchen. “Are you hungry? Breakfast muffins are hot in the oven.” She looked at his naked chest. He reached for his shirt. “I’ll just put this on…” All buttoned up, he got in line behind the cat and followed the sway of Trudy’s apron to the kitchen. “You bake a lot?” “Mostly bread and rolls. Store bought tastes like saw dust to me.” She bent to open the oven door. “These look about done!” Trudy’s bottom was nicely rounded. For a tiny woman, she had some real cute curves. Cam could easily imagine himself in this house, in Maine of all places, in that gigantic bed of hers, making love with her through the coldest, darkest months of the year. And come summer, they’d have a nice plump baby— Wait a minute! A plump baby? What the hell kind of a daydream was that for a single man to be having? He never thought about diaper-wetters. He never thought about procreation at all. Sex, yeah. But even in his wildest dreams he automatically pulled on a condom. As Trudy tested the muffins, the fantasy kept bothering him. Long, winter darkness. A season of nights making love. A year of such seasons. A lifetime of loving years. “Hell,” he whispered. Lucy hissed. “Bad cat!” Trudy rebuked. “Pull in those claws. Cameron is a nice man.” Her cheeks suffused with pink from the heat of the stove, Trudy said, “I apologize for my pet. Lucy tends to get, well, catty around males.” The ugly brown bathrobe. The territorial feline. The four pillows on the bed. He had to know how many males there were for Lucy to get catty over. “How many males does Lucy see at your breakfast table?” Potholder mitts securely in place, Trudy pulled the muffin tin from the oven’s middle shelf, turned the temperature dial to its off position, and placed the dark tin on a cooling rack. “I hope you’re hungry?” He stalked her to the counter. “How many males does Lucy see at your breakfast table?” he repeated, only louder this time. Trudy picked up the hot muffin tin and slapped it upside the counter. Once dislodged, she dumped the mouthwatering, light brown muffins into a red, ginghamlined, straw basket. After terrorizing the tin, she dropped it into the sink with an ear deafening metallic clang, and then carried the basket to the oak table. She returned to the counter for the pot of steaming coffee, which she slammed with a dull glass clang on the table.
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If this is what Trudy meant by, ‘suffering in silence’ he’d hate to see her when she’d worked up a full head of steam. “Cam?” she asked, removing the quilted potholders slowly from each hand. “What’s this about?” The mitts were off, and in more ways than one. “Nothing,” he muttered. “Then please take a seat,” she said tightly. She poured two cups to the rim with coffee. “Cream and sugar?” “Black.” “Black-mood-sullen.” She tipped her cup to her lips. “Black-mood-sullenadolescent-immaturity.” She took another ladylike sip. “With overbearing proprietary issues. Well, I for one, am not starting my day off angry.” He eyed the muffin she was ripping apart. “I can see that, baby.’ “So why don’t you tell me what it is about my love life you feel you need to know?” He almost choked on a grainy bite of muffin. “That was direct!” “I see no reason not to be direct. Do you need to know how many men there have been, or are you primarily interested in finding out, for informational purposes, if there are certain things that I don’t do?” She buttered the remains of her muffin and took a dainty bite. “Both,” he replied, edgy as only a jealous man can be edgy. She wiped her lips with a napkin, rose from the chair, walked around to his side of the table, placed her hands on his shoulders, and pulled him to her. “Then I would have to say, enough to the former and nothing to the latter.” After a hasty swallow, Cam’s managed a terse, “Oh.” Good thing his mouth was empty, because she sealed her lips to his in a slow and easy, kiss. “Don’t get all tense on me, Cam,” she whispered against his mouth. “It’s only sex. And I’m always discreet—there’s my reputation to consider—and I’m never clingy when it’s over. Fun and games, that’s all it is to me.” “I guess I take lovemaking more seriously than you do.” “I guess you do.” She walked back to her side of the table. “Fun and games,” he said glumly. She took a seat. “That’s right.” “Why the sudden change of heart from last night?” “Basically because I think it would do us both good. As long as we don’t take it…well…too seriously. You know?” He tried to digest that, but it wasn’t easy for him to be as practical as Trudy about making love. Despite his flippancy, he was always responsible when it came to sleeping with a woman. And he had always cared about the women he had taken to his bed. He’d never been in love with any of them, but he had been open to love; it had just never happened for him.
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Since Trudy was being so damned matter-of-fact, he figured he’d take a stab at it too. “I want you to know that there haven’t been droves of women in my life. And I’ve been careful with those I’ve been with. But lately, with Harry’s death and my injury, I haven’t had so much as a tickle of interest in sex.” “And now?” He grinned. “Now I’m tickled pink.” He picked up his muffin, took a bite, chewed, munched, swallowed. Then laid it on the line. “I’ve never been married or even engaged and I’ve never lived with a woman. I was involved once, during my early twenties.” He hung his neck over his coffee cup. “We were together for five years. It was nice, the exclusivity thing. I had no complaints, anyway. But she’d get all teary every time I had to miss a date, or I got back home to my apartment later than I said I would. She was a real worrier.” He rubbed his throbbing leg. “I wasn’t cheating on her. I’d never do something like that.” “No, you never would. You’re not that kind of man.” “Like I said, I liked only being with her. It came down to the job. She just couldn’t understand that I didn’t work a regular nine to five desk gig or that there are risks in what I do. Anyway, we’re still friends. She’s married to a bank executive. It all worked out for the best. She’s happy. They have four cute kids.” “You couldn’t adjust your hours? Change departments?” “I wanted to get ahead, make detective. In order to do that, to get ahead, you have to eat and sleep the job.” He took a swallow from his cup. “There hasn’t been anyone special in my life since. How ‘bout you?” “In college.” She looked down at her folded hands. “He was cheating, and he ended up marrying the other woman.” “Jerk,” he editorialized. Trudy grinned. “Yes, actually he was a jerk. And I should have known better. Now, I do.” Sincerity shone in her eyes. “Cam…I have a career that I love too. And you’ll only be in Sutton a short time…” “I know.” He did know, but he also knew that couples did work out long distance relationships. Even racially mixed-relationships. It was hard, but it could be done, if the two people involved wanted to be together. Trudy was a teacher. There were plenty of schools in the Boston area. She shouldn’t have any problem finding a new job. Relocating—if things happened the way he wanted them to happen—wouldn’t be a big deal. “Trudy, I like you. A lot.” He picked up her hand. “Making love with you would be very special. And I promise—” She placed her fingertips against his lips, holding his words locked inside. “No promises necessary—” Her hand dropped away. “Like I said, I’m not in the market for anything too serious. Let’s keep it light and fun. Okay?”
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Cam took a long pull from his cup. No promises meant no future, no commitment—temporary. He didn’t like temporary. He didn’t like starting things up with an eye always on the end. He particularly didn’t like having meaningless affairs. He’d never been that kind of man. He wanted the sex to mean something. Obviously, meaningful was not what Trudy was looking for. He supposed she was right, though; he was in no position to make a woman promises. His life and his job were up in the air. He was floundering, emotionally and physically. His future was looking bleak. When Trudy was ready to go off to work, she tilted her lips up for a kiss. He lost himself in her sweetness. In no way, did the kiss feel temporary to him. Not that he’d agreed to temporary; he hadn’t agreed to anything. Couldn’t she feel his chest pound? Did she know what she did to him? Couldn’t she tell that there was nothing light and fun about this?
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Chapter Twelve Head down, Trudy walked down the same sidewalk she walked down everyday to school, pretending that her life was the same, when it wasn’t the same at all. Cam Wyler was changing her life, altering it in both obvious and subtle ways. Cam was attracted to her; she was attracted to him. He wanted to take her to bed, and she was more than willing to go. On her terms. Unfortunately, Cam, for all his teasing, was not the ‘love ‘em and leave ‘em’ guy she originally thought he was. As it was turning out, Cam was steadfast. True. Honorable. All those old-fashioned sentiments one didn’t hear much about any more. He was the kind of man a woman could build a life around, a family around, a future around. What Cam was not, was a man who gave his heart lightly. He’d been involved with a woman, but that it hadn’t worked out because of his dedication to his career. He hadn’t been willing to compromise his goals for a relationship. With her past experience, Trudy knew he’d never compromise those goals for her, either. At least he’d been honest with her. And she did understand. She had a career she loved; he had a career that he loved. His life was in Boston; hers was in Sutton, Maine. No room for compromise there. But they could both have a good time for the duration of his stay, as long as neither of them fooled the other. As long as they were honest with each other, up front about their expectations, no one would get hurt… “How come a nice lady like you isn’t married with kids?” he’d asked. “Women today have choices. Some of us decide not to marry and have children of our own. Instead we become Big Sisters or impromptu Aunts or…or…schoolteachers. We become important in the lives of children in different ways than a maternal one,” she’d answered. “I understand, and that’s just fine. In fact, I applaud it. But I get the distinct feeling that you crave kids of your own.” “I’m very busy,” she’d replied… She hadn’t been totally honest with Cam this morning at the breakfast table, and how astute of him to see through her defenses! She longed for a child. Not even Jane suspected how incomplete she felt, how desperate she became when she contemplated going through life childless. It was hard to talk about, a difficult thing to share. Maybe it was because she was an only child, born of only children that she hungered for a huge, noisy family. Growing up, her house was always so quiet. There were no uncles and aunts who visited. No siblings, no cousins to squabble with over toys. No huge assortment of relatives gathered around the dining room table at the holidays. There was always just the three of them. So lonely. Ever since she was a little girl, she vowed that when she grew up, she’d have a house filled with noisy kids. She had always, always, always, wanted a baby. She longed to get pregnant with a passion she hadn’t thought possible. It was an ache that wouldn’t go away. It was an
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emptiness she felt inside her as strongly as she felt her own heart beat in the darkness of night. Lately, that longing had turned to obsession. Everywhere she went there seemed to be mothers with babies. Everywhere. There was no avoiding them. And if she didn’t see babies, she saw expectant mothers. Pregnant women seemed to be everywhere, especially in the spring. Women with huge watermelon-shaped bellies in pretty, new maternity outfits. Those women with their happy faces and their swollen bellies seemed to flaunt their fertility, their ripeness, their very womanliness, while her own belly remained girlishly flat. She tried to be happy for them, for those girls she’d gone to high school with who were now married and mothers. But it was excruciatingly difficult not to be jealous when she would give anything, anything at all, to be like them, to have what they had, to live the lives they took for granted. Going to baby showers, smiling at baby pictures, teaching— Teaching children was gut wrenching. To be surrounded by grubby, toothless faces and know that she might never have a child was her own particular torture. But as much as she’d wanted a baby, she’d never have an affair solely to conceive a child. She wanted a child conceived, if not in love, in mutual respect and admiration. She hadn’t met a man she admired enough to have him father her child. Until now. Until Cam. She wouldn’t actively try to get pregnant. But she would, if she could, persuade Cam not to use any barriers to conception. After all, he was the one who said he believed in fate. Let fate decide if she became pregnant during their affair.
***** “That does it!” Cam growled later that afternoon, shaking a fist at a nearby maple tree as reddish leaves re-carpeted the area they’d only then finished raking. He took the rake out of her hand. “These leaves will still be here tomorrow. Take a walk with me downtown. I’ll buy you a malt at Jones’ Drug Store. Two straws.” He fluttered his thick black lashes at her. “This isn’t Boston, but we are not quite that Curry and Ives in Maine.” “So where’s the trendy coffee franchises on every corner?” “There is a lot of hidden poverty up here, Cam. Two bucks for a cup of cappuccino is outside most family budgets. But I’d love a walk.” She glanced down at her disreputable garden overalls. “Can’t go out looking like this.” “So, go change.” “You’ll wait?” He crossed his eyes. “Well—yeah—” “Okay.” She turned. “Be back in a sec.” Inside her bedroom, Trudy pulled on the center zipper of her coverall. And got nowhere.
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She tried again. Then again. No matter what she did, the foolish zipper wouldn’t budge. She cracked the door to give a holler that she’d be awhile… As it turned out, Trudy didn’t have to raise her voice: Cam was just outside the door in the hall, removing his shirt. She’d seen Cam shirtless, and she knew his chest was broad, but in the cramped hallway, he seemed positively immense. His wide shoulders spanned the two walls. She longed to run her hands over all that hard, male skin. “Excuse me, Cam.” A shiver ran through her as he gave her his full attention; his eyes were hot coals, blazing on her. “I think the walk is out. My zipper seems to be broken. He reached a hand through the door. “Give it here. I’ll fix it.” “That’s the problem. I’m embarrassed to admit this, but I’m stuck in the overall. I—I can’t get in or out of it.” “Don’t be embarrassed.” His knuckles stroked her warm cheeks. “Don’t be embarrassed about anything that happens between us, ever. Okay?” She nodded. “Good.” His hand fell from her face. “Open up, honey, and let me come in.”
***** Trudy was standing close to her big comfortable bed; her coverall was undone to her navel. She was an ‘innie’. Nice, he told her wordlessly with an appreciative smile. Her cheeks went to flaming pink. God, he liked teasing her— But not about her strict adherence to the wearing of foundation garments. There was nothing funny about the killer underwire she strapped on every day. He heartily disapproved of her wearing a bra, altogether. She didn’t need one, as she was small and firm. Very, very high. Her pretty round breasts reminded him of twin vanilla ice cream scoops with two sticky-out raspberries on top. He wanted to give each delicious mound a lick, then nibble on the raspberries, suck on their juices, before rasping them between his teeth. Delicately. So as not to bruise them in any way. A knot clenched in his belly. “Let me take a look at the zipper, sweetie.” She glided up close. And Cam, trying to be casual, started counting the pink flowers on the bedroom wallpaper to distract himself from his sudden craving for ice cream and raspberries. Fifty-three blossoms later, his mind was still on succulent red fruit and icy white cream. He gave up counting and dropped the seat of his jeans to the mattress. Spreading his knees wide, he said, hoarsely. “Come to Cam.”
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As Trudy moved between his spread thighs, she tripped. To save herself, she grabbed him around the shoulders. Okay. He didn’t mind steadying a lady. But somehow she toppled onto the bed, hauling him with her. He managed to twist his body so he’d be on the bottom when she fell. On top. Of him. “Hmmph! Didn’t take you long getting me into bed,” she snipped, looking down. “Get you into bed! Don’t look now, but you’re the one on top, woman.” “Now that I’m here and you’re here, how about a kiss? Hmmm?” Where was the harm? And who could resist? Trudy wanted fun and games. He’d give her fun and games. Perfectly safe, adolescent stuff. Innocent. It stayed innocent for all of thirty seconds. As soon as he dropped his guard, Trudy tackled his defenses. Man, the woman could kiss! She really got into it. And not just with her mouth either. Hell, no! It was full body contact with Trudy. She was squirming and twisting, driving him nuts. His eyes went heavy. “Quit, honey!” She smooched along his jaw. “Don’t want to.” “You know, you’re driving me crazy,” he growled. “How crazy?” she asked, while nipping at his bottom lip. “Are we talking a common, garden variety neurosis here or a full-blown psychotic episode?” “Got a straight-jacket handy?” he asked, and not entirely in jest. “No restraints for you. I don’t want your hands tied. I want your hands on me.” “Trudy, Trudy, Trudy,” he chanted. “We’ve gotta stop.” “No, we don’t. We’re both single, consenting adults.” He couldn’t beat that kind of logic. Still, he said, “Trudy, we can’t do this.” “Who says?” “Me says,” he said weakly. “I like you a lot. I’m deeply in like with you, but I’ll be leaving Maine soon and I don’t want to take advantage of you this way.” “What way would you like to take advantage of me?” she asked, all smarty-pants, smart-mouthed, and kissed him some more. But the thing was, Trudy deserved so much more than a brief affair with a edgy guy who was just passing through town. With that acknowledgement, came a kind of hopeless despair. Because the kisses that had started out playful were now becoming dangerously serious—the very thing Trudy said she didn’t want—and a rush of hunger for her, impervious to reason, consumed him. He groaned with need. “I’ve gotta get off this bed, Trudy.” “Don’t go,” she whispered, against his mouth. “Gotta leave, Trudy. Definitely, gotta leave.” “We’ll just talk. How’s that?” she asked, kissing the hole in his chin she called a dimple.
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“Talk?” he repeated. His brain was barely functioning. Who could talk? “Tell me about your day. Tell me about you. Let me in, Cam.” Unspent energy coursed through his system, looking for an outlet. The outlet he needed was Trudy, and although he knew it was foolhardy to stay, he couldn’t leave. “You want to hear about my day?” She nodded. “Start at the very beginning and don’t leave anything out. Please?” “You know how my day went. This morning I slept; this afternoon we raked.” “That was only the exterior. How did your day go inside.” She smacked her upper chest. “In here. Your interior world.” “Baby, I don’t have one of those. What you see is pretty much what you get. I’m all on the surface. You might even say I’m superficial.” She shook her head. “Cam, come on now. You can do this. Open up to me.” He hated talking this stuff! Especially when Trudy’s pretty breasts were bobbing from all her chest pounding and head shaking. But to make Trudy happy, he took a shot at it. “Let’s see. My day—huh?” “Your interior day,” she stressed. He knew it. Trudy, being Trudy, expected more from him, and she looked so earnest, so hopeful about getting more, that even though he knew he was going to live to regret it, he lied and said: “My interior day was great. Really, really great.” “Cam, be honest—” “Okay, it wasn’t great. But it was good. Really, really good. Now can we change the subject?’ She gave a teacherly shake of her golden head. “No we cannot change the subject. I think we might be having a pivotal breakthrough. You have issues with your self perception that I think you need to deal with.” What did she mean ‘we’? He was the one breaking into a cold sweat here. And man, unless they were talking about the swimsuit issue of Sports Illustrated, he wasn’t talking issues with her. And as to dealing, well, he confined his talents to a Friday night poker table. “Go on, Cam. Elaborate. Tell me why you downgraded your day from great to merely good. “ As far as he was concerned, no amount of elaboration would clear the low-lying overcast inside his head— Why ruin a perfectly fine afternoon with all this talk? Why bring Trudy down? Right after breakfast, he could’ve taken a nap, just like a baby. If not for wanting to help Trudy with the yard work, he would’ve stayed collapsed, face down, on her sofa all day. But there were so many leaves out there on the lawn and Trudy would’ve worn herself out raking ‘em all up. So, he made himself get going. After a while he really got into it. Raking was less boring than physical therapy. He wasn’t keeping on top of those exercises the way he should. He didn’t have the range of motion he needed to do some of the exercises.
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Raking with Trudy hadn’t seemed like exercise. It felt good using his arm muscles again, even if he was clumsy on his feet. He was tired by the time all the leaves were in piles, but in a good way, a healthy kind of tired. Still, he couldn’t help but worry: If raking leaves did him in, what would chasing after suspects do to him? Could he run? Could he even run with a limp? And if he couldn’t, that meant he’d be pushing a pencil at a desk job— So he was down. He was angry. No, sharing his interior day was not a good idea. His smile was wide. “I don’t want to bore you.” “I’m not bored.” She leaned forward on his chest. “Why would you want to clutter up your pretty head with stuff like this, sweetie?” “My pretty head? Don’t do this, Cam.” “Don’t do what, baby?” “You know what! You’re distancing yourself from me. And it’s not going to work. I’m going to find you out, mister. I’m going to uncover what makes you tick. I’m going to discover what goes on behind that charming smile of yours.” “Let me up,” he whispered, terrorized, terrified at the prospect. Her finger nudged him. “You only reveal the sanitized parts of yourself. Not the sad parts. Not the things that make you angry. Not the things that hurt you. Do you think I don’t know you’re hiding something? Tell me, Cam! Don’t lock it all away inside you. Let me in! Share—” “Trudy, I think we need to set some ground rules, here.” “Such as?” “No more kissing—” “What!” “You heard me. You want fun and games, and I don’t know how to do fun and games. So no more kissing.” He sat up, and peeled her gently from his body. He wobbled to his feet. “But we’re friends and friends kiss.” She got up on her knees and wrapped her arms around his waist. “Friends hug too.” “Anything more than a brief hug and we’re in the danger zone.” “I like danger.” “Then go read about it in a book, ‘cause I’m not about to let this situation get out of hand like it almost did up at the cabin.” “It wasn’t out of hand at the cabin.” “A lot you know. You’re playing with fire here.” “Friends hug. Friends kiss. Especially if they’re happy about something. They snuggle too if the heat goes out and they’re cold. For body warmth.” “It’s plenty warm in here, Trudy.” “This is Maine. It gets cold up here real fast. A faulty heating unit can become an emergency situation before you can blink an eye. “ “Okay, in case of survival, snuggling would be okay. But that’s as far as it goes. I’ve decided that this arrangement has to remain strictly platonic.”
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“You’ve decided—” “Yeah, me. I’ve decided. I get a say in this, don’t I? Or am I just your sex toy?” “Now there’s an idea!” Grinning, Trudy held out her hand. “Naw, you’re nobody’s plaything, Wyler. Okay, it’s a deal.” They shook on it, his rough hand enclosing her soft hand. She pulled him towards her. “What if—” “No sex,” he said firmly, and untangled himself from her killer grip. “Now let me fix that zipper.” His big hands went to her graceful neck where soft gold curls beckoned seductively over the overall’s collar…and his resolve to keep his distance from Trudy collapsed under the featherweight of all that sweet feminine softness. It was tough finding the right words to talk about how much he loved being a cop, about what the job meant to him, but he owed it to Trudy to at least try. “I wanted to be cop since I turned thirteen,” he began. “It was all I ever wanted. What will I do if I’m not a detective? How will I fill the days? For the first time in my life I’m scared. And then there’s Harry—” As soon as he saw the sympathy in Trudy’s eyes, he stopped. He couldn’t take her pity. He just wasn’t strong enough. He couldn’t go on. Instead he touched her face, and it was like magic. Every time he touched her, it was like magic all over again. Everything about Trudy delighted him. Her womanly scent. The warmth and softness of her skin… He groaned and dropped his hand. “I know what you want. But I can’t talk about feelings. I’m trying to work things out in my head. I just need more time. If you want to talk about personal stuff, how about we swap information about our likes and dislikes? You know, the important stuff in life.” He smiled. “Like, my favorite vegetables are potato chips, how about you?” She grimaced. “Chips are not vegetables.” Somehow, he knew she’d say that. “Do you smoke?” “Certainly not!” she replied with enough horror in her voice to make him laugh. “I usually shower in the morning. You?” “Mornings for me too,” she told him. “And that means we have a problem. There’s only enough hot water in the reservoir to accommodate one shower in the morning.” Her eyes twinkled. “It will be a sacrifice, but I guess we’ll just have to start showering together from now on. It will be a time saving measure. I’ll soap your back for you. You know, get at those hard to reach places.” He knew she was teasing, and his face went hot anyway. “If I need my back scrubbed I’ll buy a loofa on a stick.” He worked on her zipper until it moved freely. “That oughta do it. Get changed and we’ll take that walk.”
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Chapter Thirteen Everyday after school, they’d sit at the kitchen table, drink a cup of tea, and talk. Mostly, Trudy talked and he’d listen. It was nice. Only today, it was after three, school was over for the day, and there was no Trudy. When she wasn’t home by half past three, Cam figured he’d go looking for her. Those damn moose had been known to charge unsuspecting pedestrians. She could’ve sprained an ankle of something trying to avoid an antler. He covered her route on foot. It was only a mile or so. He thought he could handle it. They’d been taking little strolls before supper every night. Trudy was real big on walking; she said she needed the exercise. Since it got dark early in Maine, he couldn’t very well let her go alone. As a result of her needing the exercise, his endurance had improved steadily. It was nearly five o’clock when Cam let himself back into the house and made a bee-line for the pair of shapely legs sticking out from under the sink. He hunkered down in front of the cabinet base. “Hey in there.” Trudy lifted her head. “Oh! Hello!” Cam squeezed through the adjacent cabinet door. “Does every person in this town know we’re living together?” “Sutton is a small town, Cam.” “No kiddin’? Al Richards says, ‘Hey’, by the way. He told me you were over to Phillips Hardware picking up supplies to fix your kitchen sink. Doesn’t it bother you that everyone knows your business?” “Nope. That’s why I love it here. And that why I’ll never leave. There’s comfort in not being anonymous.” Cam’s heart clutched in his chest. “What’s wrong with the sink, anyway?” “The water isn’t going down.” “Why didn’t you ask me to help?” “Well, I wanted to…but what with your injury and everything, poor thing, I didn’t know if you’d be up to it.” “I’m up to it. I’m not helpless, you know!” “Of course, you’re not!” she said stoutly, and with enough maternal inflection in her voice to make him wince. “There’s plenty of stuff I can still do—” “Of course, there is.” He narrowed his eyes at her. “Quit the child psychology, Miss Prescott! I realize there are things I can still do. I just don’t know if one of them is the thing I love. Being a police detective is my whole life.” “I know.” He nodded, though at the moment, the focus of his whole life had shifted. Pipes and drains and safety traps didn’t immediately pop to Cam’s mind when considering romantic settings, but ambience seem pretty irrelevant when he was lying next to Trudy in a horizontal position. The only thing of relevance was her.
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Cam tilted his jaw to Trudy’s lush mouth. Just a taste, he promised himself. Just a friendly kiss. Her wrench snagged his chin before his mouth landed. “I’m so sorry,” Trudy cried, then giggled. “Got you right in the dimple, didn’t I? That is a dimple, right? I can’t really tell because of the whiskers, but I wouldn’t like to think I’d dented you!” “It’s a dimple. I don’t dent that easy.” He rubbed his jaw. “Guess I could use a shave, huh?” Her eyes went serious. “Before your injury, did you shave everyday?” “Hell, yeah. Sometimes twice.” “I think it’s time you did again. You wouldn’t want to give me a whisker burn when you kiss me, would you?” “No, I wouldn’t want to ever hurt you, Trudy. I’ll shave tonight.” Her eyes sparkled. “Good.” He rubbed his rough jaw. “Listen, I’m sorry about the pass. Not a real smooth move trying to kiss a woman under a musty sink,” he muttered. “Anyway, looks like you need a new faucet. This one was shot a decade ago.” He paused. “Know anything about plumbing?” he asked, delicately prying the oversized wrench from her undersized hand. Her chin jutted. “I’m willing to learn.” “I’ll take that for a no. So, if you don’t know plumbing, how were you going to fix the sink?” “Just a minute,” she said, reaching between their bodies. After a lot of fumbling, she produced a self-help book. “I went to the library. According to this book, the clogged drain will practically fix itself!” “I just bet.” “No, really. This chapter describes the process step by step, for the plumbing novice.” “Geez, was indoor plumbing invented when this book was published?” “I realize the book is an antique, but then again, so is the house. Therefore, the plumbing principles must still be applicable. I’ve been reading all about PVC’s versus copper, and joints versus elbows.” “Uh-huh.” He grinned. Trudy was so damned cute. When a rounded hip accidentally rubbed his side, Cam sucked in his breath, his grin ending on a slam of arousal. “Cam, do you have enough room? Shall I move over? You look uncomfortable.” “I’ll live with it,” he groused, gripping the book harder. “Okay,” he said, after a minute, “now let me get this straight: You intend to lie here, under this cabinet, on your back, in the dark, and read these instructions?” “Something like that.” “And you weigh what? A hundred pounds?” “Something like that.”
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He hefted the wrench. “Do you really think you’re strong enough to turn the fixture with one hand, using this heavy tool, while holding the book with the other?” “Maybe it wasn’t a workable solution, but I did manage to get this big round thing loose.” She pointed. “See?” A gush of water hit him full in the face. “Where’s the shut-off?” he gurgled, trying to hold his breath and speak, all at the same time. “Down stairs in the cellar.” He grabbed her hand and tugged. “Let’s go.” Trudy gyrated her hips back and forth; her faded cotton dress rode up her legs to the dangerous level before she made it all the way to the outside. “I gather the first rule of plumbing repair is to shut off the water?” “It’s not a bad idea, yeah.” The antique’s dirt cellar was damp and musty; the shut-off was way over in the corner. Cam scraped the cobwebs off and was twisting the knob clockwise to the OFF position, when Trudy practically climbed up his body. “What was that?” “If you mean what ran over our feet—that was a mouse. Anything else you feel is all me.” He’d been erect since he’d tried to kiss her under the sink. “A mouse in my house?” “Honey, you’ve got a whole extended mouse family down here. Sisters. Brothers. Aunts and uncles. Hell, I’d say it was a family reunion only everyone appears to be squeaking to everyone else.” Trudy waved her hands in front of her face. “I don’t like mice. Tell them to go away.” “Yeah, I’ll do that, and I’m sure they’ll listen too.” She lunged for him and burrowed her face in his neck. Like a green kid, Cam started counting backwards from one hundred: By ninety, he was always back in control. “Did you just say five?” she whispered. He stroked his knuckles down her jaw. “Don’t mind me, honey. I always blurt out random numbers when I’m in a dark place with a pretty woman.” “Well, stop blurting and get me upstairs!” “You’ll have to get down off me first. In this position, there’s only one body part I can move, and I don’t think you’re in the mood right now.” “I can do this,” she said, talking to herself. “I can remain calm and go up those stairs. It’s not so very far. And they’re only mice. We’re all God’s creatures after all, big and small. Mice are not much different than hamsters or gerbils. And they’re cute. Right?” “Absolutely!” “What’s the worst that could possibly happen?” “I suppose a mouse with a poor sense of direction could get lost and run up your leg—”
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That’s when Trudy fainted.
***** Trudy was lying across his lap; the floor was a pond and Cam was the only island. She nuzzled her cold nose into the crook of his neck. “You know what I feel like?” “The last time I answered one your rhetorical questions, you fainted.” “I feel like a rag doll. And do you know what you feel like?” “I don’t know. A kumquat?” “No, silly. A teddy bear! Wanna cuddle with me in my nice dry bed?” she asked as her eyes drifted closed. There had been certain women of his acquaintance who had laughingly referred to him an animal, usually after a hot and sweaty and mutually satisfying night together, but never to his recollection had he been called an animal of the stuffed variety before. Cam didn’t know if he should laugh or cry. Doing neither, he inhaled her strawberry-scented hair. “You’ll catch cold like this. Why don’t you get out of these wet clothes?” “Good idea,” she said groggily. Her fingers went to the front buttons on her dress. Just what he needed! A wet, naked lady straddling his lap. Well—okay, that was exactly what he needed. But he was trying to be noble. “Hold on there. How about changing in your bedroom?” “Oh, dear! What must you think of me?” she groaned, coming fully awake. “Nothing to think. Women are always taking off their clothes around me.” He shrugged his shoulders. “You couldn’t help yourself. I’m irresistible.” “You conceited, arrogant…” He grinned. Trudy’s color was returning to normal. “Feeling better?” “That depends.” She tilted her head. “On what?” “On whether or not I called you a teddy bear.” “Teddy bear? Hell, no!” “I didn’t invite you to cuddle with you?” “Naw.” Companionably, he rubbed her shoulders. “But let’s say, just for argument’s sake, that I had asked you to sleep with me— Would you have accepted the invitation?” “Well, naturally. I couldn’t very well turn down a rag doll’s invitation, now could I?” His jaw rested on top of Trudy’s head. “Are you going to be okay while I go to the hardware for mouse traps?” “Could you do it humanely? Could you get rid of them without actually kil…killing them?” “Yeah, I’ll relocate them to a new home. Outside.” “Thanks.” She wiped at her tears. “I need to mop up the mess upstairs.” He rose first and then lent her a hand. Trudy wobbled a bit on her feet but seemed okay as they climbed the stairs and headed to the kitchen.
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“I’m throwing a surprise shower for Jane tonight,” she offered. “All the women teachers will be coming over. You might want to go to a movie or something for a couple of hours to avoid it.” “I don’t mind sticking around. Maybe I can help carry gifts to the car afterwards.” “That’s sweet of you to offer, but we’ll be oohhing and ahhing over baby paraphernalia. So boring, you know?” She sniffed and looked forlorn. “There’ll be labor and delivery horror stories. Every woman who’s been through childbirth will be trying to outdo everyone else. I wouldn’t want to inflict that on you.” “I don’t mind. I’d like to be here with you.” Trudy gave him a watery-smile. “Thank you, but no.” It could’ve been the fact that his stomach had been rumbling with hunger for the past hour, but suddenly Jell-O came to mind. He was one of those fortunate people who could look back on their childhood and say it was great. He had a lot of happy memories. And one of them was that as a kid, his mom would make his brothers and him lime green Jell-O with those miniature marshmallows floating around the middle. Jell-O was how his insides felt whenever he was around Trudy—all soft and squishy and kind of jiggly. It’d been a long time since anyone had that affect on him, a long time since he felt like a lump of gelatinous mush around a woman. Pretty scary. He got out of the kitchen fast, before he melted into a sticky lime green puddle on Trudy’s newly mopped floor. But he didn’t stay gone long: Trudy was brooding about something and he wanted to be there for her. He carried about a thousand baby gifts to Jane’s car, and after closing the front door on the last guest, he silently took Trudy in his arms and let her cry out whatever was bothering her against his chest.
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Chapter Fourteen “Could you pretty please cut the grass around my clothesline first! I have wash to hang.” “Hang the wash! What are you talking about? Don’t you send the stuff out?” “I know this must come as a tremendous shock to you, but some people actually do their own wash and hang it outside to dry. The clothes smell so good afterwards, especially the sheets. Mmm. Just like sunshine.” “Orgasmic, huh?” “I suppose so—” “I’ll have to get me some of these sunshine sheets,” Cam said, hauling the red gasoline container over to her industrial-sized mower. He unscrewed the spout and began pouring fuel into the motor. When he was done, he unbent his long, lean body and stripped off his heavy work shirt. Cam was wearing low-slung jeans. When he reached up to tie a red bandana around his forehead, and his biceps rippled, and his chest expanded, and his low-slung jeans took a dip, her breath caught in her throat. In a hot wash of desire, she clasped her hand to her mid-section as her ovaries went ping. “I’ll let you get to work,” Trudy said, feeling flushed. An hour later, Trudy finished grading a student’s paper, placed a silver star in the top margin, and headed for the first floor laundry room. After scooping the wet clothes out of the washer, she hoisted the clothesbasket to her hip, and headed for the clothesline. It was Fall, but the day was unusually warm for this time of year in Maine, and in a last gasp of growth, the grass was lush. She sank up to her ankles in it, loving the squish of the sweet-smelling green softness between her bare toes… Then Cam cut the engine and tromped over to her. Without ceremony, he lifted the hem of her dress to mid-thigh. “Don’t wear anything longer than this! The grass is alive with ticks. They’ll crawl right up your long skirt.” “I’m not changing now. I have wash to hang!” “You are the most stubborn, opinionated, irritating woman!” He wiped the dirt off his hands before crouching in the grass at her kneecaps. “Hold still while I fix you.” “I can do it!” “I know you can. There’s no doubt in my mind that you can do anything you put your mind to, but this, you’re gonna let me do.” Trudy was thrilled to hear Cam’s authoritative, take-charge tone. She was also thrilled to see how agile he was; the improvement he’d made in only a few short days was impressive. Was he conscious of his progress? Did he realize how soon he’d be able to return to Boston?
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At eye level with her belly, he reached between her legs and drew the back material of her dress up to the front, expertly knotting the voluminous folds under her belt into puffy harem pantaloons. “I think we have the start of a new fashion trend here,” he teased. His tone was teasing but his expression was tight. His position brought to mind erotic possibilities. Trudy backed away before she jumped him there and then. “I—I should get back to my wash.”
***** Taking a swipe at the sweat pooling under his bandana, Cam arched his jaw to get a better glimpse of Trudy as she hung his shirts up to dry. Maybe it was the way her breasts bounced when she reached up to the clothesline. Or maybe it was the way her round bottom came up in the air when she bent over the laundry basket. Or maybe it was the way she held those wooden clothespins between her perfect white teeth. Or maybe it was because she was hanging his boxers next to her panties, and they were flapping intimately in the breeze, side by side, as though they belonged together. Whatever the reason, it did it for him. She did it for him. A white-hot spike of arousal hit him in the groin, warning him that he’d better get back to work and stop looking in Trudy’s direction or he’d be in trouble deep. Hurting, he turned away. There’d been only one relationship in his past that he’d classify as serious; he’d already told Trudy about her. But he was single, and before his injury, there had been other women in his life. Not many. But enough. He had a history of a few brief and superficial affairs. And the superficiality was on both sides. There’d been plenty of laughter, and equal amounts of sex, and every one of the relationships had ended as they’d begun, with very little emotional involvement and absolutely no hard feelings. He and his former lovers were still friends, they still kept in touch, and that was the way he liked to keep things: friendly. He wasn’t feeling very friendly toward Trudy. Trudy bothered him. She’d probably be horrified if she ever found out just how much she did bother him. Trudy was not safe. She was not superficial. She was not his type at all. And she was definitely not affair material. But he couldn’t seem to keep his eyes or his mind off her. Even when Trudy had finished hanging out the wash and was heading on back to the house, Cam followed the lady-like sashay of her hips. As much as he wanted to follow her, it wasn’t until his mouth got too dry to swallow that he shut off the motor and walked up the porch stairs, letting himself into the kitchen. Trudy was standing at the sink, washing dishes. When the screen door slammed, she called over her shoulder, “How about a drink of water, Cam?” At his, “Sounds good,” she filled a glass from the tap, set it on the counter, and faced him in her gray, shapeless, cotton dress.
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It was an outfit only a pilgrim would wear. Only on Trudy, the modest gray cotton dress looked as sexy as hell. When she touched the front with a soapy hand, leaving a smudge behind, the worn material turned clingy, accentuating what it was supposed to hide. Even with a bra on, her breasts jutted, long and hard, against the damp cotton. It was all he could do not to unbutton her, from modest collar to modest waist, get rid of that bra she didn’t need, and take those elongated nipples in his mouth. Trudy’s perfect breasts didn’t belong in that ugly dress; they belonged in slinky silk or soft velvet or elegant lace…or in his hands. Which is why he mumbled, “I’ll just take this glass of water outside,” and turned to leave. “Wait! Have cookie.” Cookies? The sexiest woman one the planet was baking cookies?. “Please stay,” she said. Her voice was all soft and sultry. “I’ve been baking all morning, in between doing loads of wash—You could use a break, hmm?” Her hands rode the small of her back, forcing her breasts up and out, until they strained against the damp fabric, begging for release. He thought, and then blurted, “Trudy, do you have any idea how beautiful you are?” “No need for bribes. I already offered you the cookie.” “No bribe intended. You’re beautiful, and sexy, and…and…” And he couldn’t stay in the house with her any longer. Not meaning to, Cam slammed his empty glass down on the counter. There was a fire in his belly, a raging inferno in his blood. Over a nice woman who baked cookies. Who was he trying to kid? He’d wanted Trudy since that night at Nelley’s and his need to take her was becoming urgent. When Trudy opened the oven door, the aroma of fresh-baked chocolate chip cookies drifted into the kitchen. “Finally!” she exclaimed. “The whole batch is done! Cookies taste so much better when they’re warm from the oven, don’t you think, Cam?” Think? He couldn’t think, except with his gonads. That was the problem. He was one, big urge, and that urge told him to sink himself into Trudy’s softness right there on her kitchen floor. He eyed the plate of oozing, melting, chocolate chips, not really seeing them, while she was saying, complacently, “Grab a handful.” And man he wanted to; he was dying to grab a handful of Trudy’s sweet cookies. “Can’t,” he groaned. He had to get out of the house right this second or he wouldn’t be responsible for his actions! “My hands are filthy.” “So? Wash ‘em.”
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She spoke over her shoulder. “These cookies are for a bake sale after church tomorrow.” Turning, she handed him a towel. “You must be hungry.” He dried his wet hands, took a chair, turning it around backwards, and plopped down on it. Legs spread wide, like a defiant adolescent, he grabbed a cookie, bit into the warm gooey center, then took a slurp of the milk Trudy had just placed beside his plate. “Delicious,” he said after swallowing. The milk and cookie went down but his lust stayed as hard-driving as before; nothing would satisfy that hunger but her. “Have another.” She poured more cold milk in his glass. “Home-cooked meals and exercise will help you regain your stamina. Before you know it, you’ll be back to work.” She smiled serenely at him. Sounded like she couldn’t wait to get rid of him. Cam shoved his hands in his back pockets. “I’ll get back to work now.” She absently waved him off, busy with her cookie stacking.
***** They’d had a fight. Well, not really a fight. Trudy changed her mind. More like a disagreement. Disagreements were bound to happen when two people, a man and a woman, started to live together. Spats were normal. To be expected. Everybody knew that! And because they weren’t sharing the same bed, sexual frustration had contributed to the tension. When she told him so, he’d stormed out of the house. If that wasn’t sexual attention she didn’t know what was! At eleven-fifteen, Cam had yet to come home. She was worried sick. Had he had an accident? Was he lying someplace on the ground, in a ditch, unable to move or get up? Trudy went to bed, one ear listening for the door, one eye watching her nightstand clock. After sobbing into her pillow, exhausted and emotionally spent, she’d slept. A noise coming from the kitchen had her throwing back the covers, tying on a robe, and hurrying out the door and down the hall. Cam was standing in front of the open fridge. As he hoisted a gallon of milk, she said, throatily, “Hi there.” He looked up. “Did I wake you?” “No—” She shook her head. “Yes. When did you come in?” “An hour or so ago. I fell asleep in the guestroom and then woke up with the munchies.” “There are leftovers on that plate.” She pointed. “It’s chicken. Warm it up in the microwave.”
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“Thanks.” He closed the refrigerator door, thus extinguishing the only source of light in the room, and padded over to the counter. She pressed two fingers to her mouth, then removed them to ask, “You sleep in the nude?” He looked down, then back up and over at her. “Uh—yeah. I guess I left that part out when we were sharing personal habits.” He held the milk in front of his more interesting parts. The gallon jug wasn’t nearly large enough. Then again, it was a mighty big job. “Maybe you should have mentioned it, Big Guy.” “I take off my pants and win the hearts of a nation. Glad you approve, ma’am.” She’d seen him naked before. In the bath. But he’d been thinner then and horribly weak. He’d filled out considerably, and she did, most certainly, approve. Cam Wyler was one prime piece of real estate; the scar on his leg didn’t detract from his curb appeal. He put the gallon down on the counter. “You know, it is proportionate,” he said modestly. Oh, no it was not! Some naked bodies, like Cam’s, could be considered spectacular works of art, best viewed under lights. While other naked bodies, like hers, were more suitable for viewing in the dark. Naked, she was just…well…naked. Naked, Cam was practically a natural wonder. Couldn’t she have lusted over someone ordinary, like herself? “I’ll be putting my masochistic tendencies to bed now,” she muttered under her breath so that Cam wouldn’t hear. With one last tasteless leer, she walked dejectedly away.
***** Cam paced the confines of the guestroom. Edgy. Aroused. His erection, pulsing hot against his belly, his thoughts spinning out of control, going ‘round and ‘round, faster and faster. Like a litany, a voice inside his head told him that the right thing to do was to return to the cabin where he had spent the early evening, and leave Trudy alone. Soon, he’d be returning to Boston. It wouldn’t be right to start up an affair with a nice woman like Trudy, then leave. But it was torture being in the next bedroom down the hall from hers, being alone in the house with her, knowing she wouldn’t turn him away if he reached out to her— Out of pity? He didn’t want Trudy to go to bed with him because she felt bad for him. Hobbling into a pair of jeans, desire pumping dangerously through his veins, nostrils flaring, heart pounding, sex bulging against his unsnapped zipper, Cam stalked into Trudy’s bedroom. “Thanks, but no thanks,” he seethed. “I don’t need pity sex!”
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Trudy had been about to get into bed. At his outburst, she dropped her hold on the corner of the ruffled pink spread. “Pity sex?” Trudy looked radiant. Who needed the moon and the stars when a man could have a woman like her in his life? She was luminous enough to light up the dark corners of his soul. “Yeah, pity sex. That’s all it would be.” “On whose side?” she asked. Hunh? “On your side!” he shouted, incredulously. “Pity’s the only reason you’d go to bed with me.” “What do you need my pity for, when you’ve got plenty enough of your own!” He limped to her bed. “It’s not self-pity when a guy accepts that he’s only half a man.” “Oh, please! You’re all man. And don’t give me any nonsense about your leg injury either.” “I’ve got nothing to give you, Trudy. Nothing to offer. I can’t make you any promises—” “Who asked for promises?” “No one asked, but a man—” “Don’t go all sexist on me, Wyler. You didn’t ask me for any promises. Why would I ask you for any?” “It’s not the same thing. And about my coming home late—I’m sorry I made you worry.” “Me? Worry about you?” She waved her finger at him. “For your information, I wasn’t worried; I was steamed. And I have no intention of wasting another evening waiting for an inconsiderate man to come home to dinner while my own meal gets cold. It’d be different if there was an emergency—” Her finger stopped waving. “Was there an emergency?” “No, ma’am.” “Then, you should have called me. We are living together! Sharing our lives, if only temporarily. It’s only common courtesy to let a roommate know if you’re going to be late. Next time, you call if you’re going to be late!” “Trudy, we had a fight. I had a lot of thinking to do when I left here earlier. I lost track of the time.” “Un-un. No excuses. Get an alarm watch and set it for six o’clock. That’s dinnertime, whether we have an argument or not.” “I promise I’ll call from now on if I’m going to be late,” he said and grinned “See that you do,” she said, not backing down an inch and not returning his grin. Geez, she was tough. “I really am sorry,” he whispered. And then the same hand that palmed a gun for a living palmed Trudy’s cheek. Just that one touch was unbearable. Her skin was lustrous. Cool. Smooth under his hot
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fingers. In the space of that one touch, he wanted her desperately, more than he wanted to be the man he used to be, more than he wanted to breathe in and out. Forcing his hands to play gently along her temples, he absorbed the texture of her skin with a lightness he didn’t feel. His halting breath stirring the fine gold threads around her face, his gaze darted to Trudy’s antique cannonball bed. He was a big man. He took up a lot of room. But Trudy’s bed was king-sized, wide enough to comfortably fit one extra large body and one extra small one. Trudy’s big bed was built for married life. For two pillows. For two pair of naked feet, entangled together. For two lives shared. No cop totally shared his life with his woman. Knowing Trudy, she would accept nothing less. Cam turned away from Trudy’s bed. But he couldn’t force himself to turn away from Trudy.
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Chapter Fifteen They were standing close. Close enough to dance, Trudy thought whimsically. All her senses were filled with Cam. The tangy scent of man filled her nostrils. His light touch on her arm sent tingles up and down her spine. Her breasts touched his hard chest, and the contact awakened those sensitive nerve endings. And, oh, his heat! His wonderful heat. Like a stove. Like a furnace. Like a burning fire. God, she needed the warmth he radiated. She was trembling. They were practically in each other’s arms and she couldn’t stop shaking. He knew. Cam was watching her. He watched her all the time. He never tried to hide it. His glance wasn’t lewd or disrespectful. It was just there. Openly admiring. Alarming only in its intensity. Seeing much too much— “I’ll get the lights,” he said. “Don’t!” she said, thinking of her near nudity. Two skinny ribbons loosely tied on her shoulders were all that held her oldfashioned white nightgown in place. The gown looked lady-like demure—in the dark. But in the light, the Victorian lace would reveal more than it hid— Fingers glided from her elbow to her upper arm. “Baby, you’re like ice.” He turned her around, her back to his chest, his arms crossed over her front, his hands on shoulders. “Better?” “Much.” His fingers played with the skinny ribbons. “These are pretty.” She could hear the smile in voice. “Are they pink?” “Yes, “ she said, voice hoarse. “Pink.” “Thought so.” Warm fingertips were tickled across her collarbone. “Trudy, you have the softest skin.” She reached up, pushed aside his gentle hands, and undid those skinny pretty pink ribbons. The top of her nightgown slipped. But not nearly low enough; his crossed arms kept the bodice from plummeting. Nevertheless, his touch, so very male, felt deliciously hot on her skin. She bit her lip against the gnawing sensation in her womb. “You also have a luscious mouth; stop gnawing on it!” The man certainly did have excellent night vision! Cam’s chin nuzzled her hair. Then he bent and kissed her cheek. “Whatever you need, Trudy. Okay?” Fingers ruffled her hair. “That’s for me. I’ve wanted to touch your hair for the longest time. Your curls remind me of spun gold.” He paused. “No, that’s not right either. Your curls are more like trapped sunshine.” “Unruly. A tangled mess. Why did I ever get a perm?”
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“Your hair is lovely, permed or not permed,” he growled. “All of you is lovely. Stop putting yourself down! Why do you do that?” “Reflex,” she answered. All her life, she’d felt unattractive. Still, despite her lack of confidence, she was no innocent. She knew that Cam was aroused; his erection was a hot pulse against her bottom. “Assertive little fella, isn’t he?” he quipped. “Assertive, yes. Little? No. Remember, I’ve seen your magnificence.” He chuckled. “Oh, you charmer, you.” “I’d rather be wicked.” His fingers moved restlessly. “How wicked do you want to be, baby?” “Very wicked, Cam,” she said breathlessly. “I want to feel your hands on my bare breasts. When he obligingly lowered the top of her nightgown, she arched her back and her breasts popped out. She shamelessly lifted her hard and elongated nipples to meet his descending hand. “What can I say about your beauty that you haven’t heard before?” he rasped, as his touch worshiped her woman’s flesh. She snorted, irreverently. “Just about anything—” “I suppose, to start, I could talk about your inner beauty.” “That’s a kind man’s way of saying a woman’s x-rays are better looking than her photo.” “Or,” he continued, entirely ignoring her self-depreciating attempt at levity, “I could say that your inner beauty is only equaled by the perfection of your face and form.” “Oh, brother. What century are you living in?” But she was loving his old-fashioned courting. His words were all the foreplay she needed. “Or I could be petty, and just say, wow, you’re incredibly gorgeous.” “Be petty,” she said, hoarsely, “Petty is good.” But inside, she was still thinking, he has to be kidding. Her, Gertrude Prescott, gorgeous? It was only the physical manifestation of his words that made her begin to believe him, that made her begin to accept that he wasn’t pulling her leg, that made her give up the notion that he was only saying those complimentary things to be nice. She only began to truly feel gorgeous when Cam’s breathing went shallow and labored, when his desire was shockingly explicit, undeniable against her bottom, when the thickness of his sex gave testament to the truth his words. Cam gently cupped her small breasts with his big, capable hands. Taking deliberate care, he stroked the centers to exquisitely sensitized hardness, all the while murmuring softly against her ear. “Baby, baby, baby…” Her knees went weak, her pulses quickening and racing. His touch was so tender, so considerate, so reverent— That she wanted to scream. Respectful worshipping was not what she needed.
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She wanted hot! She wanted him to treat her like a woman, not a piece of ornamental glass. “Harder,” she commanded. “I need you to be harder.” “No! Let me be easy with you,” he implored her, his touch still very much restrained. “I want to take this slow. You’re such a tiny woman.” Knowing that only the press of their bodies held up her nightgown, and knowing that Cam needed some convincing, she licked her lips and moved away from him. Her lacy nightgown fell around her ankles. She stepped out of it; she was no longer unsure of herself. How could she not be sure of herself when a man like this desired her? She said, “Cam, I’m a pragmatist. From a purely practical point of view, I think we should have sex now. I think we should just do it, get it out of the way, get it over with. Satisfy our curiosity. That way, we won’t always be wondering what it would be like. Afterwards, we can live together without tension between us. We can go back to having a platonic relationship.” She paused. “What do you think?” Cam stood there for a second. Then he threw back his dark head and laughed. Uproariously. As though what she had just said was the funniest thing in the world. “Oh sweetheart, once would never be enough for me. I’m so hard for you right now, I’m almost coming from breathing your perfume.” Because she wasn’t wearing any perfume, she found the courage to lift herself up on tiptoe and give the command. “Kiss me!” “Ah, woman! What you do to me,” he groaned, and gave her what she wanted. And what he did to her too! How could such a large man’s touch be so butterfly light? The kiss took off, catching her on fire, burning her with the flame. And then it was over. Cam broke the kiss, and stepped away. “I’ll get your robe,” he said quietly and reached for the cover up. Like a robot, she put her arms in the sleeves. He helped her gather the over-sized brown robe around her, before flicking on the lights. What was wrong? Why was he turning on the lights, ending their lovemaking before it had begun? Had she been too aggressive? Too assertive? She looked over at Cam. He was brooding. No, make that scowling. Darkly. And when a man as guarded as Cam lets his true feelings show it could mean nothing but trouble. “Trudy, about the kiss. It seemed like a good idea at the time, in the heat of the moment, but these things should be planned in advance. That kiss was unplanned—” “That kiss was spontaneous combustion.” He rubbed his corded neck. “Oh, yeah. We’ve got some major chemistry happening between us. The white-knuckled, sheet-gripping kind.” She nodded happily. “Chemistry was one of my favorite subjects in school. I was very good at it.”
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“Figures,” he said, dryly. “But here’s the thing about chemistry: sometimes, it sort of, gets in the way of a man and a woman—uh—thinking clearly.” Wasn’t that the whole point of chemistry? He took her by the shoulders and kissed her forehead. “Did you have dinner yet?” “No.” “How about us having dinner together now?”
***** It was almost morning, but Cam didn’t want the evening to end. He looked across Trudy’s worn oak table and smiled. “Thanks.” Trudy smiled back. “You are very welcome. But for what?” “For the wonderful meal. The pleasure of your company. For taking in a stray.” “Don’t talk about yourself like that! You’re not a stray. And I didn’t take you in.” He raised the blue-flowered teacup to his lips, took a swallow, then carefully lowered the delicate china to its saucer. The chink sounded like a bullet to his ears. He was that jumpy. Ever since that night in the alley with Harry, he’d been on edge, paranoid, not himself. How could he take a sensitive woman like Trudy to bed in the shape he was in? He thumbed his smooth jaw. He was shaving again. Mainly because he didn’t want Trudy to have to look at his scruffy whiskers, didn’t want his appearance to offend her. She was like one of her fancy blue-flowered cups, beautiful and fragile. Sure, she was tougher than he’d given her credit for, sure she’d squared off with him tonight, gone toe to toe with him about his inconsiderateness, but inside, she was still a gentle lady. Cam could almost see through the transparency of Trudy’s skin to the bone. And her eyes! They looked like crushed violets in her pale face. She wanted him to talk about the heavy stuff, but could she take it? Could he take it? And could he trust himself to let himself go with her, let down his guard with her, make love to her, when he was physically weak and emotionally shaky? “After I left here earlier, I went for a walk up at the cabin. I fell asleep against a tree. I—I—couldn’t make it back.” He looked down at his lap. “I do that a lot.” He folded his arms on the tabletop and hung his neck. “I haven’t fully recovered yet.” “These things take time,” Trudy said sympathetically. His jaw went tight. “Okay, here’s the deal: I left the hospital a little early. Before I was supposed to. I was on a day pass for that TV interview, the one where I lost it. I was due back for some talk therapy. You know the kind I mean: That post-traumatic stress bullshit kind of talk. But I was a no show. “After I cracked up on TV, I returned to the station. My superior officer hauled my ass into his office and laid it all out. He told me I should consider myself on extended medical leave. I was told that, even after I was physically fit, I would need to get my head screwed on straight before I could resume my detective work, and even then, I might have to work a desk job for a while.
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“I heard that and I never went back to complete my physical therapy or the talk therapy bullshit at the hospital. I’m officially AWOL. “I was afraid if I went back to the hospital in the shape I was in then, I’d be medicated.” She sighed. “I see.” “No, you don’t see! You don’t.” He clasped his hands together until the knuckles went white. “I’m not nuts. I don’t need to be strait-jacketed with meds. I’ll never get back on the force if I’m considered a loose cannon.” “I know, Cam,” she said quietly. “You love your job.” Cam put his chin in his palm. “I loved being a cop and I loved plain clothes best. Harry and I got selected for a lot of real interesting cases because we had the look.” She frowned. “The look…?” “The look of the street,” he explained. “Harry was no beauty and I…well…I can be sorta—this is gonna be hard for you to accept—but I can be uncouth at times.” Trudy tapped her fingers on her mobile lips. “Uncouth, Cameron? Surely not you!” “Oh, yeah. I can forget my manners when I have to.” “So hard to believe, really.” “Anyway, Harry and I fit in. We were assigned the tough cases because we walked the walk and we talked the talk. We understood punk mentality. We were damned good at what we did! And then poor Harry got blown away, and I get accused of being delusional. So here I am, sitting in a pretty lady’s kitchen in the wee hours of the morning, boring her with the details of my sorry life.” “I’m anything but bored. “ “Okay. Maybe not bored, but you do look beat, honey. Why don’t you turn in for the night?” “What about you?” “I’m staying up for a while.” “I’ll stay up with you. We can talk some more.” She gave him a dirty grin. “Or, we can not talk. It’s up to you.” “Hey, I’m a man of leisure, while you, on the other hand, have to get up Monday through Friday for school.” He rose from the table and started stacking the dirty dishes on the counter beside the sink. Brushing by him, she took her apron from its hook, and put it on over her bathrobe. “This is the weekend; I don’t have to set the alarm. I’ll wash, you dry.” She tossed a dishtowel at him, filled the sink basin with hot water and detergent, and began dunking the stacked dinner plates. “All we have to do today is go to church.” He reached inside the rack for the first wet plate. “He should be hung up by his toenails” “Who should be hung up by his toenails?” “The low-life who let you down, the man who hurt you.” Trudy picked up her soapy sponge and ran it across the surface of a glass.
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“Yep, he should be. He was a liar and a cheat and an opportunist. She was cute and perky and had a rich daddy.” “You’re better off without him!” Cam said in disgust. “And she’s probably making him miserable.” “I certainly hope so. That which doesn’t kill us in life makes us long for revenge.” She sighed, then laughed. “Small loss anyway; he was lousy in the sack.” Soapsuds floated around them. Cam turned off the tap, then gently took her chin between his fingers. “It’s not so unusual for a starry-eyed woman to get herself conned by a guy with a bunch of pretty promises he’s not about to keep. That’s why I want to be up front with you. Know this, if I make you a promise, I’ll keep it.” Trudy tossed her head, trying to turn her eyes away. He wouldn’t let her. “The following is not a line: I respect you as a person, but I’m also drawn to you…like any man is drawn to a pretty woman.” She squeezed her eyes shut. “No, that’s not right. You’re not pretty at all. You’re beautiful. More beautiful than a moonlit night on a calm, blue ocean.” “And that’s not a line?” “No. And neither is this: I’m not looking for casual sex.” “And I’m not looking for anything more than casual. I’m perfectly happy with my life, just as it is. I don’t want a serious and committed relationship.” “If that’s what that guy did to you, it’s a damn tragedy.” “I refuse to discuss this!” “Aw hell. I don’t want to fight either. That’s not what I want to do with you at all.” He kissed her cheek. “Scoot. Go to bed now, Trudy. I’ll finish up here.” “Are you sure you’ll be all right?” He nodded and stretched. “It’s almost dawn. I’m going to take a little walk and then later on this morning, I’ll take you to church.” “You’re not going to bed?” He winked. “I can nap during the sermon.”
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Chapter Sixteen The dinner party with Jane and her husband, Fred, was all set for seven o’clock sharp. The salad was made; the roast and potatoes were already in the oven. All she had to do was finish the dessert, shower, change her clothes and she’d be ready. Trudy dipped a finger in the mixing bowl and sampled the icing, careful not to let any of the chocolate drip. Not that it should. The chocolate frosting was thick and rich, with just a subtle hint of vanilla. She put the bowl aside for Cam to lick clean. At times, the six foot three detective was as playful as a kid. He was always teasing her. Taunting her. Exciting her… But never, ever, touching her. Since that night in the kitchen, Cam had been careful never to be caught naked again. He’d stopped sleeping in the buff and had started wearing boxers to bed, wild floral ones in bright reds and yellows. As if that nod at modesty would neutralize the PH in their relationship! Obviously, the man knew very little about female chemistry! When Cam breezed into the kitchen, his limp much improved, his eyes crinkled, his sensual mouth wearing an easy grin, he looked like he didn’t have a care in the world. Her heart went a little haywire. Cam was such an attractive man! Sinfully charming. One might assume that a great body and a good-looking face were the sum and total of Cam Wyler. Such was not the case. Had he been self-important or conceited, she could easily have dismissed him. But he was so much more than a dimpled chin and dark sexy eyes— Cam let out a whoop when his sights dropped to her mixing bowl. “Is that chocolate frosting?” Keeping things light, she picked up the bowl with its swirls of chocolate lacing the bottom and waved it in front of his nose, teasing him the same way he always teased her. “Yes, and I’m afraid I made too much. Oh dear, whatever will I do with the excess?” She headed for the kitchen sink. “I guess I’ll just have to dump it down the waste disposal—” She sighed her sadness. “Hey, woman! Not so fast.” He lunged. “Give that bowl here!” “Oh? You mean…you want this frosting?” she asked, dipping her finger in the bowl and carrying the rich chocolate to her lips. “That’s mine.” He intercepted her finger before it reached her mouth and detoured it to his own. “Woman, you taste good.” “You’re incorrigible!” “Nope, I’m inchocolatible!” His lips lifted. Her tummy did a flip-flop.
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They did have a few minutes before their guests were due to arrive. She’d dearly love to lick that icing off his lips— She moved closer. “Cam—” “Yeah?” he asked, and took a backward step. She pushed the bowl at his mid-section. “Here. The icing is all yours. I need to shower.” A cold shower.
***** “Did I tell you how beautiful you look tonight?” Cam offered. “Thank you.” Trudy beamed. “And you look quite dashing yourself, sir.” When the doorbell chimed, she jumped. She’d been over to Jane and Fred’s house too many times to count for one party or another, but this was this was Trudy’s very first dinner party. As ridiculous as it was to admit it, she was actually nervous. “Did I tell you how beautiful you look tonight?” Cam asked on the way to answer the door. “My goodness! That’s the second time you’ve told me so.” “I can’t repeat it often enough. You’re very beautiful, Trudy. Thank you for allowing me to recuperate in your home.” “Oh, Cam. You’re welcome,” she replied all teary-eyed. She determinedly brushed the moisture away and took their dinner guests’ coats. “Cam, you’ve already met my friend, Jane. This is her husband, Fred. And Fred, this is Cameron Wyler, my…er…bird-watching friend from Boston” Fred Shay pumped Cam’s hand. “Any friend of our Gertrude here is an automatic friend of mine.” Jane said to Cam, “Gertrude and I have been friends since grade school. She’s going to be my baby’s godmother.” Cam smiled. “That’s real nice.” “What do you do when you aren’t watching birds?” Fred asked Cam. “I’m a police detective.” “Wait a minute Detective Cameron Wyler! I remember the press now. You were involved in that serial murder case down in Boston. Your partner was killed—” Trudy butted in. “Drinks anyone?” Fred didn’t take the hint. “Imagine that! A real-live hero in our midst.” “I’m not a hero,” Cam said tightly. Seeing the tension around Cam’s mouth, Trudy again tried to steer the conversation away from the touchy subject of Cam’s heroism. “Let’s see,” she said. “I have diet soda, red and white wine, mineral water—” “You picked up a coupla injuries too, didn’t you, Cam?” Fred said doggedly. “Yeah. My hip. And head trauma.” “Raw deal. So, have you retired?” “I’m on a medical leave of absence” Cam rejoined.
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Jane turned to Trudy. “Cam’s not gay, is he?” “Jane!” Trudy shrieked “He’s not into birds either. You two are an item. The pink bathrobe routine was a cover to keep loose lips from flapping in town. But wait—how can Cam stay here in Sutton with you if he doesn’t want to retire? He sure can’t commute. And I know you’d be desperately unhappy anyplace else, so what gives here—” “Cam and I are just friends, Jane. Honestly!” Fred scratched his head. Jane looked embarrassed. The hostess of this bad-ideadinner party just wanted to escape. Under the circumstances, Trudy did the only thing she could do. To get Cam out of the relationship hot seat, she starting talking babies. Three hours later, the dinner party was a huge success, and they were saying their goodnights at the front door. Fred gave Cam yet another clap on the back. “Jane and I insist you two lovebirds come up to our getaway place. Next Saturday, okay? Stay the weekend.” Trudy stood mute. “We’d love to,” Cam said, answering for both of them. “Then it’s settled. The compound is situated right on a fresh water pond. You can sail. Play a little golf.” Cam grabbed Trudy’s hand. “We can’t wait. Thanks for asking us.” When the door closed on the Shays, Cam turned to her. “I do not do golf. Tiger Woods can have that sport.” “Consider it physical therapy. And you agreed to the weekend, not me pal,” she said smugly and walked towards the kitchen. Cam followed her to the sink; he took a dirty dish from her hand. “These can wait for tomorrow.” She shrugged, then smiled. “After a shaky start, I think the evening went rather well.” He turned her into his arms. “The Shays are good people.” Slipping her arms around his waist felt so natural. So right. “They meant well, Cam—” “I know.” Cam bent his head and kissed a slow path from her ear to her lips, finally sealing their mouths. “Oh, Cam. What are we waiting for?” she asked breathlessly, when the kiss was done. “I want you to be sure.” “I am sure.” To prove it, she went for his shirt and undid the buttons. She slipped her hand inside, against his hot skin. “There ought to be a law preventing a man from wanting a woman the way I want you,” he told her as he undid a pearl button on her white blouse.
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Just the first pearl button. Just giving him enough room to place his warm lips against her throat, against her madly beating pulse. He pulled her closer. “From the first kiss in the motel, I knew it would be like this with us.” The way they merged defied all her previous perceptions about how a man and woman’s body should fit. Cam was taking it slow, but her hands refused to take anything slow. Her frantic hands toured his chest, his jaw, his hair. Her fingers familiarized themselves with every inch of him as she kissed and nipped and tasted his mouth. Her deprivation was tangible, growing stronger, refusing to be contained. “The only thing I could think about all night was getting you alone. Nothing else mattered,” he whispered. “I didn’t think I’d make it through dessert because I knew I’d be kissing you as soon as the door closed. I do nothing but think about kissing you. Holding you.” Trudy clutched at Cam’s bunched shoulder muscles. Never had she dreamed that mere touching could be so flagrantly sensual, so inherently intimate, so wantonly enjoyed. The sensations he gifted her with were a vast spectrum of colors. Powerful. Elemental. Real. “Sweet,” he rasped. “You’re all over sweet, baby.” Breathing in shallow pants, she wordlessly drew his head back down to hers. The passion he inspired in her was almost primitive. She longed for his possession. But she didn’t know how to put the need in words. Allowing her kisses to speak for her, to say the words she didn’t know how to say, she told him with every shaky breath she drew into her body that she wanted to make love with him. Cam’s hands were no longer steady as they clasped her face between his palms. “I’m going to make this good for you.” She didn’t doubt the promise. The dexterity of his fingers was amazing as they undid the rest of the pearl buttons on her white blouse. When his palm stretched underneath, she swayed. She trembled when he palmed her breast; sighed as he stroked her; whimpered as her sensitized nipples peaked. “All night, I kept looking at your breasts. I wanted the Shays to eat faster, because I wanted to get you alone to do this.” Somehow, she was extracted from the sleeves of her blouse. Her slip was next. The lace pooled at her skirt’s waistband, slinky white nylon over coarse black linen. Her confined breasts jutted eagerly under the cups of her bra; her flesh was begging for his touch. “I get aroused thinking about you. Looking makes me ache.” Without undoing the back fastener, he pushed her bra up and out of his way, then palmed her breasts, thumbing the ends until the tips lengthened and hardened; he was creating a hot driving sexual need within her that only he could satisfy.
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Back and forth he played his thumbs over her nipples, until her eyes became heavylidded. Through those slumberous eyes, she saw that Cam’s dark hand looked unbearably right on her pale flesh. She sensed how much it was costing him to keep his touch light, how difficult it was for him to wait. And the waiting was all so needless! She was ready. More than ready to know his passion. His mouth finally found its way a nipple. “Yes,” she urged him greedily, her fingers weaving into his crisply abbreviated hair as he suckled her hard. Harder. Forcefully drawing her nipple into his mouth. He lifted his head. “Right here. Right now. Against the wall. Tomorrow, if we are both still breathing, we’ll spend the whole day making love in a bed. But not the first time. I won’t make it to a bed. Do you understand what I’m saying?” “Yes,” she said weakly. He wasn’t smiling charmingly at her when he braced her shoulders against the wall. He wasn’t smiling at all when their bodies were sealed from breast to thigh, when his relentless hardness delved her giving softness. He pushed her skinny black skirt up to her waist and ripped off her white panties. They landed in white cotton shreds on the blue linoleum floor. She wanted the lovemaking to be exactly like this. A little rough. Completely unplanned. Sublimely spontaneous. She wanted to know the real Cameron Wyler, the man he wouldn’t let anyone else see. “Open your legs,” he ordered. Her thighs loosened. One long finger made its way inside her. She muffled her cry against his shoulder. “Oh, baby,” he groaned. “You are so ready—” “Please Cam? Now?” “Aw, damn!” He arched his jaw. “Trudy, God, Trudy,” he groaned. “Condoms. I don’t have any. I wasn’t planning on this happening tonight—” “It’s all right—” “No, it’s not all right,” he growled. “I need to protect you.” “Please Cam?” Their eyes met; his finger was still moving up inside her. “Please Cam!” “I’m healthy,” he said quickly. “Are you taking birth control?” Should she lie? Or should she tell him the truth, relate her medical problem in precise detail? Explain all about her messed up Fallopian tubes? Explain that right after she’d been dumped, when she was already questioning her womanliness, that her reproductive system had started to fail? Should she then go on and tell him that after many excruciatingly painful tests and embarrassingly personal examinations that the doctors had decided that the possibility of conception was possible, but remote?
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No! She would not lay her garbage at his feet when Cam had his own stuff to work through! She was not about to break out the sad hats for a pity party she didn’t want to attend. Her pain was her pain. She had no intention of sharing it with this deeply burdened man who was only passing through her life on the way to someplace else. But she couldn’t lie either. In mute desperation she shook her head. “Then I’m sorry, but I can’t do this. I’ve never been irresponsible about sex. And it’s not just the condom, Trudy. I know I’m healthy, but I also know I can’t commit to you.” “You don’t need to commit to me. It’s only sex, Cam.” “Only sex!” he exploded. “Not to me, it’s not. You’re no easy pickup I met at a bar.” She started to giggle. “But I am an easy pickup you met at a bar.” “No, you’re not,” he said, incensed. “And don’t you dare pretend that you’re easy when you’re not!” “Okay, I won’t.” “I want to say we can work this out, but I can’t say that either because we can’t. I’m no good to you the way I am right now. Suppose I started a baby in you tonight? You don’t want to get pregnant, right? You don’t want to get married, right? You don’t want me, right?” She wanted to scream, Yes, yes, yes. I want all of those things, exactly those things. Even one of those things. Even one of those things would be so more than she had ever thought to have. Self-preservation prevented the disclosure; she could not leave herself vulnerable, so open to hurt. Not ever again— With that admitted to herself, she still couldn’t help saying, “Cam, I need you so—” “I know you do, baby. I know. I can feel how much you need me.” He already had one long finger up inside her, and he added a second to join it; his thumb worked her clitoris. “We can’t have sex, but I can give you this.” Her eyes lowered. “Oh, oh, oh,” she moaned when his fingers moved inside her and his thumb stroked that needy scrap of flesh at the top of her sex. “Take it,” Cam crooned against her ear. “Ride it out, then take it, baby. It’s all yours.” Three fingers impaled her now and his thumb was no longer kind. Cam’s touch was demanding, almost violent. His wide wrist jerked in and out between her spread legs, her bared breasts bounced with each brutal thrust of his fingers. She was being hammered into the wall, up the wall; her feet almost left the floor. Cam was without mercy, and far from being appalled by his merciless treatment, she was greedy for more. “Harder,” she wailed. And then, “Oh, God, yes,” she sobbed as he gave her what she needed and her feet lifted off the floor and she was suspended against the wall, held there by Cam’s strength alone. She was only need now, only aching flesh, and Cam was both the master of her body and the dispenser of her pleasure; he held both in his hands.
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It seemed like she had waited her whole life to know just this one moment and she couldn’t refuse the gift. Selfishly she took it, crying out, “Cam, Cam, Cam,” as she came. When it was over, the man she cried out to, the man who had held her in his arms until her trembling abated, stepped away from her. “You’re a beautiful woman, Trudy,” he rasped, and took another backward step. Dazed, she forgot all about being strong, and cried, “Don’t go.” But Cam was already at the door. “I’m sorry Trudy—I’ve got to get out of here.” She called after him. “Where are you going?” “Back to the cabin.” His dark pupils glinted with barely leashed passion. “I can’t be in the same house with you tonight.”
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Chapter Seventeen “Did you forget your key?” Trudy asked upon seeing Cam waiting for her on the porch after school. “No. I still have the key.” He removed his aviator-style sunglasses. “I just didn’t feel right letting myself in when you weren’t home.” “Since when?” “Since last night.” “There’s no need to feel uncomfortable. All we did was kiss…” “Let’s not smoke each other. That was a hell of a lot more than a kiss. I had my hands all over you. Things changed between us last night. You got under my guard and I can’t promise it won’t happen again. I almost went into you without a condom,” he whispered. “I’m out of control when it comes to you. I can’t trust myself around you. She switched her shopping bag from one arm to the other. “Why do you feel you have to be in control? And I never asked you to use a condom!” He grabbed her bundle and followed her up the stairs. “A responsible man doesn’t have to be asked. And I need my control around you because…damn…because I do. And I shouldn’t be cussing around you either. It’s not right to swear in front of a lady. I’ve been taught better than that.” Cam followed Trudy into the kitchen and placed the bundle he was carrying on the table. To give himself something constructive to do, he began unpacking the bag, pitching a loaf of bread on the counter, tossing a can of juice in a cabinet. Trudy grabbed the carton of eggs out of his hand before he launched them in the refrigerator. The domesticity of the situation got to him. He’d never done these everyday, routine things with a woman before. It felt right being in Trudy’s kitchen helping to put her groceries away. It felt good cutting her grass. He liked cooking with her, watching TV with her, doing all those mundane things that a man and a woman who live together, do together. It was almost like being married— With one important difference: they weren’t sharing the same bed. “I need to apologize, Trudy. The way I left—” “You needed some space. I understood. And don’t worry about the coming weekend. I’ll understand if you don’t want to go with me. I know now that you don’t want that kind of relationship, that you don’t want to complicate things with sex, and I want you to know, that it’s okay.” She smiled. “I can do friendship, Cam.” He looked down at his boots. “I want to go with you. I like being with you. I’m just having a rough time with the recreational sex angle. I take sex seriously.” “Then, we’ll go away as pals,” she said cheerfully. All for the best, Cam told himself. He was leaving to go back to Boston real soon.
***** The Shay’s rustic retreat was surrounded by woods, but within walking distance of a serene blue lake.
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Cam braked the Jeep, gawking at a boat motoring by on the water. He turned to Trudy. “Man, this is some weekend getaway.” “I love this place in autumn, when the leaves are turning colors but the days are still warm enough to do summer things.” She bit her lip. “Let’s go down to the beach first.” “Okay—” That’s all she needed to hear; Trudy was scampering out her door. One step and she turned back. “Aren’t you coming?” “I’ll get the Jeep off road first.” “Sure?” He waved her off. “Scoot! You go on ahead.” With a twirl of skirts she was off, racing across the sand. At the edge of the water, she removed her shoes. Carrying one in each hand, she danced her way to the water’s edge. “Go on, pretty girl. Get your feet wet,” Cam whispered. Cam smiled to himself as Trudy twirled around, her arms skyward, her feet in the waves, her full tangerine skirts puffing around her bare legs when a breeze lifted the bright material skyward like the sails on the boats going by. The sunlight glinted off Trudy’s fair curls, and her white ruffled petticoat whipped, wave-frothy, around her legs. He parked the Jeep and got out, but with ever step he took in her direction, he was more and more over-powered by the rawness of his emotions. And more certain than ever that he could never take lovemaking with Trudy lightly. Crouching in the sand where gentle waves fanned over smooth rocks, Cam picked up one of the flat stones and skimmed it across the water’s surface. “When I get back to work, desk job or not, I’m virtually guaranteed a promotion with BPD,” he told the twirling Trudy. “You know, because I’m this big hero.” “Isn’t that what you want? What you’ve worked so hard for?” “I don’t know any more. I don’t know what I want—” “Well, I want you to get what you want,” she replied, patting the white sand from her skirt. “Whatever it is, Cam. Whatever you want. You deserve it.” Suppose it’s you? He thought wistfully. Suppose, in the end, all I need is you? Removing his baseball cap, Cam rose clumsily to his feet and placed it on top of Trudy’s head. “Girl, did you remember to pack sun screen? Something is so wrong when I’ve got the hat and you’ve got the fair skin.” He ran his knuckles down her jaw. “Fair skin that’s getting pink.” “I don’t burn.” “Yeah, but I do.” He laughed. “And I just gave you my cap. We should head on up to the house, anyway, and let the Shay’s know that we are here.”
***** Fred Shay showed them to their bedroom. That was singular.
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“Trudy, Jane and I thought that you and Cam might like to be at the front of the house as the windows overlook the lake.” Their host nodded his head toward the far wall. “The private bath is through that door.” The room was cozy and comfortable, and there was only one bed. “Will you be okay without Cam, Trude?” Fred asked. “I thought we’d get in some golf. Then have a few brews with the guys. I won’t get him back too late.” Cam mouthed, ‘Help me’ at her. She ignored the silent entreaty. “Sounds like fun, guys. And don’t worry. Jane and I will catch up on gossip.” Behind Fred’s back, Cam shot her a dirty look before trudging out the door, looking like he was going to the gallows not to the tees.
***** Cam and Fred must have gotten back very late. Trudy had no idea when; both Jane and she finally gave up waiting and went to bed. Cam didn’t disturb her when he came back to the room. He didn’t sleep with her either. His side of the bed was still neatly made, but the chair beside the bed looked a little worse for Cam’s large frame. The note on Cam’s unused pillow was a terse: “Golf. Again.” By mid-afternoon, the men still hadn’t returned. After convincing the drowsy expectant mother to take a nap, Trudy took a leisurely stroll down to the water. Maine was generally cool this time of year, but the day was unseasonably warm, an Indian summer kind of day, and feeling lazy after her walk, Trudy took a seat on a sunwarmed rock. Kicking off her shoes, she took a nap too, lulled by the almost hypnotic sound of the gentle water. When she awakened she found Cam standing over her, watching her. “How was golf?” she asked sleepily and stretched. “I hate golf. And I missed you.” “Did you win?” “Yeah. I if decide to play I always play to win.” Stretch finished, she uncurled her body, and started to rise. “Be careful,” Cam said, lending her a hand. “The rocks are sharp and your feet are bare.” “Did you really miss me?” Cam let go of her hand. Just like the day before, he picked up a flat rock, the size of a silver dollar this time, and tossed it up in the air before skimming it across the water’s surface. The rock skipped for several yards before it finally sank. After its disappearance, there was nothing else for her to watch except the stern set of Cam’s mouth, the hard line of his jaw, the clenching and unclenching of his fists. The boats and water were still there, of course, but at that moment, her world narrowed to only him.
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“Yeah, I really missed you. Woman, you make me happier than I’ve ever been in my entire life. And I want to make love to you. But I don’t want you to have regrets later on down the road.” The white sand was squishy between her toes; the porous grains were not at all solid. Her resolve to have a short-lived affair with this overly responsible man was, however, as firm as granite. “There won’t be any regrets,” she assured him. “We’re both adults. I’m confident that we can conduct an adult, civilized affair without anyone getting hurt. We can even remain friends when you return to Boston. I’ll give you my E-mail address and we can chat on-line. How’s that?” He paused for a second before asking, “Is it because I’m black? Does that have anything to do with your wanting to go to bed with me?” Trudy searched herself for the answer. “Yes—” “Then I don’t need this—” “Oh, Cam! Grow up! I can’t separate you from your skin any more than I can separate you from your heart or your decency or your sense of honor. Do you really want me to want you despite the color of your flesh, as though it’s something I need to overlook? How hideous!” she answered for him. “And if you think you’ll satisfy some color-coded notch on my bedpost, that idea denigrates both of us!” “You know, my parents have a mixed marriage.” “How would I know that? You don’t talk to me about anything personal, about anything that matters!” “Well, I’m talking now. Okay? And I’m telling you that my folks love one another so hot, you can feel it the next room over. Even after forty-five years of sleeping in the same bed together at night, they still can’t keep their hands off each other during the day. But their love has had to survive a lot of stuff that other marriages don’t have to contend with. I mean, marriage is rough enough these days.” He shot her a look. “But we’re not talking about marriage here, are we, Trudy?” “No, Cam. We’re not. And I want you to know that…that birth control is not an issue.” It was not a lie, not really; she wanted to get pregnant by him and so that made birth control not an issue. “I want to feel you come to climax inside me,” she said brazenly. “I—I don’t want you to use a barrier.” Water splashed the hem of her new dress, wetting her to the knees as Cam’s lips descended hard and uncompromising on hers. Sea gulls waiting around for a handout gave up and flew off, jabbering their dismay overhead. Trudy felt the physical pull of Cam as he shifted her up along his body, his blunt hardness letting her know without glib words that he desired her. She strained against him, wanting, needing a deeper, more intimate connection. And Cam was hiking up her dress, his big hands tensing, kneading, then finally shelving her bottom over her panties. He tugged on her underpants. “If you want me, take these down.” She no longer cared that they were outside, in the open. The private beach was plenty secluded enough to make love on the sand.
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She removed her underwear while he watched. “I want you naked.” She wanted that too. “Yes,” she agreed, her fingers going to her front buttons. “And then I want to come inside you.” “Yes.” “All the way inside you.” “Yes. Please. Yes.” “I’m a big man, Trudy. You saw the size of my package. It’s all going into you, special delivery.” “Oh, yes. Please, yes.” “But not here. I want a door I can close. I want to take my time with you.” “Where then?” she panted. “There’s the boathouse—” “Yes,” she said, agreeing to anything, everything. She looked down at the panties in her hand. He shook his head. “Go without.” Her eyes went huge. “No underpants, no bra from now on. Not for as long as you’re with me. After I make you mine, I’ll want to know you are mine. I’ll want to see your breasts shift when you walk. They’re firm, so they won’t move a lot. Just the tiniest bit, just enough to make me aware that you aren’t wearing a bra, just enough to drive me wild. And when your bottom has that little bit of extra give under your demure skirts and prim jumpers, only I will know it’s because you ain’t wearing nuthin’ underneath to get in my way. Then, when I can no longer take the torture, when the want becomes unbearable, I won’t have to wait for you to take everything off. And Trudy—” He gave her a warning glance. “Where and how I want you is completely up to me. You don’t get a say in it. You decided this was going to be temporary, you decided it was only going to be sex, and that’s okay, but it will be the kind of sex I want. If you don’t do exactly what I tell you to do when I tell you to do it, the affair is over. Understand?” She nodded. Those were his conditions and she accepted them. “Take everything off here,” he said. She felt wanton. Daring. Sexy… Wicked, as she took off her dress and everything else. She liked the wicked feeling. It was fun to be sinful— He watched her without blinking, without touching her. “You’re wet.” As his remark wasn’t a question there no need to answer. She allowed her body’s moisture serve as its own eloquent reply. “You must be feeling hot too. You’re wearing a pink flush on your chest.” “I’m very hot, yes.”
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Then he said, “I want you to cool off a bit in the water. Just go up to your thighs. Don’t cover what you got with water completely, but open it up and splash it. Facing me.” She was not a virgin, but her two very clinical sexual experiences in a dark room under the bedcovers with a cold lover had not prepared for the unequivocal nature of Cam’s demand, for his absolute male dominance, and for his expectation of her own unquestioning submission to it. And if she refused? If she wouldn’t submit? He would walk away, she realized. And she would never know the heat of his beautiful body, the splendor of his passion. This was her choice; he certainly wasn’t pressing her to do anything. All along, it had been her pressing him for intimacy. Now he was offering her what she wanted, but with clear stipulations. Trudy knew then what she hadn’t quite realized before: Cam would possess all of her, every part of her physical being, no part of her body would be off-limits while they were together. And she wanted it. She nodded mutely: her sexual excitement was so intense that she couldn’t speak. She walked into the water, turned around and faced him. Her unsteady hand went to the triangle of golden-brown curls at her body’s center. Before she lost her nerve, she opened her thighs and splashed herself with the cold water. She hadn’t realized just how hot and feverish her skin was until the impact of the cool water hit her lower extremities. She smiled up at him as the water cooled her feverish skin. “Go ahead now, baby,” he prompted. Blushing furiously, she showed him that most private part of a woman’s body. Cam’s face was strained, taut…harsh; he looked as serious as she had ever seen him when he said, “Take a few steps towards me, then turn around and face away.” She did as instructed, taking a few steps, until she stood only up to her knees in water. She had never gone skinny-dipping in her life, had never done anything daring before. She was shy about her body, bashful about sex, and here was a gorgeous man requesting that she do the most erotic things for him— Losing courage, she crossed her arms over her bared breasts. “Cam, I don’t know— ” “Take your arms down from your tits, Trudy. We’re not on our first date here. And you’re not a little girl. You agreed to this and this is what I want.” She couldn’t believe that she was doing this! She lowered her arms. “Jesus, you’re sweet! Now I want to see your bottom. Turn around real slow.” She turned away from him and faced the boats, those tiny dots sailing by in the distance, too far away to see them on the shore—at least without binoculars. “Find a flat stone and skim it across the water,” he said, and not at all playfully, for this was no child’s game they were embarking upon.
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Under the clear water she could see a nice selection of flat rocks at her feet, which meant, of course, that she’d either have to bend over to pick one up or go to a squat. Considering that her backside was facing him, the squat would be more ladylike. She started to bend her knees. “Keep your legs straight and well apart,” he said. Oh, God! He wanted her to reveal everything to him. Even in her gyn’s office she got to wear a paper drape— But she wanted him so desperately! Legs spread lewdly, she bent over, her small breasts swaying as she searched for a damn rock. “Take your time, honey. I’m enjoying the view of the—uh—water. And Trudy?” “Yes?” “When you find the rock, bring it here to me. I have to give it my final approval before you throw it.” She found the world’s flattest damn rock, straightened back up, and walked to her tormentor. She believed that her hips were rolling, and she had no idea where the motion came from because she had never wiggled before in her life. She stood before him, palm open, and showed the damn tyrant the damn rock. “Will this do?” He didn’t spare the rock a glance; his gaze was between her slightly parted legs. “Yeah. It’ll do.” He took a seat on a rock, then bracketing her waist with his large hands, brought her forward over his outstretched leg so that her thighs, by necessity, were split over his pant. “Give the rock here.” She gave up the damn rock. She thought he wanted her to throw it, but what was the point of mentioning it? “It’s a nice rock. A good rock. Smooth. Flat,” he complimented. “Let’s see how it fits.” He cupped her bottom in one hand, and holding the stone with the other hand, rubbed it against her labia. She jumped. “Feel good?” Shocked, she nodded. “I’m going to slip it inside you, only a little way,” he said, and shifted the stone, pushing it further into the notch, carefully situating it over the top of her sex. “I want it nice and snug on your clit. How does it feel?” “Nice. Snug.” Her voice was weak. “It feels good.” “Great,” he soothed. “That’s what I want.” As she held onto his broad shoulders for balance, he nuzzled her erect nipple, rubbed her clitoris with the stone, and squeezed her bottom—simultaneously. All done while she was naked outside where anyone might see her. She thought she would come from the sheer naughtiness of it. Squirming and moaning, a delicious urgency building inside her, he stopped right in the middle of what he was doing, and handed her back the damn rock.
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“Go toss this,” he said. Bewildered, she turned and did. “I’ll get your clothes. You can go up to the boathouse now, but be careful of the sharp rocks on your bare feet.” He followed her, the heat of his gaze branding her hotter than the sun. At the halfway point, when she could see the wooden structure nestled among the high-topped trees, she started to walk much faster, until she was racing up the steep plank that served as the entranceway to the boathouse. Cam entered after her, closing and locking the door behind him, and then he was on her. He pushed her back against the boathouse’s transparent blue-stained walls, the exact match to the lake, and bracketed her with his arms. “There’s nothing I won’t do to you,” he told her. “I understand.” “What do you understand?” “T-that you won’t be a gentle lover. I don’t want you to be. I know you won’t hurt me, not really—” “Sugar, you don’t even know me. Now unzip me. Take it out.” She did as she was told, pulling the tab down. But she didn’t have to take him out; he freed himself all on his own “What do you want?” he asked, archly. She licked her lips at the enormity of his erection. “I want your penis inside me.” He barked a laugh. “A penis is what nice ladies call it. It’s a cock, baby. Now where do you want it? Tell me exactly, so I’ll know.” “Inside my…my vagina.” “Too nice. Try again. Get down and dirty, this time.” “I want your cock inside my pussy,” she said and blushed. “Close. But still too refined for a straight-talking man like me.” It took all her courage to say the words. “I want you in my cunt,” she whispered the vulgarity that she’d always tried to pretend she had no knowledge of. Rather than sickening her as she had suspected it would, saying the crass word felt liberating. He leaned forward and lightly kissed her lips. In approval? She didn’t care; her mouth clung to his. She tried to give him her tongue, tried to extend the kiss, but he wouldn’t let her; he was only giving her a taste, a hint of pleasure. The large windows showcased the natural beauty of their surroundings much as a frame shows off an oil painting. Resting on the cedar floor was a yellow canoe, complete with oars. Nets and fishing rods, and even a few lobster traps, hung from the ceiling. Ducking his head under them, Cam reached for some plaid blankets that were stacked against a far wall.
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Jane wasn’t neat. Neither Fred. Cameron Wyler was military neat; he had to have been the one to put them there. He had planned this! He spread one blanket on top of the other on the plank floor, making a bed for them. He did not undress. “I want it all,” he said evenly, and picked her up in his arms. Dropping down with her in the center of their blanket bed, he placed her on her back and opened her legs. “And by all, Trudy, I mean everything. Will I get everything from a nice woman like you?” “Yes,” she said, hardly breathing. “You’ll get it. You’ll get everything you want.” And hopefully, so would she…
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Chapter Eighteen Cameron Wyler had never felt so angry or so amused…or so aroused in his whole life. Angry, because Trudy had effectively depersonalized him: He wasn’t a flesh and blood man to her; he was nothing but a dildo, a stud, a damned piece of meat. Amused, because though he hardly seemed suited to dominance, he’d slipped damned easily into the role of master. Aroused, because in turning herself into his slave, Trudy had just given him carte blanche. What re-blooded male could refuse? He couldn’t. Obliging Trudy’s sexual fantasies, no matter how kinky they were, was no problem—just so long as she gave him a little credit for having some intelligence. Trudy wasn’t being real with him and he knew it. What was she keeping from him? And why did he get the distinct feeling that he was being used for something other than sex? So he was wary…but man, could he use some down and dirty sex; his balls had been aching for Trudy since the Evergreen Motel. But he wasn’t a kid, and she sure as hell wasn’t a slut, so he was hoping for some basic honesty between them before they hit the sheets— That seemed unlikely now. Furious with her, and with himself, too, for being too afraid to lose her to confront her, he drove up into the soft body underneath him. And everything stopped for Cam. He was shaking, so enraged was he by the extent of her lie, but she was the one suffering for it. Had he hurt her? “Are you okay?” he rasped, icy beads of fear racing down his backbone. “I’m fine,” she said determinedly through gritted teeth. Fine! Like hell, she was fine. Trudy was in pain, struggling to accept him. Was this the pale and tense woman under him the same women who led him to believe she was a free spirit when it came to sex, that she took sex lightly? Who wanted nothing more serious than a wild fling, fun sex? Were they having fun yet? He wasn’t. And by the looks of things, neither was she. Never before had he entered a woman without preliminaries, without regard, without consideration. He was no brute who got off on overpowering a woman. He started to make an apologetic withdrawal. She clasped him around the neck. “No. Don’t go!” Her voice was desperate. What was going on? Dammit, what was this whole deal about? Trudy was tight. No, she wasn’t a virgin, but he could tell it had been a while for her. A long while. And he doubted there had been more than one man before that.
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Why had she inferred she was a very experienced lady? He started piecing things together: Her shyness at the motel. Her concern about staying over night with him at the cabin. Would a sexually active woman be concerned about what her neighbors thought? Would an old-fashioned concept like ‘reputation’ matter? “Are you sure you want to do this, honey?” he asked. “Of course, I do,” she snapped, then winced. “Raise your knees; it will make the fit easier,” he instructed. “And don’t forget to breathe.” She gingerly raised her legs. “You don’t have to tell me that! I’ve done this before, you know.” Not much she hadn’t— He dropped his head, so that his forehead butted hers, and looked into her pained violet eyes. “Every man is different,” he said, intentionally not calling her bluff. He had to believe that when the time was right, Trudy would come to him with the truth. “Just relax. It’ll be better in a minute.” She looked away. “Keep looking at me,” he said. Her glassy eyes, bright with unshed tears, turned defiantly back. He smiled reassuringly. “I’m a big talker during sex, by the way. I think you should know that.” “Current events?” she snipped. “No. I pretty much stay away from the news. I stick to personal topics, mostly. Like, for instance, you feel very nice, Trudy. I like being inside you. Your body fits mine just right, and I’m a well endowed kinda guy.” “Conceited ass,” she rejoined, but the barb came out on a sigh. That sigh told Cam they were getting somewhere. Trudy was relaxing, letting go. A good thing, too, because he was dying. He wanted to move, and it was taking all his concentration not to move. And as to talking during sex, he didn’t; that was one whopper of a lie. But he’d keep up a running dialogue if that’s what Trudy needed. “Cam,” she said, her head thrashing on the blanket. “Cam—!” “All right, baby,” he soothed, and started to move. Slowly. “Lately,” he whispered, “when I’m lying in bed at night in the dark, and the walls feel like they’re closing in on me, I think of you. I think about what it would be like to lose myself in you. To be inside you. To be surrounded by you. I’m able to fall asleep then.” “Oh, Cam,” she sighed again, only longer this time. “Oh, Trudy,” he replied with a sigh of his own. Trudy needed a gentle lover, not a sexual gymnast with a long program to prove his staying power, and so the rhythm of the placid water, slowly moving against the sand, dictated the tempo. When her excitement surged, and her beautiful violet eyes
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became turbulent, he guided them both into that timeless, uncharted domain between need and fulfillment. The climax was tender and sweet, rather than a frenzied, earth-shattering upheaval. When her last shudders faded away, he folded her against him, tucking her into his side. There was so much he needed to tell her! Years of pent-up emotion begged for release— But as her lids lowered, and her breathing deepened, he knew that, like the truth, like the appeasement of his need, that too would have to wait. Kissing her softly, he gave himself over to sleep.
***** Trudy smiled her way to wakefulness. It took several seconds to remember where she was, a few seconds after that to get up the nerve to look down. She was on her side, naked, and wrapped up tight in a strong arm, the hand of which was nestled possessively between her thighs. “Go back to sleep,” Cam growled into her ear. He cuddled her closer. “I’m wide awake. And so are you,” she said, and wiggled against his hard maleness. He sucked in a breath. “Sweetie?” “Mmm—” she murmured, moving her bottom against him, trying her best to entice him. He got up on his elbow. “No way.” She pouted up at him. “Why not?” “Because—” “You can’t come up with a single reason, can you?” “I can come with several. The most important of which is: Are you okay?” “I’m wonderful. That nap did me a world of good.” “That’s not the kind of okay I mean.” He raised her knee, dipped a careful finger into her moist folds. “Are you okay here?” She blushed. “I’m fine there.” “So you say now,” he said, tersely. “But you may have a different perspective on the walk back to the house.” But his finger was still inside her, at the top of her sex now, and gliding back and forth in an erotic dance. “Please, Cam?” she said, doing some more seductive wiggling against his groin. When his cock nudged her bottom, she purred deep in her throat. “Yes, Cam, yes.” “Oh, no. We are not doing anything fancy today,” he chided. He positioned her so that they were both still on their sides, but face to face. He brought her leg up over his hip. “I’ll be easy.”
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“Why?” “Because I need to be, sweetie. You’re not used to—er—me yet.” He found her opening, and gently slid up into her, as though he was a hammer and she was marked, ‘Fragile Glass’. She wanted to tell him that she more like sturdy plastic than crystal, but thought better of it one stroke later; she was a little tender. He looked down into her face when he was in as far as he would allow. “This time tell me.” She shifted, tried to take more. “Tell you what?” “What you want.” “You. All of you.” “I can’t give you that, honey. Not yet. I’m not willing to hurt you.” He moved a little. “Now tell me. Like that?” Passion flared. “Oh—” “Or like this?” “Oh, yes,” she said fervently, and not at all shy. “Exactly like that.” “I thought so,” he said; his words were confident; his actions were anything but. His incomplete strokes were for her, not for him. Their every measured stroke was meant to give pleasure while not causing her any additional discomfort. “There?” he asked. “I think so.” “If you don’t know so, it’s not.” He made an adjustment. “I’m too high.” He shifted. “How’s that? Better?” “Ah—” Her lashes lowered as he gave her another hint of paradise. Skillfully, unselfishly, he brought her closer and closer to rapture, orchestrating her arousal, drawing the moment out, until she was calling his name over and over again, weeping his name, finally screaming his name.
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Chapter Nineteen Cam rose to his haunches. “It’s getting late,” he said, peering out the window of the boathouse. “It’s dark outside. We should get back to the house.” “Not yet,” Trudy said. “Please?” She had risen to her knees behind him. Cam felt her nipples graze his back. Back and forth. No way was the move accidental. “You’ve got great tits, honey,” he said crudely. “But great tits alone won’t get me to stay.” “What will do it?” He turned around to face her. “My tongue up inside you.” In answer, she reclined once again on their blanket-bed. He took candles down from a shelf, lit all ten slender white tapers, and placed them on the floorboards around their blanket-bed. This time he wanted it romantic, the way lovemaking should be with a woman like Trudy. He situated himself at her feet. “I can’t taste you with your knees welded together, honey.” She turned her face away and opened her legs for him. He placed his hand over her mons. “You’re so pretty here.” “Oh God,” Trudy moaned, when he pulled her bottom up onto his lap so that he could explore her vulva at close range. He fingered the swollen folds. “Women are the most mysterious creatures on earth,” he said in awe, as he slid his finger over the creamy labia. “Everything is hidden from view.” He rubbed the hood of her sex. “Females can keep everything secret from a man.” He concentrated on the clitoris. “Unless a man becomes very well acquainted with his woman’s body he’ll never be able to pleasure her like he should. I want to learn how to pleasure you, baby.” A minute later, Trudy was breathing raggedly. On the brink of climaxing, her bent legs were rigid, the muscles knotted; her hands were white-knuckled fists on the blanket. “Let go,” he said fiercely. “Just let it happen.” Sensing that more than stroking was required to send her over the edge, he widened the gap between her bent knees, and kissed the inside of each thigh, then higher, until she was gasping. “Cam!” “Don’t tell me to stop, Trudy, please,” he begged, and darted his tongue inside, piercing her sweet core with a loving precision. She screamed into the blanket again and again and again, climaxing against his mouth. While Trudy’s muscles were relaxed, Cam kissed his way up along her limp body, hiked her legs over his shoulders, and entered her with his tongue again. Before he’d been cautious, deliberate, he hadn’t been able to lose himself to her. Now he was drowning in pleasure, saturated in pleasure, inundated in the wet
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carnality of lovemaking. The smell, the taste, the texture of sex excited him as did the way her body rippled around him as he moved his tongue deep within her. Soon he was mindless of everything, except the way her juices poured hot and liquid into his mouth as she screamed. Trudy was his. His! She belonged to him. She screamed for him. Cam was certain she’d never climaxed before. He’d brought her to fulfillment. Him! That guy in college hadn’t even gotten close. He was proud of that. He was also frustrated. Cam pushed Trudy’s damp curls back from her forehead and eased her trembling legs from his shoulders. He’d make her crave the sex so much, that she’d never be able to give it up. He could do it. He knew he could. He’d always been good in bed. Every woman he’d ever been with had told him so, calling him a generous and attentive lover. He’d make Trudy care— But he couldn’t take her again now; he’d make her too sore. Cam got himself together and tugged the zipper over his erection. He’d had her twice and he was still hard. “Shit!” he muttered to himself. Trudy came to a sit on the blanket. “What’s wrong?” “Nothing.” “Yes, there is. Tell me!” He buttoned his shirt. “I need a shower, that’s all.” What he didn’t tell her was that he would need to jerk off in the shower to get some relief. She reached for her slip and pulled it on over her head, followed by the dress; the bra and panties remained on the boathouse floor. “I suppose you always shower afterwards with your women—” “My women. That’s a hoot. Trudy, I’m an overworked police detective with little to zilch in the way of a social life. You want the truth?” At her nod, he blew a breath through his lips. “I’m a grown man. There have been women. Not that many, and none of them were like you. You are one unique lady.” “How so?” He smiled, keeping things light, the way she wanted them kept. “For one thing, you’re the only birdwatcher I know.” He held out his hand. “Let’s go.” “Not until you tell me that I can shower with you.” He sighed. There went his relief; he couldn’t very well jack off with Trudy in the shower next to him. And he really needed his hand bad. He needed explosion, not a tempered and polite climax. He needed it rough and he needed it hard. Hell, he needed violence and he couldn’t get what he needed from a lady like Trudy. “Okay.” He smiled while his balls ached. “I’ll draw you a heart in the steamed up mirror after our shower with our initials on the inside. How’s that?”
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,She picked up her bra and panties, shoved them in a pocket, and placed her hand in his. “I didn’t know you were a romantic, Cam.” “Yeah, that’s me.” “Then tell me, dyed-in-the-wool-romantic, what else will this steamy heart of yours contain?” “What would you like it to contain?” “I think,” she said, licking her kiss-swollen lips, “I would like it to say…” Then she stopped. “It’s such a silly thing. Hearts drawn on steamy mirrors. A child’s game.” “How’s about the heart says this: C.W. respects, admires, and likes one hell of a lot, G.P. “ “That’s an awful lot of words for a small heart.” “Guess you don’t know many police detectives, baby. We’re known for the enormous size of our—organs.”
***** When Cam closed the bedroom door after them, Trudy’s eyes were irresistibly pulled to the bed in the middle of the room. Her cheeks went hot. Her whole body tingled with sexual awareness. Every inch of her skin was touch-sensitive, tingling, especially her nipples. She was filled with an almost vibrating expectancy and the anticipation was centered in her core, in that place that Cam had reawakened after eight years of dormancy. He’d reaffirmed that she was a woman, a sexual being. She gloried in her body’s reaffirmation, and greedily looked forward to sharing that nice big bed with Cam. Under the pretence of smoothing one of the many wrinkles from her dress, Trudy pinched herself. Yep, she felt that, all right. This wasn’t happening to another woman; this was happening to her. Giddy with relief, she began to accept that she wasn’t dreaming. But just in case—she was a careful woman—her gaze flew to the mirror over the dresser for additional confirmation. The woman reflected in the glass oval was glowing. Flushed cheeks, sparkling eyes, swollen lips testified that she, boring Gertrude Prescott, elementary school teacher and birdwatcher, was awake. Not only awake, but wide awake. She looked and felt more alive than she’d looked and felt in years. She really had made love to an incredible man like Cam. She would never be pretty, but the image she saw in the mirror was no longer plain. Trudy beamed at her new and improved reflection for a second more, enjoying what she saw, and then let the image go, moving her eyes away. She looked now at her lover Cam was such a good man. She wished she could take the terrible burden of his heart away. She knew she couldn’t. What she could do, though, was be there for him when he wanted to talk. Cam was a good man, but he could also be Infuriating. Could a man be too careful, too tender, too unselfish during lovemaking?
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She’d only had one lover before Cam, and so she was hardly worldly, but she knew enough to know that Cam had held back in the boathouse. He’d kept a lid on his passion, his power, his male dominance, sacrificing his own pleasure for the sake of hers. And she’d been pleasured, very pleasured, deeply pleasured, curling-toes pleasured. What would it be like to make love to Cam when he wasn’t holding back? She licked her suddenly dry lips. She wanted to find out, and she wanted to find out now! Trudy took Cam by the hand and led him towards the brass bed. “Baby, I think we should wait,” her suddenly reluctant lover said, dragging his feet on the hooked rug which covered the wide pine floor in front of the bed’s gleaming brass posts. “I pretty much max out at twice. You know, there’s only so many times you can pump up a deflated tire in any given day.” She understood physiology. Cam’s explanation, delivered with his usual dry wit, was completely reasonable, even expected, considering that they had only just arrived back from the boathouse— Except for one teeny, tiny glitch—Cam was not deflated. Far from it. The bulge beneath his belt was noteworthy. No, Cam was making an excuse, having second thoughts. What had brought on this change of heart? Trudy wondered. He’d been remarkably quiet on their walk from the boathouse. Was he pensive because he was rethinking their affair? Did he consider this afternoon a mistake? “So,” she said with a nod at the betraying bulge, “is that thing purely decorative or does it have some practical application?” “Er…ah…I should go speak to Fred,” Cam said. “You know, check in. Talk golf with him for a while.” Golf? The man was grasping at straws. Clearly, this was all her fault. Obviously, she hadn’t satisfied him. Sexually. That’s what his lame golf excuse was all about. Gertrude Prescott was a flop in bed. She should have known it. He was giving her the ol’ heave ho. His clasp on her hand tightened. “How’s about it?” “Pardon me?” she asked glumly. “How about we both go downstairs and talk with our hosts. We don’t have to talk golf—I just figured you wanted me to talk golf. Personally, I’d rather talk about your kids in school. Or anything else you want to talk about; I don’t care. As long as you’re with me, I don’t care what we do. We could all go out. Grab something to eat. You must be hungry, right Trudy?” At least he wasn’t tired of her company. She supposed she should be grateful that after her sexual failure that he still wanted to be friends with her— Trudy drew her shoulders back. She wouldn’t cling. She promised him that this would be an adult affair, no strings attached. If he didn’t want to make love with her again, that was his prerogative.
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“Maybe I’ll have something to eat later,” she said keeping the hurt and confusion to herself. Gertrude Prescott did not make ugly scenes. “I think I’ll go take a hot shower now,” she added brightly. Trudy kicked off her sandals and headed for the bathroom. She reached into the shower enclosure and turned the knob to hot-enough-to-boilMaine-lobster. Not bothering to close the door, she turned her back and dropped her dress and slip to the floor. When the small room filled with steam, she stretched, arms raised over her head, letting the humidity bead on her bare skin, eyes closed, throat arched, the thick air embracing her nudity like a sensuous lover. From behind her came a strangled sound. She didn’t have to look over her shoulder to know Cam was in the room with her, in the steam with her. She heard movement, the metallic scrape of a zipper, the sound of clothes dropping as he got himself undressed, the sound of bare feet padding up behind her. Close. But not touching her. Not yet. Still holding back. She leaned against him, against his erection, lazily, languidly. “You have great tits,” he rasped, and cupped her jutting breasts. “And a fine ass,” he said hoarsely, the moist air sealing his hardness to her softness. He wanted her. As she stared straight ahead, he fondled her. Her nipples, her buttocks, between her legs; his touch was a little rougher than it had been in the boathouse. “Tell me you’re sore, baby. Tell me you’ve had enough of my cock for one day.” “I can’t, because I haven’t.” “Dammit! Tell me, Trudy.” She shook her head. “Let me satisfy you,” she whispered in the heavy air. “I didn’t before; let me now.” He kneaded her bottom; she could feel the tension of his fingers on her flesh. “Not here,” he growled. “Where?” “Get in the tub.” She got in first. He followed. Hot water pulsated over them. “It’s too soon for you to have sex again. You’re already swollen. In a couple hours, maybe we can try it again. Not now. I won’t risk hurting you just because I need it.” “I can give you want you need,” she said seductively, and dropped to her knees in front of him on the floor of the tub, the water raining down over her head and shoulders. She cupped his engorged manhood underneath, ran her hand down his hard length, finally kissing him from base to blunt end. She looked up at him from under her lashes, sure of herself as she had never been sure of herself before, wholly confident of her womanly power though she had never done this before for a man. Cam was trembling. “You don’t have to do this, baby.”
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“Oh, but I want to,” she replied, and dipped her head, loving him with her mouth, with her tongue, licking the moisture and bubbling pre-come off the head of his cock. This was an affair. Fun sex. That’s what she’d said in the beginning, and that’s all it could remain. There was no going back, no changing her mind. They would have hot sex in a steamy shower and that’s all they would have. His cock was very wide, very long; the bulbous end was much, much larger than a plum. His size had hurt her in the boathouse, but Cam had not. She wanted the pain of loving Cam again— But he was still holding back; he refused to thrust down her throat. “No more,” he groaned. “Come with me.” He lifted her to her feet. “I wanted to wait. God help me, I tried to wait. But I couldn’t leave you alone after that first time in the boathouse, and I can’t leave you alone now. I’ve got to have you again, be inside of you again, come inside you again. I want us to be together in this, so much that it’s just about killin’ me, “ he said, voice strained. He lifted her higher, until her feet left the floor of the tub, and her legs wrapped around his waist. He pushed ungently up into her. She smiled as she sheathed him, head thrown back against the tile wall, mouth open and collecting the hot spray, reveling in the sweet ache of the penetration, loving the roughness of his palms under her bottom as he made them one. When it was done, when he had filled her, he thrust once hard. He paused, his body as tight as a bow, and then with a gasp of defeat he was thrusting again, harder, uncontrollably, against her womb. “Yes,” she said fiercely, pushing down every time he rammed up. And then it was too much. All she could do was hold on tight as he shouted and shuddered and bucked, and poured himself into her, hot and wet, as hot and wet as the water, gushing into the aching tight clasp of her body. And she screamed and screamed and couldn’t stop screaming. Afterwards, Cam dried her off, carried her naked to bed. He got in next to her, holding her next to his body so that her ear was flattened on his chest. Exhausted, she fell asleep to the pounding of his strong heart.
***** Cam couldn’t sleep. He’d heard Trudy’s sharp screams of climax in the shower, but too caught up in the red haze of his own lust, her pleasure hadn’t completely registered. All he was conscious of was the raging fire in his blood, a passion he didn’t believe himself capable of. It was the best sex he’d ever had. Because it was more than just sex to him. He’d tried, and failed, to show her the depth of his feelings. Trudy liked him. She enjoyed the sex. That was the extent of it. She didn’t love him. She hadn’t given her heart to him. Hell yeah, he had her body, and that was all he had.
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At dawn, Cam rolled the sleeping Trudy onto her back, separated her legs, and pushed up into her again. She whimpered in her sleep. Sick to his gut, he swallowed the hot bile rising in his throat, and fought for control. Remorse bled from every pore in his big body until he was drenched with it, but he didn’t stop driving up into her. Trudy was awake now and groaning, her arms wrapped around him seeking comfort from the very assailant who was hurting her. He didn’t want to hurt her! He knew that this, this kind of animal sex, was brandnew to her. Why was he dominating her like this? Why was he showing her this side of his nature when he never had with a woman before? Trudy’s body was small and vulnerable, his was large and tough, and here he was governing her every move, her every response, actually holding her in place, his hands tight on her waist, while he rammed himself into her. He’d never treated a woman with such a lack of respect. Never! He was always considerate. Why was he treating this gentle lady like this? Ashamed, he licked the tears from her face. “I’m sorry, Trudy. I’m so sorry—” But he didn’t stop; he kept on hammering her. And it got so much worse. She started to cry harder. “Oh, God…What you’re doing…please…Cam…please… “ “This is part of it and you’ve got to take it, baby.” A frightened whimper was her reply. He was frightened too. Of what he was feeling. Of what he was doing. Of coming away with nothing at the end but empty sex. Meaningless fucking wasn’t enough for him, but it was all she seemed to want from him. “Now, pull up your legs,” he growled, despising himself for wanting it rough, despite his lofty notions to the contrary. Sobbing, she obeyed, hiking her legs up and open. But not nearly enough. He wanted more. He wanted all of her. He wanted her love. “No,” he directed. “I want ‘em up further. All the way up around my back. This time, I do you hard. I want my meat in you as far as it will go.” “Oh, God,” she wept, scared and excited, and did it, entwining her legs around his spine. He moaned at the tight clench of her body. “Christ, that’s it. So good.” And so horrible. He was using her, funneling his rage into her, wanting this, needing this, loving the domination, and hating it too. The top of her head was pushed up to the headboard, as he went harder, faster, deeper. Her body rocked and bucked. Then went limp. She was no longer fighting him or herself. They were one person now, one need, one aching flesh. When she opened her mouth over his arm and bit him, hurting him as he was hurting her, he shouted his triumph and his despair. He’d never been so turned on by the violence of fucking, and at the same time, so disgusted by his own violent behavior.
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Trudy didn’t appear to be nearly as ambivalent. “Yes,” she screamed. “Oh, yes.” She stopped chewing on him and grabbed his ass, forcing his cock even deeper, grinding his balls against her ass. “Oh, Cam, Cam, Cam. It hurts so good.” She keened out her pained orgasm. He just grunted in pain, withholding his climax. She’d given him her all, but he hadn’t returned the favor. Not yet. He pulled his sweating body off her sweating body and pulled out. “Open your mouth,” he raged, holding back with his last ounce of control. Her lips parted and with a harsh growl he took his cock in hand and rubbed it over her face, spurting his semen on her tongue, on her lips, dribbling it onto her tits and belly, shooting it between her legs and into her ass, until he’d emptied himself on her, until he’d marked her as his territory, as his woman. He didn’t know what was happening, what was driving him; he only knew he would never be the same again. When sanity returned, he collapsed beside her and pulled his woman into his arms. Christ, she was shaking! Not knowing what else to do, he wrapped himself protectively around her, trying to warm her. “I’d cut off my own arm before I’d willingly hurt you. I couldn’t help it—” “Don’t you think I know that, Cam?” Warm, lush lips, tasting of tears, found and clung to his. She sobbed against his mouth, and he tasted his come. “I didn’t know it would be like this.” “Oh, sweetheart, don’t cry. Please don’t cry—” “I thought it would just be sex, you know?” Trudy needed to be reassured. Soothed. Told that everything was going to be all right. Only he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t lie to her. Because he didn’t know if everything was going to be all right between them, not after this, not after he’d treated her like a whore. And he still wanted her. “I’m going to…you know…get out of bed so I don’t hurt you any more,” he said, softly, the ugliness of what he had done coloring each word he spoke. “I’ll go back up to the cabin after I drive you home—” “You idiot! Aren’t you listening to me at all?” She reached her lips around to his for another salty kiss, then grabbed his brown hand and placed it over her white breast. She squeezed so that his fingers were squeezing her. Her nipple poked his palm. “Feel that?” she asked. “Yeah, and not so rough. You’ll bruise.” “My nipple is erect—” He felt himself blush. “I know,” he said, sheepishly.
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“Well, that’s what you do to me! That’s how excited your touch makes me. I’m very, very aroused, Cam.” He whispered, “Trudy, no—” “Yes! When are you going to get it through your thick head that I want this, that I want you. Exactly this way. When you come into me hard, I feel like I could swoon. Your charm never made me want to swoon. Your honesty does. Goodness, I want you to fuck me again—” “Hush!” he choked. “Someone will hear—” “Oh, you prude! I don’t care!” “But I hurt you—” “You’re not hurting me!” “You were crying—” “Because…because you’re finally letting me see what you really feel inside, minus the shiny veneer. How could I not cry?” She gulped. “Make love to me. Please? And not like I’m about to break either.” She was hurting. He was hurting too. How was he ever going to able to leave her when the time came? Cam dropped the machismo attitude and the domination routine, and even his charm, and boundaries down, went with the flow. He made love to Trudy, not like she was made of glass. Not like she was a waterfront whore. He made love to this sensuous woman like he was the luckiest guy on the planet. And when his woman reached for the stars, he let himself be pulled along with her. And when it ended, they both screamed at the same time. She owned him, heart and body and soul. Like a good detective should, he kept that piece information all to himself.
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Chapter Twenty Central Elementary School was an old-fashioned, one-story brick building at the very end of the one-way street. From the outside of the building, Miss Prescott’s classroom was easily identifiable because of the autumn leaves taped to the windowpanes. Trudy had told Cam all about the project, and how the kids had been so proud of their artistic accomplishment. It was Friday, and Cam wanted to begin their weekend early, and so he waiting for Trudy in the school’s parking lot/playground, slunk down deep in the seat of his Jeep, hat pulled low over his face. In the sun-warmed interior, he’d fallen asleep. Again. When the release whistle shrilled at three o’clock, the blast woke him right up. And then those backpack-carrying leaf artists raced out of the building. They were everywhere all at once. Kids walking. Running. Skateboarding. Biking. Playing out front, all jazzed up for the weekend the same as him. When the last little straggler had exited the building and the school buses had all pulled away, Cam opened the door and hopped clumsily to the asphalt. Clumsy and weak and napping like an old geezer in a retirement home. Oh yeah. He was a real stud— He didn’t have all his stamina back yet, and for her sake, that was probably a good thing; he was having a hard enough time keeping his hands off Trudy as it was. All he thought about all the time was having sex with her. And he wanted to have sex with Trudy now! Cam made his halting way to the school’s service door, which took him to the side entrance of the cafeteria, a scary place of tiny red milk cartons, stacked brown plastic trays, and about a gazillion plastic straw wrappers littering the floor. Soundlessly reading off teachers’ names on classroom doors, he made his way down a long hall. Miss Prescott’s classroom was stuck next to the water cooler and boys’ restroom. He peeked his head inside her door. The teacher’s shiny red nose was buried in a wadded tissue; tears streamed from her violet eyes. Around her shuddering shoulders was a navy blue cardigan sweater— sort of crooked and saggy—and her gray shapeless jumper was wrinkled and streaked with chalk dust. Her black tights were bagged around her ankles and her hairdo had gone from windswept to wind tunnel in the space of six short hours. Cam thought Gertrude Prescott was about the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. But no fool he, there was no way he was going into that classroom until the waterworks stopped. He waited. He waited some more. Then, unable to stand idly by while Trudy sobbed her heart out, he barged in while the tears were still pumping. “Okay, start naming names. Who did this to you?” Cam interrogated her.
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Trudy glanced up, her beautiful eyes all wet and luminous and runny. “What are you blathering about now, Cam?” “Who made you cry?” She dabbed at her cheeks. “Bill Snell.” His hands fisted. “That maggot! Where can I find him? Teacher’s lounge? Parking lot? Principal’s office? Where?” “For goodness sakes, Cam! He’s eight years old! He’s probably at home snacking on milk and cookies.” “Oh—” She stuffed the wet tissue up her sweater sleeve. “Stop breathing fire and go take a seat.” Cam skulked over to the first row, first seat, and plopped himself down behind a ridiculously small desk. “You’re crying over one of your students?” She held up a piece of blue-lined paper with an attached drawing. “Look at this. Isn’t it w-wonderful?” “Yeah,” he said glumly. The knees on his pants were hitting the desk’s underside and sticking to something disgusting and slimy. “Wonderful.” “I’ve been reading Billy’s poem on the Civil War and it’s so moving, I can’t s-s-seem to s-s-stop crying. He’s caught the flavor of losing a loved one in battle. He’s going to be a po-po-poet someday, I just know it!” “A poet? No wonder you’re balling your eyes out. But hey, cheer up. Maybe the kid’ll outgrow his poetic tendencies.” Trudy picked up a rubber band and snapped it at him. “I don’t want him to outgrow his poetic soul! A child like Billy comes along only once in the lifetime of a teacher. He has genuine creative talent. His gift needs to be nurtured. You know what I’m going to do? I’m going to call a parent-teacher’s meeting with his mom and see if we can get Billy some creative writing classes. That’s what I’m going to do!” she said, noting her desk calendar. “Great idea. I was gonna suggest it myself.” Cam shot his elastic at the ceiling. “These things don’t fly as high as they used to. Must be inferior rubber products or something—” Trudy’s neck was still rounded over her day planner. “Hmm?” “I said—you love teaching, don’t you?” “It’s my life,” she replied, finishing the note and then moving on to red line a milehigh stack of papers. “With all your experience you could probably get a job teaching anywhere—huh?” “I don’t know. “ The teacher’s shoulders lifted. “I suppose so, although I’ve never considered it. I was born in my house. I’ve lived in Sutton all my life. Both my parents and grandparents are buried across the street at Mount Hope Cemetery. I know everyone and everyone knows me. I like the friendly feel of living in a small town. And I’m needed here. Maine has a difficult time attracting qualified teachers. The long winters and deep snow are not for everyone.”
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“But say you wanted to move, teaching is one of those careers that’s transferable anywhere. I mean, school systems must all be the same, pretty much.” Trudy didn’t seem to hear him; she was absorbed in her own little paper-correcting world. Cam didn’t want to disturb her, and so he busied himself by looking around her classroom, finding Trudy’s personal touch in everything. After a while, Trudy went to the blackboard, picked up an eraser, and swiped it across the slate. When she was finished she carried the erasers over to the windows and cracked one. “Pardon me,” Trudy said, and disappeared over the windowsill. She started clapping the erasers. After heaving the too-small desk off his knees, Cam hobbled to the adjoining window, flung up the sash, and heaved himself over the sill, coughing as he swallowed a cloud of white chalk dust. “Need any help?” “No thanks,” she said. “I’m done here.” She ducked her head back inside. Cam slammed both windows closed. “Can I give you a ride home?” “Oh, that’s sweet. I’d love a ride.” She placed the clean erasers on a shelf. “Generally, I love being able to walk to and from school, but I should have taken my own car today; I didn’t realize I was going to have so much to carry. Jane said she’d drop me off on her way home, but as it turned out, she had to leave school early. She still has these episodes of morning sickness and—” Trudy stopped. “Am I rambling?” “No. I like hearing you talk about your day.” She raised a skeptical brow. “Even stories about pregnant co-workers?” “I like babies. And I happen to think pregnant women are sexy. There’s something about a rounded belly that drives me wild.” Trudy put her papers aside, and palmed her chin. “Oh, really—” She looked so cute, so disbelieving, so serious, that it took all his control not to swoop her up in his arms, kiss her senseless, and then cart her off someplace where they could be alone. He grabbed her hand. “If you’re ready, let’s go home. I mean, back to your place.” Her mouth was lush. Full. Inviting. Irresistible. He didn’t think he could wait to get her back to her place. He pulled her to him and touched his mouth to her soft lips. It was only supposed to be a peck, just something to hold him over, but it got blown way out of proportion, and when her arms came up around his shoulders, he slanted his head and deepened the contact, adding the texture of his tongue. When his control began to slip, in the middle of the day, in the middle of a third grade classroom, in the middle of an elementary school, he broke the kiss off, and asked: “Are these the things you want carried out to the car?” At her nod, he picked up the stuffed canvas bag. “Let’s go, baby.” Trudy walked to the door. “I have to make a stop first. I’m in charge of the playground equipment.”
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She hoisted a net bag filled with soccer balls. “These have to be locked up overnight. It’s a school regulation. Principal Dewey will read me the riot act for improper ball disposal if I don’t put these back where they belong.” She switched off the lights. Knowing better than to argue with a lady about something as important as proper ball disposal, Cam took the net bag from her, swung it over his shoulder, and let himself be dragged down the corridor. “Slow up, baby,” he complained. “My hips don’t swivel as good as they used to.” “Shh! No talking in the hallways.” “Babe! Don’cha know? School’s out for the day – “ “So? School rules are school rules.” Cam knew Trudy was serious too, and that’s what got him twittering to himself. Miss Teacher halted in front of the GYM. He pushed the double door open; Trudy preceded him through. The basketball court was pretty standard: scuffed wood floors, peeling green painted walls, the smell of sweaty gym socks flavoring the dry air. “Wanna go one on one?” he asked with a dirty grin. “Yes. Inside,” she whispered, unlocking the supply closet and pushing him ahead of her. The door whooshed closed behind them. “Where’s the light switch?” he asked, shifting the balls and groping the wall; the closet was pitch black. “It’s dark in here.” “That’s the idea. Now shut up and kiss me.” She launched herself at him. “You frisky thing,” he chuckled, and caught her. They swayed together, then steadied; the foam rubber exercise mats lining the wall muffled their heated groans. Soon they were straining to get closer. Under his loose jogging pants, his cock jumped and lanced; his manhood wanted some action. “My goodness!” she said all sultry-like. “However do you do that so quickly?” “I’m not doing anything. You’re doing it all.” “My goodness! I can’t take credit for such a huge accomplishment.” She looked around them. “Do you think this closet is large enough?” she asked, reaching up under her jumper and wiggling out of her tights. Even in the dim light he could see she wasn’t wearing panties; he’d already noted that she wasn’t wearing a bra. He’d given her a strict ultimatum to do as she was told and the prim little teach was obeying his every order, complying with every one of his rules, wanting desperately to please him, willing to do anything to please him. And he was very pleased by her softly bouncing tits, by her fine, giving bottom. But most of all he was pleased by Trudy’s complete lack of inhibitions because that meant her trust in him was growing. “Here?” he whispered, shocked, but still tickling her ear lobe with his tongue. “You want to do this here?”
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“Why not?” she whispered back. “I’ve never had sex in a gym closet before. You’re some hot woman, Trudy Prescott,” Cam said appreciatively. She sighed against his throat. “Shall I take everything off?” He wanted Trudy naked; he always wanted Trudy naked. But there was a certain amount of decorum that should be adhered to in a school Gym closet. “No. We better wait for this, Trudy.” “Why?” she moaned, arching into his arms, her pelvis grinding to his pelvis. What was the reason again why they couldn’t? Damned, if he could remember. He palmed her bare bottom. She opened a button on his jersey. Then, she opened up all the buttons and pushed her hand inside. Caught up in the moment, his hand on her rear end, her hand working his cock, it was easy to ignore the clattering of shoe heels on the floor outside the door. “Custodians,” she said softly. Thankfully, the footsteps moved on. He closed his eyes as she nuzzled his throat, biting and nipping, her palm moving down over his belly, inside the elastic waist of his jogging pants. Hot. Hot. Hot. He was being burned by her touch. They writhed their way back to the ‘L’ shaped portion of the closet. Cam pressed Trudy against the wall, and pulled her slip and jersey and jumper up under her arms. Her nipples were hard points of want. “Mercy, woman, are your tits in need of my teeth—” The knob to the closet was rattled. “What the hell…” “Custodians,” she whispered in his ear. “Cleaning.” They waited. The footsteps moved on. “Please,” she said, her voice a pleading ache. “Don’t stop.” He recognized her desperation; it mirrored his own. “But honey, that was one mighty persistent janitor.” “He won’t be back,” she panted and grabbed his palm, returning it to her breast. “So…good…my aureole. Please…do that again.” “Oh, baby,” he chuckled. “Keep talking dirty. I love it.” Trudy giggled. “The danger of discovery makes it all the more exciting, don’t you think?” He kissed her lips. Hard. “Yeah, I do think. Unfortunately, I need a bed,” he said, owning up to his disability. “I want to do you justice, and I can’t do you justice standing up in a closet.” He dragged on her hand. “We can be home in under three minutes. Let’s go.” They were in the Jeep, almost home, when Cam figured he should clarify the situation.
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“Trudy, baby, we’re both grown-ups. We both have physical needs—yada yada yada, and so on and so on. But is sex all you want from me? Am I nothing more to you than a quick hop on the mattress?” He tilted his jaw. “Or, a quick heave-ho in a GYM closet, or whatever else the case might be?” “You make it sound so cold. I’m not promiscuous—” “I know that, baby. But since the moment we met, I’ve been picking up some weird vibes from you and I just wanted to get things straight in my head before we went any further.” Cam believed in fate and trust and love. He liked his reading material to come with a happily ever after. He’d say he was the last of the hopeless romantics, but his brothers were the same way. All four of them. Two were happily married. Tim and Pete worshiped their wives. They had kids and houses and family vans. The whole deal. And they also have a good shot at a happily ever after. There were no guarantees in this life, and he was messed up, but did he and Trudy have even a shot at a happily ever after? He needed to know. “Trudy, when we met, I thought you were a hooker, and I admit that initial mistake on my part colored my perspective about you. Now that I know you’re really a teacher, and a very nice woman, that leaves me with a whole bunch of thorny questions about what you were doing at Nelley’s that night.” “I told you I was there for research…” “Is that all?” “Okay. I was there for recreation too.” “By that, do you mean, sex?” “I mean sex. I’d had a hard day at work, and I needed to blow off some steam. Men have done that for years. Why can’t a woman want mindless, animal sex?” “Recreation. Blowing off steam. Mindless sex. Got it.” He shrugged his big shoulders. “Now me, when I feel the need to unwind, I meditate. I don’t use sex to bust my stress levels and I don’t think I’m that different from a lot of other guys.” “You wanted to take me to bed at The Evergreen,” she reminded him. “Yeah, I did. Because I was drawn to you. Because, despite my better judgment, despite everything I value, you turned me on. I wanted you. I still want you, Trudy.” She plucked at her skirt. “Then why did you leave the motel the way that you did?” “Because I don’t make a habit of sleeping around. Because I like it to mean something when it does happen. Because I think sex should be special. Okay?” he said belligerently, eyes blazing. “Sex without strings—is that what you really want, Trudy?” “Exactly! That’s exactly what I really, really, want. On the nose. On the mark. On the money. On the chin. I want sex and lots of it. I crave it like plants crave rain.” “Fine. I’ll rain all over you. And I’m up for it. Way up for it! So, we’ll have sex. Tons of sex. No strings. It’s Friday. We don’t have to come up for air until Monday morning.” “Fine.” “Good.”
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Chapter Twenty-One Cam parked the Jeep, went around to the passenger side, and held opened the door for her. The jerk— Trudy screeched to a mental halt. Cam didn’t deserve this. He was no jerk! Why was she being so rough on him? She was being snippy and sarcastic and superficial, all around rotten, and she knew why. She was trying to protect herself. She had growing feelings for Cam and the feelings were scary. She was pond scum. Lower than pond scum. At least pond scum didn’t pretend to be anything else but what it was, while she was pretending she was this dynamic, experienced woman. But she had to protect herself, didn’t she? Cam was returning to Boston. She couldn’t let on to him how much he was beginning to mean to her. How much she liked being with him. She could not, would not, cling to him! Never! He mustn’t suspect how much she’d miss him when he was gone— It had been lovely having Cam around. Sharing meals with him. Fighting with him. Laughing with him. Kissing him… All these years, she’d delayed intimacy because she’d wanted to feel something for the man she made love with. Well, with Cam she felt something. Something wonderful. She didn’t want it to end. But it was going to end, and soon. And that was why she couldn’t afford to become attached to Cam, nor allow him to grow fond of her. Sex, yes. Oh, yes, please, yes. But nothing more. They’d only be opening themselves up to heartbreak if they became serious. They walked together up to the front door of the house where she’d been born and raised. Still side by side, they climbed the stairs. She unlocked the door. Once they were inside the vestibule, Cam held up her canvas bag. “Where do you want this stuff?” he asked. “My bedroom,” she answered. She lowered her voice to a sultry purr. “Did I tell you I’m thinking of redecorating the room with a love nest décor. Big round bed. Black satin sheets. Mirrored walls and ceiling. What do you think?” “Just what a man needs,” he said dryly. “The sight of his tired mug coming at him from every conceivable angle, none of them pretty. Talk about giving a guy some major performance anxiety.” Cam tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “I’m not into the kinky stuff, honey. I’m sort of old-fashioned that way. Sorry.”
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She kicked off her penny loafers as she walked to her bedroom. “I want to change into something more comfortable before dinner. It will only take me a sec.” “Take your time. I’ll be in the kitchen making us a salad,” Cam replied, placing the canvas bag on the floor just inside the door.
***** “Cam,” said a throaty sexy voice from behind him. Placing the vegetable peeler on the white plastic chopping board, he turned around real slow. Trudy was gliding towards him, wearing a white polyester slip and definitely nothing else. “Hullo honey.” She moved into his arms. He rounded his palms over the silky slope of creamy-white shoulders, enjoying the sensation of all that bare skin just a little too much. “Make love to me,” she whispered. “I need you, Cam.” If there was one thing Cam understood all too well, it was need. He knew all about trying to block out pain, all about being willing to do almost anything, anything at all, to forget, to dull the ache, to fill the void. He understood about trying to make it through the dark, lonely nights, alone and hurting. Sex as an escape valve. Sex as solace. Sex as a way to connect with another living human being. Yeah, Cam understood, all right, but he wanted more from Trudy than sex. How could he get that through to her? Pounding with desire, pulsating with lust, Cam ran his big hands up and down Trudy’s back, over the womanly flare of her hips, cupping the roundness of her bottom. He pulled her against him, his rough palms snagging the slinky fabric of her slip— She said, softy. “Let me take it off.” “No!” he managed to say with a thick tongue. “Leave it for now,” he said, rushing the words past his dry lips. “I like it. The slip. It’s a nice slip. A good slip.” Firm breasts teased the front of his shirt. He wanted to taste her. He wanted to suckle her nipples. He wanted to make her scream. And he wanted to scream too. He wanted them to do some more of that simultaneous screaming he’d read about in those woman’s magazines in his dentist’s waiting room… He wanted. He wanted. God, how he wanted. He wanted everything. Cam angled his neck, and brushed his lips against Trudy’s soft cheek. He dipped his mouth again, gently tonguing her skin. He toured her face, earlobe to cheekbone to chin, dotting open-mouthed kisses on a beeline to her lips. Her mouth was incredibly giving. Her lips were—her lips were very, very sweet. And her tongue was enthusiastic. The kisses were pleasure bordering on pain. Exquisite torture. There was no finesse to them. No style. No grace. Mouths. Tongues. Wet lust. Unbelievably steamy heat.
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“Don’t stop,” she breathed into his mouth. “More. Give me more. Touch me.” “No. There’s gotta be more than sex—” To escape her, he fell back onto a kitchen chair. But there was no escape from Trudy; she climbed onto the chair with him and straddled his lap. Her white slip was up around her thighs and her heat was sealed to the pulse of his erection. He felt her body’s moisture through his jogging pants. “I want to make you happy, Cam,” she purred and moved her slit back and forth over his lancing cock. “I’ll do anything you want. I have no pride any more, no shame. I’m yours for the weekend. We don’t have to leave the bed if you don’t want to.” “I care about you, Trudy, and—” Trudy interrupted. “Do you want conversation or do you want to—?” “No, don’t say it, sweetie. Don’t make it cheap. It’s not like that with us. You can feel how much I want to.” He touched his forehead to hers. “But I think we should rethink this thing between us—you know?” Her palm grazed the sunken planes of his face. And then she smiled, seductive passion at its best, and kissed him along his jaw, love bites over bone, until his trembling unmanned him. “Ah honey, what are you doing to me?” “Seducing you,” she answered in a warm, moist breath, so close to his ear that it tickled. “Like I need to be seduced.” Cam pulled her slip over her head and tossed it on the floor. “Offer me your tits, baby.” She arched her back, thrusting out her engorged nipples. “Please, Cam?” “Not good enough. Beg me. You said you have no shame. Show me how shameless you are. Give me a little lap dance.” Her hips started to move sensuously. “Please, Cam?” While she wiggled, he moved one palm over her bottom; the other hand went between her legs, a finger stroking her labia. “Oh, yes,” she said breathlessly, her violet eyes closing. “Oh, yes. Like that. Touch me like that,” she said, and rose up on her knees, her free-fall of lush femininity displayed for his eyes only. He couldn’t breathe for wanting her. She moved enticingly, swaying like an airborne dancer, teasing him to the summit of sexual desire. He pushed one long finger inside her, then two. When she bucked, he fed her another. “Mmm,” she murmured riding his three digits. Cam ran a thumb shallowly along the seam between Trudy’s round bottom cheeks. He had never touched her in back before, but he wanted to touch her now. Would she let him? Or were some things off-limits? He slid an inquisitive finger inside her buttocks. Trudy’s eyes flew open. “Hmm?” he asked, rubbing the puckered dimple. He wouldn’t if she told him no.
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“Cam, I never—” “Neither have I. But you said, anything I want, baby, and I want this with you. It doesn’t have to be this time—but I will want it soon.” She licked her lips. “I want you so much, Cam.” He pressed against the dainty anal ring. “You gotta tell me, baby.” “Yes, Cam. Anything.” He pressed some more, until the tight flesh relented, and then slipped the tip of his pinky finger inside the tight clasp. “Keep moving, honey,” he told her, and worked his digit up inside her. When she was penetrated, both front and back, he took her nipple into his mouth and suckled her hard while he finger fucked her. “Oh, God.” She stopped moving. “Oh, God. It’s happening.” He gave her a few more deep thrusts and let his fingers go still. While he watched, she tensed like a strung tight bow. Then her body let go, her honey pouring down her thighs in a gush as she screamed. He withdrew his touch. “That was beautiful, baby. Really beautiful.” She cuddled up in his arms, hiding her face in his shoulder. And the bottom dropped out of his world. He was lost, sunk, destroyed. And he knew, for this one weekend, he’d take everything she was offering him. How could he not, when she was offering herself up to him on a silver platter, when she was intent on fulfilling his every male fantasy? Heart pounding, groin tightening, and more urgent than wise, he helped her back up. “Open your legs for me.” She did. Transfixed. Bewitched. Flagrantly out of his head, Cam released his erection, bracketed her hips with his big hands, and shivering with white-hot anticipation, kissed her anywhere, everywhere he could reach. It was like a dam had burst inside him and he could no longer stop the flood. He surged all the way in, then thrust deep. She felt so good. Incredibly tight. After he’d shouted his orgasm, and she’d screamed hers again, he rose from the chair with her in his arms and carried her to the bed. Wrapping a golden curl around his finger, he said, “Take me again. Don’t tell me to leave. Let me stay inside you until we’re both too weak to move.” She touched his face. “Yes, yes. Stay inside me.” And he was gliding in and out of her, losing himself once more to the beauty of loving Trudy. It was going to be a long night.
***** Later that long night, Cam awakened to an empty bed and to an empty room. The bathroom door was ajar, and so he knew Trudy wasn’t in there.
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Tripping over himself, Cam raced for the living room. Trudy was standing by the patio doors. “There you are sweetie,” he said. She was wearing a silk kimono with yard-wide sleeves. “Very sexy. I think you’ve got a green dragon on the back of that robe. Spin, baby! I gotta see him.” She did, giggling over her shoulder. “It’s a damned fire-breathing dragon!” he exclaimed. “I can’t see all of him because he sorta wraps around to your front.” “That’s easily remedied,” she said, untying the knot at her waist and slipping the robe down her bare shoulders. She held it open. “Can you see him better now?” “Yup. He’s a big, fire-snorting dragon, all right. Very ferocious too.” He outlined the dragon with the tip of his finger. The kimono drifted lower; it rested at the first swell of her buttocks. Cam kept outlining her skin, back and forth, round and round, although there was no dragon there, and no excuse to continue. Her shoulders were wide. Her back was narrow. Her waist was slender, and her bottom was as lovely as it was seductive. Seduced, Cam pushed the robe down further, until it covered nothing, and still he pretended to outline that non-existent dragon. It took her shiver to bring him back to his senses. “You must be cold,” he said, carefully replacing the slinky robe over her shoulders. Sighing, she re-tied the knot, and turned. He held out his hands. “Dance with me, baby?” “There’s no music.” “Always the skeptic,” he said. “I hear music. Listen and you will too.” He danced her around the room. After two dances and a lot of kisses, he asked, “Are you feeling warmer now?” “Oh, yes.” She smiled dreamily up into his face. “I want you again, Cam.” How could he refuse her? How could he refuse Trudy anything she wanted? He’d never be strong enough. Whatever her wish, he’d make a gift of it gladly. It was a silent vow. A sealing of their fates. And with that oath, he reached for her. She laughed and spun away. “Not yet.” With a provocative sway of her hips, she glided to a wall where a low armoire was ensconced in front of a mirror. She smiled at him in the glass and untied the belt on her robe. The colorful silk dragon was slain at her feet. “You are a beautiful woman.” “You make me feel beautiful.” Cam almost didn’t recognize his reflection as he walked up behind her. His face wore the dark, concentrated look of a man who was about to go beyond good sense, beyond sound judgment, and into passion. Into excess.
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He smoothed his hands over her. Unhurriedly. Determined to take his time. He kissed her earlobe, her throat, her chin. He captured a jutting breast, admiring its pale daintiness in his big dark palm. Meeting her gaze in the mirror, he thumbed the rosy tip. Once. Twice. Until the nub was distended. “This time, right here, in front of the mirror,” he told her, watching her shocked expression reflected in the glass. “Here?” she squeaked. Cam kissed her jaw. “Why not? I thought you wanted to be wicked?” In persuasion, one hand cupped a breast, while the other smoothed over her belly, finally lowering to her mons. He played with her pretty pubic hair and when she relaxed trustingly against him, he rounded a finger around the lips of her cleft. She ducked her face into his chest. “Don’t be shy, baby,” he urged and gently pulled the folds upwards, opening the outer labia so he could see her clitoris and inner labia in the mirror Trudy stared at herself. He could tell she was fascinated. “You’ve never looked at yourself in a mirror, have you?” “Of course not!” “You should. This is well worth seeing in a mirror,” he said, and massaged her clitoris. “Oh, God,” she groaned and tilted her pelvis so that he could get a better angle on it. He was wearing boxers, and with a quick adjustment, his cock was released and rooting, nudging between her legs. She tensed. “Have you ever done it back to front?” he asked, but he knew damned well she hadn’t. Trudy hadn’t done anything at all. She shook her head. “I’d like to, honey. Right here in front of the mirror, so I can watch your face when you come. This table would be perfect. Just lean over a little for me,” he crooned. “That’s right. Now bring your bottom up. You’re so wet, I’ll slide right in.” “I need to bathe,” she said in an embarrassed whisper. His cock found her wet opening. “No. You don’t, honey.” “But I’m sticky. Between the legs.” “Don’t you know how much you turn me on when you have my semen inside you? I’ve always worn a condom before. You’re the first woman I’ve ever been inside without a rubber coming in between. God, it drives me wild. I’m not letting you shower until Monday morning.” Still rubbing her sweet clit from the front, he penetrated her from the back, his eyes never leaving her reflection in the mirror. He couldn’t get enough of seeing Trudy: her giving body; the flush she wore on her skin; the way her breasts shifted as he gently thrust, the tips of her nipples jiggling. Her face. Man, the look of wonder on her face…
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He’d never forget it. When he returned to Boston, he’d carry the memory of Trudy’s beautiful face with him always. They didn’t sleep at all for the reminder of the night. Cam corrected that: He didn’t let Trudy sleep for the remainder of the night. After each time, he was quick to recover and Trudy was fast to agree, and they had each other again, slow, then fast, then slow again. There was no one else in their world that night but them, and nothing that mattered more than the release they found in one another’s bodies. Somehow though, despite everything they’d done to one another, it didn’t seem real to Cam that a refined lady like Trudy was with a rough-around-the-edges man like him. He had to make it real. At dawn, the frenzy turned wild. Uninhibited. Each coupling grew more and more prolonged. Until finally frantic for completion, they strained feverishly against each other, clawing at each other. Trudy’s legs glided gracefully apart, inviting him inside. “No way, baby, not this time,” he rasped, and turned her onto her belly. He dragged her hips towards him. “This time I want it hard.” Without giving her time to adjust to the different positioning, he grabbed her around the waist and entered her from the rear. His cock rammed unimpeded to her womb, the fit so tight, his pubic hair was smashed against her buttocks. She gasped, and tried to crawl away. He wouldn’t let her escape; he pulled her back. “Lift your bottom,” he said, breathing hard, furious with her and with himself too. He placed his palm on her semen-drenched pussy. “Raise this up high or we’re done here.” “Don’t go,” she pleaded, and did what he asked. “Please don’t go.” “I don’t need a refined lady in my bed, Trudy,” he warned. “I’m sorry. It was just so sudden. I won’t pull away again.” He mounted her again, this time placing his bent forearm near her mouth. “If it hurts too much, bite down.” By morning, his arm was aflame with the marks of Trudy’s teeth.
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CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO Cam had kept her naked, and in a heightened state of orgasmic excitement since Friday after school. Sunday afternoon, though, he’d insisted upon taking her for a walk. She didn’t need a walk; she needed Cam. “Instead of the walk, let’s go back to bed,” Trudy had suggested, running a finger down her lover’s muscled arm. He spanked her bare bottom. “Stop trying to get me all stirred up, Miss Prescott. It won’t work.” “But I want to…you know.” “Later. Right now, you need some fresh air and exercise” “I’ve gotten plenty of exercise.” Trudy grinned to herself. Exercise…and an extensive education. She could no longer say she was inexperienced when it came to sexual matters; Cam had taught her well. “I’m taking you out for a walk in the woods,” Cam said, his authoritative tone brooking no arguments. “Take your binoculars and pull on a coat.” “Can’t I get dressed?” “No,” he answered. And that had been that; they’d hopped in the Jeep and done some bird watching in the woods. It had been wonderful. She thought Cam enjoyed the excursion almost as much as she had. She’d forgotten all about the fact that she was naked under the coat when they had taken their walk in the woods. But afterwards, that was a different story. Cam decided they’d walk around town too, and she had felt scandalous wearing only the coat. She’d felt worse than scandalous when they stopped to have coffee. After exchanging some small talk at the front of the dimly lit diner, Cam asked Helen, their waitress, for a table in the back corner and for two menus. The last request was absurd because Trudy knew the diner’s menu backwards and forwards and it never changed, and besides, they were only ordering coffee. Cam was fully clothed, of course, and so he took off his jacket, hung it on the metal coat rack at the end of the darkened booth, and took a seat beside her, rather than across from her, his hand placed slightly above her knee. After Helen served the coffee, Cam, smiled at the hovering waitress and said, dismissively: “That will be all. Thanks.” They sipped their coffee, quietly discussing the birds they had seen that day, when Cam said, “You feel overheated, baby. Unbutton the coat.” Cam was right; she was feeling warm, but not because the diner’s thermostat was set too high: She’d been in a constant orgasmic state since Friday afternoon and she’d
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become so sensitized, so conditioned, that just Cam’s touch was enough to trigger climax. She undid the first button. “All the way, Trudy. Collar to hem.” “But Cam—” “If you do not follow my directive, the coat will need to come off,” he said sternly but kindly. She unbuttoned the coat. “Pull it back a little, sweetheart. Just enough for me to see your breasts.” She blushed furiously. “Cam, this is a public restaurant!” “Do it!” She opened her coat. “Your nipples are erect, Trudy,” he said and fondled one. She moaned as he touched her. She was too gone to protest when he opened her coat wider, until it was just about off her shoulders and she was completely exposed down the front and her breasts were thrusting out; too needy to question him when he placed the menu on top of her exposed lap. The hand that had been fondling her breasts, left her breasts, and disappeared under the tabletop. His tricky fingers walked up her thigh, and burrowed under the menu’s ‘soup du jour’ listings. “Open your legs,” he demanded. “I want my hand on your pussy.” She parted her thighs for him. “You’re covered in my semen,” he advised as he stroked her loins. “Your slit is sticky with it.” “You wouldn’t let me shower,” she managed to groan. “I’m not complaining; I like it.” He kissed the side of her neck while he digitally manipulated her, paying close attention to the throbbing scrap of flesh at the top of her sex. “Oh, God,” she rasped. “I’m coming, Cam.” He slanted his lips over hers then, taking her scream in his mouth. She writhed her way to orgasm there in the booth, uncaring of anything but her own pleasure and Cam’s delicious, coffee-tasting mouth. When it was over, and he was done with her, he removed the menu from her lap, buttoned her back into her coat, and helped her rise from the booth. After leaving money for the bill and tip on the table, Cam gave a big goodbye to Helen, and walked Trudy out the door. Trudy knew that if she lived to be one hundred, she’d never do anything as dirty again. Now they were home and Cam was asking, “How you doin’, babe?” as he removed her coat at the door, which left her naked again. “I’m fine,” she said with a yawn. He took her hand. “You will be fine once I get you in a bed.”
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She twittered. “Is that a promise?” “Oh, yeah,” he said. “I’m definitely committed to making you feel fine.” Her voice was coy. “I’ll need to take a shower first.” “No shower,” he said adamantly. “Cam, I really need to—” One look into his darkening brown eyes stopped her cold. She had agreed to this. She had agreed to everything, to do everything he asked, and she knew if she didn’t do exactly as he told her, he would end their luscious affair. She couldn’t bear to think of that happening! “I’ll bathe you.” He eyed her breasts. “No shower.” He gave her bare bottom a brisk slap. “Go into the living room. In front of the fireplace,” he added. Cam had started the fire before they’d left for their walk and so the room would be nice and toasty by now. Trudy was seated crossed-legged, gazing into the leaping flames, when her lover returned carrying a shallow water basin, and her comb and brush set. He knelt down behind her and softly brushed her permed curls until she was purring in pleasure. “Lie on your back, baby,” he said. Trudy reclined on the rug on her back, feeling utterly boneless as Cam began to bathe her with a warm cloth, face to toes. When he was done, he folded her legs up and back and bathed her vagina with the warm water, gently patting her dry afterwards. Then he bent his head and went down on her. Her back arched up off the rug. “Oh-oh-oh.” This was all so new to her! She couldn’t contain her excitement as he tongued high up, the kiss of his mouth every bit as facile as the touch of his fingers. Her climax was inevitable and very nearly instantaneous. “I only want you to come once this time,” he said, acknowledging her propensity for multiple orgasms. His grin was huge and confident; he was well aware that he controlled her every response. “You’ll need your strength for later,” he tantalized. “Onto your belly now, baby. He helped her turn over. He repeated the gentle washing, just as he had done with her front, ending the sponge bath by separating her buttocks and trickling warm water into the crevice. She felt decadently wicked… “Stay as you are,” he said after he’d patted her dry. She nodded, her eyes closing in relaxation. She’d almost drifted off to a satiated sleep when she felt his warm naked body cover hers, felt the weight of his testicles drag back and forth over her back and bottom, felt his hard penis nudge her buttocks. He was not finished with her yet. “Mmm,” she said and stretched. “Yes?” he asked.
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“Oh, yes,” she replied, fully awake now. He was suspended on his elbows so she wouldn’t have to take his weight. He kissed her ear and whispered: “If your answer is yes, you’ll need to go up on your hands and knees, honey.” He positioned her on all fours, head resting on her bent arms, bottom up in the air. He was crouched behind her. He was going to take her from behind, just as he had done twice before. A finger was drawn down her back, between her buttocks. “Tight, “ he pronounced as he delicately probed the dimpled opening. “I’ll use the oil.” Oh! The oil! She thought, feeling horribly stupid. This time, Cam would not be going into her vagina. This time, would be an anal penetration. The oil’s musky scent filled the room when he opened the bottle. The lubricant was warmed from his hand, still she shivered when he anointed her with it, shivered when he pressed an oiled finger against her back opening: This was illicit intercourse, and not anything she’d ever considered doing— His oiled fingertip entered her. She went very still when he proceeded to gently stretch her. “With me so far?” he asked, considerately. “Yes,” she whispered. He withdrew his finger from her back opening and kissed the base of her spine. “We’ll take this nice and slow,” he promised, tenderly kissing each bottom cheek. His cock nudged her, then slid inside her buttocks, the bulbous head pressing against her anus, seeking entry. “Trudy,” he moaned, and held her close. “Oh, Christ, Trudy—” One more push and he’d be inside. His breathing was ragged. “Baby, are you sure?” She felt what he was feeling, the indecision, the turmoil, and it was just too overwhelming. Her emotions, her passion, were just too raw, too new. They overpowered her. She couldn’t help herself; she started to cry. “I want you so much!” she wept. “Hush, baby,” he said. Withdrawing, he took her into his arms, rocking her. “Don’t cry.” Just like that night in The Evergreen, she couldn’t seem to stop crying. She had this horrible feeling that she loved Cam. How would she be able to give him up? He picked her up and carried her to the bedroom, placing her in bed under the covers and getting in beside her. “Tonight, only cuddling,” he said holding her close, as though she were the most precious thing on earth to him. “About the cuddling—you are only kidding, right?” “Nope. Go to sleep. You’ve been wicked enough for one day.”
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She rousted herself up on an elbow. “Wait a minute! But wasn’t what you just did with the washcloth…and the fire…and…the oils and the hair brushing…wasn’t that foreplay?” He chuckled sleepily. “Sweetheart, it’s all foreplay with you.”
***** Cam was too aroused to sleep. While Trudy slumbered on peacefully in the dark room, he lay there behind her in the bed, listening to each breath she took. At three in the morning, he raised her knee to her belly, and began to gently stroke her between the legs. Consequently, she was very wet. Very relaxed. Very giving under his caressing fingers. When she was purring, edging toward climax, he reached for the lamp on the nightstand and switched the light on low. Now that he could see what he was doing, he opened the top drawer of the small table, ignoring the bottle of oil in favor of the tube of lube. Cam tenderly arranged Trudy so that she was on her back, and removed the pretty bedding, smiling at her naked vulnerability while he coated his turgid cock. Her skin looked so pale by the glow of the lamp, so white, except for her open slit; that pouty flesh looked pink and moist, he knew it was lusciously fuckable. Another time. He wouldn’t be penetrating her vaginally tonight. He knew what Trudy wanted, what she needed, and what he needed and wanted to do. Because the exploration was uncharted waters for both of them, the act would bring them closer together in intimacy. It would also prove something to her that needed to be proved. He coated two fingertips, then leaned over her from his position at her feet, and kissed her lips. By the time she stirred, opened her eyes, and smiled at him he had her knees raised and was fingering her anus for the second time that night; this time there was no going back, no stopping. “Honey, do you remember I asked you not too long ago if you trusted me?” “Yes,” she whispered, her eyes going wide at what he was doing to her. “I would trust you with my life,” he vowed. “You’re going to have to trust me that much too if this to going to work.” He pressed another lubed finger to her back opening and pushed it into her. “I want to put my cock where my fingers are now,” he whispered, moving those digits slowly. “You have such a sweet ass, Trudy, and I can’t wait to make it my own. Do want me inside where I’m touching you?” “Yes, Cam. I want you inside me there. And I do trust you now.” He kissed her knee as he crossed it over to the other side so that he could get at her clit and manipulate her anus at the same time. “Mmm,” she said and closed her eyes, savoring each stroke, a smile of carnal acceptance on her pretty face. “Just the head goes in until you’re ready,” he said, slowly withdrawing his two fingers and replacing them with his cock, pressing, pressing, patiently pressing, no going back this time, pressing against the anal ring.
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“Cam?” she asked fretfully. “Trust me, Trudy. Just the head goes in until we both get used to it being there.” “I trust you Cam,” she said. While giving her clit a loving caress, he applied a little more pressure and the pop he’d been waiting for was his; he was inside her anus, but just the shallowest breech. “Did I hurt you?” he asked. “No. I—I—well, it’s different. Good, different.” “It’s good here too.” The sight of his cock in her ass was the most erotic experience of his life; he couldn’t get enough of looking, and he knew he couldn’t get enough of Trudy. Already he was planning the next time— He gave her clit some more attention, and she started to writhe. “I can’t tell you how good you feel to me, sugar,” he murmured, then clenched his jaw against the urge to thrust hard, to take what he wanted to take. Patience was the key. He came back out, though reluctantly. “Cam,” she shrieked. “Don’t stop now.” “I won’t, baby,” he said and pushed back in her again, easier this time, a little deeper this time, liking it more this time because Trudy was liking it too. In and out he went, deeper, easier, taking his sweet time, until his little sweetheart was humming his name and fisting the sheets, liking it, no, lovin’ it, he could tell. When he was sliding back and forth with little resistance, he withdrew all the way, sliding back on the heels of his feet. It was torture leaving her; he wanted to complete it that bad. “It’s up to you, Trudy,” he said nobly. “Yes, Cam. Oh, yes.” Thank you, Jesus. He helped her get onto all fours. “Raise up a little higher for me, baby. That’s right. Push your bottom right up. Don’t you go being shy with Cam. There’s no reason to be. You’re ass is so sweet,” he soothed, and slid his cock right into her sweet, sweet, sweet, ass. His wicked lady came on the first full stroke.
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Chapter Twenty-Three Trudy almost didn’t recognize the happy woman in the mirror, the one looking back at her in a deceptively simple, long-sleeved scarlet dress. After a weekend luxuriating in Cam’s protective passion, and for the first time in her life, she felt whole. She couldn’t have asked for a more sensitive, more caring lover than Cam. “Are you all right?” Cam asked from the threshold of her bedroom. She looked up. “I’m fine. Why?” “We need to talk, baby.” His dark eyes narrowed on her face. “Do you have time before you leave for school?” “Yes. Of course.” She forced herself to smile. “Please stop looking so worried.” She held out her hands to him. “I knew this was coming. I’ve been expecting it.” He took a cautious step inside the room, but he didn’t take her hands. “I’m ready to leave,” he said, voice cool and reserved. Odd, that his voice was so impersonal. Odd too, that Cam was keeping his distance, when he hadn’t been more than a touch away from her all night. Last night, he’d kept her close. If she hadn’t been enfolded in his arms, he’d been exploring her body with his big hands. She didn’t have any regrets—did Cam? Is that why he hadn’t kissed her good morning? Did he want to forget that their sighs, their groans…their screams…had ever happened? If this were how it was going to be, she’d have to accept it. But she would dearly like to remain friends with Cam, even if the intimate aspect of their relationship was now over. He lover, avoiding eye contact, looked out the bedroom window. “Cam, we were friends before we went to bed together. Why can’t we be friends now?” “Because—” “Because why?” “You’re not making this easy, Trudy.” “You’re angry at me, Cam, and I need to understand why. Is it something I said? Something I did?” “It’s nothing.” “Oh, it’s something, all right!” “Okay, here it is: Things got a little wild last night and we need to put some space between us.” “Why?” “Because I nearly devoured you. I nearly ate you up whole.” He dragged his hands through his hair. “The sex was out of control. I could’ve hurt you. I don’t want to hurt you, not ever.” She looked truthfully into his eyes. “I know that you won’t hurt me. You’re a good man, Cameron Wyler. Stay until I come home from school at least—” “I can’t, baby.”
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“You’re afraid.” “Absolutely,” he admitted. “You want to wash your hands of me on the outside chance that I might get hurt,” she accused. “That way, you won’t have to blame yourself afterwards.” “No! That’s not how it is, and don’t go putting words in my mouth.” “I’m not. I’m putting myself in your position,” she cried. “I’m beginning to understand how you think. You don’t want to be responsible for another person’s life. You’re scared you’ll let me down the same way you let Harry down.” His hands clenched into fists. “Don’t you say that to me,” he seethed. “Don’t you ever say that! I did not let Harry down.” “You let him die, didn’t you? It was all your fault,” she said without expression. “No, no, no! That’s not how it happened. Harry should have waited for me before he ever went walking into the alley that night. He was my partner and it was standard procedure to wait for back up. I was his backup. But, oh, no! Not Harry. He had to be the hero. I was in charge of the operation, but he wouldn’t listen to me. He went in alone and he got himself killed because of it.” “Because Harry loved you like family, Cam. I think he knew something was up that night. I think he had a bad feeling. How else can you explain why he didn’t wait for you to arrive?” “Harry’s bad feelings didn’t matter spit. That case was my responsibility. I was the senior partner; Harry was my responsibility!” “Harry made a choice. Don’t you see that? After he made that choice, you were no more responsible for him than you are now for me.” She stepped up to his chest, burrowed into his arms. “Your guilt is misplaced, but I understand how you feel, Cam.” “You can’t understand,” he exploded. “No one can.” “My parents died in a car accident. I survived the crash.” She looked into his eyes. “I was the one behind the wheel. Oh, it wasn’t my fault. I was stopped at a red light when a drunk driver rammed the passenger’s side. But I felt responsible for years afterwards.” He hugged her close. “Oh, baby. I’m so sorry.” “Sutton is a small town. Everyone knows everyone else. I was only a teenager when my folks died and they all, every one of these nosey, interfering, meddling townies, took me to their hearts and into their families. I had no one else, Cam. No one. No family left. If not for their loving kindness, I would have gone crazy with grief. I owe these people my sanity. I’ll never leave this place. Never! And I will never be able to repay their generosity.” Cam took a deep breath. “I didn’t understand before, Trudy, but I understand now. You’ve got unfinished business here in Sutton, and I’ve got some of my own in Boston.” He kissed her once more, and then put her aside. “No tears goodbye, okay?” “Okay.” And just like that Cameron Wyler walked out of her life.
*****
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After being away so long, Cam thought he’d be spinning cartwheels once he got back to Boston. Surprisingly, that wasn’t the case. In a blinding flash of unexpected insight, he realized he missed Maine. The wide open spaces. The clean air. Hell, even the damned moose. And Trudy. Christ, he missed that woman. He was heartsick without her. He signed himself up with a shrink to talk about ‘his unresolved issues with Harry’. He finished up his physical therapy. He got himself well, pulled a big promotion, and was re-assigned to the field— It mattered squat without Trudy. And he kept remembering that last Saturday morning they’d spent together… They were in the kitchen. His flannel shirt was all Trudy was wearing. It covered her to the knees, but gaped open in front, revealing firm breasts and a smooth belly. God, he wished she’d buttoned that shirt. Maybe if she had buttoned up, he would’ve been able to keep his hands off her. But she hadn’t, and she was already in his arms, and she was pretty and sexy and sleep-rumpled…and her tongue was in his ear, and he was only human. Only human, but wanting more than just sex, and realizing that all that Trudy wanted from him was…what? What the hell did she want from him? He’d finally figured it out that Monday morning, and that’s when he’d left. It came to him in a blinding flash of insight why she didn’t want him to use condoms He’d been used. He was angry. For awhile. But he didn’t stay angry long. Cam sighed. If it hadn’t been for Harry’s death and looking for Gloria, Trudy and he never would have met— And that left Cam feeling…blessed. Because, despite all the odds against it happening, they had met. But making a baby? Him? He was almost thirty-six years old. And the truth was, he wouldn’t mind starting a family. But he wanted to be married first. And he wanted to be married to Trudy. He loved her. Genuinely loved her. For keeps. If only they didn’t have all this stuff… Would he be satisfied moving to Sutton and never leaving again? He was a city boy. Would the quiet life suit him? Yeah. He decided; it would suit him, if the quiet life meant he could have Trudy. The bottom line was, he’d do anything if it meant he could have Trudy. Get married. Move to Sutton. Change careers. Have a house-full of babies. He could do it. Could she? He was going to have to find out.
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Chapter Twenty-Four Three months later… Miss Prescott was staying after school to redecorate her classroom. The holidays were over and it was time to take down snow flakes and put up presidential profiles. She was standing by the window, picking a particularly stubborn piece of scotch tape from the glass pane, when a familiar looking red Jeep pulled into the parking lot. As she picked gummy tape from the frosted glass pane, a tall African-American man, not nearly bundled up warmly enough considering that it was February and this was Maine, got out of the car and started to make his way between the snow banks to the school’s visitor’s entrance. Cam. What on earth was he doing here? The man she loved was hovering in the doorway, half in, half out, like a shy little boy. She smiled at him in understanding. She knew all about insecurity, all about shyness, all about hanging back in fear. “Please come in,” she said, feeling all those emotions too. “I didn’t want to interrupt.” Cam approached her oak desk. “I know how busy you are. I can leave and come back later if I’ve caught you at a bad time.” “I’m never too busy to talk to an old friend.” “Is that what I am to you? An old friend?” Her eyes lowered. “There’s nothing wrong with friendship, Cam.” He sighed. “You still love teaching?” “It’s my life. But that’s not why you’ve driven all the way up here from Boston?” She placed her red pencil in its holder. “Why don’t you tell me what you’re doing in Maine, Cam?” “I needed to see you. I needed to talk to you.” Cam took a seat on the corner of her desk and reached for her hand. “I’ve missed you, Trudy.” Her fingers wound around his. “I’ve missed you too. Thank you for sending me all those funny cards. You must have spent a fortune on stamps.” He looked down to where their fingers were joined. “It was the coward’s way out, those cards. I picked up the phone about a hundred times a day and couldn’t manage to dial your number.” “I understand. You’ve been very busy.” Trudy held his hand even tighter. “And how are you? Do you still have that sad monkey riding your back?” “He gives me a punch from time to time.” Cam shrugged. “I’ll always miss Harry, but some of my guilt about the way he died has let up. You helped me see things from a different perspective. You made me see we’ve all got choices.” “I’m happy.”
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“Are you?” Cam gently held her chin so that she couldn’t look away. “Are you happy, Trudy? Because you know, you’ve got choices too. You don’t have to be dragged down by the past. You can let me love you. I do love you very much. We can make a future together.” “We happened so fast, Cam,” she began quietly. “You were rebounding from an injury and grief, looking for a friend—” Cam dropped his hand from her face. When he spoke again, he brought tears to her determinedly dry eyes. “We can have friendship along with passion. One doesn’t negate the other. We can have everything. But I knew you needed some space, and that’s why I waited to move up here. Believe me, it killed me staying away from you this long.” Move? Did Cam say he moved to Maine? “You m-moved?” she stammered. “Yep. I’ve got a teaching job at the University of Maine in Augusta. In the Criminal Justice department. I’ll be teaching a full load come Fall, mostly on ethics and the law. It’s a fascinating subject. One that’s always appealed to me.” “But Maine. You hate Maine!” “It’s growing on me, Trudy. It’s growing on me. I’m not gonna lie and say that Sutton is the only place on earth I’ve ever wanted to live, but that’s where you are, and that’s enough reason for me to be here too.” “All these changes in your life! I hope you didn’t do all this for me, Cam, because if you did—” “Trudy, I would do anything for you, but you’re not the whole reason for the changes. I’ve been dissatisfied for some time with detective work.” He sighed. “You’re giving me lots of arguments here. Asking me lots of questions. It’s time I asked you one. Okay?” Trudy braced herself. “Okay.” “Why did you have that ratty bathrobe at your house?” “What ratty bathrobe?” “You know, the ugly brown one. The man’s robe.” “Oh, that robe.” She felt herself blush. “It didn’t belong to a former lover, Trudy, did it? What was it doing there?” Of all the questions Trudy had been prepared for, that was not one of them. Leave it to Cam to cut through the crap and get to the heart of the matter— Of all her eccentricities, and there were quite a few, the brown robe was the most embarrassing, for that worn, ugly man’s robe was her security blanket. She bought it that first horrible year after her parents died, when she thought she would die of loneliness. She’d wrap herself in it like other young women wrapped themselves in the arms of a lover. It was silly, she knew, to have hung onto it for so long. And yet she couldn’t bring herself to get rid of it. “It’s just a robe, Cam. It’s warm.” “No secrets between us,” he said, curtly. “Tell me.” She plucked nervously at her jumper.
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Secrets? Cam had no idea what kinds of secrets she was hiding from him! He didn’t know that at first she’d been going to use him to get pregnant. He wouldn’t think very much of her if he found out. He’d feel used. Any man would. “Trudy, if you can tell me this secret, you can tell me the rest.” “Oh, very well,” she snapped, angry with him for forcing her to reveal herself in such a vulnerable light. “I wear that robe when I’m lonely. I pretend that the robe belongs to a man. A man I love. There! Now are you satisfied?” “I want that robe.” “What!” “That robe is mine, woman. You owe it to me for clawing at my Jeep’s upholstery. I can still see the scratch marks, ya know.” “You’re crazy—” “Yep. For you. I’m crazy enough to believe I can be the man you love. Let me wrap you up in my arms on cold winter nights. Let me keep you warm. I know you love me. Why won’t you admit it?” “I’m pregnant.” Cam jumped up off the corner of her desk and pulled her to her feet too. His hands sculpted her stomach. “This is my baby!” “I’m due in the summer. During school vacation. It couldn’t have worked out better if I’d planned it.” “You did plan it, Trudy.” She stopped breathing. He knew? Cam stroked her belly lovingly. “You wanted this to happen. That’s why you wouldn’t let me protect you. You wanted this baby.” “Yes,” she said defiantly, refusing, absolutely refusing, to ever call this baby an accident. “I do want this baby. With all my heart, but it’s not what you think…it’s not how it looks.” Cam covered her lips with a finger. “I don’t care how it happened. I don’t care how it looks. I want this baby too.” “You do?” “Yeah. I want lots of babies with you.” She looked down. “I think you should know that this baby may be the one and only. I have a reproductive problem that might worsen as I age. I consider myself truly blessed to have gotten pregnant this time—” “I consider us blessed too. One baby. A dozen babies. I’m a happy man, Trudy.” “But you must care,” she said, totally confused by his attitude. “How could you not feel used?” “Used! Ha! I wasn’t used. We were fated to meet that night and exactly the way it happened. You can’t buck fate, Trudy.” “Cam, please be serious! Let me explain…” “Go ahead, but it won’t make any difference to me.”
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“I made love with you because I wanted you, not because I wanted to become pregnant. After the first night, it was never about that. I decided I couldn’t make love with a stranger, that I couldn’t conceive a baby in emotional coldness. And then you kissed me and well, I…” “You fell in love with me. I know.” He kissed her right on her astonished expression. “So, marry me already.” “I love you, you idiot. If that’s fate, then yes, I believe in it. And I believe in you, Cam. I trust you. And I will marry you. I think maybe we’re on our way to that happily ever after you told me about.”
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