Learning Curves

Melissa Glisan

LEARNING CURVES BY MELISSA GLISAN Venus Press LLC

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The scanning, uploading and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal, and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage the electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, places, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

LEARNING CURVES Copyright © 2006 by Melissa Glisan ISBN: 1-59836-333-6 Cover Art © 2006 by Dan Skinner All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any form without permission, except as provided by the U.S. Copyright Law. Printed and bound in the United States of America. For information, you can find us on the web at www.VenusPress.com

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Dedication:

For Daniel, Elizabeth and Barbara; in thanks for all of your love and support. I owe you more than words can say.

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Chapter One

Females are naturally libidinous, incite the males to copulation, and cry out during the act of coition. Aristotle, Historia Animalium “I’m bored,” Jamie said lazing on the couch. He was sprawled watching an endless parade of scantily clad women on the Spice Channel. “You call this boring?” His cousin Kenny shot him a grin from the recliner. He was set up and ready for a night of adult movies—a case of beer at his feet, popcorn in hand and had a pizza on the way. Jamie lifted a brow and stared at Kenny. He wasn’t just bored with watching porn; he was bored with women. In high school, it was fun picking up girls and honing skills that led to him being chased. Now, there was no real joy to it. Most of his friends were married and the ones who weren’t, just went out to drink, heavily. “I think the biggest problem is that there isn’t any excitement left to sex.” Jamie turned back to the television and pointed to a large-breasted redhead. “You see that one? We’ve seen like every movie she’s been in and it’s always the same. A little bit of mediocre oral from both, missionary, doggie, and then the guy blows his load over her face.” “Well if that is how you feel, I got a movie with this new hottie--” “Nah, that’s not it. It isn’t just the movies. Sex with women around here has gotten just as dull. Sure, you may get a girl willing to go down on you, but they screw it up. The last blowjob I got was so bad I finally had to tell her to stop. She was so awful at it I almost went soft.” “Dude, do you know how hard it is to find someone willing to do oral?” Kenny’s eyes bugged. “I’d be grateful for a lousy blowjob. I haven’t been laid in two months. You suck!” “I just want one good sex partner—no commitment or relationship crap—just some real good sex. Maybe I should head out to Quest and see if Tammy is there.” Jamie swung his legs off the couch, onto the floor and began searching for his shoes. 5

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“Man, you aren’t gong to find good sex in any silicone Barbie you scam at the bar. They are there on the prowl, looking just good enough to find someone to make them scream, not the other way around.” Cracking a beer, Kenny took a long drink and eyed his cousin tiredly. “Well, what do you suggest? Last time I followed your advice and took out an ugly chick, all she did was lay there. It was like fucking a pillow!” Standing up, Jamie paced in front of the TV. Kenny grinned, he knew the perfect person to set Jamie up with, the only problem was going to be convincing him to go. “I can get you the best night of your life, but only if you are willing to go along with it.” Kenny had one ace up his sleeve, something, no, someone, Jamie never even saw as date material in high school, let alone afterwards. “What the hell are you talking about? I am not going to pay for a hooker, and strip joints are over rated. A bunch of flabby, out-of-shape former ballerinas flopping around in g-strings, and pasties don’t do much for me.” He shrugged on his jacket, “I’m heading out to Quest.” “Hold on a second, hear me out. I know this woman who could rock your world, but it has to be on her terms. You know her, so I don’t know if she’d be interested, but I guarantee you the best night of your life.” “You, guarantee me incredible sex? Kenny, please,” he shot his cousin a withering look, “if this chick is “all that” why aren’t you still with her?” Kenny winced, “I wasn’t good enough.” Jamie grinned, “Seriously?” “Yeah, seriously. She sent me packing, wouldn’t even let me get dressed before she tossed me out on her front step.” “And I am supposed to know this diva of the sheets?” Jamie started thinking furiously, flipping through images of all the women he remembered, trying to find one who sounded bold enough, talented enough to pull off a stunt like that. He came up blank. “Yeah, I’m interested.” Reaching for the phone, Kenny dialed from memory.

**** Now it is my turn, Sarah thought as she walked naked to her toy closet. “I am in charge and he has become my little toy.” The words gave her a feeling of even greater power. As a teenager, she had a huge crush on Jamie Sleator, which bloomed into a sexual fascination that was nearly her undoing. Hours she would study sex manuals and books, trying to soak up every trick and tip recorded, in hopes of snaring his attention. 6

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Out of desperation, she even agreed to try out her knowledge on his cousin Kenny Thomas. He’d been such a disappointment that she threw his clothes out the window and told him to leave or follow them. “Poor plain Sarah Jane,” Jamie had called her as she walked home with him from school. She grinned viciously at the once hurtful memory. In high school she had kept her mouth shut and listened to everything, cafeteria gossip, bathroom confidences and even the bragging from gym class. Most of it centered on Jamie, but not all of it. There was an upper classman named Sam Bennett who didn’t look like much, yet managed to get the quiet nods of approval from the girls in the know. It was funny how she discovered that the girls who loudly chatted about great sexual experiences were either ego-stroking virgins or the next closest thing. The ones who kept quiet and enjoyed good sex didn’t feel a need to show off for their friends. It was also how she discovered that Sam was worth every whispered word. She had walked up to Sam, bold as brass after school one day and asked to be taught how to fuck. He hadn’t even looked surprised, just studied her quietly before nodding. As a couple, Sam and Sarah didn’t exist, not even to the sharp-eyed gossip harpies. She would go over to his house three nights each week, supposedly to be tutored in math, but would instead spend those hours sweating and hurting. The newest whispers in the gossip mill were full of Jamie. He’d come back from college with a degree and a good job. Most of the women in town threw themselves at him, hoping that they could snare him with their looks and a minimum of effort. Tammy Sanders was the only one able to boast keeping his interest longer than a month. And, Sarah grinned cattily, if the rumors were true, little Tammy didn’t want to play with Jamie any more. The more women Jamie bedded the more vicious he became as a lover. Just last week Tammy went to the doctor over an “injury at the gym” that didn’t fool anyone. Sarah liked it rough, but only on her terms. Now she would have Jamie the same way. He agreed to meet her tomorrow at Quest for dinner and an interview. Kenny might not have set the world on fire with his sexual technique, but he made her blood burn with his call setting up the date cum interview with Jamie. A part of her wondered if Jamie would still reject her for being “poor plain Sarah Jane” or if he’d be so intrigued to try anyway. Regardless, she had a client tonight, someone who enjoyed her touch a little too much. Lips curving, she wondered if it wasn’t time to release Sam to his pretty, young fiancée.

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Leaning over, Sarah slid her daintily arched foot into a long leather boot. Pulling the zipper the tight leather sheath squeezed her calf, reminding her of their last time; when she buried a sword of her own devising into his tight virgin flesh. Their first year together she had been the student, the second she shared her body with others, men and women, while Sam watched, corrected and applauded. Sometimes he had even joined the fun. The third year introduced restraints, exotic toys, and the “forbidden” arts. Then Sam found love. Now he only came around when hunger beggared him. Sarah never stopped learning or listening. When he expressed curiosity over anal play she agreed to teach him, now he was hooked on her again. Poor little Penny was getting angry not knowing where her loving fiancée would disappear to for hours on end. Adjusting the snug fit of her sleek leather bodice and corseted bikini pants, Sarah admitted that she only took such joy in Sam’s last session because of the pain she inflicted—pain similar to what she felt after he first abandoned her. Perhaps, she thought, it was time to send him home and encourage him to train his soon-to-be-wife. Turning to the mirror, she made a few last minute adjustments and felt desire stir as the aroma of leather binding her body mingled with her own musky scent. Instead of gloves, Sarah considered her collection of toys. “Ahhh,” she sighed contentedly as a small object winked from a corner—a new idea for tonight. Choosing a set of gleaming, segmented silver-finger armor, she slid each piece on, flexing her hands. Purring in delight at the bright and sharp cat-like claws, she imagined them sinking into Sam’s flesh as he desperately worked his mouth on her flesh for the last time. “Excellent! Now, what ever goes with these lovelies?” she addressed her reflection. There in the corner, she spied a pair of Spanish spurs. They had cunningly been adapted to hug her boots with small leather straps, yet stand proudly erect behind the heel. In the mirror sharp teeth gleamed hungrily in the muted light, glinting and winking asking for soft flesh to abrade and punish. Time for accessories, Sarah checked the clock on the small table beside the bed. Sam was due just before midnight; he was seeing Penny off at the airport. If not for Penny’s sales job, he would have no playtime at all. Languidly making her way to the large walk-in closet, she listened to the small spurs jingling merrily with each step on the hard wood floor. Flinging open the double doors, she inhaled deeply the scent of pheromone laced lubricant, leather and latex. The smell made the muscles of her vagina clench and shiver in anticipation. Shining claws picked delicately though suede floggers and cats—all too soft and slippery for tonight’s play. She wanted something silvered and feral—something with an 8

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edge equal to her hunger. Winking at her from the corner was a gift from a male who wanted her attention but was sorely lacking. It was a flail made of gleaming stainless steel cables, whipcord thin and thirsty. Hefting it, Sarah imagined she could feel its need to feed in the thick-corded handle. Shame, she thought, it wasn’t outfitted with a dildoend like her other whips. However, it would be just fine for tonight. After all, she reminded herself, tonight is about my pleasure, not his. Walking to the living room, Sarah dimmed the lights and closed the heavy brocade curtains. There were heavy D rings bolted into the walls and ceilings. The last time Sam had been over, she had used the wall restraints, combined with the padded saw horse, keeping him bent over and opened for her strap-on. Giving into a minor spiteful urge, Sarah picked up her cordless phone and dialed his beeper. Normally she hated the damned thing because it was a reminder of her, but tonight she wanted Penny to worry, so she would leave a message. Pavlov’s dogs were trained to respond to bells; Sarah lost herself in thoughts of what she could train Sam to do at the sound of a bell. Staring at the polished steel rings on ceiling and wall, she devised her plan for the night. While waiting, she finished preparing the room with spicy scented candles, chains, restraints, and a swing of wide leather straps.

**** On the drive to the airport, Sam cursed inwardly as his beeper sounded. Penny grabbed it suspiciously and read out the text message, “school is out.” “What the hell does that mean?” Her small mouth scrunched up in a confused pout. The message made his ass pucker, but also made him laugh in relief. Covering, he laughed, “I don’t know, maybe some kid dialed the wrong number.” So he was being put out to pasture, he thought. That was fine by him; he’d started “playing teacher” with Penny out of desperation when Sarah began cutting him out. Maybe she was finally tired of him, or maybe, he grinned; she finally managed to snare the guy she’d been lusting after for so many years. Sarah never did tell him just who she wanted trained to fuck, just that she wanted to be so good that the guy would never think to look away. Poor Sarah, he mused, she just didn’t understand that sex could be incredible but without love, it just wasn’t enough. Pulling into the terminal, he scowled at the security guards. “I hate not being able to come in and see you off.” Penny laughed and clipped his pager to his front pocket. “Me too hon, but I don’t make the rules. Anyway, you don’t need to be inside to set me off.” Her playful tone warmed his blood. 9

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“Hmm…if you like making rules maybe you can think up some good ones while you are away,” he growled into her ear, suggestively nipping at the lobe. Her breath caught in her throat and he smiled knowingly at the telltale twin peaks tenting her thin silk shirt. Giving in, he lightly brushed his long fingers across her nipples then tweaked one sharply between forefinger and thumb. “Now that is something to think about indeed.” She leaned into the goodbye kiss with more energy, greedily sucking at his lips and biting the tip of his tongue. The wet sound and sharp caress went straight to his cock, swiftly followed by her hand. Adjusting his seatbelt, he released hers, leaned across, and pushed open her door. “Get out of here and hurry back.” She laughed and slid out of the car, clasping her carry-on bag and small briefcase. He enjoyed watching her rounded hips swaying as she walked briskly towards the doors, and disappeared inside. A security guard rapped on the top of the car and grinned, waving him to leave. Buddy, if you think that was a show, you should follow me home, Sam grinned back and waved as he pulled from the curb.

**** Soft piping chimes shimmered in the quiet room. Sarah opened the door and immediately wrinkled her nose in distaste. Sam was there, reeking of Penny’s cheap perfume. She stepped back and pointed him towards the bathroom. His grin angered her; she wanted him to be heartbroken at this being their last night. She wanted him begging, not smiling. He disappeared into the bathroom and she gave vent to her temper, loudly closing the door and slamming the bolts home. He emerged from the bathroom, warm, smelling of clean soap and oils that he rubbed into his skin. Sarah nodded; he understood and was trying to make up for earlier, hoping to please. She didn't like her males to crawl; that was Kenny’s fatal mistake. She enjoyed predators stalking forward with eyes downcast in primal respect to the alpha. Her blood sang in her veins as she watched their strength ripple as they stepped closer, all that power, and masculinity… “Mine to do with as I please.” He didn’t think she was aware of talking out loud; she talked to herself for years. “Yours only for tonight,” he reminded her. The blow registered and he knew it would cost him, but it was okay, he wanted their last night to be more than sex, to be brutal enough that he’d never look back in regret but with relief at being free. Rage swirled in the center of her growing sexual frustration, but she held herself in check, watching as the muted candlelight played over his well-oiled muscles. With a flick of her wrist, Sarah directed him to turn, to better appreciate every hard plane, taut 10

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muscle and sleek curve from ankle to buttocks and higher to the sweep of reddish-black hair at his neck. “Yes, I like proud men to serve me,” she ground out in guttural tones of haughty desire. Hooking the chill metal flail around his neck, her eyes hungered at the goose bumps that rose on his slick, hot flesh. Rubbing her face in the fur of his chest, Sarah inhaled the familiar, safe scent of him. He is foolish to want another, she reminded herself. Looking up, she saw he was staring away from her, at a spot across the room. Stepping back, she pulled his chin to look down into her face. "Ahh, my pretty, I want you to watch tonight so you know the exact moment I am done thinking about you as anything more than a tool to be ridden." Her hands grasped his flanks to hold him still, sadistically sinking the sharp tips of her cold talons into the soft skin seaming his anus. Delightfully he shivered in reaction, fear or desire made no difference, Sarah showed her pleasure by dropping to her knees and nuzzling the thick, curling hair at his groin. His cock lengthened, swaying against her throat and cheek, firming and tangling in her hair. Her eyes dark with heat, Sarah looked up, holding his soft brown eyes hostage as she traced the length of him from sac to swollen tip with her tongue. She lapped his shaft like a kitten after cream until he became lost in the sensation and gripped her hair. Batting his hands away, she spun him toward the wall to test the length and action of the flail on the ground at his feet, snapping the air, yet not touching his skin. Sam twitched, muscles jumping in anticipation of the blow that never came. The silvered braids of the metal flail danced on the wood floor just behind his waiting heels. When his flesh no longer twitched and jerked at the musical sound, Sarah bared her teeth in joy. Pulling back, she let the whip sing forward and caress the wall to one side, and then the other of his braced frame, getting a feel for the haft and heft of the thing. His stance loosened, becoming arrogant at his freedom from pain. With a stinging crack, the whip sang out and licked the soft, sensitive flesh found in the crease of buttock and thigh. His buttocks clenched and tightened, thrusting his thick throbbing erection toward the unseeing wall. Counting out loud, a small pause between each brief blow, Sarah deftly allowed only the tips of the flail to snick against his golden skin, painting it scarlet. It isn't his face that enchants me she admitted between licks; it was the beauty of watching his buttocks tighten in micro-thrusts of erotic heat as the metal teeth nipped his legs. I want that beauty used in my service. Not just the heaving thrusts of entry and ride, but that extra juice of piston-pulsing male power. When sweat gathered on his shoulders, she called to him to turn back. 11

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“Not so proud now,” she purred. He stood ready, teeth clenched in a parody of a smile, tut-tutting over the pains inflicted. Sara strove to increase his humiliation by treating his wounds as a mother would a child. Ah! But what mother would fall to her knees and lick such delicious wounds? Small drops of liquid gathered and slid down the head of his engorged penis, catching her eye. Sarah flooded with joy watching his face flame in effort to restrain his passion. She smiled again as the flush traveled, reddening his chest and back as her warm, wet tongue moved to lap the evidence of his arousal, before swallowing him down, fanning the flames of his burgeoning desire. Climbing to her feet, she moved to the swing. “Tonight, I plan to ride...” her voice a mere whisper lashed across his hazing mind. He allowed her hands and soft words to guide him into placing her, first one leg then the other, into the swing, the leather cupping her firm buttocks lovingly. When Sam moved to stand before her, Sarah stopped him and angled her hips backwards inviting him to fill her from behind. As he moved to fill her slowly, her thighs widened, sliding the straps to mid-thigh, allowing her to wrap her legs behind his, catching the sharp spurs on the tender flesh of his inner thighs. The unexpected pain made Sam gasp, tighten his hold on her soft hips, and thrust upward harder and faster than planned. “Yes,” she moaned, clenching around him, digging the spurs in deeper as the head of his cock rubbed fast, deep jabs at her g-spot. Whimpers burst from her throat as she clutched the cold chains suspending the swing from the ceiling. Wave after wave of delicious, vicious heat spiked through her as her body exploded in orgasm, again and again. It was sharper and harder then she imagined and she began to slump back against Sam’s chest. His hand slid from her hip, fingers digging in mercilessly at the slick folds of her labia, pinching and rubbing her clit, spiking electric currents from pelvis to the soles of her feet. Panting, she rubbed against his fingers. Loosening her ankles and bracing her thighs against his, she bowed forward, letting friction build as he pumped in and out of her tight sheath. Her inner muscles convulsing in short, hard spasms as he forced her to orgasm at his whim. Sarah quivered, taut with want; needing to be punished by the release, only he could reduce her to, insensate of anything else. When Sam was inside, pounding her walls, nothing else mattered, no one else existed but for her and her desire. Hoarse sobs ripped from her throat as she fell from queen to slave in his hands, begging for the hot slap of his flesh against hers. Swiveling, Sam spun the swing and pulled her clenched hands from the slick chain, bracing them on the hard wall, changing the angle of his thrusts. Sarah’s body tensed and struggled to remain erect, the muscles of 12

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her stomach and thighs tightening, tensing as she clawed up the wall. It sent her over the edge again in a watery cough as the movement of his thrusts and her fisted muscles forced him tighter to her core. Her release came harder, spurting wetness running over his sac, triggering his own release as he roared to the ceiling. Angrily he pulled back, yanking her out of the swing and onto the floor, roughly splaying her on hands and knees. Placing a firm hand at the small of her back, Sam pushed down until the pink pucker of her ass was in line with his hips. Using his thumbs, he worked the flesh until it softened, opening to him, and then he thrust in, hard and deep, slapping his balls against her slit. Gasping, she tried to rear up from the harsh thrust, her body was dry, not ready for the invasion but he shoved her down, laying his shoulders against hers as he rubbed her mercilessly into the carpet. “I made you for another man’s pleasure. That is all you are for.” He ground out, heaving into her. Sarah heard the words but only felt the burning pain in her ass, tempered by the rough carpet singeing her nipples and the soft slap of his balls against her swollen sex. Fingers dug into the short fibers and gripped, looking for purchase as she desperately angled her hips into each blow. Pressure built in her body, thrumming through her nerves as she lost control to the orgasm that ripped through her, short-circuiting her senses. Collapsing to the floor, she weakly begged for mercy, “Please Master.” Pulling out, he rolled her over and worked his shaft slick with fluids until he jetted long arcs of sperm over her stomach. “You are never going to be the alpha,” he sneered, rubbing her lower stomach, forcing a round of aftershocks to explode behind her eyes. “You haven’t got any control.” Sam rose from the floor and stalked to the bathroom. Looking up dazed and panting, Sarah saw the thin lines of blood running down his thighs and grinned. “Liar,” she snorted at his retreating back, as the door slammed. Her racing heart slowed and the knowledge that Sam was lost to her forever sank home. Her breath hiccupped in her throat, must have made some sound because he opened the door and looked out. “Sarah? Honey, are you okay?” She was sprawled on the floor where he left her, crying. She didn’t want his pity, and in a flash, she realized she wanted his love. Curling into a fetal position, she cried in earnest. “Shit. Baby, did I hurt you?” 13

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“No. Go ‘way, I hurt me,” sniffling she clutched her knees to her chest, “You gave me what I asked for, not what I wanted.” “Hey,” he caressed back her sweat-damped hair and watched her tear stained face. “You called tonight and said, school is over, didn’t you find your love, too?” Mulishly she pouted, and he grinned, feeling a weight lift from his shoulders. It was the same expression she wore on her face after losing her virginity, it meant then that she didn’t want to talk about it. But this time she had to. “C’mon prickly puss, take off that contraption, and hop in the shower. I don’t know why you wear that leather get-up, you’ve got nice perky breasts.” That did it; Sarah made a sound of disgust and lurched to her feet. He herded her towards the bathroom, peeling sticky, sweat-damped leather from her body and dropping it on the floor as they walked. Once in the bathroom, she looked confused, and Sam felt a moment’s guilt. All the years they had shared, he had never once been her friend, or a real lover—just a teacher. She was twenty-four and had skill to make the most dedicated courtesan green with envy, yet she had never dated or taken on a lover that wasn’t at his behest. He ran the water and ducked them both under the hot spray. There was time, maybe, to help her with the problem he saw lurking behind her eyes. “What’s his name?” he asked, rubbing shampoo into her hair. When she shrugged and refused to answer, he ducked her head under the water making her sputter. “Jamie Sleator, damn it, now quit drowning me!” “Jamie?” Now that was interesting indeed. Son of the most lethal attorney in the county, Jamie was well on his way to surpassing his father’s gleaming record of liberating criminals. He was also his little brother’s best friend. Mark and Jamie had been thick as thieves until prom night when Jamie snagged Mark’s girl for a three-way in the hotel. Mark eventually forgave his friend but never really trusted him again. Anger burned in his chest as he remembered how crushed Mark had been and considered how bad the prick could hurt his best friend. “I never told you that I consider you my best friend, did I?” Sam asked, rubbing conditioner into Sarah’s hair. She snorted, “Wonderful, friends with benefits.” “No silly, not like that…well yeah, maybe it was like that at first, but really, I think of you as my best friend now that the benefits are over.” He moved to stand in front of her and shield her from the spray while the conditioner soaked into her hair. The idea made him smile. How many men knew that their wives and girlfriends liked leaving the stuff in their hair for three minutes? 14

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“See?” He waggled his hips at her, making her look down and swallow a laugh as his flaccid penis swung back and forth. “Best friends now.” “You were always the one with the control.” Sarah closed her eyes on the tears she felt. “Hey, none of that, you know better. We should have had this talk ages ago.” He reversed their position in the shower, making her laugh under the spray. “If he hurts you, I’ll kick his ass for you.” “No, no! Nothing like that, it’s just that when I got the call about him wanting an interview, I felt so powerful and in control. Now I feel like I did back in high school all nervous… ” “Interview? What the hell? You guys aren’t going out on a date?” “N--n--no.” Something in Sam’s voice scared her. “You remember Kenny Thomas? The one you had me throw out?” She paused, looking uncertainly into Sam’s eyes. She had never noticed that the melting chocolate brown centers could freeze so hard. “Kenny told him that I…that…” “Shhh…not another word, I understand too well. Kenny thinks you are a professional dominatrix. Sweetheart, you love this guy, you don’t want him as a client but as a lover.” Sarah suddenly felt lost—as if she was sixteen again, standing in the rain, contemplating asking the man before her to be her sexual teacher. “Is there a difference?” Sam’s heart twisted and he wished someone would kick his ass for him. “Yes, there is a huge difference.”

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Chapter Two

Safe sex used to mean a padded headboard. Unknown “Sam! Thanks for meeting me here.” Sarah smiled and stood, welcoming Sam to her small table. After showering, he had agreed to meet her the next day for drinks in the bar before her ‘big date’. Normally he’d kiss her cheek or give Sarah a hug, but didn’t want to muddy the waters any more. They shook hands and he watched as she carefully hid the small hurt in her eyes behind a smiling façade. Critically, he looked over her appearance. She looked good but lightly rumpled. Sarah flushed, “I couldn’t take a day off of work just because I had a date. I look fine.” “First thing sweetie-puss, never apologize, not even when you are wrong. You want this to go your way, you have to remain in control.” Sliding into a chair, he signaled the cocktail server for a beer. “Now, we know what he wants. His cousin told you as much on the phone. He wants a night of incredible sex. But what do you want?” Sarah considered her words carefully. “I don’t mind giving him sex, it’s what I’ve always wanted.” “That isn’t what I asked Sarah.” His voice changed, deepened, and drawled lazily from his lips. She shivered delicately in reaction. It was a voice she knew well, the voice of Master. “I want him to see me. I—I want him to love me,” she said quietly, her head bowed. “Good. Keep this very simple with him. Tell him that in exchange for your services he must take you on dates; treat you like the queen you are. If he fails in meeting your needs, you will not meet his.” Sarah opened her mouth to object, but Sam motioned her to silence as the server approached with his drink. Flipping a five-dollar bill under the girl’s nose, he waved her off. 16

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“Do you remember Kenny?” Sarah grinned and nodded. “Refresh my memory, student, tell me of that night.” “He tried to kiss me and slobbered down my chin, so I forbade him to kiss my mouth. He was like an octopus, his hands were everywhere but clumsy. I made him stop touching me and strip. His body wasn’t bad and he was fully aroused. Using my crop, I made him kneel and placed my boot on his shoulder. His assignment was to prove he could use his mouth for something else—he failed.” Sarah giggled. “It felt like he was painting a fence with his tongue.” “Perhaps you should have told him that.” Sarah laughed and took a sip of her wine, swirling the golden liquid. “He calls begging for another chance all the time as it is,” shrugging she continued, “Kenny was my attempt at going solo. You told me if he didn’t meet my expectations to get rid of him.” An impish grin crossed her face, “Tossing his clothes out the window and making him go after them was just a spur of the moment thing.” Distracted by her drink, she lifted the glass by the stem and studied the body of the wine in the dim light. Lightly tilting the glass until it sparkled and splashed diffused light across her throat, she brought it to her nose and drank in the lightly fruity scent. She picked out the apple and pear of the fruitwood used in the curing stage and approved with a throaty murmur. Sparingly, she eased a mouthful of the full-bodied nectar into her mouth and held it on her tongue for the barest moment before swallowing. “Perfection,” she mumbled. Watching Sarah appreciate her wine made his body heat and his pants tighten. Clearing his throat to push down his ardor, and signal her attention, Sam asked, “Why do you talk to yourself?” “I don’t know. I’ve always done it.” Her hand gripped the stem so hard he expected it to snap. “Gently,” he admonished. “You can say those things out loud. Last night it would have enhanced the experience for us both, to say what you were feeling.” He untangled her fingers from the glass and made as if to examine the wine before handing it back. “You are an intensely sensual person. Share your thoughts and feelings.” He made to stand. “Where are you going?” Her voice was thin, panicked. “You don’t need me here. You haven’t needed me in a long time. Time to fly on your own Sarah.” He smiled and blew her a kiss before heading to the door.

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Murphy was a damned optimist, Jamie seethed. Nothing, but nothing, had gone right since leaving Kenny’s house. He’d headed over to the Quest for a burger, a beer, and hopefully some beautiful distraction. What he got instead was treated like a plague rat and his food dumped in his lap by a smirking waitress. Everyone seemed to know what the hell her problem was, given the applause, but no one was sharing. Showing up for work hadn’t been much better. Instead of working on depositions for his round of upcoming court cases, he’d been hauled into the old man’s office. Seems little Miss Tammy Sanders wanted a certain medical bill paid. Supposedly, she was being “nice” in asking the bill be paid instead of having him charged with sexual assault. “What bullshit!” He tried to tell his dad, the honorable James L. Sleator, that it was a bunch of bull. The old man wasn’t in a listening mood. He was furious. For two hours, he sat in his father’s office listening to a coldly delivered lecture on the level of comportment expected of every attorney conscripted to the offices of Sleator Associates. “Banging the brains of a two-bit barfly through her headboard isn’t company policy. One more embarrassment and you’re out,” James promised. This, Jamie sighed, was the reason he wanted to stay far away from Deer Park, Ohio. Unfortunately, he’d been unable to find a lucrative career practicing law in the bigger cities in the East. Sure, he found work, but the pay was lousy and required eightyhour workweeks. In the end, he found himself back where he started. Looking up at the sign proclaiming Quest as a “family-oriented” bar and grille, his stomach turned. He’d fallen so low that he’d agreed to a blind date in a place where the cook was probably going to spit in his food. He really didn’t want to go inside. Snapping open his cell phone, he called Kenny, “Remind me again how I am going to identify this paragon of sexuality?” “Shit. I forgot. Sorry man, you can’t miss her, you’re meeting Sarah Michaels.” Jamie closed his eyes and counted to ten. “Dude? Jamie, you there?” “Yes. I am here. Let me get this straight,” he growled into the phone, “you set me up for the “night of my life” with pathetically plain Sarah Jane?” “God you’re an asshole. I hope she tosses your ass out the window. It’d be what you deserve.” Kenny huffed and snapped the connection closed. Jamie looked at his phone in disgust and considered just going home. The last time he’d seen Sarah she had been all knees and elbows, under a screen of long, drab hair. Basic brown stringy hair, pale and pasty complexion, followed up with no tits and watery eyes – and those were her best features. 18

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“Oh well,” he muttered, “at least if I’m eating with Sarah they won’t spit in my food. I hope.” Gathering his resolve, he opened the door. Quest was a modified three-story barn that housed a restaurant on the main floor with a second floor loft for more romantic settings. The back areas that once passed for tack rooms, grain and storage were converted into a long, narrow bar with some small seating areas. When Quest first opened in the 1960s, sock-hops and dances had been all the rage, prompting the owner to add an addition to the bar area for dancing. The addition, a geodesic dome crafted of whitewashed plywood and plaster, looked like a giant golf ball lodged in the back of the building. Most days, the addition looked like a half-hatched chicken’s egg. The scattered tables in the restaurant side were full of teenagers and young mothers. Looking up, Jamie noted that the second floor was roped off and shadowed. Apparently, weeknights weren’t enough of a draw to open the upper decks for a single clandestine meeting. Taking the small side hall to the bar, he stood outside the second door and braced himself. The bar was dimly lit to protect the alcohol-fogged eyes of the regulars. His eyes nervously scanned the room from the long Formica topped bar to the few small tables scattered along the curving back wall. The gaping center of the floor was bare, providing an open area for visiting bands and disc jockeys. More than a few heads lifted and watched, as he entered the room. Lights from the neon signs over the bar painted the haggard faces of truck drivers and other weather-beaten males with Celtic stripes of war paint. It was an unsettling effect, seeing those empty-eyed stares from under brilliant stripes of blue and red. Nervously he edged to the center of the room as last night’s waitress sauntered over with a menu in hand and a smirk on her face. “Glutton for punishment, aren’t you Sleator?” she sneered, smacking the laminated menu against a well-padded hip. “He is with me tonight, Loretta,” said a voice from the shadows of the back wall. It was a remarkable voice, low with a rough edge that burned along the senses. It had an eldritch feel of midnight and dark rum. Jamie’s mind blanked, Sarah Michaels almost never spoke in front of him, but that voice he would have remembered. Loretta scowled and bustled ahead of him, slapping the menu on the table with a mumbled apology to the woman seated there. When she turned to stomp off, that voice reached out and halted the irate waitress again, “Loretta, my guest hasn’t ordered a drink yet. A moment, please.”

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The words were polite but the tone was razor-honed steel. Not sure what to order, or even if he’d be staying long enough for a drink, Jamie shifted from one foot to the other peering into the shadows where the speaker sat casting a dim outline. “Never mind Loretta, bring the bottle of wine with a small ice bucket and another glass.” Jamie frowned. He should have spoken up. He wasn’t big on drinking wine, beer was more his speed. He was on the verge of calling Loretta back when the amused voice broke into his thoughts. “This way you don’t have to worry about them spitting in your beer. They wouldn’t dare spit in my wine.” “Good point,” he conceded, sliding into a chair. The small candle in the center of the table gave him a feeble look at his dinner partner. It was Sarah, but at the same time, it wasn’t. The woman sitting across from him was simply beautiful. Her perfect oval face had soft, supple ivory skin, well rounded high cheekbones with a generous mouth. Her eyes were lightly tilted, almost cat-like in their setting and the warm, grey irises were anything but watery. For a moment, he wondered how he could have ever thought such strong seatossed eyes were merely watery. The hair was much as he remembered it, medium brown, rising from a small peak on her forehead to tumble across her shoulders. There the similarities ended. In the past, it had been lank, lifeless, almost weighing her down with its excess. Today, it coiled in soft glowing tendrils over her shoulders to cup coyly around her elbows. She reclined in the cheap high-backed barstool like a queen holding court, back straight, arms resting indolently on the short railed back. The crisp white of her silk blouse should have made her skin seem sallow. Instead, it heightened the luminescent glow and allowed her eyes to gleam. He wished he could see the rest of her rather than the scarred wooden tabletop. Loretta strolled back and, with an irritated click, set a wine glass on the table. As she bustled around to set the small, tin bucket of ice framing an oddly shaped bottle, Sarah leaned forward. “I find it so much more intimate to share glasses, don’t you Jamie?” Almond tipped fingers belonging to an artist delicately cupped the bottom of the long stemmed glass. Languidly, she brought her other hand forward, lightly pressing her own glass into his hand. Before Sarah could reach for the tall bottle of chilled golden wine, Loretta gracelessly pulled the ‘fresh’ glass from the table. “Got a spot on it hon, let me get you another glass,” she mumbled moving away. 20

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“Don’t bother, Loretta. We’ll share.” Smiling, Sarah leaned forward, making Jamie focus on her full raspberry-shaded lips. He’d never been one to go for the over-ripe bee-stung look that women chased with collagen injections, but the matured fullness of Sarah’s lips begged to be tasted. He shifted uncomfortably as his body reacted to the need that was growing low in his belly. It had been so many years since Sarah had seen Jamie. She had thought she was ready for the way her heart would leap and tumble at the sight of him—she was wrong. He had always been thick bodied, athletic, but now he seemed somehow more. The lean, lank muscles of a teenager had thickened, broadened, and taken on the heavy weight of a boxer. Under the expensive suit, she knew her hands would find not the sharply cut muscles of a body sculptor but the raw power of a man devoted to staying in top predatory condition. It seemed fitting, yet incongruous seeing such animalistic perfection encased in the dark navy suit. The blue of the suit brought out the deep oceanic tones in his gold-flecked eyes. As a color blue-hazel sounded more exotic than it was, but on Jamie the tones shifted, simmered, reflecting his mood. She had watched as the gold brightened, glinted as he tried to strip her bare in his mind. Then she watched the tide of blue rise, as he was stunned into quiet anger at the waitress’ juvenile attempts to score a point in fouling his drink. The blue had darkened, making the yellow shards of light burnish a dark toffee. Sarah could sit all night simply gazing into the wealth of texture in his eyes, but the sheer presence of the man made heat rise and tingle in the most sensitive places. Trying to relax a degree, he accepted the glass and took a quick drink of the wine, making a slight face. So, she thought, wine isn’t his drink of choice. Pity, she smiled at his discomfort, but that was what he was going to live with for tonight at least. His free hand rose and self-consciously he combed thick fingers through his hair. His hands had always fascinated her, his palm was wide, and his fingers looked almost short and squared, but were actually built to scale. It had been what made him such a good football player in high school and beyond in college. Unfortunately, his knees hadn’t lasted long enough to carry him further into a professional football career. Sarah nearly winced at the travesty of his hair. In high school, and then when he returned those early years of college, it had been shoulder length, wild and free goldtipped light brown hanks softening the rugged planes of his face. Now, it was shorn close to his scalp giving him the look of a grizzled campaigner. It was too short, the sharp cut brought out the harsh planes of his face too starkly. She could appreciate the impression it gave in court, an implacable warrior standing resolute. But it also made him look like a bruiser looking for a beer and a barroom brawl. 21

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“Why did you come home, Jamie?” Perhaps not the best question to start the night off, but Sarah needed to start somewhere. He scowled into the empty wineglass. Deftly she refilled the glass, “Jamie?” “I couldn’t find what I was looking for in the east.” “What were you looking for?” He chafed at the questioning. Damn it, he had wanted to just get laid not be put through this bullshit. “Look Sarah, no need for the chit-chat. I just hooked up with you because Kenny said you could, that you would…” She sat smiling in amusement as he fished for the words. He may be able to talk frankly with his cousin but couldn’t bring himself to be so coarse in front of a female. “You just want a good fuck, right?” That got his attention; it rocked him back in his chair. Startled, he raised the wine glass to his mouth and downed the wine in one huge gulp. She shook her head at the waste of wine. “All in good time, we haven’t gotten down to the details yet.” “Details?” He bit the word out. Storm clouds gathered on his tan face, this wasn’t what he was led to expect. “Didn’t Kenny explain anything?” “He mentioned something about terms…” “Exactly,” she interrupted, “there are going to be terms set and agreed to by both parties or nothing, counselor.” She motioned him to silence. Loretta was coming back to take their dinner order. Tersely she ordered a salad and sandwich then gestured for Jamie to order. Loretta dutifully scribbled the order on her pad, grinning with malice. “Loretta, I realize that Tammy is your cousin, but if there is one thing wrong with either my meal or Mr. Sleator’s, he will make sure that the check she received today has a stop payment placed on it.” The heavyset woman’s jaw dropped then snapped closed with an irritated click as she spun on her heel and stalked towards the kitchen door. “Tammy’s cousin?” His face was slack at the news. “I didn’t do a damned thing to Tammy.” Sarah chuckled and reached out to caress a clenched fist. His skin was surprisingly smooth under her fingers. The friction sent shivers of erotic need from her hand to her pelvis. Using her other hand, she eased open his fist sliding the palms together as her other hand lightly stroked the bones from his wrist to his fingernails. He had an instant image of her hands circling his cock, milking him, measuring his length as he thrust through those warm satin digits. It must have shown on his face because she lightly scored the skin on the back of his hand with her nails. 22

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“You didn’t do anything to Tammy?” She chuckled low and mean, the edge catching his attention, drawing him closer. “Counselor, you twisted her like a pretzel and proceeded to knock her into her headboard. Didn’t she say anything?” The low tone and deliciously wicked smile on her face tripped his mind back to that night. At the time, it had seemed like Tammy was finally enjoying herself with her clenched hands, little moans and cries of passion. “I thought she was enjoying it.” “No doubt! I am sure she also enjoyed the concussion and bruised spleen.” “Bruised spleen?” He felt ill. How the hell did you bruise a person’s spleen? “Mmm hmm…” She dragged the sound out as if she was savoring the pain Tammy must have felt. “Didn’t you read the medical report sent to your office?” “No,” he sighed. God, this was just terrific. A bruised spleen? “The old man read it, and then read me the riot act.” He pictured that night in his head again; he’d had a number of women in that position and they had begged for it to never end. What the hell went wrong? “Face it, Sleator,” she drawled slowly, easing the wine glass back into her hand, “you are done as far as dating in Deer Park.” Sarah relaxed back into her chair, lifting the glass to capture the small motes of light in the warmed golden body. “What do you mean?” Sure, it had been rough but that didn’t mean that every other woman was scared off, did it? “Basically,” she said, her eyes lidded intently studying her wine, “it means that Tammy has told every female in the area that you are hers.” “What?” He exploded from his chair. The table rocked lightly, Sarah merely sat still and let the wine bucket slosh. If it had been in danger of falling, she would have moved, but the sight of his tall, powerful form stalking in short, fast circles around the end of the table held her rapt. Muscles rippled under his suit, drawing attention to the strength of his legs, the power in his arms and chest. Her sheath tightened and her sex swelled with want. Delicately, she separated her legs. Their rubbing together had only heightened the electric need racing along the skin to her crotch. He yanked at his tie and her mind tripped to a picture of him tugging reluctantly at a slave collar before dropping to his knees in front of her, ready with his chiseled lips to relieve some of the pressure building in her core. “Enough!” Her voice was rough with want. He stopped prowling and looked at her, anger flushing his cheeks. What he saw drew him up short, and flared the anger into something hotter, darker, more primal than rage—lust. His eyes lidded and returned her lustful look with interest. 23

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Sarah smiled savagely, so he thought this was going to be easy after all. Nothing more than a quick tumble after a trip to the bar. She forced her mind to blank, go still. Deeply she took air into her lungs, held it for the space of two heartbeats, and let it out slowly. She ignored the way her pussy wept tears of want, the way her heartbeat drummed through her inner muscles as they screamed to be stretched and filled. Slowly, her mind cleared and she regained control. It wasn’t easy, staring into his lust-darkened eyes, but slowly her breathing deepened, leveled out, the racing lust ebbed and subsided. No longer smiling, but not giving away any expression beyond ethereal calm, she gestured for him to return to his seat. “Most of the women in town agreed that you are too rough in bed. They all seem to be of the notion that if Tammy likes it that way, she is welcome to you. But Tammy doesn’t really care, she just wants a rich lawyer for a husband so later down the road she can be a nice wealthy ex-wife somewhere else.” “Jesus,” he breathed, “isn’t that a bit harsh?” “No, it’s what she said at work this morning after she tore open the envelope and waved the check around the lunch room.” His jaw dropped open. Casually, Sarah leaned across the table and urged it closed with a soft finger. “But, I’m not rich.” This was amazing, he felt like he had landed in the middle of some bizarre soap opera. He started looking around the room for the cameras; a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach told him that what she said was true. “No, you aren’t rich. However, your father is rich and he’s of an age to retire.” That did make him laugh, low and sick. “The only problem there,” he grimaced, “is that I’m not going to head the firm when he does.” Sarah tilted her head as if considering his words, mulled them for a moment then nodded. “You know that and now I know that, but who else would know that?” “Anyone who actually works at the damned firm.” He leaned back in the chair, exhaustedly rubbing his hands over his face. “I am like the lowest man on the ladder but for the receptionists and paralegals.” “Then you have nothing to lose.” Sarah leaned back. “Let me make you a proposition. Date me. Court me the same way you would any other woman you were interested in for more than a quick lay. Make it look good enough, and people will soon forget your reputation for being brutal in bed. In return, I will give you exactly what you need.” “How the hell do you know what I need?” He sneered. 24

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“I don’t now, but I will as soon as we return to my apartment. Is it a deal then?” Almost against his better judgment, he was lured into the agreement. Like she said, he had nothing to lose. And yet, he wanted to see what kind of test could exist that would show this surprising young woman exactly what he needed. “Order’s up,” grumped Loretta, thumping their plates on the table. Neither looked away from the other, and the irritated server moved off. The sight of them sitting there all moony-eyed made her want to puke, but first she had to call Tammy. Sarah expected this dinner would end up as news in her co-worker’s ears before the night was through, she accepted the risk. No, she openly embraced it. She had wanted this man far too long to let petty jealousy at work interfere. “Well, Sleator?” “Oh yeah, you got a deal.”

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Chapter Three

I play the flute and swallow the music. Graffiti Sitting in Sarah’s living room, Jamie wondered for the hundredth time if he had made the right decision. Dinner had flown by so fast he couldn’t remember what he had eaten or if it was even good. He had been consumed with the idea of getting back to her place, getting naked and burying himself deep between her thighs. It never occurred to him that he was going to end up strapped to a folding chair, wired up to some box watching a montage of porno movies. When they’d walked in the door, he had spun Sarah around, put his arms around her shoulders, and slanted his mouth across hers. The taste of her was rich and heady, a warm caramel spiced with the tang of wine from dinner. Normally he didn’t care for wine, but if he had the chance to drink it from her lips, he’d give up water. His head swam as his heart lurched in his chest and his erection strained against her hip. For a moment, it seemed like she was into the kiss as much as he was, her heart fluttered under his fingers as his hands swept the base of her ribcage. But she pulled away. Sarah slipped out of his arms, tugged off his coat, and pushed him into this chair. For a fleeting moment, he thought she might be getting a little kinky, doing a lap dance just for him, the hungry way she eyed the bulge in his trousers. But no, she dragged out this pile of wires and strips of aluminum foil and promptly began attaching electrodes to his hand with elastic bandages. It felt like one of those out of body experiences you only see in movies. Using a remote control, Sarah dimmed the lights, and turned on her entertainment center. “What the hell is going on here Sarah?” Enough was enough, he liked some weird shit, but this was pushing it. “I promised to give you exactly what you wanted.” She said, clicking buttons on the remote and turning on the electronic contraption he was wired up to. He flinched, 26

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expecting to be shocked. Sarah frowned at him, “I’m not going to shock you. I just want to measure your level of arousal to different specific stimuli.” His jaw dropped. This was certainly a night he would never forget. He’d been insulted by the waitress, dumped into an uncomfortable chair, and wired for full effect so Sarah Michaels could find out what made him hard. “Honey, you don’t need some damned machine. Here,” he pointed at his lap with his chin, “feel for yourself. You get me hard, I’m a simple man.” “Don’t fool yourself, Jamie. Sometimes people think that they want something, but they really aren’t interpreting correctly what their bodies are telling them.” She adjusted a knob and watched the small arms waving in the brightly lit box. “There have been women who thought that spanking turned them on, but it wasn’t the pain, it was the act of being submissive or that of being bent over and humiliated. The pain of the spanking actually ruined the experience. This way I can determine exactly what you like and be certain to give it to you.” “Wow. You are totally serious aren’t you?” It was mind-boggling. “Why don’t you just get naked and find out first hand?” “Because then the damage would be done.” “Damage?” “Yes, damage,” her voice was terse, “If the sex isn’t good enough you won’t want any more. It has to be perfect.” A part of Jamie cheered the notion, but another part sat stunned. Not just the physical part either. Why the hell would it matter so much that sex between them be perfect every time? And was it possible? The thought was at once creepy yet staggeringly erotic. The machine recorded his reaction. “Damn it, what were you thinking about?” She scowled at him, her succulent lips pouting. He liked her all pouty, it made his shorts shrink another size or three and the machine went nuts again. He grinned, “I am sure you’ll figure it out.” He was planning on making the most of the weird night. “So long as you don’t send me home with blue balls, I don’t care what you do.” An hour later, he wasn’t so sure of that statement. He had relaxed back and watched a montage of videos that started out pretty softcore. There were romantic scenes that were funny but dull, featuring sex where the people squealed like piglets and others where the women bucked and howled. It’s just so scripted, he thought watching a fake blonde smile emptily up at her partner as she licked his bobbing cock. Sure, they all know each other, but the emotion is so fake. He felt his eyes drifting as the man groaned under the blonde’s ministrations. 27

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Instead of seeing the clever camera angles and being aroused, he found himself sitting back eyeing the set and the actors critically. Internally he groused, don’t any of the actresses have real breasts anymore? The accompanying scene had a natural beauty kneeling on a bale of hay, happily servicing her cowboy, but all Jamie saw was the itchy hay full of ticks and bugs. After the fourth frame, he found his attention wandering to the woman sitting tensely next to him watching the screen and the beeping electrical box. He hadn’t remembered her being this beautiful in high school. Had she grown up like the Ugly Duckling? Or had it always been there, but he didn’t see it? A moan from the screen caught his blood as it surged from studying Sarah’s softly rounded profile. All he needed was to look at her, and the sounds from the movies started him fantasizing her under him, crying for more. A blipping from the little box caught her eye. Jamie smiled, as her lips pursed and she looked in confusion from the video line up to the device. Looking up, she caught him watching her and he firmly turned his head back to the screen. “Come on Sarah, dump this stuff and let’s get naked. I’m getting bored.” He was starting to get pissed. It was one thing to sit at home alone, another to be sitting this close to heaven but barred from the gate. “We’re over half-way through the tape, please Jamie, just a little longer?” Her eyes were soft, pleading, and he felt something twist low and hard. Between her velvet eyes and plush lips, he’d consign his soul to another hour of hell in the chair, all for the slightest chance of touching her silken skin. She tilted her head towards the screen and he faced forwards again with a dejected sigh. No pity from that quarter, he grumbled. One of the new movies was actually good. It was a group scene where the people were more interested in stimulating their partners than in getting good video angles. A dark-haired man clasped a small, dark woman from behind, one hand on her hip the other weighing her full round breast. His mouth dropped to the crease of her shoulder and she wriggled against him, pressing her hips back into his. At her feet, a well rounded woman with lush red hair urged the dimpled knees of the darker-haired woman apart with gentle facial caresses against the woman’s shaking thighs. The voluptuous buttocks of the redhead revealed the chest of the man she was leaning over. He was obviously, happily at work, given how she lifted and rocked against his hidden mouth. The camera panned and showed a dishwater blonde head bent over the lower half of the hidden male. She undulated slowly, suckling him while reaching clever fingers to roll and pinch his flattened male nipples. The movie fascinated him. There was something almost familiar about the scene. It wasn’t a studied production job, but rather a camera running while a group of men and 28

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women did their best to really make their partners writhe and scream. For a second, he thought he recognized some of the faces, but when he leaned forward for a closer look, the scene changed to one of two girls. This scene was well shot but boring, and he felt his attention wandering again as the fake pants and moans cluttered up the atmosphere of the room. Sarah scowled and picked up the remote, quickly advancing through the shots. The next few screens put a fast end to his boredom. He felt his scrotum trying to suck up inside his body cavity at the images displayed. He gagged and she quickly advanced the film again, as Jamie breathed a sigh of relief. The next movies all involved forms of bondage, from satin cords to leather and chains up to lengths of nylon attached to trees. The people moaning and begging for abuse spun from big-breasted women to midget men with large cocks. A part of him reacted to the scenes while another wanted to laugh. There were clips of women dressed in leather pony suits, men bent over sawhorses, people rocking from ceiling slings, oral gratification, strap-ons, whips, flails and some of the most insane uses of household items, paints and fruits he had ever seen. Jamie felt like the guy in “A Clockwork Orange” forced to watch endless clips of violence until it sickened him. The longer he sat watching others squirm in the throes of sexual bliss, the more it simply turned him off. “Sarah, for the love of God, please stop. This is torture.” He’d gone from being slightly excited to feeling sick to his stomach. “But I have to know how to make you happy.” She flipped through her notebook, forehead lined with worry. “Sarah. Please. Let me up from this chair. You can tell none of this is doing anything.” She looked over, and he almost laughed, she looked so sadly defeated. “This isn’t how people discover what they want from their sexual partner. You are looking at this like a science project. You don’t dissect a hard-on.” Sarah worried at her lower lip. Maybe she was going about this the wrong way. Kneeling in front of Jamie, she quickly unfastened the straps on the chair and peeled the bandages from his fingers. But how was she going to know what to provide him to keep him with her long enough to fall in love with her? She couldn’t risk letting him see how much she loved him; that would ruin everything. Kenny had stressed that Jamie didn’t want a relationship, just sex. For her sex had always been about love. It just didn’t separate out. Even when she was with other people, she saw herself as learning the skills needed for this one man. Everything in her life narrowed down to pleasing this man. “Come here,” he urged, lifting his free hand to cup the back of her head. Her hair felt like spun silk and the skin of her neck simply defied description. His fingers traced 29

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the downy softness and he fought the urge to turn her around and bite down. Something about her made the beast in him rise and demand access to her hot wet sheath. He reigned in the wilder feelings and bent to sample her mouth. Softly, he traced the plump outline of her lips with the tip of his tongue then bit lightly at her lower lip with his teeth. Through the thundering of his heart, he felt her hands loosening his tie, freeing the buttons on his shirt. The shock of her satin fine hands running up his stomach, across his chest and around to tickle the small of his back sent a pulse of hot blood to his lengthening erection. When he moved to deepen the kiss, she slid back, eyes enigmatic as she placed a small hand behind his neck. “Shh…” was all she said as her eyes ate up the sight of his bare chest. He went rock-hard and moaned as she delicately licked her lips. Lightly her tongue darted across his breastbone, then her teeth nipped at his belly before her nose lowered and traced the line of his stomach, burning a course straight to his heart. Stormy grey eyes caught and held his as she leaned forward and flicked her tongue in the hollows of his navel and higher to his nipples. The sensation of sharp teeth and hot, wet tongue tugging and laving that flesh made him stiffen in the chair. The burning hunger in her eyes was strong enough to fall into, as her mouth coaxed his blood pressure higher. Suddenly her head dipped. Her fingers kneaded his stomach muscles as they fluttered in response to the tendrils of hair swirling across his lower belly. Using her teeth, she slowly, teasingly freed his belt from his pants. Jamie’s stomach dropped to his knees as the anticipation twisted lower. His balls felt hot and swollen inside his pants, the material tightened around the evidence of his arousal. With her teeth, she parted his zipper and smoothed back the sides of his linen pants. Sarah’s nose nuzzled the cotton outline of his erection. Her hot breath steamed through his jockeys and felt almost cold against his swollen length. Urgently, as if she were as impatient as he, she tugged the confining garments lower and gasped in pleasure as his freed flesh rose under her nose. One hand eagerly delved inside the sweltering delta of his pants and cupped his sac, the other circled the base of his purpling erection. Sarah’s eyes met his as she rubbed the tip of her nose up and down the underside of his cock. Her face felt smoother than the richest silken sheets as she caressed the sides of his erection with her flushed cheeks. His cock jumped in her hand and she smiled a lazy, hungry twist of her lips. Settling in between his thighs, she lapped at his erection from base to tip, adding a fast flick to the sensitive underside of the head. Jamie felt this body rage out of control. He wanted to hurry her but his limbs felt leaden, too heavy to move. A part of him wanted to jam his hands in her hair and force her mouth to stop the torturous teasing but 30

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he fell victim to the hunger in her eyes. Her thumb bore down on the bottom of his shaft then rubbed in small, fast circles bringing a pearl of moisture to bead the dark red helmet of his cock. Leaning forward, she extended her tongue to gently lick the salty droplet, and then slowly cleaned the opening and the surrounding skin as her mouth dropped slowly over the top. The fluid heat surrounded him but didn’t fully close, instead the walls of her mouth simply slid, coating him in touches of wet heat. Delicately her teeth found his circumcision scar and worked the excited flesh with sharp slashes of her jaw. Back and forth, her teeth flashed as her lips suckled his head, her tongue abrading the over-sensitive top. The pressure in his balls doubled then swelled as her fingers there tightened rolling the flesh, rocking it against her palm. He felt the need to cum burning along the backs of his legs, in the pitching of his stomach but the pressure of her thumb at the base of his cock held back the hot liquid. He moaned, thrusting his hips against her mouth. Greedily, she abandoned the game and suckled his entire length in her mouth. The pressure of her contracting facial and throat muscles as she held him deep and worked his flesh made him cry out. But still she held him back, milking the very spot that begged freedom with her finger and thumb. Her tongue swirled amidst the loud, wet sucking from her lips. He felt hot liquid fire dripping over his sac and begged for release, straining against the chair, pushing his hips into her face. In an instant she relented, lifting her thumb and working the base of his cock in her hand as she swallowed the hot spurts of fluid cascading against the back of her throat. Sarah looked up and saw the corded muscles of his neck run with sweat as his head strained back, almost coughing his release to the ceiling. She liked the feel of him shaking, bucking against her mouth. She suckled him hard and deep sending him into a smaller, second orgasm. His lightly furred chest heaved as he worked to bring air in. She slowly worked her mouth up, licking every bit of fluid she found, savoring the taste of him the way she had her wine. Both were precious, rare tastes to be held on the tongue and relished before consumption. Again, she met his dazed hot blue-gold gaze, and felt the shock rock her to her toes. Sarah shivered at the small yet heady joy that quaked her core. She had never had an orgasm from pleasuring a man with her mouth, until tonight.

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Chapter Four

Never let your sense of morals prevent you from doing what's right. Isaac Asimov “Good morning, Mrs. Jones.” Jamie nearly sang the greeting to his heavy-set, middle-aged secretary. In reply, Viviane Jones raised her salt and pepper perm, glanced out the window at the dreary cloud-studded sky and shot the younger man a look that said she knew exactly why he was so chipper. “A good morning to you too, Mr. Sleator. I see that “dinner” with Ms. Michaels was to your liking.” Jamie stopped and looked at his secretary. Normally he hated the small town gossip mill, but for some odd reason it thrilled him that everyone in the office knew with whom he had spent his evening. This time he actually wanted to show off his new relationship. Good sex does that to a guy, he grinned at the thought. “You bet your ass, Viv. Now, how about those transcripts you were supposed to get for me?” He settled behind his chair, mind sharp and ready for the day. In the ‘to do’ pile were notes on a will to be drawn up for an afternoon appointment, depositions surrounding an auto accident, another set of depositions regarding a property dispute and a note requesting him to ‘call Tammy’. Not likely, he sneered, lifting the offending pink paper and letting it flutter into the trashcan. Not even the mention of the “wounded” dimmed his high spirits. Humming tunelessly to the music piped into the office, Jamie focused on his work. Around lunchtime, he straightened, rubbing the back of his neck. With a start, he saw the compact form of his dad standing in the doorway. It was unnerving the way the old man could do that, simply stand and stare without giving away anything. He hadn’t heard the door open, hadn’t sensed any change in the air, let alone felt the other man’s gaze. If he hadn’t grown up being constantly watched from under hooded eyes, it would have seriously freaked him out. As it was, the older Sleator’s ability and need to observe 32

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members of his firm kept the practice to a handful of well regarded attorneys. It’s kind of hard to pull a fast one if you were constantly under surveillance, Jamie mused, just like it tended to weed out the more nervous lawyers. “Anything I can help you with, sir?” There was no friendly, easygoing familiarity in the office or house growing up. James Sleator had insisted he be addressed as “sir” from the cradle to the grave. “Just wanted to know if last night’s date came with a price tag.” The older man’s round placid face twisted into a parody of a smile. Jamie scowled, feeling his light mood starting to ebb. “It wasn’t that kind of date.” “No head-banging, spleen-bruising, bedroom bopping with the bank-teller?” Jamie felt a small rush of guilt under the instinctive anger. He had never asked Sarah about her job. He remembered listening as Tammy droned on incessantly about the trials and tribulations of being a loan officer. He had merely assumed that Sarah’s job had equal status. “No head-banging. No spleen bruising. No bedroom anything. We had dinner then went back to her apartment and watched some TV.” He grinned over the tranquil scene such words should have conjured in his memory, but didn’t. “We never left the living room.” “Well, you seem awfully up-beat for someone who just watched television.” Sleator pushed away from the jamb and pulled the door closed, fully entering the room. “I hear it was Sarah Michaels.” The older man prowled the small office, picking up a glass paperweight, shifting it from one time weathered hand to the other. “Yes, is that a problem, sir?” Jamie leaned back in his chair, stretching his lower back. He tried for a casual pose, lacing his fingers behind his head. “Naomi, her mother, was a bit of a wild one.” He seemed to mull over his words carefully before setting the glass orb back on the desk. Walking over to the far wall, he made a show of examining the covers of family law books lining the far shelves. “I’ve heard that Sarah is different, very quiet. Doesn’t date. Maybe it has to do with Naomi dying so young.” He shook his head, pushing away the line of thought. “No matter. Just try not to embarrass the family or the firm with this one.” Sleator looked at his son from underneath his bifocals to underscore the seriousness of the talk. Wispy silver grey hair framed his round craggy features as his faded blue-hazel eyes stared into those of his son before turning to go. Jamie hardly noticed his father’s leaving. He never remembered hearing about Sarah’s mother dying. He couldn’t even remember a face to go with the title. That’s odd, 33

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he thought, rubbing a spot on his forehead. She grew up a street over, walked home with him every day from junior high until the day he graduated two years ahead of her. He couldn’t place anyone at the small, drab clapboard sided house besides Sarah. The house had belonged to a relative or another long before Sarah and her mother moved back, but had been let to go, much to the consternation of the block mothers. He felt another rush of guilt over last night. It suddenly seemed wrong, to go on an arranged ‘date’ simply to have his pipes cleaned without bothering to learn anything about his ‘date.’ His golden glow of contentment soured. It had felt incredible. He hardened just thinking about her sitting next to him while those movie scenes flashed. But now the act seemed diminished, reduced by his ignorance. What had seemed intensely personal and connected, now felt no more meaningful than a cold handshake. His conscience reminded him, painfully, that was all he said he had wanted. Except, the look in her eyes, the heat, and the hunger belied the notion, but the reality worried him. What if it had been nothing more to Sarah than a handshake? She avoided kissing, kept dodging his mouth. Hell, she even went so far as to drive him insane with her mouth to keep him from making the act personal. It was bloodless, timed. She pulled a symphony of erotic heat through his blood like a master conductor and never broke a sweat. Was that what he wanted? It was what he asked for—it was what he got. Strangely enough, he found himself wondering if maybe that damned electric box wasn’t such a bad idea after all.

**** “Huwwo, Mith Zawah!” Sarah smiled down into the bright little face clinging to the high counter top. “Hello to you, too, Toby!” His little upturned nose dropped beneath the counter as his hands scrabbled to climb higher. “Hold on there champ, let me get a grip,” his mother huffed behind him. Sarah reached out and took the small boy’s bankbook and heavy zippered coin bag from the other woman’s hands. Grinning at Sarah, Heather grabbed her wriggling son and lifted him to her hip. “No school today, Toby?” Toby Barton usually attended the Red Rock Preschool while his mom worked delivering newspapers and magazines. “Uh-uh,” he shook his head then suddenly grinned, revealing a whole row of missing teeth. “My goodness gracious! What have you done to all those pearly white teeth?” Sarah acted appalled as she dumped the loose coins into the automatic feeder. Five did 34

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seem a bit young to lose so many teeth but she wasn’t sure. Looking up, she caught the grimace on Heather’s face as she adjusted the heavy preschooler. Suddenly shy, he stuffed a thumb in his mouth and ducked his head under mom’s chin. Sarah laughed. “Must have been a grand adventure if he’s being shy, mom.” She winked at her friend before pushing the buttons to tally up the coins. “No kidding,” Heather huffed, blowing her long, ashy bangs out of her eyes. “Lord Toby here,” she tickled her son’s tummy making him giggle, “Decided it would be more fun to dump Lindie Evans off the see-saw than to keep going up and down. He didn’t manage to jump clear and the seat clipped him in the mouth. We just got back from Dr. Werner’s.” Sarah bit the inside of her mouth to keep from grinning at the smile she saw peeking around his thumb. Now it was comical, but a few hours ago poor Heather must have been scared to death. She made a serious face at Toby as she lined his bankbook in the computer for updating. “I hope that teaches you a lesson young man.” The machine buzzed happily adding a few more lines of text. Sarah looked over as the phone behind her rang. Heather hadn’t brought the book in for updating the last few months, there were other deposits and interest records to list. The low murmur of voices behind her grew louder as she looked back at the smiling boy. “Yeth, I did! Don’ pick on Windie,” he grumped. Sarah laughed with Heather as she handed back the bag and the updated book. She was moving to explain the latest entries when someone yanked hard on her shoulder. Stunned, she turned and saw Tammy’s face splotchy with rage. “I need a word with you, now!” Sarah took a deep breath and forced the butterflies in her stomach to settle. “One moment, Miss Sanders, I’m with a customer.” Just behind Tammy, Sarah saw the bank manager closing in. Turning back to Heather, Sarah saw the worry in her friend’s face but lightly shook her head, trying to silently tell her they’d talk later. Heather caught the message and nodded. Tammy let out a little shriek, grabbed Sarah’s hair in her fist, and yanked hard. The action was unexpected and Sarah slipped from her stool banging her head on the seat. Just then, the manager rushed up and grabbed Tammy. “You. Now. In my office,” John Joseph barked in Tammy’s ear. He bent and helped Sarah to her feet, her head stung and she rubbed at the small lump already 35

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forming. “When you are done, Miss Michaels, please join me in my office as well,” he smiled over her head at Heather Barton and Toby, “I am so sorry for this disturbance.” Heather blankly nodded and grabbed the bankbook. “Call me,” she ordered Sarah before frog marching her son for the door. Normally she stayed and let Toby sweet-talk all the tellers into giving him a lollipop. Sarah shook her head as she put up her “closed” sign. Between Tammy and the dentist, little Toby didn’t need the lollipop as much as Sarah needed a moment to collect herself. First National Savings and Loan was an old bank. Housed in one of the tallest brick buildings in the county, the bank still featured large open counters and tall airy windows. Visitors passed through newly automatic French doors and stepped into 18th century opulence. There was a huge glass and brass chandelier sparkling in the center of the room offset by stark white ceilings decorated with pressed metal designs in the cool plaster. Underfoot, dark-veined marble tiles formed a pattern of concentric squares directing the eye to the small central table where daily a bright flower arrangement greeted guests as well as holding pamphlets, fliers and surplus deposit forms. The tellers were arranged in a horseshoe behind a dark mahogany counter with the drive-in tellers facing away on the far left. Behind the tellers on the right were the small desks for the loan officers. Large panes of glass dominated the left and right walls. There had been some security complaints leading to special enclosures for the computer screens rather than give the impression that the bank distrusted community eyes. There had never been a successful attempt to rob the financial institution since it first opened its doors in the 1850s. Leaving the bright atrium, Sarah walked slowly towards the stairs to the second floor. The stairs were hidden from public view just past the loan officers’ desks. When customers walked into the entrance area between the sets of automatic doors, they never noticed the lower ceiling. Just above their heads was the office of the bank manager, John Joseph. Slowly walking the few carpet-covered steps, Sarah remembered the first time she had walked on the dark emerald rug, thinking it the finest thing she had ever seen. Her mother Naomi held her hand tightly, afraid that yet another bank would refuse to help. Naomi needed a loan to receive treatment for the cancer that was crippling her body. It seems that I never walk up these steps unless something dire is waiting for me, she mused. That day so many years before had ended not in tears, but with some small comfort. The bank couldn’t give Naomi a loan, but they did hold a fundraiser for her and handled her financial papers until she died. She remembered that was the day she had decided that working for the bank would be the finest future; everyone was so nice. 36

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Today, her lip curled, the same man sat in the manager’s chair, but the people weren’t quite as nice. Gossip or interoffice politics as it was called, caused the older women to leave their jobs in tears and sent most of the younger ones to swallowing bottles of antacids with their lunches. The largest gossip, she noted, was currently perched in a soft leather chair in Mr. Joseph’s office clutching a handkerchief looking strategically pathetic and woebegone. Though the door was open on the contrived scene of emotional collapse, Sarah knocked politely before entering the room. “You wanted to see me, sir?” Normally Mr. Joseph would smile, making his brown eyes brighten, today he simply stared a hole in his desk. “Please close the door and have a seat, Miss Michaels.” Oh boy. Her stomach dropped to the vicinity of her knees as she moved to close the heavy wooden door. Mr. Joseph always insisted on working with his employees on a first name basis. Out of respect for all that he had done to help her and her mother, Sarah had insisted on the honorific. Closing the door, she moved to the lone remaining chair, an old wooden ladderbacked chair that was short on comfort but accented the antique laden room. Even the filing cabinets were the old wooden drawer monstrosities with barrister bookshelf tops hidden behind gleaming glass panes, warped with age. Mr. Joseph’s elbows rested on the scarred top of his desk, a large dark wood clerk’s counter from the early days of the bank’s history. Sarah studied the older man in trepidation. He was a good-looking man, who seemed so serious until he smiled. His thick, black hair was streaked with silver, and his dusky skin bespoke his Middle Eastern heritage. Coming home from the bank as a child, Sarah remembered how taken her mother was with John Joseph’s darkly good looks and impeccable manners. “You need to find a man like that to love you one day, Sarah.” She’d smiled tiredly kissing her daughter’s forehead. Even at the age of eight, Sarah had known not to ask questions about her never seen father, but the picture of John Joseph in that role seemed perfect. Coming to work at the bank in her late teens, Sarah watched how many of the women batted their eyes over his well-formed shoulders, or appreciated John’s maintained physique. It was an awakening as to what else her mother might have seen in the serious older man. Regardless of the sighs and flirting glances, John Joseph seemed oblivious. In his early forties, he was still single and still caused not a few sighs from the women. Today, the only effect he had on Sarah was to give her a killer urge to throw up in his brass wastepaper basket. 37

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Sitting gingerly in the chair, she forced her body to sit straight and slowly unclamped the muscles in her arms and legs, waiting for him to break the silence. He sat quietly studying the cuticles of his thumbs, face serious. The material of his suit jacket stretched, as if he sat hunched under a weight on his shoulders. Sarah felt the urge to hyperventilate from the pressure building in her diaphragm. “Ladies, it has come to my attention that certain aspects of employees’ personal lives are being discussed with unusual candor. It is upsetting to other employees. When it swells to the point of interfering with the day-to-day operations of this bank, it has to stop.” Sarah clamped down on the burning need to automatically respond, declaring her innocence. She almost never talked to anyone at work. It was obvious who the words were directed at. Only when she looked at Tammy, the girl was sitting there sniffing into her handkerchief and shooting her malicious little sneers. “Miss Michaels, what do you have to say for yourself in this matter?” His voice was harsh, disapproving. He looked disappointed, as if Sarah had somehow let him down. She was confused. “I honestly don’t understand, sir. I don’t talk to any of the others, even at lunch. Normally I go to the café down the street, but for yesterday, I was delayed handling a backlog of electronic transfers and didn’t have the time.” Her brow wrinkled as she tried to think of whom she could have spoken with or what she could have said to land here. “The last conversation I had with a bank employee was with Mrs. Ciez, on Monday morning. She was showing off pictures of her daughter, pregnant with her newest grandbaby. Tuesday, yesterday, I didn’t talk with anyone, I was too nervous about a date I had last night.” She colored as John’s gaze narrowed on her face with unusual intensity. “This morning I clocked in, reviewed my drawer, verified the contents and handed the papers to Mrs. Ciez without talking. I…uh, was a little distracted.” Again, she felt hot color flood her cheeks. “So, you deny knowing of the recent engagement of Miss Sanders?” John clasped his hands and stared a hole in Sarah. She felt pinned to her seat but couldn’t resist the urge to laugh. “Engagement?” Sarah felt a cold rage pumping through her body. It felt liberating knowing her enemy. All of the years that she had been beaten down, laughed at, ridiculed and ignored, served to give her an ugly side, one she usually only exorcised with violent sex play. Now that was over, she could feed those urges on people like Tammy Sanders. She felt the chill anger seeping into her muscles like fine liquor, calming, soothing, and relaxing the corded muscles. 38

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“Sir,” her voice fairly purred, “the only thing anyone in the lunch room heard from Miss Sanders yesterday was how she managed to get Jamie Sleator to pay for a trumped up medical bill and how she was going to use it to make him marry her. Obviously, she never thought to consult him or she would have known that two nights previous he called me and asked me out.” She arched her back, adjusting to the chair. Suddenly the unforgiving wood surface felt accommodating, almost giving as her body found the hidden contours and eased. The low arms were at a perfect height to shelve her forearms, allowing her hands to dangle delicately, enhancing her air of regal nonchalance. Lithely, she crossed her legs and rested waiting for the next salvo, perfectly composed. This fight was one she would win. John swallowed thickly. He had looked on Sarah as a quasi-daughter for years. After Naomi died, he had transferred the remains of the special savings account over to her only daughter before her uncle could touch what was left. It was common knowledge that Emmett wasn’t very reliable. When Sarah was orphaned at twelve most had been stunned that he gave up his vagabond lifestyle and stayed long enough to see her through high school before disappearing again. In all of the years that he had offered the youngster before him advice and what help he could, he had never seen her as a woman until this minute. He felt slightly dirty over his body’s instinctive reaction to her changes. Forcing down those basic reactions, he silently berated himself for not noticing that the mousy girl with huge eyes and skinny legs had turned into an incredible beauty—one with some serious steel in her spine. Clearing his throat, he managed to catch the venomous look Miss Sanders was aiming at Sarah. It made better sense given the majority of complaints he had received revolved around his loan officer’s coarse manners and demeanor. Normally she was perfectly behaved in front of customers, today something changed. “Who was in the lunchroom with you yesterday?” He didn’t look at Miss Sanders, even after she loudly and shrilly began mounting an idiotic defense. Waving her to silence, he noted the names Sarah quietly recited and picked up the phone on his desk. Abruptly Tammy shut up and purpled, violent hate etched on her face as she puffed up from the blood infusing her features. Quietly amused, Sarah studied Tammy’s face as it went from puffy-crimson with a dusting of freckles to paler than milk with the same dots swimming on the suddenly sagging skin. From the look on her face, it was obvious that the other bank employees were blissfully thrilled to finally dish some dirt on the obnoxious loan officer. “Really?” John’s face was a study in consternation and amusement, “Thank you, Mrs. Ciez. No, no that is quite all right…I don’t need to know details on other ‘tawdry 39

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events’ just on what was said yesterday. Yes--I am quite certain--you are quite right, perhaps you should write them down and issue a formal complaint--I would be thrilled to accept it… Thank you, Mrs. Ciez.” Gently he replaced the handset in the cradle of the phone and ran his hands through his hair and over his face. John sat like that for a moment before slapping his hands palms down on the desk. “That ends that. I am sorry Sarah, you are welcome to return to work. However,” he looked pointedly between the two, “there had better not be any other problems as a result of Mr. Sleator during banking hours. Personal matters are to stay at home. Furthermore, no more personal calls.” He looked at Sarah, expecting a reply. Irked, she lifted a brow. “In all the years I have worked here, I have never received or made a single personal call. All my appointments are made from home. I don’t even own a cell phone to abuse while at work.” Sarah stood, smoothing imaginary wrinkles from her skirt as she made to return to work. John rubbed the back of his neck. He was growing suspicious that the rest of Tammy Sander’s claims were just as groundless. “Be that as it may, tell Mr. Sleator not to call for you at work anymore.” Sarah stopped at the door and looked back, utterly nonplussed. The thought that Jamie would call her so soon, at work yet, totally rocked her to the core. “You did manage to get one personal call, after all.” John grinned tiredly and shooed Sarah from his office before turning his attention to Tammy.

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Chapter Five

Men mistake friendship, but not sex, for love; women mistake sex, but not friendship, for love. Peter Wastholm Glinting lights of brilliance winked at Sam from the display case as he tried to find some small feature of the sterile rings that signified something other than how much money each was worth. Penny Jordan had happily accepted his marriage proposal weeks ago, but he had been remiss in actually buying the ring. He had held out the vain hope that she would accompany him and put her stamp of approval on something, anything, but instead she smiled softly and said, “whatever you think will suit me, is perfect.” The only helpful information she had supplied was that size seven would fit her perfectly. So now he was stuck, literally, between a rock and a hard place. Penny was due home any minute and he had foolishly announced that he had a surprise waiting for her. His cell phone chirped happily at his hip making him scowl. “Sam Bennett,” he growled into the offending intrusion. “Help,” breathed a throaty purr. Instantly Sam felt worlds better. Not that the hint of panic in Sarah’s low voice was something to relish, but that someone else was as panicked as he was. Misery wasn’t the only emotion that enjoyed company. “You help me first,” he demanded, staring in blank confusion at the rows of glittering sameness in the display case. “With what?” He could hear the noise of traffic in the background. Whatever it was must have been important for Sarah to interrupt her lunchtime lettuce grazing for the pay phone at the corner. “I’m at Hatterson’s Jewelry store just down the street trying to pick out an engagement ring for Penny.” The silence that greeted him was poignant. “I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t a serious emergency.” “You owe me, Bennett,” her sultry voice snapped in his ear as the line went dead. Twenty minutes later Sam and Sarah parted ways, both happier but nervous about the coming evening. In exchange for helping him select a ring, Sarah had begged for a 41

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double date. He loathed double dates but was interested in seeing how well things were going between Sarah and Sleator. It almost tempered the shit-storm he knew would fly as soon as Penny found out who the double date was with. Back in college when they had been mere friends, Penny had instinctively disliked the younger Sarah. Upon finding out that Sam’s alleged role as sexual teacher wasn’t an act, Penny had insisted on a lesson. He just hoped that Sarah was true to her word and lost that damned video she had made of that night. Sarah and Penny sparked enough flames between them without tossing in that damned movie he knew she made. He had lied that night, telling the woman of his dreams that the feeling of being recorded was as far as it would go. Like an idiot, he had Sarah record the night in case he never managed to persuade Penny into his bed again. A fun, once-in-a-lifetime sexual adventure was one thing, getting the woman to agree to be his was another. Embarrassed over what she had been part of, Penny hadn’t been readily open to taking his calls or e-mails, let alone seeing him again. Strangely enough, Sarah had made it possible. He never knew what was said, but that Penny showed up on his doorstep on a rainy night two months after that damned movie was made. True to her word, Sarah had walked into the jewelry store and scanned the selection of engagement rings with a whiff of disdain. A few short words and the saleswoman changed from curmudgeon to charming, bringing out trays of bands with bare settings. Deftly, Sarah selected a twist of metal that blended gold and platinum, opening into a flowery design. Sarah and the shop assistant selected a softly shaded yellow diamond for the center stone that made his bankbook puke. Around the center stone, the women had elected to go with sapphires as a nod to Penny’s birthstone. All in all when completed, the ring was stunning. More than a typical engagement ring, it was special, hand selected and crafted with his fiancé in mind. A double date wasn’t too much to suffer through for such invaluable service, he reminded himself. Now, how to convince Penny that putting up with her nemesis and date would be the perfect way to celebrate her new engagement ring?

**** Sarah scowled as she dialed the number for Jamie’s office. Her stomach was tied in knots. She never called a man at work to plan a date. Outside of Sam and his arranged dates, she’d never called a man. The notion of calling Jamie at work had twisted her insides into congested puddles of trepidation. The worst was knowing that after this call, every person in his office would think that she was shamelessly pursuing him like every other female he’d bedded and discarded in his long sexual history. 42

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Helping Sam pick out a ring for the irritatingly sweet Penny Jordan, had been simple in comparison. Penny had floral prints on the wall, wore dresses and skirts with sweeping pastel colors and soft flower accents. The sallow diamond complemented the gold setting and the deep blue of the sapphires glowed against the platinum prongs of the external setting. Any woman would love the ring, but she knew deep inside that the other woman would love the ring more for its artistry and careful thought than for the obvious cost. Having sat across the table from Jamie had greatly reduced Sarah’s feelings of animosity towards Sam’s dark haired fiancé. In fact, she had felt a degree of guilt imagining how the other woman must have felt when she learned that Sarah was Sam’s student and casual sexual partner. Feeling Jamie’s warm, smooth skin under her hands last night had wakened a predatory feeling that was almost impossible to keep locked in her hindbrain. For a few moments in Mr. Joseph’s office, she had let that animal prowl her heart and soul as the rage built. It gave her anger focus and direction. Now it made her stomach clench in nausea. “Sleator and Associates, this is Mrs. Anderson, how may I direct your call?” a polished professional voice interrupted Sarah’s thoughts. Automatically her bank training snapped to the fore. “This is Sarah Michaels returning Mr. Sleator’s call.” With a silent curse, Sarah realized she forgot to mention which Mr. Sleator. “One moment, Miss Michaels, I believe Jamie is in, I’ll put your call through to his secretary, Viviane Jones.” Well, she considered, at least the gossip mill had spared her having an embarrassing call with the elder Sleator. The man unsettled her the way he watched people with an aloof disdain that was more than physical distance, it was if he placed all of humanity on a ledge lower than himself. “This is Mrs. Jones,” the voice was overloud and disproving. “Good afternoon, Mrs. Jones, this is Sarah Michaels returning Mr. Sleator’s call,” she dutifully repeated. “I know who you are,” the older voice enunciated with contempt, “he’s in a conference, and cannot be interrupted.” Sarah blanched, this was more like the greeting she had anticipated, not the soft accepting voice of the main receptionist. So be it, she cut across with the same steely determination she had found in Mr. Joseph’s office. “If you would be so kind as to inform Mr. Sleator that we have been invited to a private engagement party at the River’s Edge Restaurant this evening at seven, it would be appreciated.” Sarah allowed the other woman a moment to write the information down before adding, “Thank you for you assistance in this matter, you’ve 43

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been most gracious.” Letting the sarcasm drip venomously, the words no sooner registered in the older woman’s ear when the call was terminated.

**** Viviane Jones stared in shock at the receiver. A handful of Jamie’s other floosies had attempted to put her in her place before; none had managed to do so, let alone with such precision. She felt a stirring of respect for the young bank teller before she squelched it. Jotting down the details on a pink interoffice memo, she stuffed the note on top of a last minute round of files that had come in from the legal department of First National Savings and Loan. The bank was having problems with money being misappropriated and contracted the law firm to investigate before going to the federal authorities. John Joseph wanted to handle the situation in-house as much as possible to preserve the bank’s image as well as to guarantee the privacy of customers. Jamie had arranged for a private investigation firm to review the case and begin an investigation, tracing where the money was going. So far, the firm had discovered that the money was cleverly coming from routed percentages or fractions of cents that didn’t show up on normal bank records for investors and customers, but only on internal baking records. These fractions had been diverted into an account that hopped, skipped, and jumped across the country, leaving a wide electronic trail before narrowing into a posh offshore bank account. Unfortunately for the bank, the firm was advising that bank officers alert the federal authorities in order to get the necessary leverage to obtain records on the account’s true ownership for prosecution. Right now, Jamie was locked into a discussion on the subject with the bank President Blaire Edgemont and general manager John Joseph. Ed Stevens of Steven’s Investigations was held up and had sent the papers ahead. Viviane’s lip curled in derision, Ed Stevens was a joke, and the original name of his company “Even Steven Investigations” had screamed low rent adultery chaser. If it weren’t for Jamie the young fool would still be taking sleazy pictures and chasing after bail jumpers part-time. Carefully, she schooled her features as she opened the heavy oak door to the conference room, handed the younger Mr. Sleator the stack of manila files, and retook her seat behind the small side desk with laptop at the ready.

**** Standing at the entrance of the airport, Sam paced nervously. The elegantly wrapped jewelers box riding heavily in his jacket pocket. Instead of going to work at the Daily Courier, he had cashed in an unused personal day. Being a sports reporter wasn’t as flashy as news, but it had a relaxed air that suited his personality. The only problem was the unusual hours, that was a given regardless of the field of journalism. At least with 44

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sports he had a clear idea based on the different seasons where and when he’d be needed on a given basis. The last year’s loss of the hockey season had been almost a panic, until an intern came up with a list of local kids’ teams and unusual breakout sports that were gaining popularity. The schedule had changed into more afternoon and early evenings over the late night reporting of professional sports, leaving him more nights with Penny. Now the only thing that interrupted their evenings was her notable absences. But Penny had worked too long and hard as a freelance website designer and advertising consultant for him to ask her to give it up just as her home-based company took off. She had started small, taking new companies on commission. One of her small one-man-band companies had turned into an overnight success story between his genius for stocks and her devious marketing ploys. In the end, it meant Penny had to do trips to the new offices her best customer opened to be sure that all of their advertising needs were being met. Some nights Sam laid in bed and worried that he was going to lose his love to her successful career. The insecurity led to nights where he sated his frustrations with Sarah. Guilt at betraying his promise to stay away from Sarah ate through his intestines. No more, he promised himself. From here on out, he’d deal with his worries straight up. He’d be a man and talk with Penny, not turn to the arms of another woman. It wasn’t until recently that he understood Penny’s insistence that sex with Sarah was cheating, he had always considered it as final lessons. Whatever it was, it was over the moment Penny accepted his proposal and his ring. He’d been so focused on his pacing that he forgot to look for Penny. A light tapping on his shoulder sent him spinning and nearly knocking the focus of his worry into traffic. Laughing at his surprise, Penny relished the feeling of feminine power that he had been so nervous to meet her before she wrapped her arms around his spare frame. She loved every wiry muscled inch of the man before her. Sure, he had his flaws but nothing so insurmountable as what had to have been playing across his face when she interrupted his pacing. Unless of course it meant that he was talking to that woman again. Penny knew it was silly to be so jealous over an ex-whatever Sarah Michaels was, but there it was--jealousy. The ugly green demon rode her shoulder just at the thought of the younger woman’s name. In rare moments of charity, she pitied Sarah the loss of her mother and her odd demented relationship with Sam, but that was as far as it went. A small niggling voice in her heart yodeled here and there that he had been with her but she stomped it down. Talking on the phone or seeing each other at the mall was acceptable, anything more and she’d have to rip his tonsils out with pliers. Then maybe she could 45

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begin the process of forgiving him. Penny knew they talked, she wasn’t an idiot and she did pay the phone bills detailing that when she was out of town Sam called Sarah. They are just friends, she forced herself to face the music months ago, it hadn’t made the jealously less but she was trying to wrap her mind around the reality. “Mmm…” she mumbled into the crook of his throat as his arms came around her middle. She loved the scent of him, warm spice and mulled oil. Once she asked about the oil and he’d actually blushed before showing her a bottle of sesame oil he used as a moisturizer. It never registered that such things were supposed to be unmanly, especially in a sports chaser. “Did you miss me?” she teased, nipping his collarbone where the open button shirt gapped. Instantly she felt his arousal stir against her pelvis and grinned impishly. “You know it,” Sam’s voice deepened as he moved his mouth to whisper the reply in the shell of her ear. Grinning rakishly at the staring porters, he licked the delicate skin and tugged the hidden silver ring at the top of her ear between his teeth. “Then let’s get out of here and celebrate my return properly,” she purred, arching her neck to give him access to the sweet spot he favored on her neck. Obligingly, she felt his smile against her skin rather than saw it. His sharp bite and lick made her shiver violently. Normally he played safer in public out of consideration for both of their jobs. “Down boy,” she ordered playfully, but with an edge reminding him where they were. His utter lack of shame had once mortified her but over time embarrassment faded and the same daring turned into something sharply erotic. Under her long batik skirt, she felt moisture well, slicking her folds in anticipation of his fingers. Casting him a sloeeyed grin, Penny tossed her dark, wavy hair and gamely challenged, “Where’d you park?” Sam felt his cock harden with lightning speed. The idea of staid and proper Penny wanting to indulge in a bit of sunlight public fun in the backseat of his car was almost his undoing. For months, he’d been trying to get her to do something more exciting. Not that making love with his dark-haired angel could be anything but soul-shattering, but sometimes a little bit of spice made even the best thing hotter than hell’s reputation. Stooping, he gathered the strap to her overnight bag. Shouldering the weight, he led her slowly across the pedestrian lane to the long-term lot. Normally she teased him about being too cheap to wait in the closer short-term parking lot but this time she remained silent, simply smiling at the cloudless sky and the bright surroundings. I wonder if she’s finally figured out that I pick the long-term lot every time in hopes she’ll let me get her naked in the parking lot. He considered that angle as he fantasized what she had on or rather didn’t have on under that long, almost see-through skirt. 46

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It was a physical effort not to grab her hand and race to the car. Sam forced himself to walk slowly, letting the heat build low in his belly, visions of her naked breasts sweating in the heat of the closed car tormenting him. The act of walking became an exercise in delicious torment. He disliked underwear and the rough material of his pants slid against the sides of his erection with raw sweeping motions. At one point, he nearly lost it as the inelegant caress brought to mind the notion of being licked by a bevy of women in cat suits. Those damned silver-tipped talons had put him in a weird hunger for cat themed sex play. Reaching the car, he noted hungrily that two large SUVs had parked on either side of his smaller four-door sedan. The row of cars to the rear of his smaller Mercury was just as large, giving them a wall of steel to hide behind. Opening the trunk, he set her bag down on the asphalt and stepped back. Penny gave him an inscrutable look as she bent to pick up her bag. Leaning forward to position her bag in the car, she didn’t hear his zipper slide down but she did feel his hands as they flipped her skirt over her hips. Looking around in alarm, Penny scanned the lot but saw nothing but tall, silent hulking vehicles. The idea that anyone could come along and see what they were obviously going to do was heady and sent liquid heat spurting from her core over his waiting fingers. Deftly, Sam dipped his fingers into her plush opening letting the slick coating bathe each before sliding them forward parting her folds. “Naughty girl,” he rumbled in her ear as his knee parted her thighs, giving his hand more room to work. “No panties. Did you touch yourself on the plane thinking of me?” “No,” Penny whimpered, rocking herself against his evasive fingers. He knew what she liked and instead of giving it to her, he rubbed around the spot, lifting the thin skin hooding the sensitive flesh, stretching it, and making the desire for contact spike higher. Arching her back, she rubbed hungrily against his exposed cock as his fingers circled her hungry clit and pinched. Fast and hard, he slid hilt deep, pressing her spread thighs against the open trunk. Penny widened her stance and placed a bent knee inside the trunk of the car changing the angle of penetration. Growling, he grabbed her hips and held her steady, thrusting deep, pinning her against the car as he allowed a hand to slide back to her engorged labia. Quickly his fingers found her and stroked in time with his thrusts, bringing her to the edge of orgasm faster than she imagined possible. Vision glazed, she watched the world from between the trunk door and its support for passersby but only saw waves of heat wriggling from the surrounding surfaces. Her sex-drugged mind reveled in the thready fingers, imagining them playing over her body 47

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like silky tentacles. Even without the touch of his hands, Penny felt the twin points of her nipples tighten painfully, begging to be touched. Touching her own body always made her feel lightly guilty, dirty. Today under the bright sun, she gave in and slid her hands under her loose cotton blouse and the confining bra. Moaning as he slowed the rhythm, she pushed backwards hungrily, seeking more but his hand stopped, cupping her swollen lips. Fingers curling into the slick curls, Sam used his other hand to pull the keys from the trunk lid and with a chirp unlocked the doors. “If you’re going to touch yourself for me, I want to watch,” he grated in her ear. Penny’s body nearly wept when he withdrew and air kissed the exposed flesh as he scooped her up, shutting the trunk and opening the door. Positioning himself between the open door and Penny, Sam unbuttoned his shirt, watching her clear eyes slowly soften. Shamelessly, he toed off his shoes and let his pants fall to the ground. Bending, he bit at a nipple as his hands fished the freed garments from the pavement. Hot, wet lips clamped down on a nipple and she was lost. Penny blindly followed Sam’s push backwards into the car. The air was stifling hot, making every breath come harder. The heat only served to make her body tighten and pucker as her blood pounded, sending motes of light and dark behind her eyes. At a gravelly prompt she pulled the door closed. No matter what framed his lank form, Penny found Sam to be the most sensually, beautiful, erotic male she had ever encountered. His chiseled lips could soften and tame the wildest need her body thought up; long, thin fingers played her muscles with the adept touch of a master pianist. Inside the car, the caramel colors of the seat and sidewalls made his deep auburn hair burn in the midday sun. She loved how he could easily stand totally naked and allow her the security of clothing. “Straddle my lap,” he ordered. Shivers crawled down her spine; the voice of Teacher always raised their carnality to a new level. Tanned hands helped array her skirt, tucking the material into the waistband, back and away. “I want to watch as I sink into your flesh. Maybe you will watch with me?” The idea of watching the slide of his thickness into her wet core sent a wave of wetness to limn her lower lips afresh. “Unbutton your blouse, then your bra,” he commanded, fingers splayed on her inner thighs keeping her body aligned just behind his jutting arousal. Impishly she rocked lightly against his cock, rubbing her wet, hungry pearl of flesh up and down, in short caresses as her fingers slipped the material apart. Long ago, she’d found front clasping bras to be so much more accommodating, Sam hotly smiled his approval as the lacy peach-colored confection parted, freeing the weight of her breasts. Almost transfixed by the wet rubbing and the slow trails of sweat trickling from her neck over the creamy 48

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globes of flesh to the dusky tan nipples, Sam slid his thumbs closer to her spread delta in slow circular motions. “Lift yourself,” his voice lowered an octave. Penny flushed, his eyes never left her swollen sex as she braced against the backs of the seats and poised over his bobbing member. “No hands,” he stopped her when she would have guided his dewy head into her channel. “Use your hips,” his voice urged. She couldn’t believe the heat in his eyes, the soft chocolate-brown burned and ignited fires inside. Moving slowly, intently her face a study in frustrated wanting, she rotated her hips, rocking forward to catch the tip of his shaft. Feeling him touch a little father back than planned, she tilted forward and luxuriated in the sliding motion from backdoor to opening. Moaning in anticipation, Penny made to lower herself quickly but found Sam’s hands braced under her pelvis. It humbled her that he could support all her weight and still be so relaxed. The corded ropes of muscle in his chest and arms didn’t even shake as he slowly impaled her on his glistening length. When she made to lift and rock her hips in the dance of love, his hands again stilled her, holding her frame tightly to his, simply staring at the juncture of their bodies. “God, you are so beautiful.” Hoarse with need wonderment still colored the deep rasping tones, and made her inner muscles tighten around his thickness. A small whimper escaped the back of her throat. “Please…” “Please, what my love?” Raptly he watched the parted folds of her labia blush a deep wine color as the swollen aching clit revealed and begged for his fingers. “Touch me or free me.” She hated that she was so weak but such weakness made her bones melt with sexual heat. “No, I want to watch.” He bared his teeth viciously. “Lift your breasts, hold them out for me.” Obediently, she lifted the aching globes, pointing her turgid nipples at him. “Roll the nipples in your fingers, pluck them. Show me what you like,” he ordered in slow measured tones that made her toes curl. Each rolling tug on the excited flesh lanced to her pelvis making the muscles there ache for motion, yet he held her still. From his position on the bench seat, Sam watched as the milky skin pinked with excitement and reddened under the soft fingers working the feminine flesh. He felt as she tightened around his cock, fisting his length in liquid fire. Perspiration beaded on her neck, trailed down her chest, beneath her breasts across the soft planes of her navel, and buried itself in the crisp curls standing proudly above her exposed sex. 49

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“I want to kiss your fingers.” He smiled deceptively. He worked hard to present a lazy façade, his back was tied in knots as he fought to remain motionless, only feeling the moist clamp of her sheath as it wept tears of desire over his sac. He saw the lost look in her eyes as she leaned forward at the waist to press her fingers to his waiting lips. Greedily, he nipped at the ends of her fingers, sucking the soft, salty digits into his mouth. Using his tongue, he caressed them, simulating the thrusts her body longed for before releasing them dripping with saliva. “Touch yourself.” She moved to put her damp fingers on her breast but he stopped her, “No, not there. You know where those silky fingers need to be. Now. Touch yourself.” Uncertainty caused her to shake, sending tremors of almost impossible need to feel him sliding inside against her walls. “Touch yourself,” he coaxed, flexing his buttocks in a micro-thrust that made her arch back. Tentatively, Penny shyly laid her wet fingers to the sides of her hungry flesh. The feeling was unlike anything she could have expected, the skin was soft and puffed with need, her middle finger jerked back and forth as the intense rush of pulsing desire burned from her core down the backs of her legs to the soles of her feet, making the toes spasm. “Slowly,” he barked, as her fingers drummed, quickly bringing her to the edge of orgasm. He saw the shuttered look in her fogged hazel eyes and knew she was beyond his goading. Gripping her hips, he continued to watch her fingers swirling against the claret flesh of her mound as he lifted and pulled her heaving hips up. Bracing his heels on the floor and seat, Sam levered his hips upwards to meet her hammering his passion-dark flesh into her tightening core as her release took her. Sobbing, Penny shook as light exploded behind her eyes and in her blood, flooding her body with lightning bright arcs of heat as Sam thrust again and again. Falling forward, she ground mercilessly against him as another wave of electric fire burned upwards along her spine. Grinding her close, he bit the soft sensual skin at the apex of her shoulder, fisting his hand in her hair as he drilled into her impossible tightness. Everything in his world narrowed to the woman in his arms and his unchained need aflame in the blood as he clamped her tightly to him as he exploded in uncontrolled bucking beneath her. Hours made minutes as her wild panting stirred the fine hairs of his neck. Her skin cooled lightly in the close heat of the car and made him thicken in anticipation of another go. Penny felt his stirring inside and laughed. The happy hiccup of sound lifted her free and she kissed the damp hollow of his throat. 50

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“Not again sweetheart, I’m starved.” Smiling she would have sworn guilt lurked in those sated brown eyes of his as he cleared his throat. “About dinner…” he began, staring at a point past her head.

**** “I can not believe you let that little bitch talk you into having a double date with us. Tonight of all nights.” Penny slammed the door on their home hard enough to make the glass in the living room windows rattle in their frames. “Sarah is my best friend. Look,” Sam tried again to explain the problem, “I know you don’t approve of our past. Hell, I don’t even approve,” he exploded, “it just hit me how wrong it all was!” He stalked into the living area and kicked an innocent hassock. “If she had a brother, father or even a damned cousin don’t you think I would have had my ass kicked years ago for treating her like a glorified sex toy?” Navigating the living room, he looked for something to destroy. “I talked to her while you were gone and she was so lost. She finally has a real chance at a date, a real relationship and what is she doing? Setting up “interviews” like meeting the man she’s secretly loved for years was a professional engagement.” Stunned, Penny stood in the foyer and watched as he picked up magazines and flipped them onto the floor. Her latest copy of Cosmo sailed past like a haystack Frisbee. Back in college, it had offended her deeply when she learned of the reality of the relationship. Not simply because she was jealous, that relationship had begun long before she gave into the electric heat Sam’s presence pulled along her senses. It had offended her because he treated the younger woman like a live sex doll. “I tried to tell you that two years ago. You mean it just sank in?” Dropping tiredly to the soft peach and tan sofa, Penny propped her head up on her hand. “What brought this on?” Scuffing his shoes along the carpeted floor, Sam scowled at the patterned rug. “Sarah called, invited me over,” he looked at Penny’s strained face and sighed. “I know, you asked me not to see her again but, I dunno, she sounded so on edge.” He crossed the room picking up the magazines he had flung around, “She was nearly in tears because his cousin called and arranged everything. There she was, ready to just go along with being a one night stand for some asshole with a hard-on and all I wanted to do was beat the crap out of both of those men for thinking to just use and abuse her.” A sharp stabbing pain pierced her heart. It sounded as if Sam loved the girl. “Do you love her Sam?” she choked out. “Well, yeah, she’s like my best friend. The sex was just convenient,” Then it hit him. “Oh babe, no, I love you with all my heart. Sarah is just a friend, nothing more, 51

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honestly.” He gathered up her hands and kissed the tears flooding her cheeks. “I did wrong by her and want to make it right. Help me, this one time and if you want, I’ll never so much as talk to her again.” Penny sat silent, leaning her head back against the couch, she strove to ignore his lips stroking her cheek, the edge of her jaw. Could she do this? Sit across the table from a woman she saw as a rival for Sam’s heart? “Penny, angel, look at me please,” he begged. “You are the one I want to marry, to make babies with, and spend the rest of my life with. See?” Against her will, her eyes opened and saw the box in his trembling fingers. Her heart jumped painfully in her chest again. Yes, he had asked her weeks ago to be his wife and she had agreed…but could this be? Sam watched as her damp green-brown eyes fluttered open, and shattered in almost terrible hope. Fumbling, her hands reached for the brightly wrapped box. “I, um, meant to give this to you at the airport but got distracted.” His eyes softened and glinted under shadowed lids and she blushed. Slowly, she peeled the wrapper open and considered the box. “Woman,” he nagged, “you are killing me. Open it.” Biting her lip, Penny eased the stiff box open and gasped. Against the emerald velvet lining winked a Forget-Me-Not crafted of metal and precious stones. Her eyes flooded with tears as she hugged her arms around Sam’s neck. It was perfect, more than perfect. “Damn you for being so wonderful. Yes, I want you for my forever.” Sniffling, she bit the inside of her cheek, “and I’ll have dinner tonight with that woman and her man. Just this once.”

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Chapter Six

Never appeal to a woman's "better nature.” She may not have one. Invoking her self-interest gives you more leverage. Unknown The meeting with the bank officials went from headache to migraine when Mrs. Jones handed him the thick stack of manila folders crowned with the pink message from Sarah. Neither bank official seemed inclined to move forward on the investigation calling in the proper authorities without an ‘in person’ accounting from the investigation team. Making the pain lancing his brain even sweeter was the idea that two women he was romantically linked with held spots on the suspect list. If it came down to a conflict of interest, he’d turn the investigation over to his father with relish. Slipping the pink memo into his pocket unread, he opened the top file. Whoever the culprit was, they were female. Wonderful. His gut twisted; there had been five men and nine women on the list of employees who had access to the accounts and information where the skimming took place. “Gentlemen,” Jamie interrupted the rabid discourse between Blaire Edgemont and John Joseph. From the time the meeting started, they had done nothing but argue about whom it couldn’t be with the scant information provided. He understood that First National Savings and Loan Association kept employees for multiple years, but he never imagined such loyalty between administration, management, and staff. “I hate to interrupt your conversation, these folders were sent ahead by our investigator. Mr. Stevens was delayed at the airport but promises he’ll be here soon.” Jamie choked back impatience with his long time friend, and hoped it really was a delay at the airport and not a case of beer and a hard-on over a bit of tail that held him up. Maybe Viviane was right, and he should have left “Even Steven” in the bar nursing a whiskey sour and a failed marriage. “The trail of information on the illicit account was traced to an offshore bank. Unfortunately for us, the account was set up in person.” Twin confused stares greeted his 53

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announcement. “If they would have used a computer to establish the account, there would have been computer generated information. Instead, this person traveled to the bank in the British West Indies, opened the account, and stipulated that while deposits would be made to a shell account electronically, there was to be no computerization of the account.” “You can do that?” Edgemont stared in shock. Despite nearing his seventies, the bank president was a ferocious technology buff. “I thought all such information was computerized.” “Unfortunately, no,” Jamie explained. “Given the country, the bank, and their desire to make a potentially wealthy customer very happy, a great many things can happen. Such as this establishment, Tortuga Bank refuses to hand over any information unless a formal request comes from the American government to their own. They are insisting every letter of the law be observed in both countries. Complicating this, while the country is a British Protectorate, they have their own laws independent of the United Kingdom.” “Well then, what do we know?” John Joseph leaned forward. He had been watching the younger man like a hawk and knew there was more to tell. “What we do know, sir, is that the account was established by a young woman on holiday.” Jamie settled back in his seat as the two men slowly digested the information. “So!” Edgemont crowed, “I was right! It was a woman, probably the one that caused that awful scene this morning—appalling lack of breeding in this upcoming generation.” This was interesting, Jamie made a note on his tablet, arguments could mean the guilty person was becoming sloppy and someone found something. “Damn it, Blaire, I told you what happened and that the young woman in question was placed on probation. We are watching her very closely. If it is her, we will know quickly enough. The money is removed at timed intervals, is it not young man?” Jamie nodded, “Yes sir, the deposits are made every two weeks. However, I am wondering if the person putting through the deposit is the actual embezzler.” He pulled out a second sheaf of papers. “According to the records, there was a program put into play that automatically shifted the residual percentages of cents into a separate account. Once the account reaches a certain amount of money, paperwork is computer generated to have the funds transferred from your bank to one of a system of twelve banks where it leapfrogs across the country. What threw us initially was how the banks always seemed to be different.” “They weren’t different were they?” John looked tired studying his cuticles. 54

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“No sir, they weren’t. After reviewing the transaction records for the last four years, we found that there are always the same banks involved but at different times and in different patterns.” “What determines where the money goes?” Edgemont’s expression had changed to one of interest. Puzzles fascinated some people, and the older man appeared to be one of them. “On that, we aren’t quite sure yet, there is a pattern but we haven’t been able to isolate it. We hope that it ties in with the identity of the thief.” Rubbing at his neck, Jamie sat back. “This really isn’t as uncommon as you think.” “Excuse me?” Edgemont gapped incredulously. “Do you think that every bank blithely waves goodbye to thousands of dollars every year and not notice it?” “That wasn’t what I was saying, sir.” He shifted in his chair, his lower back was starting to ache, and his knees were screaming for movement. “What I should have said, was that in cases of embezzlement the money comes from skimming the fractured cents or from rounding up on interest rates and pushing the excess into another account for easy access.” Standing stiffly, he moved around the room to the small side table where Viviane had placed a coffee station and a pitcher of water. Under the guise of getting a drink, he shifted on his knees, lubricating the aching joints. Turning back, he continued, “What makes your thief unique is that he or she,” he placed a small emphasis on ‘he’ to show that men shouldn’t be ruled out, “has managed to do this for a minimum of four years using what appears to be a random shifting of accounts leading to an anonymous offshore account. Most smalltime embezzlers don’t get this sophisticated.” “Small?” John Joseph nearly roared the word as he leapt to his feet. “You call an average of forty-thousand dollars per year small?” “For a bank with assets totaling more than $312 million, yes, I call it small.” He held the small glass and gestured to the easel where they had gone over the different accounts. “Looking over the accounts, it is even more interesting to find that the person isn’t stealing from your customers, but from you. FDIC insurance would cover the loss were the funds discovered as stolen from the customers, but not from the establishment itself.” Swirling the last little bit of water, he watched the small liquid vortex as it spun madly in the bottom of the glass. “Gentlemen, the real question isn’t simply who is taking the money, it is who felt themselves wronged enough to have set this in motion? The money deposited in that offshore account has never been touched.”

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“Son, a word before you leave,” Sleator’s voice snapped through the intercom before disconnecting. Looking at the clock Jamie scowled, it was after six and he was going to be late meeting Sarah and her friends at the River’s Edge. He hated working late and he hated showing up at events late–two of the reasons he had made a lousy addition to the law offices in New York. The big firms expected fourteen-hour days and plenty of brass-ass kissing after hours over aperitifs and hors d’oeuvres. He hated the schmoozing, the long days and sleepless nights that benefited only the firm. The first year he’d bent to the task, grateful for the chance to prove himself in the bigger arena, only to sit and do the work of a paralegal. Finally, when he’d suffered enough, he’d been assigned as a junior to a partner of the firm; a man only a handful of years older but a world apart in breeding. Manhattan County born and bred, connections had gotten him his job and sufficient bootlicking had assured him a fast rise to the top. Stupidly, Jamie worked longer and harder than ever hoping to score some respect, in the end, all he did was make his senior look good, got the smiling fake, society puppy the title of “upcoming Turk” a “raider”. Now, here he was again, back to the basics at his dad’s firm. Finally getting the chance to run with something he could prove himself on, and the old man wouldn’t let him do anything without keeping a finger in. Snapping his briefcase closed, Jamie fixed his tie and set his jaw. Time to report in, again. The building was quiet, most of the employees had gone home cashing in on the basic nine to five existence he’d craved after New York. Thick Berber carpets muffled the sound of his steps as he walked into his father’s inner sanctum, a disappointing room of bookshelves and worn wooden desk. But the aura of power that radiated from that simple desk was frightening. No, Jamie corrected, it wasn’t the desk, but the man that exuded the power. Not with Brooks Brothers or Armani, but with ability and tenacity. “You wanted to see me, sir?” Older eyes, identical to his own looked at him from above half-moons of glass. The face was seamed with lines, yet had an edge of tirelessness. Moments like this, the old man wore a leonine quality that brought to mind old world generals. “Just a word of warning, if you continue to see that Michaels girl, it could come back to bite you on the ass.” “As adroitly put as always. Thank you, sir.” Jamie smirked, turning for the door. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Sleator stood and circled his desk, leaning a hip on the faded surface. 56

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“How about I ask questions for once? Why didn’t you give me your gloom and doom prognostications when I was dating Tammy Sanders? You have the great ability to read people. Why didn’t you tell me she was nothing more than a society climber?” “I thought it would do you some good to get a little ambition, even if you had to wear it on the end of your cock.” Jamie wasn’t sure what stunned him more, hearing that he didn’t have ambition or hearing the word “cock” come out of his dear dad’s lips. “So, Tammy’s greed is good. What is so bad about Sarah? Her mom? Sorry to tell you I did look into her mother today, the woman died of uterine cancer when Sarah was twelve. There was no big scandal to the woman. Naomi Michaels had an affair with a man she never named and came home, unmarried with a daughter. Where is the harm in this girl?” “That I can’t answer, client privilege protects what I know. All I can do is warn you not to get too close to the woman, what you don’t know will come back to haunt you.” “Whatever,” Jamie sneered off the warning. It was just like his old man to use bullshit maneuvers to get him to dance to his tune. “I don’t even know if I like Sarah enough to put up with this crap. This will be our second date. What I know about her is that I want to know her better, is that good enough for you?” “No,” Sleator smiled sadly at his son, “it’s only enough to scare me.”

**** The River’s Edge Restaurant had humble beginnings and never forgot them. Founded by two sisters widowed following World War II, they made ends meet by serving homemade meals from homegrown goods. Its stone and wood cracker-box design facing the river grew to do more than just look over the rushing currents but to border and eventually boardwalk over the flow. Inside, the whitewashed walls bore pictures of family and friends while small round and square tables anointed with gingham print cloths dotted the main serving area. Tables, benches, and long picnic benches graced the exterior gardens and river boardwalk. For private parties or intimate gatherings, second floor bedrooms were converted to small dining lounges divided by a wooden rococo bar. Sam had been thrilled just to score a table in the smaller, more secluded dining areas. While he would have preferred renting one side for the evening, he was more than happy to share the room with only two other diners. What he hadn’t expected was to see Sarah perched at the bar nursing a glass of wine. A soft hand at his elbow pulled him back when he moved toward the bar. “Let me, please.” 57

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He wasn’t fooled by Penny smile. “You two have never gotten along. Can I trust you to not bury the hatchet in her head?” Laughing, she pushed him towards their table in the far corner. “Good evening, Sarah,” the purr of satisfaction in the warm honeyed voice made the muscles on Sarah’s spine ripple. Turning to watch Penny slide onto the adjoining stool was akin to watching a great cat approach the water hole. Just hope I’m not on tonight’s menu, she shivered. She had enough on her mind without Penny’s insane fits of jealousy. The other woman sat deftly, turning her hand to allow the muted lights of the bar to catch on her new ring. “What a beautiful ring,” Sarah smiled to herself, feigning interest; it was obvious Penny was simply bursting to show it off. “Isn’t it just,” she gushed, “look, it’s a Forget Me Not.” Her voice was excited but awed. “Sam obviously loves you very much. I’ll bet it was made special for you.” The green in Penny’s hazel eyes glowed as tears welled. Dragging air in, Sarah took the plunge. “Truce?” she offered a hand to Penny, hoping that they could start fresh. She couldn’t stand to lose her best friend, not over a future wife. Penny grinned and clasped her hand, “Why not?” she chirped. “But,” Penny bit her lip, “I have to ask, how much did Sam--did you--what did he say about, well, about us?” Sarah considered carefully, over the years she and Sam had shared many secrets but never any about his fiancé. “He told me that he found his one true love, that she was beautiful and smart.” Sarah’s lips twisted in a sad bitter way, “He told me how beautiful you were. I was jealous.” Hunching over her wine, she felt her hair slide from behind her ear and cover her face. It was childish hiding behind her hair but it made her feel more secure. Cool fingers pushed the hair back behind her ear, startling her. Looking up she saw Penny’s cool eyes studying her closely. “Let me give you some advice for tonight…”

**** Jamie jogged up the steps, hoping he wasn’t too late. Scanning the faces in the first dining area, he kept moving to the second room when he caught a glimpse of Sarah’s smiling face bent next to a striking woman in a flowing blue peasant dress at the bar. Okay, he sighed in relief, he wasn’t too late. Moving into the room, he walked up to the women at the bar and put a hand on Sarah’s back. 58

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“Got your message.” He smiled softly into her eyes as she looked up. Was that panic in her gaze? The notion that she might be somehow nervous was heady and turned his smile hungry. “Jamie.” Just hearing that low burning drawl whisper his name made him harden. With a shake, she came to and introduced him to the woman sitting next to her at the bar. “Jamie, I’d like you to meet Penny Jordan, she’s agreed to marry my best friend. You know him,” she turned and held a hand out to someone behind him, “Sam Bennett.” Fuck! He cursed himself as he turned and tried to cordially greet the older brother of his former best friend. “We know each other,” he said tightly. “You do?” her voice sounded funny, strained as her clear-grey eyes narrowed on Sam’s beaming face. “You never said you two were acquainted, Sam.” Jamie found he liked the slightly suspicious sound in her voice. He relaxed and moved his hand from her lower back to her shoulder, lightly caressing the tense muscles there. She had been nervous. Another flash of heat washed over him as he held a hand out to Sam. “Been a long time, Sam.” “Not that long, Sleator,” Sam gritted out between clenched teeth. “Mark and Anna are doing well, nice of you to ask.” The hit scored, Jamie flinched. He had forgotten about the scene at the post prom party with Anna. “That wasn’t my most glorious moment,” Jamie conceded, “I still owe both of them an apology.” “Yes, you do.” Sam grabbed Jamie by the arm and escorted him to the table. Once clear of the women, he leaned close to Jamie and spoke very clearly, “Hurt this woman in any way and I will take you apart, your father be damned.” At the table, Sam and Penny shared a corner, snuggling over the menu and laughing intimately. She put a finger to Sam’s lips and he caught it lightly between his teeth with a grin then sucked it lightly, releasing it with a kiss. She glowed with joy and more, a sated content look gracing her softly rounded features. Out of consideration for Sarah, Jamie had opted to sit opposite her at the table, he hadn’t wanted to crowd her or spend the entire meal apologizing for bumping her with his shoes. As it was, they were nearly knee-to-knee at the long, narrow table designed for a party of eight. The lovers took the corner near the bay window overlooking a small inlet cove off of the river. The setting sun made the water burn with liquid gold lights that haloed Penny’s near black strands and ignited the red in Sam’s hair. Jamie watched them with longing. He saw them as a perfect couple. 59

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Then it hit him–that was what was missing in his life, not mind-bending sex, but incredible closeness. Shooting Sarah a hooded look, he saw the same longing reflected on her beautiful face. He didn’t think he would ever get tired of looking into the porcelain perfection of her face. She didn’t have classic ivory bisque tones, there was a dusky hue to her skin that brought to mind Latin heritage. The clear lines and warm sweeping curves had an innate quality that made his hand long to stroke her jaw, caress her cheek. Placing her chin in the palm of her graceful hand she sighed and let her head fall to the side, simply watching the other couple. The clean line of her neck gleamed under the shadow of her chestnut hair. A pulse beat vibrated just beneath a delicate ear, causing his own pulse to accelerate and throb through his system. Silently adjusting himself, Jamie tried not to wince at the uncomfortable feel of being fully erect at the table. A waitress came by and took orders, Jamie just deferred to the other male, allowing him to order for the table. He wasn’t sure he’d taste anything anyway, his mind was filled with the sweet taste of heaven he sampled last night when he caught Sarah unawares. Dark and sweet, he remembered as his eyes traced the outline of her plush lips sipping at her glass of amber wine. He could get drunk on her lips without any alcohol. The bartender moved unobtrusively around the table refreshing glasses. Sarah looked up as the thick glass with his whiskey sour clunked on the table. How had he ever looked into those eyes and found them watery? They had the feral hunger of a wolf, clear and wintry but raging with hot thirst as the pupils dilated in the candlelight. He sensed more than felt her shifting under the table. With rapt attention, he watched as she scooted her chair in closer, relaxing back against the curved back, her hands almost innocently clasping the stem of her wine glass. Her eyes never left his as she lifted the glass to her mouth, lightly dipping the tip of her tongue into the fermented drink, capturing a small drop that she smoothed over her upper and lower lips as her gaze went from silver hunger to burning storm tossed intensity. Again he shifted in his chair as his cock strained to be free, nearly bumping the table as he tried to adjust his seat. Across the table, those wine rimmed lips smiled, framing her teeth. For a moment, he imagined the feel of them as they teased the head of his cock and he felt the pressure build in his sac. Before he could move, something bumped into his knees under the table. Instinctively he parted his legs to move them out of the way. The air in his lungs froze as he felt first one long soft foot then another push his thighs farther apart. Sliding his hands to his lap, he lifted one to the top of his thigh. So soft, like the rest of her, the skin was like silk flowing over a high arch and long thin bones to long elegant toes. Palming her foot, he brushed his thumb along the high instep, his fingers 60

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massaging the sides of her ankle. She slipped her other foot to the top of his other leg and used those long, thin toes to tease the waist of his pants. When her clever toes walked their way along the top of his pants to slide along the rigid expanse of his erection, he readjusted his napkin to hide the activity. Sarah moved to take advantage of his hands freeing her other foot, moving it to cup the other side of his throbbing cock. Delicately, her toes inched up his hardness to the clasp of his pants. It was all Jamie could do not to thrust his hips against the unusual caress. The feeling of her silky feet from heel to toe constantly brushing against his length was almost more than he could take. By the hot gleam in her eyes, he knew there was more to come. With a pop, the tension in his body lessened, she’d managed using only those elegant digits to free the button. He convulsively swallowed as he felt her toes raking down the sides of his cotton-clad rod, and pulled the zipper down to just above his hot sac. When he felt those incredibly canny digits grip his boxers and tug them lower, he knew he was lost. Nothing else existed in the room but her passion-dark eyes and the soft glide of her skin next to his pulsing shaft. Everything and everyone else faded into nothingness. He wanted to groan out the sharp pleasure he felt when the arched centers of her smooth feet seemed to wrap around the base of his straining erection as those too limber toes gripped and smoothed just beneath the weeping head. Jamie was lost in the erotic well of feeling, watching her lap at her wine like a cat as her feet stroked, gripped, and rolled his flesh. Need burned up the base of his spine. Downing his drink in a single gulp, he felt the alcohol ignite in his chest, spreading the feeling of fire faster, hotter than before. Still her eyes held his, he drowned in the oceans of yearning as he flushed from the building heat in his groin. He was so close, but didn’t want the feeling to ever end. More, he wanted to plunge his hardness into her, deep and wet with her creamy heat encircling him, tightening around him as he pushed her over the edge. Instead, he felt his eyes glaze as she pushed him again into a body wracking orgasm–only he held himself tight and simply let the hot gush spurt from his cock, over her feet under the tented napkin. Ribbons of electricity twisted around his spent flesh as the slick, wet sin of her feet milked him dry. Smiling, Sarah found her shoes under the table and pushed back. “I…uh, need to go to the ladies room for a moment.” She smiled. Her cheeks becomingly pink before fleeing the room. If he could have moved, he would have jumped up and followed her in hopes of locking them in the bathroom together. But he forgot the others at the table. Sam cleared 61

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his throat and Jamie started, nearly falling off his chair at the sound. Penny was gone, the only other person at the table was Sam, looking like he knew exactly what had happened and enjoyed the show. It rankled. But, they did open themselves to such looks indulging in public. Under the guise of fooling with his napkin, Jamie fixed his pants. “So, Sleator,” the look on the other man’s face might have been warmed with humor but his tone was cold as ice, “what are your intentions towards Sarah?” “Jesus, not you too, it’s none of your damned business.” It was starting to piss him off, everyone warning him away from Sarah. “Yeah, it is my damned business because I’ll be the one picking up the pieces when she falls apart. I’m her best friend, not Penny.” That got Jamie’s attention. He considered it for a second, before testing the waters. “You guys are really best friends, no secrets, right?” “Right.” “Were you the one she tested that insane sex-o-meter contraption on?” It was Jamie’s turn to sit in silent satisfaction as the other man did a silent double-take and stared in confusion. “A what?” Omitting the more personal details of the evening, Jamie explained the weird beeping box rigged with wires and tin foil. “Like one of those old biofeedback toys, only hooked up to a box like a lie detector?” Jamie nodded. “God, no! Wonder where the hell she came up with that.” Sam stared at the hall to the bathroom clearly dazed. “Did it work?” Jamie chuckled, “A little too well I think,” he confessed.

**** “Don’t scratch the itch,” Penny taunted in the bathroom. “Excuse me?” Sarah played innocent. She had just finished rinsing off her feet and was replacing the ankle straps on her shoes when Penny sauntered in. “It looked like you two were playing under the table.” “What if we were?” Sarah felt her temper rising for a second time. Why was everyone doing their level best to get on her damned nerves today? She didn’t need to scratch any “itch” anyway. Just watching Jamie’s eyes change from burning blue to a soft, dreamy hazel had slammed through her with enough force to quake a small release in her own system. Nothing compared to what she hoped to one day feel when she could convince him to make love over having sex, but he didn’t want love, just sex.

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“Well, if you want my advice, the way to keep a man like Jamie Sleator isn’t with playing footsie under the table, you have to give him a meal. He’s a big guy,” Penny slanted the younger woman a haughty, knowing look, “feed it good.” Snapping closed a small compact, Penny turned and smoothed the curve of her eyebrows and smiled sweetly at her reflection before giving Sarah a smarmy little mirror wave and flouncing out the door. What if she was right? Sarah considered what if Jamie needed more than the tastes she had given him? Could she risk going all out, giving him a real taste of her talents. It was one thing to fantasize about using every trick, each toy in her repertoire, but something totally different to use them without knowing that he really wanted her. What would happen if he decided he didn’t need anything emotional, that the use of her body was enough? Her heart hurt so badly at the thought, she had to force her lungs to work. Pain banded round her middle, tight and vicious. She risked losing his attention by not giving him what he asked for–nights of incredible sex.

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Chapter Seven

I’m so bad, I should be tied down for my own good. Unknown The ride home was quiet, too quiet. Sam watched the pleased countenance of his love with a little suspicion. “What did you girls have to talk about at the bar and in the ladies’ tonight?” He kept his tone light. Penny had a tendency towards feeling so high on accomplishments that she forgot to be circumspect. It was why she freelanced instead of staying with the larger firms in Cincinnati. “Oh, nothing much.” She smiled leaning over to fondle his thigh. “Nothing much seems to have put you in a stellar mood.” He crooked a brow, sliding his thigh under her hand, guiding it closer to something clamoring for her attention. “Mmm hmm…” she agreed sidling up, rubbing those plump greedy fingers over his inner thigh stopping scant centimeters away from the heavy bulge in his pants. “I’ve dreamed about giving Sarah a taste of what it was like for me since we met.” “Really?” His voice deepened with want, through daunt of will he kept the tone gentle, flowing and lost to her ministrations. He loved the woman next to him more than his own life, would die in her place, but would never understand the inferiority she seemed to feel in the face of Sarah. “All you wanted from me was sex,” her voice sharpened in triumph, “it wasn’t until later that it was love.” “Ah,” he breathed on the air as her hands fluttered in an erotic dance in his lap, lightly touching his erection before dipping along a hip on route to skimming across his stomach. “Let her have plain old sex and see how unfulfilling it is for a change.” Lips nipped at his earlobe as she drew the last sentence out. Sam plucked a busy hand from his lap and brought the curled, dainty fingers to his lips. Kissing the closed fingers until they opened, he found the pulse at her wrist with his tongue and sucked. He felt her heave closer, tasted her fluttering pulse under his lips and smiled. 64

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“Baby girl, you and I never had, ‘just sex’, every time was making love for me.” Gently but firmly, he disentangled her from his side. When she was sitting grumpily back in her own seat, he sent her a hooded glance. “Would you like a night of just sex? I can oblige you; show you what you were really missing.” Penny felt her toes curl at the voice. God, yes she loved that voice. He used the same one a week ago when they experimented with paddling. It was so hot the way his voice changed as he wielded the thick leather crop. Her face and other parts seethed with heat remembering how evenly he applied the lashes, not hard enough to really hurt, but with enough force to make the skin pink and warm. Her backside had been super sensitive following the slaps; the shock of his tongue soothing the small hurts had nearly tripped her into orgasm. Nameless yearnings shuddered her frame recalling how exquisite he felt sliding against the backs of her reddened thighs, his hand holding her ankles crossed together, her hands in loose restraints attached to the bedposts. She’d never imagined anything to rival the sight of him clasping her legs to his chest as he thrust deeply inside. “Mmm…” she purred, stretching in the seat. “You gonna teach me a lesson tonight?” Arching under his gaze, her skin ignited where his hot eyes roamed. “Maybe, if you ask nicely.” His voice was a deep rumble of sinful promises. The headlights of the car illuminated the side of their home as he spun the wheel aiming at the opening garage door. Without a word, he parked the car, closed the garage door, and unlocked the house. Penny felt a little lost; his easy-going banter had fled. “Sam?” Following behind she wasn’t prepared for the speed of his turn. Startled she backed up and slammed almost painfully into the door. Grinding his lower body into her, he reached for her hands. Instinctively her hands had retreated to her chest, to push him back so they were an easy harvest. Roughly, he jerked her wrists over her head as his free hand unbuttoned the top of her dress. She tried to move sideways but his knee pinned her legs to the door. “Sam?” Penny was starting to get scared. What the hell had she asked for? “Your safety word, Penny, what is it?” His voice was coolly impersonal, a telephone ad had more warmth, but his hand spread warmth as it traveled inside her top freeing her breasts from their confines. His fingers made short work of pinching the twin points of her nipples fully erect. “The word Penny, what was it?” “M-m-meadow,” she stammered out, caught between a rising tide of heat rushing between her spread thighs and fear over what he was going to do. 65

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“Remember that word. It’s the only thing that will save you.” His voice remained cold as his free hand roughly tugged her dress open for his mouth. After the sharp pinches the wet caress was a welcome relief, she sagged against him then stiffened when his teeth bit down. His mouth suckled her breast in before his teeth bore down sharply on the stiff blushing areola. She cried out, it hurt so good. Every tug of his teeth arrowed straight to her pelvis, making her cream against the pressure of his thigh holding her unmoving. Hot liquid seeped between her nether lips and soaked her panties. Incoherently, she heard her voice begging his attention on the other breast, but he never moved, letting the feeling build to near screaming in her blood. Slowly, he raised his head and stared lifelessly into her face. “Get naked and wait for me on the bed.” Goosebumps raced over her arms. This was something alien from their normal joining. He’d never touched her with anything but reverence and joy. Stumbling towards the bedroom, she slid the dress off her shoulders and over her hips all the while wondering if she really wanted this. Reaching for a hanger, Penny slipped the dress into the closet and turned to find Sam’s scowling face staring a hole through her back. “Didn’t I tell you to get naked? Didn’t I tell you to wait for me on the bed?” Roughly, he prodded her backwards until the mattress hit the backs of her legs and she fell onto the coverlet. With more speed than grace, he cupped her buttocks, peeling her panties off, flinging them to the side. Surging upwards in outrage, she balled her fists as if to fight Sam off, but he harshly pushed her chest back down and held her there. “If you want to quit, use the word, this is the last time I’ll remind you. If you do not use the word, I’ll respond as I would in any lesson.” The words made her blood run with ice. He was serious. Penny laid there looking up into the face of the man she loved with every ounce of her being. Certainly, she trusted him enough for rough play, didn’t she? A part of her heart cried for her not to put them through this, but another darker piece egged her on, dared her to find the depths he could take her to. She wanted to try new things with him, risqué things, but not like this, with ice in his gaze. Ashamed of the way her chin shook, she forced out, “meadow.” Sighing in relief, Sam dropped to the bed beside Penny, cuddling her close. “Baby, I don’t ever want to go down that road again. Did I scare you, hurt you?” She snuffled, shaking her head. “Good. I’m glad.” Lifting her head, he examined her face, kissing the trail of tears. “Love games with you are that, loving games. I never loved another woman the way I love you. Yes, I fucked Sarah even after we began dating, but there was never any love, any feeling between us. Do you understand?” 66

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Penny felt shame burning in her gut as she nodded. “That--that was all you shared with--with…” “Yes, sweetheart, that was fucking. Fucking was all I shared with Sarah. That is all she’s ever known sexually. Now that she has a chance at what we share, don’t you think she should have it and not the other? I promise you, no more, never again with Sarah.” “I’m so sorry Sam, I didn’t understand.” “Shh… that’s okay. Things will work out.” He rocked her to his chest. Her skin was warm and smooth under his hand and he grinned, “In the meantime, be a shame to waste being naked don’t you think?”

**** “You want to come back to my place?” Grey eyes pinned him in the foyer of the restaurant. One part of his anatomy was cheering to follow her twitchy skirt home. “Not tonight Sarah, maybe another night. I’m kind of tired and have to be in court in the morning.” Her eyes continued to study him. Jamie wasn’t sure if he liked it or not, being sized up like a prize bull. Turning he walked into the cool night air. “Jamie, wait!” The clicking of her heels on the concrete walkway made sharp little reports. Smoking guns ricocheted through his mind as he watched her approach from slim ankle, up a sleek calve to where her lean legs disappeared beneath her working girl skirt. Tall, thin, spike heels shouldn’t be called “fuck-me pumps” but ‘gun barrels’ he wondered what magic she could conjure while wearing those towering leather stilts. Quickly, he shook his mind clear of that track. Sex was good, but didn’t last. “Kenny said…” “I don’t care what Kenny said. Look at Kenny, he’s an utter geek who sits at home with take-out and porno movies.” Errantly he scratched at his head. “Kenny doesn’t even know what Kenny wants. All he does is settle for what’s available.” Wrapping an arm around her trim waist, Jamie swept Sarah towards the parking lot. “You know what I want? I want what your friends have.” “You don’t want to have sex with me?” Did he really hear that sin-filled voice tremble? “Honey, I want to have sex with you so bad my balls will probably be blue by the time I get home.” Crudely, he took her hand and cupped his erection. Instead of being repulsed, she moved closer, curving her body into his. “Then come home with me, let me take care of that.” Tilting her head back, the sodium lights made her face seem sallow but did nothing to dull the light in her eyes. 67

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“Or, I can come home with you?” Her hips moved in a leg breaking rotation that made his knees shake. “Didn’t you hear me?” It was sheer torture but he managed to slip her out of his arms. “I said I didn’t want just sex.” Sarah reached forward and pulled his head down to hers. “Who ever told you being with me was ‘just sex’, lied. I want you Jamie Sleator, in my bed and in my life. I will have what I want. Do you understand?” Nonplussed at her aggression, he nodded. “Excellent, then you will meet me at my home tomorrow night.” Her eyes burned with promise. “Wear something disposable.” Lightly she pulled his head the remaining distance and tasted his mouth. His tightly closed lips made no difference. All she wanted was a taste, and she would have it. Her mouth skipped across his lips, licking at the corners, testing the firmness. Kisses and moist caresses as her hands cradled the sides of his face. In the books she read, it had seemed so easy getting a person to open up but Jamie wasn’t budging. Slowly, she feathered kisses along his jaw to his ear and over his cheekbone. Feeling inspired, she lightly licked his closed eyelids before sipping at his mouth one last time. Her heart was pounding like crazy; she couldn’t believe she wasn’t shaking from head to toe with the force of it. He wasn’t responding, the shaking reached her hands and they trembled below his ears. Something wasn’t right. Stepping back and away, Jamie looked down and saw fear and pain at his rejection before her expression shuttered. She was holding herself a little too rigidly. Perhaps, he chanced, perhaps this would work. Stepping in, his mouth found the soft fullness of her lips and he felt himself falling standing still. Blood pounded through his ears like an ocean wave as her tongue slid against his. Seconds ticked by hours long before she lightly pushed against his chest. “Do you really have to go home?” Jamie looked at the long perfectly manicured fingers resting on his chest. Pictured them wrapped around his length, urging him, and he closed his eyes. “Yes,” he croaked out, “but I’ll be at your house tomorrow night.”

**** “Mr. Joseph?” John Joseph raised his aching head from his tented fingers. “Yes Sarah,” he smiled wanly, “what can I do for you today?” “It’s these electronic transfers.” Fingers ruffled a stack of papers as small even teeth worried her bottom lip. 68

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“Is something the matter?” This could be what they were waiting for, and the thought of it made his stomach drop. Sarah Michaels was his most diligent employee. She couldn’t possibly be the one responsible for the embezzling. Yes, he forced himself to admit she was employed roughly about the same time the computer program generating the illicit electronic transfers skimming money from the bank’s reserves was put into effect, but she didn’t have access to the computers at that time. Or so he hoped. “The first time I noticed this account sending money to another branch, I asked Mrs. Ciez, but she told me not to worry because the paperwork was in order. Sir, there is no generation signature on the forms; it was electronically processed without even a recorded verbal authorization.” Now she was dancing from one foot to the other. “Sarah, do you need to use the ladies’ room?” She closed her eyes in mortification. “No sir, I’m just really very nervous. If--if I did wrong in processing these before. Sir, I don’t want to lose my job,” her voice hitched. “I love working here.” “Let me see the papers,” a weight settled on his shoulders as he read over the forms placed in front of him. They were identical to the ones sitting in the files at Sleator Associates offices. Tiredly, he removed his reading glasses and rubbed his eyes. “When did you process the first transfer like this?” “Last year, when I applied for transfer to management, Mrs. Ciez felt I had enough experience to start doing more than just waiting on customers at the window. She’s been working with me in case there was an opening.” He looked at her critically; all the color had washed from her face making her complexion the rough shade of curdled milk. “You began working here when?” It was important for her to remind them both of the years of service. “When I turned sixteen, sir. I worked night cleaning crew. On weekends and in the summer I worked in the mail and copy rooms.” Reciting her experience seemed to make her feel slightly more at east. “When I turned eighteen and graduated high school I took a position as teller at the mall branch office and transferred here, to the main office, at twenty, sir.” “Since then,” he prompted. “Since then I’ve worked as teller. When Mr. Ashby retired from loan officer, I put in my application. I didn’t get the position, Tammy Sanders did, she has an Associates Degree from the business college in Cincinnati. But, Mrs. Ciez told me I didn’t need a business degree, that I could still earn a promotion.” However, the look on her face 69

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indicated she didn’t think it was going to happen anytime soon, if ever. “I screwed up, didn’t I sir?” “We’ll see, where is Mrs. Ciez?” “She took the day off, sir. Her daughter is expecting.” Sarah stood there strangely calm all of a sudden. “Who else did you ask about these transfers?” She opened her mouth as if to answer then closed it again, thinking better of it. An ugly thought surfaced. “Was it someone who refused to help you?” At the slight nod he pressed on, “Was it someone who told you, you weren’t supposed to be doing these transfers anyway?” Again, she nodded. Sitting back in his chair, John rubbed at the sudden tension in his neck. He felt like he was close to finding out the embezzler but wasn’t certain how to proceed. “Leave the transfers with me Sarah. Go back to your regular duties, nothing more, understand?” “Yes, sir.” She sounded oddly defeated. “Oh, and Sarah?” She turned and looked at him almost hopefully, “Let’s keep this between us, okay?” He suggested, lifting the phone receiver from its cradle. “Yes, sir,” she agreed, closing the door to his office as she left.

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Chapter Eight

I honestly think that everyone has weaknesses. The strongest person you see in a day may be the one going home and crying himself to sleep at night. Lori Belanger Outside the office door, Sarah took a deep breath and held it before releasing it slowly. Her stomach felt like a burning pit of acid banded by the greasy steel cage of her diaphragm. She couldn’t let anyone see how upset she was, couldn’t afford to lose control. It didn’t stop the spiteful voice echoing in her mind. The niggling whisper taunted her for her vanity, by not going to Mr. Joseph months ago she put herself in the position she was in today. Dropping her chin to her chest, Sarah tried to ease the suddenly tense muscles of her neck and shoulders. Rotating her head from one side to another, she picked up on the hint of conversation from the room she had just vacated. The sound prompted her to action. Bad enough to be so irresponsible, but it was entirely different to be seen as an eavesdropper. Walking down the steps, she turned and looked out across the polished marble floor and curving pool of tellers busy typing, smiling and conversing with customers. For the first time ever, the normal picture of her day looked almost foreign. Her eyes alighted on the ornate cast iron clock on the back wall. How impossible, she smiled manic glee racing through her heart. It was only ten in the morning. There was another seven hours to get through before she could go home, curl up in a ball on her sofa, and pretend as if today never happened. Wait, she almost lurched to a stop again navigating the way back to her desk, she forgot that Jamie was coming over after work. This morning seemed so far away. She had woken up looking forward to the coming night. Over coffee, she’d compiled a menu for dinner and after, smiling with anticipation. Now that anticipation sat like a rock poised above her pelvic bone. Maybe she should call Jamie, ask for his advice on the situation. Sarah reached a hand out, and without thought removed the “next window” card and smiled at the older woman limping forward with a heavy zipper bag. On autopilot, she made small talk with 71

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the grandmotherly figure as she counted out the deposit and recorded the transaction. Before the next person smiled through her window, she’d eyed the desk calendar behind the blind. Damn! Jamie was in court today; he wouldn’t get out until the county offices closed at three. Smiling sweetly at the young man at her window, Sarah accepted his paycheck and identification; her fingers flew checking his account information before cashing the check. It was a testimony to her distraction that she never noticed the odd look the young man gave her as she replied to his “would you like to have coffee sometime” with an unfocused, “enjoy your coffee break, sir.” The rest of the morning crawled by, the steady stream of customers slowed and she managed to catch up with her hourly progress papers and drawer counts. The long quiet minutes eroded her nerves. Around her others chatted amiably, shared pictures of kids and weekend barbecue anecdotes, she never joined in before and only now did she feel the ache of not belonging. Not even Mrs. Ciez was around, having taken her vacation to spend the first two weeks of her new grandbaby’s days on earth with her daughter. Desperate for any kind of human comfort, she picked up the business extension and broke the rules for the first time ever; she dialed the Ciez household. Heart thrumming so hard her hand shook, Sarah nearly cried aloud when a message crackled on the line announcing the birth of Georgina Francine Ciez-Bier late the previous night. A beep shrilled in her ear and tearfully Sarah stammered in good wishes for the new baby and the exhausted mother. Disconnecting, she clutched a tissue from a desk drawer and wiped at her streaming eyes and slightly runny nose. Hopefully, she prayed, the family would think she was happily crying at their joy and fortune. Lifting her head to the room, she nearly fell. It had only been two hours since her confession to Mr. Joseph. It had felt like ages those small hours dragging by. Maybe, just maybe, she could risk calling Jamie from the pay phone on her break. Instead, she found herself in the bathroom dry heaving into the toilet. Never a big eater, breakfast had long since been digested leaving her sick roiling stomach nothing to regurgitate. A cool hand applied a wet rag to her head and she looked up through dull eyes at Tammy Sanders. The normally bouncy dark brunette looked concerned, her freckles standing out starkly against her skin. “Are you okay, Sarah?” Limply, Sarah stared at the other woman. Should she dare? Could she tell this person what she had done? Shaking her head, Sarah concluded that she was insane to even consider telling her rival and the biggest office gossip what stupidity she had done. Instead, she mumbled something about a “twenty-four-hour bug.” However, she did let Tammy pull her to her feet and assist her to the sink where she washed her face and 72

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rinsed her mouth. The cold water was so soothing that she nearly forgot where she was and what she was supposed to be doing. The sight of her reflection in the mirror slammed her back into reality. The wan, pinched face staring back looked so much like her mother she nearly fainted. For years, it had been a daily battle not to think of her poor, sickly mother Naomi. They had a small house just outside the industrial section of Cleveland. That street of identical shotgun homes with white siding under leaden grey skies had been her entire world from birth to third grade. That was the year her mother had taken ill. It had been small at first; stomach cramps and nausea that got progressively worse, making the once plump woman dangerously thin. Her resources so depleted she began missing work until she was finally furloughed for excessive absence. Sarah never understood why her mother never went to the doctor. Maybe she did, she thought wiping the last of the moisture from her too pale face. Maybe mom did go to the doctor and they didn’t find anything wrong. Angrily she threw the sodden paper in the garbage, but she should have told me! The acrimony blazed through her mind made her hair prickle and brought a stain of pink to her cheeks. In the end, Naomi Michaels had returned home to the house she’d grown up in, seeking help from a brother who had hated the constricting bonds of family so much that he lived like a nomad in the western states, drifting from one town to another, working odd jobs and sleeping in his car. By the time Naomi came ‘home’, her savings were gone and the doctors said she had little to no chance of surviving the fast-moving uterine cancer that had finally been discovered through a regular pap test. Incredulous, her mother had sat on the fatigued tan couch listlessly, staring at the bare walls for hours before laughing hysterically at the ‘cosmic joke’. Naturally a quiet child, Sarah had become quieter. When she tried to hug or hold her mom and beg to know if things would be better, she was pushed away, sent to her room or out to do ‘chores’. Over the next four years, Sarah watched as the cancer and its treatments ate away at the smiling, loving woman. First were the surgeries that only sent cancerous cells spreading through Naomi’s body. Then the chemo treatments that made the too-thin woman’s lustrous brown hair fall out in hanks. The chemo had an even uglier edge; Naomi couldn’t seem to find anything to eat that didn’t make her vomit. Days and nights Sarah would wash her mother’s face, clean out buckets of blood-flecked spew, and hold her mother’s hand. All the while, Uncle Emmett held down two jobs; one during the day as a garbage man and another at night as a cook at Quest. He was too tired and too 73

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disconnected from Sarah’s small family to do anything more than work, sleep and snore through Naomi’s remaining years. Days after her twelfth birthday, Sarah got her period and panicked. Her mother was in a nursing home dying and she was bleeding just like her mom. Thankfully, the teacher called to the girls’ bathroom knew about Naomi’s illness and arranged for Sarah to have a long talk with the school nurse followed by a trip to her mother’s bedside. It was a picture that she could never scrub from her mind no matter how she tried. Skeletal, Naomi was just a husk with paper-thin skin hanging off her spare frame. She was so pale that the veins stood out in bas-relief like a wizened roadmap of pain dotted with quarter sized bruises and lumps. Gently, a nurse explained that the lumps and bruises were the cancer, that her mother was so heavily sedated on morphine that she wasn’t able to speak with Sarah. It made no difference; Naomi had stopped listening to her daughter years before. When Naomi died days later, it was almost anti-climatic. Moving to look out of one of the bank’s tall cheery windows, Sarah didn’t see the bright sidewalks and smiling faces of people hurrying to appointments. She saw the bright, clear day her mother’s body was lowered into the earth. The only people who came to the funeral were her Uncle Emmett, the school principal, Mr. Joseph and Mr. Edgemont from the bank, and Mr. Sleator. Nothing had been as intimidating as the last man’s eyes; watching her, tracking every movement and tear as she woodenly cast a handful of dirt on the cheap pine box as it was lowered into the ground. His eyes had a clouded look to them, like there wasn’t a real transition from iris to white but they never missed a thing, not the flutter of birds’ wings, the nervous twitching of Emmett or Mr. Edgemont’s fingers continually readjusting his tie. Of course Sarah knew who Mr. Sleator was, you couldn’t live in Deer Park, Ohio and not know who he was. But in her world, he was more renowned for having the irritating golden blonde son who mercilessly called her ‘pathetically plain Sarah Jane’. The first time Jamie called her that, she had stupidly mumbled that her middle name wasn’t ‘Jane’ that it was Blaire, but he kept up the litany as if she wasn’t there. A hand tapped on her shoulder startling her, and she turned to find Tammy standing behind her. “Sarah, if you aren’t feeling good maybe you should go see the doctor, go home even.” It was enough to shake her out of her self-indulgent reverie. Looking at the floor, she quietly demurred and returned to her workstation, determined to finish out the day. A migraine chewed through her mind as Sarah walked home. In the beginning, it seemed like such a great idea, her little apartment on the edge of town. It was only a mile from work and she could walk, saving money on having to own a car. Not that she didn’t 74

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have one there was the old Chrysler LeBaron her mother had finished paying off before her sickness struck. In all, the car didn’t look or run too badly for its advanced age. Naomi had been entranced by the jaunty red car with its deep, cream leather interior. She had called it her “candy box” car and lovingly polished it every Saturday until her health didn’t permit it. Sarah could and did drive the car, but only on market days or when the weather was so bad she didn’t dare walk. As a result, the old car had aged gracefully in the garage of the old clapboard house that sat empty in case Emmett returned. It wasn’t a hardship to walk the four blocks from her apartment to the old house to retrieve the car. Somehow, it seemed sacrilegious parking it on the curb in front of her rental, exposed to the weather. Unlocking the door, Sarah sagged back against the jamb and let the soft scents of her candles wash over her senses. Bayberry, mint, citrus and sage enveloped and pulled her away from the door. Toeing off her heels, she stalked into the kitchen pulling together the ingredients for the dinner she had planned. That morning felt so far in the past as to seem distant. With a critical eye, she watched the beef tips simmer. Merlot would go well; she uncorked a bottle from a small rack she had placed between the cupboards. The recess clearly had been made for a trash can but Sarah preferred to hide the trash under the sink as her mother had done. The practice had driven Uncle Emmett nuts; he could never seem to remember where the can was when he needed to deposit his empty beer bottles. The warm, red wine tripped over her tongue like liquid satin, flooding her mouth with a robust warm flavor of age and cherry wood. Wine was her only real vice. Sarah loved trying new brands and flavors when the opportunity arose. The wine warmed her as it slipped into her stomach and spread through her veins. Without conscious thought, she moved to the kitchen phone and hit a number from speed dial. Another recording hissed static in her ear. Must be my day for being ignored, she smiled as the message on Sam’s cell phone rolled out. “Hi! This is set to play only, no way are you guys going to interrupt Penny and me while we celebrate our engagement. Now, shoo! Go bother someone else.” The message was obviously for the guys he worked the sports desk with, but Sarah understood the couple wished to be alone. Again, Jamie’s rugged face seeped into her thoughts. Checking the time as she added spices to the now simmering beef, she deliberated on calling him again. Would he care? She bit down on the inside of her cheek. Why should he care, she was just, ‘poor plain Sarah Jane’. She had to make him want to care first. That was her only goal, her driving need for tonight. To finally make herself wanted.

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Court had been long, tedious even but in the end, Jamie walked out triumphant. No, it hadn’t been a huge New York City sized triumph, but it had been against the odds. Much to the disgust of his father, he had taken on criminal law over corporate. He liked the latitude of being able to advocate for the victim in civil matters while taking up the part of the alleged guilty against the system. Today it had paid off. Late last year, an uncovered truck had pulled out of a construction site and a piece of concrete flew into traffic and through the windshield of a passing vehicle. The injured man had been in a coma for the better part of a week. During that time, the construction firm managing the project shuffled their sub-contractors and let the responsible company and accident fade into obscurity. In the end, it came down to finding the “face of an angel” that had stood with the injured semi-conscious man until paramedics arrived and he slid into the dark world of a coma. The angelic witness had been a sales representative for construction equipment that had been visiting the site. She was driving behind the overloaded truck and witnessed the whole thing, she’d risked losing her job to help the, now, retired school teacher with her testimony. Jamie waked into his office grinning, and dripping papers needing to be typed and filed, both here and back at the courthouse in the morning. He didn’t notice the guilty jump his secretary did when he asked her if there were any messages. Trading the large lump of files for a smaller, neater stack, he hummed and walked into his office. In the center of his desk was a single pink memo note. Setting the papers down, he picked up the note and had to read it twice—it made no sense. “What do you mean Sarah Michaels is our number one suspect?” Jamie demanded, slamming the door to the elder Sleator’s office open. He watched his father wince as the mahogany door hit the wall and bounced back, closing behind Jamie as he loomed over the older man’s desk. “Well old man? Speak up! You never had a problem talking before; regale me with your conspiracy theories. Tell me how the sweet, shy little teller entered into a life of crime at the advanced age of nineteen and managed to defraud the bank for nearly five years. She’d have to have the acting skills of Mata Hari, not the open face of a child.” James Sleator slid back in his chair, studying the fury-darkened face of his son. “I had a feeling you would lose your objectivity over that little bit of friction,” his cold tone lashed out finding its target. “Friction? You pompous ass, want to know something? Sarah and I have had two dates, one involved watching movies, and the other was dinner at the River’s Edge 76

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celebrating her best friend’s engagement. Tonight, maybe we’ll get to your damned “friction”. Unctuous prick,” he seethed, fisting the papers under his hands. “I would appreciate it, son,” the voice continued in amused disdain, “If you would stop ruining my casework. Your problem isn’t just this twitching tail, its discipline. You never have been able to stay the course. Look at New York,” Sleator’s mouth twisted in a parody of a smile, “running home like the scared little rabbit to daddy where everything is nice and safe.” “You know nothing about why I came home!” “Oh, I know that pabulum you tried impressing us all with, sure. But the reality was you couldn’t cut it, you were weak, just like your mother.” Shifting forward in his seat, Sleator half rose and leaned toward his son, “It doesn’t really matter, you’re here now and you’ll dance to my tune, junior. “Now, I have clients due to arrive, go to your “room” and celebrate that puny win you scored today.” Feeling more a washout than ever, Jamie opened his fists and tossed the papers at his father before turning for the door. More than ever he wanted to simply bury himself in Sarah and let the world disappear. “For what it’s worth Jamie, the rest of us,” Viviane indicated herself and the rest of the staff standing tensely in the small hall, “we’re all proud of you and glad to work with you.” Blankly he looked at his secretary’s apprehensive face before panning to the others looking on with differing degrees of upset, some fellow attorneys, the rest paralegals and secretaries before turning and closing his office door on their stares.

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Chapter Nine

Love doesn’t make the world go ‘round. Love is what makes the ride worthwhile. Franklin P. Jones Dinner had been placed in warming dishes arranged ‘just so’ when the door chimes sounded. Sarah nervously rubbed her hands against the soft material of her skirt as she made for the door. Closing her eyes she intoned, “Tonight is the night.” Checking the peephole, she saw Jamie’s tired face distorted in the fish-eye glass. She swung the door open, stepping back to let him enter. Closing the door, she caught his shoulder and lightly turned him before clasping his whisker-roughed face between her hands. As her lips found his she never noticed him reaching for her as a man starved. Everything was reduced to sensation, the feel of his large hands cupping her gently, urging her closer as the kiss deepened. The taste of him tripped on her tongue sweetly hot making her blood simmer, desire pool in the pit of her stomach. The rough feel of his cheek abraded her cheek as his mouth sought her neck. A welter of emotions exploded behind her eyelids as he caressed the side of her neck with his teeth and tongue. Convulsively, Sarah dropped her hands from the crisp silk of his hair finding his shoulders, kneading the muscles there. With a distinct growl, his hands cupped her buttocks, spreading her legs as he slammed them against the closed door. Sarah wrapped her legs around his middle loving the feel of his rough, wool pants against her bare legs. His fingers flexed on her backside and she moaned, moisture wetting her nether lips in anticipation. She felt him shift, wedging a thigh under her dripping core, it wasn’t enough, but it was something. In heat, she rocked her hips, rubbing herself against the strength of his leg. Jamie’s deep chuckle drove her higher, moving faster before his hand forced her still. Cleverly, he had lifted her skirt and slid his hand to her lower belly, pushing downward on the insane butterflies jumping there. Long fingers curled around the lacy top of her panties and he sighed lustily against her shoulder. 78

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“Too fast,” he muttered, moving back and turning, carrying Sarah to the couch. Carefully, he laid her back against the soft cushions. “I’ve wanted nothing more today than to look at your body, see myself buried deep in you. Open to me.” The words were the merest whisper of hungered heat. Slowly, Sarah unbuttoned her blouse. She tried to watch the fiery need in his eyes but couldn’t and looked to her shirt. His hand stopped hers, forcing her to look up again. “Watch me, please.” She saw something more than desire in his eyes and her heart wrenched painfully—could he really care? Fingers shaking, she continued unbuttoning her shirt, this time with more need than grace. For the first time since she gave away her virginity at sixteen, she wished she had a real gift of body to give him, something clean and unsullied that would be theirs alone. Tears rose momentarily blinding her before she blinked them away. “Why are you crying?” Sarah couldn’t find her voice, but she didn’t need words to tell him how fiercely she loved him. Instead of answering, she opened the lapels of her blouse and parted the lacy cups of her bra. His sharp intake of breath was worth more than a thousand tears. She smiled wetly, as his fingers reached out and barely stroked the soft planes of her breasts. The delicate caress burned like fire, in response her soft, rosy nipples hardened to hungry nubs that drew his gaze. Shaking his head, Jamie resisted the urge to touch the softly glowing moons bared before him. Instead, he tugged the material of her blouse and bra off her arms and shoulders and set to work freeing her hips of the soft, cottony wrap-around skirt. The sight of her barely covered mound almost took his breath away. God bless the maker of the thong, he thought as his finger traced the edge of the material from lace-edged top, along the elastic side where her full lower lips slightly puffed the material becomingly to the thin line of fabric lining her core. Panting lightly, Sarah lifted her leg to rest on the back of the couch so he could see her. She never had a lover look at her with such intensity or reverence. She trembled, wanting him to move faster, needing him inside, trusting deeply, but couldn’t move, only bend her other knee as his finger followed the satin seam to where her juices had soaked the scrap of material through. His eyes captured hers, dark with emotion as he shifted his hand, plunging a finger deep inside. Sarah gasped at the contact and her inner muscles convulsed around the thick digit. More, she had to have more, but his other hand caught her hip and held her steady. Whimpering into the deep azure-sea of his gaze, Sarah begged him silently for what she needed. The finger in her canal flexed and she writhed on the couch, arching 79

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under his restraining hand. Pulling his hand back, Jamie stripped off the ornate decoration hiding her womanhood from view. Instead of heavy clusters of curls, she had a soft downy pelt, neatly shaved and soft to the touch. Jamie’s fingers tangled in the feathery pubic hair and Sarah forgot to breathe. The blunted fingertips trailed against her hot skin making her hips flex and twist. She bent her knee, placing a barefoot on the coffee table and his eyes wandered from her exposed blushing core, to the trim ankle. “I didn’t forget what those feet did.” His smile was hot and made her sheath weep with need. Warm fingers wrapped around her ankle, lifting her foot to his face. Sarah wanted to cry as he regarded the arch and slender toes. A whimper escaped and she bit her tongue as his eyes hooded with male satisfaction. Slowly, he pulled her ankle closer, rubbing the rasp of his cheek against the tender skin of her instep before planting a lingering kiss in the hollow under her anklebone. Toes curling in delight, shivers wracked her body as she begged, “Please.” “Please, what?” She felt rather than saw the smile as his mouth tasted her ankle and higher to the back of her knee. Lightning coursed from her leg to her lower back, seething a welter of sparks in between. “Don’t stop,” was all she could think to beg as those chiseled lips kissed and nipped at her inner thigh. Patiently, Jamie set her foot back on the coffee table. His eyes were so hot on her breasts she could feel the caress of their predatory glide from globe to valley and back. “Jamie?” she begged. “A minute,” he teased, looking down at the exposed flesh, her mound capped with the soft down, was beautiful. The soft peach of her labia flushed to a succulent color of overripe cantaloupe, his mouth lowered to see if the lush flesh was just as sweet. “What--what are you doing?” Sarah hated that her voice sounded so weak. But watching his head lower and hover scant inches above her core sent a panicky feeling twitching through her stomach. “I just want to eat you up, you look so good.” Something on her face must have registered because he asked, “Hasn’t anyone ever done this before?” “Once or twice,” she admitted, “but I never really liked it.” “Oh, you will like this, I promise.” His hot smile made her insides tighten. His nose rubbed the velvety fur on her mound and he breathed deep, reflexively she jumped. “Easy,” he teased, rubbing the rough stubble of his cheeks first on the inside of one thigh then the other, forcing her to tilt upward and widen. “There,” he breathed over her heated flesh as one hand closed hard on the leg she had settled on the back of the couch. Nothing 80

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before prepared her for the feel of his slick tongue gently parting her folds, delving her secrets and making her pant with longing. “Inside me, please,” she begged, “I’m so empty.” Without stopping the slow trace and hunt, his mouth making her crazy, he traced the entrance of her canal with a thick finger. Groaning, she tried to lever closer to his finger, instead his mouth closed on her clit, rubbing the aroused flesh delicately from side to side. Pressure built low in her belly and she grabbed at his head wanting more as she begged him with moaning entreaties. Slowly two fingers dipped in, and her greedy muscles tightened making him moan against her nether lips. She was so close to tumbling over the edge, “Jamie, please, no,” she moaned. He lifted his head, she stared at his mouth wet from her sheath, and she arched in want. “What do you want?” he asked as his fingers slid slowly in and out, widening and kneading her walls. “You inside me,” she panted, hunger glazing her eyes. He looked so primal kneeling between her thighs; like a jungle animal interrupted from his meal. Slowly he stood and peeled his clothes to the floor. From his wallet, he retrieved a condom. Her hands itched to put it on his thick erection but he brushed her hands off, forced her back on the couch. Torturously, he made her lay back, arrayed while he sipped at her juices. Content, he went back to slowly working the slick condom down his shaft. Sarah had forgotten the feel of his broad cock, the way it lifted from his tapered hips as he thrust it down her throat. Licking her lips, she remembered the musky taste of him as he erupted in her mouth. “Look at me,” he urged. Looking up from his cock, Sarah stared at his smiling lips then higher into his blazing eyes. “Fall with me,” he whispered as his tip found the slick opening. Clutching at his shoulders, Sarah lifted herself against him, angling her hips to accept his turgid flesh. She opened her lips to reply but the words were lost as he slid in slowly, stretching and filling her sheath as no other man had done. Breathing harshly, she called his name over and over as he slowly pumped in and out, supporting her waist with an arm, the other braced on the back of the couch. He felt so good, her eyes started to slide closed, but he stopped. “Watch me, fall with me,” he begged, taking up the tempo as she whimpered for more. Fire licked her inside and out as she clenched around his cock, fisting the flesh hard with her orgasm, he thrust deeper, harder forcing stars to burst behind her eyes. 81

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“Mine,” he panted over and over in her ear as he bucked his release against her straining hips. “Always have been,” she replied, foolishly. Hoping against hope, he hadn’t heard. She clasped him to her as he lowered their entangled bodies to the couch, turning to allow her to rest on top. She listened to the sound of his breathing in utter bliss. Sarah had imagined so many times what it would feel like to lay with this man, but the reality was so much more. Lazily, her fingers wove in and out of the springy hair on his chest. Suddenly she wanted to touch every piece of his skin, memorize every texture before he decided that he didn’t want her as his any more. “Sarah, please,” he laughed shakily, “stop that, I’ll have a heart attack if I try to do that again too soon.” Her eyes caught the rippled planes of his stomach as her fingers lowered, tracing the crisp line of hair from his chest lower, encircling the root of his rod as it started stiffening. “Honey, please,” he begged lifting her face with a large hand, “How about we refuel first?” Almost shy, Sarah blushed and nodded. Sliding off, she made to pick up her clothes but Jamie plucked them from her hands and tossed them across the room. “You don’t need clothes to eat do you?” Weirdly, it made sense, and she grinned back as he considered her breasts again. Coyly, she laced her hands behind her head and arched, thrusting them out. “Oh, that is it, wench.” He grinned, but the darkness in his eyes promised a sweeter retribution that the words evoked. Dropping his head, he flicked each nipple once with his tongue before striding towards the dining nook. Sarah was glad her legs were braced apart, the feel of his tongue made her inner muscles constrict, bringing the aftershocks of her orgasm to the fore harder than normal. Walking up to the table, she uncovered the side salads, a small plate of steamed greens before unveiling the main course, beef burgundy. The spicy smell of the special red wine she had selected to add depth to the dish teased her senses. “You have a real thing for wine don’t you?” Jamie asked, lifting the wine bottle from the table. “Yes, I like wine,” she smiled softly, “My guilty secret.” “That and the weird machine you have hidden around here somewhere.” He grinned wolfishly when she flushed. “I never much cared for wine until I tasted it on your lips.” 82

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Sarah gasped. He had no idea what those words did to her equilibrium, but she went past having fallen in love with him to a place she didn’t have a name for. Wickedly he grinned, “I have an idea. Since wine tastes so much better when it comes from you,” he reached out and caught a tendril of hair and tugged her along to the kitchen, “That’s how I’ll drink my glass.” Jamie looked around the small kitchen before grabbing a small wooden stool. Placing it in front of the sink, he gestured for Sarah to sit. Feeling a nervous flutter in her belly she sat. Two can play this game, she thought wickedly, splaying her legs wide on either side of the golden oak surface of the stool. Tilting her head back, she saw him swallow thickly as he settled the bottle on the counter. “Wrists please?” he asked huskily. Curious, but trusting, she lifted her arms and brazenly arched her breasts, pointing the thick nipples at his face. There was a sound like a zipper being lowered, and then a cool rubber restraint wrapped around her wrist, linking it to the faucet. “Jamie, what?” “Shh…” he cautioned putting a finger against her full lips, “Just the hose from the sink.” Sarah grinned, it wasn’t leather, but it was erotic. Slowly he poured a small amount of wine into a glass. “For you, drink deeply,” he urged, placing the rim of the glass to her lips and titling. Sarah obliged, letting the firm flavor of the deeply bodied wine shimmer across her tongue and down her throat. Hands braced on either side of her head, Jamie lowered and plundered her lips, nibbling and sipping at the corners of her mouth, until she began anticipating the liquid caresses with her own tongue. Pulling back, he poured another glass. Between the wine she drank, cooking, and the wine he fed her, Sarah felt the room soften and her body went heavy, “More.” she demanded. This time Jamie knelt between her spread feet and poured the warm purpled brew over her breasts, the feeling of the wine running over her breast, dripping off her nipple made her gasp. Slowly, he licked the underside of her breast, capturing every spilled droplet. Tracing the path of each dark bead of wine, he nuzzled and licked the white clean before letting his tongue fondle the areolas and sucking her breast. Sarah’s body turned to molten lead, she was too tipsy to move quickly and the languorous heat he spread through her body with every caress of his tongue should have been illegal. Another glass of wine and the other breast swelled and ached for his hands but again only received the homage of his mouth. 83

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Writhing in want, the whiskered feel of his face brushing her mound sent her up in flames. This time he poured the wine down the valley between her breasts and lapped the vintage as it cascaded through her fur and between the slick lips of her labia. His hands lost the wine glass and lifted her pelvis to his hungry mouth again, this time working her swollen flesh until she came, the muscles of her canal, milking his tongue as her wine slid over his thirsty mouth. Mewling her release, tears slid from her love-glazed eyes. Breathing raggedly, Sarah sat slumped on the stool as Jamie rested his chin on her thigh. “I’ve wanted to do that since the first night.” Standing, he freed her hands and led her to the table. Dinner was a study in how much a body could tolerate watching the lips of your lover before needing to feel them on your body again. Sarah couldn’t bring herself to eat more than a few spoonfuls of anything; she found it so much more interesting to watch as his hands touched the spoon or knife, lifting various foods to his firm lips, the column of his throat as he swallowed. When he seemed to be done, she stood and held out a hand. Silently she asked him to accompany her to her inner sanctum. Not even Sam had been invited to her bed. Sex happened everywhere else but not in her bed. She was nervous opening the door to her bedroom. Hardwood floors gleamed warmly under the shaded lamps in the corners. There were two large, black lacquered cabinets, one for clothes the other for toys. The bed dominated the room, a huge, bent metal affair with curlicues and leaves reaching halfway up the wall. Pineapples formed the points of the posts; a soft gold sateen comforter and a bevy of soft throw pillows covered the mattress. Walking to the bed, Sarah turned back the covers and looked back at Jamie with a question in her eyes. No need to ask twice, he smiled and followed her to the bed, stopping to pick up her lithe form and sliding her beneath the silk sheets. “Are these…?” He asked awed. “Real? Yeah, when I was a kid my mom cleaned this rich ladies’ house and we had to wash her silk sheets by hand but I never forgot the feeling, I love it against my skin,” Sarah sighed and sinuously stretched into the familiar fabric like a sated cat. Jamie used the stretch to roll Sarah over and on top of his body. Spreading his legs, he centered her and hooked his heels behind her knees. “Isn’t that supposed to be my position,” she teased as his cock stirred against her sternum.

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“Mm.…I wanted to make you sit still because I only had the one condom.” Laughing, Sarah reached over the side of the bed to a nightstand where she fished out another foil wrapped packet. “Before we use this,” she waved it under his nose, “I want to touch you, everywhere.” Jamie wound his hands in the twisted metal of the headrest. “I’m all yours, honey,” his voice purred in expectation. Her heart in her mouth, Sarah wriggled free of his legs and started at his shorn hair. Straddling his belly, she ran her fingers through the short silky strands. “When it was long, I used to dream of fisting my hands in your hair,” she admitted. The shell of his ear beckoned and she savored the skin with her tongue, tracing the rim and over the contours to the lobe. Sucking the soft flap, she nibbled the skin before working her way lower. The skin of his neck was deceptively soft and smelled impossibly good, like the woods after a fresh rain. She bit down on the jointure between neck and shoulder and laved the small wound with her tongue. His thickly corded body shifted restlessly under her wandering hands and mouth. Fingers skittered here and there, tracing the edge of his breastbone, over the warm furred surface of his chest, plucking the flat male nipples and across every canny seam of muscles. She wanted him to roll over so she could taste the skin along his spine and the flesh of his buttocks, but happily decided that would happen another day. Just thinking about having Jamie for more than this one night made her toes curl. Lightly pinching the sides of his thighs, her foot slipped down the outside of his leg, then moved inward, rubbing from calf to midway between his legs, before his legs clamped down on her wandering knee. Opening the foil packet, she looked at Jamie’s face; his eyes were dark with passion. Smiling, she slipped the condom out and put it in her mouth. Kneeling between his legs, she bent his knees and laid his legs open, as he had done with her on the couch. Open, vulnerable, and nowhere to hide the evidence of his arousal. A dewy drop glistened atop the helmet of his cock and though she longed to taste him again, she slowly lowered her mouth to the engorged rod and used her lips to smooth the thin latex condom into place. Lifting her mouth, Sarah used her hands to smooth the barrier again and again before he grasped her hands pulling her to lie against his chest. “I want to ride you,” she announced, licking the underside of his chin. His only response was a low moan and resuming his grip on her headboard. Kneeling over his chest, she slowly pushed back until she felt the head of his cock bobbing against her slit. 85

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Wagging her hips slowly, she lined up and slowly let his thick erection part her lips and enter her channel. Hands on his chest, she slowly forced herself to sit upright, taking him in plumbing her depths to the fullest. Her heart beat in time with every stroke of her hips, before she collapsed forward, nose buried in his neck as she clutched his shoulders. I love you, I love you, I love you… It repeated over and over in her mind, a mantra keeping with the growing need as her body worked over his. She saw the muscles in his neck go tight, seconds before his hips began bucking into hers, speeding up the paces as he found his release triggering her own. Unknowingly she whispered, “I love you,” in his ear as he heaved under her, hands fisted around her trim waist. Did he hear what he thought he heard? His lungs still worked like a bellows in a blacksmith shop. Giving himself a minute to find coherency, he waited wondering if the words would be repeated. “What did you say, Sarah?” Sleepily she slipped off his flaccid member and snuggled into his side, mumbling. “Sarah?” “Said, love you, sleepy,” she murmured, dropping into sleep curled along the side of his body. Love, whoa. That wasn’t exactly a good thing, or was it? What did he know about her? Well, other than she was beyond fantastic in bed. She loved wine, could cook like no one else’s business, and had a job she seemed to enjoy. He searched his memory, he had a memory of Sarah petting kittens in a box at the grocery store and looking miserable when her Uncle Emmett drug her away from the mewling box of fluff. But she didn’t have a pet now. He wondered why as he slid out of the bed and decided to explore. In the bed Sarah sought out the pillow his head rested on. Sighing sleepily, she smiled and hugged it to her. His heart did a curious thing in his chest as he watched her react so instinctively to his scent. His mind was a mass of confused feelings, he felt something for Sarah, but wasn’t sure what it was he felt, or what those feelings meant. Opening one wardrobe, he found nothing but a row of ultra feminine clothing on hangers and three drawers with lacy undergarments, soft sweaters and two worn pairs of jeans with a ragged old T-shirt. Something about the shirt seemed almost too familiar. Taking it out, Jamie stared at it in shock. After he left for college, his mother had called and tearfully told him how his father had discarded the rest of his belongings. Except for his damned trophies and awards, the old man had eliminated every trace of his son from the room, and immediately converted it into a den. Looking at the shirt almost drove him to his knees. It was the one he got upon graduating, all over the pale blue shirt, in a big ’98, where the 86

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signatures of his friends in permanent marker. His mom had quietly berated him for using the marker; it had gone through leaving his skin tattooed with names for the better part of a week. It was the same shirt, barely worn, but saved here in a drawer next to Sarah’s plain white T-shirts. Why? Could it be that she believed she had loved him even then? The next closet was a real eye opener. He wondered just how many of the items in that collection had been used. The idea of her using them on another man unaccountably made his blood boil. Looking at the assortment of other items, Jamie admitted he didn’t like the notion of sharing her either. He knew she wasn’t a virgin, that didn’t bother him, but thinking of others coming after him, that was a different tale. In the living room, he opened the entertainment center and found the few crappy movies she had played for him next to a towering stack of DVDs. There were comedies and action pictures, almost no “chick flick” movie his buddies bitched about being drug to see. It was an odd assortment to be sure; he didn’t think many other people had The Prophecy series sitting next to Helsing, squished up against the entire video collection of South Park. An odd cover caught his attention, hunkering down he discovered much to his delight that she had the limited edition of the Evil Dead with the rubber mask face. He wanted one of those but never managed to snag a copy. It seemed they had the same taste in movies. Moving to the dining room, he found a small roll top desk. Jamie learned more about the up-keep of a house that Sarah obviously didn’t want to live in, than he ever wanted to know. He wondered why she kept the house if she had no plans of ever living there. She had a small investment portfolio; the standard 401k plus a percentage of her pay went into long-term futures. He nodded, it made sense she did work in a bank. Nothing popped as being bizarre. Sarah had simple modest tastes and a simple life. Heck, she didn’t even own a passport. He couldn’t see how his dad saw her as a legitimate suspect in the embezzlement. Leaning down to the bottom drawer, Jamie made an unusual discovery. It was a set of photo albums. Opening one, showed a bleak background of row houses all in the same grimy shades of tinged off white against an ashy sky. The female faces smiling out of the pictures were luminous in their joy. Birthdays, pony rides, clowns at the circus and a wriggling puppy sitting in the much younger lap of his Sarah. His Sarah? Where the hell did that come from? Pushing the thought aside, he kept looking. Not a single picture of any male, sure a few neighbors got in here and there but no pictures of Emmett or a figure who could possibly be Sarah’s dad. Apart from her expressive grey eyes, Sarah was a carbon copy of her mother. 87

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A second album began with pictures of Deer Park. Every few pages he caught a glimpse of a frail, bald figure that had to be Naomi, Sarah’s mom. Still, no pictures of Emmett. Not that Jamie could blame Sarah; he was an odd-looking man, stick thin and almost effeminate, with a deep voice that broke when he talked. There had been whispers that the man was gay. Deer Park was not a good place for a gay man to raise a young orphaned girl, it was no wonder he disappeared after she reached her majority. Surprisingly, he found a few pictures of himself creep in towards the middle. There was one where he was smiling at the little brother of a friend, another with his soccer uniform on and a slew of ones with his football uniform. He found a small picture where he was almost blurred; his short track career before the old man yelled he was compromising his football scholarship. Turning the page, he felt all the air empty from his lungs. At sixteen, he’d been a smirking mouthy shit, but he had fallen hard for Crystal Jansen. In a moment of weakness, he’d written her a stupid poem. Spent too many damned hours obsessing on getting the words just right. He wanted her to read it, intuit that he loved her and not to reject him, to smile at him with love. Instead, she read it aloud, popping gum between strawberry-stained lips and laughed in his face, crumpling up the paper and throwing it in the gutter. He remembered his heart breaking, and from that day onwards, he had turned into a monster, picking up girls that never said no and perfecting what sexual skills he could. Until his senior year when between accounts of his prowess and his popularity, Crystal came begging for a second chance. “Only if you can recite the poem I gave you.” That had been his edict. Her pert jaw slumped and she stammered out some nonsense. Every word of that poem had been etched in his heart. Now he looked down and saw it smoothed and preserved in another girl’s album. Maybe the words touched the right girl; he just didn’t realize it. Then the memories of how shitty he had treated Sarah flooded in and he wondered just what she could have found to love, besides a rumpled poem from a decade ago. There was one last album, a slim affair. He figured it had pictures of Penny and Sam. Lifting it free, what he found humbled him—page after page of his eighteen-month career in New York. Somehow, she had managed to find out what cases he worked and followed each faithfully. The later pages had the clip documenting his resignation, the man he worked under took great delight in doing that, and it had guaranteed that no other City law firm would take him on. Outsiders among the New York elite were supposed to keep their place, not fight to be equals with their betters, his lips grimaced at the memory. Other news clippings documented his successes upon joining his dad’s firm. Seeing one 88

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notation did make him smile, under the picture of his dad standing with an arm around his son’s shoulders Sarah had penned, “Sleator unnerves me.” It was almost two when he put away the last album and finished tidying Sarah’s kitchen. He had the distinct impression she liked a nice clean house. Taking a moment to jot a note, he slid out the door and into the night.

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Chapter Ten

Everyone wants to be the sun that lights up my life. But I'd rather find my moon...someone who can shine on me during my darkest hours. Dennis Gallemit “Good morning, Mrs. Jones,” Jamie smiled, handing off a box of donuts. He’d splurged and hit the bakery asking for a two-dozen assortment. “Feel free to pass that along to the others in the break room.” “Mmm hmm…” she inhaled the sweet bakery fresh aroma wafting off the sugared goodies, “I don’t care what your crow bait father says, that Michaels girl is good for you.” She disappeared around the corner with the box before he could correct her. Then again, he never felt the urge to treat the office and staff to donuts before so maybe Viviane had a point. He was sorting through his mail when the summons to his father’s office came. It had rankled at first, until Jamie remembered that every attorney in the firm was treated to the same indignity. Every week, they were called on the mat to review cases, strategies, and their own inevitable failures without the old man’s guiding wisdom. For the most part, Jamie ignored the advice and was successful; something he knew wrinkled the old man’s shorts. Sauntering into hall holding all the files for the week, Jamie was surprised to see Mr. Edgemont as well as Mr. Joseph striding ahead of him into the conference room. His father was walking out telling the men, “Be with you in just a moment.” Jamie knew the drill, he kept quiet until they were safely in his dad’s office, door closed. “What’s up, Dad?” “I’ve taken the bank embezzlement case. I’ll need all of the files.” Blood pressure whistling in his ears, Jamie sought a way to regain his calm happy feeling of three seconds ago and failed. “Can I ask why?” “Because it’s a conflict of interest you playing the human trampoline with the main suspect,” the older man seethed. Nice, Jamie was impressed, finally a real emotion out of the old prick. 90

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“How is Sarah the ‘main suspect’?” Even though he was off the case, he felt he had a right to know. “For the last year, she’s been the one putting through the electronic transfers. It seems you are right in one regard, they were done without verbal okay or without a physical signature.” Jamie sank into the chair at the end of the desk. “Did she know what she was doing was wrong?” “Of course she knew,” the older man hissed. “She went to John Joseph about it yesterday and admitted she’d been doing it for over a year.” “Wait, I don’t understand. If Sarah knew it was wrong why did she wait a year?” “Because her patsy was out of the office,” when Jamie just blinked in confusion, the older man relented. “Zoretta Ciez, head of accounts, had been training the girl secretly, allowing her to do transfers. Allegedly, she told Sarah to just put the suspect ones through, and Sarah did it without going to John the way she should have.” “Hold up a damned minute, if Zoretta Ciez was in charge of accounts and she gave permission for these transactions to go through, why are we even looking at Sarah? This Ciez woman should be the suspect.” Jamie felt his world steady and strengthen. The notion that Sarah was implicated and possibly guilty had blindsided him. “Nevertheless,” his father barged on, “it was Miss Michaels’ duty to go to higher management levels once she realized what she was doing was wrong.” “She never asked another bank employee?” Jamie prodded, for as meticulous as Sarah was it seemed out of character. His father harrumphed and admitted, “John said that the girl did try to talk to another account officer but was ridiculed and not listened to. That person is under probation for her omission.” “Let me guess.” Jamie smiled beatifically, “Tammy Sanders?” Sleator just coughed again and walked to the front of the desk. “I still need those files.” His hand stuck out expectantly. “No, I’ll get all the files and meet you in the conference room, I have my own agenda.” Jamie collected up his papers and returned to his office. Picking up a box, he packed all of the studies and investigation files related to the case and walked into the hall. All noise suddenly deadened as unseen eyes tracked his progress. Rapping sharply, Jamie entered the room mid-conversation and plunked the box loudly in the middle of the table. “Please,” he encouraged the men present, “don’t let me interrupt you, by all means continue.” John Joseph cleared his throat, “I was just telling your father that we decided this morning,” at the loud cough from Edgemont, John back-tracked, “rather I decided in my 91

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capacity as bank general manager,” he cast a very irritated look at Edgemont, “to furlough Miss Michaels until Federal Authorities are brought in and she is exonerated.” Jamie’s mouth opened and closed. He knew he had to look like a bowled fish, but he couldn’t seem to get words passed his lips. There was a stabbing pain developing behind his left eye. Massaging the pain, he dropped his head and began, “Let’s forget for a moment that this is a young woman with no family, no real friends and no safety net emotionally or socially to cushion this blow. Let’s ignore the fact that this is the only job she has ever held or ever known, and that she must be feeling the deepest betrayal by people she has trusted because they were there for her back when her mother was alive, but dieing. Federal agents will not exonerate her. By the strict letter of the law, she is still at fault and is punishable. To be cleared, she would have had to refuse, and insist that this Ciez woman completed the bad transaction, each and every time.” His father chewed on the earpiece of his bifocals and stared at the ceiling. “The boy has a point.” Edgemont exploded out of his chair. “This is simply unacceptable. We know where the leak is and we can close it off. We’ll start by doing that, then tabulate how much was drained and file a loss and take the financial hit. I don’t want to go to my grave with the ruination of a young woman on my conscience. Not only that, isn’t Zoretta off on leave for the birth of her new granddaughter? She would end up being charged and tried as well. This will ruin entire families.” Pacing the room, everyone watched with growing concern as the older man’s pallor dropped, while bright red spots blared on his cheeks. “Please, sit down and try to remain calm, Blaire,” John advised. “Calm! You want me to be calm, I have a personal stake in this!” Jamie looked avidly at the older man. What was it in his head that tingled at the name Blaire? “What do you mean, sir, ‘a personal stake?” The older man clammed up and resumed pacing, mumbling about, “The personal loss of face in his twilight years,” among other unintelligible things. But the damage was done; Jamie’s mind was feverishly working. “However, this is all something to discuss for another day.” The old man tiredly leaned on a chair back. “The Federal authorities haven’t been called as yet.” John guiltily cleared his throat and Edgemont pulled out the chair and sank into it with a groan. “Allow me to guess, you in your capacity as general bank manager, took it upon yourself to call the Federal Bureau of Investigation and started the “ball rolling”, so to speak, and they are due to descend upon us like locusts any moment?” 92

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“No, sir,” John confessed, “first thing Monday morning.” “Then gentlemen you should know,” Jamie bared his teeth in a vicious smile, “I quit.” Looking at the owlish looks he received, the smile grew wider, “No, not the case. I quit this firm. I’ll be legal representation for Miss Michaels henceforth.” With a loud snap, he smacked the last of the papers on the table and left the room humming.

**** Stopping by the courthouse, Jamie filed all the necessary paperwork signaling his departure with Sleator and Associates, explaining he would still conduct cases, just under his own name. Whistling, felling oddly light and carefree despite the arduous time he knew lay ahead, he walked through town letting facts from the case and his personal observations tumble through his mind. Leaving Court Street, he stopped and picked up a newspaper on First and ambled down to Ash Lane and the small deli that served good roast beef sandwiches at lunch. Being only ten in the morning, he settled on a cup of Arabica blended coffee and a sticky bun. The sun was out and the air was cool, he was jobless, had little or no prospects but for Sarah’s case, yet he was in a good mood. He didn’t want to examine that; he wanted to consider all the angles, if they could be found to be delved. What did keep springing to mind, however, was the fact that Sarah never opened that lush little mouth last night to tell him a peep about her problems. Granted she did meet him at the door with a level of urgency, but he stupidly thought she was that glad to see him. Looking back, he saw that there was an edge of desperation not entirely sexual about her behavior. Following Ash Lane he enjoyed the morning while his temper brewed. How could Sarah trust him with her body, and if her words in bed were honest, her heart, but not trust him with the details of her day? Calculating cross streets, Jamie turned right and headed towards Sarah’s apartment. Someone owed him an explanation.

**** Someone was knocking on the door. Sarah stopped scrubbing and rose to her feet. Her head felt overlarge and disconnected from the rest of her body as she shuffled towards the door. The phone had rung while she was enjoying her toast and savoring Jamie’s terse note, “You were sleeping, didn’t want to wake you, kissed you anyway, the weekend is ours, Jamie.” At first, John Joseph’s words pouring out of the receiver made no sense, when she asked them to be repeated, she nearly collapsed. The shock of being suspended pending a formal investigation drove her to her knees. Immediately she started cleaning, changing the sheets, dusting and mopping. Her apartment was so small and clean it was done in no 93

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time. Desperately she drug on her rattiest jeans and a clean white top and set off for her mother’s house. Stepping inside the front door, she found a satisfying amount of dust and a musty, closed in smell that needed to be exorcised. A bucket of hot sudsy water and an hour later her work dulled mind was still trying to overpower her aching heart when loud banging sounded at the front door. Opening the door, she almost felt better seeing Jamie’s face, then his scowl registered and she nearly wept. Everything in her world was falling apart. Please, she begged, don’t let him turn on me too. Stepping back, she lifted a hand in welcome, but he strode past her angrily. The very air around him boiled with tension. “Why didn’t you tell me what happened at your job?” The question put Sarah off balance. She hadn’t expected the town gossips to snitching her out to Jamie quite that fast. “You heard?” “Yes, bright and early first thing this morning.” He turned and glared daggers through her. Drooping more, Sarah gave up and fell to the floor, hugging her knees. Last night had been so incredible. Waking up she had been sure it had meant more to him than just sex. For the first time in her life, she had opened her heart, her soul, and herself. Had it been a mistake? Taking a deep breath, she wondered where to start. “I wanted to call you yesterday. All day long I stared at the clock, ticking down the minutes until you were out of court, and then my nerve failed.” She paused and looked up; he was leaning against the bare far wall of the living room, staring at her intently. Clearing her throat, she continued, “I, uh, considered going on break at lunch to leave a message with your secretary.” She stared resolutely at her shoes. “But she was so mean the first time I called, I couldn’t face it, my stomach was so upset, I ended up in the bathroom dry heaving.” Walking closer, Jamie knelt in front of her. “Look at me,” he commanded, “I can understand not wanting to call from work, it’s probably against the rules, right?” Mutely she nodded, a lump formed in her throat threatening to choke her. “Why didn’t you tell me when I came over?” He stopped her mouth from opening with a finger, “And don’t sugarcoat it by telling me you were so thrilled to see me you couldn’t keep your hands off of me.” The sarcastic impersonation of a falsetto feminine voice made Sarah jerk as if struck with a lash. “I have always loved you,” She hated sounding hackneyed, like a worn out romance novel, but it was the truth. “It scared me that you didn’t see me or care about me, I wanted to make you at least like me enough to care, then I was going to tell you.” 94

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The lump in her throat made her sound scratchy, even worse, it turned into tears. Not the soft kind, leaking out from under the lids, but a harsh, sobbing stream. He stood and walked away and the tears came faster, her body shaking with the need to sob out loud. Desperately she held onto the little bit of control left and hugged her knees tighter, limiting her air intake, muffling her cries by starving them. “I found your albums.” Stunned, she looked up. While she slept, he had searched her house! “Why?” Pain and betrayal cracked her sobbed question, and she watched the guilty expression on his face. “How was I supposed to believe that you, this incredibly stunning young woman would be interested in me?” Running fingers through his stubbly hair he paced then turned, “I treated you like shit! Every time I saw you, I called you names, tripped you, and hated you. And here I am supposed to believe you loved me?” “I did then, still do now.” Her chest burned with pain, her heart felt swollen, overlarge in its pulsing pain. “What could you possibly have loved about me?” He fell to his knees before her, begging, “Give me something to believe in, please Sarah.” “‘Crushed in your hand, falling to the ground, trampled under foot, I think…ain’t life grand? Limp, I never make a sound, my cheeks covered in soot from all awry, I wonder…will I ever be found? Wrinkles smoothed, spinning in one place, lines and letters show I am read…my love, please don’t go. Slowly, I feel lifted, encircled, embraced, once again riding a tide, raised…I dance on the wind.’” Reciting his poem, she forced her voice to hold steady, refusing to break at the words “My love, please don’t go.” It was what she wanted to do, beg him to stay at her side. Yet all she could think to do was recite for him the poem she watched him write as a sixteen year old dreaming of getting laid by the head cheerleader. He had spent hours on it at the library and again in his bedroom. Sarah knew and rescued it from the gutter. Opening it, her heart had been lost as the words reached out, wrapped around her young heart, and bound her to him. “Will I ever be found” Was the whole reason she risked her sanity and her body, recreating herself into something, no someone, Jamie was certain to love more than a greasy-haired, moon-eyed shadow. Hands lifted her from the floor, tilted her head back, and forced her watery grey eyes to meet turbulent blue hazel ones. Giddily, she asked, “Well, Jamie, ‘will I ever be found?’” “I won’t let you down, I’m here for you.” He cuddled her close, rocking her as the worst of the guttural cries ravaged her frame. As the storm of weeping slowed, Jamie 95

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gently laid her on the floor, balling up his suit jacket as a pillow. “Rest here, don’t leave, I’ll be back.” Sarah drifted on sea of misery, saved only by a raft created of caring by Jamie’s strong hands. Was it enough to be cared for? Could she live without his love? Caring was enough for now, she agreed with herself, sliding a little farther into the realm of foggy possibility also known as dream. Before succumbing she had time for one last thought, so what if he doesn’t love me, I still love him, he’s mine, just doesn’t know it yet.

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Chapter Eleven

I don’t want to be everything to everyone, but I would like to be something to someone. Javan Standing outside the small house, Jamie’s head spun. Information overload, got to be, he reasoned. The warm sun caressed his cheek and he stared blindly at the small patch of grass between the front stoop and the sidewalk. Sarah memorized his poem. More than that, Sarah embodied his poem. It had been titled “Wind Dancer” because his foolish fantasy had started with the sneak peek of heaven he had when a breeze blew a foolish girl’s skirt up. But the poem became about all the different love letters he tried to write, all the crumpled and rejected missives littering the ground never read, that skipped along when caught by the air currents. Discarded, but merrily, the little bits of paper held his eye and made him fanciful. Sarah read it—she understood it. His words had touched her; she had become the Wind Dancer. Every insult he tossed at her, he watched as they struck home, enjoyed her pain. Somehow, she managed to wipe off all the hurt, smoothed out all the things he said and found a way to lift herself up. Standing on her sun-dappled stoop, Jamie felt swamped by shame. She deserves to be loved, imagining anyone else in that role but himself made his stomach tumble. An idea took root and he set off for home. It wasn’t a long walk, just a block over but it felt like he’d been walking knee deep in concrete the entire way. Well enough to quit your job and thumb your nose at the boss, but when you still lived under his roof it was tantamount to suicide. I should have moved out months ago, Jamie thought staring at the towering Georgian manor he grew up in. A curtain twitched and he sighed. No use, he’d been spotted, he had to get this over with. Walking up to the door, he mentally girded for battle. His mother had been so happy when he returned home; Joelle Sleator was still the biggest mystery of his life. 97

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The daughter of a steel mill worker from the West Virginia panhandle, Joelle wasn’t ideal as a society matron, but she must have loved his father to leave everything she knew for the cold aesthetic world of Jamie’s childhood. He had a memory from when he was very young; his mom sitting in a mud puddle across from him, making pies with her good glass pie dishes. Rain ran down their faces keeping the mud at bay, as they clapped the thick, viscous sludge into towering cakes. They had trailed sopping dirt puddles across the slate patio, over the marble kitchen floor, down the hall, and into the first floor bathroom. Joelle had a clump of bubbles arranged on her head like a Santa hat when he came home. No matter how hard Jamie tried, he couldn’t remember the words, all he could remember was the sound of thunder pounding against his ears as his father opened the bathroom door and stood staring intently at his wife and child. Fists clenched, Jamie inwardly railed, kids should be allowed to be loud, to play, make a mess, and have fun. Moms should be allowed to join in, not to sit on the couch, and hold court for old biddies that pinched his cheeks and made him recite poems and stories so they could clap over their tea and snacks. His family was such a monumental mess, was it likely that the father Sarah never knew would be much better? He was hoping so; it was his plan to find the man so Sarah would have someone to love. The country-blue door swung open as he reached for the knob. Okay, he conceded, that was a little creepy as it appeared no one was near the door. Stepping gingerly towards the opening, he leaned in looking down the entrance hall to the steps. All of his belongings had been packed and left at the bottom. “Mom?” he called, stepping left into the music room. The baby grand sat, polished to an ebony hue, music sheets artfully arranged on the bridge, but no mom. Walking back into the foyer, he headed to the small library left of the entrance. The curious curtain had been in there. Reaching for the knob, it wouldn’t budge—the door was locked. “Mom, I know you’re in there. Please come out.” Jamie waited, his forehead leaning against the wood. Seconds ticked by as he listened to the telltale rustle on the other side of the door, Joelle was pacing. “Mom, remember that day when we made mud pies?” The sudden stillness on the other side of the door told him she was listening. “That was the happiest day of my life, until last night. Last night, a beautiful woman smiled at me with the exact same look in her eyes.” Closing his eyes, Jamie turned and leaned against the door. “I think I love her.” Defeat washed over him, pushing himself to his feet and collecting his bags, he tried one last time, “I love you, I wish you could meet her, Mom.” 98

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Bending over the bags, he heard the door to the library open. A number of hours, a flood of tears, and hugs later, Jamie was stowing his bags in the back of his BMW 525xi sedan. The sporty silver little car had set him back, but he couldn’t regret the choice. At the dealership, he craved the sleek roadsters but opted for practicality owing the wonderful Ohio winters. Looking over the hood of his car, Jamie watched as his mother waved tearfully from the front window before disappearing inside. A lot of what she said had been eye-opening. Truly, love was different things to different people. He had been stunned to discover that she deeply loved his father and caved to the old man because her own childhood had been such a battle zone. Joelle wanted the best for her son; she just didn’t know how to provide it. Trembling hands wrapped around her warm cup of tea, she grimaced and finally admitted that his father wasn’t always right. Jamie learned other telling things, that his father and Sarah’s mom were the same age, and that she had refused his dad in favor of a much older lover. Angrily, he had recounted his father’s announcement about Naomi having been a “party” girl. Joelle just smiled sadly and agreed that was not accurate. A part of her had wondered if secretly her husband still loved Naomi, but she had stopped worrying about that when the other woman left. But she had no real clues to the identity of Sarah’s father, aside from the fact that he was someone much older. Sliding behind the wheel, he wondered why Naomi felt the need to leave town after the affair. The 1980s weren’t exactly the 1950s; hardly anyone thought twice about single-motherhood beyond a cursory ‘what a shame’, if that. Naomi wasn’t a teenager she was an adult. Then it hit him, if Naomi was the same age as his father, she would have been in her thirties when Sarah was born. What could have forced her to leave? And why Cleveland when Cincinnati was so much closer? Cleveland was at the other end of the state. Searching for the answers, Jamie ended up taking a little road trip north. Four hours later, he was tired, but in possession of a copy of Sarah’s birth certificate and the attending paperwork from the hospital where her mother had delivered. Not surprising, the field of “father” was left blank. What was interesting was that when Sarah was a less than a year old, Naomi felt the need to contact Domestic Relations about child support. There was a note to that effect with the papers he charmed from a night duty nurse, a faded document specifying paperwork on mother and child needed for 99

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family court. Unfortunately, it was far too late for him to try for an interview with the local Domestic Relations office. Out of curiosity, Jamie made a point to drive through the neighborhood where Sarah spent her childhood. A map of the state wasn’t nearly as helpful as the perky young woman working in an all-night gas station. She provided him with caffeine, a city map, and advice–don’t go there in a BMW unless you have a gun. Chilling recommendation, but he didn’t plan on stopping long enough to give anyone ideas. The industrial zone on the city’s Southside had gotten bigger than the sparse pictures in Sarah’s album indicated. Now the flat landscape was littered with seedy bars, strip joints and aluminum-clad Quonset huts spanning acres, with hundreds of cars guarding the exterior. Strangely enough, all of the street and security lights worked, but the district still teemed with shadows, and darkness swallowed his car between the pools of saffron luminescence spilled on the roadway. Even if the area had drastically declined, it still hadn’t been a cheery sort of place going by the photos in the album. Feral glints of light popped in different areas of night, and he decided he’d had enough, turning the car around underneath a gaudily painted billboard advertising an amusement park. Naomi and Emmett had grown up in a small town. Yes, they had humble beginnings, but what drove one to roam the country and the other to sink herself in the anonymity of a big city three hundred miles to the north? There were clues in Cleveland, but the biggest puzzle pieces were waiting for him back in Deer Park.

**** Warm red-gold bars of sunlight filtered through the leafy trees flanking the front of the house, painting the worn wood floor with a montage of shifting hues more alluring than any cunning craftsman could replicate. Sarah had awoken in stages, transfixed by the flickering motes of light playing over the walls and floor. Night was coming and Jamie hadn’t returned. Stiff from laying on the cool, unyielding surface for so many hours, Sarah took a few long moments to stretch and walk around, before dumping out her icy wash water. Not wasting time, she stowed the materials in a closet off the kitchen, then walked around the house making sure all the windows and doors were secure. Clicking off the kitchen lights in preparation of locking the back door, Sarah forced herself to admit that soon she wouldn’t be able to keep paying for sewage, water, and electricity on the property. A part of her mind refused to accept that she might have to give up her small first floor apartment and return to the house. It was paid for, but cost 100

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more for utilities. Right now, she didn’t want to deal with practicalities, she just wanted to go home, have a hot shower and slide into bed with Jamie. Walking home as the sun set behind her, Sarah found it amazing that she had gone from seeing herself alone to being paired with the husky attorney as the years stretch before them. She didn’t worry that he wouldn’t be back—he had given his word. Fingering the lapel of his suit coat slung over her shoulders, Sarah grinned, it was a far cry from his high school letterman’s jacket but she wouldn’t trade it for anything. Opening the door to her apartment, the small space never felt so empty. The caramel colored couch seemed empty without Jamie, her dining space bereft. Ignoring the kitchen, she headed for the bathroom. Her shoulders and back ached, a hot shower would help. Detouring to her bedroom, she pressed her nose into the suit top and deeply inhaled the woodsy scent of Jamie before settling the garment at the foot of her bed. Her muscles ached as she stripped and collected the soiled clothes, tossing them in a wicker hamper in the corner of the bathroom. Setting the shower jets to pulse and the water to hot, she stepped gingerly under the spray, moaning in relief as the pounding ripples of water softened and made supple the tense muscles of her spine. The only thing missing was Jamie. The thought made her laugh, she needed to get a grip, she was acting like a kid with a crush or an addict hankering after a fix. Mm…but what a thing to be addicted to, she smiled, adjusting the showerhead so she could wash her hair. Still dripping from the shower, Sarah climbed into bed and fell asleep, dreaming of large hands holding her in a hot rain. Something tickled her ear and she wriggled, searching those elusive hands, and there they were, sighing contentedly, she relaxed back into Jamie. Even in her sleep, no other man felt so right. Exhausted, Jamie pulled back into Deer Park around two in the morning, and realized he didn’t have a place to go. Driving past the house where Sarah grew up, he noted that there weren’t any lights on. When he had left, there had been a light on in the kitchen. Quietly he pulled up in front of her apartment. The windows were thickly covered as always but he thought, no, he hoped what he saw was a light left for him. The door was unlocked, and he slid in, securing it behind him. It was out of the ordinary for Sarah to leave the door unlocked. Each time they entered the apartment she had immediately locked the door. Tonight she broke her rule; she knew he was coming back to her. In the dark hall between living and bedroom, he smiled. Sarah seemed to know his mind better than he did. But, he did have to admit that he felt oddly at home in the 101

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small feminine flat. Looking at the rumpled bedding, his smile grew. Sarah had wrapped herself around a pillow and had the sweetest mulish look on her face. He imagined somewhere in dreamland she was holding tight to something that she wanted dearly, but laying there she resembled a pouty toddler with a favorite teddy bear. Stripping, he laid the rest of his suit next to the jacket at the bottom of the bed before gently easing into the bed, spooning the sweet round derrière. A part of him stood up and cheered, but it was doomed to disappointment, this moment at least. He chuckled against her hair and she shifted, conforming to him, pulling his arm around her middle, and thrusting the pillow away. Poor pillow, he smirked before drifting to sleep holding Sarah close.

**** Wind rattled the window in its frame, waking Sarah. Sleepily, she peered toward the uncovered portal and saw looming storm clouds and the warmth of her bed became even more enticing. Snuggling down, she brushed against a very warm, very male appendage. Grinning wickedly, she hooked a leg backwards over his and enthusiastically encouraged a certain part of his already awake anatomy. Sarah knew the exact moment Jamie woke, his hands clamped impatiently around her waist. Leaning her head back, she saw the sleepy, predatory look in his blue-hazel eyes. This morning the gold glinted with a feral edge. “Wanna play?” He grinned, he propping his leg up, spreading her wide under the covers. With a swift thrust, he pushed into her slit. “I like spoons.” He nuzzled against her neck, causing all the air to leave her lungs. The hunger in her belly fanned to life the moment the tip of his erection gently parted her silky inner lips, feeling him surge forward, thick and all consuming drove every coherent thought from her mind. Everything narrowed to the firm hands braced on her middle, guiding her up and down his thrusting shaft. Need burned outward and along the backs of her thighs. “I—I--want,” she whimpered, unable to voice what her body needed so badly. “What do you want? Harder?” Sharply he changed the pace, pumping roughly into her sheath. Moaning, Sarah felt her channel tighten as the head of his cock, bumped and brushed along her sensitized nerves. Still, it wasn’t enough. “Wa--want…” she managed to force out as he again slowed the pace. She had been on the edge, fire burning in her blood, and then he slowed, nearly weeping she begged. “Don’t know what you want?” he teased, moving his hips slower and side-to-side. Sarah sobbed; the feeling of him pushing along one side of her spot then the other, never touching the flesh that ached for contact was driving her crazy. 102

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“Touch me,” her lips begged as he continued to slow and deepen his strokes. His teeth bit down on her neck and he arched harder, groaning, the feeling arrowed straight from his mouth to her pelvis. “Where, sweetheart?” mouth nuzzling a trail of molten desire down her shoulder, he bit down again, sending another gush of her pleasure coating his still cock. Slipping his hand from her waist to her belly, he held her firmly against him. Sarah whimpered as he ground his hips forward, flexing his taut buttocks, only feeding her hunger by quarterinches. Laughing darkly, he whispered in her ear, “Show me. No!” His voice stopped her frantic fingers as they abandoned their death grip on the sheets. “I want to taste your fingers first.” Hand shaking, Sarah lifted her hand to his mouth. Almost daintily, he nibbled the middle finger before sucking it in and caressing it with his tongue. Freeing her finger, he said, “Now, use that finger, show me what you want.” Masturbating herself had never been a part of play, but his hot gold-blue eyes burned as she slid the wetted digit to her swollen flesh. Making a soft circular motion around the aroused flesh, she felt her muscles tighten, and she tried to rock her hips but his hand restrained her. “Uh, uh, babe, you’re showing me what you like.” Her finger slid under the proud flesh and slowly started working it, desperately her hips flexed. Rippling, the muscles of her pelvis simulating the motion her sheath craved. “Stop,” growled in her ear but she couldn’t, need, sharp and hard was riding her. Her hand was batted out of the way by a larger one as he shifted, pressing her face down in the pillow-topped mattress. Her knees were pushed wide and down, as he speared into her from behind, his larger fingers deftly rolling and teasing the slick nub of her clit. He laid his weight on her upper back and pounded as her body rippled and spasmed, exploding into a sea of light and liquid fire. Weeping at the intensity, she called his name over and over, in response she heard, “Mine, my Sarah.” Jamie’s legs were shaking when he pulled out. Leaving her body, he felt bereft but he didn’t want to crush her. Rolling her over, he kneed her legs apart and slid between her spread thighs. He might have gone soft but that was where he wanted to be. She smelled terrific, sweet and spice, he thought burying his nose in her tangled hair. “Good morning to you, too,” she chuckled in a throaty purr. His cock stirred lightly brushing the sweet sweep of her round, luscious ass. If he lived to be ninety, he knew that voice of sin over sunshine would make him stand tall. 103

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“Mmm…it could be better.” He nibbled an ear. How could he have forgotten those heavenly bodies? The cool skin of her breasts was flushed from their lovemaking drawing his still eager gaze. Giggling, she pulled his head up, what he saw swallowed his heart, branding it hers, joy like nothing he’d ever seen before shone from those sooty eyes. She smiled, wrapping her long legs around his hips, “I think your eyes are bigger than your mouth.” His stomach picked that moment to growl loudly, sending Sarah into convulsions of laughter. Pretending anger, he sat up and glared at his stomach, “Wrong meal time, traitor.” She slipped out of bed and walked naked into the kitchen. Jamie was quickly coming to suspect that the kitchen was going to be his favorite room in the house. There were such possibilities. He found he liked watching her prowl the house naked. Not just on a sexual level but on an aesthetic one. After all those years of getting hell for not having pristine white socks that perfectly matched, seeing her curvy body strut proudly wearing nothing but skin was a revelation. Impulsively, Jamie snagged a wooden spoon and moved towards the counter where Sarah had assembled a line of eggs, vegetables, and bread. Looking at the spoon in amusement, she asked, “And what exactly is that for?” One handedly she cracked an egg; dropping the golden globe into a bowl before tossing the shell into the trash as her other hand began whisking. Frowning at the clunky wooden spoon, Jamie felt superfluous. Wooden spoons were for stirring and threatening recalcitrant children. Sarah was being a tad impudent, he grinned, giving her a playful swat on the butt. He half expected her to turn and smack him with her whisk but she didn’t. Sarah simply tossed him a look over her shoulder that turned his legs to jelly as her hands hit the counter and her back lightly arched, waving her supple backside at him invitingly. It was oddly erotic. Standing still, Jamie felt the flush of heat as it dropped from his face to his groin. A forbidden thrill danced along his skin, making his muscles twitch in anticipation. Hand clenching on the spoon, he gave her right buttock a firm stroke, leaving a light pink imprint on her golden skin. He watched in fascination as the skin pinked and slowly began to fade before her low chuckle interrupted his rapt attention. “C’mon Sleator, that the best you can do? I thought you were serious,” she teased in low hungry tones. Amusement made him grin, as his erection grew heavier at the thought of painting her skin red with strokes from his hand. It was wrong but felt so good just thinking about it. He shook as adrenaline poured through his body, driving his need higher in spiky bursts. 104

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“I’m not complaining. Here,” Sarah tugged his free hand unashamedly to her mound and lower, thrusting his fingers against the silky evidence of her own arousal. “But,” she raised an eyebrow in challenge, “if you aren’t equal to the task at hand,” she bumped his free hand with her bare hip as she rolled fluidly on her lightly bent knees, “I guess I could look elsewhere for a different master.” She directed a long, hot look over her dipped shoulder as she returned to the eggs. A different master, the words echoed in his mind at the center of a howling storm of jealousy and anger. She was his! Reigning in his temper, Jamie fought to keep the motions light and playful as he alternated stinging blows to one cheek than the other. When she began moving, undulating under the blows, he felt an animalistic need overtake him and he caved, grabbing her hair in a fist forcing her to stand still as he moved in close behind. “You are mine,” he growled in her ear, “Say it!” “Make me,” she snarled, looking back, lips twisted in fight but eyes glowing in joy. “You want me to feed this?” he slid the smooth wooden utensil along the soft inner skin of her thigh, caressing the slicked lower lips apart with the edge. When she made to move, he pinned her chest to the counter. “Do you?” he purred as the wood slipped near and away from her hungry core and clit. “Say it.” Sarah quivered in need and hunger, the burning skin of her buttocks inflamed her desire. Others had thought they understood what she craved and given it to her, but they hadn’t responded with a primal need to match her own. The satin soft skin of his erection nestled cool and throbbing against the scalded skin of her backside as he leaned in, rubbing her restless flesh with the spoon. “I am yours,” she whispered as his lips bit down on her shoulder. She felt the rumble of his satisfaction as he started loosening his grip. “But, you are mine,” she challenged as she felt the heavy weight of her hair lifted from the back of her neck. Instinctively she shivered as his breath tickled at the vulnerable skin. “Agreed,” he barked out, before biting down on the flesh at the top of her spine. The spoon clattered unknown to the floor as he moved her roughly to accept him from behind. Thrusting in hard and deep, head to head, hands clasped on top of the counter, she felt at once protected, desired, chastised and more, she felt loved and free. He bucked hard and rough, lifting her legs from the ground but Sarah was lost to the storm pounding through her blood as her body responded, greedily clamping and flexing as heat built and rolled through her in waves from the top of her scalp to the bottom of her feet. Convulsions of pleasure slammed through her system violently, making her legs shake as 105

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she moaned in carnal bliss as he panted his release against her neck. With a final heave, his hands gravitated to her hips as he steadied their precarious stance. An arm wrapped around her lower chest and she sagged into it blissfully as he dragged them backwards to a kitchen stool. “I didn’t mean to hurt you, just to play,” a hand lightly brushed sweaty hair from her face as he tried to cuddle her against his chest. Sarah felt so damned satiated she didn’t want to move but his words rankled. Reaching a hand up to his face she found a rough stubble that made her smile, she never felt it, she’d have to wear a turtleneck cover the bite and the beard burn. “You didn’t hurt me,” her fingers caressed the worried frown lines they found along his profile. “The welts--” “Will fade and heal.” He sighed, stirring the hair along her ear, tickling her. “Rough sex always brings out the worst in me,” he apologized. That does it! Sarah inwardly fumed as she surged to her feet and whirled on her lover. He looked so damned sad and confused she took pity, straddling his legs and resuming her seat in his lap, this time facing him. “Shut up, Sleator and listen. I like rough sex. Want to know why? Because it is real, every emotion and feeling.” He moved to interrupt and she placed a finger against his lips. “I know what that was about, even if you don’t or won’t admit it.” He opened his lips and caught her finger in his teeth gently before sucking the smooth digit. “I was an animal,” he said, releasing her finger. Grabbing his face in both hands, she forced those beautiful tortured eyes to her own. “You are an animal, Jamie. Everything about you screams power and strength, yet you leash it in expensive suits and choke it back with power ties.” His lips were too great a distraction and she found herself nibbling the smooth texture of his mouth as she sought to explain. “You are ambitious and talented but hide it out of respect for your father. With me you will always be the alpha male, you are free.” His hands slid up her back then gently pulled her back. “Just now, you weren’t at your worst, you were at your best.” Staring into his eyes, she tried to force him to understand the perfect dynamic they shared, the terrifying magnificence he could be free to embrace at least within her arms. Still, she saw the shame and felt something twist in her chest. The words he had said, calling her ‘his’ were only uttered in the heat of the moment. “Think about it,” she urged around the lump 106

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growing in her throat as she rose and left for the kitchen, returning to safe, culinary duties. The rest of the weekend passed in a mélange of skin, sweat, sex and hastily made meals. After every joining, Sarah searched Jamie’s eyes looking for the same virile warrior who claimed her in the kitchen. A few times she swore he looked back as fingers reflexively tightened in the afterglow, but it wasn’t the same. As he drifted to sleep Sunday night, Sarah found herself idly massaging the loose muscles lining his spine as she told him, “I believe in you.” Her hands dipped and traced the bones of his ribcage as she intoned, “I trust you,” and as she sidled against his hip, she yawned and whispered, “I love you,” her lashes fluttering down resisting sleep but caving to the irresistible call of Morpheus. Lulled by her gentle ministrations, Jamie had lain silent, lacking the will and energy to respond to her quiet words. He didn’t feel spooked; it was what he wanted, wasn’t it? He wanted caring but never expected the rest. As her breathing evened out, he slowly rolled and turned to cradle her sleeping form while realization bloomed. She offered him everything, asking nothing in return, nothing but ‘the best’ of him. He had to show her that he was better than a horny, abusive prick. But, a small voice in his hindbrain argued, what did she mean when she said he had been at his best? He drifted to sleep, holding his sweet, soft woman and pondering her words.

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Chapter Twelve

Deny everything until caught dead to rights-then lie. Elliot “Rock” Myers When the phone rang in Sarah’s apartment, early Monday morning, Jamie grabbed it, not wanting her sound sleep disturbed. The voice on the other end jolted him into wakefulness. He took in the words, letting them twist and reform in his mind over and over again, as he dressed and readied for work. Opening the front door, he considered driving then rejected the notion. He liked his car parked in front of Sarah’s place; it told everyone he was there and not a bit ashamed. The walk also gave him much needed thinking time. “Mr. Sleator!” Viviane Jones hurried to greet her erstwhile employer. “There are two gentlemen in your office, sir, waiting on you with your father’s blessing,” she forced the words between her teeth, trying to keep the sound to a minimum. “They’re Federal agents, Jamie, it doesn’t look good for the Michaels girl.” With an oath, Jamie strode through the receptionist’s area and opened the door to his former office. True to her word, there were two men waiting, but they weren’t merely sitting, they were reading raptly through stacks of files. Walking into the room, he snapped files out of the hand of the older agent and slammed them onto the desktop. The younger man jumped, startled by the noise, and slowly lowered his handful of pages to the desk as well. “Good morning,” Jamie bit out ungraciously, “I understand that Mr. Sleator invited you to wait in this office. Somehow, I doubt that invitation included reading confidential case files.” The older agent leaned back in Jamie’s chair, looking more amused than embarrassed at having been caught violating any laws. “Actually, your father did tell us we were welcome to look through the files pertaining to the case at hand.” The jab at his relationship to Sleator and Associates driving force wasn’t lost. Jamie looked at the man, taking in the clean cut of his older 108

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suit, the smoothly combed iron-grey hair and buffed manicured nails. The agent looked comfortable and at ease in the chair, more at ease than Jamie remembered feeling. Staring at the folder he collected from the agent, Jamie laughed. “Then tell me, sir, how it is that testimony on a peeping Tom figures into the bank’s situation?” Granted the case was notoriously funny, given the peeper was a ninety-seven-year-old man with a telescope, and a yen for searching the dark sky for women changing into nightclothes, but it wasn’t in the scope of embezzlement. “You’re right, that was my mistake.” The older man had his game face on, not a wrinkle twitched despite a telltale twinkle in his eye. “It was open and I began reading it on accident, can’t remember a single detail.” Liar, Jamie silently accused before reaching for the papers the younger fed had been rifling through. Those at least, he noted with some satisfaction, were from the bank’s files. “Let’s start over,” proposed the older agent. “I’m Agent Gary Martin with the FBI, this is my junior partner, Colton Myers. Please, sit,” Martin gestured at three chairs placed in front of the desk. Normally, the spot played host to a single upholstered chair for clients, but it had been removed to allow the three folding chairs room. Enough was enough. Jamie stood, hands in his pockets staring down into the round moon-shaped face. There was no way in hell he was going to let some FBI goon make him sit subordinate in what used to be his own damned office. “Agent Martin, I do understand that chair is cozy, but it is mine. Move or I will move you.” “Is that a threat son?” The tired sounding voice sharpened and the image of soft, good-old-boy in his cozy suit dissolved. “Take it as you will, but take it over there,” Jamie pointed at one of the folding chairs. Martin considered, his brow furrowing in thought, faded brown eyes snapping with energy. Bracing on the arms of the chair, he levered himself upright and moved easily around the desk to the proffered chair. Jamie felt something that was closer to sadistic glee than guilt as the collapsible structure groaned under Martin’s ample weight. It didn’t escape his notice that for as heavy as the older man was, he wasn’t short of breath or accident prone. He’d been heavy long enough that he wore the weight well and it didn’t slow him down. However, it did give him the impression of being laid back, a ploy belied by the sharp intelligence in his gaze. “Much better,” Jamie seated himself and rearranged the stacks of papers and folder to their original position. An itch along the back of his neck made him look up. Spy Junior was still hovering at the side of his desk, trying to read over Jamie’s shoulder. 109

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A quelling glance at the younger male made him bristle and stand straighter, challenging his right to be there. “Colton,” Martin called lazily from his complaining chair, “Don’t be so rude. Give Mr. Sleator his space. We are guests in his office. Is it still your office son? I was under the impression you quit working for Sleator and Associates.” Something about the cadence of the words refocused Jamie’s attention on Martin. Every time he heard “Mr. Sleator” he half expected his father to walk into the room. He had lost a lot more than a bachelor flat when he returned home he realized with a start, he’d also lost his own self-identity. He had returned not as an accomplished attorney, but as Mr. Sleator’s son. Suddenly Sarah’s words following their tumultuous trysting in the kitchen made sense. He wasn’t a failure, and it was long past time to quit acting the part. “Pardon me a moment,” he demurred to Martin, pushing the intercom button on his desk. “Mrs. Jones, would you please inform Sleator Senior that his presence is requested?” He switched the box off when Viviane made to ask after his “guests”. Almost on cue, the old man glided through the door. Jamie nearly smiled; the old bastard had been waiting in the wings. “Problem?” with his mild educated tone and almost bored air, the elder Sleator held an air of relaxed interest. Jamie wondered how long his father had secretly studied the actor Anthony Hopkins to pull off the look it was classic Hannibal Lecter. Smiling broadly, Jamie shook his head to the negative and expansively indicated his father was welcome to one of the inferior folding chairs. The older man sniffed dismissively and elected to stand at ease behind the offending furniture. Looking straight into his father’s eyes, Jamie said, “No, sir, there isn’t a problem. I merely wished to ensure that everything was done properly. These two gentlemen with the Federal Bureau of Investigation were about to explain their presence. It was my notion that as of Friday, Mr. Edgemont hadn’t yet decided to involve the federal authorities.” Meaning, you old bastard, that I know you are behind this, not merely that overly polite manager John Joseph. The words weren’t spoken but Jamie knew his father caught them, nothing got past the man. “Ah, yes,” Sleator moved around the rejected chair and picked up the glass paperweight, shifting it idly in his hands. “There was that development on Thursday.” “Yes, the one where my client alerted her manager, Mr. Joseph, to the suspicious transactions, for which he furloughed her.” Jamie relaxed in his chair, letting his elbows rest on the arms. Two could play at cat and mouse, so long as mice are aplenty, he observed. 110

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“Your client,” the edge in the old man’s voice could have cut steel, “who happens to have been employed at the bank for the duration of the embezzling, who fits the profile of ‘young woman’ and who has a grudge–passed up for a recent promotion.” “Yes, let’s look at my client,” Jamie drawled, slowing his tempo in direct contrast to the fast pitched barrage, “She worked as a night cleaner when the program was installed, correct? A profession that had zero access to the computers.” He picked up a pencil and used the eraser end to push files here and there until one towards the bottom was revealed. “That one,” he indicated with the eraser, “gives evidence that the program was added into the system during regular business hours on a date when my client was in school. Pretty hard to be in two places at once. “But, for sake of argument, we will ignore that for now. Yes, she is a young woman and fits the physical description given by Tortuga Bank employees, but so does Tammy Sanders. In fact, Tammy went to the British West Indies at the time the account was established as part of her high school graduation present from dear mom and dad.” Let the old man think the only reason he dated the vapid bitch was to get his pipes cleaned. She loved talking about herself and all her travels. “My client has never even been out of Ohio. “Last but not least, this promotion she was denied. Wasn’t that last year?” Pillow talk wins again, he grinned at his father’s look of consternation. “One year ago, yes she may have had reason but it doesn’t fit the time frame. Not to mention, if she put this plan into motion, why go to her manager with the evidence now?” “To protect her pretty little neck, you randy fool!” Sleator’s color was high and unhealthy looking. He loomed over the desk, the agents avidly watching the interplay like spectators at a tennis match. “Why else would she wait all these years to suck your brains through your dick?!” The silence following his thundering delivery was resounding. For the first time in his life, Jamie saw his father lose his cool, and he found he liked it. “Actually, Dad,” he leaned back in the chair, putting his shoes on the desk, “if you must know, our first date was a blind date set up by Kenny. You do remember Kenny? He’s your sister’s son.” “He’s also a bloody computer genius, you idiot!” Breathing heavily, Sleator turned and made fast, choppy trips to the small bookshelf and back. “Kenny never worked at the bank, and Sarah tossed him out of her bedroom window just out of high school.” That stopped the old man cold. “She what?” This obviously was news. “They went out, it was less than stellar. By his own admission, she threw him and his clothes out of her bedroom window. If you think he set 111

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this in motion trying to win her attention, please, don’t. Were that the case, he wouldn’t have set us up on a blind date.” “Gentlemen,” Agent Martin interrupted, “while this has been most interesting, I was sent to investigate the prime suspect as identified by bank personnel based on solid investigative results.” Both Sleators turned to stare blankly at the rotund little man perched in their midst. A cell phone chirped and Spy Junior fished in his pockets, dragging it to his ear. “Yes?” He looked constipated with his face screwed up, ostensibly to hear a voice that the rest of the room probably could have heard had he moved it from his ear another half inch. Jamie marveled at Spy Junior’s only use so far in the investigation. Snapping the phone closed, he looked to Martin who waved for him to speak. “Sir, the suspect was arrested this morning. This town lacks a police station so she is being held for questioning at the Traveler’s Rest Motel, just outside town.” Jamie missed the rest as a curious rushing filled his ears. It had been a ruse. All of it. His father’s call asking him to be present to go over the details of the case with the federal agents and bank officials, nothing more than a sham to keep him from blocking the arrest. Without knowing how, Jamie gained his feet and cornered his father, “You’ve condemned her, and you know it.” Anger blazed and raged, there wasn’t enough air in the room, his tie felt way too tight. Sounds, colors and details faded as he focused on his father, “Small town gossip, you’ve ruined an innocent woman.” Sleator tried to guide his son to his office but Jamie easily jerked his arm free. “Son, look, calm down, we don’t need trash like that in town--” “Just because her mother rejected you, doesn’t make her trash. You can’t judge her because of whatever it was that Naomi did or didn’t do!” Sleator puffed up indignantly. “You don’t know anything!” “Bullshit! I know everything, I talked to Mom.” With that, Jamie turned and stalked towards the street. His mind burned with the need to do something, anything. All the indicators pointed towards the past, his and Sarah’s, and the past was where he was going to dig.

**** The bank was full of the hustle and bustle of the beginning of the workweek when Jamie walked in. It was a false façade that fell apart as he moved to the center of the floor, looking around for the familiar face of John Joseph as the conversations died to mutterings and invariable coughs. 112

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“Mr. Sleator,” a grandmotherly looking woman walked up and took his hand. “I’m Mrs. Ciez, but you can call me Zoretta.” Her voice was pitched loud enough that even the deaf couldn’t miss her obvious saccharine displeasure. “I was out on vacation but returned when I heard about poor Sarah being railroaded by some nefarious bean counter. Allow me to show you to Mr. Joseph’s office, doubtless he is expecting you.” And if he wasn’t, Jamie couldn’t hold back a thankful smile; he certainly was forewarned of his impending visitor. Zoretta escorted him to the base of the steps leading to the open office door. “You be certain to tell Sarah that anything she needs, all she has to do is call. She has one loyal friend here.” The last was aimed at the ajar door. So, Jamie mused, even the rank and file knew who fingered Sarah as the embezzler. Interesting indeed, how fast interoffice politics raced through the bank. He walked up the steps and the door lightly swung open. John Joseph stood slightly behind the door and muttered through his teeth, “Is she gone?” Nodding, Jamie moved to take a seat by the large spotless desk as the older man sighed in relief, closing the door. “Never underestimate the speed with which that woman can discover information. Never.” John sunk his careworn face into his hands. Jamie laughed low and mean, “You asked for it you know.” John peered through his fingers and sighed again. “Perhaps, young man, perhaps. But how was I supposed to know that your secretary and Zoretta were bingo partners. How was I to know that Viviane Jones took a casserole dish to the Ciez-Bier home to celebrate the birth of Zoretta’s newest granddaughter? The woman had eleven children, she is constantly having grandchildren and casseroles delivered.” “Truly, a modern Madame LaFarge,” Jamie agreed. John Joseph rubbed his face tiredly again and sat upright in his chair. “Somehow young man, I doubt you are here to open an account.” Despite his words Jamie watched hope rise in the other man’s eyes. “No, I’m not here for an account. I’m also not here to give you the third degree.” Another stunned expression, it was turning into a day for them. “All I want are answers.” Twenty minutes later, his mind buzzing with puzzle pieces that didn’t seem to want to fit, he struck out towards the Traveler’s Rest Hotel. With his bad knees, walking was more than a pain in the butt, today he needed the time and air to keep his mind clear. Cell phone in hand, he made calls to Cleveland and at every turn ran into stonewalls made out of court-sealed records. It was almost as if Sarah had been adopted, but mother and daughter had such strong resemblance it was impossible. 113

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Mentally changing gears, he made calls to the county courthouse and asked for records on Naomi and Emmett Michaels’ parents. What he found wasn’t much. Mother, Sarah Christopher Michaels, died in childbirth delivering a daughter, unnamed and stillborn. Her “grieving” husband, Leroy, had a penchant for alcohol and using his fists, making him well known to the county sheriff and the local child abuse centers. A bored office matron told him all the old whispers from the time Emmett and Naomi were teens. Jamie wasn’t sure what was worse, the breathy excited interest or the possibility that an abusive man sold his children to cover expenses. “None of it was proven, of course,” the clerk carried on in a titillated whisper, “but how else was Naomi able to pay for college? Then Emmett ran away after he graduated. All in all, something happened.” Jamie forced himself to politely thank the woman while his stomach turned. Why had no one investigated the allegations? Just because Naomi and Emmett were teens, didn’t mean they weren’t entitled to protection. Looking up, Jamie was startled to find he stood in front of the slightly shabby Traveler’s Rest Hotel. The agents were staying in a small bed and breakfast downtown; this place hadn’t been selected with amenities in mind. A number of years before, the town council had tried to close the place down for being an eyesore and ‘den of iniquity’. As a college student the news article served as a great source of hilarity. Standing in front of the dark stained, three-story firetrap Jamie finally appreciated the intent of the council. Tourists didn’t use the place; the clientele was limited to hourly use or a place to collapse if you had too much to drink and couldn’t return home. Every town, no matter how nice, has a flop joint like this, he thought, staring up at the cloudy windows in dismay. The idea that Sarah was stuck in a dim, dank room, smelling of old sex and puke gave him pains in his chest. Idly rubbing the spot, he almost hoped for a moment that the pain was indigestion and not the emotion he feared lurked instead. He was too old for the “love conquers all” mentality. He wanted to give Sarah things, a family, security not just his arms at night. Outside of a snazzy German car and boxes of clothes, he didn’t have much to offer her. Grabbing the worn brass doorknob, Jamie stepped into the gloomy foyer. It was a small area facing a crooked front desk made up of scraps of different paneling arrayed in circus tent stripe patterns below the chipped counter. A leonine head popped up from behind the counter, bottlebrush whiskers standing erratically, a cigarette-starched voice croaked “Gimme a minute.” The man hefted his considerable bulk on a stool, one hamsized fist wrapped around a dark brown beer bottle, “What can I getcha?”

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“I’m the attorney of record for Sarah Michaels, I was told she was brought here.” Jamie paused and watched the dim amber eyes gazed blankly through him. “The feds?” he prompted. “Oh, them poofters. Whatever man,” beefy shoulders shrugged, “go on down that way,” a thick sausage finger pointed to the right, “room four.” “Hey man,” The clerk called as Jamie moved off. Turning to look back, he lifted a brow in question, “You tell them guys, if they got the notion of having a gang bang the price goes up, I ain’t buyin’ this temp’rary jail shit. If it’s a sausage-fest come tonight the rates go up.” Disgusted, Jamie nodded and resumed walking down the slightly squishy hall rug. He wanted to bathe in gasoline and burn his clothes just for breathing the air. The idea of being naked and intimate in such a place was a wonderful appetite suppressant. The bowed door to room four was propped open by a chair spliced together with wire and dowel rods. Peering in, he spotted a bored looking agent sitting on his suitcase playing cards with Sarah. Not even stained walls and bad lighting made her look anything but beautiful. Then he noticed she was sitting on a teetering pile of folded bedding, pillows, and towels, wearing her slippers and bathrobe. “Where the hell are your clothes?” Sarah jerked and nearly fell off her pyramid of bedding. She’d wanted nothing more than to hear Jamie’s voice all morning, but not bellowing at her. It had been hard enough holding everything together when the federal agents showed, escorting her from her apartment wearing nothing more than a nightie, panties, and slippers. Agent Micah Curry had quietly gone back in and retrieved her bathrobe while others had spread through her apartment wearing gloves and funny shoe booties. An Agent Martin had handed her a thick wad of papers granting the authorities the right to search her home for evidence of embezzling. At first, the whole incident seemed surreal, almost comical, but standing on her lawn in handcuffs popped her back into reality. It wasn’t until she was stationed in front of the local district justice and being arraigned on charges, that wheels started clicking in her mind. Those damned transactions she took to Mr. Joseph had all been fraudulent. But fortune smiled, a small mercy, the justice threw out the charges or was it suspended them? Sarah couldn’t remember clearly, her mind was a jumble; the charges weren’t lodged because of a lack of direct physical evidence. So, she was stuffed unceremoniously in this foul little room to wait and see if anyone could find evidence one way or another. 115

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“What,” she tried joking at Jamie’s obvious anger, “you don’t like my bathrobe?” But he wasn’t looking at her; he was staring with deadly intent at Agent Curry. “Jamie, allow me to introduce you to Agent Micah Curry, he was nice enough to get my bathrobe or I would be here in my pajamas.” Flinty eyes pivoted her way and she flinched under the weight of his gaze. Could he be jealous? He shrugged off his suit jacket and held it open. Obediently she slipped into the warm, soft material, rubbing her face against the lapel. It smelled like him, warm spicy and male. His hands appeared under her nose and efficiently buttoned the jacket. She’d been warm wearing the satin robe in the unventilated room and the jacket would only add to the stuffy feeling but she would sooner walk naked down Main Street than take it off. “Want to play pinochle?” Curry offered, doing his best Boy Scout impression. “No, I want my client out of here and back in her home.” The tone was pure chipped ice, but the energy he released into the room made the air bristle as if heated. “She hasn’t been charged, so there is no bail or bond, counselor. You know the law; we can detain her for questioning for twenty-four hours. Four down, twenty more to go,” Curry quipped, shuffling cards. “Jamie,” Sarah grabbed his wrist and forced his attention back to her. The stony set to his features softened. “It’s pretty awful here, but I don’t mind,” she smiled and stepped in closer, unable to restrain the need to seek comfort. “I’m innocent, it’ll come out soon. But here,” she fished under the coat and into the pocket of her robe, “they, uh, kind of searched my apartment and I think the house this morning.” Looking at the thick sheaf, she suspected they also impounded her mother’s car. It made her a little sad to think of the candy-box LeBaron being pulled apart. “Your things,” he began, but trailed off. Sarah smiled knowingly. Oh, yes. She imagined that her toy box and cabinet of curiosities would cause more lifted brows and commentary than anything. Embarrassing? Not to her, it wasn’t illegal to own any of the items, if the men digging through her things were flushed scarlet with shame, all the better. “Let them be jealous,” she purred viciously and he chuckled. “Why am I getting the feeling that the apartment search would have been really cool?” Agent Curry had stopped playing with the cards and sat looking almost too brighteyed and innocent. Jamie ignored the impudent question as Sarah resumed her perch and picked up her cards. This hand sucked as bad as the last one, she frowned at Curry. “I still say you are stacking the deck to win,” she groused. Behind her, Jamie slowly paced, reading the fine print on the search warrant. She had studied it for so long she could probably quote it chapter and verse. The entire page 116

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devoted to computer discs, files, drives and related items amused Sarah the most–she never liked computers in high school and didn’t own one. Her programmable microwave was as close to high tech as she came. The pacing ceased. “Sarah,” he squatted next to her cloth seat, “I’ll need the deed to your mother’s home.” Tension sliced through her system. Of all the things she hoped to hear, that wasn’t one of them. “Why?” “Look at me,” firm fingers caught her chin, “We will need to get you bail.” Angry, she batted his hand away. Maybe she would be taking the damned jacket off after all, she fumed. “Since you didn’t hear the juicy tidbits from this morning, Mr. Sleator,” she felt him wince but ignored it, “District Justice Pam Kohler refused to lodge charges against me. No evidence.” Of all the things that needed to be dealt with, he was concerned with bail, which wasn’t even an issue. Men, she inwardly raged. “It’s only a matter of time, Sarah.” The words dealt her a blow she hadn’t seen coming. Bands of pain snapped around her chest making it hurt to breathe, lowering her cards to the table, Sarah closed her eyes blocking the image of Agent Curry’s face swimming on a sea of sudden tears. In and out, she forced her lungs to work. In, you are innocent, out, he has to believe, chanted mantra-like as she regained control. “You don’t believe I’m innocent, Mr. Sleator?” Something in her eyes made Jamie crabwalk back a pace. “Hell yes, I know you’re innocent. What the fuck, Sarah? All these guys need is a single piece of paper that looks like it might implicate you and you’ll be up to your ears in federal prison.” Surging to his feet he resumed pacing, scrubbing at his head as if his fingers could force his brain to work faster, harder by their application. She felt a momentary twinge of guilt. When she woke up and found he was gone, a hundred things had gone through her mind, good and bad. But when the officers frogmarched her down the sidewalk she knew wherever he’d gone it was temporary, he left his car. Just seeing it sitting pretty in front of her apartment told her what no hasty note ever would. He was coming back and he intended to stay, no matter who knew. “Jamie,” she called, he turned, and she was lost in the worry she saw in his tired blue eyes. “I love you, I trust you and I believe in you. We won’t need bail, and if it should come to that, there has to be a different option, that house is saved for my Uncle Emmett.” “Sarah--” “Don’t ‘Sarah’ me, Jamie. Most people think my uncle was a worthless drunk, he isn’t; he cared for me the best that he could. The least I can do is keep his home for him.” 117

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“His home?” “Yes, Jamie, his home. Emmett was younger but he was the “man” and my grandfather left to him, not my mother. All I do is clean it and pay the taxes, the house and its contents belong to Emmett.” “Does the FBI know this?” Agent Curry laughed, drawing attention. “Let’s just say, my boss was not amused to learn that in order to search the Michaels’ home he has to find a vagabond man in the western half of the nation or provide some sort of justification for searching the home of a man not indicated in the embezzlement case.” He sorted through his cards, studying them intently, “He’ll get around to weaseling a new writ. Sarah does have access to the house. However, it may take time to find a sympathetic ear, especially in a small town.” Curry winked at Sarah, and laid his cards on the table. “Now kids, I am going to trust you not to leave while I walk down the street to the much cleaner gas station to use their bathroom.” Curry looked at the closed lavatory door with a grimace of distaste. “Behave.” He called, closing the door on his way out. “Not like I can go anywhere,” Sarah grumped, waving a slim ankle from under the table showing off a chunky silver bracelet, “I’m under temporary house arrest.” “What the hell?” Jamie fumed, catching her ankle and rubbing the soft skin being chaffed by the ugly device. “Best they could come up with on short notice. Actually,” she grinned impishly, “it isn’t one of the prisoner types, this came from Children’s Services; they use them on severely autistic teens like a locator device in case they wander off.” Jamie dropped her foot and gathered her close. “I just don’t see why they are focusing on you.” His concern flooded Sarah with joy. “Of all the people working in that bank, why you?” Quickly he sketched in what details he could from the investigation he had been working the last two months. Sarah pulled back, repulsed at being scrutinized by his investigation, but as he recounted more and more details, the distance served to give her enough space from his heady presence to think clearly. “That is odd. Only Mrs. Ciez and I processed the transactions,” She worried at the details. Everything seemed so straightforward. “I failed basic computers in high school, how could I have done it?” “My father,” Jamie sneered over the word as if it left a bad taste in his mouth. “thinks that you used sexual wiles on my idiot cousin Kenny, that he did it for you.” “Wow, I knew he didn’t think much of me, but I guess being a vamp is better than being no account white trash.” Sarah teased, tugging at his waistband. “I don’t care what 118

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Sleator thinks, my mom was weird on him, not me. She used to go see him weekly until her health gave out.” “What?” Sarah smiled softly at his stunned expression. “It wasn’t exactly trumpeted through town, but yes, she went to your dad’s office regularly. No idea why, an attorney in Cleveland drew up her will before we left. She wasn’t exactly into confiding in me by the time we came here.” She heard the pain in her words and wished she could pull them back in, not show weakness, but Jamie didn’t seem bothered. He looked at the bare, soiled bed and considered. Lifting her with one arm, Jamie plucked a thin, meager pillow from her makeshift chair, dumped it on the bed, and sat cradling her. She loved being in his arms, she felt safe and loved even if he never said the words back. Before the cancer, her mother would hug and hold her; later Uncle Emmett would pat her shoulder, but never really touch her. Sarah never knew how much she missed being held until she woke up in his arms Saturday morning. “You’re going to spoil me,” she tried teasing, though tears clogged her throat. “Hush, you,” he dropped a kiss on the crown of her head, “I’m thinking.” His voice turned gentle, “It’s hard enough to do while holding you on a bed, despite the ambiance.” She couldn’t help it; she dissolved into liquid filled giggles. “If you think mama’s papers are going to be important somehow, all you have to do is go read through them. I put them in her old suitcase in the attic at Uncle Emmett’s.” He stilled. “Didn’t you read them?” Sarah sniffled, shaking her head no. She had considered it long and hard; all she knew about her father was that he wasn’t around by Naomi’s choice. If her mom didn’t think she needed to know, Sarah was content allowing her mother’s wishes to stand from the grave. “You can find the spare key under the welcome mat by the rear kitchen door,” she hugged Jamie close. “But on one condition,” she stared at him through spiky damp lashes, “if those papers hurt anyone innocent, I want them destroyed.” “Honey, you have a deal,” he tucked her head under his chin and rocked her close until the fed returned.

**** Walking back to town, Jamie turned what facts he had over and over in his mind. It was an obvious inside job. It required computer skill, access, and knowledge. Moreover, it needed a motive, since the money had never been touched. A quick call informed him that the offshore account and its assets had been frozen. The bank would 119

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eventually recoup its losses; ironically, the pilfered funds had earned a better percentage rate than if they had been invested locally. The extra earnings were probably not enough to offset the cost of hiring Sleator and Associates, but better than a total loss. Young woman with brunette hair. Jamie punched in Tammy’s work number, but another voice answered. The nameless voice explained that Ms. Sanders was in a meeting. Meaning, Jamie mused, that everyone was being interviewed to set the stage for crucifying Sarah. Loud and shrill voices interrupted his thoughts, dragging his attention across the street. A teenaged boy harassed a slightly younger girl by tugging on her fat, blonde braids. “Little Sally Ann,” he taunted her, singing the old childhood rhyme, brushing her face with the end of a braid. “I told you Jeffrey! My middle name isn’t Ann! It’s Marie! Quit calling me that!” When most talk about having an epiphany, it’s a religious or peak sexual experience, not a flashback of tormenting a colt-legged brunette with watery eyes. “Middle name’s Blaire not Jane, doofus,” seared his brain. She had stood there looking flushed and pitiful in her ugly, worn-out clothes, trying to stand up to his daily litany of ‘poor plain Sarah Jane’. Sarah Blaire Michaels. Sarah, father unknown, Michaels. Too many things began clicking into place too quickly. Thoughts awhirl to the point of feeling dizzy, he crossed the street and palmed the rangy teen’s shoulder. “Face it kid, you’ve already lost your heart to the girl, just admit it and quit torturing her.” The boy flushed crimson and the girl gawked. Jamie set off with a purpose, wishing someone would have been bright enough to smack some ‘real’ into his head a decade ago. Behind him, a small blonde girl flashed an impressive set of dimples at a suddenly silent boy.

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Chapter Thirteen

One is never so dangerous when one has no shame, than when on has grown too old to blush. Marquis de Sade Lunchtime rolled around and so did the federal contingency that had conducted the search on Sarah’s apartment. They were stalled between collecting and processing evidence. Agent Martin apparently wanted all the sites assessed collected before analysis and processing was set in motion - all sites meaning Sarah’s apartment, Uncle Emmett’s house and, much to her chagrin, her workspace. A rather quiet, efficient-looking female agent had carried in a plastic sack with a pair of Sarah’s jeans, a T-shirt, socks, and a pair of loafers. Gratitude morphed into irritation when she learned that she was expected to change in the filthy room under the gaze of the female agent. Scowling, Sarah didn’t even ask the men to leave before she shrugged out of Jamie’s jacket, folding it neatly and laying it on the scarred tabletop as a preamble to undressing. When no one seemed inclined to move at the hint, she shared a look with the grinning lady of the law. Raising a brow, she met the silent challenge, dropping the spaghetti straps of the satin nightgown and allowing it to puddle on top of the bedding she stood on. It was a conversation stopper and more. Sarah wasn’t sure if she was insulted or complimented at the speed in which the men rushed for the door. The femme agent doubled over, laughing hard but quietly. “Oh man, I like you,” she straightened, hiccupped, and wiped her reddened eyes. “I’m Ethel Frahley, I’m not a feeb, just an adjunct from the state police.” Gracelessly she flopped on the dubious looking exposed mattress. Sarah gave her points for bravery; maybe it was being a cop that made flophouse cooties seem tame. “Feeb?” she asked politely, as Ethel sighed blissfully from the warped lumpy looking wrack. Growing up, feeb had been slang for feeble, somehow it didn’t seem to jell. 121

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“Federal boys, most of the guys call them feebs, kind of irritates them for some unknown reason,” a green eye popped open and she grinned irreverently from her prone position. “Can’t imagine why,” Sarah added dryly, plucking her bra free of the T-shirt Ethel had been kind enough to supply. “Are the state police needed? I thought with this being a Federal investigation, they’d handle it alone.” “It’s supposed to be a courtesy; most bureau guys don’t extend an olive branch, so my captain was suspicious. Since I was the last person to piss him off, here I am pulling a double shift after patrolling the local renaissance fair.” “Patrolling a what?” Sarah goggled. “My thoughts, but you’d be astounded at how bad people react to the guild folks,” at Sarah’s blank stare she explained, “the entertainers who dress up.” Rolling onto an elbow, Ethel grinned, “Want to hear a good story?” Intrigued, Sarah nodded. “We got this call last year about a guy being attacked by a knight with a sword. Here, some genius gets the notion to piss off one of these guys by cutting him off in traffic then flipping him off. Well, King Arthur pops out of this Tic-Tac on wheels sword-and-all bellowing a war cry, and the kid panics, bails out of his car at the red light, screaming like a co-ed at a panty raid. Classic.” Laughing, Sarah somehow knew officer Frahley’s colorful rendition was more amusing than the actual event. “Ready Miss Michaels to let the Boys of Dumber back in?” Rolling off the bed, Ethel asked, hand on the knob, but something in her expression made Sarah call to her to wait. “Something bad is coming, isn’t it?” “No, pretty lady, for you, it’s already happened.” Ethel enigmatically whispered, swinging open the door.

**** A quick peek under the straw welcome mat, netted Jamie the key to the back door. Entering, he surveyed the immaculate sheen to the old linoleum floor and felt guilt. Cursing his memory, he toed off his shoes before heading towards the front room and the narrow stairs to the second floor. Finding the entrance to the attic was a little more challenging. The second floor contained a bathroom, hallway, and three small bedrooms, nothing more. Or so it seemed. The smallest bedroom had an odd shaped closet. Moving to the door Jamie opened it, discovering a thin, empty rod for clothes, and another narrow steep set of steps leading into the crawl space Sarah called an attic. Eerily the attic was devoid of dirt, dust, and even spiders. That woman takes cleaning a little too seriously, he thought, looking at the neatly labeled boxes in the 122

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center of the floor. One contained Emmett’s personal effects; another Naomi’s old clothes, a third Sarah’s school mementos, and the last box simply said Naomi. He opened the last one first; pushing aside the temptation to see what Sarah saved all those years from school. Lifting the lid, he was amused to find a powder blue hard-shelled suitcase. Only Sarah would put a box in a box. The thought made him smile while his heart felt sad at her need to have everything so perfect, trying to compensate for too many years of chaos and uncertainty. The blue case was a lot heavier than he anticipated; grunting, he lifted it clear, setting it on the bare plywood floor. Closing the lid on the first box, he used it as a makeshift desk, opening the suitcase. He was glad to be sitting, because what he found would have taken the legs out from under a stronger man. Revised birth records indicating father, sucked the air out of his lungs, mind numb he stared in disbelief at the far wall. Dazed, fingers clumsy, he turned and opened an old, slightly musty accordion file shockingly labeled, but meticulously kept. Naomi must have been as driven towards an orderly life as her daughter, his mind mused as the analytical part hummed eagerly over the new pieces to an ever widening puzzle. Everything he needed was here in this old plastic-sided case, all but one last piece of the equation. Shoving the papers back in their slots and folders, Jamie checked the reception on his cell phone—it was good enough. He punched in a number from memory. “Check and mate you old bastard…”

**** Agent Curry’s garish cell phone played an annoying disco tune as the hour struck three in the afternoon. The entire room groaned as he happily cuddled the offending object to his ear doing a ridiculous dance. Ethel cracked open a tired eyelid, peered at the contorting agent, and sat up. Sitting Indian style, she peeled off a thick-soled shoe and whipped it at the officer as he gyrated to the jeers of fellow agents. “Hey!” he yelped as the shoe smacked the side of his head. “Thank you, Officer Frahley, that was quite an eloquent way of addressing the situation.” Framed in the doorway were the porcine lead Federal Agent, Gary Martin and his partner Colton Myers. Stepping forward, he clasped one of Sarah’s hands pulling her gently to her feet. His hand was surprisingly dry and strong. “Miss Michaels, the Bureau would like to thank you for your cooperation in this investigation. I would hope that should you happen to recall anything, no matter how trivial, you would call us immediately.” A grin to put the Cheshire cat to shame graced 123

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his round, even features as Agent Myers proffered a cream business card, pressing it into her free hand. “You are free to go Miss, but try not to leave the area,” Myers soft effeminate voice begged as he took her arm guiding her from the room. “We may need to speak with you again before the investigation is complete, you do understand, don’t you?” Mutely, Sarah nodded, slightly at a loss for words. How could she have been the primary, the only suspect and let go before even the end of the first day, without a single question being asked? On the way home, Sarah discovered the truth of Officer Frahley’s words. The store where she shopped for basic groceries refused her entry to buy anything. The cashier shoved her out of the building, raging about thieves paying but not at stores. Looks from passersby on the street changed from casual smiles to scowls and jeers. Walking the streets of Deer Park had devolved into the tortured travels of high school halls. Only in high school, Sarah thought numbly, I could put my head down and no one would notice me. Now, hanging my head would show shame, I didn’t do anything wrong, anger started to fill the dazed void she had wrapped around herself protectively for most of the day. Standing along Second Street, Sarah wasn’t sure what to do or where to go. She had no job, no family, and what friends she had didn’t deserve to be pulled down with her. But, she did have pride. Staring blindly at the familiar buildings, clean tree-lined streets, Sarah walked idly, by all appearances window-shopping. Behind her eyes, a maelstrom of thoughts churned. Uncle Emmett hadn’t sent a postcard in over a year; she had planned to use her savings as a vacation fund to track him through the states he normally roamed. One of the few conversations they shared after her mom died had included why he went from state to state. Emmett loved the rodeo, but wasn’t suited to the life, so he worked as a cook or bartender, sometimes a bouncer or even in the sideshow attractions that followed with the popular western attraction. Everybody’s got a dream to chase Sarah, he had smiled, staring into a purplehued sunset high over the western states he adored. Her dream was Jamie Sleator and she hugged the knowledge that for now he was hers. But was she being realistic? The ugly actuality of the embezzlement charges and legal fees settled on her shoulders, blotting the warmth of the day. No wonder Sleator Sr. was so dead-set against her, he just saw a woman using her body to get free legal help. 124

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Would Jamie think that too? The question made her feel nauseous, however, she had to consider all the options, even the ugly ones. At least she had the house and the car. Well, not really the house, it was still Emmett’s; if she had to, she could claim squatters rights like her had mother considered. Naomi threatened it enough times, but never actually did it, no matter how hard it was paying the property taxes. There was no way she could be proven guilty, was there? She didn’t know much about what was going on and was afraid to ask, ignorance was her only salvation. Would a jury believe her ignorant, sleeping with the lead investigator? Her knees suddenly shaky, Sarah focused on her surroundings, and aimed for the park. It was only a block away and she could sit at a bench and think. Late afternoon sunshine warmed her cheeks as she dropped onto the first bench, reclining her head against the rough wood. Children’s laughter and barking from a dog echoed from the central picnic area. If you think of anything…the words leaked into her thoughts, making her grimace. The agents knew what they were doing. No evidence? No problem! Just convince the entire town she was guilty, and let public scrutiny pressure her into making a mistake or even a confession. They never considered the ramifications to her reputation if innocent because someone had them convinced otherwise, but who? The little owl of thought hopped from ear to ear, hooting the question as a tow headed boy ran up. “Huwwo Miz, Zawwah!” Toby Barton skipped back and forth in front of her bench. “I’m gonna be a puppy when I gwow up.” His lisping wasn’t as bad today as it was earlier in the week. Clearly, youth did bounce back with all the resiliency of a rubber ball. Grinning at the mad antics as Toby aped doggy tricks begging treats, Sarah looked around for Heather. “Where’s your mom, champ?” Not even the nastiest gossip harpies would bash a little boy for talking to the pariah, but it wasn’t like Heather to let Toby run free. “Feeding the zeenz,” he panted between fake barks. Zeenz? Sarah looked around and spotted Heather bent over a newspaper machine in front of the drug store. Machines, she concluded chuckling. “Let’s go see her then,” she stood, tugging at a husky shoulder. “Uh-uh, mommy thaid, go make mith Zarraw go home, and we pway hide and theek and find her at her houthe.” Okay…Sarah lost a moment translating toddler talk, go home and we’ll come visit. “Gotcha, champ. Scoot, I’ll see you later.” Watching him scamper off on all fours, Sarah remembered her apartment; it was probably a shambles after the morning’s search. 125

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She waited until Toby reached his mom’s side and turned back waving, Heather assiduously studying the sidewalk, before hurrying off. She still had at least one friend. Arriving home was bittersweet, opening the door on chaos unleashed in her normally tidy home, was offset by the coming of Zoretta Ciez and a large number of her fellow bank employees. Armed with mops, brooms and buckets or baring casseroles and pastries, they marched through the remnants of her living room and into the kitchen. Choked with tears, Sarah was stunned at the number of people who smiled and nodded as they trooped in. Begging a moment, she ran to her bedroom, it was a mess like other rooms, but the agents didn’t seem to find any compelling reasons to scatter unmentionables through the room. Her cabinets and toy chest were, thankfully, untouched. She had every intention of scouring every last item, but was grateful she was spared that indignity in front of her co-workers. In no time at all, the apartment was set to rights, and people were chatting and gossiping. Sarah quickly learned that Tammy was sequestered with bank examiners and the lead federal agent until early afternoon before being sent home with a ‘baby sitter’. Looking around the room, she was disheartened to see the Mr. Joseph wasn’t among the people present; she made the mistake of asking Mrs. Ciez about his absence. “Oh, that man!” she seethed, “as if you didn’t know!” The tone of the room deepened as everyone agreed. “Didn’t know what?” Sarah felt at sea adrift in the tides of different conversations floating past her ears. “No one told you?” Zoretta’s tone was incredulous. “My dear child, he’s the one who set those nasty people on you!” The room spun and Sarah grasped the back of a chair. It didn’t seem possible, but the nodding grim faces surrounding her indicated otherwise. “But--but, I just did what I was told,” she hated the lost sound to her voice, but couldn’t control it. “I know, and that is what I told that nasty man!” Quashing a hysterical urge to laugh over Zoretta’s continued insistent use of the word nasty, Sarah’s thoughts twirled. Mrs. Ciez was still talking a mile to the minute when her words sank in. “What did you say?” Sarah interrupted. Zoretta blinked at the interruption then patted Sarah’s hand. “I told that nasty agent-man that I processed the accounts before you, just as I was instructed to by old Mr. Ashby.” General hubbub resumed as another woman remarked how nice it was for the older, now retired loan officer, to move to Arizona where the cold 126

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winters wouldn’t bother his rheumatism and Sarah’s heart sank again. Willard Ashby wasn’t just across town to go visit on a lark—he was clear across the country! A hiss of anger shot through the crowd when the front door opened an hour later, abandoning Heather and Toby in the kitchen, Sarah hurried out. Jamie was pinned to the door by a very angry Zoretta Ciez flapping and squawking words like a riled chicken. “Sarah,” he pulled her into a big hug, “I didn’t think you’d be throwing a party.” His voice was warm with humor. The sound of his latent laughter eased her heart. “I wasn’t sure you’d come home,” she blurted against his chest. “Your father--” “My father,” he stopped her flood of words with a fast kiss to the amusement of not a few people in the living room, “is an idiot.” The last got a round of warm laughter and spattered applause as the crowd began shifting and making for the door he was blocking. Despite Jamie and Sarah’s protests, the crowd thinned and dwindled down to Zoretta, Toby and Heather. The former was full of tears as she prepared to return to her daughter’s side and the latter talking about a new puppy to replace all those pearly teeth. “Maybe if I get him a dog, he’ll stop acting like one” Heather grinned, rolling her eyes above her son’s barking blond head. “Everything will come out in the wash, Sarah, you’ll see.” She waved hurrying after Toby the boy-dog as he raced on all fours to their car. “Do you want to hear about my day?” Jamie nipped an earlobe, tugging it. “Nope, I’m in a good mood and want to stay that way. I told you, I trust you. Anyway, the less I know the better.” Sarah angled her head, encouraging his mouth to explore her neck as she closed the door on the rest of the world. “Some things aren’t all that bad,” he nuzzled her neck, “In fact,” he turned her to face him and slowly led her by the hand to the bedroom, “there were these two kids on the street today that reminded me of when we were kids.” “Do tell,” she smiled up at him bemused. His eyes were dark, intent as they lingered over her body. “There he was,” Jamie orated, sliding fingers under the hem of her shirt, lifting the fabric slowly as his hands spanned her ribs. “Tall, kind of gawky, a little older and being really mean. Sound familiar?” But he didn’t give Sarah a chance to answer, hooking his thumbs under her shirt he pulled it over her head with a flourish. “And there she was, small and self-conscious with her hair in braids.” Tugging a silky strand, he leaned back and considered. “You wore braids too.” When Sarah opened her mouth to answer, he leaned in and kissed her. Blood heated from his languorous caresses and fulminating gaze, she melted against him, yearning towards the gently possessive brush of his mouth against hers. 127

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Eager, she lifted her hands to cradle his face and deepen the kiss, but he caught her wrists and turned, lifting her from her feet and laying her against the pillows on the bed. Nudging her legs apart, he kept her hands prisoner, as he dropped hot, mind eroding kisses around her belly button. “Where was I?” The faint stubble from his late day beard tickled her navel and sent butterflies spiraling through her body. “Oh yes! A sweet faced little girl…” Grinning like a sinner, he dipped the tip of his tongue in her belly button, making the muscles jump and dance in anticipation. “You know I’ll never look at jeans in the same way again. What they do for your ass is sinful.” Jamie broke off teasing, releasing her hands as he tugged at the denim with his teeth, freeing the button. “But, we were talking about sweet-faced little girls.” Hot breath warmed her lower belly as the zipper slid down maddeningly slow. “Sweet little girls with surly looks,” Sarah fell under his hypnotic gaze as his hands slid under her buttocks, slowly urging the tight material from her hips, “and fat braids,” denim tangled at her knees as he slowed to kiss the skin of her thighs. “Little girls made all the prettier by their ugly hand-me-down clothes,” he freed her legs, dropping the pants in favor of skimming the revealed skin with gossamer light touches. Enthralled, Sarah watched, heart in her throat as he rearranged her legs, one dropping over the side of the bed, but not touching the floor, the other to the side of his hip as he traced designs on her skin with fingers and tongue, painted in curious sweeping motions that raised gooseflesh. She was already wet from want of him, but this was a slow burn that made her feel boneless, a puddle of desire to be waded into. “Little girls with stormy eyes and pouty lips,” rubbing a knuckle against the slick satin of her panties, he kissed her cloth-covered mound. “Girls with haunting voices, stealing boy’s hearts,” Kneeling between her legs, he reached forward and pulled the cups of her bra down, exposing the taut nipples aching for his touch. Shifting, Jamie lowered himself over her exposed body, the textures of his pants and shirt sending up eddies of arousal as his tie dropped free between her breasts, tickling the sensitized globes. Framing her face with his hands, he whispered against her mouth, “Little girls with the middle name, Blaire.” Sarah’s eyes widened in shock. Did he just say…? Lifting his head, Jamie stared down, playfulness lost. “I stood there looking half-listening thinking, ‘that boy sounds like me when I thought Sarah was so pretty’, but you never got feisty like the little girl today. You just ignored me day after day and I turned mean and forgot how pretty I thought you were, and only saw with my hurt feelings; skinny knees and watery eyes.” Dumbfounded all 128

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she could do was stare. “I think I have always loved you, I was just too stubborn to see it.” Tears clogged her eyes as Sarah sought to sit up, gently he pushed her back, “Shh…no tears,” lips catching the salty drops on her cheeks. “Let me love you right,” he begged, following the course of a small tear as it brushed her ear. Unable to trust her voice, Sarah nodded, blinking to clear her eyes. A rustle of clothes, and then the bed dipped under his weight, heat radiated from his skin and she lifted to bask in the warmth of his presence. Sliding an arm behind her supple spine, he gathered Sarah in his arms. A snap of his fingers and the lacy bra fell away. Jamie lifted her hair and she was lost to a sea of sensation as he memorized every inch of skin along her back with mouth and hands. The cool chill of air raised shivers that the scalding heat of his touch quelled. Even as her blood boiled and body rejoiced, her mind was uneasy. “I’m not using you, Jamie,” the words forced their way out as he licked the underside of a breast. “I know, hush,” his speaking against her soft skin sent up curious vibrations of need curling her toes. “But…” she wanted to curse her runaway tongue, “Um…that feels so good. But…” Stopping, he grabbed her buttocks in his hands, “This is the only butt I am interested in right now.” Coloring, Sarah wanted to evaporate and disappear, but she needed him to know. “Jamie…please,” she begged. “Now, that I like, begging,” he rumbled against the flat plane of her stomach. His hands slid from her rear to the hollow of her back, kneading the muscles there, sending arcs of near painful need to her core. Tugging at the sleek satin panties with his teeth, Jamie wiggled the material off her softly rounded hips. Sitting back, he ran hands from her back to the confounding material, pulling it free. Her heart beat so hard and fast it hurt, desire mingled with fear as words poured out, “I’ll always love you, no matter what.” His hands stilled and he sat back. For the first time in her life, Sarah felt uncomfortable with her naked form, his eyes were warm, loving, but she felt an incredible urge to hide. Pulling her knees together to cover her naked mound, she twitched and fidgeted under his quiet gaze. “Stop that,” he clasped her knees, parting them. Lifting a knee, he kissed the inside of her thigh without breaking eye contact. “You have a lovely body, but that isn’t why I kept coming back,” his mouth traveled from thigh to the sharp peak of her pelvic 129

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bone. “Sex isn’t why I took a trip to Cleveland,” Shocked again, her stomach heaved under the wet probe of his questing tongue. “Your body isn’t the only thing I think about when your face comes to mind.” His hand lifted her other leg, placing it over his shoulder as his lips turned to the inside of the other thigh, not missing an inch of hungry flesh. Leaning forward, Jamie lifted her hips and slid a pillow behind her lower back, then opened her like a flower, spreading her legs wide, unfurling every fold. The swollen lips of her labia framed the slick darker skin that craved his touch. Using a finger, he limned the outline of a flower making her hips twist, aching for the touch to take her that one step higher. Instead, he dipped lightly, catching a wet droplet and began tracing the path again, slower. Sarah’s vision dimmed as she writhed under the measured stroke and dip of his finger. “Still waters run deep,” he breathed against her stomach as his tongue replaced his finger, traveling a torturous route. She throbbed, wanting more, yet never wanting the crazy intensity to stop. Panting, hands fisting in the sheets, her hips thrust against his mouth but he slid back, keeping contact delicate and light, as he angled her to unveil her opening. The muscles of her sheath clenched in want as he traced around the entrance of her core with the tip of his tongue. Shuddering, her body fought to give in to the aching release building low and hard, but she had to have more. Dipping his head, Jaime thrust his tongue deep, savoring the tight walls with a heavy purring sound that spilled deep. Frantic with want, Sarah struggled to pull his clothes off as his mouth lapped and suckled, his fingers thrusting and rubbing. Moaning in frustration, she fell back against the pillows arching into his mouth as wave after wave of orgasm ripped through her body. His mouth never stilled, it continued to work her flesh, sending her heaving, legs twining around his shoulders as she blindly begged, for what she couldn’t think. Her body shook in reaction as his mouth and hands found places she didn’t know existed, spiraling need deeper and over the top again. With a hoarse scream, her body twisted and jerked into another undulation of release, driving tears from her eyes. Her inner muscles were clenched so tight with hunger they ached as he unzipped his pants and slowly pushed his way into her sheath. Lips damp with her fluids he kissed her mouth as he thrust home, groaning. Breathing gutturally, his lips found the sift spot under her ear as she shattered inside under the sweet leisure thrusting. She bucked under his weight, lifting him from the bed as light exploded behind her eyes. Coming to her senses, Sarah snuggled in under his chin ear to his chest. His heart beat loud and hard before slowing, “My mouth brought you enough pain, the pleasure 130

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was owed.” Sleepy, she felt herself tumbling into the dark of sleep when she could have sworn he said, “Remember tonight.”

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Chapter Fourteen

Blowing out another's candle will not make yours shine brighter. Unknown. The ringing of the phone dragged Sarah out of a deep sleep, fumbling for the receiver, she mumbled unintelligibly into the handset. “Miss Michaels?” an older, cultured voice queried. Fuzzy brained and disoriented, Sarah struggled to sit up, noting with a pang of sadness that Jamie must have left without waking her. “Yes, this is she,” her voice was rough from the activities of last night. Straightening the snarled sheet from her legs, she tried to fully waken. “Who is calling please?” “James Sleator.” The name brought her out of bed and onto the floor as if hit with a cattle prod. “What do you want?” The new quality to her tone owed nothing to sex and everything to resentment. “My client would like a word with you regarding the bank situation.” Sarah made for her closet, digging through her clothes; she could wait for him to say more. “Are you there, Miss Michaels?” “Yes, I was waiting for you to name your client. I was under the impression that the FBI was handling the situation now,” sarcasm dripped from every word as she pulled out a fawn colored pantsuit. Feeling a need for brighter spirits, she pulled out an emerald silk blouse over the customary cream. “Your attorney of record is here, do you want to keep him dangling?” An edge that could cut cheese sliced through the phone lines. What the hell was going on? Sarah looked to her nightstand; it was just after eight in the morning, she refused to listen to the worried questions bubbling to the surface of her mind. She trusted Jamie. “I’ll be right down, Sleator.” She felt a small spurt of victory at dismissing him curtly as she popped the phone back onto its base.

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Tiredly, Jamie watched the tendrils of steam waft upward from his second cup of coffee. It hadn’t been easy setting this morning up; he hoped that in the end Sarah would forgive him what he was about to do. Rubbing at a cheek, he was surprised to feel the rough texture. He’d forgotten to shave. It had been hard enough leaving the warmth of the bed and Sarah, a little disheveled appearance was a small price to pay for an extra few minutes resting in her arms. On the bright side, his dad didn’t look any happier at being dragged into the office an hour earlier than usual working hours, on his day off at that. Viviane Jones bustled about the room. It had been a stroke of luck that the older woman had agreed to show. Her presence distracted James Sleator from noticing small discrepancies at the conference table. Having the old man call Edgemont and Sarah kept him occupied as Viviane set up coffee urns and a small box of pastries. Jamie had wanted to do this without Sarah, but the only way to get it through his father’s thick head that she had nothing to do with any of this mess meant bringing her in. Even with Sarah being called last, she was the first to arrive. Dark hair shining with red-gold highlights under the lifeless fluorescent lamps, she looked every inch a vetted businesswoman. Not the sultry siren of a few hours before as she erupted under and around him. She accepted a cup of coffee and Danish from Mrs. Jones with a polite murmur and found a seat along a far side of the table. Jamie’s heart twisted, but he understood her need to show his father that this had nothing to do with their intimacy. “Counselor,” she greeted him with a wry twist of her lips. “Sarah,” he nodded back with a small smile. The room was unaccountably quiet. Looking up, Jamie noted with alarm that his father stood opposite Sarah gazing slackjawed, his face pale as whey. Under the older man’s scrutiny, Sara had affected the same posture as that night long ago when she “interviewed” him at Quest. “You are not looking at all well,” Sarah drawled, adding almost as an afterthought, “sir.” Sleator shook his head as if to clear it. “Has anyone ever told you how much you look like your mother?” His tone was almost gentle, a distinct difference from the hostile voice he used with Sarah on the phone. “No, most people avoid talking about her to me, the rest only seemed to remember what she looked like before she died.” The words were casual, but there was a hard edge under her velvet tone that made Jamie wondered what happened between his father and Sarah all those years before. Her chin lifted in defiance. “Than again, sir,” the honorific sounding more like a slur. “You did cry at her funeral.” Sarah didn’t so much as shift but relaxed into a position that looked both 133

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tranquil and predatorily on the verge of lunging. “I’ve often wondered at those tears. The principal came with me, it was expected. Mr. Joseph and Mr. Edgemont were there on behalf of the bank; they had an interest in my mother. “But you Sleator, you had no reason to be there. I know you weren’t there for me, if you cared to see me you wouldn’t have told my mother to leave me at home when she came to see you. Yet, you cried for Naomi as you stood there glaring holes through me. Why?” His face wrinkled in a sneer, “I don’t have to answer to you.” He leaned against the credenza. “You may look like Naomi, but you are nothing like her.” It was intended as an insult, but Sarah merely nodded. “How could I be anything but? I’m not Naomi, I’m my own person.” With a rustle and a creak the door to the conference room opened. “Ah! Sleator, there you are. No one in the outer offices, I was at a bit of a loss.” The older man worked his charm on the room, cozening a cup of coffee before settling in a chair at the long table angled towards Sarah. “Miss Michaels,” the charismatic voice dropped several degrees as he addressed his former employee. If he didn’t know the truth, Jamie would have completely believed the act of the violated employer greeting a thieving employee. “Now that everyone is here, we can get started,” Jamie gestured for the door to be closed and indicated that Mrs. Jones take up her job as stenographer. It was a ploy, her services weren’t really needed, but it explained the recording device next to her machine. “Sir,” Jamie deferred to his father, “you indicated last night when we spoke that you wished to begin the questioning this morning.” He felt the weight of Sarah’s gaze on the side of his face as he watched his sire. Yes, he had gone to her bed knowing this was coming. He just hoped his gift to her last night would be enough to keep her at his side. “Miss Michaels,” James Sleator dropped his half-moon glasses onto the bridge of his nose as he slid into his chair, pulling a notebook closer, “please state your name and age for the record.” “Sarah Blaire Michaels, Blaire is spelled with an “e” at the end. I’m twenty-four as of my last birthday in April of this year.” “Blair with an ‘e’?” the older man’s pen stilled and he shot a look at his silent son. “Yes, with an ‘e’. My mother insisted that the end vowel was very important.” “Ah yes,” he cleared his throat, “I see.” But he obviously didn’t, as he began looking through his notes, trying to find his footing. “Where were you during the month of April 1999?” 134

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“That would have been my eighteenth birthday, so I would have been in high school, senior year.” “Did you hold a job?” “Yes, I was in my second year as night-time cleaning crew for the First National Savings and Loan.” “What access did you have to the bank at that time?” “Very limited,” her brow furrowed as she recounted meeting the older members of the janitorial staff at the rear entrance every night. Quickly, she ran down the list of rooms they cleaned on which nights, how she was never left alone in any area, not even the restrooms. “Is this a copy of your high school transcripts?” James Sleator held up a sheet of paper. Sarah leaned forward and nodded. “I see here that you failed computer science. Isn’t that a required course for graduation?” “Yes, I did fail the course, but if you’ll note there,” a slim finger pointed to a small note at the corner of the transcript. “I had a tutor who helped me earn enough extra credit to meet the pass/fail option instead of the regular grading system for the class.” “This tutor,” Sleator leaned back in his chair, “wouldn’t have been Kenny Thomas, would it?” Sarah smiled, “No sir, it wasn’t.” That started the old man and he leaned forward again, searching his notes circling something. “My tutor was Jake Moore.” “Who?” Jamie couldn’t resist asking. Jealousy nibbled at his calm. “Jake Moore, he was a community college student, a friend of Sam Bennett’s. Sam asked him to help me out and he did.” “Sam Bennett?” This time his father interrupted. “My best friend.” She didn’t bat an eye over the simplification of their relationship. “We’ve been close since I was a sophomore.” Sleator paged through his tablet looking for something but not finding it. “You do know Kenny Thomas?” He underlined a name as he asked. “Of course I know Kenny, he arranged for Jamie and me to start dating,” she bared her teeth in a rictus of a smile. Sleator tented his fingers in front of his nose and considered the poised creature opposite him, “How well do you know Kenny?” Sarah stilled, this was something she obviously hoped to avoid. Just be totally honest, Jamie silently urged. “I know that he is brilliant with computer programming, eats way too much fast food, is addicted to pornographic movies, his penis angles to the floor when erect, and he kisses like a St. Bernard.” 135

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Jamie rocked back in his chair. Maybe that was a little too honest. “So,” his father practically cooed, “you’ve had sexual relations with Kenny Thomas.” It wasn’t a question but a statement, but Sarah didn’t treat it that way. “No, I didn’t. He wanted to show off his ‘hot bod’ by posing naked in front of a mirror. It was amusing yet uninspiring and when I caved and let him kiss me, it was over for the night. I threw him and his clothes out of my bedroom window.” Jamie coughed, strangling laughter at the image. The worst was he could see skinny, lank haired Kenny posing naked in front of a mirror kissing his non-existent muscles in his upper arms–after all, he did in the showers at high school. “But you keep in contact with Kenny Thomas?” “No,” Sarah gently corrected, “he keeps in contact with me. He calls almost weekly asking me for anything from a blowjob to being his sparring partner on some video game. He sends me cards and gifts at birthdays and holidays and I try to be polite and return the favor. I know why he does it, but I don’t encourage him.” Sleator rustled through his papers, searching for a new angle. “Miss Tammy Sanders. You know her, correct?” “Yes sir, she graduated with me, attended business college on a scholarship and took a position at the bank as loan officer.” “Scholarship?” the older man muttered, digging frantically into another folder, pulling up another set of high school transcripts. Whatever he saw didn’t answer the questions brewing. He placed the sheet under his tablet as he changed directions. “You and Tammy were, of course, good friends.” Sarah laughed in genuine amusement. “No sir, I didn’t exist to Tammy. Her parents made good money, she could afford trendy clothes, dated football players,” a dimpled cheek nodded at Jamie, “People like me were beneath radar unless they needed to vent.” “Vent?” Sleator seemed confused. “Didn’t you go to high school, sir?” With interest, Jamie noticed his father’s negative head movement. That was right; Sleator went to a private boarding school, not through the public system. “Venting means when Tammy had a bad hair day, got her period or just felt unhappy, tripping people like myself was a way of feeling better.” “Quit lying!” Edgemont erupted from his chair, running both hands through his hair, pacing angrily along his corner of the table. When Sleator tried to calm him down, he threw off the other’s man’s hands. 136

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“None of your lies matter here today, we know the truth! Well, James, show her the damned file!” The bank president’s demeanor of civility stripped away, as James Sleator produced an older navy folder. Silently, he handed it across the table to Sarah. Instead of picking it up, she stared intently at the cover without moving. Hunching in her chair, she considered the file, fingers twitching, before folding them in her lap, sending Jamie a beseeching look. “Your mother had a file like that didn’t she?” Jamie asked gently. He knew the answer, but needed to ask. Sarah nodded. “Did you ever open it?” “No, she told me I was never to open it.” Her eyes moved over the surface of the file folder seeing the similarities and differences in the material. It was her mother’s hidden folder and yet it wasn’t. She looked so lost; it hurt. Hell with this, Jamie stood and collected his files, moving to Sarah’s side, putting an arm around her shoulders. Her hands fidgeted, clenched until the knuckles whitened, and then with a deep breath she reached forward, and opened the folder. Jamie felt her stop breathing and gave her a little shake. Out spilled a number of photos of what looked like Sarah with a much older man. Her hands shook violently as she leafed through the pictures. The Sarah in the photographs was young almost pubescent, if not much older. She made a funny noise deep in her chest and Jamie looked down, tears saturated her face and her mouth worked as if trying to bring in air. “Oh, mom, what—what--is this?” she sobbed, scattering the pictures across the tabletop looking at every lurid angle and detail. Jamie felt the moment she finally recognized the man in the pictures. “You,” she accused Edgemont. She tried to lurch out of her chair but Jamie held her in place. “That is you in those pictures, you vicious little bitch,” Edgemont seethed. “You and your sick uncle used these for years to blackmail me.” Sarah shuddered and drew in a jerky lungful of air, “What the hell are you talking about? And what does this have to do with embezzling bank money?” Turning, she clasped the front of Jamie’s suit in a death-grip. “Momma had these in that box?” Jamie wished to spare her this misery, but he collected up the photos from his dad’s file and slid it back across the table. From the small stack at his elbow, he produced an identical folder that was slightly larger. All the while, Edgemont raged about how he was blackmailed into hiring Sarah and then her friend Tammy, how they conspired to set the wheels in motion, but the 137

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words washed over Sarah. Jamie watched in concern as she picked up the folder, closed her eyes on the pain in her heart, and opened the cover. This wasn’t just a collection of black and white poses captured mid-coitus, some were in color, even worse, there were pictures of a teenaged version of Sarah and most damning, ones of what must have been a young Emmett. James Sleator stalked around the table and grabbed one of the teenaged photos in color, looking deeply into the picture. Jamie knew what he would find, brown eyes— Naomi’s eyes. Not the Edgemont grey of Sarah’s own eyes. At the bottom of the hellish file was a contract, drawn between the Michael’s sire Leroy and Blaire Edgemont, selling the older man the bodies of the two children. Sarah looked up, sickened, staring into her own eyes and fled the room gagging. Viviane Jones chased after the younger woman, abandoning her post at the steno recorder. Jamie stared down the raving older man. “Tammy Sanders didn’t get a scholarship to college did she?” Standing slowly, he moved to confront the bastard. “How did she earn her tuition?” Edgemont tried to side step. “James, do something.” “Jamie, please sit, there are too many questions right now.” He relented only because his father sounded suddenly frail. “Blaire, I have to know about these new pictures. Obviously the statute of limitations is up and one of the victims is dead.” “They weren’t victims!” the older man raged, “Look at the damned pictures, they loved every minute of it.” James Sleator grimaced and shuffled the pictures back into the folder without looking directly at them. “What did Naomi really come to my office weekly to collect Blaire? I thought it was a disbursement from her medical account, for the bills.” When the older man refused to answer, instead focusing on picking imaginary pieces of lint from his suit, Sleator changed tact. “Did you pay the Sanders girl to open the West Indies account?” He picked up a folder that Jamie hadn’t been allowed to see, one that listed details recently uncovered on the West Indies account. Large as life on the sheet was a variant on Sarah’s true name at birth along with personal identification information. “S. Blaire Edgemont,” Jamie read the upside-down name. “They were setting me up for more blackmail, I tell you!” Edgemont’s hands fluttered like wounded birds, “You have to believe me!” The elder Sleator worked at calming his client, as Jamie leafed through a small purple folder he had discovered in the attic box. 138

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“Naomi had kept up her relationship with you, I don’t know why but she did.” Jamie broke into the squabbling. “She found herself pregnant and moved across the state to a job paying a fraction of what she had here. This,” he held up a thin green paper with gold flourishes, “is Sarah’s real birth certificate with date of issue. Note the line where paternity is recorded.” He dipped into the folder again. “Not long after, Naomi had money problems, health issues,” his lips curled, “so she went to family court. They negotiated a deal, the baby wouldn’t have the father’s name, and in return, you were to provide child support. Support you stopped paying once Naomi died.” “That is what I really handed over to Naomi every week?” Sleator demanded of Edgemont. The elderly man gracefully sank into a chair and collected himself. Instead of answering, he looked straight ahead, ignoring both father and son. “Why, Blaire? Why would you do this to your daughter?” “Ahem.” The rotund lead federal agent Gary Martin stood taking in the scene. “I can answer that, it seems that Emmett Michaels knew about the child support and filed a complaint with the courts in Cleveland, demanding the back money before he went westward. He didn’t understand that he should have filed here, not where the process began. But then, his attorney is rather inept and has been fumbling things “accidentally on purpose” for the past six years while sending rosy letters of progress to Mr. Michaels.” Jamie nodded at Martin in greeting. “Sarah has been concerned about her uncle, has he been located?” “Oh, yes indeed, young Mr. Sleator. He’s in the federal penitentiary in Oklahoma. Seems someone tipped him off as a molester and the local authorities caught him snuggled up in bed with a minor from another state.” Martin smiled like a cat scenting cream. “Neither had a clue how they got there, the teen was put in counseling and Emmett Michaels went to prison never fighting the charges. Given what has been unearthed here today I feel that there is enough information on Emmett Michaels troubled past to look past his ‘guilty’ silence and re-examine the minor’s statement. Trampling innocence seems to be a theme with Mr. Edgemont.” He walked around the table to the stack of files Jamie brought from the Michaels’ home. Jamie leaned on the pile. “Don’t see where you really need this, Agent Martin. I’m bound by my client to destroy these if all they’ll do is harm innocent people. They don’t apply to the case at hand.” “Let’s make a deal, son.” Chubby hands rubbed together gleefully, Agent Martin sat down to the table.

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Agent Martin handled the news conference with the aplomb of a music conductor before a packed house. He smiled, answered questions, and demurred to Jamie for all the details. Not once was Sarah’s name mentioned, aside from a public apology. The horrible mementos of the Michaels family were shredded and burned, in return, Edgemont agreed to sign a confession and seek psychiatric help. It galled Jamie that the public would never know the depravity of the man that he was, instead of being looked at as someone with a problem. Sarah had refused to see him after the morning’s revelations. He tried calling but no one answered. She needed him more than the media circus, but his father insisted. “Son, I am sorry, but you brokered an agreement with Agent Martin, you have to live up to your end.” Gently, he pushed his son towards the podium and the Federal contingency. Turning around, Jamie looked at his father, really looked at him for the first time in years. His hair was white and starting to thin, wrinkles creased his face but those rheumy blue eyes were as piercing as ever, dulled a bit by the shocking events of the morning, but he was still sharp. Jamie didn’t appreciate the old man feigning chest pains and leaving before the briefing began. As Martin droned on exponentially playing up the agency’s role in the investigation, Jamie worried that maybe the old man really wasn’t feeling well, he usually loved being in the spotlight. Answering questions on the investigation, Jamie went from being nervous and resentful, to enjoying the game of verbal jousting with some of the reporters. Residents stood clumped on the sideline watching and listening. No matter how many times he looked at the small group, it never included Sarah. He hadn’t noticed how distracted he’d become, looking for her until Agents Martin and Myers shepherded him to the edge of the makeshift stage for some pictures. Sarah could refuse his phone calls but she wasn’t going to shut him out. Jamie made a few stops on his way to Sarah’s after the interminable press conference. Pulling up to her apartment, he had a startling phone call. It seemed his former New York employer had been keeping tabs on him, and was tipped to the recent developments. Tipped my ass, he seethed; he knew good and well that his father was behind it. When the offer to return to work at the New York firm as a junior partner came, he was stunned into silence. It was the kind of big break he’d lusted after for the past two years, and then mourned for not having. 140

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Sitting in the warmth of the car, Jamie considered the job but couldn’t, not without knowing if it was something Sarah wanted with him. Gazing at the present he bought for her in the passenger seat, he suddenly grinned and the pearly dream of urbansophisticate power broker popped like an overripe bubble. If he couldn’t imagine his life without her and couldn’t see Sarah anywhere but Deer Park, then here they’d stay. Gathering up his present, he just hoped she wouldn’t hate him too much to give him a chance at forever by her side.

**** Mind numb from shock, Sarah allowed Mrs. Jones to clean her up and drive her home. Her mind kept buzzing with pictures–terrible, horrible specters in color and sepia streaks of pain and degradation. All those times when Sarah would ask her mother why didn’t she have a daddy like her friends, Naomi would smile a bittersweet expression. “Not everyone has a mommy and a daddy, Sarah-bear. Look at Timmy, he just has a daddy, and Nicole didn’t have a mommy or daddy, remember?” Nicole had moved in next door, she was Sarah’s age and so happy to finally have parents. So she had stopped asking and simply went on. The room felt incredibly cold. Sarah moved to the bathroom and considered running a bath for a soak or taking a shower. She was still mulling it over when she caught sight of her eyes in the mirror. The same eyes Edgemont had. Her stomach heaved, but there was nothing to bring up. Blindly she ran water and sagged into the shower, letting the steaming clouds of water sear away her pain. Not everyone has a mommy and a daddy, Sarah-bear…the words echoed and swirled in her brain making her head hurt. Her mother had been right. Just because the man who fathered her was less than scum, didn’t mean anything. She had the love of her mother and uncle growing up, it may not have been the touchy-feely kind of love she’d wanted but it was good and warm and solid. Reaching for the water shut off, she was surprised to see her fingers had wrinkled. Waking to her surroundings, Sarah noticed that the water had cooled considerably. Wrapped in a thick terry towel she had been in the process of drying her hair when the phone started ringing. Walking over to the nightstand, she gazed at the caller ID—it was Jamie. Too much, she shook her head, right now he was just too much to deal with. Obviously, he had known all the dirty laundry but he still came to her bed, held her, and said he loved her. She couldn’t allow him to do that to himself. There was no way that the pictures and her real identity wouldn’t come out now. To be linked with her would be suicide for a lawyer just starting out on his own in small-town America. 141

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Every time the phone rang, she felt a pang in her heart and a lump building in her throat. Eventually it stopped. Sitting at her vanity, pulling a brush through her hair she wasn’t sure what hurt more, his calls or his silence. Needing a feeling of warmth and security, she slid into a pair of worn jeans and Jamie’s old high school shirt. It was rarely worn, only pulled out on her lowest days when she wanted to imagine the feel of him. Hugging herself inside the thin cotton, Sarah finally realized how inferior a replacement the shirt was when compared to the real thing, like comparing a lit match to the heat of a blast furnace. A knock at the door made her freeze, hope half-strangling her. Walking to the door her hands shook, there were so many people it could be other than Jamie, she tried to tell herself, but her foolish heart kept hoping, insisting it was him. The door swung open and she stood back in shock. Of all the people in the world she envisioned knocking on her door, James Sleator wasn’t on the list. He stood in the warm sunlight, looking abashed and ill at ease. Without speaking, she gestured for him to enter, but he stood there, studying his shoes for a moment. Moments ticked by before he paced past, settling in at the couch. Hesitant, Sarah moved to the opposite chair and waited, unsure of what to say or do. “I’ve come to apologize.” Sarah was glad she was sitting; those words would have laid her flat. There were certain people who never apologized, like doctors, priests, judges, and James Sleator. All were larger than life until moments like this. Gripping the arms of the chair hard, she waited for him to continue. “My parents came from money, were in fact good friends with the Edgemont’s. You are too young to have remembered Blaire’s wife, she passed away not long after Naomi left. A heart attack,” his soft voice pondered the last bit as if testing the feel on his tongue. “I wonder…” he started, then shaking his head continued. “When I was a young man returning home after boarding schools and European trips, Naomi was always here, tempting me with her beauty and wild free spirit. She liked to party, drank probably too much and flirted with every man who crossed her path. But no one claimed her.” Smiling he looked around bemused. Sarah jumped up and went to the kitchen, returning with two glasses of iced water and a pitcher. “I asked your mother, not for dates, but to marry me. She just laughed and laughed. It angered me. I felt insulted and wanted to believe the worst of her for it.” Sarah remembered how Jamie spoke of his own mother being so utterly controlled by his father as to be a glorified puppet. “Is that why you’re so hard on your wife, Mr. Sleator?” His shoulders jerked as if lashed, but he held the water glass grimly, nodding. 142

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“I’m not proud of it. But it only means I have a lot more repairs and apologies to make today.” His cloudy eyes pinned Sarah to her chair. “Do you know how much my son loves you?” As much as she wanted to hear the words, she instinctively rejected them with a muttered protest. “Honestly. He called in myself and Agent Martin the day he discovered those files, told us both how it all unfolded–without going into the…eh details,” he covered. “Both of us refused to see, it was unthinkable that anyone with Edgemont’s social standing, money, and political power would set in motion such a ploy for no real reason. He didn’t want you to know, this morning was my fault.” Astounded, Sarah reached for her water and gulped down half the glass in reaction. “Would you like to see pictures of my mother, from when I was growing up?” Sarah wasn’t sure why she offered. She wasn’t fond of Jamie’s dad, intimidated was more the word, but if she hoped for Jamie to be in her life, that would include his dad as well. They were bent over the old photo albums quietly talking about the people and places, when another knock sounded at the door. James Sleator checked his watch and smiled. He took the album from Sarah’s suddenly lifeless fingers and pushed her to answer the door. The door swung back and there he stood, tall and broad and incredibly sexy with his too short hair and blue-hazel eyes. Jamie looked uncomfortable with his hands behind his back and he refused to enter her apartment when she stepped back to allow him in. “Not yet,” he said looking past her to the back of the grey head seated on her couch. “Your father is here, is that a problem?” The one thing she didn’t count on was Jamie being mad enough at seeing his dad to refuse to come in. “It’s no problem for me, if it isn’t one for you.” Still he stood in the doorway. “I had an interesting phone call on the way over,” he spoke to the bowed head at the couch, making Sarah nervous. “A certain New York firm invited me back, as junior partner.” “Well son, isn’t that what you’ve always wanted, what you’ve been mooning over the last year?” The voice was firm but disinterested, as if he couldn’t be bothered to look up. “Yeah, yeah it was.” Jamie looked away from his father, and Sarah felt her heart sag in her chest. It was too much to hope for, that he had come for her. But instead of turning to leave, his eyes found the shirt she wore and burned an impossible shade of sapphire. “But I’ve learned better.” He smiled slowly. “You wouldn’t like to live in New York, would you Sarah?” Flabbergasted, she stepped back another step and thought of the noise, tall buildings and hoards of people 143

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flowing past. Without really thinking, she followed her heart and shook her head no, even though it lanced pain through her middle. “Me either,” His words snapped her head up to meet his gaze. “I didn’t have the time to pick out a ring, hell you can do that better than a pro.” He hung his head a bit, “I called Bennett.” Moving forward, he shuffled from foot to foot, a little unsure how to proceed. The words “pick out a ring” tripped Sarah’s internal clutch. “Oh, Jamie, no! People won’t understand, I’m not good enough. The bank scandal, those pictures-- ” Dipping his head, he kissed her hard and fast on the mouth, effectively silencing her speech. “Hush. My turn to talk.” He shifted uncomfortably again and Sarah realized his hands remained behind his back. Impishly she tried to peer around him to see what he was hiding. “Now, none of that,” he begged, “this is hard enough.” Dropping to one knee, he asked, “You taught me what was really missing in my life. Showed me what I needed, not sex, or power, just love. Sarah Michaels, will you marry me? Make a family with me?” She clasped fingers to her mouth, eyes filling with tears, as he revealed his hidden gift. A fat roly-poly puppy laughed up from his hands. The black butterball’s tongue lolled out and slobbered all over her hands as she reached for him. “Oh Jamie, how could I refuse? You’re more than I hoped, but this little guy…” She broke into tears as his arms encircled her, the way she wanted all day. A stifled bark at her throat made her pull back, laughing. The puppy wasn’t as thrilled to be hugged. “Downside,” he rumbled against her ear, “you gotta take the old man, too.” She was laughing through her tears but still caught the older man’s protests as he came over to greet his family.

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Epilogue

Standing on the slate portico in the rear of the Sleator family home, Sarah nearly pinched herself in awe at how much had changed. For years she felt like she had sleepwalked through life wanting and wishing for what would be hers in a few short minutes. “Hey kiddo, you’re looking glassy-eyed, everything okay?” Sam tapped her shoulder and grinned. “Getting married isn’t all that bad, didn’t kill me or Penny. Did it, love?” his smile softened taking in the curvy shape of his satin-clad wife. “Everything is fine Sam, better than fine, almost too good to be true.” The light shade of lilac she had selected for the matron of honor’s gown went well with Penny’s complexion. She danced away from her grinning husband blowing him kisses. “Penny seems to have gotten over being interrupted on your elopement.” After finally getting a ring and a promise of unrelenting monogamy, Penny wasted no chance dragging Sam to Las Vegas for a bizarre wedding that left both families reeling in shock. “Well, she wasn’t too happy at the call or the interruption, but since Sleator called and not you,” he left the sentence hang. “Can’t expect too much too fast, but she is warming up to you. I think it’s because you’re the only one we know that framed our wedding picture and put it where people could see.” Sarah laughed, the picture had been too great not to showcase. Penny in a bright pink harem girl outfit standing next to Sam decked out like an Egyptian pharaoh in a castiron gazebo dripping flowers demanded wall time. Looking past the garish outfits and gaudy arrangements, Sarah saw the love and joy in their faces and loved the picture every bit as much for their happiness as for the outrageous humor. “Don’t worry, your folks will come around as soon as you both have a reception here.” Sam scowled and stared at the grass. The only thing that got the gossip mill turning from Sarah had been the return of the Bennett’s and their scandalous wedding photos. “You could have called you know,” Sam chided he silently. “That message was for the newsies, not for you.”

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“I know, but I’ve leaned on you long enough. You’re my friend and I wanted your support, but Jamie was there. Anyway, you and Penny needed time away from me.” It felt funny saying those words, but they felt good. “No hogging the bride-to-be,” John Joseph interrupted, reaching for Sarah’s hand. Sam nodded his head with a grin and turned to dance with his waiting wife as the band warmed up on the lawn. Sarah smiled at the older man, mourning the small lines and wrinkles that had added to his face during the course of the investigation. After the FBI closed the case file and left, he’d been left to coordinate damage control with the board of directors as well as investors. There would be a long road ahead before things were calmed. It had meant so much when he dropped by to explain why he had called the FBI, explaining how Edgemont had James Sleator blinded by misinformation to the point that the private investigation was stalled on her. “I just wanted to see you cleared, I didn’t think about the ultimate cost to you,” he had apologized. Sarah had hugged the older man, forgiving him and grateful again to the man she loved above all others that the cost wasn’t as dear as it might have been. “Are you sure that you don’t wish for your Uncle Emmett to give you away today?” True to his words, Agent Martin had called for the molestation case against her uncle to be reopened and it was starting to look like the older man was framed. “He said he didn’t want me to wait, I’ve chased my dream for too long,” Sarah patted John’s lapel and ignored his confused look. “I think he’d prefer not to come back, even for a happy occasion.” “No sad faces today,” James Sleator ordered, his wife on his arm as he descended on the pair. “Don’t be so bossy, James,” Joelle Sleator prodded her husband gently. “Go find the minister and our son and get these kids married.” She turned to Sarah, “I’m sure the Reverend Whitby means well, but he needs to stop lecturing Jamie on sin.” Sleator chuckled and enlisted John Joseph as back up against the elderly minister. Sarah shook her head as the two men moved across the grass, there was no salvation for Jamie, the minister knew only too well what a hellion Jamie had been as a teenager. “Thank you for allowing us to have the wedding in your backyard,” she stared at a pearl on Joelle’s dress. It was hard meeting the other woman’s eyes after learning that James Sleator once held some feelings for her mother. She couldn’t bear to face resentment from Jamie’s mother. “You’re very welcome dear.” With a soft finger, she lifted Sarah’s chin until their eyes met, “I’ve always wanted a daughter. Believe it or not, I understood that I wasn’t 146

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James’ first love. Naomi was beautiful, but whatever her reason she chose to stay in that horrible situation. But those years gave her you, and you are a gift worth having,” Joelle leaned forward, surprising Sarah, dropping a light kiss on the top of her head. The band struck a chord and Toby and Lindie Evans ran forward, tugging at her simple white gown. “It’s time Miss Sarah, c’mon you’ll be late.” As ring bearer and flower girl, the argumentative pair found an accord, sharing the leash of her puppy Bruno. The kids had mounted an impressive defense for including the growing lab-mutt in the procession. They won their debate without ever learning that everyone agreed with them from the start. Looking over their joined hands on the leash, Sarah looked up and met the glowing eyes of her soon-to-be husband and smiled, her heart full of joy. Everyone faded into the background, there was no one else she wanted or needed, the way she needed his strength, his love and his passion. At the altar he waited, as she took her first step forward guided by the bank manager, Jamie felt the wind stir as it teased stray tendrils of hair to dancing around her face. It humbled him how much this slim woman taught him about life and love, he only hoped to have a lifetime of learning more. Ignoring the droning minister he pulled her into his arms at the altar and whispered, “I love you, Sarah Michaels,” Kissing her gently to the sounds laughter and applause of family and the consternation of clergy, for him, no other words were needed.

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About the Author

Clutching a bowl of popcorn, wide-eyed and fixated on Chiller Theater and Terminal Stare at the age of five, Melissa knew that horror and cleavage were inexplicably bound, today she lives it. When she isn’t pecking at the keyboard she enjoys maintaining the family graveyard, swamp hikes and lurking in the hills of Southern Pennsylvania. Melissa’s Memory & Dream, was a recipient of the "Over the Moon, Award of Excellence' from Mayreviews.com Also available by Melissa Glisan at Venus Press… Ware Wishes Memory & Dream Bad Girls Do It Better, Volume 3: “Fool’s Gold” Upon the Midnight Hour Anthology Mystical Sign “Dog Wild”

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