Then he slipped his hand under the hem of my t-shirt to find a breast.
Correction — this was what I missed the most. I reached for him, my fingers bunching the denim at his lean hip, pulling him closer with my hand and with the leg I’d looped over his.
“Dix….”
He found my mouth with his. And unlike that first time all those weeks ago when we’d shared that one kiss, there was nothing tentative about the way this one started. He kissed me like he was sure of his welcome. Maybe that had something to do with the way I was moving against him like I wanted to crawl inside him. Or maybe because of the way I was kissing him right back, with lips and tongue and teeth.
When he lifted his head, I wanted to pull him back down to me, to taste again the wine’s soft, ripe tannins on his tongue. Then I felt the air on my skin as he pushed my t-shirt up and decided I liked his plan better. He applied that talented mouth to my breast, and a soft gasp escaped me.
Okay, this was what I missed most.
He pressed me down onto my back … and right onto the freakin’ remote.
The volume blasted just at the very same time the channel changed to last channel selected.. WAW-WAW-WAWWWWWWWWW.
“What the—” Mrs. P’s distinctive voice cut into the living room.
The light snapped on in my mother’s room, as evidenced by the clear bar of light showing under the bedroom door. Mother called out, “Everything all right, Dix?”
“Everything’s f-f-fine, Mother.”
I pulled my shirt back down and Dylan jumped off the bed. With one hand he adjusted himself in his pants and with the other he frantically began searching for the remote (yes, it was somewhere under my butt).
“Omigod, what a huge dong!” the appreciative red-headed female in the movie cried out.
“What’s that, Dix? Did someone say ‘dong’?”
“No, Mrs. P.” — where was that fucking remote? — “It’s an old movie. King Kong, I think. Yeah, that’s it … a huge King Dong!” Shitttttttt. “I mean King Kong!”
Through a frantic flap of the sheets, I flipped the remote onto the floor. Dylan grabbed it and clicked the TV off again.
The room was in darkness except for the light from beneath mother’s bedroom door. I could hear Dylan’s breathing. Oh, I liked his breathing. Then I could hear his giggling. It was pretty much matching my own.
We waited a few minutes, without of course admitting we were waiting a few minutes, but the light stayed on in mother’s room. God, I felt like a teenager all over again. Horny as hell. Young and smitten. Falling head over —
That did it for me. I pulled myself back in. Dix Dodd didn’t do close. Not anymore.
Dylan sighed, as though he sensed the change in me.
“I’d better get going.” He walked to the patio doors. “Gotta hike it back to the Goosebump Inn, and I’ve got an early day tomorrow.”
I followed him to the door, at his insistence. He wanted to be sure that I locked it after him. I wrapped a sheet around me, and walked with him outside onto mother’s little patio and wiggled my bare toes on the patio stones.
“Some dark out here, Dylan,” I offered. “Better use your flashlight.”
He grinned, oh so handsomely under the light of the Florida moon. “I didn’t bring a flashlight, Dix.”
He walked away after I locked the door.
Probably a good thing, I reminded myself.
Yeah?
…Yeah.
Chapter 6
No, I did not wake up with a hangover. Not a bit of it. Though I did have a slight headache. And I couldn’t really stomach the big breakfast Mrs. Presley offered to fry (yes fry) up. I was a tad on the dry side, but well, Florida air must be dryer than Southern Ontario air. And fine, I admit, I really could have used an extra hour or so of sleep. And a Tylenol.
But hungover?
Not a chance.
The first thought/image that crashed into my mind on awakening was that of banging Dylan Foreman. All. Night. Long. Every way imaginable. (And I have a very good imagination.) Feeling those hands that had explored my breasts exploring even further. Feeling that lovely erection of his sprung from those snug jeans.
No, I had not banged Dylan Foreman. Hands had not explored brave new worlds, and Dylan’s spring had remained (sigh) unsprung. But I couldn’t have stopped those thoughts with a … thought stopper thingie.
I hate metaphors.
Suffice to say, I had every confidence that if Tish, Beth Mary or any of the gang down at the Wildoh rec room wanted to discuss my erotica-writing career today, I could match them fantasy for fantasy. Inch for inch. Lusty comment for lusty comment. Tit for….
Yet truthfully, had we done it, had we gone there, I knew deep down inside that I would have awoken with more than a non-existent (I’ll never admit to it!) hangover. There would have been regrets. Big regrets, and there would be no going back. I knew this. So it was best that we stopped when we did.
Right.
Getting close to Dylan — hell, to any man — would only lead to heartache. One colossal heartbreak in one lifetime was enough to last … well, a lifetime.
For the record, I am completely over Myles Gauthier. Yep. Over and done with. That time I’d caught him at the Underhill Motel in the arms of the proverbial other woman had done it for me. The first time hadn’t, but that second time….
I know. Pitiful, isn’t it? But I’d let the worm off the hook the first time. I’d even accepted some of the blame. Accepted his tearful apology and his pledge that it would never happen again. Then it happened again. I’d sworn off Myles Gauthier that night. Sworn off all men for that matter. And it was working out just fine.
But Dylan Foreman is nothing like Myles Gauthier.
Damn inner voice. And with that, the thoughts of Dylan began creeping back in … the warm ones. And it took every bit of will power I could muster to shove them back out. This was one matter on which intuition would be taking a back seat to logic.
Besides, I had other things to worry about. This was going to be a hell of a day. I’d promised to take Mrs. P out sightseeing. I know, I know, I was here to solve a case — a case of great personal importance — but I had my cover to consider. I had to make sure I looked suitably touristy to the occupants of the Wildoh, and I wasn’t going to achieve that hanging around the Wildoh all day, every day. Also, my biggest clue-seeking expedition was dinner with Deputy Almond this evening. I could afford to take some time with Mrs. P.
Speaking of the Deputy, I had every confidence he was planning to play me. I was, after all, his prime suspect’s daughter. But Deputy Noel Almond had no idea who he was dealing with. I squared my shoulders. I looked in the mirror, narrowed my eyes and gave my best evil laugh/snicker/snort.
And wiped the spit off my chin.
Mrs. Presley had made a list of the places she wanted to go. I had her list-topper figured for bingo (they have bingo around the clock down here!), but it wasn’t. At least not today. Today, the one item on her list was ‘Mall’.