Just that one remark made Fox feel considerably better. “I’m going to bunk here tonight. If I go home, I’m going to be tempted to go by and see Layla. If I see Layla, I’m going to want to get her naked.”
“And you want to go in tomorrow fully loaded,” Gage concluded.
“Yeah. Stupid and superstitious probably, but yeah.”
“You’ve got the couch,” Cal told him. “Especially since I know you won’t be jacking off on it.”
Yes, Fox thought, there were times a man just needed to be around other guys.
THE LATE MARCH SNOWSTORM WAS ANNOYING. IT would’ve been less so if he’d bothered to listen to the weather before leaving the house that morning. Then he’d have had his winter coat, since winter decided to make the return trip. A thin, chilly white coated the early yellow haze of forsythia. Wouldn’t hurt them, Fox thought as he drove back toward the Hollow. Those heralding spring bloomers were hardy, and used to the caprices, even the downright nastiness, of nature.
He was sick of winter. Even though spring was the gateway to summer, and this summer the portal to the Seven, he wished the door would hit winter in the ass on its way out. The problem was there’d been a couple of nice days before this season-straddling storm blew in. Nature held those warm, sunny days like a bright carrot on a frozen stick, teasing.
The snow would melt, he reminded himself. It was better to remember he’d had a pretty good day. He’d done his duty by his sister, and by his client. Now he was going home, getting out of the suit, having a nice cold beer. He was going to see Layla. And after tonight’s session, he would do his best to talk himself into her bed, or talk her into his.
As he turned onto Main, Fox spotted Jim Hawkins outside the gift shop. He stood, hands on his hips, studying the building. Fox pulled over to the curb, hit the button to lower the window. “Hey!”
Jim turned. He was a tall man with thoughtful eyes, a steady hand. He walked to the truck, leaned on the open window. “How you doing, Fox?”
“Doing good. It’s cold out there. Do you want a ride?”
“No, just taking a walk around.” He looked back toward the shop. “I’m sorry Lorrie and John are closing down, leaving town.” When he looked back at Fox, his eyes were somber, and another layer of worry weighed in his voice. “I’m sorry the town has to lose anyone.”
“I know. They took a hard hit.”
“I heard you did, too. I heard what happened with Block.”
“I’m all right.”
“At times like this, when I see the signs. All the signs, Fox, I wish there was more I could do than call your father and have him fix broken windows.”
“We’re going to do more than get through this time, Mr. Hawkins. We’re going to stop it this time.”
“Cal believes that, too. I’m trying to believe it. Well.” He let out a sigh. “I’ll be calling your father shortly, have him take a look at this place. He’ll fix it up, spruce it here and there. And I’ll look for somebody who wants to start a business on Main Street.”
Fox frowned at the building. “I might have an idea on that.”
“Oh?”
“I have to think about it, see if… See. Maybe you could let me know before you start looking, or before you decide on a new tenant.”
“I’m happy to do that. The Hollow needs ideas. It needs businesses on Main Street.”
“And people who care enough to fix what’s broken,” Fox said, thinking of Layla’s words. “I’ll get back to you on it.”
Fox drove on. He had something new to turn over in his mind now, something interesting. And something, for him, that symbolized hope.
He parked in front of his office, stepped out into the cold, wet snow, and noticed his office lights glinting against the windows. When he walked in, Layla glanced up from her keyboard.
“I told you that you didn’t have to come in today.”
“I had busywork.” She stopped typing to swivel toward him. “I rearranged the storage closet so it works better for me. And the kitchen, and some of the files. Then… Is it still snowing?”
“Yeah.” He shrugged out of his light jacket. “It’s after five, Layla.” And he didn’t like the idea of her being alone in the building for hours at a time.
“I got caught up. We’ve been so focused on the journal entries, we’ve let some of the other areas go. Cybil’s hunted up all the newspaper reports on anything related to the Seven, the anecdotal evidence, specifics we’ve gleaned from you guys, coordinating passages from some of the books on the Hollow. I’ve been putting them together in various files. Chronologically, geographically, type of incident, and so on.”
“Twenty years of that. It’ll take a while.”
“I do better when I have a system, have order. Plus, we all know that considering the amount of time, the amount of damage, the actual reports are scarce.” She brushed back her hair, cocked her head. “How did it go in court?”
“Good.”
“Should I ask how things went before court?”
“I did my part. They said I could just, ah, pass off the… second round to Sage for transport in the morning. Then I guess we wait and see if any soldier makes a landing.”
“You don’t have to wait long these days.”
He shrugged, slipped his hands into his pockets. “I didn’t think of you.”
“Sorry?”
“I mean, you know, when I… donated. I didn’t think of you because it seemed rude.”
Layla’s lips twitched. “I see. Who did you think of?”
“They provide visual stimulation in the form of skin mags. I didn’t actually catch her name.”
“Men.”
“I’m thinking of you now.”
Her brows lifted when he walked back, locked the door. “Are you?”
“And I’m thinking I need you to come back to my office.” He came over, took her hand. “And put in a little overtime.”
“Why, Mr. O’Dell. If only I’d put my hair in a bun and worn glasses.”
He grinned as he drew her across the room, down the hall. “If only. But…” He let go of her hands to unbutton her crisp white shirt. “Let’s see what’s under here today.”
“I thought you wanted me to take a letter.”
“To whom it may concern, frilly white bras with-oh yeah-front hooks are now standard office attire.”
“I don’t think this one will fit you,” she said, then surprised him by tugging on his tie. “Let’s see what’s under here. I’ve thought about you, Mr. O’Dell.” She slid the tie off, tossed it aside. “About your hands, your mouth, about how many ways you used them on me.” She unhooked his belt as she backed him into his office. “About how many ways you might use them on me again.”
Like the tie, she whipped off the belt, let it fall. She shoved his suit jacket off his shoulders, tugged it away. “Start now.”
“You’re pretty bossy for a secretary.”
“Office manager.”
“Either way.” He bit her bottom lip. “I like it.”
“Then you’re going to love this.” She pushed him down into his desk chair, pointed a finger to keep him in place. Then with her eyes on his, wiggled out of her panties.
“Oh. Boy.”
After tossing them aside, she straddled him.
He’d been thinking couch, maybe the floor, but at the moment, with her mouth like a fever on his, the chair seemed perfect. He yanked at her shirt, closed his mouth over her lace-covered breast. This wasn’t a woman looking for slow seduction, but for fire and speed. So he used his hands, his mouth, and let her set the pace.
“As soon as you walked in, I wanted this.” She fumbled between them, dragged down the zipper of his trousers. “As soon as you walked in, Fox.”
She closed around him the moment he was inside her. Tightened as her head fell back, as she gasped. Then her lips were on his throat, on his face, were clashing against his in desperation as her hips pumped.
She took him over with her urgency, her sudden, fierce greed. He let himself be taken, be ruled. Unable to resist, he let himself be filled, and let himself empty. When he came, when his mind was still dazzled by his body’s race, she caught his face in her hands and rode him ruthlessly to her own end.