“I know you, Miss Sex Kitten.”
“I like it when you call me that.”
I stood and held out a hand. “Then let’s go to bed, my little sex kitten.”
“I like it even more when you say that.”
“Good, ’cause I’ll be saying it a lot.”
“I should probably feel guilty,” she said at the bottom of the stairs. “I mean, we’re about to commit a sin.”
“We don’t have to if you don’t want to.”
“I didn’t say that,” she squawked. “I just said it’s a sin. But I’m sure God understands. He gave me this stupid libido, after all.”
“I think your parents gave it to you.” I closed the bedroom door and
began unbuttoning my shirt.
“Well, who do you think brought them together?” She began undressing too. “Exactly! God. He did the same for us.”
“If you say so.”
“I say so. Besides, if God brought us together, it’s a sin to disobey His wishes.”
I wasn’t about to argue.
“That’s what I tell myself, anyway. It’s probably an even bigger sin to rationalize sleeping with my boyfriend, but not a mortal one. So I have to do what feels right.”
“And what’s that?”
“Give myself to you. Mind, body, and soul.” She did a little dancer’s pose that showed off the body in question.
“That’s a pretty nice gift,” I said. “And I like the package it comes in.
Even better, it’s already unwrapped.”
“And very tingly. Don’t forget that.”
“How could I?”
She reached between us and massaged my erection. “Mmm, someone’s ready.”
“Someone’s always ready for you.”
“I thank God for that, too. Every day.”
A couple of evenings later, Christy came into the bedroom and closed the door. She balled her fists, quivered as her frustration came to a head, and finally stomped her foot. The result was hardly seismic, but it grabbed my complete attention. I set my book on the nightstand and rolled to my feet in the same motion.
“What’s the matter?”
“Wren. Ugh! She’s driving me crazy. All she talks about is sex. That’s all she wants to do when we’re together. Doesn’t she understand that I need to draw her? I don’t have time to… you know… every time she’s horny! I have to make a maquette, and I can’t do it without the sketches.” She stomped again. “Ugh!”
I chuckled and gathered her into my arms. “You want me to talk to her?”
“Yes! No. Maybe… I don’t know!” She buried her face in my chest and let me hold her while she calmed down. “What I really want,” she said at last,
“is to get away for a while.”
“Sure. Where? Atlanta? Camp? The beach? It’s still a little cold, but we’ll make it work.”
She lifted her face. “Do you think we can go skiing? I had such a wonderful time in Squaw Valley when it was just you and me.”
“Absolutely! A chalet at Ober Gatlinburg?”
She scrunched her nose. “I’ve been there before, when I first came to Tennessee. The skiing… isn’t very good.”
“Okay. Then where? Vermont? That’s a pretty long flight. Maybe… six or seven hundred miles. We could do it, but…”
“How about West Virginia? Marianne was telling me about a friend of hers who owns an inn in Snowshoe.”
“Oh? So you’ve already been thinking about this?”
“Yes. So sue me! I know, you’d rather use me instead. But… can you use me in West Virginia?”
“I can use you anywhere,” I laughed.
“And you’re welcome to… as long as we’re nowhere near Wren.” She frowned grumpily. “I don’t think she’s getting enough. Sex, I mean. Trip’s so busy with his own classes that he’s… um… neglecting his duties.”
“Want me to mention something to him?”
“Maybe,” she said. “But don’t tell him I told you. I don’t want him to feel bad. But… if he gives her what she wants, maybe she’ll leave me alone and let me work. I have classes too, you know!”
“Some people need more sex than others.”
“Yeah, I know. Normally I’m one of them. But Wren needs, like, five people to keep her happy. It’s exhausting!”
“No kidding,” I said with a laugh. “Let me look at the sectional charts and figure out which airport—”
“I know already. It’s Elkins, West Virginia. It’s about an hour’s drive from Snowshoe. Someone from the inn can pick us up.” She grimaced. “Stop looking at me like that. I can plan things, when I need to. Besides,” she went on, “Marianne helped. She talked to her friend. And… um… she might’ve reserved a room for us this weekend.”
My poor eyebrows couldn’t go any higher.
“Just so you know,” Christy added, a little guiltily, “it wasn’t my idea to
book the room as Mr. and Mrs. Hughes.”
I burst out laughing. “God, I love Marianne!”
“So… we can go?”
“Are you kidding? And risk your sanity if we don’t? Not to mention Marianne’s displeasure? Oh, no, I’m not crazy enough to disappoint one Carmichael woman, much less two!”
“We aren’t really that bad-tempered,” she muttered.
“Of course you aren’t, because you always get what you want.”
“Well… yes, we do. So?”
“So we’re going to Snowshoe.”
We left on Friday afternoon. We’d told Trip and Wren that we wanted a little getaway for ourselves, as well as to give them some time alone. Wren had wholeheartedly supported the idea. As far as she was concerned, Christy and I needed to get on with the business of having sex, and a cozy mountain inn was the best place to do it.
The flight to Elkins took less than two hours, and true to Marianne’s promise, someone was waiting at the airport to take us to the inn. He was a quiet and polite seventeen-year-old named Damon, the son of the inn’s owners. He led us out to a new Ford Bronco and helped load our things in the back. Then he drove us an hour through snowy and winding mountain roads to the village of Snowshoe.
Christy quietly cleared her throat as we climbed down from the Bronco. I nodded and dug into my pocket for a tip.
“Thanks,” the young man said, “but I can’t take it.”
“Are you sure?”
“My parents won’t let me.” He shrugged and offered to help carry our luggage inside.
“That’s okay,” I said. “I can manage. Thanks for getting us here safe.”
“You’re welcome. Enjoy your stay.” He climbed into the Bronco and started the engine.
Christy and I headed inside, where a pretty blonde woman greeted us at the desk. Her blouse and sweater vest were modest but did little to hide her generous breasts, so I focused on the rest of her. She was about my parents’
age, and at first I thought she was the manager. Then I realized that her hair, makeup, and nails were all very expensive. Her jewelry was too, but her attitude really labeled her as old money, even better than a bank statement.
“Mr. and Mrs. Hughes?” she said. Then she smiled at Christy. “I’m Marianne’s friend Carolyn. Nice to meet you.”
The ladies exchanged pleasantries while I filled out the old-fashioned register.
“Let me call Damon to take your luggage,” Carolyn said as she took a brass key out of its pigeonhole.
I started to demur, but Christy unobtrusively touched my hand below the level of the desk. “Thank you,” I said instead.
Carolyn rang a bell and her son appeared from the office. “Number five,”
she told him.
Damon nodded and picked up our ski and boot bags.
“Your room’s at the end of this hall,” Carolyn said to us. “We laid a fire.
All you have to do is light it. Damon will show you. Call the desk if you need anything else.”
“Thank you very much,” Christy said. “It was a pleasure to meet you.”