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“And whenever the boredom of this wide place in the road gets unbearable, which, God knows, is practically every day. I can usually find some interesting company at The Palm.”
He glanced at her abundant breasts. “Yeah, I bet you can. Bet you enjoy getting every man in the place all worked up and sporting a hard-on.”
“You know me so well.” Laughing huskily, she bent down to brush her damp lips across his.
He turned his head away. “I don’t know you at all.”
“Why that’s not true, Key Tackett.” She sat back, looking affronted. “We went through school together.”
“I went through school with a lot of kids. Doesn’t mean I knew all of them beyond saying hello.”
“But you kissed me.”
“Liar.” Chivalry aside, he added, “I didn’t like standing in line, so I never even asked you out.”
Her feline eyes squinted with malice that vanished in an instant. As quickly as she extended her claws, they were retracted. “We never actually went on a date, no,” she purred. “But one Friday night after a victory against Gladewater, you and the rest of the football team came strutting off the field. My friends and me—with just about everybody else in Eden Pass—lined up along the sideline to cheer as you went past on your way to the field house.
“You,” she emphasized, digging her fingernail into his bare chest, “were the outstanding stud among all the studs. You were the sweatiest, and your jersey was the dirtiest, and of course all the girls thought you were the handsomest. You thought so too, I think.”
She paused for him to comment, but Key regarded her impassively. He was remembering dozens of Friday nights like the one she had just described. Pregame jitters and post-win exhilaration. The glare of the stadium lights. The cadence of the marching band. The smell of fresh popcorn. The pep squad. The cheering crowds.
And Jody, cheering louder than anybody. Cheering for him. That had been a long time ago.
“When you went past me,” she continued, “you grabbed me around the waist, lifted me clean off the ground, hauled me up against you, and kissed me smack on the mouth. Hard. Kinda barbariclike.”
“Hmm. You sure?”
“Sure I’m sure. I creamed my panties.” She leaned over him, pressing her nipples against his chest. “I waited a long time to have you finish what you started then.”
“Well, I’m glad to have been of service.” He swatted her fanny and sat up. “Scoot.” Reaching around her, he retrieved his jeans.
“You really are leaving?” she asked, surprised.
“Yep.”
Frowning, she ground out her cigarette in a nightstand ashtray. “Son of a bitch,” she muttered. Then, taking a different tack, she came off the bed and swept aside his jeans before he could step into them. She bumped against his middle seductively.
“It’s late, Key. Everybody out at your mama’s house will be sound asleep. You’d just as well stay with me tonight.” She reached between his strong thighs and fondled him, with audacity and know-how, boldly looking into his face as her fingers coaxed a response. “You haven’t lived until you’ve partaken of one of my breakfast specialties.”
Key’s lips twitched with amusement. “Served in bed?”
“Damn straight. With all the trimmings. I even—” She broke off suddenly, her hands reflexively clenching hard enough to cause him to grimace.
“Hey, watch out. Them’s the family jewels.”
“Shh!” Releasing him, she ran on tiptoe toward the open bedroom door. As she reached it, a male voice called out. “Sugar pie, I’m home.”
“Shit!” No longer languid and seductive, she turned toward Key. “You’ve got to get out of here,” she hissed. “Now!”
Key had already stepped into his jeans and was bending down to search for his boots. “How do you suggest I do that?” he whispered.
“Sugar? You upstairs?” Key heard footsteps on the marble tiles of the entry below, then on the carpet of the stairs. “I got away early and decided to come on home tonight instead of waiting for morning.”
She frantically motioned Key toward the French doors on the far side of the room. Scooping up his boots
and shirt, he pulled open the doors and slipped through them. He was outside on the balcony before he remembered that the master bedroom was on the second floor of the house. Peering over the wrought-iron railing, he saw no easy way down.
Swearing beneath his breath, he quickly reviewed his options. What the hell? He’d faced worse situations. Typhoons, bullets, an earthquake or two, acts of God, and man-made mayhem. A husband coming home unexpectedly wasn’t a new experience for him, either. He’d just have to bluff his way through and hope for the best.
