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He took the hand lying upon her maidenly skirt and squeezed it. “Honestly, Judy, I want to do things to you that you’ve never even imagined possible.”
“And you know my intimate thoughts, Malcolm Henry?” Low, intimate, and somehow sexy, the words were surprising from a former nun.
His pulse skipped a beat then galloped off. “Oh, how I’d like to know them.”
Judy’s smile widened and her fingers traced the crisp hairs on the back of hands that had once looked much like his grandson’s—strong, virile, and capable—but had weathered into those of an old man. Yet, there were parts of him that, at that moment, didn’t feel quite so old.
He crooked his finger so she leaned toward him as if she might hear a secret. His lips brushed the silkiness of her ear as he whispered, “Let me dress you tonight, Judy.”
Allowing his lips to linger near her ear, he reached around to cup her nape. Her hair felt as soft as down and her breath came in short little puffs. Stretching slightly, he pressed the button to raise the glass partition between the front and backseats.
“Oh,” she breathed. She seemed not to know where to place her hands. They fluttered in her lap, telling Malcolm his sweet Judy didn’t have much experience with a man, so he caught them with his one free hand, stilling them.
“Ah, my lovely Judy. How I’ve wanted to kiss you.”
“You have?”
He softly kissed her ear and drew back so he could look at her. The sun had long set, and the dark shadows settled around them, but the full moon hanging low in the sky and the passing streetlights illuminated her, softening the lines on her face, creating a glow in her eyes. “If you only knew, woman.”
She leaned forward so her lips covered his. Wasn’t the best kiss he’d ever been given, but it was the absolute sweetest. He smiled against her mouth, adjusted his hand to tilt her head so he could kiss her not so properly. No, not properly at all.Indecently.
Judy was game and opened to him, placing one hand on his neck in much the same manner his held hers.
Age-old desire swept over him, this time as ripe as cherries or some other similarly plump fruit. It stirred his blood and for a few seconds he wasn’t nearly at the end of his life, but rather stepping into a beginning. He fell back through time, riding the elixir of passion, as if he were once again wearing Levi’s, a white T-shirt, and boots, a pack of Lucky Strikes in his back pocket.
Judy trembled against him like a young girl in his ’67 Mustang GT. Then and there in his sedate sedan, Malcolm found something he thought he’d never find again—a welling of hope.
Gently, he broke the kiss and she blinked at him, startled at the abrupt ending.
“Enough for now, sweet woman. We have shopping to do.”
“You don’t have to do this.” Her lips glistened from the soul-stirring kiss.
“I want to.”
And Malcolm Henry, Jr. gets what he wants.
Of course, he didn’t say those words out loud, but they were implied just the same.
“Okay,” was all she said, keeping her hand wrapped in his.
The Henry flagship store materialized like a great ship against the glittering downtown skyline. Pride welled in him as he gazed upon that storefront that had changed over the years but had never lost the monikerHenry Department Storescrawled in the deep turquoise his father had chosen from the discount sign shop in Metairie in 1937. The red color his father had wanted was too expensive and, thus, the almost Tiffany-blue logo was born.
“Doesn’t it close at eight o’clock?” Judy asked, eyeing the doors where people bustled by heading home from jobs in the adjacent buildings.
“Not during the holiday crush,” Malcolm said, watching the front of the store as Gator pulled into an empty parking spot at the curb. “Besides I have a key.”
For the first time, a glimmer of anticipation flitted through her eyes. “So have you ever dressed a woman?”
Malcolm gave his sharkiest of grins. “Not quite. Usually the opposite.”
“Promises, promises,” Judy said as she opened the car door, not bothering to wait for Gator.
“Whatever you desire,” Malcolm said to the place she’d vacated, unable to stop smiling like a blooming idiot.
11
MARYPAIGEWASlate. Not wholly unexpected since Ivan insisted she finish a huge account or find a new place of employment. His threat was, of course, empty because she didn’t have to work for him any longer, and he would never fire an employee who made him money and kept fresh coffee ready throughout the day. Besides, she wanted to work for Ivan, even if he was caustic and overly hairy. Ivan was a damn fine accountant and had taught her more than she’d ever learn working for some huge tax-return corporation.
