Liberating Lacey (9 page)

She turned the taps to send water gushing from the shower head, absently dangling her fingers in the rapidly heating spray. What had possessed him to come over like that? She didn’t mind at all, of course, but it seemed out of character for him. If he called, her phone rang late in the day. More often he set up dates via text message or email. His arrival was utterly unexpected.

Spontaneous.

The water ran hot over her hand, but she turned it off, threw on her robe and dashed down the stairs. Her BlackBerry was wedged in the sofa cushions. She grabbed it and scrolled through her recent calls to find his cell number.

“Anderson.”

“Did you just surprise me with a spontaneous, unplanned activity?” A slow laugh over the squawk of the radio in the background. “That’s what I was going for, beautiful, but if you have to ask…” His voice was lazy, pleased.

“No, no, you did,” she said. Her heart flip over in her chest. At Juana’s she’d mentioned how her life had sorely lacked spontaneity and surprises, a couple of sentences in a three-hour conversation about work, marriage, her desire to explore what she’d missed as a young, hard-charging newlywed. At the time he’d said nothing but clearly he’d filed away the remark. He’d remembered and acted on what he’d heard.

“What if you hadn’t seen me coming home early?”

“Some other time.”

“Thank you,” she said softly.

“Trust me, beautiful, the pleasure was all mine.” The warmth in his voice, evident despite the background chatter, sent delight skittering through her.

“I won’t keep you,” she began.

“Lunch Saturday?” he interrupted.

“Yes. Come over. I’ll cook.”

“I’ll pick you up at noon,” he said as if she hadn’t spoken.

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She tried again. “I
can
cook…”

“But I’ll take you out. See you Saturday,” he said and disconnected the call.

“We don’t have to eat out all the time,” she said as the call time flashed on the BlackBerry screen. “Really. I’m actually kind of a homebody. My kitchen isn’t just for show. I like to cook, have coffee in front of the fire, or on the deck, so I don’t feel rushed to leave a restaurant.”

But maybe he didn’t. Maybe to a young, determinedly single player, preparing a meal together was somehow more intimate than that moment when he spread her legs and pushed into her body.

Upstairs, the water in the pipes was still warm. She stepped under the spray and lathered green tea body wash in her hands before smoothing her palms over her breasts and between her legs. Soapy bubbles streamed into the drain, along with the residue of their unplanned interlude.

She could wash away the sweat, the slickness between her thighs, the smell of sex.

The physical pleasure would fade, but she couldn’t deny the increasing space Hunter occupied in her mind. She thought about him, wondered if he was safe, wondered when he’d call.

The wondering was a mistake, a sign of getting attached, but she felt sure that what was happening between them wasn’t just about sex. He took her out first, listened to her talk, spent the night. He didn’t have to do any of those things. That meant something.

Be careful
, Claire’s voice whispered in the back of her mind.
You’re in danger.

Hush
, her conscience replied.
Live. That’s what you wanted to do.Right?

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Hunter sat back on his heels and braced his hands on his thighs as he eyed what was left of the pile of mulch at the end of Lacey’s driveway. About a wheelbarrow-full remained, just enough to fill in some thin spots. With the shovel borrowed from her garage, he scraped down to the bricks in the driveway, shoveled the last chips into the wheelbarrow and pushed around to the beds bordering her front porch. The wheelbarrow also came from her unlocked garage. He’d mention that to her the next time he saw her. Aside from nice gardening hand tools the garage held nothing of value. The ex probably got the lawn mower and any other power tools like an edger or a snow blower, but that didn’t mean she should leave the door unsecured.

Before he began to empty the wheelbarrow he finished off the last of the water in his Coleman jug. He needed to take a leak soon. He’d cover the thin spots, then head out, leaving behind eight thickly mulched flower beds, another surprise for Lacey.

Showing up at her house unexpectedly a few days ago led to the hottest in-uniform sex he’d ever had and he’d had plenty. Women went for blue, no doubt about it, and by the second or third date girls usually dropped hints about handcuffs. Lacey just dropped them.

He wouldn’t have minded watching her ride him like she had, but with her hands secured behind her back. If he was a betting man, he’d lay money that the idea of a little restraint play appealed to her on some level, but the bracelets also made people nervous. A woman as independent as Lacey might not want the loss of control, that level of surrender. Fine by him. This was her deal, her series of firsts.

He shoveled the mulch into the beds and dropped to his knees to distribute the wooden shards carefully among her flowers and bushes, making sure a thick layer spread right to the brick border. Just as he smoothed the last of the uneven spots Lacey’s BMW 5-series pulled into her driveway.

Busted.

She got out of the car and walked around the hood, looking very, very fine in a pink suit and cream heels. The last redhead he dated claimed she couldn’t wear pink, but Lacey’s hair was less carroty, more auburn, than his previous girlfriend’s. The rosy color of the suit set off her pale skin and made the waves of her hair even more eye-catching. Lacey knew style, all right. There was absolutely nothing overtly sexy about her outfit and yet he went hard watching her walk up the sidewalk.

“Damn,” he said as he sat back and looked up at her. “I wanted to surprise you.”

“I’m surprised,” she said. The smile in her voice matched the delighted grin on her face. “I’m very pleasantly surprised. Thank you. You really didn’t need to do this.” 63

Anne Calhoun

“I know,” he said. That was the real shocker here. One surprise should have been enough for both of them. She clearly hadn’t expected another.

“I thought you were working with your father today.” She bent over the bed. For an astonished moment he thought she was checking his work, but she just snapped off some pink and purple flowers. As she collected a bouquet the front of her suit gapped open, revealing the swell of her breast supported by white lace.

“Granite shipment was delayed until tomorrow,” he replied, dragging his eyes back to her face. “I’m back on duty so Dad’s going to have to do it himself.”

“That’s a shame,” Lacey said.

“His loss is your gain, beautiful.”

“Yes, but you could have had a day off. Relaxed.” He didn’t know how to relax. He’d learned a long time ago that staying in motion kept him out of trouble. “I like to stay busy.”

“My gain, indeed. I brought you some lunch. Just sandwiches from Great Harvest, but it’s the least I could do.”

“Great. Hey, toss me your keys.”

She didn’t ask why, just dropped her keys in his outstretched palm and bent back to the flower bed. He took the porch steps in a single leap and unlocked the door. When he emerged from the bathroom, the mulch scrubbed from his hands and the dirt smear wiped from his forehand, he heard Lacey in the kitchen. The flowers were in a small ceramic vase in the middle of the oak farmhouse kitchen table. A roast beef sandwich, layered with cheddar, lettuce and tomato, sat on a plate on the table. She set an unopened bag of kettle-cooked potato chips next to his place. Her plate held half a hummus sandwich loaded down with spinach, tomato, sprouts and cucumbers.

“Soda?”

“Whatever you’ve got,” he said.

She handed him a Cherry Coke and sat down with a Diet 7-UP for herself.

“My favorites,” he said, looking at the soda and chips. She’d paid attention to what he ordered when they went out for lunch.

“I try to keep my friends’ favorites on hand,” she said.

“Friends?” He couldn’t resist as he offered her the bag of chips.

She declined with a shake of her head. “I hope we’re friends. Spreading mulch for me seems like a friendly thing to do.”

He had friends who were female, cops mostly, but he didn’t fuck them, he didn’t spread mulch for them and he didn’t like where this conversation was going. “Maybe I have ulterior motives,” he said just before he bit into the sandwich.

She chewed, swallowed, then put her sandwich down, all with a careful precision that set off warning bells in his head. “Did you do my yard work in order to sleep with 64

Liberating Lacey

me, Hunter? Surely you know you don’t need to. I must seem like a laughably sure thing.”

He finished his mouthful and slugged back some soda, then gave her a level look.

“What brought that on?”

“I’m sorry,” she said, rubbing her forehead. “That was uncalled for. It’s just…a friend of mine said some things today. I’m a little out of sorts.” He resumed eating, but cautiously, because a sharp-tongued, edgy Lacey was a new thing. “What things?”

“Just some remarks about dating a younger man.” She bit off a tiny section of her sandwich. He hardly knew she took bites, chewed, but at the end of her meal her plate was clean and she was always ready for dessert. When she swallowed, she added, “She covered the cattiness with teasing, but I know she was partially serious. That kind of thing always has some foundation in the truth.”

“And it bothers you.”

“The difference in our ages doesn’t bother me. Someone calling you my pool boy bothers me.”

He let out a snort stifled in part by another hunk of sandwich and resolved to slow down. “Pool boy?”

“Or yard boy, as the case may be. Mrs. Duffy across the street called to tell me a strange man was mulching my petunias.”

“It’s the latest crime wave, people illegally performing yard work.” She rolled her eyes.

“White-haired woman two doors to the north, brick house, rose bushes out front?” He’d noticed the elderly woman watching him from behind her lace curtains and figured he was under neighborhood watch. He hadn’t thought she’d call Lacey at work.

“Yes. She described you, then asked if she should call the police. I told her you
were
the police and a friend. There was this long silence a writer would call ‘pregnant’, then she asked if Davis knew about you. I nearly bit my tongue off to keep from reminding her that Davis and I were divorced and my friends were none of his concern, but my response of ‘no’ was probably a bit abrupt. Jenna Mason-Caldwell stopped by with the details for the Metropolitan Club cocktail hour right after this conversation and wanted to know why I was agitated. I made the mistake of telling her about Mrs. Duffy’s call.

She added her own pool boy comments.” She sighed. “I need to make a pan of brownies and take them down to Mrs. Duffy to apologize.”

“Sounds like she was sticking her nose where it didn’t belong,” he said.

“Nevertheless, there was no reason for me to be rude to her.” That attitude probably meant he shouldn’t go introduce himself in full uniform. “So what’s the problem?”

She thought about this for a moment. “I don’t like you being reduced to a stereotype.”

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Anne Calhoun

Her steadfast determination to defend him touched him. “Don’t let it bother you, beautiful. You can’t control what other people think.”

“It doesn’t bother you?”

It bothered the fuck out of him, but not because of the age difference. He maintained a casual approach because she was clearly ruffled. “Nah. You wouldn’t believe what I get called on the job.”

She smiled and met his eyes, which had been his goal. “I suppose that’s true.”

“You commercial mortgage types don’t call each other names at meetings?” he asked, really going for the funny now.

“Behind backs, I’m sorry to say,” she said in a much more light-hearted tone,

“although I was in one meeting with two of the city’s most prominent developers where one gentleman called another a ‘lying motherfucker’ as he stormed out of the room.”

“Amateurs. I don’t go for my flashlight until they get to ‘cocksucking pig’.” At that she let out a very unladylike laugh and had to reach for a napkin to cover her mouth. When she swallowed, she said, “You’re not my yard boy.” Her eyes were so intent, so serious, he couldn’t continue to joke with her about it.

“You don’t need to defend me, Lacey. I know who I am.” She smiled again, but the distress remained behind the smile. The words
sure thing
rang in his head. “What else?”

“It’s nothing.”

This protecting him thing had to stop, because he couldn’t imagine anything worse than being seen as Lacey’s rent boy and they’d already covered that. “I thought we were giving this friends thing a try.”

Lacey looked at him, both eyebrows raised, then held up her hands, her slim, ringless fingers curved into mock-claws tipped by manicured nails painted a pale pink, and meowed at him. The action was so out of character and shocking it took him a second to figure it out, and then he couldn’t help himself. He burst out laughing, a rare belly laugh.

“Reduced you to a stereotype, too,
cougar
?” She nodded, pulled two oatmeal chocolate chip cookies from the paper bag that held the sandwiches, and bit into one with the enthusiasm of a woman drowning a bad day in sugar.

“Some friend,” he said as he snagged the other cookie.

“Acquaintance, really. My mother taught me a lady never descends to someone else’s level, but I badly wanted to slap her.”

He tried to imagine Lacey in a hair-pulling, bitch-slapping fight, and failed. He didn’t know what to say, so they ate their cookies in silence. Finally she looked at him, her hair a fiery halo around her face, and shrugged as if to say
what can you do
?

Then he knew. “Still where you want to be, beautiful?” 66

Liberating Lacey

The reminder of their conversation at Juana’s made the tense lines around her mouth soften as she smiled. She nodded again. “Yes.”

“Then fuck ‘em.” His words were hard, matter-of-fact. Fuck Mrs. Duffy and this friend who made Lacey feel shitty.

Now if he could just take his own advice.

“An excellent strategy,” she said, and polished off her cookie. She looked at her watch, a slim gold case on a worn black leather band that had all the hallmarks of an expensive antique. “I need to get back to the office. Can you lock up when you leave?”

“I’m on my way out, too. By the way, you need to lock the door to your garage. You don’t have much worth stealing, but an easy in to the garage might make criminals look for a way into the house.”

She looked surprised. “We’ve never locked the garage.”

“Start.” The word came out too blunt, so he added, “One friend to another.”

“All right.” She picked up the plates and loaded them in the dishwasher while he chucked the soda cans in her recycling tub. “If you come by again, I keep a key under the largest flower pot on the back deck.”

He shook his head, amused. “I know, Lacey. I found it this morning after I let myself into the garage. I didn’t use it because, unlike your average criminal, I care that you didn’t give me permission to enter your house when you weren’t home. Don’t your neighbors have keys?”

“Of course, yes. I keep one outside so I don’t have to bother them. I assume you’re going to make another friendly recommendation?”

He just nodded. They walked out the back door, across the deck and to the largest ceramic pot. Hunter bent and lifted so Lacey could slide the key over the wet, damp wood and pick it up. He caught a second glimpse of white lace cupping the soft flesh of her breast and idly wondered if the rest of her underwear matched the bra. Lacey seemed to like matching sets.

She considered the key for a moment as Hunter set the flowerpot down. For a second he thought she was going to offer it to him. She didn’t.

“Thanks again for mulching for me. I really appreciate it.”

“Glad to help.” He reached for her, but remembered his sweaty, grimy state, her pretty pink suit and let his hand drop. With a smile she stepped forward, put her hands on his chest to keep a couple of inches between them and went on tiptoe to kiss him.

His little redheaded witch didn’t give him a peck on the lips. She licked and nibbled while his cock hardened painfully in his jeans. He reached for her again, then clenched his fist and shook his head. He was a grown man, with bits of dirt and mulch clinging to his jeans and t-shirt. He was due for a shower. A little soap, a little imagination…

As if she could read his mind she backed away, a teasing gleam in her eye and said,

“I have to be back at the office in twenty minutes.” If they were going to play this game, she’d lose. Every time. Starting now.

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Anne Calhoun

“You work five minutes away, tops.” He grabbed her hand to keep her close, then kissed her with about the same effort to keep things sane and civil. He slid his tongue into her mouth and let the pent-up longing dictate the intensity, his heart rate soaring when she softened, opened to him.

She stepped away, ran a tentative knuckle over her lips and shook her head, but the gesture lacked her usual crispness when she meant business.

“Come on, beautiful,” he cajoled, edging toward her, backing her toward the door.

“It won’t take long.”

“That’s not exactly what a woman wants to hear,” she said, but her hand was groping for the doorknob as she said it.