Modern Wicked Fairy Tales: Complete Collection (29 page)

It would be the most sensible thing, and
probably best for business, Rachel decided, if she just politely
told Jake when he called that she’d changed her mind. She was going
to be in enough trouble already for the hair incident.

Which is why, when the phone rang that night
in her apartment at the top of the high rise, with
Rapunzel’s
lights dark far below her, she closed her eyes
and said, “Six? That sounds great, see you then.”

So much for being sensible.

* * * *

She knew she was in trouble when Jake pulled
up in a limo. At least he didn’t bring a dozen roses, she thought,
blushing as a driver opened the door for her and she stepped in.
Jake was drinking something amber colored from a fat glass.

“Hey there, Rapunzel.” He smiled when she
got in and slid into the seat across from him. “Ready for game
two?”

“Let’s hope it’s better than game one.”
Rachel made a face. The Red Wings had lost game one in overtime
three-to-two.

“I’ll drink to that.” Jake lifted his glass.
“Do you want anything? Wine? Champagne?” He nodded toward the bar
and she glanced over to see it was fully stocked. He’d really gone
all out.

“Is that brandy?” she asked, looked at his
glass. He nodded. “Got any scotch?”

He raised an eyebrow but reached over to the
bar without comment. The car began to move as he poured her a shot
and handed it over. Rachel took it with trembling hands. She’d
spent an hour and a half getting ready for this non-date. That’s
what she kept calling it in her head—a non-date. How a woman could
spend so much time on beauty when she didn’t even have any hair was
a paradox, she was sure, but that’s how long it had taken her. She
didn’t even want to know how long she might have spent if she’d
considered it a real date.

But this was a non-date, just a ride and a
ticket to the playoffs. She reminded herself of that fact when she
chose to wear her Red Wings jersey, but then forgot it when the
short white mini-skirt made it into the mix. She reminded herself
that it was a non-date when she decided not to put her hair up, but
then forget it again when she found four-inch black strappy heels
on her feet. And she tried to remind herself of their non-date
status as she sat across from Jake in the limo, but totally forgot
it when his hand brushed hers as he handed over her glass and
little tingles went up her arm like electrical current.

“Nice limo.” She looked around the car. It
wasn’t a stretch, but it was still a limo with a bar and a little
flat screen and leather seats. Big time luxury, at least to
her.

“I just thought it would be easier.” Jake
shrugged. “Parking sucks at the arena.” He sat forward to take her
glass and she relinquished it, ignoring that damned buzzy feeling
in her limbs whenever he got close. She shook her head when he
asked if she wanted another drink or anything to eat. There was
also a little fridge. They’d already agreed on the phone not to do
dinner. She’d been in a non-date mood at the time she insisted upon
that. They’d also talked about Emma’s hair and Nina’s
reaction—which hadn’t been good. Not good at all.

“Well, I haven’t heard from your ex-wife.”
Rachel glanced out at the city flying by. They really didn’t have
far to go, just a few miles. “I guess that means she’s not going to
sue me?”

“If she was going to sue you, you wouldn’t
hear from her at all.” Jake finished his brandy and set the glass
on the bar. “You’d just hear from her lawyer.”

“Eek.” The thought of being slapped with a
lawsuit wasn’t a happy one. She needed less stress in her life, not
more. “Well I haven’t heard from her lawyer either.”

“Actually you have.” He grinned, sitting
back against the seat, his arm stretched casually over the back. He
was dressed for the game, jeans and his own Wings jersey—white on
red instead of red on white like her own. Another guy might have
looked sloppy or casual but Jake looked…well, good. There was no
other word for it.

“I have?”

“I’m her lawyer.” He looked out the tinted
window as the car began to slow. They were in traffic now. “At
least, I was.”

“Didn’t that present a conflict of
interest?”

He snorted. “Justice lets you represent
yourself, remember?”

“So you’re a lawyer.”

He nodded. “And you’re a hair stylist. I
guess we've got the basics out of the way.”

“Yes, the important things," she agreed with
a smile. "Career, marital status, children or lack thereof, and
favorite sports team. What else is there?”

“Um…" He seemed to consider this. "Dog
person or cat person?”

She laughed. “Dog.”

“Me too. Chinese or Sushi?”

“Sushi, definitely.”

“You obviously prefer scotch to brandy.
Pepsi or Coke?”

“Coke Zero. With lemon.”

“Ugh, how can you drink that stuff?” He made
a face. “Okay let’s see…modern or classical?”

"Both. Although I have a soft spot for the
classics."

He nodded. “Jazz or blues?”

"Definitely blues. It makes me want to take
my clothes off.” The confession just slipped out.

"Good to know." The look he gave her made
her blush all the way to her toes. "I'll have to beef up my
collection of B.B. King. Rock or country?”

Now it was Rachel’s turn to make a face.
"Rock. But I like some Garth Brooks on occasion."

"So you could tolerate a little Johnny
Cash?"

She smiled. "Tolerate being the optimum word
there."

"Here's a tough one. Love or money?”

"Love of course."

"Do you think rich people and poor people
answer that question differently?" he asked.

"You're rich, you tell me."

He laughed. "I'm not rich."

"Compared to me you are."

"I'll give you that,” he conceded. “Okay,
how about freedom or security?"

She hesitated. “Security.”

"I would have chosen freedom."

“I think rich and poor people would answer
that one differently."

“Probably. The red pill or the blue
pill?”

She shrugged. “Blue.”

“Give or take?”

"Give of course."

“Of course." He looked out the window again.
They had stopped, and the arena was just up the block. "Half-empty
or half full?”

She paused, considering the question and
then just said, "Yes."

He wagged a finger at her, shaking his head.
"That's cheating. Has to be one or the other."

"Then...half-empty."

He looked at her speculatively. "A pessimist
then."

"Just lately, yes." She shrugged.

“On or off?”

She glanced at him, at the light in his
eyes, and wondered what he was thinking. “Off.”

"On." He disagreed, grinning.

“Wait…was that lights or clothes?”

He laughed and asked, “Top or bottom?”

She flushed and was glad the lighting in the
limo was so dim. "Top."

"Looks like we'll have to pick this game up
later."

The driver was opening the door and Rachel
was glad. The seats were just a little to the left of the
blue-line—section 101. And they were only a few rows from the
glass.

“I can see them sweating," Rachel exclaimed,
turning to Jake with wide eyes. They were right behind the Red
Wings' bench.

“Is that sexy or gross?”

She laughed. “A little of both.”

“I thought so."

He bought her cotton candy from a vendor
even though she said she didn’t want any.

He told her, “I want to watch you eat
it.”

The pink stuff was sticky and melted on her
fingers and tongue and he really did seem to enjoy watching her.
And she enjoyed him enjoying it.

He bought himself a water and her a Coke
Zero—with lemon.

“Where did you get the lemon?”

He shrugged. “I raided the Long John
Silver’s stand.”

The little gesture almost made her cry and
she chided herself and drank her lemony Coke through a straw,
giving herself another mental lecture about their non-date
status.

When the Red Wings scored the first goal,
Rachel stood up and danced in the aisle and the cameraman found her
and put her on the big screen in her Red Wings jersey. By the
second period, she had screamed herself hoarse and the score was
tied three-to-three. When the Wings scored the winning goal—in
overtime—Rachel jumped up and hugged Jake, who was pumping his fist
in the air and yelling as loudly as she was. Then he pointed up,
grinning. They were on the big screen again—probably the only two
Red Wings fans in the whole place. The rest of the crowd was
grumbling, if not outright booing the Blackhawks’ loss.

“Bet me we’re on the news tonight. Emma’s
gonna be psyched.” Jake had called their driver and had him meet
them up front. It was a madhouse trying to get out of there, people
pressed together like cattle being herded to slaughter, and Jake
held fast to her hand so they wouldn’t get separated. She liked
feeling him against her, solid as a wall, when they stopped.

“You mean…we’ll be on TV?” The idea might
have thrilled Jake’s sixteen-year-old daughter, but the thought
made Rachel go cold.

“Sure, the game was televised.”

She paled. “I hope your wife doesn’t watch
hockey.”

“Nina watches the home shopping network and
the Lifetime channel.”

“But does she watch the news?”

He gave her a steady look. “Who cares if she
does?”

He was braver than she was, Rachel
thought.

They found the limo parked half a block away
and Jake held her hand as he helped her into the car. He slid in
after, not across this time, but next to her. They couldn’t stop
talking about the game, reliving every goal. Jake poured more
liquor and they drank it as the limo idled in traffic. The fifteen
minute ride in to the arena was going to take them an hour to get
out but neither of them noticed the time.

What Rachel did notice was the lightheaded
feeling the alcohol was giving her, although she wasn’t sure it was
just the scotch. It might have been the way Jake’s jean-clad thigh
flexed against hers every time he reached for the bottle, or the
way his hand brushed hers when he took her glass. She felt too
warm, confined.

“You have really lovely hair.”

The comment made her breath catch and Rachel
touched her wig, suddenly self-conscious. “Thank you.”

She felt his hand moving, brushing the hair
over her shoulder, and glanced at him. He wasn’t looking at her
face. His gaze followed the line of her jaw, her throat. She knew
it was an opening—she could have said something, told him about her
illness, but she didn’t. What she really wanted to do was to erase
the thought entirely from her mind and she could only think of one
way to do it.

“Hey there…” He accepted the weight of her,
surprised, when she turned and put her arms around his neck.

“Do you want to kiss me?” She could smell
her own breath, thick with alcohol, her mouth so close to his. The
liquor had given her courage, a boldness she didn’t normally
possess, but it had opened up something else too, an empty space
inside of her, a fierce hunger, a need demanding to be filled.

“Desperately,” he admitted. “Haven’t thought
about anything else all night.”

She pressed her mouth to his, trying to
recall…was this how you did it? It didn’t take long for her body to
remember and Jake helped her along, his tongue parting her lips,
exploring the soft recesses of her mouth, the taste of scotch and
brandy together making her heady.

“I take that back,” Jake breathed as they
parted, breathless. “A few other things have crossed my mind
tonight.”

“Like what?” As if she didn’t know. She was
turned toward him, stretched across the seat, half in his lap, and
his cock was a hard bulge against her hip through his jeans. Her
intended distraction had turned from boldness to lust in an
instant.

“I’d rather show you.” His hand moved up
under her shirt, touching bare skin at her waist. She felt like a
teenager in the backseat of her date’s car.

“I think you should.” Was she really doing
this? Oh god, yes, yes she was.

He groaned at her assent, his mouth
capturing hers again, hand moving up higher to cup her breast
through her bra. She had forgotten about their non-date status when
she’d chosen her underwear—black silk bra and panties and
lace-topped sheer black thigh highs. Now she’d forgotten any
agreement or non-agreement between them altogether, letting him
feel her up and returning the attention, her hand moving against
the swollen crotch of his jeans, making him shift and press up
against her effort.

“Oh Rachel,” he whispered her name, his hand
moving through her hair, and she cringed, aware of how long it was,
how it spread out over them like a curtain, too much of it, as if
it had a life of its own, eager to give away her secret.

She moved away from his hands, finding
herself sliding to the floor of the limo between his thighs. His
eyes lit up as she knelt and peeled her jersey off, revealing the
black bra underneath.

“And I didn’t even pull out my harmonica,”
he remarked, referring to her comment about blues music earlier in
the night and she laughed, blushing. He had an incredible memory.
And incredible hands, she noted, when they suddenly found more
interesting things to do as he fondled her breasts, thumbing her
nipples through the material. The sensation made her shiver and
they kissed again, tongues entwined.

Jake let one hand wander around to the
zipper on her skirt, easing it down. She helped him wiggle her out
of it, feeling exposed. She glanced over her shoulder at the tinted
glass where the driver sat. They could see him, but he couldn’t see
them. At least, she hoped. Jake turned her attention back to him
when his hand slipped down between her legs, cupping her mound. She
rocked, moaning softly against his mouth as they kissed.