The Hinky Velvet Chair (20 page)

She squeezed his hand. “Thanks, buddy.”

Then he smiled.

“You booger! You are so yanking on me!” She dove at him and
stuck wriggling fingers into his armpits.

He squirmed and ducked his head. “Hey! Quit!” He tried to
cover his armpits with his hands.

“You’re conning me and yanking on me and messing with my head!”
When he tried to turn on his belly she threw a leg over him and pinned him
between her thighs, going for his stomach, his sides, and the backs of his
ears.

“I’m very ticklish! Help! Help, I’m being assaulted!”

“Shut up, do you want to get caught?” she said, laughing.

“Help!”

His belly was all muscle, which made it a lot easier to
tickle him, and she threw herself down on him and stopped his mouth with hers.
Those big poochy lips met her halfway. He stopped protecting his armpits and
put his hands on either side of her face, so tenderly that she forgot to tickle
him, and she thought,
Okay, I can do
this,
and then he made a little happy sound in his throat. She settled over
him so the banana in his pocket made contact at the right spot between her legs
and then his kiss opened up and she forgot about other things.

She wondered if he was getting off on this the way she was.

I don’t want to figure
you out,
she thought,
I want to get
you hothothot.
If she could peel away his fake humility and his fake
boy-next-door innocence — she popped the fly of his khakis and he pulled the
red silk tee over her shoulders — if she could make him be real for just twenty
minutes — she tossed away the top and then wriggled as he tickled her under the
elbows and went for her bra.

She took her mouth off his to say, “In front.”

“Ah.” Their eyes met as he worked the front clasp on her bra
and she realized with a start that she didn’t have any pictures in her head at
all.

All she saw was a humble, innocent boy next door. Huh. Was
that the secret to being a great con artist? Be yourself?

That, and lie a lot.

He got her torso naked and she pulled off his khakis. She
kicked her twisted panties and jeans down to her ankles. Then she snuggled down
against him, still breathing hard. He patted her back. Her heartbeat slowed to
a hard, hot thump. Thump. Thump.
Cuddling.
Why have I never tried that?

“You’re being too nice,” she murmured. “I think I’ve been
ruined for nice men.”

“Bet?” He kissed her forehead and her eyes closed. She moved
against his smooth skin, enjoying his warmth and the uncomplicated way his big
hands kneaded her buns, stroked up and down her back, squeezed her buns, and
stroked back up again, as if he too loved the feel of acres of skin on skin.

Honestly, she wouldn’t mind if he speeded up a little.

“Didn’t you have something for me?” She bumped her pubic
bone against his woodie, smiling at the way he squeezed her all over when they
hit.

“No rush.” He slid his hand up her side, warmly cupped her
nipple, then cradled the side of her face. The look in his eyes made her breath
catch.

I can’t be feeling
this,
she thought in rising panic.
I
don’t know you. You’re a crook. You’re not my type. You—

He kissed her and she shut her eyes against her own
thoughts, clasping her thighs around him, willing him to enter so that she
could stop feeling so close. One of Randy’s favorite questions came to her:
Are you afraid because you are aroused, or
aroused because you are afraid?
Caught in the paradox, she let Clay kiss
her, kissed him back,
My God, I’m kissing
him back,
like, duh, why was this scarier than the fifty-seven crazy things
she’d done with Randy and fifty-seven guys before him?

But it was. And he kept doing it over and over, the kiss
that made her hothothot, letting her squeeze tight against him but never
squeezing too tightly in return, the skin-on-skin marathon of their hands all
over each other, then the pullback and that look in his eyes, until she
couldn’t take any more and had to kiss him, so she could shut her eyes and not
see it, not feel the rise of something bigger than fear inside her. Her heart
heated up in her chest.
I know you.

What a lie!

But panic couldn’t talk louder than the things he made her
feel.

She struggled for self-control.
So this is what being conned in bed is like.
The haze was too
pleasant, too confusing. She knew she was being conned. Her breath came short.
She could let it happen, go along for the ride the way she did with every other
man. Appreciate it.

So she appreciated it, wallowing in the slow kisses,
marvelling at their power, as wild as doing it under a restaurant tablecloth,
as potent as sex with a firebreathing dragon. Her lips swelled and grew so
sensitive that she felt the pressure of his lips like a hot, firm thumb on her
trigger, how did he
do
that? Was she
going to come from kissing? Her whole body throbbed. For some reason she could
barely breathe.

And then he pulled away and looked into her eyes again and
she forgot to be afraid. Her heart thudded in her ears. She forgot her name.

“Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing.” Her breath
began to come in long, slow, deep pulls, and she knew she was one inch away
from orgasm.

To her relief, he glanced at her mouth. “Thank goodness. I
was hoping one of us did,” and leaned in for another kiss as she started to
laugh.

Technically, she came one half-second before their lips met.
She forgot to shut her eyes. This close, his eyes were wild and white-rimmed as
a panicking horse’s and, at the thought that he too was scared, the throbbing
spasm in her hoochiesnatchie bounded ahead, faster, harder, making her
breathless, shutting down her brain. She waited it out, thinking,
I’m fine, this is okay, I’ll breathe again
later,
but when he pulled back for another look, another kiss, she shut her
eyes and turned her head away, trembling, sucking air in great heaves. To her
horror, she felt a tear leak out of one eye.

They held each other in silence.

She said, “Can we fuck now? I need to clear my head.”

“Well, sure,” he said, sounding as calm as ever, which had
to be a lie. She’d seen the panic in his eyes. She couldn’t look again.

She heard foil rustle. A moment later he was sliding into
her, and she hooked her chin over his shoulder so he wouldn’t see the tear, and
they banged and banged and banged.

And that was good, too.

Some time later, Clay rolled his head on her bare shoulder
and said, “I think he’s embarrassed.”

“Your dick? Whatever for?”

“Randy,” Clay said.

“Ohmigod. What time is it?” She glanced at her wristwatch. “I
have to see if Nina sent me a swimsuit before this beach picnic thing. To hell
with Randy.” She pushed him off her and sat up. “I think he’s not here at all.
No way could we have got away with all that and not a peep out of him.”

Clay stretched. “Plan B then.”

“What’s plan B? Do this on every bed in the house?” She
hunted around the bed for her clothes. This would not be a good place to leave
anything behind. “I don’t think so.”

“We could get that tracking unit from Ed and see where the
anklet is.”

She dropped her bra on the floor in surprise. “Duh!”

“Ah, officer. I can see why you were celibate for six
months. Sex clouds your mind.”

“Who told you I’d been celibate for six months?”

“Your best friend, Nina.”

“I’ll kill her. Where’s my goddam bra?”

“Think I’ll keep these,” he said. “In memory of a special
occasion.”

Standing up with her bra in her hand, she saw Clay with a
pair of Sovay’s underpants on his head. She burst out laughing.

The door opened.

Sovay stood in the doorway, both hands full of shopping
bags, her mouth ajar.

Naked Jewel and naked Clay stared back at her.

“Oops,” Clay said.

Sovay’s jaw flapped as if she couldn’t get words out. Then
she backed up a step and slammed the door.

Scrambling into her jeans, Jewel said through her teeth, “I
thought you pennied us in.”

“I thought it would relax you to think we were pennied in,”
he said. “I’m sorry. You were so tense. It seemed like the decent thing to
relieve your mind of at least some of your wor—”

She socked him on the arm with one hand, pulled up her jeans
with the other hand, and stuffed her feet into her pumps. “Did I bring a purse
in here?”

“No.”

“Are you sure, or are you saying that to make me feel
better?” She snagged his arm as he was reaching for the bedroom door. “Wait a
minute—” She yanked him close so she could hiss in his ear. “What did you steal
while I had a pillow over my head?”

He widened his eyes at her and pooched his lips out. “Not a
thing.”

“If you stole
anything,
that’s a green sheet in your file. I’m not kidding about this.”

Rustling came from the other side of the door. Sovay,
waiting.

Jewel said, “This screws our cover, you realize.”

Clay shrugged. “So we change it. Now that your green tones
are through the roof, you can’t resist
sexualis imaginarium,
so we’re
having a little fling. It wasn’t your fault.”

“That’s lame, but we’re stuck with it.” Jewel sent her eyes
around the room. “I wish there was another exit.”

“Why? She knows we’re in here.”

“I can’t stand walking past that bitch. She’ll needle me
about this for ever.”

“Leave it to me. I’ve got a story cooked up already.”

“Of course you do,” she muttered, and let him open the door.

Jewel bolted past svelte, perfumed, lovely, seething Sovay,
not fast enough that she didn’t hear Clay say, “Sorry about that. I’ve been
trying to get into her pants since she got here. I found out she has a fetish
for other people’s beds.” He winked and aimed a pistol-forefinger at Sovay. “I’ll
make it up to you.”

Over her shoulder, fumbling at her own bedroom door across
the hall, Jewel hissed, “Green sheet!”

Clay bowed his way out of Sovay’s room and breezed down the
hall, feeling brilliant.
Intense, our
Jewel.
For an unsettling moment he wondered if he was up to her.
It’s not like I have a gene for long-term
relationships.

On the other hand, neither had Jewel. Full of optimism, he
ambled into the kitchen, where he found Griffy looking at a catalog amid a
whirlwind of caterers. “Oh, Clay,” she said, too familiarly for a hostess
speaking to a relative stranger. “Have you seen Virgil? The crab cakes are six
dollars! He loves them, but he’s so mad about this birthday party, and they’re
so good I don’t think people will take just one, but, so the crab cakes will
cost about five hundred dollars, so I don’t know whether—”

“How about we have some coffee?” Clay said, drawing her away
from Caterer Central. They sat in the breakfast nook around the corner. The
cook brought coffee and a grateful smile for Clay.

He didn’t bother reminding Griffy that he was supposed to be
a total stranger. “I thought this was a block party.”

“He’s seventy tomorrow,” she said with determination. “He
gets a birthday party.”

“Maybe he’s sensitive about getting old.” He had thought she
understood that. Her education was deficient in everything except makeup and
male ego management.

She lifted her chin. “Seventy is a milestone.”

Clay abandoned tact. “Are you trying to send him the message
that he’s too old for a new girlfriend? Virgil doesn’t like people to notice
his weaknesses. He’s ruthless. He cuts his losses like lightning.”

She flashed her eyes, looking superb, he had to admit. “So
maybe I need to get ruthless too.”

He threw up his hands. “Fine. Whatever. Piss him off. I
suppose it’s good for his blood pressure.”

She gave a merry laugh, and Clay blinked. She was in a good
mood, he realized. She wasn’t scared. She was enjoying the prospect of matching
tempers with Virgil.

“You’re not afraid of him, are you?”

“No, and you know something, I realized this yesterday, but
I never have been. I act like I’m scared so he doesn’t get all kerfluffly, you
know what he’s like.” She fluttered her hands like a teenager.

He smiled at her in bemusement. “I’ve been scared of him all
my life.”

“I know. I’ve been scared for you sometimes. But his temper
never bothered me.” She stood up and grabbed the caterers’ catalog. “Where is
the old buzzard? It’s time he made some decisions around here.”

Brain spinning, Clay followed her in search of Virgil. At
least he would be a witness if anything exploded.

Virgil was in the card room with an ugly look on his face,
playing Solitaire with plenty of wristy follow-through. Clay walked to the
window and pretended to interest himself in the checking account deposit slips
he’d snitched from Sovay’s room.