The P.U.R.E. (28 page)

“Hey, Dave,” I said with a quick wave.

I turned back to Jon. He stood bare-chested, shirt in hand, no longer laughing but glaring at Dave and his friends on the balcony. I glanced down at myself, and reality came rushing into my consciousness with a mighty bang.

“Oh, shit!” I pressed up against Jon to hide from the growing number of people gawking at me from the balconies and patios facing the grassy area.

“Put this on.” Jon removed my purse and shoved his shirt over my head. “Show’s over, people. She’s fine. Go back inside.” He wrapped his arm around my waist and steered me toward a nearby apartment building.

When we got to the front side of the building and turned to enter one of the lower level apartments, I recognized the unit as his. I had chased Ron three blocks and fought with him a few feet from Jon’s back patio. What were the odds? Maybe not that high if Ron had parked nearby and already broken into and searched Jon’s apartment.

Jon walked me inside and pointed to his sofa with a stern “sit”. He brought me a glass of ice water and sat down too. From his sideways perch beside me, he pressed his lips into a rigid line of disapproval, his nose slightly flared and his head cocked. The cumulative expression was a notch above his scowl but still a member of the grouchy family.

“What?” I shrugged. Why was he in such a snit? I was the one robbed and tackled in my underwear.

He grunted and rolled his eyes. “She says ‘what’ like I’m the crazy one!” He raised and dropped his arms before crossing them at his chest, clearly winding up to give me a talking to.

Or so he thought. I wasn’t going to meekly listen to one of his paternal FBI safety lectures and nod my head like a good little girl.

“What the hell do you think you were doing? This is the guy we scammed at the bar last night.”

I’d give him one chance and one chance only to listen calmly to my explanation, otherwise I was out of there. “I know! Ron Fein, the burglar, not the murderer according to
your
intelligence. He was hiding in my closet in my apartment when I got home! I flushed him out and chased him down after he took off with my purse. He was looking for the papers we took from him last night.”

“Okay. Why were you wearing nothing but your bra and panties throughout this entire ordeal?”

Good grief.
I took a turn at the eye rolling. “Because I didn’t
know
he was in my apartment until after I’d undressed. I went into my bathroom and pretended to take a bath, hoping he’d sneak out, which is exactly what he did, only he tried to do it with my five-hundred-dollar purse!”

“I guess I should be happy you were at least wearing your twenty-dollar underwear and weren’t naked.
Pffft.
Your five-hundred-dollar purse? So, if he’d found the papers, and left your expensive designer bag, would you have still chased after him?” He jabbed his finger into the top of the sofa as he spoke.

Uh-oh.
I deduced where his logic was leading, but I’d lie through my teeth before I’d let him lecture me on the dangers of elevating material goods above life and limb.

“Yes, I would’ve. For Marilyn’s safety. We didn’t go to all that trouble last night for nothing.”

“What if he’d only wanted your wallet? Would you have chased after him then?” Jon leaned forward and put his face on an even plane with my own.
Mr. Intensity.

I narrowed my eyes and mulled over his challenge. Before exhaling loudly, I reconsidered my surrender and gave a firm, “Yes.”

He jerked back. “That’s the wrong answer, dammit. Why are you being so stubborn?”

Someone knocked on Jon’s door, and the man who had arrested Ron stuck his head inside.

“Come on in, Charlie.” Jon motioned to him with his hand. “Charlie Grimes, FBI, meet Wonder Woman.”

“Ha ha, very funny. Nice to meet you, Charlie, and thank you for cuffing that piece of garbage for me.” I walked over to him and batted my eyelashes like a femme fatale as we shook.

Charlie smiled and dipped his gaze down, lingering a little too long on my legs before returning to my eyes.

I smiled at him and shot a beady-eyed glare at Jon as I returned to my spot on the sofa.

Thunderclouds darkened Jon’s face as I’d expected. “You could have been killed, Gayle. You should have hightailed it out of your apartment the second you realized he was in your closet. You never should have chased him, let alone attacked him. What if he’d been armed? And Charlie, I’d appreciate it if you’d stop ogling Miss Lindley and back me up here.”

Charlie stepped to Jon’s side. “
This
is the famous Gayle Lindley? I do see your Delilah dilemma more clearly now, Jon.” With mock somberness, he wagged his finger. “Bad girl, Gayle, bad, bad girl. Don’t ever do that again.” He clapped Jon on the back. “The cops are here and are taking Mr. Not-So-Fein in for booking. See you later, and good luck.” He pointed at me. “I’ve told the cops we’d write the report. Don’t forget to bring her statement, preferably typed. It was most enlightening to finally meet you, Gayle.”

“Very nice to meet you, Charlie.” I wondered what a ‘Delilah dilemma’ was and why he was ‘enlightened’ by my acquaintance. Neither sounded too flattering, especially if by Delilah he meant the Bible story about the Philistine temptress who was Samson’s undoing.

Jon escorted him to the door. “Do me a big favor and swing by apartment eighteen A, three blocks east of here, and make sure it’s secured. You have your keys in your purse, Gayle?”

“Yeah, got ’em. Oh no! The water is still running in my bathtub. Could you turn it off while you’re there? Thank you so, so much.”

“Eighteen A. Shut off the water and lock up. Will do.” He left with a nod to each of us.

I turned back to face Jon, hoping he’d be in a better mood.

He advanced on me grim-faced.

I backed away until I dead-ended at a wall.

He reached out and snatched me up by my shoulders. I thought he was going to shake me, but instead he drew me into a snug embrace. We moved to his sofa where he pulled me on his lap, arms again enfolding me as the hysteria from the afternoon’s events wore off and normalcy returned.

“Are you okay?” he asked, breaking the tense silence.

I burrowed in closer, playing with a few of his chest hairs and murmured, “Mmm hmm.” I pulled back. A faint furrow marred his brow, and his lips drooped downward. “Are
you
okay?” I asked.

“I’ve had a hell of a day,” he said with a long exhale.

“That makes two of us.”

“Today’s my birthday, though, so I was kind of hoping for better.”

I searched his face for hints he was messing with me. “Your birthday? You turned twenty-five
today
?”

He nodded, a lackluster smile on his lips.

“Well, what do you know? Happy birthday, Jon.” I pulled his head to mine and gave him a long smoldering kiss.

He smiled against my lips. “So … are we good now?”

I couldn’t be mad at him anymore and yearned to trust him again. “Yeah, we’re good.” I shook a stern finger at him and quickly tacked on, “For now. I wish I’d known today was your birthday.”

“Would you have believed me if I’d told you earlier?”

“Not after the meeting this afternoon, no. As a matter of fact, show me your driver’s license please? I should have done this at the restaurant.” I held out my hand.

He laughed and shifted me off his lap as he stood to pull his license from his wallet. “I won’t need to see yours,” he said with a smug smile before he sat back down. As expected, he looked gorgeous in his picture.
The swine
.

The license gave his name as Jonathan Cripps, born exactly a quarter century ago on November thirteenth.

A Scorpio. Figures.

Six foot two, two hundred pounds of premium grade male yumminess, brown hair, brown eyes and an organ donor. His address even matched. Of course, driver’s licenses could be faked, certainly by the FBI.
Don’t go there, Gayle.

I handed it back to him and straddled his lap. He responded almost immediately and placed his hands on the sides of my hips. I moved my mouth to his ear. “You hit the birthday jackpot, lover, because not only do I forgive you for being a lying, secretive little shit, but I’m offering you a once in a lifetime gift. From now until midnight, I’ll do whatever you command without any resistance, so long as it’s legal and not hurtful to anyone. Starting tomorrow, however, you’re going on a serious groveling program to shore up your apology.”

I pulled back to gauge his reaction. A huge grin goose-stepped across his face.

He tilted his head slightly, his eyes tracking me. His hands tightened their hold on my hips. “No arguments at all? No negotiations? No stubbornness? No crazy schemes you want us to chase down?”

I wondered if he’d even registered the groveling condition of my offer. I checked my watch. “It’s only seven and a half hours. Of course I can do it … I think.” I wrinkled my nose and squinted at him.

He screwed his face up as if in deep thought. “I’d better put you to the test before I get my hopes up too high.”

“Go ahead. Your wish is my command.” I was willing to bet the first thing he’d want would be some type of sexual favor—an easy enough test to ace. I squirmed on his lap to make a subtle suggestion and waited. Little bubbles of anticipation percolated through me.

“Take off my T-shirt,” he said.

Boy, could I read him. I scrambled off of his lap and moved back a couple of paces from him as I complied with his request and tossed him his shirt. To my surprise he pulled it on.

Oh well, I’ll rip it off him later.

“Take off your bra, and toss it to me.”

I did as he commanded and covered my breasts to at least try to appear demure. I would play the wholesome girl next door—at least at first. The virginal cotton undies I wore completed the look. With only the Jockeys to go, he’d be whisking me off to his bedroom to ravish me.

Or maybe we’d do it on the floor, or on the couch, or on the kitchen counter, or even up against the wall.

Ooh, all delicious ideas.

“Now the panties, but take them off slowly, and toss them to me.”

I peeled my last scrap of clothing off, inch by maddening inch, watching him the entire time before throwing them to him.

He got up and walked toward me, the huge bulge in his pants too obvious to miss. I didn’t try to hide my interest. Once he stood mere inches away, he grabbed me about my waist with one arm and snatched me up against him.

“The vacuum cleaner is in the hall closet.” His voice was low and sexy. “I want you to vacuum, do the dishes and change the sheets on my bed, all as you are now … buck naked.” He pulled my hips against his, the hard ridge of his erection pressed against my abdomen. A soft sigh fanned my cheek.

I could play along because he wouldn’t be able to hold out that long—not the way I planned on vacuuming. He’d be putty in my hands before I finished the living room.

“I’ll be taking a shower while you work—a very long one—to get ready for my date. Clean sheets will be on the bed for you.” He chuckled evilly as he strolled toward his bedroom, twirling my bra and panties about his fingers like New Year’s Eve noisemakers.

38

After avoiding me for a solid hour, he emerged. I’d wrapped myself in a blanket and lounged on his couch, the vacuuming, dishes and linens all done. I had been dozing on and off for the past fifteen minutes.

“Give me the keys to your apartment.” He sat down next to me and held out his hand.

I breathed deeply, enjoying the mingled scents of sandalwood and pine and Jon.

His dark hair was damp and slicked back, and he wore black trousers with a grey silk shirt. The top three buttons, he’d left undone. A few of his chest hairs peeked out to wave hello. On his arm he carried a black leather jacket, capping off his Italian GQ cover look.

My lust kicked into overdrive, and I opened my mouth to ask why he wanted my keys.

He cut me off. “Ah, ah. No arguing or questioning me; you agreed.”

I got up from the sofa, as God made me, and retrieved my keys. I sat astride his lap to hand them over. The hungry glint in his eyes hinted of cracks in his reserve. I moved in to claim my prize and kissed him senseless.

The keys sailed onto the coffee table. He slipped a hand between us, watching me the entire time. Leather moved through metal and the slow tick, tick of a zipper sent an erotic thrill to my southern latitudes.

I went down on my knees and gave him his second birthday present of the day. Judging from the way he carried on, I’m pretty sure he enjoyed it.

By six, he left his apartment with my keys in hand. I covered up with the blanket and turned on his television.

Forty-five minutes later, he returned with several plastic grocery bags full of stuff. “You have an ungodly amount of clothes.”

“I have multiple wardrobes for different purposes,” I said and rose to meet him.

I couldn’t wait to inspect what he’d chosen for me to wear. I hoped he hadn’t dipped into my skinny clothes. Rubbing my hands together, I dove in.

The first items I pulled out were a lacy red thong and matching bra. I raised a single eyebrow that said, ‘Shame on you.’

He shrugged.

A pair of skyscraper-high black heels my Austin girlfriends and I dubbed my CFM’s—“come fuck me” pumps. Every girl I knew, plus most strippers, had a pair, though they were usually red. Jon had probably made a beeline for them.
Typical guy.
As long as we didn’t do too much walking, I’d survive.

A silver necklace and matching earrings and bracelets came out next. I hadn’t worn those particular pieces in eons. Interesting choices; he had good taste.

In the third bag, I found a slinky black halter dress, the swankiest, sexiest dress I owned. It had been a frontrunner back when I thought I would be dressing myself for our date, though I thought it might be a bit over the top. The red bra wouldn’t work with a halter, so if I couldn’t wear the bra, the matching thong was a no-go too. To break up the set would be wrong.