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BOOKS BY JAMES B. JOHNSON
Counterclockwise: A Science Fiction Novel
Habu: A Science Fiction Novel
Lead Me Not: A Romance of Aviation
Trekmaster: A Science Fiction Novel
When the Pirate Prays: A Comic Crime Novel
COPYRIGHT INFORMATION
Copyright © 2013 by James B. Johnson
Published by Wildside Press LLC
www.wildsidebooks.com
DEDICATION
For Beverly: You’re the Best!
CHAPTER ONE
HER
She was the kind of girl your mother warned you about. She was the kind of girl boys think about at night. She was the kind of girl they whisper about at school, in the locker room and under the bleachers.
She had urges, mostly sexual urges, she could neither control nor understand.
It was 10:30 that fateful night. She wore a short beige dress, no panties and a touch of black lace showing from her bra.
She was sitting on the top step of his ladder, right in the middle of his living room, and listening to old records. Eric Burdon and the Animals. Her name was Aloha Blaze, for which she alternately would never, ever forgive her parents, or loved them for the uniqueness it bestowed upon her. At times, it made her feel like a stripper. Dollops of red paint splotched the ladder.
Height was her friend and refuge.
He would be here soon. What would he think of her, a patch of thigh showing, sitting atop the ladder in his living room? She was afraid her plans would prove fruitless again. She didn’t think she had the guts to try this one more time. She wanted desperately for him to like her as much as she liked him. At one time, she’d had a crush on his son—but nothing like this.
He was good looking, a pilot, a businessman—and the father of her best girlfriend.
Rudyard Kipling Six walked in the door from an office party, tie loose and jacket thrown over his shoulder. As an ex-Air Force officer, he did not affect the long hair and pork chop sideburns of the mid-seventies, even though now, in ’78, those styles were dying out.
Aloha needed something in her life, she wasn’t quite certain what, and her fantasies made her believe Rudd would fill that void.
Burdon’s bluesy version of “The House of the Rising Sun” came on the stereo and the lights were low.
He saw her on the ladder and stopped. His sports jacket fell to the floor. He stared. The whole scene took on a fantasy twist. His eyes raked her appreciatively.
They locked eyes. Her arms became hungry and her eyes heavy. Words were not necessary.
She knew what he was seeing. She had champagne-colored hair, dark brows, and deep, deep forest green eyes. A touch of ruby lipstick. And her hourglass figure belied her age. All of which gave her the appearance of a tall, sensual animal. Most people mistook her for twenty-one or older.
He came toward her as if against his will. He was seeing how incredibly desirable she really was.
Familiar with each other, they’d talked occasionally as she came and went from visiting his daughter. Nor did he know that Aloha had contrived to have Denise away from the house at this time.
He stopped at the foot of the ladder. Her legs were together so that he knew she wore no panties, but modestly, so that naked thigh and a flash of inner leg mesmerized him. Her nipples strained against the fabric.
She opened her arms self-consciously and he took her from the ladder. Their eyes remained locked. Their mouths touched. Her dry tongue became moist.
She wrapped her long legs around his hips and his strong, hard arms went around her and held her tightly against him. The blues of New Orleans flowed between them and fused a sensual bond. He began to move with the rhythm, their mouths still only touching, feather-like and aching.
She trembled in his arms, fire burning through her body.
They danced slowly around the old paint-splattered ladder, her legs clutching him. She could feel this virile man was aroused. Her arms went around his neck and his hands moved to cup her naked buttocks.
The music evoked a primal urge within her and their mouths no longer simply touched, they were locked together. She growled her pleasure and clutched him rhythmically with her legs. He tasted all masculine, add a little gin and lime flavor. Their tongues danced together.
He groaned into her and pulled her more tightly against him, grinding his groin against her.
“If I ever die?” Rudd said into her ear, tongue darting, teasing. “Kiss me like that one more time. That’s what I want to remember when I kick down the gates of hell.”
“I will,” she whispered. “Promise.”
“Something to carry with me through eternity.”
The Animals were now singing “Bring It on Home to Me.”
The music was raw and the dollops of red paint on the ladder seemed to pulse and glow with their emotions.
He stood her on her feet. At five-seven, she had not yet reached the height everybody said she would.
Smoothly he pulled her dress over her head and she stood there clad only in her dark lacy bra. He drank her in for a moment and she was glad her body belied her age.
Urgency overwhelmed her and with awkward arms, she unbuttoned his shirt and pulled his tie out of the knot. She felt her bra unsnap and his gasp of appreciation.
He kicked his shoes off and she unbuckled his belt and he quickly stepped out of his slacks.
“Ummm,” she mumbled, eyes glazed.
Then they were down on the deep carpet, one of her legs overlapping his buttock and thigh. She captured him. “Oh, my God.”
“Aloha,” he said her name magically.
Their mouths touched again, hers hungry.
Their coupling was long and slow until she reached her very first screaming orgasm. Her entire body was filled with love and she exploded, pure pleasure throbbing through her. He continued, more urgent and demanding, and her craving increased again until they climaxed together, she screaming again, he straining against her and into her.
The wordless emotion-filled noise she made embarrassed her; but she couldn’t wait to do it again.
They were rigid against each other for a few minutes, the hair on his hard chest titillating her nipples. Their mouths were touching again. She felt drugged, out of control, aching for him.
A
