slipped down my back, circled my waist and moved up toward my breasts. His hot mouth bruised my lips as I answered him with a passion I didn’t know myself capable of feeling. I felt him harden against me and knew I had Jake Carpenter in the palm of my hand. I could finally pay him back for every moment of agony he’d put me through eleven long years ago.
So why then didn’t I break it off and leave him there, wanting me and never being able to have me? Why was I lingering when I owed the son of a bitch a good and final payback? I mean, it wasn’t as if he was really my type, now, was he?
Jake’s thumb and forefinger found my left nipple, squeezed softly, and then pinched harder as I moaned and my knees went weak.
Okay. What was the better revenge, really? To leave him all worked up, or to get my needs met and leave him wanting?
Oh, definitely the latter. I mean, after sleeping in the cold, dank basement on Uncle Benny’s couch, didn’t I deserve a little satisfaction?
I felt his left hand moving down my side, felt him guiding us toward the bed, and knew I was going for all I could get before I rolled away and said, “There, that’s what you get for jilting me and humiliating me in high school!”
We half fell backward onto the bed and Jake only winced once as he rolled onto his left side and shifted to find a comfortable position. Once he’d settled in, his hands began to explore every tender, responsive inch of my body. When his fingers slipped between my legs, I stopped breathing. Oh, yes, this was definitely the good part. Oh, please hurry, I begged silently.
I grabbed the waistband of his jeans and fumbled with the button. Might as well do some exploring of my own, I figured.
“I’m not hurting you, am I?” I whispered.
I felt the button give, tugged at the zipper, and was rewarded with a gasp from Jake as my fingers found smooth, hardened skin.
Jake rose up onto one elbow and stared into my eyes. His fingers moved closer and closer and if he didn’t touch me soon I was going to have to beg. Without a word, he read my mind, and I felt his fingers plunge deep inside me.
Oh, yes, I was going to enjoy this. I was going to…
“Stella! You in there?” Nina banged on the door. “Hey! We need to leave! It’s almost three-thirty. Isn’t she coming at four?” More banging.
I jumped off the bed, snatched my towel off the floor and wrapped it tightly around my torso. What in the hell had I been thinking?
“Yeah,” I called. “I’m coming!”
“Does Jake need anything before we go?” she asked.
I looked at the man lying on my bed. He’d fallen back against the pillows, eyes shut, his facial expression the perfect picture of frustration. Revenge was sweet, but so unfulfilling!
I struggled into my clothes, danced around the floor on one leg as I pulled my almost too-tight jeans up and quickly zipped them.
“No, he doesn’t need a thing,” I called to her.
Jake opened one eye and frowned. I stood, topless, at the end of the bed and let him suffer as I slowly, very slowly, pulled on my bra and fastened it.
“He’s not in pain, is he?” Nina asked. “Aunt Lucy says he can have another pain pill now.”
I looked at the bulge in Jake’s pants and smiled. “He may be a little uncomfortable,” I said, “but he’ll manage. He’s a tough guy.”
I smirked, pulled my black turtleneck sweater on over my head and turned to open the door.
“Wait,” he gasped, pushing himself up into a sitting position. “I’m coming.”
I looked at his crotch, then at his darkened eyes. “No, you most certainly are not,” I answered.
I opened the door and Nina half fell into the tiny bedroom. She took one look at me, glanced over my shoulder at Jake and started laughing.
“You didn’t… I mean, you weren’t…” She gasped.
“No!” we both answered.
Nina’s grin broadened. “Oh, man, wait until I tell Spike!”
I glowered at her, sure that behind me, Jake was doing the same. “Nina, let’s just get going, all right?”
Nina looked miffed. “Well, don’t take it out on me!” she huffed. “I’m not the one who said she’d be at the office in an hour!”
She spun on her heel and headed down the steps, leaving me to dash off after her. When Jake didn’t follow us, I was both relieved and disappointed. He needed to stay home. After all, a gunshot wound was nothing to fool around with, even if it had been superficial.
I raced Nina to my Camaro, slid behind the wheel, cranked the engine and looked at my watch. Ten minutes. We’d make it with five to spare, even with it being rush hour. Of course, rush hour in Glenn Ford meant a four-minute commute across town instead of the usual two.
“What’s that red light mean?” Nina asked, breaking her pout.
I looked at the instrument panel.
“Damn! We need oil.”
Nina sighed. “Oh, that’s nothing! One time I drove my car with the oil light on for two weeks.”
I looked over at my pink-haired cousin. “And then?”
“Oh, well, it died forever, but that wasn’t because of the oil light. The engine block froze.”
“Nina,” I said, rolling my eyes mentally, “that’s what happens if you don’t get oil!”
Nina stared at me. “You’re kidding, right?”
I started down the driveway. “No. We have to stop.”
“But we’ll be late. You told her four and she’s paying a thousand dollars a day.”
“She’ll wait.”
“This is so totally why you need a mission statement,” she muttered.
I failed to see the connection between stopping to put oil in my car and a corporate mission statement, but I kept my mouth shut. I drove to Sheeler’s Garage, ran inside to grab two quarts of oil, and figured at most, we’d be five minutes late.
That was before Joey Smack’s representatives, in the form of a long, black sedan with dark, tinted windows saw fit to stop by Sheeler’s and give me a personal season’s greeting from their boss, aka Santa Claus, aka The Man Voted Most Pissed Off About Having His Sled Repo’ed.
I had the hood popped and was about to insert the funnel, when the car rolled to a stop beside us. The right-side passenger window slowly slid down, just far enough for an arm and a hand to emerge. The arm was wearing a charcoal-gray suit jacket and a light blue cotton shirt with cuff links. The hand was holding a gun.
“Merry Christmas!” the arm’s owner
