Sets Appeal Page 10

  A nice girl shouldn’t enjoy what this bad boy did, but she could either envy bad girls for the rest of her life or try for a lack of inhibition. Taking a shaky breath she attempted to relax, which now seemed easier. Her enjoyment intensified and without a conscious thought, she ran her hand over his hair and urged him on. Greed took over, and she swiveled her hips in an effort to gain maximum gratification, tightening her fingers against his scalp, not knowing what she wanted him to do, but so badly wanting him to continue that she made encouraging noises and tried to find a comfortable place against the bed head.

  With a sound of frustrated desire, he dragged her down in the bed, taking her more deeply with his mouth. She watched, excited by seeing his head between her legs. Never before had she been so out of control, so frantic. His thumbs teased at her until her body began to jerk involuntarily. Her insides contracted and she felt a gush of intense lingering pleasure. She loosened her grip on his hair and fell back, gasping, satisfied, her fingertips barely touching his wide shoulders.

  She knew she’d climaxed, but she didn’t know what to do, what to say. “Thank you” seemed inadequate. His thumb caresses ceased. He seemed to be kissing her…down there, slowly, carefully, and tenderly.

  His kiss surprised her, and her heart expanded in her chest. Not only was he the sexiest man in the world, he was incredibly skilled with his lovemaking, with helping a woman feel cherished, safe, and desirable. She only needed what he’d given her, the experience that had proven Tim wrong.

  With a real man, she could be a real woman.

  “It seems you knew what you were talking about.”

  “Practice makes perfect.”

  “Don’t brag.”

  “I was meaning you should have more practice.”

  “Now?”

  He took her hand to his monstrous erection. “I can go slower this time.”

  “No,” she said, searching for the bed cover. “Thanks.”

  He stretched out beside her. “Jesus!” he said in a voice of frustration. “You don’t make anything easy for a man.”

  She averted her eyes from his muscular frame. She appreciated the casual display of his erection and she loved touching the big beautiful thing but she’d had him and she’d had an orgasm. Any more and she would turn into a begging fool, and she didn’t intend to humiliate herself ever again. She didn’t answer him and he didn’t say another word. He rolled over with his back to her.

  * * * *

  Vix awoke, stretching luxuriously, and opened her eyes. The blind had been pulled up and the bright morning light streamed in, highlighting the tired lilac-gray walls and the bare wooden floor. Water ticked through the pipes outside and pattered like rain into the bath next door. Alone, she smiled, happy, content, a satisfied woman at last, pleased to have woken up alone. She didn’t know how JD’s mood would be this morning, but he was a big boy and he had to learn to cope with rejection. She had, for years.

  Practicing an oblivious smile, she planned to shower as soon as he finished in the bathroom. Then, she would dress again in her painting clothes, ready to help with the ceiling. This would be how to act, as if last night had never happened—just a smile and straight back to being JD’s painter. She found the black T-shirt on the floor and pulled the worn fabric over her head.

  The flow of the water stopped and she barely had time to sit up, take her knees to her chin, and tug the T-shirt down to her ankles before JD entered, wrapped in a towel from the waist down. His hair had been slicked back, accenting his wonderful facial structure.

  “Sleep well?” he asked, sounding grumpy.

  She gave him her best casual smile and rested her cheek on her knee. “I recall a slight disturbance in the middle of the night. I’m not certain I remember…”

  He shook his head, his face relaxing. “I can remind you from time to time.”

  She dropped her gaze, knowing she had to keep up her guard. “I need a shower.”

  “We slept late. I normally cook breakfast on Sundays, but if you are going to shower, I’ll buy the ceiling paint and cook when I get back.”

  “Perhaps I could cook. Would you mind?”

  “Not at all.” He turned his back, opening his wardrobe door. “I have eggs and bacon, sausages if you like, and bread in the fridge. The hardware shop is a couple of blocks away so I’ll take the bike.” He dropped his towel.

  His back view was stunning, the wide muscled shoulders, the narrow waist and the hard, hard buttocks, a glorious handful each. She breathed through her mouth, knowing she should leave for the bathroom.

  “Take the car. You’ll need a couple of cans, at least. My keys are in the kitchen.”

  He slipped on a pair of blue jocks and then his jeans. “Then I’ll be even faster,” he said, turning. “Get a move on, woman. We don’t have all day.” He smiled, reluctantly.

  She scooted off the bed, grabbing at her jeans and top. “Breakfast will be ready to go as soon as you arrive back.”

  Within fifteen minutes, she was fresh and clean, her wet hair knotted back and her makeup lightly applied. She noted that JD had moved the sofa away from the back door, and so she set the table, put the kettle on to boil, and took the bacon and eggs out of the fridge. A shadow passed the back window. Waiting, she looked up. She hadn’t heard the car arrive back.

  The back door opened and the shapely female figure in the doorway paused, staring at the paint spattered sheets covering the floor. “JD,” she called in a surprised voice, and she must have noticed Vix’s startled move in the kitchen. “Oh.” The woman stood, her face a question.

  “I’m Vix.” Vix cleared her dry throat. “JD will be back any moment. He went to buy the paint for the ceiling,” she said far too fast, far too awkwardly, and in a slightly panicked tone, not knowing if she’d been left in a difficult situation or just an embarrassing one.

  The woman who confronted her was every man’s dream, medium height and slim. Her white-blond hair had been casually draped over one shoulder along with a large Italian leather bag patterned in blue and gray zigzags. She proudly displayed her noteworthy cleavage in a short, tight blue top. Her long, slender legs were also on show beneath her abbreviated denim shorts, which she had zipped but not buttoned over her tanned belly. Her mouth pursed as she assessed Vix, flitting over her hair. “You would be the painter of the set he is currently working on.”

  “Yes,” Vix said, relieved to be given a reason to be in JD’s house in the morning. “I’m helping him paint the room. And, ah, I was invited for breakfast. You must be Lonny.”

  Lonny nodded. “Typical JD. He left you to cook. He loves to act like a helpless male but a less helpless male I’ve yet to meet. He’s actually quite a good cook. Better than me.” She bent her head forward, flicked her hair, rearranging her locks back into the same place. “And he told me you’re a better painter than I am. Since he said he’d rather have an expert, I won’t stay.”

  “Did you come to paint?” Vix blinked with ridiculous disappointment. She’d assumed JD needed her. “He won’t be long. He’s only at the hardware shop.”

  Lonny pressed a finger to her mouth while she considered. “I’m thinking he meant to surprise me with the new room and I don’t want to ruin his pleasure. Please don’t tell him I dropped by.” She smiled. “Nice to finally meet you, Vix. Give my regards to the team.” The door closed behind her.

  For a moment, Vix stayed staring at the door. Since her car wasn’t in the driveway, Lonny had expected JD to be alone. However, she knew more about Vix than Vix knew about her. JD had clearly discussed her. Vix found she didn’t like being talked about with another woman. She turned back to the kitchen with half a mind not to cook breakfast. That would teach him…nothing. They didn’t have a relationship. They’d actually just had the one-night stand she’d tried for last week.

  Firming her mouth and her shoulders, she whipped the eggs into a frenzy and then sat and waited for him to return.

  Ch
apter 9

  Jay grabbed a can of white ceiling paint and proceeded to the busy checkout to pay. Sunday at the Port Adelaide shopping center was as busy as any other day, and he had to wait while people asked the sales attendants basic questions like “What sort of screw do I need for…” He thrummed his fingers on his can, planning how to reimburse Vix for the rollers and paintbrushes she had bought. Cash might be awkward. He doubted she would stand around while he counted out spare change into her palm. Perhaps he could pay her in kind, that was, buy her dinner.

  But where? She would have been everywhere he couldn’t afford. Brought up by her blue-blooded father, James Tremain, she would always have had the best of everything money could buy. The man was no miser. He had, in fact, supported Jay for four years of his life by extending the university scholarship, originally endowed by him for a two-year master’s degree, from the first year to the fifth. This gave Jay the opportunity to be an architect, which for the son of a drunk had always been an impossible dream. His father spent every cent of his dole money on alcohol. At times he had even stolen money from his sons when they had been careless enough to leave cash around. So, Jay had always known he had to earn money to support his younger brothers. After he matriculated, along with Steve and Trent, he accepted being apprenticed to a builder.

  Later that year, his father died of liver failure. The Dee boys found themselves in possession of a shabby house piled high with empty bottles and bills. After Kell matriculated, like Jay he took on an apprenticeship, too. Jay hoped Luke would also finish high school if he could keep off Sherry long enough. For a couple of years, a rookie builder and an apprentice cabinetmaker supported three large, hungry males. Then Luke finished his plumbing apprenticeship and married Sherry. Jay and Kell decided to use their wages to set Luke up in his own business since he had a child to support within six months of marriage.

  Had it not been for Jay’s former principal, Jay might have been a tradesman for the rest of his life, but Mr. Trevor decided to interfere because of Jay’s extraordinary matriculation results. He couldn’t bear the waste, he had said, and he wrote a detailed letter to James Tremain, known for his altruism. Although prickling with the humiliation of being a worthy cause, Jay completed a portfolio and was accepted into the university with a full scholarship, which included a living allowance.

  His first year was dominated by charismatic Tim Nolan, an architect idolized by his students. Tim’s wit and charm wore thin with Jay before his second year, after he found out how a fellow female student had inexplicably managed to top his grades. He didn’t have much time for Tim after that and kept out of his way, but no one could have failed to know when Tim married the very rich and very young Victoria Tremain. Tim managed to feature in the celebrity pages constantly, often pictured with the wife whose earlier photos showed a pretty young woman with a dazzling smile and whose later photos hinted at a woman who had decided to let her husband take the limelight.

  In Jay’s third year of university, during which he worked for his bachelor degree, he took Lonny as his date to an end-of-year function attended by his fellow students and lecturers. By then, she had made a nominal success of her hairdressing business by employing makeup artists and stylists. After attracting a famous client, she had greatly expanded her list, and the social pages in the daily newspaper mentioned her at least once a week, sometimes more, often publishing photos of her with celebrities.

  In a sideways move at the function, she hooked up with Tim Nolan. Tim assumed he had won her from Jay, and made enough smarmy comments to earn Jay’s loathing. Lonny assumed he was jealous, which made anything he said against Tim sound like sour grapes. Unwilling to set himself up as a moral watchdog, he kept his opinions to himself when she dropped by. None knew better than he how much she needed a friend, despite her doing her best to discard everyone she had known in the old days. At the end of his fourth year, he saw Ilona and Tim in a nightclub. He saw Tim slap Ilona. The rest was history.

  Tremain had been disappointed to hear that the recipient of his generosity had been convicted of assaulting his son-in-law. No doubt the little flea in his ear, Tim the Tom, had embellished the story to get Tremain to rescind his largesse.

  If Tremain knew an untrustworthy, ungrateful felon was now messing with his lovely daughter, he would be appalled. Jay didn’t think the right word was messing, nor anything cruder. Captivated—or involved—would be a better word. He swung the can onto the front seat of Vix’s dinky little red car and drove home through the crammed pot-holed streets.

  A woman with Vix’s assets wouldn’t consider him as a life-partner, but last night had him plotting how to get her to stay around for a while. His draw-card was that she enjoyed sex but she didn’t seem to think she should be participating in the best recreational activity known to man or woman. She might be emotionally detached from him now, but if could keep her interested with good sex, she just might see that she liked him.

  He strode through the back door, spotting Vix sitting at the kitchen table. She arose with a strange look on her face. “Breakfast will be ready in five minutes,” she said, turning her back. She busied herself while he dried off yesterday’s rollers and brushes at the outside sink.

  Within five minutes, she called him inside and he sat down to a plate of fluffy scrambled eggs, bacon, and triangles of toast.

  “Cute,” he said, waving a piece, but her face said be grateful and he knew he was. In the real world, he wouldn’t be sitting at breakfast with a talented, intelligent, well-connected woman like her. He needed to appreciate each moment that had no chance of lasting.

  Like a team, they got on with painting the ceiling, him doing the brushwork on the art deco cornices and the elaborate ceiling centers. Only last year he had knocked down the wall between the two small rooms, joining them into one, opening out the space. And yes, he would open up the room more with a set of French doors, as Vix had suggested.

  “How did you meet your husband?” he asked her, automatically moving his brush along the cornice.

  “He knew my father.”

  “How old were you when you married?” he asked, although he knew. When they broke up, that information had been in the paper along with an old photo of Vix and her dazzling smile. And two-timing Tim.

  “Twenty.”

  “Did your father mind you marrying so young?”

  “Yes, but he couldn’t stop me. He very graciously didn’t say ‘I told you so’ when we divorced. He’s a good man, my father. He brought me up alone for ten years after my mother died.”

  “So, he married again?”

  “I have a six-year-old half-brother. He started school last year and he thinks he is very grown up now.”

  “Do you mind being supplanted?”

  “No. It takes the pressure off. You would know that, having two siblings.”

  He nodded. His father had had three boys to knock around instead of one, which took the pressure off, slightly.

  After finishing the complicated ceiling decoration in the middle of the sitting room, he moved the ladder to the kitchen to paint the second.

  “How long have you known Steve and Trent?” she asked from the other side of the room, swishing the roller along her part of the ceiling.

  “Twenty years. More, maybe. We were brought up in this neighborhood and went to the local school.”

  “Lonny went to the same school, too?”

  “Yup.” He took a filled liter can of paint up the ladder with him.

  Vix had the big can to top up her roller tray. She was rolling paint fast. “And she’s beautiful.”

  “Who, Lonny? Well, she knows how to present herself.”

  Vix glanced over at him. “Most of us can’t tell the difference between beauty and presentation.”

  “Sure we can. Beauty is something extra. It’s a smile, a way of moving, thinking…” He shook his head, not clear in his mind why Vix was beautiful and Lonny was great looking. “Who told you she is
beautiful? Steve?”

  “Probably. When you’ve done that and the cornices over the cupboards, we’ll be finished, the first coat at least. Not a bad morning’s work.” She wiped her paint-spattered hands on the rag near her paint tray.

  He finished off the central decoration and moved his ladder again. “How’s the crick in your neck?”

  She smiled. “Not as bad as yours, I’d say. Do you think we’ll get away with just one coat—since it’s white on white?”

  He assessed the job over in her area where the painting had been finished. “We’ll know when it’s dry but it looks good. I’ll be another five minutes.”

  She put her roller in a plastic bag while he completed the last cornice. When he had stepped down from his ladder, he saw she had pretty well tidied up. “You’re amazing.”

  She gave him a look of surprise. “I’m a painter. That’s what I do.”

  “I’ve worked with painters in various capacities for more than ten years and most are good, but not amazing. You’ve got what’s known as a work ethic. I’m not paying you, but you work fast and you clean up as you go. I’m betting that your paintbrushes are as spotless as your rollers. And your work, although you’re basically an artist, is as good as any housepainter. Plus, you smell better,” he added casually as he moved towards her, his wet paintbrush in his hand. He put his other hand on her hip and leaned down, kissing the tip of her nose. “I’m beginning to think I buy sissy shower gel.”

  She laughed. “I had perfume in my bag. It’s not your shower gel.”

  “Whew. I was just starting to wonder what the guys have been saying about me behind my back. Stay there. I’ve got a full paintbrush in my hand and any sudden move of yours might startle me.” He gave her another kiss, this time on the lips. “I wouldn’t want to get paint on that nice top of yours.” With her attitude to sex, wanting to get the whole thing over and done with without much touching, he had the idea she’d missed out on romance, which he hoped to supply.