June (Calendar Girl #6) Page 5

  Recognition must have dawned on her because she started to nod and lean closer. “You know, he mentioned this project. It’s been in the making for years. I honestly thought he’d given up on it.” Then she huffed. “Yet another thing he’s doing in her memory.” The tone when she said ‘her memory’ seemed put-out and on the ugly edge of scathing.

  My eyes narrowed. “What do you mean, ‘in her memory’?”

  Right then, Kathleen responded in a way I would have never pictured. She tipped her wine glass up to her lips and glugged back the crimson liquid until it was gone.

  “Ketty Shipley.”

  “Who’s Ketty Shipley?” I asked, completely lost.

  “Warren’s dead wife.”

  “Oh, that Ketty Shipley.” With that, I sucked back the last of my wine and waited a moment. “So why the nastiness?”

  Kathleen rubbed her forehead and pulled out the hidden clip. To my extreme surprise a wild mane of long hair fell well past her shoulders in beautiful, big, bouncy waves.

  With a shake of her head she ran her hands through it a couple times and groaned. “It’s not that I didn’t like her. For a while, she was my best friend. It’s that I don’t like that she’s been dead for twenty- five years, and Warren is still in love with her. You can’t win the man’s heart when it still belongs to his dead wife.”

  Her shoulders slumped, and I looped an arm over hers and locked her to my side. “Honestly, it can’t really be that bad.”

  “Oh no,” she said mockingly. “You think I’m full of piss and vinegar then?” With a burst of energy she was up and out the door. I sat there completely dumfounded. What the hell did piss and vinegar have anything to do with it anyway? I swear, older folks said the weirdest shit.

  A few minutes went by, and I worried that I’d offended her. I played out the conversation and although it was uncomfortable at best, I hadn’t said anything inappropriate that would cause her to rush out of the room. Before I could go over it again, the door was flung open and she pushed in a food cart. The same kind that you get when you are staying in a really fancy hotel and the bellman brings your dinner.

  “What’s this?” I asked even more confused.

  In a second, she was at the side of the bed. “Come now. Let’s hop along.” She patted the top of the cart. “I have to show you something that will prove my point.”

  “What point?” I hopped up and then she helped me sit down on the cart. Then she pushed me out of the room and down the hall.

  “The point that he’s not over Ketty!”

  Gripping the cart, I cringed. “If I say I believe you, will you not scare the hell out of me by dragging my gimpy ass around this McMansion on a deathtrap? If you accidentally push too hard, I could end up flying down the stairs.”

  She stopped and then patted me on the back. “I used to run Aaron around the house in this all the time. He loved it. It’s perfectly safe. No worries. Besides, we’re heavily insured. You’d end up set for life if you were truly injured while in the Shipleys’ employ.”

  That did not make me feel any better. “Not if I’m dead!” I countered.

  “Relax, we’re here.” She stopped at a set of double doors at the end of a very long hallway and pulled out a set of keys from her apron. When I say a set of keys, I mean a ring filled with so many keys it could keep a locksmith with fattened pockets for another couple decades.

  With a quick flick of her wrist, she unlocked and opened both the doors. I slid off the cart onto my good foot and then tip-toed into the space. The taut skin still smarted, but the wine had helped.

  Once I got into the center of the room, I stopped and looked around. The room was gargantuan. It seemed to take up the entire end of this side of the mansion. It had to be two thousand square feet alone. Along two full walls was picture after picture of a dark-haired, blue-eyed young woman, spanning what looked like her teenaged years all the way to approximately her thirties. I slowly made my way to one of the walls and fingered a couple of the framed images. The woman shared an amazing resemblance with Aaron. In some of the photos, the young lady was holding Aaron, who looked no more than three or four.

  As I scanned the rest of the space there was a vanity set up. A brush, comb, makeup, and other lotions and perfumes sat, as if waiting for the woman who owned them to sit and prepare herself for a night out. Moving along the side, another area hosted a wide glass case. The case was at least six feet in length by two feet wide. Within were incredible sets of earrings, necklaces, bracelets, rings, the likes of which would be found in a high-end jewelry store. They were all top notch, obviously very expensive pieces that would sell for tens of thousands of dollars and possibly more.

  Farther down the room was rack after rack of women’s clothing. None of them had even a speck of dust on them even though they had to be decades old, yet they were hung as if ready to be worn by their owner.

  More things hugged the walls, books, knick-knacks, picture after picture of Aaron as a small boy, all the things that would have made a home were in this one room.

  “What is this place?” I asked Kathleen, practically losing my ability to speak as shock closed my throat, the words coming out whispered and breathy.

  Kathleen leaned against the vanity and traced the golden handled brush. “Exactly what it looks like.”

  With a sarcasm-laced tone, I responded. “Jesus Christ! It looks like a shrine to a dead woman.”

  “Ketty Shipley lives on, even though she’s been dead for twenty-five years.”

  Chapter 5

  “What the hell are you two doing in here?” The irate voice of none other than Warren Shipley growled behind me, and I spun around.

  “Um, I’m sorry, Mr. Shipley,” Kathleen started to explain, but I cut in.

  I shrugged and hopped over to him. “Sorry Warren. I got curious. It was the only door in the whole house that was locked. Now I know why. Kathleen was just telling me how inappropriate it was for me to enter your private space.” Plastering on an apologetic smile, I glanced at Kathleen then patted Warren’s chest as if what I saw was no big deal. It was. Huge in fact. “Your secret is safe with me.” I added and moved to the hallway. “Uh, my foot hurts, so I’m going to turn in.”

  Warren must have gotten over his shock at being caught with a shrine to his dead wife and stopped me with a hand to my arm. “What happened to you?”

  “Nothing. I lifted up my foot. The hall light shined on the black ink. “Got a tattoo today.”

  Apparently shock was an easy thing with this guy, for he gasped and held my foot aloft, taking a gander at the ink. I was getting tired of holding it up when he lifted me up in a princess hold and set me back on my cart. “Convenient this food cart with wheels is sitting right here, isn’t it?” His bushy eyebrows lowered in a frown.

  “Um, yeah. I was going to find the kitchen and make myself a meal but trying to hop on one foot and carry a plate would have been a disaster.” I smacked the metal cart and was satisfied when it made a gong noise. “Found this baby and voila! Figured it would work like a charm. Plus, I can lean against it and push off with my good foot.” I gave my best grin-pout combo.

  “Uh huh,” he mumbled, unconvinced. Based on his tone, I didn’t think he bought my layer of lies, but so far, he didn’t stop me.

  Kathleen however wasn’t about to play games. “Sorry, Mr. Shipley. I’ll take Mia back to her room to rest.”

  “I expect to see you back at my room so we can discuss this, Kitten.”

  Once we were out of earshot, I tipped my head back and looked at her upside-down as she pushed me along the hallways. “Kitten?”

  Her lips moved into that sweet, small smile. “Nothing out of you. You’re getting me in all kinds of trouble.”

  That got my attention. “Me!” I scoffed. “You’re the one that just had to show me how he wasn’t over the dead wife. That we got caught was all on you! I tried to save your ass.”

  Kathleen chuckled softly, and it sounded like tinkling little b
ells. “Oh sweetie, if I wanted my ass saved, I wouldn’t still be here after thirty years now would I? I’m perfectly happy with the location of my ass as it is.” There was an undertone of discontent. That shrine proved he was, in fact, not over Aaron’s mother. Maybe some people just never got over their first love. Shit, I hoped that wasn’t the case. I’d had a pretty shitty first love. I’d had a lot of pretty stellar dives in the crap pool that was my love life. Hopefully, God would take pity on me and send me the right man. The man that would take it all away and everything with him would just be…effortless.

  My phone buzzed in my back pocket, startlingly loud against the metal of the cart. Both Kathleen and I jumped out of our skin then laughed about the silliness of the situation. We’d been caught trespassing into a very whacked-out, secret space; she was pushing me around the McMansion on a food cart after I’d permanently marked my own body, and now we were scared of things that buzzed in the night. The scene was comical. No doubt we could make some money on Broadway with this shtick.

  When we reached my door, I thanked Kathleen for the lift, hopped into my room, and fell to the bed, phone in hand.

  To: Mia Saunders

  From: Wes Channing

  I dreamt about you last night. We were in my pool again. Sky was nothing but midnight and bright stars. You were laid out, legs spread wide and my mouth was doing that thing you loved. Remember that? Remember how easily I could make you melt. Make you come with just my mouth. God I miss that. Your taste on my tongue. Like pure honey. Tell me, are you thinking of me, right now?

  To: Wes Channing

  From: Mia Saunders

  Yes.

  To: Mia Saunders

  From: Wes Channing

  Prove it. Show me.

  Holy mother of hot men. I read Wes’s words at least five times. Enough that I felt twitchy, like my body was roasting from the inside out. He wanted me to show him. I’d never sexted before. The idea had some serious merit. I was horny, and he obviously was. What would it hurt? That little voice inside my head that said this would only complicate things prodded at my subconscious like a woodpecker against the trunk of a tree.

  Tap, tap…tap, tap…tap, tap.

  Like the idiot I was, I pulled out a mental BB gun and shot that woodpecker off its perch, shimmied out of my clothes leaving nothing on but my bra and panties. A hot pink set that had scalloped lace edges. He was going to lose his mind at this getup. Holding the phone at my chin, I crossed my legs making sure they looked casual yet sexy in the soft light and took a picture.

  To: Wes Channing

  From: Mia Saunders

  How’s this?

  I sent the picture and started caressing my thighs with just the tips of my fingers, running them up and down my legs and higher. Once I reached my breasts, I cupped them and squeezed more roughly than I would normally, but I was imagining the way Wes would touch them. He couldn’t get enough of my body and often, when he was insane with lust, he’d hold onto me like I was the last woman on Earth. Roughly and with manly intent. I loved those times. They made me feel desired, wanted, like nothing in the world would come between us.

  The phone pinged and I scrambled to lift it up. Oh sweet baby Jesus and all things good, kind and delicious.

  To: Mia Saunders

  From: Wes Channing

  Now you’ve made me hard.

  The picture he attached mimicked mine only he was in a pair of swim trunks that were delightfully tented. His abs were on full display, and at that moment, I would have given anything to run my tongue along each ridge of muscle, especially the very large appendage raising his shorts.

  Wetness pooled between my thighs. Ribbons of heat and desire roared through my limbs. I rubbed my thighs against one another, attempting to relieve some of the tension, but the friction just added to the need.

  To: Wes Channing

  From: Mia Saunders

  I wish you were here. I’d take care of that big problem you’ve got.

  To: Mia Saunders

  From: Wes Channing

  Would you now? Looks like we’re going to have to use our imaginations. Starting with your hands. Pull down the cups of your bra and touch your breasts. Christ, they’re sexy and soft. Remember how it felt when I’d push the fabric down and lift each one to my mouth. How I’d bite just enough to get you squirming. Pinch those sweet pink tips for me. Wet your fingertips and start soft then hard just like I would.

  Jeez Louise. The man was three thousand miles away and had the power to make me come with just a simple text. Lost in the haze of lust that only Wes could pull off from this distance, I pressed down the fabric of my bra. My breasts were full, heavy, and ready to be worshipped. Licking my fingertips, I closed my eyes and swirled them around the erect peaks. Then, like he said, I wrapped thumb and forefinger around the tips and tugged, elongating them before pinching the tissue. I cried out at the intense sensation that rippled through my chest to settle heavily between my thighs. The material of my panties was soaked, my pussy clenching around nothing but air, feeling empty, needing to be filled.

  Another text came through.

  To: Mia Saunders

  From: Wes Channing

  Are you wet, sweetheart? Achy, ready to be fucked hard?

  My fingers fumbled and my breath came in heavy pants as I typed back.

  To: Wes Channing

  From: Mia Saunders

  This is torture.

  To: Mia Saunders

  From: Wes Channing

  I know baby, but just stay with me. Slide your hands down your tiny waist. Swirl a finger around your belly button and tickle the skin the way I did. You remember? Of course you do. Slide that hand down to where you miss me most, but don’t enter that bit of heaven just yet. Play with your hot, little clit. I’ll bet it’s hard as a rock for me. Small, tight, rounded flesh. If I was there, I’d lick it until you came. I’d swirl my tongue around that hot button of nerves and suck so hard your legs would clamp around my head, caging me in, keeping me there. Play with yourself now.

  Gone. Completely lost in the fantasy, I did exactly what he said. Tickled my stomach, sliding a wet fingertip around my naval the way he’d lick me on his path to what he called heaven. My breath was labored, coming in soft pants. I could feel the wisps of hair against the tingling tips of my breasts, jutting out, the nipples zipping with the need to be touched, sucked and bitten. Slowly, I allowed my hand to trail beneath the lace covering my sex. Wet. Practically dripping. Only Wes was capable of doing that to me. Just words in a text turned me into a melting pot of pure need. The need for him to touch me. Taste me. Make love to me.

  Doing as he said, I played with my clit. Flicking the little button teasingly the way Wes always did before he went to town.

  Another text came in.

  To: Mia Saunders

  From: Wes Channing

  I’m imagining your taste and stroking my cock thinking of you, of your pussy. Your cunt would be warm, sweet, and juicy like a peach off the tree. Remember how I’d cover as much of that tasty pussy as I could with my mouth and suck on you…

  Oh fuck. His words lit a fire so hot it was burning through three thousand miles of space. I continued reading while pinching my clit, tugging on it, rocking my hips back and forth.

  To: Mia Saunders

  From: Wes Channing

  Suck so hard you’d scream. And when you came, I’d start all over again. By the time I was done with you, your cunt would be crying to be filled. Is it that way now? Ready for my dick? I’ll bet it is. I know that greedy pussy. It wants to be jammed full of hard cock. Don’t be shy. Push two fingers in hard, sweetheart. Pretend it’s me thrusting into you that first time.

  I couldn’t stop. It was as if I was a marionette and he the puppet master. I shoved two fingers in hard, just like he instructed and cried out at the small sting of the fast intrusion. The pain only lasted a second. It was just enough to trick my mind into thinking he’d entered me, except that two fingers were a very small c
omparison to Wes’s package. Right now, it would have to do.

  To: Mia Saunders

  From: Wes Channing

  Do your fingers feel good sweetheart? Not as good as it would feel to have me there. Now thrust those fingers in and out. Take your other hand and pluck that little clit I love to nibble on. Fuck yourself until you come. Come for me, sweetheart.

  I was helpless to resist. My fingers moved on autopilot, my mind using the images he’d conjured. Tingles broke out over my skin as a fine mist of sweat tickled the surface. Every pore gasped with the intensity of pleasure ripping through my system. Heat built until pleasure coiled low, spiraling from the center and out until nothing but sparks of multicolored lights blasted across my closed eyelids. As the orgasm took hold, its claws scratched and shredded along my nerves until the euphoric edge hit home and the release splintered through me.

  A few more jerks, my hips arched off the bed, and the newly inked skin screamed in agony as the last dredges of bliss spiraled along each limb. I finally came down into a lifeless heap.

  To: Mia Saunders

  From: Wes Channing

  You asleep?

  I laughed at Wes’s last text.

  To: Wes Channing

  From: Mia Saunders

  Sorry. You took me for quite the solo ride.

  To: Mia Saunders

  From: Wes Channing

  I was right there with you, sweetheart. You weren’t alone. Came harder imagining you touching yourself thinking of me, than I have since Chicago.

  And that’s all it took to pop the pristine little bubble of happiness he’d created for me.

  Chicago.

  That was the last time we’d been together physically. Three long months ago. Since then, I’d had a booty call with Alec and a month with Tai. All the while, he’d been with the sultry actress, the same one that all the celebrity mags were calling this year’s most beautiful woman alive. And my Wes was fucking her. Regularly. It was only a matter of time before he cut me loose. Maybe I should make it easier for him. Cut him loose first.