A Grand Seduction Read online

  Twyla sighed. “It’s tough on the ego to get your mystique blown out of the water. Trust me, I know.”

  Brows rose. “Oh?”

  “I was more vixen than Martha Stewart before I married and had kids, you know.”

  The snorting laugh in reply was thankfully drowned out by the sound of Twyla’s car horn. Brakes flopped Ridelle several inches forward. “Damn Fiat. Nearly clipped my fender.”

  “Still,” her passenger went on, “in penance for her crime of non-passion, shouldn’t Dom be the one on this goose chase?”

  “She did the initial phone contact, but thought we’d be less obtrusive face to face.”

  “Meaning she’s hot and we’re plain. Dom does cut quite a path, though. She’s hard to forget.”

  “Mmm.”

  “Just where did she find this ‘contact,’ anyway?” Ridelle poked at a cell phone in her lap, each button press bleeping her conversation like a network censor.

  “Some friend volunteers at the battered women’s shelter. Talked a ‘confidential’ name out of her.”

  “Good old Dom.”

  Twyla nodded to the box in Ridelle’s lap. “How’s the new phone coming along?”

  Ridelle punched in a few keys, then frowned. “How come these things always work perfect straight out of the box in the movies?”

  “They don’t. Not in horror movies, anyway. Otherwise, the victims would all get away.”

  “True. I mean, what if Dee Wallace Stone had an iPhone in Cujo? She could have called the cops, watched a video, and had pizza delivered to the car while she was hiding from the evil dog.” More button pushing got her nowhere. “Maybe we shouldn’t have plugged this thing into your car adapter.”

  “Here, let me.” Twyla reached over and plucked the device from Ridelle’s hand, dividing her attention between the wheel and cellular service.

  “Christ, Twyla, should you be doing that? I’d rather not get pulled over right now, not to mention I’d rather be phoneless than headless.”

  “There.” She held the phone out in a flourish. “You locked the keypad.”

  “I did?”

  Sheepish, she took the phone back and conversation ceased while she dialed a number, then followed an automated set of instructions for activating the service. At the end, she carefully jotted down the cell number on the back of a utility bill sitting up near the windshield. This phone was key to their disguise—that and the phony names they were about to give.

  A dusk as grimy as the lower intestine of the city they were in dropped over the sky as they pulled over a block from the 39th Street Shelter. “You’re sure this will work?” Twyla asked.

  Ridelle shrugged. “Guess we’re about to find out.””

  Both put on oversized sunglasses, and Ridelle pulled on a ball cap swiped from one of her brothers. Twyla shoved her locks under a floppy straw hat. Ridelle waited while Twyla locked a security club over the steering wheel, jerking a look back over her shoulder every few seconds.

  “Didn’t know you had one of those things,” Ridelle nodded to the steel bar now on the wheel.

  “Don’t usually need it.”

  “Thieves can defeat those.”

  “I’m Lojacked and alarmed, too.” She shut the door, then pressed her keychain.

  Ridelle rolled her eyes. “Can we go now, please, before it gets darker and I get any older? Or did you need to put individual padlocks on all the lug nuts first?”

  Twyla shot her a look as they swept up the dirty sidewalk toward the women’s shelter, where some of the lower side retreated—if they were lucky enough to find room—from the harsher reaches of domestic hell.

  Twyla shook her head. “Christ. Women find this a safe haven?”

  “Sad, isn’t it?” Ridelle snugged her cap down against a stiff breeze that caught the bill. “To think this is preferable to where they have to live.” She glanced sideways at her friend. “By the way, have you listened to your mouth lately? Your language has gotten a bit on the salty side.”

  Twyla shrugged. “Must be the company I keep.”

  Ridelle grinned. “We’re not such a fucking bad influence, are we?”

  “Oh no, not at all. You walk into a grindhouse, open your mouth, and bikers go hide in a corner. Then there’s the fact that I’ve been roped into disguising myself so we can hire a hooker.”

  “I believe the term is ‘marital infidelity facilitator,’ thank you,” Ridelle said. “Everyone has to have a politically correct job title these days.”

  The conversation found them in front of the shelter, where a nervous twist of a girl sat stooped over on the front steps. The two women paused, shooting sideways glances at each other from behind their monster shades. Twyla drew forward.

  “Alana?”

  The girl unfolded herself from the cracked cement steps. Hidden just beneath her stringy, forlorn exterior lurked an attractive enough girl. A bit of attention to hair and makeup could elevate her to a knockout. “Call me Lanie. You’re them, right?”

  Twyla nodded. “I’m Cindy.” She jerked a thumb at Ridelle. “She’s Angel. Were we that obvious?”

  The girl shrugged near-bony shoulders. “You don’t really match the neighborhood décor.”

  “The hat didn’t help?” Ridelle-slash-Angel flicked the bill of her red cap with two fingers.

  “Doesn’t matter. You both smell uptown.”

  Down state was more like it, but they weren’t about to mention it. If she thought of them as more Madison Avenue, all the better.

  “Is there somewhere we can talk?” Twyla’s voice was sweet, but affected a pseudo tone that was not quite her own. It was Cindy’s.

  Lanie jerked her head toward the shelter. “In here.”

  “It’s not too, well, busy?”

  “Not really. I have my own room for the moment.”

  They followed her through a dim maze of second and third hand furnishings. Two women seated in the living room jerked their heads up in surprise, but sank back into glamour magazines. Lanie ushered her guests up a narrow flight of creaky steps and pushed open the first door on the right.

  “Home sweet not home,” she said, plopping down on a striped cot with a crocheted blanket strewn over it. “Cindy” sat on a folding chair in the corner while “Angel” shut the door behind them. She opted to seat herself on the opposite end of the cot.

  Dominique apparently laid the groundwork well, for Lanie spared them any need for a tactful lead-in. “I need money, fast,” she said. “As you can guess, things aren’t lining up in the spectacular column for me right now. I want the hell out of this piss pot, and your friend on the phone said you can help. Are you guys gonna keep those sunglasses on in here, or what?”

  The sudden topic change shot guilty looks between the other two.

  “Our eyes are real sensitive to light,” Angel said. “So how much do you know about what we’re offering?”

  The girl scratched dirty blonde hair. “Just that you will pay me a thousand bucks to make friends with some guy.”

  “And we need proof that you’ve been real friendly,” Angel added. “Pictures.”

  The girl shrugged. “Right, so you’ll know I didn’t skip out. No big.”

  “Something like that.”

  “And that’s okay with you?” Cindy leaned forward, clasping her hands together. “We don’t want you to feel pressured into anything.”

  Lanie waved a hand around to indicate the room. “Honey, take a look at my life. What you’re offering isn’t pressure—it’s the release valve. And it’s not the first time I’ve done something, you know, creative to make a buck. This is a whole lot of bucks, so I’m prepared to be downright artistic.” She leaned back against the wall. “Then I’m gone from here, so this is a one-time deal. I’m never hooking up with another bastard who thinks kicking a woman in the gut is high entertainment.”

  The room fell into momentary silence.

  “So,” Lanie said, interrupting the women’s disturbing imagery,
“where and when do I meet Mr. Right-for-now?”

  Climbing back into the SUV not long after, Ridelle doffed her cap and shook out her flattened hair. “That was a lot easier than I thought.”

  Twyla twisted the ignition key. “Desperate times call for questionable measures, I guess. Thank God we’ll never be in her shoes.”

  The girl snorted. “Maybe not, but I did the same thing she’s about to do, and I wasn’t desperate.”

  “Sure you were.” Twyla threw a look over her shoulder before pulling away from dank reality. “Desperate to help a friend.” A wry grin twisted the corner of her mouth. “Angel.”

  “So who’s taking the photos?” Ridelle asked.

  “Frannie’s going to tail her to the bar. If they hook up, she’ll follow them to Chez Cheap Rendezvous.” Silent thought descended for a few moments as Twyla navigated them back to their regularly scheduled lives.

  “Think she’ll pull it off?”

  “She needs the money. I’m betting she’ll find a way.”

  “Almost seems too easy, doesn’t it?”

  Twyla blinked. “Clandestine meetings in shady neighborhoods, phony cell phones and disguises? Lady, if this is too easy, I’d hate to see your idea of difficult.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Lanie glanced around the dingy room, a dry, nervous tickle gathering at the back of her throat as she dropped her purse on the marred table just inside the door.

  Dirt, tobacco, and must gathered in her nostrils. That and the hourly rate the guy had paid declared this place six stars short of a five-star motel. The guy Chester had retreated to take a piss as soon as they’d hit the room, giving her a few moments to set the stage as instructed.

  “This is it, baby girl,” she whispered. “Wham, bam, collect and go.”

  Kicking off her shoes, she moved over to shabby blackout drapes covering the window and parted them open a slit. Not enough for her half-drunk date to care, but enough to make him a star on camera. Why exactly photos were required hadn’t been divulged, and Lanie didn’t give a crap. He was probably some politician or church official Angel and Cindy was about to blackmail for taking a walk on the wild side. Who fucking cared? Just so long as she got her cut.

  Moving over to the far side of the room, she flipped on the bedside lamp. Only one of the two bulbs winked on. She pulled her sweater over her head, and her bra quickly followed.

  A toilet flush announced Chester’s return just moments before his groping hands did. Turning to face him, she saw that his pants had stayed behind in the bathroom. His cock strained toward her, craning its neck to gain access to the snatch she suspected was about to cost him a great deal more than he would get in return. Damn, he was huge. One point in his favor.

  “Mmm,” he said as his gaze dipped to her naked torso. “God, look at those. You’ve got amazing tits.”

  The sour tang of booze carried to her across his graveled whisper as both hands moved over her, stroking her nipples as his penis grazed her pubic hair. The man was twenty years her senior, drunk, and a bit hairy for her taste, but she had to admit his cock’s girth was the most impressive she’d ever seen. What would that monster feel like thrusting inside her? That and the way he first circled, then pinched her nipples was a trademark move that was actually getting her hot.

  Lowering his head, his tongue lashed out to claim the bud of a stiff nipple, and she threw her head back in surrender. Both of them were a bit unsteady from booze, and they swayed together as she gripped the back of his head and urged him to sample the other breast.

  “Easy, babe.” He pulled back, yanking his shirt off and nodding gruffly to her jeans. Soon, they were both naked and Lanie was pushed back onto the bed.

  “I can’t wait, darlin’.” He rolled her over on top of him and sat her where the monster between his thighs throbbed and beckoned. “Lean those babies over my face and fuck me. Now.”

  Something about the desperation in his voice at the word now sent a spasm of pleasure through her, and she felt her wetness slick over him as she slid herself up. His cock rested much higher on his stomach than she’d expected. Truth was, she hadn’t had a decent fuck in a long time, and never from a man who sounded this desperate to have her.

  Lifting up on her thighs, she reached for his bulk and settled it on her slit, rubbing it back and forth for a blissfully wet moment until it found her entrance. Once the tip had stretched her lips wide, she allowed herself to sink downward into heaven. Every inch found nerve endings she never knew existed, and goose bumps hardened like tingly nipples all along her arms. He moaned in pleasure while her eyes rolled back in ecstasy. God, that cock! And she was getting paid for this?

  Leaning forward, her breasts spilled into greedy hands for milking as she rubbed her clitoris against him. Rocking her hips forward, her breath caught over the spike of a new sensation. Ahh.

  She tipped back, then rocked forward. Oh, hell, yes. There it was again.

  She cried out and plunged downward again, legs shaking. So that’s what all the fuss over a G spot was about? No wonder.

  He gripped her by the sides of the hips, pushing her down until he touched her very core. “Come on, baby,” he said. She pumped faster. “That’s right. Fuck this cock hard. Jesus, yes.”

  The obvious effect she was having on him doubled her excitement, and soon sent orgasm swirling on the verge of release. She rarely came from fucking alone, and never this fast. God, being on top was quite a thing. Why had no man ever allowed her this before? Maybe it wasn’t good for the guy. Then again, Chester certainly seemed to enjoy it.

  The ride of her life exploded into orgasm. “Fuck yes, Chester,” she shouted. “I’m coming!”

  She was still riding out the climax into heaven when hell itself arrived. The door rocketed open, ushering in a woman who was too well groomed to be the maid. Her eyes flamed with brimstone and her nostrils were flared. Shit. This couldn’t be good.

  Lanie’s hands flew to cover her breasts, though hiding her upper half seemed absurd in comparison to what her genitals were currently doing. At the sound of Chester’s sucked-in breath, she turned back to see his expression resembled that of a panicked cat cornered in the vet’s neutering room. She knew that look. For fuck’s sake, the guy was married. Seems her guardian angels had forgotten to mention that little detail.

  “Honey, please,” he begged the new arrival. With one gruff shove, his cock flopped out of Lanie and she rolled twat over teakettle to the floor. “I know what you’re thinking, but don’t.”

  “Oh, I doubt you have any idea what I’m thinking.” The woman’s tone was edged with steel. “But here’s a clue.”

  Just as Lanie rose, clutching a sheet to the front of her body, her paramour’s tone took on a pleading, desperate note. “Oh, Jesus,” he said. “Jesus, no. This isn’t anything, baby. You know you’re the one I love.”

  Her eyes flew wide as she spotted the reason for his full-blown hysteria. The silvery glint of a gun was pointed at his chest.

  “Goodbye, Chester.”

  “No!” Lanie shrieked.

  The pop of the gun roared through her head, hands instinctively going to her ears even as part of her thought she should be dropping flat on the ground along with the abandoned sheet instead. Unfortunately, everything was frozen in place except her head, which despite better judgment turned to see the results of his wife’s vengeance. Bile leapt to her throat at the red, meaty hole in his hairy chest. His eyes were open, but the man behind them had already left this world. Tears blurred a closer examination, but it was the thought of death’s messenger still lurking that whipped her head back toward the door.

  The two regarded each other for a moment, silent. Should she say something? Try to calm the wife—or rather, widow—down? When nervous, Lanie normally blabbered like a retard. Now, her mouth refused to work. The woman eyed her naked body up and down. Judging. Lanie’s cheeks grew hot under the scrutiny, and she couldn’t remember a time when she’d felt quite so dirty. Th
en the appraising eyes narrowed, followed by a sight even uglier than the bloody corpse whose cock she’d just been bouncing on. The barrel of the gun swiveled in her direction.

  “No,” she said, taking a step back and stifling a choked sob. “Please. I didn’t know he had a wife. I didn’t know him at all. I swear. I’m so sorry.”

  The woman’s eyes flashed, and Lanie watched in disbelief as a smartly gloved finger twitched back against the trigger. Panic gave way to resignation, which struck her as odd. Guess that was how it was when death was inevitable.

  Then gun quivered as Lanie’s body relaxed into a flood of peace. She closed her eyes, certain she was about to say an eternal goodnight. Then another odd thing happened—nothing.

  When she finally risked opening her eyes, the woman was gone.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Flashing red lights strobed across her face as Lanie gave her statement to police outside the room where the body still lay. Their arrival seemed out of sorts with time, as though a sci-fi transporter had beamed them to the murder scene within seconds of the widow’s departure. In truth, she realized she must have been in shock. After all, the police had found her already dressed, something she didn’t remember doing. The blood-spattered sheet she’d held briefly against herself had been traded for the slutwear that had helped get her into this mess.

  And what a mess it was turning out to be.

  “So, this other woman,” an officer who was gorgeous enough to eat said. “What did she look like again?”

  “I don’t know exactly. She looked…expensive.” The cop raised a brow. “You know, fancy clothes. A hat. Older.”

  “She shot him from just inside the doorway, then was going to shoot you,” he went on. “Then she just left?”

  “Yes.”

  He scribbled notes on a pad, head bobbing like a chicken picking up feed. “And she didn’t say anything to you?”

  She shook her head. “She just told the guy—Chester—that he didn’t know what she was thinking. Then she said goodbye. Right before.”

  “And Chester was your boyfriend?”