Great-Aunt Sophia's Lessons for Bombshells (14 page)

Her lips formed an
O
of innocence. “But I’ve never been in a
car like this. It feels so
different
from anything else. Can you blame me for being intrigued?”

He smiled despite himself.

He glanced over at her just as they drove over a small bump, making her breasts bounce. His cock stirred, and in a desperate attempt to focus his mind elsewhere he told her about the car: the old barn full of disused vehicles, the eccentric owner, the damage done by rats, chickens, possums, moisture. Encouraged by her ahs and nods and prodding questions, he yammered on for fifteen miles, until the tight turns of Highway One with its sheer drop-offs into the Pacific Ocean gave him a more demanding distraction from her breasts. As full of jiggling delight as those breasts were, they weren’t worth driving off a cliff for.

Almost, but not quite.

Grace listened to the car talk with half an ear, most of Declan’s story unintelligible to her with its talk of the differential, valves, and manifolds. She’d enjoyed the bit about the rats nesting in the seat stuffing, but there were no romantic tales of former owners or
Topper
esque ghosts to turn the car into more than a beautiful hunk of metal for her. When not focused on the corset presently cutting off the circulation below her waist, her mind wandered to the views of water and man.

More interesting than the car itself was the light in Declan’s eyes as he talked about it. With his eyes shining behind his sunglasses and his posture tense with enthusiasm, one hand leaving the wheel to gesture excitedly, it was easy to forget for a moment that she loathed him. He was gorgeous, a hunky man-god full of joy, and he obviously loved the Jaguar with a pure, artless passion.

Had he ever felt that way about a woman?

A wash of doubt hit her. Even with Sophia’s help, it was crazy
to think
she
could be the one to finally break his impervious heart. Falling in love couldn’t be forced. People had tried to control the hearts of others for centuries and never succeeded.

What were her real chances of success? In Sophia’s presence, anything seemed possible. Alone out here with Declan, though . . .

She remembered the feel of his arousal against her thigh, that night on the couch. He hadn’t faked
that
. So it was possible he was attracted to her, at least as much as he was attracted to any woman.

Grace also had confidence in her ability to learn. If she could learn calculus and to play the piano, she could learn to seduce a man—body and soul. How hard could it be? If your average gold-digging bimbo could do it, surely she could, too, especially when being taught by a master like Sophia.

No goal was worth attaining if it came too easily.

The car conversation with Declan had flagged, which Sophia had warned would happen. “Don’t fill silences with chatter,” she’d warned. “Men don’t want to hear it. Find something to ask him about that truly interests you—about himself, his work, the sports he plays, or his opinion or knowledge of the world. If you can’t think of anything to ask, make eye contact and smile, and tell him what a marvelous time you’re having.

“The most important part of today’s lesson,” Sophia had gone on, “is that when you are with a man, he feels he is responsible for everything that happens, from the weather to the traffic to your happiness. Each of your smiles and frowns will be taken personally, even if you’re smiling because you saw a pretty dress in a shop window. He’s the one who took you by the window, so he’ll take credit for the smile. The converse is that everything bad must be ignored by you. If you get in a car accident, praise him for his
quick thinking that kept it from being worse. If you get stung by a bee, say the sting is to help you remember such a lovely afternoon.”

“Isn’t that kind of transparent?” Grace had asked.

Sophia laughed. “Darling. Men see what they want to see, and they all want to believe they are gods in the eyes of women.”

Grace looked over at Declan, and when he glanced at her she smiled. “It’s a beautiful day.”

He nodded.

“It’s
glorious
!” she cried, flinging her hands into the air.

“It’s not
that
exciting,” he grumbled.

“Are you kidding?” she demanded, beginning to believe it as she said it. “This is everyone’s dream of California—driving down Highway One in a convertible, the sun shining, a handsome guy at the wheel. What more could I ask?”

A self-satisfied smile pulled at the corner of his mouth, a dimple pressing into his cheek. “It
is
a nice day for a drive.”

It worked! Sophia was right, he was mentally taking credit for the weather, the road, everything. Sophia was a genius!

Her self-confidence high, Grace set a mini goal for herself: by the end of this outing, she’d get Declan to kiss her. Not a peck-on-the-cheek kiss, either, but a real full-contact tongue thruster.

She grinned. She’d have him dancing for treats by the time she was done with him.

The road noise meant conversation was on a semi-shouted level, so Grace was content to let Declan play tour guide, pointing out the occasional landmark. The more she smiled and nodded and asked innocuous questions designed for him to display his knowledge of the area, the more relaxed he seemed to become, so that by the time they looped back through farmland, toward Monterey, he was driving with his elbow on the door and an easy grin on his lips.

Grace had started to enjoy herself as well, and not just in seeing how well she could control Declan’s mood. He was a good guide, telling entertaining anecdotes and reciting snippets of history about the places they passed. She was surprised that he almost came across as . . . charming.

Perish the thought!

Eventually, though, Grace’s empty stomach began to complain that they’d been driving for at least forty minutes, and her jolly mood began to fade. She was
hungry
, as only a half-starved dieter postworkout could be. She hoped Declan remembered that lunch had been part of his offer.

Grace surreptitiously wedged a finger into the top of her lavender corset, trying to relieve some of the binding pressure. “Comfortable,” her ass, although it did make her feel strangely sexy to have her waist pinched in and to know what a naughty pair of panties she wore. It just didn’t seem right that a girl could be squished to the point of numbness by her overconstructed underwear but still have enough space in her stomach to feel hungry. At least they were headed west, which meant back toward civilization. Lunch couldn’t be far behind.

Just as her mouth began to water at the thought of a basket of warm, soft sourdough bread smeared with butter, Declan turned off the main route onto a side road.

“There’s something I want to show you,” he said.

“Great!” Grace said faintly. They left vineyards behind and traveled up into grassy hills cut through by ravines thick with pine.

They passed a few houses, and fields fenced with barbed wire holding the occasional drowsy cow or horse. Declan slowed the car to a crawl as the road deteriorated, and without the sixty-mile-per-hour breeze Grace began to feel the heat of the sun on her head and shoulders. Sweat popped out between skin and
corset, and she suddenly wished she had that big bottle of water Cyndee kept trying to force down her throat.

At last he pulled off to the side of the road and parked near an opening in a fence. The engine died and Declan got out. “Are you up for a short hike?” he asked, coming around to her side and opening her door.

Grace put her feet in their high-heeled sandals on the rough ground. “Sure!” she lied, and resigned herself to dusty feet and ruined shoes, and lunch being far away. She followed him into the field, eyes on the ground, stepping carefully in the long golden grass that still held touches of springtime green.

Were there rattlesnakes in this part of the country? Ticks? Ground-dwelling wasps or yellow jackets? She and the outdoors usually got on fine as cordial acquaintances, but she felt vulnerable, wobbling precariously in her open-toed shoes. When a bird burst from the grass nearby, she jumped and nearly lost her balance, grabbing Declan’s arm for support and emitting what she had to admit was a squeal.

Note for further research: which came first, the helpless damsel or the ridiculous shoes?
She could devise an entire study around personality changes in women depending upon their footwear for the day.

“Are you okay?” Declan asked.

“Yes, sorry,” she said, letting go of his arm. “Lost my balance for a moment.” She remembered Sophia’s advice and, smiling, added, “Thanks for catching me.”

He took her hand and put it back in the crook of his arm. “Just a little bit farther, I promise.”

“No worries,” she said, but couldn’t think of anything both positive and believable to add. She was too hot and hungry to be clever.

As they entered an area of flattened grass, he picked a broken wooden stake with a fluorescent pink streamer from the ground.
“What the—?” he muttered, then looked out over the field around them, which dropped away down a long, gradual slope to the valley below. “Stay here a minute, will you?” he asked, and jogged off.

Standing motionless and alone, Grace finally became aware of the countryside around her. The vineyards and farms through which they’d driven stretched across the rolling valley and up the lower slopes of hills, their man-made regularity blending easily into the softness of nature. Sounds enfolded her in quiet layers: the sough of the faint breeze over the grass, crickets chirping, the scratching of a bird that landed on the flattened grass and poked for food; the distant, fading rumble of a tractor. It was a beautiful, peaceful place, and she wished she were in a better mood to appreciate it.

Declan was halfway down the slope, picking another broken stake out of the grass. He tossed it aside and took out his cell phone.

Grace could feel sweat trickling down her temple and between her breasts and prickling on her upper lip. Her hands were getting the tight, overstuffed-sausage feeling that always came with heat. Hunger, thirst, the bright light, and her high ponytail conspired to threaten her with a monster headache, and in hopes of defeating at least one of them she reached up and pulled the elastic from her hair, letting the red waves fall around her shoulders. Her scalp thanked her even as her nape protested the warmth.

She found a safe-looking patch of flattened grass and sat down, unbuckling the torturous shoes and setting them aside. Ticks and snakes be damned, her poor suffering body couldn’t take it anymore.

She stretched her legs in front of her and leaned back on her hands, the relaxed posture giving her a bit of space in her corset.
A breeze swept over her, cooling the moisture on her face, and she closed her eyes. If she sat very still, maybe she wouldn’t melt.

Declan’s voice carried to her, a deep, irritated murmur as he talked to someone on the phone. A few minutes later she heard him approaching, but didn’t open her eyes until he sat beside her on the grass. “So what’s going on?” she asked.

“Bored kids, I hope,” he said. He was sitting with his knees up, his arms resting atop them. “All the survey stakes have been pulled up and scattered.”

“Scattering stakes doesn’t sound very entertaining, even for bored kids. What is this place?”

“It’s the future home of a hundred and twenty middle-income families, if I can pull it together, and if wrongheaded environmentalists don’t muck it up.”

“A housing development, here?” she asked, appalled. “But it’s so beautiful! Why would you destroy it?”

“People need homes.”

“Let them live closer to town! Why erase an open space like this?” Aunt Sophia’s voice was in the back of her head, scolding her for her negative tone, but she couldn’t hold back the words.

“It’s relatively cheap land.”

“So you’ll make a bigger profit, at the expense of the environment?” she cried.

“No . . . ,” he said with exaggerated slowness, as if speaking to a dim-witted child. “Because middle-income families cannot afford homes built on expensive land. The people who work in the Monterey area can’t afford to live there.”

She shook her head. “There has to be a better solution.”

“I welcome you to try to find it. In the meantime, I trust you won’t stick your nose into business you don’t understand.”

She made a noise of disgust. “So why did you bring me here, anyway? You had to have guessed what I would think.”

“I thought you might enjoy the view,” he said flatly.

“Oh.” He’d been trying to be nice and, she realized belatedly, he had been showing her a part of his life. She swallowed further argument, though the taste was bitter, and tried to think flattering thoughts. “It
is
a lovely view. I wouldn’t mind having a house that looked out on it myself.”

He slanted an assessing look at her. “It’s not going to be a bunch of tract homes, you know. If all the funding and approval come through, we’re going to build a sustainable community with shared common spaces and vegetable gardens. There will be gray-water recapture, solar-heated water, we’re investigating innovative building materials like straw bales . . . all things that will bite into profit, but will result in a model community that could be emulated throughout the country.”

“So why are environmentalists on your case, when it’s such a green project?” she asked.

“Because they’re zealots who think it’s a sin to build a house!”

Grace murmured noncommittally, suspecting there was more to it than that. However green the development, it would still mean that this quiet hillside would be covered in a crusty scab of houses. “Well, whatever the case, I’m sure you’re more than a match for them.”

“Your friend Dr. Andrew is one of them.”

“Really?” she squeaked, perking up, then catching herself. The last thing she wanted was for Declan to sense her interest in Dr. Andrew. “But he’s not my friend. I’ve only seen him once since the day I arrived, and he was in serious doctor mode, costume and all.”

Declan chuckled and shook his head. “Sophia.”