Hair of the Dog (9 page)

She
got
his feelings of guilt and betrayal, admiring
his loyalty even. Not enough to let him off the hook though. She wanted to feel
what she’d felt in her office earlier that day. Only more. Longer. Twice.
Without her panties on. He’d gotten off way too easy. Or, rather, she’d gotten
off way too easy. Ivy wanted his lips and tongue and talented fingers where the
sun don’t shine.

“Seen it.” He held up two fingers. “Twice. Not much for a
widower to do around here on a lonely Saturday night. And they don’t change the
feature nearly enough to suit me.”

Batting her eyelashes at him, she said, “We could play
Yahtzee or watch TV.” All three channels, one right after the other.

“Please tell me we have more than just this.” He took the
condoms from her. “More than just sex.”

“You know we do.” Laying her hand flat against his chest,
her hand skimmed up to curve around his shoulder and cup the back of his neck.
“And after we explore this, we’ll explore that.” Ivy tilted her head right, and
then left to punctuate this and that.

“Fair enough.” His lips claimed hers.

Their bodies fused as one with heat and need. Together they
walked, stumbled and shuffled to the stairs, stumbling like a couple who should
have practiced more for a three-legged race. The stairs created a bigger
problem as they tripped up to the landing where Ivy collapsed to the floor,
laughing, taking Grant with her. They grappled with one another, wrestling to
be on top before getting up and tackling the remainder of the steps. If it
weren’t for the cold, hardwood floor, she would have settled for the hallway.
And settled for being on the bottom.

In his bedroom, they came apart as if demagnetized. “Will
you be okay with this?” she asked, glancing at the bed, which was covered with
an earth-toned comforter that looked more like what a man would choose, rather
than a bedcover a woman might pick.

They stood staring at each other in the room he’d once
shared with his wife. Both Grant and Ivy breathed heavy standing there in
various states of undress and equal levels of arousal. She’d lost some clothes
on the stairs. Grant had shed a layer in the hall. What they still wore in the
way of clothes hung in disarray.

“I…I bought a new bed…and bedding.” He scrubbed a hand over
his jaw. “Couldn’t sleep in the old one without her.”

His words touched her heart. She desperately wanted someone
to long for her all the way to the afterlife. Not that she wanted to die. And
Grant couldn’t possibly possess the capacity to worship two women so
completely. This was lust, pure and simple. For him, anyhow. Poor guy was in a
sorry state of sexual deprivation.
I’ll take it
.

Ivy swaddled him with her appendages. “No regrets. Okay?”

Kissing her soundly, he replied, “Okay.”

“No weirdness or promises or awkward attempts to avoid each
other after,” she added.

“How about breakfast?” he asked between searing kisses. “Can
I make you breakfast in the morning? You’ll stay…all night? You’ll be here in
the morning?” Holding her close, caressing her gently, he made his confession.
“I can’t sneak and hide, Ivy. I’d be no good at it. I’m wearing my feeling for
you smack dab on my face for all to see.”

I could hide. I would hide
. If that’s what he wanted,
for her to be his dirty little secret. She’d settle for that. “I’ll stay,
unless you snore.” A lie. She’d stay if he snored like an air raid siren.
Without further ado, she tossed the condoms on the bedside table and plopped
down at the end of the bed. Ivy reached around to unhook her bra.

“Let me. Please.” He helped himself, not waiting for any
further answer than her hands falling away from the task.

Ivy eased back onto the mattress and raised her tingling
legs. Must be from the topical hair remover she’d used earlier to make her legs
smooth enough for a tongue-lashing, she decided. Grant needed no instruction or
secret hand signal. He skimmed her panties off, dropping them to the floor.
Gently, he eased her knees apart. What normally would have raised a blush in
her cheeks, namely his undivided attention on her exposed vagina, instead sent
a torrent of heat to the area. Yes, he’d been there before, between her legs,
but it had been darker and he’d been drunker. The situation had been frenzied
and spontaneous.

“I’ve craved the taste of you,” he said, “but I’ve got a
better idea.” Grant wriggled his finger at her.

Curious, she tracked him with her eyes as he stretched out
on the bed. Slowly, Ivy followed. She’d done an excellent job so far of hiding
her sexual inexperience. Sure, she’d had a few unfortunate hit-and-run sexual
encounters, as well as a couple boyfriends who needed a little tutoring in
math. Nothing serious. Nothing lasting. Or nothing lasting longer than the end
of the college semester after she’d researched their term paper.

Grant ushered her closer. She straddled his torso, while
searching his eyes for encouragement. Meeting her stare, he stroked her hips
and thighs, caressing her insecurities away with his touch and his gaze. His
knuckles brushed against her nipples, bringing them to hard peaks. She
shuddered in response to his tender touch. The pleasurable feeling went way
beyond her nipples.

“Closer,” he said. He guided her hips forward as he scooted
a few inches down the bed. “More.”

Ivy had heard jokes about mustache rides, but he didn’t mean
for her to… “Oh,” she mouthed in not much more than a whisper when he kissed
her pussy lips. “Uhm.”

His tongue slid between her folds, darting into her passage.
“I’ve missed your taste,” he mumbled against her pussy. “Craved it. Craved
you.”

His words, true or not, nearly made her come.

Ivy instinctively raised and lowered herself to his face,
rhythmically undulating her body like a belly dancer, making love to his lips
and tongue. She hissed when his finger filled her channel, petting her from the
inside. She feared she might shatter into a million pieces when his lips
latched onto her clit, rolling the bud with his tongue.

“Oh yes, Grant,” she whimpered, at his mercy despite her
dominant position. “Please.” Her entire body heated and prickled in
anticipation. Ivy longed for the release she knew he had the power to bestow.
Each climax he’d given her had been delivered in a new and exciting way.

His head bobbed between her legs, Grant’s lips and tongue
lavishing her core with offerings of worship.

Ivy came hard and fast and noisily under his talented tongue
and skilled fingers. She grasped the headboard for support, fearing total
collapse as the pleasure rumbled through her body. Arching her back, she said,
“I want you inside me, Grant.” He’d satisfied her with his mouth and hands, but
she wanted his cock filling her pussy.

He was already scooting out from between her legs, toward
the foot of the bed. Grant ripped open the condom package nearly before she
finished her plea.

On her knees still, legs spread in a V, Ivy gripped the
headboard tighter, arching her back, offering herself to him.

Grant melted himself against her body, filling her cunt with
his cock from behind. Ivy’s head fell back against his chest as she moaned. He eased
in and out, slowly at first, his hands stroking and caressing her skin. She
whimpered when the pads of his fingers brushed along the swell of her breasts.

Into her ear, he whispered, “How do you always know what I
want?” His words were labored. Same with his breath, which felt hot, like his
skin against hers. He growled in her ear, making her come again like a blast of
pure ecstasy exploding in her pussy. “You
are
a succubus, aren’t you?”
he said.

“Yes,” she hissed, satisfaction pulsing through her entire
body, massaging his magnificent cock.

An odd mixture of a moan and a growl thundered out of his
mouth. “I’m coming apart.”

Grant grasped her hips firmly, pushing and pulling her
against his cock again and again. Ivy held on to the headboard, each thrust
causing another pulse of pleasure to throb around his shaft.

He groaned an unearthly sound, burying the noise into the
back of her neck. Grant leaned back on his haunches, taking her with him,
holding her back tight against his chest. His cock, so deep inside her, felt
like something she’d never had. Home. Family. Security.

They collapsed together on the mattress, still connected,
still holding onto something they’d found and didn’t want to lose.

Grant hummed while he pushed the eggs around in the hot pan,
stopping long enough to sprinkle some salt, pepper and season salt.

“Why so happy, Mr. Mayor?”

He glanced up at Ivy meandering along a winding path like a
sobriety test gone terribly wrong. He smiled, knowing he’d left her with jelly
legs. She wore one of his white dress shirts, reminding him of a romance movie
he’d seen once-upon-a-time with Molly. He turned the sizzling bacon with a fork
and pushed thoughts of his dead wife to the back of his mind.

“I don’t know.” His attention turned towards the ceiling,
pretending to be deep in thought. “Nothing is going my way today. I mean, you
know how it is? I had to share my bed last night with—of all things—a blanket
bandit banshee who talks in her sleep. When she’s not stealing blankets and compiling
to-do lists of resort-related tasks, she’s bullying me into satisfying some
carnal need of hers. Now I’m forced to feed her. What else can possibly go
wrong?”

She bent and placed her elbows on the kitchen island,
watching him. “Poor dear.”

“I have half a mind to take the day off and make
you
satisfy
my
needs.” Grant poured her a mug of coffee.

Winking at him, she replied, “Already checked that off my
to-do list. And I have too much work today to be your sex slave.”

“Sadly, me too.” He served Ivy up a heaping plate of food,
setting it in front of her. “Seriously though, last night…”

“Please don’t.” Ivy held up her hand.

She was right. There was no way this conversation could go
well. What’s the word he’d use? Nice? Great? Unforgettable?
Thanks for the
hookup. Hope we can do it again some time
. “I hope you know this wasn’t
just…”
What’s the word I’m looking for?
Grant didn’t want to sound like
a cliché.

Tearing into her bacon, she said, “I know. But if it was,
that’s okay too.” She smiled unconvincingly. “So tell me about this water
problem. I keep hearing rumblings about it. Is it something I should be worried
about?”

He took a seat kitty-corner from her with his plate of food.
There was no sense lying to her. It served no purpose. Grant didn’t want to be
that
guy—not anymore. The liar. The manipulator. He didn’t need to go into gory
details either.

“The water is below acceptable levels due to a mild winter
and lack of snowfall.” That was the official spin and a darn plausible
explanation. “But also the chemical makeup of the water in the spring
is…changing. Reason unknown. The solution—that’s complicated. Depends on who
you talk to. Opinions vary and you know what they say about opinions.”

She wrinkled her nose. “They’re like assholes?”

“That’s right. Everyone’s got one.” Grant pointed his fork
at her. “And may I just say, yours is exceptional.”

“Thanks. I think.” She blushed. “I’m almost afraid to ask,
but what exactly
is
the chemical makeup of a medicinal hot spring,
anyhow?”

“Calcium, lithium, radium, sulfur,” he cleared his throat,
“among other things.”

“Sounds like bad stuff.” Her face scrunched up in an
unattractive fashion he could only describe as endearing. “How is it healthy?”

“The steam and vapors improve breathing. The warmth is good
for circulation, relaxation and pain relief. The minerals, in low doses are
therapeutic.” The magic, for lack of a better term, gave them power and control
and so much more that he didn’t know how to express in words without causing
her to run for the nearest exit. The magic saturated the minds of the shifters
and flowed through their veins. Or perhaps the spring acted as a placebo,
merely tricking them into believing like a small child believes in the magic of
the tooth fairy.

Pushing her food around on her plate, she asked, “And you
think checking samples every few hours will—what?”

The phone jingled.
Saved by the bell
. “That might be
Charlie now.” He leaned across the island to kiss her as the next ring sounded.
Grant found himself caught up in the kiss, not giving a damn about the phone or
the town or Charlie and his damn samples.

“Aren’t you going to get it?” she asked, which was usually
his line.

Shaking his head, he replied, “No.” A third ring echoed
through the house. “I want to forget about the spring and Mystic for a few more
minutes and pretend it’s just you and me and breakfast.”

The answering machine beeped. He froze, recalling what came
next. Molly’s chipper voice greeted the silence, announcing the caller had
reached the Grayson residence. She informed the caller that
they
couldn’t come to the phone right now, followed by a telling giggle, but to
please leave a message. Her parting words were for the caller to have a nice
day. By that time, Grant had crossed the room to turn down the volume.

“The machine will get it.” He cleared his throat.

Ivy blinked several times in rapid-fire succession. “You…you
haven’t changed the message on the machine?”

Slowly he came back to his breakfast, to Ivy. “You have to
understand, it’s all I have.”

“No, I do.” She picked at her food.

“Most everyone in town has switched to voice mail,” he
attempted a laugh, “but I couldn’t. I couldn’t do it.”

He saw the hurt in her eyes in spite of her effort to
understand. Yes, perhaps it wasn’t healthy. But some days he forgot about Molly
for too long—hours—and her voice reminded him that once upon a time he’d been a
happily married family man. How could that be wrong?

Her cheery message brought back the “what if” regrets. Her
message was one part treat, one part punishment. A grim reminder of that day.

Grant should have kissed Molly that morning before she left.
Why couldn’t he have told her that he loved her? If he’d had the car serviced,
would things have turned out differently? If she’d only left the house five
minutes earlier or five minutes later. He’d spent countless hours contemplating
the many ways in which he could have prevented her death, from morning sex to
offering to run her errands for her. Hell, even a fight would have done the
trick.

“I get it.” Ivy pushed her plate away. “Do you mind if I
take a quick shower before heading home?”

“Ivy.”

Getting up, she said, “I’m fine, Grant. Really. I’m not
going to compare myself to her, or what we have to what you had with her. You
and I barely know each other.” The words caught and dragged in her throat.

“Molly and I, we dated ever since high school,” he
explained, although the information couldn’t set her mind at ease. If anything,
his history with Molly only trivialized what he and Ivy felt. How could he
express to her that
it
felt anything but trivial. “It’s like we were
born to be together, me and Molly.”

Laying her hand on his arm, she said, “I know.”

“Besides you, she’s the only woman I ever made love to,” he
whispered.

“I don’t know what you want me to say to that, Grant.” Ivy
slowly walked away.

While she showered, Grant returned Charlie’s call.

According to the samples, the spring seemed to be repairing
itself, although he hadn’t gotten a chance to check the latest samples, and
wasn’t keen on Grant asking him to check more samples at regular twice daily
intervals. Just having Ivy in town had improved the spring marginally. He
suspected the mutual attraction they shared toward each other triggered general
happiness in her, resulting in a significant improvement in the spring. Her
screaming orgasms couldn’t hurt, but he needed to know if they helped.

Grant had a feeling the water quality suddenly took a
nosedive due to the answering machine, but confirmation would be beneficial.

* * * * *

Ivy clicked through the spreadsheet on the computer program
in front of her, not really seeing the categories or corresponding numbers.
Busy work.

She’d done her best to keep her mind off Grant all day by
immersing herself in work sweet work, rushing from one emergency to the next.
One of the prep cooks had called in sick and a replacement needed to be found.
A plumber was dispatched for an overflowing toilet. The produce delivery ran
late, resulting in some creative menu planning. Luckily, the resort had a
topnotch staff and despite her lack of practical experience as a manager, it
was mostly a matter of common sense, good work ethic and putting in the hours.

With a lull in the otherwise hectic day, Ivy couldn’t help
but think about being a poor substitute for Grant’s soul mate. She’d always be
the next best thing to the real deal. His consolation prize. He knew it. She
knew it. Any time she’d catch him staring off deep in thought, she’d wonder if
he thought of
her
. Molly. Even her name conjured visions of sweet,
petite perfection.

She looked up when a knock sounded at her office door. Her
stomach felt like she did a swan dive off a skyscraper until she realized it
wasn’t Grant. She couldn’t believe she was being such a girl about all this
nonsense, pining for him, daydreaming of him.

“Ivy,” the woman said with a pleasant, if not a genuine
smile.

More bad news. This time from the event coordinator.
The
line forms here
. “Yes, Josie.”

“Problem.” Josie grimaced.

“Out with it.” Another emergency would take Ivy’s mind off
being Grant’s fallback position. She’d never be pretty enough, smart enough
or…simply enough. If only Ivy were as pretty as Josie, with her fiery hair and
milky skin peppered with enchanting freckles.

“Tonight is the Mystic Junior High School mixer in the
upstairs meeting hall,” she said, pointing up.

“Do we have noxious fumes or a leaky roof?” Armageddon? An
alien invasion? Military coupe?

“No. Nothing like that.” Josie shifted uneasily. “One of the
chaperones cancelled. I simply can’t…not tonight…my family…it’s hard to
explain…”

Ivy stopped her with a hand in the air. Family issues she
understood all too well. After years of leaving school or work to rescue her
mother from being stranded, bail her out of jail, or pick up or drop her off at
the local mental facility, Ivy didn’t want to hear Josie’s tale of woe.
Her
business, not mine.
“I got it. No problem. Just tell me what to do, where
to do it and when.”

The event coordinator heaved a sigh of relief. “Just be a
chaperone upstairs starting at seven. Wear something nice. Act like a
responsible adult. Piece of cake.”

For you, maybe.
Giving her a thumb up, Ivy said,
“Will do. Got it. Not to worry.”

“Avert any and all potential crises.” Josie took a step
away. “Prevent any alcohol ingestion. Stop all hints of dance floor
fornication.”

Scowling, Ivy asked, “How old are these kids anyhow?”

“Old enough to know better. Too young to care.” Josie
flashed her a fake smile. “And lock up after.”

“Right.”
Common sense.
Ivy had plenty, except when it
came to Grant Grayson.

Josie vanished before Ivy could change her mind. Not that
she’d change her mind. Chaperoning a dance was a blessing disguised as a
pain-in-the-ass. She’d already decided to avoid Grant, needing time to think
about how she fit, or rather how she didn’t fit, into his life. His life was
crowded. She didn’t want to use the old I’m-washing-my-hair-tonight excuse for
not seeing him.

Another knock sounded on her door.
Dear God! Now what?
“Oh. Hi, Grant,” she said as nonchalantly as possible, like they hadn’t fucked
each other senseless the night before. Doggy-style, no less. That was more of a
special-occasion sexual position for birthdays and anniversaries, not to be
whipped out for the maiden voyage. It sends a bad message.
I’m a whore
.
Unlike his wife, who was no doubt a damn saint and probably an underwear model
before giving it all up for the privilege of being Mrs. Grant Grayson.
Fuck
that.

“How are you?” His lips were pursed. Eyes probing her,
probably to determine her mood after the way they’d left things that morning.
Awkward. Grant had a wait-and-see stance, like he might need to dodge a flying
stapler.

She’d half expected a midmorning call or a drop-by earlier
in the day, which would explain her erratic heart rate every time the phone had
jingled. Ivy wasn’t sure what to think of him going all day without reaching
out to her. Neglectful? Clever? Too busy to be bothered, perhaps. “Great. You?”

“Fine. Are you busy tonight?” he asked.

Ivy wasn’t into playing head games. She
was
into the
possibility of another round of loving, but really didn’t want to fall into the
booty-call category on his speed dial. She wrinkled her nose. “Sorry. Busy.
Work.” Shrugging, she added, “You know how it is.”

“Unfortunately, I do.” He tapped his palm against the
doorframe. “Rain check?”

“Absolutely.” She attempted to sound chipper, but came off
feeling of plastic. The cheap kind you can’t recycle.

“Soon.” Grant pointed his finger at her. “Promise.”

She could tell he had more to say, but the hallway outside
her office wasn’t the place for a conversation about the state of their
relationship. It also wasn’t the place for a long, slow, deep kiss, which was
what she craved. Him, he looked like he wanted another in-office lap dance. At
least Ivy fit somewhere in his life.

Smiling weakly, she said, “Call me.”
The ball is in your court
.

* * * * *

The hall was all decked out with streamers, balloons and
crepe paper. Grant parked himself in the southwest corner of the upstairs
meeting hall like a menacing statue. That’s the way his junior high principal
stood during a dance. To dissuade bad behavior, Grant guessed. The stance had
worked for Principal Hawkins back in the day. If Grant could pull it off, it
would work for him too.

Kids ran rampant. Not the cute kind of kids, age two to
seven. No, these children were bigger. Tweens. Tweens were the new teenagers,
like forty was the new thirty. If evolution continued in this manner, they’d
start their rebellious phase in utero and drive themselves recklessly out of
the birth canal, already an auto insurance risk to their parents.