House of Skin (2 page)

“You a trucker?” asked the man.

“No, but I have a long drive ahead of me.”
 

“Where you headin’?” The red-webbed eyes studied him.

“A little Indiana town called Shadeland.”

The man shook his head, losing interest. “Never heard of it.”

“It’s really small.”
 

“Need anything else?” The attendant’s fingers drummed on the sixty-nining blondes in the magazine.

“No, I think that’s it.”

“Need a bag?”

Paul glanced at the items on the counter. “Sure.”

The man rolled his eyes, bent down and reached under the counter.

Beside the open
Hustler
, Paul spied a rack of discount CDs.
ROCKIN’ SEVENTIES
, one of them read. He pulled it out and skimmed through the names of the bands. Impulsively, he tossed the disc on the counter and asked the guy to add it to his purchase.

“Already run it,” the attendant said with a shrug and handed back his credit card.

“Can’t you run it separately?”
 

Sighing, the man rang up the disc and took the credit card. As they waited for the card to go through, the man’s grubby fingers tapped on the sex mag. Paul leaned on the counter and stared at the credit card machine. He wished the guy would relax. It wasn’t as though the women were going to finish pleasuring each other and put their clothes back on.

The transaction done, they parted wordlessly. Paul guided the Civic back to the highway and sipped the bitter coffee, which was even worse than he’d expected.

His cell phone rang. Paul picked it up, saw who was calling and silenced it. Emily was the last person he needed to talk to right now. He waited until it stopped ringing and then switched the phone to vibrate. A few days ago he’d worried about his unpaid bill, but now the fact that his cell phone contract was about to end seemed like a blessing. In fact, he didn’t plan on getting a landline in his new home either. There was something delicious about being unreachable.

Smiling, Paul accessed his voicemail and before Emily’s voice could launch its attack, he deleted her message.

As they drove away, Ted marveled at how easy it had been. From the moment they opened the front door to the moment they climbed back in the Beamer her eyes had glimmered with something approaching ecstasy. For someone who claimed to have only been an occasional visitor to the Carver House, she knew her way around pretty damn well.

In the house he got a chance to see what a stunner she was. Girl looked like a Playboy model done up to look like a professor or a lawyer. Like those hot young Hollywood actresses. You could try to make them look smart and sophisticated, but it never quite took. No matter how hard the wardrobe guys tried, their sexiness rubbed through.

At first she’d been reserved, making sure she didn’t let on she might be enjoying herself. Looking back on it, there’d even been moments he suspected the old house might be conjuring bad memories for her. When they passed the basement door, for instance, she’d shivered and gone a sickly olive color.

But her transformation upon entering the ballroom was dramatic. She had danced, literally
danced
, across the ballroom floor, and though he felt like a schmuck, he let her grab his hands and lead him around in a kind of awkward waltz.

Driving away, he felt very good about his chances. Any girl who got carried away that easily was a prime candidate for a one-nighter. He thought of the little girly way she’d acted. She’d laughed and danced with him to the accompaniment of an unseen orchestra, and if that wasn’t worth a screw he didn’t know what was.

He remembered the way she looked climbing the front porch steps: big tits, tight little ass and a set of legs that went on and on. She had high cheekbones like an Indian or something, and her skin was dark like that too.

The eyes bothered him though he couldn’t pinpoint why. They were a nice shade of green, very light, and they were always considering something or measuring you and it made him wonder how long she’d lived alone out here in the boonies without someone to lay the pipe to her now and then.

As they rolled into her drive, she thanked him for the ride and made to get out of the car. Panicking, he stopped her by asking if he could use her bathroom. She said of course, he didn’t have to rush off. She had some iced tea, would he like some? Sure, he said, with lots and lots of sugar. She didn’t say anything to that, but man, she didn’t have to. A girl invited you in for iced tea—
iced tea
of all things!—the work was over. She wanted him and he couldn’t wait to get her clothes off, take a look at that killer body.

Inside, he couldn’t believe the barrenness of her house. The only furniture in the living room was a rocking chair, a baby grand piano, a DVD player and an old-fashioned console television. The baby grand was adorned with a lamp and a bust of William Shakespeare.

She’d told him where the restroom was and as he stood there taking a leak he heard the piano start to play. He finished and as he checked his hair in the mirror, he twisted on the faucet in case she was listening to see if he washed his hands.

When he came out, the mood in the living room had changed. It might have been the light from the piano lamp shining on Julia’s smooth neck; it might have been the song she was playing. But something about the scene before him turned him on in a way he hadn’t felt in years. It wasn’t just the tingling in his pants, though there was that. This was something greater, something that excited his imagination as well as his dick. Ted glided toward her, the music invigorating his steps. Her long fingers caressed the keys and the song made him put out his hands and slide his fingertips along her bare arms, over her breasts, and then she was standing and hugging herself.

“
What are you doing?
” she shouted.

Shocked at her overreaction, he replied louder than he’d intended, “Why don’t you relax?”

“What makes you think you can touch me?”

Her eyes widened with disbelief.

“I thought that’s what you wanted.”

“What made you think that?”
 

And now, standing here in front of her accusing stare and open mouth, he couldn’t remember why he’d thought it would be a good idea to touch her tits.

“I guess it was the song,” was the only thing he could think to say.

“The song?”
 

“Yeah. The song. I heard it when I was in the bathroom. It was very pretty.”
 

What the hell was he saying?
 

If he left now he’d still have plenty of time at the bars. Linda didn’t expect him home until midnight. He’d told her Carver’s nephew would want to talk about the estate, that he’d have to humor the guy and not seem rude. Share a couple beers with the lucky bastard to celebrate his inheritance.

“You thought my playing was pretty?” she asked.

Was she buying it?
 

“Sure. That’s why I touched you.”

And miracle of miracles, she was moved by his line of bullshit. She was actually tilting her head and allowing him to move in to give her a conciliatory hug.

“I usually don’t play for people,” she explained into his shoulder.

“I’m glad you played for me.”
 

“Me too,” she said, nodding over at a pewter stein on the bookshelf. “Your tea’s over there.”
 

Ted thanked her, but he had no intention of letting go of her, of drinking out of that heavy stein. What the hell was she, a Viking?
 

Her firm breasts pushed against him. Ted slowly rubbed her back. If he was going to do this, now was the time. He pulled away, leaned in and kissed her. At first she was wooden, unsure of what to do. Soon, though, she was moving her tongue with his and from her trembling he guessed it had been awhile since she’d kissed a man. A shame, he thought. A pretty girl like this, probably in her late twenties. How had she managed to remain single?

Now he was letting his hands roam over her body, under the rim of her shirt where he felt how curvy and muscular her back was. Over her hard round ass. He pushed his crotch into hers and she was just the right height for him, probably about five-ten or eleven. Her hands were probing also. They felt his neck and ran along his jaw and onto his shoulders, which was good because they were broad and women always liked them. Their kissing grew feverish and wet and now her hands were on his sides over his sports coat pockets and he felt her pause, tensing, and he realized his mistake and by the time he moved to push her hand away she’d already broken from him and retreated.

“Julia…”

“What’s in your coat pocket?”

“It’s just a ring my father gave me.”

“Then why is it in your pocket?”

“I don’t know.” He fought the blush that burned at his throat. He knew it would condemn him, but it was already climbing up his neck. “I get tired of wearing it, I guess.”

“Show it to me,” she said and held out her hand. There was a sharp edge to her voice he didn’t like.

“Why should I produce it like it’s a piece of fucking evidence?”
 

“Why should you worry about showing me the ring if it isn’t a wedding band?” Hand out, she took a step toward him.

“Because it’s none of your business,” he replied. Where did she get off interrogating him?

She closed her eyes. “Goodbye, Ted.”

“Huh?”

She turned to the piano. “You heard me.”

“Yeah, I heard you,” he said, approaching. “Bitch.”
 

“What did you say to me?”
 

“You heard me,” he said, drawing closer. A hateful grin twisted his lips.

Her eyes glittered with latent tears. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Not a thing, honey. The problem’s on your side.” He bit his lower lip, caressed her shoulders with his fingertips. “Built like you are and a fucking prig. Goddamned tragic.”

She took a backward step. “I’m a prig because I won’t sleep with a man I just met?”

He snickered darkly, enjoying himself now. “No, you’re a prig because you invited me here under false pretenses. That makes you a cocktease too.”

He saw her eyes filling with tears, her mouth working.

He stepped closer, forcing her back near the bookcase. “Fucking waste of time,” he said, driving it in further. “You’re a shitty piano player, too, but hey, at least you’re hot.”

“Get away from me,” she said in a low voice.

He clamped her shoulders, drew her roughly toward him, the bitch. Show her who’s boss. “C’mon, sweetie, let’s be friends.”

He didn’t see the slap coming. It caught him hard,
fuck
, right on the ear.

He belted her with the back of his hand, sent her staggering into the bookcase. An empty candleholder tipped and plummeted to the floor. Her hands were on a shelf about waist high, and at first he thought she was steadying herself, that he’d dizzied her when he gave her that smack.

Then he saw her reach for the stein of iced tea. She lifted it and for a crazy moment he thought she was going to make a toast, but it continued to rise, a foot above her shoulder now. He noticed there was a face on it, William Shakespeare.
Big surprise
, he thought.

He asked, “What are you doing with that?”
 

She took a step forward, and he realized she was taller than he’d thought. He was about to comment on this when her hand swept toward him and slammed the bottom of the stein against his face.

Chapter Two

10:06, the dashboard clock read.

Ahead, Paul spotted his exit. He wasn’t sure if it was a good idea to take a state road instead of the interstate, but he craved something to break the monotony of the trip. He’d listened to
ROCKIN’ SEVENTIES
three times, and by contrast the silence was pleasing. He took the exit ramp and turned onto the state road. The smooth highway appeared deserted, a welcome departure from the constant roar of the interstate. Twisting off the bottle cap, he swigged the rest of the Mountain Dew and tossed it onto the passenger’s side floor with the empty coffee cup.

As he picked up speed, he noted the thickness of the foliage around him. It reminded him of the pictures his uncle’s executors had sent him of Watermere, his new home.

Paul drew in a deep breath. It was incredible. The things he’d always wanted—becoming a writer, the chance to get some peace and quiet, a place to spread out instead of being cramped inside a shabby apartment—were only hours away.

He yawned and wondered how despite the surfeit of coffee and Mountain Dew rushing through his system, he still found himself growing groggy.

He remembered the caffeine pills. He fished the bottle out of the bag and wrestled with the cap. Managing to stay on the road while he shook out a pair of yellow pills, he popped them into his mouth and waited for them to head off his lethargy.

For a moment Paul had the weird sensation that his leg was falling asleep. He tapped his thigh to rid himself of the uncomfortable needling and realized it was his cell phone, which he’d left on vibrate. With a rueful grin, he leaned back and lifted his hips so he could extract the phone from his pocket, and as he did, one leg bumped the wheel. The Civic veered over the center lane. Dropping the phone with a gasp, he flailed for the wheel and actually pushed the car farther into the other lane before jerking it too hard to the right.