Southern Seduction (66 page)

He took a lock of my hair that had fallen out of my braid and started twirling it around his fingers. He lightly pulled on it. “How bad’s the damage?”

Huh?
“Huh?”

“You’re attack? How bad are the scars left from war?”

Oh
. “It’s awful, it feels like my skins on fire and I want to itch so bad but I’ve been warned against it.”

JR grabbed the tube of cream off my nightstand, “Let me see.” Without waiting for an invitation he flipped my covers back exposing my repulsive legs. His face went serious, “Wow.” He sat back, “Wow,” he repeated. I tried to pull the blankets back over my legs. He just shook his head and held the blankets firmly with his hand, “No, don’t.” He squeezed out some cream and started rubbing it onto my legs. This was the most I’d been touched by a guy in months and I couldn’t even enjoy it. I was far to consumed by embarrassment. Of course with each stroke of his hands my embarrassment lessened.

He started with my right leg, his hands massaging my skin as he rubbed the cream on. Slowly he worked his way up my calf, over my knee and up to my thigh. There were no bites on my thighs but he continued to rub and massage. With every rub, his fingers moved up an inch until his fingertips brushed the lacy edge of my panties.

I sucked in a breath.

He looked down at his hands, at my underwear partially exposed since my dress was hiked up. I looked down too. We were frozen like that for seconds, minutes, hell maybe even hours, or maybe time simply didn’t exist for a moment. My heart beat rapidly. Could he hear it? Could he feel my legs shaking? Tell that I was aroused and dying for him to kiss me?

I looked up. Our eyes met. His grey eyes went wide—flecks of blue were joined by flecks of green—but his hands didn’t stop. His fingertips continued to dance along the edge of lace, like he was debating. The way I saw it I had two choices; make a move but run the risk of being turned down, or do nothing except pull my dress down and what-if myself to death.

Should I or shouldn’t I? He exhaled and his lips parted. God he was close. If I stuck out my tongue I could lick his mouth. Man those lips …

I made my decision and before I could think it through enough to realize it might be a stupid one, I leaned forward and gently pressed my lips to his. When he didn’t respond to my tongue’s gentle prodding—his lips remained sealed—I pulled back. Yep, mortified didn’t even touch it. Should have waited until my brain talked me out of making a first move.

I looked down to my hands, “I um—” Didn’t get the words out of my mouth before JR’s hands moved from my thighs to my waist pulling me down beneath him. He put his arms on either side of my head, “We shouldn’t do this,” he said, then his mouth claimed mine.

His lips were as soft as I imagined. His tongue explored my mouth. I wrapped my legs around his waist pulling him to me. I wanted him against me, needed him against me to feel his warmth. Our bodies moved in perfect rhythm, my hips grinding against his. His erection pressing against me made me wet. His kisses grew frantic, desperate. The sensations overtook me and I moaned.

He stopped and pulled away hovering over me. He sat back. His jaw clenched and his brow furrowed, “Um, I have to go,” … he stood up … “early morning tomorrow. Hope you feel better.” He quickly spread the covers back over me and jumped off the bed like I had leprosy.

What the hell?

“Thanks again,” I said, unable to control my quivering voice.

JR stopped at my bedroom door. Every one of his muscles taunt, flexed like his body was about to snap. With his back to me he said, “Maddie, you’re too beautiful for my own good.”

I closed my eyes and threw myself back on my pillows, not needing to see him close the door on me.

Did he just call me beautiful?

By eight pm I’d forgotten about everything but the feel of JR’s hands and lips on me. And of course I kept replaying his “you’re too beautiful for my own good” comment.

That is until Brayden burst into my room. “Don’t you think for one minute an allergy is going to get you out of dinner with Uncle Ollie. Now get your ass out of that bed and come downstairs with me.”

“Yeah, okay,” I said, unable to keep the chipper timbre from my voice. I threw back the covers and climbed out, tired of laying down anyway. I’d slept more in the past four hours than I had in the entire last three months.

My mind was still thinking about JR. Thinking about how softly his hands caressed me. How his ass looked in his wet boxer briefs. How I wanted to lick and bite the stubble on his chin, and how desperately I wanted to feel that stubble against the inside of my thighs.

“Look I know you—wait, what? I don’t have to drag you out of here kicking and screaming?”

I nodded and then went about fixing my hair. Mostly, trying to tame the flyaways and tighten the band holding my braid.

“You look like shit but you’re smiling like an idiot. What’s up?”

“Wow. Shit. Really? Thanks for the ego boost,” I said, brushing past Brayden to my bathroom. When I caught sight of myself in the mirror, I laughed wickedly. Saying I looked like shit was a kindness. My mascara was smeared down the right side of my face along with a drool line from my mouth running down to the bottom of my chin. And of course there was the sunburn on my shoulders. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

Did I look like this when JR was here? I rolled my eyes and slapped my hands down on the counter.

Brayden knocked on the door, “Who are you talking to?”

“Shut-up, I’ll be out in a minute.” I looked back to the mirror. JR’s too beautiful comment came back to slap me across the face. He was totally joking with me. There was no way he thought this current look of mine was beautiful. He was being ironic.

Maybe now I could stop obsessing about him and get back to the bigger problem, Uncle Ollie. Brayden started knocking on the door again. I threw it open, “What the fuck, I’m a grown woman and I don’t need a babysitter. Shit.” Yeah I was taking my anger out on the wrong person again. Whatever. Brayden could handle it. I think.

“Whoa did you get bit by a bitch along with the ants?”

Yep he could take it. “Shut-up.” I hurried past him and headed out into the hallway. Brayden was quick to catch up with me as I practically sprinted down the hallway. “Is Uncle Ollie already here?”

“Almost.”

“What’s that mean?”

“Means he’s driving and should be hear any minute. What’s up?” Brayden asked when we got to the stairs.

“Besides the fact I’m about to have dinner with Uncle Ollie? Nothing.”

“Damn Maddie, when did you turn into a drama queen? God you’ve been living in Cali too long, it’s made you a prima donna. Good thing you came here so I can straighten you out.”

I stopped at the top of the stairs grabbing Brayden’s arm to stop him too. “Do you know why Gram forced me to come here?”

Brayden shrugged, “To make amends with dad?”

“Mom had a last request. In her will she left something for Uncle Ollie that required hand delivery. Gram insisted I come with.”

“Really? What is it? I mean what’d mom want to give Uncle Ollie?”

“Got me. Gram’s guarded the thing like a pit bull. Says it’s between mom and Uncle Ollie.”

Brayden slapped the bannister, “What a load of crap.”

I couldn’t agree more. “Ugh, this sucks.”

“Has mom, come to you, you know and tell you something?”

I shook my head. “Radio silence. Since you and Uncle Ollie are so chummy now—”

Brayden bumped me with his shoulder, “Shut up. I explained it to you.”

“Look, I’m over it. Has Uncle Ollie said anything to you? You know, given a reason why?”

“The
two
times I’ve talked to him were superficial at best.”

The doorbell sounded echoing up from the foyer. I leaned over the bannister watching the top of Margo’s head pop out from beneath the stairwell hurrying across the foyer’s expanse. She disappeared through the doorway towards the front door. Uncle Ollie’s crisp voice carried up. I couldn’t help but smile, his accent a blend of Vermont meets California meets Texas.

Two sets of footsteps were moving back through the foyer. Instinctively I jumped back from the railing, grabbing Brayden and pulled us both back against the wall. Once Margo and Uncle Ollie’s voices faded away, I exhaled and slid down to the floor. Chin resting on my knees while my hands hugged my legs.

“Geeze Maddie,” Brayden started, extending his hand down to me, “it’s only Uncle Ollie, not the clown from
It
.” He helped me up, “Maybe it’ll even be fun.”

“Now you’re pushing it.”

I followed Brayden down the stairs, my steps slower than his. Of course golden boy wasn’t nervous. Why should he be? Uncle Ollie and dad’s voices carried out into the hall outside the dining room. “How are things in black gold world?”

“Same shit different day. Brayden is fitting in nicely, the employees have taken a real shine to him …” I looked over at my brother. Annoying or not I was proud of him … “how are you settling into the new position at Farley advertising?” dad asked.

Brayden grabbed my arm, “Come on.” Before I could react he pulled me into the dining room. Uncle Ollie and dad were chatting over by the bar. Dad was behind the bar mixing drinks while Uncle Ollie strummed on the bar top, both of them stopping and looking over to us.

“There’s my boy,” dad said eyes all happy. Ugh disgusting. “I was just telling Oliver how well your transition into the higher echelons of C&S Oil are going.”

Brayden nodded, “Everyone is kissing my ass something fierce.”

Dad and Uncle Ollie laughed and I twisted my hands together. God why did I have to be the anxious, easily put out one? I saw dead people for heaven’s sake and couldn’t even handle a conversation between my Uncle and dad.

“Can I get you a drink?” dad asked Brayden

“Lemon sour,” Brayden responded, abandoning me at the door, making his way over to the bar. So much for solidarity. “Uncle Ollie, good to see you.” They did an awkward hug followed by an informal back pat before parting. Guess Brayden wasn’t exaggerating how superficial his conversations with Uncle Ollie were.

Dad’s eyes met mine. The warmth and glowing pride gone. “Hey pumpkin, how are you feeling?” dad asked, pushing a glass across the bar to Uncle Ollie, “she was attacked by ants earlier today,” he said by way of explanation.

Uncle Ollie nodded then turned to look at me. His eyes looked bluer, his hair, which used to hang past his shoulders was now a coifed crew cut. His sun-bleached goatee was gone but none of that shocked me more than the fact the piercing through his left eyebrow was gone. And don’t even get me started on what he was wearing. When did Uncle Ollie trade in his t-shirts with inappropriate sayings for pretentious sweater vests? Hemp shorts for Dockers? And Birkenstocks for deck shoes? The Uncle Ollie I remembered always said, “only rats joined the corporate machine” that trapezoids could never fit into the
man’s
square holes.

In six steps Uncle Ollie was to me, scooping me up into his arms for an unexpected hug. Hugging led to me being lifted off the ground in his thick arms. He smelled like oranges and mint and cloves. He kissed the top of my head before setting me back down, his hands remaining on my shoulders. “It’s been too long. Let me get a look at you. I swear you’ve shrunk a foot. How are you doing?”

You’d know if you’d bother to visit or keep in touch
. Of course I didn’t say that, or any of the things I was thinking and went instead with a generic, “Going good.”

He slipped an arm around my shoulders pushing me towards the bar with him. “How’s school going? You pick a major?”

Dad set down Brayden’s drink, “She changed majors, decided to follow her mother down the artistic road.” Couldn’t ignore the snide tone.

“Charlene would be proud.”

“At least one of my parents is,” I muttered. I’ve never been good with direct confrontation.

Uncle Ollie gave me a squeeze, “What’s your major now? Last I heard it was business finance.”

“Art communication.”

He shook my shoulders, “I don’t care the major as long as you’re using that amazing eye of yours. You know the picture you sent me for my thirtieth birthday, of your mom and Brayden dancing on yaya’s back porch. Had it blown up to poster size, mounted, and framed. Sits on the mantle of my fireplace and never fails to get compliments when friends come over.”

I looked up to meet Uncle Ollie’s blue eyes. He was smiling wide. Definite pride in his eyes. Whatever anger and annoyance I had with him dissolved. “Thanks. I’ll have to show you my portfolio some time.”

“I would love that sweetie.” He let go of me and picked up his drink from the bar, swished it clockwise before taking a drink.

“What’ll it be pumpkin?” Dad was pouring himself a whisky sour.

“Rum and coke,” I answered.

“One coke coming up”

“Come on
daddy.
” I batted my lashes going for innocent. Dad shook his head, not going for it, and proceeded to pour me a coke with no rum. “Thanks.” I said, sullen. I couldn't wait until I was twenty-one. Let’s see it was May, so only four months to go.

It was surprising to find that it only took me five minutes to relax into easy conversation with my dad, Brayden and Uncle Ollie. It seemed whiskey sours softened my dad’s rough edges, made him pretend art was cool. He even admitted to having several of my photos at his office and that on bad days looking at them cheered him up. Uncle Ollie explained the drastic wardrobe change. Apparently, there was a new love in his life, one he didn’t want getting away and decided it was time to grow up. He may have changed his style but he was still the same hippie bleeding heart who refused to be smashed into the man’s square.