The Word of a Liar (12 page)

“Oh, yeah.”

“Well, you can’t have them. They’re all for me.”

She cupped her breasts in each hand. She hadn’t dared so bold an act with her late husband, but Mason liberated her. With closed eyes, she rolled her tongue over each nipple. Paul’s unearthly eye’s penetrated the darkness, condemning her.
Go away!
she begged. She didn’t want to think about Paul now. She wanted to see what Mason’s reaction would be. Would he make her feel ashamed, too? Banishing the ghost, she opened her eyes and simultaneously sucked her nipples.

Mason sat up; lust ignited the blue of his eyes. She offered him a taste. Together they licked, tongues colliding, passions mounting. With practiced agility, he flipped her, wrapped her legs around him, grasped her buttocks and drove his hard erection deep inside. Ellen’s body stretched to accommodate his fullness, creating keen shock waves of pain and desire.  He pulled back, tantalizingly close to complete withdrawal; in one quick movement, he entered her again.

Ellen arched her back, craving further penetration.  She moaned softly as the sensuous pace of their bodies resurrected feelings she thought dead and awakened new ones. Sweat dampened her skin and hair, but all vain considerations no longer mattered. Only he mattered. Only tonight mattered. Ellen sunk her fingers into Mason’s back, clinging to him. The ecstasy he conjured, primal and raw, roiled and screamed for release. He throbbed against her and in her, each stroke more intense, more demanding. He carried her to the very edge of the universe.

“Mason!” she whimpered.

The white light of the moon glistened on Ellen’s damp skin. Mason rocked against her. Thrusting himself further inside her hot, wet body, driven by the ache of wanting and pleasured by pleasing, he forced himself to maintain control.  Exquisite pain tore through his loins. Every muscle in his body was taut with desire, yet his only thought was to please Ellen. To make her want… need… desire… him, as much as he did her. She tightened around him, meeting his body with urgency.

“Hold on, baby,” he pleaded. “Hold on a moment longer.”

Her body quaked and shivered. Cries of pleasure hung in the blackness but still he moved against her and with her, determined to bring her higher than she had ever gone. At the pinnacle of their arousal, he would cure himself of this abnormal ache.

“Come with me, Ellen.”

He leaned forward, devouring the softness of her mouth.

He placed a hand over the dark hair of her pelvis, and he stroked her hard swollen clit with his thumb. Muscles tightened; he knew she was almost there. She called his name again, and the ache became unbearable.

“Come now, Ellen!” Mason demanded.  “Let yourself go!” 

Their intimate dance came to a climatic end. Mason drove deeper, muscles clenched, as the hot pain of ecstasy ripped through his body.  Ellen’s nails scraped his back; her face contorted.  Overwhelming release sent him into a free fall. Soft moans escaped as he broke against her body. Aftermaths of passion shook him. He cradled her, resting his face in her neck, her damp breasts cushioning his chest. He listened to her breathe, the ache in his belly intense as ever.

Dazed, he slowly rolled onto his back. She slid up against him. He laid quietly, relishing the aftermath of their union. He knew he should say something to convey his pleasure
.
He’d learned
women liked to hear romantic things after sex, and he was damn good at it, except now.
He curved his arm around Ellen and kissed the top of her head, thinking of the unusual way she affected him. There were no words to describe what he was feeling.

Ellen brought her arm across his chest and rested her head on the wings tattooed above his heart. His fingers played in her hair; his pulse echoed in her ear. Outside the window, the neighborhood slept. The moon traveled to another part of the sky; Mason’s fingers fell silent. Ellen wanted to tell him how much this night had meant to her, but she knew she couldn’t. He was with another. And even if he wasn’t, what kind of wife would betray her husband’s memory by admitting he never came close to making her feel like this? Deep inside, she knew she and Mason would never know how far these strong feelings could take them. Ellen pulled up the covers and allowed sleep to take her.

Mason awoke. Eyes wide open, heart racing, Ellen’s warm body against him, he raised his head to look at the clock. 5:00 a.m. Ellen turned, moving away. His eyes followed the carved lines of the heavy crown molding. Its shellacked beauty was the only masculine accent in the room. He tried to discern what had awoken him. The troublesome ache persisted. He had been certain it would go away after sex; its presence frightened him.

The smell of their love making still lingered. Awakening birds created a cacophony of sound outside the window, and the early morning light filtered through the red silk curtains. A soft, pink glow highlighted the room’s feminine décor. Their clothes littered the floor.

Mason reached for Ellen but stopped midway as panic struck. What had he done?  Ellen was not a one night stand kind of woman. A mother, a widow—she was looking for a husband, a father, commitment.
Nausea coiled in his belly. He could offer her none of that. He needed to go, but he didn’t want to. He wanted to stay and have coffee with her, take a shower together, use her toothbrush. He grinned, rubbing the ends of her hair between his fingers.  He couldn’t allow himself to think like this. It was too dangerous. A wife would be bad enough, but a kid…. with some kind of disability. No, that was not the life he’d chosen.

He took a deep breath, exhaling slowly. With great stealth, he moved off the bed and quietly gathered his clothes. He watched Ellen sleep as he dressed. Holding his boots, he took one last look and blew her a kiss from the doorway. Silent as a house cat, he left her.

CHAPTER twelve

A Harley’s deep roar irritated the stillness of the early morning. Ellen’s eyes fluttered open. Across the room, a warm breeze played beneath the silk curtains. Thunder rumbled up the street. Mason gone, the room fell silent.

Daylight robbed her of ever being intimate with him again. She rolled onto her back, looking up at the ceiling. Without a word, he slipped out of her life, leaving tender lips and throbbing nipples as souvenirs of his love making. She wondered whether it was love he made or only sex. Her first one night stand and she felt like she had to throw-up.
She closed her eyes; tears trickled down her temples, wetting the pillow.
He could have said good-bye, but no—he snuck away, leaving me to wake up alone like a common whore!
Ellen’s lips trembled. She sniffled, turning to pluck a Kleenex from the nightstand. She was foolish to think that one night with Mason would be enough. But he had to know leaving her the way he did would make her feel cheap.

Sitting up, she blew her nose
.
The buzz of the neighbor’s car pulling out of his driveway, registered the time. 5:30 a.m. Ellen’s hand ran across a stiff, stained spot on the sheet. She frowned.
Another souvenir.
  She studied the stain. Like a wife who discovers her husband’s infidelity, anger seized her by the throat.  She jumped out of bed. Determined to strip away every remnant of Mason’s presence, she ripped off the offensive sheet. Pillowcases, blankets, padding—she tore them off, leaving the mattress naked. Sweat ran down her back as she rolled the bedclothes into a large pile then tugged the dead weight down the hallway. A killer disposing of evidence, she shoved the dirty linens one by one down the laundry chute.  She slammed it closed and rubbed her palms together, satisfied.

She went into the bathroom. Turning on the shower, she held her hand under the stream until the water turned unbearably hot and then stepped in, allowing the painful heat to scorch her skin. Covering herself in a thick lather, she scoured away his scent. Steam filled the space; pink suds ran down her legs, pooled at her feet, and then ran in a thin stream to the drain. Ellen shivered; sobs choked the air from her lungs. She sank down, water pelting her skin. She rested her back against the shower, rocking slightly.

“Dear God,” she cried. “What have I done?”

***

9:00 a.m. Mason pulled his Sportster into the elegant-looking car dealership of Jack Nelson.
Fortunate Sons’ Auto
sprawled the entire city block. Cars whose names implied wealth—Lamborghini, Porsche, Ferrari—sparkled behind the expansive glass pane windows like diamonds at Tiffany’s. He walked into the showroom, gawking at all the vehicles that sat prominently on display. A young woman came from behind a desk to greet him.

“Is there something I can do for you, sir?” she asked in a haughty tone.

“Well, yes, there is, little darlin’.” Mason grinned provocatively. “You can tell Mr. Nelson that Mason Hackett is here to see him.”

The woman walked away, heels clicking her annoyance.  Relishing the new car smell and the sweet scent of money, Mason walked about the show room. Nervous energy and remorse twisted in his gut, making his hands cold and clammy. He should have said good-bye. No. He should have stayed. He wanted to.

A sleek, silver Porsche caught his eye. He opened the driver’s side door and peered inside.
Ellen is awake by now and probably hates me. Worse, she probably wants to kill me.
The night before had been amazing, yet he slunk away like a coward. Mason ran his hand over the steering column then closed the door.
Damn it!
He had to stop thinking about Ellen and focus on Jack calling him about a job.
He had to convince Jack that he was the right kind of tough.
I can’t be fretting over a woman like a fucking pussy
. Mason closed the door.

“Rambo, I’m glad you could make it.” 

Startled, Mason spun around. Jack eyed him intently. His smug smile irritating as ever, he offered Mason his hand. Mason shook it.

“You sure have some beautiful cars. How much for one of these babies?”

“That depends on which baby you are referring to.”

“How about this one?” Mason pressed his hand on the front fender of the Porsche, purposely leaving finger prints.

Jack’s smile vanished. “That car is about a half a million dollars.”

“Holy shit! You mind if I sit in it?”

Jack’s eyes narrowed. “Let’s go in my office where we can talk, Rambo.” 

He turned, leading Mason through the showroom and down a long corridor flanked by small offices to a larger, more plush office at the end of the hall. Jack sat down behind the desk, waving a hand at Mason to take a seat in one of the large leather chairs opposite him. Mason sank into the overstuffed upholstery. Tired from his tryst, he could have gone to sleep.

“I have some merchandise I need to have picked up in Chicago and brought back here to Milwaukee. I thought I’d send you. Muck Eye will go along, but I thought if you’re going to work for me you ought to become familiar with my distributors.”

Jack smiled, leaning back in the designer office chair. Clasping his hands behind his head, he waited for Mason’s response.

Mason ran his hands over the padded arms of the chair. Not wanting to appear too eager, he squared his shoulders and crossed his legs.

“When would I have to leave and how much?” His eyes hit Jack head on.

“In the next hour, and how does twenty grand sound?”

“Make it thirty-five.”

“Thirty-five?” Jack’s eyebrows arched. “Don’t you think that’s rather steep since I don’t know what kind of an employee you’re going to make?”

Jack leaned over the top of the mahogany desk.

“This merchandise you want me to pick up: I have a hunch its worth quite a bit more than that. The way I see it, thirty-five grand is pretty cheap.”

“You’re a knowledgeable business man, Rambo. You might own one of those cars someday.”

Mason smiled. “I take it we have a deal. Thirty-five grand?”

“Thirty-five grand it is.”

Jack ran his fingers through his short-cropped hair and then stood to shake Mason’s hand.  Mason cocked his head, scratched the side of his neck, and then slid his leg off his knee. Adrenaline gushed like blood through a severed artery, his pulse roared in his ears. He’d done it! He now worked for Fortunate Sons’ Auto! Life was good— damn good! Mason rose to his feet and then gripped Jack’s hand in a firm handshake.

“I’ll be back in half an hour. I need to take care of a few things before I leave.”

“All right,” Jack nodded. “Rambo, you ought to pack some things to take along. I’m not expecting any sort of trouble, but you never know. It’s always good to be prepared.”

“You don’t have to worry, I’m always packing.” Mason smiled. “And if there is any trouble, the price goes up to fifty.”

He stared hard into Jack’s face. A long silence ensued. “Tell Muck Eye to be ready.” 

Mason turned to leave.

“Nice doing business with you, Rambo,” Jack called. “And tell Desi I said hello.”

His hand on the door knob, Mason’s jaw clenched. He jerked open the door and with long, confident strides, left the building. His black custom Sportster waited like an alluring temptress. He gripped her sleek chrome arms, straddled the seat, and started the engine.  Tapping it into first gear, he rolled the throttle; pipes roared as he merged into traffic.

***

Ellen looked at her clock. 1:58 a.m.

“My God!” she moaned. “I’ve got to get some sleep.”

In bed since eleven, she couldn’t stop thinking about Mason. She sat up, punched and fluffed the pillows, and then flopped down, turning on her side. The fresh lavender scent of the sheets brought back the anguish of yesterday.

She should hate him for what he’d done to her, but she didn’t. In one night, she’d become an addict, craving his touch. She sighed, wondering what he was doing
. Is he home alone or making love to Desi?

“Oh, what’s the use!”

She whipped the covers back and got out of bed. Switching on the hall light, Ellen headed down to the kitchen.

She poured herself a glass of wine then went out to the front porch. Warm, humid air patted the gauzy cotton fabric of her nightgown.  Ellen sat in the darkness, knees tucked under her chin, staring at the chair Mason had sat in the night before. Clouds blocked the moonlight and the stars. It looked like it was going to storm
.
Ellen sipped her wine, waiting for its euphoric affects. Some small animal rustled the bushes. Fearful of mice, Ellen stiffened and held her breath.

A pickup truck stopping at the intersection caught her attention.  To avoid being caught in its headlights, she hunched down in the loveseat. It moved closer; the headlights’ harsh white beams flooded the road. Unexpectedly, they pointed into her driveway. Ellen dropped her glass. It rolled to the edge of the railing and then stopped. A dark red splotch oozed over the throw rug. She swallowed hard when the headlights died, and she heard the truck door open and close. She looked at the front door. Open, except for the screen, could she get inside and lock it?

Footsteps sounded on the stairs. A dark figure approached. Ellen didn’t move, didn’t breathe, didn’t blink. The intruder stood at the door, leaned into the screen, cupping his hands around his eyes and peered inside. Stepping back, he opened it.

“Ellen, are you here?” he called out.

Ellen jumped up, anger and relief fueling her voice. “Mason Hackett, what are you doing!”

He turned, exhaling deeply. “Fuck, Ellen, you scared the shit out of me!” 

“I scared you? It figures you’d put yourself first. I’m out here when a strange vehicle pulls into my driveway at 2 a.m., and I scared you?”

Ellen’s jaw clenched as her hands hugged her hips. She wanted to leap on him and pummel his chest: every blow would be an exorcism of rage and hurt. “I thought you were a robber or worse. Why are you here?”

She watched him as he cautiously stepped closer. His eyes met hers, and then he sat on the edge of a chair.

“I came to apologize.” He looked down.

“Apologize for what? For last night? Are you sorry for what you did to Desi or what you did to me? You bastard!”

She stood in front of him, arms folded across her chest.

“I shouldn’t have left you like I did. I’ve been feeling like shit all day.”

His eyes moved upward, elbows resting on his knees, hands clasped together, he looked sincere. “Last night… it was… special.”

Hands dropped to her sides, knees soft, she slowly sat back down on the loveseat. “What did you say?”

Ellen inhaled, trying to summon back the anger and hurt, but a bewildered joy had defeated them.

He sighed. “Last night I didn’t know how to tell you what I felt. Hell, I still don’t.” He slouched back, drumming his finger tips on the arm rest. “I’ve never felt like that before. It scared me, so I left.”

Ellen hugged her knees to her chest and then pulled the hem of her nightgown over her toes. The still-humid air beaded her forehead with sweat, yet she shivered.
Was he telling the truth? Did he leave because he was scared?
She had watched him split a man’s face in half, yet she had scared him? She didn’t think so. But he did admit his feelings and, for a man like him, that was something.

“You know, Mason, there are such things as telephones. If you wanted to stop by at two-thirty in the morning, you could at least call first.” 

His fingers froze. He raised his head, noticing the thin cotton nightgown covering Ellen. White and sheer, he could see skin. Was she forgiving him? She shouldn’t. He didn’t deserve it. He knew he had hurt her. Mason moved to the edge of the chair, leaning forward. “I don’t have your phone number. I should really get that from you, shouldn’t I?”

“No, it wouldn’t be a good idea.”

So she was still angry. He was going to have to beg, and that was definitely not his style.

“Ellen—”

“Mason, I want you to go. If you stay any longer, I won’t be able to stand it.” Morsels of light mingled with the tears that ran down her cheeks. “I don’t think I can even be friends with you.”

She dropped her head to her knees.

“Why?” He clutched the hem of her nightgown.

She looked at him. “You’re with Desi. Doesn’t that matter to you?”

Mason stood, gripping the porch railing; he watched the dark, shifting clouds. A fingernail moon momentarily escaped, lighting a small circle of darkness.

“There is no Desi any longer, Ellen. We broke up at the rally. When you and Mad Dog left the fire, I went to my tent, and Desi and I got into an argument. The next day she left with Jack, the guy you met at the fire. I haven’t heard from her since. Things were unraveling before the rally, but you were the last straw.”