Infamous (15 page)

“Someone might come in.” She twisted away from him. He followed, mouth moving to nibble her earlobe.

“I didn’t think you minded being caught necking.”

“You do.” She pushed hard against his chest. “Weren’t you just lecturing me about consequences?”

“Was I?” His hands, denied their earlier goal, were now sneaking their way under her shorts. “How shortsighted of me.”

Jessica redirected the roaming hands out of her waistband and around her waist. “I’m serious, Morgan. Cut it out.”

“No one would walk in on us in the bedroom,” he said against her ear.

For a second she was tempted.
What would June Cleaver do?
She shook her head and pushed against his chest again. It had as much effect as pushing against the stucco wall of the house.

“It wouldn’t be appropriate. We would be missed.”

“So? There are plenty of adults to supervise the kids. John’s got the grill covered.”

“The last thing I need today is more gossip.” Jessica finally managed to twist out of his arms. “We should go back outside.”

“If you say so.” Morgan caught her hand as she turned away, but didn’t stop her. She felt very virtuous as she led him back toward the patio. They were almost out of the kitchen when he gave a sudden tug and wrapped his arms back around her.

“Hey!”

“Sshhh.” There was laughter in his voice.

Before she knew it, he had pulled her into the pantry and shut the door. He crowded her up against the wall, lips finding hers unerringly in the dark. She tried to protest, but he simply deepened the kiss until her arms went around his neck. The pantry was cool and dark, but the warmth of the sun lingered on Morgan’s skin. She pressed herself against him, trying to absorb the heat, to beat back the cold edges of fear that assailed her. When he pulled away, the cold pressed in around her, chilling the places he was no longer touching.

He pushed down her shorts, his mouth trailing fire down her belly as he stooped to remove them. He pressed a warm kiss just under her navel as he tossed the shorts aside, then he was pushing her thighs apart and stoking the flames even lower. She gasped, fisting her hands in his hair, but it wasn’t what she wanted. She was cold, and she didn’t want to do this alone.

His thumbs pressed into her thighs, pushing them farther apart. His tongue made a devastatingly gentle swipe.

She shuddered.

“Morgan.” It came out a hoarse whisper.

“Jessie.” It was almost a sigh and the warmth of his breath melted her.

When he pressed his mouth back against her, her eyes rolled back. She tugged at his hair.

“Morgan, please.”

She couldn’t find words, couldn’t ask him for what she wanted. Him. All of him. Heat and sunshine.

He must have heard something, because his lips were back on her belly, her throat, then locked on hers. She felt him reach between them, pulling at his own clothes. His hands slid down her hips and reached to cup her bottom, lifting her so she could wrap her legs around him. She could feel him underneath her, hard and ready. He braced her between his body and the wall, lifted her even higher, then slid her down, inch by excruciating inch.

She sank onto him, impatient and needy, forgetting everything except his heat slowly sinking into her. It was exactly what she wanted — his body in hers, hot and hard, warming her from the inside out.

“You kids stay out of the house while you’re wet. I’ll find the chips.”

Jessica’s eyes flew open at the sound of Bitsy’s voice. Morgan had gone still. She clutched at his shoulders, straining to hear what was going on outside the pantry.

Bitsy’s sandals slapped against the floor as she passed the pantry door. Jessica could hear her put a bowl on the counter and begin rifling through the bags of supplies stacked on one counter.

She pushed against Morgan, trying to dislodge him. They had to get dressed before Bitsy decided to try the pantry, but Morgan wasn’t cooperating.

“Morgan,” she hissed.

“Shhhh.” His voice was a whisper of warm air against her ear. “You don’t want Bitsy to hear you.”

She shifted her hips, trying to slide her feet down, to ignore the way the little movement pressed him inside of her. “Morgan, we — ”

“Shhh.” His hands under her thighs held her firmly in place. He ended the command by scraping his teeth lightly down her earlobe, sending a little shiver through her.

She was very aware of every sound in the dark, of the rough plaster against her back, and Morgan’s length still embedded in her, his lips next to her ear as they listened to the noises in the next room. He was still, so still and hard and close. In spite of herself, her muscles contracted around him.

In the kitchen, Bitsy had apparently found the chips and was ripping open the bag and dumping them into the bowl. As she walked across the kitchen to put the bag in the trash, Morgan moved, sliding her up the wall, lifting her slowly until she was almost free. Then, before she could breathe a sigh of relief, he lowered her again and thrust up to meet her.

He was embedded all the way to the hilt, grinding against her in a rush of sensation. She sucked in a breath as her body responded, her legs tightened around him to pull him in even closer.

Jessica squeezed her eyes shut and struggled for control, tried to remember that she was the hostess and this was wildly inappropriate at a children’s party. But June Cleaver had deserted her. The earlier cold was a distant memory. She was burning up. Giving in, she wriggled her hips against Morgan.

“That’s my Jessie,” he breathed. He adjusted his position so her back was braced more firmly against the wall. She felt his hands moving under her thighs, pulling and lifting so she was completely open to him. Then he was moving in her, slow and controlled. In the dark, she was hyper-aware of every sensation — the cold wall on her bare skin, the smell of mesquite still on his skin, the slow slide of his body in hers.

Her breath came in short gasps. She clutched his shoulders, bunching the fabric of his shirt. He was right there with her, moving faster and faster. The dark didn’t matter anymore, it was only the two of them alone in the universe. She heard herself moan, and Morgan’s mouth was on hers, silencing her.

“Shhh.”

For a second, she almost remembered why she should be quiet, then he gave a final thrust and they were both flying through the dark, his mouth hard against hers to muffle the sound.

When her breathing slowed to normal, she was still wrapped around Morgan. There was silence from the kitchen. Morgan had moved his hands from under her legs to behind her back, so he was cradling her away from the wall. His forehead rested against the wall, his cheek pressed alongside hers. Reluctantly she slid her feet to the ground.

“Better?”

“Mmmm. Nice.” She tried for nonchalance.

She heard his hand fumble along the wall and blinked as the overhead light came on, dispelling the warmth and intimacy.

She was half-naked in the pantry. There were guests. Kids. Parents.

Please, God, don’t let Bitsy have heard them.

She pushed away from Morgan and scrambled for her shorts, not looking at him. Behind her she heard the rasp of his zipper, then silence.

She wanted to look at him, to have him take her back in his arms. To… what?

“I’ll go check on the guests. Take your time.” He slipped out the door and was gone.

As soon as he was gone, the recriminations started. How had she let that happen? Bitsy or anyone else could have walked in on them at any moment. Morgan would … . Her brain stuttered to a halt.

Morgan Riley had just made love to her against the wall of the pantry with two dozen guests a few yards away. She felt her mouth curve into an irrepressible smile.

Things were looking up in Stepford.

The dinging finally penetrated Jessica’s consciousness and she surfaced from the chapter she was writing. The book was out of control. At some point, she had abandoned her alter ego, Janet, and her glitzy, superficial lifestyle. She had no idea how her editor was going to feel about the new direction. The book was still about Hollywood, but she had stripped away the gloss and veered into the gritty underbelly. Alcoholism, bleeding boob jobs, crash diets. The ABCs of life in Hollywood. It was …different. Not her usual soap opera-style romp at all. And she couldn’t seem to stop writing it.

What had pulled her out of the scene?

She sniffed.

And what was that
smell
?

Cookies
!

She made a mad dash for the kitchen and wrenched open the oven door. At the last minute, she remembered the oven mitt. Crap.
Crap
. She pulled the cookie sheet and its charred contents from the oven. Using a spatula, she began coaxing the cookies off the sheet and onto the waiting wire racks. When she was finished, she stared at the crispy brown disks.

The bottoms were black. That was definitely not right. She had a feeling Sandy was going to be getting a lot of “treats” in the near future. It had been going so well, too.

Cookies had seemed like an easy enough task. Very suburban. Very Mom. Very June Cleaver. Susan made gourmet brownies that rivaled anything the best Beverly Hills bakeries turned out, but she had just laughed when Jessica asked for a good recipe.

“For Kinsey and her friends? Go to the supermarket and look on the back of the chocolate chip bag — guaranteed winner.”

Jessica glared at the gleaming designer oven. It was top of the line. You would think it would turn itself off instead of just dinging incessantly.

Where was Kinsey anyway? She hadn’t seen her since she picked her up from swim practice. It was now late afternoon. That was unusual. Rachel hadn’t come home with her. If the girls weren’t together, Kinsey was usually bored by this time of day. She routinely interrupted Jessica to ask to be taken to a friend’s house, to a movie, or shopping.

She hadn’t heard the phone ring, either. It was never quiet when Kinsey was home. Teenage girls, she had discovered, could communicate through an alarming number of devices simultaneously. Kinsey was typically on the phone with one friend, while chatting online with a dozen more.

Maybe she should just check up on her.

Outside Kinsey’s room, she raised her hand to knock on the door. It was open a crack. Kinsey was on her stomach in the bed. That wasn’t right. Kinsey never napped in the afternoon. Was she sick?

She pushed open the door.

“Kinsey?”

“Go away.”

Kinsey’s voice was muffled. Jessica walked further into the room.

“Are you feeling okay?”

“I’m
fine
.”

But she didn’t look at her or offer any other explanation. Obviously she was not
fine
.

What to do? Most likely it was just one of her frequent arguments with Rachel. Those were usually loud and involved a lot of complaining about how stupid Rachel was being. She had never seen Kinsey quiet and listless like this.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“There’s nothing you can do.”

Jessica sat on the side of the bed. “We won’t know until you tell me. Sometimes it helps just to tell somebody.”

Kinsey rolled over to face her and Jessica was horrified to see her face was streaked with tears.

“What happened,
chica
? Who made you cry?” She stroked the hair out of Kinsey’s face.
A boy
, she thought. It was bound to be a boy at this age.

Kinsey wrapped her arms around Jessica’s waist and buried her face in her stomach.

“No one. It’s nothing. I’m just being stupid”

“It’s not stupid if you’re this upset. Tell me.”

At first she thought Kinsey would refuse. She was starting to be a little alarmed. Kinsey was tough. She won gold medals for her swim team. She broke boards with her hands. She did not lie on her bed and cry.

“It’s just a stupid party.”

Kinsey’s voice was muffled against her stomach. Jessica pulled her away so she could see her.

“Okay. Someone’s having a party?”

“It’s an end of the summer party. All my friends are invited — everyone in my grade except me. Everyone’s talking about it. There’s going to be a live band and everything.”

That didn’t sound too bad. Maybe there had been a mix-up with the invitations. With all the work on the auction, she knew most of the other moms by now. She could sort this out in no time.

“Who’s throwing the party, sweetie?”

Kinsey hesitated.

“Kinsey?” A dreadful suspicion began to build.

“Zach Mitchell,” Kinsey said.

At first, Jessica’s mind refused to process the information. She rubbed Kinsey’s back as she struggled to think.
It was her fault. This was Andrea’s revenge
. Like any predator, she had picked the place where her prey was most vulnerable.

Kinsey shouldn’t have to suffer because of her actions. It wasn’t fair. But what could she do?

If she had been the one snubbed, the fix would be simple. She would either crash the party on the arm of someone who couldn’t be thrown out, or stage an even more elaborate party of her own.

Neither solution was workable in Kinsey’s situation. Aside from the rift it would cause in the community, either plan took a kind of desperate bravado to pull off that she didn’t want Kinsey developing. What she needed was a socially acceptable fix, not a Jessica Sinclair upstage.

What would June Cleaver do?

That was no help either. June would have a serious talk with the Beaver over a plate of warm, perfectly baked cookies and milk. June would convince him that there would be other parties and that missing this one was just one of life’s little morality lessons.
June
would never have caused the scene that precipitated this whole situation in the first place. Finally,
June
was a fictitious character who vacuumed in heels and a pearl necklace and agonized over spending too much on a hat.

Screw you, June
, she fumed.
What we need is a workable plan
.

“When is the party?” she asked Kinsey.

“What does it matter?”