Protector for Hire (11 page)

There was another awkward silence, and Janelle waited. Did that mean he was okay sharing more about his military history, or had he just been assuring her it was all right that she’d asked? Where was the damn rule book when she needed it?

“Look, let’s try a more neutral topic,” she said. “Tell me about your first car.”

“My first car?”

“Sure, when you were a teenager. What did you drive?”

“I didn’t drive a car.”

“Oh.”

“I drove a truck.”

She smiled, nodding a little to herself as she tugged at the strap again, absently hooking a thumbnail beneath it. “That fits.”

“It was a 1976 Ford F-250 with alloy wheels and a V8.”

“The only word I understood there was ‘wheels.’”

“A classic. Used to belong to my grandfather. Grant and I worked together to fix it up, and we both had after-school jobs to pay for gas and parts.”

“So the two of you shared it?”

“Yeah. Our parents helped a little with insurance, but it was ours.”

“How’d you decide who got to drive it?”

“It wasn’t as much of a pain in the ass as you’d expect. Grant and I were pretty tight, so we were usually going the same places anyway. It only got tricky when we both had a date.”

Janelle smiled, trying to imagine a teenage version of Schwartz with a fresh shaving cut on his chin and twenty dollars in his wallet. She pictured him youthful and hopeful and full of excitement about his future. She let go of the strap on her cami top and began fiddling with the neckline instead.

“Did you date a lot in high school?” she asked.

“I guess so. I was eleven months older than Grant, so I got dibs on the truck more often. Took Ashley Orion to the prom in that truck.”

The thought of Schwartz in a bow tie and cummerbund made her smile again. Then her brain veered to an imaginary image of a grown-up Schwartz looking dangerous and drop-dead sexy in a tuxedo, and she caught herself sliding her hand down the front of her top. Her fingertips brushed her nipple, and she sucked in a breath.

“So Ashley Orion, huh?” Janelle asked, struggling to keep her voice casual as she circled her nipple with the pad of her thumb. “Was that a steady girlfriend or just a prom date?”

“Somewhere in between. Grant dated her cousin, so we had to work out this complicated schedule for planning dates and who got the truck on a Friday or Saturday. It got a little dicey at one point.”

“How do you mean?”

“Well, since our parents helped with insurance, they used the truck sometimes, too. This one time our mom borrowed it to pick up lumber at Home Depot. As soon as she got home, she marched us outside to look in the ashtray.”

“The ashtray? Did you guys smoke?”

“Nope.” Schwartz cleared his throat. “There was a condom in it. A used condom. Stella—our mom—found it when she went looking for change.”

“Oh, no.”

“Oh, yes. She stood there in the driveway and gave Grant and me this long lecture on personal responsibility and self-respect and public decency laws.”

“Wasn’t she at least glad to know you were practicing safe sex?”

“Yeah, we got bonus points for that. Her gripe was more about disrespecting women. About making a partner feel shady or ashamed or unvalued with a quick screw in a truck instead of something more meaningful. She talked a lot about the importance of being sensitive to a woman’s needs.”

“Right,” Janelle said, her thumb circling her nipple as her brain echoed the words “a woman’s needs.” Her nipple tightened pleasantly under the pad of her thumb, so she kept circling, keeping her touch light and her voice casual. “So what happened?”

“I took the rap for the condom.”

“It was yours?”

“Nope. But I didn’t want Grant to get busted. He’d gotten in trouble earlier that week for his grades, and Mom had threatened not to let him play in the big game that weekend if he didn’t shape up.”

“Wow. I hope he appreciated that.”

“Nope. He called me a liar.”

“What?”

Schwartz laughed, his voice warmer now than it had been ten minutes ago. “Yeah. He thanked me for trying to cover his ass, but said I shouldn’t take the blame for it. Mom was threatening not to let me go on this big school trip I’d been talking about for weeks, and Grant said I shouldn’t give that up to take the rap for something he did.”

“Wow, that’s really sweet.” Janelle moved her hand to the other breast, remembering the feel of Schwartz’s mouth on her nipple that morning. She stifled a moan, feeling a little ridiculous. For crying out loud, he was just telling her a family story. It wasn’t like he’d called to talk dirty to her.

It’s his voice
, her conscience pointed out, and she kept talking so she could hear it again. “You and your brother sound really close.”

“Yeah. There was just one problem.”

“What’s that?”

“The condom wasn’t Grant’s, either.”

“What? Who put it there?”

“We didn’t know. But Mom did.”

“You’re kidding me.”

He laughed again. “The whole thing was a setup to see how we’d handle the situation. Honor and dignity and sticking together is a big thing in the military. In the Patton family especially.”

His tone had taken on a slight grimness, and Janelle tried to rewind through the conversation and figure out where things had gone off the rails.

“So who left the condom?”

“Our sister, Sheri.”

“No way!”

“Yep. She was older than us and in college by then, so it wasn’t like she was some fifteen-year-old getting groped in a borrowed truck. She was home on break, and she’d taken it to the drive-in movies with the guy she’d been dating. I guess they forgot about the condom.”

“I can’t believe this! So your mom knew all along?”

“She did. After she finished lecturing Grant and me about honor and respect, she called Sheri out for her talking-to.”

“Was she harsher on her than she was with you boys?”

“You mean in the sense of ‘my little princess should be pure and wholesome’?”

“I guess.”

“Hell no. Stella Patton doesn’t go for any of that double standard bullshit. She raised her daughter to be empowered and responsible and open about sex. There was no difference between that and how she raised the boys. Well, except one.”

“What’s that?”

“After she finished lecturing Sheri about self-respect and public decency laws, she moved to a lecture on demanding sexual satisfaction.”

“What?”

“Grant and I tried to take off at that point, but Mom made us stay. She said it was important that we all understand that women are wired differently from men, and that they should expect their partners to respect them enough to take the time and care to bring them pleasure.”

“Seriously?” She laughed, cradling the phone against her shoulder as she slid her other hand over her hip. “Go, Stella!”

“Yeah. We were all pretty embarrassed, but deep down, I think we were taking mental notes.”

Janelle laughed again, trying to imagine a teenage Schwartz filing away the knowledge of how important it was to take his time and go slowly, ensuring his partner’s pleasure. She closed her eyes as the fingers of her left hand stroked her nipple while the right hand slipped beneath the waistband of her shorts. Her skin was soft from her bath oil and smooth from the Brazilian wax she’d endured a week ago, and she sucked in a breath as her fingers trailed downward.

“So your mom wanted to make sure you knew how to get a girl off.”

“In a manner of speaking.”

“Did you learn anything?”

“Yeah. Never try to pull the wool over Stella Patton’s eyes. Also, multiple orgasms are a thing.”

“No kidding.” She let her legs fall open as her fingers slipped between them, her brain still ringing with the word “orgasms.”

“How was that?” he asked. His voice was low and gravelly, and it made Janelle feel like she’d just swallowed a spoonful of melted bittersweet chocolate.

“How was what?” she breathed.

“Was that a good enough bedtime story?”

“Perfect.” She dipped two fingers into her wetness, the rumble of Schwartz’s voice making her tingle everywhere. Some spots more than others.

“Feeling better now?”

“Much, much better.” She bit her lip, sliding two fingers inside herself, then drawing back only to slip inside again. She closed her eyes and imagined Schwartz touching her, those huge hands stroking her hips, her breasts, her thighs.

“I’m glad. Oh, and Janelle?”

“Mmmm?”

“Don’t think I don’t know you’re touching yourself on the other side of this wall.”

“What? How did you—”

“Good night.”

And with that, he hung up.

…

The image of Janelle pleasuring herself in the darkness was still burned into Schwartz’s brain the next day. And the next day. And the day after that.

As the week dragged on, it got harder and harder to keep his distance. He was as polite as he could be, making small talk over dinner and even allowing her back into the office to work since the light was better for her graphic design projects.

But all he had to do was recall that soft little gasp on the phone, the breathy moan she thought he couldn’t hear. He could only imagine what she’d looked like as she threw her head against the pillow and slid her fingers between her legs.

Truth be told, he imagined it a lot.

It was ridiculous. He had no idea how much longer he could keep his hands off her, but he had to figure out a way to do it. From what Grant reported, Jacques wasn’t giving up his search for his ex-wife. The police were involved, of course, but they’d already failed several times to get the situation under control. Jacques was too slippery, too good at not getting caught.

It was no wonder Janelle hadn’t figured out right away what sort of man she’d married. The guy was good, Schwartz had to give him that.

By Friday morning with Janelle bare-legged and sucking the tip of her pen at the other end of the desk, Schwartz was running low on resolve.

He was also running low on groceries. He shoved his keyboard aside and turned to face her. “I need to go into town today.”

She looked up, her eyes wide and hopeful. “Can I come?”

She could come pretty easily from what he’d heard on the other side of the wall, but that probably wasn’t what she meant.

“I’ve been thinking about that,” he said. “About whether you’re safer here alone, or with me.”

“With you. Definitely with you.”

“I’d be flattered, except that I know the real reason you’re jonesing to go.”

She stood up, beaming. “I’ll be good, I promise. I’ll wear my disguise and keep to myself. But I’d seriously sell a kidney for a decent cup of coffee right now.”

“I don’t think they take payment in kidneys,” Schwartz said, getting to his feet. “Be ready to go in ten minutes.”

“Thank you, Schwartz!” Before he could say anything, she’d launched herself at him, wrapping her arms around his neck and squeezing him in a surprisingly ferocious bear hug. He meant to step back and push her away, but his arms went around her by instinct and pulled her tight. He was still reeling when she let go and turned to scurry toward the door.

He patted himself on the back for making a damn good effort not to notice the jiggling going on under her T-shirt.

An hour later, he led her out to the truck. He opened the passenger door and offered her a hand up into the cab before moving around to the other side and sliding behind the wheel. “Explain to me again how it can take you fifty minutes to get ready,” he said as he shoved the key into the ignition.

“I had to do my hair.”

“You’re wearing a wig.”

“And I had to fix my makeup.”

“Your sunglasses take up half your face.”

“And I needed to find something to wear.”

“You brought enough clothes to outfit a small African nation.”

She grinned at him from the passenger seat. “Thanks for taking me with you, Schwartz.”

He grunted. “Buckle your seat belt.”

He drove most of the way in silence, though every once in a while he’d stop to point out a landmark or a buffalo or a path to the creek that snaked through the woods around his cabin. He’d agreed to skip the blindfold this time, knowing she’d never be able to describe the twists and turns and back roads making up the fifty-mile stretch between the cabin and the closest town. Three Creeks was a little over an hour away, and they bumped along the gravel road in companionable quiet for most of the way.

He was aware of her, though. His chest tightened every time she smiled or laughed or touched his arm to point out a mountain view she found breathtaking. He’d lived out here for nearly a decade, but driving along with Janelle in his truck was the first time he’d really noticed most of this stuff.

By the time he pulled the truck into the dirt parking lot beside the small mini market, his stomach was growling.

“You hungry?” he asked.

“Starving.”

“See that place over there?”

“The house?”

“That’s the restaurant I was telling you about. Owner makes a damn good meat loaf.”

“Just tell me she also makes coffee and I’ll love her forever.”

“Him,” Schwartz said, pushing open the truck door. “Keep the chitchat to a minimum, okay? We don’t want anyone asking questions about you.”

She hopped out of the truck on her side and came around to join him. She grinned and raised a hand to her forehead in salute. “Roger that. Now lead the way to the coffee.”

Schwartz shook his head and headed across the dust-covered asphalt to the Elk Horn Café. There was a handmade sign out front that gave the name, along with a collection of other small signs advertising taxidermy services and pointing out where to tie up horses.

“What does that sign mean?” Janelle asked as Schwartz held the door open for her.

She stepped into the restaurant and he followed behind her, ducking a little to get through the doorframe. “What sign?”

“The one that says ‘Walt Crossing.’ Who’s Walt?”

Schwartz shrugged. “Beats me.”

“I can answer that one, young lady.” Schwartz looked up to see the owner, Bill, standing in the middle of the three tables that made up the dining area. He was smiling and looking at Janelle like he’d never seen anything quite like her.