Bubbles and Troubles (3 page)

“Puh-leeze!” Carmen interjected. “He’s already a very rich man! Good grief.” She poured another glass of beer for Deb and topped off her own glass.

Deb twisted her mouth to the side. “Who knows, Carmen,” she said. “Nobody goes up there, and nobody knows what old Calvin’s financial situation is. He certainly doesn’t bank around here, that’s for sure. Marcus’s friend Tom is the manager of First Trust in Aldridge, where ’most everybody around here does their banking, and he’s already asked about the Prescott money. Tom said that there’s no Prescott money at First Trust, so who knows how much Calvin’s got squirrelled away.”

“Huh,” Dora mused. “Maybe he’s house poor after all, living in that big old mansion. There’s got to be a lot of upkeep to that thing.”

“Well, he still doesn’t have any right to change the whole flavour of Charade, damn it,” Carmen complained.

Deb lifted her hands in resignation. “Well, it is his land after all, so I guess we have to like it or lump it.” She waved over Carmen’s shoulder and stood with her half-full glass. “Thanks for the beer, girls, and happy birthday, Carmen. I wouldn’t worry too much about the Prescott land if I were you. Charade’s been around for a long time, and it’s not going anywhere.”

* * * *

Two pitchers later, Dora and Colby were singing an off-key but enthusiastic version of Happy Birthday to Carmen in a black-and-white Aldridge City Cab. The driver pulled in front of Carmen’s house and waited for the ladies to hug their goodnights and for Carmen to exit. While Carmen fumbled for her keys, she heard Dora and Colby resume their singing as the cab eased down her driveway.

Chapter Three

Arr-uff! Arr-uff-uff-uff!

Dax’s bark drew her attention to the backyard. It wasn’t like him to bark for no reason. Could it be that her egg poacher had returned to swipe another basket?

Carmen clomped in booted feet around the side porch. “Get ’im, Dax!” she shouted as she raced to the backyard. “Get that thing and hold it down, boy!” Carmen rushed through the fence gate towards the sound of Dax’s barking, which was, sure enough, right next to the door of the chicken coop.

Carmen saw a tall form in the shadows. Unmistakably masculine and incredibly imposing. Even under the influence of alcohol, she felt the icy tongue of fear lap down her spine. She and Dax were no match for a grown man, let alone a trespasser with bad intentions…

Carmen took a step back towards her house. “Just take the eggs,” she said in a shaky voice. “I’m going inside now. Take all you want, okay?” She felt dizzy with dread as adrenaline coursed through her limbs. With her hand on the doorknob, she stared at Dax, who was barking nonstop, and the shadowy figure. Before her eyes, the figure shrank and moved. Carmen shook her head in confusion. It was…a cat? The big grey tomcat hissed at Dax and darted up to Carmen’s feet.
Stupid beer.
Thank goodness birthdays only come once a year,
Carmen thought, and opened the back door.

“Here, kitty, kitty, kitty,” she called. Noisily purring, the cat walked into her house as if he owned the place, his tail held high. Dax followed, visibly annoyed with the whole proceedings. “It’s okay, Dax,” Carmen soothed. “We need a mouser around here, boy.” She took a rawhide bone from the kitchen cabinet and held it up for Dax. With a sceptical glance towards the cat, Dax chomped the bone and trotted out to his doghouse.

Carmen turned to her new house guest. The huge furball sat on the kitchen floor, staring at her. “So, you’re a stray, huh?” Carmen asked him. “You look pretty well-fed for a homeless cat. Have you been eating my eggs, mister?” The glossy grey cat bumped his head against her calf affectionately.

“So, I haven’t been to the store yet, kitty, and I don’t know what I’ve got around here that you might want to eat.” The cat brushed once more against her leg before trotting out of the kitchen towards Carmen’s bedroom.

Carmen followed him and chuckled to see him leap onto her bed and stretch out on his back like a sleeping lion. “Please make yourself at home, kitty-cat.” She laughed. Carmen slipped out of her boots and tank top, and yanked her jeans down to her feet. Clad in a silky turquoise cami and hot pink satin boyshorts, she held a hand out to the cat.

“Don’t get offended, bub,” she slurred, “but I’m not letting anyone into my bed who has fleas. Just gonna do a quick check, okay?” The cat purred like an outboard motor as Carmen parted his thick charcoal fur with her fingers. She shook her head in bemusement at the fearless stray cat baring his belly to her. After a few minutes of careful searching, Carmen didn’t find a single flea or tick. In fact, the cat’s thick, shiny coat was scrupulously clean and as soft as a chinchilla’s.

“All righty then,” Carmen decided. “You’ve got the all-clear to share my bed, mister. Hope you appreciate the honour. You’re the only male who’s been here since I moved in five years ago.” She took a quick bathroom break, washed her face, brushed her teeth, then climbed into bed.

It seemed that as soon as her eyes closed, her dream was back, clearer than ever.

Once more, she was in the depths of the woods. He was inside her, pummelling her cunt with that fat cock of his. He had his hands in her hair, around her waist, caressing her breasts, and she pumped her rear against him in approval.

In a sudden motion, he yanked his shaft from her and whipped her onto her back. Carmen cried out in surprise then moaned in delight. He buried his head between her thighs and parted her folds with his tongue. Carmen lowered her hands to his head. His hair was silky, lush and thick between her fingers. “Fuck, yes,” she whispered. He lapped her clit delicately, and Carmen’s nipples puckered in response. His hair was so exquisitely soft, it felt almost like fur as it grazed the sensitive skin of her inner thighs. Carmen ran her palms over it, loving the cool, silky feel of his locks and the clever, wet attention from his mouth.

His hands moved to her thighs and yanked them farther apart. The dry leaves and twigs under her ass crunched. Her muscles protested the deep split stretch, but she relished the burn. Oh, God, he was touching her again. He slid strong, thick fingers over the crumpled, wet lips of her pussy as Carmen whimpered, impatient for more. His fingertips found the opening to her cunt and slowly, slowly, slowly eased inside.

With his tongue skidding over her swollen clitoris, he unhurriedly fucked her with first one, then two long digits. Carmen arched and bucked against his hand and mouth, urging him to go faster and deeper and harder, but he seemed to be in no rush whatsoever.

She fisted her hands in his hair in desperation and pulled his face tighter to her crotch. “Do it,” she begged roughly. “Make me come again.” Carmen cried out when he wedged a third finger between her legs. Her pussy wept at the tight fit. She ground against his hand mindlessly, her body twisting and undulating of its own accord.

She realised with a smile what her dream lover’s hair reminded her of. So luxuriantly soft and thick, and unbelievably silky…

Carmen’s eyes flew open in alarm. The room was dark, but enough moonglow filtered through the window that she could see her own spread knees on the bed. She reached tentatively between them, her heart thumping, and felt that unmistakable soft fur.

“Oh my God!” she squeaked. “Kitty! No! Bad kitty!” Carmen grabbed fistfuls of fur and yanked the randy thing up from between her legs.

“Ow!” a deep male voice protested. “What the fuck! Ow! Let go, Carmen!”

“Holy shit!” Carmen grabbed the sheet and scooted back against the headboard of her bed. She fumbled for the bedside lamp with one shaking hand.
Click.
Yellow lamplight warmed the room and exposed the naked man tangled in sheets at the foot of her bed.

He had a tousled mane of slate-coloured hair that stood wildly on end, like that of a manga character in a comic book. The man rubbed his head, wincing, and looked up at her with accusing sapphire-blue eyes. “You didn’t have to pull my hair out,” he muttered. “It’s attached to my head, you know.”

Carmen gaped. He was the most beautiful man she’d ever laid eyes on. His skin was the colour of buttery, molten caramel. His chest was chiselled and sharply defined, his shoulders were gloriously wide and his biceps were bulky and knotted. And oh, those abs. Carmen let her eyes wander lower. A thick erection, ringed by slate-grey curls of hair, jutted from his lap.

She shook her head. “Am I drunk-dreaming or crazy? Who the fuck are you?” She leant forwards and lifted one trembling hand to his head. That rich, grey hair felt just like the fur of a chinchilla. Or a cat. “Are you the fucking stray cat?” she gasped. “What’s going on?”

“I’m not a cat, but, ah, I might have looked like a cat a time or two to your eyes.” He seemed oblivious to the still-thick cock pointing towards his chin, but it was incredibly difficult for Carmen to feel the same. She found her treacherous eyes wanting to drift downward, again and again, to drink that luscious sight in. Clearly, it had been way too long since she’d been with a man. Five years, in fact, and Ian almost didn’t count, since his heart obviously hadn’t been completely into their lovemaking by the end of the relationship.

“And that makes about zero sense,” Carmen grumbled. She rose from the bed and yanked her chenille robe around her. Knotting the sash, she glared at him. “You better do some talking, mister,” she warned, “or, I swear, I’ll call the police right now.” Carmen turned on her cell phone, dialled 9-1-1, and held the phone up threateningly.

“Ah, yes.” The man stood and lifted his hands in an ‘I’m innocent’ gesture. Carmen swallowed with effort. He was at least six foot three and looked uncannily like David Beckham in his skivvies. Minus the skivvies. “I’m Brock. This will probably be a novel concept for you, but, along with members of my family, I have the ability to cast glamours on humans. To change what they see and trick them into seeing something else. I wanted to get closer to you, but I didn’t think you’d just let me waltz in, so I made it so that you saw a sweet little cat instead.”

“Bullshit,” Carmen said. She pointed one finger at the ’call’ button and lifted her eyebrows.

“Seriously,” Brock insisted. “I’m always truly in this form, but, to your eyes, I was a puffy grey furball.” He grinned and added, “You can’t really blame me. Would you have let a man peek in your window for your daybreak solo playtimes, Carmen?”

Carmen shrieked in embarrassed fury. She pressed ‘call’ and tossed the phone on her bed then shoved Brock into her walk-in closet. He fell back on his bare ass with a thump. Carmen saw shock register on his face before she slammed the closet door. She pulled her heavy dresser in front of the door and picked up the phone from her bed.

“I’m here,” she told the concerned dispatcher, “and there’s a peeping-tom trespasser trapped in my closet.”

Chapter Four

Carmen had pulled on some jeans and a sweatshirt by the time the policeman arrived. She waited, tapping her foot, as the young officer exited his patrol car and approached her front steps.

“Good evening, ma’am.” Officer Paul Treble tipped his hat gravely. “What seems to be the trouble?” He stood at polite attention on Carmen’s porch.

Carmen groaned inwardly. She’d known Paul ever since she’d moved to Charade. As a pimple-faced teen, he’d helped out at Bushel and a Peck during high school, bagging bunches of kale and rhubarb for customers, before going to college and to the police academy.

“Come on in, Paul,” she answered. “I caught a trespasser in my bedroom and I’ve got him trapped in my closet.”

Paul placed his hand on the grip of his pistol. “Is he armed, Ma’am?”

“Sheesh, Paul, just call me Carmen, okay?” Carmen insisted. “And, uh, he’s not armed. He’s not even dressed,” she added, blushing.

Paul gave Carmen a sideways glance. She coloured slightly and led him to her bedroom. The tall oak set of drawers stood in front of her closet door, massive and unmoving. Paul put his shoulder to the dresser and pushed it out of the way. He hopped back in front of the door and slid his gun from the holster. Pointing it up to the ceiling, he shouted in a commanding voice, “I’m going to open the door now. Put your hands on your head. Do not move. Do not take a step. Do you understand me?”

Carmen took a step back. Brock might be hot, but he was also a trespasser. And the whole cat-thing was just too weird to even consider. It was just creepy, no matter how you cut it. And who knew what a creepy trespasser might do…?

“Yowwwwrrrr?” a plaintive meow questioned from the closet.

“You locked him in there with your cat?” Paul muttered in surprise.

“I don’t have a damn cat!” Carmen retorted. “There’s been a stray around the place, though. It must have gotten in my closet.”

Paul placed one hand on the closet doorknob.

Carmen had an increasingly bad feeling about the whole situation.

Paul nodded to her and threw open the closet door. He lowered his pistol to chest level, but no one was inside the tiny space. However, a huge, fluffy, grey tomcat emerged, purring heartily. It walked—strutted—into the centre of the room. The cat blinked its bright blue eyes at Carmen. To Carmen, its noisy purrs sounded exactly like laughter.

Damn that Brock
.

“It seems that no one is here, Miss Graham. Do you think the intruder could have left the closet and replaced the dresser in front of the door?”

Carmen scowled at the heavy grey cat that scrubbed his face against her shin. “No, Paul, I stayed in my room and watched the door until I heard your car drive up. I’d have heard the dresser move around if he’d gotten out.”

Paul raised his eyebrows. “May I ask what time you came home tonight, Miss Graham?”

“Please, Paul, call me Carmen!” she said in exasperation. She glared at the stocky cat by her feet. “I don’t know, I got home about one, I think. Maybe it was closer to two, now that I think about it.”

Paul nodded. “Out with the girls at the Mine Shaft?” he asked. “Shooting some darts and drinking some beer?”