Kiss Them Goodbye (24 page)

“Message from Bill Green,” she said. “He said you’d promised to help on some project at Rosebank this af
ternoon. He says he understands if you don’t have time to come but he thought he’d check.”

Cyrus smacked the heel of his hand into his brow. “What is it with me? He only called an hour or so ago and I forgot about it.”

“Too much on your mind,” Spike said, and flinched. Cyrus would think he was suggesting a preoccupation with Madge.

“Cyrus,” Madge said. “I’m sorry for being a bitch.”

Cyrus blinked. Spike almost laughed aloud.

“Oh,” Madge said. “I’m sorry. I’ve never said that before.”

“Not to worry,” Cyrus said. He didn’t look sanctimonious, or smug, or as if he’d won a battle. In fact, he smiled and his features softened. The light returned to his eyes.

“Forget everything I said to you,” Madge continued. “I don’t know what came over me. I’m your employee and you don’t owe me explanations about anything.”

“Yes, I do,” Cyrus said quickly. “I rely on you and I do owe you explanations. We’ll talk about ground rules later. I’d better get going.”

“I forgot to tell you I had a chat on the phone with Vivian,” Madge said. “She and Charlotte want me to consider takin’ rooms at their place. The price would be good and it would simplify my life.”

Spike saw an extraordinary passage of expressions over Cyrus’s features. He might as well not be there because Cyrus had forgotten him. Conflicted seemed a weak description for the struggle Spike watched in the man.

“Cyrus,” Madge said, sounding uncertain. “My car will last longer if I don’t have to drive as much and I can get rid of a lot of things I won’t need. It would bring in some money.”

Cyrus closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “You need a raise. I’ll see what I can do.”

”
Cyrus
,” Madge said sharply. “I’m sorry I mentioned moving. I thought you’d be pleased.”

“I am pleased. If that’s what you’d like to do, go for it,” he told Madge. “It would be a good place to live.” The priest gritted his teeth and forgot to control what he showed on his face.
Damn it all
, Spike thought. He wants her closer to him but he’s scared of it at the same time. Cyrus had once made it clear that he was a man with a man’s urges, but that his vocation came first.

What would it take to change Cyrus’s priorities? Spike wondered, and thought about Madge.

“Y’know,” he said, determined to make Cyrus feel better. “All a woman really wants is her own way. Trouble is, she wants her man to know what she wants without tellin’ him.”

Her man? Had he just said that to Father Cyrus?

B
ill had decided the foul-smelling heap of debris left after the ill-fated bonfire should be moved. He said Charlotte and Vivian could see it from any window and every time they got a vehicle from the stables it would depress them. He, Cyrus and Spike would clear the pile and see about laying new grass in the entire area.

Spike, who had decided he could be contacted here as easily as anywhere else, worked with Cyrus and Bill, digging and filling two large wheelbarrows. To their surprise, Dr. Morgan Link from next door had shown up to wheel away one load after another to a spot outside the far end of a drained swimming pool. The pool, with a jungle theme fountain at its center, could be seen from the back terrace outside the south and east wings and would be beautiful when the pump was replaced and the interior cleaned. A job for the future, Vivian had told Spike.

“This stuff stinks,” Bill said, rubbing his crewcut, tow-colored hair. “I mean, it
really
stinks.”

Cyrus worked steadily. Sweat ran down the sides of
his face and his forearms shone with moisture. “Compost,” he muttered. “We need one of these at the rectory. Nothing like a good compost heap.”

Morgan Link returned, dropped the wheelbarrow he’d just used and took hold of the full one immediately.

“Hey, Doc,” Bill said. “Don’t push it. Get some of that iced tea Mrs. Patin brought out.”

Morgan considered. “Why not.” He wore gloves to work in and despite the exertion, he still managed to appear cool. After removing his gloves, he poured four glasses of tea and handed them around. “Getting rid of this pile of junk was a good thought. Those two need something to lift their spirits.”

“How’s Susan?” Bill asked.

Morgan didn’t look at him. “Well, thanks. Very busy with Olympia.”

Bill snickered. “Plenty there to keep anyone busy.”

Spike didn’t like Bill’s habit of sexualizing most references to women.

“Doctor,” Bill said. “Is it true Charlotte might sell this place to you?”

Spike saw Morgan wonder where Bill had gotten his information. “Well, yes. At least, we hope she’ll consider the offer we intend to make later. I don’t think I’m talkin’ out of school when I say there are big money worries here.”

Cyrus kept on digging, throwing spadeful after spadeful into the barrows. Spike felt guilty and set down his glass.

The sun beat down, turning up the temperature notch by notch. Spike shaded his eyes to squint at the sky over roofs where heat waves hovered.

“Why would you want this place?” Bill asked. “In addition to Green Veil, I mean.”

“Serenity House,” Morgan corrected him. “We’re people who understand gratitude. The world has been good
to us and when we can, we like to find ways to pay back for that. Seeing these two nice women suffer for things that weren’t of their making upsets us. We want to help out.”

Spike thought,
bull
, but controlled his mouth.

“Admirable,” Cyrus said. When he spoke to you, you expected a look straight in the eye. Instead of looking at Morgan at all, he concentrated on driving his spade into the singed compost.

Bill made no comment at all.

“These grounds show a lot of promise,” Morgan continued. “We’ll probably incorporate them into ours.”

“And the house?” Spike said. Damn, he hated this man’s assumption that he’d always get what he wanted.

Morgan frowned deeply. “We’re not sure. Could be useful but it would have to be gutted.”

Spike was grateful Vivian and Charlotte weren’t listening to this. He wiped a forearm over his brow. He was assuming they’d have no interest in the offer for Link and Hurst to buy them out, but perhaps they’d be relieved to get rid of the place.

The kind of feeling that clamped his gut wasn’t new, only the reason for it. If Vivian were to leave Rosebank, would that mean she’d drop out of his life? And how would he handle it if she did?

Vivian was nothing like Wendy’s mother but he was still raw from the betrayal, and how did he know for sure it wouldn’t happen again? How long did it take to trust again once someone had turned on you? He wasn’t there yet, he knew that much.

Morgan took off with one of the wheelbarrows again while Cyrus, Bill and Spike kept on digging.

Cyrus spaded some of the compacted material down and started a minilandslide. He stood back and settled the point of his spade on the ground. While Spike
watched him, puzzled, the man closed his eyes and crossed himself.

“What?” Spike said.

Shaking his head, Cyrus looked at him silently before continuing to dig.

“Hey, Cyrus,” Spike said, leaning on his own spade. “If you weren’t having a private vision just then, could ya share the moment?”

“Sometimes it’s better to be patient.”

Bill caught Spike’s eye and raised his brows.

Spike heard an engine and looked over his shoulder. Vivian’s green van approached. “Hey,” she called through the window. Boa stood on her lap and surveyed the scene. “Didn’t anyone tell you guys not to work too hard in the heat?”

“They did,” Spike told her. “But it’s always hot around here so if we followed that rule, nothing would ever get done. Now, who said that to me?”

“Spike,” Cyrus said in a hoarse whisper.

“Yeah.” Spike watched Vivian drive the van into the converted stables.

“Come here. Bill, give us a shout when Vivian comes this way.”

“What is it?” Bill said, starting toward Cyrus.

“Stay there,” Cyrus said. “Just until we head off Vivian.”

“I couldn’t head that woman off if I tried,” Bill said, sounding impatient. He followed in Spike’s footsteps until they stood beside Cyrus.

“Oh hell, it can’t be.” Bill wavered a little, then sat down hard on an upturned apple crate. His face had turned ashen.

“Don’t use the shovel,” Spike told Cyrus. He got down on his knees and carefully brushed dirt from a dead man’s face.

“S
o the shit hit the fan,” Susan Hurst said. She didn’t share Morgan’s careless attitude toward discovering the Patins’ gardener dead in a compost heap. “I’d like to have seen that Detective Bonine taking Devol apart. That arrogant bastard deserves it.” Spike Devol never took notice of her but she’d lay odds he’d start taking notice if she got him alone.

“It was ugly,” Morgan called from the bathroom. The door was open to the bedroom and a haze of steam added to the humidity.

“I bet Devol didn’t like looking the fool,” she said. She loved this big room with its vast, white spindle bed, the white skin rugs on light wooden floors. The breeze through etched glass jalousies puffed at gauzy draperies. “Did he finally lose it? He can’t be made entirely of stone, sugar. There’s got to be somethin’ real hot under all that stoic stuff.”

“He didn’t look embarrassed to me,” Morgan said, appearing with a towel around his waist and his wet blond hair standing up in spikes. “I think he enjoyed getting a
rise out of Bonine. Happens real easily, too. Bonine hates Spike’s guts, you can see that.”

“Know who I enjoy getting a rise out of?” Susan said in her most sultry, drawling tone.

“All kinds of people, honey,” Morgan said. He took off the towel and rubbed at his hair.

She walked behind him and gave his hard butt a slap intended to hurt. “Only you, Morgan, you know that.”

He grabbed for her, but the towel was still over his head and she was too fast for him. “You’re asking for it,” he said.

And I’ll get it.

The orange satin camisole and matching G-string she wore were calculated to make her skin look warmer, and they worked. She slipped to the opposite side of the bed where a solid sheet of mirror covered one wall.

Susan didn’t like clutter. Large, clear spaces pleased her and she considered her spare decorating style innovative. The only furniture in the bedroom was the bed. Double doors in one wall opened into a closet and dressing room almost as big as the bedroom.

In the mirror, she saw Morgan toss his wet towel into the bathroom. The exercise room she’d had built adjacent to the pool house didn’t go to waste. Morgan’s muscles rippled as he walked. His height was little more than average but he was tall enough for any woman, man enough for any woman.

And he was all hers.

“Come here,” he said.

Susan smiled at him over her shoulder but stayed put. She looked fantastic. She’d gone to New Orleans to have the red highlights in her hair made more obvious and they picked up the light. When she shook her hair with her fingers, it bounced and shone.

“Do I have to come and get you?” Morgan asked.

Susan thought that would be just fine. Her nipples
stood out, pushed against the camisole, and the satin was like glossy paint over the perfect shape of her breasts. Between the camisole and the all-but-nothing G-string, her small waist and flat stomach showed to advantage. A tiny triangle of the satin barely covered her pubic hair. Her hips were bigger than she wished they were but Morgan said he liked her ass just the way it was.

Susan did a handstand against the mirror. She visualized how she looked and smiled when she heard Morgan say, “Oh, God,” not quite under his breath.

The camisole fell as far as the fullest part of her breasts but no farther.

“Come to bed,” he said.

“Make me want to.”

“If you don’t do this my way, you’ll wish you had.”

She arced her curvy legs through the air and stood up.

Restraining himself excited Morgan. He liked to feel his cock grow harder until the skin seemed ready to split. Holding back was a sickness in some, a method of overwhelming a woman in others. He was in the second group. He hadn’t been a fool to marry Susan, not in any way. Stinking rich, sexed up every second of the day, her preferences changed and he liked the challenge.

Maybe tonight would be one of those when he showed her who was really in control.

“Turn your back to me and bend over,” he said. “Grip your toes.”

She snickered, almost nervously, and ran her tongue over her lips. While he watched, she slid her hands over her body, pinched her nipples until they pushed out enough to make pegs for her short chemise to hang on.

“You’re not doing as you’re told.” He liked seeing her round butt in the mirror and the way she tensed the cheeks together. “You’re wet.” She sure was. The tiny bit of satin where her legs came together, grew darker as he looked there.

She covered the area with a hand.

He took a step toward her and she took one back, twirled around and did another handstand against the mirror.

Susan liked kinky. Morgan wasn’t averse to it but neither did he like to go to a lot of trouble. Going to his knees, he yanked the orange top until it covered her face, but sure as hell didn’t cover her breasts. He liked big breasts and Susan didn’t disappoint in that area, either. Still on his knees, he sucked one nipple between his teeth and pinched the other.

“Ouch,” she said, muffled. “Don’t stop. Harder.”

He closed his eyes and nipped. He nipped and squeezed till she gave a thin scream and her arms started to give out. “Let me help you,” he said, landing her full length on the all-but-white wood floor, with her face in his lap. “You’ve got a big appetite. Seems like I ought to do something about that.”

Her body shone slick with perspiration, almost as slick as his. She turned over so that her slippery breasts rested on his thighs and, very slowly, closed her shiny pink lips over his penis. So slowly he couldn’t keep his butt on his heels. He tipped his head to watch how she sank, millimeter by millimeter down his distended flesh. When she hit bottom, he had to be way in her throat but she could still nuzzle with her chin, and finger his tensed balls and start to move with long, firm strokes.

Morgan caught the camisole by the back seam and ripped it apart. He wanted to see her breasts bounce. “Do us both a favor,” he told her. “I like it when you do that.”

She didn’t do as she was told. Morgan liked a woman to do as she was told now and again. Knowing she wouldn’t stop what she was doing to him, slitting his eyes and gritting his teeth, he grabbed her right wrist and pushed her hand beneath the G-string. “Work those fingers,” he said. “I want to see you struggle.”

Susan stroked herself, pushed her fingers inside her, shuddering and fighting not to lose her hold on him, or her rhythm. And he got the bouncing he wanted.

The bouncing became a wild jiggle. Morgan’s rear came up completely because he couldn’t hold it down. Her slick skin, the rapid pumping of her hand on her own body, broke his control and he came.

Susan gulped and turned her head, wiped her mouth on his biceps, but she didn’t stop dealing with her own business.

“Go for it,” he whispered in her ear. “We’ve got more to do, but I wouldn’t want you to miss a thing.” Panting, springing into another erection, he pulled her hand away from her body and replaced it with his own. Seconds accomplished the results he wanted and she bucked like a crazed calf.

“Oh, baby,” she muttered, falling forward onto a skin rug. “Baby, baby. This beats the hell out of dinner with the Patin women. I’m glad they’re otherwise engaged.”

Morgan said, “Oh, yeah,” and half closed his eyes.
He imagined it was Vivian Patin clamped between his thighs and he slapped her lean bottom until the skin turned pink. She rested her cheek on the rug and her shiny black hair slid forward. Her tongue darted in and out of her mouth in a blatant fuck-me parody.

He focused on Susan. He hadn’t just had his first fantasy about dominating Vivian Patin. It was one of many. Her time would have to come.

“Don’t move a muscle,” he told his wife, and hopped to his feet. In the bathroom an animal-skin seat topped the white wicker stool Susan used when she sat in front of a mirror to apply makeup. He caught it up and returned with it to the bedroom.

Susan’s eyes were closed, but he saw the lashes flicker.

“Plenty of time to sleep later, pussy.”

Her limp body amused him. He lifted her and draped
her, facedown, over the stool. Then he sat on the floor and gave her the kind of tongue fuck that turned her feet into dangerous weapons. He moved in close, used her breasts as anchors, and sent her all the way to heaven.

“You’re incredible.” She panted and rested the whole weight of her upper body on his hands and forearms. “Who says married sex can’t be a blast?”

“It might not be.” He chuckled. “If the married couple weren’t us.”

“I’m so tired, Morgan. Can I lie down?”

He kissed her rear, one cheek at a time. “Mmm, not quite, my fucking friend.” He laughed aloud and so did she. “One more little piece of fun and we’ll curl up in that big, white bed.”

Rotating her, he pulled open one of the drawers built into the side of the bed and drew out a long length of soft cord.

“No,” she whined and tears actually stood out in her eyes. “I’m too tired.”

“Stay with me,” he said, giving her a quick kiss before pushing her backward over the stool and bending her like a delectable croquet hoop. Working rapidly, he used the cord to tie her wrists and ankles together. “You should see yourself, Susan. I could look at you for a long time. My bedtime snack. I’m gonna eat you all up.”

She snickered and said, “You already did but you may kill me if you keep me here long. I’ll suffocate.” She laughed aloud and looked at herself in the mirror.

Morgan laughed with her. The weight of her breasts had only one way to go and she might have a point. He spread his legs and stood astride her belly.

“Morgan,” she said faintly, her lips remaining parted.

“I’m just dealing with the aftermath of shock,” he told her. “Death makes a man want to prove he’s alive.”

“You’ve proved it,” she told him in a firmer voice, but
she wasn’t asking him to stop. “But do it again, just for the hell of it. Then we’ve got to talk.”

He groaned. “How can you be practical at a time like this?”

“Because I’ve got a lot of money riding on this venture.”

Hanging his head back, he breathed through his mouth. “And I’ve just got a heavy load waiting to ride.” He rubbed his testicles over her ribs, and guided the distended tip of his penis over her nipples, loving her thin scream and her helpless attempts to get closer to him.

Enough waiting.
Although he enjoyed every second of the game.

Holding her shoulders, Morgan thrust inside her. He was renowned for the size of his cock, both its length and thickness, and Susan was stretched out with no way to move and absorb the shock of his entry.

First she shrieked, then she did her best to meet his every stroke. He had to support his weight on his legs and they shook from the effort. She made a keening noise punctuated with soft “oomphs” that made him think she’d take whatever he gave her for as long as he gave it.

Spent.

The reality almost surprised him. He’d ejaculated again and wanted only to lie down, but Susan was still moving beneath him.

“You two are good.”

At the sound of Olympia’s voice he jumped and Susan gasped. He looked sideways and directly into Olympia’s eyes. She lay under the duvet on the bed with her head sticking out, so close he could have touched her.

“Get out,” Susan shouted. “You’re sick. You were born sick—just like your father. Out. Now.”

Olympia’s long, blond tresses slithered to fall down
the side of the bed. “We’ve got things to talk about—in private. What better place than here?”

“Private?” Susan said. “You managed to walk in without us seeing you.”

“I was already here. In the closet. Mama, I’ve got to applaud your taste. You married a stud and he knows how to use that wonderful dick.”

“Untie me,” Susan hissed to Morgan. “Now.”

His mind had turned cold and clear, a useful trait he’d had since childhood. Moving with all the comfort he felt in his body, naked or otherwise, he undid the cord and helped Susan to his side. It was to his advantage that she not lose too much face in front of her daughter. Anyway, he kinda liked the game of cat and mouse between the two of them. After all, he was their piece of cheese and there were worse jobs.

Tilting up Susan’s chin, he kissed her softly but passionately and while he did so, with Olympia looking on and probably fuming, he caressed his wife’s body, stroked her breasts, rolled her nipples between his fingers. She turned toward him and wrapped her arms around his neck. Olympia would have a perfect sideways view of the two of them, naked and pressed together.

Olympia whistled.

Morgan smiled.

Susan looked smug.

The bedclothes rustled and Olympia wriggled free until she could stand up only inches from them.

Naked, but for a white lace ruff around her neck.

Susan went limp in Morgan’s arms. She slumped against him and for an instant he thought she would pass out. “Get her out of here,” she whispered. “Perverted little whore.”

He whispered in her ear, “Name-calling’s a mistake. She’s obviously got problems we should try to help her with. Don’t let her think she’s hurt you.”

The dig worked. Susan stood straight and thrust out her chest. “You know better than to play games you can’t handle,” she said to Olympia. “Run along—before we think up a punishment you won’t like.”

Olympia walked slowly behind Susan and looped her hands around her mother’s waist. Morgan watched the mirrored vision, fascinated at the spectacle of the girl nestling her breasts against Susan’s back while she stroked her tummy and thighs.

He smiled reassuringly at Susan. This was something he’d thought could happen, also another of his fantasies, and he didn’t want Susan to spoil it.

Susan looked straight at his chest. Her face flushed, then turned deep red when Olympia ground her hips into her mother’s rear.

“That’s enough,” he said to Olympia, although he could have watched them for a long time. “Why not tell us why you really came, then leave us alone. We were getting ready for bed.”

Olympia sputtered with laughter. She changed her position and stood between Morgan and Susan, slipped an arm around each of them and engineered a close embrace. Standing on tiptoe, she kissed Morgan, then her mother—on the lips. Susan immediately wiped her mouth with the back of a hand.