The Dimple Strikes Back (31 page)

“Yeah, sorry about that. Your ass looks amazing, though.”

My ass hanging out of my bikini bottom. When I’d hit the street, half of my already-brief bottom had smushed itself into my butt crack. From then on, it was cheek, ahoy! I tore my eyes away from my pasty white wedgie and watched myself struggle to get up, my hands clawed and my expression ferocious. Valerie raised the gun and shot me, and three different people tackled her. I hit the deck, blood gushing. I had to turn away then. Even my bottom recoiled in horror—it was now covered in a spectacular array of bruises.

Sam was still grinning like an idiot. “Look at the comments.”

“Never look at the comments on the Internet! I bet half of them are about how my body is ugly or my bikini is unfashionable.”

“Well, yeah, there are some trolls, but consensus is that you’re a totally awesome babe.”

I scratched at my shoulder wound, which was really starting to sting again. “Really?”

He turned his head to peer at me with his good eye. He can put more censure into half a glance than most people can with a whole. “Yeah, dummy.”

Totally awesome babe. Maybe I should have business cards made up.

Soon he brought us sandwiches and settled beside me to eat. I kept telling him I was glad to help, but he shushed me and insisted on doing everything, even though he himself was still wounded, too. The cat jumped between us, always eager to act like a puppy and beg for food, the downtrodden animal. It didn’t help that Sam slipped him little pieces of bacon.

Sam flipped on the TV and we munched and chilled out. Maybe it was all the narcotics floating through my system, but a sense of peace and well-being settled over me. Sam had sworn that nobody else would come after us. He’d even made a point to call Jane and reassure her in case she got twitchy again—he threatened that I would attack her in a bikini if she misbehaved.

I’d just finished my last bite of my BLTA when my cell rang. “It’s Mom, again.” I leaned slowly—ouch—to put it on the table.

He snatched it up again. “You answer this. Every time you ignore a call from your mother, someone points a gun at us.”

Holy crap, he was right. My mother—genteel harbinger of pink doom when ignored.

“Hi, Mom.”

“Well! Finally!” Exasperated breaths and flutterings. “I thought you’d lost your phone!”

“No.” I took a deep breath and swallowed my rage. Sam offered me a pain pill with a smile. I laughed silently, but tamped it down to say, “How have you been?”

“I’ve been horrified to see that my daughter was shot! I had to call your father to find out that you were okay.”

“Aren’t you really horrified at the unflattering angle or the videos of me, or the fact that I didn’t lose ten pounds before I ran around in a bikini?”

Silence. I put the phone on speaker so I could take my pain medicine. I needed it. Finally, she said, “I know I’m hard on you, Samantha.”

I waited for a ‘but’.

“I just want you to be as great as I know you can be.” She sighed into the line. “Diego and I agree that it was amazing the way you fought that disgusting woman. A true lady doesn’t run about pointing guns. Although I liked her outfit.”

I burst into laughter.

“It’s true!” There was a pause before she said, “I love you, Samantha. I’m proud of what you’ve accomplished. I only bother pushing you because you’re capable of anything. You just have to believe. You gave up on yourself for a long time.”

That last bit struck me straight in the heart, it was so true. I hadn’t known she was that perceptive, as the one-sided advice column she’d perpetually spewed had never changed, it only became more intense. My heart brightened with joy, and happy tears sprang into my eyes. This was the first time she’d ever, ever told me she felt any pride for me. The knot named ‘Mom’ in the dead centre of my chest unwound a little. Even Sam appeared to be moved. He made a ‘wow’ face and stroked my hand gently.

“Thanks, Mom.”

“Are you really going to be okay?”

“Yes.” I wiped my nose. “It was a clean through-and-through shot. I’m sore as hell, but with time and physical therapy, I’ll be okay. Sam is okay, too. She wounded him in his side.”

“Just a flesh wound,” supplied Sam.

“Okay. I’m glad you came to your senses and begged him to come back.” Sam smirked at this, and I was forced to kick him. “Well, you rest. I have to go on the Internet now and leave some comments for idiots who don’t understand how brave you are.”

“No!” I nearly screamed it. “No, please don’t. My, um, publicist will take care of the haters.” A lie, but the last thing I needed was for my mom to go on Facebook and start slinging insults to “help” me.

“Hmmmmmm,” was the response before she hung up.

I hung my head. Sam said, “Hey, at least she’s not one of the haters anymore.”

I started to lean over to rest my head on his shoulder, but everything hurt, and I groaned instead.

“What are you moaning about? It’s not like you got shot or something.” He propped three pillows that I didn’t need around me, but the gesture was so cute I just snuggled in.

“They’re going to put Valerie away, right?”

“Four different people filmed her shooting you. She’ll go away for that, at least. And I called my personal spook—the British have her, not the local authorities. She’ll go down for the robbery, the kidnapping, etc.”

“I hope they ship her off to Area 51.”

“That’s in America.”

“Area 51?”

He grimaced. “That’s the same place except with a British accent.”

“I know. I don’t really care what happens to her, as long as it involves iron maidens, and fleas, and maybe the ghost of Richard III.” I warmed to the idea of her suffering and imagined a horrible dungeon complete with big, fat rats with a fondness for eating flipping hair.

“Area 51 is for aliens.”

“Good, because she’s from the planet Asswipe, in the Buttface Quadrant.”

He didn’t argue any further, but kissed my hand fervently. “I love it when you get all elegant and shit.” He rose to take the plates back to the kitchen. A moment later, he hurried back out to the living room, a package in his hand. “Crap, I forgot that something came for you when you were asleep earlier.”

The overnight envelope was thick and fairly heavy. “Feels like a script to me.” Always good news, when
they
send
you
a script, and I wasn’t expecting anything. I pulled it out and read the note from my agent on top first.

Holy.

Effing.

Shit.

I read the cover and squealed in excitement. My mouth dropped open and my throat got dry. Oh, my God! This was the most amazing thing in the world!

“What is it?” Sam sat beside me on the couch, and I handed him the note. “Wow. Wow, baby.”

Apparently someone at Universal liked what they saw in the press this week. I’d been offered a
superhero movie franchise
. There are almost no women superheroes—or super
heroines
, more like—with their own franchises! I was legit gonna be Sigourney Weaver or something!

Aaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!

Sam cracked up next to me while he examined the script. “The Ovarian Hellion.”

I bounced up and down with unmitigated glee, well, as much as my injuries would allow. “She avenges people who identify as women who’ve been done wrong. She seeks justice for rape victims, and goes after stalkers and cheating CEOs who don’t pay their employees equally. Oh, my goodness. Oh, my goodness! My agent says it’s super-duper funny. It’s a spoof, but she really does kick ass and take names.”

I flipped to the middle and burst into laughter. “She wears baggy pyjamas with embroidered ovaries on them as her heroine outfit.”

It’s the role I was born to play, baby!

Sam threw his arms around me. “You’re going to be amazing.”

“And comfortable. The Ovarian Hellion doesn’t wear platform boots like a schmuck.”

“Do you want me to take you outside to read the script? It’s another gorgeous day.”

I looked him over, tanned and adorable in his baggy shorts, V-neck tee and rumpled brown hair. “I miss sex.”

That brightened his face in surprise. “Me too.”

“My pill will kick in soon. Maybe when our pain medicines coincide, we can fool around?”

He squeezed my knee and laid a warm, panty-melting kiss on my mouth. “I’ll do it for science.”

“Can we play pirate?”

“Okay. But who will I be?”

“You can be the Ovarian Hellion.”

He blew kisses at me. “It would be my honour.”

My goofy, in-love grin could not be contained, and why would I want to? He was here. He was mine. And we had no expiration date!

A tickle of worry flitted around the back of my brain…what if he got bored? What if real life was too normal for him? I squashed these angsty questions with a metaphorical shoe.

I’d work very hard to keep him, just like my mother always told me to.

I walked fingers up his shoulder. “You feeling less ouchy yet?”

“Getting there.”

Turning was difficult for him, as his wound area, exactly on his side a few inches above his hip, seemed to be where every part of his body connected together. I’d have to get on top, and take care to avoid it. I shifted for him, towards him and my bad arm. Leaning as much as I was able, I kissed…his shoulder. That’s as far as I reached. No kissing for now.

“Good try.”

“Don’t make me go badass bikini chick on you.”

He started towards me, a quick gasp of pain stopping him.

“Let me.” I scooted to the edge of the couch and used my good hand to undo his fly. We managed between the two of us. His cock was already slightly hard by the time I liberated it from his shorts.

His head fell back onto the couch. “Don’t hurt yourself,” he said.

“I’m only gonna hurt you. By being so sexy. Ouch!” My free hand flew to clutch my shoulder, still aching dully.

“Nope. It’s too much, too soon.” He made a move to remove his parts from my clutches.

“I need sexual healing.” With renewed caution, and renewed lust, I stroked the beautiful dick I’d missed so. After a few minutes, he didn’t protest any more. The poor man kept bucking his hips, then groaning because it hurt him.

I grabbed his hand and used it for leverage to disentangle myself and stand. “Let’s try the bedroom. I need room to manoeuvre.”

Slowly, our horny, pathetic train made its way to the room with the soft, comfy bed. We’d been given the honeymoon cottage by an admiring hotel manager, so the room was a crazy mix of pinks, reds and tropical decals. I pointed Sam towards the bed, and he sat down gingerly. “Bottoms off,” he said.

Yes, much easier to do standing. I gingerly eased my pyjama bottoms down until finally gravity won over the pull of my butt, and they fell to the floor. Sam cheered—pants off is always a wonderful thing. He took my good hand and helped me climb into the bed.

“Lose the shirt,” I ordered.

“You first, ya bilge rat.”

I cocked my head. “‘Bilge’ better be a fancy word for ‘beautiful’.”

“Um…yo ho ho, ya beautiful rat?”

I tsked. “You were a way better pirate in my dream.”

“Dream?” He threw his T-shirt off the bed. “What dream?”

Oops. I decided to distract him by sexily removing my pyjama top. I got all the buttons undone, eventually, but couldn’t get it off either arm by myself. All the while, I smiled and fluttered my eyelashes suggestively. He just sat there and watched, his hand over his mouth suppressing his laughter very poorly. “A little help?”

“Wench, leave the shirt on.” Reaching out with one arm, he pushed aside my top and caressed my breast with the palm of his hand. I immediately felt heavy and tingly wherever he touched. It had been days and days since I’d felt his skin on mine, even though he’d been by my side every minute. I leaned into him, ready to get this show on the road.

With a minimum of laughing, we worked his shorts off him and down his legs. I wanted to give him a moment to rest from his painful bending, so I slipped my hand around his cock again and played lazily with him until his breathing got faster, and he made the most delicious little moans. I started to fluff a pillow behind his head, and he said, “Wait. Come here.”

“Where?”

He held out a hand. “Sit on my face. It’s doctor recommended.”

I got a little swoony—all the blood in my whole body rushed south. I ached so much for him it almost hurt. His rock-hard arm balanced me while I gingerly manoeuvred myself next to his head. “Wait—what doctor have you been going to?”

“Don’t worry about her.”

“Her?”

He started to laugh, and then groaned a little, reaching for his side. “Stop making jokes and give me that pussy.”

I leaned my arm against the bamboo headboard and said, “
You’re
making jokes.”

“Then shut me up.”

Yes, sir. I climbed across his smiling face, and he craned his neck up immediately to deliver a long, slow lick from my lips to my clit. It felt so amazing, I lost my balance. His arms landed on my hips to hold me in place. He took his time, moving slowly, lovingly across my naked sex, his tongue gentle and demanding all at once. His hands slid up to my breasts. I leaned into them. He moved his lips to kiss and suck on me, and I moaned into the warmth of the morning sun. On and on he went, caressing my ass, my hips, and fucking me with his mouth. I rubbed myself over him, and the more I bucked, the more fervent his response.