West Wind (13 page)

"What about Faye? Weren't you going to have
dinner there tonight?" Brett reminded.

Jay flinched. "Ah crap. I'm going to have to
cancel. Listen, the lawn needs mowing. Think you can do that on
Saturday?"

"No, but I can do it on Sunday. The in-laws
are coming by and that's a good time to cut loose."

"Thanks. I appreciate it. I guess I'd better
call her."

Jay retreated into his small, private office
with the portable telephone and called Faye. She picked up on the
first ring.

"Grandma, it's me, Jay."

"I know. I got the caller I.D."

"Look, I've got to go out of town for a
couple of days. I can't come to dinner tonight. Also, Brett is
going to come by on Sunday to mow your lawn, so don't worry about
that."

"Where you going?" Faye demanded.

"Client of mine needs to consult about a
project," Jay said, not quite lying. Sabrina was a client, he
reasoned.

"Well, when you going to be back?"

"Monday, probably late," he added, realizing
she could still finagle dinner with him.

"Harrumph." Faye hated to be frustrated and
had a sneaking suspicion that Jay was avoiding her. "Call me when
you get back now, you hear?"

"Yes, Grandma," he said, his mild tone
calming Faye's mounting anxiety. "Get some rest. I'll see you in a
few days."

He hung up and telephone and shuddered. He
detested lying to Faye, but the woman was clinging and often
unreasonable. Still, he was all the family she had and Jay felt
responsible not only for her well-being, but for her happiness. He
knew that the only thing that made her happy was his presence at
her table, or working on some project in her small, decrepit
house.

She liked to imagine that he was still a teen
and living at home. She blithely ignored the fact he'd run away
from her and home as a teen, living on his own for more than
fifteen years.

Jay slung his duffle bag across his shoulder
and headed for the shop door. "Thanks, Brett. I appreciate this,"
he said.

"No problem, brother."

"All right, then. You've got my cell phone
number, so call me if you need me. Mr. Corder will be by later this
afternoon with his trailer to pick up the 30-footer. The invoice is
on the board in the office."

"Got it, Chief. Have a good time."

"What else?" Jay murmured, looking around his
shop. The two men, friends for years, worked with precision and
both kept the small boatyard immaculate. They generally worked
ahead on each project, so there weren't many loose ends.

Brett threw a shop rag at Jay. "Would you get
out of here? It's under control."

Jay saluted his assistant manager and left
the shop, striding through the boatyard and to the street. Sabrina
leaned against the blue Cadillac twisting the car keys in nervous
fingers. Jay bent and kissed her gently on the mouth, wrapping a
large, warm hand around her anxious fingers.

"Want me to drive?"

"Oh, yes, would you? I'm not very
experienced, and I've decided I hate Connecticut's traffic more
than New York's," she said, handing him the keys. He opened the
passenger door and she slid in with a sigh of relief.

Chapter Seven

Sabrina didn't want to alarm Rose, so she
didn't tell her that Jay came to Pennsylvania, too. He whistled as
he drove down the shady street lined with Victorian mansions.
"Pretty town," he observed. "Nice houses."

"Eaton was a wealthy town in the 1800s,"
Sabrina explained. "Many of the coal barons lived in these
mansions, competing with each other to see who could build the
fanciest house. Most of these homes were designed by the same
architect."

Jay grinned. "You sound like a tour
guide."

"I like history. On my twelfth birthday,
Grandmother sent me the official county history. It was written in
1894, so it's not exactly current."

She guided him to the alley and he parked in
the garage. They walked to the front of the home so Jay could see
Rose Windham's house from the street. Sabrina glowed as he admired
the professionally painted gingerbread trim and the white wicker
furniture on the expansive front porch. The gardener updated the
landscape for the summer, placing lush ferns along the balustrade.
A hammock slung on a metal stand and a swing swung on the porch.
Floral pillows graced the furniture.

Jay inwardly flinched. He couldn't prevent
himself from comparing the wealth, beauty and ease that Rose
Windham enjoyed while his own grandmother, Faye West, moped in a
small, one-story tract house with faded vinyl siding, a broken
garage door and an air conditioner that worked sporadically. He
silently vowed to visit Faye on his return and tend to the chores
he'd neglected.

Sabrina unlocked the front door and punched a
code into the alarm system. The panel flashed green and she closed
the door behind them. The house was hushed and gloomy. Sabrina
walked through the first-floor rooms and lifted shades, opened
curtains and let the sunshine pour into the stylish interior. Jay
said nothing, his mouth grim as he followed Sabrina. He was careful
not to touch any of the precious vases or statues, and wondered how
someone could live in a house full of elegant antique
furniture.

"She likes roses, doesn't she?"

"It's a theme," Sabrina explained. "All of
the Victorian mansions along this street are part of the historic
preservation plan for the town and are open twice a year for the
historic homes tour. They do it once in November, with houses
decorated for the holidays, and again in the summer, when the
gardens are in bloom. This house has an English country garden and
a rose-themed interior. The house next door is a Tudor style with
heavy, dark British furniture. It belongs to Dr. Finkelstein, who
teaches English at the college, so his theme is Shakespeare. It has
a large corner lot, so the community theater stages Shakespeare in
the Park plays during the summer."

Sabrina continued, "Across the street is
Alfredo Dante's house and it has an Italian design. See, each house
is different and decorated along a theme that is unique to the
owner."

Jay nodded. "Sounds nice," he said. "But why
are you nervous?"

"I'm not. Really, I'm fine. Let's go
upstairs. I'll show you my room."

"That's what I've been waiting for," he joked
and picked up their bags. He kept his eyes on her rear as she
mounted the steps. When she opened the door to her bedroom, he
squinted.

"It's yellow," was all he could say,
overwhelmed by the femininity. He dropped the bags and turned his
back to the bed. "Come here," he murmured, pulling Sabrina into his
arms and pulling her on top of him as he collapsed on the bed. He
rubbed his hands on her rounded bottom, clutching her to him. He
groaned in pleasure and his mouth sought the opening of her
shirt.

Sabrina planted her hands on his shoulders
and sinuously squirmed against his pliant body. "You're the first
boy I've ever snuck into my bedroom," she whispered.

"Ever?" he mumbled against her shirt, pulling
buttons loose with his teeth. He refused to let go of her bottom,
gently maneuvering her against his aching groin. His tongue snaked
beneath her bra and laved a hardened nipple. Sabrina hissed
appreciatively.

"You shouldn't tease me," she said, rising to
sit astride him. He watched interestedly as she slowly unbuttoned
her shirt and removed it. She reached behind and unsnapped her bra,
let it slide down her arms, then tossed it into a corner. Jay
sighed deeply, admiring her honey-hued breasts crowned with
cinnamon. Sabrina leaned over him, her hands beside his ears, and
let one breast swing close to his lips. He lifted his head, opened
his mouth and encircled her nipple. His hands slid up her belly and
reached for the snap at the waistband of her jeans.

She flipped her dark, soft hair to one side,
an ebony waterfall that flowed onto Jay's shoulder. She supported
herself with one hand and used the other to reach between them and
unbutton Jay's jeans. Soon, she freed him from his boxers and
encircled him with eager fingers. She stroked him, sliding her hand
up and down until he felt like steel.

Meanwhile, Jay's fingers were on their own
quest, pushing her jeans down her hips and pushing aside the wisp
of fabric between her thighs. She was wet and warm against his
palm. Sabrina's hips began a rhythmic surrender. With their jeans
pushed to their ankles, they arched towards each other until velvet
enclosed steel. Raising his hips, he entered effortlessly and their
bodies sealed.

Sabrina's knees clasped his hips, her hands
splayed on his chest. Jay supported her with one hand on the small
of her back while the other stroked her belly and breasts. His
fingers traced back to the dark triangle between their sweating
bodies and he caressed her. Sabrina frantically increased her pace,
sliding up and down and squeezing until Jay gasped and went rigid.
She nearly screamed her pleasure, biting her lip at the last moment
and groaning instead.

Slowly she sank, her flushed cheek resting
against Jay's chest, still covered with his black T-shirt. The
absurdity of their loving struggle, the fact that they refused to
take the time to undress, made her giggle.

"I amuse you?" Jay murmured against her hair,
stroking her naked back.

"Yes, you do," Sabrina said. "We're crazy,
don't you think?"

"Probably. It would explain how I ended up in
a yellow frilly bedroom with my pants around my ankles with a woman
I've only known a week."

Sabrina giggled again and struggled to sit
up. Instead, she rolled over and straightened her clothes. While
she reached for her discarded bra and shirt, Jay recovered his
jeans and snapped them easily. "Wait," he said, pulling her towards
him. "Don't get dressed yet."

Sabrina paused, her shirt and bra in one
hand, her other securely in Jay's palm. He settled her between his
knees and rubbed his face on her belly. She dropped her clothing
and wrapped her arms around him tenderly.

"Is something wrong?" she asked, resting her
cheek on the top of his head.

"No, honey, everything's just right," he
said, nuzzling her heavy breasts. "This is nice and you smell
great. You're so beautiful; I can't keep my hands off of you."

"That's good. I want your hands on me," she
whispered, closing her eyes as he sucked tenderly on one breast,
then the other, rolling her firm nipples between his lips. "And
your mouth," she added.

"You like it when I touch you, don't you?" he
gently teased.

"I love it." Her passionate response startled
him at first, then he felt a rush of possession.

Sabrina cupped his face and lifted it to meet
her lips. She kissed him deeply, pouring her heart into the
gesture. "But you'd better let me get dressed, or else…"

"I think 'or else' is a better idea. I could
use a nap about now; couldn't you?" he bent over and untied her
shoes and tugged them off, and then unsnapped her jeans again and
slid them down her hips. "I think a nap is exactly what you need,"
he affirmed.

When he had her naked, he pulled her lush
body against his and stretched out on her bed. "What about your
clothes?" Sabrina asked.

"I'm fine," he said, yawning. He closed his
eyes and explored her bare skin. Sabrina felt erotic and wicked,
lying atop the bed nude, her skin tingling at the touch of his
lightly callused hands and clothing. His T-shirt was soft to the
touch, his jeans worn smooth.

"Quit wiggling and go to sleep," he said, a
teasing smile tugging at his mouth.

"I can't," she confessed. "You're doing this
on purpose."

"Doing what?" he murmured, his eyes
closed.

"You know very well what," she said and
tucked his hand between her thighs. She pushed against his palm and
sighed rapturously when his fingers began their feathering
tempo.

She wiggled up his body until his face was
buried between her breasts and rubbed sinuously. "Kiss me," she
demanded, her hand cupping the back of his neck.

Jay complied, kissing and suckling one breast
then the other, gently tugging and biting her engorged nipples
while his fingers stroked Sabrina into submission. The slow and
sensuous caress drove her to the brink and over, and she hugged him
tightly.

"Okay," she conceded, fluttering to earth.
"I'll take that nap now."

* * *

A couple of hours later, Sabrina poked around
in the kitchen while Jay took a shower. He came downstairs, his
uncombed hair wet and shining. He tucked a clean shirt into his
jeans, then raked his unruly hair.

"That's it? You're good to go?" Sabrina
marveled. "Why is it that men can take a five minute shower, wear
old, wrinkled clothes and look like a hunk? Women spend at least an
hour getting ready and we still don't like the way we look."

Jay shrugged.

She slammed the cabinet door. "Well, there's
nothing to eat except six cans of chicken noodle soup. That does
it. I'm going to take a bath while you call for pizza."

She headed up the stairs, and called over her
shoulder. "Would you check the wine cellar and pick out a bottle of
red? Order extra cheese and pepperoni, too." As an afterthought,
she added, "Please."

"I thought you wanted to get to the
hospital," he stalled.

"I do, but visiting hours are from six to
eight. We've got at least an hour," she replied from the landing.
"The telephone number is on the speed dial. Just punch 'memory
six.'"

The disembodied voice on the end of the line
put Jay on hold for several minutes, then came back, repeated the
order and told him it would be at least 20 minutes.

After he hung up the telephone, Jay searched
for the basement door, finding it at the end of the hall. The
staircase was steep and the walls musty and draped with cobwebs. He
found a furnace, some rusty garden tools and a box of mildewed
newspapers. No wine cellar. He hiked up the stairs to Sabrina's
second-floor private bath, opened the door and perched on the side
of the old claw foot tub.