Killer Kisses (32 page)

“I can’t help but notice, it looks like every house has a wrought iron railing and the mailboxes are all identical. Why is that?”

Zack’s eyes darted away from her gaze in the rear view mirror. “Protection—” he paused, seemed to be trying to find the right words, “—from the, um, elements.”

“One more question,” she paused, almost afraid to ask. “What is up with these old time clothes? Why do all the women dress like they’re in some weird cult?”

Gazes locked, she waited. His blue eyes shifted to green, and he took a deep breath.

“The women here are modest. They don’t like to send the wrong messages to—Other People.”

She opened her mouth to ask who “the other people” were and stopped, suddenly aware that her questions sounded like criticisms of the residents of Eden and their way of life. How would she like it if someone did that to her? Better get back to a safe topic—work. “I know what time I take the kids to school, but when do I pick them up? Is it three, like other places?”

“Yes, but some of the boys get additional after school therapy and you may have to wait for them. It’s a good habit to get all the kids home before dark. Otherwise their parents worry and start calling me. Got it?”

She nodded. “What if the bus breaks down? My cell phone is useless here. There’s no service.”

“Use the radio. Sometimes in the hollows and by the old mining camp, the reception is poor, but once you’re up on a ridge, it works.” He massaged her shoulders and neck. “Don’t worry…you’ll be fine.” The tension she’d held in all day melted away under his strong fingers. She closed her eyes and took slow deep breaths.

With each stroke, her pulse increased, her breath came faster—in short, shallow puffs, and her breasts strained against her clothing.
She felt as if she was in heat!
A little moan escaped. “Keep that up and I’ll be a puddle!”

Much to her frustration, he stopped kneading, laughed, and patted her shoulder. “It’s time for you to do the route on your own. Tomorrow morning. A dry run.”

~*~

Early the next day, she drove off, and he waved at her as she left the bus depot.
If he doesn’t ask me out soon, I’m going to have to do it myself. He’s driving me crazy! Those eyes. Those lips. Those biceps. That cute little butt.

She shook her head to clear her hormone charged thoughts, glanced down at the list clutched in her hand, and repeated the kids’ names out loud: “Joab, Jehud, Julius, Josiah, Justus, and Jared.” Add Joey to the list and they’d be lucky seven.
What is up with all these J names?

Mrs. Jones stood by the mailbox. “I hope you like apple pie. It’s hot out of the oven.”

She smiled and Charlene noticed she had long canines, too— like Zack.
Odd.
“Thanks! Can you tell I’m a little nervous?”

“Don’t worry. You’ll do fine.” She smiled, walked down the steps of the bus, and waved good-bye.

By the end of the morning, Charlene had two apple pies, two apple cakes, twelve jars of applesauce, and a tray of candied apples. She returned to the bus depot and found Zack in the parking lot, grinning, and holding another bunch of daisies.

Charlene shook her index finger at him. “You knew this would happen, didn’t you?”

He handed her the posy. “Just our down-home welcome.”

“Unless you help me eat this food, I’ll gain back all the weight I lost after my parents died.” She looked at the stacks of apple products and the flowers. An unfamiliar feeling of contentment rose in her chest. Was this happiness? For the first time in ages, she felt optimistic about the future, about connecting with her family’s roots, and about the presence of an exciting, virile man in her life.

Any doubts she had about staying in Eden evaporated in an apple and cinnamon scented cloud. She felt a sense of ease that had eluded her most of her life. The town had welcomed her with open arms. She belonged here. “How am I supposed to get all this home?”

He leaned in close to her, flipped an errant lock of hair away from her face, and drew a finger down her cheek. His low voice thrummed in her chest. “I think I can give you a hand—or two—and maybe a little something more.”

CHAPTER SIX

~*~

The Feast

When Zack climbed down from his battered pick-up, Trotter circled around his legs, alternating between playful pushes with his snout and leaning against him.

“He really likes you,” Charlene said.

Zack rubbed the red porker’s ears. “Trotter’s my buddy.”

“I’d say he’s a pretty good judge of character.” Charlene latched the screen door against Trotter’s prehensile nose. “No. You stay out there.” He grunted and flopped down on the porch. She placed the last carton of baked goods on the table, picked up a note from Rebekkah, and turned to Zack. “That’s odd. She took Joey over to her house for the night.”

They were alone.

Her voice came out in a husky tone. “Guess it’s just you and me. Would you like some apple pie? Or cake? I seem to have enough for two—or two-hundred.”

Zack gave her a long, lazy smile that made her breath catch and said, “I was hoping for a taste of something else.”

Heat raced up her neck and face, and she could barely whisper, “Applesauce?”

He put his arms around her waist, pulled her snugly against his chest, and brushed her lips with his. “You,” he breathed. “I want to taste you.”

She ran her tongue along his luscious lower lip. “Like that?”

He growled and pressed her up against a wall.

Deep within, she felt a primal stirring, an almost animal urge to throw him down to the floor, and tear at his clothes. Her rational self wondered what she-beast he had awakened, but her inner wild woman said,
Shut up and enjoy the ride!
Charlene pawed at his shirt, the buttons eluding her fevered grasp. Frustrated and crazed with lust, she yelped, “Take the damn shirt off!”

He stepped away from her, grinned, and began to undo the buttons at a leisurely pace. “Am I going too slowly for you?”

“Yes!” She yanked the gray jumper over her head, tore her bra off, and stepped out of her panties. She was nearly panting with exertion and arousal. “I want you naked. Now.”

His shirt flew across the room, followed by his pants, the chain on his back pocket jangling as it hit the floor. No underwear impeded her view of his impressive erection. She couldn’t take her eyes off his long, thick penis pointed straight at her like a dowsing rod.

He took a step toward her, and she put her hand out like a traffic cop. He stopped. “What’s wrong?”

She gave him an expression of mock concern. “That thing could keep me from sitting down for a week.”

He was at her side in a flash. He nuzzled her neck and nipped her earlobe. “Let’s make it two weeks.”

A wave of desire crashed over her. She gasped and arched her back, pushing her breasts onto his hard chest. Her mind lost its ability to form words. She closed her eyes and gave in to the free fall of lust.

His hands roamed her body, rubbing her breasts, making her nipples harden and hurt with desire. “Are you sure? Maybe we should wait. Get to know each other better. Go for dinner and a movie? What do you say?”

Breathless, she reached down, fondled the tip of his penis, his slickness belying his patter. Still holding on, she began to walk backward. “C’mon big boy, I’ve got plans for you.”

They erupted in laughter when she bumped into her four-poster bed and he fell on top of her. He ran his fingers through her hair, releasing the long blonde strands from what was left of the ponytail. She closed her eyes and melted under the light touch of his fingers. When his tongue grazed her nipples, she gasped.

“You like that?” He continued to lick his way down to the center of her belly, and she arched her back—each kiss, each lick and nibble filling her with urgency. By the time he traced lazy circles around the sensitive skin just below her silky triangle, she could barely breathe.

“Now, please,” she begged him. “Now!”

Without warning, he flipped her over on her stomach, pulled her hips up in the air, and molded himself to her body. His thighs pressed against her buttocks—his erection urgent between her legs.

“Up on your hands and knees,” he growled.

Breathless and half-dazed with desire, she complied, and sighed when he entered her aching, wet folds, filling her. He wrapped his arms around her, one long fingered hand finding her throbbing clitoris, the other pulling at her nipple. She moaned and he began to plunge harder, deeper, longer strokes.

He nipped at her shoulders, clutched her waist, and thrust faster, releasing musky scents of sweat and sex. Just as she screamed in orgasm, pain shot though her shoulder, and he howled.

She fell flat on her face, struggled to roll over, and stared at him. “Did you just bite me?”

He looked abashed. “A love nip. No blood drawn. Honest. Sorry, I got a little carried away.”

She scooted backward on the bed, surprised by the bite and confused by her unexpected arousal from it. “You do this often?”

He knelt at her feet and gave her a mischievous grin. “I could ask you the same question, couldn’t I?”

She reached over, lifted his chin, and said, “Hoisted by my own petard—or perhaps by your petard? I have to tell you, you brought out my wild side.” She patted the bed. “Come sit next to me so I can play with your petard.”

He crawled on his hands and knees, rubbing her legs, belly, and breasts in slow, tantalizing strokes. She trembled as his hands slid between her legs. “You know I’m the one for you. You quiver when I touch you. When I’m inside you, our souls meld and I’m complete. We’re meant to be together. Let me show you how much I need you, Charlene.”

With him inside her, her loneliness fled—a distant memory. Was this what she’d been yearning for all her life? Was this man her home? Tonight, she didn’t want to think. She wanted to live in the moment and enjoy the sensations she felt with Zack. She sighed, opened her arms, and released her wild woman once again.

~*~

Later that night, sexually sated, Charlene sat alone at the kitchen table, sipping tea, and eating apple pie. Zack had left an hour before, to give her time to rest—and to think. What the hell had come over her? She’d
never
had sex without insisting on the man using a condom before tonight. She closed her eyes, saw him naked, and a fresh wave of arousal warmed her center.
Hot, hot, hot.
Her brain went out to lunch every time she thought about him. That’s why.

She ordered herself to focus on the leather-bound family Bible she’d discovered on a table in the front parlor—along with a beautifully illuminated Koran in English.
Did Rebekkah leave these here?
She wiped her fingers on a napkin and flipped through the Koran, examining the bookmarked and heavily underlined chapters and verses—

“The Cattle—
And they make the
jinn associates with Allah, while He created them, and they falsely attribute to Him sons and daughters without knowledge; glory be to Him, and highly exalted is He above what they ascribe.”

“The Ant—
And his hosts of the jinn and the men and the birds were gathered to him, and they were formed into groups
.”

“The Jinn—
And that some of us are those who submit, and some of us are the deviators; so whoever submits, these aim at the right way: And as to the deviators, they are fuel of hell.”

“
The Saba—
And (We made) the wind (subservient) to
Sulaiman, which made a month's journey in the morning and a month's journey in the evening, and We made a fountain of molten copper to flow out for him, and of the jinn there were those who worked before him by the command of his Lord; and whoever turned aside from Our command from among them, We made him taste of the punishment of burning
.”

The only name she recognized was Sulaiman—King Solomon.
What the heck did this stuff have to do with the people of Eden?

She placed the Koran back on the table and gently turned the onionskin pages of the Bible—careful not to get food on them. A hand-written family tree was inside the front cover in beautiful calligraphy. She sat up straighter when she read her mother’s name.

“Joanna Abigail, daughter of Jethro and Rebekkah Carter. Joey, son of Oblis and Joanna Abigail Carter. Charlene, daughter of Fred Johnson and Joanna Abigail Carter.” Her brother had a different father? No. That couldn’t be. Fred adored Joey. Worked tirelessly to find a cure for him. Her head spun trying to connect the pieces.
If true, this would mean Jethro’s my grandfather. Why didn’t he tell her? And he’s Joey’s grandfather. None of this makes sense.
The clocked chimed twelve times.
Too late to call now.
The next time she saw Jethro, she’d make him explain—especially the part about Joey.