Sweet Love, Survive (43 page)

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

 

Susan Johnson, award-winning author of nationally bestselling novels, lives in the country near North Branch, Minnesota. A former art historian, she considers the life of a writer the best of all possible worlds.

Researching her novels takes her to past and distant places, and bringing characters to life allows her imagination full rein, while the creative process offers occasional fascinating glimpses into complicated machinery of the mind.

But perhaps most important … writing stories is fun.

And here’s an excerpt from

BLONDE HEAT

the tantalizing novel of passion from
SUSAN JOHNSON
available now

When Lily, Serena, and Ceci return to the small lakeside town of Ely, the three best friends are going to take the town by storm in the hottest summer of their lives …

Once Billy walked out of the bar with the Mack-haired bitch, as Lily silently referred to his partner, she found it easier to enjoy the rest of the evening. His disappearance resolved her dilemma—should she, shouldn’t she, would she hate herself in the morning if she did? It turned into a beautiful, hot, sweaty night of dancing, which she loved. The band was prime, she adored dancing, she had no dearth of partners, including Ceci, whom she’d danced with since the sixth grade. They were actually damned good.

Serena and Frankie left early. Surprise, surprise. But it was nice to see Serena so happy.

After turning down various offers to extend the evening, Lily and Ceci drove home alone.

“Is it just me or do you have to feel the heat before you sleep with someone?” Lily asked as they turned out of the saloon parking lot.

“Same here. Lust first, then friendship. That’s my motto.”

“There’s definitely degrees of lust, though.” Lily sighed.

“He talked about you,” Ceci said, the reason fer Lily’s sigh patently clear.

“But he went home with the black-haired bitch.”

“It was a without-risk, try-to-forget-the-woman-you-want fuck. He would have preferred you, but didn’t want to pay the price.”

“That’s not particularly consoling.”

“But true. He wants you bad.”

Even while she told herself she shouldn’t care, even while she understood how useless the feeling was, Lily felt a warm rush of pleasure.

Lily was home twenty minutes later, still wired after hours of dancing. Taking off her clothes, she put on a robe, poured herself a Coke from the refrigerator, opened and shut the bag from the Chocolate Moose with the almond-paste bear claw three times before she decided she’d burned off enough calories on the dance floor to warrant a tiny little bite.

Three minutes later the bear claw was gone.

She’d eat only raw vegetables tomorrow, she promised herself, and then in some totally unknown fashion, the freezer door was open, she was standing in the glare of the freezer light, and the Ben & Jerry’s Cherry Garcia container was looking lonely all by itself.

She’d eat only a very few raw vegetables tomorrow, she thought, reaching for it.

Scooping up the first spoonful—the one with the large chocolate chunk—she mentally considered eating just down an inch, reassuring herself that calculating the number of fat grams and calories listed in a portion size when divided by the very few spoonfuls she would consume would amount to only a nominal number of calories. And a certain amount of fat was actually required in a diet or one could die of beriberi or some similar, odd disease of malnutrition.

She was shocked when she saw the bottom of the container.

Tomorrow would have to be a day of fasting, which was very good for one; it cleansed one’s soul and body and allowed one to reach a higher sphere of consciousness.

With
tomorrow
the operative word, she drank her Coke and then finished off that one last small Almond Joy left over from her trip. The Almond Joys were really much, much smaller than before—a mere morsel with hardly any calories, she was sure. And she’d read somewhere that coconut didn’t have any cholesterol, although the palm oils weren’t all that good for you, but she wasn’t going to think about that now—
when she was in the throes of a seven case of sexual deprivation!

She chose to overlook the fact that she’d gone two months without sex prior to arriving in Ely.

But too much factual data put you out of touch with your true inner self and the cosmic energy cycles that brought you extraordinary peace and understanding. So right now she didn’t want to be confused with petty facts. She was much more interested in
where he went with that black-haired bitch!

Calm, calm … draw in a breath of serenity and peace … let your vital life energy flow …

Lily picked up the kitchen phone.

Ten minutes later Ceci had talked her down: she wasn’t going to weigh three hundred pounds by next week due to her sexual trauma; all she needed was a good night’s sleep and everything would look calm and much improved in the morning. One thought less often of ex-lovers making love to black-haired bitches, she supposed, when one was eating her scrambled eggs and toast than when one was perhaps just slightly drunk.

A glaring light flashed through the kitchen windows, and for a second she thought she’d witnessed an alien landing.

It was car lights, she realized a moment later. She really shouldn’t have more than three drinks in an evening.

The headlights were turned off, she heard a car door slam, and it just went to show you how harmful violence in movies was, because her first thought was that someone had come to cut her into ribbons with a kitchen knife in, appropriately, her kitchen.

The part of her brain that hadn’t been completely blunted by alcohol reminded her that no one had been cut to ribbons in Ely—ever. That momentarily calming reminder allowed her to flash forward to a less vicious but equally alarming scenario about a woman who was attacked in her kitchen by a huge flock of birds. The lucid part of her brain screamed: STUPID! BIRDS DON’T DRIVE CARS!

Nevertheless, the knock on the door sent a small shiver up her spine.

“Yes?” she said, so softly even she realized no one could hear it. Clearing her throat for a second attempt, she glanced about, hoping to catch sight of a large-bladed kitchen knife within easy grasp. But since she hadn’t cooked since her arrival, nor had she opened a drawer save to find the spoon she needed to finish the Cherry Garcia, she knew it wasn’t
likely that a useful long-bladed weapon would be readily available.

“Lily! I can hear you breathing in there. Open the door.”

Was that a choir of angels that had raised their voices on high or was she hallucinating after only five or six or at the very most seven drinks at the Birch Lake Saloon?

“Lily, dammit. Open the door or I’ll break it down.”

The angels stopped singing at Billy’s rather harsh tone of voice. “Don’t shout!” she shouted.

“Open the door,” he said in a near normal tone.

“It’s not locked.”

She could hear him swearing and a second later he was standing in her kitchen looking just as good as he had earlier—maybe better now that she was in harmony with her inner serf and her spontaneous and wholly natural sexual impulses. Peace and tranquillity—that was the answer.

“Where’s that black-haired bitch you left with?” Her spitefulness surprised her, coming out without warning, but then the secrets of cosmic understanding require years of disciplined study. She’d start first thing in the morning.

“I don’t know,” he said, smiling like he knew something she didn’t; she wondered if her robe was undone. “Do you want to go and look for her?”

“Why would I want to do that?”

“Ceci said you wanted to strangle her.”

“Ceci’s an unspeakable traitor—like an Aaron Burr or was it Nathan Hale? Who sold his country for—”

“I’m glad she called me.”

The way he said it sent a small shiver the other way this time, downward. “You are?”

“I am.”

“Would you care to explain?”

“Not really.”

“I suppose the word
commitment
mustn’t be uttered on pain of death.”

“I suppose I’d better make you some coffee or you’re not
going to remember a thing in the morning.”

“I don’t care about commitment,” she meant to say, but it came out slurred and the word
commitment
took three tries.

He didn’t seem to notice. He walked from the kitchen door around the table in the center of the floor to the counter where she was half standing and half leaning, listening to the choir of angels. He took her in his arms, looked into her eyes, and said very, very softly, “I know. It was my fault. Now, where’s your coffee?”

Lily smelled the bacon before she opened her eyes and it took her a moment to properly register where she was to be smelling bacon in the morning. And it was obviously morning, because the very, very brilliant, too brilliant light from the unshaded windows was hurting her eyes. She turned her head to evade the hideously searing light and came face-to-face with the man who had occupied her dreams last night.

“It’s not a dream,” he said, his mind-reading abilities in fine form, or perhaps her shock gave him a clue. He handed her a latte in one of the Lodge’s large white cups. “Two brown sugars, I hope that’s okay.” And then he sat down on the edge of the bed and took a sip from his latte.

“You were in the kitchen last night,” she said, her gaze wary. She glanced down at her cup. “And you were at the Lodge this morning.”

“Yes and no. They brought over the lattes.”

“And?”

“What else would you like to know? And don’t ask about Tammy, because we went over that last night ad nauseam.”

“Tammy?”

“The black-haired bitch.”

It all came flooding back, or more aptly, trickling back. “You stayed here last night?”

“In this bed, actually.”

“With me?”

“Yeah. You shot me down on the ménage à trois. Just kidding,” he quickly said at the look in her eye.

“You put something in my drink,” she accused.

“I wasn’t with you, if you recall. Maybe it was Mr. Dockers.”

She groaned softly. In her snit with Billy, she’d given Charles-call-me-Chip her phone number. Now it didn’t seem like such a good idea.

“Having second thoughts about preppy men?”

“You can be very annoying.”

“That’s not what you said last night.”

“You’re obviously dying to tell me about last night, so tell me.” She took a large gulp of coffee as though she might need it.

“There’s nothing much to tell. While I was making you some coffee, you fell asleep with your head on the kitchen table. I carried you in here, put you to bed, and went to sleep.”

“Sure you did.”

He shrugged. “Not much point in having sex with a corpse.”

“So it wasn’t chivalry.”

He grinned. “Some of it was. I could have wakened you if I wanted. Drink your latte and quit breaking my balls. I was a Boy Scout last night.”

Her feelings were a chaotic mix of irritation at his presumption and the usual flagrantly libidinous cravings that always overtook her when he was in sight. “Don’t you have to work?”

He shook his head. “Took the day off.”

“Why?”

“I thought I’d spend it in bed with you. But you should eat first. There’s some breakfast in the kitchen.”

“What if I don’t want to?”

“You should anyway,” he said, as if he didn’t know what she meant. “Breakfast is the most important meal of the day.”

She looked at him squinty-eyed. “Does everyone always say yes to you?”

“No.”

But the infinitesimal pause before he responded was answer enough. “I
could
be busy today,” she said.

“Change your plans.”

“Why should I do that?”

“Because we fit together
real
well, if you recall. And according to my mother, Myrtle Carlson is gone to visit her daughter in Biwabik, so she won’t hear you scream when you come.”

Lily was instantly wet, as though he had only to promise her sex and she was ready. “How does your mother know that?” she asked in a voice that registered sexual desire in every suppressed syllable.

“They’re both in the church choir.”

She groaned softly. “I forgot how everyone knows everything about everyone in a small town.”

Her orgasmic screams that night at the Lodge were a case in point, but he thought it might be counterproductive to mention it. “Look at the bright side,” he said, rising from the bed. “We’re alone out here today. Breakfast is ready in the kitchen, and afterward”—he smiled—“we can do whatever you want.”

It was difficult eating breakfast with the idea of doing whatever she wanted in the forefront of her thoughts. It was damned near impossible if she spent too much time recounting the inspired, really endearing whatever-you-want pleasures of their first night together. And it didn’t help whatever moderate and judicious emotions she might still retain to be gazing up close and personal at darling Billy, God’s gift to women. After a night of drinking, her senses were on high alert to everything sexual, and the most beautifully sexual man she’d ever met was sitting across the table from her.

He’d changed sometime between the saloon last night and now, his blue striped camp shirt pressed and neat, his chino shorts without a wrinkle. She wished she’d washed her robe,
she thought, suddenly aware of a chocolate stain she’d intended to swab with Stain Stick.

“You’re not eating,” he said. “Eat.”

She folded some of the robe skirt over the stain. “I ate a whole pint of ice cream last night and a pastry and a candy bar.”

He grinned. “You were missing me.”

“Was not. Tell me about Tammy,” she said, wanting to make him squirm instead. “If we had a conversation, I don’t remember.”

“Will you eat then? I don’t want you wasting away.”

He was either incredibly sweet or incredibly smooth, but at the moment she didn’t care because she didn’t feel like fasting
or
eating raw vegetables when she had a mushroom-and-bacon omelette on her plate, a basket of blueberry muffins was scenting the air, and the strawberries in the bowl to her left were arranged in a little mountain with whipped cream on top. She reached for a muffin.

He leaned back in his chair and offered her an easygoing smile. “I took Tammy home, said thanks but no thanks, I have to get up early in the morning, and drove around for an hour or so, telling myself I wasn’t coming here. And then I came over here and you proceeded to tell me you missed me.”

“Did not,” she said, not looking up form buttering her muffin in case he could see her embarrassment.

“Yeah, you did. But then you also said all men were scum, so I wasn’t so sure about the signals I was getting. Although you did mention your orgasms that night at the Lodge were mind-blowing, so I thought that was probably a plus in my column.”

She flushed red. “You’re making this up.”

“You wish. But just when I thought things were going my way, you passed out on the kitchen table and ruined all my plans.” His smile broadened. “But I’m still hopeful.”