The Bonk Squad (11 page)

She opened the wardrobe onto her past.
Maybe there’d be something old but still possible lurking there?
She pushed the hangers along the rail. Awful. Worse. Unwearable.
Unbearable. Maybe...

Her old black wrap-around skirt.
Ancient, but so plain it’d be almost unnoticeable with a decent
top. And the ties would adjust it to fit. Tigger was jubilantly
slimmer after the miles of walking on her postal round each day and
eighteen months away from Eloise’s butter-laden cooking.

So which top? The acid yellow T-shirt
with the hologram? Or the red with the gold ink angels’ wings on
the back? She loved that one—but she wasn’t feeling too angelic
this evening. Or the skimpy dark blue with the tiny straps and the
silver stars? Perfect.

Would he let her? Yes—of course he
would. He’d probably beg if he had to. Wouldn’t he?

Where could they go? Not back here to
her old bedroom, that was for sure. She wouldn’t risk smuggling him
in through the deck doors.

She wasn’t going to walk him past her
parents as they sat watching TV either; Eloise had mentioned she
sometimes asked him to help with computer problems.

And they couldn’t go to Ben’s room—it
opened right off his Mom’s sitting room.

She hoped he had a big car.

Did he have a car at all? Would he
arrive in a taxi? Would he be walking? She wrinkled her nose. This
was getting complicated.

And should she offer to pay for her
movie seat? If he was still at school, he wouldn’t have cash to
burn. The house had been pleasant. Lived-in and comfortable, but
far from luxurious. His mother had been widowed for several years.
Ben said she worked as a librarian, so they weren’t rolling in
money.

But what a delicious treat he’d be.
Seventeen. Tall and built. Not quite a man yet. Sporty she
presumed, from the rugby and cricket posters on his bedroom walls.
So a toned body and a gorgeous kissable sulky mouth. What more
could a girl want?

Well, his eyes were rather nice.
Brown, but golden. And his hair was clean and thick when it could
have been greasy and dirty, or shaved to scratchy stubble. Ben was
a peach, ripe for her plucking.

Tigger pictured them side by side in
the darkened cinema, his hand moving shyly across to hold hers. Or
his arm sliding with caution around her shoulder, drawing her a
little closer. His breath on her cheek. His lips nuzzling her
earlobe, hoping he was appearing grown up.

God, she hoped he’d suck her earlobe.
Already the thought of it had her feeling raunchy. She’d suck his,
to give him the right idea if she had to…

Dressing with speed, she freshened her
smoky eye makeup, and wondered about writing a few more
sentences.

At that instant the doorbell pealed.
She grabbed her cell-phone, stuffed it into her bag, gave herself a
last once-over in the mirror, and dashed out to the living
room.

“
Bye Dad—going to a movie.
Back by midnight.”

Johnno grunted, immersed in the
newspaper. Eloise was in the bathroom—Tigger could hear water
gurgling through the pipes.

And there her downy virgin was. Well,
decidedly un-downy. Seriously shaved. One small cut on his chin. In
jeans like a second skin. And a silver-gray shirt with a couple of
buttons undone at the neck.

Six foot two and he had a little old
Toyota.

Oh fuck, we’ll never
fit.

If Max ever found out about Peter,
she’d be dead meat, because Max wasn’t a nice man at all. The best
thing about him was he was hardly ever home.

Mandy knew that was a terrible thing
to say about her husband. So she was careful no hint of Peter ever
reached Max.

Not many hints of Peter reached Mandy
these days. They’d had a sudden little fling at a hospital party,
months ago. Gone into the elevator together on the ground floor and
started to rise with a bump and a hiss.

Delicious Doctor Piers
Peters reached past the pert little theatre sister and pushed the
‘stop’ button.

“
Special treat for you,
Nursie,” he muttered as they jerked to a halt between floors. He
stepped closer to her. Far too close. Her lips parted in heated
expectation. Her breath rushed in and out as she waited for him to
make his move. For make his move he finally would!

They’d worked only inches
from each other for weeks now. Sometimes their flesh touched as she
slapped the retractors or scalpels into his grasping, demanding
hands. Even though they were separated by the thin barrier of
surgical gloves, she’d felt how hot his body was. Burning hot.
Burning for her?

His dark eyes surveyed her
often over his disposable mask. A predator’s eyes. Assessing his
prey. Calculating the best method of attack. For he would take her,
of that she was certain. She’d felt him issuing his silent and
sensuous invitation, day after day, week after week.

“
Doctor Peters!” she
gasped, halfway between shock and longing. He looked so handsome in
his expensive dark suit.

“
Nurse...?” His left
eyebrow rose.

“
Nicholson,” she
whispered.

“
Of course. Nurse
Nicholson. Or Sister Nicholson if we’re going to do this
properly.”

“
Properly?”

“
Improperly
then?”

“
Oh Doctor!”

He chuckled. “You like the
sound of improperly, do you? And how would you like me to be
improper with you?” A lazy smile touched his lips. He reached out
and tipped her chin back with a careless hand. “Like this?” His
other hand tangled into her long, vivid red hair. He held her
powerless, and she waited for his voracious, sharply-chiseled mouth
to claim hers.

He stared down at her for
long seconds, and then bent to nip and lick her soft white
throat.

“
God,” he groaned. “I know
just how a wolf or lion feels. I could tear your life out with my
teeth in a few seconds. Now that’s a
real
turn-on...”

His hot breath and damp
lips progressed up and down her tender neck. She trembled at the
thought of his sharp teeth slashing into her jugular vein, biting
hard.

With slow deliberation she
raised a thigh and insinuated it between his until she was pressing
against his most masculine flesh. Oh yes, he was turned-on all
right... She smiled to think of the power she had over him
now.

“
So bite,” she invited.
“Bite me wherever you want to.”

She heard him snarl with
barely leashed need as her thigh continued to rhythmically and
slowly massage him. His arousal was hard as bone, hot as
newly-sterilized instruments, enticing as morphine. She knew he’d
have her in heaven in seconds.

But still he held back
from kissing her. His mouth hovered a bare inch from hers now. She
burned to close the gap between them...ached for the intimate
contact his eyes had promised for hours each day in the intense
atmosphere of the operating theatre.

She moaned.

And he crushed his mouth
onto hers.

She thrilled as his
slippery muscular tongue forced its way between her lips and into
her warm wet cavern. He explored her mercilessly, sliding over her
gums and teeth, inviting her own tongue to join his in
play.

She stretched it toward
his; felt the firmness of his warm male lips, and then gasped as he
sucked her tongue into his mouth to tangle and tumble and twist in
a tantalizing teasing tango.

She shuddered and shivered
as the sensations jolted through the length of her body. He was
paradise! And this was just a kiss!

Then his hands descended
onto her shoulders, pushing the slender straps of her party dress
down her arms. Now he could plunder her breasts of their creamy
sweetness and rosy raspberries—and he did. She arched to meet him
in response. He suckled and sighed. His breath burned hot on her
perfumed skin.

With no restraint left, he
pinned her against the hard wall of the elevator. Glued together,
panting like animals, they dived into each other’s
clothing.

She unzipped him and
pulled him from his confining trousers and soft white cotton Calvin
Klein briefs (stretched thrillingly far beyond their normal
capacity...)

He pulled her skirt up
past her slim thighs and groaned at the saucy little lace panties
that hid almost nothing. He pushed one hot finger inside...um...the
elastic, and peeled the tiny garment down. He settled her against
his throbbing and impatient manhood. He would take her there,
supported by the wall. He yanked her up.

“
Ow!” she yelped as his
belt buckle scraped her inner thigh, snagged her new party dress,
and ripped the fabric with an unholy screech.

Mandy heaved a huge sigh of
disappointment. Damn—that had been going so well. She easily
imagined Eloise’s dramatic voice reading the scene aloud to the
rest of the group. They’d hang on her every word, impressed at the
atmosphere and anticipation Mandy had summoned up. And for sure
they’d imagine this was her and her secret lover...that they’d
enjoyed an interlude just like Doctor Peters and his beautiful
nurse.

In truth very little had happened
between herself and Doctor Baldwin the pathologist. Yes, they’d
kissed on the way up to the party. She’d been amazed when he jabbed
the emergency stop button, dragged her into his arms, and pressed
his already beer-fumed lips to hers.

With her husband so often absent at
sea, and her libido too seldom attended to, Mandy found this sudden
Neanderthal need entirely understandable.

Doctor Baldwin had been pleasant and
attentive throughout the evening—and then taken her home to his
rather bare bachelor flat and inserted himself for a fast and
furious fuck.

But that had been all. No flowers or
chocolates. No follow-up phone calls or cards with kittens and red
roses and ribbons. No dreamy little chats in the hospital
corridors.

To begin with, Mandy had been
devastated.

But then the relief took over. He
dealt in dead flesh, and in truth had been somewhat inept with her
warm living body.

And Max Nicholson guarded what he
considered to be his exclusive property—even if he wasn’t home to
enjoy it very often. Mandy could do without the drama and danger a
real-life lover would attract; Max was bad enough if he discovered
any of her hypothetical lovers lurking on the pages of her
manuscripts.

Doctor Brad, Doctor Piers, and Doctor
Robbie needed to keep a watchful eye out for a fierce and frenzied
fisherman stalking the imaginary hospital corridors, razor-sharp
gutting knife in hand.

She slid a frozen dinner into the
microwave oven, pushed Heat and Hold and returned to the keyboard
again.

Was it worth trying to recapture the
scene in the elevator, or should she press on with the first three
chapters of the Addy/Brad/Ankylosing Spondylitis novel? She had
just a few more pages to go before she could send it off to be
evaluated.

Would they ever want the rest of
anything she wrote? She had twenty-six three-chapter ‘partials’
packed away in her desk, and had been spending enough on postage to
support an orphan in Africa. It was at last possible to email her
submissions, but what if they ended up in the editor’s Spam folder?
Or were accidentally deleted? Mandy gnawed on the piece of rough
skin beside her thumb-nail—her constant worry-site.

The microwave dinged just as she drew
blood.

Al had collected her in a late model
silver-gray Audi. Greeted her with a casual kiss on the cheek.
Opened the door for her and closed it after she’d settled into the
fragrant leather passenger seat. And driven a little too fast—but
with the air of a man used to the road rather than one showing off.
His cologne and her Opium warred for supremacy in the enclosed
space.

“
Where are we going?” she’d
asked, once the car was growling along the main highway.

“
There’s a nice little
winery out by the Tuki Tuki. I’ve eaten there once or twice.” He
sent her a brief smile. “It’s been good each time.
Orlando’s.”

“
That’s the name of my
cat.
One
of my
cats. Two Burmese. You probably saw them last night. They get
lonely without a friend and go wandering.”

“
Don’t we all?” He sounded
bitter.

She glanced sideways. “This seems,”
she said with care, “a reasonable time to ask about Michael’s
mother.”

“
She got lonely and went
wandering, too. Enjoyed all the perks my well paid job provided,
but wanted me around instead of tied to the work.”

“
Difficult
combination.”

“
Absolute killer. We split
about eighteen months ago. Not good for Michael.”

“
He’s a nice boy, from what
I’ve seen. He and Ben get on well. He lives with you?”

Al nodded. “One in the eye for his
mother. His choice.”