Whats Your Pleasure (3 page)

“Yep.
I think so, too. We’ve had the busiest Thursday we’ve had in a while.”

Nathan glanced around the sparsely filled room and raised an eyebrow.

“Hey,” Vincent countered, “what do you expect? People
gotta
work tomorrow.”

Nathan nodded. “That’s true. Glad to hear it was a good night, though.”

“Got a question for you,” Joe piped up, leaning against the bar.

“Shoot,” Nathan responded.

“If it’s usually a quiet night, why do you act as the ‘unofficial bouncer’?”

Nathan laughed again. “That what he told you?” He looked over his shoulder at Vincent, who now was talking to their last patron. “Vince and I go way back. I grew up on the Hill, you know, where all the Italians live.”

“I’ve heard of it,” she said, encouraging him to go on.

“Vincent, he and his family moved in a few houses down from me when I was around thirteen or so. We’ve pretty much been friends since then. Live just around the corner, now, so Vince and I are still close. I’m a dealer over at the casino. Usually stop by for a beer before
headin
’ home.” Nathan peered over his mug at her.

“All joking aside, you look smart, but let me smarten you up even more, Blondie. By the way, your eyes are incredible,
kinda
like emeralds.”

Nathan grinned charmingly, but Joe wasn’t taking him up on the implied offer.

He continued in a more serious tone. “Vincent’s got his own demons to wrestle. This place is his dream. His dad’s a successful guy in this town.
Does something with the railroad.
His mom—stay
at home June Cleaver type of person. Hell, she probably wears pearls to clean the damned toilets, know what I mean?”

Joe nodded.

“Anyways, Vince had this super important job, making money hand over fist, but it was
killin
’ him, so he quit. Been
tryin
’ to prove to his folks that he’s made the right decision every since then. Hell,” Nathan took a long swig of beer and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, “last time I went to Sunday dinner with him, all they did was rag on him about being a good provider, how no woman wants to be married to a lousy bar owner,
yack
,
yack
yack
.”

Joe looked up and watched as Vincent locked the door behind the last customer and flipped the sign to ’Closed’. She smiled a bit, hearing him whistle.
He looks happy, now,
she thought.
And sexy as hell.

“I understand. And thanks,” she told Nathan.

“Just
tellin
’
ya
,
ya
know.” He grinned. “Vince! I’m
outta
here. I’ll go out the back.”

“Yep.
See you tomorrow,” Vincent answered.

“You know it!” Nathan responded as he walked through the office to leave by the rear exit.

“Wow! You did a great job tonight,” Vincent complimented Joe.

“Thanks, but the night’s not over,” she responded.

Vincent looked confused again. She’d known him less than twenty-four hours, and already Joe could recognise that endearing expression.

“Clean-up, mister.
Night’s not over until everything’s clean and back in place.” She grinned as she rolled her shoulders.

“Nope.
I’m on clean-up crew tonight. You go on up and get some rest. You’ve been rushed all evening, woman. You’ve got to be exhausted by now,” he countered.

Suddenly, Joe realised he was right. She certainly was exhausted, and nothing sounded better to her than a hot shower and cool sheets.

“’K,” she answered gratefully, “but I’ve got it tomorrow.”

“Deal,” he agreed, turning his back to her and grabbing three empty beer mugs.

When Joe snuggled beneath the cool sheets, she glanced at the clock—2:45 a.m.
Not bad,
she thought.
In town for a day and already have a job, a place to stay and one bad-ass, sexy boss as eye candy. What a deal!

Chapter Three

Fuckin
’ Flying Fish

1 3/4 oz good quality gin

3/4 oz Triple Sec

1/4 oz grenadine

1 dash bitters

Put in mixer, add crushed ice.

Joe tipped her head sideways, allowing him access to her neck. She moaned as he nibbled his way down to the throbbing pulse at the base of her throat. He worked his way lower, blazing a trail with his tongue. She gripped the sheets beneath her when he flicked the tip of her nipple, lashing it to erectness.

“Please,” she begged.

“Please what?” Vince asked.

“I can’t think.”

“Then don’t. Just enjoy.” He captured her pink bud with his teeth.

She yelped, enjoying the slight pain of the bite. He suckled, as if drawing pleasure from one breast while twisting and tweaking the other.

He raised himself above her, positioning his body for conquest.

“Vince, I…”

“
Shhh
.
No talking. You’re
mine
, now. I’ll do as I wish with you.”

Joe nodded. She felt trapped, helpless.
A victim of his power and desire.
She couldn’t have been more aroused. She lifted her hips and felt the tip of his cock kiss her wet opening. He teased her, dipping in gently then pulling out. She tried to buck against him, but he pulled back.

“Patience.
I’ll fuck you, but when I’m good and ready. First, I plan on torturing you for a while. Now don’t make me tie you up.”

Joe’s eyes widened. She’d never been tied up before, but the thought of it had her gushing sweet juices. Vince grinned, then, taking pity on her, plunged into her hot womb. She wrapped her legs around his waist, meeting each powerful thrust with her own. She clawed his back and felt his muscles tighten. She screamed out her joy as he buried his head in her neck. Still riding on waves of pleasure, she felt him raise himself and pull out of her. She cried out first in dismay but then in wonder as he painted her belly and breasts with his hot seed.

Joe finally dragged her body out of bed around 10:30 Friday morning. Running a hand through her limp hair, she quickly decided a shower was definitely the first order of business. Considering the dream she’d just had, a cold one would probably be best. Standing beneath the stinging needles refreshed both her body and mind. Not one to linger, she quickly scrubbed her skin and shaved her underarms, legs and pubic area, hopped out of the stand-up shower and towelled off. Humming to herself, she applied her favourite lotion, enjoying the lavender scent. When her hand reached her left shoulder, she hesitated, feeling the permanently wrinkled skin.

How long?
she
wondered.
How long before I can look at or touch myself and not remember?
Shaking off her sudden melancholy, she dressed simply in a pair of purple knickers, denim shorts and a bright purple T-shirt with the words ‘Blondes do it Better’ emblazoned across the front.

Padding into the kitchen, she opened a cabinet and pulled out a small coffee maker. Another plus about this place was that it came furnished. Sure, the dishes were a bit chipped, the flatware didn’t match and the only usable skillet was cast-iron, but she wasn’t about to complain. Hell, the pantry even came supplied with basics like coffee, flour, sugar, salt, pepper, a few spices and one unopened box of cereal. She’d gotten by with a lot less, before. With the knowledge that hot coffee was soon to be hers, she sat down at the small kitchen table and began to make a list of chores for the day.

First, she’d need to replenish some basic supplies like tampons, good coffee, milk and other necessities. Next, she’d need to call her folks and let them know her status.
Then…

Suddenly, the shrill ring of her mobile phone interrupted her thoughts.

“Hello,” she answered quickly.

“Baby Girl!”

Joe grinned.
“Hi, Dad.
I was just about to call.”

“Sure you were, sure you were. Just checking in on you, not that I’m
checkin
’ in,” Henry Dunes assured her.

Joe’s grin widened as she heard the deep baritone and signature repetition of her father’s speech pattern. Through all life’s trials, joys, desperations, triumphs and failures, Henry Dunes had stood solidly by his children. Not one to judge harshly, he encouraged his kids to be creative, independent thinkers. He represented everything a truly good person should be, at least in Joe’s mind.

“I’m good, Dad, really. I’ve got a job and a place to stay, at least for the time being.”

“Already?
Man, that’s a record even for you,
Darlin
’.” His voice boomed across the line.

“What can I say? I guess I just fall in a pile of shit and come out smelling of roses,” she quipped back.

Henry didn’t bother answering, but Joe had to hold the phone well away from her ear as his vivacious laugh roared through the receiver.

“Good to hear, good to hear. Listen, Joe, I don’t want to bother you, but Sarah’s folks called yesterday,” he reluctantly admitted.

Joe’s heart contracted, and she suddenly became very serious.
“What about?”

“Seems Cain’s becoming more of a handful than they are comfortable with.
Last week he got into some trouble at school.”

“What kind of trouble? He’s five, for God’s sake,” Joe said in exasperation. She closed her eyes and rubbed her head as she remembered Sarah.
Sarah.
After all this time, Joe still felt her throat contract as she thought of her. She and Sarah had been best friends all through middle and high school.
Sarah, who stood by Joe no matter what.
Sarah had tried so hard to please her upper middle class parents when all she really wanted to do was be an artist. Sarah, who had gotten pregnant after a one night stand six years ago and refused to name the
father
. Sarah, whose parents had thrown her out after discovering her
‘shame’.
Sarah, who…

Stop it!
Joe told
herself
firmly.
It’s Cain who matters now.

Joe heard her father sigh over the airwaves before he continued. “That little scamp. Apparently, he didn’t like the idea of the goldfish in the classroom being confined to a tiny little bowl so he decided to…well…liberate them.”

Joe didn’t bother to suppress the grin that tugged at the corners of her mouth. “Liberate?”

“Seems he took it into his head that the
fishies
needed a bit more room to swim, so he dumped them into a bag, tied it shut and ran out of school,” Henry explained.

“Go on,” Joe encouraged.

“You remember that the school is close to the lake, right?”

“Yeah.”
Joe could just imagine what Cain had done.

“Well, he dumped the little
fishies
into it,
then
he walked back to the classroom.”

“That it?” she asked.

“Nope,” Henry said baldly.

“I figured.”

“He was whistling,” Henry explained.

“Whistling what?” Joe noted with relief that the coffee had finished brewing and began to pour herself a mug.

“Sure you want to know?”

“Go for it,” she answered, practically scalding her throat on the hot coffee.

“You remember that song you used to sing to him?”

“Oh, God.”

“Yep.
The Fish Head song,” he confirmed.

Joe could almost see her father’s smile as she took another gulp of coffee. She and Sarah had taken turns singing the song to Cain when he was a baby.

Fish heads, Fish heads,

Roly
Poly Fish heads.

Suddenly, Joe saw the humour and had to giggle. Soon enough, both she and her father were laughing until they cried.

“Seriously, Joe,” Henry said, suddenly sombre.
“They’re talking about sending him to boarding school.”

“Like hell they are!” Joe shouted.

“Thought you’d take it that way, so I managed to talk ’
em
out of it, at least for this school year.
Don’t know about next fall, though. Never seen anyone resent their own grandkid the way those folks do.”

“True. But then again, they are
raising
the kid, not just visiting.” Joe ran a hand through her hair. “Thanks for the head’s up, Dad. I’ll start looking around here for good neighbourhoods, schools, that sort of thing. This is only September, so I’ve got a few months.”

Joe and Henry chit chatted for a bit longer before finishing up the call.

Fabulous, just fabulous.
Joe looked around the tiny apartment in exasperation.
Well, Sarah, at least I’ve got a new start. Hopefully I can make good on my promise soon,
she thought. Realizing that sitting around would not do her any
good,
Joe grabbed her purse and headed out the door.

Absorbed in her own thoughts, she didn’t really notice the other people on the busy sidewalk until she walked smack into a human wall. If The Wall hadn’t grabbed her shoulders, she’d have been flat on her ass on the sidewalk.

“Whoa, Joe,” a familiar voice said.
“Where you off to in such a hurry?”

“Sorry, Nathan.
I guess I was in my own world,” she answered. “Umm, you can let go of me now.”

“What if I don’t want to?” he smoothly replied, running his hands along her shoulders.

Joe went rigid. She saw the question in his eyes but chose to ignore it. Instead, she gave his hands a pointed glance.
 
When he dropped them to his sides, she nodded her thanks.

“Guess we all have to do things we don’t want to do,” she said stonily.

Nathan laughed.

Joe relaxed.
Maybe this guy isn’t so bad, after all.

“Seriously, Blondie, where you headed?”

“I just need to pick up a few things.
Figured I’d wander about until I found a store or something.”

Again, Nathan laughed. “You’re going to be wandering for a good long time. Closest one is about 3 miles from here.”

“Good Lord! How do people in this neighbourhood get groceries and things?” she asked.

“Drive. Got a car?” he inquired.

Joe sighed.
“Yeah.
It’s parked around back, but no air conditioning and next to no gasoline.”
Damn.
She had some cash from tips last night, but probably not enough for her purchases and gas.

“What about the Market?”

“You mean the Farmer’s Market? I’m not quite sure where that is,” she admitted.

“Tell you what. I was going to shoot the bull with Vincent before heading to work in a few hours. But I need a few things, too. Why don’t I walk with you?”

Joe considered. As a rule, she didn’t hang with strangers, but Nathan wasn’t exactly a stranger. Besides, he knew the lay of the land a hell of a lot better than she did.

“Sure. Thanks,” she answered.

“This way, my lady.”
He bowed and reached out to touch her shoulder.

Without thinking, Joe jerked away and began walking in the direction he had pointed, ignoring his narrowed eyes watching her.

Having visited the area several times before, Joe was somewhat familiar with the buildings, but she’d only enjoyed the night life. Now, she smiled at the array of noises, smells and sights the Farmer’s Market offered.

“I’ve always wondered why this area is called ‘
Soulard
’. Do you know?” she asked Nathan.

“As a matter fact, I do. It’s named after Antoine
Soulard
, a strapping Frenchman who did a bit of surveying work for the King of Spain back in the mid 1800s or so,” he explained.

“A Frenchman working for Spain?”
She raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah.
Who’d have thought?” Nathan laughed. “Actually, this open Market is one of the oldest in the U.S.”

“Really?”

“Yep.
Julia
Soulard
, Antoine’s widow, donated this land to the City of St. Louis. Then, in 1929, this building was constructed. Rumour has it that it was modelled after the
Foundling
Hospital
in Florence, Italy,” he continued.

Joe was fascinated. She loved historic buildings and the whole concept of continuing traditions.