The Pleasure Principle. Kimberly RayeЧитать онлайн книгу.
never developed a true liking for the skyscraper, much less the surrounding big city.
This he liked. The smell of grass. The sight of trees. The feel of the sun beating down on him, making sweat run in trickles from beneath the brim of his faded Resistol.
A smile tilted his lips as he climbed from the passenger seat and followed his sister toward the building. Familiarity rushed through him as he touched the rusted wagon wheel that hung on the front door of the building—the same wheel that had been hanging on the door since Weston Boots first opened back in the late 1800s.
“I keep telling Granddaddy to get rid of that,” Ellie said as she came up behind him. “But you know better than anyone how stubborn he can be.” She drew in a deep breath. “We’re running with a skeleton crew since it’s Saturday—Granddaddy’s only day off—so you’re not likely to get the real feel until the place is packed and all departments are up and operational. That’ll be first thing Monday.”
“That’s okay. It’ll give me a chance to get the feel of things again without worrying about slowing down production.” He pushed open the door for his sister, then followed her inside.
“No problem, but do it fast because I’ve got a surprise planned for later.”
“What surprise?”
“If I told you, then it wouldn’t be a surprise, now, would it?” She smiled as if she held a big secret. “Let’s just say, it’s not every day the prodigal brother comes home. The occasion definitely calls for a celebration.”
“As in a party?”
Excitement lit her eyes as she nodded. “As in an intimate party with the old gang.”
He returned his sister’s smile. “You never could keep a secret.”
“How could I when you practically stuffed haystack needles under my fingernails to get me to talk?”
He grinned and let the door rock shut. Nostalgia rushed through him, along with a sense of peace and he simply stood there in the doorway, absorbing the sight and sound and smell of the place.
“What’s wrong?” Ellie asked, her brow wrinkling as she studied him.
“Nothing,” he said, sliding his arm around her as he guided her inside. “Everything’s right. For the first time in a long time, everything’s right.”
“I’M AFRAID I’VE GOT bad news and good news,” Merle, still clad in overalls and T-shirt, told him after Ellie dropped him off at the service station to check on his car later that afternoon.
“Give me the bad news first.”
“I cain’t exactly do that. It really is bad news and good news all rolled into one. See, Janie Gingrich—she’s the lady that used to rent the room above the garage before she married Trent Mulberry—had this nasty crow that got loose and took up residence in the tree just in back of the shop.”
“Is this the good news or the bad news?”
“Both, I told you. Bad news because the critter’s been living in the tree behind the shop. Only comes out when he hears my wrecker pull up. Came squawking by when I pulled in with your sports car and pooped all over the hood. I shooed her away.” He waved his rolled-up issue of Popular Mechanics. “But it was too late. She scratched the paint before I knew what had happened.”
“And that’s good news, too?”
“Sure enough. I’ll have to wait until Monday to get the paint from Austin, but good because I’d have to have the car until then anyway so’s I can take a look at that cracked engine block and look for any permanent damage. I know, I know,” Merle said when Brady started to talk, “it’s not in keeping with my twenty-four-hour guarantee, but this being Saturday and all and Sunday not counting, it’s technically only twenty-four work hours.” He eyed his nephew. “You’re not mad about the poop, are you?”
“Not if you’ve still got that room above the garage.”
Merle grinned and fished in his pocket. “It’s yours,” he declared as he handed over a slightly bent key. “It ain’t much, just a one-room with a kitchen, but it’s clean. Maria sees to that.”
“That’s good enough for me.” Brady took the key and retrieved his bag from the backseat of his Porsche.
“Mighty pretty car,” Merle said as he trailed his hand along the door. “Minus the poop, of course.”
“Yeah, it is nice.” Nice was an understatement. It was the best, like everything else in his life. Sally never would have settled for less. Even when they’d been dead broke, she would spend the last dollar to buy one gourmet cookie that lasted all of a few bites, rather than a loaf of bread to last them all week.
The dollar days had passed and he’d gone on to bring home more money, which she’d promptly spent. Always buying the best, from clothes to cars to fifty-dollar decorative handsoaps that he hadn’t been allowed to use. They’d been for show like everything else in her life. Status had meant everything, and so she’d moved on when someone with more status had come along.
Thankfully, she’d finally done what he couldn’t because of his damned conscience. She’d ended their marriage. Cut him loose. Sent him on his way so she could climb higher on the social ladder.
Or was that why she’d left?
I need a real man who can satisfy me.
He pushed aside the words as he headed up the stairs to the one-room efficiency. He wasn’t dwelling on the past. He was living for the moment. For right now. And right now involved taking a shower so he could meet his younger sister and the rest of his old buddies for a much-needed drink.
“Look out, Cadillac. Here I come.”
3
“I NEED a screaming orgasm in the worst way.”
“You and me both,” Eden told the woman who plopped down at the bar later that evening, a near empty glass in hand.
Dottie Abernathy was a regular Saturday-afternoon customer and one of the few who didn’t give a fig about Eden’s reputation.
Then again, Dottie had had her own reputation to contend with before she’d married the local fire chief and made a respectable woman of herself. Bib boobs—and Dottie had been blessed with two Double D’s—equaled an even bigger reputation, and so the woman understood what Eden had had to endure. She was in her late forties with graying red hair and a die-hard makeup habit that made the town’s only Avon lady the number-one-ranked salesperson in Texas. Dottie had a few too many gray hairs and her crow’s feet were deepening, but in her prime she’d stirred her fair share of gossip.
“I know why I need one,” Dottie said, taking the very last sip of her drink. The woman was referring to the outrageously named beverage, while Eden had an entirely different orgasm on her mind. “James is at home planted in front of the TV and I’m here alone. But what’s your excuse?”
Withdrawal. That’s what had stirred Eden’s hormones into a frenzy the moment she’d spotted Brady Weston. Sure, he was handsome and sexy, but he was still just a man. A walking Y chromosome. Nothing to get all excited about, unless the woman getting excited had been so busy the past six months working and worrying over the future and Jake Marlboro and what new stunt the slimeball was going to come up with to screw up her business that she’d completely neglected her personal life.
No wonder she’d been hot and bothered since walking into the Pink Cadillac after dropping Brady off at Merle’s. She was deprived. Desperate. Due.
Yep, she was definitely due for a good, quality orgasm.
Not that she’d ever had anything close to a screaming one. Sure, she’d whimpered. She’d sighed. She’d even moaned a time or two. But no man had ever made her scream. Despite the rumors circulating around the small