Bernard DeLeo - Cold Blooded

“Sure,” Suzan accepted gratefully. “It’s a treat being with adults. Should I bring anything?”

“Nope,” Nick answered, standing. “We’d better move along, hon. It was nice meeting you, Suzan. We’ll see you later then. How about around five?”

“Great, I’ll bring Jean with me.” Suzan walked Nick and Rachel to the door.

“That’ll work. If Jean starts acting up, call me, and I’ll come drag her home.”

Suzan laughed. “I don’t think that’ll be necessary. Goodbye.”

“It’s a Tanus subsidiary,” Nick said, handing Rachel one of Jim Benoit’s business cards in the car. “I’ll check on Benoit when we get home. It does explain how a mook like Brewster came to have a picture of you, Jean, and Rick.”

“And you invited her over for a barbeque…why?” Rachel asked caustically.

“Suzan will do one of two things, call her husband immediately, or take us at face value and forget the whole thing. I want to see which one she does.”

“You’ll actually know without her telling you?”

“I’ll work it into the conversation. Tanus Import/Export is a huge conglomerate on both coasts, which means they’ve been able to hide some very big undertakings. I’m certain their employees were given your picture long ago. I doubt more than a few people even knew Tanus was under indictment. I’d wager Mr. Benoit gave the picture to Brewster because he couldn’t be bothered with it.”

“Having Suzan and her kids over a day after you whacked their security guy would be unthinkable for anyone human…no offense meant.” She smiled at him, leaning a little so she could see his reaction.

“None taken.” Nick pulled the Escalade into the open garage and shut the door. “It’s all the more reason to have them over. I don’t suppose you’d like to model your black bikini for me until Suzan arrives with the kids for the barbeque.”

“You write some more Diego and research Jim Benoit. I’ll prepare everything for our get together.”

“Throw the potatoes into the microwave, brush barbeque sauce on the steaks, cut up the French bread, and boil the corn on the cob. That’s about five minutes work. You’d have a long time left to model,” Nick pointed out as he exited the Escalade.

“Ever hear the old Jim Croce song ‘You Don’t Mess Around With Jim’?” Rachel began singing as she danced into the house. “You don't tug on Superman's cape. You don't spit into the wind. You don't pull the mask off that old Lone Ranger, and you don't mess around with…Nick.”

Nick laughed. Damn, she can carry a tune too . “Ah…when I was asking you to model the black bikini, I wasn’t considering it as a prelude to unarmed combat, Rach.”

Rachel spun around, only to find Nick had covered the intervening space more quickly than she had anticipated. “Weren’t you? Why don’t we take a step back for the time being? I haven’t been assimilated completely into my new Terminator mentality yet.”

“Sure,” he agreed, taking her left hand in his right at the doorway. “I wasn’t trying to give you a hard time.”

“Yes you were.” She smirked at his double entendre, putting her right palm against his chest as he moved closer. Nick’s nearness, coupled with Jean’s absence, forced the more unpleasant aspects of the day before from her mind. “Hey, you’re invading my airspace.”

He pulled her right hand away from his chest and down to her side. They had dressed casually, he in t-shirt and jeans, Rachel in a burgundy cotton dress. As he forced her hands back around her hips, very little material separated them. She looked away from his face, feeling the heated flush enveloping her from where their bodies touched. Nick drew her tightly against him, making sure she had no question what the ‘hard time’ he had in mind really was. Deke stuck his nose up under Rachel’s dress, touching cold wet nose to bare back of thigh. Rachel jumped away from Nick with a cry of surprise. She laughed, seeing Deke sitting between her and Nick, looking questioningly from one to the other.

“Thanks Deke. Good of you to stick your nose into my business, Butthead.”

Rachel, her hand still suppressing her laughter, watched Nick frown and then grin at the attentive Deke. He shrugged and walked around her. “I’ll be up in my room on the computer if you need me. Maybe I can get Diego laid.”

Rachel bent down to pet Deke. The dog sat still for a moment under her hand, but then ran to catch up with Nick. She straightened slowly, her body tingling where it had been pressed close to him. She walked over to close the sliding glass door he had left open for Deke, and lowered the thermostat setting. As Nick had predicted, it took her only minutes to get everything for the barbeque ready to go, including setting the table. He had eight full place settings stored neatly in the cupboard on the side of his kitchen sink. The closer she came to being done, the more she glanced toward the stairs. Even with the air conditioning working full blast, sweat beaded on her face. Her pulse quickened as she considered excuses to visit his bedroom. Why didn’t you just strip for him before he went upstairs ?

Rachel looked at the clock. Damn, it’s only a few minutes to one . She wet a paper towel and used it to cool her face. After taking two sodas out of the refrigerator, Rachel walked to the stairs, pausing to second guess her course of action once again. A full minute passed, and she nearly returned to the kitchen. With a small grunt of annoyance, she stepped decisively up the stairs, halting only when she was standing outside Nick’s open bedroom door. He sat at a small desk across the room with his back to the doorway.

“I brought you a soda,” she announced.

“Thanks.” He didn’t look up from his notebook computer where he typed at a rapid pace. “Just set it down on the night stand.”

She did as he asked before unzipping her dress and shrugging out of it noiselessly. Wearing only a red thong and low-heeled black shoes, she approached him with growing apprehension and rising excitement. Nick stopped typing as Rachel’s hands clasped his upper arms.

“I don’t type well with company watching over my shoulder,” he said in a joking manner, attention focused on his fictional assassin’s abstract life, with a writer’s tunnel vision concentration. “I…”

She felt his body tense as she leaned into him, her bare breasts pressing into his neck.

“On second thought, I think I can work through an interruption.” He spoke without turning, his hands reaching behind the chair to stroke her legs.

“I thought perhaps you might need some inspiration in creating a difficult scene like Diego getting laid,” she explained in a husky whisper, moving in small, slow, side to side motions. “I figured maybe I could be your…what do writers turn to for inspiration…a…?”

“Muse,” Nick finished for her. Leaning back, he stroked her bare skin from upper rear thighs to rear calves, fingers kneading the flesh momentarily at the sensitive area behind her knees. “I have a good feeling about this collaboration, Ms. Muse.”

“You’ll take your time, though, going over the rough spots, right?”

“Absolutely.”

Rachel lay naked across Nick, their bodies entwined tightly. Her chest heaved against his, trying to draw breath, while at the same time unable for the moment to move her limbs. Bathed in sweat, the two had been immobile for the last couple minutes. Nick stroked her sides, his touch eliciting a moan from Rachel, who propped herself up momentarily, and then rolled onto her back. She reached over his chest to cup his chin with her right hand. She shook his chin, making an admonishing noise in her throat as she took a deep breath.