Lass Small - Impulse

For an endless minute, the three women at the other table stared at Amy, then Sally smiled and questioned, “Really? Well, hello, cousin!” And the other two laughed and echoed the greeting.

Amy smiled, and with applaudable restraint, she returned to her meal. She was aware the other three women exchanged questioning looks and minute shrugs. But after that they talked more softly among themselves, more privately.

Having finished eating, Amy signed her bill. She rose from her chair, smiled at the other women, who smiled back, and left the dining room. She had planted the seed. What an interesting thing to see if it would germinate. She felt she had handled it perfectly.

As she left the morning room, Chas and...Tad, the bridegroom, came inside. Chas looked right through Amy. He didn’t even see her.

But as she went through it, she caught her arm on the door and stumbled as she looked back. She saw that he’d turned to watch her. She looked away immediately.

He wasn’t so indifferent to her, after all. Hah! If Chas only knew it, the preliminaries to their affair were progressing splendidly.

On her way through the quadrangle toward the beach, Amy went by the glass windows outside the morning room. She looked into the room from the slitted corners of her eyes.

She saw Tad was leaning over Sally, as Chas was moving Amy’s vacated table next to Sally’s, while Connie and Sally were talking and indicating Amy to the men. Amy walked on. With her last discreet glance, she could see both of the men had looked up through the windows at her.

Walking away, she smiled inside, with an odd lick in her lower stomach. If Chas only knew what she had planned for him! Ah, yes. Would he tremble in his Nikes? He had probably had affairs with every woman who caught his attention.

That would be the trick! She would have to catch his attention. Then she would lure him into bed the way men did women. She would use him for her entertainment.

But for now, she would have to wait.

The wedding party bunch were good-looking people. It would be nice to really be kin to them. Being an only child, Amy had always longed for a big family. Would they approach her?

She would be discreetly available if one of them did. They were so curious about Trilby’s children that Amy doubted if they could resist at least questioning her.

Since they knew nothing of that branch of their family, Amy could be quite easy about her replies. It’s too hard to remember lies. While keeping her own identity secret, she would tell the truth as nearly as possible.

With that premise to entertain her, Amy went out on the beach and walked leisurely south, down toward the pink palace. She found some sand dollars and was disgusted with herself for collecting two handfuls of shells. She had boxes of shells!

Collecting shells was like drinking beer. There is more beer in the world than anyone can drink so no one should try to drink it all.

There were also more creatures in the sea making shells than she could ever collect, and she ought to quit picking them up. Even as she thought of that, she stooped over and picked up another one! But it was another perfect one.

Trudging in the spent waves, Amy wondered what color were his eyes? Blue? With his hair that dark, they would probably be brown. He was beautiful. Formidable. She nervously licked her lips. Maybe she ought to just move to another hotel and forget this whole thing.

The plan was reckless. Were men this strained in the planning of a seduction? Or did they just take women as they came along without any qualms at all?

If men could manage, then she could handle it. Out of bed, anything men could do, she could do. Equality. By George, she wouldn’t be a quitter. She’d see the seduction through. She’d planted the seed of curiosity and it ought to grow.

By the time she arrived at the pink palace, sitting flauntingly on the beach south of the Trade Winds, Amy was experiencing a fresh feeling of determination. She turned back to retrace her steps along the beach.

She ruthlessly shoved her shells into her clean purple jacket’s pockets, washed the sand from her hands in the swirl of the waves, getting her sneakers wet. She squished along, her head bent to the mist. The lumps of shells in her pockets bumped in soft clinks against her thighs.

Besides Amy, there were other idiots walking the beach. However sparsely, there were others out. Therefore when a man’s muscular, gray sweat-panted legs came along in front of her, she moved to her right, but he matched her move and his Nikes stopped.

She looked up and...it was Chas! My God. His eyes were green! Very green. She simply stared.

“Hello, Amy Abbott. Or should I say ‘Cousin’?”

He was so cool. So adult. He was not one that any idiot would trick. This was the man she was going to trick? Uh huh. This one. She questioned, “Cousin?”

“You told Sally, Elaine and Connie that you’re one of Trilby’s issue.”

“No. I said my grandmother’s name was Charity Winsome. I only know that. I have no idea what Charity’s mother’s name was.” She watched as he smiled faintly. He knew she lied? She contrived to look honest and straightened her spine. A straight spine is always honest.

“Your eyes are blue.”

She nodded, admitting that.

His husky, deep voice said softly, “With your being a third cousin, that makes us kissing cousins.”

Her eyes became enormous over the idea of being kissing cousins with Chas. She was so bemused by it that she watched his head block out the rainy sky as he leaned forward and kissed her simpleton mouth. She simply allowed the opportunity to pass without doing anything!

Good grief! She stood there as if she was fourteen again and it was her first non-party kiss, for God’s sake. He lifted his head and smiled at her; and he had creases at the corners of his eyes that were enormously attractive. She took an unsteady breath as a part of her mind said: Hmm, this might be very, very nice!

“If your Charity is part of our family, her mother was Trilby Cougar Winsome. Trilby was my great-great-aunt. Apparently— from the stories— she was a pistol. Unpredictable. Are you that way, too?”

He knew! “No.” Her voice was thin. He couldn’t possibly know.

“I’m Charles Cougar. My friends call me Chas. So do cousins, Cousin Amy.”

“Cougar? Are you kin to Indiana’s John Cougar Mellencamp?”

“Cougar isn’t John Mellencamp’s real name. When he first started, his record company named him John Cougar. Our name comes down three hundred years from Billy Cougar. He was a hunter in the Appalachian system. He wore a cougar’s skin on his back with the cat’s head on his head. That’s how he got his name.

“We know he was a Brit. An Englishman. But we have no idea if he was a younger son come here to the New World to make his way, or if he was deported.” He grinned at her. “But he was a hunter, a trader and an organizer.”

“Yes.” She was still not working on all cylinders. She was distracted by the fact that she was trying to figure out a way to get another chance at a cousinly kiss. “How did you know my name?”

“I was in back of you when you registered.”

“Oh.” She wasn’t being too swift at conversational allure. If she planned to entice this man, she needed to be a great deal more sparkling and interesting. She inquired politely, “Did your wife come with you?”

He couldn’t prevent a laugh. He controlled it quickly, but he had laughed. He replied nicely, “I’m not married, are you?”

She solemnly shook her head, her eyes never leaving his. Why was he so amused?

“Let’s go back to the hotel,” he suggested. “It’s getting a little wet out here.” He took her arm, and they went on back.