Remembered Glory

Remembered Glory - Tarot: Six of Cups By Dymitia

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Morning Glory - Tarot: Six of Cups Copyright © 2005 Dymitia ISBN: 1-55410-582-x Cover art and design by Martine Jardin All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher. Published by eXtasy Books, a division of Zumaya Publications, 2005 Look for us online at: www.zumayapublications.com www.extasybooks.com

Tarot Card: Six of Cups The six of cups is a reminder of the past, and of the good times experienced there. It is a harbinger of joy, and has ties to all kinds of pleasure—but especially sexual pleasure. It is also the card of gifts, like the gift of learning that love long cherished is returned, and of having one’s dreams come true however late that fulfillment might be in coming. Perhaps most important, it is the card of children, telling us to embrace life and all its wonders with the trust and delight too many sacrifice on the altar of adulthood.

Dymitia

'Twas my one Glory— Let it be Remembered I was owned of Thee —Emily Dickinson lory Kleinstetter punched the garage door closed and walked down the graveled drive to the mailbox. As she reached the shoulder of the blacktop, she automatically looked down at the old Welliver place. Jim Welliver had sold the four-hundred-acre farm a month after his Aunt Betsy died, and refused to tell anyone to whom he had sold it. The entire population of Arthur’s Creek had buzzed with terror for weeks that the place lay in the hands of a developer, a species of varmint only slightly lower on the evolutionary scale than a weasel. Nine months ago, the quiet country two-lane abruptly became a bustling thoroughfare full of lumber and building supplies, delivery trucks and a good dozen vans and pickups full of workmen. The only heavy equipment was a backhoe, which gouged out what in time became an Olympic-sized swimming

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Remembered Glory - Tarot: Six of Cups pool after the ramshackle barn was torn down, then excavated the foundation for a four-car garage. At the same time, the 150-year-old farmhouse underwent a total facelift inside and out. So, the next rumor bandied around the names of movie stars, rock stars, country music stars, sports stars and, in Novel Ideas, the bookstore she had owned for the last five years, even half a dozen famous writers. These stellar lights were conjectured to have discovered the joys of living in a place where Holsteins outnumbered humans five to one, the county fair was a major event and the population of the county seat had yet to even approach ten thousand souls. The unmistakable bass growl of a Harley drew Glory’s attention from her junk mail down the road toward town. Early evening sun glinted on chrome as the big black Dyna-Glide loomed large and roared past in a small hurricane of turbulence. She had a glimpse of a tall, lean man in black leather who looked as expensive as the bike. “Idiot,” she muttered as she sorted through the stack of junk mail on her way back to the house, but she wasn’t talking about the biker. She still couldn’t see a hot Harley without wishing she had the courage to buy one. Tossing mail, keys and purse on the kitchen table, Glory started toward the door to the sunporch before she remembered she didn’t have to do that anymore. Tears stung her eyes—coming home just wasn’t the same when Pooka wasn’t waiting to greet her with a bark and a wagging tail. 2

Dymitia “I should get another dog,” she told the refrigerator. “But who has time to train a pup? And why am I talking to myself?” Because there isn’t anybody else. Suddenly overwhelmed at the thought of spending another Friday night home alone, Glory changed into her favorite T-shirt—the one with the two buzzards on a branch and the caption “Patience, my ass—I’m gonna kill something.”—and a comfortable pair of slacks and headed back to her car. There was a new Shyamalan movie at the Roxy, and it was enough past most people’s dinnertime the diner shouldn’t be too crowded. For a few moments she was afraid her impulsive outing might not come to fruition. Her twelve-yearold car cranked and cranked before it finally obliged and turned over. I really need to have Oscar take a look at you, Ermentrude. What she really needed was a new car, as Brad Newport, the local Chevy dealer, never hesitated to advise every time she took Ermie in for her threethousand-mile makeover. She just wasn’t quite ready to submit to car payments now that she’d finally paid off the loan she’d taken out to move the store and add the tea room. “You just hang in there, old girl,” she said, patting the sunstreaked dash as she turned toward town. “Us old broads need to stick together.” The sun was a giant half-orange on front of her as she approached the silver diner. It wasn’t until she saw the wall-to-wall parked cars that she remembered the local Little League team had battled 3

Remembered Glory - Tarot: Six of Cups their arch-rivals. She chose not to ponder the nuances of turning an athletic contest between eleven-yearolds into a major competitive event. She debated giving up and going back home to a microwave dinner and a good book, but something—maybe the sight of that Harley and the sense of lost dreams she had almost let escape—sent her cruising the lines of Detroit steel. After her third trip around, Art and Holly Kurchewski backed out three cars down, the windows of their minivan replete with ball-capped young heads. Art tapped the horn and pointed, and she stuck her arm out the window and waved before she slid into the empty spot. Inside wasn’t much better. Harvey and Gladys had added an annex to the back of the fifty-year-old landmark to accommodate the ever-increasing number of customers but on nights like this even that wasn’t enough. All the booths and tables were full, so she grabbed the first of the high-backed swivel seats at the counter that became available. The day’s specials were written on a chalkboard above the grill and deep fryer, but she could have recited those in her sleep. Pulling the laminated menu from the chrome rack on the back of the napkin holder, she opened it and studied the list of dinner offerings, trying to decide what she was in the mood for. The seat next to her went vacant, then filled between one breath and the next. Over the smells of grilling meat and hot oil, Glory was washed in the scent of leather mixed with expensive cologne that was mostly musk and sandalwood. It sent a quiver 4

Dymitia through her, all but screaming male. “Any recommendations?” So did the voice. “Fridays are meatloaf—best in the state.” She turned and was trapped in a pair of eyes so bright blue she would have believed he had a chunk of this afternoon’s sky in his head. Eyes she’d have recognized if it had been four hundred years since she’d last looked into them instead of forty. “M–Mark?” she squeaked. The image of the slim biker straddling the powerful motorcycle flew through her mind and segued into the lean, hardbodied, silver-haired man in pants and vest of black leather sitting next to her. The face was older, with fine lines at the corners of the eyes and on the high forehead, but a wavy lock of hair still insisted on escaping to tumble over his brow and those blue blue blue eyes were still fringed with long, thick lashes. A wave of warmth traveled along her spine, and her heart beat a little faster. He studied her face, head tilted to one side. She wasn’t surprised he didn’t recognize her as readily as she did him. Mark Fiorelli had been the alpha wolf of Central Pinewood High School. She’d been his junioryear girlfriend’s fourteen-year-old sister, and that had been fifty pounds ago. But then recognition flashed in his eyes, followed by a delighted grin that hit her diaphragm like a soft punch. “Glory! Glory Kleinstetter!” God, she’d had such a crush on him. She could still remember lying awake in bed on Friday and Saturday 5

Remembered Glory - Tarot: Six of Cups nights, waiting for the sound of his car as he brought Nancy home and hating her sister with all the power of adolescent jealousy. And now, forty years later, she was acting like an addled teenybopper. “Hey, Glory, who’s your friend?” Gladys Emerson set glasses of ice water in front of them, her sharp gray eyes behind gold-rimmed glasses darting back and forth as she drew unwarranted conclusions. Gladys was a fixture at the diner, although she was pushing eighty. Her usual response to questions why she kept working when she could have easily retired was “I could be easily dead, too, but as long as I keep moving I figure I have a shot at hitting a hundred.” Mark zapped her with his million-watt grin, and Glory had to bite the inside of her mouth to keep from grinning as Gladys reacted like women had always done. She smiled back, blushing and batting her eyelashes, her shoulders straightening just a bit as if to enhance her bustline. They’d called it the Fiorelli Effect in high school. “You’re that Fiorelli boy, the one who tore up old man Mitchell’s fruit stand,” she said. Mark laughed, a ringing peal of delight that cut a wedge in the muted roar of conversation around them. Glory glanced over her shoulder; everyone was looking, and just like Gladys they were making an erroneous assumption. “And had my ass torn up by my dad, but it was worth it.” For twenty years, old Ed Mitchell had kept a decrepit fruit stand on the edge of his property, far enough from the road to be legal but not far enough 6

Dymitia that drivers pulling out of the intersection nearby could see around it to tell if there was oncoming traffic. One night, Mark and his six orbiting planets had taken matters into their own hands, snuck out in the wee hours of the morning and knocked the thing into toothpicks. Unfortunately, Mark had lost a St. Christopher medal engraved with his initials near the wreckage. He’d taken all the blame. Again Gladys glanced from him to Glory, and Glory could just imagine what was going through her head. What’s he doing here with Glory Kleinstetter? “I decided I didn’t feel like cooking tonight,” she said. “I wasn’t sure I was going to be able to eat here, either. Quite a crowd.” “Glory tells me I need to order the meatloaf.” “She should know—it’s her recipe.” Mark turned and gave her a look that hit like she’d stuck her finger in a light socket. Jeez, Glory, get a grip. “Can’t argue with that. Two?” He quirked one eyebrow at her. Unlike his hair, they’d stayed dark, two slashes against the warm tan of his skin. “Sure, why not?” She tucked the menu back in its holder. “And iced tea, Gladys, please.” “Sounds good. And one check, Gladys.” Oh-oh. Not a good idea. “Mark, that’s—” “The least I can do is buy my new neighbor dinner.” Gladys wrote up the check, called for two specials and went to pour their tea. Glory wasn’t even sure she would be able to eat, and telling herself she was acting the fool didn’t help. It’s not a date. He’s just 7

Remembered Glory - Tarot: Six of Cups being friendly. He obviously has money, which means he doesn’t have to court pudgy small town bookshop owners for female companionship. “So, how’s Nancy? I know your parents are gone.” His expression had just the right level of sympathy for her loss. Her father had died suddenly her freshman year at Penn State. Nancy, her older sister, had been married with an infant, leaving Glory the only one available to take care of their mother. Pearl Kleinstetter had been raised to be wife and mother, and she clung stubbornly to those roles. Paying bills was men’s work—or, in this case, daughter’s. Hopefully, he didn’t remember the other thing. “Nancy’s good. She and Bill own a nursing home near Altoona, and their younger son just graduated from medical school in May.” She waited for the inevitable next question: And what about you? Married? Kids? “I like what you’ve done with the bookstore.” “Th–thanks.” She was still shifting gears. “Everybody complained there wasn’t anywhere in town you could sit and schmooze without feeling like you were in the way. Novel-Tea was a gamble, and Bill and Nancy told me I was crazy to go into debt to do it, but…it felt right.” Their dinner arrived, and Glory discovered she had her appetite back. For a while they ate in silence while she struggled to think what to say next without looking nosey. “Are you moved into the house yet?” There—that was innocuous enough. “My daughters are coming down next weekend to 8

Dymitia make sure I do it right.” He quirked one corner of his mouth. “Ever since their mother decided three years ago she needed to explore her potential and couldn’t do it married to me, they’re convinced I’m going to end up living in squalor without someone to look after me.” He emptied his glass of tea, caught Gladys’s eye and held it aloft with a wink for a refill. “I lived in Chicago because that’s where my ex wanted to be, but I never really felt at home. I heard Jim was selling his place and decided I could work from here just as easily as there. The wonders of modern telecommunications.” “Why all the secrecy? Your reputation here wasn’t that bad.” He paused with a bite of meatloaf halfway to his mouth and gave her that look again, the one that stole her breath, the one that suggested he was taking score and one day reparations would be in order. Before he could say anything, though, Tom Milner, the mayor and one of his old gang, clapped him on the shoulder. “Welcome home! You look terrific for an old fart.” “Sorry I can’t say the same for you.” His grin took the sting out of it. Tom looked at Glory, wondering. She ignored him beyond a polite smile and a nod. He had wanted the vacant building she’d purchased for the bookshop, and when he didn’t get it had gone out of his way to put obstacles in her path. “Listen,” he said, turning his attention back to Mark, “I have a couple of ideas I’d like to run past you when you have some time—good investments, all of them.” 9

Remembered Glory - Tarot: Six of Cups “I’m going to be tied up for the next few months, but I’ll give you a call when I’m free.” “Great! Well, good to have you back, buddy.” With another clap on the shoulder, he sauntered out the door. “Does that answer your question?” Mark asked. It did. “Will you?” “Will I what? Call him? No. That’s why I have employees. I’ll have one of the junior projects managers call him, listen to his ideas and decide if there’s anything we’d be interested in.” “Don’t call us, we’ll call you.” “Pretty much.” “What kind of projects would you be interested in?” “I’m a restoration architect and own a construction company that specializes in it. I suspect Tom won’t have anything like that on his list.” By now, the better part of the post-game crowd had departed, as had Glory’s earlier nervous whimwhams. In fact, she was amazed at how easy Mark was to talk to, as if they’d been best friends for years. Had he changed that much in the last four decades, or had she just shrouded him in the mantle of adolescent demigod, unreachable, aloof and as far above normal mortals as a movie star? Had she really thought that childish escapade would stick in his mind as sharply as it had hers? She glanced at her watch. “I really need to get going,” she said as she stood. He got up as well, and she had to tilt her head to look 10

Dymitia into his face. “I want to make the early show at the Roxy.” His face lit up. “Why don’t we both go? Not like I have anything better to do.” Well, it would be nice to continue their conversation, and it was always more fun watching a movie with someone than all by yourself. She nodded, and he tossed a handful of bills on top of the check and picked up his helmet from where he’d set it on the floor beside his seat. As they started out, his hand went automatically to her elbow, and she could swear his fingers were burning marks on her skin. It’s not a date, Glory. Like he said, he just doesn’t have anything better to do. Still, she couldn’t help imagining the vision they must make: the tall, slender, handsome man in expensive leather and the short, plump, dowdy country girl in slacks, T-shirt and sneakers. It made her all the more aware of the looks that followed them down the five blocks to the theater. After all, when was the last time anybody had seen Glory Kleinstetter in the company of any man, much less a hunk like that? Poor thing. They passed Novel Ideas, and she waved through the window at George Osterhaut, who had come in and insisted she take a rare Friday night off. Although he’d sold her the place on the grounds he’d put in enough years dealing with books, he still liked to come in once in a while during the summers when he came up from Florida. His preference was to close on Saturday nights, mostly because business tended to be slow after four or so and he could park on a sofa in 11

Remembered Glory - Tarot: Six of Cups the conversation pit in Novel-Tea and read something he’d have denied he was the least bit interested in if asked. He was especially fond of historical romances. She pretended not to see the surprised look on his face when Mark waved to him as well. The night air was warm and slightly humid, passing over the skin like velvet. Fireflies semaphored in the shrubs planted on the boulevard islands, and people seemed more to be strolling down the street than looking to buy anything in the small specialty shops that lined it. The benches in Courthouse Square Park were all full, and couples married and un sat around on blankets spread on the soft grass, holding hands and stealing kisses. The sidewalk in front of the theater swarmed with kids, from toddlers to teens. The building, constructed during the peak of the movie palace era of the Twenties, had been lovingly remodeled two years ago to include a second screen in an annex that showed nothing but G-rated movies at the early show. More than a few families dropped the older young ’uns off to watch it while they did their weekly shopping in peace, knowing the theater employed ushers who made sure order was maintained. And now that she knew what Mark did for a living, Glory wasn’t at all surprised when he waved to Tina Karshowski in the ticket booth and reclaimed Glory’s elbow to lead her inside. Tina’s twin brother Tyler was taking tickets and returned his wave with a salute. Then, just past the concession stand, Mark turned right and unlatched the velvet-sheathed chain that blocked the stairs to the balcony, inviting her to 12

Dymitia climb with a gallant bow before following and fastening the chain again. “I doubt the show will be as good as it was the last time you were here,” he commented in a voice that was deliberately neutral. Glory would have bet she was blushing from the top of her head to the tips of her toes. If there had been any way for her to escape without first having to turn around and look him in the face she would have been out the door and halfway home. He remembered. **** When she’d been a kid, the balcony was closed, but everyone knew Mark Fiorelli took his dates up there so they could make out. The last time she had sat there was when she and her best friend Connie Pulgreski had followed him and Nancy to see just how far toward home plate he’d get. Connie had insisted he and Glory’s sister were ‘doing it’, and Glory had adamantly denied the possibility. They had hovered outside the entrance until Mark and Nancy were settled in one of the corners then slipped in and duck-walked to seats behind them in the last row. They slumped down so as not to be seen on the off chance Mark or Nancy should look in their direction, but they managed to be able to see enough between the seat backs to satisfy their curiosity. Until the house lights went down, nothing much happened. Mark had his arm around Nancy, and she leaned her head in the hollow of his shoulder. He 13

Remembered Glory - Tarot: Six of Cups wrapped a strand of hair strayed from her ponytail around his pinkie, ran the tip of his index finger up and down her neck. Once Nancy sat up and they shared half a dozen kisses that grew steadily deeper and longer, and Nancy wrapped her arms around his neck. But then Mark broke off and cupped her face in his hands and kissed her forehead, murmuring something too softly for the bright-eyed spies to hear. He tucked her back under his arm and started messing with her neck again. The lights went out, and since there were no aisle lights up here in forbidden territory for the few seconds until the film began it was almost pitch black. When Glory could see again she expected to find Mark and Nancy crawling all over each other, but they didn’t seem to have moved. They stayed that way through the preview trailers, and she was about to drag Connie out and collect the banana split that was riding on their bet when Mark turned Nancy’s face up with a finger under her chin and sucked on her bottom lip. Glory had no idea what he was doing, but his hand dropped out of sight; and Nancy sighed as he captured her mouth in a deep, hungry kiss that seemed to last forever. Beside her, Connie shifted, but Glory was too fascinated to look away. Again and again, her sister’s lips met Mark’s, opened for his searching tongue, while she made little whimpering sounds. Unable to resist, ignoring the danger of being caught, Glory crept across to the far side of the balcony, then down to the lower row so she could 14

Dymitia look across and see what was going on. Connie slid behind her a moment later. Nancy lay in the crook of Mark’s arm, answering his kisses and kneading his jeans-clad thigh. Her blouse was open, her bra pushed up and his fingers played with her breasts, rubbing and tweaking the tips into pebbled nubs. It looked as if it should have hurt, but the way Nancy kept pressing against his hand said otherwise. “Oh, God, my panties are wet,” Connie whispered right into Glory’s ear. A deep throbbing ache between Glory’s legs echoed the passion that gave her sister’s face an expression both strained and hungry as Mark leaned down and sucked Nancy’s taut nipples into his mouth one after the other while his hand disappeared up under her skirt. Glory’s conscience told her she should go, but she couldn’t have moved to save her life as Nancy bucked and shuddered. The two lovers sat with their arms around each other for so long Glory was preparing to leave when Nancy knelt in front of Mark. Eyes locked with his, she unsnapped his jeans and lowered his zipper then grasped the waistband. He rose so she could pull them down. “Omigod, he’s built like a bull,” Connie gasped, and Glory stared in awed fascination as Nancy clasped her hands around his cock and began to lave it with an eager tongue. Glory looked up to see what effect it was having… He was looking right at her. Without a word, she crawled on hands and knees 15

Remembered Glory - Tarot: Six of Cups at top speed up the aisle to the doorway, raced down the steps and out onto the sidewalk. Connie caught up with her a few minutes later, face flushed and eyes alight with glee. “That was amazing,” she hooted. “He saw us.” “So what? Probably turned him on having us watch.” Connie had three much older brothers, all of whom had served in the Marines and had, unbeknownst to their parents but not their avidly curious little sister, brought home a stash of graphic European pornography. Glory was sure Connie’s sex talk was mainly just for show. Well, fairly sure. “She was…She…” “She’s giving him a blow job, stupid. Smart move—all the fun and no chance to get knocked up. It was in that Swedish book Tony has under his mattress.” “What if he tells Nancy? She’ll tell Mom and—” “Yeah, right. She can’t hardly say she caught you watching her get a finger fuck in the Roxy, can she?” They had left the theater and were headed for the diner for their traditional post-movie burger and fries. “No, and neither can we.” Glory stepped in front of Connie and spun around so they were face-to-face. “You have to swear on your St. Teresa medal you’ll never tell anybody, ever.” “But—” “Swear, Constanzia Marie Publewski, or I will never, ever speak to you again as long as I live.” Connie frowned, and her full bottom lip pooched 16

Dymitia out stubbornly, but Glory knew she’d do it. They had been best friends, close as twins, since their first day of first grade. The following spring came the fruit stand incident, and although most people secretly applauded it, propriety demanded the culprit be roundly condemned. Glory’s father had demanded Nancy have nothing more to do with “that juvenile delinquent.” Two years after that she went to college, met Bill, got pregnant the summer after her freshman year and was married on Labor Day. Glory never really believed it was a coincidence Bill was tall, lean and had dark hair and blue eyes, though never as blue as Mark’s. **** She reached the top of the stairs and waited as he came to her side. “You knew who I was all along, didn’t you.” “Yep.” “So what was the point—” “I thought about snatching you up and giving you a fat smooch on the mouth, but I decided that might be misinterpreted.” While she wrestled with which part of her raging emotional turmoil to address first, he moved past her, flipped a light switch and held back the curtain to the balcony, inviting her in with another grand bow that was negated by his teasing grin. He’d thrown her completely off-balance and he knew it. She considered just turning around and leaving, but that 17

Remembered Glory - Tarot: Six of Cups stank of surrender. She’d had to do enough surrendering the last many years. Chin held high, she went through the doorway. Although the ambience of the original had been preserved, the balcony had been converted into a private box, complete with nearly invisible safety glass and heavy drapes that could be drawn across the front to separate it from the general seating below. The rake of the floor had been lowered and the rows of seats removed. On the side where Mark and Nancy had pleasured each other a wet bar had been installed. Two round tables, encircled by four brocade upholstered wooden chairs, stood in front of it. On the other side, overstuffed chairs flanked three sides of a low, square coffee table while behind and set diagonally across the rear corner was a wide-seated leather sofa. The carpeting was deep red plush, matching the glowing colors of the restored rococo plaster and carved wood, and the lighting was subdued and warm. She sat in the middle of the three upholstered chairs, thinking that would keep him a safe distance away where she could watch. That proved to be less comforting than expected. He moved the chair on her right beside hers so the arms abutted and settled in, one booted ankle on the opposite knee. She could feel the heat of his skin against hers but she’d look a fool if she sat with her hands folded like a penitent nun to avoid it. He had to be thinking about that day, and she flushed with full-body heat again at the mental image of him, naked from waist to mid-thigh, his… Well, he might remember, but he didn’t know how 18

Dymitia well she did. Or the effect it still had on her after all these years. The houselights died and the screen lit up with the first of the trailers. Mark picked up a remote control from the table, pointed it at a spot on the wall and the lights in the balcony went out, too. “I’m sorry.” His voice was soft but sincere. She turned and fell into his eyes that looked gray in the dark but still held her like a magnet. “I didn’t think of the possibility being reminded might embarrass you.” Embarrassment was the least of it. Even now she felt the warm weight between her legs the remembered images always ignited, and sitting next to the real live deal, all sexy and smelling good, was doing things to her she’d thought she’d lost touch with years ago. She felt like a teenager again, all thumping heart and twitchy stomach and raging hormones. She wasn’t even supposed to have hormones anymore. “Hey, it was a long time ago. Kids do stupid stuff.” She was proud of herself. Not a tinge of what she was feeling showed in her voice. The opening credits of the feature came on and ended the conversation. Halfway through she began to lose interest—it was definitely not up to the director’s usual level of quality although the performances were decent, and she said so. “I didn’t think so, either,” Mark replied. From that point, they talked about movies, and Glory was delighted to discover he was as big an addict as she 19

Remembered Glory - Tarot: Six of Cups was. Then she was amazed to discover not just the depth of his knowledge and the range of his taste but how he listened to her opinions and, even when his differed, never made her feel like a fool for what she thought. By the time the final credits began to roll all her discomfort had vanished. Well, except for her libido, which had been exacerbated by learning he was not only still sexy but smart and a really nice guy. They strolled back to the diner on sidewalks emptied of shoppers; their topic of conversation segued to films made from books and whether or not they improved on the original. By the time they reached her car, Glory was more energized than she’d felt in years. She slid in and rolled down the window, then tucked the key in the ignition. “I had a really great time, Mark,” she said, and meant it. He braced himself on the edge of the roof and leaned down to look in. “So did I. How about next weekend?” “Isn’t your family coming next weekend?” He grinned, and it washed through her like warm bubbles. “Let ’em get their own dates.” She wanted so badly to just say yes, to give in to the attraction and excitement that had simmered deep inside her all evening; but this was a small town and she expected rumors were already burgeoning like tent caterpillars on a maple. “I’ll have to let you know,” she equivocated, and turned the key. 20

Dymitia Nothing. She tried again. Please, Ermentrude, do if for Mama. No dice. Ermentrude had slipped into a coma. Mark straightened and opened the door, taking a cell phone fancier than a Star Trek communicator from his jacket pocket and punching a speed-dial number. “Oscar? Mark Fiorello. Gloria Kleinstetter’s dead on the blacktop at the diner. Can you give her a tow?…Great, thanks…No, I’ll get her home, no rush.” Collecting her shoulder bag from the passenger seat, Gloria spun around to sit facing him. “Do you always just take over wherever you go?” He stretched his arm along the top of the open door. “I can call him back and cancel.” So, the alpha wolf hadn’t changed all that much after all. That should help her get over these stupid whim-whams she got whenever she looked into those blue eyes or caught a whiff of his cologne or whatever it was. And she really didn’t want to spend the night on the couch in her office at the store Sighing, she rolled up the window and got out, taking the key off her keyring and slipping it back into the ignition. It wasn’t as if anyone could steal Ermentrude, even if they wanted to. Then she followed Mark to the far edge of the lot where his car was parked. Where his Lamborghini was parked. Oh. My. God. Long and low and sleek as a panther, it crouched on the cracked blacktop as if wondering which of the Toyotas to eat next. He unlocked the doors and held 21

Remembered Glory - Tarot: Six of Cups hers open, closing it with a solid chunk. While he went around to the other side, she leaned back against the rich leather and inhaled, running her hands over the cockpit—nobody would dare refer to that as a dashboard. “Nice wheels,” she commented as he slid into his seat and buckled his belt. “Nice understatement,” he retorted with a grin and keyed the ignition. She closed her eyes and savored the deep, rich rumble of the engine, a sound sacrificed on the altar of fuel economy. She wondered how many gallons to the mile this lovely beast got then decided it didn’t matter right this minute. She glanced out the window at Ermentrude, sitting battered and beaten in the middle of the lot, and gave a deep sigh without realizing it. She had a premonition this time the old girl was gone for good. Mark put the powerful car in reverse and backed out of the lot smooth as melted butter. With skill he made look effortless he moved up through the gears, and Gloria suddenly realized she was watching the play of muscle in his thigh as he moved from gas to clutch and yanked her eyes away to watch the fence posts stream past. All too quickly, he downshifted and turned into her driveway. She unbuckled her seatbelt and gathered up her bag then grasped the door handle. “Thank you, Mark, for everything. I had a great—” He reached out and slid his hand around the back of her neck, pulling her toward him as he leaned and brushed a kiss over her lips. The touch was hardly 22

Dymitia more than a breath and yet it sent a jolt of desire straight between her legs. “Store open tomorrow?” he asked, still holding her so she felt his breath against her skin. “Usually, but—” “You’ll need transportation. I’ll bring one of my cars over in the morning for you to use until yours is running.” She wished she could refuse, if only because borrowing his car meant seeing him again, and she wasn’t sure her nerves could handle this much stress. For the sake of her sanity, she pulled against his hold and he let her go. Even so, she was afraid he would hear the way her heart was pounding. “Thank you. I don’t know how I’ll repay all your kindness.” He grinned, and her knees went all limp and funny; and she wished she could take back the words because she’d realized how they could be taken the minute she’d said them, and he hadn’t missed it either. “Dinner and a movie next weekend should cover it.” “But your family—” “Will not even notice I’m not there. So, is it a date?” “Next weekend,” she agreed, happy to note her voice sounded almost normal. A week should be plenty of time for her to talk some sense into herself so that next meeting would be just a couple of old schoolmates sharing memories. No danger in that. Except it looked very much like he was going to 23

Remembered Glory - Tarot: Six of Cups kiss her again, and she popped the door and slid out as fast as she could without looking like she was trying to escape. “Goodnight,” she said, and closed the door, heading for the house and aware of his eyes on her all the way. Not until she was inside did he rev the powerful engine once and back out onto the road. Leaning against the door, heart trying to tunnel through her breastbone and lips tingling—not to mention other places, Glory drew a deep, shuddering breath. How long had it been since her body had responded to male charisma like this? Easy answer— never. Which didn’t make the reaction any less stupid. Mark Fiorelli probably treated every woman like that, flirting and teasing. It was as natural to him as blinking those long eyelashes. If she let herself believe he had any interest in her other than nostalgic, she was asking for more pain than she was ready to deal with at this late date. The nightlights in the living room and hallway were enough to get her to her room. Even there, she didn’t turn on the overhead, just got into her cotton nightie and brushed her teeth and slid between her soft cotton sheets without having to see more than a vague image in the bathroom mirror. Eventually, she drifted into sleep. **** The next morning and the one after, she drove to work in a shiny white Lexus, with a dashboard she 24

Dymitia had to study for ten minutes the first day before she figured out what everything was. She didn’t see Mark, which she told herself was a good thing, ignoring the sharp pang of disappointment. It was just, she told herself, that her old crush had never been resolved, and had now come back to haunt her. Monday Otto gave her the bad news—Ermentrude was terminally ill. The cost to repair what needed to be fixed—and then would only keep her running three or four months, at most—was simply too high. Resigned, Glory spent the rest of the week talking to people about cars and researching them on the ‘Net, trying to narrow down the field to something that would suit both her budget and her style, such as it was. She also learned that Mark had flown out of town Saturday afternoon on the small private jet he kept at the local airport. On Wednesday she found a letter from him, on his corporate letterhead, telling her she could use the Lexus as long as she needed to and reminding her they had a tentative date that weekend. By then, she had already decided she was going to beg off. She’d caught herself thinking about him, daydreaming about him and—worse— fantasizing what might have happened if she had invited him in for coffee that night instead of running for cover. She just knew if she spent any time with him before she got over this silly infatuation she was likely to do something she’d regret for the rest of her life. When she came home that Friday, she saw several vehicles parked in the circle in front of his garage and 25

Remembered Glory - Tarot: Six of Cups assumed his family had arrived for their visit. In a way, it was a relief not having had to tell him she didn’t want to go out with him this weekend. Novel Ideas was open until six on Saturdays, and she was usually only there until noon, letting George close. However, he had called right after she’d opened the doors and told her he had a bug and didn’t want to stray far from the bathroom. Adding injury to insult, the new flats she’d worn pinched her feet, so that by the time she turned the CLOSED sign over all she could think about was getting them off. She changed them for a pair of comfortable trainers she kept in the car for emergencies then had dinner at the diner before going home to do a bit of work in the garden then vege in front of the tube until bedtime. She should call Mark—Otto had passed along his number—and tell him she wasn’t up to company, but she decided his family weekend would preclude that anyway. She was not, she insisted to her nagging inner voice, avoiding having to listen to that sexy voice over the phone. Garden weeded, shower complete, she pulled on a tank top and a pair of cut-off sweats and took her aching feet to the living room. She had just clicked on the TV when her doorbell chimed. “Please,” Mark said when she opened the door, “rescue me.” He carried a six-pack of Diet Pepsi in one hand and three DVDs in the other. Instead of leather, he had on jogging shorts that left nothing whatever to the imagination and an Izod polo shirt with the sleeves cut out. By the look of it, it was the first one he’d ever 26

Dymitia bought and the only thing holding it together was sentiment. “Rescue you from what?” “Three toddlers, two boring sons-in-law and two daughters who think I’m leading a life of sin and dissolution and must be redeemed by being matched with a suitable woman.” He looked desperate, and she couldn’t help grinning even though her stomach was knitting itself into a doily. Her brain said she should find an excuse but he had let her use his car all week so it was only common courtesy to invite him in. He handed her the soda and went over to slump onto the middle of the couch, propping sandaled feet on the coffee table. She took the six-pack into the kitchen, pulled two cans off and put the rest in the fridge. Adding ice to two pint Mason jar mugs, she filled them after tucking a bag of popcorn into the microwave. “Just how long are you planning to stay,” she said, looking at the three movie boxes as she set the mugs down. He gave her a slow grin that turned her knees to melted butter and ran hooded eyes over her from the tops of her bare feet till their gazes locked. “That’s up to you,” he purred. Oh, hell. “I’ll go get the popcorn.” The first package had barely started to pop, so she filled in the time getting her big bowl out, adding napkins, trying to decide if she should suddenly develop a migraine. When the first bag was done, she 27

Remembered Glory - Tarot: Six of Cups put in another one. “You planning to stay in here all night?” She jumped. He leaned against the kitchen doorway frame, barefoot now himself, which explained how he’d been able to sneak up on her. What was it about him that he made her house, the one that had seemed so much too large and empty a week ago, suddenly too small and way too crowded? And why was she acting like a ninny. He’d come over to a neighbor’s house to watch some movies. Teasing and flirting are part of his persona, remember? Clutching the filled bowl against her chest, she started toward him, and he moved aside just enough that she could squeak by him. Close enough she could feel the heat radiating off his body and smell the intoxicating scent of him. Parking the bowl in the middle of the coffee table, she plopped down on one end of the couch, as far from the middle as she could without sitting on the arm. He returned to his spot, used the remote to start the movie then picked up the popcorn and set it on his lap. If she wanted any, she either had to move closer or lean over to reach it. Clutching her courage, she moved as close as she dared as the opening titles for The African Queen began to roll. And despite her fears, the only thing that happened as they watched was a repeat of their previous discussion of films and actors. Midway through the film she, too, sat in relaxed comfort with her feet propped on the coffee table. It was dark when the movie ended, and only the light from the TV screen and the nightlight illuminated the room. 28

Dymitia “That was fun,” Mark said, setting the now halffull bowl back on the coffee table. “Thanks for letting me barge in on your evening.” “Not a problem.” “I suppose it’s too late to start The Return of the King—wouldn’t want to keep you up.” Glory, as much as she hated to admit it, didn’t want him to go yet. She’d avoided thinking about how much in a rut her life had become for a long time, and part of her wanted to enjoy this little interruption as long as she could. “We could talk,” she suggested. He rested his arm along the back of the couch and wrapped a lock of her hair around his finger, eyes innocent and lips curved in a half-smile. “Or we could make out.” Heat spurted at the base of her neck and shot straight down her spine to pool between her legs. Keep it light, Glory. “Connie always said you were fast.” She gave him a wry look intended to advise him she wasn’t taking him seriously. Just a couple of old buddies, right? “Connie?” “Connie Pulgreski, my best friend in high school. She went out with you once.” His face crunched as he searched his memory. “Connie Pulgreski—tall, blond, eyes like Hershey bars? The one with the great tits who was in the theater with you?” She nodded, those arousing images flitting about inside her skull and aggravating her precarious condition. It struck her she probably shouldn’t have 29

Remembered Glory - Tarot: Six of Cups mentioned Connie. Still, if Mark had any idea the effect he was having, he didn’t let it show. He let out a snort—and kept wrapping and unwrapping her hair on his finger. “Hell, I heard she went out with the whole basketball team,” he said. Loyalty dictated she protest but, knowing Connie, it was true. Did she dare pull her hair away from him or would it make her look stupid? “All of them together or one at a time?” “You knew her better than I did.” “That’s not what she told me.” Oh, jeez, Glory. Jump into it with both feet, why don’t you? By all means, let’s talk about his sex life. He sat up and turned to face her, which at least forced him to let go of her hair. It also allowed her to do the same, which added some space between them. That was good, because he was looking at her from under those lashes again, and it wasn’t helping at all. “What did she tell you?” “It isn’t important,” she managed to babble. “Connie was always bragging about…” “About…?” There was no help for it. She was going to have to finish digging the grave she’d started. “She said she made it with you behind the bleachers at the homecoming game the year after you and Nancy graduated.” “I see.” His voice had taken on that velvety edge. “And did she tell you all about it? You being her best friend and all.” “I’d like another Pepsi, how about you?” She stood 30

Dymitia up and reached for the mugs, only to have her abused feet lodge a protest by twisting into a cramp. She staggered and would have fallen if he hadn’t caught her. The trouble was, he did it by pulling her onto his lap. “What’s wrong?” He sounded worried. “Bad choice of footwear. I’m fine.” She tried to get up. Walking around a bit would take care of the cramp and get her some distance from temptation at the same time. “Ah.” He slid down and grasped her feet. “I can fix that.” Gently, he began to work the spasmed tendon, the heat of his hands like a bath of sunlight. She hadn’t realized how sore her feet were until he hit one particularly tender spot and an involuntary whimper escaped. His touch lightened. Common sense yelled she needed to put a stop to it RIGHT NOW, but she couldn’t remember when anything had felt as good. “What did she tell you?” “Who?” She heard the soft edge of pleasure on her voice. “Connie Pulgreski. What did she tell you we did?” Shoot. Why did the man have to be so single-minded? “Mark, I—” “Uh-uh, Ms. Kleinstetter. You’ve impugned my honor, and I have a right to know the ugly details.” Okay, the cramp is gone. Tell him to stop. “She said you…” Oh, God, she couldn’t repeat it. “Said I what? Ripped her panties off and made mad, passionate love to her against the fieldhouse 31

Remembered Glory - Tarot: Six of Cups wall?” Glory stared at him, unable to decide whether to be relieved she didn’t have to say it or pissed off that he’d already known. “Let me tell you a little secret about Miss Connie,” he went on, as though sensing her reaction. “She did a lot more talking about sex than she did having it. Stash and Pauly would have ripped any guy who tried anything with their baby sister to hamburger.” He moved to the other foot and started over. Who would have thought having a foot massage could be so relaxing? The tense muscles in her neck and shoulders started to loosen, and as they did a warm liquid glow settled into her belly and drifted lower. “I get the feeling I make you nervous, Glory.” He looked at her with an amused twinkle in those blue eyes. Well, yeah. It was getting better, though. So what if he turned her on like nobody had since he left for points unknown? There had to be worse things to have happen when you were a dried-out spinster in a town no bigger than a minute. Besides, she was an adult not a randy teenager. She’d draw the line if he tried to go too far. Assuming he did. “Do you know why I moved back here?” The abrupt change of subject, which in no way altered the sexy way he was looking at her or the rich tone of his voice that made her breath catch, left her with no reply. “Answer me.” “N–no.” 32

Dymitia She knew she should get up, get away, drive him from her door, but she was suddenly aware her legs were wobbly and, God, she wanted him to kiss her. Her lips were tingly and full, her skin alive to the feel of his clothes, the hair on his arms, her head swimming with the smell of him: sweat and popcorn and expensive cologne and male. That warm glow between her legs was becoming a heavy ache that wanted to be fixed. How many nights had she dreamed of this all those years ago? What would it hurt to give in, to feel those hands on her body, his mouth sparking fires? Did he know what he was doing to her? Of course he did. He was bored and had probably decided a lonely old maid would be the perfect sucker to have a good time with. “After Barbara—my ex—went off to join her commune, I was packing my stuff to move into an apartment. I didn’t need all that house when it was just me. I found my old yearbook and was paging through, thinking about how young we all were.” He was finished with her foot and had now advanced to her calf. “And I remembered how I used to wish you were old enough.” “Old enough?” It came out somewhere between a whisper and a death rattle. Her brain ordered her legs to move; they weren’t listening. She needed to get up. She couldn’t have moved if her life depended on it. “Nancy was sweet, but you…you had a spark. I’d pass you in the hall and hear you arguing with somebody about a book or a movie or even some 33

Remembered Glory - Tarot: Six of Cups dumb TV show, and I’d want to stop and join in just to watch your eyes flash. And I wished you were the senior instead of your sister.” He shifted back toward her and brushed his mouth over hers, caught her lower lip and sucked on it, ran the tip of his tongue over it. The last remaining bone in her body turned to caramel sauce. He let go and straightened up, but he had her eyes trapped in his as he returned to his self-appointed task. “So, I was looking through the book and there you were, looking into the camera lens and daring the world to try and stop you, and I wondered. I did some research and found out you still lived here, that you owned the bookstore and had opened the tea room.” He went as far as her knee and went to the other leg. He was sitting closer now, close enough he could kiss her again if he leaned a bit. Or if she sat upright. “You used to talk a lot more.” “Why are you doing this?” It slipped out before she realized it was waiting. “This what? Foot cramps usually mean knotted leg muscles—“ “You know what I mean. Why are you telling me this story about being overcome with nostalgia?” “Because when I make love to you I want you to know I’m not just looking for a good time.” When, not if. It resonated through her with the solid feel of inevitability. All the dates with men who were nice enough but who somehow had never ignited a spark faded like smoke on a summer breeze, replaced by a bonfire. 34

Dymitia He lifted her onto his lap again and brushed the backs of his fingers over her cheek. “You were going to blow me off tonight, weren’t you, Glory.” One finger skimmed along her lower lip and across the top one. She slid her arm around his neck, felt the soft sweep of his hair against her skin, the play of hard muscle under the rough cotton of his shirt. “You scare me.” The Smile curved his mouth and sent a jolt of sheer lust straight to her groin. The crotch of her shorts was soaked through and it was hard to breathe. She took the end of his finger into her mouth, sucked on it, lapped it with the tip of her tongue. His hardening cock pressed against her hip as his pupils expanded, black on bright blue. The scent of her body wash blended with his cologne and the clear undertone of arousal and her breasts felt heavy, needy. “You never did answer my question.” He pulled his finger from her mouth and dropped it to the neckline of her tank top, hooking it over the edge and sliding it back and forth so it just barely touched her. “Do you want to make out?” “Oh, God, Mark, yes.” He buried his face in her neck, nipped at the spot where her pulse threatened to explode through her skin, lapped it then sketched butterfly kisses down to her shoulder. Her breasts pressed against the hard muscle of his chest and her nipples were so taut they hurt. Her entire body was vibrating, drawn to him like the paper clips on her desk to the magnet she used to hold them. She had only felt this way once 35

Remembered Glory - Tarot: Six of Cups before, and there was no chance she would ever feel this way again. “Even if I tear off your panties and make mad, passionate love to you up against the wall?” “Against the wall, on the table…whatever.” “Good,” he said in that same warm, soft tone, his breath tickling her skin, “because I walked over, and I would sure hate to have to walk back right now.” And then he shifted his head and took her mouth, tenderly at first and then with increasing insistence. She relaxed into his arms, submitted to his invading tongue, tasted him with hers, fingers of one hand buried in the thick silken thatch of his hair while she slid the other up under his shirt to travel over the planes of muscle dusted with coarse hair. Waves of current burst along her nerves, pooled in her groin, and when he slid the strap of her top down her arm and freed her breast for exploration she whimpered with unfettered need. He lowered her to the couch and knelt on the floor, pulling her top down to her waist. He savored her breasts with his callused palm, taking one nipple lightly between his teeth. He lapped his tongue over and around it, sucked it into the warm wetness of his mouth and devoured her as he traveled his hand down over her belly and between her thighs. He pressed lightly against the soaked crotch of her shorts, gently rubbing his hand back and forth, teasing with the lightness of the touch. He straightened, watching her face; and even in the dim light she could see the intense way he absorbed her response when he slipped one finger under the 36

Dymitia leg of her shorts and into her slippery cleft. The sultry smile curved his mouth as he explored her, stoking the fire. “Take me to your bedroom, Glory.” He took his hand away and again ran the back of his fingers along her cheek, taking her hands and pulling her up. She knew all she had to say was no and he would stop—for tonight, at least. As if there were any chance of that when her entire body throbbed with the need for completion. He had awakened feelings and sensations she had believed she didn’t even possess, had decided were exaggerations and romantic fantasies. No matter what it cost her, if all she ever had was this one night, she wasn’t going to face old age knowing she’d had a chance to fulfill her dreams and thrown it away. She started to pull her tank top up, but he caught her wrist without looking away from her eyes and stopped her. Naked to the waist, her breasts aching, she stood and took his hand. She stopped beside the bed, but before she could turn around he moved up against her back, caressing her breasts as he kissed along one shoulder, then the other. The thick hardness of him pressed against the crack of her bottom, and she swayed her hips to rub against him. The aching need in her pussy was driving her mad; she wanted him inside her, wanted to ride him until she got some relief. “In a hurry, little girl?” he growled, tweaking her nipples between thumb and forefinger, pulling on them and sending electric shocks down into her already seething core. Her skin had taken on a life of 37

Remembered Glory - Tarot: Six of Cups its own, and it was starving for his touch. “Mark, please…” “Please, what, Morning Glory? Tell me what you want.” “I…I…want…need…” He grasped her tank and slid it up over her head. He came around and took off his own shirt, removing a small packet from the pocket and tossing it on her nightstand before he turned on the small lamp. He gathered her against him for another kiss that seared all the way to her toes, and she cursed her small hands for not being large enough to touch more of him at one time. She pushed down between them, found the hard length of him and squeezed gently, but he caught her wrist and denied her the pleasure of giving him what he was giving her. She was vaguely aware of him moving her backward, felt the edge of the mattress against the back of her knees. He lowered her onto it so her legs hung over the edge. He leaned over her, bracing himself with hands on either side of her head. “Did it make you hot, watching Nancy?” he growled, and she shivered at the way arousal gave it a rough edge that had the same effect on her skin as his touch. “Did you lie awake that night wondering if I did the same for her, how it would feel to have my mouth on your sweet cunt, tasting you and licking you and lapping up your hot honey?” “Yes.” Oh, God, yes. And plenty of nights after that. He smiled, bent his arms to capture her mouth, plundered it as she lifted her legs to rub her thighs against his. He sank to his knees, hooked his fingers 38

Dymitia in the top of her shorts and peeled them down so slowly she wanted to scream. He made a trail of hot kisses up the inside of one leg from ankle to the place where her thigh joined. He blew on her mound, her swollen cleft then repeated the tormenting journey on the other side. And then, between one breath and the next, he spread her open and invaded her most secret place with plundering tongue and ravaging lips. She howled, not caring if he thought her wanton, because the pleasure she had imagined, the pleasure she had seen on her sister’s face and envied so badly exploded over her and drove any last rational thought from her head. She was all body now, all sensation and pulsating need centered where he licked and sucked and nipped, teasing the swollen, throbbing nugget where release lay waiting. She arched against his mouth, but he pressed her hips down so she couldn’t move, couldn’t seek relief from the sweet pressurepain. And then he covered her with his mouth, sucking and stabbing her with his tongue as he slid one, two, three fingers as deep into her as he could, and she exploded, waves of impossible pleasure racking through her again and again. He lifted her so she lay fully on the bed and stretched out beside her, taking her into his arms and holding her until she was once more able move. She was dimly aware that her face was wet, and she realized she was crying. He combed her hair with his fingers, one leg lying over hers. “You must think I’m a ninny,” she said. 39

Remembered Glory - Tarot: Six of Cups He cleaned the tears from her face with lips and tongue. “Makes an old man feel good knowing he can love a lady good enough to make her cry with pleasure,” he teased. “Old man, my ass.” He shouted with laughter, falling onto his back and rolling her over so she lay on top of him. “I like your ass,” he said, proving it by gripping both cheeks and kneading them. “Nothing worse than a woman with a skinny ass.” Abruptly, he went serious, holding her head between his palms. “You’re tight as a virgin, Miss Glory.” The embarrassment flooded through her, and she knew she must be blushing from head to foot. She wasn’t sure why. Wasn’t it supposed to be a mark of high character to preserve one’s chastity? But what would he think of her, a modern woman her age who had never had a man? Was he thinking he had been cheated, thinking he would be spending the night with a sophisticated grownup only to discover he was dealing with a rank amateur? “We’ll want to go slow—the first time should be special.” The words stabbed her in the chest, blades of ice that sliced through the sensual fog in her brain and made her aware that she was naked in bed with a man she hadn’t seen for forty years. A man who knew she had never… She rolled off the mattress to her feet and snatched up the robe lying over the footboard, shrugging it on and yanking the sash as hot shame flashed along her 40

Dymitia spine and flooded her face. She couldn’t look at him, and she blinked to keep the tears of humiliation from escaping and making the situation even worse. “I’d like you to leave now.” “Okay.” His voice was cautious. “But will you tell me what just happened?” Shame turned to anger—how dare he pretend he was innocent? “It must have been great, watching me fall into your arms like a slut. What did you do—hire private investigators to find out all about me? Does everybody in town know you set your sights on the town’s old maid?” Something else occurred to her. “And I’ve been driving your car all week. Was that so everyone would know you’d done what you set out to do?” “Glory, what—” “Cripes, Mark, give it up and get out.” She strode to the dresser and grabbed the keys to the Lexus then turned and threw them at him. He had to duck to avoid getting them in his face; they slammed into the headboard and slid down between it and the mattress. Oh, hell! It was no use. The tears scorched down her cheeks, and her breath turned to sobs. In a moment, she felt his arms go around her and she jammed her hands against his chest trying to get away. He wouldn’t have it, pulling her against his broad chest and ignoring her fists pounding on his back as she wailed out her misery. “Glory, please,” he begged. “Tell me what I’m supposed to have done that’s made you cry like this.” 41

Remembered Glory - Tarot: Six of Cups “Bas…tard…know I’ve never…big man…give the fat virgin a thrill—’ “What?” He gripped her shoulders and pushed her away so he could see her face, which now no doubt looked as if it had been sandpapered. She glared up at him, watched emotions parade through his eyes: confusion, realization, surprise. He frowned, and she could almost hear him replaying the last few minutes, analyzing them for what had set her off. “Oh, shit.” “Look, just get your keys and—” “Oh, no. Not until you get something straight. If you still want me to leave then, I will.” He pulled her over to the bed and pushed her down on the edge, standing over her close enough that she couldn’t escape without running against him. “I’m here because I realized I needed to see you, that you had been tucked in the back of my mind all these years. Yes, I did some checking—after all, I needed to find out where you were, right? But, my God, Glory, do you really think I’d stoop to investigating your damned sex life?” He was getting madder by the second, and not even her doubt could convince her he was putting it on. She halfway expected lightning to zap her out of his eyes. “Nothing to investigate,” she mumbled, preferring the sight of her clenched hands in her lap to his face. She still wished he’d leave but now because she felt like such an utter fool she couldn’t bear to be in the same room with him. 42

Dymitia “Glory, look at me.” He waited. “Please.” She forced her gaze up to meet his. The anger was fading, but she was terrified it would be replaced by pity. She could stand anything but being pitied by this man she realized had been as much in the back of her mind all these years as he claimed she had been in his. “Glory, I meant that our first time—together— should be special. Because you’re special. To me. When I walked into the diner and saw you sitting there it was as if I’d been sitting in the dark and the sun had come up. It was as if I was a kid again, all pounding heart and dry mouth and racing blood. And then later, talking to you, it was as if none of the years in between had ever happened.” He leaned over and cupped her chin in his hands, using the pads of his thumbs to wipe the damp from her cheeks. “It felt like I was home.” He meant every word. She felt the truth of it to the marrow of her bones, and the tears that fell over his hands this time were bittersweet. He sank to his knees and reeled her in, surrounding her with warmth as she clung to his neck and inhaled the scents that were uniquely his from his smooth skin. The tension seeped out of her body, replaced first by a gentle tingle and then a flood of moist heat between her legs. “Still want me to leave?” he whispered, his breath hot against the sensitized skin below her ear. “Uh-uh.” I want you to fuck me! was what she wanted to say, but she wasn’t quite ready to surrender all of her small-town inhibitions in one go. “Thank you.” 43

Remembered Glory - Tarot: Six of Cups “For what?” He reached down and undid the sash of her robe, spreading it open so that her skin rested against his. “For believing me. For trusting me. For letting me be the first man to make love to you.” The rough palm of his hand skimmed over her nipple once, twice, three times, each time sending a jolt of liquid fire to heat the cauldron in her lower belly. “Touch me.” She reached down, found the hardening length beneath the tight spandex, trailed her fingertips from tip to root and back. He groaned and covered her hand with his, pressing it against him as his desire filled his cock rock-hard. There was a flurry of movement—cloth sliding, bodies shifting—until they lay facing each other crosswise on the bed. He drew her leg over his hip so that he could press himself against her slit, all slippery and throbbing, and slowly rubbed against her as they kissed. She whimpered as her tongue slid over his, tasting him, miming what she wanted him to do lower down, where her need flamed and screamed for completion. She didn’t want him to go slow, first time or not. She wanted him now! As if her impatience were contagious, he rolled her onto her back and settled between her thighs, trapping her head between his hands, fingers thrust into her hair. She felt the slick head of his cock poised against her, saw his eyes almost black with desire as he slowly pressed forward, stretching, filling. She whimpered again as the sensation she had only 44

Dymitia imagined till now, the unutterable pleasure of two bodies joining, flooded through her. All but mindless, drowning in sensual delight, she responded with a thrust of her hips, driving him hot and hard into her depth. He groaned, echoing her, and paused before drawing almost completely from her and sliding slowly, tormentingly back, again and again, the pace increasing by increments as the grip of her desire tightened, became a voracious need demanding to be fulfilled. All thought, all sanity was banished in a searing climb to an explosion of ecstasy that ripped through her body in wave after intense wave. In the same instant, he shouted with his own release, and she felt it pulse within her. He fell onto his back, taking her with him so that she lay on top of him. She straightened her legs, wanting to remain joined with him, to keep him with her as long as possible. The smells of sweat and sex— his and hers—mingled with his special scent now, and she found it soothing. She drifted into sleep. **** She was naked and warm, and it took her a moment to interpret how else she felt: complete. It was as if some vital part of her she hadn’t even realized was missing had finally been replaced. “Welcome back, love.” His voice was low and soft; he had pulled the comforter over them while she slept so she wouldn’t chill. “Feel okay.” 45

Remembered Glory - Tarot: Six of Cups “What a dumb question.” His chuckle was like a small earthquake. “I’m sorry.” “For what?” “I brought protection, just in case, but—” “Do I need to worry?” “No. There wasn’t anybody after I married Barbara and nobody after we got unmarried.” “Okay.” The conversation lapsed so long she thought he might have fallen asleep. Then: “I hope this isn’t going to be a one-night stand.” She rose up on braced arms to see his face. “I promise I’ll call you,” she said straight-faced. He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and smiled. She could have sworn the room got brighter for a moment. “You’d better—I know where you live.” “Mark.” “Hmmm?” Do you love me? It was on the tip of her tongue, crouching to slip out. How stupid was that—loving some guy for forty years and never even realizing it? But it was true. All those times she’d talked herself into going on a date, somewhere deep inside she had compared her escort to Mark and been disappointed. “Nothing.” “Oh, okay. My turn, then. Glory?” “Yes?” “You don’t have to believe me, but I have to tell you. I think I love you.” 46

Dymitia “You think?” “If I said I was positive right after we had sex would you believe me?” “Yes.” “You’re serious.” “I am always serious.” “Liar.” “Well, I was always serious about you. Am. I don’t know why, but I never believed any of the stories they told about what a rotten hoodlum you were. It just didn’t ring true to me.” “And?” “What you just said did.” “So, I’m at the mercy of your woman’s intuition.” “Pretty much.” “Then you won’t take it wrong if I go back to my place now?” Not “home.” Just “my place.” “Wouldn’t want you to get in trouble with your girls.” She moved to sit beside him so he could get up, but he didn’t seem to be in any hurry. He looped his arm around her bottom and slid over and to lay his cheek on her thigh. “They’ll be leaving Monday.” “Good. We still have to watch The Lord of the Rings.” He sat up then and pulled her onto his lap facing him, squeezing her buttocks as he gave her a long, hot, deep kiss that left her panting for breath—and lots of other things. Then he set her aside with obvious reluctance and went to find his clothes as she 47

Remembered Glory - Tarot: Six of Cups located her robe and slipped it on. She walked him to the door, where she got another body-burning kiss. “I’ll see you Tuesday.” The door clicked shut behind him, and Glory leaned her cheek against the polished wood. She had thought the house felt empty; she hadn’t realized, until now, that it wasn’t the house but her heart. It had taken her reunion with a man she had dismissed decades before as a childhood crush for her to understand the depth of her true feelings. A man who said he felt the same way about her. “Better late than never,” she said with a grin, and headed back to bed.

END

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About the Author

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ymitia is the alter ego of Elizabeth K. Burton, a native of Pennsylvania happily transplanted to Austin, Texas. In addition to ‘Remembered Glory’, she is the author of 'Sorcerer's Apprentice: The Emperor' in the Tarot series and ‘The Loremaster’ for eXtasy Books and has three fantasy novels—Dreams of Darkness, Shadow of the Scorpion and The Ugly Princess—published by Zumaya Publications. She has four children, four grandchildren, three cats, one husband and a lot of authors, all of whom she endeavors to keep happy.