The Midnight Tour

His car was in his driveway. His newspaper lay on the grass in front of his porch.

Sandy stopped and shut off her engine.

What if he just got to bed? she wondered. What’s the graveyard shift, midnight to eight?

Ah, but this is Friday. He has Wednesdays and Thursdays off, so he wouldn’t have worked last night.

She put the keys in her purse and climbed out. Then she eased the door shut so that it hardly made any noise. She walked slowly around the front of her truck—and realized she was sneaking.

If I’m this afraid of waking him up, she thought, maybe I’d better just leave.

She could drive to the cafe, have a nice breakfast and come back in an hour or so.

Bending over, she picked up Terry’s newspaper. She carried it up his porch stairs and stopped in front of his door and stood there. She stared at the doorbell button, but didn’t reach for it.

What if I wake him up?

What if he’s not alone?

What if he’s actually married? She might’ve been at work yesterday when I was here.

Don’t be ridiculous, Sandy told herself. He’s not married.

For one thing, no wife is going to let a guy keep a painting like The Sleeper in his living room. And he wouldn’t want a steady girlfriend to see something like that, either.

He’s single and unattached, just like he said.

Trembling, heart thudding, Sandy raised her hand toward the doorbell button.

And stopped with her finger an inch away from it.

I can’t do this. He’s not expecting me. He’ll think I’m a nutcake. I’ll just go away and come back a little later.

She took a step backward, crouched, and gently placed his newspaper on the welcome mat. Then she turned around and started down the stairs.

This is the guy who ambushed me, she suddenly thought. Blew five thousand bucks on a painting of me. Tracked me to Blaze. Set me up. Climbed around on those rocks to meet me “by accident.”

And he’s gonna mind a surprise visit?

She turned around and climbed the porch stairs. Not pausing for an instant, she jabbed the doorbell button. Then she swooped down and snatched up his newspaper.

Though her confidence had returned, her calm hadn’t.

As she waited, she felt weak and trembly. Her heart pounded fast and hard. Underneath her loose shirt, drops of sweat dribbled down her sides. They ran all the way down from her armpits to her waist, cool and tickling.

From behind the door came a quiet sound of footsteps.

Oh, my God. He’s coming.

She took a deep, deep breath.

Calm down, calm down,

He opened the door.

“Your paper, sir,” Sandy said.

He looked stunned. He gaped at her.

“Ashley?” he whispered.

“At your service, sir.”

Grinning and shaking his head, he stepped backward. “Come on in.”

“Thanks.” She entered, and he shut the door.

“I can’t believe you’re here,” he said.

“I just happened to be dropping by.”

He laughed.

“I know it’s early,” she said. “I was afraid I might wake you up. Guess I did, huh?”

Grinning, he said, “I must look a fright.”

Sandy laughed. “You look perfect.”

His hair was mussed and he wore an old, faded blue bathrobe. He looked as if he’d outgrown it. The sleeves were too short and the front wouldn’t shut all the way across his chest. The edges didn’t meet until just above his waist, where the robe was held shut by his cloth belt.

“I did wake you up, didn’t I?” Sandy asked.

“Ask me if I mind.”

“Do you mind?”

“Oh, man, you’ve got to be kidding.” He grinned and shook his head. “So, would you like a cup of coffee, or something?”

“I’d like a kiss.”

“I thought you were going to make me wait two weeks.”

“I couldn’t wait.”

“What about your son?”

“He’s all right. He’s with my mother. All day.”

“All day?”

“Overnight, even.” She slipped the strap off her shoulder and lowered her purse to the floor.

“You can stay with me all day?” Terry asked.

“If you want me to.”

“Oh. Man.” Stepping forward, he put his arms around her. “Yes,” he said, and drew her in gently.

She tilted her head so their noses wouldn’t bump.

His mouth pressed against her parted lips.

His chest pushed against her breasts.

Still holding the newspaper, Sandy let it drop behind him. It hit the floor with a soft whop. She squeezed herself against him.

And suddenly she felt as if she were being drawn into a strange and wonderful place where she’d never been before.

Getting lost in it.

Oh my God, she thought.

Too soon, his mouth went away. He whispered, “Wow.”

“Wow yourself,” she told him.

“Now do you want some coffee?” he asked.

“No. But you go ahead and have some. If you’d rather have coffee than me.”

He seemed to groan and laugh at the same time. His body still jerking with the laughter, he planted his mouth on hers. Then he stopped laughing. His hands glided down her back, rubbing her through the slippery fabric of her silk blouse and skirt. He moaned as he caressed her buttocks. Then he eased his hands up beneath the tail of her blouse. They drifted slowly up her back, lightly touching her skin. As they roamed, she felt a hardness push against her through the front of her skirt.

His hands tried to come around.

She was pressed too tightly against him for that.

Though she didn’t want to move, wanted only to stay this way, Terry’s body warm and strong and hard, his mouth open and wet, she wanted too to feel his hands on her breasts and on her belly and everywhere else they wanted to go. So she released him and took a small step backward.

His hands, still under her blouse, came around beneath her arms and curled over her breasts. He sighed. He had a delirious look in his eyes. His mouth hung open. His lips and chin were shiny with spit.

His robe seemed to be wider open than before, but Sandy couldn’t see down very far. Her view was blocked by the bulging top of her blouse.

She watched the shapes of his hands under the silk as they explored her breasts.

Reaching up, she unbuttoned her blouse. She spread it open, slipped it off her shoulders, and shook it down