Guilty Pleasures - Laurell K. Hamilton [65]
Harvey tried to come up behind me, but I stepped back towards the couch, so I could face him. They were trying to circle like sharks. Phillip was staring at me, hard. Right; I was supposed to be enjoying myself, not acting like they all had communicable diseases.
Which was the lesser evil? A sixty-four-thousand-dollar question if ever I heard one. Madge licked her lips, slowly, suggestively. Her eyes said she was thinking naughty things about me, and her. No way. Rochelle swished her skirt, exposing far too much thigh. I had been right. She was naked under the skirt. I’d die first.
That left Harvey. His small, blunt-fingered hands were playing with the leather-and-metal studding of the little kilt he wore. Fingers rubbing over and over the leather. Shit.
I flashed him my best professional smile, not seductive, but it was better than a frown. His eyes widened and he took a step towards me, hand reaching out towards my left arm. I took a deep breath and held it, smile freezing in place.
His fingers barely traced over the bend of my arm, tickling down the skin, until I shivered. Harvey took the shiver for an invitation and moved in closer, bodies almost touching. I put a hand on his chest to keep him from coming any closer. The hair on his chest was coarse and thick, black. I’ve never been a fan of hairy chests. Give me smooth any day. His arm began to encircle my back. I wasn’t sure what to do. If I took a step back I was going to sit down on the couch, not a good idea. If I stepped forward I’d be stepping into him, pressed against all that leather and skin.
He smiled at me. “I’ve been dying to meet you.”
He said “dying” like it was a dirty word, or an inside joke. The others laughed, all except Phillip. He took my arm and pulled me away from Harvey. I leaned into Phillip, even put my arms around his waist. I had never hugged anyone in a fishnet shirt before. It was an interesting sensation.
Phillip said, “Remember what I said.”
“Sure, sure,” Madge said. “She’s yours, all yours, no sharing, no half-sies.” She stalked over to him, swaying in her tight lace panties. With the heels on she could look him in the eye. “You can keep her safe from us for now, but when the big boys get here, you’ll share. They’ll make you share.”
He stared at her until she looked away. “I brought her here, and I’ll take her home,” he said.
Madge raised an eyebrow. “You’re going to fight them? Phillip, my boy, she must be a sweet piece of tail, but no bedwarmer is worth pissing off the big guys.”
I stepped away from Phillip and put a hand flat against her stomach and pushed, just enough to make her back up. The heels made her balance bad, and she almost fell. “Let’s get something straight,” I said. “I am not a piece of anything, nor am I a bedwarmer.”
Phillip said, “Anita . . .”
“My, my, she’s got a temper. Wherever did you find her, Phillip?” Madge asked.
If there is anything I hate, it is being found amusing when I’m angry. I stepped up close to her, and she smiled down at me. “Did you know,” I said, “that when you smile, you get deep wrinkles on either side of your mouth? You are over forty, aren’t you?”
She drew a deep, gasping breath and stepped back from me. “You little bitch.”
“Don’t ever call me a piece of tail again, Madge, darling.”
Rochelle was laughing silently, her considerable bosom shaking like dark brown jello. Harvey stood straight-faced. If he had so much as smiled, I think Madge would have hurt him. His eyes were very shiny, but there was no hint of a smile.
A door opened and closed down the hall, farther into the house. A woman stepped into the room. She was around fifty, or maybe a hard forty. Very blonde hair framed a plump face. Even money the blonde came out of a bottle. Plump little hands glittered with rings, real stones. A long, black negligee swept the floor, complete with an open lace robe. The flat black of the negligee was kind to her figure, but not kind enough. She was overweight and there was no hiding it. She looked like a PTA member, a Girl Scout leader, a cookie baker, someone’s