Night Whispers - Leslie Kelly [1]
Most of the men she was speaking to screamed a silent “yes” in their brains, picturing the infamous Lady Love doing all these things. They’d never seen her, yet each felt they knew exactly what she looked like…she was tall and short, a redhead and a blonde, slim and elegant and built with Mae West curves. They laughed and kidded one another, telling ribald jokes even as they fantasized about meeting her, wondering if she could possibly look as good as she sounded.
Women wanted to hate her for the effect she had on their men. But once they listened to her, they understood that she was talking to them even more than she was to their mates. In Lady Love’s husky voice, they could hear their own fantasies and desires.
She had them and they adored her.
“And ladies, if he makes up his mind to make you desire him, can you possibly resist? If he stares deep into your eyes, and his breath comes faster across his lips, can you stop your body’s response? If he kisses the palm of your hand and whispers ‘I love the way you touch me,’ can you stop yourself from touching?
“It’s all about seduction. Making someone want you. Let’s talk about it. I want to hear from you…tell me how to seduce you.”
And, oh, how they wanted to tell her.
Baltimore settled back to spend four hours with their lady of the night, knowing now what she had in mind for them. They were never quite sure where she would take them when they turned her on. Some nights were light and playful, some heavy and erotic. She sometimes made them laugh, sometimes made them cry…but she always made them hot.
“This is Lady Love on WAJO…and you’re listening to Night Whispers.”
1
“WHAT HAS SHE DONE TO MY YARD?”
Mitch Wymore stared out his kitchen window and shook his head. Rubbing a weary hand against his unshaved jaw, he closed his eyes briefly. He’d just returned from a six-month research stint in China—his luggage still lay heaped on the floor in the foyer. He’d looked forward to returning to his brownstone, to his own huge bed, some real American junk food, and familiar surroundings. But this place didn’t look familiar! From the moment the taxi dropped him off in his driveway and he saw the little red sports car parked in his spot, he’d wondered if he was at the wrong house.
It wasn’t just the yard. The kitchen was changed. There were frilly yellow curtains at the window, and copper pots hung over the cooking island. The last time he’d seen them they’d been gathering dust in a box in the basement. A delicate-looking tea set perched on the sideboard. Pot holders and matching towels hung from a new towel rack. Fresh flowers burst out of a cut-crystal vase on the butcher-block table.
“Someone’s also been messing with my kitchen.”
Mitch didn’t really expect Fred to respond. He’d been speaking more to himself than to his tenant.
“Yeah, looks nice, doesn’t it?”
Mitch slowly turned on his heel and stared at him. He didn’t know Fred that well, despite the fact that the man had been renting the top-floor apartment in his home for the past year. Fred was a young grad student—serious, studious and quiet—the perfect tenant, and, frankly, that was just how Mitch liked it. They’d never socialized, and in the few encounters he’d had with Fred, he’d never seen him crack a real smile. Now a huge grin creased his face.
“Is there anything else I should know about?”
Fred’s grin widened, and Mitch nearly groaned.
“Well, she painted the dining room, fixed the cracked chair rail in the living room, and repapered the foyer.”
Mitch didn’t have to ask who “she” was. Of course, it was Kelsey.
He glanced back out the window and rolled his eyes. The quiet little courtyard he’d left six months ago had been a nice blend of stone patio, a few rosebushes and a little grass. Two stately old maples provided shade in the back corner. Nice and easy. Low maintenance.
Now it looked like the pictures of those English gardens, a mass of trees, shrubs and flowers. A stone path meandered