Perilously Fun Fiction: A Bundle by Pauline Jones (best fiction novels of all time .TXT) 📕

who made my heart beat fast? My mother had paraded a brigade of men past me, in hopes of sparking this reaction in me, all to no avail. Instead, my heart had chosen to beat for a guy I knew almost nothing about. He was a spy who could take a bullet. He was a guy who could kiss a girl right out of her principles. He drove a Porsche and had a mother. Not an impressive array of facts.

Nothing to build a future on, if a girl were inclined to think along those lines, which of course I wasn’t. I’d had a front row seat for the train wreck that was my sister’s venture into the murky waters of matrimony. It served to confirm my instinctive belief that men and women were incompatible beings placed on earth with a longing to be together as part of a diabolical cosmic practical joke.

None of which explained why I trusted Kel. I went for the non-answer. “How could I not trust a man in a cherry tree? It would be un-American.”

Of course there was trust and trust. I knew I could trust him with my life, but my palpitating body and my vulnerability were another story altogether. I gave him a sleepy smile.

He smiled back, seduction emanating from his pores in tempting waves. His arms slid around me. His head bent. My anticipation rose to meet him. It was every bit as wonderful as I’d expected. And I was right not to trust him.

I just hope he didn’t take it personally when I fell asleep.

17

I woke face down in my bed. It shouldn’t have felt wrong. I often wake face down in my bed. But something felt wrong. I examined the part of my anatomy I could see without moving and found the problem. Why wasn’t I wearing my pajamas?

It wasn’t like me to go to bed wearing a strapless bra and brief briefs. I wiggled my head in the other direction and saw the bandage on my arm. I dredged through my memory for anything that would get me from under Kel’s mouth, out of my clothes, and under my covers under my own steam.

None surfaced.

I could only conclude, I’d been undressed by a spy.

And now I had to go play the organ in a church.

Goody.

I got up. Started getting ready, all the while brooding on the perfidy of a certain spy. If Kel thought that undressing a semi-conscious Baptist and tucking her in bed was acceptable behavior, then he probably thought Congress should get a pay raise. If I got the chance I was going to tell him so. If I knew who his mother was, I’d tell her, too. I’m sure she’d hate him undressing me. Suddenly I could see her. Small, delicate, beautiful. All the things I wasn’t. Oh yeah, she’d hate him undressing me.

This depressing realization was perfect preparation for the funeral. My mother rode with me. She wanted to give me tips on how to promote Reverend Hilliard’s non-existent courtship. I’d added harassed to depressed by the time we got to the church. We were early and I ditched her to warm up. It was a major relief to settle behind the old organ in blissful solitude. My wound bothered my playing but it was a minor irritant that soon faded when my hands slid over smooth, cool keys, picking out some mournful blues tunes that fitted my present mood. I didn’t realize I wasn’t alone until I heard a giggle almost at my elbow.

I looked up and found a row of childish faces staring at me. I didn’t flinch, but only because they were from my Sunday school class. Show no weakness was my mantra when dealing with the wee ones. Sometimes it even worked.

“Play something happy, Miss Stanley,” one of the wee folk urged.

Since depression wasn’t getting me anywhere, I launched into the rollicking reggae beat of “Under the Sea” from the Walt Disney’s “Little Mermaid” for them.

Unselfconsciously, they began to dance and sing along, inviting me to join their exuberance. I probably shouldn’t have succumbed. I ended with a flourish and looked up, my smile fading when I saw Reverend Hilliard and my mother staring at me.

It was a relief when the funeral ended. I noticed Kel at the back, sitting with an elegant looking older woman who looked just as petite and beautiful as I’d imagined. She also looked rich and disapproving. I don’t think she liked the spiritual twist I added to “How Great Thou Art.” Neither did my mother. Before I could escape, Reverend Hilliard cornered me.

“I was wondering, that is, your mother thought you wouldn’t be averse to accompanying me to Bible study class tomorrow evening?”

“Bible study class?”

“We can bring dates sometimes and I thought you might enjoy it.” He looked like he thought I might enjoy it. I guess a minister would have to be an optimist. Was it a sin to say no to a man of the cloth? Wasn’t bingo and accordion enough punishment for the sin of lusting after Kel?

“Could I get back to you? I need to check my schedule.” Anybody but a pastor would have known that was an attempted brush off. He just gave me his reverent smile.

“I’ll check with you after service tomorrow.”

What a week I was having.

My mother passed on the graveside service in favor of ragging on me for the sins she knew about. Outside, my car was the only car left in front of the church. As we started across the parking lot, my mother stopped with an exclamation of annoyance. “I think I’ve dropped my gloves.”

She half turned back toward the church, rooting through her purse to be sure.

I expelled a sigh of relief at the brief respite from being lectured and kept walking. The sudden acceleration of a car had me looking around. The last time this happened, an Uzi sprayed bullets into Rosemary’s car. This one didn’t have an Uzi,