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

“What’s that?” he said, softly, his hands on my body stilling their heady explorations.

“Isabel?” It was my mother and she sounded close, like right outside the door. I heard her fumble with the knob and looked in panic at Kel. There was a flurry of bodies. I still don’t know how I made it to my feet before my mother rounded the corner. I finished knotting my robe, while assuming what I hoped was a calm expression.

“Mother.” I stole a peek. Kel was on the floor, tucking in his shirt.

“I thought you’d be in bed by now?”

“No.” Darn it.

She frowned. “You’re awfully flushed. Do you have a fever?”

“No.” There was a stealthy slide as Kel worked his way past me. I turned and headed for my bedroom. My mother turned too, giving Kel the diversion he needed.

“Where are you going?”

I felt the brush of cool air across my feet as the door opened and closed, but it didn’t cool anything higher. “I’m going to take a cold shower.”

“Have you lost your mind?”

“I haven’t lost anything tonight, mother. In the morning I’ll let you know if that’s good or bad. Right now I’m not sure.”

23

My body was on strike when I woke up the next morning. While I slumbered my muscles had gotten together and decided to never move again. I just wish they'd told me before I tried to move. I thought I'd developed an accurate concept of pain the past week, what with being shot and knocked around by a variety of villains. But I was a novice at pain. I lay on my back, staring at the ceiling, wishing I didn't have to get up, wishing I had no life, no rally, no nothing to do but stare at the ceiling and try not to move.

Instead I inched toward the edge of the bed, wondering what had happened to my peaceful existence in one short week. I accidentally turn down the wrong street and suddenly my life is filled with spies, murderous policemen, younger men, older men…all interested in a skinny author from the suburbs. Had the whole world suddenly gone mad?

What did they want from me? Well, okay, I guess I kind of knew what they wanted, but why did they want it? I studied my reflection in the mirror, but except for some bruises and scratches I looked even less exciting than usual. And even more perplexing, what did I want? My lack of enthusiasm for the married state hadn't changed any, though my appreciation for the male form certainly had. Lust could really muddy the waters.

Lust aside, I had yet another rehearsal to crawl to. I tracked down Addison, declined a ride from my protection detail and headed for the park with them trailing behind me in their car.

Despite the metallic gray of the winter sky and the dead grass underfoot, the park looked festive and patriotic when I arrived for my rehearsal with the guys who loved me. Bleachers and a bandstand had been erected near the cement square that now contained the “pig” shrouded in white for its moment of glory this evening. Nearby, trees fluttered with hundreds of yellow and white ribbons and men labored to string red, white, and blue steamers on everything that wasn’t moving. They were even erecting a flagpole. Obviously a serious patriotic frenzy was in the making.

The guys, now attired in Desert Storm gear and accompanying military swagger, were glad to see me, despite their recent frisking. Or maybe because of it.

They gave me some gear to pull on over my regular clothes and I started to walk with a swagger, too. I wished I had the clothes when the bad guys were pushing me around. I’d have pushed back.

Addison headed off to play with some kids, leaving us to tweak and twist our equipment into emitting weird wailing sounds that eventually steadied into something vaguely musical. Throughout the process, I pondered the problem of my young admirers. Though some may dispute it, I am convinced I got a desperately needed bolt of inspiration.

I needed to kiss them. How had I forgotten this important need?

It was the quickest way to remove their Cosmo-induced curiosity about love with an older woman. And it would help clarify things for me. I hadn’t gotten my kiss from Mike because he’d fallen for Rosemary. If they tasted as good as Kel, then I’d know my hormones were having their last hurrah before the onset of menopause and I wasn’t falling in love with the spy who kept revving my engine, then leaving me. I had to wait until after the rehearsal to put thought into action. We did our run through, then learned other details about the ensuing patriotic frenzy, like the fact that there were three parks, three rallies, and three pigs to receive dedicating, but we were the only ones who got to have Lee Greenwood.

The other rallies would have to watch him on a big screen by satellite. We were also the only ones to get Fox News, too.

Rehearsal completed, I turned my attention back to the problem of how to lure three young men into kissing me. Inspiration struck again. Obviously God wanted me to kiss these boys. All I had to do was sing the “Little Mermaid” song about “kissing the girl” before we closed up shop. And if that didn’t work? Well, if they could read Cosmopolitan to develop sensitivity, and not develop any, then I didn’t want to kiss them. Like the Sirens of myth, I started slow and let it build, luring them with words and song. Fortunately, they appeared to have acquired the needed sensitivity.

Drum followed me behind the bandstand, ostensibly to get us Cokes.

“Did you mean it?”

I didn't ask what. I just nodded and hoped. He didn't disappoint me. It was a nice kiss. Not too wet and slightly dangerous, like his dark eyes, but nary a wobble in my knees.