Guilty Pleasures Read Free Page B

up around her knees. Even at a distance he noted how pretty her legs were. She had narrow feet. Nasty Ferrito was a foot man on occasion. Like now. He’d like to kiss Polly Crow’s feet. He’d start with the toes, spend a lot of time on her instep, go slow, very slow— work his way up.
    Bless the wet suit.
     
     
    “ H ello, Pretty Polly Put the Kettle On.”
    The light on the answering machine still flashed, but a click came, then a buzz.
    Polly felt so sick she had to sit down. That was it, the whole message. She pushed strands of hair from her forehead and felt moisture. She was sweating, but she’d been sweating since she left the hard-muscled, cold-eyed diver behind on the waterfront . “… remember to lock those doors. A lovely woman alone is always vulnerable.”
    Another click.
    “Polly, where are you? It’s your favorite supermodel sister. I’m so sick of being an object, my love. All these pushy people pawing me. Can we meet? Puhleeze? Call me.”
    Fabiola. Polly smiled with relief at the sound of her twin’s blessedly familiar voice and reached for the phone.
    Click, buzz, click.
    She peered at the counter on the answering machine. Six calls and she’d only heard two.
    “Oh, Pretty Polly, you haven’t been listening to me. I’m going to have to get very angry with you if you don’t stop disobeying me.”
    Click.
    She let her hand fall back into her lap. He as much hissed as whispered. Who was he? The clock on the equipment no longer functioned. Why hadn’t she fixed it or bought a new one?
    Buzz. Click.
    “Heavenly child, I feel you are in need of me. Come to Festus and to me. You are always so calm at Another Reality. I’ll make you some of my latest tea. Soar to Serenity. It’s a Belinda special, darling child.”
    Belinda and Festus of Another Reality, a crystals, incense, taro, tea, and Wiccan-wannabe shop, had become good friends to Polly and Bobby.
    Click.
    “You should be there by now, Polly. You’ve had time to leave the studio and get home. Ah, but I mustn’t be too harsh with you. Perhaps that dreadful producer has kept you late. He is much too involved. Producing. Writing. Directing. Controlling. Be very careful of him, Pet, he wants you, you know. He wants your body, not y our mind. I want your mind… and your body. Bye.”
    The scream Polly heard was her own. Shaking desperately, she stared at the readout that should have given her the caller’s identification. Blocked. Every time it was blocked.
    Who could she ask for help? Venus was out of the question. Fabiola would panic, too. Belinda and Festus already knew and had suggested incense and a goddess to do something or other.
    Once more the buzz on the line was followed by a click, and the whisperer said, “You have tried my patience, Pretty Polly. Why can’t you understand that I, and only I, am to see the woman you really are. That thin, white skirt”—he gave a grating moan—“with the light shining through. And the wind blowing. You know what that does. You do these things deliberately. Light and wind. Showing yo ur legs. Oh, yes, your legs…”
    The connection broke before the final message began. First there was only panting, then he said, “I’ve given you chances. I told you there is a connection between us. But you have denied me again. Others saw you on the dock, flaunting yourself. Disgusting. But don’t worry, little Polly, I’m going to save you from yourself.”
     

 
     
    Two
     
     
    “ S tarstruck fool,” Dusty Miller muttered. “Goddamn idiot groupie. Man of your age ought to know better. If Roman was here, he’d have your ass for—”
    “My love life—or lack of it—is my business,” Nasty pointed out.
    “It’s your business till you let it mess you up, then it’s mine, too, partner.” Dusty’s brush of short, white hair and his jutting brows emphasized leathery skin burned to a permanent mahogany color by years in the sun. An ex-Navy SEAL himself, he’d been Nasty’s instructor