Hair of the Dog Read Free Page A

laugh and a grin.
“Mystic Springs is for lovers,” he said.
    “Excuse me?”
    “That’s our slogan. It never really stuck.” He scratched his
head. “Ordered about a thousand postcards and five hundred bumper stickers.”
    So I have some postcards and bumper stickers to unload.
Good to know . “When can we get together to discuss the job? Tonight?” she
asked hopefully.
    “Tomorrow?” he quickly said. “Over breakfast?”
    Tomorrow could not come soon enough.

Chapter Two
     
    Grant could not get Ivy Fontainebleau out of his head. A
long, moonlight run along the creek didn’t help. A swim in the warm spring made
things worse. The cold shower afterwards, also not a remedy. He dropped his
damp towel to the tiled bathroom floor and ambled to the bedroom for a pair of
boxer shorts. He found none in his underwear drawer. None in any subsequent
drawers he rummaged through either. He did one of those I-coulda-had-a-V8 head
thumps, recalling his clean shorts were all in the dryer. Typical.
    Wandering downstairs in the darkness, he weaved his way
toward the utility room using instinct and keen night vision to guide him. His
nostrils flared. He gasped. At his kitchen sink, stood Ivy. Water from the
faucet flowed freely into her cupped hands. She then drizzled the water over
her face and seductively down her neck, soaking the front of her shirt. The wet
shirt clung, nearly transparent, to her erect nipples.
    “Ivy?” He barely recognized his own voice, which sounded
abnormally high pitched, like he was a kid flirting with puberty.
    She tilted her head in his direction. “Take me to the
spring.” Her voice took on an ethereal quality, distinctly different from the
voice he committed to memory earlier. Water dripped, forming puddles at her
feet on the floor.
    “Now?” He snatched one of Molly’s aprons off a hook next to
the pantry, tying it loosely around his waist to hide his telltale erection.
“Kind of late, don’t you think?” According to the illuminated clock on the
stove, the time crept close to midnight. Clouds obscured the moon and the air
outside held a chill. Bad night for a jaunt to the spring.
    She shed her wet Winnie the Pooh nightshirt, leaving her
wearing nothing but panties. Bikini panties. Wet bikini panties. Wet bikini
panties he could see through. The sight of the patch of dark hair between her
legs caused his stomach to dip.
    “Love me beneath the mystic waters all night long and into
the dewy morn while our elders look on approvingly,” she said.
    Only part of that plea interested him. Grant’s hand came
down on the faucet handle to stop the spray. “I’m not a teenager any longer.”
If he paced himself, he could drag some lovin’ out for thirty, forty minutes.
That included foreplay, of course, as well as the customary five to seven
minutes of cuddling afterwards. But that was on a good day, not after the
taxing day he’d had and a five-mile run. He waved his hand in front of her
eyes. Nothing. “Have you been drinking, Ms. Fontainebleau?” he asked. They made
a mind-numbing brew at the Mystic Springs Distillery. The stuff came with a
stern warning label.
    “I’m intoxicated by the enchanted waters of the spring.” She
traced circles around her wet nipple with her fingertips, causing her erect
nipples to swell more. He matched her swelling with some swelling of his own.
“Come with me,” she said, beckoning him with her sultry voice. She swayed
hypnotically, like a willowy tree at the mercy of a strong wind.
    What? He snatched her shirt from the counter where
she’d left it, draping it as best he could over her chest. Nice chest .
“Wish I could. Really. Maybe tomorrow.” She’s not for you. She’s not for
you. She’s not for you.
    He snapped his fingers in front of her face. Her eyes stared
right through him. Not through him so much as inside of him, as if mapping his
essence. Grant felt, fought and reveled in her intrusion into his very soul,
secretly hoping she liked