Her Book Of Pleasure

Pablo leaned forward to breathe in her ear. “You must be very comfortable in your own skin.”

“What are you talking about?” She pushed away from him.

“You know.” His gaze drifted over her body. “Flipping that big chick over your head while you’re wearing that fancy dress…and nothing under it.”

“Oh, my God!” She’d flashed the wedding guests? “Who else saw?”

He leered at her. “Me and a few friends lucky enough to stand in the right place at the right time.”

Meg’s stomach roiled. In guy-speak, that probably meant that at least twenty guys had seen her bared to the waist. No wonder they’d been fighting over the garter. They probably thought she was the kind of bridesmaid-gone-wild that would sneak off for a wedding reception quickie. And for the first time ever, they’d be right. But not with anyone but Rick. “I hope you got a good look, because none of you is ever seeing that again.”

“Too bad. I really dig crazy chicks like you.”

“For my friend’s sake, I am going to finish this dance with you. Then I will walk away and try to forget I ever met you.”

The music ended, and Meg sprinted toward Rey and Marco, determined to say her goodbyes and escape home. At least Marco had been standing across the ballroom in the wrong line of sight. Meg didn’t need years of awkward Sunday brunches and Christmas parties.

As if to mock that wish, Pablo came trotting after her. “I’m in room 824 if you change your mind.”

“I’d have to lose my mind first!” After this evening’s festivities, she wondered if she had.

RICK JERKED AWAKE, blinking in the darkened hotel room. Hong Kong? His head cleared and he remembered he was in Chicago. The scent of sex rose from the sheets and he reached out, grabbing a handful of cool satin. “Michiko?”

The satin in his hands was her panties, rumpled and still damp with her musky arousal.

He was alone.

“Dammit!” He threw the panties across the room and cradled his spinning head in his hands. He stood gingerly and flipped the bedside lamp on.

He looked at the clock radio. Almost midnight. He’d been asleep over two hours, but Michiko might still be at the reception. Searching in vain for his discarded briefs, he pulled on a clean pair and threw on his clothes. He took the stairs two at a time to the ballroom and scanned the reception for the petite brunette who had blown his mind. As his eyes were adjusting to the dim light, the happy couple spotted him.

“So where have you been, buddy? Did you fall asleep in the can?”

“Marco!” Rey rolled her eyes. “Don’t mind him. He’s been drinking Cuban rum all night.”

Rick ran his fingers through his messy hair. “I, um, had a drink with one of your friends.”

“Really? Which one?”

“Her Japanese name is Michiko.” He wanted to ask Rey point-blank for Michiko’s full name, but he’d promised not to cheat. He hated cheaters.

“Michiko?” Rey asked him, a big grin on her face.

“Your maid of honor with the exotic green eyes?”

“Ah.” Marco nodded. “Her Japanese friend is named…”

“Michiko.” Rey elbowed her new husband. “Yes. Michiko left.”

“Left?” Rick’s euphoric mood plummeted. “Is she staying here at the hotel?”

Rey raised an eyebrow. “She didn’t tell you?”

“No.”

The DJ needed to talk to Rey, so Rick pulled Marco aside. “Michiko and I made a bet that I wouldn’t be able to find her after tonight.” It’d be a piece of cake to find her with the clues she’d given him. Then he’d wine and dine her, do things in the right order. He had a pretty good idea what made her tick in bed, but what they had done together was much more than a wedding quickie.

“You? The man who tracked down one of the FBI’s most wanted using nothing but his laptop?”

“That guy shouldn’t have been peddling my client’s new weapons’ technology overseas.” Rick grinned. “And Michiko doesn’t know me that well. Yet.”

“Yet. Happy hunting, amigo, but be careful. The Spanish verbs for ‘hunting’ and ‘marrying’ sound identical.” Marco gave a big laugh and pointed to his tux. “Case in point.”

Rey finished her business with the DJ and twirled her new husband onto the dance floor.

Rick watched them spin away, suddenly discontent to stand on the sidelines and observe other people’s happiness. Well, no more watching and waiting. He’d waited thirty-two years to meet Michiko and he wasn’t going to wait any longer. If he couldn’t find a green-eyed Japanese girl at a university in Chicago, he’d better find a new line of work.

4

DRIVING THROUGH the heavy traffic around Midway Airport, Rick couldn’t remember the last time he’d shaken off his jet lag so quickly. His evening with Michiko had energized him enough so he’d checked out of the Palmer House early in the morning and dropped his things off at his sister’s Lake Shore Drive condo. Fortunately, Cara had also left her SUV for him to use while she spent the summer in Europe.

Although he had plenty to keep him busy over the summer, he really wanted to see Michiko again. The rest of his night had been one long erotic dream, her long black hair pooling on his belly as she lowered her lush mouth to his cock.

He’d woken up sweaty and shaken at that point. To hell with the dream, he wanted the real thing. He had two or three possible hits from his online search, but it was Sunday and the universities were closed. He’d find her soon, he had a hunch. But in the meantime, he’d enjoy his trip to Chicago, starting with an extra-large coffee and fresh-baked kolackies, jelly-filled pastries he’d picked up at the European bakery around the corner, even remembering to get a half-dozen prune-filled for his grandmother.

Rick’s grandmother Lida Sokol had lived for the past fifty years in the middle-class neighborhood of West Lawn on the South Side of Chicago. She had moved there as a young bride in the post-World War II boom and had never wanted to live anywhere else.

Narrow bungalows stretched for miles, fronted by lawns so neatly trimmed they looked like Astro Turf. One guy, spick-and-span in black socks and white sneakers, was using his Shop-Vac to vacuum any maple seeds that dared fall on his grass.

Rick smiled as he remembered tossing papery brown pods in the air, watching them spin like propellers before they speared into the grass. That was before his dad moved them to California, so he must have only been four or five, his little sister three. Old enough to overhear the fighting but too young to understand it.

Now that he was an adult, he didn’t see the fun in maple seeds, only the work needed to clean the gutters before they sprouted into a miniature forest.

When had his enjoyment of innocent pleasures disappeared? In fact, his encounter with the mysterious Michiko was the only pleasure he’d found in a long time, and that was far from innocent.

He pulled to a stop in front of his grandmother’s bungalow and frowned. The grass was long and frayed around the edges. The lawn service his secretary had hired must have gotten sloppy without anyone on-site riding herd on them. He set the alarm on the SUV and walked to the rusty chain-link gate. Another thing he’d need to have taken care of. His loafers scuffed over the uneven path leading to the tan brick house.

Time to start the renovations and hope the major changes wouldn’t upset Grandma. Rick unlocked the worn wooden front door and eased it open, a blast of musty hot air rushing past him. He stepped inside and let the aluminum screen door slam shut.