Sleeping with the Frenemy Page 11

  Deborah blinked and flexed her hands that had found their way over Bridgette's chest. She was cupping both breasts and palming her aroused nipples. She dropped her hands in her lap and exhaled deeply as Bridgette pulled on her earlobe.

  “Feeling better?” Bridgette asked.

  The door swung open and a group of chatty teen girls came rushing in.

  Deborah stood, and almost fell back in the chair from her dizziness. Bridgette wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled away the damp towel resting on her shoulders. Deborah let Bridgette take her out of the bathroom.

  When they got outside, Deborah found she could breathe easier. With Bridgette's arm still around her, they walked over to a bench. As Bridgette sat down, Deborah did the same, and when Bridgette rested her arm around her shoulders, Deborah placed the side of her head against Bridgette's.

  Deborah closed her eyes as Bridgette lightly played with the nape of her neck where her hair didn't touch. She would've loved Bridgette to run her fingers through her once long locks, but that would never be. Just as anything long term between them would never work.

  She still had to mourn the death of her other relationship first. Shouldn't she?

  “You're thinking too hard,” Bridgette said and gave Deborah a kiss on her cheek.

  “My Mom used to say that to me when I was a kid. I tend to go over things in my head to the point where I can't think of anything else.”

  “Like the kiss we shared in the bathroom just now?” Bridgette dropped her hand on Deborah's lap and gently poked the ridges of her knuckles.

  “That, among a few other things,” Deborah said and jumped when a loud boom went off somewhere behind them.

  “It looks like they're getting ready for the fireworks. Do you want to go find my parents and sit with them?” Bridgette asked and clasped her hand around Deborah's limp ones.

  Deborah linked her fingers with Bridgette's and looked at all the people in the distance sitting in lawn chairs or on blankets as they listened to the band still playing. “I think I'd rather go home. I'm not up for being around a lot of people right now.”

  Bridgette gave her an understanding nod and stood, still holding her hand. “The fireworks aren't set to go off for another half-hour, around nine thirty. We can see them perfectly from my backyard. Why don't we go back and watch them from there? That is, if you're not too tired or don't want to be around me.”

  Deborah stood up from the bench upon hearing the hurt tone in Bridgett's voice. She dropped her hands on Bridgette's shoulders. “Now who's the one worrying? I don't want the night to end. I don't want to be here, but do want to be with you.”

  When Bridgette gave her a sunny smile, Deborah grabbed her hand in hers again and started walking back home.

  * * * *

  “Rotquel, heel!” Bridgette ordered her excited dog as she rested her paws on Deborah's legs in welcome. Deborah patted Rotquel and gave her a loose hug. Finally, when Rotquel seemed pleased, she backed away and walked over to her doggy bed, where she started chewing on a ratty knotted rope.

  “Want something to drink?” Bridgette asked as she rubbed her hand down Deborah's arm.

  “I'd love some of your homemade lemonade,” Deborah said.

  “Two lemonades coming right up.” Bridgette tugged on a piece Deborah's hair and went into the kitchen.

  Deborah watched the way Bridgette's ass looked in her denim skirt as she walked away. When Bridgette was out of sight, she crossed her arms over her chest as she took in the room. A few loud booms went off outside and she flinched, shaking her head at her skittishness.

  “Look at this music collection.” Deborah whistled through her teeth as she went over to the tall bookcase filled with CDs. Tilting her head to the side, she inspecting the cases, surprised to see most of the music was from the seventies and eighties.

  “What type of music do you listen to?” Bridgette asked as she came up beside her and handed her a glass.

  Deborah took a sip and took out a CD case to look over the songs from a band she never heard of. “I used to listen to Top 40 music and some pop country.”

  “You used to? You don't anymore?” Bridgette asked as she looked over the rim of her glass at her in skepticism.

  “The people I was recently friends with had more selective tastes, like opera and classical music,” Deborah said, hoping Bridgette would change the topic.

  “Seriously? I don't think I know anyone who listens to that type of music.” Bridgette made a face and shivered.

  Deborah snorted. “I feel exactly the way you do.” She looked back down at the case she held. “The Bay City Rollers?” She snuck a peek at Bridgette, who watched her closely.

  “You have to know the Bay City Rollers! They're my favorite band from the seventies. Their biggest hit, Saturday Night, is such a fun song to sing and dance to.”

  Deborah shrugged. “Sorry, never heard of them. Or the song.”

  Bridgette took the case from her and turned on the stereo, sliding the disk in. “You're going to be in for a real treat, then.” She fiddled with a few buttons and soon peppy rocklike music came on.

  Bridgette swayed to the music and snapped her fingers as the phrase ”Saturday night” kept repeating. “Gonna keep on dancin’ to the rock and roll. On Saturday night…Saturday night. Dancin’ to the rhythm in our heart and soul. On Saturday night…Saturday night. I just can't wait, I got a date.”

  Bridgette's off-tune singing made Deborah hug her waist and giggle as Bridgette twirled around the room. Rotquel lifted her head from her dozing, yawning widely, then lying back down, as if this was an everyday occurrence and nothing spectacular.

  Deborah sat on the arm of the couch and tapped her fingers on her knee along with the beat as Bridgette sang. If she was brave enough, she'd join Bridgette, perhaps wrap her arms around her close.

  Bridgette made the decision for her when she came over with her arms extended and grabbed her. “Come, join me.”

  “I can't dance,” Deborah said over the music as Bridgette moved around her in circles.

  “Come on! Let yourself go!” Bridgette practically yelled and reached for her hand.

  Deborah gave in and soon she swayed with Bridgette, singing the chorus of “It's Saturday night.”

  “I'm going to get dizzy,” Deborah said as Bridgette twirled her around in a circle.

  Bridgette laughed, and they turned around the room until Deborah backed into a wide burgundy chaise longue, her arms flaying out as she tripped. Her ass landed on the chaise and she lay back as Bridgette fell on top of her.

  She lost control and began laughing to the point where her sides ached. Bridgette joined in with her as the song faded and silence filled the room.

  “That was great fun,” Deborah said through her titters and placed her hands on the top of Bridgette's back. She bit her lip when Bridgette rubbed against her and her legs opened on their own.

  “Wasn't it?” Bridgette pulled back the hair falling around her face and when she lifted up on her hands, her nose bumped Deborah's chin.

  Deborah tried to catch her breath, but it was a lost cause as Bridgette traced her finger across her cheek and mouth. She shivered and gulped when her nipples tightened and her pussy dampened.

  “Are you cold?” Bridgette asked as she dropped soft kisses across Deborah's face.

  “No-no…your touch makes me…”

  “Want you like I want you?” Bridgette asked softly and pressed her mouth against hers.

  Deborah gasped and grabbed hold of Bridgette by her head, loving how her springy curls wrapped around her fingers. She couldn't wait to find if they were just as curly over her cunt that she longed to lick and suck as Bridgette was doing to her mouth.

  Her head tipped back as Bridgette mouth left hers and kissed along her collarbone and lower—tugging down the straps of her dress and peppering kisses across her shoulder. Deborah arched up as Bridgette pushed her knee between her legs and dug into her pussy. She sighed, wanting Bridgette's
mouth on her breasts.

  “What do you want, honey?” Bridgette asked as her hand went under her dress and cupped her between her legs.

  “Oh!” Deborah squeaked and rolled her head to the side. Whimpers escaped her mouth as Bridgette caressed her through her wet panties.

  “Your mouth on my breasts.”

  “You got it,” Bridgette replied in a throaty whisper and her hand curved around Deborah's bodice. Deborah removed her hands from Bridgette's head and wiggled as the top of her dress loosened.

  The cool air from the vent overhead met her heated flesh and her nipples became even more pointed.

  “Wow, Sharon, you have amazing-looking tits,” Bridgette said in longing and circled one.

  “My nipples are too large and always aroused.” Deborah swallowed, tears forming in her eyes from the pleasure Bridgette gave her.

  A moan left Bridgette's mouth and her tongue came out and lapped over Deborah's left nipple. Deborah couldn't turn away as Bridgette licked her.

  “I want you to come hard for me,” Bridgette said and swallowed her nipple whole as her fingers reached inside her panties and lightly scratched her pussy.

  “Yes. Me too.” Deborah sobbed as Bridgette sucked down hard, her teeth biting once, making a trickle of her desire cover Bridgette's fingers.

  “I want some of that.” Bridgette released her nipple and gave Deborah a deep, wet kiss, only to move down and lift up the hem of her skirt.

  Deborah plucked her nipples with her fingers and tilted her head back as Bridgette removed her panties. Bridgette's bouncy curls brushed the inside of her legs. When a tongue came out and licked a line from the inside of her knee to the edge of her pussy, she yelped.

  “Oh Bridge, eat me now,” Deborah lifted her leg to land on Bridgette's shoulder. She hooked her ankle around to pull her in.

  “That's it…let go, my special girl…” Bridgette whispered and latched her mouth over her core.

  Deborah's whole body stiffened upon hearing Bridgette speak. Her inner muscles clenched around the tongue and fingers that had given her such pleasure a moment ago now frightened her.

  Yes, that's it, my special girl. My bad girl needs to be punished…

  Genevieve's voice echoed in her ears and she sat up as Bridgette's finger moved in between her ass and near her rosette.

  “No!” Deborah screamed and scrambled off the chaise, hitting Bridgette in the side of the head. She fell off to the side and crawled back; the loud sounds of barking and a woman's voice calling her name all became one.

  “Don't touch me. Leave me alone,” Deborah sobbed and covered her head with her arms.

  All Deborah heard was her panting in her ears. Then a second later, loud booms came from somewhere outside and she cried out. On trembling legs she climbed to her feet and backed away.

  “Sharon, dear, calm down.” Bridgette took a step toward her.

  “Don't call me that!” Deborah snarled and pulled hard on her own hair, wanting to feel the pain to drown out the aching in between her legs and chest.

  “You're scaring me. Did I hurt you?” Bridgette asked carefully and held out an arm as Rotquel made her way over to her side.

  “Yes, you did. You-you tried to rape me.” Deborah shook her head and wiped the tears away from her face. She was cold and scared by what Bridgette wanted to do to her. She'd touch her like Genevieve did, invading that part of her body with her fingers, mouth, and some sort of instrument that always made her feel dirty afterward.

  Bridgette's face went pale and she looked stunned. “I-I would

  never—”

  “Yes, you would. She did! Gen never cared what I wanted and when I told her no, she'd laugh and tie me up and used—” Deborah cut herself off and covered her mouth. She shook her head again and turned, grabbing her bag and running over to the front door and out the house as Bridgette yelled out her name.

  Deborah never looked back, and with shaking hands she unlocked the door to her house. As soon as she went in, she engaged the locks and ran upstairs. She hit the upper landing and went right into the bathroom, slamming the door.

  Turning on the shower to full blast, she slid down to the floor, wrapping her arms around her knees and sobbing loudly. The dark room lit up as the fireworks went off and when they ended, she shook and cried until the water ran cold. Only then did Deborah turn off the shower and, soaking wet, climbed into her bed with the covers over her, regardless of the heat of the night.

  Chapter Fifteen

  The aria from Tosca played softly as Genevieve sat behind her desk, rolling the gold belly chain through her fingers. She stared at the well-dressed, detached man sitting across from her as he drank his coffee. He gave her the same penetrating look she was giving him. She had to respect him for that alone. Not many dared to look her in right in the eye, not even her faithless, rebellious wife—whom she'd soon have again.

  Her hand tightened around the chain, Deborah's wedding band digging into her palm. “Thank you for meeting with me, Mr. Berlinoz. May I call you Hector?”

  “If you'd like, Mrs. Murnay.” Berlinoz tipped his head and placed his cup down on the desk in front of him.

  “I can't place your last name. What are your people?” Genevieve asked as she sat forward.

  “French,” Berlinoz replied and folded his hands over his crossed knee.

  Genevieve lifted an eyebrow. Berlinoz cleared his throat, clearly waiting for her to continue. She found the man fascinating, one who wouldn't crack under pressure from the predatory aura surrounding him.

  She smiled widely and slid over a folder with various documents inside. “You come highly recommended from a colleague of mine. I've heard your success rate is amazing at retrieving stolen property.”

  Berlinoz took the file and opened it. “And what property would you like me to find for you?”

  “My wife. You may have heard she died. That's incorrect. She ran away and I want you to find her and bring her back to me,” Genevieve said in a deadly calm voice, much the opposite of what she was feeling inside.

  Berlinoz raised an eyebrow and gave her a sharp look. “When I retrieve your missing wife, then what? What are your plans for her?”

  “Not that it's any of your business, but I want Deborah back. I need to know she's safe and find out why she left me.” Genevieve twisted the chain tighter while keeping a congenial smile on her face.

  “Do you have any idea where your wife may have gone?” Berlinoz asked as he held up a picture of Deborah from their wedding day.

  Genevieve swallowed the annoying lump forming in her throat. “I believe she has gone to a town called Woodberry Creek. There are only two of these towns in the United States. One in Georgia, the other in Pennsylvania. She's most likely hiding out in the one in Pennsylvania. Her mother grew up there and she may be going by the name Sharon Wade or Wade Sharon, perhaps even her maiden name, Whilby. Also Deborah looks very different from when that picture was taken. She has cut her hair, darkening it to black and wearing facial makeup and living as a man or an unkempt woman. Deborah has a brown beauty mark in the upper right-hand corner of her mouth.” Genevieve pointed to the spot on her face. “She's destroyed everything I made her become,” she muttered, thoroughly disgusted Deborah would cut her long, beautiful hair that Genevieve loved feeling over her face or in between her thighs when Deborah went down on her.

  Berlinoz flipped through the papers in front of him, skimming as he nodded. “I expect half of my payment before I leave here today and the second half when I locate your wife.”

  “I anticipated that.” Genevieve opened her desk drawer and pulled out a bulky envelope, placing it on the desk.

  He took the envelope and tapped it lightly against his palm. “Is there anything else I should be aware of?”

  “Such as what? Why Deborah would run away from me?” Genevieve curled her lip.

  Berlinoz held up his palms. “I'm not a couples’ therapist or a psychiatrist. Whatever issues you have in your married l
ife are none of my business. I just want to make certain I'm not walking into something where I have to be forceful when it comes to your wife. It can get messy that way.”

  “All I want for now is for you to find out where Deborah is and how she's faring. I just want Deborah to return to me as soon as possible.” Genevieve sat back in her chair and tapped her mouth with her fingers. “When you tell me what you know, it's a good chance I'll go to Deborah and try to reason with her.”

  “Only talk, Mrs. Murnay?” Berlinoz lifted his brow and put the envelope in his suit coat pocket. “In my experience most people don't just want to talk with those who have…shall we say, screwed them over in some way. They tend to act without thinking. Then the consequences can turn deadly.”

  “Mr. Berlinoz.” Genevieve pressed her palms on top of her desk as she leaned over. The man viewed her cleavage for a beat, then looked back up at her face. She gave him a relaxed smile. “Your past clients may have overreacted in ways that may have concerned you, but I can promise you I'm very level headed and don't want to harm one hair on Deborah's head. My ultimate goal is to work things out with her. Deborah has run away before. She tends to be flighty and unstable at times. She's the type who needs a strong hand to keep her in line. Plus, I want to help her get through her mother's death.”

  “Strong hand? Oh yes, Mrs. Murnay, I know exactly what you mean. My father had the same opinion when it came to disciplining me and my brothers.” Berlinoz tugged down the hem of his suit jacket as he got up from his chair. “I'll be in touch. Don't be surprised if you hear good news from me in less than a week.”

  Genevieve held out her hand for Berlinoz to shake. He didn't and walked out her office without a backward glance.

  What an odd man. Genevieve cracked her head from side to side and rolled her shoulders where all the tension over the past few weeks had built up. She could barely sleep or eat, and Deborah was to blame for all of it.

  Soon she would see Deborah again, and when she did, her disobedient wife would wish she'd drowned in the river after Genevieve got through with her.

  * * * *

  Rotquel glanced up from her spot on the patio as Bridgette tapped her pencil loudly over her paper. She'd been strung tight over the last week and thought drawing the shed in the backyard would relax her. She couldn't concentrate, which had become the norm since Sharon ran out of her house in tears.