Dying For Sex (3 page)

CHAPTER 1

“Mom, this is the address.”

They drove down one of those mile-long
driveways, circled around a large water fountain of a Greek god,
then parked in front of a huge colonial house, beautifully
maintained. A welcome sign hung over the front entrance.

“Somebody died rich,” Mara remarked
dryly.

They knocked on the gorgeous oak door,
although it was already open, and a couple in their fifties soon
greeted them.

“Dr. Blake suggested we come,” mother said by
way of introduction.

“I’m Dr. Dana. This is my husband, Dr. Dan.
Despite the style of the house, we don’t stand on formality. Not
anymore. Welcome to our home.”

They entered to see a few dozen people
mingling about, pop music playing, an elderly couple getting down
to the latest Katy Perry hit on the dance floor. Several others ate
from a buffet table.

“We lost our daughter to cancer at eight
years old,” Dana explained. “We’ve been hosting this support group
ever since. We specialize in end-of-life care, so feel free to ask
us anything.”

“Please don’t announce us,” mother begged
her. “We don’t know if we’ll be staying.”

Dana put a hand on her shoulder. “We
understand.”

Indeed. Learning you have a year or less to
live triggers an earthquake in your life that reshuffles
everything. What wasn’t important turns vital, and what used to be
important becomes trivial.

“Are you serious?” a boy across the cavernous
room yelled at a skinny man in an oversized suit. “No way! Mom.
Michael says we can go to Disney!”

“But Tommy, we just took you to Disneyland
during your last remission.”

“Not Disneyland, mom,” he said as if his
mother must be dense. “Disneyworld. Disney has four amusement parks
and two water parks in Orlando. Seaworld also has a water park
called Aquatica, Universal has two parks there, and then there’s
Legoland and Busch Gardens.”

“Don’t forget Gatorland,” the suit reminded
the boy.

“Awesome!”

“Tommy, that’s just too much.”

“But mom! I’m feeling great with that last
treatment.”

The suit got up. “Mrs. Lawrence, I can’t take
the money with me, and the more I spend now, the less I leave to
the IRS.” He turned to the crowd. “And everyone’s invited! I’ll
charter a plane and arrange for rooms. Bring the whole family. If
we can’t live long, then let’s live well.”

Everyone cheered him and Mara could see Mrs.
Lawrence cave in with a grateful smile. Tommy hugged her so hard
she started crying. It must be heartbreaking to watch one’s child
die from an incurable disease.

“You ladies must meet Michael,” Dana
insisted, waving him over. “He has been incredibly generous with
our group. He may not weigh much, but he is probably the strongest
man I have ever met.”

Coming from a woman who lost a young child to
cancer, then watched many support-group friends succumb over the
years, that was saying something.

The suit came over and Mara studied him as he
gave all his attention to her mother. She liked how the good doctor
respected him -- by her tone she vouched for his good character.
Tall and handsome, he gave off enough heat to cook her books, a
gravitas that pulled her in like a black hole. And he was fucking
cute! Too bad he would die soon.

After they exchanged pleasantries, her mother
asked, “you don’t wear a watch?”

“I’ve found a different way of tracking
time,” he answered. “Time now passes in moments, not minutes.”

Nice fucking answer, Mara thought. She liked
his cheekbones and the way he stood. He was neither in-your-face,
nor distant. He didn’t seem to invade her personal space so much as
accommodate himself in it.

Mara envied how comfortable he was with
himself. He didn’t try to impress, yet listened to her mother
gabber as if she were explaining how MC squared becomes energy. He
reminded her of her grandfather’s generation, who survived the
Depression and World War II and didn’t have anything to prove.

He radiated the inner strength that Dana
spoke of. And that’s when Mara nailed it: Michael was the first hot
alpha male she met who wasn’t an asshole.

Mara sensed her mother’s attraction to him,
which somehow pissed her off. Yet he detected it, too. His vib
changed and suddenly the temperature dropped a few degrees. Mother
sheepishly stopped leaning towards him, and Mara found herself
liking him more and more.

When Dr. Dana finally presented Michael to
Mara, he took her outstretched hand and just held it, like they
were best buds. When he set his eyes to stun, she wanted to
teleport into his arms. Half a foot taller, she looked up to him in
more ways than one. His aura seemed to wrap around her, protecting
her like an energy shield. She desperately wanted to melt into his
embrace.

Yet he looked confused. Suddenly he studied
her mother’s face, then met Mara’s eyes again, and she knew -- just
fucking knew -- that he saw her naked soul. By his expression she
knew he understood her completely. He was like that old white lady
in the movie Airplane who spoke jive. She felt like an open book
and he just finished the last page.

“Welcome to the club, Mara. You must be dying
to become a member,” he said, since it was literally true, still
paralyzing her with killer eyes so blue they should be
weaponized.

No pity, no apologies, no trace of
condescension. Just who the fuck was this guy?

“What?” Dana asked, embarrassed. Dana looked
from the mother to the daughter, then blushed from shame. “I am so
sorry. I shouldn’t have assumed.”

“You thought mom was terminally ill?” the
girl asked. Since Mara got sick, her mother aged quite a bit and
looked very haggard. She ate too much and slept too little. Knowing
her only child was dying sucked the life out of her. “You hear
that, mom? You look deader than I do. You better start eating my
Wheatties.”

Dana and mom exchanged knowing looks. Dana
knew what mother would be going through, and the two of them were
on the brink of tears. Mara put her hands on her hips in
disapproval.

“Mother, no! You promised no tears
today.”

But poor mom was past self-control.

“Would you like to dance?”

Mara looked at the suit, not believing what
he just asked her. With a shuck of his head, he gestured to the two
ladies who were about to make a scene, and it suddenly dawned on
her that he was rescuing her from public embarrassment. He was like
a psychic who could see one minute into the future.

“I’d love to dance,” she said, taking his
hand and leading him to the middle of the floor right before the
two women started wailing in grief.

“Try to keep up,” an elderly man, dancing
with a woman half his age, joked to Mara.