Guilty Pleasures (19 page)

“Very. But then, you have to face the full fury of The Miss Marple Society today, so I think you bloody well deserve it.”

“Yes . . . I have this little rosé from La Rioja, so lovely and light, it practically doesn’t count as drinking before twelve, does it?”

Lance grinned. “I won’t tell if you don’t.”

Ten minutes later, his mouth was full with the delicious heat of the spices, the flavour permeated his body, and the aromas filled his head. In the aftertaste, the sweetness of the cinnamon mutated the savage bite of the chilies into something orgasmic.
 

“My God, this is amazing.” Lance gasped. “Amazing.”

She ducked her head shyly and gripped her wine glass tightly. A flush suffused her cheeks. “Thank you. I used to cook for my dad, and for Serge, sometimes. But now I hardly cook anymore.”

“Why not? You’re amazing.”

“I think cooking for someone is so . . . so intimate, don’t you? Like making love, almost.”

“Making love?” Lance sipped at his wine and leaned closer. “The way you do it, yes, I can see that it is. I love it, Millie. I love the way you make love.”

Flustered, she picked up her fork and intently rummaged through her food. “Will? Can I ask you something?”

“Yes, of course. After all, once you’ve bonded over a frozen penis, and made love with huevos rancheros, there are no taboos.”
 

Millie smiled. “That night I was so . . . so tired, after the fashion victims’ event, and you took me home. What . . . I mean . . . what happened?”

“Nothing, Millie.” Lance smiled. “Nothing terrible.”

“
What happened?
” Millie exclaimed.

“You just kissed me. For about three seconds, and then you threw up.
A lot
.”

“Oh my God. This is
so
embarrassing. This is terrible.” Millie covered her burning cheeks with trembling hands.

“Not at all. It was a
very
good kiss.”

The shrill sound of the doorbell made Millie leap from her seat like a coiled spring. “Miss Marple. Must go open the door . . . yes . . . open the door.” She vanished, and a few minutes later, Lance heard the grunts of men with heavy loads struggling up the stairs.
 

Millie ushered a tall, thin lady with a very sharp nose, armour-plated breasts, and pale lilac hair into the salon. Lance greeted the woman politely and was ignored.
 

Lance could hear Millie’s soft tones and the woman’s high plummy voice discussing all sorts of furniture: tallboys, sofas, and winged chairs.

“Not the Buddha!” shrilled an affected voice. “That’s where she’ll hide the jewels. Move the Buddha
here
. I want antimacassars on all the sofas, please. Gentlemen wore brilliantine, so we need the antimacassars for historical veracity.”

After what seemed like hours of veritable torture, they finished decorating, and Millie slumped back into the kitchen. “
Now
I need a drink.”

“Here.” Lance poured the delicate pink wine into her glass. “Knock yourself out. Listen, Millie, about that kiss . . . if it bothers you, forget it.” Lance paused. “I’m not . . . I mean, I won’t say I don’t find you
very
attractive, because I do; I won’t say I didn’t love your kiss, because I did. But I won’t be subjecting you to any unwanted advances, all right?”

“You
won’t?
Oh. Okay . . . thank you, Will. I think.”
 

Lance watched her hesitant retreat, the confusion in her eyes. He felt ashamed of exposing and exploiting her vulnerability. Her sweetness left a sour tinge of self-awareness in his mouth. He didn’t much like Lance Packhard right now. Not a bit.

“What’s on tonight’s menu?” Lance asked.
 

“First we serve Iced Cucumber Soup, Will, followed by Quail in Port with Plum Sauce on a Bed of Asparagus, Curried Sole with Shrimp on Saffron Rice, Roast Lamb with New Potatoes and Baby Peas, Treacle Tart, Jam Roly-poly Pudding with Brandy Custard, and Apple and Rhubarb Pie, too. A delight to the taste buds,” Serge chanted. “Work, work, I love work!”

Like a well-rehearsed duo, Serge and Lance flowed around each other in the kitchen. Lance finally felt he was becoming useful, foreseeing Serge’s needs, stepping in unasked. They organised the meal order for the Miss Marple Society dinner, preparing the large silver chafing dishes Hendricks and his team would be serving from. Serge basted the lamb, crisping it nicely to gold, covered the quails and the sole, checked the sauces, and happily proceeded to set out their little feast.
 

“So, Willie, today went very well.” Serge speared a fat green olive and a round of sausage. “As soon as the desserts are served, we can vamoose. Hendricks and the boys serve the coffee and the sherry, then the murder game begins, so they won’t need us.”

“How does that work?” asked Lance.

“Well, there are twenty guests and six of them are actors. They do this little play during dinner, and afterward one of them ends up dead. Gives the old coots a thrill. They flutter around for a bit, then the designated Miss Marple of the year solves the mystery. It’s a bit like that murder board game, Cluedo!”

“Sounds like fun.”

Serge nodded cheerfully. “I keep hoping one of the old geezers will croak for real. Now
that
would be value for money.”

A hubbub of refined voices and carefully rounded vowels advertised the arrival of the society members.
 

Millie, in a pretty thirties-style salmon-pink voile and lace dress, popped in to check that all was ready. “Oh, by the way, one of you better stay afterwards. One of the
criminals
will be hiding in the kitchen for a while. I don’t want strangers here alone, okay?”

Serge swore. “I was bloody well counting on an early evening.”

Lance nodded. “I’ll stay, Serge. I don’t have any plans tonight.”

“You sure?”

Lance smiled. “Very sure.”

A shot echoed, followed by a shriek, the heavy thump of a falling body, and then the crash of something crystalline shattering. Fun and games had begun.

A tall dark-haired lady in a long, almost-there ruby-red satin dress slithered into the kitchen. “Hi. I’m Vonnie, the jewel thief.” She smiled, clearly pleased with what she saw. “Who are
you?
”

“Hello. I’m Will—the cook’s monkey.”

Vonnie sashayed over and perched on the counter next to Lance, making sure the slit on the side of her red dress bared her long shapely legs with the seamed black silk stockings almost to her crotch. “So what does a cook’s monkey
do?
” she asked, smiling.

“All sorts of things, mostly fetch and carry, chop and drop.”

“Cool.” Vonnie scratched her milky thigh above the lacy stocking top. “Gosh! I think something bit me.”

Lance politely bent to look just as Millie entered the kitchen.
 

“Um, sorry to disturb . . . but it looks like we need more ice.”
 

It seemed to Lance that Millie’s voice alone could have solved
that
problem. “Of course, Millie, right away.” Lance poured the cubes into one of their silvered ice buckets and handed it to her.
 

Vonnie pouted prettily and swung her legs.

Millie glanced over. “Anything you need, my dear, I’m sure Will can oblige.” She slammed the door behind her with a vindictive thump.

Shortly after that, a young man in a tux, with a thin slash of a mustache, trotted in. “Vonnie, this is your big moment. The jewels are in the bronze Buddha, okay?”

“Right, Reggie.” She smiled seductively at Will. “I won’t say it was a pleasure; I’m saving that line for next time.” She handed Will a scrap of kitchen paper. “Call me. I’ve a deft touch with family jewels.” She shimmied out, leaving behind her a heavy musky fragrance—half perfume, half arousal.

Lance scrunched up the paper and threw it away, opting instead to putter around the kitchen, straightening, polishing, and organising. He sorted the potatoes and onions by size and shape.
 

Finally Millie tottered in. “You still here? I thought you’d have gone by now.”

“I thought I’d hang around, and help you lock up. Maybe take you home?”

“I might take you up on it. My feet
hurt;
I hate high heels.” She perched on a high bench and removed her vintage salmon-pink satin pumps with seed-pearl rosettes. “They’re so pretty, but they hurt so much.” The edges had cut into her flesh, and red welts marred her white skin.

Lance reached down and gently took one of her narrow feet into his hands. “Relax, Boss. I’ll magic the pain away.”

She looked dubious, then groaned as he ran his thumbs over her arch, seeking out tension spots in her soles. Millie gasped. “Oh my, that feels so good. I’m giving you a raise.” She leaned back against the counter and closed her eyes. “Jane’s right. You do have magic thumbs.”

Lance grinned and moved a stool over, sat down opposite Millie, and pulled her feet onto his lap. Slowly he worked out the kinks and knots, gently manipulating the toes one by one while she groaned with pleasure. He rotated her ankle, massaging the Achilles tendon before moving onto the other foot.
 

She sighed and stretched like a cat, arching the free foot against him. Millie jumped up startled, scarlet and gasping at the feel of his erection, hard against her instep. She nearly fell off her stool. With a panicked look in her eyes, she grabbed for her shoes, stumbled to the door, and fled.

Millie closed her front door behind her. Her dog leaped up, barking and waggling his tail, placing his heavy paws on her shoulders. Millie staggered and dropped her shoes.

“Good heavens, Horse! Take it easy, will you? You won’t believe what kind of day I’ve had.”