Guilty Pleasures (32 page)

She pressed herself to him, winding her arms around his neck, bringing his mouth down to hers. He breathed her in, chilies and coconut. “Stay, Will. You stayed last night. I promise I’ll be good.”

Lance held her face in his hands. He kissed her again and again on her cheeks, her eyelids, the outline of her lips, and the curve of her chin. “I can’t make that promise; not tonight. But I want to see you tomorrow, Millie, are you free?”

“Come for breakfast. I promise I’ll behave.”

Lance kissed her. He broke away with an effort.

“ ‘If parting be such sweet sorrow . . . let us say goodnight till it be morrow’ ”

Dazed with kisses and dizzy from too much beer, Millie watched him walk away from her front door.

From the Diary of Millicent Deafly:

Bloody man! He lit me up then left me hanging, burning up.

Can you believe he quoted Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet at me!

Well, two can play at that game. I’ll bloody well show him tomorrow!

I love it.

I’m falling so in love with him, and I want to. I’m dizzy from the fall, and I no longer care if I hit the ground.

Chapter 24

If you are a little eccentric in your tastes, let’s say, you have a few odd
accessories
tucked away under your bed like your grandmother’s
Little House on the Prairie-
style flannel nightgown that
really
turns you on, be upfront about it. If you are serious about this woman and you hope to be living out your life with her, you don’t want to spend
years
living a lie. If she can live with all your other oddities—and keep in mind she might have a few of her own—she can probably live with you slipping into frilly, floral flannel once in a while.

—Sensual Secrets of a Sexual Surrogate

Millie was staring up at him in bewilderment. “Who are you? What are you doing in my house?”
 

Lance held out his hands to her pleadingly. “It’s me, Mills, it’s me . . .”

“Get out! Who
are
you?”

“Millie, it’s Will. It’s me.”

“Get out, get out, get out . . .”

“Millie . . .”

“You’re not Will!
Get out! Get out! Getoutgetoutgetout!”

Lance woke with a cry.
Hell. From erotic dreams to a frigging nightmare.
Sweat beaded his body. He was shaking. “I’m not Will. No, of course not, I’m Lance. I’m not a liar. I
am
a lie.” He had absolutely no idea how on earth was he going to get himself out of this mess.

At seven he knocked on her door.
 

She opened up barefoot and tangle-haired in her pink flannel pyjamas. “Will, my God, it’s seven o’clock in the morning, and it’s our day off!”

“Sorry, Millie.” He held up a bag exuding the seductive aroma of fresh baked goods. “I thought you might like breakfast in bed.”

“Gosh. Why, yes, if you put it that way . . . come on in, and come on up.”

The crumbs of several pastries and two empty mugs bore silent testimony to some of the morning’s activities.
 

A panting, flushed Millie gasped out, “Will, please, stop . . .”

Lance squirmed out from under the covers with a gloating grin. “Do you yield, fair maiden?”

“Aye, Sire, I yield . . . or die of ecstasy in thine arms,” she said.

“Good comeback, no pun intended,” Lance said.

“Glad you liked it.” Millie smirked and reached under the covers.

“Sweet maid, I am afeared the dreadful lance of destiny doth lead me to mine despair.”

“Well, I bet you your
lance of destiny
is pointing . . .
here
.”

“I love this role-playing we’re coming up with. I always wanted to be a knight-errant, wielding my lance to save fair maidens! Let’s see—what would I say . . . oh my God! Sweet maid, only to thy lips will I yield . . . how was that? I’m pretty good at coming up with this stuff, right?”

Millie nodded. “Screw thou thy courage to the sticking point, and thou shalt not fail.”

Lance was amazed. Millie was pretty good herself. “
Stop, thou art naked!
”

“Shut up, Will. I can’t argue with my mouth full.”

Several hours later, Lance staggered into her shower. The hot water washed away the sweat, but not the delicious exhaustion of the morning. He had to start having sex with this woman
soon
, or she was going to kill him.

Downstairs, Millie whipped up eggs, cheese and mushrooms into a soufflé and tossed a salad, under Horse’s watchful eye. She chilled a bottle of rosé and set the table for a
very
late lunch. She then sat down on her high kitchen bench.
 

Lance walked in with damp hair and bare feet. He sneaked up on her from behind and nibbled at the sensitive nape of her neck. “Gotcha!”

She yelped and swatted at him. “Stop that, Sir Wilfred.”

“No, not Sir Wilfred . . . I always hated my name, Wilfred. Wilfred had spots and a thin little neck and couldn’t play football, or run. He was hopeless. None of the girls kissed Wilfred.”

“I kiss Wilfred. I do lots of things to Wilfred.”

“No you don’t. You do them to Will. Go on, repeat after me without laughing:
Wilfred,
you handsome beast.
Wilfred,
ravish me with your manly member.
Wilfred,
you lustful animal, you . . .”

Millie was laughing. “I can’t, no. Please, stop. Will . . .”

“See? And my second name is even worse.” He sat down next to her.
 

“Oh dear, do tell. Worse than Ethelbert?”

“I’ll tell you only if you tell
me
a deep, dark secret.”

“All right, you go first.”

He sighed, and paused dramatically. “Lancelot.”

She shrieked. “No! Lancelot? Sir Lance-a-Lot? Hoist thou thy mighty spear of destiny, Sir Lance-a-Lot.” In her paroxysm of delight she nearly fell off her bench.

“All right then, Millie. It’s not
that
funny . . .”

“It’s hysterical, Will. I adore it.”

Lance drew on his dwindling reservoir of dignity. “If you’re quite finished, I believe you now owe me a secret.”

Millie dropped a scrap of cheese into Horse’s eagerly gaping maw and smiled at him innocently. “Oh, but I don’t
have
any secrets, Will. Not a one.”

Millie closed her front door softly behind Will. Beside her, Horse whined and rolled soulful eyes up at her.

“I know just how you feel, baby.”

From the Diary of Millicent Deafly: