Hot & Bothered by Susan Andersen Page A

“All right, the truth is, part of me is just as glad that’s not an option, but if you tell anybody I said so, I’ll deny it. Don’t cha think, though, that the whole sex thing seems really…icky?”
    â€œWell, yeah. ” He looked at her and thought she didn’t look all that much older than his niece Esme. His stomach rolled at the thought of some sweaty old man rolling around on top of her and he reached out to rap his knuckles against the top of her backward-facing baseball cap. “Hel-lo! Letting fat old guys do whatever they want to you with their pudgy damp hands? Be glad you don’t have the stuff.”
    â€œYeah, well, easy for you to say. I bet you could make a bundle.” She gave him a jaundiced once-over. “It must be nice to be gorgeous.”
    He made a face at the latter comment, but warmed inside all the same at the thought of someone thinking he was good-looking. He also perked up at the idea of making some money. He was down to his last twelve dollars. “Women will pay for sex?” That didn’t sound like such a bad deal. He’d only had sex twice, but he’d liked it.
    A lot. P.J. made a rude sound. “Not women, you dumb-shit. Men.”
    â€œNo fucking way!” He jumped back, as if the very notion were contagious. “That’s sick. ”
    â€œYeah,” she agreed glumly. “Like I said, the whole deal is really icky.”
    â€œIt’s not the sex that sucks, P.J. I’m no big expert, but I’d rank getting laid right up there with hot-fudge sundaes. That’s with girls, though. I’m not into the guy-guy thing.” The mere thought made him queasy.
    â€œHot-fudge sundaes, huh?” She regarded him with some interest. “I like those. Whaddya wanna bet, though, that only boys get that out of sex? Girls probably end up with mud pies that only look like sundaes.”
    â€œHey!” He felt vaguely insulted by her assertion until he thought of Beth Chamberlain, with whom he’d shared his first sexual experience. “Well, maybe it is better for guys the first few times.” Then Vanessa Spaulding, an older woman of nineteen who’d taught him a thing or two, popped into his mind. “But if a guy knows what he’s doing, it gets way better.”
    â€œThat’s good to know.” P.J. shrugged. “Still, if it’s all the same to you, I’d just as soon skip the sweaty groping and go straight to the chocolate-covered ice cream.”
    He laughed. It was the first thing he’d found remotely amusing since tearing out of the Colorado Springs mansion, and suddenly things didn’t seem quite as scary now that he had someone to hang out with. He gave the young girl a friendly shove to the shoulder. “You’re all right, you know that? I’m glad we met.”

CHAPTER SEVEN
    J OHN CLIMBED THE EXTERIOR staircase of the six-car garage behind the mansion. Reaching the top, he glanced back over his shoulder toward the kitchen door, which he could just see from his vantage point. Then he turned back and gave the antique brass door knocker several authoritative, decisive raps. Mary, the housekeeper, had told him he’d find Victoria there, and he had no legitimate reason to doubt her. But what would Tori be doing in an apartment over the garage—having a hot and heavy affair with the chauffeur?
    Jesus, Ace. Okay, so it didn’t strike him as particularly funny. It should have—considering how much she’d changed over the years, the very notion should have been ironic, or at least marginally amusing. Instead, the mere idea of her getting down and dirty with some faceless man irritated the hell out of him. Which made no sense at all. It wasn’t as if he expected she’d been celibate for the past six years.
    All right, that was exactly what he expected. So sue him.
    It didn’t help the nascent case of jealousy swirling in his gut that