Stolen Kisses - Chapter One

Lemon meringue pies, Nolan Ryan and spontaneous combustion occupied Marian's thoughts this lovely June morning. Birds sang quaint tunes, children dashed to and fro and over it all the smell of Lion's Club funnel cakes hung like a wet quilt on a clothesline. Little puffs of gravel scurried ahead of her boots as she stomped across the fairgrounds. She had a score to settle, and his name was Bob Huffington. Her ex-fiancé and first up in the pie-tossing booth.

"Kiss for a dollar, pretty lady?"

On a normal day, being called pretty lady by Mr. Tall, Dark and Too-Handsome would have made her smile. At the very least she would have taken a moment to admire his devilish grin, pirate stubble and electric blue eyes. Make that two moments. But right now? Marian kept her eyes averted and walked on. She had things to do, issues to deal with. Flexing her right arm, she visualized the pie flying straight and true right into--

“C’mon. Cough up a buck and kiss me.”

Insolent man. Marian’s steps slowed, then stopped. He leaned against the whitewashed stall, his black leather jacket and boots startlingly out of place in the little county fair. Dangerous eyes and a look that said c’mon, live a little.

Well, she'd already lived a little. Hell, she'd lived a lot, especially in the past three months since a certain high school principal had publicly dumped her for his bosomy featherbrained new secretary.

Not that she was bitter. Nooo.

“I don’t even know you.” She ignored the man and concentrated on the task at hand. She'd baked a dozen lemon meringue pies in anticipation of today. Marian Spurbeck was going to get her own back.

"To know me is to love me." His husky voice tempted.

She snorted.

“It’s for charity. How can you refuse?” The man stepped away from the booth, long strides eating up the ground until he stood in front of her, blocking her way.

“I gave at the office.” She made to move around him, but he moved with her. She gave him her best glare. The one that made her students put their heads down and finish their assignments.

He laughed then, a warm sound that made Marian's insides quiver and her knees wobble. What was up with that? Knees wobbling indeed. She snorted again. Shrugging, he said “I guess if you’re not interested . . . ” He walked back to the booth and Marian watched every step of the way.

Face-on the man was deadly gorgeous but from the rear? She hissed in a breath and shuffled a step or two closer. She'd gladly pay a dollar to watch him walk away again. Fluid as a panther, buns as tight as a professional dancer’s and lovingly cupped by worn jeans.

Marian gave herself a quick shake. She didn’t need a kiss, didn’t want a kiss. Didn’t want anything to do with a man for a good, long time.
But, something about this man . . .

He leaned back, legs casually crossed, elbows resting on the plank behind him. Can a man throw a come-hither look? Lemon meringue pies, she reminded herself. You don’t have time to come hither. You’re on a mission. The wood sign over his head proclaimed Kisses - $1 in lurid red paint. An unusual Saturday morning occupation for a man who looked like he should be riding a motorcycle through flaming hoops.

A group of kids ran by and one bumped her, knocking her a few steps closer.

“Sorry, Ms. Marian.” She recognized one of her fourth-grade students but waved him off and turned her attention to the man in front of her.

“Tell you what, I’ll give you two for one.” One corner of his mouth tilted upward.

“What if you aren’t any good?” Oh, wasn’t she the bold one.

“100% money back guarantee.” He said it with a cock-of-the-walk smirk, as if he’d never had a complaint on his kissing before.

She tilted her head, glanced him up and down. Long lean legs encased in jeans, black t-shirt under the black leather jacket. Bedroom eyes, devil-may-care grin. He probably hadn’t.

Another step closer and his scent washed over her. Leather, Old Spice and fresh paint.

The sounds of the fair faded - the dust, the whirling Octopus as it spun its inhabitants in dizzying circles. Her focus narrowed on the man’s face, its strong Roman nose showing he’d been in a fistfight or two. And specifically, on his lips. They weren’t soft, oh no. They were firm, just like the rest of him.

“Do I get a taster?” Horrified at her audacity, she slapped a hand over her mouth. It must be the lemon meringue fumes. Maid Marian, as the older schoolkids called her, hadn’t just stepped out of her comfort zone, she’d taken a flying leap.

He laughed out loud, the husky sound going straight to her inner thighs.

“I meant –”

His hand tugged her elbow, drawing her closer. His jeans brushed against her bare legs, and his heat caused a shiver to tickle its way down her spine. And oh lord, did it feel fine.

“You can have a free sample.” He leaned down and his breath fanned over her flushed cheek. Cherry Lifesavers. Delish.

His lips were warm, and barely brushed her cheek. Moving softly to her ear, he nuzzled there for a moment. Then, light as the dainty feet of a Monarch butterfly, his lips tasted hers. Her hands gripped the open edges of his jacket, whether to draw him closer or to keep me from falling into the dirt at his feet she couldn’t tell.

“There.” His voice whispered in her ear, the warm air causing goose bumps to dance up and down her arms. Broad hands stroked down her back, coming to rest at her waist, holding her against his body.

“Th—that wasn’t too bad.” She choked the words out. Lightning would strike at any moment for that whopper.

He leaned back, his eyes laughing. “Good enough for a buck?”

A buck? She licked her lips, tasting his essence. Try ten. And she’d leave a tip as well. Ten minutes ago, she’d been a woman on a lemon meringue pie mission. Instead, she’d detoured from her morning plans of vengeance and righteousness by a kissing salesman.

And it was oh, so worth it. “I suppose I could spare one. For charity you know.”

He took the dollar and tossed it carelessly into an overflowing tin behind him. “The kids thank you for your donation.”

“Which charity are you working for? I like to know where my money’s going.” Whoever they were, they’d be rich by days end.

“St. Martin’s Home for Orphaned Boys.” His hands bracketed her waist, drawing her in closer. Her feet stepped between his outspread ones, hips cradled against his. A long finger drew the hair out of her eyes, then trailed down the skin of her neck to stroke the pulse thundering there.

“I’ve never heard of St. Martin’s.” The very air had turned thick and heavy, and her brain had gone to mush. She couldn’t even remember the name of her cat at this point. Spidey? Spot? No, Spook. That was it.

His finger slid up to rest under her chin, tilting it to just the right angle. Slowly at first their lips touched, and gentle thumbs stroked her jaw. Her hands lifted of their own accord to his broad shoulders and raising up on her toes, she finally had full-body contact. Closing her eyes she sank into the moment. Let herself feel.

It was heaven.

Marian leaned in closer, crushing her breasts against his chest, a small moan escaping her lips. She’d sealed away the hurt, the feelings since her breakup with Bob. And for months before if truth be told. And now it poured out in waves. She felt cleansed. Refreshed.

Wanted.

Finally, she couldn’t ignore the tap-tap-tapping on her shoulder any longer. Pulling away, she focused on the man’s face. She didn’t even know his name but he’d made her world complete, made her feel things she didn’t think she would again.

A simple thank you wasn’t nearly enough.

The tapping began again, more insistently this time. Marian turned to face a line of women with dollar bills in their hands, with the same hungry look on their faces that she most likely wore on her own.

He set her upright, holding onto her elbow until she regained her balance. A grin flashed across his charming face, and he gently brushed her bangs off her forehead. “We’ll save the next one for another time.” He winked at the woman behind her. “Crowd control.”

She nodded, appalled by her public display of lust. The woman behind her, The Tapper, stepped to one side as she floated back to the fair, feet barely touching the ground. The scents of hot dogs grilling, popcorn popping and sweaty children filled her nostrils, but she only remembered Old Spice and leather. And cherry Lifesavers. People bumped into her but felt none of it, only the feel of his strong arms around her, his body beneath hers.

“Marian? Are you okay, dear?”

“Pardon?” The heady, sexual glow that surrounded her popped like an overripe water balloon. “Oh, hello Mrs. Danbury.” Sarah Danbury’s mother and one of the biggest gossips in Potts County. Great. “I’m fine. Thank you.”

“You look a little flushed, dear. Wasn’t that you I saw at the kissing booth?”
Her avid eyes searched for a clue.

Were her lips swollen? She barely resisted the urge to touch them, keeping her hands fisted at her sides.

“I donated some money, yes. If you’ll excuse me?” Marian dashed around the woman, eluding the grasping hand. Ever since Mrs. Danbury had ‘let slip’ the budding romance between Bob Huffington and his secretary, Marian had done her best to avoid not only the woman but her vicious tongue as well. She hadn’t believed the old biddy until she saw with her own eyes the pair of them at a ball game, surreptitiously kissing behind the bleachers.

Behind the bleachers for Pete’s sake. Of course they’d been seen. Word had spread and Marian had been the laughingstock of the school for the past three months. She’d put in for a transfer immediately. Enough of this small town life, it was back to bright lights, big city for her.

The midway loomed in front of her, a Ferris Wheel spinning its screaming occupants round and round.

Right. The fair.

Shaking her head, she continued forward, once again focused on her mission. For months she’d hidden from the townspeople, avoided going to school events and wished Bob Huffington would spontaneously combust.

No such luck.

No more. It was time to take matters into her own hands.

The pie-tossing booth awaited.

~*~

Max watched her walk away with a small twinge of regret. And lust. He’d been sucked in a vortex of want and desire the likes of he'd never known. His gaze followed her lithe form as she strode away, blonde braid bobbing in the center of her back. He wanted nothing more than to walk away from the kissing booth, grab her hand and spend a few quality hours in bed. He bet Ms. Marian would light up the sheets.

He glanced at his partner on the other side of the booth. Her line stretched nearly twice as long as his own, yet she found time to signal him to get a move on. He chuckled out loud when he saw her next customer. Seventy if he was a day, bald as a billiard ball and clacking his dentures in impatience. He watched long enough to see the expression on her face then turned to face his own line.

After all, he had a job to do.

Pump the locals for information, find the painting and return it to its rightful owner. Then get out of Dodge. Or Pottersville, or wherever he was now. Simple. Every small town was full of gossips, he just needed to meet the right one.

With a grin still on his face, he looked up at his next customer. And up. Built like the U.S.S. Nimitz with steel-gray hair and prow-like bosom, she stood well over his six feet. Her giantess body was clothed in what he assumed was a floral housedress, but had the unfortunate effect of making her look like a davenport. Pale blue eyes stared at him from under thick, black penciled-in brows.

And she’d slicked her lips with a bright red gloss, which gleamed obscenely in the midday sun.

And she was waving a dollar bill.

Dear God.

He snagged the dollar and tossed it on the growing pile behind him. The woman lumbered closer, her fire engine red lipstick looming before him. “Make sure you give me the entire dollars worth.” Her hammy hands closed around his arms, drawing him closer. The odor of violets and bleach attacked his nostrils. He shoved a hand between them, effectively stopping her forward movement.

“Maybe you’d like to tell me your name first?” A Sherman tank had less power than this woman. His arm trembled from trying to hold her back from her goal.

Him.

“Eh?” The lips inched closer. “Gloria.”

“That’s a beautiful name, Gloria.” The wood from the kissing booth dug into his back. At least he was wearing a leather jacket, or he’d look like a porcupine from all the splinters. “Are you from town here?”

“Yes. Why all the questions? I just want my kiss.” She puckered up again, moving in for the kill. “No tongue though.”

He brought up his other hand for added protection, bracing it against her shoulder. “You’ll get your kiss.” He shuddered. Definitely no tongue. “I bet you know a lot of the townsfolk, Gloria.”

“I do.” She quit pushing so hard, looking pleased he’d noticed she was a vital part of the community. “Nothing happens in this town I don’t know about.” She puffed out her chest like a hen on steroids.

He’d heard the same line many times that morning. “Of course not.” He nodded wisely. “And I bet you know what everyone does in this town.”

“Indeed, I do.”

“Who’s the best singer in choir?”
Her enormous forehead puckered for a moment, reminding him of a Shar-pei. “Shirley Havens. Sings like an angel.”

“And the kid who gets in the most trouble?”

“That’s easy. Chris Borgman. Never seen such a troublemaker, and red-headed to boot.” She leaned in closer, confidentially. Max took the bait, and leaned in as well. One gossip monger to another. “Red headed stepchild,” she whispered, nodding. She lay a finger alongside her nose, and the resemblance to Old St. Nick was uncanny.

Even if he had no clue what she was talking about.

“And I bet you even know some art collectors?” Hoping he hadn’t jumped the gun, but needing to get away from the lilacs and bleach assault on his nostrils, he prayed for a miracle.

“Sure. Ms. Spurbeck and the principal, Huffington.”

He’d already heard of Huffington and had full intentions of looking him up later with his partner. Looking to the other side of the booth, he checked on Imerelda. She held the same position as himself, pressed against the unforgiving boards of the booth, both hands braced and begging for information. Her kissee was maybe fourteen with an unfortunate case of acne and braces.

Good. He wasn’t the only one fighting for his life.

“And who is Mr. Spurbeck?” Delay, delay, delay.

“You mean Ms. Spurbeck?” The woman cackled, her coffee scented breath blasting in his face. “That’s the woman you just finished kissing to high heaven. Marian Spurbeck.”

As his brain scrambled to plug in this new clue, the meaty arms clamped around him in a bear hug and the ruby red lips descended.

“Now about that kiss.”