Read Online Barbie & The Beast by Linda Thomas-Sundstrom - Free Book Online
Authors: Linda Thomas-Sundstrom
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to even remotely be considered eligible? Not ever. That
was a fact.She let out a great big sigh and faced those facts. Her wits had made a comeback—better late than never. This encounter had
not been racy, sexy, or viable.
“Barb?” Angie called as they hustled along the grassy path.
“Yeah?”
“You did take care where you. . .?”
Normally Barbie wouldn’t have let that question go by without a tart reply. This time she did. She remained acutely aware
of the silence of the graveyard. She was aware of the wind in the bushes, and on that same wind, the lingering scent of spice.
Eau de mystère.
“You had some Kleenex with you?” Angie continued.
Barbie sniffed the air. Due to the continued wobble of her knees, and in part to her broken shoe, she only nearly missed a
spectacular fall. Thing was, her mystery guy hadn’t gone. Not really. She was sure she could smell his scent. She was sure
she could feel him there somewhere.
A warm glow heated her solar plexus. She had a sudden desire to press her legs tightly together and vetoed that, since walking
would have been a complete impossibility.
“No Kleenex,” she told Angie. “Didn’t want to litter.”
Her thoughts were entirely somewhere else. This inner glow and leftover heart thumping were fueled by the vague notion of
the faintest possibility of. . .a possibility. Actual sex, maybe? Finally? Combined, of course (it went without saying),
with male companionship. But definitely in that order, considering the way her body was reacting. The golden glow inside was
beaming out her needs like a beacon.
Of course, if she needed sex so badly, any schmuck might have picked up on and taken advantage of that. Mystery Guy didn’t
have to be anything special.
Not special, huh? she thought. Then why did the mere memory of him still have the power to ignite her insides asno other man ever had? Some snag in the rationale there. The dark, the wind, and the entire adventure had been, she had to
admit, titillating. Totally. The air still seemed to vibrate with the stranger’s presence.
“Earth to Barb,” Angie said, out of breath but still racing for the Forest Lawn sign.
“Here, girl,” Barbie replied, though she was thinking about being swept off her feet, of spicy scents, of lips whispering
in her hair,
Can I see you again?
“We really do have to hurry,” Angie said. “All that talk of. . .and it’s my turn to have to. . .”
Beneath the solitary streetlight, Angie’s vintage red Fiat came into view, parked where they had left it and still surrounded
by other cars. About twenty in all. Where were all those people? Barbie wondered. Moreover,
who
were they, that Mystery Guy would so clearly want to keep her away?
Angie jumped inside of the car and leaned across the seat to unlock the passenger door. Barbie rested for a minute on the
Fiat’s cool metal frame, head turned to the wind.
He
was out there, beyond the pool of light. He was near.
With mild surprise, she looked down to find her hand rummaging through the contents of her jacket pocket. She came up with
a pen. Reciting the word
stupid
over and over beneath her breath, thinking this hand-with-a-mind-of-its-own thing a demonic possession of sorts, Barbie scribbled
her phone number on a dry-cleaning business card. She swiveled onto the seat of the Fiat and let the card fall to the pavement.
“I hope that wasn’t trash,” Angie said. “There’s a hefty fine for tossing trash out of a car window.”
“That wasn’t trash. Trust me,” Barbie said, adding beneath her breath, “I’m the trash. Trashy Barbie. That’s me.”
Chapter Eight
“Your light’s blinking,” Angie said, tossing her purse on the entry table, kicking off her male-magnet shoes.
Stunned, Barbie stared at the answering machine. Her stomach, queasy all the way home from the graveyard, had tied itself
into one big knot. Of course, the blinking light on the machine didn’t have to be
was a fact.She let out a great big sigh and faced those facts. Her wits had made a comeback—better late than never. This encounter had
not been racy, sexy, or viable.
“Barb?” Angie called as they hustled along the grassy path.
“Yeah?”
“You did take care where you. . .?”
Normally Barbie wouldn’t have let that question go by without a tart reply. This time she did. She remained acutely aware
of the silence of the graveyard. She was aware of the wind in the bushes, and on that same wind, the lingering scent of spice.
Eau de mystère.
“You had some Kleenex with you?” Angie continued.
Barbie sniffed the air. Due to the continued wobble of her knees, and in part to her broken shoe, she only nearly missed a
spectacular fall. Thing was, her mystery guy hadn’t gone. Not really. She was sure she could smell his scent. She was sure
she could feel him there somewhere.
A warm glow heated her solar plexus. She had a sudden desire to press her legs tightly together and vetoed that, since walking
would have been a complete impossibility.
“No Kleenex,” she told Angie. “Didn’t want to litter.”
Her thoughts were entirely somewhere else. This inner glow and leftover heart thumping were fueled by the vague notion of
the faintest possibility of. . .a possibility. Actual sex, maybe? Finally? Combined, of course (it went without saying),
with male companionship. But definitely in that order, considering the way her body was reacting. The golden glow inside was
beaming out her needs like a beacon.
Of course, if she needed sex so badly, any schmuck might have picked up on and taken advantage of that. Mystery Guy didn’t
have to be anything special.
Not special, huh? she thought. Then why did the mere memory of him still have the power to ignite her insides asno other man ever had? Some snag in the rationale there. The dark, the wind, and the entire adventure had been, she had to
admit, titillating. Totally. The air still seemed to vibrate with the stranger’s presence.
“Earth to Barb,” Angie said, out of breath but still racing for the Forest Lawn sign.
“Here, girl,” Barbie replied, though she was thinking about being swept off her feet, of spicy scents, of lips whispering
in her hair,
Can I see you again?
“We really do have to hurry,” Angie said. “All that talk of. . .and it’s my turn to have to. . .”
Beneath the solitary streetlight, Angie’s vintage red Fiat came into view, parked where they had left it and still surrounded
by other cars. About twenty in all. Where were all those people? Barbie wondered. Moreover,
who
were they, that Mystery Guy would so clearly want to keep her away?
Angie jumped inside of the car and leaned across the seat to unlock the passenger door. Barbie rested for a minute on the
Fiat’s cool metal frame, head turned to the wind.
He
was out there, beyond the pool of light. He was near.
With mild surprise, she looked down to find her hand rummaging through the contents of her jacket pocket. She came up with
a pen. Reciting the word
stupid
over and over beneath her breath, thinking this hand-with-a-mind-of-its-own thing a demonic possession of sorts, Barbie scribbled
her phone number on a dry-cleaning business card. She swiveled onto the seat of the Fiat and let the card fall to the pavement.
“I hope that wasn’t trash,” Angie said. “There’s a hefty fine for tossing trash out of a car window.”
“That wasn’t trash. Trust me,” Barbie said, adding beneath her breath, “I’m the trash. Trashy Barbie. That’s me.”
Chapter Eight
“Your light’s blinking,” Angie said, tossing her purse on the entry table, kicking off her male-magnet shoes.
Stunned, Barbie stared at the answering machine. Her stomach, queasy all the way home from the graveyard, had tied itself
into one big knot. Of course, the blinking light on the machine didn’t have to be
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