Read Online Hot Shot by Susan Elizabeth Phillips - Free Book Online
Authors: Susan Elizabeth Phillips
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good to show it to her right then. But I wanted to. Damn, I really wanted to blow her mind."
Breathing in the pleasant smell of hot solder, Sam lay back on the couch and propped the can of Coke on his chest. "I never saw anybody move like she does. She's still , you know what I mean? A still person, even when she's in motion. You can't imagine her ever raising her voice, even though I could tell I was really pissing her off."
He sipped his Coke for a while and then got up and wandered over to the workbench. "I have to talk to her old man—show him what we've got—but every time I try to get to him, somebody stands in my way. I think if I could catch her interest—get her on my side
—she might arrange a meeting. I hate the idea of selling out to FBT, but we don't seem to have any other choice. I don't know. She might not show up. I'll have to think about it."
He watched the other man's hands—the precision of his touch, the sureness of his movements—and shook his head in admiration. "You're a genius, you know that, Yank.
An honest-to-shit genius."
And then he threw his arm around the man's shoulders and gave him a wet kiss on the cheek.
The man named Yank jerked around indignantly, splashing a trail of hot solder on the surface of the workbench. "What the heck's wrong with you?" He hunched his shoulder to his cheek, wiping off the kiss. "Why the heck did you do that?"
"Because I love you," Sam said with a grin. "Because you're a goddamned genius."
"Well, heck, you don't have to kiss me." Again, he wiped at his cheek with his shoulder.
Finally, calming, he looked around the garage, studying it as if he'd been gone for a very long time. "When did you get back? I didn't hear you come in."
Sam's grin broadened. "I just got here, Yank. Just this second."
Chapter 4
Conti Dove, born Constantine Dovido, was dumb, sweet, and sexy as hell: A few months earlier a girl had told him that he looked like John Travolta, and he had been talking to Paige about it ever since. Conti had dark hair and a Jersey accent, but as far as Paige could see, the resemblance ended there.
Paige almost loved Conti. He treated her well and he wasn't astute enough to see what a fake she was.
"Does that feel good, doll?" he asked, using his fingers on her like he used them on the strings of his Gibson.
"Uhm, yes. Oh, yes." She moaned and writhed, putting on a top-notch, first-class, all-star performance so Conti would never suspect that his hot little mama could barely stand to have him touch her.
Nothing was specifically wrong with Conti's lovemaking. He pushed all the right buttons and didn't fall asleep the minute he was done. It was just that Paige found sex to be a drag. She did it, of course, because everybody did, and she liked being held. But most of the time she didn't enjoy it very much. Sometimes she really hated it.
When she was sixteen, she had been raped by a college boy she had met at a rock concert in Golden Gate Park. She had never told anybody about it. Either people would feel sorry for her or they'd say she had it coming.
While she waited for Conti's lovemaking to be over, she clutched his bare arms, cupping the biceps he had developed so spectacularly by working out with the weights they kept in the corner of their bedroom. The bedroom was as clean as she could make it because she hated dirt, but it was painfully ugly. It had a cracked ceiling, mismatched furniture, and a double mattress on the floor. Paige wouldn't sleep on the mattress unless Conti was beside her, because she was always afraid a mouse would run over her head and get tangled in her hair.
"Tell me how good it feels," he crooned in her ear. "Tell me it's good."
"It's good, Conti. It's good."
"Doll… doll… God, I love you. I love you so much." He pushed himself inside her and began pumping away to the rhythm of "I Can't Get No Satisfaction" that kept playing over and over in her head.
It was the song that the Doves did best. Paige sang backup,
Breathing in the pleasant smell of hot solder, Sam lay back on the couch and propped the can of Coke on his chest. "I never saw anybody move like she does. She's still , you know what I mean? A still person, even when she's in motion. You can't imagine her ever raising her voice, even though I could tell I was really pissing her off."
He sipped his Coke for a while and then got up and wandered over to the workbench. "I have to talk to her old man—show him what we've got—but every time I try to get to him, somebody stands in my way. I think if I could catch her interest—get her on my side
—she might arrange a meeting. I hate the idea of selling out to FBT, but we don't seem to have any other choice. I don't know. She might not show up. I'll have to think about it."
He watched the other man's hands—the precision of his touch, the sureness of his movements—and shook his head in admiration. "You're a genius, you know that, Yank.
An honest-to-shit genius."
And then he threw his arm around the man's shoulders and gave him a wet kiss on the cheek.
The man named Yank jerked around indignantly, splashing a trail of hot solder on the surface of the workbench. "What the heck's wrong with you?" He hunched his shoulder to his cheek, wiping off the kiss. "Why the heck did you do that?"
"Because I love you," Sam said with a grin. "Because you're a goddamned genius."
"Well, heck, you don't have to kiss me." Again, he wiped at his cheek with his shoulder.
Finally, calming, he looked around the garage, studying it as if he'd been gone for a very long time. "When did you get back? I didn't hear you come in."
Sam's grin broadened. "I just got here, Yank. Just this second."
Chapter 4
Conti Dove, born Constantine Dovido, was dumb, sweet, and sexy as hell: A few months earlier a girl had told him that he looked like John Travolta, and he had been talking to Paige about it ever since. Conti had dark hair and a Jersey accent, but as far as Paige could see, the resemblance ended there.
Paige almost loved Conti. He treated her well and he wasn't astute enough to see what a fake she was.
"Does that feel good, doll?" he asked, using his fingers on her like he used them on the strings of his Gibson.
"Uhm, yes. Oh, yes." She moaned and writhed, putting on a top-notch, first-class, all-star performance so Conti would never suspect that his hot little mama could barely stand to have him touch her.
Nothing was specifically wrong with Conti's lovemaking. He pushed all the right buttons and didn't fall asleep the minute he was done. It was just that Paige found sex to be a drag. She did it, of course, because everybody did, and she liked being held. But most of the time she didn't enjoy it very much. Sometimes she really hated it.
When she was sixteen, she had been raped by a college boy she had met at a rock concert in Golden Gate Park. She had never told anybody about it. Either people would feel sorry for her or they'd say she had it coming.
While she waited for Conti's lovemaking to be over, she clutched his bare arms, cupping the biceps he had developed so spectacularly by working out with the weights they kept in the corner of their bedroom. The bedroom was as clean as she could make it because she hated dirt, but it was painfully ugly. It had a cracked ceiling, mismatched furniture, and a double mattress on the floor. Paige wouldn't sleep on the mattress unless Conti was beside her, because she was always afraid a mouse would run over her head and get tangled in her hair.
"Tell me how good it feels," he crooned in her ear. "Tell me it's good."
"It's good, Conti. It's good."
"Doll… doll… God, I love you. I love you so much." He pushed himself inside her and began pumping away to the rhythm of "I Can't Get No Satisfaction" that kept playing over and over in her head.
It was the song that the Doves did best. Paige sang backup,
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