Read Online Wanting Rita by Elyse Douglas - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Elyse Douglas
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Rita of Hartsfield, was led to this despicable and desperate act, by none other than…” She advanced aggressively toward me, jabbing an accusing finger. “…YOU, Alan James! YOU are the real guilty party here! Not little ole Rita!”
I threw up my hands in irritation and tried to speak, but she threw up a hand to silence me. She stood hipshot, head back, lips wet; her half-hooded eyes set in a lusty invitation. “…YOU, Alan James, tempted and enticed and forced me to do it!” She threw a dramatic hand over her overwrought face. “I didn’t want to, ladies and gentlemen of the jury! Please, please, understand the whole truth and nothing but the truth. It is such a dirty and filthy habit and one for which I should surely be sent to the stake, smoking all the way. But, and I say, but, with all humility. But!!” She shouted with a firm, loud intensity, pausing to take a long drag. “…Alan James made me do it! He did! I swear! He was so seductive with his, ‘Ah, come on, you little bitch, you’ll love it. Just one little sexy puff. You’ll love it, absolutely lahvit!’”
Her voice lowered to a throaty earthiness. “And, I, in turn, will love you, Rita Fitzgerald, like you have never been loved before. I, Alan James, a rascal and a whisky drinker, will show you how a real woman should be treated. How a real woman should be held and loved! I can guarantee that you will leave my strong arms breathless, satisfied, and forever and evermore grateful.”
I stood belittled and angry. “Go to hell!”
She laughed wildly. “Alan James, you are a little stuck up, rich, snobby, tight- assed shit!”
I burned past her, jerked the door open and slid in behind the wheel. I switched off the radio, crossed my arms and fumed.
Rita ignored me. She sauntered toward the lake and finished her cigarette. I watched her irritably, heart pounding, veins throbbing, and then turned away. For a deliciously revengeful moment I thought of driving off and leaving her. The longer I sat, tense and beaten, the greater the temptation. That would show her! The whole town would know. They’d know that Rita was a low-life bitch! Just as I slammed the door and found the gear, I heard the passenger door open. Too late.
Rita got in and closed the door. I faced her with anger. She gave me a soft appealing look. “Hey, there, Alan James, were you going to leave me?”
I ignored her.
“Turn off the engine,” she said, at a whisper.
I remained inert.
Her voice dropped into a rich tone of desire. “Turn it off, Alan. Please…”
Reluctantly, helpless now, I did.
She leaned toward me and sought my eyes. “Look at me.”
I felt like a little boy, but I did, with a stony stare that soon melted. I was struck by a quiet vulnerability in her eyes—by her long, curled eyelashes, by her long lazy and sensual gaze. I felt myself unravel as she took my hand and squeezed it. “Come on, Alan…Let’s go outside.”
Outside, we went to a place where fallen leaves made a carpet, near the edge of the cliff.
“Let’s dance.”
I crept close, took first her left hand, holding it loosely at my side, then her right, raising it to shoulder level. We stood eye to eye; Rita was 5’10” in her heels. We danced to silent music, keeping four inches between us. The power of her enveloped me with a strange pleasure, so I turned away, avoiding her gaze, embarrassed and rigid.
“Not so bad, Alan James. Not so very bad for a concrete man.”
The chilly wind shifted direction and a shower of leaves fell around us. I was vaguely aware of the waves on the lake below brushing the shoreline. Rita nestled close and placed her head gently on my shoulder. I tensed up.
“Relax concrete man,” Rita joked. “Relax.”
I don’t remember how long we danced before Rita took off her heels, knelt, reached up and drew me down to her, keeping her steady eyes locked on mine. We faced each other, close. I tried to keep my face as blank as possible. I was
I threw up my hands in irritation and tried to speak, but she threw up a hand to silence me. She stood hipshot, head back, lips wet; her half-hooded eyes set in a lusty invitation. “…YOU, Alan James, tempted and enticed and forced me to do it!” She threw a dramatic hand over her overwrought face. “I didn’t want to, ladies and gentlemen of the jury! Please, please, understand the whole truth and nothing but the truth. It is such a dirty and filthy habit and one for which I should surely be sent to the stake, smoking all the way. But, and I say, but, with all humility. But!!” She shouted with a firm, loud intensity, pausing to take a long drag. “…Alan James made me do it! He did! I swear! He was so seductive with his, ‘Ah, come on, you little bitch, you’ll love it. Just one little sexy puff. You’ll love it, absolutely lahvit!’”
Her voice lowered to a throaty earthiness. “And, I, in turn, will love you, Rita Fitzgerald, like you have never been loved before. I, Alan James, a rascal and a whisky drinker, will show you how a real woman should be treated. How a real woman should be held and loved! I can guarantee that you will leave my strong arms breathless, satisfied, and forever and evermore grateful.”
I stood belittled and angry. “Go to hell!”
She laughed wildly. “Alan James, you are a little stuck up, rich, snobby, tight- assed shit!”
I burned past her, jerked the door open and slid in behind the wheel. I switched off the radio, crossed my arms and fumed.
Rita ignored me. She sauntered toward the lake and finished her cigarette. I watched her irritably, heart pounding, veins throbbing, and then turned away. For a deliciously revengeful moment I thought of driving off and leaving her. The longer I sat, tense and beaten, the greater the temptation. That would show her! The whole town would know. They’d know that Rita was a low-life bitch! Just as I slammed the door and found the gear, I heard the passenger door open. Too late.
Rita got in and closed the door. I faced her with anger. She gave me a soft appealing look. “Hey, there, Alan James, were you going to leave me?”
I ignored her.
“Turn off the engine,” she said, at a whisper.
I remained inert.
Her voice dropped into a rich tone of desire. “Turn it off, Alan. Please…”
Reluctantly, helpless now, I did.
She leaned toward me and sought my eyes. “Look at me.”
I felt like a little boy, but I did, with a stony stare that soon melted. I was struck by a quiet vulnerability in her eyes—by her long, curled eyelashes, by her long lazy and sensual gaze. I felt myself unravel as she took my hand and squeezed it. “Come on, Alan…Let’s go outside.”
Outside, we went to a place where fallen leaves made a carpet, near the edge of the cliff.
“Let’s dance.”
I crept close, took first her left hand, holding it loosely at my side, then her right, raising it to shoulder level. We stood eye to eye; Rita was 5’10” in her heels. We danced to silent music, keeping four inches between us. The power of her enveloped me with a strange pleasure, so I turned away, avoiding her gaze, embarrassed and rigid.
“Not so bad, Alan James. Not so very bad for a concrete man.”
The chilly wind shifted direction and a shower of leaves fell around us. I was vaguely aware of the waves on the lake below brushing the shoreline. Rita nestled close and placed her head gently on my shoulder. I tensed up.
“Relax concrete man,” Rita joked. “Relax.”
I don’t remember how long we danced before Rita took off her heels, knelt, reached up and drew me down to her, keeping her steady eyes locked on mine. We faced each other, close. I tried to keep my face as blank as possible. I was
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