The Perils of Paulie (A Matchmaker in Wonderland) Page 25

  I peered over the seat back at him. “We could lie there on the comfy seat together, you know.”

  “Are you, by chance, propositioning me, madam?” I couldn’t see his eyebrow rise, but I felt it had done so.

  “Depends. Have you ever made out in the backseat of a car?”

  “I can’t say that I have.”

  “Well, I have. When I was sixteen, and Dad had a newly emigrated friend of a friend whose name was Misha. He was blond and gorgeous and smelled like rum, and man alive, did he teach me things about kissing.”

  “Ah, it’s Misha I have to thank for the way your tongue sets fire to my blood?”

  “It’s only fair since your tongue makes my knees turn to marshmallow. To hell with it. You can just be uncomfortable.”

  I climbed over the seat again, but this time I first removed the heavy blanket from Dixon, then draped it like a blanket fort over the seats so we were hidden from view. I proceeded to do an intricate and cramped shimmy that rid me of my T-shirt, jeans, and assorted undergarments. “No, don’t get up. You can sleep on the seat—after I’m done having my wicked and wholly wanton way with you—and I’ll sleep on you. Damn, man, you got out of your pants fast!”

  I wasn’t even through speaking before Dixon, evidently realizing what was on my mind, had shucked his shoes, socks, pants, and underwear. I helped him pull his shirt over his head before sitting on his thighs, feeling the lovely smooth, warm flesh of his belly and ribs. “I approve of your plan,” he told me, taking my breasts in both his hands, which simultaneously pleased my boobs to no end and made me put an immediate halt to my idea of tormenting him with an endless array of touches, licks, and kisses so steamy he’d be putty in my capable hands.

  “Putty!” I said mindlessly, writhing around when he sat up enough to take one breast in his mouth.

  “Putty is good,” he said around a mouthful of nipple. “I like putty. I like both your putties.”

  “I like a man who likes my putties. Breasts. Nipples. Whatever you want to call it, I like you liking it, but you’re not letting me like you.”

  He stopped molesting one very needy breast, and I felt, rather than saw, the question in his eyes.

  I slid my hands up to gently pinch his nipples. He froze beneath me. “You make me so mindless with pleasure that I can’t do the same to you. Lie back. No, my boobs are fine now. Wet, but fine. They’re happy and want me to return the favor.”

  “I don’t have the same sort of nerves in my nipples that I understand women have in theirs—” he started to protest, but the second I bit down ever so gently on one, he almost came off the seat.

  “Putty!” he shouted, and dug his fingers into my hips when I attended to the second nipple.

  I giggled. “I was trying to say that I was putty in your hands, but that’s all that came out. Dixon?”

  “Dear god, woman, you’re stopping?” He lifted his head, presumably to glare at me. “Now? Right this minute?”

  “Yes, but only because I’m going to make your eyes bug right out of your head in the very best cartoon manner.”

  “You are? How are you— Lord, yes!”

  I had slid down his legs while he was speaking and taken his penis in both hands. “Now, let me see if I can do this in the dark.”

  “Sweetheart, you can do anything to me you want in the dark,” he said with a profound note of gratitude in his voice.

  “Really? I’m going to remember that when the race is over and I want to tie you down so I can use any number of sexual devices on you.”

  “What sort of sexual devices?” he asked, sounding very interested. That made me pause for a moment. We hadn’t ever talked about adult devices, and although I had a single woman’s usual collection of items that kept me from jumping every man I saw, it hadn’t occurred to me that he might have a male-oriented version of my box of toys.

  “Do you like toys, too?” I asked, inadvertently waggling his penis as I spoke.

  “Depends on the toy, and why are you using my dick to gesture with?”

  “Oh.” I looked down to where I could barely see the dark blob of his body. “I talk with my hands. Sorry. I expect you’d rather have action now than chitchat anyway, right?”

  “Are you, by any chance, nervous about something?”

  I sighed and gave his penis a friendly “so glad you understand me” squeeze. “It’s the fact that someone could lift the blanket and see us. I’ve never been an exhibitionist.”

  “Would you rather we tried to get sleep instead?”

  Absently, I tickled his balls. “No. I don’t think anyone is going to peek in. And I really am desperate for you. The way your wet shirt stuck to your chest all day—I know it must have been horribly uncomfortable, but holy hellballs, Dixon, it just made me want to lick your entire chest.”

  He squirmed beneath me, his hips moving with little jerks. “Paulie,” he said after a moment where I was remembering his wet-shirt-covered chest. He sounded breathless, as if he had been out jogging.

  “Hmm?”

  “If you don’t stop in the next five seconds, you’re bound to be disappointed with my performance.”

  I stared at the blob that I knew was his head and wondered what the hell he was talking about, until it struck me that his hips were moving faster and faster. “Wow, you really are anticipatory. And so hot. And dammit, are you bigger?”

  He laughed, a rough laugh to be true, but still a laugh. And with some maneuvering, he managed to let his fingers go wandering in happy territory, where he was greeted by my intimate parts with much cheering and celebration. “I assure you I’m the same as I’ve always been.”

  “Tingle-making,” I said, wiggling delightedly when he hit an exquisite spot in my intimate parts. “Oh dear god, man, what you can do with just two fingers and a thumb!”

  “I’d be happy to show you what my mouth can do in addition to my fingers.”

  “Another time,” I said, biting back a groan of purest pleasure. “Would you mind if we did foreplay later? Right now I just want to do an internal measurement of how much bigger you’ve gotten.”

  “No, but I warn you that I won’t be good for long,” he said, his body moving beneath my thighs, his hands moving around to my back, positioning me where he wanted me.

  “Good, because that little twirl with your thumb just about pushed me over the edge. Dear god, you are bigger!”

  “It’s just the angle,” he said, panting, his hips moving jerkily while I tried to find a rhythm that worked for both of us. “And if you continue to squeeze me when you sink down, you’re going to be very sorry!”

  I laughed. “You’re the only man I know who can threaten to make me sorry while thrilling me to the tips of my toes.” I swiveled while I moved, enjoying the sensation of him so deep inside me, all my little muscles clinging to him, unwilling to let him go, and yet rejoicing with the movements. I leaned down to kiss him, feeling an overwhelming sense of lightness and happiness that I’d found this man. He was everything I wanted, funny and caring and smart. He wasn’t the least bit needy, but his comfort with himself didn’t lead to arrogance or narcissism. If anything, he was too modest, not realizing just what a wonderful, warmhearted, sexy-as-sin man he was.

  “I love you more than anything,” I murmured into his mouth just at the moment when his fingers gripped my hips, his body arching underneath me. The short, bucking movements sent me flying into my own orgasm, and it was only when I managed to kick-start my mind a long, long time later that I realized that he hadn’t responded.

  Dammit, what was wrong with the man? Why couldn’t he admit his feelings.

  Unless I was totally wrong about what he felt for me.

  Oy.

  JOURNAL OF DIXON AINSLEY

  9 August

  6:20 a.m.

  Warsaw, Poland

  There was a f
lood in Latvia, one that made it impossible to drive over what was evidently the only bridge in existence, or at least so you would have assumed, judging by the reaction of the local population.

  “I’m not saying that I would have wished to drive through flooded areas,” I told Paulie that night when we were lying together in the car. “But it is irksome to be here wasting time.”

  Paulie made a noise of agreement. She was warm and soft and lay draped over me like a delicious woman-scented blanket, the car blanket over top of us. I had a horrible feeling that my left buttock was glued by body moisture to the leather bench of the backseat, but other than making a little wiggle to see how hard it would be to shift the cheek, I decided not to worry about it.

  Outside the tractor enclosure in which the Thomas Flyer was parked, the wind periodically gusted, making the thin material of the enclosure’s sides flutter in the night. The lights of the house began to extinguish as we snuggled, and despite the fact that I was sleeping in the backseat of a 1908 car, with one butt cheek glued to the seat and Paulie’s right elbow digging into my pancreas, I was happier than I ever remembered being.

  “I guess I’d feel more like that if the Esses and Anton weren’t trapped here with us. At least we’re all on the same footing,” she murmured sleepily into my collarbone.

  I wrapped my arms around her, feeling like the luckiest man alive. Just being with Paulie made me happy, and knowing she reciprocated all those feelings I’d been hesitant to express filled me with a sense of peace that I hadn’t realized had been lacking from my life.

  “Now I know what I’ve been missing,” I mused into the top of her head, and gave it a kiss.

  “Hmm?” she asked, scooting over until she was half on me and half in the space between me and the seat back.

  “Nothing, love. Go to sleep.”

  “I like it when you call me ‘love,’” she said, yawning hugely, and then snuggled into my side and promptly fell asleep.

  I had vague notions of staying awake during the night just to make sure no one would try anything with the Thomas Flyer, but lack of sleep, long driving hours in horrible weather, and incredible lovemaking took their toll, and I drifted off without realizing it.

  “Hrn?” Something clanged nearby.

  “Mrrf?” came the answer from behind me.

  I opened my eyes to find that at some point I’d rolled onto the floor and was lying stark naked on top of an oilcloth sheet that we’d used when changing tires. I sat up and met Paulie’s blinking eyes. Her hair was standing up on end, sleep creases on one cheek. She squinted at me, and asked, “What are you doing down there?”

  “Sleeping. Something woke me up.” I grabbed my trousers, which were underneath me, and hurriedly got into them and my shoes before emerging from the car. The flaps of the enclosure moved gently, and I parted them to reveal daylight and a pale blue sky. From the barn emerged the form of a man, who waved and shouted something I didn’t understand.

  “Good morning,” I called back, and waited until Paulie crawled out of the car in her jeans and shirt. “I intended on staying awake, but I guess you having your wanton way with me did me in.”

  “Can’t talk—gotta pee like a racehorse,” she said, trotting to the farmhouse.

  I went to the side of the barn, remembering the farmer pointing with pride to the toilet and ramshackle sink that had been included in a lean-to that looked like it had been tacked to a wall, and with a cheery nod and wave at the two sons, I used the facilities. I was just heading to the farmhouse with thoughts of country ham and eggs, and perhaps some homemade marmalade, when Paulie burst out of the house, shouting and waving her hands in the air.

  “They’re gone! Those bastards, I knew it! I knew they would cheat! Hurry up—they have an hour on us!”

  “What? How?” I dashed to the main entrance of the barn, swearing profanely at the empty space where the Zust had sat the night before.

  “They left us here, those rotters.” Paulie was panting when she got to me, her phone in her hand. Behind her, Anton emerged from the house, hopping on one leg while he tied the shoelaces of another shoe.

  I paused. “Why is Anton here?”

  “They left him behind, too. Oh, I am so going to rat them out to Roger.” She started typing frantically on her phone.

  Anton got his shoe on properly and met us halfway to the Thomas Flyer. “I just woke up. Is it true? Is the car gone?” he asked.

  I waved at the barn. “So it seems. Why did they leave you?”

  He made a face. “They wanted to do something to your car, and I said I wasn’t having any of it. I’m not saying I wouldn’t do many things to make sure my team was ahead of yours, but nothing underhanded. Nothing . . . devious.”

  “Devious and underhanded like telling the border guards that we were smuggling a weapon into Russia?” I asked.

  Anton had the grace to look abashed. “I . . . that . . . I’m profoundly sorry about that. When they explained the plan to me, I thought it would simply mean a little delay for you. I had no idea they would strip-search you and retain you for hours. I’m just glad there was nothing for the guards to find.”

  Paulie started to say something about the gun, but at a quelling look from me, she changed it to, “Yeah, well, I notice you didn’t bother telling Roger what you did.”

  He spread his hands in a placatory gesture. “I apologized for my part once Roger told me what happened.”

  “Was it you who took our spare tires?” I asked, one thought leading to another.

  “No.” He looked profoundly uncomfortable. “I told Sanders that was too underhanded and that, while I wanted to win the race, I didn’t think we needed to be dishonest to do it. The Zust is a fast car, and we can easily outrun the Thomas Flyer.”

  Paulie snorted indignantly and glanced at her phone when it burbled at her.

  “I don’t understand why they would leave you behind,” I said, mulling over what he’d said. I wasn’t certain he was telling the truth, but if he wasn’t, it meant he had been left behind as a plant. But for what purpose? To slow us up? Or to take us out of the race entirely?

  “Got a response from Roger. He says it’s not against the rules to leave before us. The idiot.” Paulie looked disgusted. “I told him the Esses left Anton behind, and he said that also is not against the rules, although frowned upon, and asked us if we’d give you a lift to Warsaw.”

  “I’d appreciate that,” Anton said, his expression worried.

  “I just bet you would.” Paulie narrowed her eyes on Anton. “And I’m going to ask you a question, and I expect a straight answer to it.”

  He stiffened. “I do not make a habit of lying.”

  “Uh-huh. Are you working for my father?”

  He blinked twice. “Who is your father?”

  “That’s avoiding answering the question. Yes or no—are you working for him?”

  “Unless your father is a member of parliament from a small constituency in the north of Scotland, then no, I do not work for him.”

  Paulie looked startled. “You work in Scotland? But you’re Russian.”

  “I was born in Ukraine, but my parents emigrated shortly thereafter.” He frowned at Paulie. “Who is your father?”

  “The carpet king of Northern California.” She chewed her lower lip. “Damn. That means I was all wrong about you.”

  I caught her eye and tried to mentally warn her about throwing all her trust in him when I wasn’t convinced he wasn’t working against us, but she was busy reading another text. “Roger says they’re all stuck about ten miles back and are going to ditch the cars because of flooding between us and them. Wait—there’s more . . . taking a train to Warsaw. They’ll meet us there. Oh, good—we don’t have to dress up until we get there. Come on. If the roads are as bad as Roger says, maybe the Esses are not zooming ahead of us.”

  S
he texted wildly while moving toward the car. I ran inside the farmhouse, gathered up my suitcase as well as Paulie’s, thanked the farmer’s wife, and offered a handful of euros, which she refused. Anton was ahead of me with his own bag, which he tossed into the back of the car. I emerged from the house with a paper bag with warm muffins.

  “Tabby and Sam are with Roger and the other film crew, and they said they heard on the news that all sorts of roads are washed out,” Paulie said, turning to glare at Anton.

  He shrugged and held up his hands. “I have nothing to do with their decision, I assure you.”

  “Hrmph.”

  “Lovely news,” I said grimly, and tossed our luggage into the car. “At least it’s not raining anymore.”

  “I’ll take the first shift.” Paulie took the key from me and slid over behind the steering wheel. “You eat and get some rest. You can’t have slept well on the floor.”

  I climbed in next to her and was prepared to dispute the fact that I was sore and stiff, but was distracted when she started the car.

  Immediately, the engine started knocking loudly.

  “What the hell?” Paulie asked.

  I sighed and got out, taking off my goggles and hat, both of which I’d automatically put on. “Keep it running. I’ll take a look,” I said, unstrapping the bonnet and pushing it back to stare down at the engine with incomprehension. Anton was at my elbow when I tried to find something that looked wrong. The knocking was even louder, and I could see an oily yellow puddle under the car.

  “The hell?” I asked, prodding at a piece that did nothing.

  The farmer came out at the noise and was soon joined by his sons.

  “What’s going on?” Paulie called.

  “I don’t know what the problem is. Everyone is looking and talking, but I don’t speak the language.”

  “They say it’s a crank bearing,” Anton translated, asking a question of the men. “We can’t drive the car with it this way. It would be very bad. The oil has been drained as well.”