Chapter 4
While the evil seeds planted in Wendy's impressionable young mind were already beginning to take root and grow, her father and Brandie Harper, oblivious to the ominous events which would affect each of their futures, were enjoying the last of a sumptuous dinner at the Fleur-de-lis, one of the city's most fashionable restaurants.
"Mmmmmmmmm, Warren, that was the most fantastic meal I've eaten in weeks," Brandie sighed, leaning back against the plush upholstery banquette and taking a final swallow of wine. "I didn't realize they had such a good chef here."
"I'm glad you enjoyed it," Wendy's father replied, reaching over to refill her glass, then his own."I've never eaten here myself before tonight, but one of the fellows I work with recommended this place. I'll have to thank him on Monday."
"You certainly will. I can't remember when I've enjoyed myself more!"
Brandie smiled warmly at the well-built business executive, and Warren felt his heart beat faster as he gazed at the milk-white perfection of her fine features, a reaction he'd noticed was becoming more and more frequent in the presence of this attractive and sophisticated neighbor. His radiant blonde neighbor was, he had to admit, the most exciting woman he'd ever met, and sometimes he felt like an awkward schoolboy in the face of her serenely exotic beaty. They were seated side by side against the wall at a heavy candlelit table and the high back of the upholstered seat prpvided an atmosphere of intimacy and subtle sensuality that the dark-haired widower hadn't allowed himself in years. In fact, the six weeks since he'd met Brandie and begun dating her were the happiest in his life since the death of his wife. He'd begun to feel alive again, and, more important, he was aware again of his own sexuality, of the fact that a beautiful woman might find him worth her time and attention. Brandie made him feel wonderful, and his cock practically saluted the scent of her perfume and the presence of her lithely rounded body only inches away from him, it was beating an insistent tattoo in the prison of his pants leg.
"I always enjoy myself with you, Brandie," he finally replied. "So much so I'm sometimes a little ... alarmed by it."
Brandie laughed softly with delight at his compliment. She, too, felt an unfamiliar excitement with Warren, not just the sexual hunger that his good looks and tall trim physique aroused in her, though that was certainly there ... Lord was it there! It took no small effort on the part of the sensually liberated blonde to control the physical intimacy she allowed herself to invite. So far, they'd shared nothing, more than a few good-night kisses, kisses that were tender at first, but lately had become increasingly passionate. It was becoming more and more difficult for her to play the role of a respectable woman living alone and careful of her reputation, when what she really wanted was to melt into Warren's arms and surrender completely to the keen sensations of lust that wound through her loins like the serpent that tempted Eve.
But that would be the wrong move, she knew, exactly the sort of thing that would drive him away, and that was the last thing in the world she wanted. For she, too, found herself experiencing new emotions lately. She liked the way Warren treated her, the respect and deference he showed her even when he didn't have to. It was not what she usually got from men, and to her own surprise, she was beginning to like it. Of course, if he didn't make a move soon, she might have to nudge him a little, but that was something she didn't mind in the least. In fact, she was looking forward to it. The very thought made her eyes sparkle, and, smiling mischievously, she raised her wine glass.
"A toast," she announced, placing one warm well-manicured hand over his. "To the good neighbor policy - May good neighbors get as close as possible!"
"I'll drink to that," Warren laughed, clinking glasses with her and draining the last of the wine. Then, in the silence that followed, he squeezed her hand, which was still nestled in his own. A warm current of shared erotic feeling passed between them, and Brandie. demurely lowered her eyes, but not before she returned, the pressure of his hand, and even lightly ran her tapering fingers over his palm.
"I hate to break this up," she murmured, "but you did say you wanted to get back early because of Wendy.
"I know," Warren sighed. "I suppose you think it's silly of me to worry about her the way I do, but I don't like to leave her alone at night for very long. I guess it's the paranoia of the single parent."
"What did you do when you were in New York?"
"I'd always leave her with a housekeeper or a babysitter, but she absolutely refuses to have one now. I can't convince her, and I can't really feel comfortable with her idea, that she's old enough to take care of herself."
"Maybe you're being over-protective," Brandie suggested. "Sometimes that can be as bad as not giving a child enough attention." Privately, Brandie was a little disturbed by Warren's attachment to his strange brown-haired fourteen-year-old daughter. It wasn't just that his concern for the child cut short his evenings out with her; there was something else, too, something she saw sometimes in the innocent-looking child's eyes that made the worldly blonde shiver a little.
"You're probably right. Sometimes I do feel she's much too dependent on me. She's actually unwilling to spend time with people her own age. In a way, that's a little unhealthy, I think."
"Then, why don't you start forcing her out of the nest a little? Gently, of course, but firmly. She'll probably thank you for it eventually."
"It's... it's not quite that easy, Brandie, though God knows I wish it were..." A worried frown furrowed the young father's brow, and he rubbed the back of his neck, a habit he had when he was disturbed by something. He hadn't told Brandie yet about what had happened to Wendy in New York, and, for a moment, he looked for words. Then he shrugged helplessly. "It's a long story, and you probably wouldn't be interested anyway."
Brandie reached out and grasped his hand in both of her own, and looked at him seriously. "Haven't you figured out yet that anything that concerns you interests me, Warren? Why don't you order coffee for us while I go freshen my makeup, and then you can tell me all about it. That is, if you want to. I don't want to pry."
Warren smiled at her gratefully. "There's nothing I'd like better than to tell you about it, Brandie. I think I really need a woman's point of view. Maybe you can straighten things out a little for me."
"I'll try," the voluptuous blonde promised as she rose from the table. "Be right back."
Warren watched as she made her way across the dining room in the direction of the ladies room, the full skirt of her thin-strapped vee-necked black chiffon dress billowing softly with the undulations of her flaring hips. He noticed with a good deal of pride the way the eyes of the men in the room followed her, and noticed too the cool way she handled it, acknowledging their attention with poise and grace, yet every inch a lady. Warren, he told himself, I have a feeling that coming to California is going to turn out to be one of the smartest moves you ever made. For you and Wendy.
Despite his good intentions, it was more than an hour later when Warren finally turned into the quiet street where he and Brandie both lived. There were no rights on in his house, so he assumed that Wendy was asleep.
"Poor thing," Brandie murmured sympathetically. "I had no idea she'd been through such a terrible ordeal. Now I understand why you're so concerned about her, Warren."
"You know, Brandie, I've spent so much time talking tonight that I haven't really had a chance to hear what you think about all this. I mean, well, I know it's selfish of me," he said as he drove the car into his driveway, "But how would you feel about coming in for awhile and talking? It's not the most exciting end to the evening, but... "
"I'd love to," his attractive neighbor quickly assured him. "I don't know if I can really say anything useful, but what are friends for if they can't share your troubles?"
They were seated in front of the house in darkness, and the light of the moon cast shadows over the blonde call girl's face that made her seem even more beautiful than ever. Impulsively, but with great tenderness, Warren reached over and took her face in his hands.
"You're becoming much more than a neighbor to me, Brandie," he leaned over and kissed her softly on the lips. Brandie returned his kiss, savoring the unspoken messages of desire he transmitted with his lips and the trembling of his body against hers. Softly she reached up and stroked his hand as they separated.
"I'm glad," she said warmly, "really glad, Warren."
Then the athletic young business executive got out of the car and bounded over to open the door for her. Hand in hand they walked up the flagstone pathway to his back door.
Upstairs in her bedroom, Wendy listened to the arrival of the car. She had gone to bed a little earlier, but couldn't fall asleep until her father came home. She always waited for him to come up and kiss her good-night, and tonight in particular she needed to see him, after all the awful things Pete Haney had told her. When the car pulled into the driveway, she got out of bed and went over to her window, but, to her surprise, her daddy didn't get out right away. And, when he did, it was with Miss Harper. The brown-eyed fourteen-year-old girl watched in sinking disbelief as the two of them came toward the house and then disappeared out of sight behind the leaves of the tree outside her window. The next sound she heard was the back door opening and their muted voices in the kitchen.
"He's bringing her in here," the shocked teenager murmured, her heart beating faster with a fearful sensation. She didn't want the woman in her house. Especially tonight. Trembling with fear and anger, she got back into bed and buried herself under the covers. Daddy likes Miss Harper too much, she mused darkly. She had to do something, but what?
Downstairs, Warren switched on the light and took the crocheted stole that Brandie had thrown over her shoulders to keep out the chill of the early evening.
"I'll just go and check on Wendy, and then I'll be right back."
"Can I do anything while you're gone? Make coffee, maybe?"
"That'd be nice. Or, if you like, there's some Scotch in the bar in the dining room and some ice in the refrigerator."
"Sounds great. I think I can take it from there."
Wendy heard the door to her room open and her father tiptoe softly across the room to her bed. Instead of leaping up to greet him as she usually did, the troubled child pretended to be asleep. Her brown hair fanned out on the pillow, and, to Warren, seeing her by the dim light that came through the window, she looked as innocent and vulnerable as a baby with her hands clenched in little fists around her pillow and her young body, just on the verge of alluring womanhood, curled up under the covers.
"You awake, baby?" he whispered.
Wendy didn't move. Warren looked down at his apparently sleeping daughter with love in his heart, then he bent over and kissed her on the forehead. "Sleep well, sweetheart," he murmured, brushing a few strands of hair out of her eyes. "Everything's going to be fine. Soon, very soon, in fact, you might have... a new mother." He pulled the covers protectively over her shoulders, and then tiptoed out of the room again, closing the door behind him.
Once she was sure he was gone, Wendy opened her eyes wide and sat up in bed. His words had sent a shudder of horror through her young body, clad only in thin yellow baby-doll pajamas. Warren Wendt would have been shocked at the expression of sheer malevolence that spread like an ugly stain over his daughter's innocent features as she absorbed his last words.
A new mother? A new mother!?
No! her mind screamed. She folded her legs up and wrapped her bare arms around them, resting her chin on her knees, her whole body strained and taut. I've got to stop him, she thought. But how? How?
By the time Warren got back downstairs, Brandie had made two stiff drinks, put an album of soothing instrumental music on the record player in the living room and turned the lights down to give the room a soft homelike glow. She wasn't sure just exactly what would happen this evening, but she was determined that the atmosphere would be as conducive to physical intimacy as possible.
"How's Wendy?" she asked. Warren came into the room just as she had curled up comfortably in a corner of the over-stuffed sofa.
"Sleeping like a baby," he answered. "Say, this place looks great. What did you do?"
"Oh nothing special. Just tried to make things a little cozy."
"Well, you certainly succeeded. It looks like a different room."
"Glad you like it. Now why don't you take off your jacket and loosen your tie and relax and have your drink."
"I think I will," her brown-eyed neighbor replied, taking off his expensively tailored sports jacket. Brandie allowed her eyes to savor the lean muscularity of his back and shoulders as he hung it in the hall closet. You could do worse, she mused to herself. Yes, you certainly could do worse.
Warren came back into the room and settled down in the comfortable armchair opposite the couch. He took a deep swallow of his Scotch and let the fiery liquid slide slowly down his throat. "That hits the spot," he declared, as the tensions of the day as well as those aroused by his lengthy description of Wendy's troubled history seemed to lift from his shoulders. He'd forgotten how good it was to relax totally in his own home. Wendy did her best, of course, but she couldn't be expected to provide the special touches an older woman would think of. And she shouldn't have to, he reflected. She had a right to enjoy her youth, like other girls, not spend it looking after her father and keeping house.
In the silence that followed while they each sipped their drinks, the young widower allowed himself to look pointedly at the beautiful woman seated opposite him. God, she was lovely!. His inhibitions and gentlemanly reserve were weakened somewhat by the alcohol and the constant pressure of desire that had been mounting steadily in his love-starved body all evening, and his gaze was more frankly appreciative than it had ever been before as his eyes took in the lushly rounded contours of her spectacular body, the delicate curves of her legs and the enticing fullness of her breasts as they rose and fell softly with her breath.
"A penny for your thoughts," his sultry companion murmured, returning his gaze from beneath her thick-lashed blue eyes with a look that made Warren's stomach turn over with a flash of sweetly aching lust.
The dark-haired young executive paused a moment before replying. The first words that rose to his lips spontaneously were a frank admission that he wanted to ... to fuck her, to seize her sensually promising body in his arms and possess her totally, right then and there. The intensity of his reaction shocked even himself, and he had to struggle to keep his voice steady when he finally replied.
"I'm thinking that maybe I've been very selfish all these years, refusing to consider remarrying again. I've been so busy burying myself in the past that I've been very unfair to my daughter. Of course," he continued, rising from his chair and walking around the room with his drink in his hands to subdue the sexual relentlessness that was rising like an inexorable tide in his loins, "at the moment, I have to admit I'm not as remorseful as I should be."
"Oh?"
"No." He stopped his aimless pacing next to the arm of the couch. Scarcely knowing what he was doing, he set down his drink and grasped Brandie's hands in his own, pulling her to her feet. "Because, if I hadn't waited so long, I might never have met you. And that would've been the biggest mistake of all!"
Instantly, their two bodies flowed into each other's arms and their lips met in a long and soul-searching kiss. Desire thundered through Warren's body like a tropical thunderstorm as his arms encircled her soft, sweet-smelling body, crushing her breasts against his hard chest. Brandie's arms snaked up around his bare neck, and she returned his kiss passionately, parting her full moist lips slightly so his tongue could begin to explore. His warm cock sprang to full erection in his trousers, and he knew she must be able to feel its blood-engorged length throbbing hungrily against her belly, but he didn't care. Still holding her tightly, he finally tore his lips away from hers, but only long enough to bury them in the perfumed paleness of her heck and shoulders.
"Oh Brandie," he murmured thickly, "I want you ... not just tonight, but all the time. I want you so badly it hurts. I...."
Brandie stopped his words by placing the tip of her finger over his lips. "Don't try to tell me, Warren," she whispered. "Show me, show me now!"
Warren stared at her for a moment, unsure of the implications of her words. Brandie felt a momentary twinge of regret at her bold invitation. Perhaps it was going too far, and she should continue to be reserved and demure, letting him take all the initiative. But, damn it, she wasn't a plaster statue! How long could he expect her to keep a check on her own raging female passions? If it made him uptight to know that she was as hot for him as he was for her, then it wouldn't work anyway. That was all there was to it. Without saying another word, she tried to let him know it with her eyes, to communicate to him that her need was as great as his for the quenching of the wild sexual fires that made her face flush with heat and her body tremble from head to toe with the pounding of her blood in her veins.
But her fears were unfounded. Warren was too firmly in the grip of his own passion, his ordinary processes of thinking and judging knocked too much awry by lust and alcohol to be shocked. With a low groan of sensuality, he pulled her close once again, his lips seeking hers and his hands running over the chiffon-covered smoothness of her back. Gone from his mind were all thoughts of Wendy and her problems. Nothing existed for him except the closeness of this flaxen-haired beauty whose body was pressed so warmly against his own, her hands caressing his muscular back and shoulders as eagerly as he touched her. For a moment, they held their tight embrace, then, moving as one, they sank down slowly onto the soft cushions of the couch, their bodies locked tightly together.
Still kissing, Warren cradled her shoulders in one arm and angled his body so that his other hand could move easily to caress the firm voluptuously full mounds of her breasts. He touched one softly at first, then cupped as much of its ripely upthrust flesh into his hand as his fingers could encompass, squeezing it with greater pressure as knife-like stabs of pleasure coursed through his pounding loins. God, his body was on fire! He felt like a man again, a fully potent desirable man for the first time since Harriet had died.
"Ohhhhhh," Brandie sighed, letting her head fall backwards against the support of his arm as his free hand continued to explore the excitedly heaving roundness of her breast, teasing her nipple into erection beneath the shimmering black chiffon that covered her. "God, that feels so lovely, so lovely!"
Using his hands with an instinctive sureness that he thought he'd forgotten, Warren continued his lascivious caress, while his lips teased and nibbled at Brandie's shell-pink earlobe. His tongue darted inside the sensitive orifice, and he blew teasing little currents of warm air into it, which caused the hotly aroused blonde to shiver and writhe sensuously in his arms.
Her own red-tipped fingers slid smoothly down his side over the width of his leather belt and onto the thickly corded expanse of his trouser-covered hip. She ran her hand in lewd little circular motions over his thigh, each movement bringing her fingers closer and closer to the thickly bulging mound of his lust-swollen penis lurching excitedly inside the tight confines of his pants. Suddenly, she placed her palm flat against its quivering length, her fingertips resting on the rounded flesh of his cock-head where impatient little droplets of his pre-cum had made a dark wet circle on his pants. She thrilled inwardly as she felt the long thickness of his penile shaft in full erection. It felt like a piece of hot pipe under her hand, rock-hard and pulsing with desire.
Warren felt as though he had received an electric shock as her fingers began to massage his blood-engorged rod of flesh through his trouser material. He groaned loudly, a deep gutteral animal sound that he could only stifle by pressing his mouth down once again onto hers. She opened her lips wide, and their two tongues mingled lewdly and hungrily while their hands raced greedily over each other's passion-incited bodies in a wildly obscene search for satisfaction. Warren felt as though his cock was about to explode, and he had to reach down and grip Brandie's wrist to stop the tantalizing motion of her hands on its blood-sensitized length. Undeterred, Brandie began pulling his shirt out of his trousers, and then she snaked her hand up under it onto his bare flesh, making little moaning sounds that she couldn't or wouldn't control. Wendy's father slipped one shoulder strap of her black chiffon dress downward over her upper arm, then slid his hand inside the bodice of the garment to close his fingers over the silky softness of her naked breast. His blonde neighbor leaned backwards to give him easier access to her body and began fumbling with the heavy buckle of his belt.
Suddenly, mustering all the self-control he could, Warren pulled back. "Brandie ... are you sure? I wouldn't want you to do anything you'd regret in the morning."
He was looking at her so searchingly, full of concern that he was taking advantage of her, that the blue-eyed call girl had to fight down the urge to laugh and cry at the same time. In all her checkered history, no one had ever been so considerate of her before. It made her want Warren Wendt more than ever, differently than she'd ever wanted anyone. Something was happening to her, something wonderful that she didn't quite understand.
"I'm sure," she finally replied, her eyes shining. "But-" A troubling thought suddenly crossed her mind. Maybe Warren himself would regret it in the morning, when he awakened to remember that he'd made love to her on his own living room couch with his sexually disturbed teenaged daughter asleep upstairs.
The dark-haired widower frowned slightly. Then he got up from the couch and went to the door leading into the hall. He listened for a second or two, then closed the door softly.
"She's sound asleep still. And she rarely wakes up during the night. We'll just have to be quiet, that's all. Do you mind?"
From across the room, he looked at his beautiful neighbor's face and body. Her hair, shaken loose from her neat evening chignon by their fevered embraces, curled around her passion-flushed face and shoulders, and Warren thought that there must not be a more beautiful woman anywhere in the world than the one half-sitting, half-lying there on his sofa. As he watched, she stood up slowly and reached behind her back, and he heard the sound of the zipper on her dress opening.
"I don't mind if you don't," she smiled. And then, as he moved across the room toward her, she gave a tiny shrug of her shoulders, and her dress rustled to the floor in a billowing black circle around her ankles.