A Woman Lost Read online

  I followed the hostess through the maze of tables surrounded by overdressed, pompous asses. I recognized several of them‌—‌women who had been under the knife and hadn’t changed in the past ten years. Or maybe I didn’t recognize them. Rich women were a dime a dozen here. It was how they made it known they had money. How they made themselves feel superior whenever, in fact, they felt inferior.

  “May I ask what time my party arrived?” I quickened my pace to keep up with the lanky hostess.

  She turned to me, obviously puzzled. “I think they’ve been here thirty minutes.”

  Bravo, Peter. Bravo. Tell me 7:30 p.m. and then show up a little after 6:00 p.m. I should have known.

  As the hostess led me to the table, she asked, “Do you live far away?”

  “Not really. I live in Fort Collins.”

  “Oh … you’re right. That’s not very far.” She looked disappointed in me.

  “I’m working on my PhD. I don’t have a lot of free time to hang out.” Why was I justifying myself to this girl?

  “That makes sense.”

  Well, thank goodness the hostess accepted my excuse. As if I needed that haughty girl’s approval for my absences from family dinners at the club. We reached the table.

  “Here’s the last member of your party.” The hostess plastered a huge fake smile on her face.

  “Right on time, Elizabeth.” My brother stood to shake my hand. I’d never understood why he always insisted on shaking my hand, or on using my full name. Everyone else called me Lizzie.

  “Hello, Peter. I thought dinner was at 7:30.” I stared at him angrily. Then, following a deep breath, I blurted out, “Hello, everyone. I hope you haven’t been waiting long.”

  Mom answered, “Half an hour. That sounds about right for you.” She took a sip of her scotch.

  “Peter told me dinner was at 7:30 p.m.” I threw him another nasty look. Mom’s statement had already pissed me off. I was usually the annoying person who showed up early for everything. Whenever I went to a party, I had to wander around the neighborhood so I wouldn’t show up too early and annoy the host. Yet, Mom preferred to think of me as a complete and total fuck-up.

  Peter smiled at me, his usual backstabbing, shit-eating grin. It was one of those charming smiles that could make most women believe anything. His clean-cut appearance helped. Tonight, my brother was going casual; his tie was loosened. “I remember telling you 6:30 p.m.”

  I turned to the woman I assumed was my brother’s fiancée. My mouth fell open; I think my jaw may have even hit the floor. Oh, my God! She was stunning, easily the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. Finally, I found my voice again. “Hello.”

  I reached out to shake her hand and she rose graciously and accepted it. Long blonde hair. Stormy, ocean-blue eyes. Flawless skin. Very little make-up. And arched eyebrows that suggested a devious side.

  My brother’s fiancée flashed me a smile that almost made me wet. “I’m Madeleine,” she said. “But my friends call me Maddie.”

  Madeleine. What a beautiful name.

  “Very nice to meet you, Maddie. People close to me call me Lizzie.” I shot a look at Peter, hoping he’d get the hint. I despised being called Elizabeth.

  “Geez, my bad. I’m sorry I didn’t introduce you two. I don’t know where my head is.” Peter kissed his fiancée before sitting back down and placing his napkin in his lap. Why he had stood that long in the first place baffled me.

  “I apologize for my tardiness,” I said.

  “Always the schoolteacher, Elizabeth.” Peter tsked.

  I took my seat opposite my father. A man of few words, my father gave me a nod of acknowledgment. I knew he wouldn’t talk much, if at all, during dinner. My mother, unfortunately, hadn’t learned from him.

  “Oh, it doesn’t matter,” stated Maddie. “I’m just glad that you made it here. I hope the drive went well.”

  “Yes. Quite pleasant. It’s always good to get some time to relax.”

  “I definitely know what you mean. I love to drive. Whenever I’m stressed out or need time to think, I jump in my car and drive my worries away.”

  “I hate driving. Too many fucking assholes on the road,” said Mom, following her statement with another swallow of scotch.

  “Maddie, do I detect a southern accent?”

  The blonde flushed and looked over at Peter and then at my mom. “Well, I was born in Alabama, but my family moved to California when I was in high school.”

  My mother bristled. Not only was she from the South, but she was also from California. My mother always believed herself to be a great woman, ranking herself among the Rockefellers and Carnegies. The idea was preposterous, of course. She was a small town girl from Montana who had married a man who became wealthy. Before that, they lived in a trailer. It was hard not to say anything to ruffle my mother’s feathers, but I didn’t think that was the best way to get to know my future sister-in-law. Everyone else in the family already hated me. It would be nice to have one ally in the bunch. I wondered why Peter had taken such a risk. He had to know Mom wouldn’t approve of a Southerner. I bet her family had connections to his work.

  The waiter came over to take my drink order.

  “Don’t bother offering her alcohol,” said Mom. “She can’t drink.” She raised her scotch glass and took another slug. Then she set the glass down and smoothed her navy suit.

  The suit covered the whitest shirt I had ever seen, and a pearl necklace ringed Mom’s over-stretched neck at the collar. The pearls and shirt were stark against her olive skin. The combined effect was Mediterranean.

  I ordered a Coke. “It’s not that I can’t drink, Mother. I don’t like to drink when I have to drive.” Her statement embarrassed me. My mother always referred to my preference for drinking only at home. I was such a lightweight that one drink gave me a buzz and forced me to find a cab. In Fort Collins, there was no cab service; hence, I never drank in public.

  After the waiter left, Peter said, “Seriously, though … a Coke? Come on, Elizabeth. Why don’t you try some of this wine? It’s one of the best they have to offer.”

  Peter always pretended to be a wine connoisseur, swirling his glass, sniffing it, and doing all of that annoying rigmarole to show off his knowledge. I hated wine. Every time he offered me wine, I reminded him that I loathed the stuff.

  “Peter, you know she shouldn’t drink wine,” Mom scolded. “She’s already been pulled over for a DUI.” Another gulp of scotch.

  “I was not, Mother!” I looked over at Maddie, horrified of what she would think. “I used to deliver newspapers when I was an undergrad, to help pay the bills. To save time, I rolled the papers while I drove my route. There wasn’t much steering going on, so I got pulled over. Once the cops realized I was just working, they let me go. I was never arrested or cited for anything.”

  “They never gave you a ticket? Not even for reckless driving?”

  “Nope. They were very nice about it. It was almost like we had a bond of some sort, since we all worked really crappy hours. The hours were brutal.”

  I watched my mother raise the scotch glass to her lips again. I had once seen her drive away and lap the house eight times before she was able to get out of our neighborhood. She kept driving by the house as I watched from the front window. She hit the same trash can twice. And I was the fuck-up with alcohol?

  Peter asked, “You can’t stay the night?”

  “No. I have class first thing in the morning. It’ll be easier to head home tonight.”

  “I thought college professors got to pick their own schedules.” His smile was truly smeared all across his face.

  “Professors do. Doctoral students do not. We have to teach the classes no one else wants to teach.” I tried not to bristle. His condescension got under my skin, but I had learned over the years not to show any weakness around my family, or they would pounce.

  “What classes do you teach?” asked Maddie, giving me another bedeviling smile.

  �
��I teach Western Civ,” I said, gazing into her gorgeous blue eyes.

  “I have to admit that history wasn’t my best subject.” Her smile this time was shy, sexy, but she never took her eyes off my face.

  I reciprocated. “I hear that a lot. It surprises me that people aren’t fascinated by it. But I think the problem is that too many teachers concentrate on the facts‌—‌you know dates, places, and names. I want my students to appreciate that history is the greatest story ever told. It has violence, sex, love, romance, adventure, betrayal, drama, comedy. It has it all.”

  “You teach your students about sex?” sniggered my mother, The Scotch-lady. The extravagant diamond on her ring finger nearly blinded me as she raised her tumbler to her mouth again.

  Out of everything I had just said, that was what Mom honed in on.

  “I don’t get out the dolls or anything.” I rolled my eyes. “But sex is important to history.” I swiveled my head in Mom’s direction. She took another sip of her drink and looked away.

  “What do you do, Maddie?” I turned back to the blonde.

  “I’m an interior designer.”

  “Really? One of my good friends studied interior design at CSU. Her program was tough. She pulled all-nighters all of the time.”

  The waiter arrived with my Coke and I took a sip. Secretly, I wished I could add a shot of rum, maybe two shots … or three.

  “Yeah, a lot of people think all we do is put pretty throw pillows on a couch. They have no idea how complicated it is.” She laughed.

  “You should see her work; it’s beautiful.” Peter leaned over and kissed Maddie’s cheek. I wasn’t sure if he was marking his territory or being affectionate.

  Could he be jealous that Maddie and I were hitting it off? I wouldn’t say that fireworks shot into the sky for all to see, but there was a connection. Was it apparent to all?

  “I’d love to see your work. Any chance you brought your portfolio?”

  She laughed and shyly rolled her napkin. “Yes I did. I have an interview here in Denver.”

  “Maddie and I are moving back home,” Peter casually blurted out as he reached for a roll from the middle of the table.

  I looked at him, curious. “Oh? I had no idea.”

  He had been living in California for the past five years. I only saw him for the occasional holiday, and even that seemed excessive. During all those years, I had not visited him; nor did he visit me.

  “We want to be closer to family now. We’re hoping to start our own family soon.” He raised his glass to our mother.

  I looked at my mom, then at my laconic father, then back at Peter. Poor girl. Poor kid.

  Then a thought crossed my mind. Could I seduce Maddie?

  The waiter came over and took our food order. While the others ordered, I took in Maddie’s charms. Madeleine. Captivating. A name befitting such a magnificent creature. Her beauty could rival the Greek goddess Circe. How did Homer put it in The Odyssey? Circe was the most beautiful of all gods. Yes, Maddie could rival this goddess.

  Seducing my brother’s fiancée would normally be a repulsive thought to me. Yet, I wasn’t repulsed. Did Maddie cast a spell on me? What would my mother say? I bet it would be priceless.

  Chapter Three

  I held the steering wheel with my left hand and dialed Ethan’s phone number with my right. I hoped no cops were around, but it was after ten at night on a Monday, so there wasn’t much traffic on the highway.

  “She’s gorgeous.”

  “What?”

  “She is, without a doubt, the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”

  “Lizzie, who in the hell are you talking about?”

  “My brother’s fiancée. Ethan, she’s hot. No, wait. Hot is too vulgar for Maddie. She’s a goddess who should be fed grapes while reclining on satin sheets.”

  “Then why in the hell is she with your brother?”

  I could tell I had woken him up; he wasn’t coherent yet. Maybe he had taken the sleeping pills by accident. “Beats me. I still think he’s a total ass. Are you already in bed? You didn’t give your wife sleeping pills, did you?”

  “No. I didn’t have to. Are we still on for Saturday?”

  “Yeah, I’ll give you the full report then. Good night, my sissy of a friend who can’t tell his wife that it’s over.”

  “Bitch.”

  I smiled and pressed my foot down on the gas pedal. I wanted as many miles as possible between me and my family.

  * * *

  Back in my own bedroom, I leaned down and kissed the top of Sarah’s head.

  “How was dinner?” Her voice sounded like ice that had started to crack but had refrozen instead.

  I kissed her crown again. “I survived. Sometimes I forget just how much I despise those people.”

  “What’s she like?” Sarah was in bed, lying on her side with her back to me, flipping through the TV channels.

  “She seems nice. Cute, funny, charming‌—‌like all of the other women Peter has dated. How was your night?” I stripped down to my underwear and bra and climbed into bed behind her.

  “Pretty quiet. I worked on some reports.”

  She smelled of lavender. “Did you take a bath? You smell good.”

  “Yeah. I had a stressful day.”

  “I’m sorry.” I kissed her neck, felt her body respond as I worked my way up to her ear. She pressed her body closer to mine. I ran my hand down her body and slid it back up slowly. Sarah’s breathing became heavier. Rolling her onto her back, I kissed her lips, slowly at first, then passionately as if our lives depended on it. I climbed on top of her, slowly rubbing one hip between her legs. She arched her back and moaned.

  “You’re so sexy.” I gazed into her chocolate-dark eyes and brushed the hair off her face. Then, I leaned down and kissed her again. Her neck. Her nipples. All the way down her stomach. When I reached her lower stomach, she moved her pelvis urgently, arching her back. I quickly peeled off her pajama pants. When I tasted her, she moaned again. My lips moved over the inside of her right thigh, then her left. The thrusting of her hips told me she wanted more. I wanted her to want it, so I continued to kiss her thighs. Then I found her clit‌—‌darted my tongue across it. She dug her nails into my shoulder as I took her in my mouth. I slid my fingers inside her, thrusting them in and out of her slowly, tasting her simultaneously. Sarah’s hips thrashed more urgently. There was no holding her in place. It took some work to keep my tongue lapping at the right spot, but I knew she couldn’t come unless she was gyrating like mad.

  Her hips were moving so fast now, grinding into my face, so that it took everything I had not to stop. I loved that she got so fucking wet, literally pouring into my mouth as my fingers slid in and out of her so easily.

  Her nails scored my back again and then she arched completely, her legs shaking. I stopped licking but kept my tongue against her clit to heighten the sensation of her orgasm. Slowly, her body began to relax. I slithered up her body and lay next to her, wrapping my arms around her.

  “Feeling a little less stressed?” I whispered into her ear.

  She laughed, her sexy bedroom laugh. “Yes, but I’m still mad at you.”

  I kissed her head. “And you have every right to be. I was an ass, a self-absorbed ass.”

  “At least you can admit it.” She pushed me onto my back and climbed on top of me, leaning in to kiss me. She whispered, “Don’t ever do that again.”

  “I won’t.”

  “How early do you have to get up in the morning?”

  “Don’t worry about that. I’ll skip my bike ride. What else do you have in mind?”

  She smiled, but didn’t answer with words.

  * * *

  “Elizabeth?”

  The clock read six in the morning. “Yeah, Peter, what’s up?”

  “Apparently, not you. I thought you had an early class.” I could almost smell his smugness. My brother was the type who wanted others to know he was a very busy man. He would tie his sho
elace without stopping, too busy to pause for something so insignificant.

  “I think eight o’clock is early. Is everything OK?”

  “Yeah. Maddie and I enjoyed having dinner with you. I have to take care of some stuff today and it will take all day. Maddie has never been to Fort Collins, so I was wondering if you would show her the town. How many classes do you have today?”

  I rubbed my eyes. “My last class is at eleven. I can meet her after that.”

  I gave him directions to my office and then hung up. Rolling over, I noticed Sarah was not in the room. I listened, and heard the shower running. When I wandered into the bathroom, there was no sign that she had heard the phone. In an instant, I decided not to tell her about my afternoon plans.

  * * *

  The classroom door opened and I watched as Maddie slid in and took a seat in the back row. Carefully stepping over the cord to the overhead projector, which displayed my lecture outline, not wanting to stumble in front of her, I asked, “Can anyone tell me what the word defenestration means?”

  A sea of blank stares.

  I chuckled. “Of course no one can! That would mean one of you actually did last night’s reading. I should give you guys a pop quiz on the material.” I paced back and forth in front of the class before settling behind the podium.

  “Nah, you don’t want to do that. It would be more work than just telling us. You would have to think of questions, then grade them, record them, pass them out,” said Joshua, the most talkative student in the class.

  “But, Joshua, you forget that teachers love work, especially historians. We love to read, write, grade‌—‌you name it. We love tedious stuff.” I glanced at my lecture notes to focus my attention on my class, and not on Maddie. “Defenestration means to throw someone, or something, out a window.”

  “Are you going to throw one of us out a window?” joked Joshua.

  “Don’t tempt me, especially after last week’s tests, which I have graded and will return after class.” I saw some looks of panic. Good. “But we are only on the first floor, so it wouldn’t be much fun to toss one of you out. Besides, I am not that strong.