off again. Glancing out the window, Michael saw his father
glaring at him with unstrained fury. There’d be hell to pay when he came back at
the end of the summer. But at least now he was free.
Suddenly Michael realized he wasn’t alone in the back of the
lavish car. First he saw riding boots, black riding boots, and dark gray
trousers. The trousers belonged to a rather old-fashioned but dashing-looking
suit worn by a crazy-good-looking dark-haired man who studied him with a little
smile on his sculpted lips. Michael had no idea who the man was, but he had no
doubt in his mind that he sat in the presence of a dominant friend of Nora’s,
and probably a very important one.
Michael hazarded a timid, “Hello, sir.”
“Bonjour, Michael,” the man said with a French accent,
pronouncing his name like Michelle . French? So this
was Kingsley, Father S’s necessary evil. The man looked Michael up and down once
more before reclining back and throwing his riding boots on the seat opposite
him and crossing them at the ankles. “ Mon Dieu,
chérie does have good taste in her pets, doesn’t she?”
“Pets?” Michael repeated, in some distress.
The man leaned forward and Michael nervously studied his
handsome face—the dark umber eyes, strong European nose, the sensual tilt to his
mouth.
“Tell me, Michael, have you ever had sex in the back of a Rolls
Royce?”
* * *
Nora arched her back and tilted her hips high. Finally
she found the right angle of penetration. Admittedly, it had been her idea for
she and Griffin to fuck on top of her Aston Martin, but once he tunneled inside
her, she realized that car hoods and sex didn’t always mix. Not that Griffin
seemed to mind. While she lay on her stomach across the car hood, her hands tied
behind her neck, Griffin thrust blithely into her. Once she raised her hips, he
slipped his hand under her and found her clitoris. Now equally blithe, Nora
turned her head to the side and smiled.
“When did you get a Ducati?” Nora asked, noticing for the first
time the motorcycle sitting in the corner of Griffin’s garage stocked with
Ferraris, Porsches and one hardcore Shelby Mustang.
“I’m fucking you and you’re asking me about my motorcycle?”
Griffin gasped through gritted teeth.
“Sorry, sir,” she said without any actual contrition. “A Ducati
is the reason Søren and I are together.”
“Dammit, I hate that he has one too.”
“I don’t…”
Nora closed her eyes as a memory floated up out of the mists of
the past.
“Eleanor Louise Schreiber! Get out of bed this instant,” her
mother shouted at her. Nora remembered throwing the covers over her head in her
determination that this would be the day she broke her mother’s spirit. This
would be the day she would defeat the tyranny of organized religion. She’d skip
Mass today and never, ever, go back.
“I’m a Buddhist,” she shouted back from under the sheets.
“Eleanor, get out of bed this instant and get ready for
Mass.”
Nora remembered hearing real anger in her mother’s tone. Good.
Anger made her erratic. She’d either kill her or storm out. Either way, it meant
no church today. If Eleanor could just fight her way out of Mass, she’d be
free…unchained, unfettered, unbound by the Catholic Church forever.
“I’m an atheist.” She flipped over onto her stomach. “I’ll
incinerate the second I walk into church. It’s for everyone’s good that I stay
away from that place.”
Her mother had growled under her breath. So that’s where Nora
got that habit from?
“Eleanor,” her mother said, sighing. Damn. Sighing wasn’t good.
Sighing meant her mother was going to try to either reason with her or bribe
her.
“What?”
“Father Greg is retiring soon. Today is the day the new priest
is starting at Sacred Heart. If the new priest hires someone else to do the
church’s books, you don’t get free tuition to St. Xavier anymore.”
“Don’t care. Send me to public school. No more
glaring at him with unstrained fury. There’d be hell to pay when he came back at
the end of the summer. But at least now he was free.
Suddenly Michael realized he wasn’t alone in the back of the
lavish car. First he saw riding boots, black riding boots, and dark gray
trousers. The trousers belonged to a rather old-fashioned but dashing-looking
suit worn by a crazy-good-looking dark-haired man who studied him with a little
smile on his sculpted lips. Michael had no idea who the man was, but he had no
doubt in his mind that he sat in the presence of a dominant friend of Nora’s,
and probably a very important one.
Michael hazarded a timid, “Hello, sir.”
“Bonjour, Michael,” the man said with a French accent,
pronouncing his name like Michelle . French? So this
was Kingsley, Father S’s necessary evil. The man looked Michael up and down once
more before reclining back and throwing his riding boots on the seat opposite
him and crossing them at the ankles. “ Mon Dieu,
chérie does have good taste in her pets, doesn’t she?”
“Pets?” Michael repeated, in some distress.
The man leaned forward and Michael nervously studied his
handsome face—the dark umber eyes, strong European nose, the sensual tilt to his
mouth.
“Tell me, Michael, have you ever had sex in the back of a Rolls
Royce?”
* * *
Nora arched her back and tilted her hips high. Finally
she found the right angle of penetration. Admittedly, it had been her idea for
she and Griffin to fuck on top of her Aston Martin, but once he tunneled inside
her, she realized that car hoods and sex didn’t always mix. Not that Griffin
seemed to mind. While she lay on her stomach across the car hood, her hands tied
behind her neck, Griffin thrust blithely into her. Once she raised her hips, he
slipped his hand under her and found her clitoris. Now equally blithe, Nora
turned her head to the side and smiled.
“When did you get a Ducati?” Nora asked, noticing for the first
time the motorcycle sitting in the corner of Griffin’s garage stocked with
Ferraris, Porsches and one hardcore Shelby Mustang.
“I’m fucking you and you’re asking me about my motorcycle?”
Griffin gasped through gritted teeth.
“Sorry, sir,” she said without any actual contrition. “A Ducati
is the reason Søren and I are together.”
“Dammit, I hate that he has one too.”
“I don’t…”
Nora closed her eyes as a memory floated up out of the mists of
the past.
“Eleanor Louise Schreiber! Get out of bed this instant,” her
mother shouted at her. Nora remembered throwing the covers over her head in her
determination that this would be the day she broke her mother’s spirit. This
would be the day she would defeat the tyranny of organized religion. She’d skip
Mass today and never, ever, go back.
“I’m a Buddhist,” she shouted back from under the sheets.
“Eleanor, get out of bed this instant and get ready for
Mass.”
Nora remembered hearing real anger in her mother’s tone. Good.
Anger made her erratic. She’d either kill her or storm out. Either way, it meant
no church today. If Eleanor could just fight her way out of Mass, she’d be
free…unchained, unfettered, unbound by the Catholic Church forever.
“I’m an atheist.” She flipped over onto her stomach. “I’ll
incinerate the second I walk into church. It’s for everyone’s good that I stay
away from that place.”
Her mother had growled under her breath. So that’s where Nora
got that habit from?
“Eleanor,” her mother said, sighing. Damn. Sighing wasn’t good.
Sighing meant her mother was going to try to either reason with her or bribe
her.
“What?”
“Father Greg is retiring soon. Today is the day the new priest
is starting at Sacred Heart. If the new priest hires someone else to do the
church’s books, you don’t get free tuition to St. Xavier anymore.”
“Don’t care. Send me to public school. No more
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