The Perils of Paulie (A Matchmaker in Wonderland)

  “I know. We had a tire issue.”

  “And then she—” Louise scrambled out of the car and pointed dramatically at me. “She made us lose time by stopping to help another team. I shouldn’t be punished for that! I wanted to keep going, but she made us stop. I want those infractions taken off of my name. I refuse to be a victim!”

  Melody rolled her eyes and made a note of our score on the car’s logbook.

  “I’m afraid the scoring is based on teams, not individuals,” the poor crew person tried to explain, but Louise was in full drama mode and stormed around insisting that someone get ahold of her father, who would straighten everything out.

  “If you would pull over to the section of the parking lot that is secured,” another crew person told me, pointing to the far end where a couple of RVs had been set up. I remembered vaguely hearing that the crew people would be watching the cars for us while we were in the U.S., but it would be up to us to keep the cars safe when we were abroad.

  “Looks like we’re the last people,” I said, noting the cars already parked.

  “Second to last. I think the Italian team is still behind us. At least, I haven’t seen them pass us.” Melody collected her things and left the car.

  I stretched, greeted the woman who came over to take the car’s flat key, and asked if we were second to last.

  “I’m afraid so,” the crew member said, giving me a cheerful smile. “But don’t worry—it’s only the first day, and you have a long way to go. You can make it up.”

  “True that.” I chatted for a few minutes more, then went to find my hotel room. On my way there, a white car pulled into a parking spot ahead of me. I wouldn’t have noticed it except for the fact that, as I approached, the person inside the car ducked down. I caught the movement out of the corner of my eye as I was about to round the corner to the hotel’s lobby and paused to glance back.

  A bald head bobbed up, saw me standing still, and disappeared again.

  “He didn’t! Dad, this time you have gone too far!” Anger fired inside me at the sight of that bald head. Quickly, I walked to the car and wrenched the door open, saying as I did, “Boris, so help me god, if you think I was kidding when I said I’d tell the producers you were stalking—oh. Uh . . .”

  A man sat up, a bald man to be true, but this one was most definitely not my father’s henchman.

  One of his black eyebrows rose in question.

  “Oh my god, I’m so sorry,” I said, stammering a little when my words tumbled over one another in their haste to apologize. “I thought you were someone else. I’m so, so sorry. I’ll just shut your door now, all right? You can go back to . . . er . . . whatever it is you were doing bent over like that.”

  I closed the car door and, with flaming cheeks, marched into the lobby, cursing myself under my breath, which continued mentally while I collected my room key, was informed that there would be a meeting the following morning at seven a.m. before the day’s racing started, and took the elevator to the fourth floor, where the production company had reserved the entire floor for racers and crew.

  “What room are you in?” Melody asked, an empty ice bucket in her hand as she came toward me, clearly on her way to the ice machine.

  I looked at the plastic key card in my hand. “Four thirty-eight.”

  “Oh, good. I’m across the hall from you. Take a left at the end of this hallway. I’m just getting some ice for some cold drinks with the French team. You’re welcome to join us.”

  “Sounds awesome, but first I’m going to get out of this corset and then take a long, cool shower. I may join you later, if that’s OK.”

  “Absolutely. I’m going to hop in the shower as well. I feel all gritty from the open car.” She gave me a smile and tapped her chest. “There’s one benefit to being the bluestocking character, and that’s the fact that my corset is the Rational style, and not at all bad to wear.”

  I wiggled my shoulders uncomfortably and continued my way down the corridor, saying as I left, “I sure wish I’d had the presence of mind to claim that character. This thing is ghastly.”

  “I’ll lace you up tomorrow if you like,” she called after me. “And I’ll do it looser than wardrobe did for you this morning.”

  “Just so I fit into the pretty clothes.” I toddled on to my room, immediately switching on the air-conditioning, pleased to see that my suitcase had been delivered by the production company. In addition, a wicker basket sat on the bed, as well as a large round hatbox. One of the production assistants handled mending and spot cleaning as needed, but for the most part we were expected to take care of our outfits ourselves. With the exception of our underclothes, which were collected every three days and returned to us laundered.

  I removed the lace shirt and tried desperately to reach the cords of my corset, tied in such a way that I was supposed to be able to undo it myself (Melody and I had already agreed to be corset buddies and lace each other up in the morning), but I couldn’t get my arms twisted around to untie the laces.

  “Dammit,” I muttered, spinning around to try to get at them. After five frustrating minutes, I gave up and peeked out into the hallway. It was empty, but there were two doors across from me, neither of which was directly opposite me. I frowned at them, hesitated, then figured that, even if I got the room that wasn’t inhabited by Melody, whoever was there would be able to help me.

  I tapped at the door just as a man came around the corner. It was the bald man from the car. He stopped, gave me a hard stare, then did an about-face and returned the way he came.

  “Well, that’s odd,” I said aloud.

  “What is? It couldn’t be the fact that you’re all but baring your breasts to me, could it?”

  The door had opened while I was staring after the odd man, revealing Dixon in a pair of jeans and an open shirt. I stared at his naked chest for a moment, all thoughts fleeing my brain except for the wonder and awe at how gorgeous his chest was.

  “Paulie?” he asked.

  “Hmm?” Really, he had the nicest chest I’d ever seen on a man. He wasn’t smooth shaved, but wasn’t hugely hairy, either. He had a nice light dusting of reddish brown hair across his pectorals, sweeping down in a line to his belly button. He had the faintest hint of a six-pack, not ripped like someone who spent hours at a gym but enough definition that my fingers itched to stroke down the silky line of hair. I took a deep breath, curling my fingers into fists in order to keep from reaching out and touching his chest.

  “Don’t do that,” he said, his voice kind of rough.

  “Do what?” I asked, wrenching my gaze from his chest to his face.

  “Take deep breaths.” He closed his eyes for a second. “It . . . does things.”

  “It does?” I wondered if he’d gotten too much sun while driving.

  “Yes. To your . . .” He waved a hand toward my chest and opened his eyes. “Did you want something in particular, or did you just drop by to flaunt your breasts at me?”

  I looked down. I’d forgotten what the corset did to them, presenting them front and center. “No, actually. I was hoping you were Melody so I could get help taking off the corset.”

  His eyes seemed to glaze over for a few seconds. He opened his mouth to speak, closed it again, gave a little cough, then said, “Can I be of assistance?”

  I was in his room before my brain could even alert my mouth that there were words coming. “Sure! That would be awesome. I’d appreciate it a lot. You have no idea how rib-crushing these things are.”

  His eyebrows rose a little, but after hesitating a second he closed the door and followed me into the room. “Not that I’m not happy to help you, but aren’t there hooks on the front you can undo? My sister used to be part of a reenactors group, and her corset had hooks she used to get in and out of it.”

  “This isn’t one of those kinds of corsets, unfortunately.” I spun aro
und so that he could have access to my back. “The laces seem to be knotted. I can’t get them undone. If you can take care of the knot, I can probably do the rest.”

  “No need,” he said in a rather breathless voice as he started to work on the knot. “I’m happy to help.”

  All sorts of smutty thoughts passed through my head while he tugged on the laces, everything from licking that wonderful chest to flinging him onto the bed and rubbing myself all over him. I was a little shocked at such thoughts, because I hadn’t at all intended on pursuing a romance with anyone, let alone the men in the race, but there was something about Dixon that caused my brain to override my common sense.

  “I think—yes, I think this will do it.”

  “Ahhh,” I said, sighing in relief as he got the laces undone and pulled the corset open wide. It sagged down in the front, revealing the skimpy fine-lawn camisole I wore underneath it. I scratched at my front beneath my boobs and took a couple of experimental deep breaths. “You have no idea how good this feels.”

  “You have . . . erm . . . some red marks on your back.”

  “Red marks?” I tried to see over my shoulder. “What sort of red marks? Oh god, they aren’t pimples, are they?”

  “No, marks made by the corset, I believe. They’re above the line of your vest.”

  “My vest . . . oh, undershirt. It’s a camisole, actually. Where are the marks? I can’t see them. Can you put a finger next to them so I can tell Roger where the corset is rubbing?”

  “Just here.” His fingers swept along a spot on my left shoulder blade. I shivered. “And here.”

  It was as if his fingers were made of molten gold, making my skin tingle where he touched.

  “And . . . here.” His hand brushed a line down my spine, inside the camisole. I shivered again.

  “Really? My whole back?” My breath seemed to be somewhat sparse, not enough of it filling my lungs.

  “No. I just wanted to touch you.”

  I turned around at that, pulling the loosened corset off over my head. We stared at each other for the count of seven, he with his bare chest and I almost bare with what was tantamount to a see-through camisole.

  His eyes dilated. My breath caught even more, and suddenly I reached out with both hands and slid them up his chest to his shoulders.

  He made an inarticulate noise, and that’s all it took. I knew I shouldn’t give in to the sudden rush of desire that seemed to grip me with burning fingers, but sanity—or even forethought—didn’t matter at that moment. What did matter was Dixon, specifically the ways and means his body was applied to mine. Without warning, I was against him, the camisole doing nothing to keep the heat of his chest from soaking into my breasts. His hands slid underneath my camisole to stroke my back while his mouth—oh lordy, his mouth! He tasted hot and spicy and slightly sweet, and did I mention hot? Hoo! We’re talking steaming-the-drapes sort of hot, and when his tongue got into the action, it went from steam to an inferno in a flash.

  I pushed off his shirt, trying to touch all of him that I could reach, even while he kissed the very thoughts out of my head.

  A noise in the hallway had us parting, but thankfully only briefly. I stared at him, one hand on my lips. “Wow,” I finally managed to say. My brain was too befuddled to come up with any other words.

  “Indeed,” he said, and then we were smooshed together again and he was kissing me the way I’d secretly been wanting to be kissed ever since I’d set eyes on him.

  “This is wrong,” he murmured at one point. I had paused stroking his chest and arms long enough for him to pull my camisole off, his hands instantly taking possession of my breasts.

  “On the contrary,” I said with a little moan of happiness when his head dipped down so he could swirl his tongue over nipples that suddenly demanded that very act. “It’s so, so right. And left. Do the left.”

  He did the left nipple, warm waves of pleasure rippling out from my breasts to pool deep in my stomach. My girl parts were tingling for all they were worth, demanding equal time with Dixon’s mouth and complaining that the breasts got all the fun.

  “You’re right. I’m wrong. This is good. Very good,” he said, his breath hot when he kissed a path back up to my neck. He hit the spot behind my ear and I swear my legs turned to pudding. His hands left my breasts and went around to the back of me, fumbling with the skirt hooks.

  “I’m so glad you agree. Shoes?” I had managed to get his fly unzipped and was sliding his jeans down, hooking my fingers into his underwear at the same time, but paused when I realized he was still wearing a pair of brogues.

  “Yes, shoes,” he said, gently biting on my earlobe.

  “Shoes are so good,” I said, squirming when my skirt sagged and slithered down to the floor with a rustle. Beneath it were a petticoat and bloomers, both of which Dixon handily dealt with.

  I shoved his pants down over his hips, too caught up with the overwhelming surge of need topped with a huge dollop of lust to even think about the words that my mouth was babbling. All I knew was that I wanted him, and wanted him right then. Not a second later.

  We stumbled our way over to the bed, half tripping over clothing, until I tumbled onto the bed, Dixon pausing only to shuck his shoes, pants, and underwear before joining me. I used the time to hastily fight at the laces of one of my boots. He obliged with the other one, and then we were both naked on the bed together, his body half covering mine as his mouth returned to pepper me with kisses of fire.

  “This . . . To the left a little, please. Yes, right there . . . This escalated quickly,” I said in between pants.

  Dixon lifted his head from where he was once again tormenting my breasts. He froze, confusion and some other emotion filling his face. “It did, didn’t it? Does that make you uncomfortable?”

  “I was going to ask you the same thing.” A wee bit of common sense returned to me, or at least if not common sense, then thoughts of what Dixon might be feeling.

  He stared at me for a moment. “You mean because of Rose?”

  I nodded, feeling more naked than I ever had in my life, the sort of naked that went beyond a mere removal of clothing.

  His expression was shuttered.

  I didn’t want to press him if he truly wasn’t ready for a physical relationship, but I also didn’t want him thinking that a little sheet tangoing meant we’d be spending the rest of our lives together. “The way I see it is that we’re both adults, neither one of us is in a relationship, and we’re doing, for lack of a better term, a little mutual itch-scratching. That’s all. There’s no commitment on either side.”

  “That sounds . . . reasonable.” His face cleared.

  “That’s how I see it, at least.” I slid my hand up his arm. “Not that I intended on doing this at all, because despite what you overheard me saying at the welcome meeting, I really wasn’t planning on getting involved with anyone. But I like you. I like the way you talk, and you look really good in Edwardian clothing.”

  He smiled, and I felt as if my body was bathed in sunshine. “I like you as well. I never know what you’re going to say.”

  “I get that from my dad, unfortunately.” I made a little face. “I’m never going to hear the end of it if he hears that after all my protesting we ended up in bed together. If you don’t mind, I’d like to keep it quiet.”

  “I have no objection,” he said, dipping his head now to gently nibble on my neck. “I’m not keen on everyone knowing my private business.”

  I giggled and slid my hands down his chest to his belly. “I notice you seem to have dropped your personal boundary limit.”

  “I do that sometimes.” He waggled his eyebrows, then kissed me again, setting my tingly parts alive with desire. My breasts felt heavy and needy, and I wiggled against him in silent protest.

  “What?” he asked after a minute of me tugging at his arms and back.
br />   “What what?” I asked, my brain wholly focused on the sensations he was stirring within me.

  “You’re squirming around like you are uncomfortable. Am I too heavy? Should I move off you?”

  I blinked at him a couple of times, trying to process his words. Was he saying he wanted to stop? “Don’t stop. Oh hell, that sounds like I’m begging. Dammit, I don’t care—I’ll beg. Don’t stop. Do more. Much, much more.”

  “You are the oddest woman . . .” The rest of his words were lost when he moved down my body, kissing a path.

  My inner bits sent up a cheer when they realized where he was headed, and although I’d never been entirely comfortable with oral sex—while knowing it was foolish to worry whether someone else thought the view was scenic or not—none of those thoughts even broached my mind. Instead I stopped him because I didn’t want to lie around being passive—I had a burning need to touch and taste him.

  “My turn!” I said loudly, and pushed him over onto his back. “Dear god, you’re gorgeous. Just look at you! Your chest is awesome, and you have muscles, but not muscles, and you’re not so hairy that I want to break out a razor, and your legs are really nice, too.”

  “Not as nice as yours,” he said, doing some sort of wrestling move that ended up with me on my back and him over me again. “Your legs, that is. You don’t have any hair that I see, other than your . . . er . . .”

  “Tingle-bits is what I’m calling them now,” I said, breathless, and bit his shoulder before shoving him again and following him so that I straddled his hips. “Stay put, will you?”

  “But I want to give you pleasure,” he said, his hands instantly taking hold of my breasts.

  “Oh, you’re already doing that. You’re not giving me time to do the same.”

  “On the contrary, I’m enjoying myself immensely.”

  “Good.” I smiled. “Then you’re going to love this.”

  “You’re not doing this right,” he complained. “You should let me have my turn first; then I will allow you to molest me, and after that we will work together and—”