The Perils of Paulie (A Matchmaker in Wonderland)

  “No, it’s not that at all. I highly approve of your . . . er . . . pubic zone. It’s that garment. I’m trying to decide if it’s alluring or amusing.”

  I struck a pose, wiggling my derriere, which sounded a lot more risqué than it looked, since the bloomers were gathered at the waist and poufed out in the back. “The answer is that my allure is not such that mere mortal man can resist it. Why don’t you take off some of your clothes? You have too many on.”

  “If you wish,” he said in that proper English accent that made me giggle. “It is a warm day, after all, and I wish to be comfortable while I ogle your womanly curves, noncurves, and general allure.”

  “And my curves and noncurves want you to be comfortable,” I agreed, and helped him out of his suit jacket, collar, tie, vest, and shirt. I abandoned him to remove my boots, wiggling my toes happily while sitting on the edge of my bed, watching him hop one-footed while he tried to pull off the other shoe. The underwear they’d given the men was evidently an extended version of boxer shorts, these ending just above his knee. The front had buttons on it, while, to my surprise, there was an escape hatch on the rear side. “I am having no judgment qualms on your undies, by the way. You look incredibly sexy in yours.”

  “But you like me better out of them?” he asked.

  “Oh, hell yes.” I stared with wide eyes when he shucked his underwear. “So very much better this way.”

  “It does have its advantages.”

  I cleared my throat and tried to look like I didn’t want him just for his really fabulous body. “I missed you last night, by the way.”

  “As did I. I had hoped we could get together, but evidently it was not to be—”

  He paused when a knock sounded on my door.

  “It’s probably Melody,” I told him, getting to my feet.

  Dixon glanced around and moved into the bathroom. “Oh?”

  “Yeah. She has no problem getting out of her corset but knows I have a hard time with mine.”

  The last words were spoken as I opened the door.

  Unfortunately, it was not Melody at the door. Standing with his back to me was Roger.

  “—it saddens us all, but I am sure the other members of Team Sufferin’ Suffragettes will continue on gamely. And here is the team mechanic, Paulie, to give us her reaction to this news. Paulie—”

  Roger had turned around at that point, revealing not only Tabby and Sam filming him (and now me, in my underwear), but also his expression, which went from slightly worried to flat-out dumbfounded when Dixon emerged from the bathroom, a white towel around his waist.

  “Uh . . .” I said, my eyes huge and my brain going utterly blank. “Um . . . hi.”

  “Hello,” Roger said absently, looking quickly from Dixon to me and back again. “What . . . er . . . apparently you’re . . .”

  “Busy,” Dixon said, and calmly came to stand behind me. “Was there something in particular you wanted?”

  Roger managed to collect himself. Behind him, Sam rustled in a pocket and withdrew some money, which he handed to Tabby. The latter gave me a thumbs-up.

  “Yes, actually, I wanted to get Paulie’s reaction to the news that team leader Louise has decided to step down and return to California, where she will pursue an acting career.” Roger’s eyes had an oddly speculative look.

  “Louise left? I can’t say I’m surprised, since she was so clearly unhappy.” I remembered that I was speaking to her father and that a little kindness would not hurt. “Naturally, she will be missed. She was . . . uh . . .” I couldn’t bring myself to outright lie and say that she was a good driver, or even good company, and finally decided on, “She was a natural in front of the camera, and very comfortable at being the center of attention. I’m sure she’ll be an outstanding actress.”

  “Normally, the production would bring in the backup female driver to replace Louise, but unfortunately our backup has decided she is unable to participate and thus we’re going to have to leave the suffragette team with just two members.” He put his arm around me and swung around so we were both facing the camera. “It will mean longer hours driving for both you and Melody. How do you feel about that?”

  “Just fine,” I said, wondering if he thought I was going to protest the loss of Louise. I’d gladly pick up more time driving just to be rid of her, and had a feeling Melody would be of the same mind.

  “Excellent, excellent,” he said, glancing at Sam and the camera. “As our viewers know, in addition to the entire French team, we’ve lost another racer today in the form of Abbie, who had to return home to attend to her ailing mother. It’s been a hard day for the teams who’ve lost a member, but I’m sure everyone will rise to the challenge. And now I’ll let you return to . . . er . . .”

  “Dixon,” I said, and, disentangling myself from him, smiled broadly at the camera while backing up into my room. “He was helping me with my corset. It’s impossible to take off on my own, you see, and normally I have Melody do it, but she doesn’t have any problem with hers, and sometimes she gets busy and doesn’t have time to help me get rid of the corset, and Dixon was in the hall when I came in, so it seemed only natural to have him help me get it off.”

  Behind me, Dixon made a noise that was part laughter and part sigh.

  “Er . . . just so,” Roger said, the speculation still rife in his eyes. Tabby doubled over in silent laughter.

  “These corsets are a real pain to wear,” I started to say, but Dixon ended the conversation by reaching around me and closing the door. I turned on him. “Dixon! I was trying to explain why you’re here in my room.”

  “Which would make sense if I wasn’t standing here in a towel and nothing else,” he said, his eyes filled with amusement.

  “I was coming to that,” I said in a grandiose manner. “I had a whole story lined up about how I spilled coffee on your clothes and you had to take them off because you didn’t want the coffee to stain, and that it looked like we were in a compromising position, but, really, it was all innocent.”

  “But it isn’t innocent,” he said, sliding the strap of my camisole down. “It’s not innocent in the least.”

  “Dear god, I hope not.” I tugged on his towel, wrapping my arms around his waist and tipping my head back to kiss him.

  Another knock sounded at the door.

  Dixon swore and grabbed the towel from the floor.

  I stalked to the door, annoyed.

  “Did you hear the— Oh!” Melody stood at the door in street clothes, her eyes widening when she saw Dixon. “Sorry. I didn’t know you were occupied.”

  I sighed. “It’s OK. We just entertained Roger and the camera crew. I assume you’re going to ask me if I heard about Louise? The answer is yes, I have. Roger filmed me getting the news.”

  “I see.” Her gaze flickered to Dixon for a moment before she said apologetically, “We can talk about it later. Sorry to disturb you.”

  She pulled the door closed. I eyed it for a moment. “Who else is left to disturb us? Your brother?”

  “No, he was with us in the hallway.”

  “Right.” I turned around and leaned against the door in as seductive a pose as possible. “Then I think we’re safe.”

  “We may be alone,” he said with a suggestive waggle of his eyebrows, “but I don’t know how safe you are. At least, not where it concerns my desires.”

  “Oooh,” I said, shimmying forward until I was once again pressed up against him. The thin lawn of the camisole did nothing to diminish the sensation of his chest rubbing against my breasts. “Are we going to role-play? I’ve never done it, but always wanted to.”

  “We can if—” He stopped and we both stared at the door.

  “Really, this is getting too much,” I complained, and handed Dixon his towel before going to the door. I opened it just enough to glare through it and said tersely, “What
the hell do you want?”

  The bald-headed man named Anton stood there, a mildly pleasant smile on his face. “It occurred to me that we got off to a bad start, and since we are likely to see each other daily, it would be best for me to introduce myself and correct any misimpression you have.”

  “Busy now,” I said, and slammed the door. My conscience pricked enough to make me open it up and add, “Sorry. It’s a bad time. Later I’m going to want to have a long talk with you, especially about any contacts you have in Russia.”

  He blinked at me.

  I gave him a pointed look, then closed the door again.

  Dixon’s lips were thinned, his expression annoyed in a way that made me want to giggle. He strode to the door, took up the DO NOT DISTURB sign, and opened the door to hang it on the handle. Standing in the middle of the hallway, looking in the other direction, was Anton. His eyebrows rose at the sight of Dixon.

  “Ainslie,” he said with a little nod of acknowledgment.

  “Serik,” Dixon answered, and, without saying anything more, closed the door, locking it, and putting the chain on for good measure. “Do you ever have the feeling the fates are against you?”

  “I hadn’t before this, but I’m now mentally running down a list of everyone in the cast and crew and figuring out who’s likely to come knocking at my door next. Maybe we should hurry.”

  He sighed and, to my intense sadness, pulled on his pants. “I don’t want to hurry. I want to take my time exploring every delicious inch of you.”

  “Then why are you leaving?” I asked, watching unhappily as he put on his shoes and slipped into the shirt, leaving it unbuttoned while he gathered the rest of his things. “You can’t explore if I’m not in the same room, and I wanted to do a little wandering around your landscape, too.”

  “Someone, somehow, will interrupt us again, and as I said, I don’t want to be rushed.” He opened the door and looked back at me. “Two hours. My room. Don’t tell anyone where you’re going. Bring ice.”

  “Ice? Why?”

  He was gone, the door closing quietly behind him, leaving me to tell my lady parts to cool their jets for a couple of hours, and to ponder just exactly how he intended on using the ice.

  JOURNAL OF DIXON AINSLEY

  26 July

  11:40 p.m.

  Salt Lake City, Utah

  I’ve been neglectful in recording the events of the journey. To be honest, I considered giving up the whole journaling project, but Paulie urged me to continue, saying she was having fun with her own journal and that it gets easier with practice.

  I asked her if she was recording conversations. “It seems I have a knack for remembering them, and it makes for more interesting reading than ‘I asked this and so-and-so answered that,’ so I make sure to include as much dialogue as I can recall.”

  “I do that, too, although sometimes I have to sit and think about what people said. And of course, I write about us.”

  “Us? How so?”

  “You know.” She waved a hand around and tickled my ribs. “Us. This. What we do together. The way you used the ice on me, for example. I’ll be sure to include that, although I’m not sure if I’ll ever recover from you popping that ice cube up the ol’ hoohaw.”

  “You record our intimate details? Is that wise?” I asked, looking down at the top of her head. We were in my bed, having gone to my room after repeated interruptions in our attempt to engage in lovemaking, and, having completed said lovemaking (complete with a couple of very enlightening ice cubes), were now lying together, our bodies tangled in that way that lovers have, and a towel underneath us to soak up the results of melted ice.

  “Wise how? Or rather, how would it not be wise?”

  “You said you intended on publishing your diary of the trip. I was considering doing the same, but I would not wish to expose you to improper attention via it.”

  She rolled over to lie on top of me, her delicious breasts pressing into my chest in a way that instantly had me thinking about whether or not I could manage a second go-round. “Improper attention. Hee hee hee.”

  I swatted her ass. “You know what I mean.”

  “I do, and I appreciate your concern. As for my journal, I’m going to edit out all the naughty bits. That’ll be just for me . . . and you, if you’d like a copy.”

  “Of course.” I slid my hands down her back to her plump ass. I loved that ass with all its curves and enticing softness. “Would you like me to do the same?”

  “Let me read your journal, or write up our smutty bits? Because the answer to both is yes, please.”

  “You are an odd woman,” I commented, smiling a little to let her know I meant it in a positive way.

  “And you’re just noticing this?” She smiled and drew a pattern on my chest. My penis stirred, leaving me to think thoughts that a second round wasn’t as far-fetched as I might have considered. “I didn’t think I’d like erotic literature, as I prefer to think of our writings, but I have to admit that reading back to that lovely night, it really got my motor running.”

  She wiggled against me in a way that definitely made me think I could perform miracles.

  “If you keep moving like that, you’ll do more than get my motor running,” I said with a bit of masculine pride.

  “Really?” She rolled off me and inspected my penis. “Holy cow, you’re right. I didn’t think men could do that more than once in an hour.”

  “Most men can’t, I’m sure,” I said in an insufferably smug voice, but one I felt was fully allowable given the circumstances. “I, however, am a superior sort of man, one who is aroused only by a superior type of woman, and you are most definitely that woman.”

  “Goodness,” she said, all admiration. She looked down to my penis, up to my face, and back down to it. “Do you need some help? I should help, shouldn’t I? This isn’t all your responsibility.”

  “Your assistance is always welcome,” I said graciously.

  “Right.” She got to her knees and seemed to have some trouble deciding what to do. “Should we do some role-playing? That would be exciting and different, wouldn’t it?”

  “It would, but I’m not sure we need that—”

  “Good! I’ve always wanted to try, and never had a boyfriend who was into it. Let’s see . . . what should we role-play?”

  “How about you be a sexy American woman with the loveliest legs in the country, and I will be a visiting Englishman who loves the way your legs wrap around my hips?”

  She batted away that suggestion. “Naw, that’s too realistic. What’s exotic and out of the ordinary? Pirates! You can be a pirate captain and I’ll be your buxom first mate.”

  “No pirates,” I said quickly, shaking my head at her to emphasize the point. “My brother had a bad experience role-playing pirates.”

  “Pooh. Well . . . King Henry VIII?”

  “The one who ordered the deaths of many of his wives?”

  She made a face. “Yeah, as soon as I said it I knew it was bad. Downton Abbey?”

  “Never watched it.”

  “Crap. I would suggest milkmaid and shepherd boy, but I have no idea what either does.”

  “How about,” I said, rolling her over until my mouth was hovering over one of her round breasts, “we leave the role-playing for another time, and instead I kiss every inch of you?”

  “That sounds jim-dandy fine with me,” she agreed quickly, and dug her fingers into my shoulders when I took a nipple gently between my teeth. “Oh lord, yes! To hell with role play! Kiss my inches! Kiss my inches!”

  I did so. It was glorious. She tasted of salt and woman and something that I couldn’t define, a slightly sweet scent that seemed to wind itself around me and hold me in bonds. Silken bonds. Silken bonds of desire . . . No, that sounds too trite and purple.

  But it was true. I felt bound to her in so
me way that went beyond just the physical pleasure I found in kissing and tasting and in some cases nibbling on her. It was as if she satisfied me at a level that I couldn’t explain. I still can’t. It doesn’t make sense, because I know she isn’t interested in a long-term relationship. She’s made it perfectly clear that she enjoys our time together, but that she’s a free spirit.

  That’s fine. I’m a free spirit, too. I am not looking for a girlfriend or, god help me, a wife.

  One thing did bother me while I was doing all the nibbling and kissing and touching and rubbing her silken legs alongside my aching flesh, and that was the need to tell her the truth about Rose.

  “You are so beautiful,” I murmured against her thigh, feeling like I was going to burst soon if I didn’t plant myself inside her. “I love the way you taste and feel.”

  She pulled me upward, her hands caressing my back, and then lower to my ass. “That is very sweet of you, especially since I’m not beyond mildly pretty, but I appreciate it nonetheless. And I love how you taste, too. I’ve never thought much about it before, but you are all hot and spicy and salty at the same time, and it kind of drives me crazy. It has to be some primitive thing, and if you don’t put that condom on right now, I’m likely to die right here of unrequited lust.”

  I smiled and got the condom on without incident, the feeling of her heat when I sank into her sending little streaks of fire up my groin and straight to my spine. It was a glorious feeling, and when I lifted her hips to better position myself, she went wild underneath me, her legs tightening around me until I found myself on my back with her riding me.

  “Do you mind?” she said in little panting breaths. Hell, she even panted in a sexy manner.

  What was going on that I found panting arousing?

  “Not at all, just so long as you don’t stop that little twirl you do,” I managed to answer. It wasn’t easy, because at that point my brain felt like it was full of treacle and operating at one-eighth the normal speed and, frankly, I was a bit surprised I could even get coherent words out.