The Wild Side

Every time a different man. Every time a new look.

Melissa’s body contracted with fierce longing. She wanted that. That ability to try out a new personality, to let loose, experiment, play. Just for a month or two. More than that and she’d get sick of it, for sure. But two months of wild, nonstop partying and blow-me-away passion would be fine.

The man swept Rose into an embrace and pushed her back against the wall, kissed her mouth, face and hands, and then ruined the entire mood by making a doggy growling noise deep in his throat. Melissa made a gagging face and closed the door noiselessly on Rose’s pretend-outrage squeal of “Oh, Your Majesty.”

Ix-nay on the oggies-day. Melissa didn’t need a “Your Majesty,” either. She wasn’t that picky, by any means. Just a nice parade of your garden-variety perfect studs who could go all night.

She slumped back onto her couch. Who was she kidding? A different man every night? Ick. But one would be great. One no-strings man who set her clock ticking, with whom she could explore things Bill had never shown her. One man who would do a damn sight more than climb on top of her, produce a lot of noise and sweat, then roll off, mumble an endearment or two and start snoring. Maybe someone tremendously talented with ice cubes and honey.

She looked down at her bare feet, ratty shorts and Toy Story T-shirt and pushed back her straight, bobbed hair self-consciously. Yeah, right. She was sex goddess material for sure. Men would throng to her door the minute she announced herself available. An entire squadron of supergeeks, fresh from their Star Trek convention. A brood of wholesome innocents brought up lusting after Mary Ann on Gilligan’s Island instead of Ginger.

Hardly the beefcake she had in mind. But the really amazing guys never gave her a second glance. She was always the cute little sister they never had. Aw…

Melissa sneered and threw a newly recovered brown couch pillow across the room. Fine. She’d been toying with the idea of a makeover for years, but Bill always insisted she’d look fake.

Well, tough. Bill was history. The time was right. If Rose could reinvent herself, so could Melissa. Not for nothing was she assistant director of marketing at the Museum of Fine Arts. Her job was to make things sexy that people might not think were sexy otherwise. If she could make ‘em line up around the block for a glimpse of shards from an ancient Egyptian cooking pot, she could make herself over into the kind of woman someone other than Elmer Fudd would find attractive. Right?

Right.

She grabbed the July issue of Cosmo off her coffee table and leafed through, noting the styles and attitudes of the models. Where to begin? If she was going to go on a rampage, even if she ended up doing so only mentally—an attitude change if not a real sexual odyssey—then she’d have to make sure she got a style she could live with. She stopped and stabbed her finger on the picture of a sleek pouty model with a cap of dark hair. Her all-black, figure-hugging outfit made her look casual, elegant, sexy and innocent all at once, exactly what Melissa wanted.

She shut the magazine and hugged it to her chest. The works. The whole shebang. The New Her. To celebrate her final thrilling freedom from loving Bill. To celebrate the need to explore that strange dark desire that had been thrashing around inside her for the past few weeks. To celebrate the birth of her female power and the chance to bring it to its fullest, most independent potential.

Now just one problem. Where was she going to find the man? The one who’d do all this investigating with her? Help explore the depth of her femininity? Help her overcome any and all inhibitions and take her places she’d never— “Oh, yes, Your Majesty!” Rose’s voice carried clearly from the corridor right into Melissa’s fantasy.

Melissa smiled. Right on cue, not that she would have taken long to think of Rose. What more could she ask for? The new Melissa was a done deal. She had the desire, the means—and the perfect mentor right across the hall.

2

MICHAEL SLATER TOOK a deep breath of the sea breeze wafting through the screened-in porch of his parents’ summer house in Howarth, Maine. Below him, sparkling through the evergreen branches and birch trunks, spread Fischer Bay, dotted with islands glowing green in the early sun. The still-chilly morning air, spiced with the scent of pine and the sea, flowed over him with a cleansing freshness that went a long way toward instilling peace in his always-restless soul. The place definitely got under your skin, into your blood.

He took a few steps toward the south edge of the porch, running his hand along the screen, wet from last night’s rain, causing a shower of drops to fall on his bare forearm. During the year he’d spent nursing his mother, he’d begun to appreciate solitude, something he’d never thought would happen after thirty-three years jammed with people.

But not this much solitude.

He clenched his fist; muscles contracted in his forearm, rolling away the drops of water collected from the screen. Since his energies had stopped being focused on keeping his mother alive, keeping her comfortable, he’d started wanting someone around. Maybe Riley would want to visit. He missed Riley. Maybe a woman. He damn well missed women. He could see a woman here, in this idyllic place, moving around the house, reading on the porch or sitting on the rocky shore watching the water.

He laughed; the sound startled a hummingbird hovering at a nearby tree. Maybe he should pack up and go back to Boston, back to telephones and electricity and cynical city dwellers before he turned into a total sap.

Sounds that had grown unfamiliar broke the tranquil morning behind him in the woods. A rough engine, a truck or a van, crunching stones on the dirt road, pinging them out of the way of its wheels. Slate swung around, staring apprehensively through the house toward the front entrance. Who the hell would be coming at this time of morning?

The bell rang twice, impatiently. He went to the door, grimacing at the intrusion into his day.

A pimply, long-haired kid moved his head in rhythm to whatever horrible music was blaring through his headphones directly into his eardrums. “Telegram. Sign here, please.”

Slate quelled a flash of alarm, signed the form and took the telegram into the house, breathing in relief when the noise of the van engine faded away. He went back out onto the porch and opened the envelope slowly, carefully. Then stared, adrenaline making his body taut.

Just one word: Gemini.

MELISSA SAT ON THE EDGE of her bed in unfamiliar tight black pants, an olive-green tank top and chunky shoes, staring at the Brand-New Her in the mirror. Her straight bob had given way to a short cut that outlined the shape of her face and head and made her eyes look enormous. And lo and behold, freed from the weight of its former length, her hair had actually managed to wave slightly, though it did better on humid days.

After the haircut—miraculously, she’d gotten the appointment two days after she decided on her new look—she’d gone on to take a free makeup lesson at a department store counter, and emerged looking like some Bride of Dracula who had never seen the sun. Pale powdery skin, dark lips, orangey blush in places she never blushed. Layers of eye shadow in progressively lighter shades, which was supposed to make her eyes look “natural,” but which changed their shape so that she scarcely recognized herself… It had been a horror.

So she and Penny had invaded the makeup aisle at Walgreen’s and spent an extended evening with Cosmo as their guide, trying to see if their fresh-faced farm-girl features could be coaxed into exotic sensual splendor.

Okay, well, they got close enough.

Then there was the manicure, and the pedicure, and the rather painful waxing, which did leave her legs fabulously smooth after the welts died down.

Melissa smiled at herself in the dark-framed mirror on her dresser. She did look different. Older. More sophisticated. Better. Up until now, it had been easy—a fun week. But now it was going to get harder, and scary. Now she was going to go over to Rose’s apartment and ask how to meet a man she could have a wild, meaningless fling with. It was like the research was all finished, and now she had to sit down and write the term paper.

She curled her lip. So far she’d made it to the side of her bed closest to the door. The next step would be walking out into her living room. From there, it was a matter of, say, fifteen feet to the front door. Six more to cross the hall. Then the knocking, the waiting, the small talk, and finally, Getting to the Point.

She shook her head in a quick shudder of denial. Insurmountable. She couldn’t do it. Or maybe she could. But maybe tomorrow would be a better—

The phone rang next to her bed. She reached over her ivory bedspread and picked it up eagerly, hoping it was Penny, who would convince her tomorrow was a much better option. Or maybe one of her college roommates, who would talk to her until it was too close to dinner to go over there, or maybe—

“Melissa, it’s Bill.”

“Bill.” Her way-over-him heart gave a traitorous flip. Was this a sign? A sign she was barking up the wrong tree entirely? “How…how are you doing?”

“I’m fine. Fine.” He was distracted, uneasy. He had something to say. She knew without seeing him that he was puckering his mouth and drumming his fingers impossibly fast on whatever surface he was near. “How are you doing?”

“I’m great…. What’s up?” Did he miss her? Did he want to see her? Did he want to get back together?

Forget it. Ha! She’d just tell him—

“I wanted to tell you…” He gave an exasperated sigh. “Maybe this was a stupid mistake. But I thought you should know.”

“Yes?” That I’ve been dreaming of you every night, Melissa. That I miss you more than I can say.

Oh? Sorry, Bill. Life without you is just peachy. In fact, I’m about to—

“I met someone. I’m seeing someone. I…wanted you to hear it from me.”

Melissa clenched her teeth in a huge happy smile and pasted her eyes open extra super-by-gosh wide. “Oh! Bill that’s fabulous! I’m really happy for you. And thanks for telling me. That was so sweet of you!”

“Oh, man, I’m so glad you’re not upset. She’s pretty terrific.” He gave a gooey chuckle. “Hey! Maybe you could come over sometime and meet—”

“Bill, thanks so much for calling. Great to hear from you. Gotta go. Bye.”

Melissa hung up the phone, clenched her fists at her sides and punished her cool gray carpet with angry strides to the mirror, chest heaving from rage and hurt and humiliation and whatever else she could possibly be feeling. What bizarre, illogical trait made her want Bill to still want her just so she could have the luxury of disappointing him? So she could sit on her satin pillow, bejeweled and perfumed, smile indulgently and wave her silk hanky to the guards to drag him off to her castle’s Rejected Males Room?

The minute he’d made it clear he didn’t want her, her castle had turned into a scummy pond, and she was a princess reverting to frogdom, crouching on a cold slimy lily pad, lonely and hurt.

Well, to hell with him.

She turned abruptly and stalked through her apartment, swiped her keys off the hall table, banged through her door, took four furious steps down the corridor and knocked on Rose’s door before she could weaken even slightly and change her mind.

“Who…who is it?”

Melissa frowned. Had she knocked that hard? Rose sounded like she expected the entire Boston Police Force brandishing large weapons.

“It’s Melissa. Can I talk to you?”

The door opened and Rose appeared, looking wan and uneasy and about five years younger than she had that night with the Saudi prince last week. She wore bright blue capris, and an oversize white shirt that probably used to belong to one of her male admirers.

“Sure. Sure.” Rose smiled and beckoned. “Come on in. You look different. Did you change your hair? I like it. It looks kind of like mine.”

Melissa nodded and touched her short hair self-consciously, unwilling to admit she’d had Rose’s sleek, natural style in mind. Not that you saw much of Rose’s hair since it was usually hiding under wigs.

“Would you like a cup of tea? I’m just making some.”

Melissa nodded again and wandered among Rose’s whimsical, colorful assortment of rugs, chairs and knickknacks, wondering what the etiquette was for asking someone she barely knew to recommend a sex partner. She picked up a hand mirror with the beautiful, delicate face of a girl painted on the back, and replaced it carefully on the cluttered coffee table.

“Lovely day.” Rose smiled graciously. “I’m going to a Red Sox game tonight. Looks like we’ll have good weather.”

Come on, Melissa, spare her the small talk and get to the point. Melissa stopped opposite a bizarre giraffelike statue made out of tin cans wired together. “Oh, you have a Randstetler sculpture!”

“Is that what it is?” Rose rescued the shrieking kettle from its distress and poured boiling water into two cups. “A friend gave it to me. I can’t say I love it.”

“Your friend is very smart. Randstetler is starting to make a name for himself. His works will probably skyrocket in price. Strange guy, really into animal rights and kind of preachy about it. He works it into every subject.” Melissa gently touched the giraffe’s aluminum nose. Okay. Enough prattle. Out with it. “Listen, Rose. I wonder if I could ask you sort of a strange favor.”

Rose laughed, a nice warm sound not at all like the silly giggle she’d been making in the hall with His Majesty. “I specialize in granting strange favors. And I was thinking of asking you for one, too. You first, though. Have a seat and ask away.”

Melissa flopped into an overstuffed burgundy chair with a white lace antimacassar spread across the top. “I broke up with a guy a few months ago… Well, he broke up with me.”

“Ugh.” Rose wrinkled her nose, handed Melissa her tea and sank into a chair opposite. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m fine. I’m fine now.” Melissa set her mug carefully on a flowery coaster. “In fact, I’m ready to date again.”

“Good for you.”

“But I was wondering…well, the truth is, Bill and I…we didn’t have the greatest sex life.”

“Double ugh.” Rose grimaced. “You’re well rid of him.”

“But before I start looking seriously… Since you seem to know so many guys, I was wondering…if you knew anyone I could have a fling with.” Melissa covered her face with her hands. “Oh, man. If you knew how hard that was to come out with…”

“It’s okay, it’s okay.” Rose laughed again. “I think it’s a great idea. Everyone should have a wild romance or two.”

Melissa dropped her hands. “Is that what you’re doing?”

“Sort of.” The friendly warmth in Rose’s face dimmed. She took a sip of tea and brightened again. “Well, I’m happy to help. I do seem to know a lot of men.”

“Oh, thank you.” Melissa practically gasped out her relief. “I was so afraid you’d be offended.”

Rose shook her head. “Nonsense. I admire you. I bet a lot of women want what you do, but don’t have the courage to go after it.”

“I don’t feel courageous.”

Rose shrugged. “What do they say in all the war movies? Courage is about acting brave when you’re not feeling it.”

“Thanks.” Melissa grinned. For all her artifice around men, Rose was amazingly genuine.

“So, are you talking nice sweet gentle teacher? Or fulfilling your every fantasy with Mr. Studmuffins?”

“Mostly the latter.” Melissa blushed, feeling as if she were discussing an order of meat at the supermarket. “I don’t want to settle down until I’ve experienced some more of what everyone makes such a fuss about.”

Rose smiled, a rueful Mona Lisa half smile. “You don’t think a husband can give that to you?”

“Not what I’m after.” Melissa swallowed some tea and shook her head emphatically. “Husbands come with the whole truckload of Having a Relationship. I want it free of the cargo this time, so I can try out being someone different, just for a while.”

“I see.” Rose put her tea down slowly. “Well, I’m hardly the one to talk you out of it. You’re sure this is what you want? I mean, most women find it hard to…be intimate without falling in love.”

“But you don’t.”

“No.” Again the rueful smile. “I don’t.”

“Well, I won’t know for sure until I try, but if I’m acting out a personality that isn’t really me, and he’s not the kind of average nice guy I usually go for, then I don’t think the risk of real love is high.” Melissa shrugged, stilling her hands, which had been twisting in her lap. “And if I get hurt, it’s my fault. I asked for it.”

“True.” Rose sat quietly for a moment, then slapped her thigh. “So. If you’re sure, I know I can help you.”

“Oh. Wow. That’s great.” Melissa forced a smile, suddenly on the verge of panicking. What the hell did she expect? She was here because she knew Rose could help her.

Rose stood and went over to the window, glanced out rather anxiously, then perched on the sill. “I wonder if I could ask you a favor, too.”

“Sure, of course.”

“I need a place to…get away from it all for a while. I don’t have much money, and I thought maybe if your family’s condo in the Berkshires was free, you could…rent it to me cheap in exchange for Tom?”

Tom. The name shot a shiver through Melissa’s body. Oh, geez. “I…don’t see why not. My parents don’t usually go up until mid-July. But I’d have to check with them.”

“That would be great. I really need a vacation.” Rose smiled, but her hands clenched the sill beneath her. “At any rate, Tom would be perfect. He’s the friend of a friend—they may have dated briefly. Amanda can’t say enough about him—handsome, sexy, gentle. One of those guys who’s into women but not commitment. You’ll probably like him.”

“Oh. Wow. Okay.” Melissa nodded rapidly, feeling like a complete fool.

Rose headed to the phone. “And if you don’t, it’s not like you have to do anything. I’ll call Amanda for his number. Are you free tomorrow night?”

“Uh. Yes. I’m free.” Tomorrow? Was she ready for this? Tomorrow? Did she really want to? This was totally terrifying.

Rose picked up the phone and dialed, smiling at Melissa. She chatted with Amanda and got Tom’s number. Half fascinated, half freaking, Melissa gulped, feeling as if she’d run out of air and saliva at the same time. The entire twenty minutes she’d spent in Rose’s apartment had had a surreal quality. She couldn’t quite seem to grasp that this was really happening, as if the whole scene might be just another daydream.

Rose reached to dial Tom’s number, then stopped, hand in midair, and bit her lip. “Uh, Melissa…why don’t you go home and check with your parents about the condo? I’ll try Tom and let you know about tomorrow.”

“Yeah. Okay. Great.” Melissa gulped the last of her tea and beat a hasty retreat. Back in her apartment, she called her parents, hands shaking. What was she going to say? Hi, Mom, hi, Dad. I need to rent our condo to a friend in exchange for wild sex with a guy I don’t know. Would that be okay?

Her dad answered and summoned her mom to the phone. Somehow, Melissa managed to stammer out the request, brushing aside their numerous concerned questions. Yes, she was fine, just a little tired. Yes, the job was great. Yes, she was eating well. No, she didn’t miss Bill. Okay, no problem, bye.

Poor Rose. Melissa hung up the phone, disappointed. Her parents were opening the condo early this year, to celebrate their fortieth anniversary over Fourth of July weekend.

Immediately a knock sounded on the door. It was Rose, looking a little anxious. “Did they say it was okay?”

“I’m sorry. They’re using the place this weekend. They almost never go up this early. I didn’t expect it to be a problem.”

“Oh.” Rose tried to smile, but it was a ghastly effort. “Thanks for trying.”

Melissa looked at her curiously, wondering exactly what she was so eager to get away from. Maybe one of her guys had turned stalker on her. “Rose, are you—”

“I spoke to Tom.” Rose broke in nervously, as if she knew what the question would be. “You’re all set.”

“Oh?” Melissa’s voice yodeled on the one syllable. This was it. Another step along the way; another part of the transition into the woman she hoped to explore.

Help.

“Eight o’clock, tomorrow night. My place.” Rose cracked a brittle smile, not quite meeting Melissa’s eyes. “He said it’ll be his pleasure.”

“I HAVE A DATE TOMORROW?” Riley stopped, one foot-long sub sandwich in each hand, and curled his lip at his grinning friend. “I was going to take Leo to the movies so my sister could have an evening to herself.”

“I know little Leo needs a man in his life, but so, apparently, does the fair Miss Rose. You get to be some guy named Tom.” Slate leaned back in his chair and raised his eyebrows suggestively, obviously relishing being back in the trenches. “She wants sex lessons.”

“Sex lessons? You have got to be kidding.” Riley grabbed plates from his cabinet and plunked the sandwiches down, feeling as if he’d eaten something rotten. This Rose person was bad news. “Why the hell would a woman like that need lessons?”

Slate shrugged. “I guess even professionals like to keep in shape, though according to the Feds she’s not actually a hooker.”

“Just your friendly neighborhood hedonist. Not a hell of a lot of difference if you ask me.” Riley banged the plates on the Shaker-style table he’d made in his basement workshop, his stomach churning. Sex lessons. Of all the stupid games…with something that should be so natural. “Are you sure you heard right? It wasn’t Tom that needed the lessons from her?”

“I’m sure. I’m guessing playing teacher floats Tommy’s salami.” Slate took a huge bite of his sub and chewed; his boyish blue eyes crinkled mischievously. “Some guys are into that stuff.”

“Oh, man.” Riley took a swig of milk and pushed his plate away. “They didn’t train me for this in the marines.”

“You’d rather penetrate Iraqi lines than the fair Ms. Rose?”

Riley glared at him. “Forget lessons. I’ll show up as the plumber.”

“And investigate her pipes?” Slate blinked innocently as Riley rolled his eyes in disgust. “This is the perfect setup, Riley. If you can’t find the portrait the good senator ditched with her on the first go-around, you have a good excuse to go back—provided you can find something to teach her.”

Riley dropped his head in his hands and groaned. He’d have to call Karen and reschedule the time with Leo. Slate was making too much sense. The FBI had backed Captain Watson’s insistence that Riley develop a friendship with Rose so he could search the apartment and find out what she knew.

Unfortunately, any searching while she was gone would attract undesired attention to the Feds’ involvement in the case. Her place was being watched by the cops and Jake Allston, the crime boss who’d originally bribed Senator Mason with the portrait, and who wanted to keep it out of the hands of the police so it wouldn’t become crucial evidence in a trial against him.

Riley raised his head and sighed wearily. “Rose doesn’t know this guy?”

“Nope. They’ve never met. But her reputation must have preceded her. The guy was drooling all over the phone. You should have heard her work him. Man! She was something.” Slate put his sandwich down and crossed his arms over his chest, hands in his armpits—his characteristic gesture when something unsettled him. “Funny thing, though, I got the feeling that underneath, she’s scared to death. I’m betting Miss Rose is in this way over her head.”

Something in Slate’s voice snapped Riley out of his self-pity. He stared at his friend. “Oh? Why don’t you take this one, Slate? You’ve been in Maine for a long time. You must have gotten pretty lonely.”

Slate held up his hands in surrender. “Not me. You’re the one Captain Watson asked to do the job. The Feds want the police kept happy while they check out who’s leaking information to Allston’s men. Besides, you’re the international sexpert around here, if our time overseas was anything to go by.” He made a face and jerked his thumb to his chest. “I was the sucker with the girl back home.”