Five Alarm Lust

like him would know his way around the bedroom. Would know how to please a woman. Nope, sure wouldn’t kick him out of my bed for eating crackers, unless it was to fuck him on the floor.
Look at her, lost in her own little world, ignoring the stud. Good for me, bad for her. Tasty, and she hasn’t got a clue. Never did. The useless little snot. How I wish Jason had gone away when I found out. Could have removed it before it ruined my figure. Though it does have its uses. Yes, yes, it does.
*
Gilli sat in the darkest corner at a small round table, her fingers plucking at the tablecloth. The music from the band swirled around her, irritating already exposed nerves. Why her mother would want hard rock at her wedding she had no idea, nor did she particularly care. It was one more attempt on Barbara’s part to reclaim her youth or some such stupidity.
With a nail, she scratched at the itch where her glasses usually sat, the faint indent of the bridge on her nose a welcome reminder. There was a very good reason she hated these parties—the opulence and public displays her mother so loved. Just knowing her mother had found another unsuspecting fool was enough to turn her stomach. The urge to flee was strong, but she was a prisoner of the damn chair until either she got help or got her glasses back. Maybe she could coerce one of the servers into stealing her mother’s clutch bag and returning it. Yes, she’d offer them a ten-spot and see if they’d bite.
In her typical, domineering manner, her mother had snatched her glasses the moment she’d sat down. Now they were in the little white clutch her mother had—but being as close to blind as she was, the damn thing could be right in front of her and she would never know it. Swearing under her breath, Gilli reached for her drink. The burn of alcohol down her throat drew a grimace.
“You don’t drink much, do you?” Deep, the whiskey-smooth baritone danced along her nerves, setting them aflame.
“No, I don’t.” Gilli wiggled in her seat. Her shoulders hunched as she sucked at the strong concoction in her glass. Her stomach twisted with each swallow. Tomorrow she’d pay for drinking, but tonight it was the only thing making the evening bearable. A shiver danced over her and she exhaled. Would it be too much to ask for the floor to swallow her whole?
“You should slow down on that, it’s pretty strong.”
Why was he talking to her? There wasn’t any logical reason to speak to her. Men didn’t talk to her except to ask what bone went where on the skeleton of a stegosaurus. Unless… Her stomach twisted at the stray, unwelcome thought settling like a lead weight. Had her mother asked him to?
“I’m Jack.”
“Gillian.” She held out her free hand in the direction of the voice. His warm laughter preceded his calloused palm as he shook her hand. “Nice to meet you.” If he picked up on the sarcasm, his grip didn’t show it.
“Pleasure’s all mine, only woman here not gyrating like a wannabe belly dancer—which is so wrong when you’re listening to ACDC.” Firm, dry, his hand pumped hers up and down. His thumb rubbed along her knuckles absently, the gentle caress reaching through to her center. “So, what happened to your glasses?”
Gilli set her empty glass on the table and reached in vain for the largest object on the table, hoping it was the bottle of whatever she was drinking. “My glasses?”
“You had glasses on at the church, but I don’t see them anywhere. Did you lose them?” His voice dropped, the warmth of his breath ghosting over her skin. The taffeta of her dress slipped along the chair as she moved away from him. She debated getting up but brushed aside the instinctual desire. They were in a public place and she’d sat down first.
“In a manner of speaking.” Gilli sighed, slouching forward even farther. Why is he still talking to me? What could he possibly want with me? Unless he’s desperate, and hey, then it wouldn’t be so bad. A quick tumble and I’m good for another few years. It’s not like I need sex, but Hillary says it’s healthy…
“Oh?”
Gilli shook her head, there was no way she was sharing this humiliation with a stranger. Why couldn’t her mother have left her glasses alone? Why was she sitting at a reception dressed in pale purple and yellow, blind, alone, and ignored for the most part?
“So, you’re a friend of the bride?” His voice pulled her from her thoughts.
“Daughter. Unfortunately for me … and you it would seem since you’re here stuck talking to me.” Gillian squinted at the table, leaning forward in the vain hope of finding the alcohol. A dart of something slid under her skin when she recognized the blurred shape of what appeared to be an umbrella. It wasn’t her drink, but what the hey, didn’t matter. As long as there was something in there strong enough to drown out the need to retch she’d be happy. She touched the glass, moved it slightly, and breathed a long sigh of relief. Finally! Taking a long sip, she shivered. If it takes me all night, when I get Mother’s purse I’m going to steal my glasses and catch the first flight home.
“Really? Uh, your um…”
“Believe me, this isn’t my idea of fun. This is one step below the Spanish Inquisition for torture. As well the woman knows; she just refuses to allow anyone to ruin her day.” The old resentment a bitter weight on her tongue, she wondered again why Barbara would want her around. “I’d rather be at a dig or the library or something. To be honest, anything is preferable to being stuck in this Gong Show. Don’t get me wrong, I love weddings, they’re great, fun; it’s just attending hers I despise. So, what brings