Joyride. Colleen Collins
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flipped through some of its chapters: “Handcuffs Aren’t Just for Criminals,” “Getting Wild in the Outdoors,” “Be a Gift—Let Him Unwrap You.” Corinne wasn’t sure about the handcuffs. They didn’t look very sexy in cop flicks. And outdoors? Her neighbor, old Mr. Valdez, might have a coronary. But being unwrapped? Heck, everybody in the world undressed every day…according to the book, all she had to do was think sexy in the process.
So she planned the grand unveiling for today. Normally, every June 8, she attended her company’s annual picnic. Corinne had been at Universal Shower Door almost as long as she’d been with Tony—five years, give or take a month. And every annual picnic she showed up with her annual dish, Jell-O Surprise.
But not this year.
This year she was going to serve Corinne Surprise when Tony came home for lunch. A hot thrill zigzagged through her as she imagined his look of shock, then hot arousal, when he found his fiancée, the gift!
Corinne glanced at the clock on the nightstand. Eleven-ten. Tony would be home in twenty minutes. Gift-wrapping time! She grabbed the cylinder of clear plastic wrap she’d purchased this morning at the supermarket. With trembling fingers, she began crookedly wrapping the slick material around her. Well, so what if it wasn’t on straight. Unlike the mirror, this plastic stuff wasn’t meant to stay on long. Minutes, tops.
Humming one of her favorite Céline Dion tunes, Corinne checked her progress in the mirror. She imagined her sleek lines as the lines of his precious Ferrari—the glossy, shimmering coating like the slick, soapy water that sluiced over the car’s body when he washed it. Except, unlike with his Ferrari, Tony would lose control with Corinne and tear off the plastic. And amid the ripping, groaning and howling, she’d tease him to take extra care with her bumpers.
Me, teasing like that? She pressed a fingertip against her bottom lip, as though pushing back the forbidden thought. Then she dropped her hand and giggled softly. “I’ve installed a mirror, dressed hot in freezer wrap. Maybe the new Corinne sometimes jokes during lovemaking, too!” She was liking this new side of herself. Maybe, after the let-’er-rip sex, she’d even be bold enough to demand they set a wedding date. After all, Tony’s large Italian family expected it, so with a little sizzling encouragement, Corinne would help nail that expectation. Gee, considering she was on the brink of nailing a date, what should she ask for? Five months from now? Five weeks?
She checked the clock. Five minutes to show time! She finished wrapping herself, then reached for her sewing basket to retrieve a pair of scissors. As she fumbled through spools, fabrics and buttons, it struck her as funny how, after years of sewing practical skirts and demure blouses, here she was snipping off the end of a clear plastic minidress that showed way more than her intentions!
After cutting a slit so she could walk, Corinne turned to the mirror and checked out the overall effect. “They wouldn’t call me Inconspicuous Corinne at work now!” Her breasts swelled over the minidress like two luscious scoops. Her perky nipples pressed through the clear sheath. And below, through layers of shimmering plastic, you could see a curly triangle. She gave her head a toss, liking the tousled effect of her newly colored shoulder-length glossy blond hair. Wilder, more daring than her normal red hair, which was turning a sedate auburn. Plus this new, sassy blond was almost the same color as Tony’s Ferrari—that rare “hot gold” he bragged about to his pals.
“Now for the pièce de résistance,” she gloated, tiptoeing to the closet. She’d bought a pair of black stiletto heels especially for this occasion. On her allowance, she’d have had to save for weeks to buy these shoes. But Lady Luck had been on her side—they’d been half price. When the middle-aged salesman said their price was slashed because women never wore heels like this anymore, she’d felt her face burn hot, certain he knew she was buying them for sex. When he’d asked her to walk in them, she’d stumbled a few feet, stopped, and swaying a little had squeaked, “They’re perfect!”
Okay, it was going to be a challenge walking in these skyscrapers again, but she was a woman on a mission. A make-love-to-her-fiancé mission. A get-married mission.
A make-a-baby mission.
Slipping into the high heels was tougher than she remembered back at the shoe store. The arch was so high, she had to shove her foot in. Reminded her of the time she’d shoved her wild cousin Sandee through the back window of some guy’s Chevy. That had been fifteen years ago when Corinne and her mom moved to a small Texas town, following her mom’s divorce number two, to be close to the only family Corinne had ever known—Aunt Judy, her mom’s identical twin, and Judy’s daughter, Sandee. Since those teenage years, Corinne rarely saw Sandee, who now lived in Las Vegas, although they had occasional phone calls where they girl-talked for hours. One of those calls had been just last week…Sandee had been worried about a bump and run, but didn’t give details. And Corinne didn’t pry, although she’d been dying to ask questions because Sandee’s bump and run sounded like a possible chapter in How to Make Your Man Howl.
“Eiiyyy!” Corinne emitted her own howl as she teetered in the heels. Stumbling a few feet, she grabbed the mahogany bedpost and caught her balance. Holding on to the smooth wooden pole, she sucked in several shaky breaths. This is crazy. I won’t look like a hot babe if I’m teetering and stumbling, flailing my arms for balance. For a stinging moment, she thought she was going to cry.
No! She pressed her lips together, careful to not smudge her lipstick. I want to be married. I want a baby. I’m going to be sexy if it kills me! Realizing her last thought, she started giggling uncontrollably. “I look like a walking—well, stumbling—ad for How to Make Your Man Howl,” she whispered to herself. “If this kills me, at least I’ll go out of this world looking like one burning hunkess of love! Talk about ‘showing’!”
Grinning with a surge of confidence, she straightened, let go of the bedpost, and teetered toward the foyer.
Scratch. Click.
Tony’s key in the lock!
Corinne almost tripped as she skidded to a stop in front of the door. Show time! She stood, spread-eagled. What to do with her hands? She flashed on the chapter “Bondage—It’s Not Just for Breakfast Anymore.” Shakily, she held her hands above her head, wrists crossed.
The door creaked open. Corinne closed her eyes and breathed in deeply, forcing her double scoops high. She felt like an overheated car engine, ready to rip loose and roar…
“Stop it!” squealed a nasally woman’s voice. “Wait’ll we get inside, Tiger Boy.”
Tiger Boy? Corinne opened her eyes. Some frizzy-haired blonde, her body squeezed like a sausage into a low-cut pink number, was nuzzling and rubbing against…Tony!
He looked up, his dark eyes meeting Corinne’s. His killer smile died. “This isn’t want you think,” he said sharply, gesturing emphatically with the hand that wasn’t around the blonde.
Corinne’s insides shattered, like a splintered mirror. Think? She couldn’t even breathe. Hell, she couldn’t even move! Feeling ridiculously vulnerable, she wanted to cover her nearly naked body but her hands felt soldered to the top of her hot-gold head.
The blonde reared back. “What the hell—?” She turned to Tony. “Is that your cleaning lady?”
“Cleaning—?” A burning rage tore through Corinne, thawing her frozen state. Dropping her hands, she fisted them in front of her. She’d never hit anyone or anything in her life—but right now she could probably cream Mike Tyson. “That’s right! I’m the cleaning lady, the seamstress, the washer woman…everything but the banker because ol’ Tiger Boy here takes my checks and only gives me a frickin’ allowance.”
She’d never seen that look on Tony’s face. Slack jawed. His eyes wide, dark. For a hotheaded Italian, he was suddenly acting very, very cool. No, make that shocked. And not at her gift-wrapped getup, but at her reaction. Corinne had never yelled at him. Never spoken her mind. Well, she’d only just started!
As she stepped from one high-heeled foot to the other, like a runner prancing before a race, a drop of sweat