Page 117 of At Her Pleasure

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Page 117 of At Her Pleasure

He pointed a warning finger at her, though his lips tightened against the laugh. “I’m not that much older than you, woman.”

Mick pulled into a parking area, a field adjacent to the local high school, the setting for this year’s festival. He opened his window to pay the parking fee in cash. An elderly man in a bill cap, wearing jeans and a festival T-shirt, stepped up to take the bills. “Where you folks hail from?”

“New Orleans,” Mick answered.

“My wife loves it up there. Have to take another trip that way soon.” The man gestured toward the football, baseball and soccer fields, populated by tents and other event structures. “There’s a raffle benefitting the local hospital, if you want to buy some tickets when you go through the front gate. There’s also a general plant sale under the big tent.”

Cyn leaned over Mick. “Any Monkey Faces?”

The man beamed at her. “They’re always popular. Get yourself over to the sale early, you might be able to snag yourself one, but some of the growers are here too. You can place an order if they don’t have any with them.”

He sent them toward large vehicle parking. Once Mick found a spot, he switched off the ignition and glanced her way. “Monkey Faces?”

“They look like them,” she informed him. “I have one that’s white, but I’d like a brown one, too.”

He preceded her down the steps, giving her a hand to the ground before he locked up. “You never stop surprising me.”

Thinking of the postcards, she decided the feeling was mutual. She shifted behind him and, with a quick squeeze of his shoulder for warning, she hopped up onto his back for a piggy-back ride. When he grasped her legs and gave her a heft, she wrapped her arms around his chest and bit his ear.

The easy places for her to explore were pain and darkness. Playing in the light, being flirtatious, was new, but she was willing to risk it with him.

“For a woman with your muscle tone, you’re surprisingly light,” he commented.

Or he was particularly strong. “I have hollow bones,” she informed him.

“Ah, like a turkey vulture. That makes sense.”

She pulled his hair. He didn’t stop her, and carried her with amiable ease, his hands sure on the crooks of her knees. She didn’t feel the need to get down until they reached the first tents. There were trucks for food and drink vendors, and portable restrooms. On a music stage, people tested equipment for the local entertainment lineup, starting in the next hour. Comments drifting their way suggested there would be dancing.

Because it was early, most of the current attendees were dedicated enthusiasts who wanted to beat the crowds to the vendor offerings and have ample chance to talk to the growers showcasing their efforts.

Maybe she qualified as one of those, because she fell into conversation with the woman operating the first booth they passed. She lived in Mississippi, so she could speak to breeding and care of the flowers in a hot and humid climate.

Mindful of the parking attendant’s warning, Cyn moved on before too long, though she intended to come back. She headed for the big tent sale area and was delighted to find a Monkey Face orchid in a speckled brown color. The stamen, which looked like a snout, was a rusty red. The grower had put it in a crimson pot, the gold sticker of his nursery on it.

The tent staff agreed to keep it until she was ready to pick it up, and she returned to her explorations. For the next hour, she discussed soil amendments, light requirements, and the common and unique efforts others followed to help the unusual flowers thrive. While breeding wasn’t her passion, hearing how new orchids were created or known varieties enhanced intrigued her.

Mick had different reasons for being here. But though there were benches and picnic tables, as well as groupings of folding chairs for people-watching and listening to music, he seemed content to stick with her. He followed the conversations, saying little, but he didn’t seem bored or impatient; just the opposite.

She wasn’t usually oblivious to the reason for a man’s behavior, but a vendor had to clue her in. As she handed over a card so Cyn could order from her selection of fertilizers, the woman murmured, “He hardly takes his eyes off of you. I’d hold onto that with both hands.”

Cyn offered her a wicked smile. “Good advice. He’s definitely the two-handed size.”

The vendor’s startled look was followed by an appreciative chuckle and conspiratorial wink. She also offered Cyn a complimentary bag of allium bulbs.

When Cyn stepped away, Mick had brought her a Dr Pepper. One of the beverage vendors had a fountain drink set up and added her preferred cream soda flavor, just like a drugstore. As they continued to wander, they shared it.

Orchid growing attracted a range of personalities, which made it even more suitable for Mick’s purposes. No one really stood out as not belonging. Even Mick looked like the patient boyfriend, indulging his girlfriend’s more learned interest.

However, when she sat down for a short presentation on winter care for orchids, he excused himself with a brief squeeze of her shoulder and a quiet word, telling her he’d be back.

She followed him in her peripheral vision, noting he was sauntering casually toward a specific booth. Once there, he stood next to a man talking to the grower. A few moments later they walked off, as if he and Mick were together, and Mick had caught up to him.

He'd told her he couldn’t tell her much, which meant she shouldn’t pry. Even so, she’d marked broad shoulders, dark hair threaded with silver, khaki slacks and a navy-blue shirt. Clothes of good quality, and he projected the carriage and confidence of a man with money, a trait she’d learned to identify early in car sales.

She returned her attention to the workshop, but her mind wasn’t on it. Mick had assured her there was no danger here, but he hadn’t said whether this contact was someone like him, or the people in the photos. Human traffickers could have hobbies. She didn’t like having him out of her sight.

The workshop concluded a very long fifteen minutes later. As she rose from her chair, thinking she might “casually” go find his ass, she saw him returning.




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