The Lake

FORTY-TWO

It was Thursday evening. Night of the get-together with Mom and Warren.

Mom wasn’t home yet.

Warren wasn’t due for a couple of hours.

In her bedroom, Deana stripped to her bra and panties.

“Hope everything works out okay,” she murmured to herself. “Shouldn’t be a problem. Two nice people. Civilized guys who know the score. They’ll get along fine.”

She peered into the dresser mirror. Inspecting herself. Practicing how she’d look. A dry run for later.

She went over to her bed. Laid out were two outfits—her final final selection. A maroon cotton pantsuit, and a blue jersey crossover blouse and short denim skirt.

Smart casual, she’d told Warren.

No way was the black dress an option. Far too formal for a muggy evening.

It’s gotta be the crossover blouse and denim skirt, she decided. The blouse would be great, if…

If what?

If Warren wanted a closer inspection?

She hugged herself.

I know he likes me.

She could tell by the way his eyes swept over her in an approving, but not suggestive, way. Maybe he’d guessed she wasn’t interested in sex at the moment. Understood it was too soon…

Her relationship with Warren would grow, gradually and at her own pace, she decided.

She swung around. Looked into her dresser mirror again, posing, admiring her body. She eased up her breasts till the tops bulged out from her bra. She posed, hand on hip, drawing in her midriff so that her waist looked really small and neat.

Her flimsy panties stretched across her hipbones. She sure was glad she’d kept up with those abdominal workouts. They’d been a bore, but they made one helluva difference to her figure.

“Not bad!” she told the mirror. “Warren’s eyes are gonna stand out on stalks when he sees me tonight…”

Thick black hair tumbled around her shoulders.

Full, firm breasts brimmed out of their cups. Her nipples almost showing…

What would Warren think if he saw me now?

She imagined his eyes, watching her, longing to touch her, take her in his arms—but then, not wanting to, not after the bad experiences she’d hinted at.

What if Warren wanted to… wanted to see more of me? Anything’s possible—especially if I kinda give him the go-ahead. Maybe I should go over myself with the LadyShave. Just in case.

She ogled her reflection in the mirror.

Then teased both breasts out of their cups, pushing them up, just a little more, till she could see the dark pink aureole of her nipples.

That’s better!

She literally flowed out of her underwear now.

Almost too much…

Tossing a seductive smile at her reflection, she slowly stroked her breasts, her waist, her hips. She pushed her panties down ever so slightly, revealing her taut flat belly—and dark curly wisps of pubic hair.

She groaned, hating the wiry growth peeking out of her panties.

She paused.

What was that?

A movement. A step, disturbing the quiet beyond the open door of her room…

Is anyone there?

Can’t be Mom…

She’s still at the restaurant.

I’m alone in the house.

Warren?

Nah. He hasn’t got a key.

And Nelson’s dead.

Isn’t he?

Then who else…?

Catching a ragged breath, her heart leapt to her throat.

She frowned. Peered into the mirror.

A familiar figure filled the doorway.

It moved toward her.

Slowly.

Mace!

His eyes dark. Intense.

Staring at her.

His mouth hung slack, open a little. She caught a glimpse of white, even teeth.

Horrified, Deana whirled around. Her arms flew up, crushing her breasts.

Mace.

How did he get in?

He stood before her.

His hands reaching out.