Page 3 of Just What She Needed

Mel finished her Cosmo and leaned back against the railing. “Having fun?”

“A blast.” Rhett stretched her mouth into what she hoped was a convincing smile but knew she failed when her sister snickered.

“You were always the worst liar, Rhett. Well, at least we got you out of the house, right?” Mel laughed and turned back to survey the dance floor. Her roving gaze moved quickly over the crowd and settled on the balcony opposite them. She cast a wicked grin Rhett’s way.

“I spy with my little eye something that might make you glad you gave up your solitary existence for at least one night.” A well-manicured hand swept toward the other balcony like a game show hostess presenting the grand prize. “As I live and breathe, it’s Rhys James in the flesh.”

“What? Where?” Fatigue and disinterest forgotten, Rhett leaned against the railing and looked where Mel pointed. Her muscles went loose and heavy and then tightened in excitement at the sight of the man who stood across the room from her.

Rhys James, lead singer of Illicit, in all his gorgeous, sexy blond glory. Right there on that balcony. Hot damn.

“Ooh,” Lilith drawled. “It’s Mom’s fantasy luh-ver.”

In a flash, Rhett went cold and shot an accusatory glare at her sister. Eyes wide, Mel responded with an almost imperceptible shake of her head. Her lips, brightly painted red with Chanel’s La Fascinate, mouthed the words, “I didn’t,” and Rhett relaxed. It was just a phrase, then. Lilith didn’t know.

In fact, Mel was the only one privy to the information that Rhett lost her virginity at age fifteen while Rhys James sang on the radio. And in Rhett’s mind, she lost her virginity to Rhys himself. Unable to relax under the fumbling ministrations of high school senior Les Joslin, she closed her eyes and pretended it was Rhys who touched her body, sliding his strong, capable hands over her skin the way he caressed the microphone when he sang. It wasn’t Les who kissed her, but Rhys, and Rhett’s body came to life at the thought of that beautiful mouth, the upper lip sensuous and chiseled, the bottom full and pouty. Then, when it was time for the main act, she welcomed it as she pictured his beautiful, hot body on her, in her.

Yes, even though he was only present as a voice on the car radio, Rhys James made Rhett a woman.

Mel knew all this, but what she didn’t know was that Rhett fantasized about Rhys a lot more over the years. Hey, it worked the first time, so why mess with perfection? There were the nights when caring for a teething baby, and later an angsty teenager, left her too exhausted to respond to Todd’s lovemaking. But if she closed her eyes, the thought of being with Rhys brought her to orgasm. When Todd initiated make-up sex after an argument and Rhett was still too angry to accept his touch, the fantasy of Rhys helped her climax. And during the last three sexless years of her marriage, her own hand turned into his, giving her the release she needed and craved. Fantasy luh-ver, indeed.

Unaware of her mother’s consternation, Lilith continued. “Can’t say that I’d blame you, though. He still looks awfully hot for a guy his age. Think he’s had work?”

“No,” Mel said. “I don’t think so. Look at his face. There's none of that stitched-too-tight, alien feline stuff going on. He’s just that damn pretty. But if you want to see work, check out that little piece of fluff with him. No way she was born with those boobs.”

At Mel’s comment, Rhett tore her gaze away from that beautiful sun-streaked blond hair that tumbled over Rhys’s shoulders and down his back and checked out the piece of fluff glued to his side. The tight, mustard yellow bandage dress showed off some impressive silicone to its best advantage, and Rhett bit back a sarcastic comment. Really, why the hell would anyone with such a small frame choose a Dolly Parton rack? The girl looked in imminent danger of tipping over at any minute.

“Forget her boobs,” Lilith said. “I want to know where she gets her spray tan. It looks fabulous.”

“Not bad.” Mel nodded in agreement. “Why don’t you go ask her?”

“I think I will.”

Before Rhett could form a response, Lilith was making her careful way down the stairs. Rhett turned to Mel, aghast.

“Is she out of her mind?”

“Hey, you never know until you try, right?” Mel shrugged and propped her elbows on the railing. “Why do they do that?”

A confused frown tugged at Rhett's eyebrows. “Why does who do what?”

“Men that age.” Mel gestured to Rhys. “Why do they run around with girls like that? Do they think it makes them look younger or something? Or are they so insecure about their virility that they have to prove they can satisfy someone who’s barely a woman? I mean, that blonde can’t be any older than Lilith. And he’s what, fifty or so?”

“About that." Rhys was actually forty-eight, but Rhett wasn’t going to admit she knew his age. And no way would she let anyone discover she knew his birthday was February 27th, or that he was born in Brighton, England where his parents still lived. The fact that she knew all that had to make her the most pathetic woman in the whole state of Texas, right? Good grief, she was a mother. She was a widow.

An indelicate snort indicated Mel’s opinion on his choice of companion. “I’d like to drag him into a room and show him what a real woman can do for him. Stud there wouldn’t be able to walk after a night with someone who really knows what she’s doing.”

As she stared at the nubile young thing pressed up against all six feet four of Rhys—yes, she also knew how tall he was –depression fell over Rhett like an icy shower of sleet. In the months since Todd’s death, she hadn’t begun to entertain the notion of dating again, but it hit her like a punch to the midsection that if she wanted to date, it wouldn’t be easy. Single men her age were all apt to be divorced, and if she thought about it, the divorced men she knew were all seeing women thirty years old or younger. She’d seen them in restaurants or at the movies, all wearing goofy my-cock-has-died-and-gone-to-heaven grins as their younger dates preened beside them.

Forget someone like Rhys James. Even a balding used car salesman with a beer belly wouldn’t give a forty-two-year-old widow a second glance, especially not one who had, in the words of catty women everywhere, “let herself go.”

Rhett cast a surreptitious glance at her sister. Even though Mel was three years older, she still looked more like she had in high school than Rhett did. Her hair remained the same buttery blonde they’d inherited from their mother, her eyes the same arresting hazel, her body tight, fit, and able to catch the eyes of men. She might be forty-five, but she still retained all the Miss Texas-like beauty she and Rhett had been born with.

Part of it, Rhett knew, was her unencumbered lifestyle. At age sixteen, Melanie Vandergriff declared she would never marry or have children and whispered into her sister’s scandalized ears that she intended to fuck her way across Texas with any man who took her fancy.

Well, Texas was a big state, and while Mel didn’t exactly cut a swath through it, she made the rounds. She began at Claiborne High School where she worked her way through the football and basketball teams before graduating with academic honors. A heartbreaker at UT San Antonio where she’d gotten a double bachelor’s degree in Finance and Business, then at Texas Tech where she mastered in Finance, Mel engaged in passionate, short-term relationships with a number of men. After the move to Dallas to accept a senior-level position at Freedom Bank of Texas, she continued to live life on her own terms, refusing to be tied down to any one man, and enjoying the hell out of herself. The fact that she was able to do it with class and elegance, without edging over into slutdom, gave her almost star status among the people who knew her.

The Vandergriff sisters had resembled each other in looks when they were younger, so much so that people often confused one for the other. Looking at her beautiful older sibling, Rhett knew that would never happen now, and she felt a pang of remorse.