Angel Falls (Angel Falls Series, #1), Babette Jongh [books for 6 year olds to read themselves .TXT] 📗

I was by him. I showered, dried, and doused myself with honey dust, an expensive edible powder Melody had given me for a birthday years ago. Tonight was the perfect time to take it out of the closet, because it smelled divine, but tasted even better.

The doorbell chimed, and Ian called out from the living room. “A bunch of ghouls and goblins are trying to get inside. What should I do?”

Shit. I’d forgotten. It was Halloween. “Candy’s on top of the refrigerator. Help, please.”

His laugh was low and erotic. “Do I get something in return?”

“Take a chance. You might be rewarded beyond your wildest dreams.”

I heard him mumble something about playing with fire, then the rustle of a plastic bag tearing open and the squeal of the front door hinges.

I dressed in Hollister sweats that were old and casual enough to make him think I’d just pulled on the first thing I could find, but thin and cut to perfectly caress every curve. I didn’t bother with underwear.

When I joined Ian in the living room, he was closing the door after giving out another handful of candy.

“Thanks for handling the trick-or-treaters.”

He tossed the bag of mini chocolates on the hall table and put his arms around me. “I’d rather handle you.”

“Mmmm.” I slid my hands up under his sweatshirt to feel the firm muscles along either side of his spine. “I’d like that, too.”

“You smell delicious.” He kissed the curve of my neck and opened his mouth to suckle lightly. Groaning, he hugged me closer. “Good Lord above, you taste even better.” He pulled away and looked down into my face, not hiding the passion and need that tightened his features. “Forget about food. Forget about trick-or-treaters. Let’s go to bed.” Grinding his hips against mine, he persuaded with a ravenous kiss, lifting his lips just enough to deliver the coup de grace. “Please, lass. I’m dying for you.”

The doorbell rang again, accompanied by a chorus of childish, screeching voices. “Trick-or-treat!”

I gave him a consoling kiss but pushed him away. “They know I’m home.”

He grabbed my arm and kissed me again. “Can’t your next-door neighbors supply the neighborhood with candy?”

I wriggled away. “Angela and Carl are taking Ray trick-or-treating. They’ll probably stop by here soon.”

He pouted hopefully. “We could turn off the lights. Pretend nobody’s home.”

I smiled at his sad-little-boy expression. “Ian, our cars are parked out front.”

The doorbell rang again, and one brave little boy yodeled, “Trick-or-treat, smell my feet, give me something good to eat!”

Ian slumped in defeat and shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans, pulling outward discreetly. “Answer the door, then.” He turned away and ducked into kitchen. “When you’re done handing out candy to this lot, you might as well come in here and cook something for me to eat. I’m starving.”

I grinned at his grouchy statement. It was just the sort of insensitive, sexist remark I might have expected from the Ian I’d first met over the phone. Coming from the Ian I knew now, I didn’t find it irritating at all. Actually, I found it sort of cute.

The doorbell rang again, several times in quick succession. Obviously the natives on my porch were getting restless.

“I’m coming,” I yelled, taking the bag of candy off the table.

“Not yet, you’re not,” I heard Ian mumble from the kitchen as I answered the door.

We shared a thrown-together meal of spaghetti and canned sauce (not my finest culinary hour) then tortured each other on the couch between waves of trick-or-treaters. I expected Ben to show up with his kids at some point, and wondered how I’d handle an introduction between Ben and Ian.

Let-go-and-let-God, I decided. Either the kids would be all excited and ready to move on to the next place, or they’d come at the end of the evening and Ben would expect to hang out for a few minutes and drink a beer while the kids surveyed their loot.

If that happened, well... I hoped that wouldn’t happen.

Around seven-thirty, a car pulled up at the curb. I was rinsing the plates and loading them into the dishwasher when I saw the lights through the kitchen window. Ian stood behind me, his mouth on my neck, his hands on my hips, his erection at my backside, teasing.

Wondering how much could be seen through the windows, I watched a tall man get out of the car, taking his time to unbuckle a small child from the booster seat while two older kids ran up the sidewalk.

I pushed Ian away under the pretense of backing up to slam the dishwasher door. “Somebody’s coming.”

I rushed to the door with the candy, ready to toss out chocolate and quick excuses about why I couldn’t invite Ben and his kids inside.

Why did I feel so guilty? I didn’t owe Ben anything.

Did I?

I opened the door.

It wasn’t them. One of my ballet students and her family, but not Ben. I handed out candy and wondered how soon it would be appropriate for me, the town’s ballet teacher, to turn out the porch light, signaling the end of my participation in the Halloween tradition. Maybe Ben and his kids weren’t coming. Maybe they’d gone to the haunted house instead.

I hugged my student and her siblings, waved goodbye, went back inside. My fingers felt magnetized toward the porch light switch. Was it too early to bow out of my Halloween duties? I’d give it another few minutes, I decided. I plopped down on the couch, and Ian joined me there a second later. With the soft whir of the dishwasher running and the kitchen light off, Ian took my feet into his lap and kneaded my instep.

“Ahhh, that feels so good.” It felt incredible to be on the receiving end of a little TLC. It was all I could do to keep from purring. Seconds ticked by, followed by minutes. I began to relax.

“God, what a horrendous day this has been.” I sighed away the last bit of stress I’d been holding onto