The Perfect Couple (Last Stand #4)(7)
Author: Brenda Novak

She was sure he’d be embarrassed once he knew, but she was afraid she’d wet her pants before he found her.

Groaning in frustration, she turned away from the door and paced another circle around the room. With their neat yard, preppy clothes and matching BMWs, she’d believed her neighbors had good taste. But this part of the house certainly didn’t show it. There was nothing wrong with the floor. It was the same hardwood her mother’s boyfriend had in his place.

And the ceiling fan overhead was nice. But there was a questionable stain on the mattress, and the windows were covered by murals that looked like they’d been painted by a first grader.

Pausing in front of a scene showing several hay piles, more lemon colored than wheat colored, a blue sky and puffy cotton-candy clouds, she tried to wedge her hand behind the art. There had to be glass underneath; from the front driveway these windows looked like they had blinds. If she could reach the panes, there might be some way to break one and call for help. Then Tiffany would be in real trouble.

But the mural had been painted on thick pieces of wood hammered tightly to the wall. Sam had no chance of prying any of the boards loose and broke a fingernail trying.

"Ow!" She smacked the wood with her fist, then jammed her wounded finger in her mouth. Why would anyone want to block the windows? Anton had a bonus room over his garage, too, but he used it for a pool table, card table and minibar. "That’s what you do with a room like this," she grumbled, shaking the sting away. "Only you allow people to use it," she added.

Music, coming from downstairs, filtered up to her. Someone was home. Was it Colin?

Forgetting about her injury, she hurried to the door. "Colin?" She banged three times. "Hello? Hey, I have to go to the bathroom! Let me out!"

She had no idea how long she’d been locked up, but she knew it must be late. If she didn’t get home soon, her mother would return from work to an empty house.

"My mom will be home any minute. I have to go!"

Nothing.

"Tiffany?"

Approaching footsteps made Sam’s heart race. "Hello? Please, I need to use the restroom."

"Sam?"

It was Tiffany, all right. "What?"

"I’m trying to cook a nice dinner and you’re really getting on my nerves. Will you shut up?"

A nice dinner? Tiffany seemed strangely calm. What’d happened to the panicked, crying woman Sam had seen in the backyard?

"Just let me out and I won’t bother you anymore. My mother’s going to freak if she finds me gone."

"I’m afraid I can’t do that."

"Why not? You don’t know how she is. She’s very protective. I can’t even watch HBO."

"She sounds like a good mom."

Zoe was a good mom. Suddenly it felt like an eternity since Sam had seen her. Heck, after the past few hours, Sam wouldn’t have minded Anton’s company. "Can you let me out?"

There was a slight pause. "I don’t think so."

"But I’m about to wet my pants."

"Oh…fine! Give me a minute, will ya?"

At last! While waiting for Tiffany, Sam shifted from foot to foot and breathed a huge sigh of relief when, once again, she heard movement in the hall. "Hurry, I can’t hold it any longer."

"I’m coming, I’m coming."

The lock clicked, but the door opened so hard and fast it hit Samantha in the shoulder. Then Tiffany tossed a metal bowl at her, which struck her in the head. She fell as Tiffany slammed the door and slid the bolt home.

Tears sprang to Sam’s eyes as she rubbed the painful bump on her temple. "Tiffany?" She sounded like a panicked baby, but she couldn’t help it. "I don’t understand. Why’d you do that? Aren’t you going to let me out?"

"I told you, I’m cooking dinner," she called back. "We’ll go over the rules later. Just pee in what I gave you."

Rules? Sam’s gaze shifted to the metal mixing bowl still rolling on its side. She couldn’t use it. It was too late. She’d already gone in her bikini bottom.

Tiffany felt better by the time she heard her husband’s car in the driveway. She’d showered and changed, and then burned the shirt with Rover’s blood on it in the fireplace. Now she was wearing nothing but a black lacy bra that barely contained her large br**sts and a thong with a pair of six-inch heels. The scent of expensive perfume, Colin’s favorite, mingled with the warm garlic bread she’d pulled from the oven and the candles she’d lit on the mantel.

With a final glance at her preparations, she smiled. Everything was just right. She’d even managed to clean up most of the pots and pans so Colin wouldn’t have to look at a stack of dirty dishes.

He’d be so pleased.

"Tiff?"

As he came through the front door, she posed at the opening to the kitchen.

"Yes?" she said in her sultriest tone.

His eyebrows shot up. "Wow, what a greeting." A lascivious grin curved his lips as he gave her the once-over. "To what do I owe this pleasure?"

"I thought you might want to make another movie." He enjoyed pretending he was a  p**n  star. She suspected he shared the videos they made with some old friends of his, which bothered her, but she rarely permitted herself to think about it. If she questioned him or complained, she’d only start an argument. And what did it really matter? He was doing it to show off. She supposed she could allow him that. At the end of each session, he had her point to the tattoos that branded her his.

Anyway, tonight she’d do whatever Colin wanted. She needed to keep him happy, to soften his heart before telling him about Rover.

"Do I get to eat dessert first?" he asked.

She ran her hands over her br**sts, then lifted them out of her bra.

"Before and after if you want."

"It must be my birthday." As eager as he sounded, he took time to put his briefcase in the office off the main entrance.

She went back to stirring the pasta sauce so it wouldn’t scorch.

"Hungry?" she called.

"For you." She hadn’t realized he was so close. Coming up from behind, he hefted her br**sts with his palms. "You smell so–"

When he fell silent, Tiffany’s stomach muscles tensed. Had she missed some detail? Forgotten and used that hairspray he’d told her he hated? What?

"You didn’t shave?" he said.

"Sh-shave?" She’d been in too much of a hurry. "I did this morning.

You were in the shower with me, remember?"

"How many times have we gone over this? You have to do it morning and night."

"I usually do, but it takes so long. And I couldn’t feel any regrowth.

None." She rubbed her arms and still didn’t feel the stubble that must’ve set him off. How had he noticed when she couldn’t? He was so much more sensitive to appearances, smells, tastes, every nuance.