The Jezebel Remedy Read Online Free PDF

brown leather folder smack in the middle between their glasses.
    “Split it, then?” Brooks said.
    “Fair enough.”
    “Come to think of it, maybe you ought to treat me—I’d say you had a far more profitable afternoon than I did.”
    “I did have a very nice afternoon,” she said, but didn’t look at him when she spoke, instead studied their bill and slid thirty dollars—her share—into the leather cover.
    “I’m glad you decided to come. Enjoyed the company.”
    Brooks added his portion to their tab, gathered his topcoat from the stool beside him and went with her to the exit. Two women eating by themselves, salads and white wineglasses on their table, were watching him, and he had to sense their flattering stares, but he didn’t acknowledge them, acted oblivious. It was dark now, and chilly, and he walked Lisa to her car and waited for her to unlock the door. He kept his distance, but after she’d cranked the engine and dialed the heater fan to its highest speed, he took hold of the door handle to shut her in, the interior light burning, her file haphazardly tossed into the passenger seat, the gauges and displays of her base-model Mercedes glowing white and amber. There were splashes of red in the dash, too, mostly in the warning symbols and letters that spelled out important cautions.
    “Drive safely,” he said, looking down at her. “Thanks again for the fun visit. I understand Gentry, Locke is sponsoring another seminar in a few weeks. A freebie and a great way to complete your CLE hours if you haven’t already done them. They’ve lined up Judge Weckstein to speak. He’s smart as hell and always entertaining. I think Justice Lemons is coming from the Supreme Court. I’ll drop you an e-mail with the particulars.”
    “That would be great,” Lisa answered.
    “Give Joe my regards.” He shut her door, and much of the light vanished.
    She stopped a few miles later and bought a Blue Moon beer for theremainder of the trip, and when she pulled into their yard, the barn lights were burning and the winter sky was clear and flush with pinpoint stars and she could see Joe in the breezeway, his sorrel horse, Sadie, cross-tied at one end, a saddle and blanket straddling the top rail of a stall gate. She shifted the car to Park but left the engine running, and she walked to where he was, toe-stepping to keep her heels from sinking into the pasture. Brownie trotted to meet her, his tail going great guns.
    “Been riding?” she asked. She petted the dog.
    “Yeah,” Joe said. “I got your message. We did the trail down toward Snow Creek. Filled a flask and off we went.” He was wearing a heavy jacket. His shirttail was loose on one side, untucked. “I’d forgotten how long it takes. We came home in the dark.” He smiled. “Pretty deluxe, though. A nice ride.”
    “Want to go again?” she asked.
    There was a slapstick instant before he understood exactly what she meant, and he half-turned and checked his horse—just for a second—and then he grinned and looked at her full on and said, “Hell yeah, I’ll follow you to the house.” He fished out his flask and had a pull of bourbon. Instead, she was waiting when he turned the corner, and she stopped him at her Mercedes and opened the door, and they had sex in the backseat, jammed in and wrapped around each other, struggling to fit, her hose and panties and fancy shoes on the floorboard, a DJ’s patter and commercials and songs on the radio, the smell of perfume and brown liquor and quarter horse curling and roiling with the heat until they finished, her foot bottoms damp against the window glass, condensation everywhere.
    “Lord,” Joe declared. “Damn.”
    “Exactly,” she said, and all of a sudden she snatched his thick canvas jacket and leapt from the car, giggling and shrieking, wiggling her arms into the coat sleeves as she dashed toward the house, almost naked, the cold air slapping her thighs and belly and face.
    Joe switched off the