Free Rage Factor by Chris Rogers

than you were on TV today.”
    “Dottie, you say the nicest things, and my bruised ego soaks up every word.” They’d reached the Chevy. He handed her the umbrella. The rain had almost stopped. “Give me your keys and I’ll get that door for you.”
    “I never believed for a minute all those hateful things thenewspapers said about you, Larry. Those two women must have been crazy. Why, anyone could just look at you and know you wouldn’t hurt a fly.”
    “It’s
Lawrence
, darlin’, and I don’t want you thinking too harshly of those ladies. You’ve heard about unrequited love.” He opened the car door and brushed off the seat. “I should’ve been more sensitive, should’ve let them down easier.”
    “Now don’t you go blaming yourself! You’ve been through too much misery already, with that awful trial. You need someone to make you forget all that.”
    Reclaiming the umbrella, he draped a casual arm around her shoulders.
    “Dottie, you could make a man forget just about anything.” He tweaked her chin playfully, then handed her into the car. “If you really mean what you say…”
    “Of course I mean it! Why, one weekend at my house on Padre Island, you’ll be a brand-new man.”
    “Sounds mighty temptin’, darlin’.” He stroked the back of her neck, feeling the fragile bones beneath his palm. Right now he had other plans, plans for a certain golden-haired Assistant District Attorney who didn’t know when to back off. “I hope you’ll give me a rain check.”
    “You’ll call me, won’t you? Tomorrow?” She handed him a folded square of pink paper that smelled of honeysuckle.
    “Tomorrow, and that’s a promise.” He slid the paper into his pocket. But Dottie was entirely too eager. The woman needed a cooling-off period. “I may not be able to get away this week. You know how it is, work piled up on my desk during the trial.”
    “Surely the work will keep another day or two.”
    “It’d keep, but I’d be distracted, pretty lady, and I want to give you
all
the attention you deserve.” He brushed a light kiss on her yielding lips.
    “Mmmmmm …” She clutched his lapel, deepening the kiss.
    Randy bitch.
He loosened her fingers.
    “I’ll call you tomorrow, darlin’. We’ll have dinner next week.”
    He kissed her fingertips, shut the door firmly, and winked at her through the rain-streaked window.
Easy screw. He’d bet six-to-one she was ready to come in her seat.
    Sliding behind the wheel of his Jaguar, he watched the Chevy’s taillights disappear down the street. He’d wait until late tomorrow to phone her. Maybe even wait until next week. She’d be pissed, but flowers would perk her right up. Women were so predictable.
    He found the bottle he had tucked between the seats, Johnnie Walker Black, a man’s drink. A silky fire, like burying himself in a fiery pussy. He’d bet that ADA’s pussy was plenty fiery.
    Turning the Jaguar toward Bellaire, he drove to the red brick bungalow with its single gaslight, the swinging name-plate announcing the Benson residence, home of ADA Brenda Benson and her young sister, Gail. Pretty brown-eyed Gail, almost as sweet as her amber-eyed sis. Maybe he should do them both, let Brenda watch while he did the sister.
    He coasted to a stop as he neared the driveway. Listening to the rain pelt the Jaguar’s metal roof, he took another nip from the bottle.
    Lights were on in the front of the house. No car in the driveway, but with a two-car garage, that didn’t mean anything. On Monday nights Brenda spent an hour or two at the health club, then stopped at a local newsstand to buy a
Houston Business Journal
before joining her sister at home.
    He tilted his watch toward the light. By this time the pair would be tucked up dry and cozy, reading the business news, maybe sipping a cup of hot chocolate. It would be so easy to knock on the door right now, muscle his way in, and do the both of them.
    His dick hardened, thinking about it. He shifted on the