by Norah Wilson
~*~
An hour and a half later, replete with the pasta Suzannah had prepared, Quigg drained the last of the single glass of wine he would permit himself.
She lifted the bottle. “Refill?”
“No, thanks.”
“Are you sure? It’s good for the blood chemistry, you know. A red-meat eater like you should probably have a couple of glasses a day just to keep those platelets from congealing. It may even help to ward off cancer.”
The benefits of red wine consumption? That’s what she wanted to talk about? He was a master himself at avoiding discussions that involved touchy feely stuff, but this woman took the cake. There were some things you just didn’t leave laying out there. Like her bald statement last night that had left him climbing the walls.
“No, thanks,” he said. “One’s my limit.”
She shrugged and topped up her own half empty glass and put the bottle back down on its pewter coaster. Quigg watched her raise the glass to take a sip, then lift a napkin to blot her damp lips.
“So, what do your tastes run to in television?”
He lifted his gaze from her mouth. “Huh?”
“Vince has got a rush job that’s going to tie up my nights for the next while, which means the TV will be all yours, but I only have basic cable. I was just wondering if you’d be able to find something to watch.”
He pushed back his chair. “I don’t believe this. You’re really not going to say anything about it.”
“It?” She lifted her chin defiantly, blue eyes glittering. “And what would ‘it’ be?”
For a wild second, he was tempted to take the glass form her hand, drag her into his arms and show her, graphically and satisfyingly, exactly what ‘it’ was.
Patience, Quigg, buddy. That’s supposed to be the new watchword. And you’ve already blown it. Don’t get her back up any further.
He forced himself to relax, keep his tone low key. “Last night. If I’m going to be staying here, don’t you think we should talk about it?”
“Oh, that.” She lowered her lashes. “I owe you an apology for that. I guess I wanted to make you suffer a little bit. You know, for turning me down.”
“It worked,” he said wryly. “But I was already pretty clear on what that was about. What confused me was the other stuff.”
She shot him a look, and there was no mistaking the flare of panic in her eyes, though she controlled it quickly.
“Other stuff?”
“Just things you said.”
“Like what?”
The words came out casually enough, but he saw her swallow.
He leaned forward, snaring her gaze. “Make no mistake about it, Suzannah—I called a halt because I didn’t want us to end up in bed for the wrong reason, not because I didn’t want us to end up in bed.” Her jaw went slack, but he pressed on. “I still want that, but only if you want it, too. Not out of fear. Not because you had one drink too many. And please God, not as a sort of coin for bodyguard services rendered.”
Her eyes blazed fiercely. “I already told you it wasn’t about that.”
His pulse took a crazy leap. “Good. I didn’t think so, but I had to be sure. Which brings me to the next point.”
“There’s more?”
“You’re a beautiful woman, Suzannah. Classy, smart, sexy, sophisticated. Way out of my league. I know that. But for a minute there, when I put the brakes on, it didn’t feel like that. It felt like I was depriving you of something you were really stretching for.”
She muttered something that sounded like, “Oh, God.”
His face burned. “Stupid, I know. I can’t give you anything you can’t get anywhere, anytime, with a crook of your little finger. But I just can’t shake the –”
“Okay, Detective.” Her voice broke into his, and suddenly she was on her feet, facing him aggressively. “I’m only going to say this once, so you’d better listen up.”
His instinct was to stand, too, but he squelched it. Patience. Going toe to toe with her would accomplish nothing. Instead, he slouched back in his chair. “I’m listening.”
“I don’t like sex.”
He blinked. “Huh?”
“I don’t like it. It’s ridiculous, awkward, and ultimately unfulfilling. It’s my fault, I know. I’m just no good at it.”
He heard the words, his brain processed them, but they didn’t make sense. That wasn’t the woman he’d held in his arms last night. “But –”
She held up a hand to stop him. “I know what I’m talking about, John. It’s not like I tried it once and decided okay, I guess sex isn’t for me. I do feel stirrings from time to time. I am human. And when it seemed like the right thing to do, the natural progression in a relationship, I tried it.” She dropped her eyes, twisting the delicate stem of the now empty wine glass in her hand. “It never got any better.”
“I don’t believe that for a minute,” he said. “The way you kissed me –”
“That’s why I was so upset last night. For a few minutes, it felt like I could ... like I might want to...”
Her voice trailed off and the room was silent for a moment. When he spoke, his voice was a disbelieving croak. “And you don’t think you can get that back? Is that the trouble?”
She colored. “You don’t understand.”
“No, sweetheart, you don’t understand.” He stood and held a hand out to her. “Come here.”
She took a step back. “That was last night. I’ve changed my mind. I don’t want to go to bed with you anymore.”
God, she was beautiful. And so earnest. She really believed she was frigid. “Who said anything about bed?” he asked, advancing a step closer.
“Have sex, then.” Her voice was tight as she retreated another step.
“Who said anything about sex?” Something leapt in her eyes, and he didn’t think it was fear, though she did take another step backward. He smiled. “Don’t you want to know if you can recapture the feeling?”
The yearning and fear that chased across her face made his heart squeeze. This time when he reached for her hand, she didn’t retreat, possibly because she’d backed herself up against the antique buffet and had nowhere to go.
“Come on, Suzannah, trust me this once,” he said. “No pressure, no expectation, just some good old-fashioned necking on the couch.” He stroked the inside of her wrist, where her pulse pounded madly, though with fear or excitement, he couldn’t say. But she certainly wasn’t indifferent.
She chewed the inside of her lip. “I don’t know.”
“What have you got to lose? If it doesn’t work for you, you can tell me to take my hands off you. How’s that?”
He was gratified to see her breath come faster, but still she held out.
“I don’t get it. What’s in it for you?”
He laughed. “Baby, if you still have to ask that when we’re done, you can give me a failing grade.”
“Won’t it be ... frustrating?”
“That’s a small price, and one I’ll happily pay.” Especially since he’d been fantasizing about kissing that prim mouth into a flushed, swollen bloom since the first moment he’d laid eyes on her in the courtroom two years ago.
Still she hesitated.
“I won’t let things get out of hand, if that’s what you’re worried about.” Even as he offered the assurance, he prayed for the strength and patience he was going to need to call upon to keep his promise.
“I know.”
With those two words and the trust implicit in them, any doubts about his self control fell away. He’d damned well die of sexual frustration before he betrayed that trust.
He stroked his thumb along the inside of her wrist again, felt the heat of her blood, the strength of her pulse. “So, what do you say?”
“Okay,” she said, her voice high and thin. He felt her fingers flex around his. “Okay, let’s do it.”