Beware of Doug

by Elaine Fox

  His arm tightened around her waist, and his hand buried itself in her hair. Dimly he heard the clip she’d used hit the foyer floor, and her hair cascaded around his fingers, soft as a morning fog.

  His lips found her mouth, and she opened beneath him like she was as hungry as he. Their tongues met, and Brady felt himself dive headlong into the dark, swirling whirlpool of her desires.

  Her body pressed against his, and still he pulled her to him. He leaned back on the door and gripped the robe, then moved his hand to find the opening, sliding bare hand onto bare skin. She gasped—a short little intake of breath that somehow conveyed intense arousal—and Brady groaned softly.

  His hand found the small of her back and dipped just low enough to feel the rise of her hips, the impossibly tender skin of her backside. His fingers grazed the cleft, then slipped up her side, over the curve of her waist and higher, up her rib cage until his thumb felt the underside of her breast, round and firm.

  She seemed to arch into his palms, throwing her head back so that his lips found her neck. He traced his tongue on the skin just below her ear. She sighed, a quiet, kitten sound so close to his ear that it tickled his eardrum.

  Brady was suddenly acutely aware of where they stood, that the stairs were a foot away and Lily’s bedroom just at the top of those. His body grew hotter at the thought of leading her up those stairs to her bed. He remembered the plush comforter and numerous pillows that graced it, inviting him to plunge into its depths and take his plea sure with its owner.

  Blood thundered in his ears and pulsed in his groin with a staggering heat. He moved his other hand from her hair and pushed the opening of her robe wide, pulling her naked body against him with both hands around her waist. Twisting, he turned them both so that she was against the door and he pressed his hardness up against her, a primal instinct he could not refuse.

  Her hands rose up to his face as their lips met again, and her hips answered his with equal force.

  It’s not too late to stop. She’s your landlord’s daughter, your neighbor, a virtual stranger. She’s a woman you do not know.

  But he was like a train barreling down the track at full speed. There was no stopping now. His body was on fire, his blood rushed with a momentum that would not be denied. Every ounce of desire he had, the accumulation of hungers he’d held in check for months, pounded through his veins and demanded he take what he was being offered.

  Her fingers found the opening of his jacket and pushed it back. Their lips separated with a soft sound, and he dropped the leather coat on the floor. Her hands went for his shirt buttons, working the closures as he pulled the tails out of the waistband of his jeans.

  His eyes were accustomed to the dark, and as he helped her with the bottom buttons of his shirt, his gaze raked her body. Framed by the robe, her skin glowed pale in the darkness, her breasts stood high and firm, and her hips curved with exquisite grace.

  He took a deep breath. Then her hands found his bare skin. She pushed them into his open shirt and laid her lips against his chest just at the rise of one pectoral muscle.

  He closed his eyes with the sensation. “Yes,” he murmured.

  “I want you,” she said, low, her fingers tightening on his rib cage.

  Her hair touched his chest, like a feather being traced along his skin, soft, tantalizing.

  “I—I can’t stop,” she said between tiny sucking kisses on his chest. “I need you. I need…this.”

  Brady paused, recognizing where Lily’s words came from, what they meant. He recognized that urgent, blinding, purely physical place that he also had been so many times. The place where he was consumed by his body’s wants and ignored his head, his instincts, his sense.

  The place he was right now, too. The place he swore he’d never be again.

  “Jesus,” he said on an expulsive breath. He pushed her gently against the door and moved his body back, away from the lure of her lips, the magnet of her body. He dipped his head, stared at the floor with wide, alert eyes.

  I don’t know this woman. I don’t know her. I can’t do this.

  He stepped back, feeling as if he’d dipped his hand into a beehive and swirled it around. He was going to get stung no matter what he did. But he could stop the bigger mistake. He could avoid doing the one thing he’d sworn he wouldn’t do again.

  “Brady.” Her voice was a whisper, his name a plea on a breath.

  He lifted his head, looked at her, and felt regret sweep over his skin, pound in his veins, quiver in his gut.

  She looked so beautiful, her eyes black in the darkness, her body like an alabaster goddess’s come to molten hot life.

  “I should check outside,” he heard himself say, his voice strangled and deep.

  What kind of gutless idiot had he become? he asked himself. Was he afraid? Had Tricia scarred him for life? Or was sleeping with Lily really the wrong thing to do?

  He heard his brother’s voice in his head again. It’s not worth it.

  It was just so hard to believe that, looking at Lily Tyler leaning against the door with her hair tumbled loose on her shoulders and her robe open to expose that perfect, receptive body.

  “Lily, I…” He shook his head, his hands aching to grab her again, to sweep her upstairs and the devil take whatever happened next. “I can’t.”

  She froze. He saw her body stiffen and knew he’d wounded her.

  “You have a boyfriend,” he said, pleading for understanding of something he couldn’t even articulate. Or maybe it was that he couldn’t quite believe it. “You’ll regret it, trust me.”

  After an interminable moment, she said, “You’re not stopping because I have a boyfriend.”

  He shook his head. No. The word sounded in his head—he nearly said it—but he couldn’t explain, not now. Maybe tomorrow. But not now, while his body was revved and his mind only barely holding on to the right thing to do.

  “I’ll be right back,” he said, knowing with every word that he was nailing shut the possibility of friendship, of anything, with this woman. “I’ll just check outside.”

  He reached for the doorknob next to her hip, and she stepped sideways, away from him.

  He paused. It was not too late, he thought, there was still time to ease this desire with something other than a brisk north wind.

  But he didn’t. He couldn’t. He made himself open the door and walk stiffly onto the porch.

  The moment he was out he felt something soft hit him in the back. When he turned, he found his coat on the porch floor and the door slamming behind him.

  Five

  In the end he’d left her a note. Slipped it through the mail slot telling her everything was all right, that the whole street had lost power, that the wind was kicking up so much debris the odd noises around the house were normal.

  Then he’d gone home and kicked himself for so easily forgetting his resolution. He’d gone over there to tell her about Tricia. Let her know that he was a normal guy who’d just happened to get mixed up with a psycho. And instead he’d done the exact same thing with her that he’d done with Tricia: jumped into the physical without any idea of who she actually was. What she actually was. What he might ultimately want.

  Brady picked up the phone and dialed the New York number he’d memorized in the last few months. He and his brother—half brother, to be specific—had not been close growing up. In fact they’d fought constantly as little kids, then ignored each other through the teen years, and lived in separate states through their twenties.

  It was only now, as they were entering their thirties, that they found having a brother was worth something.

  Keenan was four years older and had a personality that could not have been more unlike Brady’s. Where Brady was reckless and impulsive, Keenan was reasoned and methodical. Where Brady could be selfish and heartless, Keenan was invariably considerate and kind.

  Take for example the fact that Keenan never accused him of being selfish or heartless, merely unthinking, he always sa
id. But not deliberately unthinking, not in the inconsiderate sense, but because there were underlying issues. Keenan loved talking about people’s issues. He had always been the psychologist/philosopher of the family, and lately had parlayed the skills into a fine living writing a television series about a psychologist who helped women with their relationships.

  So it was only the last couple of years they’d gotten closer. Pretty much since their mother had gone into the nursing home.

  “Kee,” Brady said when his brother picked up the phone. “It’s me. I think I need an intervention.”

  Keenan laughed. “Who is this?”

  “I’m serious. Remember the date diet?” Brady stood in his kitchen and bounced the eraser end of a pencil against the counter. “I’ve already fucked up. And with the worst person I could have chosen. What is wrong with me?”

  Keenan sighed. “Do you think you do these things because regret is easier than restraint?”

  Brady paused. “Wow, good one. And right off the bat, too.”

  Keenan laughed. “I’m already warmed up. I just did a radio show.”

  Brady let that pass. His older brother’s success was another one of his issues, though not one that he shared. “Hey, for the record I did show some restraint. I walked away before it went too far.”

  “I thought you said you’d fucked up.”

  “Yeah, but I didn’t, you know, fuck. I just kissed the wrong girl. Repeatedly. I think I…might have…set up expectations.” Brady walked around the counter to the stool on the other side and sat, his head in one hand.

  “Ah—”

  “And I like this girl. I really do. I don’t want to piss her off or get on her bad side, either. I’d like to be friends. Not just because she’s the landlord’s daughter, but because she’s, I don’t know, interesting. I think she is, anyway. She seems interesting.” The words came out in a rush, as if he were explaining it to himself. Some of what he said even came as a surprise to himself.

  Not as much as it surprised Keenan, however.

  “Your landlord’s daughter?” he laughed incredulously. “How did you even find her? I mean, that must have taken some work.”

  “She lives next door,” Brady said dourly. “We share a wall.”

  “A wall.”

  “Yeah. The twin house thing, I told you.” He pulled the phone pad toward him and began doodling with the pencil. Hard, dark circles with spikes coming out of them—a series of black suns.

  “Oh right. You’re in a duplex.” Keenan sighed. “So she lives next door, and there’s no avoiding her.”

  “Right. So she’s out there like some kind of delicious, unhealthy temptation sent to test me. And she’s not like some Twinkie I can leave on the shelf in the food store and pick up broccoli instead. She’s just there, waiting.”

  “Okay, I think we’re taking this food metaphor a little far. I’ve got a weird picture of her in my head now.”

  Brady rolled his eyes. Sure, it was fine for Keenan to be amused. He hadn’t been there when Tricia popped her clutch. That had been scary.

  “The fact remains,” Brady, said, “she’s over there all the time, and I’m here all the time, and I don’t know how to avoid her. Although she’s probably not speaking to me now.”

  “Don’t either of you work?”

  Brady sighed heavily, to be sure Keenan heard him. “You know what I do. I’m on call, twenty-four/ seven. Which means the rest of the time I’m…around. She’s a teacher. She’s home a lot. It’s a dangerous situation.” The rays on the dark suns got longer, and wavy, like microwaves. Or supersonic death rays. He drew a bad-guy, troglodyte-type creature below them.

  “Didn’t you know this when you got into the situation? Couldn’t you have avoided it to begin with? You decided on this date diet thing before you even moved, remember. And you know what you’re like.”

  “Of course I remember. And no, I couldn’t have avoided it. I mean, Jordan Tyler said his daughter lived next door, so yeah, I technically knew she was there. But I didn’t picture her as…that is, I didn’t imagine, you know, after Tricia—well for God’s sake, Keenan I don’t anticipate having sex with every woman I hear about.”

  “It just happens,” Keenan said dryly.

  “Look, I don’t need a lecture. I just need to know what to do.”

  Keenan was silent a long moment. Then he said, “Tell her.”

  “Tell her what?” Brady dropped the pencil and ripped the top sheet off the pad, wadding it in his hand and tossing it across the kitchen.

  “Tell her about the date diet. Tell her you’ve given up women for Lent, or whatever.”

  “Lent’s over,” Brady said morosely. “Guess you’d already moved out when Mom went through her Catholic phase.”

  “Oh yeah. Well, tell her you’re not dating. That it’s nothing personal, but you’d appreciate it if she rebuffed you from now on. Be honest. Tell her what’s going on.”

  “She’ll think I’m some kind of sex addict,” Brady protested, trying to imagine the conversation. Hi, nothing personal, I just need to keep away from women for a while. I don’t seem to have very good judgment, and I jump into bed with anyone who’ll have me. That ought to make her feel special.

  “So?”

  “So? So I’m not a sex addict, and I don’t want her thinking I am. My God, she’ll look at me like some kind of—of deviant.”

  “Well, you can tell her you’re not a sex addict. Just a guy who needs to be on his own for a while. Tell her you’ve just gotten out of a bad relationship.”

  “I thought you said ‘be honest.’” Brady liked laying this on Keenan. It was so rare that Brady got to be the right one.

  “And you wouldn’t call Tricia a bad relationship?”

  Shit.

  He thought a moment. “And Lily sort of met Tricia, actually.”

  “Uh-oh.”

  “Yeah.” He recounted the scene for Keenan, who couldn’t stifle his laughter long enough for Brady to get through the whole thing without seeing some humor as well.

  “So it’s perfect,” Keenan said. “You tell her about Tricia, tell her you don’t like your own actions, and see what she says. If she’s a good candidate for a friend, she’ll understand. If not, no problem. You said she’s probably not speaking to you anyway, right?”

  “Right,” Brady said, thinking that wasn’t exactly what he’d call an “upside.”

  Doug was in a stew. He’d hated waking up to find himself caught in the bathroom again, especially when he could hear voices downstairs. One of which was male.

  He’d forgotten exactly why he’d gotten caught in the bathroom, remembered only that it had happened before, and the knee-jerk frustration of not being by Lily’s side when a man was in the house bloomed inside of him.

  It didn’t help, of course, that when she did finally release him he could smell New Guy all over her and the rug in the hallway, not to mention the stairs, the front foyer and, well, all over the place. The guy had gone everywhere. Like he was the protector.

  No, it was unacceptable, and as Doug knew well, when training you had to be consistent. Never let them get away with anything. That’s why the first day Lily left the doggy door unlatched he made his way out into the yard again and over to New Guy’s place.

  New Guy’s vehicle—not a car like Lily’s, but something louder and sparkly—was parked out back this time, making it easy for Doug to get to. As he considered his options, he peed on the back tire, an activity that relaxed him and generally aided his creativity.

  There wasn’t a lot there he could accomplish, most of the thing being metal, but the seat was soft and smelled of rawhides. With a little effort he could leap up there and get a grip, not to mention see how it tasted.

  His first effort was a bust. He didn’t get quite high enough—the seat was way higher than the couch at home—and his body hitting the machine merely made the thing shudder and clank. But that gave him an idea. Throwing his body at the bike a second time, he succ
eeded. Skittering back from the noise it made as it toppled over and hit the ground, Doug watched a couple of shiny parts break loose and roll away.

  One caught the light more than the others so he chased it, nipped it up in his mouth, and tossed it in the air. Then he pounced on it again. It lay dormant and glistening under his paws. He jumped up, play-bowed to it, and hit it with a paw, which made it roll away again. Delighted, he bounded after it, taking it up in his mouth once more and biting down hard.

  With a yelp, he spat the thing out and stared at it. When it became motionless again, Doug decided it really wasn’t all that interesting. A moment more of study, and he became aware of the rawhide scent behind him.

  He turned back to the machine, now on its side, and eyed the leather seat. He panted a moment in satisfaction, then set to work. A few licks confirmed his initial impression. It was soft and tasty. This would be enjoyable work.

  And hey, a bonus, he could even lie down as he worked; the leather seat was now comfortably at snout level.

  Lily stood in front of the class—ten women and one man, if you could call freshman college students women and men (some deserved it, some didn’t, in her opinion)—and looked at each of them in turn.

  “I’m sure at one point or another each of you has been in love with the wrong person,” she said. “Can you give me examples of where this happens in the novel?”

  As usual, the students were silent in the beginning, no one wanting to be the first to raise their hand and dare an opinion. For that reason, she preferred her upper-level courses. The older students were more confident in their convictions and voiced them freely. This group of freshmen, however, was still uncertain of their opinions, despite the fact that it was the second semester.

  On the other hand, freshmen were more open to discovering new passions, which is why she chose to teach a class on nineteenth-century novels at this level.