by Patricia Kay
“I never thought I’d like this kind of living, but I can see its appeal,” he said, turning sideways to face her.
She started to say this kind of living wasn’t her idea of heaven, either, then thought, Why bother? He doesn’t really care what I think. All of his pretense at listening and understanding were just that—a pretense. A way to humor his client. No more. No less. So all she did was nod and take another sip of her drink.
After a few moments of silence, John leaned over and set his glass on her small wrought-iron patio table. Then he turned and faced her again. He touched her arm. Turning her gently, he placed his hands on her shoulders and said, “Sydney, what’s wrong?”
“I don’t know what you mean,” she said stiffly. She couldn’t meet his eyes.
“You know exactly what I mean.” With his right hand, he tipped her chin up.
He looked into her eyes for a long moment. Sydney’s heart skipped a beat. She couldn’t have spoken if her life had depended on it.
Wordlessly, he took her glass and placed it on the tabletop beside his. With the gentlest of touches, he placed his hands on either side of her face. “I wish I knew what I did or said that hurt your feelings or made you angry. Whatever it was, I’m sorry. I wouldn’t hurt you for the world.”
Sydney swallowed. To her mortification, she could feel tears forming at the backs of her eyes, and it made her furious with herself. “Just forget it,” she said.
“I can’t forget it. You’ve been distant since the middle of dinner, and for the life of me, I can’t figure out why.”
For the life of her, Sydney couldn’t think what to say. She sure wasn’t going to admit what it was he’d said that had wounded her so deeply. She just nodded and said, “Don’t worry about it. It’s okay.”
“It’s not okay.” His eyes searched hers.
Oh, God, don’t keep looking at me like that!
“Sydney...” With the pad of his thumb, he brushed her lower lip.
Sydney trembled, closing her eyes. His touch set off a yearning so deep, so profound, her entire body ached. Suddenly, all the slights, all the hurts, all the pain of the past closed in on her, and she felt like one big, inadequate, needy mess. The only thought in her mind was a prayer that she get through what was left of this evening without making a fool of herself.
And then he kissed her.
When she felt his lips on hers, her eyes snapped open, her breath caught and her heart shot up into her throat, even though the kiss was as light as the brush of a feather.
He lifted his head and his gaze locked with hers. They stared at each other for a long moment, then he kissed her again, this time more firmly. This kiss caused an explosion of feeling so intense, Sydney shivered from the force of it. His hands tightened, and one slid around and under her hair to cup the back of her head.
He deepened the kiss, and Sydney’s head spun. He nudged her mouth open, slipping his tongue inside, and once he’d gained entry, he claimed her fully.
His kiss produced all the old clichés. Fireworks. Crashing cymbals. Shooting stars. A dizzying array of sensations and emotions that made her bones melt and her head whirl.
As the kiss intensified, he pulled her tightly against him. Because she was so tall, they fit together perfectly, and she could feel his arousal against her, at almost the exact point where her own body pulsed in counterpoint.
Sydney forgot everything.
She forgot that her feelings had been hurt.
She forgot that she was no good at relationships and no good at sex.
She forgot that she never rushed into anything, that she never made decisions or acted based on her emotions.
Instead, she wrapped her arms around John, and as the cool autumn night surrounded them, she unlocked the gate that guarded her heart and let him claim that, too.
He kissed her again and again, until finally, by some kind of unspoken message, they slowly drew apart. Sydney felt weak and light-headed and totally bemused.
“What are we going to do about this, Sydney?” John said. He sounded as shaken as she felt.
She didn’t pretend to misunderstand. Coy wasn’t in her nature. “What would you like to do about it?”
He looked deep into her eyes. “I’d like to make love to you.”
The words lingered in the air between them. All sorts of thoughts flitted through her mind in the space of a couple of seconds. Uppermost was the depth of her need—a need she hadn’t acknowledged in a very long time.
“That’s what I’d like, too,” she said.
John drew her into his arms and kissed her again. His hands roamed her back, and everywhere they touched, she felt the heat of the passion building between them. If Sydney had had even the tiniest doubt, this kiss dispelled it. Being in John’s arms, having him kiss her and hold her and touch her—all felt so right to her.
It didn’t matter that she’d only been with him a total of three times. It didn’t matter that she might be sorry tomorrow. It didn’t even matter that he might be sorry tomorrow.
At this moment, she needed him, she wanted him and she trusted him.
When the slow kiss ended, John took her hand, and silently, they walked inside. Sydney’s heart was beating too fast, and she felt disembodied, as if someone else were inhabiting her skin and she had floated off somewhere.
As John turned to shut the door behind them, from far below, the wail of an ambulance sounded through the clear night. For one second, Sydney wondered if the sound was an omen, a warning.
Then she shoved the thought from her mind. She didn’t care. Tonight, she would forget all caution. Tonight, she would simply feel. Tonight, she would simply be.
The bedroom was flooded with moonlight. As they entered, the logistics of it all suddenly assailed Sydney, and she felt awkward and weird.
Why was it that in movies and books, people always seemed to find it so easy to get around the embarrassing details of undressing and birth control and actually getting in bed together?
In real life, these things certainly took the edge off a person’s desire and made her wonder if she really knew what she was doing.
Maybe she was crazy.
Maybe this was a stupid idea.
Maybe she should at least wait until she’d known John longer.
But Sydney knew the amount of time she’d known John wasn’t what was really bothering her. No, what was really bothering her was that she wasn’t any good at sex. He was bound to be disappointed in her, and then... oh, God, it didn’t bear thinking about.
“What’s wrong?” John said. “Are you having second thoughts?” He lifted her hair and kissed the back of her neck, and Sydney shuddered. “If you are,” he murmured, “say so.”
She took a deep breath, then thought, Oh, what the hell. “No, I-I’m not having second thoughts, but there’s, uh, something you should know.”
His lips found the sensitive spot right behind her ear. “What?” he whispered.
Sydney could hardly talk for the shivery sensation that radiated from the point where his tongue met her skin to every comer of her body. “I-I’m not.. .not very good at this.”
“Not very good at what?” His hands crept around to cover her breasts.
Sydney arched in response, a groan escaping her lips.
He laughed softly, then turned her to face him. Her breasts tingled from where he’d touched them. He cupped her face and kissed the tip of her nose.
“Sydney, we’re not going to run a race or argue a case. We’re going to make love.” His eyes gleamed in the moonlight. “And so far, you’re doing just fine.” He kissed her slowly, trailing his mouth across her lips and cheeks, while his hands stroked her back and head. “I want you,” he said. “Do you want me?”
She swallowed. She wanted him. She wanted him a lot. But she was terrified. What if she was an abysmal failure? “Y-yes, but it’s been a long—”
John held her close for a moment and whispered against her hair. “It’s been a long tim
e for me, too.” Somehow, after that, everything was easier.
They didn’t talk, just silently began to undress. When Sydney struggled with her back zipper, John said. “Here, let me.”
Sydney closed her eyes and a tremor slid through her as he slowly pulled the zipper down. “Thanks,” she murmured. Keeping her back to him, she finished removing her dress, her slip, then her stockings and the red shoes.
Shyness attacked her again once she’d gotten down to her panties and bra. When she finally got up the nerve to turn around, she saw that John, too, had stripped down to his briefs. There was enough light in the room for her to see that he had a great-looking body—not muscle-bound, which was a turnoff, as far as Sydney was concerned, but nicely proportioned and athletic-looking with just enough muscle definition to be attractive.
She wondered if he found her body attractive. She knew she wasn’t lush and sexy, like some women, but her body was firm, and even though her breasts were small, she thought they were adequate. Still, he might like women who had fuller figures, sexier figures. Well, there wasn’t anything she could do about that now. Or ever, she thought with a flash of humor. She took a deep breath. What you see is what you get.
He looked at her and grinned. “Who’d have thought it?” he said, and she heard the amusement in his voice. “Lace underwear. My, my, my.” The amusement had been replaced with a husky edge. “And red . . . to match those sexy shoes.”
Sydney blushed, and for the second time in less than a week, she was glad of the darkness. She knew most people would react the same way John had reacted if they saw the kind of underwear she favored. Just about every pair of panties and every bra she owned— except for her sports bra—was filmy and lacy and was usually a shade of violet or red or blue. It was her one secret concession to her femininity.
John sat on the edge of the bed. “Come here,” he said.
Sydney swallowed. The feeling that someone else was inhabiting her body returned. Heart pounding, she walked toward him. When she got close enough, he reached for her and turned her around, his hands on her hips. Then he pulled her down onto his lap, nestling her close. His body felt warm and solid and very male.
He slid his hands around to cup her breasts again, and at this intimate touch with the only barrier between them the sheer fabric of her bra, Sydney gasped.
His warm mouth against her hair, he murmured, “Do you like that?” His thumbs rotated gently.
Her breasts blossomed under his touch, and a bittersweet longing filled her. “Yes,” she managed to say, throwing her head back as his mouth sought her neck, then her ear. His tongue traced her earlobe.
Her heart galloped madly, and desire tore through her as he continued to caress her. Her breathing grew ragged.
“Spread your legs,” he whispered. When she did, his right hand trailed down, slipping under the lace band of her panties and delving into the warm, wet recess that cried out for his touch. Sydney groaned as his fingers probed. She tensed against the onslaught of sensation.
Against her bottom, she felt his arousal, and the combination of his fingers moving inside her, his other hand continuing to caress her breasts and his hard body close up against her, shot her to the very edge of a climax she knew was going to be shattering. She fought against letting herself go and tried to pull away, but John held her firmly, his fingers insistent as they moved faster and with more pressure.
“Go with it,” he whispered against her ear.
“No, I.. .wait—”
And then she came apart. “Yes,” he said. “Yes.” He held her tightly as her body convulsed, continuing to intensify her pleasure, until she was finally still and trembling with aftershock. Then he loosened his hold and with unsteady hands, unhooked her bra.
Moments later, rid of the last barriers between them, they pulled the covers down and climbed into Sydney’s bed. He encircled her with his arms, throwing one leg over her and pulling her close. He felt hard and hot, and she reached down to touch him.
As her palm closed around him, he groaned, and the sound made Sydney feel bold. She gently moved her hand, and with a ragged growl, he rolled her over and positioned himself on top of her. “I can’t wait,” he muttered, spreading her legs.
Sydney lifted herself to give him easier access, and he eased inside. She sucked in her breath at the feeling, and as her body adjusted to absorb him, she wrapped her legs around him.
They began to move together, and with each thrust, John sank deeper into her. The heat and weight of him filled her, and that yearning, that need, that emptiness that needed filling, was suddenly assuaged.
Sydney clutched him tightly as their breathing accelerated and they strained harder. She could feel herself nearing another climax, and before she could stop it, it claimed her in wave after wave of intense pleasure. As her muscles contracted, John made a gutteral sound, and then, with one last mighty thrust, he spilled into her.
“I never even asked you about birth control,” he said later. His finger traced her collarbone as she lay contented in his arms.
“I take birth control pills,” she admitted. Then she chuckled. “Hope springs eternal, you know.”
He laughed, too. Then, amusement still laced through his voice, he said, “I don’t know why you thought you weren’t any good at sex.” His teeth nipped at her ear. “You’re a pretty hot number.”
Sydney laughed. “Oh, yeah, sure.”
When he spoke again, the amusement was gone. He stroked her cheek. “You’re not sorry, are you?”
“No! Y-you’re not sorry, are you?”
His arms tightened around her. “No,” he whispered fiercely. “I’m not sorry at all. What’s happened between us tonight is the best thing that’s happened to me in a very long time.”
Chapter Seven
John kissed Sydney goodbye and left for home at about three o’clock in the morning. Although Emily and Jeffrey were spending the night at his mother’s house and he could have stayed all night at Sydney’s, for the sake of his kids, he didn’t want to chance any neighborhood gossip.
In particular, John wanted to avoid the scrutiny of old eagle-eyed Nathan McCroskey, who lived next door. The nosy old man was retired and got up at the crack of dawn. He knew everything that happened on their end of the street, and since he didn’t have much else to do, he loved to talk. John had been the recipient of several juicy tidbits over the years, whether he wanted to hear them or not. Nathan never paid any attention when John tried to deter him;
he just kept talking.
John could imagine the raised eyebrows on the old man’s face if he should spy John coming in after an obvious overnight stay somewhere other than his home.
Not that John cared personally. But it was different when you had kids. If, and when, he brought someone else into their lives, he wanted to be the one to tell them.
As John drove home, he examined his feelings. The night’s events had shaken him. He hadn’t planned on or expected to make love to Sydney. In fact, his plans had been just the opposite. He’d told himself they would go out to dinner, pass a friendly, pleasant evening, and then he would take her home, and that would be it.
Finis.
He laughed at how he’d lied to himself.
No matter that things had just seemed to happen, to snowball once they’d gotten started, and he’d felt powerless to stop them. In his heart, he’d wanted them to happen, and he knew it.
Yet he had never imagined he would feel this way about her. Hell, he hadn’t expected to ever feel this way again. He’d thought his capacity for this type of deep feeling had died along with Andrea.
Damn, things were complicated now. And there was no way to uncomplicate them. There would be no walking away, not now, not after last night. Somehow, he and Sydney would just have to play this thing through until the end.
Yeah, that was the crux of the problem.
The end.
And that’s what worried him. Because when their relationship played itself ou
t to its inevitable conclusion, and they went their separate ways, it would not be easy to forget Sydney.
And go their separate ways they would. Because he knew without being told that he and Sydney wanted different things out of life.
Despite all of this, John wasn’t sorry they’d made love.
He couldn’t help smiling as he remembered what it had been like. She was wonderful. So sweet, so willing, so responsive, yet so obviously inexperienced. And although he knew he wasn’t her first lover, he also knew that in all the ways that counted, Sydney was untouched.
Untouched and very vulnerable.
And that, more than anything else, scared the hell out of him.
* * *
Sydney didn’t hear from John on Sunday, and although she told herself she hadn’t expected to, a nagging disappointment refused to go away. She spent most of the day working, and then, late in the afternoon, dropped in at her parents’ house for about thirty minutes.
Her father wanted to hear everything that had happened that week. She gave him a rundown on the past few days in court, then said her goodbyes and left for home. She tried not to get her hopes up, yet a spark of anticipation fluttered inside as she walked into the condo.
She headed straight for the telephone and her answering machine. The red light wasn’t blinking.
There were no messages.
Sighing, she sank onto a chair.
What if he was sorry? He’d said he wasn’t, but what if he was, now that he’d had some time to think about everything?
What if I never hear from him again?
She shook herself. She would not think such negative thoughts.
But they refused to go away. For the rest of the evening, as she listlessly prepared a frozen dinner, as she tried to concentrate on the next day’s proceedings, as she prepared for bed, the thought kept worming its way into her consciousness.
What if I never hear from him again?
And then, at ten o’clock, when she’d just gotten into bed and picked up a book, hoping she could read herself into sleep, the phone at her bedside rang.