by BETH KERY
She shook her head, unable to speak because of the invisible balloon that had expanded inside her chest.
“It’s not like anything I’ve ever felt before, Eleanor.”
He leaned down and kissed her softly, and her breath broke on a desperate whimper.
SIXTEEN
They lay there, kissing and touching and talking quietly, until their bodies cooled. When his caress on the side of her ribs made her shiver, he roused her enough to get both of them under the covers.
“I heard you playing your guitar in the loft when I left your place earlier,” she said dreamily a while later as she stroked his chest. She loved the feeling of his thick, soft skin gloving dense muscle. “You’re incredible at it,” she said, remembering his rapid, complicated finger work. He really had gifted hands and fingers. How well she knew it. “What was that you were playing? I didn’t recognize it.”
“Just something I’ve been working on.”
She lifted her head. “I didn’t know you wrote your own music.”
He nodded distractedly as he cupped the side of her head, using his fingers to brush back her long hair from her face. “I haven’t been doing it as much as I used to, either composing or playing. That’s one of many things that got shoved to the wayside when I started BandBook and TalentNet. I’ve been trying to get back to it more regularly.”
“What you were playing . . . it sounded like both classical and rock guitar at once. It was melancholy one minute, exciting and wild the next. It was really good, Trey.”
His stroking fingers paused. “Thanks,” he said, looking a little taken aback and pleased by her praise. His brow creased suddenly. “How long were you listening?”
She lowered her head. “Five or ten minutes or so.”
He laughed gruffly and resumed stroking her. “And I was up there tearing at the bit to be with you the whole time.”
She started to speak, but halted herself.
“What?” he prodded her.
“Well, I don’t know if you’ll like this or not. But what you were playing was very . . .” She ducked her head to hide her embarrassment. “Romantic.”
“Romantic? Really?”
“Why do you sound surprised?” she asked, peering up at him.
He grinned wryly. “It’s just not a descriptor I’ve heard applied to me or anything I do much.”
“It’s the right word,” she said simply. “Do you have any recordings of you playing?”
“As a matter of fact I do. We have a couple recording studios at TalentNet.”
“Do you think I could have one?”
“Sure . . . if you really want it,” he said doubtfully.
“I do. I’m not flattering you. I really loved it. It was sort of . . . sweeping, what you were playing, like the score for an epic movie or something. Just listening to it made me—”
She swallowed thickly, overwhelmed for a moment. She’d stood at the bottom of the stairs and listened in awe for breathless minutes, the notes flowing down the stairs carrying her spirit like a rapid stream. A sharp longing had expanded in her chest cavity, hearing him play. She felt it again, lying there while Trey held her.
She felt his fingers beneath her chin and she looked up to meet his stare reluctantly.
“It made you what?” he asked.
“Feel,” she whispered hesitantly, her gaze flickering up furtively to his face.
For a moment, he just studied her soberly. Then he leaned forward and kissed her mouth so tenderly that, to Eleanor, it felt like a silent blessing.
—
After that, they lay quietly for a while, both of them awake, both of them thoughtful. Eleanor grew warm and extremely content in the circle of his arms, inhaling his singular scent, feeling his strong, slow heartbeat against her cheek.
Her stomach growled loudly. Trey laughed and reached down to stroke her belly.
“I knew you didn’t eat enough at dinner,” he said gruffly.
She lifted her head from his chest. “Let’s go raid the fridge,” she proposed excitedly.
“Of Catherine the Great’s feast?”
“We should eat some of it. I haven’t touched any since she gave it to me. She makes enough food for an army.” She threw back the covers. “My mother drives me crazy sometimes, but her cooking makes up for it. And that’s saying something.”
He dragged on his jeans. She threw on the shirt she’d worn for the striptease.
While she heated up the food, Trey wandered out of the kitchen. After a moment, a feeling of trepidation snuck into her awareness. She tried to pin down why she suddenly felt so anxious, and it came to her.
Her living room was dimly lit, but there were some family photos over in the far bookcase by the window. If Trey saw them, he’d probably ask her questions.
She hadn’t ever mentioned Caddy to him. Was that because of everything her mother and Jimmy had insinuated about her recent liberated, bold behavior relating to Caddy’s abrupt death? What if all of it—including this thing she had going on with Trey—was due to her mourning Caddy?
What if she really was, as her mother insinuated, grieving unnaturally? What if she was exhibiting some kind of intimacy issue? She wished Trey had never said that dreaded phrase. It sounded like some kind of incurable, chronic illness.
She wouldn’t let it get to her. She wasn’t ready to broach the topic of Caddy yet with Trey. Not when things between them were getting so amazing. She hastened out of the kitchen, hoping to distract him from the photos by telling him the food was ready. She came to a halt when she reached the living room. Her secret was safe. He hadn’t gotten to the far side of the room, where the photos were. Instead, he was somberly examining the contents of a near bookcase. The dim light from the hallway gilded his lean, cut torso and rounded, dense shoulder and arm muscles. For a few seconds, she just soaked in the miracle of him being just feet away, peering at her book collection.
He glanced aside, noticing her as he pulled a book from the shelf.
“Pride and Prejudice,” he said, walking toward her. “A very well-read copy of Pride and Prejudice.”
“It’s one of my favorites,” she admitted. “I was shocked to see you reading it at the event.”
“Were you?” he asked gruffly, leaning down to brush his lips against her temple. She shivered in pleasure and looked up at him.
“I was then. Less so every moment I spend with you,” she whispered before she went on her tiptoes and pressed her lips to his.
“You don’t still think I’m a heathen, then?” he asked quietly against her mouth a moment later.
“Maybe. But a heathen with potential,” she conceded.
His mouth twitched in humor. He held up the book. “I’ve kind of been remiss in my commitment to it lately. Maybe you can read it to me . . . teach me how to appreciate it.”
“I don’t know if I have the power to do that.”
His grin widened before he swept down, his firm, hot kiss stealing her breath for a moment.
“I’m starting to think that if anyone does, it’s you, Eleanor.”
—
They decided to eat their feast in bed. Eleanor made a tray for each of them and they started toward the bedroom.
“Hey,” she called when he turned right in the hallway. He looked over his shoulder. “Where are you going?”
He glanced down the hall dubiously. “To bed?”
“Oh.” It struck her that he’d never been in the master suite before. “That’s not my bedroom. That’s the guest room,” she said. She tilted her head to the left. “I’m in here.”
He followed her into the master suite. “This is nice,” he said, looking around when she turned on the light. He went around the far side of her bed and set down his tray. When they both sat on the bed, she noticed his brow was creased. “So we just used that
room all the time because—”
“Because it was the room with a view,” Eleanor said, keeping her gaze downcast to hide her embarrassment.
They started to eat, Trey growing more and more enthusiastic by the minute. He raved about the food. She couldn’t help feeling a little proud of her mother’s cooking when she saw how eager he was.
“So how is it that you ever saw me?” he asked once he finally took a pause from wolfing down his meal to swallow down half a glass of ice water.
She paused with a pelmini halfway to her mouth. “What?”
“How is it that you saw me through the windows, when you stay in here?” he asked.
Her heart seized a little. “Oh, it was just by chance, really. The first time, it was. After that . . . well, I knew to look.” He gave her a questioning look while he chewed. She flailed for a likely answer. “My parents stayed here one weekend last year. I gave them my room, because it has the larger bed. I stayed in the guest room. That’s when it happened,” she said, pretending to focus on eating again. For a few tense seconds, she thought he was going to ask her more questions. But then he reached and plucked the last bliny from her plate. She nodded down at her tray, wryly encouraging him. He grinned and dipped the pancake into her dish of sour cream. He bit into it and groaned.
“God, this stuff is good.”
She laughed.
—
After they’d finished and removed the dishes, Trey insisted she read to him from Pride and Prejudice.
“Are you serious?” she asked him incredulously when they returned to bed and he handed her the book.
“Yeah, completely,” he said, deadpan. He flipped open the book to the last page he’d read and handed it to her before he collapsed back on the pillows. Eleanor opened her mouth to protest, but then soaked in the image of him reclining there, his beautiful, cut torso bare, his arms bent and above his head. He looked completely relaxed and unguarded. She quickly changed her position about reading to him.
If he grew interested enough in P and P, he might just let her touch him to her heart’s content while she read. It sounded like a plan, anyway.
After only ten minutes of reading, however, he caught her hand abruptly as she caressed his abdomen just above his jeans, her fingers straying beneath the waistband. She’d sensed the tension coiling in him, so she wasn’t exactly surprised. She stopped reading and glanced at his face.
He lifted his head off the pillow. His blue eyes were alight with arousal.
“Don’t give me that innocent look, Eleanor.”
She hid her grin. She really had been petting him shamelessly while she read. He grabbed the book from her hand and tossed it on the nightstand.
“I’ll never get through that damn romantic book,” he said, reaching for her. His fingers twitched at her ribs, tickling her. She giggled and squirmed against him. “And it’s your own damn fault. You’re supposed to be teaching me to appreciate it. You should be ashamed of yourself.”
He dug his fingers deeper and she snorted with laughter. He grinned wider at the sound. She poked between his ribs in payback, and for a moment, they engaged in a tense, exciting tussle.
After a moment, she gave up and encircled his neck with her arms, bringing his mouth an inch within her own.
“Give up?” he asked her with a cocky, sultry stare.
She pressed tight against him. He was so hard. It felt wonderful.
“Not really,” she sighed in pleasure when his opened hand went beneath the shirt she wore to stroke her naked hip and ass, all signs of teasing vanished. She arched against him, so hungry for his heat. “It’s just that I agree. Who needs fiction when the real thing is so close at hand?” she asked softly just before his mouth captured hers.
SEVENTEEN
She made omelets for them for breakfast. Trey did his part by making toast and coffee. After eating, they spent a lazy morning lounging in bed, watching television and making love. Every new thing she learned about him she cherished, no matter how small and seemingly inconsequential. He loved Thai, Italian, German and Japanese food. Despite the fact that he added Russian food to his list of favorites after their meal last night, Eleanor was tickled to discover that just the mention of caviar made him look like he was going to throw up.
When he was in college, he played in a cover rock band with drummer Adam Keyes, who later became a member of the bestselling band Commuter Toss. Adam Keyes was also a computer science major who shared Trey’s fascination with online culture. He’d been a big influence in helping him develop BandBook, and BandBook, in turn, had been instrumental in sending Adam and his group to the top of the charts.
Even as a kid, his interests had been diversified. He was a devotee of both American and British football. He could ride a horse by the time he was seven and had started driving a combine when he was only thirteen. He was the only kid in high school who was on the football and soccer teams, a member of Future Farmers of America, the technology club and a newly created jazz band. After growing so frazzled his senior year with all his schoolwork, his social life and helping his dad on the farm, his advisor suggested quitting one or two extracurricular activities.
“Did you end up quitting something?” Eleanor asked him as they lay entwined together in bed. She loved listening to the sound of his deep voice rumbling up to her ear while she pressed it against his chest.
“Yeah, dating.” She lifted her head and gave him a stunned look. “Only for a few months, just before and during final exams. I had a scholarship I didn’t want to lose.” She arched her brows. He eyed her suspiciously. “Oh, I get it. I know what you’re thinking. That the precedent goes way back, is that it?”
“Relationships with women were the first to go, even back then. We were the first to be lopped off the list of importance,” she murmured.
She’d been teasing him a little, so she was a little shocked when he grew so sober. “You’re right,” he said. “I never really thought about that before.”
“Why do you think females were the most expendable thing?”
He thought about it for a few seconds. “I don’t think it’s fair to say it globally about all females.”
“Really?”
“Really. Janice Hoffman, the girl I was dating my senior year, made the bottom of the list. That’s not the same as saying every woman does. Is it?”
“Nooo,” she agreed slowly.
“There’s definitely a but in that no, Eleanor.”
She smiled. “It just strikes me that you often describe the women you date as high maintenance. Maybe you consider relationships work instead of fun, just another project on your to-do list. Isn’t it possible that if you see relationships that way, you might attract the type of woman who fits that pattern?”
“What are you? An amateur psychologist?” he asked her, raking his fingers through her hair and scratching her scalp. Her eyes fluttered closed and she moaned in pleasure.
“That’s a pretty good description of a psychologist’s daughter. I just think relationships and sex and romance should be a lot more lighthearted than you envision them, that’s all.”
“More fun?” he growled softly, planting a kiss at the corner of her mouth. He rolled her onto her back and came on top of her.
“Certainly less like an obligatory task,” she teased.
He laughed and flexed his hips, rubbing his growing erection against her belly. She reached for him, scraping her nails against his neck and shoulders. God, she loved the way he felt. Everywhere. She saw that familiar spark in his blue eyes, and knew he enjoyed her touch, as well. He cupped her breast and feathered the nipple with his thumb. Her smile faded.
“There’s no issue with putting you right at the top of my to-do list, Eleanor,” he said gruffly. “Trust me on that.”
He dipped his head to kiss her. Maybe it was wishful thinking on her part. But even
though it was seemingly a teasing, sexy type of thing to say while they were in bed, she couldn’t find a trace of amusement on his face when he’d said it.
—
Trey wanted to go to the gym that afternoon, and then stop by his office, where he said he had something in the works that needed his attention. Eleanor said she needed to run some errands herself.
“Plus, I told Mom I’d take some of her containers back to her,” she reflected as they stood together near the front door. She was feeling a little nervous at their parting. Their time together this time had been intensely erotic, intimate and . . . special. It was one of those kinds of nights and days she wished she could do all over again. She was a little heartsore it was finished.
“Yeah, I kind of cleaned you out of your mom’s cooking, didn’t I?”
She patted his hard belly and smirked. “Who knew Mom’s food could feed either a platoon or Trey Riordan?”
He took her into his arms and dipped his knees to bring his head down to hers. His low laugh struck her as delicious as his lips moved on her neck and then plucked at her lips. She’d given him a new toothbrush to use earlier following his shower. He smelled like mint and clean male skin. “Thank your mom for me. Tell her the food was fantastic. I think I’m addicted,” he said, eyelids heavy as he peered down at her.
Her pulse started hammering at that, but she played it cool.
“Trust me, she already knows it was fantastic, but I’ll tell her anyway.”
Their mouths brushed together and clung. “Have a good rest of the day, then,” he murmured, showing no signs of leaving.
“You too,” she said, hoping he couldn’t see her pulse thrumming at her throat. Her heart hitched when he gave her one last kiss and finally parted from her.
He halted a second later with the front door open.
“Can I take you to dinner tonight?” he asked her over his shoulder.
Relief broke over her, feeling like a physical sensation, it was so intense. “I’d love that.”
“Good. Because the thing of it is . . .”