by Shirl Henke
He reached back and grabbed the condom from the table, then quickly put it on and returned to her waiting embrace. He slid his palm over the concave surface of her belly, feeling the clenching need deep inside her, then slipped his fingers under the lacy wisp of her panties and cupped her mound. She arched up into his hand, crying out his name. When he began working the fabric over her hips, she raised her bottom and twisted smoothly so the tiny bit of silk slid off in his hand. He raised it to his face and breathed in the sweet musk.
“I've soaked them,” Gilly whispered, shocked at her boldness, but it seemed to please him.
“Now,” he murmured, positioning himself between her thighs and raising up so he could look at her as he slid slowly inside her body. Her legs went up, wrapping around his hips as she arched her back, waiting for his thrust.
“Now,” she repeated.
It was heaven. Slick, gliding, undulating heaven. Every nerve in her body screamed with the unbearable sweetness of the pleasure. Never before had it felt so keen, so instantaneous, so effortless as it did with Jeff. This was more than the end of a long abstinence.
I'm falling for this guy!
The thought came out of nowhere; but before she could examine it further, he began to increase the tempo, and the mounting frenzy of her need drove every thought from her mind. Like a wild woman she clung to him, her nails scoring his back, her thighs squeezing his hips, her back arching to meet each thrust.
“Little hellcat,” he rasped, loving her wild, uninhibited response, waiting for what he could sense was fast approaching. She was so small and tight that he could instantly feel her orgasm begin, the hard, rippling contractions wringing from him an answering response. Jeff watched her eyes glaze over, the lashes fluttering down. Her body convulsed, flushing pink as she gave everything to her release.
He'd never seen a woman react so strongly, last so long. But his flash of male pride was quickly displaced when a wave of tender possessiveness swept over him. This could become habit forming, this woman, loving her this way. Not a thought he was expecting to consider the instant before the climax of his lifetime struck him like a tidal wave.
“Ah, Gilly, what have you done to me?”
The words were softly slurred into her hair as they lay in a welter of entwined arms and legs. She wasn't sure she'd heard him right or what the words meant.
Does he love me, too?
Chapter Four
Faint streaks of dim December sunlight climbed across the big rumpled bed where Gilly and Jeff finally ended up sleeping, but not until after they had spent most of the night making love, feeding each other shrimp and caviar, sipping wine before the fire, then rekindling their own flames. Gradually, they had worked their way from the living room into the king-sized water bed, although neither one could have said how they got from one room to the other.
Gilly awakened to the gentle motion of water when Jeff rolled over, placed one arm possessively across her breasts, then drifted back into deep slumber. Dreamily, she recalled that last night with him gave a whole new meaning to the term motion sensitivity. Jeff. She turned her head and studied him as he slept.
Thick black lashes veiled his eyes. Their rich brown depths had glowed like coals before the fire last night. What a waste to hide those incredible eyes behind glasses. He probably had to wear them in self-defense—to keep every woman he encountered from tearing off his clothes! She touched the abrasive stubble of heavy black beard on his jaw. Last night, it had been shaven so smooth that he barely left a mark on her inner thighs. She grew taut and wet just remembering the way he had held her buttocks cupped in his hands and proclaimed in that low, sexy voice that the real feast was only beginning. Never before had she experienced such utter abandon with a lover. Never before could she have allowed one to take her that way...or to take him that way.
This is it.
Charis had told Gilly that the first time she slept with Bill she knew he was the one. Gilly had secretly scoffed at the notion. She wasn't scoffing now. It had just happened to her. And the man who'd made her impossible dreams come true believed she was a high-powered hardcover editor from a wealthy family in small-town America. How could she ever justify her deception? Or tell him the truth?
Whoa, Gilly, she reminded herself. She was putting the cart before the horse. Just because she had gone bonkers over him did not mean that he reciprocated the feelings. Okay, he had said a few things in the heat of passion that could be construed as admissions that he cared. But he never said he was in love with her...in so many words. And even if he had, it had been in the heat of passion. Whew, boy, it had been a blast furnace of passion!
She wriggled up in bed and sat with his arm draped casually over her lap. Unable to resist, she let her fingers glide over his hair, thick and night dark, a bit tangled from their earlier exertions. He did look a bit like a book-cover model—not the steroid-pumped type, but just as much a woman's fantasy. Her fantasy. Her hand ranged over his shoulder, stroking the sleek muscles as she studied the soft dark hair on his forearm. Without warning, he suddenly rolled over and caught her hand in his, pulling her down on top of him.
“Good morning,” he said in a low, sexy growl as his fingers tangled in her hair, bringing her face down to his. Between breathless kisses she returned the greeting, and he asked, “Sleep well?”
“You know I did...what little time I actually had to sleep.”
“Now she's complaining,” he teased, one hand roaming from her buttocks to the curve of her breast.
“I'll give you exactly a day or two to cut that out,” she said, arching into his palm.
“Mmm, think I may take a while longer.”
He continued the slow, languorous caresses until she was half wild with desire. She straddled his hips, their legs tangled in the badly rumpled covers. She gazed down at him, watching as he continued making love to her breasts, cupping them in his palms, pulling the nipples and rolling them between his thumbs and index fingers. The world was spinning out of control. She placed her hands on his hairy chest, feeling the accelerating thud of his heart. Then, she felt his straining erection brush against the crack of her buttocks.
“Think you can hold out longer?” she teased.
“Longer than you. Want to bet?” he murmured, seemingly engrossed in the way her nipples crinkled tighter and tighter under his ministrations. He raised his head, pulling her down so he could replace his hand with his mouth.
When she scooted back to accommodate him, she also reached down to grasp his stone-hard penis. His groan was muffled against her breast as she centered her body over it, guiding it very slowly inside. She stopped, breathless herself, and whispered, “Want me to stop?”
“My sweet little cock-teaser,” he murmured, his hands now sliding over her hips, arranging them to his and her intense satisfaction.
When they again lay breathless and exhausted in each other's arms, he said, almost as if to himself, “It's amazing. I can't seem to get enough of you. You make me insatiable, Gilly girl.”
“Hmm, I'm a cock-teaser, and you're a satyr. A match made in heaven?” she murmured with a chuckle. “I've never felt this...” Go easy, an inner voice cautioned. “This at ease with anyone before. It's comfortable with you—I mean, besides how we fit during sex.”
He seemed to consider her words, then nodded. “You're right. And the way we fit during sex is a hell of a lot more than just comfortable, although I'm damned if I know an adjective to do it justice.”
They lay in contentment for several more minutes; but suddenly he tensed and pulled away from her, looking over at the bedside clock. “It's nearly noon!”
“So? It's Saturday. You can't have classes on a Saturday afternoon, can you?” Gilly sat up, confused.
Jeff practically leaped from the bed and stalked naked down the hall, calling over his shoulder, “Not class, a...study session...with several other students. I have to run. I'm really late, Gilly.”
By the time she grabbed her robe from
the bathroom door and made her way to the living room, he was dressed and slipping on his loafers. He walked over to her and took her in his arms, pressing a kiss on her forehead. “I'm sorry, babe. I'll call you tonight when I get off—er, get finished.”
* * * *
Gilly had kept her phone by her side all afternoon and evening, several pencils and two manuscripts also lying beside her on the big sofa. She tried to concentrate on editing, but her heart just wasn't in it. Everything had been going so great...or so she thought. Had she done something to scare him off? She hadn't told him that she loved him or indicated that she expected some sort of commitment. Maybe, she just gave off vibes that told men how she felt. Or, worst-case scenario, maybe now that he'd finally gotten her into bed, she'd lost her allure. Some guys were like that, but Gilly would have bet her life that Jeff Brandt was not one of them.
It was nearly ten that night when he called. He sounded beat. Gilly's heart nearly melted with tenderness when she heard his voice. They talked for half an hour, speaking of the kinds of inconsequential things lovers often do. He wanted to return to her place, but he had a big exam coming up on Monday and needed to study. He sounded disappointed. She was, too. But she had two edits to finish by Monday as well. They made a date for Monday night.
Jeff was going to pick her up at work. She figured she could make it from her job to the lobby in FS&G's building by half past five if she rushed. But at four-thirty her cell phone rang. Jeff had a “family emergency” and couldn't make it. They met the next night; and he was brimming with apologies, although not very forthcoming about what crisis had taken place in Scarsdale. He took her to a small Indian restaurant up by Columbus Circle, where the food was fabulous.
By the time they reached the Park Avenue apartment, Gilly had other things on her mind than family crises. He left her after midnight, saying he had an early-morning class. She had to be at work early, too. But sleeping in that big bed without him had become quite lonely. And, after all, they only had two weeks before Charis and Bill returned to reclaim their luxurious living quarters. Gilly didn't want to waste a single day.
This forced her to consider what she'd do when she had to return to her Yonkers apartment. How would she explain that they couldn't use her place any longer? She racked her brain for several days, trying to work up her courage to confess the deception; but every time she was on the brink of doing it, something would interfere. Either she'd lose her nerve or he'd break their date.
The abrupt breaking of dates was beginning to worry her. What if he was like Frank Blane after all? What if he had a wife or another girlfriend tucked away in his Washington Square apartment? When Charis phoned her from Nice, she laid out her misgivings about the relationship to the only friend she could confide in.
Charis didn't beat around the bush. “Arrange some excuse to go down to NYU and meet his roommate. But before you even waste time doing that, call the university and verify that they have a Jeffrey Brandt enrolled in the law program.”
“But...that's so cold...as if I don't trust him.”
“Well, why should you?”
“Yeah, he could be lying just like me, right?”
“You said it, sweetie, I didn't,” Charis chided gently.
* * * *
The next day Gilly did some detective work. There was indeed a Jeffrey Lyle Brandt enrolled as a third-year law student at NYU. Although his family had an unlisted number and Gilly had to ask a big favor from an old Oberlin classmate working for the phone company, she learned that a Lyle Bearsford Brandt lived in Scarsdale. From another classmate practicing law on Long Island, she found out that Mr. Brandt was a retired attorney. Jeff was who he said he was. The only thing remaining was to check out the roommate and verify that he was a he.
“Would you believe the coincidence, Jeff—I'm going to be attending an afternoon workshop at NYU tomorrow. Can we meet somewhere for coffee—that is, if you have time?” Her voice sounded breathy and frightened. She had always been a terrible liar. Except when you came up with that whopper about your job. Ignoring the small squeak of conscience, she made arrangements to meet him on campus after his last class of the day.
The coffee shop was small and crowded, a favorite hangout for grad students. As they wended their way through the chairs and tables overflowing with a motley assortment of humanity, Gilly scanned faces. Long-haired hippie types with untrimmed beards and Birkenstocks argued vehemently with preppy-looking youths in button-down collars and Dockers.
“Does Karl hang out here?” she asked brightly. “I'd love to meet him.”
Jeff shrugged, taking her coat, then pulling off his bomber jacket and piling them on what might have been the only unoccupied chair in the place. “Sometimes he's here. His schedule is pretty crazy.”
“Whose isn't? This is the first time we've made contact in nearly a week,” she replied.
He leaned down and brushed his lips across her neck as he pulled out a chair for her, murmuring, “We haven't made contact yet.”
“Well, if Karl isn't at your place...”
“It's a student dump—two guys batching it, Gilly. Considering what your apartment is like—”
“You're a student. I was one once, and I remember what my place looked like—a mix of Escape from New York and Angela's Ashes.”
He studied her face for a moment as they sat at the small table with noise and people pressing in on them. “You are really incredible, Gilly. You're bright, beautiful, successful, you have everything you want—”
“Not everything, Jeff.” Her fingers stroked over the back of his hand, tracing the pattern of dark hair delicately with her nails.
“Let me see if Karl's around.” He squeezed her hand, then stood up and made his way to the bar, where he talked with a balding man sporting a belly that hadn't come from drinking espresso. As he served up coffees, he pointed across the room to a corner table near the window. There sat a tall, lanky man of indeterminate years who bore a remarkable resemblance to Jimmy Stewart, his concentration focused on an oversized textbook and papers spread out across the table.
Jeff motioned for her to join him as he wended his way over. “Hey, Karl. Dr. Oppermann laying it on again?” he asked as Gilly joined them. Placing his arm around her shoulders, he said, “I want you to meet—”
“You have to be the legendary Gilly Newsom,” Karl said with a smile as guileless and open as a Kansas cornfield, which exactly matched his origins.
As he stood up and offered her a chair, they exchanged introductions. Jeff went off to bring them coffee. “Jeff says you're a Midwesterner. So am I. Ohio.”
“I could tell by your lack of accent. Everyone on the coast has one. You ever notice that for all the kidding we get about being hicks and hayseeds, all the national newscasters talk like us, not New Yorkers, Southerners, or New Englanders?”
Gilly liked him already. “How long have you and Jeff been rooming together?”
Karl Mathis scratched his thinning brown hair and considered. “Let's see, I started law the term after Jeff, so that makes it about a year and a half now. With both our crazy schedules, we hardly ever see each other.”
“Jeff says you really hit the books every night.”
“Have to. I'm not as smart as he is.”
Jeff rejoined them, and they talked for a while and sipped the scalding, inky brew. Gilly liked Karl—a plus, considering that she wouldn't have cared if he were an ax murderer as long as his name was Karl, not Karla.
Chapter Five
Everything should have been perfect after that. Gilly even thought up an excuse for when the Lawrences' returned to claim their apartment: she would tell Jeff that the owners of the building were doing a massive repainting project, and she would have to vacate the premises for the holidays and stay with a friend up in Yonkers. That left her with a few more weeks to work up the courage to tell him the truth.
But her confession had taken a backseat to other concerns. The broken dates were beginning to bother her. Bot
her her a lot. If he had to work the way she had to put herself through college, or if he had to really beat his brains out with the books, like Karl, she'd have understood. But Gilly knew better. Jeff was uncommonly bright. Karl had told her about his GPA and how easy the law classes were for him. She also knew that no one with parents in Scarsdale's elite needed to hold down a night job. The hours during which he mysteriously disappeared were far too erratic for that anyway.
Gilly desperately wanted to confront him and ask point blank what was going on, but her guilt over her own deceptions held her silent. The strain in their relationship was telling on both of them. Just as she was leaving the office, her cell phone rang. “This is Gilly,” she answered.
“Hello.”
She could sense the hesitancy in his voice. “Hello yourself. We still on for dinner and a movie tonight?”
“That's what I'm calling about. Something's come up.”
“This is the third time in the past week, Jeff.” God, she sounded like a nag. Like someone who actually had a claim on him.
“I'm sorry, Gilly. Look, it's the end of the term, and I have all these projects to complete for my classes.” Jeff racked his brain for something plausible. Damn idiot, introducing her to Karl, so she knows enough to realize I haven't been studying all those nights!
“But this is such short notice, Jeff.” All his broken dates seemed to come that way—that, or he would simply be unavailable for days.
He could hear the chilly tone in her voice, and it fueled his guilt. “Professor Anderson has offered a chosen handful of the favored a chance to hear him expound on the New York State bar exam tonight. I can't pass up the opportunity.”