Miss Match

by Leslie Carroll

  The champagne had arrived in the suite before they did, and was chilling in a huge freestanding silver urn. A silver tray with two crystal flutes and two of the Plaza’s unmistakable pale pink linen napkins sat on the desk.

  Rick popped the cork with the flair of an expert. “That’s the way to do it,” he informed Kathryn, referring to his technique in opening the sparkling wine. “Like a satisfied woman,” he added, referring to the soft, sighing sound made when the cork parted company with the bottle. “I learned that from the sommelier at Duke’s in London.” He filled their glasses and brought Kathryn hers, as she perched on the edge of the bed since most of the other sitting areas in the room were occupied by laundry—either dirty or clean.

  “And speaking of satisfied women . . .” The actor relieved her of the champagne glass after she had taken only a couple of sips, placing both flutes back on the silver tray. He slipped his hand along her back, sliding the little black dress down past her shoulders and over her breasts, pushing her back onto the bed. “I’ve been waiting all night to see these,” he murmured, taking one of her nipples into his mouth, sucking with a practiced intensity. Then he deftly switched off the chinoiserie lamp on the mahogany night table.

  Lulled into a highly relaxed state by all the champagne, Kathryn twined her legs around Rick, responding to his insistent passion. It’s a fantasy come true. He slid his hand up her leg, but in a flash of intrusive reality, she pushed it away and sat up.

  “What?” he asked, confused.

  “I can’t afford to have these ripped to shreds,” Kathryn whispered, and rolled her sheer pantyhose down her legs. Then she removed her sandals, followed by the nylons, and placed them on the floor by the edge of the bed, where she’d be sure not to miss them later.

  “Come here, Miss Kitty,” Rick beckoned, supine, his arms outstretched toward her. She climbed back onto the mattress and he pulled her on top of him, wriggling her out of the tight little cocktail dress. In a matter of a minute, she was completely undressed, naked and vulnerable on the rented bed of a famous movie star.

  “There’s something unequal about this equation,” she whispered, as she tugged on the lapels of his sportcoat. She watched as he complied with her unspoken directive to get starkers, tossing his jacket, T-shirt, pants, and underwear around the room. He seemed proud of his body, which was lean and hard; muscular, but not overdeveloped. He slid on top of her, covering her mouth with his own.

  Kathryn felt more like Alice in Wonderland than ever. She was aware of his kiss—although terrific—tasting of champagne and coffee, and allowed herself to succumb entirely to the pilgrimage his lips were taking across her body, down her breasts and stomach, between her thighs, tickling and teasing. If he continued to do that, she would dissolve into a giant erotic puddle on the spot. I am lying here with . . . She stopped in midreverie as he moved to mount her.

  “Wait!” She whispered a command, which halted him as he hovered above her.

  “What?”

  Her voice was husky. “Do you have a condom?”

  He relaxed his body on top of hers, his erection suddenly, surprisingly, gone limp.

  “Why?”

  “I shouldn’t think you’d have to ask,” Kathryn said softly. “I can’t think of a delicate way to put this—but we really don’t know much about each other. I don’t know where you’ve been, so to speak. Except what I’ve read in People. Besides, I didn’t exactly anticipate this, so I didn’t throw my diaphragm in my purse when I left the house.”

  “Oh, you won’t have to worry about getting pregnant. I’ll pull out in time.” He tried to read the inscrutable expression on her face. “Don’t worry, you can trust me— I’ve gotten very good at that.”

  “I appreciate the sentiment, Rick,” Kathryn continued to say in a whisper. “But . . . this is a very awkward thing for me to discuss right now. I just . . . don’t feel entirely comfortable about going where we’re going without a condom.” There, I said it, she thought, wondering whether she was blushing.

  “I never wear them.”

  Kathryn lay on her back, silent, contemplating the choices before her. Either way, it looked like a lose-lose situation from her vantage point. She could risk losing perhaps her only opportunity to have wild sex with this internationally renowned movie star who seemed to really know his way around a woman’s body, or she could risk losing it all in a single unprotected act. She cursed herself for feeling like a prude. She thanked her lucky stars for all the times she figured luck and the odds were on her side, and had ended up fine and healthy.

  But . . . even through the champagne haze . . . as amazing as Rick’s touch was, the moment felt wrong. And—hey—what was so wrong about wearing a condom? And what was so wrong about her insistence that he comply? To compound matters, her head had just started to ache with a slightly dull thud.

  With no small degree of effort, she raised herself from the mattress, and stroked his tanned back. “I’m sorry,” she confessed, almost choking back a tear. “I really want to be with you, but if you don’t want to wear a condom, then we’re at sort of an impasse here.”

  The actor seemed hurt, almost bewildered, like a third grader who’s been told he doesn’t know how to “play nice” when all along, that’s what he thinks he’s been doing. So he did what children do, which is lash out. “You really are a schoolteacher,” he said sullenly.

  Kathryn sat on the edge of the bed and ruffled his hair. “Believe me, Rick,” she said quietly, “no one is unhappier about this than I am.” She reached for her stockings and slid them back over her legs, then fought to buckle her stiletto sandals in the dark. After she finished getting dressed, she went over to the actor and gave him a hug. He remained on the bed, naked, in exactly the position she’d left him.

  “I’d give you cab fare to get home, but I don’t carry cash,” Rick said, more embarrassed than arrogant. “My manager arranges everything, and usually all I need to do is sign for something. You’ll need more than five dollars to get back to your place, and I don’t have it.” He looked worried, desperately afraid that he would lose her approval. “Please don’t tell anybody about this. I don’t want them to think badly of me.”

  “Do you mean not tell anyone that you lost the chance to get laid tonight because you wouldn’t wear a condom, or that you didn’t even have the carfare to send me home in a taxi?” She retrieved her purse from the desk and stood by the bed.

  “Both,” he admitted softly. He sat up and drew her to him by her hands. Her arms slipped around his shoulders and he buried his face between her breasts. “You’re very warm,” he murmured. Then, perhaps suddenly overcome by all the liquor he’d consumed over the course of the evening, he let go of her, stretched his body along the length of the mattress and rolled over. “Thank you, Miss Kitty,” he burbled almost inaudibly. “It’s been . . . enlightening.”

  Kathryn leaned over and kissed him on the forehead. His skin was slightly damp. “Goodnight, Rick. And thank you. Thank you very much.”

  “I’ll call you,” he mumbled, just before he passed out completely.

  Arrgh! Kathryn realized she should have checked her appearance before she left Rick’s suite. She didn’t exactly look disheveled, but her makeup had been kissed off, and she should have brushed her hair. She caught her reflection in the mirror that hung between the elevators and tried to do a quick salvage job. At least her clothes were perfectly intact, but all that champagne, plus the Irish coffee, plus, having spent the past several minutes on her back while the room started spinning, did not bode well for exiting the posh Plaza with dignity. Kathryn managed, somehow, to hold her head high despite the smug look from the private elevator operator who no doubt assumed that she had just consummated a transaction with one of Hollywood’s most eligible hunks. Not only that, the elevator jockey had probably concluded that since she hadn’t stayed the night, she’d been a rental. If he only knew the truth, she snickered to herself. One day, I’ll congratulate myself for having been su
ch an adult about this. But not tonight.

  Kathryn inhaled the night air, which had grown cooler since she’d entered the hotel. She loved the special, crisp, late-summer into early-autumn quality that New York seemed to take on toward the end of September. There was something surprisingly clean about it. It always reminded her of apple picking.

  She hailed a taxi, which, owing to the lateness of the hour, whisked her to her door in a matter of minutes. Sometimes you could get lucky with the lights along Fifth Avenue. Kathryn kept both windows open in the back of the cab, and by the time she got to her apartment building, felt infinitely better.

  “Muñeca, is everything okay?” Carlos asked, much concerned, as she strode through the lobby, getting her second wind.

  “Why wouldn’t it be?” she responded, adding “Goodnight, Carlos,” as she breezed into a waiting elevator and sped up to her apartment.

  She fished for her keys in the black velvet reticule and opened her door. Good God—she had forgotten that Walker was in her apartment! His head jerked toward the door as she opened it. There he was, sitting on her wine-colored sofa, plying himself with black coffee, wearing the look of a furious parent whose adolescent daughter has overstayed her curfew. The television was blaring an old black-and-white Hogan’s Heroes rerun.

  “Turn that damn thing off!” Kathryn snapped.

  Walker gave her a “how dare you cross me, young lady” kind of look, and at that moment, Eleanor emerged from the kitchen with a mug of steaming herbal tea in one hand and a bowl of microwaved popcorn in the other.

  “What the hell are you doing here?”

  “She was worried about you,” Walker replied calmly.

  “She’s pregnant—or can’t you tell? And she’s got a toddler at home! You got her out of bed in the middle of the night because you were alarmed. How dare you! We made a deal, you and I, just a few hours ago—or can’t you remember back that far? Instead of quietly minding your own business—as I so distinctly heard you promise—you butted in to my life at the first opportunity, and drew my pregnant baby sister into your paranoid fantasies in the bargain.”

  “Actually, I couldn’t sleep, and I enjoyed the chance to meet your new roommate,” Eleanor said, smiling sweetly. “He’s very nice—except that he’s got lousy taste in reruns.”

  “Bear! Go to your room!” Kathryn said throwing wide her arm and pointing toward the bedroom. Eleanor arched a questioning eyebrow. “Well, we could go in there and make him stay out here, but I need some orange juice and a snack,” Kathryn told her sister. “You—out!” Kathryn gestured dramatically toward the bedroom. Walker obliged, trying to look as pitiable as possible. “And close the door.”

  Kathryn then motioned to her sister to join her in the kitchen. The two women leaned against the counters, while Kathryn decided what to eat at that late hour. “I can’t believe he phoned you,” Kathryn said, shaking her head and looking at the list of emergency phone numbers stuck to the refrigerator with a Royal Shakespeare Company magnet shaped like the Bard’s head.

  “So what happened?” Eleanor asked. “He was sure you’d be home at around one or two A.M. at the latest, and when you weren’t back by three, he’d convinced himself that you were going to stay with Rick all night, and he went through about a half-dozen stages of emotions, like the Kübler-Ross model—anger, denial, depression, acceptance—whatever they are. Actually, he never made it to acceptance. A pathetic resignation is all he achieved.”

  “He’s got a helluva lot of nerve, dragging you out in the middle of the night. He’s a grown-up, for Christ’s sake. And let’s not forget his role in all this: he’s the matchmaker. And he wouldn’t even have known how late I was out if he hadn’t insisted on crashing here because his ceilings are leaking and collapsing. I suppose in his twisted guy-logic, he’s found a way to blame me for that as well! How does everything somehow end up being my fault?”

  “Actually,” Eleanor admitted, “I am really tired— finally. But I figured I would stay until you got home, so I could hear firsthand how the date went.”

  “Rick’s not a bad guy. Although I’m not entirely sure I’d exactly consider him a grown-up. Then again, I’m not entirely sure I want a man who’s a grown-up. Ahhhhgh. I don’t know what I want. Especially after too much champagne.” Kathryn lowered her voice to make sure that Walker wasn’t listening. It was awfully quiet in the bedroom. “Truthfully,” she whispered to her sister, “things were going very well . . . and I do mean very.”

  “So?”

  “The man is well built, I’ll give him credit for that.”

  “So?”

  “And there I was thinking, my God, look who’s on top of me right now, ready, willing, and able to do the deed. It was an absolute blue dream come true.”

  “Are you saying that wasn’t a stunt-butt in Avenging Angel?”

  “I can’t say for sure, since the room was dark, but he certainly didn’t need a body double.”

  “So?” Eleanor said excitedly, extracting a fluffy popcorn kernel from the bowl and popping it into her mouth.

  “I stopped him.”

  Eleanor held the kernel on her tongue, as though her action was suspended in midair. “Why?”

  “He wouldn’t wear a condom.”

  Eleanor swallowed the popcorn and gave a little cough. “Well . . . well . . . I don’t know what to . . . I . . . you did the right thing, I suppose.”

  “I’ve been agonizing over it,” Kathryn confessed. “I mean there I was—we were right at the point of doing it, and I had this flash—I don’t know where ‘it’s’ been, so to speak. And who is he to take my health—my life, maybe, so cavalierly? And who am I to take such risks? And I thought about all the times I never cared, and I wondered if one day, my number would be up. And I just had a funny feeling about it all of a sudden. So I pulled the plug.”

  “Wow,” Eleanor breathed. “All I can say is wow.”

  “He loved the way I look,” Kathryn said wistfully.

  “And the way I smell. Oh, well,” she sighed. She gave her younger sister a hug. “For God’s sake, go home and get some sleep. I certainly need to. The champagne was very expensive, but I expect quite a hangover as soon as the booze wears off. Right now, I think I’m still drunk.”

  Kathryn escorted her sister to the door, and kissed her goodnight. Then she tiptoed to the bedroom and quietly opened the door. The room was dark and still. But not quiet. Face down on her queen-sized mattress, was all six-plus feet of Walker Hart—sound asleep and snoring.

  Chapter 13

  Kathryn debated whether or not to wake the slumbering Walker. She smiled to herself. His inert bulky form certainly did resemble a hibernating bear. None of the options available were optimal. She could try to shove him over—he was sleeping on the diagonal—and climb into bed beside him, which was inadvisable at best. Still, she was exhausted and was really looking forward to crashing on her own mattress. The velvet sofa was plushy and comfortable, but the morning light seeped in early, and that meant that she’d be able to get only an hour of sleep before the living room would become flooded with light, whether or not it was still raining.

  Opting for prudence over comfort, she retrieved an old and much beloved quilt—one that she had helped her grandmother make when she was eight or nine years old—and tossed her needlepointed pillows onto the armchair so she wouldn’t ruin her own artwork by scrunching her cheek against them. After a few moments, she fell asleep—or rather, passed out. But forty-five minutes later, when rosy-fingered dawn invaded her slumber, she was awakened by a half dozen gremlins who seemed to be chopping away at her brain with tiny metal pickaxes. Kathryn went into the kitchen, washed down a fistful of aspirin with a glass of orange juice, ran a checkered dish-towel under the cold water, then returned to the couch and applied the compress to her pounding temples. A half hour later, the gremlins appeared to have taken a coffee break, but the morning light, now brighter, seemed blinding.

  She opened the door to the bedroom
. Walker was no longer in full possession of the mattress, having adjusted his position at some point during the past couple of hours. Kathryn really needed the sleep, so as gingerly as possible, and still wearing her underwear, she edged herself onto the bed and lay down facing the wall, as far as possible from the snoozing mass of maleness beside her.

  Some time later, Kathryn awoke on her side pinned to the bed by a large, heavy arm slung over her, attached to a large warm hand that was cupping her breast. She closed her eyes, murmured “yum,” and inched her back toward Walker’s torso. When reality checked in, she opened her eyes, surveyed the foreign hand and arm, tried to extricate herself from its weight, gave up, and closed her eyes again. Her new “roommate” was still asleep, shirtless, in spooning position, breathing somewhat noisily beside her. Feeling wicked, and enjoying his masculine scent, she snuggled against him and felt his erection, prominent against the small hollow of her back. Kathryn wondered if he was just pretending to sleep, trying to see how much he could get away with, or if he was dreaming about someone—an old girlfriend or a centerfold, probably. She also considered that he might be completely cognizant of his surroundings, using the opportunity to indulge his attraction for her.

  Kathryn was perfectly aware of the powerful chemistry between them. She’d accused him several times of Flirting with Intent, and he hadn’t corrected her, acknowledging his guilt in that regard.

  Feeling safe, snuggled in the protection of Walker’s warmth, Kathryn allowed herself to fall into a deep sleep. The next thing she knew, she was being actively cuddled by the man beside her—and it didn’t feel like an accident.

  Walker kissed the back of her neck, nuzzling up into her hairline, which sent delicious little tingles of electricity down her spine. He nudged her shoulder, and she turned to face him, as he drew her close. Kathryn’s hands traced the blond-brown hair on his chest, which grew in perfect, soft symmetry. Walker reached up to stroke her face, tracing her eyebrows, then running his thumb along the full swell of her lips. He leaned in to kiss her, and Kathryn was anxious that her breath might still smell like stale booze. Or worse—morning breath. Not very romantic. Whatever the case, Walker didn’t seem to mind. Oh, God, wait a minute. They were kissing. Bear’s kiss was filled with need, longing, insistence, and Kathryn responded fully. He had a way of erasing her self-consciousness when he embraced her.