Intimate

by Noelle Adams

  He groaned.

  “Keep an open mind. Maybe you’ll even get into the spirit and cry a little when they learn that they have to leave St. Louis.”

  “Don’t hold your breath.”

  Marissa started the movie, and Caleb reached over and turned off the lamp beside the sofa, dimming the room. Glancing over at him and noticing how relaxed he looked, she scooted over until she was pressed up against his side.

  He groaned again. “Please don't tell me you’re in a cuddling mood tonight.”

  “Yep,” she admitted, pulling his arm around her. “You were mean and snapped at me. So now you have to cuddle. It’s only fair.”

  She giggled when she heard him grumbling under his breath. Despite his complaints, he adjusted to get more comfortable and kept a friendly arm draped around her shoulders.

  She tried not to take advantage of his friendship and make him cuddle too often, but one of the consequences of her decision not to have sex was also not having much in the way of physical comfort. And, though she was fine without sex, she still needed a hug now and then.

  She didn’t think Caleb hated it quite as much as he claimed.

  She really was very tired after spending most of the week studying, and she only ended up watching a half-hour of the movie.

  She was awakened by someone shaking her shoulder. “Huh,” she mumbled, trying to pry open her eyes. She was completely disoriented, had no idea what was going on.

  When she managed to get her eyes open, she found herself sprawled out with her head in Caleb’s lap.

  “The movie’s over, and I’m losing circulation in my leg,” he was saying, still shaking her by the shoulder. “You need to get up, so I can leave. Then you can go to bed.”

  “Oh.” She sat up, rubbing her eyes. “Sorry. I missed the whole movie.”

  “You should be grateful I suffered through the whole thing. I could have turned it off and you would never have known.”

  “Did you like it?” she asked groggily. She thought it was sweet that he'd actually watched it—although she didn’t tell him so.

  Caleb didn’t appreciate being called “sweet.”

  He made a face and didn’t answer.

  “I knew you’d like it. No use lying to me.”

  “Since my stimulating presence only served to put you to sleep, I’ll take myself off now. Go to bed.” He stood up and offered a hand to help pull her to her feet.

  “You’re not my mommy. I’ll go to bed when I want. It’s early yet. What are you going to do?”

  “I’ll find something to amuse me.”

  Making a disgusted face, she said, “If it involves sex of some kind, don’t tell me.”

  “All right. I won’t tell you.” He chuckled and pushed her in the direction of her bedroom. “Now, go catch up on your sleep. Tomorrow is Saturday, so you have no reason to get up before noon.”

  “Thanks for dinner. Sorry I fell asleep on you.”

  “I’ll call you tomorrow. Now go to bed.”

  “Yes, Mommy,” she called out as he shut the door behind him.

  She stumbled into her bedroom to get ready for bed, catching a glimpse of herself in the mirror as she did. Her hair was slipping out of her braids, and one cheek was bright red in a strange pattern from being pressed up against Caleb’s thigh.

  It was a good thing she didn’t want to attract him because she looked like a freakish, sloppy child.

  Flipping off the light, Marissa crawled into bed

  Some people might find it ironic. She’d just spent Friday evening with an attractive, eligible man. They hadn’t flirted, hadn’t kissed, hadn’t engaged in foreplay, hadn’t had sex. And she was about to fall asleep alone.

  But she wasn’t aroused, wasn’t discontent, wasn't frustrated. Was drowsy and perfectly satisfied. And she was getting ready for a long, well-deserved night’s sleep.

  She didn’t care if it was ironic. This was the life she wanted, with nothing connected to those memories from her childhood that still made her sick.

  Altogether, life was much easier without the burden of sex.

  Two

  Caleb just didn’t think about Marissa that way.

  He knew it sounded bizarre. Unnatural, even. He was a virile male who knew how to recognize and appreciate desirable women.

  Marissa was both beautiful and desirable.

  Yet he didn’t think about her sexually. At all.

  He’d met her for the first time when they both were children, so that probably explained it. While he might have had a few inappropriate thoughts about her when they were teenagers, those stray fantasies now were long gone.

  She was his friend. The best relationship in his life. And it was—and always would be—platonic. It was built into the pattern of his thinking, as Marissa would say.

  He was thinking about her as he hooked the cufflinks onto his shirt and then pulled on the black jacket to his suit. When he glanced in the mirror, he looked as he expected to look. He was so accustomed to wearing tuxes for performances that the formal wear barely even registered in his mind.

  He regularly got notes and emails from fans—usually of the female variety and often in their adolescent years—who had bought his album or seen one of his concerts, going on at flowery length about how sexy and sophisticated he looked in a tux.

  When he was younger, those letters had done something for his ego. Now, he’d pretty much stopped reading them.

  When his phone rang, he checked the caller and picked up. “Hey, Dad. What’s up?”

  “Do you have any time next weekend? I’m coming to the city, so maybe we can get together.” His father never wasted time on preliminaries or small talk.

  “Yeah. I could do breakfast or lunch on Saturday or Sunday. Whatever works for you. We have a performance on Friday night. Maybe you could come.”

  “Yeah. I’ll see.”

  “Is Mom coming too?”

  “No. Just me.”

  His father often traveled on his own, even just for leisure. Caleb never ceased to be impressed by his parents’ marriage, with neither of them trapped by unrealistic expectations or limited by pressure from the other.

  It was proof he could really have it all—both love and freedom.

  They talked for a couple more minutes before they hung up.

  After checking the time, Caleb decided he better get over to pick up Marissa.

  They were lucky sex had never gotten tangled into their relationship.

  Sex for him was always pleasurable, but it was also merely physical. Shallow. And it just didn’t match with his feelings for Marissa.

  Which meant when he went to grab a couple of condoms, he truly hadn’t the slightest thought of using them with his date. There would be other women at the party, though—beautiful, interested women.

  He’d never hook up with someone else while he was out with Marissa, but he wouldn’t be out with her all night.

  He liked to be prepared.

  He liked having sex. He liked it a lot.

  And he just didn’t think about Marissa that way.

  * * *

  He knocked a couple of times and then let himself into her apartment a half-hour later. He paused to listen and heard her rustling around in her bedroom.

  As expected, she called out, “Hey, I’m running a little late. I’ll be out in a minute.”

  He smiled but made sure the smile wasn’t evident in his voice. “For God’s sake, Marissa. I’m fifteen minutes late myself.” He turned the doorknob to her bedroom. “Are you dressed?”

  “No!” she shrieked from behind the door. “Don’t you dare come in! I don’t have my dress on yet.”

  Caleb grumbled loudly—mostly for effect—and went to the living room to wait.

  He regretted it as soon as he settled in the same spot he’d been sitting last night. It made him think about Marissa falling asleep on top of him, and he really didn’t want to think about that.

  He wasn’t sure how she’d ended up wit
h her head in his lap, but it had made him very uncomfortable.

  First, she’d wanted to cuddle, which was always a bad sign. Caleb just didn’t like touching that wasn’t sexual. Sure, it felt nice to have Marissa curled up beside him or giving him hugs or putting her hand on his thigh.

  But it made him feel too needed and too needy—both—and he preferred to be free.

  She’d slept with her head in his lap for an hour and forty-two minutes last night.

  Caleb hadn’t liked it at all. It made him feel strange, heavy, and confused. Very similar to how he’d felt last year after Marissa’s father died. She’d turned to him for comfort—just as she should have—and she’d clung to him desperately for weeks. Caleb had tried his best to be there for her, all the while hoping it would end soon.

  He wasn’t used to being used as a pillow, and he didn’t know why he’d started stroking her hair while she slept last night.

  “What are you brooding over so darkly in here?”

  Marissa’s voice startled him. Instead of responding to her question, he eyed her from head to toe. “Nice.”

  She wore a new evening gown she’d bought earlier in the week, since she’d been complaining she didn’t have anything suitable to wear to such a fancy occasion. It was a deep blue that matched her eyes, sleeveless but with a high neckline. The neckline was meaningless, since there was a diamond-shaped cutout in the front that displayed a good portion of her lush cleavage. There was also a high slit up the side of the skirt, parting to reveal a lot of leg and a pair of very high heels.

  Marissa was grinning like an eager girl, although she was unmistakably a woman. “Isn’t it great? Aren’t I gorgeous?”

  “Definitely gorgeous.”

  His eyes rose to her face and hair, and his brow lowered unconsciously.

  “What don’t you like?” she demanded when she saw his expression. “You’re making your disapproving face.”

  He schooled his features immediately—it was unnerving that she knew him so well. “I didn’t realize I had a disapproving face,” he stalled, hoping to distract her from the question.

  “Of course, you do. You press your lips together, and you get four little lines on your forehead. But don’t try your diversionary tactics on me. What don’t you like about how I look?”

  He might as well be honest, or she’d never let it go. “I think you should have left your hair down.”

  Marissa ran to the mirror in the dining room. “Well, you’re just plain wrong,” she announced after a minute of peering at herself. “I put it up because it looks more sophisticated. Why the hell should I have worn it down?”

  He came over to join her and looked at her reflection. “You look more like yourself with it down,” he mumbled, feeling kind of stupid as he said the words.

  “That’s why I wanted to wear it up, but I think the sentiment is still kind of sweet.”

  He’d been afraid she would think that.

  He shifted his head and caught of glimpse of the mirror reflecting the two of them together. Something about the image conjured that same heavy feeling in his belly, so he looked quickly away. Decided to put an end to the moment.

  Only made the decision too late.

  Because Marissa was already stretching up to press a soft kiss on his jaw. “That’s for being naturally sweet, even though you try your best to resist it.”

  Now both his belly and chest felt uncomfortably heavy. “We’re going to be late.”

  “I love it when you get embarrassed and blush.”

  He raised his eyebrows and sneered. “I do not blush.”

  “Oh, yes, you do. Now, let’s go, or we’re going to be late.”

  He started to make a pithy comeback, but he swallowed the words awkwardly when she turned around and walked toward the door in front of him.

  “Damn!” He’d noticed there wasn’t much of a back to her dress, but he hadn’t realized how much pale, smooth skin was really visible. The dress had a diamond-shaped cutout in the back to match the one in the front—but this one was much bigger, baring down to the small of her back. “It’s cruel to wear that dress when you’re never planning to have sex. It’s like inviting people to your home and then slamming the door in their face.”

  Despite his words, he did feel a familiar possessive thrill at the knowledge that this beautiful woman would be with him. That she would be going home with no one else. It was exhilarating in a rather crude, macho way.

  Almost like she was his.

  Chuckling, she glanced at him over her shoulder. “Just because I don’t want to have sex doesn’t mean I don’t want to look sexy.”

  “I hate it when you dress seductively,” he complained, walking down the hall beside her.

  “I thought you secretly liked it. Doesn’t it make you feel like a caveman?”

  He wished she hadn’t recognized that about him. “Maybe. But it also means I’m going to have to fend off over-enthusiastic admirers who are always trying to make a move on my date.”

  “Ugh, like Kevin Davison.” Her nose wrinkled in disgust at the thought of the particularly offensive trombone player who had a thing for her.

  “You wear that dress, and you’re on your own with Davison. I’ll not run interference when you’re asking to be leered at.” He smiled to take the sting out of the words. “Besides, I’ll be busy trying to schmooze, as I’ve been reminded repeatedly is my primary task at this party.”

  “You’re good at schmoozing.”

  Caleb put an unconscious hand on her back as he led her out to where his car was waiting. Then wished he hadn’t when he felt her cool, bare skin under his palm. Withdrawing his hand quickly, he replied, “With donors and fans, maybe. But not with the other musicians. They all hate me.”

  “Of course they hate you. You’re a classical musician, but you have half a million followers on your fan page. You’re First Cello in one of the top ten symphony orchestras in the country, and you’re only twenty-five. Every one of them despises you.”

  “You’re the one who wanted me to take this job.”

  “I know, but I didn’t want it because I thought it would win you a lot of friends. I wanted it because I thought it would be better for you.”

  He knew she’d wanted what was best for him. It was why he’d taken the position in the first place.

  It was also why he hadn’t yet quit, even though he kind of wanted to.

  * * *

  The party was a typical black-tie, fund-raising affair. An excuse to gather the social elite: drink too much, flirt with other people’s spouses, politic, network, kill time, and pretend their lives were meaningful.

  He’d brought Marissa as his date to events before, and everyone knew she was with him. Unfortunately, that didn’t stop other men (and occasionally women) from hitting on her right under his nose.

  It annoyed him more than it should. That the fact of his presence meant nothing to all the other men who buzzed around her like gnats. Yes, it was known the two of them weren’t officially dating, but he was her date tonight, and that should come with certain prerogatives.

  One of them was that random men shouldn’t make moves on her while Caleb was standing less than a foot away.

  It didn’t matter that he’d been subtly flirting with the stunning daughter of their host. He was still Marissa’s date, and he had every right to shoulder besotted, drunken fools out of her line of sight.

  Which was exactly what he did.

  The fool in question was the revolting Kevin Davison, who’d played this same game with Marissa before.

  You’d think he’d have gotten a clue by now and given up his hopeless pursuit of her.

  But, no, there he was again ten minutes later, trying to steer Marissa through the French doors and out to the patio and pool area.

  Caleb was about to rescue her when the luscious, red-haired daughter whispered something decidedly naughty in his ear.

  He was briefly distracted, but not enough to leave Marissa in the i
nebriated hands of an obnoxious trombone player.

  When he left the redhead and cleared the French doors, Caleb saw Marissa and Davison standing by the pool, which had been uncovered and filled for the occasion, despite the fact that it was still early spring. The pool water sparkled exquisitely in the glow of carefully aimed spotlights.

  Because of that lighting, Caleb could see Marissa quite clearly. She was facing his direction, her back to the pool. He couldn’t see Davison’s face, but he could see his hand very plainly when Davison made a gesture, “accidentally” brushing against her breast.

  Caleb felt a completely irrational wave of fury at the sight. He clenched his jaw and stalked over, his fingers already tightening in primal anticipation.

  Marissa casually swatted Davison’s offensive hand away. Seeing the easy manner in which she’d dealt with it, Caleb was almost disappointed that he wasn’t needed.

  He’d really wanted to put Davison in his place.

  But the man was both drunk and horny, and Marissa’s efficient discouragement wasn’t enough. He reached out for her in a more purposeful grope.

  Caleb made an uncontrolled sound of rage—soft, throaty, and vicious.

  Marissa had automatically begun to evade the grope, but she either heard or sensed his coming because she looked away from Davison and over toward Caleb.

  Her face changed as she saw his expression.

  While her attention was diverted, Davison laughed loudly and moved toward her.

  This time, Marissa wasn’t ready, and she took an awkward step backward, her eyes still focused on Caleb.

  Unfortunately, there was no room to step backwards. There was only a slight incline around the pool. She tripped on it. Stumbled back. Lost her balance.

  Fell into the pool.

  Caleb had made it over there by now, and he was close enough to actually feel a few drops from the spray that went up as Marissa splashed in.

  Davison was staring down into the water in a dazed stupor. “She dove in,” he mumbled.

  Not even bothering to respond to this piece of nonsense, Caleb—after making sure that Marissa was out of the way—calmly gave Davison a shove, causing the man to topple backwards into the pool in a clumsy tangle of arms and legs. He let out a frantic scream as he fell, which Caleb studiously ignored.