by Alison Kent
Standing at the second-floor railing in the home Anton had made of a warehouse, Leo looked down to where Macy huddled with Lauren in the main room’s office corner to review her new logo concept and design.
She’d arrived only a few minutes ago, while he’d been upstairs on the second-floor tour. Lauren had pulled Macy aside immediately, giving Leo a few minutes to reconcile last night’s girl in hot-pink pajamas with the woman showing off sexy shoulders in a top that was nothing but two handkerchiefs held up by a band of velvet encircling her neck.
The fabric was glistening and black, with a rose of muted reds and pinks centered over her chest. The skirt was red and knee-length, with a flippy sort of hem, and even her shoes matched: the barest of sandals with narrow straps of black and pink and red.
It was a damn sexy outfit.
And she was a damn sexy woman.
And he hoped like hell to get moved into his condo before she had him on her balcony howling at the moon.
HIP PERCHED ON THE CORNER of Lauren’s desk, Macy studied her new logo. Both the black, lace-fringed web and the Gen-X girl spider Lauren had designed were to die for.
The spider’s legs were overly long and jointed, and all eight feet sported funky high-tops in a combination of gIRL-gEAR’s lime-green-and-orange color scheme. A broad-brimmed painter’s cap in hot pink and bright yellow sat at an angle behind eyes twice the size of the spider’s head.
It was absolutely perfect. Macy laid her cheek on Lauren’s shoulder. “Oh, Lauren. This is so incredibly cool.”
“I’m not sure it’s all that.” Lauren clicked the computer file closed, shut down the graphics program and tucked loose strands of hair behind her ear instead of into the ponytail caught low on her nape. “But I’m glad you like it.”
Uh-oh. This wasn’t the Lauren Macy knew. Down in the dumps and wearing a plain Jane barrette that was not a gADGET gIRL accessory? Macy drew her best friend around the end of the desk and into the corner where French doors opened onto a courtyard.
She nudged the door part of the way closed, shutting out the chatter of the party that was, by now, well under way. “Are you okay? You’re wearing an awfully big party-pooper face. And it’s your party you’re pooping on.”
“I’m fine. Just tired.” Lauren worked hard for the smile she finally produced, lifting her face to the cool night air. “Work was a bitch this week.”
“Because of my logo?”
“No,” she said, and shook her head. “A problem with copyrighted images being lifted from our Web site. Sydney took care of it.”
“Then why do you look so stressed?” Macy’s hands went to her hips. “And why didn’t you call me to help with the party?”
“Anton helped.” Moving back inside, Lauren shuffled through a stack of envelopes she lifted from the desk. “At least he helped when we weren’t fighting.”
Dare Macy ask if the scavenger hunt was to blame? “Don’t tell me you’re fighting over the toilet seat being left up. Or squeezing the toothpaste from the wrong end of the tube.”
Lauren’s smile came more naturally this time. “That I think I could handle. It’s nothing, really. I fell in love with a control freak and I’ll learn to live with it. If not, I’ll get counseling.”
Macy grabbed at the envelopes—an obvious distraction—and slapped them back on the desk. “You say that way too much like you meant it.”
“Which part? The learning to live with it or the counseling?”
“Both. Either. You know if you get all stupid on me, I’m going to have to kick your ass.”
At that, Lauren did laugh. “Wouldn’t that be breaking all your best-friend rules?”
“My prerogative as the rule maker,” Macy said, following Lauren’s suddenly distracted gaze to the second-floor landing where, next to Anton Neville, stood Leo Redding.
Both women sighed, the release of appreciative breath a more eloquent expression than words. Anton and Leo were close to the same height, the former no more than an inch taller. In build they were near mirror images as well, with Leo only slightly broader and Anton the perfect definition of surfer lean.
Lauren leaned over to whisper into Macy’s ear. “You realize, don’t you, that from my artistic perspective, that’s an amazing exhibition. Well worth the price of admission.”
“And here I was trying to put what I’m witnessing into words. Editorial being my specialty and all.”
But now that she’d taken in the whole picture, Macy only had eyes for Leo. He had on dark khaki slacks, leather deck shoes and a black linen shirt worn loose.
His casual look was more put together than her own paltry professional wardrobe. Imagining them as a couple required a huge stretch. They sure didn’t fit together like peas and carrots, like peanut butter and jelly, like…Tinkerbell and Peter Pan. Macy shivered. If anything, they fit together like a round hole and a square peg. Except Leo’s peg wasn’t square. Leo’s peg wasn’t even a peg. More like a…
Sensing Lauren’s probing stare, Macy pulled her gaze from the landing and turned it on her best friend. “What?”
Lauren’s eyes cut from Macy to the second floor and back again. “If I didn’t know you better, I’d swear I wasn’t the only one mooning like a lovesick puppy here.”
“I’m surprised you’d admit to mooning or being lovesick.”
“You’re avoiding my question.”
“Did you ask a question?”
“What’s going on between you and Leo?”
“Not much.” Macy shrugged. Lauren would dig out the truth whether Macy went for subtle or explosive. She decided to drop the bomb. “We played Spin the Webb and he kissed me. We’re paired up for the scavenger hunt. He moved into the loft.”
“What?” Lauren shrieked and a dozen heads turned. She took hold of Macy’s arm and propelled her across the main room and into the kitchen, where she immediately pounced. “And just when were you planning to share this wealth of good news?”
“I never said it was good news.”
“You didn’t have to say anything. I can put two and two together.”
“What two and two?”
Arms crossed, Lauren looked Macy up and down. And up and down. “What you may not have said in so many words, you have screamed with that outfit. Macy Webb? Wearing the latest in gROWL gIRL party wear? Give me a break.”
Macy knew she should’ve stuck to her usual party wear of clogs and capris. Or stuck to her pajamas. “What? All I’m trying to do here is give my wardrobe a little oomph.”
“Hello? This is me, Lauren.”
“I know who you are.”
“Then let’s be honest. It’s not your wardrobe you’re looking to oomph, is it? Not that I wouldn’t be the first in line to take you shopping if that were really the case.”
“Oh? And that line would be how long?” As if she needed to hear Lauren’s insults on top of Lauren’s prying.
One hand had moved to Lauren’s hip. She used the second to gesture the length of Macy’s body. “C’mon, Macy. You may have a thing for gROWL gIRL’s lingerie, but that’s about it. You wear pajamas like most people wear blue jeans. Or business suits. Or even formal wear.”
“They were Oriental silk and they were the dressiest thing I had and I only did it one time.” Macy stopped her rant to push her hair back from her face. Nothing she said in self-defense would throw Lauren off track.
As predicted, her friend chugged right along. “Pajamas are made for sleeping. Which is why most people only wear them after dark. When they go to bed.”
“Yes, but most people have to leave the house to go to work. I have the luxury of working from home.”
“What about Leo?”
“He does the biggest part of his work at the office.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“Then say what you mean.”
Lauren’s eyes threatened to pop from frustration. “Do you wear pajamas when he’s around? Or is what you wear more revealing?”
&nb
sp; “Like what?”
“Like your bare skin?”
Macy’s earlobes steamed. “What kind of question is that?”
Lauren glared. “Are you sleeping with him?”
“Sleeping with Leo Redding? You’re kidding, right?” Showering, yes. Sleeping, no.
“Okay then. Not sleeping. Are you having sex with him?”
So much for evasive semantics. “No. I’m standing here in the kitchen talking to you.”
“Have you had sex with him?”
Macy took too long to come up with an answer. Her body still tingled from what she’d done with Leo thirty-six hours ago. Thirty-six hours. Had it really been that long?
It seemed like only minutes since they’d tumbled wet and naked into bed, not bothering with the towel Leo had pulled from the linen closet, but letting skin and satin sheets make quick work of the water. Neither had said a word, but had let hands and mouths run wild.
That second time in bed—that wild unreality of sweet hot sex and reckless abandon—had been as fast and furious as the one in the shower, and Macy couldn’t help wonder if it had been a long time for Leo, or if she’d whet his appetite that fiercely.
“I knew it. You are sleeping with him.” Lauren’s stage whisper had enough volume to be heard over the salsa music setting the festive party tone in the main room.
Macy shushed her best friend. “I am not having sex with him. I had sex with him. It was a loss-of-consciousness sort of encounter. We didn’t plan it and I sure don’t intend to let it happen again.”
“Why not?”
“What do you mean, why not?” A question Macy was still trying to answer for herself.
“Don’t tell me he wasn’t any good. You can look at the way the man walks and tell he knows how to move in bed.”
“We weren’t exactly in bed.” And the amazingly intimate way Leo moved would remain her secret. “At least that first time in the shower.”
“Oh, and so now the story changes.” Palms held flat like the scales of Justice, Lauren weighed Macy’s answer. “From not sleeping with him to keeping count of the number of times.”
“Two times, Lauren. Two.” Macy held up two fingers. “That’s all. One right after the other.”
Lauren’s expression conveyed her respect for Leo’s stamina. “Nice. When?”
“Not that it’s any of your business. But…” Macy searched Lauren’s face, finding not a hint of disapproval, but only a best friend’s interest.
And, okay, a best friend’s prurient nosiness.
“But?” Lauren prompted with both the question and the encouraging flutter of fingers.
“But…oh, Lauren.” Macy buried her face in her hands. “I’ve never had anything like this happen to me before.”
With a long sigh and a shake of her head, Lauren reached into the refrigerator for two fuzzy navel wine coolers. She opened both bottles and handed one to Macy. “Anton’s mixing margaritas and whatever else out in the other room. But this can’t wait. So, spill already. I’m dying here.”
Macy sipped, sipped again, then quit pretending she hadn’t been needing a drink since ten o’clock yesterday morning to calm the nerves that still sparked and burned every time she remembered the feel of Leo buried in her body.
She set her half-empty bottle on the counter behind her, braced the heels of both palms on the countertop edge. “Things like this don’t happen to me, Lauren. When it comes to guys, you know? This is like a pure beefcake fantasy. Like taking a shower with Ben Affleck or Mark Wahlberg or Heath Ledger.”
Lauren finished a sip of her own drink. “Leo Redding’s just a man, Macy. He’s no better or different than anyone else. Except maybe in his own mind.”
A week ago, Macy would have agreed. Especially that Leo held himself in high regard. But until she’d had him underfoot and done her best to return the favor, she’d only seen the starch in his collar and the “Esquire” at the end of his name.
He was no more just a man than she was just a woman. “No. He is different. And, in a lot of ways that matter to me, he is better. And you can get your mind out of the gutter, because I’m not talking about being better in bed.”
“So?” Lauren’s comeback held less confusion than curiosity. “Yes, he’s gorgeous and sexy, but so is Anton. So is Eric. So is Ray. There are a dozen gorgeous, sexy men out there.”
Macy wasn’t even sure she could explain. Or if any explanation would make sense. “Okay. For one thing, he gets my jokes. He doesn’t laugh, but he gets them. And he comes right back with his own.”
“Okay, gorgeous, sexy and funny.”
“Actually, he’s not that funny. At least he’s more funny sarcastic than funny ‘ha-ha.’ It’s an intelligent humor. A bit dry, a bit wry…”
“That’s still not doing it for me, Mace. You’ve gone how long between men? I want to know why Leo?”
“Why Anton?”
“Now that was love at first sight. Which I don’t think is the case with you and the lawyer.”
“Love? Leo? Screw you for even saying, even thinking, that word.”
“Then tell me what it is you’re thinking because, I’ve got to be honest, Mace.” Lauren shook her head. “I’ve thought about the two of you. A lot. Especially after the last game night and the way you two were all over each other during that kiss.”
“I don’t know. I don’t know anything. Not what I’m thinking or what I’m doing or what I’m feeling. Nothing.” Her shoulders drooped as the exhaustion she’d held at bay took over. “All I know is that he makes me ache. My body and my brain.”
“You said he gets your jokes but doesn’t laugh.”
Macy nodded.
“Okay, then. Does he make you laugh?”
“What?”
“Does Leo Redding make you laugh?”
She had to stop and think. She pulled out a chair from the breakfast nook table and sat, stunned less by the admission she was about to make and more by the implication. “No. He doesn’t. And I haven’t even noticed enough to care.”
“Don’t get me wrong here. I can’t think of anybody Leo Redding could use in his life more than you. But for him not to make you laugh when your number one goal in life is to have fun…” Lauren let the thought trail away.
“That’s just the thing that’s so confusing, Lauren. I am having fun.”
“Leo Redding has to rank at the bottom of any fun-guy chart ever put together. Every time you’ve dumped a guy, it’s been because he bored you silly.”
“Leo definitely doesn’t bore me silly. Unless you mean bore, as in…oh, I don’t know.” Macy couldn’t help herself. “Drill?”
Lauren rolled her eyes. “I meant bore as in dud. Not bore as in…”
“Thud?” Macy suggested in all innocence.
“Thud, huh?” Lauren sipped her wine cooler, studied Macy over the end of the bottle. “Is that like a sound? Or an action?”
“Or maybe the sound of the action? Like in a really bad porn movie.” Macy went into an orgasmic display of moans and heavy breathing.
Lauren choked on her drink and poured the remainder down the drain. “Eww. Way too much information. Look. I have an idea.”
“I can hardly wait,” Macy muttered.
“Since he doesn’t make you laugh, but you are having fun, in an admittedly warped and twisted sort of way—” Lauren stuck out her tongue in answer to Macy doing the same “—why don’t you go out there and demonstrate what it means to party? See if he’s capable of showing you a good time in public.
“Because, no matter how much fun you say you’re having now, Macy Webb, you’re not going to keep having fun in any relationship—sexual, platonic, whatever—where there are issues about you taking this kid-at-heart thing to the extreme. I know that. You know that. And Leo Redding, especially, needs to know that.”
Macy shook her head, because that was what frightened her most. Facing him again. Hearing that they’d made a mistake. She didn’t have stars in her eyes. She did
n’t think she and Leo were headed for Eric’s dreaded matrimonial bliss. But she didn’t want to hear that they’d made a mistake.
“That would mean I’d have to talk to him. Acknowledge his presence. Maybe even look him in the eye.”
“Oh, you don’t want to talk to him, but you’ll shower with him. That makes no sense whatsoever.” Lauren grabbed Macy by the elbow, pulled her up out of her chair.
“Now. It’s time to face the music. Let’s see if you two can have as much fun with your clothes on as you seem to be having with your clothes off.”
BY THE TIME LAUREN and Macy joined the group—a group that seemed to Leo to be the same bunch to have witnessed him fall prey to Macy’s Spin the Webb—the public housewarming was over and the private party was on.
A flick of a switch dimmed the overhead lighting, leaving the room awash in Mardi Gras flashes of yellow, green and royal blue, the light thrown by paper lanterns cleverly suspended from beams crisscrossing the room’s high ceiling.
The music was loud, a blend of sexy Latin pop and funky Brazilian bossa nova that added its own electronic spice to the fiery drinks and appetizers. The evening’s main courses offered a flavorful Asian flair to the multicultural experience.
Anton mixed margaritas by the gallon to wash down the fire of the jalapen˜o hors d’oeuvres. Whether stuffed with cheese and crab meat, or breaded and fried, the peppers packed an eye-watering, throat-scorching punch. Leo stopped after three.
He stopped, as well, after three margaritas. The drinks gave him a nice buzz without making him stupid. At least not stupid enough to find a secluded corner and drag Macy away from the party and into the dark.
He wanted to lift her skirt, to see what she’d chosen to wear beneath. He wanted to measure the heat of her skin. To gauge her reaction to the boldness of his touch, because he still wasn’t certain that what had happened between them had burned with the heat he remembered.
Tonight they’d wound up seated at the far end of the long dinner table. She sat across from him, but had managed to avoid eye contact through most of the meal. The main conversation was to her right, to his left, which gave her plenty of reason to keep her gaze averted.