The instant Hunter had begun to feel himself stir down there, he'd mentally booted Raven off his private beach. That was all he needed, after what had happened last week at Stitches—to get a conspicuous erection during his therapy session.
Now, however, he allowed himself to indulge in the fantasy he'd squelched that morning. He was back at the beach with Raven. It was her bare thighs warming his lap as she straddled him, her hands spreading suntan oil on his chest, up, out, down, over and over. She'd left her bikini top off, and her bare breasts, glistening with oil, swayed temptingly near his face. Her hips rocked into his as she massaged him.
Raven's smile was bewitching. "I need you, Hunter," she whispered. "I need you now. Make love to me." She ground herself against him, against the painfully stiff erection trying to hammer its way out of his swim trunks. He slid his hands up her bare thighs, groaning with the glut of carnal sensation. She was here and she wanted him, and all he had to do was push aside some scraps of cloth…
"Rest assured," she purred, "I've got nothing on my mind now but the contents of your B.V.D.s."
She kissed Hunter, startling him out of his hypnotic reverie. He was left gasping and disoriented, with a runaway heartbeat and a blue-ribbon hard-on.
It was Kirsten's lips pressed to his, Kirsten's thighs under his groping fingers.
"Whoa," she said. "Were you drifting off?"
She shimmied off his lap and settled on the carpet between his legs. When she reached for the distended fly of his jeans, Hunter bolted upright and grabbed her hands.
She looked up at him. "What's wrong?"
Stopping her had been an automatic response. He thought about it now, thought about making love to Kirsten. God knew that, physically, he needed the release. He should let her undress him, let her take him into her body, let her fill in for the woman who'd aroused him when she couldn't.
Not that Kirsten had ever failed to turn him on before. It wasn't her fault he was hung up on a woman he couldn't have. He knew for a fact that if he had sex with Kirsten now, he'd be thinking about Raven. Not the worst sin, perhaps, but it went against his grain. Which was why he'd stopped her.
He had to go with his gut. "I'm sorry. Kirsten. I think I'd better leave."
She stared at him wide-eyed for a moment, then stood and snatched her jeans off the carpet.
Hunter rose. "It's not you. God, that sounds so insipid," he groaned, "but it's true."
Kirsten wasn't stupid. "All you had to do was tell me you'd found someone, Hunter." She pulled her pants up and zipped them.
"That's not it—exactly."
She responded with a look that said, Yeah, right. The two of them didn't have an exclusive relationship—they were both free to see other people, and did.
She said, "So if there's no one special person you're saving it for, why the sudden freeze-out?" She paused in the act of putting on her sweater. "You don't have anything…?"
"No! It's nothing like that." Hunter got regular blood tests, always negative, and always used condoms to make sure it stayed that way. He sighed. "Okay. There's someone. But it's … messy."
"She married?"
"Something like that. I didn't think it would affect what you and I have."
Kirsten retrieved Hunter's black down jacket from her Coat closet and held the apartment door open for him. "Let me know when you get over Mrs. Unavailable."
* * *
Chapter 8
«^»
Brent answered his doorbell on the third ring, wearing a thick white terry robe, a headful of rumpled hair and a huge yawn. "Hey, Bro. What time is it?"
"Almost ten-thirty. Did I get you out of bed?" Hunter deposited Brent's Sunday New York Times, which he'd retrieved from the porch, on the coffee table next to two empty wineglasses. He shed his parka and flopped on the sofa. "You're usually an early riser, even on Sundays. I thought you'd be up by now."
"Shh!" Brent padded to his bedroom door and silently closed it. He kept his voice low. "I've got company."
Something wrenched inside Hunter. He shouldn't have been surprised. Brent and Raven had been together for just over three weeks, and clearly it was getting serious. Hell, as far as Hunter knew, they might have been sleeping together since their first date.
He'd been prepared to treat Brent to the local brew-pub brunch, but now all he wanted was to get out of there. The prospect of making small talk with a sleepy-eyed Raven over eggs Benedict after she'd spent the night with his brother was more than he could stomach at the moment. Seeing them cozy up to each other at Brent's Super Bowl party last Sunday had been enough of a strain. They'd snuggled, teased each other, and in all respects appeared to be an established couple.
"Listen," Hunter said, rising. "I don't want to intrude. If I'd known you weren't alone—"
"You're not intruding." Brent lowered his voice even further. "The truth is, I'm kind of glad you showed up. Makes it easier to show her the door."
"What?"
"You know how it is," Brent said, idly flipping through the various sections of the Sunday Times. "Sometimes they can't take a hint. The morning after, it's like they're settled in for the duration. I've got things to do today. Hey, check it out." He picked up the travel section. "The cruise issue."
"You're trying to get rid of her?"
"Shh! Keep your voice down."
A drowsy female voice interrupted. "Brent?"
An olive-skinned beauty stood in the open doorway of Brent's bedroom, wearing only a man's white undershirt, which barely reached the tops of her long, long legs. She had exotic almond-shaped eyes and glossy black hair that fell to her hips. She smiled at Hunter. "Hi. I'm Marina."
Speechless, Hunter let his brother introduce him.
"I'm gonna hop in the shower," Marina said. "Will you be here when I get out?" she asked Hunter.
"Uh … I don't think so."
"Well, it was nice to meet you." She waggled her fingers at him and closed the bedroom door.
Hunter stared at his brother.
Brent grinned salaciously. "She's a swimsuit model. Met her at the health club."
"What the hell are you doing, Brent?"
"What do you mean?" Brent headed into the kitchen.
Hunter followed him. "What about Raven?"
"What about her?"
"I thought you were serious about her."
"I am serious about her." Brent filled the coffeemaker with water. "I took her flying yesterday afternoon. We had a lot of fun. This has nothing to do with Raven."
"Somehow I don't think she'd see it that way." Hunter heard the whisper of water through pipes as Marina turned on the shower in the master bathroom.
"Why are you so riled? I'm no choirboy and neither are you."
"Raven seems to think the two of you have a real relationship."
"We do. You think I feel the same way about that girl—" Brent jerked his head toward his bedroom "—as I do for Raven? Marina's just a fun time. I'll probably see her once or twice more, tops."
"And what about Raven? Is she seeing other guys?"
Brent's look of exaggerated patience scraped Hunter's nerves. "What do you think?"
Hunter said, "I think if you were as serious about her as you claim, you wouldn't be nailing other women." Raven had told Hunter that she'd never betray Brent, and he believed her.
Brent slammed the grounds basket into the coffee-maker. "Where do you get off preaching to me? You're one to talk."
"At least I never misled anyone. If I had something special going with one woman, I wouldn't run around on her."
Brent leaned against the counter and crossed his arms. "That's assuming you were getting it from that someone special."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean Raven's not ready to sleep with me. Okay? She wants to wait and I'm cool with that. Hell, I'm more than cool with it—how often do you run across a girl with old-fashioned values like that nowadays? I'm thinking she may be the one. The future Mrs. Brent Radley."
Hunter's visceral relief that Raven hadn't yet given herself to Brent warred with outrage over his brother's lack of moral fiber. Hunter had always looked up to Brent, eight years his senior, though his childhood idolization had long since matured into admiration and camaraderie. At the moment, though, Hunter saw little to admire.
At least he now had a good idea what Brent had been doing the last two Wednesday nights while Raven bravely confronted her phobia at Stitches. No doubt he'd seen those evenings as opportunities to mess around with other women.
Hunter knew Raven felt guilty for responding to his kiss. He almost wished she'd find out what Brent had been up to—except that it would hurt her. For that reason and his damnable family loyalty, Hunter would keep his mouth shut.
He said, "You two have only been together three weeks. You couldn't have waited, too?"
"There's no telling how long it'll be. Sex is a big deal to Raven. I respect her too much to pressure her."
"But you don't respect her enough to wait with her."
"I take it back," Brent snapped, pushing off the counter and stalking to the cabinet where he kept coffee mugs. "You have turned into some kind of damn choirboy. I'm not hurting Raven. If anything, it's good for our relationship, my getting it somewhere else. Like a pressure valve. Makes it easier for me to back off and give her the time she needs."
"Listen to yourself. Tell me that doesn't sound like the self-serving rationalization it is."
Brent responded with a raw oath.
Hunter advanced on him. "Is that what you'll tell yourself if you two get married? When the honeymoon's over and you find yourself slipping around on the side? That it's good for your marriage, that you're doing your wife some kind of fav—"
"Enough!" Brent slammed a coffee mug on the counter. "What is this to you? That's what I want to know. Why can't you just let it go?"
Brent glared at Hunter, who met his gaze unflinchingly—until something shifted behind Brent's eyes, ever so subtly, and then Hunter had to restrain the urge to back up. He tried to adopt a neutral expression, but he'd never been able to bluff where his brother was concerned.
A vein stood out on Brent's forehead. When he spoke at last, his voice was dangerously subdued. "You got something to tell me, little brother?"
Hunter held his gaze as long as he could before looking away.
Brent got right in Hunter's face. "Answer me, damn it. If you don't, I'll find out from Raven—"
"No. Don't bring her into this."
"You're my brother," Brent snarled between clenched teeth. "I trusted you."
"Look, it's nothing, Brent. I swear."
"What's nothing?"
Hunter sighed. "Okay. If I'd met her first… But I didn't. That's all. No big deal."
"Yeah, no big deal," Brent scoffed. "Never knew you had a thing for older women. Does she know how you feel?"
"No, and it's going to stay that way."
Brent's color was high; he controlled himself with a conspicuous effort. "You are not going to be alone with her anymore, you got that?" He stabbed a finger at Hunter's chest. "Tell her you don't want her doing any more stand-up at Stitches."
"What?"
"You heard me."
"Brent, listen, it's done wonders for her, getting up onstage, speaking in front—"
"It's done wonders for you, too, huh?" Brent sneered.
"What do you imagine could happen at the club?" Hunter assumed his most guileless expression, though he'd already found out what could happen at the club. "Even if I were going to make a move on Raven—which I'm not—the place is packed on Wednesday nights. I'm running a damn restaurant and coordinating dozens of acts, for God's sake!"
"Forget it." Brent sliced a hand through the air. "If I'm not there, she's not there."
Hunter wondered how Brent would react if he knew about the private hypnotherapy sessions, about the special plans he and Raven had for this coming Thursday. His chest felt too tight to draw in a full breath. He'd never gone head-to-head with Brent on something this heavy, and all he wanted now was to slither away and forget it had happened.
But it had, and in his gut he knew his relationship with his brother would never be the same.
Hunter tried reason. "Don't punish Raven because of me. She needs to get up onstage. It boosts her confidence and she loves it."
"This is not negotiable. She's through with it, as of now."
"Then you'll have to be the one to tell her. But don't be surprised if she tells you to go to hell. Raven doesn't seem like the kind of woman you can order around. Especially when the order doesn't make any damn sense."
"Tell her you have to give other people a turn," Brent persisted. Coldly he added, "You owe me."
Hunter stared at his brother, hoping he'd heard wrong, knowing he hadn't. Never would he have expected Brent to hold that over his head. Quietly he said, "This has nothing to do with what I owe you."
"Maybe I don't see it that way."
Hunter took a deep breath. "Look. This whole thing is so stupid. I told you, it's nothing. Tell me you've never thought about a buddy's woman that way. It doesn't mean you'd do anything about it."
Brent's scowl deepened. "Family's different."
"Okay, so you have my permission to think dirty thoughts about Lauren and Kirsten and Rachel and—"
"Shut the hell up," Brent muttered, his tone more weary now than outraged. He scrubbed a hand over his bristly jaw. "I don't know what to do about this."
"You don't have to do anything about it," Hunter said. "Don't blow it out of proportion. I'm not obsessed. I'm not in love. And next week I'll probably say, 'Raven Who?'"
The muffled sound of the shower ceased. Moments later Marina called through the closed bedroom door, "What are we doing about breakfast? Hey, I know this great natural-foods place that has outstanding wheatgrass juice and veggie burgers. And later this afternoon I thought we could go to that miniatures museum in Roslyn. Did I tell you I coiled dollhouse furniture?"
Brent slumped against the fridge, looking as forlorn as Sisyphus watching that big rock roll back down the hill.
"Wheatgrass juice," Hunter said, as he headed out of the kitchen. "Is that what swimsuit models drink?"
"You're not cutting out on me now!" Brent snatched at Hunter's shirtsleeve. "Help me get rid of her. Tell her we have to visit Grandma in the nursing home or something."
"How about we all go visit Grandma at her condo instead. She can show Marina her collection of miniature liquor bottles and motel shampoos."
"This isn't like you, Hunter. You could help me out if you wanted to. I'd do it for you."
"What can I tell you? If you didn't want to deal with her the morning after, you should've gone to her place instead. 'Sleep well? Me, too. So long.'" Or you could've kept it in your pants and we wouldn't be having this discussion, Hunter thought as he let himself out the front door. He wanted to make things right with his brother, but not by making it easier for him to cheat on Raven.
He turned to say goodbye, only to have the door slam shut in his face.
* * *
Chapter 9
«^»
"You know, you're doing very well." Raven watched Hunter's profile as he calmly took in the spectacle before them. "Surprisingly well. You should be proud of yourself."
He smiled at her. "I owe it all to my therapist."
They stood on the indoor observation deck on the 107th floor of the World Trade Center, located at the southern tip of Manhattan. This, of course, was the tallest skyscraper in New York, not counting the slightly higher twin tower next door, and this visit was the culmination of a day of hands-on therapy for Hunter. At the end of last week's hypnotherapy session, Raven had informed him he was ready to test his progress in the field, by deliberately exposing himself to heights. He'd balked until she'd offered to clear her schedule and accompany him, at which point he'd immediately agreed to the outing.
They'd driven to Manhattan and spent the day scaling a variety of towering st
ructures. They'd started out, tamely enough, riding the glass elevators in the Times Square Marriott Hotel, over and over. Hunter had made himself stare out the glass back as the elevator rose and the hotel's atrium receded far below. He'd held on to Raven tightly as she'd talked him through the ordeal, reinforcing his newfound sense of control and equilibrium, urging him to be in touch with his body and his center of gravity, giving him mental tricks to help him cope.
From there they'd moved on to the Empire State Building observation deck, the Statue of Liberty, and finally the World Trade Center. Hunter appeared to be gaining mastery over his acrophobia. He forced himself to linger at each lofty location, although he still needed to keep his arm firmly around his therapist.
Not that Raven objected. Perhaps she should have. After what had happened two weeks ago at Stitches, perhaps she should have adopted an attitude of detached professionalism and resisted any physical contact. But she couldn't bring herself to do that. It wasn't her style to be so aloof, but more than that, this was Hunter, and it just felt too damn good having his arm around her.
It wasn't as if it could lead to a repeat performance of that amazing kiss. They'd spent the day in very public places, cheek to jowl with scores of tourists, and anyway, they both knew that kiss had been a fluke and would never happen again.
Except in that netherworld between wakefulness and sleep, when she lay in her solitary bed and her groggy mind drifted into forbidden territory. Then she felt him again, and tasted him again, and it was right again, so right. And there was no Brent and no Wedding Ring pact and it was only her and Hunter…
Raven had to keep reminding herself that not only was Hunter her client—and strictly off-limits for that reason alone—but he was the brother of the man she was committed to dating for a full three months, as long as Brent remained interested.
And he seemed to be getting more interested by the day—whereas her own feelings were harder to pin down. Brent was intelligent, fun-loving and thoughtful. He respected her desire to take things slow, accepted the fact that she wasn't ready for a physical relationship.
Raven suspected that if Hunter weren't in the picture, she'd be head over heels in love with his brother by now. But as it was, the situation was too confusing. She needed time to sort it out. Under the circumstances, the three-month rule was probably a good thing.
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